The three of them—David, the driver, and the shotgun messenger, Hal, managed to get the straps off the dead horse without cutting any of them. It was an awful job, and they had to call upon the other two men to help roll the dead animal partway over, but at last they freed all the leather. David’s clothes were bloody when they finished. Old Blue sidled and snorted a bit when buckled in next to the remaining wheel horse, but he didn’t protest too violently, which encouraged David. Maybe they’d get to the next stage stop without further incident.
Two horsemen rode up from the direction of the river as the passengers were preparing to enter the coach again. After a brief explanation of what had happened, the two farmers on horseback decided to finish their journey with the stagecoach for safety. The shotgun rider tossed Blue’s saddle and bridle into the boot, and they set off with Sam’s body on the roof and Mr. Caudle inside with the sober passengers.
Millie and Mrs. Caudle sat together in the front, and David joined the two other male passengers on the rear seat, with Mr. Caudle lying on the bench in the middle. The two women wept incessantly—Mrs. Caudle with a loud keening and Millie in stoic silence. The tears streamed down her cheeks, and she swiped at them periodically with David’s handkerchief.
The next forty minutes dragged on and on. No chatter relieved the tension. The only interruption to Mrs. Caudle’s crying was when they started up a steep incline and her husband’s body slid off the seat, landing on the boots of the three gentlemen at the rear. She let out a scream, but David held out a hand toward her.
“Please, madam, control yourself. I believe your husband will rest easier on the floor until we reach the station. It’s not far.”
Millie put an arm around Mrs. Caudle and drew her back against the leather cushion. “There now, my dear. The Lord is welcoming him into glory. You must think of that and calm yourself.”
“But what of his trip to Washington?” Mrs. Caudle wailed. “Oh dear, I haven’t any black. I wonder, can I get dress goods in Boise?” She began her keening again, and Millie sat beside her with tear tracks glistening on her cheeks, patting the older woman’s hand and murmuring her sympathy.
Thoughts of glory would give Millie no comfort. David eyed her with new respect. Heaven’s gates would not open for Sam Hastings, he had no doubt about that. Millie must know it, too, and yet she offered sympathy without bitterness to Mrs. Caudle.
CHAPTER 6
They arrived at the swing station, and all tumbled out. The bodies were removed from the stage, and Mrs. Caudle sat down with the station agent to make arrangements for transporting her husband’s remains back to Oregon. Millie could see no alternative to having Sam buried there at the station. A small graveyard on the hill above the road was the resting place of two previously departed travelers, and the tenders, who took care of the teams, offered to dig a grave.
She had no money to pay them nor to hire a room for the night at the stage station. The few coins she’d had left were in the outlaws’ sack. Sam must have passed it to one of the others, as it wasn’t found at the scene of the robbery after they fled. That fact also left Mrs. Caudle destitute. The two male passengers grumbled about their losses as well, though each had planned for such an event and concealed some money about their persons. Sam had never reached David and the shotgun rider with his sack, and so the driver and the two women were the only ones who lost all their valuables.
The agent, a Mr. Kimball, remarkable for his fiery-red hair and beard, refused to make the driver wait. To Millie’s surprise, David let the stage go on without him. She’d figured he’d want to get as far from her as he could. Instead, he got a cup of coffee from Kimball’s wife and took it outside. Millie and Mrs. Caudle sat down in the dining room.
“We don’t normally serve meals,” Mrs. Kimball told them, “but sometimes it’s a plain necessity.”
She served the ladies tea and biscuits.
“I can’t eat a bite,” Mrs. Caudle said, so Millie felt justified in eating all four biscuits. No telling when she would get another meal.
Mrs. Caudle had arranged for one of the men to build a coffin for her husband.
Mr. Kimball brought her some money, saying, “I’ve changed your ticket for you, madam, so that you can head back to Oregon on tomorrow’s westbound.”
“And they’ll carry Mr. Caudle, too?” the widow asked in a quavery tone.
“Aye, they should be able to put the box on the roof.” Mr. Kimball refunded most of her money for her husband’s ticket, since he would travel for less as freight, and so the lady had enough money to see her home. He’d kept back enough to pay for the materials for the coffin and to pay the man who built it fair wages.
Two hours after they arrived, he came back into the house and approached the table where they still sat. “The grave is ready, Mrs. Evans.”
Millie rose, feeling stiff and empty. Sam wouldn’t even have a rough coffin, as Mr. Caudle would. But Sam had grown up poor, and she didn’t think he’d mind.
David Stone and Mrs. Caudle joined her. Mr. Kimball drove the ladies in his wagon to the burial plot among the weeds, and David walked along behind, with the two tenders. The four men lifted the body out of the wagon bed and lowered it into the ground, wrapped in a blanket Kimball had given for the purpose—saying he would add it to Mrs. Evans’s bill.
She didn’t know how she’d pay for that, and she supposed she’d be charged for the night’s lodging as well, but she wasn’t about to reveal her penury to the host now.
Her tears welled up as the men settled the body in the hole. Poor Sam. He’d had no idea how to go about living, and so he’d done it badly. Some people learned from their mistakes, but Sam wasn’t that kind. The fact that Millie hadn’t been able to help him—had in fact, up until the last few months, encouraged him to live in crime—saddened her.
God had grabbed hold of her and changed her. Even if she looked the same on the outside, she was different in her heart. She ought to have done a better job explaining that to Sam.
The tenders climbed out of the grave and stood back, leaving the passengers and the station agent near the edge. Mr. Kimball opened his Bible, and Millie sobbed.
David should have left with the stagecoach, but he felt so guilty, he couldn’t go on and leave Millie to bury her brother alone. He told himself repeatedly he had no reason to feel remorse. Sam had brought this on himself. And David owed him no loyalty. Still, he stayed.
As they stood by the grave, Kimball read a psalm from his battered Bible. The sun set behind the mountains, and David’s mind roamed.
Kimball startled him by saying, at the end of the psalm, “Mr. Stone, would you say a few words?”
David nearly choked but managed to turn the reflex into a cough while he did some quick thinking. He couldn’t say what a fine man Sam was or that he was in a better place.
“I was sorry to see Sam Hastings come to this end,” he said. “He chose his path, and this is where it led him. May we all learn from this and seek to do what’s right. Shall we all recite the Lord’s Prayer together?”
That ensured everyone closed their eyes and didn’t stare at him. They repeated the words together, with even Millie joining in, her voice faltering toward the end as she wept. David passed her another clean handkerchief—the last until he managed to have some laundry done. She accepted it meekly and pressed it to her eyes.
The two hired men stayed behind to fill in the grave, and David walked back to the station house. He let the wagon outdistance him. When he came to the barn, Kimball was unharnessing his horses, and the ladies were nowhere to be seen.
The blue roan nickered from a nearby corral, and David walked over to stroke Old Blue’s nose. They would have to pay for overnight accommodations, and he doubted Millie’s purse could stand the strain. He walked into the barn.
“Mr. Kimball.”
“Yes?” The host hung a set of harness on a peg and turned toward him.
“That roan horse that belonged to Mrs. Evans’s br
other—perhaps you might consider buying it from her.”
Kimball’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t need another saddle horse.”
“No? He’s a good mount, and if nothing else, you could resell him.”
Kimball scratched his chin through his red beard. “Maybe so.”
David took that for what it was worth and strolled to the house. They spent a bleak evening there. Mrs. Kimball prepared a room for Mrs. Caudle and Millie, but David had to bunk in with the tenders in a small room partitioned off in the barn. One of them stayed up late, constructing a casket by lamplight for Mr. Caudle’s remains, and his sawing and pounding kept David awake.
The next morning a westbound stage went through and took Mrs. Caudle and the corpse of her husband. Everyone around the station seemed to breathe easier after that. A couple of troopers came by, bound for the Green River, and Millie prevailed on them to take a letter for her.
Another eastbound stage would not pass through until the next day. David borrowed fishing gear from their host, paid twenty-five cents to Mrs. Kimball to pack him a lunch, and set out for a leisurely ramble along a stream. Anything to avoid seeing Millie’s tear-reddened eyes all day.
He found a place to sit in the shade and half-heartedly cast his line. If he’d claimed Old Blue, he might have ridden him on eastward. David began to wish he’d forsaken the stagecoach line and gone on alone, despite the risks of facing Indians and robbers. But it was too late for that, and if Mr. Kimball bought the horse, Millie would have enough to allow her to eat between here and Fort Laramie. He leaned back and settled his hat lower, prepared to catch a nap.
He was almost put out when he started getting nibbles, but after he pulled in his first fish—a foot-long trout—he began to feel a little more enthusiastic. As the sun began to lower, he ambled back to the station with four good-sized fish. Mrs. Kimball accepted them with thanks and told him he wouldn’t have to pay for his supper or breakfast, since he’d earned his keep. She also informed him that a small wagon train of freighters had passed through heading west, the first of the season.
After supper, Kimball approached David as he lounged in a rocking chair on the porch.
“The lady said that one of the outlaws stole the roan from you, and I should bargain with you for it, sir.”
David eyed the fellow in surprise. Millie obviously needed money, yet she’d passed up an easy deal? “No, he didn’t steal it. The horse belonged to her brother. Give her the money.”
Kimball hesitated. “All right, then. He’s not much of a coach horse though. I suppose I could sell him as a saddle horse.”
Remembering the dead horse at the scene of the robbery, David arched his eyebrows. “Did our driver yesterday speak to you about removing the dead horse from the road?”
“Yes sir. My men went out this morning with a team and cleared it before the westbound got there.”
David nodded. “Good. And don’t forget, Mrs. Evans has a saddle and bridle to sell you with that roan.”
Kimball left him, and David rocked and watched the stars grow brighter.
“Mr. Stone?”
“Yes?” He turned at the soft, feminine voice.
Millie left the doorway and came over close to him.
“The station agent has offered me thirty-five dollars for the horse and saddle. I know he’s worth more than that, but I haven’t time to stop and find another buyer.”
“Do as you wish,” David said.
“But Old Blue is yours, sir.”
David stood, shaking his head. “No, I gave him to your brother. And I told Kimball to deal with you.”
“I thought you might like to keep him or try yourself to drive a better bargain. Sometimes a man can do better than a woman at this type of business transaction.”
David felt his face flush. He wanted only to end this embarrassing conversation. “Char—Mrs. Evans, your brother had that horse for nearly two years. I gave him Old Blue to use while he was in my employ, and once we’d parted ways—well, I never expected to see the horse again. Please consider it your brother’s gift to you, as he wished.”
“I can’t do that. Please!” Tears streaked her cheeks.
David sighed. He’d run out of handkerchiefs, an untenable situation for a gentleman. “If there had been time before Sam died, I’d have told him to consider the horse his, to do with as he pleased. Since there was no such opportunity—I felt the time was better left for you to say your good-byes—I didn’t make it a formal gift to him. But I’m telling you now: That is how I looked upon it. I never thought to reclaim the horse.”
“You’re very good, sir, considering how Sam and I treated you.”
“That is neither here nor there. If you wish, you may tell Mr. Kimball I said that horse and his saddle are worth at least fifty dollars, and he ought to give you that much. He has to resell it, and of course he wants to profit by the transaction. But I think fifty would be fair in this case.”
“Thank you. I’ll tell him.” She smiled ruefully. “I considered keeping him and riding on by myself, but they say it isn’t safe in these parts.”
“So I’ve heard. Despite the fact that stagecoaches seem to draw outlaws, I believe you’re safer with the stage than you would be alone in this wilderness.”
“Yes, my conclusion as well.” She drew in a breath, and for a moment David saw again the beauty he’d squired in Scottsburg. “I’ll bring you the money—”
David held up his hand to silence her. “Let us say no more about this.”
Millie ducked her head and turned away.
David knew he couldn’t sit opposite—or worse yet, beside—her tragic figure for days or even weeks as they journeyed east across the Oregon Trail. Before retiring to the barn for the night, he sought out Mr. Kimball. He’d have to wait another two days for the next stage, but in David’s mind, it would be worth it. He had no deadline, and he would be much more at ease if he didn’t have to board the same stagecoach as Millie.
The next day, an hour before noon, the stage approached from the Snake River. The tenders had the fresh team ready, and Millie came out of the house dressed as she had been the whole trip, in a plain but serviceable dress. She’d replaced the wide-brimmed hat with a cloth bonnet.
Mr. Kimball walked to the coach and opened the door. The four passengers inside got out to stretch their legs. Mr. Kimball handed Millie inside. She peered out the window. David could tell the moment she spotted him on the porch. Her brow furrowed. She was wondering, no doubt, if he was going to board. He turned and went into the house. Mrs. Kimball was pouring coffee for one of the eastbound passengers, and David got a cup from her.
Ten minutes later, the stagecoach left with a blast of a horn and a drumming of hooves.
Mr. Kimball came inside a moment later and walked to where David sat. “Mrs. Evans asked me to give you this.”
David unfolded the paper. Two five-dollar bills fell out on the table. She must have written the note earlier and planned to give it to him in the stagecoach, where he couldn’t escape. He shouldn’t feel guilty that he’d forsaken her company. The woman was relentless. Still, he felt a pang as he read her words:
Mr. Stone—
I don’t presume to call you David now, though you once asked me to. Thank you for your assistance at this difficult time. This money replaces what I took from you in Scottsburg. I beg you to believe me, that I am not the same woman you knew then, and I am very sorry. I had no part in the holdup, and I had no inkling Sam and his cohorts were planning it. God has forgiven my sins, and I hope someday you will, too.
Mildred Evans
CHAPTER 7
Millie huddled in her corner of the seat, avoiding conversation. The stage headed across the Idaho Territory and would dip south when they neared the old Fort Hall. They would follow the wagon train route most of the way, though it was too early in the season to meet many emigrant trains. Freighters were another story. Many mule trains were heading west with supplies for merchants in the Oregon Te
rritory.
Millie’s spirits sank to an all-time low as she contemplated Sam’s death and David’s final insult—he’d refused to travel on with her. She had no doubt that his reason for not boarding the coach was her presence. He would rather stall in the wilderness an extra two days than share the same space with her. When she’d first realized they were fellow travelers, her heart had leaped. She’d had her chance to apologize and return his property. If only he would believe in her once more—but perhaps that was too much to expect.
Tears sprang into her eyes, and she reached for her handkerchief. Her hand came out with David’s crumpled one. She’d intended to wash it at the Kimballs’ and return it, but she’d forgotten. If she ever got his address again, maybe she could send him a dozen nice handkerchiefs.
Immediately she knew that would be foolish. David couldn’t bear to be with her. He certainly wouldn’t want to receive another reminder of her wickedness. He might even think she was mocking him—after all, he’d gotten that ridiculous notion that she’d signaled Sam and Lucky by dropping her handkerchief out the window. If she didn’t care so much for his good will, she would find that amusing.
The driver yelled, and his whip cracked. Millie gasped and clutched the handkerchief to her breast. Not another holdup. If Lucky’s men had found their way over here and gotten ahead of them again, she’d give them a piece of her mind.
The recollection that Lucky had been shot—Mr. Caudle had fired his pistol point blank into the man’s abdomen—set her head whirling as the stage leaped forward and the team’s hooves pounded on the trail. Sam’s death was probably due to his kindheartedness in helping Lucky get on a horse and escape. She seriously doubted that the outlaw was in any condition today to ambush stagecoaches.
Nothing halted their progress now, and the horses ran on for what seemed an age. The passengers held on to whatever they could grab to brace themselves. No one spoke, but all had strained faces. The driver continued to urge the horses on, but no percussions of gunfire came, and no shouts to halt and deliver their money.
THE Prairie DREAMS Trilogy Page 69
