Lauraine Snelling - [Wild West Wind 01] (12 page)

“The woman’s awake,” Micah said as he helped untie the deer. “Good shot.”

“Cassie shot it.”

“She did?” Micah stared at her, respect all over his face. “But . . .”

“I know. I said I wouldn’t shoot animals, but I have to get used to a different kind of life out here.” She unsaddled Wind Dancer and hobbled his front feet so he wouldn’t be able to run off. Not that she thought he would, but he was learning all about a new life too. She stepped up into the wagon and saw that her patient was sleeping again.

Cassie laid the rifles on the folded-down table and dug out her cleaning supplies. All in hand, she sat outside on the steps and set to work using the cleaning rod to clean the inside of the barrel. After hers was wiped down, she decided to clean Chief’s. Since he’d not fired it since the last cleaning, she simply wiped it down with a rag and wrapped them both in the cotton cloths she kept for that purpose and put them in the gun bag. It was dim in the wagon, so she lit the kerosene lamp and set it on the shelf, then set about lighting the stove. When the fire was devouring the kindling, she added several bigger pieces and, setting the lids back in place, picked up the pot of rabbit-and-bean stew and set it on the hottest section of the stove. She could hear a fire crackling outside too.

With all her banging around, surely the woman would be awake. She turned to the bunk to find dark eyes watching her. “Are you hungry?”

“Water.”

“That we have.” Cassie took a cup outside and filled it at the water barrel. “She’s awake, Chief. Do you want to talk with her?”

“Later.”

“What are you doing?” She walked over to the campfire to see thinly sliced venison draped on stick racks.

“Drying meat.”

“How long will that take?”

“Till morning.”

“You aren’t going to sleep?”

“Micah will take turns.” He pointed to the frying pan full of sizzling meat. “Liver.”

“Oh. Good.” She’d heard that Indians ate the livers of their kills raw. At least he was cooking it. Maybe he had already eaten his piece. The thought made her hurry back into the wagon.

After holding the cup of water for Runs Like a Deer, she stirred the pot and dished some stew into the cup. She blew on it and then, sitting on the edge of the bed, held out a spoonful. “Just a few bites so you don’t get sick.” Somewhere she had heard that bit of wisdom. But the woman drifted off to sleep before she could eat too much. So Cassie stirred the kettle again and took a bite to see how hot it was. The flavor made her smile. Rabbit was good with beans. After it was bubbling, she took the cast-iron pot outside and set it by the fire.

“Supper’s ready.”

The men each hung the last strips they had on the rack before taking the bowls as she filled them and sitting on the nearby rocks. Othello came over and sat beside her, his nose twitching at the food smells. The other dog eased out from under the wagon, well away from Othello. When Chief threw him a bone from the rabbit, he caught it and backed under the wagon again.

When she handed Othello a bone, he took it gently, his tail thumping his appreciation. Micah threw one under the wagon, and the Indian woman’s dog snatched it up. Othello gave Micah a sad look.

“You hurt his feelings.”

Micah and Chief both rolled their eyes, but Micah tossed the next bone to Othello.

When Cassie felt sufficiently full, she set her bowl down for Othello and stroked his back as he licked it clean. Chief called him and handed him one of the leg bones from the deer and threw another under the wagon.

“How far do you think we have come?”

Chief looked up at her. “Maybe eighty miles. In South Dakota now.”

“How far do we have to go to reach Deadwood?” Any small town would provide some relief from the monotony of being on the trail day after day.

“Maybe hundred thirty, hundred forty.”

“So we’re not even halfway.”

“Tomorrow we meet road from Medora heading to Deadwood. Faster then. Some towns.”

“I’d like to buy an ax. That hatchet is not good.”

“Sharpen it.”

“I did. Many times.”

Chief had taken up slicing the venison again and hanging it on the racks, pushing the already shrinking pieces closer together.

“How would we cut down logs for a house with that hatchet?”

He shrugged.

“You’d have thought Jason would have kept more supplies in his wagon.”

“Why? Not need them. He had lots of men to do the work.”

“True. He didn’t much like to get his hands dirty.”

“Lazy.”

“Well, I don’t think I’d say that.” She stared into the fire, thinking back to the show. When they were setting up or taking down, Jason always managed to be somewhere else. Oftentimes sitting in his wagon, she surmised. Often drinking. A whiff of his breath gave him away the times she’d gone looking for him. She’d learned to not do that if she didn’t want to be embarrassed. Things sure had changed after her father died.

Deciding not to spend her evening reliving sad times, she took the bowls down to the creek, scrubbed them with sand and water, and returned to the wagon. “Night.”

“You feed her?”

“I will try again.” She leaned over to pat Othello, who sat by the stairs waiting for his good-night attention. “You take care of things out here. That’s your job.” He leaned against her legs, rubbing his cheek on the pant leg and grinning up at her. “One of these days, boy, we’ll have a house or a tent again. Some place bigger than this so you can come inside too.” One more pat and she climbed the steps. The fire should be out by now, but she had left the kerosene lamp burning. What a waste of kerosene if Runs Like a Deer was still sleeping.

But she wasn’t. She stared at Cassie from the dimness of the bed.

“Can I get you something?”

“Drink.”

“I have a pitcher of water right here. Would you like a few more bites of stew?” Cassie poured water in the cup and held it for the woman. She raised her hand to say stop when she’d had enough.

“Too fast.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Want to try again?”

A knock at the door and Micah announced, “Here’s the stewpot.”

“Bring it in.”

He opened the door, handed it to her, and closed the door again, as if afraid the women were not completely dressed.

Three or four spoonfuls and again the woman signaled enough.

“They are drying venison over the fire outside,” Cassie said, hoping for some kind of conversation.

No answer. She hooked up the hammock and got ready for bed. At least she didn’t have to wear all her clothes to bed at night like during the blizzard. What could she expect from the woman who was so terribly weak? That she would talk and tell her what had happened? That would be good, but Cassie felt pretty sure that wouldn’t happen. Tomorrow Chief would have to come in and try to talk with her, if they spoke the same language. What could they do with her? Maybe there would be a doctor in one of the towns, and they could leave her with him until she healed. Acting the part of the Good Samaritan certainly had its drawbacks. How could she afford to feed one more mouth?

South Dakota

D
isappointment dogged Cassie.

Why had she set store by visiting that ranch? Three days later and it was still bothering her. It wasn’t the only one along the road, and Chief assured her they would come to a town fairly soon. Disappointment dragged together with regret and missing the show. At least there’d always been someone to talk to when she’d been with the troupe. Here, Othello carried on a better conversation than her three human companions did. Maybe it was being stuck in the wagon that was doing her in. Accomplishing anything in the wagon while they were traveling yielded bruises like the one on her thigh when the wagon hit a rut, which seemed to happen on a regular basis.

How their patient stood the pain the rough roads were causing increased Cassie’s respect for the woman tenfold. However, Runs Like a Deer was growing stronger daily. When they were stopped for the night, Micah brought a piece of wood that he had flattened into a smooth board that extended from her heel to her knee.

“Please wrap this.”

Cassie nodded, running her fingers over the smooth surface. “How did you get it so smooth?”

“A rock.”

“She’ll need a crutch next.”

“I’m working on that.”

“Good. In the meantime she can lean on me to get around.” Chief and Micah had used a blanket to carry the Indian woman outside once, but the board had been too long and did not allow her to sit down.

“Crutch will be done tonight.”

“Thank you.” She pulled out a drawer that held bedding and proceeded to rip the sheet into strips and then wrapped the board. Cassie showed it to her patient. “This should help.” Starting at the woman’s foot as the woman lay on the bottom bunk, Cassie untied and removed the ties that bound the long board to the leg. She lifted the board away and leaned it against the bed frame. The woman’s leg seemed to be healing nice and straight, so she laid the new board in place and bound it to the leg, being careful not to wrap it too tight.

“You still have to be careful, but now at least you can sit up. Micah promised to make a crutch for you tonight. Then you can walk again, but don’t put that foot on the ground.” She wished she knew if her patient understood what she was saying. “Do you want to sit up?”

Runs Like a Deer nodded and propped herself on her elbows, nearly banging her head on the frame above her.

“Careful. Let me help you.” Cassie grasped the bound leg and helped ease both legs over the edge of the bed. When the woman flinched as Cassie lowered her leg, she stopped. “Better not do that.” She glanced around the small space, searching for something to help, but since every inch was filled with necessary supplies, she shook her head.
If we could get you to the chair . . .

Runs Like a Deer looked in the direction Cassie had been looking.

“Chair.”

“I was thinking the same thing, but I think we’d be better having Micah pick you up.” She went to the door and called for him.

“Here” came his voice from the direction of the fire pit Chief had already constructed. Micah arrived at the wagon door immediately and nodded as Cassie explained what they wanted. “You want I should carry her outside?”

“No, I think not for this first venture. Let’s just move her to the chair, and we can prop her foot on the wooden box.”

Micah took the woman into his arms, and trying to turn his burden around, he bumped her into the bed frame.

Runs Like a Deer flinched and clung to his arm, her jaw tight, but she relaxed when he settled her on the chair and propped her leg on the box. “Thank you.”

“Welcome.” Micah grabbed the pillow off the bed and, raising her leg, arranged the pillow under it. “Better?”

She nodded and leaned back in the chair with a sigh.

Cassie studied her patient. She had found an old shirt of Jason’s in a drawer and dressed Runs Like a Deer in that, plus an old skirt of her own. “Maybe we can change your clothes when you are stronger. I have your own clothing all clean and waiting.”

“Thank you.”

“Bring out the kettle and the frying pan,” Chief called.

The kettle of beans had been soaking since the morning so were now ready to be cooked. He would be frying the last of the fresh deer meat, the remainder of it dried and hanging in bags from the ceiling. Cassie handed the kettle to Micah and dug the frying pan out of the storage box. She could feel the Indian woman watching her.

“Can I get you something?”

A shake of the head was her only answer.

What had she been thinking about during these long days in confinement, Cassie wondered. They still knew nothing about her. Where was she going? Or coming from?

While the men did the cooking outside, she decided to clean up the wagon. The broom was still in the same cupboard as when her father had lived in the wagon. Sweeping was a good place to start.

Who was out with the cattle if both of the men were in camp? She propped the broom and headed outside. With a sigh of relief she saw the animals not far from the camp, where the prairie grass looked to never have been grazed. Surely the ranchers around there still believed in the open range. They’d not seen any farms. Maybe this area was too desolate for farming. Not that she really understood the difference between ranching and farming. She clamped down on those kinds of thoughts. She was on her way to a valley that must be truly beautiful, since her father carried the memory with him all those years. Once they were there, they would raise cattle and horses, like her pa always talked about. Where she would get the money to do all this was one of those thoughts she kept stuffing back in a box in the far recesses of her mind and slamming the lid on it.

She sat down on the bed by Runs Like a Deer. “Can I ask you some questions?”

The woman looked at her.

“Do you understand what I am saying?” The nod in return made Cassie smile. “Good. I’m not sure how much English you speak.” Watching the woman’s face told her to slow down.

“Will you tell me if you don’t understand?” Another nod. “Can you talk with Chief?” Cassie continued after this nod. “In English or Sioux?”

“Sioux more.” She said something else, but Cassie had no idea what. This time it was her turn to shrug. “Let me go get Chief.” Out the door she went again and down the steps, feeling like they had come a long way. She explained what they’d said. “Will you go talk with her, find out about her?”

“You will watch the fire?”

“Where’s Micah?”

“Out with cattle.”

“Okay.” When he returned sometime later, she waited for him to tell her what he had learned, but instead, he sat staring into the fire.

“Well?” When he didn’t answer, she gave the pot of beans a stir and glared into the fire. Why was it so hard to get these men to talk? All she wanted was simple answers, after all. Grabbing the coffeepot, she went over to the water barrel, and after swishing a small bit of water around in the pot and tossing it on the ground, she filled it and set it on two rocks positioned on the edge of the flames. “So what did you find out?”

“She’s running away from a man who beat her.”

“Oh.” Cassie heaved a sigh. “Where is she going?”

“Rosebud is her reservation, but she doesn’t want to go there.”

“Her reservation?”

He nodded. “But farther than Pine Ridge.”

“Can she do that?”

“All Indians are to be on reservations.”

“Does she have family there?”

“Maybe. She walked from Montana, but Rosebud was her home. She fell and broke her leg.”

“Is the man after her?”

“She thinks he might be dead.”

“Was he sick or injured?”

He nodded.

“Which one?” When he stared at her, she wished she’d never asked. “She killed him?” Her question came out on a whisper.

He half shrugged. “She thought so, but when she went back, he was still alive. She dressed his head wound, got him into bed and left, after asking the neighbors to check on him. She doesn’t think they did. He was mean to everyone.”

Aching to know more of the story, Cassie stirred the beans. “I better help her back to bed.”

“I did.”

Cassie lifted the lid on the frying pan and turned the meat before covering it back up. With the coffee water heating, she returned to the wagon to fetch the coffee and some salt for the meat. Visions of the dining tent at the show flitted through her mind. There had always been a variety of food—real choices, not like now where you had two: eat it or don’t. And she’d never had to cook a day in her life. Or hunt for the meat they needed, or carry water, or scrub dishes with sand in a cold creek. And there’d always been plenty of people around, most of whom she thought of as friends.

She paused on the step before heaving a sigh. Her mother had always said to be thankful for everything. That sounded much easier from a soft bed in her parents’ tent than now. When traveling they had used the wagon, but once the show was set up for a few days, they moved into the spaciousness of a tent. Or did she say be thankful
in
everything? Either way, Cassie was having trouble with the whole idea. Yes, she believed Jesus Christ died for her sins. Yes, she believed God loved her. But if this whole fiasco was His idea of love . . .

Okay
, she ordered herself.
Think of one thing to be thankful for. Right now. One thing.
A coyote howled off in the distance. Another answered.
God, thank you that I can hear. And see.
There. Two things. She pushed open the door to the darkness of the wagon. She should have come in and lighted a lamp for Runs Like a Deer, but the regular breathing from the woman on the bunk bed told her their patient was sound asleep. Moving around like that must have been mighty tiring.

The next morning, after helping Runs Like a Deer into her own clothing, Cassie left her sleeping in the wagon and climbed up on the seat beside Chief. She’d awakened in the middle of the night with a whole list of questions she wanted to ask him. If she could get him talking.

She chewed on the idea awhile before asking, “Would you please tell me how you met my father?”

“I heard he was asking for a guide to the Black Hills, so I went to him and said I could do that.”

She’d not heard him string that many words together since they’d left the show. “When was that?”

He shrugged. “Long time ago.”

“I know that, but when?”

“After the white man invaded our land to find gold.”

“I see. What happened?”

“Your pa and a friend of his wanted to find land, go hunting, look for more gold, whatever. White man banned again, but it made no difference.”

“Why did you become his guide, then?”

“He offered good money.”

“I see. You lived on the reservation?”

A nod. “Pine Ridge.”

“What was my father like? What did he like to do?”

“He played cards, was a good gambler, won a lot of money.”

“He did?”

Chief turned to look at her. “He said something, he did it. No lying or cheating.”

That made her feel warm inside. “He was good-looking, wasn’t he?”

“Women liked him.”

“Men too.” She remembered that well. There were always lots of people wanting to talk with her father. “He loved to tell stories.”

“He did.”

“So you were his guide. Did you help him find his valley?”

“Yes. Him and Ivar Engstrom.”

“Was he a good friend of my father?”

Another nod.

“Where did he meet up with Jason Lockwood?”

“In Rapid City. They talked long time, then said, ‘Start a Wild West show.’ ”

Cassie rested her elbows on her thighs and propped her chin on her hands, staring out at the landscape. So her father was a gambler. Somehow that didn’t surprise her, but his answer, while giving her something to ponder, raised more questions.

“And they asked you to join them?”

“Me and others from the reservation. I stayed.”

When she asked another question, he grunted and shook his head. “Enough.”