The Handsomest Man in the Country (3 page)

Two days ago we'd passed a huge group of such mounds near the remains of a train, the burned wagons still carrying the smell of smoke. The unfortunate victims had been buried by another train passing through ahead of us, the earth so fresh it had just started to crust over. No one spoke as we passed through, but the warning was there for all to see.

Only a fool would think that he could live forever; and out here one began to feel quick-like, that unless he took care, he wouldn't last until the next week.

There was a big commotion going on up further along the wagons and Uncle Dem kept looking forward to see what it was all about, but a slight dip in the prairie hid all but the two nearest wagons from us. We were the last in line and were looking forward to being the leaders tomorrow. Cordell Knast's wagon was in front today. He was a big strong man, kind and gentle, a hard worker but a slow thinker.

The commotion continued, a ripple of voices, and finally Uncle Dem could take it no longer. He handed the reins to Aunt Edith and swung down to untie his horse from the back of the wagon and ride up to see what was going on.

Curious, we watched as we cleared the rim of the dip, but even then could see nothing unusual. We must have been going through an old buffalo wallow for we were in a small crater-shaped area and already the lead wagons had gone on out. There was certainly nothing to cause so much excitement that we could see.

A few minutes later Uncle Dem appeared, turning his horse to ride alongside of us. "Web and Elliot just brought in a man the Indians had caught. They'd staked him out on an ant hill and were so busy watching the fun they didn't see Web until he was right upon them. He shot one, and Elliot was shooting from behind some rocks so they didn't know how many were there and skedaddled."

"Is the poor man still alive?" Aunt Edith asked.

"Yes, barely. They were cutting him up to make the ants more interested and I guess he was laughing at them and insulting their courage... trying to get them to kill him quicker."

The shudder that ran through Aunt Edith also ran through me. "Did you see him?" I asked, wondering how anyone could stand thousands of ants biting them.

"Yes. He's a big man. They put him in Cordell's wagon. I'll give him some of my clothes if he recovers."

"Why?" Aunt Edith wanted to know. "What's wrong with his?"

I could've answered her, but Uncle Dem did, bluntly. "He ain't got none."

She opened her mouth to speak, but gasped instead as something hit with a thud. It was an arrow, and it had caught Aunt Edith dead center. She slid off the seat, the reins still clutched in her hands.

Even as my mind was registering this, three arrows hit the off-side leader and he fell in his traces, a good mule now dead; effectively stopping our wagon since the other mules couldn't move. Uncle Dem jumped down, knife out, cutting the traces with one hand as he used his pistol with the other.

The guns were all there next to me. There were three of them, fully loaded, for Uncle Dem knew a gun always loaded was a sight safer than an "unloaded" one.

I grabbed my father's Sharps and sent a bullet through an Indian who had ridden up behind Uncle Dem, his lance held high. The boom of that gun should warn the train and perhaps send help. I next caught up Uncle Dem's shotgun and blasted two braves who had sprung up out of the grass and were almost in the wagon seat. They fell backward, the blast of the shot knocking them away and splattering me with blood.

Uncle Dem had the dead mule cut free by now and grabbing my pistol I shot again at a savage trying to lance the lead mule on the other side. The Indian was lying low on his horse—they were more wary now—but this was my squirrel shooting gun and what I shot at, I hit.

I lowered the pistol just long enough to crack the whip over those mules and get them moving. Aunt Edith still had the reins gripped in her hands. The mules were following where the rest of the wagons had cleared the rim and disappeared, and I figured that, trail broke as they were, they'd keep on following even if Aunt Edith didn’t have the strength to guide them.

I had seen Uncle Dem swing into the saddle and could only hope he was coming too. He had an arrow in his back but it didn't seem to be slowing him down any. I looked over and saw only one other Indian, riding alongside the wagon, trying to get a shot at my mules and I shot him off his horse. Probably didn't kill him, but I sure slowed him down some. It took me three shots to get him, the wagon was bouncing so hard my aim was spoiled.

Clearing the rim of the depression, I spotted five riders coming toward us from the rest of the wagons. The terrain was rocky and dry, covered with sagebrush, and the wagons must have been strung out over a quarter mile. The lead wagon—Cordell Knast's—had swung wide off the trail circling around the top of a small knoll to give the train the added protection of higher ground, but in so doing had exposed everyone because the knoll hadn't been close enough.

But like the body of a centipede, the rest of the train followed suit, the animals lashed into a frantic run until the circle was finally complete, each wagon facing slightly inward, the teams left in harness but tied to the tail of the wagon in front.

The riders passed me, then fell in behind as the Indians rode away, unwilling to continue the attack against those odds.

I slowed the team down and pulled up next to the circle. There had been no spot left open for me, but if the Indians had've killed my mules there wouldn't have been no need for an opening.

Axel Gunther went to my lead mule. It was injured and had been staggering the last few yards and Axel and Barney unharnessed it. There was an arrow deep in its side; the poor beast must have been running on courage alone. It lay on its side, moaning loudly, and Axel had to kill it.

Web dismounted and climbed in with me and Aunt Edith. I still couldn't get the reins out of her hands, and looking closer I realized she was dead. She had the look my mother had, of absolute stillness, the life gone from her body. She must have died instantly and for that I was thankful. I doubt she even knew she'd been hit.

Web was looking me over and worriedly wiping the blood from my face. "It's not mine," I told him and mentioned the shotgun. He wanted to know what had happened, and I told him, quickly, asking if Uncle Dem had made it. I couldn't see him although his horse was there.

"Not really. He made it back, Mallory, but we were holding him in the saddle and he died as we took him off."

It hit me hard, probably because I had so recently buried my folks and Uncle Dem had been so like Pa. Both had been tall men with a quick sense of humor and a ready laugh, kind and generous to all. Both had taken the time to point things out to me, giving me advice and training that I would need. Now I was alone.

Pa had wanted a son and got me instead, then Ma got too ill to have another child and so I was on the receiving end of all the knowledge he wished to share.

Now most young’uns don't want to be bothered with what their elders want to teach them, but Pa was a natural teacher and made things plumb interesting, and I was born curious, so we made a pair. He'd taught me to shoot since there was no boy to do the hunting, and his lessons had stood me well during the past few minutes.

I had reloaded the Sharps and the shotgun while the mules were running, and now broke open the pistol and reloaded it. I wasn't even thinking what I was doing, but I always reloaded after firing and did so even now.

The Indians had pulled back, vanishing into the high grass. The first to attack had been on foot, which was why we hadn't seen them; then the riders charged in after the first group of arrows were shot. They were a small band and I had put at least five out of action and I know Uncle Dem hit two.

They were not about to charge up to circled wagons after meeting that kind of resistance. If they could've cut us off quick enough, and if Uncle Dem hadn't been able to cut the mule free, my hair might be adorning the bridle of one of those braves. It was not a comforting thought.

I was shaking with reaction but finished putting the shells in before the trembling swept over me. Web didn't say anything, just helped me set the guns back in the wagon and gave me time to recover.

Axel came up with Hedda and helped me down. First time I'd ever been helped in or out of a wagon, but my knees weren't any too steady right then.

I hadn't known them long, but Uncle Dem and Aunt Edith were kin and had taken me in without any hesitation and had showered upon me all the love they had in 'em.

Aunt Edith had had children, a pair of boy twins and one baby girl, all wiped out when smallpox hit. She had almost lost her mind at that time. Uncle Dem had explained it to me when he saw me trying to figure out why she was carrying baby clothes west with them. He said my being there helped her. If she'd lived longer, she might've been able to let go of those memories.

Web got the reins free and they lifted her out and laid her beside Uncle Dem. The prairie claimed a heavy toll and no one knew who was going to have to pay it.

The men got out the shovels and started the graves right then. There was no time to waste; everyone wanted to get the burial over and move out of the area and I didn't blame them.

I felt all hollow inside, with an emptiness that grief had created and only time could heal. Mr. Hayes read the words and the train started up again, with Barney Ashley riding beside me.

We were running short on men and no longer had one to a wagon. Calvert Smith was driving his own rig after Joe Peters had dropped the wagon on himself trying to change a wheel. It had busted up his foot and he had to keep it up high to keep infection from setting in.

Owen Madison had been drowned crossing the Kansas River although he had two boys, Gavin and Gareth, to keep their family going. Gavin was married to Kate, a nice girl, eight months pregnant, who seemed to get on well with her mother-in-law, Glenda. Gareth was twenty years old, a hard worker and a good shot.

And during this attack Uncle Dem and Aunt Edith had been killed and Duncan Ashley was injured when his horse stepped in a hole and threw him as the wagons were racing for the knoll. Barney was with me now, but I knew I couldn't ask him to do Uncle Dem's work; with his father injured he wouldn't even be able to give much help to Axel.

I was going to have to do my own work somehow. The years of working Pa's farm would help. I was as strong as you could expect out of a girl, but not brawny and there was only so much I could lift. Given time, I could do most anything; using ropes and tackles I had always managed at the farm. But these folks wouldn't want to wait for me. And I had no money to hire a man to help me even if there had been a man for hire in the wagons.

Watching the four mules pulling the wagon, I realized that I had to do what Aunt Edith wouldn't...empty out excess weight. They were pulling fine now, but the road was smooth and hard. That oak wagon was sturdy, but heavy all by itself. It could be used as a freight wagon if need be, and Uncle Dem had mentioned earning himself some spending money in Oregon hauling freight.

If I wanted both wagon and mules to make the rest of the trip, I'd have to lighten the load. The heavy furniture would have to go. And I'd give those baby clothes to Kate Madison if she wanted them.

Mr. Hayes rode up on his large bay gelding and motioned for Barney to leave. "Your Pa needs you," he said, and waited for Barney to run forward before moving his horse in close to where I sat.

I waited for him to speak; by the looks on his face it wasn't anything I wanted to hear. "Barney's going to be busy enough without helping you, Miss Buchanan. You're going to have to take care of yourself, best you can. I don't want you calling on the other menfolk for help either, their wives won't like it."

"I've been trying to think what to do—"

"Be best if you got married. That way there'd be no problems, no hard feelings."

"Oh, but—" That was a drastic solution. And not one I cared for. I didn't even know the young men on this train very well. None of them had paid me no notice, wrapped up in Pa's blue coat as I'd been with that old hat and scarf on...they probably hadn't even noticed I was young.

"You think about it. Out here, a woman without a man don't last long. Country's too hard."

"I'll make it. I can do the work myself." I was determined to stay independent.

"See that you do. I want no trouble on this train."

He rode off and I watched him go, riding away with his back ramrod straight. I wouldn't get any help from him and I wouldn't put it past him to keep others from helping me.

My words had scarcely left my lips when we arrived at another river crossing. They were all deep with the spring rains still in them. A few were wide and shallow, but most were swift and dangerous. I was still in the end position which gave me time to get ready for the crossing.

Before, with Uncle Dem, Aunt Edith and myself working together, it took us no time at all since each of us had certain jobs we would do. Now I had to do it all and it took time to figure out the things Uncle Dem had done. I had trouble blocking up the wagon bed to the top of the standard, but made it unaided.

It looked like I was going to make this journey at the tail end of the line, because there was no way the rest were going to wait for me every time we had to cross a river.

Of the four mules the new leaders were small and when they hit swimming depth all I could see were their heads. I felt the wagon pulling them sideways downstream and urged them onwards. They were giving their all, but not going to make it, when Cordell Knast swam his horse up close and tossed me a rope to tie onto the wagon's side.

He was using a western saddle and wrapped the rope around the horn and swam upstream enough to help my mules make it across. Even then we missed the main landing area, but fortunately came out at a spot with enough slope we could get the wagon out. For sure I had to off load some of Aunt Edith's things.

Nothing was lost by anyone, but that was one of the smaller, tamer rivers and I pondered how I was to cross anything larger. We made camp fairly late that night and I had my next challenge. The men usually unhitched the mules and then pulled the wagons close together by hand. There was no way I was going to be able to pull that wagon even a few feet.