by Danni Roan
"Yes, Miss Maggie?" He queried stepping out of the barn. "Saddle up Chaz and we'll go berry picking." Quickly Chaz had the horses ready and with a picnic lunch packed they headed out to the berry patches they had seen before.
Blackberries hung dark and ripe on the bushes and even though the birds had been gorging themselves on the rich fruit there was plenty to be packed into the bowls and basket that Maggie had brought. They also gathered up black walnuts from the ground where they had fallen and ranging up the hills found blue berries growing thick and low along the hill side. Maggie raised her eyes to heaven and called.
“Thank you for your rich and plentiful bounty.”
With the sun still high in the sky they made their way to the stream where Chaz set up a trot line and they sat down to eat their lunch of sandwiches. By the time the sun was nearly to the horizon and they started making their way back to the cabin Chaz had a string of trout for their supper which on arriving at the cabin were quickly floured, and fried along with crispy potatoes.
Chaz seemed especially thrilled with his catch and Maggie noticed he ate even more that his usual helping of it. She smiled at the way the boy had filled out and grown over the past few months. He looked healthy and happy and she was glad to have him call her little valley home. She was also thankful for how well he could hunt and trap and how all of the game he brought home added to their stores for the winter.
Chapter 6
The weather was progressively getting colder as fall came creeping in to the valley in flares of gold, and orange. The aspens at the tree line turned to shimmering waves of yellow and grass turned brown as the days grew colder and shorter.
A bright frost lay on the valley as Maggie swung her shawl around her shoulders and picked up her basket to go and collect eggs from the hen house. Breathing deeply of the cool sharp air she stepped out into the barn yard and turned left toward the small structure that nestled between the edge of the house and the barn, directly in front of the well fenced garden patch.
At first glance she thought Chaz had left an old canvas near the shed, but as she approached she saw that the bundle of buckskins had a long white braid down its back. Dropping her basket Maggie raced to the old Indian’s side. Gently she rolled him over and listened for the faintest hint of breath. He was breathing but was nearly blue with cold.
“Chaz!” She yelled loudly “Chaz, help!” In moments the young man stepped from the front porch, rifle in hand. “Help me get him inside.” Maggie pleaded and together they half carried half dragged the frail old man into the snug cabin and placed him on Chaz’ stick and string bed by the fire.
While Maggie fetched warm blankets, Chaz moved to the fire place and soon the heat from the blaze seeped into the cool house.
“You keep an eye on him and I’ll make some corn meal mush.” Maggie said apprehensively and hurried to the stove where she quickly got a pot of salted water boiling. Carefully she poured the yellow corn meal into the roiling pot and stirred until a thin gruel was simmering on the back of the stove. She then went back to where Chaz sat watching the old man.
“We’d better go ahead and eat and you can get on with your chores.” Maggie urged. “I’ll watch him.” For a moment Chaz looked at her questioningly. “I’m sure I’ll be alright.”
Then together they walked back into the kitchen for a hot bowl of mush with a liberal dollop of molasses. After breakfast she smiled reassuringly as Chaz picked up his coat and walked back out to the barn. The warm cabin and the bright sunlight streaming through its windows soon echoed to the sound of Maggie humming as she worked on her mending. It was quite suddenly that the old man awoke and tried to rise. Springing to her feet, Maggie leaned over him and gently pushed him back down.
“It’s alright,” she said softly smiling at him and praying that he could understand. But she needn't have worried as he was far too weak to rise. Still speaking to him she went to the stove and scooped out a bowl of gruel, then poured on a swirl of molasses and carried it to the old man. Smiling she offered it to him but realizing he was too weak to even feed himself she lifted the spoon to his mouth. For a long moment, his wizened dark, brown eyes met her dark green ones questioningly but then he opened his mouth and allowed her to spoon a bit of the food into it. Maggie chatted cheerfully to the old man as she fed him.
“I just don’t know how you got here,” she said smiling. “It’s such a remote valley. Though father did tell me about Indians near here when I was a child, he even said he had traded with them.”
Eventually the old man could eat no more and soon drifted off into a peaceful sleep. Sitting next to him, staring into his weathered face, Maggie lifted a prayer that he would not die and that perhaps some how they could be friends.
Although he did not speak even once to Maggie or Chaz, the old Indian seemed comfortable enough around them although he did seem startled when Moxy and Mawl came over to sniff at him.
Over the next two days Maggie made rich broths and simple gruels for the old man who seemed to be regaining some strength. Little by little she left him more and more on his own in the cabin and resumed her chores. Each time she prepared to leave she made sure he had something to drink and easy access to both the chamber pot and extra blankets. Even Moxy and Mawl seemed pleased to have the silent visitor in their home and often one or the other of them could be seen curled up on his bed. Maggie and Chaz both kindly chatted with the old man but still he did not speak.
On the fourth day that the old man was with them Maggie was in the winter cellar getting carrots, potatoes and onions to add to the rabbit she had simmering on the stove when as she stepped back outside she and saw the line of four horses coming down a steep trail to the west.
Each pony was clearly visible, its mottled brown and white hide standing out starkly in the ever more barren trees. For a long moment she stood there watching the little group pick its way into her valley, recognizing almost at once that these mounted men were Indians. Boldly she walked around to the front of the cabin, where Chaz stood by the corral, rifle in hand as all three of their stock animals perked their ears toward the other horses. Together they stood in the barn yard and waited. It took nearly a half an hour for the four riders to gallop across the open fields to where Chaz and Maggie stood.
“I don’t know much about Indians. Ms. Maggie.” Chaz volunteered as they approached. “The last place I worked they sometimes came in and traded at the big house, but other than that….” His voice trailed off as the first rider drew near.
The brave sat tall on his pintos back. His black braids falling over each shoulder in deep contrast to his brown buckskin jacket. Behind him two more braves rode, one of them leading an extra saddle horse. Silently whispering a prayer, Maggie stepped forward.
“Hello,” she said simply, not knowing what else she should do. “I’m Maggie Westen, you are welcome here.” For a long moment the tense silence stretched out between the two parties. Then the one who was obviously the leader lifted his hand and returned her greeting.
“We have come looking for an old one who has wondered away. Have you seen him?”
Maggie smiled with relief “Yes, he is with us. Won’t you please step down and come inside, you can see for yourself.”
In one fluid movement the young braves slid from their mounts then followed Maggie toward the cabin. On entering the snug room, the first thing they saw was the old man sitting up by the fire, stroking the head of Moxy as she sprawled her long tawny form across his chest. All three braves came to a sudden stop; Chaz nearly walking into the last one, as in shock they stared at the old man, then turned to look questioningly at Maggie.
The old man turned toward them and smiled, beckoning the small party to his side. Swiftly the three Indians stepped up to his bed and knelt beside him. Soon a rapid fire conversation was heard in a strange language as the old man spoke, the other three would glance back at Maggie and Chaz, then turn their attention to their elder once more. Finally, he waved them away and the yo
ung brave who had first spoken to Maggie approached her.
“Grandfather, has told us what you have done for him.” He stated. “We thank you for taking him in. We will take him home now.”
“Do you think you should travel tonight?” Maggie asked looking at the old man, still sitting quietly in the bed and petting the purring bobcat. “It will be dark soon. You are welcome to stay tonight. We have food and you can sleep warmly enough in the barn.”
For long moments the party discussed this option and then the young brave again said “Thank you.” With that he strode outside. The braves then gathered their horses, quickly hobbled them, and turned them out on grass.
Maggie, breathed a sigh of relief then turned back to the stove and finished adding her vegetables to the pot. Looking around the kitchen she pulled down the flour, baking powder, salt and lard and began making a batch of biscuits.
That night the old man joined them for the first time at the table. He and his grandson sitting in chairs while the other two politely sat on the floor. Maggie dished up the rabbit stew and handed each of them a large warm biscuit.
“I’m sorry I don’t have any butter.” She said as she passed the blueberry jam she had canned. “I’m afraid we haven’t been able to get a cow or goat yet.” Stony faces looked back at her but they ate heartily.
The next morning, without ceremony the three braves walked boldly in to the cabin as Maggie was just putting jonny cakes on the table. Chaz stood as the three dark men entered and walked to the old man. Seeing that they would not stay, Maggie simply wrapped some of the cakes in a cloth and handed it to one of the men: then watched as they mounted up and left.
“Well, I guess that’s that.” She said to Chaz as they sat down to eat their breakfast, but she added a prayer for the old man and his braves as she thanked the Lord for her food.
As the weather turned colder, the two large cats stayed near the house and although they still hunted for mice in the barn and sheds, they could always be found curled up in the cabin at night enjoying the warmth of both the fire and their human companions. Maggie and Chaz had foraged far and wide around the mountains gathering both nuts and berries to sustain them through the coming winter. Maggie had canned as many fruits and vegetables as her store of jars would allow and had also dried many fruits that she would be able to use throughout the cold season.
It had been nearly a month when once more Maggie looked up from her work in the yard to see the young brave on the painted pony descending into her valley. Behind him came two more creatures that she couldn’t clearly make out. When he finally arrived at the cabin door he was leading a mother goat and her kid. Maggie, feeling somewhat bewildered, greeted him and asked him to step down from his mount. He declined but handed her the raw hide rope attached to the large white goat that was now happily nibbling what grass remained in the yard.
“I don’t understand.” Maggie started. “Why are you bringing me a goat?”
“Grandfather has gone on to meet the Great Spirit. He is no more. We wish to thank you for your kindness to him. Goat.” He said making it clear it was a gift.
“Thank you.” She replied, unsure what salutation would be acceptable. “The one thing I was sadly missing was a milk animal. This is far too kind of you. Isn’t there anything else I can offer you in return?”
“You were kind to an old man even though he was not one of your old men. It is enough, but perhaps one day I will return and we will trade.” And with that he wheeled his pony and galloped away.
Chapter 7
The last warmth of summer seemed to leave the valley all at once and now the weather had turned cold. Gray clouds scudded across the mountain tops which were quickly being dusted with snow. Frost lay heavy in the fields each morning and the edges of the water trough were ringed in ice, before the sun could melt it in the early afternoon. Soon snow would fall and Maggie knew that her little valley would be closed off to the rest of the world.
After going through her stores one last time she concluded it was time for one more trip to Saw Brush. Carefully she planned and organized wishing the trip could be avoided but knowing their supplies of dried goods would not last the winter.
She had made several cheeses from the goats’ milk, and this with some of the wild berry jam she had made would possibly be worth selling in the small town. The goat was still feeding her kid so would survive a day or two without milking, which meant that as far as she could see there was no reason for her to put off going any longer.
She hated to leave the quiet of her home. It seemed like a lifetime ago she was in a town surrounded by people, still she knew she had to go. It was early October now and she felt that if she waited any longer it would be too late so early in the morning, with the frost crunching under hoof, they set out. The morning was cold and Maggie felt the chilly air nipping her nose and ears. The horses stepped out quickly, feeling frisky in the chill air of autumn.
They made good time moving down the mountain, and even though it was already dark when they arrived at the livery stable it wasn’t truly late. Taking a few moments to speak to Charlie she and Chaz then headed straight to the general store to place their order. This trip there would be no chance for relaxation, they would simply see if they could sell what they had brought, purchase their supplies and leave.
Maggie was surprised to see so many men in the store so late, she expected that they would be at chores or home for supper, but several of them sat by the fire playing checkers, while others stood about idly gossiping. Placing their heavy panniers on the counter Maggie spoke to the clerk. He was more than pleased to purchase the cheese explaining that they got very little cheese as most farmers and ranchers needed it for their families and hands.
“Besides,” he added “everyone around here only has cows and with things the way they are it’s getting even harder to get any produce in town.”
He was also pleased with the jam and bought all of it. Maggie then placed her order asking that it be delivered to the livery and then together she and Chaz walked to the hotel for dinner. Once again Maggie was surprised by the number of men, ordering dinner at the restaurant, or walking the streets in town. A strange restlessness seemed to be hanging over the town. She could not put a finger on the problem but felt it very keenly, and with a shiver that had nothing to do with the cold, she realized she would be glad to be leaving first thing in the morning.
Dinner was a subdued meal, the atmosphere of un-ease even oozed into the small quaint dining room, despite its soft wallpaper and bright white paint. Serving men and woman scurried from table to table jumping at any loud noises as if in anticipation of some eminent catastrophe. That night Maggie asked if a bath could be prepared for her before bed and was astounded at the elaborate room that was used for the purpose. It had only recently been installed and she was amazed to see one of the few luxuries of the big city she had missed so much. It felt amazing to stretch out in a full length tub instead of the old wash tub at the cabin and she had every intention of enjoying it.
She had just finished washing her hair when the false calm was shattered by gun fire. Jumping at the sound she quickly climbed from the still steaming water and dried herself off, getting dressed as quickly as possible. Tonight Chaz had finally agreed to stay in the hotel with her and together they raced to the window and looked down into the street below as more shots rang out.
There below them in the dirt, in a half circle of tough looking cowboys stood a simple farmer, jumping at every shout that rang out as bullets peppered the ground near his feet. As the shooting subsided Maggie could just hear the jeering of the punchers.
“You filthy, mud grubber, why don’t you dance?” This was followed by more shots and harsh laughter as the unarmed man jigged about on his toes. Maggie was horrified. How could this be happening? Quickly she grabbed up her warm coat and raced down the stairs, and pelted through the front door of the hotel.
“What do you think you are doing?” She shouted at the gun men. A
s if on cue the four punchers turned as one; a smooth, oiled movement, guns still raised.
Then another voice rang out clear and cold as he stepped his big sorrel out of the shadows. “You heard the lady, what do you think you’re doing? This fella obviously is just moving on and isn’t looking for any trouble. Why don’t you fellas, head on down to the saloon and have a drink on me now real quiet and friendly?” Mr. Vane’s voice was clear in the early evening air. His tone commanded, but still the four punchers looked at him, a trace of confusion on their faces as they studied him, one of them responded.
“Why sure, that sounds like a fine idea. We was just havin’ a little fun you know, no harm done.” With that he elbowed his nearest companion and with a start they all walked down the street, glancing back occasionally at the tall man on the big horse.
Mr. Vane swung out of the saddle, then scooped up the old farmer’s hat from the ground where it had fallen and handed to him. The man flinched back at first but then took the hat with a muted thank you.
“I reckon you were just going on home; now weren’t you partner?” Asked Mr. Vane. “I figure you’d better get moving then before your family starts to worry about you.” He smiled then, a wide, even white smile as the other man scurried down the street to a wagon waiting near the general store.
“Why Mrs. Weston, such a pleasure to see you again.” Mr. Vane drawled turning that bright smile on her. “I didn’t even know you were in town. Will we have the pleasure of meeting Mr. Weston this trip, or is it just you and that brother of yours again?” For a long moment Maggie, just looked at him. Strange emotions racing through her as he stood there in front of her.
“Oh, Mr. Vane.” She finally managed. “Thank you so much. That poor man. I hope things like this don’t happen often.”