The Santa Fe Trail Page 7

  “Heavy loads, indeed,” Pitkin observed. “We are most appreciative for the information about the Indian attack. Now I must restrain my daughters, before they spend me into the poorhouse.”

  Returning to camp, Pitkin told Woody and the rest of the outfit what he had learned.

  “The Indian attack is bad news,” said Woody. “Were they Kiowa or Comanche?”

  “Honicker didn’t say, and I didn’t think to ask,” Pitkin replied. “Perhaps you can find out tomorrow.”

  “That’s interestin’, them three wagons ahead of us,” Gavin said. “If they get through without Indian trouble, we shouldn’t have a problem.”

  “From what I’ve heard,” said Woody, “the Santa Fe’s always been a trade route, and I reckon heavily loaded wagons are always a prime target. While I wouldn’t say the Indians will leave us alone, they won’t be expectin’ a lot of trade goods, us with just two wagons.”

  With good graze and plentiful water, the herd posed no problem, and the riders had a day of rest. Gonzales produced some outstanding meals. Pitkin advanced every man a few dollars against his wages, and everybody had a chance to go to the store. Woody took the time to speak to Honicker, but learned no more than what the storekeeper had already told Pitkin.

  “You’d best enjoy your time here at Council Grove,” Honicker said. “It’s one of the most agreeable stoppin’ places between here and Santa Fe.”*

  When Woody and Gavin returned to camp, Rusty, Vic, and Ash left for the store.

  “Father,” said Naomi, “Nell and I would like to take a walk through the grove.”

  “Only if one of the men will accompany you,” Pitkin said. “I forbid you to go alone.”

  “Woody and Gavin have just returned from the store,” said Nell. “We’ll ask them.”

  Pitkin wasn’t surprised when the two cowboys readily agreed. Council Grove consisted of a continuous strip of timber almost a mile wide, extending along the valley of a small, fast-running stream known as Council Grove Creek. It was the principal branch of the Neosho River. Along the creek were fertile bottoms and upland prairies. Among the trees within the grove were ash, oak, elm, maple, and hickory. Many of the trees were clothed in enormous grapevines. The grove consisted of almost a hundred and sixty acres, and its dense shade proved a welcome respite from the glare of the sunburned plains.

  “No wonder this is a favored stoppin’ place,” Gavin said. “I’ve never seen so many hardwood trees on a single patch of ground.”

  “With a blacksmith shop behind Honicker’s store,” said Woody, “there’s plenty of all kinds of wood for axles, wagon tongues, and wheels.”

  “When we’re far enough from camp,” Naomi said, “I want to take off my boots and wade the creek.”

  “So do I,” said Nell.

  “Ah,” Gavin said, “missing the old English boots, huh?”

  “Of course not,” said Naomi. “I just want to enjoy the cool water, while I can. When we take the trail again, we may be under the hot sun all the way to New Mexico.”

  “Why don’t you and Woody remove your boots and join us?” Nell suggested.

  “I reckon we’d better not,” said Woody. “We’d better just be ready to haul you out, if you get in over your heads.”

  “We’ll find a place where the water’s shallow,” Naomi said.

  They soon found such a place, where they could see the sandy bottom. While Woody and Gavin relaxed in the shade, Naomi and Nell tugged off their boots and rolled their Levi’s up to their knees.

  “Lord,” Gavin said, “I’d forgot how peaceful it can be, with just the chirpin’ of birds, the sound of a fast-runnin’ stream, without bawlin’ cows. Wake me when they’re through splashin’ around out there.”

  “I’m likely to doze off,” said Woody. “I can’t see them gettin’ in trouble, when the water’s not even to their knees.”

  But the shallow water extended only so far, until there was a drop-off. There, the water was much deeper, and with a shriek of terror, Naomi and Nell went under.

  “My God,” Gavin shouted, “where are they?”

  As if in answer, two heads bobbed up farther downstream, and again there were two frantic cries for help. Of a single mind, without a word, Woody and Gavin took off their boots and went to the rescue. Neither of the women surfaced again, and when Woody was able to grasp Nell, she was a dead weight. Gavin had just as hard a time of it with Naomi, for all of them were swept downstream where the water seemed deepest. Ahead of them, part of the river-bank had washed out, exposing the gnarled roots of a tree that extended into the water. Keeping Naomi’s head-above water, Gavin seized one of the roots. Following his example, Woody caught another of the roots.

  “Keep their heads above water,” Gavin gasped, “until I can climb out.”

  Gavin struggled out of the water, and seizing Naomi under the arms, lifted her out on the bank. He then hauled out Nell, and Woody scrambled out on his own.

  “My God,” said Woody, “they look dead.”

  “Maybe not,” Gavin said. “You take Nell, and I’ll work on Naomi.”

  With the women belly-down, Gavin and Woody began forcing the water out of their tortured lungs. Nell came out of it first. She rolled over, and weeping, threw her arms around Woody.

  “Hey, now,” said Woody, “you’re all right.”

  “I wouldn’t have been,” Nell sobbed, “but for you.”

  Naomi took longer to revive, and looking at her so still, Nell wept all the more. As Naomi began breathing normally, Gavin rolled her over and helped her to sit up. Then, to Gavin’s total surprise, she kissed him long and hard. When she finally let go of him, he saw something in her eyes that overcame his shyness.

  “Miss Pitkin,” he said, “I’m tempted to throw you back in and do this all over again.”

  “Damn,” said Woody, “where did I go wrong? I worked as hard as you did.”

  “And you shall have your reward,” the tearful Nell said. He received a longer and more passionate kiss than Naomi had bestowed on Gavin.

  “You’re right, Gavin,” Woody said, when he came up for air. “We’ll have to throw them back in and rescue them again.”

  “If you don’t speak of this to Father,” said Naomi, “there might be more such rewards for you.”

  “Yes,” Nell said. “Father must not know.”

  “His daughters practically drown,” said Woody, “and he can’t be told?”

  “He still thinks of us as children,” Naomi said. “I fear that if he knew of this, neither of us would ever be allowed out of his sight again.”

  “We would never be allowed to go anywhere with you again,” said Nell, “and you can be sure that would be the end of your rewards.”

  “You’ve convinced me that Pit shouldn’t be told,” Gavin said.

  “I reckon I’m convinced for the same reason he is,” said Woody, “but how are we to explain why the four of us are sopping wet?”

  “We were caught in a sudden shower?” Nell suggested.

  “I don’t think so,” said Woody. “There’s not a cloud in the sky.”

  “Damn it,” Gavin said, “why don’t we just tell Pit the truth, and take our chances?”

  “Because you won’t have any chances,” said Naomi. “Neither of us can swim.”

  “Then why the hell didn’t you tell us that, before we allowed you to go in the water?” Woody demanded.

  “If we had,” said Nell, “you wouldn’t have allowed us, would you?”

  “You can bet your boots we wouldn’t have,” Woody replied. “If the two of you had drowned, what would we have told your father?”

  “But we didn’t drown,” said Naomi. “He trusted you, just like we did. Why can’t we just stay away from camp until we dry out?”

  “Because we’d be here the rest of the day,” Gavin said, “and we’d still be damp. Why can’t the two of you slip back to your wagon and change into dry clothes without havin’ Pit see you up close?”

  “
Perhaps we can,” said Naomi, “but he’ll wonder how you and Woody got soaked.”

  Woody laughed. “Tell him we tried to have our way with you, and you shoved both of us into the river.”

  “We will not,” Nell said hotly. “Even if you had, we wouldn’t tell Father.”

  “We certainly wouldn’t,” said Naomi. “Just when he’s starting to think of us as grown up, he’s not going to be told anything that might change his mind.”

  “Perhaps our clothes would dry more quickly if we removed them,” Nell said.

  “My God, no!” said Woody. “What do you reckon your daddy would think, if he came lookin’ for you and found the two of you settin’ here naked?”

  “He’s right,” Naomi said. “Father might think we had done considerably more than fall into the river.”

  “The chuck wagon’s between us and camp,” said Gavin, “and your wagon’s this side of the chuck wagon. Unless your daddy’s in the wagon or under it, the two of you can slip back and change into dry clothes.”

  “But what about you and Woody?” Naomi said.

  “As long as Pit can see us from a distance, and he knows you and Nell have returned, maybe Woody and me can dry out without him suspectin’ anything,” said Gavin. “Let’s go find our boots.”

  But their boots weren’t to be found.

  “Damn it,” Woody said, “some skunk-striped varmint followed us. Come on out, whoever you are. I aim to stomp your ears down to your boot tops.”

  Emerging from some willows, their boots in his arms, Nip Kelly laughed.

  “By God,” said Gavin, “I thought better of you.”

  “So did I,” Naomi said.

  “Aw,” said Kelly, genuinely contrite, “I just got here, and was havin’ some fun with you. I reckoned you was all swimmin’.”

  “You reckoned wrong,” Nell said. “Naomi and I went wading and stepped off into water over our heads. If it wasn’t for Gavin and Woody, we’d have drowned.”

  “Yes,” said Naomi, “and now we’re in trouble. We don’t want Father to know, because neither of us can swim, and we can’t slip back without him seeing us soaking wet.”

  “Sure you can,” Nip said. “He got bored in camp and returned to the store. All of you can change into dry duds while he’s gone. Nobody’s in camp but Gonzales. I reckon I got in his way, and he took to cussin’ me in Spanish.”

  “I swear, Nip,” said Woody, “you’d better not be settin’ us up for a fall, or I’ll fall on you.”

  “Oh, hell,” Kelly said, “I had no idea you was in trouble. Pull on your boots and get back to camp while Pit’s at the store.”

  Only Gonzales was in camp, and if he wondered what had been going on, he contained his curiosity and continued making sourdough biscuits for supper. Naomi and Nell ducked into their wagon, while Woody and Gavin took dry shirts and Levi’s from their bedrolls. By the time Naomi and Nell emerged from the wagon in dry clothes, Woody and Gavin had changed.

  “We can spread our wet clothes on the grass to dry,” Naomi said. “Father will think we washed them while he was gone.”

  “Thank you, Nip,” said Nell.

  “Yeah,” Gavin said, “we owe you.”

  “You owe me nothing,” said Nip, strangely serious. “I shouldn’t have followed.”

  He turned away, walking along the river, losing himself in the shadow of the trees.

  “I can’t figure him out,” Gavin said.

  “I think I can,” said Naomi. “He’s a sad, lonely man. He’s tried to become one of us, and somehow he doesn’t fit. He’s realizing that, and he’s withdrawing from us.”

  “Damn it,” Woody said, “I didn’t aim for him to take it so hard. But he really had no business followin’ us.”

  “He seemed to have meant no harm,” said Nell. “I hope he won’t tell Father.”

  “He won’t,” Gavin said. “That’s not why he walked away. He’s feeling guilty for having followed us.”

  “But we didn’t do anything wrong,” said Nell.

  “I reckon he knows that,” Woody said, “but he’s realizing that he might have caught the four of us in…well…compromising positions.”

  Nell and Naomi laughed, seeking to hide their embarrassment.

  “Sorry,” said Woody. “I shouldn’t have been so blunt.”

  “Speak for yourself, Woody,” Gavin said. “When Naomi turned to me after comin’ out of that river, I saw somethin’ more in her than gratitude. What would you say, Naomi Pitkin, if I say I’m more than a little interested in you?”

  Naomi reacted in a manner far more eloquent than Gavin expected. Throwing her arms around him, she kissed him long and hard.

  “By God,” said Woody, “he’s the shy one. What am I waiting for? Nell?”

  “Nell what?” the girl asked.

  “Damn it, don’t you know I’m as interested in you as Gavin is in Naomi?”

  “What does Gavin’s interest in Naomi have to do with me?” Nell asked.

  Seizing her, Woody kissed her with a force that took her breath away. When he came up for air, she slapped him. Hard.

  “I reckon I’m skunk cabbage to you,” he said. “You don’t care a damn for me.”

  “Oh, but I do,” said Nell. “I just don’t like being taken for granted.”

  “Naomi,” Gavin said, “I just developed a powerful hankerin’ for some coffee. Will you join me?”

  “Yes,” said Naomi, striving not to laugh, “I just developed the same hankering.”

  Nell watched them go, a half-smile on her lips, her eyes twinkling.

  “Thanks,” Woody said. “You helped me make a fool of myself.”

  Nell laughed. “You didn’t need any help. Now that we’re alone, why don’t you tell me what you’ve been trying to say?”

  After Woody, Gavin, Naomi, and Nell had gone, Nip Kelly did a strange thing. Taking his Colts from their holsters, he removed the shells. He then began drawing first one Colt and then the other, dry-firing and border-shifting. Growing weary, he reloaded the Colts and returned them to their holsters. He then sat down, his back against an oak, and stared into the swirling water of the river. Again his mind wandered back to that long-ago spring day in southern Missouri when he and Tobe Hankins had fought over Celeste Tilden. Once more, Nip relived those horrifying seconds when the girl, seeking to prevent the fight, had stepped between him and Hankins. Seared into Nip’s mind forever was the expression on her face as Kelly’s slug—intended for Tobe Hankins—had slammed into her. Hankins had run to the fallen Celeste, and pointing to Nip Kelly, had shouted an accusation loud enough for a dozen witnesses to hear.

  “Damn you, Kelly, you’ve killed Celeste.”

  A jump ahead of a dozen shouting, cursing men, Nip Kelly had mounted his horse and ridden for his life. Now—remembering—with a groan of anguish, he buried his face in his hands…

  Westward along the Santa Fe. June 13, 1869.

  Outwardly there was no change in Woody and Gavin toward Nell and Naomi Pitkin, for neither of them was ready to explain or defend their fledgling relationships with the Pitkin women. They had no idea how Gladstone Pitkin might react, and cowboys were notorious for feuding among themselves for the affections of a woman. With the worst of the Santa Fe Trail ahead of them, internal strife was the last thing they needed.

  “Head ’em up, move ’em out!” Woody shouted.

  Rusty Pryor was riding drag with Nell and Naomi Pitkin. Once the herd was moving at an acceptable gait, Woody rode on ahead. After Council Grove, the next stop on Pitkin’s map was Diamond Springs. There—from what Woody had learned in Council Grove—was an unfailing supply of clear, cold water. Several miles east of Diamond Springs, there was the evidence of two previous disasters. In a deep gulch was a litter of bones where many oxen had died, probably from having stampeded over the rim. In yet another arroyo, some nameless caravan had come to an end. Whether by fire, Indians, or stampede, Woody had no way of knowing. There was a litter of bones—animal and human—
amid the burned-out wreckage of wagons.

  “By God, horse,” said Woody, “any teamster needin’ chains, bolts, or wagon irons of any kind can have ’em for the taking.”

  Woody rode on to the spring, and after watering his horse, treated himself to a drink of delightfully cold water. Diamond Springs was a large spring gushing from the head of a hollow in the prairie and flowing into Otter Creek. Game trails radiated from the bountiful spring like spokes in a wheel, and Woody wasn’t surprised to find tracks of many horses, shod and unshod. Most of the tracks of unshod horses led away to the south, toward the wilds of Indian Territory. It would be unwelcome news to Gladstone Pitkin and the rest of the outfit. Woody drank again from the spring before mounting his horse and riding back to meet the oncoming herd.

  “So there’s an Indian threat,” Pitkin said, when Woody reported what he had found at Diamond Springs.

  “Maybe,” said Woody. “Maybe just a band passing through, stopping for water, but we can’t afford to overlook the possibility of trouble. I think we’ll bunch the herd on the high plain east of the spring. They can water at Otter Creek. We’ll have to post sentries well away from the spring, so that we don’t get trapped in that hollow.”

  But the drive reached Diamond Springs and the herd was bunched along Otter Creek without difficulty. There was no sign of Indians.

  “Don’t mean a thing,” said Gavin, “them ridin’ off to the south. That could have been their way of confusin’ them gents with their three wagons.”

  The truth of Gavin’s statement became evident the next morning, as the herd took the trail west. From somewhere ahead came the rattle of gunfire.

  “Mill the herd,” Woody shouted, waving his hat.

  The riders had heard the shooting and had some idea as to what Woody had in mind. He galloped back to Gladstone Pitkin’s wagon.

  “Pit, the folks ahead of us are in trouble. It’s likely that bunch of Indians. I’m taking the outfit and ridin’ ahead. If we don’t go after that band of hostiles, they’ll come after us. Likely when we’re least expectin’ it. Keep your eyes open and hold things together here.”