Uncompahgre

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  He reached down, picking up a stick and tossed it into the fire. “Right now we are on the east side of the pass. Toward the top we’ll branch north down through Little Medicine. Narrows real tight, then opens up a bit. There’s some hot springs the Utes use, too. Got more passes to work our way across, and they’re steeper, particularly that Red Mountain Pass. That trail is nothing but switchbacks going up. Some slopes you probably couldn’t ride a horse straight up. Some parts is so narrow that if you meet another wagon comin’ the other way—which ain’t likely—it might take an hour to get them both in position so the one that passes by doesn’t drop off the edge.”

  He chortled, but Sarah detected little humor in his tone. “One good thing is those damn cows won’t have any place to go. Have to follow the trail just like us, although probably be strung out for a half mile or more behind the wagons.” He stood up, stretching his legs. “We ought to check them loads before the Lost Trail shortcut. You don’t want anything shifting or sliding on those grades, or falling out the rear on one of them mules.”

  He raised his eyes to Sarah with a look that was kind, but edged with worry. “That stew was good, Sarah. I think I’ll break off tomorrow for a few hours when we get a little lower and see if I can shoot us a deer. Won’t take more than a couple hours to butcher and salt. As little as you women eat, it ought to keep us going for the better part of a week. It ain’t often I luck out and get three rabbits in one day. Anything less wouldn’t be much of a stew.”

  A gentle snore from the log caught their attention. Reuben’s chin was on his chest, his boots stretched toward the fire, his hands clasped over his stomach, fast asleep.

  Leaning over, Sarah reached out to shake him but stopped mid-motion at Zeb’s voice. “Let him be for an hour or so, Sarah. He’s been putting in longer hours than all of us but Lord knows, no one’s had much shuteye. I’ll ride back out. Each of the boys can come in one by one and get themselves fed. I think me and Johannes have the first half of the night anyways. The boy and that Mexican go from then ’til sunup. Come on over here for a minute.”

  Zeb walked twenty feet from the fire and away from the wagon and Reuben. Sarah followed. He turned sharply, his eyes holding hers. “That Mexican bothering you?”

  “No, no, Zeb; he is not,” She said, surprised at the brusque directness of his inquiry.

  “You’ll let me know?”

  “Why, of course but Philippe has been a complete gentleman.”

  Zeb searched her face for a long moment then nodded, dropping his voice, “Tell me the whole truth on Rebecca.”

  Sarah glanced over her shoulder toward Reuben, still snoring by the log. “Actually, Zeb, I’m worried about her. I think she’s having some type of difficulties. I just can’t tell, and every time I ask her, she insists that she’s fine.” Zeb’s lips twitched underneath his mustache, “She’s awful narrow hipped. There’s some type of concoction the Sioux brew up for slightly built women when they’re with child to ease things.” He shook his head. “Damned if I can remember what it is. The Utes use it too.”

  “Perhaps we will run across some Indians and we can ask,” Sarah suggested hopefully.

  Zeb’s eyes clicked down to hers. “I think it’s best if we don’t run into any Indians between here and the Uncompahgre. These southern Utes ain’t all too friendly. They’ve tangled with the troops out of Fort Massachusetts several times. Once we get over there, it’s Chief Guera Murah and his son, Ouray and their band. You can get along with them mostly. Mebbe Ouray’s wife, Black Mare, or one of the other women in the tribe would help.” Raising his eyes to the wagon where Rebecca slept, he shook his head. “We’re just gonna have to do the best we can.” He shifted his gaze back to Sarah. “If she gets any worse, come talk to me. Don’t tell Reuben. He’s worried enough about her as it is and he has a lot on his mind. The going’s tougher than he thought. He sure knows cattle but he ain’t never moved them in country like this,” Zeb looked up at the sky, “especially racing against time.”

  Sarah felt a pang of alarm. “Race against time?”

  “Yep. The longer this takes the more likely we are to lose cows one way or the other. A shorter time would be better for Rebecca and you and…,” he paused, “…this here’s gittin’ to be the end of June. First snow’s likely to fly mid-September where we’re headed. That don’t leave a lot of time to set up a homestead that’ll keep the wind and snow out and the heat in.” He looked down at his calf-high, thick elk skin moccasins and rubbed one toe in the dirt. “I figure you’re due sometime around December and Rebecca, as near as I can figure from what you’ve told me, sometime around February or March. You women ain’t Indians. You can’t be havin’ babies out in the open or in some drafty wagon or lean-to.”

  “Oh!” Sarah raised one hand over her mouth. “I just hadn’t given it much thought, Zeb. We’re greatly complicating what you men need to do.”

  Zeb smiled tenderly at her. Raising one rough thumb to her cheek, he stroked it softly from her cheekbone to her throat. “We know you ain’t. I think we’re all delighted to have you along.” He smiled. “I know I am. It just makes for other considerations, that’s all. Nothin’ that can’t be handled; just gotta be kept in mind.”

  CHAPTER 26

  June 16, 1855

  THE PROPOSAL

  Reuben awoke with a start. Sarah crouched beside him, pushing gently on his shoulder. “You needed the sleep Reuben; and Rebecca’s awake.” Sarah nodded with her head toward the wagon, its canvas top illuminated by the dull glow of the oil lamps. “I just took supper to her.” Raising his fists, Reuben rubbed his eyes, blinking.

  Overhead, the sky was a dark canopy punctuated by countless stars. The leaves of the aspen grove that cradled Blue Creek and the east side of Wolf Creek Pass fluttered, lending a textured rustle to the breeze sighing through the scattered conifers on the slope above them.

  His fingers had stiffened from the cold. “Chilly,” he said, flexing his hands.

  Sarah smiled, snugging the blanket she had wrapped around her shoulders up close to her neck. “But clean and fresh,” she too raised her eyes to the sky, “and beautiful. It would take a lifetime to count all those stars.”

  Reuben chuckled. “Several lifetimes.” He rose to his feet, glancing at the wagon and then at Sarah.

  “Go on, Reuben. She would love to see you. Between her feeling a tad sickly and retiring early these past few nights, and the non-stop schedule that you and the others are keeping.…” Sarah’s voice trailed off and she returned her stare from the night sky to his, “a little time together would be good. I’ll straighten up around the fire.”

  Reuben turned, walking toward the wagon. He patted the pocket of his britches, feeling the round outline of the ring he had purchased when he slipped into Fort Massachusetts. Such a cheap little ring, but there was no choice. I will get her another at the first opportunity.

  His knock on the tailgate of the wagon was answered with a cheerful, “Reuben? Please come in.”

  Reuben untied the rear canvas and lowered the tailgate. Not bothering with the ladder, he sprang onto the back of the wagon, closing the tailgate and re-lashing the canvas behind him. It was noticeably warmer inside, the gentle wind stirring the canvas top, the oil lamps emitting heat as well as light. Rebecca sat on her bedroll, the extra blanket pulled up to her hips. She had donned one of her lighter jackets over her chemise, but the silky cream of her undergarment was visible in the jacket’s open lapel, as was the smooth, creamy flesh below the sheer material. Suspended over a hint of dark circles, her slightly puffy eyes seemed welcoming. She had obviously brushed her hair, but her dark locks had a wild, unkempt look. So is this the time to ask? What are these butterflies? It’s ridiculous to be nervous; she’s carrying our child.

  She placed the tin plate Sarah had brought her on top of the flour barrel. Shifting her hips toward the inside of the bedroll, she patted the makeshift bed next to her. “Perfect timing, Reuben. I just finished supper. Come over an
d sit. It seems we haven’t really talked in days.” Tipping her face slightly, she batted her eyes. “And if I’m not too disheveled looking you might even kiss me.” Her smile both challenged and teased.

  Reuben’s eyes shifted momentarily to her tin plate. Only half eaten. He walked the several steps to her bedroll, seating himself beside her and nodded at the plate. “People that don’t eat normally don’t feel well. If you wish, I would be happy to feed you.” He laughed. “See, I can be romantic.”

  Rebecca’s eyes were fixed on his lips. Reaching out both arms, she clasped her hands behind his neck, pulling his face toward hers. “I would rather you kiss me.”

  Their lips met, slowly, just a tingling brush at first, then melded into a warm, passionate kiss. Reuben’s arm wrapped around her back pulling her body to his. Cradling her cheek to the muscular trough of his shoulder and neck, she sighed deeply. “I have missed you, Mr. Frank. It’s ridiculous. We’re on the same little wagon train.”

  Reuben laughed. “Yep. Two wagons and three hundred cows.”

  She nodded her head into his shoulder, giggling. “Yes, not quite like the long line of wagons in our journey from St. Louis to Cherry Creek…or the endless parade of buggies and coaches in front of the theatres in London.” Reuben felt himself tense. Why in this place, at this moment, would she mention England?

  Drawing back her head, her eyes were wide and animated. “These mountains, Reuben, they are beautiful—stunning. Every twist and turn of the trail is an entirely different vista. The south slopes are completely different from the north slopes and every few hundred feet going up or down, the vegetation and leaves seem to change. I never knew.”

  Reuben half chuckled in agreement. “I had an inkling from the scout’s letters to my father but I had no real idea either.” He raised his hands to her shoulders, pushing her back gently. “Rebecca, we have to talk.” He looked at her sharply. “First, how are you feeling? Really.”

  Her eyes flickered from his for an instant and then returned his searching gaze. “I feel more tired than normal and once in a while for a brief spell in the mornings I feel nauseous.”

  Reuben looked closely at her. “It does not appear that you are eating much either.”

  She giggled. “I may not eat all of my supper Reuben but each morning I prepare quite a bundle of snacks. For some reason I’m craving pemmican. Every time the wagon is in a relatively controllable stretch of trail I find myself eating.” She rolled her eyes. “So, when I’m completely fat, round and waddling around like one of those cows of yours, will you still kiss me like that?”

  Half a question, half worried. “I don’t believe, Mistress Marx, that you ever have to worry about Reuben Frank not kissing you—often.” Her facial muscles relaxed slightly and her eyes sparkled.

  “Rebecca,” Reuben looked down at his boots and then back up at her. “I’ve been giving this a lot of thought. Our child can’t be a bastard. He needs to have the name of his father. I know how little villages work. Folks’ favorite pastime is talking about tidbits concerning others—whether accurate or not. They will love discussing our child, and the wanton Englishwoman who is the mother but not married. Grist for the gossip mill.”

  Rebecca’s chin lifted. “Then we shall not go to town.”

  Reuben shook his head. “There will be no getting around having to trade with someone. Based on the maps, there are only two tiny human camps within a day or two’s ride of the Red Mountains and they are primarily Ute villages…depending upon exactly where we decide to locate the ranch.” He tried to smile, “As I understand it from the scout’s notes, sometimes there is trading at the remnants of Fort Uncompahgre, but the Mexican trader that built it, Antoine Robidoux, abandoned it in the forties. And its eighty miles away at the confluence of the Uncompahgre and Gunnison Rivers.” “I see,” she said slowly. “And don’t forget my land and gold, Reuben.”

  Reuben stared at her. I need to choose the right words. “Rebecca, about your land. It will be interesting to see where it is situated relative to the general location of the ranch. The scout recommended the area at the lower end of a certain creek before it empties into the Uncompahgre River for the homestead. But I didn’t see that creek on your map.” He looked at her intently. “Don’t get your hopes up on gold. I know similar rumors have bubbled up from my father’s scout and in his maps, and from your father’s travels and your map, but don’t set yourself up for disappointment.”

  Her eyebrows lowered into a slight frown and the line of her lips thinned.

  I know that look, he thought. “What I mean to say is, at the least, I’m sure your land is breathtaking. It may have timber resources on it. I’m sure it is suitable for cattle and perhaps has good water for hay. Neither one of us will know until the time comes.”

  “I believe, Reuben,” her eyes did not waiver from his, “that my dear father’s bequeath will be all of that, but I have this feeling that there may well be more.”

  Reuben took one of her hands between both of his, taking in a deep breath and holding it for a moment before exhaling. “It will be what it will be, but, what is, is. You and me.” He reached out his other hand placing it lightly on her belly, partially concealed by the bedroll. “Us. I’d really planned to bring you flowers, drop down on one knee with the sun beating down and a huge expanse of one of these views around us.” Chortling, he shook his head. “But at this rate…” his voice trailed off.

  Her eyes were wide, her lips slightly parted. “Are you proposing to me, Mr. Frank?”

  “Yes,” stammered Reuben, “Yes, I suppose I am.”

  She leaned back into the blankets keeping her hand sandwiched between his. “Reuben, our child can most certainly have your last name.”

  Reuben felt a wide smile rapidly broadening on his face. Freeing one hand from hers, he began to reach into his pocket. “You mean…”

  She held up her hand, “No, I mean your child, our child, can certainly have the last name of Frank but I will have to think more about marriage. That could be very confining, you know.”

  “Confining?” Reuben felt a flash of anxious, confused anger. Even the ring pressing against his thigh felt hot. He withdrew his fingers from his pocket as unobtrusively as possible and stood, pacing two steps, then turning and pacing again, suddenly wishing he could stride right out the damn wagon. Confinement? She’s not the only one who feels confined. I’ll be damned if I will have to convince the woman carrying my child to marry me.

  “I’ve been honest with you, Reuben,” she said, looking up at him earnestly. “I don’t know what I may find on or about father’s land. I have responsibilities in England. They may not be able to be handled satisfactorily unless I am there. What if I did have to go back?”

  Reuben stood still, staring at her. “You mean if you choose to go back.”

  Rebecca was silent, her eyes blinking several times.

  “Yes, Reuben. If I choose to go back. What if for whatever reason, I did not return or something happened to me, or to you? We would be married, not even knowing, unable to move on with our lives, constrained by some distant tether.”

  “Distant tether?” Get that edge out of your voice, Reuben.

  He turned and stepped away, his back to her. Taking a deep breath, he turned back, walked over and sat down on the bedroll next to her, dropping his hand gently to her belly again. “This is not a tether. This is a bond. Unbreakable. Forever. We have a child to consider, not just ourselves. What would you propose to do with our son or daughter if you decided to traipse back to Europe?”

  A startled expression flashed across her features, and Reuben thought she grew a shade paler. “I…I hadn’t thought of that, Reuben.”

  Struggling to mask his hurt frustration, he leaned over, kissing her softly but quickly on the lips. “I didn’t think so.” He stood, looking down at her, one hand still holding hers. Thank God I didn’t pull the damn ring out. “Think about these things, Rebecca, as will I. It would never be my intention to bind a
heart to mine that did not wish to be bound but there are realities.”

  Her eyes widened and she tightened her grip on his. “I’m sure that together…”

  Putting one finger to his lips, Reuben focused on keeping his tone level. “We can talk about it in a few days. Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a hard day. We’re pushing down through the gap and if that short cut of Zeb’s is open, I’d like to make Farmers Creek before dark and camp there. We still have a long ways to go, Rebecca. From what Zeb says, the trail will become more difficult, the mountains higher, more rugged, and,” he forced a grin, “even more spectacular.”

  They held each other’s gaze for an extended moment, then Reuben turned, letting go of her hand. “I will tell Sarah to come on in. She’s probably freezing out there.”

  CHAPTER 27

  June 16, 1855

  SENSELESS

  Eagle Talon rode glumly, glancing occasionally over at Walks with Moon, the tails of the long poles of the travois dragged by her mustang scratching across the rough ground.

  The People had been moving steadily eastward in their continuing quest for tatanka. As he had each day just after sunrise for the past three suns, Eagle Talon sought to ride into a scouting position toward the front of the line, fanning out to the flanks with the other esteemed scouts, a customary position befitting a maturing brave with eight eagle feathers. And five more if the Council ever decides to count my coup against the Pawnee.

  On each occasion, Flying Arrow had halted Eagle Talon, riding back toward him as he sought his traditional position. Flying Arrow said not a word, but his stern look and slight nod of his chin toward the rear made words unnecessary. Each day, Eagle Talon moved toward the back of the moving camp, pretending to ride with the akacitas, the men whose job it was to guard and police the line. He avoided riding next to his friends, Three Knives and the others, also shunned by the Council.