Authors: Dorothy Garlock
“They could hire one. If I understand it right, it’s old Whitaker’s money that’s paying for this one.”
“There’s been three teachers here this past year. One even stuck it out for a month. One stayed three days. One kid let loose a jar of ants in his bed, another a hornets’ nest in the schoolroom. One of the little devils put a frog in his coffeepot. But when the Perkins boy put a rattlesnake in his desk drawer, he took off like a scalded cat.”
“It isn’t Miss Gray’s fault that folks can’t make their younguns behave so a teacher will stay.” Trell went to the door to see Havelshell walking back up the street with a group of men, talking and gesturing with his hands.
“Makes no never mind,” Harvey was saying. “Folks’ll give her a cold shoulder and no help a’tall. She could stay out there and starve, and nobody would lift a hand to help her.”
“Not even you, Harvey?” Trell asked.
“Well … yes, but folks’d not like it. Say … a feller was in here askin’ ’bout you when ya was here last. Asked if ya was a McCall from over near Laramie. I’d not thought much of it, but he was a stranger and wore two tied-down guns. Don’t trust a man, somehow, with two tied-down guns.”
“Could’ve been someone who had seen me over around Laramie.”
“He asked where your place was.”
“I suppose you obliged him.”
“No reason not to.”
“Any mail for me?”
“No. You expectin’ some?”
Trell ignored the question and went to the door. “I got to be getting on. See you the next time I’m in town.”
“I’d look out for that feller, McCall. He might be up to no good.”
“I’ll do that. Thanks.”
Trell stopped at the mercantile on his way out of town. A group of people were gathered on the porch. Two women were among them, and one was commenting loud and long about the teacher for the Indian school.
“It’s a cryin’ shame that them heathens has got a teacher and our younguns ain’t. Wait till I see that Havelshell. Seems like he could’ve done somethin’.”
“We might’a had one if Otis Perkins had taken a board to the backside of that kid of his.”
“Hell, the kid was bigger than that little pip-squeak of a teacher. I ain’t blamin’ the boy for not wantin’ to be bossed around by a silk-shirted namby-pamby.”
“Law! It ain’t decent fer a woman to be out there all by her ownself. Ever’ horny drifter in the country will be a makin’ a path to Whitaker’s place.” The woman who spoke took the snuff stick from her mouth, dipped it in her snuff can and stuck it back in the corner of her mouth.
“Harrumph!” another snorted. “Maybe it’s what she was lookin’ for—coming all this way without a man.”
Trell nodded to the men that he knew on the porch and went into the darkened store. He passed the clutter of harness, tools, and leather goods and made straight for the cracker barrel. He took out a handful, stuck one in his mouth and headed for the counter.
“Howdy, McCall. It’s been a while since you’ve been in.”
“Not so long. Needed to get my horse shod. Give me a couple cans of peaches, a bag of salt, one of cornmeal, and five pounds of coffee. Grind it in that fancy grinder you got there. New, isn’t it?”
“You bet. Ain’t it a dandy?” The near-bald clerk had a waxed mustache that twitched when he grinned. “It’ll grind that five pounds all at one whack.”
“You don’t say? Well, load her up and let me see what she can do.”
The clerk turned the giant red wheel and the aroma of freshly ground coffee beans wafted up.
“Did you see Whitaker’s teacher?” the clerk asked as he poured the ground coffee into a cloth sack.
“Yeah. Nice-lookin’ lady.”
“That damn Whitaker had everyone fooled. The old son of a bitch had a whole pisspot full of money and gave it all to the damn Indians for a school. Don’t that beat all?”
“It was his money. He could do with it what he wanted.”
“They say he had three or four little bastards by a couple of Shoshoni squaws. It sure rankled old Havelshell to have the managin’ of things taken out of his hands. He only gets to handle this end. He’ll get rid of the woman as soon as he can. You can bank on it.”
“Why would he want to do that?”
“Guess there’s a lot goin’ on ’round here you don’t know about.”
“Guess there is.”
“He don’t want no strangers nosin’ around who could be gettin’ word back to the Indian Bureau. He might lose his job.” The clerk lowered his voice. “He’s got him a good thin’ goin’. Big herd of cattle come in every fall to feed the Indians over the winter. Not all them steers make it to the reservation, I’m told.”
“That kind of talk is dangerous unless you’ve got something to back it up.”
“I ain’t tellin’ it to just anybody what comes along.”
“Good idea. Tally my bill. I’ll pay and be on my way.”
Trell picked up his purchases. The crowd on the porch had increased since he had come into the store, and he had to step into the street to pass. Havelshell had joined the group and was trying to soothe the feathers ruffled by the arrival of the teacher for the Indian school. Trell noticed that Havelshell was also enjoying the crowd’s rapt attention to every word he said. Trell was tempted to stay and listen, but he wanted to get back home before dark.
The Sweetwater River was high because of the heavy rains in the mountains. Trell traversed it at one of the few rock crossings. His ranch was beyond and upriver from the Whitaker place. Old Whitaker had been dead some time before Trell’s move onto the land that he and his brother had contracted to buy, but he had been by the old man’s place a time or two. The house was a squat, solid affair. It had good outbuildings and set of corrals. It was right along the edge of the Indian reservation.
His own house was small and tight and set back from the Sweetwater River. Little by little he had added a few furnishings and had built it with plans to add on if the need ever arose. It suited him just fine.
Trell rode through tall grass toward the foothills. From somewhere across the meadow he heard a meadowlark. That song was a sound he had loved since he was a boy.
His thoughts suddenly turned to Virginia Gray. He’d bet that she was a lot like his sister-in-law Mara Shannon. He had caught only a glimpse of flashing green eyes, but he’d seen plainly the set of her stubborn chin and the squaring of her shoulders as she prepared to do battle with Havelshell. Her features, her statuesque figure, and her regal bearing were striking. Yet it was not so much her pretty face that lingered in his memory, but her spirit and her fearlessness. Only a brave woman or a fool would come into this wilderness alone. And he doubted that Miss Virginia Gray was a fool.
He wanted to see her again … close-up. Of course, an educated woman like her wouldn’t want anything to do with a rancher who had only a handful of steers and several hundred head of wild horses to his name. Hell, he reasoned, he could still call on her, take her a haunch of deer meat. Be neighborly.
If just half of what he’d heard about Havelshell’s dealings at the Agency were true, the lady was going to have a tough row to hoe. All the way home Trell mulled over reasons why he should call on Miss Gray at Stoney Creek, and why he should not.
The land they were passing through was beautiful, but Jenny was too tired to enjoy it. To add to her tiredness, Beatrice’s,
“Jenny, I’m hungry,”
had frayed her nerves to the breaking point.
“How much farther, Mr—?”
“Wilson. But call me Frank.” He turned and stared at her for the hundredth time since they left town.
“How much farther?” she repeated the question.
“Ten miles … maybe.”
“How far from town?” she asked tight-lipped.
“Twenty miles or more.”
“We’re only halfway? Mr. Havelshell said it wasn’t far.”
“’Taint. Hell, some folks have to go a hundred miles to get to town.”
“I’ll thank you not to swear in front of the children.”
“That ain’t swearin’. Now if ya want to hear some puredee old hoedown swearin’—”
“I don’t.”
“What’s a high-toned woman like you doin’ out here?”
“That is none of your business, Mr. Wilson.” The question wiped all traces of politeness from her expression and blunted her speech.
He grinned, showing a row of white teeth. “I’m a beggin’ your pardon, ma’am.”
“I’m sorry for being short with you. This has been a very trying day. I was hoping to have a conversation with Mr. Havelshell. He is the Indian agent, isn’t he?”
“Yes, ma’am. Headquarters is on the reservation ‘bout five miles from Stoney Creek. Got a store there for the Indians, but spends most of his time in town. He reads law, you know.”
“I was told that. Why is it that I have to buy my supplies in town? Why can’t I trade at his store on the reservation?”
“Don’t know.” Frank wrinkled his brow. “He don’t care much for white folks goin’ out there. Says it’s for the Indians.”
The road was really just a trail, probably used by horses more than wagons. The wagon bumped along. Jenny was tired, but there was excitement in her, too. She was going to a new place, and would be doing new things. It never once occurred to her that she would fail to do the job. What she did worry about was keeping the children safe.
Jenny kept her eyes on the land ahead of them, politely refraining from probing questions. She glanced back at the girls. Beatrice had fallen asleep. Cassandra’s shoulders drooped, disappointment in every line of her young body. Circumstances back home had robbed her of much of her childish eagerness. She was so bright. She needed stimulation to learn. Jenny had brought material to teach her, but was it enough?
Jenny sighed deeply. This was the best she could do. She consoled herself with the thought.
“What do you do, Mr. Wilson?” she asked, brushing unhappy thoughts from her mind.
“Oh, this and that, I reckon.”
“Do you have regular employment?” She stole a surreptitious glance at the holstered gun on his side.
“I work for a rancher over near Forest City.”
“Doing cowboy work?”
“Yeah,” he said, and grinned again.
The man had been respectful enough—considering his rough ways, but something about him irritated her. Behind the curly brown beard he tried to hide a smirk as if he had a secret he was itching to tell.
They traveled steadily westward through an emptiness of grass and sky; distance and openness were all around them. The country they were passing through was the most beautiful Jenny had ever seen. Birds rose from the tall grass along the trail as they approached. The mountains were a purple shadow in the distance. She normally would have been enthralled by the landscape, but fatigue and the pain in her back that came from sitting on the hard, lowbacked wagon seat nagged at her.
They had passed one homestead shortly after they left town. For the past couple of hours the only sign of civilization she had seen was a herd of cattle and a deserted shack. Even the wagon track seemed seldom used.
“I was told the Whitaker land was next to the reservation, but I didn’t realize it was so … isolated.”
“Isolated? What’s that mean?”
“Means set apart. Are there no homesteads nearby?”
“Couple.”
When it became obvious he was not going to say more, Jenny prodded.
“Farmers?”
He laughed as if she had said something terribly funny.
“People don’t farm out here, lady. Oh, some grow little patches of this and that. Mostly they run cattle or sheep. There’s a horse ranch across the river and ’bout five miles up. Squatters has set up on Whitaker land four or five miles south. Havelshell just heard about ’em. He’ll have ’em off afore they got time to spit.”
“Why will he do that?”
“’Cause they ain’t supposed to be there, that’s why.”
“Surely Mr. Havelshell doesn’t have all the say about who squats on Whitaker land. I’d think that on six square miles of land there would be room for a dozen or more homesteaders.”
Frank chuckled. “Tell him that.”
“I will. Who owns that herd of cows we passed?”
Frank laughed so loud and so long, she wanted to kick him.
“Those cows belong to the Sweetwater Cattle Company.”
“What so funny?” she asked irritably.
“They’re steers, lady. Not cows.”
“Why are they on Whitaker land?”
“Havelshell is the Sweetwater Cattle Company. Ask him.”
“I will,” she said again firmly. She turned to look at her sister, who sat uncomfortably on the feed sacks behind the wagon seat. “Are you all right, honey?”
“No, I’m not all right. I doubt if I’ll ever be again.”
Cassandra had removed her bonnet. The warm sun beat down on her small freckled face and dark auburn hair. Jenny understood the child’s feelings.
Frank hauled on the reins and drew the sweating team to a halt.
“Why are we stopping?” Jenny asked.
“Deer yonder,” he said, taking the rifle from beneath the seat. “I’ll get you some fresh meat.”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind!” Jenny’s voice was shrill. “You will not kill that animal in front of the children.”
Wilson looked at her as if she had lost her mind. “Wh … at the hell?”
“Are you deaf?” She fired the words at him. “I would not allow you to kill that deer even if the children were not present. She has a young one. Can’t you see it?”
“Hell, yes, I see it. What difference does that make?”
“The difference, Mr. Wilson, is that the fawn would starve or be brought down by wolves if you kill the mother. Any fool should be able to figure that out.”
“Anyone that lets fresh meat go by is the fool!” For a long moment their eyes locked. “We’ll see how ya feel about it come winter when ya ain’t got none.” He slid the rifle back under the seat, picked up the reins and slapped them unnecessarily hard against the team’s back. The unexpected blow sent the horses lunging forward.
“Now are you convinced, Virginia,” Cassandra said when the wagon was moving again.
“Convinced of what, honey?”
“That these are barbaric people and this a barbaric land.”
“I wouldn’t go that far. They just need some … enlightenment.”
A snort came from Frank Wilson. He cracked the whip, urging the team to greater speed. The wheels of the wagon began lifting streamers of dust into the air as the horses trotted briskly along the narrow lane.