Frontier Courtship (15 page)

Listening, the chief began to frown. Was Irene going to have to stay behind after all? Faith wondered. Worse, if the old man couldn’t make the watch work, were they going to be made the scapegoats for his failure? Irene must have explained the alarm to him. Could he be too uncivilized to understand how to set and then secretly trigger it?

When Black Kettle stared at Connell with skepticism, Faith felt the plainsman’s arm muscles clench. Whatever was going on, Connell was jittery about it. She held very still, hardly breathing, and watched the parade of emotions on the chief’s face. Finally, he shook his head and barked an order to his guards. Two saddled horses and a laden pack animal were immediately led into the circle.

Connell boosted Faith aboard one saddle and helped Irene mount the other while Walks With Tree began a vigorous chant over the watch. Still, it remained silent.

Then Rojo was brought forward. Black Kettle took the horse’s reins and handed them ceremoniously to Connell. Everyone paused, waiting and listening expectantly. Mere seconds dragged by like hours.

Faith’s stomach was knotted, her heart racing. The mount beneath her sensed her apprehension and shifted its feet, uneasy.

Patience had never been one of her virtues and she was about to come to the end of what little she had left when the bell inside the watch suddenly began its noisy clamor.

The shock jolted everyone, including the horses. Faith’s jittery mount probably would have unseated her if Connell hadn’t still had hold of its bridle. Even steady Rojo flinched and snorted.

Connell mounted quickly and wheeled the big gelding to lead the way out of the camp. It wasn’t until they’d passed the final perimeter lodges and sentries that he hesitated long enough to pass the reins of their horses to the women.

Faith had been about to burst. “You’ve been hurt. There’s blood on the back of your shoulder!”

“I know. It burns like fire,” he replied, “but we can’t stop now. Not yet. Irene can take care of it when we camp for the night.”

Irene.
Faith had to bite her lip to keep from commenting adversely. Of course Irene should take care of it. After all, he was planning to marry her. And she had been living with the old medicine man, Faith added, so she probably did know a lot about wounds and such. Still, the idea galled. It shouldn’t have, but it did.

“What happened? When did you get hurt?” Faith pressed.

The older woman spoke up. “He took the spear thrust meant for you.”

“Oh, no. Oh, Connell, I’m so sorry.”

“You’d be a lot sorrier if he hadn’t shielded you the way he did,” Irene said harshly. “You two almost ruined our whole plan. Walks With Tree kept his head or we’d be in deep trouble right now.”

“What happened?” Faith asked. “About the horses, I mean. When I saw Rojo all decked out in feathers and paint I was sure Black Kettle was going to keep him.”

“He was,” Connell answered, “until Walks With Tree convinced him the magic wouldn’t work unless he released us and our horses, too.”

“How clever. And how nice of him.”

Irene snorted. “Don’t give the old fox too much credit for altruism. He’s no fool. He knew the less we left behind, the stronger his own position would be.”

“And he wanted to make sure we put plenty of distance between us and him as soon as possible,” Connell added. “That’s the only way he could be sure the Cheyenne would continue to see him as indispensable. To do that, we needed good horses.”

“I’m glad you got your beautiful red horse back,” Faith said. “He really is magnificent.” She sighed audibly. “I just wish I’d been able to rescue Ben from Tucker.”

“Who’s Ben?” Irene asked. “I thought your only relative on the train was a younger sister.”

“Yes. My sister, Charity,” Faith said with a wistful smile. “Many’s the time I’d have gladly considered trading her for another faithful friend like Ben. Not that I’d actually do it, mind you, but the thought certainly has appealed to me from time to time.”

Connell laughed quietly to himself, then explained to Irene. “Ben’s a mule. One of those big Missouri ones that can pull all day without giving out.”

“Mercy sakes,” Irene said. “The way you were talking about him I figured he was a person.”

“He almost is. He’s been my dearest friend for most of my life,” Faith said solemnly. “I’d trust him a lot longer than I’d trust most people, especially lately. It was poor Ben who first showed me the rotten side of Captain Tucker.”

Irene was clearly interested. “How? What did he do?”

“Well, he didn’t want the captain to get near me, for starters. Kept stepping between us whenever he could. Then I caught Tucker beating him one night and that was the last straw. I didn’t even think about what I was doing or how dangerous it might be. I just grabbed the first whip I could lay my hands on and lashed at Tucker the way he’d been whipping Ben.”

“You didn’t!”

“Oh, yes, I did. And the captain backed off. But he’d been shamed in front of the other men. After that he never missed a chance to make my life miserable.” Her shoulders slumped. “And now he’s not only got my sister in his clutches, there’s no one left to defend Ben.”

“Then we’ll steal him for you,” Irene said brightly.

Connell coughed. “We’ll
what?
”

“Steal him. It won’t be hard. All we have to do is locate the train and watch till the drovers take the stock out to graze. Then you and I can create a diversion to distract the guards and Faith can creep in to fetch her mule. We do it all the time.”

“We?” Connell’s eyebrows arched quizzically.

“I mean the Cheyenne do it,” Irene said, blushing slightly. “Besides, the mule truly does belong to Faith. All we have to worry about is hiding the fact that she’s still alive. It’ll be simple.” She grinned over at the younger woman. “Even her sister wouldn’t recognize her in that getup.”

“She wouldn’t, would she!” Faith was caught up in the plan. “I might even be able to sneak close enough to get a look at her myself. I’ve been so worried. Charity was always the baby of the family. I don’t know how she’s managing to cope after all that’s happened to her. She’s never been strong, like me.”

Connell laughed cynically. “We agree on that. I doubt there’s one woman in a hundred who would have the courage to stand up to a war chief the way you did, Little Dove Woman. Maybe not one in a thousand.”

“Thanks.” Gratified by such high praise, Faith glanced over at Irene, expecting her to concur, and found her scowling. She quickly added, “Don’t forget what Irene did. It must have taken great heroism to fool so many savages for such a long time.”

Instead of the appreciation she’d anticipated, Faith was taken aback when Irene said, “The Cheyenne are far less savage than many whites I’ve met. When a warrior makes a vow he keeps it, no matter what it may cost him to do so.”

“I meant no offense,” Faith told her.

Irene nodded. “Nor did I. I simply speak the truth. If a liar like Ramsey Tucker were a Cheyenne he’d have been thrown out of the tribe or executed for his crimes long ago instead of having so many chances to repeat them and hurt more people.”

Tears of frustration clouded Faith’s vision as she visualized that kind of swift, sure justice. “I wish…” she began before her voice trailed off, leaving the unacceptable thought unspoken.

Connell finished it for her. “You wish that were the case right now, but you feel guilty because your Christian upbringing argues that it’s wrong to take personal revenge. I can understand that. Just remember, wanting to even the score is a normal human reaction to injustice.”

“Murder is a sin, no matter what the reason,” Faith said. “‘Vengeance is Mine, I will repay, sayeth the Lord.’” She looked from him to Irene and back again while struggling to gain control of her whirling emotions.

“What about your sister?” the older woman asked. “Wouldn’t you like to see her freed from that awful man?”

“Of course I would! But killing him isn’t the answer. Think. There are only three of us against fifty or more armed men on that wagon train. As long as they all believe Tucker’s lies, we wouldn’t stand a chance of escaping. All we’d do if we went after Tucker is get ourselves shot. Then who would be left to bring him to justice?”

“White man’s justice is too slow.” Irene’s eyes were sparking with hatred.

Faith laid a hand of consolation on her arm. “Try to be patient. With your help I know we can prove his guilt and see that he’s held properly accountable when we reach California. It’s the right thing to do. This is hard for me, too, you know. Very hard.” She managed a slight smile. “Be patient? Please?”

“Faith’s right,” Connell said. “Even if we did manage to do away with Tucker we’d be hard-pressed to get Charity away from the others. Plus, we’d be draining their precious resources. They’ll need every ounce of fortitude they have left to make it across the desert. Innocent folks will die if they waste their energy chasing after us.”

Watching Irene’s face, Faith saw eventual signs of resignation. What she didn’t see was compassion for the emigrants who were about to embark on such a difficult leg of their long, arduous journey.

C
onnell had serious misgivings about bothering with the mule. He could have thwarted the plan by simply pretending he couldn’t locate the Tucker train. That idea had occurred to him—more than once. Trouble was, the emigrant track across the high plains was spread so wide, its path of desolation so evident, a child could have easily found and followed it by day.

Not only had the passing wagons left behind deep ruts and trampled vegetation, there were so many household items discarded along the trail it looked like a parade of drummers had passed by dropping off samples of their goods. Had those travelers who came later not been in the same dire straits as their predecessors, they could easily have provisioned themselves many times over—with anything but food and water.

Connell knew that choosing between heirlooms or survival became easier and easier as the westward migration progressed. The first things to go were usually those special niceties the women had insisted on bringing along, such as mirrors and pianos or trunks crammed with fancy frocks.

By the time the overland trail reached the Sierra Nevada, travelers were more than ready to let go of the last vestiges of their past lives in the hope of enduring long enough to see a future. Any future.

Connell held up his hand to bring his little party to a halt on the crest of a ridge. Irene rode up on his right. Faith took the opposite side. The trail lay in the barren valley below, accentuated by a long, snaking column of dust that partially obscured a wagon train.

“Is that them?” Faith asked. She strained to see. “I can’t tell from here.”

“I think so. The timing is about right,” Connell said. “The wagon boss will call a rest near here so the stock can gather strength and the men can load extra fodder and water to get them across the desert. When he does, I’ll ride closer and see if I can spot Tucker or some of the others we know.”

“It looks to me like they’re already in a desert,” Faith said, worried.

“It gets a lot worse west of here.” He pointed. “There’s a good forty-mile stretch of nothing but dry sand between the Humboldt Sink, where the river disappears underground, and Carson Pass, when the trail starts up over the Sierras.”

“Oh, dear.” She shaded her eyes, stood in her stirrups. “I don’t think I see my wagon. Maybe this is the wrong train.”

“Wagons break down, draft animals give out and families have to combine their resources,” Connell reminded her. “I wouldn’t be surprised if Charity isn’t back with the Ledbetters so Tucker doesn’t have to bother with her.”

“Oh, do you think she could be? That would be wonderful! I’ve been so afraid….” Faith’s voice trailed off again. She couldn’t bear to think or speak of her naive sister sharing that horrible man’s bed.

“If she kept on wailing the way she was the last time I talked to her, it’s certainly possible. Tucker needs her alive and well when they meet up with your father, so we know he’ll make sure she’s well cared for. I just can’t see a man like him putting up with her hysterics for very long. Not when he could farm her out and let someone else deal with the buckets of tears instead.”

“And she can’t cook a lick,” Faith offered, spirits rising. “Never tended to the animals, either.” She grinned over at him. “She’s useless! Isn’t that wonderful?”

Her enthusiasm made Connell chuckle. “In Charity’s case, it may be.” Reining the canelo around, he started down the back side of the ridge, away from the wagon train. “Come on. We need to find a good place to make camp before dark. Somewhere far enough away that the smoke from our fire won’t be spotted. I’ll come back later and do some more scouting.”

Irene followed obediently.

Faith held her horse back with a jerk on the reins. “Whoa. Wait! We can’t leave yet. We’re not even sure that’s the Tucker train. What if you’re wrong? What if it isn’t? What then?” She noticed Irene’s disdainful smile, arching brows and the way her eyes darted to Connell to assess his reaction.

Instead of answering Faith, he smiled at Irene. “Do you think it’s too late to go back and sell her to Black Kettle after all?”

Irene huffed. “I’m afraid you’d have to pay him to take her, not the other way ’round.”

“Oh, well in that case,” he said with a chuckle, “I guess we’ll have to keep her. I doubt there are enough good horses in the territories to make Black Kettle change his mind.”

“Very funny,” Faith grumbled.

The ensuing mutual laughter of her companions didn’t amuse her one bit. Gritting her teeth, she watched them ride away for a few dozen heartbeats, then kicked her horse in the sides and followed reluctantly.

For once, she actually missed having another woman like her sister to talk to. Charity might be self-centered but at least she thought and acted in ways Faith was used to. Irene, on the other hand, was a lot more like an Indian than Faith had imagined she’d be.

As she rode behind her companions, she was able to observe them without blatantly staring. Connell sat his horse straight and strong in spite of his injured shoulder and Irene rode beside him as naturally as if they’d been a couple all their lives. Perhaps they had.

All the more reason to believe they were ideally suited to each other, Faith reasoned. If she were truly honest with herself she’d have to admit that the best thing she could do for Connell McClain was to drop out of his life for good. As soon as possible. That notion stuck in her throat and burned like a dose of Grandma Reeder’s homemade spring tonic.

Alone with Irene after Connell left on his scouting mission, Faith tried several times to breach the gap between her life and the other woman’s by making small talk. Her efforts were to no avail. When Irene did deign to speak, her conversation was terse and strictly to the point instead of chatty as Faith had hoped.

By the time Connell returned, she was about ready to start talking to clumps of inanimate sagebrush.

“Well?” she blurted as he dismounted and started to loosen the canelo’s saddle girth before reporting. “What did you learn?”

He paused, turned to give her a patient look. “Your wagon broke an axle about fifty miles back. After that, the Ledbetters and the Johnsons took what they could carry of Charity’s stuff and left the rest behind, wagon and all.”

“Then we did find the right train!”

“Yes. And a more demoralized bunch of folks I’ve never seen. A quarter of their party split off back at Fort Bridger. The rest are complaining about all the hardships of Sublette’s Cutoff, even if it did save them a week of travel. If they think that was bad, this next patch of rough country is going to really wake them up.”

“Is Charity okay? Did you see her? Talk to her?”

“I saw her. From a distance. Didn’t see any reason to stir things up by bothering her. She’s a little the worse for wear but otherwise fine. Looks like she’s had to learn to do chores since you left. She was tending a cooking fire while a couple of other women fussed at her.”

“Thank heavens.” Faith sighed with relief. “But what about Ben? If we don’t have a wagon anymore, what are they using my mules for?”

“Nothing, at the moment,” Connell said. “I spotted Ben and one of your other mules. They’re a little gaunt but not sickly or broken down like some of the horses. That’s a good sign. If we can liberate the old boy before he’s driven across the desert with the rest of the herd he’ll have a better chance.”

“Then let’s do it! What’re we waiting for?”

Irene shook her head, clearly concerned. “Is she always this enthusiastic?”

“Most always,” Connell answered. “She goes off half-cocked more often than a worn-out flintlock.”

Faith faced them, hands fisted on her hips. “I do not. I just want to get my mule and be on our way, that’s all. I keep expecting to see a bunch of Indians riding after us.”

“She has a point there,” Irene said. “Walks With Tree is an old man. If something happened to him, Black Kettle might decide he wants me back again.”

Not to mention what Red Deer wants,
Faith thought. The virile Cheyenne brave had stared daggers at Connell as their party had ridden out of camp and she wouldn’t have been a bit surprised to see him sneaking through the brush, readying an arrow. There had definitely been times lately when she’d felt as if someone or something was watching them, following them. It wasn’t the same kind of sensation a person got from knowing they were being looked after by a benevolent Providence, either. It was more like what she imagined an antelope might feel at its first glimpse of a mountain lion lying in ambush. A shiver followed the conclusion that their invisible nemesis might indeed be a lion or other dangerous denizen of the wilderness.

“All right,” Connell said, breaking into Faith’s thoughts. “We’ll use Irene’s diversion idea since I haven’t been able to come up with a better one. She and I will cause a stir so you can sneak into the herd to get Ben.” He scowled at Faith. “Just Ben, mind you. If other mules follow him we’ll have to take them, too, but I’d rather not. The less fuss the better.”

“Right.” She unfastened her braids to let them hang free. In answer to Connell’s questioning look she said, “Since I don’t have my bonnet and Ben’s not used to these clothes either, I want him to know it’s me. He’s smart. Too smart. There’s no way I can catch him if he doesn’t want to be caught.”

“Take one of the horses,” Connell ordered. “Ride him close enough to spot Ben, then decide whether or not to approach on foot. We’ll leave that up to you. Just get in and out as fast as you can. If nobody spots you and gives chase, come back here to camp. If you’re followed, head west. We’ll find you.”

Faith pulled a face. “Ha! The way you two have been talking about getting rid of me I’m not very comfortable being separated.”

Chuckling, Connell patted her on the top of the head. “Don’t worry. I imagine by now you’re a regular legend in the Cheyenne camps. If they did pick you up again you’d be treated well as long as you kept your mouth shut and minded your own business.”

“Yes-sir-ee,” Faith drawled cynically. “I’m about the quietest, most harmless little dove there ever was. Have to live up to my Indian name, don’t I?”

“I should have named you Babbling Brook or Squeaking Wheel Woman,” he countered, amused though also worried about her participation in their mule-theft plan. “If there was any other way to be sure we’d be able to get to Ben without being noticed, I’d leave you behind.”

“You can’t. You need me,” Faith said flatly. “We all agree on that. So, are you going to stand around jawing all evening or are we going to go after my mule?”

“We’re going to go after your mule,” he said. “If you can’t sneak close enough to safely nab him tonight, we’ll wait till daybreak and try again when they drive the livestock to water.”

“I’ll get him tonight,” Faith vowed. “I’m not giving Ramsey Tucker any more chances to hurt him. I just wish there was some good way to make off with my sister, too.”

“We’ve already been over all that. You said it yourself. The men would form a posse and hunt us down if we kidnapped her.”

“I know, I know. And they won’t miss Ben the way they would Charity. Especially since he’s not being worked. I understand that. I was just wishing things could be different, that’s all.”

Irene nodded sagely, soberly, and surprised Faith by saying, “I know
exactly
how you feel.”

The country was open. Flat. Faith couldn’t very well show herself to the emigrants while still clad as an Indian, so she dismounted, left her horse behind and crouched low to approach the weary herd.

The closer she got, the worse the livestock looked. Innumerable flies buzzed around oxen’s eyes and dotted their backs, especially where the yokes had rubbed their hide raw. The poor beasts were so exhausted they barely flinched from the biting insects.

Their suffering touched Faith’s heart. If only she had some of her homemade tansy-and-sulfur ointment to put on those wounds. But that precious tin of salve, as well as personal belongings like the mourning pendant she’d worn in memory of her mother, had probably been abandoned when her wagon was left behind.

An enormous brown and white ox lifted its head to glance at her as she came closer, then went back to wrapping its tongue around tufts of coarse grass and yanking it out by the mouthful.

Faith laid a steadying hand on its withers and kept the large animal between herself and the wagon train so she wouldn’t be visible if anyone chanced to look her way.

Speaking calmly, she soothed her four-legged concealment. “Hello, old boy. That’s it. Keep eating. I hear you’re going to need every bite.”

There had been a time, early in their journey, when even the most placid ox or mule would have resisted the touch of anyone who might place it back in harness before it was sated. Now, however, the animals were too tired, too sore-footed, to fight any longer. They seemed as resigned to their fate as their human owners.

With barely an occasional twinge left to remind her of the injury to her ribs back at Fort Laramie, Faith felt guilty to be enjoying renewed well-being when there was so much suffering, man and beast, all around her.

Well, better to help one poor traveler than none at all, she reasoned. She hadn’t come to rescue the wagon train from the harrowing trek. Only God could do that. Her task was to locate her faithful mule and spirit him away undetected.

That was plenty, considering the size of the herd and the waning daylight. Men would soon return to gather the draft animals and drive them inside the corral formed by the circled wagons. If she didn’t get to Ben before then, they would have to wait till morning, as Connell had warned.

She crept closer and closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of Charity while continuing her search for Ben. Sound carried well over the tranquil prairie, but she was unable to pick out her sister’s voice above the general hum of the camp. Still, that much background noise would help to mask her summons if she shouted to Ben. With time growing short, she decided it was a chance worth taking.

“Ho, Ben,” she called, beginning softly as a test.