Dorothy Garlock (11 page)

In travel, they followed the pattern established the morning they left Saint Charles, that of keeping to the open, avoiding swampy places, making camp at dusk. Always, they moved with caution. Jeff said there were thirty thousand Indians along the Missouri including Osage, Sioux, Pawnee, Ponca, and Delaware. Light, mounted on a spotted Indian pony, and Jeff, on a frisky black, watched endlessly for signs of them. At night the men took turns standing watch. They rarely talked, for if they were not eating a hasty meal they were resting.

The goods from the raft filled two wagons; one pulled by a team of oxen and led by Isaac, the other by a team of mules driven by Silas. Zan walked beside her, his long gun within easy reach, or, if the ground was rough and the going hard, he would sit beside her on the tailgate.

The first day she had walked most of the way and had grown increasingly tired; but gradually her stubborn pride had given way, and now she rode for a short time each morning and each afternoon. She had toughened until she could walk for hours over the rough ground without suffering extreme fatigue. She had always had an awed affection for the forest. Here on the banks of the mighty Missouri, she marveled at the beauty of the towering cottonwoods and the great walnut trees, which were sometimes as much as six feet around and up to forty feet to the first branches. She learned to identify the various sounds of the forest and knew that when they were suddenly still, something foreign moved. Each minute of each day was filled with looking everywhere at once, ahead, to each side, and to the rear. The moment at hand filled her and her spirits lifted. She would make out, she still had Zan to rely on.

An early morning mist rose from the river. Annie Lash sat on the back of the wagon, her shawl wrapped about her. Every so often she had to lift her feet as the wagon passed through the tall grasses, heavy with dew. Jeff, on the black horse, was trailing the wagon. The darkness prevented her from seeing him, but she could hear the soft plops of the horse’s hooves on the sod. She hadn’t said a private word to him since the night on the raft. She had been distantly civil and that was all. If Zan noticed, he didn’t mention it.

After her confrontation with Jeff she had cried herself to sleep for the first time since she was a child. When morning came she promised herself she would wait a few days before she talked to Zan. Perhaps today the opportunity would present itself. She had to pick a time when they were walking well back from the wagon because Isaac and Silas picked up every sound.

The mules and oxen plodded along patiently. The trail was rough and rugged with tree stumps pressing close on either side. The river road curled as the river curled. It was only occasionally, when the road cut across country, that they lost sight of the muddy, turbulent Missouri.

The morning grew increasingly hot and sticky. By afternoon a suffocating sultry calm had settled over the river road. The birds fell silent. Not a leaf stirred. A fringe of dark clouds appeared above the forest ridge. The fringe became a bulge that swiftly boiled upward until it spread across the sky. From the distance came the muttering of thunder.

Jeff rode up beside Annie Lash. “Hop on the wagon,” he said tensely. “We’re going to try and get out of the lowland before the rain hits.”

As soon as she was settled on the wagon, Silas whipped the mules and the
wagon picked up speed. Zan had been beside her when the day started, but since mid-morning she had been alone at the end of the caravan. Zan had veered off through the forest and would be waiting ahead. He had done this several times since the journey had begun at Saint Charles.

Annie Lash bounced viciously on the end of the wagon, groaned, and muttered an unladylike word. She knew many such words from the years on the Bank, but it was only on extreme provocation that she used them. This was one of the occasions. She was hot, tired, and irritable because she hadn’t been able to corner Zan long enough for a private conversation. She was rehearsing in her mind what she would tell him when she heard the shot. The sound came from up ahead and her throat was suddenly choked with fear. Zan?

Almost before she could gather her scattered thoughts, Jeff was wheeling his horse around the end of the wagon.

“Get under the canvas,” he ordered. “Stay out of sight.”

“Zan—”

“Do as I say!” he snapped.

Annie Lash slid back under the canvas that covered the barrels of flour and sugar, her heart galloping madly in her breast. She could still hear the steady plops of the horse’s hooves, so she knew Jeff was riding beside the wagon. She adjusted the canvas to make a crack to peek through, and minutes later, she saw a horseman ride out of
the woods leading a pack mule.

Tall and thin, the horseman had a dark, narrow face with a beard as black and kinky as his hair. He was wearing buckskins similar to those Jeff and Zan wore, but they were ragged and dirty. He had a leather, round-brimmed hat pulled low over his eyes, and he sat loosely in the saddle with his shoulders slumped.

Jeff had slowed his horse and was directly behind the wagon. The face that had looked so sober for the last two days now looked deadly sober. His mouth was tight, his eyes hard and fierce, his body tense. He held his rifle across his knees, the muzzle pointed toward the approaching horseman. Fear gripped Annie Lash and sweat dripped from her face unnoticed.

The man had come out of the trees at an angle. He turned his horse and was beside Jeff before he spoke.

“Howdy,” he said lazily. “Where y’all
headed?”

“Upriver. You?”

“Saint Charles. Was a goin’ to do me a bit of scoutin’ fer a place to settle till I run into a pack of murderin’ redskins.” He hesitated and scratched the side of his head. After a moment he spoke in a guarded voice. “Murdered a family up north. Reckon ya heared ’bout it.”

“You ran into them?” Jeff asked quietly.

“I saw ’em. I heared ’em and hid myself. They was all smeared up with paint, a whoopin’ and a hollerin’. They was wearin’ feathers and a dancin’ round a fire. They had some poor devil lashed to a stake. There warn’t nothin’ I could do fer ’im, so I got the hell out.”

“You traveling alone?”

The man hesitated and then laughed. “You don’t see nobody else, do ya?”

Jeff nodded toward the pack mule. “You’ve got a lot of tucker.”

“Yup. Was a goin’ ta stay out fer a good spell. Say . . . ya got any whiskey?”

Annie Lash watched the man through the split in the canvas. His eyes shifted from left to right. They were never still. Was she imagining it, or had Jeff deliberately let his horse slow until it was a step behind the stranger’s, and had his hand always been resting on the rifle so his thumb could jerk the trigger?

“We’ve got none for sale.”

To Annie Lash, Jeff looked like a coiled spring. Did he think the man was going to do something? The heat and the tension under the canvas was almost unbearable.

“Warn’t lookin’ to buy it. Thought we could do us some swappin’. Got a dandy pair of black boots.” The man was slouching even farther in the saddle. The mule he was leading was loaded with what looked like a large bundle. A canvas was carelessly thrown over it.

“What else have you got?”

The man grinned. “You ask a powerful lot a questions.”

Jeff lifted his shoulders in what was now to Annie Lash a familiar gesture. The stranger laughed. She thought he was being too friendly and wondered if Jeff noticed. He remained silent.

“Hit’s all right. A man cain’t find out nothin’ if’n he don’t ask,” the stranger drawled. “Wal now, let’s see, I got me one a them lookin’ things what’ll let ya see for a long way off. I ain’t got no use fer the thing. It cain’t see through trees. Got it off’n a dead Injun. Then I got me a right pert gold watch.”

Annie Lash was about to suffocate. She shifted her position and her knees came down on her pa’s rifle. Zan had cleaned and oiled it only the night before.
A gun ain’t no more than a club if’n it ain’t primed ’n ready when ya need it.
His words came to Annie Lash with a rush of fear. She would need it. Somehow, she knew she had to get it and be ready. Slowly, carefully, so as to not move the canvas or scrape the barrel against the floor of the wagon, she picked it up.

“You homesteadin’ out here?” The man’s voice was a lazy drawl, slurred, but with a curious twang. There was a rough, raspy quality to it, as though it was seldom used. If that were the case, why was he as determined to talk as Jeff was to listen?

“Why do you ask?”

“Just sort a thought ya might know most folks ’round these parts.”

“Who’re you looking for?”

“Ain’t said I was a lookin’ fer anybody.”

Annie Lash suddenly realized the man was listening. There was a peculiar look on his face. He seemed to be contemplating something, weighing the pros and cons while keeping Jeff occupied with conversation. Uneasiness was like a tangible thing in her breast. She let her eyes wander from him to the mule he was leading. She looked away and then back again. Was she losing her mind, or had the pack on the mule’s back shifted? She fastened her eyes to the load the animal was carrying. The wagon rolled over a deep rut and she was jolted. Her eyes left the opening for a second. When she looked again the canvas covering the pack seemed to hang longer on the outside. She held her breath while she watched the canvas move. Slowly, the load on the mule’s back changed shape, and as she watched in horrified fascination, she saw the canvas part ever so slightly. Her head throbbed viciously with the realization of what was about to happen.

“Jeff! The mule!” She screamed the words even as she threw back her covering.

There was a thundering blast, a streak of flame, and a man’s scream. Jeff’s rifle was smoking. The frightened mule broke his lead rope and began to plunge. A man lay on the ground, his face strangely missing.

Eyes wide with shock, Annie Lash saw the stranger and the handgun aimed at Jeff. Her action was instantaneous with what she saw. She lifted her pa’s rifle, pointed it, and fired. The blast not only deafened her, the gun’s recoil knocked her back against the barrels, momentarily stunning her.

When she came to her senses, someone was pulling her up from between the barrels. Her vision cleared and Jeff’s face swam before her eyes.

“Are you all right?”

“I think so.” She reached to pull down the skirt bunched about her thighs. Silas and Isaac stood at the end of the wagon. “There was a man on the mule . . . under—”

“I know. Thanks for the warning.”

“The other man—”

“Don’t look. He would have killed me if not for you.”

Despite his warning, Annie Lash glanced down at the body sprawled on the ground; arms and legs flung wide, his head and shoulders were a mass of bloody pulp.

“Oh!” It was an agonized wail. “Oh . . . what have I done? He was going to kill you! He had the gun raised! I couldn’t let him—”

“Ya done a plucky thin’, little gal.” Silas reached up his arms and lifted her out of the wagon as Isaac ran to catch the horse and the mule. “That varmit was out to kill Jeff, shore as my name’s Silas Cornick.”

“Where’s Zan?” Annie Lash was trembling like a leaf in the wind. “I heard a shot before—”

“We’ll be catching up with him and Light,” Jeff said quickly. “Walk with Silas. We’ve got to load the bodies on the back end of the wagon. We have to get away from here. The shots will be heard for miles.”

The patient oxen were waiting. Silas rapped them smartly on the rump and they began to move. Annie Lash moved automatically on trembling legs. Reaction to what she had done was just setting in and she held the side of the wagon and let it help her along. It seemed an eternity before Jeff rode up beside her.

“Are you all right?” he asked for the second time.

“I’m worried about Zan.”

“He’ll be up ahead. Do you want to get up on the wagon?”

“No. I’m all right.” She turned frightened eyes up to him. “I . . . just shot. I was scared, so scared I forgot I had the rifle in my hands. I couldn’t call out, I just . . . swung it around and fired.”

“It’s a good thing for me you did. I fired the rifle and let it drop so I could jerk the pistol out of my belt. Time ran out. I’d of been a goner if you hadn’t fired when you did.”

“Who were they? Why did they want to kill you?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “Probably for the goods on the wagons.” He wheeled the big horse around and Annie Lash could hear him talking to Isaac, who was keeping the heads of the mules as close to the end of the lead wagon as possible.

Overhead, the sky was dark with thunderclouds. “We don’t need no more goddamn rain,” Silas said, and urged the oxen to walk faster.

Storms had always excited Annie Lash. She thought there was something grand and spectacular about the lightning slicing across the sky. She plodded alongside the wagon and didn’t raise her eyes to the skies where the winds were whipping the clouds into a roiling mass. She scarcely looked up when Jeff went by. They had topped a rise and the ground was hard and rocky. The wagon jolted over the rocks until they started downhill.

“Goddamn bastids!”

When Annie Lash heard Silas curse, she left the side of the wagon so she could see ahead. At the bottom of the hill was a densely wooded area. Hundreds of tall, gigantic trees reared like leafy giants among a scattering of underbrush. She saw Light’s spotted pony first, then Jeff’s black horse. The next thing to register in her mind was Jeff’s white head bending over something on the ground. A knot of fear tied itself in her stomach and she began to run.

“Please . . . No! Oh, please . . .” She ran, stumbled, fell, picked herself up and ran again. “Please, not Zan—” Her cheeks were wet with tears and she wasn’t aware that she was crying. It seemed a million miles down the hill. Her hair had come loose and was sticking to her wet face. She lifted her skirt with both hands to free her legs as she sped over the short grass. “Zan!” she screamed. “Zan!”

Jeff got to his feet and took her arm. She jerked away from him and fell on her knees beside the old man. Zan lay with his head on his hat, his face deathly pale, his breathing labored. His buckskin shirt had been slit and a pack of moss was pressed to his side.