Destiny's Dawn

by Rosanne Bittner

  “No problem, Tom. I know a good man when I see one.”

  Tom met his eyes with mixed emotions. Sherman was the very kind of man he had hated with a passion for many years—a wealthy white man who put money above all things. He knew good and well that was the only reason the man had supported Tom. Tom Sax had a lot of money in Miles Sherman’s bank.

  In general, the Americans in Sonoma had supported him. It was almost laughable if not for all the past tears. But it was time to put it all behind him now, and he had to learn to get along with these people for the sake of peace, and to recognize there were many good people among them. He shook hands with Sherman, wondering how he would be treated if he lost all his money. He felt like a little boy who had just gotten away with eating stolen candy, and he broke into a handsome grin.

  “I have to get going. I will come back another time to talk about those palominos I want to buy.”

  “Anytime, Tom.”

  Tom nodded, walking outside and greeting his men.

  “Patrón, what is this about your being the phanton Indian?” one called Daniel asked.

  Tom just shook his head. “It was all a big misunderstanding because I am Indian. But I hear the Indian himself struck again two nights in a row. I guess if I am sitting in jail, I cannot also be out there attacking the American farmers now, can I?”

  They all laughed, heading for the livery to get Tom’s horse. Tom sensed someone approaching him from across the street and glanced sideways to see Francesco Fajardo coming toward him. He stopped and waited, grinning.

  “How did you do it?” Fajardo growled.

  “I didn’t do anything. Your timing was just bad, Fajardo.”

  “This is the man I brought in to see you a few days ago,” Daniel spoke up.

  “Sí. He tried to accuse me of being the Indian who led Los Malos and wanted me to pay him money.” His eyes drilled into Fajardo. “Two weeks ago, my friend, you might have convinced the people I was that man. But then think how you would have felt when the real phantom Indian struck again!” His eyes turned to an angry dark brown, his smile vanishing. “Get out of my sight, Fajardo! And don’t ever let me catch you on my land or I’ll have you shot. I could get away with it now. People would understand.”

  Fajardo blinked, visibly trembling. His entire plan had failed. And the look in Tom Sax’s eyes meant business. “You lucky bastard,” he sneered. “You are the phantom Indian. I know it!”

  Tom suddenly backhanded the man with a jolting blow that sent Fajardo reeling sideways. He landed on the ground, tasting dirt, and Tom planted a boot on the man’s back while his men and others watched, none of them blaming Tom for his anger. “You remember what I told you, Fajardo,” he growled. “Don’t ever come onto my property. You are a liar and a troublemaker. Go find someone else to blackmail, It will not be me!” He pushed hard with his foot, then left the man and headed for the livery. By the time he rode out, his men and the others who had watched Tom hit Fajardo were shoving Fajardo back across the street, ordering him out of town.

  Tom grinned, feeling more victorious than ever. He had no doubt that he would not see Francesco Fajardo again. His worries were truly over now.

  “I am heading home,” he told his men as they walked back to him. “You men can stay here and finish whatever you came here for.”

  “Sí, patrón,” Daniel answered. “I hope your father is better.”

  Tom’s smile faded, and his eyes took on a look of grave concern. “What do you mean? What has happened to my father?”

  “Oh, it is nothing serious, Señor Sax. He has been getting up too early, I think. He was out riding the fences before the sun was up. This morning he went to the house early because he had a sore shoulder. But he is a big, strong man. I am sure whatever it is, it will go away soon. He has been working too hard. You make him slow down, Señor Sax. Your father, he is a good man, but he is no longer so young, you know.”

  Tom’s heart tightened. A sore shoulder? Caleb Sax never complained of such things. He was as healthy as a man thirty years younger. Surely he had been injured after all! Tom nodded good-bye to his men, trying to hide his grave concern. He turned his horse and rode toward home, keeping to a light gait until he was out of sight, then breaking into a gallop.

  Four hours later Tom entered his own land. This should have been a moment of sweet victory and celebration, but there would be no celebrating if something bad had happened to Caleb. He rode straight to the house, and before he could dismount Sarah was at the door. He greeted her on the porch.

  “Tom! You’re all right. Is it all straightened out?”

  He touched her arm. “Yes, but I saw two of my men in town. They said Father was down with a sore shoulder. He was hurt, wasn’t he?”

  Sarah closed her eyes and nodded her head. “He didn’t want you to know. But there’s no way he can hide it, Tom. He can’t move his right arm at all. I’m sure it will get better in time. The men think he did it working too hard.”

  “Damn!” Tom turned away. “Did you send for a doctor?”

  “Tom, we can’t. He won’t hear of it. Right now he can’t be seen with a bullet wound. No one must know. The bullet went clear through, under his shoulder blade. I cleaned it the best I could.”

  He sensed the stress in her voice and turned, touching her shoulder. “You tell Juanita you are not feeling well yourself and get some rest. What about Juanita? Does she know?”

  “No more than the others.”

  “My men will be back tonight, and they all will know what happened in town. I will tell her myself later, before they get here. Now that it is over I can tell her without alarming her. Right now I will go and see Father.”

  She met his dark eyes, seeing the tears in them. “He wanted to do this for you, Tom. You shouldn’t blame yourself. And I’m sure he’ll be all right in a few days.”

  “And in the meantime he suffers because of me.” Sarah saw the pain in his eyes before he turned away. “I must go and see him.”

  He left her, going to Caleb and Sarah’s room and slowly opening the door. Caleb looked up from where he sat in a chair rubbing his arm. “Tom!” His face lit up and he rose from the chair. “It worked. It must have worked!” He stopped short of embracing the young man when he saw the sorrow in his eyes.

  “You were shot.” Tom almost groaned the words.

  Caleb frowned. “Who told on me?”

  “I knew it the minute my men in town said you went in early with a sore shoulder.”

  Caleb sighed deeply. “I didn’t want you to know, but I guess I couldn’t have done a very good job of hiding it. I’ll be all right, Tom.”

  Tom pressed his lips tightly together, his jaw flexing in an effort to stay in control. He swallowed before speaking. “If you had been hurt bad, or killed—”

  “But I wasn’t. And now it’s over, Tom. The one cloud that hung over your head has been cleared away, and there can be nothing but happiness ahead now for you and Juanita. Believe me, a stiff arm is a small price to pay for that!”

  The sudden and unwanted tears came then, as all the agony of the past mixed with the sudden relief of feeling truly free swept over Tom. He reached out and embraced his father, trembling with a wild mixture of emotions.

  “It’s over now, Tom.” Caleb gave him a firm embrace with his good arm. “It’s time to let out all the rest of the hatred and be rid of it. You’ve been full of hatred ever since Texas. It’s done now.”

  Jess got out his list of needed supplies as he plopped a sack of flour on the counter in front of the supply store owner.

  “Morning, Mr. Purnell.” The man smiled.

  “Morning. I need quite a few things, Handy.”

  “Well, just name them.”

  Jess went down the list. He liked the people here in Henderson. They were some of the better Americans, not like the first ones who had come here, robbing and killing and destroying the old established haciendas. These Americans seemed to be trying to get along with the cali
fornios. It was obvious they had to make the mixture work. The real troublemakers were the prospectors who came here and never found their dream—drifters, some of them outlaws who had fled the East, who for lack of money were now turning to their old occupations to get it. Most of them didn’t dare try to jump a man’s claim. Claim jumpers got hung real fast. So they turned to preying on the settlers instead. But here in Henderson things were peaceful enough, and they were only a two-day ride from Caleb and Sarah to the southeast, and one day from Sonoma to the southwest.

  “Do you think they’ll ever catch that there phantom Indian?” Handy was asking him. “He’s raided around here before, too, you know. You’d best keep a good eye out for your woman and kids.”

  “Oh, I will.” Jess smiled to himself. They had just returned from visiting Caleb and Sarah, and he knew the whole story. Caleb Sax never ceased to amaze him in the distance he would go to help his family. And Tom, in his joy at truly being free now, had held a huge fiesta in honor of his sister’s visit, inviting every hired hand and their wives and girlfriends, and hiring an orquesta that played gay Spanish music for a party that lasted three days. The best part of the visit, especially for Lynda, was to see her mother looking so well. Thank God Caleb was recovering from his wound. Tom Sax would have been a very broken man if his father had been killed or maimed in the incident.

  Jess was setting a sack of potatoes on the counter when he heard a scream from outside. Lynda! He threw down his list and ran to the door, followed by Handy, who came around from behind the counter to see what the commotion was.

  “You leave my ma alone!” Ten-year-old John was standing near their wagon, fists clenched, looking ready to dive into five men who were armed and one of whom had hold of Lynda, locking her arms behind her. Three-year-old Jessica stood in the back of the wagon crying.

  “Well now, boy, she’s just a squaw,” one of the men jeered at John. “Don’t you know squaws is for the takin’? We been up in the mountains, boy, pannin’ for gold. Ain’t seen anything this pretty that was free for the takin’ in a long time.”

  “Let her go!” Jess demanded, moving up beside his son. He stood unwavering in front of the men, while people stared from windows and from behind shelter.

  One of the men just laughed. “Says who?”

  “Says her husband.”

  “Whoooo-weeee,” another jeered. “The man has got himself a pretty little squaw! He done found out squaws is a lot more fun in bed than white women.”

  “Let her go!” John hissed, tears in his eyes. He made a move and Jess reached out and grabbed his arm.

  “Get your sister and go inside the store.”

  “But, Pa—”

  “Do it! Now!”

  John knew when his father meant business. He ran to the wagon, grabbing Jessica and carrying the kicking and crying girl inside the store. Handy hurriedly let him in and closed the door again, watching from a window. It had only been lately that some of the scum in the mountains had trickled down into town, causing trouble. There was no law in Henderson, and these men knew it.

  One of the five men outside stepped away from the others, leering at Jess. “Well, now, we got us a real brave man here.” His eyes looked Jess up and down, sizing him up. He took inventory of Jess’s powerful build, but he figured that was from pushing a plow. “Trouble is, you farmers don’t know how to use a gun, and we do,” he goaded. “So we’re gonna take the pretty squaw with us for a while, farmer. When we’re done with her, you can have her back, I promise.”

  They all laughed, but Jess stood unflinching. Lynda quit her initial struggling, realizing that if Jess was going to do anything at all, the less movement, the better. She watched her husband with complete faith and trust in his skills. His sure, strong ways were much of what she loved about him, and since being more on his own, those qualities had shone through even more, making her realize he was more man than she had even realized.

  The men holding her sobered when Jess stood his ground and showed no sign of, fear. He kept his eyes on the one who had just spoken to him. “A long time ago, mister, back in Texas, my wife suffered at the hands of trash like you. I promised her that it would never happen again, and I aim to keep that promise. Touch her, and you’re a dead man, even if she goes down with you.”

  Their apparent leader smiled nervously. “Well, now, that’s a pretty brave statement, comin’ from a farmer who probably don’t know better than to shoot his own foot off with his pistol.” The man’s eyes fell to the repeating pistol at Jess’s side. “Does it make you feel good, wearin’ a gun, farmer? You know how to shoot more than the side of a barn?”

  Jess just grinned. “Try me.”

  There was a tense moment of silence and hesitancy while Jess’s keen eye watched every man facing him.

  “I don’t like the look in his eyes, Bates,” the one holding Lynda grumped. “Ain’t no Indian woman worth gettin’ killed over.”

  “I ain’t backin’ down from no farmer,” Bates answered. He moved toward Lynda, grinning again. “Go ahead, Davis,” he told the man holding her. “Grab yourself a handful. I’ll take care of the farmer.”

  The one called Davis locked Lynda’s arms behind her with just one of his own, moving the other arm around her waist and up toward her breasts. But before he could touch them Jess’s pistol was out and fired with amazing accuracy, opening a hole in the man’s head. Lynda actually felt the bullet whiz past her face.

  After that all was a blur of action to Lynda, guns firing all around as she dropped to the ground. She covered her head, terrified for Jess, who had already put a bullet in the one called Bates when the man pulled a gun on Jess the split second after Jess fired the first shot that killed Davis. Jess rolled on the ground to avoid getting hit, coming up and shooting a third man who was firing at him. The other two were scrambling for cover.

  “Lynda, roll under the wagon!” Jess shouted, saying a quick prayer she had not been hurt.

  She quickly obeyed as more shots were fired. Jess made a dash for a water barrel, ducking behind it and taking careful aim at the fourth man, who darted out from behind a watering trough. Jess fired, and the man cried out and landed in the trough.

  Jess searched desperately for the fifth man, but moments later a horse galloped off in the distance.

  All was quiet. Jess waited a moment, then came out from behind the barrel. He holstered his gun and hurried over to the wagon, helping a shaking Lynda from under it while townspeople began filtering out of doorways and alleys. Jess grasped Lynda close, and her fingers dug into his arms.

  “Jess, they could have killed you!”

  “I’m all right. What about you?”

  “I’m not hurt.” She looked into his eyes then, her own eyes widening with sudden realization. “I felt your bullet go right past my face.”

  He kissed her cheek, tears in his eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I went crazy watching him.” He held her close again. “My God, if my aim had been off—”

  “I wasn’t afraid. I knew if I just held still you could do it.”

  John ran out beside them, hugging his mother from behind, while little Jessica clung to her skirts, crying. John moved beside his father.

  “You all right, Pa?”

  Jess reluctantly released his hold on Lynda. “As far as I know.”

  “Wow, Pa, I never knew you were that good! I never saw anything like it!”

  “Mr. Purnell!” Handy hurried up to Jess. “What shooting! You are something with that pistol.”

  Others gathered around him, praising his courage and skill. The general commotion turned to talk of needing protection against men such as those Jess had just faced down, and before the excitement was over, the people were urging Jess to consider being their sheriff.

  “That’s an excellent idea,” one of them shouted.

  “We could pay you well, Mr. Purnell,” Handy told him. “We would gladly pool our money and give you a good wage and build you a nice house right here in town to live i
n for nothing. You might make better money than you do ranching.”

  Jess frowned, confused himself at the moment. “I don’t know . . . you don’t even have a jail here.”

  “We could build one easy enough,” another spoke up. “Our blacksmith could make an iron cell.”

  “Oh, Mr. Purnell, we need a lawman here so badly,” a woman put in. “Men like those you just faced have been coming here more frequently lately. If we don’t put a stop to it, they’ll take over the town eventually, and it won’t be a fit place to live. Please, think about it, Mr. Purnell, for the sake of the women and children, if nothing else.”

  Jess looked at Lynda, seeing the worry in her eyes at the thought of her husband’s taking what could be such a dangerous job. Lynda in return saw a hint of eagerness in Jess’s eyes. He wasn’t really happy just ranching. He had been doing it nearly all his life, and he was tired. Somehow being a sheriff seemed to fit a man like Jess. But the thought of it terrified her.

  “It’s something my wife and I would have to discuss alone.”

  Lynda knew what that meant. Jess Purnell was already considering becoming the first sheriff of Henderson.

  • Chapter Twenty-six •

  It was destined to become one of history’s most memorable Indian treaty gatherings. The summer of 1851 found Cale headed for Fort Laramie with every Cheyenne man, woman, and child along. There they would join several other tribes, even enemy Crow, to discuss a treaty with men representing the white man’s government and to finally learn just what lands they could call their own.

  Over the next several days a total of over ten thousand Indians gathered. Generations later they would find themselves still wondering why they didn’t stick together right then and there and wipe out all whites from Canada to Mexico. But at that time the Indians were still trusting, still ready to discuss what land would be theirs, still hoping for a peaceful solution to white filtration into their lands. The various tribes still had their own quarrels: whether or not to sign a treaty within each tribe; and quarrels with other tribes that stemmed from ancient grievances never resolved; quarrels that prohibited them from holding together against their common enemy—the white man.