Bendigo Shafter (Louis L'Amour's Lost Treasures) Page 14

  We stood there on that cold Christmas morning, watching the riders depart, and there was within me a deep satisfaction, for once again we had stood together, strong for what we believed, wrongheaded though it might have been.

  Looking about me at Helen, at Ruth Macken and Lorna, and at Mrs. Sampson, who stood bravely in her door, a shotgun behind her which I had not seen until then, I felt that our women would have compared well with those wives of Bavaria of whom Montaigne tells.

  When besieged and defeated by the Emperor Conrad III, the gentlewomen were permitted to depart, taking with them only what they could carry and valued most. Those same gentlewomen took upon their backs their husbands and their children, and the Emperor, who had pledged to kill all the men, let them depart out of respect for their courage.

  Christmas was a warm, pleasant day, and we passed it quietly, in good talk, the singing of songs, and the eating of good food. Ruth Macken and Bud had us up for supper at her house, and a fine meal she had prepared with Ninon’s help and Bud splitting wood for the fire.

  We took the Indian along for we could not leave him, fearing what he might do when we were gone, and he lay on the floor and watched our doings, wondering at us, no doubt, as we should have wondered at some Indian customs and celebrations.

  Drake Morrell was with us, quiet this day, and talking little, content to sit alone much of the time and simply watch. No doubt he was, as all of us were, recalling other Christmases in other times, perhaps in his own home, wherever that had been.

  He spoke of the south, of Charleston, Atlanta, and of Boston, too. I thought he had lived much in the south, yet there was a bit of an accent at times, a strangeness of tone that caused me to wonder.

  We in the west asked no questions of a man. He was taken by the name he gave you, if he chose to give one, and judged by his actions. A man’s affairs were his own.

  That day I treasured, for it was the last of one world and the beginning of another. I think, sometimes, that it was the last day of my youth, although I did not know it then.

  I should see the New Year gone, but the morning after I should be riding out, a horse between my knees and a gun on my hip, to a faraway place in Oregon where I would buy cattle. I should be on my own then, carrying the gold that was saved by us all, carrying it to make our first venture toward stability and success.

  Were they wise to trust me so? And why did they? What had I done to deserve it?

  I searched my heart while I studied the horizon, and I knew I must do what must be done. I would be a man riding a man’s way, and into a far country.

  PART 2

  * * *

  CHAPTER 15

  * * *

  THE NIGHT AFTER Christmas was not restful. The Indian lay before our fireplace, and we had no reason to believe him other than an enemy. The scalps he still carried were proof enough that he could kill and had killed.

  Nor had he reason to love me, who had struck him down in one of their own lodges, before the old men. He had lost face then, and his only way to redeem himself in his own eyes and possibly theirs was to kill me.

  He was our enemy, and the small gifts we had given him he would accept without gratitude. The ethics of the white man are his own, and contrary to what he may believe, are not shared by others. Not in all cases, at least. Each people has its own standards, often similar, yet with notable differences.

  Yet we could hope that seeing us among our own would cause him to think and to wonder. We would fight him if we were attacked, we would feed him if he was hungry, we would ask nothing of him but to share this land, so little of which was used.

  This captive Indian hated me, but not because I was of a different race, simply because at one moment I had bested him, shamed him before those to whom he had boasted. I did not hate him; but there has never been any hate in me for any man. Those I disliked, I avoided.

  What I wanted in the world I felt myself able to get. The problem was simply the one of shaping this raw material that was me, shaping my strength and my thinking into the kind of man I could respect.

  “What are we going to do about him?” Tom Croft asked. “How long are you going to keep that Injun?”

  “We will take him back to his people,” Cain said.

  Ethan glanced at him, shrugged, and said, “Easier said than done, but we can surely try.”

  “We’d better,” I said. “He’s a danger here.”

  “A bullet would serve him better,” Webb said shortly. “I don’t know what you’re thinkin’ on. He’ll rise some night and murder the lot of you.”

  Now that had been in my own thoughts. He was some better, although his leg had a long way to go. He had been strong physically, and we had fed him well and treated his wound. I know our attitude puzzled him. Maybe he figured we were fattening him for torture, or something. I couldn’t see behind those black eyes whose beliefs, ideas, and impulses were so different from mine.

  When a body has been taught from boyhood that any stranger is an enemy he isn’t apt to throw that belief away because of a belly full of grub, a warm fire, and a few geegaws given him.

  What scared me was me going away and leaving the family there with that Indian, and Cain the only man. He’d have to sleep, and someday, somehow that Indian would get loose.

  “I brought him here,” I said, “and I’ll take him. There’s villages to the north. I’ll take him yonder, build a smoke, and leave him where they can pick him up.”

  “Kill him,” Webb said, “he can tell them all about us, now.”

  “They know about us,” Sampson replied. “They know our strength and our weakness. We know that one mistake, and all of us can die, and that is our strength.”

  “We should never have brought him here,” Neely grumbled. “The Reverend is right. They are a murdering lot of savages, and no mention of them in the Bible.”

  “What has that to do with it?” John Sampson asked.

  “If there’s no mention of them,” Neely said, “they are animals, not men.”

  “I don’t recall any mention of the English, either,” I said mildly.

  He gave me a mean look, then changed the subject. “We got to think of a school,” he said. “We’ve talked long enough, and now we’ve got a man who can teach in it.”

  Cain looked at him and crossed one leg over the other. “Who?” he asked.

  “The Reverend. The subject came up, and we asked him if he would, and after some argument, he agreed. As long as he is going to be the preacher here…”

  “Is he?” Cain asked.

  “Who else? He’s felt the call. John here, he reads well enough, but he’s no preacher. Not rightly speaking. Moses Finnerly is.”

  Nobody said anything for a moment and then Cain asked, “Has Finnerly started his building?”

  Neely looked startled. “No. That is, why should he build a school? They aren’t his youngsters. We sort of figured your mill wouldn’t be used until spring, and we could hold school there.”

  “It is nice of him to offer,” I said, “you don’t often find a man to volunteer to give freely of his time, like that.”

  Neely shifted his feet under the table. “Well,” he said, uncomfortably, “we had sort of thought we might take up a collection. His time is valuable, and his teaching. We have nobody who can give the time or has the knowledge.”

  Ruth Macken was there, and Helen. The meeting had come about sort of by accident in Sampson’s place, and folks had a way of dropping in when anything got started.

  “I think there is a man,” she said.

  Neely looked up. “Who?” he demanded.

  “Drake Morrell,” she said simply.

  Well, now. If you’d fired a shot in that room nobody would have been more startled. Everybody sort of sat up and stared, not only at each other but into ourselves, wondering what we thought about that.

  Mrs. Croft broke in. “You can’t be serious!”

  “The man’s a gambler and a gunfighter, a killing man who drinks!” Mr
s. Stuart was angry. “I declare, Ruth Macken, you’re gettin’ worse all the time! You and your notions!”

  “The man has an excellent classical education,” she replied quietly. “I do not believe anyone present, including myself, can approach him on the basis of education.”

  “Let’s be serious,” Tom Croft said. “The man’s no teacher. And he’s a hunted man, who has been sentenced to hang.”

  “The Reverend,” Neely said stiffly, “has kindly agreed to teach. He’s a man who knows the Bible, and he’s a good talker. He’d be preaching to us all on Sunday, anyhow, and he could teach the young uns on week days. I figure that’ll work out fine. In fact,” he added defiantly, “I told him he’d be the teacher.”

  “We have always discussed things among us,” Sampson said. “It is the only way any decision can be made.”

  “In any event,” Cain said gently, “I doubt if we have to decide this morning.” He got to his feet. “I have work to do, and so have most of us.”

  The meeting broke up, leaving Neely Stuart arguing with Tom Croft as they went out, angry at Ruth Macken for her suggestion.

  Ethan waited for me outside. “If you mean what you say about the Indian,” he said, “I’ll ride along.”

  “Thanks. I leave in a few days. He’d best be out of here before then.”

  We caught up our horses and saddled them, and then another horse for the redskin.

  Cain was at the door when we came for him. “Be careful,” he warned. “I am not sure I like this.”

  “We haven’t much choice,” I said.

  “We’ll get shut of him,” Ethan said, “an’ when we leave we won’t waste around.”

  And we didn’t.

  We headed off up-country with that Indian between us, Ethan riding ahead and me bringing up the rear, and watching him carefully. It was a far stretch, and the snow-clad mountains lay white and lovely about us, the dark pines trying to shake off their snow to show their proud heads above it.

  Nameless lakes we skirted, and deep ravines where streams struggled against the ice that held them down, and we plunged our horses through drifts, occasionally finding a trail. When at last we smelled smoke we took it easy down through the pines, avoiding the bare poles of the aspen groves.

  The lodges squatted on the valley floor a thousand feet below, smoke lifting from them.

  We sat our saddles a moment, studying them out, for in time to come it might be good to know.

  “This is your village?” I asked.

  He grunted at me, and I took it for agreement. “We can’t spare the horse,” I said, “so you’ll have to wait for them to come and get you, or crawl. I’d wait, myself.”

  He just looked at me.

  I made the sign for friend to him, but he just glared at me, then spat.

  “All right,” I said. “Have it your own way.”

  “I kill!” he said. “I kill all!”

  “You’d better get some big Indians to come along for the job,” I said, “you couldn’t kill a bug with a stick.”

  We helped him down to the snow, then fetched a few sticks and put together a hat full of fire. When the smoke started to rise, Ethan fired his rifle in the air, and we took off.

  “He’s a mean one,” Ethan said miles later when we’d slowed down. “There’s no give to him. Them Sheep-Eaters are usually good folks. I’ve known a passel of them, time to time.”

  “Keep an eye out for him when spring comes,” I said, “he’s made his war talk, and he’ll likely try to come down upon us.”

  Ethan nodded. “Wished I was coming with you,” he said, “you’re riding a far piece, alone.”

  “Well, I got it to do.”

  “A ride like that,” Ethan agreed, “that’ll grow hair on your chest.”

  “So long as I don’t lose what’s on my head.”

  That night at Cain’s place we held council. We had no idea what cattle would sell for in Oregon, but I had money to take along, a good bit of it for those days and times.

  Cain and I, we had put by a little cash to use in California, but some of it had gone into extra supplies at Fort Laramie. Now we studied it out, the gamble and what might happen, and I took a hundred dollars of my money and two hundred of Cain’s. That left him almighty little and me but fifty to carry for expenses.

  Ruth Macken had two hundred dollars, Drake Morrell put in four hundred, John Sampson forty, Croft fifty, Neely Stuart a hundred in fresh gold.

  “I could afford more,” he said, “but seein’ this here is a gamble, I reckon that’ll have to do.”

  Webb came up at the last and counted out sixty dollars. “Don’t leave me much,” he said, “but if anybody can do it, Ben, you can. Take her along and do the best you can. No matter what happens you’ll hear no complaints from me.”

  “Thanks, Webb. I’ll do the best I can.”

  Listening to their talk, I stood tall and lean, wide-legged beside them, knowing their trust in me and how much each had trusted to me that he could not afford to lose. I carried their futures on my western ride…their futures and mine.

  Drake walked outside the door with me to look upon the night. For a time we stood there and then he said, “It is a lot of money you carry, and there will be men in towns who are thieves, as well as dangers on the road.”

  “I shall be careful.”

  “Trust no one. Not even the ones who seem most to be trusted. That way you will be safe.”

  He paused and then said, “Life being what it is, and a man not knowing from one moment to the next, I want you to know that if anything happens to me, whatever profit there is from this venture shall go to Ninon.”

  “I will remember.”

  “She has wealthy relatives, but she would not go to them beholden. A little of her own will give her security.”

  Ruth Macken came out. “Mr. Morrell, we are to have a school here.”

  “Yes,” he said.

  “For a school there must be a teacher.”

  Even in the half-light I could see the quizzical glance he threw her. “Who better than you?” he suggested.

  “Neely Stuart and the Crofts want the Reverend Moses Finnerly.”

  “Oh, my God!” He looked at her. “You’re joking?”

  “No.”

  “That bigoted fool?”

  “He professes to be a man of God, and he is ready to accept.”

  “Well,” he said cynically, “anything can happen. Why not you? You’ve a gift for it, I think.”

  “There are several boys. Foss Webb is big, and he will be hard to handle.”

  “Just call on me, Mrs. Macken, whenever you need me.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Morrell, I am calling on you now.”

  “Now? What for?”

  “To teach. I want you to be the teacher. I believe there are others who do also.”

  He stared at her as if she had lost her mind, and then he said, “You are too kind, Mrs. Macken, but please consider: I am a gambler, I have been known to drink more than I should, and I have killed five men in gun battles. I do not think you understand what you are suggesting.”

  “I do understand. I have heard you were an honest gambler, but skillful. I do not think you would drink while a teacher, and we have ourselves had to use guns. In fact, I am quite sure I killed at least one man myself.

  “I did not wish to do it, but we were protecting our homes.”

  “You honor me, Mrs. Macken.” He turned to me. “Bendigo, how far has this gone?”

  “It has divided the town,” I said. “I am for you. You have already heard Mrs. Macken. John Sampson is for you with reservations, and so is Webb. Cain has not said what he thinks.”

  “And the others?”

  “Neely, his wife, and the Crofts all want Finnerly, so it stands four and four with no vote from Cain.”

  “Mr. Morrell, you are a gentleman. You have dignity and poise. You have an education, that is obvious. I do not believe what we could pay you would serve as any inducement, b
ut I beg you to consider the quality of the gentleman who would accept the position if you decline.”

  “That’s unfair.”

  “Bud is my consideration, Mr. Morrell. Bud and Ninon, since she is now in my care. There are other children here. I believe they should grow up with a love of learning, and a respect for it. Living here they will have no trouble understanding the harsher realities.

  “I want my son to learn what he can, but most of all I wish him to be a citizen, to judge issues, to use logic in his thinking, to respect his country and its people.”

  “That is a great deal. I must think of this, Mrs. Macken. Never in my wildest thoughts have I…”

  “Please do.” She shivered. “It is growing cold. Bendigo, will you walk to my house? There is something I must give you.”

  Outside her door she whispered, “Bud is probably asleep. Will you wait?”

  She went within and closed the door softly behind her. When she emerged she pressed something into my hand.

  It was a derringer.

  “You may need it. My husband always believed in having a little more in case of trouble.” She paused. “There is a way of carrying it up your sleeve. Drake Morrell can show you how. He carries one of his there.”

  CHAPTER 16

  * * *

  DARKNESS LAY UPON our town when I rode away to Oregon.

  We had decided it was better so. No watcher would see me leave, neither to follow me or to know our town held one rifle less.

  Nor was anyone out to say goodbye, for we had talked of that, too, and goodbyes were said earlier and inside. With Cain and me it was quiet talk about various things and a strong handclasp eye to eye, and he turned away to go on with his making of nails.

  Helen had packed a bait of grub for me, and she and Lorna stowed it in my saddlebags.

  When that was done I walked up to the bench to have a few words with Ruth Macken, Bud, and Ninon. Cain walked out to feed the stock, and while he was forking hay to them he saddled my horse and loaded my gear on the packhorse I was taking.