Bride's Flight from Virginia City, Montana

by Murray Pura

  “‘Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day,’” he read out loud, speaking in a soft voice that he hoped would not wake Cody or Cheyenne. “‘Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked. Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation; There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.’ ”

  “You see, Z,” Charlotte spoke up, “there are the good angels, too, and I believe they’re stronger than the evil ones.”

  Zeph suddenly remembered his dream. “Do you think the people that do evil deeds actually start to look evil?”

  Charlotte gazed at him a few moments before answering. “You mean do I think Seraphim Raber must be an ugly man because of all the wicked things he has done? Well, he might look like the handsomest man in the world if you saw him fishing off a bridge in his straw hat and brown boots with the sun setting just over his shoulder. But if you looked into his eyes and down into his heart, you would see nothing but filth and corruption. By their fruits you shall know them. The apples from his tree are covered with worms and wasps.”

  A sudden venom had come into Charlotte’s voice. She turned her face away. “Still, even men like that, they say, we need to pray for. Resist their evil, but pray for their souls.”

  Before Zeph could think of a response, the driver bawled out, “Eagle Rock, formerly Taylor’s Crossing,” and the stage thundered over a wooden bridge.

  While the team was being changed, Zeph and Charlotte and the children stepped out of the stage and stretched their legs. The sky was the color of lead, and a cool wind was blowing from the north, but no one was anxious to sit back down anytime soon and get jolted and tossed about for another twelve or fourteen hours. Yet the changeover of the horses and the men would be swift.

  “Where’s your badge, Mister Parker?” asked Cody.

  “In my pocket for now.”

  “I thought it was great.”

  “Did you? Tell me, what do you think of the stagecoach ride so far?”

  “It’s like the Conestoga wagons we used to come here from Pennsylvania,” the boy grumbled. “You feel like a sack of apples getting bounced up and down.”

  “Well, in the summer,” Zeph responded, “there’d be heat and dust and mosquitoes and horseflies. This is probably a little bit better.”

  Cody was remembering, Zeph could see, the Conestogas rumbling through the heat and flies of the plains. Then the light went out of his eyes as his remembering took him too far.

  “I’m sorry,” Zeph said.

  “I slept very well.” Cheyenne suddenly spoke up. “I felt like I was being rocked in a cradle.”

  Zeph put one hand on her shoulder, smiling. “You would make a good advertisement for the company that builds the Concord coaches. ‘Travel across the most rugged roads in America and sleep like a baby the whole way.’”

  “I was sleeping the whole way, wasn’t I?”

  “You were.”

  Charlotte had been tugging at their luggage, which was stored in the boot at the back of the coach, grunting and complaining as she dug past item after item. Finally she found what she wanted and brought over a parcel wrapped in white paper and tied with twine. She put it into Zeph’s hands.

  “Here.”

  “What is it?”

  “In another day or so we’ll be in Utah and boarding the train for Chicago. We have to look like a family.” “We do look like a family.”

  “No, the children and I look like a family, because we are dressed the same and look very plain. You look like a cowboy—” “I am a cowboy!”

  “—and your scarf and boots and Levi Strauss waist overalls will have to be stored away until we return. Until then, we must look ordinary.”

  Zeph stared at the package as if it might jump up and bite him. “What’s in it?”

  “Go inside the Wells Fargo office and find a room to change in. We will wait for you here.”

  Zeph returned in ten minutes, just as the guards were clambering up onto the coach and the driver was asking Charlotte to get the children inside. Gone was his brown Stetson. In its place was a flat, black, broad-brimmed hat, exactly like Cody’s. A baggy jacket over a gray shirt and baggy pants and black shoes completed his outfit. He looked sadly at his cowboy boots and shirt and Levi Strauss pants.

  “I’ve only had the pants for a year,” he protested. “They’re the new ones with the rivets, and I’ve broken them in. They fit like a glove.”

  “Well,” said Charlotte, “the pants I made for you fit like a glove, too, just a very big glove.”

  Cody laughed. They so rarely heard him laugh that Zeph and Charlotte stopped talking to look at him and watch his green eyes flash.

  “Where do you think she gets all these clothes?” Zeph asked him.

  Cody was still smiling. “The Hunkpapa Sioux.” “I told you,” Charlotte said, taking Zeph’s cowboy clothing from him, “I made them for you.” “You sew?”

  “And even bake. And break broncs. And sing in the church choir.”

  She walked back over to the coach boot and tucked Zeph’s hat and clothing inside and refastened the leather cover and straps. It was beginning to snow again, and she opened the door to the stage with a flourish. “Let’s carry on with the show.”

  They squeezed in next to a new guard, who had already made himself comfortable. He lifted his derby hat to Charlotte and Cheyenne. “Ladies, I am Slick, and I will keep you safe until we reach Ogden.”

  “Hello, Slick!” beamed Cheyenne.

  “Hullo, my girl. How has your trip been so far?”

  “It’s been like traveling across America in a cradle.”

  Slick looked at her in astonishment. “Is that so? Well, I hope your presence will bring a little of that cradle into the coach for my poor bones. Not that I’m allowed to sleep. But a guard should always be relaxed right up until the very moment he’s needed. He functions better that way.”

  The stage began to move, and the horses trotted more and more briskly and finally started to run. The five of them began to sway and bounce.

  “You see, sir?” grinned Cheyenne.

  “You’re right, I feel like I am six weeks old once again.”

  “This is my brother, Cody. And my mother and father. We are the Wyomings.”

  My, my, thought Charlotte, look who is bursting out of her shell.

  “The Wyomings? They name the territory after your family?”

  “Maybe, sir.”

  “Well, I am Slick Doolan. That’s my whole handle. Pleased to meet y’all.”

  He leaned over to shake Zeph’s hand. Before Zeph could open his mouth to introduce himself, Charlotte reached between them, and took Slick’s hand.

  “Mister Doolan. My husband, Fremont, and I are very glad to have such a pleasant personality as yourself for our guard.”

  “Why, thank you …”

  “Conner.”

  “Missus Conner. That’s something different.”

  “My parents wanted a boy,” she said with a playful pout. “When I came out they’d put so much work into planning for a little man they were reluctant to backtrack. So I got the name, a blue crib, and a blue set of pajamas.”

  “Well, you seem to have done all right by it all. If you don’t mind my saying Mister Wyoming.”

  “Fremont,” Zeph grunted.

  “Fremont, if you don’t mind my saying, she is purtier than the blue Wyoming Rockies in the springtime. You’re a lucky man.”

  “Oh, he knows it,” said Charlotte, lightly slapping Zeph’s hand.

  “I do know it,” said Zeph.

  “And, young lady,” said Slick to Cheyenne, “I guess you will grow up to be as beautiful as your mother.” “Thank you, sir.”

  Suddenly the stage lurched and swerved and came to a dead stop. Charlotte was pitched into Zeph and Cheyenne into Cody. Sl
ick banged open his window shutter with his shotgun barrel and took a look. It was getting dark, and the snow was pouring down. He blew out his breath in a sudden burst.

  “Well,” he said slowly, “I guess we got trouble.”

  Chapter 10

  Zeph felt his whole body tense. “What kind of trouble?” Slick leaned back in his seat and closed the shutter. “You can’t see more than a foot in front of you. We’re locked in a bad squall, and it could blow for hours. I been in ‘em before on this stretch. Either we sit tight, or somebody gets out and walks the horses forward. If we were on a straight run through the plains, he’d keep ‘em moving slow. But here we got to worry about drop-offs and cliffs. He wouldn’t be able to spot them in time.”

  “Will we be all right if we just stay put?” asked Charlotte. “Maybe. Blows too long and the temperature drops out of sight, different story.” Slick didn’t look too happy.

  “So one of you can lead the team on foot?” asked Zeph. He doubted Raber was being held up by a snowstorm.

  Slick groaned. “That’s the problem. Tess and Marble hate me. Always try and take bites out of me. So that won’t work. Bert and Stoner up top, well, they hate horses to begin with, and the horses know it. They get down there with ‘em and the team’ll either kick ‘em both to death, or bolt, or both. Stan’s great with horses, but he’s the driver. We gotta have him on the reins.” He closed his eyes. “Lord above, we are stuck and we’re stuck bad.”

  “You ever walked out of one of these squalls?” Zeph’s mind was racing, looking for a solution.

  “Sure, sure. You get the right person walking ahead with the team. A lot of times these storms are, you know, locals, you’re out of ‘em in one or two miles. But you got to have the walker. Try and run the team without someone checking what’s ahead, and you’ll have a wreck. I picked up the pieces of one that went right over a riverbank and another that went into a rock wall when the team panicked. You got to take it slow and sure and steady.”

  “I’ll do it,” said Zeph. He pulled on his sheepskin coat and opened the coach door.

  The snow and wind caught him full in the face and took his breath away. His broad-brimmed hat vanished. He hunched over and stumbled to the front of the coach and glanced up at the guard sitting next to the driver. He was wrapped in a blanket and looked like a snowdrift.

  “I’m a rancher in the Montana Territory,” he called up. “Got about a hundred horses. I’ll be your walker.”

  The guard didn’t even turn his head. But the driver leaned over. “Go easy. Take the harness of the lead horse on the right. Gelding named Marble. But you got to go easy. I’ll work with you best I can. Name’s Stan.”

  “Fremont.”

  “You need something for your head, or you’ll lose your ears. Here.”

  He took off his hat and threw it down. It was so heavy with snow the wind couldn’t catch it.

  Zeph planted it firmly on his head. “What about you?” he shouted.

  “I got another under my feet.”

  It was completely dark now. The only brightness was the snow and the horses’ breath. Zeph got up beside Sweetwater, who stood rigid. He was talking softly the whole time he approached the horse from behind. He kept using the same subdued tone once he was beside Sweetwater and didn’t touch her.

  After about five minutes the guard beside the driver began to get impatient, and Zeph heard him mutter, “Get him outta there, he don’t know what he’s doing.”

  Stan snapped, “Shut up, Stoner. This’ll likely be the farmer that saves your dude hide from becoming winterkill.”

  Zeph waited until Marble was interested in what was in his jacket pocket. When the gelding began to nuzzle the pocket, Zeph pulled out an apple and let the horse take a big bite. When it had finished the apple off, there was another. Then Zeph began to walk forward. The horse moved with him and, after some reluctance, so did the whole team.

  He did not do anything more than place his hand on Marble’s shoulder. He could see that Stan held the reins loosely. Zeph put his head up to squint into the snow-blown night, then down to blink his eyes clear and look at the roadway. It was only a walking pace, but Marble took longer and longer strides, and Zeph had to work harder to keep up. After a few minutes he was warmer due to the extra exertion, so he didn’t complain or urge the team to slow down. After about half an hour, he gave Marble another apple. Now he had a friend for life.

  Zeph had taken gloves out of his coat pocket and pulled them onto his hands using his teeth. He wished he had a scarf to wrap over his face, but he found that Marble would let him lean his head gently against his neck. The warmth of the horse’s flesh and breath did wonders to relieve the stabs and pinches of pain he felt on his nose and cheeks and forehead.

  Think of hot things, he said to himself, think of the Utah desert in summer or a dry August wind in Wyoming or the hot springs at Yellowstone melting back the snow and ice. Think of thick woolen blankets and heated bricks at the foot of your bed and patchwork quilts as heavy as iron ore. Warm spiced milk. Hot coffee. Apple pie and raisin pie just pulled out of the oven. A wood fire and venison roasting on it.

  Marble snorted and reared. Zeph’s right foot went into nothing. He began to fall and grasped desperately at the horse’s traces. Marble didn’t fight his grip or panic, but pulled slowly, snorting the whole time, and dragged Zeph back over the edge. Zeph got to his feet, head spinning, and embraced the horse, who permitted it. He had a final apple and gave it to the large sorrel with a whispered, “Thank you.”

  They moved forward again, except that Zeph swung left to avoid the drop-off, and the team swung with him. Snow that had gone up his sleeves, down his neck, and into his loose pants chilled him until it melted and dried against his skin. Marble began to walk more briskly, and Zeph half-ran for ten minutes to get his blood pumping. His eyelashes started to collect ice, and he had to rub his gloved hands over them to keep his eyes from freezing shut. He touched a gloved hand to his mouth and came away with spots of blood—his lips were chapped and torn. One foot in front of the other, he said to himself. The wind shrieked and bit.

  He stumbled. Hung on to Marble’s traces. Felt an arm go through his. Caught a scent that made him think of oranges and cinnamon and chocolate.

  “Fremont?” he asked through chapped lips. “Why that for my name?”

  “Fremont’s Peak,” Charlotte answered.

  They walked together and the team kept pace.

  “Conner?”

  “Fort Conner.”

  “I know Fort Conner. Guess I should be happy you didn’t take all your names from Yellowstone Park: Elephant Back, Fire Hole, Lower Geyser Basin.”

  “How about Stinking Fork?”

  “If you knew Charlotte Spence’s wicked sense of humor, you’d thank the Lord for small mercies.”

  He glanced over and saw her laugh to herself at that. The snow was already thick on her clothing.

  “What’s this about a hundred horses?” she teased.

  “If I have a good spring there’ll be eleven. I guess a hundred sounded better.”

  “Are there any apples left in my travel bag?”

  “Not sure about that.”

  “I thought you were having trouble tying your shoes in the stage. I didn’t know you were helping yourself to apples from my luggage.”

  “I was having trouble tying my shoes.” “Oh.”

  “I never wear shoes.”

  “One day I’d like to be married—”

  “Amazing what a snowstorm and shoelaces will bring to mind.”

  “—and for my honeymoon, I want to spend a whole month, maybe a whole spring, summer, and fall, just riding and camping in Yellowstone. That would be the best wedding gift a husband could give me. Other than himself, that is.”

  Zeph blinked his eyes several times to clear the snow and get a look at her face as she said all this. Did she mean it? Or was she passing the time? And why was she telling him?

  “Doesn’t sound like
a difficult honeymoon to make happen,” he responded. “Be sure your wishes are clear to the gentleman who wins your hand.”

  “Oh, they will be. There is a problem, however.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I’m married to a man already.”

  “You are?” Zeph couldn’t tell if she was still joking.

  “I am. Fremont Wyoming. We have two children. And, do you know, I cannot recall a wedding ceremony or cradles or cribs, and I certainly cannot recall a honeymoon. I don’t believe there ever was one.”

  “How did you let that slip past you?”

  “I think the marriage just came upon me too fast. I was overwhelmed. A husband, a son, a daughter, it all happened at once. There never was time for a honeymoon.”

  “A woman like Conner Wyoming, I think she’d rectify that.”

  “Hold up!” called Stan from the driver’s box. “We’re clear!”

  Zeph and Charlotte stopped walking and so did the team. Stars were shining like lanterns. The moon was shaped like a silver cradle. The wind had dropped to a cool breeze. The road ahead was open and dry.

  “Looks like we came down some,” remarked Zeph.

  Stan nodded. “A drop in elevation did the trick.” He climbed down from the coach and shook Zeph’s hand. “I’m obliged to you, young man. Missus.”

  Looking like walking, talking snowmen, Stoner and another man got off the coach and came over. “Thank you, mister,” said Stoner.

  “Name’s Bert. You got a way with those beasts,” said the second man, his beard glittering with icicles. “You ought to be head wrangler with some big outfit down in Pecos, Texas.”

  “I’d like that warmth right about now,” Zeph replied.

  Bert grinned through the ice. “So would I.”

  “You’re quite the lady, missus,” said Stoner. He took off his hat and whacked it against his leg. Snow flew in all directions.

  Charlotte inclined her head. “Thank you.”

  “Both of you got a way about you,” nodded Stan. “Nice to see a couple that got so much in common hitched and filling up the West with children.”

  “We have always thanked God for our marriage,” said Charlotte.