The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier

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The Brides of the Old West: Five Romantic Adventures from the American Frontier Page 44

by Peggy Darty, Darlene Franklin, Sally Laity, Nancy Lavo


  “What?” Amanda recognized that particular spark in her sister’s eyes.

  “I would absolutely adore a bath.”

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “Not at all. I’m dying to wash my hair.”

  “But the stream is still swift and muddy from the rain.”

  “I know, but we can stay near the edge, can’t we? And we can rinse off with rainwater from the barrel. Wouldn’t you just love to be clean again—all of you, instead of just washing up?”

  “That water was freezing cold when we did our clothes. And besides, we’re out in the open.”

  “So? We haven’t seen a living soul since we crossed the river on the ferry. And anyway, we can leave our drawers on.”

  Amanda searched all around and beyond, as far as she could see. There truly wasn’t anyone in sight. For all intent and purpose, they were the only two people in this part of the world. And she had to admit, she did feel grubby. What harm would there be in taking a quick dip, so long as they stayed in shallow water? “Well, I suppose we could try it.”

  “Oh good!” Sarah all but tore out of her shirtwaist and skirt and undid her hair ribbon. Grabbing a cake of rose-scented soap and a towel, she dashed, shrieking, into the rushing water.

  Amanda, not far behind, gasped when she stepped into the frigid flow. This was going to be the quickest bath in history. But once she was completely wet, the water didn’t seem quite so cold, and the sunshine blazing down on them felt incredibly warm. A sudden splash drenched her.

  Sarah giggled.

  Turning, Amanda met her sister’s playful grin. “So that’s how it’s going to be, eh?” Leaning down, she skimmed the surface of the water with her palm, directing an arc of water at the younger girl. It cascaded down her face, and over her shoulders.

  “Enough, enough! I’m sorry!” Hand upraised in a gesture of defeat, Sarah acquiesced and began wetting her hair.

  Amanda followed suit. But seeing her sister bent over at the waist with her behind in the air as she rinsed her long hair was too much to resist.

  A little shove, and in Sarah went, headfirst. She came up sputtering, ready to reciprocate.

  Instead, she froze, eyes wide.

  Amanda whirled.

  In the distance, a small band of Indian braves on ponies rode straight for them.

  Her mouth went dry. “Back to the wagon! Hurry!” Though what security the two of them would find there, she could only question.

  After they clambered up into the back, they seized blankets and wrapped themselves up, then perched fearfully on the seat.

  Any remaining doubts Amanda may have had regarding the lunacy of this westward venture now vanished. Everyone knew the sad fate that had met Narcissa Whitman and her doctor husband, Marcus, last November. Missionaries to the Cayuse Indians of the Far Northwest, they had been brutally massacred in their mission home by the very tribe with whom they had labored faithfully for several years.

  Now Amanda’s dreadful realization that she and her younger sister would soon join Ma and Pa in the hereafter dropped with a thud. She prayed the end would be swift, if not merciful. Please, Lord, help us to be brave.

  Sarah Jane’s expression was no less fearful, but she hiked her chin. “Well, if I’m about to die, I at least want to go happy.” She darted into the wagon bed and returned with her guitar.

  Mouth agape, Amanda could not respond.

  The Indians were almost upon them now. Their skulls were shaved but for a thick strip of dark hair running from front to back that was roached into an upstanding comb. Naked, except for leather clothes worn about their loins, they also sported vermillion face paint applied in lurid rings about their eyes.

  As if completely oblivious to the approaching uninvited audience, Sarah Jane strummed a few chords of introduction, then sang at the top of her lungs:

  “Oh, don’t you remember sweet Betsy from Pike,

  Who crossed the wide prairies with her lover Ike,

  With two yoke of cattle and one spotted hog,

  A tall shanghai rooster, and an old yaller dog?

  “Sing too-ral-i, oo-ral-i, oo-ral-i-ay,

  Sing too-ral-i, oo-ral-i, oo-ral-i-ay.

  “They swam the wide rivers and crossed the tall peaks,

  And camped on the prairie for weeks upon weeks…”

  The young braves reined in their pinto ponies and sat motionless atop them, staring dumbfounded as Sarah completely destroyed the tune of the comical song.

  Amanda didn’t know whether to laugh or cry as her sister continued belting out verse upon endless verse:

  “They soon reached the desert, where Betsy gave out,

  And down in the sand she lay rolling about;

  While he in great terror looked on in surprise,

  Saying, Betsy, get up, you’ll get sand in your eyes.

  “Sing too-ral-i, oo-ral-i, oo-ral-i-ay,

  Sing too-ral-i, oo-ral-i, oo-ral-i-ay.”

  Still moving nothing but their dark eyes, the Indians passed curiously astonished looks among themselves. They maintained a safe distance as Sarah launched into another four stanzas.

  “…Long Ike and sweet Betsy got married of course,

  But Ike, getting jealous, obtained a divorce;

  And Betsy, well satisfied, said with a shout,

  Good-bye, you big lummox, I’m glad you backed out.

  “Sing too-ral-i, oo-ral-i, oo-ral-i-ay…”

  Amanda, not entirely recognizing some of the ridiculous lyrics, wondered inanely if her younger sibling had penned some of them herself. She was almost relieved when the final phrase ended. Moments of heavy silence ensued. Even the Indian ponies stood as if frozen, except for the occasional flick of a tail.

  Amanda had to force herself to replenish her lungs.

  “I suppose I should sing a hymn, too, as my last song.” Sarah Jane drew a fortifying breath:

  “I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger,

  While trav’ling through this world of woe,

  Yet there’s no sickness, toil or danger

  In that bright world to which I go.

  “I’m going home to see my father,

  I’m going there no more to roam,

  I’m only going over Jordan,

  I’m only going over home.

  “I know dark clouds will gather round me,

  I know my way is rough and steep.

  Yet beauteous fields lie just before me,

  Where God’s redeemed their vigils keep…”

  As the last note of the fifth stanza died away, Sarah moistened her lips and stood the guitar in the wagon bed, then bravely raised her chin.

  Amanda herself had yet to move. She could feel her heart throbbing, her pulse pounding in her ears. Now, awaiting her own most certain demise, she could only wonder what form of torture the two of them faced. How sad that someone so young and pretty as Sarah would meet such a tragic fate, would never find the dashing husband she dreamed of most of her life. If only Amanda could wake up and find this whole foolish idea had been only a dream. Independence could probably have used some good seamstresses… there were far worse places for the two of them to live.

  After an eternal moment, the brave in the center gave an almost imperceptible signal, and en masse, the band turned their mounts and galloped away. Without even looking back, they crested the top of a near rise and vanished from sight. “D—do you think they’ll come back, Mandy?” Sarah asked in a small voice.

  Amanda, as befuddled as her sister, merely shrugged.

  A ridiculous phrase of off-key singing burst from behind the hill. Then a howl of laughter.

  Sarah loosened her soggy blanket and stood. “Humph. They don’t even know good music when they hear it!”

  At this, Amanda, too, exploded into a giggle, then laughed hysterically until tears coursed down her cheeks. Though her sister joined halfheartedly, it was easy to see she didn’t quite see the humor of the moment. Amanda suddenly realized the Indians had thought her s
ibling was possessed by some strange spirit… one they were hesitant to anger. It made her laugh all the harder.

  Finally regaining control of her shattered nerves, she turned to Sarah. “Well, Sissy, we can thank the Good Lord for His protection this day. We could easily have made our entrance through the pearly gates.”

  Sarah paused in the process of stripping off her wet under-things. “I suppose you’re right. God definitely is looking after us.” But she leaned out, peering in the direction the Indians had taken, just to be sure.

  CHAPTER 7

  How’s it look up ahead?” Seth asked, riding alongside Red’s chestnut gelding in the late afternoon.

  “Well, coulda been worse.” His friend’s copper mustache spread with his grin. “I’d say we’ve wasted time aplenty. Cy an’ T. J. scouted far as the river, an’ say the Big Blue’s still pretty high from the rain. Trail’s hardening up, though. Reckon the worst of the storm passed behind us.”

  Seth nodded. “Yep, but we have other things to consider, pal. While I was collecting some strays, a bit ago, I spotted a handful of Kanza braves in the distance. Before they get ideas about helping themselves to the livestock, we need to double the guards till we move out of here tomorrow. Pass the word.”

  “Right, boss.”

  With a dry smile at his partner’s lighthearted formality, Seth waved and headed back toward the rear of the wagon train. The heavy rainfall had necessitated a few precious days’ wait for the ground to firm up again, but as Red declared, things could have been worse. Nevertheless, it was the Big Blue they had to worry about most. Always a crotchety river even at the best of times, when it was flowing high, the current was incredibly strong and swift.

  Skirting a cluster of cows grazing directly in his path, Seth navigated around them and rode to the crest of the knoll. He took out his spyglass and peered toward the rise where he’d glimpsed the Indians. There was no sign of them at the moment, but no telling where they’d gotten to. He moved the glass and searched what he could see of the undulating landscape.

  Just as he was about to inhale a breath of relief, the telescope picked up some movement. He blinked and looked again. No. It couldn’t be. He’d counted all the wagons on his way to talk to Red. How could there be a straggler? And several miles behind them, yet! He reined in for a better view.

  His heart sank at the sight of two very feminine forms in skirts and bonnets fussing about the winding, silvery ribbon that made up a narrow section of the stream. He had a very strong inclination exactly who’d be fool enough to travel alone in this sometimes-hostile country. “Of all the harebrained—”

  Seth took off his hat and rubbed his forehead on his sleeve before replacing it. Another look confirmed his worst fears, and angrily he slumped back into the saddle. It would serve that empty-headed female right if he simply let her and her sister keep on the way they were until they came face-to-face with that cantankerous river—see what they’d do about crossing those treacherous waters without a ferry. They’d discover soon enough how idiotic they were to set out by themselves. If they had a lick of sense they’d turn around now and return to Independence. Maybe the next train out would take them under supervision, but he wanted nothing to do with them.

  Red would never believe this. In fact, Seth had half a mind not to even mention the Shelby sisters to his partner. The last thing the company needed was to be slowed down by two girls who didn’t have the sense the Almighty gave a fencepost.

  But even as he enumerated in his mind the reasons why he should continue on as if he hadn’t seen them, the possibility that those wandering Indian braves might find them easy pickings cut across his resolve. A full train wasn’t likely to be attacked, but a single wagon out in the open with two vulnerable young women aboard might be another story entirely. No telling what gruesome fate would befall the Shelby girls then.

  Seth realized that the next train that happened along would blame him for whatever misfortune befell the pair and spread the word that he couldn’t look out for folks under his care. He’d never lost a family to Indians yet. Cholera and dysentery, yes, accidents and drownings. But even when the odd wagon rumbled apart on the rough trail, he’d always managed to find folks willing to lend a hand to the unfortunates. Emulating his idol, the famous trail guide Thomas Fitzpatrick, Seth was trying to earn a reputation for taking people all the way to their destination—and he wasn’t about to let all his hard work be ruined by the likes of Amanda Shelby.

  That decided, he ground his teeth and nudged his dapple-gray mount, Sagebrush, into a canter. He’d try one more lecture first, and in the unlikely event Miss Shelby still wouldn’t take his advice, he’d figure out what to do then.

  Amanda washed up the dishes from their early supper of the usual beans and biscuits while Sarah retired to the wagon to record the events of the day in her journal. Tomorrow they would leave this restful campsite. Ahead, miles of rolling prairie in all its green glory stretched to the sky.

  This had been their most pleasant stay so far, and restful, thanks to the torrential rain that had brought the journey to a halt. Of course, there had been the encounter with those half-naked Indian braves. Amanda would thank the Lord till her dying day that He’d kept them from harm. She still had qualms regarding further unknown dangers. But as long as the land remained so open, with its gently rolling hills and long prairie grasses, she and Sarah would fare well enough. Amanda couldn’t help wondering, though, what lay beyond the horizon.

  Standing to shake the excess water off the plates, she lifted her gaze far away to the west, then frowned. It had to be her imagination, the lone rider like a speck of black against the ocean of undulating green. And coming this way! A tingle of alarm skittered up her spine. Was this what they’d be facing every live-long day of this journey? Strange men everywhere they turned? Tomorrow when they stopped for their noon meal, she would get out Pa’s rifle and figure out how to use it. Amanda had seen him load and fire it often enough. Surely it couldn’t be so hard to master. After all, with Sarah being as fetching and winsome as she was, there might be dozens of occasions when some overly interested man might need to be convinced he should be on his way.

  That decided, she sloshed the heavy frying pan in the stream and then wiped it dry while she prayed again for protection. What time I am afraid, I will trust in Thee. The precious promise her parents had often quoted drifted to mind, bringing with it the assurance that God was still in control. An unexplainable calm began to soothe her jangled nerves. The cookery and utensils had been stowed away and the campfire doused by the time the rider was near enough for the horse’s hoofbeats to be heard. The man looked vaguely familiar, which struck Amanda as curious, since they had gotten to know only a few people during their stay at the hotel. But when he pushed back the brim of his dark hat, revealing his long-faced scowl, her heart sank. The wagon master! For an instant she entertained thoughts of trying to hide, but it was too late. She inhaled a deep breath and assumed an air of indifference as he rode up.

  “What do you think you are doing?” he demanded.

  Amanda, sitting on a crate, placed the apron she’d been stitching on her lap and looked up. “And good day to you, Mr. Holloway,” she returned sarcastically.

  “You heard me.” The wagon master’s brown eyes sizzled with fury as he glared at her from atop his mount, his granite expression hard and rigid as his posture.

  “Why, I believe it’s quite evident to anyone who can see.”

  “Yes, well, this has gone far enough. Turn this rig around tomorrow. Won’t take you any longer to get back to town than it did to get this far.”

  Amanda smiled thinly. “Thank you. That’s quite the brilliant deduction.” She rose casually and started toward the wagon to put her sewing away.

  Leather creaked as he shifted position in the saddle. “So you do have some sense after all.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She paused and turned, arching her brows.

  “You’re finally giving up on
this brainless notion of yours to head west.”

  Brainless! Amanda felt growing rage at the crass remark. Only her good breeding enabled her to restrain her tongue as she stared without blinking at the domineering, cantankerous man. “Not at all. My sister and I are getting along just fine… not that it’s any concern of yours, I might add.”

  “Is everything all right, Sissy?” Sarah Jane called, leaning to peer from the confines of the wagon.

  “Perfectly. Mr. Holloway came to wish us well. And now he’s leaving.”

  “In a dog’s age I am,” he bellowed. “Now, see here—”

  “Really, sir, whatever your purpose in forsaking your own duties to come here, you’ve said your piece. However, it does not change anything. So I would like you to… how did you put it? ‘Go back where you came from,’ wasn’t it?”

  A muscle worked in his jaw. He dismounted and reached to grab Amanda’s arm, but she shied away. He rolled his eyes. “Look, Miss Shelby,” he began, his patronizing tone an obvious ploy to get her to listen. “I know I sounded a mite blunt when I first rode in. I apologize. It was no way to speak to a lady. But I can’t seem to get through to you what you need to hear.”

  “Oh? And what might that be?” She crossed her arms in supreme disinterest.

  He filled his lungs and let the breath out all at once. When he spoke, his voice was much kinder, almost pleasant. “I must admit, I was surprised when I looked back and saw you coming. I wouldn’t have thought you’d make it this far.”

  Amanda, with an inward smile of satisfaction, had to remind herself not to gloat.

  “But I have to tell you,” he went on, his voice taking on a more ominous quality. “This is the easy part. When folks start out for Oregon they think the whole trail’s gonna be like this. But it’s not. Far from it. There’s hardship coming up. Real hardship. First off, there’s a mighty river just ahead. It’s running high and fast now from that rain, and there’s no ferry to make the crossing easy. We’ll have to float every wagon over it and hope none of them gets swept away in the current. After that will come the mountains. There’ll be places so steep we’ll have to haul the wagons up one at a time with ropes and chains, then let them down on the other side. ‘Course, a whole passel of them’ll rattle apart long before they ever make it that far. And don’t forget the watering holes we’ll come to that aren’t fit to drink. Folks and animals weak with thirst will drink anyway. And every one of them will get sick and die.”

 

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