Wyoming Trails

by Lauran Paine

  “See that groove? It hit there first, got deflected, and went into his arm. Seems like it went downward from the shoulder and came out his elbow. The arm feels like sausage. If he don’t bleed out, at least he’ll never use his right hand for much.”

  Blessing passed out. They carried him over by the buggy and lay him in the shade. Otto brushed angrily at the blue-tailed flies that came out of nowhere and fastened themselves greedily upon Blessing’s red shirt. He looked at Shan.

  “Now what,” he said, and it was not a question.

  “Bury the one and take this other one over the hill to their house, I guess.”

  Otto shook his head. “No, we’ll take them both home. Let’s load Amos into the buggy first.”

  Amos posed no problem; they did not need to worry about his comfort. Art was placed more tenderly, so that his head lay upon his dead brother’s stomach.

  “What about their horses?”

  “Tie them to the tailgate.”

  Otto put one of the Indian horses between the shafts while Shan caught the Blessings’ horses, tied them, and got up onto the seat. They drove out of the yard heading toward the upland slope without a word passing between them.

  When they began the long, angling descent, dogs came out of the shadows down by the Blessings’ house, barking and walking stiff-legged. They drew up and called out; no one came out or answered. Otto beat on the closed door and hollow echoes came back. Shan got down and between them they carried both Blessings up onto the narrow porch. Amos they left on the ground, Art they braced against the wall, and Otto got a pail of water from over by the well and put it beside him, then they drove back.

  When they halted near Shan’s barn, Otto said: “We’d better sluice that blood off the spring box.”

  “I’ll do it,” Shan said, alighting.

  “All right. I’ll go kick some dirt over the place where Amos was.”

  Shan scrubbed hard. Most of the blood washed off but an uneven and dark stain remained. He patted dust over it, obscuring the outline somewhat, then went back to the buggy. Otto was removing the horse from between the shafts. When Shan walked over, he said: “Get rid of their guns, Shan.”

  He gathered up the weapons and looked at them. They were expensive, well-oiled weapons. He hadn’t decided what to do with them by the time Otto had their horses saddled so he called to him, and, obeying, went hastily around the barn and stuck them barrels first into the manure pile.

  They rode southward. Near the witness tree Otto dug out his pipe, emptied and filled it, and lit it. “Some men just never learn,” he said, tamping the pipe bowl with a thumb pad. “They’ve fought their share of Indians, then rode into that yard like the greenest greenhorns I ever saw.”

  “Our horses were hid in the barn,” Shan said. “They saw me cross the yard and just figured I was alone.”

  “Well,” Otto said, “would you go charging up like that … in plain sight … not even taking cover?”

  “I guess not.”

  “They knew better, too. It’s hard to understand.”

  “They just weren’t thinking straight. You saw how mad they were. Say, Otto, don’t they have any family? How come there was no one at the house?”

  “Art’s married but Amos isn’t. Maybe Art’s woman saw us coming and hid out. Maybe she wasn’t even home. I don’t know much about her, only that she’s from back East somewhere.”

  “If she wasn’t around and doesn’t come back pretty soon, Art’ll die.”

  “Maybe. You can’t tell. He lost a lot of blood, but he’s as tough as a boiled owl, too.”

  When they rode up to Otto’s barn, the wagon wasn’t in the yard. Otto got down and said: “I’m glad of that. It takes me a little time to act natural after something like this. Let’s do the chores.”

  Shan fed and Otto milked, then they went around back and closed the gates so the cattle wouldn’t drift away from the barn. While they were leaning over the last gate, Otto said they’d take the heifers up to Shan’s the following day. When the shadows began to draw out along the ground, they went inside and Otto brought out the whiskey jug. They sat in the gloom, drinking and talking. As the dusk settled, Otto lost his grim look, his unnatural stiffness.

  “Stage must have been late,” he said. “It’s never on time anyway.”

  Shan fidgeted on the chair. “Maybe we ought to ride out a ways and meet them.”

  “They’ll be along,” Otto said, reaching for the jug, pouring amber liquid into his glass. “You know, after we take those heifers up there, you’ll have to watch them pretty close. Some will try to come back home.”

  “I’ll watch.”

  “If you get into trouble with them … if some of them don’t calve-out right, saddle up and come get me.”

  “I will.”

  Otto drank, put the glass down, and breathed out. His eyes watered. “This last jug isn’t as good as the others were,” he said, looking at it.

  “It tastes good to me, especially after the trouble.” Otto was silent and Shan looked over at him. “Hadn’t we better go down to Tico and tell the law what happened?”

  “I’ll do that. It was a fair fight, no one’ll say much. They rode into the yard and tried to kill you in your own barn. A deputy’ll probably ride up and ask you about it, that’s about all. You just tell the truth, show him those stains on the spring box. I don’t expect anything’ll come of it. Wyoming law’s pretty strong about a man having the right to protect his home and all.” Otto pushed his glass away. “The thing that bothers me’s how your wife’s going to feel. I don’t think they have many killings over in Nebraska anymore.”

  “Yeah, I won’t say much to her about it. Maybe I won’t have to say anything, if you don’t.”

  “Me?” Otto said. “I never talk about those things to anyone. Less said about those things the better. Of course she’ll hear about it one way or another, but it won’t come from me.” Otto arose, went to the lamp, lit it, and straightened up, listening. “Sounds like a wagon coming.” He was motionless a moment longer. “It is a wagon, come on.”

  They were out by the barn when Mrs. Muller wheeled in. Shan caught Sarahlee around the middle and lifted her down, drew him up against him in a bear hug. Her smiling mouth twisted a little in pain. He slacked off suddenly, staring at her—it was like in the dream. Then it passed and he crushed his mouth over hers, held her until she pushed against him. Her dark eyes glowed, laughed up into his face.

  “It’s seemed like ten years,” he said.

  She patted his cheek. “I missed you, too, Shan.”

  “Hey, Mary, hand me that big box and you take the other ones,” Shan said.

  Sarahlee watched Shan’s big shoulders sag under the weight, and when he turned, straining, and asked what was in it, she laughed and said things for the cabin.

  “Wedding presents from my family.”

  “Must be made of lead,” he said. “How is your paw?”

  “He’s all right now.”

  Shan heard Mrs. Muller speak to Otto and listened. Her voice was low. “Did you get the hay hauled up to Shan’s?”

  “Well, no,” Otto replied. “We thought we’d better ride up first and sort of look around.”

  “Are you still going to take the cattle up tomorrow?”

  “We figure to, yes.” Otto was throwing harness across the hitch rail when Mrs. Muller spoke again.

  “What did you do up there?”

  He looked at her. “Do? Why I just told you, Georgia.”

  She pointed. “You’ve got your pistol on, Otto.”

  Shan spoke swiftly. “Wolves, Missus Muller. Otto thought we’d better check on the wolves before we took the heifers up there to calve.”

  “Oh. Well, let’s go inside. Mary, never mind those things, the men will fetch them.”

  Sarahlee touched Shan’
s arm, patted, and squeezed it. “You need another haircut,” she said.

  He wanted to kiss her mouth again but Otto called to him. “Give me a hand here, Shan!”

  They stood by the wagon until the women were down at the back door, then Otto spoke without looking at Shan. “I couldn’t think what to say.”

  “I knew it when I looked at your face.”

  They unloaded the wagon, put Sarahlee’s boxes under cannon cloth, and trudged down to the house. Inside, it was bright and coming alive with smells of cooking. Shan realized suddenly how hungry he was. Sarahlee was coatless and hatless and helping Mrs. Muller. Shan noticed a dimple in her elbow and marveled at it. He and Otto had another cupful of whiskey, then Otto put the jug in the corner near his rifle. Mary set the table and did not look at Shan.

  “What’d your folks say when you told them you were married? I’ll bet they near fainted.”

  “I didn’t tell them until my father got better. My mother cried at first. She said Wyoming was so far off. My sister made me promise to send a picture of you.” She looked around at him and smiled. “They want us to come back for a visit this fall.”

  Shan felt warm all over. “You ought to see our new barn. It’s finished and it’s bigger than the other one. You never saw such a barn in your life, Sarahlee. If it hadn’t been for Otto, I don’t know what we’d have done.”

  Mrs. Muller began taking bowls and platters from the stove to the table. She looked inquiringly at her husband for a moment, then turned back and spoke to Sarahlee. “They’ve been sitting around here all afternoon drinking. I can tell. Otto doesn’t like guns. When he’s been drinking a lot, he gets absent-minded.” She pointed to the pistol at her husband’s side. “When he comes in, if he’s wearing a gun, he always takes it off.”

  Sarahlee threw Otto a little smile and said nothing. Mary, in the background, looked from Otto to Shan and back again. There was no smile in her eyes. Otto got up and removed the shell belt and pistol, put them on the floor in the corner near the rifle, and went back to the table without a word.

  At supper the conversation went in spurts. When the meal was over, Mrs. Muller said: “Take her for a walk, Shan. It’s nearly full moon tonight. Mary and I’ll clean up.”

  Otto arose. “I’ll help,” he said, and moved restlessly away from the table.

  Shan took Sarahlee up the dusty path toward the barn. Habit made him pick the route. She was perfectly at ease, her stride nearly as long as his. When he leaned upon the hitch rail with the silver moon glowing through a curl-edged ring around it as large as a continent, she stood sideways, gazing at him.

  “I have so much to tell you, Shan. The trip was hot, and after I got home I was so tired …” She reached up and touched his hair, smoothed it back. “Georgia told me about Mary and those other Indians.”

  She looked more beautiful than ever in the soft, sad light, and when she mentioned the Indians, he stirred, shuffled his feet until he was closer to her.

  “It was a tragic thing, Shan.”

  “Yes.”

  “But I understand how you felt about losing the barn.”

  He squirmed again, saying nothing and watching the moon.

  “We should try to find out about Mary’s kinsmen, though, don’t you think? If she has parents, they must be sick over losing her.”

  “Sure,” he said. “Come on, let’s take a walk.”

  They went down across the milky land behind Otto’s barn, holding hands, and he didn’t stop until the lamplight from the house was almost indistinct, then he drew her up close and held her. She reached up, took his head in both hands, and held it so that he had to look into her eyes.

  “I missed you more than I expected I would, Shan.”

  “Me, too. I’d think about you, picture you around the cabin. It was torture, Sarahlee.”

  She patted his cheek. “Well, I’m back and we’ll make up for the past. We’ll make everything like it should be, won’t we?”

  He strained against her, locked his mouth over her lips, and moved them, savoring the taste. She responded, but after a moment she pushed him back.

  “Georgia told me about a school for Indians over in Colorado somewhere. Don’t you think we ought to send Mary there? She could learn to be civilized.”

  “Sure.” He let his arms drop down. “The only reason I’ve kept her this long was because I thought you might want to keep her. She could be a lot of help around the ranch.”

  “Like a slave?”

  He shrugged. “We’d take care of her, give her clothes and things like that.”

  Her face clouded. “I don’t understand you, Shan. Did you fight to free slaves?”

  He laughed shortly. “Is that what I fought for?”

  She took his hand and patted it, turned, and began to lead him back toward the house. “Let’s go to bed, Shan, I’m tired. We’ve got a long time to talk about Mary and all those other things.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The following morning, bright and early, Mrs. Muller and Mary helped Otto reload the wagon and hitch the team to it. When Shan and Sarahlee came out, Otto hiked for the barn to saddle two horses, then he waited inside the barn until Shan appeared in the doorway.

  “Here,” he said, blank-faced, “you ride this one and go open the gate on the heifers. I’ll cut around through the feed lot and start them north.”

  The wagon was leaving the yard when they got the cattle lined out. For a while there was nothing to do but watch, then a few tried to cut back, but Otto’s wise old bay horse always managed to anticipate them. But before they neared Shan’s place, they were compelled to do a lot of extra riding. Because of this and the naturally slow pace, the women were already at the cabin and had a big meal prepared. Shan and Otto ate, then went back for a jag of hay. By the time they got back, night was falling. Otto borrowed the buggy to drive home in, and Shan left the wagon snugged up beside the barn. He meant to fork the hay in the next day.

  When he finally washed up and entered the cabin, it was pitch dark out, the moon not yet risen. Sarahlee acted nervous toward him. She laughed aloud more than he’d ever seen her do before, and finally she took him outside, said he really ought to sleep in the yard or the barn because it wasn’t decent, them sleeping in the cabin with Mary there. He was too weary to argue and took a large piece of cannon cloth, climbed up onto the wagonload of hay, and got comfortable. It was a wonderfully warm night and later, after the moon came up with a slice off the bottom of it, he studied the sky, noticed the wealth of humidity in the air, the mist over the stars. Then he slept.

  It was almost 10:00 a.m. before Otto and Mrs. Muller drove up the next morning in Sarahlee’s top buggy. They all had a cup of coffee before the men unloaded the hay and drove down to the Muller place for more, brought it back, unloaded it over the first pile, and leaned upon their forks, admiring the huge mound it made. They were both dark with sweat. Shan went to the spring box and sluiced off his upper body. Otto drank sparingly, then they saddled up and rode out to check the heifers.

  “Don’t look like any went back,” Otto said.

  “They’re sure scattered out though.”

  “Fine feed up here. Well, let’s get back. I expect the women’ll have dinner ready.”

  They ate, and Sarahlee’s face was flushed and shiny from the heat. Shan tried to keep from staring, but couldn’t. She’d put away her heavier blouse, wore the thin white one he remembered. The swish of her long skirt made his flesh crawl. After the meal he went down by the spring box and looked down into the clear water. The dusted-over gouge was there to remind him of the fight. He bent down, made some mud of dust and water, and plastered it over the gouge, smoothed it out with his fingers. Otto walked up, smoking his pipe. He looked at the damp mud but said nothing about it. His face was red and weathered from the eyes down. From the eyes up it was almost indecently white where his hat had
protected it.

  “Hot, Shan,” he said, looking out over the shimmering land. His whole face seemed to gather into vertical wrinkles up around his eyes, almost hiding them. “If I was a praying man, I’d get right down here in the mud and pray for rain.”

  “It’s beginning to feel like rain,” Shan said, and got up off his knees, looking toward the cabin. “What I need right now is a drink of whiskey.”

  “Go get the jug from under the bed. This is a nice cool place to enjoy a drink.”

  “You go get it.”

  Otto looked at him a moment, then chuckled and started back across the yard.

  The day looked faded, tarnished. Shan squinted his eyes like Otto had done and squinted far out at the cattle. There were a few grazing in close, looking ungainly, all heavy with calf. He turned a little and looked up the north slope, wondered if Art Blessing’s wife had come back, or if he’d died with his eyes closed and his back up against the old warped siding.

  Otto came back with the jug. They sat down and took turns pulling at it for a while, then Otto scooped out a place in the mud and sunk it there to keep it cool.

  “I’ve been thinking about the Blessings,” Shan said. “We ought to ride over and see if that lady came back or not.”

  “Later,” Otto said, “after it cools off a little.”

  Shan felt like there was lava bubbling in his blood. He filled his pipe and leaned back against the spring box, looking at Otto. “You seen other fights out here, Otto?”

  “I’ve seen a few, yes. Let’s forget that. Does no good to keep coming back to it, son.”