Judgment at Red Creek

by Leland Frederick Cooley

  When Kate lowered her head and did not reply, Clayt spoke up from the head of the table.

  “Mom means that, Kate. We all do. You’re safe and welcome. You’ll have everything you need.”

  Without lifting her eyes from hands clenched in her lap, her only response was a nod.

  “By the way,” Clayt added, “The buckskin mare is yours now. They wouldn’t let me buy it...or the chestnut either. They are gifts from the owners—no strings.”

  Kate seemed to brighten a bit. She looked up. In a small voice she said, “I thank you, Clayt—and I thank them. Please say so.”

  As he got up, Clayt said, “Maybe you can tell them yourself one of these days.” As he started to move away, he added, “And maybe you’d better get a name for her, too.”

  When the kitchen work was done, Kate left without saying goodnight and retired to the little storage room that had been fixed up for her. Carefully, she folded her few personal things. The new clothes that Oakley had sent Buck to buy for her were still at the ranch. Mary and Nelda had stitched some simple things together. These she folded—two plain dresses, two underskirts and drawers, and a cotton sleeping gown—and packed them in a flour sack pillowcase. A pair of huaraches and a pair of good slippers that Nelda had given her, she would put in the saddlebag together with a buckskin bag containing a brush and comb and some small tortoiseshell side combs that had belonged to Fern. When she had finished she concealed the lot under her bed and returned to the kitchen-living room.

  “I think, if you’ll excuse me,” she said to Mary and Nelda, “I’m going to take some air and get to bed early.”

  Mary looked at her closely. “Do you feel all right, Kate? You seemed a little quiet and peaked at supper.”

  “I feel fine, thank you. I guess so much has happened in the last few days”—her shoulders bounced in a little shrug—“I’m a little tuckered out.”

  Mary continued to look at her closely for a bit longer, then smiled sympathetically. “I guess we all are. If we’re not up when you come in, have a good night’s rest.”

  Kate responded with a quiet, “Thank you,“ and returned to her room. For a time she sat on the edge of her bed, lost in a confusion of thoughts: She was welcome there. They all meant it. They were good people, so like her own. She did not want to leave them, but to stay knowing that Clayt would only be an occasional visitor, that he would be making the new life for himself that he had alluded to when he said he thought Red Creek and the settlement were becoming too confining, meant that he would be growing farther and farther away as he moved deeper and deeper into hard new work that she sensed he was well suited to.

  There had been no man in her life before Clayt had saved her. Aside from her father’s, his were the only arms to hold her. For some reason—and she had been aware of the terrifying possibility—the comancheros had not taken her to be used by the soldiers at Fort Sumner farther down the Pecos. The Apaches who had killed her family had turned her over to women in the tribe. She had been despised by the young women and abused with the most menial work, to be done on one poor meal a day. She was more dead than alive when the comancheros traded for her and, in its way, that could have been a blessing. Oakley had seen past her condition and had taken good care of her. Her own native strength and determination had brought about a remarkable improvement. Loving care at the Adams home had done the rest.

  She knew that a good part of the hope that had grown and sustained her was the realization that she was falling in love. But as the weeks passed, during which Clayt was preoccupied with proving Harmer’s guilt, his cold determination and so seldom seen evidence of gentleness and good humor discouraged her. The foolish hopes and desires that seemed so real in her fantasies grew more and more forlorn. When she tried to imagine a life without a man like Clayt, the prospect brought her to the brink of desperation and finally, now, to the act born of it.

  With still enough light to make her way to the corral, Kate moved cautiously. If Clayt was down there, she did not want to risk being seen. He would ask questions that she would not, and could not, answer. Taking her time, she deliberately went out of her way to stop on the dam and watch the water sliding over the spillway. Here and there on the pond a late feeding fish splashed as it rose to take a careless insect from the surface. The night sounds were not in full chorus yet. She loved them. She had heard very little at Gavilan. There had been no time from the endless chores, no time free of the anxiety that had grown with each passing day. She drew in a deep breath and expelled it. Those unhappy certainties were behind her now, but she gladly faced these new uncertainties of her own making.

  When it was full dark, she made her way to the tack shed to check the saddle and bridle. As she neared the corral the little buckskin mare trotted over and poked its nose between the rails. “Clayt said to give you a name,” she whispered as she continued to caress the affectionate animal. “So... from now on you will be Molly. That was my mother’s name—and she took good care of me, too.”

  Kate lingered outside until she saw the night lamp that had been left for her. Moving silently, she went to her room and stretched out. She dozed intermittently until she heard the first big barred rock rooster, then she gathered her things and slipped outside. In a matter of minutes she had saddled the buckskin, tied her belongings on the saddle strings and put her small things in the bags. Leading it through the gate, she closed it and walked the mare across the dam to the foot of the trail.

  Mounting, she let the animal have her head in the waning darkness. At the top, she picked up the trail leading to the wagon road south. By the time she crossed the shallow ford on the Pecos, the sun’s upper limb lit the sky with a reddishorange fire. Its beauty made her catch her breath. Five minutes later she squinted against its brilliance as she attempted to follow the trail.

  Knowing that she would be followed when she was missed, she continued toward the wagon road leading to Tres Dedos and the Gavilan. After a mile or so she doubled back to the west until she rejoined the Pecos. Deliberately, she chose a place where the mare could cross. In midstream, she doubled back again to shallow water, then kept the mare heading south so her tracks would be washed away. Continuing until she was opposite a dense stand of piñon and scrub oak, she left the shallows and rode into the cover to let the mare rest.

  The first rays of the sun were beginning to slant down across the canyon rim when Mary Adams left her bedroom and entered the kitchen to poke up the coals and restart the fire in the big cast iron range.

  Nelda, rubbing sleep from her eyes, joined her a few minutes later.

  “I had trouble getting to sleep last night,” she said. “I kept thinking about Clayt and what it’s going to be like around here when he’s down at the Gavilan most of the time.”

  Clayt heard her as he pushed open the door to his room. Shoving in his shirt tails as he walked, he came over and put his arms around his sister.

  “You don’t have to worry, Sis. Just keep in mind that I’ll be coming up here every few days just to make sure you hay shakers aren’t stealing my water.”

  Nelda gave him a friendly shove. “Go on with you. You’ll be coming up here to show off your new store-bought clothes.”

  “Not likely,” he replied. “I’ll be coming up here right after my first payday to divvy tip some of the money I’ll be stealing until I know what I’m doing. And right after that,” he continued, “I’ll be coming back to see the pretty new things you three bought in Las Vegas.”

  “Now quit funning,” his mother said. “You know very well that Nelda and I will still be running up our own things, though I might just let the girls ride in to pick up some gingham and lace, and maybe one or two of those new patterns Ebenezer Butterick invented. I remember poor little Hilde bought several when they were still in New York. After she died Jakob brought one of them over but it was way too small. She was such a little thing.” She laughed. “I guess you could say we’d be all dressed up and no place to go.”

  “Well
, Mom, it’s about time that changed.” He looked at the stove. “I’ll get the water this morning since we’ve got one sleepyhead.”

  Nelda stopped setting the table, a task she usually shared with Kate. “I haven”t heard her stirring yet.” She walked over and listened at the door then rapped lightly. When there was no response she turned to look at them. “That’s funny. She’s usually first one up.” She rapped again then called.

  When there was no answer she depressed the latch and opened the door a crack. For a moment she stood peering in, then she let out a startled little cry. “She’s not here!” Opening the door wide enough to step in, she let out another little cry, “Her things are gone!”

  The words were hardly out when Clayt pushed her aside.

  “What on earth has got into that girl?” he demanded. For a moment he stood undecided, then ran for the door, hesitated, then bolted for the corral. It took only seconds to determine that the buckskin mare was missing. He went in and out of the tack shed to double-check, then he ran to the house.

  “That fool girl’s gotten some crazy bee in her bonnet and taken off!”

  “My Lord!” Mary exclaimed, “she probably feels she’s not wanted now. She’s said a dozen times that she’s been feeling in the way. She’s never really believed that she’s as welcome as our own.” She pressed her hands to her mouth as though to stifle the thought, then took Clayt by the arm. “Go look for her, for pity’s sake! Where do you suppose she’s gone?”

  “Lord only knows!” Clayt replied, “But there’s one place I’m sure she won’t go!”

  “The Gavilan?” Nelda asked.

  “Right! If she’s headed anywhere it will be into Las Vegas. As handy as she is, she could find work there.”

  “And God knows what else!” Mary whispered. “Go after her, Clayt. Find her and bring her back. Make her understand that she’s loved and needed here!”

  The thought of Kate Williams alone looking for work in Las Vegas which was rapidly gaining a reputation as bad as Dodge City’s according to Mike Whittaker, angered and alarmed Clayt. If necessary he’d haul her back by that silly ponytail of hers and talk some sense into her head!

  Clayt drove the big chestnut to the top of the trail at a pace that lathered the animal and had it wheezing. He slowed the pace as he picked up the fresh tracks. As it became clear that they were heading for the Pecos ford and the wagon road to Las Vegas, he pushed the animal again. At the ford there was still some moisture in the tracks.

  Moving at a steady lope now, he followed them east until, for some reason he could not fathom, they turned back to the Pecos. When he splashed across and did not find tracks again he paused. Obviously, she expected to be followed. Doubling back it became clear that she had deliberately kept to the shallow water to obliterate her tracks. The question was, which way did she go? North, if she was going to Las Vegas. Staying to the shallows he rode until he came to a place where she would have been forced to leave the river. But she hadn’t. He had guessed wrong. She was heading south. But that didn’t make any sense. There was nothing down there but Tres Dedos and farther on, the Gavilan. She could bypass that in order not to be seen by Buck, but after that there was nothing. In time she’d cross the Pecos again when it turned southeast to meet the Gallinas.

  Puzzled and both angry and worried, he took the chestnut to high ground along the river and spurred it into a fast gallop.

  Several miles south of him, Kate had quit the cover of the piñon stand and taken to the road again. She would be missed for some time by now. Whether they would work or not, her plans were clear. And one thing was certain: she did not want them interfered with—especially by Clayton Adams—until they had a chance to work out.

  From time to time she would turn in the saddle and scan the mesa behind her. If anybody was following she would know it by the dust and would have time to take cover again and hopefully avoid discovery. If it was Clayt following her that would take a miracle! The miracle might be managed at Tres Dedos if the Mexican would let her hide Molly. Forget it, she told herself. Her only chance was to avoid Clayt and whoever else was with him until they gave up. Time enough then to let them know why she had left. Silently, she called herself a fool for trying. That's what they’d call her, too, but it was too late for regrets. Too late, perhaps, to even think that she’d be forgiven.

  When Clayt was opposite the point where he had lost Kate’s tracks he began zigzagging toward the river and back to see if he could intercept them again. When he failed to find any fresh tracks on the wagon road anxiety and frustration turned to outspoken, cussed anger.

  He rode on for another half hour before Kate saw his dust. In ten minutes he’d overtake her. Fighting desperation now born of her own acknowledged stupidity, Kate rode until she found a very dense stand of cover several hundred yards to the right of the road. She turned toward it. In a last effort to confuse them, she rode in tight circles to obliterate her tracks. Then she rode to the far side of the cover, dismounted, and tried to scuff out the hoofprints. Cattle had been loafing in the cover. That might help.

  She had been at it for only a few minutes when she could make out for certain that her pursuer was alone. It was Clayt on the big chestnut. Resigned, she mounted the buckskin mare and waited. If the confusion of tracks worked she still might manage to take cover in one of the deep barrancas that veined the mesa until he rode on.

  Sooner than she expected, Clayt reined up and studied the ground. After several minutes he turned the chestnut to the left and appeared to be riding off to the east. Relieved, Kate took hope again but it was short lived when she realized that he was riding in ever widening circles. If he continued, it was only a matter of minutes before he’d pick up her poorly scuffed tracks leading to her cover. After the third circle, Clayt was within a hundred yards or so of the thick stand of piñon and scrub oak. She watched him rein up and look around, study the tracks some more then, to her complete dismay, he turned the proud-cut chestnut directly toward her hiding place.

  Before she could think of an explanation, the little buckskin, tossed its head and let out a welcoming whinny.

  Kate’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, Molly! Oh, Molly!” she moaned. “It was too much to ask you to save my neck twice.”

  The words were scarcely out when Clayt came crashing through the cover. Shielding his face from the limbs, he reined up to a brace-legged stop.

  “What the devil do you think you’re doing?” he demanded. “Who are you hiding from-and why?”

  Feeling guilty and stupid, Kate had no recourse but to brazen it out. “I’m hiding from you, Clayton Adams—and why is none of your business!”

  “You’re running away—and that is my business!”

  “I’m not running away. I’m leaving for a very good reason!”

  “And just where do you think you’re going?”

  “If you must know, I’m going to the Gavilan.”

  Unable to believe his ears, Clayt all but shouted.

  “The Gavilan! You’re out of your mind! And just what do you think you’re going to do there?” he demanded.

  Kate thrust her chin out and stiffened her back.

  “I may be out of my mind, but I’m going there to see that the new superintendent of the Gavilan does not live in a pigpen!”

  Clayt’s mouth flew open. For an instant he stared at her in disbelief. Then, for the first time in years, he gave in to uninhibited laughter.

  Forcing the chestnut close, he reached over for the mare’s bridle.

  “Get down off that buckskin, you sassy brat!”

  Before she had time to react, Clayt was off the horse lifting her bodily from the saddle. Planting her on the ground facing him, he took her by the shoulders and glared at her in mock severity.

  “You’re not going to do a thing for the new superintendent of the Gavilan—or anywhere else, young lady—so long as folks have to call you Miss Williams!”

  When Kate’s defiance melted into tears, Clayt brought her cl
ose and snugged her cheek against his chest. After a time, she eased away and looked up at him.

  “I hate girls who blubber,” she said in a small voice, “but I went and fell in love with you—and I didn’t know a better way to tell you.”

  Clayt nodded. “I know, little Kate,” he said gently. “Lately, I’ve been having the same trouble.”