by Alden, Dana
“I will.” I have done so already, she thought.
“You wouldn’t,” he said with his hands still clasped together, though it was hard to say whether in frustration or prayer.
“Yes,” said Amanda proudly. “I would. I will do what it takes to make my fortune and my new life out West.”
The horses ambled along. The clop of the many hooves, the twitter of a few birds, the rustling of leaves and grass were the only sounds.
“Please,” said Frank, “I think you’re better than that. I am sure of it.” He took a deep breath. “Be my wife. I will support you, and you will support our family and my ministry.” Amanda was stunned. Her horse stumbled and she took her time regaining her grip on the reins. How could she respond to him, one who clearly meant well, even if she felt he was misguided?
And then he spoke more.
“You are too gentle and God-fearing a woman. You don’t belong in a Boarding House. You belong with your family of birth, and then your family of marriage. Your father, and then your husband, will care for you. Do not turn from God.”
Turn from God? All because she chose to leave home for the mills, to make money she could send home to her family after her father’s accident? Because she chose to come out West when he’d recovered and no longer needed the money, and when the mills had exacted their toll? This man did not know her—and nor would he! Not with that pompous attitude.
“Do not judge me! There’s nothing wrong with hard labor.” Amanda was exasperated.
“I wish,” Pastor Frank offered in a surprising turn, “I wish I had more experience in counseling my flock. I wish I could help you better.”
Amanda didn’t know how to reply to that. She could tell he meant well, but in her aggravation, it was hard to be charitable. She took her own deep breath. “You can pray for me,” she said. “I’m sure you are practiced at prayer.”
The Pastor’s face lit up, and he looked younger and lighter of heart than he had in days. Amanda had to remind herself that this journey was difficult and scary for everyone.
* * *
After Pastor Frank allowed his horse to fall behind, Amanda felt free to turn her attention to the landscape. They followed the Yellowstone River toward a huge mountain range—the Rockies. The river meandered in a valley between two flat-topped hills. Buttes they were called.
To the north was a single large mountain, all alone.
It reminded her of a print she had seen in a gallery last year on her Sunday afternoon off—Mount Fuji in the country of Japan. The sky was clear of clouds and bright in color—a bluebird day according to Mr. Smith. She saw three big-eared deer—mule deer she’d been told—grazing in the distance. When startled, they ran in a hopping, up-down fashion that amused her.
That thought of amusement led her to think again of Calvin Ayers. She hadn’t liked how he’d been amused at her expense. She wondered how he ended up a mountain man… if his inappropriate social behavior was because he lived alone in the woods or was it why he’d ended up alone in the woods in the first place?
She smiled, contemplating.
Mr. Ayers was a fairly young man, not old and grizzled like the ones she’d heard about. Were there mountain women, too? Families that raised mountain men?
These were silly thoughts; he’d been sociable with Mr. Smith and Scamp, and helpful to her. He’d also been gentlemanly enough not mention what he’d seen of her… she felt her cheeks heating up again.
She saw a movement in the distance and saw emerging from the woods a man riding a horse and leading a big mule. It was that Calvin Ayers, she realized. He leaned low on his horse’s neck, urging it on with his legs. The pack mule followed along at the end of its lead, its heavy packs heaving under the ropes. They moved at a fair clip at a diagonal that would join their pack train up at the next bend in the river. This was too fast for a social call; clearly, something was wrong.
Amanda touched her heels to Pony’s sides and sped up.
Chapter 3
Amanda tapped her heels to Pony’s sides and trotted up the line to Mr. Smith, who had paused to await Mr. Ayers. He was scanning around them, looking in every direction.
“Mr. Smith?” she asked.
“Hold tight, Miss Amanda,” he said, barely glancing at her.
Mr. Ayers rode up next to them. He briefly met Amanda’s eyes but if there was a message in it, she couldn’t read it. He turned to Smith. “You’re being stalked, from at least two different places.” He tilted his head toward one copse of trees and then toward a rocky butte.
“Here’s what we’re going to do,” said Ayers. “I’ll turn up toward Crazy Mountain. I’ll loosen my mule’s rope so she breaks loose before we hit the culvert. If they’re looking for easy pickings they’ll go for her and her pack and leave us alone.”
Smitty nodded, his jaw tight and lips pinched. He didn’t look terribly optimistic.
“And if they don’t?” Amanda asked.
The two men met eyes. Mr. Ayers answered. “I’ll circle around behind them. I’m a good shot and they’re likely not interested in dying.”
The clear blue sky and bright sun that had seemed so lovely moments before now made Amanda feel hot and exposed.
The pack train continued walking briskly along the trail. The mules and horses had their heads up. Ears twitched and eyes rolled. They sensed something, too. Pastor Frank hovered next to Amanda. Scamp, Richard and Dick hugged the mule train, hands resting on guns and powder bags, eyes sharp.
Pastor Frank leaned over his saddle pommel toward Mr. Ayers and Smitty. “If that would work, why not dump all the packs and make a run for it?”
Smitty answered in a hard low voice. “First of all, people paid for and are depending on those supplies, up ahead. Second of all, you may be on a one-way trip, but packing is my livelihood. If I start dumping my packs I might as well give up and just gift-wrap ‘em next time. The desperados will be lined up waiting to claim my goods – and likely a mule or two to help haul it away.”
Pastor Frank tucked his chin into his collar, eyes downcast, and gave a small nod to Smitty.
“Will they follow so obvious a diversion then, Mr. Ayers, if you let loose your mule?” Amanda asked. She held one hand on the reins and the other on the pommel. The rocky terrain and quick pace caused Pony to rock and stumble and she feared her distraction would allow her to fall. She glanced up to see the mountain man eyeing her with a hint of impatience.
“I’ll try to make it look less than obvious. An accident when I’m hauling out to protect myself.” His eyes left her face so he could keep surveying their surroundings, intense and serious. “And once we’re safe, I’ll hunt them down and reclaim my animal and property.”
Cal’s deadly serious tone sent a shiver up Amanda’s spine. She nodded, not knowing how else to respond to him.
“Hang on tight, Miss Amanda,” said Smitty. “Scamp, you keep those mules a-movin’. When we reach that outcropping up there, we can hunker down.”
Apparently, the followers knew that, too, and the plan was thwarted. Shots rang out. Even as dirt exploded and rock shards flew, the group as one sped toward the rocks. Ayers, low in his saddle, kept pace with Pony. He was, Amanda realized, trying to slide himself between Amanda and the enemy, pushing Pony toward Smitty and the front of the line. She heard a shot and a single shout of pain; one of the brothers had been hit. They were nearly to the rocks when more shots rang out. An intense pain burned across her side. Her hand automatically went to cover it and came away bloody.
Chapter 4
Oh, dear Lord, Amanda thought. I’ve been shot. Raising her eyes from her wound, she saw Ayers looking at her over her shoulder. She wondered if she’d spoken the words out loud. The edges of her vision were rimmed with a feathery black that was creeping inward.
“Hang on,” Ayers called, “Just hang on a little longer.” She stiffened her resolve, not wanting him to think her weak. Why that mattered at this moment was beyond her, but it helped her to focus.
Amanda stared at the spot between her horse’s ears, the top of the head that bobbed with each stride.
Behind the rocks, Smitty pulled each horse and mule into a huddle. Mr. Ayers jumped off his horse as Smitty grabbed Pony’s bridle. Ayers slipped an arm around Amanda’s waist, gripping the uninjured side, and the other slipped under her thighs as he pulled her out of the saddle. Amanda hissed from the pain of movement and gripped his hand. He placed her on the ground, tucked between two rocks. He glanced at her side. “You’ll be alright. Wait here.”
Was she all right? She was unsure and scared and could only latch onto Ayers’ words. She leaned against the granite, glad for the solid backing. She held her hand tight against her side and felt the warm wet blood seep between her fingers.
The rest of the train was in the circle now. Dick helped Richard off his horse. Scamp was trying to secure all the animals, even as they danced around in their fears. Mr. Ayers turned to Pastor Frank, whose hand shook around his gun.
“Put your gun away and help Miss Hildreth and Richard,” Ayers bit out. Pastor Frank looked in turn at the blood on Amanda’s side and on Richard’s leg and turned pale and unsteady. “Oh, for Pete’s sake.”
Ayers turned back to Amanda. “Hold your kerchief on it to stop the flow. Hold it tight.” She knew this. She, who had so often helped women injured by the mill machinery. She knew this.
Collect yourself, Amanda said to herself. She pulled her kerchief out of her pocket and pressed it to her side. It hurt. It burned. She took deep breaths. Despite the heat of the sun reflecting off the boulders—she could hardly believe it was still morning—she shivered.
Amanda looked around to distract herself. Dick was just finishing tying a kerchief on his injured brother’s calf. He propped Richard against a rock. Guns in hand, both were now back at work. Dick crouched down and skittered over behind another rock. They chose their spots then began laying out caps and powder. Pastor Frank dropped behind an outcropping and looked to Ayers and Smitty for orders.
Smitty looked at the man, crouched so far back he wouldn’t be much help in a gunfight. He said, “Why don’t you say a prayer for us, Pastor?”
Pastor Frank looked shocked, but quickly gave a nod. He lowered his head for a moment, his hands held together in prayer. Then he looked up.
“Fight the good fight. God’s wrath will avenge. And,” he added, “The Lord trains your hands for battle. Amen.”
This was not the prayer Amanda expected, and from the look of surprise on Smitty’s face, it wasn’t what he expected either.
Ayers squinted at the pastor, then turned to Smitty, who was climbing up on a rock. “Five minutes,” said Ayers. Amanda watched him climb up the rock face, partially obscured—at least she hoped so—by the rustling leaves of several aspen trees. He had his old rifle hung off his shoulder by a strap. The fringe under his sleeves danced.
Smitty had propped his rifle on the rock. When Ayers approached an open spot, he shouted, “Now,” and they all opened fire at the bad guys. Ayers was past the spot and now hidden from sight. Return shots had them ducking.
This went on for what seemed like forever. Several shots from one side when a target was spotted, and then a repeat from the other. And then, silence. Smitty relaxed a little, telling the others to keep eyes out. He stooped low and walked to Amanda.
“May I?” She nodded and removed her hand from her side. He gently peeled back the kerchief and looked at her wound. She did, too. Between the torn edges of her bodice fabric was a red line of oozing flesh along her ribcage. It was, essentially, a bad burn. Smitty’s face lost some tension and boy did that make Amanda feel better.
“Just a crease, Miss Amanda. Once this is over, we’ll get you cleaned up. You’ll be better in no time.” Amanda looked down at the raw flesh, still seeping blood. She tried to imagine what she’d say to someone if it weren’t her own wound, but she couldn’t think of anything encouraging. She knew her thoughts reflected on her face, because he added, “One step at a time, Miss Amanda.”
Smitty next turned to check on the injury to Richard’s leg. “Shot clean through,” he said. Richard nodded but didn’t look down. He was reloading his gun with powder and shot, and was angry. Pastor Frank looked a little miffed that the pack master hadn’t checked on him. Dick was hunkered on a ledge, partway up the rock face, but obscured by a tree. He was still looking for signs of their attackers but took a moment to give Smitty a thumbs-up.
Finally, Smitty turned to Scamp and together they started checking the animals. First, they checked Richard’s horse. Amanda saw Smitty fingering a hole in the pack and lifting it to check the horse underneath. The horse was untouched. Scamp opened the pack and pulled out a tin can of beans, shot through one side and leaking sauce. He gave it to Smitty who turned and tossed it to Richard.
“Bet you’ll like beans a bit more after this.” Richard gave a quick smile. He placed the can on the ground and turned back to his lookout.
Smitty and Scamp moved from horse to mule to horse, finding no other injuries. Smitty checked his watch and went back to his rocky perch. He checked it again and then, with a notice to the others, they each set off one shot high above the heads of the enemy. That caused return shots, and in the pause when those men would have been reloading, a shot came from just north of them. Amanda guessed that was Calvin, catching the other side unprepared. Swiftly another shot came, and then another.
She couldn’t imagine how he was reloading so quickly. They heard shouts, another shot, and then—nothing.
After the initial shock, after the shooting had ended, Amanda began to calm down. Her hands stopped shaking and her wound had stopped bleeding, mostly. Using her kerchief and water from a canteen handed to her by Smitty—she really couldn’t think of him as Mr. Smith anymore—she sponged off her side. She lifted the side of her blouse and tied a clean cloth against the raw flesh. It wasn’t deep, she could see. She’d seen worse from accidents at the mill in Lowell.
Smitty and Dick were checking their animals over, and laughing now and again. Richard finally sat down to tend to his own wound. Pastor Frank leaned against a rock, wringing his hands. Several times he stood to peer in the direction of the men who’d attacked them. Scamp had that over-excited look of a youth who didn’t fully understand how bad the danger had been. They all kept their weapons ready at their sides, she noticed.
Amanda stood and went to Pony. Smitty had already checked the horse over, but she needed something to do. She ran her hands over his shoulders and chest, tweaked his ears and rubbed his nose. She patted his hindquarters and leaned over as she ran her hands down his legs. She saw a few new scratches from the run through the sagebrush, but nothing serious. When she straightened back up, she felt a sharp burn in her side that caused her to cover her wound with her hands.
She was immediately distracted by the presence of Calvin beside her. He looked disheveled and tired but was apparently uninjured. Cal offered her a small smile. “You are one strong woman, up and checking your horse already. Are you sure you’re from the city?”
Amanda smiled back, this time the heat in her cheeks not unwelcome. “We breed ‘em tough in my family.”
Cal laughed, then turned earnest. “Would you like me to look at your wound? I’m good with healing. I’ve had my fair share.”
“Oh no,” Amanda said. “I’m fine.”
“I have two sisters, you know. I won’t give you any trouble.”
“Oh, thank you,” Amanda said, realizing he thought she was being modest, which she was, but only some. “It’s not as bad as it seemed at first. I helped a lot with injuries at the mill where I used to work… I can care for it myself.”
Then neither said anything and, somehow, they were just gazing into each other’s eyes, brought back to reality only when Pony began shifting about trying to reach a tuft of grass.
“May I ask you something?” asked Amanda. Cal nodded.
“How did you fire that old rifle so quickly? We could hear it.”
>
Cal pulled his rifle off the rock he’d leaned it up against. He held it out with one hand, pointing to the hardware with his other.
“I altered it. See this copper tube I added. It’s for a percussion cap. And this here hammer I modified?”
“That’s a lot faster than a powder charge, then?”
“Heaps faster.” He slung his rifle over his shoulder. Then, Cal gave a tip of his imaginary hat, a smooth move that Amanda would expect to see on a man with a fancy beaver felt top hat and a vest and coat. Not a mountain man. He turned away and walked to Smitty who was crouched next to Richard, examining his leg. Amanda took a deep breath and tried to find something else to stare at. But she couldn’t stop herself from listening to Cal, no—Mr. Ayers and Smitty—Mr. Smith. From the looks of it, all the men were trying to listen in, too.
“Thank you, Cal,” said Smitty. “How’d it go?”
“Three men, one badly injured. The other two ran for it.”
“What about the injured man?”
“One of his own took care of him.”
Amanda couldn’t help but look over at the men then. A look of disgust crossed over Smitty’s face, matching the tone of Cal’s voice.
Oh, my, thought Amanda.
“What did he look like?” asked Pastor Frank.
“Does it matter?” asked Cal.
The pastor gave a slight shake of his head.
“Did you recognize them?” asked Smitty.
“No. Whites, though. Not Indians,” said Cal.
Smitty paused to consider that. “Did they get your packhorse?”
“No,” said Cal, “no interest, it seemed. They wanted something on this train.”
They looked at each other, at the trees, at the horses, at their belt buckles, but not at Amanda.