A Man Called Sunday (18 page)

He was able to recover only one of his three arrows. The other two broke when he tried to extract them, having been driven too deeply into the carcass. He heard Mary Beth call behind him. “Luke,” came the cautious cry, “are you all right?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied.

“I heard the shots and then there was nothing,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn't know who did the shooting. I was afraid you might have been shot.”

“I reckon that was the plan,” Luke said. “It might be best if you go on over closer to the fire while I take care of these two. I'll take a look back down the creek just in case, but I don't think there was anybody else with 'em.” He had thought to keep her from seeing the bodies of their assailants, but it was too late.

“Oh my dear Lord,” she gasped when she saw the huge body lying on the creek bank. “Oh my Lord,” she said again. “Why would they come to kill us?”

“I expect they found out what was in that sack of corn of yours,” he replied.

“But why kill us for it? Why not just rob us and be on their way?”

He was surprised by her naïveté, especially in light of the suspicions that she had harbored for him in the beginning, but he chose not to remind her. “That's just their way of makin' sure nobody comes after them,” he said. “You go over by the fire now, and I'll be back when I'm done with this one and his partner over in the trees.”

She did as he said, suddenly feeling a chill about her shoulders that was not totally a result of the night air. There was no doubt in her mind that sleeping was out of the question for the rest of that night. And even though he had said there were no others to fear, she knew that she would be afraid until he returned.
What a fool I was,
she scolded herself.
I should never have agreed to go to Montana.
The few friends she had made in Cheyenne had told her of the harsh reality of trying to carve out a life in that wild territory, but David's brother had told them that it was no rougher than life in Wyoming Territory.
Well,
she decided,
my friends were right, and now look at me. David's gone and there's been nothing but murder and savagery at every turn
. She was suddenly struck by the stillness of the dark trees along the banks of the creek, and she could not help feeling that someone, or something, was watching her every move. She shivered once again and thought,
I wish Luke would hurry back here
.

When Luke had found the horses tied in the trees, after a short walk back down the creek, he was positive that the two men he killed were the only assailants he had to worry about. Having pulled Gopher's body halfway up the bank, he had decided that hauling the hulking carcass away from the clearing was work better suited to a horse. He got on one of the horses and led the other back to the camp, where he tied a rope around Gopher's ankles and looped the other end around the saddle horn. He dragged the body well out of the way past the edge of the trees, then repeated the chore with Kirby's corpse. “Well, boys,” he said upon completion of the chore, “I expect the buzzards will be right glad to see you in the mornin'.” He paused again to consider whether or not he should pay Lem Sloat a visit. It bothered him to think the grubby little man might have set these two upon them, but there was no way he could know for sure.
I reckon I'd best just forget about it and worry about getting Mary Beth to her folks,
he told himself. He wondered now if he could believe Sloat when he had told him that Coulson was three days west of his store.

When he returned to the clearing, he found Mary Beth making a pot of coffee. When she saw the look of surprise on his face, she informed him that she was positive that she could no longer sleep, although it was in the wee hours of the morning. “This place is just too creepy,” she said. “I just want to get away from here as fast as we can, and I can tell by the expression on your face that you're thinking about waiting until morning. So it's a good thing I made some coffee. It'll help me keep my eyes open, because I have no intention of closing them again in this place.”

Astonished by her long and frank statement, Luke paused, still holding the reins of the horses that had belonged to the men just killed. He guessed that she must have really been frightened by her rude awakening to gunshots only a few dozen steps from her bed. But he could not understand why she was still afraid now that the danger was past. “Both of them fellers are dead,” he reminded her, hoping that would ease her fear. She looked at him as if she thought he was insane.

“Yes,” she exclaimed, as she would have if trying to explain something to a child. “They're dead! They came to kill us, but you killed them instead!” Her voice became louder and louder as she released her emotions. “The Indians tried to kill us, but you killed them. Everyone in this territory is trying to kill everyone else! My God! What's wrong with you people?” In an attempt to vent her frustration, she began kicking dirt on the fire. Luke could only stand and watch while she threw her tantrum. He had never seen a woman behave in such fashion, and he had no idea what was wrong with her, but she was going to put out the fire if she kept kicking dirt on it. So he realized something must be done to settle her down. He dropped the reins he had been holding, moved quickly toward her, and in one swift motion, he swept her up in his arms. While she fought helplessly against him, he calmly walked to the edge of the creek and dropped her in the middle of it. Then he stepped back and watched as she thrashed about furiously in the cold current, gasping for air while spitting blasphemous oaths. Still straining to catch her breath, she struggled to climb out of the creek, only to slip and tumble back to sit down once again in the chilly water.

He waded part of the way out to her and extended his hand. “Here, take hold and I'll pull you outta there.” She eagerly grasped his hand.

“I'm freezing,” she exclaimed when she gained her footing on the grassy crest of the creek bank. Drained of her anger and frustration, she shivered uncontrollably.

“You'd best get outta them wet clothes,” he said. “You've got some dry things to put on, ain't you?”

“In the packs,” she replied, and hurried to find them. She paused for just a moment to ask, “Why did you do that?”

“I saw a dog throw a fit one time in a Crow village. It was kinda like the one you just threw, only the dog didn't say all them things you did. The Indian the dog belonged to grabbed him by the hind legs and threw him in the river. He came out of the river and slinked off in the woods—seemed to be calmed down. I thought maybe the same thing might work on you.”

She shook her head in exasperation as she gazed at him, finding it hard to believe what had just happened. “Well, I'm calm now,” she said, “freezing, but I'm calm. I've just got to get out of these wet clothes before I catch pneumonia.”

“I'm glad you're calm, but I'll still be keepin' my eye on you for a while.”

“Why?” she asked.

“'Cause a couple of hours after that Crow threw his dog in the river, that dog came outta the woods growling and foamin' at the mouth. He came after one of them Indians and they had to shoot him.” A slight smile threatened to appear on Luke's face. “I was hopin' it wouldn't come to that with you.”

Shocked, by his casual manner, she didn't know how to react for a few moments until it struck her. “You're joking, aren't you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” he replied, the smile expanding to a grin. “I wouldn't have shot you. Fact is, I was afraid you mighta shot me after I threw you in the creek.”

She found that she could not be angry with him, and she realized that this was the first time he had ever joked since she had known him—about anything. She could not help uttering it. “You actually joked with me. I can't believe it,
Dead Man
.”

It was his turn to be surprised. “How did you know my Crow name?”

“Oh, I know a lot of things,” she teased as she pulled some dry clothes from the pack. “Women know a lot more things than men suspect.”

“I wouldn't know about that,” he said. “I'd have to take your word for it. You'd better get outta them wet clothes, though. I'll take a walk back down the creek if you wanna stay by the fire.”

“No,” she said. “I'll go back in the trees to change. You stay by the fire.”
Where I can see you,
she thought. She was willing to trust him with her life, but she didn't rule out the natural curiosity that men seemed to be born with.

While she changed, he took a more thorough look at the horses they had just acquired. Fairly sturdy, he decided, but nothing special; both were sorrels. At least he could use one of the saddles and would no longer have to ride bareback. His first thought was that he would get his horse back now, with two saddled horses to choose from for Mary Beth. But after thinking about it for a moment, he decided that he had better leave her on the paint. She had become accustomed to the horse, and with possibly only about three days left to Coulson, maybe it was a good idea to let her be. Next, he considered the possibility of putting a saddle on the spotted gray pony he had been riding. It was a good horse, but had obviously never had a saddle strapped on its back. A spirited pony, the gray might not be willing to accept the saddle without a lively protest, and he wasn't willing to take the time at this point to saddle-break a horse.
I reckon I'll just ride the one with the best saddle,
he thought,
and worry about breaking the gray when we get to wherever we're going.
His decision made, he yanked the saddles off both horses and let them rest with his three Indian ponies, for in spite of Mary Beth's tirade, he did not intend to leave until daylight.

Mary Beth came back to hang her wet clothes up to dry on some small limbs Luke had driven into the ground by the fire. She glanced at the saddles on the ground, then looked at Luke with a question in her eyes. He answered it before she had a chance to put it in words. “There might be some rough places along the river trail, and I'd rather see 'em in the daylight,” he said. “And I'm plannin' on gettin' a couple hours' sleep. It's gonna be a long day tomorrow. I expect you oughta do the same.”

She looked at him, amazed that he could even think about going to sleep after what had taken place on this night. He gave no indication that he was preparing to sleep as he poured a cup of coffee from the pot she had put on the fire, and gnawed on a strip of dried venison. “Well, I'm not closing my eyes,” she reminded him. “So I guess I'll act as lookout while you're sleeping.” She could not help adding a little barb. “Maybe I will see them if somebody else comes sneaking in to kill us.”

“I hope so,” Luke replied rather casually. He finished his coffee in silence, then held his blanket up to inspect the two bullet holes. “They didn't do my blanket any good,” he commented. Settling himself a few feet from the fire, he soon was asleep. Mary Beth was left to her thoughts of frustration and astonishment. That he could simply roll up in his blanket and go to sleep was beyond her understanding. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down near the fire, clutching her father's old revolver in one hand.

He awoke with the first rays of the sun that filtered through the cottonwood branches. Before going into the trees to relieve himself of the coffee he had drunk the night before, he paused to look at the woman sleeping peacefully by the dying fire. Her empty coffee cup lay on one side of her and her pistol lay on the other, and as she slept, she had hugged herself in an effort to keep warm. He took the blanket she had spread to sit on and folded it gently across her shoulders, then proceeded to the woods to take care of nature's call.

By that afternoon they came upon signs of civilization. Passing fields being cleared of trees, even some that had been cultivated, they assumed they were nearing Coulson. The task now was to find the land claimed by John Freeman. Finally they overtook a man driving a wagon loaded with cordwood, a wood-hawk, Luke guessed. When Mary Beth asked, he explained that it was a term for men who stacked firewood by the river to sell to steamboat captains. “Like Lem Sloat. Remember?” When aware of the riders coming up behind him, the man pulled his horses over and positioned himself behind his load of firewood with his rifle in hand, relaxing only after he saw that one of the riders was a woman.

“Howdy,” Luke called, and held both hands up in the air. “We're lookin' for Coulson.”

Still using his firewood as protection, the man said, “Well, you're almost there—another five miles, about.”

“Much obliged,” Luke said.

“Do you happen to know John Freeman?” Mary Beth asked when it appeared that Luke was not going to.

“Why, yes, ma'am, I do. He staked out a tract that runs right down to the river, not more'n a mile from here—right on the road you're ridin'. You'll see where the road passes a corner of a field he's been clearin'. There's a lane runnin' down to his place right at that corner.”

Mary Beth thanked the wood-hawk, then nudged her pony forward, unable to resist giving Luke a knowing smile as she passed him. “I'll be your guide the rest of the way,” she teased. “Just follow me.” He nodded soberly, then grinned. His reaction was so rare that she had to take a second look.

Chapter 10

“Pa, somebody's coming!”

John Freeman looked up to see where his young son, Jack, was pointing. There appeared to be two riders leading three horses behind them. They were still too far distant to see in any detail, but John laid his axe aside and walked over to a tree to pick up the shotgun propped against the trunk. He remained in the shadow of the tree as Jack came running to stand beside him. After the news of Little Big Horn had reached the valley, every one of the recent settlers kept his firearms close at hand. John was not naïve to the point of thinking one shotgun could protect against a Sioux war party, but he was determined to make it as costly as he possibly could if his family was attacked.

“Looks like an Indian!” Jack said as he strained to make out the figures, now approaching the corner of the field where the lane to his home forked off from the road. “But there ain't but two of 'em,” he said. A moment later, he commented, “The other one's a woman, but she don't look like an Indian.”

John did not reply. His concentration was focused on the strangers who were now turning off the road and heading down the path that led to his barn and partially finished house. Jack was right; the man did look like an Indian because he was dressed in animal skins, but John wasn't sure. He shifted his gaze to the woman riding a paint pony. He had started to turn his attention back to her companion when he suddenly recognized her. “Mary Beth?” he gasped, hardly believing his eyes. Forgetting he held his shotgun, he dropped it to the ground and stared at his sister-in-law until he was certain it was Mary Beth. “They made it!” he exclaimed, but then turned his attention back once again to the man with her. “But who's she riding with? Where's David?” He ran out from the shade of the tree to meet them while calling back to Jack, “Run get your mother. Tell her your aunt Mary Beth is here.”

“Is that him?” Luke asked when he saw John coming toward them. He need not have asked, for upon glancing at Mary Beth, he read the answer in her joyful face. He reined his horse back when Mary Beth gave the paint a kick to hurry it along.

Unaware that Luke had asked the question, Mary Beth rushed to meet John, her emotions boiling over inside her with the joy of finally reaching John and Doris contrasted with the grievous news she must now tell them. Sliding down from the paint pony, she ran to hug her surprised brother-in-law, unable to stop the tears now streaming down her face.

“Lord in heaven!” John exclaimed. “We'd given you folks up.” He stood back then, and held her at arm's length. “Where's David?” Just noticing her tears, he glanced at the solemn figure still seated in the saddle, dressed in animal skins and a bow strapped on his back, watching the reunion with eyes devoid of expression. “Where's David?” John repeated, looking back at Mary Beth in distress.

“David's gone,” Mary Beth answered, her voice choking on the words.

“Gone? What do you mean, gone?” He looked at Luke, then back at Mary Beth. “Who's he?”

“He's gone,” Mary Beth cried out, almost hysterical as the full impact of her husband's loss returned once again upon seeing his brother. “David's gone,” she repeated, and began to sob uncontrollably.

Seeing that Mary Beth had lost control of her emotions, Luke stepped down from the saddle. “Your brother's dead, Mr. Freeman. He was killed by a Sioux warrior,” he said.

“Oh my God,” John gasped, almost sinking to his knees.

Running from the house, Doris Freeman arrived in time to see her husband's knees threatening to fail him. A few yards behind her, a large woman wearing a faded sunbonnet followed. “John, what is it?” Doris asked. Then turning to her sister-in-law, she exclaimed, “Mary Beth,” and went to embrace her. “Where's David? Did something happen to David?” She turned to stare at Luke for a moment before questioning her husband.

John told her that his brother was dead, and then he and the others listened while Mary Beth told them of the hostile attack that took his life. She went on to tell them how the solemn man in buckskins happened to be with her. She saw no need to tell them that David lost his life while acting as a lookout. She felt that Luke suspected, as she did, that David had fallen asleep, but they would never know for sure. It was a sad reunion, indeed, and Luke stood back silently watching the two women crying while trying to comfort David's brother, who was also crying. He felt sorry for them, but to him, death was as much a part of living as life. Then he took a longer look at the large woman in the sunbonnet who was standing a bit apart, just as he. She seemed to be more intent upon studying him than watching the mourners. Big, but not fat, she wore a faded cotton dress that testified to more hours spent in the field than in the kitchen. Beneath the full skirt, heavy boots verified this assumption. She nodded when Luke's gaze met hers. When John and the two women appeared to be under control again, she stepped forward to greet Mary Beth.

“I'm Vienna Pitts,” the matronly woman said. “I'm real sorry to hear about your husband, honey, but I reckon that's the kinda thing you learn to expect out here. I lost my husband, Vern, a couple of years back, so I know how bad that hurts.” She extended her hand and shook with Mary Beth. “You let me know if I can help you. All right? Us widows have to stick together.”

Mary Beth accepted the firm, calloused hand she offered and said, “Thank you. You're most kind, but I don't want to be a bother.”

“Bother?” Vienna replied. “Hell, it ain't no bother. You can help me run my place. I ain't got no man. You ain't got no man. We can help each other. How 'bout that stud cougar?” she asked, nodding toward Luke.

Mary Beth explained again that Luke was being paid to bring her and David here. “Had it not been for his knowledge of the territory and his expertise with a rifle, I would never have made it.”

“He looks like he ain't been housebroke yet, but he looks strong as an ox,” Vienna said, openly appraising Luke's potential. “I could use a man like that. I've got my own place on the other side of the garden patch. We dug a good well, so I don't have to draw water from the river. You could move in with me, and with a man like him, we could make a go of it.”

Mary Beth was at a loss for words. She had not been prepared for such a frank proposition. She was not sure what her situation would be since David was dead. It had been her assumption that John and Doris would gladly take her in, but there had been no mention of it so far. She looked beyond them at the house. It was small. They might not have been planning for her and David to move in with them after all. Maybe they thought she and David would live in their wagon until a cabin was built for them.

Vienna turned abruptly to face Luke. “What are you gonna do now that you've got Mary Beth here?”

“I reckon I'll be leavin' as soon as I get my money,” he stated flatly. “But right now I'd like to get these horses unloaded and set to graze.”

“Leaving?” Vienna responded. “What's your hurry? Where are you going?”

Somewhat nonplussed by the woman's aggressive manner, he paused to consider his response. John stepped in at that moment to save him from having to answer. “Of course,” he said. “Jack will help you take 'em down to the corral, and you can throw the saddles in the barn along with the packs.”

“Much obliged,” Luke said, grateful for the opportunity to escape Vienna's interrogation. Jack scrambled up on the paint while Luke climbed back on his horse and they led the horses down to the corral next to the barn. The thirteen-year-old boy proved to be a capable hand with horses, and he and Luke had the saddles and packs off and stowed in the barn in no time at all. “I 'preciate it,” Luke said when they were walking out of the barn. “I'll let 'em out to graze and water in a little bit.” He had not decided what he was going to do with the extra horses he had picked up. Maybe he should leave one of the Indian ponies for Mary Beth to use as a saddle horse, but he felt he should definitely leave the two shod horses, since he had set her team of horses free.

“Don't pay too much attention to Aunt Vienna,” Jack told him as they walked back to meet the others. “She doesn't waste time being polite—says pretty much what's on her mind. Pa says she has to act like a man, since she ain't got one to rely on anymore. She's got a heart as good as gold, though. That's what Ma says.”

Mildly surprised by the boy's maturity, Luke asked, “What happened to her husband?”

“Uncle Vern? Him and Aunt Vienna had a place upriver about eighty miles from here. He was snaking logs out of the woods to build some fellow's cabin, and ain't nobody really sure what happened, whether the log rolled up on his leg or what. When they found him down near the river, they said the log was on top of him, and it looked like he had been dragged to death.”

“That ain't a good way to go,” Luke allowed.

“No, sir,” Jack replied. “But Aunt Vienna decided to come on over to Coulson with my folks. She ain't really my aunt. We just call her that. I think she likes it.”

Luke decided he liked the boy.

* * *

Supper that night was a little more than the fare of buffalo meat and coffee that Luke and Mary Beth had become accustomed to. Doris went into her cache of dried beans and flour to bake biscuits to go along with the salt pork and dried apples they had brought from Bozeman. It was Luke's first exposure to biscuits baked in an oven. And there was plenty of coffee to wash them down with. That alone was enough to make Luke happy, and while he drank it and consumed another biscuit, he listened with interest as John and Doris told Mary Beth the circumstances that caused them to come to this valley.

“After our strike ran out in Helena,” John said, “that's when we went to the Gallatin Valley—figured we'd stake out some land to farm—but we were too late to get anything you'd wanna turn a plow to. Too much of that land was cattle country already, and there was some bad blood running between the farmers and the ranchers. So when we heard about Coulson springing up, we didn't wait around, and we ain't sorry we didn't. The land here is good for farming and Coulson is handy to the river and the steamboats. It can't miss.” He looked at his wife and grinned. “And next year, we won't have to be eating food we brought with us. We'll be eating off our own land, and shipping the rest back east on the steamboats.” Doris smiled in return, and John went on. “Right now the little town of Coulson is kinda rough. Seems like the saloons and bawdy houses that moved right in with the first stick drove in the ground have attracted a rather wild bunch of drifters. But the town will grow and those undesirables will be weeded out soon enough.” He paused to pull a tough string of pork rind from his mouth, then directed his attention to his silent guest in buckskins. “What about you, Mr. Sunday? What are you aiming to do now that you've seen Mary Beth safely here?”

“It's Luke,” he said, causing Mary Beth to smile. “There ain't no Mr. Sunday.”

“All right, Luke, then,” John said. “You thinking on staying around Coulson? There's still some land available.”

“Ah, no, sir,” Luke replied. “I'm afraid I don't know much about farmin'. I might just head back down the Yellowstone, or ride on west to the mountains. I ain't been up that way for a spell.”

“I doubt you could ever get Luke to settle down on a farm,” Mary Beth said.

“Maybe he ain't ever heard the right proposition,” Vienna commented. “If I was as young as you, I'd show him some things he might ain't considered.” Her remark was aimed at Mary Beth, but caused both of the younger women to blush with embarrassment for her. Doris was the first to speak.

“I suppose Mr. Sunday knows what he wants to do and probably has other business to attend to,” she said.

“It's just Luke, ma'am—” Luke started, but was interrupted by Mary Beth.

“You might as well talk to a Cheyenne warrior about becoming a farmer,” she said, having noticed the discomfort the line of conversation had caused in her guide. Unlike the others seated at the long table, she had gathered enough information about the man to know that he was more Indian than white. Ben Clarke had told David that Luke was reared in an Indian village by a Cheyenne woman. At least that's what the chief scout had been told. He admitted to David that he had no firsthand knowledge about Luke's background, but he believed that story to be true. She was, however, unaware how much she, personally, cared that he might be uncomfortable with the conversation. Her speculation was proven to be accurate when, seconds later, the solemn scout excused himself from the table, saying he had to take care of the horses.

The conversation took a decidedly different turn after Luke went outside. Doris was the first to reprimand. “My goodness, Vienna, you might as well have asked him if he wanted to marry Mary Beth, and right after David's passing, too. What if he wasn't interested in Mary Beth? Were you gonna ask him to marry you?”

“Well, Vern never had any complaints,” Vienna replied. “I don't know why you wanna pussyfoot around it so much. He looks like a good man to me, and we sure need some good men around here. With shoulders like that, we could hitch him to the plow. We wouldn't need no horses. Besides, the right woman could take some of that Indian out of him real quick.”

“My stars!” Doris exclaimed. “The way you talk!” She shot an accusing glance at her son, who had a wide grin on his face. “Jack, go on outside and help Mr. Sunday with the horses.” The boy got up immediately, grabbed a biscuit, and headed for the door. “And don't you repeat a word of what we said,” she called after him.

“Maybe we ought to talk about what you intend to do, now that David is gone,” John said. When Mary Beth admitted that she wasn't really sure, he continued. “Well, I hope you know that Doris and I are hoping you'll stay on here with us. The cabin is small, but we can add onto it and build you some space of your own.”