Chapter I
By Sherry Whitten
July, 1860.
Nebraska Territory.
Her throat was parched, her lips painfully dry and chapped. Just the thought of a cool dipper of water had despair surging upward with a cry of misery and distressed hopelessness.
The Nebraska wilderness suffered no fools - gladly or otherwise. It didn't give a hoot if a man made his fortune - or if his bones were left, bleached and baking in the harsh sun.
Caitlin knew they followed behind, just as the terror-stricken prey knew the stalk of its predator. She could feel the heat of their breath on her neck as if they were only inches behind, and her heart pounded out its terror like a cadence.
She held on to the fact that she was still alive, gripping tighter to Kip's reins in assurance. As long as she still had Kip she had hope.
Usually the pair could be found tearing across the countryside without thought to life or limb in sheer pleasure of the experience. As wild as the Nebraska wilderness, Kip had a heart and spirit to match. He had been her companion the last three years.
He had been the only one who hadn't let her down.
Kip refused to be claimed as anything other than master. Caitlin O'Riley was of the same mind, so horse and rider respected the other as equals, making no demands.
It had only been two days ago, a lifetime ago is seemed now, that they had sped from her cabin toward town, wind ripping across them as the girl's laughter urged Kip on faster and faster. As Kip tore across the land, hooves kicking clods of dirt high into the air, Caitlin's soul spiraled through the clouds, up to the heavens to visit the stars.
By the gods, she wanted to fly!
If she could go back, Caitlin wondered if things would be different now...or if she would still be running for her life.
Probably.
The Irish in her was strong - and stubborn.
"Ye'd be too Irish, lass...too Irish," her father would mourn with a shake of his head as if in lamented dismay, though Caitlin always caught the mischievous twinkle in his eye.
The reddish copper head had snapped back in pride, the blue-violet eyes luminous and wide, "I'd be the fruit of your loins, Poppa. Ye can't get any more Irish than that!"
With a boom of laughter, her father had swept her up in a big bear hug, his own pride almost busting his shirt as his chest swelled. "Ye always were the smart one of the family, lassie."
Caitlin ruefully wagered she wasn't as smart as her father had claimed. Only a halfwit would find herself fleeing for life in the middle of a vast, unbroken wilderness, no food or water, renegade Indians on warpath...and three black- hearted murderers on her tail.
Not smart...not smart at all!
Nor was she helpless.
From her childhood friends, Caitlin knew how to handle a gun and knife, to track for food, and more importantly at the moment - to hide her tracks.
She lifted her eyes. By the position of the sun Caitlin knew it was midmorning. Although she had slept only for short stretches through the night, her rest had been wrought with nightmares. The hunger pains she had suffered with such agony the day before were now only a dull ache. Caitlin felt her body growing weaker from lack of food, but the lack of water plagued her relentlessly.
Forcing the torment to the back of her mind she pushed on.
The distance she covered over the next hours could have been done in half the time, but Caitlin moved with caution, her eyes ever watchful. One mistake was one too many. She backtracked and reined Kip off in opposite directions to confuse those trailing behind.
As dusk approached, Caitlin took refuge by a cliff of rocks. Her back would be covered, but now and again she peered upward to make sure no one was watching from above. She dared not make a fire, for it would be plainly seen in the darkness. She feared the raging Paiute Indians just as much as she did the murdering bandits behind her.
Teeth chattering from terror as much as from the coolness of the night, Caitlin drew her knees up, wrapping arms about herself in a tight, protective ball of misery. She felt alone, and Kip's movement nearby was a comfort. In weariness she dropped her head against her updrawn knees, refusing to let the wetness building behind her eyelids to fall. Caitlin feared if she gave in to the temptation of another bout of weeping she would never be able to stop.
She knew vaguely where she was. If she continued on eastward, the trail would lead directly to her destination of Sweetwater, Nebraska.
The Nebraska wilderness wasn't an easy place to survive. Men cursed it, but still they came. With their coming, mining towns sprung up, then Pony Express and Stagecoach Stations dotted the countryside. The Paiute hated the invasion of their land. In retaliation, stations were raided and destroyed. Ambushes were a constant threat.
Territories and towns were born on a daily basis. New settlers from the east flocked to those already established. Their arrival made the Paiute even more savage. Army forts were built, and Indians from peaceful tribes were used as scouts to scour the countryside in hopes of controlling the raids and bloodshed.
Still the attacks continued.
Aware of the danger all around, Caitlin inched down even further against the rock. She closed her eyes tightly, wishing to sink into oblivion until everything was over and done.
What had she been thinking?
Only a fool would think herself capable of getting out of the mess she now found herself in. A fool...or a person with a high opinion of herself.
Hadn't her father warned where her impulsiveness would lead?
"'T'will be ye're downfall, me lass, make no mistake about it!"
She had been eight then and had come home with a rip in her dress and a scraped knee. The braided hair her mother had coiled with such precision and neatness now hung limp, the reddish tresses wild about her face.
He had stormed across the room back and forth before her, tossing his hands in exasperated hopelessness.
"The cowardice worm gave me no choice, Poppa!" she had wailed in defense. "'Tis an overbloated toadfrog he called you...aye, and with a bellow to match. Would ye have me to be turnin' a deaf ear to such slander?!"
He stopped abruptly, rounding on her. A bushy eyebrow lifted. "An overbloated toadfrog, eh?"
Her head cocked a little higher in obvious justification. "Aye."
He rocked on his heels, his eyes studying the upturned, bold face of justice. "Then I reckon I'll be lettin' it slide this time, though I'm thinkin' a well- aimed punch to the eye would have been sufficient."
With a jump kick, Caitlin had sent the surprised boy stumbling to the ground. She had leaped atop him, grinding his face into the dirt and punching wherever her clenched fists could land. He had cried for mercy long before Caitlin had done with him.
"I dare say Toby Keith will not be so hasty with his judgment in future," she claimed with utmost assurance, reveling again in satisfaction at the picture of the whipped, wailing boy as he'd raced home.
Her father had awkwardly patted her head, secretly aglow with pride. "Now be hurrin' to clean yereself up before your mother gets home. Ye know how she disapproves of yere fightin'...justified though it was." And the earlashing he'd more than likely receive for condoning such behavior was something to be avoided at all costs!
As sure as it rained on the misty moors of Ireland, it was just as sure the boy needed taught manners...and who better to teach him than his own flesh and bone!
"Oh, Poppa!" she wailed silently against the cold cliff of rock, all alone in the dead of night. "Ye were right...aye, ye were always right!"
Caitlin didn't bother to wipe away the tear that escaped her eye, aware that if her life's deeds were to be tallied and weighed the chances of survival looked pathetically grim.
It wasn't that she meant to be so wayward or impulsive. Circumstances just happened, and she wasn't one to stand back and study the situation or weigh the consequences. No, Caitlin O'Riley charged in full blast, and curse and damnation be to anyone who got in her way!
It appeared Caitlin herself was the one cursed this time.
"I've finished the supply list, so you boys can take the wagon into town after lunch," Emma announced to the group of males surrounding her meal table.
"It's only Monday."
The woman never lost stride as she set the platter of sandwiches at the center of the table and eyed Cody. "That's right, Billy, but we were busy with spring cleaning Saturday, and Saturday next you'll be busy with the new horses."
"Spring cleaning in the summer...it's stupid…it's…it's woman's work!" he wailed, still outraged at all the feminine chores that befell him two days before... dusting and re-hanging curtains, scrubbing the bunkhouse floor, laundering his own longjohns. He'd even had to hang them out - just as Bart Riles had arrived with the mailpouch for a fresh horse from the stables. He had teased Billy unbearably about the tear in a very strategic place.
Could he help it that he'd tripped one night headed for the privy and tore his underclothes?!
As Bart streaked away from the yard, bright red longjohns flapped in the breeze like a hailing flag. Billy was mortified! After all, a man had his dignity!
"Cleanliness is next to Godliness," Emma chorused for what Billy counted as the quadrillionth time.
"Yeah, but did we have ta be so clean when a rider was coming in?" He glared, reaching for two sandwiches, and after a second's hesitation, grabbed another before Jimmy could beat him to it.
She set his cool glass of lemonade before him with a smile. "I'm sure Bart keeps himself clean...and his laundry."
"Only when he wants to," Billy snapped shortly in disgust. "He ain't got a mother hen hovering over him with threat of soap and water all the livelong day."
"So, I guess you're the lucky one, aren't you?" she quipped with an infuriating grin.
"Lucky as a fresh toothache," he muttered, cramming a quarter of a sandwich into his mouth in one bite.
The boys snickered. Slapping each other's hands as they each groped for more sandwiches.
Emma eyed the group surrounding her table with a mother's love, overlooking their appalling table manners for once. Sometimes it seemed she was always harping on the do's and don'ts. She knew everytime they took out with a pouch their lives were on the line. She would give them as much love and attention as she could possibly cram in, and if something should happen - God forbid - they would at least know they had been loved.
Jimmy helped himself to another roast beef sandwich. "Don't let me forget the list this time."
She nodded with a grin. Last time it had been left on the table, and it seemed they'd forgotten half the items written down. "I also want you to check on some gingham Mr. Tompkins ordered for me."
"Sure, but you'd better make a note of it so I don't forget."
"Make sure you're all back before dark."
"You want me to stay behind?" Jimmy finished his last bite, washing it down with the remainder of the lemonade.
"No, I'll be fine. Mr. Spoon is down at the well. He should be back within the hour."
Jimmy stood, his eyes warm with teasing. "Don't worry, Emma, you'll get lines." As he tossed his napkin down on the table his eyes slid across to see that the firearms were in their place. "You got the rifles loaded?"
She nodded, her own eyes sweeping to the corner. "Yes...loaded with spare ammunition at hand." She hated weapons, but she guessed they were a necessary part of life in the west.
"Don't stray too far from them till we get back."
That seemed to be the cue for everyone to move. Billy grabbed the two remaining sandwiches on his way to the door.
"Thanks for the lunch, Emma," Lou smiled her thanks.
"You're welcome. Watch yourself, Lou," Emma gave an extra word of caution. She worried for Lou especially. It was a dangerous game the girl was playing. If she were discovered being a girl by the wrong people, Emma shuttered at the consequences that could happen.
"I always do, Emma. Don't worry."
"I'll watch out for her," Kid promised, winking at Lou.
Lou rolled her eyes. She was wearing a man's britches, she could look after herself. "Yeah, and who's gonna be watching out for you?" she countered.
"You can do that anytime you want," he offered with a grin.
"Come on, you two, daylight's wasting." Jimmy said in sudden irritation.
"Don't get your pants twisted, Jimmy." Billy needled, his eyes twinkling at Jimmy's irritability. "This is a magical moment between Kid and Lou."
"Magic you'll know nothing about," Jimmy scoffed at his friend.
Billy countered with a bragging taunt, "I'll have you know, I escorted a lady on both arms at the Sunday picnic last month." He lifted his head in pride and jeered in male cockiness, tongue-in-cheek, "You're just jealous 'cause I'm so hot with the ladies."
Jimmy snorted. "Yeah, right. If you're so hot, why did Lindsey Harper slap you at the dessert table?"
"It was all a misunderstanding," he exploded hotly with a defensive air. "My hand got caught in her dress while I was reaching across for Emma's apple pie."
Jimmy laughed, hauling his friend out by the collar of his shirt. "Come on, Casanova, let's get that wagon hitched up."
"Who's Casanova?" she heard him ask with a defiant, accusing air.
Emma rolled her eyes, chuckling under her breath as she watched the group leave the house and head for the barn, taking turns verbally jabbing at Billy.
Billy always made her smile. She wondered a lot about him, as she did all the boys and Lou, about where they came from, what scars life had already left on their young minds. There were times when she knew they each receded into their own private hell.
Emma suffered silently with them.
She remembered the haunted look in Billy's eyes one particular evening as he sat on the porch. Emma had come outside after finishing the supper dishes and found him there alone, staring soulfully out into the distance. It was as if another time and place pulled at him.
She'd frowned her concern, asking what was troubling him. He'd laughed shortly in bitterness, his eyes mirroring the inner pain and grief. "Ghosts, Emma. Blue-eyed ghosts." Then he'd moved off silently and alone into the night.
He never talked about his past, and Emma never asked again. She figured she was better off not knowing. Many men had secrets locked away. They had their reasons. She guessed Billy had his too.
Though he wasn't die-hard for work, when hard work was necessary, Billy never shirked his responsibility. He never caused trouble at the station…well, not too much, anyway. He was just…spry and energetic.
Outside she could hear that Teaspoon had already returned and was bellowing about the boys and their horseplay and wasn't it about time they growed up, for crying out loud, then with the next breath warning them to watch their backs.
With a reserved sigh, Emma moved through the doorway to play peacemaker.
To be continued...Chapter II
Copyright 1998-This work is not to be reproduced without the permission of the author
The Way Station
Campfire Tales
