Have Brides, Will Travel Read online

  “I’m not from here,” the woman said. That came as no surprise to Bo, who already knew that because of her accent. “I’m quite impressed with this country, though. It’s so . . . big. Is the rest of the West like this?”

  “Well, not as big as Texas, of course. But there’s a lot of country west of the Mississippi. I should know. I’ve seen most of it.”

  She looked over at him and said, “You travel in your line of work?”

  “You could say that,” Bo replied. Actually, drifting from place to place was his line of work, his and Scratch’s, but he didn’t feel like confessing to this attractive new acquaintance that he was just a rootless saddle tramp.

  “I’ve never traveled much,” she said. She turned and extended a gloved hand toward him. “I’m Susan, by the way.”

  He felt a little embarrassed that he hadn’t introduced himself before now. He took her hand and said, “My name’s Bo.”

  “Short for Beauregard?”

  “No, ma’am. Just b-o, Bo.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Bo,” she said as she pressed his hand with hers.

  “The pleasure’s all mine, Miss Susan.”

  Of course, he didn’t know she was a miss, he reminded himself. She might be married, on her way to join her husband, and just enjoying a little harmless flirtation.

  She pointed to a faint yellow glow in the distance. “What’s that?” she asked.

  “A light in some ranch house, more than likely.”

  “It looks so lonely, just a tiny spot of light in all this vast darkness.”

  “From out here it does,” he said. “Inside, though, with a fella’s family around, it probably seems nice and cozy.”

  She laughed and said, “I’ll bet it does. That’s a nice thought, anyway.” She paused. “I suppose I’d better be getting back to my seat, and I’ll let you get on to wherever you were bound when we bumped into each other.”

  “Almost bumped into each other,” Bo reminded her. “We never actually, uh, bumped.”

  “Well, that’s fortunate in one way,” Susan said, “and perhaps unfortunate in another.”

  With that, she stepped back into the car, leaving Bo to stand there for a moment before he chuckled, shook his head, and went back to rejoin Scratch and the five young women.

  CHAPTER 11

  The train arrived in El Paso at eleven thirty the next morning. The night had passed quietly, and when it had, Bo and Scratch were more convinced than ever that they didn’t have to worry about Hugh Craddock anymore. The arrogant rancher either was back in Fort Worth, hundreds of miles behind them, or else had returned to his home.

  “Who knows?” Scratch had commented over breakfast, which consisted of biscuits and preserves bought from another cart that rolled through the train cars during one of the stops, this time by a little girl. “Maybe Craddock decided to give that Miss Hampshire gal a chance, after all.”

  “I doubt it,” Bo had said. “He didn’t strike me as the sort of hombre given to changing his mind.”

  “A stubborn jackass, in other words.”

  “Exactly.”

  The two Texans had taken turns standing guard in the narrow aisle outside the Pullman compartments, once the curtains had been closed and the young ladies had turned in for the night. They hadn’t wanted to take any chances, and besides, despite what Bo had told Cyrus Keegan, sleeping sitting up on a hard bench seat in a jolting, rattling train car was just barely better than not sleeping at all.

  As Bo had rolled his shoulders that morning to try to get some of the stiffness out of them, he had pondered the idea that maybe it wasn’t any better.

  To judge by their attitudes, the prospective brides had slept just fine. They laughed and chattered among themselves all morning, and—thankfully, as far as Bo was concerned—they didn’t wave those pistols around again.

  As the train rolled through some spectacular scenery, with rugged mountains rising to the south, they gathered at the windows on that side of the train to look out.

  “You see those mountains over yonder, ladies?” Scratch asked them. “Those are in Mexico.”

  They turned their heads to look over their shoulders at him, and Jean exclaimed, “What? Surely not.”

  “Yep,” Scratch said with a solemn nod. “See that darker line of vegetation between here and there? That’s where the Rio Grande runs. Everything on the other side of it is in old Mexico.”

  “I’ve never been this close to a foreign country before,” Rose said.

  “I have.” That came from Cecilia. “My father took our whole family to Canada one summer, remember? We saw Niagara Falls and took a boat across the river and ate dinner at a restaurant in Canada. It was quite a thrilling experience.”

  “I remember you telling us about that,” Beth said. She looked at Bo and Scratch. “Will we have to cross over into Mexico to get where we’re going?”

  “Let’s hope not,” Bo said. “If we wind up in Mexico, it’ll mean that something’s really gone wrong.”

  Now, as the train pulled into the station in El Paso, they were even closer to Mexico, since the river was only a few blocks away and Juárez lay on the other side of the bridge.

  As the young women gathered their belongings and got ready to leave the train, Cecilia said to Bo, “Is there really any need to stay here overnight? Couldn’t we go ahead and start for Silverhill today?”

  “We don’t know how long it’ll take to round up a suitable wagon and a team,” he explained. “Also, we’ll need to buy quite a few supplies to take with us, and that’ll take some time, as well. It’s already the middle of the day, and I think by the time we get everything done, it’ll be too late to cover more than a few miles, if that much. Better to get a good night’s sleep and start off fresh first thing in the morning.”

  “I suppose when you put it that way, it makes sense,” she said.

  Beth smiled and said to Cecilia, “You’re just eager to get where we’re going and meet your new beau, aren’t you?” Then she added, “Oh, I mean ‘beau,’ as in suitor, of course, Mr. Creel, not your name.”

  “Yeah, he’s the old Bo, not the new one,” Scratch said with a grin.

  Bo just chuckled. He was used to Scratch’s joshing.

  In a bustle of activity, he saw to it that the ladies’ bags were unloaded and placed on a cart, while Scratch made sure their horses made it out of the stock car and down the ramp. He would take the animals to a livery stable and then would meet Bo and the young women later at the hotel.

  Bo gave the Mexican porter a couple of silver dollars to ensure that the bags would be delivered to the hotel, as well; then he and the ladies set out for their destination on foot. The Pacific Hotel, which the conductor had recommended to Bo as a comfortable hostelry, was only a couple of blocks away.

  All five of the young women were wide eyed at the colorful crowds surrounding them. Cowboys and their sombrero-wearing vaquero counterparts from across the river, fancy-dressed tinhorn gamblers, stuffy businessmen, sedately gowned white women, señoritas in brightly colored beaded skirts and heavy bracelets, American cavalrymen in blue, all those and more walked the streets of El Paso in the midday heat.

  Just north of the city loomed the Franklin Mountains, with their rugged pine-covered slopes. The valley formed by the Rio Grande provided a natural route between those mountains and the ones farther south, in Mexico. Travelers through the area had been using it for centuries, maybe even longer, and when the Spanish had first come here, they had called the gap El Paso del Norte—the Pass of the North.

  The hotel, built in the Spanish style with white stucco walls and red tile roof, was two stories tall and had a balcony bordered by a wrought-iron railing along the front of the second floor. The porch underneath that balcony was shady and relatively cool, with wicker chairs and decorative cactus and other plants in pots. The double doors at the entrance were heavy and ornately carved wood, made even sturdier by the addition of iron straps.

  “Th
is place is built like a fort,” Beth said as the group went inside.

  “You know about forts?” Scratch asked.

  “Well, no, not really. But my father was in the army when he was young, and told stories about the posts where he served.” Beth looked around a little nervously and asked, “The Indians aren’t going to attack, are they? Not a big town like this?”

  Bo said, “There are still some Apaches running wild down in the Big Bend and across the line in Mexico, but it’s peaceful around here these days.”

  “I thought all the Apaches were out in Arizona Territory,” Cecilia said. “That’s what I’ve read in the newspapers.”

  “That’s where most of them are, and naturally enough, it’s the troublemakers you hear the most about. But the Apaches used to roam all over Texas, too, until the Comanche drifted down from the north and pushed them all the way out here, in West Texas.”

  “And this is about as far west as you can go and still be in Texas,” Scratch added.

  They arranged for rooms for the ladies, and while they were doing that, a couple of porters from the railroad station showed up with the bags. Once those had been taken up to the rooms on the second floor, Bo, Scratch, and the young women adjourned to the hotel dining room for some lunch.

  The ladies wanted to try Mexican food, since they were so close to that country. Bo and Scratch were used to the spicy nature of those dishes, but their five companions were gasping and reaching for glasses of water before the meal was over. The Texans smiled but managed not to laugh at their discomfort.

  When the meal was over, Jean said, “Goodness, I think I need to rest for a while after that.”

  “So do I,” Luella agreed.

  “If all you ladies want to go up to your rooms and take it easy for a spell,” Scratch said, “Bo and I will go and see about hirin’ a wagon and team.”

  “Just be sure to lock your doors,” Bo added.

  Cecilia said, “I thought Westerners prided themselves on their honesty and hospitality and didn’t worry about locking doors.”

  “In some places, that’s true enough, but this is a big city, and not everybody can be trusted.” Bo paused and then added with a smile, “Too many Yankees have moved in.”

  For a second, Cecilia looked like she might take offense at Bo’s comment—which was only half joking—but then she nodded in acceptance of the explanation and led the others upstairs. Although there was no real hierarchy among them as far as Bo could tell, more often than not the other young ladies did whatever Cecilia did. She seemed to just naturally take charge, and they accepted that.

  A few blocks away, Bo and Scratch found a wagon yard and freight company owned by a man named Alberto Garcia. His wagons traveled back and forth between El Paso and Silverhill on a fairly regular basis, anyway, so he was happy to rent one of them for the journey, along with a team of horses to pull it.

  “There’s talk of running a spur line down there to Silverhill in the next year or so,” Garcia told Bo and Scratch. “The hombres who run the railroad want to wait awhile and see if the strike is going to play out. If the mines stop producing, Silverhill will dry up and blow away in no time, and then they’d be left with a railroad to nowhere.”

  “Is there a stage line that runs that way?” Bo asked.

  Garcia nodded and said, “It makes two round trips a week. One left yesterday.”

  That information confirmed Bo’s hunch that it would be better to rent the wagon instead of waiting for the stagecoach. The ladies would be more comfortable, could travel at their own pace, and they wouldn’t have to sit around in El Paso, doing nothing for several days.

  Scratch said, “We’ll be pickin’ up some supplies and havin’ ’em delivered over here. Can you tell the fellas who bring ’em to load ’em in the wagon?”

  He took a silver dollar from his pocket, which Garcia made disappear with all the deftness of a stage magician.

  “Sure,” the wagon-yard owner said. Then he asked, “Just what sort of freight are you fellas hauling to Silverhill, anyway?”

  “I don’t reckon you’d believe us if we told you, señor!” Scratch replied with a grin.

  CHAPTER 12

  When Bo and Scratch met the ladies in the hotel dining room for breakfast the next morning, Bo had a good-sized wrapped-up bundle with him. He placed it on the floor beside the table and said, “You’ll want to take this with you when you go upstairs to get ready to leave.”

  “What is it?” Beth asked.

  “Some sort of present?” Luella said.

  “Well, not exactly. We got some hats for you.”

  Cecilia arched an eyebrow and asked coolly, “You bought hats for us?”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Scratch said. “Broad-brimmed hats, which will do a good job of shadin’ you from the sun so it don’t burn your delicate skin.”

  “You’ll need different clothes, too,” Bo said. “Dresses that’ll hold up better and be more comfortable.”

  “Not that there’s anything wrong with what you’ve been wearin’,” Scratch added quickly. “They’re mighty nice-lookin’ outfits, no doubt about that.”

  “But they’re not really suitable for days of traveling in a wagon,” Bo said.

  Jean looked dismayed as she said, “You make it sound as if we’ll be dressed like . . . like farm women working in the fields!”

  “Well, Miss Jean, you’ll appreciate it once we get out there on the trail,” Scratch assured her.

  Cecilia said, “I suppose we’ll have to bow to your judgment, since you two gentlemen know more about what we’re doing and where we’re going. But I hope you’ll allow us to fix ourselves up a little before we reach Silverhill and meet the men we intend to marry.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Bo said, nodding. “I reckon you’ll be pretty as pictures when we roll into town.”

  Garcia had delivered the wagon, now loaded with supplies, to the hotel early that morning. The two leaders in the six-horse hitch were tied to a street-lamp post in front of the hotel. Bo and Scratch’s saddle mounts were tied to the same post.

  The Texans were eager to get on the trail, but they didn’t want to rush the ladies. They forced themselves to wait patiently after breakfast while the young women went across the street to a ladies’ clothing store to buy more suitable outfits, such as Bo had described.

  As they waited on the boardwalk in front of the establishment, Scratch said, “I heard some fellas in the lobby talkin’ while you were out checkin’ over the wagon and the team. They were saying that Jaime Mendoza has been pretty active along the border lately. They figure it’s only a matter of time until he starts raidin’ on our side of the line again.”

  “Mendoza . . . ,” Bo repeated. “That’s the bandit the Rurales chased all over Chihuahua and Sonora last year and never caught?”

  “Yep. I remember readin’ about him in the newspapers. Seems like one of the papers even sent a fella down there to live with the bandits and write about ’em and send back dispatches.”

  “Yeah, I believe I recall that, too,” Bo said. “Are you thinking we might run into him on the way to Silverhill?”

  “Well, the odds are against it, I reckon,” Scratch said with a shrug. “But it’ll be somethin’ to keep in mind.” He paused. “Best not to say anything about it to the ladies, though. No need in gettin’ ’em all worked up about somethin’ when it’s more likely nothin’ will happen.”

  Bo agreed. The trip would be taxing enough on the young women without extra worries.

  Besides, that was why he and Scratch had come along. It was their job to be concerned about such things—and to deal with them if they came up.

  A few minutes later, Cecilia Spaulding appeared in the store’s doorway. She wore a gray dress and a pair of those sturdy shoes Bo had mentioned. Her dark hair was pulled back and tied behind her head under the broad-brimmed black felt hat she wore.

  “You look mighty nice, Miss Cecilia,” Scratch told her.

  “Don’t be ridiculou
s,” she responded. “I look like a sharecropper.”

  “Plenty of fine folks have worked for shares,” Bo said. “It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “Of course not,” Cecilia said. “I meant no offense. It’s just that I’m not accustomed to such garb.” She fingered the stiff fabric of the dress. “I can see what you mean about it holding up better, though.”

  “Yes, ma’am, and if you ever have to walk very much, you’ll be grateful for those shoes.”

  “Lots of rocks and cactus where we’re goin’,” Scratch said. “Them slippers of yours are pretty, but they’d have you hobblin’ in a hurry.”

  “Well, the others are ready to go, too,” Cecilia said, “so I suppose we might as well depart.”

  The other four young ladies emerged from the store, dressed in varying shades of gray, brown, and blue, in brown or black hats.

  “A family of Quakers came through Four Corners once,” Jean said with a note of dismay in her voice. “That’s what we look like.”

  Cecilia said, “We’ll get used to it. Come on.”

  Bo lowered the wagon’s tailgate, and he and Scratch helped the ladies climb inside. The supply crates had been arranged to form seats for four of them, and room remained for blankets to be spread out for sleeping.

  “Am I going to drive the team?” Rose asked, excitement and anticipation in her voice. She was the only one of the young women who hadn’t gotten into the wagon.

  “No, I’ll handle the horses starting out,” Bo said, “but you can ride on the seat beside me.”

  “You don’t think I’m capable of doing it?”

  “I never said that. But I think it would be a better idea to wait until we’re out of town before you take the reins. We don’t know these horses yet. Señor Garcia uses them with his wagons, so they’re probably pretty easy to handle, but they might spook.”