Gather The Children (Chronicles of the Maca Book 2)

by Mari Collier

  “Ma'am, nothing would give me greater pleasure.”

  “I do not allow guns to be worn at my table.” She threw out the words like a challenge.

  “Mrs. Schmidt, I would not dream of doing that in polite society. I would like to be able to place them somewhere inside of the door for any emergency, if that is all right with you and your husband.”

  His words seem to mollify her and she nodded her head. “We do not mind a man having a beer or two, but I do not allow drunkenness at our table either.”

  “Perfectly understandable, ma'am.” He did not want anything to change her mind about supper. He was sure anyone as competent as Mrs. Schmidt was apt to be a more than competent cook. He tipped his hat again before continuing to the saloon.

  Inside the saloon there were no lights this time of day. What light there was came in through the two opened doors and the two small front windows. A man was standing at the bar playing solitaire. If he had been edgy before, he showed no signs of it.

  “Afternoon,” said Collins. “What's the chance of a man getting a beer?”

  “Right good, I'd say.” The man smiled and took a not too clean glass mug and ran some beer in it, gradually topping the amber liquid with a small head. “That'll be five cents.”

  Collins laid a quarter on the counter. “My traveling partner will be in here in a bit. When that's gone, cut us off. I don't want to miss supper with the Schmidt's.”

  “A fine couple and a fine cook.”

  Collins nodded in satisfaction and took his first sip as Daniel walked in. Owens grinned and poured another beer. Daniel took off his hat long enough to brush the perspiration off and push back the hair trying to curl forward. When he looked around Owens was staring at him with open mouth.

  “Something wrong?” asked Daniel.

  Owens shook his head. “Are y'all the one called Daniel?”

  Collins set his beer down. “How did you know that?”

  “Why, it's like looking at Kasper Schmidt with twenty years wiped off his face. It ain't real hard to figure out. Mrs. MacDonald is going to be one happy lady after…” Like Gerde, Owens voice trailed off.

  “We saw the grave site in the MacDonald section.” Collins decided a talkative barkeep might provide some information. “We were sent here to try and stop those first two men. It looks like the folks here take care of their own.”

  “That's a fact,” said Owens.

  “It's easy to see that you've had some problems before. What caused all the fires? Indians?”

  Owens leaned forward. “Nope, it was our friends and neighbors from Arles. They were going to drive out the damn Yankees, but forgot that Mr. Jackson and I are Texans. 'Course Mr. Jackson was still in Virginy fighting the damn Yankees, so his house went up in flames along with Rolfe's house, and his place of business got singed a mite before MacDonald and Rolfe got here to help drive them off. By that time everybody was shooting. Even the women folk holed up at Schmidt's. MacDonald carted the organ out of Rolfe's house, but there just wasn't any way to save that house or the rest of Mr. Jackson's old home. That little escapade left some real bitter feelings all around, particularly when young Mr. Jackson came back from Sharpsburg with that missing leg and found his home and dad gone. Then the damn Yankees even take away the name of the battleground where he lost his leg. Now they call it something else up North.”

  Antietam?” asked Collins.

  “I reckon. They got a funny way of naming things.” Owens refilled the two mugs.

  Daniel sipped away and Collins tried to figure out a way to get Owens talking about yesterday's events when Daniel waved a hand at the ear and bent revolver up on the wall.

  “That got a story?”

  “Sure enough has,” said Owens. “We usually don't get too much excitement here, but this last week has been a real go-getter. It's even been good for business.” He looked approvingly at the two mugs on the counter. “There was a real crowd in here when Blue Diamond dropped off a load of freight for Schmidt's Corner. They was headed up north to some of the German settlements next. This ain't the end of the line even though it looks like it now. It used to be a real thriving community before the War. We had a wainwright along with the blacksmith shop, and they both did a fair to middling business. Malcolm Phillips was the wainwright while the Jackson's did the blacksmithing. There were some other spreads beside Rolfe and MacDonald, but since the War they're the only two of any size. I heard Tillman's still hanging on to his land, but we ain't seen him and his missus for awhile.”

  Owens paused to see if either man was ready for a refill, but they seemed intent on sipping. He shrugged mentally and kept the tale going. “Some of the Blue Diamond crew have kin in Arles and live there themselves when they ain't on the trail, and they were still resenting the way Rolfe and MacDonald ran them off a few years back when Rolfe's oldest kid and Mrs. MacDonald's other son walked in. Well, nothing would do but they see if the two boys got the same kind of balls the old men have.”

  He paused again, partly for drama, partly to see if he couldn't refill a mug. Since the latter didn't happen, he continued. “Well, sir, Lorenz might be the youngest of these two, but he sure enough was a fighter. He slammed his mug into the freighter's face and then was slamming the guy's head on the bar before I could even move. The other freighter with the knife got a little distracted by that when another freighter pulled that gun over there.” He motioned at the wall. “Now, I didn't approve of that no way, but I couldn't get to my rifle without a fuss, or without taking a slug myself when MacDonald and Rolfe just sort of rolled over everybody in their way. MacDonald grabbed the revolver from behind and pulled the freighter's arm out of the socket. Then he stood there and bent the revolver while watching Rolfe with the knife. Rolfe went for the guy with the knife and left that souvenir.” He waved one hand at the ear on the wall. “After that it got real quiet, and they had a beer with their boys just to prove they still run this section of Texas. Sure one of you all wouldn't like a refill?”

  Daniel was staring intently at the wall. “This MacDonald, is he bigger than the average bear?”

  “I ain't never seen anyone bigger, and that's a fact.”

  “This Rolfe, he a trapper?”

  “They both were trappers 'til the fur trade went tits up. They must of have made some money at it as they came in here and bought the old Ortega ranch grant. That took a mite of doing. Folks like to say they stole the money, but that don't make sense. They just ain't that kind of men. Y'all can tell when a man's good for his word.”

  Daniel let out his breath and gave a low chuckle. “The wolf and the bear,” he said and laughed again.

  Daniel now had the attention of both men. Daniel shrugged and said, “That's what the Comanche call them: the wolf and the bear.” He drained the last of his beer. “They claim MacDonald killed a grizzly with nothing but a knife.”

  “Ain't never heard that one,” allowed Owens. “Only man I heard of doing that was Hugh Glass. 'Course, there might be another one or two. You two ready now?”

  “We'll have one more and leave.” There was an edge to Collin's voice.

  Daniel had been around him long enough to know the man had a reason and shrugged again while Owens filled both mugs.

  When they finished the beers, they walked out the back door into the sunlight, and headed towards the stables. “We are going to make ourselves presentable and then go to your Uncle and Aunt's place for supplies and supper,” Collins told Daniel.

  “Why eat supper there if we're buying supplies?” asked Daniel.

  Collins stopped and turned to the younger man. “I do not care whether you call them family or your Indian friends your family.” He held up his hand at Daniel's beginning protest. “These people consider you family. If we want a full report on what happened, we talk with them and then we stop at your Ma's place. If you didn't notice, that barkeep back there talked like Lorenz was dead in one sentence and like he was still alive in another, and he was holding back about som
ething. A new dug grave just proves somebody moved earth around.” He resumed his walk. “And you haven't taken the time to see your uncle. I don't know about Injuns, but in the white man's world it is an insult.”

  Daniel kept pace and tried to remember the words of the bartender. Collins was right. He had let his feelings override the job Red had assigned. Since Red was paying him more per month than most men made, he kept his mouth shut. It looked like he was going to earn his keep and pretend to be something he wasn't.

  Chapter 14: Homecoming

  The next morning, Daniel and Collins pulled to a halt at the top of the rise and looked down at the MacDonald headquarters. Gerde's directions had been simple and easy to follow. Since Daniel had visited with Kasper before leaving, her normally dour features were lighted by a smile. With Gerde it was difficult to tell as the lips looked stretched into an unnatural position and her eyes betrayed little in the way of emotion as she told them, “Just follow the road towards the South. The first trail to the left will be the Rolfe's and the first trail to your right runs straight to Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald's home.”

  They were looking down at a prosperous spread. In the corrals someone was riding a bucking horse and took a tumble as they watched. A larger man went to the one limping towards the corral and seemed to steady him as they walked to the barn. Collins nodded at Daniel and they rode on in as both men disappeared into the barn.

  “I don't like this,” commented Collins as they drew nearer to the house. “That horse is still out there saddle and all, acting like a wild one, and there is nobody greeting us. Stay in the saddle when we pull up.”

  Daniel nodded. His grey eyes swept the buildings. Surely, one of the men in the barn had seen or heard their approach.

  “Hello, the house.” Collins called out the standardized greeting of the West to give notice to the inhabitants that they were peaceful and no harm intended. They kept the horses still to give the people a chance to look them over.

  “I say we ride on down to the stable where we saw them.” Daniel suggested.

  “I've a better idea. Take off your hat and let someone see your face. I think there's someone inside that can see us.”

  Daniel used his left hand, lifted his hat, and lowered it. Both men sat patiently.

  Collin's idea worked. The door banged open and a tall, white-haired woman appeared holding a shotgun in one hand, her mouth open, and her grey eyes wide.

  “Daniel, ist that du?” Her words were almost a wail.

  Daniel managed a smile, “Yes, ma'am.”

  “Mein, Gott! I almost shot du!”

  Her actions and words must have carried for the two men in the barn were now moving towards them, both of them carrying rifles. Collins noted that the shorter one was no longer limping while the other man towered over him and the landscape and then the springhouse hid them from view. His instincts had been correct. The limp had been a ploy to get into the barn as cover and retrieve their rifles.

  Anna gulped air and walked to the end of the porch. “Bitte, please, step down. I your mudder am.” Her Deutsch and English words mingled in one rapid, spit out sentence.

  Collins caught the intent of the words before Daniel and dismounted several seconds before the younger man. He had heard the same accent during his growing up years in Missouri. He looped the reins over the railing and removed his hat. He did not want the others to believe he had any intentions other than goodwill.

  Anna stepped off the porch, still holding the shotgun, her eyes searched Daniel's face, and found no welcome there. Despair edged into her voice, “Vhy did du come here if not for me?”

  Collins noted that while there was sadness in her voice, her mouth line was firm as was her step. The eyes were a colder grey than Daniel's and, to his shock, the woman was several inches taller than himself. Daniel, the young fool, stood there with hat-in-hand, totally inept with words. It was a bad beginning. The boss wasn't going to like his report. He heard the crunch of approaching boots and turned to meet the two men coming around the corner of the springhouse.

  The sheer size of MacDonald was almost eye-popping, mouth-dropping overwhelming, but Collins managed to keep a straight face, transfer his hat to his left hand, and extend his right hand. The features of the younger man proclaimed him to be Daniel's brother and well on his way to being Daniel's equal in height. The scar O'Neal had told him about, however, was not purple, but red. “Mr. MacDonald,” he said, “my name is Jethro Collins and this is Daniel Hunter as he calls himself now. I have a letter for you from Mr. Jeremiah O'Neal. He sent us to help the Schmidt's as soon as he discovered his father's plans.”

  MacDonald's face was set, no emotion showing, but he extended his own hand and shook Collins's hand. On his part, Collins was relieved that his fingers were still intact. He extracted the oilskin folder from his shirt pocket, opened it, and removed the letter sealed with O'Neal's wax and ring.

  MacDonald took the letter and glanced at his wife. “I think, mayhap, we should go inside and be comfortable whilst I read it.”

  Anna nodded and moved to open the door wider. She said not a word, but her eyes remained cold and her mouth set as the men walked in.

  MacDonald took the shotgun from her, placed it above the door, and hung his hat on the pegs on the wall. His own rifle he kept with him. Lorenz hung his hat and walked over to the wall chest to put his rifle away. Anna disappeared into the bedroom to emerge with Mina in her arms. Mina looked at her father and squirmed to go to him, but quieted as Anna whispered a few words to her in German.

  MacDonald and Anna took their usual seats at the ends of the table. Lorenz sat on the east side and Collins and Daniel set on the west, their backs to the door. Lorenz kept looking at his brother, searching his face for some sign of recognition, and on his face a tight, grim smile.

  MacDonald began to read. “Dear Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald, Margareatha forwarded your telegram and sent me another to inform me that Lorenz is safe with you. I had returned home at my mother's request as my father had suffered a mild stroke. He was recovering when the telegram from the marshal in Arles arrived. It wasn't until a day or two later that the telegrams from Margareatha came in. Then I discovered that my father had sent two men to kill the Schmidt's. He had assumed Lorenz was with them.

  I immediately dispatched Collins and Daniel to prevent murder. I pray they will be in time. If not, I offer my deepest condolences to Mrs. MacDonald. I have, of course, dispatched another telegram to Marshall Franklin advising him that my late uncle was alive when Lorenz and I left.

  Lorenz was with Margareatha when he took it into his head to run away. He later did the same to me. I am aware of how headstrong he is. If he has become too much of a problem, I'm offering him a home with me. He would be safe here, and since he is large for his age, I can offer him a decent salary. If Lorenz chooses to remain with you, or you are reluctant to let him come here, I believe it is advisable that Daniel remain there also. I will hold both positions open for them when they are old enough to decide the direction their life will take.

  You need not worry about another attack from my father. Shortly after he sent the two men, he suffered a debilitating stroke. He cannot move, nor speak, and requires constant attention.” Here MacDonald's eyebrows rose and he smiled a wry smile. He continued with the letter.

  “Again, I offer my apology for the huge wrong my father has done against you and your family. Respectfully, Jeremiah O'Neal.”

  MacDonald laid the missive on the table, smiled at his wife, and then turned to Collins. “As ye ken, Mr. and Mrs. Schmidt have survived. I shall write a letter to Mr. O'Neal thanking him for his concern and for sending Daniel home. As for Lorenz, he tis our laddie and he stays here.”

  Collins noted the mild voice and the casual slump of the shoulders and knew he would accept what MacDonald was saying. He'd spent his early years reading cards and men. He knew even without a gun, MacDonald could erupt suddenly in violence and take both him and Daniel down. The mildness was a facade.
The man was waiting for him to do something stupid, yet giving him a chance to behave like a gentleman. He also wondered how MacDonald, Lorenz, and the Mrs. had been so adept at putting both Daniel and himself on one side of the table. Did they always work together in concert, or was this stupidity on his part?

  Collins was sitting with his knees crossed, his hat resting on his knee. He nodded his head. “I thought as much, and Mr. O'Neal realized that this was a possibility. He wanted everyone to know that he had grown fond of Lorenz when he was in Carson City.” He winced inwardly as Lorenz grinned and Mrs. MacDonald erupted in anger. “He vants to use Lorenz to kill Mr. Lawrence!” Her voice was laced with venom. “He is using Daniel as a shield to save his own skin.”

  Daniel was resting both hands on the table, his hat laid beside him. He looked at her and considered asking who Mr. Lawrence was, but remembered that women weren't supposed to butt in. He addressed his response to the man of the house. “Mr. O'Neal didn't say anything about killing someone, or being a shield.”

  “Huh,” came Lorenz's taunting voice. “Why are y'all calling him Mr. O'Neal when he's our brother, half-brother?”

  Both Collins and Daniel looked at Lorenz. Daniel licked his lips. “I'd heard gossip about that, but I figured Mr. O'Neal would have said so if it were true.”

  “What'd he do, pay you a big whopping chunk of money, give you a horse, or let you loose in his Sporting…”

  “Lorenz!” roared MacDonald, and Lorenz sat back his eyes glinting with strange lights, the corners of his lips on the scarred side of his face pulled up in an almost sneering smile.

  Collins had heard enough. This was a family matter. “Mr. and Mrs. MacDonald, I can wait outside, if you prefer.” He was irritated with O'Neal for not giving him more details. He had missed seeing Ms. Lawrence and Lorenz in Carson City as O'Neal had sent him to San Francisco to co-ordinate grain shipments from Mexico. Then he met O'Neal and Daniel in Texas. Now it sounded like he had been in danger from another source simply by traveling with Daniel. He started to rise, but MacDonald waved his hand, indicating he should remain seated.