Angel Train

by Gilbert, Morris

  She began cleaning up, noticing that the hunters were leaving. They always moved ahead early, and then the caravan began. She saw Casey Tremayne on his big roan watching carefully. He seemed to be everywhere, his eyes never pausing. She noticed when they began moving now that some of the stock was already weak. It had been a long trek from Pennsylvania, and they had not yet begun the longest part of the journey across the plains and through the mountains. Tremayne was right, she thought almost resentfully. Some of the horses we started with have already played out, and people have had to trade them for oxen or mules.

  An hour later she was trudging along. The sky overhead was a pure azure. Large, fluffy clouds as white as cotton drifted lazily. As far as she could see in any direction were the bright gold black-eyed Susans, cheerful yellow dandelions, deep green wild henbane, and muted brown sagebrush and prairie grass. Far off to the south was a line of storm clouds. It may rain. I hope not, she thought. It makes such a mess. They had already had two storms, and Charity had enjoyed them, but now she was tired. Today was bright, however, warm and benevolent, and Charity, despite her aches, enjoyed the sounds of creaking leather and jingling harness and the scent of wild sage.

  The morning passed, measured by the slow, sure tread of the oxen and the mules, and the sun began creeping up from behind low-lying hills. By the time the train halted for lunch, everyone was hungry and ready to eat. The travelers did not cook at nooning but ate what was left over from breakfast. Charity had learned to cook more than was necessary for the morning meal.

  After the nooning the train continued, and about mid afternoon Charity noticed something in the distance. She was walking beside the train, staying out of the dust, and she saw Tremayne riding back. He stopped beside her. “Well, we’ve made a start anyway. We can do some shopping tonight.”

  “Is that a town?”

  “Yes. It’s Nauvoo. It was settled by the Mormons. When they got run out of Missouri, they came here and built this town. They didn’t stay long. They moved on. I hear they’ve gotten all the way to the big salt lakes now.”

  He stepped off his horse and walked along beside her, the big mount following him docilely. He told her a little bit about the Mormons, which she didn’t know, and then he called to Elsworth, who was passing by.

  “Elsworth, I’m going to ride on a little bit. Bring the train to the outskirts.”

  “Right.”

  Charity watched him swing into the saddle and thought, What a physically able man he is. He was tall and not heavily built, but his muscles seemed to be like steel springs. He mounted the horse easily and then galloped away toward the town.

  “Well, you’re going to get some town living, I understand, Miss Morgan.”

  “Yeah, I’m ready. You know what I miss, Elsworth? I miss a chair to sit down in. It’s hard sitting on the ground or the wagon seat.”

  Elsworth smiled at her. He was very lean and short and was a mystery to the rest of the train. He was obviously highly educated. She asked, “What did you do before you went to prison?”

  “I was a professor at a school called Harvard.”

  “What did you teach?”

  “Oh, philosophy and whatever nobody else wanted.” He shrugged. “It’s a way to make a living.”

  “Why did you go to prison?” Charity hated to ask, but she was curious. Charterhouse was from a different stamp than the rest of the inmates, who were rough-hewn and ill-mannered.

  “Embezzlement. My best friend took money from a business I was in and ran off with my fiancée. Left me nothing but a prison term.”

  “Do you hate them?”

  “Not anymore. Life’s too short for that sort of thing.”

  “I think that’s a good way to think of it.” She hesitated. “I suppose prison was worse for you since you were used to better things.”

  “It was pretty bad. If it weren’t for Casey, I wouldn’t have made it. Some of the men in the prison are pretty abusive. I was black and blue and bleeding before long, and then Casey stepped in and broke a few heads.”

  “Well, you two are great friends.”

  “Yes, we are.” He stared at her, and she met his gaze. “Tell me, Miss Morgan, is there someone you love or someone you hate?”

  “What a strange question!”

  “Well, as Horace said, Aut amat aut odit mulier; nihil est tertium.”

  “What in the world does that mean?”

  “It means a woman either loves or hates—nothing in between.”

  Charity smiled. “I’m not sure that’s true.”

  “I’m not sure either, but I quote Latin to make people think I’m wise.” He looked ahead at the town and rubbed his face. “I think I’ll get a shave and a bath if there’s a barbershop there.”

  “I wish there were a barbershop for women.”

  “Maybe there will be someday in a more enlightened world.”

  * * *

  NAUVOO WAS NOT MUCH of a town after Pittsburgh, but at least it had a general store and a blacksmith shop so the travelers could buy supplies and get some of the animals shod. Charity took Bronwen and Meredith to the store and let them buy small things, mostly candy. Meredith saw a gun up on the wall and said, “I want that gun, Charity.”

  “You can’t have a gun, silly,” Bronwen snipped. “You’re just a girl.”

  “When I grow up, I’m going to have a gun just like Casey does.”

  “You’re not supposed to call him by his first name.”

  “He told me to, and besides, I like it. I may marry him when I grow up.”

  Charity had been listening. She smiled and said, “He’ll be too old for you.”

  “Lots of older men marry younger women.”

  “Don’t talk foolishly. Now pick out what you want.”

  They returned to the train and had time to wash clothes and resettle the loads in the wagons. But later that night a situation came up that Charity had been expecting for some time. A sheriff came to the camp and talked for a short while to Tremayne. As soon as he left, Tremayne turned and would have passed Charity by, but she stopped him.

  “What did the sheriff want?”

  “Just wanted to tell me most of the crew got drunk and created a ruckus. I’ll have to pay their fines to get them out of jail.”

  “What will you do to them?”

  Tremayne pushed his hat back and rubbed his jaw thoughtfully. “Nothing except give them a tongue-lashing.”

  “They need to be punished.”

  Tremayne considered her remark. He seemed both alert and relaxed at the same time. “Men are men, Charity,” he said quietly. “They’re going to do things like this.”

  “Well, you need to punish them.”

  “You think this is a schoolroom where I can take a paddle and bend them over my knee? These men are going to get us through some rough country. I know they’re a wild bunch, but it takes something tough to get us to where we’re going. If we get hit by a Sioux war party, you’ll be glad enough.”

  “We think very differently about things like this.”

  “Yes, we do.” He left her abruptly, and she turned to where her father was standing with Evan. They were examining one of the wagon wheels, and she burst out, “That crew from the prison—they’re all in jail.”

  Evan looked up, surprised, and grinned. “Drunk, I suppose.”

  “Yes, they’re drunk, and they got into a fight. I told Tremayne he ought to punish them.”

  Gwilym Morgan stood up and gazed at his daughter. “You’re like your mother, Charity. She always wanted everything done exactly right. The trouble is, girl, in this world it doesn’t go like that. We’ll be needing these men to get us across the plains.”

  Because this was exactly what Tremayne had said, Charity was upset. “Well, it’s not decent.”

  “I’ve been expecting it. You can’t expect men like these to behave like men in a Sunday school.”

  * * *

  THE NEXT MORNING WHEN they pulled out, some of the men wer
e the worse for wear. Frenchy Doucett had a puffy red ear and a cut over his eye. Jack Canreen’s knuckles were skinned, and some of the other men had minor injuries too.

  Tremayne stopped at the Morgans’ wagons and announced, “We’ll go single file until we get out onto the prairie. We’re going to throw ourselves into a wide horizontal line.”

  “Why would we do that?”

  “It’s going to be pretty dusty from here on. In a line the last wagon has to eat lots of dust. As it is, the men who bring the stock are going to get their share of it. You bring your wagon along first—your father behind you.”

  “All right,” Charity said shortly. She was upset with Tremayne but knew it would do no good to say so. Instead, she went to stand by the big ox named Babe. “All right, Babe,” she said. She was actually getting fond of the great creatures. Babe’s mate was named Sampson. She slapped Babe on the shoulder as the signal, and the animals lurched forward, pulling the wagon that always made a creaking noise.

  The wagons had reached the outskirts of town when she saw Tremayne suddenly move forward and turned to see what was attracting him. In front of a shack with a tin roof, a group of men was tying another man to a tree. One of them had a whip in his hand, and she could hear their laughter.

  Tremayne shouted, “Hold the animals!”

  “Whoa, Babe. Whoa, Sampson,” she said. All the wagons lurched to a halt, and Charity moved to where she could see what was going on.

  Tremayne stepped off his horse and faced the group of men. “What’s going on, fellas?”

  “We caught us a horse thief.” The leader was a short, bulky man with gaps between his teeth. He had obviously been drinking. His face was flushed. He was the one with the whip. He let it out behind him and made it snap through the air. “We’re going to teach him a lesson.”

  “Are you the law around here?” Tremayne asked almost idly.

  “My name’s Jake Finch. I’m law enough to take care of a horse thief.”

  Some of the crew had come closer, and Canreen stood there, grinning. He said to Doucett, “Let’s see how tough Tremayne is to tackle five guys. He always thinks he’s got to save everybody.”

  “They’re a rough-looking bunch. Maybe we ought to help.”

  “No. Let him take care of it. I hope he gets his head knocked off.”

  “I didn’t steal anything.”

  Charity could see the speaker who was already tied to the posts, his arms locked and his back to the group. “They wanted my horses so they stole them, and they want my sister.”

  “Your sister? Where is she?”

  Charity moved to one side so she could see the man’s face. He had an olive complexion and black, glossy hair. His eyes were dark, and he was a handsome young man of some twenty years. “They’ve been after her and she fought them off, and when I threatened to shoot them, that’s when they said we stole some of their horses, but I never did.”

  “He’s lying,” Jake Finch said. “You sodbusters get on out of here and mind your own business, or maybe we’ll give you a taste of the whip.”

  Tremayne noticed that Charterhouse and Billy Watson were standing beside him. They both had their guns on as he had cautioned them, but nobody else moved. There was silence until a woman appeared from behind the shack. She was dressed in colorful clothing, and her face was a dark olive. She had a brilliant yellow kerchief on, and her black eyes flashed. She was an old woman; the years had put wrinkles in her face.

  “Make them turn my granddaughter loose if you are men!”

  “Shut up, old woman,” Finch said. “Henry, go shut her up.”

  A tall, bulky man started to turn, but Tremayne’s voice hit him as cold as ice. “Stay where you are, Henry.”

  The man called Henry turned, his eyes widening. “You’re not telling me what to do.”

  “I guess I am. You fellas pull out of here, and things will be all right.”

  “Easy won’t do it,” Finch grinned. He looked at his crew and decided he had no problem. He dropped his hand to the butt of his gun. “Looks like to me we’ve got the best of the argument.”

  Tremayne suddenly moved forward and he whipped a knife from his pocket. He started toward the post, and Finch yelled out, “Cut that rope and I’ll cut you down!”

  Charity felt her breath seem to leave her body. She had never seen violence like this; the ruffians who faced Tremayne were obviously men who thought nothing of killing. She was too frightened to cry out.

  Tremayne stopped beside the man tied to the post. “What’s your name?”

  “Stefan. Stefan Krisova.”

  “You didn’t steal a horse?”

  “No. They want my sister, and she wouldn’t have anything to do with them.”

  Tremayne faced the group and said, “It’s your last chance. I’ll kill the man who goes for his gun.”

  Tremayne’s words were like cold steel in the air. Jake Finch glared at him, and suddenly slapped at his gun. It wasn’t even out of his holster when an explosion rent the air, and a black hole appeared over Finch’s left eyebrow. He took one step backward, his eyes rolling up, and then he fell over. “Who else wants to die?” Tremayne challenged.

  The man called Henry held his hands up at once. “I ain’t drawing,” he said hoarsely.

  “You fellas drop your guns and git. You can come back and get them later. Get out of my sight!”

  Tremayne turned to see that both Billy and Elsworth had drawn their guns, but he didn’t speak. They all watched until the men had dropped their guns and moved away as quickly as possible. Tremayne looked down at the dead man and said, “You would have it that way.” He turned to the old woman and said, “Where is your granddaughter?”

  “They got her locked in the house, sir.”

  “What’s your name, Mother?”

  “They call me Lareina.”

  “You’re all right, ma’am.” He cut the rope that held Stefan. “Maybe you’d better go get your sister out of that house.”

  Charity watched as Stefan ran like a deer to the door. He pulled the latch that held it shut, and at once a woman came out. She had the same olive skin and raven black hair. The blackest thing in nature, Charity thought. Her eyes were enormous and dark. Stefan caught her and said, “It’s all right now, Zamora. These men, they help us.”

  He led his sister back, and her grandmother, the one called Lareina, said, “See. I told you the good God would help us.” She turned and said, “This is my granddaughter, Zamora Krisova.”

  Tremayne took off his hat and nodded his head. “Glad to know you, Miss Krisova.”

  “I thank you for helping us.” The woman’s voice was lower than most women’s. She was of medium height, and though she wore a colorful dress, it did not hide her splendid figure.

  “They will come back as soon as you are gone,” Lareina said. “Please take us with you out of this place.”

  “Why, we can’t do that, ma’am. We’re going all the way to Oregon.”

  “Just out of this place, please. We are Gypsies. People hate us everywhere we go, but my grandson is not a thief. He knows horses, and he buys and sells them.”

  “But I’m not the one to say.”

  “Then who is? I have asked the good God to get us out of here.”

  Charity stepped forward. “You’re a Christian, Lareina?”

  “Yes, I serve Jesus.”

  Gwilym was standing beside Charity. Confused, he said, “Ma’am, we would like to take you, but it’s a long way, and you have no equipment.”

  “We have plenty of horses and a good sound wagon,” Stefan said quickly. “At least let us go part of the way until we get out of this town.”

  “I’ll have to call a meeting of the members of the group.”

  “Then please do it. We have nowhere to go, and these men will kill us when they come back. They will soil my granddaughter. You would not want that, sir.”

  “Of course not,” Gwilym said quickly. He looked around and said, “You men come on
. We’ll meet on this.”

  The men quickly gathered next to a wagon and obviously started arguing. Tremayne, still holding his hat in his hand, put it on and said, “Where did you folks come from?”

  “Hungary. We come ten years ago. The life was hard for Gypsies,” Lareina said. “So God spoke and we came.”

  “We’ve done fine here in this country,” Stefan said. He held his head up proudly. “I know horses, and I know how to breed them, but Gypsies are hated by everybody.”

  “Not by me,” Tremayne grinned.

  “I don’t think we can take you.” Charity did not intend to speak up. The three Gypsies turned to look at her and so did Tremayne.

  “That’d be up to the men, wouldn’t it, Charity?”

  “Why do you not want us to go?” It was the young girl who spoke. She’s no more than twenty, Charity thought, and a real beauty.

  “We couldn’t be responsible for you. It’s a long way. You might die on the road.”

  “Any of us may die at any time.”

  Charity saw that Tremayne was in favor of taking the three, but she stubbornly said, “It can’t be. I’m sorry.”

  But she was wrong. Her father came back and said, “There were a couple opposed, but at least you can go with us until we get to Council Bluffs. That’s the next stop, isn’t it, Tremayne?”

  “Yes, not too far from here.”

  “We will be no trouble,” Stefan said quickly. “I will help with your horse herd.”

  “And I will help, too,” Zamora said. “I can cook.”

  Charity started to speak. She saw that Tremayne was waiting for her to do exactly that so she knew she could say nothing. She was aware, too, that the old woman was looking at her, and her eyes had a strange light in them.

  “Why do you wish not to take us, lady?” Lareina asked.

  “I am—afraid that something will happen to you. Something bad.”

  “We could but die, and that’s what life is.”

  Watching the old woman carefully, Tremayne said, “You’ll have to have enough supplies to make the trip.”

  “We have plenty,” Zamora said. “Come. I’ll show you our wagon and the horses.”