by Judith Pella
Griff McCulloch seemed a tolerable enough sort for an outlaw. His company, at least, was far more preferable to what she had left on the Stoner Ranch. She could not picture herself spending the rest of her life with a band of outlaws. But for now she had no complaints as long as they continued to heed their leader’s threat regarding her. She feared being the cause or the object of further violence.
She remembered once resolving never to be helpless, not to allow Leonard to defeat her. In the time that had followed, especially while she sat in jail, that resolve had broadened to encompass more than Leonard, who by then was dead and could no longer dominate her. She had always considered herself a strong and independent person. Two years with the Stoners proved what a frivolous impression that was. She was, after all, only a woman. Any man could have anything he wanted from her by sheer physical prowess. She was helpless. Her inner determination did not matter a whit.
Her present predicament was proof. She needed these outlaws. There was no way she could survive in this wilderness alone. She could not even shoot a gun, either to defend herself or to hunt food for survival. She could ride as well or better than many men, but she had no idea of direction, nor of how to find the right trail. She could not endure on sheer stubbornness alone.
But couldn’t she learn?
Maybe she’d never be as strong as Sid Miller, but she was certainly more intelligent. If an oaf like that could learn to get about in the wilderness, why couldn’t she?
“Mr. McCulloch,” she said suddenly, as she rode behind him on his palomino, “when we reach your hideout, would you teach me how to shoot a gun?”
“Uh … did you say ‘shoot a gun’?” This took him by complete surprise.
“Yes.”
“I don’t see why not, if you promise never to shoot me.” He chuckled.
“I promise.”
She almost laughed at herself for her silliness, yet her request made her feel good at the same time. It was similar to the way that derringer had once made her feel. In the end she hadn’t gotten any actual use out of it, but it had given her a sense of control.
She would learn to take care of herself.
It might not happen right away, but one day she would have control over her own destiny. She would not need a man. She would not need anyone.
That afternoon the crooked line of the Red River appeared on the horizon. The dull river snaked its way lazily between its sandy banks lined with oaks and some elms and cottonwoods. The riders picked their way carefully down a little-used trail that led down a rocky ridge toward the riverbank. Keeping within the cover of the trees, they followed the water course along the south bank, eastward, for several miles until they came to the best place to ford the river.
Griff was glad to note the area was as deserted as it had been the last time he was there a couple years ago. He commented to Deborah that the war had pretty much slowed down settlement this far west. There were some settlements farther east, downriver, but thus far, no one but a few trappers and mountain men had been adventurous enough to disturb this particular valley. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t be long before people would begin to discover the redeeming qualities of this wilderness.
Deborah had never seen such a wild and lonely place. She imagined savage Indians hiding behind every tree. If Griff McCulloch had a hideout here in the middle of nowhere, she wondered how safe it could be. But she had long ago decided she feared Indians less than the life she had just escaped. Moreover, the outlaws’ guns offered a fairly substantial protection against attack by Indians armed with more primitive weapons. They had certainly outmatched those Kiowa several days ago. Would her first lessons in the use of a gun be in an Indian battle? The idea both frightened and exhilarated her.
Reaching the north bank, the party of riders continued on for another two hours. As the sun dipped down behind the flat-topped hills in the west, Deborah began to think they would have to make another camp before reaching their destination. Now that they were so near, she was anxious to have the long trek over with. She had no idea what she’d find at the end of the trail, how rustic or primitive the hideout was, but she was nevertheless ready for a long rest. As much as she loved being on horseback, her bones and muscles were aching from the continuous jostling over rough terrain.
“Here we are!” announced Griff. “Just beyond that ridge.”
Deborah could see nothing even closely resembling a human habitation. They had to climb a narrow trail, around the steep ridge, with tall trees on either side. And then, there it was! It was an ideal location for a hideout. Unless you were looking for it, or stumbled upon it by accident, it was doubtful anyone would venture along this roundabout path. The cabin was set back against the rock of the ridge, with trees growing almost up to the very walls of the log structure. The clearing surrounding it was small, but large enough for a dozen horses to graze comfortably.
“I found this place about five years ago,” said Griff to his passenger. “Used to be a trapper’s cabin, I reckon. Can’t imagine anyone else settling way out here—and, of course, back then it was even more hostile out here than it is now.”
“And you are the only one who knows about it?”
“Far as I know. I ain’t never seen no sign of disturbance, not even by Indians. We still have to keep a lookout, though. You just never know.”
“How long has it been since you have been here?”
“Two … three years—”
“Two years, Griff,” interjected one of the outlaws named Longjim Sands, a short, muscular man with a black beard and coal black eyes to match. “Remember, it was just after that Butterfield job when you took a slug in your—”
“Oh, yeah,” said Griff quickly.
Though it was obvious Griff wasn’t particularly keen on having an embarrassing story repeated, especially in front of a lady, Longjim continued, “That whole job was a botch, weren’t it, boss? All along we were thinking it was gonna be a simple stage robbery until we found ourselves face-to-face with a company of Union cavalry. Turned out that stage was carrying a Union gold shipment. We hightailed it outta there at a dead gallop. But we didn’t get away before one of the passengers, some easterner looking for glory in the wild west no doubt, emptied his shotgun at us. Don’t see how you could forget, Griff. Why, you couldn’t sit for—”
“Don’t bore the lady, Longjim,” Griff said gruffly, reining his horse sharply away from his talkative associate. “Let’s quit the yammering and get unloaded. I want some real cooking tonight.”
After one look inside the cabin, Deborah decided it would be days before it would be fit for cooking—or any other kind of civilized living. The few furnishings, all coarse and spare, were covered in a thick layer of dust. A table with benches cut from an unfinished log split in half sat in the middle of the one-room cabin. There was a small work table, built in the same rustic style as the big table, against a wall, with two shelves above it containing an assortment of dusty tin dinnerware and various black iron kettles. The only cabinet in the room, with a door hanging off its hinges, displayed a supply of tin goods, equally covered with dust and cobwebs. A hearth, built of stone, was the only attractive thing in the room; whoever had built the cabin had taken some care with it, at least. Deborah realized this was not only the source of heat for the place, but the cookstove as well.
One of her first thoughts was how these cramped quarters could possibly accommodate eight outlaws and her. Apparently Griff had given this some thought also. He strode over to where a dingy brown curtain hung across a section of the wall. Pulling it aside, he revealed a small alcove, no larger than the bed which was wedged into it.
“You can bunk here,” he said. “Me and the boys’ll sleep out under the stars.”
Deborah walked to the bed and laid a hand on the mattress. To her astonishment, it was stuffed with feathers and invitingly soft. It would be a great improvement over the bed of hard earth she had occupied over the last days. A stack of wool blankets sat at the foot of t
he bed. There were no pillows or sheets, but otherwise she felt she could be quite comfortable there. She didn’t argue about getting the only bed in the place. Most of the men would sleep outside, anyway.
“Now for supper!” said Griff, eagerly rubbing his hands together. He grabbed a kettle from a shelf, wiped his hand around inside, and plunked it down on the worktable.
“Mr. McCulloch,” said Deborah, “all of these things will have to be washed before they can be used.”
He looked at her for a instant as if she were completely mad, and seemed about ready to respond in some negative fashion. Then he thought better of it. “Hey, Slim, come here.” He grabbed a blanket from the bed, spread it on the dirt floor, and began dumping the dishes and cooking things into the middle of the blanket. When it was full he gathered up the corners of the blanket into a bundle and shoved it at Slim. “Take this stuff down to the creek and wash it. I’ll get a fire going.”
Deborah smiled apologetically. “I am sorry, Mr. McCulloch. I’m not much accustomed to the … rustic life.”
“No … I don’t reckon you would be. Just remember what my daddy used to say to me. ‘Son,’ he’d say, ‘just plan on eating a couple of cups of dirt afore you die. It’s good for the constitution.’”
“I will try to keep that in mind, Mr. McCulloch, but it will take some getting used to.”
Then she set about trying to put the room in some order so as to expedite the preparation of supper. First, she found a bucket in a corner. Cobwebs crisscrossed its interior, but otherwise it seemed sound.
“Where is the creek, Mr. McCulloch?” she asked. “I need to fetch water for supper.”
Griff looked up from where he was laying out wood for a fire in the hearth. “Let the boys do that, ma’am. They need to stretch after riding all day, anyway.” He yelled out the door and flung the pail at the first outlaw to respond.
Deborah peeked in the cabinet. By the look of the size and appetites of her outlaw rescuers, she did not think it would take long for them to consume what was there. It could easily be gone by tomorrow. That raised another question that had been nagging at her for some time, although it was only now, faced with the tangible prospects of the cabin, that she ventured to voice it.
“Mr. McCulloch, how long do you plan to stay at this hideout?”
Griff leaned back on his haunches. A fair blaze was crackling in front of him. “There’s plenty of good hunting around here, ma’am. And there’s timber for heat, and I think a couple of the boys might be able to risk going to one of them settlements downriver to pick up a few other supplies. It wouldn’t be a bad place to winter in.”
“Everyone?”
“Naw. The boys will be wanting some action. They’d go crazy if they had to hole up in a deserted place like this for long.”
“Then you think I can stay here alone?”
“That wouldn’t work either, now would it?” He rubbed a hand over his face. “We’ll work something out, ma’am. I mean, it’s kinda our responsibility, seeing as how we saved you and all.”
“Perhaps I can go to one of those settlements?”
“That’s no good, Mrs. Stoner. They’d ask too many questions, and right now that’s the last thing you want. Anything suspicious is liable to leak down to your father-in-law. This is a big state, but news travels fast.” He tossed a chunk of wood on the fire, causing a spray of sparks to shower the dirt floor. Griff stomped the sparks out. “Your best bet is to hide out here for a spell, at least until folks start to forget about you. News of your hanging did get around some.” He picked up another piece of wood. “You got some problem with staying here? If you’re worried about the boys—?”
“No, it’s not that. I believe they will heed your warning.” She paused, uncertain of how to proceed. A southern lady just did not discuss such things with men; but then, how many southern ladies had ever been in such a situation? There were no rules of etiquette to fit her present plight. Sighing, she continued, “It is just that … well, Mr. McCulloch … I believe you ought to know that … I am … with child.”
A loud crash punctuated her words as Griff dropped the log he had been about to toss on the fire. He said nothing for some time. Slim came in and deposited the utensils he had washed, and exited while Griff still sat with his mouth ajar. He lurched to his feet but said nothing when Mitch came in with the water.
“Hey,” Mitch said, “when’s the grub gonna be done? I’m starved.”
“Aw, eat the rest of the jerky!” snapped Griff. “It’s too late to cook. And stay out of here for a while—the lady wants some privacy.”
Grumbling with disappointment, Mitch stomped back out. Silence continued to hang over the little room.
Deborah finally spoke. “I’m sorry,” she said, unable to say more. She meant so much more in those simple words than could appear on the surface. This was the first time she had spoken of her secret to anyone, the first time she had even allowed herself to think of it. Through the trial and all those days in jail, she had almost, but not quite, forgotten.
“Ma’am, this is just a surprise, that’s all.” Griff paced a few times across the floor, then stopped. “You know about this all along?”
“Yes.”
“Do you know that they wouldn’t have tried to hang you if they had known? Even Caleb Stoner wouldn’t have killed his own grandkid.”
“I know that.”
Griff shook his head. “I suppose you had your reasons.”
“What would they have done to me, Mr. McCulloch? Thrown me into prison instead of hanging me—or until I gave birth, after which they’d still hang me? Then the baby would have been placed into Caleb’s care. I couldn’t allow that. I didn’t know what else to do.”
“I guess I knew them Stoners were bad, but I never imagined …” He let his words trail away unfinished. Even he, man of the world that he was, couldn’t fathom such evil.
“I did not want Caleb to know.”
“Like I said, you probably had your reasons. And it don’t make no difference to me. And I guess it don’t change nothing, either. You still gotta lay low for a spell, now more’n ever.”
“When my times comes—”
“You can’t expect no help from any of us. Birthing young’uns ain’t something we’re experienced in!”
His tone, edged with panic, brought a slight smile to Deborah’s lips. The idea of Griff McCulloch and his gang delivering her baby was both amusing and appalling.
“I was thinking,” she said, “that one of those settlements you mentioned might have a midwife, or even a doctor.”
“There ain’t nothing like a doctor there. You’ll maybe find a couple of trading posts, and a few saloons, some trappers. Maybe a family or two, so there might be a woman.” He paused and gave her a studied appraisal. “How long do you think we got to chew this over?”
“About five months.”
“Then we’ll work something out.” He gave the fire a final kick with his boot, then bid Deborah good-night, and strode out.
She hated being the cause of so much trouble. How much simpler it would have been if they had just left her to hang on that gallows. Yet even as the thought occurred to her, she realized her apathy was gone. Now that she was free from the grip of the Stoners, she began to see that she really did not want to die. For two years she had been as good as dead, but now, as freedom lay before her, she saw herself as having been raised from the dead.
What was it her father used to quote? “Once I was dead, now I am alive.” She no longer had to dread the coming of a new day. She no longer had to be afraid. She could live again. Perhaps it would never be as good as it had been in Virginia before the war. She was probably too scarred and wounded for that. But at least she could look forward to tomorrow.
The child was another matter. She was still uncertain how she felt about it. One thing she did know: The baby had been spared along with her, perhaps for some reason she could not possibly fathom. She wasn’t ready to go so far as to
admit God had some eternal plan in these events in her life, but she could not deny the witness of reality. The baby was alive, and she would never do anything, of her own accord, to harm it. She only hoped that when the child came, she could look at it and love it.
15
The following succession of weeks were interesting ones for Deborah, and in many ways they were fulfilling and restful. The living arrangement worked smoothly, especially as the men grew accustomed to her presence and she ceased to be a novelty. She learned to cook in the primitive kitchen, and the outlaws most likely did not care to risk the pleasure of tasty, hot meals for the appeasing of baser appetites.
Most of the time, however, they were gone. Deborah did not ask where they went or what they did. But they might be gone for days, even weeks at a time. Griff had put by a good supply of dried meat for her during their absence. He had cut enough wood to last the winter and had purchased, or somehow procured, a few other precious supplies—coffee, sugar, flour, even some tea, much to Deborah’s delight, for she had not had tea since leaving Virginia. Griff also once brought back some reading material for her—a few books, two old issues of Godey’s Lady’s Book, and three old newspapers. Deborah was especially delighted with the newspapers. She remembered when she had once asked Leonard for a paper.
“There’s no need to fill your head with such matters,” he told her.
She had even tried to bribe Maria into getting her one when the war ended, for she had been starved for news. But the loyalties of the housekeeper, an employee of the Stoner men for years, were solidly set against Deborah.
When Griff was around, he began to teach Deborah the rudiments of using the rifle that he left with her for protection during his absences. Oddly, though, she never felt in any danger so far out there in the wilderness. The quiet peace of the place and the freedom from Leonard easily lulled her into a sense of security. But she had other reasons for wanting to learn to handle a gun, and thus, she was a good student. Her lessons were few, for Griff didn’t like firing too many shots for fear of drawing attention to their presence. Still, she learned quickly and even began to think about doing some hunting, but Griff firmly discouraged her.
