Unconquerable Callie

by DeAnn Smallwood

  “Yes, my hair is powerful and will give you strong medicine. But you do not need to be burdened with this white woman’s weakness to have that power.” With that, her hand delved into her skirt pocket and removed the tightly bound braid that only a few minutes ago had rested heavy and gloriously down her back. With her other hand, she deftly untied the bonnet ribbons and removed it from her head. She stood there, head held high. Her remaining hair was chopped short at her neckline.

  Callie offered her trophy to the unmoving chief. “Please. I want you to have my hair. I give you this power and know you will use it wisely.”

  Wolf Dog made no move. His dark eyes bored into hers, his mouth unsmiling, his body stiff and unbending.

  Quiet roared into Callie’s ears as the air danced with danger. The sun seemed to stop in the sky and the prairie held its breath. Her arm felt as though it would break in two as she held it steady, heavy with its offering.

  Just as she thought she could no longer keep her arm from trembling, Wolf Dog lowered his lance, laying it across his lap, and reached forward. Bending over at the waist, eyes unblinking, his long fingers curled around the braid. He brought it to him, his thumb reverently stroking its silky whiteness.

  “White Cloud Woman.” Wolf Dog’s voice was strident. Something akin to admiration danced in his eyes and, without saying another word, he gave her a nod and turned back to the braves.

  Callie marched past Seth and Henry Henry, her eyes fixed straight ahead, chin up, bonnet clutched in her hand. She strode to her wagon, knowing that if she didn’t reach its sanctuary soon, she’d collapse.

  Seth and Henry Henry sat quietly in their saddles watching the Indians disappear as silently as they’d arrived. Then slowly, they walked their horses back to the wagons. Seth paused outside of Callie’s wagon. The canvas pulled tight across the entrance. Anything he could say would be inadequate.

  “We’ll make dry camp here for the night,” he said loud enough for her to hear. “Henry, spread the word.”

  That night, the fires burned higher as if adding more wood would dispel the close call they had experienced. Callie’s name was on every tongue. But she didn’t join them around the campfires. The next morning her dinner plate, set outside the wagon by an understanding Phyllis, was picked up, food untouched.

  When the camp stirred with dawn, Callie was up, dressed, and outside her wagon as though nothing unusual had happened, as if nothing was different about her appearance.

  But, if anyone had been looking closely, they would have seen a wide grin cross her face at an object left hanging from her oxen’s yoke. It was a white, felt, man’s hat, its brim slightly shaped by its previous owner. Seth’s best, reserved for special occasions. Callie had seen him wear it once in town and knew he wouldn’t think of wearing it for every day. She picked it up and placed it on her head. It was too big and came down around her ears, but Callie knew that if she wrapped the inside with material torn from an old shirt it would fit fine. Just fine.

  Chapter 25

  The sun rose and the wagons slowly moved forward. Callie walked beside the oxen, Caleb just the other side, prodding them along with his long stick. No one mentioned her hat and no one mentioned yesterday. It was as if the day had been skipped, erased from their memories. But not from hers. It would never be erased from hers.

  There were no signs of Indians, but rifles still rested in hands and across saddles. Everyone scanned the horizons and any sudden movement brought a quick reflex of alarm. When they stopped for a hurried noon meal, Seth was nowhere about. Callie felt sure he was scouting ahead of the train, watching for any sign of danger.

  Once they were back on the trail, Seth rode in. Callie wasn’t sure how to greet him. She wouldn’t blame him if he was angry at her. She only hoped he’d understand and forgive her for placing them all at risk.

  Gathering her courage, she started walking, planning on meeting him before he reached her wagon and Caleb’s listening ears. If she was going to get a dressing down, she wanted it to be as private as possible. She moved out ahead of her wagon to meet him midway. Suddenly, she stopped short. Seth was leading an eerily familiar horse. The beautiful paint mare held her head high, trotting alongside as if the world belonged to her. When Seth reined to a stop in front of Callie, the mare gave a toss of her head and pulled on the lead rope. Seth was grinning from ear-to-ear as he dismounted.

  Callie stared at the confident mare, the horse Wolf Dog had offered as bride price for her. Had he changed his mind? Was he coming back for her? If so, why was Seth so darned happy about this dreadful situation?

  “Found this little beauty down the trail, tied to a bush,” Seth said, as if his words explained everything. “A fine piece of horseflesh, Callie. She’ll do right by you.”

  Callie found her voice. “Do right by me? Seth McCallister, stop grinning like you’re sun touched and explain what you’re doing with Wolf Dog’s horse.”

  “Well, Callie,” he said slowly, “it appears she’s not Wolf Dogs any longer.”

  “Seth, I don’t care where you found her. Take her back. We can’t risk the wrath of Wolf Dog and all his braves for a horse.”

  “Can’t,” he replied laconically, enjoying her frustration. She’d put him through hell yesterday and, by his way of thinking, she deserved any grief he could hand out.

  “Can’t?”

  “Nope. Wouldn’t be polite. If you think Wolf Dog would appreciate your refusing his gift, then you’re badly mistaken. He’d see that as an insult, Callie.”

  “His gift?” Her voice came out low, troubled. “I thought you said you found her tied to a bush.”

  “I did. Wolf Dog must have seen me ride out this morning and knew what direction I was headed. She hadn’t been there long, more’n likely a few minutes. He was somewhere close by. She’s yours, Callie, yours as a sign of appreciation and acknowledgment for a woman of courage.”

  “Courage?” She snuffed.

  “It took courage to do what you did, Callie. I have to admit I was darn mad when you came strutting across that field, bonnet on your head. For a minute there, I thought you’d decided to sacrifice yourself to Wolf Dog to be his bride.”

  Callie wouldn’t meet Seth’s eyes. “I thought of it,” she said softly. “If he hadn’t accepted my offering, I would have.”

  Admiration filled Seth’s voice. “I thought as much. I wouldn’t have let you. In fact, I was just getting ready to shoot when you offered him your hair.”

  “Shoot?”

  He looked away, shaking his head. “I was going to wound you and when you fell, the next shot would be for Wolf Dog.”

  “You were going to wound me?” Callie’s eyes were wide with horror. “You, Seth McCallister, were actually going to shoot me?”

  “Now don’t get to riled. Just in the leg.”

  “Oh. Only in the leg. What am I getting so ‘riled’ about? Just a leg wound. I fully understand.” Callie’s hands were on her hips and fire sparked from her eyes and her voice held the chill of death.

  “You don’t understand,” Seth said patiently. “Wolf Dog may have wanted you for whatever power he thought was in your hair, but you would have been a white woman trying to stay alive in an Indian camp.” He lowered his voice. “You would have been no more than a slave. The women of the tribe would have seen to that.” He raised his head and looked fully at her. “I couldn’t let that happen to you, Callie. I’d of shot you first and prayed for a flesh wound and minimum pain.”

  The silence stretched taut between them. Callie fought with the reasoning behind Seth’s words, though she fought with the fact that Seth would actually do her harm.

  “You do realize that there would have been an attack following Wolf Dog’s death?” Callie asked, glaring at him.

  “Yeah, I do. But it was gonna take strong action to prevent hi
m from taking you.”

  “Would you have killed him?” Callie had to ask.

  Seth shuffled his feet. His answer came low and with a shake of his head. “No. I couldn’t blame him for wanting you.” A smile broke across his face. “He was willing to pay a bride’s price for you. So you take this little mare, Callie, and enjoy her. I’d say you earned her fair and square.”

  With those words, Seth reached forward and gently took his hat from her head. Laugh wrinkles tightened around his eyes as he emitted a low whistle. “Whooee. Callie, Callie. Okay, turn around.”

  Callie gave him a baleful look and did what he asked.

  “Chopped it off pretty darn good.” Seth still smiled, but inside, he hurt for the loss of her beautiful hair. He knew Callie hurt, too, no matter how brave a front she was put on.

  “Needs some trimming,” Seth said, as Callie slammed his hat back on her head.

  “That’s a little difficult since I don’t have eyes in the back of my head to see what I’m doing.”

  “Now Callie, no need to get hostile. I’ll trim it.”

  “You?” Her voice was incredulous.

  “Sure, why not? I trim my own hair when I can’t get to a barber.”

  “Well,” Callie said, “you won’t trim mine.”

  “Okay, then, who will? The way you’ve got that hat slammed down on your head, you must not want anyone seeing your, uh, your . . .” He hesitated, searching for the right words.

  “My mess?” Callie interjected. “Go ahead, say it. I know I look a fright.”

  “Actually, you look kinda cute.” Seth bit back a response when he saw Callie’s scowl. He put the mare’s rope in her hand and mounted his horse. He leaned over Patch’s neck and said, “I’ll be by tonight to talk to you about that little lady’s care. Wish I had an extra saddle. But she’s probably not broke to ride any way but bareback. Most Indian ponies are trained to respond to knee commands, so the rider has both hands free.” He wheeled his horse around and started to ride off, stopped, turned back in the saddle, and grinned. “When I come by, what say you have those scissors ready?”

  Chapter 26

  “Seth, you aren’t cutting my hair. It’s bad enough you’ve seen me like this, but I won’t docilely sit here and let you trim my hair. No. I appreciate you taking time at the end of a long day, but the answer’s the same. No.”

  “Now, Callie, if it would make you feel any better, I’d be willing to close my eyes,” Seth said in as serious tone as he could muster. Callie was putting up quite a fight and darned if he didn’t sympathize with her.

  “What?”

  “I said I’d be willing to close my eyes while I’m trimming so I won’t see how choppy your hair really is.”

  Callie started to make a sharp retort, then noticed the glint in his eye. “Brilliant! Now why didn’t I think of that? Here.” She handed him the scissors. “Close your eyes and snip away, Mr. McCallister.” She put on a sweet smile, ignoring his puzzled look.

  She sat down on a trunk and turned her back to him.

  “Callie?” Seth’s voice was soft and hesitant.

  “Yes?” Innocence dripped from that single word like rain from the brim of a hat.

  “I’m only kidding.”

  “I know, Seth,” Callie responded condescendingly.

  Seth’s low chuckle accompanied the first snip. Her shoulders hunched and her eyes screwed shut. She kept telling herself that nothing, absolutely nothing, could make her hair look any worse. Could it?

  To make matters worse, Seth retaliated for her earlier kidding by every now and then muttering, “darn,” or emitting a low “whew.” She refused to react, frozen in one position, head bent, shoulders hunched forward.

  Finally, Seth brushed off her shoulders and turned her face up to his.

  “By gosh, that’s a pretty good job if I do say so myself. Want to have a look?” He held out a silver-plated hand mirror.

  Callie took it and held it to her face, slowly turning first one way and then the other, trying all angles. She felt a surge of relief. Her hair capped her head in soft, white curls. She was a new Callie, a younger-looking Callie.

  “Now, then,” Seth said as he watched her. “Think that fiancé of yours will approve? I forget, what’s his name?”

  “To . . .” she started, then stopped herself. “Frank,” she declared a little too loudly. “Frank. His name is Frank.” She wet her lips and shrugged at the blank look on Seth’s face. Then in an effort to change the subject, she asked, “Do you think we’ve seen the last of Wolf Dog?”

  “Probably,” Seth said slowly. “For what it’s worth, I think we might have seen the last of any Indians.”

  Callie started to feel relief, as if her shoulders had been set free from a heavy weight, but one look at Seth’s face stopped her and she felt the familiar weight, nestled like a vulture on a tree limb.

  “What aren’t you saying, Seth?”

  His smile was grim. Callie was a hard person to fool. She was too perceptive, too smart sometimes for her own good.

  “We’ve seen the last of them, Callie. Seen. They’re still out there and when we least expect them, they’ll pop up like a Jay off’n a nest. But for now, your hair has bought us a reprieve that just may last us through Nebraska and on into Wyoming. The timing couldn’t be better.” The last he said softly, more to himself.

  Callie bent to shift the blackened coffee pot to the glow of red embers when Seth’s last words made her pause.

  “What do you mean?” So far, they had met each danger and emerged unscathed. What was waiting ahead? What did Seth know about this ill-fated trail that he was keeping to himself?

  “Nothing.” He nodded at the coffee pot. “I’ll pass on that and get back to my camp. See you at daybreak.”

  “Oh, no you don’t, Seth McCallister. You aren’t going off and leaving me to ponder your words all night long. Tell me, or I’ll dredge up something terrible, probably worse than what you’re so reluctant to divulge.”

  Seth shook his head in resignation. “The water holes are getting fewer and farther in-between. Not only are there fewer, but what’s left is drying up. We’re passing through a dry spell, Callie. I’ll start rationing water tomorrow, but that won’t stop the thirst. Humans can cope with it far better than the stock. Take your oxen, for example. After a few days of rationed water and scorching heat, they’ll go crazy. You and Caleb will have your hands full keeping them from stampeding, trampling anything in sight.”

  He swallowed hard, not looking at her. “I regret letting you come. You’ll eat dust, wear dust, and dream of dust. Dust, thick and choking, covering everything in sight. If we’re lucky, we’ll make it to a hill that will take your breath away and with it possibly your wagon.” He stopped again and when he didn’t resume, Callie spoke up, interrupting the heavy darkness in his words.

  “Why?” Her voice was soft, a whisper into the night. “Why will we risk such a hill? What will happen there, Seth? You’ve warned us all of the possibility of drought and dust. I know there’s a risk oxen will go crazy with heat and thirst. I’m prepared, at least I think I am, to meet and darn it all, conquer that danger. But this hill. This is the first time I’ve heard of a hill being a peril. You’d best tell me, and the rest of the camp, so we know what’s out there around each bend in the trail.”

  Callie’s words faded into the shadows.

  The silence stretched between them. “You’ve asked a lot of questions, Callie.” Seth took a deep breath. “But you’re right. You’re entitled to some answers. Everyone on the train is. I’ve not enjoyed keeping the secret. I didn’t want to add fuel to the fire telling you about the hill on top of the water rationing. I’ve been hoping we’d come across a spring that was deeper fed so we could fill our barrels.” He shrugged his shoulders. “With rationing
, we should make it through to Ash Hollow.”

  “Ash Hollow?” The name hung on Callie’s tongue.

  “Yeah. Ash Hollow. The hill is treacherous. But we have no choice.” Then he gave a shadow of a smile. “And, Callie, at the bottom of that hill is a spring, shade, beauty, and grass. There’s also a shoddy where the people on earlier trains leave letters and money for postage for relatives back in the East. They’re hoping some eastward bound traveler will take it back with them. It’s a long shot, but it’s a chance.”

  “Tell me more about the hill,” she persisted.

  In a low voice, Seth said, “It’s straight down. A good three hundred feet to the bottom.” His eyes shifted with a faraway look. “Trains have lost wagons, animals, and lives descending that hill. It can start out sad and end sad.”

  “Go on,” she urged quietly.

  “Weight will be a big factor. Some will have to unload wagons, to leave behind treasures and part of their lives. We’ll tie a tree trunk or rocks behind a few wagons to act as a drag to slow the descent.” He smiled at her. “I suspect yours will be one of those. You packed light and reasonable, Callie. Some wagons, we’ll try to lower down with ropes. Men will do the work of mules. When all else fails, there’s the windlass for the rest”

  “A windlass? I’ve never heard of one.”

  “We’ll make one using a barrel and a rope.”

  “Go on.”

  “We’ll build a platform with a log, joining the two ends. The barrel will be in the middle, a rope wrapped around it. We’ll attach that rope to the wagon. On both ends, we’ll put poles with handles. One man will work each side, taking turns to crank the wagon down the hill.”