Wayward Wind, page 4
“I’m obliged. I’ve got me some unfinished business with the Clayhill men.”
“You’re jumping back into it, huh?” Cooper sat down with his back to the boulder. “Did you file on your place, or were you just squatting on it?”
“I was afixin’ to file. I was breakin’ in some horses to sell to raise money for winter supplies. Clayhill moved that bunch up to hold the range ’n when I didn’t scare off they stole my horses. I got ’em back with the help of a friend a mine. They come alookin’ for me and jumped me last night. You know the rest.”
“Did they get the horses?”
“No, by Gawd!” He paused and when Cooper didn’t comment, he said, “They’ll not find ’em.” There was a long silence. “That land grabbin’ old buzzard’s not arunnin’ me off that land. I’ve had me all the hunger, thirst ’n cold of hard winters, dry range ’n long dusty drives to last a lifetime. I’m ahavin’ my own hearth fire, grass with cattle on it, ’n horses alookin’ over my gate bars. I got me a place picked out to light on ’n I’m astayin’, by Gawd!”
“They might bury you there.”
“I’ll take some of ’em with me.”
“When the old man sinks his teeth, he doesn’t let go.”
“I heared tell of one time he did. The talk is he had a son by a Injun woman ’n run out on ’em. The kid was raised back East by some of the old man’s folks ’n when he come into some money he come back ’n bought up everything to the south of ole Clayhill, closin’ him in. That’s why he’s spreadin’ west. It’s said he hates that Injun like a polecat ’cause he bested him, and tried to get him hung on a trumped-up charge. That ole man must be meaner than a rattler.”
There was another long silence, then Cooper said dryly, “Compared to that old man a rattler’s a… fishing worm.” He pulled down his hat, folded his arms, and lowered his chin to his chest.
Cooper woke at first light. He glanced over to see Griffin leaning against his saddle, his teeth worrying a strip of dry meat.
“How ya feel ’bout jerky for breakfast?”
“I’d rather have a mess of eggs.”
“So would I.”
Cooper grinned and held out his hand. Griffin tossed him a leather pouch and he was able to see the face of the man he had rescued for the first time in the light of day. He was younger than Cooper judged him to be from the way he talked last night. He estimated his age as not far from the top side of twenty. Griffin’s hair was brown and curly, his whiskers a shade lighter. There was a tough, confident look in his face that was boyish, yet old—and something about the long slender fingers reminded Cooper of a gunfighter. There was vigilance in his alert eyes that looked straight into Cooper’s and refused to let him stare him down. His tied-down holster, the loop in his belt for a knife, the good leather boots and saddle, all told Cooper the boy had been “up the trail and over the mountain.”
“You a wanted man?” Cooper’s blunt question didn’t seem to faze his companion.
“Why do ya ask?”
“I’ll keep Clayhill’s men off your back till you can fend for yourself, but I’ll not stand against a marshal or a ranger.”
“No worry ’bout that. I was wanted once, but not now. I served my time in Yuma.”
“Been out long?”
“Three years.”
Cooper looked him straight in the eye. He felt he had the right to know something about a man who was going to share his camp for a week or more. He stuck a strip of the dried meat in his mouth and tossed the pouch back to Griffin.
“What were you in for?”
“Killin’ a man,” he said without hesitation, and a look of intense hatred came over the boyish features. “He beat my ma to death with a shovel ’n I killed the no-good sonofabitch. I was thirteen ’n spent five years for it, but I’d a done it again. Anythin’ else ya awantin’ to know?” His voice grated coldly, tensely. He seemed to draw back into himself, got to his feet, and picked up his saddle.
“No. I was trying to find out if it’d be foolhardy to turn my back on you. I slept with one eye open last night.”
“Both a mine was—ya got the guns.”
Cooper threw back his head and laughed. “I never thought of it from your side of the fence.” He got to his feet, pounded the dust from his hat by slapping it against his thigh before he put it on his head. “We’ve got to backtrack to pick up the mare’s trail. I hope to hell whoever’s got her won’t ride her to death.” He stood, swatted Roscoe on the rump, and threw the saddle up onto his back.
At the riverbank they picked up the mare’s trail and followed it south. It crossed a grassy meadow and climbed to circle a hill, and then veered downward and turned back northeast. This puzzled Cooper. They were doubling back to the west side of the large high bluff that rose above the meadow where he had hobbled the mare.
Griffin had a sharp eye and they were able to travel at a faster rate of speed than Cooper had traveled while tracking the previous day. They stopped one time to examine a track and it was Griffin’s opinion that it had been made the night before. This told them the rider knew the territory and was anxious to reach a destination.
In the middle of the afternoon they came down onto a bench and found a dim two-wheel track going through the aspens and cottonwoods. They followed it to a narrow stream of rushing water where it turned and ran parallel with the creek. In the distance they saw a long narrow meadow and an old corral overgrown with grass. As they approached they saw that it was empty, the bars down. However, beyond the corral, not fifty or sixty yards from the creek, was a cabin, and behind that a pole corral and a lean-to shed backed up to the bluff. There was no sign of the mare or of any livestock. The place looked deserted except for a thin plume of smoke coming from the chimney.
Cooper and Griffin withdrew to the cover of the trees, dismounted and tied their horses to a tree stump so they could crop the grass.
“This seems to be the end of the line,” Cooper said, and adjusted his gunbelt. “If my horse is here, I’m getting her and kicking the shit out of whoever took her.” He studied the scene. It behooved a man to understand what he was getting into. The cabin was old and patched with cut boards, more than likely taken from a wagon bed. The grass around it hadn’t been tramped down, which meant it hadn’t been occupied for long. There were no horses in the corral, and that had to mean they were hidden somewhere nearby.
“We can get pretty close without ’em spottin’ us if’n we stay in the trees till we reach that high grass, then belly it up as far as the woodpile,” Griffin said after he’d studied the layout carefully.
“You don’t have to stick your neck out. Stay with the horses, I’ll go in by myself.”
“I wouldn’t miss it. I always did wanna see the shit kicked outta somebody. ’Sides that, I want his hat.”
Cooper grinned back over his shoulder and led off through the trees. They came out closer to the house than the shed, and ran in a crouched position to reach the high grass and prickly bushes that extended to the downed dead limbs that made up the woodpile. When they reached it, Cooper sat back on his heels, took off his hat, and wiped the sweat from his face with the sleeve of his shirt.
“Damn quiet,” he said when Griffin squatted down beside him.
“Yeah. I think there’s a woman in there.”
Cooper lifted an eyebrow in query. “What makes you think that?”
“Two things. Whoever chopped on that limb took a lot of light swings at it, and that ax ain’t sunk in that stump more’n a inch or two. ’Sides that, all the light stuff’s been taken and the heavy’s stuff’s still here.”
“Could be somebody’s been laid up a spell.”
“Could be, but if’n it is he’s wearin’ women’s drawers. There’s a pair adryin’ on a bush on the other side of the cabin. I saw ’em when we come through the grass.” There was a quirk of humor at the corners of the young nester’s mouth when he spoke, and Cooper looked at him with new appreciation.
“Goddamn! You don’t miss much.”
“I didn’t stay alive for five years in Yuma by shuttin’ my eyes and sittin’ on my hands.”
“Well even if a woman’s in there, she sure as hell isn’t out here by herself. What worries me is that I don’t see my mare.”
“They might a hid ’er up in the hills.”
“The tracks lead here. They brought her here first. I figure he must have climbed the bluff, walked over the mountain and saw her grazing below. He couldn’t bring her back down the bluff and had to take the long way around.”
Cooper’s eyes were fastened on the cabin. Sunlight gleamed on water being thrown out the door from a pan. There was the ring of a tin bucket hitting stone and the murmur of voices. The sounds were too far away for them to catch the words, but from the tone, it seemed the woman was pleading.
Griffin heard it too, and his eyes questioned Cooper’s.
At that instant a scream of agony tore through the silence. It was so startling that it drew the two men to their feet.
“He’s killin’ ’er!” Griffin hissed.
“Godamighty—”
“What ya agoin’ to do?”
Another scream split the silence.
“I’m going to kill me a varmint,” Cooper spoke as his long legs were eating up the distance to the cabin.
Chapter
Three
Lorna knelt down on the makeshift bed of straw and grass and smoothed the dark curls back from Bonnie’s pale, damp face, trying not to let the concern she was feeling show in hers.
“I’m scared, Lorna. It hurts so bad—”
“I know, Bonnie. I’ve made ready the best I know how. I’ve got a clean knife to cut the cord and thread to tie it off. There are clean blankets to wrap the babe in and clean cloths… for you.” She wiped the sweat from the young, pain-ravaged face and fought to keep her anxiety from showing. “I’ve boiled water, too. I’ve never midwifed, but it’s been done for thousands of years so I don’t guess there’s much to it,” she said in an attempt to lighten her own fear as well as Bonnie’s. “We’ll handle it just fine, and we’ll have a babe to fuss over.”
“I’ve seen a few birthin’s when I was little and the babe just popped right out.” Bonnie paused and gasped; her thin, childlike body with its large humped belly writhed in agony. “Somethin’s not right, Lorna! It’s… killin’ me… The Lord’s payin’ me back,” she gasped.
“Don’t talk like that. The Lord doesn’t pay people back for something that wasn’t their fault.”
“You’ve been better to me ’n anybody—Oh! Oh, Lorna! Ahhh—”
“I should’ve found a woman to help us.” A frown wrinkled the smooth skin of her forehead. “But I was afraid Brice would find out where you are. When I saw that loose horse, I was sure someone had followed me here.”
“Maybe Brice ain’t alookin’ for me no more,” Bonnie said hopefully.
“Ha!” Lorna snorted. “I’d not chance it. The last time I sneaked home I heard Frank talking to Hollis. They’re still looking for you. Brice isn’t going to give up something he thinks is his,” Lorna insisted. “And do you know what that Hollis said? He said my pa told him he could court me. That filthy, watery-eyed, pea-brained coyote! I’d not spit on him if he was on fire! Besides, I don’t think Pa told him any such thing. Do you think you can walk? Would it help?” Lorna inquired, giving her a fixed earnest gaze.
Bonnie rolled to her knees and hung there gasping. “I’ll try if you want me to.”
Lorna helped her to her feet and put her arm around her. Oh, God, she prayed silently, be merciful to her. She’s had nothing but hell all her life. “Put your arm across my shoulders.” Lorna’s thick, black hair was tied with a string at the nape of her neck and hung down her back to her hips. She pulled it forward to drape down over her breast and Bonnie’s thin arm reached out for support.
“Ohh… ohh…” Consumed by pain, the girl planted both bare feet on the hard earthen floor. The color drained from her face leaving it doughy except for great purple circles under her eyes. Sweat stood in beads on her forehead, collected and streamed down her face. Her eyes were closed and her hand clutched Lorna’s shoulder. She clenched her lower lip between her teeth in an attempt to hold back the low, moaning sound coming from her throat.
“Come on, Bonnie. Walk. I heard tell it was the thing to do.”
Like a wounded animal, Bonnie swung her head from side to side, but obediently moved her feet. They lurched to the end of the room, turned and retraced their steps. Anger swelled in Lorna until she thought she would burst with it. If she ever set eyes on Brice Fulton again, she vowed, she’d kill him! Fear crowded thoughts of revenge from her mind as another pain struck Bonnie. It made her go rigid and brought whimpering sounds bubbling from her lips.
“Ahh… Ohh… I can’t stand it! Please! Please, let me get down on the pallet. Lorna—”
Lorna eased her down on the straw bed and searched her memory for any scrap of information she had ever heard about childbirth. During the night, while she was away, water tinged with blood had gushed from Bonnie, and pain had been tearing through her since that time. They had thought the baby wouldn’t come for another month and had been sure Volney would find a place for Bonnie and be back for her by that time.
Lorna tried to not show her fear when she placed the pads beneath Bonnie’s hips. Blood had soaked her gown and was running down her legs. Women died in childbirth. It was a common thing. Damn the entire male race, she fumed silently. Their only thought was for the pleasure of the moment. They used a woman the same as they used a horse—rode her to death and when they killed her, they just got another. No man would use her like this, she vowed. Somewhere in this world there would be a man for her like Grandpa Light.
Bonnie lifted her knees and planted her feet on the mattress. Her thin, blue-veined hand flattened on her hard, extended belly. Thoughts came to her clearly and she spoke them aloud.
“I’m going to die, killed by this poor babe. Oh, babe, don’t kill me! I’d never sell you to a drunken lout for a broken-down wagon, a used-up horse, and a few dollars to buy whiskey. It’ll make no matter to me if you don’t have ever’-thin’ other folks have. On the inside you’ll be the same as anybody else. But, oh, I’m not ready to die, yet—I’ve just began to live! For the first time in my life I’ve got someone who don’t make me feel ashamed because—”
A sudden pain rocked through her with such a terrific force that it blocked everything from her mind. She was unaware of the piercing scream that burst from her throat, bounced into every corner of the small room and beyond.
Lorna grabbed her forearms and tried to hold her while she bucked on the bed. Bonnie’s eyes were wild as she stared unseeing into her face as the hurting went on and on. The screams from her wide open mouth suddenly subsided and she fell weakly back, her head rolling to the side. Lorna released her arms and looked up.
It was then that she realized the room had darkened because a man filled the doorway. He was a stranger, and big. His hat was pulled low over his forehead and he had a gun in his hand. These things registered in Lorna’s mind the instant fear brought her to her feet. She leaped to the corner, grabbed the rifle and turned, barrel out, her finger on the trigger.
“What do you want here?” she demanded. “Get out!” She looked like a small cornered cat.
Shock held Cooper motionless for a minute. Then he holstered his gun. “Sorry, ma’am.” He almost choked on the words and began to back out the door.
Another scream filled the room.
“Lor… na! Oh, Lor… na! Help me!”
Lorna glanced at Bonnie’s writhing body and then back at the man in the doorway. She was torn between going to Bonnie and keeping the man at bay with the rifle. Another man, this one hatless, stood there too. She held the rifle in front of her and inched over to stand beside the pallet where Bonnie lay. The girl’s head was thrown back, her legs flopped, and blood spilled onto the white sheets.
The fair-haired man held his hands, palms out, in front of him. “We’re sorry we frightened you, ma’am. Do what you have to do. We’ll not hurt you.”
“Get out!”
Bonnie screamed again.
“We’ll not hurt you, ma’am,” he said again.
“Get out!” Lorna made jabbing gestures with the rifle.
“We’ll go. But for God’s sake, put the rifle down and help her!” The men started backing from the doorway.
The noises coming from the girl on the pallet were more like those of a helpless dying animal than that of a human being.
“I don’t know what else to do!” The words broke from Lorna in desperation. She fell to her knees beside Bonnie, still keeping the end of the rifle pointed toward the doorway. “It’s killing her and I don’t know what to do!” It was an anguished cry. “I’ve never helped birth a babe!”
Ignoring the rifle the girl clutched in her hands, Cooper stepped into the room, tossed his hat on the floor and went to kneel down beside the girl. He’d helped to bring many a foal into the world, but had never even been near a woman when she was birthing. There was no room in his mind for thoughts of the stolen mare. The girl had lost a lot of blood. He was sure this wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.
“How long has she been like this?”
“It started during the night.”
Bonnie opened her eyes and her gaze shifted from the face of the blond man bending over her to the face of the second man who moved in and gently lifted her knees so that her feet were flat on the pallet. She used his dark features as a point on which to focus her mind while her muscles knotted and pulled as if tearing her apart. The pain rolled over her in mighty waves, leaving her gasping and the world reeling.
“I helped with a birthin’ like this once down on the Santa Fe,” Griffin said quietly to Lorna. “We’ve got to do somethin’ quick or she’ll die.” He moved confidently in behind Bonnie and lifted her to a sitting position. “Get in front of her,” he said to Cooper. “Get ’er up on her knees and hold her upright with your hands under her arms. Ma’am,” he spoke to Lorna without looking at her, “strip this thing off her.”
