The Taming of Shaw MacCade

by Judith E. French

  Rebecca grew lean, and her face darkened from sun and wind as they forded rivers, rode through waist-high prairie grass, and held their course in the midst of blowing dust storms. Her hands, used to the feel of leather from the time she was a child, toughened. Her muscles grew accustomed to riding from sunup to sundown, then helping to erect the tent, cooking over an open fire, and sleeping on the ground.

  With Shaw beside her, she was never afraid, not even when they watched the sky darken in the south from a racing prairie fire. By day they talked and laughed or just rode in comfortable silence as the endless plains unrolled around her. Rebecca saw scattered herds of bison, antelope, and once a pack of wolves feasting on a deer they had brought down the night before. And in the mornings, when she awoke in the cool gray of early dawn, she never knew if she would hear the shriek of a soaring hawk or the trilling chatter of a saucy wren.

  It seemed to Rebecca that the journey might go on forever. Then on a Sunday morning, two days' journey from Fort Bridger, they climbed one more rolling hill and found Daniel Yoder's wagon train camped in a meadow.

  Two men dressed in their Sabbath best rode out to meet them. They were similar enough in appearance to be brothers, both fair and square faced with close-cropped beards and thick mustaches. One rode a mule, the other a workhorse. Neither animal carried an ounce of extra weight, and neither man looked as though they had enough extra rations to meet strangers.

  "What do you want?" the scowling farmer on the mule demanded once Shaw had asked and received the wagon captain's name. One of the Pennsylvanian's hands was wrapped in a dirty bandage, and Rebecca saw red puffiness on two fingers. Across his lap rested a long rifle with the barrel aimed in Shaw's direction.

  "Simple hospitality might do," Shaw answered lightly.

  "We picked up fever from the last wagon train we met. It's better if you ride on and leave us be."

  "Do you have sick people?" Rebecca asked. "I know something about healing. I—"

  "We've our own doctor. You've got nothing we need," the second man said gruffly.

  Rebecca decided he must be the older of the two. "Your name wouldn't be Beachy, would it?" she asked. And when an expression of surprise crossed his face, she continued. "Aaron Beachy?"

  "He's Mast," the man on the mule said. "I'm Aaron Beachy. What's it to you?"

  "There's been a mistake, and we've come to rectify it," she replied. "We're looking for a boy that you took from an orphanage in Saint Louis, a child named Jamie Raeburn. He's my nephew, and we—"

  "Don't know where you got that idea," Mast said. "There's no boy—"

  "He's dead," Aaron corrected. "Sickly kid. Charity misplaced to take him in the first place."

  Rebecca's heart plummeted. "That can't be true," she said. "He was only three. He—"

  "Dead, I tell you," Aaron Beachy said. "Buried in a churchyard in Independence, Missouri."

  Chapter 23

  "You're lying!" Rebecca cried. Fear that the awful words might be true—that Jamie might be dead—made nausea rise in her throat. "I can see it on your faces!" Her fingers tightened on the leather reins until her knuckles paled. "Jamie was kidnapped from—"

  "Quiet, woman," Shaw snapped. "These are honest men. What reason would they have to tell us the boy's dead if it isn't true?"

  Rebecca twisted in the saddle to stare at Shaw. What was wrong with him that he could accept such a falsehood? Anger rising, she stiffened and hissed. "They're lying. Surely, you can see that—"

  A warning flashed in his eyes.

  Realizing that Shaw hadn't been so easily deceived, she let her heated protest trail off lamely. "Jamie... my nephew... lost to us."

  Shaw turned his attention to the Pennsylvanians and began to stammer apologies. "You'll have to excuse my wife," he said. "She's high-strung, and apt to speak without thinking. I'm sure you gave him the best of care. Don't take offense at her thoughtless words." He removed his hat and wiped a sweaty forehead. "We've ridden a long ways today. My animals could use a drink before we turn back."

  A group of about twenty mounted men burst from the circle of wagons at a gallop. Behind them, in the camp, Rebecca saw staring women and children. The gaunt women were garbed in sunbonnets and shapeless dresses of brown and dusty black. The children's clothing, equally colorless, blended with the faded gray of the canvas wagon covers. So silent were these motionless onlookers that they might have been a desert mirage floating just beyond the thundering horses and riders.

  The reinforcements, hard faced and bristling with weapons, reined up flanking the Beachys. "What's amiss here?" one bellowed. The man, middle-aged and sag jawed, had a ginger-red beard and gray sideburns. His faded blue eyes were deep-set and nearly hidden beneath the wide brim of a funeral-black hat.

  "Strangers asking after the boy we took in from the orphanage," Aaron Beachy shouted. "I told them that he took sick and died on us, but the woman won't take my word for it."

  "Please?" Rebecca said to the red-bearded man, who was clearly someone in authority. "I'm the child's aunt. We've come from Saint Louis seeking him. He's no orphan. Jamie was snatched from his mother illegally."

  "I'm Dan Yoder, captain of this party," the man with the red beard said to Shaw, ignoring her. "You heard what happened to the boy."

  "Our name is Brown," Shaw said. "Joseph and Brunhilde Brown. And we've come all the way from Saint Louis looking for my wife's nephew. His death is a terrible shock." His shoulders slumped forward. "I'd greatly appreciate it if you'd let us water our animals before we turn back."

  "I told them about the sickness," Mast said. "I can't speak for the others, but I want no strangers around my wife and children."

  "I'll have to ask my people," Yoder said. He reined his horse around and exchanged words with several of the other men.

  "Shaw," Rebecca whispered. "What are you—"

  "Hold your tongue, Brunhilde," he admonished sharply. "How many times have I told you about talkin' out of turn?"

  Gritting her teeth, she bowed her head in meek compliance. "As you say, husband. We'll talk of this later, in private."

  Yoder lowered his weapon and spurred his mule forward. Rebecca couldn't help noticing that the animal was thin and favoring one hind leg. She glanced at the other animals. None were in as good condition as Shaw's.

  "Give us time to warn our families to keep away, and your wife can bring the animals in a few at a time for water," Yoder said. "We'll allow you to fill your canteens. We've no rations to spare." His florid face flushed an unhealthy red. "If we're unneighborly, it's because we've had a run of bad luck, and my people are cautious. Our scout stole three of our best horses and a rifle and deserted us a week ago. We've been plagued by bad weather, thieving Indians, the fever, and now our mules have thrush."

  "Sorry to hear it," Shaw said.

  "You have my sympathy about the boy, but we've lost kids of our own," Yoder replied tersely.

  Shaw straightened. "I was told you were bound for Oregon City," he said. "You're too late for the mountains. Turn around while you've got the time. Take your party south to Salt Lake and rest there with the Saints for the winter. If you try the trail this season, you'll end up in the high country when snow comes."

  "You're not the first to tell us that," Yoder replied. "But we have it on good authority that—"

  "If you value your lives and that of your families, you'll listen," Shaw said.

  "Hearsay," another farmer grumbled. "More naysaying from a—"

  "No hearsay," Shaw retorted. "I've crossed the Rockies twice, once along the same route you're planning on takin'." He shook his head. "Leave your wagons, all your personal belongings, your tools, and household goods. Saddle your animals and ride them. You might make it. Otherwise..." Shaw leaned forward in his saddle, raising his voice so that it carried to all the men. "You're sentencing your wives and children to a cold death!"

  "Listen to him," Rebecca said. "He's telling the truth. My husband knows what he's—"

  "I thin
k we've heard all we want to," Yoder said. "Do you want the water or not?"

  Shaw motioned Rebecca to move back. "I think not," he said. "If I'm not welcome in your camp, my wife won't trouble you. We'll be on our way."

  "If that's what you want," Yoder answered.

  "I'm not afraid," Rebecca said. "Just let me take the horses down—"

  "Brunhilde. You'll do as you're told," Shaw said sharply. "Git."

  She glanced once more in the direction of the wagons, then set her heels into the black gelding's sides. When she was a few hundred yards away, she looked back to see that Shaw was following. They didn't stop until they topped the rise.

  "Why did you do that?" she demanded. "If I could have gotten into the camp, I might have seen Jamie. They're lying! They've got to be! Why didn't you want me to—"

  "If they've got thrush, I don't want my stock around it," he said. "Besides, why you and not me? How do I know they wouldn't decide to purchase a few of our mules? Or the horses? Their animals show hard use."

  "You think they're horse thieves?" She shook her head. "They're a damned unfriendly bunch, but they don't seem like criminals. And Jamie's more important than the chance of thrush." She reined in and frowned at him. "I'm not leaving here without seeing if Jamie's really with them. I don't believe the story about his—"

  Shaw scoffed. "Course the boy's down there. They don't want to part with him is all."

  "If you believe that, why are we riding away from their camp?"

  "Because, Brunhilde..." He raised one dark eyebrow wryly. "Because I want you a long ways away before nightfall."

  "Wonderful name you picked for me," she answered sarcastically.

  "I knew you'd like it."

  "Why are you playing games when we should be—"

  "Trust me, Bee. I'll get Jamie."

  "You don't know what he looks like! What are you going to do? Sneak into the camp and grab the first three-year-old boy you see?"

  "No, darlin', I'm not. Trust me. I'll get him, but I want to get him without them getting us." He glanced back in the direction they'd come. "I've seen good men do things that would turn your stomach. I've no wish for them to take Ma's pack animals or my horses. But I'm more concerned about your neck and mine."

  "You think they'd kill us?"

  "This close to Fort Bridger, if they did want our stock bad enough to take them, they wouldn't leave any witnesses."

  She eyed him with suspicion. "So you want me to run and hide while you risk your life by going back into their camp for Jamie?"

  "Something like that," he admitted. "So long as you're safely away, I can—"

  "No." She shook her head. "We're in this together, Shaw. Either you want a partner or you don't. I'm not a child. If anything happens to you, I'd play havoc trying to get back to Angel Crossing in one piece. Besides, Jamie's as much my nephew as he is yours."

  "It's dangerous, Bee. We could get shot."

  "Shaw, if we're to have a chance at staying married, you've got to start treating me like you have faith in my judgment."

  He scowled and tightened his lips.

  "Partners or not?" She reined close to him and held out her hand. Reluctantly, he shook it. Rebecca smiled. "You weren't this worried about me when we sneaked into that Indian camp to steal that arrow."

  "Right." He grimaced. "But then you were just a pain in the neck. Now... Now, I'm not sure I could live without you."

  * * *

  Gray dawn found them belly-down in the tall grass just outside the circle of wagons. Neither of them had seen or heard any dogs with Yoder's farmers. The lack of watchdogs was odd, but lucky for anyone sneaking up on the encampment. "It's a wonder they have any livestock left," Shaw whispered.

  Shaw and Bee had left their mules and three of the horses in a draw several miles to the northwest. The black horse, saddled and bridled, was hidden a half mile away beside an outcropping of rock. Chinook lay hidden in the grass only a hundred yards away, awaiting Shaw's whistle. The Appaloosa could carry the three of them back to the hobbled gelding.

  If they found Jamie and could snatch him without being seen, Yoder's men would likely search for them east along the trail. Shaw hoped that heading north instead would throw off pursuit. "I don't need those wagon tracks to find Missouri," he'd explained.

  Rebecca found the waiting excruciating. Insects marched over her, chewing on her exposed skin. Mysterious creatures rustled in the grass around them, and the heat was oppressive already.

  Surprisingly, the wagon encampment was relatively quiet. A cow lowed; livestock crowded restlessly inside the circle, snorting and shuffling. Babies bawled. Sleepers snored and coughed, and graybeards crawled out of the wagon beds to relieve their aging bladders.

  Men patrolled the perimeters of the camp in shifts, two guards at a time. None ventured far from the firelight, and the one man who did come within several yards of Rebecca and Shaw's hiding place didn't have the faintest idea they were there. "Good thing we're not hostiles," Shaw observed.

  As the sun broke over the eastern prairie, families began to appear in the entrances to the wagons. Sleepy-eyed children tumbled from their beds and clung to their mother's aprons, whining for breakfast. Several men pulled back a wagon tongue so that others could drive the mules and horses to graze before harnessing them for the day's journey. Others saddled their mounts and rode out to keep watch over the herd.

  Rebecca pressed her face to the earth as a mule passed within arm's reach and stopped to stare curiously at her. When she didn't stir, the animal snatched a mouthful of buffalo grass and trotted off to challenge a jackass for another section of pasture identical to the spot where he had been grazing.

  "Do you see Jamie?" Shaw whispered.

  She shook her head. Three was a difficult age to spot. She couldn't be certain if Jamie was still a chubby toddler or already springing up like a long-legged colt. His hair was MacCade black. That couldn't have changed. But all the girls wore kerchiefs, and the boys wore hats. It was hard to tell the tow-heads from those with darker hair.

  One small child seemed a possibility as he scampered back and forth across the clearing, until he turned to reveal a wine birthmark that covered one side of his face.

  "Anything?" Shaw persisted.

  Rebecca nibbled anxiously at her bottom lip. What if Jamie didn't appear? What if he wasn't here at all? Suppose he'd been abandoned along the trail or sold to another family headed west? If he wasn't here, where would they start looking?

  Minutes passed, and her hopes sank lower and lower. Then, suddenly, when she'd almost given up, a woman spoke sharply to a boy. The reprimand was followed by the distinct sound of a sharp slap.

  Rebecca waited, expecting to hear the child wail, but he didn't utter a sound. She stared at him, trying to make out his features. Then the woman handed him a small bucket and pointed toward the spring. "There," Rebecca whispered. "That might be Jamie."

  Another child, a yellow-haired girl in a ragged shift, took hold of the bucket handle. Together, the two trudged toward the spring. The area around the flow was low and marshy, muddied by the hooves and manure of animals.

  Seeing the condition of the pool, Rebecca was glad Shaw had turned down the offer to water their stock. Now, she suspected that these two youngsters had been sent to fetch water for use in cooking the morning meal.

  A few bushes and trees sprouted beside the sinkhole. The spring trickled out of a crack in a rock and shimmered down over the face of a weathered boulder. To reach the source of clean drinking water, the children would have to circle the bushes, putting them out of sight of those inside the wagon circle.

  Shaw began to inch backward. He motioned to Rebecca to follow him. The kids were barely as tall as the buffalo grass, and she lost sight of them as she crept toward the spring.

  A crow swooped down and landed on the topmost branch of one of the trees. Within seconds, it spied Shaw and Rebecca and began shrieking a warning cry. None of the emigrants paid the bird the slightest a
ttention.

  "What are we going to do? If it is Jamie, he's not alone."

  "Hell if I know," Shaw replied softly. "But it beats laying there in the grass havin' mules trot over us."

  Rebecca reached the cover of the bushes seconds after Shaw. Together, they rose up out of the vegetation. The children were already splashing through the shallows to the rock face. They were close in size, but the girl was a finger's breadth taller and slighter of form.

  The boy was bigger than Rebecca had expected. Sturdy wrists and ankles thrust out of shirt and trousers made for a much smaller child. The brim of the rounded black hat covered the back of his head, but he had a different look about him than the other kids. There was something familiar about his squared shoulders and meaningful stride.

  It's him, she thought. It must be. Her heart raced, and she felt giddy with excitement. "Jamie," she said quietly. "Jamie Raeburn?"

  The boy dropped the bucket. Both kids snapped around to face her, eyes wide, mouths open in astonishment, one pair dark as ripe blackberries, the other as blue as the sky over the Little Smoke River on a cloudless June morning.

  The girl leaped protectively in front of the boy. "Who are ya?" she asked boldly. "How come you callin' him that name?" Her freckled nose wrinkled. "Ya gonna get whooped if Ada hears ya."

  "Are you Jamie?" Rebecca asked. "You are, aren't you?"

  "Don't say nothin'," his petite defender ordered.

  Rebecca noticed bruises and swellings on both children's faces and a raised red welt on the back of Jamie's hand. Insect bites peppered all four bare ankles. Rebecca's throat tightened. "Has someone been whopping you?" she asked.

  The girl's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Ain't yer business!" She could be no more than five or six years of age, but her vivid blue eyes might have been sixty.

  "I'm Jamie's Aunt Becca. I've come to take him home to his mama."

  "Got no mama," Jamie said in a small, hollow voice.

  "She's dead. Burned up. Poof. Jest like Betty," the girl said. "They breathed the fire. Ada says devil got 'em. They's in hell."