Authors: Karen Noland
He put the paper down on the
rough wooden table and smoothed the wrinkles mechanically with his fingers.
“Joe, I don’t....” He swallowed hard, the words sticking painfully in his
throat.
“I’ll be leaving at first
light. I’d be grateful if you’d see to it the men are paid.” Joe stated
woodenly.
“I’m going with you.”
“No, I couldn’t ask you to do
that.”
“No one’s asking, I’m going.”
Luke stated firmly. He gathered the papers, placed a dollar on the table,
walked over to the man at the desk and paid for a room in advance. Striding
across the lobby, he called, “Sarah.”
“Yes, sir?” She appeared promptly
at the kitchen door.
“See that my friend there gets a
good meal, then take him up to our room.” He handed her a key and two dollars.
“That I will, but this is too
much...” she began. He held up his hand. The look in his eyes told her that he
would accept no protest, and that this was a most serious task he had set her
to do. “Yes, sir.”
***
Assured that Joe would be in good
hands until his return, he left the hotel quickly and headed toward the livery
where he knew he’d find the rest of the boys. The sun was sinking rapidly in
the west painting the heavens with vibrant shades of pink, purple and red, the
azure sky darkening towards the deep violet of night. A few bright stars
already shone like diamonds against the varicolored background. An early group
of revelers sang drunkenly on the wooden plank sidewalk in front of the largest
saloon. Shopkeepers were busily closing up for the night in anticipation of returning
home to hearth and family. The everyday sights and sounds struck a note of
discord in Luke.
Entering the livery through a
small side door, he was struck immediately by the earthy aroma that was so familiar
and comforting. The pungent odor of manure overlaid by sweet smelling hay mixed
with the rich scents of oiled leather and horse sweat was a balm applied to his
soul. He stood for moment breathing it in, and listening to the myriad sounds,
horses contentedly munching hay, the buzzing of a few early flies, a snort, a
soft answering whicker from a distant stall.
All too soon, the drone of
conversation caught his attention. And he made his way through the dim barn to
a small room at the back. Here he found the other three men he had shared the
trail with this last month. Entering silently he was met with hearty greetings
from the gathered men. They had formed a close bond over the last few weeks,
and all regarded Luke as one of their own, while respecting his quiet
authority, and answering to him as readily as they had their trail boss, Joe.
The small lantern in the middle
of the room cast a pale light across the assembled men. Luke hesitated, hating
the task at hand, then slowly began, “I’ve brought your pay. You’re free to go
as you please, though I’m sure the ranch would welcome any of you back. Me and
Joe, well, we’ll be leaving in the morning.”
“Where ya headed?” Asked Phillip,
eager to continue on wherever they might lead.
Luke paused for a long moment,
looking hard at Phillip, then at each of the men in turn. Silence fell heavily
upon the small group as they waited for Luke to continue. “Zora and their boy,
Sam, they... they died last month.” Shocked disbelief filled the room. “I’ll be
ridin’ home with Joe.”
A palpable silence fell over the
men; the sounds of the livery and the gathering night beyond filled the void.
Finally Phillip spoke, “I ’spect, I’ll head back to the ranch,” he said softly.
The others nodded agreement. “You’ll be comin’ along, after, won’t ya, Luke?”
He asked earnestly.
“I don’t know,” Luke replied with
a sigh.
***
There was a chill in the early
morning air as the two men started out for Rush Springs, the bedrolls and
saddle bags tied tightly behind their saddles contained all they would need for
the short trip, indeed all they really had. The forty miles to their
destination could be done in one day’s hard riding, but the horses walked
slowly over the well-worn trail, and neither man chose to push them any faster.
The miles rolled by uneventfully.
The red Oklahoma earth dotted sparsely with trees in this region, and the new
spring grass just beginning to emerge, painting the plains with the lush green
life that would sustain the cattle herds. A gulf of silence lay between the two
men. Joe could find no words to voice his grief, and words of comfort were
foreign to Luke.
Joe muttered an incoherent
curse as his bay mare stumbled and nearly fell. They came to a stop and Joe
dismounted. Picking up her left front hoof the reason for the misstep was
obvious. The iron shoe that covered and supported her hoof was loose and a
large chunk of hoof wall was torn from the quarter. Without stopping to reset
the shoe, the little mare would end up lame.
“Why don’t you let me take care
of that?” Luke always kept a set of tools in his saddle bags, a hammer,
clinches, sole knife, nippers and a rasp, a few spare nails and one or two
shoes. A good horse was more than just a means of transportation, and keeping
one sound was an ongoing concern to any cowboy. He laid out the tools, and
quietly set to work.
Joe held the mare’s reins while
Luke placed her hoof between his knees. He removed the old shoe and tossed it
to the side. Evaluating the injury with an experienced eye, he determined that
the hoof was not too badly damaged and set about trimming the wall. Rasping it
smooth, he nailed a new shoe in place. He set her foot down gently and walked
over to the discarded shoe, picking it up, he placed it absently in the pocket
of his jacket.
“Hungry?” Asked Joe, holding out
a thick slice of bread and some seasoned jerky.
“Yeah, as a matter of fact, I
am.” Luke replied taking the proffered meal. They sat down with their backs to
a large outcrop of rocks and ate their sparse meal in silence. The horses
grazed contentedly a short distance away.
“Hey, Rio, get back on over
here.” Luke called as he noticed his big gray gelding drifting further away.
Rio’s head popped up and he obediently trotted over to his master, nosing
Luke’s arm and waiting patiently for his share of the bread. “You old rascal.
Here. Are you satisfied now?” Rio took the chunk of bread that Luke held up,
devouring it in a single bite, shook his head and walked a few steps away to
graze again.
The horse had been a gift from
his father many years ago. Luke remembered the night his dad had hauled him out
of a warm bed into the chill night air to witness the birth of this foal. The
mare had been down, laboring hard for too long. One small hoof and a small
black nose were all that could be seen of the foal. There should have been two
hooves, one a few inches in front of the other with that little nose on top of
them. Something was dreadfully wrong. The mare pushed and strained, but made no
progress.
“You sit at her head, Luke, and talk
to her. I need you to keep her just as calm as you can.” His father was rolling
up a long white sleeve as he gave the instructions to Luke.
“Pa, what are you going to do? I
don’t want her to die, pa, please!” The boy pleaded. The small oil lamp cast a
feeble glow against the dark. He could barely see his father’s expression, but
he knew in that moment there was little hope. Luke’s heart sank, even as he
watched his father reach inside the tired mare.
“The foal’s other leg is
back. I don’t know if I can pull it forward or not. If I can’t, we’ll lose them
both for certain. If I can, there’s a chance the babe can make it. Luke, I
don’t know if we can save the mare or not.” His father was always forthright
and plain spoken; that was always the image Luke had of him. He could not
remember a single time his father had shown any real emotion, except at his
mother’s funeral. The image of that large stoic man standing at the open grave
with tears streaming down his otherwise stony face was seared forever in Luke’s
memory.
“I can feel it. It’s coming, I
think... there. Now, Maggie, push girl.” As if on cue the mare gave a last
valiant effort and the small foal made his entrance into the cold night.
Unfortunately the effort had
proved too much for the old mare. The mal placed hoof had torn her uterus, and
she died the next day from blood loss.
His father had wanted to put the
colt down as well, saying it would be too hard to raise an orphan foal, but
Luke pleaded with him, and the old man relented, placing the raising of the
foal squarely on the shoulders of the boy. If they survived the ordeal, the
colt was his to keep. They had been inseparable from that day forward.
***
The sun was high, warming the air
around them. Joe sat hunched over lost in his own thoughts. Luke reached into
his pocket absently fiddling with the lost shoe. Pulling it out, he
contemplated the u-shaped slab of iron. Funny how forging such metal could make
it stronger and more malleable, yet if you heated it further, to a molten
state, let it cool and harden again, it became brittle, prone to shatter rather
than bend.
Struck by sudden insight, Luke
spoke, “Joe, have you ever watched a blacksmith make one of these things?”
“Well, yeah, I s’pose I have.”
Joe replied a little taken aback.
“He takes a shapeless bar of
metal, heats it red hot, then beats it, and shapes it, over and over until it’s
just so. When he’s done it’s no longer a useless piece of iron, but an
incredible tool that helps to keep that beast over there sound.” Luke said tossing
the shoe to his friend.
“Yeah.” said Joe eyeing the thing
suspiciously.
“You’d think the fire and the
pounding would weaken the piece, but it strengthens it, makes it ready for
service.” He paused for a moment as though considering, hesitant to continue.
At last he took a deep breath and said, “Those whom God would use, He also
strengthens.”
Joe’s eyes narrowed as he stared
at the distant horizon, silent. After a long pause he shifted his gaze back to
the man beside him. “Why Zora, why Sam? If this suffering is supposed to make
me
stronger, then why did
they
pay the price?” He asked bitterly.
“Well, Joe, from everything
my pa tried to get through my thick skull, I’d have to say, they’re in a better
place right now than you or I could even dream about. It’s not them that are
suffering, Joe; it’s those of us left behind.”
“Yeah? I thought you didn’t
believe in God.”
Luke sighed, looked at the
ground, studying every detail of the blades of grass at his feet. “I never said
I didn’t believe. I’m just not sure what He has to do with me.”
Kate’s eyes flew open. It was
dark, the faint glow of approaching dawn just visible beyond her window. She
lay motionless in the chill morning air, listening intently for the sound that
had awakened her. There it was again, a faint calling of night birds. Why did
this bother her? Something about it seemed wrong, out of place.
Stealing quietly from her warm
bed, she grabbed the clothes that lay in a heap on the floor. Dressing as she
walked to the table, she fumbled for the oil lamp and the matches in the
drawer. Striking the match against the rough wood, she lit the lamp and turned
the wick to adjust the glow of the light. With the lamp before her, she made
her way quietly to the kitchen. The big wood-burning stove glowed warmly from
the banked fire. Opening the iron door, she carefully stirred the coals with a
long black poker. She placed a few of the larger pieces of kindling into the
fire box, and held her hands out to the warmth as the small flames began to flicker.
In the larder she found
some cornbread and a chunk of ham from last night’s supper. Placing these into
a small cloth, she tied the corners together to form a bundle. Amidst the
normal preparations for her morning ride to check the fence lines for needed
repairs, she could not shake the vague uneasiness that had awakened her.
Frowning, she peered out the window into the darkness that surrounded the
little house.
About to turn away, a movement
near the garden fence caught her eye. Fear gripped her stomach as she stared
intently trying in vain to make out what it was that moved so stealthily.
Finally convincing herself that it was only a deer walking warily through the
garden looking for tender new shoots, she froze instantly at the soft knocking
on the kitchen door.
Kate’s eyes darted about
desperately looking for a weapon, anything to protect herself and her family
from the unknown visitor at their door. Her eyes lit upon Will’s old Winchester
standing behind the pantry. Kate had no idea whether it was loaded or what it
might be loaded with, but it was the only thing to be had. Reaching for the
gun, her eyes never left the door. With the carbine safely in hand, she
cautiously approached the door, still hoping against hope that it was no more
than the wind blowing an errant shutter against the house, but knowing in her
heart that it wasn’t.
Praying fervently that
Jolene would remain asleep in her bed, she reached toward the latch. Steeling
herself and steadying the gun over one arm, she carefully opened the door. The
apparition that met her eyes nearly took her breath away. Two young men with
long dark hair, clad in tall leather boots, leggings and woolen trade coats
held another man limply between them. One of the men carried a rifle slung back
over his shoulder. They appeared tired, their eyes held a haunted look, and one
of them was obviously badly injured. Kate’s heart raced. She had seen Indians
at the fort and in Fallis, but never had one appeared at her door.