The Jeweled Spur (36 page)

By the time she had made the beds, Cody had gathered dry wood, kindled a small fire, and gotten out the cooking utensils. “What have we got for supper?” he asked wearily.

Laurie looked at the small supply sack. “One chunk of bacon and two potatoes.” She smiled across the fire at him and said, “Would you rather have bacon with potatoes—or potatoes with bacon, Mr. Rogers?”

Cody smiled and shook his head. “We’ve got to do better than this. We’ll have to ride into town and get some supplies.”

“I brought enough money, I think, to do us for a while,” Laurie said quickly. “Why don’t you let me go in and get them?”

He stared at her and shook his head. “A strange woman riding into a small town on a horse like that, dressed like you are. That would be too suspicious. Besides, everybody’ll be looking.”

Laurie began to speak cheerily as she put the potatoes in the coals to bake and covered them. While they waited, she spoke of her life. As they had sat around the campfire night after night, they had talked about their childhoods till now
they knew each other very well. Finally, the food was ready, and she raked the potatoes out, peeled the jackets off, and cut them in two with a knife. The steam rose from the white, meaty inside, and she put one on his plate and the other on hers. “Is the bacon all done?” she asked.

He had been roasting it over the fire and now drew it back carefully and cut it in two, giving her one portion and keeping the other for himself. They ate slowly, knowing there was not enough, but they enjoyed what they had to eat.

After they finished washing down the meager meal with water from the creek, they sat silently, staring into the fire. The night closed in like a cloak about them. There were no stars in the sky, and except for the pale flicker of the yellow flames, there was no light at all.

Cody leaned back against a tree, put his hands behind his head, and stared across the fire. For a long time, the quietness reigned, broken only by the barking of a dog from some farmhouse far off.

Finally, he knew he had to do something. “Laurie,” he said, “we can’t go on like this. It’s no fit life for you.”

“I’ll be all right, Cody,” Laurie said quickly. She got to her feet, picked up two sticks, and added them to the campfire. As she did, he rose and reached over and took her arm. “No, I can’t put you through this. It’s not right. You’re a young woman, beautiful, and you’ve got everything a man would want.”

His words caught at her. He had never said anything like this, and now she turned to face him. The planes of his face were thrown into sharp shadows by the flickering flames, the hollows of his eyes seemed very deep, and his cheeks were angular. She had long thought he was a fine-looking young man, but now she knew that didn’t really matter. She whispered, “Do you really think so, Cody? What you just said.”

He was taken aback by her question. “Do I think so? Why, I’ve always thought so,” he said. Looking down at her, he could see the black hair, almost as dark as the night itself, as
it framed her face. Her black eyes were wide and looked at him intently. He could see that she was tired, but she had not uttered one single complaint. “Most women I know would have quit a long time ago, and I don’t know why you don’t.”

“But did you mean what you said about—about me being beautiful?” asked Laurie hesitantly.

“Why, Laurie, you’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said, surprise in his voice. “I thought you knew that!”

The words seemed to hang in the air, and he saw her face relax. Her face was turned up, and he saw her lips grow soft and tender. Then, somehow, the pressures of the times that they had, the dangers, all seemed to fade, and all he knew was this slim, beautiful woman who stood so close to him. With almost a moan, he reached out and pulled her to him. He held her, his face pressed against hers, as he whispered, “Laurie—Laurie, you don’t know how I feel, how I love you.”

She was absolutely still in his arms, but then when she drew her head back, he saw tears making silver tracks down her smooth cheeks. Her lips trembled, and she said, “Do you? Do you, Cody?”

“Yes.”

“Well—I love you, too,” she whispered, and her eyes were blinded by tears. With a gesture completely free and wild, she reached up, pulled his head down, and pressed her lips against his. Her hands tightened around his neck as she clung to him possessively. As for Cody, the touch of her soft figure against his sent riotous emotions along his nerves. Her lips were softer than anything he had ever imagined. He thought as he held her,
I love her so, but I’ll never have her.

Slowly, he pulled his head back, but he held on to her, putting his cheek next to hers and saying, “I’ve got to go give myself up.”

Laurie was very still, but finally she nodded. “I think you do, but first, we’ve got to go tell your parents.”

He held her for a moment, savoring everything about her.
The sweet femininity that he had not appreciated, but he now knew was his whole life. Then, as he stepped back and held her arms he said, “We may never have any more than this, Laurie.”

“Yes, we will,” she said fiercely, throwing her arms around him and holding him close, as if he were a hurt child. “We’ll have more than this. God wouldn’t let it be otherwise!”

They clung together for a long time, the silence broken only by the horses chomping at the grass and kicking up their hoofs from time to time. Finally, Cody and Laurie moved apart. When they lay down on their blankets, Cody said, “Tomorrow, we’ll go home.”

Her answer was soft and tremulous, yet there was faith in it, and in her eyes, if only he could have seen it. “Yes, Cody. Home—that’s where we’ll go.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

A Matter of Faith

Both Laurie and Cody treasured the memories of the days that comprised their journey back to the ranch in Wyoming. They continued to avoid the populated areas, and for days they rode along half-deserted back roads. The weather was perfect; the nights were cool and nice, and the days balmy. Once Cody turned to Laurie with a smile, saying, “You couldn’t ask for better weather than this, could you?”

Laurie had glanced at him quickly and wanted to ask if he was worried about the days to come. She thought perhaps that he was storing up the beauty of the countryside, the wonderful weather, against the time when he would be locked up in a gray cell again. But she saw no sign of anxiety in his clear, blue eyes and merely nodded, “It would be nice if we could go on like this forever, wouldn’t it, Cody?”

He had smiled at her but had shaken his head. “Yes, but it can’t be like that.”

By day they rode at an even pace across wide prairies, skirting mountains that lifted up into the sky, as they inched farther toward the northwest, camping every night beside some kind of water. Sometimes it was a flowing river that they had to swim their horses through, but more often, it was a trickling stream that provided music as well as fresh water. Cody had bought a rifle at a small store and used it to bring down enough game for them. Usually, this meant a rabbit, which abounded wherever they rode, but twice he managed to shoot a deer. The second time he had gone out
they had made camp early, beside a small brook, and Cody had said, “Bound to be some deer coming down for a drink of water at sundown. You make camp, and I’ll go see if I can bring one down.”

“All right, Cody,” said Laurie as she started to gather wood for a fire.

Cody left, moved up stream until he found deer signs, and found a small grove of scrub oak to conceal himself in. Moving into the cover, he stood there, the rifle cocked but held loosely over his arm, studying the scenery. He enjoyed the sights, including more than one rabbit that came to drink. Finally a family of coons sauntered up, including four small ones, and he enjoyed their antics, thinking,
They look just like bandits with those masks, but they sure do seem to be having fun.
He stood there until late afternoon shadows began to descend, closing like a curtain around him, turning the eastern sky into orange fireworks. The quietness soaked into his spirit, and he could not help but think,
This may be the last.
But he forced the thought out of his mind, as he had for the past two weeks, and now settled himself in to wait. It grew almost dark, and he was ready to give up, when suddenly a big buck with a rack of huge antlers stepped out from the bush across the creek, came to the water, and began to drink. Slowly Cody raised the rifle, centered on the heart of the magnificent animal, and then he hesitated.
One pull of the trigger, and he’s gone forever,
he thought. He admired the sleek muscles, the proud look, and the fine, large eyes. He thought about what a miracle it was for God to make such a creature, and was surprised, for he would never have thought this before. He had killed hundreds of deer, and never once had it occurred to him that God had anything to do with it.

He sighed, and the animal immediately threw his head up and bolted. Cody regretfully sent his shot, which caught the buck in midstride and brought him to the ground. Cody ejected the shell, went over, splashed across the creek, and found the animal’s eyes already glazed with death. “Too bad,”
he murmured softly, stroking the rough coat. Then he put the thought out of his mind. Pulling out his sheath knife, he rapidly dressed the animal, and regretfully left most of it, taking only as much as they could use for the next two or three days.

“Cody, you got one!” Laurie said as he walked back into camp with a load of meat in one hand and the rifle in the other.

“Cook this fellow up,” Cody grinned. “We’ll have a dinner fit for a king tonight. And a queen,” he added.

She smiled and flushed slightly at his words, then began stirring the fire up to roast the deer meat.

An hour later, they were sitting before the fire, eating the delicious steaks hungrily. Cody took a bite, chewing it thoughtfully, and said, “I hated to kill this fellow. That’s funny isn’t it? I must have killed a hundred deer and never once thought about it.”

“Why was it hard for you?” Laurie asked. She had eaten her fill and had opened a can of peaches. Dividing it into two portions, she put half of it into a cup and handed it to him. She fished out a golden wedge-shaped slice with her fingers and stuck it into her mouth.

“You greedy girl,” Cody laughed. “You’re gonna choke! Never saw a kid that went after sweets like you do.”

Laurie did almost choke, but when she swallowed, she made a face at him. “I’m not a kid,” she said. “And you’re just as bad. Now, what about the deer?”

He sat there, enjoying the warm sweetness of the peaches, and explained to her that he had thought how marvelous the deer was.

“There was a poet named Walt Whitman,” Laurie said. “He was a nurse for the Union during the Civil War, and he wrote a book called
Leaves of Grass.
Some things,” she said, “I never liked about it, but he had one thing in there that I will never forget.” She held up her hand and wiggled
her thumbs, quoting the poet: “The narrowest hinge in my hand puts to scorn all machinery.”

Cody cocked his head, his eyes narrowing as he thought about it. “I don’t understand.”

Her eyes grew bright, reflecting the firelight, and she said, “Don’t you see? People talk about how wonderful it is, a steamboat, for example, a machine that has all that power.”

“Well, it is pretty wonderful, isn’t it?”

“Not as wonderful as this.” She moved her thumb back and forth. “That’s a hinge, you see, and how hard do you think it would be for a man to make that? This hand—these fingers—all the human body, he’s saying, is a greater marvel than any piece of machinery ever built.”

Understanding dawned on Cody, and he nodded. “Why, that’s true, isn’t it? Any man can get smart enough to make a boiler, or a locomotive, but nobody could ever make a human being. Nobody except God, that is.”

“That’s what Whitman said. I remember another line.” She quoted it slowly, as if savoring the words. “He said, ‘A mouse is miracle enough to stagger sextillions of infidels.’ ” She smiled, then nodded.

She waved her hand toward the fiery stars that glittered overhead. “I don’t see how anyone could look at that and not know that someone made it all. They didn’t make themselves.”

They went on talking, their voices low; sometimes they laughed, and finally, it grew late. Cody got up, walked to the creek and filled the bucket with water, and brought it back to hand it to her. “Wash some of that down,” he said. She rose to her feet and took a drink, then handed it back. The moon overhead was round and pale and brilliant, shedding its beams over the two of them. Tossing the can down, he reached out and took her hands. “This trip,” he said, “these days together, I’ll never forget them, Laurie.”

“No. Neither of us will,” she whispered. She was acutely aware of his hands, and of his eyes that were fixed on hers.
Looking up at him, she said, “We’ll tell our grandchildren about it. How that we rode all the way across the country together when we were young.”

“They’d be shocked,” he said with a smile. “They’ll wonder, a man and a woman not married spending all that time together.” He suddenly looked at her, aware of the beauty of her face, and the attractiveness of her slim form. “It’s another miracle,” he said, “that as much as I love you, there’s not been one single thing wrong with this trip.”

“No,” she said. She loosed her hand and put it upon his chest, saying, “You’ve been wonderful, and no man could have been more thoughtful, under these circumstances. Most men would have tried at least to take some advantage, but you never have.”

Cody looked embarrassed and said, “Well, I can’t always say my record’s been that clean, but with you it’s different.”

“Cody,” she said suddenly, “when we get to your home, I want us to be married.”

“Why, that’s crazy, Laurie!” Cody stared at her and shook his head, his jawline growing tense as he said, “I’ll be going to jail for a long time!”

“I don’t care,” she said. “I don’t believe it in the first place—God is going to do something. But even if you did, for the rest of our lives, you’re my husband, and I would never have another man.”