"We should not laugh," she said. "Were it not for him, we might still be stuck in Missouri. Father might lose his new position, and then where would we be?"
"I think we could have made it just fine without him," Graham Devalt said. "The trail is clearly defined. We were able to make it from Ohio to Missouri without his help. It's not as if he has done anything extraordinary."
"Maybe so," Rachel Cummings agreed.
Graham liked her very much. She was a lovely girl, a younger version of her mother. She was full of laughter, and her wit was slicing. In fact, her jests cut so finely that they could border on cruel. Her independent streak often gave way to a mischievous streak. She would grow out of that, Graham knew, and would make a very fine wife one day.
"What do you look forward to about being in California?" Graham asked. For him, the answer was plain – he most looked forward to growing closer to Rachel Cummings, a closeness that would lead to marriage.
"Oh, I don't know," Rachel said dreamily. "I'm excited to see the ocean. I have never seen the ocean before, and how extraordinary that the first ocean I see should be the Pacific. Beyond that, I am just curious to see what life will be like. I imagine in a town it will not be so different from what it was in Ohio. It is not as if father plans to build a sod house on the plains and farm. We will be near the university and should expect to enjoy all the trappings of a modern city, I should think."
"Yes," Graham agreed, a bit disappointed that she did not mention him in the things she was most looking forward to. "It should not be so different from what we are accustomed to. It just takes a very long time to get there."
***
Amos Cummings waited until the sun was down to seek out Rab Sinclair in his camp.
Since the encounter earlier with Graham Devalt, Rab Sinclair had avoided talking to the rest of the party. He did not come over when they stopped to make camp to ensure that everyone was going through the afternoon ritual properly. He did come to the campfire for coffee. Even when Martha Cummings called to him to see if he would have coffee, Rab merely waved a hand of acknowledgment but never joined them. He had taken to Martha, but younger men often did. Graham Devalt had been no different when he was just a promising student who sometimes had Sunday supper with the Cummings family.
Martha was an attractive woman – not just attractive for her age, and not just physically attractive. Martha Cummings was a forthright woman. She spoke her mind freely, and when she did she always left people with the impression that she was intelligent. She seemed to wear a constant smile, and had a pleasant and kind way about her. These were qualities that attracted most anyone to her, but young men especially seemed to appreciate a kindness from a pretty, older woman.
Amos knew and understood the way other men were attracted to his wife. It did not concern him – he had no doubts about her Christian virtue or her loyalty as his wife. She was thoroughly dedicated to their family.
But when Rab Sinclair declined even the invitation from Martha, Amos decided he had to try to make amends with the young guide.
"I am sorry about the trouble earlier," Amos said. He carried a lantern and found Rab reclined against his saddle, smoking his pipe. The blue was not on a picket but still stood near Rab's camp. The buckskin and sorrel both were also nearby. All three of the horses seemed satisfied that Rab Sinclair was the leader of the herd, and they did not stray far from him.
"Wasn't your doing," Rab said. "No reason for you to apologize."
"Mr. Devalt is a very intelligent young man. One of the best students I have ever had. But he does not always think, if you understand the difference."
Rab blew out a long cloud of smoke.
"It ain't an easy place, Mr. Cummings," Rab said. "They's all kinds of dangers out here, but one of the worst dangers you'll encounter is another man. Best always to keep to yourself as much as you can. If you see a man who needs help, help him. Make your friends neighbors when you can, and when you can't, make your neighbors friends. But until a stranger is either a friend or a neighbor, give him a wide berth. Let him alone so that he'll let you alone."
"Do you mind if I sit?" Amos asked.
"Ground don't belong to me," Rab said.
"You spoke awfully free about killing those men if it came to it," Amos Cummings said.
"I did," Rab said. "I reckon I wouldn't like it, but if they'd gone for their guns or knives, I suppose I'd have had to."
"Do you believe you could have killed all four of them?" Amos Cummings asked.
"There's not but one way to find out a thing like that," Rab said. "But the best thing to do is behave in a way that you don't have to find out."
"Have you ever killed a man?" Amos Cummings asked.
"I have," Rab said. "My father died four years ago when I still had growing to do. Some men think a young man like that on his own would be easy. I've had thieves try to take my hawss. I've had scalawags try to take my money. And I've had cutthroats try to take my scalp. They's been times, for sure, that I found it necessary to do hard things."
Amos Cummings stiffened.
"I am a peaceable man," he said.
Rab puffed on his pipe a couple of times. Amos watched him puzzling over the word.
"Is that what they call someone bound for the Pacific?" Rab asked.
Amos chuckled. "No. No, that's what they call someone who does not believe that violent actions are the solution to problems. I do not believe in aggressive, violent action, Mr. Sinclair. I believe that problems between men can be settled through words rather than swords, with courts or government intervention. As a Christian man, I believe in the Biblical teachings of Jesus, who taught us to turn the other cheek."
Rab puffed on his pipe a couple of times.
"I reckon if you had a Bowie knife held to your hairline you might become a believer in some of the Old Testament teachings," Rab said. "Who was the fellow? Joshua, if I remember right. Yes sir, they's many similarities between the Western territories and Canaan."
"Maybe so," Amos Cummings conceded. "But as someone who abhors violence and lives by peaceable principles, I do not want you committing violence on my behalf."
"I'll bear that in mind," Rab said. "And we'll both hope it don't come to a situation where violence is needed."
"I would extend that, too, to Mr. Devalt," Cummings said. "You struck him twice in my presence today."
"He deserved more than that," Rab said.
"Perhaps, but I would ask you not to strike him again," Cummings said.
Rab puffed his pipe and it glowed orange for just a moment, lighting up the end of his nose and eyes.
"I reckon I'll do my best not to strike Mr. Devalt again," Rab said.
"That's all I can ask for," Cummings said.
Amos did not immediately get up and walk away. He held his place on the ground and watched Rab Sinclair smoke his pipe.
"I imagine it must have been very difficult, at such a young age, to find yourself on your own."
Rab shrugged.
"It was what it was," he said. "Nothing to be done about it."
With nothing left to add, Amos Cummings sat quietly. Rab knocked he tobacco from his pipe and blew through the stem to know out any last bits.
"We did a short trip today with the rain," Rab said. "We stopped early, too. We should plan to make it up tomorrow."
Amos didn't know why, but he felt an urge to seek approval from the young man, or at least offer some further explanation. "You must think I'm a terrible coward, what with my talk of peaceful principles."
"I didn't think one way or another about it," Rab said. "But I reckon if a man leaves the states and comes out her to this trail planning to not defend himself with violence, that must take a certain amount of courage. Or he's a damn fool. And you certainly strike me as an educated man."
Amos Cummings got to his feet. He was stiff and sore, with so many hours over so many days walking so many miles. He envied Rab Sinclair and Graham Devalt for their youth and limber joints
.
"It is late, and as you said, we should get an early start in the morning. I hope tomorrow evening you will join us in our camp. I know Mrs. Cummings would be grateful for you company and to know we have not offended you so that you cannot stand to be among us."
"I'll be happy to join you tomorrow," Rab said.
11
"They's a creek up ahead," Pawnee Bill said. "You can see the trees down there. See 'em?"
Mickey Hogg craned his neck and stood in his stirrups. "I see 'em."
In almost every direction, the sky touched the grass on the distant horizon, but up ahead, just along the trail, the row of low trees showed the place where a creek cut a path through the prairie. It would be a low spot, and the trees would provide some cover.
"We won't have long before they're caught up to us," Dick Derugy noted. Today Dick was mounted and Chester Bowman was driving the wagon. "Chess had better get moving and find a spot to hide that wagon. As far as a man can see out here, those Kentucky boys will be within sight in no time."
"He's right, Chess. You'd best get moving," Pawnee Bill said.
It was Bill's idea to find some travelers to ambush so that the men could get some provisions that would better meet their purpose than those they had taken with Ted Gibson's wagon. But it was Mickey Hogg who urged the others to ambush the four riders they'd encountered the day before.
No one liked the idea. For one, it made no sense to take supplies from a group of packers. Their provisions would last a while, but would not last long enough for men driving a wagon. For another, the four Kentuckians seemed like rough men who would not be easily ambushed.
But Mickey Hogg was certain sure that he'd seen a bottle of whiskey at the campsite, and he was feeling mighty thirsty.
"It could be days before we see another group with wagons. Unless we plan to rob a stagecoach, we might not see travelers with wagons for three or four days. But we know these Kentuckians are coming up on us sometime today. If we wait for 'em in a good spot, they'll be easy enough to take from."
Pawnee Bill didn't like the idea, but he did like Mickey Hogg.
"Wasn't they armed? Didn't they have pistols on their belts?" Dick asked.
"They did, but they wouldn't be riding with them pistols capped," Mickey said. "It's the surprise that'll get 'em."
Chess Bowman didn't like this any better than he liked what Pawnee Bill and Dick Derugy did to the sod buster family. At least there were no women in this, but it wasn't even reasonable to go after the Kentucky boys. Their supplies would be insufficient. And being from Kentucky, likely as not, they were pro-slavery. Abolitionists and Yankees was one thing, but killing pro-slavers was like killing your own. And Chess Bowman did not like the idea of killing his own.
But he also would not speak up in protest against the move. There was no way he would be accused of playing the coward, and Chess knew that would be the immediate accusation if he said they should leave the men from Kentucky alone. So he drove the wagon quickly out across the plain.
The other three men sat their horses for a moment.
"It don't matter if we shoot their horses," Pawnee Bill said. "We don't need more horses, anyway. So when they get up near us, we'll ride out from cover, and just shoot the whole way. We'll take them by surprise like that, show them a real cavalry charge, and we'll put them on the ground. Shoot the horses out from under them, and then we can ride 'em down, use our knives if we have to. Chess is a good shot with a long rifle. I figure we can all give him our rifles and let him fire the opening volley, see if we can put one of 'em down right at the very beginning."
"So just the three of us attacking?" Dick asked.
Like Chess Bowman, Dick Derugy had misgivings about the planned attack on the Kentuckians. His misgivings did not take into account the right or wrong of the thing or the political inclinations of the men they would be killing. Dick Derugy didn't like anything that seemed like a fair fight. Being outnumbered was fine if it was women and children or unarmed men, but in this situation it was a fair fight. The only advantage Dick and the others would have was surprise, and he was not convinced that surprise alone was enough of an advantage.
But like Chess Bowman, Dick knew they would say he was playing the coward if he made some effort to talk them out of it.
When Chess was near the creek and trees, the other men galloped after him, and in a few minutes they were picking their way over a crossing at the creek and riding in behind some trees for cover.
Pawnee Bill was the last of the four to get behind the trees. As his horse slid in some mud, Bill peered through the branches of a cottonwood and saw that in the distance the four riders were now visible.
"Damnation," Bill said. "Does anyone know if they saw us?"
"They had to have seen us," Chess said. "As soon as I got back here with the wagon situated, I looked through the trees and saw them back behind us. All three of you was still riding when I saw them in plain sight."
"Look, they've stopped now," Mickey Hogg said.
"I can't tell what they're doing," Pawnee Bill said, though he thought he could see that they had their rifles out.
"Loading their rifles is what it looks like to me," Mickey Hogg said.
"Is that what it looks like?" Dick asked. His eyesight was not so good, and while he could make out shapes at a distance and knew the men were there, he was too far away to get any detail of them.
"Maybe we should sit this one out," Pawnee Bill said. "Maybe we ought to just let them pass. We'll come to someone else sooner or later."
Mickey Hogg rubbed his chin. "I sure would like to have that bottle of whiskey," Mickey said.
The Kentucky men drove their spare mounts with the panniers out in front of them, but while Pawnee Bill watched, the men spread out. One of them rode up ahead of the spare mounts. One rode off to the left of the spares, while another rode to the right. And one of them stayed at the back.
"What are they doing?" Pawnee Bill asked.
"Riding escort on their spares," Mickey said. "They's smarter than I thought they'd be. They've spread out. It makes them harder targets now."
The Kentuckians were getting closer now. The first one was near enough that they could see details of him, and the first detail they saw was that he'd drawn his long rifle from its scabbard and was riding with it across his saddle.
Neither Mickey nor Pawnee Bill nor Dick made any move to ride out and ambush the men.
"They know what we're up to," Mickey Hogg said.
And then the lead Kentuckian called out in a booming voice.
"I don't know what you're playing at, but be aware if you come out from behind those trees we will commence to shooting."
Mickey and Pawnee Bill both looked at each other and shrugged.
"Get off your horses, fast," Bill said. "Chess come down off of that wagon. Let your horses wander. Be subtle about it, but act like we're just here for a nooning."
While the other men did as they were told, Pawnee Bill spurred his horse forward. Holding his reins with plenty of slack, Bill put his hands in the air and rode forward. The first of the Kentuckians was coming even with the creek now. Bill rode out into plain sight, keeping his hands up.
"Howdy, friend," Pawnee Bill called to him. "Not sure what's got you agitated so, but we ain't playin' at nothing. We just stopped here for our nooning. Cool water and shade trees. Stop and rest with us if you like."
The Kentuckians, who were now all in plain view, kept their rifles pointed toward Pawnee Bill and the others down around the wagon.
"You just keep your hands where we can see them while we pass," the lead Kentuckian said.
This was not the same man who spoke at the campfire the previous evening. Pawnee Bill recognized him as the one in the back.
"There sure ain't cause to be so hostile," Bill said. "We're just inviting you to join us down in the shade by the creek here. It's a good spot for your noon rest."
"It ain't noon yet," said the Kentuckian riding along the
near side of the spare mounts.
Pawnee Bill noticed that while the three riders in the front merely had their rifles crossed over their saddles, the one in the back actually had his rifle leveled, one-handed, and pointing pretty near to where Pawnee Bill was sitting his horse. The Kentuckian rode like that, his barrel almost a perfect circle in Pawnee Bill's line of sight. The Kansas ruffian had to wonder what kind of strength it took to hold, one-handed, one of those long guns steady like that. It was best that he decided to abandon the plans of ambush. These men would not be willing victims.
As the last of the Kentuckians rode even with Pawnee Bill, that long rifle still pointing right at him, Bill waved a hand.
"Y'all have a good ride down the trail," Bill said. "Maybe after a while we'll catch up to you."
"Be best for you if you did not," the Kentuckian said.
As they rode on, the Kentuckians all slid their rifles down into their scabbards and kicked up the pace, galloping away from Pawnee Bill and the creek.
Bill wheeled his horse and rode back over to where his companions were milling about near the creek.
"Better just fill your canteen with some water from the creek, there," Pawnee Bill said to Mickey Hogg. I don't think them Kentucky boys had any whiskey anyway."
12
Each day seemed to offer a new rotation on the Cummings' wagons, with a steady change of drivers and passengers. Often as not, drivers rode alone on the wagon while the others walked alongside the wagon or rode one of the saddle horses. Some days Rachel Cummings found herself assigned to Graham Devalt's wagon, which was not so bad because Graham could be charming and amusing. Other days she drive with one of her younger brothers riding along with her. Some days she rode with her father or her mother.
Amos Cummings dictated who should ride on which wagon every morning. He did not share his method with anyone else in the group, but he made his assignments with a view to breaking up the monotony of the days by mixing the people in the group. Just as often, those who were assigned to specific wagons in the morning were no longer on them by the time the wagon train stopped for supper, but Amos felt he had done his part if no two people started on a wagon together two days in a row.
A Trail Too Far Page 8