The two men strapped the distraught lad to the rope with the belt and slid him along between them as they inched their way toward the safety of the water’s edge.
Eager hands reached out for Ivan and the exhausted rescuers. Settlers waded out into the swift water six men abreast. Holding onto each other, they dragged them all to shore.
Tears of joy streamed down Dayme’s face as she hugged the drenched and coughing man who was soon to be her husband. “I thought I had lost you.”
Chapter 22
“I chust don't think it's wise for you to go in alone,” Erika scolded in her Alsatian brogue. “Vait for Morgan. It’s not safe.”
Dayme laughed. “He won’t be home before tomorrow night. When he goes to Teacup Mountain and Saline, he always spends the night. Don’t worry. I’ll be fine.”
She handed the rifle to Ace Hopkins who placed it in the buckboard. She patted the plump housekeeper on the shoulder, hoping some of the bravado she displayed would bolster her own spirits. She had built up the nerve and courage to go into town alone, and she intended to follow through. “My father used to say, ‘If something is bothering you, face it head-on and get it over with’.” She grinned at the anxious couple. The widow Vaught and the ranch foreman were sweet on each other. Each was shy and didn’t know how to go about romance again after losing their respective mates.
“You’ll stay close to the house and look after Erika and the children, won’t you?”
Hopkins lifted his Stetson and ran his fingers through graying hair and then replaced the hat like he always did before answering anybody’s question. “Yes, Ma’m. But, I think you should wait for Morgan, too. Or take one of the wranglers with you.”
Dayme laughed. “You’re a couple of worry warts. It’s been months since an Indian was spotted around here.”
Nevertheless, the normally cheerful housekeeper had a worried expression in her crinkly dark eyes as she clutched Alexander’s hand and watched Dayme’s wagon out of sight. “Would you like some egg custard, Mr. Hopkins? I chust baked it this morning. I’ll bring it out to the porch.” The woman smiled at Alexander and chuckled. “Yes, child. There’s pie for you and Daniel Lee, too.”
Actually, Dayme was petrified with fear from the beginning of the journey. It was something she felt she must do…be self-sufficient. She dreaded the shadows in the oak thickets and was especially apprehensive at bends in the road. Her heart pounded at movement in the brush along the lonely lane. She pulled up on the reins and leveled the rifle. She breathed a sigh of relief when three cows crossed the lane. It was a relief to reach the main highway connecting Menard to Fort Concho. It was more traveled and patrolled sometimes by soldiers. Her mind dismissed anxiety and started recounting events of recent days. Morgan will be furious, she thought, that I drove in alone but he’ll get over it. She thought of her gentle husband with fondness. He is so good to me, so protective. But we agreed each would be free in this marriage. He trades horses all over the country, goes prospecting and anywhere else he wants. So will I. Just because I’m a woman doesn’t mean I must humble myself to ask for permission.
Erika had been a blessing indeed, taking over the responsibility of the boys and the rambling log ranch house. Dayme treated her as a companion, helping with the housework whenever she wasn’t busy helping with the cattle. The boys adored their governess. She was jolly, full of good humor and willing to play with them. The cookie jar was always full. Alexander was walking now, and Daniel Lee was standing alone. Both required much care.
Dayme grinned to herself as she neared the pecan grove at the edge of town, remembering the bougainvillea plant episode last week. Morgan agreed to ask one of Erika’s neighbors in town to water her plant until it could be transplanted at the ranch. He complied with the housekeeper’s request, even to calling it a “Pokin’ Willow”, exactly as Erika pronounced it. When Dayme heard about it, she teased her husband and called him “Mr. Janky”.
Nearing Marceline’s small, unpainted house just south of the river near the livery stable, Dayme braced herself for the confrontation that was sure to come. She had no intention of sharing her inheritance with Leon’s cheating wife, even though the two had never divorced. There were no children involved. The couple lived together only three months. Leon quit Marceline on the spot when he caught her in a compromising position with an officer from Fort McKavett. The young man missed her from the dance and searched for her. He found the two in his own wagon.
All the men and most of the women in town knew Marceline was no good. Everybody except Leon, that is. The humiliated and distraught husband had been so hurt that he didn’t even offer to fight the soldier. “You can have her,” Leon told him. “I won’t take such trash back into my parents’ home. We shoot trespassers on sight.”
Marceline begged Leon to forgive her, but he refused. The girl never returned to the ranch for anything, not even her clothes. None of the women liked Marceline…not Mrs. Wooford, Betsy or Dayme. They clashed from the beginning.
Marceline was slow answering Dayme’s knock on the door. A whiskey bottle was on the strewn table, and Dayme recognized the unshaven man in the bed as a local ne’r-do-well. The disheveled woman stepped outside and quickly closed the door behind her.
“I demand my part of the inheritance, Dayme,” Marceline snapped. “My husband’s estate. We were never divorced, you know. I’m Leon’s widow and I have a right to it.”
“Uncle John’s will read ‘blood kin’ and I’m it. I brought your personal belongings.”
Marceline’s pretty face contorted into an angry scowl. “It’s not fair! I’ll break the will. I was married to Leon. That’s more than you can say. You have a bastard son.”
Dayme didn’t bother to tell the woman that she and Morgan were married. It wasn’t any of her business. Before the smirking woman knew what was happening, Dayme had slapped her. She spat out the words, “You impudent slut! Call my baby dirty names one more time, and it’ll be your last! Set one foot on my land, and I’ll shoot you, so help me. The whole family was appalled when Leon married his first ‘two-bit’ piece. They were delighted when the boy finally saw the light.”
Angrily jerking Marceline’s clothes and personal items off the wagon, Dayme threw them down in the dirt. “This is it…your Wooford inheritance. Stay out of my life.”
The adrenaline of the episode gave Dayme a new surge of energy and sense of self-worth. It was over, something she’d been dreading ever since returning to the ranch.
“Where’s Amos?” She was surprised to see another rancher, Marvin Ranceford, behind the counter.
“Helpin’ roundup and brand. We just finished at my ranch so I volunteered.” He glanced over her list and began taking items off the shelves. “Dayme, darlin’,” the handsome bachelor said in a light-hearted manner. “Had I known you wanted to get married, I’d gladly have filled the bill.” He looked her over approvingly from her head to the bottom of her skirt. “Good women are hard to come by out here in the sticks.”
Dayme was flattered. “Why thank you, Marvin. I can live two months on a compliment.”
The man couldn’t help flirting with the ladies any more than he could help breathing. The fact that Dayme was now a married woman would not deter that ladies’ man’s efforts. He enjoyed making the women feel pretty and feminine, even the homeliest of matrons.
Dayme laughed. “Marvin, if a gal should accept one of your proposals, you’d surely head for the next county.”
Ranceford grinned back. “Anytime that old prospector husband of yours isn’t handy and you need a good strong man around, just holler.” He raised his eyebrows and boasted, “I ride much better than I sack groceries.”
The man was harmless. Dayme wondered if Marvin was as much of a lover as he loved to brag about. “Morgan is home much of the time. Some of the wranglers are always there, as well as Erika Vaught. We’re getting accustomed….”
“It’s gonna be a tough go since the Indians stole all your stock.”
>
“I have a few left. And Ace Hopkins and the wranglers found several longhorn strays with the funniest looking ears.”
Marvin chuckled low in his throat as he crossed the room for more supplies on her list. “Belonged to Jesse Chisholm. That’s the jingle-bob brand…a cleft ear. He drove a herd through here early this spring."
“Really? Well, the cows are mine now. My men are searching for mavericks with a brand new T-Cross branding iron. Had it made in Mason.”
“T-Cross? Why not E-Cross?”
“Because I have all kinds of breeds of cattle. The ‘T’ is for Texas, and the cross for crossbreeds. I intend to build back the herd with that new branding iron. Cattle drovers crossing my land better keep their cattle in close herd. I claim the stragglers.”
Taking six pairs of boys’ blue britches and shirts off the rack, she went behind the curtain to try them on. “They are called Levis," Marvin called. “Ain’t seen any of ’em on a girl. They’re tough as boot leather.”
Dayme’s mind drifted to that last conversation with Benjamin. “What if women started wearing trousers,” he had asked, “and started doing men’s work? Who would rear the children and run the house?” I’ve got news for you, Benjamin, she thought. I can wear britches, work cattle, raise my sons, make a custard pie for my husband and thanks to my blue sunbonnet, look feminine for the Saturday night dance. She pulled on a pair of high-heeled western boots and bought a couple of pairs of soft black leather gloves.
“Whew--eee!” Marvin let out a low whistle and walked all the way around the girl. “Don’t recall Levis ever lookin’ that good.”
There was nothing like a visit with Marvin Ranceford to boost a lady’s vanity and morale. Dayme returned a smile. “Don’t try to turn my head. These are for work.”
Marvin’s jovial mood turned serious when he offered to drive her rig back to the ranch. He told her that Quanah Parker’s renegade band was sighted awhile back near the twenty-mile crossing east of town. “They’ll be coming back through here. It’s dangerous, especially for a pretty woman. Hell, Morgan oughta know that.”
Dayme laughed. “Morgan went to Teacup Mountain to Jake Potterman’s. He doesn’t know I’m in town.”
“Let me drive. I wouldn’t want the Comanches to getcha.”
She refused. She had made it in, and somehow she would make it back home. She was adamant about asserting her capabilities and independence. She smiled sweetly and fluttered long dark lashes, teasing him. “Why Marvin, I wouldn’t want you to do that. It would break the hearts of the female population if you turned up scalped. Who’d feed our vanity if an arrow hit you? I have the fastest team in the territory. Morgan taught me to shoot. Don’t worry. I put two bullets through the same hole in a tin can the other day.” Dayme was half-flirting with the man and half-setting him straight. “Comin’ to our barn raisin’ on Saturday?”
“Wouldn’t miss it, lady.” The handsome rancher eyed her pretty figure once more and added, “That is, if you save the first dance for me.”
Feigning disappointment, the woman sighed and shook her head. “Darn. I can’t. Promised the first one to Morgan. The second, perhaps?”
Ranceford strained under the weight of a 100 lb. sack of flour. “Ordinarily, my price for barn raisin’ is the first dance but if that’s the only way I can get my arms around you, pretty lady, I’ll make an exception.”
Dayme giggled, enjoying the little game Marvin played with all the frontier wives. She climbed aboard and once more dreaded the ominous shadows along the long trail home.
MEANWHILE…
Morgan stopped off at the cabin next to the mountain with the two mares he took to stud. He was still excited about the mirror concept of the treasure map. One thing or another had kept him from testing the theory… moving Erika’s things, building the corral, checking windmills, etc. There were so many things on Dayme’s mind. She was so tired at night that often she fell asleep early. Morgan was lucky if she came to his room more than once or twice a week since their wedding. It wasn’t enough. He needed more. Memories of those wonderful nights set him ablaze with desire, but he didn’t press for her attention. He kept busy.
Climbing atop the rounded stone archway to the old mission compound, he set up the tripod and surveyed an imaginary line due South and charted his course to a particular tree on the other side of the river near the mountain. The tree’s trunk was almost hidden by a maze of climbing vines. As he came down from the rocky ruins with his equipment, he scraped a shin in the process and winced in pain. He rubbed the injury for a moment and then proceeded to count off paces to the river’s edge. He stopped long enough to write them down. He didn’t use the canoe because the line led to a steep embankment. He took a deep breath and plunged into the cold water. He managed to scramble up the embankment by holding onto strong vines.
He heard the contingent of soldiers from the fort before they came into view. He ducked behind some bushes until they passed before crossing the road to the tree that was almost obscured by heavy underbrush and vines. He found a narrow ledge some four feet above and climbed up to investigate. It was then that he saw it and muffled an urge to shout. It was a cave! A mere slit in the rock but wide enough to enter comfortably. He peered into the pitch-black darkness and cursed himself because the matches in his pocket were soaking wet. His curiosity would have to wait until morning. He decided to take the long way back to the cabin. He didn’t want to arouse suspicion or explain. Nobody had prospected the mountain and he would just as soon keep the discovery of the cave a secret. He stopped by the Cattleman’s Saloon for a beer as usual.
“Found that silver mine yet?” Sam Morris asked as he drew the warm beer.
“No, Sam, I haven’t but given time, I will.” Morgan wondered how many times the same words had been exchanged over the past two and a half years. “One of these days, you’ll see me walk in here with silver dust on my boots.” He tried to appear nonchalant, hoping his newly found enthusiasm didn’t show.
Morris was unimpressed. He laughed. “Seen ’em come. Seen ’em go. Seen treasure hunters sink fortunes into mine shafts looking for the so-called Lost Bowie Mine. Seen ’em leave with disillusioned faces, empty pockets and broken hearts. Wastin’ your time, friend. I doubt that mine ever existed. Think it was a hoax from the beginning. I think old Bowie was a braggart and a blow hard, sayin’ he was a blood brother to an Indian chief. If you ask me….”
“I didn’t,” Morgan replied crisply. “When I want your advice, Sam, I’ll ask for it.” He paid for the beer and left.
Back at the cabin, Morgan was too thrilled about discovering the cave to cook supper. He chewed on a piece of venison jerky and washed it down with coffee while his imagination found the treasure. He awakened often that night, watching for the first hint of daylight. The cave was on leased railroad land, he knew. If he found anything, there was no way he could legally file a claim. This search must remain secret.
At first light, he rode the mare through the village to the old claim he was working northwest of the mission near Celery Creek. He didn’t vary from the usual route through town and across the low water bridge. But this time, he passed the mission and circled back to cross the river in the shallows of the Stock Pen Crossing. It was difficult, getting Babe up the ledge but he found a low place to the east to enter the wilderness. He tied the mare in the brush, well out of sight of the Fort McKavett road, until the cave opening could be enlarged to accommodate her. He strained at the big rock blocking the entrance and then led his mount inside. He gathered an armload of wild Johnson grass for her to nibble and replaced the rock from the inside. He looked around with a lighted torch, awed by pictographs and the scrawled name ‘Jim Bowie’.
“Hot damn! Jim Bowie stood right where I’m standing! I’m right! It’s on this side of the river!”
The room was not as large as Morgan had anticipated. There was evidence of old campfires, a piece of broken pottery, nothing more. The rear wall was cold and damp near the bott
om. He examined small crevices, crawling invariably to a dead end. It was disappointing. He rolled a smoke while ideas of possibilities rolled around in his head. If the Indians changed the course of the river at this point, he reasoned, there is no physical evidence. Then again, they were a crafty lot. He decided to climb to the top of the mountain above the cave and search for a horseshoe rock formation. Upon reaching the flat surface of the mesa, he counted paces in a southerly direction for approximate a mile and a half. He found nothing except a couple of Indian graves and some odd markings on rocks. No formation was found that resembled the one marked on the treasure map. He retraced his steps to the mountain edge and set out again, this time in a more southeasterly direction. He walked some two miles, knowing in his heart that somewhere on that mountaintop was a rock formation in the shape of a horseshoe.
On the third trip across the mesa, Morgan’s growling entrails reminded him he’d eaten nothing and that Babe needed water. The red sun sunk low and the chilly wind from blue-black clouds in the northwest told him that winter had arrived. He’d never grown accustomed to disappointment, but it didn’t dampen his hopes for another day. Today’s find merely whetted his appetite for prospecting. He headed in the direction of home. There was ranch work to be done and maybe…just maybe, he hoped, Dayme will come to my room tonight.
Chapter 23
VICKSBURG, MISSISSIPPI. It was November, that same year.
It was a concession on Benjamin’s part, and he knew it, making this journey to Texas without ever having heard from Dayme. Knowing her explosive nature, he figured, she was probably furious when I didn’t rush to Texas immediately upon graduation. Just to make me sweat, he reasoned, it would be just like the girl not to answer my letter. She’s most likely sleeping with Morgan. She had absolutely no qualms about going to bed with me.
Curiosity? Perhaps. I wonder if the childlike creature I kissed goodbye at the riverboat is still determined to change the world. She’s had enough time, he decided, to realize the importance of conforming to propriety. He smiled to himself, remembering her fascinating, unique personality, and wondered if her unladylike individualism contributed to his attraction.
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