The Prettiest Girl in the Land (The Traherns #3) (5 page)

“Thank you. I was worried about him, but couldn’t do much about
it.”

“Don’t fret. I’ll make sure he’s taken care of during the
journey.”

“He must need water,” I said, looking back at Travers. He was
panting, but looked more hot than thirsty.

“I gave him a drink before I put him up there. When they slowed
down on that steep stretch a ways back. He should still be fine.”

I was impressed. Here I had been jostled and banged around
between those two portly gents, worrying myself thin over Travers, and Gage had
been a’seein’ to him all along. Just knowin’ someone was taking care of Travers
made the thought of twenty-two more days of riding in that stage bearable.

I suddenly realized that Gage had been at the stage before me,
loading it. That meant that he had had to take an earlier boat up the river.
That also meant that he had not seen me off at the boarding house because he
wasn’t there. I had misjudged him. He hadn’t been sleeping in, he’d been up and
gone before me.

I watched him ride over to give the driver a hand. I’d never
seen Gage work before, and I watched closely as he helped him water the horses
from the shallow well set in the rocks.

The passengers climbed back inside the stage, taking the same
seats as before. “Ruth,” I told myself, “you can either speak up, or spend the
journey wedged between those two gents, ready to pop like a trip on a trap.”

I stood on the top step and looked the situation over. The old
me would have suffered in silence, but the new me straightened my backbone, put
both hands on the plow, and spoke up.

“You two change seats, please,” I asked, splitting up the portly
men so there was one on each side. “That’s better.” This time I was between the
talkative portly man and one of the other gents, who was thinner and allowed me
some breathin’ room.

“Would you like to sit by the window, Ma’am?” the thinner gent
asked.

“No, thank you. The sides of this stage are mighty hard when the
horses are moving full out. I can see enough, now that I know my dog is taken
care of.”

“He looks part wolf.”

“I think maybe so. He’s a good traveler.”

“You knew one of our outriders?”

“Yes. An old acquaintance.”

“I’m Joshua Smithson. I’m writing a journal of the trip for my
newspaper back east. My editor figured people would be interested in what it
was like. If you could give me any quotes from a female passenger’s view, I’d
appreciate it.”

“Well, you’d want to make sure your eyeballs were tied in, or
you’d lose them.”

He started to laugh and the rest of the gents broke up, too.
“That’s for sure!”

I never considered myself funny, so it did me good to see them
enjoyin’ my comment. Part of it was the timing, for I’d said it just before the
offside wheels dropped into a rut and just about swung everyone off their seat
and onto the floor.

Once those gents got to talking, I heard a lot about different
stage routes, river crossings, Indians and robbers. Seems one of those men had
done a lot of traveling, and each of the rest, being in different trades, and
had a story to tell. Even the talkative portly gent had been in a stage that
got carried downriver. An outrider dropped a loop over him and popped him out
like a calf being born.

“And I think I was just as wet. I hope none of that happens this
trip,” he added.

“What do you make of the dust and the roughness of the country?”
asked the newspaper man.

“You’re asking the wrong woman those questions. I’ve walked
across Tennessee and part of Kentucky. Dirt don’t bother me. Neither does rough
country.”

That evening we stopped at a small station where they had food
for us and fresh horses.

Travers jumped down and came to me, tail wagging slowly. “So you
decided to ride, did you?” I looked over to Gage, who was tending to the stock.
He seemed right at home with the harnesses and the reins, helping get the new
team hitched up.

Travers took off, following his nose, and I hoped the game he
found was wild and not part of the small farm that was being used as a station.

Gage came and joined us for the quick meal, sitting beside me at
the table.

He had washed and cleaned up, and was the most presentable man
there.

“It’s good to have you along, Gage. How did you get hired on as
an outrider?”

“Asked.”

I waited for him to say more, but I guess he could be quiet when
he chose to be. “Where were you during the war?” I asked.

“Out on the western front. I was riding for the Confederates.
They wanted men who knew the frontier.” He paused, shook his head. “I pray we
never have another war where brother fights brother. You know, Trey almost shot
your cousin, Matthew. Shook him up.”

“I guess it would. He and Matthew were close. They were always
racing their horses and seein’ whose mule could pull the most.”

“I remember. Always competing. But let anyone else challenge
them and they teamed up like two geese defending a baby chick.”

“You say Trey almost shot Matthew?”

“He saw Matthew sneaking back to his lines after a battle, and
he rode over and cut him off. Had his gun out ready to fire, if’n Matthew
hadn’t stopped and give up. A prize, for Matthew was a Reb colonel.”

“What did Trey do?”

“Ordered him back to camp to interrogate him, then send him on
to Morton. He said he gave orders to tie Matthew up, and had dismounted when
the Reb called him by name.”

“That would’ve shocked him.”

“He was shocked by how much weight Matthew had lost. And he knew
if he sent Matthew to Morton, he probably wouldn’t live out the war.”

“What did he do?”

“He had Matthew brought to his tent for questioning, and untied
him so he could eat. Naturally, Matthew wouldn’t tell him any battle plans, but
they spent a few moments talking about family and what had happened to the ones
they knew about. Several were killed, including one of your other brothers,
Harrison. You knew about that, didn’t you?”

I swallowed. “No, but Jonas thought so. He never sent word
back.”
Now
I knew.

“Anyway, Trey left Matthew untied and turned his back long
enough for him to slip away. Trey said his superior officer was fit to be tied,
but the private who Trey left guarding Matthew had no explanation as to how he
got away.”

“When did you meet up with Trey?”

“After the war. I was riding to Ft. Kearney, and met Trey on the
trail, chasing some men who had tried to kill him. They’d stolen his horses and
outfit. He sent some items with me, back to his wife at the fort.”

“It seems strange to know that Trey is married.”

“To a fine gal. Mally Buchanan. Lived close to where my folks
lived. She’s purt near your age. When you’ve had enough of California, I’ll
take you to see them. They’re up north, in the Blue Mountains. I’m sure Trey
would marvel-like to see his sister.”

“I’ll think about that,” I said. I didn’t tell him I was looking
for my Boaz, for men would probably think something like that very strange.

After we ate the driver gathered us passengers around and asked
who could shoot.

“We’ve never had an Indian attack, mainly ‘cause we use mules
through Indian territory, and they’d rather have the horses. Still I always
reckon it’s better to know who can shoot and who can’t before the fighting
starts.”

We walked out to a place where he’d set up some tin cans. He had
some rifles propped up next to a stump, including mine. Now I never did much
target shooting, as we didn’t waste bullets in the mountains. Here was
something to shoot that didn’t shoot back or run away. It hit me as funny.

“My money’s on the lady,” Gage said. “Those targets are too big
and too close.”  He moved the shooting line back about ten feet and handed
me my rifle.

“Show ‘em how it’s done, Ruth.”

I didn’t want him to make any money on me, and glared at him.

“Come on. I know Trey taught you. You wouldn’t let him down now,
would you?”

Well, he had me there. I picked up my rifle, checked the rounds,
then blasted the furthest can into the air and shot it as it was comin down for
good measure. Then I handed the rifle back to the driver and stepped back.

“Oh, my. I’m glad I didn’t bet,” said the much-traveled gent. He
picked up a rifle and shot a can, then handed it to the next man. Most hit what
they were aiming for, including one of the portly gents. The other one declined
to even touch the guns. “I can load, if someone shows me how,” he said.

“This is better than usual,” the driver said. “If we have to
shoot, I know you can do it.”

“I haven’t seen any sign of Indians,” said one of the
passengers. I looked at Gage and could tell by his expression that he had.

I got out my cleaning kit and commenced to clean the barrel,
wrapping it up afterwards to keep sand out of it, then checking the rounds. It
was the rifle Trey had used to teach me, when I could just ‘bout steady the
weight. I’d do anything big brother asked of me, and he took all of us kids out
into the woods and made sure we could hunt and fish and handle firearms
correctly. Our table never went bare, no matter how tough times got. And that
double shooting was for shooting a duck on the pond and a second one in the
air.

I knew Gage could shoot like that, for I’d seen him. Trey told
me I was a natural shooter, for some folks try and never really learn. I just
looked at what I was shooting at and hit it, like I was pointing my finger at
it. If  I tried to aim, I’d miss it, so I never bothered bringing the
rifle up to my face. Just pointed and shot.

Trey told me never to aim, so I didn’t.

“Miss, with your dog and your gun, I reckon the men will just
weed themselves out for you,” the driver said as we got back in the stage to
leave.

I looked my question.

“Aint none but a very confident man goin to try for your hand.
Still, you be careful in ‘Frisco. There’s some mighty mean men thar, lowlife
who act like they’re the prime of the earth. I won’t want you fallin for one of
them. Even these men. They may not be what they seem. That one,” he pointed at
Gage, “he watches you all the time. You be careful of him.”

I was looking for my Boaz, and he would be the prime of the
earth. I just had to find him.

We traveled all day and all night, every night. I felt like a
rug that had been hung over a limb and whacked clean with willow branches. Just
twenty-two days, they’d told me. Twenty-two days until we reached Frisco. The
stage was not a comfortable way to travel, but watching some people being
jostled on the wagon seats as they went by made me realize the stage handled
the ruts bettern’ most. It swayed side to side rather than up and down. 

The portly gent who couldn’t shoot was from England. He and one
man who had been a sailor said it was like riding a boat in the ocean. I
wouldn’t know, but I did find out what sea-sickness felt like.

The road was being used by freight wagons and every sort of
conveyance, and some of the ruts were getting mighty deep. The wheels on all
the vehicles were not the same apart, so we’d run along a rut for awhile,
bounce out of it and drop into a different set.

We had to sleep where we were sitting and eat whatever they had
to feed us. On the second day, they switched to mules. When we got ready to
start again, Travers ran up to the stage and sat down, looking up at the top
pile of luggage. One of the Wells Fargo men reached down to pick him up and he
growled at him.

Then Gage rode over, jumped down, grabbed Travers by the scruff
of the neck, put a hand under his rump, and heaved him in the air. That dog
flew up to the top and landed amid the luggage, just like a suitcase thrown up
there. He settled himself down for the day behind the new driver who was to
take us over this stretch.

Gage saw me watching and made me a courtly bow. I laughed. If
Travers allowed Gage to do that to him, I figured he’d allow him most anything
and it set my mind to ease.

We humped and bumped our way to the next station. Once we
crossed a river where they had built a bridge for the coach. We all got out and
walked while the driver took the stage across. Looking down at that swiftly
moving water, I knew I sure didn’t want to be trapped in no coach if it went
in. The bridge was narrow, barely wide enough for the coach itself, and looked
like it would float away with any good flood.

The smaller streams, we splashed across. The deeper ones, Gage
and the other outrider would throw their ropes on the upstream side of the
coach and hold it steady while we crossed.

The driver had a little bugle that he’d blow when we got close
to a station, alerting the men there to get the teams ready. He’d blow it again
just before we pulled up. They had the team ready to switch, and we jumped out
of the coach, stretched our legs and jumped back in. They didn’t waste any
time, especially on the passengers. The mail was the important thing, for the
government paid them a lot to make sure it was delivered in less than
twenty-five days.