Lauraine Snelling - [Wild West Wind 01] (5 page)

It took another trip with water splashing out of the kettle and onto her pant legs before the coals and black pieces of wood lay in a soggy puddle. One thing accomplished. She pushed a lock of loosened hair back behind her ear and glared at the wooden box. It wouldn’t pack itself, that was for sure. The box wouldn’t close after she’d packed the utensils in, so she pulled them all out and tried again. Surely it didn’t take a genius to pack the box. The kettle waited beside the fire rocks.

“Well . . .” She thought of several of the words she’d heard spoken around the back lot of the Wild West Show but refrained from using them, as her mother had convinced her, via a mouth full of soap, that ladies did not use such language. But then her mother had most likely not been caught without such basic survival necessities either. Not that a member of the royal house of Norway had been wilderness camping. At least not without an entourage. Her mother had left that life to become Mrs. Adam Lockwood. The thought of her mother brought on an ache for the father she had adored and depended on so fully after her beautiful mother had died. She tried to blink back the tears but, failing in that, rubbed her shirtsleeve across her face. It must have been the smoke from the fire.

She repacked the box, including the frying pan, and succeeded this time. She dragged it back to the wagon. Once inside, she straightened her bed and dug out her comb and brush. Upon hearing the jangles of the harnessed team, she stuffed them back into the drawer, flipped her braid over her shoulder, and clapped her hat back on. So much for her feminine toilette. Glancing around to make sure everything was in its place, she stepped outside again and closed the door tightly behind her. After locking the hinged steps up and into place, she lowered the long hatch on the side of the wagon and slid the hasps in place for locks.

Wind Dancer, fully saddled, studied her from where he was tied to the front wagon wheel.

“I know. I’m coming.” But when she tried to put her foot in the stirrup, the ride of yesterday nicked her knee.

“Stretching is a good idea.”

She looked up to see Micah smiling down at her from the back of his horse. “Thanks.”

“You want some help?”

“No, I do not want help.” She concealed a yelp with the curt words.
Cassandra Marie Lockwood, behave yourself. It’s not his fault you aged forty years in one night and a day.
She bent over into a stretch, easing down until her legs screamed at her. But by the time she’d done that three times, she could tell it was helping. She stretched every day before her performances—why should today be any different? When she returned to Wind Dancer’s side, she stuck two fingers between cinch and horse to make sure he’d not blown up his belly when saddled and swung aboard, this time with only a minor flinch.

She looked up from checking her scabbard to find both men watching her. “I’m sorry, gentlemen, am I detaining you?” She too heard the caustic tone to what had been a simple question. Of course she was detaining them, but at least they had the wisdom not to laugh at her.

Chief hawked and spat over the wheel and pulled back on the reins to back the team and wagon. The horses snorted and shook their heads but did as he ordered. With enough space to turn around now, Chief flicked the reins and they started out. Within a couple of minutes they were back on the trail, or road, if one could call it that. She dropped back to help Micah with the stock, and they headed south.

Sometime later when a wind kicked up, dropping the temperature instead of warming it, she glanced back to see black clouds piling up behind them. The sun was fighting a valiant battle, but the clouds soon won, turning the blue sky gray.

The first snowflake on her face made her realize she’d been dozing in the saddle. Jerking awake, she saw Micah across the plodding herd, hunched over on his horse. Othello ranged ahead of her, the spring gone from his step. Nudging Wind Dancer, she trotted up even with the painted wagon. “Hadn’t we better find a place to camp?”

Chief nodded. “Been watching.”

“Isn’t it early for snow?”

“Snow can come anytime in the Dakotas.”

Cassie shivered at a fierce blast that seemed to slice right through her. If Jason Talbot had been riding with them, she would have given him more than a piece of her mind, that is, if she could break any off. “Cold clear through” now had a new meaning for her. She thanked God they had the wagon when they finally did stop. The snow swirled around them, dancing on the freezing wind.

S
hrieking wind, driving snow, bitter cold.

Blizzard
was no longer just a word in a dictionary or a scene in a story to Cassie. In the past, the Wild West Show had always moved south to somewhere warm, both for wintering and for added shows. They would always leave before winter came to the northern Midwest.

As soon as the herd huddled together and bedded down in the lee of large boulders, Chief told Micah to unhitch the team while he went searching for firewood.

Cassie had no idea how he would find anything when she could barely see her hand in front of her face. When her fingers were too stiff with cold to undo the cinch, Micah told her to get in the wagon and let him take care of Wind Dancer. For a change Cassie didn’t argue.

Chief managed to find a downed dried tree somewhere, so feeding the stove became her job. Cassie learned that chopping wood with a hatchet did a good job of keeping her warm. The knowledge that they had no idea how long the storm would last made her far more thrifty with the fire, especially after a reprimand from Chief over wasting wood by keeping the stove too hot. Hot enough to keep the pot of beans and chunks of bacon simmering but not bubbling was her new guide.

Micah stumbled up the steps and let Othello enter ahead of him. When inside, he put his shoulder against the wall to pull the door shut against the howling wind. The dog shook, snow flying in every direction. Cassie pointed Micah at the woodbox for a chair and grabbed a rag to help dry her dog.

“Where’s Chief?”

“Checking the cattle. The buffalo are doing better than any of the others.” He held his hands over the top of the stove, and then rubbed his arms. “Bad out there.”

Cassie lifted the lid on the kettle and gave the beans a stir with the wooden spoon. Then it was back to chopping wood by the door, being careful to sweep up the chips and dump them into a basket. Chief had already taught her the value of dry fire starter. She would never look at a chunk of firewood the same again.

“How are the horses?”

“Tied so that the wagon shields them from the wind.” Micah took off his hat and slapped it against his thigh to rid it of snow, then hung it on a peg on the wall. “Let me.” He held his hand out for the hatchet handle. “I need to get warm too.”

Cassie handed it over. “Keep the pieces short enough to fit in the stove.” When he stared at her, she added, “Chief said that.”

“Oh.”

Why did she have a feeling that while she’d always understood that Micah was often slow to respond because he was so painfully shy, in this situation he was far more competent than she? Since she was no longer working to keep warm, she moved closer to the stove. As small as this wagon was, it had to be mighty cold outside to be this cold inside. She knelt by Othello, who had curled up in the corner right behind the stove, and stroked his head and back. His tail thumped but he stayed curled tight.

“I don’t suppose you had time to grow a winter coat, traveling in warmer weather like we’ve been doing.”

“Least he can grow one.” Micah stacked the wood he’d chopped in the box next to the stove, then swept up the chips for the basket. “When will the beans be done?”

She shrugged. How did one tell when the beans were done? Obviously they couldn’t get up and talk. “Take a taste.” She pointed to a drawer. “Spoons are in there.”

Othello’s ears went up and then his head when he heard Chief mutter something as he entered the house-wagon. The dog stuck his nose back under his tail and closed his eyes again.

“Beans done?” Chief asked.

“Some crunchy but taste good.” Micah reached for a bowl off the shelf, dipped it into the bean kettle, and licked the drippings off the side. He caught the astonished look from Cassie and shrugged, his face pure guilt. “Sorry. Don’t know where the scoop spoon is.”

Chief did his half snort, half chuckle sound and then took a bowl and used the wooden spoon to scoop some beans into his bowl. “You want some?” He looked to Cassie.

“Not yet. I’ll keep chopping while you two eat. The coffeepot is hot too.” She rose from beside her dog and jerked the hatchet out of the chopping block by the door. They certainly should have brought something better than this, but she grabbed the branch she’d been working on and started chopping again. At least she kept warm this way. Her stomach grumbled as she inhaled the fragrance coming from the cooking pot. The thought of crunchy beans did not sound appealing.

Right about now she wished they were on the train heading east. At least there would be a dining car and plenty of hot food. Potbellied stoves warmed every car that held humans and kept a coffeepot hot. And the Gypsy Wagon would have been inside a railroad car, protected from the elements.

If only Jason had been a better businessman.

She knew it came down to that. Her father had been the brains behind the outfit, while Jason did the announcing and glad-handing to gain new venues. How she knew that she wasn’t sure, but most likely it came from listening to all the meetings around this table when she should have been asleep in her hammock. She paused her chopping as memories swirled through her mind. Her mother and father laughing together, her mother kissing her little girl good-night and sharing prayers—some in Norwegian, others in English—her parents discussing new additions to their act, plans for the future of the show, for their future as a family. The tales her father told about the valley he had found in the Black Hills of South Dakota.

Blinking back tears, Cassie returned to her chopping. Keeping busy was far better than sniveling over the past. After all, the past was gone and would not come again—except in her dreams. Now she had to think about the future. And making sure they all made it to that valley. Somewhere there must still be a map showing the way to it. She remembered her father talking about Hill City, a town somewhere near Rapid City, South Dakota. Amazing what things came to her mind when she’d not realized they were part and parcel of her now, living in her head.

She stopped and stood up straight. “The wind has stopped.”

Chief nodded and then poured himself a cup of thick coffee.

She glanced over to see Micah leaning against the wall, sound asleep. The night before, the men had slept outside under the wagon. Tonight that was impossible. “Chief, there used to be a couple of hammocks in that bag up on the top shelf. If you find one there, we can string it between those two hooks, and Micah can sleep there.”

“I will use the floor by the stove.” Chief reached for the bundle and sneezed at the dust that flew when he brought it down. He did indeed pull out a hammock and held it up. “Short.”

“Try the other one.” A pang thrust through her chest. That was her girl-sized hammock. Had Jason not thrown anything out of the wagon when he took it over? Sure enough, the second hammock was adult sized. Together they slipped the rings over the wall hooks.

Cassie walked over and shook Micah. “We have a bed for you. Do you have a quilt or some blankets?”

Micah stared up at her, as if unsure who she was or what she was asking.

“Quilt or blankets?”

He nodded slowly. “A box under the wagon bed.”

“I’ll get it.” Without waiting Chief plunged back outside and returned with a blanket, a fur-lined elk hide, and something else furry. He thrust the blanket and a sort of blanket of fur-lined animal skins at Micah. “Roll in these.”

“How do I get in that thing?” Micah stared at the canvas contraption hanging limply from the hooks in the opposite walls.

“It is a hammock. Sailors sleep in them all the time on ships. They use up less space. You sit on the edge and roll into it.”

The hammock dumped Micah back onto his feet, and he staggered almost into the stove.

“The floor is fine.”

“No, let me show you.” Remembering how her father had taught her, she demonstrated, then got up and held the edge for him. Glancing over her shoulder, she caught a look from Chief that made her stifle a grin herself. Holding the hammock steady, she waited for Micah to try again. He wrapped his blanket around himself and sat on the edge, then leaned over until his body was in the hammock before pulling in his legs.

“What if I fall out?”

“You won’t. Just get out again like you got in.” She tucked the furry hides over him and went to sit on her built-in bed. Her stomach reminded her she’d not eaten yet.

“You eat while I check the animals.” Chief slipped out the door.

She spooned bacon and beans into another bowl and sat down on her bed. Once again, it looked like the only things she’d be able to remove were her boots and jacket. And maybe even that was not a good idea. The warmth of the beans going down, even though some did still crunch a bit, felt comforting and stopped the gnawing sensation. She scraped the bowl clean and sat down to unlace her boots. Tomorrow she would dig another pair out of her trunk. She climbed in bed and spread her coat over her feet. With both a blanket and a quilt, she should be warm enough.

She heard Chief come in and put wood in the stove before wrapping himself in his robe and lying down on the floor. Within seconds he was snoring softly.

Sleep took longer to claim Cassie. Her thoughts were spinning inside her head. Chief seemed to know the general direction they needed to go, and since he’d been with the show years longer than she, she let him lead. Something made her think he’d been a friend of her father’s long before the show came into existence. But that was years ago, putting him at about a grandfather’s age. How could he remember the way after all those years? Where might her father’s map be? What if it had been thrown away? If only she could remember some landmarks her father had mentioned when he used to tell her stories about the valley of dreams.

Something else hovered on the edge of her mind. Something about three huge rocks at the end of the valley, like fingers pointing to heaven. When they saw these, they’d know it was the right valley.

The only thing she knew for sure was that she could, if need be, either join another show or send out word that she was looking for shooting matches to compete in. If only she knew who to contact.
If only. What if?
Two two-word sentences that led her nowhere but in circles. Her mother had always said God had a plan for her life, but if wandering around in a blizzard was part of it—

Stop it
, she ordered herself. Why was it she could control her rifle shots but not her mind, at least not in the lonely hours of night when everyone else was fast asleep?

The clattering of stove lids pulled her from a deep chasm of writhing black monsters that clawed at her when she fought to escape. She lay still, not even opening her eyes. With the wind gone, the wagon held some heat from the stove so her nose was no longer icy cold.

A string of strong words assaulted her, accompanied by a thump and a thud as Micah disengaged himself from the hammock.

“You just need practice.”

“You sleep in it.”

“I will.” She yawned and rolled onto her side so she could watch the red glow of the open stove as Chief shoved another chunk of wood in.

“Beans hot soon.”

“For breakfast?”

“You cook mush?”

Somehow she’d awakened thinking of bacon and eggs again. “There’s no milk.”

“Brown sugar and butter are good.”

“Oh. Beans it is, I guess.” She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. “Where’s Othello?”

“Out.” At a scratch on the door accompanied by a whine, Chief cracked open the door. “In.”

Othello sniffed her stocking-clad feet and plunked down beside her so she could scratch a place behind his floppy ear. The thump of his hind leg on the floor was the most normal sound she’d heard so far that morning.

“It is morning, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Sun coming up.”

“Will we be able to travel today?”

“I’ll ride out and see how deep the drifts. Cattle need grazing.”

“How, when there is deep snow?”

“Blizzard wind blows some patches clear. The buffalo will show the cattle how to dig down.”

One of the horses snorted. It sounded like it was right behind her.

He gave the beans a good stir. “Eat first, then scout.”