A Secret Refuge [02] Sisters of the Confederacy (29 page)

The Great Platte River Road

May 1863

Why did the land of the Oglala people have such a pull this time?

Wolf had been pondering that question for miles, days, and weeks. Eyes squinted against the sun that set the land to shimmering, he studied the land ahead of them. Sod houses had sprung up in the last year like dirt boxes tossed out by a fretful child. Would the Oglala tolerate the white man taking over the land? Especially if the railroad cut its way across the prairies, as he’d heard it would.

His thoughts shifted back to the wagon train plodding along behind him. Another fight the night before, this time between two families he’d have never thought would cause trouble. And Jesselynn Highwood again patched up the wounded. No wonder she—hard to remember that he was really a she—was so skilled at stitching up flesh. It still rankled that she’d fooled him for so long. Of course now that he knew Jesse was Jesselynn, he could see all the signs that should have told him that in the beginning—the way she cared for her little brother and her ease with cooking and things of the camp. Now that the word was out, he saw that she’d picked up her knitting and patching.

The image of her with an arm around little Thaddeus, head tipped to listen to his story, ate at him. How could he have been so duped? If this was a day for studying on hindsight, he had plenty of studying to do.

“Mr. Wolf!”

And not enough time to do it.

He turned in his saddle to watch young Billy Bronson come flying across the plain. Wolf waited, something he’d learned to do well.

“Benjamin says there’s buffalo over the rise. Should we send out a hunting party?”

“Get Benjamin and Daniel. Did he say how far away?”

“Mile or two.”

“Good. Tell your father to come out here. You can come too. I’ll lead the party.”

Billy galloped off again.

Within minutes they gathered on the north side of the rise. “Now listen to me and listen good. A bull buffalo can be one of God’s meanest critters, so don’t take any chances.” He looked right at Billy. “There will be no shootin’ for shootin’s sake. Each one will hone in on one buffalo. Shoot it, and get out of the way. Unlike bows and arrows, the sound of the rifle shots will spook the herd and send it into a stampede, hopefully away from the wagon train. We’re goin’ to ride up nice and easy, as if we were buffalo ourselves.” He glanced up to see Daniel and Benjamin swap smiles of pure excitement. “Any questions?”

When they all shook their heads, he added, “Aim for the head. Between the eyes is best—lose less meat that way. Don’t shoot a cow with a calf either. But above all, be careful.”

They walked the horses over the crest. He heard someone suck in a breath and knew it was awe and delight combined. While the herd was not nearly the size of those he remembered as a boy, the sight of hundreds of buffalo roaming across the plain thrilled a man’s heart.

Slowly they eased toward the herd, stopping when the animals grew restless, then proceeding again. When they were close enough for clean shots, Wolf raised his hand and let it fall.

Shots rang out and five animals sank to the ground. The hunters hung back as the rest of the herd broke into a run, heading south away from the hunters as Wolf had hoped.

“You want we should get another?” Benjamin trotted his horse up to Wolf.

“No. This is plenty. Get more and the meat will spoil before we can dry it.” He rode up to one of the kills. “Make sure they’re dead and then slit the throats so they bleed out. Bronson, go on back to camp and have them circle the wagons for the night, then bring as many as you can to help butcher these beasts. We’ve not a moment to waste.”

Working in pairs, they moved from carcass to carcass, bleeding them out, then gutting. Meshach showed up next, then the others as they could come. Working together, they stripped the hide off one, cut it in quarters, and, laying the meat on the hide, tied the legs together over a pole and slung ropes around it to carry it back to camp between two horses.

A cheer went up when the first load of meat reached camp.

“Bring in the stomachs and intestines too.”

Benjamin nodded. The hearts and livers had gone with the first load. Every skillet in camp would be frying fresh liver for supper. By dark the only trace of the hunt left on the prairie was blood-soaked ground and the remains from the stomachs and intestines. Even the hooves and horns had gone to camp to be used however Wolf suggested.

The hunters dragged in with the final load.

Soon every cooking pot was bubbling with fresh meat, and every knife in the train was being used to slice thin strips off haunch and shoulder to hang to dry over the fires to be transferred to the sides of the wagons in the morning. The white canvases reflected the heat of the sun enough to continue the process started over the cook fires. Since Benjamin had been the one to spot the herd, one hide had gone to the Highwood wagons. Wolf gave his to Nate Lyons, and while the Jones brothers shouted they should have the third, he gave it to the Smiths, where he knew the hide would be valued for its warmth and tended carefully. Bronson kept one and gave the other to another family.

“Would you care to join us for supper?” Aunt Agatha, as even he’d taken to calling her, asked Wolf when he walked past their wagon.

He started to say no, thank you, but out of the corner of his eye caught the look of total disgust on Jesselynn’s face. “Thank you, it would be a privilege.” He glanced down at a tug on his pants leg.

“Buff’lo for supper, Mist Wolf.” Thaddeus smiled up at him, blue eyes sparkling. “Me shoot buff’lo too.”

“Someday.”

“Uh huh, someday. Jesse say when I get big.”

“Thaddeus, don’t bother Mr. Wolf.”

The little boy stepped back at the sharp tone in his sister’s voice.

“Oh, he’s no bother.” Wolf heard a burst of laughter from the school-age children gathered around Nate Lyons. Every evening as soon as they’d made camp, he taught ciphering, spelling, reading, and writing. His storytelling drew children and grown-ups alike. His ongoing story of the Jehosaphats had become a nightly ritual for most of the camp before bedding down. That and the singing led by Bronson, the fiddler, and son Billy on the harmonica.

Wolf leaned down and scooped Thaddeus up to sit on his shoulder. “Can he come with me?” He asked the question of Aunt Agatha while keeping an eye on Jesselynn.

“I don’t know why not.” Agatha patted Thaddeus’s knee. “Now you be a good boy, hear?”

Thaddeus straightened his back. “I always good.”

Wolf let out a roar of laughter. Jesselynn’s mouth made a string look thick, but did he glimpse a twitch at one corner? Maybe he was seeing things. “Hang on, partner. We’ve got business to attend to.” Off they went, with him fighting the urge to look back.

“Why did you let Thaddeus go like that? He could be in the way.” Jesselynn darted another withering look Wolf’s way but realized she might as well stop. He wouldn’t pay any attention anyway.

“If Wolf asked him, I thought it would be fine. Thaddeus didn’t ask.” Agatha stuck her threaded needle into the material of her waist, between shoulder and bosom, where hopefully it wouldn’t snag on anything—or anyone. She tucked the shirt she’d been working on for Sammy in her voluminous apron pocket and, using the lower portion of her apron for a potholder, lifted the lid on the stewing buffalo.

“My, don’t that smell good?”

Jesselynn sliced off another strip with enough force to cut into something else. Or someone else. She draped the pile of strips over the iron rack Meshach had fashioned for just this purpose, crowding those that had been hanging long enough to shrink some. She could hear the anvil ringing as Meshach worked to provide racks for some of the others. Other people dried the meat the old-fashioned way, over green willow branches lashed together.

Patch lay watching her, and if a bit dropped to the ground, it was his, quicker than a striking rattler.

“You’re furious because you didn’t get to go on the hunt,” Agatha said, shaking her head and watching Jesselynn glare at Wolf while he talked to someone at the next wagon. Even Benjamin and Daniel had subdued their high spirits when they saw her. “You’re being unfair, you know.”

Jesselynn snorted and kept on slicing meat.

“Sorry, my dear, but women just aren’t invited on hunts like that, britches or no.”

“It’s not fair.” The words were forced between teeth clamped tight.

“I know, but it’s not like we had nothing to do.” Agatha filled a bucket partway with water and added a cup of salt to soak more meat. “Jesse, take my advice. Let it go and let the men have their fun. Heaven knows, there ain’t been much time for fun on this journey.”

Jesselynn let out a pent-up sigh. “You’re right, but . . .”
But I wanted to at least see the herd. And I’m a good shot. It’s just not fair. I know, Mother; the Bible never promised us fairness
.

When she finished cutting the meat off the haunch, she dropped the bones into another kettle. They’d be making soup out of that. She glanced around at the stacks of bones, hide, and meat to tend to. However would they be ready to travel in the morning? Benjamin had promised to make spoons out of the bone, and Ophelia had asked for a comb to be carved out of one of the ribs. Nothing would be wasted. Soon as she had the rack full of strips, she began chopping the meat in fine pieces to mix with cornmeal and onions to stuff in the stomach. Once boiled, the whole made a savory dish that would keep a day or two at least. Sliced, it fried up well.

“You mad, Jesse?” Thaddeus leaned against her knee.

“No, why?”

“Sad?”

She shook her head and leaned over to touch her nose to his. “What makes you ask?”

“You not smilin’.”

Oh, Lord, save this child, who sees so far beyond the usual
. She glanced up to see Wolf watching them. He always seemed to be watching her. What had she done now? She knew what she needed to do—ask Daniel and Benjamin to forgive her for being such a mean-spirited woman. She’d surely quenched their joy.

She lifted Thaddeus to her lap and blew kisses on his neck to make him giggle. “You are right, little brother. I’ve been too serious lately.” Laughing would be a lot easier if Wolf didn’t thwart her at every turn. Not letting her go on the buffalo shoot had been the final offense.

She needs to laugh more
. Wolf watched the play between brother and sister. He knew what the other women were saying, that she shouldn’t be wearing britches and acting like a man. Several of them had taken to snubbing her, not that it seemed to bother her much. She’d taught several other women how to dry the meat, shared her box of simples as she called them, and never had a cross word for any of them—except him.

If they’d been through what she’d been through—

He cut off the thoughts and held his coffee cup up for a refill. Jane Ellen smiled at him as she filled it.

“Elizabeth speakin’ to you yet?” He kept his voice low, for her ears only.

Jane Ellen shook her head. “She says I lied to her, that I shoulda told her Jesse was . . . is . . .” She pursed her mouth and rolled her eyes. “I couldn’t. Not one of us ever told nobody.”

“Don’t you worry about it. Elizabeth just got her pride hurt a bit. ‘Twon’t kill her.”

“Thank you, Mr. Wolf. You want a hunk of cinnamon cake?”

“I sure do. That Ophelia be one fine cook.”

“I made the cake.” She ducked her head before he could see the blush.

“Then I’d say you are becoming one fine cook also. This wagon is sure blessed with good cooks.”

“Good save there.” Agatha sat down beside him and held up her cup for Jane Ellen to fill also. Setting her cup down, she took out her knitting and picked up where she’d left off. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

Wolf nodded, at the same time wishing he were somewhere else. Anywhere else. Agatha had that look in her eye. “What?”

She knit a few stitches. “About Oregon country. Do we dare believe all that hoopla about living off the land and anything and everything growing there?”

Wolf let out a sigh of relief. Why had he thought she was going to be talking about her niece? “You can believe much of it. Like Kentucky, the land is rich, the seasons fairly mild. The Indian tribes live off the land and the water. White men will build towns. There will be shipbuilding on the rivers, farming. When the railroad crosses the country—”

“That’s nothin’ but a pipe dream.”

“No. It will happen. And if you think many people have crossed the country on the Oregon Trail, you wait to see what happens when the trains travel.”

“What makes you believe that?”

“I’ve ridden this trail four times now. I see sod houses sproutin’ like weeds in the spring, cattle grazing where the buffalo roamed, wheat fields where the prairie grass reigned.”

“And will you farm or—?”

“No, I will . . .” He stopped. The song of the fiddle caught his ear. “Let’s go hear the next chapter in the story.”

“No, I don’t waste my time listening to that old reprobate spouting off like that.”

“Why, Aunt Agatha, here Nate has had nothin’ but good to say about you.”