The Yellow Rose

by Gilbert, Morris

  Clay groaned. “Woman, I can’t talk. I gotta sleep. Runnin’ this ranch tires a man out.”

  “No, you’ve got to tell me what you did. It’s too early to go to sleep.”

  Clay had discovered that Jerusalem loved to talk in bed. She was not interested in the big picture. She wanted to know the finite details of everything he did during the day, and if he went to sleep before he finished telling her, she would dig her elbow into him and wake him up and make him talk more.

  “All right.” He groaned, and for a time he lay there flat on his back. He told her mostly about Quaid Shafter, about his times with the young man’s father in the mountains and what a good man he was. But he said, “I don’t know much about Quaid. He was real young when I knew him.

  No more than sixteen or seventeen. But he was undependable, I remember, and was a grief to his pa. If he hasn’t changed, I’ll be lucky if he hangs around long enough to pay Frisco off.”

  Clay’s voice grew fuzzy, and he drifted off. He was awakened by a sharp elbow nudging his side.

  “Don’t do that, woman! I’m so tired I could scrape it off with a stick!”

  Jerusalem, however, leaned over him and looked down into his eyes.

  “I’ve got some news for you,” she said, her eyes dancing.

  Clay did not see them, for his own eyes were closed. “Can’t it wait until tomorrow? “ “No.”

  “What is it, then?”

  “We’re going to have a baby.”

  Clay did not move for a moment, then his eyes opened, and he stared into her face. “What? A baby! Why, that’s impossible!”

  Jerusalem put her hands on the sides of his face and kissed him on the nose. “You’ve made it very possible, Clay.”

  “Why, it just can’t be!”

  Jerusalem stared at him, shocked at his response. She rolled over and turned her back to him. Clay instantly knew he had hurt her feelings.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “You don’t want this baby,” she said stiffly.

  “Why, certain I want it! You just spring that on me of a sudden, and I’ve got to get used to it.” He began to stroke her back, and finally she softened and turned over.

  “Would you want a girl or a boy?” she asked.

  “Why, it would have to be one or the other, wouldn’t it?”

  She laughed at him, and the two lay there talking. She was more excited than Clay had ever seen her, but soon she grew sleepy. She turned over and went to sleep almost at once. Clay lay there for a while, his mind racing at the news that he was going to be a father. As the excitement grew inside him, he couldn’t keep it inside, so he nudged her and said, “Wake up, Jerusalem.”

  “What’s the matter?”

  “I want to talk some more about this baby.”

  “Not tonight, Clay, I’m so sleepy.”

  “Too bad. Now you know how I feel. Now, listen,” he said, shaking her shoulder, “I’ve been thinkin’ about names. How about if it’s a boy we can give him a Bible name.”

  “I think that would be good—like David or Jeremiah.”

  “No, I was thinking more about the name that old prophet Isaiah gave his boy.”

  “I don’t remember that.”

  “Why, he named him Mahershalalhasbaz.”

  Jerusalem’s eyes flew open. She was horrified. “Why, that’s awful!”

  “No, it ain’t. We could call him ‘Hash’ for short. And if we have a girl,” he said, “we’ll name her Jezebel. We can call her Jez or Jezzy.”

  Jerusalem began to laugh. “You are absolutely crazy, Clay Taliferro.”

  Clay put his arms around her and held her close, stroking her hair.

  “You took me plumb off-guard, wife, but now that I’m used to the idea, I’m plumb proud of myself.”

  “Proud of yourself! What about me? Don’t I have any part of having this baby?”

  “Well,” Clay said thoughtfully, “you can be my helper . . .”

  CHAPTER

  SEVENTEEN

  Moriah sat in the wagon seat beside Quaid Shafter and could not remember a time when she had had such mixed emotions about a human being. She was a young woman who liked to keep things straight and orderly and in proper perspective in every way, but Quaid Shafter had disturbed this equilibrium. As she sat on the far side of the seat so that she would not brush against him, she cast a sideways glance at the young man.

  One thing that troubled her was that he was one of the most attractive men she had ever seen. He wasn’t neatly handsome in the way of Len Pennington, but there was a ruggedness about him that drew the eyes of women. She studied Shafter as he sat loosely in the seat, whistling cheerfully. His eyes were apparently fixed on nothing more important than the horses. He was clean cut, deeply tanned, and his light blue eyes seemed to leap out from that darkness. They were deep-set, very light, and she felt uncomfortable when he looked at her. It was his hair that set him off from all other men, pure silver and soft, cut now so that it fell on the back of his collar.

  Shafter slapped the back of the mules with the line and suddenly turned to face her. He had a very wide mouth, and now he stopped whistling and grinned at her. “My music bother you?”

  “No.”

  “I can’t sing much, so I had to learn how to whistle. I expect you sing pretty well.”

  “Why would you think that?”

  Quaid shrugged his shoulders and remarked, “You just look like a woman that can sing.”

  “That’s foolish.”

  “I expect it is. Most of the things I do and say are pretty foolish. It’s a gift I have.”

  When Moriah had noticed that she was attracted to this young man, it had a reverse effect on her. She grew stiff and answered him only in monosyllables, which he seemed not to notice. This also irritated her, and now she said sharply, “If you’d work a little bit more, you wouldn’t have to think up things to occupy your time like whistling.”

  “Why, I tried work when I was a young fellow, but it just didn’t turn out right. I think I’m like a mule we had back when I was a boy growing up. His name was Jesse. Well, Jesse would pull a light load, but if he came out and saw a heavy plow or a wagon heavy loaded, why, he’d turn right around and run back in the barn. I had to put a trace chain around his neck and have a bigger mule drag him out through the gate. He was one cantankerous individual, Jesse was.”

  “Work never hurt anybody. You might do better if you thought on that more.”

  “Why, I sure will, Miss Moriah. I’ll think on it right hard.”

  Quaid’s voice was cheerful, but there was a slyness that lurked around the corners of his lips. She knew he was teasing her, and it irritated her.

  She glanced down at the big new gun he wore everywhere he went. Many men carried guns in Texas, but there was something ostentatious about the weapon that Quaid Shafter carried around. The barrel and the cylinder were highly polished, and the handle was carved out of pure ivory. It seemed frivolous, and she asked, “Why do you carry a gun all the time?”

  “Why, I reckon because I found out you can get more from folks with a kind word and a gun than you can with a kind word alone.”

  It was the kind of answer that he made all the time. Moriah had discovered that he was witty enough, and a cheerful young man, though Clay said he was almost worthless at any work unless you posted another man to watch him. “Well, I might as well tell you I don’t appreciate the way you’ve treated our family. Clay got you out of jail and gave you a job, and you haven’t been any help at all.”

  “You know, I expect you’re plumb right about that, Miss Moriah. I’m just a no-good bum, is what I am. I’ve been tryin’ to think when it happened to me.”

  “When what happened to you?”

  “When I became no good and lost all of the good qualities that a man ought to have. You know,” he said thoughtfully, “I’d like to think it all happened in an instant. That I was a good man full of nobility and high ideals, but somebody offered me a passe
l of money and I sold out and became a crook all in one minute.” Shafter shook his head and assumed a look of sadness. “But it wasn’t like that. I turned worthless a little at a time. It’s like little mice came in the night, startin’ a long time ago, and they carried off just a little bit of my honor and goodness. Why, I didn’t even notice it! But they kept comin’ back night after night, and I looked up one day and found out that they had carried every bit of my goodness off with them! Ain’t that a pitiful thing for a man to let happen?”

  Moriah suddenly flared out at him. “I believe you’ve lost your honor, all right!”

  “You ain’t the only one who thinks that, Miss Moriah. I’ve got a bad reputation. Why, even the Indians look down on me when I live with ’em.

  Ain’t that a horrible thing to think about?”

  The wagon rumbled over the ruts in the road, and the dust rose up behind it. Moriah sat there half fascinated by the rather exotic young man beside her, drawn and repelled at the same time.

  Finally, he drew up at a small creek that crossed the road and said, “Better let the horses drink. They’re mighty thirsty.” He sat there loosely for a time, then straightened up and turned to face her. “So you’re gonna get married.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Well, congratulations. That’s a lucky fellow that caught a good-lookin’ woman like you.”

  “Never mind my good looks,” she said curtly.

  Quaid opened his eyes wide in mock surprise. “Why, a man can’t help noticin’ a pretty woman. Didn’t you know that?” He put his arm up on the back of the seat as he spoke, and Moriah listened, intrigued by his manners. He seemed to be able to take small incidents out of his past and was, despite his laziness and obvious worthless character, able to fascinate people just with his words. As he spoke of his early life, how he had gone with his father into the mountains, he said, “When I left the farm and went to the mountains, everything changed. You know how it is, don’t you?

  Sometimes a man drops something. He bends over, picks it up, and when he gets up and looks around, the whole world has changed all at once. You ever notice that?”

  Moriah had noticed that life could suddenly go in a different direction when you least expected it. The biggest change in her life had been when Len Pennington had fallen in love with her. It had happened suddenly, almost as quickly as Quaid Shafter said. She was so engrossed with his talk, she was shocked to feel the touch of his hand on her shoulder. He had moved closer to her, and though the touch of his hand was light, she was intensely aware of it. “Take your hand off of me, Quaid.”

  But Quaid Shafter was laughing at her. He reached out easily, pulled her around, and his move was so fast that she had no time to think. She started to open her mouth to protest, but his rough kiss prevented her from saying anything. His grip tightened, and for one instant, Moriah was shocked at how his touch stirred her. Then anger filled her at his boldness, and she wrenched her head away and struck at his chest. “You take your hands off of me, you hear me!”

  “Well, sure I will,” Quaid said. “I didn’t—”

  “You’re nothing but a trashy bum, Quaid Shafter. Get those horses started, and don’t say another word to me.”

  Shafter moved back to his seat and picked up the lines. He slapped the horses and startled them into a fast trot. After a few minutes he turned, and all the laughter had left his face. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”

  “Yes, you did.”

  “Look, Miss Moriah, it was just a kiss. Don’t put a man down when he’s drawn to you. That’s just something that’s in you.”

  Moriah turned to face him and spoke more sharply than she intended.

  “I’ve told you what I think of you. Now, keep your dirty hands off of me.

  If you don’t, I’ll tell Clay, and he’ll run you off the ranch.”

  Moriah saw that her words struck harder than she had intended. The impulse came to soften them, but she had no chance. He turned away from her and slapped the back of the horses, urging them up into a gallop. The road, such as it was, was rutted and filled with potholes, and she had all she could do to hang on.

  Ten minutes later they pulled into Jordan City, and she said curtly, “Let me out there at the general store.” She waited until he pulled the wagon up and noted he had not said a word. She got out and looked up at him. “It will take me an hour to get my business done. Meet me right here.” He did not answer, and she spoke sharply. “Do you hear me, Shafter? Meet me right here.”

  Quaid turned to face her, and for a moment, it seemed that he would ignore her. But then he nodded and said, “One hour.” He slapped the backs of the horses with the lines, and the wagon moved off.

  Moriah watched him go. I didn’t handle that well. There was no call for me to be so sharp. Clay said he’s had a hard time since his pa died, but he shouldn’t have put his hands on me and kissed me. Troubled by the incident, she turned and walked along the boardwalk, unable to get the incident out of her mind.

  It had taken Moriah longer to make her purchases than she had thought, so it was nearly an hour and a half before she returned to where Quaid was supposed to be waiting with the wagon. She expected to find Quaid there, but there was no sign of the wagon. She had a heavy parcel in her arm, and as she glanced up and down the street, she could see no sign of the him.

  “Well, hello, Miss Hardin. Come to do a little shoppin’?” Sheriff Bench had approached her. He took off his hat and smiled, saying, “Let me help you with that package.”

  “How are you, Sheriff?”

  “Mighty fine. Where’s your wagon?”

  “I don’t know. Quaid Shafter drove me in. He was supposed to have been here.”

  Something changed in Sheriff Bench’s face. “He’s down at the Golden Lady.”

  “The saloon?”

  “Yes, ma’am. As a matter of fact, I don’t know if he’s able to drive you home. He was pretty drunk. Can I get him for you?”

  “No, I’ll do it myself. Thank you, Sheriff.”

  Bench looked alarmed. “You ain’t going into the saloon?”

  “My aunt works there, so I guess it’s safe enough for me to go in and get Shafter out.”

  “Better let me do that, miss.”

  “No, thank you, Sheriff.”

  Moriah smiled, but there was no warmth in it. She turned and walked away, and Sheriff Bench watched her. He muttered to himself, “Them Hardin women sure are stubborn folks. I’d hate to be Quaid Shafter and have one of ’em after me!”

  Moriah walked straight to the Golden Lady Saloon and noticed the wagon hidden behind a large freight wagon on a side street. She went to it, deposited her packages, and then went back to the saloon. She had never been in a saloon in her life and was curious. Stepping inside, she saw that the place was occupied only by a few men and two women. One of the women was sitting with Quaid at a table. Her chair was drawn up close, and as Moriah stared at them, the woman reached up and ruffled Quaid’s silver hair and laughed shrilly. Everyone in the saloon was watching her, and she wondered where Julie was. Frisco Barr was standing at the bar, leaning against it leisurely. He stood up at once and came over to her.

  “Well, hello, Miss Moriah. You come to see Julie?”

  “No, I came for that drunk over there.” Moriah lifted her voice, and everyone in the saloon heard her. She stared at Quaid, who had realized that the saloon had suddenly grown quiet. He had to struggle to focus his eyes, and he got to his feet slowly.

  “Why, hello, Miss Moriah,” Quaid said, his speech slurred.

  Moriah was disgusted. “Shafter, you’re nothing but a drunk. Don’t bother coming back to the ranch. You’re fired!”

  She whirled and walked out of the saloon, hurried to the wagon, and climbed into it. She put the brake off and spoke to the horses sharply, and they started off at a fast clip. Pulling out into the middle of the street, she heard her name, “Miss Moriah!” and turned to see Shafter. He had exited from the saloon and was now running,
trying to catch up with her. Anger boiled over in her, and she turned and shouted, “Go on back to your whiskey and your women! That’s all you’re good for!” She slapped the horses, and they broke into a gallop. When she was down the street, she saw that Shafter had stopped and was staring after her. I hope he doesn’t come back. I don’t care what Clay says. We don’t need him.

  Back in the middle of the street, Quaid Shafter mumbled, “Go on back to my whiskey? Well, I’ll just do that!” He turned and made his way back into the saloon and said, “Come on, Annie, we’re behind on our drinking.”

  He was taken off-guard when Julie Satterfield suddenly spoke. She had come into the saloon during his absence, and she said, “Why aren’t you with Moriah?”

  “She run off and left me.”

  “You’re supposed to take her home.”

  “Let her take herself home,” Quaid muttered. He moved over toward the dark-haired dance hall girl who was grinning at him. She put her hands out and held herself against him. “Forget about her, honey. Let’s have a good time.”

  Julie stared with disgust at Shafter and shook her head. Frisco came up and said, “I don’t know why they put up with Shafter.”

  “I don’t either,” Julie said. “I’m going to tell Clay what he’s done, and I hope he stomps a mud hole in that worthless Shafter!”

  As Moriah rode out of town, she was breathing hard, still angered at what she felt toward Quaid. He had no right to try to force his kiss on her, and now getting drunk made her all the more repulsed by him. Suddenly one of the horses screamed and reared up. Confused, Moriah called out, “What’s the matter, Sam?”

  And then she saw it. An arrow buried itself halfway of its length into the horse’s side. The crimson blood spurted out, and the big horse began to collapse. She turned and saw the Indians then, only five of them, but they were all staring at her. All except one was smiling. The biggest one drew an arrow and notched it and sent it into the other horse directly into the neck. The horse cried piteously, making terrible noises, and Moriah clung to the lines as if they were a lifeline. Horror was a slow-moving thing that ran along her nerves. As the five drew a circle around her, all the horrible memories of being captured by Red Wolf flooded her mind. She knew only too well how the Comanches tortured and killed their captives. The horses were both dying, kicking and uttering plaintive noises, but Moriah could only look at the leader.