On Route Near Tama

The stage coach rattled on till near sunset where they would break camp for the night. This was Iowa, once great country of native tribes. The horses needed to be fed and rested for the next half of the journey which would take them close enough to Tama where the reservation was.

The gambler had sat with his hat covering his face for most of the time; some respite from the whiskey, poker and women he had left behind. A mother was accompanying her daughter on to Lake Michigan to be reunited with her childhood sweetheart who had risen to the rank of captain in the army. Of course there was Mansi, that Hopi girl and the Preacher who sat taking it all in. The two white women had probably only managed a few brief nods and gestures in Mansi’s direction during the entire journey; some half flickers of smiles occasionally. Not that Mansi minded, being a half-breed didn’t seem to count for much conversation wise, a thing she was used to.

Up top, the driver drove a team of four horses and was teaching his fifteen year old son to drive also. This would be Bradley’s first trip on the road.

It was fall in this breathtaking Indian heritage territory, a great festoon of scented trees lining their route: cherry, cedar, maple, ash, butternut and more.

They stopped in a well known lay-by where a stream ran down from the surrounding hills bringing much relief for weary travellers. The men unloaded the necessary items while Mrs Shaw and her daughter Ramona set to fixing some food: coffee, beans and salt beef with some bread.

Mansi quietly offered to feed the horses as she had a welcoming way with animals and appeared more at ease with them than with the other passengers. Bradley fetched fresh water from the stream. The flow of the water and cacophony of bird songs, mingled squawking and singing to a light breeze rustling through the tree tops.

Bradley set about rubbing the horses down while his father checked their hooves after Mansi had finished feeding them. The gambler left the party, walking off by himself for a while.

To make conversation the Preacher asked Mansi where she was heading and almost without a voice she had whispered the reservation. The Preacher was a knowing man and seemed to read in her eyes, though she tried to keep them low, that all was not well with her. She walked off abruptly to sit on a rock, drawing her shawl over her shoulders and hugging it tight.

The Preacher joined the men rubbing the horses down. Bradley’s father took the opportunity to leave the two to the chores. His father lit a cigar and made for his second cup of coffee since breakfast.

“How you finding the other passengers?” Bradley asked the Preacher.

“Not a whole lot big on conversation I’d say.”

“Oh? Why’d you think that might be?”

“A lot going on for folk Bradley. More than the eye can see. You’ve got a lot of growing to do.”

“Glad my Pa brought me out here though. I hate school.”

“You learning to read aren’t you?”

“Yeh, I can read.”

“Well, my way of looking at it Bradley is that with the railroad expanding all over this country, your reading may take you a longer ways than any stage coach ever will.”

“You reckon so Mr Preacher?”

“I sure do boy. Mark my words.” He patted the horse team leader. “All done. Got a long night ahead Bradley.”

“You make it sound like something going to happen Preacher.”

The gambler returned to the party, the women handed him a plate for which he was much obliged. He nodded at the Preacher and pretended not to notice where Mansi was sitting.

The Preacher patted Bradley’s back. “Yep, my boy, the night is but young.”

There was no moon that night. Mansi made her way to the stream to wash up before the owls started calling. About 10 minutes after she left the gambler decided to stretch his legs again. No one else but the Preacher took any note of his leaving.

Mansi washed her face and arms first. She dipped her feet. Her hands rubbed her belly and she started to cry as the life inside her started to move. She was 4 months pregnant and hadn’t asked for this trouble in her life. It didn’t show yet. She didn’t know what was going to happen.

She heard footsteps approaching. She rose up sharply to see the gambler approaching her. She fixed herself and made for the opposite direction but he cut off her path.

“Where you think you’re going in a hurry squaw?!” He pulled her arm, pulling her whole body towards him. He still smelt of stale whiskey and tobacco and his unshaven facial growth grazed her pretty face.

“Now let her alone,” the Preacher’s voice interrupted. The gambler heard the distinct cock of a gun to make doubly sure he had heard. He turned and faced the Preacher who kicked a stone in the gambler’s direction, his spur spinning.

“This is none of your business Preacher.” The gambler held on to the girl as if she was some newly acquired possession of his while she began to whimper.

“Now that’s where you’re wrong son, because according to the Great Spirit of this land, all of this creation is my business, including that girl. I said cut her loose, I’m not going to tell you twice.”

The gambler threw Mansi to the ground. The girl quickly picked herself up and ran, just about managing a quick ashamed thank you to the Preacher as she did so.

The gambler strode off in the opposite direction, disgusted. The Preacher put his gun back in its holster and removed his hat, tapping it against his leg and looking up to the sky. Looking down again his eyes caught the sight of the carcass of a rabbit being swarmed by flies. He swatted a few that flew by with his hat, as the howls of coyotes emerging from their borrows rang out.

“Yep, it’s going to be a mighty long night.”

Mansi ran into the camp, startling the women with her obvious distress. With little hesitation they ran to meet her.

“There, there. Whatever is the matter child?” Mrs Shaw asked with genuine concern and not just for the wretched girl. They led her away and sat her down.

When the Preacher returned to the camp some time later, Mrs Shaw picked up the hem of her skirt ever so slightly in her angry march in his direction. She was a Christian woman but it didn’t take a woman of the world to figure out what mischief these men were up to. Her last words to sum up included “night watch” and “boiling pot of hot coffee” ending with did she make herself clear. The gambler walked in at this point. Mrs Shaw had no words for him except to look the scoundrel up and down from head to toe and back. Her look said she expected the Preacher to take care of that problem. The driver shook his head while poor Bradley stood there scratching his.

There were no further incidents in the camp that night. Not even the coyotes dared approached and the owls flew hooting in the opposite direction.

In the morning, the atmosphere had not improved any. They hurriedly packed to leave. The driver threw down the gambler’s travelling bag which hit the ground with a thud, almost bouncing off the dirt.

“What’s this?” the gambler asked.

The Preacher replied, “There’s been a slight change in the travel arrangements, in as much as you won’t be travelling with us.”

“Oh come on,” the gambler pleaded. “I was only having some innocent fun.”

“Well, I guess that just depends on your point of view and it looks like you’ve been out voted.”

The gambler reached for his gun only to find it was missing.

“Now look here Preacher,” but the Preacher only pointed to the gambler’s gun tied up in a maple tree.

“It could be days before another coach comes by,” he continued belly-aching.

“Then you’re real lucky there be lots of good eating in these parts.” He threw the gambler a canteen. “In case you have a mind to start walking.”

“All aboard,” the driver called, as the horses were chumping at their bits and neighing, eager to leave.

The ladies piled in first of course. Mrs Shaw stopped to give that no good gambler a disapproving final stare before stepping up. The Preacher slammed the door. The stage coach resumed its journey on route to Tama.