Authors: The Searching Hearts

Dorothy Garlock (27 page)

BOOK: Dorothy Garlock

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Suddenly things began to make themselves clear in her mind. Lucas was in love with the woman in the portrait, and because she had the same red hair and green eyes he had been attracted to her. He hadn’t loved the flesh and blood woman. He loved the
woman on this miniature. Tucker sighed deeply. Regardless of what he had said, this woman was not a whore. The purity of her spirit was reflected in her slightly mischievous eyes and in the honest, forthright curve of her lips.

Tucker wished for a mirror so she might compare her face with the one in the portrait. Unconsciously she put her hand to her hair and pushed it forward. The woman’s hair was arranged neatly in the pompadour style, and there was lace at her throat. Tucker took her hand from her hair, slightly embarrassed by her foolish gesture. This was a woman of style and quality, something she would never be. She closed the box and rewrapped it in the doeskin. Sometime before their final parting, she would return it to Lucas.

The day went slowly, but it went. The sun marched relentlessly across the sky and disappeared over the western edge of the world. When only a faint glow remained in the sky, the wagons circled for the night. Tucker, with Laura’s help, unhitched the mules and a drover took them away. The light had dimmed to twilight by the time the evening meal was ready, and to darkness by the time it was eaten.

Laura sat beside the wagon with Blue straining at his leash. She was quiet and for once ignored the pup’s wish to walk around the camp. Tucker looked at her with a twinge of uneasiness, but not even for Laura could she forgive and forget what Lucas had done. Throughout the day she had thought about it, and about other times when Lucas had been with
Cora Lee and how Cora Lee’s eyes followed him. No woman brazenly sought out a man without some encouragement, she concluded. There was no possible way she could rationalize Lucas’s actions.

“Do you want to walk, Laura?”

“I don’t believe so, Tucker. I’m awfully tired.”

“Then I’m going to bed. Are you coming?”

“In a little while. I’ll let Blue run, then I’ll tie him in his box under the wagon.”

Tucker climbed into the wagon and stretched out on her pallet. With the knife under her pillow she felt brave. Fear was the least of the emotions consuming her. When the time came, she would know how to deal with Frank Parcher. The emotion that held her in its greedy grasp was loneliness. She had lost Laura to Buck and Lucas to Cora Lee. No. The last thought was not quite right. She had not lost Lucas; she had not had him in the first place—she’d only thought she had. She envisioned herself in the years ahead always teaching someone else’s children in some remote valley in California, belonging to no one and no one belonging to her.

Laura came to bed and left the back flap of the canvas open so the breeze could pass through. She didn’t speak, and Tucker watched her silently. Laura took her hair down and brushed it before plaiting it again. Tucker put her hand to her own tangled hair. She hadn’t bothered to brush it when she went to bed. Laura lay down, and Tucker stared out the end of the wagon. For a few moments her thoughts were still, then she drifted off to sleep.

She was awakened suddenly. There was a moment of silence, then the sound of hooves on the sunbaked ground beside the wagon. Crouching behind the wagon seat, she peered out but could see nothing except the moonlight shining on the canvas of the wagon ahead. Then she saw that the mules were being brought to the sides of the wagons and staked. It was one of the new drovers who staked the mules beside their wagon; she could see him plainly in the glow of the moon. Tucker moved to the back of the wagon and looked toward the grub wagon. There was a cook fire keeping coffee hot for the night guards, and, as she watched, men passed silently between her and the fire.

She went back to her bed, but sleep had escaped her. Slowly the night passed and the darkness turned to beige. A quail sent out an inquiring call, and somewhere across the prairie another responded. Morning had come at last.

Tucker was brushing her hair when Lottie stuck her head into the back of the wagon.

“Yer awake, are ya? Dress yoreself in a skirt ’n put on yore bonnet ’n roll down yore sleeves. Hurry it up and come on our. We’uns is ’bout to have us some visitors.”

“Visitors?”

“Injuns, varmints! . . .” Lottie turned and spat snuff juice out of her pursed mouth.

“Indians?” Tucker echoed.

“Come on. Git to hightailin’ it,” Lottie said crossly and disappeared from sight.

“What is it?” Laura whispered.

“Lottie said Indians.” There was disbelief in Tucker’s voice. “She said to put on a skirt. I’ll get one for you.” She raised the lid of the trunk and lifted out the first two she came to. “Here,” she thrust one into Laura’s hands. “Hurry.”

Minutes later they joined the excited, frightened group beside the grub wagon. Lucas was standing hatless beside Mustang. He lifted his arm for silence.

“We’ve crossed paths with a bunch of Apaches going north. There’re about forty braves and they’ve got women and children with them, so they are not a war party. They camped not two miles from here and they’ll come calling before sunup.”

“You knowed they was thar and never told nobody!” Collins complained.

“Shut up, Collins, and listen.” Lucas turned his angry gaze on the man and all other eyes followed. “The trouble with you is that you’re always talking. And while you’re talking, you’re not learning a damn thing!”

Lucas raised his arm again to silence the murmur that followed his chastisement of Collins.

“I said they’re not a war party, but that doesn’t mean they won’t take everything they can get their hands on. And it doesn’t guarantee they won’t lift hair. Now listen. Buck’s been scouting them and this is what he suggests we do. I go along with it. Some of the drovers are going to mix with you women like you were families. The rest are going to scatter out with their rifles in plain sight. Indians respect a show
of strength. Act scared and they’ll take everything we’ve got and our scalps, too. Has anyone got a Bible? We’re going to put on a show.”

“I’ve got one,” Rafe said.

“Get it and a black coat and hat if you’ve got one. You’re going to be a Bible-spouting, fire-and-brimstone preacher leading these pilgrims to the Promised Land. Now move. We don’t have much time.”

Marie looked at Rafe with worried eyes, but nodded her head approvingly. “You can do it if anyone can,” she murmured.

“Now they’re going to come charging in here to see if we’ve got backbone,” Lucas said when Rafe left. “They think differently from us. Show fear, and they’ll think you’re lower than a snake’s belly. Pay them no mind! Don’t any of you turn a hair! And you men—draw a gun or fire a rifle before I give the word and I’ll kill you where you stand.”

Rafe came through the crowd in a black coat and flat-brimmed black hat. He had a large book in his hand.

“It’s a history book,” he grinned. “It’s bigger and looks more impressive than my Bible.” He stretched his neck out of the scratchy collar. “God knows I’m no minister of the gospel, but it seems singing is called for.”

“Good idea. I don’t care if it’s ‘Oh, Susanna’ or ‘Polly-Waddle,’ but make it loud.” Lucas looked beyond the crowd and nodded his head. “Start now, they’re coming.”

“Sing ‘Rock of Ages’!” Rafe shouted.

Rock of Ages, cleft for me, let me hide myself in thee.

“Louder,” Rafe yelled, “louder!”

Let thy water and thy blood, from they wounded side which flow, be of sin the double cure, save from wrath and make me pure.

Tucker stood holding tightly to Laura’s hand. She felt a presence beside her and looked around to see that Frank had moved very close to her.

“Ain’t gonna let no goddamn Injun git my woman.” He spoke the words loud enough for her to hear over the singing. She ignored him until he took hold of her arm. She jerked it away and brought the heel of her shoe down as hard as she could on his instep. She could feel the contact it made with the bone, and she heard him curse.

The sound of pounding hooves and shrill yells came from behind them. Tucker could feel her face go pale. The thundering hooves suddenly halted, and dust drifted toward and over them.

“Read!” Lucas spoke sharply.

Rafe’s voice trembled at first, then strengthened.
“There is a God who presides over the destinies of nations and who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us.”
He shouted, raising his arm dramatically.
“The battle, sir, is not to be strong alone; it is to the vigilant, the active, the brave. And again, we have no election!”
Rafe could smell the sweating horses moving behind him, but he continued to read,
“What would you have? Is life so dear or peace so sweet as to be purchased at the price of chains and slavery?
Forbid it, Almighty God! I know not what course others may take, but as for me, give me liberty, or give me death!”
His heart was pounding and he was perspiring, but he turned and faced the Indians. “Greetings, brothers,” he said calmly and gestured at the ground around him, indicating that they should dismount and stand before him.

The wagons were ringed with Indians on restless ponies. They had rough-hewn faces and shoulder-length hair. They wore breechcloths and leggings and twisted bands of cloth wrapped around their heads. It seemed as if all sound stopped the moment Rafe finished speaking. The riders stopped their yipping and held their mounts still. The only sound was Blue’s playful puppy barks as he strained against his leash. Curious dark eyes stared at the white people gathered before the black-clad man.

A hawk-nosed brave edged his pony forward and waved his coupstick in the air. “We want food! Tobacco! Meat!”

“No!” Buck seemed to materialize out of thin air. He stood beside Rafe, his feet spread, his arms folded across his chest. “No!” he repeated. “We will not give an Apache brave meat. Apache braves are great hunters! Let them hunt meat.”

The brave’s eyes turned on Buck, measuring him. Buck stared him in the eye, his left hand close to his gun belt. Lucas stood beside the wagon, his rifle cradled in his arms.

“We can take what you have,” the brave said harshly, arrogantly.

“What we have is not worth the warriors who must die to take it. Come if you must, but sing your death songs first and prepare your squaws and your papooses to starve on the long trail to your land in the north, for many of you will die.”

He took his gun from the holster and held it in the crook of his arm.

“Mustang,” he said quietly, “lift the food bags out of the wagon. Do it slow. Chata, Lottie,” he spoke a little louder, “show the rifles . . . don’t shoot for God’s sake, just show them.” The rifle barrels came out of the ends of nearby wagons. Mustang began to pile bags of food on the ground in front of Buck.

“We have little food,” Buck said. “Less than what we need to get to where we are going. But we will share it with your squaws and papooses. Apache warrior should hunt his food,” he said contemptuously.

The warrior waved his hand over the country from which they had traveled. “There is no game.”

“Can not the Apache warrior range far? We pass through this land in peace. We have killed three antelope.” He held up three fingers. Buck waved his hand to the people behind him. “We do not want your papooses to be hungry. This food is so your children will not cry in the night. We have no war with the Apache, who are brave men and great warriors.”

There was silence.

Rafe spoke suddenly, “Go with God!” He raised his arms, holding the history book over his head. “Go! Walk with the Great Spirit. He will bring the rain, the buffalo, the elk.”

The hawk-nosed Indian dismounted, and without any sign from him, four others followed. He directed them to pick up the bags of food, then he stood before Buck, his legs spread, his arms folded across his chest in much the same way Buck was standing.

“I will barter for the woman with the hair like fire.”

There was a gasp from one of the women standing beside Tucker, and she felt every eye turn toward her. She had seen the dark eyes of the brave pass over her, but he hadn’t given any indication that he was paying any more attention to her than he was to any of the others. She felt Frank become instantly tense. She said quietly to him: “Make a move and Lucas will kill you. Then I won’t have to.” She kept her eyes straight ahead.

Buck was surprised, but his face and voice didn’t register the feeling. “The woman with hair like fire is not mine to trade.”

The Indian stared into his eyes. “Whose woman?”

“My woman,” Lucas said, moving over to stand beside Buck.

“One pony.” The Indian’s eyes fastened on Lucas’s face.

Lucas shook his head.

“Two pony, one dog.”

Lucas seemed to hesitate. My God, Tucker thought, this must be a dream! They were actually talking about trading her!

Finally Lucas said, “She is weak, she cannot skin
a deer.” He lifted his shoulders indifferently. “She is lazy. But her hair is worth much.”

The Indian considered this. “Is she good on the blanket?”

BOOK: Dorothy Garlock

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