Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (38 page)

“I was a lad of nine years when we come from Scotland to start a new life in America. We were in the harbor, plannin’ to leave the ship come mornin’. In the middle of the night there was a fire, ’n the ship went up in a flash. The flames spread ’n there was nothin’ to do. Me father tossed me over the side, then went back for me mother. I never saw them again.”

“Oh, my poor love! What did you do?”

“I was bonded to a kind lady. She died of fever when I was twelve ’n and I took to the river to earn me keep. That be it, lass. I be nothin’ but a rough rivermon.”

In answer, Eleanor slid her arms about his neck and covered his face with fierce kisses.

“‘Nothin’ but a rough rivermon’?” she protested heatedly, copying his Scottish accent. “You’re the sweetest, most wonderful rivermon in all the world, Gavin McCourtney!”

“Lass, lassie—ye got to be stoppin’ this.”

“How can I when I’m so happy?”

“Ye can shut yer pretty eyes ’n sleep is what ye can do. Mornin’ will find ye worn out.”

“I’ll shut my eyes, but I can’t promise to sleep,” she said, and snuggled against him.

Eleanor was asleep when Rain returned. He passed by, looked down, and saw her head cradled in the crook of Gavin’s arm. He paused briefly and moved on, sure that he had seen Gavin’s eyes gleaming up at him through the darkness.

*   *   *

Dawn had lightened the eastern sky when Rain came to the small breakfast fire. Eleanor was sitting on her blankets combing her hair and Gavin was coming from the creek. She stopped combing and watched Gavin anxiously.

“Morning,” Rain said.

“Morning.” Eleanor turned her head to Rain, then back to watch Gavin.

“He seems better.” Rain added a few sticks of wood to the fire and set the kettle over the blaze.

“He . . . says he is.”

“I dinna see the boy or his horse,” Gavin said as soon as he reached them.

“He left last night,” Rain said calmly. He tilted his head and looked up as Amy neared with their blanket rolls. “Tally left last night, Amy. I saw him ride out and head south.”

“Why didn’t you stop him?”

“It would have been foolish to leave camp and go after him,” he replied briskly.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, Rain.”

“Why would he do a thing like that?” Eleanor asked.

“He wanted to go home,” Amy said slowly.

“Twas a foolhardy thin’ the lad be doin’.”

“How far is it to Davidsonville?” Amy asked while she rolled the blankets and tied them.

“He can make it in one day of hard riding. We’ll make it in two,” Rain said. “You and Eleanor will have to ride double and lead the pack mule.”

The four drank tea and ate cold bread and meat, then doused the campfire and prepared to leave. Rain and Amy brought up the horses and Rain helped Gavin into the saddle.

Throughout the morning they traveled alongside the fast-moving creek. When the underbrush thickened, Rain turned east, crossed the creek, and they came to the wagon track. Amy suspected it was the one they had been on when they were attacked by Bull and his men. The land was rolling and thickly forested. Several times they flushed deer from their beds, and when they passed alongside a marshy field, they roused a flock of teal.

Gavin’s features were frozen into lines that could only be pain. He stayed erect in the saddle, but accepted Rain’s help when they stopped for a noon rest. Eleanor hovered over him, bringing him water and food.

In the late afternoon Rain turned off the track and into the woods. They camped deep in the forest. As soon as the blankets were spread, Gavin lay down and was almost instantly asleep. Rain and Amy led the animals to water, then tied them close to camp. Amy discovered a berry bush and filled her hat with the dark, juicy berries. There was no fire that night and again they ate bread and cold meat. The berries were a welcome treat.

Gavin appeared to be much stronger when morning came. Eleanor and Amy changed the bandage and were pleased to see the wound was pink and healing. Again a slippery elm poultice was applied and held in place by strips of Eleanor’s petticoat.

On the trail again, Rain traveled at an even pace, putting the horses in a fast walk. It was a warm, sweet-smelling day. Wild roses grew alongside the dirt track and bees hummed over them. Amy watched as two male cardinals flew out of the trees. They whirled and dived and circled each other. They were joined by a female and the two bright patches of scarlet chased the reddish brown until they were mere specks in the blue sky. Nearer the ground a wren scolded as they passed too close to her nest, and a squirrel, chased by a blackbird, scurried up a tree.

The day was beautiful, peaceful. As Amy watched Rain riding ahead happiness flooded her heart. He was her love, and they were on their way to his high valley and dream river where they would spend the rest of their lives together. The only problem left to be solved was that of Eleanor and Gavin. If Will Bradford was the man Rain said he was, he would surely release Eleanor from her promise to marry him so that she could be happy with Gavin.

In the middle of the morning Rain began to notice the squawks of crows and the scavengers gathering in the trees ahead. He waited several minutes before he lifted his hand to signal a halt.

“Wait here,” he said curtly, knowing instinctively that something ahead was dead and that it must be something larger than a small animal to attract such a large flock of scavengers.

“What is it?” Amy called, but Rain had spurred his horse into a lope and didn’t answer.

The three of them waited anxiously for Rain’s return, feeling vulnerable there on the track. Amy’s eyes swept the trail behind them and to the sides. There was silence except for the noisy cawing of the crows. It seemed to her that Rain had been gone for a long while, but it couldn’t have been more than a quarter of an hour before she saw him riding back toward them. He rode directly to Amy.

“It’s Tally,” he said quietly. “Someone must have sneaked up behind him and cut his throat. They took his horse and his gun.”

Amy gave a strangled cry. “Oh . . . my God!” Her hand went to her throat as if she were afraid she would throw up.

“How horrible!” Eleanor exclaimed.

“There’s no sign of a fight, not even a struggle. He never even had time to be scared,” Rain said gently, as if to comfort Amy. “Wait for me over there.” He pointed to a stand of thick aspens. “I’ll bury him.”

“It’s all my fault! I shamed him or he wouldn’t have left,” Amy said over the sob in her throat. “I’ll help . . . bury him.”

“No,” Rain said firmly. “It wasn’t your fault and you’ll not help bury him. Gavin,” he looked the big man directly in the eyes, sending a silent message. “Take the women over there and wait for me.”

“Aye, that I’ll be doin’.”

Head down, Amy turned her horse and followed Gavin. Behind her Eleanor placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. When they were among the trees, Gavin stopped and eased himself from the saddle. Eleanor slid down, but Amy sat her horse, her face turned away from them.

“I should have made him go back when we were in Saint Genevieve,” she said raggedly. “It was too late after we crossed the river.”

“Ye can’t be blamin’ yerself, lass. He was a mon grown.”

“But he left home because of me.”

“Ye can’t be helpin’ that.”

“Poor Tally.” The image of him sitting beneath the tree throwing his knife into the dirt at his feet came suddenly to Amy’s mind. “I told him to leave us when we got to Davidsonville. He said he had in mind to do that.”

“Why did he leave in the middle of the night?” Eleanor asked.

“I think he couldn’t stand the sight of us, and he wanted to do something on his own. He must have camped right out in the open again. He hadn’t learned a thing . . .” Amy’s voice trailed away.

When Rain signaled from the road, they left the woods and joined him.

“I did the best I could, Amy.” Rain’s shirt was wet with sweat. “Here, I brought you this.” He shoved Tally’s pocketknife in her hand. “It’s something to give his ma.”

Amy put it in her pocket without looking at it. “I’ll probably never see her again,” she murmured, keeping her face turned away from him.

The crows had scattered by the time they reached the place where Tally had died. Amy kept her eyes straight ahead. She had known Tally for a long time. His dogged devotion to her had been a source of irritation, but now that he was dead she felt only pity.

Tears welled in her eyes and she cried softly.

Twenty

Antoine Efant sat on the porch, his chair tilted back against the wall, cleaning his fingernails with a long, thin blade. The cabin belonged to Pete Hopcus, a man with whom he had worked before and who had gone to Davidsonville for news. Antoine waited anxiously for his return.

“Gawd, it’s hot down here.” The man who spoke was older than Antoine, had a permanent scowl on his whiskered face and the clothes he wore were not as neat and clean as those of the other man. Hull Dexter was a man who would turn his hand at most anything to get an easy dollar.

“Mon Dieu!
Your complaining is beginning to irritate me. Are you not being paid for your discomfort?”

Hull ignored Antoine’s question and mopped his face with the sleeve of his shirt.

“Don’t the heat ’n skeeters bother you?”

“No. Go down to the creek and get a bucket of water.”

“Pete ort a be back.” Hull got slowly to his feet. “If’n he don’t bring that jug a whiskey I’ll break his scrawny neck.”

“And if he
does
I’ll break yours.” Antoine continued to clean his fingernails with the knife.

“Jesus, Efant! Ya ain’t human.”

“There’ll be no drinking until the job is done. I told you that at the start. You can hightail it out if it doesn’t suit you.”

“And get a knife in my back? I ain’t heard of a body quittin’ on Antoine Efant.”

“Nobody ever has,” Antoine said, then added softly, “and lived to tell it. Now, get the hell down to the creek.”

*   *   *

Rain and his party reached Davidsonville in the late afternoon of the second day. The settlement appeared suddenly when they rounded a bend in the track. Amy didn’t know what she had expected, but the town was little more than a few scattered log buildings clustered around a trading post. Davidsonville, covering no more than a dozen acres, was set in a clearing surrounded by thick forests. The trail meandered through the middle of the town, passing close to the store.

In front of the squat log building the earth had been chopped and chewed by horses’ hooves and wagon wheels until it was powdery, and a fine dust cloud swirled around the hooves of their horses as they stopped.

Rain guided his horse to the hitching rail. As he tied the reins to the stout post, a man emerged and stood on the porch, his feet spread, his fists on his hips. He was a short man, built like a barrel, with long, dark, white-streaked hair and a protruding abdomen. His beard, tinged with gray, was braided in three long strands that dangled in front of his homespun shirt. He let out a whooping yell and pounded both hands against his chest as if he were beating a drum.

“Mon Dieu!
Rain Tallman! I thought you’d been strung up and dried out by now. How you be?”

“Fine, Jean Pierre. You look as fat and sassy as ever.”

“Ain’t got no wish to be nothin’ else. Come on in. Come right on it. Bring the womenfolk in outta the sun.” He eyed Amy and Eleanor curiously.

A crowd began to gather to gawk at the strangers. More than ten families lived in the settlement and a representative from each seemed to appear from nowhere. Half a dozen Indians came from inside the trading post and stood watching, blankets about their shoulders, their faces impassive. At the sight of the Indians, Eleanor cowered against Amy.

“We need rooms for a night or two, Jean Pierre.” Rain spoke while lifting first Eleanor and then Amy from the horse. Amy stepped up on the porch. Eleanor waited for Gavin and stayed close to his side.

“Funny you’d show up like this. Soldier feller from Belle Point brought in mail no more’n a week ago. A letter in it for you.”

“That so?”

The trader couldn’t understand the famed woodsman’s lack of enthusiasm. To most folks a letter was a high point in their lives. Tallman acted as if he received a letter every day.

Rain took Amy by the elbow and urged her through the door and into the store. Gavin and Eleanor followed. Amy looked around with interest, comparing it unfavorably to Farr’s store back at Quill’s Station. It was not as well-organized and not nearly as clean.

It was cool and dark inside. The only light came from the open door and from one small glass window at the front. The place was crowded with barrels, stacks of furs, traps, and all manner of supplies homesteaders needed to survive. Harnesses and tools hung from the rafters. Rain had to dodge around those to get to the counter. A mingling of odors tickled their nostrils: leather, furs, spices and cooked cabbage. The store was also the post office, the first post office to be established in the Arkansas Territory.

Jean Pierre Hoffman went behind a counter and rummaged among a clutter of papers, hides and tobacco pouches. Finally, after numerous curses and threats of mutilations to those who had dared to meddle with government property, he came up with a thin white envelope and proudly handed it over to Rain. He watched expectantly with bright dark eyes, waiting for Rain to open the letter. But Rain slipped the envelope inside the neck of his shirt.

“How about the rooms?” he asked. “The ladies are tired, and they would be grateful for a chance to wash.”

“I am honored to have the ladies as my guests.” The trader bowed. His smile showed missing front teeth. “Tennessee!” he bellowed. “Bring water!”

The building had two wings. The left evidently housed the owner’s quarters according to the sounds coming from that area. The voice of a woman scolding children could be plainly heard. Hoffman led them to the right wing. There was a long dark storeroom and at the end a guest room. The door he opened sagged back on its leather hinges. Amy and Eleanor went into the room.