The Searcher

by Len Levinson

“Well, that’s what it sounds like. Satan does his best work at night. I think you should go over there and settle those folks down.”

  “I’ll look into it,” Taggart said.

  Reverend McGhee walked away. Taggart waited until he was out of earshot. “Pain in the ass,” Taggart muttered. “Let’s go talk to them miners.”

  Stone and Taggart walked across the campsite. Stone was a head taller than Taggart and wider in the shoulders. Stone looked hard as a rock whereas Taggart was getting soft.

  They drew closer to the miners’ wagon. A kerosene lamp shone inside, casting shadows against the canvas walls. The rear of the wagon was covered with a canvas curtain. One of the miners whooped inside, and a woman giggled.

  “Hello there!” said Taggart.

  Suddenly it became silent inside the wagon. Then the head of Wayne Collins, one of the miners, poked itself outside. Collins was moon-faced and grizzled. “Whataya want?”

  “Think you can keep it down in there? We’ve had some complaints.”

  “Who made the complaints?”

  “Never mind. Just keep it down. We got people here who’re tryin’ to sleep.”

  Suddenly the canvas curtain was pulled to the side, revealing the interior of the wagon. The three dance hall girls were seated with the miners, and all were disheveled and bleary-eyed. The miner called Joe Doakes had pulled the curtain aside, and he didn’t look happy.

  “What the hell’s the problem out here!” he demanded.

  “I’m askin’ you to be quiet in there,” Taggart replied.

  “What the hell do I have to be quiet for?”

  “Yer botherin’ other people.”

  “To hell with’ em!” He held a bottle of whiskey in the air. “Come on in and have a drink!”

  Stone stepped forward. “The wagon master asked you to be quiet. I think you’d better do it.”

  “Nobody tells me what to do!”

  Stone rushed toward the wagon, grabbed Doakes by the front of his shirt, and pulled him down to the ground. It happened so quickly that Doakes didn’t know what hit him. “Huh?” he said. “What?”

  Stone held Doakes’ shirt in both his fists and looked down at him. “You’re going to be quiet, all right?”

  “I hear ya,” Doakes said weakly.

  Stone picked him up as if he were light as a feather and put him back in the wagon. Then he said goodnight and walked away. Taggart followed him.

  “Thanks for yer help,” Taggart said.

  “I think I’m gonna turn in.”

  Stone walked to the stream. He washed his face and hands in the stream and rinsed out his mouth with the cool sweet water. Then he turned around and walked back to the campsite on the narrow trail.

  He saw a figure ahead of him on the trail. It was a woman, wearing a long dress. They approached each other, and Stone saw Alice McGhee, daughter of the preacher man.

  He touched his finger to the brim of his hat. “Evening.”

  She looked up into his eyes, and her face glowed in the moonlight. “Thank you very much for quieting those rowdy people down. It was very brave and good of you.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “Where are you from?”

  “South Carolina.”

  “We’re from Michigan. Mister Taggart said you were in the war.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We feel very safe, being here with you, Captain Stone. What do you plan to do when you get to Texas?”

  “Don’t know.”

  “If you needed a job, I’m sure my father could find something for you on our farm. We’re buying a farm in Texas, you know.”

  “I’ll keep it in mind.”

  “Why are you going to Texas, Captain Stone?”

  Stone took out the picture and showed it to her. “Ever see her?”

  Alice held the picture up in the moonlight. “Don’t believe I have. Who is she?”

  “Friend of mine.”

  “Are you in love with her?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “She’s a lucky girl. Hope you find her someday.”

  Alice handed the picture back, and Stone placed it in his shirt pocket. They looked at each other awkwardly for a few moments, then she smiled and continued on her way to the stream.

  Stone made his way back to Taggart’s wagon and arranged his blanket and saddle near the faint glowing embers of the fire. He lay down and covered himself with the blanket, rolling over onto his side, thinking about Alice McGhee. She was all sweetness and purity, with an expression so innocent it made a man afraid of saying the wrong thing.

  Stone felt attracted to Alice McGhee. It wasn’t often that a man saw a truly beautiful woman on the frontier. Somehow the frontier grinded women down and made them old before their time. Then Stone thought of Marie, and a deep longing came over him. Alice McGhee was pretty, but Marie Higgins owned his soul.

  He felt pain underneath his hip. A small pebble was there, digging into his skin. He reached for it and threw it away then rolled onto his back.

  Above him were the blazing heavens. Stone stared at vast galaxies and the mountains of the moon. Before the war, he’d had a huge bedroom all to himself on his father’s plantation, Albemarle. He’d had his own personal servant who did whatever he asked, and he’d never done a lick of work until he went to West Point. Now he was sleeping on the ground underneath the stars, in dirty clothes, with a pittance in his pocket. He’d fallen to the bottom, another rat scurrying around the frontier, trying to survive.

  He closed his eyes and drifted away into the vast black night.

  Chapter Four

  More wagons arrived during the next two days, carrying farmers, dudes from the East, Irish immigrants, rowdies, adventurers, gold prospectors, businessmen, and just plain riff-raff.

  The encampment swelled in size and became a small town. Some people became friends and others became enemies, just as in any small town. Taggart was the mayor, and Stone became the police force. An atmosphere of excitement and adventure filled the air. Soon they’d be crossing the great plains, following their destinies, and every one of them hoped to become rich in Texas.

  On Sunday morning, the Reverend Joshua McGhee held an open-air prayer service in which he asked God to bless the journey. About three-quarters of the people attended, and Stone was there, sitting in back, because he was a God-fearing man.

  Doris McGhee, wife of the reverend, had assembled a choir, and they sang “Rock of Ages” at the termination of the service. Young Alice was in the choir, and Stone couldn’t keep his eyes off her.

  Most spent the rest of the day preparing for the trip, except for the gamblers and a few others who went into town. Stone studied the maps Taggart provided him. Taggart had made the trip numerous times and marked the route with a pencil, indicating where water could be found. They hoped to cover a specific distance every day, which would vary according to the terrain.

  Stone rolled a cigarette and sat on the ground looking around the campsite. He’d been sizing up the various travelers ever since they arrived so he’d know what to expect from each of them.

  The farmers and religious people would work hard and do what they were told. They were prepared for a hard journey, would help each other in time of difficulty, and could be relied upon in tight situations.

  The gamblers and miners, the dudes from the East, and the dance hall girls would make trouble all the way to Texas.

  His suspicions were confirmed later in the day when the group who’d gone to town returned to the campsite. They were drunk and noisy, waving bottles of whiskey in the air, riding around the campsite, firing their guns. One was so drunk he fell off his horse.

  Stone turned to Taggart. “I think we ought to leave some of these people behind.”

  “Can’t do that,” Taggart said. “I’m gittin’ paid by the wagon. The less wagons, the less money I make, and if I don’t make money, how’m I gonna pay you?”

  Everything had been simple in the army. Stone gave
orders, and if they weren’t carried out, somebody was punished. But these were civilians, difficult to handle.

  One of the farmers approached and asked Taggart if he’d help him with a loose wheel, and Taggart departed with him, leaving Stone alone. It was another bright day, with the sun shining in a cloudless sky. Stone felt like going to town and getting a drink of whiskey but didn’t want to tempt fate. The boys from the Rafter K might be there, and he might not be so lucky this time.

  Young Alice McGhee walked toward him. “Is Mister Taggart around?” she asked, wearing a bonnet to shield her eyes from the sun.

  “He’s just gone to the Royster wagon.”

  “One of our horses is limping. Think you could take a look at him?”

  Stone stood and put on his hat. He walked across the open space with Alice McGhee, aware of her supple young body next to him.

  “It was nice to see you at the prayer meeting this morning,” she said.

  “Your father preaches a hell of a sermon.”

  “He believes in the power of God, and I was glad to see that you do, too.”

  Stone smiled politely even though he wasn’t sure what he believed in anymore. They came to the McGhee wagon, and the Reverend Joshua McGhee stood beside one of his horses. “Something wrong with his leg,” he said.

  Stone lifted the horse’s leg and looked at the shoe. It was cracked and coming loose.

  “Got an extra shoe?”

  “I’ll get one out of the back,” Reverend McGhee said.

  Reverend McGhee climbed into the rear of the wagon and rustled around in the boxes. Stone stood beside the big horse and patted his neck.

  “I call him Lou,” Alice said.

  “Hello, Lou,” Stone said to the horse.

  “I think he’s just beautiful.”

  Reverend McGhee climbed out of the back of his wagon, carrying a hammer, some nails, and a horseshoe. Stone turned his back to the horse, bent over, and held the horse’s hoof between his legs. McGhee handed Stone the hammer, and Stone ripped the broken shoe away, then hammered the new shoe firmly in place.

  Stone stepped back. The horse whinnied and moved a few steps. He wasn’t limping anymore.

  “I’m much obliged to you,” Reverend McGhee said.

  Stone opened his shirt pocket and took out the picture of Marie. “Ever see this woman, Reverend?”

  Reverend McGhee squinted his eyes as he looked at the picture. “Can’t say that I have.” He handed the picture to his wife. “How about you, Doris?”

  Doris McGhee accepted the picture. “No, I don’t think so. Who is she?”

  “Friend of mine.”

  “She’s very pretty, whoever she is.”

  Stone tucked the picture back into his pocket. He was halfway back to Taggart’s wagon when he heard somebody running behind him. Turning, he saw Miss Daisy Sommers, one of the dance hall girls. She had blond hair and a big ass.

  “Mister Stone,” she said. “We’ve got our wagon packed and wonder if you’d look at it to make sure it’s all right.”

  He walked beside her toward the wagon. A few times her hips touched his.

  “I saw you talkin’ to that McGhee girl,” Daisy said. “I think she’s sweet on you.”

  Stone didn’t know what to say. Daisy looked sideways at him.

  “Can’t say I blame her. Yer the best lookin’ man on this wagon train.”

  They came to the wagon owned by the dance hall girls. Miss Bottom stood in front. “Glad you could come, Captain Stone,” she said. “Would you just crawl in back here and take a look?”

  Stone climbed into the back of the wagon, and the three women followed him inside. The trunks and crates were lashed to the sides of the wagon, and he checked the tension of the ropes and security of the knots. “You’ve done fine,” he said.

  The four of them were confined to the narrow space in back of the wagon. “Care for a drink?” Miss Bottom asked.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Miss Shirley Clanton pulled a bottle from between two trunks and held it in the air, a smile on her pretty face. She handed him the bottle, and he pulled the cork out, raised it in the air, and took a swig.

  “Have some more,” Miss Bottom said.

  “No, that’s enough.”

  He handed the bottle back to Shirley Clanton. Miss Bottom leaned forward and touched his right knee. “I hope you’re not mad at us for the other night.”

  “I’m not mad at you.”

  “It’s hard for three women travelin’ alone. We don’t want no special favors or anythin’ like that, but we’d appreciate it if you’d look in on us from time to time.”

  Stone pulled the picture of Marie out of his shirt pocket. “Ever see this woman?”

  They passed the picture around, shaking their heads.

  “She your wife?” Shirley Clanton asked.

  “Friend of mine.”

  “Real purty.”

  Stone returned the picture to his shirt pocket.

  “You don’t have to leave yet,” Miss Bottom said.

  “Yes, I do,” Stone said.

  He jumped out of the wagon and walked across the field to Taggart’s wagon. Taggart was there, smoking a cigar.

  “Where the hell were you?” Taggart asked.

  “I put a shoe on the McGhee’s horse, and then I looked at the load in one of the other wagons.”

  “Which wagon was that?”

  “The dance hall girls.”

  “Figured you’d get around to that wagon sooner or later.”

  “The load was secure. They did a good job.”

  “I bet they did. Have a little party?”

  “Just a drink.”

  “Don’t get too friendly with them dance hall girls. You saw what happened the other night. They’re liable to give you somethin’ you don’t want. I wouldn’t want to lose my scout to some strange disease.”

  Stone boiled water and shaved in his old cracked mirror. Then it was time for supper. He and Taggart had beans and bacon again.

  “When we get out on the open trail, we’ll hunt for fresh meat,” Taggart said. “You ever eat buffalo?”

  “No.”

  “Nothin’ like a buffalo steak. It’s a little like bear. You’ve eaten bear?”

  “No.”

  “We’ll have to git you some. Rattlesnake stew ain’t bad, either.”

  Night came to the encampment, and Taggart built a bonfire. He’d announced that he wanted to speak with the travelers collectively before they left for Texas in the morning.

  The farm families arrived first and sat down in front, close to the bonfire. Then the others drifted toward the fire in twos and threes. Taggart was anxious to begin but noticed some of the travelers weren’t there.

  “Git the miners, the gamblers, and the dudes from the East,” Taggart said to Stone.

  Stone pulled his hat firmly on his head and walked toward the miners’ wagon. The closer he got, the worse it smelled. He approached the rear and shouted, “Hello in there!”

  The curtain in back was pulled to the side, and Joe Doakes stuck his head outside. He was still drunk from his trip to town. “What you want?”

  “Time for the meeting.”

  “What meetin’?”

  “Mister Taggart wants to talk to all of you one last time before we pull out in the morning.”

  “I don’t feel like listenin’ to that old windbag.”

  “Don’t care how you feel. Let’s go.”

  The barrel of a rifle appeared over the edge of the wagon gate. “Get the hell walkin’,” said the voice of Wayne Collins, the moon-faced miner. “We’ve had just about enough of your shit.”

  “Think you’d better put that rifle away.”

  “Hit the trail, cowboy. We ain’t goin’ to no damn meetin’.”

  Stone held out his hands and smiled. “Okay.”

  He walked away, and the curtain dropped over the rear of the wagon. A peal of laughter arose from inside. Stone circled around,
ducked into the shadows, and returned to the miners’ wagon on his tiptoes. Silently he approached the rear of the wagon and heard a voice inside.

  “I guess I showed that big son of a bitch who’s boss and who ain’t,” Collins said.

  “Ain’t nothin’ like a loaded rifle to bring a man back to his senses,” Georgie Saulnier replied.

  Stone moved to the rear of the wagon, pulled out one of his pistols, and pushed the curtain aside, pointing his pistol at the nose of Collins.

  “Let’s go to the meeting,” Stone said.

  Collins turned down the corners of his mouth. “Why, you sneaky son of a bitch!”

  Stone pulled the trigger, and his pistol fired. The wagon filled with smoke, and the lobe of Collins’ ear blew away, blood spattering in all directions.

  “He shot me!” Collins screamed, his round moon face corded with horror. “He shot me!”

  “I’ll shoot you again if you don’t come out of that wagon.”

  Collins untied his bandanna from his neck and pressed it against his bleeding ear. Georgie Saulnier, with trembling hands, let down the tailgate. He jumped down, followed by Joe Doakes. Collins was last, whimpering like a dog. Stone kicked him in the ass, and Collins went sprawling.

  “You aim a rifle at me again,” Stone said, “and I’ll kill you. That goes for all of you. I’m not playing with you boys anymore. From now on, you either do as you’re told, or else. Now move it out.”

  The three miners made their way across the field, heading toward the bonfire on the other side. Stone walked past the row of wagons until he came to the one inhabited by Tad Holton and Sam Drake, the gamblers. He saw a kerosene lamp flickering inside the canvas and the shadowy shapes of two men. Stone moved to the rear of the wagon and looked inside. No curtain hid the interior, and he saw the two men sitting on the bed of their wagon, playing blackjack.

  They looked up as Stone drew closer. Tad Holton wore a rumpled suit and vest with a string tie, while Sam Drake had on his suit pants and a dirty shirt without a vest or tie. They both were in their forties and looked as if they’d been around the frontier a long time.

  “Care to sit in?” Holton asked Stone. Holton had a pencil-thin mustache and the sunburn on his face was peeling.

  “No thanks,” Stone said. “You heard about the meeting?”