Frontier Fires

by Rosanne Bittner

  In the distance men finished tearing down the dam, and water rushed back through its original bed, headed for Sax land. Caleb grinned triumphantly. “Isn’t that a pretty sight,” he told Tom. Tom watched proudly but frowned when he looked at his father.

  “You didn’t see Hafer anyplace, did you?”

  Their eyes held.

  “No,” Caleb answered. “The men said they would watch for him and try to spare him, but I can’t make any guarantees when the shooting starts again. And you know what I would do if I had my choice.”

  Tom nodded. “He deserves killing. But he is her father.”

  “I know the feeling, Tom. But a man has to do what he has to do. Come on. Let’s go help fill those canals.”

  When the ends of the canals were filled, Caleb and his men dug trenches. The horses were secured far behind the lines, out of the range of fire. The waiting began. Caleb knew Hafer’s men would be back. He intended to show Charles Hafer he meant business. The dam would not be rebuilt, and the canals would not be dug again.

  “This could go on forever,” Tom said, as night fell. “We attack them, they attack us, we attack them, they attack us. They’ll come back and try to take the water again.”

  Caleb leaned back against the dirt inside the trench. He took out a thin cigar and lit it. “It could happen that way. But I’m betting that Charles Hafer isn’t a true fighting man. Bess said all they did back in Missouri was farm. He’s all mouth and bluster. If I push him enough, he just might give up. It really depends on how much he’s being paid. Bess says he’s never actually killed anyone himself. Everything has backfired on him. He came here to get rich but lost his daughter. And Clawson must have figured that we were more civilized in this state than we are; he figured the law would be on us, especially since we are Indian. He’s sitting in his fancy office in St. Louis expecting to hear Hafer has had all of us arrested and hung, or at least run out. It’s not that easy. Not in Texas.”

  Tom sighed. “I hope you’re right—about Hafer giving up. I sure wouldn’t want to have to go back and tell Bess anything happened to her father.”

  “She will be all right as long as she remembers this would have happened even without you and she getting married. Hafer has had this planned for a long time.” He puffed the cigar and Tom watched it glow red in the dark. “You really love her, don’t you?”

  Tom felt an ache at the desire to be sleeping with her tonight. He could never quite get enough of her, and this was the first time they had been apart since getting married the week before. “Yeah. She’s so sweet, and stronger than she knows. It feels good to be married. I want to get back and get a cabin built just for us. If we’re real lucky, Bess will have a baby before the year is out. All of a sudden, I want sons.”

  “Every man does eventually. But she is young, and birthing is hard on the young. Don’t be too anxious.”

  “Lynda did okay.”

  “And she lost one before that, by that gambler. Just remember that out here in this country every successful birth is something to rejoice.”

  Tom sighed. “I miss her already.”

  Caleb smiled. “I know.” How well he remembered that young passion. He still felt that way about Sarah. Finding her was like being young and starting all over again. “Get some rest,” he told his son. “I have a feeling we’ll be busy tomorrow.”

  Dawn was not really dawn, for there was no sun. The morning brought only a cold rain, and as daylight came the Sax men were greeted by a long line of Hafer men who had ridden to within several yards of them during the night. Caleb quickly counted about forty men.

  “Caleb Sax!” Charles Hafer scanned the creek, noticing as the morning got lighter that Sax men had dug trenches in which they hid. Only a few heads and several musket barrels could be seen through the cold drizzle.

  “Say your piece, Hafer,” Caleb called out from one of the trenches. He stayed hunkered down, a poncho draped around his shoulders, water dripping from his leather hat.

  “Give me back my daughter and I’ll let the water go. That will be the end of it,” Hafer answered.

  Caleb looked at Tom, whose sorrow at bringing his father this additional trouble was evident.

  “Never,” Caleb yelled back. “She’s a Sax now. We have given her the choice. She wants to stay with us.”

  “She’s too young to know what she wants.”

  “They’re legally married, Hafer, and not just on paper.”

  Silence hung in the air for a moment.

  “How long do you think you can stay there?” Hafer called out then. “You’ll starve in those holes before we let you out.”

  “It’s real simple. We just shoot down your men.” Caleb gave out a whistle that they all recognized. It was the signal to start firing. Muskets reported, and several Hafer men fell from their horses. Other horses reared, and Hafer’s remaining men scattered to take cover and began returning fire, but their targets were difficult to see. More Hafer men cried out as bullets struck them. Several of them scurried to move the horses farther back, and a period of silence fell during which men reloaded and got their bearings, passing signals back and forth.

  It was a bitterly cold day. Rain began to turn to snow and Caleb threw off his wet poncho, pulling his wolfskin coat closer around his neck. He took out a piece of beef jerky and shared it with Tom.

  “We can’t stay here forever,” Hafer called out to Caleb.

  “You’ve lost more men that I. You had better get the wounded ones back and get them some help, Hafer.”

  Behind Hafer’s line Jess Purnell worked desperately bandaging a badly wounded man. But the man died before Jess could finish. Jess was angry and cursed under his breath. He was fed up with the whole useless mess. Why should he and these other men die just because Hafer wanted to make trouble for Caleb Sax, for no other reason than the fact that the man was an Indian … or just because Hafer’s daughter had married Sax’s son? He could think of a lot of better things to fight about. Some of these men he called friend and they were getting hurt and killed. Even at that, this would all be easier if he could get the vision of Lynda Sax’s beautiful and lonely blue eyes out of his mind. It had been roughly seven months since first he set eyes on her, and he had seen her only twice since—talked to her only that one time at the barn raising. That was all it took for her to get right under his skin and into his blood. How many women were that beautiful, and needing a man besides?

  “Damn,” he muttered. He lay down the dead man and ducked down, crawling to where Charles Hafer had taken shelter.

  “Hank just died, Mister Hafer,” he told Hafer. “And it looks like a good snowstorm is coming on. There’s no sense trying to do any more until the weather warms again. We’ve got to get the wounded out of this cold and back where they can get some help.”

  “Keep your mouth shut. You’re getting paid well.”

  Jess stiffened, his pride stinging. More shots were exchanged and there was no time to answer Hafer. The snow came down so hard then that no one could see what he was shooting at. Suddenly Hafer’s men heard literal war cries, as though a swarm of Indians was upon them. And it was true—Cherokee and a couple of Cheyenne came running out of the snow wielding rifles, tomahawks, and knives.

  “Jesus Christ,” one of Hafer’s men swore. He ran for his horse. Some fired back, but the Indians ducked and rolled and darted around in the blinding snow. A tomahawk came down into a Hafer man’s arm while a knife sunk into another’s chest. More shots were fired. A couple of Caleb’s men went down, but it was Hafer’s men who took the worst of the beating. Their screams filled the air.

  Jess shot at a Cherokee, then went for his horse, disgusted with the fighting. He was not one to run from anything, but this made no sense. He waited beside his horse, then, unsure of what to do. It was his job to stay with Hafer.

  Suddenly things quieted, and Caleb’s men disappeared as quickly as they had appeared.

  Hafer stared into the snow to see them retreating. “By God,
they’re on the run,” he shouted. But then a strong arm suddenly came around his neck from behind, and a blade flashed in front of him. “End it now or you’re a dead man,” Caleb growled.

  Hafer started to struggle, until the knife nicked his cheek. “Do it!”

  Hafer froze. Caleb Sax meant business.

  “We’re going back, men,” he shouted. “Too many losses—and too cold. Pass it on.”

  One of his men came into view, looking startled when he saw Caleb. He started to raise his rifle.

  “Your boss will be dead before you pull the trigger,” Caleb warned him.

  “Don’t shoot, Gus,” Hafer said, his voice sounding strangled. “Tell the others. Pick up the wounded and head back.”

  The man lowered his rifle. Tom and several of Caleb’s men came into view then, Tom stepping close to Hafer. “Your daughter is fine, Mister Hafer. She would like very much to see you—to tell you she still loves you and hopes you still love her. There is no reason for what you are doing. Why don’t you just let her be happy?”

  Caleb slowly released the man, shoving his knife into its sheath. “Happy,” Hafer sneered. “With the likes of you?”

  Caleb whirled the man, landing a big fist into his face. Hafer sprawled backward. Most of his men could be heard riding off, but Jess Purnell appeared, helping the man up. For a moment they all thought that was the end of it, as Hafer wiped at a bloodied lip. But Hafer then dove into Caleb, pushing him to the ground. Men stepped aside as both Hafer and Caleb rolled on the ground until Caleb managed to get to his feet and yank Hafer up with him. Hafer kicked hard at Caleb’s legs, making Caleb’s grip weaken. Then he knocked Caleb’s hands away and hit him hard in the chest and jaw. Caleb stumbled back, but only slightly, coming back and ducking a punch, then landing a fist hard into Hafer’s middle, then backhanding him with brutal force when he bent over. Hafer’s big frame slammed to the ground and stayed there.

  “I’ve killed plenty of men in my lifetime,” Caleb panted. “You had better consider yourself damned lucky to be alive, Hafer! If it weren’t for Bess, your guts would be freezing in the cold wind right now! They still will if you give me any more trouble! If that creek dries up again, we’ll be back! And if I lose one more man, or any more horses, you’re a dead man!” He looked at Purnell. “Take your boss home,” he sneered. “And take a good look at the kind of man you’re working for.”

  He turned, disappearing into the snow. The wind began howling, blowing new snow over bloodstains on the ground and in the snow that had already fallen. Sax men picked up their wounded men and left, and by the end of the day, water again began trickling into Blue Valley.

  Chapter

  Sixteen

  * * *

  Sarah watched as Caleb undressed, never tiring of looking at his magnificent physique, which seemed to harden with age rather than get softer. She could not forget how he looked when he first got home, his face covered with dried and frozen blood from the wound on his forehead, and his ribs bruised. Yet he was jubilant. He was sure it would be some time before Hafer could get his men organized to give him any more trouble. A heavy snowstorm would keep the man at bay, at least for a while.

  “What about Byron?” she asked.

  He turned to bend over the cradle and gently pat little James’s bottom. The boy lay sleeping peacefully. “This kid is getting much too big for this cradle, even though I built it big,” he answered.

  “Caleb, I wasn’t talking about James. I was talking about Byron Clawson.”

  He leaned closer and kissed James’s soft, fine hair. Then he stood up, coming over to the bed and unbuttoning his long underwear. “Byron has lost this one, and he’ll lose every time. Don’t even think about it.”

  She closed her eyes and sighed. “I have to think about it. He’s desperately afraid of you, you know. A frightened man will do anything to get rid of that which frightens him, especially a coward like Byron.”

  “Let him try.” Caleb moved under the covers. “My fondest hope is that Byron Clawson will give up hoping someone else can do his dirty work for him, and will come down here himself. Then he’ll be in my territory, and all the money and power in the world won’t help him.” He turned on his side, facing her.

  She studied the incredibly blue eyes. “What would you do?”

  He thought about Byron Clawson pawing her, literally raping her, beating her. His eyes glittered with vengeance. “It’s very simple. I would kill him. If I could get away from here, I’d go do it anyway. But places like St. Louis and I don’t mix. We both learned that the hard way. Out here, in untamed country, this is where I can be more powerful than someone like Byron. But if I have to, I will go to St. Louis and do it.”

  She reached up and touched the gauze around his forehead. A spot of blood still showed from the wound. “Caleb, my Caleb. All your life you’ve been fighting and killing, haven’t you? The Indian wars, that horrible man at Fort Dearborn, all those Crow Indians, then the British. And here in Texas the Comanche, outlaws. Yet deep inside you’re a gentle man who never wanted any of it.”

  He grasped her hand and kissed it. “Trouble has a way of following a half-breed, Sarah.” He nestled down beside her. “Sometimes I think I never should have let you stay here. I should have told you that after all those years I didn’t love you anymore—made you go back. Maybe I’m asking too much of you to stay here. Maybe I should give it all up and take you to more civilized places.”

  She smiled sadly. “I am happy right here. I’m happy where my man is happy. Don’t make any moves for me, Caleb. Do what you need to do. And I know you’d never be happy in a city. What on earth would you do with yourself, you, a man who likes to ride free and raise horses and be in the sun, who lived as an Indian for years and who would do it again if not for his wife. I don’t need civilized places to be happy. All I need is you. If I died out here tomorrow, it would all have been worth it.”

  They faced each other, and he traced a finger around her lips, always amazed at how she had retained her beauty. It seemed so strange that this could be the little girl he had grown up with at Fort Dearborn, the happy, inquisitive child who took his hand and taught him English and the white man’s ways.

  “Then be happy in that,” he told her, “and don’t give Byron Clawson another thought. He’ll never hurt you again. And I don’t think Hafer will be giving us trouble for a while.”

  He leaned closer and kissed her lips, moving a hand over her full breast.

  “I hope poor Bess is all right. It was all so hard on her,” she said when his lips left her mouth and he began pulling her gown over her shoulder.

  “Bess will be fine. She has Tom.” He kissed her throat. “No more talking, woman. Put all your worries aside.”

  “Caleb, you’re wounded,” she reminded him as he pulled her gown down more.

  “Don’t you know that after a fight, a man’s sexual desires come alive, especially when he’s the victor?”

  She laughed lightly as his lips found the tender nipple of her breast. He pulled the gown away from it. It had taken them all night and a day to get back home, for the wind howled around them, and snow nearly blinded their way. Caleb was elated that only one of his men had been killed, only a few wounded; and that Hafer’s men had literally run from them. Water was again flowing into Blue Valley, and he’d had a chance to land his own fist into Charles Hafer. To Caleb it was a victory over Byron Clawson, and he was riding high on it. Tom and Bess were together and things were going to be better. He was sure of it. They had made it through a bad blizzard and found home, a warm hearth, their women waiting. What more could a man ask for?

  He moved over her more deliberately then, and she gladly welcomed him. She was glad that none of her loved ones had been seriously hurt. Sarah closed her eyes as he pushed up her gown and moved a rough but gentle hand over her bottom. She wore nothing under the gown, hoping when she came to bed that he would want her, needing this just as much as he did. It was the ultimate proof that her ma
n was alive and well and safe in her arms.

  His lips kissed her belly, her thighs, the warm crevice of her inner thighs, making her open up to him in daring abandon, losing her natural modesty and allowing her husband whatever he desired, for she was not just giving. She was also taking—selfishly enjoying this beautiful man who belonged only to her. She reached up and grasped the posts of the brass bed, groaning in the absolute ecstasy of Caleb Sax’s tender exploration of her, until she felt the wonderful pulsations that meant she was ready for his invasion, the contracting muscles that asked for something to consume and caress.

  He moved on top of her then. Moving his mouth back over her belly, he made his way to her breasts, exposed where he’d pulled the gown from the top. It was still on her, lying in disarray about her middle. He moved between her legs and entered her, bringing a little gasp that told him he was indeed filling her to her satisfaction. Two babies hadn’t changed his ability to give her full pleasure. He reached under her bottom and pushed into her in glorious rhythm, his chest pressed against her full breasts, his lips caressing her throat, her eyes, his own groans telling her she could still please him in return.

  She arched up to him, whimpering his name then, and the bed rocked with the rhythm of their intercourse. She felt his own pulsating release, and heard her name whispered lovingly as Caleb sighed and relaxed beside her, his exhaustion from the raid finally catching up to him. He was soon asleep in her arms.

  In the outer room young John had heard nothing. But in the loft Lynda lay awake, feeling her own needs, quietly crying because Lee was not with her. She could not help but hear the sounds of her parents’ lovemaking. Now the house was quiet, and her loneliness intense.

  How she missed him still! How she needed a man. But all she wanted was Lee, and he was gone forever. She turned over and curled up, sighing with the near pain of needing to be a woman again that way. But whenever she felt this loneliness, Jess Purnell kept coming to mind. It upset her, for Jess was a Hafer man. He had been with Hafer when he came demanding his daughter; and he had been present at the fighting. But there was something in his eyes the few times she had seen him that suggested a man who was someplace he didn’t want to be.