The Poacher's Daughter

by Michael Zimmer

  “Sugar?” Callie said gently. “Can you hear me?”

  Rose ran her tongue over parched lips. “Water,” she managed.

  “Sure, honey, I got a pitcher right here.” Callie filled a beer stein, then held it to Rose lips, keeping one strong hand cupped under her head.

  Rose drank tentatively at first, just enough to wet her throat and wash away the sour scum that had collected there, but as her thirst grew, so did her greed, until Callie finally pulled the mug away.

  “You can have some more in a bit,” she promised. “It’s best you go slow for now.”

  “I’m drier’n corral dust,” Rose admitted.

  “’Course you are. Your body’s craving water after what you’ve been through. It’s only natural.”

  “Been through?”

  “Oh, sugar, why didn’t you tell someone?” Callie sat on the edge of the bed, brushing the blonde hair back from Rose’s forehead.

  “Wha- … what. Tell someone what?”

  Callie’s fingers slowed. “Don’t you know?”

  “I got sick as a dog, I know that. I remember Nora helping me here.” Her voice dropped when she recalled the blood, its warmth soaking through the dark blue fabric of her skirt. Looking away, she said: “I was kind of … messy, I suppose.”

  “Oh, sugar, you don’t know, do you. You miscarried, Rose. You lost your little baby.”

  “Baby?” Rose whispered, struggling to bring the loose ends together, to make sense of it all.

  “I figured you knew,” Callie said. “Didn’t you miss your monthlies?”

  Rose started to reply, then abruptly shut up. Squeezing her eyes shut, she thought: Lord God, how could I have been so stupid. Tears welled in the corners of her eyes but she angrily fought them back. Putting the joint of her index finger between her teeth, she clamped down hard in an effort to diminish the larger ache that was piercing her heart.

  “Here,” Callie said, pulling Rose’s hand away. “You don’t need to be causing yourself any more pain, sugar. I expect you’re hurting enough without chewing on yourself.”

  “Shorty’s …,” Rose said in a cracked voice, but was unable to complete the sentence.

  “I expect,” Callie agreed. “But it wasn’t far along. You got that to be thankful for.”

  The bed shifted, and Rose heard Callie fumbling at the nightstand.

  “I want you to drink this,” Callie said. “It’ll help you sleep.”

  “I don’t want to sleep.”

  “You need to rest. Sleep’s the best thing for you.”

  “I’m a failure,” Rose whispered almost frantically. “I’m the worst kind of human being, to have killed my own …..”There was a loud, fleshy smack in Rose’s ear, and her head rocked to one side. It was a moment more before she realized Callie had slapped her, hard.

  “I don’t want to hear that kind of talk,” Callie said fiercely. “It was the Lord who took your baby, and the Lord who’s holding it in His loving arms right now.” Her voice softened as she held out a deep-bellied tablespoon filled with a thick liquid. “Here, take this.”

  “What is it?”

  “Laudanum. Miss Alice keeps it on hand for when one of the girls needs it. It’ll help you sleep.”

  Rose opened her mouth and Callie tipped the spoon between her lips. It had a tart flavor, and Rose made a face.

  “It ain’t butter cake, is it?” Callie asked gently.

  Rose licked her lips in an effort to get rid of the taste, but she felt too limp to wipe it away. Within minutes her body started to relax, her eyelids to grow heavy.

  She was alone when she awoke next, and for a while she was content to lay unmoving, collecting her thoughts. The lamp had been extinguished and the bright blue of a new day poured through the window. A deep, comfortable silence had replaced the music and laughter of the night before, and a feeling of well-being came over her that lasted only until the memory of her lost child returned. She closed her eyes with a small, anguished moan.

  Nora was there when she opened her eyes the next time, sitting in a chair beside the window where she could keep an eye on the door. Her Colt Rainmaker and Rose’s Smith & Wesson lay on the sill within easy reach. She still wore her low-cut working dress, and her eyes were puffy with fatigue.

  “Nora?”

  Nora didn’t immediately respond. Then her gaze swung to the bed and a smile tilted the corners of her mouth. “So, are you awake?”

  “More or less.”

  “How do you feel?” She came over to stand at the foot of the bed, one hand on a post.

  “Middlin’, I reckon.” Rose sat up cautiously, but there was neither pain nor light-headedness.

  “Callie says you’ll be fine in a few days. The bleeding stopped almost immediately. That’s the important thing.” She patted Rose’s foot through the quilt. “Callie’s seen this before, Rose. Lots of times. If she was worried, she’d have sent for a doctor.”

  Rose nodded. “I know.”

  “We have to talk,” Nora said.

  “I figured we did.” Her gaze went to the pistols lying on the window sill.

  “Last night,” Nora said, “Stroudmire gave me a message to deliver to you. He said it was time.”

  “Time. For what?”

  Nora shook her head. “He said you’d know. I’m sorry. You don’t need this after what you’ve just been through, but Stroudmire scares me. Miles City ain’t big enough for you to hide in forever.”

  Rose kept her gaze on the window. “Are you sayin’ I have to leave?”

  “What else can you do?”

  Fight, she wanted to say, but she knew, if she did, she’d risk pulling Nora and Callie and the others into it with her. “Hell, it was time to move on, anyway,” she said with resignation.

  “Do you have somewhere to go … friends or family?”

  Rose was careful to keep her voice neutral, her expression calm. “I reckon I can stay with my pap in Billings.”

  “You ought to leave Montana. I’ve got friends in Kansas City who’d help, if you wanted to go there.”

  “Kansas City. With all them trolley cars roamin’ the streets like grizzly bears?” She gave Nora a crooked grin. “Now what would an ol’ cob-rough gal like me do in a place like that?”

  Tears welled in Nora’s eyes. “It ain’t fair, god dammit. Women like us can’t even turn to the law for help.”

  “The law weren’t set up for the likes of you ’n’ me, and that’s a fact,” Rose agreed, “but nobody ever said it was fair. It’s just the way things is.” She looked around the room, remembering the first time she’d come here. “You’ve been a good friend, Nora. Everyone here has. I’m gonna miss this place somethin’ terrible.”

  “We’re going to miss you, too.” Tears tracked Nora’s cheeks; she wiped them away with her palm. “Can you stand?” she asked, as if needing to change the subject.

  “Sure.” Rose slid her legs out of bed and sat up. “See, fit as a fiddle.”

  “It’ll be dark in a few hours. Eben’ll bring your horse around and Callie will fix some things for you to take on the trail. Or we’ll help you catch the train, if you’d rather travel that way.”

  “No, I want to keep my horse.”

  “We thought you would. Come downstairs as soon as you’re dressed. Callie has a warm meal waiting.”

  Rose nodded but didn’t try to speak. Nora set the Smith & Wesson on the nightstand, within easy reach, then walked to the door. Pausing, she glanced over her shoulder. “Good-bye, Rose.”

  “I ain’t gonna see you again?”

  “I have to go back to work. Besides, that way I can keep an eye on Stroudmire and Haus. I’ll send word if I think they’re up to something.”

  Rose didn’t know how to respond. She felt overwhelmed by the changes that were occurring even as she sat on
the edge of the bed in a borrowed nightgown. But she did know that, if she truly cared about Nora and Callie, or any of them, the only sensible alternative she had was to ride away as swiftly as possible. Bucking up to her grief, she said: “Thank you, Nora. I don’t know how I’m ever gonna repay you for all you’ve done.”

  “Hell,” Nora replied, her lips trembling. “You already have. You’re my friend.”

  Chapter

  15

  “That’ll be Eben,” Callie said several hours later. She moved to the window, although Rose doubted if she could see much beyond her own reflection in the glass, for the night was dark, the moon not yet risen.

  The clopping of a horse’s hoofs came faintly from the back yard. Standing, Rose pushed her chair under the table. She felt suddenly awkward and uncertain, standing in Callie’s kitchen in her old wolfing clothes. Although Callie had scrubbed them as best she could, they were still stained and ratty-looking, her hat as shapeless as any tramp’s. Silently she strapped the Smith &Wesson around her waist, then pulled on her canvas jacket.

  Watching, Callie said: “God bless you, sugar. I’ll pray for you.”

  Rose hesitated beside the table, then walked over and wrapped her arms around Callie’s broad shoulders. “I won’t forget you, Callie,” she whispered. “Not ever.”

  “Hush, now. Don’t talk like that. I expect you’ll be back soon as this Stroudmire foolishness dies down.”

  The door opened and Eben came in. He looked nervous, and was carrying a shotgun in addition to his revolver. Rose pulled away from Callie. “Sure,” she said. “More’n likely I’ll be back in a couple of weeks..”Then she hurried outside before her throat closed completely.

  It was a rare warm night for spring in Montana. The air was fresh, the wind behaving itself for a change. Rose took Albert’s reins and swung him around to the light, running her hands over the pannier Eben had strapped behind the cantle, checking the saddle strings. She and Callie had gone through the pack that afternoon, sorting out the heavier stuff, keeping only what she’d need for the immediate future.

  “Well, ol’ pard,” she said, adjusting her reins above the gelding’s withers. “I reckon it’s just you and me again.” Albert swung his head around to push his velvety muzzle against her elbow. Rose grabbed the saddle’s broad, flat horn and swung carefully aboard. It was a stretch getting her leg over the bulky pannier, for she was still sore, and the top of the pack came above the small of her back when she was seated. She didn’t attempt a final farewell. They’d said their good-byes earlier, and Rose was afraid that if she tried to speak now, her voice would betray her.

  She rode west until she was sure darkness had engulfed her, then turned Albert to face Main Street. For a minute the lights of Miles City blurred like smudged thumb prints on glass, and a harsh choking sound raked at the back of her throat. She lifted her face to the starry sky, her jaw clenching until the tendons in her neck stood taut.

  Then the moment passed, the pain sliding back and down until it was locked securely behind a cold, hard shell of resolve. She forced herself to relax, and for a while she just sat there as the memories of the past few weeks flowed through her mind. Then she put those away, too, storing them with the grief, deep enough that they wouldn’t become bothersome. Gathering her reins, she said: “Come on, hoss. I reckon it’s time we paid Stroudmire a call.”

  • • • • •

  Rose hadn’t been to the Silver Star since her first night back in Miles City, and was surprised to find so many horses hitched out front. She had to dismount across the street and loop her reins through the spokes of an empty Diamond R freight wagon, the rails were so full.

  In the shadow of the tall wagon she removed her jacket and hung it over the saddle horn, then pulled the Smith &Wesson around where it would be easier to reach. Finally, taking a long breath, she crossed the street and climbed the steps to the saloon, ignoring the curious stares of the beer drinkers clustered along the verandah.

  Even expecting it, the size of the crowd was startling. Rose recognized Tom behind the bar and several of the girls from Alice’s, but everyone else was a stranger. A lot of them, she figured, were drovers who’d followed the season north to work the roundup, only to lose out to older, more experienced hands. Not a few were muleskinners and bullwhackers, with the usual sprinkling of Fort Keogh swaddies in their dark blue soldier uniforms.

  Rose spotted Nora at the bar with a cowboy pressed to her side like a brand. He had one arm draped over her shoulders, his fingers absently stroking the soft flesh at the tops of her breasts. Nora saw Rose at the same instant, and an expression of alarm crossed her face even as she glanced toward the rear of the room. Following the direction of her gaze, Rose saw John Stroudmire sitting alone at a table with his back to the wall. A bottle of whiskey and a half-filled glass sat at his elbow, with ranks of cards spread across the green felt in front of him in a game of solitaire.

  Making an oblique turn, Rose headed for Stroudmire’s table. Silence accompanied her. Groups of men parted before her, then came together again in her wake. Stopping before the gunman, she hitched self-consciously at her cartridge belt, then let her hand rest lightly against the double-looped holster. The Smith &Wesson’s hard rubber grips pressed against the inside of her wrist. Stroudmire didn’t look up, but Rose knew he was aware of her presence. Planting her feet solidly, she said: “John Stroudmire.”

  “What might I do for you, Missus Edwards?” he replied, tapping thoughtfully at a nine of clubs with a long, tapered index finger. Then he raised his eyes, and Rose stiffened as they came to rest on her like hot coals. “Or is it still Lucy Alder?”

  “You know who I am. I came to let you know I’m leavin’ town.”

  “In other words, I am to leave your friends alone?”

  “Your business is with me, not them.”

  “Go away, Missus Edwards,” he said mildly. “I have other fish to fry, and little patience for making war on women. Leave now, and relieve me of this distasteful dilemma.” He slid the black nine off the end stack and placed it over a ten of diamonds, revealing a three of clubs with no harbor for it.

  Rose hesitated. “Nora said you had a message for me.”

  “Did she deliver it?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Then that objective was accomplished.” He dealt three more cards off the deck, turning up a jack of clubs. Rose shifted uncertainly, and Stroudmire paused, his gaze as cold and hard as a rattler’s. “Do you intend to draw on me, Missus Edwards?”

  “I will if you ever bother me or my friends again. I ain’t afraid to do it, if forced.”

  His cheeks seemed to darken, and his voice grew rough. “Then I’d suggest you either pull your piece now, or leave.”

  “I’ll leave, but I won’t be far away or hard to find.”

  “I shall keep that forever in mind,” he replied, his voice laced with sarcasm.

  Rose paused indecisively. It seemed the encounter was at an end, although it had taken her in a direction she hadn’t expected. Nodding stiffly, she walked away, the noise of the crowd rising abruptly at her back. She heard one man say—“I’ll be damned.”—and another—“Stood right up to the bastard ….”—and still a third—“Backed him down like the cur he is ….”

  She shoved through the doors and down the steps, her pace quickening as she crossed the street. She could feel the eyes of the men at the Silver Star’s doors following her, no doubt wondering who she was and where she’d come from. While she wondered, was she really that tough that she could challenge a man of Stroudmire’s mettle and walk away unscathed?

  Rose had no answer for any of them. At Albert’s side she stopped long enough to grip the Mother Hubbard’s skirt with both hands, her fingernails scalloping the soft leather of the mochila with tiny half moons. Then, knowing the cowboys at the Silver Star were waiting to see what she’d do, she yanked the reins free and
stepped into the saddle. Wheeling smartly, she rode out of town at a gallop.

  • • • • •

  It was after midnight when Rose finally stopped. She picketed Albert in a grassy draw, then wrapped up in her blankets to catch a few hours’ sleep. By dawn she was in the saddle again, riding west toward Billings. She kept the Yellowstone a couple of miles to her left to avoid the toll road that ran along the river’s north bank, and stayed to higher ground where she had an unobstructed view of the surrounding country. She was feeling better today, stronger and not nearly as sore, although she didn’t push it as hard as she could have.

  At noon she halted to lunch beneath a rocky ledge, pulling off Albert’s bridle and loosening the cinch so he could graze unencumbered. With the Sharps and the cotton sack of food Callie had prepared, she climbed higher among the crumbling yellow rocks until she found a place where she could rest and eat and still keep an eye on her back trail.

  Stroudmire’s affected disinterest last night hadn’t impressed Rose one whit. If anything, it convinced her that she’d been moved up on the cattlemen’s target list, the one Joe Bean had warned her about last fall. No doubt her recent association with Wiley and Shorty had a lot to do with that, even as her wolfing had directly benefited the ranchers.

  The irony of her situation was not lost on Rose—that she was an outcast in the eyes of men who probably wouldn’t even be here if not for her pap and others like him. But the tables had turned in the last few years, and those very trailblazers—the hunters and trappers and scouts—who had opened up eastern Montana to the cattle barons were now, as a class, vilified by them.

  In a life spent on the woollier side of the frontier, Rose couldn’t recall ever having witnessed the degree of viciousness she’d seen perpetrated by the wealthier stockmen since taking control of the range with the Stranglers’ raid in ’84. Not even during the Indian Wars, including that period immediately following the Custer debacle, had she observed such a desire for one class to eradicate another. At least between the United States military and the various Indian tribes there had existed a mutual respect, based on an acknowledgement of the other side’s skills as warriors.