Fire of the Covenant

by Gerald N. Lund

  The residents had come out to watch, barely speaking to the Mormons but not treating them unkindly either. That was a blessing, Maggie decided. Several nights running now, the locals from surrounding settlements had come out to harass the emigrants. Mostly they just came after dark and stood near the edges of the camp, cursing and calling out obscenities. Often there would be young rowdies waiting at the creek and river crossings. They would whistle and clap vulgarly as the women and girls lifted their skirts enough to ford the water. Tight-lipped, they would ignore them and move on in silence, anxious to be out of Iowa and past the last of the settlements so that there would be no more tormentors.

  The cart jolted sharply as the left wheel hit a rock and bounced over it. Maggie straightened. At the moment, her mother and Emma were pulling their cart. Maggie and Robbie were at the back pushing. “Are you ready to switch, Mama?” she called.

  “Another few minutes. I think there’s a creek up ahead. Doesn’t that look like trees?”

  Maggie peered forward. There was a dark line along the western horizon.

  “It’s Muddy Creek,” Robbie sang out. “Captain Woodward told me that’s where we’ll camp tonight.”

  A creek? To Maggie, that word was like hearing music on the night air. Not just another stagnant slough where they had to strain various particles and small little “wrigglers” out of the water before they could drink it. Not just a creekbed where the men dug down in the sand until water began to seep into the hole, thick with silt and usually a dark brown. In a real creek there would be fresh water for drinking and cooking. In a real creek she could roll up her sleeves and unbutton the collar around her neck and use her handkerchief to remove some of the sandy paste that was driving her nearly insane.

  Just then a shout from up ahead brought Maggie’s head up. As usual, the footmen were out ahead of the company about a hundred yards. They always left before the main camp so as to avoid the dust and keep ahead of the column. They had stopped and the first of the handcarts were just coming up to them. Then Maggie saw why. Farther away, coming at a steady trot, was a group of horsemen. Captain Willie, at the head of the company, was staring at the oncoming riders. He stood up in the stirrups and called back down the line. “Hold up. Stop the carts.”

  One by one the handcarts rolled to a stop. The lead company moved up around their captain four and five abreast. The following companies stopped where they were. Those in the back were not even sure at first why they were stopping. As the riders drew closer a tremor of fear swept up and down the line. There were six men and each had a rifle out, muzzles up and pointed at the sky. Mothers beckoned urgently to their children. Fathers stepped in front of their families. The few men who had rifles—primarily the subcaptains and the appointed hunters—stepped closer to the carts or wagons so as to be able to grab their weapons if necessary.

  As the column shuddered to a halt, Captain Willie rode his horse slowly forward.

  “Is it Indians, Mama?” The question came from Martha James, who was ten. Her father quickly shook his head. “No, it’s not Indians. It will be all right.”

  The group of men had come up to Captain Willie now and the lead rider dismounted. Captain Willie did the same.

  “Brother Willie doesn’t seem frightened,” Mary McKensie noted.

  And that was true. Their captain was speaking to the leader of the group. The other men still sat on their horses. The rifles were still out but were held casually. There had been no threatening moves. Maggie saw a flash of white and realized the leader of the group was handing Captain Willie a paper. After a moment, Willie and the man started toward the lead supply wagon, both of them leading their horses. The other five put their rifles in their scabbards, dismounted, and fell into line behind them.

  There was an almost audible sigh as the emigrants saw that. There was not going to be trouble. Then, like the hum of an approaching swarm of bees, the word started down the line. “It’s a sheriff and some deputies from a nearby town,” someone called softly. “They have a warrant to search the wagons.”

  “What are they looking for?” someone said in a low voice.

  “Didn’t say. Pass the word back. Captain Willie says everything is all right.”

  Robbie bolted away, carrying the word back to the next group of emigrants. Every eye was on the wagons now. Elder Willie stood back as the men began opening the canvas covers and looking inside. After a moment, they climbed back down again. Whatever it was they were looking for must be large and easily spotted, for this was not a thorough search.

  Then Levi Savage, captain of the second hundred, which was in the lead today, came swiftly down the line. “They’re looking for young women,” he said. “Someone told the sheriff that we are holding young single women as prisoners.”

  “What?” several people exclaimed in astonishment.

  He laughed. “They think we’ve got them tied up and are taking them to Utah to be plural wives of the brethren. I think the sheriff realizes now that he’s been sold a bill of goods, but he’s got to search to make sure. Just cooperate. There won’t be any trouble.”

  Sarah and Maggie looked at each other, and then started to laugh. Sarah held out her hands, wrists together as though they were bound. “At last we shall be free, Maggie. Praise the heavens.”

  Emma started to giggle and Reuben James hooted. Then Jane James shushed them quickly. “Look,” she said.

  Captain Willie and the six men were in a circle now. Maggie saw the sheriff wave an arm toward the column. Willie nodded. Immediately the men split up, each heading for a different part of the line, their horses in tow behind them. “Brethren and sisters,” Brother Willie shouted. “These men are law officers. They want to search the company. Everything’s fine. Please cooperate with them.”

  The two families stood together now watching as the men approached. The sheriff and Captain Willie angled off for the back of the column. One man started directly toward where the Jameses and McKensies waited. He walked with a swagger, and as he approached, Maggie saw the glint of a silver star pinned to his vest. It was obvious he had seen that there were young women in this group and had chosen them as his target.

  “Just stay calm,” William James whispered.

  As he came up to them, Maggie was surprised to see that he was a young man, no older than her and Sarah. He wore a large hat that had a dark ring around the brim. Like the emigrants, his clothes were dusty. He had narrow green eyes and a thick handlebar mustache that covered most of his mouth. A bandanna was tied around his neck, and he had a pistol strapped to his hip. His face was set as he looked from one to another. But there was no mistaking it. His gaze was fixed on Maggie, Sarah, and Emma.

  Suddenly his mouth twisted into a wicked grin that was almost more of grimace than a smile. He swept off this hat. His hair was thick and in need of a cut. There was a ring of red around his forehead where the hatband had been and Maggie saw beads of sweat as well. She took some comfort in knowing that these men too were suffering the effects of a very warm day.

  “Ladies,” he said, half bowing in mock respect. “My name is Deputy Carl King. I am here as an official officer of the law to ask you some questions.”

  Emma shrunk back against her father. Suddenly anxious, Mary moved in closer to Maggie and Sarah. “What kind of questions?” she asked.

  “Are you married, ma’am?” he replied.

  “Widowed. My husband passed away some years ago.”

  “And you?” he asked Jane James.

  “Yes. This is my husband.”

  The deputy glanced at Brother James and deliberately rested his hand on the butt of his pistol. “Sir, I’ll just ask you to stand back and not interfere, please.”

  There was a sudden chill now. There was not even a trace of friendliness in the man. His voice was cold and his eyes like two pieces of stone. He motioned to Emma. “You there. Come up here beside these other two.”

  She did so, standing close to Sarah.

  “I’m going
to ask you three some questions and I don’t want no lies, you understand?”

  “We don’t lie,” Maggie said calmly. “Why would you think we would?”

  His eyes narrowed as he glared at her, but he let it pass. “How old are you?”

  “Nineteen,” Maggie responded. “Nineteen,” Sarah said. “Sixteen,” answered Emma.

  “Are any of you married?”

  They all shook their heads.

  “You’re sure you’re not one of them there plural wives for some old geezer in the train here?”

  Maggie gave him a disgusted look. “We are all single. We are not married to anyone. Nor are we promised to anyone.”

  He looked at her more closely. “Where you from?” he demanded.

  “Scotland.”

  He swung on Sarah. “And you?” Maggie went cold as she saw that now there was open admiration in his eyes.

  Sarah looked away, seeing what Maggie saw as well. “England.”

  “Jolly good,” he said softly, mocking her accent. “And ain’t you the pretty one.” Then he got serious again. “Are any of you being held against your will?”

  Maggie laughed contemptuously. “Does it look like we are in ball and chain?”

  “Maggie,” Mary warned softly.

  The man’s lip curled angrily. “Roll up your sleeves,” he barked.

  “What?”

  “Are you deaf?” he snarled. “You heard me. Roll up your sleeves.” He jerked his finger at each of them. “All of you. I want to check for rope burns.”

  Maggie was incredulous. “You surely can’t be serious.”

  “I think you’re being taken to Utah as wives for all them poll-iggy-mists there.”

  Sarah laughed right in his face as she unbuttoned her sleeve and pulled it up. “Another wonderful lie about the Mormons,” she said. When her sleeves were up, she thrust her arms toward him.

  Maggie and Emma did the same. “Look,” Maggie said. “No rope burns. No scars. No whip marks.”

  “You’re kind of a mouthy one, aren’t you?” he said, stepping closer.

  She didn’t flinch or back away but she held her tongue. The hardness on his face told her that she had better keep her Scottish temper in check. But Sarah was angry now as well. Without waiting for his permission she pulled down her sleeves and buttoned them again. “Anything else?” she said coldly.

  For the first time he seemed less sure of himself. “You swear that you’re going west of your own free will and choice? No one has taken you captive?”

  Maggie felt very tired all of a sudden, remembering the confrontation she had faced with another defiant young man on a street in Edinburgh. This man had that same look in his eyes. He hated Mormons, and he didn’t want to hear anything that took away from his reasons for doing so. “We are not captives,” she said tightly. “We are not slaves. We are going west with our families because we want to be where people don’t tell stupid lies about Mormons and where there aren’t other stu—” She caught herself. “And where there aren’t other people who believe those lies.”

  “Maggie,” her mother said softly as the deputy stiffened. “That’s enough.”

  Brother James took a step forward but froze as the pistol lifted half out of its holster. “You stay back, mister,” the man cried. Then he swung back to Maggie. His jaw was a hard angular line and his eyes were two glittering coals. His lips tightened to a thin line. “Missy, I suggest you just keep your mouth shut. If I want to know anything more from you, I’ll ask you. Is that clear?”

  Maggie saw her mistake. The deputy had ridden out with grand dreams of rescuing a dozen or so fair young damsels from the clutches of wicked old “geezers,” as he called them. Now he looked incredibly foolish and he knew it. And he didn’t like that. Not one bit. Though it galled her to do so, she dropped her eyes and stared at the ground. She could feel his glare burning her skin. Finally, he snorted in disgust and turned to Sarah. “Now, you’re a looker, that’s for sure.”

  She started to turn away. His hand shot out and grabbed her arm, jerking her back around roughly. “Hey! I’m talking to you.”

  William James cried out and lunged forward. Almost too quick for the eye to follow, the deputy whipped out his pistol and clubbed downward. There was a solid thud and a low cry, and Brother James went down hard.

  “No!” Sarah cried, trying to pull away. Jane gave a soft cry and dropped to her husband’s side.

  The man spun Sarah around against his body, waving the pistol wildly. “Stay back. Everybody stay back.”

  When it was clear that everyone was doing exactly that, he grinned lasciviously. He pulled Sarah closer. “Always wanted to kiss me a Mormon girl. Especially one as pretty as you.”

  “No, please,” Sarah blurted, terrified now.

  “Leave her alone,” Maggie shouted. “You’ve got what you’re after. Go away.”

  He whirled so quickly that Maggie gasped and fell back a step. Sarah was freed as the deputy’s left hand shot out and grabbed Maggie by the hair. He pulled her head back sharply. Out of the corner of her eye, Maggie saw the pistol waving back and forth. Dimly she was aware of the others around her. Martha James started to cry. Maggie’s mother’s face was white. Emma looked suddenly sick.

  Maggie’s mother raised her hands in supplication. “Please,” Mary said. “She didn’t mean anything. Let her go.”

  He didn’t even glance in Mary’s direction. He was breathing hard and Maggie could smell his breath. It smelled of tobacco and, oddly enough, of fried bacon. “I’ll tell you when I’ve got what I’m after,” he hissed into her ear, his grip tightening on her hair. Then that terrible grin stole across his face again. “You ain’t near the looker that your friend here is, but maybe I’ll start with you just to warm up a little.”

  He yanked her head forward and kissed her hard and full on the mouth.

  When he pulled her head back again, he laughed raucously and waved the muzzle of the pistol in her face. “Bet you ain’t never been kissed like that before.”

  Maggie stared at him, the shock and disgust numbing her whole body. She was thoroughly frightened now. In Edinburgh, the boys had carried clubs. Here they carried something much more dangerous. She sensed that he was ready to hurt her, that he would enjoy hurting her.

  He jerked her head backwards again, pulling her close to his body. “How did you like it, missy?” he snarled. “Tell me you liked it.”

  Something deep down in Maggie’s Scottish nature flared. She lifted her chin, clamped her mouth tightly shut, and looked at him defiantly.

  It took him by surprise. She saw it in his eyes. But even as the shock registered it turned to fury. He jerked her head back harder, causing her back to bend sharply. “Say it, Mormon! I’m warning you!”

  “But she didn’t like it.”

  Everyone whirled as Eric Pederson stepped up beside them. The deputy spun around, letting go of Maggie as he fell back a little, pistol coming up quickly. Maggie dropped to one knee, but quickly recovered and stood again. She saw that others in the company had started to gather around. Captain Woodward was walking swiftly toward them. Then her eyes stopped on Eric. He stood beside her mother. He carried a three-foot length of shovel handle which the men used to lock the wheels when they were doing repairs on the handcarts. He stood casually, his face relaxed and almost smiling, but she saw that he tapped his leg with the handle softly in a slow, easy rhythm.

  The pistol came up and pointed at Eric. There was sudden panic in the deputy’s eyes. He hadn’t been paying attention and now he was nearly surrounded by people. “Who are you?”

  “I’m her brother.”

  King licked his lips, glancing at the others. He waved the pistol at Eric. “Get out of here. This ain’t none of your affair.”

  Eric took a step closer. When he spoke, his voice was almost conversational. “I heard sheriff. He said to learn if anything was wrong. He didn’t say you could be—” He turned and looked at Maggie. “How do you say it in English?
”

  “A dingbat,” she said contemptuously.

  “Dingbat?” He seemed puzzled.

  “Yes, it means empty-headed. Sawdust for brains. A dolt. A fool.”

  “Why, you—,” King cried. He lunged at Maggie, swinging the pistol. She gasped, but the shovel handle flashed in a blur of motion. There was a sharp crack and the young man screamed. The pistol flew from his hand and hit the ground with a solid thud.

  “You broke my arm!” King cried, falling back, clutching at his wrist.

  Eric bent over and picked up the pistol. He held it by the trigger guard and let it dangle harmlessly.

  “Oh my!” Emma breathed in astonishment.

  Maggie gaped at him. Eric had barely moved his body.

  “Get on your horse,” Eric said easily. “I shall give pistol to the sheriff.”

  The circle of people parted, opening a path to his mount. Cursing softly, still holding his right arm to his chest, the man backed away. His horse stood waiting a few feet from him. When he reached it he stopped, looking up at the saddle. “I can’t get up with my arm,” he wailed.

  “I will help,” Eric suggested, stepping forward.

  “No! No! It’s all right.” He reached up to the horn with his left arm and dragged himself into the saddle, crying out in pain as he did so.

  “Go,” Eric commanded, motioning with his club toward the head of the column. “Wait up there.”

  As King rode away, there was a shout from behind them. They turned to see Captain Willie, the sheriff, and the other men on their horses coming toward them on the run. When he saw his deputy riding off, the sheriff spurred his horse. The others did the same. Now the group of emigrants fell back into a line, leaving Eric and Maggie standing in front of them.

  The law officer pulled up sharply, staring at Eric, who still had King’s pistol dangling from his finger. “What’s going on here?” he demanded.

  Maggie stepped forward. “Your deputy asked us his questions, Sheriff, and we gave him our answers. Then he got fresh with us.” She looked at Sarah, who still looked a little dazed. “He decided he wanted to kiss some Mormon girls.”