Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (19 page)

“Stay right there.” John pointed his gun at a man who tried to get to his feet. He sank back down into the cold water that reached his chest.

“What ya gonna do?” the youngest of the Renshaws demanded.

“We’re thinking on it,” John replied. Then: “What do you think, Buffer? Isn’t that a pretty sight?”

“By golly bum. Nothin’ purtier! Hain’t we ort ta go on ahead an’ shoot ’em?”

“We might as well have some fun first. Wasn’t any fun catching them. A blind man could have done it. I’ve never seen grown men stupid as these Renshaws.”

“Go on, have yore fun. Our day’ll come. Us Renshaws ain’t forgettin’ what that bitch done.”

“And I ain’t forgettin’ what ya done to me,” Cousin shouted.

“As long as they’re not forgetting, we better give them something to not forget.” John took his gun from its holster and cocked it. “I get the first shot. Hey, you. Stand up so I can get a sight on your kneecap.”

“No! Please! Don’t . . . Pa . . . lea . . . sse—”

“Shut up beggin’,” an older man snarled.

“Shoot that’n in the head,” Buffer suggested.

“Reckon it would splatter like a pumpkin?”

“Reckon it would, but it ain’t Christian ta send ’em up to the Pearly Gates dirty as they is. Let ’em sit there a spell and soak that Renshaw stink off ’em.”

“Good idea. You watch for zitter snakes. That’s a hell of a way for a man to die. I’ll take care of the horses.”

“Zitter snakes? Yeah, I heard they was in the creeks over this way. They come outta them stinkin’ springs down by Rock Cave. It’s said they like water and breed like rabbits.”

“Snakes! Gawd damn ya!” The Renshaws began to beat the water with their hands.

“They’re just little-bitty,” Buffer said. “Ya won’t even know they’ve bit ya till ya start ta swell all up an’ blood starts comin’ outta yore nose and ears. Haw-haw-haw!” He pointed at the youngest Renshaw. “That little’n will be right purty when he gets swole up some.”

*  13  *

T
he sun had gone down.

The days were long at this time of year, but for Addie nighttime was approaching far too fast. It had been more than six hours since they had left Mr. Tallman back at the bridge. It was still too soon for Addie to think of him as John, her husband. The last two days had passed like a dream that was happening to someone else and that she was watching from afar.

Colin and Trisha had unhitched the horses and staked them out to crop the grass beside the road. Colin had brought water from a nearby creek, and from it Addie had wet a cloth and they had all been able to wash the road dust from their faces and hands.

She was worried. Tears that she attributed to exhaustion, from having gone so long without sleep, were never far from her eyes. How could she live with the guilt if something had happened to Mr. Tallman? He had taken on her troubles. He could be hurt and bleeding and at the mercy of the ruthless Renshaw family.

Another thought occurred to her. She and the children might have to spend the night here with just one blanket and a shawl among them. Thank goodness for the raisins and dried peaches Trisha had bought that morning. They had been enough to stave off the children’s hunger pangs.

At the freight camp on the knoll above the road a fire was burning, and the smell of cooking meat drifted down to them. At one point the man on the gray horse had approached, asking to talk with them. They had turned their backs and gone to the other side of the wagon, ignoring him. Finally he had left to join what seemed to Addie an army of men gathered around the cook wagon.

Addie had no doubt who was the topic of conversation.

“What we gonna do if Mr. Tallman don’t come?” Trisha asked. It was the first time any of them had voiced that almost unthinkable question.

“He’ll be along. If he was hurt, Mr. Simmons would come tell us.”

“I ain’t likin’ that bushy-face man none a’tall. He keeps a-lookin’ at me like a cat lookin’ at a bird.”

“Has he said anything disrespectful?”

“No. But he heard the talk in town an’ knows I’m colored. He’s a-thinkin’ like all them other horny billy goats that I’ll be easy ta get in bed with.”

Addie looked around to make sure the children weren’t listening. Colin had brought a tadpole up from the creek. They gathered around the bucket while Colin tried to explain that it would turn into a frog. For a moment Dillon forgot the turtle he had left behind.

“Maybe Mr. Simmons isn’t thinking that at all.”

“Then why’d he watch us with that spyglass for?”

“I don’t know. But I do know that he helped us get ready to leave and that he delayed the Renshaws to give us a head start. And he came to warn us.”

“He’s wantin’ somethin’,” Trisha insisted stubbornly. She had wrapped a shawl about her shoulders. Her hair curled around her face and down her back. She brushed it back impatiently. “If we go to New Mexico, will it be with them?” She jerked her head toward the freight camp.

“I imagine so. They certainly aren’t what I thought they would be.” Addie wondered if Trisha would ever get over her distrust of men.

“We could run off . . . now. To a town.”

“It’s too late for that now. I
married
Mr. Tallman. I spoke the sacred vows.”

“Why ya reckon he want to marry ya for?”

“As I told you last night, he thinks it’s time he settled down with a family. He wants children in his house.”

“I ain’t children.” Trisha’s voice held a note of suspicion.

As darkness fell, Addie’s worries about Tallman increased. Had the Renshaws managed to sneak up and ambush him and Mr. Simmons? She began to pace up and down, always keeping out of sight of the freighters by staying on the far side of the wagon. She was almost afraid to turn her eyes from the road they had come down so many hours ago.

Trisha was sitting on the tailgate of the wagon, swinging her feet, then suddenly she jumped down.

“Listen,” she hissed. “I hear sheep.”

Addie stopped pacing and listened, her gaze fastened on the road.

“Baa . . . baa . . .”

“I heard it too. It’s the sheep!”

They gathered at the end of the wagon and waited. Then in the dim light they saw the wagon round a bend in the road, and the bleating of the sheep sounded louder. Addie’s heart thumped with relief when she saw the flat-crowned leather hat on the man on the wagon seat. The children drew closer to Addie and Trisha as the wagon neared.

Colin, with a welcoming grin on his face, stepped out and greeted John.

“Glad ya got here, Mr. Tallman. Ya all right?”

“We’re all right. You?”

“The same.”

John pulled the mules to a halt, and Buffer Simmons, with one of the ewes resting across his thighs, rode up beside the wagon.

“Take this here dad-blasted sheep ’fore I pull its bleatin’ head off. Ain’t nothin’ stupider than a sheep, less’n it’s a Renshaw.”

John lifted the sheep down. It ran to Addie.

“Where are the others?”

“Tied up behind the wagon seat. Had a hell of a time catching them. That’s why we’re late. What in thunder are you doin’ here? Why aren’t you up at the camp?”

“We decided to wait for you here. Did the Renshaws—”

“They didn’t give us any trouble to speak of. Why are you down here and not up at the camp?” John asked again. He put his hand on her shoulder and gave it a little shake.

“We
went
up there. Them pissants laughed at Miss Addie.”

“Trisha! That’s enough!”

“—An’ said you’d not marry up with a woman with a ‘flock’ of younguns.” Trisha tossed her head angrily. She had moved protectively close to Addie.

“They made Miss Addie cry,” Colin blurted. “And I brought her down here.”

“I hate ’em!” Jane Ann wailed and hid her face in Addie’s skirt.

“That’s enough. All of you.” Addie looked up at John’s scowling face. “The men we talked to didn’t understand. I asked them to go help you, but they were sure that you would be able to handle what was happening back there.”

“They said we’d come to draw ’em off so somebody could steal the goods in their wagons.”

“Colin, I swear! You’re getting to where you run off at the mouth just like Trisha.”

“It’s the God’s truth, Miss Addie.” Colin hung his head.

Looking at the boy, Addie failed to see the smoldering anger that came over John’s dark face. When she did look up, she became immediately aware of it. His hand on her shoulder squeezed almost painfully. He had stopped breathing. His lips were pressed together, his jaws hard-clamped, and his eyes mere pinpoints between his dark lashes.

Addie put her hand on his arm. “John, we don’t want to be the cause of trouble between you and your men. The way we looked, this rickety old wagon—I can’t blame them for thinking we were some ragtag outfit—”

He moved his hand back and forth across her shoulders, then pulled her close to his side in a protective embrace.

“It will not happen again,” he said softly, looking into her tired, violet eyes circled with dark bruises. “What is mine is now yours. What is yours is now mine.”

He left her abruptly and climbed up on the wagon. One at a time he lifted the sheep down to Buffer, who set them on their feet. Like children they ran to Addie. She bent and rubbed each head.

“Are you all right, Mr. Jefferson? Run along and take care of Bucket and Dolly.”

“Hand up the babes, Simmons.” John reached for Dillon and Jane Ann and set them on the seat. Then he climbed down off the wagon. “The team and the wagon will be all right here, Colin. Do you and Trisha want to crowd in behind the seat or walk up to the camp?”

“They can ride with me.” Buffer climbed back onto his horse and leaned on the saddle horn, a wolfish grin on his face.

“I ain’t ridin’ with that warthog.” Trisha gave him a scathing look, climbed up into the wagon, and wedged herself behind the seat.

“John”—Addie put her hand on his arm—“why don’t we camp down here tonight and . . . give them a chance to—”

“No. You and the children will have a hot meal and shelter.” He grasped Colin and swung him up behind Buffer, then helped Addie climb the wheel to the seat.

“I’d rather you didn’t make a big to-do over this. The men will resent us all the more.”

John didn’t answer but sailed the whip out, stung the mules to get them started and turned them up the heavily rutted track to the freight camp.

Addie tried once again to cool John’s anger. “It could have been the way I demanded they go help you that raised their suspicion. A man on a big gray horse did come down and try to talk to us.”

“What did he say?”

“Trisha ran him off with the rifle.”

“Good girl, Trisha. I’m going to teach you to shoot that thing and hit what you aim at.”

When they reached the camp, John drove right up into the circle of light made by the large campfire. A half-dozen men stood around. One walked to the wagon.

“Howdy, John. See ya made it.”

Ignoring the greeting, John came around and lifted Addie down, then the children and Trisha. Buffer rode up and Colin slipped down from behind him.

“Put your tucker where you want to bed down, Simmons, and help yourself to whatever Bill’s got in the cookpot. Rolly,” he said to the man who had stepped forward to greet him, “take the wagon over there and park it under the trees, unhitch the mules, and put them on a picket line until the other stock gets used to them. Paco, you and Huntley get extra canvas and throw up a couple of tents over there by the wagon for my wife and the children. And get out enough canvas to cover what’s on the wagon after it’s removed and piled in a high, dry place. There are a couple of mattresses on the bottom of the load. Put them in the tents.”

The men hurried to obey the orders. When the wagon moved out from behind Addie, she felt naked and exposed to all eyes. She knew that Trisha felt the same when the girl moved over behind her.

“John—” Addie was sure it was the man who had ridden the gray horse who spoke, although he was hatless now.

“Later, Cleve.”

“We didn’t—”

“Later.” John spoke in a tone that brooked no argument. He picked Dillon up and set him astride his hip. The boy whispered in his ear. John paused for a minute, then whispered back: “The turtle is in the wagon. We’ll find it tomorrow.” He led the little group around the fire to a couple of benches.

“Dish them up some supper, Bill.”

“He doesn’t have to wait on us. I can dish it up,” Addie protested.

“You’re so tired you’re about to drop. Sit down. Where’s your helper, Bill?”

“Wal . . . he’s—”

“He’s what?”

“Drunk.”

“Too drunk to work?”

“ ’Fraid so.”

John looked at Cleve. “When he sobers up, pay him off and send him down the road.”

John lowered Dillon to the bench beside Addie. Trisha sat down close to her. Addie could feel her trembling. Refusing to be intimidated by the stares of the men who had moved back out of the light and lingered in small groups, Trisha lifted her chin and stared back at them. Only when Jane Ann moved close to lean against Trisha’s knees did she turn her face away.

Standing in the darkness, Buffer watched Trisha and admired her courage. Puzzled by his protective feeling for her and by his resentment of the men ogling her, he led his horse out to be tied to a picket rope.

The tension around the campfire was profound. Addie had never been so uncomfortable in her life. She felt as if she and her family were sitting in a store window for people to gawk at. Even the children were quiet and cast fearful glances at the men lounging back out of the light.

John carved slices from a haunch of meat roasting over the hot coals of the campfire. He placed them on a plate. Bill added beans and carried them to a table he had let down from the side of the wagon. He didn’t speak or look at the tight little group sitting on the benches. Addie got up to help. It wasn’t natural for her to sit and be waited on.

“Sit and eat, Addie,” John said as he carried the last two plates to the table.

“Are you going to sit down?”

“In a minute.” He filled a plate for himself and came to sit beside Colin.