Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (18 page)

“Leave it be, Dillon. You can get it when you’ve finished. Come up ahead of the horses and give Jane Ann some privacy. You do your business too, young man. We’ll not be stopping for you later.”

“Ah, Muvver!”

They all drank thirstily from the jar and ate a handful of raisins while the horses each had a bucket of water and the sheep shared one. Dillon picked up the turtle and showed it to Colin and John.

John was cautioning the boy not to put his fingers between the shells when Victor whinnied and began to dance nervously. The stallion’s ears peaked, and John was instantly at the ready.

“Someone’s coming fast. Put the children in the wagon. Get your rifle, Trisha. Addie, get mine. Colin, stand behind the big wagon with that buffalo gun. Let it be seen, but for God’s sake don’t shoot it, or it’ll knock you clear back to the creek. Just seeing it is threat enough. I should’ve bought a shotgun back at that town,” he mumbled.

The sound of a running horse reached them. The rider rounded the bend in the road and crossed the plank bridge.

“It’s Simmons,” John said, stepping out from behind the wagon. The hunter’s horse was wet with sweat, and its sides were heaving. “You been riding hard.”

“Yeah. The Renshaws are about three miles behind. I cut cross-country to get ahead of ’em.”

“How many?”

“Four.”

Addie made a little moaning sound. All eyes were on John. He had made his decisions in the time it took Buffer Simmons to step from his horse.

“Addie and Colin can’t handle the mules. Get the sheep out of the wagon to lighten it.” He hurried to the wagon and let down the tailgate. He and Buffer lifted out the sheep, which bleated, then began to eat the grass alongside the road.

“Get in here with your rifle, Trisha.” John swung her up into the wagon, fastened the tailgate, then hurried to the other wagon. He lifted a whimpering Jane Ann and handed her to Buffer, then picked up Dillon. “Put them up front where they can hunker down behind the seat. Trisha,” he said in passing, “shoot anything coming down that road that looks like a Renshaw. Shoot at the horse. Maybe a Renshaw’ll break his neck when he falls off.”

John put his hand on Colin’s shoulder. “Son, you’re the man here. I’m depending on you to get the women and children on down the road. Understand? Keep going until you see the freight camp. It’ll be off to the right on a knoll.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Addie, this is as good a place as we’ll find to stand them off.” He grasped her shoulders. “Simmons is with me, or he’d not be here.”

“Can’t we all make a run for the freight camp?”

“No, ma’am.” Buffer said. “Ya got no chance of outrunnin’ ’em.”

Addie appealed to John: “Then let Colin take the children. I can shoot and so can Trisha.”

“No. You’re going with Colin. When you get to the camp, tell my men who you are.” He grasped her at the waist and lifted her up into the wagon. “I don’t want to kill Renshaws if I don’t have to. What I’d like to do is dump them in that cold creek and drive off their horses.”

“Good idee.” Buffer laughed gleefully and eyed two tall trees, one on each side of the road. “I know just how we can do it.”

“Be careful,” Addie called as the wagon lurched and the horses took off at a run. She turned to look back and saw Buffer Simmons leading his horse and John’s back to the plank bridge and John pulling a coil of rope from the wagon bed.

*  *  *

The wagon had covered several miles before Colin braced his feet against the footboard to slow the running horses first to a trot and then a fast walk. Addie wondered where the young boy got his strength. Jane Ann was whimpering and Dillon was crying loudly. Addie looked back to see Trisha hunched against the tailgate, watching the back road through the dust raised by the speeding wheels.

“Shhh . . . Dillon, don’t cry. Jane Ann, honey, are you all right?”

“I hurt my bottom . . . when I fell back.”

“You and Dillon climb up here with me and Colin. Trisha,” she called after she had settled the children on the seat, “you all right?”

“Yeah, ’cept I’m settin’ in sheep do-do. If’n I catch me a Renshaw, I gonna make him eat it!”

Addie laughed, then began to cry. She turned away so that the children couldn’t see the tears streaming down her face. The night without sleep, the tension of the morning, the anxiety, and the rough ride were taking their toll on her nerves.

“Do you want me to take the reins awhile, Colin?” she asked, regaining her composure.

“No, ma’am.”

“Have you heard . . . shots?”

“No, ma’am. Don’t worry, Miss Addie. Them Renshaws ain’t no match for Mr. Tallman.”

“Do you like him, Colin?”

“Yes, ma’am!” The boy turned to her with a broad grin. “He’s gonna get me my own horse. He says nobody but me can ride ’im, and nobody but me will take care of ’im.”

“It’s a long way to New Mexico. More than likely we’ll never come back.”

“I ain’t ever wantin’ to go back to that place. You sad, Miss Addie?”

“Not sad exactly. Anxious, perhaps. We’ve put ourselves in the hands of a man who is almost a complete stranger.”

“Didn’t ya want to wed up with Mr. Tallman?”

Addie was sorry she had put their situation so bluntly when she saw the worry on Colin’s face.

“I believe Mr. Tallman to be a good, decent man. He has a house and wants a wife and children in it,” she hastened to say, and was relieved to see that Colin was satisfied with her answer.

Colin stung the horses with the whip and got them moving faster. Addie strained her ears for the sound of gunshots but heard none. Dillon went to sleep on her lap and Jane Ann against her shoulder. Her back ached and her eyes stung from lack of sleep. The wagon bumped along for what seemed to Addie an eternity before, in the distance, she saw an awesome sight.

A string of freight wagons was parked on a grassy knoll. Dark canvas covered the loads that rose above the six-foot sideboards. Two covered wagons were parked nearby, and inside the circle a large number of mules and oxen grazed on a grassy plain.

Colin turned the horses off the road and up a rutted track to the camp. Several men were waiting for them by the time they stopped beside one of the covered wagons. One of the men stepped out to stand at the head of the sweating, heaving team.

“Ya tryin’ to run these horses to death, boy?”

“Is this John Tallman’s freight camp?” Addie asked.

“It is.”

“Mr. Tallman is eight or ten miles back. Four men were chasing us, and he’s trying to stop them. He needs help.”

“Four, ya say?”

“Yes. Four men who are . . . evil.”

A bandy-legged man with a face full of whiskers came to the side of the wagon. His bright blue eyes strayed over the group.

“Wal, ma’am, John ain’t needin’ no help if’n thar’s only
four.
If’n thar was eight or ten of ’em we might ride on down that and take a look-see.”

“You’re not willing to help him?” Addie stared at the man in astonishment.

“He won’t be thankin’ us fer buttin’ in on his fight, less’n he’s outnumbered by more’n that.”

“There are
four
of them, you—you jellyhead!” Addie shouted. “Don’t you understand English?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Dillon woke and began to cry.

“Whatcha think, Rolly?” the bushy-faced man asked the one standing by the horses.

“Naw! It’d be over by the time we got the horses saddled.”

Addie moved Dillon off her lap and stood. “I can’t believe what I’m hearing. You are refusing to help your employer? Why, I never heard of such a thing!”

“Who might you be, ma’am?” Bill asked.

“I’ll tell you who I am.” Addie was so angry, she was shaking. “I’m
Mrs.
John Spotted Elk Tallman, that’s who I am.” She bent and snatched the horse whip. “You men get down the road and help him, or—by all that’s holy, I’ll take a strip of hide off your backs.” She was unaware of it, but tears were making roads through the dust on her face.

The grins on the men’s faces broadened.

“What ya tryin’ to pull here, ma’am? Ya thinkin’ to draw us away from camp so yore friends can steal the goods here? Ya ort to a made up a better tale than that. It ain’t likely John’d sign up to travel in double harness, ’specially with a woman with a flock of younguns.”

Addie was so shocked at what he was saying that she was unaware of the man who rode up on a big gray horse until he spoke.

“What’s goin’ on, Bill? Who’s this?”

“Says she married up with John. Says John’s in a little skirmish eight, ten miles down the road. Wants us to go down thar. Thar be only four of ’em.”

“They’ve followed us from Freepoint,” Addie explained. “Mr. Tallman sent us on ahead and was going to wait for them.”

“Did he send word for us to come?”

“There wasn’t much time for him to tell us anything.”

“John knows what he’s doing. He can take care of himself.”

Addie looked at the man on the horse, at the amused look on his face, and on the faces of the others. It occurred to her that what they saw were a ragtag woman with a flock of children in a rickety old wagon. They didn’t believe that their boss, John Tallman, would marry her! They believed she had some ulterior motive for coming here.

It was more humiliation than she could endure. Tears she could no longer control erupted suddenly and harshly. She sank down on the wagon seat, covered her face with her hands, and sobbed as she had not done since her parents died.

“Muvver! Muvver!” Dillon was terrified. He’d never seen her so distraught. He burst into a fit of crying and tried to put his small arms around her. Jane Ann cried against Addie’s shoulder.

“Get away from that horse!” Colin shouted, and sent the whip sailing out over the backs of the tired team. They lurched forward. He wheeled them in a sharp arc and headed them back down the track to the road.

The man on horseback followed. He rode up beside the wagon.

“Hold on!” he shouted.

Bang!
Trisha shot the rifle in the air. “Get!” she yelled. “Get, or I shoot yore ugly head off!”

“Gawddamn! Stop this wagon, boy!”

They had reached the end of the track and turned down the road before the man was able to grab the cheek strap on one of the bridles.

“Whata ya want?” Colin demanded. “We ain’t stayin’ there and havin’
them
back-talk Miss Addie and makin’ her cry. We’ll wait right here till Mr. Tallman comes . . . if he comes.”

“Get yore hands off that horse, sucker!” Trisha stood in the wagon bed, her feet spread, the rifle at her shoulder pointed at the man on horseback.

He looked at her with narrowed eyes and a set, angry face.

“Put the gun down, girl.”

“Ain’t puttin’ it down,
boy,
till ya back off. Mr. Tallman say shoot the horse if a pig-ugly polecat comes after us. Reckon that’s you, pissant.” She moved the barrel until it pointed at the horse’s head.

“Gawdamighty!” The man wheeled the horse, moved back from the wagon, and sat looking at them.

Addie dried her eyes on the end of her skirt. She felt as if she had been hit on the side of the head with a club. Her body ached, her head hurt; but most of all there was an emptiness inside her. How could she ever again face those men who held her in such low esteem?

“Don’t cry, Muvver.” Dillon, still whimpering, wrapped his arms and legs around her.

“I won’t. I promise. What we need is a drink of water.” She turned to look behind her. “Trisha, is there a jar of water back there?”

“Put Jane Ann back to get it.” Trisha never took her eyes off the rider.

“Put down the rifle, Trisha. He isn’t going to hurt us. He isn’t going to help us either.” Addie lifted Dillon off her lap and climbed down over the wagon wheel.

“Shall we go on, Miss Addie?” Colin’s young face was troubled.

“The horses are awfully tired.” She lifted down first Dillon and then Jane Ann. “Just ignore him, Colin,” Addie said, when she saw the boy looking belligerently at the man who watched them. “I’ll give the children a drink, then we should rub down the horses. Poor beasts. They’ve worked hard the last two days.”

*    *    *

John and Buffer Simmons were ready for the Renshaws before they heard the sound of their voices and the clip-clop of horses’ hooves in the quiet afternoon air. The rope had been tied to a tree on one side of the track, left to lie in the dirt until it reached the other side, then pulled up over a low limb. The end was tied to Buffer’s saddle.

Astride his horse, John waited behind a screen of bushes on the other side. He couldn’t believe the Renshaws would be so stupid as to fall for the old trick. Any ten-year-old boy on the frontier would know better than to ride bunched up, without handguns, and with their only weapons in the saddle scabbards. Simmons had watched them and said that unseating them would be as easy as falling off a log. He was gleefully looking forward to bashing their heads.

John left nothing to chance. He checked his handgun, then took a good grip on the three-foot piece of deadwood he had chosen to use as a club.

As Simmons gigged his horse and the rope came up, he let out a bloodcurdling yell. Two men were swept from their saddles by the rope. One horse reared, throwing its rider into the creek, and in the confusion, one horse went to its knees.

John charged out of the bushes and swung the club. The man still in the saddle was knocked off his horse and fell backward into the stream. Still yelling like a drunken Indian, Simmons sprang into the fray and with a well-placed kick sent another Renshaw over the edge and into the cold water.

“I get Cousin!” Buffer yelled, and picked the man up by the back of his shirt and the seat of his pants. “Phew! You still smell like cowshit,” he said, and tossed him into the creek.

“Get in there,” John said to the remaining Renshaw.

“I . . . can’t swim!”

“Too bad.” John punched him in the stomach with the club. The man staggered back and toppled off the bridge.

“I can’t swimmmm. . . .”

“Sit the dumb ass up,” Buffer yelled. “We ain’t wantin’ ’em to drown—yet.” One of the men hurried to the man lying on his back, his arms and legs thrashing in the water, and pulled him to a sitting position.