Demon's Pass (6 page)

“I was the one who claimed coups at the fight. By right, the woman belongs to me.”

“No,” one of the other Indians called. This was the Indian who had scooped Elizabeth up and put her on his horse to bring her back. “I, Kicking Horse, am the one who put the woman on my horse and brought her to our village. By right, she belongs to me.”

Brave Eagle spoke next, speaking in his own tongue. “Elk Heart counted coups, not on warriors, but on an old man and an old woman,” he said. “And Kicking Horse put Captured Woman on his horse only because he was closest to her. But, hear me, this was not a fight in which courage and bravery were counted. There were many of us and few of them. We were told by Talbot that there would be many wagons, filled with goods for trading, and guarded by armed men against whom we could test our courage. But Talbot lied. There was only one wagon and it had only a family of white-eyes going to a new land. I would have let them pass in peace, but Talbot began the attack and others followed.”

Brave Eagle paused in his presentation for a moment while he studied the reaction his translated words were having.

“That is why I think Captured Woman should be given to me. It is a bad thing that her mother and father have been killed. Now I want to protect her and feed her, as her mother and father would have done.”

Brave Eagle sat down.

“Who else would speak for this woman?” Two Ponies asked.

“I would speak again,” Elk Heart said. “It was I who counted coups. And though she rode on the pony of Kicking Horse, it was I who captured her. By what is right she must either belong to me, or become a slave. If she does not become my woman, I will become a contraire.”

“What is a contraire?” Elizabeth asked as Moon Cow Woman translated for her.

“It is a life of great sacrifice. One who is a contraire must do all things backward. He must laugh when sad, cry when happy, sleep when rested, wake when tired, be friendly to those people he would harm, and be rude to those who are his friends.”

Elizabeth laughed. “That doesn't make sense. How can anyone do such a thing?”

“No one can,” Moon Cow Woman said. “Those who become contraire go crazy very soon, because it is not possible to do the things they have vowed to do.”

Elk Heart sat back down in the center of the circle and crossed his arms across his chest. He stared straight ahead, looking neither left nor right, and he waited for the decision of the council.

“And now, I will let the woman speak for herself,” Two Ponies invited.

Elizabeth nodded, then got up to address the council.

“First, I wish to thank the council for hearing me speak. I have heard the words of those who have spoken for me, especially the words of Brave Eagle. I believe Brave Eagle to be a good man whose heart is right. But, if it is my right to choose who will be my husband, I choose”—Elizabeth paused for a moment and looked directly at Two Ponies—“Two Ponies.”

As Elizabeth's words were translated, there was an immediate reaction of surprise and, Elizabeth believed, indignation, from many of the Indians.

“I am an old man,” Two Ponies finally said. “I do not think I will be a good husband for you.”

“You are a chief,” Elizabeth said. “Do you say that you will not be able to feed and protect me?”

“There are other things a husband must do,” Two Ponies said, now speaking in English. It was obvious to Elizabeth that he was uncomfortable with the way things were going, and if her own position had not been so tenuous, she could have even found humor in the situation.

“You are the husband of Moon Cow Woman. She speaks very highly of you.”

“But, Moon Cow Woman is an old woman and does not need the same things a young woman needs.”

“I want you for my husband,” Elizabeth said. “If not, then I choose to become a slave.”

Two Ponies blinked a couple of times, then nodded. “Very well,” he finally said. He turned to the council and, once again spoke in his own language, which Moon Cow Woman translated for Elizabeth. “I, Two Ponies, will take Captured Woman as my wife. And I give her a new name. From now on she will be known as . . .” He paused and looked at Elizabeth. Her blond hair was shimmering in the light of the council fire. “Sun's Light,” he said.

“Sun's Light. It is a fine name,” Moon Cow Woman said.

Elizabeth smiled and turned to say something to Moon Cow Woman. At that moment, Elk Heart, in a fit of rage, grabbed a spear and threw it at Elizabeth. Brave Eagle saw it from the corner of his eye and, moving instantly, shot out his hand and caught the spear as it flew by, stopping it with the broad, sharp point just inches away from piercing Elizabeth's body.

Nearly all had seen Brave Eagle's great feat and they cheered him and expressed their admiration for such a deed. Brave Eagle turned toward Elk Heart, ready to do battle with him if needs be, but Elk Heart stomped away from the circle, walking backward and smiling politely at everyone. He climbed onto his horse, facing to the animal's rear, and he rode away. His life as a contraire had begun.

Chapter 4

 

Parker Stanley was busy taking a careful inventory of the outfit he had put together, using as his guidelines a chapter devoted to “clothing preparation” in the guidebook,
The Prairie Traveler:

Having assembled his outfit as prescribed by the manual that all prairie travelers followed, Parker decided to take in the sights of the city of Independence. From one of the taverns, he could hear loud singing, from another hearty laughter. At a third, two painted women stood just outside, shouting and waving at the men who passed by. Parker had never seen women painted so garishly, and he couldn't help but stare. One of them saw him looking at them.

“Hello, honey,” she called. “Do you like what you see?”

“Yes, ma'am, I reckon I do,” Parker replied, not quite sure how to respond.

“Oooh,” the harpie squealed. “Did you hear him, Emmalou? He said yes ma'am. He's a gentleman, he is.”

“He's too fine for the likes of you, Marilee,” the one called Emmalou said. “Honey, how would you like to see the varmint?”

“See the varmint?” Parker replied. “What is that?”

“Lord, chile, you mean you ain't never seen the varmint?” Emmalou lifted her skirt all the way above her knees. “Well, you just come with me, I'll teach you how to pet the varmint just right.”

When Parker suddenly realized what she was talking about, he blushed crimson.

“Thank you all the same, ma'am,” he said. “But I reckon I'd better pass.”

Seeing that they had lost their opportunity with him, the two painted women immediately turned their attention to two other men who were walking by, and Parker continued his exploration of the town.

Three decades earlier, Independence, Missouri, had been built to accommodate the great migration west. Then, there were often trains leaving Independence with anywhere from thirty to as many as three hundred wagons. But the days of the giant trains were over. In the old days they were blazing new territory and it took that many wagons, not only to provide safety in numbers, but also to carry the food and supplies they would need to sustain them for the six-month-long journey. The wagon trains were, in effect, cities on the move.

Such large trains weren't necessary today. Although the transcontinental railroad had not yet been completed, it was being built and much of the plains east of the Rockies could now be reached by rail. And as the railroad progressed west, so did civilization. Towns were now scattered all across what was once wide open territory. Because they would never be more than a couple of weeks away from the nearest settlement, those going West by wagon could now travel in much smaller groups.

Like the giant trains of the past, however, these smaller trains of immigrants and freight wagons still used Independence as a point of departure. And while the individual trains weren't as large, the departures were much more frequent so that the total number of wagons passing through was still nearly equal. As a result, all of the town's industrial energy and commercial enterprises continued to be dedicated to that singular purpose.

Both sides of Independence Avenue were lined with stores that offered everything one needed to outfit a wagon, and many things one didn't need. Some specialized in cooking utensils, and as Parker Stanley picked his way gingerly down the foul-smelling street, he passed by piles of Dutch ovens, kettles, skillets, reflector ovens, coffee grinders, coffeepots, knives, ladles, tin tableware, butter churns, and water kegs. Another store specialized in bedding and tent supplies, yet another in weapons and ammunition, still another in tools and equipment, including complete surgical and medical kits.

“Here, boy, get the hell out of the way!” a loud, angry voice shouted, and Parker looked around to see a large wagon bearing down on him. The wagon was without bows or canvas, or any of the other accoutrements that would indicate that it was a traveling wagon. The driver popped his whip over the team, keeping them moving in a brisk trot. Parker jumped back enough to avoid the wagon but he couldn't avoid being splashed by the manure and mud which flew up from the rapidly turning wheels.

The wagon was loaded with several large items of furniture: beds, chifferobes, chairs, lounges, dressers, cabinets, and even a large, stand-up clock.

“You'd best be gettin' out of the road, boy,” a friendly voice called to him. “The next scavenger might not be kind enough to give you a warning.”

Parker stepped up onto the boardwalk which ran alongside the road, and joined the man who spoke to him.

“Thanks,” Parker said. “What did you call that man? A scavenger?”

“A scavenger, aye, for that's what he is.”

“I don't understand.”

“Didn't you see the goods on his wagon? The furniture and such?”

“Yes, I saw it.”

“He scavenged it. When the pilgrims start headin' west in a wagon, they are nearly always loaded down with stuff that they got no need in carryin' . . . things like dressers and tables and clocks and the like. Mostly it's fine items that folks want to hold on to. They figure if they made it this far, they can make it all the way to Oregon or California.” The man chuckled. “It don't take too long 'fore they see what a damn fool thing it was to try ‘n hang on, so they start throwin' things off . . . heavy things.” He pointed to the wagon that had come by a moment before. “Folks like him take their wagons down the same trail a few days later just pickin' up the leavin's. They bring it all back an' sell it to the town folks, or to the next wagon that comes through. I tell you, we got some of the most grandly furnished houses in the country right here in Independence ever since the first wagon started West.”

“Yes, I can see how that might be the case,” Parker said. He experienced a moment of sadness then, as he remembered how his own father had been forced to set off a heavy chest a few days before their wagon was attacked. The chest was a prized piece, brought over from England by Parker's mother's family. She had cried, but Parker's father had explained that there was no way they could continue to haul it with them. Parker had no doubt but that right now, that piece was decorating the parlor of someone's home somewhere in Kansas.

Today there were six wagons drawn up on Independence Avenue. The teams had been hitched, the wagons loaded, and good-byes spoken. This was a hybrid party, consisting of three freight wagons heading West with trade goods, and three wagons of settlers. Wagon trains were generally referred to by the name of their leader, and this train was no exception. It was being called the Reynolds party, so named because Josh Reynolds had been elected as captain of the train.

The three freight wagons had petitioned Reynolds to let them join their freight wagons to his train and he had agreed to let them do so, provided they didn't slow him down. The owner of the three freight wagons was Ira Joyce. Clay Springer and Ira Joyce had started in the freighting business at the same time, and though there had always been a healthy competition between them, it had been good-spirited. The men were good friends and had even come to each other's aid on occasions in the past.

“It's too bad you didn't get your outfit together in time to start out with us,” Ira said as Clay and Parker came down to tell the Reynolds party good-bye. “You could have gone with us as far as Denver.”

Clay saw Parker looking at Sue Reynolds, the pretty, fifteen-year-old daughter of the captain of the wagon train. Sue was smiling flirtatiously back at Parker.

“Ah, it's probably a good thing we weren't ready,” Clay said. “Otherwise, my partner would get smitten with the young Reynolds girl, and I wouldn't get any work out of him.”

“Would
get
smitten?” Ira teased. “Looks to me like he already is. They've really been giving each other the eye.”