Frontier Courtship Part 20

Watching Connell disappear into the dimness of the desert night, Faith thought about his parting remarks. His ears might be smaller, but he was every bit as stubborn as her old mule. And strong. And just as faithful.

"You're all I have left. I love you both," she whispered with soul-deep honesty. "More than anything else in the world."

Embarra.s.sed by the admission even though no one had heard her make it, Faith blushed. She didn't know how the plainsman would feel about being compared to a mule, especially when that comparison gave equal favor to both man and beast, but she'd meant it to be the highest of compliments. There wasn't a single person on the whole of the earth that she trusted the way she trusted Connell McClain. Nor was there another mount besides Ben to whom she wanted to a.s.sign her future well-being. Now that she had him back, n.o.body was ever going to wrest him away from her again.

A stick broke beneath a footstep somewhere in the dark. Faith started. Crouched. Picked up her father's Colt pistol and held it at the ready.

"Don't shoot," a man's voice called. "It's us."

Breath left Faith is a whoosh of relief. "Connell. You found Irene?"

He came closer. "Yes."

"Is everything all right?" The expression on his face was muted by the night, yet Faith thought he looked disturbed, maybe even angry.

"Everything's fine. There wasn't any watering hole close by after all. We'll take the horses and Ben to find food and water at daybreak. They'll be fine until then."

He glanced at Irene, who was following with their mounts, and told her, "I left Rojo a ways out. I'll go get him. You stay here with Faith." There was a long pause in which nothing else was said before Connell added tersely, "Is that understood?"

Irene merely nodded. As soon as he'd walked away, she went to work hobbling the other horses by tying short strips of rawhide between their front legs. Trussed up that way, they could take short steps to graze yet were prevented from running off.

"I'll leave Ben for you to take care of," she said, straightening and facing Faith. "Unless you're sure he'll stick close no matter what, I'd tie him, too."

"He won't leave me," Faith a.s.sured her.

"If you say so."

"I do. I know him very well. We grew up together."

Irene made a soft sound of disgust. "Believe me, just because you've known him all your life doesn't mean he won't start to think and act differently if his circ.u.mstances change."

"Are we still talking about me and my mule?" Faith asked. "Or have we started talking about you and Connell?"

Irene retained her stoic Cheyenne expression. "If you want your mule to be here in the morning, Miss Beal, you'll take my advice and tie him."

"You didn't answer me. I've been getting the feeling that something's wrong ever since we left Black Kettle's camp. What is it? Why is Connell acting so funny?"

With a cynical laugh, Irene said, "You don't have much experience with men, do you?"

"Of course I do. I had a father. And I managed to outwit Ramsey Tucker."

"Only because Connell intervened. If he hadn't, you'd be long dead by now."

Faith had to admit she was right. "Okay. So I had help. You did, too. Ab was supposed to kill you, you know, but he went against orders and sold you, instead."

"I know."

Sadness colored the other woman's countenance, making her shoulders slump, her voice sound tremulous. It was the first time since Faith had met her that Irene had shown any sign of being downhearted.

"Then cheer up. You should be giving thanks to our Heavenly Father. We both should," Faith urged. "We were spared. There must be some good reason, some special deed we were meant to accomplish, perhaps even together." She was warming to her subject as more and more truth dawned. "Think of it. You and I were strangers until a benevolent Providence united us in the midst of all our troubles. Isn't that wonderful?"

Irene looked askance at her. "Wonderful? Do you actually believe that what's happened to you-or to me-is good? good?"

"It can be. If our faith is strong enough we can triumph over any evil. You'll see. Everything will turn out for the best. All we have to do is keep our eyes on the Good Lord and our minds open to His plans and we'll persevere."

"Life isn't that simple." Irene stared off into the distant emptiness, her vision unfocused. "And this isn't the Garden of Eden."

"I suppose not." Faith sighed. "There are times when I've thought it was beautiful enough to be, though. This country has a stark, unique beauty. Sunsets out here seem to last forever. When the sky turns all pink and orange, it takes my breath away."

At that, Irene nodded agreement. "Mine, too. In the spring, the Cheyenne and Arapaho hold a dance to honor the sun. I was traded to Black Kettle during one of those celebrations."

"That must have been awful."

"If Walks With Tree hadn't already befriended me by then it would have been worse." She smiled slightly at the memory of the kind old man. "He was very quick-witted. I suspect he realized right away that my so-called magic was a trick, but he never hinted that I might be faking."

"Because he wanted a share of your glory."

"Not entirely. Now that I've had time to think about it, I know he could have gained just as much prestige by revealing my charade. The fact that he chose not to, leads me to believe he genuinely admired me, as I did him."

"I still can't imagine having to live that way every day, among all those Indians, with none of your own people to talk to or confide in."

"Funny," Irene answered. "I'm having trouble imagining living anywhere else."

Chapter Eighteen.

Faith had decided to keep Irene's confession to herself, though she had mulled it over a lot during the two days they'd rested while Ben and the horses gained strength.

By the third day, when Connell gave the order to resume their westward trek, Faith had made up her mind that his increasingly dour mood must have its roots in Irene's melancholy. It was more comforting to blame his bad disposition on the other woman than it was to entertain the notion that she, herself, might be a contributing factor.

Faith kept remembering Irene's words as their party rode toward the Sierras. It had seemed strange to hear anyone say they preferred to live with Indians rather than return to life among the settlers. Still, Faith supposed that was a natural result of a long stay in the Cheyenne camp.

In her mind, Faith likened Irene to a formerly tame riding horse that had become accustomed to living with a herd of wild mustangs. That same horse could be recaptured, and even broken to ride again. But it was never the same. No matter how well it was treated or how obedient it seemed, it always kept looking into the distance as if wis.h.i.+ng for the freedom to rejoin its former companions.

People, of course, had sense enough to realize they couldn't do that. Irene knew where she belonged. Though she might pine for the life she'd temporarily led among the Cheyenne, she'd realize she could never go back.

Truth to tell, neither could Faith, though she had often wished she could return to Ohio and resume her life exactly as it had been before her mother's untimely death. That was an impossibility, of course. Pretty daydreams couldn't wipe away harsh reality. Right now, her only concern had to be surviving the remainder of her trek without succ.u.mbing to thirst, hunger, accident or Indian attack. Judging by the signs of failure littering the trail, success had been the exception rather than the rule for far too many preceding travelers.

Worried, she urged Ben ahead and reined him in next to Connell. "This is awful. Just look at what people had to throw away. And their poor animals. Some of their bodies are still in harness, like they're lying right where they fell." She covered her nose. "What a terrible stench."

"I told you this was going to be a hard crossing. If we hadn't let our horses rest back at the meadows, they'd be giving out by now, too."

"I can see why you didn't want to travel during the worst heat of the day." She drew the back of her wrist across her damp brow. "It's beastly out here."

Connell frowned. "You're right. You need a hat. I should have thought of that."

"I'll be fine. I'm just not used to such bright sun, that's all. I know it must be my imagination, but it feels more intense out here than it ever did back home."

"You're not imagining anything. Part of the heat comes from the reflection off the ground. With no gra.s.s or trees to break it up, it bounces back and cooks us from all sides, like venison on a spit."

Talk of the oppressive heat was making Faith a bit woozy. She did her best to keep any unsteadiness from showing but saw Connell eye her with a frown.

He held up one hand and announced, "This is far enough for now. We'll stop here and rest. Drink a little water and give some to your mule while Irene and I see to the horses. Don't let him have too much. We don't want to waste it."

"How much farther to the Carson River?"

"Far enough."

Faith swung her right leg over Ben's rump, leaned against the side of the saddle and kicked loose with the opposite foot so she could slide the rest of the way to the ground. Landing, she hid the unsteadiness of her aching legs by keeping one hand on the saddle horn and leaning on the mule for support. To her relief, Connell was concentrating on the horses and didn't appear to notice.

What she would have liked to do was pour the contents of her canteen over her head and revel in the coolness. The mere thought sent a s.h.i.+ver skittering along her spine. What a delicious idea-and one she would someday carry out. Now, however, was not the time to indulge a silly fantasy. Not when every drop of water could mean the difference between life and death.

She raised the canteen and put it to her parched lips. One, two, three swallows of precious liquid slipped over her tongue and down her dusty throat like quicksilver, yet they felt more like rocks when they landed in her stomach. Clearly, that was enough for now. It was Ben's turn.

The moment Faith cupped her hand to make a watering trough she realized how inefficient that method was. Ben was sure to spill most of his water the minute he thrust his big muzzle into her palm and tried to drink.

Noting that Connell had inverted his leather hat and was using it to water the horses, Faith knew she could wait her turn and do the same. She would have, too, except that Connell had a.s.signed her only one ch.o.r.e and she was determined to complete it on her own.

Casting around for a suitable receptacle, she scanned nearby necessities left behind by previous travelers. Surely there would be something there in which she could offer Ben water.

Vultures circled above them, mute testimony to the seriousness of her task. Ben might be terribly thirsty before this trip was over-they all might be-but as long as Faith had water to give him he'd survive. She'd see to it.

She kept a tight hold on the mule's reins and led him toward a wagon that lay about fifty feet off the main trail. The rig looked as if its owners had merely climbed down and walked away after the axle had broken. Except for fraying of the loose flap that served as a door, the canvas covering was intact. Roofs of many other wagons were either gone or badly damaged. Therefore, Faith reasoned, this rig had been deserted recently and was more likely to contain whatever she needed.

The cautious mule balked at the odor of death all around them. Faith calmed him with her voice. "It's okay, boy. That's it. Come on."

She continued to grasp the makes.h.i.+ft rope reins as she stood on tiptoe to peer into the abandoned wagon. The interior was as pristine as the outside. If she didn't know better, she'd guess the family had merely stepped away briefly and would soon return. They wouldn't, of course. No one took an extended respite in the midst of a desert. Which meant that whatever they'd left behind belonged to whoever came along later and needed it.

Faith spied a deep iron pot, heavy but perfect for her needs. It banged against the back of the wagon and startled Ben as she dragged it out by its looped handle.

"Easy, boy, easy. How about some water? Would you like that?"

She carefully poured precious water into the pot and waited in the shadow of the wagon while the old mule dipped his nose and drank.

Heat s.h.i.+mmered off the bare ground, making even that small patch of shade nearly unbearable. Faith sagged against the tilted tailboards. How any animal-or human, for that matter-could stand this unrelenting torture for long was beyond her. It was a wonder that any survived the crossing.

Connell joined her. He was alone. "Ben okay?"

"Fine, considering."

"How about you?"

Faith huffed, then smiled. "Fine, considering."

"Good. We won't be able to rest long so make the most of it." He eyed the abandoned wagon behind her. "Did you find yourself a hat?"

"I never thought about it. I was looking for a pot to water Ben. That's as far as I got."

"I'll see what I can do," Connell said, pa.s.sing her and clambering easily into the leaning wagon bed. "I'd like to find regular clothes for you and Irene, too. Time will come when it'll be a lot better if you look like city women instead of refugees from an Indian camp."

"We are refugees from an Indian camp."

"My point, exactly. Once we reach California, it'll be easier to find your father if we don't have to keep explaining who and what we are."

"When you figure out who I am, let me know, will you? I'm sure not the same person I was a few months ago."

Connell's voice was muted inside the wagon, but Faith thought she heard him mention Irene.

She peered in at him. "What?"

"I said, I think Irene feels the same way. Crossing the plains changes everyone, and the two of you have really been through some harsh trials. You're bound to have grown in the process."

"Or dropped dead," Faith said cynically. She stared at the distant purple-tinged hills. "I didn't know there was such a G.o.dforsaken place in the entire world."

"It isn't the place that's to blame," Connell explained. "Giving up is in the heart. The folks who pa.s.s through here bring their faith, or lack of it, with them. I'm just coming to understand that. Bad times can push a man either way. In my case, I guess I'd turned away from the G.o.d of the Bible long before Little Rabbit Woman was killed."

"Yet you blamed Him?"

"Exactly."

"That's foolish."

"I know that now." Connell poked his head out of the wagon and squashed a straw farmer's hat on her head, then pa.s.sed her a bundle of colorful fabric. "Here. I couldn't find a bonnet so that hat'll have to do till we come across something better. Next time we camp, you and Irene can fight over which dresses you want."

"Fight? Why should we fight?"

"Beats me," he said, climbing down. "Irene's been acting about as agreeable as a badger with a toothache. That's not like her. I about fell over when I came back to camp after we'd gotten Ben. I couldn't believe she'd gone off and left you there by yourself."

"That's not my fault."

"Nope. But I never have figured you out, either, so I'm not about to get myself between you two, no matter what else happens."

"Meaning?" Faith was scowling.

"Meaning, I'll still guide you to California, just like I promised, but you'll have to make your own peace with Miss Irene Wellman. I'd have figured she was just jealous of you if she wasn't acting like she hates everybody, me included."

This was the opportunity Faith had been waiting for, praying for. Nervous, she licked her parched lips. "Maybe...maybe she doesn't want to go back to her old life."

One eyebrow arched and Connell snorted his disbelief. "Why would you think that?"

"Because she seemed to be happy with the Cheyenne, for one thing. She did have a beau."

"Only because she thought I was dead," he argued. "Once she found out I was alive, she told Red Deer about our old arrangement."