Dorothy Garlock (4 page)

“Every six months a train of ten to twelve wagons comes in from New Mexico. The valley is closer to El Paso, but it’s easier to bring the freight wagons over the plains than to cross the mountains. It will take about three days for the men to blow off steam and to load the wagons. Besides their usual load of supplies, this time they’re taking back lumber to build a windmill. I suggest you and your sister stock up on whatever you’ll be needing for the next few months. You’ll be going back with the train. Do you realize, Miss Doan, that you’ll be traveling over very rough country? You’ll cross over three hundred miles of every type of terrain imaginable. It will be a hard trip for any woman, and doubly so for one in your sister’s condition. I’ll talk to Mr. Redford, the head teamster, and see if he can fix up something a little more comfortable than a freight wagon for you to ride in.”

“I assure you, Jacy is in good physical condition, Mr. Cash. Oh, I wish you could have known her before. She was so lively, so bright and pretty. The doctor in San Angelo said that there’s a good chance that someday she’ll be well and speak again. He said that sometimes a second shock can loosen the vocal cords. She’s terribly frightened of men, especially Mexican men, and justifiably so.”

“There’ll be at least two dozen men on the train, and a good number of them will be Mexican. You have nothing to fear from them. Danger may come from outlaws, renegade Apaches, or Mexican bandits—although it would take a good-sized gang to dare to attack a dozen wagons and two dozen guns.” Cash looked at her sympathetically. “I’ve told you exactly what you will face because I want you to know it won’t be easy.”

“I don’t expect it to be easy,” she said simply. “If I’ve learned one thing, Mr. Cash, it’s that the good things in life seldom come easy.”

T
wo

T
he big, covered wagon rolled down the dusty street, past the curious bystanders lounging in front of the stores, then began the long curve out of town. Ahead of it the freight wagons waited. It pulled alongside, then passed the string of wagons to take the lead. With a warm smile Johanna acknowledged each driver as the covered wagon passed the others, and the men, eyes dancing with excitement at having the women along, tipped their broad-brimmed hats. Several riders were on the trail ahead, some were beside the train, and a few more were leading strings of mules, replacements for those hitched to the heavy wagons.

Johanna sat on the high seat beside the driver, a ranch hand named Mooney. Redford, sitting astride a powerful sorrel, waved them on, and the pace picked up. When the wagon swerved, Johanna clutched at the seat, then turned to look back at Jacy lying in a hammock stretched across the inside of the wagon. Her eyes were closed.

There had been a rough moment when Mooney attempted to lift Jacy onto the wagon seat: she’d struck his hands and cringed behind Johanna. The incident stiffened Johanna’s resolve to ask Mr. Redford to explain Jacy’s situation to the others so as to avoid a repeat of that scene.

The days since their meeting with Simon Cash had sped by. He had brought Redford to meet her. He was a short, heavy-shouldered man with iron-gray hair and a drooping mustache. His face was brown and seamed with wrinkles. His flannel shirt was ragged and sun-faded, and his boots were even dustier than the hat he held in his hands.

Johanna told him everything, beginning with Jacy’s ordeal and ending with the possibility of being asked to leave the so-called decent part of town because of her job in the saloon. She saw the kind eyes turn cold with fury, then soften when she told him about her hopes for Jacy’s recovery. He suggested that they rig up a hammock for Jacy with heavy springs on each end to cushion the jolts of the rough trail. He said he’d seen it work before and was sure that he could make the contraption.

The night before they were to leave he brought the wagon to the boardinghouse and loaded their trunks, pushing them to one side so that they would have room for the hammock and a place for Johanna to bed down. He made them acquainted with Mooney. He told them, with a twinkle in his eyes, that they would be safe with Mooney. He was his oldest driver and far more trustworthy than the other young scutters he had. Mooney had laughed and hit Redford goodnaturedly on the back with his dusty hat.

“By gol’, I ain’t that old!”

Now Johanna untied the strings of her stiff-brimmed sun-bonnet and took it off. The breeze stirred her hair and felt cool on her neck. The sun had begun to climb over the horizon and promised the kind of warm, early-September day that Texas settlers knew well. She watched the slow, rhythmic steps of the mules. Each step stirred up a fine white dust that grew into a cloud above the wagon train, settling over the animals and caking the nostrils of men and beasts. The miles stretched on before them, and to Johanna on the swaying wagon seat, they seemed endless and timeless.

The driver sat with one booted foot on the guardrail, his hat pulled low over his brow. It would be a long, silent trip unless she could get him to talk.

“Have you made this trip many times, Mr. Mooney?”

“More times than I could shake a stick at, I reckon.”

“Mr. Redford said it would take about two weeks to get to the valley.”

“Yup. Red’s got it figured ’bout right.”

“Please don’t be offended at how my sister behaved this morning, Mr. Mooney. She suffered a terrible shock a few months back, and it will take time for her to get over it. I’ll ask Mr. Redford to tell you about it so you’ll understand why she’s the way she is.”

Mooney leaned out over the side of the wagon and spat onto the dusty trail. “Don’t let it worry yore head none. Red done gathered us all ’round and told us ’bout what was done to your sister. He didn’t want anybody t’be a-scarin’ her, you see. It was just pure-dee ol’ ignorance on my part what I did. If I’d’a give a thought to it I’d’a knowed better.”

Johanna smiled, relieved. “I’m glad he told you, Mr. Mooney.”

“You don’t have to be addin’ no mister to my name, ma’am. I’m just plain ol’ Mooney.” He looked at her and his leathery face creased with a grin.

“All right, Mooney, if you’ll call me Johanna. Tell me about this valley where we’re going. Is it big?”

“Pert’ nigh fifty miles long.”

“Does the ranch cover the whole valley?”

“Yup, and then some.”

“Mr. Cash told us that Mr. Macklin lost a foot a few years back. It must be difficult for him to oversee such a large spread.”

“Ol’ Mack don’t oversee nothin’, ’cept a few things.”

“Well . . . who does?”

Mooney shifted uncomfortably in his seat and adjusted the reins in his hands. Finally he spat over the side of the wagon again. It was evidently what he did while he was considering what he might say.

“Burr runs things: Goddam good at it, too. Better’n ol’ Mack ever done.”

“Tell me about Mr. Macklin,” Johanna prodded, eager to know more about the man for whom she would work.

“Ain’t much to tell. He’s an ornery ol’ coot.”

Mooney’s description of their employer made her laugh.

“Ornery or not, it took courage to build a ranch way out there.”

“He’s got grit, all right. There ain’t no doubt about it. He was good at fightin’, gettin’, and holdin’, but he ain’t no good atall at managin’ what he’s got. Burr’s got him beat all hollow.”

Johanna already knew that Mr. Macklin was difficult and that the ranch was huge. It had to be to support the largest herds in the West, as the lawyer had said. She hadn’t known, however, that he had a ranch manager. If she had stopped to think about it, she would have known. After all, he was an old man. She wondered if the manager had a wife. If so, had she been keeping house for Mr. Macklin?

The day went quickly. The sun arched high overhead and then went on its relentless path until it was a glowing orb hung low over the western edge of the world. When finally it was no more than a faint, rosy tinge, the freighters circled the wagons for the night. Mooney stopped the big covered wagon beneath the fanning branches of a huge old pecan tree. The drivers leaped from their wagons and stretched, then unhitched their teams and led them to the water wagon. Lids were removed from the wooden barrels and each animal was allowed to drink before being turned loose inside a roped area to roll in the dust and eat the sparse prairie grass. Minutes later a fire was built in the center of the circle of wagons and over it was hung a huge iron pot. On one side of the fire a very black coffeepot soon was sending up a plume of steam.

Johanna helped Jacy climb down over the big wheel of the wagon. Redford put his horse inside the rope corral and came to them.

“We’ll help get supper if someone will tell us what to do.” Johanna began to roll up her sleeves.

“Ain’t no call fer that, ma’am,” Redford said with a grin. “Ol’ Codger over there is ’bout to bust a gut a-tryin’ to fix up a decent meal for you ladies. I don’t know if’n I ever did see him get so high behind.”

She laughed, and the men, unaccustomed to a woman in their midst, paused to look at her.

“There’s somethin’ you
can
do, ma’am, if’n you’re of a mind to. You can sing fer us tonight. It’d sure be a treat. We heard you sing at the saloon, and we was mighty taken with what we heard.”

“I’d be pleased to sing, Mr. Redford.” Her voice must have carried in the stillness of the evening, because from several wagons away came a wild Texas yell.

Red shook his head and tried to look stern. “I’ll swear,” he said, “some of ’em ain’t got no manners atall.”

The light disappeared from the sky while they ate. Codger, the cook, brought the young women each a plate of smoke-flavored beans and bacon, then returned with two tin cups and the coffeepot. Surprised at her hunger, Johanna attacked the meal with relish. The food was wholesome and filling. Jacy too seemed to enjoy the meal. They emptied their plates and sipped at the hot black coffee. Night sounds filled the air with pleasant and familiar harmonies, and Johanna relaxed, enjoying the rustle of the leaves of the pecan tree above their heads and the crackling of the wood in the campfire. It was comforting too to hear the quiet rumble of masculine voices keeping up a steady stream of talk while they finished their third helpings of food.

Johanna heard the sound of running horses and looked up in alarm. She was relieved to see that the men continued to eat and showed no concern. The riders pulled their mounts to a sudden halt just outside the circled wagons, leaped from their saddles, and draped their reins over the wheels of a wagon. They were laughing and teasing one another as they approached the campfire.

Without warning, Jacy sprang to her feet and looked wildly about. Her eyes became huge with fright and her hand flew to her face, trying to cover it. Blindly she darted toward the fire, then back to Johanna, and crouched behind her like a cowed, small animal, ready to spring away into the darkness. Before Johanna could stop her she leaped up onto the crate and tried to claw her way into the back of the wagon.

“Jacy, no!” Johanna held on to her, murmuring soothing words, and gradually was able to pull her back and into her arms. Jacy clung to her sister, trembling. “It’s all right, honey,” Johanna said gently. “There’s nothing to be afraid of.”

The three riders who had come so boisterously into camp stood stone-still, a bewildered look on their young, dusty faces. They started to back away.

“Please stay,” Johanna urged.

They stood uncomfortably, shifting their weight from one foot to the other.

“Jacy,” Johanna said softly. “Look at them. They work for Mr. Macklin, just as we’re going to do. Turn around and look at them. They would never hurt either of us.” Firmly she took Jacy’s shoulders and turned her to face the men.

The only sound to be heard, while the men stood still, allowing Jacy to look at them, was the blowing and stamping of the horses. Two of the men turned their eyes away, but the tallest of the three looked directly at Jacy as if his eyes couldn’t leave her face. Johanna thought him the most handsome man she had ever seen. He was tall, whiplash-thin, with finely chiseled features. His hair was as black as coal, and his eyes, under a heavy fringe of black lashes, were a bright crystal blue. He was dressed in tight black pants and wore a loose, embroidered vest over his shirt. His boots were Mexican style, as was his hat; a black sombrero held by a cord about his neck rode on his back. He had two silver pistols in holsters strapped around his slim hips.

Johanna turned her attention back to Jacy. She was looking directly into the man’s eyes as if mesmerized. She was quieter, and Johanna drew her down to sit once more on the box beside her.

The tall man didn’t move, even when the others left to go to the cookfire. He lingered to look at Jacy.

“Thank you,” Johanna said quietly.

He looked at Johanna as if seeing her for the first time, tilted his head, and walked away.

Red detached himself from a group of men by the fire and came to squat in front of the two young women.

“Ma’am,” he said earnestly to Jacy, “there ain’t a man jack here what wouldn’t lay his life right down on the line fer ya. Ya don’t have nothin’ to be feared of long as you’re with us, and that’s the God’s truth.”

His kind, homely face and sincere manner must have gotten through to Jacy, for she timidly held out her hand to him and he gripped it with his big, rough one. A lump rose in Johanna’s throat that threatened to choke her, and tears sprang to her eyes. To hide them she reached into the back of the wagon and brought out her guitar. Red carried the crate closer to the campfire and she and Jacy moved out into the center of the circle.

When Johanna began to strum the strings of the instrument with her slender, knowing fingers, all conversation ceased. She flashed a sudden, bright smile around the circle and began to sing an old ballad her father had taught her when she was a child.

“Two little children, a boy and a girl,
stood by the old church door.

The little girl’s feet were as brown as the curls
that lay on the dress that she wore.”