Dorothy Garlock - [Colorado Wind 03] Page 4

  “Don’t worry, Mama. I’ll take care of you, and I’ll take care of Van, too.”

  “I know you will, dear.” There was a breathless sob in Ellie’s voice that only Vanessa recognized.

  * * *

  The old man and the girl were moving around their breakfast fire when Vanessa and Henry went for the mules. When they moved out at dawn the Wisner wagon fell in behind. Daylight found them on the trail that ran parallel with the Arkansas River. The day was warm, but a cloud bank in the southwest promised a rainstorm before the day was over.

  At noon they pulled off the trail toward the river. Vanessa and Henry unhitched the mules and took them down to drink. On the way back they passed Mr. Wisner leading his team to the water, and caught a glimpse of a dark-haired girl in a faded and patched calico dress that barely reached the tops of her high-laced shoes. She moved to the back of the wagon as they approached. A big yellow dog lay beneath the wagon and eyed them but didn’t move. After they passed Vanessa glanced over her shoulder and saw the girl peeking at them from around the water barrel.

  “We’ll have plenty of time to get acquainted,” she assured Henry when he lagged to look at the dog. “Right now I’m hungry.”

  The man and the girl kept their distance through the nooning, and when Henry drove the team out onto the trail again, they fell in behind and moved up close because the southerly breeze blew the dust cloud made by the wagon ahead away from them. Vanessa rode out ahead astride the saddle horse.

  The country slid away behind them. It was big, open and grassy as far as the eye could see, and to the south was the Arkansas River. It was lonesome country. Since noon Vanessa had seen nothing but a lone buzzard, a roadrunner, and a snake that slithered across the trail. Here the gigantic herds of buffalo had roamed for hundreds of years. Here the rawhiders had come to slaughter them by the thousands. Buffalo were different from cattle; they moved constantly, allowing the grass to grow back, and they left chips for travelers to use for campfires.

  Vanessa studied the country ahead and reckoned that by evening they would reach the Cimarron cutoff. That notorious stretch of the trail was a shortcut going south across Indian Territory, used by those brave souls who thought the risk of attack by marauding Indians and bands of cutthroat outlaws was worth the two hundred miles it saved to Sante Fe.

  She worried a bit about the weather. Today was the first of September. Back in Missouri they would have two months of good weather before winter. Here there was more brown in the grass than green, and the cottonwoods along the riverbank had a tinge of yellow to their leaves. That could be due to a dry season, Vanessa thought. Nevertheless, she felt they needed to make every day, even every hour count if they were to reach Junction City before winter set in.

  When she saw the three horsemen come out of the trees along the river and walk their horses toward the trail, she dropped back beside the wagon and held out her hand for the shotgun. Ellie handed her the gun, then reached under the seat and placed the rifle between her and Henry. It was a plan they had worked out and used several times before. Henry had never shot the gun, but no one knew that except Ellie and Vanessa.

  “Don’t say anything, Henry,” Vanessa cautioned. “And don’t stop even if they get onto the trail ahead of you. Just whip up the mules and go ahead. They’ll get out of the way.”

  “I will, Van. I’ll do just what you tell me to,” he said, but he had a worried frown on his face.

  The trio drew up beside the trail and waited for them. Vanessa cocked the shotgun and let it lie across her lap. One of the men wore a flat-crowned black hat and had on a black vest over a dark red shirt. He was lean and dark and clean shaven. One was sandy-haired and looked no older than sixteen. The other man was thick in the middle, his clothes were filthy and he had a tobacco stain running down the side of his mouth. All three had bedrolls tied on behind their saddles.

  “Howdy.” It was the heavyset man who spoke.

  Vanessa nodded and rode on past them. She could feel their eyes boring into her back and had to suppress the desire to turn and look at them. She listened intently, and knew the instant they put their heels to their horses to follow her. Long ago she had planned what she would do in such a case. She had to act decisively and catch them by surprise. She was an excellent rider and knew her horse well. She gigged him so he turned on his hindlegs and set down directly in front of the three riders, the shotgun lying along his neck. She said two words.

  “Back off!”

  The men pulled up.

  “Ain’t friendly, huh?” The heavyset man’s nose was big and veined, and his eyes were small and piggish. He was a wide man and the sleeves of his dirty shirt were rolled halfway to his elbows. His hat was too small for his big head, and Vanessa could smell his unwashed body from ten feet away.

  “No.”

  Henry had stopped the wagon about fifty yards ahead, and the Wisner wagon had stopped a good hundred yards back. Vanessa faced the men between the two wagons.

  “Got any tobaccy to sell?”

  “No.”

  The dark man had the blackest eyes Vanessa had ever seen. He turned his head to look at her with both of them, the way a snake would do. His clothes were clean, his boots good, and his gun was tied down. He sat quietly watching, but she knew he was the dangerous one. The other was a shifty-eyed kid whose brows grew together over his nose. He had a constant grin on his face.

  “Yo’re shore a purty little thin’.” The big man spit, then grinned at her with snuff-stained lips. “Ain’t she a purty little thin’, Tass? We ain’t seen nothin’ purtier since we seen that little filly dancin’ bare naked on the bar in Trail City.”

  The dark man took his time answering, and all the time his black eyes never blinked.

  “That whore don’t hold a candle to her.” His voice was soft and silky and rolled out through lips that barely moved. It was a voice Vanessa didn’t like. His hair, as black as his hat, was shiny and grew down in front of his ears, framing his narrow dark face. His features were fine, but his high cheekbones stamped him as a half-breed. The dark man’s horse began to move slowly forward, one step at a time.

  “Come any closer and I’ll blow you out of the saddle,” Vanessa said confidently and in a conversational tone

  The horse stopped and the dark man’s face broke into a smile that didn’t seem to affect his eyes; they stayed open and unblinking. “Ya got a man?”

  Vanessa ignored his softly spoken question.

  “Ya got a man?” he asked again. Silence. “Well, it makes no never mind if’n ya got a man or not. You ’n me are agoin’ to get mighty friendly afore long.”

  “I doubt that,” she retorted in a cool, lofty tone. “Now ride out.”

  “Do ya think to hold off all three of us with that shotgun?”

  “No. Just you. It’ll not matter to you what happens after the first shot. You’ll be splattered all over that horse.”

  The man threw back his head and laughed as if what she had said pleased him. “C’mon,” he said to the other two. “Leave my woman be . . . for now.”

  He lifted his hand in a salute, wheeled his horse and rode toward the river. The other two followed, the kid looking back over his shoulder and laughing.

  Chapter Three

  Vanessa rode back to speak to Mr. Wisner when the wagons began to move again.

  “Ma’am, I hung back cause I didn’t want to let ’em get us bunched up.”

  “You did right, Mr. Wisner. I don’t think we’ve seen the last of them. We’d better make camp together tonight.”

  “I was athinkin’ that, ma’am. If’n ya don’t mind me sayin’ so, we ort a pick us a spot in the open.”

  “I don’t mind at all. I appreciate your suggestions.”

  The girl on the seat beside the old man kept her face turned away. She was small but full grown. Her breasts were rounded and strained the bodice of the dress that was too small. Her hair was brown and curly and brushed straight back from her forehead without
a part. It was tied at the nape of her neck with a string.

  “This here’s Mary Ben. Say howdy, Mary Ben,” Mr. Wisner nudged the girl gently with his elbow.

  “Howdy.”

  Vanessa barely heard the girl’s greeting, but she leaned forward in the saddle so she could look into her face. “Hello, Mary Ben. I’m Vanessa. We’ll get acquainted later.”

  “It’d be good to water the teams afore we make camp.” The old man’s eyes moved constantly, scanning the area on each side of the trail.

  “Have you been over this trail before?”

  “Once or twice. If yo’re willin’ to press on there’s a openin’ to the river on ahead where we can drive down, then it’d be best to back off aways ’n make camp.”

  “All right. I’m glad you’re with us, Mr. Wisner.”

  Vanessa rode ahead and told Henry and Ellie the plan, then watched for John Wisner’s signal to turn toward the river.

  * * *

  It was almost dark by the time they made camp and staked out the stock. The prairie grass was pale gold in the dusky light, and there was the smell of the sun-ripened grass and cool river water on the breeze that came from the south. Firelight flickered between the two wagons and soon a trail of wood smoke drifted upward and bacon sizzled in a pan.

  Mr. Wisner walked around the end of his wagon with his hand firmly grasping Mary Ben’s arm. The girl had a pained, frightened look on her face, but the determined old man was urging her forward.

  “Ma’am,” he said to Ellie, “this here’s Mary Ben.”

  Ellie took in the situation at a glance. “Hello, dear,” she said as she continued working. “Now, if you’ll give us room around this fire, Mr. Wisner, Mary Ben and I will have some supper ready in no time at all. Mary Ben, fetch that plate from the table and dish up this bacon. I’ll fry us a mess of eggs tonight. I’ve got to use them up before they get too old.”

  The old man backed off. He watched anxiously for a moment, then went to his wagon. He returned with a large-mouthed crock with a cork stopper in the top and set it on the table.

  “You folks got a likin’ fer honey? Me’n Mary Ben got us a bit awhile back,” he announced shyly.

  For the first time in months Ellie didn’t insist on getting out the table and eating on a cloth. She filled a plate for each and they ate hurriedly. Neither the girl nor Henry said a word while Vanessa, Ellie and John Wisner talked of keeping watch through the night. Henry was interested in the dog. He watched it and glanced shyly at the girl. The big yellow dog lay beneath the wagon, his eyes seldom leaving Mary Ben. She sat down on the ground beside him and fed him bits from her plate from time to time.

  Henry cleaned his plate, set it on the box where he had been sitting and went to where the girl sat beside the dog. He hunkered down beside them and held out a piece of bacon he’d saved from his own meal. The dog ignored it. The girl reached over and took the meat from his hand. She held it out and the dog carefully took it from her fingers. Henry smiled and reached out to scratch the dog’s ears.

  “Don’t touch him,” Mary Ben said sharply.

  “Why not? I’ll not hurt him.” The girl glanced at him and then away. “My name’s Henry.” Mary Ben placed her plate on the ground, folded her hands in her lap and looked down at them. “What’s his name?” She didn’t answer. Puzzled and disappointed because she wouldn’t talk to him, Henry asked, “Does he have a name?” Mary Ben twisted her hands in her lap and refused to look at him. Doggedly, he persisted. “I had a dog named Shep, but he was killed in Wichita. If he doesn’t have a name why don’t you call him Shep?”

  “His name is Mister.”

  “Mister what?”

  “Mister nothin’. Just Mister.” She looked at him and Henry smiled.

  “I like that. Will he let me pet him?”

  Mary Ben continued to look at him, her face still, her eyes large and questioning. He wasn’t like any man she had met before. He was clean and he didn’t grab at her. He seemed to be as unsure of himself as she was, and he was anxious to please—like a youngster in a grown man’s body. Her shyness began to dissolve and the tension eased out of her. The shoulders that she had held so straight relaxed, and her hands that had been clenched together fell apart. An awareness of Henry’s simple nature crept into her mind, and her eyes softened and became misty. This man was no threat; he was as nervous and shy around folks as she was. Lips that had been pressed firmly together softened and tilted upward. Eyes as velvety brown as a fawn’s smiled into his.

  “Give me your hand so he can smell it.” She spoke in a low husky whisper and Henry held out his hand. She shyly reached for it and held the back of it to Mister’s nose. The dog sniffed, looked at her and sniffed again. “He’s a friend, Mister,” she said softly, then placed Henry’s palm on the top of the dog’s shaggy head. A big smile slashed Henry’s brown cheeks as he stroked the dog’s head. “I think he likes you,” Mary Ben said.

  “I like him. And I like you, too, Mary Ben,” Henry replied with simple honesty.

  Ellie had been watching her son as he tried to make friends with the girl, praying he wouldn’t be rebuffed. It had happened so many times, and his hurt was her hurt. Relieved when they began to talk and pet the dog, she turned her attention back to what Mr. Wisner was saying.

  “Ya got to be careful with yore fire, ma’am. Ain’t nothin’ awfuller than a prairie fire. I ain’t been in but one, but it was a ripsnorter. There jist ain’t no place to go when yo’re on the prairie ’n fire comes down on ya.”

  “What in the world did you do?” Ellie asked.

  “Why, ma’am, I turned the team loose, rolled my water barrel out from the wagon ’n jumped in. That fire come aroarin’ like a tornado. Yes siree. Twas all over in five minutes. Lost my tucker, but not a hair on my head. I was plum tickled ’bout that.”

  “You were lucky you had water in the barrel.”

  “Yes’m. ’Nother thin’ we gotta watch out fer is wolves. They ain’t likely to corner ya or brin’ down a mule here cause there be small critters around fer ’em to eat, but ya ain’t ort to be roamin’ around outside camp.”

  “We’ll not be doing that,” Vanessa said firmly. “We’ve got those two-legged wolves to worry about now.”

  “Will the young feller . . . ah, take a watch?” John asked hesitantly.

  “No,” Ellie said quickly. “But Vanessa and I will.”

  “Mary Ben ’n the dog can stand a turn. Nothin’ll come up on Mary Ben ’n the dog without her aknowin’.”

  “How old is Mary Ben?” Vanessa asked.

  “I don’t rightly know, ma’am. Some’eres around sixteen, seventeen, I reckon.”

  Both women gave the wiry old man a puzzled look, but he didn’t say anymore, and they were too polite to ask why it was he didn’t know his daughter’s age.

  They broke the night watch into four two-hour shifts. Ellie would take the first one, then Mary Ben, then John. Vanessa would take the last shift. The rainstorm that had threatened all day became a reality. The wind came first and began scattering the embers of the cookfire. Henry scooped dirt over them, then hurried to the wagon as the rain came down.

  One of the double doors at the back of the caravan was a split door. Ellie folded back the top half and sat looking out into the night. An occasional flash of lightning lit up the camp and she could see the wind whipping the canvas top of the Wisner wagon. Henry was stretched out on the floor beneath Vanessa’s bunk, and Ellie could hear him snoring peacefully.

  It had taken Ellie ten years to become reconciled to the fact that her son’s mental capacity was impaired. He hadn’t walked or talked until two years after Vanessa walked and talked, and it was so terribly hard for him to learn to read simple words and write his name. Had it not been for Vanessa’s companionship, he would not have advanced to the stage he was in now. His cousin had been wonderfully patient with him. Several years before she had discovered he had a skill and ease in using his hands and enjoyed working with leather. Sh
e had traded medical services and medicine to a neighbor to teach him how to make whips and quirts. Soon Henry’s work was even better than his teacher’s and the association had ended.

  When they left Missouri they had brought with them several tow sacks of cut, rolled hides that had been run through the splitting gauge to remove the hair. They had had to leave behind the grindstone Henry used to sharpen his knives because it was so heavy, but they planned to buy another when they reached Colorado. It had been a big boost to Henry’s confidence to know that he excelled in something.

  Lightning flashed and Ellie saw Mary Ben climb out of the end of the Wisner wagon with a slicker over her head. She crawled beneath the wagon and sat down beside the dog. Ellie knew she was free to go to bed, but still she sat looking out into the night.

  She thought of her husband and closed her eyes. Once again she saw his handsome blond head, his laughing eyes, and felt his soft mustache against her face. Within two glorious days he had swept her off her feet with sweet and persistent courting. They married and had what were the happiest weeks of her life, followed by utter despair. She never fully believed that he had deliberately deserted her as some of her friends suggested. The years had passed terribly slowly, and then she received the horrible news about his death from his brother in Colorado. But he had left a part of himself with her—their son, Henry.

  Ellie sighed and sought her bed. She regretted nothing. What she hoped and prayed for was that there would be a place for her son where he could work for his keep and have kin nearby to care about him. It saddened her to know that he would never know the fulfillment of such a love as she had known.

  * * *

  Vanessa was awake when John tapped on the end of the wagon to let her know it was her turn to stand watch. She took the shotgun, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped out of the wagon. The rain had ceased and the air was crisp and cool. She sat down on a box so she could look toward the river and the darkness closed in around her. Her hair was braided in one long, loose braid, and the damp air had caused the tendrils to curl tightly on her forehead and in front of her ears. She brushed them back from her face, then buried her hands in the shawl. The night was quiet. Nothing moved, as least nothing she could see or hear. Her mind wandered to her home in Missouri, and she wondered if the people who had bought the farm had cut the dense growth of raspberry bushes. She thought about the lights along the streets in Springfield and people sitting in their porch swings. It was all so far removed from this quiet spot that it seemed to Vanessa they were alone in the world on an island of floating grass.