“Don’t know.” Frank wrinkled his brow. “He don’t care much for white folks goin’ out there. Says it’s for the Indians.”
The road was really just a trail, probably used by horses more than wagons. The wagon bumped along. Jenny was tired, but there was excitement in her, too. She was going to a new place, and would be doing new things. It never once occurred to her that she would fail to do the job. What she did worry about was keeping the children safe.
Jenny kept her eyes on the land ahead of them, politely refraining from probing questions. She glanced back at the girls. Beatrice had fallen asleep. Cassandra’s shoulders drooped, disappointment in every line of her young body. Circumstances back home had robbed her of much of her childish eagerness. She was so bright. She needed stimulation to learn. Jenny had brought material to teach her, but was it enough?
Jenny sighed deeply. This was the best she could do. She consoled herself with the thought.
“What do you do, Mr. Wilson?” she asked, brushing unhappy thoughts from her mind.
“Oh, this and that, I reckon.”
“Do you have regular employment?” She stole a surreptitious glance at the holstered gun on his side.
“I work for a rancher over near Forest City.”
“Doing cowboy work?”
“Yeah,” he said, and grinned again.
The man had been respectful enough—considering his rough ways, but something about him irritated her. Behind the curly brown beard he tried to hide a smirk as if he had a secret he was itching to tell.
They traveled steadily westward through an emptiness of grass and sky; distance and openness were all around them. The country they were passing through was the most beautiful Jenny had ever seen. Birds rose from the tall grass along the trail as they approached. The mountains were a purple shadow in the distance. She normally would have been enthralled by the landscape, but fatigue and the pain in her back that came from sitting on the hard, lowbacked wagon seat nagged at her.
They had passed one homestead shortly after they left town. For the past couple of hours the only sign of civilization she had seen was a herd of cattle and a deserted shack. Even the wagon track seemed seldom used.
“I was told the Whitaker land was next to the reservation, but I didn’t realize it was so … isolated.”
“Isolated? What’s that mean?”
“Means set apart. Are there no homesteads nearby?”
“Couple.”
When it became obvious he was not going to say more, Jenny prodded.
“Farmers?”
He laughed as if she had said something terribly funny.
“People don’t farm out here, lady. Oh, some grow little patches of this and that. Mostly they run cattle or sheep. There’s a horse ranch across the river and ’bout five miles up. Squatters has set up on Whitaker land four or five miles south. Havelshell just heard about ’em. He’ll have ’em off afore they got time to spit.”
“Why will he do that?”
“’Cause they ain’t supposed to be there, that’s why.”
“Surely Mr. Havelshell doesn’t have all the say about who squats on Whitaker land. I’d think that on six square miles of land there would be room for a dozen or more homesteaders.”
Frank chuckled. “Tell him that.”
“I will. Who owns that herd of cows we passed?”
Frank laughed so loud and so long, she wanted to kick him.
“Those cows belong to the Sweetwater Cattle Company.”
“What so funny?” she asked irritably.
“They’re steers, lady. Not cows.”
“Why are they on Whitaker land?”
“Havelshell is the Sweetwater Cattle Company. Ask him.”
“I will,” she said again firmly. She turned to look at her sister, who sat uncomfortably on the feed sacks behind the wagon seat. “Are you all right, honey?”
“No, I’m not all right. I doubt if I’ll ever be again.”
Cassandra had removed her bonnet. The warm sun beat down on her small freckled face and dark auburn hair. Jenny understood the child’s feelings.
Frank hauled on the reins and drew the sweating team to a halt.
“Why are we stopping?” Jenny asked.
“Deer yonder,” he said, taking the rifle from beneath the seat. “I’ll get you some fresh meat.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind!” Jenny’s voice was shrill. “You will not kill that animal in front of the children.”
Wilson looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “Wh … at the hell?”
“Are you deaf?” She fired the words at him. “I would not allow you to kill that deer even if the children were not present. She has a young one. Can’t you see it?”
“Hell, yes, I see it. What difference does that make?”
“The difference, Mr. Wilson, is that the fawn would starve or be brought down by wolves if you kill the mother. Any fool should be able to figure that out.”
“Anyone that lets fresh meat go by is the fool!” For a long moment their eyes locked. “We’ll see how ya feel about it come winter when ya ain’t got none.” He slid the rifle back under the seat, picked up the reins and slapped them unnecessarily hard against the team’s back. The unexpected blow sent the horses lunging forward.
“Now are you convinced, Virginia,” Cassandra said when the wagon was moving again.
“Convinced of what, honey?”
“That these are barbaric people and this a barbaric land.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. They just need some … enlightenment.”
A snort came from Frank Wilson. He cracked the whip, urging the team to greater speed. The wheels of the wagon began lifting streamers of dust into the air as the horses trotted briskly along the narrow lane.
“Jenny, I’m thirsty.” Beatrice had awakened and was leaning on Jenny’s shoulder.
“I am, too,” she said gently and looked at the driver, who was staring stoically ahead. “Excuse me, do we have any water?”
He reached under the seat, uncapped a canteen, took a swig, then handed it to her.
“Thank you.” She passed it to the child.
“Where’s the cup?”
“There isn’t a cup. Just drink.” Jenny wiped the opening with her handkerchief and spoke over Frank’s loud snort.
Beatrice spilled water down the front of her dress when she drank, and began to cry. Both girls were proud of their new clothes.
“Don’t worry about it, honey. It’ll dry.”
Jenny handed the canteen to Cassandra. She took a small sip, grimacing as if she were taking a dose of bad-tasting medicine. Jenny raised the canteen to her own mouth and drank several swallows of the stale water, even though it ran down her chin and into the handkerchief she held there. Reluctantly, she admitted to herself that being uncivilized might not be proper, but at certain times it was exquisitely expedient.
Jenny was suddenly aware of a change of scenery. They had entered a valley that flowed out of the grassland. Wildflowers and berry bushes flourished in abundance. Tall aspens dotted the area. A hawk rode the wind below billowing white clouds. A silent, brooding quality emanated from the surrounding hills. A small band of antelope stood at attention at the far end of the valley. The region, now, was no longer empty, but warm and comforting.
“This is beautiful!” Jenny exclaimed.
“Old Whitaker must have thought so. His place is just ahead.”
“Where?”
“Yonder.” Wilson pointed to a grove of cottonwood some distance away. “Ya can just see the top of the chimney.” Jenny’s enthusiasm had somehow caused him to lose his surliness. He grinned at her.
“What’s this place called? Beside Stoney Creek Ranch?”
“Valley of the Sweetwater. River’s a few miles from here.”
“What a beautiful name. Where is the school?”
“Just a hoot and a holler from the ranch house. Ya walk across the yard into the schoolhouse. It’s on t
he reservation ’cause the Indians can’t leave it without permission from Havelshell.”
“You mean they aren’t allowed to come to the ranch house when it’s right next to the school?”
“It’s off the reservation. Havelshell has put ’em in jail for leaving the reservation. He’s a stickler for rules. He says if they step one foot off, they is as guilty as if they go five miles.”
They were pulling into the grove and Jenny got her first look at the ranch house. It was small, rather like the hunting lodge her uncle had in the mountains of upstate New York, and made of heavy logs. A rock chimney rose from one side. Glass panes in the front windows shone in the late-afternoon light. There was no porch. One stepped out of the house onto the doorstone. To the left and behind was an open shed attached to a building and two corrals with poles tiredly sagging. A couple of horses were in the corral; a big roan and a spotted pony, the only signs that the place was not abandoned.
“Who is that?” Cassandra stood behind Jenny.
“Where, honey?”
“Over there in the trees on that white horse.”
Jenny’s gaze followed Cassandra’s pointed finger. An Indian boy sat on a brown-and-white-speckled pony. She lifted her hand and waved. The boy wheeled the pony and was out of sight in an instant.
“That’s one of old Whitaker’s half-breed bastards. He’s got them little suckers all over the reservation. That’n slips in and out a here more times than ya can shake a stick at. If he’s caught, Havelshell’ll give him a few cuts across the back with a buggy whip.”
Jenny gasped in outrage.
“Not while I’m here, he won’t!” she said stoutly.
Frank drove around to the back of the house and pulled the team to a stop. A huge cottonwood stood between the house and the outbuildings. There were no windows on the back of the house and no porch. The back door stood open. Grass and weeds were a foot high next to the house. A dead tree had been pulled up into the yard, and it looked like whoever had been staying there had cut just enough wood to satisfy daily needs.
“Lord, help us,” Cassandra muttered.
“It isn’t bad, honey. Look! There’s a pond.” Jenny’s eyes had caught the gleam of water tumbling over rocks into a wide pool. She backed off the wagon, her feet reaching for solid ground. For a moment she held on to the wheel until her legs were steady under her. “Come on, girls. Get down.”
Jenny’s excitement transmitted itself to Beatrice who giggled happily when Jenny swung her down. Cassandra refused her help and climbed down, backwards, over the wheel as Jenny had done.
“Has someone been taking care of the—” Jenny turned to speak to Frank, but he had untied his horse from the tailgate and was leading it toward the pool.
She stood in the yard and waited for him to return. Beatrice gripped her hand and Cassandra stared, unbelievingly, at their new home. After Frank had watered his horse, he mounted him and rode up to where Jenny and the girls stood beside the wagon. He sat looking down at them, a silly smile on his face.
“My job was to get ya here all in one piece. So long and good luck.” He put his heels to the horse’s flanks and headed back down the trail. Stunned, Jenny looked after him, then back to the sweating team hitched to the wagon. Her temper flared.
“Come back here, you … low-down, son—” She caught herself before she said something she shouldn’t in front of the girls.
“What did you expect, Virginia?” Cassandra said dejectedly.
“Cass, don’t whine! I’ve got enough to deal with.”
“—And it seems we’ll have to deal with it without any help from him. Well.” Cassandra tossed her bonnet up into the wagon. “The first thing we should do is get the wagon over near the door so when we unload the trunks we don’t have to carry them so far. Then we’ve got to get the team unharnessed and to water. If anything happened to the horses, we’d be stuck here.”
“Oh, honey, you’re right. Beatrice stay back out of the way.”
Jenny prided herself on knowing good horseflesh. The two big sorrels hitched to the wagon were a sound, strong team. She climbed back up the wheel to the seat and unwound the reins from the break handle. She had driven her buggy to town many times, and driving a team couldn’t be too much different. Besides, the team was tired, and there was no danger they would run away with her. The sorrels were obedient to her commands, and she stopped them when the wagonbed was near the door.
“It’ll take a while to unload. We can do it later and let the wagon sit here. Now to unharness—”
“Don’t unharness now, Virginia. Just unhook them from the doubletree and lead them to water. We can unharness them when we get them inside the corral.”
Jenny looked at her little sister in amazement. “How do you know all this?”
“I watched the stableboy do it many times. Remember, occasionally I was so naughty that I was not allowed in the house and spent a lot of time in the barn … with the other animals.” Cassandra began unhooking the chains on the tugs.
“Be careful going behind the horses,” Jenny cautioned.
“Get the reins and move them out.”
When the team was free of the wagon, they moved so quickly toward the water that Jenny almost had to run to keep up with them.
“Don’t let them drink too much … at first,” Cassandra called.
While the horses drank, Jenny looked around with a fear she didn’t dare let the girls suspect. They were alone in this vast land. She had been told that she need not fear the Indians. She had come to teach their children, and they would not harm her. Mr. Havelshell was clearly hostile and for some reason did not want her here. She had thought about it off and on all the way from town. She and the girls were here and here they would stay … for at least five years. That was the deal Mr. Whitaker had made with the Bureau. There were many things more important than bodily comfort.
Jenny’s fingers felt for the light little derringer she had in her pocket. She and the girls were not without protection. As soon as she could unpack her trunk, she would keep handy the other two guns—the Sharps rifle and the pistol. She was grateful now for the shooting lessons she had taken at her uncle’s gun club.
Cassandra opened the gate for Jenny to lead the team inside the pole corral. The two horses in the other corral nickered a greeting. The sorrels stood impatiently while she and Jenny struggled to get them out of the heavy harnesses. Cassandra fell when one of the horses nudged her, and Jenny’s hat was knocked askew by a bobbing head. Both were sweating and Jenny was swearing under her breath by the time they pulled the tackle off the horses. Once free, the pair went a distance and rolled in the dirt.
“Look at my dress!” Cassandra wailed, looking down at the dirt and the two-inch rip in her skirt. “It’s ruined.”
“It’ll wash and I’ll mend it. Where’s Beatrice?” Jenny looked around. The child was not in sight. “Beatrice!” she yelled at the top of her lungs and began running toward the house.
“I’m in here.” The child came to the door. “There’s a little brown thing like a dog in here, but the man won’t let me pet it.”
“Man? Oh, dear heavens!” Jenny and Cassandra both tried to crowd through the doorway.
It took a few seconds for Jenny’s eyes to become accustomed to the gloom. When they did, she saw a man lounging in one of the chairs at a large square table. A bottle and a glass were in front of him.
“Who are you?”
“Linus Bowles. Boss said ride over and stay till ya got here. It’s what I done.”
“Then why, for Christ’s sake, were you sitting here while we were struggling with that harness?” Jenny was so angry she was completely unaware that she had sworn.
The chair legs made a screeching sound when Linus moved back from the table and stood. He was tall and thin. He wore a tall-crowned hat pulled down to the tops of his ears. Sparse whiskers covered his cheeks. Heavy eyebrows came together over the bridge of his nose. He was young, possibly in his middle or lat
e teens. Nothing about him frightened Jenny, except his unexpected presence.
“Warn’t my job to unharness no team.”
“Then get out!” Jenny spoke through clenched teeth. “That is unless you’ve got enough manners left in you to help unload the wagon.”
“What’ll ya pay?” He grinned cockily, showing a wide space between big front teeth.
“To you? Not a cent,” Jenny pulled the derringer from her pocket. “Now go before I shoot you.”
The grin broadened. “With that?”
“With this! I know what it can do. Right now it’s aimed at a spot six inches below your belt. Do you want to bet I can’t hit what I’m aiming for?”
The grin turned nasty. He grabbed the bottle from the table.
“Gawddamn Indian-lovin’ bitch!” he snarled as he passed her.
A small hairy animal scurried out the door after him.
“What in the world!” Jenny exclaimed.
“It’s a … a rac … raccoon,” Beatrice said, proud to be able to explain something to her older sisters. “Her name is Hot Tw— Oh, I know, Hot Twat, that’s it. He said it’s ’cause she goes out at night and gets with boy raccoons and makes babies. What’s it mean, Jenny?”
“Lord, have mercy! What next?”
“Don’t be so shocked, Virginia. It’s perfectly natural for a female raccoon to mate with a male raccoon.”
“That is all very well. But … it is not a decent conversation for a grown man to have with a child!”
“He wasn’t a grown man. He was a boy trying to act grown.”
Jenny put the derringer back in her pocket and went outside to watch the boy saddle his horse and wait for him to ride out. Before he mounted, he carefully placed the small animal in a bag that hung from his saddle horn. He rode toward them and pulled up on the reins so that the horse danced on his hind legs. Then he doffed his hat in a salute and took off on a dead run.
“That was childish,” Cassandra said, more in the tone of a schoolteacher than a nine-year-old. “He was showing off. He probably thinks we were impressed.”
“We haven’t met a gentleman since we came here. I’m beginning to think that all the men here are uncouth boors.”
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