We been together two years, but I only see him a few minutes a week, at most.”

The dyin’ fire cast a glow on Phoebe’s face, then a shadow.

She said, “If I live to be a thousand, I’ll never understand pioneer men.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “You won’t live that long. Not out west.”

 


 

 

 

4.

 

“I intended to ride the trains from Philadelphia to Wichita,” Phoebe said, next mornin’, while washin’ her face with canteen water.

“Only the train don’t go beyond Rolla,” I said.

“My parents were grievously misinformed at the train station in Philly. Is it true that Wichita is four hundred miles?”

“From Rolla? It’s all of that.”

Phoebe said, “I searched the entire city of Rolla to see if anyone was planning a trip.”

“And naturally they weren’t. So what, you planned to walk all the way to Wichita?”

“Of course not. I was told if I could get to Waynesville, I could catch a stage coach to Springfield. And another from there to Wichita.”

“No stage has ever stopped in Waynesville that I know of,” I said. “And the one they did have in Springfield went broke last month.”

She frowned.

I said, “What’s in Wichita that’s so important?”

“My husband.”

I looked at her left hand.

“You ain’t wearin’ a ring,” I said.

“It’s an arranged marriage.”

“You’re a mail order bride?”

“That’s a harsh way to put it,” she said. “Mr. Pickett and I have corresponded for six months. We’ve exchanged photographs. He’s a widower with a wonderful ranch, and a comfortable house.”

“He sent you a photograph?”

“Yes, of course.”

“How you know it’s him in the picture?”

“He’s been vouched for by no less than the Wichita Justice of the Peace.”

I figured the Wichita Justice of the Peace could be bought for ten grains of gold, but I didn’t tell her that. Hell, if she was bent on marryin’ a stranger, whoever Mr. Pickett was, he’d probably do. If not, Phoebe wouldn’t face any shortage of marriage proposals in Wichita. Men outnumber women twenty to one there, and though sharp-tongued, she was as comely as any I’d seen.

“You set out on foot for Waynesville by yourself?”

“The man at the train station told me it wasn’t far.”

“When we get to Rolla, I want you to point out the man who told you that.”

“I’m not going back to Rolla,” Phoebe said.

“The hell you ain’t,” I said, catching her wrist in mid-slap.

“Let go of me!”

“You’re gonna have to stop tryin’ to hit people.”

“You’re going to have to stop cursing.”

I gave her a hard look, then shook my head. Lord, she was pretty. “Okay,” I said.

“Okay?”

“Hit me.”

“What?”

“Hit me five times now, and I’ll owe you five curses.”

“You can’t pay for curses in advance.”

“Ma’am, five curses could fly out of my mouth in the same sentence.”

“Why, that’s a terrible thing to have to admit!”

“Maybe,” I said. “But that don’t make it less true.” Then I said, “Me and Shrug are headin’ to Rolla this mornin’, and ought to be there by noon. On Wednesday we’re escortin’ some women from Rolla to Dodge City, by way of Springfield. Sorry to say, we hadn’t planned on stoppin’ in Wichita this trip, but Newton’s only twenty miles away.

“Wait—you’re actually going through Newton? Mr. Pickett’s ranch is just a few miles north of there.”

“Well, that makes sense. Newton’s hopin’ for a rail spur, and land’s a bargain there, compared to Wichita. Anyway, you’re more than welcome to ride with us,” I said. “For a fee.”

“How much?”

I thought a minute. Helpless as she was, I would’ve taken her for free, just to keep some crook or scoundrel from takin’ advantage of her. But it’d be improper to make that type of offer.