Beneath a Dakota Cross (7 page)

CHAPTER THREE

The bright August sun was straight above the three men who squatted around the low, crackling campfire. Brazos Fortune was the only one still sipping coffee.

Grass Edwards rocked back on his heels, his cheeks freshly shaved, his mustache neatly trimmed. “I still say it seems strange to ride off and leave you two.”

Brazos idly poked at the fire with a short stick. “Hook can't last another night. I'll catch up to you tomorrow.”

His floppy, felt hat hanging on his back by a braided leather stampede string, Big River Frank ran his fingers through his clean, black hair. “And I say we can all three wait one more day. A man don't ride off and leave his friends.”

“It's a business decision,” Brazos insisted. “Tomorrow morning they're drawin' up the papers on all our claims. We need you two to be at the stockade on French Creek to represent us. If we don't get in on that, we're liable not to have a claim when we come back. General Crook and the troops should already be there.”

“I ain't never rode off and left a partner in a tough pinch before,” Big River insisted.

“I'm not in any danger. These hills are deserted. Ever'one else has gone down to the stockade. We've almost waited too long as it is,” Brazos reminded him.

“Word is, the army is usherin' us out of the hills on Wednesday.” Big River plucked a cocklebur from his pant leg and dropped it into the fire. “If you ain't down there by then we'll come back lookin' for you.”

“If I'm not there by then, push on to the crossing of the Cheyenne River. I'll meet you there.”

Grass Edwards drew letters in the dirt with his finger. “You can't go through Red Canyon by yourself.”

Brazos thought he spotted a
J
and an
S
among Grass's letters. “You two quit your worryin'. You're beginnin' to sound like a couple old maids fussin' over the dog.”

“Wouldn't mind findin' a couple old maids . . .” Big River mused.

“I cain't believe they're really makin' us all leave,” Grass bellyached.

A wide smile broke across Brazos's face. “Think of it this way: we'll be in Cheyenne within a week, and not all the gals there are old ladies.”

“Why did you look at me when you said that?” Edwards protested.

Brazos shrugged, then winked at Big River Frank. “Figured you were lookin' forward to doin' some visitin', that's all.”

“What's all this talk about visitin' young ladies in Cheyenne?” Big River Frank challenged. “You two ain't keepin' secrets, are you?”

“Brazos!” Edwards's word stabbed the air like a fork into the last pork chop at a boarding house.

Fortune sipped the dregs of his coffee, straining the grounds with his teeth. He stood as his blue-gray eyes surveyed the claim. “Boys, we have her all buttoned up real nice. From ridge to ridge across the gulch, three hundred feet of prime Black Hills mineral rights. We've got most of our gear packed, the property line marked with stone pillars, camp torn down except for me and Hook's tent. We even have enough gold in our pokes to do a little explorin' of some Wyomin' ranch country. I reckon that's better than when we pulled in here.”

Grass stood up beside him, his thumbs laced in his vest pockets. “For a man who thought his future was under that there Dakota cross, you're surely takin' all this leavin' peaceful.”

“I didn't say it was under a Dakota cross, just a cross.” Brazos glanced down near Edwards's boots and definitely saw the name Jamie Sue scratched in the dirt. “Anyway, even the children of Israel went into exile in Egypt before they returned to the promised land,” he muttered.

Big River Frank stood up by the other two, a good six inches shorter than Brazos. “Maybe the Lord's exiled you from Texas. You ever think maybe he's going to call you back there?”

Brazos pointed down at the flames. “The Hebrew children were in Egypt for four hundred years.”

“I know better than to get you in a Bible quotin' contest,” Big River conceded as he glanced around camp. “I suppose we've done all we can do.”

Edwards rested his right hand on the walnut grip of the Colt revolver that hung from a wire hook on his belt. “There's one more thing I wished we could have finished. I wish we could have caught up with Kabyo and them that shot Hook.”

Brazos gazed to the west. “We chased them down out of the hills and straight for the Big Horns. The Sioux and the Cheyenne will have to take care of them out there. That's too dangerous land for any of us.”

Big River Frank spat a wad of tobacco clear over the top of the fire. “You know the thing I can't figure? Kabyo and them risk their lives comin' all the way to the hills 'cause they is convinced Hook's got a treasure map. Now, it don't seem likely that they just up and rode off because we threw a little lead at them.”

“If you had a mind to rob trains and stagecoaches, how much would you want to tramp up and down these mountains lookin' for a gold claim no one's ever seen. Truth is, it just might not be worth the effort.”

“Strange thing is, I've never seen this man Kabyo,” Big River added. “I wouldn't know him if he rode up.”

“And none of us knows him,” Grass Edwards concurred.

“Yapper Jim does,” Brazos reminded them.

Big River Frank pointed his calloused, bronzed hand to the two saddled horses. “I suppose we ought to ride south.”

Brazos dumped his coffee grounds onto the dirt, then scattered them with the toe of his worn, brown boot. “I'll see you down to French Creek before you pull out. If not, I'll meet you at the crossing.”

Big River Frank looked over at the one remaining tent. “I still think we ought to stay and help you bury Hook. That's what family's for.”

Brazos stared into Big River's trusting brown eyes.
He means it, Lord. Up here in the hills, we're the only family any one of us has
. Brazos cleared his throat. “We've got the grave dug. Only one of us needs to hang back, and that's me 'cause I promised I'd pray over his grave. That's the kind of promise a man has to keep.”

Edwards used his boot to erase the words in the dirt. “Then why on earth are we draggin' around like this is a final good-bye? Come on, Big River,” he slapped the shorter man on the back. “Let's go make sure them miners hear from Texas Camp on upper Lightnin' Creek.”

“Cover his grave so the wolves won't get in,” Big River Frank cautioned, reaching out to shake Brazos's hand.

“I'll bring the rest of our gear down on Hook's buckskin.” Fortune walked the other two to their mounts. “Listen, boys, I have one favor to ask of you.” Brazos reached in his pocket and pulled out two envelopes. He handed one to each man.

“What is this, your last will and testament?” Edwards protested, staring at the address on the envelope.

“Nope. Just one letter to Todd and another to Robert.”

“This don't sound like you plan on seeing us tomorrow,” Big River said.

Brazos pulled a third letter out of his pocket. “Sure I do. I've got one to send myself. But crazy things happen. We could get split up somewhere along the trail. I haven't got a letter out to the children in over a month. I just wanted to let them know I'm doin' fine. I need to send three, just to make sure one gets through.”

“Then we can all mail them at the same time when we get to Cheyenne City,” Big River Frank proposed.

Grass Edwards swung into the saddle, then pointed back to a flat, sandstone rock. “Hand me up that
Monarda fistulosa
I found this morning.”

Brazos snatched up the large, lavender-flowered, green-stemmed plant. “Now, tell me again what you're goin' to do with this Horsemint.”

“Boil it up,” Edwards replied. “The fumes cure the vapors. Yes, sir, just a whiff or two of this and the chest clears right up.”

Big River Frank mounted his black horse, leaned across the saddle horn, and spat a wad of tobacco into the dirt. “How do you know it works?”

Grass folded the plant and tucked it into his saddlebag. “You ever seen an Indian with a cold?”

Big River punched his heels into the flank of his horse and started down the trail. “I ain't never got close enough to see one with freckles, either, but that don't mean they don't have them.”

Brazos watched as the two men trotted down the creek, arguing the merits of herbal medication. He stared at the backsides of their horses until both men dropped over the rise and disappeared from sight.
He snatched up his Sharps carbine and studied the three-hundred-foot claim from border to border. His eyes locked on to every Ponderosa tree, every sandstone rock, every ripple in the creekbed, every blade of cordgrass, every low-growing gray sage.

The animals and the snow can knock down the markers. We've got to have this place memorized. It's going to get hectic if they open this land up. Not only will the miners move back, but so will the saloon keepers, the gamblers, the bankers and merchants, and families. Won't it be somethin', Lord, when this country is filled with families?

Brazos reached into his vest pocket and pulled out gold wire-framed spectacles, perched them on his nose, and wrapped the earpieces behind each ear. Then he tugged out the letter he had shown to Big River and Grass. He squatted down next to the barely glowing fire and scanned the India ink scrawled note.

August 13, 1875—Dakota Territory

Dearest Dacee June,

I am missing you something terrible. Thoughts of your smile and the twinkle in your blue eyes keep me warm most every night. I imagine you, your cousins, and Aunt Barbara will be putting up preserves about now. I know you are a big help to her, and I'm grateful you can stay with her and Uncle Milton.

Well, your daddy hasn't exactly found that ranch under the cross . . . yet. But we just might have a bonanza in gold. The prospect looks good.

It's an amazin' land up here, darlin'. There are white rock mountains, and millions of trees pointin' straight up to heaven. The creeks are tiny, but clean . . . and the water is so sweet they could bottle it and sell it at the state fair.

The hills have been rainy this month, but one smile from my Dacee June and I'm sure the clouds would run away. The summer storms have put me behind schedule a little. You'll need to go ahead and start school in Texas in the fall. I'll make ever' effort to be there by your birthday.

Yes, there are still buffalo up here. I can't wait to show them to you. But, most of all, I can't wait to hug my little girl again.

Promise me you won't get married until after I come home!

With sincere affection always,

Daddy

Brazos tucked the letter back into his pocket, took a deep breath of warm air, wiped a single tear out of the corner of each eye, then sauntered over to the lonely looking tent. He stooped his six-foot frame down to enter the four-foot tent flap. Lying motionless under three wool blankets was Hook Reed.

Eyes closed, sunken.

Mouth open, sagging to the right.

Forehead flushed, sweating.

“Well, I sent the boys on down to French Creek to attend that miners' meetin', Hook. You and me will catch up with them tomorrow or the next day, whenever you are up to it. The air tastes summer fresh, if you know what I mean. I reckon our rainy days are over for a while. You'll be plumb excited to get out on the trail.”

Reed didn't respond.

He hadn't responded for over ten days.

Brazos reached under the top blanket and held onto Reed's ice cold wrist. The faint pulse continued its erratic rhythm.

He just keeps hanging on, Lord. It seems to me it would be in his best interest to get well or pass on. But I guess it's not in your best interest. Comfort his soul, Lord. I know his body can't hold out much longer.

Brazos took a rag off the empty powder crate that served as a bed table, dipped it in a coffee cup of clean water, then wiped Reed's forehead.

“Hook, it's a mighty beautiful day out there today. In fact, the weather's been pretty since the day you were shot. If your hands and feet weren't so cold, I'd open the flap and let you taste that summer breeze.”

He reached over and patted Reed on his good shoulder. “Now, you go on and take a nap. I'll cook us some supper after a while. If you're up to it, I'll let you cook breakfast. Who knows, by mornin' you just might feel like a new man!”

Brazos crawled out of the tent.
By morning, maybe he'll be walkin' the streets of glory
. He carried his Sharps carbine with him as he hiked across the deserted camp toward the whitewood trees where the two horses were picketed. He plopped down on a stump, studied the solitary tent in the distance, then glanced up at the blue Dakota sky.

It's quiet here, Sarah Ruth. If there were no hostiles and no miners, this would be a peaceful, quiet land. Just the kind you'd like. I reckon the same could be said for any place on earth.