Clay (19 page)

Rebecca awoke the next morning to the smell of coffee perking on a campfire. She sat up, surprised. Building the morning campfire and preparing breakfast were chores she’d grown accustomed to doing since the journey began. Then she overheard Clay speaking softly nearby.

“Please, ladies, you know how much she loves both of you. Is it too much to ask you to do this one favor for her?”

Rebecca frowned. Who could he be talking to? She began to get dressed.

“And if you do, I promise I won’t complain about your annoying clucking any more,” he said. “Just one egg, ladies. One little egg is all I’m asking for.”

Rebecca couldn’t help smiling. With all the grumbling he did about those chickens, she couldn’t believe he was actually talking to them. She peeked outside and saw Clay staring earnestly into the chicken coop.

“Clementine has cooperated, didn’t you, Clementine?” he said to the cow. “The least one of you can do is follow her example. I assure you; it’s not for me. It’s for her. So come on now—one of you lay an egg, or so help me, I’ll wring your skinny necks!”

“Oh, you mustn’t threaten them,” Rebecca said, trying to keep a straight face as she climbed out and hurried over to them. “You can catch more bees with honey than you can with vinegar. Good morning, my darlings,” she cooed. “I know I’ve been neglecting you, but I’ve really missed you.”

The two chickens nestled down in their beds of hay, clucked, and each laid an egg. Rebecca reached in, patted each on the head and removed the eggs, then handed them to Clay.

He looked embarrassed. “How much did you hear?”

She grinned. “Enough.”

“I wanted to surprise you and make you breakfast for a change. To try and bring a little sunshine into your life right now.”

Her heart swelled with emotion as she smiled up at him. “You did, Clay.”

The train moved out that morning. Scott had chosen a bypass to make up for the travel day they’d lost. Loose gravel underfoot, sharp ravines, narrow passages, and dried-up lakes made their progress slow on the tableland, but Scott said the bypass would save them fifty miles. They hadn’t covered more than five miles by the time they stopped for lunch.

Rebecca showed little enthusiasm for cooking, and prepared a meal of two-day-old bread, venison jerky, and hot coffee. Once again, she barely touched her food.

“Becky, I know you’re grieving,” Clay said, “but you shouldn’t hold it inside. Let it out, honey. The sooner you do, the quicker you’ll feel better.”

“How can I ever feel better after all these tragedies?”

“I didn’t mean it that way. I meant you can’t keep all that sadness bottled up inside of you. It will only make you ill.”

“I’ll be fine, Clay. I just need some time.” She slipped back into silence.

A few hours later they came upon a site that had a few trees and a water hole that hadn’t dried up yet, so Scott called a halt for the night. Garth and Hawk rode in a short time later.

“It’s useless to pick up any trail,” Garth said, disgusted. “There’s no telling what direction the bastard rode off in.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Scott said. “We’ll have to abandon the search. All we can do when we reach a town is report the crime and give them Fallon’s description,” he said sadly.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” Hawk exclaimed suddenly, looking past them. They turned around to see what had caught the scout’s attention.

Eagle Claw strode toward them with a bound and badly bruised Jake Fallon stumbling behind him. The Indian gave Fallon a hard shove, and the villain fell at Clay’s feet.

“Eagle Claw bring you man you seek. Now you give Eagle Claw the yellow-hair squaw?”

Clay heard Rebecca’s shocked gasp, and she stepped behind him. He grasped her hand. “I won’t do that, Eagle Claw.”

Scott quickly intervened. “We are grateful to you, Eagle Claw, for bringing us this criminal, and we will gladly pay you in appreciation for what you’ve done.”

Eagle Claw’s stare remained fixed on Clay. “Eagle Claw give you ten ponies for your squaw, Fraser Man.”

“No, Eagle Claw. You can have anything else I have—my rifle, my pistol—but not my wife. You would have to kill me if you try and take her away.”

“Eagle Claw is a chief of his people. He has many warriors. Many times he could have struck you down and taken your squaw. But that is not his way. Eagle Claw is a man of honor. He offered you five ponies for your woman and you refused; he brought you this man you seek, and you refused. Now he offers you ten ponies. Still you refuse. You dishonor him.”

“It is not my intent to dishonor you, Eagle Claw. But I would dishonor myself more if I didn’t refuse,” Clay said. “It is not the way of my people to trade our wives. I have taken an oath to protect her. The shame would be great if I did not honor that oath.”

The Indian’s unwavering gaze remained fixed on Clay, then, without another word, he turned and strode away.

“You figure that’s the last we’ll see of him, Hawk?” Scott asked.

Hawk shrugged. “Wouldn’t want to say. You never know for sure what he might do.”

By this time, most of the people in the camp had been drawn to the spot.

“Haul that bastard Fallon over to that tree,” Scott ordered.

“What are you going to do?” Fallon cried out.

“You attempted murder, Fallon. We’re going to hang you.”

The announcement brought a cheer from the crowd.

“You can’t do that,” Fallon whined. “You ain’t the law. I’ve got the right to a trial!” he shouted frantically as several men jerked him to his feet and dragged him over to a tree.

“Folks, let me have your attention!” Scott shouted to be heard above the murmuring. “This man attempted to ravage a young girl and kill the young man who stopped him. The punishment is hanging. If there is anyone present who wants to speak up in his defense, now’s the time to do it.”

“Hang him!” people shouted angrily, and several men threw a noose over the limb of a tree.

“You just had your trial, Fallon,” Scott said. “The jury finds you guilty.”

“You can’t do this,” Fallon whimpered, struggling as they lifted him onto the back of a horse. “If he ain’t dead, I ain’t no murderer, and I didn’t rape the gal. If she said I did, she’s lyin’. You can lock me up, but I ain’t done any hangin’ offense. You hang me, and you’re the one guilty of murder.”

“Did you forget you added horse theft to your crimes, Fallon?” Scott asked. “In the West, that’s a hanging offense.”

Fallon began sobbing openly. “You ain’t the law, Scott.”

“Yes, I am, Fallon,” Scotty declared. “You signed an agreement in Independence to abide by my rules.”

Then he addressed the crowd. “Ladies, hanging is no fit sight for children to see. I suggest you take them back to your wagons.”

As several of the mothers hustled their children away, Scott said, “Howard Garson and Sam Davis, if you want to come forward and dispense justice, you may do so.”

The two men stepped out of the crowd and each moved to the flank of the horse.

“Jacob Fallon,” Scott said to the sobbing man, “we have evidence to prove you are guilty of the attempted rape of Henrietta Garson and the attempted murder of Thomas Davis, and stealing a horse. Therefore, you shall be hanged by the neck until you are dead.”

Kicking out at his captors, Fallon tried to squirm off the horse, but several hands reached out to shove him back onto the saddle.

The shimmering glow of campfires cast eerie shadows on the scene enfolding under the barren limb of the gnarled oak.

“I don’t want to die,” Fallon blubbered as they put the noose around his neck. “I don’t want to die. Please don’t hang me. Don’t hang me.”

Shouts of “Hang him!” came from the crowd, and Rebecca looked around, appalled by the mercilessness on the faces of those around her.

Though Fallon deserved to die for the horrendous crime he’d committed, Rebecca felt as if she was part of a lynch mob.

She glanced up at Clay. He stood silent and grimfaced, Garth beside him looking the same. Neither man was encouraging the hanging, but they made no effort to halt it.

Rebecca pressed her hands to her head. Hapless victims struck down violently—the shouts of an avenging mob! The savagery of it all horrified her.

Unable to bear another minute, she put her hands over her ears and shouldered her way through the crowd. Her nerves were frayed, her ears sensitized to the slightest sound. She heard the whacks delivered by Howard Garson and Sam Davis to the horse’s flanks, the gasp of the crowd, and then the silence. A silence so deafening that her internal screams threatened to burst her eardrums. She rushed into her wagon and threw herself on the fur pallet.

Clay had witnessed a hanging during the war, and it was a sight that you didn’t forget. He turned his head to see how Becky had fared at the grim scene. Surprised to discover she was no longer at his side, he looked around, worried. He didn’t want her wandering off alone in the emotional state she was in. And with everyone’s attention on the hanging, it would be simple for Eagle Claw to snatch her away if he was inclined to do so.

He hurried back to the wagon, and heard the heartracking sobs coming from within.

Becky was huddled on the pallet, her head bowed and her knees curled to her chest.

Thank God she’s finally letting it out.

Kneeling down beside her, he gently put his hand on her shoulder. Her whole body was trembling.

“Becky,” he said gently.

“No more,” she whimpered pitifully through shuddering sobs. “Please, no more.” She raised her head, and the naked anguish in her eyes made his heart ache. “I never thought it would be like this. Indian massacres, others crashing to their deaths. People calling for hangings. And poor Etta and Tom… so sweet… so innocent…

“I can’t bear anymore!” she cried. “Help me, Clay. Please, help me.” She was crying so fiercely that she was choking on her own tears.

Clay lifted her huddled body into his arms and sat down on the rocking chair. Holding her close, he slowly rocked back and forth. What could he say—what could anyone say? The physical hardships of the journey were tough enough, but there’d been too many painful scenes for her compassionate heart to bear. He’d withstood the brutality and anguish of war, but Becky’s heartache was tearing him apart.

Pressing a kiss to her forehead, he murmured tenderly, “Cry it out, baby. Cry it out.” He continued to rock back and forth.

Gradually her intense crying was reduced to an occasional choked sob, and between the exhausting tears and the gentle motion of the rocking chair, she eventually cried herself to sleep.

Still, he continued to hold her and rock her throughout the night.

Clay awoke to clucking chickens, and bright sunlight streaming into the wagon. He bolted to his feet, and bumped his head on the overhead bow supporting the canvas.

Groaning, he slumped back down as the blood started to circulate through his numb arms and legs. It had been daylight when he dozed off, after holding Becky… Becky! Where was she?

He got carefully to his feet and felt the prick of a thousand needles as he shook the stiffness out of his legs, then jumped out of the wagon and glanced around. The campfire was already burning, and there were biscuits baking in the oven. But where was Becky?

For a moment he felt panic, his first thought being Eagle Claw. Then he saw her and Helena coming from the river carrying buckets of water.

He hurried up to them. Their exhaustion showed on the drawn faces of both of them. Reaching for the buckets, he said, “Here, let me do that, ladies.” Both relinquished them without an argument.

“You should have woken me, Becky,” Clay said, once they were alone. “I would have gotten the water for you.”

“I needed the exercise, and you needed the sleep. I’m sorry you had to sit up all night.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m the one who got the sleep,” she said lightly, but her smile didn’t carry to her eyes. He worried if it ever would again.

“See any sign of Garth?”

“He stopped by earlier, then he rode out with Hawk. You’d better eat, because we’ll be pulling out soon.”

They ate in silence and packed up to leave. Throughout the day Clay watched her closely, and that night as she prepared dinner, he could see that it was mostly still by habit.

The following day she was a little better. Oh, she still rarely spoke, her smile wasn’t as bright or her step as light, but she had shed a lot of her tension. Clay felt better knowing that she was on the road to recovery.

Further good news was that they’d be out of the mountains in another week, and the threat of Eagle Claw no longer dominated their concern. According to Hawk, they’d be clean out of Sioux territory in another day. The Ute Nation lay ahead of them, but their threat lay more in what they would try to steal rather than the risk of human life. In truth, the greatest Indian danger was nearly passed.

That night Garth joined them for dinner. His concern over the change in Becky was evident, and he tried to draw her into a conversation with light teasing. But it wasn’t until he mentioned her brother that she showed a spark of enthusiasm. Garth jumped on it at once.

“I imagine you’re looking forward to seeing him again.”

“Yes, I am. It’s been seven years.”

“Is he married?” Garth asked.

“I don’t think so. At least he wasn’t in the last letter I got from him, though he could be by now. Matt wrote it almost a year ago, and I received it last April.”

“Were the two of you close?” Clay asked.

He saw a change in her eyes, and for a moment he thought she was going to cry. “If it weren’t for Matt, I’d have ended up in an orphanage after our parents died. He was only sixteen then and I was thirteen, but Matt wanted us to stay together. We snuck away to a different town where nobody would know us, and he worked at two jobs each day, seven days a week, just to keep a roof over our heads and food in our stomachs. When I married Charley, Matt finally got the opportunity to live his own life and follow his dream.”

“And what was that dream, Becky?” Garth asked.

“He used to talk about going to California and striking gold. That someday he’d be so wealthy, he would build me the biggest house in California, and I could dress in satins and furs.”

This was the most interest she’d had in any conversation in days, and Clay wanted to keep it going.

“That sounds like you, Garth. You always had a fixation for that old gold mine map that Uncle Henry sent Dad.”

“Still do,” Garth said. “I studied that map so often, I can draw it from memory.”

“Uncle Henry never took to life on the ole plantation,” Clay drawled humorously. “He was always off on some endless search for the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. I think Brother Garth here has been taking puffs from that same pipe that old Uncle Henry did.”

“We all have dreams, Clay,” Rebecca said.

There was an encouraging spark of contrariness in her voice.

“Striking gold is a fantasy, Becky,” Clay declared firmly, hoping to get a further rise out of her. He forced back a grin when her eyes flared in response.

“Well, you just tell that to those forty-niners who fulfilled their fantasies, Clay Fraser.” She turned her head and looked at Garth. “Tell me more about your uncle, Garth.”

“Well, every time Uncle Henry came back to Fraser Keep, he’d tell us kids stories of how the West was just a big gold mine waiting to be discovered.”

“Was he speaking figuratively, or actually referring to gold itself?” she asked.

“I think both. He never held the same regard for Fraser Keep that the rest of us did. Claimed that it was a great-great granddaddy’s dream, not his, and a man shouldn’t live to fulfill others’ dreams at the cost of not pursuing his own.”

“I think I would have liked your uncle Henry.”

“I know you would have, Becky. I loved that old man. He marveled at the splendor of this land west of the Mississippi. Said the East was too full of skittish people who looked at a clock for the time, instead of the serenity of a sunrise or the beauty of a sunset. People with the jingle of coins in their pockets instead of the roar of a waterfall cascading down a mountainside.”

“It sounds as if he were more of a poet than a miner.”

“I think he was, at heart,” Garth said.

“If so, why did he keep seeking that pot of gold at the end of the rainbow?”

Garth chuckled. “Tell her why, Clay.”

“Uncle Henry said the pleasure was in keeping the hope alive, even if he never found it.”

“So he wasn’t really searching for wealth, he was following a dream,” Rebecca said. “Did he ever actually strike any gold?”

“Nothing big. Just always enough to keep him staked and able to move on to the next site. Then in the fifties, he sent Dad a letter with the map enclosed. He said he was dying, but that he’d really found a bonanza this time. Dad figured it was more of Uncle Henry’s wishful thinking, and he put the map aside. A year later Dad got a letter from a doctor in Sacramento who said Uncle Henry had died.

“You know, when we reach California and find Lissy, I might consider searching out that mine of his.”

“Are you serious, Garth?” Clay asked. “You wouldn’t go back to Virginia?”

“It’s something for my mind to chew on.” Garth stood up. “It’s getting late; I better get back before Scotty comes looking for me. Thanks for dinner, Becky.” He kissed her on the cheek and left.

“I hope Garth gets that crazy notion out of his head,” Clay said.

“You know, Clay, Garth’s entitled to pursue his dreams, too,” Rebecca said with a sniff. She stood and climbed into the wagon.

Clay smiled. She sounded as spunky as ever. Why had he ever doubted her ability to pull herself out of her sadness? Becky’s fortitude was one of the qualities he admired the most about her. Grieving just required time to heal.

“Becky, do you remember when I said I hoped that some day a man would love me so much that he’d be willing to risk his life to save me?” Etta said as Rebecca brushed the young girl’s hair the next day.

“Yes, I remember. It was the day I fell in the river and Clay jumped in and saved me.”

“Well, I was wrong, Becky. That was a childish romantic notion. And so selfish. When I saw Tom trying to fight Fallon with practically his bare hands to try and save me, and thought Fallon had killed him…” Tears glistened in her eyes. “I wished Tom had never come along, then. I would rather have died than have him die saving me. I love him so much, Becky.”

Rebecca hugged her. She could only hope that one day she would understand the real depth of love as well as this sixteen-year-old girl did. Rebecca had suffered a lot in her life, but now realized she still had a lot to learn.

That evening they had just finished dinner when Scott, Peterson, Hawk, and Garth approached their campfire.

“Clay, we’ve got a decision to make,” Scott said, “and I’d like to hear your opinion. Hawk and Garth have scouted the trail ahead. According to the boys here, there’s a tableland a hundred feet below that eventually links up with the trail we’re following, and would probably cut off seven days of traveling time. There’s some decent graze for the stock and a couple of water holes.”

Rebecca had no further desire in listening to the conversation, so she left the fire and climbed into the wagon.

She curled up on the pelt and closed her eyes as the low murmur of the men’s voices carried to her ears. She had lost all interest in what lay ahead; she just wished the trip was over. But there were still six or eight weeks to go! Her last thought, before dozing off, was wondering if she could bear another two months of this.

She woke up with a start when she felt a tugging at her feet. Clay was removing her shoes.

“I’m sorry to wake you, Becky. I thought you’d be more comfortable with your shoes off. You should get into your nightgown, stretch out, and get a decent night’s sleep. You’ll be the better for it in the morning.”

She sat up. “Is the meeting over?”

“Yeah, they just left.”

“What’s the problem now?” she asked.

“Getting about a hundred and fifty feet straight down the side of this mountain.”

“I heard that part of it. So what did you all decide?”

“To try it. Hawk figures it should save about seven days.”

“And how many people does he figure we’ll lose trying it?” she asked.

She regretted the bitter remark as soon as she said it; none of these misfortunes were Clay’s fault.

But he remained undisturbed. “We shouldn’t lose any, using a windlass.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a simple mechanical device usually used for hoisting; we’re simply going to reverse the process. Garth studied engineering in college, so he’s figured out how to construct it. It will be crude, but sounds pretty safe.” He turned away. “Well, I’ll leave so you can go to sleep.”

“Clay, it’s chilly at night. Why don’t you sleep inside the wagon?”

“We’ve got to construct this windlass through the night. And they figure the best spot to try it is right near us, so unfortunately you’ll be hearing a lot of hammering.”

He started to step out, then hesitated and turned his head to her. “And, Becky, don’t worry—there’ll be plenty of us right outside.”

She’d forgotten all about the threat Eagle Claw still presented to her—but Clay hadn’t. He always had her welfare in mind. That thought cut through the numbness she’d felt for the last few days, and brought a warm glow to her heart. She lay back and closed her eyes.

Soon the clang of hammers and screech of saws made sleep impossible, however, and Rebecca gave up trying, and went outside.

Campfires blazed everywhere, illuminating the men laboring in their light. A score of trees had been felled, and a half dozen men were trimming off the branches and binding the trunks together to form what looked like a scaffold. A short distance away, several others were driving stakes into the ground.

“Don’t try to eyeball it, boys,” Mike Scott ordered. “Use a level to make sure those stakes are even.”

Others were occupied checking and linking lengths of chain together. She saw Clay and Garth working on two barrels. Thick pieces of wood had been hewn to form right angles, and they were attaching those through holes in the tops and bottoms of the barrels.

Seeing Helena moving among the men with a coffeepot, Rebecca realized she should do so, too. After putting a pot to brew on the fire, she went over to help Helena. The rest of the night passed swiftly.

By the time a rising sun streaked the sky with pink and gray, the mechanism had been completely assembled, and all that remained was to test it and string a guideline.

The barrel was placed horizontally on the two lateral posts. A chain running over a hundred feet in length was connected to the crank at one end of the barrel, and the same length of chain connected to the other end of the barrel. The free ends were attached to each side of the wooden platform, ready to be lowered. To lower the platform, one turned the crank and the barrel would spin on the makeshift axle, unwinding the chain as it did. To raise it, one would just have to reverse the cranking direction.

“So you think this will actually work,” Rebecca said, stepping back to observe the finished product.

“Keep the faith, Little Sister. I know it will,” Garth said. “All I need is a volunteer.”

She glanced at Clay. “Don’t even think it, Clay Fraser.”

“Sounds like the little lady means it, Clay,” Scott said.

“I’ll take it down,” Jim Peterson said.

“Good man,” Garth said.

They loaded two stakes, guidelines, and a sledgehammer on the platform.

“Don’t try and stand up, Jim, until we get the guidelines anchored and the boys find their rhythm when they start cranking.”

Jim stepped onto the platform.

“You men on those cranks, take it slow until you get the hang of it,” Scott ordered. “And stay in rhythm. If you don’t, that platform will tilt and… Well, just stay in rhythm,” he said gruffly. He shook Jim’s hand. “Good luck, Jim. I’ll see you below.”

Jim sat down in the middle of the platform and nodded to Garth. “Okay, let her go.”

The men began to crank, and each turn of the barrel released some chain. Once the platform cleared the edge of the cliff, it began to sway. The pull on the chain became greater and it took two men on each crank to slow the descent.

Rebecca was almost afraid to draw a breath. In a matter of minutes the scaffold touched bottom. Jim jumped out and waved to them, then unloaded the ropes and stakes. He drove the stakes into the ground, attached a guideline to each stake, then tossed the lines back on the scaffold and signaled them to hoist it back up. The men reversed the crank and hoisted the scaffold.

As soon as it was up, they retrieved the guide ropes, pulled them taut, and tied them to the stakes. Now, everything was in place to start the move.