by Logan, Jake
Narrowing his eyes, Ed asked, “Is this some sort of bonus . . . in advance of you doing anything to earn it?”
“You could think of it that way. Or you could consider it a show of good faith. Or . . . you could consider it a favor for the man who saved your life.”
“I suppose, when you put it that way, it seems like a fairly decent offer.”
“I thought so,” Slocum said. “There are some fine horses being sold down the street. Good prices, too.”
“You’ll have your new horse once we meet up with the wagons,” Ed told him. “They’re from hearty stock and are plenty strong enough to make it the rest of the way.”
“What about the ride into Nebraska? You think I can make it on this bag of bones?”
Ed walked over to Slocum’s horse and began circling the animal while examining it from head to toe. Slocum sat impatiently in his saddle, biting his tongue until Ed was through. Finally, with a solid pat on the gray horse’s rump, Ed declared, “This gal may be old, but she’s got plenty of ride left in her. Enough to make it to where we’re going anyway. Once we’re there, I’ll trade you for one of the horses in my own team.”
“No trade,” Slocum said. “I’ll sell this horse off first chance I get after buckling my saddle over a better one.”
“Pitch in twenty-five percent of the sale to the travel fund and you’ve got a deal.”
“Ten percent.”
“Fifteen.”
Slocum pondered that for all of three seconds before extending his hand. “You got a deal, but only if the horse you’re offering is worth it.”
Ed shook his hand. “You’re coming out ahead in this deal, I promise you.”
“You’re a hell of a trader,” Slocum said with a subtle nod. “Should do well when you get a business of your own.”
“I’ve had businesses of my own, Mr. Slocum. A few of them, in fact. They’ve all prospered. Once we get to Colorado, I’ll be trading up for a business that’s even more fruitful.”
“I imagine you will. And like I already told you . . . call me John.”
* * *
The ride from Saint Joseph wasn’t a sociable one. Slocum and Ed rode hard from sunup to sundown, resting only when their horses needed it. By the time they made camp, neither man had enough steam to do more than have a sparse meal, stretch out their legs, and fall asleep. Apart from a few passing words, the only sounds to fill their ears were the thunder of hooves upon the cold ground and the rush of wind as they sped northward into Nebraska and then west toward Lincoln.
They met up with the others as the wagons plodded slowly along their appointed trail. As he drew closer to the wagon at the back of the group, Slocum became aware that he was staring down the wrong end of a rifle. His eyes were sharp enough to spot the firearm in the hands of a man on that wagon, but before he could voice his concerns, Ed motioned for him to ease back while he snapped his reins to charge forward.
“It’s me, Josiah!” Ed hollered. “Put that rifle away!”
The voice that came back was harsh as gravel scraping against the bottom of a tin pan. “Who’s that with ya?”
“This man will be riding with us!”
“You hired a gun?”
“Just put the rifle away!”
Even from a distance, Slocum could read the rifleman’s hesitance as he lowered the rifle from his shoulder and eased back down into the driver’s seat. After that, all he could see was the back of the wagon swaying to and fro as its wheels clattered over a bumpy stretch of trail. Slocum flicked his reins to coax some more speed from his horse. The poor old gal had started wheezing during the latter portion of the previous day’s ride, and he knew she wouldn’t be able to go much farther at anything quicker than a brisk walk. Fortunately, the wagons ground to a halt to meet both riders before Slocum’s horse spat its last breath.
The man with the rifle stood up after setting his brake to prop one leg upon the edge of the seat and his rifle stock against his hip. He had a body that looked more like a set of bones wrapped in dusty clothes and a face that was covered in coarse stubble. Dark eyes were narrowed into slits from staring for too long down the sights of his Winchester. Easing a battered hat farther up along his head, he said, “Thought we gave up on hiring on a gunman.”
“This here is John Slocum,” Ed announced. “And he’s no gunman.”
“If he ain’t handy with a gun, then we don’t need him.”
“Mind your manners and give him a proper welcome. John, this is Josiah Pincher.”
Slocum rode forward and shook a hand that felt more like a bird’s talon. “Pleased to meet you,” he said. “And just put your mind at ease, I can handle a gun just fine.”
“But he’s not just some gunfighter,” Ed was quick to point out. “He’s a good man who saved my life in Saint Joseph. He’ll do just fine to see to it that we all make it into Colorado.”
By now, several other faces were emerging from within some of the wagons or rising up over others like prairie dogs poking their noses up from their mounds. The last wagon was Josiah’s and it looked to be stuffed full with blankets and large items like bureaus and tables. The next wagon in line rattled noisily even after it had come to a stop, thanks to the pots and pans hanging from a rack just inside the wooden frame. More rattling came from inside that wagon as other cooking implements were knocked against cups, plates, or any number of things put to use by the round-faced man who announced himself to be Franco, the cook. He sported an ample gut on a lanky frame as well as a beard that joined one sideburn to another like the strap of a nonexistent helmet.
More introductions came swiftly from there. The wagon in the middle of the group was occupied by a tall woman named Theresa Wilcox. She had black hair that fell in a wave of tight curls well past her shoulders. Her skin was smooth, pale, and as beautiful as her hesitant smile. She displayed no hesitation whatsoever when it came to wrangling the young boy who attempted to jump down from the wagon to get a closer look at Slocum. He was a skinny wisp of a lad with tousled brown hair and a set of wire-framed spectacles that made his eyes look even wider as he stared at the new arrival. “This is my son, James,” Theresa said.
The boy continued his attempts to climb down from the wagon, but was held in place by the back of his shirt like a puppy being restrained by the scruff of its neck. “Can I see your pistol?” he asked. “Is that a Colt? What caliber is that? Have you killed anyone? I want to kill someone someday!”
“James!” Theresa scolded. “None of that talk!”
Finally, the boy stopped trying to get away from his mother and instead nestled against her. “I meant I’d kill bad men, Momma.”
Theresa patted her son’s head and shook hers at Slocum by way of an exasperated apology.
The next wagon was teeming with even more activity. Two children crawled inside, tugging at the tarp so they could alternate between peeking out through the back and hiding when Slocum’s eyes came anywhere close to finding them. One was a girl with straw-colored hair and pale skin. Slocum couldn’t see much more than that because she was doing most of the hiding. A young boy with thick, dark, curly hair and large eyes struggled to open the back of the wagon a little more, but was held back by the girl. A woman with a long face leaned over from the driver’s seat to get a look at Slocum while a large man climbed down to approach him directly.
“If Ed speaks for you, that’s good enough for me,” said the man, who was a few inches shorter than Slocum but several inches wider. His hat hung around his neck as if it was unsuited for the task of covering his large head, which, in turn, was covered by a thick mat of hair arranged in unruly curls that had most definitely been passed on to the boy in the wagon. “I’m Tom McCauley. That’s my wife, Vera.”
The woman lifted herself up a bit so she could wave tentatively at Slocum. She had a cautious demeanor that ma
de her look too weak to lift her hand more than a few inches over her head.
“Those two are my children,” Tom continued. “Elsie and Michael.”
“Hello,” both children said in almost perfect unison.
“Howdy,” Slocum replied.
By this time, Ed had already ridden up to the wagon at the front of the line. He swung down from his horse and displayed more spring in his step than he’d shown in the last several days when he raced around to catch the woman who practically jumped down to land in his arms. After the couple had exchanged a few words only they could hear, Ed escorted her over to Slocum. “This is my wife,” he said. “May.”
May had a light complexion that seemed even fairer due to the golden hair that was kept in place by a bonnet showing all the wear and tear one might expect while riding at the front of a wagon train through the harsh prairie winds. There was a strength about her that made it plain to see she didn’t need to be escorted and protected as much as Ed insisted on doing for her, but allowed him to perform those services because she knew he liked doing so. “You’re welcome to ride with us, Mr. Slocum,” she said. “But it looks like your horse might not be up to the task.”
“You made some progress in the last day or so,” Ed said. “More than I was expecting. I thought we would catch up to you twenty miles back.”
“Just because you dawdled about looking to hire on a gunman when we agreed we didn’t need one after all,” Josiah grunted, “that don’t mean we should sit around waiting for you to grace us with your presence again. For all we knew, you’d fallen from your saddle and broken yer neck.”
James gasped at that, but Theresa was there to rub his back and assure him that nobody was going to break their neck.
“No need to frighten the children with that kind of talk,” May scolded. “Ed was only a day late, but I’m sure there was a good reason for it.”
“The ride to Saint Joseph was a bit longer than I recalled,” Ed explained. “Also, there was some trouble while I was there.” Before either of the anxious little boys could press him for details, Ed quickly added, “But it wasn’t anything that I couldn’t handle, especially with the help of my new friend here.”
Feeling all eyes fixing upon him, Slocum busied himself by climbing down from the saddle and examining his horse.
“And to address what was said before,” Ed continued, “he is no gunman. John is capable enough to lend us the assistance we need and he’s also got some business to tend to in Colorado. Fortune smiled by bringing us together like it did, so I made him the offer to ride with us and he accepted. I know we’d given up on trying to hire on someone for protection, but when fortune smiles, it ain’t wise to ignore it.”
Noticing the sour expression on Josiah’s face, Slocum said, “As far as my gun arm goes, it’s strong enough to do the job you folks need done. I’m also no stranger to scouting, riding, or anything else you people could need. I guarantee you I’ll earn my fee.”
“How much is that fee?” Josiah asked.
“That’s business to be discussed later,” Ed told him.
“Better not be the same we talked about earlier,” the skinny rifleman said. “That was only if we all got to approve him.”
“Business for later, I said.”
Josiah sighed and locked eyes with Slocum. For a moment it looked like he might fire a shot at him from the rifle in his hands. Instead, he grunted under his breath and placed the Winchester where he could get to it at a moment’s notice.
“Yes sir,” Slocum said under his breath. “It’s a long way to Colorado.”
4
The wagon train rumbled across the prairies of Nebraska with mountainous regions in their sights. The winds were harsh and sprouted icy claws as the sun went down, giving everyone a taste of what was surely to be a horrific winter. Slocum was given another gray horse to take the place of the one he’d ridden from Missouri, but this one was a gelding with a thick coat that was the color of dense fog at early evening. It was a spirited animal that seemed plenty happy to be relieved from its duty at the front of Ed’s wagon where it could run away from the other teams beneath a rider that was equally glad to strike out on his own.
Slocum’s primary duty was to ensure the safety of the wagons and the people within them. In the absence of any immediate dangers, he acted as scout and rode ahead to get a look at the trail as well as the terrain they were about to cross. In the first day he rode with them, Ed and May were some of the only ones to truly make him feel welcome. The children gave him anxious little grins, and the rest made do with uncomfortable small talk. For the most part, that was all just fine with Slocum.
The next day was a little easier. Part of that was because it couldn’t have started on a better foot thanks to the biscuits and gravy cooked up by Franco. As the sun crested the horizon, Franco emerged from his wagon and bustled about the fire like a man possessed. It was an amusing sight considering the fact that he was a slender man apart from a bulbous belly that protruded from his midsection like a pregnant woman’s bulge. He cooked the biscuits and slathered them in gravy that was thick with large chunks of ham and sausage.
“There’s no way this could taste as good as it smells,” Slocum said as he approached the front of the line for his portion.
Franco stopped with gravy dripping from his ladle onto the biscuits he’d piled onto the plate in his hand. “Is that a joke?”
“Not at all.”
“You’re insulting my food?”
“No, I’m just saying it smells too good to be true.” Weathering the cook’s angry glare, Slocum dipped his spoon into the gravy once he was handed his plate. The spoon went into his mouth and was barely out again before he proclaimed, “Turns out this is a rare case indeed. This is actually better than it smells and I would have paid a pretty penny just to smell something like this in damn near any restaurant.”
“Please, Mr. Slocum,” Vera McCauley said. “Watch your language.”
It seemed Vera was the only one to take offense. The children in the vicinity still gazed upon Slocum as if he were a carnival exhibit, and Franco was doing a poor job of containing the pride that swelled his chest to tax the already strained seams of his shirt. That day was a long one, since it involved crossing a stream that had swollen enough to obscure enough half-buried logs and deep trenches to potentially send several of the wagons to the bottom. After hours spent testing dozens of different potential crossings, Slocum, Ed, Tom, and Josiah found a path that delivered all the wagons safely to the other side.
When Franco prepared a simple lunch of bacon sandwiches and beans, Slocum and the other men were still soaked to the bone. That chill had worked all the way down to the core of Slocum’s body when supper was served, but he was still able to shake it off while enjoying a thick beefy stew. He fell asleep near the fire while James Wilcox told him everything he’d learned in his short life about Indian tribes and the bloody battles fought by the Sioux.
Sharing meals with James Wilcox and his mother quickly became a habit for Slocum. Considering how lively the boy’s stories were and how focused he was on anything Slocum said in return, it wasn’t much of a chore. Once Theresa warmed up to him enough for her to sit beside Slocum and laugh at some of his bad jokes, it became a downright pleasure. Everyone in the wagon train had accepted Slocum by then, but Theresa showed him more than just accommodating politeness. Every night, she sat a little closer to him, smiled a bit longer when he looked in her direction, and finally lingered a bit longer whenever he found a way to brush against her warm body or touch the thick curls of her hair.
They’d enjoyed each other’s company from the first moment they had a chance to talk without the rest of the wagon train watching them. They’d gotten closer on the third night after he’d signed on with them. Slocum had been riding alongside the wagons, watching the horizon, while Ed took his turn sco
uting ahead. It hadn’t taken long for Slocum to get beside Theresa’s wagon and match its pace.
They’d started off joking about a few things and then he asked about how she’d wound up riding across the country with everything she owned crammed into the back of a wagon. Theresa’s husband hadn’t been good for much of anything apart from giving her James. He was a drunkard with a mean streak and a coward who could only unleash that streak upon a woman and small child. She’d left him and wouldn’t accept charity, but prospects were slim. Slim, that is, until she got an opportunity to throw in with a small group of prospectors who were in need of backers as well as able bodies to help work a claim. Theresa had strong hands and a quick enough tongue to convince Ed that she’d be an invaluable addition to the group. She wanted a fresh start for herself and her son and had the means to head out on Ed’s schedule. Making the trip with them marked the end of her savings and was an all-or-nothing proposition for her. That, in itself, made her just like everyone else driving those wagons into Colorado.
Slocum’s story didn’t have as many pieces as hers. He told her how he’d wound up in Saint Joseph, which was simply a stop on his way from Saint Louis. He’d gone to Missouri in the first place to visit an old friend. When that friend begged to borrow money to get back on his feet after yet another failed business venture, Slocum handed over what money he had as a way to cut ties with the so-called friend with a clear conscience. He’d barely had enough to buy a run-down horse and had been working his way across the state to check in with another acquaintance who owed him money. That acquaintance was nowhere to be found, leaving Slocum in the lurch. He took a few jobs, wound up in Saint Joseph, and met up with Ed.
He and Theresa spent a good portion of that day joking about the uselessness of old acquaintances until it was time to make camp for the night. They’d joked some more and took a walk in the moonlight after everyone else was asleep in their bedrolls. He’d kissed her the first time then and they’d shared several more during the following nights.