Vallian chuckled. “Now, ma’am, that never unsettled no medicine man, nor preacher, either! He can just say it was their fault, that there was sin in their village, that there was no faith.”
“You are a cynic.”
“No, ma’am, but when a miracle doesn’t come off you don’t just expect to set by, do you? You got to have a reason. Sin’s the reason they’ll buy… you can just bet, ma’am, that somebody was doing something he shouldn’t have, so they’ll blame him, not the prophet.”
“Why did they charge us like that?”
“Scarin’ you. Seein’ if you had backbone. They weren’t a war party… just travelin’ with their folks. You got to judge them according to their lights, ma’am. Injuns think different than us, but that doesn’t say they are wrong… just different.”
“It would have taken all we had to feed them! Why, there must have been a dozen of them!”
“No, ma’am, there was eight, but when it comes to Injuns that’s too many. They’d have taken all you had, then searched your wagon. If you’d let ’em have it all, they’d have taken it all and everything else they wanted, but when we stood fast and showed our guns, they were willin’ to talk. They’re good folks, ma’am, but they just don’t think like we do. You got to allow for that.”
Twice they stopped to rest the mules. At their nooning, Duncan said, “Susanna, I think you and Tom had better walk some more. The mules are making hard work of it.”
“Throw out that chest,” Vallian said, “or the dresser. You’re going to kill them mules.”
“I will do no such thing!” Susanna said sharply. “Why, the very idea! My grandmother owned that dresser! She had it from her husband’s mother. Why, it’s been in our family for years and years!”
“Maybe,” Vallian commented dryly, “but it sure won’t pull your wagon when those mules are played out, and the way you’re usin’ ’em those mules won’t last another week… maybe ten days. And in ten days, ma’am, you just aren’t going to be anywhere. Not anywhere at all!”
Lost Spring was nowhere. It was bald prairie all around, not a stick of wood, not even a buffalo chip. There was not a bush or a tree anywhere within sight. During the night the wind blew hard and before daylight it began to rain. It was a spitting, doubtful rain at first, then after an interlude, a brisk but brief shower.
Duncan led the mules to water, then the horses. Tom helped to make camp. It was not easy in the rain. Vallian scooped out a small hollow in the earth, gathered a few stones, and using dry wood from the tarp slung under the wagon, he got a fire going.
With a canvas over the fire they broiled some antelope steaks and ate their small meal and drank coffee standing in the rain.
“How far to the next camp?” Tom asked.
“Sixteen miles… maybe a shade less. There’s wood there, and grass. It’s a good camp.”
“Well, that will be a help. At least, we can pick up some more wood tomorrow.”
“Not you.”
They turned their heads to stare at him. Vallian returned the look. “You ain’t goin’ to be there tomorrow. Maybe not the next day.”
“What do you mean?” Susanna demanded sharply.
“Your mules are tuckered. They just made it to here, and when you come in it was dry. Tomorrow those wheels will be cuttin’ into mud. With luck you’ll make that camp on Cottonwood Creek in three days.”
“Three days! For sixteen miles?”
“Maybe not even then. Maybe not at all.” Tom’s face was white, and for a moment Susanna thought she would cry. Duncan stared then looked at the ground, feeling empty and sick.
“I don’t believe that,” he said, “we’ll make it.”
“If the mules die,” Vallian said, “you can always ride out on the horses. Of course, you can’t carry much. An’ you surely can’t carry that dresser.”
He emptied his cup. “See that hill yonder? Tomorrow you’ll start fresh. You’ll roll down the slope pretty well, then you’ll start up. If you make it to the top, that’s where you’ll camp tomorrow night.”
“That’s ridiculous! Why, that’s no more than six or seven hundred yards!”
“That’s right. And maybe you won’t even get out of the valley. I told you, mister, you’re fixin’ to kill them mules.”
Vallian walked to his horse. “You’ll be needin’ meat to ride out.”
“Mr. Vallian?” Tom asked suddenly. “Can I come with you? I can shoot.”
“I’ve got no time for youngsters. You stay with your ma.”
Susanna spoke quickly. “Mr. Vallian, my son must learn to hunt. Won’t you teach him?”
He started to refuse, a foot in the stirrup. Then he swung into the saddle. “All right… saddle up.”
“Thank you, Mr. Vallian,” Susanna said.
“Don’t thank me. If he can’t keep up, he’ll get lost. If he comes back with meat it’ll be his doin’, not mine.”
Susanna stared at him. “I do not think I like you, Mr. Vallian.”
He smiled, slowly, exasperatmgly. “No, ma’am. I reckon not. But then it doesn’t matter very much, does it?”
They rode away, and she stared after him, then stamped her foot. It made no sound on the wet grass and that made her even angrier.
CHAPTER VI
Con Vallian rode straight away from the wagon without turning to look back. His eyes swept the long grass levels, alert for movement or change in the grass. Tom McKaskel rode one of the sorrels, a larger, stronger horse than Vallian’s mustang.
In the distance a rainstorm marched across the flat-land. There seemed no break in the vast level of the prairie. Thunder rumbled.
“Not a good time for hunting,” Vallian commented. “Game holes up when it rains.”
Tom was silent. They knew little of this man who had come so suddenly from nowhere, and who seemed to have no ties, no loyalty but to himself and what he believed. Yet there was a strength in him and an awareness that fascinated Tom.
“Buffalo can’t hide, an’ we’re cuttin’ sign in buffalo country.”
“Will those men come back?”
“Likely.”
“You don’t think much of us, do you?”
“I don’t think about you at all. You come out here loaded like you was going to a city market. You got enough on that wagon for four, five families. Your pa ought to have more sense.”
“Pa knows what he’s doing.”
“Back east, maybe. What you learn in school cuts no ice out here. You started out to get across the plains. Well, you got no choice now. You’re on your way an’ the only way you’re going to make it is by chucking half your load.”
“Half/”
“Boy, you keepin’ your eyes open?”
“Sure I am! Why-”
Tom felt guilty. To tell the truth he had been arguing and not paying attention. Now he looked quickly around.
“You got no time to study out here. You see, and you act. Only you don’t shoot at movement. You never squeeze off your shot until you know exactly what you’re shootin’ at. Tenderfeet, they shoot at anything that moves. They kill cows, horses, dogs an’ each other.
“Out here we kill just what we need to live, just like a wolf does, or a bear. Not to say they won’t kill once in awhile just to be killin’, but they’re animals, boy, you’re a man… or about to be one.
“Look yonder… see anything?”
“No, I… well, there’s something dark, right close to the ground.”
“Them’s buffalo, an’ they ain’t close to the ground, they’re feedin’ in a hollow or gully. But we ain’t huntin’ buffalo right now. Your pa’d try to carry the hide, and he ought. Trouble is buffalo bides weigh heavy, mighty heavy, an’ you have more truck on that wagon than the Israelites fleein’ Egypt.”
Vallian reined his horse around, glancing at the grass. “Injuns,” he said, “and the same ones.”
Tom looked, but the plain before them was empty. Vallian pointed at the grass, some distance ahead.
“There! Where the grass has been pressed down. They passed by here, heading west.”
Tom could see nothing but as they rode nearer he could distinguish a difference in the shade of the grass, and then he could see that some of the grass had been pressed down. The two lines left by the travels were clearly indicated.
Another travois had dragged along, almost in the same tracks as the first.
“Fifteen, anyway. We seen eight bucks an’ there would be some women and kids.”
“How can you tell?”
“Boy, anybody can see that. They passed after dew-fall. You got to keep your eyes open. You can’t just ride along lookin’ at pretty colors like your pa does.”
“My pa’s all right. You leave him out of this or say it to his face, and if you do, you’d better think twice. He was a boxer in school.”