A Claim of Her Own (27 page)

Gallagher climbed the gulch every few days after that. Through him, Mattie learned the news. Charlie Utter and a partner had established a pony express between Deadwood and Fort Laramie. The plan was for it to make weekly trips. The Lawrence County Commission had voted a reward of twenty-five dollars for every Indian brought in, dead or alive. Tom English was doing a brisk business while Swede was freighting. Later in the month the –
Pioneer
published an extra with the “full details of the butchery of General Custer and his forces.” Mattie learned all of it through Aron Gallagher or Freddie, although the latter had begun to hunt more than he checked on Mattie. And that was all right. Aron was good company.

It was July 20 before Mattie ventured into Deadwood again. At Garth and Company she found Tom English bent over the newspaper he’d spread out on the counter with a worried expression on his face. “What’s wrong?”

With a sigh, he shook his head and stood up. He pointed to the article he’d been reading. “General Merritt’s left Fort Robinson down in Nebraska. He’s headed to meet up with General Crook and march north. With Terry’s troop coming from the east, and Gibbon’s forces from the west, they’re trying to surround Crazy Horse and the rest of the marauding Sioux with a three-pronged attack.” He paused. “There’s talk of forming a militia to protect the camp. Captain Jack Crawford’s got up three companies plus cavalry. They’re calling themselves Custer’s Minutemen.”

“Well, nobody’s going to expect you to join them, I hope,” Mattie said.

English shook his head. “No. But I would if I thought it would keep the Sidney-Deadwood trail safe.”

“You think Swede’s in danger? I thought it sounded like all the trouble was to the north of us.”

“After reading this”—he tapped the paper with his hook—“I don’t know what to think. It doesn’t seem like a very well-planned campaign, and from what I’ve heard, Sheridan has nothing but contempt for the Sioux. Which means he’s probably underestimating them.”

“The weather’s been fine since the freighters left Deadwood this last time,” Mattie reminded him. “I bet they’re at least halfway to Sidney. Surely that’s far enough south to be out of danger.” Tom didn’t look any less worried, so Mattie tried harder. “Even if the Sioux were inclined to attack a freight train, don’t you think they’d be after the ones headed this way so they could cause as much damage as possible? I mean, what’s the point in going after empty wagons?”

“Everything you’re saying is logical,” Tom said. “But you and I both know that no matter the color of their skin, men aren’t logical when they’re fighting for their survival. And if I were Sioux, I’d be desperate and more than willing to attack anything that represented the whites whose presence was threatening my way of life.”

“All right,” Mattie said. “I see your point. But don’t forget how long Swede has been freighting with Mr. Tallent as the wagon master and how smart they both are. If there’s trouble on the trail, they’ll lay over in Sidney until things quiet down.” She forced a laugh. “Or maybe raise their own militia down there and blast their way back home. I could see Swede doing something like that.”

Tom didn’t laugh. “I wish they’d get that telegraph strung. Freddie’s so worried he can hardly sleep.”

“From what I can see, Freddie isn’t the only one who isn’t sleeping for worry,” Mattie said. “You know . . . the whole camp depends on those supplies. Maybe you should organize some men to guard the trail going south.” She walked over to the paper calendar hanging on one wall. “She left on Friday after the Fourth . . .” She looked back at Tom. “How long does it take with empty wagons? About a month?”

“Twenty-two or three days if they make twelve miles a day. But that assumes no rain and a smooth, dry trail.”

“So . . .” Mattie turned back to the calendar. “Let’s say it didn’t rain. That means she’ll land in Sidney . . . Saturday. The twenty-ninth. With two days to load they all head back north on the thirty-first.” She dropped her arm. “You have plenty of time to make your case and gather a troop to ride with you. You could meet the train on its way back. Shoot, if you hurry you could provide an escort for nearly the entire way. Am I right?”

“You are, but—” He looked around him at the store.

“If you don’t mind my closing up one day a week so I can work my claim and keep anyone from challenging its status as an active operation, I’ll mind the store.”
What are you saying? Right when
you’re finding good color . . . and enjoying having time to yourself. . . .
Part of her wanted to pull the words out of the air and stuff them back inside. But it was too late.

Tom was smiling. “You’d do that?”

The look on his face . . . Ah well. It wasn’t like her gold was going anywhere. She was likely going to be here for the winter anyway. What was a month more or less. “Of course I would. The McKays would watch over things for me, and as long as I can work it a day a week I’ve ‘shown interest’—right?”

Tom nodded. “We could ask Freddie to sleep up there— if you aren’t comfortable with making arrangements with the McKays.”

“Freddie would want to go with you, and I think you should let him. He’s a good shot. There’s no reason to leave him here worrying.”

“You’ve got a point.” Tom looked back down at the newspaper and murmured, “I just wish I knew she was all right.”

“You’ve become quite fond of Swede.”

He hesitated before answering. “I admire her” was all he said.

“So do I,” Mattie said. “But I’m not climbing on my trusty steed and going out to rescue her.”

“If I do this, don’t you dare describe it that way to Swede. Ever. She’s not the kind of woman who wants a man to come running to the rescue.”

Mattie smiled. “You might be surprised, Mr. English. You just might be surprised.”

It happened on his way back toward Deadwood. Jonas had camped early and just gotten a fire going, glad for the peace and quiet. Needing time to think about what to do next. Weeks of combing these gulches and mining camps for some trace of Mattie O’Keefe and nothing. He was sick of it. Sick of the filth and the stink. Sick of half-rotten food and drunken miners. Sick of the hysteria about what Crazy Horse did or didn’t do and what Spotted Tail did or might do. And, interestingly enough, Jonas realized he was just about out of anger. In fact, if it weren’t for the three thousand dollars he was missing since Mattie ran off, he would just pack it up and head home.

“Help me. Please, somebody. Help me.”

Jonas sprung up and looked around. Had he really heard that? He looked to the trees above him, followed the rocky terrain all the way to the rim of the gulch. Nothing. Not so much as a rustle in the trees.
You have to get out of this place. It’s making you crazy
.

He hobbled his horse and then pulled off the bedroll and saddlebags and finally the saddle. It would be good to get some rest in a place where there wasn’t gunfire or a street fight or some drunk screaming profanity at the top of his lungs every few minutes. Not that Abilene was tame. But it was familiar. And a man could see where he was. See the horizon, know what was going on. He felt claustrophobic in these hills. Too closed in.

He positioned the saddle so he could use it like a pillow. Spreading his bedroll out, Jonas lay back and stared up at the sky. The only thing left to try was going back through Deadwood with Mattie’s picture, posing as a worried father looking for a runaway daughter. Could he play that part? He’d just about decided he was better off without the little witch. If this Godforsaken country was what she wanted, so be it. All she had to do was give the money back.

He’d just closed his eyes when he thought he heard something again. Not a voice really, but there was definitely the sound of rock skittering down the side of the gulch. Snatching his pistol, Jonas leaped to his feet and searched the rocks above him again.

Over at Bobtail today all they could talk about was how Custer was killed and Crook was beaten and the next fight would be right here in these mining camps. Afraid to go out on the plains, freighters were delaying their departures. Some of the freighters on the way in were turning back toward Sidney and Pierre, Fort Laramie and Cheyenne.

Imagining a hunting party of Sioux on the rocks above him, Jonas decided enough was enough. Maybe Mattie was in these hills and maybe she wasn’t. Either way, it wasn’t worth getting scalped to find out. He’d stop at the newspaper office in Deadwood and put a notice in about his “long lost daughter.” He’d write something so sappy and emotional that every bleeding heart who read it would want to help him. And if that didn’t turn her up in the next few days, so be it. He’d consider it a lesson learned and never again let a little vixen like Mattie O’Keefe flit around his place setting limits on what she would and would not do.

Now that he thought about it, that one saloonkeeper down in Deadwood had a pretty good idea. He was advertising in the papers back East for hotel maids and singers, paying their way to Deadwood, and then introducing them to the real world. Swearengen said he mostly got innocents without kin. Desperation made such women more pliable. Especially if you were nice to them at first. As far as Jonas could tell, it was working out all right for Swearengen. Oh, he’d had one girl who couldn’t take it, but so what. As the man’s wife said, some girls just didn’t work out. Nothing you could do about that.

The Swearengens had plans for a new place. They were going to call it the Gem. Two stories, with a balcony right on Main Street where the women could “take the air.” Swearengen said he’d be taking in five thousand a night inside of a year or close up shop and move on. He was the right kind of man for Deadwood. Just past being openly brutal. His own wife had a black eye and was walking with a limp. Not Jonas’s style at all. To his way of thinking, if you had to get physical, you were careful not to leave a mark where people could see it. No, he wouldn’t operate a place using Swearengen’s tactics, but he might try recruiting for Abilene through the newspapers. What did he have to lose?

He glanced around him and decided he was overreacting about a few rocks sliding down the gulch. The horse was grazing quietly, and that surely wouldn’t be the case if Sioux were lurking on the ridge above. He lay back again. He had to get out of this place and back to Abilene. People who thought his part of Kansas was uncivilized didn’t know what they were talking about.
You want to see uncivilized?
he’d say when he got back where he belonged.
Take the trail north
to Dakota Territory.

“Help . . . anybody . . . please.”

Jonas grabbed his gun again and barked, “Show yourself!”

“Can’t. So . . . sick.”

The voice seemed to be coming from up above him somewhere. Was it a trick? He peered up into the trees again, searching for even the smallest movement that would give the owner of the voice away.
Nothing.

Trick or no, he’d be a fool to camp here tonight. Not after whoever or whatever had made their presence known. It was getting dark, but he could still follow the creek down through the camps and back into Deadwood.

He doused the fire and began to pack up. Just as he was saddling the bay, another pile of rocks slid down from above, only this time the rocks were accompanied by a man-size lump of humanity falling, rolling, crawling down toward his campfire.

The man—he was white, that much Jonas could tell—held up his hand. “Please. Help. Need a doctor.”

“You been shot?” Jonas laced the girth strap through the saddle ring and pulled it tight. He lifted the stirrup off the saddle horn and reached for his bridle.

“Fever . . . everywhere . . . hurt . . . awful.” The man tried to sit up. Failed. Dropped his head back to the earth and lay still.

Jonas saw the bag around the unconscious man’s neck. No way to know if it was empty. At least not from here. He glanced around. It could still be a trick. He bridled the horse and took off the hobbles. In the failing light it was hard to know if someone was up there on the ridge or not. He waited.

One thing you could count on in these hills. Shadows gathered quickly, bringing on the night. The unconscious man coughed once, twice, and lay still again. Dead or not, it was all the same to Jonas, who was busy rolling up his bedroll and tying it in place behind his saddle. The only noise in the gulch right now was an owl hooting somewhere off to the southwest. The bay’s ears twisted to check on it but he remained calm. That was a good sign. Nothing to worry about.