Sweetwater Read online

  “We’d be obliged if you’d help bury my boy. The girl can’t dig the grave and get him in it all by herself.”

  “I can do it, Granny! I’ve got it started.”

  “I’ll be glad to help.” Trell stepped from his horse. “If it’ll put your mind at ease, I’ll leave my rifle and handgun with you.”

  “It’s best you keep them.” Tears rolled unchecked down the old woman’s cheeks. “They give us two days to leave, but they got a look at Colleen when she flew at ’em, after they killed her pa. Bein’ the kind a men they be, I’m a-fearin’ they’ll be back.” Her nearly toothless mouth trembled.

  “When they come, I’ll be waitin’ for ’em!” the girl declared.

  “We was just a standin’ here … listenin’ to ’em tellin’ us we got to get off the land. Miles said he was goin’ to talk to a government man. One of ’em said, ‘I ain’t thinkin’ ya are.’ He just moved his horse up, pulled out his gun and shot him down.”

  “Pa had told us to leave the guns in the cabin so there’d not be no trouble. The dirty, low-down, belly-crawlin’ snakes!”

  “How many?”

  “Three.”

  “Had they been here before?”

  “Never laid eyes on ’em. I’ll know ’em if I see ’em again. Ya can bet yore life on it.”

  Trell dropped the reins to ground-tie his horse. “If you show me where you want him buried, I’ll get started.”

  “I started it up there … in the grove overlookin’ the river. Pa liked the … view.” The girl’s voice broke.

  “It’s a pretty place.”

  “Pa thought this the prettiest place he ever did see. He heard it was gon’ to be let out for biddin’. He wasn’t going to stay if he couldn’t get title to the land. Now he’ll be here forever.”

  “Stay here with your grandma. I’ll come back when it’s ready.”

  “We’re obliged … I guess.”

  The hand that held out the shovel was large and strong. Trell could see the girl’s face plainly now. The skin that stretched tightly over her high cheekbones was smooth and sunbrowned. There was a bitter twist to her wide, full mouth. Stormy blue eyes were bright with unshed tears. She was not what he would consider a raving beauty, but she was far from plain-looking. The hair that escaped from under the old hat was as black as midnight, and there appeared to be plenty of it. She was tall and willow-thin, but he didn’t doubt that she had a steel rod for a backbone.

  When Trell returned from the grove an hour later, he went directly to the water bucket that sat on a bench behind the house. After drinking and washing the sweat from his face, he knocked on the door.

  The girl, wearing a faded black skirt that came only to the tops of her black shoes, opened the door. A black shawl was wrapped around the upper part of her body to cover a white shirtwaist. She had tried to put her hair in order, but the unruly curls had broken away from the pins and were flattened against her tear-wet cheeks.

  “If you want, I’ll put together a box,” Trell said. “I can use the side boards on the wagon.”

  “We don’t have any nails. Pa traded them and the saw for sugar, flour and coffee.”

  “Well, in that case, I’ll line the burial hole with cedar boughs … if it’s what you want.”

  “Me and Granny would be obliged.” She stepped back and closed the door.

  The next time he came to the house, the old lady was waiting for him. Like her granddaughter she had dressed in black for the burial. She came across the yard to meet him.

  “Mister, don’t be put out ’cause Colleen’s short with ya. Murphys has got a good bit a pride. It’s been hard on the girl seein’ her pa shot down like a cur dog and hard to have to take help from a stranger.”

  “I understand. She’s got a right to be edgy. If you’re ready, ma’am, I’ll bring up the wagon.”

  When Trell saw the body of Miles Murphy, he wondered how the women had moved him into the house, much less up onto the bed. The man was huge, big-framed and heavily muscled. They had dressed him in a moth-eaten black suit; his hair and beard were combed. Trell stood back while the girl placed a tintype photograph in the hands folded on his chest. The two women gently wrapped him in a pieced quilt. When they finished, the girl looked at Trell with something like agony in her eyes and nodded.

  Staggering under the weight of the corpse, Trell managed to get it in the wagon. Before leaving the cabin, he took his rifle from the scabbard on his saddle and placed it under the seat.

  “You drive. Grandma and I will walk with Papa.”

  Trell walked the mules slowly out of the yard and toward the grove, knowing it would be hard for the elderly woman to keep up. He looked back one time to see her leaning heavily on her granddaughter’s arm.

  To Trell’s way of thinking, anyone who would shoot down an unarmed man was as low-down as a human being could get. To do it in front of the man’s womenfolk made him unfit even to be called a human being. The Indian agent who wanted Whitaker’s land had sent cold-blooded killers to do his dirty work.

  The grove was cathedral-quiet. Even the team stood noiselessly while Trell lifted the body out of the wagon and placed it in the hole where Miles Murphy would spend eternity. Trell stepped back to leave the women alone with their loved one before he filled the grave. The girl began to speak to her father.

  “You were a good papa and did your best to take care of us.” With her arm across her grandmother’s shoulder, Colleen spoke in a clear and controlled voice. “Ya loved Mama and grieved when we lost her. I hope yo’re with her now. Yo’re not to worry. Granny and I will be all right. I want ya to know, Papa, that if ever I set eyes on that low-down, dirty, son of a bitch that shot ya, I’m goin’ to walk right up and put a bullet in his head. Thank ya for what all ya taught me ’bout right and wrong. Good-bye, Papa.”

  After a moment of silence the girl began to sing in a surprisingly clear voice. It wasn’t a song Trell expected to hear, but somehow it seemed appropriate.

  “As the blackbird in the spring,

  ’Neath the willow tree, sat and piped, I heard him sing—

  Au-ra Lee, Au-ra Lee, maid with golden hair—

  Sunshine came along with thee, and swallows filled the air.”

  When she finished singing, the girl took the shovel and began to fill the grave while her grandmother watched her son’s body disappear beneath the rich dark soil. When Trell took the shovel from her hand, Colleen gave it to him willingly.

  “I suppose you think I should have sang ‘Rock of Ages’ or something like that. ‘Aura Lee’ was Papa’s favorite song. Mama’s name was Laura Lee—” Her voice broke. She turned quickly and went to the end of the wagon.

  Trell felt that nothing he would say would ease their grief, so he remained quiet. Back at the cabin, he unhitched the team and watered them. He was reluctant to leave the women alone and told them so.

  “You don’t owe us anythin’, mister. Me and Granny thank ya for what ya done.”

  “Can I help you load up?”

  “We ain’t sure what we’re goin’ to do or if we’re even goin’ to leave. If them fellers come back, I’ll shoot ’em out of their saddles.”

  “If you try it, there’s bound to be shootin’ on both sides. Do you want your granny left to bury you?” Trell knew the words were harsh, but he wanted to shock her into being sensible.

  “You think I should let it go? Let them get away with murderin’ Pa? He wouldn’t’ve if they’d a killed me.”

  “I think you should report it to the Territorial marshal.”

  “Ha! Havelshell’s got ever’thin’ and ever’body in the territory eatin’ out of his hand.”

  “You’re wrong about that. The teacher for the Indian school won’t be kowtowing to him.”

  “If he don’t, he’ll be the first man I’ve met since we come to Sweetwater that don’t lick his boots.”

  “Teacher isn’t a man. She’s a woman. I’m on my way over there to make a neighborly visit.”
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  “Yo’re right neighborly, ain’t ya?”

  “You could say so.”

  “Then ya’d better get on yore horse and get goin’. Granny and I got some thinkin’ to do.”

  “Mister, I’ll hold ya in my prayers for what ya done.” Granny Murphy held out her hand. Trell took it gently.

  “I’m glad I happened by. I’ll stop again on my way back. If you like, I’ll take you to my place until you decide what you want to do.” He looked at the tall girl, then back to the little woman. “You can’t stay here. You must know that.”

  “It ’pears to be so. We be thankin’ ya for the offer.”

  Trell mounted his horse. Colleen stood beside the door and never lifted a hand to wave when he rode away. He hoped the girl would come to her senses and not go looking for trouble. When he stopped on his way back, he would invite them again to go to his place until they decided what they wanted to do.

  He put his horse into a fast trot. The sun showed an hour or so past noon. He certainly hadn’t planned on burying a man when he left home this morning. He wished he’d thought to bring the Murphys and the teacher a couple of smoked turkeys or a haunch of deer meat. It would have been better than paying a call empty-handed.

  It was less than an hour’s ride to the Stoney Creek Ranch. Trell figured to pay his respects and return to the Murphy’s. He had an uneasy feeling that the men that killed the father might return for the daughter.

  “You stupid son of a bitch! You want the Territorial marshal down on us?”

  The man who spoke swiveled around in his chair. Cold blue eyes beneath bushy white brows glared at the Indian agent.

  “I never told them to kill him. I said scare him and if he didn’t move, burn him out.” Havelshell leaned against the doorjamb. He had not been invited to sit down.

  “I don’t like bringing in uncontrollable gunmen.”

  “Hartog said the man drew on him. What was he to do?”

  “It doesn’t stand to reason that a lone man would draw on three armed men unless he had no choice.”

  “I wasn’t there. I only know what they told me,” Havelshell replied.

  “I hear that Hartog is pretty mean with women. Tell him not to try any of that rough stuff around here. I don’t want to get people riled up. There is nothing that draws people closer together than to be against someone. It’s already known that Hartog’s your man. What he does is reflected on you.”

  “I’ve already talked to him about that.” Not that it’ll do any good. The horny bastard will do as he pleases.

  “If that land comes up for auction, the squatters on it will be given compensation for the improvements they’ve made. I went to considerable trouble to get you appointed Indian agent as soon as we learned of Walt’s will. I want those squatters off without any trouble that will draw attention. What about the teacher? Anyone been out to see how she’s doing?”

  “I plan to let her stew out there for a week or two. I want to give her time to be good and sick of it. I’ve put out the word that no one’s to give her a hand, no matter what she offers to pay. She’ll be gone by the first of the year. She’ll not stay when the weather gets to below zero and she doesn’t have help.”

  “I’m depending on you to see to it.” The man rocked back in his chair and studied the agent. “Who is with Arvella out at the reservation store now?”

  “Linus is still there and a Shoshoni girl. Two, sometimes three, hands to take care of the stock. Old Ike Klein comes and goes. ’Course, old Ike is more Indian than white. I heard that he and Whitaker came west together. Ike hunted meat for a freight line, and Walt went to the gold mines and made a fortune. Shows you how smart old Ike was.”

  “He’s a gutsy old buzzard, from what I hear. I’m not sure it’s a good idea for him to be nosing around.”

  “He’s harmless. No one pays any attention to what he says. They figure he’s got mountain fever. It happens to a lot of men who spend time alone in the mountains.”

  “How about old Chief Washakie? Is he still up north in the Wind River country?”

  “As far as I know.”

  “I’ll expect to hear from you as soon as you call on Miss Gray. Don’t let her hoity-toity manner put you off. She’s a gentlewoman from the East; one of them suffrage women come to help the poor Indians. She’ll put on a show of having a stiff backbone, but you can bet she’s shaking in her shoes.”

  “She’s got a right to be. If she’s got any brains at all, she’ll realize she and those girls will starve or freeze to death this winter when snow is about six feet deep.”

  “Is Walt’s Indian kid still hanging around?”

  “He knows better than to go off the reservation. I’ll take a whip to him if he does.”

  “That will be all, Havelshell. Report back after you’ve been out to Whitaker’s.”

  Alvin Havelshell seethed as he left the house and got into his buggy. Damned old fool sitting in his fancy house treated him like he was one of his hired hands. A hired stud.

  He wished that he’d never brought Walt Whitaker’s will to the man. But, hell, after that first cattle drive, when he saw how easy it was to cut out half the herd that went to the reservation, he had needed the man’s help getting the steers to market.

  They had been partners … he thought. He wished to hell he’d not agreed to the old man’s conditions. He hadn’t realized that it would be so difficult.

  The old fool better watch himself when he gave orders to Alvin Havelshell, or he might be tempted to turn Hartog loose on him!

  Chapter Five

  Trell saw the cloud of smoke as he neared the Whitaker ranch. Borne on a light breeze, the acrid scent stung his nostrils. It was far too much smoke to be coming from a chimney. He put his heels to the roan, and the horse’s long stride ate up the distance to a rise where he could see the flames. The fire was in an open area north of the house and was so far confined to grass and the brush edging it.

  He saw little flames lick across another expanse of grass and into the brush, then run up a small tree like hungry red tongues. The fire was out of hand and racing toward the ranch house. At his urging, the roan jumped a small stream, sped along a pole corral, and skidded to a stop behind a woman beating at the flames with a blanket. A small girl staggered from the stream carrying a bucket of water.

  Trell leaped from his horse and grabbed the blanket from the woman’s hand.

  “Use your feet on the small patches,” he shouted. “Keep upwind from the flames. Watch out for the girl and stay away from the heavy smoke.”

  Jenny beat at the larger flames with the grain sack Cassandra had dropped when she rushed to fetch the water. Jenny held up her skirts and stamped out the small ones with her feet. Like red-and-gold dancers the flames raced back and forth, edging closer and closer to the house. With a swish of the sack she beat them back.

  No! You will not get to my house!

  Tears streamed down her face from the smoke and blurred her vision. The heat seared her throat. She did not know who the man was who had come to her aid, nor did she care. She was exceedingly grateful he was there. When the flames engulfed a bush, she circled behind it, flailing the grass with the sack to keep the fire from spreading. Jenny worked strictly on instinct while the sweat rolled down her face and her hands became locked onto the end of the sack. It was an exhausting effort.

  Cassandra carried bucket after bucket of water from the stream. Jenny dropped the sack in the water to wet it and poured the rest on the flames. She had no time to think of her parched throat, or her heat-flushed face. Her arms felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds each. As fast as one patch was stamped out, another seemed to flare into being. She worked as if her life depended on it, and gradually they began to win against the flames.

  When it was over, they stood smoke-grimed and red-eyed in the blackened section.

  “Well, we did it.” Trell grinned at Jenny. His face was smudged by smoke and his head wet with sweat.

  “I’m J
enny Gray. I’m so glad you came.” Jenny dropped the sack and extended her hand.

  “Trellis McCall. Glad to know you.” He shook her hand firmly.

  “I could use a drink of water. How about you? Oh, this is my sister, Cassandra. Honey, I’m so proud of you!” She hugged the girl. “Are you all right?”

  “I expect so. I haven’t decided yet. I’m sorry, Virginia. I didn’t realize that there were embers in the ashes when I dumped them.”

  “It’s all right. We’re learning, aren’t we? It was a lesson we won’t forget. One that turned out all right thanks to Mr. McCall. Where’s Beatrice?”

  “In the house. I threatened to give her a good whipping if she came out.”

  “You did … what?”

  “I merely threatened. I wouldn’t have, but she didn’t know that. It kept her out of the way.” Cassandra tilted her head and looked up at Trell. “Do you have a job, Mr. McCall? If not, we have need of a man to work here.”

  Trell’s amused eyes went from the child, who spoke like a grown-up, to her sister.

  “You’ll discover, if you get to know Cassandra, that she comes right out with what’s on her mind.”

  “I thank you for the offer, miss, but I have a horse ranch across the river that demands more time than I have to give it.”

  “Well.” Cassandra’s shoulders slumped. “It did no harm to ask.”

  “Will your horse wander off?” Jenny asked as they walked toward the house.

  “No, ma’am. He’s ground-tied when I drop the reins.”

  “How remarkable. Back home we tie the reins to a weight on the ground.” At the door Jenny stopped. “Won’t you come in? The least I can do for what you’ve done for us is to offer you a meal.”

  “Flitter!” Cassandra snorted. “You’d better know before you accept that it’ll be burnt beans and rock-hard biscuits.”

  Laughing green eyes met Trell’s.

  “Now you know. Cooking is a skill of which I know very little. But I’m learning … from my little sister. We haven’t yet discovered how to control the darn cookstove, but we will.”