Sweet Prairie Passion (Savage Destiny) (6 page)

“Makes no difference to me, Zeke,” Olin replied. “I’m just along for the ride.”

“Like hell. I know you, Olin Wales, and you’ll do your share.” Zeke looked at Trent. “Olin’s a good man. If something happens to me, you can depend on him.” He looked around at the others, as he puffed on the cheroot. “In the morning all of you check your gear real good and make sure your axles are well greased. I noticed you have only one yoke of oxen, Mr. Harrell,” he told the schoolteacher. “You’re carrying a lot of books. You’d be best to have two yokes on that wagon. It’s risky setting out on this trip with only two oxen. Four’s a lot better. Any of you others willing to rotate your spares and loan Harrell a couple of oxen?”

“Right now I’m the only one with spare oxen,” Trent spoke up. “Kelsoe’s wagons are pulled with mules, and Bradley Hanes needs all four of his oxen. I have six along.”

“Then I think I’d best send Olin back to Independence tonight to buy a couple extra for Harrell. It’s too dangerous, him setting out with only two, and we can’t risk you being without spares.” Zeke looked over at Hanes. “You ought to have a couple extra yourself,
Mr. Hanes. It would cost you about fifty bucks. You got that much?”

The man frowned. “I can’t spare more than twenty-five.”

“Here’s a hundred,” Harrell said, handing the money to Zeke. Abbie was glad to see that the men were beginning to trust the half-breed. “I want two extra to pull, and two more as spares. I have plenty of money along.”

Zeke looked over at Hanes as he took the money from Harrell. “You’ve got family, Hanes. You’ll need your money. Give me twenty bucks. I think Olin can con a man back in Independence into giving us two good oxen for that price. He … uh … owes a little gambling debt, you might say.”

Zeke grinned at Olin and Olin chuckled. “I know who you mean,” he told Zeke. “I’ll get the oxen.”

Hanes looked relieved. He dug out the twenty dollars, walked up, and handed it to Zeke. “I’m real obliged,” he said sincerely. “Real obliged.”

“I don’t mind putting out for good men,” Zeke told him. He looked over at Connely and the preacher. “It’s the dishonest ones I’d just as soon skin alive.” He turned his eyes to Mrs. Hanes. “You’d best get yourself and those little kids to bed. We’ll start off early tomorrow. Olin will catch up in a day or two with the oxen. We can’t waste any more time. We have a couple thousand miles to go and not much time to do it in. Snow comes early to the Rockies.”

He handed the money for the oxen to Olin, who then rode back in the direction of Independence, while the rest of them began preparing to retire.

“Zeke, you come around our wagon in the morning,
and the girls will fix up a little extra breakfast for you,” Trent told the man. “It’s the least we can do.”

Zeke looked straight at Abbie. “How’s your cooking, little lady?”

“Good as any grown woman’s,” she replied defensively.

“I expect it probably is,” Zeke replied with a little grin. He looked back at Trent. “Much obliged.” Then he took out the little bottle of whiskey and walked off into the darkness.

Abbie wondered what kind of memories he’d sleep with that night, and how long it had been since he’d lost his family. She watched him until she couldn’t see him anymore, and then when she turned to go to the wagon, the preacher was standing there. Her heart jumped with fear at the look in his eyes.

“You’d best not set your eyes on that heathen, Miss Trent!” the man told her sternly. “If that one gets you alone, you’ll lose your virginity and your honor—and your place in heaven! No matter that he saved you this day. Ask yourself what he saved you
for!
It’s for himself! And he’ll take your sister and whatever other women he can violate! Mark my words!”

Abbie glared back at him angrily. “My woman’s intuition tells me
you’re
the one to watch out for, Preacher Graydon!” she spat back at him. “You sneak up on me like that again and say those dirty things, and I’ll have Cheyenne Zeke split you up the middle! I reckon he’d enjoy it!”

She stalked off to her wagon, hiding her fear of the cold and stony preacher but feeling his eyes on her. The preacher thought hungrily about the twelve-year-old girl from his former congregation—the one whom
he had seduced and “cleansed” in a moment of weakness. He had barely gotten out of town with his life when the deed had been discovered. But the delicious time he’d had with her had been worth the risk, and he was certain God would forgive him for his one and only weakness. He would just be careful from now on. It would be much easier preaching to the ignorant Indians. He could “cleanse” all the young Indian maidens, and God would not blame him a bit. After all, they were worthless heathens, and of no use to God whatsoever. At least if they bedded with a man of God, they might have a slight chance of being saved.

Three

Abbie went all out on breakfast, hoping to show Zeke just what a good cook she was. She was secretly proud when he complimented the homemade biscuits and good coffee, mentioning that he didn’t often taste that kind of cooking.

“Mostly I eat pemmican and jerky, and whatever fresh berries I can find or fresh meat I can kill,” he commented, sipping a third cup of coffee on a full stomach.

“What’s pemmican?” Abbie asked, taking his empty plate.

“Oh, it’s a kind of dried food the Cheyenne make. It can be pulverized. Dried meat, sometimes berries, or both mixed together with melted fat and bone marrow. It keeps good, and tastes better than it sounds.”

“Do you live just like an Indian when you’re with them … I mean, in a tipi and all?” she asked cautiously. Their eyes held a moment, and he knew what the woman-child was thinking.

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied. “Just like an Indian. It’s
not an easy life for one not born to it. I was born to it. Lived away from it for a long time, but got back to it real easy. Guess it’s in my blood. I learned to eat light from living with them. You don’t find too many fat Indians, Miss Abbie. Life is real hard out there. Real hard. And since the white man started coming out, there’s been a lot of disease.”

She wanted desperately to ask him if he had a woman back with his people, but that would be far too bold. Zeke rose.

“Thank you again for the meal. It was real good—like being back home eating my stepmother’s cooking in Tennessee.”

“Don’t you miss Tennessee?” she asked.

The pain returned to his eyes, and behind that she could see a flash of vengeance. “No, ma’am,” he replied. “You’d best clean up camp now. We have to leave.” He shook hands with Abbie’s father and walked off, followed by little Jeremy, who began peppering him with questions about Indians. Zeke answered them patiently as Abbie watched him walk toward his horse, a tall, dark, provocative man who had left so many unanswered questions in her mind. She liked the way he walked, with long, graceful strides. They accentuated his slim hips and broad shoulders, and the fringe of his buckskins swayed with his gait. He mounted the big Appaloosa in one swift, easy movement, using no saddle, and rode off into the distance to watch for Olin Wales. But there was no sign of the man. What he did see was two more wagons approaching. Abbie paid no further heed; she continued to clean up camp and pack the wagon.

About a half-hour later Zeke’s horse galloped by her
wagon, and she watched the ease with which he rode the stallion, as though he were a part of it. He was puffing a cheroot again and was bedecked with weapons as he had been the first time she saw him; plus he had two fancy-looking Spencer carbines secured on each side of the horse. That was the first time she’d noticed what looked like the arm of a banjo sticking out from his pack, but she thought little of it at the time, being more curious as to why he rode by so fast with such a concerned look on his face.

The wagons that had been approaching earlier came closer now. Zeke, who had stopped and dismounted, was talking with Bentley Kelsoe. Jason Trent left his wagon to go and see what was going on, while Abbie, watching the two new wagons, noticed that a man herded about ten shorthorn cattle alongside them. She turned to see some conversation among the men. Then Zeke mounted up again and rode ahead of the train, while Kelsoe and the others began shouting “Gee’s” and “Haw’s” and “Giddap’s” and the wagons began to roll. Trent came back to his own wagon, and after much lashing and cursing, he got the lazy oxen into motion. Abbie walked along beside him, but LeeAnn preferred to ride inside where it was more comfortable. Jeremy ran ahead, excited and full of energy.

“What’s going on, pa?” Abbie asked her father.

“Well, as you can see, we have two more wagons joining us. Tennessee folk, like us. Name of Hadley and Caroline Brown, and their son and daughter-in-law, Willis and Yolanda Brown. They’ve got a herd of cattle along, and four horses.”

“Why’s Zeke looking so upset?” she asked. “We’ve
got more people. Isn’t that good?”

“Depends on how you look at it. For one thing, them cattle will take extra watching. There’s the Indians to worry about—and storms. Cattle get mighty skittish in storms. The other problem is that Yolanda Brown is pregnant—about five months along—and she’s only sixteen. Zeke doesn’t think a trip like this is the place for a young, pregnant woman, especially when it’s her first. I have to agree she doesn’t have any business out here, but she’s got her head set and we don’t have time to argue about it. Better to let them come with us than to make them go it alone.”

The first day’s journey was difficult. Most of the people in the train were not yet in shape for such a venture, and soon Abbie’s feet hurt so badly that she stopped talking. She turned her thoughts to Zeke to help ease her pain and smiled inwardly at his kind concern for the pregnant girl. She was sure he must be feeling the weight of the responsibility he had undertaken: ten wagons, fourteen men, five women, and five children; let alone the nineteen horses, thirty-three mules, twenty-two oxen, and the cattle. Besides that, Olin would be coming along with six more oxen. Zeke’s work was cut out for him.

She thought about the others and wondered just how well they would all get along when the going got rough, which it most certainly would as they progressed farther into untamed territory. It was a strange mixture of people: her own family from Tennessee; Quentin Robards, the gambler from who knew where, except that he had a Virginia accent; the suspicious and nervous Morris Connely, who also claimed
to be from Tennessee; Preacher Graydon from Illinois; the Haneses from Kentucky; Kelsoe and Bobby Jones, both from Pennsylvania; David Craig and Casey Miles from Kentucky; the schoolteacher, Winston Harrell, and his son from Georgia; and the newcomers, the Browns from Tennessee. Then, of course, there were Zeke and Olin Wales, whose homes seemed to be everywhere, except that Zeke’s had been Tennessee for part of his life. All of them had their stamina and tempers tested that first day, as they were frequently stuck in swollen stream beds and prairie mud. There was little the women could do at those times, and Abbie often trotted off to pick a few wild flowers while the men struggled to unloose each wagon.

The abundant flowers made the prairie a fairyland, and Abbie wished that the weather and landscape could always be that way—except for the mud. For the land was relatively smooth otherwise, and the prairie flowers were magnificent. They made her heart sing as it began to fill more and more with a secret love for the dark half-breed who led them onward.

Zeke seemed to be everywhere at once: first scouting far ahead of them; then beside them, helping someone push out a wagon; then far behind them, looking for Olin Wales. Sometimes he rode a wide circle around them, and Abbie worried that perhaps Rube Givens would follow them and shoot Zeke in the back, as Zeke had accused the man of wanting to do. Her heart froze at the thought of Cheyenne Zeke lying dead, but she knew that even though she’d known him only three days, she would fold up and die herself if anything happened to him.

Two more days passed without a sign of Olin Wales,
and although Zeke made little mention of it, Abbie was sure he was getting worried himself. He seemed to ride behind them more than ahead of them on the third day. Abbie hoped Olin had not been ambushed by Rube Givens, but late that day he finally appeared in the distance. Zeke galloped by then, riding hard to meet him, and Abbie knew that there was a deep and unspoken love and friendship between the two men when she saw the joy and relief on Zeke’s face.

During those first several days, Jason Trent made Abbie ride inside the wagon frequently to relieve the cramps in her legs and the sores on her feet. He loved her deeply for showing her devotion to him by walking beside him every day to keep him from feeling lonely, and by scrubbing his clothes and fixing his meals. Abigail Trent would make a man a fine wife some day. But he often worried about LeeAnn. He had to constantly scold her to get her to help, and he could only hope she’d find a man who could provide for her well enough so that she wouldn’t have to do too much work. She just didn’t seem cut out for it. But he did not like the sleek and suave Quentin Robards who frequently visited their camp in the evenings to talk to LeeAnn. He’d only mentioned his dislike for the man once, and LeeAnn had promptly clammed up and stormed away from him. Jason wished he could be more stern with her, but she looked so much like her mother. And how he had loved her mother!

Zeke ordered the pregnant girl to ride lying down, and whenever he caught her sitting up in the bouncing wagon or doing any hard work, he promptly scolded the girl and then her husband for letting his wife overdo herself. He seemed unusually concerned, and
Abbie wondered if his own wife had once miscarried. At any rate, the young Mister Brown treated the pregnancy casually, arguing with Zeke that surely the Indian women worked hard and did a lot of walking when they were pregnant.

“They’re a hardier lot,” Zeke argued back, “already accustomed to the elements and the work. But don’t kid yourself. Indian women lose plenty of babies—and a lot of the women die, too.”

“I was of the opinion that they simply lie with any man and then squat along the trail when their time comes and give birth to the little bastards,” Morris Connely spoke up, surprising them all with this ludicrous remark. Zeke’s piercing eyes darted in the man’s direction, and he studied him a moment as though he were trying to remember something from the past.