A Lone Star Christmas (26 page)

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Authors: William W. Johnstone

BOOK: A Lone Star Christmas
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“I'll get Thunder saddled for you, Tom,” Dalton said.
“Thanks.”
“Dalton, wait,” Clay called. “I seem to recall that Dohate has a taste for horehound candy. I know you got some while we were in Dodge. Do you have any left?”
Dalton was a little embarrassed by the question. He had bought some, but he wanted to keep it secret, not to prevent any of the others from having any, but because he was afraid they would think it was childish.
“Yeah, I've got some left,” he admitted sheepishly.
“After you get Thunder saddled, give some of it to Tom. He might have a use for it.”
“All right,” Dalton agreed.
“Tom?” Rebecca called.
Rebecca turned and walked toward the wagon, indicating that she wanted him to come to her. He did.
“Rebecca, you aren't going to be able to talk me out of this,” Tom said.
“I know,” she said. “So I won't even try.”
“Good.”
“Do you love me, Tom?”
“Rebecca, this hardly seems the time or place for us to discuss something like this.”
“I will ask you again, very slowly, and very distinctly. Do—you—love—me—Tom? It's not a hard question.”
“Rebecca, there are things about my past that you don't know,” Tom said. He held up his hands and looked at them. It was as if he could still see the blood.
“I don't care about your past, Tom. I only care about now,” Rebecca said. “I know that you are not who you seem to be. I know you are not a cowboy. I know you are not a Westerner. I know that you have an education, a wonderful education, more than anyone I have ever known. And I know that you must have come from a life that is very different from this one. And whatever it was that made you give up that life must have been something very significant. I don't know what it was and I don't care what it was.
“I only know that here, you have been able to make a new start. Half the men in the West are not that different, Tom. There are many men here, and women too, who are making a new start.”
“Tom, we've got the horse here, ready to go,” Clay called.
“Do you love me, Tom?”
“This is not good for either one of us, Rebecca.”
“I'm only going to ask you this one more time, Tom. This has nothing to do with who you are, what you are, or what you are running from. This has only to do with you and me, right here, and right now. Do you love me, Tom?”
“Yes,” Tom said. “For both of our sakes I wish I could say otherwise, but, God help us, yes, Rebecca, I do love you.”
Rebecca smiled, then kissed him, a short, brushing peck only, on the lips.
“Come back to me safely, Tom,” she said.
Tom nodded and looked at her, opening himself up to her so that she could look deep into his eyes, all the way to the scars on his soul. Then, turning away from her without speaking another word, he started toward Dalton, who was holding both Thunder, and the string of three cows.
Smoke came over to talk to him.
“Tom,” Smoke said. “Even leading the cows, you should be there within an hour. As soon as you give them the cows, turn and start back. Do not break into a gallop. At a gait that is comfortable for the horse, you should be back here within two hours from right now. If you are not back here within two hours, we are coming after you.”
“I'll be back,” Tom said.
Smoke reached out to shake Tom's hand. “I'm sure you will be,” he said.
As Tom rode toward his rendezvous with Dohate and the Indians Dohate had with him, he thought of his conversation with Rebecca. Should he have confessed to her that he did love her? Wouldn't it have been much better to tell her that he didn't, rather than build her up for what could never be?
Or should he tell her of his past? No, he had told her, but it did no good.
Like turning the pages of a book, a part of his past opened up to him.
 
“I'm telling you now, Tom, don't do this.”
“But I can do it, I know I can.”
“It is too big a risk.”
“I have to do it, don't you understand?”
“Maybe, for one, but not for both of them.”
“Are you telling me I must choose?” Tom asked.
“Yes. Choose one, or lose both.”
“I can do it. All it takes is a steady hand and self-confidence,” Tom said.
“Yes, but there is a difference between self-confidence and arrogance. A big difference. Somehow you don't seem to understand that.”
“Arrogance? My God, do you think I'm doing this from a sense of arrogance? This is my wife! This is my child. Now either help me, or get the hell out of the way, because I'm going to do it.”
“You are going to have blood on your hands, Tom. Can you live with that?”
 
Can you live with that? Can you live with that? Can you live with that?
Could he live with it? Tom still didn't know the answer, and now as he continued to ride south, he held up his hands and looked at them. The blood was there still. How could he ask for Rebecca's love?
The Washita River was directly ahead of him now; he could see the long line of trees growing along the banks of the river. Tom remembered crossing it on the way up to Dodge City. He remembered being particularly interested in it, because he had read all about its bloody history. Custer and Black Kettle had fought a battle here. And, because there were several Indian encampments along the river, they had all come to join in the battle, which resulted in over one hundred Indians being killed and fifty-one lodges and their contents burned. In addition, the camp's pony herd of roughly eight hundred horses was killed. The Seventh Cavalry suffered twenty-two men killed, including two officers, Major Elliot and Captain Hamilton. Captain Hamilton was the grandson of Alexander Hamilton.
It had been bitterly cold on the day of the fight, and it was very cold now. Tom couldn't help but relate to the soldiers of the Seventh Cavalry, not only because of the cold, but because he was riding to meet some Indians, and he had not the slightest idea as to what was going to happen.
He knew, though, that he was about to find out, because ahead, emerging from the line of trees, he saw a number of Indians coming toward him. A quick count determined that there were ten of them approaching. If Ashki had been accurate with his own count, that meant that at least five of the Indians were staying out of sight.
As one, all ten started galloping toward him, yipping and yelling at the top of their voices, urging their horses to top speed. Tom was pretty sure, at this point, that he if dropped the rope to the cows, turned around and gave Thunder his head, he could easily outrun them. But that wouldn't accomplish anything. The herd would still have to come through here to cross the Washita, and if this issue wasn't resolved now, the Indians would still be here waiting on them. Because of that, Tom stopped his horse, and simply stood his ground as the ten Indian ponies thundered toward him.
Smoke had told him to crook his arm at the elbow and hold his hand up, palm out, so that is exactly what he did as they approached.
The Indians reined up when they reached him, then looked at each other in surprise. They had expected the lone rider to turn and run.
“How,” Tom said. “Good morning.”
The Indians began speaking to each other, but as they spoke in their native language, Tom could not understand what they were saying.
“
He is a man with powerful medicine. He has no fear.”
“He has fear. If I raise my war club over his head, he will show fear.”
“No, I think not. I do not see fear in his eyes.”
“His medicine is not strong enough to overcome the fear of dying, this I will prove to you. I will raise my war club over his head. If he shows fear, I will kill him. If he shows no fear, I will let him live.”
Though Tom had no idea what they were saying, he was certain they were talking about him, and when one of them raised his war club and let out a menacing, blood-curdling yell, he knew they were talking about him.
He also sensed, though he had no idea how he was able to sense this, that the Indian had no real intention of killing him, but was just testing him.
“Show fear, White Man,” the Indian said in English. “Show fear, for I am about to kill you!”
Tom remained motionless, staring directly into the eyes of the club-wielding Indian.
“Show fear!” The Indian shouted again, his voice as loud and menacing as he could make it.
Suddenly, Tom realized that he wasn't going to be killed. He realized too, that he had passed the test, and he smiled.
“Ayiee,” one of the warriors said in his own language. “Look at him, how he smiles at death! His medicine is great.”
One of the Indians, one who had not spoken before, held his hand out toward the Indian with the war club. Tom knew then that this was the leader. It was as Smoke had told him.
“Put the club away,” the leader said in English. Then he spoke to Tom. “My name is ...”
“I know who you are,” Tom said. “You are Dohate.”
During the entire confrontation, Tom had not let go of the rope by which he had been leading the three cows. He handed the rope to Dohate.
“How is it that you know my name?” Dohate asked.
“I have heard stories told of Dohate, a brave and fearless warrior,” Tom said, playing up to the Indian's ego. He knew that he had scored when he saw the look of pride and satisfaction on Dohate's face.
“Because the cattle we are driving are black, you thought they were buffalo,” Tom said. “But as you can see it is only cattle.”
“I have never seen cattle such as these.”
“They are called Angus,” Tom said.
“Angus,” Dohate repeated, though when he spoke the word it came out as “Angoose.”
“Never have you eaten meat that is better than this,” Tom said.
Dohate took the line. “You make gift to Dohate?” he asked.
“Yes,” Tom said. “In return, we ask that you let us pass through.”
“What is your name?” Dohate asked.
“My name is Tom. I am told, also, that you like this candy.” Tom handed a little bag of horehound candy to the Indian and he looked inside, smiled, then took one out and put it in his mouth. He did not offer any of the candy to anyone else.
“Your cattle may pass, Tom.”
 
When the others saw Tom returning, they hurried out to meet him.
“You are here and the cows aren't,” Clay said. “I take it that means you and Dohate worked things out?”
“Our cattle may pass,” Tom said.
“Good job, Tom!” Clay said.
“Smoke?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for your briefing. It proved to be very helpful,” Tom said.
Red River, December 10
They were within sight of Texas now, and though they were still quite a way from their ultimate destination, there was a sense of satisfaction in knowing that they would be back in Texas by the next day. It was bitterly cold, much colder than it had been during any part of the drive, even though they were significantly farther south from where they started.
“As soon as we cross the river, we'll be in Texas,” Dusty said.
“But it is later into December than we thought it would be, isn't it?” Sally asked.
“Yes,” Clay said. “Later than I would like.”
“How long until Christmas?” Dalton asked.
“Fifteen days,” Rebecca said. “This is the tenth.”
“I wonder what Pa got me for Christmas.”
“Why, Dalton,” Clay said. “I figured letting you come on this drive was your Christmas present.” The others laughed.
“That might be true,” Dalton said. “I know that I've enjoyed this more than anything I've ever done before. It has made me appreciate what cowboys do.”
“It's done something else for you, too, Dalton,” Clay said. “It has made you a man.”
“Clay's right, son,” Dusty said. “You've become a man I could work with, and probably some day work for, and be proud to do it.”
“Thanks,” Dalton said, beaming with pride over the praise. “Dusty, Duff, would you all play some Christmas carols?”
“I'll play them if you folks will sing along,” Dusty said.
As the campfire burned brightly, sending sparks high into the night sky, the eight men and three women sat close enough to enjoy its warmth, and filled the night air with their music.
“I wonder which star it was,” Dalton said, as he looked into the black vault overhead. The sky was filled with stars, from the brightest ones of the highest magnitude, on down to the smaller and dimmer stars, until finally nothing could be discerned but a fine blue dusting of stars that were just below being visible, except for the blue dust they scattered across the heavens.
“You mean which star led the wise men to the baby Jesus?” Sally asked.
“Yeah, I wonder which one it was?”
“Maybe it was that one,” Dusty suggested, pointing to one particularly bright pin-point of light.
“No, that's Venus,” Tom said. “It isn't a star, it's a planet.”
“Maybe it was the North Star,” Smoke suggested. “It has guided me, many a time,” Smoke said. “And there it is.”
“That's Polaris,” Sally said.
“That's easy to find. All you have to do is line it up with the Big Dipper,” Dalton said.
“I wonder if any of the stars in the Big Dipper have a name?” Clay asked.
“They all have names,” Tom said. “The first star in the Dipper's handle, is Alkaid. Then comes Mizar and Alioth. The stars in the cup are called Megrez, Phecda, Dubhe, and Merek.”
Tom pointed out each of the stars as he named them.
“What is that star?” Dalton asked, pointing to another one.
“I don't know.”
“I was beginning to think you knew the names of all the stars.”
Tom laughed. “Well, now, there are billions of stars,” he said. “So not all of them have names. That means we can name some if we want to. Suppose we name them after the ladies? We can call that one Maria, that one Sally, and that one Rebecca.”
“Wow, my sister has her own star,” Dalton said.

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