Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
The fearsome killer in Caleb’s hands went limp. He was heavy enough when he was squirming and raking at him with all his formidable strength. Dead, he seemed even heavier.
Caleb dropped him on the ground and quickly rose to his feet as he picked up the burning brand. The other members of the pack were scattering and turning tail. They disappeared in an instant into the darkness.
More shots split the night, adding incentive to the wolves in their flight.
The shooter, who appeared to be a few years younger than Sing Lee, stood with a small group of men close to the woman and child.
He was holding a ’60 Army Richards six-gun.
The cartridges were spent, but he kept pulling the trigger and the empty cylinder clicked around.
Caleb understood. The Chinese traveler’s blood was fired up from the danger.
A shorter man, closer to Sing Lee’s age, stood beside the shooter. In his shaking hand, he was holding a lantern up high. It was a battered mining lamp that must have been ancient years before they discovered gold at Sutter’s mill. But it still did the job.
Caleb turned his attention to the woman and child.
To be attacked by a pack of wolves was a harrowing thing.
The baby must have looked like easy pickings.
The thought of what could have happened just now sent a sickening jolt through him.
But throughout the attack, she’d been a lioness.
He figured she would have fought the beast with her bare hands if she had to.
Sing Lee put his arm around them. The teenager with the stick brushed past Caleb and stood at the older man’s shoulder.
Caleb looked in the direction the wolves had disappeared. They meant business, and they could easily circle around and come back.
The woman said something to Sing Lee. Her expression was one of assuring him that she was fine.
Her calm demeanor after what had almost happened showed more toughness and resilience than most men possessed.
And the child was no milquetoast either.
He hadn’t uttered even a peep in the face of snarling wolves and gunshots.
Relieved that they were safe, he glanced around at Pirate and the mules. They were still jumpy and wild-eyed in the light of his torch and the lamp, but also unharmed.
The other travelers, including the shooter, gathered around the woman and boy.
They were all closer to Sing Lee’s age and wearing clothing not too different from his, but two of them were coatless.
The sleeves of their shirts billowed out like sails and took on a golden hue from the lamplight.
Caleb counted six adults, the tall boy, and the toddler.
They all wore Shoshone moccasins, and that told him they’d traveled through Indian territory far to the west.
Caleb tested his bad ankle and touched his side tentatively. Wrestling with that killer probably didn’t help the mending any, but he reckoned he’d live.
Everyone started talking excitedly. He could hear the nervous energy in the tone and the pitch, even if he couldn’t understand the words.
Sing Lee shot a look at him and then gave some directions to two of the men.
As they started over toward the mules and Pirate, they stopped to look at the dead wolf.
He was a handsome specimen, as large as they come, with a massive head and a gray coat that was beautifully marked with eyes and ears trimmed with black fur, and a white snout.
They exchanged nods with Caleb, but said nothing to him.
With a glance out into the darkness again, he went over to the mules and Pirate, who was glad to see him.
“You’re all right, fella.” He stroked his muzzle and neck.
Sing Lee’s voice called out to him. “Marlowe, come. They bring.”
The two men approached and went to work untying the rope holding the animals.
Caleb could hear the voices of the others who had already moved back into the clearing, but Sing Lee waited for him.
They walked together into the camp, where he found the travelers standing all together to one side of the fire.
The little fellow was leaning against the young woman, his dark eyes flashing in the firelight.
Caleb knew what he had to do. It was because of him that they had been off hiding in the dark and putting themselves in danger.
They’d saved his life, tended to his wounds.
If he’d fallen from his horse a half mile away, he’d have been dinner for the pack.
He couldn’t have them endangering themselves for him.
He needed to leave right away. He owed them at least that much.
He put a hand on Sing Lee’s sleeve, detaining him for a moment. “It ain’t a good thing, your people out there in the woods. I’ll be going. Keep them close to the fire.”
His host shook his head. “No. You stay. They stay.”
Sing Lee turned on his heel and walked toward the group. He was clearly one of those men who was born to lead. The others jumped to their respective tasks once he gave directions. More wood was added to the fire. The tin plates were gathered up.
A moment or two later, the mules and Pirate were led into the clearing, and a line was secured to hold them within view of the light from the campfire. His horse nickered when he saw his master.
Caleb hobbled to his blanket and sat down.
Donning his shirt and wool socks, he watched the activity of the others.
Around the fire, they settled down in groups, conversing in low voices.
From their animated gestures, he guessed they were talking about the incident with the wolves.
The glances coming his way were neither hostile nor fearful.
He’d done little enough, but it appeared that Caleb had earned something in the way of goodwill in their eyes.
Still, he needed to get back on the trail as soon as possible. He shifted his weight, and his throbbing ankle reminded him that the smart thing would be to stay the night and leave in the morning.
Caleb’s guns and rifle were nowhere in sight, but he spotted his saddle and bags sitting by a gnarled oak at the edge of the clearing, away from the mule packs. He suspected, out of caution, they’d put his weapons over with the saddle.
The four men huddled with Sing Lee were middle-aged.
Except for their leader, they all wore black bowlers, and their braids hung long in back.
The woman, apparently the mother of the toddler, was young and busy refilling plates of food for the party.
Sitting on a deer skin nearer to Caleb, the tall boy—who was around the same age as Gabriel—was keeping a close eye on the little one.
Caleb wondered vaguely what the connection was between these people, where they’d come from, and where they were headed. From their clothes and from Sing Lee’s demeanor, he judged they hadn’t escaped from some crew of rail workers.
The teenager got up to fetch a plate of food from the young woman.
The toddler sat cross-legged on the deer skin with the carved toy horses in front of him.
He was a cute thing. A black cap like Sing Lee’s lay beside him, and his hair stood up straight as a bristle brush all over his perfectly shaped head.
He wore a long deerskin jersey over wide-legged trousers that were closed at the ankles with leather thongs.
His moccasins looked Shoshone as well. The little boy showed no fear of him, but sat with his arms crossed over his chest, studying him with intense dark eyes.
Since leaving Indiana, Caleb had had little experience with children this young.
He guessed the toddler was two or three years old.
He gave a small wave. The thin eyebrows of the boy drew together, registering his distrust. In the seriousness of the expression, Caleb saw something of a miniature version of Sing Lee, minus the gray beard.
The teenage boy came back and sat next to the toddler again.
With a tap on the shoulder, he started feeding the little one with chopsticks.
The first time Caleb had seen anyone eating with the thin wooden utensils was in camp of rail workers in Wyoming.
He was so impressed by the way the food moved from the bowl to the lips that he realized he was openly gawking.
Watching the stewed meat going in that little mouth, Caleb felt his stomach rumble.
His throat was as dry as a desert gulch in July.
Whatever medicine Sing Lee had given him, it was now carving a hole in his gut.
He had some food in his saddle, and he considered walking over there and fetching some beans and dried biscuits.
Maybe they wouldn’t object to him using their fire to rustle up some dinner.
Or maybe he’d just eat the beans raw and drag himself down to the river and drown his thirst.
The toddler must have read Caleb’s mind. He grabbed a fistful of meat off the plate and held it out to him.
Caleb wasn’t the grinning sort, but he couldn’t help himself in this situation. He smiled and shook his head. “No. Much obliged, but that’s yours.”
“Yours,” the child repeated.
“No. You eat it.”
“You.”
The mother must have caught the demonstration of forced hospitality. She called out to the child. The boy smiled and stuffed the food into his own mouth.
Caleb was happily surprised when she approached a moment later with a tin plate and a cup. She knelt between him and the child and held out the food to him.
In the firelight, he had a better view of her. She was a pretty, small-boned woman with chiseled features and a serious, but not unfriendly expression.