Love's Bounty

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Storm’s comin’ on fast!” the driver shouted. “Tryin’ to make it to an overhang of rock up ahead.”

  Callie hung on to her strap and lowered her head, fighting renewed nausea. She prayed she wouldn’t throw up all the way to Lander. She so wanted to make a good impression on Chris Mercy. The last thing she wanted was to be a burden.

  The coach clattered on for several more minutes as the claps of thunder grew closer and louder. Suddenly rain came down in torrents, blowing into Chris’s side of the coach. He threw out what was left of his cigarette and pulled down the canvas, but just as Becker had warned, it did little to keep out the rain, which blew right in with the wind.

  Finally the coach reached a rock overhang barely wide enough to protect it from the downpour. The driver, known only as Stumpy, and the man riding shotgun, who used only Taggert as his name, both climbed down from their seats and began holding and talking to the four horses pulling the wagon, trying to keep them calm. Chris and Becker climbed out to help, but Callie remained inside, folding her arms over her stomach. The effects of the peppermint were quickly wearing off.

  “Lord, don’t let it be like this all the way to Lander,” she groaned. Just then there came another loud clap of thunder, and one of the horses whinnied loudly. Callie felt the coach rock, then suddenly bolt away as the horses charged off from fright. She hung on as the steeds took a sudden turn. The coach careened, tossed like a toy. The next thing Callie knew, the coach tumbled sideways, and rock and gravel slammed into the side of her head when it landed through the windowless opening of her side of the wagon.

  Chapter Seven

  Callie opened her eyes to darkness and the sound of a yipping coyote somewhere in the distant hills. At first she felt confused, unable to figure out just where she might be. She lay still for a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the sights and sounds of night—bright stars in the black sky, the whinny of a horse, a small campfire nearby…Christian Mercy sitting on the other side of it, watching her.

  Now she remembered. A storm. A restless team of horses. Her nausea. The coach tumbling to its side. She was surprised to see true concern in Mercy’s eyes. “What…happened?” she asked.

  He stirred the fire slightly with a stick. “Damn team balked and ran, then tried to turn back. Made the wagon tip over. You took a pretty good blow to the head. We’ve since righted the wagon, and Becker and the driver and shotgun went after the horses. I stayed here to watch over you.”

  Callie winced as she put a hand to her sore head, realizing then that she had a bump above her temple and scrapes on the right side of her face. “You didn’t have to do that.”

  “Sure I did. You’re worth some money to me.”

  She had a deep suspicion he didn’t really mean that. Did he really care about her as a person? Hell no. He was a bounty hunter. There she went again, thinking the best of a complete stranger. “Everybody back and okay now?”

  “Yes. By the time we got everything back together, it was getting dark. Stumpy says it’s too dangerous through here to travel after dark, and we didn’t have time to reach the little stage stop farther ahead, so we made camp right here. Stumpy and the other two made their own little fire down by the road. I carried you up here, where there is some softer grass. How do you feel?”

  He’d carried her? “I don’t know yet, except at least I don’t feel sick to my stomach. I’m…real sorry about that. I’ve never traveled like this before. I didn’t know that the way these coaches sway around would do that to me.”

  “It happens.” He moved off the flat rock where he’d been sitting and laid his rifle down beside a bedroll spread out near hers. He stretched out on it, pulling his hat down over his eyes. “Seems pretty safe here. I think I’ll get a little shut-eye of my own.”

  She wondered at the fact that he’d apparently waited up all this time just wanting to see if she’d come around. “Thanks for looking out for me. I promise I can take care of myself once we’re on the trail.”

  “Accidents happen. Wasn’t your fault.”

  She turned her head slightly, again feeling pain. “You know something? I’ve never been out of Rawlins since I was born. It’s the only place I’ve ever known.”

  “Well, you’ll soon learn this is a big country,” he answered from under the hat. “Your folks must be from someplace else though. Most people out here are.”

  “They came out from Illinois.”

  “What town?”

  “Rockford.”

  “I’ve been there.”

  “Really? You from Illinois?”

  “Chicago.”

  “Chicago! Really?”

  “Really.”

  “I’ll be danged. We’re both from Illinois. My folks were never in Chicago though. That’s one big city now, they say.” She lightly touched her cheek, wondering how terrible she must look all scraped up. “My pa came west in 1860, thinking to look for gold, but he never made it all the way to California. He decided to settle in Wyoming instead. He heard stories about how hard it was to find gold and that it wasn’t worth the time and expense.”

  Chris sighed. “A wise decision.”

  “Have you ever been to California?”

  “Sure. It’s pretty.”

  “You’ve been a lot of places, I guess.”

  “You’d be surprised how far a wanted man will run. At any rate, I’ve seen enough of this country to be able to judge where I might want to settle someday…if I ever do settle again.”

  Callie heard pain in his voice. She thought what a waste it was, him being so educated and so downright handsome, to be such a lost and lonely man. He seemed like a good man at heart. He’d probably make a good husband, not that she was interested herself. It just seemed a shame that a man could be so hurt that he changed his life completely because of it. She knew full well there were good men, ones like Hank Sooner, and her own pa, strict as he was. Christian Mercy had probably been a good man like that, but now he wore guns and hunted outlaws. When he landed his rifle butt into Conner Hayes’s back, he’d shown no emotion whatsoever. Same as when he watched the man hang, still kicking.

  “I don’t know if I’ll ever settle either,” she told him. “I’m not sure what I’ll do after we find those men. The Sooners want me to come back to Rawlins and let young men court me and all that hogwash. I’m not interested. I might just get me some schooling and work for the newspaper. Newspapers fascinate me. I’d like to report for one someday, something like that. Maybe just get me a job in town. I’ll find a way to support myself, that’s sure. I won’t depend on some man for it, because I’ll never get married.”

  He didn’t answer right away, and Callie wondered if he was falling asleep. “That’s a pretty big decision for someone only eighteen years old,” he finally said.

  “Well, that’s the decision I’ve made.” Callie managed to shift a little, realizing everything ached. Lord, she never dreamed traveling by coach could be so physically taxing.

  “You’ll change your mind someday,” Chris told her.

  “What makes you say that?”

  He laughed lightly, surprising her with his apparent and rare good mood. “Because you’re young and pretty and resourceful and strong. Those are powerful attractions to a man. Young men will be calling on you plenty, and someday one will come along who makes your toes curl.”

  “My toes curl?”

  “That’s how—” He hesitated. “Somebody I knew a long time ago described it to me that way once.”

  Callie frowned. Was it his wife? She was afraid to ask. “That’s a funny way to put it. How can a man make your toes curl?”

  “It’s just a figure of speech.”

  Callie thought a moment. “This person…you made her toes curl?”

  He took a long time to reply. “Seems so,” he answered quietly.

  A tiny tremor of something Callie could not quite name softly rushed through her, and she found herself squeezing her toes together. Good Lord! she thought. Is that wh
at he’s talking about?

  She was glad he couldn’t see her eyes at that moment. They might give away the thought. “Right now I can’t imagine any man making my toes curl, as you put it,” she told him emphatically.

  He took another deep sigh, as though very tired. “Mark my words. It will happen.”

  Callie lay there thinking, wondering if her father ever made her mother’s toes curl. Maybe, when they first met, before he dragged her west. She didn’t mind it out here herself, but that was because this land was all she’d ever known. Maybe if she’d lived in the East, became accustomed to bricked streets and theaters and easy supplies, had lots of relatives and all, she’d be as unhappy out here as her mother was.

  “What’s Chicago like?” she asked, trying to imagine a real city.

  Chris pulled a blanket over himself. “Big. Busy. Railroads, horse-drawn streetcars, tall buildings, five, six stories high, some of them. Factories, goods coming in by ship. It’s right on Lake Michigan. Between that and the railroad, it’s pretty much a hub for travel. That’s why it’s growing so fast.”

  “I can’t imagine such things. Are there big stores where you can buy fancy things?”

  “Sure.”

  “Is Lake Michigan really so big, a person can’t get to the other side in a day? That’s what my ma told me once. She said you can’t see the other side. They never lived there, but she said folks told her that.”

  “Well, it’s true. It’s like looking at the ocean.”

  “I’ve never seen an ocean either.” Callie sighed, trying to imagine a body of water that big. “You sure have been a lot of places.”

  “Oh, there are plenty I’ve missed.”

  “You have been along the Outlaw Trail, haven’t you?”

  “Of course I have.”

  “What’s it like?”

  “Dangerous. I’m not thrilled about going back.”

  “You won’t change your mind on me, will you?”

  “A promise is a promise.” He adjusted his hat and pulled the blanket over his shoulders. “You sure do ask a lot of questions. It won’t be like this the whole trip, will it?”

  Callie felt embarrassed. “No, sir. If you don’t want me to talk, I won’t talk.”

  He said nothing in reply. She had no doubt the man was used to traveling alone and probably hated her blabber. She wished he wasn’t so moody. Seemed like he wanted to talk, then all of a sudden he seemed angry with her for all her questions. Trouble was, they were going to spend a lot of nights like this, sharing a campfire. Would it always be this awkward? What the hell was she doing, going off with this complete stranger? For a quick moment she wanted to buck and run, but her head hurt too much.

  Chapter Eight

  Callie was not sure which was worse, the pain in her head, the pain in her stomach…or the near terror of looking down canyons hundreds of feet deep while the mud wagon careened around narrow switchbacks that made a person pray for mercy. All that was topped off by heat and dust and the constant swaying and jolting and creaking of the wagon, the rhythmic clatter of the wheels, and the flapping of the canvas shades.

  It was like that for days on end. The only things that got better were her cuts and bruises. By the time they reached Muddy Gap, where Stumpy changed horses, the bump on her head had vanished and the swelling around the scrapes was gone. Muddy Gap fit its name and consisted of nothing more than a crude building where a person could get a meal of wormy biscuits and overdone beef, use an outhouse, and then sleep on the floor or outside. All chose outside, since they noticed roaches skittering across the floor, as well as mice.

  All other nights were also spent under the stars. Callie loved the nights, because they were a wonderful relief from the constant movement and noise of the day. Christian Mercy spent most evenings sitting quietly while the other three men told tall tales. Once Cal Becker tried to get Chris to show how fast he could draw his guns, but he refused. Then Stumpy asked him to show how good his aim was, daring him to shoot a pinecone off a tree in the distance. Again he refused. Taggert asked him how many men he had killed, and Chris told him it was none of his business.

  One good thing Callie saw in Christian Mercy was that he was not full of himself. Most men who were pretty good with a gun liked to brag about it and show off. And most men as good-looking as he was would be all puffed up with conceit, pretty sold on themselves, like young Ted Laughlin back in Rawlins, who thought he was quite something because he had a college education and worked for a lawyer. He wore his hair all slicked back and dressed in fancy suits. He truly was good-looking; but he was so sure of himself that it took away from his looks. Mercy didn’t even seem to realize how handsome he was.

  She closed her eyes and put a hand to her forehead, wondering why the thought had even come to her. It was a damn ugly thing men did to women. There was a time when she thought about boys, dreamed about someday being married and all. Now she couldn’t imagine wanting to be with a man even as a wife. Down deep inside she knew there must be something pleasurable about it, but she couldn’t wake up that feeling and curiosity anymore.

  More winding trails brought them closer to Lander, and Callie couldn’t wait to get out of the coach for the last time. At least her body did seem to be adjusting to the constant sway. Each day the nausea lessened, and finally she didn’t have a problem with it anymore. The only physical problem left was the fact that she could barely walk at first each night when she stepped from the wagon. It was as though her body wanted to keep swaying, and she likened the way she felt to the way it must feel to be drunk, since she literally stumbled around at first. Even the men had a bit of a problem when first climbing off the wagon. Lord, what a miserable way to travel, she thought. She swore she’d never get back in a coach once this trip was over.

  “Whoa!” Stumpy yelled, startling Callie out of her thoughts. It was midmorning, a bright, cool day, excellent for making good time through country that had become flatter although was splattered with large rock formations. Why would Stumpy stop the horses here?

  “What’s wrong?” Becker shouted, sticking his head out to look up at the drivers.

  “Big tree, right across the road,” Stumpy shouted in reply.

  They sat between two rock walls. There was no way to go around the tree.

  “Looks like it fell…hell! The damn thing’s been cut! I can see it from here!”

  A shot rang out, and someone grunted. The coach rocked as a body fell off it. Callie watched through a slit in her canvas shade as Taggert hit the ground with a thud. Her mouth dropped open. “Somebody shot Taggert!” she whispered to Chris.

  “Get down on the floor!” Chris told her, his six-gun already out of its holster.

  Callie obeyed. Cal Becker, who wore no gun, bent low himself.

  “Get your hands high in the air, old man,” someone ordered Stumpy. “Don’t make me put another notch in my gun.”

  “What the hell do you want?” Stumpy asked. “We’re not carryin’ anything special.”

  “No? Why don’t you let us decide that? Get on down off of there so we can have a look under the driver’s seat.”

  The coach rocked again as Stumpy climbed down.

  “Check inside, Frank,” the voice spoke again.

  Callie waited with heart pounding. The door on the side of the coach where Chris sat opened, and immediately Chris pointed his six-gun straight between the eyes of the man who leaned to look inside. He froze in place, his eyes widening, even though he held a six-gun of his own.

  “Drop it!” Chris told him. “And tell your friends out there to do the same.”

  The man slowly released his gun, and Callie grabbed it away.

  “Mason!” the one called Frank shouted. “Drop your guns. There’s a man in here with a gun between my eyes.”

  There was a moment of silence.

  “Mason?” Frank yelled again. “Do like he says. I think he means business!”

  “So do I,” the one called Mason answered. “He shoots y
ou, he’s a dead man.” Callie heard a horse ride a little closer. “Mister, whoever you are, we’re here just to relieve you of anything worth something—a watch, your money, your guns, maybe a saddle—”

  Callie jumped when suddenly Chris’s gun fired. She screamed when blood splattered on the floor in front of her. Some even sprayed over her hair and left shoulder. At nearly the same moment, Chris shoved the canvas shade at the door aside and fired five more shots in rapid succession. He quickly climbed out, and Callie prayed he wouldn’t get killed before he even had a chance to help her.

  All was quiet.

  “Come on out,” Chris told her and Cal.

  “Jesus, mister, that was some shootin’,” Stumpy was saying.

  Callie looked at Cal Becker, whose eyes were wide with surprise. She cocked the six-gun she’d grabbed and slowly peeked through the canvas to see the one called Frank lying on his back with a hole in his forehead. Another man hung from his horse, his foot caught in the stirrup. He, too, was obviously dead. A third man lay hanging over a rock several feet above them. “Take a look at all three of them,” Chris told her. “See if any of them is someone you’re looking for.” He put his gun back in its holster and turned to Stumpy. “Sorry about Taggert.”

  “Nothin’ you can do about it.”

  “We’ll take their identification off them soon as Callie has a look,” Chris told the man. “We can’t take their bodies in this hot weather, so we’ll just have to dump them over the ravine we passed just a few minutes ago. We’ll try burying Taggert, but the rest don’t deserve it.”

  So cold and indifferent, Callie thought. He’d shot them all so fast! Her stomach feeling a little sick again, she walked up to each body to look at each man’s face. Then she turned to Chris. “No. None of them fit what I remember.”

  “Fine.” Chris turned toward the coach. “Becker, get out here and help me and Stumpy drag these bodies to the ravine. Then we’ll take turns helping dig a hole to bury Taggert.”