“That’s them, Gran’pa,” Lemuel declared in a quiet voice just behind Bass’s shoulder.
“Who?”
“The three who said they’d find Pa and the cow.”
“Them three ridin’ up behin’t Hargrove?”
“Yessir.”
“Great God, Amanda!” Hargrove bawled as Digger lowered his head and growled. “You haven’t got your yoke of oxen hitched to that wagon yet?”
“We’re … looking for Roman.”
Hargrove acted as if taken aback by that pronouncement. “But, we’re leaving right now. Already put the head of the march on the trail for the Little Muddy.”
“Oh, no, no!” she whimpered. “Roman’s not back—”
“The boy here says these three niggers o’ your’n turned him back from helpin’ his pa look for a missing cow,” Titus interrupted his daughter, instantly snagging the attention of the five riders as he moved toward Amanda beside the wagon. Shad angled around so that he stood behind Bingham and the quartet of horsemen, his double-barreled flintlock smoothbore cradled across his left forearm.
“What about this, Hargrove?” Bingham demanded.
Turning to one of his hired men, Hargrove asked, “Yes, what about that, Corrett? You know where Burwell went?”
Corrett shrugged, pulling at an earlobe. “We run onto the boy out in the thicket, like the old man said.”
Then a second rider explained, “But we never saw hide or hair of him. So we come on back afore we got left behind.”
“No sign of him, Jenks?” asked the ousted wagon master.
That second rider shook his head convincingly. “No, Mr. Hargrove. No sign.”
Turning back to Amanda and Bingham, clearly ignoring Bass, Hargrove crossed his wrists on his saddlehorn and said, “There you have it, Mrs. Burwell. My men weren’t able to find your husband. Perhaps he’s been bitten by a rattler.”
“Oh, Pa—”
Titus looped his arm over her shoulder as she started to sag. He held her up against his side. “We’ll find him, Shad an’ me.”
Worry creased Bingham’s face. “Who’s going to get your wagon moving?” He pointed off at the rest of the wagons, the last of which were rumbling into motion, oxen lowing, mules braying, men barking commands at the animals, and women hollering at their children to catch up. “The train’s on its way.”
“You’ve got to stop them, Hoyt!” Amanda shrieked, trembling fingers at her lips.
Calmly, deliberately, before Bingham could utter a word, Hargrove declared, “We can’t do that. Wagon master Bingham was elected by all the people to get this company through to Oregon. We have these rules for the good of the entire group.”
Scratch had to restrain his daughter as she attempted to lunge forward, sobbing, “But you can’t go off and leave us!”
Bingham started to speak, then wagged his head. “Roman will show up soon enough.”
“One man and one cow cannot stay this company from the miles we must put behind us today,” Hargrove asserted as he leaned back and straightened his spine reflexively. “Your husband should have thought more about you than he did his cow, Mrs. Burwell,” he said, putting a real emphasis on the word Mrs.
“Wh-where you going?” Titus asked as Bingham and Hargrove pulled their horses around in that jumble of hired men.
“Wagon master Bingham has got a train to move one day closer to Oregon,” Hargrove announced with triumph brightening his face.
Then Scratch could only stare at the backs of those five men as they kicked their horses into a lope and shot away, intent on catching the head of the column just then winding its way toward the sagebrush bottoms, raising those first choking spirals of yellow dust for the day.
FOURTEEN
As he scanned the thick cedar breaks before him, Scratch wondered which of them he would find first: the cow, or his son-in-law.
There was no chance of uncertainty here. In his black-and-white world, there was enough evidence already in hand to assure himself that Hargrove and his cronies had something to do with Roman Burwell’s not getting back to camp in time to depart with the rest of the train … with or without that missing cow. If one of the Burwells’ cows had ever managed to wander off on its own through the night.
At the corner of his eye, he caught sight of Sweete again, coming out of a knot of horse-high cedar. They waved and gestured to tell one another the direction they were moving in their search; then each disappeared from the view of the other once more. It had been that way ever since the two old friends had mounted up and left their wives behind with several rifles and a pistol apiece for them and Amanda too. Titus Bass didn’t trust Phineas Hargrove and them young bucks of his any farther than he could puke.
“I’m goin’ with you,” Sweete had announced as the backs of those five riders headed down the long slope toward the bottoms, where the grayed canvas of the wagontops looked like the back of a bull snake winding its way north by west for the Little Muddy and the north end of the Bear River Divide.
For a long moment Amanda had shoved herself against her father, clinging to him, sobbing into his chest. That’s when Titus noticed his four grandchildren coming their way, their eyes filled with questions, even the beginnings of a little terror.
“Amanda, your young’uns,” he whispered and pulled her away from him slightly so he could peer into her face. “They need you right now.”
“B-but … Roman?”
His eyes narrowed meaningfully. “We’ll find ’im. Shadrach an’ me. You … you see to the young’uns while we’re gone. Don’t let ’em see you worry.”
She nodded and swallowed deeply, quickly dragging a palm down both of her cheeks as she blinked her eyes clear. “Yes, you’re right,” she said bravely, then attempted a smile. “I’ll wait here with the children while you and Shad go f-find Roman.”
The children stopped right behind her, Annie and little Lucas both tucking themselves under their mother’s arms as they pressed themselves against her legs. She clutched them desperately. “We’ll wait here for Gran’pa to find your father … then we’ll be on our way for the day.”
“But them others has left without us,” Lemuel said.
“It doesn’t matter!” she snapped at her eldest.
Titus put a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “That train ain’t goin’ nowhere we can’t find it. All them tracks. We’ll catch up afore end of the day, son. Tie up them dogs so they stay right here with the rest of you.”
“Aw-awright, sir.”
He patted the lad on the shoulder, then turned to his tall friend. “Let’s see the women got ’em plenty of guns ready afore we light out.”
Each of them had stuffed an extra pistol in their belts before leaving their two Indian wives with the spare rifles and smoothbores. Both of them could shoot center well enough. There was never any telling what sort of critter might wander out of these cedar breaks to pose a danger to the women and children they were leaving behind. Four-legged and clawed … or two-legged and snake-eyed to boot.
“Why can’t I go with you?” Lemuel demanded as he sprinted up to them a few minutes later when the men swung into their saddles.
Titus had peered down at the boy’s face. “Your ma, she needs you right now. An’ I need to know I left a man behind to watch over the rest, Lemuel.”
The boy took a step back from the horse, peering up at his grandfather from beneath the shapeless brim of his low-crowned hat, his eyes glinting with a newfound courage. “Yessir.”
“That’s a good man,” Titus said quietly as he reined aside.