“It—it’s real purty, Emma.”
“So do you know why I wore it for you?”
Now, there was a trap if ever he’d heard one. “Can’t rightly say,” Billy ventured warily, “but I’m guessin’ it wasn’t so we could catch frogs on the riverbank.”
When she rolled those eyes and planted her hands on her hips, he knew he was in for it. His sister had performed this way since she was much younger than Emma Clark.
Billy swallowed hard. With Christine it had been different, because when she’d been here at Christmas he’d noticed right off that his sister had sprouted fronts and she walked with a sway. But she’d looked so much like Mama, and acted so standoffish, those changes hadn’t really affected him.
Now, however, he wondered what in tarnation was taking Gabe so long to fetch their pie. And he realized, too, that it was Emma’s bright idea to send him after it.
“I was hoping,” she hinted, “that you might ask me to dance later, when the music starts up. I love to dance, Billy. And now that we’re old enough to join in with the adults—”
“I—I don’t know how!” he fibbed, wishing that even the dogs would come to his rescue. Never mind that he’d been drafted into dancing lessons when Christine’s class had lacked for boys. Those girls had seen him as Christine’s pesky little brother once the lesson was over, but Miss Clark obviously had something more . . . private in mind.
“Well, perfect!” she crowed. “I can teach you! Back here, where nobody’ll see if you make a mistake or step on my foot. You just put your arm around my waist—”
Emma hadn’t given him a chance to step away from the wall. Now she was guiding his hand to the small of her back . . . grinning prettily while those soft, yellow waves of hair teased that hand. She stepped against him, her eyes shining blue with intention.
Yes, he realized, she was pretty. Perfume drifted up from the neck of her dress—first time she’d ever worn that! And he knew if he said another word, that hard lump pulsing in his throat would make his voice jump like a squirrel the dogs had treed.
And danged if she wasn’t leaning in real close, like she was going to kiss him! It surely couldn’t be all bad, kissing her—but she’d have to swear on the Bible not to tell anybody. If Gabe or anyone else walked by right now—
“Billy! You gotta see this!” his friend’s voice came from the yard. “Another cattle drive’s heading into town. Holy smokes, there must be a million of them!”
Spot and Snowy raced past, followed closely by Hattie and Boots, all barking gleefully at the oncoming excitement. So Billy bolted.
“Sorry about the dancin’, Emma,” he blurted, “but it’s my job to see that those longhorns don’t trample anything! Come along, if you want. We’ve got some ridin’ to do!”
With a burst of energy born of extreme relief, Billy sprinted toward the yard. Gabe was standing on a crate gazing south with the other men who’d spotted the oncoming herd, a forgotten plate of pie in his hands.
“Let’s saddle up!” Billy called out. “The dogs’ll keep the cattle in line, but me ’n’ Nathaniel ride along to be sure the cowboys behave themselves. Can’t have that herd of cowpokes stampedin’ through our party, now, can we?”
Gabe’s eyes grew wide behind his spectacles, but he left the pie on the crate and came running around the barn. “But what if the horse you choose doesn’t like—doesn’t know me—”
“Hop on behind me and just hang on tight!”
His pulse beating for a whole different reason now, Billy rushed into the barn and took a bridle from the back wall. He motioned for Gabe to follow him.
“Hey there, Trojan,” he crooned at the huge black gelding Nathaniel was saddling. “We’ll be right behind you, fella. Hey there, Mr. Lincoln! If you were a couple years older, buddy, we’d be ridin’ out to our glory. Here we go—Pepper’s the lady for us, aren’tcha, girl? You’re smellin’ those longhorns and itchin’ to go after ’em.”
He bridled the dappled gray as Trojan trotted out first, whickering and tossing his massive head. Blanket, saddle—with an extra slap on her belly so he could tighten the cinch enough—and he was leading Pepper out into the sunlight.
Judd was just entering the barn with a couple other men. “Careful now, boys! Those sharp horns can do some damage—not to mention your mothers blaming us if you get hurt,” he called out. “Let the dogs do the job they were born for.”
He was right, of course: the fastest way to stampede those cattle was to ride hell-bent-for-leather at them. But their large dust cloud was still half a mile down the road, and Billy itched to run with the wind for a minute. Maybe to blow off the effect of Emma’s perfume. And maybe to show off a little, because he could.
He vaulted into the saddle and pulled Gabe up behind him. Then he nudged Pepper into a trot. “Hang on, cowpoke!” he cried, and they shot past the corrals at a gallop.
Was there anything as glorious as lying flat against a flying horse’s neck? Billy felt like one huge grin, charging full speed through the flattened prairie grass alongside the road. He gave Pepper her head, knowing she’d be easier to control after running off some nervous energy. Gabe’s arms tightened around his waist. He suspected the slender boy was holding his breath and clenching his eyes shut. But Gabe didn’t make a whimper.
The thunder of Pepper’s hoofbeats took control of Billy’s pulse. The dust flew wildly behind them, and the wind whistled in his ears at a different pitch when he cocked his head. He wondered if Emma was peeved at him for running off this way, yet he could recall a time when she would’ve been neck-and-neck on her horse, giving him a real run for it.
How come girls had to change so, anyway? What had possessed her to press him against the barn wall? He’d always enjoyed these parties because tomboy Emma Clark had been his friend, his equal. But now the balance had shifted, and he sensed that things would never be the same between them.
“Whooooa, Pepper,” he murmured as they approached Nathaniel and Trojan. “Easy does it now. Gotta stand our ground and look those longhorns in the eye. Show ’em who’s boss here.”
“Who’s boss?” Gabe echoed with a chuckle. He sat up to assess the cattle at closer range. “One look at those dogs tells you that, Billy! Far as I’m concerned, there’s no finer sight than watching a border collie put a herd in its place.”
“Yeah, look at that! Spot and Hattie’re not one bit afraid of those big ole beasts,” he replied in awe. “They know when to dart in and nip, and when to crouch and just stare ’em down.”
Snowy yipped a warning at one unruly steer, jumping back to avoid his long, lethal horn as it shook its bony head. The beast plodded back into the herd, which rumbled forward in a wave three times the width of the road. For as far as the boys could see, the prairie looked like an undulating blanket of dusty hides with horns like handlebars.
Billy returned Judd’s wave as he, Clyde Fergus, and Emma’s dad rode along the edge of the procession to let the drovers see them. It never hurt to let those cowboys know that this homestead’s owner was watching their every move until they got past his property.
“Call the dogs to the other side,” Nathaniel instructed, his eyes never leaving the herd. “Gotta keep these beeves from trompin’ through the yard, scarin’ folks.”
With a nod and a whistle, Billy directed the four dogs across the rutted road. “Come on, pups!” he called out. “Over here, now! Move ’em along!”
Four black-and-white faces turned his way, ears alert. Then the collies shot across in front of the first steers, as though this game was created solely for their delight. Down the edge of the plodding, scrawny-looking beasts they raced, each picking a section to patrol.
“Those cows look tired,” Gabe remarked, “like they won’t be giving us much trouble. Been a long walk from Texas, I guess.”
“Yeah, but soon as we figure they’re gonna behave, that’s when one’ll decide he needs a drink from the river,” Billy replied. “Then the rest’ll follow him, and tha
t’s what we can’t have.”
He was letting Pepper mosey along, staying within sight of the dogs as he constantly scanned the cattle.
“You seen that new hotel yet? The Drover’s Cottage?” Gabe asked. “Three stories high! And they say it’s the fanciest place this side of St. Louis.”
“Yeah, well, it was the new saloons Mercy took note of,” Billy responded with a chuckle. “And shifty-eyed fellas in fine clothes, waitin’ to gamble with these cow-pokes’ wages. And ladies who weren’t wearin’ nearly enough to be goin’ to church.
“But she was excited about the new stores,” he went on, “because that means that more merchants and bankers and regular, decent folks will settle here. Which means there’ll be churches and schools goin’ up soon.”
They had almost reached the yard now, and Billy could see the neighbors watching this dusty, shuffling parade from the benches behind the house. Emma’s fresh green dress stood out in that crowd of faded calico, but he didn’t wave, because the movement might spook the cattle. He pulled Pepper to a halt in front of the house, to give the dogs room to work. Their tongues lolled long and pink, and they were covered with dust, but they wouldn’t stop nipping and yipping and darting at stragglers until the last cow was well past the pastureland and corn crop the dogs considered their territory.
Nearly an hour passed before the last tired cowboys brought up the end of the parade. Ira, Clyde, and George trotted up alongside Judd, wiping faces smudged with sweat and dust.
“Well, we got lucky today,” Judd said to his nodding neighbors. “I hear things aren’t nearly this calm in Abilene. They expect nonstop carousing and trouble in town well into the fall.”
“Can’t say I’m happy about this so-called progress,” Iry Barstow groused. “Sure hope I got some crop left when I get home—and by the end of the summer. That McCoy fellow might be doing big things to get Abilene on the map, but us homesteaders are the ones paying for it!”
It was a common complaint among them. And once the riders had washed up and gulped lemonade the ladies brought them, the party broke up. Everyone wanted to go home and assess the damage those Texas steers had done on their places.
Billy held Gabe’s eyeglasses while his friend rinsed the grit from his face. Their four dogs sprawled in the shade of the barn, with their tongues hanging long and their breath coming short.
“Now, that’s what I call dog-tired,” Billy quipped. “Spot and Snowy was real glad your two pups come along to help today. I’d say they all earned their keep.”
“And I’d say you were the best cowboy of the bunch, Billy Bristol!”
Before he knew what was coming, Emma grabbed him and kissed his gritty cheek. His face went hot, and he hoped nobody had noticed. It was a touch of justice that she had to wipe his sweat and dirt off her mouth, and then brush dust from her new dress. Billy knew better than to laugh at her sour-lemon expression, though.
While her parents packed food into their wagon, Emma leaned closer. “I didn’t let on,” she murmured, “but while everybody was watchin’ those longhorns, there were Injuns in the trees by the river, watchin’ us.”
Billy scowled, glancing beyond the barn. “Any women or kids with them? Judd says as long as squaws are along, they stay pretty peaceful.”
Gabe quickly put his glasses back on and peered warily toward the cottonwoods. He whistled at the dogs as he started toward the wagon. “Come on, Hattie! Boots! Time to get on home now!”
Emma cast a sympathetic gaze his way. “Don’t guess poor Gabriel’s ever gonna get over that attack on his family. Thought I better let you know about those Injuns, though, ’cause Pa heard they’ve really been on a rampage farther west.”
“Don’t guess I’d like it much if a bunch of farmers took over my tribe’s lands and hunters killed my buffalo for sport, neither,” Billy remarked quietly. Then he smiled at the girl, for no matter how prissy and prancy she got, he knew Emma Clark had good intentions. Mostly.
“You got a cellar under your house?”
She nodded, lingering even though her parents called from across the yard. “Yup. I can be down that trapdoor in less time than it takes an owl to hoot.”
“Good. Take care now, and I’ll see ya next time.”
Billy watched the last of the neighbors’ wagons pull out onto the rutted road, returning Gabe and Emma’s waves until they were out of sight. Then he knelt to slip an arm around Spot and Snowy, hugging each one tight.
Chapter Twenty-two
The dawn felt hot and prickly, like a wet wool jacket, on this late-September day. Mercy tossed cracked corn for the chickens, chuckling when Spot and Snowy herded them her way for their breakfast. The air felt unnaturally still, as though the breeze had been sucked back to blow in one huge swoop across the prairie. Was this the calm before a storm? Even the birds were silent.
The back of her neck prickled. Was someone at the creek? Or farther up the river’s shore? She stopped tossing grain to scan the horizon. Where the cottonwoods and maples curved to follow the Smoky Hill River, she thought she saw movement.
And then it was gone. Absolutely still again. Her hand went to her abdomen, and she chided herself for being so skittish. She should be feeling grateful now that she was no longer sick with this baby.
She wanted butter and eggs from the springhouse for today’s stagecoach meal, yet something kept her from asking Billy to fetch them. Instinctively she looked for the boy, smiling at the way his coppery hair caught the sun as he toted water to the horses’ troughs. Judd, Nathaniel, and Ira Barstow were harvesting the corn with a horse-drawn threshing machine at the top of the eastern ridge, and she heard the high, sweet refrain of the hymn Asa was singing in the kitchen.
Everyone was fine and accounted for. Mercy took a deep breath, shaking her head at how every little thing seemed to rattle her these days. It was time to leave off her belts and let her dresses hang loose. Time to announce this child she carried—although she sensed that everyone already suspected it.
A high, shrill cry pierced the air. Then came a chorus of cries just like it, and the thundering of hooves.
Mercy dashed toward the corrals. “Billy! Billy, you get inside now!” she screamed.
Her heart pounded up into her throat. To the west she saw a band of black-haired warriors, brandishing bows and arrows, riding ponies that flew like the wind itself. On the ridge, Judd and his two helpers broke into a run toward the barn, where they kept rifles at the ready for wolves. This was a different beast altogether, though, and Mercy wavered between watching to be sure they were safe and following Billy inside.
“Get in the house, Mercy!” her husband cried. “Take care of yourself—take care of my family—while we fight them off!”
His black hair framed a face bronzed by the summer sun and taut with purpose. His blue shirt strained against his chest as his sturdy legs carried him well ahead of the others. Mercy wavered, assessing their distance from the approaching redskins and the time the men would have to defend themselves.
“Get in here now!” Billy ordered, yanking her sleeve. “Asa, move the rug! Open the hidey-hole while I bar the doors!”
Her head began to spin, but she forced herself to focus. The little old man who’d been singing in her kitchen had flour on his dark face, and his eyes registered the same fear that was making her heart beat triple-time, but he was waiting to help her down the ladder into the root cellar.
“Careful now, Miss Mercy,” he warned, forcing a brave smile. “Got to keep that bundle of joy safe for Mr. Judd, don’t we? Got to keep our wits about us and outsmart those Indians! Step easy now . . . feel your way until Billy can bring us a candle.”
Every fiber of her being told her to remain in the kitchen. Perhaps she should grab the shotgun in the corner, to shoot those savages from the shelter of the house. Judd had taught her how to handle a gun because hungry wolves howled too close for comfort some nights.
But Asa’s hand rested firmly on her head as she began her des
cent to the cellar. “Find that next rung, missy,” he urged. “Our rope ladder’s not the best, but Billy’s waitin’ on us, and I don’t want those redskins to claim a redheaded scalp today.”
It was all the incentive she needed. Mercy groped for the next rope rung and the next, until she felt the floor beneath her. Asa scrambled down, and they moved through the darkness to make room for Billy.
“Here comes Spot! Catch ’im, now!” Billy called down. “And Snowy, too!”
She heard Asa grunt with the squirming weight of the first dog. The light caught Snowy’s white face before she, too, hopped down to safety. Billy pulled the trapdoor closed after him, and then there was only total darkness, the panting and pacing of the dogs, the heavy scent of the earthen floor, and the electric tension that kept them quiet, straining to hear what was happening in the yard.
The pfffft of a match brought Billy’s face into view. He set the lit candle on a shelf, beside jars of green beans Mercy had put up that summer.
Then he knelt to settle the dogs. “Prob’ly too crowded down here, but when they rushed into the house, I couldn’t just shove ’em out—”
“It’s all right, honey,” Mercy said, finding the warmth of his hair with her hand. “Judd said to keep his family safe, and we had no time to argue.”
“He was talkin’ about the baby, wasn’t he?”
“He was talking about you and—how’d you know that?”
Mercy’s voice rang more sharply than she intended in the close, dirt-walled cave. Yet she felt immense relief that she didn’t have to find some perfectly worded way and the right time to reveal her miracle. She chuckled despite her anxiety. “Some secret, eh?”
“We’ve known for a while now.” Asa’s old voice crackled with his laughter, but it was a nervous sound, just as his chatter was a diversion from what they feared was happening above their heads. “Mr. Judd couldn’t keep it to himself. By the time he told us, we were just glad you’d quit bein’ sick.”
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