The Reluctant Bridegroom (22 page)

“Might be asleep in one of the wagons,” Penny offered.

Sky said abruptly, “Tell Riker I’ll be back soon as I can.”

He wheeled and broke into a run. They watched with astonishment as he stopped, bent over the ground, and began running back and forth.

“He’s tracking Tom!” Penny said. “I reckon he thinks Tom’s lost.”

Sky carefully examined the ground, but found nothing. He changed his position, going to the far end of the trail, and almost at once found some faint sign in the dewy grass. Head down, he followed the tracks until they left the road and led into a patch of scrub timber. He lost the trail more than once, but swept back and forth until he’d found it again. The scrubby growth gave way to a fir forest, making the trail harder to follow over the carpet of needles.

About an hour later, he came upon the limp body of Lake, crumpled beside a tiny brook. At first he thought the man was dead, but then he saw the empty whiskey bottle and breathed a sigh of relief. Picking Lake up by the shoulders, Sky dragged him to the creek and—holding him by the hair—plunged his face into the frigid water.

Lake began to buck at once, and Sky yanked the man’s head out. “Wha—what’s goin’—!”

“Shut your mouth!” Sky hissed and pushed Lake’s face
under again, holding the thrashing body down. Then he pulled him out and threw him down flat on his back.

Lake lay on the bank, gagging and coughing, until he was finally able to sit up and speak. When his head cleared, he cried indignantly, “You can’t do—!”

Sky pulled his gun smoothly and aimed it at the man. “If you say any more, Tom, I’ll blow your head off.”

The shock brought reason to Lake’s brain, and he sat there shivering until he couldn’t stand it any longer. “Sky, what’s going on? Just because I got a little drunk—”

“I’ll tell you what’s going on, Tom!” Sky snapped, his eyes bright with anger. “There are three people dying in that camp—
and you’re the cause of it!
”

“Me! I didn’t shoot them—and it’s not my fault Rebekah’s having a baby in a breech position!” The words leaped out, but he shut his mouth, realizing he’d said too much.

“A breech birth? I don’t even know what that is,” Sky said softly, menacingly. “But you do, don’t you, Tom?” He picked up the sack he’d brought from Lake’s wagon, put his weapon away and pulled out a small black bag. He tossed it to Lake, who caught it reflexively, then stared at it as if it were a deadly snake. “It’s yours, isn’t it, Tom?” Sky growled.

“It—it used to be.”

“You’re a doctor, aren’t you?”

Lake’s face crumpled and he dropped the bag and hid his face in his hands. “No more! I used to be—but no more!”

Sky waited until the man’s shoulders stopped shaking before he moved to where Lake was slumped on the grass.

“Then why’re you carrying the bag along? Tom, what happened?”

It all came out then, the whole story. His face ashen, Lake told how he’d been drunk and killed a woman he was operating on. “I always thought I could handle booze,” he said in a thin voice. “But I killed her, just as sure as if I’d put a gun to her head myself!” He shivered. “Before, I was a doctor who was a drunk. Now I’m just a drunk, Sky. Don’t kill anybody,
at least. I still keep the bag with me—even if I don’t dare use it. I don’t know why.”

“You’ve got to, Tom, and I mean
now!
”

“No, Sky!” Lake scrambled to his feet. “I knew you’d say that—but I can’t! I haven’t been a doctor in five years.”

“Tom,” Sky said evenly, “somebody’s got to take Pete’s hand off. If you don’t do it, I’ll have to. Somebody’s got to dig that bullet out of Charlie Gladden. You may kill him, but if I do it, he’s got no chance at all. And what do you think
I
can do with Rebekah?
You’re murdering her if you don’t do what you can.
”

For fifteen minutes Winslow pleaded with Lake but got nowhere. Finally, Sky glared at him and slowly pulled out his gun.

Anger flared in Tom’s eyes. “You think I’m afraid to die, Winslow? I’ve prayed for death for years. Go on—shoot me!”

“I’m going to shoot you, Tom,” Sky nodded coldly. “In the ankle—blow it to bits. Then I’m going to drag you back to the train and tell them about you. “

Lake flinched. “You wouldn’t do that!”

Sky thumbed back the hammer and aimed at Lake’s ankle. “I’ll do it, Tom. There are three people dying back there, and I think more of any one of them than I do of a low-down cowardly dog like you! So you’re going back, and you can amputate your own foot—if they don’t shoot you like a yellow dog first!”

Tom Lake stared at the gun that was lined up on his ankle, imagining what the bullet would do to the fragile bones. He looked up into Winslow’s unblinking blue eyes and knew that there would be no reprieve—the man would do as he said. Tom dropped his head and stared at the ground.

Sky kept the gun trained on Lake’s ankle, and knew as well that he would shoot. An icy wave of violence washed over him, for Winslow knew only too well what was at stake. He waited to let the man decide whether to live or die.

The sun was rising, and a gray squirrel ran out on a limb
over their heads, chattering at them angrily before retreating inside the trunk. The sweet smell of pine and balsam was fresh in the cold air, and the creek bubbled over the stones, making tiny fists of white foam that reared up when the water hit a stone.

Finally Tom lifted his head, and there was a light in his eyes that Sky had never seen. “Let’s go.”

“All right, Tom.”

Lake picked up the bag and trudged out of the glade with Sky behind him. The squirrel popped his head over a branch, his bright beady eyes inquiring; he came down and frisked his tail, staring down the trail where the two disappeared.

By the time they got back to camp, everyone knew that Lake had left and that Sky had gone after him. The people had gathered together in a group, and as the two men approached and stepped into the center, a quiet fell across the company.

Tom Lake looked haggard as he stood in the middle of the circle and looked around. His face was puffy and his eyes were bloodshot; nevertheless, they saw that something had changed.

“I used to be a doctor,” he announced in a clear voice that carried easily over the area. “Then I began to drink, and killed a woman I was operating on. That’s when I became a real drunk.” He let that sink in, then added, “I haven’t been a doctor for five years, but I’ll do what I can.”

Al Riker stepped forward, his tired eyes gleaming hopefully. “Lake, help my boy. He’s bleedin’ bad!”

“I’ll do what I can, Al. No guarantees.”

“I know, Doc,” Riker replied quickly. “Just do what you can.”

“Is there someone who can help me?” he asked.

“Yes. Edith,” Sky said quickly. “Karen, go get her and then you stay with Rebekah.”

When Edith arrived Lake began. There was a new authority in his voice as he gave orders. “Edith, give Pete ten drops of
that laudanum. By the time I finish with Charlie, he ought to be ready.”

In twenty minutes Lake had extracted the bullet from Charlie’s stomach and stopped the bleeding. “It’s a good thing I got in there,” he said quietly to Edith, who was helping him. “That bleeder would have killed him today.” He treated the wound, then went to amputate Pete’s hand.

The operation on Pete Riker took much longer, but those who watched saw that the man knew exactly what he was doing. After it was over, he said to the Rikers, “He’ll have a good stump. I left a good cushion of muscle, and it won’t be long before he’ll be able to wear a hook.”

Mrs. Riker began to weep, and Al said in a husky voice, “Thanks, Doc!”

Tom said quietly, “Sorry to be so late. Should have done this before.”

Sky had stood by during the procedures. Now he accompanied Lake as they hurried toward Rebekah’s wagon. There was admiration in his face as he said, “Well, Tom, you’re a slow starter—but you’re a real sure-shot once you let the hammer down.”

“I feel like a man again, Sky!” Then he added soberly, “It’s not going to be so easy with Rebekah, Sky. It’s a little different from digging a slug out.”

“You’ll do fine, Doc,” Sky reassured. “You were born for it—a natural!” He dropped a hand on Lake’s thin shoulder. “An angel unawares, as the Good Book says!”

Lake grinned in embarrassment. “Nobody ever called me
that
before—an angel unawares.”

“Well, you’ll do till one comes along—now do your stuff!”

Lake had been right, for Rebekah had not been as easy to deal with as the others had. All day long the train sat still, the men and women milling nervously around, asking each other unanswerable questions.

At suppertime, Dave sat by the fire with Sky, Rita and
Karen. The four of them were absently picking at their dinners when a cry tore the air and all of them scrambled to their feet.

“That was a baby!” Dave exclaimed.

Edith came out of the wagon and ran toward them, crying, “It’s a girl!—and Rebekah is fine!”

Sky pulled his gun out of his holster and emptied it into the air with a yell—then stood stockstill and looked around with a sheepish expression on his face. “That was a dumb thing to do!” he muttered.

Rita had a wondering smile on her face. “Well, I guess a little salute for a miracle isn’t too foolish, Sky.”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

THE LAST FROLIC

Fort Boise was no better than Fort Laramie or Fort Hall—but it was on the last leg of the Oregon trail, so there was a lighter spirit on the train as it rolled westward toward the Blue Mountains.

A hint of winter was already in the winds that came down from the north, though it was only mid-September. As wagons wound around the crooked trail, Edith and Sky marched along, keeping pace easily with the plodding oxen. Since they had left the South Pass, this had become a habitual thing, for with sick people in the train, Sky had found her to be capable of judging the speed of the march.

“Seems like a year since we left the South Pass,” she mused. The wind stirred a lock of her brown hair, blowing it across her eyes, and she carefully replaced it.

“You’ve done a good job,” he commented.

The compliment colored her cheeks, and she answered, “We’ve done well, haven’t we, Sky?”

“Better than I’d have thought,” he admitted. “That day at the Pass—I was just about a gone coon, Edith. If Tom hadn’t come around, there would have been three graves, I reckon.”

Rebekah had recovered slowly, but with Lake’s care, she was up in a few weeks, able to walk for short periods beside the wagon, and now was strong as ever. The baby, whom she’d named Mary, had a little trouble at first from the long birthing, but now was growing stronger every day, with no apparent complications. Pete Riker had made a swift recovery,
and would before long be able to wear a shiny steel hook on his left hand. Lot Penny had already forged one for him while they were resting up at Fort Bridger, and when Al Riker saw it he said, “Pete’ll be prouder of that hook than of his hand, I reckon. Says women love novelty—and it’ll be handy in a fight!”

Charlie Gladden had not fared so well. He’d never regained his strength, and they had been forced to leave him at Fort Hall with the army doctor to care for him. Sky had paid Charlie’s bill, and left enough to pay his way to Oregon City with one of the trains that would be coming through later.

Thinking of all this, Sky looked back to where Lake was sitting on the wagon seat beside Rebekah. “Looks like they’re having fun,” he remarked.

“Tom saved her life. I suppose he’s got a vested interest in her now.” Edith studied the pair and said, “Tom’s not the same man that started this trip.” She walked along silently, then added, “
None
of us are—except you, Sky.”

He looked at her, admiring the trim figure and the quick, intelligent eyes. He had long ago felt that she would be the perfect wife for Sam, but had not known how to approach her concerning the idea. At first he had thought it would be best simply to introduce the pair, but he knew that the women would be swamped with offers the day they got to Oregon City. It made him uneasy to think that Sam, because he was not impressive on the surface, might be passed over for another man with much less to offer.

“Not far to go now,” he said, mulling it over. “We’ll follow the Snake about 300 miles, cross the Blue Mountains, then take a little boat ride down the Columbia—and that’s it.”

“How long, Sky?”

“Oh, maybe a month, if the weather holds.” He hesitated, then asked, “You ever have any second thoughts, Edith—about coming on this trip?”

“Sure—lots of times.”

He didn’t know exactly how to take that. “You gettin’
cold feet about the end of all this? Marrying a man you don’t even know?”

She glanced at him, but he was looking out across the horizon and didn’t notice. “Why, I’ve had a few bad thoughts about that, Sky.” She laughed shortly, adding, “It’s not like picking out a new bonnet that I can throw away if it doesn’t please me.”

“What sort of man would please you?”

She looked at him again, and this time their eyes met. He had the steadiest and the bluest eyes she’d ever seen in a man, or perhaps they just seemed so, the way they were set in his bronze face. She felt the weight of his attention, as she had several times in the past, and finally answered, “Oh, that’s hard to say!”

“Tall? Short? Dark? Fat? Thin?”

“You know, those things don’t matter,” she replied. She was quiet for several moments longer before she answered. “I want a man who’s honest. If he’s honest with other men, he ought to be honest with a wife. And one who’s steady—not moody.” She thought hard, then added, “And he’s got to like children.”

He waited for her to continue, but soon saw that she was finished. “Not a long list, Edith.” He smiled. “Must be plenty of men like that.”

“No. Good men are almost as scarce as good women.”

He looked puzzled, and asked, “I can’t figure out who you’re tryin’ to insult with that—men or women?”

“Oh, neither one, Sky!” She laughed and asked, “Why are you so interested? Going to give inside tips on the new brides to your friends in Oregon City?” She saw his face change, and instantly regretted her hasty words. “I didn’t mean that, Sky. I’m sorry.”