Nobody else seemed to have noticed his futile gesture. But as he started up the bank to rejoin the wagons he slipped and sprawled full length in the mud, and heard a ring of laughter. Looking up angrily, he saw Lilith laughing at him, and even Agatha had a smile on her face.
He got to his feet and stared down at his clothing. “Don’t try to wipe it off,” Agatha said. “If you wait until it dries, most of it will brush off.” He went to the wagon and climbed aboard, taking the reins from Agatha. “Well,” she said dryly, “you did more good by falling on your face in the mud than anything else you’ve done.”
“I felt like a fool.”
“No woman objects to a man looking the fool once in a while—makes ‘em more human, somehow. Oh, I know what you’ve been doing! Don’t think I’m altogether a fool, Cleve van Valen! Thing is, you did it today. From now on she’ll be on your side.”
“I doubt it.”
“You wait an’ see,” Agatha said, “and mind what I tell you.”
Chapter 9
Firelight played shadow games on the white wagon-covers, and the people of the camp moved through the ritual steps of the nightly pause as though through some strange, stately ballet performed only for the stars above. Nearby the waters of the Blue chuckled over the stones—this was the Little Blue—and the horses in their rope corral stamped and cropped grass against the demands of the coming day.
Cleve van Valen glanced around at the tightly drawn circle of wagons. They were in Indian country now, and there were the usual rumors of war parties. These rumors drew the circle tighter as apprehension grew, and the men were more watchful, sensitive to the slightest noise or to a change in the nightly hum of insects.
There were those, of course, who scoffed at Indian attacks and who did not fear, who believed death was something that happened to others, and not to them. They had not yet discovered the impartiality of death. Carefully, Cleve cleaned his pistol, removing all the dust, adding a drop of oil. Then he checked the loads in the three spare cylinders he carried. This was a wise precaution, he decided. It was not easy to load a cap-and-ball pistol in a hurry; it was much easier simply to switch cylinders, which a man could do on a horse and at a dead run. He was checking the last cylinder when he heard someone approaching.
It was Morgan. He indicated the pistol. “Gabe French tells me you can use that thing.”
“When I have to,” Cleve commented. “I’ve grown up with it.” “You may have to.” Morgan lowered his voice. “We saw Cheyenne tracks today, and they’re scouting us. No travois trails, so it’s a war party.” Morgan glanced toward the wagons, but Lilith was out of sight. “How are you with a rifle?” he asked.
“Good. But I don’t have one.”
“Gabe’s got a Colt revolving rifle. Fires six shots. He said you could use it.”
“All right.” Cleve looked up. “How did you know they were Cheyennes?”
“Moccasins … every tribe’s moccasins are different. Other things, too.
Different ways of doing things.”
Reluctantly, Morgan strolled on, making his nightly survey of the camp. This was the fifth day since the Big Blue and the events at the crossing, and they had made good time to this point. Seventeen miles the first day, fifteen the next, and the last two days had each been nineteen-mile days. In fact, the last one had been slightly more than nineteen miles. And that, with a wagon train of this size, was good going.
The grass had been good and so far there had been plenty of water, but all knew that the worst travel lay ahead of them. Cleve, profiting by talk overheard before this trip began, had hung a canvas ground sheet under the wagon and into this he had heaped buffalo chips, chunks of wood, and odds and ends of fuel. There was no shortage of fuel now, but in the days ahead this would not be true, and he intended to be ready before they reached that stretch where most of what was available would already have been burned.
After a few minutes Lilith came from the wagon to the fire. She had offered to mend a pair of Cleve’s pants and she carried them now. He stood over her for a minute or so, then dropped to a rock beside the fire. “I’m overwhelmed at all this attention, Miss Prescott, but I am surprised too.”
“Surprised?”
“I had no idea you were so domestic.”
“My home was a farm in upper New York state. I have often mended trousers for my brothers.”
“I never had a brother—or a sister.”
“My sister lives on the Ohio. She married a mountain man—Linus Rawlings. And I have two brothers.”
“No parents.”
“They were lost at the falls of the Ohio. That was four, almost five years ago.” “I want to confess, Lil,” he said suddenly. “I lied about why I wanted to work for you.”
“Did you think I didn’t know that?”
“The real reason is … I’m in love with you.” He stopped her as she was about to speak. “It’s the truth. Since the first time I saw you I’ve known I couldn’t live without you.”
“I’d not like to be the cause of your death, Mr. van Valen,” she said lightly. “I’m serious. And I’m ready to assume the responsibilities of a faithful husband.”
“And to assume the responsibilities for my property as well, Mr. van Valen?”
“Really? What kind of property?”
“Gold, Mr. van Valen. Gold by the ton, from what I understand. Bright, yellow, shiny gold.”
“Why, I—I had no idea.”
“Oh, I’m sure you didn’t,” she said mockingly. “It is simply a remarkable coincidence.”
“Coincidence?”
“Oh, just the fact that when you were back stage settling your bet on how many petticoats I wore, I should receive word of my inheritance.” “You knew about the bet?”
“Of course. And if I could overhear what you were saying, I am sure you could overhear what Mr. Seabury told me. Or am I too suspicious?” “I think you are.”
“Here comes Agatha. Now, if you must propose to somebody, I suggest you get on your knees to her. She has such beautiful hair.” Lilith got to her feet, smiling sweetly. “And by the way, Mr. van Valen—there were six petticoats!”
Agatha indicated the circle that had gathered about a neighboring fire where they were singing “Home, Sweet Home.”
“Listen to ‘em. You’d think they was buryin’ somebody.” Lilith broke her thread and handed the mended pants to Cleve, then she tossed back her hair and, gathering a fold of her skirt, moved toward the circle. She started to half-speak, half-sing the words of “Raise a Ruckus,” emphasizing its humor and bounce.
As she reached the chorus in full voice, she moved back toward her own fire, and people drifted over to listen. As she sang she saw the sadness and weariness leaving their faces, and by the second chorus their voices began to join in. Roger Morgan paused outside the circle, watching them and observing the effect of her voice on the others. Over their heads his eyes met those of Cleve, and then he walked away.
The night was pleasantly cool, the sky clear. After watching the singers for a few minutes, Cleve slipped away to check his gelding, and then the stock that was encircled by the rope corral.
It was very still. Far off a coyote serenaded the night with plaintive music. Cleve’s boots crunched in the grass as he walked up to the mules, and they flicked their long ears at his voice. He paused near them, liking the sound of their cropping of the grass. His ears had learned to sort the sounds, to hear only the strange, different ones while being aware of all the others. That Lil … she had known all along why he had joined the wagon train. She had seen through him from the beginning, and it was no wonder that she wanted nothing to do with him.
Some night bird was moving in the bushes, the crickets were singing. He walked a little further, listening to the singing, unable to distinguish the words, but liking the music. Lil’s voice reached out, clear and strong. There was more to her than he had suspected. She had intelligence, and she was shrewd as well—and the two are far from the same thing. Moreover, she had character. He considered the future. It was not going to be easy—far from easy, in fact; but she was lovely, and he was not going to mind too much if it took a little longer. After all, what else was there to do on a wagon train? Day had not yet come when he rolled out of his blankets and went for the mules. The night guard let him out of the corral with his six charges and he took them at once to water, then to the wagon to harness them. He was snapping a trace chain in place when he heard Morgan talking to Lilith. She had been carrying water from a spring near the river to fill the water barrels. “Miss Prescott,” Morgan said, “I’ve been thinking.”