Ana Seymour (19 page)

“Bring a lantern over here,” Jeb said curtly to Scott.

Kerry stood to one side as Scott brought the light and held it aloft while Jeb studied the ground. “I don’t see any signs of other riders,” Jeb said finally.

“Other riders?” Scott asked.

“Indians. It doesn’t appear that they were taken away by anyone.”

“If Indians had been here, we would have seen them. There’s no way they could just ride in and snatch them right from under everyone’s nose,” Scott said, sounding as if he thought the wagon master was crazy.

Jeb straightened up and gave Scott a withering glance. “They could snatch your hat right off your head without you ever seeing them, if they’d a mind to. But it looks as if these youngsters have just taken off by themselves.”

“I can’t believe Patrick would go off in the dark,” Kerry said again, her voice cracking.

Jeb made a movement toward her, but stopped as Scott stepped back and put an arm around her. “We’ll find them, lass,” he said, pulling her against him.

Jeb watched for a minute in silence as she buried her head in the prospector’s comforting shoulder. Scott’s strong, blacksmith fingers sifted through her short hair. Then Jeb turned to go raise men for a search party.

Within a half hour, at least thirty men had gathered at the Burnett wagon. Jeb kept them back from Scott’s
animals so that they wouldn’t trample any trace of a trail, though he admitted that it would be almost impossible to follow a trail through grass on a dark night. He’d asked the searchers to carry lanterns. Every horse that was accompanying the train was being used and a number of mules. Even Foxy and Daniel had put aside their storytelling for the moment to join the group.

Kerry had dressed in her trousers and one of Patrick’s sweaters and was untying one of Scott’s mules when Jeb came up to her. “What do you think you’re doing?” he asked with none of the gentleness that had been in his voice earlier when they’d been sitting by the fire.

“Getting my mount,” she said. “Scott says this one’s the most docile.”

Jeb looked at her in amazement. “Tie it back up. You’re not going anywhere.”

Kerry paid no attention. “Excuse me,” she said, brushing past him, leading the animal. “Scott’s borrowed a saddle for me from the Kirbys.”

Jeb put a hand on her arm. “I said you’re not going.”

“Yes, I am.” Her voice was calm.

“Kerry, remember what we were just talking about? I’m the wagon master. I make the rules. We’re not taking women.”

She looked at him, then, with a sad shake of her head. “I know that you’re the wagon master. And I’m willing to follow you every step of the way, but it’s my brother out there. He’s all I have left in the world. And I’m not going to stay home just because my wagon master is so busy blaming himself for losing
one woman that he can’t see that another one might be capable of helping out. Of helping
him
out.”

The speech hadn’t come out quite the way she had intended, but perhaps it had said, after all, what she had been wanting to say to him for some time now.

Jeb opened his mouth and looked as if he was about to renew his protest, but no words came out. Finally he dropped his hand from her arm and let her walk by him leading the mule toward her own wagon where Scott was waiting with the borrowed saddle.

Dorothy looked as if she was considering following Kerry’s lead in insisting on accompanying the party, but finally she merely clung to her husband for a few seconds before he mounted a borrowed horse, then watched as the group rode out into the night.

They stayed in a tight bunch, holding the lanterns high as Jeb pointed out that Scott’s mule seemed to be following along a small trail through the grass. If they continued on the path, perhaps there would be a chance to catch up to them. The three children made a light load, which meant the tracks were not deep. Periodically, Jeb held up his hand for the others to stop. Then he climbed down to study the ground and be sure they were still going in the right direction.

There was very little speaking. Once when Foxy Whitcomb started in on a story about Indian captives, Jeb turned around and rudely told him to shut up. The old mountain man was silent after that.

Scott’s mules had been tethered near a small grove of trees, which was evidently what had prevented anyone from seeing the departure of the children. The tiny trail appeared to lead directly north, vertical to the river, and headed straight for the scrawny patch
of woods covering the base of a line of hills some distance away.

When they had covered about a third of the distance to the trees, Jeb dismounted and spent a longer time than usual looking at the dark ground. When he straightened up, his eyes in the lantern light were troubled. “There are three more tracks now,” he told them. “Horses.”

Scott jumped from his horse and Kerry struggled down from the broad back of the mule she’d been riding. It was the first time she’d ever ridden by herself and under any other circumstances she would have taken the time to be proud of her accomplishment, but at the moment all she could think about was Patrick and the girls.

“They’re not shod,” Scott said as he looked down at the hoofprints Jeb was pointing to in the dusty ground.

“No,” Jeb agreed quietly. “They’re Indian mounts.”

A murmur went around the group of riders. For days, weeks now, they’d heard the stories of the Indians. They’d ridden patrols, posted guards. Now, just when many of them were becoming convinced that Jeb Hunter had been crazy to be so worried about a bunch of mythical savages, here they were. Only three of them from what Jeb could see, but where there were three, there could be three hundred. And Patrick, Polly and Molly were with them.

Kerry lost track of how long they’d been searching. It probably had not yet been two hours, but it seemed as if the search had been longer than their whole westward
journey thus far. The two mountain men had confirmed Jeb’s conclusion that there were now four animals traveling together, still following the tiny overgrown trail through the grass. The trail was more evidence that this territory they were crossing was not exactly wilderness, after all. People had lived here for years, centuries, perhaps. Jeb had been right when he had said that the white folks were the intruders. At the moment the important thing was that the old trail was enabling them to follow the children’s progress. If they’d been riding through the tall grass, there would have been no way to determine in which direction they had gone.

Scott let his mule drop back to fall into place beside hers. “How are you holding up, lass?” he asked.

“I’m fine. Patrick’s the one we have to worry about—and the twins. Molly’s not even fully recovered from her illness.”

“She looks healthy enough to me. You just have to have faith that they’re all going to be fine.”

“Do you think the Indians are taking them to their camp?” she asked, gulping down a wave of fear. They’d all heard the tales of white women and children taken off to live with the Indians and never heard from again.

Scott reached out a hand and patted her knee where it rested on the mule’s broad back. “We’ll find them, Kerry. We won’t go back until we do.”

Scott’s cheerful, reassuring voice buoyed her spirits as it had done so many times on this trip. He didn’t deserve to have come in second in her affections, she thought, fighting back tears. “I’m sorry, Scott,” she said.

He looked startled. “Sorry for what?”

She looked down at her hands clutching the horn of the unfamiliar saddle. “About what you saw back there at camp. Jeb and me.”

He didn’t answer for a moment. Then he said, his voice determinedly light, “Hunter’s a lucky man.”

“I don’t think he would agree with you.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” She pressed her lips together as she searched for the words. “Because he doesn’t want me. I mean, he doesn’t…want to marry me or anything like that.”

Scott’s expression was unreadable. “He’s told you this in so many words?”

“Yes.”

The two mules lumbered along another few steps. Finally Scott said, “Then maybe the men on the train are right. Hunter
is
a fool.”

Kerry didn’t respond. She couldn’t think about Jeb right now, about either his problems with the men on the train or his problems with her. She couldn’t think about anything but Patrick. She’d already lost her father. She couldn’t lose her brother.

Ahead of them the lanterns started to close together in a bunch again as the lead animals drew to a halt. “What’s happening?” Kerry asked.

Scott boosted himself up in his stirrups. “There’s someone up ahead,” he said, then continued with excitement “Kerry, I think they’ve found them.”

A
half moon had risen over the far hills, providing some light in the dark night. As Kerry struggled to make her recalcitrant animal move faster, she could make out the silhouettes of Patrick and two girls sitting on the back of another mule up ahead. Tears filled her eyes and her limbs tingled with relief. “Patrick,” she hollered, and the relief became sheer joy when her brother gave her a weak wave in return.

He was all right, that much was obvious, and with that knowledge she turned her attention to the three horses that surrounded her brother’s mule. She could not see very well, but their riders definitely were Indians. Two of them appeared to be half-naked. The rest of the men moved their animals aside to allow her mule to pass through. By the time she’d reached the front, Jeb had dismounted and had lifted both the twins down from the mule. All three children seemed to be in good condition, if a bit subdued. Patrick was sliding off the mule’s back. The three Indians remained mounted. When she drew near, Kerry was
surprised to see that they were boys, not much older than Patrick.

“It appears we’ve interrupted an impromptu cultural exchange,” Jeb told her as she held tightly to her saddle horn and swung off the mule. Scott came up behind her and dismounted as well.

Kerry ran to fling her arms around Patrick, who hung back and did not look at all pleased at the attention. “That’s enough, sis,” he grumbled, shooting a look over at the three mounted Sioux, who sat watching the emigrants from the backs of their horses without moving.

“What happened to you, Patrick?” Kerry asked, ending the unwelcomed embrace and stepping back from him. Now that the fear was receding, the anger at her brother’s foolishness began to build. “How could you have done such a thing?”

Polly answered for him. “We just came out to meet these boys, Kerry. They were waving to us to come.”

“We weren’t planning to ride this far,” Molly said, her voice full of tears.

Jeb stepped up and put a hand on Patrick’s shoulders. “Is that what happened, partner?” he asked gently. “You saw these three Lakota and wanted to come out to meet them?”

“They were signaling to us,” Patrick explained, allowing Jeb’s touch, which was evidently not as embarrassing as his sister’s. “And we didn’t want to wave at them to come in to us, because what if one of the lookouts had shot at them or something?”

“Well, you may have been right about that,” Jeb acknowledged.

“So we thought we’d just ride out and see if we could talk to them.”

“And how did you end up way out here?” Jeb’s tone was patient. He seemed to sense that the three children were shaken by their adventure and that yelling at them at this point would not serve any purpose. Kerry knew that inside he must be furious with Patrick for risking his own life and the lives of the Burnett girls in such a way. His restraint was admirable.

“By the time we got Scott’s mule, they’d moved out farther, but by then we really wanted to know what they’d be like, so we kept going.”

“Then they were going to kidnap us,” Polly added with a note of importance.

“They were not,” Patrick said quickly.

“They
maybe
were,” Polly argued.

Molly was left to explain the real events. “When we got out to them we realized that they didn’t understand us, and we couldn’t understand them. So one of them grabbed the mule’s bridle and they started leading us off to the other side of the meadow.”

“We tried to tell them we couldn’t go with them,” Patrick explained, “but they just laughed and kept going.”

“I was so scared,” Molly added.

“I wasn’t,” Polly said. “It was exciting.”

Jeb looked up at the three Indians who hadn’t moved a muscle while the discussion had been going on. He smiled at them and held up his hand, palm outward.

One of the young Indians made a similar gesture in return, but none of them smiled.

Jeb said a few halting words that they seemed to
understand. The one who had held up his hand answered in rapid speech that had Jeb shaking his head. “I’m not good enough at their language to understand all of it,” he said. He continued to listen intently as the boy finished his speech, then he gave a grave nod. “I think he’s trying to say that they were taking the children to someone in their tribe who speaks English. They just wanted to talk with them”

Kerry studied the somber faces of the three Indians. Close up, they looked much like her brother, the same earnest look in their eyes, the same slim bodies, not yet filling out into manhood. Her fear of them disappeared. They might have been three young Irish boys coming to collect Patrick after a day at the fish market. “Shall we invite them back to the train?” she asked, noting that Patrick’s expression brightened at the suggestion.

Jeb shook his head. “Not with the current mood of the folks back there. I don’t need more problems.”

“It doesn’t look as if these boys would be any problem,” she objected.

“No, but what about when their people come looking for them, the way we had to come looking for Patrick and the girls?”

“Oh.” Kerry saw the look of disappointment on Patrick’s face. “You think there are more around, then.”

“I know there are more around,” Jeb answered, casting a look back to where Foxy and Daniel were waiting quietly on their horses. Perhaps this would shut up the two old geezers, Jeb thought with a little sigh. He turned to Patrick. “Say goodbye to your new friends, Patrick. It’s dark and late, and we have no
idea when these boys’ elders are going to decide to come along, so we’re getting back to the train.”

“I think they’re friendly,” Patrick said wistfully.

“I do, too, partner, but I’d rather not risk a meeting. Especially not in the middle of the night with your sister and the girls out here.”

Patrick gave a reluctant nod and turned to the three young braves. He held up his hand the way he’d seen Jeb do, and this time all three Indians held up theirs. Then they wheeled their horses and rode away in a cloud of dust.

Everyone on the train who hadn’t been on the actual search party was waiting near the Burnetts’ wagon when they arrived back with the children. Dorothy hugged her two girls so hard that their feet left the ground. Patrick seemed a little ill at ease when Charles Kirby and his other friends crowded around. It was as if he couldn’t quite decide if he’d been the hero of a great adventure or a naughty child who should be ashamed of himself.

It was quite a while before folks started drifting off to their own wagons for bed. Before they left Jeb asked for volunteers for extra guard duty.

“The three Indians were just children, Captain,” Thomas Crandall protested. “Not as old as my boy Homer. I don’t see any reason to put on more guards.”

Jeb had had about enough of Thomas Crandall. At least this time Foxy and Daniel were keeping their mouths shut. They had sense enough to know that the three young lads they had seen wouldn’t be traveling alone. It was true that they had seemed friendly, but
it would be downright stupid not to take precautions. “Don’t volunteer then, Crandall,” he said curtly. “I’m sure there are plenty of other men here who are willing to lose sleep in order to be sure that you and your family are safe.”

“What’s that supposed to mean? Are you calling me a coward or something?”

Jeb just shook his head and turned to talk with Frank Todd. But Kerry watched with worried eyes as Thomas Crandall and some of the other men walked away talking together and casting hostile glances back at their wagon leader.

Jeb could learn a little more tact, she decided. But after their kiss at the fire earlier that evening, she wasn’t about to seek him out to tell him so. She would just head back to her own wagon with the rest of the crowd and enjoy watching her brother climb into his bed, safe and sound and alive. Morning would be time enough to try once again to give Jeb Hunter a little advice on diplomacy.

She was wrong. Morning hadn’t been time enough. During the course of the night the rebellious faction had met at Thomas Crandall’s wagon. They’d invited the mountain men to join them, and, after an initial reluctance, the two veterans had agreed to take over as trail guides if the association decided they no longer wanted to continue on with Jeb Hunter.

“And we’ll be sure that’s what they decide,” Crandall had assured them.

They’d gone to rouse the wagon master from his bedroll at dawn, catching him sleepy and, Jeb noted ironically, once again without his boots.

“We’re done taking orders from you, Hunter,” Crandall told him. “You can ride with us as far as Fort Laramie if you like or you can just head on out of here today. But Foxy’ll be taking over your job.”

“Oh, really?” Jeb was remarkably calm, which surprised him. Normally he would be spitting fire about now, ready to tear Crandall’s head off for risking everybody’s lives in such a blamed stupid way. But suddenly he was feeling, to hell with it. It wasn’t his job to save every damned fool in the world. Maybe it was something Kerry had said about his needing to punish himself by feeling responsible for everything bad that happened in the world. There was only so much that one person could do. The world would continue to be a risky place no matter how hard he kept trying. “Are you intending to call for a vote on this, Crandall?”

“Just to make it official. But I think we can be pretty sure of how it’s going to turn out.”

Jeb sat back down on the ground and started to pull on his boots. “Fine. Let me know when you get the results.”

The men looked at each other, a little discomfited at his easy capitulation. Then Crandall said, “C’mon. Todd will have to call the vote. Let’s go find him.”

Eulalie woke Kerry with the news, which by then was buzzing through the train. “I think it’s time for the women’s party to spring into action again,” the older woman told her as Kerry splashed river water on her face to wake up.

“I can’t believe they’re even considering this,” Kerry said with disgust. “Just last night they saw
again that Jeb knows what he’s talking about. He said we were in Indian country, and there they were, as big as life.”

“But only children,” Eulalie said.

“So what? Would they have been happier if it had been a war party?”

Eulalie shook her gray head. “I know. That’s why we need to get the women together again. To talk some sense into them.”

“All right. I’ll get Dorothy and we’ll start going around to the wagons.”

“We don’t have much time. Crandall is insisting that the vote be taken before we leave this morning.”

“It won’t take us much time,” Kerry said firmly.

Kerry was surprised to see Jeb sitting coolly on the lowered tailgate of the Todds’ wagon, whittling a piece of wood. He didn’t seem to be the least disturbed that the entire encampment was about to take a vote on whether to overthrow his leadership of the train. His bedroll and gear were still scattered near the wagon. He evidently had made no effort to get himself ready to begin to roll, even though it was already later than he usually liked the wagons to get started.

He smiled at her as she moved into the already gathered crowd and, surprised, she smiled back.

Frank was beginning to pass out tiny scraps of paper to the crowd. “I’ll pass around and collect these in a few minutes. If you’re voting to make Foxy our new wagon master, scratch an
x
on the paper. Otherwise leave it blank.”

He handed one slip to each man until Kerry asked, “Aren’t the women going to vote, too?”

Frank shook his head. “The rules say that only men vote.”

“The women were included in the vote about whether Patrick and I could continue on with the train.”

Frank looked apologetic. “That was a special situation. But for changing the whole contract like this, I guess it’s just gotta be the men.”

Kerry put her hands on her hips and turned around, looking at the rest of the women behind her with indignation. Jeb jumped down from the wagon and walked toward her, still smiling. “Don’t bother yourself about it, sweetheart. Let them take their vote.”

Frank finished distributing the papers, then said, “I just want to go on record saying that I stand one hundred percent behind Jeb. He’s gotten us this far, ahead of schedule, without losing a wagon.”

“We lost Mrs. Hamilton,” Thomas Crandall said snidely.

Frank stared him down. “Yes, and we might have lost a sight more if Jeb hadn’t known that it was the river that was sickening folk.”

“I agree.” The usually silent John Burnett surprised everyone by speaking vehemently. “And he saved my daughter’s life.”

“Ah, we don’t know that it was the river that did the sickening,” Crandall said with a wave of his hand, nodding to the men who were next to him. “C’mon, let’s get this over with.” And at least half of the men mumbled agreement.

Jeb stood next to her, surveying the crowd, his expression
still placid. Kerry couldn’t believe what she was hearing. “Just a minute,” she said so loudly that even Thomas Crandall looked taken aback. “I may not get a vote, but I’m a member of this train the same as anyone else, and I at least get my say.”

She pushed through the crowd to the tailgate where Jeb had been sitting and boosted herself up so she could look out over the heads of the men who were the principal dissenters.

“You men ought to be ashamed of yourselves,” she said, her eyes stabbing each one in turn. “Every step of the way from Westport to this point has been made possible by Jeb Hunter. He’s told us where and how to go. He’s seen us safely across rivers where you know very well that other trains have lost whole wagons. He’s gotten us almost to the end of Indian territory without problems, even though, as we saw last night, there definitely are Indians around, just as he said. He’s cured your sick and looked after your women and children, caring about them as if they were his very own.” She paused to take a deep, ragged breath. “Back at Fort Kearney we heard them say that Jeb Hunter would sooner lose his own life than the life of one of his emigrants. That’s the kind of man we hired to get us to California. And that’s the man who will get us there unless all of you are complete—” she sputtered a little as she searched for the word “—blockheads!”