Even the low hills had their encampments, and it seemed as if there must be a campfire for every star in the sky. Wherever he looked, the night was sparkling with their lights, flickering, inviting.
Since he was a child he had heard tales of men who went west, and talk of others who planned to go, but never in his wildest imaginings had he dreamed of such an exodus as this appeared to be. They must have been gathering here for weeks. Undoubtedly a few venturesome souls had already headed out across the prairie that lay to the west, but still several days away. It was an hour later when he rode up to Bob Weston’s blacksmith shop. There were other smiths in town, but this was the largest and most active, and it was a focal point for travelers planning to go west. Both a place of rendezvous and the place for the organization of wagon trains, it was always crowded. Here he would begin his inquiries.
A dozen anvils were clanging under the blows of hammers, the forges glowed with their fire, and the soot-darkened faces of the smiths reflected the red of the fire on their faces and bodies. At least twenty smiths were working, hammering out shoes for horses, shoeing them, or doing bits of ironwork for wagons. And this was the middle of the night!
A wagon rolled by, a woman on the seat holding a crying child, a man walking beside the wagon carrying an ox goad. But they were going west. Suddenly a hand grasped his stirrup. “You, is it? You’re going west?” It was Gabe French.
“Thinking about it. How about you?”
“Pulling out tomorrow with the Roger Morgan Company, and I’ll have four wagons. If you want to come along, see me before you join up. I could use an extra hand.”
“I’ll look around.”
Gabe French lifted a hand and hurried away with his odd, bandy-legged walk. Cleve looked after him. “He’s the one who will make it, boy,” he said to his horse. “When you and I are still broke, he will own half of California.” Under a torchlight across the street a man was operating a three-card monte layout. Cleve looked closer. It was Canada Bill. Riding on along the street, he watched wagons loading and pulling out on the prairie. Wherever he turned his attention there was activity, and there was talk. Never in his life had he seen so many men talking and using the identical words so often. It was talk of the trail, of the best wagons, of oxen, horses, or mules. There was speculation about Indians, about forts being established. They were rapt, excited … they were men involved in a colossal binge, a gigantic migration, and West was the magic word. It was the “Open Sesame” to fantastic futures.
Turning his mount, he started back. He was dead-tired and had best find a place to bed down, and Colonel Noland’s inn was just up the street. Then, just as he was again nearing the clangor of Bob Weston’s blacksmith shop, he saw her.
She was deep in conversation with a tall, powerfully built man who was examining some whips laid out for sale on a table just outside the door of the blacksmith shop.
Drawing rein in the deep shadow near a building, he listened. The man was speaking. “You got a wagon, I suppose?”
“I can get one,” Lilith replied.
“And a team?”
“Whatever I need, I’ll get.”
“You’re married?”
“I am single, Mr. Morgan.”
“Travelin’ alone?”
“Yes.”
“Not on my wagon train. A woman alone an’ single, that puts deviltry into men. Gets ‘em all worked up, an’ believe me, on these trains they’re wild enough already.”
“I shall keep to myself, Mr. Morgan, and I can take care of myself. After all,” she added dryly, “any problem that is likely to arise will be one I have handled before.”
“No doubt. But a woman of your sort? One day you’d find yourself in trouble and there’d be hell to pay just figurin’ out who.”
Lilith’s face went white. She caught up one of the whips and, taking a quick step back, she unfurled the whip in a businesslike manner. “Now,” she said icily, “you repeat that, Mr. Morgan, and you’ll get the horse-whipping you deserve.”
Morgan laughed, but there was respect in his eyes. “Well, now. I like a woman with spirit, and I’d no right to speak as I did. I have an idea you’ll do to take along.” He took the whip from her hand. “This is the whip I’ll want,” he said, and tossed a coin on the counter.
Then he turned to Lilith again. “There’s a woman named Clegg—Aggie Clegg. You might try getting her to join you, or vice versa. I’d be glad to take the two of you.”
Cleve waited in the shadows until Lilith started away, then followed at a discreet distance. She walked with a purpose that indicated she knew where the Clegg woman could be found.
At the end of the street she turned toward several wagons standing on the prairie’s edge. By torchlight a woman was loading a heavy crate into the back of a wagon.
When Cleve came within earshot he heard the woman saying, “Well, I don’t know. I’d been hoping to make the trip with a husband, and almost caught me one last week.”
“They tell me there are forty men to every woman in California. Look, Miss Clegg, I’d be willing to pay you.”
“I don’t want money, I want a man.” Looking at Lil, she added, “You’ll need one, too, before this trip’s over.”
Gently, Cleve touched a heel to his horse and walked him forward. They looked up at the sound.
“Good evening, ladies, a very good evening to you. Miss Prescott? Cleve van Valen, at your service. At your command, if you will, from here to California.” “Thanks,” Lilith replied brusquely. “Whatever it is you’re offering, we don’t need.”
Agatha Clegg wiped her hands on the front of her apron. “Speak for yourself, honey. Like I said, before this trip is over—“ Cleve interrupted. “Perhaps you do not understand, Miss Prescott. I—“ “I understand, all right. And I know a tinhorn when I see one.” “I’m offering an honest day’s work for an honest day’s pay.”
“Good-bye, Mr. van Valen.”
Cleve turned to the older woman. “It has been a pleasure to meet you, Miss Clegg. And I’ve never seen a woman with more beautiful hair … naturally, I worry, because what a prize it would be, hanging from the mane of an Indian pony.” Glancing at Lilith, he said seriously, “I hope you realize what you are doing, Miss Prescott. Two lovely ladies, alone in the wilderness, and who will protect you? When Indians attack, each man is busy protecting his own, and they can’t be blamed for thinking of their families first.” He lifted his hat “Good evening, ma’am. Or should I say good morning?”
Turning his horse, he rode away between the wagons, and Lilith looked after him, half irritated, half amused.
“Gosh!” said Aggie. “Nobody ever said that to me before.”
“What?”
“That I had beautiful hair.” Self-consciously, she put a hand to her hair, then she said to Lilith, “You know, I’ve a hunch you’ll draw men like fish to bait. Maybe I can catch one as he swims by.” She thrust out a hand. “All right, Miss Whatever-Your-Name-Is, you’ve got a partner.”
“The name is Lilith Prescott,” she said, “and don’t think I won’t carry my weight. I grew up on a farm in northern New York state.” “I’d never have guessed it.” Agatha looked at her thoughtfully. “It’s a wonder a fine-looking girl like you isn’t married.”
“I haven’t been looking,” Lilith replied stiffly. “When I find the right man, I’ll marry, but I’m in no hurry.”
Cleve rode back toward town, not at all displeased with the situation. He had a feeling that he had sowed seed on fertile ground. From time to time he drew up to listen to some of the conversations about him, worried for the first time about his own inadequacy for the venture that lay before him. He had handled teams, and there had been a time or two when he had done some physical work, but those times had been few. These men about him were all manner of men, from all professions and trades, and of every nationality. There were Germans, Swiss, French, Poles, Swedes, Norwegians, and Spaniards. In short, there was every conceivable kind of man, with all sorts and kinds of wagons.
A tall man in a stovepipe hat with mutton-chop whiskers stopped him. “Sir, would you have a light? I’ve spent my last match.”
Cleve provided the light. “Are you among the pioneers?” he asked, though he realized how foolish the question must seem at this place and time. “Lawyer, sir. Attorney-at-law, and westward bound. Gold, sir. I am after gold, but I shall not mine for it. I shall wait for them to bring it to me.” “You’re a gambler? Or are you planning to open a saloon?” “Neither, sir. As I said, I am a lawyer, and where there are men and gold there will be litigation, and where there is litigation, lawyers will be needed. I have no doubt, sir, that I shall become rich.”