by Karen Baney
“What’s this?” he asked, slightly perking up.
“Happy Birthday, Drew,” Hannah said, smiling sweetly at him.
What day was it? The third of November. Yes, he was so tired he hadn’t remembered his own birthday. But, from the look on Hannah’s face, she had. “Thank you, Hannah.”
The odd assortment of government officials wished him well, as he blew out the candle. The cake was fluffy and moist. How had Hannah managed to arrange this special treat? She was full of surprises. The hostess brought pieces for everyone, so Drew didn’t feel guilty devouring his piece. When the dessert was finished, the governor’s group made no move to leave. Drew, on the other hand, was fighting to stay awake. He and Hannah bid the men farewell before heading back to camp.
Arriving at their campsite, Drew saw that Hannah already had the tent up and the bedding laid out. The weariness washed over him. He headed straight for bed, but was surprised when Hannah followed. It was still early. As they lay down, Hannah snuggled up close. Drew felt comforted by her presence. Placing his arms around his wife, he fell fast asleep.
Since leaving Gray’s Ranch, Hannah struggled with many of the scenes they encountered. At one point on the trail, the wagon train came across a man who had been mauled by a cinnamon colored bear, nearly losing his life. Drew did what he could to patch up the man, but the wagon train left before Hannah learned anything further. Drew told her later that he was glad he left her at camp, as the sight was quite gruesome.
Then, this afternoon the wagon train passed through the small town of Trinidad. Men with hollow, sunken eyes reached out toward the settlers, begging for food. Hannah shivered at the memory of one man trying to jump onto the wagon in front of her, only to be pushed back onto the dusty ground. Thankfully, Drew drove this leg of the journey. She feared what would have happened had she been alone. When the wagon train camped for the night, the assistant wagon master made the rounds, checking for any stowaways. She overheard him telling Drew that nearly two thirds of the men in that town starved to death.
Why would anyone stay in such harsh place—constantly under fear of starvation, animal attack, or Indian attack? Could not these men travel to a safer place? How much worse would their new home be?
As Hannah stirred a pot of beans over the warm fire, she glanced up at the mountains towering on both sides of the flat land where they made camp. A few small abandoned cabins stood near one of the slopes, rumored to have been built by a wagon train stranded in the pass last winter. She hoped their wagon train would not suffer the same fate.
Following supper, Mr. Richmond joined their campfire, excited by the discovery of the cabins. Speaking to Paul and Drew, Mr. Richmond said, “We found nothing much noteworthy in the first few cabins we entered. Nothing more than a few utensils or the remains of a cooking fire.”
Hannah and Betty both paused in their conversation, sensing Mr. Richmond was about to regale them with some interesting tale.
“Then, in the last cabin,” Mr. Richmond continued, “we came across obvious signs of the former inhabitant—mainly in the form of the native woman’s severed head.”
Hannah’s stomach lurched at the visualization. Certainly, Mr. Richmond realized she and Betty were sitting nearby.
“Her body,” Mr. Richmond said, “was lying a few feet away. She had been scalped and left not more than a day ago.”
As Hannah gasped, Mr. Richmond turned to look her in the eyes.
“Um…Mrs. Anderson, I am most sorry,” he fumbled an apology as Hannah stood. “I did not realize you were listening. Please forgive me.”
Hannah merely nodded, before running just past their wagon. Her stomach roiled as her mind became consumed with fear. Not more than a day ago that poor woman had been brutally murdered in one of the cabins a few yards away. Was her murderer still lurking in the shelter of the forest? Would he attack the unsuspecting wagon train? Would they wake up in the morning to a massacre?
“Dear,” Betty asked nearing her side, “are you alright?”
Hannah nodded, taking a few deep breaths of crystalline air to calm her stomach. “Do you suppose,” she asked Betty, “that they are still out there?”
“Who, dear?”
“Whoever did that…horrific…” Hannah stopped abruptly, trying to push the image from her mind.
Betty placed an arm around Hannah’s shoulder. “I would not worry, dear. We have a camp full of brawny men and mounted cavalry. We could not be safer.”
Hannah wished she felt safe.
Drew woke the next morning to the aroma of breakfast cooking. He jumped up and dressed hurriedly. How could he have slept so late? He needed to go check on Lieutenant Harrison, whom he neglected for several days now.
“Morning,” Hannah said as he opened the tent flap. “Breakfast is almost ready.”
The dark circles under her eyes testified to her restless night. Drew was furious at Mr. Richmond for recounting the terrifying story in Hannah’s presence. And his prayer that she might not suffer nightmares seemed to have gone unanswered.
Seeing that most of the other tents were packed, Drew set to the task. He was ashamed to always be the last ready. Once finished, he sat down for the meal. Hannah handed him a heaping plate which he ate quickly.
“Betty said Lieutenant Harrison is doing well. She’s going to ride with him today and insisted that you stay here.”
Handing the empty plate back to Hannah, Drew gave her a quick kiss on the cheek and thanked her for the fine meal. He started to turn to retrieve the oxen, when she placed a hand on his arm.
“If you need more rest, I can drive the wagon today.”
Though the offer was sincere, he could not stop the guilt that bubbled up. He should be taking care of her. He should be driving that wagon. And he would, despite the exhaustion from the weeks of little sleep. Shaking his head, he went to find the oxen. By the time he returned, Hannah had everything cleaned and stowed. He went through the motions of hooking up the team. Once the wagon was ready, he helped Hannah up then took the seat next to her.
The road was much rockier since the train turned south from Fort Lyon. They slowly climbed the steep mountain. The oxen worked hard to pull the wagon up the difficult grade.
Suddenly the trail narrowed to just a few inches wider than the wagon. On the side next to him rose a sheer rock wall. The other side of the trail dangerously dropped off to the valley far below. When the road curved sharply, Drew’s pulse quickened as he tried to keep the wagon on the narrow road, getting the front pair of oxen to start turning at the awkward angle.
Hannah shrieked as the wagon lurched.
“Hold on tight!” Drew shouted, concentrating on driving the wagon.
“Drew—the wheel!”
The wagon tilted precariously as only three wheels remained on the road. Drew’s breath caught in his throat as Hannah gripped his arm with frightful force. Slapping the reins down hard, he got the oxen moving quicker. He had to get that wheel back on the road before the contents of the wagon shifted the weight—pulling them down over the side.
Another jolt of the wagon bounced Hannah too close to the edge of the seat. Glancing at his wife, he saw her holding on for her life as one leg dangled over. Panic rose.
Pulling hard to the left, the oxen navigated the last part of the insane curve. The wagon lurched again. The final wheel returned to solid ground. The harsh movement threw Hannah into his side.
As the trail straightened and widened, Drew stopped the wagon and jumped down. Moving to the other side, he helped his crying wife down. His breath returned to a normal rhythm as he buried his head in the small space between her neck and shoulder, clutching her tight.
“I thought I might lose you,” he whispered, kissing her forehead, her nose, her lips.
When her tears subsided, and his own beating heart calmed, he helped her back into the wagon, getting far from this Devil’s Gate as he could.
By the time the wagon camped for the evening, Drew’s nerves stre
tched to their limits. He wanted to lie down and sleep for days, but the team needed care and he still hadn’t checked on Lieutenant Harrison. His anxiety must have been apparent, because Hannah gave him a worried look.
Once the team was unhitched and corralled, he went to check on his patient. Lieutenant Harrison was out of the wagon and sitting up nearby. When he saw Drew he stood.
“Dr. Anderson,” he greeted with a warm smile.
“Please, call me Drew. How are you feeling?”
“Very good, sir. Mrs. Lancaster is a wonderful nurse, even if she can be rather insistent. Wouldn’t let me just continue to lie about,” the lieutenant chuckled.
Drew instructed the young man to sit. Checking the bandages, he was surprised at how much the wound healed in the past few days. There was no sign of any infection. Praise God. He bandaged the injury again glad he could return to his own camp.
“Let me know if you have any troubles. Otherwise, just take it easy for a few days. I’d like to see you stay with the wagon and not return to horseback yet.”
The lieutenant gave a curt nod, indicating he would comply with the order. As Drew stood to leave, Harrison looked him in the eye and said, “Thank you, Drew, for everything.”
Drew suspected he meant more than just doctoring. Shaking the man’s offered hand, he smiled.
For the second night in a row, Hannah shot upright, wide awake long before dawn. Her heart raced and she labored to pull air deeply into her lungs. The image of a floating head speaking in staccato words faded as her eyes focused on the canvas tent protecting her from the elements.
Hannah had been running through a narrow valley, flanked by high mountains. The Indian woman’s floating head chased her, screaming at her in guttural nonsensical sounds. As Hannah ran, she stumbled over a body—what looked like Drew’s body, only his head was missing. She tried to cry out for her husband, but her voice would not move past her throat. Then, she ran past the body. As she looked back, she failed to see the valley dropping over the edge of a cliff until it was too late. She fell. Just when she should have hit the bottom of the cliff, she woke up.
The dream had been so real, so taunting, so frightening. She was convinced she was going to die on this forsaken journey.
Chapter 12
Arizona Territory
October 24, 1863
“That’s not how you do it!” Jed shouted at Hawk, pulling back on the reins as he moved his black mare within inches of Hawk’s mount.
Will shook his head, stopping Jackson so he could watch. The two men—boys—Will was not really sure which they were—were at it again.
“I was close!” Hawk shouted back, reeling in the poor attempt at a lasso loop, sitting atop his white gelding.
“No you weren’t. You’d never get that calf back with herd goin’ at ‘im like that.”
“Well, I ain’t been doin’ this more than a few weeks,” Hawk replied, setting the wound up rope over the horn of his saddle. “I’ll bet you were just as bad when you first started.”
“What’d you say?” Jed leaned forward in his saddle.
“I said you were probably worse when you started!”
Leaping from his saddle, Jed knocked Hawk from his. Both tumbled to the ground, Hawk landing on his back. As Hawk gasped for air, Jed pounded his fist into Hawk’s jaw. Quickly, Hawk recovered, flipping over so Jed was pinned to the ground.
Will remained still as the two wrestled each other, half tempted to break up the fight. As long as neither tried to kill the other, he figured it would be best to let them work out their differences.
“Reminds me of two other young men,” Ben commented, pulling Shelia to a stop next to Will.
Snorting, Will asked the question to humor his old friend, “Yeah, who?”
“You and Reuben.”
“Let’s hope this works out better for both of them.”
The sound of a gun unsheathing drew Will’s attention back to the fight.
“What are you doing?” Jed shrieked as Hawk pointed the gun at Jed’s head.
Will and Ben dismounted, running towards the two. He never suspected that Hawk would do something like this. If he had, he would have put a stop to this sooner.
Shoving Jed’s head down to the ground with his open palm flat on his forehead, Hawk pulled the trigger seconds before either Will or Ben could stop him. The bullet whizzed past Jed’s nose, severing a rattler’s head from its body. The rattler’s head, having already been poised to strike, landed on Jed’s shoulder causing the color to drain from his face.
Both men sat motionless for several minutes, Jed’s chest heaving from either the exertion or the shock.
“Shoot! Hawk just saved yer life,” Snake hollered from his vantage point near the chuck wagon. “Ain’t never seen nothing like that. He done cut that hisser in half! Hee, hee.” Slapping a hand hard on his leg, Snake’s loud laughter was quickly swallowed up by the largeness of the flat plain.
Holstering his revolver, Hawk stood. He held out a hand to help Jed up. Jed brushed the dead snake head from his shoulder and took Hawk’s offered hand, still dumbfounded by the ordeal.
“Where’d you learn to shoot like that? I’d have blown off half yer face,” Jed said in awe.
“My pa taught me,” Hawk answered, brushing the dust from his clothes.
Without a word of gratitude, Jed mounted his horse and took off towards the flank position in the herd—his inner conflict written all over his face.
“That was close,” Ben murmured only loud enough for Will to hear. “Thank the Lord that boy didn’t have his heart set on doin’ Jed harm.”
Nodding, Will let go of his held breath.
“Mount up, boys!” Ben shouted, rallying the men to their horses for the start of the night drive.
Sighing, Will turned Jackson towards point, ready to be moving further along the trail. Ben was right. It was a good thing Hawk did not want to harm Jed. If only he could be sure Jed felt the same way. In the weeks since their last scuffle back outside of Santa Fe, on the surface Jed seemed to tolerate Hawk. He had not drawn his gun on the half-Indian again—in fear of Will’s wrath. Perhaps he was warming up to Hawk.
Arriving at the front of the herd, Will turned to face the herd and men, waiting for the rest of the men to take their places. Seeing everyone was ready, he nodded for Pedro to ride ahead, scouting for any sign of trouble.
The drive from Fort Wingate, New Mexico, to the Arizona Territory had been quite scenic, Will mused as he settled into his saddle. The valley floor was covered in light yellow-green grass and dark green scrub brush. To the north, red, orange, and rust banded mountains rose from the valley floor for thousands of feet into the air. Eroded by wind and rain, deep grooves and crevices hid their untold secrets in the shadows, untouched by the sun. The further they traveled, new mountains rose from the south, banded in white, grey, and rust, with the green of scrub brush dotting the top and sides.
Flat was the landscape they presently drove through, with still more of the tall grass and scrub brush. They had not encountered much water or firewood in the past few days on the open plain. The concern whispered softly in his ear. They would need water soon.
The thundering of the longhorn’s hooves provided a steady beat to accompany the sweet melody flowing from his lips. Will liked riding point best. There was less dust kicked up and it made singing much easier. The song, one of his mother’s favorite hymns, floated in the cool night air. His baritone voice sounded somewhat foreign to his ears, as the words came from his soul.
“Nearer, my God, to Thee. Nearer to Thee. Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down, darkness be over me, my rest a stone. Yet in my dreams I’d be nearer, my God to Thee.”
As the sun fell lower in the sky, leaving a dark blue haze settling over the plain, Will felt like the wanderer. Cast far from his Texas home, he roamed the desert wilderness in search of his new home. This pervasive sense of not belonging would fade, he hoped, once he discovered his new home in the
Arizona Territory in just a few more weeks.
He wondered many times over the past months of this journey why God uprooted him from the Star C and sent him across the wilderness. If nothing else, he would finally have a ranch of his own. Yet, he felt something bigger, something more awaited him.
Ending the song with one last chorus, Will made it his heart-felt prayer. Let me be nearer to Thee.
The following morning, as the sun woke from its sleep, Pedro rode back towards Will. Though he was not in a hurry, he appeared a bit earlier than Will was expecting. Nudging Jackson forward, he met Pedro half way.
“Found water, boss,” Pedro announced. “Just another mile or so up. Flowing water, too.”
Will nodded, relieved to know water was nearby.
“Good spot to camp,” Pedro added.
A smile stretched across Will’s lips. “Go tell the others.”
Within twenty minutes, the cattle were happily settled next to the Little Colorado River drinking their fill. As the chuck wagon pulled to a stop, the men dismounted their horses. Those who were on first shift transferred saddles to fresh mounts, while the rest set up camp.
Will walked towards the river. Taking off his worn leather gloves, he touched the water with the tips of his fingers. Chilly water gave him a second’s pause for the idea forming in his head. The sun already warmed the coolness from the air. Perhaps a quick bath would be worth it.
Headed back towards his saddle and bedroll, he searched for his other change of clothes. Wadding them into a ball, he made his way to the chuck wagon.
“Think we’ll camp here tonight. Looks like a good place for a short break,” he said to Snake.
Snake nodded in reply.
Within a few short steps, Will stood at the water’s edge again. Tossing his hat aside, he quickly stripped down. The playful rogue in him ran head long into the water, not letting the chill change his mind. As the cold of the water registered, he sucked in a quick breath. Dunking his head under, he scrubbed his hair, working out the months of dust and grime.