CHAPTER FOUR
Pushing through low clouds, the last glimmering rays of a waning moon cast its glow over the weather-beaten face of the driver as he reined in the thundering six-horse team. The way station was the first stop after crossing the Colorado River into the wilds of the Arizona Interior. Dust, the consistency of flour, covered his body as his feet hit the ground. He cuffed his buckskins with his hat, planted it back on his head and spit then wiped his chin. Opening the wagon door, he gave her a wide toothy grin.
Lacey recoiled inwardly. The blackish stain that covered his teeth from the tobacco he chewed was disgusting and his breath reeked. She acidly thought of him as another contemptible swaggering bully, as if he were to be bowed down to and worshipped.
“Swiveller’s station, ten minute stop,” the driver shouted out at them, “Stretch your legs.” John Butterfield had built these way stations fifteen to twenty miles apart, depending on water and local conditions. North and South bound coaches stopped for fresh horses, or mules, hay, and grain. Most had no amenities for the passengers. They could only expect a meal and a few hours rest once a day. Each driver drove a sixty-mile run traveling day and night. Mail sacks would be discharged, new mail put on board, then they would take the opposite-bound coach back over the same rutted road.
Lacey was hungry and tired. Her back and legs hurt. She made an attempt to relieve sore muscles by walking. A strong smell of horse sweat, dust, and warm harnesses filled the air. The adjacent country for many miles around was a picturesque view, rugged mountain ranges clothed with cottonwood, willow, mesquite, and arrow weed, with a great plain of blue-green sacaton that moved in the breeze like water. The vista spread before her looked like Aunt Katherine’s old patchwork quilt.
Coach, team, and passengers had crossed the Colorado at daybreak by ferry, operated by a man the stage driver called Don Diego Jaeger. He charged five dollars to take them across. The boat was a sort of flatboat propelled by the rapid current, being kept in its course by pulley’s running on a rope stretched across the river. Lacey couldn’t swim. She had been nervous and fearful and greatly relieved when they reached the other side.
At Jacob Swiveller’s there was a good meal laid out, beef stew; even some sauerkraut. Lacey hadn’t had a decent meal for days. She could only manage to eat a few bites at a time because her corset seemed to squeeze the life out of her. Women passengers on the Butterfield Overland Stage were rare; the entire trip had been hard enough, but for her, just to fit, sit, breathe was becoming nearly impossible. Shannon ate greedily, saying all the while how delicious it was. Lacey just glared.
By the time they reached Filibuster Camp, fifteen miles down the road, she couldn’t breathe. She had a pain deep inside her belly searing from stomach to chest. Aunt Katherine’s words filled her mind, “the cultured moral woman of high society wears her corset without complaint of pain. A tiny twenty-inch waist is necessary for you to find a suitable mate!” Lacey inched her way out with her bosom heaving from her inability to draw in enough air to fill her lungs. She felt faint. She tugged at Shannon motioning for her to follow as she walked behind a large boulder.
“Don’t say a word.” She warned unbuttoning her bodice.
“What are ye doin’?” Shannon exaggeratedly rolled her eyes.
“You don’t wear one. How would you know?” Lacey hissed. Cornflower blue eyes flashed then rolled exaggeratedly.
“Aye, meself nought high society, am I nigh? D’ye thinks I wish to be ‘ere? Me freedom is dependin’ on me keeping ye proper not pecking a fight with yer Uncle. One minute, ye says Shannon tight-
lace me and gives me my pip; then ye says Shannon un-loose me! Make up yer mind girl.”
“So help me Shannon! Do as I say without question or I’ll send a
letter to Uncle Waldo about your insubordination and I’m certain he will sail you back to Ireland and your bondage will be broken. Then my dear girl, you won’t have to face me, this wretched place, or you’re indenture again.” Shannon looked surprised at Lacey’s threat then gave her characteristic Gaelic shrug.
“Aye, Miss Lacey. Let us hurry then, for they be callin’ for us to re-board.”
This journey was forcing change. Lacey knew silly Shannon was right, but this wasn’t Boston and what Aunt Katherine didn’t know wouldn’t hurt. As Shannon quickly freed her, the relief she felt just to take a deep breath without pain was pure pleasure.
“Don’t tell anyone,” Lacey warned as they hurried back. After another twenty miles the stage came to a complete halt, an inky blackness surrounded them. A few moments later a bugle sounded signaling the stage driver that it was safe to move the team forward into Peterman’s Way Station. Another stage pulled in from the opposite direction.
Brad Daily walked out of the shadows as fresh horses were being harnessed in. “New brushes?” Daily asked motioning towards the scalps hanging from the half-breed’s belt.
Lacey peered out into the blackness wondering who had joined them. Another half-wit dirty hooligan, she thought, no doubt just like the other men riding with them. Men of shady character, smelly, leering, always leaning near her never quite touching, just enough to irritate.
“Hmm…Renegades, couple from Pablo’s bunch.”
“Is that the old dog the Yuma’s called Captain Pablo? More like captain thief and robber and no American that’s for sure, nothing but a damned Mexican. Cave Couts chased him out in ‘49 when I served with him in Company A of the first Dragoons at what was then Camp Calhoun. Pablo got real pissed off, heard he started scalp-huntin’.”
“You heard right.”
“Damn.” Daily didn’t hold with that sort of thing but then he didn’t have much use for Indian or Mexican. He tolerated the half-breed only because he could speak Apache and Spanish and that helped him keep his job. Butterfield’s policy was to pacify, not anger the local tribes, and someone who could communicate with them was pretty valuable.
Having overheard the conversation Lacey was angry now; her thoughts became entangled in hurtful emotion. An ugly resentment was building in her. Her father’s lack of caring, the near disastrous attack at Fort Yuma… Shannon moaned as the sound of the wagon’s iron wheels crunched over the sandy gravel and dirt as Daily forced the team into motion.
She and Shannon had not spoken again of the ugly incident. Her thoughts fleetingly returned to the young frontiersman, but the silence and remorseless emptiness of the spaces they had crossed made her feel suddenly, terribly alone. A shiver passed over her. Pulling the buffalo robe up over her shoulders, she thought about what a strange land this was, during the day it felt like her brain was scalding but at night, it was often so chilly she could hardly keep warm. She needed sleep badly.
Recalling more enjoyable times, Lacey envisioned the sand between her toes on White Horse Beach in Plymouth. Uncle Waldo, Aunt Katherine, her cousins, sand squishing between her toes, all watching the Atlantic’s waves crash over rocky reefs; sunset on White Horse, the herons still, red sun swelling. She tried to hear the water, finally drifting off into blessed slumber.
The road was good and the horses moved well across the flat terrain. They briefly stopped at Flapjack Way Station, fifteen miles later at Sears Point. The passengers, so inured from exhaustion by this time, slept, even as they rolled, rocked, and bounced.
***
Lacey startled. It was pre-dawn and the sharp sound of a bell carried over the silence. Patrick Burk was clanging the bell that hung outside of his adobe structure, signaling that it was safe for them to come in. Whistling, Daily moved the horses forward, and then stopped in front of the small structure.
Lacey smelled coffee as she gratefully stepped off the stage and smoothed her hands over her wrinkled bodice. Shannon followed as she walked into the dingy adobe room; to her left was a bubbling pot over a fire. Approaching, a shadow passed across her face as she smelled the unmistakable odor of scorched beans.
“Not again?” She moaned.
“Bacon got maggots,” Burk growled, "you wanna eat or not?”
She was hungry, burned beans or not she had to eat. The fare had been fifty dollars in gold each for the ride from Fort Yuma to Tucson, meals were extra. She pulled the small pouch out of her handbag that her father had sent and gave Burk about one ounce of the bullion. Burk grunted and grabbed the gold, then pulled his handkerchief out of his hip pocket and wrapped it around his hand several times before attempting to grasp the coffee broiler to pour several cups of what passed for coffee. Sandy coffee and scalded beans, better than most.
“Any milk?” she asked timidly but knew better. Burk wiped the perspiration from his brow, “went sour, maybe some at the end of the line.” He scooped up a heaping pile of the steaming beans and slapped them on a tin plate shoving it at her. Shannon was sitting at the wooden table in the center of the musty smelly room already eating. The entire room held the odor of horse and Lacey wanted out. Once outside, she sat the hot tin of beans down on a nearby rock mumbling something about this being the edge of the world.
“Could be worse,” a male voice said. “Maybe raids by hostiles wanting the horses, mail, or jewelry that any foolish passenger might wear, then again, maybe they’d want you.” Intent eyes had focused on the flash of a cameo jeweled necklace. McCallister watched amused as she struggled with the hot coffee and beans. Her pale blue dress was rumpled and she was covered in dust from head to toe. Her head jerked up at the sound of his voice. She’d been so intent on her food she hadn’t noticed him.
“A piece of advice Miss, I wouldn’t wear that neck brooch out in the open like that.”
Lacey steadied her gaze at the man who was talking to her. “I’ve worn this brooch since Boston. I intend to continue wearing it, please sir keep your opinions private.” She knew he was right after what had happened but she did not care. A wind whipped up and swirled grit around her ankles. She stared at the rude stranger. He must be the new man from last night, she thought. He hadn’t been on the stage before; she certainly would have noticed him but something about him looked familiar...
His dark eyes were cool and aloof as her eyes locked onto the colorful beads woven into something that looked like an animal tail hanging from his belt. It reminded her of the peculiar articles she had seen hanging from the clothing of the men in Yuma. His eyes followed hers and he knew she was curious.
“Scalps,” he saw the confusion in her eyes. “Human.”
Violet eyes widened. Her hand flew to her throat. “You mean…”
His black eyes danced at her reaction, “the pretty, petite, pampered, high-falutin little gal from Fort Yuma.” He muttered.
Lacey nervously shifted her attention back to his dark eyes excited and afraid at the same time and that confused her. She certainly remembered him now as she studied him closer. He was tall; she noticed his large bronzed hands that hung loosely at his sides. He was dressed in buckskin clothing with moccasin boots that came to his knees. Under his hat was hair like black shiny coal tied back with a leather thong hanging past his shoulders. The sight of him was disconcerting, but alluring at the same time.
Biting her lip, she jutted her chin forward in an attempt to appear confidant and unafraid. Her dark unruly hair that was neatly rolled into a twist at the nape of her neck, suddenly loosen and one roll fell around her shoulders into a thick rope. Still holding her coffee, she reached back to pluck out the tortoise shell pins that held the rest of her long tresses and as she did, coffee spilled down the front of her dress.
His eyes crinkled at the corners. She shot him a defiant look and pursed her mouth. Putting down the coffee cup, she shook her skirt as she tucked the pins into her deep pocket with a tidy pat so none would be lost. They were her mothers and were special. I’m making a fool of myself, she thought, as she desperately tried to gain control of the situation.
“Name’s McCallister,” Alex smiled, wanting to put her at ease. “I worked for the mail line.”
His dark eyes narrowed with a glint she could not read. She was unable to unlock from his gaze. A small breathy sound like “Oh!” came from her. Feeling edgy, she shifted her feet. Her eyes followed as he produced a long thin cigar from a pouch inside his jacket. He lit it letting the smoke trail from his lips as his shadowed eyes continued to gaze at her relentlessly.
“What brings you to this part of the country?” He finally said.
Disgusting habit, she thought, and then swallowed hard as he continued to silently watch her. The first rays of sunlight caught his dark eyes and they glittered as he held her nervous gaze. He finished his smoke and ground the butt out. She didn’t answer him; her affairs were none of his concern. He was starting to annoy her. Who did he think he was? Certainly not her guardian, even though he had come to her rescue, and if he thought he could tell her what to do…Suddenly she wasn’t hungry any longer. He was making her irritable and edgy.
His mouth tightened as one corner kicked up slightly. “Generally when folks come out here it’s for a specific reason. You mentioned you’re from Boston, maybe you should have stayed there. This place can be lawless and brutal and is no place for a woman of your obvious breeding.”
He’s enjoying this, she thought. To her relief the driver called out to re-board as Shannon walked over and stood beside her. A brisk wind had begun to blow and it tugged at her crinoline. She held it down while looking impatiently at Shannon as the girl gave McCallister an inviting look.
“Harlot,” Lacey’s voice was strangled and sounded a little odd but she was too angry and unsettled to care. Shannon raised her eyebrow. Lacey shook her head and flicked Shannon a dark look as she climbed into the stage. McCallister followed them inside.
“Aren’t you supposed to ride up front? You are here to protect us aren‘t you Mr. McCallister?” Lacey asked sarcastically as the stage lurched forward.
“Thought I’d ride with you pretty girls for awhile.” McCallister winked at Shannon, ignoring Lacey’s acid remarks. Lacey glared at him, and then turned her face away nudging Shannon with her elbow in the hope that she wouldn’t offer any more provoking looks. They sat shoulder to shoulder six inside the coach. Shannon sat sullenly beside her and then defiantly looked over at McCallister again, batting her pale blue eyes and giving a faint intimate smile. Lacey felt disgust rising in her; she clenched her hands into fists at her sides, feeling an irrational anger. How dare Shannon flaunt her tawdry affairs like this! Behaving like a harlot, smiling at him, laughing like some sort of adventuress.
“Shannon, stop being such a mudsill!” Lacey hissed through gritted teeth.
“Wrathy ain’t ye? Something still too tight?”
Lacey glared at her. The stage rolled and hit a rut in the road causing Lacey to involuntarily roll forcefully into McCallister. She was furious now as she jerked away from him, but she didn’t really know why. The man had an effect on her that annoyed her beyond words and Shannon was about to provoke her into doing something unladylike. She wanted to say something really rude to both of them, but decided against it.
Silence settled over the passengers until the stage stopped at Oatman Flat Station. Two graves were directly ahead in the middle of the road. Alex leaned toward her and whispered, “Few years back a family was slaughtered here and left for dead by a band of Apache. Girls were taken hostage. The rest of the family was killed, up there.” He pointed to a hill half a mile off which was very steep and covered with deep sand.
“Do you mean the Oatman girls Mr. McCallister?”
“I do indeed.”
“I am very well read sir. Pastor Stratton’s book was quite interesting, and your attempt to frighten me will not work.”
McCallister grinned. Daily shouted out to take care of their needs. Her face colored a little at the casual mentioning of her needs, like it was something that was talked about nonchalantly. She would never get used to that out here. Her eyes stung and she coughed from the dust as she and Shannon went behind a boulder.
“Hurry, Miss.” Shannon looked anxiously over her shoulder while Lacey crouched behind the rock. “They’re calling for us.”
“I don’t care. Watch your mouth from now on. Hold that shawl of yours up as a screen and stop worrying about what they want!” Let them wait, Lacey thought irritably; illogically, her anger directed more at McCallister than the others. She knew she should hurry; but an extra moment or two would hardly make that much difference now would it?
All day the wind had been gusting, now a sudden strong blast of air suddenly caught her petticoats and crinoline, this time nearly toppling her over. Shannon grabbed at her bodice catching her by the collar to keep her from falling into the dust then glanced over her shoulder, her white lace shawl shaking in her grasp, “aye Miss, someone ‘tis here!”
Lacey barely managed to rise and straighten her garments before McCallister came around the boulder. He stopped and looked at her as she fumbled with her skirts, her face heated with embarrassment.
“Clouds building up in the east, winds are stronger.” He had urgency to his voice that made her move. She flashed him a brooding look and walked around the boulder, back to the waiting stage. Alex helped them on board and told the men in the stage to pull down the canvas over the windows. Then he climbed up into the front seat next to Daily. It had been a while since it had rained and the threatening clouds were lying low on the horizon. If it did rain Alex knew that it would be a quagmire.
The stage mounted a ridge where the road made a sharp turn; as it slowed up and was making the turn, which was downhill between high banks of yellow clay it lurched, jolting the passengers roughly inside. The wild wind blew in strong hard gusts rocking the stage viciously back and forth. It was in a bad position as the windswept trees bent nearly to the ground.
“Hell of a storm comin’!” Alex shouted.
Lacey was terrified; Shannon huddled between the seats, her blue eyes wide as saucers. She blessed herself with a gold cross hanging from the fine chain that hung around her neck as a wall of dirt hundreds of feet high raced towards them. Daily reined in the terrified horses and jumped down, running to grab the lead mares. They wanted to bolt.
Alex flung open the door. “Get down as low as you can, cover your nose and eyes, try to keep your back to the wind!” The howling wind whipped the words from his mouth. He held his hat down and slammed the stage door.
Lacey couldn’t help it. She poked her head out the window watching him as he made his way to the rear. She saw the large spotted horse nervously dancing back and forth as McCallister spoke softly, took the rope halter off, and let him go. Then her eyes moved back to the huge wall of dirt that sped towards them.
A sense of foreboding overcame her as the greenish yellow mass spewed fine particles of clay and silt, whipping bits of stinging sand into their faces, eyes, and even between their teeth with violent force. Pieces of sagebrush, dried grasses and even parts of trees hit the sides of the coach angrily. Horses were screaming.
Warm hands suddenly grabbed her and flung her out of the coach door as Alex roughly pushed Lacey down into a cleft that fell off the side of the road. He barked orders for Shannon and the other passengers to get the hell out of the coach and seek shelter, then instinctively covered her body with his own as the roar of the storm beat down on them with such fierceness that the coach leaned precariously on two wheels. At the same moment the team bolted forward and before Daily got them stopped the lead horses became entangled in the harness.
The wind passed and a hard rain began to pelt them in heavy sheets. McCallister heard the heavy roll of thunder coming from the dark clouds. It was close. The belief and practices linking power beyond that of mortal beings was ever present in the Indian mind. He missed Gopan and hoped he still lived. His words filled his mind.
“Thunder is caused by the wings of Thunder Bird, who lives on the sacred mountain and as such is beyond our control. He creates storms as he flies, clouds are pulled together by his wing beats and the sound of thunder is his wings while lighting flashes from his eyes when he blinks.”
The place of bones flooded his mind, what happened to Nizoni. He shook his head trying to rid himself of the thought. “Don’t think that way.” He warned himself.
The edgy feeling stayed with him until he cast his eyes down at the young woman beneath him. Large frightened eyes captured his attention; thickly fringed huge amethyst eyes. His gaze locked onto them and then slowly traveled over softly tinted skin, a delicate straight nose, small-determined chin, and a mouth with full savory lips. Instantly, the stress and chaos around him blurred and the only thing he noticed was her mouth. What a tempting mouth it was too. She licked her quivering lips and he felt his chest muscles tighten.
Alex could track animal or man with stealth, wield a gun, throw a knife or shoot a bow and arrow with the same deadly accuracy, but in his dealings with women he fell short. After the slaughter in the Rancheria he tried to abandon his Indian life and made every attempt to enter the Anglo world by visiting mining camps and border towns with frequency. He had been with many women before and they found him fascinating, drawn to him like moths to a flame but were all burned for their trouble. Inherently selfish, Alex wasn’t cruel, but he was certainly casual and ruthless in his dealings with them. The look of this particular woman beneath him however had caused a sudden tug of infatuation in him and a sense of wanting to rescue her.
Lacey’s lips trembled slightly, then she pressed her lush mouth into a knot of displeasure. Placing her hands against his chest, she shoved against him until a strain of red came into her face. She blinked a flicker of long lashes that lowered over her purplish-blue eyes, which were fiery and lurked with a smoldering energy.
“Why are you looking at me that way? I want you to get—off—of—me.” She said with gritted teeth, pushing at him again, her eyes glaring, her chin jutting up defiantly.
The intense face staring up at him was rather captivating and Alex McCallister suddenly was unsure of what to do. So he grinned at her, feeling a bit amused by her spitfire. Unable to resist, he pinned her arms steadfast to her sides and pressed his body firmly into hers. His mouth quickly and gently covered her tender lips, smothering her faint protest of alarm. The sweetness, the fire of her mouth, he’d been right, so enticing. Reluctantly he released her mouth and in one lithe movement was on his feet. He helped her up, then without a word turned to go help Daily.
“Everybody alright?” he asked as he inspected the battered coach. The other passengers were milling around, bruised and shaken but unharmed.
“Few scrapes, horses seem to be alright once I kin git them out of this muss.” Daily answered. It was a mess alright. Tangled harnesses, balky horses and a coach that was partially overturned and resting on a rock ledge. Alex lent his assistance and after some delay, the untangled nervous animals were calmed and the wedged stage returned upright.
Meanwhile, Lacey had pulled herself out of the ditch. Her dress had picked up burrs from the tall grass and cactus had scratched her ankles. She attempted to untangle herself, then pushing at her hair that was disheveled and dangling carelessly in her eyes, she marched over to where Alex and Daily were working.
In her fury, she spat out at him. “My father is wealthy! I’m to meet him in Tucson. When he finds out what you tried to do to me, you’re liable to hang!”
Daily grinned as Alex stopped what he was doing. He was angry and embarrassed at his own reaction to her. He smiled, and then his eyes took on the familiar coldness learned on the lonely bloody trails as he quietly leaned forward, his voice soft but menacing.
“If I were you Miss, I’d be quiet and get on the stage before I kiss you again. You understand where that could lead seeing it nearly happened at Fort Yuma. Lucky for you, I’m more polite, but if you persist?” Lacey gasped. Her face turned a rosy pink as she backed away and then reluctantly climbed on board.
Alex turned back to the horses and wordlessly finished patching the harnesses up with rope. When he finished he gave a soft whistle. A few minutes later his speckled horse came running over the ridge. Lacey was stunned, why would any animal respond to such an undisciplined man with that type of loyal manner she marveled? She did not understand her feelings at all. She owed this man her deepest heartfelt appreciation for what he had done but at the same time she was perturbed with his manner.
With his horse tied to the back of the stage, Alex walked to the front of the coach and pulled himself up next to Daily. He shook his head, got back down, and went back to his horse. McCallister felt unsettled. He needed the companionship of his animal friends to try and sort out his strange feelings that the violent storm had stirred in him plus his reaction to the fiery young woman.
***
Kenyon’s Station was the next stop and the end of the line for Daily. A meager meal was offered at Gila Ranch, before they had to endure a seemingly endless forty-five mile ride across a vast desert finally reaching the Wells. Here the passengers ate a hearty breakfast and gratefully drank as much water as they wanted from the several wells surrounded by alkali soil and coarse grass.
Four mules, brown and muddy, with cropped manes standing up like brushes and swishing their tails across their rumps were led to the stage and harnessed in. All too soon the call to re-board came. Alex remained aloof, riding off to the side of the stage on his horse and seemed to have taken on a whole different attitude. Occasionally Lacey saw the wolf loping behind which still shocked her. She chided herself in finding him to be intriguing. He was nothing but wild, ruthless, and very dangerous. She was looking forward to ridding herself of him.
Lacey was irritated, tired, and confused. This has been the most uncomfortable five worst days of my life, she thought bitterly, as the stage finally arrived in the Western town of Tucson.