Angel Train (8 page)

A look of shock ran across the faces of most of the prisoners. This was the ultimate evidence that things were going to be different. They all watched closely as Tremayne began to examine the weapons. From time to time, he called out a name, and a man would go over and accept the pistol and the rifle.

“These are yours, of course, Tremayne, that you had when you were arrested.”

Tremayne picked up the rifle the warden handed him and saw that Bryce was smiling. “Well, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see these again.”

“I’ve got some ammunition, not much, but I’m sure that the settlers will see that there is plenty of that. Now, there are quite a few bits of clothes here that incoming prisoners were wearing. You can’t leave wearing these prison uniforms so go through these boots and clothing and see if you can get each man outfitted.”

There was a hubbub, and Casey nearly smiled as he watched the men laughing and trying on different articles of clothing. Jack Canreen tried to get into a shirt and shook his head in disgust. “There ain’t no man-sized clothing here.”

“We may have to outfit you from a store, Jack. We need good boots, too, so find the best boots you can.”

An hour later the men were outfitted and stood there holding their weapons. Most of them had found a holster and
had belted the gun on, and there was a look of satisfaction on their faces.

“Well, it’s time for you to leave,” Bryce said. He stopped for a moment, and every prisoner gave him an intent look. Since most of the men were disillusioned about life, they would not have been totally taken aback if he had said, “We’re calling the whole thing off.” Instead Bryce stated, “I know most of you men are not Christians, but I am. You may not believe it, but I think God is in this. These people you’ll be helping deserve a good life. It’s been put into your hands to give it to them. You may not deserve a better life, but your slate is being wiped clean. This is a chance for each of you to be a different kind of man. I’m not going to preach a sermon, but I’m going to pray right now for you men to arrive safely at Oregon.”

He bowed his head and said a brief prayer. Tremayne was shocked for the warden mentioned each man in the group by name. He heard his own name called with a fervent prayer that God would give him wisdom to make this journey, to arrive safely in Oregon, and to begin a new life.

Finally the warden ended the prayer by saying, “I ask this in the name of Jesus and claim these men and the entire party for God. Amen.”

He looked at the men, then said, “Well, I’ve assigned Fred Orlin the job of taking you to your point of departure. The weather is nice, and they know you’re coming so I’m sure you’ll have a good meal when you get there.” He approached Tremayne, stuck his hand out, and said, “God be with you, Casey.”

“Thank you, Warden. Speaking for all the men, I wanted to say that we’ll do the best we can for these people.”

“That’s all a man can do.”

Bryce turned quickly and walked out of the room, and the men all followed. Outside, one of the guards, a slight man of thirty, stood beside the wagon. It was longer than usual and could carry as many as ten in the three seats. He was leaning against the wagon, eating an apple. He came to attention as the warden approached. “All ready, Warden,” he said.

“Take them to my people,” Bryce said. “They’ll give you a good meal. I have a letter for you to give to Gwilym Morgan.”

“Yes, sir. I’ll see that he gets it.”

Bryce stood back. “I guess this is good-bye. I’ll be expecting great things from you men.”

The men piled into the wagon; Casey sat in the front beside the guard. He turned, and as the wagon went through the gate in the wall that surrounded the prison, he suddenly felt like crying. It was something he had not done for many years. He could not even remember the last time, but he knew he couldn’t show it. The rest of the men gave a cheer, and Orlin nudged Casey with his elbow.

“Time for celebrating, Casey. You’re a free man.”

“No, I won’t be until we get these folks to Oregon.”

“Ah, you know that country. It’ll be easy for you.”

“No, Fred, it won’t be. Nobody ever had an easy time on the Oregon Trail. I’m not complaining though.” He smiled at Orlin. “You’ve been a good friend to me and to the other inmates, Fred. I want you to know that I won’t ever forget you.”

Orlin was embarrassed. “Why, shoot, Casey, I wasn’t all that good.”

The wagon rumbled with the road, and as it did, Casey Tremayne wondered, not for the first time, why this was happening. He was not a man who believed in much, but it was
plain to see this was not accidental. He stayed deep in thought all morning, and he finally shook off his contemplation and began to make plans for the trip ahead.

* * *

“THE CRIMINALS ARE HERE!”

Meredith had run to the window and stared out. She saw the wagon and dashed toward the door. Charity was across the room, and she and Bronwen followed. The wagon pulled up, and Meredith ran right up to it. She looked into the faces of the men and said loudly, “Are you the criminals who are going to take us to Oregon?”

Tremayne was climbing from the wagon, and he couldn’t restrain a smile. He looked down at the small girl from his great height. “We’re the criminals. Are you afraid of me?”

“No, I ain’t afraid of you.”

“Well, that’s good. My name’s Casey. What’s yours?”

“Meredith.”

“Hello, Mr. Tremayne.”

Tremayne looked up. “Hello, Miss Charity. No mister about it. Just Tremayne or Casey will be fine.”

“I’m glad to see you.” She hesitated, nearly offered her hand, and then thought better of it. She looked over the men and recognized some faces. “Hello, Billy,” she said. “It’s good to see you.”

“Hello, Miss Charity,” Billy grinned shyly. “Sure am glad to be here.”

Charity greeted the rest of the men, determined to learn their names, and said, “I got a letter from my Uncle Paul. He told us what time you were leaving so I’ve got a big meal prepared. Are you hungry?”

A murmur of ascent went through the men, and she said, “Come on in. This is my sister, Bronwen. My brother, Evan, isn’t here nor my father, but they’ll be coming in later. Come along.”

Ringo Jukes glanced at Tremayne. “Bossy, ain’t she, Casey?”

“Pretty much so.”

“Well, I hope she’s a good cook.”

“Whatever we get,” Frenchy Doucett said, “it’ll be better than what we’ve been getting.” His dark eyes were alight, and, like the others, when he entered the small house, he fell silent.

Casey knew what he was feeling. He had not been in a private home for years now, and there was a strange feeling to it. The smells of fresh-baked bread and meat cooking were in the air, and he turned to the young girl with the bandaged hand. “Your name is Bronwen?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Did you help cook this meal?”

“Yes, I did. I’m not as good a cook as my sister, but I’m learning.”

“Well, I’ll bet you’ll be just as good with a little experience.”

“All of you, have a seat. It’s all ready,” Charity said. She opened the oven and began bringing food on platters and plates while Bronwen and Meredith brought coffee in large cups. The men all sat silently, and Charity said, “We’ll have the blessing now.”

Casey bowed his head but kept his eyes open. Some of the men, he saw, were struck dumb by this.

She prayed quickly and then said, “Now, I’m not the cook my mother was, but I hope you’ll find something you like.”

Indeed, there was little not to like—fresh beef steak, carrots, two kinds of beans, and bread. The men, somewhat selfconsciously, began to eat, but soon Frenchy Doucett glanced toward Charity. “Miss Charity, this is very good. You are a fine cook.”

“Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

Jack Canreen was stuffing his mouth and said, “I ain’t had a good meal like this in four years, but you won’t be able to cook this good out on the trail, I’ll bet.”

“I don’t suppose so. There are no stores on the way, are there, Tremayne?”

“No. A few army posts and whatever we can shoot.”

Meredith did not sit down but had filled her plate, stood up, and moved around, looking at each man in the face. It was disconcerting.

Finally Jack Canreen said, “What are you staring at?”

“At you.”

“Why you looking at me like that?”

“I never saw any criminals before. Did you kill somebody?”

Frenchy Doucett laughed softly, and Ringo Jukes said, “Go on, Jack, tell her what a bad man you are.”

“No worse than some others I see here,” Canreen said. “Miss Charity, don’t you teach this child any manners?”

“It doesn’t seem to take, Canreen. We do the best we can.”

Casey enjoyed the young girl. She stopped in front of Ringo Jukes and fixed her eyes on him. Jukes winked at her and said, “Well, do you like what you see?”

“You are a handsome man.”

“Well, you’re a handsome girl.”

“Do you have a wife?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Charity spoke up. “Will you hush? Stop asking questions.”

They were nearly finished with the meal when Gwilym came in. “Well, I see our pilot and his men are here.”

“This is Casey Tremayne, Father. He’ll tell you the rest of the names.”

Gwilym studied them and then said, “When you finish your meal, everybody will be waiting at the meeting house. The people are all eager to hear what you have to say about the journey.”

“Well, I’m not all that much of a talker.”

“You’re a talker enough to tell us what we’ll be facing,” Gwilym said. “Was the meal good?”

Every head nodded, and Ringo Jukes said, “Your daughter is a fine cook, sir.”

“Yes, she is. Not as good as her mother, mind you, but she will be one day.”

* * *

THE MEETING HOUSE WAS very full. Charity found a place close to the front and held firmly onto Meredith, trying to keep her quiet. Gwilym rose and went to the front of the room, and everyone instantly grew quiet. “I want to introduce Mr. Casey Tremayne who will be our scout on this trip. He’s made the trip, I understand, before. Casey, come and tell us what we’re to expect.”

Feeling uneasy, Tremayne rose and stood beside Gwilym. “I’m not much of a speaker, but I want to say at the very beginning this is going to be a hard trip. Probably the hardest trip any of you will ever make.” He described some of the difficulties, including Indians, disease, flooded rivers, and buffalo stampedes, and finally he said, “We’re getting a late start.
You’re not ready to go yet, I assume. We have to have wagons, good animals, everyone has to be well supplied. There are no stores along the way.” Then he added, “We’ll have trouble, sooner or later, over what you’re going to take. I realize all of you have personal possessions that you treasure, but you can’t take them for the most part. No furniture. I’ve seen trains start out loaded, but when the animals play out, good furniture gets abandoned because the animals can’t handle it.”

He hesitated. “I might as well say something about discipline. We will be going through dangerous country filled with hostiles—not at first but later. All of the men without exception will have to stand guard, and we’ll all take turns herding the extra stock, which will trail the wagons.” His face grew harder. “There’ll be times when you question an order I give. Usually during those times there won’t be any time for debate. I just want to assure you that I’m not going to give any order I don’t think is necessary.”

He shrugged and said, “You all know we’re just out of prison. We were all put there because we committed crimes. I’ve warned the men that they’ll treat you with respect. If they don’t, you come to me, and I’ll discipline them.” He thought for a moment and added, “It would be good if we had a doctor. Lots of sickness and accidents on a trip like this.”

“We have one, Tremayne,” Gwilym said, “Dr. Wingate there is going along.”

“That’s good news. We’ll have plenty to do. Are there any questions?”

Karl Studdart rose and said, “Can we make this journey, Tremayne?”

His question was as blunt as the man himself.

“It’s always risky, Mr. Studdart. One company, the Donner family being the largest group, got trapped in the snow so they
nearly all died. They even resorted to cannibalism. That’s why I say we’ve got to get out of here as quickly as we can. I’ll say this. I’m thankful to be out of prison, and I’ve given my word to Warden Bryce as I give it to you. I’ll get you through or die trying.” He answered several more questions.

Then Gwilym said, “We’ll have more meetings, and we’ll expect Tremayne to tell us about what we need.”

When the meeting broke up, Helga Studdart, a very pretty sixteen-year-old, leaned against Charity. “How do you like our guide?”

“I think he’s very capable.”

“Don’t be silly,” Helga grinned. “He’s not handsome, but he looks like a real man.”

“He looks well enough.”

“You have no romance about you, Charity.”

Charity gave Helga a disgusted look. “If he gets us to Oregon, I don’t care what he looks like. I’ll be satisfied.”

THE GROUP OF MEN gathered outside the corral attracted Charity’s attention. Seeing Evan standing on the outside of the circle, she approached him.

“What’s all this about, Evan?”

He grinned briefly at her. “A bit of an argument, it is, about whether to take oxen or mules or horses to get us to Oregon. Some of the men don’t like what Tremayne is telling them.”

“What’s he saying?”

“He’s saying, for one thing, that most of the horses we have in this country aren’t sturdy enough to pull all the way across to Oregon.”

Charity stood on her tiptoes to see Nelson Brand standing in front of Tremayne. His face was flushed, and he was obviously excited. He was an even-tempered man usually, but Charity could tell from his tone and from the set expression on his face that he wasn’t happy.

“You may know how to get a train across the country, Tremayne, but I figure I know as much about horses as you do.”

Tremayne shoved his hat back on his head and seemed untroubled by the argument. “In that, you’re probably right, Nelson.”

“These horses of mine”—Brand waved his hand at four fine-looking geldings, all of matched color—“they’re the finest horses in the country. I’ll match them against anyone’s.”

“They’re fine-looking horses. I’ve already said that.”

“What’s wrong with my taking them on the trail?”

“I don’t think it would be the best idea. For one thing, the fact that they’re good-looking animals will make them real tempting to Indians. If they look good to us, they’ll look better to them. They’d love to have some good-looking, spirited horses like that.”

Karl Studdart was standing close by. He interrupted. “You mean an Indian would be more likely to steal a good-looking horse than he would a broken-down one. That makes sense.”

But Nelson Brand loved his horses. “These horses can work all day. You’re telling me they won’t make it across the plain?”

“They might, but they’re pretty lightweight for the wagons we’re going to be pulling. You folks are like everyone else, I expect. You’ll pile everything you can in the wagons, and these horses will wear out quicker than some other animals.”

The argument went on for some time, and finally Brand said, “Well, I’m taking these horses no matter what you say.”

“That’s your privilege, Nelson.”

Gwilym had been listening intently. “What kind of animals do you think we need? I know some take mules and some take oxen and some horses. What’s your preference?”

“Well, there’s some advantage in mules. They’re tough, and they can keep going when horses will stop, but if I were choosing, I’d get me some prime young oxen. They live a long time, and they work pretty much until they die. Can’t beat them for stamina or strength. Besides that, they’re—well, they’re sweet-natured beasts. Not like mules. Mules are hardy enough to pull
a ton for a day and a night. They can eat rocks and go without water, but nobody ever called them an easygoing animal.”

The men murmured among themselves, and then Charity said almost without thinking, “What do you mean they’re sweet-natured? They look so fearsome.”

“Well, they’re the most loyal animal I’ve ever seen to their teammates and to their owners if you treat them right. You know, when they’re teamed up, they form a bond for life. If one of them dies, it’s real hard to team up the other again. Sometimes they kind of get sick, give up, and die.”

Charity was struck by that. “That’s sad. I had no idea.”

“They’re not cheap,” Gwilym said.

“No, they’re not. They don’t cost as much as mules, but more than horses. Then you’ve got to have good oxbows. That’s those big yokes around their necks. Those things weigh about two hundred pounds so you can’t carry a spare on the trail. I’ve seen men make them out of thin reeds and cover them up with leather.” Suddenly he slapped his hands together and said, “Well, anyway, I can’t tell you what to do. I can just give you my opinion.”

“What about those of us who have animals already?”

“There’s probably a good place to sell them around here or maybe in Pittsburgh.”

“That’s right,” Gwilym said, “and you can always buy oxen there too.”

“I expect you’d better get busy and make up your mind. It’s late in the season.”

There was murmuring again among the men, and it was obvious that some weren’t convinced by Tremayne’s choice of oxen. “I’ve been wondering,” Studdart said, stepping forward slightly. He had a pushy manner. “I’m not sure about this route you’ve chosen. Tell us about it again.”

Tremayne studied Studdart, knowing he was a natural leader, but he thought he knew why the other members of the company looked to Gwilym Morgan. “I think it would be best to go by the old Mormon Trail.”

“What’s wrong with the Oregon Trail?”

“Nothing, but we’ve got a long way to go until we hit the Oregon Trail. I plan to go by Nauvoo, then hit Council Bluffs. We’ll cross the river there, and then we hit the Platte River. We’ll have good water for about a third of the way until we get to the South Pass. One good thing about the old Mormon Trail is that it won’t be crowded, but the others will already have gone before us and gotten the best of the grass.”

The meeting went on for some time, and finally Charity saw Tremayne shake his head as if in doubt. “Whatever you decide, you better decide quick. We’re late as we are.” He turned and walked away, and Charity left the group. She caught up with him as he was headed toward the general store.

“I wanted to talk to you for a minute, Tremayne. How do you feel about all this?” She was interested as were the rest because they were, in effect, putting their lives in the hands of this man. “You seem doubtful about everything.”

“It’s a doubtful trip.” That enigmatic reply seemed even more uncertain, and he added quickly, “It’s a hard trip, and I’ve never been on a journey to Oregon when someone didn’t get hurt or killed. It’s the nature of the trail.”

“Well, I don’t like it that you’re so negative. God will take care of us.”

Her words agitated Casey Tremayne, and he looked down at her. Her eyes were sharp and alert. She was in a gray dress that seemed to deepen the color of her eyes and turn her hair more golden red. “Were you ever married?” he asked abruptly.

The question caught Charity off guard, and she flushed. “No.”

“Why not?”

“That’s none of your business, but just so you know, if the Lord wants me to have a husband, he’ll send one to me.”

“You don’t plan on having to catch one? Setting your cap, I think folks call it?”

“I’ll have no man I’d have to run after and catch,” Charity said. She turned and walked away quickly and was aware he was smiling at her, which for some reason made her very angry.

* * *

THE CREW HAD BEEN sleeping in the church, for the most part, but Tremayne had had enough of four walls pressing in on him. He had chosen a spot out underneath a huge hickory tree where he had built a fire and was sitting in front of it across from Elsworth Charterhouse. The Englishman was staring at him with curiosity, and now he leaned forward, picked up a stick, and stuck it into the fire. When it caught, he held it up like a small candle and stared at it fixedly. Tossing it into the fire, he said, “Well, how does it look, Casey?”

“It looks like it’s going to be a lot of hard work, and a lot of trouble these folks don’t even dream about.”

“Well, as you know, Casey,
Nil sine magno vita labore dedit mortalibus
.”

Tremayne smiled across the fire. “I don’t think those words mean anything. You’re always spouting stuff in some language that you call Latin. I think you just make it up.”

“No, indeed! Those are the words of Horace. It means, ‘The prizes of life are never to be had without trouble’.”

“Well, we’ll be pretty well tested, you and me.” The words were gloomy, but Tremayne seemed placid and even happy. “I’m so glad to get out of that prison nothing seems bad to me.”

“Well, Horace may be wrong.”

“I don’t think he is. The Sioux believe that hard things make a man strong. Either that or they kill him.” Elsworth smiled. “I expect the Sioux know as much about things like that as Horace did.” The two men were quiet for a while.

Then Elsworth said, “That Charity is a good-looking woman, but she’s pretty strong willed.”

“That may not be the worst thing in the world, Elsworth. That’s what it’s going to take to get this bunch across the plains and through the mountains—strong-willed folks!”

“When are we leaving?”

“Day after tomorrow, and that’s too late.” He lay down, pulled the blanket over him, and stared up at the skies. Elsworth stared at his friend and wanted to talk more, but when Casey Tremayne grew silent, not even the Sioux, he figured, would be able to get a word out of him.

* * *

TWO DAYS LATER EVERYTHING was ready for the departure. Everyone, according to Tremayne’s instructions, had gotten up before daylight. As he strolled among the houses, he saw some women crying, others biting their lips. He considered trying to make a speech encouraging them, but he decided against it.
They’ll have to find out the hard way that going to Oregon is not like a Sunday picnic.

Karl Studdart had given him a horse, at least for use on the trip. Tremayne had not asked for it, but Studdart had said,
“You’ll need a horse, won’t you, since you’ll be doing the riding ahead and hunting new grounds for the night?”

“That’s right, Karl. Maybe I can bring in some grub too. Lots of antelope and deer, and buffalo later on.”

“I’m worried about this trip, Tremayne. It’s more than I bargained for.”

“It’ll be all right if we just keep our heads about us.”

He lifted his voice and said, “All right. Get to your wagons, It’s time to leave.”

Jack Canreen was seated behind four mules he was driving for York Wingate. Frenchy Doucett walked by and grinned up at him. “Some of these women are not so bad looking, are they, Jack?”

“After being without a woman for three years, any woman would look good.”

Elsworth was standing close enough to overhear. “You better be careful. You know what Casey says about leaving the women alone,” he said.

Canreen glared at the Englishman. “I’ll do as I please. He’s not so much.”

“Better be careful. You know that he’s a hard man to best in a fight.”

“I’m a better man than Tremayne in any case,” Canreen retorted. “Some of these women are not as holy as they look.”

Elsworth shook his head but said no more. Canreen had been the man who had given him the most problems when he had first entered the penitentiary, and only Tremayne had saved him from disagreeable circumstances. “Don’t get him stirred up, Canreen,” he said and walked off, leaving the man cursing.

* * *

CHARITY WAS STRUGGLING TO pick up a chair and lift it over the back of the wagon. Suddenly she felt it leave her grasp and gasped with surprise. She turned and saw Tremayne holding the chair easily.

“Just put it in the wagon, Tremayne.”

“Can’t take it, Miss Morgan. It’s too heavy.”

“It’s my chair, and those are our animals. If we want to take it, we can.”

The small drama attracted several people who had gathered. All of them knew Charity Morgan as a willful woman who would have her own way, all other things being equal. But Elsworth was smiling slightly.
She’ll be sorry she started this,
he thought, and he was exactly right.

“I’m sorry, but you’ll just have to leave it.”

“My grandfather made that chair for me.”

“I’m sure he did, but you’ve got too much weight on this wagon already. Your animals will give out on you.”

Charity’s lips grew tight and her cheeks were flushed. “I’m taking the chair,” she said.

“No, Miss Morgan, you’re not taking the chair. That’s what I’m here for, to keep you from doing foolish things.”

Gwilym Morgan had been standing by the oxen, waiting to start. He came back now and listened for a moment. “Daughter, I expect Tremayne is right.”

“But, Pa, it’s Grandfather’s chair. Your own father made it. You brought it all the way from Wales.”

“It’s just part of the cost, Charity,” Gwilym said. “I’m sorry.”

Furiously Charity stared at Tremayne, and then she turned and walked away blindly.

“You shouldn’t have argued with him, Sister.” Charity turned to see Bronwen had joined her. “He’s already told us we couldn’t take any extra furniture.”

Knowing that Bronwen was right did not help Charity’s feelings. “He’s just a tyrant.”

“You don’t like him because he’s the boss. You never did like to be bossed.”

“Go away, Bronwen.”

Bronwen grinned impishly and then skipped away. Even as she did, the call came from Tremayne who was mounted now on his big roan gelding. “All right. We can start now. It’s a long way to Oregon.”

Gwilym, standing beside the oxen, said, “Hup, you beasties, come along now,” and was gratified when the big beasts surged forward, and the wagon wheels creaked. Gwilym watched the wheels turn and whispered, “Just keep turning, wheels. You turn enough, and you’ll get us to Oregon.”

* * *

NEARLY EVERYONE WALKED EXCEPT those who had mules to drive. The proper way to drive an oxen surprised Charity. Some of the men simply walked alongside the lead oxen, and others after a time, jumped on the broad backs. Charity relieved her father in midmorning and walked along. She was afraid of the big animals at first, but she had been surprised by their gentleness.

They stopped at noon for a cold lunch, which Tremayne called
nooning
, then Charity got in the wagon and rode for the next three hours. It was an uncomfortable ride for there was no padding on the hard seat. Once Tremayne came by and
stopped the roan long enough to say, “Are you making it all right, Miss Morgan?”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, call me Charity!”

“That’s a nice name. I’ve always liked it. Seems like there’s a sweetness in it. I think that’s the word for
love
in the Bible, isn’t it?”

“Yes, it is.”

“Well, you’re doing fine.”

Meredith, perched on the seat beside Charity, piped up. “Her bottom hurts, Tremayne.”

Charity’s face flamed. “Be quiet! Don’t talk about things like that.”