“Well, he ought to put a shirt on,” Lou sneered. “That right there is a sign of his Indian blood, wantin’ to walk around half-naked.”
“Mister, if you had just walked four miles in this heat carrying all your gear, you might have stripped all the way.” Wade reached into a leather pouch on his gear and pulled out several bills. “Tell me the fare and I’ll pay you now,” he told Nick. “I’ve got to eat something and get off this ankle. It’s swollen pretty bad.”
“Horse fall on it?” Nick asked.
Wade counted out a few of the bills. “Yes. First time that’s ever happened to me.”
“I reckon so, considerin’ what good horsemen the Comanche are,” Buck answered. “Must have been your white side that got throwed.”
Some of the others chuckled lightly, but Wade did not smile. He held his eyes steadily on Buck, and Buck swallowed at the look there. “Must have been,” Wade answered. He looked back at Nick. “How much?”
“Well, I reckon from here thirty would do it.”
Wade counted out the money, shoving it into Nick’s hand. “Thanks.”
“You put on a shirt,” Buck warned. “We’ve got a lady along on this trip. And you better stay away from her.”
“I’ll remember that,” Wade answered sarcastically. He bent down and picked up his gear. “I’ll camp out tonight beside the cabin. And since I upset everyone so much, I’ll fix my own food at my own camp fire. I wouldn’t want to go inside and shock everyone.”
He limped away, and Buck continued to grumble about having an Indian along. “Awe, forget it, Buck,” Lou told him. “He’ll be up top anyway. We ain’t got any choice but to go along. We’ll be rid of him in a few days.”
The others mumbled among themselves, some seeming just curious and undecided, Adam Hughes speaking up in Wade’s defense. Jennifer watched Wade walk to the side of the cabin, feeling sorry for the way he had been treated and for the fact that he had lost his horse and hurt his ankle. Wade glanced at her as he walked past, and their eyes held for a moment before he looked away and disappeared around the end of the cabin.
Nick walked in her direction, seeing the pity in her eyes. “He needs help,” she said when he got close. “He’s hurt, Nick.”
He frowned, putting a finger to his lips. “You stay out of it, little missy. It’s best for you that way. You’ve got to travel inside the coach with the others. They get wind that you know Wade Morrow or see you talkin’ to him or helpin’ him, it won’t be easy for you to travel with them, understand? I understand how you feel, after the way he stuck up for you, but you gotta do like I say and stay away from him.”
“I think it’s horrible the way they talk to him,” Jennifer pouted. “He’s just a man, Nick, a very fine one at that.”
“Hush. I know it, and you know it, ma’am. But he’s a breed, and in these parts he’s dirt to some men. That’s just the way it is, Miss Andrews, and you’ve got to understand that. It’s real important that you do. Even Morrow understands it. Now you get on back inside.”
Jennifer frowned and reluctantly walked back into the stuffy, smelly cabin, sitting down wearily on one of the cots. She inspected it with a frown, seeing no bugs. There was nothing to do but lie down and hope to get some rest, but she knew that the heat and her upset stomach, combined with thoughts of Wade Morrow would not let sleep come easily. It seemed ironic that the man should again walk into her little world, as though he was being led to her by some strange twist of fate.
She wished she could tell this story to Mattie. How the woman would enjoy hearing of this adventure; but hearing the story and experiencing it were two different matters. The experience of actually traveling in this country and heading for an unknown fate bore no romantic excitement. She was miserable and tired, and her tender heart ached for Wade Morrow, who was so verbally abused and who must be in physical pain.
She lay back on the cot, aching everywhere, longing for a bath, missing the cool comforts of Aunt Esther’s lovely home in St. Louis, but not missing Uncle John one bit. She finally dozed off lightly, unaware of the looks the men who worked inside gave her. It had been a long time since they had been around a pretty woman, and in these parts a man got hungry for feminine comforts. But looking and daydreaming were all they would do. Hank Griffith and Larry Buchanan came inside then, having won a coin toss to see who would get to use the cots. They, too, drank in the sight of Jennifer curled up on the cot, but each man went to his own bed without a word.
Outside Buck grumbled that he was going to sleep with one eye open, not trusting the “Breed.” Nick and the man who rode shotgun, Ernie Peters, bedded down around a camp fire they built with Will Perry, Buck and Lou, and Sid Menden; while Adam Hughes decided to sleep inside the coach. One of the two men who ran the home station took his position on the porch of the cabin, rifle in hand, preparing to keep watch the first half of the night. His partner would replace him in a few hours. Inside his partner finished cleaning up from the meal and took his own cot, falling asleep with dreams of crawling into the cot beside Jennifer.
Wade Morrow had his own fire going, and no one joined him. He didn’t mind. He was used to such treatment, although never had he been treated as badly as he had been here in Texas. He heated some smoked antelope and beans, discovering that the pain in his ankle had cut his appetite. He couldn’t eat as much as he thought. He swallowed some of his own coffee, then wet some rags with water from his canteen and wrapped them around his sore ankle, grimacing as he did so. He stretched out on his bedroll then, resting the ankle and finding some relief in the cool rags.
He rolled and lit a cigarette, thinking the same thoughts Jennifer had been thinking earlier—that it seemed as though fate was intent on crossing their paths. He only wished he knew if that was good or bad. The only thing he did know was that Nick had cleverly not brought up Jennifer Andrews’s name from the incident in San Antonio, and Wade knew why. In that case, he was not about to talk to the woman or cause any further trouble. Apparently none of the men along had witnessed the incident, which was fine with him. At least now he would be able to continue watching out for the woman without anyone knowing she was the only one on this trip that he cared about.
The night’s desert air grew suddenly chilly, and he sat up and finally pulled on his buckskin shirt.
Jennifer awoke to the buzzing of mosquitoes. She slapped at one, then sat up, realizing it wasn’t just the mosquitoes that had awakened her. All three men inside the cabin were snoring loudly. She felt overwhelmed by the closeness of the room, as well as feeling the call of nature. Another mosquito buzzed at her ear and she rose, walking quietly to the door, her feet making no sound on the earth floor of the cabin.
She cautiously opened the door to see the man who was supposedly keeping guard sitting in a chair asleep, also snoring. She stepped outside, taking a deep breath of clean, cool air. At a nearby camp fire she saw the others sleeping, and she had a suspicion that the only man among them who would truly be alert in case of danger was Wade Morrow, although she could not see him. He was camped around the side of the cabin—alone.
She left the porch of the cabin and walked around it, spotting the privy easily in the moonlight. She felt a hint of apprehension, walking alone in the dark, yet the knowledge that Wade Morrow was nearby gave her a sense of safety. She tapped on the privy door, and when no one answered she went inside and took care of urgent matters quickly, anxious to get back out into the fresh air. She wondered if she might not have been better off sleeping under the stars where at least she could breathe.
She headed back toward the cabin, then hesitated, feeling wide-awake and hating the thought of going back into the stuffy room with snoring men. She could not help wondering if Wade Morrow was all right, and youthful curiosity and a generous heart gave her the courage to walk to the corner at the back of the cabin. She put a hand to her heart, wondering if she was being sinfully forward and foolish as she peeked around the corner to get a look at the mysterious half-breed.
He lay on his bedroll, his right ankle wrapped in something. At first he looked asleep, but suddenly his eyes shot open and Jennifer froze in place. Their eyes held as he sat up. “Something wrong?” he asked quietly.
She shook her head. “I…I just wondered if you were all right. I couldn’t sleep—mosquitoes. And it’s so hot inside.” She rubbed her arms, shivering a little. “I didn’t think it would be so cold out here—”
He put a finger to his lips, signalling her to stop talking. He threw off a blanket and rose, limping closer. He took her arm and led her behind the cabin, and in the moonlight he seemed as big and fierce as a wilder Indian. For just a brief moment she wondered if men like Buck were right—that this man could turn wild and do something horrible to her; but just as quickly she brushed away the thought as ridiculous.
“You shouldn’t be talking to me,” he whispered, leaning closer to her. “It’s best that way. You’d better get back inside.”
“I think it’s silly that I can’t speak to you,” she protested, keeping her own voice to a whisper. “You did a very kind thing for me back in San Antonio, Mr. Morrow. Now you’re hurt, and I just wondered if there is anything I can do.”
“No. I’ve been dressing my own wounds for years. Besides, this one isn’t that bad. I’ll be fine in a couple of days.”
Jennifer felt a pull at her insides, realizing with confused thoughts that when he leaned close to her she felt a terrible attraction to him. She little realized what Wade Morrow was feeling, that he was thinking about how much she reminded him of a young girl he had loved once.
“I…I just wanted to thank you again, Mr. Morrow—and to tell you I hope you realize I don’t feel and think like the others. I think it’s terrible the way they talk to you.”
He suddenly straightened, sighing deeply. “Please go back inside before someone sees us. I don’t want you to be insulted. You have enough hardships ahead.”
She tilted her head to look up at him. “Do you think I’m being terribly foolish to answer that sergeant’s ad?”
“It’s not for me to say; but I’d think about going back to St. Louis if I were you.”
“No!” She answered almost too loudly, and he put a hand to her mouth. His touch sent shivers through her. “I’ll never go back,” she whispered when he took his hand away.
“That’s your decision. Right now you’ve got to get back inside that cabin or there’s going to be big trouble.”
She scratched at a mosquito bite on her cheek. “It’s so uncomfortable in there, and the mosquitoes are eating me up.”
He touched her arm lightly. “Wait here.” He left her for a moment, going back around the corner to his gear. He returned with a small, flat tin container. “Put some of this on your face,” he whispered. “It will keep the mosquitoes from biting.”
“What is it?”
“I’m not even sure. It’s a salve Indians make from the roots of something. An old scout gave some to me a while back. It doesn’t smell too great, but you can wash it off in the morning. If someone asks about it you can tell them it’s something you bought in St. Louis.”
“What about you? If I take it you won’t have any.”
“Mosquitoes like white people better than Indians. They don’t bother me much.”
“Is that true? Mosquitoes don’t bite Indians?”
He flashed a handsome grin in the moonlight and struggled not to laugh out loud. “I don’t have the slightest idea. All I know is they don’t bother me much. Besides, that salve helps keep your skin soft. Out here somebody like you needs that a lot worse than I do.”
She wrapped her hands around the small tin. “Thank you,” she whispered.
He stepped back. “Good night, Miss Andrews. And remember to keep away from me tomorrow.”
Without a sound he slipped back around the corner. Jennifer stood holding the salve, feeling warm and special. She did not understand the feelings Wade Morrow stirred in her, except that she hated leaving him. She felt as though she could sit and talk to him all night. She had so many questions, and she felt so safe when he was near. She was glad he was also going to Fort Stockton, and she wondered what his reason was.
She walked back around the other end of the cabin and to the door, where the guard still sat asleep. She went inside, where the snoring continued. She made her way to her cot and quietly opened the tin, applying some of the salve to her face. It didn’t have a truly distinct odor, yet it didn’t smell good either. She lay down, thinking about Wade Morrow and what a strange and different kind of man he was from anyone she had ever met. She soon noticed the mosquitoes were not lighting on her any more, and finally she could sleep. Her last thought was of Wade Morrow’s kindness in giving her the salve.
Jennifer washed as best she could in a small back room of the cabin. With so many men around she felt self-conscious about removing any clothes, even though she was out of sight. She sensed their underlying efforts at self-control, kindness, and respect but at the same time realized what every man with whom she traveled must realize—that they could take advantage of her any time they chose. The least excuse she gave them to consider her less than proper could mean big trouble for her, and in spite of her inexperience with men she understood why she could not converse with Wade Morrow.
She smiled, though, at the thought of her secret—that he had helped her back in San Antonio, and that last night she had talked to him and he had given her the salve. She studied her face in an old, yellowing mirror and smiled. While in the outer room the others complained of nagging mosquito bites, she didn’t have any, except two she had gotten before applying the salve.
She brushed her hair and pinned it into a bun at the base of her neck, then put on her straw hat again. She looked down at her dress, which she had been careful to keep smoothed out beneath her when she slept. It wasn’t too terribly wrinkled, but she was not happy with not being able to wash better and change. She reasoned that by the time she reached the fort, Sergeant Enders might find her so soiled and worn out that he wouldn’t want her for a wife after all.
She re-entered the main room, where most of the men were hungrily cramming eggs and greasy ham into their bellies. “Have a seat, miss,” one of the men who ran the home station told her.
“No, thank you. I’m not eating.”
“You gotta eat, Miss Andrews,” Buck told her.
“I’ll be fine.” She turned and checked her bag before tying the leather straps, and the men looked around at each other, suspecting her reason for not eating.
“I don’t know about the rest of you, but I’m stuffed,” Adam Hughes spoke up. He rose, adjusting his satin vest and wiping his mouth with a checkered cloth napkin. “I hate to waste these biscuits, though, seeing as how they’re fresh made. Any of you men want them?” He gave them a wink, and they all gave various excuses for not wanting another bite.
“Fact is, I can’t finish my biscuit, either,” Hank Griffith spoke up. “Miss Andrews, I don’t suppose you’d at least eat our biscuits for us, would you? They’re fresh made, and it’s a shame to let them go to waste, especially since we already paid for them. We’d feel a lot better if you’d eat a little something.”
Jennifer was not quite sure if they suspected her monetary situation, but her stomach was growling, and she was grateful for their kindness. She only wished they could show the same kindness to Wade Morrow. “Well,” she answered, “if you insist, I suppose I could eat at least one.”
“Good, good,” Hughes answered with a grin. He offered her his chair, and the cook brought her a cup of coffee.
“On the house,” the man told her. “It’s my payment for havin’ such a pretty woman to look at these past hours.”
She reddened as she took the coffee. “Thank you.” She ate quickly as most of the men left, while a couple more finished their breakfast. Outside Nick and Ernie were whistling and cursing as they hitched a new team of horses to the coach. Jennifer gulped down her coffee, then picked up he
r bag and went outside. A couple of the men were helping Nick with the horses, while on top of the coach Wade Morrow was retying some of the luggage. He glanced at Jennifer, giving no sign of recognition.
“Hand up your bag, ma’am,” he told her.
“Wait a minute,” Buck spoke up, walking up and taking Jennifer’s bag from her. “Don’t even hand him your bag, ma’am. His hand might touch yours, and you don’t want to be touchin’ no Indian.”
Anger welled up in Jennifer’s soul like a volcano, but when she glanced up at Wade, she knew by his eyes she should not object. It took great effort on her part not to tell Buck exactly what she thought of him as she let go of her bag. He handed it up to Wade.
“Tie it on good, Indian, or it will be your ass if the lady’s baggage gets lost or damaged. And remember what we told you about keeping your eyes off her.”
Wade said nothing as he tied on the bag, and Jennifer’s heart ached for him. Buck grinned as he watched Wade, and Lou came to stand beside him. “Is it true you really went to college, Indian?” Lou asked then.
“Leave the man alone,” Adam Hughes spoke up.
“Mind your own business,” Buck answered. “Me and Lou have good reason to hate men like this one. His relatives have caused a lot of bloodshed along the borders, and I don’t think it’s right for anybody with red skin to be allowed to go to schools meant for whites.” He looked back up at Wade. “What the hell did they teach you, Indian? How to use a knife and fork? They teach you it ain’t proper to go around naked, eatin’ dogs and rapin’ white women?”
“That’s enough!” Nick himself came storming up to Buck then. “This man is paying his way, and he’s not done anything to any of you. I’m the one who decides who can and cannot use this coach, mister, and if you don’t lay off Wade Morrow, I’ll leave you behind, not him!”
Wade was climbing down as Nick glowered at Buck. He stepped up beside Nick, keeping steady, cool eyes on Buck and Lou as he spoke. “One thing I learned is how ignorant some white men can be,” Wade said. “How they don’t know anything about judging a man by his real worth instead of his skin. You dumb bastards are about to go to war, about to tear apart your own country because of Negro slaves. What is it about some of you that you can’t accept a man with skin darker than your own? Most white men have a system of judging people I’ll never understand. Maybe it’s because they’re just plain ignorant.”
Comanche Sunset Page 11