Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
“What in tarnation is a red heathen doing going in and outta stores like a decent white woman?”
The two louts spat almost in unison. They hadn’t moved from the kegs outside Mr. Lewis’s hardware store.
When Imala and Sheila went in, the men had been sitting there doing nothing but chewing tobacco, passing a bottle between them, and scratching themselves.
They were equally busy a half hour later when the two women came out onto the street.
“And what in hell is she wearing?”
Sheila didn’t need to look at her friend to know what the worthless idler was referring to.
Imala was wearing the clothing of her people, and she was doing it with style.
Her fringed and beaded buckskin shirt fell from her straight shoulders to just below her knees.
Under it, she wore a brown woolen skirt that reached the tops of her elk hide shoes.
A thick belt of dark leather cinched her waist, and from it hung a beaded purse and a knife.
Her jewelry was always the same—a string of elk teeth around her neck and silver earrings.
Her long hair was braided and almost blue-black in the sunlight, and she walked with the regal deportment that expensive schools in the East attempted to drill into their young female students. Imala’s face was still and appeared calm, but Sheila knew there had to be a storm raging inside her.
The men continued to make comments as they turned down the sidewalk, and Sheila wished she were carrying one of Caleb’s six-shooters right now, because she could cheerfully blast these two into a state of eternal silence.
It occurred to her that Colorado was having a remarkable influence on her perspective on so many things. She was no longer the well-mannered young woman who let herself be forced to go from one party to the next in New York City’s finest mansions. And she never would be again.
Even though the men of Elkhorn were often rough and uncouth, Sheila was surprised when these two actually gave up their cherished seats and began to follow them down Main Street.
Trailing a few steps behind, they continued to shower both of them with the vilest comments.
And they were directing the worst of it at Imala.
By the time they reached the corner opposite the jail, Sheila’s blood was boiling. She took Imala’s arm as they crossed the street, and she felt the taut muscles beneath the leather sleeve. Still, the troublemakers followed and the insults were becoming louder and crueler.
“Let’s go inside the sheriff’s office and borrow a rifle.” Sheila glanced over her shoulder at the two men. “Or perhaps I’ll simply pick up a rock. Between the two of them, I doubt they could outwit it.”
“Don’t listen to them.” Imala’s voice was calm and controlled. “These men are less than we are. They are snakes without fangs. They have only their forked tongues and noisy rattles to make them feel powerful. They’re weak. They don’t deserve our attention.”
“Well, they’re getting on my nerves. If you’ll loan me your knife, I’ll be happy to cut out their tongues.”
“Only after I’ve cut off their rattles. Men value those far more.”
Sheila smiled. There was much that she’d learned from the older woman in the short time that they’d known each other. Imala didn’t ask for protection, but she welcomed friendship. Sheila had to keep reminding herself of that.
Even so, she wished these boors would go their way.
The sign that read, Malachi Rogers Livery. Horses Bought, Sold, and Boarded came into view just ahead, and Sheila was more than glad to see it.
The two behind them had slowed down a little, and she wondered if they’d finally given up trying to get a response.
She glanced back in time to see a bottle hurtling end over end toward them. Instinct took over. Sheila grabbed Imala by the sleeve and threw her weight sideways, dragging both of them clear. The bottle exploded against the boardwalk where they had been standing a heartbeat earlier.
Imala’s hand immediately went to her knife, and Sheila decided she’d never again walk the streets of Elkhorn unarmed. The women turned together, facing their harassers.
“Spineless cowards,” Sheila spat. “Two grown men chasing women through town? Throwing bottles from behind because you're too frightened to face us directly?”
She took a deliberate step toward them.
“What kind of vile, lowlife scum are you?”
Their attackers took another step forward. Imala's knife was now in her hand. Sheila bent and picked up the broken neck of the bottle from the boardwalk. The two men stopped.
Then Sheila heard a voice from behind her.
“Can I help you ladies?” a gruff voice called out.
Malachi Rogers was a dark-skinned black man not much taller than Sheila, but with the massive arms and shoulders of someone who’d worked for years at his livery and blacksmithing trade. Sheila had heard from her father that he had also served as a buffalo soldier.
Right now, he stood only a few yards away, near the entrance to his livery, and his eyes flashed with anger. He looked ready to tear these men apart.
“Indeed, Mr. Rogers. We were on our way to see you.”
Suddenly, the drunkards appeared to have lost their forked tongues. She glared as they swung around and lurched back in the direction they’d come. And there was not so much as the shake of a rattle as they slithered away.
The livery owner was wearing his customary gray wool coat, black waistcoat, and black cotton shirt. Having rushed to their rescue, he was hatless.
“Thank you, Mr. Rogers.”
“Miss Imala, Miss Sheila, I don’t rightly understand why some fellas behave as they do. Guess it’s the way they was brought up.”
Much as Sheila would have liked to blame the harassment on the rough unvarnished frontier life, she realized she had to agree with the liveryman. She’d seen similarly worthless reprobates on the streets and in the polished salons of New York.
“But that’s neither here nor there,” Malachi continued with a shrug. “So, were you really coming to see me?”
“We were, indeed,” Sheila replied.
“I would like to hire a wagon from you,” Imala said. “I have purchased some lumber to build a smoke house, but the delivery man hurt his back yesterday. He is unable to bring the boards out to my claim.”
“My only rig for that work is rented out for today. But I can have Gabriel and Paddy pick up your lumber and take it out to your place later on in the week.”
“That will do. How soon will they bring it?”
“Give me a minute and let me talk it over with them. They’re doing some work for Mr. Marlowe in the mornings.”
He went in, calling for the boys, and Sheila and Imala waited just inside the door.
Sheila breathed in the smell of hay and horses and leather. There was something very calming about the familiar smells of the stable.
This livery was neat and well-kept. The large, wood plank barn had a good-sized loft space, still adequately filled with hay.
Under the beams of the loft, a small office space was walled off closest to the street, and beyond it sat a row of enclosures for oats storage.
The back wall had stalls for horses, and on the right, doors opened out to a large, fenced corral.
According to her father, everyone in Elkhorn knew that Malachi Rogers was a skilled blacksmith, and his forge and anvil under the wide eaves were in constant use.
Gabriel ran in from the corral, followed closely by Paddy.
Sheila already knew the boys were going out to Caleb’s place every morning to look after the dog and the cattle.
Before riding off, Marlowe had made Gabe responsible for the ranch, and Sheila had told him that she intended to accompany the boys from time to time while he was away.
As they walked through the stable toward the women, Malachi was explaining to his son what needed to be done. After a short discussion about when the wagon was being returned, he turned to Imala.
“How about the day after tomorrow?”
“If it’s all right with you, Miss Imala,” Gabe said, “Paddy and I can load up the lumber when the rig comes back in, stop out by Mr. Marlowe’s first thing that morning, and then bring the lumber out to your place directly.”
“You don’t mind going in the opposite direction?” Imala asked.
“Not at all,” Gabe answered in the self-assured tone of a young man who had everything under control.
“Mind if I ride along?” Sheila asked. She’d been thinking of dropping off some cookies at the ranch before Marlowe got back. Also, going with them would give her a chance to visit with Imala. “That is, if it’s acceptable to both of you.”
“I can ride on top of the lumber, Miss Sheila,” Paddy chirped happily.
“Of course, miss. I know Bear will be happy to see you again too. And maybe with you there, I can get this knucklehead to do some work and stop playing with the dog all the time.”