Gold

Chapter 6

The troop of riders flowed down from the higher ground as smoothly as a stream of water and then circled Zachariah; watching him the while. He observed that they appeared to be armed not with guns, but more traditional weapons, such as lances and bows. Without a word of command, all the warriors reined in their mounts and stood round him; presumably waiting for Zachariah to say or do something. He supposed on one level that he might be in some kind of danger, but the chief emotion he felt was embarrassment; fifteen or so young men, all staring at him and expecting him to do the Lord knows what. One of the riders lowered his lance until the point was aiming straight at Zachariah’s breast and then walked his horse forward; not halting until the sharp tip of the spear was no more than a foot from Zac.

     It was obvious that something would have to be said and so the awkward white youth cleared his throat and announced, ‘I don’t know how far I am from the Santee Sioux village, but I’m looking for them. I’ve kin there, a man called Tamela Pashme.’ He wondered if he was pronouncing the name correctly, for the expressionless men surrounding him gave no indication that his words conveyed anything in particular to them. Feeling a little desperate now and keenly aware of the passage of time and the need to fetch aid for his sister as soon as might be, Zachariah continued, addressing his question directly to the rider who had his lance only a few inches from his heart, ‘Are you folk Isanyathi?’

     ‘Isanyathi’ said the rider in front of Zac, altering the stress of the syllables, slightly.

     ‘Is that how you say it?’ asked Zac, ‘Well then, that’s who I’m a looking for. An uncle o’ mine is in charge of ‘em, seemingly. Fellow by the name of Tamela Pashme. Happen you know him?’

     The young man in front of him stared for a moment and then, to Zachariah’s great surprise and immense relief, his immobile face split into a wide smile. The rider said something to the other men who also appeared to relax a little and also started to exchange comments among themselves. The man who had the lance pointing at Zac’s chest raised it and secured it to his saddle somehow. Then he dismounted and walked up to Zachariah; his white teeth signalling nothing but good will. He said, ‘We’re kin, you and me. You must be my cousin.’

     This was such a surprising turn of events that Zachariah simply stood gaping at the man; who could have been no more than four or five years older than he. He said, ‘Cousins? How come?’

     ‘Your mother is the daughter of Tamela Pashme’s sister, is it not so?’

     Zac scratched his head thoughtfully, wishing that he’d listened a little more closely to what his mother had told him of her family history. Then he said slowly, ‘Well, my Ma told me that Tamela Pashme is her uncle, so yes, I reckon it might be as you say.’

     ‘Tamela Pashme is my mother’s father,’ said the Indian triumphantly, ‘We are cousins indeed.’

     For want of anything else to say, Zachariah remarked vaguely, ‘You speak good English,’ and then immediately regretted it, thinking that it might sound as though he thought that Indians were all unlettered savages, ‘I didn’t mean nothing. Just that you speak like me.’

     ‘I went to a mission school. And my aunt, she always said how I should learn the white man’s ways.’ Now it was the turn of the young Indian brave to feel a little abashed, for he was afraid that the white boy would be offended at his reference to ‘white man’s ways.’ He continued, ‘She said that I was half white and so I should be able to speak like a white man, as well as a Sioux.’

     ‘My Ma, I guess that would be your aunt’s daughter, she sent me hear to ask for help. My sister, she’s been taken by bad men and Ma said that you folk’d lend a hand.’

     ‘Your sister must be my cousin too. The village is not far. Jump up with me and we’ll be there in no time.’

     It took little time to reach the village. Zachariah had never seen an Indian village before and looked around him in frank curiosity. There were dozens of tents, what would, he supposed be called teepees. Everybody seemed very busy, but when once they caught sight of a white person entering their camp, work was suspended and people drifted over to see what was what. Maybe, thought Zac, they think I’m a prisoner or something. When he got down, people at first moved back; as though they were unsure of him. Then the crowd parted and a squaw came forward with the evident intention of greeting him. She was dressed exactly like all the other women and her skin was certainly no paler, but there was something quite extraordinary about her hair; which was sun-bleached to the colour of ripe wheat. Zac couldn’t help staring at this apparition in astonishment, forgetting his manners and making no attempt to greet the woman.

     ‘What ails you boy, cat got your tongue?’

     ‘I’m sorry ma’am, I was thinking as you might be somebody I came to see. My mother’s called Melanie Hogan.’

     The woman, whose age Zachariah could not begin to gauge, snorted and said, ‘Hogan indeed! Well well, we’ll let that pass. You must be my grandson. I ain’t seen you since you was a babe in arms. You’ve growed tall and strong enough. Come, give your grandma a kiss.’

     Hesitantly, Zac went forward and kissed his grandmother’s leathery cheek. She grasped his arm to detain him for a moment, peering hard at his face and saying, ‘I’d o’ come by and visited you know, if only your Ma had o’ said it would be fine. But your Pa, he wouldn’t have it.’

     Not wanting to hear any criticism of his father and suddenly recollecting the dreadful fact that he was dead, Zachariah said, ‘My father was killed just lately. Now my sister’s gone and we need help in getting her back again.’

     ‘Why didn’t you say so before, boy?’ said his grandmother. She shouted at the young man upon whose horse Zac had ridden into the camp, ‘Hey, you there, shake a leg. My daughter, as is your own aunt, needs help. Go see your grandfather and get him moving.’ She turned to Zac and said, the pride unmistakable, ‘I dare say you heard that my brother’s the chief o’ the whole tribe? Ain’t that something?’

     It was plain from the way that folk in the village minded her that Zachariah’s grandmother was a person of some consequence. She threaded her way through the tents, shooing some children aside here and chiding grown women for not moving aside swiftly enough. As she walked, she remarked to Zac, ‘Those boys’ll take a good hour to get ready. Don’t you worry none though, my brother’ll see things right. You can come and have a bite to eat with me, while you’re a waitin’. Tell me about my family that I’ve not seen for these many years.’ They reached a teepee at which the woman halted and then bent down to lift up a flap, gesturing for Zachariah to enter before her.

                                                         ***

     Andrew McDonald returned after twenty minutes, having galloped around the perimeter area surrounding his ranch. There was no sign of the missing child. Josephine rushed up to him, saying, ‘What can have become of her? And who killed Rigby?’

     Grim-faced and pale, McDonald replied, ‘I’ve a notion that I know the answer to both them questions. You know I threw out that drunken fool Jackson, after he shot Caleb Hogan? He’s a mean one. I reckon as he’s decided to do us a bad turn in return. Maybe he thinks the child is something to do with us. And there was no love ‘tween him and Chris Rigby. Mark my words, Jackson’s at the bottom of this.’

     ‘Lord a mercy, what are we to do? Is there no clue which way that villain’s gone?’

     Andrew McDonald shook his head in despair and said, ‘It’d need an Indian tracker to find his trail. It’s beyond me. The best I can do is round up the boys and set them out searching. I’m greatly afeared though as Jackson will have harmed the child, just to cause us anguish.’

     At these words, Josephine felt as though an icy hand had clutched at her heart. She repented fully and absolutely of having been the motive-power behind the snatching of the little girl and felt such guilt and shame as could hardly be imagined. She said, ‘I must hunt for that poor little creature too. This is all my fault.’ Her husband said nothing, but she could see in his eyes that he was thinking exactly the same thing. She exclaimed, ‘Mother of God Andrew, don’t look at me so! I meant no harm to her, you know that.’

     McDonald shook his head sombrely and said, ‘Makes no odds what we did and didn’t mean. Fact is, we’re put that child in harm’s way and if aught happens to her, I’ll never forgive myself.’ He did not need to add, ‘Or you’; Josephine could see in face what he was thinking.

     McDonald dismounted and came over to his wife. He said, ‘I don’t lay this charge on you, Josephine. God knows we were both desperate enough to save our home and this is the result.’

     Before she was able to frame an adequate answer, there came a rushing, whistling noise and something flashed past, real low. Andrew McDonald gave a cry of pain and clapped both hands to his buttocks. When he brought one hand up again, it was stained with blood. At the same moment, Josephine saw what had flown past her. It had stuck in the ground, some six feet away and from the look of it, could only be an Indian arrow.

                                                           ***

     Melanie was good and mad, but not really fearing that any mischief had befallen her daughter. She guessed, quite correctly, that this was just some way of putting the bite on her to agree to a disadvantageous deal regarding her land. She had no reason to suppose either of the McDonalds to be wicked or cruel; they were just determined as anything to steal the gold which was on her land. Thinking about this made her so angry that she could hardly breathe and so Melanie sat down for a minute, until she had calmed down somewhat. And all this, she thought wrathfully, for gold! Her dear husband dead and her daughter taken from her, just so these worthless wretches could add to their own not inconsiderable fortune! Well, they would rue the day that they had started out down this road, that was for certain-sure. She, Melanie Hogan, would show them the error of their ways and see to it that they remembered to their dying days what a terrible mistake they had made in crossing her path.

     It took the better part of two hours to reach the edge of the McDonalds’ ranch and Melanie took care not to be seen by anybody as she made her way there. She didn’t think that there’d be many tears shed locally if anything unpleasant befell Andrew McDonald, but there was no percentage in advertising what she about. When she reached the rise of ground with a copse at the top, where Dave Jackson had spent the night spying on the McDonalds, Melanie walked up and then, as she neared the crest, fell to her knees and began crawling. She’d no wish to find herself silhouetted against the skyline when she reached the top.

     The object of the exercise was, to Melanie, twofold. On the one hand, she intended to take her little daughter home that day. Then again, she proposed to deliver such a sharp lesson to Andrew McDonald that he would wake up screaming from his sleep ten years from now, when he recalled how he had been foolish enough to cross Melanie Hogan and fool around with her child.

     From the trees, there was a perfect view down to the ranch-house and the yard around it. Melanie could see Andrew McDonald, seated on a horse and exchanging words with his wife. She could not, at this range, hear what was being said, but she guessed by the expressions on their faces that they were talking about something serious. There was no sign of Elizabeth. Wriggling forward on her belly, Melanie stopped at a tree and then stood up behind it; out of sight of anybody below. Then she took the bow slung across her back and fitted one of the arrows which she was holding, carefully to the string. She was about sixty yards from the two figures. There was no wind to speak of and so that wasn’t a problem. The only thing which could go wrong was that she might inadvertently kill one of the McDonalds. This did not strike Melanie Hogan as something which needed to be factored into her decision. She intended to punish the man standing there talking to his wife and if he died of it; then so be it.

     Taking very careful aim at Andrew McDonald’s buttocks, Melanie let fly. From this angle, she hoped that the arrow would slice through the fat of his legs, without causing any great injury. If a stray gust of wind sent her arrow straight into his privates though, she would not grieve. As it was, the shot was as clean as could be, with the flint-tipped arrow flying straight and true; gouging a deep furrow across one of the rancher’s buttocks. As soon as she was sure that McDonald was wounded, Melanie stood up and jog-trotted down the slope to where Josephine McDonald was trying to calm her husband and examine the extent and severity of his injury. So occupied were they with this task, that they neither of them heard her approaching and it wasn’t until she was standing a few feet away, with her knife drawn, that they became aware of her.

                                                          ***

     There was, Elizabeth had decided, no point in starving herself, no matter how the vittles’ had been acquired. She came to this conclusion after watching the man called Dave stuffing his face without a care in the world. If she was going to survive this, then she would at the very least need to feed her body. Because she had led something of a sheltered life, Elizabeth, although on the verge of puberty, knew next to nothing about the world. She was vaguely aware that men were rougher, louder and more dangerous than women; but that was about the sum total of her knowledge on the subject. She knew instinctively that the man sitting a short distance from her and currently gnawing a bone, was some sort of threat to her, but beyond the possibility that he would strike her, maybe even shoot her; she didn’t know what harm he could do her.

     Jackson became aware of the child’s scrutiny and looked up, scowling at her fiercely. ‘What for are ye starin’ at me so?’ he enquired pugnaciously, ‘Something wrong with the way I look?’

     ‘Sorry. I didn’t mean to stare.’

     ‘You’ll have to mend your manners where we’re headed, child, I’ll tell you that for nothing. Sauce won’t answer there, you hear what I say?’

    Never before in her life had Elizabeth Hogan been accused of ‘sauce’. She said, ‘Where are we going? I don’t recollect that you told me.’

     ‘Well then, we’re a goin’ to the Indian Nations.’

     ‘Indian? Is that where they’ve been fighting?’

     ‘No, not a bit of it. These are the five civilised tribes. They don’t go fighting anybody or leastways if they do, it ain’t white men. Just scrapping with one another.’

     Elizabeth thought this over as she munched a little bread and cheese and then said, ‘if’n you let me go now, I wouldn’t tell on you. I’d let you get away free.’

     Dave Jackson eyed her ironically and replied, ‘Well, that’s mighty nice of you, but I reckon as I’ll keep down the path I planned.’

    When the two of them had finished eating, they got back on the horse and set off again. It seemed to the girl that she would either have to escape or perhaps find somebody who would rescue her. The opportunity came after they had been proceeding east for another hour or more.

     The track that they were travelling along was not a wide or populous thoroughfare. Indeed, since leaving the ranch, they had so far encountered no other travellers. It was not until an hour after their meal that Jackson and the girl came across anybody else on the road. They were riding across a flat, grassy plain; which stretched, featureless and bland to the horizon. Here and there were small houses and the landscape was punctuated with the occasional cultivated field, but other than that, there was nothing to be see but parched, scrubby grass. Because they could see for several miles ahead of them, Jackson was aware, long before they reached it, of a wagon by the side of the track; around which two figures were fussing and doing something or other. When they were a couple of hundred yards off from this scene, he said to Elizabeth, ‘Say one word to those folks and I’ll skin you alive. You understand me?’

     As they drew closer, it was obvious what was going on. Something was amiss with the cart and the two men were struggling to fix it. Their strength was not sufficient to accomplish the task however, because the cart needed to be raised so that one man could get underneath and work on the axle. It took the two of them to lift the thing up, meaning that there was a need for a third person to effect the necessary repair. Of course, Dave Jackson knew nothing of this; nor would he have cared much if he had known. He simply wished to pass on without let or hindrance, but it was not to be.

     As they approached. On of those fooling around with the wagon stepped out onto the dusty road and hailed them in loud and cheerful voice, crying, ‘Say friend, might we ask you to lend a hand here? We need two stout fellows to lift it up while one of us fixes the axle. As you can see, we’re a man short for such an operation.’

     Two strong urges fought for mastery in Dave Jackson’s breast. The first of these impulses was to tell this impertinent man to clear the road and tend to his own affairs, without trying to draw others into his problems. Then again though, Jackson was desirous of making his way to the territories without drawing any undue attention to himself. A surely and uncooperative man, hurrying along with a little girl in front of him on his saddle, might very well be something which could become the object of remark. The last thing he needed was to have some meddlesome fool set up a hue and cry and give his description to the law.

     While Jackson hesitated, the man who had asked for assistance said, ‘Surely you wouldn’t spurn to help a fellow being in his hour of need?’

     It was on the tip of Dave Jackson’s tongue to tell this importunate individual that he had often spurned to help any number of folk in their hour of need, when the other man who had working on the cart, who had been staring hard at Jackson and his young companion, said, ‘I know you. Your name is Jackson and you’re a damned villain.’

     This was so unexpected that for a moment, tough as he was, Jackson felt as though all the breath had been punched out of his body. The man continued, ‘You most likely forgot my face, but I ain’t forgot your’n, you bastard.’ Then, recollecting himself and seeing that there was a girl of tender years present, he said, ‘Beggin’ your pardon for the language, little miss.’

     ‘My name’s not Jackson. You’re making some kind of mistake.’

     ‘You think so?’ said the man who had recognised Jackson, coming away from the cart and standing next to the man with whom he had been working, ‘You don’t recall my face, I’ll be bound. I was in a stage, best part of two years since. You and another held it up. Away over yonder in Oklahoma. You shot a woman there, on account of she was too quick in reaching in her bag for the money you demanded we all hand over. Remember now? Memory coming back to you now? You thought she was going for a weapon.’

     Dave Jackson said nothing, for his mind was racing frantically; trying to find a way out of this trap. The two men standing before him both had guns at their hips and they both had that indefinable air about them of men who knew how to take care of themselves. This was the devil of business and for now, Jackson could see no way out of the coils. That was until Elizabeth Hogan piped up and said, ‘His name is Jackson and he’s stolen me away and taking me to the Indian Nations. I want to go home.’ Then, before Jackson knew what she was about, the child had wriggled free and, dismounting clumsily, had fallen to the ground in a heap.

     It didn’t look like he would get a better opportunity than this and so before the girl had even hit the dust, Jackson drew his pistol. The man who had recognised Jackson went for his own piece, but for some reason it stuck as he tried to pull it free of the holster. The first bullet hit him in the shoulder, spinning him round, but the second took him fair and square in the chest; ploughing through his heart. He dropped to the ground, mortally wounded. His companion stood there, rooted to the spot and still not at all sure what was happening. By the time this man had realised that his own life was in peril, it was too late. Dave Jackson shot him down with as little compunction as he would have felt in disposing of a mad dog or injured horse.

     The crashing of the gunfire was so loud that Elizabeth had clapped her hands over her ears in a vain effort out keep it out. Situated as she was, it was little short of a miracle that Jackson’s horse did not trample her underfoot as it skittered sideways; spooked by the gunfire. When he was quite sure that the battle was over and the other men both dead, Jackson got down from his mount and surveyed the scene. His first instinct was to rough up the child a bit for betraying him to those others, but he knew that without her little interruption to distract the men facing him for a moment, he might not have had the necessary edge to take them down. He might not beat up on her, but by God he’d make sure that she did nothing like that again, should they meet anybody on the road.

     Elizabeth knew that she was in danger from this terrible man and, for want of a better strategy, she remained curled up in the dust of the road. Jackson bent down and grabbed a handful of her clothing; forcing the child to her feet. ‘Come over here,’ he growled menacingly, ‘I want you to see something.’ Unwillingly, with his hand still gripping the back of her dress, she went with him to where the two corpses sprawled on the ground. ‘There, what do you make to that?’ asked Jackson. Then, before she had a chance to reply, he gave the girl a ferocious shove; relinquishing hold of her dress as he did so.

     The sudden push made Elizabeth stumble forward and then fall flat on her face; landing on top of one of the dead bodies. She was to remember the horror of that moment for the rest of her life; waking up terrified years later as she dreamed that she was once again that scared little girl, laying face to face with a corpse. She began to sob hysterically and attempted to lever herself up. In an instant, Dave Jackson was on her, like a cat pinning down a helpless mouse. He pressed his hand hard on her back and said, ‘Just you look there, child. See what death looks like? Well, I’m a telling of you now that if’n you get cross-wise to be again, you’ll end up in the same condition.’

     After having delivered himself of this threat, Jackson gave the girl one last, hard shove, which had the effect of causing her face to slide against that of the dead man upon whom she was laying. Some of the sticky bloody smeared her face and she leapt to her feet, frantically rubbing at her face in an effort to remove the blood. Dave Jackson watched this performance with something approaching satisfaction and said, ‘Yes, I should just about say you go the message now!’

     Before leaving the scene of his latest murder, Jackson spent a little time looking through the cart. There was nothing much there worth having’ just a lot of household goods and suchlike. There was a satchel of food though, which he appropriated. ‘Reckon they was traders,’ he said, ‘Most like heading to the territories too, like us.’

     ‘What’s it like there?’ asked Elizabeth, having calmed down somewhat and removed all trace of the dead man’s blood from her face and neck.

     Dave Jackson appeared surprised to have such a civil and matter-of-fact question directed towards him and he considered carefully for a few seconds before answering. ‘It’s a bit different from these here parts,’ he said at last, ‘You won’t find many white folk there, for a start. Those that are there, well, they’re mostly bad lots. Road agents, boys on the scout and so on.’

     ‘Will we be safe there?’

     ‘Depends what you mean by safe. I ain’t about to let anybody harm you or take you away, if that’s what you mean. I reckon as you know after what lately happened, as I can pretty well look after me and those with me.’

     ‘What’s going to happen to me when we get there?’

     The question was asked in such a wistful and artless way, that for the briefest moment, what passed for a heart in Dave Jackson was touched and felt as though he was on the wrong track entirely. He looked at the little girl and recalled his own sister, many years ago. Then he remembered what a crack he was caught in and knew that only the sale of this pretty child would make it possible for him to move on and start anew elsewhere. He said briskly, ‘My old grandmama, she used to say to me, “Dave, don’t you ride to meet trouble halfway”. I should think that about fits this present situation. For now, you got me to take care o’ you and provide for your needs. When we get to the Indian Nations, why we’ll have to see what chances. For now though, we’re both of us fed and watered and we’ll do well enough.’ And with that, the girl had to be contented.

     They rode on at a fairly fast trot for the rest of the day, with occasional bursts of cantering. Every once in a while, Jackson would stop so that they could stretch their legs and answer any call of nature which was pressing. The killing of the two men on the road had not really affected him to any great degree. He had killed before and doubtless would again, if the events demanded. Not being a religious man, he had no particular fear of murder in the abstract, as a mortal sin. His anxieties centred purely and simply around the temporal punishment which such actions often brought down upon the head of those who perpetrated them; which is as much as to say that he feared being hanged for his crimes in this world, rather than facing a reckoning in the next.

      As the afternoon drew on, they found themselves riding through a pinewood which covered the lower slopes of a range of hills. It was gloomy in the wood and had she been there alone, Elizabeth might have been frightened. She thought about this and then, despite the awful circumstances in which she was trapped, her lips twitched slightly and she all but smiled. It was the idea that she felt safer as a result of being in the company of this man which struck her as absurd. But then again, it made perfect sense in a way. Were she to be alone in this dark forest, then she’d be imagining all manner of dangers and not knowing whether wolves or bears, Indians or outlaws were coming through the trees to do her harm. Now though, she was tolerably sure that she need not fear anything of that sort; if nothing else, the man she was travelling with had shown himself more than capable of handling matters in a forthright and determined way. For whatever wicked reasons of his own and no matter what his ultimate plans were, Elizabeth sensed that Dave Jackson would do her no harm his self and so she was, in a strange way, safe with him. A regular baby she might have been, but Elizabeth was still old enough to find the idea a curious one and although she had never actually hear the word ‘ironic’ in her life, she was overcome by the irony of this situation; that she felt safe because she was in the company of a dangerous killer.