Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (30 page)

The man who came forward to meet him had white hair and a flowing white beard.

“I assume you are looking for me.”

“If’n yore Judge Van Winkle, I am. I’m Jerr Simmons, known in some places as Buffer.”

“Glad to meet you.” The judge held out his hand, and as Buffer shook it, he noticed that it was as soft as a woman’s. “You were having words with my escort,” the judge observed.

“If ya mean by ‘havin’ words,’ was I ’bout to kick his teeth out, I guess I was.”

“I’ll have discipline on this trip. The contingent of army personnel have been given complete authority to keep order and protect this train. You will make your reports directly to the captain of that detail; and if there is anything worthy of my attention, they will inform me.”

“Well now, Judge, I got a whole bunch a respect fer a man who comes right out with plain talk. Reckon we see eye to eye on that. I’ll just put my cards on the table. If it be that them tinhorn, bunghead, half-ass soldier boys ya got out there is runnin’ this show, it ain’t no place for Buffer Simmons. I’ll say good day to ya, Judge.” Buffer slapped his hat back onto his head and was halfway to his horse before the Judge recovered from his shock.

“Just a minute. You hired on to do a job.”

Buffer turned. “I just quit. If ya get on down to Van Buren, ya might hit it lucky and find ya a hunter who’ll kowtow to them know-it-all pissheads ya call fightin’ men. It ain’t gonna be Buffer Simmons, that’s certain.”

“I was told at the fort that you were a level-headed man who could be trusted to do a job. They told me that you knew the trail across the Indian Nations and Oklahoma Territory as well as any man.”

“I know that trail. Ya ain’t needin’ a scout or a trail boss, Judge, if yore gonna hang tight to Tallman’s bull train. And, to my way a thinkin’, that’s the onlyest way ya’ll make it across.”

“Nonsense. I’ve got the best wagons money can buy, the best animals, drivers, and herders. And six seasoned soldiers to escort us.”

“Six soldier boys? Haw-haw-haw! Ya ain’t got nothin’ to worry ’bout ’cepts losin’ yore hair.” Buffer turned to his horse.

“Wait. Tallman’s bull train will make only ten or twelve miles a day. I’m told that with these wagons, my dray animals and mules, we can make half again as many miles a day as he can. I need a scout to lead the way.”

Buffer’s jaw dropped. “Ya mean strike out with this outfit?”

“That wasn’t the plan at first. Since coming to Van Buren, I’ve been speaking to men who have been over the trail with bull trains. They tell me that the dust those trains raise is stifling, and on a clear day it can be seen for twenty miles. They say that bull-whackers and lowlifes who hire out on the trains are scum of the worst sort and will steal a man blind. They’re said to be not much better than Indians and other undesirables that prey on travelers.”

“Ya thinkin’ yore wagons won’t raise dust?” Buffer asked, knowing that there was no reasoning with the man on any part of what he had said.

“Not as much.”

“I ain’t never heard nothin’ as harebrained as that.”

“Now see here—”

“Judge, ya ain’t never seen nothin’ as sickenin’ as a train of folks that’s been overrun by a bunch a murderin’ cut-throats. There ain’t no Indians I know of that’ll hold a candle to renegade whites and Mexicans when it comes to pure-dee old meanness. Most of them outcasts was suckled on wolf’s milk. There ain’t nothin’ human ’bout ’em.”

“I’m well aware of the hazards.”

“Hazards, hell! Them fellers get a look at that woman and they’ll have her, come hell or high water. They’ll have her till she’s bleedin’ from ever’ hole she’s got and ain’t nothin’ but a pile a bones, meat, and hair. An’ that ain’t all, Judge. They’ll cut yore pecker off an’ poke it in yore ear, that is, if’n they don’t roast it over a fire while it’s still on ya!”

“That’s enough! I’ll not listen to such crude talk!”

Buffer mounted his horse. The woman had come out from under the canopy and stood waiting for a soldier who was approaching. She was young and pretty, and it was a pity what awaited her if the judge struck out without waiting for Tallman. A rich outfit like this stood no chance at all of getting across the territories without being attacked. Buffer liked his skin on the outside of his bones and his head on his shoulders too much to take a chance like that.

“Judge, I’m tellin’ ya fer the sake of that woman, wait fer Tallman. Ya might think them bull-whackers be a bunch a low-down greasers, but they’re fighters. Most of ’em would die tryin’ to keep that woman over thar outta the hands of a pack a outlaws.”

The judge stepped back, the posture of his whole body conveying his contempt. He fixed Buffer with a piercing eye.

“You coward! Get out of my camp.”

“Callin’ a man a coward is a invite to fight. If ya wasn’t such a dumb-ass old man I’d take ya up on it.” Buffer whirled his horse and rode toward the road, passing the soldiers without a glance.

Judge Van Winkle watched him go, then turned back to the caravan where his niece and her Captain Forsythe waited.

“Who was that man, Uncle Ron?”

“The man I was told could lead us to Sante Fe.”

“Why is he leaving?”

“We had a disagreement about discipline.” The judge moved behind his niece and met the eyes of the young officer.

“Honey, does Ivy have any more of that lemonade?”

“If not, she’ll make some.” Cindy clasped the captain’s arm with both her white hands and looked up at him adoringly.

“See about it, sweet. I’ll wash up and be right back.”

“You and Uncle Ron just want to get rid of me so you can talk,” she said, pouting.

“That isn’t so, and you know it. Who in their right mind would want to get rid of a pretty little thing like you?”

“When there’s something serious to talk about, you always send me to do something.”

“Run along, Cindy,” the judge said curtly. “I need to talk to Kyle.”

“Oh, all right.”

Kyle walked with her to the steps of the caravan, holding onto her hand until she threw him a kiss and disappeared inside. He joined the judge and they walked along the line of wagons, stopping beside the colored man polishing the boots.

“Get Captain Forsythe some wash water, Saul.”

“Yassah.” Saul took a bucket from the end of the wagon and hurried away.

“I didn’t let that ignorant lout know it, Kyle, but he threw a scare in me about our going on ahead of the bull train.”

“What did he say? The usual about renegades and wild Indians? Judge, I’ve talked to men who have been over that trail, and all they encountered were small groups of Indians armed with bows and arrows.”

“I don’t know. We don’t have a scout now. You know I hired Simmons as a hunter because I didn’t want word to get out that we might want to strike out ahead of Tallman.”

“We can go to Fort Gibson and pick up a scout there.”

“I thought of that, but Tallman refuses to go to Fort Gibson. He’s an overbearing bastard.” The judge was thoughtful. “So is this fellow Simmons. I think this country breeds overbearing bastards,” he finished bitterly, and cast a wary eye at the Negro who had returned with the water and lingered beside the wagon. “Don’t you have anything to do, Saul?”

“Yassah.”

“Then do it,” he ordered curtly, and watched the man scurry away.

“Blasted coloreds. They’re good for only one thing: listening and repeating what they hear.”

Kyle carefully combed his hair and smoothed his mustache before he spoke.

“Is Tallman married? From Cindy’s description of him, I think I saw him in the mercantile and again this morning with a woman.”

“His wife and three children are with him.”

Kyle poured water into the wash pan and splashed his face with his cupped hands. After using a towel, he tossed it down beside the basin and turned to the judge. His handsome features were creased with a worried frown.

“I’m eager to get to Albuquerque and take up my post. The sooner I’m settled, the sooner Cindy and I can get married.”

“I take up my duties at the Office of Indian Affairs in three months’ time. I figure that if we travel with Tallman we’ll make twelve or fifteen miles a day. Figuring at twelve, we’ll arrive with only about a week to spare.”

“That’s cutting it tight,” Kyle replied. “My men and I are expected two weeks after that.”

“A post like this is something I’ve wanted all my life,” the judge confessed. “Still, if something happened to Cindy, I’d never forgive myself. She’s all I’ve got.”

“She’s all I’ve got, too, Judge. I love her very much. Always have. I had to wait for her to grow up.”

“Come on, Kyle.” The judge slapped him on the back. “You had to go out and sow a few wild oats.”

“That too, sir.”

“Tallman will be coming through tomorrow. I think for a while we’d better let him think we’re joining his train. In the meantime, we’ll watch for a chance to break off and head for Fort Gibson. We’ll get good trail information there and maybe hire another scout.”

The two men walked back to the caravan. The judge was deep in thought, and Kyle Forsythe wondered what the hell he was going to do now. His “wild oats,” as the judge had chosen to call his activities before the war, were coming back to haunt him.

*  21  *

A
ddie was awake when the clang of the cowbell announced the first appearance of the new day. A short while before, snuggled securely in John’s arms in their bed beneath the wagon, she had felt the gentle caress of his lips on her cheek and had turned to slide her arms about him and return his kiss.

“Mornin’,” he had whispered. “Sleep well?”

“Mmm . . . like a rock.”

“You don’t feel like a rock.” One hand moved up and down her back, the other cupped and squeezed her soft breast.

She nestled her face in the curve of his neck. She loved the masculine scent of his skin, the rasp of his whiskers on her cheeks, the hardness of the arms holding her.

“Do you have to get up now?”

“Uh-huh, but you don’t have to until Bill rings the bell. It’ll take half an hour to yoke up.” He kissed her, then rolled out from under the covers and put on his britches and shirt. He turned back and leaned over her. “I think I like married life. You washed my socks.” He pulled the cover up over her shoulders, dropped a kiss on her nose, and was gone.

Addie was still smiling when the cowbell rang again. She dressed quickly, rolled up the side canvases and fastened them, then folded the mattress and the covers.

Trisha, silent as a shadow, came out of the wagon.

“This is the first day of our journey, Trisha. Are you excited?”

“I am, Miss Addie, but I been worried ’bout ya.”

“Why?”

“Him. That passerby.”

Addie laughed. “Are you still calling him that? He hasn’t forced himself on me, if that’s what’s worrying you. Under that rough exterior is a sweet and gentle man. I didn’t know there were men like John Tallman. It’s a miracle that we found him, Trisha. Or that he found us. I love him.”

“How ya know that already?”

“I just know.” Addie had brushed the snarls out of her hair and was swirling it so that she could fasten it to the top of her head and cover it with her bonnet.

“Are we goin’ now?” Colin climbed down out of the wagon.

“In a little while. Go on up to the cook wagon, Colin. Mr. Wassall will give you some cold meat and biscuits. John told me the first meal of the day will be cooked when we stop in Van Buren shortly before noon. We’ll start up again in the middle of the afternoon and travel until after sundown.”

“Gregorio told me that too.” Colin popped his new hat on his head.

Addie saw that he had turned up the front of the brim and pinned it to the crown with a pheasant feather. If Trisha noticed that the boy had copied Buffer Simmons, she didn’t comment on it.

“Mr. Wassall told me last night that there would be morning coffee. Take the little syrup bucket, Colin, and bring back some for me and Trisha.”

*  *  *

When the wagons moved out, John, mounted on Victor, led the train out onto the main road, while his second in command, Cleve Stark, directed the order in which they traveled. Addie’s wagon, driven by Huntley, a short, bowlegged man who had an engaging grin even though his teeth were stained brown by tobacco, was second in line behind the lighter wagon carrying her possessions. Colin sat beside Gregorio on the seat of that wagon.

Looking back, Addie could not even see the end of the train, it was so long. The bull-whackers walked beside the oxen singing a chorus of “Get up Baldy, Go ’long Gert, Gee-haw Ranger, and Wo-ah that Sugar Tit!” The
pop! pop! pop!
of the bull whips could be heard clearly in the still morning air. The lash of the whip was coiled and thrown around and over the bull-whacker’s head, then shot straight out and brought back with a quick jerk. The result was a cracking sound like that of a revolver shot.

When Addie mentioned this to Huntley, he told her that each lash was from fifteen to thirty feet of braided rawhide and on the end was fastened a buckskin popper.

“A good bull-whacker don’t hardly ever strike an ox. Could nip the hide like a knife if’n he had a mind to. Sound of the pop is ’nuff to keep ’em humpin’.”

There was plenty of room on the seat for Trisha, but she chose to sit on the overjet behind the seat, where she and Jane Ann had slept. Dillon had crawled out of his bed when the wagon began to move. He and Jane Ann had dressed and were watching, wide-eyed, out the back of the wagon.

When the trail curved, Addie could see across a field where the extra stock were being herded behind the train. She felt sad about leaving Mr. Jefferson and Dolly. John had told her they had found a place for them in one of the freight wagons, and when they reached town one of the men would take them to Lupe.

“This be a mighty fine wagon, ma’am,” Huntley said. “Jist like sittin’ in a rockin’ chair.”

“I don’t know much about wagons. Mr. Tallman thought we were lucky to get it.”

“An’ ya were. Nice high back. Spring seat.”

“Have you made the trip before?”