by Len Levinson
She ran out of the room once more. Stone raised his hands to the flames. Something to be said for a good solid house with a fireplace and pretty wife. No need to live alone in a cold cave.
Caleb entered the living room, thumbs hooked in his suspenders, his hair curly, with a nose like a thumb. “Supper won’t be much longer. Give any thought to my offer? Thirty dollars a month and found. By spring you’ll have enough fer yer trip to Texas, if you still want to go by then.”
“Think I’ll head south in the morning. A man’s got to stay on course if he wants to reach his destination.”
“He might not know what his destination is. You have to leave room for divine providence. It’s not good to think too much. Let God show you the way.”
Leticia entered the room, scissors in hand.
“What’s that for?” Caleb asked.
“Captain Stone looks like a grizzly.”
Her father smiled. “Leticia’s a good barber. Why don’t you let her give you a trim.”
“He needs more than a trim, Father. Captain Stone needs to be shorn like a lamb.”
Stone examined Caleb’s hair, and it didn’t look bad. “I’d appreciate it if you would, Miss Leticia.”
“After supper,” she said. Blushing, she fled from the room.
“Flighty,” Caleb explained. “Too smart for her own good. Are you sure I can’t talk you into stayin’ with us fer the winter? Got plenty to do.”
“Need to move on.”
“What for?”
Stone unbuttoned his shirt pocket and took out the picture of Marie. “Ever see her?”
Caleb examined Marie’s cameo like features. “A man sees so many women. What’s she to you?”
“Friend of mine.”
Caleb handed the picture back. “You won’t git far onc’t winter comes.”
“Dinner is served.” Mrs. Pierce led them through the corridor to the dining-room table. Luke stood behind his chair, and stars glittered through the window. Leticia materialized out of a doorway and sat next to her father, who clasped his hands together in prayer.
“Dear Lord, we thank you for the bounty of this table.” He launched into a monologue about God’s blessings, the wickedness of the world, the innocence of the Lamb. His wife nudged his shin under the table. He cleared his throat and brought the prayer to an end. “Amen.”
Caleb carved the roast haunch of beef, and a maid poured glasses of buttermilk. Mrs. Pierce peeled the napkin off hot biscuits, their oven-fresh fragrance filled the room. Plates passed back and forth, and Stone found himself staring at thick slabs of beef on a bed of mashed potatoes, swimming in brown gravy, topped with fried onions.
He could barely restrain himself, but the hostess had to go first. Finally Mrs. Pierce saw everyone was ready, and placed a bit of mashed potatoes into her dainty mouth. Stone sliced roast beef, and ate calmly and steadily, certain his mother would appear and give him the back of her hand if he used both hands or smacked his lips.
Leticia studied the man of mystery, and his long beard made him look like a strange feral creature. Probably not too smarty but who needs brains? Meanwhile, Luke tried to appear nonchalant, as he examined Stone. He’d seen him fight Shoshonis, his gun quick, not a Bible-spouting hypocrite like his father. I wish I could be like him, and go wherever I wanted.
Agatha cast a mature woman’s glance of evaluation at Stone. I wonder what he’s hiding underneath that beard?
But he has good manners, and evidently had an education.
Caleb also examined Stone. Obviously a saloon rat, but nobody I’d rather have on my side in a fight with Shoshonis.
Stone, unaware of the attention he received, concentrated on rules of table etiquette he seldom employed at lonely campfires.
“Seconds?” Agatha took his plate the moment it became empty. Stone sipped cool buttermilk, and a log exploded in the fireplace, showering sparks up the flue. His plate returned, heaped with goodies.
“How long’ll you be staying with us?” Agatha asked pleasantly.
“Planned to leave before sunup, ma’am.”
“But you just arrived. You’ll need a bath and a few days of rest.”
“Got to be moving on.”
~*~
After supper, a servant placed a chair next to the stove. Leticia tied a bed sheet around Stone’s throat. He winced every time she cut a lock of his hair.
“Don’t make it too short,” he cautioned.
She snipped at his head. “You’re really quite filthy. I’ll have someone draw you a bath.” She rubbed against him innocently. “I feel like Delilah cutting Samson’s hair. Think you’ll be weak afterward?”
She flicked a shock of hair off his shoulder and sensed his massive physicality, compared to her father and brother. She felt like a fragile little doll beside him. He held up a mirror, watching himself emerge from her ministrations. She cut his beard to bristles, and he’d have to shave the rest.
She left the kitchen, and he removed his shirt, revealing several scars and bullet holes. He stropped his razor on a shiny length of leather, his movements smooth and steady, he’d done it a million times and refined it to a science. The razor cut deep swathes across his cheeks, and his rugged visage came into view. A maid filled the bathtub with warm water, and the air became thick with condensation. She retired, and Stone lay in the tub, but he couldn’t soak like a noodle forever. He washed quickly, put on dark blue pants and a yellow flannel shirt, tied a red bandanna around his throat.
In the living room, Caleb expostulated the doctrine of Continuous Revelation. “God speaks to us every day, and we must listen through our prayers.” He turned in his chair. “That you, Johnny?”
Shadows from the coal-oil lamp slanted across Stone’s smooth features and the cleft in his chin. “Thought I’d turn in early.” He fingered the brim of his old Confederate cavalry hat.
Agatha made a motion to rise. “I’ll show you your room.”
“If you don’t mind, ma’am, I’ll sleep in the barn.”
“You must be joking, Captain Stone. Surely you’d prefer a clean bed.”
“I’m used to living outdoors, and don’t think I could fall asleep on a clean bed. Besides, nothing’s nice as a hayloft. Thanks for your hospitality.”
Stone left three people with their mouths hanging open. “A little peculiar,” Caleb said, “but I wouldn’t be sittin’ here, it wasn’t fer John Stone. May the peace of God go with him.”
~*~
As Stone entered the barn, horses stirred in the darkness. He climbed to the loft and spread out his bedroll. A bat flew erratically in the rafters, and the pungent fragrance of hay filled the air. Stone felt clean and at peace with himself.
He thought of Leticia Pierce, only a stone’s throw away. She had that certain look in. her eye. But she’s just a kid. Leave her alone.
Women were the main problem of his life. He wanted to settle down with one, but Marie wouldn’t let him. She’d wormed into his spirit and he couldn’t extricate her. He’d known other women, but nobody ever loved him like Marie. He’d give anything to be with her in the hayloft.
Wind whistled against the barn’s shingles. In the hills, a lobo howled at the crescent moon. Stone rolled over and closed his eyes. Images of Marie came to his mind, beckoning through the sea of dreams.
Chapter Four
The sky blazed with stars as Stone rolled his blankets and tarpaulin. He packed saddlebags, threw the bedroll over his shoulders, climbed down the ladder. Warpaint fidgeted in his stall as Stone placed the saddle on his back.
A squat brutish four-legged figure emerged from the shadows. “What’ve we here?” Stone asked.
Muggs, ten pounds lighter, coat torn, dotted with burrs. Stone sat in his saddle, turned up the collar of his fringed buckskin jacket, then pulled his old Confederate cavalry hat tightly onto his head. He rode out of the barn and headed for the open country.
He felt clear, his body well rested. If the weather holds, I’ll be in San A
ntone by Christmas. He rode across the meadow and came to a dark patch of trail bordered by towering cedars and oaks. Muggs perked up his ears and came to a stop. Stone pulled a Colt out of its holster and cocked the hammer.
The forest smelled of moist vegetation as Stone peered ahead, but the night was dark. Muggs ran toward a tree and barked. To Stone’s astonishment, a figure came into view, wearing skirts and a wide-brimmed hat.
“Call your dog off,” said Leticia, teeth chattering with fear and the cold.
“He won’t hurt you,” Stone said. “What’re you doing here?”
Her voice came small and weak. “I’d like to travel with you.” She touched her horse’s neck for warmth and support.
Stone climbed down from his saddle and stood opposite her, his cavalry hat blocking the sky. “I think you’d better go back home.”
Her eyes pleaded with him. “I don’t want to go back. Please let me come with you? My father wants me to marry someone I don’t love, but I want to be free, like you.”
“I don’t know what you think I am, but don’t throw away a good home. You might miss it someday.”
“It’s a prison. I want to have some fun before I die.”
Stone pointed south. “You think it’s fun out there? Ever heard of Shoshones? You know what they do with white women?”
She drew a Remington from her belt. “If you make it, I’ll make it.”
“Where’d you get that?”
“My father’s. I also took two hundred dollars, so I won’t be a financial burden to you. And I left a note. Said we eloped. So we’d better get moving.”
Stone unfastened the top button of his buckskin jacket as heat generated from his body. “Let me tell you something, missy. You’re going home right now, and I’m taking you there myself. I’ll personally hand you over to your father and request he spank you.”
Quick as a minx, she aimed the gun at him. “Don’t move.” He reached for it, but she jumped backward and pressed the cold barrel to her temple. He stopped in his tracks. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I have nothing to live for,” she replied melodramatically.
“Isn’t there some way you can talk this over with your father? We can all sit down, and I’ll help you explain.”
“My father doesn’t believe in unmarried daughters living away from home. How’d you like to live with a religious fanatic?”
“The trail runs through injun country. It’s hell out there.”
“Nothing I can’t do, if I put my mind to it.”
He noticed she was distracted. Reaching forward quickly, he plucked the Remington out of her hand, and she jumped two inches in the air. Then he calmly pushed the gun into his belt. “You’re going back to your father. You can kick and scream all you want, but it won’t do any good. I don’t have time for spoiled brats.”
She let out a sob, her eyes filled with tears. Small and pathetic, shoulders quaking with misery, she buried her face in her hands. Muggs let out a cry of compassion, and Warpaint whinnied in disapproval of Stone’s cruel judgment.
Stone placed his arm around her shoulders. “I think you should come to terms with your father, and work something out.”
“My father always gets his own way. He thinks God talks to him. How’d you like to marry someone you didn’t love?”
“Every lawman in the West will be looking for us. They’ll shoot me on sight.”
“Daddy and Luke said you saved their lives. Even my mother likes you. My horse likes you too. Her name’s Lulu. I bet she can keep up with your horse. And I know how to ride real well. The cowboys taught me.”
Stone puffed a cigarette and weighed the prospects. Trouble all the way to Texas. But I can’t send her back against her will, to marry somebody she doesn’t love. She’s really not a child anymore. “What’ll you do when your two hundred dollars runs out? I hope you’re not expecting me to take care of you. I’m flat busted.”
“I can be a schoolmarm, a librarian, or a clerk. Father will awaken soon, and we want to get a good head start.”
He pointed his finger at her nose. “You give me any trouble, I’ll personally carry you back to your father.”
She reached toward his belt and pulled her Remington loose. He grabbed her wrist, drew her close, and gazed into her eyes.
“I give the orders, or we go our separate ways. Get my drift?”
“Anything you say, pardner.”
She climbed onto her horse, holding the reins the way her father’s cowboys taught her, a bedroll fastened behind her saddle. Her black mare moved down the trail, and Stone prodded Warpaint. Muggs sniffed the ground for interesting possibilities, and the travelers disappeared into swirling mists of morning.
~*~
The alarm clock went off beside Caleb Pierce’s ear. He leaned over and pressed the button. Silence came over the darkened bedroom, sloth pressed him to the mattress. You don’t need more sleep. You just think you do.
His iron will raised him from the pillow. He swung his feet around and placed them on the rug, while the cold night air struck like sleet. He dressed in the wan light peeking through drapes. Another day to praise the Lord.
He tucked a wool shirt into his pants, pulled on a sweater, put on a coat. In the hall, his wife emerged from her bedroom, and followed him to the small chapel adjacent to the living room. Luke perched on his knees, hands clasped together, eyes closed. Caleb patted his son on the head like a dog, then took his Bible from the shelf and turned to Psalms. He waited for Leticia to arrive, so he could begin their morning family prayer service.
Leticia worried him continually. She argued every issue and wasted time that could be spent studying the word of God. He turned to Luke. “Tell your sister to hurry along. We haven’t got all day.”
Luke climbed the stairs to the second floor. He was jealous of Leticia, because everybody spoiled her, while he worked like a ranch hand. “Wake up!” No sound came from the room, so he threw open the door. The bed carefully made, a note sat on the bedspread. Luke felt light-headed as he reached for it.
Downstairs, his father nervously flicked through the Bible, waiting for him to return. “What’s takin’ ’im so long?”
Agatha’s eyes widened as she heard her son rush down the stairs. Caleb knew something was wrong as Luke held out the sheet of paper Caleb snatched it out of his hands. Agatha read over his shoulder:
Dear Father and Mother,
Hold on to each other, because I have news. John Stone asked me to marry him, and we’ve eloped. Please don’t be mad. When we’re settled, I’ll write. God bless you. Luke, take good care of Mother and Father. Till we meet again, I am,
Your devoted daughter and sister Leticia
Caleb was stunned by her words. “I believed in John Stone, but look what he’s done!”
‘They haven’t gone far,” Luke replied. “Maybe we can catch ’em.”
“Turn out the bunkhouse. Tell the ramrod I want to see him pronto.”
“But, dear,” his wife protested, “we haven’t said our morning prayers.”
“Later,” he replied, pushing Luke toward the door.
The dutiful son ran down the hallway, while the father climbed the stairs to his bedroom. He opened the bottom drawer of his dresser and pulled out his Colt, holster, and gunbelt. Standing before the mirror, he strapped them on. Agatha joined him, a worried expression on her face.
“What’re you going to do?” she asked fearfully.
“When I get my hands on John Stone . . .”
“Maybe it’s for the best, Caleb. She’s a spirited girl, and needs her own life. John Stone didn’t seem so bad. God will provide.”
Caleb raised his caterpillar eyebrows. “How decent can a man be, if he runs off with a young girl?”
“When I married you, I wasn’t older’n Leticia.”
“It was a different world. We grew up faster. The young-uns of today’re weak, or maybe it’s the signs of the times, and woe to she who can’t read ’em. J
ohn Stone’s one cunning son of Satan.”
He bellowed commands to everyone in the vicinity, while Agatha worried about her daughter. I knew this’d happen someday, but you made her, Lord, and I Jiggered you had your reasons.
~*~
“You wanted to see me, sir?” Dan Boettcher, ramrod, filled the door of the office, wearing an old blue canvas jacket, hat in hand.
“Saddle up the men,” Caleb said. “A stranger run off with my Leticia, and we’ve got to git her back.”
Boettcher was average height, built solidly. “The stranger what slept in the barn last night?”
“His name’s John Stone.”
Boettcher scratched his chin thoughtfully. “Seems I heard that name before.”
“The longer we dawdle, the farther away they get. Leave a skeleton crew to take care of ranch business and protect Mrs. Pierce.”
Boettcher put on his hat, the wide brim rolled on both sides to cut the wind. His round sturdy face seldom showed emotion, but inside he seethed. He taught Leticia to ride and shoot, hoped someday she’d marry him, and felt sick when he thought what she and Stone might be doing.
A rough bunch of hard-working, hard-drinking cowboys gathered around their ramrod. “Fergit what I said about yer jobs fer the day. A feller’s run off with Miss Leticia, we gotta track ’em down.”
Somebody guffawed. Boettcher spun around angrily. “Some-thin’ on your mind, Cassidy?”
The lanky cowboy covered his mouth with his hand. “Not me, Ramrod.”
“I’ll punch you in the fuckin’ mouth, you laugh at me. Saddle up, get ready to move out. Might be gone a few days, so bring what you need.”
~*~
It took until eleven o’clock to load supplies into the chuck wagon. Then the cowboys, led by Caleb, Boettcher, and Luke, rode away from the main house, hooves pounding on the ground as they headed south toward Texas.
Agatha watched from a second-floor window, hollow-eyed with worry. Leticia always had a mind of her own. As a baby, she cried unless someone picked her up. When she wanted to go to a special ladies’ school, they let her. When she wanted to ride horses, they told the ramrod to provide lessons. They even acquiesced to demands for a gun, because everyone, Leticia argued, should know how to protect themselves from injuns.