by F. M. Parker
“You were correct in not starting a fight in the middle of the camp,” Nathan replied.
“Maybe.”
Mathias led the people from the gravesite and they reassembled within the camp. He began the evening sermon, dwelling upon the need to remain strong.
DeBreen and his men, their hats in their hands and their heads bent piously, had gathered with the Mormons. They quietly listened to the religious service. DeBreen kept his eyes away from the Texans, banded together on the side opposite the Mormons.
The Mormons began to sing “Rock Of Ages.” The voices of the large number of women drowned out the voices of the few Mormon men. Nathan would have liked to join in the hymn. But he did not know how to make music, how to sing the right song. In fact, he did not know all the words to any song. His life on the fringes of the frontier, isolated from family and church, had left him lacking in some ways. He resolved to correct that once he had returned south.
The singing ended and the assemblage of people drifted apart. Nathan noted the silent dejection of the Mormons. He felt sorry for them.
Ash was talking to Sophia. Jake moved toward Pauliina. Caroline was winding a course to the perimeter of the circle of handcarts. Nathan strode after her.
Caroline saw Nathan drawing close and halted, waiting for him.
“Would you like to go for a stroll?” Nathan asked.
Caroline glanced at the sun, swelling as it touched the western horizon. Already the yellow sphere was weakening, turning orange.
“Yes, I would. There is daylight left.”
“Good. Let’s walk by the woods.”
“All right.”
The shadows of the trees ran out to meet them as they walked away from the camp. Nathan felt a new and strange thing was about to happen to him. He wondered about his sense of expectation.
Caroline turned her eyes upon him. He saw tiny glints of orange sunlight reflecting from the green orbs, a beautiful combination of color, cool green and hot fire.
“Talk to me,” she said.
“What about?”
“Not about danger and death. About something that will make me feel good.”
As Caroline ceased speaking, a wolf howled far off to the south, a weird and lovely sound.
“Even the wolves sound sad and lonely,” Caroline said. “Must all life be that way?”
“Many times it is. I once knew a young man who often laughed and saw the most wondrous sights in the common things of this world.”
“That is a lucky man. I would like to talk with him.”
“You can never talk with him. Border thieves killed him.”
Caroline looked quickly at Nathan. “I’m sorry to hear he is dead. Who was he?”
“My brother, Jason.” Nathan lifted his face to the sky so that Caroline could not see the depth of his sadness. For a moment he watched the heavens. Time should have softened the memory. It had not. He dropped his gaze back to earth.
He told Caroline of gentle Jason and their life together. He described his battle with his brother’s killers.
Caroline told Nathan a little of her life. She said nothing of the death of the captain of the African Blackbird.
They walked slowly along the fringe of the woods. The air lay still and heavy with memories of the day’s heat. The daylight drained from the sky, spilling over the western horizon, leaving a blue-black heaven speckled with stars and a half-moon. A cloud moved across the moon and darkness flooded over the land.
A silence fell upon Caroline and Nathan. Neither broke it, letting the quietness extend as they walked on.
A rustling noise came from a short distance directly in front of them. Nathan caught Caroline’s hand with his left and drew his pistol with the right.
The weak light created an eerie silhouette of something on the ground. They crept closer to see. Whispered voices reached them. They halted and peered into the darkness.
The whispers ceased. The rustling sound became rhythmic. Caroline recognized the sound. Nathan felt her hand stiffen within his.
The moon tore free of the cloud. Its silver light fell upon the prairie.
Sophia and Ash lay upon the grassy ground. They were locked in each other’s arms as they took their love in the heat of the moonlit night. In their passion their strong young bodies thrust quick and hard, as violent as a knife fight.
Caroline clutched Nathan’s hand and drew him backward. Lovemaking was a private thing and should not be viewed by others. They stole away, their presence unknown by Sophia and Ash.
“I must return to the camp,” Caroline said. She extracted her hand from Nathan’s grip.
“Must you?”
“Yes.”
They crossed through the night’s silver-blue moon glow. Just outside the circle of handcarts, Caroline stopped. Nathan halted beside her.
She turned to him, raised her face, and kissed him. Nathan felt her lips, soft, parting, caressing his. His spirit soared at the wonder of her touch.
Then she pulled away. “That was for your kindness to me. But I shall never go to Texas.”
Before Nathan could speak, Caroline hastened in between the handcarts.
Nathan’s feeling of exhilaration crashed, breaking like thin glass upon rock. Wretched, he walked into the night shadows.
33
Nathan was the last of the Texans to break camp. Leading his packhorse, he rode toward the Mormon handcart company which was already lined up two abreast and moving out to the west.
Near the front of the caravan a man called to his small son to get behind the handcart and push. A baby cried somewhere farther back, and a woman spoke soothingly to it. The journey was hard on the old and the very young.
The day was hazy. The air lay still, heavy and humid. The trees on the floodplain of the North Platte River three miles south were barely discernible. Nathan judged it would rain before the day ended.
He checked for DeBreen. The trapper was with his men, riding in a group on the right side of the caravan. Unlike the day before, they were offering no assistance to the Mormons. Nathan marked that fact and it worried him. He knew that the uneasy, unspoken truce that existed between the trappers and the Texans would soon break. However, Nathan doubted DeBreen would attack in front of the Mormon’s. But some plan would soon be put into motion.
He spotted Ash, who had hooked his horse to the handcart of Sophia and her three comrades and was towing it along. His packhorse was tied to the rear of the vehicle. Jake walked beside Pauliina. His horse was pulling the handcart of four women just behind.
Sam, with his two Indian ponies, rode out of the woods by Brush Creek. He scanned the long double line of carts and then offered the ponies to certain groups of people who were having a hard time keeping up.
To Nathan’s surprise, Les had fastened his mount to pull the cart of the redheaded Emily, and was in earnest conversation with her as they walked. As Nathan approached, Les broke off from Emily and came to meet him.
Les seemed uncomfortable as he looked up at Nathan. He spoke directly to the subject on both their minds. “Yesterday I saw you go off with Caroline and judged you were more interested in her than in Emily. So I asked Emily out. We seem to have hit it off real well. I hope that’s all right with you.”
“That’s fine, Les. She’s a nice person, and pretty. Good luck to you. Watch DeBreen and his men. They might start trouble.”
Les breathed a sigh of relief. Then he nodded. “I’ll watch out for them.”
Nathan touched the gray with his heels and trotted him up the string of carts. He saw Mathias pulling on one family’s handcart. The husband pushed with his wife at the tail end of the cart. Nathan fell in beside Mathias.
“If you want me to, I’ll ride on ahead and kill a buffalo for the people.”
“The brothers and sisters would be very grateful to you for that,” Mathias said. “They are without meat and need more nourishing food than what we have.”
“Then I’ll do it.” The Mormon’s exp
ression was not friendly, and Nathan wondered what the reason was. “Here, tie my packhorse to that cart. He can carry his load and pull the cart too.”
Nathan handed the lead rope of the animal to Mathias and galloped off ahead. He passed DeBreen and his band. Their hostile eyes followed after him. Enemies could not hide from each other on the flat prairie.
Nathan rode on at a gallop. South a mile, the terrain fell away in rough breaks to the North Platte. To the north, the last remnant of the long stretch of sand hills was sliding to the rear. A lone antelope stood on the crest of one of the more distant hills and watched the single horseman go by.
An hour later Nathan spotted a herd of several hundred buffalo, but they were far off to the north. Though he could easily ride to them and kill one, the Mormons would have to veer off their route quite a distance to retrieve the meat. He let the herd go by.
***
The two young bull buffalo drank their fill of the river water and ambled away on the trail that climbed back up to the prairie. They had separated from the herd and roamed about during the night. Now they wanted to rejoin the herd. They merely glanced at the wolf that rose up from the brush beside the trail. In their young strength the bulls did not fear a lone wolf. And he would know they were not to be trifled with.
Nathan spotted the bulls plodding up the worn trail from the direction of the river. If they held their course, he could kill them right on the caravan route. He pulled his rifle and dismounted. He moved to the far side of the gray and out of view of the buffalo. The sight of a horse would be a familiar one to the buffalo and wouldn’t frighten them.
As the bulls drew close, they lifted their heads and eyed the horse, standing motionless and watching. One of the bulls tossed its head and snorted at the horse. Both buffalo continued on.
Nathan waited until the bulls reached the trail not fifty paces in front of him. He moved from behind the horse, raised his rifle, and fired.
The farther bull grunted at the slam of the bullet. It sank to its knees, struggled to hold that position, then rolled onto its side. The second bull thundered off in a surprisingly fast gait.
Nathan sprang astride and spurred the gray. He shoved the single shot rifle into its scabbard and drew his pistol. The gray pounded ahead, easily drawing even with the running buffalo. Nathan extended the pistol until it was not two yards from the bull’s head. At the crash of the gun the bull’s legs folded, and the giant body struck the ground, sliding along for a few feet before coming to a stop.
Nathan reined his horse in and looked back over his kills. He decided not to field-dress the big animals. The Mormons would reach this point in a couple of hours and could carve them into hundreds of pieces right where they lay. He turned the gray back to the east.
***
The sun reached its burning zenith and the handcart caravan halted for rest and the noon meal. Many of the people, those that could, crowded into the shade cast by the beds of their carts. They began to eat their scant rations.
DeBreen and his band sat in the shade of their horses and chewed on jerky. Every man’s eyes were on the Mormons, sitting or lying on the ground near their carts. The Texans could be seen talking with some of the women.
“Those goddamn Texans have spoiled our plans,” Stanker growled. He nodded at Sam, off by himself on the prairie and sitting half under his horse. “And that fellow, Wilde, I wonder which one of the men on the rafts he was.” He looked questioningly at DeBreen.
The trapper leader shrugged his big shoulders. “That doesn’t make any difference. There’s something more important. Did he have anything to do with Phillips and Ross disappearing?”
“Maybe they just gave up and went back to St. Joe,” Stanker said.
“They wouldn’t do that without telling me,” DeBreen said.
“What are we waiting for?” Taylor said. “I’m getting damn tired. We came to kill Mormons. Let’s do it.”
“There’s enough of us to take the Texans,” Stanker said. “Then we can do whatever we want with the Mormons. I’m itching to get at some of those pretty women.”
A rumble of approving voices broke from the other men. They looked expectantly at DeBreen for his answer.
“Killing the Mormons would be easy,” DeBreen said. “They don’t have guns and they’re not fighters. The Texans would be some harder to kill. We could do it, but they’d sure as hell take a few of us with them.”
DeBreen swung his small gray eyes to examine each man. “Still, I agree it’s past time we did something.”
DeBreen made one brief gesture toward Wilde, then looked at Stanker. “Wilde should be killed first. He would be suspicious if I went over there. But he hasn’t seen you up close since he found us. Maybe he wouldn’t even recognize you after all this time. Why don’t you go over there and shoot him? That would stop him from joining with the Texans against us.”
Stanker ranged his gaze over Wilde. DeBreen was a tricky man. Was he now putting Stanker into the most dangerous position, as he had seen DeBreen do with other men? Stanker thought so. But he was confident he could kill the bothersome young fellow. Start a little argument that the Mormons could hear, then pull a gun and shoot Wilde. The thought felt good to Stanker.
“I like the idea,” Stanker said. “You keep the Texans off me when Wilde is down.”
“We’ll do that,” DeBreen said.
“Then count him dead.” Stanker rose to his feet and walked toward Wilde.
***
Sam watched Ruth, sitting beside Pauliina near their handcart. She looked very small and defenseless compared to the big Swedish woman. Sam would try to stay close and keep her safe from DeBreen. But how long could that continue? He had now been with the Mormons two days. He would not delay much longer before he killed DeBreen. Ruth probably would despise him if she saw him commit murder.
He caught movement with the corner of his eye and twisted to see what it was. One of the trappers had left his comrades and was coming in Sam’s direction. The man’s step was strong and purposeful.
Sam loosened his pistol in its holster and climbed to his feet. He did not think the man intended to make idle chatter.
There was something familiar about the middle-aged trapper with the long, hairy face. Sam had seen that horselike countenance somewhere before. Then full recollection rushed into Sam’s mind. The man was one of the river pirates.
Sam swept his eyes around. The Mormons and three of the Texans rested at the handcarts. The fourth Texan, Nathan, was within sight and returning at a trot on his horse. DeBreen’s band of men watched Sam. The tense, expectant attitude reinforced Sam’s belief that the approaching man meant trouble.
Sam smiled icily. He smelled death on the wind. Farrow, old friend, I’m about to keep my promise to you and shoot one of your murderers.
He rested his hand on the butt of his revolver. He remembered Farrow’s advice: If you are certain there is going to be a fight, then start it yourself. The fraction of time an enemy would waste in reacting to your move could mean the difference between life and death.
Stanker stopped and set his feet. “My name’s Stanker. DeBreen said you were trying to accuse him of some crime that happened this spring on the upper Missouri. Well, I was with DeBreen then, so tell me what we were supposed to have done.”
“No need for me to tell you, for you know what you did,” Sam said, his voice coming savagely between his teeth. Without the slightest warning he drew his pistol, aimed it at Stanker, and fired.
Stanker shuddered at the impact of the bullet. His eyes flared wide, showing much white in great surprise. God! He had not expected Wilde to attack him so early in the argument. He reached for his own pistol.
A second lance of fire and smoke exploded from the end of Wilde’s gun. Stanker staggered backward, trying to hold his footing. His legs crumpled and he fell, his face plowing into the grass-covered prairie soil.
Nathan heard the shots ahead, near the string of handcarts. His eyes jumped the distanc
e and he saw a man fall. A second man stood looking down. Nathan recognized the thin form that was upright—Sam Wilde.
Nathan shouted at the gray and slapped it on the neck. The brute bolted in the direction of the camp. Nathan saw DeBreen and his men walking toward Sam. Ash, Les, and Jake were closing in on him from the opposite direction. The Mormons were talking and gesturing uselessly.
Nathan reined his horse to a sliding stop and sprang down near Sam. “What happened?” Nathan questioned.
The three remaining Texans came up hurriedly. They gathered around Sam.
“That man was one of then, Nathan.” Sam pointed down at Stanker’s corpse. “He helped kill Farrow and the others. Now he’s dead. And here comes DeBreen. He’ll be just as dead in a minute.” Sam gripped his pistol hard. The blood lust strummed through every particle of his being. His mouth closed with a snap and the muscles ridged along his jaw.
“Take it easy,” Nathan said, looking at the fierce lines of Sam’s face. Never had he seen a man more eager to do battle. “We’ll stand by you, but don’t provoke a fight with DeBreen now. They outnumber us. We’ll all be shot to hell. Fight him later.”
“It’s now! I’m going to do kill him now,” Sam said in a grating voice, and his eyes locked on DeBreen.
“No, not now,” Jake said. He stepped closer to Sam and grabbed him by the shoulder. He squeezed, and Sam winced at the pain that was building under the hard fingers. “Nathan’s right. We’ll back you. But if you say one word to start a fight, I’ll hit you so hard, you’ll not be able to talk for a week. You say only something that’ll keep DeBreen off us. Or let Nathan do the talking.”
“Sam has to talk,” Nathan said. “He did the shooting. Do it right, Sam,” he warned.
The four Texans turned to stand beside Sam, and waited.
DeBreen and his band of seven halted not ten yards distant. “Why in hell did you shoot Stanker?” DeBreen asked in a belligerent voice.
Sam glanced at Jake. He saw the warning glint in the man’s eyes. His right hand was clenched into a sledgehammer fist.