by Easy Jackson
“Well,” Tennie said, trying to maintain her dignity, “if you’d been bitten by a rattler before, you’d be scared of it happening again, too.”
“Get off your high horse,” Hawkshaw said. “When daylight comes, you can start filling canteens. We’ve only got two. I didn’t know I was going to be rescuing an army of midgets.”
“In town, you hardly said two words to people,” Tennie said, following Hawkshaw out the door. “Out here, you just keep bossing like you’re some kind of general or something.”
He didn’t bother to answer, and she sat down to wait for daylight on a stump someone had placed next to the wall of the shack.
Later, as they sat crouched around a campfire, eating roasted rabbit, Hawkshaw glanced at the horses grazing in tall grass.
“Where’d you get the crowbaits?” he asked Rusty.
“We rented them from a livery in Waco,” Rusty said. “We went with the stagecoach drivers to the sheriff to report what had happened. He brushed me off when I tried to tell him I thought it was the Miltons.”
“He said it had to be outlaws hiding out east of Waco,” Lucas said, tossing a bone over his shoulder and reaching to take another rabbit off the makeshift spit. “He said nobody lived out this way except a few poor whites and some Mexicans.”
“The posse wouldn’t let us ride with them, anyway,” Rusty said, “so we decided to rent some horses on our own. These are all the liveryman would let us have. And it was only when the stagecoach driver vouched we were friends with Mr. Lafayette that he would let us take these.”
“He tried to cheat us, Miss Tennie.” Badger looked up. “Just like you said somebody might. Rusty counted out his change, and he made him give us the right money back.”
“Well, I declare,” Tennie said. “I was just flapping my jaws, and it really did happen.”
“How’d you find us?” Hawkshaw demanded.
Rusty flushed. “We remembered that the Miltons came from around Waco, so we started asking around if they had a place here.” He grew bold and blurted, “When I get older, I’m going to become a Texas Ranger.”
Hawkshaw grunted. “Looks to me like you’ve already got a head start over some of them. Did anybody think to wire Lafayette?”
Rusty and Lucas looked at one another.
“We didn’t,” Lucas admitted. “We were in too big of a hurry. But the stagecoach drivers will see that it gets back to him.”
Tennie finished eating, throwing the bones in tall grass for some other critter to feed on. Things weren’t adding up right, but she had no desire for a confrontation at the moment.
The boys had made short work of the rabbits. Hawkshaw rose and began kicking dirt on the campfire. “I didn’t have anything to do with the fire at the saloon or the telegram saying the little girl was kidnapped,” he said, not looking at Tennie.
“But why didn’t you stop them?” she asked.
He shrugged. “I didn’t think they would really go through with it. When I crossed paths with them outside of Waco, I realized what was happening and thought it best to go along with them.”
He didn’t wait for her to ask more questions but ordered the boys to get the horses ready. Taking two sticks, Tennie fished out a lump of coal from under the dirt and threw it into the water bucket, where it sizzled and hissed. As soon as it cooled, she fished it out and began rubbing it over her teeth.
“What are you doing?” Hawkshaw demanded. “Come on. We need to hurry.”
Tennie stood and threw her lump of charcoal down. Despite Hawkshaw’s demands to make haste, he took his time with the horses, brushing them down and picking up hooves, poking around the frogs with a knife to rid them of dirt and pebbles. He ordered them to drink plenty of well water; reminding them again they only had two canteens.
“But it shouldn’t take that long to get to Waco,” Tennie said. “I had to ride in the back of that wagon several hours, but not all day.”
Hawkshaw, who was bent over to examine a horseshoe, raised his head and stared at Tennie. “We can’t escape in that direction. Too easy of a target. We’ll have to zigzag our way back, and I don’t know how long it is going to take.”
Tennie, seeing the troubled look on Rusty’s face, shrugged her shoulders. Rusty nodded in return but kept his eyes on Hawkshaw. While Tennie waited, she watched the horizon for signs of Bod and Ozzie Milton.
It was dread of Bod and Ozzie that made her get astride her swayback horse without complaint, even though the insides of her thighs were sore from the previous night’s ride.
As the morning wore on, they did as Hawkshaw said, alternately riding west and south. He refused to return the rifle Rusty had bought in Waco, even though he admonished him to keep his eyes open and watch their rear. At first, Tennie examined every tree and bush for fear a Milton would pop out at her.
They stopped only to let the horses rest, or coming across a shallow stream, to drink. In the late afternoon, Tennie’s discomfort became so acute, she no longer bothered to examine her surroundings.
None of the boys gave trouble; their fear and suspicion of Hawkshaw was too great. They rode without complaint, but when Lucas and Badger slipped from the back of their pony because they had fallen asleep, Tennie begged Hawkshaw to stop.
“There’s probably a creek on the other side of this rise,” he said. “Keep moving.”
When Hawkshaw turned back around, Rusty shot a dirty look at his backside and helped his brothers back on their pony.
Correct in Hawkshaw’s prediction, a creek flowed lazily at the bottom of a gently rolling slope. Tennie was so grateful, she almost cried. She slid from the horse, hanging on to the saddle horn until she could trust her legs.
After watering the horses, she removed her hairpins, wrapping them in her handkerchief. “Mr. Hawkshaw, would you happen to have a bar of shaving soap in your saddlebag that you would be so kind to loan me?”
He started to say no, but looking at her bedraggled appearance, he must have felt sorry for her, because he lifted the flap of his saddlebag, drawing out a round bar of soap and tossing it to her. She missed the catch but picked it up eagerly from the grass. Going slightly upstream, she walked into the water, and after diving under and thoroughly wetting every hair and cotton cloth on her, began to scrub. The boys jumped in the water, too. Not to bathe, but to swim.
Hawkshaw, after hobbling the horses in tall grass, walked downstream and out of sight. In a little while, they heard a rifle shot. A stab of fear went through Tennie, and she hurried out of the creek. It frightened the boys, too, and they got out beside her, standing and waiting, looking in the direction from whence Hawkshaw left.
He walked back carrying a beaver that must have weighed thirty pounds.
“Are we going to eat that?” Badger asked.
“Yes,” Hawkshaw said. “Unhobble the horses.”
“Why? We’re not camping here?” Tennie asked.
“No. Up the hill. Too many mosquitoes when the sun goes down.”
Tennie, dripping water from head to toe, put her shoes back on. She went to Hawkshaw’s saddle and slipped the soap back into his saddlebag without looking inside. But she refused to get back on her horse and began leading him up the hill.
Rusty joined her while Hawkshaw and the other two boys rode ahead.
“He’s leading us deeper and deeper west,” Rusty said.
Tennie turned to stare at him. “What do you mean? We were zigzagging south, too.”
“I know,” Rusty said, keeping his eyes on Hawkshaw. “But each time he led us farther west than he did south. A lot farther.” He paused then spoke again in a low voice. “And another thing. He keeps telling us to hurry, but he’s really taking his sweet time out here.”
That part Tennie knew. She stared at Hawkshaw’s back. “He’s up to something. I believe that. But if push were to come to shove, I think he’d be on our side.”
“I hope so,” Rusty said.
Hawkshaw halted on a flattened ridge in a small mott
of oaks, announcing they would make camp there. They hobbled the horses again so they could graze, Hawkshaw saying they would tie the horses to a string line later.
They watched as he dressed the beaver with a sure hand and a sharp knife, as if he had killed and eaten beaver every day of his life.
“I’ve never had beaver,” Tennie said, and the three boys echoed the same thought.
Hawkshaw didn’t respond; it was as if they weren’t there. He threw the pelt aside, and Tennie rubbed her hand gingerly over the soft fur.
She lifted it up and kissed it. “Thank you, Mr. Beaver, for feeding us,” she said softly, and the boys laughed at her. She smiled in return.
“Fetch some firewood,” Hawkshaw growled, as if their laughter angered him.
While the beaver roasted, the boys decided to build a lean-to using fallen trees. Tennie didn’t want to get dirty again, so she sat near the campfire, combing her hair and watching the boys work. It wasn’t the first lean-to they had ever built; they had made many on the ranch before their father died. Nevertheless, they had a lively discussion over which two trees to build it between and how to place the logs. Badger wasn’t much help but hung around the older boys as they worked.
Hawkshaw stared at them as if he wanted to say something, but he would turn his head away without speaking. He refused to look at Tennie and did not invite conversation.
When the boys finished the lean-to, he spoke, saying the words like he was pulling a bent nail from a board. “You gonna sleep under that?”
“Sure,” Rusty replied.
Hawkshaw paused. “Cut some branches from that cedar tree yonder to lay on. It’ll keep you off the ground and repel some of the bugs.” He immediately turned away from them and concentrated on the roasting beaver.
Tennie didn’t understand him. The longer they were around him, the less communicative he became, as if he didn’t want to get too close to them. She kept her thoughts to herself, however, and enjoyed the succulent beaver tail he cut into pieces for them.
When darkness came, Tennie and the boys prepared to curl up under the lean-to, while Hawkshaw sat off to the side by himself, resting against a tree. The cedar boughs were scratchy and had a strong odor, and since Hawkshaw’s back was to them, Tennie shimmied out of one of her petticoats, spreading it over the branches. They lay in a row, Tennie, Badger, Lucas, and Rusty.
All four were almost instantly asleep.
CHAPTER 8
Tennie heard rapid gunfire and thought at first she was dreaming. She bolted upright, breathing heavily. Looking in the direction of Hawkshaw, she saw his shadow scramble behind a tree, fire and smoke spitting from his pistol as he fired in rapid succession in the direction of the creek.
A hail of return fire met his, looking like gigantic fireflies flashing in the night. Tennie heard the whistling of bullets and the splintering of the tree next to her. She grabbed Badger and pushed him as far back into the lean-to as she could, shoving Lucas in at Badger’s feet. The barrage of gunfire deafened her ears, and she threw herself across Badger while Rusty did the same thing with Lucas, their backs to the creek and facing as far into the lean-to as they could squeeze. Bullets landing in the ground spewed dirt on their feet and backsides.
A sudden scream from the direction of the creek stopped the volley of fire. A voice somewhere else shouted, “Ozzie! You hit? Ozzie!”
“It’s the Miltons,” Rusty said. Lucas tried to squirm out, but Rusty thrust him backwards. Badger began to cry.
“Shhh,” Tennie said, whispering in his ear. “Be brave.”
Not a sound could be heard but the return of katydids singing in the trees and bullfrogs jumping into the creek until Bod Milton began to shout, “Hawkshaw!”
When he got no response, he hollered again, “Hawkshaw, answer me.”
Tennie raised her head enough to see Hawkshaw pick up a rock and throw it far from him. It landed with a thud loud enough for Bod to hear.
“Listen, Hawkshaw. You give the girl to me. You can take those boys and hightail it out of here, but I want that there girl.”
Tennie again wiggled up to look through the cracks between the logs. She saw Hawkshaw’s shadow holding a rifle in his hand and creeping away from the tree. A stab of fear slashed through her heart so intense it left her breathless. Was Hawkshaw abandoning them?
“She ain’t gonna be nothing but trouble for you,” Bod said. “Lafayette will hunt you down and shoot you just like he would me. You might as well let me have her. Hawk—”
The sound of rifle fire interrupted him. While the rifle sang out repeatedly, Bod fired back, and Tennie’s head went down, trying to shield Badger the best she could.
As quickly as it started, it ended, and the katydids ruled the night once more. The four of them huddled under the lean-to, each hearing the other’s breath going in and out. A minute passed. Rusty jumped up and began a running crouch in Hawkshaw’s direction.
“Stop!” Tennie cried in a whisper, but the boy never slowed.
They heard a single rifle shot. After that, nothing.
“Rusty!” Lucas cried, jumping to his feet.
Tennie grabbed him to keep him from running to his brother.
“It’s all right,” Rusty called. “It’s over.”
They scrambled from the lean-to and raced to Rusty and Hawkshaw. Hawkshaw was hunched over, clutching his thigh. Rusty stood in front of him, holding the rifle and looking down at the dead body of Bod Milton.
“I guess I owe you one, kid,” Hawkshaw said, and collapsed against the tree.
“He’s been shot!” Tennie hurried to him, grasping his arm. “Help me get him away from here,” she told the boys. “Let’s move him under the lean-to.”
With their help, Hawkshaw was able to limp to their lean-to. Tennie guided him to her petticoat and helped him down. His leg was already swollen bigger than his waist. Without hesitation, Tennie shimmied out of another of her petticoats. Handing it to Rusty, she asked him to cut a strip from it to wrap around Hawkshaw’s leg, then he helped her apply the tourniquet.
Tennie ran her hand as gently as she could over Hawkshaw’s thigh, front and back. “I don’t think the bullet hit an artery. It’s not bleeding enough for that. But the bullet’s still in there. Do you think it hit a bone?”
He gave a slight shrug, closing his eyes in pain.
Tennie didn’t know what to do and prayed for guidance, pressing her lips together as she stared into the shadows at his face. She was stuck out who knew where with three children and a wounded man. She shut her eyes, and an image of the women on the wagon train praying over a sick girl came into her mind. One of the younger ones had come down with fever. Besides doing everything physically possible they could, the older ones had laid their hands on her forehead and prayed. She’d passed away regardless, but she died a peaceful death.
Tennie did not want Hawkshaw to die. She needed him to live. “Put your hands on his head and pray,” she instructed the boys. Placing her own hand on Hawkshaw’s forehead, she prayed out loud. “Jesus, heal this man.”
“What are you doing?” Hawkshaw shouted weakly, brushing their hands aside. “I don’t believe in that shit.”
“Well, we do,” Tennie yelled back. “And we need you alive, so you just shut up.”
She turned to Lucas. “Would you bring me a canteen?”
He nodded and fetched the canteen. She had Rusty cut off another piece of petticoat, and she wet it, using it to wipe the dirt and sweat from Hawkshaw’s face.
“Stop,” he said, but he didn’t yell.
She desisted. “Do you want some water?”
He nodded. “Yes.” He took the canteen from her hand, drank, and handed it back to her. “In the morning, you’re going to have to take the bullet out. I can’t risk riding or moving around too much. It could travel and sever the artery.”
“Mr. Hawkshaw,” Tennie said, dismayed. “I’ve never removed a bullet.”
“You watched doctors removing bullets from
soldiers when you were a kid, didn’t you? During the war?”
“Yes, but, that was years ago,” she cried.
Rusty swallowed hard. “Miss Tennie, we watched our pa do it lots of times. We’ll help you.”
Tennie looked up at Rusty. He’d had to kill a man that night, and tomorrow, he was going to have to help her operate on another. She shook her head and looked away. Boys had to grow up fast in Texas, and she guessed girls did, too. Growing up during a bloody war, being sent to an orphanage later had been hard, but it had only begun to prepare her for what her life in Texas was like.
“Try to rest,” she told Hawkshaw. “When it gets daylight, we’ll do what we can.”
They spent a restless night, on edge because of the events and not totally sure Ozzie was dead. Hawkshaw didn’t like them too near him. Tennie slept on the far side of the lean-to while the boys slept outside it. In the early morning hours, Hawkshaw became feverish. The boys brought more water from the creek.
“We found Ozzie,” Lucas said. “He’s won’t be bothering anybody anymore.”
Tennie nodded. She asked them to gather all the knives and lay them on the ground for her to examine. Unbeknown to her, they had scavenged all of Bod’s and Ozzie’s possessions.
“Is this your twenty-dollar gold piece, Miss Tennie?” Rusty said, holding it out.
“Probably,” Tennie said. “Will you keep it for now? I don’t want to touch it until after it’s been in your possession for a while. I don’t want anything that was in Bod’s or Ozzie’s pockets to rub off on me.”
“I’ll put it in my tote bag,” Rusty said.
“You boys still have those?” Tennie asked idly while she looked over the blades.
“Their guns aren’t much use,” Rusty said. “Just some old homemade conversion models.”
“They worked well enough on Mr. Hawkshaw last night,” Tennie said.
Hawkshaw stirred. “Get on with it.”
“All right,” Tennie said, knowing she was putting off the inevitable. “We don’t have anything to dig the bullet out with, and I’m afraid to use a knife for fear of nicking the artery.”