Prairie Song

by Cheryl Anne Porter

  “Get up. You’re coming with me.”

  Kate jerked around. And froze. It was him. Again. Gulping back her tears, she silently stared up at him. Why, he’d walked right up behind her—and she hadn’t even heard him. Her heart pounded in her throat. She couldn’t even speak, she was so terrified. All she could do was … be afraid.

  He stood there in front of her, his thumbs hitched in the gun belt that rode low on his narrow hips. There was no doubt in her heart, from seeing the way he wore it, that he knew how to use the huge Colt revolver holstered there. “I said … you’re coming with me, ma’am.”

  “I’m not going anywhere—”

  “Fine. Then you can sit here and wait for all those men over at the saloon to get good and liquored up and come looking for you.”

  Kate’s gasp was accompanied by her swiveling atop her box until she was staring in the direction of the saloon. Loud music, loud chatter, and laughter spilled out of the bar … along with several lurching, singing men, among them that horrid Mr. Simms from the train.

  “You can see it’s like I said, ma’am.”

  Kate pivoted back around to look up at the stranger in front of her. “I was passing by there,” he said, “heading for the general store, when I heard them talking about what a fine figure you cut in that green dress. They aim to see what’s under it. So, the way I see it, the choice is yours. You can come with me. Or you can wait here for them and their … tender mercies.”

  His words froze her insides. The way she saw it, what he offered her wasn’t salvation, but a choice between death sentences. Finally, she found her voice. “How do I know that you’re not … just as bad?”

  That got a humorless chuckle from him. “Well, I don’t guess you do. All I can tell you is … I didn’t have to come back. But I did.”

  Kate realized that was true enough, but still … “Why would you do that? You don’t even know me.”

  “I have my reasons,” he said. And that was all.

  Not the least bit comforted, Kate could only stare up at him. Until a horrible thought occurred to her. “Are you the law?” she blurted out. “Am I under arrest for loitering? I saw the signs about not—”

  “I’m not the law.” With that, he leaned over and took hold of her arm. His hand on her arm, even through her clothing, was warm … but his grip was unyielding. Kate tensed, wanting to pull away, but sensed that if she tried, he’d only grip her harder. Then, as he hauled her to her feet, still holding on to her, but bending over to pick up her much-maligned knapsack, he asked, “Is this box yours?”

  Kate took the knapsack from him and clutched it to her heart as if it offered protection. She then looked back down at her perch, the box he’d just asked her about. “No, it’s not mine. Well, yes, I guess it is. I mean, it was just sitting there.”

  Sliding his hand down to her elbow, he bent again to pick up the box. Straightening up to tower over her, he looked into her eyes. “Now, I take it you’re of a mind to accompany me, right? You won’t be screaming or anything?”

  Kate knew she ought to, but she thought about the drunks over by the saloon … and weighed their intent against this man’s hand on her. She hated it, but the truth was … right now she had to trust somebody. And as he said, he hadn’t had to come back for her. She made her decision. “I won’t be screaming. But just so we both know, I’m coming with you only because I don’t have any choice.”

  He nodded, his dark eyes sparking with some emotion. “Fair enough,” was all he said as, still holding on to her, he set them in motion, away from the crowds and the drunks on Summit Street. And toward the crowds of families out at Walnut Creek camp.

  Kate breathed a little easier for that, having already figured that was where the decent folks were. Decent folks who wouldn’t let a man harm a woman, folks who would come to her aid. And besides, maybe she could still find the Jacobs family once they got out there. “What are you going to do with me?” she asked.

  That stopped him. “Do with you?” He stared down at her, his expression that of dispassionate granite. Kate had all she could do not to cringe. Then, tugging on her arm, he hauled them out of the flow of the foot traffic on the walking path where they’d been, and said, his voice low, “What exactly do you think I’m going to do with you?”

  Kate’s heart knocked against her breastbone. Too afraid to speak, she looked up at him, not feeling any more safe for realizing that despite her height, she barely came to his shoulder. Finally, she managed to say, “I … I don’t really know. Like I don’t know where exactly you’re taking me. Or what your intentions are when you get there. Or even who you are. And I think, under the circumstances, I have the right to know those things. Or to scream for help.”

  A huff of breath left him. He shook his head and kept on walking with her. “All right. Fair enough. I’m taking you to my wagon, where three kids are waiting. My intentions are to make a proposal to you. And my name is Cole Youngblood.”

  When he said his name, Kate forgot about the wagon, the kids, and the proposal part. Cole Youngblood? Her blood ran cold. Mr. Talmidge’s hired killer. Servant talk below stairs had spread this man’s reputation, along with those of the other killers their employer hired from time to time. But especially of this man. Even back East, chilling tales were told of his feats and exploits. And now, here he was, holding on to her arm and leading her away into the night.

  Stiff with fear, yet still marching along at the hired killer’s side, Kate’s desperately plunging thoughts worked in circles around themselves. What should she do? Jerk her arm out of his grip and run away? He’d only catch her. Besides, where could she run, if she did get away? To the sheriff—who had his hands full, along with the army of cavalry sent in by the president, with keeping order among ten thousand people bloating his small town? How accommodating would he be for one lone woman?

  Not at all, Kate realized. But finally, her thoughts began to sort themselves out, unraveling enough to become logical and thus calm her some. This gunslinger doesn’t know who I am. Or I’d already be dead. He could have shot me out there by that tree, off alone like I was. But he didn’t. So maybe Mr. Talmidge hired another of his paid killers to come after me. And not this man. Which meant that maybe the safest place for her was, unbelievably enough, with him. Especially when the real hired killer came looking for her. And she knew one would.

  So, she was thinking, if she stuck by Cole Youngblood now and got to know him, maybe even became useful to him in some way—she shied away from thinking in what way—then maybe he could come to respect her. And if that happened, then she could take him into her confidence, tell him what had really happened. Why, he might even take her side and help her, when the time came. It sounded crazy, she knew, but really … why not? He’d stepped in now, this evening, to help her. Or so he’d said. She still didn’t know yet if he was telling the truth.

  Kate glanced over at Cole Youngblood. Could she trust him? Did a hired killer have a heart? And what could he really want from her? For that matter, what did she have to offer him? She knew. Only herself. But she wasn’t about to be offering herself to a man, any man, anytime soon. Maybe not ever again. Not that he’d want her, whether she wanted him or not. Because she was carrying another man’s child. Sudden anger swelled Kate’s heart. So what am I supposed to do? Continue to be pulled around by the hand by every man who takes a notion that he needs me? But only until he’s done with me and decides to do away with me?

  Sure, she could allow that to keep happening. Or she could put a stop to it and start living her life on her own terms. Wasn’t that the notion that had gotten her this far? Yes, it was. And so she would. She didn’t know what this hired killer wanted with her—something about kids and a wagon and a proposal—but one thing she did know was, no matter what it turned out to be … it’d be on her terms. Because, push come to shove, she could just walk away. Nobody had her tied up in his bedroom right now. Or would ever again. Because she was a free woman. And a free woman she wo
uld remain.

  There. Now she felt better … even being pulled along by a man who, as the legends had it, had ice water running through his veins. Again she glanced over at him, furtively noting now—against her will—just how handsome a man he was. Dark eyes and hair, high cheekbones, clean-shaven, a full pleasing mouth. Well, handsome he may be, Kate fumed, but that doesn’t change a thing. Mr. Talmidge was a handsome man, too—and it hadn’t stopped him from being heartlessly cruel.

  Just then, Kate stumbled and pitched forward over a huge exposed rock hidden in the grassy edge of the wagon path. Cole Youngblood saved her from falling by whipping an arm around her waist and steadying her against his side. “Whoa, there. Easy. Watch your step.”

  “I’m fine,” was Kate’s terse answer as she shrugged out of his embrace and stepped back, away from the feel of the man’s hard-muscled body against hers. Then she just stood there … scared yet defiant, her senses alert to the growing yet dispassionate clanking and groaning of the big wagons now passing by within mere feet of where she stood. Alert to the sweating scent of the plodding teams of mules hitched to the schooners. Alert to the cramped closeness of the hungering humanity flowing around her like a strong wind current. And … alert to the forbidding presence of the hired killer facing her.

  Who narrowed his eyes, considering her as if she were some curiosity he couldn’t figure out. Then he shrugged. “You don’t look fine, but if you say you are … then, fine.” Without another word, he turned and left her there. Along with the hundreds of other folks sharing the path with them and intent on the same destination, he walked on toward the tree-sheltered camp.

  That surprised Kate … that he’d left her standing there. She was free to go. She truly was. She didn’t have to follow him. He wasn’t making her do so, that much was plain. She looked back toward town. Remembered the drunks. And pivoted to see Cole Youngblood’s retreating figure being swallowed up by the crowd. Her mouth quirked as she considered the hard realities, the tough choices, that were her life. But again she did the sensible thing, the only thing she could.

  Clutching her knapsack under an arm and holding up her skirt’s hem, she took off after him, finally catching up to him and slowing down to a walk at his side. For his part, he said or did nothing to acknowledge her presence, just kept walking. That was fine with her. She’d learned her lesson. Being too much in her own thoughts right now, when she needed instead to be minding her feet, could have her misstepping again and maybe pitching herself into the muddy ditch to her left. Which meant he’d think he had to help her out. Which meant … he’d have to put his hands on her again.

  That thought alone had Kate concentrating on the moment, on her surroundings. And suddenly marveling at the sights and sounds. Not two minutes ago, this people-choked path had seemed overwhelming to her, had made her fear being swept away. But now she pronounced it wonderful and exciting. It was true, she realized, feeling her spirits lift. For, even at this early evening hour, the narrow road she trod—one still muddy from a recent rainstorm, as evidenced by the downed branches that littered the ground—was clogged with an endless parade of would-be settlers in white-canvased wagons, all making their way out to Walnut Creek and the camp there.

  Despite herself, her uncertainties, and even her fears, Kate found herself suddenly invigorated by all the hustle and bustle around her. Amazing. A most wonderful sight to see. Uplifting. Finally she recaptured the sense of something outside herself, of an event bigger than her problems. An event that could absorb all these people, a land that could hold them all. A land that was to be her salvation. She must never lose sight of that, she warned herself. Must always remember that.

  Just then, the temporary settlement finally came into view, began to take shape, to sort itself out into clusters of campers. The sight of so many families prompted Kate to speak the one thought uppermost in her mind, the one that had nagged her all the way out here.

  “Those children you mentioned.” He looked over at her, his hard-eyed gaze like a hawk’s. She swallowed, but managed, “Are they … yours?”

  He shook his head no. “My sister’s.”

  “Oh. Then she’s here with them?” Everything would probably be okay if another woman was with him.

  “No. She’s dead. Same as her husband.”

  Comfort fled from Kate, at the same time that a rawboned, skinny dog out on the wagon path suddenly yelped, drawing Kate’s attention, as he shied away from the massive rolling wheels of a particularly large schooner. Unharmed and unbidden, the yellow dog fell into step with Kate and nudged her hand with his wet nose until she let go of her skirt and patted its head absently. She then glanced up at the no-nonsense man striding along at her side. “I’m sorry about your kin.”

  He nodded his acknowledgment of her condolences, but didn’t say anything. Kate swallowed, not so easy to do with her throat constricting. This Cole Youngblood was a difficult man to talk to. How was she ever going to get into his confidences?

  “What’s your name?”

  Kate jumped, felt her heart do the same. Before she could think better of the impulse, she answered. “Kate Chandler.”

  He stopped, turned to her. Folks bumped into them, finally moved around them. At her side, the hound dog stopped, too, and sat down. Kate spared it a glance before meeting Cole Youngblood’s gaze. The man’s expression could have been chiseled from marble. “Chandler? Not Candless?”

  “No. Not Candless. Chandler. Kate Chandler,” she was forced to repeat, even though she already realized her mistake. With fear running amok inside her, she reminded herself that despite all her rationalizations to the contrary, he could still be the very killer sent to end her life. She needed to remember that. His reaction to her name told her that he was most likely on the trail of someone. But maybe only someone who’d cheated him at cards, for all she knew. Not that she believed that for a moment … given the way he was silently watching her even now.

  His somber gaze considered her face, her expression, from all angles. “Where’d you come here from?”

  More on her toes now mentally, Kate said, “Kentucky.” It was true. She’d had to change trains in Kentucky to get here to Arkansas City.

  “Where in Kentucky?”

  Kate blinked. Now, where in tarnation had that train station been? Then it came to her. She blurted it out, along with a little white lie. “Russellville. I have family there. An aunt and an uncle.”

  Again he looked her up and down … in much the same way an undertaker would size up someone for a coffin. “What’s a woman like you doing here by yourself?”

  Kate swallowed, felt a trickle of sweat run down her spine. “Same as everyone else. I’m here to make the land run.”

  His dark eyebrows rose. “The land run? A woman alone?”

  Kate’s temper surged to the fore—which instantly pleased and comforted her. She’d feared she’d be cowed forever. But apparently not. “Yes, Mr. Youngblood. A woman alone. What’s wrong with that?”

  His expression changed, became mocking. “You tell me. You were the one sitting on a box and crying.”

  Kate felt her face heat up. Her chin notched up. “Instead, Mr. Youngblood, why don’t you tell me what you’re doing here?”

  “Family business.”

  And Kate knew somehow that’s all he would say about it. But it was fine with her. She didn’t intend to answer any more of his questions, either. Besides that, she was nearly out of breath from scooting along beside him. But if he noticed her breathing hard, he didn’t care because he again took her arm and set them off along the crowded path. Kate grabbed up her skirt and again had to hop over a rock big enough to trip her. The skinny yellow dog bounded effortlessly over it.

  In another few moments, they reached the cover of a stand of black willow and river birch at the creek bottom. Low, overhanging branches further lengthened the evening shadows around them. Lanterns winked on in some of the near wagons. Men gathered in knots, maps spread out before them. Children ran a
mong the wagons and between the different campsites, laughing and hooting. Women chatted over campfires as they tended babies and cook pots.

  But still, Cole Youngblood walked on with her. As she passed by the families, Kate expected to feel comforted by their relative closeness. But the feeling didn’t come. How could it … with Cole Youngblood being even closer?

  As if he read her thoughts, felt her discomfort, the man stopped and faced her. The yellow hound dog stopped with them. It lay down and rested its large head on its front paws. Kate looked around and saw they were now standing off to one edge of the congested camp under a knot of sycamores, isolated somehow in the forest of humanity around them. She then met the gunslinger’s cold gaze … and refilled her lungs with deep breaths of courage. The good Lord alone knew what would happen now. With no choice but to wait for the man in front of her to speak, Kate renewed her grip on her knapsack, shifted her weight … and waited.

  “You need to know,” he stated abruptly, “that it was no mistake I found you just now. I’ve been looking for you off and on for most of the afternoon.”

  A jet of fear chased down Kate’s spine. In her mind, there was only one reason why Cole Youngblood would be looking for her. “You were … looking for me? Why?”

  Grimacing, as if the answer to her question didn’t come easily to him, he yanked off his Stetson and hit it against his denim-covered thigh, knocking a dust cloud loose from the hat. Even in the long shadows, Kate could see the red line striping his broad forehead where the hat’s band had pressed tightly against his skin. Resettling his hat on his head, he finally said, “Because of the fact that you are here alone.”

  Kate’s heart leaped. She thought of the baby she carried. She wasn’t alone. But out loud, and forcing calm on herself, she said, “Yes. I’m alone.”

  “And you’re here for some land.”

  A sense of wonder, and no small amount of relief, washed over her. He truly doesn’t know who I am. “I’ve said as much, yes.”