The Traherns #1

by Nancy Radke

  “Well, you’d want to make sure your eyeballs were tied in, or you’d lose them.”

  He started to laugh and the rest of the gents broke up, too. “That’s for sure!”

  I never considered myself funny, so it did me good to see them enjoyin’ my comment. Part of it was the timing, for I’d said it just before the offside wheels dropped into a rut and just about swung everyone off their seat and onto the floor.

  Once those gents got to talking, I heard a lot about different stage routes, river crossings, Indians and robbers. Seems one of those men had done a lot of traveling, and each of the rest, being in different trades, and had a story to tell. Even the talkative portly gent had been in a stage that got carried downriver. An outrider dropped a loop over him and popped him out like a calf being born.

  “And I think I was just as wet. I hope none of that happens this trip,” he added.

  “What do you make of the dust and the roughness of the country?” asked the newspaper man.

  “You’re asking the wrong woman those questions. I’ve walked across Tennessee and part of Kentucky. Dirt don’t bother me. Neither does rough country.”

  That evening we stopped at a small station where they had food for us and fresh horses.

  Travers jumped down and came to me, tail wagging slowly. “So you decided to ride, did you?” I looked over to Gage, who was tending to the stock. He seemed right at home with the harnesses and the reins, helping get the new team hitched up.

  Travers took off, following his nose, and I hoped the game he found was wild and not part of the small farm that was being used as a station.

  Gage came and joined us for the quick meal, sitting beside me at the table.

  He had washed and cleaned up and was the most presentable man there.

  “It’s good to have you along, Gage. How did you get hired on as an outrider?”

  “Asked.”

  I waited for him to say more, but I guess he could be quiet when he chose to be. “Where were you during the war?” I asked.

  “Out on the western front. I was riding for the Confederates. They wanted men who knew the frontier.” He paused, shook his head. “I pray we never have another war where brother fights brother. You know, Trey almost shot your cousin, Matthew. Shook him up.”

  “I guess it would. He and Matthew were close. They were always racing their horses and seein’ whose mule could pull the most.”

  “I remember. Always competing. But let anyone else challenge them and they teamed up like two geese defending a baby chick.”

  “You say Trey almost shot Matthew?”

  “He saw Matthew sneaking back to his lines after a battle, and he rode over and cut him off. Had his gun out ready to fire, if’n Matthew hadn’t stopped and give up. A prize, for Matthew was a reb colonel.”

  “What did Trey do?”

  “Ordered him back to camp to interrogate him, then send him on to Morton. He said he gave orders to tie Matthew up, and had dismounted when the reb called him by name.”

  “That would’ve shocked him.”

  “He was shocked by how much weight Matthew had lost. And he knew if he sent Matthew to Morton, he probably wouldn’t live out the war.”

  “What did he do?”

  “He had Matthew brought to his tent for questioning, and untied him so he could eat. Naturally, Matthew wouldn’t tell him any battle plans, but they spent a few moments talking about family and what had happened to the ones they knew about. Several were killed, including one of your other brothers, Harris. You knew about that, didn’t you?”

  I swallowed. “No, but Jonas thought so. He never sent word back.” Now I knew.

  “Anyway, Trey left Matthew untied and turned his back long enough for him to slip away. Trey said his superior officer was fit to be tied, but the private who Trey left guarding Matthew had no explanation as to how he got away.”

  “When did you meet up with Trey?”

  “After the war. I was riding to Ft. Kearney, and met Trey on the trail, chasing some men who had tried to kill him. They’d stolen his horses and outfit. He sent some items with me, back to his wife at the fort.”

  “It seems strange to know that Trey is married.”

  “To a fine gal. Mally Buchanan. Lived close to where my folks lived. She’s purt near your age. When you’ve had enough of California, I’ll take you to see them. They’re up north, in the Blue Mountains. I’m sure Trey would marvel-like to see his sister.”

  “I’ll think about that,” I said. I didn’t tell him I was looking for my Boaz, for men would probably think something like that very strange.

  After we ate the driver gathered us passengers around and asked who could shoot.

  “We’ve never had an Indian attack, mainly ‘cause we use mules through Indian territory, and they’d rather have the horses. Still I always reckon it’s better to know who can shoot and who can’t before the fighting starts.”

  We walked out to a place where he’d set up some tin cans. He had some rifles propped up next to a stump, including mine. Now I never did much target shooting, as we didn’t waste bullets in the mountains. Here was something to shoot that didn’t shoot back or run away. It hit me as funny.

  “My money’s on the lady,” Gage said. “Those targets are too big and too close.” He moved the shooting line back about ten feet and handed me my rifle.

  “Show ‘em how it’s done, Ruth.”

  I didn’t want him to make any money on me, and glared at him.

  “Come on. I know Trey taught you. You wouldn’t let him down now, would you?”

  Well, he had me there. I picked up my rifle, checked the rounds, then blasted the furthest can into the air and shot it as it was comin down for good measure. Then I handed the rifle back to the driver and stepped back.

  “Oh, my. I’m glad I didn’t bet,” said the much-traveled gent. He picked up a rifle and shot a can, then handed it to the next man. Most hit what they were aiming for, including one of the portly gents. The other one declined to even touch the guns. “I can load, if someone shows me how,” he said.

  “This is better than usual,” the driver said. “If we have to shoot, I know you can do it.”

  “I haven’t seen any sign of Indians,” said one of the passengers. I looked at Gage and could tell by his expression that he had.

  I got out my cleaning kit and commenced to clean the barrel, wrapping it up afterwards to keep sand out of it, then checking the rounds. It was the rifle Trey had used to teach me, when I could just ‘bout steady the weight. I’d do anything big brother asked of me, and he took all of us kids out into the woods and made sure we could hunt and fish and handle firearms correctly. Our table never went bare, no matter how tough times got. And that double shooting was for shooting a duck on the pond and a second one in the air.

  I knew Gage could shoot like that, for I’d seen him. Trey told me I was a natural shooter, for some folks try and never really learn. I just looked at what I was shooting at and hit it, like I was pointing my finger at it. If I tried to aim, I’d miss it, so I never bothered bringing the rifle up to my face. Just pointed and shot.

  Trey told me never to aim, so I didn’t.

  “Miss, with your dog and your gun, I reckon the men will just weed themselves out for you,” the driver said as we got back in the stage to leave.

  I looked my question.

  “Ain’t none but a very confident man goin to try for your hand. Still, you be careful in ‘Frisco. There’s some mighty mean men thar, lowlife who act like they’re the prime of the earth. I won’t want you fallin for one of them. Even these men. They may not be what they seem. That one,” he pointed at Gage, “he watches you all the time. You be careful of him.”

  I was looking for my Boaz, and he would be the prime of the earth. I just had to find him.

  We traveled all day and all night, every night. I felt like a rug that had been hung over a limb and whacked clean with willow branches. Just twenty-two days, they’d tol
d me. Twenty-two days until we reached Frisco. The stage was not a comfortable way to travel, but watching some people being jostled on the wagon seats as they went by made me realize the stage handled the ruts bettern’ most. It swayed side to side rather than up and down.

  The portly gent who couldn’t shoot was from England. He and one man who had been a sailor said it was like riding a boat in the ocean. I wouldn’t know, but I did find out what sea-sickness felt like.

  The road was being used by freight wagons and every sort of conveyance, and some of the ruts were getting mighty deep. The wheels on all the vehicles were not the same apart, so we’d run along a rut for awhile, bounce out of it and drop into a different set.

  We had to sleep where we were sitting and eat whatever they had to feed us. On the second day, they switched to mules. When we got ready to start again, Travers ran up to the stage and sat down, looking up at the top pile of luggage. One of the Wells Fargo men reached down to pick him up and he growled at him.

  Then Gage rode over, jumped down, grabbed Travers by the scruff of the neck, put a hand under his rump, and heaved him in the air. That dog flew up to the top and landed amid the luggage, just like a suitcase thrown up there. He settled himself down for the day behind the new driver who was to take us over this stretch.

  Gage saw me watching and made me a courtly bow. I laughed. If Travers allowed Gage to do that to him, I figured he’d allow him most anything and it set my mind to ease.

  We humped and bumped our way to the next station. Once we crossed a river where they had built a bridge for the coach. We all got out and walked while the driver took the stage across. Looking down at that swiftly moving water, I knew I sure didn’t want to be trapped in no coach if it went in. The bridge was narrow, barely wide enough for the coach itself, and looked like it would float away with any good flood.

  The smaller streams, we splashed across. The deeper ones, Gage and the other outrider would throw their ropes on the upstream side of the coach and hold it steady while we crossed.

  The driver had a little bugle that he’d blow when we got close to a station, alerting the men there to get the teams ready. He’d blow it again just before we pulled up. They had the team ready to switch, and we jumped out of the coach, stretched our legs and jumped back in. They didn’t waste any time, especially on the passengers. The mail was the important thing, for the government paid them a lot to make sure it was delivered in less than twenty-five days.

  That afternoon we pulled into a station, the driver tooting his bugle the second time, and suddenly Travers barked, a deep throated warning that had the driver speeding up rather than slowing down. As we galloped by, men spilled out of the station house and barn, shooting.

  4

  Things happened fast. They had expected us to stop, but with Travers’ warning, we kept right on going and spoiled their plans. They had their horses hidden out back, and soon were racing after us.

  I saw Gage ride up next to the coach and jump aboard. He kept those mules running all out, throwing those of us inside around like seeds in a pod. He turned onto a knoll where he stopped them and jumped down. The stage was all katty-wonkered and hard to climb out of, but we didn’t waste any time. Gage handed out the rifles as the other outrider dropped off his horse and commenced firing. “Don’t shoot unless you can see something,” he said.

  “How’s the driver?” I asked, as Gage dropped down next to me.

  “Killed or almost. Couldn’t tell.”

  We both shot at the same time, at men who had decided to work their way closer. That wised them up, and they stopped moving down there.

  Gage had put us in a good defensive position, above the men who sought to rob the stage. We were all hunkered down behind rocks, well protected. They had only a ravine where they could creep up on us. And Gage and I had just made that ditch very unpopular.

  The stage mules were getting a rest, but we all needed water. One of the passengers crawled back to the stage and took off the water bags. He checked out the driver while he was there and gave him a drink and bandaged him up. Then he crawled around above each of us and tossed the water bag down. We’d get a good drink, then toss it back to him to take to the next. It was the portly gent from England who said he couldn’t shoot, but he’d found what was needed and was doing it.

  Travers came over and plopped himself down next to me.

  “Good dog, Travers,” I said. “You warned us just...”

  His hackles raised, and with a low growl he looked over at an adjoining ridge.

  “They’re trying to sneak around and get above us,” Gage said, loudly enough for the rest to hear. “Shoot anything that twitches near the notch of that rock.”

  Since I didn’t have to aim, I just pointed and shot when I saw a blur go by. A yell made me think I’d hit something. A ricochet could do more damage than a bullet, so I just squeezed off a few more rounds in that direction. Gage pulled out and circled around, and soon I heard some pistol shots, then saw his rifle extended and waving from that area.

  “Don’t shoot him. That’s Gage up there.” I put one more shot down the ravine when a knee got stuck out too far, and a scream told me I’d hit it.

  We sat and baked in the hot sun until it commenced to set. There was no way they were going to sneak up on us with Travers watching.

  It was a ragtag bunch of outlaws. They had probably figured the stage passengers to be easy pickins, but people could use a gun in that country and knew how to defend themselves. The outlaws must have hit the station just as the workers were getting the mules ready for us to come in. It was a swing station where there was a team change only.

  It got dark, but not too dark and someone on the other side of me shot and I heard a curse as the outlaw group pulled out.

  A few minutes later, Gage called out and then came in.

  “Let’s go back to the station and see if there’s anyone there needing help,” he said. “Any of you able to drive the coach?”

  “I can,” the much-traveled gent said. He climbed up onto the seat, we brought the driver inside and all got in or on the top.

  Then with Gage and Travers leading the way, we worked our way back off that knoll, back down to the road and then to the station.

  They hadn’t bothered to tie up the station man, just shot him and left him for dead. His helper had fled to the rocks and had come back to see to him. They had been so intent on chasing the stage that they hadn’t taken the change of mules, so we did the changing and put the wounded station keeper and the driver inside the coach to take them on to the fort, which was the next stop.

  Jack, the much-traveled man, drove. Five of the other men sat on top of the stage with Travers, who by now had accepted all of them.

  Gage and the other outrider changed horses at each team change, for one horse couldn’t a-took that trip at that pace and lived. I wondered how we would make it. We press hard and made the fort before nightfall.

  The Fort consisted of a few buildings placed so they could be easily defended. We ate there. Gage ran into one of his friends from the war, and they proceeded to do some recollecting of those days.

  Gage had evidently been an army courier, carrying messages across the western frontier for the Confederates. I sat there resting, Travers beside me, and listened to them talk.

  “With the war over, I got an early discharge,” Gage said. “Went down the Oregon Trail with Trey Trahern and his wife...”

  “Major Trahern?”

  “Yes.”

  “Union, wasn’t he?”

  “Yes.”

  “I thought he might stay in the army.”

  “Not Trey. Got him a woman and is now ranching.

  “How ‘bout you?”

  “I’m catching me a woman, then I’ll try my hand at ranching, too.”

  “You shouldn’t have any trouble getting yourself a wife. The gals must fall all over you.”

  “Not the one I want.”

  “Hum,” I thought. “So Gage ha
s got himself a gal all picked out. I wonder if she’s in California. He hasn’t mentioned her, but he wouldn’t unless I knew her.”

  One of the portly men walked up to me—the one who could shoot and was the more talkative. “Ma’am, I’d like to give your dog a big meaty bone. I reckon we would’ve been caught flat-footed at that station if he hadn’t warned the driver. I don’t figure he’ll take it from me, so I’ll give it to you. There’s gold being found in California, and my bank has to have cash to buy it from the miners. So they loaded up my suitcases and sent me west as a passenger. Someone must have heard about it. I’m afraid I might have made us a target, and I’m sorry you were caught in this. Although I do think you got at least two or three of them.”

  “Nicked them good,” I agreed.

  “Made them wish they had chosen another profession,” he added.

  “I’ll give Travers some of my vittles. I don’t want him eating just anything.” Now I could see no reason why the man would want to poison Travers, but I’d been warned by Mr. Debras.

  I took the bone he had wrapped in a paper and tossed it out for the coyotes.

  It bothered me, that he’d told me about the money. A secret shared is no longer a secret, and I wondered if the reason someone had targeted this coach to rob was because this man was too loose with his tongue.

  After a supper of dried jerky and something they called soup, I asked Gage if he’d accompany me outside while I let Travers run for a minute. It wasn’t that I needed company, but I decided if someone else was going to try to rob this coach, Gage at least should be prepared.

  We stepped outside together and walked away from the buildings.

  Gage took my hand. “It’s nice to get you alone, Ruth,” he said.

  “Yes. We need to talk. You know the heavy-set man who does a lot of talking? He told me he has suitcases full of money that he’s taking to a bank in California, so they can buy some of the gold being found.”

  He dropped my hand and turned to face me. “What?”

  “He thinks that’s why we were hit today. I figured you needed to know to be extra alert. And why would he tell me? That’s strange in itself.”