The Yellow Rose (37 page)
Steals Many Horses hobbled his horse, watching as the two men holstered their guns. He carried a knife in his belt, and on the saddle hung a bow with a quiver of arrows. He sat down and ate the meat that Brodie set before him, drank thirstily of the water, and then he said, “I have heard much of you. You are Silverhair, and you are Tall Man.”
Quaid interpreted his words to Brodie, then said, “Why are you following us?”
“You seek the white woman, the captive of The People.”
Quaid said, “He’s talking about Moriah.”
“Does he know where she is?” Brodie said tensely.
“What do you know about the white woman?” Quaid asked.
Steals Many Horses turned his eyes on Quaid. The Indian’s scarred face was emotionless, but his dark eyes glittered. He was cautious, but finally he said, “Maybe I know.”
“He knows where she is,” Quaid said. “Don’t show any excitement, though. He’ll want to bargain for her.” He spoke to the Indian, “Where is she, Steals Many Horses?”
He had expected no answer, and he got none. His experience in trading with the Indians had taught him that it was best not to rush them.
The fire crackled in the silence, and from far off a coyote howled, wailing his sad, mournful song. Steals Many Horses finally said, “I went on a raid with our warriors. We went to steal horses from The People.” He paused, looked into the fire, and then shook his head. “It did not go well.
Four of our warriors were killed.”
Quaid did not take his eyes from Steals Many Horses. He knew that it was useless to hurry the man, and he listened as the Pawnee spoke of the raid.
“I was wounded,” he said, “and captured. They were going to put me to the fire the next day, but I escaped that night.”
Quaid waited until he had finished, then said, “What about the white captive woman?”
“They call her the Quiet One. I saw her. She had red hair, and she had eyes that were brown, and she had a scar by her eye here.”
Quaid took a deep breath. “He’s describing her. He knows about the scar on her face.”
“She got that scar when she was six years old. Fell against a post and cut her face pretty bad.” Brodie stood absolutely still. “That’s got to be her!”
Quaid said, “Which tribe holds her, Steals Many Horses?”
“What will you give me if I tell? That is why I followed you.”
Quaid had expected this. “What do you want?”
“I want one of your pistols that shoots many times, and I want many bullets for it.”
At once Quaid unbuckled the cartridge belt with the pistol on it and handed it to Steals Many Horses.
“You’re giving him your gun?” Brodie asked with surprise.
“That’s his price. I’m not arguing,” Quaid said. Turning to Steals Many Horses, he said, “I will teach you how to shoot it in the morning.”
Steals Many Horses pulled the gun from the holster. He ran his hands over it, then looked up and said, “She is with Bear Killer.”
“Bear Killer of The People?” Quaid said.
“Yes. He is a mighty warrior. He killed my brother, and he would have burned me. But I will kill him now that I have the pistol.”
“Where are they, Steals Many Horses?”
“Bear Killer always winters in what white men call The Staked Plains. . . .”
Quaid listened as the Indian gave the location of the tribe. Steals Many Horses was still fascinated by the pistol. He put the belt around his waist and buckled it awkwardly and then looked up.
“You will not take the woman with only two of you. It will take many warriors. Bear Killer is well named.”
“We will take her,” Quaid said, and a hard finality edged his tone.
“Will you sleep here?”
“No, I will go back now that I have the pistol.” He got to his feet and walked to his horse. He slipped off the hobbles and in one smooth move mounted. For one second he looked at them and said, “You will not take Bear Killer unless you have many warriors.” Without another word he turned, and the horse leaped forward, disappearing into the darkness.
“What did he say, Quaid?”
“He said the two of us wouldn’t take a captive away from Bear Killer.”
“Did he say where she was?”
“Llano Estacado.”
“The Staked Plains.” Brodie made a face. “I wish he was someplace else.”
Quaid turned to face him. “I’d go after him if he was at the North Pole.”
“I don’t know, Quaid. I’ve heard he’s got a big band. Maybe we need to go get some of the rangers to help us.”
“We don’t know where he is, Brodie. We’ve got to find him first then we’ll see.”
Moriah had worked with Dove and Loves The Night getting ready for the winter. They had picked wild plums, mesquite beans, sometimes wild cherries. They had added this to ground-up dried buffalo meat. The two of them had packed the mixture in the bladders of buffalo sealed with tallow. As she worked, she often thought of how much like canning garden vegetables this process was.
Bear Killer had gone to meet with a small group of chiefs of several tribes, and Lion had been left to guard the camp. Lion had been angered because he had not been permitted to go. He came in now to Bear Killer’s teepee, where the three wives of Bear Killer worked, a scowl on his face, and snatched up one of the small bundles that Moriah had made and snapped, “This is bad work!” He threw it down, causing it to burst.
“There’s nothing wrong with it, Lion,” Loves The Night said. She knew that Lion hated the Quiet One and stood between the two of them as much as possible.
Lion merely laughed. “Pick it up, Quiet One, and do it again!” He had always believed that Bear Killer’s white wife expected to be rescued.
He stared at her with obsidian eyes for a moment, then said loudly, “Don’t think about anybody coming after you. The Silverhair and the Tall Man, they are dead.”
Moriah looked up at once and stared at him. Something she saw in his eyes made her say, “You are a liar. They are not dead.”
Instantly, Lion stepped forward and swung his hand. It caught Moriah on the cheek. She staggered but did not go down.
Loves The Night stepped between the two. “I will see if you will beat Bear Killer when he hears of how you struck his wife!”
Lion glared at her and would have said more, but she suddenly drew a knife and said, “Leave here, or I’ll cut your liver out!”
Lion stared at her with hatred but knew that he had gone too far. He turned abruptly and stalked away. As soon as he was out of the teepee, Moriah went to Loves The Night. She put her arms around the woman and said, “Thank you, sister.”
“He is a coward. Pay him no heed. I will tell Bear Killer when he comes back—and we will see what will happen!”
The two women were finished with their work, so they sat down and from time to time looked over at Ethan, who was asleep on his pad of animals furs. Loves The Night said warmly, “He is a fine boy. He will bring you much joy.”
“Do you think so, Loves The Night?”
“Yes. I have been watching him, and he has the strength of Bear Killer, but he has your gentleness.” The two women sat there silently, and finally Loves The Night reached over and put her hand on Moriah’s shoulder. “I’ve always watched you since you came. You are strong inside.”
“I feel very weak.”
“I want to ask you why you will not have our god.” From the time of her capture, Moriah had never made any secret of the fact that she was not at all interested in the vague gods of The People. “You are true to your Jesus God?”
“I hope I am. He is the mighty God above all gods.”
“Tell me about Him.”
Moriah felt a sudden warmth for this woman who had become her dearest friend in this alien world. “He loves you. He loves everyone, and He wants for you to love Him.”
“Tell me.”
Moriah talked for a long time softly and gently. It was difficult to tell what impression she made, for Loves The Night did not show her emotion openly. But there was a glow in the woman’s eyes, and Moriah prayed.
God, let her listen to my words and touch her heart.
W
ell, plague take it, Zane. You shore picked a sorry time to get piled up by a hoss!” Zane looked up from where he was eating his bacon and eggs and frowned at Clay, who sat across from him. “I didn’t exactly plan for it to happen like it did,” he said petulantly. “If I remember correctly, you’ve been piled up by a few hosses yourself.”
“Zane didn’t get hurt on purpose, Clay, so leave him alone,” Jerusalem said. She looked at Clinton, who was eating furiously, as if his life depended on it. “Don’t eat so fast, Clinton, you’ll choke yourself.”
Clinton said with his mouth full, “But, Ma, the Lord might come back before we finish, and I’d hate to miss out on this here good food you made.”
Mary Aidan was sitting next to Clinton and said, “You need to put on some more of that lotion you got from back east. It’ll make you smell better.”
Jerusalem said sharply, “If you’d take more baths, you wouldn’t need any lotion to make you smell good!”
Clinton swallowed an enormous bite of his breakfast and then looked around the table defiantly. “It ain’t scriptural to take baths.”
“What are you talkin’ about?” Jerusalem said. “Of course it is.”
“No, the Bible says it ain’t.” He nodded vigorously, adding, “I got that out of the Bible.”
Jerusalem shook her head in dismay. “You must have got it
out
of the Bible because you didn’t find it
in
the Bible.”
“Did too!”
“Well, where is it?” Clay grinned. “I might use it myself.”
“It’s in the last book of the whole Bible, chapter twenty-two and the eleventh verse.”
“What does it say? I can’t remember the whole Bible,” Zane said.
“It says, ‘Let him that is filthy be filthy still.’ Now, I hope that settled this bathin’ question once and for all!”
Clay listened half-heartedly as Clinton defended his idea of not bathing, but finally he lifted his head and said, “I guess we’ll have to put off drivin’ that herd to New Orleans. You can’t go with that bad leg, Zane, and I can’t go because Rachel and Sam have both got the chicken pox.”
“I can take care of them. You can go,” Jerusalem said quickly.
“No, I don’t want to go off and leave ’em. We’ll just put the drive off for a bit.”
Clinton looked up from his plate and said, “I don’t see what the fuss is about. I can make that drive.”
Clay stared at Clinton. “Why, you’ve never handled a drive by yourself, Clinton.”
“No, but I’ve been with you and Zane. New Orleans is in the same place, ain’t it? I reckon I can find it, and there ain’t nothin’ hard about drivin’ critters. You just get behind ’em and holler and whoop, and you steer ’em in the right direction.”
Clay considered Clinton steadily for a moment and then said, “I just don’t know if you can take care of all the details.”
Clinton’s face grew red. “I don’t know why you don’t trust me. I’ve worked as hard as anybody on this ranch.”
“He’s right about that, Clay.” Zane nodded. “Clinton’s a mighty good hand.”
“I know he is, Zane, but he might make a mistake.”
“I ain’t
never
made a mistake,” Clinton said loftily. “And I don’t ever plan to.”
Jerusalem threw up her hands. “My land, what a boy!”
“Oh, come on, Ma. I’m twenty-one years old. If I can’t take a bunch of dumb cattle to New Orleans on a little old drive, I might as well give up ranchin’ and go and become an ol’ salesman.”
Clay had been thinking hard, and now he grinned. “I got to admit you’re a good man with critters, Clinton, and we need the money. I got my eye on a piece of land that we can get cheap.” He looked at Jerusalem and winked. “I guess we can trust him to get a bunch of cows to New Orleans. He ain’t likely to lose ’em. The worst thing that can happen is a bunch of Mexicans could steal ’em, or the Comanches might come in from the north and scalp him and take all the cattle.”
Clinton brightened up at once. “You just wait! I’ll dicker with them cattle buyers down in New Orleans and make ’em think that they been hit by a tornado.”
“They’re liable to skin you,” Zane said. “They’re pretty sharp dealers down there.”
“They ain’t skinnin’ me, not as long as geese go barefooted,” Clinton declared. “I got to hire me some Mexican drovers.”
Clay looked at Jerusalem and said, “Well, your baby boy’s growin’ up.
It’s time he learns to take some responsibility.”
“He’ll do fine, Clay,” Jerusalem said. “I’m real proud that you trust him enough to go.”
Clinton had hired four Mexican drovers to make the trip to New Orleans. He knew them all well, for they had made the trip twice before with Clay and Zane. Clinton had been busy getting things ready and listening to a great deal of advice from Clay and Zane, which he paid little heed to. The day before the drive was to start, he left the drovers holding the cattle in a bunch and rode over to see the Stuarts. He had promised his mother to check on Anne Stuart, and when he dismounted and walked up to the house, he found her sitting out on a cane-bottom chair. “Well, Miss Stuart,” he said, his face lighting up. “Good to see you up and around. Ma sent me over to find out how you were.”
Anne Stuart smiled and said, “I’m doing much better, Clinton. You thank your mama also for all she’s done for us. She is one kind lady.”
“Where’s Mr. Stuart?”
“He went out to see if he could bag a deer.”
“What about Al?”
“She’s out back behind the house tryin’ to find some worms. She wants to go fishin’ in the river. I tell her it ain’t a good time, but you know Aldora. She’s gonna do what she says.”
Clinton grinned and said, “I’m leavin’ for New Orleans with a herd tomorrow. I’ll just go say good-bye to Al.”
He shoved his hat back on his head and walked around the house. He found Al out by the barn digging and turning over dirt. “Findin’ any worms?” he said cheerfully.
“No, I reckon they’ve went down deep. But I can use chicken guts.” Al turned to him and said, “What are you doing over this way?”
“I came to see how your grandma was. She’s doin’ a heap better, it appears like.”
“Yes, she is.”
“Did you hear about me takin’ a herd down to New Orleans to sell?”
