Maude March on the Run! (8 page)

I saw when Maude came awake, not with a start but with a deeper breath. Like she'd never shut an eye, she said, “No sign of Marion.” She sounded like she was telling me, but she couldn't disguise the hope in her voice.

“None.

” “Let me have a look at your map,” she said, and I handed it over.

The last couple of years, '68 and '69, had been real bad for fighting Indians, was the talk I heard around the livery. Some said the Indians finally understood these white men weren't just a parade passing through, but a whole lot of trouble come to stay.

Others said it had more to do with the railroads paying a bounty for buffalo skins—a mile-wide herd crossing the tracks in their own good time could put a nasty crimp in a train's schedule. Likely the Indians were angered at the sight of so much good meat going to waste.

Uncle Arlen tended to agree with the camp that felt Custer kept stirring them up. “A man can get used to most anything if he's let to make peace with it,” Uncle Arlen said. “These people aren't being given anything but a hard time.”

Plus there was Jesse James and Black Hankie and other fellows like them thick as fleas on a hound out there, according to the newspapers. To say nothing of the posse that was looking for us.

It was pure craziness to head west of Independence without guns and a sackful of bullets. But Maude was only thinking about the map. “This trail is as crooked as a dog's leg.”

When Maude looked away I judged her to be perplexed. “Uncle Arlen set out on the safest route he knew,” I said.

“What's that?” Maude said, staring off toward that rig on the horizon.

“Somebody riding through the night, like us,” I said. “No, I mean, behind him.”

I looked, and after a minute or so I could see there was a big cloud of dust building behind the buggy.

“That's a posse for sure,” I said. It could be nothing else, looking like a howler wind coming down the trail at daybreak.

“Let's ride,” Maude said, starting up.

I yanked her back. “Don't let's move or they'll be following our dust cloud.”

The buggy appeared to have stopped. Or maybe the speed of the other riders made it look like they'd swallowed it up. I could feel the slightest shiver in the earth beneath me, the thunder of horses' hooves moving over it.

There were more of them than eight or ten; there may have been twenty.

The men on horseback swirled around the buggy for a minute or two—a nerve-grating, teeth-grinding minute or two—no doubt questioning that fellow about whether he'd seen anybody else on the trail.

Then they rode on, still tight to the trail, still flogging their horses up to a dead run, leaving the buggy rider in peace. They also left him in a cloud of their dust. Then they passed by on the trail above us.

“We still have to eat,” Maude said after a time.

“Let's go, then,” I said.

“What if the posse doubles back?”

“We'll see them coming.”

Maude gave me the look that's called skeptical in the dimers.

“You will anyway,” I said, for she has eyesight like a hawk's.

She said, “And then what?”

“We'll get off the trail and make these horses play dead,” I said. “In the tall grass, all we'll have to do is lay still till they ride by us again.”

“I'd like to see that,” she said.

I
SAID, “IN A DIMER I READ, A POSSE DOESN'T GO BACK
over the same trail, because it has looked there already. The men circle around another way to get back to town, covering fresh ground along the way.”

“Let's hope these fellows read the same book.”

For the hour it took to reach full daylight, the buggy was a near partner to us, sharing the trail. We rode just faster enough that, finally, it was a speck in the distance.

According to Uncle Arlen's map, we were taking the Santa Fe Trail southwest to Fort Dodge, where we would follow the north fork into Colorado Territory. When we came to the river, I knew we were in Kansas. We left the main road to take a well-traveled but narrow path that followed the water.

Now we had crossed the border, I hoped we could attend to other pressing matters. I said, “If a posse came riding up behind us, I wouldn't hear them over the rumble of my stomach.”

“Don't think they won't come out this way,” she said.

“I expect you're right,” I said. “It would only be our word against theirs, if they claimed to find us in Missouri. But you did say we have to eat.”

“I see some buildings up ahead,” Maude said. “We might find something there.” I could see nothing up ahead and had to take her word for it.

I told my stomach to be patient, and in a while I saw the buildings. Not much later, I could see there was a general store of some size, poised to take advantage of a crossroads.

We came up to one of the buildings from behind and stopped at a well to fill our canteens. This made it easy to take note of the activity around the store. We saw nothing posse-like, no undue excitement.

The smell of something cooking wafted on the air. Eggs, I thought, eyeing the chickens scratching in the next kitchen yard. We hadn't eaten but two cookies apiece since breakfast the day before.

“Have you got any money?” Maude asked me.

“Not much.”

“Lucky I didn't keep this in my boots.” Maude dug a few dollars out from under her waistband.

“Why's that?”

“They checked my boots, looking for one of those little guns,” she said, counting over the bills.

“Lucky for you they gave your boots back,” I said. “Some of those fellows to come out before you did were still in their socks.”

“I told the deputy it isn't proper for a lady to go barefoot,” Maude said, and handed the money to me. “I guess the main thing is to get something to eat right now, but whatever else you get, don't plan on a fire later.”

“What about a rifle for you?”

“Not yet,” she said. “If a posse stops us, I'm going to put
my hands up. You do the same. You have to keep your shotgun in its boot.”

“I don't have my shotgun,” I said, and ignored the question I saw in her eyes. I didn't want her getting mad at Marion all over again.

I shoved the money deep into my pocket. I had my own ideas about what was needed. A comb and a hat for Maude, for starters. “Maude, can we wire Uncle Arlen?” I said.

“He hasn't gotten to Liberty yet,” Maude said firmly. “We can worry about what to tell him later on.”

“Ride on a little ways ahead, why don't you? People might wonder if they see you waiting around like you don't want to go in.” Her hair looked awful bright.

“If someone takes an interest, I'll pretend I'm digging a stone out of the horse's shoe,” she said. “Just get going and get back.”

Riding away, I knew what to do about hungry. As for worried, I wondered if that hair color Maude used didn't come in some other color but red so she might not be quite so much of a beacon in daylight.

We were in a hurry, but I took time to breathe in the smell of that store, the inky cotton odor of bales of overalls, the fresh paint on farm tools, the dried-tobacco scent of new rope mixing together with kerosene and coffee and the tart stink of open pickle barrels.

These same smells were so ordinary in a day-to-day life I didn't take notice of them. But on the trail again, they made my blood rush a little. I didn't know what to make of it.

I spied a slate with a bill of fare written on it. Meat and gravy or greens with salt pork could be had for a high price.
The greens were gray and coated with grease. The biscuits looked dried out. I passed them by.

I knew stew meat could just as easy mean prairie dog as chicken. I didn't care if I couldn't tell them apart in gravy. Due to past experience, I wasn't partial to prairie dog and would not eat it.

I bought canned peaches and beans for the trail. A purchase of ten cans got us the can opener for free. A huge slab of corn bread and a mound of soft cheese could be eaten right away. I got hard cheese and crackers. Spoons came tied together, six in a bunch for the penny.

Next to the spoons were bright blue bowls speckled with white. They looked cheerful, and I was ever a fool for what looked cheerful, so I picked up three. The third bowl would feed Marion; that was how I planned for it.

I thought long and hard on the subject of coffee, which would need a pot and a cup, and for that matter, a fire. I had the pot and the cup, but I wasn't sure we were going to have a fire. Coffee didn't make a wise choice.

I chose a metal comb, feeling for the one with the smoothest teeth. Standing in front of the shelves, I couldn't find hair color. I settled for boot black. The stuff was cheap; worth the try.

Hats were pricey. I picked up a neck kerchief to be tied over Maude's hair like the day cook at George Ray's wore. I didn't know if Maude would consent to looking like the day cook, but our bellies were worse off than our heads, was how I looked at it.

During this time, I'd kept my ears open to the talk going on around me.

“Long time since we've had a rain,” a farmer said.

“We're overdue for one,” the man behind the counter said, as dry as sand. Likely this was the main conversation he had over the course of a day and it got old.

“I don't believe my crops are going to hang on long enough to collect what's due,” the farmer said on his way out the door.

A fellow mentioned an empty house in the neighborhood, abandoned since the war. It was up for sale.

Last, not least, the jailbreak was mentioned.

“Some fellows rode through last night, told me three gangs got together and took a whole passel a bad guys outta jail in Independence. The one they were going to hang today was one of them, and that gal that causes so much trouble.”

The storekeeper gave me my change. “What gal is that?”

I waited just as interestedly for the reply.

“Mad Martha.”

“Don't say,” the storekeeper said. “Big gunfight?”

The bell rang over the door, and a man came in, holding the door for a woman behind him.

“Heard there was. But then I also heard tell those fellows rassled them lawmen down to their skins so they couldn't give chase.”

I could see the facts of this story were already being twisted every which way.

“I expect we'll see a newspaper delivery today, then.”

“What's happened?” the newly arrived man wanted to know. “Mad Martha and that crowd is raising a ruckus,” the storekeeper answered.

I took my purchases outside and struggled to tie a sack of cans to the saddle horn. Mad Martha, I thought, and laughed.

I
WAS JUST FINISHING WITH THE TYING UP OF SACKS
when I heard the jolly tinkling of piano notes playing over the air. It struck me as something unusual to hear music at such an early hour, especially such a lively tune. I looked at the two buildings across the street. One advertised itself as an inn, and as I watched, an elderly couple came out, headed for a waiting buggy.

The other called itself the Prairie Queen Restaurant. It looked out over the plains through two wide glass windows at the front. I could smell eggs on the fry.

A young woman came out on the upstairs porch while I was looking that way and leaned against the wall as if to take the sun. Something about this struck me as odd—most females were busy in the kitchen at this hour.

This one in particular was sort of fluffy-looking to my eye. Her hair was loose, her dress was light-colored and had ruffles at the wrists.

A man came out the front door as I was heading for the building. He hurried down the steps, and as he did, his coat flapped open and I saw the flash of a badge on
his chest. I didn't stare. He climbed on his horse and rode off.

I went around to the back door of the restaurant and knocked. The piano music was coming from inside. The smell of eggs wasn't.

After a good deal of knocking, the door was answered by a fellow who wasn't in the least fluffy. He looked like he'd been sleeping; his face still held creases from the pillow.

“Wot's witchu?” he said.

I stared. He said, “Whaddya want?”

“Hair color,” I said. “My ma doesn't want the church ladies to know she's coloring it, so she sent me.”