LEGEND of the DAWN: The Complete Trilogy: LEGEND of the DAWN; AFTER the DAWN; BEFORE SUNDOWN.

by J. R. WRIGHT

  “Cow shit will keep it from festering.”

  Cooper ignored that and went right to what was on his mind.

  “Think they’ll be back?”

  “Nah, them was just kids out to make coup. They had no weapons other than their coup sticks,” Pierre said. “’Course, those can hurt.”

  “So that’s why you didn’t shoot to kill?” Cooper asked. “Which I assume is what you did, since there was no dead bodies about.”

  “Yep! You ought to try the cow shit, sir.”

  “If it starts to fester, then I’ll put a cow shit poultice on it, okay?” Cooper groaned. “So if they meant no real harm, why did I get an arrow?”

  “That wasn’t meant to kill either. But mainly you got it cause you’re the chief. You ought to be more careful. That kid that done that to you is a hero now, and there are others who would like to have that honor as well.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  On the last day of travel before their expected arrival at the trading fort, Luke went to the galley to help Pierre gather and return his personal things to the wagon: the sausage stuffer for one, that and the grinder, pots, pans, and sharp knives. During all of this time, Breanne had been up in the captain’s cabin, where her steamer trunk still was, preparing herself for the arrival.

  The trees that had fenced the river a goodly share of the way, keeping the countryside out, suddenly had opened up like a huge gate exposing the naked, gently rolling hills and prairies that lay beyond.

  Luke was at the railing outside the captain’s cabin, taking all this in, when Breanne came out. She wore the full length blue cotton dress purchased in Independence and had her golden hair up and tied with a length of pink ribbon. She also wore her pearls. Needless to say, she looked beautiful as well as elegant, and Luke said so.

  “I don’t know what you’ve done with my Breanne, but you had better produce her shortly or I will be forced to take you in her stead,” he teased.

  “Luke…!”

  He stepped into the cabin and pulled the heavy trunk through the door.

  “You look beautiful.” He pecked her on the cheek, then proceeded with the trunk.

  The massive fort sat on a rise just up from the river. It was a bee hive of activity. The newer fort constructed of twenty foot tall cottonwood pickets dwarfed the smaller structure off to the side. And this was the one familiar to Pierre from his last visit, decades ago.

  There was always great excitement and anticipation when the first boat of the year tied up at the levee bearing fresh supplies. And dozens stood anxiously by as the offloading began. All except one, who emerged through the crowd and made his way up the recently lowered ramp to the deck. The man was dressed in all the finery of a successful St. Louis merchant: neatly pressed grey wool trousers, vest to match, pleated white shirt, frock coat and top hat. His hair was red beyond belief and hung straight near to his shoulders. No doubt he was someone of importance, Luke thought as the man moved toward them, then parked himself at mid-deck facing away.

  It no time, it seemed Captain Cooper saw him there from the bridge above and hurried down to greet him. “Mister Jones, sir.” He hurried up, hand outstretched.

  Jones ignored the hand. “My horse, sir, have you brought my horse, Sir Henry?”

  “I have,” Cooper responded. “The stockman is giving him a final brushing. They will have him forward shortly, sir. He is certainly a beautiful stallion.”

  As if he hadn’t seen Breanne or Luke there before, Jones suddenly turned and made them his business.

  “And where might you be destined, young lady?”

  “Here,” Luke answered for her, taking offense he had addressed her only, or even at all.

  “Pretty thing like you ought not to be in a country like this. It’s mighty uncivilized at times, especially when the Indians decide to war with each other, or some other ungodly thing.”

  Cooper was quick then to make the introductions and tell of their wedding at the wood station. He then got off onto the story of the hellish storm, went on to tell of the overheated boiler, and finished with the Indian attack and his catching an arrow in the chest.

  Everything seemed fairly accurate in the telling, Luke thought, until Cooper came to the Indian attack. And then the only embellishment he made there was that he skipped the fact that it had just been young bucks out to make coup, who swarmed over the boat.

  “Were you hurt badly?” Silas Jones asked.

  “Nah, just a scratch,” he passed it off.

  Just then Preacher Pearson came around the engine room leading his roan mare fully saddled and came directly up to where Luke and Breanne stood at the wagon, waiting for Pierre to bring the mules around.

  “I have some bags,” he said, tying his horse to a wheel, “if I may put them in the wagon?”

  “Sure,” Luke said, now wondering what he had bit off in agreeing to allow Pearson to tag along. “Go get them.”

  Before long Pearson returned with two large leather suitcases, so heavy he could hardly tote them, and hoisted them into the wagon. Once that was done, he returned to his mare and began patting her neck.

  “Good girl, Madame Henry,” he said loud enough to be heard by Silas Jones nearby.

  “I’m sorry, but did I overhear you call that nag, Madame Henry?” Jones said as he approached him.

  “Well sir, I don’t agree with your calling her a nag! But yes, Madame Henry is her name now. It used to be Myrtle, but since she became wed to that stallion in back, I’ve taken to calling her that.”

  “Wed! What are you talking about?” Jones persisted.

  “I think it appropriate for animals to be wed if they are loved, just like I married up these two who were previously living in sin.” He gestured to Luke and Breanne. “I performed the ceremony myself, once I learned from Sir Henry’s caretaker what his given name was.”

  “Loved…?” Jones raged. “Are you trying to say my Sir Henry coupled with that range breed animal?”

  “Oh, yes sir,” Pearson said gleefully, “many times.”

  “Cooper, why was this allowed to happen? Wasn’t Sir Henry given a stall to his self? God knows, for what you charged me, I paid for it!”

  “We had the storm. We had to group them,” he lied. They were all penned together from the start. The single pens under roof were needed for extra cargo and never used for animals anymore.

  “How much?” Silas turned back to Pearson. “I want to buy that horse.”

  “Oh no, sir,” Pearson said. “She belongs to the Mormon Church. I couldn’t rightfully sell her even if I wanted to.”

  Just then a stockman came up with Sir Henry. Jones made a special effort to check him over thoroughly before turning back to Cooper.

  “I can’t have any half breed offspring of Sir Henry about! This is a ten thousand dollar stud, Cooper! I brought him here for the full blood mares I have at the fort. What will the value of my colts be if word gets out he got one free, even though inferior?”

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Cooper said. “In the meantime, we’ll have your cargo down on the levee in no time now. Best get your wagons here for the loading, sir.”

  With that, Jones angrily marched away. He was followed closely by the stockman with Sir Henry in tow.

  After he was fully out of earshot, Cooper tried desperately to reach some agreement with Pearson, but to no avail. Finally, he, too, stomped away in defeated anger.

  It was clear now to Luke that this Silas Jones had something to do with the management of that fort yonder. That being the case, he wondered if this dispute with the preacher may have some bearing on their ability to buy what supplies they needed, and as cheaply as otherwise expected. That, considering they had the whiskey for trade.

  Pierre eventually came with the harnessed mules and a bag of food from the galley slung over his shoulder. Soon thereafter they were off the boat and searching for a likely place to camp for the night.

  They found it about a mile inland from the fort along a c
lear water creek that Pierre knew about.

  While Pierre saw to it the mules were taken care of, Luke set about building a fire. There was still a skiff of ice along the creek, and an evening chill was setting in, which gave promise to a cold night.

  After borrowing some oats for his horse, Pearson went about scouring the creek bank for firewood, and by nightfall hours later, he had a mountain of it stockpiled. It was then they all sat down to a cold supper of smoked sausage and bread.

  After a couple of hours had been spent on making up a list and discussing strategy on how to handle those at the fort the following morning, Luke joined Breanne, who had already turned in for the night in the wagon.

  Eventually Pierre took his bedroll down by the creek, while the preacher, who had offered to stand the first watch, stayed huddled under a blanket by the fire.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  It was hours later when Luke awoke and noticed the fire had near gone out, and the preacher was nowhere to be seen. It was then the horrible smell got his attention. The same smell that had been in the wagon while on the boat seemed to have mysteriously returned. He thought of waking Breanne, but before he could do so a shot was fired from down by the creek. Breanne popped up, but Luke forced her back down. Momentarily, Pierre’s voice came from nearby.

  “Luke?”

  “We’re here,” he said, releasing his hold on Breanne and climbing from the wagon. “What happened?”

  “I saw him in the moonlight,” Pierre came walking up with the big bore in hand. “He was messing around here by the wagon.

  “Who?”

  “A small man. That’s how I knew it wasn’t the preacher. I fired in the air and he ran off down the creek.”

  “I smelled him,” Luke said. “Same smell I told you about on the boat.”

  “That would be Barney Sparks,” Pierre said. “Captain Cooper barred him from the galley and made him bunk with the livestock. He’s a buffalo skinner for American Fur, the ones that own the fort now. He winters in Independence and comes back here in the spring.”

  “Where’s Pearson?” Breanne asked.

  “Don’t know,” Pierre said. “His horse is still tied yonder with the mules.”

  While Luke rekindled the fire, Pierre reloaded the big bore and then went scouting for the preacher. He was back in minutes with the sad news.

  “Preacher must have heard something and went to check it out. Got his throat cut near ear to ear.”

  Upon hearing that Breanne buried her face in Luke’s chest and began sobbing miserably.

  “Why?” she finally said.

  “I don’t know why,” Luke said. “My guess is he planned to kill us all. Did you ever mention the gold?” He looked to Pierre.

  “Not that I recollect, but some were around and may have heard our talk after the storm, when I thought it was lost and then found out it wasn’t. I guess I did get a bit excited. That might have caused some talk.”

  “I reckon so,” Luke said, and tossed some more wood on the fire. “What’ll we do with the body?”

  “Bury it! The sooner the better! Those at the fort may just decide to blame this on us. That way, they can help themselves to everything we got, once we’re locked up or hanged.”

  Within two hours, Signore Pierson’s body was interred along with all his possessions. That is, except for his Mormon Bible, which Breanne wanted to keep. It had their marriage recorded in it, complete with the date, of which she hadn’t known exactly until now.

  Afterward Pierre and Luke raked the fire over the fresh dirt, erasing any evidence of the grave. And since it was now daybreak, Pierre went right to work frying up some side pork and potatoes for breakfast. A breakfast of which Breanne refused to partake in because of where it was cooked. She settled for cold sausage instead.

  “What’ll we do with the horse?” Luke asked.

  “I’ll be taking it to the fort when I go,” Pierre said. “I’ll just tell them the preacher wandered off in the night and never came back. ‘Course, I suspect they already know he’s dead.”

  “So you think Sparks was here because they sent him?”

  “Yep, he’s not a man to think for his self. Somebody told him to come here.”

  “Well, he had enough sense to go south for the winter,” Luke said.

  “He’s sent there to spy,” Pierre said. “Hang out at the saloons to find out where the trappers plan to go next season. American Fur has government leases to trap this whole country, all the way up from Missouri. They catch you in there they’ll kill you. Maybe even kill you before leaving Independence, once they know where you’re heading.”

  “What about where we’re going?”

  “Open country. We have nothing to fear from American Fur there. Already checked it out with that Sparks fellow.”

  “So you know him?”

  “No, but I did visit with him once in a while when I took his meals to the stock pens, since he wasn’t allowed to eat in the galley.”

  Pierre left out for the fort with just the five barrels of whiskey in the wagon. Everything else had been off loaded in camp. He carried no gold or other possessions other than the preacher’s horse, complete with saddle, tied behind. Three hours later he returned on foot. When Luke saw him coming, he walked out to meet him.

  “Got it all,” he said and laughed heartily from a near toothless mouth. “Jones was so tickled to get that whiskey and that horse of the preacher’s, he agreed to fill the whole order just for that in trade.”

  “Where’s the wagon?” Luke asked, even though he was fairly sure he knew.

  “They needed it to fit the new canvas cover. Got that too! They’ll have it done this afternoon.”

  “Good,” Luke was thrilled. “Then we can leave out first thing in the morning?”

  “We’ll leave out tonight just after dark,” Pierre said sternly. “I don’t want them devils knowing when we left or which way we went.”

  After some thought, Luke concluded Pierre was right. They did need to get away from here fast. Why else would Silas Jones have been so generous in the trade, over a thousand dollars in goods for the whiskey and horse, if he didn’t expect to get it all back once they were bushwhacked out there on the trail somewhere?

  “You get the rifles?” he was anxious to know now.

  “Six Hawken fifty caliber, just what we put down. Along with a fifty pound keg of black powder, hundred pounds of shot, and a thousand caps.” Pierre laughed some more.

  Breanne was down at the creek filling jugs with fresh water when she heard all the laughter and came up to see what it was all about. It had been a sad day so far with what had happened to the preacher, and she felt she could do with some cheering up.

  “What’s so funny?” she asked, hoping to be allowed to join in.

  “Pierre got everything on the list for just what he took,” Luke said, smiling outwardly. However, in his heart he held only fear and anxiety. But, of course, he wouldn’t share that with her. He saw no sense in her having to deal with any more distress this day.

  “Even the fifty pounds of sugar?” she asked excitedly. She was so anxious to make up some toffee so they had something sweet to suck on as they traveled.

  “Yep,” Pierre smiled proudly.

  Pierre went for the wagon an hour before sundown and returned at dusk. Since he figured they were being watched, and told Luke so, he unhitched the mules as if planning to spend the night. He then got right to work cooking supper while Luke and Breanne unhurriedly reloaded the previously unloaded items back into the wagon. When it was fully dark, and the fire had dwindled to faint coals, they re-hitched the mules and quietly drove away.

  With Pierre at the reins, he purposely entered the shallow flowing creek and steered the wagon downstream for near a mile before turning about in a wide spot and reversing course. All the while this was going on, Breanne was in the far back keeping an eye out for approaching danger, while Luke was on the feed bags beside her, loading the six new rifles.

 
They traveled on this way for most of the night, until the creek petered out, and they were forced to land. This was more strenuous on the mules, because it was now hills and valleys to deal with, as opposed to the level travel of the stream. When daybreak came they were near done in. That’s when Pierre drove the wagon among some leafless willows beside a newly arrived at river and pulled up.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Pierre built a small fire of twigs and brought out a slab of bacon. Meanwhile, Luke unhitched the mules and tied them in some tall, lifeless grass near the river. Breanne, who had remained awake along with Luke most of the night, brought out the buffalo robe and some blankets and made a bed next to the wagon.

  They sat down to a fine breakfast of bacon and biscuits, and ate while watching the sunrise over the hills to the east. Breanne was attracted to the way it lit the valleys to both sides of their location before finally peeking over a large hill far in the distance.

  There was a group of crows that suddenly gathered in some tall cottonwoods down by the river. They seemed to have been brought by the smell of the bacon cooking. Now they patiently waited for any scraps that may be discarded after the meal.

  “Bears take to bacon,” Pierre said, pulling his eye from the crows back to check their reaction to what he was about to say. “They’ll come on a run from far off to get to it.”

  With that, Luke took a good look around, then tossed his attention to Breanne, who was creating a scraping sound as she used the folding knife to finely dice her bacon on the tin plate. It was shameful, the necessary labor she must apply to each meal for simple sustenance. Doing some quick math, he came to the conclusion that maybe it was time the wires in her teeth came out. Doctor Scott had said at the time a month or six weeks. Give or take, it was near six weeks now. He wanted to be sure the jaw had plenty of time to heal; otherwise, he would have done it sooner, on one of those numerous occasions when she had begged him to. The last time was just before the wedding, when she wanted to look her utmost best. It hurt him to refuse then, but with no doctor about if it should re-break, how could he take the risk?