Colter's Path (9781101604830)

by Judd, Cameron

  They’d just gotten Treemont settled on the side of the tree away from the creek when Jedd, glancing around the trunk, caught a flash of gunmetal in the brush across the rill. He came around the tree, looking hard, figuring he’d just located the person who had wounded his friend.

  He saw the rifle barrel come poking out through a bush just before it fired. He felt a sharp, cracking pain in his left ankle and fell down hard.

  “I’ll be drawed up and quartered, Treemont—I’m shot, too!” he exclaimed.

  Treemont swore loudly and whoever was across the creek moved, rustling the brush, and then was gone.

  Jedd looked down at his shattered and bloody ankle, and wondered what in the blaze of perdition was going on, and who had done it.

  “Whoever it was was either a very bad shot or a very good one,” Jedd said to Wilberforce Sadler. Wilberforce had come, with Witherspoon, to see Jedd and Treemont and learn the details of their woundings. Wilberforce was evidently disturbed at the fact that someone in his enterprise had been fired upon, even hit, but Witherspoon was an emotional wreck, weeping inconsolably.

  Jedd wasn’t much surprised by that: he’d seen Witherspoon weep when he saw one of the wagons crush a scampering field mouse beneath its wheels while they were still traveling toward Louisville, Kentucky.

  Jedd soon found out there was more to Witherspoon’s sorrows than mere upset over the inexplicable shooting incident.

  Wilberforce was the one who brought it out. “Jedd, you must realize that your current crippled situation, which is likely to continue for some time yet, considering how long it can take an ankle to heal, puts a new light on your situation with us.”

  “I grant you, sir, I am of much reduced value to the venture,” Jedd conceded. “But I’ve always healed fast and well from injuries. I’ve broken many a bone in my day, from fingers to ribs to arms, and never have I been out of commission for long. If you can bear with me patiently for a short time, I am certain I’ll be able to carry out the most important parts of my duties.”

  Wilberforce sighed and shook his head. “That is not realistic, Jedd. You can scarce hunt, scout, or give protection if you cannot even take a step. As you know, our travel has been much slowed and impeded already—mostly through the fault of the late General Lloyd, not you—and we cannot afford to be slowed again. I am sorry, Jedd, but I believe it essential for us to end our arrangement and proceed without you. You will be provided packhorses, extra mounts, and what supplies can be charitably spared, but go on without you we shall.”

  As Wilberforce said that, Witherspoon moaned loudly and wept harder. Jedd could tell there was no theatricality in it; Witherspoon was authentically distressed. “I’m sorry, Jedd,” he managed to say. “I wasn’t for it, argued against it, in fact—but Wilberforce…but other voices spoke out against me. I’m sorry. I don’t want to see you go.”

  The truth was, Jedd didn’t much care if he parted from the Sadler enterprise. He did not consider himself reliant on any particular group, individual, or agreement to make his way in the world. He could go to California with or without the Sadlers.

  “What would remain of our original agreement?” Jedd asked, thinking of the provision giving him a percentage of any mining profits made by the Sadlers. “Am I to be penalized because some unknown person chose to shoot me and my partner?”

  Wilberforce’s smile was cold. “And are Witherspoon and I to be penalized perpetually by having to recompense in an ongoing way a man who was unable to complete his agreed task?”

  “It’s you who are asking me to separate from you. As I said, given a small amount of time I believe I could complete my side of our bargain without difficulty.”

  “We can’t afford further delays, Jedd,” Wilberforce said. He put out his hand for Jedd to shake, but Jedd was not so inclined. Wilberforce shrugged and turned away. “My best to you, Jedd. I hope your healing proceeds apace and that, should you come to California later or should you take a different direction in life, you will find much success in your undertakings.” With that, Wilberforce turned and exited the infirmary tent where Jedd and Treemont lay on cots. Treemont grunted disdainfully.

  “That man, I believe, is a cheat to the very heart of him.” Realizing Witherspoon was still present to hear this said of his brother, Treemont said, “No intention of slurring your family, sir. Just speaking my mind with my usual freedom.”

  “I have no argument with you,” Witherspoon said. “I am more aware than any other man of the coldness of my brother’s heart and his focus upon taking care of himself above all others. I want you to know, gentlemen, that I was of the view that your situation should have been accommodated, time given for you to heal, and our journey to move forward as before. I was told just what you were: we can’t afford more lost time.”

  “It would be best at this point to delay in any case,” Jedd said. “So much time was lost by General Lloyd that there is the danger of being caught in the winter snows before we complete our crossing. Safest to wait and reach the gold fields in the spring.”

  “I don’t question that you are right,” Witherspoon said. “I will express that same view to my brother and see if, for once, reason can prevail over ambition.” Witherspoon shook his head and moved his rotund form toward the tent door. “We should never have promised a fast crossing. That was our mistake. By making that promise we put unneeded pressure upon ourselves, the kind of pressure that can lead to hasty decisions and mistakes. Should never have done it that way.”

  When Witherspoon was gone, Treemont said, “Jedd, that porky Sadler may prove to have some sense and mettle to him yet.”

  “So he might, Treemont.”

  Tree chuckled. “You know, Jedd, old Withers there will realize something before long that may make him shift to his brother’s side. There’ll be an advantage to him in you being left behind.”

  “I know what you’re thinking. Rachel McCall. With me out of the picture, Witherspoon will have her to himself.”

  Jedd laughed and unwittingly moved his hurt ankle, which brought his laughter to an instant halt. Treemont said, “That’s indeed what I was thinking. That woman is smit with you, no question of it. Pure old smit to the core of her. But not so bad as poor Withers is smit with her.”

  “Smitten, Tree. Smitten. Not smit.”

  “Beg pardon, schoolmaster. I’m just an unschooled old rover of the wild country. I know very little of book learning.”

  “Just trying to help you out a little.”

  “I’m obliged.” A long pause, and then Treemont spoke again. “Jedd, you don’t think old Wilberforce would have shot us himself as a way of getting rid of us, do you? You know, so he wouldn’t have to share any of his gold with you in California?”

  Jedd could have admitted that the same possibility had come to his own mind. But he didn’t. “I don’t think he’d do that, Tree. He ain’t that bad a man, surely.”

  “I don’t know, Jedd. Somebody surely did shoot us, and it had to be somebody with a reason. Something to gain.”

  “Who knows, Tree? But let’s you and me agree to be mighty cautious in speculating, especially out loud. These tent walls are mighty thin, and sound carries.”

  “If it wasn’t Wilberforce, then who?”

  “Ben Scarlett ran into Jake Carney a short while back.”

  “Jake Carney? The one who was so mad when you beat him because it made him lose the affection of his woman?”

  “The same. Not that he ever really had her affection. He just wanted her and she was looking for a reason not to take him. She let that fight become her reason. She claimed that she couldn’t accept a man who would lose in a fight like that. Silly sort of way to think, but like I said, she was looking for a reason.”

  “You really think he’d kill you after all this time, over something as silly as that?”

  “He might. Or he might just try to ruin my life for me. Turn me into a cripple.”

  “But why would he shoot me, too? I never had any d
ealings with him, never done him any wrongs, real or ’maginary! And I was the one who got shot first!”

  “It may not have been Jake Carney at all. I’m just speculating based on the fact that Ben ran into him. But if Carney was the shooter, and he recognized you out by that creek, he might have decided to injure you so I’d be drawn out there, and he’d have an opportunity at me.”

  “Well…”

  “I know it don’t sound that convincing. And like I said, it might not be him who did it. The fact remains, though, you and me are both laid up wounded by what was surely the same man. So somebody out there had cause to do it, and Carney’s been seen in the area.”

  “I can’t argue with that.” Treemont paused. “How long you think we’ll be crips, Jedd?”

  “I think we’ll both be up on our feet a lot faster than old Wilberforce thinks we will. And if the Sadlers don’t manage to make hay of not having the general to slow them down anymore, and keep on foot-dragging, I can easily see the day when you and me come riding up on their camp, tip our hats, and go on past and get to California before they do. Even after being left behind here.”

  “You mean that?”

  “I do. In fact, let’s just kind of plan on doing that, huh? Because I got a feeling they ain’t going to do much better without the general than they did with him. Slowness has become a habit by now. It happens.”

  “Sounds good to me, passing them by.”

  “My ankle hurts, Tree.”

  “My knee hurts. And my leg.”

  “Just another adventure to tell the grandchildren about.”

  “If we ever find wives.”

  “Tell you what, Tree: I’ll let you have Rachel McCall.”

  “Know what? I’d take her. A lot of men would. And since you’ve got the chance, you ought to take her yourself.”

  “She ain’t my kind. Besides, Witherspoon would hunt me down and gut me if I took his gal. He’s a mighty frontiersman, you know. He’s got the clothes to prove it.”

  Treemont laughed and did not speak for a while. Then he looked at Jedd and said, “Jedd, you don’t think it could have been Witherspoon who shot us, do you? You know, being jealous over the Widow McCall being smitten with you?”

  “The way he was wailing and caterwauling in here a little while ago? No. I really don’t think he’d do it. And I doubt he’s a good enough shot to put a ball through one man’s ankle and through another man’s lower leg.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  Jedd sat up, listening to the night. Treemont slept soundly, not hearing what Jedd heard faintly, but distinctly. He sat up farther, despite the pain it caused him to do so, and listened harder, to be sure he was not merely misinterpreting some natural sound…the howling of some beast, or of the wind.

  No. It was not that. Jedd listened until he was sure, then lay flat again until the sound grew faint and indistinct beyond the thickening mask of descending sleep. When morning came the sound was gone along with the darkness from which it had been born.

  By midmorning, daylight and distraction had all but erased the memory of that sound from Jedd’s mind.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Being “laid up” did not suit any aspect of Jedd Colter’s temperament other than his enjoyment of solitude. His idea of good solitude, however, had nothing to do with lying on cots in tents or bedrolls in the back of a wagon. Jedd liked the solitude of the forest and plains and mountains…and a man had to be able to move to enjoy those.

  For days he was stuck in the same tent with Treemont, and as much as the men liked each other, it was not long before each wore out his welcome with the other. Ironically, things outside the tent seemed at last to be moving at a better pace, which only made confinement more irksome, and also made Jedd start to wonder if he might be wrong in doubting the Sadlers would move along faster without the heavy anchor of General Lloyd.

  The problems that had led to the long encampment to begin with were finally corrected. Wagons were in good shape, mules had replaced dray horses, and provisions were plentiful. Some of the emigrants wisely began disposing of items they had brought with them that would obviously be problematic once the plains were behind and there were mountains to be crossed. Among the discarded things were a few medical items, including crutches. Jedd and Treemont were made a gift of these, and sheer desperation led them to begin attempting to use them well before they should have done so. No calamities resulted, fortunately, and both men were surprised at how soon they were able to hobble around, swinging their damaged limbs and struggling through the pain the movement caused, enduring it for the reward of mobililty, however slow and awkward.

  Treemont did better than Jedd on this score, his injuries being farther up his leg. Jedd was required to be eternally vigilant in not letting his left foot so much as brush the ground, because even a minor wrenching of his ankle was excruciating. Even so, Jedd found some comfort in the fact that Treemont was soon spending as much time as he could bear outside the tent, moving around outside and leaving Jedd a bit of privacy.

  Before the Sadler emigrants moved on, Jedd and Treemont were visited by almost every member of the group, so much so that Jedd began to believe he was saying the word “good-bye” more frequently than any other. He made scores of pledges to be sure to look up certain families and individuals once in California, knowing that most of them would be forgotten. That didn’t matter. He knew they would forget him, too.

  Rachel McCall swore she would not forget Jedd Colter. In fact, she would wait for him, and somehow in California she would find him. She would wait until he had ample time to heal and reach California. Then she would begin her search. If she had to, she would pass through every mining town, every camp, every “digging” until she had reunited with him.

  Jedd struggled for a way to speak honestly to her without needlessly hurting her. “Rachel, I don’t know that you’re looking at our situation the way it really is. I’ve been separated from the Sadler venture, and truthfully I don’t know for certain that I’ll even go on to California now.” This was a falsehood; Jedd fully intended to go on if for no reason other than finding Emma and seeing for himself how she was faring in her apparently unhappy home. With the thought of Emma, he realized he owed Rachel a fuller bit of truth. “Rachel, the fact is, there’s already a woman I care for, and she’s in California right now. If I do go on to California, it will be in order to find her. You have a right to know that, given that you seem to have an interest in me.”

  She managed a weak, sad smile, and it gave way to tears. There was no sobbing, no outright crying, only tears, quietly streaming down her face. Jedd felt wicked for the pain he was causing her, especially since the woman he was talking of seeking out was probably still married and unavailable to him anyway.

  “Jedd, I wish you the best in whatever and whomever you choose,” she said, voice quivering a little. “But I will not hesitate to tell you that I believe the best for you may well be sitting here beside you right now. I would prove to you a faithful and completely loving wife, true and hardworking and kind. You can find no one else who would give you more of her full devotion.”

  “Rachel, I can believe that. If only things were just a bit different, I can’t say what might transpire between us.”

  She leaned forward, then hesitated. “May I?”

  “You may.”

  Not since the days he and Emma had held each other close on the drawing room sofa in the big McSwain house on Addington Street had Jedd received such a memorable kiss. He lay back in the lingering glow of it and wondered if maybe he should try a little harder to put Emma behind him.

  Not that that could be done. Some things, like shot-up ankles and love, were beyond a man’s control.

  Jedd managed to get outside and seat himself on a flat boulder the day the Sadler group decamped and left. He was surprised at the sorrow he felt at being left behind, and the resentment that flared toward Wilberforce Sadler for forcing him into this situation. He supposed his real
anger should have been directed toward whatever person had shot him in the ankle, but it was not easy to fully hate someone without knowing who the someone was.

  Treemont looked at Jedd’s ankle, resting before him on the ground. “That can’t feel very good, Jedd, having the weight of your foot down on that ankle. Let’s get you back on your cot again so you can keep your leg stretched out flat.”

  “I’m tired of that cot, Tree. And the ankle don’t hurt as bad as it did. I’m beginning to think that a lot of the hurting was just from the rifle ball going through, and maybe the bone wasn’t injured as much as I’d first thought. If that’s the case, I may be able to be up and going faster than I’d expected.”

  “That may be just some wishful thinking, Jedd.”

  “Oh, it’s wishful, all right. I’m ready to be my old self again. But sometimes wishes come true, you know.”

  Treemont watched the final wagon roll out of sight. McSwain’s wagon, now shared almost always with Ben Scarlett.

  “Know what, Tree? McSwain told me sometime ago he’d go along with an idea of mine for him to teach folks to read while the journey to California went along. I believe he really meant it. When I got hurt, though, I figured that would be the end of it, him probably not likely to stick with it without me there to goad him along. But when he came in and said his good-byes, he told me he still aimed to do it, if there were any willing to let him teach them. I hope he does. That would be a right fine thing.”

  “He’s an odd fellow, Jedd, that McSwain. Remember how he used to carry that stuffed dead cat around? That was plain old strange.”

  “It was. And I think there might have been more to the story of that cat than any of us knew. And I got a feeling McSwain will never tell that story, just like he’ll never tell just what got him thrown out of his job at the college.” Jedd shifted his leg slightly and winced. “I’ve wondered whether or not maybe them two stories might actually twine together somewhere to become the same one.”

  Treemont gave a spasmodic chuckle. “What? You think he got the axe at his college over a dead cat?”