Santa Fe Woman (21 page)

“Make your choice, Grat. Start walkin’ or take orders.”

Herendeen stared at Rocklin, hatred visible in his battered face. “There’ll be other times, Rocklin,” he muttered, then turned and walked away unsteadily.

Four Bears had not stopped eating. He was chewing on a bone, and now he studied it and threw it away. “You should kill him,” he remarked.

“No, I need him, Four Bears, to drive a wagon. When you two get filled up, go find us somethin’ better to eat. Some bear steaks would go pretty well.”

* * *

CARLEEN CREPT CLOSER TO where Grat Herendeen was washing his face in the stream. She had followed him out of camp keeping hidden, but now she came closer.

Herendeen suddenly turned and glared at her. “What do you want, girl?”

“Are you all right?”

Herendeen was still caught in the fury of the fight. “Get out of here!” he said gruffly, but the girl did not move. “What do you want?” he repeated.

“You’re hurt pretty bad.”

“I’ve been hurt worse.”

Carleen Hayden was incurably inquisitive. She had been afraid of the big man during the fight, but now he seemed harmless enough. “Your face is all cut up.”

Herendeen was feeling the aftereffects of the fight. He had been whipped for the first time in his life, and something had gone out of him. He knew that somewhere down the line he would have it out with Rocklin again. He could not believe that the smaller man had beaten him so quickly.

“Carleen, you’d better get back to the wagon.”

Paul Molitor had been watching the girl and followed her to the stream. Now he came and looked at the face of the battered Herendeen. “That cut’s got to be sewn up, Herendeen.”

“It’ll be all right.”

Paul Molitor shrugged. “It’s up to you. I’ll fix it if you want.”

“You sewed up fellows before?”

“Once or twice.”

Herendeen dropped his head for a moment. He hated to take favors, but he knew that his face did need attention. “All right,” he said.

“I’ll get something to fix it with.”

* * *

TWENTY MINUTES LATER MOLITOR stepped back and looked critically at the job he had done. “That’s about the best I can do. Leave those stitches in for a few days. It’s going to be painful.”

“I can take that.”

Carleen had watched Molitor with fascination as he had sewn up the gaping wound. “Golly,” she said, “you sew as good as a woman.”

Molitor grinned briefly. “Thank you.” He turned to leave.

“Much obliged, Molitor,” Herendeen said.

“You’re welcome.”

Carleen came over to stare into Herendeen’s battered face. “You look funny,” she said, “with those stitches hanging out, but you’ll feel better soon.”

Grat Herendeen could not understand the girl. He had had nothing to do with children and rather disliked them. This one, however, was different. “Ain’t you afraid of me?” he asked.

“No, not really. I’ll see you later, Mr. Herendeen.”

Herendeen watched as the girl skipped off after Molitor. Finally, despite the pain, he muttered, “That kid has got spunk. Too bad that brother of hers ain’t got some of it….”

THE BRILLIANT LIGHT OF the noonday sun touched the red hair of Carleen Hayden, and the tint made a colorful dot as the train rumbled along. Of all the members of the train, Carleen was by far the most inquisitive. She rose from her blankets each morning ready to ask questions, and they did not stop until she closed her eyes in sleep at night. She moved back and forth between the wagons, knew all of the skinners better than anyone else, and now, as the Conestogas rumbled over a small stream, she had stopped to dabble in it. For a time she looked for crawdads, and finding none she at last spotted a small snake. With a cry of excitement she ran after it and picked it up. It was a beautiful shade of green, no more than eight inches long and no thicker than her thumb. As the reptile curled itself around her forefinger, she studied it and considered keeping it as a pet.

“I reckon not,” she said. “You need the water.” She put the snake down, watched as it made its graceful way into the water, and then hurried over to where she saw Paul Molitor, who had become one of the herders for the animals. He was riding a small dark brown horse but had dismounted now and was looking off into the distance.

“Paul—Paul!” Carleen cried and ran over to him. She pulled up in front of him and looked up into his face. “What are you doing?” she asked.

“Don’t you ever get tired of asking questions?”

“I caught a snake. It was green and about that long.”

“You’d better leave those things alone.”

“I’ll leave the bad ones alone, but this one wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

He looked off and saw several of the mules wandering away from the main herd. “I’ve got to stop those mules,” he said.

“I’ll go with you.”

Molitor looked down at the girl but made no answer. He was not as pale as he had been when he had first joined the train and had gained a few pounds. The good food and the forced abstinence of liquor had brightened his eyes, but there was a sadness about him that was almost physical.

The two walked along and started for the mules, but Carleen said, “Let me get them. I can ride your horse.”

“No, you might fall off.”

“I don’t fall off of things. Please, Paul.”

Molitor shook his head. “No. I’m afraid something would happen. I don’t need a hurt child on my conscience.”

Carleen hurried to get on the right side of Molitor as he walked leading the horse. When they were close enough, she shouted, “Get back there, you ugly mules!” She called one of them a name that she had heard the mule skinners use. She wasn’t sure what it meant, but she liked it.

Molitor stared at her. “Don’t ever use that word, Carleen.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s not a good word—especially for children.”

“Oh, it’s a cuss word. I know most of the cuss words. You want me to say them for you?”

Molitor suddenly laughed. “No, I think not.”

Out of the blue Carleen had the habit of firing questions rapidly of the most intimate nature. “You have a wife, Paul?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know why not. It just never came my way.”

“Most men as old as you have wives. How old are you?”

“I’m thirty-three.”

“That’s pretty old. I expect you’d better get married pretty soon.”

“I’d better not. I might have children, and one of them might ask as many questions as you do.”

Carleen seemed not to hear. “Were you ever almost married?”

There was a moment’s silence, and then Molitor shrugged, “I guess I was what you call almost married once.”

“What was her name?”

“Her name was William.”

Carleen looked up at him, her green eyes bright. “William! That’s a boy’s name.”

“William Smith. That was her name all right. You see, before she was born her parents wanted a boy, and when they got a girl they decided if they couldn’t have a boy they’d give her a boy’s name anyway. Yep, I think about William a lot.”

Carleen reached over and struck Molitor with her fist on the arm. “You’re funning me, Paul.”

Molitor smiled. “Why don’t you go pester somebody else with your questions?”

“No, I don’t want to.” She glanced over and saw Mark trudging along on the other side two hundred yards away, picking up firewood and throwing it in the box. “Mark drinks whiskey too much just like you.”

A flush washed across Molitor’s face. “You’re not supposed to tell people their faults, and you’re not supposed to talk about your family to strangers.”

“What difference does it make? Everybody knows you and Mark drink too much whiskey.”

Molitor did not answer, and a few minutes later Carleen said, “Look, there’s Grat Herendeen’s wagon. Nobody likes him, but he’s not all bad.”

“How do you know?”

Astonishment touched Carleen. “Why, I just know! You can just look at someone and know what they’re like.”

“No, you can’t. That doesn’t always work.”

“It does with me. I can just look at someone, and I know about them.”

“You can be wrong.” Molitor did not speak for awhile, then finally he lifted his eyes to the horizon. He seemed to see something far away, but actually his eyes were blank. “I thought I knew someone once, but I was wrong.”

“Was that William?”

“She let me down.”

“Well, maybe you just need to find a good woman, Paul.” Then she made an abrupt change. “When I get old enough, I’m going to marry Chad.”

Molitor laughed. “He’ll be too old for you. He’s too old now.”

“Sometimes older men marry younger women. There was a man that lived down the road from us. He was sixty-two years old, and he married a woman who was only eighteen.”

“Doesn’t seem suitable.”

“Well, maybe I’ll marry you. I’m ten now. Some girls get married when they’re fifteen, and you’re thirty-three. That means you’ll be only thirty-eight by the time I’m old enough to marry.”

Molitor suddenly laughed, and his mood lightened. “I will wait with breathless anticipation, Carleen. We’ll be the handsomest couple in town.”

* * *

PEDRO EASED HIS HORSE and looked out at the animals that were plodding along in a docile manner. It was high noon, and he watched as the animals stopped beside the small creek. He turned to Callie, who had joined him while the animals were drinking. “This is Walnut Creek,” he said. He pointed and said, “We’ll be taking the Cimarron Cutoff pretty soon.”

“What happens then?”

“We cross the Arkansas and head south.”

“How long will it take?”

“Maybe another month.” He pulled a small cigar out of his pocket, lit it with a match, and blew the smoke into the air. “You never been in Santa Fe?”

“No, I never have.”

“When we get there, you can buy a dress and be a woman.”

“I don’t need any dresses, Pedro.”

Pedro Marichal eased his tall form backward, his eyes constantly on the move. “You need to get you a man. Every woman needs a man. Someone to take care of her.”

“I can take care of myself.”

“God made men and women to be together. Don’t you ever read the Bible?” Pedro grinned, his teeth white against his olive skin. “He made Adam and then He saw that Adam was lonesome, so He made Eve. That’s the way it is.”

“I don’t need no man. I can take care of myself, me.”

“That boy Mark, maybe he likes you.”

“No. He may want me, but that’s not enough.”

“It’s enough to start with,” Pedro shrugged. “We need somebody to want. Listen to me, Callie, I’ve worn out three wives, so I know what I’m talking about.”

Callie suddenly laughed. “Well, I’m not going to be number four.” She rose and suddenly kicked her horse into action. The mare lifted up into a gallop, and she circled the herd. Far off she saw Carleen talking to Paul Molitor and wondered about the man. He was a different kind of man from anyone else, but he was sad about something.

“Callie, wait a minute.”

Callie turned to see Mark Hayden riding toward her. “I need to talk to you.”

“What do you want?”

Mark pulled his horse up so that he was alongside of Callie. He seemed awkward and ill at ease, and Callie was cautious.

“I don’t have a creek to push you into, but I can shoot you.”

Mark Hayden suddenly laughed. He was a clean-cut young man just under six feet and was trimly built. It was the first time
she had ever seen him laugh, and the thought crossed her mind,
Too bad he doesn’t laugh more. He’s better looking.

“I came to apologize for what happened at the creek. It’s taken me this long to work my courage up. I’m not known for my skill in making apologies.”

Callie laughed and suddenly felt better about the young man. “Why then I suppose I should apologize for pushing you into the creek.”

“No. I’m just glad you didn’t shoot me.” He glanced at the gun that she always carried. “Do you know how to shoot that thing?”

“Well enough.”

“Not many young women carry guns.”

“I suppose not.”

The two pulled their horses to a stop, and both animals lowered their heads and began grazing. “It’s rather strange to find a woman as young as you all alone. Don’t you have any family?”

“I had only my papa, and he died not long ago.”

“I’m sorry. What did he do?”

“He was a mule skinner, and he taught me how to drive a mule train. I could drive one of those wagons as well as most of the men, but Rocklin won’t let me.”

“That’s a pretty rough life.”

“There are things worse than driving mules.”

The remark startled Mark. He considered the young woman for a moment and then shook his head. “I guess I’ve had it so easy. I’ve never done anything on my own.” He looked ahead of the train and saw Rocklin coming back from his daily scout. “I envy men like Rocklin.”

“You could be like him.”

“I don’t know why you should think that. All I’ve done,” he shrugged his shoulders, “is to make a nuisance of myself. Oh, I’ve managed to get drunk, and I got pushed in the creek. That’s about the scope of my accomplishments.”

Callie smiled. “Well at least you haven’t been hung for stealing, and I don’t suppose you ever shot anybody.”

“My negative qualities are numerous.” Mark suddenly grew serious. “I don’t know if I could ever do anything, Callie. I feel like an infant out here. If I got lost and out of sight of this wagon train, I’d die. I can’t even take care of myself.”

“You’re doing better, Mark.”

“You think so?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Well, that’s progress.”

The two continued to talk, Mark trying to draw Callie out. He was somewhat shocked at the stark quality of the life she had led. He had moved in a realm of society that was as different from hers as the surface of the moon was to the earth. He had paid her little attention before, but now, as he studied her, he was aware that the girl was a real beauty. Beneath the dusty men’s clothing she wore, her body was trim and had all the promise of young womanhood. He guessed her age at somewhere around seventeen or eighteen and tried to picture her dressed in a fine gown at a ball.

As for Callie, she was cautious around men. She found young Mark Hayden interesting. Actually, she had not been displeased when he had tried to take advantage of her; all men did that, and she knew how to handle it. It had amused her that she had pushed him into the creek. Most men would have been humiliated and furious and searching for ways to get even, but there was a good-natured air about this young man.