Sweethearts of the Wagon Train

By Art Lawson

 

Miles from the wagon train and afoot in hostile Indian country, Linda found herself alone at night with her sister’s sweetheart. Linda feared this handsome buckskin man, but she feared her own heart more — for she knew she’d give it to him... for the asking!

 

 

Chapter 1: Buffalo Girl

 

LINDA WALKER had had enough of the jolting wagon. Where her team had been placed, halfway down the long line bound for Oregon, the dust was a constant, stifling thing. The endless pounding of wheels, creek of gear and rattle of equipment only added to her determination. She simply had to get away for a few minutes.

“Mind taking the ribbons a while, Sis?” she asked the girl who was sitting beside her on the high seat of the Conestoga.

Her sister, Faith, shrugged her shoulders absently and accepted the lines to the six-mule hitch. The Walker wagon was the finest in the entire train, as well as the largest. It was the envy of every family group in the outfit.

The mules kept up their dogged, nervous pace, aware that the reins had changed hands. Linda reached into the dark interior of the covered wagon for her shoes and stockings. While driving she had been barefooted.

Faith guessed what Linda had on her mind. “You better stick around,” she said. “Tom Blake wouldn’t like you to ride off from the train.”

“Who cares about Tom Blake?” Linda asked.

“You care,” Faith said doggedly. “He’s captain of this wagon train and he’s your beau.”

Linda did not answer. She could argue propriety all day with her sister. Blue-eyed and redheaded, you would have expected Faith to be the more skittery member of the family. But Faith had a law for everything. If a man was your beau you had to do as he ordered. If he was captain of the wagon train you had to obey his tiniest rule. Linda had heard all this plenty of times since they left the Missouri Queen at Chouteau’s Landing a month ago to join this Oregon-bound band. She was in no frame of mind today to listen to it all over again.

She stamped into the boots, then swung down out of the high wagon. Linda was hardly as tall as one of the great wheels. In boy’s shirt and denim dungarees she seemed even smaller than she actually was. She let the wagon rattle by. Then she loosened the halter of the big gray. She vaulted onto his broad bare back, and guided him with her knees, turning him away from the train.

Like Linda, the horse was very pleased to get away from the wagons for a while. He hit out at a steady trot, snuffing at the fresh air like a dog. He stopped to crop a bit of grass. For Linda had given him his head, then he smelled the river and ran for it.

Below the shallow banks the Platte was like a sheet of silver a mile wide. Nowhere along here, according to Jim Slade, their guide, did the water get to be more than a couple of feet deep. It was a queer sort of river and a very odd country, Linda thought, when compared to her homeland in the Vermont hills.

Linda let him slide down the bank and poke his nose into the water. She would not let him stand while he drank. Jim Slade had told her that the riverbed was full of quicksand — safe enough if you kept moving, but dangerous if you halted more than a moment. It was “slow” quicksand, he had told her and she remembered laughing at how funny that phrase had sounded. Jim Slade was always saying these things like that. He knew more about this country, she guessed, than even Kit Carson.

The horse had finished his drinking. She kneed him farther into the river. It was hardly six inches deep here. When she got him into a run the spray flew all about her, soaking the horse and raining down on her like a thunder shower.

She pulled on the halter. Her mount turned toward the bank. On dry land again he stopped, swishing his tail. Linda took a red bandanna from her hip pocket to wipe her face and neck and throat. This bit of foolishness had set her up immensely. She reckoned she could go back to the wagon train now and face the ordeal with more equanimity.

The horse whinnied. Linda glanced upward, frightened. A rider had come into sight over the edge of the prairie. He was a tall man on a little Indian pinto pony. He wore buckskin shirt and breeches, fringed and beaded, and a dark, flat-crowned felt hat.

The man lifted his hand in the Indian sign of greeting. Then he wheeled his horse down to her.

 

LINDA had never been able to figure out Jim Slade. At first, he had not seemed quite human to her. Later he seemed only to be a savage like the Kiowas and Sioux about which she had so often heard. More recently the strangeness of him had worn off and he had begun to seem more like her kind of person than anyone else in the party. That thought frightened her.

He brought his little horse down toward hers. “Hyah — Britches!” he greeted.

“Afternoon — Mister Slade,” she said.

He had always called her “Britches.” Probably he did not know her real name. He called her that because she was the only girl or woman in the outfit who wore denims, and he was probably the only person in the train who approved of her distinctive garb. Even her sister thought the dungarees were mighty unladylike.

Jim Slade halted beside her. He seemed entirely relaxed, yet never actually at ease. Jim Slade was the most wideawake person Linda had ever known. He sat erect in the saddle, seeming to be listening beyond the banks of the Platte, and his gray eyes had the keenness of an eagle’s. He was handsome in a big, dark brutal way that put a hard little knot into Linda’s breast. His smile and soft voice were the only gentle things about him.

”Better be coming back to the train with me,” Jim Slade said slowly. “Blake sent me out to fetch you.”

A flurry of frustration swept Linda. She said, a little more harshly than she need have spoken: “Why can’t he leave me alone?”

“Any man who could leave you alone,” Jim Slade drawled, “would have to be blind or crippled or scared to death of some other woman.”

The answer shocked Linda. Her dark eyes flashed. She thought of a quick retort, then managed to control herself before speaking. She said, her voice very even:

“I suppose I should be flattered by that statement?”

“No-o —” The man shrugged his broad shoulders. “Most men wouldn’t want to fight a grizzly bare-handed. I don’t know if the grizzly would be flattered if somebody told him that. But it would be a fact just the same.”

Then Linda made the answer she had suppressed a moment ago. “What woman are you afraid of?”

“None,” he said.

Her heart started to pound violently. Her mouth had parted slightly and she could not close it. His eyes held hers. For a long while they stared at each other while the wild blood boiled through Linda. Then the girl cleared her throat to say:

“I was ready to return when you came.”

The man’s eyes insolently moved from hers. They moved to her short nose and generous mouth, to her strong, rounded chin, to the open throat of her shirt. He looked back at her again.

“Okay — Britches,” he said. “I’ll bet you a chaw of tobacco against a piece of your homemade candy that my runty horse can beat your big gray back to the wagons.”

“It’s a go!” she cried.

She kicked heels against the gray’s ribs. In seconds they were topping the river bank.

He beat her. She reckoned it was just as well since she would not have known what to do with the chaw of tobacco. When she mentioned this to her sister, Faith had a suggestion.

“You could put it on a bee sting to draw the poison,” she said.

“Where did you ever get such an idea?” Linda asked.

“Mister Slade told me,” Faith said. “It’s good for rattlesnake bites, too.”

Linda suspected that her redheaded sister was hiding something from her. She was also surprised to find that she had developed an unsettled feeling in her breast that could easily be jealousy. It was a flutter that occurred every time she thought of Jim Slade, or when she saw Faith’s blue eyes looking dreamily into the distance. When she thought of Tom Blake she was ashamed of herself, and of the reaction she had to Jim over yonder beside the river.

 

 

Chapter 2: Tom’s Proposal...

 

THAT evening after supper, Tom Blake joined the girls. Tom was big and blond, a man with a constantly preoccupied air. He seemed forever to be adding up sums in his head. Yet he was handsome — and he had started paying court to Linda as far back on the trail as Saint Louis, where they had met while staying at the Planters’ House at the start of the journey.

He had helped the girls buy their wagon and teams and equipment. When he heard they were headed for Oregon to live with an uncle who had a trading post on the Willamette, he suggested that they go along to Chouteau’s Landing with him where he was joining an already-organized party. That was a real piece of luck, and both girls were very grateful to him for helping them.

Ever since then, he had given them a hand when they needed it. He had been the one who insisted that they come along when the rest of the party balked at having two unescorted girls in the train. He even argued Jim Slade into changing his mind when Jim flatly refused to guide a party containing two more beautiful girls without men-folk. Jim had bluntly insisted they would cause trouble. It had taken some doing to convince him to stay. Tonight, Tom did not have much to say for himself as he hunkered down on the far side of the little camp fire. He accepted the coffee the girls poured for him and the sweet cake they had cooked in a frying pan propped up before the fire to serve as a sort of reflector oven. Linda had expected a bawling out for leaving the train that afternoon. She was quite relieved when Tom neglected to mention her dereliction.

A couple times he stared very intently at the dark-eyed Linda, then turned away quickly when she happened to glance across the fire toward him. Apparently he had something on his mind. Afraid it might be her ride to the Platte, Linda did not try to draw him out.

Their conversation had just about bogged down when Jim Slade came along. Tom Blake stood up to greet him.

“How’s everything look, Jim?” he asked. Jim said: “Fine. But we’ll have to do something about Andy Waterhouse’s bulls. Their hoofs are splitting. Oxen are fine for heavy hauling, but can’t travel as fast as mules. We may have to drop Andy at Fort Laramie.”

“He won’t like that,” Tom said.

The scout shrugged. He turned to the girls and smiled. It was careless and carefree and impersonal, as much for one as for the other, with no trace of that afternoon’s events in it.

“Got to finish the rounds,” he said. He tipped his hat and bowed to Faith. “Miss — a man becomes lonesome at nightfall. I’d deem it an honor if you would walk with me a while.”

The odd formality hit Linda very hard. This man who had so insolently looked into her eyes that afternoon and stirred up her heart was now asking her sister to walk with him. Faith was accepting. Faith had stood up and was smoothing her skirt.

“You are very kind,” she said.

She joined the scout who took her arm and led her through the dusk toward the next wagon. That formerly thin bit of jealousy in Linda was kicking up. She stared after them; at the tall man with the broad shoulders and narrow hips, at the rather small girl so femininely curved who walked so daintily beside him holding her skirts above boot-tops out of the dust of the prairie.

She had forgotten her silent friend who stood across the fire from her. And he misread the look in her eyes.

“That’s all right,” he said a bit nervously. “I asked him to do that. I hope you’ll forgive me. I wanted to see you alone and couldn’t think of any other way to arrange it.”

Linda faced him, dark eyes wide, bright in the firelight. “You mean — you asked him to take Faith walking?”

“Sure,” Tom said. “Faith will be all right. Jim’s wild as a Sioux but he didn’t even know her name — or yours — until I told him. He’s afraid of women.”

This interview was not going the way Tom would have had it. He had not come to talk of Jim Slade and Faith Walker. He had come to talk of himself and Linda. Now he bulled right into it. Stepping around the fire he took Linda by the shoulders and moved her into the shadow behind the wagon. Astonished by his unusual behaviour she made no protest.

“I had to ask you something — alone.” His voice was choky. “Uh — I —”

His hands moved from her shoulders to her arms. He held her that way close to him. She had to tip her head back to look up at him and with her long dark curls down her back she was truly lovely. Tom Blake had never before known any one like this girl, so soft and desirable she left him weak as a baby.

She had begun to suspect what was up. She smiled. But even as she did so her heart gave a twisted little thump for the man who was walking down the line of wagons with her redheaded younger sister.

“I — uh — want your hand —” Tom said.

Linda wanted to cry. She had never before been proposed to, and somehow this endless prairie seemed to be such a fit place for proposals. Between two lives, she was, with a man who had been as good to her as her father had ever been. But Linda was not sure of her heart.

“Maybe I’m not your kind of girl,” she said. “Ma always said I was skittery as a colt. She always said I should have been the redhead of the family. You’re steady and solid, Tom. I —”

“You’re just young,” he insisted. “You’ll settle down.”

“I’m nineteen,” she said. “I’m almost an old maid.”

His fingers tightened on her arms. “Will you marry me?” he asked tensely. “Slade says there’s usually a parson at Fort Laramie.”

Tightly Linda closed her eyes. When she opened them again Tom was still there. A couple of tears rolled down her cheeks.

“I don’t know, Tom. I have to think about it. When I marry it will be forever. You have to know your mind when you make a deal that lasts that long.”

Tom said: “I know my mind. Tomorrow —?”

She nodded her head. The dark curls danced and her eyes shone in the starlight. Then he kissed her. She had not been kissed very often back home and then usually by some foolish, hurried boy. Yet she knew right away that this man did not make a practise of kissing girls. He was just a little bit clumsy. His lips touched hers briefly. He hugged her as a bear might.

She was astonished at how cold it left her. All her life she had dreamed of her lover-to-be’s first kiss. It would be something wonderful. It would be something that lifted her clear out of this world and set her on a rosy cloud in some paradise. But this kiss was not like that. It was like shaking hands with the parsons after Sunday service.

She said hurriedly: “My sister’s coming back, Tom. They’re at the Carbon wagon now. We better —”

He dropped his hands. He knew that kiss had been a failure. He looked miserable...

 

THE wagons were again on the move — grinding, creaking, rattling. Today a steady breeze from the river drifted the dust-plume away from the wagon train that stirred it up. Faith had the lines. Linda had gotten out their two rifles, the carbine and four pistols to draw the shot and reload with fresh powder. Last night Jim Slade had told Faith they should sight buffalo today this side of Scott’s Bluffs. Faith had told Linda, and Linda was preparing to replenish their meat supply.

“They’ll be grazing along the river,” the redheaded girl said. “When we come up they’ll stampede for the bluffs. The thing to do is to kill two-three cows in a hurry and then come back to butcher them later. The bulls are too tough to eat. Leave them alone.”

Linda again experienced a pang of jealousy. Though Tom Blake had insisted that Jim had walked with Faith only because he had requested it, it seemed to Linda that Jim and Faith had made a lot of headway during that rendezvous.

“Since you know all about buffalo-hunting,” Linda said, “why don’t you go along with him and bring back a couple cows?”

“Oh, no,” Faith said. “He wouldn’t like it. A woman’s place is in the wagon, he told me.”

Linda rammed a heavy ball into the rifle. In loading the pistols she tapped the ball with a little mallet. That would give it more power without adding to the recoil. These pistols were really too heavy for her, but the only ones she could get in Saint Louis. She had wanted a brace of those new-fangled six-shooters made by Colonel Colt but they were so rare they were worth a fortune on the frontier — and she had not seen any, anyway.

In a desultory fashion, she carried on her conversation with her sister. “He must have been talking about you,” she observed.

Faith glanced at Linda from the corners of blue eyes. “He probably has a squaw at every crossroads. I told him a man’s place was on the farm — not running around all over the wilderness.”

“What did he do?”

“He laughed,” Faith said. Now Faith frankly stared at her sister. An idea was fermenting in her mind. “What did Tom want? Mister Slade said Tom asked him to walk with me so he could talk to you alone.”

“That’s silly,” Linda said, trying to put conviction into her voice.

“No, it isn’t,” Faith said quickly. “He asked me if you were going to marry Tom. Is that what Tom wanted? Did Tom propose to you?”

“Yes,” Linda admitted.

Faith turned from her older sister. She held blue eyes steady, gazing down the gray backs of the mules. Faith was carrying on a terrible battle within herself. She had known something like this was growing up between Linda and the captain of their train. She had joked about it, almost from the start. But recently the jokes had been flat, even to herself. Now the end was in sight and there would be no more joke to it at all.

“When are you going to be married?” Faith asked in a dead voice.

“He says there’s a preacher at Fort Laramie,” Linda answered. Then Linda laughed. This had turned into a terribly serious conversation. “You know — you could make a sort of song. He wants to marry me at Fort Lar-a-me.”

“You make the song,” Faith said sourly.

Linda was shocked. She had not even suspected this. “Why — you mean — that you —”

“I don’t mean anything,” Faith said with a touch of bitterness. She forced a laugh. “That’s a fine song, Sis. Congratulations.”

“Thanks,” Linda said. “I haven’t accepted him.” Every muscle of her sister’s lovely body tensed. Linda added: “I told him I’d give him the answer tonight.”

Faith continued to stare at her mules. Linda finished loading the guns. After a while Faith started talking:

“Mister Slade said that the best place to catch buffalo is up near the bluffs about five or six miles from the river. There’s a plain there — beyond a hill. The young cows are the best eating. They’ll be leading the herd. They run the fastest. But you won’t have much trouble catching them if you cut around to that plain.”

Linda did not notice the set of Faith’s lips. Thinking of the hunt in which she was determined to join, she did not see that Faith had become curiously excited.

Then sudden commotion passed down the line of wagons. It was the cry:

“Buffalo!”

 

 

Chapter 3: Redheaded Treachery!

 

FAR ahead to the left, Linda could see the buffalo streaming up from the river. They seemed to be moving very slowly and were so closely packed their numbers were uncountable. From this distance they looked more like a mass of shrubbery on the move than live animals.

“Hundreds of them,” Linda said in awe.

A couple men trotted past the wagon, going ahead to hunt the buffalo. Linda waited until they were gone. Then, excitement high in her, she clambered through the wagon to the rear. She threw her saddle out on the right side before jumping down to unhitch her led gray. When she had the leather cinched on him and had climbed aboard, she trotted up beside Faith who had remained in the seat tooling the mules. She kept to the side of the wagon away from the river and buffalo.

“Have they all gone out yet?” Linda asked.

Faith shaded eyes and stared up the glistening river. “Half a dozen, maybe. One’s Jim Slade. I can tell by his clothes. There’s Tom! No — Tom came back. There’s six of them. They’ve dropped down the river bank. Jim Slade’s in the lead.”

“Good,” Linda said. She had remained behind for fear she would be sent back if she tried to join the original hunting group. Now that the party was already across she could cut back to the rear of the train, then head directly for the river and make it before being discovered. She could probably come up on the herd from below the plain Jim had discussed with Faith. Now she could hardly wait until entirely safe. “Hand me those pistols,” she ordered, “and the carbine.”

Faith said: “You’re not really going?”

“Of course,” Linda said.

Faith gave the weapons to her sister. Linda stuffed the pistols into the waistband of her denims and dropped the rifle into the saddle boot. Then she reined her horse away and trotted to the rear of the train. Everyone was so intent on the developing buffalo hunt Linda was not noticed. When she had passed the last wagon she headed straight for the river. She got over the bank and out of sight without any pursuit developing.

She had to walk the gray across the river or take a chance on dampening the priming of her pistols. The slowness was excruciating. When she reached the far bank more than half a mile away she glanced back. Only the first group of men and herself had left the wagon train. Feeling very confident, she kicked the mount in the ribs and loped him up the south bank of the Platte.

Here one of the wave-like rolls of the prairie completely cut her off from the train and hunting party. She took advantage of this to push southward as fast as the horse would take her. To the right she saw the low hill her sister had described. Riverward of that hill a great cloud of dust swirled into the sky showing where the hunters had stampeded the herd.

This was really thrilling. She was well ahead of them now. She reined a bit to the west to reach the plain of which her sister had spoken. She had gone about five miles when she came up behind the slope and saw the buffalo pouring down it. Her horse snorted in excitement. She reined him slightly left and held him in until the herd caught up with them. Then, shouting like an Indian in the approved manner of all buffalo hunters, she picked a young cow that looked tender and juicy and drove into the herd to cut her out.

The buffalo were a solid mass rushing by. Her horse was forced to kick his way into it. As if by instinct he recognized the cow his little boss had picked and shouldered it into the open. Screaming, Linda rode it down. At a distance of not much more than a yard she drew one of her pistols and fired. She got the beast just behind the long hair. Her ball entered the buffalo’s heart, and the animal died in full run. The buffalo took a couple automatic bounds before stumbling and rolling over and over.

Linda had lost her lead. She turned the horse back toward the herd. She was determined to get at least one more young and tender cow before she withdrew from the hunt. Quickly her horse caught up with the leaders. Howling again to unnerve the buffalo and make them break up their tight formation, she drove the gray up against them.

Just before the horse cut into the herd, Linda glanced back toward the river. The dust cloud hid all the northern sky now, blacking out the wagon train and river; and if any hunters had come through it she could not spot them. She was in a world of dust and thundering animals.

For a second she felt terribly lonely, and somewhat foolish. Maybe she should have obeyed the rules and stayed in the wagon. Well, she had not — she was out here and might as well take advantage of the fact. She had one buffalo. She would get another.

“Git in there,” she shouted at her horse. “Yip-yip-eee-ahh!” she screamed at the buffalo.

The horse got his shoulder up against one of the nose-heavy beasts. He had just started to shove when something went wrong. He suddenly dropped out from under Linda. There was a horrible snap as his leg broke. Then the saddle smashed up at Linda again. It acted as a catapult — shooting her high into the air — heels over head.

She came down clawing for the ground. She bounced off the flank of a buffalo cow, was thrown against another and caromed off against a third. She was whirled around and dropped. For one horrible second, like something seen in a lightning flash, tiny sharp hoofs knifed past her face.

Then something hit the back of her head and the world suddenly turned black...

 

WHEN she came to the herd had passed. It seemed that every bone in her body had been pulverized into a thousand pieces, as if every muscle had been pounded into one continuous bruise. At first she could not stand up. She could only crawl — and she did not realize that the blackness had not lifted until her arm went into a prairie dog hole and she fell flat on her face.

She lay there quite a while. Stars in the sky told her that it was night, not blindness that had turned the world black. After a while she sat up. A dark lump on the prairie was her horse. He was dead. He had stepped into a prairie-dog hole and half a hundred buffalo had finished him off by stampeding over him as he lay helpless in the grass.

Then Linda noticed more holes, hundreds of them all around. She began to hear sounds, too, creepy sounds — and the howl of the prairie wolves. Jim had told her that these wolves always hang around the rear of a buffalo herd. He said they were cowards who would not attack a person or an animal if they could get already killed meat in quantity.

Linda tried to comfort herself with this thought but it did little good. A gray shadow slunk by and sniffed at her horse. Linda screamed. The wolf sidled off, then sat down to watch her.

Linda began to shiver. She crawled toward the dead horse. She had lost her pistols and could not find them. The rifle had been snapped in two just behind the stock. The wolf was joined by a partner and they both sat on their haunches staring at her.

It was a long time before Linda realized what had actually happened. Somehow her sister had found out about this extensive prairie-dog town. Faith had sent Linda out there — hoping something would happen to her. Faith had been in love with Tom Blake for a long time. This was her first move to eliminate competition.

The wolves were at the horse now, slobbering, tearing it to bits. Whenever they stopped their feast for a moment to glare at Linda, the girl screamed. It was by her screams that Jim Slade found her. Jim was on foot. He knew it was as good as killing a horse to ride him into this prairie-dog infested area. Even the buffalo would come here only when too terrified to use their better sense.

Jim knelt beside Linda and Linda screamed at him just as she had at the wolves.

“It’s — Jim — Britches,” he said softly.

Linda began to cry. It was nervous exhaustion suddenly set free. He put an arm around her and held her close to his buckskin-clad chest. His cheek was in her hair — but he kept his eyes on the wolves.

“Broken bones?” he asked after a while.

“No,” she sobbed.

“Can you walk?”

“Reckon.”

He had to lift her to her feet. She could not stand by herself. When she tried to walk, even with the support of his strong arm around her waist, she became so sick and dizzy she fell in a semi-faint against him. Finally he picked her up and carried her.

He walked with an easy, long-legged stride. The wolves, busy with their meal, stared after them a moment, then ignored them. Jim’s arms swung slightly as he walked. It made Linda think of a cradle.

“Reckon I can walk now,” she said.

He smiled down on her. His teeth seemed so strong and white against the deep tan of his face.

“You don’t weigh nothin’ at all,” he said. “You’re soft as a goosedown pillow. Reckon I can carry you yet a spell.”

She moved in his arms lifting herself higher against his chest and putting her arms around his neck to help support her weight. After a while they went down a slope and came to a thin line of willow trees that were black in the night. Linda smelled water, but knew that this was not the Platte.

He set her down where she could sit with her back to the bole of a willow. Then he went down to the stream in which starlight glistened and brought back his hat full of water. Gently he bathed her forehead. Some of the water trickled inside her shirt causing her to shiver spasmodically.

“Feelin’ better?” he asked.

She nodded. She had not believed this big, rough man could be so gentle. He was smiling. She wished he would pick her up again — or just put his arm around her. Instinctively she moved toward him and he did exactly what she wanted him to do. He sat against the tree with his arm around her waist and her dark head nestled into the hollow of his shoulder.

“We’re going to stay here tonight,” he said. “Mind?”

She shook her head. “I’m a damn fool.”

“We’re all fools,” the man said. “We should have known you’d join the hunt. We didn’t learn about it until we got back to the wagon train at sunset. Everybody there thought you were with us.”

Linda turned her head to look up at him. His face was very close to hers. He was staring into her eyes.

“How’d you know where to look?” she asked.

“Your sister told me,” he said.

She thought that his lips hardened. She wondered if he knew that Faith had deliberately misled her. Then a great weariness surged over her and she did not even have the strength to hate. She lifted her head against his shoulder.

“Thanks, Jim — for coming.”

She tilted her face back and kissed him. She was not at all ashamed of it. A warmth surged through her. For the first time in months she felt as if she were home. She reached for his head, pulling him down so that his lips pressed against hers. Then she went to sleep.

 

NEXT morning they did not try to rejoin the wagon train. Linda was so stiff she could hardly walk and then only with the most excruciating pain. Jim would have carried her, but the train was about twelve miles from this point on Pumpkin Creek where he had brought her last night. He was sure it would wait for their return, and decided it would be wiser and safer to stay here a day or so until Linda felt better and could walk at least part of the way.

He had brought along the tongue from one of the dead buffalo. Roasted over an open fire this would provide their three meals. Just to make it a bit more palatable he went to the creek for cress which they ate raw. Linda thought she could not have eaten the rich meat without the tempering effect of the peppery greens.

After breakfast Jim made her try to walk around a bit, despite the pain, to limber her up. Then, when the sun was high in the sky, she took off her boots and went into the stream for a swim. This gave her more exercise with less agony. Later on, still dressed in her wet shirt and denims she lay in the sun, letting the heat bake into her. She fell sound asleep. When she woke the sun had dried her and she felt a lot better.

Jim Slade had gone. For a moment she knew panic. Thinking he might not have actually left but might be sleeping somewhere nearby, she painfully got to her feet and set out to find him. She searched the brush near the creek. After a while she found a small leanto that had been made of willow branches. Wild hay had been gathered and stacked under the roof to form a bed. Since it was all brand new she reasoned that only Jim Slade could have made it. It was to be their home for the night. So she moved in.

Jim had very cleverly placed the hut. It was practically invisible at any distance, yet Linda soon learned that from it one could see all the approaches from prairie or creek; nor was it long before she had an opportunity to make use of this feature.

A movement drew her attention. It was Jim coming down the slope to the north. He was running in a curiously effortless manner as if he could have kept it up all day. He came straight to the leanto and stopped nearby, grinning broadly at the girl. He was not at all out of breath.

“How’s the invalid?”

She stretched arms above her head. She was still stiff as a wagonspoke but the sleep had done wonders for her.

”Much better,” she said, smiling. “If I had a horse and some pistols I’d be just about ready to go hunting some more buffalo.”

“If you had a horse and some pistols I’d take them away from you until you showed sign of having sense enough to keep out of a prairie-dog town,” he told her.

She suspected that he had planned that statement. There was something piercing in the quality of his blue eyes that made her think he was trying to read her mind or draw her into confession. She wondered what he had found on his reconnoitering party. The river would be in the direction from which he had come, and the wagons would be near the river. Had he gone all the way?

She had become convinced that Faith had deliberately led her into the prairie-dog town. Yet she could not share this secret with the scout. Since he seemed to expect her to say something she did so.

“Feller has to learn,” she said lightly, “and I always did learn the hard way. I was just too busy chasing the buffalo to see the prairie-dog town.”

He sat down beside her on the pile of hay. He did not believe her. She knew this immediately.

“Faith tell you that was the best hunting ground?” he asked.

Linda would not answer him. She turned her face away from his and stared toward the creek.

“The wagon train moved on,” he told her. “They left us.” His voice was so low she could hardly hear him. “There’s a big band of Arapaho between us and the wagons. The Arapaho used to be friendly. But they’re spoiling for war these days.”

Somehow this new piece of information did not deeply shock Linda. She could not rationally explain her attitude. Her lack of fear, she guessed, was based on pure emotion. Yesterday she had been so close to death she would never again be afraid of it. Now that Jim Slade was with her she felt absolutely secure. Even this flimsy little shanty added to her feeling of security. It was like being home again.

Linda moved closer to Jim Slade. He put an arm around her, drawing her up against his chest. They did not kiss.

“I don’t know what’s the matter with Faith,” Linda said after a while. “She didn’t want to come West in the first place. Then she fell in love with Tom Blake. That was in Saint Louis. I didn’t realize this. Like the buffalo hunt and the dog town, I was too busy looking somewhere else to see what was right there in front of me.”

“But you don’t hate her?” he said.

“I did when I was out there on the prairie watching the wolves eat my horse,” she said. “But I don’t know. She couldn’t help it. She was just impulsive.”

The guide studied her intently. He looked into her eyes. He was faintly smiling. Slowly he moved his lips down to touch hers. He kissed her, and for the first time in her life she thought she finally knew what a real kiss was like. It was a slow fire that burned up all the pain and horror of last night. It was a blaze that nothing could ever distinguish, a flame that would burn forever brighter and brighter.

Then he drew away from her, slowly straightening, still staring into her eyes.

“Your sister didn’t have to send you away to get rid of you,” he said.

The man’s eyes were as insolent as they had been the day when she rode her horse to the river and he came out to bring her back to the train. He had known all the time he could take her away from Tom Blake.

“Maybe she did,” Linda said. “You never really looked at me before.”

He lifted her around so that her back was against his knee. He whispered softly:

“She did us a favor — Britches.”

“Yes,” Linda said breathlessly. “Yes — yes —”

She went to him in a rush. She had forgotten everything in this great whirlpool of emotion. Her arms were around his neck, holding him more tightly than he held her. And in the second before their lips met she knew that she had finally found her man. She would not let this one get away. She would not let her half promise to Tom Blake do anything to change her.

 

 

Chapter 4: Tribal Sister

 

THEY started out afoot next morning for Fort Laramie. It would not be an easy trip. The presence of the Arapaho tribesmen in the neighborhood only increased the tremendous hazards of the trip, necessitating wide detours, and keeping them off the main routes. The Indians, in search of loot and scalps, would be staying close to the trail. To be safe, Linda and Jim had to keep to the more rugged hills beyond the river plain.

They traveled slowly, yet despite everything, they made a good dozen miles that day. Mid afternoon they passed a place where many partly slaughtered carcasses of buffalo showed that the Arapaho had made a surround there the day before. The number of dead buffalo and the many evidences of horses indicated that the Indian party was fairly large. Jim was sure that they were camped nearby and that they had their women and children with them.

Before sundown the scout found a good camping spot by fresh water. He had not yet had time to build a shelter when one of the sudden prairie thunder storms swept up from the south. It whipped on nearly as quickly as it had come upon them. Yet, before it passed, they were both soaking wet. As the sun dropped Linda began to shiver violently. Though he hated to do so with Indians so close, Jim had to build a fire to dry Linda’s clothes.

Several times after dark, Jim crept away from the fire into the night. As soon as the girl was dry he extinguished the fire; yet his nervousness did not leave him. Toward dawn he made a wide scout of their camping place. When he returned he did so silently. He put a finger to Linda’s lips, indicating she should not speak. Then he picked her up in his arms and carried her away from there. He carried her nearly a mile before he crossed the creek and set her on her feet again.

The first streaks of dawn were in the sky.

“Listen!” Jim whispered.

At first the girl heard nothing. Then a sudden, “Yip — eee — ahh,” was howled through the dawn. As well as she could judge this sound had come from the general location of their recent camping spot. The cry rose to a shrill scream; to abruptly break off as if a great hand had stifled it.

“They didn’t find us,” Jim said with a grim smile. “That fire drew them. They must have smelled the smoke or seen the flames. There were six or eight of them. Come.”

He took Linda’s hand and she hurried along beside him. She had not had a real chance to become frightened. Now that it was over she was weak as water. She was trembling violently and on the verge of crying. Only a miracle, she was convinced, had told him of the Indians’ presence and had led them through the enemy lines.

Linda could not keep up this terrific pace. Before noon she had to rest. After that they went on more slowly. Now Jim was practically dragging her along. Hungry, tired, almost at the point of complete exhaustion, she would have quit and taken a chance on the Indians. But now she was being sustained by something outside herself, the determination that she would not let Faith’s snide doublecross put her down. If it took her last ounce of guts she would reach Fort Laramie.

Then Jim began to run. Blindly she followed. They were crossing an open plain at the far side of which was a wash that would give them some cover. When they reached that she would insist on resting a while.

She thought she had become delirious when she heard the Arapaho war-cry behind her.

“Yip — eee —”

Then she tripped. Jim dragged her along a few steps. She shook her head free of his big fist and fell on her face. She managed to roll over and sit up just as half a dozen Indians burst into sight on their backtrail. Mounted on wiry little horses, dressed only in a feather and breechcloth and paint, carrying iron-tipped lances and white round shields, they were a terrifying sight. Howling their war-cry the Arapaho thundered down on her.

Linda was unarmed. She could do nothing. Jim had only a pistol and a knife. He turned now to make his attack; trotting up to the girl; making his stand just a bit in front of her.

He shouted something in Arapaho. The leader swerved. The others came on and Jim shouted again. When they did not stop he lifted his pistol and fired. The ball hit the nearest horse between the eyes. Jim dropped the pistol at Linda’s side. As the horse started to fall Jim raced toward the Indians. Frantically Linda reloaded Jim’s pistol. Then the horse hit the prairie with an earthquake thump. He rolled over half a dozen times. Jim leaped on the fallen Indian before the warrior could gain his feet. He wrenched the shield away from the man and took his lance as well.

Now Linda had gotten over her fright and jumped to her feet. She ran up to Jim. He was again shouting at the Arapaho. She could not understand what he said, but it seemed to have a definite effect on them. They wheeled away well out of pistol range and bunched for a conference. Then one rode up to Jim and Linda, holding his hand high, palm facing the man and woman in the old Indian sign of peace. He and Jim had a conversation. Then the Indian rode back to his men.

“I told him I knew his chief, Thin Bear,” Jim said. “He doesn’t believe me. He said he would take me to their village. He is only doing it because he saw what I did to his friend. He’s afraid of my pistol.”

Linda shuddered. The Arapaho were trotting across the field. They made an escort party. The man with whom Jim had spoken led the way. The other four rode guard. They ignored the sixth man who had been thrown from his horse. Though he had recovered from Jim’s stunning blow he did not try to rejoin his mates.

Jim told Linda: “He’ll never show his face in the village again. Losing his shield and lance is a permanent disgrace. It’s the worst thing could have happened to him.” Grimly he added: “He’ll have to spend the rest of his life trying to kill me and get them back.”

 

LINDA saw that the Arapaho village consisted of half a hundred lodges pitched in a double row along Pumpkin Fork between the stream and a belt of woods that stretched almost to the hills. These Arapaho were better off than the Indians Linda had seen along the trail. Their lodges were much larger than those of the poor Pawnee.

The warriors took their captives to a lodge near the center of the village where they entered into a lengthy debate with Jim Slade. By their gestures Linda knew they were talking about her. Finally Jim shrugged and turned toward her.

“Told them you’re my sister,” he said. “Now I’ve got to kiss you to prove it. I don’t know where they got that notion.”

“It’s a good one,” Linda found she could joke.

He kissed her briefly, not taking her into his arms. This seemed to satisfy the Indians. A couple of squaws appeared and led Jim and Linda into the lodge. They spread two buffalo robes for their captives to sit upon. Then they brought a wooden bowl of boiled buffalo hump to the scout. Ignoring Linda, Jim ate of the meat. When he had finished about half of it he spoke to the squaws who passed the bowl to Linda.

From time to time pairs of braves would come into the lodge to look at Jim and Linda. Though these were mostly old men Linda’s nervousness increased with each visit. Finally she could not bear it any longer.

“What happened to your chief?” she asked.

“Gone,” Jim said.

Linda set the bowl aside. The squaws took it and left the tent. Linda knew that they were being very carefully guarded. She was afraid that they were also being closely watched. She wished she knew how to behave properly for the Arapaho. She did not know if she was supposed to talk or keep quiet.

When night came, the squaws returned to build a small fire in the center of the lodge. Jim sat close to it, his arms folded over his chest. Linda stayed back in the shadows as she had seen the squaws do.

“Notice anything about these Injuns?”

Jim asked in a monotone, not looking up at Linda.

“Mostly female,” Linda said, “and old men.”

Jim nodded slowly. “A couple of these fellows used to be good friends of mine. Now they claim they never saw me before.”

“Where are the young men?” Linda asked.

Jim did not answer her immediately. He poked the fire with a stick. One of the guards walked slowly past the lodge opening.

“You can’t tell how many of them know English,” Jim said. He began to write in the sand. The one word was: “Raid.”

Linda read it without moving from her buffalo robe. She gasped. Judging by the size of the village, their raiding party would be a good-sized one. It would be plenty large enough to wipe out the wagon train.

“Even if they did double-cross you and run out on us,” Jim said, “you’re thinking the same thing I am.”

“Faith’s my sister,” Linda whispered. “The others are my friends.”

Jim said: “Keep your voice up. They’ll take you away if you whisper. But don’t talk loud enough for them to be able to listen in.”

Linda nodded. Jim went on:

“They won’t hurt us if we behave. The old men have told the others who I am. They’ll hold me until Thin Bear gets back from the raid. I did him a big favor once. He’ll give us an escort to Fort Laramie. We have nothing to be afraid of.”

She smiled across the fire at Jim Slade. Jim was looking toward her.

“I’m tired, Jim. I’m going to lie down. When the time comes, wake me.”

She curled up on the buffalo robe. She was at peace with herself. In seconds she was sound asleep...

 

* * *

 

The fire had died when she woke, and the interior of the lodge was like pitch. Above a star shone through the conical opening that served as ventilator. The doorway was hardly more than a gray patch against the jet blackness. She saw a shadow pass before it, heard the almost soundless grunt of a man being slugged and knocked unconscious with one well-placed blow.

Then the shadow passed the doorway again and moccasined feet whispered across the lodge, coming around the fireplace and up to her. A hand touched her, moving across her face to her eyes. When touch told the man she was awake he lifted her to her feet. It was Jim Slade. Without a word she went into his arms. He held her for a moment, then kissed her full on the lips. No words were necessary now to tell what they were thinking.

A moment, and Jim lead her to the doorway. She almost stumbled over the body of an Indian. Another Arapaho was lying near the door. That would be the one she had heard Jim knock out. The scout put the girl behind him as he stepped through the lodge exit. The sudden movement that followed was only a blur to her. He had gotten the third guard around the throat with his powerful right arm and knocked him cold with a fist behind the ear. Carefully Jim set this warrior inside the lodge before taking Linda’s hand to lead her outside.

They were not yet by any means free. Crouching low, moving stealthily, they headed directly away from the village street, praying that none of the half wild dogs would get their scent and give away their presence. They worked their way to the lower end of the lodge-lined street where the horses were kept. There — Jim whispered to the girl.

“We can’t make it on foot. Maybe not with horses. But we have to take a chance. Pull the picket pin of the first horse you come up to and jump on board. When I yell — follow me.”

Linda nodded. They crept onward a couple yards. Now the horses were looming in the night. Since Jim had closed in downwind of the beasts they had not been warned of his coming. At the edge of the herd Jim waited until a guard came by. He hit this brave on the back of the neck with the edge of his hand before the redmen even suspected that there was anyone about.

Jim signaled Linda to come on.

It was then that a sudden cry from the village warned them that their escape had been discovered.

In seconds dogs were yipping and men shouting. Linda could hear the rattle of their shields and weapons as they ran. She rushed after Jim who had run into the center of the herd, pulling picket pins on all sides. He caught a horse and just managed to vault onto its back when the beast decided he wanted to go away in a great hurry. She had to cling to his mane with both hands to keep on board.

She seemed to be in the middle of the herd. She reached for the picket rope and was lucky enough to catch it before the horse became tangled in it. Already one of the horses had taken a header when he stepped on his line. As usual this horse was fitted out with a rough hackamore. When she had that in order and the rawhide picket rope coiled she felt more secure.

But Jim had long since disappeared, and she had not heard him yell as he had promised.

The whole herd was in crazy stampede. They reached the shallow river and went right across it and up the far bank without so much as slowing their pace. Here they spread out a little. Linda tried to work her way to the edge of the herd. Her horse was too terrified to pay much attention to her, but she was pleased to notice that he was slowly falling behind the ponies on each side. Her slight additional weight, she reckoned, would eventually take them into the open.

As she sifted back the dust became a great, sable cloud. She heard the blast of a gun but could not see its fire. She believed that these Indians did not have any fire-arms, but could not be sure of that. Still she had not found Jim Slade.

The noise seemed only to increase the speed of the horses and heighten their terror. Now Linda was coughing sharply. With the coiled rope she beat the horse until he veered slightly left and out of the blanket of dust. Glancing over her shoulder she saw a gunflash. She recognized the rider and screamed at him!

“Jim!”

He pounded up to her, forking a better mount than she. He had to shout for her to hear over the thunder of the drumming hoofs.

“Keep the herd going. The train didn’t go on as far as I thought. They camped near Chimney Rock. Injuns set to attack them at dawn. We’ll run this herd right through them.”

“Will try!” she shouted back.

 

SHE had heard of Chimney Rock but had not the slightest idea where it was. Fortunately the river hills nearby made only one natural trail that they could follow. Jim dropped back again. After a while she heard his pistol barking at the other side of the herd. She whipped up her horse. Using her rawhide rope like a blacksnake whip she sent the few horses that would stray back into the herd, and those who lagged she beat into a flat run.

Some of the Indians had mounted horses who had fallen behind at the very start of the stampede. Desperately Linda wished she had a gun; then went back to her work of whipping up the stampede. When an arrow hummed past her Linda glanced behind in time to spot an Arapaho coming up on her flank. She cut sharply into the dust cloud where she was hidden for several seconds. Then she came out again in time to surprise this Indian who had almost gotten her. She rushed him, flailing the rope. It skittered the horse and she got a loop over the Indian securely enough to yank him out of the saddle.

Fortunately the rope fell free and she coiled it as she rejoined the herd. They came to a place where the trail was so narrow she was almost forced into the river. Then the flats opened up. Here Linda discovered she could see a little more than the black shadows. She thought the contour of the land was responsible for this. Then she realized it was the approach of dawn.

She was horrified. It seemed that they had missed out after all.

A rider was closing in on her. She was ready to try her ruse again when she recognized Jim Slade’s broad shoulders and flat hat.

“Keep it going, Britches!” He shouted. “We’re almost there.”

He pointed ahead. There, reaching into the sky was the thin pencil of stone known as Chimney Rock.

Linda guessed they had covered a good fifteen miles. Soon the sun would be up.

Then she heard Jim howling.

“Yip — ee — yip — yip — ahh!”

She answered. She lashed at the horses. To the left of the wide train an Indian who had been hiding by the river bank suddenly became frightened and bolted into the stream. Farther ahead a gun spoke. They had reached a country where sage dotted the flats. Here and there more Indians crouched in the shelter of the brush. Other redmen who had been waiting in ambush were terrifiedly rushing away.

“Yip — eee — ahh!” Linda screamed.

She saw the wagons in yonder flat. Tom Blake had gathered them in a circle. Pencils of gunflame licked out from behind huge wheels and hastily stacked cases and barrels. The emigrants apparently thought the approaching herd was a band of Indians making an attack.

Linda could not drop out. She war-cried again and again, driving her horse ahead. The leaders were on the wagons now, veering off to the right. Ahead Jim’s pistol sounded. He was trying to mill the herd, to get the horses to run around and around the wagons.

“Linda!” Linda shouted. “It’s me, Tom — Linda!”

Jim succeeded in turning the horses. A big roan who had been far in the lead was already coming back. Linda whipped at him with her rope, shoving him into the rear of the herd he had been leading. The rest followed like a giant merry-go-round. Then Linda cut her mount through the gathering mill and hopped him clear over the tongue of a wagon into the center of the fort-like camp.

As she did so a man swung a rifle on her. She threw the rope in his face and the bullet hummed harmlessly past her head. She did not bother to dismount. She just fell off the horse.

It was Tom Blake who recognized her. He kicked the rifle out of the rattled man’s hands and picked up Linda from the ground. He couldn’t even speak.

Linda gasped: “There’s a couple hundred Arapaho out there —”

Tom dropped her and ran to the barricade. Linda looked around for her wagon. She spotted it and ran toward it. Faith was lying on her stomach behind one of the big wheels aiming a rifle and waiting for a break in the milling horses to give her a target. Linda got a second rifle from the wagon.

She practically collapsed under the wagon beside Faith.

The redheaded girl said: “Tom —” then screamed.

“Right out of hell,” Linda said calmly. “Didn’t expect me to come back — did you?”

The horses were scattering. Jim Slade had gotten inside the ring of wagons and was running across the open space toward the Walker girls. All around men and women were shooting. The wagon train had not been taken by surprise. Jim and Linda had saved it.

“I — told Tom,” Faith finally managed to say.

“You did?” Linda asked, incredulously.

Faith said: “I love him. He — I know it’s no excuse. I’m sorry.” She bit her lip before going on. “We were going to wait until Jim got back. Then they discovered Indians were around and we decided to go on to the fort. I couldn’t do it. I told Tom what I did to you. We stopped here because Tom and I were going back to see if we could find you.”

Linda had to believe her sister. She smiled on Faith, patted the younger girl’s cheek.

“Forget it,” she said. “You can have Tom — if he’ll take you. Maybe you did me a favor. I’ve got a man of my own — now.”

Jim had found her and was crawling up to the firing line beside her. “Hello — Britches,” he said quite casually.

“Hello —” Linda said.

She turned to him. Relief swept through her like a hurricane, leaving her weak and helpless. She rolled over until she was up against him.

“Thank heavens we’re — home,” she whispered.

Jim rubbed his cheek against hers. “They’re starting to run,” he said. “We licked them.”

The Indian ranks were breaking. The emigrants were howling their victory. Faith crawled away to look for Tom Blake. But underneath the wagon, the man and girl were unaware of all this. They had each other — and that was all that mattered.

 

THE END