Frontier Courtship Part 9

Shivering now that all the excitement was over, Faith tugged at Connell's wet buckskin sleeve. "What about me? And what are we going to do with Stuart? We can't just ride away and leave him here."

"He can rot where he lies for all I care," Connell said. Nevertheless, he gestured at Ab. "Help him up and let's try to get out of this rain before we all take sick."

The thin little man reached for his companion's arm. "I can't lift him."

With a grunt of displeasure, Connell yanked Stuart's limp body to its feet, then hesitated, feeling for a pulse in the man's throat and finding none before releasing him to fall back onto the sodden prairie.

"The Good Lord is wiser than we are," he said flatly. "This man is dead. I think his neck is broken."

"We should bury him." Faith's tone lacked conviction.

"Not if it means we're overtaken by a search party from the wagon train while we dig the grave. Surely they must be out looking for you by now. Tucker has to put on a good show of concern for the benefit of the other folks."

"There's...there's a hole already dug," Ab stammered, pointing. "Over that ridge, I think."

Faith gasped. "It was meant for me, wasn't it?"

Ab said, "Yes," and Faith staggered as if she was going to faint for the second time in her life.

Chapter Eight.

The night seemed to drag on forever. Huddled under a rock outcropping with the buffalo hide pulled over them, Faith, Connell and Ab waited impatiently for dawn. Head down, his rear to the wind, Rojo stood quietly nearby.

"I wish you'd let me share this slicker with you two," she said. "It's way too big for me and we could make a fair shelter out of it."

Connell was quick to say, "No," even though Ab was shivering like a quaking aspen in a gale.

Sleep was impossible, given their cramped positions and the continuing noise of the storm. Thankfully, the lightning had moved off to the northeast so at least the danger of being roasted alive had pa.s.sed.

"We have to go back and get Charity," Faith said.

Both men turned their heads to stare at her. Connell said, "Out of the question."

She wasn't surprised at his att.i.tude. However, she didn't intend to change her mind. "Then I'll go alone."

"You'll do nothing of the kind."

"You have no right to tell me what to do."

"Well, somebody better," he replied. "You aren't thinking smart anymore."

"I can't leave her there!" Faith's voice broke as she fought a strong urge to weep.

Ab interrupted their conversation by saying, "It ain't good for the cap'n to know you're alive, missy. Might rile him up and make him change his plans."

"But..."

Nodding, Connell agreed. "You know what he has in mind, then?"

"I do." The thin man cleared his throat. "He's after the Beal gold mine. Figures it'll set him up for life. Only this time he's got to work it out different. If something happened to Miss Charity before the train reached Californy, her pa wouldn't take kindly to it. That's why I know fer certain he won't hurt her."

"I have to see her again. To reason with her," Faith insisted.

"Well, you sure can't go back to the wagons." Connell sounded gruff. "What do you want me to do, kidnap her and bring her to you?"

"Oh, would you?"

"Absolutely not. What makes you think your sister would listen to you even if you had the chance to speak your mind? You've been arguing with her about Tucker for as long as I've known you and she hasn't learned a thing."

"But this time I can tell her what he tried to do to me," Faith said. "That should open her eyes."

"What if she doesn't believe you?"

"She will. She has to."

Ab cleared his throat. "'Scuse me, missy. I think you're wrong about that. It's my guess she'll be married to the cap'n 'fore the train moves again."

"No! It can't be! What makes you say that?"

"'Cause it's his plan," Ab explained. "Me and Stuart was to pretend to be Indians and do away with you. Then Tucker would move in on Miss Charity and tell her she couldn't travel all alone on his train because she wasn't a married lady. Unless you know of some other young fella she might marry up with, it's my guess it'll be Ramsey Tucker. He's the law out here. He can do anything he wants, even perform his own weddin' if he can't find a rightful preacher."

Faith was glad the darkness beneath the buffalo robe hid her tears as they slid silently down her muddy cheeks. If Charity chose to wed, there was nothing she could do about it. The sanct.i.ty of marriage had to be respected.

Given a choice, she would have mounted Stuart's horse and galloped back to the train right then. Trouble was, she had no idea how to find her way back to the wagons without some kind of trail to go by. She had no doubt Connell would not aid her. He was too dead set against her going.

Thinking about asking Ab for help, she decided that wasn't safe, either. Under the present circ.u.mstances he seemed innocent enough, but put him back where Tucker's influence could corrupt him again and there was no telling how he would act.

Turning to Connell, she laid her hand gently on his sleeve. "Please, Mr. McClain. I know how badly you want to find your bride. Try to put yourself in my place. What if it were Irene about to marry Captain Tucker and you found out about it in time to stop it. Wouldn't you try?"

He turned away as he mumbled something she couldn't quite decipher. From his tone of voice and att.i.tude, though, Faith decided it was probably just as well she hadn't been able to make out the words. They were most likely not at all genteel.

Rising suddenly, Connell flung off the buffalo robe. "All right. You win. But we do this my way, is that clear?"

"Yes, sir."

Grinning broadly, Faith ducked her head so he couldn't tell how happy she was and therefore change his mind simply because of stubborn pride. She'd learned long ago, by watching her father and mother argue, that men were happiest when they didn't think women had anything to do with their decisions-especially the important ones.

Ab, too, arose. He stood there shivering, pulling the wet, heavy fur robe around his scrawny shoulders. "What about me?"

"You stay," Connell said.

"I'll freeze to death out here!"

"Not before morning. It's my guess this place'll be plenty hot once the sun rises. Usually is."

"At least leave me a horse."

"So you can warn Tucker or ride off to alert the Indians that I'm on my way? Not on your life."

"I won't. I swear!"

Mounting Rojo, Connell rode to where the other horses were hobbled and loosed them to lead. "Stay put. We'll come back for you," he promised Ab.

"What if you get kilt?"

Sobering at the suggestion, Faith stood on a raised, flat rock to climb more easily onto Stuart's mare. "I guess you'd better pray hard that we don't," she said. "I imagine the Lord will even listen to the pleas of a skunk like you, providing you truly repent. I'd give it a try if I were you."

She took up the reins of the extra horse as well as her own and looked to Connell. "I'm ready. Let's go."

Activity started in the wagon camp before dawn. There were animals to harness, food to prepare, goods to stow and no time to waste. Every minute counted when early snows might close the mountain pa.s.ses or freak storms could make shallow rivers impa.s.sable for weeks at a time. Many a man had been lost trying to float his team and wagon across a treacherous river. Broken wood and the bleached bones of oxen lying in rifts on the banks were proof.

Faith wished she'd had more sleep during the long, trying night. Between the shooting pains in her side and a lack of rest, she was thoroughly exhausted. In a way, she wished the remainder of her were as numb from the cold as her feet and legs were.

"We'll dismount here," Connell said, swinging easily to the ground.

When Faith tried to do the same, her knees gave out and she crumpled into a heap next to the horse.

In an instant Connell was beside her. There was no use insisting she was fine when he bent to pick her up. Clearly, she was not. Worse yet, being cradled in his strong arms made her forget Charity and everything else except the two of them and the way his awesome presence was increasingly affecting her.

He tenderly carried her to a hiding place and set her down behind an enormous gray boulder. "You wait here. Take off your boots and rub your feet and ankles to get the circulation back into them. And don't stick your head up. I don't want some overeager meat hunter to mistake you for a drowned prairie dog and take a potshot at you."

"I beg your pardon."

He chuckled. "I forgot. You haven't seen your hair lately. Too bad you lost your bonnet in the storm."

Embarra.s.sed, Faith patted at her head and tried to tuck wisps of mud-matted hair back into the long plait that hung down her back. "I hope Charity recognizes me like this."

"Don't worry about the dirt. It should help prove you're telling the truth," he offered, a softer tone coloring his deep voice.

"I want to go with you."

"No. First of all, I may have to run and you're in no shape to keep up. Secondly, no one knows I'm involved in your troubles anymore, so I can probably ride into camp without arousing much suspicion."

"I suppose you're right," she grumbled.

"You know I am. Sit tight. I'll be back as soon as I can." With that, he mounted Rojo and rode away.

Left alone with her thoughts, Faith used the damp hem of her petticoat to wipe her face and hands as clean as possible. There were some advantages to ladies' abundant garments, weren't there? At least a body had spare rags handy if need be.

Sighing, she contrasted her father with Connell McClain. They both were good men in their own ways. Her father, Emory Beal, had never been as strong or as imposing a figure as the big plainsman was, but she'd loved him in spite of his faults. The hard part was forgiving him for deserting his family to go west to search for gold when he didn't know the first thing about prospecting.

Too bad Papa couldn't have been more capable, like Hawk, she mused, noticing an unexplainable tingle running through her as she visualized her boon companion. Connell McClain was clearly a lot better suited to the rigors of pioneer life than any man she'd ever known.

In the back of her mind she remembered how sure she'd been that she didn't need anyone but the Good Lord to look out for her on the trail. How wrong that notion was. n.o.body, man or woman, could hope to stand totally alone. Not out here. Not in these difficult times. And she couldn't think of a single person in whom she would rather place her trust than the big, rugged plainsman.

Clearly, she'd made a mistake when she'd struck out for California by land instead of trying to scrounge enough money to sail around the Horn. It was one thing to trust G.o.d for deliverance, yet quite another to tempt Him by making foolish choices, as she apparently had.

Thinking of Little Rabbit Woman, Faith grew pensive. What was life like in an Arapaho camp? she wondered. What would it be like to live there, the way Irene was, only with someone like Hawk McClain? Her cheeks flamed at the thought. Where had that wild, sinful notion come from? A person would think she was as taken with men as Charity was!

She wasn't, of course, so it surely wouldn't hurt to give her reveries free rein for a moment or two. The man was already spoken for. Therefore, he was not available and could pose no threat to her long-range plans.

Closing her eyes, Faith leaned back against the rock and tried to picture herself as a young squaw, relying on her memories of the women gathered at Fort Laramie to imagine a native costume and wondering which tribe was which. Always, the imposing presence of the plainsman lay in the center of her fancies.

Soon a pleasant euphoria overtook her, pressing fatigue won out, the vision faded and she fell sound asleep.

Connell's arrival at the Tucker camp was just as he'd predicted; he rode slowly among the wagons without attracting more than an occasional "Good morning."

Tipping his hat, he noted that most of the men were as wet and grimy as he was, thanks to their extra duties during the night and the early morning.

As he pa.s.sed, he listened carefully to anyone who happened to be talking about Miss Charity's close call. Few mentioned the fact that Faith was missing.

The Ledbetter wagon stood directly in front of Faith's. Through the canvas cover he could hear the voices of at least three women.

"Now, now, dear. We all know you aren't like she was, thank the Lord. Them that live by the sword, die by the sword, I always say. We all saw that horrid pistol she insisted on wearing."

One of the women began to wail loudly while the others offered emotional support. "Here, take this hanky and blow your nose, child. Cryin' won't help a bit. You're a young thing, but you're a woman, just like the rest of us, and you gotta do as your man says."

The wailing abated slightly, then resumed at a high, screeching pitch. Connell didn't doubt for a minute that he'd located Charity Beal.

Which meant she had company in her misery. It wasn't going to be possible to just grab her, throw her across his saddle and cart her away for a meeting with Faith. Emigrant women tended to do everything in a group, from cooking and cleaning to taking care of their personal needs. Catching one of them alone under normal circ.u.mstances wasn't easy. Catching Charity by herself on this particular morning was going to be next to hopeless.

Still, he had to try. A promise was a promise whether he liked it or not. Grumbling to himself and wondering how he'd let Faith talk him into doing this, he left Rojo grazing just outside the wagon circle and made his way to the Beal wagon to wait for Charity to come home.

Personal belongings were stacked as low to the ground as possible to help keep the wagon from tipping over in rough terrain. Bedding was usually spread on top of the trunks and boxes at night, then stored away in the morning before travel resumed.

Connell looked inside the wagon and noted that only one sleeping place remained. It was as if Charity knew Faith was never coming back.

That was when he remembered the old family quilt Faith had mentioned seeing wrapped around her sister the night before. It would be soiled, of course, but perhaps if he could locate it he'd take it to her when he delivered Charity. Poor Faith had precious little else left of the life she'd once lived. Having the quilt would surely give her comfort.

He found the thoroughly soaked coverlet lying discarded on the prairie about twenty-five yards from camp. Picking it up, he squeezed out as much water as he could and took it back to the wagon with him, thinking it might make a good conversation piece when he tried to explain what he was doing there.

Charity was inside her wagon by the time he arrived for the second time. She was fully dressed but still gave a little squeal of fright when he knocked and pushed back the flap. "What do you want?"

In the tight confines of the small wagon he could see she was all by herself. "I came to return this," Connell said, holding up the quilt.