Rimfire Page 14

  “Well, it’s where those pilgrims are from. Rufe and me, we ain’t from anyplace in particular these days. I’ve been guidin’ and scoutin’ for wagon trains for nigh on to twenty years now, and Rufe’s come on the job with me lately, since his folks passed on.”

  “There aren’t many wagon trains anymore,” Ace pointed out.

  “That’s for sure.” Wingate grinned. “I didn’t say it was a good job. But it’s better ’n trudgin’ along behind a plow all day or standin’ behind a store counter.”

  Neither of the Jensens could argue with that sentiment.

  “Anyway, after Mitchell took off for the tall and uncut all suspicious-like, I told the cap’n of the wagon train it might be a good idea to find someplace we could fort up for a while, but he wanted to push on ahead and I can’t say as I really blame him. Never been the sort to sit and wait for trouble to come to me.”

  “We’re kind of the same way,” Chance said with a smile.

  “You’re sure this fella Mitchell had something to do with the men who attacked you?” asked Ace.

  “I got a good look at the no-good scalawag, ridin’ right out in front,” Wingate replied. “I figure he’s probably the boss of the whole gang.”

  “That’s why you said that if he’s dead, the others might scatter instead of trying to attack the wagon train again.”

  “Yep. Between us, we killed more ’n half a dozen of his men, but if he’s still alive, I don’t reckon that’ll stop him. If anything, the dirty polecat’ll be more determined than ever to steal everything those pilgrims have.”

  Ace and Chance exchanged a glance. They had already spent some time helping out the members of the wagon train, while Ling and Haggarty were getting farther ahead of them. They didn’t want to be delayed any longer than necessary.

  On the other hand, it would be difficult to ride away from the wagon train as long as the immigrants might be in danger. That would go against the grain for both Jensen brothers.

  “Where are those wagons bound for?” Ace asked.

  “Town called Rimfire, startin’ out,” said Wingate. “There’s some government land on the far side of the settlement that’s just been opened up for home-steadin’. That’s where they figure to stake their claims.”

  “Why don’t you fellas come with us?” Rufe suggested. “We’ve seen for ourselves that you’re good fightin’ men, and if those outlaws come back, we could use a couple extra guns.”

  “We’ve never been to Rimfire,” said Ace, “but we were headed there ourselves.”

  “Well, that works out fine!” Rufe said with a grin.

  “You’d be welcome to throw in with us,” the elder Wingate added.

  Ace rubbed his chin and frowned in thought. They weren’t that far from Rimfire. The wagons could make it there the next day. And since Ling and Haggarty didn’t know that anybody was on their trail, there was at least a chance they would stay in the settlement for a few days before moving on.

  They might even try to cheat somebody else out of his hard-earned money.

  Ace looked at his brother. Chance shrugged and nodded. If the bandits returned, a couple extra defenders could come in mighty handy for the wagon train.

  “All right,” Ace said. “We’ll ride with you to Rimfire. And if that varmint Mitchell and his friends show up again . . .”

  “We’ll all give ’em a mighty warm welcome,” said Wingate. “A hot lead welcome, in fact!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  After they explored the gully for another hundred yards to make sure no wounded outlaws were hiding in it, the four men climbed out of the gash in the earth. Rufe took off his hat and waved it over his head to signal to those waiting with the wagons that everything was all right.

  Ace whistled for his horse, and as it trotted along the edge of the wash toward him, the other three mounts trailed along as he’d hoped. The four of them mounted up and rode to join the wagons.

  A white-mustached man in a black suit and hat strode out to meet them. He carried a Spencer carbine and greeted them by asking curtly, “Was it Mitchell and his bunch, like you suspected, Dave?”

  “Yes, sir, Cap’n, it was,” drawled Wingate. “Don’t know if we killed Mitchell or not, but I’d sure like to hope so. The rest of the varmints lit a shuck after I blew a few of ’em to Hades with that stick o’ dynamite I grabbed ’fore I rode out.”

  “That was smart thinking.” The man smiled, which relieved the grim cast of his rugged face. “I’m glad I decided to bring along a box of the stuff, just in case we have to blast out any stumps while we’re establishing our homesteads.”

  “Comes in handy for blastin’ owlhoots, too,” Wingate said with a chuckle

  The man looked at Ace and Chance. “Who are these fellows?”

  “Couple o’ brothers named . . . Johnson, was it?”

  “Jensen. I’m Ace and this is my brother Chance.”

  “Edward Fairfield,” the white-haired man introduced himself. “I’m the elected captain of this wagon train.” He half-turned and gestured toward the line of wagons.

  Now that things weren’t quite so hectic, Ace was able to count them. There were fifteen of the big, canvas-topped prairie schooners. He caught a flash of bright red hair in the late afternoon sun and saw that a young woman was on the driver’s seat of the lead wagon, holding the reins in her slender hands. She returned his scrutiny with an open, direct gaze. Ace looked away, slightly embarrassed that she might have thought he was staring.

  He was just a little surprised. Hair such a bright shade of red wasn’t often seen in nature.

  “How many men did we lose, Cap’n?” Dave Wingate was asking.

  “Two men were killed,” Fairfield replied grimly. “Seamus Dugan and Arch Tennison.”

  Wingate clicked his tongue, shook his head, and said solemnly, “Damn shame. They was good fellas.”

  “Yes, they were. The only blessing is that neither of them was married, so they left no families behind. Four more men were wounded, but as far as I know, none seriously. And two oxen were killed.”

  “You’ve got more livestock. You can replace ’em.”

  “Indeed.” Fairfield looked at Ace and Chance again. “You gentlemen are welcome to camp with us this evening. We would have extended our hospitality to you anyway, but since you risked your life to help us, you’ll be honored guests.”

  “We’re obliged to you, Mr. Fairfield,” said Ace.

  “Those Jensen boys are doin’ more than that,” Wingate said as he nodded toward Ace and Chance. “They’re throwin’ in with us for the rest o’ the trip to Rimfire.”

  “Really? That’s excellent news.”

  “Well, it’s not all that far,” Ace pointed out. “In fact, we ought to be there tomorrow.”

  Fairfield’s bushy white eyebrows rose in surprise. “We’re that close? I didn’t realize that.” He looked at Wingate. “Did you, Dave?”

  “I knew we were close. Didn’t rightly know if it’d be tomorrow or the next day when we got there.”

  “If we’re that close, perhaps we should do ahead and make camp for the night. I know that people are quite shaken up by the attack.”

  “I dunno. You might want to push on a mite farther.” Wingate used his thumb to point upward, where black dots wheeling through the sky signified that buzzards were already starting to circle. “You could leave a couple fellas behind to dig graves for the two men we lost.” He leaned to the side and spat. “I figure draggin’ the other carcasses over to that gully and dumpin’ ’em in will be good enough for owlhoots.”

  “Yes, of course,” Fairfield said, nodding. “That’s a good idea.”

  “Me and Rufe will ride on ahead to find a good place and make sure there ain’t no more ambushes.” Wingate looked at Ace and Chance. “You young fellas mind bringin’ up the rear and keepin’ an eye on our back trail?”

  “We can do that,” Ace agreed.

  Wingate looked around. “Where’d that blasted Rufe get off to?�
��

  Ace could have answered that. Still mounted, Rufe Wingate had drifted his horse over to the lead wagon, where he was talking to the young redheaded woman. It seemed to be more than idle conversation. Both of them were smiling as they talked animatedly.

  Wingate spotted his nephew and called, “Rufe! Come on, dadgum it! We got work to do. You can court Cap’n Fairfield’s granddaughter later.”

  Rufe scowled, and the redhead looked uncomfortable at being singled out. After saying something else to her, he swung his horse away from the wagon and trotted over to join the others. “You don’t have to be so doggone contrary, Uncle Dave.”

  “Just statin’ the fact,” said Wingate. “We need to scout out a good spot for the train to camp tonight. Let’s go.”

  The two men rode out. Ace and Chance nodded to Fairfield and turned their horses toward the rear of the wagon train. Both of them nodded politely to the captain’s granddaughter as they rode past her. Close up, she was freckled and pretty in a wholesome way. She was blushing furiously, too.

  Chance said, “I’ve got a hunch ol’ Rufe’s not going to stay in the scouting business for long. When this bunch of pilgrims gets where it’s going, I’ll bet he stays there and tries to marry Miss Fairfield.”

  Ace grinned. “No bet.”

  * * *

  They dropped back far enough behind the wagons to avoid the worst of the dust being raised by the vehicles’ wheels and the hooves of the oxen. On a few occasions in the past, the Jensen brothers had worked on cattle drives and knew what it was like to ride drag. The wagon train wasn’t that bad, but it did create quite a bit of dust.

  They checked behind them frequently for any signs of pursuit and kept an eye on the flanks, as well. Everything seemed peaceful after the earlier battle. It was late afternoon, and they knew the wagons would be stopping soon.

  The train halted when it came to a creek with some scrubby brush and a few cottonwoods growing along its banks. The stream meandered through a shallow valley between two ridges. Wingate and Rufe were waiting on the north bank, sitting their saddles easily.

  As Ace and Chance saw the wagons coming to a stop, they rode forward quickly to join the scouts and Edward Fairfield, who had been riding in front of the lead wagon on a big, sturdy roan.

  Wingate was saying, “ . . . maybe not the best place to fort up, but this is good water and if we draw the wagons in a circle like we usually do, I reckon we’ll be fine.”

  “I trust you, Mr. Wingate.” Fairfield turned in the saddle and bellowed, “Circle the wagons, folks! Circle the wagons!”

  From the way the immigrants went about the task, they had experience at it, as Wingate had indicated. By the time the sun had set, the wagons were drawn up end to end. The teams, the other livestock, and the saddle mounts were all inside the rough circle and restrained by a rope corral strung across the circle, dividing it in half. On the other side were the cooking fires, which soon blazed brightly.

  Those fires would be visible for a long way out here on the prairie, thought Ace, but he wasn’t sure that mattered. They didn’t have to worry about hostiles, and Clade Mitchell doubtless knew approximately where the wagon train was, anyway.

  Edward Fairfield asked the brothers to have supper with him and his granddaughter. Laura Fairfield had a pot of stew simmering over a fire as Ace and Chance walked up.

  She smiled at them. “Welcome to our home, such as it is.”

  “We’ll have a real home soon, girl,” boomed her grandfather. “These lads say we’ll reach Rimfire tomorrow, and the range that’s our destination lies within a day’s travel of the settlement, according to the documents we received.”

  “Did you make arrangements with the government to homestead out here, Captain?” asked Ace while Laura began ladling stew into bowls for him and Chance.

  “That’s right. We had to pay a fee back in Missouri to reserve our claims. Once we establish our homesteads, prove up on them, and maintain them for five years, the land will be ours free and clear. Fine farming land, I’m told.”

  “Well, it’s probably decent farming land.” Ace took the bowl Laura handed him. “It won’t be like Kansas or Nebraska, though. This has been ranching country so far, and there’s a reason for that.”

  Fairfield frowned. “I’ve seen the land we’ve been traveling over. With proper irrigation, it will grow excellent crops.”

  “Yes, sir, I believe it will. There’ll be a lot of hard work involved, though.”

  “Don’t waste your breath cautioning me about hard work,” rumbled Fairfield. “I’ve known nothing else my entire life, and most of the people in our party are the same way.”

  “Yes, sir, I’m sure that’s true. I meant no offense.”

  “That’s all right,” Laura told him. “Grandfather has to growl a little now and then. It’s his nature. There’s plenty of coffee in the pot, there at the edge of the fire.”

  Once they were sitting cross-legged on the ground, enjoying the meal, Ace went on. “There’s something else you ought to be aware of, Captain, if you’re not already. I mentioned that this has been ranching country, and some of the fellas who own those spreads may not take it kindly when folks like you and your friends come in and start claiming land they always considered open range.”

  “It’s not open range,” Fairfield said. “The government owns it and wants people to settle on it.”

  Chance said, “Yeah, but that may not mean much to fellas who have been fighting Indians and rustlers and blizzards for the past twenty or thirty years. They’re sort of used to getting their own way.”

  “I’m sure once they know what the situation is, they’ll understand.”

  “We can hope so,” said Ace. “Were you folks all neighbors back in Missouri?”

  Laura said, “Some of us were, but not all. Really, we came from all over, and what we have in common is the desire to start over.”

  Gruffly, as if to hide his own emotion, Fairfield said, “Laura’s parents—my son and his wife—died of a fever last year. Poor girl didn’t need to stay where there are so many bad memories, so I sold my farm and we decided to come on out here. Nothing like an adventure to take your mind off your sorrows.”

  “No, sir, I suppose there’s not.” Ace had a hunch that Fairfield wanted to get away from his own sorrows as much or more than Laura did . . . but that was all right, too.

  A big figure loomed up in the firelight, trailed by a smaller one. Rufe Wingate wore a smile on his face as he said, “Evenin’, Miss Laura. We ain’t too late for vittles, are we?”

  “Not at all,” she told him. “There’s plenty of stew in the pot, and it’s still hot. You and your uncle help yourself.”

  “Thank you kindly, Miss Laura.” Smoke curled up from the old briar pipe Dave Wingate held in his hand. He clamped the stem between his teeth while he filled a bowl with stew and carried it over to sit on the ground next to Edward Fairfield. He grunted as he lowered himself. “My rheumatiz sure does act up after a long day in the saddle.”

  “One of the perils of getting older, Dave,” said Fairfield. “The aches and pains seem to multiply into a veritable cascade.”

  “The way you talk, Cap’n, it’s easy to tell that you was a teacher at one time, as well as tillin’ the soil.”

  “I tried to plant a crop in fertile young minds, yes.”

  “There you go, makin’ my point for me.” Wingate looked over at Ace and Chance. “Happen to see anybody trailin’ us while you were ridin’ behind the wagons a while ago?”

  Ace shook his head. “No, there wasn’t any sign of anybody.”

  “They could have been hanging back out of sight, though,” added Chance.

  “That’s what I was thinkin’,” Wingate said with a solemn nod. “I’d like to hope them bandits would think twice about hittin’ us again after we blasted ’em the way we did, but I sure can’t guarantee it.”

  “There are few guarantees in life,” Fairfield agreed.

  Rufe said, �
��I can think of one. Miss Laura cooks up the best-tastin’ mess of vittles west of the Mississippi! Probably east o’ there, too.”

  Laura blushed prettily. “Rufe, you do go on.”

  “Yes’m, I do.”

  As they continued eating and washing the food down with swallows of black coffee, Fairfield said to Dave Wingate, “These two young fellows seem to think we may be in for trouble from the ranchers who live in the area we’re going to homestead.”

  “Well, I won’t lie to you,” Wingate drawled. “I’ve seen it happen before when sodbusters—I mean, homesteaders—come into an area where cattlemen are used to havin’ things their own way. There’s been some shootin’ wars.”

  “Grandfather . . .” Laura said worriedly.

  “But not lately, and not in these parts,” Wingate hastened to add.

  “You don’t have to worry, Miss Laura,” Rufe put in. “Uncle Dave and me won’t let anything happen to you folks. You got our word on that.”

  “Hold on, boy,” said Wingate. “I don’t remember sayin’ we were gonna settle down in these parts. I figured we’d drift on once these folks get where they’re goin’, maybe do some prospectin’ or scout for the army. I hear tell that down Arizona way, they’re campaignin’ against the Apaches again, and they can probably use some good muleskinners and packers.”

  “Well, sure,” Rufe said. “I just meant until things are calmed down hereabouts.”

  Ace wasn’t sure he believed the young man. As he and Chance had mentioned earlier, it seemed likely that Rufe had something more permanent in mind.

  The wagon train had to get to where it was going first, though, and that would take another couple days. Whether or not the Jensen brothers accompanied the wagons all the way to their destination depended in large part on whether they picked up the trail of Ling and Haggarty in Rimfire.

  After supper, Ace and Chance thanked Laura for the food, then excused themselves to go check on their horses.

  They hadn’t reached the makeshift corral yet when Rufe Wingate came up behind them and took hold of their shoulders. “I got somethin’ to say to you fellas.”