Joelle's Secret (10 page)

“A friend of mine used to read philosophy,” he said quietly. He turned from her and studied the horizon as if it had some mystical meaning. The stars were beginning to come out, and
the darkness was falling fast. “He said one time there was one of those philosophers. His name was Heraclitus, I think. This friend of mine said he came up with the smartest thing he ever heard. He said, ‘You can’t step in the same river twice.’ I reckon that’s about the extent of my wisdom.”

“I don’t believe that. I believe you can go back to a better time and a better way.”

“Well, you may be right.” Owen smiled at her and touched her cheek. “We have a long time to talk about it. Nights get pretty long on the trail.” He suddenly pulled her forward. His voice grew husky, and he said, “Sure I remember those times. I remember everything about it.” He pulled her close, and she came to him willingly. Her body pressed against him, and she put her arms around his neck. He remembered, in the days when they had been together, there had been a wild sweetness in her caresses, but the sweetness was missing now.

He released her and laughed shortly. “I’ve got to get back. I’ll see you tomorrow. We’ll get some buffalo soon. It’ll be better than this antelope.” He led his horse away as she watched.

“Some old history there, Cherry?” She turned to see Ash Landon who had stepped out from behind the wagon.

“You keeping track of me, Ash?”

“Couldn’t help seeing. Raking up old ashes, maybe hoping for a fire?”

Cherry Valance stared into the darkness where Owen Majors had disappeared. “He’s a good man. About the only one I ever saw, I guess.”

“Makes me feel small.”

She turned and laughed. “We’re what we are, Ash. You and me—and Owen.”

“You getting tired of the life?”

“Been tired of it for years.”

Ash Landon stared at her and then shook his head. “I guess most of us are. Nothing to do but keep on, is there?”

“No, I guess not.”

* * *

LYMAN RIKER FINISHED HIS supper and glanced around at his family. “Well, we didn’t make much time today, did we?”

“No, we didn’t.” Edith Riker’s brief answer disturbed Lyman.

“Why don’t you talk more?”

“I wait until I have something to say.”

The three sons of Riker—Clyde, Sid and Artie—were finishing their meal. Clyde and Sid were the sons of Emily, Riker’s first wife. They were alike in many respects; each had black hair and a tall, muscular build. Artie, the son of Riker’s second wife, Jennie, had her blond hair and mild blue eyes, and Lyman was displeased with the boy.

Lyman threw his plate down and said, “I’m tired of this food already. Didn’t you two see any game at all?” He had sent Clyde and Sid out for fresh meat, but they hadn’t found any.

“We didn’t see nothing,” Sid shrugged. “It was scared off by the wagons.”

“Majors brought in something,” Lyman challenged them.

“Well, he was a mountain man.” Artie spoke up.

Both Clyde and Sid were insulted. “He was just lucky, that was all,” Clyde snorted.

“Artie, go butcher a yearling. We’re going to have fresh meat.”

“Yes sir.” Artie left at once. Lyman Riker watched him go and then shook his head. “He’s weak like his mother.”

Edith didn’t argue. She picked up the plates and began cleaning them. Clyde and Sid disappeared, and Riker watched her for a time. His eyes glowed with a sudden burst of lust, which came to him often. He went over to her and said, “Put them dishes down. Come on in the wagon.”

She put the dishes down, and he grabbed her and kissed her roughly. She didn’t respond but stood there waiting. Lyman Riker had a short, fiery temper.

“You got no feelings. You’re like a block of wood.”

“You married me to keep your house, Lyman.”

“A woman should show something to her husband. A little love.”

Edith stared at him, unmoved. “You never mentioned love when you asked me to marry you.”

Lyman Riker had chosen this woman; she had looks and some property. He had married her for both, and though he had gotten the property, he was constantly angry with her for her lack of response. He whirled around and said, “You’re not a fit wife for anybody!”

Edith watched him go. She stared after him. She had long since given up grieving over the poor choice she had made in a husband. She finished cleaning the dishes and went to where Artie had killed the yearling and was now dressing it. “That’ll be good tomorrow. I’ll tender one of those steaks for you, Son.”

Artie looked up. “I wish,” he said quietly, “I could be what Pa wants, but I’ll never be as tough as Clyde or Sid.”

Edith put her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’re a better man than either of them.”

Artie looked at her with shock in his eyes. “Why, no, I ain’t. They can both whip me anytime they take a notion.”

“That’s not all there is to being a man, Artie. There’s a goodness in you that Clyde and Sid don’t have and your father either. I think you got it from your mother.” She kissed him on the cheek. “There, your old ma has told you the truth.” She turned and left.

Artie Riker stared after her in disbelief. “I don’t know why she said that. It ain’t so.” He thought about it for a long moment and then shrugged and went back to butchering the yearling.

THE DAYS ON THE trail were routine. At four o’clock each morning, the wagon master fired a single shot, signaling the beginning of the day. Shortly afterward, slow columns of smoke rose from the campfires, and half a dozen men rode out to move the stock toward the camp. From six to seven, breakfast was eaten, wagons reloaded, and the teams yoked. The wagons moved out promptly at seven, leaving each camping ground, so recently full of activity, to sink back into the profound solitude that reigned over the broad plain. Hunters went out each day, and some of the men fell behind to herd the stock.

At noon the teams were not unyoked but simply turned loose from the wagons while a quick meal was eaten. By late afternoon the men and beasts were tired so a campground was chosen. All of the drivers grew expert at drawing the train into a circle so tight it formed a barricade. Everyone joined in to cook the evening meal, to pitch tents for some, and to prepare for the night. For the first week everyone had gone to bed as soon as the meal was over, but as the travelers grew accustomed to the routine, each evening the sound of talk and low
laughter scattered in the air as the women gathered in small groups and the men carried on card games beside their fires.

For the first two weeks rivers had marked their progress. They crossed the Kaw River and a week later the Big Blue. They reached Sandy Creek and hit the Little Blue early in the afternoon. The Blue was a changeable river that could be forded sometimes and fortunately was low at this time in April.

“What’s up ahead, Owen?” Joelle turned to look at Owen who had joined her out in the advance of the train. The two horses ambled along, stopping to crop the grass from time to time.

“We’ll be reaching the Platte River pretty soon.”

“The country looks a little different here.”

“A little bit I guess, but still plenty of grass and water. No trouble.” Indeed, what timber there was mostly had been burned by the Indians in small-game hunts and survived mostly in the river on sandy islands.

“How far are we from California?”

“Why, boy, we’ve barely just gotten started. It’ll take us four months to get there. You in a hurry or something?”

“I’m curious. I’ve never been anywhere.”

“You never mention your folks or your home.” Owen turned to study her, and Joelle flushed slightly. Indeed she had kept her background a secret out of necessity.

“It was in Tennessee, but I don’t have folks any longer. They both died.”

“That’s tough. I lost mine when I was pretty young too.”

To Joelle’s relief Owen said no more, and she quickly changed the subject. “Will there be a town pretty soon?”

“Fort Kearny. We’ll probably get there tomorrow. It’s not much. Don’t get excited. These army forts are always a disappointment to folks who have never seen one.”

“What’s it like?”

“Well, mostly a bunch of logs stuck in the ground and a few buildings inside.” He suddenly laughed. “Outside there are drunk Indians, and inside there are drunk soldiers.”

“Surely not all of them!”

“No, not all, but it’s a pretty lonesome life for soldiers. I’m glad I never had to do that sort of thing.”

Owen fell into silence, and Joelle was accustomed to this. She wondered what went on in his mind when he stopped talking; he seemed to be lost in another world. In a way she was glad because she didn’t have to guard her own words about her past and what she was doing in this part of the world.

An hour later it seemed the wildlife was more common. Owen pointed out a grizzly that was some distance off the main trail. Joelle asked, “Are bears dangerous?”

“Sure. You get between a mama and her cub, she’ll wipe you out.”

A few minutes later she said, “What are those mounds?”

“Prairie dog villages. Sometimes they cover as much as five hundred acres.”

“Are they good to eat?”

“Better than hawk.”

Joelle gave him a startled look. “You’ve eaten hawk?”

“Once. It was hawk or nothing.”

“What’d it taste like?”

“About like shoe leather soaked in rancid oil, but we’ll hit the buffalo in a few weeks. That’s when the good eating will
start. The first one I shoot I’ll give you the liver. It’s better if

you just eat it raw.”

“I’m not eating any raw liver,” Joelle protested.

“Well, I’ll eat it then. I’ll give you the second best part, the tongue.”

“That might be all right, but I’ll want to cook it first.”

The horses ambled on, and high overhead a group of seven buzzards circled in the leisurely fashion of their kind. The air was clear, and the sun was hot, but Joelle liked it. She reached forward and patted Blackie on the shoulder, and as she did, Owen said, “I been meaning to warn you. You better be careful about them pretty ladies hanging out with those gamblers.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Well, you’re downright pretty, boy. Got smooth cheeks and good color. Not very big, but them girls ain’t particular. I think you’d better stay away from them.”

“I don’t notice you staying away from Cherry Valance,” Joelle snapped.

“Well, it’s too late for me. I’m done ruined, but you’re not. You’re young and innocent, and I aim to keep you that way.”

“You like that kind of woman?”

Owen grinned. “I liked her once pretty well. Man’s a weak creature and full of sins and flaws. She was downright gorgeous, and when she fluttered her eyelids at me, I went after her like an ox to the slaughter. I’m just a downright sinner, Joe.”

“I don’t see why you have to be.”

“Why, Joe, it didn’t happen all at once,” Owen remarked. His eyes never stopped but moved from point to point. He was cautious about things like that, Joelle had noticed, but
he continued in the same teasing way. “A man don’t lose his honor all at once.”

“What do you mean?”

“I didn’t wake up one morning all fresh and innocent and green like you and say, ‘I guess I’ll become a bad man. Throw away all my Sunday school teaching. I’m going to do all the bad things I know I’m not supposed to.’ Nobody just wakes up and decides that.”

“How does he get there then?”

“Well, it’s like I lost my honor a little bit at a time, you know like a little mouse crept in and got just a little morsel of cheese. Then the next night he comes again, and this time he brings a friend with him, and they get two morsels. Sooner or later, he loses it all just a little tiny bit at a time. So that’s the way I became a bad man. I lost all my goodness just a bit at a time.”

“That’s foolish!” Joelle said scornfully.

“I guess it is. Don’t ask me about things like that. Talk to Harry. He’s the one that’s on the glory trail.”

“I like Harry,” she said defensively.

“Why, so do I,” Owen said. He gave her a surprised look. “He’s a good man. Always has been. Of course, this religion kick of his gets a little tiresome at times, but you have to put up with your friends when they’ve got annoying habits like that. I put up with yours, don’t I?”

“I don’t have any annoying habits.”

“Oh yes, you do. I just don’t want to mention them to you. See, you’re so sensitive and all. If I mention them, you’d get mad at me.”

“What bad habits do I have?”

“Well, you wash too much, Joe. Every time we stop at a creek, you’re out washing your face. Of course, I do, too, once in a while, but bathing is a serious business.”

“You’re a fool, Owen!”

“Next time we come to a creek I’ll tell you what. We’ll get some soap and we’ll go out and soak all over. We’ll get cleaner than a granny’s washing. Would you like that?”

Joelle could not answer for a moment. “I’ll take care of myself, Owen.”

“Well, you need somebody to scrub your back. Bound to be plum filthy.” He reached out suddenly and put his hand on her back and rubbed it back and forth. “I can just feel the dirt and grime rolling around your skin.”

“You—you get your grubby hands off me!” Joelle struck at his arm and kicked Blackie in the side. He snorted, crow-hopped, and moved away from Owen.

Owen began to laugh. “You’re a finicky young fellow. You really need to be back in New York City doing something that clean-favored young fellows do. Maybe you could find you a rich old woman and make up to her. You could marry her, and she’d give you all her money. You’d be nice enough to her, but could have all the lady friends you wanted until the old lady died.”

“You have a foul mind, Owen Majors!” Joelle kicked Blackie in the side, and he shot ahead.

Owen laughed loudly and shouted after her, “I’ll tell you some more about yourself after supper tonight.” He grinned and shook his head. “He sure is a shy young fellow. Must have been raised in a monastery or something.”

* * *

ALL AFTERNOON AS THE train moved slowly, everyone was looking hungrily ahead. Joelle was feasting her eyes on a panorama of sky and land, the borders of which met along a seam that was nearly invisible. By late afternoon she saw something that broke the monotony of the prairie. As the wagons grew closer, she heard someone shout, “There it is. That’s Fort Kearny!” Everyone speeded up as much as oxen can be speeded. Distances were deceitful, and it was late when they reached the fort. It was shining white in the sun, high up on a bluff. Joelle spotted white objects, and as they grew closer, she discovered they were teepees. Ralph Ogden called a halt. The wagons drew into a circle although there was no need for it at this time since no hostiles were going to attack a wagon train within the shadow of an army fort.

As soon as the oxen were unyoked, Owen said, “Let’s take a look inside, Joe.”

“Have you been here before?”

“I stopped once a few years back.” She followed, as did Harry, and they walked toward the walls of the fort. As they entered, Joelle was disappointed. There was a drab monotony about the collection of log huts that occupied the interior of the long rampart. “Well, at least I’ll be able to sit down in a real chair. I hope we stay here a week.”

“No, we’ll be pulling out probably tomorrow, day after at the most. We better get our supplies today before they get picked over.” Owen grabbed Joelle’s coat. “Get rid of this here heavy coat. You need something lightweight. Come on. I’ll help you go pick it out.”

“I’ll pick out my own clothes, Owen.”

“Well, you better get some underwear. Get something lightweight. It’s going to get pretty hot. Maybe I’ll help you pick that out too.”

“I’ll pick out my own clothes.”

As they started toward the general store, Cherry Valance approached them. She smiled at Owen and said, “There’s a saloon down here. Are you feeling frolicky?”

“Frisky as a frog ready to jump.” He turned to Joelle and said, “You go get that underwear, Joe, and get me some too.” He handed her some money and said, “Get something unusual to eat.”

“Like what?”

“I don’t know. Chocolate covered ants or frog legs or something different from antelope. Come on, Cherry. Let’s go investigate the morals of Fort Kearny.”

Harry Jump said, “Cherry, the good Lord is watching you. I done preached at you about the way you’re living.”

“Preach on, Harry. Maybe it’ll do some good, but I’ll have all the fun I want. Then when I’m on my death bed, I’ll get converted.”

“That’s foolish talk,” Jump frowned. “It don’t work.” But Cherry was already gone. Harry shook his head. “That poor woman is headed for a fall, and all the rest of them too. It’s bound to be worse when we get to the gold camp.”

“You really have any hope for women like that, Harry?”

“Why, of course I do. They ain’t no worse than I was. They ain’t no angels, but then I wasn’t either. Come on. Let’s go spend some foolish money and get something real unnecessary and good to eat.”

Joelle moved with Harry toward the general store, but her eyes followed the tall form of Owen as he and the woman left. She noticed that Cherry’s arm was around him, and as she watched, his arm went around her. “There’s some more of his honor being carried off by rats,” she said.

“Rats? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, never mind.” Joelle smiled. “Come on. Let’s go find something good to eat.”

* * *

OWEN HAD NOT INTENDED to drink much, but somehow with Cherry he found himself becoming drunk. It had been a long time, and he more than once protested, “Cherry, tomorrow I’ll have a head that feels like a stick of dynamite went off.”

“Don’t worry about tomorrow. You’re having a good time, aren’t you?”

“I guess so, but all I think about is the headache. Liquor don’t agree with me. You’re leading me astray.” But then Owen said, giving her a sober look, “You always did.”

They stayed at the saloon for another hour, and Owen got into a poker game. There was a rough-looking man who was winning most of the pots. His name was James Sanders. When Owen started to win, Sanders began hinting that Owen was dealing from under the deck.

“No, I’m not doing that. That wouldn’t be honorable. I’m an honorable man, James.”

“You ain’t all that honorable. I’ll bet you was rotten even when you was a kid.”

Owen leaned back and winked at Cherry who was perched on the arm of his chair. “I was so honorable. When I was a kid, I went to Sunday school every Sunday, and I helped old ladies across the street, and I never said no bad words. I bet you wasn’t that honorable, was you, James?”

“Shut up and play cards!”

The card game went on, and even half-drunk, Owen was a good poker player. He won a great deal of money and finally he said, “Well, I’m pulling out.”

“You ain’t leaving the winner!” Sanders growled.

“That’s the best way to leave a game.” Owen scraped the money across the table and knocked some of it to the floor. Cherry picked it up, and he stuffed it into his pocket. “I’ll come back tomorrow and win the rest of your money.”

Sanders stood up so abruptly his chair fell backward. He came around the table very fast for a big man and caught Cherry by the arm. “You take the money, and I’ll take your woman.”

“Take your hands off that woman, Sanders.”

“Why don’t you make me?”

Owen swung a blow, but his reflexes were slow. Sanders laughed and suddenly struck Owen a hard blow right in the mouth. It drove him backward, and he scrambled to his feet in time to meet the rush.
I wish I wasn’t drunk. He looks like a
rough old cob.