by Jill G. Hall
“Really, what happened?”
Cliff tried to smile but winced instead. “Got into a tussle with a cowboy.”
“What?”
“Yep. You know how they spell ‘cowboy’ don’t you? ‘O-p-i-n-i-o-n.’”
That was a hoot.
“I went to that ranch, looking for work. The foreman didn’t like the way I swung my lasso. He said I should do it overhanded, but I always have more luck doing it underhanded.”
“Are you lying?”
“I’m not telling you a thumper. It’s the God’s awful truth.”
“Sounds like you didn’t get the work.”
“Nope.”
“Do you really need a job anyway?”
“Every man needs to work.”
With a straight face, she said, “As Mama used to say, idleness is the devil’s workshop.”
“Then I’d better find some work, and fast.”
“Yes, you’d better.”
She touched his wound gently. “It might need stitches.”
He pulled away. “Don’t bother. It’ll be fine.”
“But it might become infected.”
He pulled a flask from his coat pocket and took a swig. “Okay. Do what you like.”
She grabbed her sewing kit and a cotton remnant from her pile. Standing before him, she seized his flask, poured alcohol on the cloth, and dabbed the lesion.
“Ouch!” He jerked away.
“Don’t be a baby.” She held his stubbled chin and lightly cleaned his eye and the wound.
She couldn’t see to thread a needle, so she lit a lantern and had him hold it up. Her hands shook. She’d never done this before, only watched Doc Mackenzie stitch up her finger when she’d cut it chopping carrots. Even then, she could hardly bear to look.
Feeling queasy, she placed her hand tenderly on Cliff’s forehead. “Keep steady, now.” She inhaled and let it out. “Ready?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She gritted her teeth, drove the needle into Cliff’s skin, pushed it through, and pulled the thread. She kept going until she’d made five neat stitches. While she worked, he flinched only once. As she snipped off the thread’s end, relief flooded her and she collapsed next to him on a chair. “I’m glad that’s over.”
“You and me both.” He closed his eyes.
“Come on.” She grasped his elbow, helped him up, led him to the cot, and pulled off his boots.
“It feels good to be home,” he said, and soon fell to snoring.
She stared at him. Now that she knew he was okay, and given his weakened state, this was her best chance to find the money and scurry away. Outside, she climbed the fence railing and flipped open the saddlebag on Roan’s back.
“What’re you doin’?” Cliff bellowed from the doorway.
Her heart leaped into her throat. “You shouldn’t be up. I’m just gonna let Roan graze in the pasture with Scout.”
Cliff hobbled toward her, clutched the bags, and stumbled inside.
Sally Sue used all her strength to take off Roan’s saddle. She returned to the cabin. Arms crossed, she plunked down in the rocker and moved to and fro to dispel her frustration. How was she ever going to find the money and get away?
Before she got in bed, she wiped the perspiration from Cliff’s brow. He had tucked the saddlebags between the cot and the wall. She’d be unable to get to them without waking him.
Overnight, Cliff’s wound festered and became red and raw.
“Does it hurt much?” She tilted his head sideways to inspect it.
He took a swig from his flask. “Nah. Only feels like someone threw a pine cone at it.”
She doubted that very much and reached for the flask. “Here, I’m going to clean it again.”
“Let it scar over.” His voice was gruff. “Just slap a little honey on it.”
Was he teasing her? “Really?”
“Yep.”
She got the honey from the cupboard. It reminded her of Elvira, that strange woman the first day in Flagstaff. Hadn’t she said something about honey? “Honey in every pot,” or something like that? Sally Sue carefully spooned some over Cliff’s eye.
A few days later, Cliff’s wound began to heal, but he continued to sleep late.
White clouds parted like saloon doors to reveal chartreuse mountaintops, the snowy peaks now gone. Under the turquoise sky, a joyful explosion of wildflowers dotted the meadow. A quail shook his topnotch plume as his family bobbed and skittered behind him. A turkey hen, red waddle hanging off her chin above a long, curved neck, zigzagged her drooping body along the meadow toward the pond.
A white-tailed doe and her twin white-speckled yearlings nibbled green fodder that had magically sprouted overnight. The doe’s ears perked up; she turned toward and stared at Sally Sue as if she knew Sally Sue was there. Then, suddenly, she sprang away, her babies following on spindly legs.
Spring had arrived, and with it, Sally Sue’s sadness had begun to abate. At home she’d never paid much attention to nature, but here the graceful beauty of the peaks and sweeping meadow filled her heart with newfound vigor. She’d thought she’d miss the springtime hustle-bustle of the city, but the surrounding quiet here was so peaceful, and she felt freer here than in Missouri.
A stream had begun to flow and gurgle into the gulley behind the big oak beyond the cabin. Birch trees, sycamores, and cedars had sprouted leaves. From the giant oaks’ cupped leaves, tendrils twirled down like cherubs’ curls. The beauty of the ranch filled her with awe and gratitude for God.
Sally Sue’s chest felt hollow, eggshell thin, ready to crack and break as she realized the paths were clear. It would be difficult to leave all this budding nature, especially after the hard winter she’d endured. But she needed to depart soon, before she changed her mind or Cliff snapped again.
But once she got off the ranch, she would have no idea which way to go. She wandered to the pond with a bucket, singing her favorite hymn aloud: “All things bright and beautiful. All creatures great and small . . .” She’d sung it in church her whole life but had never truly listened to the words until today.
Maybe if she asked nicely, Cliff would take her to church in town and she could memorize the way.
Later that evening, she sat at the table while he finished the supper dishes, the cabin aglow with candles and lantern light. Crickets whirred a constant cadence.
Cliff dried his hands and joined her at the table. Daily doses of honey had helped heal his lesion. She’d soon remove the stitches.
She got up enough gumption to broach the subject. “Don’t you think Sheriff Mack will wonder if he never sees me in town?”
“Why should he?”
She tried a different tactic. “Now that the weather’s clear, don’t you think it’s time to go back to church?”
“Church.” He scoffed. “I don’t go to church.”
“Why not?” she asked.
“Don’t believe in God.”
“What?” She’d never heard anyone admit that before.
“If you’d seen the horrible acts I’ve witnessed, you’d agree.”
“Like what?” Maybe this was a clue to why he’d robbed the bank. He’d never really answered her questions and got angry every time she even came close to talking about it.
“Like . . .” He paused.
“What?”
“Never you mind.” He looked away.
She leaned across the table and put her hand on his arm. “I’d like to go to church anyway.”
He pulled away and crossed his arms. “We’ll see,” he said.
She could tell that meant no.
He put his hands back on the table, and his eyes softened. “Sally Sue, you’re a mighty fine woman.”
She felt herself blush as a whisper of desire clung to her—a desire to touch his hand, his cheek, the back of his hair where it kissed the nape of his neck. She shuddered. How could she be so angry at him one minute and feel this way about him the next? This man who kidnap
ped her, kept her, wouldn’t let her go. A bank robber, a killer.
As if he could read her mind, he slid his hand across the table toward her, the gnarled scars of a life deeply lived evident on his fingers. She reached out her hand and clasped his, unable to resist his touch a moment longer. The thought of those large hands on her body frightened but also thrilled her imagination. What might happen in the big bed with him next to her at night, or maybe during an afternoon with the spring sun shining through the window?
She caught herself, withdrew her hand from his, and stood. “It’s getting late.”
Next Sunday, come hell or high water, she’d set out for church if she had to, even if it made him angry. At least she’d asked him first.
46
Sunday morning, Cliff still asleep on the cot, Sally Sue quickly and quietly dressed in her travel suit—stains, flat bustle, and all—and tied her bonnet beneath her chin. As the sun peeked over the mountains, feathery pink clouds hovered in the sky. She marched out to the pasture, haltered Scout, and led him to the fence railing. Saddling him up, she slid her rifle onto his side, climbed on his back, and headed up the road toward town. Would she be able to find the way?
She looked behind her to make sure Cliff wasn’t following and kneed Scout into a lope. Water gushed under the bridge as they crossed it. A mile or so out, Scout settled into a steady pace twisting along the trail. Blue lupine adorned grasshopper-green grasses, and giant ponderosa pines shaded her way, giving off an intoxicating scent.
After a while, Scout’s pace slowed, his neck filled with foamy sweat, and he began to pant. A river rippled in a ravine below the road, and she turned the reins and walked down the slope toward it. She dismounted on a tree stump, scooped water into her cupped hands, and offered the horse a drink. He lapped it up like there was no tomorrow, and then she sipped some herself.
She led him back up the slope and onto the road again and continued down it. After that long ride, it had felt good to stretch her legs. At a clearing, they came to a crossroads. Should they go left or go right? She tried to find the sun to help her get a sense of direction, but clouds covered the sky.
A woman’s voice called from behind a creosote bush, “I’ve been waiting for you.”
Sally Sue pulled her rifle off Scout and raised it.
Underneath a calico bonnet, a woman stepped from behind the bush, staring with deep-set eyes. “Hey, now. Put that thing down.” She walked toward Sally Sue and gently pointed the gun’s barrel toward the ground. “Don’t you remember me? I’m the one Mr. Bjork shucked off the hotel porch.”
“Elvira?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks for the tea. You also said something about honey. What was it, again?”
“There’s honey in every heart. I hope you found it.” Elvira put a hand on Sally Sue’s shoulder. “Whatcha doin’ out here all alone?”
To be in the presence of another woman after all this time brought a sense of calm to Sally Sue. “I’ve been . . .” For some reason, she didn’t want to say “kidnapped,” so she chose “passing winter on a nearby ranch.”
“That’s what I heard.” Elvira paused, as if she could tell Sally Sue had more to tell. “Where’re you off to now?”
“Church. Which road takes me to Flagstaff?”
Elvira pointed up the road that curved around a boulder. “I’m heading that way myself. I’ll show you.” She stroked Scout’s nose.
“That’s mighty kind of you.” Sally Sue slid the gun back onto Scout, took his reins, and fell into step beside Elvira.
Comforted to walk beside this odd woman, Sally Sue etched in her mind the outcropping of boulders and big oak that stood by the side at the split, so when the time came, she’d be able to find her way.
However, they barely got around the bend when the sound of horse hooves pounded on the road behind them. Sally Sue aimed the rifle toward the sound as Cliff, Roan, and the buckboard appeared around a bend.
“Whoa.” He held up his hand. “Put that gun down, darlin’. It’s only me.”
Elvira mouthed to Sally Sue, Honey.
“Where’re you goin’?” He gave Elvira his friendliest-man-in-the-world grin.
“I’m going to church is all.” Sally Sue lowered the gun.
“Scout appears tuckered out.” Cliff climbed down from the buckboard and took the horse’s reins. “Let’s go together. Ma’am, want a ride?”
A gunshot rang out from a copse of trees above them on a hill. In a flash, Sally Sue swung her gun and pointed it toward where the shot had come from.
As another bullet flew toward them, Cliff quickly released Scout’s reins, unhooked Roan from the buckboard, and slapped their rumps. “Git!”
Both horses whinnied, leaped, and ran off.
The women helped Cliff tilt the buckboard on its side. He pushed them behind it. “Stay down. I’ll take care of this.”
He skittered back, pulled his pistol from his holster, and shot into the copse of trees. Another shot reverberated, this time closer.
A man’s voice called, “I know who you are. I’m gonna collect that bounty.” A bullet whizzed over their heads, and a volley of gunfire ensued.
The women huddled behind the buckboard. Were they going to die?
It grew quiet, and Cliff joined them. Sally Sue rose, but he reached out and shook his head.
Another shot rang out. Cliff loaded, stood, and pulled the trigger, but the gun jammed. As he tried again and again, the shots from the hill grew louder, but his pistol still wouldn’t shoot. Sally Sue crawled on her stomach to where her rifle had fallen. She jumped up, took aim, and focused until a figure sprang out from behind a boulder. She pretended it was a bottle, held steady, inhaled, exhaled, and pulled the trigger.
The man screamed.
Her body shook. She sat next to Cliff and Elvira until her heartbeat began to ebb. She couldn’t believe she’d really shot at a man and hoped she hadn’t killed him.
Cliff held out his hand, and they waited a few minutes. “Okay.” He rose. “We should be safe now.”
Sally Sue helped Elvira up as he walked toward the mounded heap on the hill. “Stay back,” he told the women.
They followed him up the slope anyway. Cliff rolled over the body, and Elvira gasped. The scruffy man, in dirty buckskin, stared with open eyes. Blood seeped from a bullet hole that passed clean through the hat still on his head.
“Looks like his soul has passed,” Cliff said.
“If he had one.” Elvira smirked.
Sally Sue turned her head away from the second dead body she’d ever seen, only this one, she’d killed. “Cliff, it’s that mountain man who came to the cabin.”
“And he was also my husband.” Elvira closed his eyes with a swipe.
“I’m sorry.” Sally Sue took Elvira’s hand.
“Don’t be. He deserted me long ago. You done the world a favor. He was mean as a rabid dog—wild, wily, a scalawag, a scavenger. He deserved to die.” She looked at Sally Sue. “No sweet honey in him.”
“Guess I ought to bury him,” Cliff offered.
“Don’t bother.” Elvira growled. “Let the coyotes pick at him. Besides, Sheriff’s been after him for ages. He might wanna see the body.”
“You sure?” Sally Sue couldn’t imagine leaving someone out here like that, even a scalawag. “Let’s at least say a few words.”
Elvira nodded.
Cliff joined Sally Sue in the recitation of the 23rd Psalm: “The lord is my shepherd. I shall not want . . .”
As they walked back down the hill, Elvira asked, “Still offering to drop me off in town?”
“Sure can.” Cliff smiled sadly at her.
They pulled the buckboard upright. Cliff whistled for the horses and hooked them up.
“You go to church with your gal, and I’ll tell the sheriff what’s what,” Elvira said.
Cliff cleared his throat. “Are you sure? Shouldn’t I go with you?”
“Nah. I can handle it.”
/> “Wanna ride up front with my hubby?” Sally Sue asked Elvira.
“No, I’ll hunker down in the back.” Elvira stuck her hand out, and Cliff boosted her up.
“I’m going to ride back here to comfort our friend. She’s just become a widow, after all.” Sally Sue hopped in beside Elvira, settled in, and patted her hand. Even though he’d been a despicable scoundrel, Sally Sue felt horrible about killing him.
47
Sorry for your troubles.” Sally Sue put her arm around Elvira.
“Me too.”
Cliff clucked, and the buckboard began to bump along.
“Children?” Sally Sue asked.
“I had five. They all passed. One at a time. Last one died this winter. Ran out of vittles. I did my best to feed them.” Elvira sniffled.
Sally Sue handed her a hanky from her pocket. “I’m sure you did.”
Elvira dabbed her eyes and blew her nose. “Worked my tail off. Sold herbs, did mending, even worked as a cattle-ranch hand.”
“You did?” Imagine that, a woman working with livestock.
“Still do, but only during roundup season. It’s gonna be different this year, on account there’s a warrant out for Mr. Brigham Young’s arrest. He was forced to sell his shares and hastily exit the territory.”
“Why?”
“He’s one of those Mormon polygamists. Maybe now that my husband’s dead, I can track down Mr. Young and get him to wed me as one of his sister-wives. He takes real good care of them.”
“You’d do that?”
Elvira cackled.
They passed an oak grove. A herd of sheep grazed in a nearby meadow. Sally Sue thought she’d rather have sheep than cows on the ranch, as long as they didn’t have vermin.
“What did you do on the ranch?” Sally Sue asked.
“Castratin’.”
“What?” Sally Sue stared at her.
“Yep, been asked to do it for another outfit this season. They’ve got one hundred seventy head at the Arizona Cattle Company, and branding time’s coming up. I’m the best around here, with small hands perfectly suited for the duty.” Elvira wiggled her fingers.