Frontier Courtship Part 18

"Yes-sir-ee," Faith drawled cynically. "I'm about the quietest, most harmless little dove there ever was. Have to live up to my Indian name, don't I?"

"I should have named you Babbling Brook or Squeaking Wheel Woman," he countered, amused though also worried about her partic.i.p.ation in their mule-theft plan. "If there was any other way to be sure we'd be able to get to Ben without being noticed, I'd leave you behind."

"You can't. You need me," Faith said flatly. "We all agree on that. So, are you going to stand around jawing all evening or are we going to go after my mule?"

"We're going to go after your mule," he said. "If you can't sneak close enough to safely nab him tonight, we'll wait till daybreak and try again when they drive the livestock to water."

"I'll get him tonight," Faith vowed. "I'm not giving Ramsey Tucker any more chances to hurt him. I just wish there was some good way to make off with my sister, too."

"We've already been over all that. You said it yourself. The men would form a posse and hunt us down if we kidnapped her."

"I know, I know. And they won't miss Ben the way they would Charity. Especially since he's not being worked. I understand that. I was just wishing things could be different, that's all."

Irene nodded sagely, soberly, and surprised Faith by saying, "I know exactly exactly how you feel." how you feel."

The country was open. Flat. Faith couldn't very well show herself to the emigrants while still clad as an Indian, so she dismounted, left her horse behind and crouched low to approach the weary herd.

The closer she got, the worse the livestock looked. Innumerable flies buzzed around oxen's eyes and dotted their backs, especially where the yokes had rubbed their hide raw. The poor beasts were so exhausted they barely flinched from the biting insects.

Their suffering touched Faith's heart. If only she had some of her homemade tansy-and-sulfur ointment to put on those wounds. But that precious tin of salve, as well as personal belongings like the mourning pendant she'd worn in memory of her mother, had probably been abandoned when her wagon was left behind.

An enormous brown and white ox lifted its head to glance at her as she came closer, then went back to wrapping its tongue around tufts of coa.r.s.e gra.s.s and yanking it out by the mouthful.

Faith laid a steadying hand on its withers and kept the large animal between herself and the wagon train so she wouldn't be visible if anyone chanced to look her way.

Speaking calmly, she soothed her four-legged concealment. "h.e.l.lo, old boy. That's it. Keep eating. I hear you're going to need every bite."

There had been a time, early in their journey, when even the most placid ox or mule would have resisted the touch of anyone who might place it back in harness before it was sated. Now, however, the animals were too tired, too sore-footed, to fight any longer. They seemed as resigned to their fate as their human owners.

With barely an occasional twinge left to remind her of the injury to her ribs back at Fort Laramie, Faith felt guilty to be enjoying renewed well-being when there was so much suffering, man and beast, all around her.

Well, better to help one poor traveler than none at all, she reasoned. She hadn't come to rescue the wagon train from the harrowing trek. Only G.o.d could do that. Her task was to locate her faithful mule and spirit him away undetected.

That was plenty, considering the size of the herd and the waning daylight. Men would soon return to gather the draft animals and drive them inside the corral formed by the circled wagons. If she didn't get to Ben before then, they would have to wait till morning, as Connell had warned.

She crept closer and closer, hoping to catch a glimpse of Charity while continuing her search for Ben. Sound carried well over the tranquil prairie, but she was unable to pick out her sister's voice above the general hum of the camp. Still, that much background noise would help to mask her summons if she shouted to Ben. With time growing short, she decided it was a chance worth taking.

"Ho, Ben," she called, beginning softly as a test.

Peeking over the oxen's broad back, she stood on tiptoe to see if Ben-or anyone else-had heard. To her amazement, she was now the only two-legged creature remaining on that side of the wagon circle!

On the opposite side, however, a hue and cry was rising. People were running to and fro, waving rifles and pointing at two mounted figures silhouetted by the glow of the setting sun.

Faith smiled to herself. Clever Connell. He'd put himself and Irene directly in front of the sun so no details about them were discernible. All they had to do was sit there like Indian scouts and wait to be spotted. The imaginations of settlers who had already faced more than one raiding party since leaving St. Jo would do the rest.

Freed of remaining inhibitions, Faith stepped out from behind the ox, cupped her hands and started working her way through the herd shouting, "Ben! Here I am, Ben. Ben," over and over.

Darkness was falling. She was just about to give up and sneak back to where she'd left her horse when a soft snort at her elbow startled her. Her old friend had come!

She wheeled, grinning, and opened her arms to hug his neck the way she always had. "Good boy!"

Unsure, the mule tossed his head to escape her grasp then went back to sniffing her Cheyenne outfit.

Faith settled for scratching the bridge of his nose and spoke to calm him. "That's right. It's me, boy. Sorry I don't have any apples for you."

She hadn't thought to bring a lead rope either. Thankfully, she didn't need one. All she had to do was turn and start off with a quiet, "Come on. Let's go, Ben," and the mule followed her through the herd like an oversize, obedient pup.

They were almost in the clear when a distant shout went up. "Indians! Quick, boys. Mount up. They're after the horses!"

Faith's initial reaction was to freeze and look around her for the threat. In another instant she realized that she she was the Indian they were hollering about! was the Indian they were hollering about!

If the emigrants caught her, Tucker would find out she was alive. Then there'd be no escape for sure! But how was she going to elude capture? She'd left her riding horse ground-hitched at least a half mile away, maybe farther. Making a run for it and reaching it without being overtaken was not feasible. But what other choice did she have?

Think. Don't panic. There must be a way!

If she were astride Ben, escape might be possible, she reasoned. The trouble was, she was short and he was sixteen hands at the shoulder. That put his back far above her leaping ability.

Lacking stirrups for a quick boost she cast frantically about for something to stand on. A rock or a stump would do. Anything. As a child at home she'd always led Ben over to the edge of the back porch where he'd stood patiently and waited for her to clamber aboard. Unfortunately, there weren't any handy porches in the middle of the prairie!

If only she could vault from the ground onto his back without aid the way she'd seen the Indians do it. Then again, they'd had their horses' long manes to grab hold of while Ben's had been roached short and bristly, leaving nothing except one little lock of longer hair right at the base by his withers.

The old mule sensed her fright and tossed his head. "Easy, boy. Come on, Ben," she pleaded. "We've got to stick together till we find something for me to stand on."

She broke into a trot, dodging sagebrush and trying to keep the clumps of long gra.s.s that the herds had not yet decimated between her and her pursuers. Here and there, the bones of long-dead animals lay scattered, cleaned by scavengers and sun bleached. The largest of the lot was the skull of a bull buffalo. Maybe it would be enough.

Faith stopped and motioned to Ben. "Here, boy. Over here," she gasped. "That's it." She knew that if he didn't trust her implicitly, the sense of death surrounding the bones would keep him away.

Head down, treading cautiously and blowing through his nostrils, he came.

Thrilled, Faith could hardly contain her nervous energy long enough to let him step into proper position. She grabbed hold of the lock of mane before she jumped onto the skull and began her leap of faith. It was now or never.

Momentum carried her in a forward arc toward the mule's side. His big head came around fast, almost as if he wanted to help. That additional swinging movement gave her just enough boost to manage to plant the inside of her right foot and ankle on his backbone!

Thanks to her leather moccasins, her foot didn't slip back off. Inching along and finally hoisting herself the rest of the way to sit astride was easy compared to making that initial leap.

The moment she straightened, a rifle shot cracked. Faith ducked to lie closer to the mule's back and pressed her cheek against the side of his neck, then urged him forward with a prod from her heels and a familiar, "Let's go, Ben."

She was certain the settlers wouldn't want to risk hitting valuable animals by firing too low so she figured as long as she kept her head down and Ben kept moving she'd be safe enough.

Logic quickly countered by reminding her that anyone who came after her on horseback might manage to get a clear shot. Worse yet, one of the undisciplined drovers might decide to sacrifice the mule in order to down a real Indian.

That sobering possibility was enough to spur her to more drastic action. Tightening her knees against the mule's sides and holding on for dear life, she kicked him as hard as she could and let out a war whoop that would have made Black Kettle proud!

All around her, animals shied and scattered. Only Ben remained steady. Without a single buck or lunge, he changed gaits and gained speed until he was covering the ground at a gallop faster than most horses could equal.

It had been years since Faith had ridden the mule without a saddle, let alone raced him. At that moment she cared less about where he took her than she did about keeping her tenuous balance. Later, she'd worry about where they were. Right now all she wanted to do was escape in one piece, together with Ben.

Thankfully, she and the old mule seemed of the same mind.

Chapter Sixteen.

From his vantage point on the ridge opposite all the commotion, Connell saw what was happening. He wheeled his horse and raced after Faith without pausing to explain anything to Irene.

After reaching the flatlands, he skirted the milling herd, staying in their dust to hide his pa.s.sing. He needn't have bothered. No one was paying the slightest attention to him. All they wanted was to catch the so-called Indian they thought was making off with one of their mules.

Frightened oxen were lining out and starting to run in spite of their fatigue. Connell saw his chance to solve everyone's problems at once. Riding straight at the advancing animals, he waved and shouted, turning them back. Others followed the leaders, creating a whirlpool of stampeding, panting, wild-eyed livestock.

Trapped in the midst of it were the mounted settlers who had started in pursuit of Faith and Ben. Tucker was among them. Spurring his horse mercilessly, the wagon boss worked his way out to where Connell was patrolling the perimeter on Rojo, preventing breakouts.

"What the blazes do you think you're doing?" Tucker shouted.

"Saving your bacon," Connell yelled back. "You almost had a stampede."

"Bah! Nothing me and my boys couldn't handle." He stood in his stirrups to scan the distance. "I should hang you fer lettin' that Injun get away like that."

"What Indian? All I saw was a bunch of dumb critters fixin' to run themselves to death. That what you wanted, Captain?"

"'Course not. You tryin' to tell me you didn't see n.o.body out here stealin' horses?"

"Not one single brave," Connell said. He was proud of avoiding a blatant lie and wondered if Faith was going to appreciate his effort at veracity. She might, especially if he made a joke out of it when he told her about putting one over on Tucker.

"You was pro'bly in cahoots with 'em." He started to swing his rifle barrel toward the plainsman.

Connell reached out and tore the weapon from his hand, then reversed it and pointed it back at its owner. "I'd watch my mouth if I were you, mister. There's plenty of folks sick to death of your meanness. Bet they wouldn't mind a bit if my finger slipped and I accidentally pulled this trigger."

"You wouldn't."

"You're right," Connell said, sizing up his adversary, "I wouldn't. But not because I'm so forgiving. You've made this trip before. You're the only guide these folks have, sorry as you may be. They need you. I won't take that away from them."

Ramsey Tucker obviously wasn't a man who understood altruism. "Ha! Wouldn't surprise me if you wanted my job."

"If I thought I could get these wagons through better than you can, I'd take your place gladly," Connell said. "Let me put everybody on horseback instead of in wagons and I might try it. But I don't know enough about managing settlers and all their gear, especially through the Sierras. That's rough country up ahead."

"Well, stopping a few cows from running off won't get you another job on my train," Tucker said, gesturing at the herd. "The Beal wagon is long gone and so is Miss Faith. We've got no place for you here anymore."

"Pity." Connell touched the brim of his hat. "In that case, I guess I'd better ride."

"Where you headed?"

The plainsman smiled. "California. Same as you." His grin spread. "Maybe we'll run into each other out there."

"Not likely," Tucker countered, eyeing his rifle. "You ain't gonna ride off with my gun, are ya? I need it for protection."

"I'll leave it on down the trail a ways. If n.o.body steals it before you get there, it'll be waiting."

"What about the Injuns?" Tucker sounded incredulous.

"You'd better hope I'm right and there aren't any Indians hereabouts. If you were imagining them, your rifle will be right where I put it. If not, well, there's nothing I can do about that."

"You could hand it over right now."

"And give you a chance to shoot me in the back when I ride away? Not hardly."

"You don't trust me? Why not? What did I ever do to you?"

Connell wasn't about to let himself be drawn into a conversation that might make him so angry he'd accidentally reveal too much and thereby put others in more danger.

He turned Rojo quickly and rode away as additional men joined the wagon boss.

It vexed Connell to have to travel the emigrant trail to dispose of Tucker's gun. He'd chosen that route simply because Faith had headed in the opposite direction. The longer he kept Tucker and the settlers distracted, the better her chances of escape.

The last time Connell had seen her she'd been clinging to that mule's back as if she was part of it, going like the wind. Since she wasn't using a bridle, he hoped she'd have enough control to keep her mount from instinctively circling back to rejoin the familiar herd.

If the rider in question had been anyone but Faith Beal he'd have doubted that feat was possible. In her case, however, he'd learned never to underrate her capabilities. If anybody could convince an old mule to behave, using nothing more than voice commands and a few firm nudges, Faith could.

It was a sight he wished he could stick around to see for himself instead of having to hightail it west on account of Tucker. Oh, well, Irene could tell him all about it when he rejoined her.

Irene!

Taken aback, Connell realized he hadn't even remembered to bid his future bride goodbye when he'd ridden off so abruptly. All his thoughts, then and since, had been of Faith. All his concern had been only for her.

His gut twisted with remorse, yet he couldn't help feeling continued apprehension for the young woman whose bravery, wit and compa.s.sion had earned her a special place in his heart.

There was no way to make amends until he went back to camp, either. Fortunately Irene was a mature, sensible woman. Surely she'd understand his actions, if not his motives.

Did he understand those motives? Did he want to? That was an excellent question, one he was not ready to consider, let alone answer too honestly.

He slowed his horse, tossed Tucker's rifle to the ground and sped away. There was no time to waste. Wherever Faith was, she needed help. His help. He'd rescued her before and he'd keep doing it as long as necessary. It was impossible to imagine himself not caring, not looking after her, no matter where she went or what she did.

That thought plunged into his consciousness like raindrops splashing onto the surface of a river to instantly become part of the flow. How could he and Irene marry as they had promised when they were little more than children, while he continued to shepherd Faith through life's trials? Even the most tolerant wife would wonder why her husband took such an inordinate interest in another woman.

And she wouldn't be the only one wondering, Connell told himself. He'd been pondering the same question lately. Connell told himself. He'd been pondering the same question lately.

His life, his thoughts, his heart, had become so entwined in Faith Beal's dilemma he couldn't imagine ever breaking free. The question was, did he even want to try?