Travis (4 page)

There must have been a hundred buggies and covered wagons stretched out along the creek and some men with just a horse and a blanket spread out by campfires.

They approached the first wagon and Violet gave the lady her saddest smile. “Please, ma’am, we’re all orphans and we’re hungry. Could you spare us a little of that bird you’re cooking?”

The woman shook her head. “Sorry, honey, I got five kids of my own in the wagon and this might barely feed them.”

Boo Hoo began to cry again as they walked to the next wagon. A middle-aged farmer was stirring a pot of chili.

“Please, mister,” Violet said, “we’re orphans and we’re hungry. Could you spare us a little?”

He looked Violet up and down in a way that made her skin crawl. “How old are you, honey?”

“Thirteen.”

The man grinned. “Young, just like I like ’em. You crawl into the wagon for a few minutes with me, kid, and I’ll feed all of you.”

Limpy grabbed her arm and stepped in front of her. “No, she ain’t doing that.”

“Then starve, you little beggars!” The man cursed them and they hurried away.

It was growing dark now and Violet was getting a headache. There was food aplenty for her at the Diamond Horseshoe, but she shuddered at the thought of going back there and besides, she couldn’t abandon these kids.

They next came to a buggy where a young man and woman sat by a campfire eating bread and butter.

Violet said. “Please, ma’am, we’re hungry orphans. Could you spare us a little?”

The lady had a kind face. She stared up at little Boo Hoo. “Why is she crying?”

“Because she’s hungry, ma’am,” Harold said.

The lady said to her husband. “Isn’t that the cutest baby you ever saw?”

“Now, Lucinda, don’t even think—”

“She’s an orphan, too?” the young woman asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” Violet said.

“Then why don’t you give her to me?” The young woman stood up and held out her hands. “We don’t have any children and we’d love to take—”

Boo Hoo set up a howl that could be heard a mile away and clung to Violet like a baby monkey. “No! No! Feathers! Stay with Feathers!”

Kessie, Limpy and Harold all presented a front, stepping in front of Violet. Violet said, “I’m sorry, we can’t give her away. You see, we’re all family.”

“I’d give her a good home,” the woman said.

Violet shook her head and began backing from the couple. “No, we just can’t do that.”

The five scurried away with the woman calling after them. Violet’s heart was beating hard. Maybe the couple would have given Boo Hoo a good home, but suddenly this seemed like her own little girl and she couldn’t let her go.

They walked a little farther and found an older couple with a sad-looking wagon with two worn-out old horses.

Violet hated to even ask. “Ma’am, we’re orphans and we’re all hungry. Could you spare anything? Maybe some milk for the baby?”

The old woman looked sad. “I can give you a little bread, that’s all. If we don’t get some land in this run, I don’t know what we’re gonna do.” She held out a partial loaf, and Violet took it and divided it among the children.

Kessie looked at her with a keen eye. “Violet, you ain’t gonna eat none?”

“I—I’m not hungry,” Violet lied. “You four eat it. There’ll be something better along the way.”

It was dark now as they started back down the line of campfires. They paused at another wagon and two men hunched over a campfire scowled at them. The smell of brewing coffee wafted to Violet’s nose and she wished she had a cup of it. The men appeared to be eating a hunk of beef they had roasted over the fire.

Violet said, “Please, we’re orphans. Could you spare just enough for the little ones?”

“Orphans, huh?” one man snarled. “Why are you begging? Why don’t you get jobs instead of asking honest citizens for handouts?”

“Never mind,” Violet said. “Come on, kids.”

As they walked away, Violet felt the heavy responsibility of her big, new family. Just how was she going to feed these kids? In desperation, she decided if she had to, she’d wait until the camp was asleep and try stealing food. She’d hate doing that, but these kids were hungry.

Up ahead was another camp. There were two horses tied away from the campfire, a gray and an Appaloosa grazing contentedly. A big man lay stretched out under blankets by the fire. A black pot boiled merrily and it smelled like stew. What’s more, she could smell coffee.

They walked up and stood by the sleeping man, who was still in shadow. A spotted dog with a stubby tail raised its head and began to bark at them. The man stirred slightly.

Violet cleared her throat. “Please, mister, would you be willing to share your food? We’re awfully hungry.”

“Huh? What?” The big man sat up suddenly and stared at her, evidently having trouble focusing his eyes.

Oh, dear. Violet recognized him. It was the Texas Ranger she’d seen in the gunfight earlier this afternoon.

The dog rose up from beside the fire and growled at them, but Violet was too hungry to be deterred. “Please, mister, we’re all orphans. Can you help me and my brothers and sisters?”

 

 

Travis had a tremendous headache as he tried to focus his eyes. Growler ran toward the children. “Watch out,” he yelled. “Growler don’t like people much.”

The young girl in the blue dress put the blond toddler down and the baby stopped crying and walked uncertainly toward the dog. “Puppy. My puppy.”

As Travis watched in amazement, the old dog looked at the toddler, then began to wag his stubby tail. Growler walked over to the baby and began licking her tear-stained face.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Travis said.

“Please, sir, I must insist you don’t cuss in front of the kids.”

He took a good look at the straggly crew: an indignant brown-haired girl about thirteen, a thin crippled white boy leaning on a crutch, an Oriental kid, a homely little girl with frizzy red hair and buck teeth, and the blond toddler who now had her arms wrapped around Travis’s dog, her eyes all swollen and red.

“What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

“Nothing.” The oldest girl shrugged her shoulders. “Maybe she misses her mother, that’s all.”

“Where are your parents?” His wrist was throbbing and he wished they’d all go away and let him sleep.

“We don’t have any,” answered the oldest girl. “We’re hungry. Can we have some of your stew?”

He hesitated. Feeding stray children might be like feeding a stray dog. That’s how he had ended up with Growler. He sure didn’t need a ready-made family.

“Are you deaf, mister?” the girl asked.

“No. I don’t feel like talking. Why don’t you take your little brothers and sisters someplace else?”
Any place else
, he thought.

“We got no place to go,” said the thin boy with the crutch.

The oldest girl was now by his fire dishing up a bowl of his stew.

“Hey, I didn’t say you could have that.”

“You didn’t say I couldn’t.” She handed the bowl to the Chinese kid, who began to gobble it.

“You got a lot of gall,” Travis said.

“We’re hungry,” the girl said, “and you aren’t eating it.” She took the empty bowl away from the Chinese kid, filled it and handed it to the baby. “Here, Boo Hoo, eat up.”

He’d never met a kid like her. Here she was defying him and the hungry horde was gobbling up his stew.

He had a sinking feeling that he’d just become the owner of five orphaned pups like Growler. Damn, he didn’t need any more problems than he already had, but the young girl looked determined.

Now what was he going to do?

Travis woke and looked up in the dawning light. A small white flag flapped from a branch just over his head. Had he surrendered? Or had someone surrendered to him? He couldn’t remember anything. His head felt like an iron anvil that a horseshoer was pounding hard with a steel hammer.

He blinked and focused his eyes on the white flag and realized it was actually a very small pair of white drawers flapping in the wind.

What the—? He sat up, his head aching, his wrist hurting, and tried to remember what had awakened him. Instinctively he grabbed for his pistol and leveled it at the shadowy group by his fire.

“Don’t shoot!” yelled a small voice and he identified it coming from a pretty young girl in a blue gingham dress, bent over his campfire.

“Kids?” Travis blinked and lowered the weapon. “What the hell—?”

“You really shouldn’t swear in front of children,” said the small voice.

He tried to focus. The girl was probably the oldest of the lot, maybe thirteen. Her brown hair was tied in pigtails and her eyes were a smoky lavender blue.

“Then you ought not sneak up on me like a pack of Mexican pistoleros,” he muttered and laid the Colt down. “Who are you and what do you want?”

“Don’t you remember us from last night?” The pretty young girl asked.

He shook his head, “I don’t know—maybe.”

The five looked at him and the blond toddler began to cry.

“What’s wrong with her?” Travis stared at the sobbing baby.

An Oriental boy who might have been eight or nine said, “She’s hungry. We all are.”

“Are you still drunk?” the pigtailed girl picked up the toddler. “We explained who we were last night. Now I’m making breakfast. Is that okay, mister?”

The girl had a soft Southern accent and looked determined. Besides her and the toddler and the Oriental kid, there was a scrawny white boy who might have been ten or eleven leaning on a crutch, and a homely little redheaded girl with crooked teeth.

“Looks like you’re already helping yourself to my groceries.” His wrist throbbed so badly, he wished they’d all go away and let him sleep off his laudanum and whiskey, but judging from the set jaw of the oldest girl, they weren’t leaving.

Travis took a deep breath. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

The oldest girl squared her shoulders. “You probably will be, sir, but I wish you wouldn’t swear before the kids.”

“You tell ’em, Violet,” said the fiery-haired girl.

Travis started to stand up, decided he couldn’t manage it. “It’s just that Growler never takes up with anyone and just look at him now.”

They all stared. The baby had stopped crying but had not released her grip on the dog’s neck. She grinned at everyone. “Doggie. My doggie.”

 

 

Violet took a deep breath of relief and looked toward the bacon frying in the skillet and took a sniff of the hot coffee. She looked the Ranger over carefully, thinking he was big enough and tough enough to take care of a woman and a bunch of kids. “Please, sir, I’m an orphan and so are all these children. My name is Violet. We joined up with you last night. Maybe you’d like to share some breakfast?”

Travis was hungover and his wrist throbbed. He wasn’t hungry himself; he just wanted to go back to sleep and forget the pain. “Look, Violet, I got no time for a bunch of tramp kids. Why don’t you beg on down the line?”

The young girl glared at him. He decided she would be a pretty woman someday. Her eyes were a smoky, almost lavender color, and she was slight but defiant. She definitely had grit. With that accent, she must be from somewhere in the South.

Violet squared her shoulders. “Sir, you are a Texas Ranger. You’re wearing a badge. That means as a true Texan, you are obligated to help the helpless and look after unprotected women and children.”

“Now that’s a fact,” Travis admitted. “All right, help yourself to my food and leave me in peace.”

The children were all watching that skillet like a pack of starving wolf pups. The one called Violet lifted the skillet from the fire with the hem of her dress and set it on a stone. “I got bacon and eggs.”

The thought made his stomach roil. “Just forget it, young lady.” He waved her off.

The soft Southern voice said, “May I have some of your coffee?”

“Yes, just drink it and go on,” he muttered.

“You look like you could use some coffee yourself,” Violet said. “You smell like a brewery.”

“No, thanks.” He opened one eye and stared at her.

The little redhead piped up. “Violet, I do believe he’s inebriated.”

“What?” Travis asked. He had no idea what the word meant.

“Yep, he’s drunk as a boiled owl,” Violet answered and sipped her coffee.

“I got a right to be,” Travis snapped.

Violet stepped over and knelt down. “Your wrist hurt? I saw the gunfight yesterday afternoon.”

“Hell, yes, it hurts. Doc says there’s a bullet fragment lodged in it and he couldn’t take it out.”

“It looks swollen. Want me to take a look at it?” Violet picked up his wrist. She had small hands.

“Aw, no, you’re hurtin’ me. Look, you kids just finish up my grub and go away.”

He yanked the blanket up over his head. He was getting sober and his skull felt like his horse was stomping it.

But the one called Violet didn’t move. “You going on the run Monday?”

“That ain’t any of your business, young lady.”

“You must be thinking about it, you got two good horses.”

She was a persistent child, he thought.

The Oriental kid said, “Why aren’t you going back to the Rangers?”

“None of your business. Go away, all of you,” Travis ordered.

“Yep, you’ve got two fast horses there,” Violet said. “That’ll give you a good chance of winning a claim. That is, if you’re sober enough to ride.”

“I got ’til Monday noon,” Travis grumbled. “And anyway, young lady, didn’t your ma teach you any manners? It ain’t polite to comment on a stranger’s condition.”

“I got no ma,” she retorted. “She died in the Great Fever outbreak in Memphis.”

He had dozed off again. Violet watched him. He was barely sober, of course, and his face was etched in pain and his arm was swollen and discolored. If he had a shard of steel in that wrist, he might never be able to use that hand again. A Texas Ranger with a crippled gun hand was worse than useless. That must be the reason he’d decided to take part in the run.

She leaned over him and touched his shoulder. “We don’t even know your name, mister.”

“Travis,” he whispered, “Travis Prescott.”

“And is there a Mrs. Prescott who’s coming to join you on that claim?”

Travis opened one eye. “For a little girl, you are the nosiest thing I ever met. No, there is no Mrs. Prescott except my mother, thank God, back in Long Horn, Texas.”

“Go on to sleep, Mr. Prescott,” Violet said softly, looking around at the children, who had eaten most of the bacon and eggs. Not only was Boo Hoo not crying, she was smiling as she shared her portion with the grumpy old dog.

Violet sat down on her heels by the fire and poured herself another cup of coffee, smiled at the sleepy children as she ate the last few bites of the food. Then she took the little drawers off the tree branch above Travis’s head and led Boo Hoo behind some bushes to put them on.

Violet smiled to herself as she returned. She had a plan now. This Travis Prescott, even wounded, was more man than any she’d ever met and he wasn’t married. She’d already decided that she and the children were going to latch on to the Ranger and go on the run with him. He might be a confirmed bachelor, but he was about to get a ready-made family, whether he liked it or not.

Travis tried to sit up and his head hurt so bad, he flinched. He reached to touch his aching skull and his wrist felt on fire. Then he remembered all of yesterday. He was no longer a Ranger; he was a cripple with no future.

“Well, Mr. Prescott, it’s about time you woke up, it’s past noon. I’m cooking you some breakfast. Would you like your eggs over easy or sunny side up?”

He blinked. “Who are you?”

“Don’t you remember?” The young girl smiled and he thought someday, she’d be a pretty woman.

“He was snoggled,” said the red-haired girl who ran over from her play. “He doesn’t remember anything.”

“Kessie,” the older girl admonished, “that’s not polite.”

He remembered then. His camp had been invaded by this pack of starving orphans last night, and they’d still been here early this morning. “Where’d you get the eggs? I didn’t have anything but bacon and coffee.” The girl smiled back at him as she tended her skillet.

“Well”—she hesitated and gave him a fetching smile—“I got up early and saw there wasn’t enough food to feed all of us, so I began trading down the line.”

He needed a drink. He stumbled to his feet and began going through his saddlebags. “All right, young lady, or Violet or whatever your name is, where is it?”

“Well . . .” She didn’t look at him as she poured a cup of coffee and brought it over. “I figured you’d drunk enough to last you a month, and I had to have something to trade for food—”

“You traded my whiskey?” He took the steaming cup in his left hand. “You traded my whiskey?”

“Please don’t raise your voice, Mr. Prescott. You’re scaring the children.”

“Scaring the children?” His voice rose higher. “You traded off my whiskey without even asking me and—”

“You were out cold and you couldn’t ask Boo Hoo to do without milk, could you?”

“Boo Hoo?” He couldn’t even remember who that was until the little blond girl began to sob and Growler licked her face.

“If you’ve forgotten,” the pretty young girl said patiently as if dealing with an idiot, “I am Violet, I am thirteen years old, the baby is Boo Hoo, the smart redheaded little girl is Kessie, the boy with the crutch is Limpy, and the Oriental boy is Harold.”

“Harold?” Travis blinked.

“I chose it myself.” Harold smiled at him with big almond eyes.

It was too much information to deal with since he had a hangover. Travis took the coffee in a shaky hand and sipped it. Violet made good coffee, he thought, strong enough to float a horseshoe, just the way Texans liked it.

“Sunny side up?” Violet asked.

“What?” he blinked.

“Your eggs.”

“That’s fine,” he answered as he watched her break eggs into a skillet. “Wait a minute, I didn’t have any eggs—”

Violet smiled. “You do now.”

“Oh, yes, my whiskey—”

“I’d better check Boo Hoo,” the older girl said and felt the toddler’s bottom, sighed. “Here, take them off, honey, and I’ll wash them out.”

No one was paying the slightest attention to him. The kids had gone back to playing tag, the toddler and Violet had gone done to the creek to wash out the little white drawers.

The bacon and eggs smelled good, even though his stomach was queasy. He looked around at the children, who all came to sit down in a circle staring at him. The redhead chewed her nails and Boo Hoo returned to her spot next to the old dog, who wagged his stubby tail at her.

Now Violet returned and hung the freshly washed little drawers on the tree branch, then handed him a skillet full of bread, bacon and fried eggs and a fork.

“You got a lot of nerve, trading off my liquor without my say-so,” Travis grumbled and set the coffee cup on a rock and put the skillet there, too. He began to eat. He hadn’t realized how hungry he was.

“You already drank enough to last you ’til Christmas.” Violet said.

“I reckon I ought to be the judge of that.”

She shrugged and sipped her coffee. “Mister, after breakfast, I’ll re-bandage your arm.”

“I can do that myself, young lady.”

“Not very well with one hand,” she pointed out.

“Look.” Travis stopped gobbling and glared at her. “I’ve now fed your bunch twice and I’ll thank you to be on your way. I travel alone, just me and Mouse and Growler.”

“Don’t you get lonesome?” the Chinese kid asked.

“I do not.” He returned to his food. “A Ranger is alone a lot of the time anyway, tracking outlaws.”

“Are you an Injun?” the crippled kid asked.

Travis winced. His mixed heritage had caused him trouble his whole life. Even now in his mind, he could see big bullies chasing him at school. “Half-breed!” they would taunt. “Half-breed!”

He started to speak, but Violet said gently, “Limpy, that’s not polite.”

“It’s okay.” Travis shrugged. “I’m half Comanche.”

“Wow!” Harold’s almond eyes grew wide. “Did you ever take any scalps?”

“I’m a Texas Ranger, not a savage,” Travis snapped. “Now, young lady, what are your plans?”

“Well, we haven’t got any,” Violet admitted. “We don’t have any money and no place to go. Besides, the authorities are looking for us to put us all in an orphanage.”