Angel Train (14 page)

“What is it?” Billy said.

“Don’t ask questions. Just drink,” Zamora said. Her lively dark eyes shone in the fire light. Billy drank the potion. “What happened?”

“A little trouble in the saloon.” Ringo shrugged. “I don’t think he’s hurt too bad, is he?”

“Not too bad.”

“He will not die.” The speaker was the old woman. “He has no shadow on him. He won’t die—at least, not tonight.”

“Nobody knows about things like that,” Charterhouse said.

“My grandmother does,” Zamora said firmly. “She can see a shadow on people who are close to death.”

“Do you see one on me, madam?”

The old woman looked at Charterhouse. “Not yet,” she said. “But someday.”

Billy sat there, and finally, as the drink took its effect, Zamora put several stitches in his scalp. She was quick and adept.

“You’ve done that before,” Charterhouse said.

“Yes. Not something I like, but things have to be done.”

Ringo pulled Billy to his feet. “Come on. We’ll put you to bed, son.” He turned and faced the old lady. “What about me? See any shadow on me?”

“No.” She suddenly smiled. “But sometimes I am wrong. All men need to walk carefully in this world. They only go through once.”

Ringo Jukes was interested. His eyes took in the old woman. “I guess you’re right about that. Come on, fellas.”

The three left. “I’m glad you didn’t see any shadows on them, Grandmother,” Zamora said.

“They had shadows, but not the shadow of death. All men have shadows. Women too. I have mine, and you have yours.”

Zamora smiled. She was used to her grandmother’s old ways. She hugged her and said, “Have some more soup.”

* * *

THE FOURTH OF JULY celebration was eventful for a small place like Fort Kearney. Tremayne had agreed to stay over and let the travelers take part. There had been a horse race, which Stefan won. A bad concert by a ragtag army band displayed more volume than skill, and there were speeches, barbecue, and beer.

Tremayne had heard about Billy’s injury, and he had stopped by to ask him, “You feeling all right now, Billy?”

“Oh, sure. Just a cut.”

“I hear the fellow was a pretty rough cob.”

“That’s what the bartender said.” Billy swallowed hard. “He’s over there. That big man with the fur cap.”

Tremayne had already spotted Wiley Tate. He didn’t know the man’s name, but he could tell he was a born troublemaker.
Tremayne wanted no trouble. “I guess I’d better keep an eye on him.”

The trouble did come. Not ten minutes later Tate spotted Ringo Jukes. Evidently, someone pointed Jukes out as the man who had put him down. Tremayne saw Tate move until he stood squarely in front of Ringo and began to curse him. Moving easily and quickly, Tremayne put himself where he would be available if trouble started, but it came quicker than he anticipated.

Tate suddenly reached for the gun he kept in his belt, but he paused even as he grasped the handle, for a gun had appeared almost magically in the hand of Ringo Jukes. It was the fastest draw Tremayne had ever seen. The pistol was lined up on Tate’s chest and the big man cried out, “I ain’t drawing!”

Tremayne moved quickly. He stood beside Ringo, and his eyes bored into Tate. “Get out of here! We don’t need you.”

Quickly Major Simms, in charge of the military command, stepped forward. “Guards, arrest him. Take him to the stockade.”

Two soldiers immediately were beside Tate. One of them pulled the gun from his belt, grinned, and said, “Come on, Wiley. We got a nice suite at a fine hotel for you.”

Tate’s eyes burned as they took in Jukes and Tremayne. “This ain’t over,” he said.

“It better be,” Jukes said mildly as he replaced his gun in the holster.

“He’s a rough one, Ringo.”

“I’ve seen worse.”

Tremayne would have said more, but Major Simms wanted to get past the ominous moment.

“All right,” Simms announced, “we’re going to have a dance now. Come, my dear, we’ll start it.” He turned to his wife, a
heavy-set woman with a cheerful look, and the two began dancing to the music. The music was bad, but it was all they had.

Helga Studdart had dressed up, knowing there would be a dance, and her father stepped to her side. “I’ll be watching you tonight, Helga. You’re too free with some of these men.”

Helga said impatiently, “Oh, Papa, there’s nothing wrong. It’s just a dance.” She left, and Studdart noticed she went straight for Ringo Jukes, who had smiled at her, and the two began dancing.

“You need to be more gentle with her.” Freida Studdart spoke quietly but with firmness.

“Freida, she’s got it in her to get into trouble.”

“We all have that in us.”

“Not you,” Studdart said, his eyes wide. “You were never in trouble.”

“I came close a few times. Come along. We can watch her.”

* * *

CHARITY DANCED WITH MAJOR Simms and found that he was interested in the people of the Angel Train. He asked her several questions about their past. “It’ll be a hard time for you. Nothing but a wilderness out there.”

“But God is taking us that way. He’s made the way clear.”

“Well, I’m glad you feel that way.” He observed Zamora dancing with one of his officers. “That’s a beautiful young woman. A Gypsy, is she?”

“Yes. I’ve never known any Gypsies before, and, yes, she is very beautiful.”

After she finished the dance, Charity started to return to her family, but Tremayne stopped her. “Could I have this dance, Charity?”

“Why, yes. I suppose you may.”

“That’s not a very good band,” Tremayne said, “but it’s better than nothing.”

“Yes, it’s a break in our journey. I guess we need to be a little foolish.”

“I’m surprised you’d say that.”

“Why should you be surprised?”

“Your people don’t give themselves to foolishness.”

“There’s a great deal of joy among our people. We have our hard times, but people who know the Lord have a reservoir to grow on.”

He was silent for a while, and after the dance he said gravely, “Thank you.” She turned and said, “You’re welcome.” She hesitated and then walked to her family who had been watching.

“I wish I could dance with somebody,” Bronwen said.

“Your turn will come,” Gwilym said. “Now it’s your turn for watching.”

The family watched and the evening passed quickly. There was a new supply of food and drinks, and when the dance broke up, there was some disappointment that it was all over.

Zamora started back toward the wagons and looked up to see Tremayne slightly ahead of her. “Casey, walk me back to the wagons.”

Tremayne paused and smiled at her. “You afraid you’ll get lost? They’re right over there.”

“No.” She took his arm, and they moved slowly. Others were moving in the darkness, and she pulled him to a stop beside her wagon. “It’s a long way, isn’t it, Casey, to Oregon?”

“Pretty far.” The moon was silver and cast a glow over her features. Her dark eyes were fixed on him. Tremayne was attracted to her. “What will you do there, Zamora?”

“I don’t know. What I’ve always done, I suppose. What will you do?”

“I guess I’ll look at the ocean.”

“You can’t look at the ocean all your life.”

Zamora found their conversation pleasant. She liked looking up at him because he was so tall. She asked, “Will you have a family and grow old there?”

“No man knows about things like that.”

“Would you like to have a family?”

“Every man wants that. You know, sometimes back East when I was riding at night, and I saw a house and passed by it, there were lights and voices and the family was inside. Those people have everything, Zamora.”

“I didn’t know you thought like that. You seem so alone.”

“I have been,” he put his hand on her shoulder. “I wish you well, Zamora, you and Lareina and Stefan. It must be hard with none of your people around.”

Zamora was very conscious of the strength and warmth of Tremayne’s hand, “I do get lonely sometimes.” She waited, knowing that most men would have taken that as an invitation to touch her, to kiss her.

But he responded, “You’ll find a man someday, and you’ll have a family of your own.”

“Not many men want a Gypsy woman, but I’ll find one who does.” She moved toward the wagon. Her grandmother was waiting there. Lareina saw at a glance that Zamora’s eyes were filled with excitement.

“You’ve been with a man.”

“Just talking, Grandmother.”

“The tall man.”

“Yes.”

“Do you think he might be your man?”

Zamora didn’t answer for a time. As a matter of fact, she didn’t answer at all. “Go to bed, Grandmother. It’s late.” She helped her grandmother into the wagon, and she herself prepared for bed. She stood looking up, before going to bed, at the stars across the heaven and thought about her meeting with Tremayne. It stirred her. She was an honest young woman and knew she was interested in him. But whether he was interested in her she couldn’t tell. With a sigh she got into her bed, closed her eyes, and went to sleep almost at once.

THE DAYS AT FORT Kearney had been a break in the monotony of trail life. The Angel Train left the fort on the morning after the dance and had been steadily following the Platte River northwesterly. One morning Evan Morgan had gone out with the hunters and shot an antelope, which pleased him. Tremayne had praised his shot, and the words of the tall man were especially encouraging. Evan, now taking his turn in the rear where the dust rose, was glad the train was spread out horizontally instead of being in a straight line. The dust was still bad, but not as bad as it had been. Overhead the sun blazed white with nearly unbearable heat. After Pennsylvania, this was hot weather he had to learn to endure.

Suddenly he saw Zamora riding up on one of her brother’s horses, a beautifully built mare of a blue steel color. She pulled up beside him, and her face was flushed, her dark eyes filled with excitement.

“This is my favorite horse. Her name is Princess,” she said.

“Beautiful animal. You ride well too.”

Zamora paced her horse next to Evan’s mount. He liked the dark, beautiful young woman and her fiery spirit, which
most women of the Way lacked. He had noticed that despite her self-sufficient nature, she was always on guard.

“Are you tired of the trip, Zamora?”

“No, I like it. I like that there’s something new every day. I like a change.”

Evan smiled. “Not much change. Same old flat country.”

“Tremayne says it will be different when we get to the mountains. I like those too. What about you? You looking forward to getting to Oregon?”

“Yes, I am. I wanted to get away for a long time.”

“Get away from what?”

“Get away from the coal mines. As I told you before, I hated it there, and it seemed like I spent all my life digging in the dark, waiting for the earth to cave in on me.”

Zamora studied him more carefully. He was a lean young man with flaming red hair and the most amazing dark blue eyes. “How old are you, Evan?”

“Seventeen. How old are you?”

“I’m seventeen too. It’s a good age, seventeen.”

Evan grinned at her. “Not when you’re in a coal mine, but out here it’s all different.”

“You have red hair.”

“Why, yes, I do. Runs in my family as you have noticed.”

“I’ve always heard that redheaded people have hot tempers. Is that so?”

“Why, no. It’s foolishness. I don’t have a hot temper. Neither does my father. He’s the calmest man in the world.”

“Well, I think I ought to tell your fortune.”

“I told you I don’t believe in such things.”

“Sometimes it’s true.” She moved her mare closer, reached out, and took his hand. “Ah, I see you have a long lifeline.” She
was teasing him, and he knew, but the touch of her hand was stirring. “I see a dark woman in your future. You must beware of her.”

“Maybe it’s you.”

“Maybe it is. I may be the temptress who’s going to lead you away from your religious beliefs. Beware of dark-haired women, Evan Morgan.”

He laughed. “You’re making fun of me.”

“I am a little bit, I suppose.” She released his hand.

“I’ve never seen anyone like you.”

“You never saw a Gypsy?”

“A few, but none as pretty as you.”

She suddenly turned and laughed at him. Evan liked Zamora although he knew her bold, headlong qualities were enticing and could be dangerous, even forbidden.

“I think every man on the Angel Train has flattered me. All except you and Tremayne, of course.”

“But I wasn’t—”

“You weren’t trying to flatter me so that you could kiss me? You’ve had sweethearts, Evan.”

“I never have.”

“Not one?”

“No, not one. Not really.”

“Well, the next dance you can dance with me. That’ll make some of the women in your train jealous. There must be some you’ve looked at in that group.”

“No, never.” Evan was out of his depth with this woman. He had done nothing but dig in the darkness of the earth, and she had had a life of sunshine and had traveled. He enjoyed her immensely, and after she rode off, he felt something was missing. “I don’t care what she says, she’s the prettiest woman
I’ve ever seen,” he said aloud. His horse tossed its head, and Evan muttered, “I’m talking to myself now. I guess the next stop is the insane asylum!”

* * *

“THAT FELLOW TATE. HE’S a dangerous man, isn’t he?” Charity had not talked to Tremayne for three days. He left early with the hunters and usually came back late. This day he didn’t go out, and she had mounted her horse and gone with him as he forged ahead. She had merely brought up Tate as an excuse to speak with him.

“Yes, he’s a tough fellow.”

“What about Ringo Jukes?”

“He’s got something in him that most men don’t. Did you see how quick he got his gun out?”

“Yes, I could hardly see his hand he moved so fast. He could have killed Tate.”

“But he didn’t. That’s in his favor. Maybe he’s learned something from his time in prison. Most of us did.”

“You’ve had a hard life, haven’t you?”

“No worse than some.” He didn’t want to talk about himself, and he pointed ahead. “Look, there’s Fort Laramie.”

“How long will we stay there?”

“We need to move on as quickly as possible.”

“You’re always in a hurry, Casey. Why is that?”

“I don’t want the winter to catch us in the mountains. That would be tougher than anything we’ve seen so far.”

She wanted to continue talking with him, but he seemed to avoid any comments on his personal life. She fell back and watched as he put the wagons into a circle, and then she
drifted to where her family was getting out of the wagon. She got ready to prepare the evening meal, but it was still early in the afternoon.

“Come on, Sister, let’s go look at the town,” Bronwen said.

“All right.”

“I’m coming too.” Meredith joined the others, and they moved toward Laramie.

“Look, there are Indians,” Bronwen said.

The Indians had pitched their tepees—some of them white, some tan and aged—near the fort. There were men and women in the Indian camp and many children, it seemed. Their dogs moved about, and farther away their horses grazed as the afternoon cooled.

The Morgans encountered Tremayne and Charterhouse apparently on their way to the fort.

“This is a little better than Fort Kearney,” Charity said.

“I guess so.” Casey scanned the scene in front of him and murmured, “When I first saw this place, there wasn’t a post on it. Weren’t any tame Indians either. Buffalo and beaver. Beavers are all gone now. Buffalo too. One day all this country will be nothing but towns.”

Charterhouse stared. “Does that bother you, Casey?”

“I guess it does.”

“Well, some poet once said, ‘God made the country, and man made the town.’”

“What other country will we see?” Charity asked.

“Further on, out of sight, is the Sweetwater,” Casey said, “and farther still, there’s the South Pass. You’ll see that.”

“Father says we’re going to have a service tonight if the commanding officer will permit it.”

“He probably will.”

“Would you come, Casey?” She was slightly awkward using his first name, but there seemed a formality in always calling him
Tremayne
, although most people did.

He hesitated a long time, and then he nodded. “Yes, I will.” He noticed the surprise in her face. “I’m not totally a lost cause, I hope, Charity.”

“I don’t like to think of anybody as a lost cause.”

They entered the frontier fort, and he mentioned again what it had been like when he had first seen it. Charity noticed it troubled him, and finally he said, “Everything changes.”

“No, some things don’t.” She felt his gaze as he turned to look at her and added, “God never changes.”

“I reckon that’s so.”

“Love doesn’t change.”

“I’ve not noticed that.” There was surprise in his tone, and he shrugged slightly. “I’ve seen people stop loving each other.”

“Then they never really loved,” Charity said. “Shakespeare wrote a poem about that once.”

“What did it say?”

“Oh, I can’t quote it all, but one line of it has been with me for a long time. ‘Love is not love, when it alteration finds. Oh, no, it is an ever fixed mark that looks on tempests and is not shaken.’”

As she spoke, Casey was staring at her. “You really believe that love never changes?”

“Yes, I do.”

“I’m glad you feel like that,” he smiled faintly and then shook his head as if in doubt. “I hope you always do, but I don’t think I can handle it.”

“Come to the service,” she said. “You may like it.”

* * *

THE CREW WAS GETTING ready to go to the fort. Jack Canreen had been appointed the spokesman by the crew, for he said, “How about a little money for us to have a drink or two, Tremayne?”

Tremayne had been sewing a rent in his shirt, and a fancy struck him. “Jack, you ought to go to church like me.”

The others gathered around, and Doucett said, “You ain’t a church man.”

“Well, I am today.”

“Come on, don’t be that way,” Canreen said. “We’ve worked hard, ain’t we?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, you have.” He put the shirt aside, and a glint of humor came into his eyes. “You a gambling man, Jack?”

“Sure.”

“How about if we make a bet, you and me? If you win, I take you all to the saloon and buy all the drinks you can safely handle. If I win, you go to church with me.”

Canreen was a gambling man; his eyes glittered with excitement. “Cut the cards?” he asked.

“No, I figure we might do a little arm wrestling.”

Canreen stared at him in disbelief. He had beaten everybody in this old game. His bulky muscle spoke of tremendous strength in his arms.

“All right,” he said. “That all right with you men?”

“Sure,” Frenchy Doucett grinned. “You ain’t never been beat, have you?”

“Never have. Don’t intend to start now. Find us a table.”

A table was located and two chairs. Canreen took his seat, and Tremayne sat opposite him. Word spread, and a crowd
from the train and even a few soldiers gathered to see the contest.

“You know the rules,” Tremayne said.

“There ain’t no rules to this. We count three, and you try to put my hand down, and I try to put yours down. But you ain’t gonna do it, Casey.”

“All right. Turn your wolf loose on the count of three.”

Casey started counting. “One—two and—” Suddenly, Canreen threw his strength into his arm. Tremayne was not ready, and his hand was driven nearly to the table, but then by a tremendous effort he withstood the pressure of the burly man’s grasp. The two men were still, and seemingly not moving, but there was tremendous pressure from both. Charterhouse was staring at both faces. Both showed strain, and there was shock in Canreen’s face.
He expected to win by that trick
, Charterhouse thought.
I don’t see how Casey can beat him.

Charity had come to watch, too, feeling somewhat out of place. She saw that Canreen’s arm was more muscular than Tremayne’s, and the hands of the two men had turned white with exertion.

The struggle went on for what seemed like a long time. Slowly Tremayne’s hand was able to move Canreen’s arm back until finally they were straight up in their original position. Canreen gasped and half rose from his chair, but Ringo Jukes was behind him. He shoved him down.

“You know the rules, Jack,” he grinned. “You can’t move out of your chair.”

The two men were locked in an immense struggle, and most of the crew was cheering Canreen on. “Come on, Jack, you can do it!” Doucett cried. “Don’t let him get you!”

Finally Jack Canreen’s arm began to move back toward the table. He moaned and tried to muster strength, but Tremayne’s power was irresistible. He continued, and finally Canreen collapsed. The back of his hand slapped the table, and a groan went up from the crew. Tremayne released his hand and sat there, his eyes fixed on Canreen.

“I never knowed you could do that, Casey,” Canreen said, staring at the tall man as if he had never seen him before.

“I almost didn’t. You’re a strong fellow.”

“Me? I ain’t nothing but a baby.”

Tremayne looked around and saw disbelief on the faces of all the crew. He said, “I’m letting you fellows off on the bet. I don’t believe in forcing anybody to have religion.”

“I ain’t no welsher!” Canreen snapped. “We’ll be there.”

“Good,” Tremayne said. He got to his feet and rubbed his arm. “I’ll see you fellas in church. May be too late for fellas like us, but you never know.”

Zamora had watched the contest and found herself straining, trying to help Tremayne as he had fought the battle. She released her breath then and saw that Evan was standing next to her.

“That was really something, wasn’t it, Zamora?”

“Yes, I didn’t think he could do it.”

“What about you? Won’t you come to the service?”

“Me?”

“Sure. My father’s a good preacher.”

“You think I need God?” she challenged him.

“I think all of us do. I do anyway.”

Zamora smiled as if she found something amusing. “I will come then.”

* * *

THE SERVICE WAS HELD on the parade ground. The major in charge had all the available chairs and benches brought out. They were all filled, and many of the soldiers came out of curiosity. Gwilym started the service with a prayer, and he said, “Now we’ll have some good singing, will we?” He began singing a hymn, and those who knew it joined in. They sang several hymns, the volume growing, and finally Gwilym said, “Now, my daughter Charity will sing my favorite hymn.” He continued, “It was written by a man called John Newton who was a slave trader, an evil, wicked man, but God’s grace saved him, and he wrote this song. It’s called ‘Amazing Grace.’”

Charity lifted her head and began to sing.

Her voice was sweet and clear, and those who watched couldn’t miss the joy in her face. Casey Tremayne had his eyes fixed on her and thought,
I’ve never seen such innocence and such joy in a woman.