Ives introduced Page. When he pointed to Red Yeager, Billy could feel the vibes. Yeager squared himself and muttered, “I ain’t forgot you laid a gun on me, Page!”
Ives broke in brusquely, “Forget it, Red. Page’s one of us now.” When Yeager immediately changed his stance, Billy had no doubt as to who wielded the power. Yeager would not forget the incident, Billy understood, but the man would not go against Ives. George Ives was a rough customer, but he was also unmistakably the chief. He had quick eyes, a fertile brain, and nerves like steel.
Billy swung around as a back door opened, surprised to see Sheriff Henry Plummer walk in.
Ives wasted no time. “Henry, this is Billy Page. He’s all right.”
Plummer nodded after sizing Page up. “Listen to me, now, I can’t stay long.” He began to spew out information on gold shipments, who had money in their vaults, and which claims should be snapped up. Page was shocked at the man’s knowledge, not only about Virginia City but every camp in the country. The gang was far more powerful than he had thought, and it was evident that Henry Plummer was the brains behind the whole operation.
“Keep your ears open,” Plummer directed. He called out a series of names and assigned them a spot. “Ives, Marshland, Wagner, Carter, Long John—and you, Page, will be at Alder Gulch.” He paused and said emphatically, “We’re going to make enough money to retire in a few months! The gold is rolling out of the ground, but we’ve got a stranglehold on the whole country. Not a stage can leave without our knowledge of what’s on it. We’ve got our men spotted, and they can’t get out without our knowing.”
He took a few minutes to speak to each group, then motioned to Ives’ group. “You can put the pressure on the fellows who’ve moved out of town. Rough them up, shoot into their cabins at night. You know what to do.”
“Tybalt’s scared now,” Ives said. “And I think with a little persuasion, Crenna and Stone will fold.”
“Take care of it, George.” Plummer nodded at them, and paused to say to Billy, “We all work together, Page. Glad to have you with us. You’re onto a good thing.”
Plummer left, and as the party rode back to the Gulch, Ives talked confidentially with Yeager and Long John Frank. The men veered off, and Ives rode up to Page. “You’re going to be a rich man, Billy.” He laughed and slapped his saddle horn. “These miners are like sheep—all we have to do is fleece them when the wool is right!”
****
Zack and Buck were outside cleaning the weapons when Zack said, “Somebody’s really in a hurry.”
Buck lifted his head and saw a horseman racing toward them at top speed.
“That’s Stone,” Zack said. “Must be something wrong. Get these guns together.”
By the time Stone pulled up, his horse lathered, Bronwen and Lillian had come out of the cabin. “What’s the matter, Stone?” Zack asked.
“Crenna is bad hurt, Winslow!” Stone fell off his horse. “It was Yeager and Long John Frank,” he said hoarsely, his face pale and damp. He forced himself to slow down. “They’d come to make trouble, force us to sign our claims over to them. While they were harassing us, the Indian woman drove up. She had some food for us, and Yeager started in at once—you know what a foul mouth he’s got. He pulled her out of the wagon and started mussing her up, and John went for him. He didn’t have a chance! Yeager pulled his gun and bashed him over the head, then started kicking him!”
“What about Jeanne?” Bron broke in angrily.
“They—they roughed her up—kissed her and tore her clothes,” Stone said. “But she’s all right. They told me they’d be back with the papers for us to sign. We’ve got to get a doctor for John—quick!”
“Buck, hitch up the wagon. We’ll take him to town.”
“I don’t think he can make the trip over the trail,” Stone said.
“All right. Buck, go help Stone. I’ll bring Doc Steele as soon as I can get him.” He saddled the horse, mounted, and spurred the startled Ornery, who shot out of the yard at a full gallop.
As Buck hitched up the wagon, Bron turned to Nolan. “Do you think he’ll make it?”
“I don’t know. I thought Yeager was going to kill him. I tried to help him, but it was no use.” He kicked the dirt in disgust. “That’s how much good I am. Stand around and do nothing while two hoodlums kill my best friend!”
“We will have them for it!” Bron declared. “Now we need to make a good bed in the wagon to bring him here. Come now, help with the blankets!”
They made a fast trip down the trail. When they got to the shack, Buck drove up to where Jeanne was sitting in the dust, holding Crenna’s head in her lap. She looked up and Stone asked, “Is he alive?”
“Yes—but he’s hurt bad.”
They put him in the wagon on the pile of blankets, and she jumped in. “I’ll hold his head in my lap so he won’t feel the bouncing so much. Hurry, but be as careful as you can.”
Bron met them in the yard. “Bring him inside. The bed’s ready,” she said. They carried Crenna into the new cabin and carefully put him down. Bron looked at his face, took a deep breath, then said, “We’ll have to cut his clothes off. He may have broken bones.”
They did the best they could, but time dragged on. Stone and Buck sat outside on the walkway between the two cabins. The women moved silently from one section to the other, and from time to time, the men heard a groan. The sound of it went through Stone, and Buck said, “He’s still alive—that’s good.”
Finally they heard the sound of horses, and hurried to the front. Zack and Doc Steele rode up, and Steele slipped from his horse and unlaced his bag from the cantle of his saddle. “Where is he?” he asked gruffly, then followed Bron into the cabin.
“How’s he doing, Nolan?” Zack asked.
“Bad.”
“Buck,” Zack said, “walk these horses, will you? I don’t want them to catch cold.”
Zack moved around the yard, stretching his muscles, then stopped. “How’s Jeanne?” His mind had been taken up solely with the need to get the doctor.
“All right, I guess. She’s stayed with John most of the time.” They waited nervously for the doctor to come out with good news—they hoped. Buck joined them after taking care of the horses.
Finally Steele appeared, his coat off and his shirtsleeves rolled up. He was frowning. “I can’t tell you much,” he blurted out. “He’s got some busted ribs, a broken collarbone—but I’m not sure about his head. He was really hit hard, gave him a bad concussion.”
“But he’ll live, won’t he, Doc?” Stone asked.
“Maybe—but he may never be the same.” Steele shook his head, and they could see he was furious. “Yeager kicked him in the head, you say?” He cursed and they could see he was angry enough to kill. “And he’ll get by with it, the scum!”
“No, he will not!” They turned to see Jeanne, her eyes stormy. “I will kill him myself if no one else will!” she declared.
Stone looked at Zack. “I forgot to tell you. After he got through kicking John, Yeager gave me a message for you.”
“For me?”
“Yes. He said to tell you that he’s taken a liking to your women and your place. And the next time he sees you, he’s going to do the same thing to you he did to John.”
A stillness fell over the group, and Zack knew they were all expecting him to accept the challenge. Buck spoke up. “I’ll go with you, Zack. I can shoot.”
Bron had come out on the porch just in time to hear what Stone said. She watched Zack’s face. He looked tired, but there was an emotion in his eyes she couldn’t read. He said nothing.
Jeanne couldn’t stand it any longer. “I am under your roof. Will you let this man do this to me and to your friend?”
Zack felt the pressure, but he was strongly bound by forces of the past. Once, he thought, he would have rushed across the world to have it out with Yeager—but that was before he had given up on people. Before he’d been deceived, and before he’d learned that a man
can’t right all the wrongs in the world.
He said, “I’ll ride in and report Yeager to Dillingham tomorrow.”
Even Buck saw that futility. “Why, he’s got no authority out here, Zack!”
Bitterness like bile rose in his mouth. They did not understand. “What should I do? Go in and put a bullet in Yeager? He’s just one man. I can’t kill every man in the Gulch who’s vicious—and I don’t propose to try.” He saw the stark disbelief in their faces.
He added, “I’ll do all I can for John. If Yeager comes on this place, that’s different. But I won’t go looking him up, and that’s final!”
Jeanne’s Cheyenne heritage boiled over. “You are no man!” She spun around and disappeared into the cabin, leaving an awkward silence.
“Think what you want,” Zack said wearily. “I’m looking out for myself. That’s what I came here to do, and it’s all I’m going to do.”
Steele’s shoulders drooped. “Well, I guess it’s asking too much at that, Zack. The man’s a killer.” The anger seemed to have drained out of him. “I’m going to sit with John. Get me some hot coffee.”
Relieved to get away from the scene, Zack offered, “I’ll do it,” and left.
Stone knew this affected Buck, and gripped his shoulder. “Don’t be too disappointed, young fellow. There’s really nothing your friend can do.”
Buck was speechless. His world had fallen apart. If the earth had swallowed him, he could not have been more shocked than when Zack had refused to fight. To Buck, that meant his friend was afraid. Now the security that had been built up since Winslow had taken him in crumbled.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
A MONUMENT TO INJUSTICE
“John Crenna, if you get out of that bed one more time, I’m going to tie you in!”
Jeanne had left the injured man alone an hour earlier, but now coming into the cabin unexpectedly, she saw him hastily take the last few steps to his bed and fall into it. She angrily strode over, her hands on her hips. “You’re worse than Hawk or Sam! I leave you alone for ten minutes and you’re into something!”
Crenna squirmed, looking guilty. “Aw, Jeanne, don’t carry on like that. I’ve been in this bed for weeks now. Getting sick of being treated like a baby.”
“You’ve been there only twelve days, and you’ll be there another twelve, Dr. Steele says.” She reached over and touched his face, her hand gentle. “You’re going to have scars, John.” Dr. Steele had taken out the stitches, but the wounds were not healed. “We’ve got to keep those clean or you’ll get an infection.”
She filled the basin with fresh water and began washing his face. Her eyes were on the wounds, and she did not see the look on Crenna’s face. He remembered when he’d first awakened after a two-day coma to find her at his bedside. She’d scarcely left him during the first week, it seemed; for every time he awoke, she was there. Steele had pronounced him out of danger after a week, but his broken ribs tied him to the bed—or should have. “Don’t be shifting around, or it’ll just take longer,” he’d warned Crenna. “Only God’s mercy that you made it—God and this young woman,” he had added, smiling at Jeanne.
For days she had given him the intimate nursing care necessary when a man is immobile—feeding, bathing, changing his dressings. But he still reddened with embarrassment when she put her hands on him. She knew it, and found it amusing, as she did now. “Stop squirming,” she commanded. “You’re worse than Hawk!”
Her face was very close, and he was forced to hold his head still while she worked on the wounds. She had the smoothest skin he had ever seen, olive-toned with red cheeks and even redder lips. When she was not with him he was sure she could not be as beautiful as he thought—but now as he smelled the sweet fragrance she always carried, he saw no fault.
She looked down and caught him watching her. She smiled as he blushed. He was a puzzle to her, for although she knew he admired her, not once had he ever indicated by word or motion such a thing. He was a rough man, very strong, but sensitive and shy. Once he had asked to hold Hawk, and the black-eyed baby had looked very small in his massive hands. She had watched while he examined the tiny ears, marveling at them, and at the fingernails, then the smooth black hair. He had looked up and said, “I was the oldest of twelve. Seems like I was always either working in a cotton field or taking care of a baby. Ma always said I was better at it than my sisters.” She’d said impulsively, “But this is an Indian baby.” He’d stared at her in amazement. “A baby isn’t Indian or white, Jeanne—it’s just a baby.”
Now she saw him flush at the intimacy of her touch, and smiled. “You’re the shyest man I ever met,” she commented as she took a last stroke. Then she paused. “I’ve never thanked you for what you did, John.”
“Well,” he protested, “I didn’t do anything.”
She put the basin down, turned, and said with the intensity that marked everything she did, “You tried. Not many white men would have stood up to Red Yeager for an Indian woman.”
“Why, Jeanne!” His voice rang with surprise. “I never think of that—you’re being Indian.”
She gave him a look that he couldn’t interpret. It was a mixture of doubt and pleasure. She burst into laughter and put her hand on his as it lay outside the sheet. “You are something, John Crenna! Here the whole white world is at war with the Indians—and you say you never even think of my being Indian.”
“Well, I don’t!” he said, and was so intent on making himself clear that he blurted out everything he’d felt for days but never would have said under normal conditions: “Jeanne, when I look at you, I see the prettiest and kindest woman I’ve ever known, not the color of your skin!” His face colored as she laid her dark eyes on him, but he daringly put his free hand over hers and added, “I—I never have had much to do with women, so I don’t know how to talk to you.”
She let his hand rest on hers as she studied his blunt, scarred face, finding in his honest blue eyes something that held her. She smiled. “You’re doing very well, John.”
He was groping for words when Hawk broke out in a cry, interrupting the little interlude.
Jeanne turned to attend the baby, saying wistfully, “When I leave here, I’ll think of you.”
“Leave?” Alarmed, he said, “You’re leaving?”
“Oh, not right away. But Zack hired me to take care of Sam. When he’s old enough, I’ll be going.”
Crenna tried to digest that bit of news, but said only, “You’ll marry, I expect.”
“No. I don’t think so.” She got up, the baby in her arms. “I’ll fix you something to eat. You be still, you hear me?”
“Put Hawk up here.”
“He might hurt your ribs!”
“I’ll be careful.” She laid the baby on the bed, and as she left the room, she looked back. Already he had the baby smiling and chortling at the amusing faces he was making.
Jeanne was putting John’s food together when Bron entered the kitchen.
“How is he today?” she asked.
“He was out of bed when I got back,” Jeanne said, adding, “He can have solid food now, I think. He moves much easier. Tomorrow he can begin taking short walks.”
Bron nodded, “That’s good, Jeanne. He was in terrible shape. I think it was the good Lord who healed him—” Then she laughed, “But as Dr. Steele said, good nursing helps the Lord along.”
“He’s a strange man,” Jeanne commented. She paused in her preparation, stared into space, then shrugged. “Just when I decide men are worthless, one comes along who risks his life for me.” She turned to Bron with a sharp glance, asking, “You think I was too hard on Zack when he wouldn’t go after Yeager, don’t you, Bron?”
“Are you thinking that?” Bron asked. “You were very angry, that was all.”
“No, I would still kill Red Yeager.” Jeanne looked defiantly at Bron. “That is the Cheyenne way, the Indian way. Your way is to forgive—but I cannot do that!”
Bron tried to think of a way to an
swer, for she knew it was, in some sense, the key to presenting the gospel to the Indians. She nodded slowly. “Yeager hurt you, and you want to hurt him. All of us are like that, Jeanne. It’s part of what we are—because we’ve all done wrong. But Jesus said that we are to forgive our enemies.”
“Then they will hurt you again!”
“If they do, no matter, Jesus said. He let men nail Him to a cross when all He had to do was call down the angels. And He said, ‘Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.’ But that’s hard—when someone is hurting you, to not strike back.”
Jeanne eyed her with a puzzled expression. “I could never be a Christian!” she exclaimed. “I have to fight when someone hurts me or mine.”
“But what does hate do to you?” Bron gave her a steady look, saying, “It makes you hard, Jeanne. No matter that you get back at them, hate does something to you. I found that out long ago, when I was a little girl. A cousin of mine had done something to me, and I hated her! Oh, how I longed to pull her apart. I used to lie awake in bed thinking of awful things to do to her! You wouldn’t believe! She moved away from our little town—but something had happened to me. My mother knew it, and when I told her, she said, ‘Bron, you’ve set out to destroy a little girl—and you did—but not the one you think. You’ve made yourself into a nasty little creature!’ ”
Jeanne had finished dishing up the food, and picked up the plate. She paused long enough to say, “It may be so—but it’s not the Indian way.”
Her rejection depressed Bron, and she went about her work that day with less than her usual cheer. She was also worried about Lillian, who had developed a fever the previous day and seemed to be getting worse. When Zack and Buck came in at noon, she said, “I’m worried about Lillian.”
“She’s no better?”
“No. I think Dr. Steele ought to take a look at her.”
Zack nodded. “Maybe I ought to take her in.”
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