by Nancy Radke
"You really think I should?"
"Other folks see it, there'll be a heap of trouble."
"What other folks?"
"Too late," he muttered, as Calvert Smith rode up and smiled broadly at me.
Mr. Smith was a young man, around twenty-three, traveling alone with a nice outfit. He had hired an old soldier, Joe Peters, to drive his rig, while he himself rode a fancy stepping Tennessee Walker stallion. He had nice clothes and two pearl handled revolvers, stovepipe boots and a long black coat that he had discarded today also. He was all dressed up with white shirt and a velvet vest. A handsome man and he knew it.
He had taken to riding out ahead with Web, scouting for grass, but today he didn't seem interested in going and Web called out Burt Hayes' boy, Eliot, to go with him. I watched them ride off. Mr. Smith was still beside me and trying to make his presence known. I strode off after the wagon, paying him no mind so as he had to move that Walker out to keep up with me.
It was the first time I'd ever had a man interested in me, but I could feel it and knew it for what it was; a sudden awareness, an intensity in the air that wasn't there a moment earlier. My hair was man-bait and I realized that this must have been enough in my mind to cause me to keep it covered for so long. Good thing I had looked like a bum while out on the trails, alone.
"Pretty woman like you shouldn't have to walk, Miss Buchanan," he said and I turned my head and eyed that there stallion horse of his. I'd ridden mules mainly, and preferred a good mule to a horse. But one of those Courtney boys had come to our place riding a Tennessee Walker and let me ride it for a spell.
Gage Courtney. He was the oldest of the boys, at least ten years older'n me, and was headed off for the western lands when he left. I don't know which side he fought on, seems half those Courtney boys fought for the North and the other half for the South.
They never could agree and were always fighting amongst themselves anyway. But if anyone tried to do mean to one of them, the whole passel would band together. Anyway, riding Gage's horse had been as smooth as setting in a rowboat in the middle of a pond. So I took a look at that Walker of Smith's and temptation hit me hard.
I wasn't one to bat my eyes and try to sweet talk my way into anything; truth was I didn't know how. So I just up and said, "Why thank you kindly, I'd appreciate riding your horse."
"Oh, well...I was thinking of—"
"Just for a short time, of course. I'll bring him right back."
"This is quite a horse, Ma'am. Perhaps—"
"Thanks. I won't take him far then." His face was turning red but I ignored it. I knew he wanted to ride beside me, him on his stallion and I on whatever he could find for me. But being mountain bred, I liked to walk and unless a horse had some spunk in him I didn't want to be bothered. "Hold his head please, while I mount."
I didn't need anyone to hold a horse for me, but it made him dismount and kept him from putting his hands on me to help me mount. I stepped up, swinging my right leg through in front of me and settled down with my knee hooked over the low sloping pommel.
He wasn't going to see any leg if I could help it and I had been making do with men's saddles for as long as I'd ridden. Since he was a short man and I fairly tall for a girl—I was over five-seven—the stirrup didn't even need to be shortened any.
"What's his name?" I asked, touching the stallion's dark gray coat.
"Jupiter," he answered and had to step back as I nudged Jupiter forward. I knew better than to run a horse past the wagons, so I put that Walker in his mile-eating pace and walked right away from them.
Uncle Dem gave me a wide grin and waved his hat as I went by and I could see many of the men set up and take notice. Oh, well, as I wasn't planning to hide under that scarf the whole trip, they might as well get used to seeing me.
As soon as I was a safe distance away from the wagons, I put Jupiter to a lope and caught up with Web and Elliot Hayes. Elliot looked happy to see me, he being a young man about two years older than me. Web just shook his head, eyes dancing.
"That certainly wasn't what he planned," Web commented.
"I know. That's why I did it."
"Did what?" Elliot was puzzled.
"Nothing," I replied, for it was none of his business.
"That's sure some horse," Elliot remarked, looking enviously at the Walker. "Reckoned he'd let me ride it?"
I shrugged. "You can ask." I wouldn't, if it were my horse. I'd seen Elliot's horse with a bleeding mouth and deep spur marks. When he wasn't neglecting his horse, he was abusing it, and I wondered how a military man like Burt Hayes managed to overlook that feature in his son.
Web glanced around. "You high-tail it back to the wagons and stay there. No use inviting trouble. Any Injin see you, he's gonna want that scalp. Cover it up."
"Will do," I said, having intended to start right back anyway.
"There ain't no Indians around," Eliot protested.
"The most dangerous ones are those you don't see," Web said, sharply. "Now get going. We'll watch you back. And if you have to make a run for it, straddle that horse and move. Modesty don't count when an Injin's after you."
"See you," I said, and cantered back to the train. I gave Calvert back his horse, thanked him nicely for the ride and climbed back into the wagon. Uncle Dem was driving and I settled beside him, mumbling to myself.
"What the matter? Didn't Calvert take kindly to being set afoot?"
Calvert had looked dusty and put out when I brought his horse back. It was no way to treat a man, but I wasn't ready to give any man the time of day and the condescending way Calvert had treated me when I'd just been a bundle of clothes walking along didn't make me take kindly to him.
I had a hill-person's suspicion of anyone dressed up too fancy. Especially one who had about run me down one morning because I hadn't stepped out of his way quick enough.
"No, he didn't, but that's not what I was muttering about."
"What then?"
"Oh, Web told me to cover my hair up. It's going to be a long trip if I have to wear this old scarf the whole way. He says it'll cause trouble."
"Uh huh."
"What'd you think, Uncle Dem?"
"I agree. That hair is like a red blanket to a bull. You'll have all the young bucks, white and red, swarming around this wagon."
"Do you think I must cover it like Web says?"
"Mallory, Web don't give no orders unless there's a mighty big reason to give them. You do as he says."
"All right, but I hate that heavy scarf."
"Ask Edith for one of her sunbonnets."
"That'll only cover the top part."
"Then wear a loose shawl or jacket and tuck in the rest of your hair."
"Good. I'll do it. But just 'cause you think I should."
I started to crawl back into the wagon when Dem called me back. "Mallory." I waited for what he had to say. "Anything happen to me...you go to Web for advice. He knows the country out here and how to survive in it. But even more important, he can read men. He's mighty choosy who he calls friend."
Web was Uncle Dem's friend. I had seen them laughing together. "He can read men?" I asked.
"Yes. For instance, we all chose Burt Hayes to lead us, but Duncan Ashley would have been a better choice...or even Gunther."
"What's wrong with Mr. Hayes?" Aunt Edith asked. She had finished the work she was doing, putting all the morning things away, and moved out to sit next to Uncle Dem. She had heard the part about the sunbonnet and had one in her hand. I took it and put it on, wondering how he would answer her question. Mr. Hayes had done fine so far; I had thought everyone pleased with his leadership.
"There's no give to him. A leader has to have a little give, a little mercy in some cases. I can't see any of that in Burt. The point is I didn't notice that when we elected him. It seemed a fine thing to have a military officer leading us. Web just shook his head and didn't say anything; he would've if we'd asked."
It wasn't going to help us any, bemoanin
g the fact now. He sure had a lot of give to him when he let Elliot get off with treating his horses like he did. Or maybe Elliot's rough treatment of his stock was just an extension of his father's nature. That could be it.
It could also answer for the way Hannah acted. She was Mr. Hayes' wife, a quiet, subdued person, afraid of stepping outdoors lessen she had his permission. I had thought it just her nature, but now wondered what she'd been like before he married her.
Uncle Dem had been eyeing the low mounds of dirt we were passing more and more often, some with makeshift crosses on them, others simply a heap of stones. A lot of things could kill a person out in this country. River crossings, snake bite, accidents with guns or axes, as well as Indians.
Two days ago we'd passed a huge group of such mounds near the remains of a train, the burned wagons still carrying the smell of smoke. The unfortunate victims had been buried by another train passing through ahead of us, the earth so fresh it had just started to crust over. No one spoke as we passed through, but the warning was there for all to see.
Only a fool would think that he could live forever; and out here one began to feel quick-like, that unless he took care, he wouldn't last until the next week.
There was a big commotion going on up further along the wagons and Uncle Dem kept looking forward to see what it was all about, but a slight dip in the prairie hid all but the two nearest wagons from us. We were the last in line and were looking forward to being the leaders tomorrow. Cordell Knast's wagon was in front today. He was a big strong man, kind and gentle, a hard worker but a slow thinker.
The commotion continued, a ripple of voices, and finally Uncle Dem could take it no longer. He handed the reins to Aunt Edith and swung down to untie his horse from the back of the wagon and ride up to see what was going on.
Curious, we watched as we cleared the rim of the dip, but even then could see nothing unusual. We must have been going through an old buffalo wallow for we were in a small crater-shaped area and already the lead wagons had gone on out. There was certainly nothing to cause so much excitement that we could see.
A few minutes later Uncle Dem appeared, turning his horse to ride alongside of us. "Web and Elliot just brought in a man the Indians had caught. They'd staked him out on an ant hill and were so busy watching the fun they didn't see Web until he was right upon them. He shot one, and Elliot was shooting from behind some rocks so they didn't know how many were there and skedaddled."
"Is the poor man still alive?" Aunt Edith asked.
"Yes, barely. They were cutting him up to make the ants more interested and I guess he was laughing at them and insulting their courage... trying to get them to kill him quicker."
The shudder that ran through Aunt Edith also ran through me. "Did you see him?" I asked, wondering how anyone could stand thousands of ants biting them.
"Yes. He's a big man. They put him in Cordell's wagon. I'll give him some of my clothes if he recovers."
"Why?" Aunt Edith wanted to know. "What's wrong with his?"
I could've answered her, but Uncle Dem did, bluntly. "He ain't got none."
She opened her mouth to speak, but gasped instead as something hit with a thud. It was an arrow, and it had caught Aunt Edith dead center. She slid off the seat, the reins still clutched in her hands.
CHAPTER THREE
Even as my mind was registering this, three arrows hit the off-side leader and he fell in his traces, a good mule now dead; effectively stopping our wagon since the other mules couldn't move. Uncle Dem jumped down, knife out, cutting the traces with one hand as he used his pistol with the other.
The guns were all there next to me. There were three of them, fully loaded, for Uncle Dem knew a gun always loaded was a sight safer than an "unloaded" one.
I grabbed my father's Sharps and sent a bullet through an Indian who had ridden up behind Uncle Dem, his lance held high. The boom of that gun should warn the train and perhaps send help. I next caught up Uncle Dem's shotgun and blasted two braves who had sprung up out of the grass and were almost in the wagon seat. They fell backward, the blast of the shot knocking them away and splattering me with blood.
Uncle Dem had the dead mule cut free by now and grabbing my pistol I shot again at a savage trying to lance the lead mule on the other side. The Indian was lying low on his horse—they were more wary now—but this was my squirrel shooting gun and what I shot at, I hit.
I lowered the pistol just long enough to crack the whip over those mules and get them moving. Aunt Edith still had the reins gripped in her hands. The mules were following where the rest of the wagons had cleared the rim and disappeared, and I figured that, trail broke as they were, they'd keep on following even if Aunt Edith didn’t have the strength to guide them.
I had seen Uncle Dem swing into the saddle and could only hope he was coming too. He had an arrow in his back but it didn't seem to be slowing him down any. I looked over and saw only one other Indian, riding alongside the wagon, trying to get a shot at my mules and I shot him off his horse. Probably didn't kill him, but I sure slowed him down some. It took me three shots to get him, the wagon was bouncing so hard my aim was spoiled.
Clearing the rim of the depression, I spotted five riders coming toward us from the rest of the wagons. The terrain was rocky and dry, covered with sagebrush, and the wagons must have been strung out over a quarter mile. The lead wagon—Cordell Knast's—had swung wide off the trail circling around the top of a small knoll to give the train the added protection of higher ground, but in so doing had exposed everyone because the knoll hadn't been close enough.
But like the body of a centipede, the rest of the train followed suit, the animals lashed into a frantic run until the circle was finally complete, each wagon facing slightly inward, the teams left in harness but tied to the tail of the wagon in front.
The riders passed me, then fell in behind as the Indians rode away, unwilling to continue the attack against those odds.
I slowed the team down and pulled up next to the circle. There had been no spot left open for me, but if the Indians had've killed my mules there wouldn't have been no need for an opening.
Axel Gunther went to my lead mule. It was injured and had been staggering the last few yards and Axel and Barney unharnessed it. There was an arrow deep in its side; the poor beast must have been running on courage alone. It lay on its side, moaning loudly, and Axel had to kill it.
Web dismounted and climbed in with me and Aunt Edith. I still couldn't get the reins out of her hands, and looking closer I realized she was dead. She had the look my mother had, of absolute stillness, the life gone from her body. She must have died instantly and for that I was thankful. I doubt she even knew she'd been hit.
Web was looking me over and worriedly wiping the blood from my face. "It's not mine," I told him and mentioned the shotgun. He wanted to know what had happened, and I told him, quickly, asking if Uncle Dem had made it. I couldn't see him although his horse was there.
"Not really. He made it back, Mallory, but we were holding him in the saddle and he died as we took him off."
It hit me hard, probably because I had so recently buried my folks and Uncle Dem had been so like Pa. Both had been tall men with a quick sense of humor and a ready laugh, kind and generous to all. Both had taken the time to point things out to me, giving me advice and training that I would need. Now I was alone.
Pa had wanted a son and got me instead, then Ma got too ill to have another child and so I was on the receiving end of all the knowledge he wished to share.
Now most young’uns don't want to be bothered with what their elders want to teach them, but Pa was a natural teacher and made things plumb interesting, and I was born curious, so we made a pair. He'd taught me to shoot since there was no boy to do the hunting, and his lessons had stood me well during the past few minutes.
I had reloaded the Sharps and the shotgun while the mules were running, and now broke open the pistol and reloaded it. I wasn't even thinking what I was doing, but
I always reloaded after firing and did so even now.
The Indians had pulled back, vanishing into the high grass. The first to attack had been on foot, which was why we hadn't seen them; then the riders charged in after the first group of arrows were shot. They were a small band and I had put at least five out of action and I know Uncle Dem hit two.
They were not about to charge up to circled wagons after meeting that kind of resistance. If they could've cut us off quick enough, and if Uncle Dem hadn't been able to cut the mule free, my hair might be adorning the bridle of one of those braves. It was not a comforting thought.
I was shaking with reaction but finished putting the shells in before the trembling swept over me. Web didn't say anything, just helped me set the guns back in the wagon and gave me time to recover.
Axel came up with Hedda and helped me down. First time I'd ever been helped in or out of a wagon, but my knees weren't any too steady right then.
I hadn't known them long, but Uncle Dem and Aunt Edith were kin and had taken me in without any hesitation and had showered upon me all the love they had in 'em.
Aunt Edith had had children, a pair of boy twins and one baby girl, all wiped out when smallpox hit. She had almost lost her mind at that time. Uncle Dem had explained it to me when he saw me trying to figure out why she was carrying baby clothes west with them. He said my being there helped her. If she'd lived longer, she might've been able to let go of those memories.
Web got the reins free and they lifted her out and laid her beside Uncle Dem. The prairie claimed a heavy toll and no one knew who was going to have to pay it.
The men got out the shovels and started the graves right then. There was no time to waste; everyone wanted to get the burial over and move out of the area and I didn't blame them.
I felt all hollow inside, with an emptiness that grief had created and only time could heal. Mr. Hayes read the words and the train started up again, with Barney Ashley riding beside me.
We were running short on men and no longer had one to a wagon. Calvert Smith was driving his own rig after Joe Peters had dropped the wagon on himself trying to change a wheel. It had busted up his foot and he had to keep it up high to keep infection from setting in.
