by Rod Miller
“Good Lord,” Sarah said, trembling and hugging herself. “I hope that girl ain’t come to some harm.”
Richard said nothing; only stood gazing out into the waning light.
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
The willows and brush grew thicker the closer to the stream he got. Daniel thrashed through the growth, shouting Jane’s name over and over and over.
Abel caught up, and grabbed Daniel’s shoulder, jerking him to a halt. “Stop, Daniel! Listen!”
Daniel’s heavy breathing subsided in a moment and the two men listened in the silence. Off to the left, they heard faint rustling and what sounded like grunts and groans. But the noise was overwhelmed by the approach of Lee and Melvin crashing through the brakes. Abel halted his father and brother when they drew near. The men huddled together and Abel sent each of them off a few yards to either side with instruction to move slowly in unison through the willows, in some places so thick only deer trails penetrated.
A short-lived scream sent Abel rushing ahead. He broke through a stand of willows into a small clearing to find Jane in the clutches of a man with one hand covering her mouth and nose and the other arm wrapped around her waist. He struggled to hold her still and keep ahold of the skinning knife in his hand. Jane strained against his grip, whipping her head back and forth and kicking at his legs and stomping and pushing against him whenever her feet touched the ground. A wide-brimmed sombrero lay in the dirt, apparently lost in the struggle.
Abel pulled back the hammer on the revolver and the trigger reached down to find his finger. He sidestepped around the small clearing, Jane’s captor rotating with him, using Jane as a shield. The man looked like one of the Comancheros whose camp they had visited.
Daniel broke into the clearing and charged. The buckskin-clad man let go his hold on Jane’s face and grabbed instead a hank of hair, yanking her to the ground as he released her waist. He slashed at Daniel with the knife. Daniel stumbled as he skidded to a halt and fell on his backside, crabbing his way backward on hands and feet. The Comanchero stepped toward him, dragging Jane with him, but she resisted, opening a gap between them the length of the man’s outstretched arm.
Seeing the gap, Abel pressed the trigger. The powder flashed, and the bullet smashed into the Comanchero’s upper arm, turning him and breaking his grip on Jane’s hair. The man grunted and turned aside from Daniel swinging the knife toward Abel. Abel took a step back, yelling at the attacker to stop but he kept coming. The next round from the revolver smashed through his moustache, tearing his nose aside and shattering teeth and jawbone. He pitched forward and landed without breaking his fall, dead before hitting the ground.
Abel lowered the pistol and waved at the powder smoke. Jane had crawled to her father, and they huddled at the edge of the clearing, embracing one another and sobbing. Sometime during the confusion, Lee and Melvin had come into the clearing, and stood watching the dead trader, Lee pointing the rifle at him as if he might rise and attack again.
Once he saw everyone was safe, Abel dropped to his knees. His breath came in gasps and his stomach heaved and saltwater flooded his mouth. He feared he would vomit, but swallowed back the urge.
Lee reached down and grabbed the Comanchero’s unbloodied arm and rolled him over. The man stared up at them with unseeing eyes, littered, like the rest of his bloody face, with bits of grass and leaves and particles of dirt. A puddle of blood muddied the soil where his face had lain, and chips of bone and shattered teeth shone white in the viscous bog.
“Lord, lord, Abel—you’ve done killed him,” Melvin said as if coming out of a fog. “He’s deader’n hell.”
Jane moaned and Daniel held her closer. “He is one of those Indian traders, isn’t he,” he said.
“Was,” Lee said. “He ain’t tradin’ nothin’ now but barbs with the devil. But he was at that camp, for sure.”
Rustling in the willows caused Lee to raise the rifle. He avoided—barely—pulling the trigger when Richard’s face appeared above the blade of the front sight. “Damn, Pa! Put that rifle down!”
Lee lowered the gun and eased the hammer back down to half cock. “What are you doing here? I told you to stay with the wagons and watch over the women!”
“I heard the shooting—wondered what was goin’ on.” He stared at the dead Comanchero.
“The women could be in danger!” Lee said.
Richard spat. “When the shooting stopped, I figured the fight was over.”
Lee could barely speak. “You fool! We don’t know if this— this—drinking companion of yours is alone. There could be more of them still around!”
“Well, if they ain’t they soon will be. Ojos Blanco and that bunch won’t take kindly to you-all killin’ one of their own.”
Daniel blurted, “But he had my Jane! Abel had to shoot. What choice did we have?”
Richard laughed. “You think they’re going to care about that?”
“Let them come,” Abel said, rising to his feet. “They won’t be carrying off any of Daniel’s girls if I can help it.”
“Listen to you, baby brother. But, come to think of it, you are an old hand when it comes to kidnapping—killing is gettin’ to be a habit with you, too.”
“That’s enough, Richard,” Lee said.
“What does he mean, Lee?” Daniel said.
“It doesn’t matter.”
Richard snickered. “The hell it don’t, old man. Emma’s got her sights set on Abel, but she don’t know—and neither does her daddy here—that she’d be takin’ up with a killer.”
Abel bristled and took a step toward Richard, but Melvin grabbed his arm and held him back.
“Richard!” Lee said. “I said that’s enough!”
“Shut up, old man! I’m done taking orders from you—you and your damn fool dreams and cockeyed notions!” Richard stepped forward and, with both hands in his father’s chest, shoved him. Lee staggered, and as he stumbled, inadvertently raised the rifle in Richard’s direction. Richard shoved the barrel aside and landed a fist on his father’s jaw. Lee staggered again, the step this time causing him to trip over the dead Comanchero.
Abel jerked loose from Melvin’s grasp and with the Colt revolver still in his hand swung a long arc that ended suddenly when the barrel of the gun reached the side of Richard’s head. As he fell, Melvin again grabbed at Abel, but the younger brother spun away.
“Don’t you touch me, Mel!” Abel said. “You do, and I’ll slap you silly.”
Lee got to his feet. He looked from one son to the other. “I guess we had better clean up this mess. Daniel, would you fetch some shovels from the wagons, please. Melvin, rouse your brother and help him back to the wagons. Then stay there and keep an eye on things—and I mean stay there. Here,” he said, handing the rifle to Melvin. “Take this.”
Daniel gave Abel a long, lingering look then wrapped an arm around the still-weeping Jane and they walked off through the willows.
Melvin grabbed Richard by the front of his shirt, lifted him off the ground and shook him. “Rich!” he said. “Wake up!” He shook him some more and lowered him back to the ground.
Richard groaned, squeezed his eyes tight shut and felt the lump on the side of his head. He opened his eyes and saw Melvin looming over him, took the proffered hand, and his brother hauled him to his feet. Unsteady, he held onto his brother for support. Melvin held Richard’s arm and led him shuffling toward camp.
With the others gone, Lee and Abel sat side-by-side on the ground. Abel looked at the dead Comanchero. He replayed the killing in his mind and followed it up with the fight with his brothers. As he sat, holding back tears, his father placed a hand on his back and gave it a pat.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
Lee tamped the last shovelful of dirt on the Comanchero’s grave, then he and Daniel scattered willow twigs and leaf litter over the bare ground. It wasn’t much of a disguise, but perhaps enough not to call attention to itself in a cursory glance. After the grave was dug, Lee sent Abel on a circui
t of the area in search of the dead man’s horse, hoping he could locate the mount in the dark. It was unlikely, Lee thought, that the trader would have walked the nearly two days’ journey from the trader camp, particularly in light of the fact that the Comancheros were probably already on the trail and the kidnapper would have to catch them up somewhere along the way.
Not long after Lee and Daniel stowed the shovels in the wagons, Abel rode in. He swung down from the scrawny mustang and pulled the Mexican vaquero saddle with its Spanish rig, slick fork, and horn nearly the size of a dinner plate. “What’ll we do with this horse and gear, Pa?”
Lee, Daniel, Melvin, and Abel gathered around the campfire and talked over the possibilities. They could bury the saddle and turn the horse loose to wander. They could keep the saddle and turn the horse loose. Discard the saddle and keep the horse. Abel said, “I say we keep the horse and the saddle. The horse seems sound. The saddle’s had rough use but looks to be in good enough shape.”
“What if one of them traders finds us? Havin’ that horse and saddle is as good as sayin’ outright we killed their man,” Melvin said.
“Me, I don’t think they’ll come after him,” Lee said. “Leastways, not anytime soon. If we drive hard, we ought to be at that Las Vegas place before he’s even missed. Maybe even Santa Fe. Them Comancheros ain’t likely to show up there lookin’ for him, if what White Eyes said is true.”
Melvin thought that over for a minute. “Maybe so. But what’ll folks there think ’bout a bunch of Americans with a Mexican horse and saddle?”
Abel laughed. “Mel, I reckon Mexican stuff is as common as ticks on a coon hound out here. We are in Mexico, you know. Even gringos like us havin’ a Mexican outfit ain’t likely to attract no notice.”
“I believe he is right,” Daniel said. “We do not know what we may encounter in the Mexican settlements, but with all the traffic on the Santa Fe Trail, I suspect we will find an admixture of cultural influences.”
Melvin shrugged. “Suit yourselves. Rich ain’t goin’ to like it.”
Lee shrugged. “We had best turn in. It’s late and we’ll want to get an early start. Put all this behind us.”
Daniel held up a hand. “One thing, before we depart.” He bowed his head, rubbed his hands together, and looked at Lee. “It pains me to ask, but do you suppose Richard had anything to do with this?”
Startled, Lee sat upright. Melvin jumped to his feet, fists clenched, and leaned toward Daniel, looking as if holding himself back required some effort.
Only Abel could find words. “What makes you think so?”
“Please,” Daniel said, raising his hand again. “I have no reason to believe he did. Only a suspicion, if even that.” He paused, swallowed hard. “He did spend considerable time among those nasty blokes. Most of the time, pickled. Perhaps, while in his cups, he passed along information that proved valuable in the attempt to kidnap my Jane—or even planted the idea.”
“I can’t believe that of my son,” Lee said. “He may be contrary and bad-tempered at times, and I’m troubled by his fondness for drink—but I don’t think he’d be capable of evil such as that. Besides, those traders saw the girls for themselves.”
Melvin still stood, jaws clenched, glaring at Daniel.
“Forget it, Mel,” Abel said. “He don’t mean nothin’ by it. Mister Lewis is just worried about Jane.”
“Can’t blame him for that,” Lee said.
Melvin huffed and fetched his bedroll from the wagon, rolled it out next to where Richard slept, his head wrapped in bandages.
Daniel said, “Well, to bed. I will check on Jane; make sure she is all right. Do you think we should set a watch?”
“I think that Comanchero came alone,” Abel said. “I didn’t see no other tracks out where he left his horse, nor any sign of anyone else. It was plenty dark, so I could of missed something, but I don’t believe there’s anyone out there.”
Daniel nodded. “Good night, then, gentlemen.”
“Pa,” Abel said when Lee was out of earshot. “Do you think Daniel really believes Rich said something back there?”
“I hope not. I don’t think Rich would do that. I hope Daniel believes me. Why? Do you think Daniel’s right?”
Abel stood and untucked his shirt tail. “Nah. Not really. Rich is plenty mad at me most of the time, but I don’t think he would cause any harm to them girls. I sure hope not.”
Daniel found Jane in the moon shadow of the wagon, enfolded in Mary’s arms. She slept, but still sobbed softly as she breathed, her tear-stained face pillowed against her older sister’s breast. He squatted near where Mary sat propped against the wheel of a wagon and reached out and caressed Jane’s cheek with the back of his hand, then stroked her hair gently.
“Is she all right, do you think?” he whispered.
Mary shook her head. “It will be quite some time before she is all right, I fear. I cannot imagine suffering such an ordeal— and at her age. . . .” Mary wiped away a tear of her own.
Emma, too, showed signs of weeping. She sat next to Mary with a quilt wrapped around her shoulders. “It’s my fault, Father. I should never have let her go alone.”
“Oh, Emma,” Daniel said. “We are all guilty of that. But it is not the fault of any of us. We expected no danger.”
“Jane said Abel killed the man.”
“That he did. He saved Jane and, most likely, my life as well.” He stroked Jane’s hair once more then stood. “Try to sleep, girls. We will leave early in the morning. We all believe it best to be away from this place.”
Mary nestled down against Jane. Emma rewrapped her quilt and lay down, her head on her older sister’s thigh. Daniel rolled out his bed a respectful distance away and was asleep in minutes.
Everyone in the camp slept soundly until the faintest hint of dawn appeared in the east and Jane screamed.
CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
Mary jerked awake when Jane screamed and she slammed her head on the spokes of the wagon wheel against her back. Emma, slower to rouse, sat up and scrubbed her eyes with her fists. Mary reached out and wrapped her arms around Jane and pulled her close.
“Jane,” she whispered in her sister’s ear. “Jane, what is it?”
Jane pushed herself away and looked around, unaware of where she was or what she was seeing. Then her eyes focused and she gasped and fell back into Mary’s arms. Emma added herself to the hug, wrapping her arms around Jane and Mary.
Daniel ran to the girls and dropped to his knees beside them. Not far behind came Sarah and she squatted beside the girls and rubbed Jane’s back. The Pate men came too, but held back with hands in pockets and shuffling feet.
“Jane, Jane, Jane,” Mary said. “You are safe. We are here.”
Sobbing, Jane said, “My dream—I dreamed that awful man had me again—It was awful—awful—”
Emma said, “I know, Jane. I know. But it is all right now.”
No one moved for what seemed minutes. Then Abel put the revolver he held back into the holster and belt slung over his shoulder. Melvin walked to the fire, added a few sticks of kindling and, with this hat, fanned up flames from the ashes. Richard looked around, rolled his bed, laid it beside the wagon, and walked out of the growing firelight into the fading dark.
Lee watched him walk away, leaned his rifle against the wagon, and helped Sarah to her feet. “Sarah, can you whip up something quick for breakfast, please. Let’s be gone from here.”
And so she boiled coffee, and boiled oatmeal with pemmican stirred in, but fixed no breadstuff. While the pot and kettle boiled, she boxed and bundled up the rest of the camp equipment. Lee loaded the wagons while Melvin and Abel brought in the mules and oxen. Sarah untied the calf and let it suck the cow to save the milking. Richard came back to camp and stood watching the Lewis family, still huddled next to the wagon. Melvin called him to help yoke the ox teams to the Lewis wagons while Abel harnessed and hitched the mules.
No one spoke as they ate, spooning up the hot
porridge and sipping the scalding coffee. Some ate hungrily, most without enthusiasm, and Jane not at all, refusing even to hold a bowl or cup.
When Sarah finished, she said, “You-all just shake out your cups and throw them in this here box. Drop your bowls and spoons in the bucket—I’ll give them a quick rinse, otherwise them oats will set up hard. Boys, get the horses saddled. We’ll have this stuff in the wagon and ready to go by the time you-all are finished.”
Jane climbed onto the seat of the lead wagon to be near her father as he walked beside the oxen with his goad and one of Abel’s Colt revolvers in his waistband. Mary and Emma found places on either side of the second wagon’s team. Richard, his head again rendering him in no shape for walking, albeit for a different reason this time, took his father’s advice to help Sarah drive the mules. But Sarah, again this day, allowed she would walk alongside with Melvin. Lee mounted his horse to take the lead; Abel would ride the Comanchero pony and bring up the rear.
The sun had yet to reveal itself when the trace chains rattled and the wheels groaned and the wagons creaked into motion. No one looked back at the abandoned campsite.
Jane did not get down from the wagon when the train nooned at a small stream and the clear, cold spring that fed it. Sarah stirred a handful of sugar into a cup of coffee and, climbing onto the seat beside Jane, encouraged her to sip at it. Mary fried some bacon, boiled water for corn dodgers, and stewed rice and raisins, providing something substantial after the hurried breakfast hours earlier.
“Lee, if you’ve a moment I have some questions for you,” Daniel said after dropping his plate in the wash bucket. Mary followed the men a ways away from the wagons. They found seats on boulders and on the ground and the men sipped at their coffee as they settled in. After a few minutes of small talk, Lee asked what it was they needed.