I own no part of Laramie or its characters, only those I create. No profit is made from this story. It is written only for the enjoyment of Laramie fans. I thank the network for creating such wonderful characters that live on far past the closure of the series and the incredible actors who brought their characters to life.
The Ring
by
Laramie Station
.
************ The Groom ************
Slim Sherman was nervous. It was the bare edge of dawn and he was awake. Actually, he was STILL awake. He had tried to sleep. It felt like every nerve he owned was doing a tap dance in his head. If he had known last Christmas what he would be going through today he might have had second thoughts about his actions.
No, I wouldn't change a thing. He smiled to himself, figuring if he could live through this day he could live through anything that came his way.
He was getting married today. Six long agonizing months ago, Lydia Canfield, the prettiest girl in the entire Wyoming Territory had been crazy enough to say "yes" to his proposal. Six months, which had given her plenty of time to change her mind and back out of the deal. But she hadn't backed out. Not that she hadn't had the provocation or the opportunity.
Slim had sweated his way through a couple of colossal fights with his feisty red-haired, green-eyed fiancee. They had talked it out and come through their personal storms a stronger team for the battles waged.
Slim lay abed, wanting to get up and do something. ANYTHING! But the house was quiet. So quiet he could hear the breeze rustle the treetops by the barn.
Suddenly, he just couldn't take it anymore. Throwing off the covers, he swung his long legs over the side of the bed and reached for his pants and shirt. Slipping quietly into them, he grabbed a pair of socks and his work boots as he slunk out of the bunk room he shared with his partner, Jess Harper. Trying hard not to wake anyone, he tiptoed into the living quarters of the small ranch house he and Jess shared with their housekeeper, Daisy Cooper and their young ward, Mike Williams.
Setting his boots gently on the floor, he put on his socks. Padding to the door he added his gun belt, vest and hat. Picking up his boots and carefully opening the front door, he slipped out to the porch where he finally stepped into his boots.
Walking across the yard to the corral, Slim figured as long as he was awake he might as well get some chores done. As it was, he had to work more by feel than sight as the sun was making a feeble attempt to carve its way through the darkness which hung over the Wyoming plains. And making a slow job of it, Slim considered irreverently.
On reaching the barn, Slim figured he could feed the horses without disturbing the household at this early hour.
Climbing into the loft, he tripped on the top rung of the ladder, banged his shin painfully and sprawled forward into the sweet hay. Slim let loose with a string of cuss words to match the intensity of the pain shooting up his leg. Sitting up, he grabbed his shin and started rubbing it, the flow of vindictive words slowed and he mentally reminded himself he'd best not be using those words in front of Mike or Daisy and Jess would surely kill him.
Getting up, he limped painfully over to grab the pitchfork, thinking, At least I didn't break my leg. I'll just tell everyone I was kicked by a mule.
He continued over to the edge of the loft, using the pitchfork as a crutch and tossed down some hay, which landed squarely on the backs of two sleeping horses and the heads of two more. Rudely awakened, the horses snorted and stomped, generally getting everyone else in the corral involved in the proceedings. The end result was the feed was trampled under their steel-shod hooves. Sighing, Slim carefully forked more feed down into the corral, this time disturbing no one with his efforts. At length, the horses settled, sniffed their bounty, concluded it was acceptable and began to munch contentedly.
Maybe he could milk the cow and get one more little chore out of the way.
Carrying the pitchfork in one hand and using the other to climb down from the loft, he found the only protruding nail in the entire barn, ripping a hole in both his pants and knee. Slim automatically reached down to grab his injured limb.
He had one split second of reprieve in which he made a desperate attempt to grab the ladder. Sadly, he held the pitchfork in that hand. Then, Cruel Gravity entered the scene.
Slim landed on his back, hard enough to knock the wind out of him. As he waited for life-giving breath to return to his body, he looked up at the interior of the barn roof and contemplated the workings of Fate.
On the plus side, Slim thought, I didn't stab myself with the pitchfork. Things are looking up.
As the cold from the barn floor began to seep into his bones, he again used the pitchfork as a crutch and struggled to his feet.
Resolutely heading for Bess, the family milk cow, he moved her out of her cozy, warm stall and tied her to a post in the middle of the cold drafty barn.
While Slim mucked out her stall and filled it with fresh straw he was unaware he was being measured for a showdown. Bess, usually a very gentle, mild-mannered lady was contemplating revenge.
She had been asleep, having a wonderful dream about that cute red bull over on the Hawkins farm when this long-legged critter had brought it to a sudden and unwelcome end.
She eyed Slim with the cunning of a renegade Comanche as he grabbed the water bucket, filled it and placed it in her stall next to her manger full of fresh hay.
Slim, unsuspecting of his imminent downfall, led her carefully back into her stall, then sat on the milking stool to begin milking.
Bess began her revenge.
She kicked the bucket hard enough to make it list to one side. As Slim retrieved it from across the barn where it landed, she gifted him with an incredible scent-filled deposit on the fresh straw he had just put in her stall.
After removing the scent-filled offering and replacing it with fresh straw, Slim again sat to start milking. The affronted lady, with the accuracy of a seasoned artillery gunner whipped her tail back and forth, smacking Slim in the head with every swing. She counted it a bonus for managing to nail him in the eye at least twice, before an exasperated Slim grabbed a small piece of rope and tied her tail to the stall post.
This indignity did not go unheeded by Bess, who figured if this cowpoke was going to treat her so rudely she would put her foot in his precious bucket. She missed the bucket but managed to land one sharp hoof on Slim's foot, shifting most of her eight hundred pounds onto that hoof. Biting back a yell that would have awakened the dead in every cemetery from Laramie to Cheyenne, Slim shoved hard against Bess, freeing his foot, thinking, Not only am I'm blind in one eye, now I'll never walk again.
As a final point of victory, Bess decided this long drink of water could work extra hard for her milk and she made it slow, hard work for him to fill his milk pail. His eye red and running from the tail bashing, hands aching from the effort needed to get the milk from a recalcitrant Bess, the still limping Slim carried the hard-won pail of milk toward the house.
Why me? Slim asked himself. I'm getting married in a few hours and look at me. I'm blind in one eye, most likely a broken foot, bleeding knee and a scraped shin. Think I'll stick with the Kicked-by-a-Mule story.
Halfway to the kitchen Slim passed the chicken coop and realized he should have gathered the eggs. Setting the pail down caused some of the milk to slosh out of the listing bucket. He turned and headed back to the barn again, grabbed the chicken pan, filled it, then headed to the hen-house.
Once again, Slim failed to realize not everyone – animals included – were awake at this dark hour. At least... not until he went busting into the coop. All the chickens were still asleep... until the roost door banged shut behind him. Suddenly chaos reigned, screeching, squawking and flapping came from every direction. The noise was deafening. Slim dropped the feed pan and fought his way back to the door – not, however, without receiving some well-placed pecks and scratches from the disgruntled mob of feathered fiends.
Escaping to freedom, he dabbed at the fresh scratches to his arms and face.
Great! Now I look like I've been caught in a barbed wire fence. I wonder how I can add this to the Mule-Kick story?
Slim headed once more for the kitchen door nursing his pecks and scratches and bruised shin... entirely forgetting that the milk pail was sitting in his path in the semi-darkness. His long legs moving rapidly, his boot connected solidly with the milk pail.
Two things happened in rapid succession. First, as the bucket became airborne, a goodly amount was splashed onto Slim's pants and boots, soaking them. Second, it shot toward the house landing with a resounding THUD, depositing the remainder of its contents onto the exterior of the kitchen door.
Slim stood there stunned.
All his efforts now dripped from the kitchen door and seeped under the door frame to pool on the kitchen floor. Walking forward, he picked up the bucket and checked to see if anything was left. Almost enough for Mike to have a small glass of milk with his breakfast... a very small glass.
"Well, something is better than nothing," muttered Slim and stepping forward he reached for the doorknob, now covered in milk. His hand slipped on the wet knob and his momentum carried him into the door, whacking his nose. His eyes tearing up from the pain, Slim rubbed his sore beak.
Condemning the Fates conspiring against him to a place not fit to mention in polite company, Slim figured, my nose is going to rival the sun in size and glow. I was Kicked-by-a-Mule. That's my story and I'm sticking to it.
Making another attempt at the door, he finally got it open, stomping into the kitchen, not caring in the least who he woke in the process as he slammed the pail down on the kitchen work table. Turning to leave, Slim realized the stove was still banked from the previous night, so grabbing a few sticks of fat-wood he shoved them into the firebox and lit the stove, adding more wood as the flames caught and started to burn nicely.
"At least the stove is working right today," he groused to himself, carelessly slamming the lid into place and breaking the handle.
"No, NO!" wailed a distraught Slim. "I just wanted to get a jump on the chores today. That's all I wanted. Was that such a bad thing?"
By now, Daisy was up and standing in the kitchen doorway, her housecoat pulled tight around her, watching her normally calm, composed surrogate son completely lose his customary poise.
"Slim," said Daisy, with a gentle smile. "Sit down and relax until I can make you some coffee.
Go on now, get over there and sit."
Slim knew that tone and instantly became a six-foot three-inch obedient "son", apologizing to Daisy for waking her so early.
"I wasn't asleep, Slim,"she spoke lightly, as she put the coffee pot on the stove.
Concern filled Slim's voice, "Are you alright, Daisy? Anything wrong?"
"You're getting married today," she smiled. "You don't really expect a me to sleep in on such an eventful day, do you?"
"No, I... I reckon not," stuttered Slim with relief.
While waiting for the coffee to be ready, Daisy tended to the assorted cuts, scratches and bruises Slim had acquired in his morning's work. She placed a cloth dipped in cold water over his red nose. Slim gave a soft groan of pleasure at the cool relief as he held it in place.
Having finished her medical mission, Daisy set about making breakfast.
Slim sat in the rocking chair with a cold compress to his nose, another on his bruised shin and enjoyed the warmth from the fire Daisy had started in the living room.
"Alright, Slim, go wash up. I'll wake Jess for you. By the time you both get washed up, I'll have breakfast on the table," she said.
Jess arrived at the table in his usual grumpy, semi-comatose, pre-coffee condition. Searching blindly for his first life-giving cup of coffee, his searching hand connected with the steaming cup Daisy held out to him. Sipping slowly, he managed to get his eyes to focus and they came to rest on Slim.
"What the blazes happened to you?" queried Jess. "You get in a saloon brawl last night and didn't invite me?"
"No! I was kicked by a mule if you must know," snarled Slim.
"Well, excuse me Mister Sherman," muttered an affronted Jess. "Last time I checked we didn't have a mule on the place. Where'd ya go to find that mule?"
"I was kicked by a mule. That's my story and I'm stickin' to it. Now shut up and eat your breakfast." groused Slim.
Jess, tucking into to his breakfast, took a moment to toss a sly smile to Daisy, then took pity on the nervous bridegroom and made no further comment.
By the time he had consumed fresh, hot coffee and a warm, filling breakfast Slim was beginning to relax and feel the effects of his long sleepless night. Still complaining he was going to look like he'd been in a saloon brawl on his wedding day, Slim followed Daisy's advice to lie down for some much-needed rest.
Placing a warm rag soaked in tea on his red eye and covering it with another warm cloth to help take the redness out, Daisy covered him with a light throw. Advising Slim, "You don't look that bad. With a little rest, you'll be just fine. I'll wake you in plenty of time to get ready." He gave in at last to recuperative rest.
Jess helped Daisy clear the table, then headed out to see what chores had been left to him. Doing an artful two-step to avoid the milk puddle at the kitchen door, Jess sent a questioning look at Daisy. She just shook her head, laughed and said, "I'll have Mike take care of that when he gets up. I'm not saying a word about how or what happened."
Smiling, Jess left for the barn thinking, I'll find out before we leave for town or my name ain't Jess Harper.
Sometime later, young Mike awoke and came stumbling sleepily into the kitchen.
"What's Slim doin' sleepin' on the couch, Aunt Daisy? Want me to wake him up?" he asked, rubbing the last of the sleep from his eyes and heading for his guardian.
"No," admonished Daisy. "Slim has a big day ahead of him and he needs his rest. You leave him alone till I tell you otherwise. Do you hear me, young man?"
A startled Mike quickly changed directions, continuing to the kitchen looking for his breakfast.
Serving Mike his breakfast, she gave him a list of chores. "As soon as you're dressed, get a bucket of water and wash down the kitchen door. Be sure you clean what's seeped under the door as well. Slim spilled milk on it this morning. Then let the chickens out. I'm sure they've been fed already so you just need to gather the eggs."
"Okay, Aunt Daisy," said Mike around a mouthful of biscuits and eggs.
"Don't talk with your mouth full, dear," reminded Daisy.
"Yes, Aunt Daisy," this time around a mouthful of hotcakes. Spitting it out, he smiled proudly and said, "I mean, yes, Aunt Daisy." Then he forked the half-chewed hotcake back in to finish eating.
Daisy made a sharp turn back into the kitchen, shoulders shaking as she stifled laughter and started washing the breakfast dishes.
A few hours after the sun had finally made a success of pouring its brilliant bounty onto the land, Jess woke his pardner and sent him to a hot bath. "Don't take all day, you ain't the only one wantin' a hot bath. Don't forget to scrub behind your ears," Jess called with delight.
Meanwhile Daisy set about tracking down her youngest charge and getting him into the bathwater after Jess. She had managed a quick bath for herself, the night before after she had sent her young men to bed.
Once everyone was bathed, dried, and properly dressed in their Sunday best, Daisy sent Jess to hitch up the team and bring the wagon to the door with Traveler tied on behind.
The men, following Daisy's directions, quickly loaded boxes of food for the reception. Slim helped Daisy into the wagon, Mike climbing carefully in to sit next to her, then climbed aboard himself. As he gathered the reins and clucked to the team, Daisy started to laugh.
"What?" asked a perplexed Slim.
"Are you sure you have everything? You haven't forgotten anything?" Jess smiled broadly.
Slim re-checked the wagon and its contents. Daisy, check. Mike, check. Food, check. My Best Man – Jess , check.
The Ring! Reaching for his vest pocket he felt for the ring. Ring, check.
Nothing seemed to be missing. Sending a questioning look toward Jess, he asked, "Okay, what am I forgetting?"
"Are those the only clothes you plan on wearing for the honeymoon?" the Texan drawled as he leaned nonchalantly against the porch upright while holding one hand discreetly behind him.
"Oh," cried a chagrined Slim. Dropping the reins and leaping from the wagon, he raced into the house.
Daisy listened as Slim crashed into the bunk room. She heard drawers being opened and slammed shut, furniture being moved. "What's he doing in there, ripping the house apart?" She looked at Jess, "It's right by the door."
"Not exactly," murmured a grinning Jess, a look of pure mischief twinkling in his deep blue eyes.
"Daisy", Slim yelled, standing in the doorway looking desperate. "Where is it?"
"Right next to you on the end of the couch, dear," replied Daisy. She endeavored not to laugh but a soft giggle escaped her efforts.
As Slim turned to check for his valise, Jess held up his hidden hand. The missing valise swinging from his glove-clad fingers. Red-faced, Slim grabbed it and headed back to the wagon.
"Didn't want you kickin' it halfway across the yard like ya did the milk bucket this morning." Nearly collapsing with laughter, Jess grabbed the reins of Traveler and stepped lightly into the saddle.
Throwing the case into the boot under the wagon seat, Slim climbed aboard once again.
"It wasn't that funny," he muttered to a still giggling Daisy.
Clucking sharply to the team, a blushing Slim finally headed out toward Laramie, the church and... Lydia.
The Ring
CHAPTER TWO
************ The Bride ************
Lydia woke early and lay in bed luxuriating in that soft dreamy half-awake state where you still wished you were asleep enjoying your dream and yet thinking of the day ahead.
Then with a start, she sat straight up. Today was her wedding day! Falling back against her pillows, she smiled to herself. It was a silly, giddy little grin. By one o'clock today, I'll be Mrs. Slim Sherman. She hugged herself tightly and couldn't seem to get that goofy grin off her face.
Oh, she had so much to do today. She couldn't lay abed doing nothing! Throwing the covers off, she scrambled to her feet. She closed the door to her room to begin changing and caught her breath. There it was, hanging on the back of the door... her wedding dress. She reached out and touched it gently. The lace and satin gown had been her mother's. They'd had to alter it a bit to fit her more slender frame, but it was still the most beautiful frock she had ever seen. She took it down and held it in front of her. Lydia wished she had a mirror big enough to let her see what she looked like in it again.
She heard her mother downstairs moving about in the kitchen and, sighing softly, hung the lovely white dress on the hook again.
Turning, she quickly made her bed, for the last time in her parent's home. The next time she made a bed, she told herself, it would be as Mrs. Slim Sherman, and it would be her bed, no... their bed. The one she would share with her handsome, blue-eyed husband, Slim.
"Lydia," her mother called up the stairs. "Lydia, get dressed and get down here. We have so much to do today."
"Coming, Mother", she called, shaking herself out of her daydreams. She quickly washed her hands and face. Picking up her hair brush, she spied the blue ring box on her dresser top. Putting the brush aside, she picked up the box and opened it to look at the ring once more. It's beautiful, she thought. Just a plain gold band but she had added an engraved design on the ring. I hope Slim likes it, and the engraving I had put on the inside, our wedding date and "my love".
"Lydia!" Her mother's voice came up the stairs. "What are you doing? Stop dreaming about that Slim Sherman and get down here."
Guiltily, Lydia closed the box and setting it back on her dresser, grabbed her hairbrush and quickly ran it through her curly, red-gold hair. Tying it up in a ribbon, she rapidly donned her gingham dress, shoes and stockings before tripping lightly down the stairs.
"Come along, child, we have so much to do today before we leave for the church. Go out and feed the chickens and gather the eggs. Your brother is nearly done with the milking. I need those eggs for breakfast. Go on, girl, get moving," her mother chided.
"I'm going, Mother," said Lydia, as she moved to pick up the egg basket and hurried outside.
Oh, it's going to be a glorious day to be married, not a dark cloud in sight, she thought as she looked up at the brilliant, blue sky.
That sky is the exact shade of Slim's eyes, she was thinking as she wool-gathered her way across the yard, swinging the egg basket carelessly at her side.
Once again a giddy little smile of happiness spread across Lydia's beautiful face as her thoughts ran ahead, in a few more hours, I'll be Mrs. Slim Sherman.
"LYDIA," came her mother's strident voice. "Stop dawdling around out there and get those eggs."
"Yes, Mother! I'm hurrying!" she replied quickly as her daydreams came to a crashing halt.
Lydia hurried to the hen house to gather the eggs, forgetting completely to bring the feed with her. The hens cared nothing about her nuptials and squawked in loud protest until she scurried to the barn for their feed. Satisfied at last, the hens left her to gather their night's work as they scratched happily in the dirt.
Lydia headed back to the house, thinking, it's going to be a wonderful day to get married. The air is so warm and fresh and smells so sweet.
"LYDIA!" Her father's voice resonated sharply into the air. "Get in here with those eggs, girl, your mother needs them. TODAY, if you don't mind."
"Be right there, Father," she called, once again snapping out of her reveries. What was the matter with her? She couldn't keep her mind on business for five seconds today.
It was that darned Slim Sherman and his sky-blue eyes and warm, delicious smile that kept distracting her from the chores at hand. Yes, it was all Slims' fault, she decided as she finally made it to the kitchen with the eggs.
Setting them on the counter, she went to set the table, only to hear her mother's vexed tones asking her, "Where are the eggs?"
"I set them right there on the counter, Mother," she replied, returning to the kitchen to see her mother holding the empty feed pan.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Mother, I must have left the eggs in the feed barrel." Grabbing the pan she fled to the barn and returned with the missing eggs.
"Wash your hands and then see if you can manage to set the table without dropping the dishes," her mother said, sharing a knowing smile with her husband.
"I'll do my best, Mother," responded Lydia. Quickly washing up, she took the plates and cups down to set the table. Returning to the kitchen, she began helping her mother finish making their breakfast. She then carried in platters of hotcakes, meat, potatoes, and biscuits. A big platter of those darn pesky eggs arrived along with the butter, jam, milk and the indispensable coffee.
Having washed up outside from doing their chores, her father and two brothers sat down at the table in their usual places, smiling hugely as they noted the table settings. As Lydia and her mother sat down at their own places, her brother Cal asked innocently, "How you recon we're supposed to eat? Maybe with our fingers?"
Looking down, Lydia realized she had forgotten the cutlery. With an anguished cry, she leaped to her feet and quickly returned with the needed utensils.
Grace was said by her father, who added a special request that his daughter would be able to make it through the rest of the day without causing further damage, especially to the kind young man who wanted to spend the rest of his life with her. This brought chuckles from her two brothers and a swift "Charles!" from his wife as she shared a secret smile with her husband, remembering her own wedding day.
Breakfast finished, dishes were washed and put away – correctly. Not one plate or cup made it into the silverware drawer Lydia proudly noted.
At this point, Lydia slipped out of the house and walked down to the meadow near the corral. She wanted to pick her wedding bouquet before it got too warm.
The meadow abounded with flowers. There were wild daisy, sweet william, blanket flowers and near the edge of the meadow a small patch of wild wheat. Sighing, Lydia reached down and broke off a handful, adding it to her bouquet. This wheat is just the shade of Slim's hair, shemused.
Returning from the meadow, she took from her mother's flower garden some yellow roses and blue flax. Checking the sky, she again marveled at what a perfect day it was to get married.
Where has that girl gone to now, thought her exasperated mother.
"Lydia," Rose called out, "Lydia. Where are you?"
"I'm in the garden," she said dreamily.
"What on earth are you doing out there?"
"I'm just gathering my wedding bouquet," Lydia responded, a huge smile on her face.
"Very well, but you still have to get ready. Put those flowers in water till we're ready to leave," said her mother.
As Lydia changed, her hands were shaking so badly she couldn't get her dress fastened and called to her mother for help. As Rose fastened the last of the buttons in the back, Lydia turned to see her father standing in the doorway of her bedroom.
"You look as beautiful as your mother did the first time I saw her in that dress," her father said with a small catch in his voice. "Slim will be hard pressed to remember his own name when he sees you walking down the aisle on my arm."
Her mother was sniffling and dabbing at sudden tears as she proclaimed, "It's nearly nine o'clock, we should be on the way to town or we'll end up being late to the wedding. We still have to meet up with Cal's friends on the road."
"Now Mother, don't get yourself in a tizzy. There's plenty of time to reach Laramie before the wedding," said her husband.
At last, it was time to hitch the teams and load the wagon. First in was Lydia's hope chest, filled with blankets, bedding and items for her new home. The trunks were next, one for the honeymoon and the rest joining her hope chest, headed for the home she would share with her "soon to be" husband. Then came baskets and boxes of food for the reception.
At last everyone was clean and dressed for the journey to Laramie, eighteen miles west of the ranch. Her mother was a small tornado of activity checking each of her men, straightening ties, brushing jackets, checking boots for polish and fingernails for cleanliness. Finally, satisfied her brood was as ready as she could make them, Rose and Lydia climbed into the back of the surrey as her father took the reins and clucked the team into motion. Her brothers pulled in behind them, driving the wagon filled with Lydia's trunks and the food for the reception.
The Ring
CHAPTER THREE
************ Slim's Journey ************
Slim and his family had driven only a mile or so when they met the Websters – also heading into Laramie for the wedding, calling greetings and congratulations to Slim. Not wanting to coat the nervous groom in road dust before the nuptials, the Webster wagon quickly fell in behind the Sherman wagon.
Further on down the Laramie Road, they ran into more of their neighbors all heading to town for the big wedding, each wagon falling in behind the last wagon in line. Riders in singles, pairs and small groups were added with every passing mile, joining Jess as he rode behind their wagon.
Slim felt each new wagon slowed the procession, finally making it move at nothing more than a snail's pace.
There was a considerable amount of teasing aimed at the highly polished groom... with Slim taking the joshing in his stride and giving as good as he got.
He checked his vest pocket for the umpteenth time to ensure the ring was still there. Slim, with Andy's approval, had chosen to give Lydia their mother's ring. Slim had been deeply touched by Andy's approval and his thoughtful comments.
"This way, it will seem like Ma and Pa are part of the wedding," Andy had said. Slim was sorry that Andy was not able to come to the wedding. His recently broken leg from a buggy accident had kept him and Jonesy in St Louis.
The cavalcade took the travel time to share news and catch up on local gossip. Amid the exchange of news, was a reference to Indians being sighted in the area several days ago.
With this news, the hairs on the back of Slim's neck stood on end. Slim began asking questions...
"Where did you see them?"
"East of Laramie," came the reply.
"Which way were they heading?" queried Jess
"The ones I saw were heading north," added Fred Hawkins.
"Could you tell what band they belong to?" Slim requested.
Old Man Benson stated, "Ones I saw looked like they was Arapaho."
"Any idea how many?" asked a suddenly alert Jess.
"Oh, reckon they weren't more than eight or ten in the bunch I saw," said Ben Whitfield.
"The bunch I saw only had about six and they was moving fast to the northeast," advised Will Crawley.
"I wouldn't worry about it, Slim," said Reggie Webster. "We've heard nothing from the fort and it's been several days without a sighting or any cattle missing. More than likely just a couple of hunting parties."
Sure, Slim thought, it was several days ago, they were probably just a hunting party. Probably long gone by now.
Still... Slim was getting nervous.
"Prob'ly nothing to worry about Hardrock," said Jess with more assurance than he felt.
Trying for a change of subject, Slim turned to Daisy, "I promised Lydia we would have a noon lunch at the hotel before the wedding. At the snail's pace we're moving, I'm going to end up being late for our lunch date," fussed Slim. "I don't want to start the day off on a bad note with Lydia."
"It's just your nerves Slim, we haven't really changed pace at all," Daisy comforted. "You'll be there in plenty of time to meet with Lydia."
As the miles passed and more friends joined the procession, Slim couldn't help but feel something was out of place. That little 'itch' at the back of his neck just didn't seem to want to go away.
He kept trying to hurry the team, only to receive calls of "Racin' to meet your pretty gal?" "Just can't wait to get hitched, huh, Slim?"
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity to Slim, the cavalcade of friends and neighbors arrived in Laramie amid much shouting and a few gun shots.
Mort Corey, the sheriff of Laramie, was quick to appear and demand the gun-play come to a swift end.
"We're here for a wedding, not a funeral. Next gunshot I hear, the shooter will be spending the wedding in my jail," sternly admonished the sheriff.
Mort, having always viewed Slim as a surrogate son, came over to the wagon where Slim sat with Jess and the family, "How ya doin', son? Nerves holdin' up okay?"
"As well as can be expected, I reckon. Is Lydia here yet? I thought she'd be here by now," a worried Slim managed to get out from a mouth gone suddenly dry.
"No, haven't seen 'em yet. Expect 'em any time now. Don't worry, Slim. She'll be here. Brides don't get this close to the weddin' and then duck out."
"I'm not worried about her ducking out at the last minute. It's the talk of Indians in the area."
"Yeah," agreed Jess. "Talk was they all seemed to be headed northeast toward the Canfield ranch."
"Their ranch is pretty remote. I'm just worried that something might happen on the trip to town," replied Slim.
"I haven't heard anything new about Indian sightings in nearly a week, Slim. The fort hasn't reported any braves jumping the reservation," said Mort.
"Take it easy, Hardrock. Everything will turn out fine," Jess reassured his partner again.
Then, seeing how nervous Slim was, Jess suggested, "Come on, let's help the ladies set up the tables and food for the reception. That should fill in a little time and help take your mind off your gal."
Slim and Jess began helping the others set things up for the wedding and the outdoor reception to follow. The busy work did little to calm Slim's nerves, nor remove that worrisome 'itch' that something was wrong.
Slim checked his watch. Eleven-thirty. Lydia should be here by now.
Pacing in front of the church, Slim continued to check his watch every few minutes. He just could not shake the feeling something was wrong.
The Ring
CHAPTER FOUR
************ Lydia's Journey ************
A few short miles down the road, the Canfield family met Jacob and Elijah Howard, good friends of her brother Cal. Greetings were exchanged and congratulations extended to Lydia, and the seven friends continued their journey toward Laramie.
Her younger brother Dave was the first to see the Indians. "Pa," he called, "up on the hill, to the left, looks like Cheyenne or maybe Arapaho."
Pulling up the team, her father and the other men studied the three Indians seated on horseback at the top of the hill. "Only three of 'em. Could be just a hunting party," he suggested quietly.
Cal spoke up, "They could be scouts for a larger party."
Lydia and her mother huddled together in the surrey, hearts beating wildly. "No, not today," thought a desperate Lydia, "Not today," as she tightly clutched the ring box she carried in the pocket of her dress.
"All we can do is keep an eye on them and look for a good place to defend ourselves," her father stated.
Clucking to the horses, the men started up the teams and continued slowly down the road.
The Indians remained on the hillside watching as they passed by on the road below. Suddenly, they turned their ponies and were gone as quickly as they had appeared. The men began to breathe a little easier.
"Charles," spoke up Rose, "do you think they'll be back?"
"No, Honey, I think it was just a hunting party. They weren't wearing any war paint that I could see. We should be okay. Try not to worry. I'm sure we'll be alright," Charles said with more confidence than he felt.
"Oh, Daddy, why did they have to show up on my wedding day? I'm scared. Why don't we make a run for Laramie, Daddy?" cried a distraught Lydia. Reverting to the little girl who knew her daddy could fix everything from a broken rope to a sick pet calf.
"Please, Daddy, please? Can't we try?" she begged.
"No Sweetheart, I don't think it would be wise to make a run from here. It's just too far. The horses would tire just when we need them the most in those last few miles."
"Tell you what," her father offered, "we can pick up the pace a little and save as much energy as we can for the horses and when we've made a few more miles closer to Laramie we'll make a flat out run for town. How does that sound?"
"O-O-kay," Lydia replied nervously. "If you think that's best, daddy."
Rose put her arms around Lydia and held tight, offering encouragement to her frightened daughter.
"Why now, Mother, why now? It's my wedding day. Why couldn't they show up tomorrow or next week?" sobbed a nearly hysterical Lydia.
"Darling, it will be alright. We have five strong men with rifles and pistols and plenty of ammunition. Everything will be alright. You wait and see." she said as she patted Lydia on the back.
"Everything will be alright," she repeated softly, as much to assure herself as Lydia. Her green eyes huge in her pale face, the reassurance seemed to calm Lydia for the moment and she sat quietly beside her mother.
They passed another mile before Jacob said quietly, "Charles, two more on the ridge ahead."
"I see them, Jacob. What do you think? Hunting or war party?" he asked, as the Indians disappeared behind the ridge.
"Don't see any war paint from here, but I don't like seeing 'em this often and this close. Especially, if they wanted something, why don't they just ride down and ask?"
"Just a couple of more miles and I think we can risk a flat-out run for Laramie. What ya think Jacob? Will we be close enough to make a run?" asked Charles.
"Be pretty close, Charles. Every mile we get will make our chances that much better. Still, we should consider a place to make a stand if we can find one," he suggested.
Another mile passed without sighting any Indians. They were heading for a slight rise in the road. Charles was visibly sweating as he knew the horses would be pulling harder to clear the rise. If they were going to attack, catching them climbing the rise would be the perfect place to do it.
Elijah eased up to his brother Jacob, turning toward him he said, "Try to be casual, careful now, just take a look over your left shoulder."
Turning to apparently look at his brother as he spoke to him, Jacob eyed the prairie behind them. Sitting on the ridge behind them were six Indian braves, ponies painted and lances plumed for war. He could just make out their war paint.
Jacob eased the gun on his hip and said, "Looks like they're painted for war now." Clearing his throat, he managed to get out of a mouth turned cotton dry, "Six, we can handle six with no problem. Right?"
"Yeah," said Elijah, "if that's all there is. That itch between my shoulders says there's a lot more we don't see."
"Best get Charles to look for a place to make a stand, just in case," Jacob urged his brother.
Turning to Cal and Dave, he asked, "You have any suggestions for a good place to make a stand? Looks like we may get some bad company pretty darn sudden."
Moving up to Charles and the women in the surrey, Elijah observed, "We're in a bad place, folks. Eight or nine miles back to the ranch and near as far to Laramie. Too far to run either direction with any chance of making it."
Dave offered, "There's some old buffalo wallows less than a mile ahead, near the river. That would make some shelter for defense, if need be."
The men agreed they would try for the buffalo wallows and hoped they wouldn't need them.
They were less than a hundred yards from the wallows when the main war party of fifty painted Indians came screaming over the hilltop behind them.
Jacob and Elijah Howard did their best to cover their rapid retreat to the wallows, bringing down several Indians. The defense cost Elijah his life, falling in the early moments of battle with an arrow through his throat. He fell firing as he was trampled beneath the hooves of the charging war ponies.
Charles and his sons drove hard for the wallows. Reaching it they pulled the surrey and the wagon in close, to give them added shelter. Jacob entered the small ring of safety with an arrow in his shoulder and continued to fire rapidly.
Lydia and her mother knelt at the men's feet, offering prayers and reloading empty guns with shaking hands as weapons were dropped in their laps.
As she finished reloading a rifle, Lydia looked up to see a flaming arrow land on her honeymoon trunk. Suddenly, her fear was replaced with anger. Her temper flared as red as her hair. How dare they shoot her wedding trunk! She and her mother had sewn every stitch of those beautiful dresses. Slim hadn't even seen them yet. Uncaring of the danger, she leaped up to knock the flaming arrow from her trunk.
As she turned to grab a rifle, an arrow ripped through the skirt of her wedding dress tearing the pocket and allowing the ring box to fall out unnoticed. That was the last straw. Standing up, shoulder to shoulder with her brother Dave, she began firing at the attacking Indians. Yelling at the top of her lungs that she would shoot every one of them if they ruined her dresses. She fired again, this time knocking an Indian from his horse.
"That's the sister I know and love," shouted Dave with a smile.
"You give 'em what-for, Sis," crowed Cal, firing into the screaming horde.
"Get down with your mother, Lydia," ordered her father.
"Not a chance. They shot my wedding trunk. They're gonna pay for that," she said, firing again and again into the blood thirsty war party with amazing skill.
The deadly accuracy of the small band of defenders was taking a brief toll on the attacking Indians. They pulled back from what had looked like an easy target to regroup and plan their next charge.
The defenders rummaged through the wagon for bandages and any additional water they could find. Apologizing for the need, Cal ripped one of Lydia's curtains into bandages. Rose bound up Jacob's shoulder wound with it, then began ripping more strips from it for future use.
"Looks like we can make a good standoff for awhile, except for one thing," said Dave.
"What's that?" asked Rose.
"We don't have enough ammunition to hold them off forever," he said
Charles took his pistol and placed two bullets in the cylinder. Handing it to his wife, he said softly, "For you and Lydia. You are not to be taken alive, Rose."
He held Rose close for a long moment, then kissed her and repeated. "I've told you how to make that last shot. Promise me, when the last man falls, you will do it. I couldn't bear the thought of you or Lydia being taken alive. Please, promise me you'll use the gun."
Tears running down her pale cheeks Rose promised she would use the weapon as instructed "I promise, when the last man falls."
Charles pulled her close again, kissed her gently and said, "That's my girl. You've always been the bravest woman I've ever known and I'm so proud of you. I love you so much."
"Looks like they made up their minds to come at us again," Jacob said through gritted teeth.
The battle raged for twenty minutes and cost the defenders the lives of Jacob and Dave.
Charles and Calvin, though both were badly wounded, prepared for the next attack. Lydia, tears running down her face knew she would never make it to her wedding but was resolute in her determination to make the price high for the enemy
In the next assault Charles and Calvin fell to the power of the attackers. Her mother was wounded and dropped the pistol. Lydia grabbed it up and pointed it at her mother, pulling the trigger. Turning, Lydia was knocked to the ground by a painted brave. With a blood curdling cry he raised his tomahawk for a killing blow. Without thinking, Lydia shoved the pistol into his chest and fired. The power behind the swing of the tomahawk carried the weapon to it's fateful conclusion and buried itself deep in her chest. The dead brave sending it even further into her as the weight of his body collapsed onto to hers.
The war party left with horses, guns and their own dead. Left behind were the bodies of the defenders, a dead horse near the wagon and one with an arrow buried deep in his shoulder. The wagon set ablaze and the unburnt remnants of their contents scattered to the four winds.
The Ring
CHAPTER FIVE
************ The Search ************
Slim Sherman was pacing, checking his watch and looking anxiously over at Daisy and Jess. Lydia and her family were overdue. Surely they should have been here by now.
Something was wrong. Slim knew it. He could feel it. He'd felt it all morning.
After reminding Mort of the Indian sightings, he asked him again for men to ride with him to Lydia's home to ensure they were safe.
At last Mort agreed with the distraught young groom and quickly assembled a posse of twenty men. As Jess stepped into Traveler's saddle, Slim borrowed a mount from the livery stable and the group, bristling with guns, set out to find Lydia and her family.
They rode at a ground eating lope for several miles. Hearing the battle long before they saw it they kicked their mounts into a hard run. They hadn't galloped more than a hundred yards when all gunfire ceased and was replaced by faint war whoops. A sign that did not bode well for the small party of defenders.
It didn't take long before the rescue party reached the scene in time to see the last few members of the war party disappearing over a far rise.
Arriving at the scene of the massacre, Slim was frantic to reach Lydia. The older men tried to keep him from seeing the tragic end met by his beautiful fiancee. However, Slim would not be denied. Kneeling by her side, he lifted her bloody body to his chest, her blood soaking his white shirt as an agonized cry ripped from his throat.
The men, standing nearby, allowed the young man his privacy to mourn and set about clearing the devastation around them. They destroyed the wounded horse, gathered what food and clothing could be salvaged. Then, wrapping the six bodies in blankets, tied them to the saddles of their own mounts. Those six who gave up their horses to carry the dead would ride double with other members of the rescue party.
When, at last, there was no more to be done, the rescue party turned again to the grieving young man in their midst. Jess came over with a blanket, putting his arm around a broken Slim, he spoke softly. "It's time, pardner," he said, rubbing Slim's back. "We need wrap her for the journey to town with the others. We can put her on your mount for the trip back."
After several minutes, a shattered Slim finally nodded his head, releasing his hold on his beautiful Lydia. As he did, Jess noticed her hand as it fell to her side touching a small, blood soaked box. He reached out and plucked the box from the pool of blood in which it rested. Opening the box Jess found inside the gold band Lydia had intended for Slim.
Slim stood up to give Mort and the others room to complete the grisly task of wrapping Lydia in a blanket and tying it closed with rope. Jess rose from the ground with Slim and handing the blanket to Mort and the others, took Slim aside and handed the box to him.
Slim looked at the blood-soaked box... a ring box. Opening it he saw, nestled within, the ring she had chosen to give him. Pulling the ring from its satiny nest, he looked closely at it. She had selected a gold band with the initials 'S and L' entwined within a heart. Inscribed on the inside was my love and the date that should have been their wedding day. Numbly he slipped it onto his finger. A perfect fit.
Shoving the box into his vest pocket he turned to watch as the men laid Lydia across his saddle. Suddenly he couldn't bear that she would be traveling in such an undignified manner.
Quickly reaching up, he pulled her off the saddle amid startled cries of "No!" "Slim!" "Don't" "Wait!" "What are you doing?"
Jess, instinctively knowing what Slim was trying to do ran a quick interference for him as he reached for Lydia's body.
Holding her wrapped body in his arms, his voice harsh with pain and grief, he replied,
"I can't. I can't take her into town like that. I can't leave her draped over the saddle like a sack of flour, I just can't do it. I'll ride and carry her."
Jess reached out and put his arm around Slim's shoulders. "Of course, Slim. Whatever you want, I'll see to it they let you," the Texan's gravelly voice clearly indicated no arguments to the contrary would be allowed.
With gentle hands, Mort and Jess took the bundle that was Lydia from Slim and held her in their arms while he stepped into the saddle. Jess and Mort then lifted her up as he reached down and took her into his arms for their final ride.
Jess stepped quickly aboard Traveler taking up a protective body guard position on Slim's right as they prepared to ride back to town.
Pulling his hat down low and hard across his forehead, Slim clucked his mount into a walk, the ring glinting in the afternoon sunlight.
The Ring
CHAPTER SIX
******** ONE YEAR LATER ********
Jess, as he always did these days, waited under the big oak tree at the edge of the cemetery for his best friend to conclude his visit.
Slim stood beside the row of graves in the little cemetery outside of Laramie, where Lydia rested beside her parents and brothers. Today would have been their first anniversary. Slim came to visit her as often as he could.
He still wore the ring she had planned to give him.
Daisy had frequently talked to him about wearing the ring, late in the evenings after Mike had been put to bed. She suggested he consider putting up the ring and getting back into a more active social life.
He had put the question to the young Texan, who had given the question his accustomed careful consideration before responding in his familiar thoughtful way. "When you're ready, you'll know. When you know, you will. Till then, you wait."
Daisy had argued, "I know how you must feel. When my husband and son died, it was hard for me to even go to town. It's not good for a young man to close himself off from what little social life Laramie has to offer.
"Slim, you must take up the reins of life and start participating again."
"I've tried, Daisy," Slim had said. "It's just – I feel like I'm cheating on Lydia by even asking another girl to a Saturday dance, much less actually taking her."
He knew in his heart Daisy was right. Eventually, he would take off the ring and get on with his life. Someday, perhaps, he would find another woman to love as he had loved Lydia. It would take some time he was sure.
His face wet with tears, he slowly touched the gold band on his finger. He closed his hand into a fist. But not today, my love, not today. You will always hold a special place in my heart, he thought as he turned to climb aboard Alamo and head back to the ranch.
A/N:
I was inspired to write this because:
I live near an old mining town, founded around 1851.
In the cemetery is a six-foot spire of white marble with the names and dates of seven men.
Above one of the names is inscribed: "Killed in Indian massacre on his wedding day".
That phrase inspired my story. I simply changed groom to bride.