Santa Fe Woman (13 page)

“Don’t make no never mind to me, ma’am, as long as it ain’t Mississippi.”

Not for the first time Jori wondered about the man. “What’s wrong with Mississippi?” she asked, taking a bite of bacon.

“It ain’t good for black folks in Mississippi.”

“Were you a slave there, Addie?”

“Yes, ma’am, I was.”

“Did you run away?”

Addie nodded and considered her for a moment. He was a handsome man with pure black skin and high cheekbones. “Yes, ma’am, I did, but I reckon there’s a reward out for me there so I’ll be pleased if you don’t tell nobody.”

“Of course not. Things will be better for you, do you think, in Santa Fe?”

“Any place would be better where a man’s free.”

Jori ate her breakfast, thinking about the problem of slavery. Her family had once owned two slaves, but her father had disliked the institution and sold them. Because they were not farm people, they did not require a large amount of labor and found that they could get along much better by hiring their help.

When she finished her breakfast, Jori thanked Addie then said, “I think I’ll go into town myself.”

“Yes, ma’am.” A light of humor touched his eyes, and he said, “Some of the hands got pretty rambunctious last night.”

“What do you mean?”

“They went to the saloon and acted up. Got into a fight with some other men. They’re in jail until Mr. Rocklin pays their fine.”

Jori was irritated. “Who was it?”

“Well, ma’am, your brother. He was one of them. Wiley Pratt and Charlie Reuschel, they was in on it. A couple more.”

“Well, I’d better go get them out.”

“Mr. Rocklin is plumb riled up about it,” Addie Joss grinned. “He threatened to beat ’em with a bull whip, but I don’t reckon he will. He needs ’em to drive the wagons.”

As Jori left, she thought of Mark and anger came over her. “He’s disgracing the whole family,” she muttered. “I’m going to have a talk with him.”

* * *

ROCKLIN WAS EXAMINING THE hoof of one of the mules, but he put it down and looked up as Jori walked rapidly toward him. “Morning, Jori,” he said.

“What’s this I hear about some men being arrested?”

“That’s about the size of it. They took on too much liquor last night and got into a fight. There’s not much law around here, but there’s a judge and a sheriff. We’ll have to pay their fines or else go off and leave ’em.”

“You know we can’t do that,” Jori said.

“Reckon that’s right enough. You want me to do it?”

“We’ll both go.”

“All right.” Rocklin gave her a quick look and said, “New dress?”

“It’s—it’s a new skirt.” She looked at him defiantly. “It’s a riding skirt. I can ride astride now.”

“Well, that’s sensible. Don’t know why more women don’t do that. Looks nice, too.”

Despite herself, Jori felt pleased by his compliment, but she said shortly, “I didn’t buy it for looks but for comfort. Come on, let’s go get them out of jail.”

They said very little on the way, Rocklin doing most of the talking about the supplies that they had to buy before they left Franklin. They reached the jail, which was an unpainted frame building with a sign
Sherif’s Office.

“They can’t even spell in this place. Look how they spelled sheriff,” she said.

“I reckon education’s no requirement for being a lawman here,” Rocklin grinned. He opened the door and stepped back, and when she entered he followed her. A man was sitting behind a desk with a plate of scrambled eggs in front of him. He put his fork down and nodded.

“Howdy. What can I do for you?”

“I’m Rocklin. This is Miss Hayden. We’ve come to pay the fines for our men.”

“I’m Sheriff Smith.” Smith was a tall, sad-looking individual who surprisingly wore a suit and tie. He nodded and said, “That’ll be ten dollars each, forty dollars total.”

“They do any damage?” Rocklin said.

Jori fished the money out of the leather purse that she carried. “Just to themselves. They tangled with some pretty rough characters. I’d suggest you get ’em out of here before they get into more trouble.”

“Well, that’s our intention.”

“I’ll get ’em for you.”

Sheriff Smith took the money, shoved it into a drawer, and then disappeared through a door. The two stood there listening as the voices came faintly, then the door opened and Smith came out followed by Mark Hayden and the three members of the train, Wiley Pratt, Stuffy McGinnis, and Charlie Reuschel. They all looked the worse for wear, and Mark avoided looking directly at Jori.

“I enjoyed havin’ you boys with us,” Sheriff Smith said cheerfully. “Come back anytime.”

“Come on, Mark,” Jori said as she wheeled around and walked outside. She waited until he was outside. “What do you mean by doing a thing like this? You’re a disgrace, Mark!”

“Don’t you start on me, sis,” Mark said. His lips were puffy where he had evidently taken a blow, and his ear was red.

Jori started to speak, but then Rocklin came out followed by the three others.

“I need to speak to you, Rocklin.”

“Sure. You fellows get on back. We’ll be leaving tomorrow. You’d better check your mules and your equipment.”

The three left rather sheepishly, and Rocklin turned to wait with an inquiring look in his eye.

“I want you to put Mark to work.”

“I don’t need you to boss my life!” Mark snapped.

Jori ignored him. “Treat him just as you would any of the other men. Make him work.” She turned and walked away, her head held high.

“I guess you heard the boss,” Rocklin remarked.

“She’s stuck up and spoiled. That’s what’s wrong with her.”

“But she’s the boss. Come on.”

“Come where?”

“I’m gonna put you to work.”

“I don’t have to take orders from you.”

“Then you stay here in Franklin while the train goes to Santa Fe.” A hard light glinted in Rocklin’s eyes, and Mark was taken aback.

“My father owns this train.”

“And he made me the wagon boss. You know the rules. I put a man afoot if he doesn’t keep the rules. Make up your mind, Mark. You going to pull your share of the load, or are you staying here and becomin’ a full-time drunk?”

Mark’s face flushed, but he knew he had no choice. He didn’t say a word but clamped his lips together. “Come on then,” Rocklin said. The two made the walk back toward where the train was camped. Rocklin spotted Pedro Marichal and Callie Fortier and
went straight for them. “Pedro, I’ve got a new helper for you. Put him to work and be sure he pulls his share.”

“Sí, señor.”

Mark stood there feeling about as miserable as he had ever felt in his life. Pedro studied him carefully and said, “Can you ride?”

“Of course I can ride,” Mark said stiffly.

“Take that bay and saddle him up.” He lifted one eyebrow and grinned. “We’ve got a long way to go, boy, and not one mile of it’s gonna be much fun.”

AS MARK HAYDEN SLUMPED in the saddle, he was aware of a queer tinge that arose somehow within him. It was a stray current of something out of his far past, a half-warm regret and somehow aptly sentimental. For a moment he tried vainly to remember more clearly, but he had drunk so much of the raw whiskey that he had bought at Franklin and hidden in the wagon beneath a pile of goods that his thoughts were not working very well. A raucous sound overhead drew his eyes upward, and he watched as a cloud of blackbirds wheeled against the blue-gray sky, then by some common consent gathered themselves into one unit and headed to the south. The dust raised by the wagons was so fine it clogged his nostrils and made him blink his eyes. He wished for a rain, and when he looked overhead, he saw that the blue was fading and the whole sky was turning into a gunmetal gray.

From far up ahead came the sound of the cracking of the mule skinners’ whips, and their voices were coarse on the noon air. Mark slumped even more bonelessly in the saddle, wishing that he were back in civilization again. The sound of a rifle made a round-shaped echo, striking over the land’s great stillness, and at the same time the raw liquor in Mark’s stomach seemed about to erupt. The memory of home laid a strictness
around his mouth, and reaching into his inner pocket he pulled the silver flask out, unscrewed the cap, and lifted it. The whiskey burned like lye as it went down, scraping against the tender lining of his throat.

Suddenly Mark became aware of a movement to his left. Wheeling quickly, he blinked and saw Callie Fortier sitting on her horse watching him carefully. He seemed to see derision in her eyes, and anger ran across his nerves. “What are you looking at?” he demanded.

“You!” Callie’s face was shadowed by the broad-brimmed hat she wore, and her gray eyes were steady as she watched him.

“Well, go watch somebody else.” Rebellion boiled over in him, and ignoring her, he took two more swallows of the whiskey. He capped the flask and put it away. “Now,” he snapped, his voice slurring slightly, “I guess you’ll run to Rocklin and tell him that I’ve been a bad boy!” He waited for her to answer, but she did not say a word. There was something about this girl that bothered him. He had seen disapproval in her eyes from the beginning, and when he had tried to be friendly she had been curt and answered in monosyllables.

“Go tell him then. What’s he gonna do, fire me?” He turned his horse around and left, hanging onto the saddle as the horse made a rough trot across the prairie.

Callie watched him go and wondered what sort of man he was and what sort he would become.

“Not much of a hand, is he, Callie?”

Callie turned to see Pedro, the herd boss, who had ridden up beside her. He rode a magnificent bay stallion, and his eyes were such a dark brown that it was almost impossible to see the pupils.

“Not much, I think.”

“He’s spoiled,” Pedro shrugged. “He’ll get some of that knocked out of him pretty soon.” He took a cigar out of his pocket, put it in his mouth, and held it there without lighting it. “You’re doing well, Callie.”

Callie turned to smile at him, and Pedro held her eyes for a moment. He saw sadness there, and he knew enough of her history to understand that it was the loss of her father that had put it there. He had not spoken of this before, but he knew it because Rocklin had told him. “I’m very sorry about your father,” he said quietly.

Callie looked at him quickly and saw the sincerity of the drover’s face. “Thank you, Pedro. It was a hard loss.”

Pedro shifted the cigar between his teeth, dropped his head, and seemed lost in thought. He was actually trying to think of something to say that would be a comfort to the girl. Pedro summoned a smile. “You’ll get over it, señorita. You’re young.”

“Young isn’t always good, no.”

Pedro stared at the young woman and shrugged. “It’s better than what comes later,” he said shortly.

* * *

LELAND HAYDEN LOOKED UP as Rocklin pulled his horse to a stop beside the wagon. “What’s up ahead, Rocklin?” he asked.

“Good news. There’s a fine campsite ahead. We’ll get there in about three hours.” Rocklin’s eyes rested on the older man’s face. He saw the weariness there, the sunburn that must have been painful, and the slight tremor of the hands that held the line of the horses. He shifted his gaze to Kate Johnson, and something
passed between the two of them. He liked this woman very much. “She’s got bottom,” he had said to Good News Brown once. It was the highest compliment he could pay to a woman about her good sense.

“You’re doing good, boss. You’re gonna make it.”

The words seemed to make Leland feel better. He straightened up and managed a grin. “I should have done this when I was a young man.”

“No time like the present.”

“I guess the worst of it lies ahead of us, doesn’t it?”

Rocklin shrugged his shoulders in a habitual gesture. “Look at it this way, boss. Today we got plenty of water, the stock is holding up, no hostiles puttin’ arrows into our livers.” He grinned, and his teeth seemed very white against his bronze skin. “Just enjoy the day.” Reaching down, he untied a sack around his saddle horn. “Brought supper,” he said and handed the bag over.

Leland took it and handed it to Kate, who opened it and reached inside. She pulled out the limp body of a quail and exclaimed, “Quail! My favorite!”

“Mine too,” Rocklin nodded. “I gutted them for you, but I hate to pick the feathers on the dratted things. Love to eat ’em though.”

“I’ll save you the fattest one, Chad.”

Chad laughed suddenly, turned his horse around, and rode off at a gallop.

“That man’s got more energy than anybody ought to have,” Leland murmured.

“I’m glad he’s with us.”

“So am I.” Leland held the lines loosely in his hands and suddenly laughed. “Imagine me driving mules across the world
all the way to Santa Fe. We never know what’s ahead of us, do we, Kate?”

“No, and that’s probably a good thing. Rocklin’s right. Just enjoy the day.”

A shout from up ahead caught Leland’s attention. He leaned over and looked up and saw that Stuffy McGinnis was engaged in some kind of an argument with Eddie Plank. “Those two are always arguing,” he said. “I don’t know why.” His mind went back to his remark. “What do you think, Kate?”

“About this journey? I think it’s good. I think God’s in it.”

Suddenly Leland grabbed the lines with his left hand, reached over and took her good hand. “You’re good to have around, sister-in-law,” he said. “I don’t know what I would have done without you all these years.”

“You would have managed.”

“Maybe, but I’m glad you’re along.”

* * *

CHAD ROCKLIN MADE IT a point several times a day to go around and check all the wagons and then the mules and the riding stock. When he saw that the herd had fallen behind by half a mile, he touched Big Red with his heels. “Come on, boy,” he said, “show what you got.” He enjoyed the feel of the big horse’s muscles moving smoothly underneath him and let him have his head.

He pulled up shortly to where Callie was trying to get some recalcitrant mules back to the main herd. Taking out his rope, he uncoiled it and began to pop them using it as a whip. He saw Callie smile at him, and the two of them got the mules back in the main herd and headed in the right direction.