Chapter 27 #2
What she was saying wasn’t the common view of folks coming to the frontier. He thought of the travelers being led out West by Bill Clark. They only thought of themselves. Caleb was impressed that in half a year, she’d made it her business to learn so much.
“Do you know that our government deliberately targets villages and burns the food tribes need to survive these winters?” she asked, becoming more agitated. “Just as they did at Sand Creek, they are still destroying entire villages and defending their actions with lies.”
He knew all of this very well. That was exactly what the army was doing in the Dakotas and in Wyoming.
That’s what Custer was doing two years ago when Crazy Horse and Sitting Bull cut him down.
All that was to make things easier for railroad companies to put tracks across land that didn’t belong to them. He’d seen the bloody work firsthand.
“All the reading I did when I was back East told one side,” she said. “But the truth is the government takes land that belongs to the tribes. They just take it. And when tribes protest, when they demand that the treaties be honored, when they fight against the intruders, they’re called savages.”
The railroads were making it easier for moving troops and supplies around, no matter what time of year.
When an uprising happened, the army’s response was getting swifter and harder.
Caleb knew that tribes were being busted up, leaders killed or shipped off to prisons, children being sent away to Christian schools.
Schools like the ones Elijah Starr had run, filled with those children. A favorite saying was, Kill the Indian and save the man.
“My father told me about the summer when the Cheyenne cut off Denver from everywhere. He said the fighting was fierce, and it was all about the railroads.”
Caleb wasn’t there, but he’d heard plenty about it.
Cheyenne and Lakota raiding parties were doing everything they could to stop the Union Pacific from building across their lands.
They attacked military outposts, settler communities, and the overland trail.
But the response was brutal and bloody. And later, even after the transcontinental railroad was completed, the Lakota kept fighting.
And the Cheyenne fought alongside them at Little Bighorn.
“They’re all still fighting,” she said. “It’s in the newspapers every week.”
Still fighting. A hawk circled above his cabin, drawing Caleb’s eye.
“And you and Henry are about to lose your land. Tell me about this deal the judge is giving you.”
Far down the valley Caleb looked at the snow-covered fields. He caught a glimpse of something down by the river. He wondered if it was some of the cattle, finding their way back to the herd.
She tugged his hand to get his attention. “Is he giving you enough to buy and build again?”
“No.” He decided to tell her the rest of it. “But what he’s stealing from us is only part of it. He wants us gone. The two of us. And we can’t come back.”
“Gone? He can’t do that!” she blurted out, angry.
“Why is he doing this, saying this? You’ve done everything he’s ever asked you to do.
You saved his life. You saved my father’s life and brought him back to Elkhorn.
You recovered strongboxes from stagecoach robberies.
You’re the best thing that ever happened to him. ”
If nothing else, Sheila was a loyal friend. “It was either sell and go, or become a hired gun under the lash of my father. And I ain’t doing that.”
“He wants you to work for the man who killed your mother? Who stole your herd? And did this?” She motioned to the burned buildings around them. “What’s wrong with him? Is the judge blind to what that man has done to you? What he continues to do to you? The evil he’s capable of?”
“The judge don’t care.”
“Well, I do.” Her voice caught, and she looked away for a moment before meeting his eyes again. “I care what happens to you, Caleb. I care whether you stay or go. I care whether you come riding home at the end of the day or disappear into some storm chasing trouble.”
Her eyes flashed as she looked up into his.
“Do you know what it feels like watching you leave?” she asked softly. “Knowing there are men who want you dead? Knowing you’ll throw yourself into danger for somebody else without a second thought?”
She swallowed hard.
“I'm tired of pretending that doesn’t matter to me.”
The cold wind swept across the ruined ranch, but she never looked away.
“So, maybe you’re right. The judge doesn't care. Starr doesn't care. Maybe half this town doesn't care.” Her fingers tightened around his hand. “But I do.”
The words hit him hard. For days he'd been carrying the weight of everything alone. The cattle. Henry. The fire. The judge. His father. And suddenly, he couldn't carry it alone anymore.
Before he even realized what he was doing, Caleb stepped forward and pulled her into his arms.
She let out a soft gasp as he gathered her against him. He held her tightly. Not because he wanted to kiss her. Not because he knew what to say. Simply because he needed her close.
For a moment he buried his face against her hair and closed his eyes. The scent of her filled his senses. The warmth of her drove back the chill that had nothing to do with winter.
His ranch lay in ruins around them. His future was uncertain. Henry sat in a jail cell. But Sheila was here. And somehow that mattered more than all the rest.
Her arms slipped around his waist, holding him just as tightly.
Neither of them spoke. The burned barn smoldered behind them, and the winter wind swept across the valley. Yet for the first time since he'd ridden over the mountains, Caleb felt something inside him steady.
Reluctantly, he finally drew back enough to look at her.
Sheila turned her face away for a moment, but he could see she was very upset. The two of them had been playing a tug of war with their hearts for some time now. Now, Patterson had cut that rope. When she finally turned back to him, Caleb thought her face was about the prettiest thing anywhere.
“What happens if you and Henry come back someday? A month or a year? What about then?”
“Henry’ll hang. And I don’t reckon it’ll be too pretty for me either.” Not that he cared for himself. But his partner’s life mattered.
She faced him. “And you’re going to let him do this to you? Tell you what to do? Force you to run away?”
“I gotta think about Henry’s life.”
“Henry is in that jail for a murder he didn’t commit. But the judge is going to hold that over your heads forever.”
“That’s about right.” Caleb rubbed the back of his neck. He was tired. He felt like he’d been beaten with a stick.
“Look around you, Marlowe. Look at what they’ve done.”
He didn’t have to look. He knew the destruction that surrounded him. He was well aware of everything that they’d lost.
“The judge and Starr want you to go because they’re afraid of you,” she said. “They see raw courage and independence in you. They know what you’re capable of.”
Caleb knew they were afraid of him.
“Proving Henry’s innocence, finding the men who burned your ranch, discovering for certain who was behind the theft of your longhorns and the deaths of Ortiz’s men. You can’t do these things if you give up and go.” She wasn’t giving up.
Caleb looked up at the sky, letting Sheila’s words break through the fog clouding his thoughts.
“You can only do them if you stay and fight.” She turned to face him. “Do you remember the words you said to me before going after your herd? You said, ‘When you know the right thing to do, only a coward or a villain ignores it.’”
“I was talking about my responsibility to Paddy.”
“Paddy still needs you. Henry needs you.”
Caleb ran a hand down his face.
“And I need you.”
The words seemed to surprise her as much as they surprised him. For a moment, neither of them moved. Then Sheila stepped closer.
“I am tired of watching you ride away, Caleb,” she said softly. “Tired of wondering if you’ll come back. Tired of pretending none of this matters.”
She reached up and placed her hand against his cheek.
“Because it does matter.”
Before he could answer, she rose on her toes and kissed him.
There was nothing hesitant about the kiss. She kissed him like a woman who had made up her mind.
Caleb's arms went around her instantly, pulling her close as the winter wind swept across the ruined ranch.
For a few precious seconds, the burned barn, the stolen cattle, the judge, and Elijah Starr all disappeared. There was only Sheila.
When she finally drew back, both of them were breathing hard. Her eyes glistened as she looked up at him.
“Fight for Henry,” she whispered.
She swallowed.
“Fight for your ranch.” Her fingers tightened against his coat. “Fight for the life you've built here.”
Then her voice softened.
“Fight for us, Caleb.”
The words settled deep inside him. She was right. He had to fight.
He was no longer Caleb Starr, that whipped boy back in Indiana.
He was Caleb Marlowe.