Santa Fe Woman (20 page)

“Hey, Mark, did you fall into the river?”

Mark wheeled to see Carleen who had come trotting up. She had her pants rolled up, and her eyes were dancing. He knew instantly that she had seen what had happened, and that infuriated him. “Get away from here, Carleen!” he said gruffly.

“I don’t have to, Mark,” Carleen said. He made a lunge toward her, but she easily evaded him. “You been drinking whiskey again, haven’t you?”

“It’s none of your business!” Mark shouted. He whirled angrily and stalked away, staggering slightly.

Carleen watched him go and then turned to say, “I know he didn’t fall in. You did the right thing to push him into the river.”

Callie turned to the young girl and saw that there was a sadness in her. Callie, a discerning young woman, said, “You love your brother, don’t you, Carleen?”

“Sure I do.” Carleen moved over to the river, slipped her shoes off, and began wading in it. Callie watched her, saying nothing until finally the girl looked up and said with sadness in her tone, “When I was little he played with me all the time, and then when I got older he took me places no one else would.” She looked down at the water and then suddenly kicked at it. The drops caught the sun sparkling like diamonds and fell back. “I wish he wouldn’t drink, Callie.”

Callie studied the young girl, and then an impulse took her. “I like him, too. He’ll stop drinking some day, him.”

“Do you really think so?”

“Yes. Come, I saw some berries downstream. Let’s go pick some.”

Carleen brightened up at once. “All right. We’ll make us a pie.”

“I’m a good pie maker.”

“Can we give Mark some?”

Callie laughed. “Yes, if he’s good and doesn’t fall in the river.”

Carleen laughed at this. She was a creature of moods at times, and she found that the young woman was good company. The two made their way downstream to where they found the berries that were plump and delicious. They had nothing to put them in so they simply ate them.

“Let’s go back and get a bucket and we’ll fill it up,” Carleen said. “Then we can—” She stopped suddenly and Callie saw her eyes widen. She was looking at something behind Callie. Turning, Callie froze for there stood two Indians not ten feet away, staring at them. They had come so silently making no noise at all, and now fear rushed through Callie.

Carleen said, “Indians! Run, Callie!” She whirled and began running. Callie fully expected the two Indians to pursue her, but one of them, the tallest of the two, smiled and studied her.

“Why don’t you run?” he said in a high tenor voice. Callie had had little dealing with Indians. They each carried a rifle. One was very tall and young and lean, the one who had spoken. The other man was older, in his middle age, short and muscular.

“What—what do you want?”

“Something to eat,” the younger man said. “I am Kicking Bird. This is my friend Four Bears.”

Callie felt a slight touch of relief. “If you’ll come into the camp, I’ll cook you something.”

“We come,” Four Bears said. There was something deadly about the man, or seemed to be, but Kicking Bird was pleasant enough. “You have any whiskey?” he asked.

“I don’t think so, but I’ll feed you if you’ll come with me.” She turned, half expecting the two to grab her, but they simply followed along beside her.

I’ve got to get back to the train and then I’ll be all right,
Callie thought.

* * *

PAUL MOLITOR WAS WATCHING Good News and Addie Joss work on a wheel. Something was always going wrong with the wagon wheels. As they got into the drier country, the wood would shrink and cause the iron tires to fall off. There was no blacksmith shop along the way to Santa Fe, but Addie Joss had a portable forge and usually he and Good News Brown could devise some sort of a repair.

The two men now were busy driving wedges in between the tire and the wheel until they could do better. Paul Molitor had watched them enough to know that later on, when there was time, they would wrap the rim with some sort of canvas or green hide.

Addie was irritated about the delay, but Good News merely grinned. “All things work together for good for those that love the Lord,” he said cheerfully. Paul sometimes grew irritated at the infallible good humor of Good News Brown. “So you’re saying it’s a good thing that wheel has gone bad?”

“That’s what the Book says,” Good News said. “Who knows, if it hadn’t broke down, we might have made better time and there might have been a bunch of Indians up there waiting to scalp us all. But now we’ve slowed down, and the Indians are gone.”

Suddenly Paul Molitor laughed. It was one of the first times that either of the men had ever heard him. “That’s the craziest theology I ever heard, Good News, and it’s foolish to think that everything happens for good.”

“It don’t say that,” Good News explained carefully. “It says everything happens for good to those that love the Lord.
Those that don’t know the Lord, they are on their own, don’t you see.”

Molitor was about to reply. He liked Good News Brown but felt that he was completely out of line with his religion. The man could quote Scripture by the hour, and nothing ever seemed to trouble him. Perhaps it was this that caused Molitor to be slightly envious. He started to answer, but then suddenly Addie Joss got up and reached for his rifle. “Look, Indians.”

Molitor whirled quickly and saw first Carleen Hayden running full tilt toward the train. Behind her fifty yards was Callie Fortier, and accompanying her were two Indians.

“Hold off on that shootin’, Addie. Don’t look like they mean trouble.”

The rest of the drivers had not seen the Indians, but suddenly Wiley Pratt let out a yelp. “Injuns!” he cried.

Almost at the same time Rocklin walked around from behind one of the wagons where he had been inspecting the running gear. He moved quickly then and stood in front of Pratt. “Keep that gun out of sight, Wiley.”

“But them’s Indians!”

“I know they are, but they don’t mean any harm.”

“How do you know that?” Grat Herendeen demanded.

“Those are Comanches. If they had meant harm, most of us would have been dead. You keep a lid on it, you hear me?” He stared the men down and then turned and walked toward the strangers.

“Chad, there’s Indians!” Carleen cried out.

“I see them, honey, but it’s all right. They’re friends of mine.”

Callie was close enough to hear Rocklin’s words. Her eyes opened, and she watched as Rocklin held his hand up. She turned to see the two Indians making the same sign.

“I see you again,” Rocklin said.

“Yes, it is good to see you,” the youngest Indian said. He was grinning now and said, “You keep no guard. We could have taken all your scalps.”

“I’m glad you didn’t. How are you, Four Bears?”

Four Bears nodded. “Good,” he said gutturally.

“You got the word that I sent by White Deer?”

“Yes. He said you’re not able to take care of yourself so you need two good men.” Kicking Bird spoke good English. He had spent two years in a mission school and had learned English well.

A crowd had gathered now, and Leland Hayden was eyeing the Indians cautiously. “It seems like you found some old friends, Rocklin.”

“Yes, we are brothers. I spent four years growing up with these fellows. This is Kicking Bird, and this is Four Bears.”

“Do you have anything to eat?” Four Bears demanded.

“We’ll find something.”

“I’ve got some meat on the fire,” Kate said. She was curious about the Indians as were they all. They were not exactly what she was expecting. “Come and get it.”

The Indians appeared to be curious about the train and everything else. They held closely to their rifles and Rocklin asked, “Where are your horses?”

“We hide them. We think maybe you have horse thieves here.”

“Nobody could steal a horse from a Comanche,” Rocklin grinned. “Not from Four Bears anyway. You remember the raid we went on against the Pawnees when they stole your horse?”

Kicking Bird laughed with delight. His eyes lit up. “The great horse stealer Four Bears had his horse stolen by a miserable Pawnee.”

Four Bears gave Kicking Bird a murderous look and then grunted. “I got him back later, and I’ve got the scalp of the Pawnee that took him.”

All of the Haydens were watching carefully, and finally Chad said, “Leland, we’re going to need help hunting later on. Game gets scarce from here on, so Kicking Bird and Four Bears will come in handy.”

Leland said quickly, “Whatever you say, Chad.”

* * *

OVER TO ONE SIDE Herendeen and the rest of the skinners were talking about the Indians. Herendeen and Wiley Pratt were the two who had the most to say. Pratt hated all Indians and said, “You can’t trust none of them. They’re all liars and thieves.”

“I agree with that,” Grat nodded, “but they’re good friends with Rocklin. That don’t mean nothin’. He always was an Indian lover.”

“They don’t look too dangerous,” Brodie Donahue said, eyeing the two Indians.

“You don’t know Indians, Brodie,” Grat said shortly.

Jesse Burkett was leaning against the wagon, tall and lanky and a quiet sad man. He shook his head and said, “Rocklin wouldn’t let them in here if he didn’t know ’em. Maybe they can help us get through the Indian country.”

“You can’t trust ’em, Jesse,” Grat said, his eyes burning. “We got to stick together, but we can’t have those Indians trailing along with us.”

Brodie grinned. “Why don’t you go tell Rocklin that, Grat.”

“I will,” Grat said. “You think I’m afraid of him?”

“No, I don’t think you got sense enough to be afraid of him,” Brodie said.

Grat stared at Brodie, who was somewhat smaller than he but still a fighting man. “You just watch this if you think that, Donahue.”

Grat Herendeen was a man who could not bear to think another man better. He had been planning for some time to assert himself against Rocklin. He had no doubt about his ability to crush the smaller man, for he was a notorious brawler. Now he welcomed the idea of making a call that he thought was a good one. He walked right up to the fire where the Hayden family were sitting and glared at the two Indians and then turned to face Rocklin. “You don’t intend to let them Indians stay, do you, Rocklin?”

Rocklin got to his feet at once. His eyes narrowed, and he recognized that Grat Herendeen had been waiting for something to create trouble over, and now it had come. “It’s none of your business, Grat.”

“It’s my business if I get my scalp took.” He nodded his head toward the two Indians who were watching him closely. “We all agree we ain’t goin’ no farther until you get rid of them savages.”

“It’s a long walk back to Franklin, but it’s that way. You don’t get a horse though.”

Grat Herendeen was a man of fiery mood. He took a step closer now, and his eyes were filled with fury. “You think you’re the proud coon, don’t you? Well—”

Herendeen interrupted his own word by throwing a roundhouse right at Rocklin. Rocklin had known that trouble was coming, but it caught him off balance. The blow caught him in the chest and drove him backward. Rocklin sprawled, and he
heard Herendeen shout a hoarse cry, “I’ll kill you!” and saw the big mule skinner launch a kick. Rocklin managed to roll over and take it on his hip then came to his feet.

“I guess I’ll have to leave my mark on you, Grat,” he said.

The words infuriated Herendeen. He had won most of his fights by his toughness. He had a thick skull and was well padded with muscle. He knew only one style of fighting; that was, do anything you can to destroy your enemy.

Rocklin had known that Herendeen would come roaring in. Chad Rocklin was a faster man, and he planted himself, dodged the assault that came at him, and threw every bit of his strength into a blow that caught Herendeen in the mouth. It stopped Herendeen, but Rocklin knew it would take more than one blow to put him down. Quickly he stepped forward, and when Grat raised his hands to protect his face, he drove a powerful punch into the pit of the stomach exactly where the ribs part.

Herendeen doubled over, expelling his breath. When he dropped his hands, Rocklin’s fist came down, cracking the bridge of his nose.

Herendeen stepped back then. Blood was running from his mouth, and his nose was broken, but he was tough as a grizzly. “I’m gonna kill you, Rocklin. I’m gonna break every rib you got.” He came in more cautiously, aware of the speed of Rocklin and the power of his blows. He held his hands up so that Rocklin had no chance at a quick punch. The two men circled each other, waiting for a chance.

Jori was horrified by the violence that had seemed to explode in the middle of a beautiful day. The two men circled each other like animals, powerful, strong, both of them trying for a kill. She
had expected it of Grat Herendeen, but she had not seen this kind of violence flare out of Chad Rocklin. She knew his record, and she whispered, “Papa, stop it.”

“Out of my hands,” Leland said in a matter-of-fact tone.

All of the skinners had gathered now so that the two men were in the middle of a circle. The two Indians’ eyes were glittering. Though they said nothing, you could tell they were enjoying the fight.

Rocklin stepped forward and aimed a blow at Herendeen’s face. Herendeen caught it on his forearm and threw his own jab. He was quicker than Rocklin had thought, and Grat’s fist caught him high on the temple. The power of it was chilling, and for a moment the world whirled, shedding brilliant stars. He heard Herendeen grunt with pleasure and backed up, avoiding the rush from Grat. As Herendeen missed, Rocklin stuck his foot out, and Grat sprawled in the dust. He came quickly to his hands, but as he was rising, Rocklin brought his forearm down on the back of the neck with all the force he could muster. It would have broken the neck of a man of less flesh and bone and gristle, but all it did was drive Herendeen back to the ground. He came up and as he did, Rocklin, taking deliberate aim, kicked him full in the face. The sound of the boot striking Herendeen’s face made an ugly sound, and Jori closed her eyes. A cry went up from the two Indians, and as for Herendeen, he was unconscious.

Breathing heavily, Rocklin stood staring down at the man and waited, saying nothing. Finally Herendeen’s eyes opened, and he got to his feet painfully. His face was bloody, but the fight was knocked out of him at least for a time.