Love by Dawn (10 page)

“I’d still rather take my chances out west,
Sis. Start over.”

That night their luck continued when she and
her brother came upon a deserted farm. The shelves were stocked
with canned food and fruit. Later, content she slept with a full
stomach. The next day, a lone rooster greeted the dawn with great
enthusiasm waking Casey and Hunter rudely. Her brother loaded what
supplies they could carry in an empty flour sack and they continued
on. Never once feeling at ease, she continuously looked over her
shoulder, feeling Blake might catch up with them at any moment.

Although, he had no reason to follow them,
she believed in her gut, which was never wrong, that he would. She
knew he was a man to reckon with and she had hurt his pride. Her
nerves were wound tighter than a cheap watch.

Later that day the skies opened up soaking
them to the bone but when the sun came out, little yellow buttercup
magically blossomed over the land lifting her spirits somewhat.
Having to sleep wet and uncomfortable in a wooded area, Casey once
again was miserable.

Two nights later, they stopped at a small
farm, the light inside told them that it was inhabited, but she
didn’t care. She needed a good nights sleep and their provisions
were almost gone. Luckily, the couple was very neighborly and fed
them, offering the dry barn to sleep in. Despite the strong odor of
animal discharges and the musty air, she slept like a baby. In the
morning, she and Hunter noticed how badly the place needed
repairs.

“My brother and I can use a few dollars to
tide us over, can we offer to help rebuild the corral fence?” she
voiced hopefully. Sam and Greta were happy to help them and
appreciated help in return.

“Where are you two young’ums headed, if I
might ask,” Greta spoke while peeling potatoes.

Casey shrugged. “Don’t rightly know, but
we’re thinking El Paso. We lost out home in the war,” she fibbed,
“and we only want a fresh started out west, away from all the
killing.” It wasn’t a total lie.

Greta clicked her tongue. “That was a sorry
affair. My Sam and I were never blessed with children and now I’m
glad. Would’ve broken my heart to lose a child in that awful war,”
she clicked her tongue again. Brother against brother, a terrible
shame I tell you. We never owned a slave and I tell you it is a
disgrace the way they suffered. Sometimes I’m ashamed of my own
race. Tsk, tsk.”

Casey voiced her agreement, feeling her face
heat a little over the fact that her pa sold slaves. Later Hunter
came in with Sam.

Greta pumped water into the sink for the men
to wash up and Sam placed a loving peck on his wife’s cheek. “Dear,
that boy has been a God send, we practically finished the fence.”
He wiped his sweaty brow against his sleeve.

Hunter smiled at her, looking mighty proud
and she returned the favor. She was happy for him, he liked
building things with his hands. Back home, he constantly built
articles for their mother. Table, chairs, beds, anything that could
be built, he did. He even built them a little house in a tree when
he was ten with the help of their father; where she would pretend
she was a mother and a wife. Her only child was a straw dolly, a
gift from Hunter on her eleventh birthday.

Her heart was both happy and sad. He was so
young to have been mixed up in her father’s affairs. What would she
have done if he had been killed? Blake had confessed the morning
after she had a restless sleep with his semi-nude’s body so close,
that it was his bullet that creased Hunter’s skull. He apologized,
but he claimed he was only doing his job. She had to be grateful
for one thing, the cowboy was a poor shot. But then again, Hunter
said it was dark.

They stayed a few more days taking a chance
that Blake had lost their trail. Greta was such a good cook; she
and her brother would’ve worked for meals only, if they didn’t need
the cash.

Casey’s dress was almost in rags. Greta
insisted in giving her one of her old ones from before she had put
on a few pounds. She figured the lady must’ve been very slim
because the old gingham dress fit her to a tee and the kind lady
wasn’t much heavier than she. Hunter’s clothes were washed during
the night and though almost thread bare, Greta did her best to sew
the seams and to patch the hole in his pants.

Three days later, with their stomach’s full
and their pockets jingling with a few coins, Casey sadly said her
good-byes to the couple, saying she and her brother would miss them
and their home cooking. Greta packed them a basket of fried chicken
and biscuits for the road. Her brother looked up and saw tears
trickle down her face, giving her a sympatric smile. He insisted on
walking first, since they agreed on taking turns on riding
Sadie.

“I’m sorry, sis. I know you hated leaving
those folks. I can read your mind, you wished that we could have
had parents like them and a happy home life; but I promise you,
someday you will find a fella to love and be happy. Don’t look so
crestfallen sis, it breaks my heart.”

Casey forced a smile and wiped her face with
her palm, knowing she was making it harder for him. Yes, she would
have loved to stay longer, but they had to find their own lot in
life. Then her thoughts drifted to Blake; under different
circumstances, he could have been the right one for her.
Absentmindedly, she touched her lips; sorry she had slammed the
door in his face. But then, hindsight never righted things.

They arrived on the outskirts of El Paso,
exhausted and once again hungry. Sadie had gone lame when she threw
a broken shoe, making them walk for a day. They had been limping
along with the mare when she spotted a covered wagon standing
crippled by the road. She suggested to her brother to go ahead and
ask if they could use help. He did and returned to explain that the
old couple’s wagon’s wheel sank in the mud and they couldn’t get
the old nag to pull it free.

With Casey pulling on the bit and Hunter
smacking the animal’s rump, they were able to free the wagon and
move on. The couple, Mr. and Mrs. Oliver offered them some water
and food. She told them that they were headed west also. Mrs.
Oliver than suggested that they tag alone since she and her husband
were finding the trip more of a hardship than they had anticipated.
Casey quickly agreed and Hunter nodded his acceptance making her
smile at their good fortune.

As weeks passed and the days grew warmer, she
and Hunter grew close to the Oliver’s, Michael and Ruth. The two
old people seemed to have adopted them and she thought that they
were the grandparents she had never known. Casey and her three
companions made it through Texas without incident.

The hot sun glittered brightly on the gold
fields of the plains. Soft white daisies dotted the land making
Casey feel a little melancholy. They had stayed in El Paso a few
days to replenish supplies and have Sadie re-shod. Ruth insisted on
buying them new clothes since the ones they owned were nearly rags
by now. Casey gratefully accepted and purchased a riding skirt and
a plaid shirt. She also brought new boots but found her old ones
were more to her liking. By the time they continued on, she no
longer looked over her shoulders, convinced Blake had lost the
trail.

Although feeling relieved, she was confused
by the fact that at night her dreams were haunted by the cowboy’s
handsome face and piercing eyes. She wondered what he thought of
the woman who had helped her brother escape the law. She wondered
why she ever cared.

Again, she thought,
if only we had met under different
circumstances.

She sighed. There was no use in wanting
something that couldn’t be.

TWELVE

Blake had misjudged the pair and discovered
his mistake later. Doubling back along the stream, he saw where
Casey and Hunter had headed west. He was impressed by their keen
foresight that they might be followed. Shortly after discovering
their tracks again, he came upon a group of soldiers and upon
questioning them, he discovered the two were heading for
Mississippi. This bit of information confirmed his suspicions that
they were headed further west; their true direction would help him
track them easier. Finding the deserted farm, he was able to see
the clues that they were also there and he gathered enough canned
food to hold him over for a while.

The end of April brought with it daily
showers and Blake lost their trail in the woods due to a heavy
downpour, but was able to get information from a nearby farm where
the two had stayed. The old couple informed him that the two in
question were planning to head to El Paso. By the time he reached
Texas, he believed he was close behind them upon discovering the
horse had a broken right shoe. And spotting where the animal had
lost it made it easy to follow the tracks of a cracked horseshoe.
Figuring that they had to find the nearest blacksmith in El Paso,
he kicked his mount into a run.

When he left Checkers at the blacksmith, he
discovered that the pair had joined up with a family headed for New
Mexico. Totally sure that he’d catch them in a short time he
decided to spend the night in a local bar with a bottle and a
pretty red headed prostitute. He was sorely in need of a woman and
one night wouldn’t hurt.

Never had Blake recalled such a hangover
after a few drinks. That night started out in the company of the
beautiful prostitute. They shared a few drinks before heading up
stairs to a room. He bedded the whore, but before she left, she
poured him another drink. After gulping down the gold liquid, he
passed out and remembered nothing until he was rudely wakened by
the sheriff. It seemed one of the girls came into the room looking
for her friend and discovered her prostate, battered body lying
next to Blake, who couldn’t recall anything, but his name. He was
arrested for killing the whore; his confidence in himself and his
one night of pleasure had changed his life dramatically.

It took a month for the circuit judge to
arrive in town to hold trial. He couldn’t have beaten the
prostitute, but was totally frustrated not being a hundred percent
sure since he had passed out. Blake knew the evidence was against
him and he was sure he was going to be hanged. Too late, he assumed
he had been dosed, knowing that many of the whores drugged the
Johns, then robbed them.

Something wasn’t right with the picture, but
he couldn’t prove anything locked up in jail as he grew more
impatient and grumpy waiting for the circuit judge to arrive. Every
day delayed meant another day that Casey was getting further away.
How would he ever find her now? From this day on, he swore off
prostitutes. Now that was funny, but he wasn’t laughing. He might
not live long enough to regret any more foolish actions.

The day of the trial, the bar was closed and
the saloon was filled to the rafters with spectators. There wasn’t
a standing place to be had. He was escorted into this travesty of a
courtroom by one of the deputies. The jury of twelve men sat around
felt-covered poker tables on the side. Each man sat stone-faced,
never once looking at him. Blake wasn’t shy, he looked them over.
He had been told that one was the banker, a teacher, two ranchers
and he suspected that the others were clients of this
establishment. They were the most unfriendly bunch of geezers he
had ever laid his eyes on; he was a dead man for sure.

Judge Braddock sat behind a round table with
a half-filled bottle of booze. The judge looked rumbled and Blake
would bet his last double eagle gold coin that the judge was there
last nights drinking and whoring. The place was like a circus, the
girls of the saloon serving more drinks than they probably had all
week. The room still smelled of smoke, unwashed bodies and stale
whiskey. Sawdust and discarded butts remained under his feet. The
sheriff sat drumming his fingers as if he had more important
business to attend to. The judge pounded the gavel and Blake
winced. The incessant jabbering of voices came to an immediate
lull.

The gravel was slammed once more and the
judge grunted, “I’ll have order in my court, that made his point
and he whacked the gravel again. This honorable court is now in
session. What’s on my docket this day?”

The prosecutor was very well dressed and
stood. The pimply faced lawyer, who appeared as if he hadn’t yet
graduated from the little red schoolhouse, was his attorney. He was
young and dressed in a threadbare plaid shirt and jeans and
introduced himself as Bromley Brooks. Blake wondered where the
layer was before the trial but didn’t ask. Better late than never
he thought. But in this case, Blake wasn’t too sure if it
mattered.

Moments later, Blake silently cursed as the
well-dressed lawyer called a soiled dove to the stand. It was
Cricket, who found her dead friend. She came forward and a few wolf
whistles and catcalls erupted and the gavel was slammed again.
Judge Braddock insisted that there be order in the court, but he
winked at the scantly-clad lady. Blake groaned inwardly. Yep, he
was a dead man. He ran his finger around his collar practically
feeling the nose tighten against his Adam’s apple.

The prostitute put her hand on the bible and
the lawyer asked, “Do you swear to tell the truth?” and so on.

“Of course, she purred and went on to
testify that she and the other woman had never had trouble with
their Johns before. And then Blake’s lawyer questioned her about
drugging clients. Of course, she denied the allegation completely
and was totally insulted by the question.

“Sir,” Cricket licked her painted lips and
batted her long lashes, making sure she hunched over enough for the
male jury to see her ample breasts. “Us girls never spike a
gentleman’s drink.” Boy, did she lie nicely, he thought. Flutter,
flutter went her lashes when she recognized some of the men and
winked.