Mrs. Harding said, “I’m starting to wish we had never made the move west.”
Her husband said, through tight lips, “Not like we had much choice.”
With clouds in the eastern sky back lit with crimson, but the morning sun not yet into view, the wagons began their journey toward the mountains the McCabes called home.
The Brewster wagon being driven by Age was in the lead, followed by the one driven by his father. Then came the buckboard that had replaced Harding’s wagon. The Ford wagon was bringing up the rear.
Johnny McCabe rode over to the Harding wagon. Carter Harding was prodding his oxen along.
Johnny said to Harding, “Keep your shotgun near, and don’t be afraid to use it.”
Harding said, “What makes you think I know how to use one, or that I could shoot a man? I’m just a simple farmer.”
“Not saying you’re anything but.” Johnny rode on.
Nina was up front, walking alongside Age to keep him company. Her father had said he didn’t see any problem with that. Of course, the actual reason was it would be easier for Jack to ride alongside and they could chat without any grief from her father.
All about them were hills covered with grass and junipers, but they now rose higher than the hills that had been surrounding them since they left Cheyenne. At one point they came to a flat stretch, and the terrain became gravely with bushes and sage that stretched off to a distant rocky cliff. Then they came to more hills.
Johnny rode back to Harding. Partly to check on the wagon, and partly because he was trying to figure out who this man actually was. He had struck Johnny as familiar the first time he had seen him but he was having trouble placing just when and where he had seen him before. He thought the more he talked with him, the more it might jar his memory.
“How’s that wagon handling?”
Harding shrugged. “We’re managing.”
Jack watched his father ride back, but made no effort to follow along. Until Pa arrived, Jack had been the scout for these families, and he would have felt it was his duty to check on everyone. But Pa seemed to naturally fall into a role of leadership. It gave Jack more of an opportunity to spend time with Nina. He rode over to the first wagon and swung out of the saddle to walk beside her.
She said, “I haven’t seen your brother all day.”
Jack looked on to some grassy hills ahead, and a low ridge dotted with juniper. “He’s out there. Somewhere. If he’s as good as Aunt Ginny said he was in her letter, then we won’t see him until he wants us to.”
“Are you holding up all right?”
He shrugged. “It’s sort of a mixed thing, I suppose. I’m glad to see my father. Of course I am. And yet, it means I can no longer hide from the issues I have to face.”
She nodded. “If there’s anything I can do..,”
He smiled. “You do so much already. I don’t think you even realize.”
Age was looking at them curiously. He wasn’t sure what they were talking about at first, but he knew the direction this was going in.
He said, “If you two are gonna get all kissy, can you do it somewhere else?”
Nina and Jack both laughed.
After a time, some ridges came into view in the distance ahead of them. They were a few miles away and looked dark and hazy, but Jack knew they looked dark because they were covered with pines.
The day had turned off warm, but the breeze was strong and the air clean.
Nina said, “It’s breathtaking – the views out here.”
Jack nodded. “I never get tired of it. And you haven’t seen anything until you’ve seen some of the views from the valley. From the front porch of the house, you can see the low mountains and ridges that ring the valley, but you can also see a snow-capped peak off in the far distance. Josh and Pa, they live there and see that sort of view every day and I suppose it’s become commonplace for them. But when I’m visiting, I sometimes just stand on the porch and stare.”
Jack’s left arm was once again in a sling. His pistol was at his right side within reach, and his Winchester was tucked into his saddle. Not that he would be able to use a rifle adequately until his shoulder healed.
After a time, Pa rode up beside them and said, “I’m going to ride ahead a bit. See if I can find Dusty.”
Jack said, “I’ll keep an eye on things.”
Johnny reached down and clasped a hand to Jack’s shoulder with a smile. That sort of gesture from a father to his son said a lot. In spoke of pride and approval. And then Johnny turned and clicked his horse into a trot and was away up the trail.
Approval, Jack thought. What every son wants from his father. And yet, Jack felt somehow dishonest. He wondered how much his father would approve if he knew how Jack had felt about going away to school all those years, and that he had no intention of going back?
Beside the trail, a hill rose long and low, but at its summit he thought he would find a view of the terrain around them.
He said to Nina, “I’m going to ride up there for a look around.”
She smiled. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
That struck him somehow as one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him. Simple and yet loaded with meaning. He found himself looking at her, and realized he was smiling. She was returning the smile, the freckles on her nose and cheeks coming to life.
Jack mounted up and rode away from the trail and climbed the hill. The slope was dotted with an occasional juniper but was mostly grass, supple and green and standing as high as his stirrups. Yellow and red wildflowers bobbed their heads in the ever present wind.
At the crest of the long hill, Jack looked about for any sign of riders. Further ahead of the wagons was a single rider. His father, now over half a mile away. But there were no others.
On the trail below him the wagons were working their way along. From this distance he couldn’t really make out the people, but he could see the canvas of the first wagon billowing in the wind. The wagon Nina was walking near. The very thought of her made his heart feel full and warm, and yet aching with a longing. A longing that was more than simple physical desire. He had experienced desire with a couple different girls back at Harvard. Three, actually, if he remembered correctly. Local girls trying to nab a college boy. But it was nothing like what he felt when he looked at Nina, or even thought about her.
Two wagons back was the buckboard, which was now the Harding wagon. He knew it was Carter Harding leading the team. Except his name was not Carter Harding.
The night before, Pa said he didn’t know who Carter Harding was, but he knew Harding was not his real name.
This caught Jack’s interest. Suddenly he wasn’t so tired anymore.
Jack said, “You know him?”
“I don’t know him personally, but I think I know of him. Might have met him once. There was a man during the War whose name was mentioned a few times. A couple men I knew had met him, and gave a good description. His name was Harlan Carter, and he rode with the Red Legs.”
Jack had heard his father talk about them before. “A group of guerrilla raiders riding for the Union.”
“That’s right. They’re not talked about much now, because they fought for the winning side. All we hear about now are names like Quantrill or the James brothers or Sam Patterson. But in their time, the Red Legs were every bit as bad.
“It’s said that Harlan Carter was one of the worst. One of the most vicious. That he really enjoyed the killing, and that the war effort was secondary. After the war ended, he and a few others formed their own outlaw gang and robbed a few banks and such in the Missouri area, and then Carter just disappeared. Sort of fell off the map.”
“So, you think Carter Harding is really this Harlan Carter?”
Pa shrugged. “I don’t know. Just a feeling. He was a tall man, with dark eyes and a distinctive way of moving. They say the look in his eye was something between an undertaker, a preacher and an executioner. And there’s something in Harding’s eye you d
on’t normally see in a farmer. I’ve seen it in many a gunfighter over the years. Whoever he is, that man has killed before.”
This gave Jack more to consider. Could Carter Harding be more than he appeared? And yet, what would take a former guerrilla raider back east, to take up the life of a farmer? Not that Jack meant to disparage farming. But it was a rather tranquil life for an outlaw raider to settle into.
Jack returned to the wagons. For a time he rode up front, chatting a bit with Brewster about trail conditions. Brewster asked him about rainfall in the mountains where they were heading.
“It’s not like back east,” Jack said. “In Massachussetts, it seems like it rains almost half the time. I’ve seen four straight days of drizzle.”
Brewster nodded. “The same in Vermont.”
“But in the Montana mountains, you don’t see that kind of rain very often. There are dry spells. There’s a lot of snow in the winter most often, and that creates a lot of spring run-off. There’s a stream that cuts through our valley, and in the spring the stream is deep enough to paddle a canoe from one end of the valley to the other. Toward the center of the valley is a large pond that can be easily two feet deeper in May than it is in August. And there’s a good supply of ground water, if you know where to dig.”
Jack then urged his horse ahead a bit, until he was again riding beside the second Brewster wagon.
Nina said, “I missed you.”
Age rolled his eyes and shook his head.
She said, “How did things look?”
“I didn’t see any riders, other than Pa up ahead.”
“Do you really think they’ve gone away?”
Jack shrugged. “I hope so.”
“The sooner we get to those mountains of yours, the happier I’ll be.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
A little after noon, Jack rode ahead of the wagons. There was a hill off to one side, a little sharper climb than the one he had ridden up earlier, but he wanted another look at the land around them. The hill was mostly grass but gravely in some places. Once he was at the top, he swung out of the saddle to let his horse breathe a bit. He lifted the canteen from his saddle horn and pulled the cork and took a drink. The water was warm, but at least it was wet. The wind was strong, rattling the brim of his sombrero and making the mane of his horse flutter wildly.
From the top of the hill, he estimated he was maybe a half mile from the wagons. They had stopped and were resting the teams. Further ahead on the trail he saw two riders, maybe a couple miles from the wagons. He lost sight of them as they passed behind a low, grassy hill, then they emerged into view again. Pa and Dusty. They were coming back.
Jack climbed into the saddle again and descended the hill, and rode on to the trail to meet them.
Dusty had a deer tied across the back of his saddle. It was a white-tail, and Jack estimated it to be maybe a hundred and forty pounds. Large enough that everyone would have a little venison to eat tonight.
“I come across it at sunrise,” Dusty said. “Four of ‘em, grazin’. They hadn’t seen me and the wind was in my favor, so I pulled on my moccasins and grabbed my rifle and approached ‘em on foot. I figured some deer meat might help the farmers save some on their supplies.”
They brought the deer back to the wagon. By sunset, the teams were unhitched and grazing, and tents were set up. Venison was roasting over the cookfires, creating a smell that set Jack’s mouth to watering.
Pa and Dusty had built a fire and improvised a roasting spit. Pa had stepped back and was letting Dusty work on their dinner. Dusty had a natural way with food. According to Aunt Ginny’s letter, he had worked at Hunter’s Saloon for a while cooking steak dinners and preparing breakfasts for stage travelers. He still filled in there once in a while.
Despite how great the roasting meat smelled, Jack found what he really wanted was distance. He went to the fire to fill his tin cup with coffee, and made some quick polite chat with Dusty, then stepped away beyond the edge of the firelight.
He removed the sling from his arm, because it was made from a white bedsheet and picked up the glow from the fires. He didn’t want to be seen, partly because he was sort of informally standing guard. Pa hadn’t assigned him the duty, he just felt maybe someone should be out here, in case Falcone and Walker take it into their heads to get sneaky. After all, Walker had entered camp under the cover of darkness once before. But the main reason was that Jack simply felt like being alone.
He took a sip of coffee. He could hear the chatter of various conversations going on at once. Abel and Mildred Brewster at their fire. Age had wandered over to Pa and Dusty. Pa was saying something funny, and Dusty and Age were laughing. Pa had a knack for taking some of his old adventures and putting a comical spin on them. Jack remembered many an evening years ago when he, Josh and Bree would sit by the stone hearth at the ranch house and Pa would regale them with his stories. Jack remembered the laughter ripping through him until his stomach muscles hurt. Even Aunt Ginny would crack a begrudging grin.
Jack shifted the cup to his left hand, and found he could bring the cup to his mouth without his shoulder hurting too much. This allowed his gunhand to be free. He reached down to his holster and let his hand brush the gun. He gave it a gentle tug to make sure it was not tucked too tightly into the holster. Things Pa did all the time, almost without even thinking about it.
The breeze was cool. Refreshing from the heat of the day. Crickets chirped from somewhere out in the darkness.
As he stood, he became aware of someone approaching. In the dim light that made its way out here from the fire, he could see it was a woman. Her long dress swished its way through the tall grass. Though he could see only a dark silhouette, he recognized the way of moving. Graceful and easy, with just a hint of a sway to her head and shoulders. Almost like there was a dance going on inside her that only she could hear. Nina.
“Good evening,” he said.
“I hope I’m not intruding,” she said. “You looked a little bit like you wanted to be alone.”
He found himself smiling, though he knew she could not see the smile in the darkness. How easily she read him. She who had known him only a couple weeks. And yet those who had known him for years didn’t really seem to know him at all.
He said, “You are never an intrusion.”
She sort of glided her way to his side. “Dusty’s roasting up some venison at your fire. He’s been offering advice on the best way to roast it over an open fire. Brewster and Ford are grateful, but of course, Father resents it.”
Jack chuckled. “I’m sure.”
“Are you all right?”
Jack shrugged. “I feel so torn inside. Conflicted. Am I just feeling petty jealousy? Is that what it is? Because my brother can so easily walk in shoes I don’t think I’ll ever fill?”
“Do you really want to fill your father’s shoes? Or do you want to be your own man?”
“Sometimes it’s one, I guess, and sometimes it’s the other. I so hate feelings of uncertainty, but that’s what I’m filled with. My professors back at school taught me to be a rational thinker. That’s what a scholar does. He thinks rationally. But I’m such a jumbled mess inside.”
“I don’t think you’re really a scholar.”
His brows arched a little out of surprise. “Hmm?”
“Really. I mean, you’re a man of intellect. You have much more than I. But a scholar is one who is drawn to a life of education. Books and classrooms. He yearns to study and write papers and give lectures and attend lectures. You were just thrust into that world without ever really wanting it. Just because, as you say, you have this gift of remembering everything you read.”
“A curse, is more like it.”
“You’re a student, sure. But a student of the world around you. I don’t think you’re feeling jealousy at all. I think what you are is a man who wants to find his own way, without anyone trying to steer him based on their notions. And sometimes your father and his great reputation and his
grand ways make you feel sort of restrained, like you’re somehow lost when in his presence. It makes you feel almost insignificant. And no one likes to feel that way. I’m sure he doesn’t mean it that way, and would be truly grieved if he knew the truth. But truth it is.”
He was shaking his head with amazement. “How is it you know me so well?”
“Maybe because I look at you without any preconceived notions.”
“I really think you are no slouch in the intellect department.”
She smiled and looked down with embarrassment. “Me? I’m just a farm girl.”
He gently took her chin with one hand. “You, Nina, are not just anything.”
He gave her a light kiss, and then she took wrapped her arms around his right arm and rested her head on his shoulder.
After a time, Jack said, “Pa said after he’s done eating he’s going to ride out and scout about. Look for any campfires in the distance. Like I usually do. He volunteered to go because I should stay back and get some rest.”
“He’s probably right. You were shot only a few days ago.”
“I suppose.”
He took another sip of coffee, and found it was starting to grow cold. He decided he could put his free hand to better use than holding a cup of cold coffee. He dropped the cup to the grass, then reached to her arms, which were wrapped around his right, and began to gently caress her along the shoulder and down the length of one arm.
She said, “It bothers you staying back at camp. You aren’t accustomed to being idle for long, are you?”
“Makes me feel useless.”
“Oh, Jack. You are anything but useless.”
“You know, I have to wonder how I ever got along all these years without you.”
She snickered. “I do have to wonder, myself.”
They then stood in silence. The ever-present wind had died down a little, the way it seemed to do at night. The sky was cloudless, and a canopy of stars stretched above them.
One Man's Shadow (The McCabes Book 2) Page 17
