Ride The Wild Range

by Cheryl Pierson

  "William, I-I'm sorry to have put you and Jacobi in danger. Again, it seems I've been selfish; my wanting to know you has changed your life—" He stumbled over his words and I knew he was thinking the worst.

  "I ain't plannin' on dyin' today," I said gruffly, trying to mask my emotion.

  He nodded. "Will, I'm very proud of you," he said after a moment. "You're becoming a fine young man."

  Something in his tone was longing. He laughed self-consciously. "I'm grateful for the time we've had."

  I was silent, knowing he had more to say.

  "This is not an easy trip for you, I know; nor a happy one. I...want to thank you for coming with me."

  I shifted in my seat, thinking of how ungracious and downright rude I had been in the beginning, when he'd first come. "Well...you're welcome," I answered, feeling awkward.

  He just smiled and patted my arm. He looked out at the passing countryside. "It's a lot like the sea, you know...this open range. I miss the salt spray, the roll of the deck under my feet. But – I understand your love for this land, even with the brutality that is so abundant."

  I knew he was comin' up to somethin' – another point he wanted to make.

  "Will," he said with a pause, "who do you think killed Mr. Wheeler?" My fingers tightened around the reins.

  "It wasn't Indians, was it?" He sounded certain, with no questioning.

  I shook my head. "No, sir. I don't believe it was."

  "Yet, you said nothing when Atkins and Shale were talking about it this morning."

  "Nope. It's not my business. I think they're hoping it is Indians. Otherwise, it means someone else is out there. Someone more dangerous than Apache...and that's going some."

  Grandpa scowled, glancing up at me quickly. "Who? Trask?"

  It surprised me some that Grandpa hadn't thought of Jacobi. He knew Jacobi was out there. Yet, he'd jumped to the conclusion that it might be Trask, instead.

  "Grandpa, if there's somethin' you haven't told me, now's the time for it." I regarded him, putting a cool distance in my expression. I didn't like secrets. This thing about Trask could get us all killed, starting with Jacobi. It made me mad as hell to think on it.

  He got an angry flush in his cheeks, his mouth set in a grim line, as if he couldn't decide whether to tell me or not, if there truly was anything else I should know.

  "We don't have much time," I said. The creek that ran through the woods in back of where our cabin had stood was up ahead. We would be there within the next half-hour. Then it would be a matter of how long it took for them to make some kind of move, once it came time for us to all separate and go our different ways. "I need to get word to Jacobi."

  "For all we know, Jacobi's left us and gone back—"

  "Don't you dare say such a thing, old man!" I turned to face him, my anger hotter than it should've been at his doubt. I had the weight of the world on my shoulders right now, desperate to cling to the hope that Jacobi had not been waylaid by Marshal Trask. I knew he wouldn't have turned tail – never would he do that; but Trask...Trask might have—

  "Will, we have to face facts. We can't depend on Jacobi. We haven't seen him since we set out."

  "We're not gonna see him, unless he wants us to."

  "Few men are able to travel with such stealth that they could go this long without detection. Not unless they're part savage."

  I thought of all the rumors that had circulated about Jacobi's parentage ever since I'd known him. I thought of the moccasins he favored over boots; the way he had with horses; the life he'd had before, that I knew very little of.

  The small details of everyday life he taught me along with the bigger things; the way he'd walked into Red Eagle's camp, unafraid, and saved me from certain death; the way he'd killed Laughing Wind – easily, quickly, and with no regret.

  Grandpa watched me closely, waiting for me to acknowledge the idea he'd put out. But in that instant, I knew it didn't make a damn what blood Jacobi Kane carried, and I said as much.

  "He's out there," I said harshly. "And he'll do his damnedest to help us. But we gotta be ready too – we can't leave it all up to him." I glared at him. "You say he's part savage. That might be true, but more'n that, he's a man I trust. There's no better man alive, Grandpa. You can believe he's there. He said he would be."

  "You're growing up wild, Will," he said softly. "That's what this land has done for you. I wish you could know the finer things—"

  I cut him off right quick, tired of all this talk. "Finer things don't mean shit right now. We're tryin' to stay alive."

  He nodded, watching me as if he was seeing me for the very first time. I didn't look at him, but his eyes bored into me.

  "Then, I suppose, I should be thankful that you have a bit of wildness in your blood. Whether it came through your bloodline, your upbringing in this – this uncivilized wilderness, or through the influence of Jacobi Kane."

  I didn't answer him. We were no more than a mile from our destination. I took in everything around me. I hadn't seen this familiar country since I'd been dragged up onto the back of a horse and kidnapped by the Apaches more than two years ago.

  Everything was peaceful, and quiet, with Bill and Roy riding on ahead of us a little ways. Pretty soon, everything would happen, one way or the other. I was alert for any kind of sign from Jacobi. But more than that, I ached to see my home again.

  Chapter 38

  In the very next minute, it came into view...or, at least, the pieces of it that still remained. The outbuildings were still there, and my gaze went immediately to the pigsty that me and Papa had been working on when the Apaches showed up. Just like it had all happened yesterday, I remembered everything so clear...

  When I looked at where our cabin had stood, all that was left was the stones of the chimney. I drew up the reins for a minute, just to look.

  The tree Grandpa had remembered to me was still there and, under its sheltering branches, three whitewashed crosses marked the graves of Mama, Papa, and Lisbeth.

  Looking at it spread out in front of me, all I could think of was how small it seemed; how defenseless we had been, and with some age in my eyes, I could understand why Mama had been so worried. Papa had to have realized he'd made a mistake, settling here so far away from anyone. We were alone here – easy pickings for the Apaches.

  I was angry all over again at the decisions he'd made. He had put us all in danger, and he, Mama, and Lisbeth had paid for it.

  "What was Robert thinking?" Grandpa's muttered words said his thoughts had gone the same direction as mine.

  I didn't answer. I just loosened my hold on the reins and urged the horses forward again. As they moved down the rutted path, I felt oddly detached from everything. It disappointed me. I'd expected to feel some kind of peace settle over me by coming back here this final time, but it wasn't to be. I could only figure it was due to the worry over what Bill Atkins and Roy Shale planned for me and Grandpa.

  I drew the horses to a stop again as we reached the burned out space of ground where our cabin had stood. I felt Grandpa's rough hand gently close over mine, taking the reins from me.

  Slowly, I climbed down from the wagon, and walked across the very spot where Papa had lost his life. I moved on, into what was left of the pile of rubble and ash. Most of the ashes had been scattered to the four winds. I didn't have much hope of finding anything that might have been spared in the fire, but I couldn't stop myself from looking down as I walked.

  Something hard and tight closed around my chest. There was nothing here for me. Nothing.

  I turned to walk out of the burned ruins toward the three grave markers. It seemed like it took me forever to cross the distance to the oak tree where the remnants of rope still hung from the branches. The swing had once been there – one of the few pleasures Lisbeth and I had enjoyed.

  "Pretend you're a bird, Will. You're flying!" Lisbeth always had some fanciful ideas. Loneliness washed over me in a wave as I thought about the way she'd push me on the swing
, calling out her imaginings, trying to involve me in her pretending. I missed my sister. Tears welled up in my eyes, and I fought them back.

  I put my hand out against the bark of the tree, grateful to have something to lean on. All that was left of Mama, Papa, and Lisbeth was three white crosses. I knelt down slowly, and reached to touch the one nearest me, Papa's. Someone had lettered on the wood.

  Robert Green

  Kilt by Murdering Savages

  I felt Grandpa's hand come down onto my shoulder, offering comfort. After a few seconds, he said, "I wish Robert and I could've gotten on better. He was ever resentful, defiant – and in my younger days, I was intractable. Things had to be done my way."

  "He became that way, too," I said softly, trying out the new word. "Intractable."

  "Your mother was such a gem."

  I glanced up at him, but he was lost in his memories, looking out across the fields we'd plowed up over two years past.

  "Mama couldn't ever be – herself."

  Grandpa nodded slowly. "She loved your father too much to put her foot down to him, Will. Ended up going along with his ideas and plans, just to keep him happy. She – had some dreams of her own...but they never happened."

  I stood up and faced him. "What were they?"

  He smiled faintly, remembering. "She was a wonderful artist. She painted the loveliest pictures." He met my eyes. "I kept some of her work, even though Robert commanded me to get rid of it all—"

  "Get rid of it?" I was horrified. "But – why? Why not bring it with them, West, to hang on their walls..." My voice trailed away as I tried to figure out what was wrong with my father. Had he been jealous of Mama's talent? Or jealous that she loved her artwork as much as she loved him?

  "I honestly don't know, Will." His voice was tinged with sadness and apology for something he'd had no control over. Something so ugly in his son that even he could not understand it. "The paintings are in the attic, and they're yours, if you ever do get to Boston."

  I nodded, mutely. My gaze went to Mama's cross.

  Anna Green

  Unprotected In Death

  It seemed like whoever had done the lettering had also had a bone to pick with Papa. I remembered how Red Eagle had struck Papa down as if it wasn't anything. Mama had been the protector. She'd gone after Red Eagle and fought 'til the very end.

  I looked at Lisbeth's cross for more clues as to who might've lettered them and buried my family.

  Lisbeth Green

  Spared

  In The Arms of Jesus

  I stood looking at it for several seconds, until I understood. Spared didn't mean she still lived. It meant what Jacobi had tried to tell me once. His words rang in my ears as if he'd just said them.

  There's a lot worse things than bein' a red man's whore...

  Someone else—whoever had buried my family— also understood that Lisbeth had been saved from a terrible fate at the hands of the Apaches. Spared. She was safe now. In the Arms of Jesus.

  Before we left this place, I planned to show Jacobi. I'd understood he'd done what he had to do, but seein' this lettering on the cross let me know others understood, too. I figured Jacobi would want to see it.

  I kissed my two fingers and touched Lisbeth's cross. She'd been a hugger when she'd been alive. I wished now I'd done more of that, when I had the chance.

  Grandpa had walked away, back toward the wagon. He needed to rest, but I also suspected he was giving me some privacy.

  "Lisbeth," I said softly. "I wish you were here. I miss you. Even though I've got the babies and Deelie Ray, it still ain't the same. I won't ever forget you." And then, even quieter, I said, "I didn't ever tell you, but...I love you." My eyes started to sting, but I wasn't gonna cry. I'd made up my mind.

  I moved on to Mama and told her about havin' a good place to stay, and bein' safe and happy. I knew she'd be most interested in those kinds of things. I told her about my loft room and about how our flower garden reminded me of her flowers. I kissed my fingers and touched her cross, thinking how I wished I could've done that in real life, when she'd have known it. "Mama, why didn't you ever paint? Grandpa says you were really good. I wish I could've seen some of your paintings." I looked at Papa's cross and felt resentment rising up in my chest. "Why couldn't you just have let us all be who we were meant to be, Papa? Why did you want Grandpa to get rid of Mama's paintings? I don't understand."

  I walked nearer to Papa's grave, as if I thought he could actually hear me. "You were wrong. Dead wrong. Papa, I'm going to be happy. I am happy. I damn sure wish you hadn't been so bullheaded about things – it's what got you, and Mama, and Lisbeth killed!"

  And me too, nearly, I wanted to add. But I had survived. I was alive, and I was going to enjoy it. I had so much to be grateful for.

  Sayin' everything I'd wanted to say had given me some peace, but there was still the problem of Roy and Bill to deal with. They could make their move at any time, and Grandpa and me had to be ready. On one hand, I wanted to stay close to him, but on the other hand, we might have a better chance if we were separated.

  They were spooked now, because of what had happened to Wheeler – and, I suspected, were even a little suspicious of each other.

  That morning after we'd buried Wheeler, Roy had given me a terse order to ride in the wagon from now on. I'd just shrugged. "I was plannin' on it, anyway."

  I'd put my saddle and gear into the back of the wagon on top of some of the canned provisions, but as I reached for my rifle, Roy laid a hand on top of mine, grasping it firmly.

  "You ain't got no need of a gun, boy."

  I glared at him. "You'll be mighty glad I've got it when those Apaches attack. I don't intend on lettin' 'em scalp me."

  Grandpa remained quiet, letting me deal with it. As far as Roy knew, Grandpa didn't know anything about our midnight conversation.

  Roy leaned close to me. "Remember what I told you. Do one stupid thing and I will plug that old man."

  I didn't flinch from his hard stare. "So you've said already."

  He squeezed my wrist tightly. "You remember it."

  Now, I took one more minute to do something I'd promised myself I would do if I ever came back here. I walked around the ruins of our cabin to where Mama's flowers had been. It was late in the season, but Mama's roses had gone wild without being trimmed and cared for, and there were some of them left. I took out my knife and cut the best ones – two beautiful dark red ones, a yellow one, and three smaller pink ones.

  Slowly, I put away my knife, thinking of how Mama would never have put her precious roses on the table. Papa didn't like the smell of them. She never cut them; she let them grow and, though she tended them and loved them, she would never allow herself to enjoy them to their fullest.

  I walked back over to the crosses, and I put the one yellow rose on Lisbeth's grave. Then, I laid the others carefully on Mama's.

  "I said I would do it, and I did, Mama. I won't ever forget you. We have some flowers too – where I live now. Laura loves them like you always did."

  I stopped talking. It dawned on me, if Mama was an angel, she didn't need to hear me say all these things out loud. She would know what I was thinking.

  I turned away and started back for the wagon. Grandpa was waiting for me, expectantly. As I climbed up onto the seat, I glanced back into the darkened cavern of the cover created atop the wagon to be sure my rifle was still where I'd put it. I wanted badly to make certain it was still loaded. Roy's eyes had hidden a secret when he agreed to let me keep the weapon. Had he unloaded it during the night?

  I could imagine him thinking it was a huge joke on me, to have kept the rifle, and it being unloaded the entire time – especially if I needed to take a shot.

  Just then, Bill headed toward the edge of the woods, to answer nature's call, most likely. I waited until he was out of sight, then got down and went around to the back of the wagon, reaching in to grab my rifle. I broke it open, and just as I'd suspected, the weapon was empty.

&n
bsp; Jacobi had taught me a while back not to ever keep all the shells in one place. I knew, if I opened my saddlebags, my extra shells would be gone. Roy wasn't the kind to leave anything to chance. He was also not the kind to get off his horse and take a turn at driving the wagon – which suited me fine.

  The first day we'd left, I'd put an extra box of shells in the wagon, up close to where me and Grandpa would be sitting. I knew I'd be riding in the wagon with him some of the time, and that seemed to be the most practical place to keep my other box of ammunition. It was right behind where I sat. All I had to do was reach around and feel for it – which I did – from time to time to make sure it was there.

  "Is it empty?" Grandpa asked softly.

  "Yep." I laid the rifle close to where he could reach the barrel. "I'm gonna take one last look around, Grandpa."

  He turned to look at me through the inside tunnel of the wagon's covering. "You go ahead. I'll take care of this."

  I knew that Bill and Roy would be watching me, figuring Grandpa was just going to be what he appeared to be – a frail old man, resting on the wagon seat.

  As I started back toward Mama's flower garden, Bill came out of the woods. Roy appeared a few seconds later from where he'd scouted on ahead of us, and was riding back to give Bill his accounting of what he'd seen.

  Suddenly, the air around me felt prickly – like something was about to happen. There was still plenty of daylight since it was mid-afternoon, and I was glad of that. I knew Jacobi would be out there, in the woods, and he'd have the advantage – unless Trask had caught up with him.

  I glanced around casually. Bill and Roy sat near one another astride their mounts, talking, whilst giving me some hard looks. I pretended I didn't notice, though I was aching for the feel of my rifle in my hands. I hoped Grandpa had enough time to get it loaded and ready to use, and that they hadn't seen him working at the task.