“I don’t either,” he whispered. “What do you say we go down by the river and find that whippoorwill?”
Dixie sighed. All the tension seemed to leave her body. She disappeared to the wagon, and returned a short time later with some blankets and a pillow. She held it up in front of her.
“I could only find the one,” she whispered so as not to wake the children or other women.
Frank gave her a wink. “I don’t reckon I’ll be needin’ any pillow. I’ll have you.”
He took her hand and they slipped quietly into the night.
* * *
Two hours later, Dixie Carpenter, recent widow and thirty-six-year-old mother of two girls, lay next to a sleeping Frank Morgan and smiled up into the white curtain of stars that draped across the night sky.
Two months ago she would have been perfectly content to stay cooped up in her cozy little home near Terra Haute, Indiana, with her grumpy husband, growing children, and basically dull existence. Before she left on this trip, Dixie had never even slept outdoors. The lumpy tow-filled tick in the wagon had been almost unbearable at first compared to her feather bed at home. As time went on, though, she’d grown somewhat used to the hard conditions of the trail, and except for the sleeping arrangements, even flourished.
Now, lying on top of a maze of tree roots that crisscrossed under her blanket and bit into her bare back like a rope bed without the mattress, she found she was as comfortable as she had ever been in her life.
Frank slept quietly beside her, his strong chest rising and falling with each breath. Her head was cradled on his shoulder, his sure arm wrapped around her, holding her as if he was afraid she might escape if he let her go. He didn’t need to worry about that.
Even surrounded by the warm comfort of his body, Dixie felt her heart flutter inside her. She’d really done it now. She hoped Frank Morgan was half the man she judged him to be. If he left her now, she didn’t know what she’d do.
The roots finally began to get to her spine, and she rolled a little to change positions. Frank clutched at her in his sleep and then relaxed. He whispered her name, then didn’t stir again.
On her side now, her face against his neck, his mouth breathing softly in her ear, she whispered back to him.
“I love you, Frank Morgan.”
She held her breath to see if he would answer. He’d said it, before but she’d supposed lots of men said it during such amorous circumstances.
He coughed a little and hugged her to him.
“Me too,” he whispered in her ear.
Dixie froze, waiting to see if he would say more. When he began to snore softly, his lips brushing against her ear, she relaxed. She didn’t want to sleep anymore. She just wanted to lay in the arms of this wonderful man and plan—plan for everything the future might hold. For the first time in weeks, Dixie Carpenter, recent widow and thirty-six-year-old mother of two, knew she could handle it.
Chapter 21
Two hours before dawn, Frank squatted by the chuck wagon at the Double Diamond camp. Up and down the river, the cattle were beginning to stir. A few mama cows that had snuck into the herd of steers at the start of the trip lowed for their babies, telling them it was time to eat.
The remuda of horses stood on a long picket line, stomping and snorting as they waited for the wrangler to give them their morning ration of oats.
A column of bleary-eyed cowboys, Chance and Jasper in the lead, queued up for bacon, biscuits, and coffee. Tired as they were, a whisper rumbled up and down the breakfast line when the boys rubbed enough sleep out of their eyes to see Frank Morgan had come to their camp for a visit.
“I’ve tasted worse.” Frank sipped the tepid coffee and tried to keep from spitting it out.
“Where? From the back end of a buffalo?” Luke looked down at his breakfast plate and grumbled. “I’d love to have a plate of ham and eggs right now, with some fluffy buttermilk biscuits as big as a cat’s head all smothered in real redeye gravy.”
“I seem to recall you said you were happier out here on the trail.” Frank held the cup of coffee for warmth on his hands, but decided against drinking any more.
“I was. Then you had to go and introduce me to that Carolyn Brandon. She’s got me thinkin’ about soft beds and good meals.” Perkins tossed the plate on the ground with the food uneaten—an act that could get any other cowboy on the crew a severe tongue-lashing from the cook.
“Truth is, Frank, I reckon I’m getting’ as old as you. That Carolyn, she’s real sweet and I been awful lonely since Lisa passed.”
“I think you’d be good for each other.”
“Good, because she’s decided to come back to Texas with me after I get this herd to the railhead.”
Frank beamed at his friend. “Good for you and good for Carolyn.”
“There’s even more to it than that. Berta and Bea have decided to come with us too. They are right smitten with Jasper and Chance, and the feeling appears to be mutual. In a few years . . . well, who knows how it will work out?”
“You’d adopt the whole lot of them if you could,” Frank said.
“How about that Dixie Carpenter? A body would have to be blind as a mole not to see you two got a little thing goin’.”
Morgan shrugged. There was no use denying it to Luke or himself. “Yeah, I reckon we got something goin’.”
“Well, then, when you two get hitched, ya’ll can come home and settle down—stop all this driftin’.”
Frank held up his hand. “No one said anything about marriage yet, partner. It hasn’t even come up.”
Luke slapped his leg and laughed, deep in his belly. “Oh, oh, boy, you don’t think so? Sure it’s come up. A woman Dixie’s age don’t look at your eyes like that because she wants you to take her to the church social. And she sure as shootin’ don’t walk off with you into the dark.” Luke grinned at his friend. “Yeah, we seen the two of you, and so did George and Paula while we were all slippin’ off to find our own little slices of the night. Take it from me, a single woman brings you a piece of pie and sits by you around a campfire and she’s dreamin’ of tying the eternal knot.”
“So you and Carolyn already talked about getting married?”
“Yup, late last night. We’ll get hitched first chance we get. To be such a quick hand with a gun, you’re a little slow on the uptake, boyo.” Luke suddenly got quiet and he leaned in close to Frank. “Let’s get serious for a minute, okay?”
Frank shrugged. “Sure.”
“You got a considerable number of men after you.”
“I do. It’s been that way for some time. This is not a new situation.”
“Well, you got a woman to think about now. I ain’t sayin’ you should run scared or any such thing. I’m just suggestin’ that you think about comin’ home. Quit wandering around and getting yourself shot at.”
“You think that if I came home, no one would try and prod me?”
Luke shrugged. “I don’t know, Frankie, but for the most part at least, if you came back to Texas, you’d be among friends. Dixie could have a home. You know enough about women to know they got a need to put down roots.”
Frank sighed. “Home to Texas; it’s something to consider.”
Luke groaned to his feet and reached out for Frank’s cup. “Don’t worry about drinkin’ the coffee. It’ll probably kill the grass, but go ahead and pour it out.”
The trail boss stuck out his big hand. “Well, I got a herd to move.”
He whistled up the rest of the crew and shouted, “If we ever want to get to Pueblo, we best get movin’!”
* * *
By the time Frank made it back to the wagons, Dixie was up and tending to a large Dutch oven full of biscuits. A tall, blue-speckled coffeepot sat at the edge of the fire. He wondered how she could look so beautiful on so little sleep.
“I hope this is some of your famous brew,” Frank said pouring himself a cup. “I can’t begin to tell you how bad that cow-camp coffee was. I’ve heard of
folks throwing in some eggshell to settle the grounds. I believe they threw in the whole egg.” He took a sip, closed his eyes, and savored it.
“Did you eat?” Dixie asked.
“I had a piece of biscuit to be polite. At least I think it was biscuit. It was dark, I mighta been eatin’ a hunk of firewood or a cow patty.”
Dixie fed him a full-course breakfast, and gave him a peck on the cheek for dessert. Luke sure did know women.
After he ate, Frank hitched the mules. As brave a man as he was, with what he intended to do, he needed to hitch up his courage as well. Once the teams were well in harness, he called Dixie and the girls over to where he stood. He folded his arms in front of him and stared at them. For all his planning, he didn’t know how to begin. Just looking at Dixie’s bright and expecting face took all the starch out of him.
Faith, the oldest at almost seventeen, cocked her head to one side. “What’s wrong, Frank? You look like you just swallowed a bug.” She had her mother’s forthright attitude and spunk.
Frank raised his hand. “Be still a minute. I have something I need to tell you and it’s eatin’ a hole in me to keep it inside. It’s important.”
Dixie started to speak, but Frank shushed her. “All right, here’s the way things are going to be. I want you girls to listen and listen good. First, you are both going to get a good education. There are some top-notch universities back East, and I expect your mother would be happy for you to attend any one of them once you’re old enough. I’ll pay for it, so that shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll not have any stepdaughters of mine going through life as uneducated women with schooling becomin’ so important in this day and age.”
Dixie and both her daughters gasped, but Frank plowed ahead.
“Your mother wants to go to Denver, so we are going to go on up there and be married. After we’re married, if she’s willing, we’ll travel down to Texas for a while. If we like it we’ll stay. If not, I have a nice spread in New Mexico. It’s remote, but it will do.” Frank took a deep breath and unfolded his arms.“Now, I’ve said my piece.”
Both girls stood slack-jawed. Faith spoke first. “Are we supposed to call you Daddy or Mr. Morgan?”
“Frank will do just fine.”
“Will you really pay for our schooling and board and everything back East? I always wanted to be a doctor.” The wheels were already turning in Laura’s head.
“I said I would and I meant it.” He looked at Dixie. “All of it. Now, you girls run on. Me and your mama have a thing or two to sort out among ourselves.”
After the girls were gone, Dixie stood staring at Frank, a silly grin decorating the corners of her mouth.
“That,” she said, “was the strangest way to propose I’ve ever heard of.”
“I believe in getting straight to the point. Does my plan meet with your approval?”
She touched his face. “What do you think?”
He raised his eyebrows. “I think we need to hurry and get married so you can make an honest man out of me.”
* * *
Ephraim Swan sat in his folding wooden chair and watched the sparks from the huge cedar fire spiral upward and disappear into the blackness above him. The drovers they’d robbed the night before, near the little speck on the map where Colorado, Kansas, and Nebraska all came together, had left him richer by thousands, but he still felt hollow knowing Frank Morgan was alive and free to roam the country after the way he’d mucked everything up.
Times like this made him feel like he’d been too hasty to get rid of Carmen. She’d been dull-eyed and stupid, but at least she had provided some distraction from time to time. Now he had nothing but the buzzing talk of the other men as they divided up the loot to take his mind off the man he’d grown to hate more than anything in the world.
It wasn’t so much the loss of money, though he had stood to gain a considerable amount from the transaction with the Mexicans. There was always more money to steal from this puny settler or that hapless miner who struck it rich just long enough to brag about all his gold to the wrong people. No, there was money aplenty to be had in any number of ways.
Swan hated to be beaten. He despised the fact that Morgan had been able to kill so many of his men, that he’d been able to keep the women safe all by himself, when Swan, with his virtual army, hadn’t been able to get them back.
Gamble, who had been touted as the best hired gun around, hadn’t even come close to besting the stupid drifter.
In a few days, the wagons would be well into civilization and it would be all the more difficult to get at them. He knew the families had put their entire life savings somewhere in those wagons. He’d talked the ignorant men into doing just that. But the closer they got to towns and banks, the more likely each of the women was to make a deposit and put the money where he couldn’t get to it.
Swan looked deep into the glowing coals of the fire. He realized it wasn’t the money he was after at all. More than that, he just wanted Frank Morgan dead. If the gunfighter was too fast—or just too damned lucky to be killed—then so be it.
Swan lifted his head and howled at the stars like a crazy wolf. The men closest to him around the fire jumped at the horrific sound. One outlaw gave a little yelp.
“I’ve worked it all out, boys.” Swan stood and clapped both hands together, rubbing them in front of him like a fly. “We been goin’ about this all the wrong way. I shoulda kept after that train from the very beginning. Gather around and let me tell you what we’re goin’ to do.”
He bent to pitch more wood on the fire, and it rose up in a tall pyre in front of him, bathing him in orange light and warming his face as he spoke. He knew his huge shadow danced in the juniper and piñons behind him, and he saw the awe in the eyes of his men.
“The wagon train with the soon-to-be-dead Frank Morgan and all his women will be pullin’ into Pueblo soon. I say we head that direction and when opportunity rears its head we whack it off.” He stared hard at all the men around him. These men knew him. They’d all seen what he was capable of doing when he was upset.
“I’ve been offering ten thousand dollars to the man who kills Frank Morgan. I’ll say this once so listen to me good. I’m uppin’ my offer to double. That’s twenty thousand to the man who kills the worthless puke. If you can get to him before I do. But any man who wants the money better light a shuck and hurry, because tomorrow, I’m headin’ for Pueblo and when I get there, I aim to kill Frank Morgan myself or die tryin’.”
Chapter 22
As slow as the wagons were, they still moved faster than the ambling Double Diamond herd. Perkins wanted the cattle to be as fat as possible when they got to the market, so he let them laze along and didn’t rush them.
Frank had a three-day lead by the time the wagons rolled into the outskirts of Pueblo. They pulled to a stop next to a line of scrubby cedars by the dilapidated remnants of on old log-and-stone structure.
The closer they got to the town, the more animated Otis Chapmen became. He asked Frank a number of questions about the surrounding country, particularly the area to the north, toward the big gorge.
“You ever hear of a place called Cripple Creek?” he asked, out of earshot of all the others.
“Sure, Canyon City’s about forty miles that way.” Frank pointed to the northwest with an open hand. “The place you’re lookin’ for is a bit north of Canyon City.” The gunfighter grinned. “Your secret’s safe with me. I never had the lust for gold.”
“I didn’t fool you much, did I?”
“I’ve seen people with gold fever before, Otis. It’s what brought all these women out here with their husbands in the first place. Some folks strike it rich, others don’t. No matter how you look at it, from what I’ve seen it’s mighty hard work for what you get back.”
Chapman nodded. “I suppose I’m after the adventure more than the gold.”
“Good to hear. The search for gold generally amounts to a fool’s errand, but if you got your heart set on it, and that kin
d of attitude, I say Godspeed. When are you pulling out?”
Otis pranced like a horse left too long in the starting gate. “As soon as we can provision up. Salina and I are anxious to get up there and stake a small claim.”
“Make certain you get enough to last the winter.” He shook the man’s hand. “It’s been a pleasure knowing you and your family, Mr. Chapman.”
“The pleasure was all ours. I’d say we’ll meet again one day.”
Not one for prolonged good-byes, Frank tipped his hat to Salina and the boys. “Hope so,” he said, and went to find Dixie.
* * *
“Chapmans are leaving us,” he said when he found Dixie at her wagon. He leaned against the wagon wheel and rolled himself a smoke while he watched her. She puttered around the camp, tying off the cook tarp, unpacking utensils, and taking stock of what they might need to buy in town.
“Where are the girls?” Frank asked.
“Gone on in with everyone else. They promised to stay with Betty and keep out of trouble.”
Frank nodded. “How long ago did they leave?”
“Ten—fifteen minutes. George and Paula said they’d come back about three and stay with the stock while we go in. Look at these peppers, Frank.” Dixie held up two-foot-long string of bright red chilies. “A sweet old Mexican woman in a red scarf came out and sold them to me—along with some fresh tortillas. I thought we could have chili tonight. What would you think of that?” She leaned up against the wagon next to him.
“Sounds good. That señora, did she have her head?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Dixie gave him a quizzical look. “Of course she had her head.”
“You don’t know the story of old Pueblo and the Christmas massacre?”
She shook her head. Her auburn hair shimmered under a mid day sun.
“Well, on Christmas Day back in ’54, a bunch of Ute Indians came up to the old fort that used to stand pretty near where we are right now and asked if they could come inside and work out a peace treaty. The way I heard it, the poor Mexican folks inside were well into a good drunk from all their festivities, so they let the thievin’ buggers in. The Utes killed all but a woman and a couple of kids right here in the fort.”
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