Dorothy Garlock - [Colorado Wind 03] (6 page)

“I like him. And I like you, too, Mary Ben,” Henry replied with simple honesty.

Ellie had been watching her son as he tried to make friends with the girl, praying he wouldn’t be rebuffed. It had happened so many times, and his hurt was her hurt. Relieved when they began to talk and pet the dog, she turned her attention back to what Mr. Wisner was saying.

“Ya got to be careful with yore fire, ma’am. Ain’t nothin’ awfuller than a prairie fire. I ain’t been in but one, but it was a ripsnorter. There jist ain’t no place to go when yo’re on the prairie ’n fire comes down on ya.”

“What in the world did you do?” Ellie asked.

“Why, ma’am, I turned the team loose, rolled my water barrel out from the wagon ’n jumped in. That fire come aroarin’ like a tornado. Yes siree. Twas all over in five minutes. Lost my tucker, but not a hair on my head. I was plum tickled ’bout that.”

“You were lucky you had water in the barrel.”

“Yes’m. ’Nother thin’ we gotta watch out fer is wolves. They ain’t likely to corner ya or brin’ down a mule here cause there be small critters around fer ’em to eat, but ya ain’t ort to be roamin’ around outside camp.”

“We’ll not be doing that,” Vanessa said firmly. “We’ve got those two-legged wolves to worry about now.”

“Will the young feller . . . ah, take a watch?” John asked hesitantly.

“No,” Ellie said quickly. “But Vanessa and I will.”

“Mary Ben ’n the dog can stand a turn. Nothin’ll come up on Mary Ben ’n the dog without her aknowin’.”

“How old is Mary Ben?” Vanessa asked.

“I don’t rightly know, ma’am. Some’eres around sixteen, seventeen, I reckon.”

Both women gave the wiry old man a puzzled look, but he didn’t say anymore, and they were too polite to ask why it was he didn’t know his daughter’s age.

They broke the night watch into four two-hour shifts. Ellie would take the first one, then Mary Ben, then John. Vanessa would take the last shift. The rainstorm that had threatened all day became a reality. The wind came first and began scattering the embers of the cookfire. Henry scooped dirt over them, then hurried to the wagon as the rain came down.

One of the double doors at the back of the caravan was a split door. Ellie folded back the top half and sat looking out into the night. An occasional flash of lightning lit up the camp and she could see the wind whipping the canvas top of the Wisner wagon. Henry was stretched out on the floor beneath Vanessa’s bunk, and Ellie could hear him snoring peacefully.

It had taken Ellie ten years to become reconciled to the fact that her son’s mental capacity was impaired. He hadn’t walked or talked until two years after Vanessa walked and talked, and it was so terribly hard for him to learn to read simple words and write his name. Had it not been for Vanessa’s companionship, he would not have advanced to the stage he was in now. His cousin had been wonderfully patient with him. Several years before she had discovered he had a skill and ease in using his hands and enjoyed working with leather. She had traded medical services and medicine to a neighbor to teach him how to make whips and quirts. Soon Henry’s work was even better than his teacher’s and the association had ended.

When they left Missouri they had brought with them several tow sacks of cut, rolled hides that had been run through the splitting gauge to remove the hair. They had had to leave behind the grindstone Henry used to sharpen his knives because it was so heavy, but they planned to buy another when they reached Colorado. It had been a big boost to Henry’s confidence to know that he excelled in something.

Lightning flashed and Ellie saw Mary Ben climb out of the end of the Wisner wagon with a slicker over her head. She crawled beneath the wagon and sat down beside the dog. Ellie knew she was free to go to bed, but still she sat looking out into the night.

She thought of her husband and closed her eyes. Once again she saw his handsome blond head, his laughing eyes, and felt his soft mustache against her face. Within two glorious days he had swept her off her feet with sweet and persistent courting. They married and had what were the happiest weeks of her life, followed by utter despair. She never fully believed that he had deliberately deserted her as some of her friends suggested. The years had passed terribly slowly, and then she received the horrible news about his death from his brother in Colorado. But he had left a part of himself with her—their son, Henry.

Ellie sighed and sought her bed. She regretted nothing. What she hoped and prayed for was that there would be a place for her son where he could work for his keep and have kin nearby to care about him. It saddened her to know that he would never know the fulfillment of such a love as she had known.

*  *  *

Vanessa was awake when John tapped on the end of the wagon to let her know it was her turn to stand watch. She took the shotgun, wrapped a shawl around her shoulders and stepped out of the wagon. The rain had ceased and the air was crisp and cool. She sat down on a box so she could look toward the river and the darkness closed in around her. Her hair was braided in one long, loose braid, and the damp air had caused the tendrils to curl tightly on her forehead and in front of her ears. She brushed them back from her face, then buried her hands in the shawl. The night was quiet. Nothing moved, as least nothing she could see or hear. Her mind wandered to her home in Missouri, and she wondered if the people who had bought the farm had cut the dense growth of raspberry bushes. She thought about the lights along the streets in Springfield and people sitting in their porch swings. It was all so far removed from this quiet spot that it seemed to Vanessa they were alone in the world on an island of floating grass.

Far off a coyote howled, then another. It made her think of the thin-faced man with the black eyes. Vanessa felt herself go cold. She didn’t want to think of him. There was something about him that frightened her, something evil and dangerous, as if he had no regard for any living creature who stood in the way of what he wanted. He had looked at her as if he were looking right through her clothing. She shuddered again as she remembered his words and the positive way he had spoken them. Leave
my
woman be . . . for now, he had said.

She heard the coyote howl again, or was it a wolf? She heard the dull thud of the stock pawing the wet sod. There was no other sound and the time passed slowly. The clouds drifted away and a few stars came out. The breeze came up and rippled the canvas on the Wisner wagon.

“Quiet night.”

The voice made her freeze with fear. She had heard nothing, seen nothing. Yet the voice reached her from the darkness directly behind her. She made a grab for the shotgun and a large, strong hand caught her wrist.

“Don’t be scared. I’m not one of them you’re looking out for.” He released her hand, but stood close behind her, his other hand on her shoulder pressing her down. “I’m mighty glad you’re not a screaming woman, Vanessa.”

“Who are you?” Fear almost choked her.

“Remember that puffed-up jackass back in Dodge?” There was laughter in his voice. “The one you ran off with the shotgun after you clobbered the boy with the shovel?”

“I remember. What are you doing here?”

“I came to tell you your mules are gone.”

“What?” She jumped up and whirled to face him. All she could see was a dark shadow against the wagon.

“Don’t get all het up and go off half-cocked. I passed a camp over by the river and saw three horses and four mules. I figured the mules were yours.”

“You’ve been following us!”

He chuckled. “Yes and no. I saw your outfit this afternoon. There’s no mistaking that wagon. I doubt there’s another like it this side of the Mississippi. I couldn’t believe you were stupid enough to strike out with only one other wagon.”

“So you tagged along to see what happened,” she said caustically.

“I’m in no hurry so I lagged behind a bit. I saw you meet up with some real fine . . . ah, gentlemen. I smelled the bacon you had for supper and saw that there were three women and two men in your party. I figured to leave early and go on ahead of you. Then I saw the mules. Tell me, Vanessa, what the hell are you folks doing out here by yourselves?” There was harsh impatience in his voice now.

The familiar way in which he used her name made her temper flare. “That is none of your damn business, sir!”

“I didn’t expect a civil answer from you. Do you have any coffee?”

“No, and I’m not making any. I’m going after those mules.”

“You’re doing no such thing. You’re not doing anything until I’ve had my coffee.”

“Well! I’ll not have a . . . a sneaking nighthawk coming in here telling me what to do!”

“Vanessa?” Ellie stepped down out of the wagon. “Who’s out there?”

“It’s all right, Aunt Ellie. It’s that—”

“It’s the puffed-up jackass from Dodge, ma’am.”

“Stop saying that!” she hissed, and his chuckle made her clench her teeth in barely suppressed fury.

“Landsakes! What’s going on!”

“Vanessa’s in a stew because I slipped up on her,” Kain said. “I made enough noise to wake the dead. I thought sure she’d turn around and shoot me, but she sat there and let me walk up on her. I’m not surprised they stole the mules right out from under her nose.”

“Stole the mules? Oh my goodness! What will we do?”

“I’ve not decided. I’ll have to study on it. Name’s DeBolt. Kain DeBolt.”

“How do you do?” The polite lady, under any circumstance, Ellie offered her hand. “I’m Mrs. Hill, and this is my niece, Vanessa Cavanaugh.”

“Vanessa and I have met.”

“Did I hear ya say the mules is gone?” John Wisner’s voice preceded him out of the darkness.

“Two black, a gray and a brown,” Kain said.

“Our mules!” Vanessa blurted angrily.

“Of course. The thieves figured they’d kill the men when they went to get them.”

“Kill the men! Why on earth would they do that?” Ellie asked.

“For you women. Your fancy outfit is worth something, but three women are worth more. There would be one for each of them and when they tired of you, they could always sell you to rawhiders or plains scavangers. They took the mules so the men would come armed. Nobody much asks questions out here, but that army platoon that passed could be somewhere up ahead. They’d just say the men rode in shooting, made a fight of it and they had to defend themselves.”

“Oh my goodness!” Ellie was shocked by his blunt words. Her hand grasped the side of the wagon for support.

“I’d appreciate a cup of coffee, Mrs. Hill.”

Ellie breathed deeply, squared her shoulders and moved to a compartment beneath the wagon bed and took out dry kindling. “Do you think it’s all right to build a fire?”

“They’ll not expect you to discover the mules are gone until daylight.”

“Why didn’t the dog make a fuss when
he
sneaked in here?” Vanessa demanded.

“Mary Ben’s the only thin’ that dog cares for, ma’am,” John said regretfully. “Long as she ain’t bothered, he’ll not do nothin’.”

“Fine watchdog he is!”

John started a small fire. Ellie filled the blackened coffeepot with water from the barrel, added coffee, and set it on the grill over the flames. Vanessa stood back out of the light. She looked often at Kain DeBolt as he stood talking to John. In the faint light she could tell that he was dressed in buckskins, wore knee-high moccasins, and had a gun belt strapped around his slim hips. His hat was pulled low over his eyes, and his face was turned toward her. Damn him! He was watching her.

Henry came out of the back of the wagon, yawning and scratching his head. “Is it time to hitch up?”

Vanessa went to him before he reached the circle of light and urged him back against the wagon. “The mules are gone, Henry. Those men we met yesterday stole them.”

“Well, golly! I didn’t think they were very nice fellows anyway. They looked mean. Is he one of them?” he asked in a low voice, but it carried in the stillness.

“I don’t . . . think so.” Vanessa made sure her voice carried across the camp. “But you can’t trust anyone you meet up with out here in this accursed land.”

“Henry, come meet Mr. DeBolt.” Henry moved obediently toward his mother. “My son, Henry.” There was always pride in Ellie’s voice when she introduced her son.

“Howdy, Henry.” Kain held out his hand.

Henry took it, mumbled a word, and stepped back into the shadows beside Vanessa. He could tell that Vanessa didn’t like this man, so he didn’t like him either.

Vanessa stood silently beside Henry for a moment, then slipped into the caravan. She pinned her hair up on the top of her head, put on Henry’s old hat and pulled it down over her ears. Kain DeBolt was too smooth and it bothered her. As a matter of fact, everything about him bothered her a lot. He was so damn sure of himself. The way he laughed at her infuriated her. She wanted to cry when she thought of the mules. Had they been stolen while she sat there daydreaming? The possibility of their being taken by white men hadn’t occurred to her. Indians, perhaps, but not white men.

One thing was sure, she thought. They couldn’t stay where they were and they couldn’t move without the mules. They had to get them back since they couldn’t pull the wagon to Colorado with one saddle horse. Maybe she could ride ahead and find the army patrol. The more she thought of it, the more she realized that was the only hope they had. She would have to do it and she might as well get started. She stepped out of the wagon to tell her aunt her decision.

Kain was squatting on his heels with a cup in his hands, talking to Ellie. Vanessa approached the fire and held out her cup. His hat was lying on the ground beside him. He looked younger without the hat until he turned to look up at her and the light fell on the scar across his cheek. Vanessa quickly looked away, but the picture of him stayed in her mind. Until he smiled he looked almost as sinister as the dark-eyed man. But when he smiled it made all the difference. He grinned at her with his lips and his light, fawn colored eyes. She turned her back on him and spoke to her aunt.

“The only hope we have of getting our mules back is to reach that army patrol up ahead. I’ll ride out and try to find them.”