Jodi's Journey (18 page)

“Help them live, not die…” he said lowly,
almost in a whisper.

“Can't you see there's no love in me for this
child? He's the Devil's work. Not mine.”

“The babe is an innocent,” the doctor
scolded. “You have to make the choice…to love or not. At least you
have that choice.” The doctor's voice was low and sullen, as though
he couldn't quite understand her reasoning even though wanted
to.

She raised the gun once more. “Take this baby
from me.”

It was more a plea than a threat.

“You might as well shoot me. I won't do
that.” He stood to look at her square in the eye. “It's against
everything I stand for, and I cannot, and will not, do it. Even if
I could as a doctor, my faith wouldn't allow it.”

“Then where can I find someone who will?” she
shouted.

“God help you, I don't know. If you lived
north, you might find someone, but not here. Not anywhere near
here.” He sighed and turned around and walked out of the room as
though he couldn't stomach another word of it.

Jodie watched him walk away and slowly
lowered her gun. What had she done? She realized now how desperate
she had become. How she must have sounded to the man. Never in all
her life had she threatened anyone with a gun. Not until now.

Ashamed, she ran crying from his office. She
ran to the field behind his office and threw up, then wiped her
face with the back of hand and looked up into the sky. “I'm
sorry…I'm so sorry…but what am I to do? If only you'd send me a
sign, let me know what I'm to do? Surely you don't want me to have
this child?”

Sometime later, she stood up again and went
to get the rest of her supplies. She'd find someone else. She had
to.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Hunt entered the saloon with all the caution
of entering a rattlesnake den. Of all the saloons he'd been in
lately, this one was the wildest yet. It was the same in every
saloon, true, but this one was wide open to lawlessness. He
suddenly felt as though he'd been in way too many. The last few
saloons he'd been in were far from friendly and he figured this one
wouldn't be different. Smoke filled the room and it took him a
minute to adjust to it. He'd never taken up smokes except when he
was bone tired, or stressed. But the smoke in the saloons seemed
different. In here, you could hardly breathe. He sauntered up to
the bar and ordered a cider, took it to a table, and sat down to
relax for a few minutes. He watched the loud carryings on for a
long while. He barely sipped the cider; he quickly remembered his
promise to Jodi with a smile. He guessed others had told her he was
some kind of drunk, or something. Poor Jodi, she didn't know him
yet. He wasn't a drinking man, never had been.

The piano player was banging out a loud
chorus, but no one seemed to be noticing. He suddenly wondered why
he'd spent so much time in these places. It had absolutely no
appeal for a sober man. A couple of cowboys had picked out a
dancehall girl and were headed up stairs. Hunt thought about that
for a long while. Right now, there was only one woman he might be
interested in carrying to a bed, and although he'd married her, she
wasn't willing.

Perhaps being married and responsible for a
woman made him change in some ways. He wasn't sure he liked the
change, but he wouldn't be making any moves upstairs either. His
mind wandered to Jodi again. He wondered if she'd ever grow to
trust him. But how could he expect her to? A whole town had
condemned him.

Even though they hadn't consummated their
marriage, he felt responsible for her, and the entire herd he was
taking north. This job had awakened him from a depression he hadn't
known existed. Why had he lived in that shed in such shame for so
long? Even though he'd made mistakes in the past, he was better
than that. He'd get those cattle to Kansas. But what would happen
to Jodi then? Would she leave him and go back home? Did he want her
to? It was a question he hadn't asked himself until now.

He had mixed emotions about it. He had come
to admire her in some respects, but he knew she still didn't like
him. She was easy to work with, familiar with every signal, and she
seemed to sense things ahead of time. He could count on her in
every way except as his wife.

At first, that had been fine with him. Now he
was wondering what it might be like to have her love him. He
figured she'd love a man like she did most anything else, with all
her heart and soul.

Of course there was the war issue, too. He
could never explain it to her; he couldn't explain a lot of it to
himself. But there were some things a man kept quiet. And some
things needed getting over. He needed to close the book on those
things, forget and go on. This job had taught him that. If Jodi
ever came to care about him, it would be because she learned to
trust him, on her own, with no sad songs about the war. Of course,
he'd have to try to explain it to her, and what had happened. It
would be up to her whether she could accept it.

A cowboy bumped into his table and the man
apologized, adjusted his hat, and nodded to Hunt. “Sorry.”

“No problem,” Hunt acknowledged, bringing
himself out of the reverie.

The cowboy was about to go back to the bar
when he suddenly turned and looked at Hunt for a long second.

“This is some place, huh?” The cowboy
smiled.

“Yeah, I guess it is,” Hunt replied.

“Pardon me, but you look like you been rode
hard and put up dry,” he said, coming closer.

“I'm taking a herd through to Kansas. Stopped
by to pick up some men,” Hunt answered, twirling his cider.

“Need drovers, do you?” the cowboy asked,
sobering for the moment.

“Yep, at least four, six or eight would be
better, but I could get by with four more.” Hunt looked the young
cowboy in the eye. “Have you been up the trail?”

“Yeah, stopped off here, and I kind of wish I
hadn't. I done spent half my money on foolishness.”

“If you want a job, you got one, but I'll be
leaving within the hour,” Hunt said quite seriously.

The cowboy stood at the table, staring down
at Hunt. “You the trail boss?”

“That's right, Hunter Johnson. They call me
Hunt.” Hunt extended his hand for a shake. He gestured for the
cowboy to sit down. The cowboy looked around, and then he pulled
the chair out until it scraped the floor.

“What's the pay?”

“Thirty a month,” Hunt replied, glancing
about the room for any other takers.

“I got fifty last trip,” the young cowboy
said with a frown.

“I'm only offering thirty and a decent horse.
This isn't a big outfit. We come half way. But we got twenty-five
hundred to start with, more like thirty-five hundred now to take to
Kansas. We've been moving about ten to twelve miles a day, grazing
as much as we can. Don't figure on much trouble except the Big Red.
Might have to swim them across. I'll need all I can get through
that mess. Then, the rest should be easy.”

“What about Indians?” The cowboy narrowed his
gaze on him.

“Well…” Hunt pushed his cider away. “I don't
figure on having trouble with them. I usually find that if you give
them a cow or two, maybe a mount and some grub, you can keep them
peaceable.”

The cowboy nodded. “All but maybe the
Comanch...”

“Well, I don't plan on getting in their way,
neither.” Hunt smiled.

“We had four herds stampede at the Red three
weeks ago. Lost thirty head and two men in a gun fight,” the cowboy
said as though he was still trying to understand what had
happened.

“Things happen sometimes. But I run a pretty
tight outfit. No drinking, cussing, or fighting. Anyone starts a
fight; I'll be the one to finish it.”

“That's pretty tough talk. But you wouldn't
be havin' no trouble from me.” The young cowboy adjusted his hat
and looked at the cider on the table as though he could consume it
by just staring at it.

Hunt pushed it toward him. “Beer, or
cider?”

The cowboy looked puzzled for a minute and
then nodded. “Cider is fine.”

“How does that sound to you?” Hunt waited and
studied the man.

“That's fair enough,” he said, and guzzled
the cider.

“I need more men, but I don't see any
familiar faces floating around.” Hunt glimpsed a cowboy in the
corner who kept looking his way. He waved him over.

The older cowboy came up slowly to Hunt's
table, as though he were sizing him up first. It was easy to see by
his gait that he had sat the saddle most of his life.

When Hunt didn't say anything, the younger
cowboy jumped in. “He's hirin' for a herd going to Kansas.”

“What's the pay?” The old cowboy had a mouth
full of tobacco, but his eyes didn't move all the time he
stared.

Straight-forward and honest, Hunt
assumed.

“The usual, thirty a month, and some pretty
good cooking.” Hunt smiled at the man.

“Good cooking, huh?” The older drover smiled
now. “That could be worth the trip right there.”

“Some of the best.” Hunt nodded.

“Well, I just got back a few days ago. Was
headed home, but my pockets are empty,” the man said as he took a
chair at the table. “I got a wife expecting me back home before
long, but if you got the herd this far, it ain't that much further.
I could go along and still get back kinda early with a little in my
pockets to show for it.”

“Always did hate to go home empty,” the other
cowboy added.

“Yeah, me too.” The older man wiped his
mustache and stared at the cider. “The wife don't take to me comin'
home after a drive with no money.”

“He runs a tight crew,” the young one
added.

“I'm used to that. Makes for an easier trip,
if you ask me. I'll go along,” the older one said as though that
information cinched it for him.

Hunt ordered another cider for them both and
waited, listening to them tell him their life stories in just a few
minutes. Both men were pretty honest, Hunt decided very quickly.
They were seasoned cowboys, too. Just what he needed. As long as
they played by his rules, he'd take them on. But he still needed a
few more. Going across the Big Red was going to be hard work, and
dangerous to boot. It was a known fact that more drovers lost their
lives swimming the rivers than anything else on the drive except
for lightning.

A Negro man wandered toward them and looked
Hunt right in the eyes. “I hear you're hirin' men for a drive?”

“You heard right.” Hunt nodded. “You
interested?”

“I needs the money, yes suh,” the man said,
dragging the last chair up to the table and turning it backwards.
He stared across at all three men. “I been here nigh on to two
weeks, waitin' for someone to come along. I been up the trail a
couple of times myself. Coursin' you know that Red out there, she
can be mighty contrary to a determined man with cows.”

“That's why I need more men,” Hunt clarified.
“We didn't lose any on the Brazos and we were sort of one man
short. One couldn't swim.”

The Negro nodded, pulling his flop hat back a
little and staring at the cider. Hunt ordered another cider.

“Drink up, men. This is the last of the good
times till we get to Kansas.”

The men chatted amiably for several minutes,
telling scores of tales they had endured, all of them true. Then
another man came flying against the table and disrupted them. The
man by the bar had a gun, and he was threatening the one that ran
into the table.

The man at the table glanced toward Hunt
before returning his gaze to the one by the bar, then steadied his
hand toward his gun. “I don't want to shoot you, mister, but you
take that back.”

“What, that you are a low down coward?” The
other man laughed. “Well, aren't ya?”

Tension filled the room. It quieted almost
instantly.

Hunt slowly got to his feet, scraping the
chair against the wood floor dramatically to call attention to
himself.

“He's a cowman, leave him alone,” Hunt
demanded, his hand ready at his gun.

“You best stay out of this, mister, if you
know what's good for ya.”

“Can't do that. I just hired this man on. So
he works for me, and I can't afford to lose a man. I'm about to
take my herd over the Red,” he explained, knowing the explanation
alone wouldn't suffice this character.

“Well, now, ain't that too bad. Just back
off, mister, and you won't get hurt.”

Then shots rang out.

Someone shot the light down from the ceiling
and fire began to spread. Screams came from every direction; people
came running out of rooms upstairs to see what was going on. The
barkeep lowered his shotgun against the wall, and all manner of
chaos filled the room.

Hunt called to the men, “Let's get out of
here.”

Four men followed.

They were a couple of miles down the road
before they stopped.

“What are we stoppin' for?” the one who
introduced himself as Sparky asked.

“My wife, I'm to meet her here,” Hunt
explained.

“Your wife?” they chorused.

“That's right. She's the cook, and the point.
Any objections?” Hunt asked in a husky voice.

“No,” came the fast reply.

“Good. She'll be along,” Hunt informed them
as they sat quietly astride their horses.

“Hey, how'd you know I was a cowman?” Sparky
asked.

Hunt smiled and glanced at all the men.
“Well, one cowman can spot another a mile off, just by their smell,
their way of walking and the way they carry themselves. It was
obvious.”

“But especially the smell,” the younger
cowboy acknowledged.

Everyone laughed.

Not long after, Jodi showed up, a little
white around the mouth, but this wasn't the time to discuss any
problems.

“Jodi, I hired four men, Joe Thompson, Randy
Epstein, Cole Miller, and Sparky Williams. They've been up the
trail before and they know what to expect. Boys, this is the
missus. She's also one of the best cooks you'll find on the trail.
Now, let's ride so we can catch up to them.” No one stalled or
turned away.