Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (32 page)

“I don’t believe you understand the situation, Mr. Tallman. At this time Judge Van Winkle is the highest-ranking government official in this area. He is a very important man, an appointee of the United States Department of Indian Affairs.”

“Let me assure you, I understand the situation perfectly. The judge may be an important man
somewhere,
but not in this camp. I’m the one who’s important here. I run this train. These men work for me. I don’t take orders here; I give them. Is that understood?”

“That’s your final word?” Shipley was trying to keep his composure. Behind him, his supposedly perfectly mannered horse had become frightened and was dancing at the end of the reins. The confusion was not helping matters.

“It’s my only word.”

“Very well.” The lieutenant jerked his gloves out from under his arm and put them on. “I’ll take your message back to the judge.”

“You do that.” John held up his hand as the soldier began to back away. “Watch your step, Yank, unless you want to get those shiny boots all nastied up. There’s a pile of horse shit behind you.”

*  22  *

A
ddie had bathed Trisha’s wounds and covered them with a salve that Buffer had given her. It was made from the aloe plant and had been a gift to him from a Mexican woman trained in the arts of healing. He swore that it helped to speed the healing of open wounds. Addie was grateful for the salve.

John climbed up into the wagon as Addie was placing another wet cloth on Trisha’s head.

“How is she?”

“Still unconscious. I cut her hair around the wound. It doesn’t seem very deep.”

“He hit her with something blunt, like the stock of a rifle. He could have killed her with that blow. I’m wondering if she saw it coming and rolled her head. She’s lucky, too, that all that thick hair helped to cushion it.”

“Who would do this?”

“Not any of our men, Addie. The lash wrapped around her neck wasn’t a bull whip. Cleve said it’s the kind an overseer on a plantation would use on field hands.”

“Do you think he was trying to
kill
her?”

“Yes, I do. I think that he had twisted the lash around her neck and was going to drag her deeper into the brush when he heard Jane Ann calling. He ran out of time and probably slipped into the brush just as Jane Ann got there.”

“Why didn’t he just shoot her if he wanted her dead?”

“A shot would have drawn attention.”

“Maybe it was me he was waiting for.”

“I think he was one of the Renshaws. They want Trisha, not you.”

“They wouldn’t still be following, would they?”

“We’ll know for sure after we cross into the Indian Nations. Honey, Colin is hanging around outside. He’s worried sick about Trisha. Can he come in for a minute?”

“Of course. He can empty the wash pan and get some fresh water. Where are Dillon and Jane Ann? I forgot all about fixing a meal.”

“Cleve took them up to Bill. He’ll see that they’re fed.”

“Oh, no! The men have their own work. I don’t want the children underfoot.” Addie started to get to her feet, but John pressed her back down on the chair.

“They’re not underfoot. Cleve knows about children. He had some of his own once. Bill isn’t as grumpy as he appears. Old codger probably has a whole passel of younguns scattered around the country that he doesn’t know anything about.”

“What a thing to say.” Addie couldn’t help but smile.

“Dillon and Jane Ann are all right. If they get troublesome, Bill or Cleve will sit them down.” He paused for a moment.

“When Trisha wakes up, she’s going to have a hell of a headache. Try to keep her head still. Pack something on each side of it. It’ll be pure hell for her when we start moving, but laudanum will help. I’ve brought some from the medical box. Give her two drops at a time in a little water. It’ll dull the pain and let her sleep.”

“I wish she’d wake up.”

“She will. You’re doing all you can for now. The wet cloth on her head will help keep the swelling down.”

“She was so excited to be going to a new land—where folks wouldn’t know her. It’s unfair, John. She’s pretty and sweet, and because she’s admitted to having Negro blood, people treat her like dirt.”

“Have you told the children and Colin not to mention that to anyone?”

“I told them. But Buffer Simmons knows.”

“He’ll not say anything.”

“She’s so proud,” Addie said, smoothing the hair back from Trisha’s face. “She’s always saying, ‘I is what I is.’ ”

“We’ve got to admire her for that. Honey, I’m going to grab a bite to eat. I’ll tell Colin he can come in.”

“Has he had anything to eat?”

John squeezed her shoulder. “Ever the worried little mother. Yes, he ate with Gregorio and the other men. After he’s seen Trisha, send him up to the cook wagon. Bill will fix a plate for you.”

“Do you think whoever did this will come back?”

“If he does, he’s in for a big surprise. From now on we’ll keep a close watch.”

*  *  *

Trisha woke slowly. Her eyelids fluttered, then opened completely and she looked wildly about.

“Don’t be scared.” Addie bent over her so she could see her face and held tightly to her hand. “You’re here in the wagon with me. Lie still.”

“Addie . . . Oh, my head—” Trisha’s voice was hoarse, and she reached for Addie with her free hand.

“It worried me that you didn’t wake up. Can you drink some water?”

“Oh, yes,” Trisha licked her puffy lips as if unaware of how the whip lash had injured them.

Addie slipped her arm under the pillow, tilted Trisha’s head, and held a cup to her lips. She had already added the two drops of laudanum to the water. Trisha held the water in her mouth for a while before swallowing slowly. Her eyes clung to Addie as she sank back against the pillow.

“Trisha, honey, who did this to you?”

“Don’t know if it was real. Saw a dream. My head pop—” Her voice cracked, and she lifted her hand to her throat.

“Jane Ann went looking for you. She saw you lying on the ground and came for us. Buffer carried you back here to the wagon.”

Trisha opened her eyes. “Old . . . brush-face?”

Addie smiled. This was the old Trisha.

“Yes, old brush-face. Now sleep. I’m going to put pillows on each side of your head so you won’t move it. Sleep now, honey. I’ll be right here.”

“Don’t go . . . Miss Addie . . . please . . .”

“I won’t go. Someone will be with you all the time.”

A short while later, Buffer came to the end of the wagon.

“Miss Addie, has she waked up yet?”

“Come on in.” The wagon rocked gently from Buffer’s weight. “She woke up. I gave her the two drops of laudanum and she went back to sleep.”

“Will she be all right?”

“John thinks so. Her throat is sore. It’s hard for her to talk or swallow.” Addie dipped the cloth in the basin of water and squeezed out the excess before placing it on Trisha’s head.

“Did she say . . . anythin’?”

“That what she saw wasn’t real. It was a dream. Then her head ‘popped,’ she said. But she may not have been fully awake.”

“Ma’am, can I sit with her a bit? I’ll keep the cloth on her head.”

“I don’t know. She asked me not to leave her. Trisha seldom asks anyone for anything.”

“If yo’re thinkin’ it ain’t proper, I’ll open up the whole back of the wagon.”

Addie looked up at him and smiled. “That’s kind of silly, isn’t it?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“I think Trisha would feel safe with you here. I’ll take you up on your offer.”

“John’s gettin’ ready to call his meetin’. You might want to be there.”

Addie looked down at the sleeping girl, then back at Buffer.

“Thank you,” she said with genuine warmth.

Addie stepped down into the sunshine and looked for her son and Jane Ann. Catching a glimpse of Jane Ann’s blue dress, she walked quickly toward the cook wagon and found the two of them sitting on a box in front of a table where the cook was dressing wild turkey. Each of the children had a turkey foot.

“Looky, Muvver.” A huge smile covered Dillon’s freckled face. “Looky what Mr. Wassall gived me.” He held up a yellow foot, pulled on the white tendon, and watched in fascination as the toes curled.

“Mine does it too,” Jane Ann chirped happily.

“That’s very . . . interesting. Come along with me now. You’ve bothered Mr. Wassall enough.”

“ ’Twarnt no bother a’tall,” Bill said, and slammed the meat cleaver down through the turkey’s breast.

“Thank you for feeding and looking after them.”

“How’s the girl, ma’am?”

“She’s hurting, but she’ll be all right.”

Bill Wassall shook his head. “It’s beyond me how and who,” he said cautiously, looking down at the children. He carried the turkey halves to an iron roasting pan, dumped them in, and covered the pan with an iron lid. After washing his hands in a basin, he took out his pocket watch and flipped open the lid. “All right, Dillon, it’s time.” He reached into the wagon and brought out a large cowbell. “I told Dillon he could call the men to the meetin’.”

“Me too?” Jane Ann asked.

“Yup, you too, missy.”

Addie now looked at the pudgy little man in a different light. The bitterness she had felt toward him since the day they arrived had vanished. She stood back and watched a grinning Dillon vigorously swing the bell. It was heavy and soon his arms tired. Bill took the bell and handed it to Jane Ann. She was able to swing it only a few times before Bill took it and the loud clanging went on.

The men, coming from their various duties, began to gather. Walking with the children back to the wagon, Addie was stopped by a shout from Colin.

“Miss Addie! Looky what’s comin.”

Addie turned in the direction of Colin’s pointed finger. The sight that greeted her was far grander than the parade that was staged in Freepoint when the war ended.

Leading the procession on handsome horses were a man in a dark suit and a woman mounted sidesaddle. Her riding clothes were hunter green, as was the plumed hat perched on her high-piled blond hair. Behind the pair were six Union soldiers riding two by two. A short distance behind the soldiers was another small group of horsemen. They rode into the clearing, moved back to the tree line, stopped, and sat their horses while they held a discussion, then dismounted.

The herders and bull-whackers gawked at the newcomers as they moved forward to stand in a group apart. It was so quiet that you could hear the cry of a whippoorwill and, from a distance, the sad call of a mourning dove.

John moved out from the cook wagon and held up his hand. When he had the attention of the gathering, he began to speak.

“It is customary that at the beginning of each trip I speak of the routine we’ll follow and the rules we’ll stick to until we reach our destination. All but a few of you have made this trip with me before, and you know that I do not permit drinking on the trail or in camp. One drunk man could cause half a dozen of you to be killed. If I catch a man drunk or drinking, he’ll be forked on a horse and cast out regardless of where we are.

“We will travel eight or ten miles a day until the oxen become seasoned; after that I hope to make twelve to fifteen. The night herders will ride in and wake the camp at three o’clock in the morning. They then sleep while the rest of us yoke up and roll out within thirty to forty-five minutes. At ten o’clock we make camp and have the first meal of the day. At that time the animals will be watered and staked out to eat. Repairs, if needed, will be made during the midday stop.

“In the middle of the afternoon we yoke up again and travel until after sundown. The wagons will be circled every night to form an improvised fort in case we are attacked, or a corral to hold the stock during a storm. A favorite time for an attack is in the morning when we’re yoking up. During the confusion and distraction, hostile Indians or renegades hope to catch us unprepared. In the evening when the train is going into camp is another moment of opportunity for them. We will be especially watchful during those times.

“It will take the combined efforts of all of us to get this train safely across the territories. We have the best wagons made—Espenshieds, built in Saint Louis, and the best head bull-whacker in the business, Dal Rolly. Cleve Stark, assistant wagon boss, has made this trip more times than I have. He knows what he’s about. Listen to what he tells you. If we reach our destination without the loss of a man or a wagon, a bonus awaits you.

“I will be available at any time to hear your suggestions or your grievances. One more thing. We have provided you with the best cook between the Mississippi and the Rocky Mountains. From time to time you’ll see game along the trail. We kill nothing we don’t eat. Bill will pass the word when he needs fresh meat.”

When John finished speaking he wondered if he should have mentioned the Van Winkle party. If they were joining the train, the men were entitled to know. While he was mulling over the thought, the men began to break up into small groups and move back to lounge beside the wagons they were assigned to. John spotted Addie and the children and moved toward them. He was intercepted by the judge.

“Word with you, Tallman.”

“Go ahead.”

“Private word, if you please.”

John moved into the shade of one of the freighters. The judge followed.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” John asked bluntly.

“I have no choice but to go with you.”

“You can wait here for another train to come along. There should be one or two more this season.”

“I cannot afford to wait. I’ll be late for my appointment as it is.”

“Then go to Fort Smith and hire a guide.”

“I thought I had one.”

“Buffer Simmons? You lost him when you let those dressed-up jackass soldiers insult him. He wouldn’t have taken you across anyway without my train. He knows the dangers.”

“Did I understand you to say you start the day at three in the morning?”

“You did. Each one of my wagons weighs three tons. I don’t work my oxen in the heat of the day.”

“You’re not making it easy for us, are you?”