How The West Was Won Part 6

"Good-bye, Mr. van Valen."

Cleve turned to the older woman. "It has been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Clegg. And I've never seen a woman with more beautiful hair ... naturally, I worry, because what a prize it would be, hanging from the mane of an Indian pony." Glancing at Lilith, he said seriously, "I hope you realize what you are doing, Miss Prescott. Two lovely ladies, alone in the wilderness, and who will protect you? When Indians attack, each man is busy protecting his own, and they can't be blamed for thinking of their families first." He lifted his hat "Good evening, ma'am. Or should I say good morning?"

Turning his horse, he rode away between the wagons, and Lilith looked after him, half irritated, half amused.

"Gosh!" said Aggie. "n.o.body ever said that to me before."

"What?"

"That I had beautiful hair." Self-consciously, she put a hand to her hair, then she said to Lilith, "You know, I've a hunch you'll draw men like fish to bait. Maybe I can catch one as he swims by." She thrust out a hand. "All right, Miss Whatever-Your-Name-Is, you've got a partner."

"The name is Lilith Prescott," she said, "and don't think I won't carry my weight. I grew up on a farm in northern New York state." "I'd never have guessed it." Agatha looked at her thoughtfully. "It's a wonder a fine-looking girl like you isn't married."

"I haven't been looking," Lilith replied stiffly. "When I find the right man, I'll marry, but I'm in no hurry."

Cleve rode back toward town, not at all displeased with the situation. He had a feeling that he had sowed seed on fertile ground. From time to time he drew up to listen to some of the conversations about him, worried for the first time about his own inadequacy for the venture that lay before him. He had handled teams, and there had been a time or two when he had done some physical work, but those times had been few. These men about him were all manner of men, from all professions and trades, and of every nationality. There were Germans, Swiss, French, Poles, Swedes, Norwegians, and Spaniards. In short, there was every conceivable kind of man, with all sorts and kinds of wagons.

A tall man in a stovepipe hat with mutton-chop whiskers stopped him. "Sir, would you have a light? I've spent my last match."

Cleve provided the light. "Are you among the pioneers?" he asked, though he realized how foolish the question must seem at this place and time. "Lawyer, sir. Attorney-at-law, and westward bound. Gold, sir. I am after gold, but I shall not mine for it. I shall wait for them to bring it to me." "You're a gambler? Or are you planning to open a saloon?" "Neither, sir. As I said, I am a lawyer, and where there are men and gold there will be litigation, and where there is litigation, lawyers will be needed. I have no doubt, sir, that I shall become rich."

Cleve rode on. Lawyer he might be, but with that nose he had without doubt seen the inside of many a saloon. Cleve rode to the Noland House and was fortunate enough to find an empty bed, although it was still warm from the body of the last man, who was undoubtedly now preparing to start west with a wagon train. Four trains were leaving that morning.

At breakfast the following morning in Noland's dining room he heard that the Morgan train had gone. The first day they would scarcely move more than eight to ten miles, just enough to break in the teams and get them used to the work. They might even stop short of that, for it was customary to make the first day or two easy, until the stock became broken to the trail. Twice during the morning men came trying to buy Cleve's horse, but he refused to sell. Later, after he had sat around the hotel listening and keeping his eyes open for a small game which failed to materialize, he went out and laid in some modest supplies. He bought a coffee pot, some pemmican, and, from an old Missourian, some cold flour.

He had never heard of cold flour, but the Missourian merely chuckled. "Lots of folks hain't heard of it," he said. "Mexicans, they use it. You just take some corn and grind her up good after it's parched. Then you add a mite of sugar and cinnamon. Man can live a month on a half-bushel of it, and tasty, too. A feller just mixes a bit of it into water and drinks it down." He bought a gutta-percha poncho, against possible rainstorms, a couple of blankets, and a ground sheet. He added a canteen, and a hundred cartridges for his pistol.

The provision stores were crowded with men buying, planning, asking advice of the storekeepers and of othersa"of anyone, in fact, who had time to listen. "b.u.t.ter?" Cleve overheard a man saying. "Why, b.u.t.ter's no problem at all. Boil it ... boil it well, and skim it off until it's clear like oil, then you put it in tin canisters and solder it up. Even down Texas way where she gets mighty hot, that b.u.t.ter will keep.

"Vegetables? Sure, you can have them too. You get them desiccated vegetables like the army uses. They're pressed down and heated into cakes as solid as a rock. A chunk of it no bigger than a woman's fist will make a pot for four, five men. I et *em with the army out Utah way when we went out to keep an eye on Brigham an' his Saints. Tasty, that's what they are, an' they stick to your ribs."

He found a supply of his cigars at Noland's and laid in a stock. It was the one luxury he was to permit himself. His was a small outfit, but he had little money, and wanted to keep a few dollars for a stake in case somebody started a game on the way west.

His horse had been ridden but little, and no great distance for some time, and would need breaking in to the trail. He mounted up and started west. He had no plans to catch up to the wagons for a while. He wanted to be far enough away from the settlements so it would be impractical for Roger Morgan to order him to return.

Roger Morgan had a reputation. He was known as a fine wagonmaster, one of the few who organized such trains, for the usual procedure was to elect a captain from among the pioneers themselves, and to depose him if he failed to lead and command as he should. Morgan had been over the trail several times, and functioned both as a guide and as a wagonmaster. He was known as a hard man, who permitted no nonsense on his trains and was prepared to handle any difficulties that arose.

There were scattered settlements and ranch houses for some distance west of both Independence and Leavenworth, and they were pleased to welcome a visitor. People were hungry for news of the world, and they wanted to know what was happening in the outfitting towns like Independence.

An easy talker, polite but never forward, Cleve van Valen found a ready audience for his accounts of what was happening in St. Louis and Cincinnati, and in Independence itself. He took his time, often riding only a few miles a day, stopping on the way at ranches to share the home cooking, and with it all, he asked questions.

He was too wise in the ways of gambling not to realize his handicap in going into an area where he must play the other fellow's game, something no gambler believed in doing. During long sessions over card tables and around frontier gambling houses and on the river boats he had heard much talk of Indian fighting, of life on the plains and in the mountains, and the result was that he understood what he was facing. Now he made further inquiries from the settlers along the frontier. He wanted to fit in when he caught up with the wagons, to prove valuable to Lilith Prescott and the wagon train. A Cherokee he met west of Leavenworth was riding to join a party of hunters, and Cleve rode along with him. The Cherokee, who had once owned a plantation and slaves in Georgia before being forced to move west during the Indian removal, explained to him about the Kiowa, the Arapahoe, and the Cheyenne Indians he would meet further west. These, in contrast to the Cherokees, Choctaws, Chickasaws, Creeks, and Seminoles, were wild Indians, giving to raiding, horse-thieving, and scalp-hunting.

"They will stampede your stock if they can," the Cherokee explained, "driving it off to round up later. And any man caught out away from the train will be killeda"be sure of that."

After three days' riding together, they parted on the bank of a small stream, and the Cherokee pointed out the wagon road west. Turning his mount, Cleve van Valen rode away. He crossed the stream, emerged from the brush on the far side, and started his horse up the long gra.s.sy slope. The air was very clear ... no clouds were in the sky. It was pleasant, not too warm, and his horse walked easily through the tall gra.s.s. On top of the bill, with the wagon road below him and some distance off, Cleve drew up. As far as the eye could see, there rolled the endless gra.s.s. Far off, two dark objects grazing upon the gra.s.s would be buffalo. He drew the fresh air deep into his lungs, and it was like drinking a long draught of cold, clear water. Nothing moved out there, nothing but the wind and the low gra.s.s that bent before it. Yes ... it was a man's country.

His gelding p.r.i.c.ked its ears at the distance, stamping an impatient foot at the delay.

All through the day he rode across the miles of gra.s.s, and when he camped that night it was in the willows near a stream. At daybreak he was up, and for the first time he made coffee and mixed a little cold flour with water and drank it. Then he started on.

The wagons were drawn up for a "nooning" near a river when he came near to them. They were not far beyond Vermilion Creek and were headed for a camp on the upper crossing of the Big Blue.

Almost the first wagon he saw was that belonging to Agatha Clegg and Lilith Prescott. The big man sitting his mount alongside their fire could be none other than Roger Morgan, who turned his head to look as Cleve cantered up. Cleve removed his hat with a graceful sweep. "Ladies," he began, "Ia"" "I thought," Lilith interrupted dryly, "that we had seen the last of you." "Frankly, I was worried. I couldn't bear to think of you making the trip alone and without help. If anything had happened to you I could never have forgiven myself."

"You rode a hundred miles alone?" Morgan asked. "I'll take your word for the distance. I was so filled with antic.i.p.ation that I scarcely noticed."

"You can antic.i.p.ate another hundred on your way back. We'll have no gamblers on this train. When a wagon breaks down I want men who can fix it, not bet on how long it'll take."

"You mean you'd turn a man adrift? In Indian country?" "We ain't into Indian country yet, and you got here by yourself, so I guess you can get back."

Lilith started to protest, but Aggie was already speaking. "Mr. Morgan, I talked to this man back at Independence. I told him if he got his affairs straightened out and caught up with us that we'd take him on. We're likely to need a man before this trip is over."

"I'm a good man on a horse, captain, and a dead shot," Cleve said.

Morgan turned to Lilith, his irritation obvious. "Is that right, Miss Prescott?

Did you actually agree to hire thisa"this gambler?" "Miss Clegg spoke of it," she replied, honestly enough, "and it seemed the thing to do. Besides, Mr. van Valen has another friend on the train. Gabe French speaks very highly of him."

Morgan was surprised, and doubtful. "You know Gabe French?" "Of course. As a matter of fact, we did a bit of business together oncea"transportation, it was. I will confess that Gabe carried most of the load, but our a.s.sociation was mutually satisfactory." Somewhat rea.s.sured, Morgan nodded. "All right, then, if that's what you want."

He rode off toward the head of the wagon train. Lilith then turned sharply on Agatha. "Agatha! What's gotten into you? Are you crazy?"

"He said he'd do an honest day's work, and you an' me have come far enough to know this here is a lot too much for us. I don't mind rustlin' buffalo chips an' drivin' a team, but takin' them to water, stakin' them out, an' cuttin' what wood a body can find, that's too much."

"You are right, of course." Lilith measured Cleve with a cool eye. "One thing I promise you, Agatha. He will do his work. He'll do it, or I'll see that he starts riding alonea"no matter where we are."

"Yes, ma'am," Cleve said politely. "As you say, ma'am." Dismounting, he tied his horse to the tail-gate and got up on the seat. He picked up the reins and spoke to the mules.

"Hey, you ain't had nothing to eat!" Agatha protested. "Another time, fair lady," Cleve replied, keeping a straight face. "My ruthless employer allows no time for such nonsense. Besides, it is time to pull out." Cleve removed his coat and folded it carefully, and Lilith glanced at the immaculate white shirt. It would not be white for long. Before them the plains stretched wide and lonely, and the wagons rolled on over the dusty gra.s.s. Soon the spring rains would come, and Morgan wanted to have them far enough along so they would be free of the worst of the mud. Sitting behind a team of mules on a long day's march allows time for thinking, and Cleve van Valen settled down to plan his course of action. Lilith had a gold mine and he wanted it, so the first thing he must do was to win Lilith. Yet the last thing for him to do was to seem to want her. She was no fool, and was far too worldly-wise to be easily taken in. No doubt many men had flattered her and lied to her, and she was already suspicious of him. Therefore he must avoid her.

He must do his job well, but avoid all contact with her in doing it. He must never seem to wish to be close to her, never begin a conversation with her. Also, he must be efficient at what he had to do; if he was not, he might not last long enough with the train to work out his plan. The few days of travel while the wagons were getting well out upon the prairie gave him a chance to break himself in to the life. The Cherokee had been of enormous help and, finding Cleve eager to learn, he had packed a lot of instruction into their few days together. Now, with time on his hands Cleve tried to recall everything he'd ever heard that might be useful. In the course of his traveling about and being around the frontier towns he had listened to a lot of conversation and had retained much of it, for he had a retentive memory, and he had always been interested in concrete information and facts, and he had listened well.

Odd fragments of information began to return to him, things remembered from trappers, or Indian fighters with whom he had spent long hours, gambling or talking. Fortunately, he had read a good bit, tooa"among other things, Washington Irving's Tour on the Prairies and Dr. Gregg's Commerce of the Prairies. Systematically, he began sifting his memory for whatever he could remember from those books.

The Big Blue was clear and cold when they made camp at the upper crossing. At that point the river was all of sixty yards wide. There was good gra.s.s and there was wood.

Cleve, who had planned every step he would take upon arriving at camp, swiftly unhitched the mules and stripped them of their harness; then, leaving them tied to the wagon, he got a fire going, using buffalo chips and what sticks lay at hand. Once the fire was ablaze he took the mules to water, then turned them into the rope corral with the other stock to be watched by the night guards. His own horse he picketed near the wagon.

Taking an axe, he went to the timber along the stream and cut wood for the night fire and for breakfast in the morning.

Unaccustomed as he was to such work, he found it hard. His hands blistered on the axe, and the blisters broke. During his boyhood he had often hunted or fished in the mountains of Virginia, and all through his early years he had lived an active life of riding, shooting, and fencing. But he had never done any such work as this.

When he returned to the fire with an armful of wood for morning, Agatha handed him his plate filled with food. His hands felt cramped and stiff, and she noticed the awkward way in which he accepted the plate from her. But he took the plate and walked a few yards away and sat down by himself. Lilith glanced at him curiously, but he appeared not to notice.

He had almost finished eating when he looked up, to see Roger Morgan beside him.

"Why'd you keep your horse up?"

"It seemed to me," Cleve replied, "that if Indians stampeded our stock I'd look mighty foolish hunting them on foot."

Morgan made no reply, but looked at him a moment, then walked over to the fire. Lighting a cigar, he stood there talking to Lilith and Agatha. After a few minutes Agatha came over to Cleve and refilled his cup. He refused another helping of food, although he could easily have eaten it. The next morning, awakening early, Cleve rolled out as soon as his eyes were open, and went at once to water his gelding. When he returned, he saddled him and tied him to the wagon wheel. Then he knelt by the fire. Stirring it up, he added fuel and put on a kettle with water. It was cold, and by the time he had the fire going he was shaking with chill. He went to the stream, bathed quickly in the cold water, dressed, and returned to the fire to add more fuel. Agatha was up, so he left the fire and went to the corral for the mules.

By the time the team was harnessed coffee was ready, and Cleve hunkered down near the fire, nursing his cup of coffee in his cold hands. Today their position was near the end of the wagon train, for the positions were changed each day, working by rotation. As he finished harnessing the mules, Cleve turned to Lilith. "Would you like to ride my horse? I don't like him tied to the back of the wagon when we cross that river." "Of course," she agreed.

Taking up the lines, he turned the heavy wagon into the column. When the wagon that preceded them was well into the stream, he followed. The mules, he was pleased to see, showed no hesitation at going into the water. It was not deep at the ford, coming scarcely to the wagon bed, but he took no chances and lined up carefully on the wagon ahead and followed with care. Agatha, beside him on the seat, commented, "For a gambler, you handle a team right well."

"I never drove very much, actually. As a youngster I drove a coach and four a few times."

Just then from behind him there came a sharp exclamation, then a scream. He handed the reins to Agatha and, thinking of Lilith, jumped up on the seat to look around the canvas top. There was another scream, then a frantic splashing in the water, followed by a hoa.r.s.e shout: "Sarah! My G.o.d, Sarah!" Looking around, he saw that the wagon following them had gone off into the deeper water beside the ledge by which they were fording the river. A large snag had entangled itself in the wagon wheels and rolled over. Thrown clear, the woman was splashing in deep water, obviously unable to swim. Cleve peeled off his boots and dove from the seat into the water. Coming up, he caught hold of a half-submerged tree and looked around quickly to locate the struggling woman. He was just in time to see Morgan extend the end of his whip to her and pull her to sh.o.r.e. Unnoticed by anyone, Cleve reached the bank and staggered up, dripping with water. Glancing back, he saw Roger Morgan watching him.

n.o.body else seemed to have noticed his futile gesture. But as he started up the bank to rejoin the wagons he slipped and sprawled full length in the mud, and heard a ring of laughter. Looking up angrily, he saw Lilith laughing at him, and even Agatha had a smile on her face.

He got to his feet and stared down at his clothing. "Don't try to wipe it off," Agatha said. "If you wait until it dries, most of it will brush off." He went to the wagon and climbed aboard, taking the reins from Agatha. "Well," she said dryly, "you did more good by falling on your face in the mud than anything else you've done."

"I felt like a fool."

"No woman objects to a man looking the fool once in a whilea"makes *em more human, somehow. Oh, I know what you've been doing! Don't think I'm altogether a fool, Cleve van Valen! Thing is, you did it today. From now on she'll be on your side."

"I doubt it."

"You wait an' see," Agatha said, "and mind what I tell you."

Chapter 9.

Firelight played shadow games on the white wagon-covers, and the people of the camp moved through the ritual steps of the nightly pause as though through some strange, stately ballet performed only for the stars above. Nearby the waters of the Blue chuckled over the stonesa"this was the Little Bluea"and the horses in their rope corral stamped and cropped gra.s.s against the demands of the coming day.

Cleve van Valen glanced around at the tightly drawn circle of wagons. They were in Indian country now, and there were the usual rumors of war parties. These rumors drew the circle tighter as apprehension grew, and the men were more watchful, sensitive to the slightest noise or to a change in the nightly hum of insects.

There were those, of course, who scoffed at Indian attacks and who did not fear, who believed death was something that happened to others, and not to them. They had not yet discovered the impartiality of death. Carefully, Cleve cleaned his pistol, removing all the dust, adding a drop of oil. Then he checked the loads in the three spare cylinders he carried. This was a wise precaution, he decided. It was not easy to load a cap-and-ball pistol in a hurry; it was much easier simply to switch cylinders, which a man could do on a horse and at a dead run. He was checking the last cylinder when he heard someone approaching.

It was Morgan. He indicated the pistol. "Gabe French tells me you can use that thing."

"When I have to," Cleve commented. "I've grown up with it." "You may have to." Morgan lowered his voice. "We saw Cheyenne tracks today, and they're scouting us. No travois trails, so it's a war party." Morgan glanced toward the wagons, but Lilith was out of sight. "How are you with a rifle?" he asked.

"Good. But I don't have one."

"Gabe's got a Colt revolving rifle. Fires six shots. He said you could use it."

"All right." Cleve looked up. "How did you know they were Cheyennes?"

"Moccasins ... every tribe's moccasins are different. Other things, too.

Different ways of doing things."

Reluctantly, Morgan strolled on, making his nightly survey of the camp. This was the fifth day since the Big Blue and the events at the crossing, and they had made good time to this point. Seventeen miles the first day, fifteen the next, and the last two days had each been nineteen-mile days. In fact, the last one had been slightly more than nineteen miles. And that, with a wagon train of this size, was good going.

The gra.s.s had been good and so far there had been plenty of water, but all knew that the worst travel lay ahead of them. Cleve, profiting by talk overheard before this trip began, had hung a canvas ground sheet under the wagon and into this he had heaped buffalo chips, chunks of wood, and odds and ends of fuel. There was no shortage of fuel now, but in the days ahead this would not be true, and he intended to be ready before they reached that stretch where most of what was available would already have been burned.

After a few minutes Lilith came from the wagon to the fire. She had offered to mend a pair of Cleve's pants and she carried them now. He stood over her for a minute or so, then dropped to a rock beside the fire. "I'm overwhelmed at all this attention, Miss Prescott, but I am surprised too."

"Surprised?"

"I had no idea you were so domestic."

"My home was a farm in upper New York state. I have often mended trousers for my brothers."

"I never had a brothera"or a sister."

"My sister lives on the Ohio. She married a mountain mana"Linus Rawlings. And I have two brothers."

"No parents."

"They were lost at the falls of the Ohio. That was four, almost five years ago." "I want to confess, Lil," he said suddenly. "I lied about why I wanted to work for you."

"Did you think I didn't know that?"

"The real reason is ... I'm in love with you." He stopped her as she was about to speak. "It's the truth. Since the first time I saw you I've known I couldn't live without you."

"I'd not like to be the cause of your death, Mr. van Valen," she said lightly. "I'm serious. And I'm ready to a.s.sume the responsibilities of a faithful husband."

"And to a.s.sume the responsibilities for my property as well, Mr. van Valen?"

"Really? What kind of property?"

"Gold, Mr. van Valen. Gold by the ton, from what I understand. Bright, yellow, shiny gold."

"Why, Ia"I had no idea."

"Oh, I'm sure you didn't," she said mockingly. "It is simply a remarkable coincidence."

"Coincidence?"

"Oh, just the fact that when you were back stage settling your bet on how many petticoats I wore, I should receive word of my inheritance." "You knew about the bet?"

"Of course. And if I could overhear what you were saying, I am sure you could overhear what Mr. Seabury told me. Or am I too suspicious?" "I think you are."

"Here comes Agatha. Now, if you must propose to somebody, I suggest you get on your knees to her. She has such beautiful hair." Lilith got to her feet, smiling sweetly. "And by the way, Mr. van Valena"there were six petticoats!"

Agatha indicated the circle that had gathered about a neighboring fire where they were singing "Home, Sweet Home."