Larkspur (29 page)

“Well?”

“Well, what?”

“Have ya fallen in love with him?”

“Good grief!” Kristin plunked the teakettle down on the stove with such force it made a clanging sound. “What a thing to say. I’ve only known the man a few weeks. He’s been very . . . kind to me, just as he was to Uncle Yarby.”

“I don’t like ya bein’ in the middle of all this, Kris. I ain’t forgettin’ that I went against Ferd and helped ya get here. Now, if somethin’ happens—”

“Nothing’s going to happen. Buck will take care of things. I’m here, and there doesn’t seem to be much we can do about it at the moment.”

“From what Ryerson told me, Buck will have his hands full holding on to this place. I think ya should leave until it’s settled. Ryerson sent his wife to Billings—”

“—That’s fine for Mrs. Ryerson,” Kristin interrupted. “I understand she has small children. I’m not going anywhere unless Buck asks me to leave his house. And if he does, I’ll go through the woods there”—she flung her hand toward the grove—“and live in the house Uncle Yarby left me.”

“If somethin’ happened to ya, love, it’d kill me.”

The door opened and Buck stepped into the kitchen with an armload of stove wood. Gustaf’s arm lay across Kristin’s shoulders, his fingers were beneath her chin. Buck paused and looked from one to the other, but didn’t speak until he’d put the wood in the box. He felt almost sick to his stomach.

“Do you need anything from the smokehouse?”

“Not for supper, but I’ll need some of that side meat for breakfast.”

“I’ll get it in the morning.”

Buck picked up the waterbucket and went out. He was perfectly miserable.
If somethin’ happened to ya, love, it’d kill me.
It looked like the cousin was about to kiss her. The man had deep feelings for her and she for him. It couldn’t be any plainer than that. The knowledge was so painful that it lay like a rock in his tired heart.

Kristin and her cousin loved each other.
How could he have been so stupid, even for that short time, to think a rough bastard like him had a chance with a woman like her? A man wouldn’t come all the way from Wisconsin unless he loved her. Damn it to hell! No one could take better care of her in this country than he could.

Coming back across the yard from the well he met Gilly.

“Ryerson said there’s a gang hangin’ out at that old Skelton place up in Creek Canyon.”

“Has he had trouble with them?”

“Not yet. He’s thinkin’ they be gatherin’ to ride in on us and him to take over when Forsythe gives the word.”

“How many?”

“Dozen or two. Says they come and go.”

“Wish there was some way I could get Kristin out of here.”

“She . . . et! Where’d she go? If she went to Billings, he’d track her down and make her sell or do away with her. Same if she went to Bozeman. To my way a thinkin’ old Cletus was right. She’s better off here . . . less’n she
wants
to sell the Larkspur to the mangy polecat.”

“She doesn’t want to sell. She’s made that clear. If she did, I’d buy it if there was a way I could raise the money with half my stock run off.”

“If ya wed up with her, ya’d have it all, an’ ya wouldn’t have to buy it.”

Buck turned so fast that water sloshed out of the bucket. Gilly jumped back.

“I’m not weddin’ any woman to get what she’s got or to keep what I’ve worked for.”

“Ya don’t have to get yore back up ’bout it.”

Buck stepped up onto the porch and flung open the door. Kristin turned from the stove to look at him and wondered what had happened to make him so angry.

*  *  *

Buck and Gilly left the house as soon as they finished supper. Kristin was disappointed. Buck had not said much during the meal. Thank goodness for Gilly’s curiosity. He had asked Gustaf question after question about Wisconsin and his travels on the Mississippi River. She had hoped that Buck and Gustaf would like each other. She didn’t know of anyone except Ferd who
didn’t
like Gustaf.

“Is Lenning always so down in the mouth? He’s not at all as Gilly described him.” Gustaf carried the plates from the table to the work counter.

“He’s got a lot on his mind.”

“I’ll make it clear to him that I’m not here to mooch a living. I’d make a poor cowboy, but I’m a damn good woodchopper.”

“I feel like I’m pushing Buck out of his house,” Kristin said sadly.

“When I mentioned fixing up Yarby’s old place and staying there, he looked at me as if he’d like to run me through with a saber.”

“You’ve not seen Uncle Yarby’s place. It would take more than a little fixing up. Besides, Buck said there was plenty of room in the bunkhouse.”

“I got that part. I think he feared I expected to stay in here with you.”

“Land sakes, Gustaf! Your imagination is running wild.”

When the cleanup was done, she and Gustaf moved to the parlor end of the kitchen. Kristin threw her shawl around her shoulders before she sat down in one of the big chairs. Away from the cookstove the room was cool. This time of year nights were cold, but not cold enough to light the fireplace. She looked around the cozy room and thought about Buck sitting in the dreary bunkhouse. This was his home. This is where he should be.

Suddenly he was.

The door was flung open and he bounded into the room. Kristin jumped to her feet.

“Put out the light!”

He grabbed his coat from the peg beside the door and threw it around Kristin’s shoulders just as Gustaf turned down the lamp wick throwing the room into total darkness.

“What’s hap . . . pening?” Kristin stammered.

“Someone’s coming.” Buck hustled her out the door.

“Where are we going?”

“You’re going to that room I built for Moss. Stay there till I come for you.”

“But . . . I didn’t get my . . . pistol—”

“You don’t need the damn pistol.” With his hand firmly attached to her elbow, he urged her into a run across the yard. At the door to the room he pushed her inside. “Do as I say. Stay here.”

“What shall I do, Lenning?” Gustaf asked.

Buck shoved a rifle into his hands.

“Can you shoot?”

“Damn right.”

“Get over there by the woodpile. If anyone comes to this door beside me or Gilly, shoot him.”

Gustaf disappeared in the darkness.

“Buck . . . ? Who’s coming?”

“I don’t know. I got the signal from Bowlegs. It could be someone coming to burn us out. If so, I don’t want you in the house. That’s the first place they’d torch.”

“Burn . . . our house!” Kristin wailed.

“Shut the door and drop the bar on the inside. There’s an escape door in the back. If I come for you, it will be from the back.”

“Be careful—”

Inside the dark room, Kristin held the door open a crack so that she could look out. All she could see was the shape of the house that she had come to think of as almost her own.

Dear God in heaven, please don’t let them burn Buck’s house.

Buck positioned himself on one side of the house and Gilly on the other so that anyone approaching would be in the cross fire. Bowlegs and two of his drovers were out there somewhere. The others had been sent to protect their women and children and hustle them off into the mountains if it came to a fight. He wished that he’d had time to get Kristin to a safer place.

He checked a pair of Smith & Wessons. One he had in the holster, the other one tucked in his belt. Buck strained his ears for a foreign night sound or the absence of a normal one. Night lay like a dark blanket over the grassland. Usually a million stars twinkled in the sky but tonight they were hidden by an overcast sky.

On the breeze that came from the south was the smell of sun-ripened grass that stretched like a pale gold carpet from the foothills to the mountains. This was lonesome country. His country. Here the large herd of buffalo had roamed for hundreds of years. Here the rawhiders had come to slaughter them by the thousands. Here the Indians had had to give up their land and move west.

Standing at the corner of his house Buck Lenning swore that he would not give up an inch of it.

For a while all the sounds he heard were those of a squirrel scampering around in the tree overhead, birds getting resettled, and an owl sending out its lonely call. Then faintly his ears picked up the slight jingle of harness and the swishing sound as a wagon or buggy cut through the tall grass.

The enemy would not come in a buggy or a wagon. Unless . . . to bring a barrel of kerosene to burn him out. Angry and tense, he waited. Now he could hear the heavy wheezing of a tired horse. The shape of a buggy loomed out of the darkness.

“Hel . . . lo, the house—”

Buck waited. He was quite sure he’d not heard the voice before.

“Hel . . . lo, the house.”

“Who are you?” Buck called.

“Bernie Gates. I’ve got a message from a man named Cleve Stark.”

This could be a trick. Someone might have intercepted a letter to him from Cleve. The name, Bernie, had a familiar ring. He was the man who took Kristin to the freight camp. Was this him or was it a Forsythe man pretending to be Gates?

“What did you say your name was?”

“Gates. Bernie Gates. My sister, Bonnie, is with me. A man named Tandy is with us. He’s been shot.”

Buck knew an old geezer named Tandy Williamson. The old trail cook, a friend of Moss’s, had spent a week or two here a couple winters ago.

“Bernie! Is that you?” Kristin came running across the yard.

Muttering a string of curses, Buck raced after her. He grabbed her around the waist with one arm and dragged her back behind a large oak.

“Goddammit to hell, Kristin! Are you trying to get yourself killed?” he whispered angrily.

“It’s Bernie and Bonnie. They’re my friends. They helped me get out of Big Timber.”

“Kristin! It’s me, Bonnie.” The feminine voice sounded close to tears. “Let us come in. We’re so . . . tired and Tandy’s been shot.”

“Come on in,” Buck shouted. “Gilly, get a lantern.” Buck’s arm was still around Kristin, holding her tightly to him. “I could beat your butt. You scared the living hell out of me. It could’ve been Forsythe’s men out there. Don’t you understand that they’d like nothing better than to see you dead? Dammit, next time I tell you to do something you’d better do it . . . or I’ll shake the puddin’ outta you.”

“I’m sorry, Buck.” She touched the side of his face with her palm before she pushed herself out of his arms. “Bernie risked his life to get me to the freight camp. I couldn’t let you turn them away.”

“I wasn’t going to turn them away. I had to be sure who they were.”

The buggy moved past them as he spoke. They followed it to the yard behind the house, where Gilly waited with a lantern. The tired horse slowed to a stop and stood with his head hanging, his sides heaving.

The three people on the buggy seat blinked against the light. An old man’s head lolled against Bonnie’s shoulder.

“Please . . . help him—”

“Oh, Bonnie! Are you all right?”

“Yes, but Tandy and . . . Bernie—”

“Oh, my—” It was all Kristin could say when she saw Bernie’s face. Without Bonnie’s being with him, she would not have recognized him as the man who had driven her to the freight camp only a few weeks ago.

Bernie held Tandy on the seat while Buck lifted Bonnie down to stand on shaky legs. When Gustaf reached for the old man, he groaned and cried out when he was moved.

“Where’s he hit?”

“In the back. Sonsabitches shot him in the back,” Bernie said.

“I’ll be careful, mister, but it’ll hurt ya some.” As Gustaf lifted Tandy in his arms he glanced questioningly at Buck.

“Take him to the bunkhouse. It’s warm in there. Kristin, fetch hot water and rags.”

“I’ll go with Tandy—” Bonnie moved to follow the men.

“Come help me, Bonnie.” The tired girl’s steps faltered, and Kristin took her arm.

Bonnie waited at the door. Kristin groped for the matchbox, touched the flame to the wick and turned to Bonnie. Her hair had come loose from the pins and was hanging in strands. Her face was dirty, her dress torn and bloody, but it was the hopeless, tired look in her eyes that tugged at Kristin’s heart. Her memory of Bonnie had been of a spunky girl with sass in her voice and an angry sparkle in her eyes.

“Sit down, Bonnie. I’ll get the bandages.”

“I can’t sit until Tandy’s tended to.” Tears flooded her eyes. “He’d got down to water the horse and they shot him. We didn’t know anybody was about.”

Buck came into the kitchen, walked past the women and into the room at the front of the house. He returned with a box in one hand and a bottle of whiskey in the other.

“We need cloth for bandages, Kristin. Do you have more of the salve you put on my shoulder?”

“I’ll get it and cloth and vinegar. There’s hot water in the teakettle.” When she came out of her room, she touched his arm briefly as she handed him a bundle of cloth and the salve. “Is it bad?”

“Can’t tell. He’s got a bullet in his back. I’m thinking his heavy coat helped to slow it some.”

“Do you need me and Bonnie?”

“No. We’ve got to cut the bullet out. It’s not something you need to see. Fix a meal for Gates and his sister. They haven’t eaten today.”

Gustaf appeared at the door. Kristin gave him the teakettle and the jug of vinegar.

“Careful with the teakettle. The water is almost boiling,” she cautioned as the men stepped off the porch.

*  *  *

The bullet had gone up under the shoulder blade. Bernie explained that Tandy was bent over when he was shot. Buck was puzzled as to how to get the bullet out until Gustaf took from his pack a rolled-up doeskin that contained a small razor, tweezers, a tin of salve, a bottle of laudanum, a length of linen thread and several needles.

“Never go anywhere without this kit. Pulled out many a splinter and sewed up many a cut after a fight. Meanness comes out in some folks when they ain’t doin’ nothin’, but watchin’ the shoreline go by. All it’d take is for somebody to look at ’em crossways and they’re up and rarin’ to go at it.”

“Was ya the doc?” Gilly asked.