by Ray Hogan
Adam saw that Hanover was drunk, noted also that he had purchased a change of clothing. Hanover now wore hard-finished denim pants, a lightweight shirt, and a wide-brimmed, low-crowned hat. A new gun belt, complete with tooled holster and pearl-handled pistol, encircled his waist.
Rait watched the man unsteadily cross the camp; he guessed Hanover had spent his time in town patronizing a saloon and buying personal items while Sancho took care of the supplies.
“Noon,” he said, coming to a stop next to Adam. “Seems I recall you saying you’d be ready by noon.”
Kurt Hanover was one of those men who, when intoxicated, spoke slowly and with exaggerated care.
“More of a job than I figured,” Adam replied. “Be ready in another hour.”
“You said noon!”
“All right. I said noon!” Rait barked, suddenly out of patience. “We didn’t make it. Now, suppose you get yourself a little sleep while we finish up. It won’t take long.”
Hanover frowned, wheeled awkwardly, and walked to the supply wagon. The teamsters, having paused to watch, resumed their labors.
Gannon was now sitting up, thoroughly drenched, his clothing plastered to his thick body. Under Rait’s steady gaze he rose, sauntered to where his partner, Red Lester, and several other men worked at his wagon.
Lester paused, glanced to Hanover sprawled beneath a tree. There was invitation in his manner, and it was plain he was anxious to take up with Adam where Bill Gannon had left off.
“A goddamned drunk. We going to be nursemaiding him?”
“It’s his train,” Rait said.
The teamster swore again. “Going to be one hell of a fine trip. Don’t even know where we’re headed, in a jerry-rigged contraption that’s got a seat harder’n a whore’s heart … and lugging a cargo half the state of Texas would lift our hair for. Now we got us a boss so damned drunk he couldn’t hit the ground with a bale of hay. Or …,”—Lester stopped to look directly at Adam—“are you still running this outfit?”
“I am,” Rait said evenly. “And I’ve got a couple of things to say to you … and you, Gannon. You’re both trouble … and trouble I can do without. Draw your wages and move on.”
Lester straightened up. Gannon rubbed at his neck. The redhead spat. “Hell, ain’t no use you getting all riled up.”
“You’re the one doing the complaining.”
“Ain’t said nothing nobody else wouldn’t, was they to speak up,” Lester said contritely. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll keep working.”
Adam nodded. He couldn’t afford to lose either man, but things would have to be done his way. He had enough problems with Kurt Hanover. He swung to Gannon. The teamster’s face was beginning to swell.
“What about it, Bill? Quit … or work and keep your mouth shut? Your choice.”
Gannon looked down. “Reckon I’ll stay.”
Adam turned to Joe Denver. The squat driver grinned. “Like I was telling you, you could’ve looked under plenty of rocks …”
Rait silenced the man with a shake of his head. “Wind it up … we’re late.”
When all was in readiness, with Denver beside him, Adam made a complete check of the vehicles, assured himself that nothing had been overlooked, and then ordered the drivers to their seats.
Denver pointed to Hanover. “You aiming to tie him to the saddle?”
“He can ride with Felipe in the supply wagon. Fix a bed for him in the back.”
“I was just thinking … with him in the shape he’s in it … wouldn’t hurt none to lay over, get an early start in the morning.”
“That’d be what I’d do, but Hanover’s in a hurry. We’ll give him what he wants.”
Denver nodded. “Which way we headed?”
“North … for Marshall. Road’s east of here. We’ll cut straight to it, then swing left.”
“Marshall, eh? These guns for the army?”
“Right.”
“Confederate Army?” the teamster said, as though unable to believe his ears.
“That’s it.”
Joe Denver uncoiled his whip, flipped it full length, and the tip spurted dust from a nearby stump. “Well, seems to me somebody’s doing a lot of something for nothing, but I reckon I oughtn’t fret, long as I get paid.”
“That’s the way I feel about it,” Adam replied.
“Who’s at Marshall? Kirby Smith ain’t … unless he’s up and moved. Could it be the Missouri cavalry?”
“Possible. Thought they’d gone on to Virginia, however.” He swung his glance over the wagons to see that most of the drivers were ready. “Anyway, it’s no business of ours. All we have to do is get the wagon train there. Keep it from the crew long as you can, not all of them are Southerners.”
“Just what I was thinking. Want me to pull out now?”
“Wait for my signal.”
Adam turned back to the camp. Sancho and Felipe, his young swamper, had completed the transfer of the new stock and were putting the last of the gear into the other vehicle.
“We leave,” Adam said to the older Mexican in Spanish. “Are you ready?”
Sancho said: “Yes, all is ready. I will drive the kitchen. Does Felipe drive the other, or will the patrón?”
“It is possible the patrón will ride in the rear,” Adam said, and crossed to Hanover. Reaching down, he shook the man’s shoulder. Kurt sat up with a start.
“Something wrong?”
“Moving out. Can fix you a bed in the supply wagon … or you can ride the horse I got for you.”
Hanover scrambled to his feet, dusted himself. He had sobered amazingly during the hour or so of sleep he had taken.
“I’ll take the saddle,” he said, looking out toward the freighters. “What course you taking?”
“Due east for a couple of miles. We hit the road to Marshall there.”
“We come close to that town?”
“No, we’ll be above it.”
“Good. Be smart to miss all the towns we can.” Kurt reached for a cigar, jammed it between his lips, and studied the two horses, saddled and waiting in the shade. “Which one’s mine?”
“The black.”
“Fine … fine … always like a tall horse,” Hanover said, walking off briskly.
Adam watched him for a moment and then wheeled to face the train. He raised his arm to let it sweep downward. Immediately, Joe Denver, handling the lead team, cracked his long whip and put his wagon into motion. One by one, the others rolled in behind him, taking the position they would hold during the remainder of the journey.
Farther over to the left, the wrangler hazed his string of extra horses into a trot, and to the right—clear of the dust already beginning to lift—Sancho and the boy, Felipe, whipped up their teams.
Adam glanced around the camp, saw that nothing remained. Sighing, he crossed to the bay he had picked for himself and mounted the horse. The train, at last, was under way.
Chapter Five
When they reached the road to Marshall, Adam Rait motioned Hanover on and pulled off to the side. He waited there, gave each wagon sharp scrutiny as the shouting teamsters swung their creaking rigs into the twin ruts. The junction accomplished without incident, he glanced to the remuda, and then to where Sancho and Felipe were keeping pace with their vehicles. All were in position. Satisfied, he returned to the head of the column.
“Things going all right?” Hanover asked, shifting on his saddle.
Adam nodded. “Don’t look for many miles today. Always a few problems at the start.”
“At least we’re moving. What kind of road lies ahead?”
“Fair. Some downgrade.”
“That’ll help.”
Rait looked at Hanover thoughtfully. “Will we be late getting the cargo to Marshall?”
“A bit. I told them to ex
pect me around the first of the month. Not missing it by much.”
They rode on in silence. Around them the land lay hot and dry, and high overhead a flock of crows was making a quiet, irregular passage. Adam, eyes squinted to minimize the glare, traced the course of the road. It was beginning to curve left and then apparently fell away sharply into a grade. Wheeling, he doubled back to Joe Denver in the lead wagon.
“Slope coming up. Be using your brakes. Try them now.”
The teamster nodded and Rait continued on, warning each driver. Bill Gannon was the only one to give him no verbal acknowledgment—but he did test his blocks.
Rait resumed his position next to Kurt Hanover. The train rolled slowly on under its canopy of dust and rumbling thunder.
They drew near the bend. Once more Adam pulled off.
“Keep going!” he called to Hanover. “I’ll hold back. Could be trouble.”
He was thinking of the heavy loads, single teams, and untried vehicles—a bad combination on a steep grade.
Kurt waved his understanding. He had reached the turn and was now following the ruts angling off and down between two low mounds.
“Rait!”
At Hanover’s shout Adam paused. Hanover was motioning for him to come. Immediately Rait spurred the bay forward, but Hanover was already galloping off. Adam rounded the curve and stared. A dozen yards farther, at the foot of the hill, a carriage had overturned.
Rait halted briefly, threw his signal to Denver just reaching the top of the slope. “Pull up! Been an accident!”
“Pull up! Pull up!” the teamster echoed as he hauled back on the leathers and oak blocks began to screech against iron tires.
Adam rushed to the bottom of the hill. Hanover had already dismounted, was striding toward an elegantly dressed young woman standing off to one side. Two men, one also of obvious quality, the other in ordinary work clothing—and both Mexican—were endeavoring to quiet the span of matched sorrels that were hitched to the upset barouche.
Leaving the saddle, Rait hurried to the two men. “Anybody hurt?”
The well-dressed Mexican shook his head. “We are most fortunate. My sister, Angela,” he glanced to the girl, “perhaps has bruises. Nothing more.”
“Lucky,” Adam agreed. Denver and several teamsters were trotting down the grade, curious as to the delay.
“How’d it happen?” Rait queried.
The Mexican shrugged. “Who is to say? Martinez is a driver of much experience … yet we still overturned. The road bends. Possibly it is too sharp.”
Adam beckoned to the teamsters. “Let’s get this out of the way.”
Putting their shoulders to the barouche, they tipped it back onto its wheels. There appeared to be no damage other than displaced cushions and scattered bags and other containers that Martinez began to collect hurriedly.
Rait stood for a time, looking down at the scuff marks in the dry soil. There was something odd about them; the carriage must have come almost to a dead stop before it flipped over. He turned away, guessed that accounted for the lack of injuries and absence of damage … still, coming downgrade at a fair speed … it would seem—
“Rait!”
Adam looked up. Hanover, in the act of escorting the girl to the carriage, was beckoning to him. He circled the vehicle, waited while Kurt handed her to the seat. She had a much lighter skin than her brother, he noted, and was beautiful in a cold, remote way.
Kurt closed the door, touched the brim of his hat, and stepped back. The barouche moved away, and smiling broadly, he faced Adam.
“They’ll be traveling with us.”
Rait stared as disbelief and shock jarred him. “That’s a damned fool thing to do … let a woman—”
“You ever see a woman like her?” Hanover cut in, hearing none of what Adam said. His eyes were glowing, and sweat laid a bright shine on his cheeks.
“You’re asking for trouble!” Rait snapped, trying to get through to the man. “How do you think it’ll work out … her being around two dozen teamsters, day and night?”
Hanover seemed to recover himself. He turned toward his horse. “Expect she’s been around men before.”
“Sure, the polite, gentleman kind like her brother, but not a bunch of footloose mule skinners and bullwhackers on the prod. Keeping them away from her after dark will be a full-time job.”
“I’ll look after her,” Hanover said, mounting. He sat for a moment, watching the drivers stringing back up the slopes to their wagons. “Yes, sir. I’ll be doing just that …”
Adam swore quietly in frustration. “What the hell they tying in with us for? Make a lot faster time in the barouche alone.”
“Girl said she was afraid … soldiers and road agents, and so on. Her brother’s a sick man. They’re on their way to Fort Worth … want to stay with us far as we go.”
“That’ll be Marshall,” Rait said, more to himself than Kurt. There was some risk on the road, he had to admit—but that didn’t help his situation any. Keeping a crew of tough, half-wild teamsters in line would be chore enough without flaunting an attractive woman in their faces twenty-four hours of the day.
“Better change your mind, tell them to go on,” he said wearily, climbing to the saddle. “Otherwise, look for fireworks … starting tonight.”
“The lady’ll be my problem,” Hanover said. “Don’t you fret over it. God, Rait, I ain’t been around a female like her in months. She’ll be worth a lot of trouble.”
Adam stared at the man, then turned for the crest of the hill. “Your wagon train,” he said. “If you figure it that way, that’s how it’ll be.”
He kept the caravan moving until sundown and then pulled off the road and made camp in a grove of sycamores. They had covered only a short distance, but he had not expected much; it had been more of a trial and getting under way proposition. In the days to come it would be different as he would be striving for a twenty- to thirty-mile minimum.
Hanover remained near the barouche that had halted a distance apart from the freighters. The girl stood by while Martinez, the driver, erected a tent for her use. Adam, moving among the teamsters, making his check of livestock and equipment, saw them eyeing her with sharp, speculative interest. He called them together.
“Keep away from that side of the camp,” he warned. “Nothing over there for you.”
Several of the men laughed and a few remarks were passed at low breath. A voice said: “The boss man’s private stuff, that it?”
“Not your concern, one way or the other,” Rait snapped. “Now start looking after those horses!”
Joe Denver paused beside him, head cocked slyly. “One good thing, maybe,” he said, pointing at Hanover. “She’ll be keeping him offen your back for a spell.”
Kurt was busy. He hovered over the newcomers like a hen with two chicks, seeing to their needs and comfort and keeping Sancho’s helper, Felipe, scurrying around, doing endless small chores, while the old cook grumbled and swore in black Spanish.
The sky was clear, and tarps, carried in the supply wagon in event of rain, were ignored. Blankets were unrolled and placed at the owner’s discretion, a teamster generally choosing the spot beneath his own wagon. Relief drivers who had seen no action during the day were assigned sentry duty, each to stand a three-hour watch.
“Who’re you feared of?” Bill Gannon asked Rait, already forgetting the altercation he had had with Adam. “Comanch’? Some of our brave soldier boys? Or maybe you just don’t want nobody bothering the boss man and the little Mex’ gal.”
Rait studied the teamster coolly. “You learn the hard way, Bill,” he said. “I’ll be posting guards every night until we get this load delivered.”
Gannon started to make a reply but Red Lester took him by the arm, quietly said something, and both men moved away.
Ed Vernon, a lean, bearded man from Ohio ste
pped up, broke the tense hush. “Got a horse going lame, Cap’n.” He was the only one ever to make any reference to Rait’s Army background. “Expect you ought to talk to that wrangler about it.”
The pressure within Adam eased. He wheeled, followed Vernon to where the horses were rope-corralled, and made his examination. It was only a minor problem, and after giving Polo instructions as to treatment, Adam returned to the center of camp, where Sancho was preparing to dish out the evening meal.
Kurt Hanover elected to remain near the barouche, taking his food with the newcomers. He had Felipe lay out his bedroll not far from the girl’s tent. This evoked a string of comments from several teamsters, all of which grew more pertinent when the brother and the driver were seen to climb into the carriage and prepare to sleep.
Adam geared himself for trouble but fortunately it failed to develop. The men had been going for more than eighteen hours and soon all were in their blankets, sleeping soundly.
Hanover, likewise, made no overt moves. Several times during the dark night after the camp had quieted and the fire was dead, Adam, restless, made rounds and not once did he find Kurt missing from his bed. He was being the perfect host, the faithful sentinel.
The cynical streak in Rait said that Hanover was doing his chumming now. Hook comes later. And Hanover would have ample time to land his fish. They were a good twelve days and nights from Marshall.
Chapter Six
They made almost twenty-five miles that next day. The road was good despite the fact it was no main route, and they encountered no one except a solitary cowhand, drifting west. Hanover divided his time, spending half riding inside the barouche with the girl and her brother, the rest in the saddle beside Rait.
He was in an expansive mood and talked much about his plans for the future, but as usual, spoke little of the past.
At one point he asked: “You got a family somewhere, Adam?”
Rait shook his head. “I’m the last of it.”
“Same here … thank God. Nobody to worry about. Was this broomtail to step in a gopher hole tomorrow and break my neck, you’d be the owner of the whole shebang.” Hanover grinned, faced Adam squarely. “Sound like good prospects?”