The White Hunter

by Gilbert, Morris

  “What’s it like in Virginia?” Annie asked suddenly, more to get him talking than for any other reason.

  Since they had left Wyoming the previous day, he had spoken only in brief, dismal sentences. She knew he was still feeling sorely humiliated over his abject failure with the horse. She liked Jeb but found him difficult to get to know. It had been a disappointment to Annie, for she had hoped that as cousins, even distant ones, they might be more like family.

  “It’s great,” Jeb nodded, and his eyes shown with an unusual animation. “Aaron is the best dad anybody could want. Sis couldn’t have done better than marrying him.”

  “And he’s a professor there?”

  “Yes. And his father is president of the same college. I expect Dad also will be someday.”

  “And you like books just as much as he does.”

  “I always have, but I’d never before had much of a chance to read. Now, though, I’ve got the whole library there at the college, and Dad buys me any books that I want.”

  “I wish I were as smart as you.”

  Jeb suddenly gave Annie an odd look, lifting one eyebrow, and an expression of regret swept across his face. “I wish I could ride like you can, Annie.”

  “You could, with a little practice.”

  “No, I couldn’t.”

  Annie hesitated, then said, “I know you’re a little bit . . . awkward around horses.”

  “Why don’t you say what you mean? I’m afraid of them. That’s what I am.”

  “Well, Daddy says everybody’s afraid of something. I’d be afraid to go down the streets of New York with all that traffic. It would frighten me, I think.”

  “Really?”

  “Why, sure,” Annie nodded eagerly, hoping to put him at ease. “Daddy says people are afraid of snakes, or high places, or all kinds of things. He told me that he knew a man who was so afraid of a hospital that he died rather than let himself be taken there.”

  Jeb listened as Annie chattered on, talking about people who had different kinds of fears, and it gave him some encouragement. He finally dropped his eyes and said, “I feel like such a—well, such a flop, Annie.”

  “It’s just a new way of life. The West isn’t like the East. You know, I’ve been thinking,” she continued. She let her hand pass over the cover of the Bible that she held. “When I go to Africa, it’ll be a lot more different from America than Wyoming is from New York.”

  “I guess that’s true. Are you really going to go, Annie?”

  “I think so. Ever since I became a Christian I felt that God was drawing me to do something.”

  Jeb shifted uneasily on the red plush seat. He looked down the car that was only half-filled. The air was foggy with smoke that crept in through the open windows, and the cinders that had been drawn in had soiled everything in the car, including the faces of the passengers. Even as he looked around, the mournful, piercing blast of the whistle broke the silence, and he looked out across the terrain to see what was coming but saw nothing. He sat quietly for a while, thinking of what Annie had said. He liked to think things over before commenting on them. Finally he said, “It must be nice to know what you’re going to do with your life.”

  “Well, I don’t know. It seems kind of like a dream, Jeb. It’s going to take a lot of planning and hard work to get to Africa. Nobody really wants to go there. It’s too dangerous.”

  Jeb examined Annie’s complexion. She had, he noted, a few freckles across her nose, and the clean lines of her face were pleasing and gave her an air of innocence. “I wish I knew what I was going to do,” he said finally. He tried to summon up a grin. “One thing I won’t do is be a cowboy, that’s for sure. Or anything that calls for riding horses.”

  Annie suddenly laughed aloud. “Well, maybe you’ll be a professor like your dad.”

  “You know, I might be at that. I like it as well as anything else.”

  “Like what?”

  “Oh, books and study and reading and classes. Sometimes Dad lets me go to class with him. I sit in the back and just listen, and I think it’s exciting.”

  Annie gave him a dubious look. “Not me. I don’t care much for school. I never did too well at it. I’m not smart like you are.”

  “Oh, I’m not smart!”

  “Sure you are! Didn’t take my folks long to find out about that, or me either. If you lived closer, you’d have to do all my homework for me and help me with my math.”

  “I wouldn’t mind doing that.”

  “Well, maybe we can do it by mail. Are you going to write me when you go back home?”

  “Sure. I like to write letters.”

  “I like to get them,” Annie said, smiling at him. “But I don’t get very many. It would make all the girls jealous, you know, getting letters from a college student in Virginia.”

  “I’m not that yet.”

  “Well, you soon will be. I could pretend that you were my beau, and you could send me a picture or maybe write me a mushy letter.”

  “A mushy letter? I couldn’t do that!”

  “Well, I could write it for you,” Annie grinned, “and then you could copy it in your handwriting.”

  Both of them laughed, then Jeb said, “You know, I almost turned and went back to Virginia when I first got here. I was so disgusted with myself.”

  “I’m glad you didn’t, Jeb. We’re going to have fun in Montana. I can’t wait for you to meet cousin Zach. You know, he was a gunman when he was younger.”

  “That’s what Dad said, but I didn’t know whether to believe him or not.”

  “Well, he was a gunman and a gold miner, and he fought in the Civil War. He got a finger shot off. This one right here.” She held up her right hand and pointed with her forefinger. “Shot off right at the knuckle.”

  “I wonder if he still carries a gun?”

  “Not anymore. I don’t think his wife would let him. Her name is Bronwen.”

  “Bronwen! What kind of a name is that?”

  “It’s Irish. Well, I guess it’s Welsh, really. But you know she was engaged to a missionary—before she met Zacharias Winslow, that is—until he died. So she came over to America to be a missionary to the Indians. Oh, it was a real romantic story! Zach wasn’t even a Christian then. But anyway, they fell in love and got married, and I’ve always wanted to go see their place in Montana.”

  “Do they have a big family?”

  “They’ve got two married daughters. The oldest, Lanie, is married to a man named Lobo Smith. He was an outlaw in the Oklahoma Territory.”

  Jeb gave her a disbelieving look. “Oh, I don’t believe that! You’re putting me on!”

  “No, really! He was, and later on he became a U.S. marshal for Isaac Parker, the hanging judge in Fort Smith, Arkansas. And Zach and Bronwen have another married daughter called Betsy. She’s married to a lawyer named Wesley Stone.”

  “The Winslows have no children at home, then?”

  “They’ve got four boys at home, Tom, Bill, Phil, and John.”

  “Must be nice to have a big family like that.”

  “I think it is. Anyhow, there are lots of us Winslows. Have you ever been to a family reunion?”

  “Not yet.”

  “You will. I’ll bet your dad will take you. When all the Winslows come from all over the country it makes a big crowd.”

  “I’d like that,” Jeb said. He sat quietly for a while, and soon Annie began reading her Bible again. He was somewhat puzzled at how much time she spent reading it. He himself had read it at his sister Gail’s insistence, and Aaron, his father, was a firm Christian, too. But he did not find the pleasure in it that Annie did. I’ll have to look into that more, he thought. Then his mind went on creating pictures of what Montana would be like, and soon he was looking out again at the landscape that flashed by as the train clicked over the rails and swayed from side to side.

  ****

  “Come on, Jeb. This is our stop.”

  “It doesn’t look like much of a town, does it
?”

  “Nope, but that’s it. I think the ranch is about five miles from here, according to what Uncle Zach said in his last letter.”

  “I hope somebody’s here to meet us. It looks sort of barren.”

  The two stepped off of the coach and made sure their luggage was set on the planks of the station platform. One quick look convinced both of them they were not being met, for they saw no one that looked at all like someone who had come to meet visitors.

  The train began to huff, expelling a huge gust of steam as it chugged out of the station. The two were left standing on the platform feeling forlorn. Looking around, Annie saw that the station was a small building no more than twelve feet square, and not a soul appeared to be in it. Moving over, she tried the doors but found them locked. She turned and said with some asperity, “Not much of a station. They lock it up even when the train comes in.”

  “I guess that’s the town over there, but maybe we’d better wait here.” Jeb waved toward the collection of weatherbeaten gray buildings that composed the small town of Clarence. There was little stirring, except for a herd of cattle being forced into a corral, and two men on horseback who were pulling up adjacent to the station.

  “Maybe we could ask those men if they know where the Winslow ranch is.”

  “I guess so,” Jeb said doubtfully. One look convinced him that the two were not the sort he would choose for company. They were both wearing worn jeans and cotton shirts, one red and the other blue. The one in blue had stopped long enough to look over at the pair.

  “Well, looky here. We got some dudes come from the East, Pokey.”

  “Come on, Will. Let’s get out of here,” the man called Pokey said.

  “What’s the hurry? If we get back to the ranch, we’ll just have to go to work.” The man called Will was a tall, lanky fellow with dirty blond hair that was exposed as he shoved his black Stetson back on his shoulders, where it was held by a leather lanyard. He slipped one leg over the saddle and sunlight flashed on the silver spurs. “There’s no rush. Maybe we can educate these young’uns about what it’s like to be in the Wild West.”

  Pokey did not move, but Will strolled toward the two young people on the train platform. As soon as he got close, Jeb, who was more experienced with such things from his time on the streets of New York, saw at once that the man had been drinking. Immediately he tensed up and wished there were some way to avoid the confrontation.

  “Well, hello, Sylvester,” the tall puncher said. His eyes were red from an excess of alcohol, and he stopped directly in front of the two, peering down at Annie and winking at her. “Is this your husband, ma’am?”

  Annie’s face flushed with embarrassment. She also recognized immediately that the cowboy was drunk and refused to answer the question. Taking Jeb’s arm, she pulled at him, whispering, “Come on. Let’s go into town.”

  “Why, you don’t have to do that, missy!” Drunk as he was, the cowboy was fast. He reached out quickly and grabbed Annie’s arm, saying, “You and Sylvester here better put on some better manners. Little bit different out here in the West.”

  “Let me go, please,” she implored.

  “Well, I’ll tell you what. Let’s me and you take a little walk, missy. I’ll show you the town. Sylvester, you wait here with Pokey over there. We won’t be gone long.”

  Although Jeb was almost as tall as the lanky cowboy, he could see the strength of the man and knew he would stand no chance in any sort of physical contest. His throat grew tight, and he chokingly said, “Please let her go.”

  “Please? Well, you have got some manners, ain’t you, Sylvester? Well, like I said. You just wait here. What’s your name, honey?”

  Annie was trying to pull her arm away from the grasp of the man, but his fingers were like steel, and he merely laughed at her attempts. She had never been accosted like this and had no idea of what to do. She wished desperately that someone would come to her rescue, but nobody appeared.

  “My name’s Will Baxter. I’ll just call you sweetie if you won’t tell me your name. Come on, I’ll show you the town.”

  As Annie was pulled along forcibly, she cast a look of despair at Jeb, then closed her lips. She knew that pleading would do no good with this drunken man, so she determined simply to accompany him. Once they were in the town surely someone would help her. There must be a marshal or a sheriff—!

  Jeb swallowed hard, and then, despite his fear, he moved quickly and grabbed the puncher’s arm. “Turn her loose, mister,” he said hoarsely.

  Will Baxter turned and grinned rashly. He looked down at the thin young man’s hands holding on to him and laughed loudly. “Look at this, Pokey. The tadpole’s done riz up. Plum fierce, ain’t he?”

  “Come on, Will, it ain’t worth the trouble.”

  “You go on back to the ranch. I’m going to have me some fun. I’ll bet you ain’t never been inside a real western saloon, have you, sweetie?” Without warning he suddenly jerked his arm loose from Jeb’s grip and with a vicious swing back-handed Jeb across the face. The force of the blow drove Jeb backward. He tripped on his own feet and sprawled full length on the rough boards of the platform. He lay there with his head spinning, then slowly got to his feet. He could feel his face burning, and there was a cut on the inside of his mouth. He tasted the warm, salty tang of blood, then without thinking he threw himself forward. He knew it was hopeless, for no sooner had he gotten within reach of the tall puncher than a blow caught him on his forehead. The world seemed to turn into a kaleidoscope of brilliant, flashing colors as stars of red and green and purple hues flashed and danced before his eyes. Before he knew it, he felt the boards pressing against him again.

  Annie stared at Jeb, and then a temper that rarely showed itself rose in her. “You big bully!” she cried and swung her free hand so quickly that it caught the puncher across the mouth.

  Anger flashed into the eyes of the cowboy, and he muttered, “You ain’t learned many manners, have you? I got a notion to give you a paddlin’!”

  “That’s enough, Baxter!”

  Annie suddenly twisted her head around, for she had not heard anyone approach, but she saw that a buggy had pulled up and a man had stepped out of it. He approached within a few feet of Will Baxter and now stood almost leisurely, it seemed, examining the drunken cowboy.

  “This ain’t none of your put in!”

  “Guess I’ll have to make it mine.”

  The man who spoke was very tall and well proportioned. He had a wedge-shaped face out of which gleamed very light blue eyes, the lightest Annie had ever seen in a man. He was extremely tanned from the sun, and beneath a pearl gray Stetson that shaded his eyes showed tufts of brown hair, almost auburn. There was a strength in his face that Annie trusted at once, and glancing up quickly, she saw that the man called Baxter had given the newcomer his full attention.

  “I’m telling you, stay out of this! It ain’t none of your mix!” Will threatened.

  At the same time he dropped his grip on Annie’s arm. She moved backward and went to stand beside Jeb, who was struggling to his feet. The two of them watched as the two tall men faced each other.

  “Will, you been asking for a beating for some time now. I been putting it off, but it seems to me that the time has come.”

  What happened then caught both Annie and Jeb off guard. The ruffian who had knocked Jeb to the ground without warning threw himself forward. Drunk as he was, he was fast as a striking snake. His right arm came up in a sweeping blow, and the newcomer took the blow on his neck. It staggered him, but he merely laughed and said, “That was your best shot, was it, Will? Well, it ain’t enough, son.”

  Suddenly the Stetson of the newcomer went flying, for he had brushed it off. He stepped forward and drove a powerful blow that struck Baxter high on the chest. It made a hollow thumping sound as the other rider named Pokey hollered, “Stay out of this, Winslow!”

  Winslow, Annie thought. This must be either John or Phil. She had read about both young men in th
e letters that Bronwen Winslow had written to her mother, and now she watched as the fight continued. It did not last long. While both men took a battering around the face, it was Winslow who drove the other back with blows that made a meaty sound as they pummeled Baxter’s face and body. Finally Baxter’s face grew flushed, and when a fist from Winslow caught him in the mouth, he was driven backward. He lay there looking bewildered as Winslow stood over him. “Why don’t you get up? I’ll give you the best we’ve got in the house, Baxter.”

  “I had enough,” Will mumbled, rubbing his jaw as he crawled to his feet.

  Winslow turned toward the other rider, who was watching, and said, “Pokey, how about you? You care for a waltz?”

  “Not me, Winslow.”

  The tall man turned to the two young people, dismissing the two cowpokes. “Sorry I’m a little bit late. You must be my kinfolk. I’m John Winslow.”

  Annie said breathlessly, “I’m Annie Rogers, and this is my cousin, Jeb Winslow.” Her hand was immediately swallowed by the big hand of Winslow, and she looked up to see a smile with flashing white teeth. “Sorry about the welcoming committee. We don’t usually let Baxter run loose. I guess I ought to have him throwed in jail, but he’s not worth feeding. How are you, Jeb?”

  Jeb could not speak for a moment, then he nodded. “Fine.”

  “Looks like you got a little bit of the worst of it.”

  “It’s okay,” Jeb said quickly. The cut inside his mouth was hurting, but he shook his head. “I’m just glad you came along.”

  “Well, come on and get in the buggy. Ma will probably give me a whipping with a broom for gettin’ here late and subjectin’ you to the worst of the county.” He led them to the buggy and helped Annie in, then gathered and loaded their luggage before he leaped in himself and picked up the lines. Jeb settled in the back and held on as the twin grays started forward at a word from John Winslow.