Lauraine Snelling - [Wild West Wind 01]

by Valley of Dreams

  “And then what happened?”

  “And then he asked my father if he might call on me.”

  “And he did.”

  “And he did. When the show was about to leave Norway, I packed my trunk and met him at the wharf, much to the amazement of everyone, including me. I had always obeyed my father, just as you must obey yours. And now it is time for you to go to sleep, my sweet.” She leaned over and kissed her daughter’s rounded cheek. “Let’s say your prayers, and then your father will come in to kiss you too.”

  Cassie found herself speaking those prayers in her mind, both the Norwegian one and her own, blessing everyone and everything she could think of to prolong the time with her father. His mustache always tickled her face when he kissed her, and he always smelled like cherrywood from his pipe smoke and the out-of-doors.

  We were supposed to make this trip together, all of us, with wagonloads of household fixings, blooded horses, and thriving cattle. The only thing that remained from their dreams was the Gypsy Wagon—and their little girl all grown up—without them. Cassie lay still, listening to the wind pleading entry into the snug wagon. The ice pellets rattled on the roof like someone was throwing gravel. She heard Chief get up and go out to check on the animals but fell asleep before he returned. Her last thought made her blink. What if they had to stay right there and not get any closer to the valley?

  7

  The snow left as quickly as it arrived.

  “So we continue on today?” Cassie asked Chief when he returned from checking on the livestock.

  He nodded. “But we hunt first.” He’d gone hunting the evening before but returned with empty hands. “You come with me.”

  Cassie stared at him. “B-but I’ve not had time to practice.”

  “You’ll have to learn.”

  She stared at him, searching for excuses. “You didn’t find anything when you went hunting. Shouldn’t we just go on?”

  “Deer are over there.” He pointed toward a thicket off to the east.

  “How do you know?”

  “Deer sign.” He held her gaze, his dark eyes serious.

  “Oh. What about taking Micah?”

  “He is not used to guns. You are a better shot.”

  She almost asked why he didn’t shoot the deer himself, but something stopped her. She nodded instead. “Now?”

  “Before sun gets higher.”

  “Take the horses?”

  He nodded and headed back outside.

  Cassie pulled two rifles out of her gun bags, dumped shells into her pocket, and once on the steps, closed the door behind her. Here she thought they would be on their way again immediately. Riding one horse and leading Wind Dancer, Chief stopped for her to mount. She handed him a rifle and ammunition and shoved her own rifle into the scabbard. Why did he insist she come along?

  He set off and she followed. It was hard to believe they’d been snowed in for two days. The melting snow had left a soft layer of soil that had immediately turned to mud. Leaves still clung to the aspens and oaks in the wooded area ahead. Passing through sagebrush released an aroma that smelled clean and fresh, with a bite to it. Chief signaled a stop and dismounted, motioning her to do the same. She tied Wind Dancer to the sagebrush, where he dropped his head to graze.

  “Aim for heart, right behind shoulder,” Chief whispered. He loaded his rifle, so she did the same.

  Keeping up with him took every bit of concentration she had. If she looked away, he seemed to disappear into the landscape. At one point, when she lost him, she hunkered down to wait until he returned, which he did within minutes. “I can’t keep up.”

  He nodded. She could tell he wanted to say something, but he only turned to forge ahead. When he dropped to the ground, she settled in next to him, belly flat to the grass-cushioned earth. At least they weren’t in a mud puddle.

  “Deer break there.” He pointed to the south end of the thicket. “Be ready.”

  She studied the distance as if she were in a competition. How could she shoot a living animal? Birds were bad enough, but a deer was big and alive and beautiful.

  Turning to ask Chief a question, she discovered he had disappeared again. Why couldn’t he tell her what he was doing? She heard brush crackling, and then one deer with horns broke from its cover, bounding over the prairie. Moving the rifle, she sighted and pulled the trigger. The deer kept on bounding away, disappearing into a draw.

  “I missed.” Disappointment kept her on the ground. What had she done wrong?

  Not bothering to keep hidden now, Chief strolled back to join her, shaking his head.

  “Sorry. I—”

  “Moving target is harder.”

  “But I’ve shot moving targets before. Pigeons move, they fly.”

  “Fly straight. Deer are different. Best to shoot when standing still, but he ran.”

  “Why didn’t you shoot?” She waited, keeping a close watch on his face. One eye watered and he blinked. “Your eyes?” She’d have missed his nod had she not been staring at him. “How bad?” He shrugged. “You could see the deer?” A nod. “But not through the sights?” Another nod. He stared out at the horizon, refusing to look at her again.

  “And Micah?”

  “Slow.”

  She closed her eyes against the knowledge and levered the shell out of the chamber, then picked up the empty shell and put it in her pocket. If having food to eat depended on her, then she’d better do some practicing, not just talk about it. She stood and stared across the plains. Surely there were other things to eat besides deer, things easier to hunt or more plentiful.

  “I will check snares on way back.”

  “Snares?”

  “That we use to trap rabbits. Been doing that.”

  Cassie felt her stomach roll. Soft, fluffy, cute bunnies. Her father had taken her out on the prairie once and shown her where a family of rabbits lived. They’d watched the young chase each other and tumble around together. She’d had a stuffed rabbit to sleep with for years. How could she bear to kill one, although she had appreciated the fried rabbit the night before. Somehow, after it was cooked, it was different. Then it was meat, not a furry bunny. She mounted Wind Dancer, and they rode back toward the wagon.

  She knew Chief stopped a couple of times but made sure she didn’t look his way. Back at the wagon, Micah had the team hitched and the livestock rounded up. “Ready. Where’s Chief?”

  “Checking his snares.”

  “Oh.”

  “You drive. He needs to teach me to hunt.”

  Micah nodded and tied his mount to the rear of the wagon. “Chief.”

  Chief rode up with several dead rabbits tied to his saddle. “Keep the skins to make clothes. I will clean them, and then we leave.”

  Had she dared, Cassie would have climbed up into the wagon and locked the door. Hunting to shoot a deer, frying fresh rabbit meat, heading south to only Chief knew where and wasn’t telling. This was getting to be far more to handle than she had ever dreamed. When she’d decided—or rather was forced—to leave the show, she’d not given provisions much thought, if any. Taking what they needed from the cook tent had been bad enough. Now she was expected to shoot such beautiful creatures as those deer bounding out of hiding. Or a rabbit. Or who knew what else. Perhaps there were game birds out there too. Surely that wouldn’t be any different than shooting clay pigeons or live ones in a match. Except she had to find them first.

  Back on the trail she leaned forward and patted her horse’s neck.

  “I don’t know, Dancer, this heading south to find the valley might not be the smartest thing I’ve done in my life.” Dancer shook his head. “Is that agreement or disagreement? I know. All you want to do is head out, the faster the better.” She heaved a sigh and, looking up, saw an eagle floating above her. “Oh, look,” she breathed, wishing someone was near to share her delight. Her father had loved eagles above all birds. He’d said there was an eagle nest on a cliff at the far end of his valley, and one day he would ta
ke her there to see it.

  Tears blurred her vision and made her nose run. There she was on the trip her father had always promised her, but he wasn’t there. The tears were getting to be a habit—a bad habit. “That’s enough,” she ordered herself. “You know he’d be here if he could. And you know he’s in heaven with Mor.”

  Dancer tugged at the bit and danced sideways. She mopped her eyes with the sleeve of her coat and looked for the eagle again. A verse floated through her mind, like the eagle caught in the updraft. What was it—eagle’s wings. Where was it? In her Bible, but where? Maybe if she’d spent more time reading her Bible lately, she’d remember things like that. Isaiah. Tonight, she promised herself. Tonight I will find that verse.

  Chief rode up beside her. “Supper will be fried or roasted rabbit.”

  “What will you do with the skins?”

  “When I have enough, I sew you vest, so you keep warm like me.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Now, keep your eyes open for game trails. You get deer next time.”

  Game trail? What was a game trail? Cassie had a feeling that she was in for all kinds of learning experiences she’d not expected. She checked that the safety was on her rifle and followed the caravan as it turned south on what was called a road in this part of the country and a trail in other places.

  She dropped back to ride by the cattle, since Micah was driving the wagon. George grumbled as he walked, his huge head bobbing with every step. The snow had finally melted off his and the other buffalos’ backs, and if no one watched, they would veer off and start grazing. At least the ground was damp enough that the dust stayed put rather than choking the wranglers, as it had on the first day. She now knew why cowboys wore bandannas—more to cover their faces than to keep their necks warm or for decoration.

  She’d never planned on being a cowboy . . . er, cowgirl.

  They stopped at a creek to drink and refill the water barrel on the side of the wagon. The cattle immediately lowered their heads to graze. Chief beckoned her off to one side and pointed at a narrow path filing through the rocks and down to the water.

  “Game trail. See?” He pointed to some dark pellets along the path. “Deer sign.”

  Cassie nodded. So that was what she was to look for.

  “When deer lie down to sleep, they flatten the grass. Leave sign.”

  “Okay.”

  “Dusk and daylight they come to drink.”

  “What about game birds?”

  “Roost in trees sometimes.” He raised his arm and waved at Micah. “Head on out.”

  Back on her horse, Cassie stretched her neck, leaning her head from side to side. While she’d learned to be wary of her feet going to sleep if riding too long, the rest of her body was already complaining. Stopping more often would be good for all of them. But she knew Chief was hurrying them along in case the weather turned nasty again. He’d said it would take two weeks to get there, but they’d already lost two days due to the blizzard.

  Othello yipped at one of the Longhorns that thought to choose its own way, drawing her attention back to her charges. If allowed, the animals would slow down more and more, snatching grass as they passed and then stopping altogether. When her own stomach rumbled, she felt even more sympathy for the critters.

  The sun was well beyond high noon when they stopped at another creek. This time she grabbed the tin dipper off the barrel and filled it at the creek, following Chief’s instructions to always drink upstream from the animals. She tied Wind Dancer to a wagon wheel and let down the steps so she could enter. Even cold beans sounded good to her about now. She dug some hard biscuits out of the box, sliced off some cheese, and took the food outside for the men.

  “Do you want some cold beans?”

  They both shook their heads. “This is enough,” Micah said.

  Cassie sat down on the steps and tipped her hat back so the sun could reach her face while she ate her biscuit and cheese. She knew this wasn’t proper in society, but she liked the feeling of the sun on her face and the wind in her hair. And there was no one now to remind her about acting like a lady.

  “I am going ahead, look for place to stop.” Chief took a long drink from his canteen.

  “Shouldn’t we be joining up with the road from Medora to Deadwood pretty soon?”

  Chief shrugged.

  “What about stopping at a ranch to see if we can purchase some grain for the horses? Maybe some meat?”

  He shrugged again. “Got rabbit.”

  “Right.” If words were gold, these two certainly hoarded theirs.

  Back on the road, she watched the landscape, buttes and draws and twisted oak, willows and cottonwoods following the waterways. She caught herself dozing in the saddle and jerked awake. Othello was walking head down, looking as worn as she felt.

  “Othello!”

  He looked over his shoulder and turned to watch her. “You want up?” Since he often rode behind her in the shows, this was nothing new. She patted Dancer’s rump. “Come on. Up!” The dog dropped behind her, gathered his haunches, and leaped, landing on the horse’s rump and nearly pushing Cassie off. She settled herself back in the saddle, and he stuck his head under her arm. “Good job, big O. We have to do some practicing if we are to keep in tune. There’s no one to cheer us on out here.” He whined, making her think he agreed. Often it seemed both Othello and Wind Dancer could read her mind. The three of them made quite a team.

  She half turned in the saddle so she could give his ears and neck a good rubbing.

  At that moment Micah yelled something, and she grabbed her saddle horn. “Now what?”

  Chief rode up to the wagon and the wagon stopped. The cattle immediately set to grazing, and Othello whimpered in his throat. “All right, you can get down.” She raised her arm, and the dog jumped to the ground, trotting up to the wagon, as if wanting the news. Should she leave the animals alone and go up there or keep an eye on the cattle in case something spooked them?

  Chief dismounted, and Micah climbed down from the wagon seat.

  That did it. Cassie’s curiosity got the better of her, and she rode on up to see what was happening.

  The team was already grazing, angling the wagon toward the edge of the road. She could see Micah’s hat above the brush, but Chief had disappeared. Dismounting, she flipped the reins over the nearest juniper bush and followed the game trail down a slope into a gully with a stand of cottonwood saplings. “Micah, where are you?”

  “Over here.”

  She followed the sound of his voice. “Is Othello with you?”

  “Yes.”

  She pushed through some more close shrubs and stopped, her hand going to her mouth. An Indian woman lay on her side, eyes closed, her lower right leg jutting at an impossible angle. A dog sat beside her, glaring at the intruders and growling whenever Othello moved toward them.

  “How did you find her?”

  “The dog.” Micah squatted down, making soothing noises and half singing in a way she had heard him tame animals before. “Her leg is broken.”

  “Is she alive?” Cassie stepped closer, her heart thudding in her throat.

  “Yes. You can see her breathing.”

  “But she’s not responding?”

  “No.”

  The dog licked the woman’s cheek and whined, then pawed at her shoulder, all the while keeping an eye on the intruders.

  “How did you know to follow him?”

  “He ran out to me, barked, and ran back. Three times before I stopped.”

  “She is off reservation, whoever she is.” Chief hunkered down beside Micah. “Can you calm dog so we can see how she is?”

  “I’m trying.” Micah took up his singsong again.

  The dog nudged the woman under the arm. When she made a sound, he licked her face again.

  “I’ll go get a blanket, and we can move her.” Cassie headed back toward the wagon. What had happened to the woman? Who was she? So many questions, how they could help her being fo
remost. She deliberately ignored a voice inside that asked why they should help her. They had enough problems of their own.

  8

  BAR E RANCH

  ARGUS, SOUTH DAKOTA

  Brother, we need to talk.”

  Ransom Engstrom looked up from the ledger he’d been working on since supper. He nodded to the chair by the worn oak desk, but his younger-by-four-years brother, Lucas, chose to pace instead. Ransom heaved a sigh and closed the leather-bound ledger, giving his brother his full attention. Now was not a good time, since he’d just added to the red total. The Bar E Ranch was not doing well. He had a good idea what his brother was going to say.

  Lucas stopped in front of the window, hands rammed into his rear pockets. Turning, he shrugged. “You know what I’m going to say?”

  Ransom nodded.

  “Then we need to talk Mor into being realistic. We’ve given this ranch all we have, and yet we go further and further into debt. Pa must be turning over in his grave, if he can see what is happening.”

  Ransom raised his hands in the gesture of surrender. He knew when Lucas referred to their mother as Mor that he was in a serious frame of mind.

  “But if we talked with Mor together?”

  “It still wouldn’t do any good.” Mavis Engstrom stood in the doorway, obviously having heard what her youngest son was saying. “We are not selling this land, and that is final. Our calf crop was good, and we’ll have plenty of steers to send to market next fall. We just have to hang on.”

  Ransom wondered at the tenacity visible in his mother’s face and locked in on her words. He’d always felt there was something she wasn’t telling them, but being pushy with their mother was about as useless as a candle in a blizzard. She knew what the ledger made obvious. Their outstanding tab at the general store in town would make anyone choke, and yet JD continued to give them credit. They were fairly well set for the winter, but they would need seed in the spring. He had set aside what he hoped was enough oats to reseed the fields, but the harvest had been mediocre at best. Saving the seed cut into the feed for the winter.