The Crossed Sabres (11 page)

They continued walking, about half a mile. Winslow told
about a bear hunt he’d gone on, and Laurie asked questions. How big was the bear? Were you afraid when he came at you?

Finally they walked back, and when they got to the door of the room, Winslow stooped over and kissed the girl. “Good-night,” he said, and moved away as though he had shown too much affection in front of an outsider.

When they were inside the room, Faith put on a nightgown, but Laurie seemed shy. “You know what?” Faith said, understanding the girl’s embarrassment. “I’ve got an extra nightgown. Why don’t you wear it tonight? It’s too big for you, but it’ll be like playing dress-up.”

Laurie asked curiously, “Did you play that when you were a little girl?”

“Of course! Now, let me find that gown—”

While Laurie put on the gown, Faith brought out her Bible and sat beside the light. “I always read a little before I go to bed, Laurie. Do you mind?”

“No.”

“Maybe I can read out loud this time?” Faith asked, and when Laurie nodded, she turned to the gospel of John and read the fourth chapter. As she read the story of the woman at the well in Sychar, Laurie watched her with careful eyes. After Faith finished, she said, “Was the woman bad?”

“Well, she’d had a very hard life, Laurie.”

“But Jesus didn’t care about that?”

“He cared, but He knew she wanted to be a better woman than she had been.”

Laurie studied the Bible, then lifted her gray eyes. “How did Jesus know that? He’d never met her before, had He?”

“No, but Jesus knows all of us. And He loves us all very much.”

Faith waited, hoping that the girl would open up to her, but there was a puzzled look in her eyes. She lay there silently for a few moments, then said, “Good-night.”

“Good-night, Laurie,” Faith returned. She put the Bible on the table, blew out the light, and lay there wondering about
Laurie and her daddy. She slept fitfully, for the noise from the saloon came through the floor, and she could make out some of the profane speech clearly.
A bad thing for a child to hear
was her last thought before she fell asleep—except for,
I wonder where her mother is?

When she awoke the next morning, Faith found Laurie gone. Rising at once, she dressed, packed her case, then went downstairs. Laurie was sitting with her father in the dining room, and she had a small smile—her first—for Faith. The three ate the rough food, then hurried outside to get on board the coach.

A very tall thin man was standing on the porch, his back to the wall, and he gave Faith a careful look as she came to the coach. She was startled when he took her arm, thinking at first it was Tom Winslow. But Winslow was loading the suitcases into the boot, his back turned. Faith tried to pull away, but the man merely grinned, saying, “Sweetheart, you look plumb sweet this morning. How about you and me sit together on this here stage?”

He had a razor-thin face, a sharp nose, and hazel eyes that ran over her boldly. Faith said a little breathlessly, “Please let me go!” But he ignored her, his lips curving up into a pleased smile. There was cruelty in his face, and when the driver said, “Cut that out!” the man gave no heed. Slipping his arm around her waist, he said, “Lem’me help you into the stage. We got to get acquainted.”

“Let the lady go.”

The man looked over his shoulder, an insolent expression on his face, but when he saw Winslow standing there, his eyes grew watchful. He released his grip on Faith, then turned to face the other. “We’re doin’ right well without your help,” he said harshly. He let his fingers brush the cedar handle of the gun he wore low on his hip. There was a threat in his voice and a menace in his posture. Sensing trouble, a man behind Winslow took one look, then scurried out of the way.

Faith had never been close to a violent situation, but she
knew that she was in one now. The man who had touched her was stiff, his hand poised over his gun; and though Winslow seemed almost at ease, there was danger in him, she knew.

“Friend, you can take the next stage,” Winslow said, his voice soft, almost musical, on the morning air. “There’s no room for you on this trip.”

The man stiffened, cursed; then his hand was on the handle of his gun—but he stopped abruptly, for the .44 at Winslow’s side appeared in his hand. His hand had been little more than a blur to Faith as he had drawn and leveled the gun at the other. Now he said, “Driver, I guess we’re ready.” He moved forward, took the gun from the other man, who stood as if frozen in place, then said, “All aboard.”

Faith got on, then Laurie and the other passengers. Winslow stepped in, took a seat, then said to the man who was staring at him with pure hatred, “I’ll drop your gun down the road a piece.”

The driver spoke to the horses, and the stage pulled away. The men who sat in the stage watched covertly as Winslow tossed the gun out the window, and Faith noted that Laurie’s face was so pale that her freckles stood out. Her own breath was coming in short bursts, and she clasped her hands together to conceal their trembling.

This was a different world, as foreign to her own as if it had been China or the South Pole. She had read of the violence of the West, but it had all been so academic, words on paper. Now she realized that only by the closest margin had the crisis passed, that if things had differed in just one minor detail, Winslow might be lying in the dust bleeding his life out—either he or the other man. She studied him as he looked out the window, somehow shocked that he showed not the least effect of the encounter. He sat totally relaxed as he moved with the rolling of the coach.

Finally he looked down at Laurie. “You all right?”

“Yes,” she answered, but put her hand in his for a moment and leaned toward him on the seat, her eyes fixed on his face.

CHAPTER SEVEN

Fort Abraham Lincoln

Once again the morning began in freshness, in bright cleansing light. Then the coolness went away and the heat, the dust, and the monotony began. Just before noon, Faith saw a faint line of smudges against the horizon, small up-and-down streaks rising against the flatness of the prairie. The horses, smelling their destination, picked up their ears and then their pace, and soon the coach moved into the main street of Fargo, flanked by raw-boarded houses.

The coach groaned to a halt in front of a depot shed standing beside a single railroad track.

“We’re just in time,” Tom murmured, nodding toward the east where a smudge of train smoke was barely visible. “I’ll get your things.” He found her luggage, piled it on the ground, and they waited as the train grew larger, whistling hoarsely to warn the town. The steaming locomotive rolled in, and the townsmen ambled out of the businesses to watch. It was a break from the monotony of the day to see this line of steel, which was a thin strand that joined this far-off outpost to the busy world of the East.

“I can’t get over how lonely this land is,” Faith murmured, running her eyes over the horizon.

He leaned closer to catch her words, noting the smoothness of her complexion. “Not a place for people who like crowds.”

She glanced at him quickly, for there seemed to be some sort of warning in his words, but there was no hint of anything in his face.

The bell clanged steadily and great gusts of steam geysered, scaring a team of horses tied to a rail thirty feet from the track. They reared and neighed in terror, and the teamster had to saw on the reins until they grew calmer. The two baggage cars and five coaches jerked to a stop, the conductor appeared on the steps, calling out, “Fargo—twenty minutes for lunch!”

“Better get something to take with us,” Tom said. “These trains don’t keep much of a schedule.” He dug into his pocket, produced some bills and gave one of them to Laurie. “You want to scoot over and get three of those lunches, Laurie?”

The girl took the money, nodded, and moved over to where a young boy was selling sack lunches. Tom got the luggage on board, then Faith and Laurie came to the high step of the coach and he helped them on. “Can I have a seat by the window, Daddy?” Laurie asked. He nodded and she took the seat facing forward. Tom sat down across from her, saying, “You’d better not ride backward, Miss Jamison. Makes some people feel queasy.”

Soon the train gave a convulsive jerk as the brakes were released, and after a first hard
chuff
a preliminary quiver went over the car, and the train moved forward, gradually gaining speed. One man who had been speaking with another just in front of them gave a startled cry, leaped to his feet and made a run down the aisle. They watched as he leaped off the train and fell sprawling in the dust. He got up, shaking his fists at some of the spectators who were laughing at his predicament. The man made a run at them and struck a tall man with his fist. Then the crowd shifted, blocking the passengers’ view.

Faith smiled ruefully at Winslow. “Now,” she said, “we’ll never know who won the fight. It’s like losing a book you’re only half finished with.”

“I did that once,” Laurie piped up. “Remember, Daddy? The book about the little girl who got lost—the book that got left when we moved from Fort Ruby?”

He shook his head, saying, “Can’t remember.”

She said impatiently, “You got it for me for my birthday.
The Old Curiosity Shop
—that was the name of it.” She sighed deeply, regret seeping across her countenance. “I liked that book
so
much!”

Faith smiled, got to her feet, and made her way toward the end of the car. She waited until the conductor came through, then said, “Would it be possible for me to get at one of my suitcases? I need something out of it.”

“Why, sure, miss!” he agreed, and took her on a rather adventurous journey to the baggage car. The wind whipped at her hair and her clothing as they passed over the couplings, and it gave her a quick thrill of fright when she looked down to where the heavy wheels ground against the rails. When they got to the car, he helped her find the bag she sought, then waited while she opened it. When she arose, he said, “I’ll go back with you. Can’t afford to lose a pretty lady like you.” He was old enough to feel concern for her, but young enough to have a sly look in his dark blue eyes.

They made their way back to her car, and she smiled and said, “Thank you so much.”

Going back to where Winslow and Laurie were watching the flat land speed by, she took her seat and handed a book to the girl. “Is this the book you lost, Laurie?” she asked.

Laurie turned around quickly and took the book. It had a dark green cover, the insides well worn with dog-eared pages, but when Laurie opened the cover and saw the first illustration, she cried out, “Daddy, look—there’s Little Nell!” When she looked up at Faith, her eyes were shining and her lips parted with pleasure. She started to say something, then shyness overcame her, and she could only mumble, “Thank you.” She ran her hand over the cover, almost lovingly, and said without looking up, “I’ll read it now, before we get to Bismarck.”

“No need for that, Laurie,” Faith assured her. “It’s your book. I’m glad for someone to have it who likes it as much as I do.”

“Really?” Laurie exclaimed, a smile lighting up her face, making her look quite different. “Is it all right, Daddy?”

Tom Winslow looked across at Laurie, pleased at the scene. “Of course, Laurie.” He tried to bring good things into his daughter’s life, but sometimes it was difficult. Many times he worried about the nature of the life he had given her, knowing that she was missing many things. More than once he had almost made the decision to let Mark have her to raise. The thought of marriage had come to him, of course, but he had never found a woman who fit his situation.

At once, the girl opened the book and began reading, and Tom grinned. “You won’t get any conversation out of her now, Miss Jamison. When she gets her nose into a book, it takes a charge of dynamite to shake her loose.”

“I was the same way,” Faith said. She looked down at the girl beside her, adding, “Perhaps I have some more books she might like. I’ll look when we get to Bismarck.”

“That’s handsome of you,” Tom replied. He thought of offering to pay for the book, but realized instinctively that such an action would be out of place. “I should have gotten her the book long ago.” He hesitated, then added, “Her mother died when she was born.” He started to say more, but his lips clamped shut, and he turned to stare out the window.

He must have loved his wife very much,
Faith thought.
He can’t even bear to speak of her after ten years.

All day the land flowed by as Faith watched out the window, fascinated by the enormity of the spaces that stretched out, seemingly endless. The coaches stretched taut in their couplings and slammed together when the engine abated speed. Cinders pelted the windows, and smoke streamed back the length of the train. A rare siding appeared from time to time, and sometimes a yellow section shanty stood lonely in the sun. Antelope bands appeared, flowing over the broken land in a water-smooth motion, a beautiful sight that pleased Faith greatly. Later she fell asleep until she was awakened as the conductor cried, “Bismarck!”

“Quick trip,” Winslow nodded. As he rose to his feet and stretched his muscles, Faith noted the town’s gray out-sheds and slovenly shanties; then the train stopped and she got to her feet. When they stepped outside, he collected her baggage and said, “Is anyone meeting you?”

“Yes,” she replied, looking around. A man and a woman were coming toward her. “I think they may be the ones.”

Winslow watched as the couple approached and asked, “Miss Jamison?” It seemed odd to him that she would be met by strangers, but as was his custom, he didn’t pry. He got his bags, gave the smaller one to Laurie, and looked up as Faith drew near.

“You’ve been very kind,” she said. “Thank you for all your trouble.”

Winslow took his hat off, saying, “Glad to be of help.” He wanted to say more, but couldn’t find the right words.
Been with Indians so much I can’t even talk to my own people,
he mused, irritated at the thought.

“Miss Jamison,” Laurie said quickly, “thank you for the book. I’ll never lose this one.”