by J. R. WRIGHT
Luke nudged the horse closer and nearly had the rifle’s muzzle between Dunlap’s wide eyes when he pulled the trigger. It was clear now Jeb Dunlap would never hurt another soul, ever again. His days of terror had just ended.
Luke looked around and saw one of the whores come from the saloon and yank a rifle from the elevated arms of the only remaining deputy still showing life.
Luke retrieved his last loaded rifle, but before he had a chance to use it, the whore put a slug from the deputy’s own gun into his head. She then dropped the rifle as if it was a poisonous snake and looked up to Luke forlornly.
“Hi, Luke,” she said. “Good to see you again.”
Even with the addition of the shaggy beard and the longer hair, she still recognized him. Maybe it was the eyes. Breanne had once said he had sincere eyes.
“Thanks, Lilly,” he returned, reined the horse over, and rode away.
“You take care now, hear?” she shouted after him.
At the grove of elms again, Luke reloaded the empty rifles, fed the horses some corn, then headed back for Independence. He would follow the river and ride all night. He doubted a posse would be formed any time soon, but wanted a head start to be safe.
After mostly night travel, and little rest, Luke approached the ferry landing the evening of the third day. The ferry was not there, and neither was the elevated rope that guided the barge across the river. Glancing back downriver, Luke now knew why. Far in the distance a riverboat was approaching, and the rope needed to be taken down to allow its passage.
Luke rode on down to the river so the horses could drink and dismounted. From the pack on the filly, he tossed out some of the Mandan ear corn and sat on the ground. He watched the steamboat as it got closer and closer. Knowing it would be a considerable time before the ferry was running again, he pulled his hat down over his eyes and stretched out for a nap.
The nap, however, was short-lived. The steamboat captain saw to that with long and persistent blasts on the steam horn. Luke lifted his hat to see if he recognized the boat and was surprised to see that he did! On the bridge was old Bill Cooper doing his best to get someone’s attention on shore. Luke looked around to see who else was about and saw no one. It was then he realized it was he Cooper frantically waved his hat to, his near snow white hair blowing in the breeze.
Once Cooper knew he had Luke’s attention, he motioned for him to follow on upriver to be across from where he normally docked the boat on the levee. Luke wasted no time doing as he asked.
Once the boat was properly nosed into shore and the ramp lowered, Cooper secured a small boat on shore and rowed across. Luke went to the water’s edge and gave the elderly man a hand to shore.
“I just had to shake the hand of the man that killed Jeb Dunlap.”
“News travels fast,” Luke said, alarmed at what he just heard. “How did you know it was me?”
“Hell, I was there!” Cooper said. “When I heard that first blast, I knew it was that gun you got there in your hand that done it. Then when Lilly came back in and said it was you…”
“You were in the saloon?”
“Hell yes, that’s what I’m trying to tell you!” the dignified old man barked. “Once the news got out Dunlap was dead, that whole end of town turned out to celebrate. Say man, you’ve got to get out of here. The big wigs already put a reward on your head, dead or alive – five hundred dollars. They were sticking up posters the next morning, just before I left St. Louis. The only thing they got right is your name. The face drawing looks odd – not at all like you look now. There were even some missing teeth. But then Lilly gave the description and verified the final sketch when nobody else would. She’s still my favorite whore even if she is getting a little old.”
Luke laughed. “Good ole Lilly. She may have saved my life. She turned the gun around on one of the wounded deputies and blew half his head away just as casual as if she did it every day.”
“I saw that through the window,” Cooper said, “but I don’t think anybody else did. Leastwise no one said anything when the other police officers and the mayor showed up an hour later. Charlie Walker was sworn in as captain to replace Dunlap.”
“What kind of a man is he?”
“Can’t be all bad. He hated Dunlap, so I’m told,” Cooper said. “So what made you decide to come back from the North Country? And say, how is Pierre and that gal you married…”
“Both dead!”
“What... how?”
“Look Bill, it’s a long story I’d just as soon not relive. I think I should be moving along.” Luke looked over and saw the ferry going across the river with the guide rope trailing behind.
“I think the best that can happen to you is you turn up dead.”
If Cooper was trying to get Luke’s attention with that statement, he certainly succeeded. In fact, Luke thought of punching him for having said it.
“I’ve got a friend upriver that’s been dead for ten years. Yet he’s just as alive as you and I.”
“Would you mind explaining to me what you’re trying to say?”
“I’m saying that once you’ve gone away from here for a month or so, I start telling around here and St. Louis that you’re dead. That way things ease up and people forget. Next thing you know, it’s like it never happened, after a decade or so. Otherwise, bounty hunters will chase after you all over this land. Those greedy bastards!”
“So how will I die that’ll be convincing?”
“Comanche got you out on the Santa Fe trail. Members of a wagon train saw the whole thing and brought word of it back. And to make it more convincing, I’ll add that it was because of your bravery in battle that the others survived.” Cooper laughed, showing yellowed teeth in contrast to his well-trimmed white beard.
“I don’t see myself that way,” Luke said. He wasn’t one for lying, anyway. And to tell one that made him out a hero set against him completely. How would he ever come back some day knowing that was out there? He guessed maybe he wouldn’t come back ever. Then that would be the end of that.
“You wanted it convincing!” Cooper laughed again.
“It’s your lie. Tell it any way you want,” Luke finally said and climbed on the stallion. “Thank you, Bill Cooper.” He reached out a hand to serve as a farewell. “I won’t be forgetting you.”
“You either, Luke McKinney.”
“Tom Hill… The new name is Tom Hill.”
“Then I’ll be seeing you, Mister Hill. God speed, my friend!” Cooper stepped back and watched him go, tall in the saddle, to the ferry and board it. One more wave, and it was farewell to Luke McKinney forever. He would not easily be forgotten. And he was brave, going up against Jeb Dunlap and the most ruthless of his deputies the way he did, regardless of how he saw himself. It was something every sensible person in St. Louis knew needed doing, but Luke was the only one with gonads enough to get it done. He was just a kid – nineteen, maybe twenty. But he was a man to be respected, nonetheless. Bill was happy he had had the opportunity to know such a man.
The last Bill Cooper saw of him, he rode up the bank on the other side of the river, steered the red horses toward some far hills beyond, and kicked the stallion to a lope.
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
It was in November when another young woman was sent to Taloma for care. She was heavy with child out of wedlock, and because of this was being treated badly by the attached women of the village. None of them wanted a bastard child about to look at, wonder if it was their man who had been unfaithful. So with every opportunity, some of them sneaked punches to her belly in hopes this would cause her to abort. It was then Brave Fox stepped in to rescue the situation.
Taloma did not care much for this newcomer either and argued fiercely with Brave Fox to have her taken away. However, he stubbornly refused, convincing the old woman she would need to make the best of it for the sake of the unborn child.
Thereafter, many confrontations occurred between Taloma and this new woman. Once it was because she
took things Taloma had made for Breanne’s upcoming baby: booties, a small breechclout, a blanket – all made from soft doeskin. At other times it was because she refused to participate in the workload that was required to maintain the lodge.
Finally, the burden of providing for the two of them, both soon to give birth, and the constant bickering with the newcomer became too much for Taloma, and she fell ill. She was taken to the lodge of her son to be nursed by his obedient wife.
That very day, her heart heavy with worry for her friend, Breanne began labor. She lay for hours, uncomforted in her pain. The newcomer offered no help. In fact, she appeared to be having similar problems of her own.
Sometime during the night, Breanne found she could endure the pain no longer and succumbed to unconsciousness. When she awoke the following morning most of the pain had subsided. She felt very cold and was attempting to cover herself when she discovered the lifeless form beside her. It was a baby, and she could see as she held it up to the faint light coming from the partially open flap of the teepee that it was very dark skinned, an Indian baby. She screamed and carried the dead infant outside, where she dropped it to the ground before collapsing herself.
Hours later she awoke and noticed the fire in the teepee had been rekindled. She was tucked snuggly between fresh buffalo robes, and Taloma was at her side.
“What happened?” Breanne questioned softly.
“Baby dead!” Taloma said. It was the first English she had heard her speak, but her mind wasn’t focused on that. Her concern was elsewhere. Then, when the horror came back to her, she began to cry.
“No cry,” Taloma said, doing her best to smile as tears rolled down her own cheeks. “Baby, spirit of bird, fly away.” She went through all the motions as she spoke.
Breanne looked around then and noticed the other woman had gone.
“Where is the other one?” She pointed to the empty bed across the lodge.
“Gone,” Taloma said. “Show new baby to others. No come back now.”
With those comforting words, in the midst of her weakened condition, Breanne slipped off into a deep sleep.
Over the next few months, Breanne slowly recovered her health until finally she was as fit as she had ever been. The young bucks had started coming around again, but it was her who chased them away now, to the delight of Taloma.
Then one spring day, as Breanne busied herself at working corn into meal, someone approached. Then in a bearlike voice he spoke down to her.
“Are you Breanne, the wife of Luke McKinney?”
She slowly lifted her eyes to a fully bearded face – a red bearded face from somewhere in the past. By his side was Chief Brave Fox.
“I’m Beaver Charlie, remember me? I saw you early last spring over on the Cheyenne.”
Breanne did not respond. It had been so long since she’d seen a person of her own race, she thought she may be dreaming.
“I’ve come for you. Brave Fox here says you can go.”
Breanne looked down at the corn again not knowing what to say. She had so completely convinced herself, over time, she would be spending the rest of her life here with these people, what she heard now confused her. She had birthed an Indian baby, didn’t that make her one of them? Was not Taloma the mother she never had?
“Where is Luke? Why has he not come for me?”
“Don’t know,” Charlie responded. “He’s not at the cabin. I just came from there. Last I saw of him was June, near a year ago. There was a rendezvous about to happen. I stopped by to tell them. Came by again after, and they was gone. I check regular, ma’am, and they ain’t been back.”
There were other things Charlie could tell her, but chose not to at this time. One was the extra grave down by the creek. He didn’t know who was in it. That and the two dead bodies he had stumbled across when returning from the rendezvous, on the trail nearby. He knew the one hanging from the tree was Silas Jones. He had met him at the rendezvous. It fact he had taken his fancy hat found on the ground near where he hung. That, he knew would bring a pretty penny at the village of his woman’s people, and it did. The chief himself gave two fine beaver pelts for it. The other man was too eaten up by animals to know who he was. Regardless, bad things happened there, probably the reason for them leaving. Whoever was left alive had long gone.
“Why did he leave me behind?” Breanne questioned, still gazing at the corn.
“‘Cause he thinks you’re dead. He told me so himself. He said he found your body in some burnt Indian village.”
“Dead?” she let this settle in. The maiden, she thought. She had taken her boots. Her village had been burned. He must have mistaken the maiden for her in the maiden’s obvious condition after the fire.
“Oh my God!” she screamed. “I must find him. He must know I am alive.” She tossed the bowl of corn aside and sprang to her feet. “Where will I go?”
“You can come with me,” Charlie said.
“Will you help me find him?”
“He may return. In the meantime, you can stay with my woman and me,” Charlie offered.
“Maybe I should stay here until Luke returns?” Breanne looked around at the familiar faces that surrounded her now.
“You’re not wanted here any longer.”
Breanne slowly turned to face Brave Fox, questioning why she must go. She saw a sadness suddenly appear on the old chief’s face. She knew then this was not something he wanted either, but something that needed doing to protect the purity of his people. She had heard plenty of that from him while she had been there.
“I’ll go,” she said and moved past the old chief. “I have some things.” She entered the teepee that had been her home for almost a year. There she took the buckskin dress Taloma had made for her, along with the baby booties she had also made and so lovingly decorated with colorful beads.
Emerging back into the daylight, Taloma faced her. Unable to control herself, Breanne clutched at the old woman, drew her in and cried hysterically for a time. Finally she pushed away, saw the old woman was crying too, and quickly walked to Charlie.
After one last look around at all the sad faces, she said, “I’m ready.”
They reached Beaver Charlie’s mule Francis tied at the edge of the village, gathered it, and the two of them walked away to the southeast.
Breanne never looked back.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Some weeks after Breanne left, news was brought to Brave Fox that a woman in the village had died of a great fever, and many others were sick. Upon investigation, Brave Fox discovered the dead woman had a baby boy, and no man or other woman to care for it. Since the baby was still on the breast, and other lactating females were also suffering the disease, his immediate decision was that the baby be taken to his lodge and that Taloma should be sent for.
“Is there no woman fresh with child that might care for this baby?” Taloma responded when Brave Fox asked her to care for it. She knew the child was the product of the squaw who had shared her teepee, along with Breanne, when both were pregnant. Since she had no good feelings for the woman, she hesitated to care for the baby. She also knew it was wrong to take her hatred for this woman out on the boy. She would care for him if Brave Fox insisted, but she wouldn’t much like it.
“Those few are also sick with the spots that break the skin,” Brave Fox answered.
“Then I will take the little one and feed it mare’s milk until this sad time has passed,” Taloma reluctantly volunteered.
“I am an old man who yet has a son to someday take my place as chief,” Brave Fox spoke with concern. “My last remaining wife has passed her fruitful time. It is my wish that this orphan boy be raised as my own. He will give me great pleasure in last years.”
“I will do as you say, and speak to the gods that both you and the boy be spared this evil disease,” she said. She picked up the cradleboard containing the baby and started to leave.
“You must move your lodge to the north where the creek flows clear. Take only
those from your side of the village, who are not sick, to help you,” the wise old chief said.
“Will you also be moving to the new camp?” Taloma asked.
“I must remain here with my people till this evil has passed. When all are well again, then I will come, not before.”
It was that afternoon at the clear water creek, where Taloma’s lodge had been moved, that she discovered the truth. Upon bathing the baby, a blackness came from his hair. At first, this frightened Taloma, until she realized the baby’s golden hair beneath had been purposely blackened to hide his true identity. This was a white baby she held in her arms – Breanne’s baby, no doubt. The hated one must have switched her own stillborn child with Breanne’s baby, when he came. This happened during the time Taloma was away at her son’s lodge with the illness, she knew now. Upon this realization her attitude toward the child suddenly changed from one of distaste, to one of endearing love.
Now that Breanne had been sent away, Taloma wondered if Brave Fox would also send her baby away once he discovered the truth. It was then she decided to continue the deception. At least until Brave Fox had a chance to love the boy as she already did. Just knowing it was Breanne’s baby was enough for her to love him, as she had his mother.
That night, Taloma sent the young brave, who had come to help her, to the place of black rock… coal. He was ordered to gather a quantity of it, which she planned to hide near the creek. She would crush it to a fine powder and apply it to the baby’s fair hair after each bathing.
The thought of deceiving Brave Fox saddened Taloma. But deep in her heart, she knew she was doing the right thing. This child would give him great pleasure and make him proud one day.
Taloma also came to the realization this baby had been fathered by a white person, as well. He was too fair to be otherwise. Must have been Breanne’s husband, of whom she spoke often. That Luke she mentioned before the red bearded man took her away.
Some weeks later Taloma was allowed to rejoin the village, which had been moved further down the creek.