The Traherns #1 (17 page)

I lay there on the hard ground, nothing new for me. What was new
was the way my thoughts kept returning to Dawn.

She had been so alive, so interesting, until Cummings returned.
Then she’d become a completely different person. She reined in her enthusiasm
and became plain dull. If I’d have met her while she was with her pa, I’d have
thought nothing of her.

I was fascinated with her, first with her stillness, which was
anything but dull. It was the stillness of one who looks out over vast plains
and sees a wondrous country. The stillness of a person complete in herself.

That stillness was shattered by Cummings. Did he know it for
what it was? Or did he figure it was one of her strange Indian ways that he
didn’t accept?

It wasn’t Indian. I’d seen it in some of the older hill people
I’d known, comfortable in their own skin. They were the ones that the dogs came
to and put their muzzles into their hands. And the cats just curled up on their
laps and stayed, comfortable and content.

It was the stillness of a person who has been alone a lot and
emptiness doesn’t bother them.

Except for the trip we’d taken to the store, Dawn didn’t talk
much—to me, John or Lewis.

She talked to the horses though, and the cattle. She also talked
with her body, the movement of her hands and the tilt of her head. She could
probably get any animal on the place to do her bidding, including me. But not
the rest of the men, and certainly not her pa. They were not in tune with her,
thinking her strange.

She was a fine looking woman, pretty, but her face had more
character to it that any other pretty girl I’d seen. She wore no makeup, just
what the sun had strongly touched, so in the cities where a white face was
supposed to be a sign of beauty, she would have been thought of as lacking.

She had no tricks to snare
a man, excepting for her stillness and I expect many men would be uncomfortable
with that. I think she used it somewhat to hold herself away from her pa and
the men at the ranch. She dropped it when we were alone and I was teaching her
to read, then slipped it on again when she was with other people.

I put Hero back into his trot, which was smooth and easy to sit.
When we’d hit a long, steep stretch, I’d get off, grab the latigo straps and
run beside him, letting him half pull me along.  It gave both of us a
break. We must have done that trip in record time.

It was busy near Ft. Worth, lots of people around, some who fit
Elmer’s description. I went straight to the Ranger’s office, spoke to the head
gent there and he accompanied me to the bank.

Seems Elmer was there at the bank in Ft. Worth, ready to leave,
with his money already in a case along with a ticket to New Orleans. The Ranger
grabbed Elmer, who looked exactly as the men had described. He started
blubbering, and if there was any question in the Ranger’s mind it was gone
immediately, seeing Elmer’s reaction. He marched Elmer to jail, money and all,
to hold until James Cummings rode in.

The Ranger invited me to have supper with him.

“I’d like that very much, but I have to take care of Hero first.
Where’s a livery stable?”

“Don’t take him there. They buy spoiled grain cheap and mix it
in with the good.”

“I still have some of my own grain.”

“They’ll feed that to their horses. Put him in with mine. The
Rangers have their own barn.” He took a good look at Hero as I untied him.
“Would you sell him?”

“Never.”

“Would you consider joining the Rangers?”

I thought about the fact that I was riding a stolen horse. A
thief to become a lawman? Besides I was never comfortable long in a town. The
people were too close together. “No, thanks.”

He led the way to a nice clean barn and I was able to give Hero
a good reward for his hard work. The Ranger pointed out what served as the
hotel and left. I joined him later and we ate while he told me about the
Rangers and how a few men were trying to keep peace in a land bigger than most
countries.

Next day I started back. The day after that, I passed James
Cummings on his way to Ft. Worth and gave him the news. I was walking Hero
slow, letting him graze now and then as we traveled, so it was almost a week
before I got back to the ranch.

The men were out working, but Dawn was there, happy to see me.
Now riding gives a man a whole heap of time to cogitate on things. I noticed
that on this ride, my thoughts kept dwelling on Dawn.

She was the loveliest thing this side of the Mississippi River.
Quiet, but those eyes of hers would sparkle and shine when she was happy. Like
right now.

“Come see what I did,” she said.

I followed her to where she had hid my Bible and her new
notebook.

She had copied out the whole of John, first, second and third,
the short books. She had underlined some of the words and circled others.

“What’s this?” she pointed to the first word circled.

“Propitiation.”

She repeated it several times to get it set in her mind. “I’ve
never heard it. What does it mean?”

“It means to make things right, by a sacrifice, or payment.
Usually to remove a penalty. See, it says, ‘He is the propitiation for our
sins...’”

She finished reading the sentence out loud.

“You’re getting good,” I said. She had figured out many words I
hadn’t taught her.

“What’s this one?”

“Abideth.”

She kept me standing there until she had all the underlined and
circled words clear. The underlined ones were just repeats of the circled ones.
I was amazed at how far she had come.

Now if I could get someone
to be the propitiation for me, and pay off Trey so he wouldn’t come beatin’ the
bushes for me, I’d be right happy.

Dawn cooked a wonderful meal when her father came back home. She
topped it off with a pie made of some black currants she had picked.

The crust was flakey and the smell out of this world, so when I
bit in, I wasn’t expecting it to be so sour and salty. I put my hand over my
mouth and spit it into my hand. I glanced around the table. Cummings had a
shocked expression on his face as he spit his onto his plate.

“Ugh. What did you put in this, you stupid woman? It’s pure
salt.”

Dawn shrunk and pointed, wordlessly, toward where the salt and
sugar sacks sat side by side on the wooden shelf used as a pantry.

“That one says ‘salt,” he yelled, pointing to the right bag.
“Not ‘sugar!’”

She stared down at the ruined pie. “They both begin with an
‘s.’”

“You never made that mistake before. Why now?”

“I tasted them before. This time I read...”

“You can’t read.”

“Yes, she can,” I interrupted. “I’ve been teaching her.”

“Forget it. I don’t want you trying to teach her while you’re
working for me. It’s a waste of time, teaching a woman to read. Especially her.
She’s too dumb. I have more important things for you to do.”

Dawn got up and started clearing the pie from the table. Her
face was set, as if she was holding back her emotions while she took the plates
back into the kitchen.

“I’ll teach her in the evenings,” I said. “After work.”

“Not while you’re working for me,” he growled.

I didn’t have to work for him.
“Did you find a new bookkeeper?” I asked.

“The fellow at the bank recommended a man, but I told him I
already had one.”

“Then you’d better send for him. I told you I would work here
until you found a replacement. I straightened out your books, brought them up
to date, so I’ll be leaving soon.”

“You were hardly here long enough to draw a wage. Especially if
you spent the time teaching Marianne.” He said her name with so much contempt,
I had to hold myself to keep from flattening him on the spot.

“Mr. Cummings, I brought your books up to date, spotted a thief,
caught him for you, and saved you a goodly amount of money. I deserve both a
wage and a reward and I expect to get both of those. I’ll leave in the morning.
Count my money out for me now.”

The other hands got up and left, and Cummings stomped into his
office. I stopped for a moment at the pantry, for something didn’t ring true to
me. Dawn was a better reader than that, to make such a simple mistake.

Cummings unlocked his safe and handed me ten dollars.

“That should do it,” he said.

“Plus the reward.”

“I didn’t put up...”

“Yes, you did.”

He swallowed, handed me twenty more.

“Thank you.”

I turned to leave and just about ran into John as he charged
into the room. “Marianne’s gone. She took the filly.”

Cummings jumped to his feet. “How could she? She knew I was
planning to breed that mare.”

“Where do you think she went?” I asked.

“Back to the Kiowas, I reckon. She used to try to run away when
we first got her back. She won’t find them. They’re gone.” He paced to the
front porch and looked off into the darkness. “Stupid, worthless woman.”

“I’ll go get her,” I said.
For myself, not for him.

“She’s not worth it. But if you can bring the filly back, I’ll
give you two dollars.”

“What’s the mare worth?”

“Ten at least. It’s a good horse.”

I pulled out one of the ten dollar gold pieces he had just given
me and handed it to him.

“This pays for the filly. If I find Dawn, we’ll not be coming
back.”

“So it’s ‘Dawn’ now, is it? Get off my place.”

“Gladly. But first write me out a bill of sale for the filly.”

We went back inside and he did, muttering all the time. I took
the paper, read it, folded it and took it out to the bunkhouse. I had a
courier’s pouch I had kept over from the war. I’d placed all my important
papers in it, as it was oilskin and nigh perfect waterproof. I took long enough
to put Misty’s bill of sale into it before I packed my things.

I gathered my gear, filled my canteens, made one brief stop to
grab my Bible and Dawn’s notebook, and rode off down the road. I wasn’t that
far behind her, but the dust was already settled and I stopped Hero, wondering
just which way to go. The stars were showing by now, their brilliance
increasing as the night deepened. Starlight actually gives off enough light out
in the open for a horse to travel by, and there was a glow in the east, like a
small fire, that told me the moon would soon be a rising.

Hero pulled on the reins, eager to go, and I remembered that the
filly had just come back into heat.

I eased the reins and let him have his head. He turned west on
the trail headed toward the mountains, and I just let him go.

She had a good start on us, but ever so often I’d check the
trail. Misty’s unshod hoof prints stood out atop all the others. Hero trotted
fast, I think faster than he’d ever gone before, and I just eased back in the
saddle and let him run under me.

She had probably gotten a half-hour’s start on us, so I didn’t
look for her at first. After an hour or so, Hero nickered and started to
gallop. I could smell dust now, so knew we were closing in.

More dust than a single horse would make. I topped a rise and
looked out over the flat prairie in front of us, now lit by the bright moon.

There she was, surrounded by nine Indians.

Were they helping her or had they captured her?

The flat plain was a flood plain for the Brazos. I could see it
moving down the middle of the valley like a huge, wide snake.

They were headed straight for it. Was it shallow enough to
cross?

I urged Hero into a flat-out run, hoping we could reach them in
time.

There. They’d seen me. Some were pointing at me while others
were going down the riverbank.

As I drew close I could see that someone had built a two-horse
ferry. They were taking the horses across on this, Misty and Dawn included.

I got to the river’s edge just as the last of them ferried
across. I looked at the rope system that had been set up. The ropes appeared
good and stout and I took hold of them to pull the ferry back over to my side.

It was not to be. Laughing, they cut the ferry loose and let it
drift away on the river. Then they waved to me and rode away.

Dawn hadn’t waved. She had looked at me, but hadn’t moved her
hands. I figured they were tied down.

That river was flooding, carrying a huge volume of water. It was
not shallow nor was it tame.

I dismounted and waited until the Indians had ridden off with
their prize. They figured I couldn’t cross here. Well, maybe not, but I would
die trying.

I pulled off my boots and tied on my moccasins, then tied my
boots and guns to the saddle horn to keep them as dry as possible. I waited
while Hero’s breathing steadied down. I’d do Dawn no good, getting river
drowned.

He pawed impatiently at the ground, so I climbed on and headed
him into the water.

“Well, Hero, do you want that filly bad enough?”

He leaped out and in with a big splash, then started swimming. I
kicked my feet out of the stirrups and slid off his tail, grabbing it and
hanging on, letting him pull me across. As soon as my weight was off him, his
back rose out of the water and he swam easily, strong, powerful strokes that
carried him out into the middle where the current was stronger.

I watched upstream for logs or other debris, coming down on us,
but most floated so low I couldn’t see them until they hit us. We drifted
downstream as he swam, so he came out quite a ways down from where he entered.
He clambered up the bank, pulling me along with him, then shook like a big dog,
flinging water every which way.

I looked back at that river. Those Indians probably figured I
was on my way home by now. They wouldn’t be expecting me.

I dropped the reins on Hero and climbed further up the bank,
scouting ahead. It was still dark out, but the moon was full, so I could see
them as easily as they had spotted me earlier.

They were riding out of the flood plain area and into the brush
beyond. I waited until I figured they’d all cleared it, then mounted Hero and
put him back into his trot.

I slowed down as we reached the brush on the edge of the plain.
I didn’t want to barge in there with Hero and give them another horse to steal.

Dismounting, I slipped down the trail, checking it out, then
stopped, my nerves on full alert.

A small glow showed where their fire was. They were laughing and
talking, secure in having left me on the other side of the river.

I counted them. Eight, plus Dawn. Where was number nine?

Glad I had my moccasins on, as I could feel the brush under my
feet, I pulled back from the camp and circled it, looking for number nine. He
was with the horses, stroking Misty.

Now to get Dawn away. I’d probably have to forgo Misty’s escape.

They had tied Dawn to a small tree. I circled around and came up
behind her, took my knife and slit the bonds.

“Matthew,” she whispered, “cut Misty free. Then run.”

It meant me crawling back to where the horses were, but by then
number nine had rejoined the group at the fire.

The horses snorted as I got close, uncertain of who I was. I
untied Misty, pulled her head down, then tied the reins behind her ears so she
wouldn’t think she was ground-tied. I was circling back to the trail where I’d
come in, knowing I was pushing my luck, when a shout from the campfire told me
somebody was figuring things out.