Gabe smiled. “I am not sick, I promise you. I have just been released from the prison at Forth Smith, four days ago.”
The man frowned. “That is a bad place.”
“I committed no crime. I have papers to prove it. Can you show me where to go to find work?”
The man sighed, glancing at his cattle to check on them before turning back to Gabe. “What is your name?”
“Gabe. Gabe Beaumont. My father was a French trapper, my mother Sioux.”
The stranger’s eyes widened in surprise. “Sioux! What is a Sioux doing down here?”
Gabe removed his backpack and set it on the ground. “It is a long story. I wish nothing more than to go back to my homeland. I have a wife and child there. But I need to rebuild my strength first, and that will take time, food, money. I need a horse, more clothes. Can you help me?”
The man looked him over skeptically. “Perhaps. I have a ranch not far from here. You could work for me.”
“I would be grateful. What tribe are you?”
“I am Cherokee.” A look of great pride came into his eyes. “We have our own settlements here now, ranches, schools. My name is Charlie Jefferson, for government record. My real name is Runs with Horses. What is your Sioux name?”
“Tall Bear. I lived first in Minnesota for many years, then my people were chased west into the Dakotas.”
Charlie nodded. “Someday there will be no land left for us.”
Gabe felt a stab of pain in his heart, but he could not think about the future of the Sioux right now. He had to think about his own future…Faith. “I am good with horses. I can catch wild ones for you, break them. That is what I do best.”
Charlie nodded. “Then that is what you will do for me. But you also must learn about cattle and do chores, cut wood, sling hay.”
“I will do whatever you want. I just want to get started as soon as I can so that I can go home by spring. I will give you the winter.”
Charlie looked toward a horse that drank and grazed among the cattle. “Can you ride bareback?”
Gabe grinned. “You ask a Sioux if he can ride bareback?”
Charlie chuckled. “I suppose that was a stupid question. That is my spare horse. You can ride him back to my home. My family will welcome you.”
Gabe picked up his backpack and eagerly walked over to the sturdy sorrel mare, slinging the supplies over his back again and easing up onto the horse. “She is a fine animal.”
“I call her Fancy Dancer,” Charlie replied with a grin. “She is good at dancing around the cattle and keeping them in line.” He turned his horse and clucked his tongue at the cattle, shouting at them and getting them under way. “I will teach you about herding cattle. These are some strays I was taking back home. A lot of white men are coming here to settle now, on Indian lands the government has opened up to them. You see? Even in Indian Territory we lose our land. Anyway, we have to be careful to keep our cattle on our own land, or sometimes the white men steal them. Yet they call us thieves.”
“You do not have to tell me about how white men behave. When we have more time, I will explain how I got here.”
“White men?”
Gabe nodded. He rode beside Charlie, grateful for the man’s help. “Do you know how to write?”
Charlie frowned. “Why?”
“I need to send a letter to my wife in Wyoming, let her know where I am and that I am all right. I am sure she was never told what happened to me. I want her to know why I can’t come back right away, and I need to know if she even wants me to come back. I have been gone over four years. It is possible she thinks I am dead and she has perhaps married someone else.”
Charlie left to chase a wandering cow back into the herd again, then returned to Gabe’s side. “I have a son who is sixteen and well schooled. He can write a letter for you.”
“Good.” Gabe felt a flutter in his heart at the thought of contacting Faith. What if she wrote back and said she didn’t want him to come home? What reason would he have left to live? Where would he go? “Thank you.” He rode out after another wandering steer, managing to work it back to the herd. It felt good to be on horseback again, good to be free! Free! All he needed now was to know Faith was all right…and that she still wanted him.
There was one other thing he needed to do then. He had to find Tod Harding, let the man know he was still alive! It would feel good seeing the look of fear on the man’s face!
Bret stoked the potbelly heating stove in the middle of the saloon. Here it was March, but no relief from the bitter winter had yet arrived. Still, the cold came just as much from the cool, dark depression that hung over the town as it did from the weather. Everyone knew Faith had been forced to sell her railroad lots to Tod Harding, which meant that now she had to pay rent to the man for her own boardinghouse and her home, which both sat on someone else’s property. The man had raised everyone’s rent, and a few more people had left town; harassment by Joe Keller and his men was added incentive to do so.
Still, many stayed out of loyalty to Faith and a determination to hang on to “their” town. Faith still owned considerable property beyond the railroad land, and she refused to give up and leave. The townspeople thought highly of Faith, and many couldn’t bear to skip town, leaving her alone to fight Harding and his henchmen.
Bret told herself that somehow they would get through this. Faith had held several secret meetings, and the citizens of Sommers Station had discussed their options, including hiring a gunman to go up against Keller. The trouble was, that still left Harding owning half the town. How did they get rid of him?
Bret closed the stove door and opened the draft slightly, turning to watch a young man, barely more than a boy, who had drifted into town earlier in the day. He was playing cards, and he had been ordering whiskey all evening, apparently newly on his own and wanting to prove he could handle his alcohol. What bothered her more than a kid getting drunk was the fact that one of Joe Keller’s deputies was standing inside watching him. Keller had begun the practice of placing deputies all over town, saying it was his way of ensuring the peace. As far as Bret was concerned, it was his way of making people feel threatened. In another secret meeting at Faith’s house, Sam Kettering, who owned a farm-supply business, admitted that Keller had threatened him. If he did not begin making weekly payments to Keller for “protection,” his business could end up burned to the ground like Clancy Dee’s hardware store. Even Buck had been threatened, and both Bret and Faith were worried about him. He was a stubborn, brave man, not easily threatened or forced to back down.
Let the bastard come after me, he’d said at the meeting. I’ll be ready for him.
Faith had argued with him to cooperate until she could decide what to do, how to get rid of Keller and his bunch. Everyone in town was afraid of them, yet most had spent their last dime investing in Sommers Station and could not just up and leave.
Bret didn’t doubt it would be very long before Keller came to pay her a visit, asking for part of her profits. The deputy at the doorway now was Dave Kuzak, a big man, tall, hefty, a look in his dark eyes that made even Bret nervous. She’d been around long enough and dealt with enough men that there were few who could intimidate her—but this one did.
Damn them, she thought, feeling sorry for Faith, who had put so much work into building this community and now was losing it. Her thoughts were interrupted when the young stranger ordered yet another whiskey. Where he got his money for gambling and drinking, Bret didn’t know or care. She only knew he didn’t dare drink anymore, or Keller’s thug would use drunkenness as an excuse to throw the kid in jail and “fine” him every last cent he had.
“You’ve had enough, young man. No more tonight.” Bret picked up his whiskey glass, and he grabbed her wrist.
“Hey, pretty lady, you gotta get me some more.”
“Sorry, honey. I don’t want you to spend the night in jail.”
“Wait!” He stood up as Bret turned away. “I asked for a drink. You gott
a bring me one.”
Bret set his glass on the bar, and a few people in the tavern stopped their talking and turned to watch. Bret approached the young man authoritatively. “I don’t gotta do anything, honey. Now, why don’t you just leave before you get in trouble? You’re just a kid.”
“A kid!” He grasped her arms. “I’m man enough to go upstairs with you. You got a room up there?”
Bret wrested herself from his grasp. “I just own and run this saloon, kid. No prostitution. Now, you can sit down and finish your card game, drink some sarsaparilla or something. But no more whiskey.”
“Come on, honey.” The young man had had just enough whiskey to give him romantic notions. “You can change the rules for a lovin’ young man like me, can’t you?” He stuck a finger into the cleavage of her full bosom, well displayed by her low-cut taffeta dress.
Bret pushed his hand away, but stopped at the sound of a clicking revolver.
“That’s enough, boy!” The words were growled by Dave Kuzak. “You’re comin’ with me, and so are you, Bret Flowers.”
Bret stepped away from the young man and faced Kuzak. “What the hell are you talking about? I haven’t done anything.”
The other men at the gambling table got up and backed away.
“The young man here is drunk, and you’re soliciting for prostitution.” He shook his head, a haughty grin on his face. “You know that’s not allowed in Sommers Station. We just might have to run you out of town, Miss Flowers.”
“You know damn well I was trying to turn the boy away!”
“That’s not how I saw it.”
“You’re not taking Bret anyplace,” Ben spoke up from behind the bar.
“Please don’t get involved, Ben,” Bret asked him.
“I’ve been looking out for you since we were kids. Keller’s just using this as a way to start getting money from us, and it’s not going to happen.”
Kuzak waved his pistol at both Bret and the drunken young man. “I make the decisions here, and I say they’re both going to jail.”
Bret turned to Ben, her faithful friend, still so handsome and dapper. Ben could charm just about anyone into anything, but none of that would work on Dave Kuzak, and even Ben knew it. He raised a sawed-off shotgun and aimed it at Kuzak. “I say Bret stays,” he told Kuzak.
The room went silent, and Kuzak’s face literally distorted with surprise and anger. “Put that thing away, Carson!”
“Ben, put the gun down,” Bret pleaded. “I’ll go over to the jail. I’m not worried about this.”
Ben met her eyes. “You weren’t soliciting that punk.”
“Ben, what difference does it make? Everybody knows what I once was, and they don’t care. I’ll spend a night in jail, and that will be the end of it. It’s not worth your getting hurt. What would I do without you?”
Ben glowered at Kuzak. “You’d better treat her decent.”
Kuzak slowly raised his gun hand, aiming his pistol at Ben. “And you’d better know you’re in trouble, pointing a gun at a deputy. Put it away, Carson.”
“Ben, please! If you shoot him, the others will come. Keller will have you hanged!”
Ben knew Bret was right. He slowly laid the gun on the bar, but just before he let go of it, to Bret’s shock and horror, Kuzak fired his pistol. Everything happened so fast that there was no time to think, no time to wonder how or why it had happened, except to know that Kuzak had apparently made up his mind he wanted blood that night. Ben crashed backward into a stack of glasses, a hole in his forehead. He slumped to the floor, glasses falling and crashing all around him. Amid the noise Bret screamed his name and ran toward him, and the drunken young man, whose name no one even knew yet, made a dash for the door.
Kuzak’s gun fired again, and the boy went down with a bullet in his back. Everyone else inside the saloon backed away, appalled at what they had just seen. Kuzak whirled, waving his gun at all of them. “You all saw it!” he said, more of a command than a question. “Ben Carson threatened a law officer with a sawed-off shotgun! And this boy here was trying to escape arrest!” He turned and walked around behind the bar, where Bret was kneeling over Ben, crying his name, clinging to him, not even aware that as she knelt beside him, she had cut her knees on broken glass.
“Let’s go, bitch!” Kuzak ordered. “You’re still under arrest for whorin’ with a kid.”
Bret slowly rose. “Murderer!” she screamed at him. “This was murder! He’d already put down his gun!” Tears streamed down her face, making white lines through her rouge and powder.
Kuzak grabbed her arm. “Keller will decide what was right and wrong about this, and he’ll decide what to do with you! Now, let’s go!” He dragged her away from Ben forcefully, all the while Bret screaming Ben’s name. She stared at the dead young stranger as Kuzak took her through the saloon door, only then aware that the boy had also been shot, and in the back! He wasn’t even armed!
“Murderer!” she screamed again, unaware that blood was streaming down the front of her legs. “This town will find a way to get you for this! We’ll bring in the army! We’ll do whatever we have to do, you bastards!”
Kuzak dragged her out into a cold wind filled with stinging sleet, not even allowing her to put on a cloak first.
Faith held Alex’s hand, and the little boy seemed to understand he had to stand still and not make any noise. Eight-year-old Johnny stood on his mother’s other side, staring at the open grave, the mounds of fresh dirt around it dusted with fresh spring snow. The coffin inside was plain, and Ben had no family, yet the whole town had turned out for his burial.
People were angry. Sheriff Keller had declared that Dave Kuzak had every right to do what he did. People pooled their money to get Bret out of jail, and the new town doctor had treated the wounds on her knees. She stood on the other side of Johnny now, dressed in black, and under her long black skirt her knees were wrapped in gauze. She walked with a limp because of stitches, and the old smiling, devil-may-care Bret Flowers had disappeared behind a black veil. Because of the cold weather she’d worn the hat and veil beneath the black hood of a fur cloak. She had said nothing through the whole ordeal. Faith had arranged everything, even a funeral for the unnamed young man who’d been shot in the back. Most of the town had also gone to his funeral, simply as a show of solidarity against Keller and his men. The dead young man had no identification on him. His stone would read “Name Unknown.”
Faith moved around behind Johnny and put an arm around Bret, who had not even cried since being released, but now she broke down as the minister read from the Bible. In spite of their reputation as nothing more than a roving gambler and a long-time prostitute, everyone felt sorry for Bret, and all were angry over what had happened. A few managed to get through a hymn, “Shall We Gather by the River,” but Faith could not even sing the words without more tears of her own stopping her. Again she wished she could be present at one of the Quaker prayer meetings and ask all of the worshipers to pray for Bret, and for Sommers Station. Keller had to be stopped, but she wasn’t sure how to do it. She had already sent a letter to the commanding officer at Laramie, but his reply was that the army was much too involved in continuing Indian problems to be concerned about a town’s problems with its sheriff. He had suggested they simply vote him out and hire someone else.
If only the man understood how difficult that would be. Any move made against Keller and his bunch was considered a crime, and though the townspeople were angry, they were also all afraid—except for Buck. Faith had had to argue with the man not to go after Keller alone—an impossible task. They had to plan a strategy. They had to stay calm, play along with Keller a while longer. It was obvious Keller had ordered Kuzak to find a reason to kill Ben Carson. That left Bret more vulnerable. Now they could move in and try to take over her saloon.
The service ended, and several people came up to express their sympathy to Bret, who was surprised to see so many there—more surprised to be receiving so much attention and sincere
concern. Maude took the children with her, and Faith stayed behind with Bret, who bent down, took some dirt into her fist, and gently dropped it onto the coffin.
“’Bye, Ben,” she said softly.
Faith was glad to hear her say anything at all. A stiff wind blew against them, billowing their skirts and making the hood of Faith’s wool cloak blow off her head. She pulled it back around her hair and ears and took Bret’s arm. “We’ve got to get in where it’s warm, Bret.”
The woman faced her, and even through the veil Faith could see the dark circles under her eyes. “He was my best friend,” Bret said brokenly.
“I know.”
“I loved him. Not like you love a man you want to sleep with.” She closed her eyes. “Ben was…just different. I loved him like the father I never had. The brother I never had. The friend I never had.”
Faith grasped her cold hands. “Bret, you have a whole town full of friends now. We’ll get you through this. And the Bret I know won’t let it break her. That’s what they want, Bret. Don’t let them do it. I’m fighting it myself, and I need your help, just like you need mine.”
Bret nodded, shivering in a sob. “It isn’t…just losing Ben. It’s more than that, Faith.” She sniffed, wiping at her eyes with a handkerchief. “I never thought…it could happen to me…of all people. Some would say it isn’t possible for somebody like me.”
Faith frowned. “What isn’t possible, Bret?”
The woman hesitated, blowing her nose. “That I…” She cried again, blew her nose again. “He…raped me, Faith. That bastard Kuzak…raped me in jail.”
Faith felt her blood running colder than the winter air. “My God!”
“It wasn’t like…you know…like being with somebody because it was my job and I agreed to it. It was…different. Just different. Can you understand that?”
Faith pulled her into her arms. “I think I do, Bret.”
“You’ve gotta…be careful, Faith. He said…he said they’d get you, too. I think they’re just waiting…for Tod Harding to say it’s okay.”
Tame the Wild Wind Page 36
