“No’m. But others done so.”
“That must’ve caused you some trouble.”
“Yes’m.”
“So you left. You felt like it was the righteous thing to do.”
“No’m. I was only scared.”
Even whilst we was talking, I could see them coming, just as I had suspicioned. Three fellows in soldier blue with their brass buttons glinting in the sun. I shot for Jackson, but seen I’d noway reach him and unhitch him in time, so I jumped into an old covered farm wagon to hide out. I could hear them galloping up and asking loud if anyone had seen a scrawny runaway passing by. I was so afraid I couldn’t hardly breathe. “Might a been two of ’em together.”
“Why, yes, we seen one,” the old reverend was saying. “A skinny young chap with a long thin beard. He was right—”
“But that was some miles back and they was both heading t’other way,” says his missus, butting in. “They crossed by and begged for something to eat and drink. They was right hungry, as my husband was about to say. We done our Christian duty by them both and sent them on their way.”
“Both—? But, Abigail—!”
“Don’t try to cover up for them, Ezekiel,” says Abigail. “Always tell the truth, it’s God’s way. There WAS two of them, but they was so skinny they only jest weighed together like one. If they turned sideways in the sun, you couldn’t hardly see them at all.”
“Did they say where they was going, ma’am?”
“One of them said something about jining the Mormons so as to load up on a passel a fresh wives, so I lay that’s where they was aiming.”
“That’s what my father is going to do to me, sir,” whispered someone in the wagon with me. I most jumped out of my skin. There was a pretty girl with big sad eyes setting in a dark corner. Her hands was roped together. I whispers back that I was nation sorry for busting in on her like that, and she says it don’t matter, it was a thrill to be visited by the famous Pony Express rider. But her chin was quivering. “My father has brought me out here to sell me to the Mormons for some old man’s extra wife,” she says. And, without making no noise, she begun to cry. “I feel so all alone!” she whimpered, the words half stuck in her throat. “I need somebody to help me!”
“A crazy little fella with a twitch, ma’am?”
“That’s him.”
“Him and Charlie must be traveling on-sweet, Buck.”
“’Pears like it, Rafe. Makes it easier. Catch one, catch both. But we got to turn round t’other way.”
The bound girl was silently sobbing. It most broke my heart. I couldn’t hardly look at her eyes without busting out myself. She had dark coiled ringlets at her temples, little dimples in her cheeks, soft unpainted lips that was all a-trembly. She was the prettiest thing I ever seen.
“We don’t hold no truck with Mormons,” Abigail was saying. “Hope none a you fellas ain’t one.”
“No, ma’am. We’re all Christians.”
“Well, I’m right pleased to hear it. We’re set to hold a prayer meeting. I hope you boys’ll stay and pray with us.”
“Uh, no thanks, ma’am. We’ll be pushing on. Got to catch them two renegades and deliver ’em to their rightful punishment.”
“Well, God bless you, then,” she says. “You boys take care. Mind the rattlesnakes.”
When the soldiers had galloped off, the missionaires broke out in loud argufying over what the reverend’s missus had done and said. Some says it was treason and blastemy and she could get them all hung and outlawed from heaven, others that you couldn’t never trust them bluecoats and Sister Abbie was a hero and a saint to stand up to them like she done. They was talking about me, too, but I couldn’t hardly hear them. There was a loud whumping in my ears. The young girl was telling me in her soft weepy way that I had to help her run away, and I got to go with her to protect her in the wilderness.
“Say, where is that fellow?” someone was asking, and the reverend he says, “Let us pray for guidance.”
“We can go where you took the bleeding cattle,” the girl whispered. I mumbled what they was really called, then wished I hadn’t, because she wanted to know what THEY was and how they done whatever it was THEY done and why. She looked at me with such a sweet timid smile, tears running down her cheeks, I couldn’t think how to answer, though the widow would a wanted to wash my head out with soap if she’d knowed what was a-roaring through it. The girl set to telling me then how her cruel father would rope her wrists to her ankles, push her on her knees, face down and naked, and thrash the highest part with a horsewhip. She cast her eyes down shyly. I didn’t know where to look. “He’s wounded me most awful,” she breathed. “I can’t show you now, but when we’re alone . . .”