Warrior Moon

by Sara Orwig

  “Hope. My husband is Robert Grant.”

  “I’m Elwood Parsons,” he said. “Take him around back. I don’t want trouble,” he said with a shake of his head. Long oily strands of his brown hair touched his shoulders. “Folks won’t want a redskin in town.”

  Trying to control her anger, she raised her chin and went outside. Across the street, outside the saloon, men stood in a cluster and watched her. Vanessa set White Bird on the horse and picked up the reins to lead the animals around the house.

  At the back was an unused wagon, one wheel gone, with weeds growing high around it. A rusty pump stood close to the door of the building, and two windows were broken. An alley ran behind the place, with a fenced pasture across from the yard and two small structures fronting the alley. Glancing at the sagging board fence along one side of the yard, she disliked both house and grounds, but she had paid and she would try to find the doctor as soon as she got Lone Wolf into bed.

  Elwood Parsons stepped into the sunshine, his fists on his hips and a scowl on his face. “Ma’am, that don’t look like a scout to me. He’s in buckskins and he looks full blood.”

  “You said we could stay.”

  “One night. You get out of here before noon tomorrow. This ain’t a town for an Injun and his squaw.” He waved his hand. “That’s my lot behind the alley. You can put the horses in the shed and there’s feed.”

  “Thank you,” she replied stiffly.

  Parsons moved forward and pulled on Lone Wolf’s arm. Lone Wolf toppled to the ground, and Elwood Parsons let him fall.

  “Sure he ain’t dead?”

  “He will be if you keep that up!” she snapped, kneeling to try to get her arm around Lone Wolf to pull him up.

  “Just a minute.” Elwood Parsons disappeared and in seconds returned with a tall, rangy man with a thatch of blond hair. The two men picked up Lone Wolf, who groaned.

  “Careful!” she exclaimed, hating the way they handled him and wondering if Elwood Parsons hoped he could kill Lone Wolf.

  Entering a narrow hallway, they carried him a short distance into a room that held an iron bed, a washstand, a rocking chair, a tin tub, and nothing else. Holding White Bird’s hand, Vanessa followed them into the room.

  “I’d like water fetched for the bath,” she said.

  “That’ll cost you five dollars.”

  “Five dollars should buy the rooming house!” she replied, glaring at him.

  Elwood Parsons shrugged. “That’s it, Mrs. Grant,” he said rolling the name in an insolent manner, eyeing her again.

  She pulled out five dollars in greenbacks, and he reached out to take the money. “I’d stay off the streets with them two if’n I were you,” he said to her, jerking his hand toward White Bird and Lone Wolf.

  Vanessa nodded, her anger growing.

  “Here’s a key. We’ll fetch the water. Be out of here by mid-morning tomorrow.”

  As soon as she closed the door behind him, she rushed to the bed to feel Lone Wolf’s pulse. It was erratic, but she suspected hers might be, too, after the encounter with Parsons. White Bird had climbed into the rocker and was rocking back and forth, a smile on her face.

  “I wish we had a calico dress for you instead of buckskin. It would make our lives easier,” Vanessa said. She combed and refastened her hair, parting it in the middle. She smoothed her riding habit and finally felt she was as neat as possible under the circumstances. There was a knock at the door, and the blond man entered with buckets of water.

  His gaze raked over her with a bold insolence, and she felt a prickle of fear because she had little protection.

  “You lonesome, missy?” he asked.

  “Put the water in the tub.”

  He set a bucket on the floor and poured water from the other one slowly into the tin tab, looking at her as he filled the tub. “Going to bathe now?”

  “Just pour the water and go.”

  His gaze slid to the bed. “Looks like your husband is at death’s door. Course an Injun ain’t much loss.” The blond set down the empty bucket and picked up the other to pour slowly. “I’m Jethro Hankins. I live just two doors down the alley, so if you get lonesome, just let me know.” She stood in stony silence while his gaze went over her again. “You’re wasting yourself on that sorry excuse for a human,” he remarked.

  “Will you get out now!”

  “You’re mighty uppity for a squaw,” he said, crossing the room to her. She drew a deep breath as he reached out to touch her. Vanessa stepped back quickly, yanking Lone Wolf’s knife from its scabbard.

  “Get out of here.”

  The man stared at her, and his lip curled in a contemptuous smile. “I’ll go. But I’ll be around tonight. You might change your mind. We can dance at the saloon.”

  He picked up the empty buckets and left the room, leaving the door open behind him.

  She took White Bird’s hand and glanced again at Lone Wolf, who looked ashen. Deciding to tend to errands first and bathe later, she stepped into the hall, looking around for any sign of Jethro Hankins. Hurrying down the corridor, she entered the front room where Elwood Parsons was behind the desk.

  “Where can I find the doctor?”

  “Two blocks down, across the street, and in a back room at the barber shop. Won’t do you any good. Doc hates redskins.”

  Without replying, she left, praying she could convince the doctor to come take care of Lone Wolf. Angry and astounded at the hate they had already encountered, she moved along, becoming more curious as to why she hadn’t seen any women. All she saw were men and hastily built structures. Her gaze ran the few blocks of the main street and took in five saloons, a barber shop, a blacksmith, and a general store.

  Her nervousness was increasing because this wasn’t a town filled with families. She saw two signs—one stating Hair Cuts, Two Bits and below it, dangling by one nail, hung a board reading, Horace Wilkens, Veterinarian.

  She opened the door to a barber shop where one man was getting a hair cut and another was waiting. Embarrassed and frightened, she stood in the doorway and held White Bird’s hand tightly. All three men turned to stare at her, and the one in the barber chair looked at her as insolently as Jethro Hankins and Elwood Parsons had. A chill ran down her spine, but she faced them squarely. “I’m looking for Dr. Wilkens.”

  “He’s in the back room,” the barber said, jerking his head toward the door.

  “What’s a purty woman like you doing with a little redskin?” one of the men asked.

  “This is my child,” she answered stiffly, wanting to pull White Bird up into her arms and protect her from their remarks, thankful that White Bird couldn’t understand the hatred directed toward her. “My husband and I are passing through town on our way to meet my father, who is a colonel in the army.”

  She crossed the room aware of the scrutiny of the three men. Relieved to leave them, she stepped through a door.

  A lanky man in rumpled denim pants was in a chair, his feet crossed at the ankles on a billiard table while he snored.

  “Doctor!”

  He jumped and sat up, turning to look at her with bloodshot blue eyes, his gaze roaming down to her toes, and her annoyance grew. “What can I do for you, ma’am?” he asked, coming to his feet with the first note of respect she had heard in Martin Gulch. His gaze shifted to White Bird, and he frowned. “That yourn?”

  “She’s my daughter,” Vanessa said, staring him directly in the eye. “My husband was attacked by renegades. He’s been shot, and his wounds need tending. We’re renting a room from Elwood Parsons.”

  He looked again at White Bird. “Your husband must be a full-blood Injun.”

  “He’s a wounded man who needs medical attention,” she answered tersely.

  The veterinarian sank down on the chair and studied her. “I work on animals and people, but not on redskins.”

  Her anger soared, but she quietly opened her reticule and took out a twenty dollar gold piece.

  “Maybe this will c
hange your mind,” she said, holding out the gold.

  His fuzzy brown eyebrows raised, and his eyes widened. “Gold?” He stood up and crossed the room to get a black bag. “For gold, I’ll work on ole Abe Lincoln hisself. Next to hating redskins, I hate Yankees; but for gold, I’ll do most anything,” he replied cheerfully.

  Vanessa closed her eyes in relief, praying he could help Lone Wolf and thankful he would try.

  He nodded to her. “Let’s go out the back. There will be fewer questions that way. I want the gold now.”

  She handed the coin to him, and it disappeared into his pocket. He motioned with his head, and she followed him outside.

  “How did this town come to be?” she asked, looking at a building on the other side of the alley. Its boards were weathered, and the roof was full of holes. Vines grew through cracks between the warped planks in the walls. Torn, yellowed curtains hung limply in the open windows. The first woman Vanessa had seen sat on the step of the open doorway. Shocked, Vanessa stared at her, aware that the woman was in a chemise and drawers. Her brown hair was unkempt, and she was smoking a cheroot.

  “Hey, doc.” She stared at Vanessa, and Vanessa nodded, realizing the woman was a soiled dove, the first Vanessa had ever encountered.

  “Afternoon, Dusty.” They walked on past, and he glanced at Vanessa.

  “This was on a trail west to the territory, but it never was used enough. The Comanche, the snakes, no water—no sane person would stay here.”

  She wondered why he did, but decided she didn’t want his answer.

  When she opened the door to the room, Doc Wilkens crossed to the bedside. Rolling back his sleeves, he leaned over Lone Wolf. “I’ll do what I can, but he’s shot the hell up.” He turned to study her and White Bird. “Looks like to me the U.S. Army wanted him gone.”

  “It was renegades. He’s been an army scout.”

  He studied her. “People out here don’t ask too many questions and a man’s business is his own, but you look like you come from decent folks. Let me give you some advice. Get out of here as fast as you can get him on a horse and go. Word gets around that you’re married to an Injun or word gets around that you’ve got gold, you’re not going to be safe. As pretty as you are, ma’am, you’re not safe now.”

  “Thank you,” she said quietly. “Can you do something for my husband?”

  He studied her a moment longer and shook his head. “I’ll bet that gold piece your folks don’t know where you are.” He turned back to the bed.

  “Doc,” she said quietly, and he glanced at her. “Just because you don’t like Indians, don’t let him die on you. I would be most unhappy, and my husband’s people would be unhappy.”

  He nodded. “You paid me. I’ll do my job right. First, I want to get this gunbelt and knife off.”

  He bent over Lone Wolf, who groaned, and she moved restlessly around the room, going to the window to look at the alley. Jethro Hankins was chopping wood. He had taken off his shirt, and she could see he was as muscled as Lone Wolf. She shivered, feeling alone and afraid. She glanced over her shoulder at White Bird, who was in the rocker again, happily wiggling to get the chair moving.

  Vanessa crossed the room to take the child in her lap and rock her, and in minutes White Bird was asleep. The doctor had placed Lone Wolf’s gunbelt over the chipped and scarred headboard so the revolver hung close to his pillow. The knife was on the table beside the bed.

  Finally Wilkens straightened up, rolled down his sleeves, and put his things away in the black bag. He turned to face Vanessa. “Ma’am, I don’t know if he can make it. His pulse is weak, and I imagine he’s lost lots of blood. He ought to stay in bed until he begins to heal. I’ve given him something for pain, so he’ll sleep tonight. He looks as if he needs it badly.”

  “Thank you,” she said, relieved that someone who knew what he was doing had finally tended Lone Wolf’s wounds.

  “If you do stay here, keep off the streets. There aren’t any decent women in town. There are only two women here at all. Don’t let any of these men get you alone.”

  Frightened, Vanessa felt cold as she listened to him, at last comprehending that all three of them were in danger. He looked at the sleeping child in her arms.

  “They won’t be any better to her. She’s a redskin.” He shrugged. “Might be the girls would take her because she could earn her keep by the time she’s ten.”

  Annoyed and even more frightened than before, Vanessa tightened her hold on White Bird. She stood up, gently placing the child back in the chair. “Thank you for coming to help and for the advice.”

  He grinned. “I got my gold for it. I’m satisfied.” He moved to the door. “Ma’am. When you leave here, head south. About a mile south, you’ll hit a dry creek bed. Most likely you won’t find water for the next twenty miles or more, but there are creek beds with cedars along the banks where you can ride without anyone seeing you easily. You go any other direction, and people can see you for miles.”

  “Thank you. I’ll remember that.”

  He hesitated, studying her. “We don’t get many pretty women through here. I’d say it’s been two years since I last saw a real pretty woman—until now.”

  “Thank you,” Vanessa answered quietly. “And thank you for your help.”

  When he turned and left, she closed the door behind him, moving to the window. Jethro Hankins stopped chopping wood, and she stepped back so he wouldn’t see her watching through the tattered, faded curtain. He talked to Doc Wilkens and looked toward her room. She took another step back.

  She wished she had learned how to fire a pistol. She didn’t know how, and she was sure if Lone Wolf’s revolver were loaded and ready to fire, she still wouldn’t be able to hit anything. And she had to go out to get supplies. They needed food desperately.

  She moved to the bed and wiped Lone Wolf’s heated brow. He was damp with perspiration. She took a pillow from the bed and placed it beneath White Bird’s head.

  Both of them slept; and after a moment’s indecision, Vanessa took some money from the portmanteau and stuffed greenbacks into her reticule. She hurried into the hall and down the street to the next block where the general store was located.

  The floor was dirty, goods piled in a haphazard fashion, the pans and lanterns and other goods covered with a thick layer of dust. At a table by a pot-bellied stove, men gambled, paying little heed to their game as they watched her and talked in low tones. Aware of the men’s interest, she hurriedly selected what she needed. Occasionally, she heard one of the men laugh. Nervous and feeling vulnerable, she wanted only to get out of the place and hurried to the counter to pay for the goods.

  “If I go to the livery stable, can I buy a mule or horse to carry all this?” she asked the man behind the counter.

  “I’ll carry all of it,” a brawny man said, standing up with a scrape of his chair. He wore a faded chambray shirt with sleeves turned back, his blond hair sticking out in long strands beneath a gray, battered hat. As he sauntered toward her, her heartbeat quickened. “I’ll help,” he repeated.

  “Thank you, no. I need a pack animal. I’ll be traveling out of here soon.”

  “I’d be obliged to accompany you,” he said, his blue eyes studying her. “First pretty woman in this town in a bear’s winter. What’s your name, miss?”

  “Mrs. Robert Grant. Thank you, but no; I’ll get a horse to carry these things. I already have a husband, and we join up with my father and three of his officers. My father is a colonel in the army.”

  The moment she said her father was a colonel, the man straightened up and nodded, exchanging a long look with the clerk. “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Grant,” he said politely and sauntered back to the others. He leaned across the table to talk to them in a low voice, and two of the men glanced at her. She turned away to look at the clerk.

  “You might get a mule or horse if you can pay enough,” the stocky man behind the counter said. The light reflected off his balding head, and he tugged at his thi
ck black beard. “You pay Abner enough, and he’ll sell you his own horse.”

  “I’d like to take care of that and come back to get these things.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” he said, looking at her as boldly as the others had. Her flesh prickled and she longed to get Lone Wolf and White Bird and ride out of town, but she had to get supplies before they could go.

  She hurried out of the store, dreading walking through the entire town to the livery stable, but she had no choice. When she passed the open saloons, she clamped her jaw tightly closed, conscious of men coming out to watch her. Within twenty minutes she had purchased a sorrel gelding, a worn saddle, and a bridle, and was headed back up the street. The wind had sprung up, stirring the dust with a cold bite. A gust whipped tiny grains of sand against her skin, and she squinted her eyes.

  Doc Wilkens leaned against a post. He straightened and strolled to the middle of the street to fall into step beside her and take the rope to the sorrel. “Everyone in town knows you’re here.”

  “Does everyone know about my husband or his condition?” she asked, trying to keep her anger from showing.

  “Nope, not yet, but they will by tonight because Jethro Hankins will talk. I guess I don’t need to tell you to stay away from Jethro. I heard you’d gone to buy a horse.”

  “Word gets around.”

  “There’s nothing else to do here, and a pretty woman is a fascination for every man in town. I’ll pack your horse. If you can get your husband mounted up in the next day or two, you go.”

  “How far is the next town?” She glanced up at him, wind whipping locks of her hair across her cheek.

  “There’s not a town in any direction for fifty miles or more.”

  Disturbed and wondering if they should try to ride out of town under the cover of darkness, she halted in front of the general store. As frightening as the town was, she hated even more to think about moving Lone Wolf when he was finally getting the rest he needed.

  “You stay right here, and I’ll get your things,” Wilkens said. He disappeared inside and promptly reappeared, carrying flour, sugar, jars of pickles, a skillet, dried beef, and new canteens that she intended to fill at the pump. With the rope she had just purchased, he lashed the goods onto the sorrel, finally stepping back to survey his work.