The Western Chronicles
by B L Miller and Vada Foster
"Okay," Josie said after a few minutes, pulling herself out from under the blanket and tucking it in around Rebecca. "I'll get the fire going. Once it's warm enough, we'll worry about eating." She waited until the young woman nodded before moving to the clothes pile and donning her long underwear and a warm pair of stockings. Within minutes the fire was beginning to burn nicely. Josie added more logs than she normally would have, more concerned at the moment with warmth than with someone else spotting the smoke from the little chimney. She highly doubted that even the most desperate rogue would be out in the downpour if they could help it. The gunslinger took a moment to warm her hands up in front of the fire before grabbing Rebecca's clothes and moving over to the woman still wrapped up in the blanket. As quickly as she could, Rebecca dressed and scooted as close as she could get to the edge of the fireplace. Josie picked up the damp blankets and laid them out near the fire, hoping they might dry a little before they had to try and sleep with them.
Dinner was nothing more than coffee and warmed up slices of dried beef, too thick to be jerky but too thin to be satisfying. Now dried, neither woman was interested in running out to the wagon for the rest of their staples. By unspoken agreement, both women were too chilled to talk or do anything else but stare at the fire and try to warm up. The rain had let up only slightly by the time they were ready to go to sleep. They placed two blankets on the ground, using them as a cushion from the cool dampness of the earth. Josie placed one still wet pistol between Rebecca and the fire, making sure she could reach it easily from her sleeping position and promising to clean it in the morning. There was no doubt that they would sleep close together with the damp cold permeating the area. She lay down and made room between her and the fire for Rebecca. The young woman curled up and pressed her back against the taller woman, snuggling closer when she felt the warm heat against her. "Ooh, you're warm."
"And you're cold. Come here," Josie said, pulling her even closer. It was too early for bed and neither of the women were sleepy, but with virtually all of their things still out in the wagon, there was nothing for them to do. They sat in companionable silence for a while, and Rebecca began to softly hum. It made Josie think of an angelic voice she sometimes heard in her dreams, and she had to smile. Josie's chin was resting on Rebecca's shoulder, and she whispered into her ear, "Sing me a song, sprite."
Rebecca jumped when she felt Josie's warm breath on her ear. She shivered, even though she was no longer cold, and felt warmth suffuse the area between her legs. Josie noticed the shiver, and believing that Rebecca was still cold, she wrapped her arms tightly around the smaller woman and asked, "Is that better?"
"What?" Rebecca croaked, and the raspy sound of her voice surprised both of them. She cleared her throat and said, "Yes. Yes, it's better now, thanks."
Josie relaxed her grip around Rebecca's ribcage just a bit thinking that perhaps she had restricted her breathing, which would explain the breathlessness in her voice. If she didn't know better, she might almost think Rebecca had been sexually aroused, such was the tone in her voice. She chided herself for projecting her own wishful thinking onto her innocent friend, and with a sigh, she said again, "How about that song?"
"Oh, I can't carry a tune in a bucket," Rebecca protested. "Why don't I tell you a story instead? Have I ever..."
"You've told me every story you know at least twice," Josie interrupted. "Besides, I could hear your voice just now as you were humming, and it sounded like you were carrying a tune just fine."
"Not to hear my mother tell it. She plays the organ in the church, and sings for all the church socials. I learned the words to all the songs from listening to her practice, but every time I tried to sing along, she would tell me to run along and play." Her voice was wistful as she spoke of her mother, and Josie could tell that even though her father treated her badly, she still missed her mother. Josie gave her friend what she hoped was a motherly pat on her shoulder and Rebecca turned and smiled at her and went on. "My mother now, she has the voice of an angel. I could sit for hours and listen to her play and sing. She should never have married; she could have done something with her life, something..."
"She did," Josie said softly, "she created a beautiful and talented daughter, who's going to sing for me now."
"All right. But remember, you asked for it." Rebecca sat up so she could breathe freely, and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. Josie snuggled down in her own blanket, and gazed into Rebecca's face. "What would you like to hear? She asked.
"Anything but hymns. I never had much use for the white man's religion, or their songs."
"How about the songs of Stephen Foster? He's written some great ones."
"Never heard of him. But if you like them, I'm sure I will too."
Rebecca took a swig of water from a canteen she had fetched in, and began to sing. Josie was enraptured by the beautiful voice, and amazed that anyone could know so many songs. Some of them seemed familiar to her - 'Oh! Susanna', 'Old Folks At Home', 'Beautiful Dreamer', 'My Old Kentucky Home', 'Nelly Bly' - she could swear she had heard before. Josie was starting to doze off but when Rebecca started to sing 'Jeanie With The Light Brown Hair', her eyes opened wide and she sat up, staring open mouthed at the young blonde. Rebecca immediately stopped singing, and Josie grasped her by her arms and said frantically, "No, please don't stop!"
Rebecca started over again, 'I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair, borne like a vapor on the summer air. I see her tripping where the bright streams play, gay as the daisies along her way...' Rebecca could see tears glistening in Josie's eyes as she sang. Her heart ached for the pain she could see in those beautiful eyes. She wished she could take her in her arms and protect her from that pain as Josie had protected her since the day they met. She sang the last line of the song; 'I dream of Jeanie with the light brown hair, floating like vapor on the soft summer air.' In the silence following the song, she could hear Josie softly sobbing, no longer trying to keep the tears from flowing.
Rebecca crawled to where Josie sat on the floor, and wrapped her arms around her, drawing her head down to her chest. Instinctively Josie tried to pull back, but Rebecca would not let her go. "Josie, please don't pull away from me," she pleaded. "Let someone else be strong for once in your life. Do you trust me?" Josie could not speak, so she simply nodded. "Then tell me. Let me share it with you." Josie nodded again, but still did not trust herself to speak, so she held up her hand to indicate that Rebecca should wait. Rebecca stroked her hair, and felt her warm tears soaking into the cloth of her nightgown. After a few minutes the tears began to abate. Josie lifted her head from Rebecca's chest.
"Hand me the canteen please," she asked, and Rebecca complied. She took a long draught and then a deep breath. "This is..." she began and then stopped and started over. "I've never told this to anyone before. It didn't...there was no one who ever cared enough to want to know."
"Oh, I care Josie." To herself she thought, 'I wish I could tell you how much I care.' But she wasn't even sure what that meant, and so she said nothing more.
"My father wrote for the Cherokee Phoenix, which was a newspaper published in both Cherokee and English, and he always said what was on his mind. The Cherokee were forced off of their land time after time by the government. When valuable gold deposits were found on tribal land the land was seized and the Cherokee forced to move on. No matter how god forsaken the land they were allowed to settle on, the whites would find something there of value and push them farther. And even when there was no gold on the land the railroads wanted to expand, and so they appealed to the government and were granted the right to build the railroads across Cherokee land. They slaughtered the buffalo as they went, leaving the Cherokee and other tribes to starve. My father was a man of peace, but he was also a Cherokee. He told the truth about what the railroads were doing. The tribe sent him to Washington to protest to the government to divert the railroads to other lands. He was not able to make any headway with the bureaucrats in Washington, but he did meet my mother there. Over the objections of her family they were married, and she moved west with him. I was born a year later." She paused to take another sip from the canteen and then continued.
"I was fifteen when my father was killed; gunned down in front of me by one of the railroad's hired thugs. I saw the man clearly and described him to the local authorities, but because I was a child and there were no other witnesses, they made no effort to catch him. I knew that if my father had been white, my word would have been enough to convict the man." Her eyes glittered with hate as she recalled hers and her mothers repeated attempts to see justice done in the killing of her father. She looked at Rebecca's face, so full of sympathy for the innocent child that she was. She resumed her tale.
"My mother was devastated by the death of my father. She moved back east to her family who were living in New York at that time, and took me with her. My grandmother wanted to dress me in fancy clothes and send me to finishing schools and debutante balls." Josie could tell by the look on Rebecca's face that she was having a hard time picturing her tall form in a fancy gown. "I hated it there," she said bitterly. "I felt like an animal in a cage. I stayed as long as I could for mother's sake, but when I was sixteen I returned to the Cherokees. And in the little trading post town that bordered on the reservation I met Genie."
"Excuse me." Josie felt a tap on her shoulder, and turned to a petite young woman with sparkling green eyes and light brown hair that hung down in ringlets. She was smiling up at her, and dimples indented both of her cheeks. Pale freckles were scattered over her nose and cheeks. She reminded Josie of a leprechaun. Her smile was contagious.
"Yes?" She replied.
"I wonder if you could reach that washboard down from that shelf up there?" the girl asked, pointing to a shelf a good foot out of her reach.
"Sure," Josie answered. She walked to the shelf and stood on tiptoe to grasp the washboard. She presented it to the girl with a smile and a bow. "At your service."
"Thanks," the young girl said brightly, and once again Josie found herself unable to resist smiling. "That's the hardest part about working here. Seems like nobody ever wants anything from a shelf I can reach." The girl ducked behind the counter where she was in the middle of putting together some supplies for a woman Josie recognized as the schoolteacher from town.
"Afternoon, Miz Bohler," Josie said, nodding to the teacher. The older woman turned to her, and for a few moments the look on her face was blank as she tried to place this tall young woman. Then it came to her, and she grinned broadly.
"Josie Hunter! Land sakes, you've certainly grown since I last saw you. I thought you had moved back east?"
"I did. I...came back. Mother's still in New York." The teacher took Josie's hand in both of hers, and patted it in a comforting way.
"I was just sick to hear about your father," the woman said sincerely. "He was a good and kind man. I...well, if I can do anything for you, you let me know." She turned her attention back to the counter where her purchases were all bundled and ready to go.
"I will, Miz Bohler," Josie said trying hard to keep the quaver from her voice that usually preceded tears. She busied herself searching for saddle soap, which was the reason for her trip into the trading post. The teacher waved and smiled at Josie as she left the store. Josie waved back and then approached the counter, where Genie was busily rolling the string she had not needed to wrap her previous customer's packages back into a ball. She tucked the ball back under the counter and turned her attention to her only remaining customer. Josie laid the saddle soap on the counter. "Good thing I was here," she said smiling at the impish brunette, "This was on a high shelf."
Genie laughed and the sound was musical to Josie's ears. The girl - for Josie could scarcely think of her as a woman since she had to be about her own age - made her forget her anger and sorrow over her father's death. Made her forget how miserable she was in New York. Made her forget everything, in fact, except the soft tinkling sound of her laughter. "It's a very good thing you were here," Genie agreed. "If I only sell the things I can reach, Mr. Eberhard will sure be unhappy when he comes back."
That was what was missing, Josie realized. It had not occurred to her until that moment that Mr. Eberhard owned the store, and that it should be his face across the counter instead of the leprechaun. "Where is Mr. Eberhard?" she asked, although she was happier than she could possibly say that he was not there, if it meant having the girl wait on her.
"Broke his leg," Genie said seriously. "Pretty bad, too. He'll be laid up for a while. He's a friend of my Pa's, and Pa offered to have me mind the store for him. I'm Genie Sanders." She extended her hand and Josie grasped it with her own. Genie's grip was firm but her hand was soft. Josie was sure her hand felt like cactus by comparison, and after a moment she withdrew it self-consciously.
"I'm Josie Hunter," she said in reply.
"Well, Josie Hunter, I think you earned yourself a handful of this penny candy for your help," Genie said as she removed the lid from a bin of lemon drops. Josie reached in and took a piece and popped it in her mouth. The candy was so sour it caused her to squinch up her face and half close her eyes, which made Genie laugh again. Josie would have been willing to stand there all day eating one candy after another just to hear that laugh.
"Take some more," Genie said when her laughter was under control. Josie could not tell her that she really did not care much for the taste. She simply put her hand in the bin and grabbed a handful of the hard candies to please Genie.
And that was the beginning of what was to be the most intense friendship either of the girls had ever known. Josie volunteered to make trips to the mercantile for any of her friends who needed anything. As a result she was making the trip to town three or four times a week, and each time she would spend more and more time in the company of the little imp. She helped her stock the shelves and was always there when something needed to be fetched from a high shelf. During the frequent gaps between customers they talked about anything and everything and nothing. Josie told Genie about her father's death, and it was one of the few times she saw a look on Genie's face that did not make her feel like smiling. Even before Josie was finished recounting the horror of the night her father was shot, Genie was beside her, with her arm around her shoulder. The kindness and gentleness of the girl somehow made Josie cry, and Genie pulled her head down to her chest and hugged her and soothed her as they both sobbed. Genie was as angry as Josie at the injustice that had been done. They spoke of what they would like to do to the killer, a lot of which involved putting things in various parts of the anatomy that neither of them knew first hand, but it sounded unpleasant and therefore what he deserved.
"I wish I knew how to handle a gun, and I'd call him out," Josie said with bitterness in her voice. Her father had been a firm believer in "live by the gun, die by the gun", and he refused to have weapons in the house.
"We could learn," Genie said enthusiastically. "My Pa has more guns than anybody, and he wouldn't miss one if we took it out to practice shooting."
Josie smiled but shook her head. "Oh, I was just dreaming," she said softly. "We'd need to know more than just shooting. You have to be able to draw, and do it faster than the other guy. I wouldn't want to be the next Hunter killed by the railroad."
"We can draw on each other...without bullets, of course," Genie said, convinced that it was possible to learn to be a fast draw without firing a shot. She started pacing around, intent on planning their lessons. "So, we'll need holsters as well as guns, and a bunch of ammunition. I'm sure Mr. Eberhard wouldn't mind me taking a few boxes of shells instead of money. And we can go out to Pa's wood lot; it's far enough away from the ranch that nobody will hear the shots, and there's a nice clearing there where we can set up targets. In a couple of days Mr. Eberhard will be back and we'll have plenty of time...."
And so their plans were made. Josie made the trip to the clearing in the woods every day at the same time, and Genie would usually be waiting for her. True to her word, she was able to get two guns and holsters out of the house without anyone knowing they were gone, and at the end of their practice they cleaned them and stuffed the guns and supplies in a hollow log. Josie had a natural aptitude for shooting. Her hand was steady and her eye was unerring, and she seldom missed her target. As time went on, she was able to put several bullets so close together in her target that it almost appeared as if there was only one hole, until you looked closely. She also found that she could draw with a speed that she was certain would rival almost any man. Genie would still be pulling her gun from her holster when Josie had her gun out and aimed at her. Of course, it was a whole different kettle of fish to draw a fully loaded gun with the intent to kill someone, and despite her bravado, Josie was not sure she would be able to do it if the time came. As fate would have it, she had the opportunity to find out much sooner than she imagined, as Genie told her one afternoon about the horse thieves and her plan for her and Josie to catch them. What she didn't tell Josie was that her father had long ago forbade her from seeing that, as he called her, "No account half breed." She hoped that by showing him Josie was willing to risk her life protecting his horses he would relent and allow them to see each other openly. Instead Genie was killed, and the outlaw Josie Hunter was born.
Rebecca was unable to stop the tears from flowing down her cheeks as the stoic gunslinger recounted the tale of meeting and then losing her precious friend.
Josie picked up the canteen and took a long drink of water. She felt once again the pain of losing Genie as keenly as if it had happened yesterday. Her mouth was dry, and she trembled from the emotions she had kept bottled up for so many years.
"It sounds like she was very...special," Rebecca said softly. She felt a twinge of jealousy that another woman was able to carve a niche in Josie's heart so large that she felt the loss this strongly across all the years. Rebecca chastised herself for thinking that way; Genie had been robbed of her life and it was small of her to begrudge the girl the happy times she had with Josie. Rebecca took Josie's hand in hers and held it softly while running her thumb across the back of her knuckles. The gunslinger didn't flinch or try to pull away as she normally did, and Rebecca hoped that meant that Josie was feeling as close to her as she was to Josie.
"She was more than special. She was..." Her voice trailed off. How could she tell Rebecca what Genie had meant to her? Rebecca was only a year or two older than Genie was when she died, and almost as innocent.
Before she could think of a way of putting it that the girl would understand, Rebecca summed it up for her in seven words. "You must have loved her very much."
Josie closed her eyes, and tears leaked out from behind the lids as she said, "More than...I could tell her. She never knew..." Josie swallowed to choke back the sobs that caused her chest to ache from holding them in.
Josie and Rebecca had separated while Josie was talking. Seeing the look on Josie's face, Rebecca opened up her arms and simply said, "Come here." Once again the tall woman buried her face in the soft bosom of the little blonde, who soothed her with her soft voice and hands. "Shh, baby, it's okay."
"No, it's not okay," the gunslinger said, her voice husky with emotion. "She died because of me, and nothing can ever make that okay!"
"That's not true. She died because of someone else's greed."
"She wouldn't have even been in that barn if not for me! Don't you see it was my need to take revenge on the man who killed my father that made her learn to use a gun? She thought that being right made us invincible, and I should have told her otherwise. I might as well have pulled the trigger myself..."
"Oh, Josie that's wrong. You can't blame yourself for other peoples misfortunes. If she had never even met you she still might have gone to that barn with a gun, because that's the kind of person she was. Just because something you do starts something in motion doesn't make you responsible for everything that happens as a result of that act."
"Believe what you want to," Josie said in a resigned voice. She sat up and looked into Rebecca's eyes. "In here," she said putting her fist over her heart, "I feel responsible for her death and I always will."
"But..."
"I can't talk about her any more," Josie cut her off sharply.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I wasn't trying to argue with you," Rebecca said quickly. "I only wanted to understand. And to help," she finished softly.
Josie couldn't miss the hurt tone in Rebecca's voice, and she wanted to reach out to the young woman, but her years of keeping people at arms length reasserted itself and instead she simply sat with her arms clasped around her knees.
Rebecca knew better than to pursue the subject any further, but she still was itching to know how Josie got from being on the run as an alleged murderer and horse thief to being the "Terror of the Train Rails" which was the title of the first dime novel that featured the woman outlaw. Careful to avoid any mention of Genie she asked, "What happened after you jumped out of the barn?"
"I became what they thought I was; a horse thief. I had to get as far away from there as I could, and I didn't have a horse of my own. I took a horse that belonged to one of Sanders ranch hands and headed for the woods. I didn't slow down even when I took a bullet in the arm. I knew some places where I had played as a child near the reservation, and I figured they wouldn't find me there. I holed up there all the next day, but I was afraid I would lose my arm from the gunshot wound, and I came out to see if I could get some medical attention. I was weak from loss of blood and lack of food. I guess I must have fainted, because I found myself lying on the ground, and the horse had run away. I thought I was heading toward the reservation, but my sense of direction was out of kilter, and I was actually heading back toward the Sanders Ranch."
The sun was almost gone for the day when the ranch hand spotted the wounded half breed lying in the dirt. A half-hour later and he would not have seen her and she would probably have bled to death where she lay. The horse she had taken returned to the ranch riderless with a good deal of blood on the reins and saddle, and all he had to do was follow the tracks back the way the horse had come until he found the woman. He smiled as he looked down at her still form, already devising ways of spending the reward he was sure to get from Sanders for bringing in the one that shot his daughter.
He turned her over onto her back and poured some water from his canteen over her face to revive her. He cursed himself for coming out on foot to search for her, since it did not appear as if she were going to be able to get there under her own steam. He did not relish the idea of having to carry her all the way to the ranch, since she was taller than he was himself. When the water hit her she opened her eyes, but in the dusky gloom she did not spot him for several seconds, and by that time he had a gun trained on her.
"I wouldn't reach for none a them guns if I was you," he cautioned her. "I expect you'd be worth about as much dead as you was alive, so it don't make much difference to me. Dead's probably easier." Josie nodded her understanding and forced herself to relax back onto the ground. She would wait for an opportunity. The cowpoke grabbed hold of her good arm and yanked her to her feet. She was lightheaded and thought she might pass out again.
"Please let me have a drink of your water," she croaked. "I promise not to try anything."
"Why not," he said, but when she reached for the canteen with her uninjured arm, the man pulled it away. "Oh, no, I'll just hold onto it myself." Her thirst was so great she would have agreed to drink the water out of an old shoe served by the devil himself, so she simply nodded and allowed him to pour water down her throat. The water went a long way toward reviving her. She was careful not to let him see that she was strong enough to walk on her own, and instead allowed him to halfway support her. She needed to conserve as much of her strength as possible if she hoped to succeed when she made her bid for freedom.
The two of them stumbled toward the ranch like a pair of drunken sailors. Josie made a grab for his gun when she saw the lights of the ranch come into view, figuring that she had a better chance against one man than the whole crew. But her reflexes were slow and his were not; he yanked the gun out of her reach, and immediately brought it back in a vicious arc that connected with her temple. She blacked out for a moment but his arm around her waist prevented her from falling. He half dragged her the rest of the way to the ranch and then dumped her in the dirt in front of the door of the main house. Unwilling to leave his prize alone, he yelled for Genie's father to come out of the house. A few moments later Sanders appeared at the door with a shotgun in his hand.
"I got the half breed, Mr. Sanders," the ranch hand said proudly. Sanders eyes glittered with something akin to madness as he stared at the creature that had tried to snuff out his daughters life. In fact Genie was still clinging to life as the doctor from town worked frantically to repair the damage to her young body. The doctor had said it was less than a 50-50 chance that she would survive, but while there was hope he continued to try. Sanders decided to allow the half-breed to believe that she had succeeded in killing Genie as justification for the punishment that he had in mind for her. He stepped down from the porch and walked in a circle around Josie as she lay where she had been tossed like a broken toy. She allowed Genie's father to prod her with his toe and continued to feign unconsciousness.
"Get her up on a horse boys," he said to the cowpokes who gathered around to watch the excitement. "The wheels of justice turn way too slow out here, so we're gonna string up this murdering Indian ourselves." While two of the men went to fetch horses two others pulled her to her feet. Sanders stood in front of her and grasped her chin in his hand, forcing her head up. He stared straight into her eyes, his own eyes filled with loathing and disgust. "You got anything to say for yourself before we carry out your sentence?"
As twisted with hate as he was, Josie knew there was little point in protesting her innocence, but still she had to try. "I...loved her, Mr. Sanders. I didn't shoot her; I would never do anything to hurt her."
"That's not the way I hear it," he spat into her face. Two men on horseback rode up to the little group in front of the house leading three saddled horses. "Tie her hands," Sanders ordered, and one of the cowhands threw a length of rope to one of the men who held her up. He drew her hands behind her back, which started her wounded arm bleeding again, and wound the rope around her wrists. When that was done they lifted her none too gently into the saddle and mounting their own horses, they waited for Sanders to lead them. "We'll take her to the Indian reservation," Sanders said. "I'd just as soon the sheriff didn't connect this hanging to me." He swung into the saddle and grasped the reins of Josie's horse and they made their way toward the reservation.
It was full dark by the time they reached a spot that suited Sanders. He wished they had waited until the next morning to do this so that he would be able to see the agony on her face, but having come all the way out there he was not going to leave without completing his mission. He tied the end of a rope to one sturdy branch of a huge oak tree, and tossed the end with the noose over another branch. He led the horse under the branches of the tree and roughly pulled the noose over her head.
"You might think about praying to whatever god it is you heathens believe in," he said with a voice full of venom. He turned his horse back the way they had come and gave a tug on the reins of Josie's horse. The animal was confused when her rider did not seem to be accompanying her and she stopped for a moment, but he pulled sharply on the reins again and she bolted out from under the helpless woman. "Let's go boys," Sanders said to his men. He was anxious to get home to see how Genie was doing and figured it would take the half-breed some time to die, time he did not have to spend.
Josie could feel her field of vision begin to narrow as her body reacted to being deprived of air. As spots danced before her eyes, she clawed frantically at the secret pocket in her belt until she freed her knife, and she sawed at the rope that bound her wrists. It was awkward and painful, and for a few moments she feared she would lose consciousness before she was able to free her hands, but at last the rope fell away. The precious seconds required to loosen the bonds on her hands brought her even closer to losing consciousness. She had to fight her natural instinct to thrash and kick, as she knew it would only serve to tighten the loop on her neck. Her lungs screamed for air and her eyes widened in fear as she brought the knife up to her neck with her uninjured arm until the point of the knife was pushing against the rope under her chin. If she slipped she knew she would finish off the job Sanders had started, but she couldn't ignore her rising panic and she sawed franticly at the rope with no regard to what damage she might inflict with the knife. Darkness enveloped her completely, and she went limp, dropping the knife from her lifeless fingers. Seconds later, the rope, which had been sawn almost completely through, unraveled and released it's hold on her and she tumbled to the ground. The impact caused her to draw in a huge breath, and she lay there for several minutes gasping for air, almost unable to believe that she was alive. Her throat was raw from the friction of the rope and bleeding from the cuts she had inflicted on herself, but she smiled with satisfaction for having survived. She almost laughed when she realized that the rancher had strung her up virtually on top of an underground spring and within easy walking distance of the village. She stumbled to the fountain of water that welled up out of the ground and gulped the cool liquid. She splashed water on her face and neck and it helped to cool the heat of the rope burns. The pain in her arm reminded her that there was still a bullet in there that must be removed, and quickly, before infection set in. She knew she could rely on the discretion of the medicine elders on the reservation to keep her survival to themselves. Once she was able to travel, she would put some distance between herself and Genie's father knowing he would not hesitate to finish what he had started. Her heart heavy with the weight of the loss of her dearest friend, she made her way toward the reservation and safety.
Rebecca listened in silence as Josie recounted the events of the night that had so drastically altered the course of a young woman's life. When Josie fell silent, Rebecca found herself shaking with anger and outrage at the injustice that had been done to her friend. Seeing the way the outlaw huddled against the wall of the soddy with her face drawn in pain, compassion overrode the anger Rebecca felt, and she found herself crawling to where Josie sat and putting her arms around her shoulders. Josie made no effort to move away, and in fact she lowered her head to Rebecca's breast and relaxed. Not a word was exchanged, but Rebecca knew that something had changed between them that night. She sensed that Josie had let down the barriers that always kept Rebecca at arms length, and instead of shutting her out, Josie's protective walls enclosed her. As she did when the gunslinger was caught in one of her nightmares, Rebecca stroked Josie's ebony mane and she began to sing. Within minutes she could tell by the rhythmic breathing that Josie had fallen asleep. She gently lowered her to the floor and then lay down beside her, burying her face in the crook of the taller woman's neck. She released a soft sigh of contentment and quickly fell asleep.
36: A New Friend
The bottom of the wagon was covered with caked on mud, as were both women from the splattering of the wheels. The strong rains left puddles of indeterminate depth in their path, forcing both travelers to sit as close to the center of the seat as possible in order to avoid the constant splashes. One particularly large one caught the young blonde in the face, causing her to sputter and curse while Josie chuckled at her predicament. She chuckled, that is, until an equally strong splash caught the gunslinger even worse than the one that had soaked Rebecca. Josie used her bandanna to wipe off the muddy water while the young woman guffawed.
A cracking sound almost like a rifle shot rang out and the wagon lurched and came to a shuddering stop. Josie's brow furrowed as she handed the reins to Rebecca and vaulted over the side of the wagon. "What's wrong?" Rebecca called to the gunslinger who crouched next to the wheels. "Not another bad wheel?"
"No, not the wheel," Josie said dejectedly. "The axle."
"What?" She climbed down immediately and squatted down next to the gunslinger. The tall woman pointed to the edge where the axle met the wagon. The wood was clearly fractured to the point where one more solid jostling would cause its demise. "What are we going to do?"
Josie stood up and looked around, trying to keep her frustration from erupting in a litany of expletives guaranteed to color her younger friend's ears. "Good question, Rebecca. We're too far away from anywhere to get a cartwright or smith to help. I don't think that axle will last more than five miles." She gripped the edge of the buckboard so tightly that her knuckles whitened, an action not unnoticed by Rebecca.
"It's all right, Josie. We'll figure something out." She reached over and placed her smaller hand on top of the gunslingers. "Look, you said we're too far away to go back, right? So let's just keep going forward. We know there's nothing behind us." Rebecca felt the grip beneath her hand ease. "Who knows what will show up within the next five miles."
"What or who," the gunslinger corrected, pulling out one of her colts and checking it. She untied Phoenix from the back of the wagon and began to saddle her up. "You lead Flossy, but be gentle about it. She's used to being driven, not led."
As an added precaution, they redistributed the weight so that the majority was above the rear wheel opposite the stress point. While it made the load seem heavier to Flossy, it still was within her limits and she slowly moved forward. Josie rode Phoenix, keeping near the damaged axle yet still keeping Rebecca and the road within her vision. Although her face betrayed no emotion, inside she was fuming at her inability to repair the wagon. Even just a few nails and strips of metal would help her brace it until they reached Boise City, both items that they didn't have. It was a slow trek, with Josie stopping them now and again to guide the wagon around some of the deeper bumps in the road. Rebecca went slowly. She watched the trail carefully for the deceiving puddles that could spell disaster for the buckboard. The combined care from both women resulted in the axle lasting more than twice the distance than the gunslinger had predicted. Josie heard the creaking, jumped off Phoenix, and had a barrel wedged under the wagon before the axle groaned and snapped like a handful of pencils. The corner dropped only a couple of inches before landing on the flat top of the barrel. The instant she heard the gunslinger dismount, Rebecca stopped Flossy and watched in amazement as her friend moved with a fluidity and grace that was both strong and supple at the same time. She knew that Josie was a strong woman, stronger than any she had ever met, but to see her lift the barrel half-filled with water with little more than a grunt was enough to leave the young woman speechless. Never had she seen even one of the men in Chancetown lift something so heavy so easily.
"Rebecca?" The gunslinger looked at her and immediately recognized the expression of awe. She'd seen it before from various men when she'd best them in arm wrestling or boxing.
"Huh? Oh, what?" She said, snapping out of her trance.
"Nothing. We're going to have to leave the wagon here. Unhitch Flossy and pack her up as much as possible." She watched as Rebecca nodded and went about her task. Josie smiled to herself as she started to load up Phoenix's saddlebags. 'Think I'm a huckleberry above a persimmon, do ya sprite?' She thought to herself. 'Don't put me on a pedestal; I'm no hero.'
Within minutes, everything of importance that they could strap to the two horses was in place and they set out on foot, Josie in the lead. Mud sucked at their feet and both women were mud splattered and bedraggled looking when less than a mile later they came upon a small ranch set far from the trail, yet still noticeable to someone with vision as keen as the gunslingers. Removing the saddlebags from Phoenix and tossing them on the ground, Josie motioned for Rebecca to come close. "I'm going up to check it out. You stay here with Flossy and the gear. No matter what, don't move until I come and get you, understand?" She waited for the young woman to agree before mounting Phoenix and riding off toward the ranch.
The house was in such disrepair that Josie wondered if anyone lived there at all until she heard the familiar sound of a rifle bolt being readied behind the door. She carefully crouched down and cocked the hammer on her colt. "I don't want any trouble."
"Then what in Sam Hill do you want?" A voice hoarse from too many years of smoking called from behind the door.
"My wagon broke down. If you have a flat piece of metal and a couple of nails, I'll gladly pay you for them and be on my way." She kept her voice non-threatening, not wanting to scare the old codger.
"Where's your husband?" The old man asked while moving from window to window looking for signs of an ambush.
"Don't have one. Look, I'm not gonna hurt you. If I can just go into your barn, I'm sure I can find what I need and be gone." She put her gun back in its holster, confident that the old man wasn't a danger.
"Wagon broke?" He asked, his voice right behind the door. She carefully lowered her left gun belt to the ground, not wanting to appear too armed but also not wanting to appear defenseless either.
"Yes. Back a ways." She stood up from her crouched position, keeping her hand near her sidearm just in case. One brown eye looked out from the Indian door, a small hinged opening at eye level within the paneling of the main door.
"And you say you're alone?" The Indian door opened wider, revealing an old man not much taller than Rebecca. Glasses with thick black metal frames rested upon his nose, his white hair receded at the temples.
"I said I didn't have a husband." She responded, not wanting to give too much information away. The Indian door closed and the latch on the front door lifted slightly. Josie remained still as the old man pushed the muzzle of his sixteen shot rifle through the small opening before following it onto the porch. In the daylight, the gunslinger got her first clear look at the old man. Easily in his sixties, his drawn face still reflected the handsome man of his youth. He returned the gaze, studying the strange woman standing before him, noting the muscles that showed so clearly beneath the worn black shirt and the menacing looking gun strapped to her thigh. After a moment, he spoke.
"How bad is it?" He said, lowering his rifle slightly.
"Axle," she replied. "I can brace it with a piece of metal and some nails, at least enough to get to Boise City."
"Doubt it," He said, taking a cigarette out of his shirt pocket along with a match. He struck the match against the porch rail and lit the cigarette, taking a long drag before exhaling. "Nothing like fine tobacco. Road between here and Cheyanne is flat compared to from here to Boise City. Nope, what you need is a new axle." He walked over and sat down on his porch swing, the weapon resting non-threateningly next to him. Josie hooked her thumbs through her leather belt, deliberately keeping her right hand away from her colt, and sat down on the porch step. He looked off at nothing, flicking the ashes of his cigarette onto the wooden porch. "Yup, a new axle, that'd be all that'll get you there." With a flick of his fingers, the remains of the cigarette flew in an arc off of the porch and onto the ground, joining a dozen other butts scattered nearby. "I have one."
"How much?" She asked, hoping to end the visit and get on her way. He smiled at her, revealing a full set of false teeth and chuckled.
"Money don't do me no good, little girl." He looked around the overgrown field, then up at the roof of the porch, inspecting the many holes that allowed sunlight to pour through. "Nope, what I need is an honest day's work, if you and whoever you got hiding somewhere got the mind to do it."
"What do you want done?" She asked, certain that she wasn't going to like the terms.
"I need a new roof. Been leaking for close to a year now. You fix that, you can have the axle." He sat back and waited for her answer.
Josie glanced up at the porch, noting that a simple patch job would not be of any good, the wood was far too rotted. "It would take a couple of days to replace the roof," she replied, indicating in her tone that the price was too high. He laughed deep in his chest, causing a short coughing fit before he regained his composure.
"Take you more than a couple of days, missy. I'm meaning the whole roof," he said, pointing to the house. Josie's blue eyes narrowed.
"That's an outrageous amount of work just for an axle," she protested.
"Suit yourself," he replied. "Don't matter none to me...I'm not the one with a broken wagon."
They sat there for several long moments, he smoking another cigarette and she fighting the urge to just intimidate him into a more reasonable trade. A vision of him trying to climb up on the roof and repair it himself flashed through her mind. "I'll fix your roof in trade for the axle, but you have to provide me and my companion with a place to stay until I'm finished."
"I don't put up with none of that fornicating in my home," he said, tossing the cigarette over the porch rail to join the others. "I have one extra room. You can stay there, he can sleep in the barn."
"It's not a he, it's a she," Josie replied. "A young woman. Good cook too." The old man smiled at that information.
"Well then..." He looked up at the setting sun. "It's too late to do anything today. Go get your friend and you can start in the morning," he said as he rose and walked to the door. "If your friend has a mind to, there's vittles in the kitchen. Tell her I don't mind none if she feels like cooking something for dinner." He said it matter-of-factly, but the look in his eyes told another story. She wondered how long it had been since he had someone else cook a meal for him.
Josie remained seated on the porch for a few minutes after the door closed, thinking about the old man and the deal she'd agreed to. Redoing a roof was a tall order and far too high a price for a simple axle, but she also knew that there was no other way he was going to get it fixed. She stood and stretched, knowing full well that it would be the last time for quite a while that her muscles wouldn't feel sore. Picking up her discarded gun belt, she turned and headed for Phoenix.
"Any luck?" Rebecca asked once the gunslinger was within earshot. Josie dismounted and dropped the reins, letting Phoenix munch on the overgrown grass.
"There's an old man that lives there. He has an axle, but I have to do a job for him before he'll let us have it," she explained while picking up her discarded saddlebags. "We'll be staying here for a few days."
"A few days? What kind of job is it?" Rebecca asked apprehensively.
"He needs a new roof," she replied. "And perhaps some company. Looks like he's been alone for some time."
"A roof is an awful lot of work, Josie."
"I don't have a choice. We need that axle, unless you want to walk the rest of the way," she said as she secured the gear to Phoenix.
"Walk the rest of the way? Oh, no thanks. But I'm not getting up on a roof."
"Don't worry, Rebecca. I'll be the carpenter. You get to be the washerwoman. Place looks like it hasn't seen a woman's touch in years," she said, grinning when she saw the younger woman roll her eyes.
They were within arm's reach of the porch when the door opened and the old man stepped out. Rebecca smiled warmly and headed toward him. Josie, always distrustful of strangers, stayed back and lowered her hands until they were within easy reach of her guns.
"Hello, my name is Rebecca," she said.
"Charles...Charles Bragg." He took the offered hand and kissed it, as befitting a young lady. "Welcome to my home," he said as he pushed open the door and held his hand out, inviting her to enter first. In the blink of an eye, Josie was on the porch and within easy reach of both of them, not wanting to let her young friend out of her sight, despite the lack of any feeling of danger. Rebecca entered and stood just inside the doorway, trying to take everything in with one polite glance. Stale smoke and air assaulted her nose, as well as layers upon layers of dust. Josie hadn't been kidding when she said that she didn't think the place had seen a woman's touch in years. The front door opened into what was obviously once a parlor, now nothing more than a dusty living area. It was apparent from the pillow and blanket on the couch that Charles spent most if not all of his time there. Empty whiskey jugs and tin cans were scattered about the floor, as were dozens of cigarette butts. A metal plate on the end table overflowed with the burnt out matches used to light the rolled tobacco. To the right was the kitchen, a place where Charles obviously spent very little time, if any at all. Everything, except the well pump was covered in the same thick layer of dust as the parlor. Cobwebs littered every corner and crevice possible. Had he not been standing next to her, Rebecca would have sworn that no one had occupied the house in years. "Oh, let me get you a chair, Miss," Charles said apologetically, moving past her to dust the seat of a wooden chair with an equally dusty rag. "I don't usually get company, 'cept my brother Horace, and he don't mind the place the way it is."
The fresh wave of dust tickled Rebecca's nose, causing her to sneeze uncontrollably. "Would you...achoo...excuse me p-p-p'achoo...please?" She made a hasty retreat out to the fresh air. She leaned forward against the rail of the porch and breathed deeply.
"Pretty bad, huh?" The gunslinger said from behind her, fully expecting the young woman to jump and completely surprised when she didn't. "Rebecca?"
"There's more dirt there than in boot hill," the younger woman said, pulling her handkerchief out of her pocket.
"Rebecca, how did you know I was behind you?" Josie asked, leaning against the rail next to the blonde.
"Oh, I recognized your footsteps. Charles isn't wearing boots but you are," she said simply. She blinked twice and looked at the gunslinger. "Hey, that's pretty good, huh? I figured out who it was without looking." Her voice was so full of pride at the feat that Josie had no choice but to smile. Rebecca enjoyed the feeling for a moment before she became serious again. "How can someone live like that? He must be lonely."
"I think he is, but we're only here as long as it takes for me to fix the roof." Josie thought about adding 'don't get attached', but knew better. Nothing she said would make a difference in that department. "Do you think you can work the stove? From what I saw from the doorway, looked like it hasn't seen a fire in years."
"If the flue is clear, I shouldn't have any problem," the young woman replied. "We'd better check that."
Charles took the horses to the barn while the women went into the kitchen and checked the stovepipe for obstructions. Josie pulled her soot-covered arm from the pipe. "Feels clear," she said, wiping her hand against her shirt.
"Josie, do you know how hard it is to get soot out of a shirt?"
Rebecca chastised as she handed the gunslinger a damp rag.
"But it's a black shirt," she said innocently. "That's why I wear them. Hides everything." She wiped her hands as best she could and handed the rag back to the young woman.
"Keep it up and you can do your own laundry, Miss 'I don't do laundry.'"
"But Rebecca..." she rubbed some of the soot off her shirtsleeve with her forefinger. "That's what I have you for," she said sweetly, touching the tip of the young woman's nose with her soot-covered finger. She held the blackened digit up for Rebecca to see while taking a step back and smiling wickedly.
"You didn't..." The young woman touched her nose and inspected her fingers. "You did." Her green eyes narrowed. "I'll get you for that one, just you wait." She picked up the damp rag without thinking and tried to wipe the soot off her nose. Josie took one look at the smeared black mess on Rebecca's face and laughed lightly while removing her bandanna.
"I'm sure you think you will, Rebecca," she said as she wrapped the scarf around her finger and spit on it. "Come here."
"Are you joshing?" The young woman protested, stepping back against the edge of the sink.
"Rebecca, everyone knows that spit removes everything," Josie said, reaching forward with one hand to hold the young woman's head still while she wiped the soot off. "There, all better."
"Land sakes, Josie, I'm not a little kid," she scowled. "It's your fault anyway. I'm still going to get you back for that, you know," she said, wagging a finger at the taller woman.
"Uh huh," the gunslinger smirked. "We'll see about that, sprite."
Rebecca smiled at the pet name and looked around the dusty kitchen. "Uh, do you want to ask him where he keeps his food?"
Josie took a long look around. "Not a chance." She put her hat on just as Charles entered. He nodded and sat down on the couch. Opening the tin on the end table, he pulled out a cigarette and match. "I'm going to see if I can round up a rabbit or two," Josie said. She knelt down and pulled the bowie knife from her left boot and slipped it into the younger woman's right one before standing back up. "Just in case," she whispered. Rebecca nodded, knowing full well in her heart that everything would be fine.
"So Charles," Rebecca said while trying to get a fire going in the long cold stove. "How long have you lived here?"
"I reckon been close to twenty years now; moved out here back in fifty seven. Horace, now he's only been out here for about five years, since his wife died and all. Runs trade from Boise City to Cheyanne once a month. Always stops here both ways for a spell and to drop off fixins for me."
"So that's how you get your food and tobacco?" She asked, taking a seat on the bench opposite his, forgetting all about getting the stove working.
"Yup. Every month he brings me two tins of tobacco and a score of
Van Camps," he said as he lit another cigarette.
"All you eat is beans from a can?" She said incredulously. "You don't get any meat or bread?"
"Sometimes Horace'll bring in some salt pork, but ain't too often." He reached over and patted her hand. "Now don't you go worrying about me. I've been living this way ever since Ruth passed on and I've been just fine. You and your friend there have better..." He looked around, noticing for the first time that the tall, dark headed woman was nowhere in sight. "Where'd your friend go?"
"She went to get something other than beans to eat. Oh, that reminds me..." She got up and went back to the stove. "Charles? If you didn't use the stove or a pot to heat your beans up with, what did you use?"
He grinned, stood up, and walked over to the fireplace. "I have to use this to keep the place warm now that the Northers are coming. I just put the can here." He pointed to the large black pot hanging from a hinged arm. "And swing it out over the fire. Few minutes it's done." He busied himself with picking up the multitude of cans that littered the floor near the fireplace while Rebecca silently prayed that Josie was successful in her hunting.
Josie returned with two small rabbits, the look on her face when she handed the skinned carcasses over made it clear that she was just as disappointed as her friend. "Don't you worry about me, I've got my Van
Camps, you two go on ahead," he said. Josie walked up behind Rebecca, so close that only they could hear each other.
"Stew?"
"Stew," the young woman replied. Josie gave a gentle squeeze on her shoulder. She knew that Rebecca was tired of stew and had been looking forward to some fried meat for a change.
"Charles, save the beans for another night. Rebecca's making rabbit stew and there'll be plenty for everyone." The look in his aged eyes reminded the gunslinger of the look she received when she gave Rebecca the medical book.
"Well, if you're sure," he said, the can of beans that was in his hand already put back with the rest of the pile. "If you need flour, I'm sure Ruth had some around here...." He went into the kitchen and started to open drawers that hadn't seen the light of day in ages. Josie quickly went over and put her hand out to block him from the rest of the drawers.
"No, don't worry about it. We have plenty of flour, don't we Rebecca?" The thought of adding anything to the meal that came from the dust-covered drawers had no appeal to the gunslinger.
"Plenty," the young woman agreed emphatically, making a mental note to empty the drawers first thing tomorrow.
It was almost dusk by the time dinner was finished. Josie went to check on the horses, the best excuse she could come up with for not staying put and being sociable, while Rebecca washed up the dishes and made a pot of coffee.
"Well, guess it's time," Charles said as he rose from his chair and headed for the front door.
"Time for what?" The young woman asked, following him.
"Time to lower the flag of course."
They stood in the front yard next to the tall wooden pole. With great reverence, he slowly lowered the flag. "Your flag's wrong," Rebecca commented. He stopped lowering it and looked at her. "I mean, there's only thirty-six stars on it. There's thirty-eight states now."
"Missy, when I served this country in the Great War of the states, there were only thirty-four. By the time the army let me go, there were thirty-six. This is the flag they gave me when I was discharged and this is the flag I'll fly," he said adamantly. "Bad enough we keep adding states without having to worry about how many darn stars are on the flag. At the rate Hayes is talking, we'll have a hundred of ‘em before the century's out." He finished lowering the flag and folded it up for the night.
Josie managed to hide out in the barn until it was almost bedtime. Only then did she return to the others. Charles added some logs to the fire, readying it for the long night. "The bedroom is over there. Don't know what you'll find, haven't been in that room in ages. Used to be my daughter Lillian's room before she up and moved to Illinois," he said as he opened a tin and pulled out a cigarette. "Now I snore a little bit, so you just don't pay me no attention."
Both women made quick trips to the outhouse before turning in. Rebecca didn't like the look of either the mattress or the blankets that had long covered it. She stripped it and replaced the linens with their own blankets and pillows, setting Josie's on the outside of the bed, as she knew the ever-cautious gunslinger would want. Rebecca changed into her long nightgown and climbed into bed, moving as close to the wall as possible to make room on the narrow mattress for Josie. The gunslinger stripped down to her longjohns and slipped between the covers, her arm automatically going around the younger woman's waist. Rebecca settled back against her and both fell asleep within minutes.
"Rebecca...Rebecca, it's time to wake up," Josie tried gently, knowing that it probably wouldn't work. She was tempted to let her young friend sleep, especially knowing that it was the first good night's sleep Rebecca had gotten since they left Cheyenne. Looking at the sleeping face, the gunslinger noticed that the dark circles that had ringed her eyes were gone. Josie had been relieved to wake up and find that she had gone the entire night without a nightmare. Sometimes she wasn't sure which was worse, the nightmares or knowing that she kept waking up her friend. Rebecca stirred and buried her head deeper into her pillow. "Oh no you don't. I want coffee," the gunslinger muttered.
She shook the young woman on the shoulder. "Come on, Rebecca."
"Hrrmmphf."
"Is that your way of saying good morning?"
"Hrmmpf...go away."
"Rebecca..." she said sternly.
"All right, all right," the tired voice said. A half-awake Rebecca crawled out of bed, eyes practically closed, and headed for the spot near the wall where their boots were sitting. One green eye focused on the two pairs, one black, and the other deep brown. She slipped her feet into the black ones.
"What are you doing?"
"Easier," she mumbled before opening the bedroom door and heading to the outhouse, the oversized boots clumping against the floor.
An hour later, all three were up, dressed, and sitting around the table drinking coffee. "I reckon I'd better get started. Where are your tools?" Josie asked.
"Everything's in the work shed. At least it should be. Haven't been out there in a while," Charles responded.
"No matter, I'm sure I'll find what I need." She stood up and downed the last of her coffee. "I want to change that axle first and bring our wagon up."
Charles leapt from his seat, his brown eyes wide. "No! You can't have the axle until the roof is fixed. We have a deal." The look on his face was near panic. Rebecca reached over and put her hand on the gunslinger's thigh. When she had the gunslinger's attention, she shook her head slightly, imploring the taller woman to let it go.
"Fine. I'll fix the roof, but I have to go back and get the rest of our supplies. Can I use your wagon?" She was met with a hearty laugh.
"Child, my wagon hasn't moved in eleven years."
"Terrific," she growled. "Guess I'll be up on the roof if you need me."
"Josie, be careful up there, okay?" Rebecca said. The gunslinger, still aggravated over the whole turn of events, merely nodded and put her hat on. The young woman watched her leave, then looked around the room. The bright morning light made all the dust and grime seem ten times worse than it had the day before. She decided that another cup of coffee was in order before she started her new chore, that being to make the neglected house look livable.
Once inside the work barn, Josie found the pile of lumber in the corner as well as a bucket of nails and a worn-out hammer. "Uh huh, one swing and the head is gonna go flying," she said out loud. She tossed the useless tool back down on the workbench and looked around the barn. In the far corner sat a wagon missing all its wheels. She went over and inspected the front axle, pleased to see that despite its neglected appearance it was still in good shape. She picked up the rusty crowbar and hooked it though her belt before hefting the wooden ladder onto her shoulder and leaving the barn.
She sat on the top of the pitched roof, one leg straddling each side, and began the slow process of pulling out the cedar shingles. Josie inspected each one carefully, tossing the rotted ones to the left and the good ones to the right for reuse. The morning sun beat down on her mercilessly, forcing her to wrap her bandanna around her forehead to keep the sweat out of her eyes. The day had just started yet her arms were already beginning to protest from her straining to remove old rusted nails.