When the song ended, Abigail became aware of Hoke’s broad chest and narrow hips, his body so close, like a chiseled rock but . . . warm . . . alive. And safe. Hoke made everyone feel safe, because he had everything under control.
He held her out away from his body and searched her face.
Josephine was speaking. “Nora, sweetheart, that was the most beautiful thing I ever heard. I can’t believe you’ve been hiding over there while we’ve been singing. You must share that with us more often!”
Yes, everyone agreed. Lovely! Simply gorgeous! Please sing more often, they begged.
Their praise so embarrassed Nora, she bolted from the ring.
Everyone started saying good night and making their way back to their wagons. Abigail turned her head away from Hoke’s probing eyes. Before he could speak she raised a hand to silence him and turned to leave.
This was the second time she’d cried in front of him.
As Orin Peters was walking back to the campfire he noticed Abigail’s stricken look. “Are you all right, Mrs. Abigail?”
She shook her head and walked away.
He turned to Charlie and Corrine, who stood nearby. “What’s wrong? Did someone hurt her feelings?” Then he looked at Hoke.
“No,” Corrine answered.
“That song reminds her of Mimi,” offered Jacob.
“Who’s Mimi?” asked Hoke.
“Our help. Practically our second mama.”
“Mimi used to live with us,” Charlie explained. “She was supposed to come out here with us, but her sister got sick and Mimi stayed with her instead.”
“She used to sing that song,” said Corrine, whose own blue eyes had watered to see her mother so affected.
“When Mimi was born,” said Charlie, “her father brought her up to the big house to show Grandpa and Grandma Walstone. It was Christmas Day. Evidently, Ma had prayed for a baby sister the night before and nobody knew it. So when Mimi’s father showed up with a baby girl the next morning, Ma squealed and said, ‘Is she for me? Me?’ That’s how Mimi got her name.”
“I didn’t know that’s how Mimi got her name,” said Lina.
“You never heard Ma tell that? She thought Mimi was the little sister she’d prayed for.”
“How old was Ma?”
“About five, like you.”
“You’re five! I thought you were younger than that,” said Prissy Schroeder, who had scuttled up to see what they were talking about.
“She’s still four,” said Jacob.
“But I’ll be five on my next birthday,” Lina corrected him, smiling.
“You just had your birthday, Lina,” said Jacob. “It won’t come again for a while.”
Then all the children started asking each other, How old are you? When is your birthday? How old did you think I was?
As they chattered, Hoke made his way back to his wagon, mulling over the sacrifice Abigail Baldwyn had made in leaving the safety of what she knew in Tennessee to travel two thousand miles across rough terrain for a man who hadn’t even acted like he wanted her to know he was alive.
CHAPTER 15
While the game’s on the move
He saddled his horse just before sunset.
“Where are you going, Captain Baldwyn?” asked the sentry on duty as he rode up to the gate. He noticed that it was one of the new recruits.
“To hunt.”
“This late?”
“Best time, while the game’s on the move.”
“You’re not supposed to go alone this late in the day, Captain.”
“Open the gate. I’ll be fine.”
The sentry hesitated.
“Open the gate, son,” he said again. “I happen to enjoy hunting and I go out for the cook all the time. You can ask him. The cook wants elk and I know where to find some. If I’m not back in three days with an elk slung over this horse, you can feel bad about it then.”
The sentry opened the gate and watched him ride out, then closed it behind him.
Once the sentry was no longer in sight, he circled back to the far north side of the fort to pick up the supplies he had lowered over the wall. Then he pointed his horse southeast.
He knew that if he camped in a certain spot, the trapper would find him. Sure enough, when he opened his eyes the next morning, the trapper was sitting on a fallen log, trimming his fingernails with a large knife, watching him.
He threw off his blanket and pulled on his boots. “I thought I was a light sleeper.”
The trapper nodded toward the bundle next to him on the ground. “Those guns?”
“Yeah. Henrys.”
“Why you bringin’ ’em? And where’s Bonnie?”
“Bonnie’s fine. She’s at the cabin. I’m bringing guns—and whiskey—because I have a problem. I need your help.”
“What kind o’ problem?”
“Wife problem.”
“I came to ask you ’bout that. I was down south o’ Kearney last month. Met a man who said he aimed to kill you because you killed his brother, Dan.”
“Oh, yeah?”
“Said this Dan thought y’all was friends.”
“We weren’t friends. We served together once. He had a big mouth and I knew he couldn’t keep it shut.” He swore. “Who saw it? Who told the brother?”
“Man didn’t say.”
“I’m not too worried about it. Dan Ryman wasn’t hard to kill.”
“Neither was his brother.”
He smiled and cocked his head at the trapper. “That was good of you.”
The trapper pointed the knife at him. “Tell me why this Ryman fella thinks he spoke to your wife. Because if I’m remembering right . . . and I always do . . . you said you wasn’t married no more.”
He took a deep breath and leveled his eyes at the trapper. “I’m not. But there’s a woman heading this way who thinks I’m her husband.”
“Why does she think it if it ain’t so?”
“I borrowed his name.”
“Where’s she been till now?”
“Tennessee.”
“What’s makin’ her travel out here?”
“Money problems.”
“You want to keep her from gettin’ here?”
The man known as Robert Baldwyn nodded. “She’s with a large group. What’s in those wagons has to be a rich bounty. They’ll come through Laramie in five or six weeks. I was just there. These were all the guns and whiskey I could get, but I’ll get you more in time. Meanwhile, there’s a spot about a week out from the fort where the land starts to rise. Scattered evergreens. Make a great place for an ambush.”
The trapper pointed the knife at the bundle. “Show me what you got.”
The man untied the rope and opened the blanket. “I know this isn’t much. I had some trouble at Laramie. But I’m telling you, this train’s bound to be a rich load. I know this woman. She’s used to having things and she’ll be traveling with a well-set group. You can keep it all, and I’ll see to it that the army doesn’t come after you.”
He put his hand in his pocket and pulled out Abigail’s picture. “Here’s what she looks like.”
The trapper reached for it and raised an eyebrow. “You want her dead, or can we have her?”
“Take all the other women in the group you want to, but I prefer you kill her. And anyone with her—she’s got four kids. They’ll all have yellow hair, like her. And there might be a Negro woman with her. She wasn’t real clear about that in her letter.”
The trapper put the picture in his pocket. “She won’t reach Fort Hall.” He retied the bundle and shouldered it.
“I appreciate it.”
“I’m not doin’ it for you.”
As the trapper walked off the man known as Robert asked, “You seen any elk?”
The trapper pointed east. “Four miles that way.”
May 20, 1866
Sometimes Mr. Hoke asks Jacob to drive his team—or Cooper Austelle or Lijah Sutler. The boys nearly come to blows
over the privilege.
True to their vow, Charlie and Jacob have slept each night on the ground since we left Independence—all but when it stormed. Rascal sleeps between them. (They’ll be teeming in fleas, won’t they? What was your remedy for those, Mimi?)
Many of the children run barefoot during the day and Jacob has begged me to let him do so, but I insist he wear his boots until we make camp for the evening. No one has been snakebit . . . yet. The snakes probably hear us coming from miles ahead.
Just before they reached Fort Kearney, Audrey Beckett went into labor. She started in the night and Doc said at sunup it might be noon before the baby came.
Colonel Dotson delayed the train’s departure.
When Rudy Schroeder suggested to the men that some of them could go on to the fort and some stay behind, Dotson was firm. “We’re not splitting.”
James had ridden scout days earlier and circled back at the time to see how near the next wagon train was getting. It was a subject the men often discussed: how close was the next group getting? Dotson’s goal had been to stay in the lead. But theirs was a large group and the larger the group, the more delays. James had found that the next, smaller train with a dozen wagons was quickly gaining ground.
Doc Isaacs approached the men. He looked tired.
Gerald Jenkins laid a hand on his shoulder. “What’s the word on Mrs. Beckett?”
“A few more hours, at least. She’s had a hard time of it. I hate to move her too quickly.”
“We won’t move her today,” said Dotson. “The train will stay put.”
“But—” Rudy Schroeder started to protest.
Hoke spoke low but they all heard him. “Rudy, the colonel’s mind is made and his word is law.”
“Fine,” said Rudy. “Austelle, how ’bout you come take a look at one of the wheels on my wagon. If we’re going to sit here all day, we might as well get something done.”
Gerald Jenkins watched Mr. Austelle leave with Rudy and then turned to Dotson and Hoke. “Those Schroeders can be testy.”
“Yes, but they’re a hardworking lot,” said Colonel Dotson.
“You know he imbibes regularly,” said Tim Peters.
“Yeah, I know. So does Mrs. Vandergelden. But Schroeder doesn’t do it when he’s on guard duty.”
“Mrs. Vandergelden? How’d you know that?” asked Jenkins.
“You ever look at her eyes? They stay bloodshot. Let’s take stock of things today, let the livestock rest, and send out a couple of hunting parties, and more scouts to see how close that next train is getting.”
James Parker and Michael Chessor volunteered for the scouting job. Hoke was put in charge of one hunting party and Harry Sims the other.
When Tam Woodford heard Harry was taking a group, she begged to go along. “I can’t stand being around all these women fussing over this baby coming. I’ve got me a rifle. It’s an old muzzle-loader, but it shoots fine and I know how to use it.”
“Come on, then,” said Harry, grinning under his handlebar mustache.
Charlie ran to the Beckett wagon, where Abigail was helping attend to Audrey Beckett, and asked permission to go with Hoke. Hoke could hear them talking as he went to his own wagon for supplies.
When she took her time answering Charlie, Hoke knew her brow must be twisted in that way she had.
“I’d rather you stay close, Charlie, to help with Jacob and Lina while I’m helping Mrs. Beckett.”
“Corrine can watch them. Clyde and Cooper are both going. You ought to let Jacob go with us.”
It obviously meant a lot to Charlie to go. Hoke had never heard him question one of his mother’s decisions.
“No. Jacob stays here and I prefer you stay here, too.”
Cooper Austelle ran up to announce, “Hoke says there might be a herd of bison on the other side of the ridge, Charlie!”
“Ma, I know better than to argue, but . . . it’s Mr. Hoke!” Hoke was touched to know Charlie wanted to spend time with him. “You know Jake’ll have a conniption.”
Sure enough, Jacob ran up just then. “Ma! Ma! Mr. Hoke thinks there might be buffalo!”
When Hoke stepped around the corner Abigail’s brow was sure enough twisted.
“Why are you telling these boys there might be buffalo nearby?”
“Because there might.” He’d seen the herd yesterday and doubted they’d moved far overnight. Jacob had talked nonstop on this trip about wanting to see buffalo. It made Hoke smile to think the boy was about to get his wish.
Abigail cocked her head and gave him a look that preached plenty.
Hoke laid a hand over his heart, wishing he could reach out and smooth the lines in her forehead. “I’ll take personal responsibility for their well-bein’ if you’ll let ’em go.”
“Both of them?”
“Why not?”
“You don’t think Jacob’s too young?”
“Not at all!”
She stepped down from the wagon and pulled him to the side. “Are they dangerous?”
The feel of her hand on his arm made his blood race. “Not unless they stampede.”
Her eyes grew wide.
“But it’s rare.”
“Mr. Hoke!”
“Just Hoke.”
Just then Melinda Austelle walked by, on her way back with fresh water. Abigail turned to her. “Melinda? Are you letting your boys go? Is Mr. Austelle going?”
Hoke fumed. She trusted Charles Austelle but didn’t trust him? Charles was a good man, but he wasn’t any more capable than Hoke was!
Yes, Melinda was letting her boys go, and yes, Mr. Austelle was going. Abigail turned back to Hoke. “I’d die if anything happened to my boys. Promise me you’ll watch out for them.”
He swept his hat off and bowed low. “I promise to return them in one piece.”
“Alive,” she demanded.
“I’ll do my damnedest.”
Her brow did more than twist—it furrowed. “And don’t curse in front of them!”
“You boys have a fine gun,” Hoke said to Charlie when Charlie handed it to him for inspection. They had stopped near the bison herd.
Hoke ran a hand over the wood stock. It shone. “That’s walnut. Nice . . . forty-four rimfire.”
Hoke handed the gun to Jacob, who pulled it up toward his shoulder, taking aim on a lone buffalo standing to the side of the herd.
“If you hold it there it’s going to break your collarbone,” Hoke told him. “Move it over. That’s it. And your dominant eye is your left one since you use your left hand, so close your right eye. Pick a spot and close each eye to get a feel for it. See how your barrel moves, depending on which eye is closed? I always keep both eyes open, but you want to take aim with your eye on the same side as your hand on the trigger.”
“So I’ll always follow my left eye?”
“If that’s the hand you got on the trigger. And by the way, don’t ever let anybody try to make you do things with your right hand if the left one is what feels natural. Some tools are tricky—like scissors. I got me a pair of left-handed scissors in my wagon if you ever want to use ’em.”
Jacob grinned. “I noticed you wore your pistol on your left leg.”
Hoke winked at him. “Now look at your target and imagine it’s the face of a clock. You want to put the front sight in the rear notch and lay it on six o’clock at the bottom of your clock face. Most people shoot too high. They sight in on the middle of the target. But you’ll do better to aim at the base of it. It’s natural to raise the barrel as you squeeze the trigger.”
“Should I get off my horse?” Jacob was on the dun.
The kid didn’t act nervous at all, thought Hoke. Charlie was more cautious. Jacob was fearless—which could be both good and bad.
“It’s always served me well to know how to shoot sittin’ on mine. If you can hit the target from your horse, you can usually hit it standing on the ground. Doesn’t always work the other way. But try to keep the reins in your hand ’cause if
your horse isn’t used to it, he’ll pitch.”
Charlie, Cooper, Clyde, Alec Douglas, even Mr. Austelle were all paying close attention to Hoke’s words. Cooper and Clyde both gripped their horses’ reins a little tighter as he spoke.
“Where’s the best place to hit it?” Jacob was concentrating hard.
“Heart or head. Head’s better if you can get past the bone structure. A buffalo has a hard head. If you can lay it in one of his eyes or ears it’ll go straight to the brain.”
Hoke expected Jacob to take a while getting a feel for the gun, but as soon as the boy lined up that bull’s massive head on six o’clock in his sight, he pulled the trigger and flipped feet first over the butt of the gray dun, his father’s rifle falling to the ground beside him.
Hoke had been kicked plenty himself by both guns and animals and knew every boy had to learn it. He was trying not to laugh at Jacob lying on the ground, scrambling out from under the hooves of his horse—which was also too big for him—when he heard the angry buffalo snort.
Hoke’s head whipped around to the buffalo. The kid had nicked him after all, and it made the hairy beast mad.
The dun landed a kick to Jacob’s shoulder just as the buffalo charged. Hoke went cold in an instant. The charging bull spooked the rest of the herd and they started to run, too, but by the grace of God, in the opposite direction.
Hoke clamped his legs tight around the stallion, the Winchester out of his holster, in his hands and thrown to his shoulder—shoot, work the lever, shoot, work the lever, shoot—but the buffalo was already down. He looked over at Charlie, who stood with the smoking Henry in his hands. Charlie had jumped down from the gelding, scooped up the fallen rifle, and fired the killing shot.
Mr. Austelle had only just gotten his rifle lifted, it all happened so fast.
Hoke looked at Charlie. “Nice work.”
Charlie reached for Jacob. “You all right, Jake?”
Jacob looked like he wanted to cry. He eyed the Austelle boys and felt his shoulder. “I think it’s broke.”
“Here, let’s see.” Hoke dismounted and felt Jacob’s shoulder. “It’s popped out. Look yonder at that buffalo and tell me if his eyes are open or not.”
Leaving Independence Page 15