The Reluctant Bridegroom (18 page)

“What’s up?”

“Jack Stedman beat Tom Lake to a pulp. They got to drinkin’ and kicked up a ruckus.” There was anger in Lloyd’s tone. “I’da shot him, Sky, but then we’d be short two drivers instead of one.”

“How bad is he?”

“The women have been trying to work on him. You’d better take a look.” He led the way to a wagon where Rebekah and Karen were bending over a still form.

“Let me see.” Sky bent over to look at Lake’s face and was shocked. Both the man’s eyes were swollen shut, and his nose was obviously broken. One of his ears had been torn almost from his head, but was stitched. His lips were puffy and cut.

“Who did the needle work?” he asked.

“The army doctor,” Dave answered. “He’s got a couple of broken ribs, too.”

“We can’t take him on the trip in that condition,” Sky said.

“You can’t leave him here,” Rebekah returned at once. Lake had driven her wagon and although he had not been much of a talker, he had revealed enough about himself that she knew how badly he needed to get to Oregon. “If we make a soft bed in my wagon, I can drive until he gets better.”

Sky gave her a look, then agreed. “All right. “

He turned and walked away, headed toward the other fire, and Dave hurried along after him. “Watch yourself, now, Sky!”

Winslow did not appear to have heard. He walked up to where Stedman was waiting, flanked by his two drinking partners, Ralph Osmond and Leon Crumpler. All three were standing there like cocked guns, and Stedman said loudly, “Now you wait right there, Winslow! That fight was none of my doing. Lake called me a liar, and I don’t stand that from no man!”

“That’s right. Jack didn’t have no choice,” Crumpler nodded.

“Anybody else see this fight, Dave?” Sky asked, fixing the three men with a sharp gaze.

“Just a couple of soldiers.”

Sky felt trapped. The three of them would stick to their story, and he could not continue the trip short three drivers. “Stedman,” he said, “you’re a sorehead and a troublemaker, but no more. If you lay a hand on any man in this train again, I’ll cut you down.”

The threat hung in the air, and Stedman said stubbornly, “No man calls me a liar!”

“Remember what I said,” Sky reminded him and walked away.

“He thinks you were afraid to buck him,” Dave said. “He’ll give you more trouble, sure.” He waited for a reply, but none came. “That feller Lake, he was doing real good, Sky. No drinking all the way from Independence, and now he’s all done in. That Stedman . . . !”

Sky’s reply was soft as the night air. “Oh, well, Dave, something may happen to him before this trip is over.”

Surprised at the mild response, Dave looked over to see Winslow’s face, and something he saw seemed to reassure him. “Yeah—reckon it might, Sky. Reckon it might!”

CHAPTER TWELVE

RITA TAKES A TRY

Lake had a bad night, but Rebekah got a supply of laudanum from the army doctor. “We’ll be using it for other hurts,” she said as Sky stopped by their wagon before the group pulled out. She had asked Karen to take Timmy in her wagon until Lake got better, and now she pulled herself onto the wagon seat and took up the reins. “Ready whenever you are, Sky,” she told him.

“Be a pretty bumpy ride on that seat,” he said. He had noticed her thickening figure and wished there were another way. “I’ll come and spell you after we get rolling.”

He pulled his horse around, rode to the front of the column, and waved a hand at Kieta and White Hawk. The two slipped on their ponies and rode toward him. He grinned at the startled look on Dave’s face. “Forgot to tell you, Dave, I hired us some guides.”

“Them?” Dave asked in amazement. “But—they’re
Indians!
”

“So they are. That’s why I want them along.”

“Don’t know how it will go over with the others, Sky.”

“If they don’t like it, they can stay here.” Sky rode along in front of the train, aware of the buzz of talk, but ignoring it as he discussed the trip with Kieta and White Hawk. When they got to the river, he saw that the Rikers were already in line waiting to join the train.

Riker started at the two Indians, and Sky said, “This is Kieta and White Hawk. Going to do some scouting for us.”

A hard expression crossed Riker’s face. “I don’t trust an Indian, Winslow. They’re all alike—treacherous.”

Sky smiled. “Funny—that’s what most Indians say about white men. But I know these two.” He paused and added with no emphasis but with a light in his blue eyes. “Matter of fact, White Hawk here is my cousin.”

The Rikers gaped and Malon Riker, the older of the boys, exploded, “Pa, we ain’t gonna go on a train led by them savages, are we?”

Albert Riker plainly had some of the same thoughts, but he was anxious to get to Oregon, and the next train might not come for a month—and they might not want late additions. He chewed his lower lip as he thought it over, his big shoulders sloping. “Guess it’ll be all right,” he replied finally. “You say that one is a Sioux? Any kin to this Spotted Elk the colonel talks about?”

“Reckon they’re some kind of kin,” Sky shrugged. “Lots of different brands of Sioux, but they’re pretty clannish. Spotted Elk is a Teton Sioux, and White Hawk is an Oglala. But it won’t hurt us to have him along when Spotted Elk comes calling. Besides, these two will bring in all the meat we’ll need.”

“All right, Winslow. I told my people to stay clear of your train when we stop for the night. You know the way and we don’t, so you’re the wagon boss far as that goes.”

“Glad you can see it like that,” Sky answered. Then he threw up his hand and signaled for Lloyd to take the train on. He waited until Riker’s wagons pulled in behind them, then said, “Guess we’ll go get something for the pot. Don’t expect Spotted Elk will give us any trouble—not till we get past Laramie.” The three rode out and spent the morning hunting.

At two o’clock Dave saw a single horseman, and soon recognized Sky. He watched as Sky came closer. “Got some prairie chickens and a couple of small antelopes,” called Winslow.

“Where’s the Indians?”

“Oh, they’ll come in when they take a notion. That’s what
an Indian likes, Dave. Prowling around and looking for trouble.” Chuckling, Sky jumped off his horse. When Rebekah came by driving the second wagon, he tied his horse to the back of it and hoisted himself up over the rear. Lake was lying on a thick pile of quilts, and he turned his head toward Sky. His face looked worse than it had before, but that was to be expected.

“Who is it?” he whispered through his bruised lips.

“Winslow. How you feeling, Tom?”

“Well—there’s a spot up high on my left arm . . .”

Puzzled, Sky touched the arm gently. “You mean here?”

“Yeah—well, I don’t hurt
right there,
Winslow—but I do every place else.”

“You took a bad beating, Tom. But there was nothing I could do about it. Stedman and his friends all say you started it.”

Lake laughed, then gasped from the pain of the broken ribs. “Sure. Little Tom Lake jumped on the three of them!”

“What was it about, Tom?”

He hesitated. “They were talking wrong about the women on the train.”

“Any particular one?”

Lake avoided his question. “Gotta thank you for bringing me along, Sky. Most men would have left me at Kearney.”

“You have Rebekah to thank for that, Tom.” He got up and said, “I’m going to spell her for a while. I doubt she’s ever driven a wagon in her life. Sing out if you need something.”

He leaped out the back of the wagon, landed lightly on his feet, then ran around to the front of the wagon and pulled himself into the seat. “I’ll take the lines, Rebekah. Maybe you’d like to walk—or take a rest.”

“Oh, I’m all right, Sky.” She stretched herself, and turned back toward where Lake lay. “He’s feeling pretty bad.”

“A beating does that to you. Always worse the next day.”

She observed quietly, “This is a hard country.”

“Every place is hard. Guess there are people in New York
who got beat up last night. The Bible says, ‘There’s nothing new under the sun.’ “ He sat loosely on the seat, his eyes the only alert thing about him as they constantly scanned the horizon. He was, she thought, like a wild thing, totally aware of the world, of his world—the trees, the hawk that circled in the sky, and the snake that coiled and struck at the wheel of Lloyd’s wagon.

She asked, “Do you miss your boy much, Sky?”

“Yes.” He turned to her and explained soberly, “Been worried about him. The two of us live a long way from a settlement, and he’s getting too old for that. Needs to learn books and how to be with people.” He broke off suddenly as though he’d been caught in some sort of error; she’d noticed that he often did that whenever he’d made a personal remark.
He’s built a wall around himself a mile high,
she thought.
That woman must have hurt him terribly.

Two hours later he called out, “Dave, pull in by those cottonwoods. There’s a little stream there.”

Soon the cooking fires were lit and Rebekah spent the time playing with Timmy. “He’s such a good baby,” Karen remarked as she watched. “Did you have a hard time with him when he was born?”

Rebekah hesitated, and for one moment she almost weakened. Then she replied, “He came pretty easy.” That was what Mary had told her, so she was able to put the question aside without a direct lie or allowing any further questions concerning her life. She changed the subject quickly. “I think Timmy can ride in our wagon in another day. Tom felt pretty sick today, but he’ll be better by then.”

“He’s no trouble. Look, the food’s ready.” They went to the cooking fire and found Sky squatting beside it with a small black pot simmering in front of him. “Didn’t know you could cook,” Karen smiled.

“Got some prairie chickens this morning. My ma always fed me chicken soup when I was sick. Guess this is about as close as we can come.” He lifted the lid and sniffed it. “Smells
pretty good. One of you want to see if you can wrestle some of this down Lake’s throat?”

“I’ll do it if you’ll watch Timmy,” Rebekah offered. She filled a pan with the steaming soup, found a big spoon, then made her way back to the wagon.

“She’s a good nurse,” Sky remarked.

Rita had come up in time to hear the conversation, and she stooped down beside Sky. “Well, there goes rule number one, Sky.”

“Rule number one?”

“Sure. Women and men don’t spend time together. Looks like Rebekah and Lake are spending all their time together. Can I have some of that soup, Sky? I’m tired of antelope.”

“Sure—but about Rebekah and Tom, that’s a have-to case.”

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Rita replied as she took some of the soup and began sipping it hungrily. “But others might think it’s odd.”

“They can think what they like.”

Sky got up and walked away, and Karen said, “You made him angry, Rita. He’s got a hard job.”

Rita shrugged. “I knew it’d never work. Men and women are going to get together. Sky can’t stop it, and all Lot Penny’s preaching won’t stop it either.”

Penny had wanted to have services every night, but there was little response, so he contented himself with the service each Sunday morning, and used his influence with greater subtlety during the rest of the week. He’d had one clash with Rita, saying to her, “Sister, you shouldn’t wear such revealing clothes. It’s distracting to the men.”

Rita had been wearing a loose dress, the sleeves cut off between the shoulder and elbow, the neck low enough to reveal the curves of her body. “Let them look the other way, Lot!” she’d snapped.

“No, men are easy stirred. And no woman on this train knows that fact better than you. They can’t help it.”

“If they can’t help it, neither can I,” Rita had frowned. “And I don’t want any more of your preaching!”

Later Penny tried to warn Sky about Rita, but Winslow had only said, “I’ll keep the men away from her, Lot. That’s about all I can do.”

“What about you, Brother Winslow?”

“
Me?
” A look of surprise swept Sky’s face. “I’m not looking for a wife, Lot.”

“She’s a mighty cunning woman, and you know as well as I do that she’s got a knowledge of men. She’s a deep ditch, Brother Winslow—be sure you don’t fall into it.”

As the days moved by, and the train made its way across the plain, crawling like insects under the enormous sky, Sky took Penny’s warning to heart and kept himself aloof from the train. He went out each day, coming in early to help Rebekah with the driving, but took little part in the talk that went on over the campfire each night.

Day after day the train moved along the banks of the Platte River. Three miles on either side the land rose in sandstone cliffs, higher and more broken as the trail moved west. Game was plentiful—antelope and coyotes, grizzlies and black bears, buffalo and innumerable prairie dogs. Sky told the people that the Platte valley lay in a kind of no man’s land, with the warlike Pawnees to the north and the Cheyennes to the south. “We’ll be in Spotted Elk’s hunting ground soon enough,” he added.

They crossed the confluence of the Platte’s north and south fork, followed the north fork, and were forced to transport the wagons by chaining the wheels to the wagon boxes and skidding them with ropes to the bottom of the grade. The trail led through Ash Hollow, and as they began to move upward, the nights got colder.

On the first day of June, a Sunday, they reached a towering mass of stone west of the river. “Chimney Rock,” Sky announced as the church service broke up. “Lots of people carve their names on it.”

“Let’s go do it,” Rita suggested at once. She had been infuriated by the sermon, for Brother Penny had preached on the lusts of the flesh, and she had felt his eyes fixed on her. “Anyone care to go along?”

“I’d like to go,” Karen responded, and several others spoke up. There was little to do on Sunday afternoons, and the fresh, cool air made them want some exercise. “Would it be dangerous, Mr. Winslow?”

“Might break your neck—but no Indians. Want to go along, Dave?”

“Sure.”

“All right, we take the lightest wagon, unload it and ride to the base. But I warn you—it’s a steep climb.”