* * *
They were sitting just inside the kitchen door when Kristin heard a faint sound outside. As she went out onto the porch, a topless buggy came silently around the side of the house and stopped. Bernie hopped down, spun around on his peg and hurried to the porch.
“Bernie, I’m afraid for you and Bonnie,” Kristin whispered. “I wish you were coming with me.”
“We ain’t goin’ to he able to stay here much longer. That hired gun of Forsythe’s is got his eye on my sister. I’m no match for him face-to-face. But if he don’t back off, I’ll shoot him in the back and they’ll hang me.” He hoisted Kristin’s trunk to his shoulder.
After her belongings were stashed on the boot of the buggy, Kristin put her arms around Mrs. Gaffney and kissed her cheek.
“Thank you, thank you,” she said with her lips against her ear.
“Good-bye, darlin’. Tell Buck that Rose Gaffney’s goin’ to whip his hind end fer not slippin’ in to see her.”
Kristin looked at her in astonishment. “You didn’t tell me you knew . . . him.”
“Ya didn’t ask, lovey. I’d not be lettin’ ya go out there if I didn’t think Buck could take care of ya. Get along with ya now. Bernie, I’ll turn on the windmill and let my stock tank run over till the tracks are washed out.”
Kristin climbed into the buggy and Bernie turned the horse toward the pasture behind the house. She was impressed with how careful he was and glad, now, that she had put on a dark dress and tied a three-cornered cloth, peasant style, over her silvery blond hair. The horse’s hooves were covered with gunnysacks and the well-greased buggy made hardly a sound.
Bernie didn’t speak until they were well away from the house.
“Cletus is an old-timer here. He was one of the best wheel-wrights in the Territory in his day. He knows a good many freighters. A train of three wagons came in this morning. They’ll be setting out at three o’clock. They go early and rest the stock in the middle of the day. It’s easier on the teams. You’ll ride on one of the freight wagons. They’ll drop you off at Larkspur and go on.”
“I told Colonel Forsythe I’d come back this morning and sign the papers. What’ll they do when they find I’ve gone?”
“They’ll be fit to be tied.”
“Will they hurt Mrs. Gaffney?”
“They don’t dare. She’s rather a favorite in town due to her care of the sick.”
“How about you and Bonnie?”
“Del Gomer won’t let anything happen to Bonnie that he don’t want to happen,” Bernie said bitterly.
“Del Gomer. He’s the one who watched her this morning.”
“He’s there for every meal if he’s in town. He came to the restaurant when we first opened. He was nice and mannerly. Bonnie liked him. They talked for an hour at a time. He met her a couple of times after church and walked her home. She was halfway in love with him when we found out what he is—a hired killer. He works for whoever pays the highest price. There’s been a half dozen random killings this past year that can be chalked up to Forsythe’s gunman.”
“If she left town, would he follow?”
“Depends on how tight he’s hooked up with Forsythe.”
After a silence, Kristin asked, “Is the house at Larkspur more than just a shack?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never been out there.”
“Do you think they’ll follow and try to get me to sign the papers?”
“From what I hear, Lenning’s no slouch when it comes to protecting what’s his. He and Anderson had been together for a long time. Forsythe tried serving eviction papers and his men got a tail full of buckshot.”
“As long as I own the Larkspur, you and Bonnie are welcome. I would be glad for the company. Cletus said he hadn’t heard that old Mr. Lenning had married.”
“I ain’t heard that he’s all that . . . old.”
“Will you remember what I said? I’ve not known you and Bonnie even twenty-four hours, but that’s not important. Friendships are forged in an instant. Please don’t put yourself in danger by shooting that man. Remember that you have a place to come to.”
“I’ll remember.”
Dirty white canvas covered the loads that rose up over the six-foot-high sideboards of the freight wagons that were parked on a grassy knoll. The camp was astir. Three teams of mules were being hitched to each wagon.
“You’ll be all right with these men. Cletus knows them all and vouched for them,” Bernie said.
A heavily bearded man came to the buggy as soon as it stopped.
“This the passenger Cletus wants us to drop off at the Larkspur?”
“She’s the one.”
“Come on, miss. We’re ’bout to pull out.”
He helped Kristin out of the buggy and led her to the last high-wheeled wagon in the line. She turned to say good-bye to Bernie, but he had turned the buggy around and another man was unloading her trunk.
Looping the handle of her carrying bag over her shoulder, she climbed up the high wheel as if she had done it a hundred times before. It wasn’t until she turned to sit down that she had a moment of fright because the seat was so high off the ground. She wanted desperately to tell Bernie good-bye and to thank him, but it was impossible to peer around the load that loomed up behind her.
Kristin Anderson, what in the world are you doing here in the middle of the night with these strange men? Lordy! You’ll never live another day like this one.
The thought had no more than left her mind when the bearded man sprang up onto the seat beside her. He gathered the reins in his hand and then stood to sail a black-snake whip out over the backs of the mules. “Y’haw!” The mules strained, the big wheels moved and Kristin grabbed hold of the side of the seat.
The freighter asked surprisingly few questions.
“Where ya from, miss?”
“Wisconsin.”
“Is that back near Ohio? Knew a man oncet from Ohio.”
“No. It’s just across the Mississippi River from Minnesota.”
“Hummm— Ain’t never been there. Been to Dakoty.”
“I came through there on the train. The towns were miles and miles apart with a lot of flat land in between.”
“This is the best country I ever knowed. It’s got most a ever’thing a man would want. Rivers, lakes and mountains. Now take Crazy Mountains. They be the prettiest place ya ever did see. Ya can see ’em from the Larkspur.”
“How did they get the name Crazy Mountains?”
The freighter chuckled. “One story be that the Indians killed a crazy woman what lived alone after her man died. Another be that the locoweed that grows on the foothills drove the horses crazy. Be that the case it may be why the Larkspur is call Larkspur. Larkspur be almost as poison to stock as locoweed.”
“I didn’t realize Larkspur was a poisonous weed. It has such a pretty flower.”
“Yes’m. It’s a sight to see a patch in bloom. Folks keep their stock away from it. Indians use it to kill body lice and itch mites.”
It was almost daylight when the freighter told her they would be crossing the Yellowstone River.
“It ain’t nothin’ to get in a sweat over this time a year. River’s low and there be a good rocky bottom where we cross.”
Kristin looked at the wide river and refused to give in to the panic that swamped her. Determined to sit quietly and take what came, she gripped the side of the seat and kept her eyes on the wagon ahead.
It’ll be all right. They’ve crossed many times. Don’t look down. The mules aren’t afraid. They’re going right into the water. Oh, my goodness! Did the wheels slip? Landsakes! We’re in the middle of a river!
The driver was giving all of his attention to the team. Even when the water reached the mules’ bellies, they continued on in a steady gait. On reaching the bank on the other side, they dug in their hooves for purchase to climb the bank. Kristin had not realized she was holding her breath until it left her with a sigh of relief.
“Ya got grit, missy.” The freighter grinned at her. “Scared spitless, warn’t ya? But ya didn’t let out a peep.”
“It’s the first time I’ve ever been on a freight wagon, much less crossing a river.”
“Ya did good. I feared ya might go belly up on me.”
“Faint? I’ve never fainted in my life.”
“We get to that grove ahead we’ll make a short stop to rest the mules a mite. Ya can stretch your legs. Boss man usually makes camp midmorning and cook breaks out the vittles, but Cletus wanted we get ya on up to the Larkspur. We’ll just keep going and make Larkspur by noon. We’ll call it a day ’bout midafternoon.”
“Did Cletus think that someone would follow me?”
“I ain’t knowing that, but the boss puts a heap of store in what Cletus says. Boss says, too, he’s a damned old fool, and if’n he ain’t careful, he’ll end up like Yarby.”
“Yarby Anderson? You knew my uncle?”
“Never set eyes on him, miss. Sorry to say. Here we are. Ya just sit tight till I get the mules settled and I’ll help ya down.”
Kristin noticed the men went into the trees on one side of the line of wagons. She hesitated a moment, then went into the bushes on the other side. It was embarrassing, but necessary. Her bladder was full almost to overflowing, and it was such a relief to empty it. Back at the wagon, her shoulders slumped with fatigue. Mrs. Gaffney had insisted that she sleep a little while she waited for Bernie. But she had been unable to do more than doze for a few minutes at a time.
Now five hours later, Kristin’s back ached and her eyes burned from lack of sleep. Her lips felt gritty when she licked them. Hunger pangs reminded her of the jam-filled biscuits Mrs. Gaffney had wrapped in a cloth and placed in her bag. She shared them with the driver, who appeared to be enormously grateful.
The horizon ahead seemed to melt into the sky. Nothing moved except the long grass bending in silver ripples before the breeze. It was a vast, empty, still country with the mountains ahead. And it was quiet. Quiet beyond anything Kristin had ever imagined.
“This is beautiful country.” Her mouth was so dry she could hardly talk. The wagon had bumped along for what seemed to Kristin an eternity. She hated to ask the driver for another drink of water from the fruit jar he kept at his feet. “Is the Larkspur like this?”
The teamster spat over the side of the wagon, then looked at her with a cocked eyebrow.
“We be on the Larkspur.”
“Oh, my goodness!”
“It’s big. Mighty big. It goes clear up to them mountains. We been making good time. Boss figures it pert nigh thirty mile ’tween Larkspur and Big Timber.”
“Where’s the house?”
“Over yonder in that grove that backs up to the mountain. There be a stream ahead. Boss’ll want to stop and water and rest the stock. Then we’ll be knowin’ how he figures to get ya over there.”
Kristin felt her heart leap, then settle into a pounding that left her almost breathless. This is my land. Yonder is my home. I own a small piece of this earth. Mr. Lenning, please, please welcome me. Please help me to keep it.
The mules were drenched with sweat when the train stopped beside the stream. A robust man with iron gray hair came to the wagon and extended a hand to help Kristin down.
“Miss, it’s been a long hard pull for my stock. They’re pert nigh wore out. It’s about a mile over to the ranch. Do ya reckon ya can walk it if a couple of my men go along and carry your plunder?”
“Yes, of course.” Kristin pulled the cloth from her head and wiped her face with a corner of it. The men gawked at her silvery blond hair. “I hope someday to be able to thank you properly for helping me.”
“It didn’t put us out none a’tall, miss. Cletus seemed to think them scallywags was ’bout to hornswoggle ya outta yore place here. That Forsythe’s got a mean bunch a hangin’ round him, for all his smooth ways.”
“I never got to thank Cletus, or Mr. Gates. I was lucky to meet up with them.”
“I’m thinkin’ yo’re right ’bout that. Folks are gettin’ mighty fearful a losin’ their land. It be hard to fight a bunch with the law and money behind ’em.”
Two men came to the back of the freight wagon with a canvas stretched between two long poles. They fitted Kristin’s trunk and her box in the sling, lifted the poles to their shoulders and started toward the grove at a fast clip.
“They don’t mean to carry them? We could leave them here and Mr. Lenning could come with a wagon.”
“It ain’t no chore, miss. Them two could carry a buffalo.”
“Good-bye.” Kristin held out her hand. “When you get back to Big Timber, tell Cletus how much I appreciate what he’s done for me.”
“Luck to you, miss. Buck Lenning’s a good man. He’ll help ya all he can.”
Kristin hurried after the men carrying her trunk. As tired as she was, she was glad to be on her feet and walking. Her hipbones and buttocks ached from the rough ride on the big wagon, and there was a constant ache between her shoulder blades. With her bag over her shoulder, she waved her scarf at the teamsters and headed across the grassland toward her new home.
She felt a surge of elation when the ranch buildings came in sight. The log house, squatting comfortably on a small knoll, blended perfectly with the background of the grass-covered, tree-dotted foothills of the mountain. The logs were thick and fitted snugly together. There was no chinking in this house, for the logs had been smoothed with a broadax and adze, and laid face-to-face. A cobblestone chimney rose above the roof on one end. The peaked roof slanted down to cover a porch. Kristin could see several other buildings and a series of split-rail corrals, but they were all a mere background for her lovely new home.
Kristin had expected her uncle, an old unmarried man, to have lived in a shack somewhat like the poorly constructed ones she’d seen from the train. This was a lovely homestead. Beyond it was an endless sea of grass and above it an endless span of sky.
“Are you sure this is it?” Kristin had to run a few steps to catch up with the men as they reached the porch and unloaded her trunk and box.
They looked at her strangely.
“Yes’m. This is Larkspur Ranch.”
“Thank you. Could you not stay for a . . . drink of water?”
“No, ma’am. The boss’ll be ready to move when we get back.” The man rolled the canvas around the poles and hoisted them to his shoulder.
“Good-bye and . . . thank you.”
They tipped their hats and hurried away. Kristin felt a moment of panic. It was so quiet. She stood just at the edge of the porch and waited for the door to open. It didn’t. She stepped upon the porch and rapped on the door. After a moment, she hesitantly tried the door. It was locked.
Please, let someone be here. Although she realized it was futile, she rapped again. A short time later she stepped off the porch and went around to the back of the house. A dozen head of horses were in a large split-railed corral. She rapped on the back door. The silence was deafening. Her eyes clouded with worry. Had Mr. Lenning given up the fight with Forsythe and abandoned the property?
As she turned from the door, she saw a black-and-brown animal come streaking across the corral, leap the rail fence and head straight for her. Fright kept her immobile for a second or two. Then she turned and frantically clawed at the door. Miraculously it opened. She rushed inside and slammed it shut. A second later she heard the ferocious growls of the animal and then claws scratching the door.
For a long moment she was even too frightened to move. Of all the dangers she had expected to encounter, a wolf would have been on the bottom of the list. She could hear the animal growling outside the door. Making sure it was closed securely, she went to the one glass window and looked out. All she could see was the corral. But the scratching on the door told her the beast was still there.
Thank heavens she had made it inside.
Kristin set her bag on the table and went to the waterbucket that sat on the end of a long
counter fastened to the back wall. She drank two full dippers of water before she hung it back on the nail above the pail. Then she surveyed the room. It extended across the back of the house. At one end was a fireplace, at the other a black cookstove, work counters and shelves. In the center was a heavy table, its plank top rubbed to a glowing finish. The cookstove was still warm, and a pan of soiled dishes soaked in the dishpan.
Two hide-covered chairs sat on each side of the fireplace and on the mantel a tall oak clock, its pendulum swinging back and forth. It was a friendly sight. Kristin had a fondness for clocks. A handsome slant-top desk sat against the inside wall.
Two rooms opened off the kitchen. One of them was large. A heavy door with a bar across it opened onto the porch. The room was furnished with a bed, a chest and several other pieces of furniture that appeared to be totally out of place with the others, as was the handsome desk in the other room. A fancy square table, covered with a fringed cloth, a green velvet chair and a banquet lamp with a painted round globe were more suitable for a parlor than a bedroom. Hugging the side of the inside wall was a very narrow stair leading to the attic room. A man’s hat and coat hung on the rack on the wall.
The covers on the bed had been straightened. The room was not cluttered, but was not very clean. The plank floor needed to be swept, and cobwebs hung from the ceiling.
The room off the kitchen area was smaller. The only furniture was a bed, a chest and a trunk. Several shirts and a coat hung on pegs on the walls.
Mr. Lenning and another man had definitely taken over her uncle’s house—her house now. It was to be expected, she reasoned. How long had Uncle Yarby been missing before his body was found? A year?
Kristin washed the trail dust from her face and hands and took down her hair. She massaged her scalp with her fingertips. When was the last time she had had a chance to brush it? Searching for her hairbrush, she emptied the contents of her carrying bag out on the table. She still had the money Gustaf had lent her and the pistol, so she was not completely helpless. At the hotel she had put a pair of clean drawers as well as stockings in the bag.
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