Frontier Courtship Part 24

Instead of uttering such a revealing retort she merely said, "Thank you," nudged Ben in his sides and rode on.

Faith was about fifty yards ahead of the others when she heard Connell and Irene start to argue.

"What happened to the dress I got you?" he asked. To which Irene replied, "I like this one. It's better suited for riding."

"Fine. So tell me again where you found my rifle."

"I already told you. On the trail."

"What were you doing behind me?"

"Who said I was?"

"I do."

"Okay, so maybe I was on my way back to camp."

"That still doesn't explain how you managed to catch the horses Faith lost."

"They're Cheyenne. They came right to me. Probably recognized me."

"Who else is supposed to recognize you?" Connell demanded. "And who knocked me off my horse? Was it you?"

"Don't be ridiculous," Irene said flatly. "Rojo stumbled and you fell, that's all."

"And my rifle? Did it fall, too?"

"I suppose so."

"Then maybe you'd like to explain how you managed to locate it? Faith and I looked all over. It wasn't anywhere near the place where she found me. Am I supposed to believe some stray coyote dragged it off like a dog with a bone?"

"How should I know? Maybe you were groggy and wandered around after you were hurt. Maybe, maybe..."

Faith couldn't quite hear the rest of Irene's excuse. She didn't have to. It had been plain for some time that the other woman wasn't being totally forthcoming. What that might mean, however, was yet to be seen. Living as a captive had left poor Irene as wary as a rabbit in a snare, which could mean she was merely being cautious and circ.u.mspect out of habit, not necessarily dishonest by choice.

If I could talk to her alone, woman to woman, maybe I could get closer to the truth, Faith reasoned. Faith reasoned.

Given their current traveling arrangements, however, she couldn't imagine an opportunity to do that until after they'd arrived at Beal's Bar, and by that time, it might be unnecessary. By then, Connell might have spirited his bride away to their new life, negating any reasonable cause for concern.

But I'll still care about him, Faith told herself. Faith told herself. No matter where he goes or what he does, I'll care for the rest of my life. No matter where he goes or what he does, I'll care for the rest of my life.

Nothing in the newspapers back home in Ohio or in her father's few letters had prepared Faith for the perilous final approach to the mining camp. Beal's Bar lay at the bottom of a barely accessible canyon. If she hadn't been aboard Ben and trusted his sure-footed gait she doubted she'd have had the nerve to attempt the steep, narrow trail. Yes, she trusted in G.o.d's protection-but she also knew it was wrong to test Him by behaving foolishly when she knew better.

Connell led the way, entering the trail after a brief conversation with a scruffy miner who had just come up from the valley. Trembling, Faith was glad she was last in line during the descent. Showing fear was unfitting, especially since neither of the others seemed at all nervous.

As they neared the river at the end of their precarious trek, Faith relaxed enough to appreciate the beauty of the sparkling water that snaked through the gorge. It rippled over and around rocks in a random pattern that made it look like quicksilver seeking a path through scattered mountains of glistening gravel.

In the midst of it all, atop a rough rise that looked low and insignificant enough to be inundated at any moment, lay the makes.h.i.+ft buildings of Beal's Bar. There were tents, wooden structures, and various cobbled-up combinations of both. The largest edifice was almost completely canvas-covered, roof and all. Someone had painted "Majestic Hotel" across the front, an arguable conclusion if she'd ever seen one.

Wide-eyed, Faith scanned the motley group of men that had begun to gather at their approach. Most of the miners were dressed similarly in flannel s.h.i.+rts, pantaloons with the legs tucked into boots, and black felt hats with wide brims that shaded the only parts of their faces that weren't covered in whiskers.

Where shade and beards left off, dirt took over. Considering that the town was situated practically in a riverbed, their lack of attention to personal hygiene seemed strange to her until she peered into some of their eyes. In spite of all the shouted greetings, whistles and grins, she recognized the same hopelessness she'd felt while crossing the desert. If this was truly the land of milk and honey, someone had failed to convince these poor folks.

Connell stopped his horse and waited for her to ride parallel before he said, "Stay close. Most miners aren't used to having decent women in camp. I'm not sure how rowdy they'll get."

"Nonsense." Faith rested her hand on the b.u.t.t of the Colt. "I can take care of myself. All I intend to do is ask directions."

"All right. You and Irene wait here while I go make some discreet inquiries."

Before Faith could object, he dismounted and strode through the crowd into the makes.h.i.+ft hotel. Not about to take orders when her own father was involved, she started to follow, then thought better of it. There were other mules around but none as big and impressive as her Ben. It wasn't wise to leave him unattended.

Instead, she spoke to the nearest miner, a bearded derelict in tattered clothing whose skin was as weathered as the cracked leather of his boots.

"Excuse me, sir, we're looking for Mr. Emory Beal," Faith said. "Do you know where I might find him?"

"Mebbe." He spit into the dirt. "What's it worth to ya, pretty lady? A little dance, mebbe?"

She drew herself up, back straight, chin jutting proudly. "I'm certain Mr. Beal will reward you for your information if he feels remuneration is called for."

"Re-what?" The man guffawed. "Well, aren't you a puffed-up little prairie chicken. All right. If'n you're not interested in staying in town and keepin' us company, how's about her? She ain't bad lookin'-fer an Injun."

A quick glance at Irene told Faith her companion was thinking about eliminating that miner's need for future haircuts. Permanently.

"I'd mind my manners if I were you, sir," she warned, smiling slightly. "My Cheyenne friend has a short temper. Now, are you going to give us directions or not?"

He spit again, pointing. "It's that way. The cabin on the rise at the end of this here trail. But ol' Emory can't give ya what me and some o' these other boys can, lady. My claim's rich. Beal's diggin's played out months ago. I hear he's nigh busted. Wouldn't surprise me to see him hightailing it up to the Feather to try his luck there, if he ain't left already."

Others in the crowd were nodding agreement. Faith looked to Irene, then at the hotel door, then back to Irene. "I don't see any reason to sit here and stew, do you?"

"None. If we can find the cabin, so can he."

"Right. Then let's go."

Wheeling Ben, Faith led the way up the canyon in search of the father she hadn't seen in well over a year.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Connell dashed out of the so-called hotel in time to see Faith and Irene riding off without him. He cursed under his breath. If it wasn't one of them causing him grief, it was the other. And now both. No telling what they'd said or done while he was inside. Probably given the whole situation away, he thought, disgusted.

He'd left them so he could quietly inquire about the overall circ.u.mstances in town, including whether or not anyone had seen Faith's fool sister. Thankfully, n.o.body had, which was the first good news Connell had heard in some time. Next stop was the Beal cabin.

He swung onto the Indian pony, grabbed Rojo's lead rope and rode off amid jeers, laughing and calls of "Lose something, mister?" and "Hey! Where's your women?"

The long, narrow valley left few choices of travel. Connell knew approximately where the Beal cabin lay, thanks to the bartender in the hotel. Judging by the direction Faith and Irene had headed, they'd found out, too. All he needed to do was follow them, the quicker the better, and hope he got there before they made any more stupid moves. If Emory Beal was half as impulsive as his eldest daughter, he was liable to grab a shotgun, blow a hole in Tucker without considering the consequences, and hang for murder instead of the other way around. That was not the kind of retribution Connell had in mind.

Emory was coming out of the one-room cabin as Faith and Irene rode up. Hardly able to contain her excitement, Faith grinned, waiting for him to realize who she was. Seconds ticked by. Emory was apparently so concerned about the presence of an Indian woman he wasn't paying heed to anything else, including the once-familiar mule.

Little wonder he didn't know her, Faith decided, fidgeting. Her face was half-hidden by the brim of her borrowed hat and although she was wearing a calico dress, she'd had no boots or shoes so she'd kept the moccasins the Cheyenne had given her. Besides, unless her sad letter had reached him, Emory thought she and Charity were still back in Ohio-with Mama.

Sobering, Faith slid to the ground beside Ben and threw the reins over his head. When she said, "Papa!" there was such pathos in her voice, her father's jaw dropped.

He stepped forward. "Faith?"

"Yes, Papa!" She flung herself into his arms, clinging like the child she once was.

He was weeping with her. Faith leaned away to wipe her cheeks. "You didn't get my letter?"

"There's been no mail from home for months." He looked past his daughter to the other rider. "Who's that? And where's Mama and your sister?"

"It's a long story, Papa," Faith said. She kept an arm around him as she turned toward the cabin door. "I think we'd better go inside to talk."

He resisted, staring at her with evident dread. "No. Tell me right now. Where's your mama?"

Pausing, Faith took a deep breath and prayed silently for strength, for the right words. There was no way to soften the blow. Nor was there any way for her to escape being the messenger of tragedy.

"Mama's gone to Glory," she said simply. "There was a tornado. The whole house collapsed. There's nothing you could have done, even if you'd been there."

She watched as his shock and disbelief were replaced with soul-deep sadness. Anger would come later. It had for her. And then she'd finally stopped blaming G.o.d and had moved on with her life, just as Connell had after his own losses.

Pulled back into the present by thoughts of the plainsman, she glanced down the slope and saw him approaching, tall in the saddle, leading his prize canelo because of its injury.

"The Good Lord has watched out for me," Faith told her father. She pointed. "That's Connell McClain. We owe him my life."

"Charity, too?"

"I pray so," Faith said.

She waited while Connell and Irene dismounted, then made formal introductions. Emory didn't question the way Irene was dressed or hesitate to greet the rough plainsman, yet he did seem befuddled, in a fog. Faith kept hold of his thin arm while he showed everyone to the corral at the rear of his cabin. As soon as they saw to the needs of Ben and the horses, he invited the party into his home, made them welcome and offered to share a meal while he listened in awe to their tales of the harrowing journey.

Hearing her own words, Faith was struck anew by the awesomeness of her deliverance. It was getting a lot easier to see how G.o.d had worked for her good than it had been at the time she was going through the trials. How simple life would be if only she knew exactly what her heavenly Father wanted her to do next.

By the time Faith had finished telling her story and had shared her candid opinion of Charity's dilemma, all she wanted to do was bury her head in a soft pillow and sleep for days. She also wanted to give her father a chance to be alone with his grief, yet she knew there was no time for either. Her sister might arrive any day. There were preparations to make. Plans to agree upon.

"Ramsey Tucker wants your gold, Papa," she said. "The men in town told me your claim's played out. Is that true?"

Emory nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Then what are we going to do?"

"I'd give everything I have to see you and your sister safe and well and happy," he answered. "But since I have nothing of value to offer, we'll just have to make Charity's husband understand."

"It's not that simple," Faith explained. "Tucker doesn't take kindly to bad news. He probably won't believe you're penniless no matter what we tell him."

"I'm not. Not exactly," he said. "I'd saved out a few nice nuggets to show your mama." Eyes misty, he went to a tin sitting in plain sight on a shelf beside his bed, opened it and removed a yellowed white handkerchief.

He handed the small bundle to Faith. "They're yours, now, Faith. Yours and Charity's. I never want to see another fleck of color. Never. It's all been for nothing."

"Oh, Papa, don't say that. You did what you thought was right. I know you wanted to make a better life for all of us. That's not wrong. It just didn't work out the way you'd expected. Mama knew you loved us. That's why she made me promise to come west and find you."

"It's a wonder you did. Many's the man who disappears for good in the diggin's," Emory said, sighing.

Irene had been silent during most of the conversation. Now, she spoke up. "Where Tucker is concerned, it's mostly his women who are never heard from again. How can you all just sit there, talking about that man as if he were less than evil?"

"It's not like that." Faith sought to placate her. "We have to prove his character to Charity as well as make him pay for his crimes." She scowled a warning at Irene. "And I don't mean take the law into our own hands."

"Why not? The minute Ramsey Tucker sees you and me he's going to know his evil doings have been exposed. Then what? We can't let him walk away with your sister, even if she won't believe us. She's a witness. Once she puts two and two together, she'll be in terrible danger."

Holding the handkerchief containing the gold nuggets, Faith fingered their hardness through the fabric. "Maybe we could trade?" A smile lifted the corners of her mouth. "Suppose Papa offered to trade Tucker his valuable mining claim in exchange for his daughter's freedom? We all know he'd accept. And that would certainly show Charity her husband's true colors, wouldn't it?"

Connell laughed. "It sure would. I like the way your mind works, Little Dove Woman."

"And then what?" Irene demanded.

Faith had a ready answer for that question, too. The whole plan was suddenly coming together brilliantly in spite of her weariness. "Papa can keep our presence secret while he deals with Tucker. n.o.body in town knows who we are so we'll be safe enough. I don't think the Good Lord will mind a temporary falsehood in order to right a wrong."

"You? Lie?" Connell chuckled. "It's okay with me, if you think your conscience can stand it."

"I'll live," Faith retorted cynically. "While we get things ready here, you backtrack up the canyon and see if you can spot Tucker coming so we won't get caught unawares."

"I might be persuaded to do that for you." Connell glanced at Irene. "If my future bride doesn't mind waiting a bit to see her new home."

His innocent words tore into Faith's heart and left it bleeding, empty. She averted her gaze rather than chance seeing anyone's unspoken query into the reason for her pain. She thought she'd die when her father said, "You know, there's a traveling preacher due here in a few days. He could marry you. We might even be able to come up with a regular dress for the lady from the Kentucky gal down at the Majestic. I know I've seen her wear a pretty one."

Faith wanted to scream. To wail. To jump to her feet and confess her love for Connell in spite of Irene's presence. She opened her mouth, but all that came out was a croak any frog would have been proud of.

Irene, however, had no trouble stating firmly, "No."

"No?" Connell looked puzzled.

"No." Standing proud, Irene addressed everyone, Faith included. "You all seem to forget. I'm already married to Ramsey Tucker. Until that problem is resolved, one way or another, I'm not free to marry anyone else."