Chapter Fifteen
THE BRILLIANT LIGHT OF the noonday sun touched the red hair of Carleen Hayden, and the tint made a colorful dot as the train rumbled along. Of all the members of the train, Carleen was by far the most inquisitive. She rose from her blankets each morning ready to ask questions, and they did not stop until she closed her eyes in sleep at night. She moved back and forth between the wagons, knew all of the skinners better than anyone else, and now, as the Conestogas rumbled over a small stream, she had stopped to dabble in it. For a time she looked for crawdads, and finding none she at last spotted a small snake. With a cry of excitement she ran after it and picked it up. It was a beautiful shade of green, no more than eight inches long and no thicker than her thumb. As the reptile curled itself around her forefinger, she studied it and considered keeping it as a pet.
“I reckon not,” she said. “You need the water.” She put the snake down, watched as it made its graceful way into the water, and then hurried over to where she saw Paul Molitor, who had become one of the herders for the animals. He was riding a small dark brown horse but had dismounted now and was looking off into the distance.
“Paul—Paul!” Carleen cried and ran over to him. She pulled up in front of him and looked up into his face. “What are you doing?” she asked.
“Don’t you ever get tired of asking questions?”
“I caught a snake. It was green and about that long.”
“You’d better leave those things alone.”
“I’ll leave the bad ones alone, but this one wouldn’t hurt anybody.”
He looked off and saw several of the mules wandering away from the main herd. “I’ve got to stop those mules,” he said.
“I’ll go with you.”
Molitor looked down at the girl but made no answer. He was not as pale as he had been when he had first joined the train and had gained a few pounds. The good food and the forced abstinence of liquor had brightened his eyes, but there was a sadness about him that was almost physical.
The two walked along and started for the mules, but Carleen said, “Let me get them. I can ride your horse.”
“No, you might fall off.”
“I don’t fall off of things. Please, Paul.”
Molitor shook his head. “No. I’m afraid something would happen. I don’t need a hurt child on my conscience.”
Carleen hurried to get on the right side of Molitor as he walked leading the horse. When they were close enough, she shouted, “Get back there, you ugly mules!” She called one of them a name that she had heard the mule skinners use. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she liked it.
Molitor stared at her. “Don’t ever use that word, Carleen.”
“Why not?”
“Because it’s not a good word—especially for children.”
“Oh, it’s a cuss word. I know most of the cuss words. You want me to say them for you?”
Molitor suddenly laughed. “No, I think not.”
Out of the blue Carleen had the habit of firing questions rapidly of the most intimate nature. “You have a wife, Paul?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know why not. It just never came my way.”
“Most men as old as you have wives. How old are you?”
“I’m thirty-three.”
“That’s pretty old. I expect you’d better get married pretty soon.”
“I’d better not. I might have children, and one of them might ask as many questions as you do.”
Carleen seemed not to hear. “Were you ever almost married?”
There was a moment’s silence, and then Molitor shrugged, “I guess I was what you call almost married once.”
“What was her name?”
“Her name was William.”
Carleen looked up at him, her green eyes bright. “William! That’s a boy’s name.”
“William Smith. That was her name all right. You see, before she was born her parents wanted a boy, and when they got a girl they decided if they couldn’t have a boy they’d give her a boy’s name anyway. Yep, I think about William a lot.”
Carleen reached over and struck Molitor with her fist on the arm. “You’re funning me, Paul.”
Molitor smiled. “Why don’t you go pester somebody else with your questions?”
“No, I don’t want to.” She glanced over and saw Mark trudging along on the other side two hundred yards away, picking up firewood and throwing it in the box. “Mark drinks whiskey too much just like you.”
A flush washed across Molitor’s face. “You’re not supposed to tell people their faults, and you’re not supposed to talk about your family to strangers.”
“What difference does it make? Everybody knows you and Mark drink too much whiskey.”
Molitor did not answer, and a few minutes later Carleen said, “Look, there’s Grat Herendeen’s wagon. Nobody likes him, but he’s not all bad.”
“How do you know?”
Astonishment touched Carleen. “Why, I just know! You can just look at someone and know what they’re like.”
“No, you can’t. That doesn’t always work.”
“It does with me. I can just look at someone, and I know about them.”
“You can be wrong.” Molitor did not speak for awhile, then finally he lifted his eyes to the horizon. He seemed to see something far away, but actually his eyes were blank. “I thought I knew someone once, but I was wrong.”
“Was that William?”
“She let me down.”
“Well, maybe you just need to find a good woman, Paul.” Then she made an abrupt change. “When I get old enough, I’m going to marry Chad.”
Molitor laughed. “He’ll be too old for you. He’s too old now.”
“Sometimes older men marry younger women. There was a man that lived down the road from us. He was sixty-two years old, and he married a woman who was only eighteen.”
“Doesn’t seem suitable.”
“Well, maybe I’ll marry you. I’m ten now. Some girls get married when they’re fifteen, and you’re thirty-three. That means you’ll be only thirty-eight by the time I’m old enough to marry.”
Molitor suddenly laughed, and his mood lightened. “I will wait with breathless anticipation, Carleen. We’ll be the handsomest couple in town.”
* * *
PEDRO EASED HIS HORSE and looked out at the animals that were plodding along in a docile manner. It was high noon, and he watched as the animals stopped beside the small creek. He turned to Callie, who had joined him while the animals were drinking. “This is Walnut Creek,” he said. He pointed and said, “We’ll be taking the Cimarron Cutoff pretty soon.”
“What happens then?”
“We cross the Arkansas and head south.”
“How long will it take?”
“Maybe another month.” He pulled a small cigar out of his pocket, lit it with a match, and blew the smoke into the air. “You never been in Santa Fe?”
“No, I never have.”
“When we get there, you can buy a dress and be a woman.”
“I don’t need any dresses, Pedro.”
Pedro Marichal eased his tall form backward, his eyes constantly on the move. “You need to get you a man. Every woman needs a man. Someone to take care of her.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“God made men and women to be together. Don’t you ever read the Bible?” Pedro grinned, his teeth white against his olive skin. “He made Adam and then He saw that Adam was lonesome, so He made Eve. That’s the way it is.”
“I don’t need no man. I can take care of myself, me.”
“That boy Mark, maybe he likes you.”
“No. He may want me, but that’s not enough.”
“It’s enough to start with,” Pedro shrugged. “We need somebody to want. Listen to me, Callie, I’ve worn out three wives, so I know what I’m talking about.”
Callie suddenly laughed. “Well, I’m not going to be num
ber four.” She rose and suddenly kicked her horse into action. The mare lifted up into a gallop, and she circled the herd. Far off she saw Carleen talking to Paul Molitor and wondered about the man. He was a different kind of man from anyone else, but he was sad about something.
“Callie, wait a minute.”
Callie turned to see Mark Hayden riding toward her. “I need to talk to you.”
“What do you want?”
Mark pulled his horse up so that he was alongside of Callie. He seemed awkward and ill at ease, and Callie was cautious.
“I don’t have a creek to push you into, but I can shoot you.”
Mark Hayden suddenly laughed. He was a clean-cut young man just under six feet and was trimly built. It was the first time she had ever seen him laugh, and the thought crossed her mind, Too bad he doesn’t laugh more. He’s better looking.
“I came to apologize for what happened at the creek. It’s taken me this long to work my courage up. I’m not known for my skill in making apologies.”
Callie laughed and suddenly felt better about the young man. “Why then I suppose I should apologize for pushing you into the creek.”
“No. I’m just glad you didn’t shoot me.” He glanced at the gun that she always carried. “Do you know how to shoot that thing?”
“Well enough.”
“Not many young women carry guns.”
“I suppose not.”
The two pulled their horses to a stop, and both animals lowered their heads and began grazing. “It’s rather strange to find a woman as young as you all alone. Don’t you have any family?”
“I had only my papa, and he died not long ago.”
“I’m sorry. What did he do?”
“He was a mule skinner, and he taught me how to drive a mule train. I could drive one of those wagons as well as most of the men, but Rocklin won’t let me.”
“That’s a pretty rough life.”
“There are things worse than driving mules.”
The remark startled Mark. He considered the young woman for a moment and then shook his head. “I guess I’ve had it so easy. I’ve never done anything on my own.” He looked ahead of the train and saw Rocklin coming back from his daily scout. “I envy men like Rocklin.”
“You could be like him.”
“I don’t know why you should think that. All I’ve done,” he shrugged his shoulders, “is to make a nuisance of myself. Oh, I’ve managed to get drunk, and I got pushed in the creek. That’s about the scope of my accomplishments.”
Callie smiled. “Well at least you haven’t been hung for stealing, and I don’t suppose you ever shot anybody.”
“My negative qualities are numerous.” Mark suddenly grew serious. “I don’t know if I could ever do anything, Callie. I feel like an infant out here. If I got lost and out of sight of this wagon train, I’d die. I can’t even take care of myself.”
“You’re doing better, Mark.”
“You think so?”
“Yes, I do.”
“Well, that’s progress.”
The two continued to talk, Mark trying to draw Callie out. He was somewhat shocked at the stark quality of the life she had led. He had moved in a realm of society that was as different from hers as the surface of the moon was to the earth. He had paid her little attention before, but now, as he studied her, he was aware that the girl was a real beauty. Beneath the dusty men’s clothing she wore, her body was trim and had all the promise of young womanhood. He guessed her age at somewhere around seventeen or eighteen and tried to picture her dressed in a fine gown at a ball.
As for Callie, she was cautious around men. She found young Mark Hayden interesting. Actually, she had not been displeased when he had tried to take advantage of her; all men did that, and she knew how to handle it. It had amused her that she had pushed him into the creek. Most men would have been humiliated and furious and searching for ways to get even, but there was a good-natured air about this young man.
Callie grew relaxed, and as he began to talk, she was fascinated about the life of someone who was of his station. She was so intent on listening that she did not hear the buzzing sound of a rattlesnake. Her horse suddenly went up in the air in a wild effort to escape the snake, and Callie found herself thrown free, then she hit the ground. Before she could move, the hind foot of the horse caught her in the shoulder, and a pain such as she had never felt went through her.
Mark’s horse had also reared up, but he had managed to stop it. He awkwardly came off his horse, then saw the snake. Running forward he pulled Callie’s revolver and fired it. He missed the snake, but the reptile crawled away. He turned then to Callie and saw that her face was pale. “Callie,” he said, “are you all right?”
Her right hand went up to her shoulder, and her lips were white. “My shoulder. I think it’s broken.”
The sound of thundering hoofbeats came, and Mark turned as Pedro came up quickly. “Is she all right?” he said, coming out of his saddle. He held onto the lines of his horse and knelt down. “Are you all right, Callie?”
“My shoulder. It hurts so bad!”
“Can you get up?”
“I—I don’t know.”
The two men helped her, and she cried out as Mark touched her left arm. “Don’t touch me,” she said. “It’s—”
“We’d better get her to camp, Mark,” Pedro said. “A broken shoulder is a bad thing.”
* * *
“IT’S GOING TO BE all right, Leland,” Kate said. She was sitting on the wagon seat driving beside her brother-in-law. She had seen he was discouraged and was trying her best to cheer him up. “It’s kind of hard right now, but think how wonderful it will be to get to Santa Fe. We’ll have a whole new life there.”
Leland turned to face Kate. He shook his head with admiration. “I wish I had your faith, Kate. This has been the toughest thing I have ever known.”
“It could actually turn out to be good. You know the Scripture. All things work together for good to those that love God.”
“I’m worried about Mark.”
“He’s had a hard time, but you know, Leland, hard times make good men, not easy times.”
The two suddenly straightened for the sound of a gunshot had come to them. “I don’t think that was a hunter,” Leland said. He pulled the wagon up and saw that the rest of the wagons had totally stopped too.
They came off the wagon and Leland said, “There comes Pedro and Mark. Something’s wrong with Callie.”
The two moved forward, and at once Mark said, “Callie’s had a fall and got kicked by a horse.”
Kate saw that the girl’s face was pale, and she pulled a box out from the back of the wagon and set it on the ground. “Here, sit down, Callie. Which shoulder is it?”
“Left one,” Callie said through clenched teeth.
A crowd began to gather, and several of the teamsters had come to find out what the trouble was. Rocklin, who never seemed to be far away, came at once. He stood before Callie and listened as Mark explained what had happened. “We’ll have to fix you a bed in one of the wagons.”
“What if it’s broken?” Callie whispered.
Rocklin had no answer for that. “We’ll just hope it’s not. Lots of times you just put a stress on something. You’ll probably be all right in a few days.”
Carleen pushed her way through those who were watching, and Molitor was beside her. “What happened to Callie? She get shot?”
“No, a horse kicked her. Don’t pester her now, Carleen.”
“Did it hurt bad, Callie?”
“Of course it hurts bad!” Callie snapped. “A broken bone always hurts.”
“I’ll go fix a bed for you, Callie.”
“I can sit up.”
Suddenly Molitor moved to stand beside Callie. “Can you lift your arm at all?”
Callie looked up with surprise. Molitor was watching her carefully. “A little bit,” she said.
Paul Molitor reached out and began to run his hands ov
er Callie’s shoulder. Callie stared at him, and he said, “Does this hurt?”
“No.”
“How about this?”
“Yes! Oh, that hurts ver’ bad!”
Everyone was watching Molitor. He seemed like a different man. There was an assurance about him that they had not seen. Everyone’s eyes were on him as he ran his hand over the girl’s shoulder. He looked up to Rocklin. “It’s not broken, just dislocated.” He looked back to the girl. “I know that hurts bad enough.”
“Dislocated?” Callie asked between tight lips. “What does that mean?”
“It just means that the bones have kind of popped out of place.” He hesitated for a moment then said, “I think I can help you, but it might hurt a little at first.”
“Anything to stop the hurtin’.”
“All right.” He came to stand in front of her and said, “Put your left hand on your other shoulder.”
“It hurts.”
“I know it does, Callie, but you’ll feel better in a minute. Just hold it right here.” He guided her hand to her shoulder and held it and said, “Now listen, Callie, I’m going to pull your shoulder back into place. It’ll hurt. I know it’s hard to relax when you know you’re going to be hurt. The natural thing is to tense up. You’re a strong, young woman, and I’m not all that strong myself, so if you tense up, I’ll be pulling against your muscles. And if you resist, I just can’t do it.”
“What do you want me to do?”
“I want you to be absolutely relaxed for just a moment.” He shifted his hands on her, and there was absolute silence in the circle. “I want you to think about yourself as … as a big piece of liver—like you didn’t have any bones. Can you do that for me?”
“I … I can try.”
“All right. That’s fine. I can tell you’re relaxed. I’m going to count to three, and while I’m counting, you try to relax even more so that by the time I get to three you’ll be perfectly relaxed. All right?”
“All right.”
“Here we go then. One—two—”
And then suddenly Molitor made a move that was so unexpected that no one caught it. Callie was waiting for the three, and she grunted with pain and cried out, but then her eyes flew open with astonishment. “How does it feel now, Callie? Can you lift your arm?”
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