Train from Marietta

by Dorothy Garlock

  In spite of the pain it caused him, Tate grinned at her. “I don’t think that’s likely. If you were going to fall to pieces, you would have done it when Hayden had you.”

  “Do you think Eddy and Squirrelly are waiting for him back at the cabin?”

  “They’ll wait for a while. Neither one of them has the sense it would take to survive out here. If you are right that your father’s partner is ramrodding this thing, they will have to tell him that they let you get away from them.”

  “Eddy hinted strongly that his uncle was forcing him to do this. He told me that he agreed so that he could see that no harm came to me. He has tried, but he’s not the type to stand up against Hayden and Squirrelly. As soon as we get to town, I’ll call my father.”

  “Yes. We’ll head there. I’ll call Lyle if he isn’t already in Muddy Creek.”

  “I wish Luke would come. I’m worried about how we are going to get you back to town.”

  “Luke will build a travois when he gets here.”

  “What’s that?”

  “It’s a blanket stretched between two poles and dragged by a horse.”

  “He can’t drag you out of here on a blanket. I won’t allow it.”

  “It isn’t as rough as it sounds. Leave it to Luke. He’ll know what to do.”

  Tate leaned up on his good elbow and cocked his head to listen. “That’s the signal. He’s back.” He put his fingers between his lips and whistled. A few seconds passed, and Kate heard the whistle repeated.

  “How will he know where to find us?”

  “He has seen the smoke from the fire. He knows where we are. He whistled so we wouldn’t shoot him when he came in.”

  Kate waited anxiously for the Indian boy to appear. When he did, she was surprised to see that he wasn’t alone. Three other Indian boys were with him.

  “I’m back,” he said. “I send telegram.”

  “Good.”

  Luke brushed past her and went to kneel beside Tate. “You hurt? You going to be dead?”

  “I sure as hell hope not.”

  “Of course, he’s not going to be dead. We’ve got to get him down to a doctor.”

  “We see nothing of Hayden.”

  “Kate shot him. He’s back over there in the bushes.”

  “Dead?”

  “Dead as a doornail.”

  Luke’s face creased in one of his rare grins. “Your woman did it?”

  “I’m not his woman,” Kate said sternly.

  Luke ignored her outburst. “You hurt bad, Tate? You going to be dead?” he asked again.

  “No, you muttonhead.”

  “Then why you lay down and let your woman tend the fire?”

  “He’s got a hole in his side and one in his arm,” Kate said defensively. “He needs to see a doctor. How will we get him out of here?”

  “I know. I no dumb Indian. I build good travois.” He turned and spoke rapidly to the three boys with him. One pulled a hatchet out of his belt and took off for a patch of trees; the others followed. “They get poles for travois.” Luke turned to Kate. “You done good to shoot Hayden.”

  “He would have killed me if she hadn’t,” Tate said. “Hayden was one tough hombre. I’ll give him that.”

  “Tough and mean,” Kate said. “Are we going to bury him? We just can’t leave him for the animals.”

  “Why?” Luke said.

  “Because we’re civilized, that’s why.”

  “What’s ‘civilized’?”

  Tate looked up at Kate. “Explain, Kate, what ‘civilized’ means.”

  “Now, don’t you be giving me any trouble.” She put the palm of her hand on his forehead, then removed the blanket to look at his side. Thank goodness it’s stopped bleeding. Kate quickly and efficiently removed the bandage on his side. She held up the white cloth. “Cut this in two for me, Luke.” When he handed the cloth back, she folded one of the pieces and pressed it against the wound, then tucked Tate’s shirt down into his pants to hold it in place. The wound on his arm was still bleeding. She wrapped the other half of her petticoat around it and tied it into place. “You have to drink again, Tate.” Kate lifted his head and held the canteen to his mouth. She looked up at the Indian boy. “Do you have water?”

  “You think I am like silly city boy? Course, I got water.”

  “Good, because he’s going to need it before we get him to town.”

  The three Indian boys returned with two long poles. They tied the ends together to make an A-frame. Luke quickly set to work building a platform on the end of the poles. After laying two blankets out, he pulled leather thongs out of his pouch, punched holes in the blankets with his knife, and tied the blankets to the poles. He worked swiftly, and soon the blankets were secure. He spread Tate’s bedroll on top, then lay down on it to test it. “It’ll do,” he said. Two of the Indian boys lifted the tied ends of the poles over the horse’s rump and secured them to the saddle, while the other boy positioned the poles that would drag.

  “Can you move it closer to Tate?” Kate asked. “I don’t want him getting up and walking to it.”

  After moving the travois over to where Tate lay, Luke nodded to the three boys. Each of them picked up a corner of the blanket Tate lay on. The four boys lifted him and placed him on the travois. Tate closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. Kate knew he was in pain. While one of the boys was throwing dirt on the fire, she picked up her bag, the rifle, and the pistol.

  “Give me the rifle,” Tate said. “It’s too heavy for you to carry.” She placed it beside him and handed him his hat.

  Luke went ahead to pick the smoothest trail. One of the boys led the horse. The other two had disappeared, but Kate knew they were somewhere nearby. She walked along beside Tate, wishing she had something to ease his pain. He never made a sound, not even when the poles bounced over the rough ground. His eyes were closed, and Kate fervently hoped that he could sleep. When he called her name, his voice was weak. He held up his hand. She hurried to him and clasped it in one of hers. “When you get tired, tell Luke,” he said. “He’ll stop and you can ride on the horse.”

  “Tate Castle, I’ll do no such thing. I wouldn’t think of getting on that horse.”

  “You’ll be worn-out by noon.”

  “Luke will stop and rest the horse. I’ll rest then.”

  The sun, on its way to the zenith, was relentless. Kate trudged along beside the travois that carried Tate. His hat shaded his face, but she could see rivulets of sweat running down from his temples. She hurried ahead and called out to the Indian boy who was leading the horse.

  “Stop. Tate needs water.”

  The boy turned and looked at her, clearly not understanding her words. Kate signaled with her hand toward Tate and from Tate to the canteen that hung over the horse’s saddle. The boy got the message and stopped the horse. She carried the canteen back to where Tate lay. “You need water,” she said. She unscrewed the lid and held the canteen to his mouth. He lifted his head and took a mouthful of the water.

  “You,” he said, and pushed the canteen toward her.

  “I don’t need any yet.”

  “Drink. You’re not used to this heat.”

  Kate took a handkerchief from her pocket and wet it with water from the canteen. She lifted his hat and spread the handkerchief over his face and patted it down with her hand.

  “That feels good,” Tate muttered. “But it’s a waste of water.”

  She held the canteen to his lips again. “Take another drink. Luke says we have enough water.”

  “There’s never enough in this country.”

  Kate didn’t answer. She hung the canteen back on the saddle and motioned for the boy to go on. She walked beside the travois. Tate handed her his hat. “Put it on.”

  She didn’t argue. After placing the hat on her head, she clasped the hand Tate held out to her. His fingers tightened around hers with surprising strength.

  “When you get tired, I’ll whistle for Luke to stop,” he told her.<
br />
  “We should keep going as long as possible. I want to get you to town. You need the care of the doctor.”

  “You patched me up pretty good with your petticoat.”

  “How did you know it was my petticoat?”

  “Because it smelled like what fell out of your suitcase on the train.”

  “You’re not going to let me forget that, are you?”

  “I’m not going to forget it.”

  “I’ll not forget it either. I’ve never been so embarrassed in all my life.”

  She looked down to see that his eyes were closed, but he still held tightly to her hand.

  “Will Luke stop at noon?” she asked him.

  “Indians don’t eat three meals a day. They eat when they’re hungry. He’ll stop soon, or I’ll whistle.”

  “Don’t you dare whistle on my account.” Kate turned to see the Indian boy trying to calm the horse. He kept repeating a word she didn’t understand.

  Tate rose up from the travois. “He’s saying the devil steer is near. Devil steer is what the Indians call the longhorns.” Tate reached for the rifle at his side and grunted with pain. Kate grabbed it, jacked a bullet into the cylinder, and held it at ready.

  “Give me that,” Tate said.

  “You can’t hold it with your bad arm.”

  Tate called to the boy and spoke rapidly. The boy came back and took hold of Kate’s arm and tried to pull her around to the other side of the travois and up a bank to a large tree.

  “Go with him,” Tate shouted. “Let him help you up the tree.”

  Kate jerked loose and came back to the travois. “I’m not going to leave you. I’ll handle the rifle. You’ve got the pistol.”

  It was then she saw the steer. He seemed calm and moved toward them with a swing stride that caused his dewlap to sway like the pendulum on a clock. The steer’s tailbone was a peak in the rear, and deep hollows showed between his ribs and hipbone. He picked his way down toward them. The longhorn’s coat was not merely shaggy, but rough, patchy. He was still shedding his winter hair. It was the color of sandstone and limestone with highlights and shadows of spotted moss. He was fierce-looking and alert to them. Then he stopped and stood still. His big head sagged far out ahead of his narrow hump. When his back legs spread, Tate shouted a warning to Kate.

  Suddenly, so fast it was hard to believe what was happening, the beast charged. The frightened horse reared, almost throwing Tate to the ground. The hooves of the enraged beast pounded on the hard ground as he sped down the hill toward them.

  “Go,” Tate shouted at Kate.

  Chapter 21

  KATE S EYES WERE FASTENED ON THE FIERCE-LOOKING animal coming toward them. She knelt down next to the travois and lifted the rifle. The end of the gun shook slightly, but she tried to hold it steady.

  “Give me the gun and go!” Tate commanded.

  Kate was so intent on the steer that she didn’t hear his words. All of her senses were fixed on the steer. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion. The animal drew so close that she could see its red-rimmed eyes.

  Suddenly the steer stopped within a dozen yards of them. Massive hooves pawed at the rocky ground, sending small clouds of dust into the air. It looked confused, uncertain. Long strands of spittle hung from its mouth. The horns on each side of its head seemed to be a yard wide. Kate had only seen animals this large in a zoo. It seemed even more ferocious than the wildcat they had watched prowl the ledge across from their camp. The steer remained still for a moment, then spun and headed for a gully at the other side of the trail. Kate kept her eyes on the animal, not daring to believe that it was going to leave.

  “Now run,” Tate hissed.

  “I’m not leaving you here,” she shouted. “So shut up!”

  The animal turned slowly toward them again. For a moment, Kate feared that it had been attracted to the sound of their arguing voices. She gasped and realized that she had been holding her breath. Oh Lord, what if it charges and the horse bolts? Tate could be dragged along behind and killed! To lose Tate now would be more than she could endure.

  The beast turned so that it was facing them. Kate spoke in low tones to Tate. “Where is the best place to hit him?”

  “Between the eyes,” Tate answered. “If you get a second chance, aim between its front legs, just below the neck.”

  Kate pulled the rifle up and sighted on the steer’s head. She was wondering how close she should let the animal get when, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Luke run past her toward the steer.

  “Stay back, you crazy kid!” Tate shouted.

  Luke ignored him, moved close to the steer, and then darted away from it. He ran a short distance up a low hill, pulled the red cloth from around his head, and began to wave his arms and shout, trying to draw the steer’s attention away from them. It appeared at first that his ploy would work; the steer turned its massive body and began to move toward him. Then, even as the boy’s yelling increased, the animal lost interest, moving back down into the draw. Once again, its attention centered on the horse pulling the travois.

  “It’s not going to go away, is it?” Kate asked.

  “No.”

  “Will it charge?”

  “Don’t get panicked,” Tate said calmly. “Stay steady. You may only get one good shot, so don’t shoot until you’re sure.”

  Kate’s hands tightened on the rifle, and she tried to remember everything that her father had taught her about using a gun. She wiped a stray strand of hair from her sweaty brow and drew a deep breath. Calmly she sighted down the barrel, her hands no longer shaking.

  It went against her principles to take the life of any living thing, unless she was protecting herself or the man that she loved. She had shot Hayden without a second thought.

  Tate’s voice came softly to her ear. “I want you to know that I’m proud to know you. You’re the spunkiest woman I ever met. I wish we could have met under different circumstances.”

  “But we have met.” She wanted to turn, to look at him, but didn’t dare. “That’s what’s important.”

  The steer’s head moved back and forth. Maybe Luke had only made it angrier. The horse whinnied beside her, and the longhorn fixed its attention on them. This time Kate knew that it was not going to be distracted. As if suddenly making up its mind, it moved toward them, slowly at first, but with each step, it picked up speed.

  “Wait,” Tate said calmly as Kate lifted one knee and placed the rifle on it to steady it. Sighting down the barrel, she aimed between the steer’s eyes, let out her breath, and squeezed the trigger. The sound of the rifle echoed loudly off the rocky hills. The bullet missed, grazing the top of the steer’s back. The animal never slowed. Calmly and quickly Kate jacked another bullet into the chamber, aimed, and fired again, this time striking the animal in the neck. It slowed its pace but didn’t stop.

  Behind her, she heard Tate cock the pistol but did not see him aim it at the back of her head. The thoughts that filled his mind would certainly have surprised her if she had been privy to them.

  Oh God! Can I do it? If I have to, I’ll shoot her first. I can’t let her be gored and die a slow, painful death. I love her enough to do it if it comes to that.

  Kate was surprisingly calm. It was up to her to stop the enraged steer. She could hear the longhorn’s hooves striking the ground as it barreled toward them. There wasn’t much time.

  She jacked in another bullet and took careful aim. Slowly she squeezed the trigger, and the rifle bucked in her arms. The bullet struck the animal directly between the eyes. Whether it was from pain or surprise, the steer leaped upward as a bellowing noise came from its mouth. It lowered its head, veered away from them, and staggered. Its legs were suddenly unsure. As she watched the animal, Kate’s heart pounded like a jungle drum. Finally the steer fell, its nostrils flaring as it breathed its last. One horn pointed directly toward the sky and the other into the ground.

  Cautiously Luke came down from the hillside and approached th
e longhorn. His eyes were locked on the animal, alert for any sign of life, but the beast lay still in the hot afternoon sun. Looking over the dead animal, Luke grinned at Kate.

  “It dead,” he announced.

  Tate leaned up in the travois and reached for the rifle but found that it was locked in Kate’s grasp. She stared ahead at the fallen steer as if she expected it to get up and charge them again.

  “Kate,” Tate gently prodded. “Kate, give me the rifle.” He firmly took hold of the gun but didn’t try to take it from her. He waited patiently for her to ease her grip.

  Slowly, as if awakening from a heavy sleep, she turned to look at him with dazed eyes. Her body began to relax, and the beginning of a smile calmed her face. Finally she let go of the rifle, and Tate placed it on the travois beside him.

  “You did good, honey. More than good. You saved our lives.”

  “I’ve only shot at bottles and cans. I even refused to go deer hunting with my father.” Her voice faded, and she stared at Tate.

  It was amazing to her that the feelings she had for him could be so deep when she had known him for such a short time. Every day that she was with him, every moment, was filled with a joy she had only ever heard about, but never experienced.

  Tate tugged on her hand and pulled her down to him. She leaned over the travois to hear his whispered words.

  “Kiss me, sweetheart.”

  For just the briefest of moments, Kate hesitated. With her right hand, she stroked the side of his face. His whiskers felt rough against the smooth skin of her fingers. His steely blue eyes looked up at her with such strength and confidence that she felt as if she would melt. Gently she bent toward him, careful not to touch any of his hurts, and placed her lips against his.

  The kiss was soft, sweet, and filled with happiness. How have I been so lucky as to have met this man? The realization of all that had happened began to slowly sink in. A single tear ran down her cheek. They were safe for the time being.

  When their lips parted, Kate continued to stare down at him.

  “I don’t think that a woman has ever cried from kissing me before.” He winked at her.