Chapter 19 #2
Her close-set eyes shone like polished black stone on either side of a straight nose.
Her hair was black and sleek, and she wore the front locks pulled tightly to the sides from a part about an inch long.
Another part formed a T across her scalp, and from there the hair went straight back into a braid that hung past her rump when she was standing.
Right now, it trailed on the ground like a fine rope.
For a moment, Caleb thought of Sheila.
He could still see her standing beside his horse, blue eyes flashing as she lectured him about staying alive.
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
The trouble with Sheila Burnett was that once a man started thinking about her, it was hard to stop.
He’d already seen the deference everyone showed the mother of the child when they spoke to her. She was important to all of them. Right now, she simply looked tired, and Caleb knew that the wolf attack had to have taken a lot out of her.
“For you. You should eat.”
“Thank you.”
Her face relaxed into a shy smile as he accepted the food. Caleb immediately took a swallow of the drink. Tea. The hot liquid slid down his throat, warming him.
“You prefer coffee?”
“No.” He hadn’t smelled any coffee, so he figured there wasn’t any. “I’m just fine with the tea.”
“Good. We have no coffee.” The woman had a sense of humor. And she spoke English better than Sing Lee.
He looked down at the food. Stewed meet and greens, and it smelled damn good. It was all he could do not to plough his face into it. He was surprised when she took a spoon from her pocket and slid it onto the edge of the plate.
“Do you have any of them chopsticks, ma’am?”
“Instead of a spoon?”
“I ain’t never tried it. But I’d like to.”
“And more tea?”
“Much obliged.”
She took his cup and went back to the fire. The tall boy and the toddler were watching Caleb’s every move. He was too hungry to wait. He used the spoon and shoveled a bite of food into his mouth. It was even better than it smelled. The stewed rabbit was the best he’d ever tasted.
The child jumped up and plunked himself down in front of Caleb.
“Hullo there, little fella.”
The teenager called out something to the woman before rising and going over to where the men were sitting in a circle and chatting.
The spoon was a definite source of fascination to the toddler. Caleb didn’t put up a fuss when he took the utensil out of his hand and dug into the stew with it. Immediately, it was heading for Caleb’s mouth.
The little one planted a small hand on Caleb’s shoulder. His aim was only off by a little. If he’d been hunting, and that spoon was filled with buckshot, Caleb would have been dead. As it was, he took warm stew all down the front of his shirt. He couldn’t help but laugh at the effort.
The mother was on the two of them quicker than the swish of a squirrel’s tail.
With a cloth in one hand, and Caleb’s tea and chopsticks in the other, she was all apologies and stern looks at the young one.
As soon as her hands were free, she tried to pick the boy up and detach him from the spoon.
But he wasn’t willing to go without a fight.
For his part, Caleb enjoyed the little rascal.
“Won’t you sit, ma’am?”
She hesitated a moment, and Caleb was pleased when she knelt down a few feet away, slid over onto one hip and pulled the toddler onto her lap. While the boy played with the spoon, she fed him with chopsticks.
Using the wooden utensils was a helluva lot more challenging that he’d thought it would be.
His fingers were too big and too clumsy.
Caleb watched the smooth, easy movements of her hand.
He couldn’t quite get them to hold anything.
He wasn’t about to give up trying, and managed to get a morsel or two in.
Sing Lee walked up and stood over him. He was clearly amused as he watched Caleb’s struggle. It was the first time he’d smiled. “Hungry?”
“Very.”
“Like food?”
“It’s very good.”
“Ah Won built.” He motioned to a man who was sitting and smoking with the others by the fire.
“Ah Won cooked,” the young woman corrected.
The elder frowned and sat down on the blanket by Caleb. The baby immediately left his mother and crawled onto Sing Lee’s lap.
“My grandson. My daughter. My son.” He motioned to the tall boy who’d been watching the baby.
“Caleb Marlowe, ma’am.” He gave a polite nod to the daughter.
“Liang Lee. My son’s name is Ho.”
“Ho,” the little boy repeated, pointing to his chest.
Caleb turned to the grandfather. “Thanks again for helping me. Yesterday was not a good day.”
Sing Lee started to say something in English, but decided against it and spoke to his daughter instead. Liang translated for him.
“My father says the cut in your side was taken care of by a doctor. But not yesterday.”
“A fella put his knife in me three days ago.” Caleb put his plate down. “My friend Doc Burnett stitched it up before I left Elkhorn.”
“What is ‘Doc’? A name?” Sing Lee asked.
“Short for ‘doctor.’ Doctor John Burnett.”
“My father is a doctor too,” Liang told him.
It made sense. Whatever he’d done about that snakebite, Caleb was still breathing. And he’d known how to handle his knife wound as well.
He nodded his gratitude to Sing Lee. “The bite from that rattler should have killed me.”
She translated for the older man. He said something back.
“My father always carries medicines. He studied under a famous doctor in Qinglong. He was highly respected for his knowledge of herbs and medicines in his province of Fujian and more recently in San Francisco. He knows all about treating poison snake bites.”
San Francisco. That bit of information cleared up where this group was coming from. And maybe why they left.
Caleb recalled reading in the papers last summer about the two days of riots there.
A lot of Chinese people were killed and a lot more were hurt.
There had been thousands of dollars of damage.
Apparently, the tension and the violence being directed at the immigrants didn’t go away afterward, either.
He wondered where these folks were going if they were looking to escape all that.
Sing Lee said something else, and Liang translated. “My father believes you are a sheriff.”
Caleb glanced at his vest, lying beside his bedding. He must have seen the tin star in the pocket. “Only a deputy. Occasional like. I’m a rancher.”
“So, you work as deputy to make money.”
There was no way he was going to explain why he was on the road and who he was searching for. The best answer was the simplest one. “Yep.”
“We have money.”
Caleb was surprised by Sing Lee’s words. “I ain’t about to tell you your business. But I wouldn’t go telling that around. You’re in the mountains of Colorado, and there are all kinds of blackguards in these hills. Some of them wear badges too.”
He turned to the daughter, making sure she was getting every word he was saying.
“I’m talking about some very bad men. Never mind robbing you of your money.
If they got the upper hand on you, they’d take your guns.
And then, they’d rope the whole bunch of you together and sell you to other white men who’ll force the menfolk to dig in their mines or lay track for their railroads.
And you wouldn’t fare any too well, either, ma’am.
” Caleb looked gravely from Liang to Sing Lee. “I reckon you know already.”
The father waited until he heard everything. “I know all you say is true.”
“My father is not in the habit of such openness,” Liang said. “We understand the dangers all around us. We have seen it. That is why we are traveling through the mountain passes and not on the main roads.”
Sing Lee put a hand on his daughter’s arm, interrupting her. “We hire you. Pay you money, and you keep us safe. To Denver.”