Santa Fe Woman (16 page)

“I know you can.”

“I’d give anything if I could read this Book.”

“Well, you can do something for me.”

“For you? What can I do for you?”

“You can teach me how to use that whip of yours,” Kate Johnson smiled. “Who knows, I might have to use it on someone one of these days.”

CALLIE PULLED HER HORSE up and straightened in the saddle. The mules, for once, were fairly well behaved, but she knew them too well to trust them much. Her eyes went across the level plain. To her left was the river bottom about two miles away, and scattered trees to her right broke the monotony of the plains. Pedro had kept her informed of their progress, pointing out that they had crossed One Hundred and Ten Mile Creek, which was ninety-five miles from Franklin, and then Bridge Creek and Big John Spring. Council Grove lay just ahead, and she knew that, according to Pedro, they would reach there in two days. “Council Grove,” he said, “is about a hundred and fifty miles from Franklin. We’re just getting started.”

Letting herself sway with the smooth gait of her mount, Callie glanced forward to where the wagons were sloshing through the muddy ground. She heard Stuffy McGinnis, the most amiable of all the skinners in her mind, singing:

A smile touched Callie’s lips, for most of the songs that the mule drivers sang were obscene beyond belief, as was their language. She knew that Rocklin had laid the law down to them all that on this drive they would have to forget about their cussing.

“Let me ride with you, Callie.”

Callie turned and looked down to see Carleen looking up at her, bright eyed and excited.

“All right. Put your foot in the stirrup.” Callie kicked her foot out of the stirrup, helped the girl get on behind her, and then felt the girl’s arms go around her waist. It gave her an odd feeling, for she was not accustomed to being hugged. “They’re pretty, aren’t they?”

“What’s pretty, Carleen?”

“The wagons. Look at them. They look like ships, don’t they?”

Indeed, Callie had had this idea herself. The Conestogas were enormous wagons with high prows and sterns. Rocklin had told her that the wagons were built with curves like a ship so that the goods stored inside would hold steady. He also informed her that they were practically waterproof and could float.

“The covers look like sails,” Carleen said.

“They do a little bit.”

“How old are you?” Carleen demanded.

Callie was accustomed to the girl’s incessant questioning. “I am seventeen years old, me.”

“Why do you say
me
at the end of your sentence?”

“It’s the way Cajuns talk.”

“Say me some French.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“Anything. I just like to hear it.”

Callie smiled and described the prairie scene in French. “How you like that, little one?”

“I’m not little. I’m ten and I’ll soon be eleven, and I’m big for my age.”

“I should say young one then.”

“Seventeen. I wish I was seventeen.”

“Enjoy yourself. This is a good time for you, cherie.”

“What does
cherie
mean?”

“It means dear.”

“You mean like with horns?”

Callie suddenly laughed. “No, I mean like you call your mama dear mama.”

“My mama’s dead.”

“Well, your sister then.”

“When I get to be seventeen, I’m going to get married. And I’m going to have two boys and one girl. The boys will be named Charles and Thomas, and the girl will be named Eloise.”

“That would be nice. What about your husband?”

“He will be tall and carry a pistol, and if anyone messes with me, he’ll shoot ’em.”

Callie was vastly amused by the girl’s vivid and fruitful imagination.

“Why do you always wear man’s clothes?”

“They’re more comfortable on the trail.”

“Did you wear dresses when you were at home?”

“Not much. My papa, he was a mule skinner. I go with him, and dresses are not easy to wear.”

The two were suddenly interrupted, for Grat Herendeen seemed to be waiting in the path before them. The big man said, “Hello, Callie.”

Callie nodded and did not speak. Her eyes were watchful. She had learned about men at a hard school, and she well understood the desire that showed clearly on the big man’s face. “Why don’t you get down and walk with me a spell? Kid, you can ride the horse.”

“I’m working, Herendeen.”

“You can call me Grat, Callie.”

“You can call me Miss Fortier,” Callie said.

Herendeen stepped closer. He reached up and got Callie by the arm. “Don’t be that way,” he said. “Be friendly to a man.”

Callie tried to jerk her arm back, but his grip was immensely strong. She could smell the tobacco and thought she could trace the smell of liquor on his breath. “You’d better get back to your wagon,” she said.

“I will after awhile. Just take a little walk. No harm meant.”

“You let her go!”

Grat turned to look at Carleen, who was staring at him from behind Callie’s back. “Kids should be quiet when grown-ups are talking,” he said. He would have said more, but suddenly there was the sound of an approaching horse. Herendeen and Callie looked up quickly and saw Rocklin coming at a dead run. He pulled his stallion up, and the glance he laid on Herendeen was hard.

“You better get back to your wagon, Grat. Your right wheel is wobbling.”

“I’ll fix it later.”

“You heard what I said. Get back to your wagon.”

Callie suddenly straightened up. There was something charged in the air. Herendeen carried a pistol at his side, and his
whip was coiled over his shoulder. She knew from experience that the whip could be as deadly as the pistol. She had seen men cut to pieces by them, and she breathed quicker, sensing the potential for disaster.

Herendeen stood there, a bulky, dangerous shape in the noon sunlight. He was a man who liked trouble as other men liked liquor or women. His brute strength had won him victories, and the thickness of his skull had protected him from defeats. He had a sly look as he turned his head to one side. “You savin’ this girl for yourself, Rocklin?”

Callie’s face grew warm, and her glance shifted to Rocklin. He did not look at her. His eyes were fixed on Grat Herendeen. “I’m not going to argue this matter, Grat. You either get back to your wagon or start walkin’ back toward Franklin.”

Herendeen’s face suddenly flushed. The anger that lay beneath the surface of the big man was evident. “You wouldn’t put me afoot.”

“You bet I would. Just try me.”

The impulse was there. Callie saw it and sensed it. She saw Herendeen’s hand brush against the butt of the gun at his right side. As far as she could tell, Rocklin was, as always, loose and easy in the saddle, but she knew that was all an illusion. Her life had been hard, and she had seen men shot down before. If Herendeen made a wrong move, there would be death on the prairie.

Herendeen passed the moment by. “Just out for a walk,” he said. “No harm in that.” He turned and walked back toward the train. He rolled slightly, the bulk of his body pulling him. Only once did he look back, but there was danger in that look.

“You have made yourself an enemy, Chad,” Callie said.

“Doesn’t matter.”

“He may try to shoot you.”

“He’ll have to get in line. What are you doing back there, Carleen?”

“I got tired of walking. I wanted to ride for a spell. Can I ride with you?”

“No, I’ve got work to do.”

For a moment Callie studied the big man quietly without seeming to. He was like a machine, she decided, made for hard usage. He did not have the bulk of Grat Herendeen, but there was strength in his long body. His chest was deep rather than wide, and there was something of the quality of a mountain lion that she had seen once—smooth and easy but explosive at times.

Chad expelled his breath and pushed his hat back on his forehead. “You’ve been doing good, Callie. A good hand with mules. Not everybody can handle them critters.”

“I’ve done it a long time.”

“What will you do when we get to Santa Fe?”

“Work.”

“What kind of work?”

“I’ll find something.”

“Don’t you have any family at all?”

“Just an uncle and an aunt and some cousins outside of Baton Rouge. I’ll never get to them.”

“I guess you and me are both orphans. Maybe we’ll start a club. The Rocklin and Fortier Orphans Association.”

“I don’t have any mama. I want to join, too,” Carleen demanded.

“You don’t qualify, punkin. You’ve got a daddy and a sister and a brother.”

“I want to join anyway.”

“You can be an honorary member then.” He looked at Callie and turned his head to one side. “If Grat gives you anymore trouble, let me know.”

Callie suddenly laughed. She touched the gun at her side and said, “I will shoot him.”

Rocklin grinned broadly. “Well, like I said, I need him to drive mules. Just let me take care of him.”

* * *

KATE AND JORI HAD been watching the scene from where they sat on the seat of the wagon. Leland was riding Kate’s mare, for he had grown tired of sitting on the hard seat. Kate waited until she saw Rocklin ride off and then shook her head. “He’ll have trouble with Herendeen one day. He’s a bad one.”

“I wish he weren’t here.”

“Hard to find good mule drivers, and Chad says he’s the best.”

Jori was watching Carleen, who was riding behind Callie. “I didn’t want to bring that girl with us.”

“Callie? Why not?”

“It didn’t seem like a good idea.” She continued to watch the two and then said, “I tried to get Chad to leave her there, but he wouldn’t.”

“Was there a place to leave her?”

Reluctantly Jori told the story of how the girl had nowhere to go. “Chad was afraid to leave her there with those two men.”

“Well, I see that as a good thing. He’s hard, but he’s got a soft spot.” She looked up suddenly and said, “I hope it doesn’t start raining. I’m sick to death of it.”

The train swayed forward, and the rain did not come. Instead, the sun came out and shone brilliantly. Rocklin came by to say
that Council Grove was only ten miles ahead and they would camp there that night. Carleen had come back and joined the two women on the seat. She was a constant spring of talk, her voice filling in any silence.

Suddenly Carleen jumped up and said, “Look at that!” Before the two women could even turn, she was out of the wagon and running toward a grove of trees.

“Come back here, Carleen!” Jori shouted, but the girl did not stop.

“What does she see?” Kate asked, straining her eyes. “I don’t see a thing.”

“We can’t go off and leave her,” Jori said with exasperation. She pulled the two mules to a halt and jumped out of the wagon. She saw her father on a mare headed toward the grove of trees and ran lightly. The ground was dried up so that her feet did not sink in.

“Carleen, where are you going?” Leland called out.

Jori reached where Carleen was kneeling down, and her heart leaped when she saw an unconscious man lying there. At first she thought he was dead. “Carleen, come here,” she commanded. Her father swung out of the saddle and went over at once. The three of them then looked down at the man.

“He’s not dead,” Carleen said.

The man was young, Jori saw, and she caught the raw odor of alcohol. Beside him was an empty bottle, and over to his left was a canvas suitcase stuffed with gear.

“You go back to the wagon, Carleen,” Leland said. “We’ve got to help him. I’ll go get Rocklin.”

Carleen sped off, and Jori stared down at the unconscious man. His lips were moving, and she leaned forward but could make no sense out of his words. “He’s dead drunk,” she said in disgust.

“What in the world would anybody be doing drunk out here in the middle of this terrible country?”

Jori looked around and saw no signs of a horse, a wagon, or any means of transportation. She looked back at the man and saw that he was very thin. His clothes were filthy, and he had not shaved in days, it appeared. He had several bruises on his thin face and a raw wound on his forehead.

Rocklin must have been close because he came almost at once. Swinging out of the saddle, he came over and looked down at the unconscious man and shook his head. “He’s taken a beating.” Without saying anything Rocklin walked around and looked at the ground. He walked in ever wider circles, and finally he came back and said, “He was with a wagon. They left him here, I guess, but his gear’s still here.”

“What’ll we do with him?” Jori asked.

“I don’t know.”

At that moment Carleen came near and heard the question. “We can’t leave him here,” she said. “We have to take him with us.”

Rocklin glanced at her and shook his head. “Well, we’ll make camp here. By morning he should be sober enough to talk, and then we’ll see.”

* * *

CARLEEN WAS SITTING BESIDE the unconscious man. A bed had been made in the light wagon, and she had crawled in. She had always taken care of sick or wounded animals and birds, and to her this was just another wounded creature. The man suddenly flung his arm out and then cried out in pain. Carleen reached out
and pushed his hair back off his forehead. “It’s OK,” she said. “Don’t be scared.”

The man’s eyes opened, and he stared at her. “Where is this?” he muttered. “Who are you?”

“I’m Carleen Hayden. What’s your name?”

The battered man licked his lips, which were swollen. “Paul.”

“Oh, like in the Bible.” The man looked at her and then struggled to sit up but was groaning with pain.

“My Aunt Kate is cooking some broth for you. You’ll feel better when you eat.”

The man stared at her with incomprehension then slumped back whispering, “I wish I were dead!”

Carleen studied the man and then said, “Don’t be scared, Paul. It’ll be all right.” She sat there for thirty minutes, and when he did not move, she got out of the wagon.