Karl Steiner stood beside the grave of his beloved wife, Sarah. He was still unable to look at the grave without seeing images of her crushed skull, but he needed to talk to someone about the feelings that were troubling his mind. “I miss you so much, darlin’,” he blurted between the tears that started. “I don’t know if I can make it without you.” He turned to look back at the cabin to make sure Robert couldn’t hear him. “I’m goin’ to go look for Joanna if I have to search every Sioux camp in the territory.” He paused to think about what he had just vowed. Robert was not set on venturing out to Powder River country. Maybe he was right; maybe it was suicide, but Karl could not sit there and do nothing when his daughter was a captive in some Indian village—if in fact she was still alive. It was hard to know what to do. Robert was right about one thing, there were so many Indian camps and villages in the Powder River valley alone that odds were astronomical they would happen upon the one where Joanna was held. His daughter had always been a spunky girl, even as a child, and he had a small glimmer of hope that she might escape her captors and return home. This slim possibility was the only reason Karl was still delaying his search for her.
Robert Becker sat at the table and contemplated the circumstances in which he now found himself. The entire plan to pan for gold had been an unlucky and disappointing venture for him. The Indians didn’t want them there. Even the army wanted them to leave, and yet he had let Joanna talk him into continuing the ill-fated venture after leaving French Creek. His enthusiasm for the prospect of striking it rich had been dulled considerably by the hard work it required. And now the threat of Indian attacks caused him to fear for his life.
He sipped his coffee, now lukewarm in the metal cup, thinking about the last time he had seen his wife. He missed Joanna, but it amounted to certain death if he and Karl tried to find her. It irritated him that he could not make the old man understand that. Karl even thought that she still might escape and return to them. That thought troubled Robert. How many Sioux bucks had already had their way with her? The idea of it turned Robert cold inside, and he was not sure he would ever be able to overcome that disgusting truth. How could he ever take her into his bed again after she had been ruined by the savages? The mental picture of it seared his brain, and he admitted to himself that he did not want her back. He made his decision then. He was going back to Omaha, this quest for gold be damned.
There was no use trying to explain his feelings to his father-in-law. Karl was too set in his ways to understand that it served no good purpose to sacrifice another young life after the loss of Joanna. He would say nothing about his decision to Karl tonight, but would pack up his things and leave in the morning.
Morning brought a chilly breeze sweeping across the eastern slopes of the mountains. Robert was up early and packing his saddlebags when Karl came out to find him. “Mornin’,” he said. “You’re up early.” When Robert nodded without speaking, the old man asked, “You thinking it’s time we went looking for Joanna?” He guessed that Robert wasn’t thinking about working the sluice box. They hadn’t worked since Joanna’s abduction.
His pack ready, Robert finally spoke. “I’m thinkin’ it’s time I went back to Omaha.”
Karl didn’t understand. “What are you talking about?” “I’m goin’ back home,” Robert said. “We’ve both lost our wives, and there ain’t no sense in stayin’ out in these god-forsaken mountains any longer waitin’ to get scalped. You’re welcome to go with me, but I’m aiming to leave this mornin’.”
“But Joanna’s still out there somewhere,” Karl insisted, astonished by his son-in-law’s decision. “We’ll find her.”
“Karl,” Robert responded impatiently, “we don’t know she’s even alive, and chances are she ain’t.”
“But we have to look for her,” Karl pleaded.
“Even if we found her, she ain’t the same woman that left here. You know that.”
“I don’t know any such thing!” Karl blurted angrily as Robert stepped up in the saddle.
With eyes cold and unfeeling, Robert stared down at his father-in-law. “You comin’ or not?”
“Hell no, I ain’t coming with you, you sorry dog. Go on! Get the hell away from here,” Karl raged. “I always knew Joanna was too good for the likes of you.”
“I’m sorry, Karl, but there ain’t nothin’ here for me no more. No hard feelin’s, though.”
“Get the hell gone before I get my gun and shoot your sorry ass,” Karl replied. He stepped back and watched his son-in-law ride out of the clearing, feeling like the last man left on the face of the earth.
Chapter 8
The uniformed guard tapped lightly on the office door before opening it far enough to stick his head through. “Clayton’s here, Warden,” he said.
Warden Nathaniel K. Boswell looked up from his desk. “Well, tell him to come on in,” he said, and leaned back in his chair in amused anticipation of the deputy marshal’s report.
Deputy Marshal Zach Clayton strode into the office. The trace of chagrin he wore on his face bore proof that he knew full well the reception awaiting him. Boswell did not disappoint.
“Howdy, Zach. I hear tell you’ve taken to riding the train lately,” the warden said. “Have a seat. I heard you’ve been doing a little walking, too.” He could not suppress all of the grin that threatened to spread across his face. He could well imagine the embarrassment for Clayton following his encounter with the escaped felons, resulting in his having to walk to Cheyenne, then take the train back to Laramie. Zach Clayton was a proud man, although he would never admit it.
Clayton and Boswell had known each other for a number of years, from the time when Boswell was a sheriff. He knew before he walked in that his old friend was going to ride him hard for this one. “Yeah, Nat, I reckon you can crow a little about this one, but it ain’t over yet.”
“According to your telegram, you had one of ’em, but you let him get away and leave you on foot,” Boswell said, enjoying the interview. “How’d that happen?”
Clayton smirked and rubbed the healing cut on his chin. “He was very persuasive,” he replied, “so I told him to go along and I’d just walk back to Cheyenne. Hell, it wasn’t but fifteen miles.” He went on to tell Boswell how he had happened to ride into the ambush with Ballenger and Yancey. “As for young Conner, that’s a hard one to figure out. If he hadn’t jumped those two from behind and run ’em off, I might still be pinned down behind my horse. It’s hard to arrest a man after he’s just saved your bacon.” He paused, thinking about it. “But I took the oath, so I arrested him”—he shook his head as if finding it hard to believe—“and then let him get the jump on me.”
“Got any ideas about Ballenger and the other fellow?” Boswell asked. “Where they might be headed?”
“None at all,” Clayton replied. “They could be heading anywhere, but I’d bet on Montana Territory, Bozeman or Helena most likely. They’ll show up before long, rob a bank or hold up a stage, and then I’ll be right behind ’em.”
“Zach, we could turn this over to another marshal in Montana,” Boswell suggested.
“Hell no,” Clayton responded at once. “I’ll run those bastards down if I have to go to Canada to catch ’em. I ain’t ever quit on a job.” His dark eyebrows lowered to form a heavy frown. “I’ll catch young Conner, too.” His frown deepened. “He might be a little harder to run down, ’cause he ain’t likely to rob no banks or nothin’. He just wants to lose himself somewhere, but one of these days he’ll turn around and I’ll be standin’ there.”
Expecting nothing less from the reliable deputy, Boswell said, “All right, it that’s what you’re of a mind to do. But, Zach, that country’s dangerous right now. You watch yourself.”
Joanna Becker knelt beside the gently flowing creek, trying to see her reflection in the water. It was not dark enough to reflect a clear image, giving her a distorted picture of her battered face. Much of the tenderness had gone from the bruises left by the brutal wide-shouldered sav
age, but she feared the cut on one side of her face would leave a scar. What will Robert think? she asked herself. “He’ll understand,” she said softly in reply.
She continued to stare into the water, touching her bruised face lightly with her fingertips. The touch caused her to shiver when she remembered the abuse that had brought about her wounds. She vowed that she would never tell her husband the full extent of her abuse. It might break his heart. She looked up from the creek to glance at the stranger who had rescued her and protected her as he led the horses up from the creek and prepared to saddle them. She thanked God for Clint Conner, marveling that he would interrupt his life to see her safely home. She also thanked God for the man’s decency. Out in these mountains, removed from all civilization, he could easily have used her and then abandoned her, and no one would ever have known. But she had learned that Clint was a man of integrity and honor, a man she could put all her trust in.
Reminding herself that she should help him break camp, she quickly splashed water on her face and smoothed her hair back. She couldn’t block the thought that crept in as she patted her face dry. He’s seeing me at my very worst, she thought. She was well aware that she was not really a pretty woman, but she knew that she was not truly homely, either. Just plain, she thought, and then scolded herself for even wondering whether it mattered how she looked to Clint.
“I expect we’d best get goin’,” he said when Joanna walked back from the creek, “if you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” she replied as cheerfully as she could manage. “I’ll just rinse out the coffeepot and put out the fire.”
Looking over the saddle as he tightened Rowdy’s cinch, he watched her as she hurried about the campfire. He couldn’t help but admire her spirit after what she had suffered. She had tried not to be a burden to him. Last night she had insisted that she should prepare their supper. “I should do something to carry my weight,” she had proclaimed, and mixed up some pan biscuits with the flour he had brought from his father’s house. They were pretty good, too, he thought. Her husband’s a lucky man.
In the saddle again, they started out, following the creek through a series of foothills, Clint first, leading his packhorse, and Joanna coming on behind. The prior two days had been spent tracing various springs and streams through the mountains in hopes that they would lead to some place Joanna recognized. None had, but the creek they were now on was only a few hundred yards from its confluence with a river that Joanna guessed might be the Beaver. Upon reaching the river, there was a question as to the proper direction to turn, north or south, in hopes of finding the forks that she remembered crossing when abducted. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t honestly know.”
He nodded patiently, and stood up in the stirrups to look around them. “Judging from the direction of their trail before we lost it back there, I’d say we need to go south.” Then without waiting for further discussion, he turned Rowdy in that direction. Riding with the dark outline of the Black Hills on their left, they had progressed no more than two or three miles when Joanna spurred her horse up beside him. “There!” she exclaimed, pointing ahead. “There’s the fork with this river. I remember that!”
There were more than a few game trails leading down from the mountains to the river. They all looked the same to Joanna. She could not say which trail was the one her abductors had taken down to the river. Clint examined each likely prospect for sign, but could find none. Finally, he decided to follow the one that looked to be the most used, and they started up through the pines. It was late in the afternoon when the trail turned and led them back toward the river. The second trail they picked seemed more promising when it led up over a small ridge and then took them down into a long narrow gulch that cut deep into the mountains. “We came this way!” Joanna exclaimed as the gray rocky walls closed in to form a narrow passageway, and memories of that dark horrible night returned to her. Her throat tightened as she recalled those terrifying moments.
Seeing the terror registering in her face, he tried to reassure her. “Well, that’s good,” he said softly. “We’ll have you home soon, and you’ll be back with your husband and your father.”
She nodded and the moment of anxiety passed. Pointing up the trail, she said, “It’s not far now, just on the other side of that ridge.” The worry of seconds before was replaced by anticipation of her reunion with her husband and father, and she pushed ahead of Clint, anxious to go home.
Karl Steiner looked over the supplies he had gathered to take with him. They seemed meager to set out with on a trip that could last for a long, long time. Seeing the small quantity of flour and coffee beans, he said, “I shoulda opened those packs that son of a bitch had on his horse,” thinking of his son-in-law’s sudden departure. “He damn sure took a generous share.”
He paused to listen when his horse whinnied in the corral, but made no effort to investigate until he suddenly heard a horse lope into the clearing. He dropped the sack of coffee beans and grabbed the rifle propped against the table. Running to slam the open door, he was stopped in his tracks, hardly believing his eyes.
“Papa!” Joanna cried breathlessly when she saw him. Sliding from her horse, she almost stumbled in her excitement to reach her father.
Stunned almost to the point of collapsing, the old man had to grab the doorjamb for support until he realized that it really was Joanna returned from the dead. “Oh, baby girl,” he repeated over and over as he looked at his daughter’s bruised and swollen face. Pulling her close in his arms, he whispered, “You’re home, you’re home.” Still holding his daughter tightly, he glanced up to discover a man slowly walking his horse into the clearing. Astonished, he asked, “Who’s that?”
Without relaxing her embrace, she said, “Clint Conner, he’s the reason I’m back home safe.” Releasing him then, she asked, “Where’s Robert—at the claim?” The moment of joy for Karl was suddenly lost, replaced by one of reluctance. Seeing the baleful look in her father’s eyes, she exclaimed, “Is Robert all right?”
Knowing of no way to tell her that would not devastate her, he came out with it. “Robert’s not here. He packed up and went back east.”
“What?” she gasped, unable to understand. “Why?”
“Why? I don’t know,” he said, not wishing to tell her that her husband didn’t want her after she had been with the Indians. “Because he ain’t fit to wear men’s clothes, I reckon. It’s good riddance I say.” He motioned toward the supplies covering the table. “I was fixing to go search for you again, but he wouldn’t even do that.” He held her by her shoulders and looked into her eyes. “It’s better you found out what he was made of now, instead of later on,” he said.
Joanna was staggered, her brain reeling as much as it did from the physical blows she suffered from the broad-shouldered warrior. Robert gone! She felt all the blood drain from her head, and had to sink to the floor to keep from fainting. With the unspeakable abuse she had endured, she expected to need some time for herself to recover. But if she never spoke of these things, she had hoped Robert would understand, never question her or press for details. There had never been any thought that he might abandon her. It was not her fault she had been abducted. How could Robert blame her, and look upon her as soiled? He didn’t even wait around to find out for sure.
A silent observer to the tragic homecoming, Clint found himself furious for Joanna. In the few days they had traveled together, he had known her to be a fine and decent woman, and deserving of an understanding husband. As his fury subsided, he felt a wave of compassion for the jilted woman, but there was nothing he could think of to alleviate her pain. So he turned Joanna’s horse out in the small corral and left the grieving father and daughter to their sorrow without the intrusion of his presence.
He was checking the buckskin’s front hooves when he heard Karl Steiner coming up behind him. He stood up to face him. “Mr. Conner,” Karl greeted him, and extended his hand.
“Clint,” Clint corrected him, shaking hi
s hand.
“Clint,” Karl repeated, talking with a thick German accent. “I apologize for my lack of hospitality, but it was a bad time for my daughter. I had to tell her some bad things.”
“Yessir,” Clint responded. “I couldn’t help but overhear. I’m real sorry for Joanna. She deserves better. I’m sorry about your wife, too. I expect I’d best get along and let you folks have your privacy.”
“No, sir,” Karl replied emphatically. “I wouldn’t hear of it. Joanna told me what you did for her—and for me. I have you to thank for giving me back my daughter. No, sir, I insist you stay with us. Joanna’s strong. She’s in the house now, starting supper, and she would never forgive you if you didn’t stay.”
“I don’t wanna be in the way with her feelin’ so bad right now,” Clint said.
“Clint, she wants you to stay. She feels she owes you for her life. Hell, man, I owe you for bringing my daughter back. Anything you want that I can give, I owe you.”
Clint nodded his surrender. “A cup of coffee’ll do, I reckon.”
“Well, I can certainly manage that,” Karl said with a wide grin. “Put your horses in the corral with mine and come on in the house.”
As soon as her father left to go talk to Clint, Joanna went to her room and changed out of the dirty torn dress she had been wearing since she was taken. She told herself to be strong, that she could live with the stigma of being discarded, and she was determined to show a strong resolve for Clint’s sake. She was burning the dirty dress in the fireplace when the men came in. It could have been washed and mended, but she would never wear that dress again, and she didn’t want it around to remind her.
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