Unconquerable Callie (3 page)

Seth had been in the saddle too long. He straightened his spine, shifted in the saddle, and rotated his shoulders. There were several more hours of riding before first camp. He took off his hat and swiped his sleeve across his brow. The May sun beat down on him and, not for the first time, he questioned his decision to captain another wagon train across the Oregon Trail clear to Oregon City.

He patted his buckskin horse on its sweat-shiny neck and gently nudged him forward. He was a man that had spent most of his life in the saddle and could think as easy moving as sitting still. Not that thinking and questioning his decisions was what Seth McCallister wanted to do, but like breathing, it happened automatically.

He was restless and tired. Tired of putting his life in danger, tired of the burden of responsibility for so many lives, and tired of having no place to call home. He didn’t want to acknowledge it, but more than any of the other reasons for his discontentment was a longing for a place of his own.

He had no regrets for his years on the trail, many of them spent as a scout for the army, and many of them spent alone, exploring the mountains and plains. He loved this wild western land even as it gradually changed and settled. But of late, a gnawing in his belly and a weariness over never knowing where he’d lay his head at night had begun to wear him down.

He reined Tramp over to a slow-moving stream, and, loosening the reins, let the buckskin arch his neck to drink the waters fed by the melting snow. The ground was moist and the horse’s hooves left deep indentations that quickly filled up with the run-off.

Seth raised his head and, with every sense alert, swept the area, inhaling the wet woody smell of trees and the musky rotting of last year’s fallen leaves. These were familiar smells indigent to the area. What wasn’t familiar was the faint scent of wood smoke. Seth not only could smell it, he could taste the acrid odor on his tongue. Many times, his heightened senses had saved his life and he had learned not to ignore them. Tense, alert, he moved quickly.

He slid down from his horse’s back, his supple body curving over the horse’s belly and dropping to a crouch as he quietly moved closer to the beckoning smell. He parted the brush without any unnecessary movement. This acuity was why he was recognized as one of the best wagon masters around.

Seth dropped to his belly and inched forward, blending in with the brush and foliage. He crept painfully slow, never causing the tall grass to wave.

Below him, camped along the stream, was a small band of Pawnee Indians. He could hear them talking, laughing, but he was not close enough to make out their words. They had evidently caught their supper from the meandering stream and were busy spitting the fish with green willows and cooking them above the coals of a small fire. The sizzle of trout made Seth’s mouth water. It had been hours since the biscuit he’d called lunch.

He believed they were young braves and, judging from the lack of paint, Seth knew they weren’t on a war party. He saw a small remuda of horses and smiled, seeing an army brand on two of the tethered mares. Now he knew why they had wandered this close to Independence. Horses, namely army horses, unguarded, and easy pickings for the stealthy, striking Pawnee.

Seth had spent some time in an Indian camp one Montana winter where he’d watched the constant training of the young men. He had nothing but admiration for their many abilities and their adaptation to an untamed land. He also respected them as worthy adversaries. He wasn’t so smug in his own abilities that he allowed himself to become complacent and discount their strength and fierce determination when called upon to follow a trail of war. He’d seen first hand the fate of men who underestimated the Indian, no matter the tribe. Seth didn’t try to find reason for their actions as gruesome and uncalled for as they sometimes seemed. Instead, he tried to avoid confrontation and treated the Redman with respect. In return, word had spread that Seth McCallister was a man to trust.

He slithered backward from the camp until he could safely crouch his way back to Tramp. The braves were no threat. He gave a silent thanks for his horse, well trained to the many dangers lurking in these mountains and plains.

Seth mounted Tramp and turned him back toward Independence. By the time the wagon train reached the spot where the braves had camped, they’d be long gone. Still, he didn’t like the fact that Indians were this close, and knew he’d be doubly watchful and more alert to dangers lurking around every bush, tree, and boulder.

He paused on the top of a knoll and surveyed the teeming city. There were tents everywhere as settlers waited for the train to form and move out. The noise was deafening after the quiet of the mountains.

The history of Independence, Missouri, intrigued Seth. He admired Jim Bridger as a hunter, trapper, and guide, and knew he’d been a resident of Independence. He also knew of the Mormon missionaries who had been driven out by the political establishment. He was aware that they now used Nauvoo, Missouri, as their point of departure for heading out along the Oregon Trail.

Independence was growing, and in no time would be a city. Seth wasn’t a city man. No, Independence may be the natural jumping off spot for the Oregon Trail, but it wasn’t for him. He nudged Tramp down the narrow path to where his tent was pitched. There were only a few spots left; the wagon train was nearly formed. He’d like to have twenty, but was willing to settle for eighteen. Hopefully, the people under his charge would be ready to face the hardships ahead of them. He regretted that there were so many wives and children on this train. Seth felt that any man taking his wife or child along this perilous trail could be viewed as guilty of murder.

The Oregon Trail was no place for a woman.

“Caleb, we have got to get those oxen and wagon now, today. If I have that much of a start, your father will see I’m serious and the battle will be half won. First things first, we need directions to the oxen. It’s my understanding that someone there at the smithy’s can point us in the right direction. Your first job will be to approach those men and make the inquiries.”

The boy nodded and started off, only to be stopped by her restraining hand on his shoulder. “Caleb, under no circumstances are you to mention me.” At his puzzled look, she went on to explain. “No one must know I’m buying the wagon and oxen myself. No one. I’m not asking you to lie, I’ll do that myself when it comes to it. I’m just asking you to be cautious of what you say. You are inquiring about the purchase of oxen. You may say you and your parents are joining the train West, which you are, so that won’t be a lie. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Ma’am. I surely do.”

“And, Caleb,” she said, stopping him again, “it’s Callie. We’ve got too long a journey for you to be addressing me as ma’am. Now go get us some directions.”

Caleb stood there a moment, then he nodded, squared his shoulders with newfound importance, and said, “I’ll be right back with those directions, Callie.” Blushing, he took off toward the blacksmith shop and in a few minutes had joined the circle of men.

Callie watched, unaware that she was holding her breath, as one man put a hand on Caleb’s shoulder and walked with him away from the others. They stopped after several feet and the man pointed west. Callie saw Caleb nod and say something, then reach out and shake the man’s hand. He was smiling from ear-to-ear when he ran back to where Callie was standing.

“Callie,” he said breathlessly, “I got it. I got them directions and we’re not far. Not far at all.”

Callie felt great relief at Caleb’s words. “Good job. Over the first hurdle. Any problems?” she asked, a small wrinkle between her eyes.

“Nope. Nary a one. I just walked up and said my ma and pa are fixin’ to join up with the wagon train outside of town and we heard there was a man around these parts with oxen for sale. That fella knew right off and said he’d looked at the oxen himself and they were sound. He said the price is right and he’d a bought them up himself, but he’d decided on mules. Said he was worried about the heat and how poorly oxen did with it.” Caleb paused for a moment, catching his breath, then he continued, a hint of worry in his voice.

“Callie, do you think we should maybe look at mules? Oxen do poorly all right in heat.”

“I know they do, Caleb. But I still think they are the best by far. Besides, I have an idea.”

He looked expectantly at her, but she shook her head.

“Not now. I’ll share it when the time is right. That way if it doesn’t work you won’t be able to say, ‘I told you so.’”

“Wouldn’t ever say that, Callie. Ma’am, uh, Callie,” he said soberly. “Some ideas are good. Ma says you can’t hurt a folk for trying and I ‘spect that’s all an idea is.”

“Your ma’s a wise woman. Let’s find those oxen.” As Callie walked along, she wondered if her lonely days were numbered. She missed Aunt Bertha and missed her life as she’d known it, but she wasn’t sorry. No, the road ahead may look long, but Callie was sure she could do it. She had the desire to reach for something new and she had the courage to grab it.

In a few minutes, they saw a wagon pulled under a tree, and milling around the wagon stood four oxen and two mules. The mules were tethered, but the oxen foraged free. Callie gave a gasp and felt a chill of uncharacteristic qualm. They were so big. So menacing. She slowed her pace, closed her eyes, and took several deep breaths.

“You all right, Callie?”

“What? Oh, yes. Fine. It’s just. It’s just. Caleb, they’re so big.”

“They surely are. Right fine looking, aren’t they?”

Callie peered more intently at the animals, getting larger as they grew nearer.
Fine?
She could think of many more words to describe them than fine.

“Caleb.” Her voice was raspy. “Do you know anything about oxen?”

“Why, yes. Guess I do. My grandpa had two of the biggest oxen around. They’d a made these ones look like babies,” he bragged. “Grandpa used them for plowing and about every other hard job on his farm. I saw one of them drag a tree stump about as big as a house outta the field.” His face turned a bright red, “Uh, darn it, I’m stretchin’ it a little, Callie, but they was big and strong. I know about oxen. Don’t you worry none.”

“Thank you, Caleb.” Callie laid her fingertips on his arm. “It was my lucky day when I went downstairs for tea and met you and your parents. Now, we have to get this man to sell us his oxen without knowing he’s dealing with a lone woman.”

“And I can’t lie?” Caleb asked hopefully.

“Absolutely not. I’ll not have to explain any lying to your mother or father. I’ll do the lying,” she said. “Now, be quiet. Let me think.”

Silence hung around them. Caleb could hear himself swallow. He hoped some good came out of Callie’s thinking because, short of him telling the fella a whopper, he didn’t see anyway the man was going to sell four oxen to a woman.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” Callie’s voice broke the silence and filled the air with determination. She opened her purse and dug into it extracting several bills.

“Here.” She thrust several at Caleb. “That’s eighty dollars. I happen to know he’s asking forty dollars a pair.”

“Eighty dollars.” Caleb gasped and his hand squeezed the bills. “I ain’t never seen that much money, lessen hold it. Eighty dollars.”

“You show the man the money and tell him it’s for four oxen.”

“Okay.” He waited expectantly.

“That’s all. Just show him the money, tell him it’s for four oxen, and then no matter what I say, you just keep repeating that. Understand?”

He shook his head. “Can’t say as I do, Callie. He’s bound to have questions.”

“Of course he’ll have questions. The trick is not to let him ask them.”

Caleb frowned. Up to now, Callie had made good sense. Now he was having second thoughts.

She smiled at him, her eyes bright as she patted his arm. “Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.” She took off, her long strides shortening the distance between them and the wagon.

Caleb had no choice but to follow, and follow he did, his hand closed tightly around the eighty dollars. Just as they neared the wagon, a man stepped out from the back followed by a slight woman wearing a sunbonnet that all but hid her face.

“Howdy,” the man said, nodding his welcome. The woman stood to one side, not saying anything, but wearing a pleasant smile.

Callie nudged Caleb forward.

“H-h-hi,” Caleb said, his voice high. He cleared his throat and, lowering his pitch, said, “It’s for four oxen.”

Puzzled, the man stepped back.

Callie gave him another nudge.

Immediately, Caleb thrust forth the money, his knuckles white.

“It’s for four oxen.”

“Well, now, son. How’d you know I’ve got four oxen for sale?”

Caleb opened his mouth, then remembered what Callie had told him. Don’t say anything but, “It’s for four oxen.”

“The Smithy told our pa,” Callie lied smoothly.

Caleb pulled back his head, a look of astonishment on his face.

“That right?”

Callie smiled sweetly. “How are you, ma’am? That’s surely a beautiful sunbonnet. Did you make it yourself? It looks like store bought.”

“Why lands no, it’s not store bought.” The woman smiled, pride in every word. “I’m handy with a needle and thread.”

“You could make money,” Callie said reverently, “selling your bonnets. I haven’t ever seen one as lovely.”

“Really?”

“Oh, yes. Why, I’d be your first customer if you wouldn’t think me so brazen as to ask is it for sale?”

The woman’s hand flew up to the bonnet, the thought of her own money evident on her face. “Uh, I wouldn’t have any idea. I wouldn’t know what to ask.” She looked to her husband for help.

“Two dollars,” he bellowed out, then stood there belligerently, daring her to quibble.

“Two dollars?” Callie asked.

“Yes, and not a penny less. I set my prices and they’re fair. Once I set a price, I don’t back down.”

“Oh, yes, fair indeed,” Callie said. “That’s exactly what Pa said. He said you were asking a fair price for your oxen when he gave Caleb the money to buy them.”

At that, Caleb, not to be left out of the transaction, stepped forward and shoved the fistful of money under the man’s nose. “I want to buy four oxen.”

“Eighty dollars?” he asked Caleb but his eyes were on Callie.

Callie nodded, then gave Caleb a nudge and he nodded, too.

The man reached out his hand and tried to take the money from Caleb’s tight fist.

“I-I want to buy . . .”

“I know you do, son, but you got to give me the money in order to buy.” He shook his head, a frown on his face.

“Caleb,” Callie said, “give this nice man the eighty dollars and he’ll give you a bill of sale, just like Pa said he would.”

“Right,” the man said, and, licking his thumb, started counting the reluctantly released bills.

In a few minutes, while Callie held her breath and tried to look disinterested, the money was counted, and a smiling man turned to his wife.

“Mother, get that bill of sale for this young man to give his pa. He can put his own name on it.” Then he turned back to Caleb. “You planning on driving those oxen to your wagon now, boy?”

Caleb’s eyes widened and he looked helplessly at Callie.
What now?
He hadn’t thought that far. In fact, he hadn’t thought beyond the few words Callie had told him to say.

Callie said quickly, “Caleb, remember Pa said he’d come by and get them tomorrow afternoon if that’s okay.” She flashed a beguiling smile at the man.

“Well, I don’t know. I was planning on . . .”

“Oh, how clumsy of me, I forgot.” Callie opened up her purse and pulled out a few more bills. “Caleb, Pa gave me this extra to give you when you asked the gentleman if he would keep the oxen an extra day.” And with that, she thrust the money at Caleb who, with a dumbstruck look on his face, handed it to the man.

“Don’t suppose it would do any harm to keep them another day or two. You tell your pa Hank Whittiker’s word is good.” He took the bill of sale from his wife’s hand, scrawled his name on it, and handed it to Caleb. “Your pa don’t have to hurry none. We ain’t going nowhere. We ain’t joining no train. Nope, Mother and me, we’ve taken to Missouri and we plan on staying put. That’s why the oxen were for sale. We’re short of cash money. We’re buying us a small farm outside of town and here we’ll stay. Right, Mother?”

The woman gave him a smile of trust and love.

Callie handed the woman two dollars. At her puzzled expression, she said, “The bonnet. You did say two dollars, didn’t you, Mr. Whittiker?”

“Huh? Yes. Yes, I did. Mother, you got another one?”

The woman nodded her head as her fingers nimbly untied the bow. She handed the bonnet to Callie, and before her husband could make a move, took the two dollars and shoved them into her apron pocket.

“I thank you,” she said.

“Well, I guess we both do. You tell your pa . . . What did you say his name was?”

“Collins,” Callie said sweetly as she grabbed Caleb’s arm and turned him away. “Frank Collins,” she called over her shoulder.

Frank Collins. If Frank could be her imaginary fiancé, then it only seemed fitting Frank could be her imaginary pa, too.