by Linda Ford
Mary Mae did not ask how far to the Fort, but the reverend told them anyway. “With loaded wagons we are a good five days from the Fort. Lighter wagons can make it in half the time.”
A collective indrawing of air indicated everyone felt the same disbelief and denial Mary Mae did.
“Surely,” she said. “We can afford to wait a few more days.”
The reverend looked regretful. “Need I remind you of the snowstorms we’ve already encountered?”
No one bothered to answer.
The reverend continued. “Let’s eat supper and get organized to leave in the morning. Everyone needs a good sleep.”
They ate woodenly and did chores automatically. Mary Mae and Polly climbed into their wagon.
Polly shivered at Mary Mae’s side and likely not from cold. “Are we going to leave Warren and Luke and Gil behind? And Buck and Pete?” One by one she named the men who were missing.
“You heard what Reverend Shepton said. And it was what Frenchie told him. Do you think Frenchie knows what should be done?”
“I guess so.”
“Then we must listen to him.” As each word left her mouth, her heart ached.
“How can we leave them?” Polly sobbed. “I ’specially don’t want to leave Warren.” She sniffled. “I’ve changed my mind.”
“About what?”
“I don’t care if I have a home and family for Christmas. Just so long as Warren and the others get back okay.”
Mary Mae’s heart echoed the child’s words.
Would she never see Warren again?
12
Another night away from camp. Away from Mary Mae and Polly. Warren knew he wasn’t the only one concerned about those they’d left behind. But they had to find the missing animals. Without them, wagons must be abandoned.
They had found several oxen already. Dead. Killed by the wolves or run themselves to death. They continued following the tracks in the hopes of finding some alive. And this afternoon, their prayers had been answered. Twenty spent animals holed up in a little draw.
Working together, the men had herded them toward the wagons, but they must move them slowly or the exhausted animals wouldn’t make it.
Luke sat beside him at the evening campfire as the men shared the meager rations. “It will be this time tomorrow before we reach the camp.”
“I’d say so.”
“If the camp is still there.”
Luke’s words brought Warren to his feet. “You think someone will have raided?” It had been in the back of his mind all day. Yes, they had left men to guard, but not enough should a large gang come after them.
Luke got to his feet, too. The others watched and listened.
“Buck told Frenchie to give us two days, then leave everything but the bare necessities and head for the Fort.”
Warren stared at Buck. “You did?”
“I didn’t expect to be away this long, but I knew if we were, the camp must move. We don’t want them to be caught in more winter weather.”
Warren’s anger twisted through him. “Traveling with so few people they will be vulnerable to attacks from men and beasts.” To think of Mary Mae, Polly and the others setting out with only a handful of men to protect them. He clenched his fists and wished he could vent by punching something.
“But there’s no need for them to leave,” Luke protested. “We’ll catch up tomorrow if they wait.”
Gil stepped forward. “Warren’s right. I’ll ride back and ask them to wait. We’re all far better off if we stay together.”
Buck crossed his arms and looked about the circle. “There aren’t enough animals left to take all the wagons. Some are going to have to be abandoned.”
“I know.” Warren had lost several animals and many of Sam’s had perished.
“The camp will have departed before we can get word to them to wait.”
“Not if I ride through the night.” Every eye turned toward Warren. They all knew the dangers of riding after dark. They all knew wolves were out there.
Luke grabbed his arm. “It’s not safe.”
“I can do it.” He had a pistol and a rifle and an axe, should it come to having to defend himself that way.
Buck considered the idea for a bit. “You have the last bit of daylight left. If you leave immediately you can get a few miles under you before dark. After that you will have to go slower.”
Warren checked his firearms. Luke handed him his pistol and rifle.
The brothers considered each other silently. Luke patted Warren’s shoulder. “God go with you.”
Mary Mae had said the same thing. Little did she know just how much he would need God’s protection this night.
He mounted up and left, keeping up a steady trot until he could no longer see the ground ahead of him, then he slowed to a walk, letting the trail-wise horse pick his own way across the rugged land.
With the growing darkness, came increased cold. Buck was right about one thing—winter weather had arrived. He pulled his collar up and tugged his hat down. Clouds scudded across the sky, blocking what little light the moon and stars provided.
His horse snorted and sidestepped.
Warren tensed, a firm hand on the reins. “What is it, old boy?” He looked about, but could see nothing in the darkness. Still, the skin on the back of his neck prickled. Something was out there.
He looked from right to left and over each shoulder.
The clouds broke. The moon cast a gloomy light to the surroundings. Shifting shadows moved to his right and left. Following him. Wolves for certain.
He took his rifle and fired it at the nearest shadow. The shadow fell back.
Warren fired to the other side, satisfied when he heard a yelp. Not that he thought it would cause the wolves to abandon him. He held the horse. The last thing he needed would be for his mount to panic and race wildly across the rough ground and break a leg.
“Steady there. Steady.” He kept up a stream of words that he hoped calmed the horse as he continually checked for wolves sneaking closer.
Again and again, he fired at the shadows following him.
How far did he have to go? It seemed like he’d been riding forever. His arms wearied. His eyes wanted to close, but he dare not lose concentration.
Again he shot at a wolf lurking to his left. Again knew satisfaction as it yelped.
On and on he went, grateful for the times the moon peeked through the clouds. Grateful for the times the wolves fell back. He trusted his inner compass to guide him in the right direction. And God’s good grace.
He shot again at a wolf. Heard a yelp. How many yelps had he heard? How many of the wild creatures were there? Could he hope to kill enough to persuade them to seek other prey?
His horse stumbled. The rifle flew from his hands. Warren grabbed for the saddle horn, but his hands slipped, and he knew he was about to fall to the ground.
His last thought was of Mary Mae. I promised to take care of you and I meant to. I didn’t mean to leave you.
Mary Mae woke while it was still dark and slipped from the wagon without disturbing Polly. Reverend Shepton sat by the coals of the fire, his head slumped to his chest. He started awake as she threw wood on the coals.
“Oh my. I didn’t mean to sleep. Forgive me. I am supposed to be guarding.”
“I’ll keep you company.”
“While I appreciate that, it isn’t necessary.”
“I suppose not, but I can’t sleep.” She didn’t tell him how she woken with a start, her only thought to build a fire.
“My, that’s a mighty big blaze,” the reverend commented as she added more wood to the fire.
“I know. It’s warm and bright, isn’t it?”
He chuckled. “It is that.”
One of the teamsters wandered by without speaking. She nodded to him and then found a comfortable spot to sit near the blazing fire.
Several times she added wood to the flames.
“We’ll be out of wood by mornin
g at that rate,” the reverend pointed out, no doubt curious as to why she kept the fire burning so bright. Nor could she tell him the reason, for she didn’t know herself.
Elena fussed in the nearby wagon and Donna Grace soothed her.
Mary Mae prayed the rest of the night away, asking for the safe return of the missing men.
Dawn was a promise in the eastern sky when the others arose. Frenchie stopped by.
“We leave today, yes?”
Reverend Shepton nodded. “Seems best.”
Mary Mae knew it was useless to protest. She could only pray the men were safe and would catch up to them. Any other possibility was beyond imagination.
The camp dog barked and looked into the distance.
Everyone stared the same direction.
Mary Mae rose and squinted. She rubbed her eyes. Was she seeing things? It looked like a riderless horse. Her lungs refused to work. A riderless horse meant someone had fallen out there, likely injured or worse. The horse plodded onward, obviously weary. And then she made out the figure of a man slumped over in the saddle.
Her heart stalled halfway through a beat. She didn’t know how she knew it, but Warren was the man clinging to the back of that horse.
Calling his name, she gathered up her skirts and raced toward the horse and his rider. Footsteps thundered behind her. She didn’t look to see who followed. All that mattered was reaching Warren’s side. Whether he be dead or alive, she must get to him.
Frenchie passed her and reached Warren first. He pried him from the saddle, holding him in his arms like a child.
Mary Mae reached them. She pressed close, wanting to see Warren. Blood streaked one of his cheeks. She touched his face. It was cold. “Is he—” She couldn’t finish.
“Alive he is. But injured.”
“Warren.” His name wailed from her.
He opened his eyes and tried to focus on her. “The others are coming. Don’t leave.” With a groan he closed his eyes and his head fell back.
Frenchie carried him to the campfire. Someone had spread a buffalo robe and the big teamster placed him there. Polly hovered nearby, the color drained from her face.
“He’s alive,” Mary Mae said, as she poured warm water into a basin, grabbed a rag and knelt to wash away the blood and see how bad his injuries were. Much of the blood was caked and dried and she gently sponged it away to discover an egg-sized lump on his temple and a cut that still oozed.
He stirred. He looked about frantically, pawing at his coat.
“Warren.” She caught his hands and stilled them.
His gaze found hers and he calmed. A faint smile curved his lips and then he faded back into unconsciousness.
Mary Mae looked about at those gathered nearby. “I don’t know what to do with him.”
Frenchie patted her shoulder. “She is a bad knock on the noggin. He will come and go until the swelling she go down.”
She knew how to speed that process and perhaps ease Warren’s pain as well. Mary Mae hurried beyond the wagons and found a spot of lingering snow, wrapped it in her rag and took it back. She pressed the cold compress to the swelling. “I don’t know what else to do.”
“You be doing the best you can.” Frenchie said, his words reassuring.
Mary Mae sat back on her heels. “You heard him. He said we were to wait for the others.”
“That be so.” Frenchie looked at the teamsters hovering close. “We be waiting for the men to return. It be hoped they bring back the missing oxen.”
Mary Mae brushed Warren’s dark blond hair from his forehead and wished she could look into his blue-green eyes. She leaned closer and whispered his name.
His eyelids came half way up and his gaze flitted about until he found her. “I didn’t leave you.”
She wasn’t sure what he meant, but she squeezed his hand. “No, you didn’t.”
The others prepared breakfast, stopping often to glance down the trail, waiting for some sign of the men and oxen returning. It was noon before Polly yelled from her perch on the bench of their wagon. “I see something.”
Everyone crowded to the outer circle to stare and wait.
A cheer went up when the shimmering on the horizon turned into oxen tromping toward them, horseback riders guiding them along.
The women waited for a bit, then hurried to prepare a bountiful meal for the returning men. At the nearby teamsters’ camp, two men did the same, knowing it had been almost three days since the riders had enjoyed a decent meal.
Mary Mae returned to Warren’s side. “Here they come with the oxen.” She didn’t know if he could hear her or not, but it comforted her to talk to him.
He roused. “Many perished.”
“I wondered.” There didn’t seem to be nearly as many as she expected. “We’ll manage somehow.”
Warren tried to sit up. The movement made him groan and clutch his head. “I need to help sort things out.”
She gently pushed him back down. “There’ll be plenty of time to figure out what to do.”
He closed his eyes.
She longed for a way to ease the pain that twisted his face. She did the only thing she could think to do and gently stroked the side of his face, relieved to see him relax. Thinking he had again lost consciousness, she stopped, not wanting to draw undue attention to herself and her raw feelings. It frightened her how much she cared for this man. Hadn’t she promised herself never to let such feelings again drive her heart and yet here she was, wanting nothing more than to give him her heart openly and freely.
But when she started to remove her hand, Warren caught it and held it, his grasp so firm she couldn’t have pulled away even if she wanted to and she didn’t.
She would sort this out and get her thoughts on the right track once he was back to himself. That would be soon enough for her to get her heart back to normal as well.
Thudding hooves went by the wagons as the men let the oxen mingle with the animals who had remained with the wagons. Frenchie and the others hurried out to help. A murmur of conversation reached the women. They would hear the details when Gil, Luke and Buck joined them.
The meal was ready, the coffee pot full and waiting when the weary men tramped toward the campfire.
Luke hurried to Warren’s side and knelt by his brother. “I see you made it. All night I worried the wolves might have gotten you.”
Warren squinted at Luke through one eye. “I’m glad to be here.”
Luke chuckled. “Must say you look worse for the wear. What happened?”
Mary Mae wanted to tell Luke to let the man rest, but she also wanted to hear what happened to Warren, so she held her peace.
The others listened openly, and Polly pressed to Mary Mae’s side. Mary Mae wrapped an arm about the child, doing her best to comfort and reassure her.
“Wolves after me,” Warren managed.
Mary Mae forced herself not to jerk in reaction to the words. No need to cause Polly any more concern than those words would have given her.
“I see they didn’t get you,” Luke said, with a laugh.
“They tried. Then the horse stumbled and threw me to the ground.” He gingerly touched his forehead. “Guess that’s how I got this.”
Luke grinned. “Sure would have liked to see that.”
“Don’t count on my repeating it for your benefit.” Warren’s dry comment brought laughter to the circle of friends. He groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Hurts too much to do it twice.”
“How did you make it back to camp?” Luke asked.
“I managed to pull myself back to the saddle. Managed to shoot my gun and scare off the wolves that circled, but I was disorientated and couldn’t figure out the right direction, and then in the distance I saw a fire. I reasoned it had to be our camp and headed for it.” He closed his eyes and pressed his lips tight.
“Go get some more snow.” Mary Mae handed the damp rag to Polly and the child dashed away to do so and returned with a nice amount. Mary Mae patted it into
a flat square and pressed it to Warren’s forehead.
“Thank you.” He caught her hand and held it.
“I think he’s had enough talking for now,” she said. The others nodded and turned to the meal.
Someone handed her a plate. She ate mechanically neither tasting the food, nor recognizing what she ate.
Someone took her plate and in its place put a bowl. “He should eat something.”
“Warren, here’s some soup.”
He tried to sit up, but fell back with a groan.
“I’ll help you.” Luke helped her prop Warren against a rolled up blanket and she fed him a spoonful of soup.
He opened his eyes and his gaze clung to hers so demanding, so full of things she couldn’t identify, that she had to look away.
Words pressed to her mouth. Words she wanted to speak to him. But not when he was in this state. Not with family and friends within hearing distance.
Her confession would have to wait for a more appropriate time and place.
Dinner ended and the other men huddled together. She caught bits and pieces of their conversation. Enough to know the loss of so many oxen made continuing as they had been impossible.
Warren roused and saw the men in deep conversation. “Luke.” He flinched as he called his brother.
Luke hurried over and hunkered down at Warren’s side.
Warren grabbed Luke’s coat front. “Most of the loss are my animals. I will decide how it’s to be handled.”
Luke looked about to argue then nodded. “We’ll rest today and make plans tomorrow.”
Mary Mae remained at Warren’s side after Luke left. “You need to rest, not worry.”
“Seems my head wants to do both.”
She laughed at the regretfulness in his voice. “I suggest you rest first. Worry later.”
His chuckle ended on a groan. “Seems you are right.” He closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. She wasn’t sure she should allow him to sleep or was she supposed to keep him awake to make sure he didn’t fall into a deep state of unconsciousness? She didn’t know and seeing as none of the others objected to him sleeping, she sat at his side, watching for any change in his breathing.