Sioux Sunrise

by Ron Schwab

  "Tom," she said without turning her head.

  "Yes."

  "Do you remember the night we came down the canyon trial in the blizzard after we left Joe?"

  "My memory's not that short," he teased.

  "After my horse went over the side, you said something to me. . . . Do you remember?" she said softly.

  "Yes," he said, his voice cracking slightly as he swallowed. "I said 'I love you.'"

  "Did you mean it, or were you just saying it?"

  "I meant it. . . . I guess more than anything I've ever said."

  They both stared uneasily at the fire; Tom's mind grasped for the right words, but they seemed to die in his throat.

  After a few moments, Sarah said, "Tom."

  "Yes."

  "I wonder how many nights we've spent lying next to each other like this over the last three months."

  "I don't know," he said, irritation creeping into his voice. "I don't see what difference it makes."

  Sarah said, "Ever since that night on the trail, I've been thinking. We don't know if we'll ever get out of here, or if we do, whether we'll ever live to see home again. We've been here alone for a week now, and you never once tried to make love to me. . . . You haven't even tried to kiss me. . . . Don't you want to, Tom?"

  "Yes," he said shakily.

  She turned toward him, taking his hand in hers, her fingers interlacing his. "Tom, I love you, too. I've never felt anything like this before . . . and I want you to make love to me." She pressed hard against him, and he wrapped his arms around her back; her moist lips met his, and he held her tight, like he was afraid this moment might somehow slip away.

  "Oh, Tom," she murmured, her lips against his neck, "you don't know how much I've wanted this . . . wanted you."

  "I think I do . . . I think I do, Sarah," he breathed.

  She pulled his hand to her breast, and he felt the softness underneath her denim shirt. Then she pulled away for a few moments, and he saw her unbutton the shirt and slip it off before she wormed her way out of her trousers. He followed her example; shortly they lay naked in each other's arms. She stirred and he quickened as her soft skin brushed against his. He thought he could endure no more when she pulled him to her, and he was suddenly lost in the dizzying ecstasy of her body. Their lovemaking was violent and passionate, and they found release quickly. When he withdrew, they lay there together, her head resting on his chest, one leg tossed easily over his thigh. They lay silently until minutes stretched into an hour, neither wanting to break the spell.

  Then Sarah said softly, "Tom?"

  "Yes."

  "Can we do it again?"

  He moved to her and they did, this time slowly and gently.

  34

  JOE LED THE heaving bay mare down Cheyenne's snow-packed main street. The fine-boned animal looked like a docile dog tagging along after the giant who led her, and the sweat that streamed down her flanks, in spite of the cold, showed that she had been ridden to near prostration. It was obviously a case of too little horse for too much man.

  When Joe had taken his leave of Fort Fetterman some days earlier, he was forced to accept the only mount the post could spare. Before he rode out of the fort one brisk morning, he told the lieutenant he would be in Cheyenne if his friends showed up, and then pointed the small bay south into the white-patched landscape. The tough, spirited mare gave her best, but Joe found himself walking nearly as much as he rode. The day before he made Cheyenne, a numbing cold spell descended suddenly from the mountains, and in his hurry to escape its wrath, Joe had pushed the mare to her limits.

  The sun had been down for several hours now, but the bright moonglow that bounced off the white streets this clear night made it easy to see. Joe had the drawn, hollow look of a tired man as he hobbled down the street, mesmerized by the shimmering kerosene lamps that lined the boardwalks, comforted by the ring of laughter and music rising from the saloons.

  He returned to his senses when he bumped into a grizzled old man crossing the street. "Excuse me, mister," Joe said, "guess I was half asleep."

  "That's all right, young man," Crawdad Logan answered. "I'm just a bit tipsy right now myself." Then, cocking his head quizzically, he peered more directly at Joe. "For Christ's sake, man, are you all right? You look like hell. . . . And that little mare looks like she's had about all she can handle. Where'd you come from?"

  "I feel like I've been through hell . . . or someplace like it," Joe answered. "I've just come down from Fetterman country. A man could freeze his balls off out there these past few days."

  "I'd say you need a shot of whiskey down your gullet and some hot beans in your gut. Come on with me over to the Miners Inn," the old man ordered, "they'll put you up for the night." He relieved Joe of the mare's reins. "I'll see to this little gal just as soon as you're settled in."

  As they approached the Miners Inn, a rain-warped, two-story building, Joe hesitated. "Mister, I thank you for your kindness, but I'm not sure they'll have room for me in this place."

  "Hell, they always got room this time of year," said Crawdad. "Only folks that ain't got sense enough to get out of this country come winter is a bunch of buggy ol' miners. Come on, let's get out of this cold."

  Joe was still reluctant. "That's not what I meant. In case you hadn't noticed, some folks would say I’m a Negro and that I’m not welcome there."

  "Well, that's nice," grumbled Crawdad. "Most folks would call me a nosey old fart. Being a black man can't be much worse." The old man took Joe by the arm and pulled him through the door of the Miners Inn.

  The two men marched up to an unpainted, pine counter and were greeted by an elderly, bespectacled man with a friendly, cherubic face. "Howdy, Crawdad. What can I do for you boys?" the clerk inquired.

  "Got a fella here that needs a room," Crawdad said. "He's about frizzed his tonsils off and's plumb tuckered out. Can you fix him up?"

  "Sure can. Be a buck in advance, though."

  Joe's face relaxed, and his mouth stretched into a relieved smile. Fumbling in his saddlebags, he pulled out a shiny dollar and tossed it on the counter.

  The clerk handed him a key. "Room 203. Upstairs and to your left."

  Crawdad said, "Tell ya what, mister, you fetch your things up to your room, and I'll tend to your horse. Then you come on down, and we'll go in and have your first drink and meal in Cheyenne on me." Then, to the clerk, "Oscar, in about an hour, this feller's gonna need a hot bath. Why don't you have Billy fill the tub and my friend will be along directly."

  Crawdad started to lead Joe back out the door and then stopped. "Oh, by the way," he said extending his rough, gnarled hand, "my handle's Crawdad Logan."

  Grasping Crawdad's hand firmly, Joe responded with a broad, warm smile, "My name's Joe Carnes . . . and I'm mighty glad to be in Cheyenne."

  35

  JOE WALKED DOWN the creaky, splintered steps of the Miners Inn and stepped into the narrow lobby. It was nearly noon and his stomach rumbled hungrily. After his steaming bath the night before, he had climbed the stairs and tumbled into the straw-matted bed, dropping instantly into a dead, exhausted sleep. He had not awakened until an hour earlier, and now his eyes were alive and bright, his manner confident, almost cocky. He greeted the day clerk and then swaggered into the noisy, smoky dining room. He spied Crawdad Logan at a table with a younger companion and strolled in their direction.

  "Well," said Crawdad, "I'll be damned if you ain't a different lookin' critter this morning. Last night you was in a hell of a shape."

  "I'm fine today," Joe responded, "thanks to you. I'd like you and your friend here to have dinner on me today."

  "Sounds like a mighty good deal to me," Crawdad said. "This here's my partner, Jasper Johnson."

  Jasper stood and offered his hand. "Howdy," he said. "Welcome to Cheyenne." "Thanks," Joe said. "I like what I've seen so far . . . good food, soft bed, hot bath. It's been a hell of a long time since I've had those comforts."

  He pulled a chair up to the table.
The men did not need to order; there was only one meal on the menu—beef stew and biscuits, with hot coffee to wash it down. Joe wolfed down three helpings as his guests looked on in awe.

  "I hope you can afford that appetite, Joe," Crawdad said. "Cheyenne's a mighty costly place to hole up come winter. Things get short, and prices shoot sky high."

  "Well," said Joe, "I've got enough cartwheels stashed away to hold out for a couple of weeks, but no more. It's a long story, but I'm supposed to meet some friends here. We split up back in the mountains with Sioux breathing down our necks just before a storm hit. They were supposed to meet me at Fetterman, but they didn't show up. All I can do is wait it out and see if they make it."

  Crawdad shook his head soberly. "Sounds like a miracle you got out of those hills, young feller. I wouldn't count on two miracles. Don't bet on ever seein' your friends again." He saw the gloom spread over Joe's face and moisture glisten in his eyes. "I'm sorry, Joe," the old man said, "I didn't say that right. Those folks must mean somethin' to you."

  "Yeah," Joe said, "You might say they're as close to family as I got. There's only one thing, old timer, you don't know those folks. They've got gravel in their gizzards. It may be a spell, but I've got a hunch they're going to show up here one of these days."

  "I hope you're right," Crawdad said, "I hope you're right. I tell ya what—looks like you're gonna need work if you stay around here. I happen to know Big Wilma needs a bouncer up to her place, and you sure as hell look like you could handle the job. You get room and board and a dollar a day . . . not a bad deal."

  "Sounds good to me," said Joe. "What is it . . . tavern?"

  "Well, uh," Crawdad answered, “some folks call it . . . uh . . . a bawdy house."

  "What?" Joe's teeth flashed. "I'm gonna be a bouncer in a whorehouse? Now that does sound interesting . . . mighty interesting."

  Crawdad blushed noticeably. "Well, you ain't got the job yet," he grumbled. "I tell ya what, Jasper and me was just goin'' up to see Billy. You come along, and we'll put in a good word for you."

  "Billy?" Joe asked.

  "Yeah," Crawdad said, "that straw-haired little feller that filled your tub last night. Oh, guess you didn't see him; he must have had the tub filled before you got in there. He helps out down here for some extra jangle. The boy's a workin' fool. Miserly little feller, too." Joe was visibly shaken. "What's the matter?" Crawdad asked. "You act like you've seen a ghost."

  "No," Joe said, "the name Billy just has a familiar ring to it."

  "Well, you'll meet the little guy soon enough. And my guess is he'll take to you like a tick to a hound."

  Joe walked with his new friends up the steep, winding road that led to Big Wilma's place, set off like a grand mansion from the other buildings in Cheyenne. The sun shone brightly and a slick glaze formed on the road where the hard-packed snow had thawed just a bit. Joe's eyes were drawn to the filmy outline of the snow-capped mountains to the North.

  "What are the chances of getting the kind of warm spell that would open up the mountains before winter really sets in?" he asked?

  "You can forget about it till spring," Crawdad said matter-of-factly. "Old Man Winter's just playin' games with us today. You wait and see, a few more days and we'll be froze in here to stay."

  Joe turned to the business at hand. "What's this Big Wilma going to think about hiring a black man?" he said, just a trace of anxiety in his tone betraying his concern? "I don't want to make any trouble for you and Jasper."

  "Christ’s sake," Crawdad answered. "You're really wire-edged about this 'black' business, ain't ya, big feller? Why in the hell should she care if your green or purple, if your man enough to throw the ornery bastards out of her place?"

  Jasper, ordinarily quiet, interjected, "Joe, in Cheyenne nobody gives a darn who ya are or what you've done. You've spent some time out west, but I don't think much of it's been in town. Sure we got our bad ones and troublemakers in Cheyenne, but most of us are a bunch of castoffs and ne'er-do-wells chasin' a dream. There's stories about half the guys in this town that would curl your hair, but as long as you got the coin to pay your bills, you'll get along all right with most of the folks around here."

  Their boots thumped noisily on Big Wilma's large porch, announcing their arrival even before Crawdad rapped on the heavy, oak door. The dusky Carmella appeared at the door and instantly Joe swept off his hat and smiled. She looked appraisingly up and down his muscular body for a moment and finally her impassive almond-shaped eyes met his. Then she turned to the others. "Hi, Crawdad. Hi, Jasper. Come on in. Your friend, too."

  As they stepped onto the thick buffalo hide that covered the foyer, Crawdad said, "This here's Joe Carnes. Joe, this is Carmella. She's one of Big Wilma's . . . Uh . . . girls."

  "Pleased to meet you, Carmella," Joe said, his eyes drawn unavoidably to the mountainous swellings that refused to deny the ample figure beneath the proper, high-necked dress. Then he caught the faintly exasperated look in her sultry eyes and said, "Uh . . . nice place you have here."

  Crawdad came to his rescue. "Jasper and me came to see Billy, and the big feller wants to palaver with Big Wilma about the job she's got. What do ya think, Carmella? Looks like he could handle it right well, don't he?"

  "Well, I don't know," she teased, "some of these big fellows aren't as tough as they look. I'll bet he'd eat us out of house and home, too."

  "Crawdad, you handsome devil," Big Wilma burst into the room. "Billy!" she yelled. "Come on out. Crawdad and Jasper are here."

  Billy darted into the big hall and ran up to Crawdad, and a welcoming grin spread across his face. Crawdad tousled his hair affectionately.

  "Billy, I want you and Wilma to meet a friend of mine . . . Joe Carnes."

  Their eyes turned to Joe who was obviously taken aback, his lips set sober, his eyes narrowing with puzzlement.

  "You all right, Joe? What's the matter?" asked Crawdad?

  Joe stared at the boy, shaking his head in disbelief. "I know I didn't see this boy last night," he stammered. "If I had, I'd have known him right away. Those damn blue eyes . . . that smile. This has got to be Billy Kesterson."

  Stunned silence permeated the room as the others looked at Joe in surprise. Billy broke the silence, "Do I know you, mister?"

  "No, but I've been looking for you for better than three months," Joe said. He sighed and turned to Big Wilma. "Do you suppose we could sit down someplace ma'am? I think we've all got a lot to talk about."

  "It sure sounds like it," said Big Wilma. "Come on in here. I've got to hear what this is all about." She led the way into her elegant "greeting room." Then, sinking into a soft, overstuffed chair, Joe related his story, Billy interrupting frequently to fill in the gaps from his own perspective.

  Finally, Joe finished. "I guess that's about it. I last saw Tom and Sarah heading southeast back toward the canyon. I don't know if they ever made it. . . . If they did, I don't know when or how they'll ever get out. We shouldn't have ever separated. Anyhow, it looks like I'm stuck here till spring. If they don't show up soon after the first good thaw, I'll head back up there and try to find out what happened."

  Crawdad said, "I panned gold up that way before I went into the Black Hills. You must've been in what the miners call Roaring Canyon. That shack you mentioned sure sounds like it. If they got back there before the blizzard and got sense enough to stay put, they might have a chance."

  "Anyway, Joe," Big Wilma interjected, "you've got yourself a job if you want it."

  "Thanks," said Joe. "I want it."

  36

  JOE STAYED THE winter in Cheyenne sharing Billy's room at Big Wilma's, and, welded closer by their common loss, he and the boy became fast friends. Noise and laughter shook the gracious mansion at nights, but during the cold winter afternoons, a lazy peaceful atmosphere settled in. Crawdad and Jasper made it a part of their daily ritual to drop by Big Wilma's and spend the afternoons with Joe, swapping stories near the warm fireside. Billy and Big Wilma joined the little
group frequently, and, as winter faded slowly into spring, Carmella found her way into the room with increasing regularity.

  Whenever Carmella was in the room, Crawdad was pleased to assume the burden of carrying the conversation as Joe turned silent, obviously distracted by the presence of Carmella’s dark beauty. His eyes followed her every move, and his brow wrinkled in bewilderment when she entered into the friendly discourse, always exhibiting a sharp, inquisitive mind and keen intellect that belied her sensuous, seductive eyes.

  One day, when they sat alone at the kitchen table, Joe said, "Carmella, I'm puzzled. You just don't seem to be the kind of person that would fit into this . . . uh . . . business."

  "You mean, what's a nice girl like me doing in a place like this?" she said sarcastically. "I've heard that line before, mister. Let me just say this: I've got to eat, and I'm saving every cent I make. I'm not going to spend the rest of my life doing this. I've got plans. One more year and that's it. And in case you've got any ideas, just remember . . . no free samples."

  Hurt shadowed Joe's eyes. "I'm sorry, Carmella, I didn't mean to upset you. I was just interested. I really do care."

  Carmella’s eyes softened and a light mist blurred their clearness. "I'm the one who should be sorry, Joe. I know you didn't mean any harm." She reached across the table and took his huge hand in hers. "You're a special kind of man. I've just become too tough and hard. I do want you to understand one thing, though. As hard as it may be, this is just a business with me—just the same as a storekeeper selling his goods or a farmer working his ground. It's a long story, but I learned that I could make my way real well doing what I'm doing. I don't like it, but it's a way to get where I want to go. And Joe, you'll never be a customer of mine; I don't want it to be that way between us. Let's just let things ride awhile and see what happens. If you can accept what I am, and if there's to be something more for us, I think we'll both know when the time's right."