Angel Train

by Gilbert, Morris

  A look of shock ran across the faces of most of the prisoners. This was the ultimate evidence that things were going to be different. They all watched closely as Tremayne began to examine the weapons. From time to time, he called out a name, and a man would go over and accept the pistol and the rifle.

  “These are yours, of course, Tremayne, that you had when you were arrested.”

  Tremayne picked up the rifle the warden handed him and saw that Bryce was smiling. “Well, I wasn’t sure I’d ever see these again.”

  “I’ve got some ammunition, not much, but I’m sure that the settlers will see that there is plenty of that. Now, there are quite a few bits of clothes here that incoming prisoners were wearing. You can’t leave wearing these prison uniforms so go through these boots and clothing and see if you can get each man outfitted.”

  There was a hubbub, and Casey nearly smiled as he watched the men laughing and trying on different articles of clothing. Jack Canreen tried to get into a shirt and shook his head in disgust. “There ain’t no man-sized clothing here.”

  “We may have to outfit you from a store, Jack. We need good boots, too, so find the best boots you can.”

  An hour later the men were outfitted and stood there holding their weapons. Most of them had found a holster and had belted the gun on, and there was a look of satisfaction on their faces.

  “Well, it’s time for you to leave,” Bryce said. He stopped for a moment, and every prisoner gave him an intent look. Since most of the men were disillusioned about life, they would not have been totally taken aback if he had said, “We’re calling the whole thing off.” Instead Bryce stated, “I know most of you men are not Christians, but I am. You may not believe it, but I think God is in this. These people you’ll be helping deserve a good life. It’s been put into your hands to give it to them. You may not deserve a better life, but your slate is being wiped clean. This is a chance for each of you to be a different kind of man. I’m not going to preach a sermon, but I’m going to pray right now for you men to arrive safely at Oregon.”

  He bowed his head and said a brief prayer. Tremayne was shocked for the warden mentioned each man in the group by name. He heard his own name called with a fervent prayer that God would give him wisdom to make this journey, to arrive safely in Oregon, and to begin a new life.

  Finally the warden ended the prayer by saying, “I ask this in the name of Jesus and claim these men and the entire party for God. Amen.”

  He looked at the men, then said, “Well, I’ve assigned Fred Orlin the job of taking you to your point of departure. The weather is nice, and they know you’re coming so I’m sure you’ll have a good meal when you get there.” He approached Tremayne, stuck his hand out, and said, “God be with you, Casey.”

  “Thank you, Warden. Speaking for all the men, I wanted to say that we’ll do the best we can for these people.”

  “That’s all a man can do.”

  Bryce turned quickly and walked out of the room, and the men all followed. Outside, one of the guards, a slight man of thirty, stood beside the wagon. It was longer than usual and could carry as many as ten in the three seats. He was leaning against the wagon, eating an apple. He came to attention as the warden approached. “All ready, Warden,” he said.

  “Take them to my people,” Bryce said. “They’ll give you a good meal. I have a letter for you to give to Gwilym Morgan.”

  “Yes, sir. I’ll see that he gets it.”

  Bryce stood back. “I guess this is good-bye. I’ll be expecting great things from you men.”

  The men piled into the wagon; Casey sat in the front beside the guard. He turned, and as the wagon went through the gate in the wall that surrounded the prison, he suddenly felt like crying. It was something he had not done for many years. He could not even remember the last time, but he knew he couldn’t show it. The rest of the men gave a cheer, and Orlin nudged Casey with his elbow.

  “Time for celebrating, Casey. You’re a free man.”

  “No, I won’t be until we get these folks to Oregon.”

  “Ah, you know that country. It’ll be easy for you.”

  “No, Fred, it won’t be. Nobody ever had an easy time on the Oregon Trail. I’m not complaining though.” He smiled at Orlin. “You’ve been a good friend to me and to the other inmates, Fred. I want you to know that I won’t ever forget you.”

  Orlin was embarrassed. “Why, shoot, Casey, I wasn’t all that good.”

  The wagon rumbled with the road, and as it did, Casey Tremayne wondered, not for the first time, why this was happening. He was not a man who believed in much, but it was plain to see this was not accidental. He stayed deep in thought all morning, and he finally shook off his contemplation and began to make plans for the trip ahead.

  * * *

  “THE CRIMINALS ARE HERE!”

  Meredith had run to the window and stared out. She saw the wagon and dashed toward the door. Charity was across the room, and she and Bronwen followed. The wagon pulled up, and Meredith ran right up to it. She looked into the faces of the men and said loudly, “Are you the criminals who are going to take us to Oregon?”

  Tremayne was climbing from the wagon, and he couldn’t restrain a smile. He looked down at the small girl from his great height. “We’re the criminals. Are you afraid of me?”

  “No, I ain’t afraid of you.”

  “Well, that’s good. My name’s Casey. What’s yours?”

  “Meredith.”

  “Hello, Mr. Tremayne.”

  Tremayne looked up. “Hello, Miss Charity. No mister about it. Just Tremayne or Casey will be fine.”

  “I’m glad to see you.” She hesitated, nearly offered her hand, and then thought better of it. She looked over the men and recognized some faces. “Hello, Billy,” she said. “It’s good to see you.”

  “Hello, Miss Charity,” Billy grinned shyly. “Sure am glad to be here.”

  Charity greeted the rest of the men, determined to learn their names, and said, “I got a letter from my Uncle Paul. He told us what time you were leaving so I’ve got a big meal prepared. Are you hungry?”

  A murmur of ascent went through the men, and she said, “Come on in. This is my sister, Bronwen. My brother, Evan, isn’t here nor my father, but they’ll be coming in later. Come along.”

  Ringo Jukes glanced at Tremayne. “Bossy, ain’t she, Casey?”

  “Pretty much so.”

  “Well, I hope she’s a good cook.”

  “Whatever we get,” Frenchy Doucett said, “it’ll be better than what we’ve been getting.” His dark eyes were alight, and, like the others, when he entered the small house, he fell silent.

  Casey knew what he was feeling. He had not been in a private home for years now, and there was a strange feeling to it. The smells of fresh-baked bread and meat cooking were in the air, and he turned to the young girl with the bandaged hand. “Your name is Bronwen?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Did you help cook this meal?”

  “Yes, I did. I’m not as good a cook as my sister, but I’m learning.”

  “Well, I’ll bet you’ll be just as good with a little experience.”

  “All of you, have a seat. It’s all ready,” Charity said. She opened the oven and began bringing food on platters and plates while Bronwen and Meredith brought coffee in large cups. The men all sat silently, and Charity said, “We’ll have the blessing now.”

  Casey bowed his head but kept his eyes open. Some of the men, he saw, were struck dumb by this.

  She prayed quickly and then said, “Now, I’m not the cook my mother was, but I hope you’ll find something you like.”

  Indeed, there was little not to like—fresh beef steak, carrots, two kinds of beans, and bread. The men, somewhat selfconsciously, began to eat, but soon Frenchy Doucett glanced toward Charity. “Miss Charity, this is very good. You are a fine cook.”

  “Thank you. I’m glad you like it.”

  Jack Canreen was stuffing his mouth and said, “I a
in’t had a good meal like this in four years, but you won’t be able to cook this good out on the trail, I’ll bet.”

  “I don’t suppose so. There are no stores on the way, are there, Tremayne?”

  “No. A few army posts and whatever we can shoot.”

  Meredith did not sit down but had filled her plate, stood up, and moved around, looking at each man in the face. It was disconcerting.

  Finally Jack Canreen said, “What are you staring at?”

  “At you.”

  “Why you looking at me like that?”

  “I never saw any criminals before. Did you kill somebody?”

  Frenchy Doucett laughed softly, and Ringo Jukes said, “Go on, Jack, tell her what a bad man you are.”

  “No worse than some others I see here,” Canreen said. “Miss Charity, don’t you teach this child any manners?”

  “It doesn’t seem to take, Canreen. We do the best we can.”

  Casey enjoyed the young girl. She stopped in front of Ringo Jukes and fixed her eyes on him. Jukes winked at her and said, “Well, do you like what you see?”

  “You are a handsome man.”

  “Well, you’re a handsome girl.”

  “Do you have a wife?”

  “No.”

  “Why not?”

  Charity spoke up. “Will you hush? Stop asking questions.”

  They were nearly finished with the meal when Gwilym came in. “Well, I see our pilot and his men are here.”

  “This is Casey Tremayne, Father. He’ll tell you the rest of the names.”

  Gwilym studied them and then said, “When you finish your meal, everybody will be waiting at the meeting house. The people are all eager to hear what you have to say about the journey.”

  “Well, I’m not all that much of a talker.”

  “You’re a talker enough to tell us what we’ll be facing,” Gwilym said. “Was the meal good?”

  Every head nodded, and Ringo Jukes said, “Your daughter is a fine cook, sir.”

  “Yes, she is. Not as good as her mother, mind you, but she will be one day.”

  * * *

  THE MEETING HOUSE WAS very full. Charity found a place close to the front and held firmly onto Meredith, trying to keep her quiet. Gwilym rose and went to the front of the room, and everyone instantly grew quiet. “I want to introduce Mr. Casey Tremayne who will be our scout on this trip. He’s made the trip, I understand, before. Casey, come and tell us what we’re to expect.”

  Feeling uneasy, Tremayne rose and stood beside Gwilym. “I’m not much of a speaker, but I want to say at the very beginning this is going to be a hard trip. Probably the hardest trip any of you will ever make.” He described some of the difficulties, including Indians, disease, flooded rivers, and buffalo stampedes, and finally he said, “We’re getting a late start. You’re not ready to go yet, I assume. We have to have wagons, good animals, everyone has to be well supplied. There are no stores along the way.” Then he added, “We’ll have trouble, sooner or later, over what you’re going to take. I realize all of you have personal possessions that you treasure, but you can’t take them for the most part. No furniture. I’ve seen trains start out loaded, but when the animals play out, good furniture gets abandoned because the animals can’t handle it.”

  He hesitated. “I might as well say something about discipline. We will be going through dangerous country filled with hostiles—not at first but later. All of the men without exception will have to stand guard, and we’ll all take turns herding the extra stock, which will trail the wagons.” His face grew harder. “There’ll be times when you question an order I give. Usually during those times there won’t be any time for debate. I just want to assure you that I’m not going to give any order I don’t think is necessary.”

  He shrugged and said, “You all know we’re just out of prison. We were all put there because we committed crimes. I’ve warned the men that they’ll treat you with respect. If they don’t, you come to me, and I’ll discipline them.” He thought for a moment and added, “It would be good if we had a doctor. Lots of sickness and accidents on a trip like this.”

  “We have one, Tremayne,” Gwilym said, “Dr. Wingate there is going along.”

  “That’s good news. We’ll have plenty to do. Are there any questions?”

  Karl Studdart rose and said, “Can we make this journey, Tremayne?”

  His question was as blunt as the man himself.

  “It’s always risky, Mr. Studdart. One company, the Donner family being the largest group, got trapped in the snow so they nearly all died. They even resorted to cannibalism. That’s why I say we’ve got to get out of here as quickly as we can. I’ll say this. I’m thankful to be out of prison, and I’ve given my word to Warden Bryce as I give it to you. I’ll get you through or die trying.” He answered several more questions.

  Then Gwilym said, “We’ll have more meetings, and we’ll expect Tremayne to tell us about what we need.”

  When the meeting broke up, Helga Studdart, a very pretty sixteen-year-old, leaned against Charity. “How do you like our guide?”

  “I think he’s very capable.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Helga grinned. “He’s not handsome, but he looks like a real man.”

  “He looks well enough.”

  “You have no romance about you, Charity.”

  Charity gave Helga a disgusted look. “If he gets us to Oregon, I don’t care what he looks like. I’ll be satisfied.”

  Chapter Eight

  THE GROUP OF MEN gathered outside the corral attracted Charity’s attention. Seeing Evan standing on the outside of the circle, she approached him.

  “What’s all this about, Evan?”

  He grinned briefly at her. “A bit of an argument, it is, about whether to take oxen or mules or horses to get us to Oregon. Some of the men don’t like what Tremayne is telling them.”

  “What’s he saying?”

  “He’s saying, for one thing, that most of the horses we have in this country aren’t sturdy enough to pull all the way across to Oregon.”

  Charity stood on her tiptoes to see Nelson Brand standing in front of Tremayne. His face was flushed, and he was obviously excited. He was an even-tempered man usually, but Charity could tell from his tone and from the set expression on his face that he wasn’t happy.

  “You may know how to get a train across the country, Tremayne, but I figure I know as much about horses as you do.”

  Tremayne shoved his hat back on his head and seemed untroubled by the argument. “In that, you’re probably right, Nelson.”

  “These horses of mine”—Brand waved his hand at four fine-looking geldings, all of matched color—“they’re the finest horses in the country. I’ll match them against anyone’s.”

  “They’re fine-looking horses. I’ve already said that.”

  “What’s wrong with my taking them on the trail?”

  “I don’t think it would be the best idea. For one thing, the fact that they’re good-looking animals will make them real tempting to Indians. If they look good to us, they’ll look better to them. They’d love to have some good-looking, spirited horses like that.”

  Karl Studdart was standing close by. He interrupted. “You mean an Indian would be more likely to steal a good-looking horse than he would a broken-down one. That makes sense.”

  But Nelson Brand loved his horses. “These horses can work all day. You’re telling me they won’t make it across the plain?”

  “They might, but they’re pretty lightweight for the wagons we’re going to be pulling. You folks are like everyone else, I expect. You’ll pile everything you can in the wagons, and these horses will wear out quicker than some other animals.”

  The argument went on for some time, and finally Brand said, “Well, I’m taking these horses no matter what you say.”

  “That’s your privilege, Nelson.”

  Gwilym had been listening intently. “What kind of animals do you think we need? I know some take mule
s and some take oxen and some horses. What’s your preference?”

  “Well, there’s some advantage in mules. They’re tough, and they can keep going when horses will stop, but if I were choosing, I’d get me some prime young oxen. They live a long time, and they work pretty much until they die. Can’t beat them for stamina or strength. Besides that, they’re—well, they’re sweet-natured beasts. Not like mules. Mules are hardy enough to pull a ton for a day and a night. They can eat rocks and go without water, but nobody ever called them an easygoing animal.”

  The men murmured among themselves, and then Charity said almost without thinking, “What do you mean they’re sweet-natured? They look so fearsome.”

  “Well, they’re the most loyal animal I’ve ever seen to their teammates and to their owners if you treat them right. You know, when they’re teamed up, they form a bond for life. If one of them dies, it’s real hard to team up the other again. Sometimes they kind of get sick, give up, and die.”

  Charity was struck by that. “That’s sad. I had no idea.”

  “They’re not cheap,” Gwilym said.

  “No, they’re not. They don’t cost as much as mules, but more than horses. Then you’ve got to have good oxbows. That’s those big yokes around their necks. Those things weigh about two hundred pounds so you can’t carry a spare on the trail. I’ve seen men make them out of thin reeds and cover them up with leather.” Suddenly he slapped his hands together and said, “Well, anyway, I can’t tell you what to do. I can just give you my opinion.”

  “What about those of us who have animals already?”

  “There’s probably a good place to sell them around here or maybe in Pittsburgh.”

  “That’s right,” Gwilym said, “and you can always buy oxen there too.”

  “I expect you’d better get busy and make up your mind. It’s late in the season.”

  There was murmuring again among the men, and it was obvious that some weren’t convinced by Tremayne’s choice of oxen. “I’ve been wondering,” Studdart said, stepping forward slightly. He had a pushy manner. “I’m not sure about this route you’ve chosen. Tell us about it again.”