11

So do we go visit that ranch and see if they will sell us some supplies?” Cassie looked from one stoic face to the other. Micah shrugged and Chief seemed to be thinking on it. She sipped from her coffee cup. What if they could buy eggs and butter, grain for the horses, meat other than rabbit? Surely they would be coming to a town where they could buy a real ax—or maybe two. She thought of the roll of money Jason had handed her. She had no idea how many fifties it contained but that’s what was on top. If it were all fifties, they would buy two axes for sure.

“Might be better for one to go, not take the wagon and animals down there.”

Cassie tried to understand if he was warning her about something. Better to ask than be caught dumb. “Why not all of us?”

Chief nodded to the wagon. “People might think Gypsies. Don’t like Gypsies. Not Indians either.”

“Why?” She knew he didn’t like a lot of questions, but she needed to understand.

“Gypsies steal. They think Indians do too.”

“So people think all Gypsies are thieves? And Indians?”

He nodded.

Cassie heaved a sigh. “So I should go.”

“Not by yourself.”

She almost asked why but hesitated. Think like Chief would think. The silence stretched. “I’d take a gun.” She looked at Micah, who was doing the same thing as Chief, studying his clasped hands, arms resting on his thighs.

Chief shook his head. “Take Micah with you.”

Cassie rolled her eyes. “Oh, all right. But let’s get going.”

Within minutes he’d saddled the horses and was waiting for her. As they headed west, she looked for the chimney smoke again. Nothing. They loped under the entrance arch and down a trail with two tracks for wagon wheels.

Maybe they’d be able to buy a loaf of bread, cookies, ham, or some other meat. She’d not realized how the thought of seeing a woman’s smiling face had branded itself on her mind, but the picture of a woman in her kitchen wouldn’t leave her.

They’d been riding for more than half an hour when they finally crested a hill and saw ranch buildings laid out in a shallow valley. There was no visible smoke, although cattle were grazing on the valley floor. Haystacks waited to winter feed, and three horses in a corral whinnied when they saw them coming. They reined in the horses at the hitching rail in front of a long, low log house. Micah shrugged when she looked at him.

She dismounted, climbed the three steps to the porch, and knocked at the door. Nothing. No answer, no sound from inside. She knocked again, the sound thudding around her. Disappointment doused her like cold water. There would be no fresh food, no grain for the horses, and no friendly voice. She left the porch and remounted without saying a word. After they’d loped beyond the hill she turned to Micah. “Sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“We’ll find a town soon.” Knowing that she’d not given the trip south any thought, let alone planning, made her wonder about her sanity. But then, she’d been pushed into this, ordered actually. If her father were running the trip, the important things of life, like food and a comfortable place to sleep and feed for the animals, would have been taken care of. Jason let her down. That was it, pure and simple. Some family friend he’d turned out to be. All he had worried about was getting himself on the next train before the men arrived to confiscate everything. And now they were traveling south through land that was so sparsely populated that they’d not seen a single traveler other than the injured Indian woman. She couldn’t think of a name bad enough to call him. Sparks of anger made her tighten her jaw.

Wind Dancer tossed his head, then shook it.

“Sorry, fella.” She forced her hands to relax on the reins and her legs against his sides to do the same. When they arrived back at the wagon, Chief was rounding up the livestock and the horses were already hitched to the wagon.

After letting Wind Dancer loose, she returned to her vigil in the wagon. What a waste of precious time. She picked up the vest to finish stitching it back together.

That evening no one mentioned the waste of time the ride to the ranch had been, and Cassie kept to her duties without comment. Spooning water into their patient didn’t seem to be helping, but other than keeping her clean and dry, she didn’t know what to do. With the men sleeping under the wagon again, Cassie enjoyed her hammock.

The next evening when Chief called a halt for the day, he stuck his head in the wagon.

“She seems to be waking up,” Cassie told him.

Chief stared from the woman to Cassie.

“She’s restless and muttering again.”

The woman had been unconscious for two days. Three days if they included the day they found her. Since that brief time when Chief had sat with her, she’d said nothing.

“Any words?”

Cassie shrugged. “If there are, I don’t understand the language.”

Chief nodded and let down the steps for Cassie to come out.

An hour later she gave the bean pot a stir. They’d cooked beans again and then added the latest rabbit after it sizzled over the fire. Snaring only one wasn’t much to feed three people, let alone four. And two dogs. Cassie had skimmed the juice off the mixture and spooned that into the woman’s mouth. She got at least a little nourishment. So far she’d not spit anything out. But the woman was wasting away before their eyes. What if she never really woke up? But surely the sounds she was making indicated a recovery—of sorts.

The thought made Cassie fight back tears. Even though she had no idea who the woman was or what had happened to her, she’d come to care for her. She’d tried talking to her, but there was no response. Not to singing either. The muttering had stopped again too. “What if we bring her dog in here?”

“Indians don’t make pets of dogs like white man. When hungry, dog is good.”

Cassie closed her eyes. Yes, she’d heard that the Indians ate dog, but one would have to be starving to do that. But people often ate horse meat too. She shook her head. She’d better watch out for her two best friends when they got to the Pine Ridge Reservation, where Chief had lived before he joined the Wild West Show. “I’m going to bring him in.”

“Won’t come.”

“I can try.” She swung the door open and, once on the ground, looked for the dog. There he was, right under the wagon under the bunk bed. She returned to fetch a biscuit dipped in bacon fat. Surely no dog would be able to resist that treat.

She held it out. “Come on. You can have it.” He reached out, nostrils quivering. She backed up. He followed a couple of steps, nose quivering all the while. She backed up again. He lunged, jaws snapping. She fell back on her rear and yelped. He grabbed the biscuit and retreated back under the wagon, growling while he devoured it. Cassie checked her hand. He’d not even left a scratch, but she was still shaking.

Chief stood on the steps, his sober face fighting a smile.

“Go ahead and laugh. At least I tried.” She picked herself up and dusted the back of her pants. “You can be sure I won’t try that again.”

“Told you.”

“You told me he wouldn’t come. Well, he came all right. Where’s Othello?”

“With Micah and cattle.” Chief sat down on the step. “Need to go hunting.”

Cassie groaned. While she understood the need for more meat, the thought of killing for it made her stomach do flip-flops. “I guess. But who will stay with her?”

“She safe here. I bring up horses.”

Cassie stepped back into the wagon to get the rifles. If a deer came close enough, maybe Chief would be able to shoot it. As she started to leave, she looked over at their patient. Her eyes were open, and she was looking around. “Welcome back.”

The gaze wandered over to Cassie and stopped.

The two women studied each other without moving.

“Hello,” Cassie whispered, as if she might frighten the woman with any louder noise.

The woman nodded—barely.

“I am Cassie.” She pointed to herself.

“I Runs Like a Deer.”

The words were so soft and scratchy that Cassie could hardly understand them. “Runs Like a Deer?”

A nod.

“And you speak English?”

“Some.” She touched the board at her side.

“You have a broken leg.”

“Broken?”

Cassie nodded. “We set your leg and put a splint on it. Sorry the board is so big. That’s all we had.”

The woman stared at her, making Cassie wonder if she understood.

“Splint?”

“To keep the break from getting worse.”

The woman asked something, but Cassie didn’t understand her, so she shrugged.

“Can walk?”

“Not yet, but one day.”

“One day?”

“Someday.”

“Oh.” Runs Like a Deer closed her eyes, slowly rolling her head from side to side.

Cassie couldn’t figure out how to tell her where the break was. With the size of the board she probably thought her entire leg was smashed, instead of just her shinbone.

“Can I get you something to eat?”

“Ready?” Chief called from outside.

Cassie opened the door and stuck her head out. “She woke up. Her name is Runs Like a Deer, and she speaks some English.”

Chief shook his head. “No more Runs Like a Deer.”

“It might heal perfectly straight.”

He shrugged and shook his head.

“I need to feed her something.”

“Hunt first, before dark. She sleep.”

Cassie heaved a sigh and fetched the rifles. He was right. Now they needed more meat than ever. She shoved her rifle into the scabbard and mounted Wind Dancer. “Let’s go.”

They rode quite a ways, with Chief watching the ground intently. When he stopped and slid to the ground, she rode up to him.

“See? Deer sign.”

“So?”

“Fresh.” He studied the tracks. “Go that way.” He pointed down the hill. “Water running over there. Tie up your horse.”

Cassie did as ordered and slid shells into her rifle, handing Chief some for his. But trying to mimic the way he moved without a sound sent a pebble bouncing before her. He shook his head, a frown making words unnecessary. He pointed to a rock behind a low shrub. “You wait there. Be ready to shoot.” He pointed ahead. When she nodded, he left the trail they’d been following and swung off to the right. Since he’d explained his method of scaring up the deer for her to shoot, she understood what he wanted. But it still meant she would have to kill one of the beautiful animals. Or maim it. The thought made her choke.

“You have to hit it,” she told herself. “This could be life or death.” She positioned her rifle and made herself comfortable on the rock. Chief had disappeared. A hawk screed high overhead. She loved the sounds of the hawks and eagles flying so free.

Never had she been on the land this long before. She’d only taken short rides sometimes after a show, to see one of the local sites, but never this close to wild things.

A movement caught her attention. She raised the rifle just as a buck broke through the thicket. She tracked his front shoulder and fired. The deer dropped as if he’d hit a wall.

Cassie stood and made her way down to the fallen animal. She’d shot well. Her father would be proud, but the bloody hole in the beautiful hide made her throat choke.

Chief appeared at her side. “Good.”

She turned away, drawing in deep breaths of clean air not yet tainted by the smell of blood.

“Now, cut his throat so he can bleed.” He handed her his knife.

She shook her head, her hands, whispering, “No, no. I can’t.” Then she turned and retched into the brush.

Chief muttered. She could hear him doing something but kept herself from looking. She’d shot that beautiful creature. Surely that should be enough. But when she heard Chief grunt, she turned back and helped him hoist the carcass onto the rump of his horse and tie it to the back of the saddle. She carefully kept her focus away from the pile of entrails left behind.

“You okay?”

She nodded. Surely she would be able to get used to this. After all, they had to have meat, and in order for them to eat it, it had to be killed and dressed. She understood that fact of life, but it didn’t mean she had to like it.

They rode back to camp without a word.

“The woman’s awake,” Micah said as he helped untie the deer. “Good shot.”

“Cassie shot it.”

“She did?” Micah stared at her, respect all over his face. “But . . .”

“I know. I said I wouldn’t shoot animals, but I have to get used to a different kind of life out here.” She unsaddled Wind Dancer and hobbled his front feet so he wouldn’t be able to run off. Not that she thought he would, but he was learning all about a new life too. She stepped up into the wagon and saw that her patient was sleeping again.

Cassie laid the rifles on the folded-down table and dug out her cleaning supplies. All in hand, she sat outside on the steps and set to work using the cleaning rod to clean the inside of the barrel. After hers was wiped down, she decided to clean Chief’s. Since he’d not fired it since the last cleaning, she simply wiped it down with a rag and wrapped them both in the cotton cloths she kept for that purpose and put them in the gun bag. It was dim in the wagon, so she lit the kerosene lamp and set it on the shelf, then set about lighting the stove. When the fire was devouring the kindling, she added several bigger pieces and, setting the lids back in place, picked up the pot of rabbit-and-bean stew and set it on the hottest section of the stove. She could hear a fire crackling outside too.

With all her banging around, surely the woman would be awake. She turned to the bunk to find dark eyes watching her. “Are you hungry?”

“Water.”

“That we have.” Cassie took a cup outside and filled it at the water barrel. “She’s awake, Chief. Do you want to talk with her?”

“Later.”

“What are you doing?” She walked over to the campfire to see thinly sliced venison draped on stick racks.

“Drying meat.”

“How long will that take?”

“Till morning.”

“You aren’t going to sleep?”

“Micah will take turns.” He pointed to the frying pan full of sizzling meat. “Liver.”

“Oh. Good.” She’d heard that Indians ate the livers of their kills raw. At least he was cooking it. Maybe he had already eaten his piece. The thought made her hurry back into the wagon.

After holding the cup of water for Runs Like a Deer, she stirred the pot and dished some stew into the cup. She blew on it and then, sitting on the edge of the bed, held out a spoonful. “Just a few bites so you don’t get sick.” Somewhere she had heard that bit of wisdom. But the woman drifted off to sleep before she could eat too much. So Cassie stirred the kettle again and took a bite to see how hot it was. The flavor made her smile. Rabbit was good with beans. After it was bubbling, she took the cast-iron pot outside and set it by the fire.

“Supper’s ready.”

The men each hung the last strips they had on the rack before taking the bowls as she filled them and sitting on the nearby rocks. Othello came over and sat beside her, his nose twitching at the food smells. The other dog eased out from under the wagon, well away from Othello. When Chief threw him a bone from the rabbit, he caught it and backed under the wagon again.

When she handed Othello a bone, he took it gently, his tail thumping his appreciation. Micah threw one under the wagon, and the Indian woman’s dog snatched it up. Othello gave Micah a sad look.

“You hurt his feelings.”

Micah and Chief both rolled their eyes, but Micah tossed the next bone to Othello.

When Cassie felt sufficiently full, she set her bowl down for Othello and stroked his back as he licked it clean. Chief called him and handed him one of the leg bones from the deer and threw another under the wagon.

“How far do you think we have come?”

Chief looked up at her. “Maybe eighty miles. In South Dakota now.”

“How far do we have to go to reach Deadwood?” Any small town would provide some relief from the monotony of being on the trail day after day.

“Maybe hundred thirty, hundred forty.”

“So we’re not even halfway.”

“Tomorrow we meet road from Medora heading to Deadwood. Faster then. Some towns.”

“I’d like to buy an ax. That hatchet is not good.”

“Sharpen it.”

“I did. Many times.”

Chief had taken up slicing the venison again and hanging it on the racks, pushing the already shrinking pieces closer together.

“How would we cut down logs for a house with that hatchet?”

He shrugged.

“You’d have thought Jason would have kept more supplies in his wagon.”

“Why? Not need them. He had lots of men to do the work.”

“True. He didn’t much like to get his hands dirty.”

“Lazy.”

“Well, I don’t think I’d say that.” She stared into the fire, thinking back to the show. When they were setting up or taking down, Jason always managed to be somewhere else. Oftentimes sitting in his wagon, she surmised. Often drinking. A whiff of his breath gave him away the times she’d gone looking for him. She’d learned to not do that if she didn’t want to be embarrassed. Things sure had changed after her father died.

Deciding not to spend her evening reliving sad times, she took the bowls down to the creek, scrubbed them with sand and water, and returned to the wagon. “Night.”

“You feed her?”

“I will try again.” She leaned over to pat Othello, who sat by the stairs waiting for his good-night attention. “You take care of things out here. That’s your job.” He leaned against her legs, rubbing his cheek on the pant leg and grinning up at her. “One of these days, boy, we’ll have a house or a tent again. Some place bigger than this so you can come inside too.” One more pat and she climbed the steps. The fire should be out by now, but she had left the kerosene lamp burning. What a waste of kerosene if Runs Like a Deer was still sleeping.

But she wasn’t. She stared at Cassie from the dimness of the bed.

“Can I get you something?”

“Drink.”

“I have a pitcher of water right here. Would you like a few more bites of stew?” Cassie poured water in the cup and held it for the woman. She raised her hand to say stop when she’d had enough.

“Too fast.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Want to try again?”

A knock at the door and Micah announced, “Here’s the stewpot.”

“Bring it in.”

He opened the door, handed it to her, and closed the door again, as if afraid the women were not completely dressed.

Three or four spoonfuls and again the woman signaled enough.

“They are drying venison over the fire outside,” Cassie said, hoping for some kind of conversation.

No answer. She hooked up the hammock and got ready for bed. At least she didn’t have to wear all her clothes to bed at night like during the blizzard. What could she expect from the woman who was so terribly weak? That she would talk and tell her what had happened? That would be good, but Cassie felt pretty sure that wouldn’t happen. Tomorrow Chief would have to come in and try to talk with her, if they spoke the same language. What could they do with her? Maybe there would be a doctor in one of the towns, and they could leave her with him until she healed. Acting the part of the Good Samaritan certainly had its drawbacks. How could she afford to feed one more mouth?