Cheyenne Reckoning

by Vivi Holt

  He shook his head. “Won’t come out that way.” He grabbed it himself, yanked hard, and the arrow tore free. He groaned behind clenched teeth, rocking back and forth.

  Claudine tore a long strip of fabric from her petticoat and tied it around his leg, but the blood seeped through it quickly. It took two more to finally staunch the bleeding. Gracie handed him a canteen.

  He gulped down a mouthful of water, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank ya. Why are ya helpin’ me?”

  Claudine tore off another square of fabric, this time wetting it from the canteen to wipe his face. “You need it.”

  “I know, but I ain’t a good man.”

  “No one’s good but God. You’ll be fine, Mr. O’Leary. I’ll dress the wound again in the morning.”

  He grimaced. “Thank ya.”

  The sun was now low in the sky, shadows lengthening from the rocks around them across the stony ground. Claudine shivered. “We should probably camp here for the night,” she told Gracie.

  “Yes, Mama.” Gracie began to unpack their things.

  Angus tried to stand, but sat back down with a gasp.

  “You stay put,” said Claudine, her hand on his shoulder. “We’ll fix supper.”

  He seemed about to object, then shut his mouth and slumped down to rest.

  It took Claudine longer than she thought it would to hunt something down for supper. She shot at a prairie dog with Angus’ shotgun, but it bounded into a hole in the ground, unhurt. She missed a rabbit completely. After that, it was an hour until she saw another. By then, she was lying on her stomach in the grass. She inched forward until she was close, squinting through the sights, and hit it with her first shot.

  Her shout of celebration was tempered when she retrieved it and found it was scrawny – and she’d shot it right through the middle, costing her even more meat. Still, Gracie praised her efforts to the sky. She knew the girl was hungry – her own stomach grumbled whenever she even thought about food.

  They roasted the rabbit over an open fire before sunset, then sat around the fire eating. It wasn’t enough for the three of them, but it eased their hunger. Claudine saved the last piece for Angus. “More?”

  He shook his head, his face drawn.

  “Does it still hurt?”

  “Yeah.”

  She frowned. He hadn’t eaten much, just sat silently with his teeth gritted.

  “I should take another look at it, just in case. Seems to me you’re still in too much pain for it to be fine.”

  He offered up his leg for examination, and she removed the bandages, now completely soaked with his blood, and stared at the wound. She didn’t know what to do exactly, only that something must be wrong. She’d never nursed a sick patient before, or dressed a wound – perhaps she’d overlooked something. “Does it feel as though there’s still something in there?” She gently touched the wound.

  He cried out, clutching his leg, and took a few deep breaths before hissing, “I think so.”

  “I’m sorry – this is going to hurt, but I don’t know what else to do.”

  “Just do it already …”

  Claudine gingerly opened the wound with her fingertips and felt for something out of place. She touched something hard and pressed deeper to get a hold of it. Angus groaned, repeatedly slapping the rock next to him with his hand.

  She tugged on the object and finally pulled it free: a sliver of arrowhead. It had been embedded in his leg and hadn’t come out with the rest of the arrow. She pressed the wound gently closed. “Does it feel better now?”

  “Yeah, it does, matter of fact.”

  She smiled and tore off another piece of petticoat. “I’ll be riding into the next town entirely naked at the rate I’m going,” she quipped.

  He chuckled even as he moaned.

  She bathed the wound with water, careful not to waste any since their canteens were running low, and bound it firmly with more fabric. “How about you get some sleep now?” she suggested. She fetched his bedroll and laid it out, then covered it with a blanket and his slicker. “Looks like it might rain tonight, so you’d better stay under the slicker and in your coat.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He smiled weakly and half-fell into the bedroll.

  She gave him a sip from the canteen, then covered him up with the blanket and slicker. “We’ll see you in the morning, then.”

  He grabbed her arm with one hand, his fingers tightening until it felt they might bruise her. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his black eyes wide.

  “What for?”

  “For everythin’ I’ve done.”

  She ran a hand across his brow. It burned to the touch and she frowned. “I forgive you, Angus O’Leary.”

  He sighed and his head dropped back on the bedroll, his eyes falling shut. His grip on her arm fell away, and she watched him slip off to sleep, his breathing shallow but steady.

  Claudine stood and brushed the dirt and grass from her skirts. Between them, she and Gracie cleaned up from supper and built up the fire, then crawled beneath the blankets and slickers Claudine had laid over their own bedroll. Claudine held her daughter close.

  “Is Mr. O’Leary gonna be all right?” whispered Gracie.

  “I don’t know, honey. But we got the arrow out, and I doctored him as best I can.”

  Gracie rested her head against Claudine, who stroked her hair. “Why hasn’t Dan come for us?”

  Claudine’s throat tightened. “Maybe he can’t.”

  Gracie went silent, and Claudine was grateful for it. She didn’t want to talk about Dan, not yet. Not when he might be laying dead on the prairie with no one to care for him. She couldn’t think about it.

  “Thank you, Mama,” whispered Gracie.

  “What are you thanking me for, child?”

  “For coming to find me. For not giving up on me all those years.”

  Claudine’s voice broke. “But I’ve brought you so much pain and suffering. If I’d stayed away, you’d be safe at Kellogg’s.”

  Gracie put her arms around Claudine’s neck. “You made me happy.”

  Claudine sobbed and held Gracie even tighter. “And you’ve given me such joy, honey. I’m really proud of you. It’s you and me against the world.”

  Dan kicked the rabbit carcass, covered with ants and flies, and frowned. He’d found their campsite, he was fairly certain – the circling buzzards overhead had drawn his attention. But where were Angus, Claudine and Gracie, and why had they left a half-skinned bunny on the ground? They must have left in a hurry, but why?

  He squatted and touched the campfire. It was cold and looked like it had been for at least a day, so they weren’t running from him. Something else must have startled them. He tramped around the campsite, circling wider and wider looking for some clue.

  Then he found it: an arrow embedded in the dirt, its feathers sticking up from a tussock of bluegrass. He recognized it as being from the Cheyenne tribe, and his heart fell. They wouldn’t be likely to survive an attack, even with Angus with them – the cad would’ve probably abandoned them at the first sign of trouble …

  He searched the area for another hour, but all he found were some trampled hoof tracks going in all directions, moccasin prints that seemed to travel in circles, and drag marks where blood had pooled in the grass. He slumped to the ground, his head in his hands. He’d failed them. All his careful planning, his steady approach, had been for them, so they wouldn’t be hurt. And once again he’d made the wrong choice. Claudine and Gracie were lost to him, just as Dolly and Emily were.

  He sat there until the sun began to set, his parched throat aching and his stomach clenching in hunger and grief. Finally he stood and walked over to Goldy, who was patiently waiting for him. He’d grazed a while, but had given up - probably thirsty too. He took off his hat, poured water from his canteen into it, and Goldy sucked it up eagerly. He sipped from the canteen himself until he felt like he could go on.

  He squinted at the horizon and saw movem
ent. He donned his damp hat, climbed onto Goldy’s back and trotted toward it. It looked to be a covered wagon. He pulled Goldy up and waited for the wagon to draw alongside him.

  It stopped and a man wearing a brown Stetson tipped it to him. “Howdy, stranger,” he said genially.

  “Howdy to ya too,” Dan replied. “Where ya headed?”

  “Fort Caspar, and from there to the Mormon Trail. My name’s Aberdeen Wilcox. And you are?”

  “Dan Graham. I’m headed that way myself, takin’ the Montana Trail north.”

  “Why don’t you ride with us then, Dan? You can camp with us if you like. It’s mighty lonely out here on the trail otherwise.”

  Dan smiled. “Thank you kindly, Aberdeen. If your wife and daughter don’t mind, I think I will.”

  Aberdeen turned to the blonde woman seated beside him on the wagon seat, who smiled warmly. “I don’t mind at all, Mr. Graham. You’re welcome to share our campfire.” The young woman seated beside her nodded and smiled shyly. Dan had guessed she was their daughter, though she could’ve been the woman’s sister for all he knew. When Aberdeen didn’t correct him, he figured he’d gotten it right.

  “This here’s Wilma, my wife, and our daughter Angela,” Aberdeen confirmed.

  Dan doffed his hat. “Pleased to make your acquaintance. Where do you plan on makin’ camp?”

  “I was eyeing that line of trees yonder. Looks like it might be a creek … what do you think?”

  Dan studied where Aberdeen pointed. “I think that’s a good idea. I know my horse would appreciate a drink.”

  “Ours too,” replied Aberdeen, indicating his pair of sturdy black horses with high arched necks. “Though we haven’t come far yet.”

  “Where do ya hail from?”

  “A homestead over the border in Nebraska. We never had much luck with it – droughts, floods, grasshoppers, a fire. In the end we decided to try somewhere else, and we heard Utah was a fine place to make a fresh start.”

  “I’ve heard as much myself,” Dan replied.

  “What are you doing out here alone, if you don’t mind my asking.”

  “I’m lookin’ for someone. A Negro woman and her daughter – they were abducted by a scoundrel, and I’ve been followin’ their trail. But I’m afraid the Cheyenne might’ve got them. I found some arrows and blood …”

  “I’m real sorry, Dan.”

  “Thank ya,” Dan replied. He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat.

  They rode together for another hour, until the sun on the horizon looked like a pink ball of fire, then set up camp for the night beside the creek. Goldy drank his fill and so did Dan, who also scrubbed his face and arms clean. They ate a supper of biscuits, prairie hen mash and gravy. Then the family erected a small tent to sleep in and Dan unrolled his bedroll.

  But he didn’t go right to sleep. Instead he sat shivering in the darkness, staring into the crackling fire in the center of the group or up at the sky. Dark clouds were rolling by. It looked like snow … or rain; it didn’t seem cold enough for snow. He tugged his slicker from his saddlebags and laid it over his blanket. Finally he forced his eyes shut and slumber overtook his exhausted body, calming his churning thoughts with a dreamless sleep.

  15

  Ost leaned back in the saddle and chewed on the blade of grass he’d plucked earlier while fixing a piece of the fence line. He was almost done for the day, but intended to follow the fence to the southeast boundary to make sure it didn’t need further repairs. He’d spent the entire day on that fence, one of the many jobs they had to complete on a ranch the size of Paradise before the snows came.

  He noticed a post leaning to one side and saw that the barbed wire had worked its way loose just ahead. With a grunt, he dismounted and wandered over to take a closer look. A few of the wires were loose and lay on the ground. No, not loose – they’d been cut and pulled free. He frowned. The cattle rustlers must be back. He studied the ground, and sure enough, there were cattle and horse tracks leading through the fence and down into the woods.

  He whistled and pushed his hat back to scratch his head. Tom had told him to report back if he found evidence of rustling again. But what if it wasn’t what he thought it was? It wouldn’t hurt to follow the trail a ways just to make sure. That way he could tell Tom something useful, rather than just making up a tale about possible cattle thieves.

  He mounted Auger and rode through the opening. The black stallion picked its way through the fence, then trotted eagerly toward the woods. He loved riding Auger – Tom had bought the horse for himself, but hadn’t been able to give up riding his favorite old stallion Alto, who’d come with him all the way from Texas. So Tom said Ost could have Auger.

  He urged the stallion to a canter as they entered the thick woods. Trees pushed together, their sturdy trunks reaching skyward and long branches forming a ceiling overhead. The sound of the stallion’s hooves was muffled by the thick layer of pine needles. If they’d brought cattle through here, they’d have had to move slowly – the trail only allowed a few cattle to walk abreast.

  After riding for an hour, he heard a sound ahead, pulled Auger to a stop and dismounted slowly. He crept forward toward a small clearing, stopping behind a large hemlock and leaning around it to peer in. The sun was setting, throwing the clearing into dark shadows, but he could still see the outline of a small herd of cattle, their long horns tossing in the dim light. Three or four men were riding around the herd, and looked to be settling them for the night – odd, given how close it was to the ranch’s boundary line.

  Ost led Auger back until he could no longer see the clearing, then hitched him to a low-hanging branch. When he returned to the clearing, he hid himself again behind a tree trunk and inhaled slowly to calm his racing thoughts. He felt for the gun holster on his belt and flipped open the clasp. He was about to draw it when he heard a noise behind him, a rustle in the pine straw. Then something hard hit him in the temple and everything went black.

  When Ost woke again, his head throbbed as though he’d run into something, and he needed a few moments to reorient himself. Where was he? Why was he lying in the pine straw? And why did his head hurt that way?

  The cattle rustlers! He sat up, his head objecting, then lurched to his feet. The clearing in front of him was empty. They were gone. He glanced up at the small patch of dark sky visible above the clearing, and could see a nearly full moon hanging directly overhead. He’d been out for hours. He touched the lump on his temple and winced.

  He picked up his hat from where it had fallen on the ground and hiked back to where he’d hitched Auger. Thankfully, the stallion was still there. He didn’t know what he’d do if they’d taken his horse, but it seemed they hadn’t walked back far enough to see him. He climbed into the saddle grimacing – every movement made his temple throb and his head spin – then turned Auger around. “Let’s go home, boy,” he mumbled.

  The horse took off at a trot. He knew the way home, so Ost only had to hang on to make it back. There was no sense in him trying to follow the rustlers further – by now they’d be miles ahead of him, and he didn’t have supplies for a long journey. Likely Tom and Genny were worried about him as well, since he was supposed to have returned hours ago for supper. The only thing he could do now was go home and tell Tom what he’d seen.

  Ost frowned with frustration – those rustlers had bested him again. It was becoming a bad habit. The sheriff said he had good instincts, but so far they’d landed him in nothing but trouble. Still, something inside of him wanted to hunt those men down and bring them to justice. Maybe he should go see the sheriff after all and have a discussion about his future.

  Rain drummed down on Claudine’s slicker and trickled beneath it. She and Gracie shivered in the darkness, their breath making the air underneath thick and heavy. Claudine tugged it back for a lungful of fresh air, then pulled it into place again.

  “Is it morning yet?” asked Gracie.

  “Yes, it’s morning.”

  “
Do we have to get up?”

  “I don’t think so. Angus isn’t up, and he isn’t feeling well.” The rain wouldn’t help with that. What they really needed was some decent shelter, but where? The large rocks were the only things within miles apart from grass, and there was no way to hide beneath them from the storm. The rain sounded as though it might be part-frozen from how it scratched against the slicker as it fell.

  “I’m hungry,” complained Gracie.

  “Me too. Not sure we have anything left to eat, though. I could ask Angus if he has any soda crackers in his saddlebags.”

  “Yes, please,” replied Gracie.

  “You’ll get wet if I get up.”

  “Then I’ll get up too and roll up the bedroll. We each got a slicker, so we shouldn’t get too wet.”

  Claudine murmured her agreement, impressed by Gracie’s industriousness. They moved as fast as they could to get their slickers on and the bedroll put away, and ended up damp but not soaked.

  Claudine sighed as she looked at the sodden campfire. There’d be no hot breakfast or coffee this morning. The horses’ heads hung low, their tails turned into the storm. She reached out a hand, and felt ice mixed with the rain. No wonder she felt as if she could hardly move – every part of her ached with cold.

  She trudged over the wet ground to where Angus lay, still covered with his slicker as she’d left him. He wasn’t moving, though – perhaps he was still asleep. She frowned. Should she wake him? He might need the rest, and wouldn’t thank her for disturbing him. But … he seemed a bit too still.

  She pulled back the edge of his slicker, but there was no response. She tugged it a little farther, revealing his face. His eyes were closed, his skin pale and lips bluish. She gasped and prodded him in the chest with her fingertips. “Mr. O’Leary?” No response. “Angus!” she cried, louder this time.

  “What’s wrong, Mama?” asked Gracie, hurrying to her side.

  She spoke before thinking. “I think Mr. O’Leary’s dead.”