The Wounded Yankee Read online

  He put some money on the bar and Buck guided him out and toward the wagon where Choiya was waiting in front of the saloon. Buck gave Zack a gentle push. On the first attempt to climb up, Zack missed the step. He was just trying again when a loud voice jeered nearby, “Well, lookee whut we got here, Boone—a hermit!”

  A red-haired man and a huge hulking form laughed as they stopped to watch.

  “Blast if you ain’t right, Red,” Boone said. “And the hermit is drunk as Cooter Brown!”

  Zack straightened up, and felt Choiya helping him into the wagon.

  “Well, ain’t the hermit got him a pretty little helper?” the man called Red taunted. He walked over to Choiya and touched her cheek. “Now, ain’t you the purtiest leetle thing!”

  Zack socked the man’s arm. “Get your hands off that woman!”

  “Watch out there, Red!” Boone warned. “The hermit’s threatening you with bodily harm, I reckon.”

  One blow from Red sent Zack sprawling. “Get lost, drunk!” he roared, then caught Choiya as she tried to help Zack. “Come on in, sweetheart,” he said. “Me and you got some talkin’ to do.”

  Choiya raked her fingernails across Red’s face, but he laughed gleefully. “Come on, Boone, we got us a lady friend.”

  Boone grinned and took Choiya’s other arm. “Why, shore, Red. We gotta be hospitable to our red brothers—and sisters, especially!”

  Buck jumped in front of them, yelling, “You let her go!” His heart was beating like a trip hammer, and he wanted to run, but he stood there with trembling legs.

  Boone looked at him for a moment, a grin creasing his brutal lips. His fist shot out, and Buck landed in the dust. He rolled over on his hands and knees and struggled to his feet.

  The two men were already pulling Choiya through the doors. They marched her up to the bar. “Ned, give this little lady some good liquor.”

  Billy Page was sitting at a table playing solitaire, and looked up with distaste, but said nothing.

  “Take her outta here, Red,” Ned Ray ordered.

  “What’s the matter, Ray? My money no good? I said let’s have a drink for the lady.”

  Ray hesitated. He poured the drink, but gave a slight nod to his swamper, who moved quietly out the door.

  “Now, just get this one down, and the next’ll be a lot easier,” Red said, and as Boone pinned her arms, Yeager held her head with one hand and put the glass to her lips. Choiya shook her head violently and spit in his face, spilling the whiskey.

  “Now look at that,” Yeager said, swiping his jaw. He poured another glass and was just about to force her to drink when Zack burst through the doors. His head was wet from dunking it into the horse trough. Not quite sober, his youthful face was pale, but his voice was clear and menacing. “Let that woman go!”

  Red smiled as he faced him. “I told you to get lost, drunk.” He threw the liquor in Zack’s face and smashed him in the mouth. Zack fell backward, and Boone yelled, “Break him up, Red!”

  Yeager waited until Zack got to his feet. He was a cruel and rough fighter of repute and let Zack take his time. Cocky and sure of himself Red said, “I’m going to bust you up, boy. I’m going to break your nose so that you whistle when you breathe. And you ain’t gonna have nothin’ but stubs left for teeth.”

  Zack desperately wished he were sober—for he knew his reactions were gone. But he said, “You’re a dog—a yellow dog!” and threw a punch at Yeager. Red side-stepped and caught Zack around the waist, spinning him around and sending him crashing into the wall. Zack fell to the floor with a thousand lights flashing before his eyes.

  Yeager roared with laughter. “I won’t even soil my hands with you, drunk,” he sneered. “Boots will be good enough.”

  He walked forward and drew back his foot to kick. “Now, hermit—”

  “Don’t do it, Red!”

  Yeager turned to see Billy Page. He knew Page slightly, but thought of him only as a fancy tin-horn gambler. His lip curled. “After I kick his teeth in, I’ll see what your insides are made of.” He turned back toward Zack, but stopped at the deadly click of a revolver.

  “It’ll be the last mistake you ever make.” Page held the gun steady as Red faced him.

  Yeager had a gun on his hip, and he knew Boone was armed, but the bore of Page’s revolver was unwavering, and the brown eyes dared him to go for it.

  “There’s two of us, Red,” Boone interrupted, shoving the woman aside, his hand over his gun. “What’re we waitin’ for?”

  Yeager stood motionless, looking into the mouth of Page’s gun.

  “Why, Red’s trying to figure out if it’s a good day to die, Boone,” Page jibed.

  Yeager nearly went for his gun, but he saw Billy’s finger flicker on the trigger, and he threw up his hands, yelling, “I’m not drawing!”

  At the same instant, J.W. Dillingham entered. He took in the scene and commanded, “Put up your gun, Billy.” Then he turned to Choiya. “Ma’am, you can go now.”

  “Thank you,” she whispered, and after a look at Zack, left the room.

  Red Yeager knew that he’d have to have it out with Page to keep his reputation. “Page, I’ll see you later.”

  “Any time, Red. Now that I see what a fancy gunman you are, I’ll hire a couple of bodyguards.” He walked back and took his seat, picking up his solitaire game as if nothing had happened.

  Yeager said, “We don’t need your help, J.W.” He glared at Zack. “The hermit there, he threw the first punch.”

  “And you and Boone were just a couple of innocent bystanders?” Dillingham asked softly.

  Boone said loudly, “Why, you know about him, Dillingham. He’s the one who keeps a harem up in the hills. Got that Indian gal, and from what I hear, he’s got that good-lookin’ preacher lady, too!”

  “That’s right,” Red added. “We can’t have a thing like that goin’ on round here. It’s a shame on our community.”

  “Didn’t know you took such an interest in the morals of our town,” Dillingham said. He was a soft-spoken man, but Yeager knew J.W. was a fearful man in a fight. Now his soft gray eyes were hard as he said, “I think I’ll put you in the slammer, Red.”

  “What! You can’t do that!”

  “Let’s just see if I can, Red. Now you can go with or without trouble. Make up your mind.”

  Yeager was careful not to move his hands. “All right, J.W., I’ll go.” He pulled his gun out slowly, and as he handed it to the deputy, he threw a hard look at Zack. “You get rid of them women, Winslow,” he said. “Soon as I get out of jail, I’ll be lookin’ for you. And if you’ve still got them up at that cabin, I’ll finish what I started!”

  Zack stared at him, then asked curiously, “You mean that, Red?”

  “I reckon he does, Winslow,” Ned Ray spoke up. “If I was you, I don’t think I’d stick around here.”

  Dillingham nodded as he herded Red out of the door. “None of my business, Winslow, but Yeager here will try for you. He’s got his reputation to think about.” He shoved Yeager out the door. “He’ll be looking for you, so better keep out of town.”

  Zack nodded, and walked back to Page. “I’m obliged to you.”

  “I don’t like to see a thing like that. If you’d been sober, I’d have let him do it.” He frowned. “I don’t think much of you, Winslow. Bronwen Morgan is a friend of mine. I reckon now you’ll do like Red says.”

  “Like Red says?” Zack’s eyes bored into Billy’s. “You mean kick them out just because a cheap gunhand like Red Yeager says so?”

  “He’s a killer, Zack. He runs on his reputation, and he’ll carry out his threat if you don’t get rid of them.” Billy shrugged. “Be a lot easier on everyone—including Bronwen—if you pulled out.”

  “Saving me from a stomping may not have meant much to you, Page, but it means a lot to me. Maybe I can make it right with you someday.”

  He walked out of the saloon. Choiya was waiting in the wagon, talking to Buck.

  “
I’m going back to Pfouts’ store,” Zack said. He was weak from the beating and he had a splitting headache, but his mind was no longer cloudy with alcohol. He turned into the store and saw only the clerk.

  “They’re in the office.”

  Zack pushed the door open. Bronwen, her face streaked with tears, whirled to face him.

  “Bronwen, I want you to come back,” he said flatly.

  Shocked, she studied him. “Why, Zacharias?”

  “Because no cheap gunman is going to tell me what I can or can’t do.” He told them what had happened, and said stubbornly, “That’s why I’m asking you to come back. I’m no more noble than I ever was, and I still think you’re crazy. I don’t believe it’ll ever work, but if you want to come, I’ll keep you till it snows ink!”

  “Don’t, Bron!” Parris warned, his face agitated. “Zack’s right. It won’t work.”

  “I won’t go back up there!” Lillian cried defiantly. “I’ll run away!”

  Bron looked at Zack, a strange smile on her lips. “I will go with you, Zacharias. I’m ready now.”

  He swallowed. “Let’s get going. We’ve got to build another room on the cabin before the snow gets here.”

  Choiya had a murderous look on her face as they came back. Zack tossed a screaming Lillian into the wagon after prying her from the hitching post. Buck looked stunned, and the rest of the children, frightened out of their wits by all of this, started a chorus of screaming as the wagons moved down the street.

  Parris raised his eyes and whispered, “God help them all!”

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  A CRY FOR HELP

  Bron had expected things to go better after they returned to the cabin, but they worsened. No matter how she tried to ferret out the source of friction, nothing made sense.

  Everyone was touchy and agitated at the slightest provocation. Choiya drew into a shell, a sullen anger shrouding her every move. At times she would flare out, her eyes reflecting the smoldering anger, especially when the close confines of the cabin produced the inevitable problems from crowded conditions.

  Lillian became unbearable, finding ingenious ways to irrritate everyone, doing her chores only when threatened with a switch. She ignored or insulted Buck, and though they were the same age she saw him as an overgrown boy. Buck, on the other hand, did his best to be friendly. Obviously smitten with her, and very sensitive, he became more introverted and withdrawn at her mistreatment.

  Zack was worst of all. Bron had expected him to be more communicative, now that he had openly asked them to stay, but he, too, seemed to live in a world of his own. Unknown to her, he was horrified and ashamed at his behavior in town. He despised men who drank themselves into a stupor, and had long ago vowed that he’d never be one of them. Now in full view of Virginia City, he had staggered along the streets, fallen flat on his face in the dirt, and been roundly whipped by a man he knew he could have beaten had he been sober.

  He lived that scene over and over again, seeing Yeager’s leering face and feeling the blows that fell uncontested. Drunks usually don’t remember fights—but this one was carved into Zack’s brain with stark clarity. He remembered every detail—the splinters in the boards his face pressed against, the sharp splat of Yeager’s fist.

  Though he didn’t realize it, above his humiliation at being kicked around by Red was Zack’s deep shame at his inability to defend Choiya. She had been at the mercy of the two men, and it was his responsibility to protect her—but he had failed. Had Billy Page and Dillingham not come to Zack’s aid, Yeager would probably have killed him and done as he pleased with Choiya.

  Though Winslow didn’t reason any of this out, it ate at him; and perversely he began to resent not only himself but those who had seen him humiliated—which included everyone in his tiny cosmos. He was short with everyone and stayed outside as much as possible, coming in only when forced to.

  The weather made it more difficult because three days after their return, the winter cold came roaring over the peaks, snowing and dropping temperatures to sub-zero levels almost overnight.

  They had enjoyed the relatively mild temperatures and the recent chinook. The weather had been deceptively moderate until now, keeping even some of the slower mountain streams ice-free.

  Zack spent long days cutting firewood, hauling it back to the cabin on the wagon and adding it to the wood he and Buck had already stockpiled. Buck became exhausted and when he protested, Zack sent him back to the cabin with a curt word. Zack himself continued to work until darkness closed in, coming in so spent he could hardly eat or crawl up to the loft.

  The snow began to fall again, lightly at first, then in large flakes that fell heavily instead of drifting down. Zack decided it was time to take the wheels off the wagon and convert it into a sledge. He guessed right, as it snowed hard for two days, making it difficult to get outside for more wood or to care for the animals. Doing anything else became impossible.

  Zack prowled the cabin like a caged beast, sitting down to read, but unable to concentrate for over thirty minutes before throwing the book down and finding some pretext for going outside.

  Once when everyone except Bron had gone to bed, he came in from one of his trips outside, his head covered with snow. He stood over the fire, steam rising from his clothes as the heat penetrated. He had not shaved for a week, and the snow melted on his whiskers, dripping down onto his shirt. Bron was reading the Bible, as usual, by the light of the kerosene lamp, and put it down. “Are the horses all right?”

  “They won’t freeze, I guess.”

  “I made some fresh coffee.” She took the pot and poured a cup of the hot brew and handed it to him. He sipped the coffee, silently staring into the flames.

  Bron looked across the cabin at the sleeping figures in the bunks. “It’s harder than I thought it would be. You were right.”

  He shook his head. “I don’t take confinement too well.” He raised his cup to his lips and looked at her. “I’ve been pretty terrible, Bron.”

  “Not your fault, it is,” she said quietly. “Are you sorry you brought us back?”

  He shifted his feet. The set of his jaw and the bleakness in his eyes reflected a despair within. The turmoil in the cabin had caused a lot of other feelings to surface—bitter anger that he had thought long buried. The faces of George Orr and Emma kept coming to him, bringing a discord into his spirit. He would think of Emma for hours, usually of those close, tender moments when she had lavished her love on him, assuring him that he alone would have her heart. Yet how easily she had moved from him to George. At the memory, an implacable rage would rise in him.

  “I know you think God works good out of everything, Bron, but that doesn’t make me feel any better,” he said bitterly. As he faced her, the unhappiness that had fed on him spilled over. “How can you believe in anything? I had a girl once, almost as beautiful as you. And I had a friend.” His face was etched with pain, making lines she’d never seen before, and she longed to reach out and smooth them, but dared not.

  “And they betrayed you?” she asked, knowing the answer before he spoke.

  “Yes! They said all the right things to me—how they loved me and trusted me. Then when I was out of sight, they practically fell into each other’s arms.”

  “Not everyone is like that, Zacharias,” she said.

  “How do you know?” he challenged, and he saw in her beauty the same soft trap that had led him to trust Emma. For that one moment in some strange way, she seemed to be Emma. He seized her arms and said harshly, “You had a man, but he’s gone! Now you’d take another one.”

  “That’s not the same, and it’s not true!”

  “Isn’t it?” He pulled her roughly to him and pressed his lips to hers. Shocked, she tried to push him away, but he held her tightly, pressing harder against her, roughing her lips with his. Then he dropped her so quickly she staggered backward.

  The logs shifted in the fireplace with a soft movement that sent sparks flying, and he looked at
her with self-loathing. “Well, Bron, that proves you’re good and I’m a rotter.”

  “No, it proves nothing of the kind, Zacharias,” she said, stepping forward to look at him closely. “It proves you’re a man, that’s all.”

  “How do you figure that?” he snapped.

  “How dull you are!” Bron put her hand out and touched his shoulder. Her eyes were filled with compassion. “This woman hurt you—and you kissed me to show your contempt for her—and to prove that I’m as little to be trusted as she was.”

  He stared into her eyes, then said glumly, “I can’t straighten it all out now. Good night.”

  Without another word, he moved to the ladder and disappeared into the loft. Bron gazed blindly across the room, then blew out the lamp. She undressed and was just ready to slip into her bunk when Choiya’s voice came softly to her.

  “Was it a good kiss?”

  Bron glanced quickly toward Choiya’s bed. “It was an angry kiss, Choiya.” She waited for a reply, but none came, so she climbed into her bunk and wrapped the blankets around her. Closing her eyes, she tried to sleep, but she thought of his kiss. Finally, she shook her head angrily, rolled over, and willed herself to sleep.

  The next morning after breakfast, Zack announced, “Snow stopped last night. I’m going over to Seven Point and see if I can bring down some meat.”

  “Can I go with you?” Buck asked.

  “You’d better stay here,” he replied; then seeing the boy’s disappointment, added, “I don’t like to leave the women here with no man. Keep your rifle loaded and your eyes open.”

  Buck brightened. “Sure. I’ll take care of things.”

  When Zack was ready to leave, Bron handed him a lunch she’d made, asking, “Will you be gone long?”

  “Don’t expect so. Be back by dark,” he said tartly, avoiding her eyes.

  She watched as he rode Ornery out of the yard. We don’t need any meat. He’s just getting away from me—from all of us, she thought. More than ever she doubted the wisdom of what she’d done, wishing she’d never come to him.