Jodi's Journey (21 page)

The Canadian River was up and Hunt felt it
best to rest the herd before trying to cross. The grass was fairly
tall and good grazing would help fatten them. He rested the cattle
for a couple of days. But there was a tension in the air that was
unexplainable, and each man felt it.

The Canadian didn't go down, though, and a
storm kicked up as they waited. Lightning like no one had seen
before came out of the sky, its lights dancing on the end of the
horns then down along the edge of the earth. But this lightning
rolled along the gulleys, then streaked the plains like a silver
spear. There was little protection from the storms on the prairie.
Cowboys were at as much risk as the cattle. Trees were a sure thing
of the past. No oaks, no willows, nothing but an occasional
cottonwood along a spring. And most of them had been mangled by the
severe weather. Willy lost his hat in the last creek bed trying to
hurry the cattle across. So when a huge hail began to pelt the
ground, Hunt knew they were in trouble.

He sang, but it was to no avail. The hail was
so loud it drowned his voice. He instructed Jodi to keep the wagon
in site at all times. Jodi didn't balk at this, as she saw the
storm was raging and did the best she could to protect the supplies
in the wagon. Every man had a slicker and was wearing them, but
Willy had no hat. After much consideration for his job and the
situation, Hunt insisted Willy join Jodi in the wagon, claiming
that Jodi needed help, for he knew Willy would feel concern for the
horses. Instead, he put Matt on the remuda temporarily.

The hail was large and there wasn't anything
anyone could do to stop it. Jodi even loaned out a few pots to
cover some of their heads. The cattle milled, then the winds got
up, and they started drifting. Hunt was hoping this wouldn't happen
because it took time off the trail. They drifted for hours, the
drovers being able to do nothing but stay up with them. When the
wind whistled its lonely call, they had no choice. It could, and
did, take them miles off the trail. “Stay with them,” he called to
his men one by one.

Bone weary and soaking wet, they sat the
saddle the entire night, drifting away from the trail for miles.
Daylight brought no reprieve as the wind and rain continued.

Hunt was glad the men knew instinctively what
to do, but he worried over each and every one of them, and the
first thing he did the next morning was run a check on everyone.
Several of them had injuries and he sent them to Jodi for
treatment. Sparky had a severe burn that she doctored, and told him
to rest up for a while.

Worse for wear, but alive, they all checked
in, and although some got some sleep before morning, others sat the
saddle the entire night and into the next day.

Hunt quickly realized they had gone off the
trail about ten or fifteen miles. It would take a couple of days to
get back to it. Resigned to finding the trail once more, Hunt
struck his course and the men all obeyed his orders.

Josh reported several blood blisters where
the hail had came down on him so hard. It was a new experience for
him and he was shocked at the damage it had done to him. Willy was
just glad he’d had some protection. Without a hat, his head would
have been swollen like a watermelon since he was the only man
completely bald.

Jodi treated them all gently that night,
offering comfort of witch hazel.

She prided herself with stocking the best of
medicines for the men. Some were recognized like cod liver oil,
camphor, laudanum. Others were a mixture of old remedies her family
had handed down to her.

Some of men barely got off their horse before
they hit the ground and were sound asleep. Food wasn't as important
right now. Sleep was. Jodi did her best to not disturb them. She
knew they needed rest.

After the Canadian, they went on through
North Fork and Prairie Spring. There were many smaller creeks to
cross, but the cattle seemed to become used to the water, and
swimming across became easier when it was necessary. There was King
Fisher Creek, Red Fork, Turkey Creek, and Hackberry Creek and
Shawnee Creek, then on to Salt Fork.

At Pond Creek, Hunt spotted a huge herd of
buffalo grazing ever northward. It was like someone had colored the
prairie with a dark brown. As far as one could see, there were
buffalo. He knew all the drovers wanted to hunt them, it was a
sport no cowboy could pass up, so he left two drovers on guard, the
ones who managed more rest, and gave the rest of them their wish.
They deserved it, Hunt thought with a smile.

He told them, though, to only take what they
could eat or use, not to waste.

He hadn't joined them as they had Indians
visiting from the reservation.

“Want heap good tobacco,” the Indians cried
in broken English.

Hunt nodded. “All right, I'll give you some
supplies. Tobacco, food, a couple of beeves, maybe.”

“Want horses,” one cried out.

“No horses.” Hunt shook his head. “We've a
ways to go, and we are horse poor.”

The Indians didn't like his answer, but they
settled for what Hunt offered. They were determined to stay for
dinner, too. Perhaps they wouldn't have settled so easy if Hunt
hadn't spoken with firm determination. He knew the one thing he
couldn't do around Indians was be indecisive. When he said
something, he had to do it. No matter how silly or ridiculous it
might be, he had to stand firm. They expected it.

Jodi frowned at all the company Hunt had
invited, but she managed to put together quite a large meal and the
Indians seemed to enjoy it. They had brought a couple of squaws
with them, and they sat with her during the meal. She tried to
converse with them, but she didn't understand most of their
conversation.

It wasn't long after they finished eating
that she tried to engage them in a conversation alone. “Black
Cohosh, do you have such? Tansy, rue...anything?”

“No co-hosh.” The squaw shook her head.
“Tansy!”

Jodi was desperate now and had to figure some
way to show them. Pulling them further from the camp, she made
motions of her problems and the squaws seemed to understand. They
giggled between themselves. They agreed to return the following
night with what she needed.

Hunt found her later that evening sitting on
the ground, trying to rest up.

“Who's the father, Jodi?” he asked not
bothering to lead up to the subject. He was bone tired and his
expression held no room for silly answers.

She clammed up.

“Well, I've only seen you with one man, if
you could call him that. Hershel Walker, but you claim you loathe
the man. It just doesn't add up, unless he got you pregnant and
left you. That might be the case. I could see where you'd be pretty
angry about that. But trying to hurt the baby to get at him…” Hunt
seemed to watch her expression as he spoke, as though waiting for
her to make a slip.

She hadn't told him she was trying to get rid
of the baby. He had guessed, or had seen her talking to the Indian
squaws. Jodi frowned at his powerful presence. She felt his
scrutinizing gaze on her. She knew she should tell him everything.
After all, he'd done a great job of getting the herd through and as
peaceably as anyone could have done. Still, that didn't
automatically entitle him to know about her personal life. Only the
fact that they were married entitled him. But her pride kept her
from it. Maybe he wouldn't believe her. Maybe he'd think she was
just cheap, and no good. Not that it mattered what he thought….but
it did, somehow. And admitting that made her rethink him. Had she
judged him too quickly? Not once had she given him the benefit of
the doubt about the war.

“Is that why you hate him?” Hunt continued to
probe for answers.

“You're so smart, you figure it out,” she
said, and got up and went back to camp.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

The men were back in no time. It took three
of them to drag the buffalo to camp. They were tired, dusty, and
happy.

“So, let's hear the story.” Hunt smiled as
they settled into camp.

Josh glanced at the other two and smiled.
“The land was dark with the buffalo filling it up, but we soon had
the herd in a full run. A stampeded herd of buffalo made more noise
than thunder. The earth rumbled beneath us. The noise they made was
deafening. Thinking they were like cattle, we aimed our pistols at
the skull. It was the way to down a longhorn, we all knew, but it
seemed to do no good with the buffalo. After repeated tries, we
aimed for the large hump on their back, which still did no good.
Determined to fell one, Willy and Concho finally tried to rope one.
It was a bad mistake, for no sooner had they gotten the rope around
one buffalo, then the buffalo jerked Willy off his horse. Me and
Concho finally felled him as we aimed under the shoulder.

“The buffalo went down with a thud that shook
the ground beneath us. We were all so happy we jumped up and down
and did a dance around the carcass.”

“Your first buffalo hunt. Well, you did good,
boys.”

Willy and Concho skinned the buffalo and
dressed him, giving only the choicest cuts to Jodi to prepare for
supper. Jodi watched, fascinated that Willy and Concho were so good
at the process. She'd never seen a buffalo skinned, nor eaten its
meat.

She decided she would soak it over night in
vinegar and cook it in a pit the next night. Buffalo had to be
tough meat, it was a tough animal, she reasoned.

It was late when the first shift bedded down.
Jodi was very exhausted. She went to sleep sitting up in the
wagon.

Hunt came in, the first time since early in
the drive. He saw her asleep in the corner, and as he threw his hat
down and removed his gun belt, he sat beside her and pulled her
into his arms. He wasn't sure why he felt so protective over her.
He only knew that she had really had a rough time of it, and he
wanted to help her. A woman on a drive, and in a way, how could
that be? But it was.

As her body warmed him, he sighed heavily
against her and his lips grazed the top of her head. She whimpered
in her sleep; he pulled her closer. Just for the night, he'd be her
husband, but he still vowed he wouldn't touch her. He smiled as he
remembered telling her he liked his women willing. “You have no
idea how hard it is to keep my distance, Jodi. But I will, until
someday when you can trust me.”

The next day, the Indians returned and
wouldn't let them move the cattle by bringing more braves with
them. They seemed to be trying to hold them back. Hunt stood firm
and pushed on anyway. He needed to get these cattle to market and
the Indians didn't seem to see it that way. Since these were
Comanche he was dealing with, he knew he had to tread lightly, for
they would just as soon stampede the herd as look at them.

The men were nervous and he knew they had
their guns ready for trouble. Only Hunt didn't want trouble. He
wanted to get the cattle through, and that was all. Besides, he now
had another herd to keep an eye on and his job had become much
harder. It was that herd he was worried about.

The Indians again brought their squaws with
them, and as they sat picking the lice from their hair, Jodi
prepared their grand buffalo meal. Although it did impress the
drovers and Hunt, it had no effect whatsoever on the Indians.
Perhaps they had tasted buffalo many times, Hunt reasoned. Jodi
frowned, but served them all with a sardonic smile.

This time, they were more insistent on beef,
so Hunt finally relented in sending up several drag strays that he
had intended to cut from the herd. The Indians were not picky about
the meat and they spent the better part of the evening skinning the
cattle right there in camp and cutting up the meat to take with
them. They wasted nothing. Some of the squaws ate the meat raw.
Jodi gagged as she watched them. They thought nothing of the blood
running down their chins.

Jodi was cleaning the dishes when one of the
squaws came up to her and handed her a bag. She wasn't sure she
understood what to do with it. She tried asking several times, but
she didn't understand them. The squaw smiled and went away after
she took it.

The Indians disappeared very quickly and the
drovers bedded down for the night.

Jodi went inside the wagon and sat there
looking at the contents of the small bag that could change her
life. What was she supposed to do with the herb? Did she steep it
like a tea and drink it? Did she cook it in food? Did they expect
her to eat it like that? Why couldn't they have communicated with
her enough to tell her or show her how to use it?

She realized with irony that, although they
had brought her a possible solution, it did her little good unless
she knew how much to take and how to take it. Tears fell down her
cheeks and she silently cried for a long time. Was this some kind
of strange payback?

Finally, she stashed it under a bedroll and
closed her eyes.

Was God himself against her doing this?
Didn't he sympathize with her problem? He and he alone knew she'd
been raped. Why couldn't he let her get rid of this child?

The questions only brought turmoil. She
needed to escape from it all. She needed some release to it. How
could she end things? And she knew that until she ended this, she
couldn't go on with her life.

The more she thought of it, the more her
tears fell.

Suddenly, without warning, Hunt came inside.
He took one look at her and opened his arms to her.

Jodi sat there, staring at him, but when he
sat down beside her, she didn't protest as he pulled her to him. He
was warm and strong and so comforting; she couldn't refuse.

“Someday, you're going to tell me about it,
Jodi,” he whispered. “Someday.”

Out of the blue, she gazed up at him, stopped
her crying and pleaded, “W…would you sing to me?”