“Hear! Hear!” one man shouted, and the others enthusiastically nodded their agreement.
“I swear, Stephen, sometimes I think you’re smarter than the lot of them combined,” Baldy whispered to him.
He leaned over toward Baldy. “No, just common sense.”
Baldy frowned. “Well, common sense isn’t all that common.”
Chapter 7
That man would scare grizzly bears, Samuel thought as he watched Pate ride off. He could hardly find words to describe the man’s incivility and ruthless disregard for his children. But that man certainly knew how to find the words to draw blood. Pate couldn’t have wounded Louisa more if he’d tried. On top of that, he’d questioned Samuel’s honor.
Foul-tempered and uncivil, Pate had chafed him worse than a new pair of boots. How could that tyrant have raised such a charming daughter and an agreeable boy when he was so perfectly heartless? He guessed Louisa and Adam must have both taken after their mothers.
Samuel turned to Louisa. “I’m sorry if we’ve come between you and your father. My only intention was to help you. And Melly aimed to help too.”
“I know, and I’m grateful,” she said. “It’s just the way he is.”
Samuel wanted to learn more but didn’t want to say much about their father in front of the boy.
“Louisa, I’ll take Adam to my house,” Melly said, reading his mind. “I’ll start showing him around Baldy’s apothecary and clinic. Whenever you’re ready, join us. But there’s no hurry.”
“I’ll be along shortly,” Louisa said. “And thank you again for giving us jobs. I don’t know what we would have done if you hadn’t.”
Likely they would have starved, Samuel thought.
Melly placed a reassuring arm on Adam’s little shoulder. “I bet you’d like a big piece of pecan pie and a glass of milk,” she told the boy as they started to walk away.
Adam glanced up at Melly with a beaming grin. “Boy would I!”
“Mrs. Grant seems like such a kind woman,” Louisa said. “I’m so grateful to her for taking us in. I truly don’t know what my father would have done or how he would have cared for us if she hadn’t offered to employ us.”
“She’s been like a mother to me and my brothers for years.”
“What happened to your mother?” she asked.
“She died when my youngest brother, Stephen, Jr., was born. We call him Steve.”
“I’m so sorry. My mother died when I was young too.”
“That’s sad. Unfortunately, I need to go find my brothers. I’ll be back as soon as I can. Melly will have a good supply of pistols. Do you know how to use one?”
She nodded. “I do.”
“Keep one close by, maybe in your apron, no matter what you’re doing or where you are.”
“All right. I had better get to work. I’m employed now,” she said with a tinge of wonder and a grin. “It’s my first job and I intend to do it well.”
“Louisa, what made your father like that?”
“Like what?”
“Well, disagreeable, to put it nicely.”
“He’s always been like that. He’s not like my mother was or my stepmother. They were both kind and sweet and loved us. But Pa has always been harsh and thinks first of himself.” She stared down at the ground. “I think we have always just been burdens for him to carry around.”
“What did he plan for your family here on the frontier? How will he make a living?”
“My father buys and sells land and homesteads. He only bought our place because he got it for next to nothing. The man appeared desperate to sell. Pa will sell it soon.”
“Seems like a poor way to make a decent living,” Samuel said. “Can’t put down roots living that way.”
“We’ve moved a dozen times since I’ve been able to count without ever clearing timber or fencing a single field. He says he likes living that way because all he has to do to move is put out the fire and saddle his horse.”
It was so contrary to the way he’d been raised, Samuel couldn’t believe what he was hearing.
“He also plans to arrange a marriage for me at the first opportunity. He said he wanted to hurry up and marry me off before I lost my good looks.”
She couldn’t possibly lose her looks. He’d bet she’d be beautiful even when she was old and wrinkled. “Marry you off?” he asked.
“Since there are few women on the frontier, he dreams of arranging a favorable marriage contract with someone of considerable means. One of the men who own the profitable trading posts here at Pecan Point or in Jonesboro. Or perhaps a lawyer in Nacogdoches. If he doesn’t find a suitable match here, we’ll be moving to Louisiana soon.”
Stunned and outraged, Samuel said, “To me, that sounds a lot like selling you.”
Louisa cast her eyes to the ground. “I’ve known that was my fate for a long time. Ever since I can remember, he’s made me read newspapers and such to be sure I would appear knowledgeable and sound cultured to a potential husband.”
Samuel had wondered how someone so deprived could sound so learned.
“A young woman on the frontier is merely a valuable commodity to my Pa.”
Well, not to him. He’d saved her from the quicksand. But could he save her from a smothering father? Somehow, he would find a way.
“He also wants to hire Adam out to a farmer for field work. He would in effect become an indentured slave.” She raised her head and a swift spark of anger swept across her face.
Samuel shook his head. “I can’t believe a father would do that to his own children. And in the meantime, he expects you to manage and defend your home, care for a little boy, and fight off Indians?”
“I haven’t been good at any of those things,” she said, her voice near breaking. “I don’t think I’m suited for the frontier. Life is too hard here. Too unpredictable. Too lonely…” Her voice faded to a whisper.
“Life in the West can be hard. The wilderness is an unpredictable and untamed place as dangerous as it is breathtakingly beautiful. A place as beautiful as heaven must be. It is also an almost sacred place where the bravest can be blessed with life and happiness.”
“Happiness. I’m not sure I even know what that is anymore.”
Samuel wanted to wrap his arms around her and hug her to him. But afraid she would consider that too forward or improper, he simply said, “Don’t give up on happiness just yet. Things should get easier for you. All of us will help you. You are smart and brave and saved your brother and yourself. Don’t ever let your father make you think otherwise.”
She glanced up at him with a look of gratitude. “You’re the one who saved us. Thank you again. I owe you our lives.”
“You only owe me your friendship.”
For a long moment, they gazed into each other’s eyes. The warm look in those blue eyes of hers touched a place deep inside his heart.
“Unfortunately, I’ve got to go. But I won’t be far off. Our cattle are just south of here. About a mile. My father and Baldy should be back soon. Melly will tell them what happened with your father.”
“Be safe,” she said and marched toward the Grant’s home.
As she walked away, his heart wanted to pull her back to him.
With clods of dirt flinging from his gelding’s hooves, Samuel galloped Samson toward the pasture where their cattle normally grazed in the mornings as the herd worked their way toward Pecan Bayou for water. He could see his mounted brothers in the distance. Wisely, they had stayed together as they watched over the cattle. A few moments later, he tugged Samson to a gentle stop.
Quickly, he told them about the attack on the Pate place, how he’d pulled the two from the quicksand, and how ungrateful and uncivil their father was. Then he told them that Melly had offered them both jobs.
Thomas wisely focused on the most disturbing news. “So that means that there were raids by both the Osages and the Comanche last night.”
“Yes. Father and Baldy rode into the settlement
to alert the others.”
“No telling what they will find there,” Cornelius said. “Others might have been attacked too.”
“What does Father want us to do?” Steve asked.
“He didn’t say, but I think we should bring Rusty up to the lot next to the barn and then move the rest of the herd closer in,” Samuel told them.
They’d brought their best bull with them from Louisiana to Pecan Point. Samuel had crossed one of the English bulls their father had brought from Kentucky with a fine Spanish Criollo cow he’d purchased at a cattle auction in Louisiana. The cow had once roamed free in Texas and she was still a part of their herd. He’d raised their calf and named him Rusty since he was largely cinnamon color with few white splashes on his back half and on his legs. Now, four years later, with his impressive long horns, thick neck, and stout conformation, Rusty was Samuel’s most valuable possession.
The three nodded their agreement and they set to work. With his gentle disposition, herding Rusty proved to be a relatively easy task with the four of them to guide him along. Within the half hour, they had the big longhorn inside the lot. He bellowed for his herd a few times, but they heard no further complaints from the bull, and he soon wandered over to the rain barrel up next to the barn and had himself a long drink.
Next, they went back for the rest of the cattle and slowly pushed them closer to their cabin. Fortunately, the pond near the house they used for the cattle was still half full and Melly’s garden and the corn patch were fenced off.
“Cornelius and Steve, keep a close watch on the herd. Be sure they stay where we put them,” Samuel told them. “Thomas, I want you to guard the houses. Melly is in her house with Louisa and Adam. I’m going to go after Father and Baldy. They may have encountered trouble. They should have been back by now.”
“They made your father their leader,” Rose told Samuel after she’d told him what happened to the Roberts. “About thirty of them left about two hours ago. I’m surprised they’re not back yet. Want to wait inside with me?”
It didn’t surprise Samuel that the militia made his father their leader. He was worth a dozen common men in a fight and his father possessed a heart of honor and a certain natural confidence that made men respect him. That respect was enhanced, no doubt, by the two .69 caliber smoothbore flintlock pistols with nine-inch barrels that always hung from his wide leather belt.
With thirty men chasing six Indians, Samuel decided his father likely didn’t need his help. But his friend did. The news of Billy’s gruesome death left him stunned. He had to clear this throat before he could speak. “Thank you, Rose, but I must decline. I have to ride out to Billy’s place and start digging two graves.”
She nodded woodenly. “Poor souls. And so young too.”
What a strange day. It started with his burying the two Indians he’d killed last night. Now, he would have to bury his closest friend and his wife, killed by Indians on the exact same night. It was the worst kind of trade. Lives for lives.
He dreaded the task ahead of him but digging Billy’s grave, and one for his friend’s wife was the least Samuel could do. What else could he do for them now? Absolutely nothing.
He borrowed a shovel from Wetmore’s store and headed toward Billy’s place, about a mile and a half from the settlement. When he arrived, the door to the cabin hung open. He tied Samson outside and stepped inside the meager house. Everything was in disarray in the normally tidy front room. He headed to their bedroom, fearing what he would find.
Billy’s wife, Linda, lay on their bed, an arrow protruding from her chest. Her blank eyes stared at something that wasn’t there. The swell in her belly brought tears to his eyes and a lump to his throat. The terror she must have faced and her fear for her unborn child were unimaginable.
“God, why?”
He closed her eyes and took a firm grip on the arrow. Anger tightened his jaw as he gripped the shaft and wrenched it out. He flung the deadly arrow against the wall. “Damn them!”
Samuel took a deep breath and let it out slowly. He wrapped the body in her bed quilt and carried her to the porch. After he gently laid her down, he found another blanket and then set off on Samson toward where Rose had said he would find his friend’s body.
As he neared the end of the mile, he worried about what he would find. But he had to take care of Billy. His friend didn’t have any family here and few friends. It’s just his body anyway because he’s in heaven now, he tried to tell himself. But his blood froze in revulsion and his breath hitched when he spotted his friend and nearby Billy’s severed, scalped head.
Although he had tried to prepare himself, the ghastly sight sickened him and sweat broke out on his face. He swallowed his choking emotions and the bitter bile in his mouth. But it came back up and he quickly dismounted and leaned over while he retched violently.
It was several minutes before he could straighten up and face the horror again. When he did, his heart beat hard in his chest. Could he do this? He had to. He urged Samson forward. But the horse only took a few steps before he stopped again. Smelling blood, the gelding hesitated so Samuel tied him, grabbed the blanket and rope, and staggered up to Billy. His mind reeled at the shocking sight.
Staring down at the arrow-riddled body, his hand flew to his chest as his mind tried to grasp the ghastliness before him. With halting words, he said, “I’m so sorry, my friend. This is wrong. So dreadfully wrong. You didn’t deserve this.” He knelt and wrenched each of the arrows free and angrily stabbed them into the ground. Secured with sinew, the turkey wing and tail feathers at the ends of the arrow shafts blurred in his vision, like some sort of ugly, noxious weed.
“You deserved a good life, Billy. Not this. Surely not this…” his voice broke.
He tried to keep his watering eyes off of Billy’s face as he worked. He wrapped the blanket around the body and head and then tied a rope tightly around the blanket before loading Billy on Samson, who was none too happy about it.
“Easy boy,” Samuel cooed into the gelding’s ear. “We have to do this. Let’s find Billy and his wife a nice place to rest.”
He led Samson the mile back thinking about all the good times he and Billy shared. He didn’t want to think about how his friend had died. He wanted to think about how he had lived.
He stopped at a copse of oak trees near their cabin. Billy’s favorite tree grew there. The last time Samuel had visited, they’d shared a shot of whiskey under that tree. As they’d leaned against its massive trunk, they talked about their futures. Samuel told him about his plans for Red River Cattle Company. Billy wanted to be the best horse trainer in these parts and sell his horses to the army. They even talked about Billy taking horses along with Samuel’s cows and going to various forts together to sell them. Samuel and his brothers would help protect Billy and his horses from thieves. It could have worked. It could have…
Now, Billy and his horses were gone.
At first, he found the digging hard. Not because of the soil’s hardness, but because he didn’t want to dig his friend’s grave. He forced himself to put some guts into it, and soon the loathsome task was done, and he stood before two empty graves. He heaved the shovel aside.
He steeled himself because, now, the truly hard part would begin.
He laid Billy in one of the graves—the exact same spot where his friend had sat while they companionably shared the drink and made their plans for the future.
If only they were doing the same today. If only…choking back his emotions, his thoughts faltered in the grief that engulfed him.
Leaving Samson tied there, he went back for Billy’s wife. He carried her himself, not wanting to disturb the baby by putting the body on Samson. Each step toward the grave grew harder—not physically, but emotionally and he found himself taking slower and slower steps. He was growing numb with increasing shock and disbelief.
When he finally reached the burial place, he knelt and gently lowered Linda into the grave. As he had carried her, the blanket had
slipped off the top of her body. Unlike Billy, her pale face seemed peaceful. He reached in, rested her hands against her babe, and then used the quilt to cover her head again.
A tumble of confused thoughts assailed him. Right now, he hated Indians. Before this happened, he had respected them. Except for a few ruthless braves, he had thought they were fighting for land too. They fought to the death, whether it was against other tribes or the white man, expecting no quarter for themselves. He could even see nobility in them. But now…now hatred made his jaw clench. It was one thing for a courageous man—Indian or white—to kill in battle. But the braves who had killed Billy and his wife were nothing but thieves and murderers. They’d lured a man from his home in the dead of night, butchered him, and then snuck back and massacred a defenseless woman heavy with child. It was beyond the pale—the absolute opposite of nobility—deplorable and disgraceful.
Even if Indians were fighting for what they perceived to be theirs, what gave them the right to all this land? The West held millions and millions of acres. Tribes constantly moved across it from one spot to another, always shifting and warring among each other for the best hunting grounds. Just as Europeans had done for centuries. American settlers were just another tribe of humanity, trying to claim land to survive. The white man wasn’t native, but he was human. And humans need land to survive. A place to raise cattle and grow crops. A place to call home.
Whether they liked it or not, Indians would have to share this vast land.
Samuel knew this was a moment he would remember for a long time. Because in that moment, his youthful, idealistic opinion of the Indian vanished, replaced by the reality of the West. His anger grew to a scalding fury hot enough to burn away the tears he wanted to shed for his friend.
With a brooding intensity, he stared into the holes in the ground. Holes that held all there ever would be of Billy and his family. All that could have been. And all that never would be.
Seeing them down there in the dirt made his heart hurt. With an agony that cried out to heaven, he raised his gaze toward God. But the glare of the sun was blindingly harsh. Although his knees were not by any means calloused from prayer, he knew the only comfort for his grief would come from God. This time, he lowered his head and began to pray for his friend. “I pray the two of you are together now with your baby,” he started. But then he had to stop as he stood there wondering if the baby was the son Billy had wanted or if it might have been a pretty baby girl. No one but God would ever know.
Red River Rifles (Wilderness Dawning—the Texas Wyllie Brothers Series Book 1) Page 8
