“You must have hurt your ribs. Here, let me help you.”
Edith put one arm in the shirt, draped it over his shoulders, and then put the other arm in. She pulled it together in the front, and as she buttoned it up, she studied his face. She had noticed that he was no more than average height and rather thin. She was used to rough men—farmers, hunters, and trappers—but this man had none of their roughness. He had almost aristocratic features with a short English nose and a clean-cut jaw. What little she had heard from his speech gave him away, for it was not the speech of a rough farmer.
“I’ll get you something to eat.” Rising quickly, she moved back to the fire.
His mind was clearer now, and he studied her while she couldn’t notice his attention. She had clean physical lines, and as badly as he felt, he also noticed the smoothness of her body within her dress. She was shapely in a way any man would notice. She returned carrying a bowl and spoon and knelt beside him again. “Can you feed yourself?”
“Yes, I think so. Thank you.”
He had fine manners, and her curiosity grew as she watched him eat. He was half-starved, that was obvious. Most men would have gobbled the stew down, but he ate slowly and without spilling any of the food.
She took the bowl when he handed it back, and when he said, “Thank you. That was good,” she, once again, was struck by his language and by his attitude. He doesn’t belong out here, she thought.
Hearing a noise, she turned and saw that her husband had rounded the wagon. He came up at once and stared down at Temple’s battered face. “Well, has he told you who he is?”
“His name is Logan Temple.”
“What are you doing out here on the prairie, Temple?” Riker demanded.
“I got left behind.”
“Who left you? Who beat you up like this?”
“I guess it doesn’t matter. I appreciate your taking care of me.”
“It wasn’t me. It was her.” Riker turned his eyes, glowing with accusation, toward Edith. “You’ve fed him and put him back together, but he can’t stay here.”
Temple noticed Riker’s harshness and got to his feet, swaying. “I’ll be moving on,” he said.
“You’re not going anywhere,” Edith said. “You wouldn’t get a hundred yards.”
“I don’t propose to take him to raise, Edith.”
“He’ll be no trouble, but he’s got to have some care until he’s able to take care of himself.” She stared at her husband with challenge in her green eyes. “You wouldn’t begrudge a wounded man the little food he’ll eat, would you?”
Lyman Riker never liked to be challenged by anyone— man or woman. He had married Edith not for love but for her property. He had learned quickly that she was as strong as he was, and now an angry reply leaped to his lips. He saw that she was waiting for it, and instead he shook his head and said, “Well, he can’t stay forever.” Stiffly, he turned and walked off.
Logan Temple stared at the man and then looked back at Edith. She saw something in his expression that told her that he understood what was between herself and Lyman Riker. She was not accustomed to this kind of sensitivity. Somehow in a brief encounter, Temple comprehended all about her marriage, and that disturbed her.
But she said only, “You’re not ready to go anywhere yet.”
“I don’t want to make trouble, Mrs. Riker.”
“My trouble was made long ago.” The answer came from Edith’s lips before she had framed it with her mind, and she knew she was not telling him anything he had not seen for himself. “Here, you sit down and eat more of this stew.” She guided him back to a sitting position. “Eat all of this, and when the train starts, I’ll help you get back in the wagon.”
She saw him smile for the first time as he took the bowl. “I guess you hate bossy women,” Edith added. “Most men do.”
Logan looked at the stew, and when he looked back up, there was a strange expression in his eyes, but he said gently, “No, I don’t mind at all.”
* * *
TWO DAYS AFTER TEMPLE had been found, the heat of the journey was broken by a prairie storm. It broke at dusk with streaked lightning and long booming drums of thunder. It turned the sky black, and the wind whistled ominously. Joelle had seen storms before, but not like this one. With nothing as a barrier on the prairie, the thunder smote the earth like cannon fire, deafening and clattering, dying away only by slow degrees. The sky was marred by streaks of brilliant lightning branching down and seeming to grab the ground, a vivid, dangerous sort of thing that frightened Joelle. The rain came suddenly in a solid sheet, dense and massive enough to flood the earth, it seemed.
But by morning the sun came out again, and Joelle and the others took a deep sigh of relief. Joelle took the Ogdens biscuits she had made before the rains came. She had made too many, and now she said, “Mrs. Ogden, you folks like biscuits?”
Cleo Ogden smiled. “Of course we do, Joe. You didn’t make these yourself?”
“Sure did. I learned how when I was real young.”
“Most men think cooking is a woman’s job.”
Joelle immediately grew defensive. “Well, I expect that’s about right.” She changed the subject abruptly. “What do you think about this fellow Temple we picked up?”
Cleo brushed her hair back from her face. She had beautiful auburn hair, thick and lustrous, and very sharp blue eyes. At only twenty-eight, she still had traces of girlhood beauty. “He’s a strange fellow. Edith says he’s quality. She ought to know.”
Joelle caught something in the woman’s words. “What do you mean by that, Mrs. Ogden?”
“For land sakes, Joe, why don’t you just call me Cleo? It makes me feel like an old woman to be called Mrs. Ogden. What do I mean by that? Well, it don’t look too good.”
“What doesn’t look good?”
“The way Edith took that fellow in.”
“She was just trying to help him.”
“Maybe so, but that’s not the way Lyman saw it. That husband of hers is jealous. What I heard is he tried to get her to run him off, but she wouldn’t do it.”
“They’re a strange couple, aren’t they, Cleo?”
“As strange as you know, boy.” Cleo shook her head and seemed to be thinking. “Lyman Riker wouldn’t help anybody. It’s all Edith that’s doing that. That’s a bad marriage there, the Rikers.”
“They don’t seem much alike.”
“Alike! Why, they’re as different as night and day! I’ve seen women like Edith before. She was bound to have been one of those sprightly girls all the men wanted to dance with. She’s still fine-looking, but she’s lost most of that. I guess living with Lyman Riker would cause any woman to lose her bloom.”
“Why did she marry him?”
“She didn’t show good judgment. Women are weak. You be careful. Look at the Halls.”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“Boy, don’t you have eyes in your head? He’s a womanizer, and Aiden knows it. And that boy knows it too. He’s ashamed of his daddy, and he ought to be.”
Joelle had not thought about these things. The wagon train was small enough that she knew everybody on it. She had thought the Halls had a good marriage. Davis was tall and fine-looking and could sing well. Aiden, his wife, was a beauty, and Benny was a fine-looking boy. “I always thought they had a good family.”
“Open your eyes, Joe. You just be careful when you get you a woman that she’s the right one.”
Joelle felt tremendously uncomfortable with talk like this, and she merely said, “I guess I’ll be thinking about that.”
“Men are always thinking about that. You ain’t very old yet, but don’t tell me you haven’t thought about the girls because I know better.”
Joelle suddenly laughed. “I guess I got more things to think about than that.” She left, feeling that she would have to steer clear of conversations like this.
* * *
THE LAND WAS A sea of mud after the rainstorm, so the train mad
e only six miles that day. Several times wagons bogged down, and extra oxen had to be hitched to pull them out. Finally, by the time they pulled into a circle near a large creek, now swollen and muddy, everyone was gloomy and short-tempered.
Delbert and Ada Pickett were weary of the trail. Both of them were small and undernourished. It was a mystery to everyone how Jennie, their sixteen-year-old, could blossom into such a well-formed, pretty girl. She looked nothing at all like her parents, and more than once one had asked if she had been adopted. Her youthful figure was the target of men’s eyes already.
“Ma, you want me to go down to the river and get some water?”
“I guess you’d better, honey. It’ll be muddy, but we’ve got to have water.”
“Ma, I’m worried.”
Ada Pickett looked at her daughter. “Worried about what?” She herself was worried all the time. Being married to Delbert had worn her down. He had been a failure at everything he had ever tried, and she had given up any expectations.
“I’m worried about getting a husband.”
“Why, girl, you ain’t got no worries there, pretty as you are!”
Jennie wanted to say, But a man will take one look at you and Pa, and he won’t want me. She was accustomed to being low on the pecking order. She had not been an attractive adolescent, and the girlish beauty had come only in the last year. But the early years had scarred her, and now she said, “Nobody will want me, Ma.”
“Stop that foolish thinking. You got plenty of time. Now go get the water. I’ll start supper cooking.”
Jennie didn’t respond. She walked down to the river, filled the buckets, and looking up, saw that the sky was clear of clouds. “No more rain,” she said. “That’s good.” She turned to see a coyote trotting along the riverbank. He had a frog in his mouth, and the sight amused her. “Well, froggy, you had a bad day. Too bad.” She turned and walked back toward the train. It was growing darker now, and an unexpected voice nearly made her drop the buckets.
“Hello, Jennie.” Mace Benton, the guide, appeared from a group of scrub trees. He was a big man with a dark complexion and thick blunt features. His lips were thick, and when he came nearer now, they twisted in a grin. “Let me carry them buckets for you, girl.”
“Oh, I can do it, Mr. Benton.”
Benton reached out and touched her hair. “You got the prettiest hair I ever saw.”
Jennie didn’t know how to handle men, especially men like this. If he had been smaller and younger, she might have known what to say, but she was afraid of the man. “I got to get back with this water.” She turned and walked quickly away. She could not get away from the man who let her get almost to the wagons and then caught her arms.
“What’s the matter? I’m not good enough for you?”
“Please let go of me.”
“Sure I will. You just give me one kiss, and I’ll let you go.” Jennie could not resist. He pulled her close and kissed her. She dropped the buckets and tried desperately to get away.
“Let me go!” she cried.
“You need a man. That’s what you need, Jennie.”
“Let her go, Mr. Benton.”
Benton whirled suddenly to see Artie Riker, the youngest son of Lyman Riker. “Get away from here, boy!”
“Sure I will, but you let Jennie go.” Artie was eighteen. He would be a big strong man one day, but now he was merely tall. He had none of his brothers’ bulk.
Jennie, frightened, suddenly turned and ran toward the camp. She had reached the edge when Benton caught up with her. He grabbed her again and said, “Don’t be running away from me, girl!” He felt his arm suddenly jerked free, and he turned to see Artie Riker facing him.
“Don’t bother her,” Artie said.
Suddenly, without warning, Mace struck. His blow caught Artie in the chest and drove the young man backward until he sprawled in the mud. “You’re going to get hurt if you don’t get away, boy.”
Artie got to his feet. His face was pale, and he obviously had little confidence in a fistfight with this big, bruising man, but he said, “I don’t want to fight, but you’ve got to leave her alone.”
Benton looked around and saw a crowd gathering. A fight always gathered a crowd, and he saw Riker and his two burly sons, Clyde and Sid. This gave him pause. “The boy interfered with me.”
Riker stared with disgust at his son Artie. “Are you going to take that, boy? When are you going to become a man?”
Clyde and Sid, both huge, muscular men, were grinning. “Come on, show him what a man you are, Artie.”
Mace Benton saw at a glance that he would have no trouble with these three. He turned to face Artie and said, “You get along, boy. Come back when you get growed up.” He slapped Artie with the flat of his hand. It staggered the boy, but Artie came back and struck the big man in the mouth. He was a strong young man for his size, and the blow broke Mace’s lip. He uttered a curse and threw himself forward. Artie Riker had no chance at all. He was beaten to the ground and rose several times staggering.
Lyman Riker heard a voice. “Are you going to let him do that to your boy, Riker?”
Riker turned to see Owen Majors watching him. “He’s got to learn to fight.”
“Not with a man like that.”
“You keep your nose out of it, Majors,” Sid said. “None of your business.”
Majors gave him a long, level look and then turned to see that Mace Benton had knocked the boy down. Artie was trying to get up. Mace drew back his foot to kick the boy, but Majors leaned forward and drove a blow into the big man’s kidney. The punch to such a vulnerable spot brought a cry of agony. Mace turned and saw Owen standing there. “This ain’t none of your business, Majors.”
“I guess I’d better leave my mark on you, Mace—as I did once before.”
The words fell like acid on a raw wound for, indeed, Owen Majors and Mace Benton had had a terrible fight on the Little Missouri River when they were trapping. Both men had been marked, but Mace had been left unconscious and battered in body and face. His anger had been building for years, and now he took a step forward and drove a blow at Owen’s face. Owen managed to dodge and instantly returned the blow. It caught Mace Benton in the mouth, drove him backward, and Majors followed with a left-handed shot that turned Mace around. He watched as Mace staggered and slipped to the muddy ground.
“What’s the matter, Mace? You getting old?” Majors said. “You never were much of a man.”
Mace got to his feet. He looked around and saw everyone was watching and waiting for him to take it up, but he had felt the power of Owen Majors’s blows, and they were no less than they had been back at the Little Missouri River. He tried to gear himself up for a battle, but he remembered how it had taken him weeks to recover from Majors’s earlier beating. He stared around and said, “I ain’t fighting you, Majors.”
“Then get out of camp.”
The words were flat and deadly. Mace Benton started to argue, but he saw the light of battle in Owen’s eyes and turned quickly away. Everyone watched him go. He mounted his horse and headed back east away from the train.
“Good riddance, I say,” Ralph Ogden said. “He wasn’t no guide of any kind anyhow.”
There was a murmur of assent, for no one had been pleased with Mace, but Edith Riker had come and watched this with cold eyes. She turned to her husband and said, “You’re a coward, letting your own son be beat like that.”
“You keep out of this, Edith!”
“Yeah, it ain’t none of your put-in,” Sid said. Neither he nor Clyde had ever liked their stepmother, and now both glared at her.
But she faced them fearlessly. “You’re both no-good bums, letting your brother get whipped like that. If I were a man, I’d whip you myself.”
“Well, you ain’t no man so you ain’t whipping nobody.”
“I might take on that job.” Riker suddenly stared at Majors who had come to stand before him. He saw that Majors was challenging him, and he glanced to see if
his sons were ready. Although Majors was a ferocious fighter, Riker had no doubt that three of them could handle him.
“We’ll just take you on.”
“No, you won’t,” Caleb Taylor, a huge, bulky man, said at once. He came to stand beside Majors, and Ralph Ogden, the biggest and strongest man on the train, came with him. “We’ll just make it three and three,” Caleb said. He smiled suddenly. “That way, Lyman, you and Majors can have at it. Have your own brawl.”
Lyman Riker was imposing, but he had seen the power in Owen Majors, and knew he would have no chance with the young man.
“This ain’t none of your put-in, Ogden.”
“It was your place to help your boy,” Ralph Ogden said. “I ain’t got no respect for a man that lets his kin be whipped by a bully. Now either fight or git.”
For a moment the matter seemed to be up in the air, but then Riker stared at Artie, who was struggling to his feet. Edith had watched Majors carefully. The scene had blown up like an explosion almost, and now she thought, Everyone knows what Lyman is, and his sons, too, and I’m glad. She knelt down in the mud. “Come on, Artie. You need some looking after.”
“I’m all right, Ma.”
“No, you come with me.” Everyone watched as Edith led the boy away. When she got to the wagon, she found that Logan Temple had followed her.
“That’s a bad cut. That eyebrow needs some stitches.”
“I don’t think I can do that,” Edith said.
Logan stared at the woman and seemed to come to a decision. “I’ll do it.” He reached into the wagon for the black bag she had noticed. When he opened it, Edith watched him take out medical supplies, and she saw medical instruments. Instantly she knew the truth. “You’re a doctor, Logan.”
“Used to be. Here, sit down, Artie. We’ll get you fixed up.”
Edith watched as Logan treated the boy’s wounds. He sewed up the eyebrow with skill. Finally Logan said, “You’re going to be a little bit sore, but you’ll be all right. Here, take a spoonful of this before you go to sleep tonight.” He handed Artie a small bottle and then changed his mind. “No, Edith, I guess you’d better give it to him.”
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