Chapter 2: John Logan

                John Logan had felt a surge of pity for the little girl when he'd seen her sitting by the pump trying to ease the burn on her bare shoulders. His pity had turned into utter disgust at the way she was being treated. The other slaves that belonged to the railroad were treated better. The men were given food and clothing and medical care so that they could work longer, harder, faster. Apparently they didn't care about the little water girl. She was too thin to be healthy, and he winced at the thought of those sores on her wrists and ankles.

                He tipped his hat to the sheriff leaning indolently against the side of the building marked 'Town Jail', and continued riding down the main street until he saw Hunt's General Store. Dismounting, he tied Dark Star's reins to the hitching post and walked in. "Hey, Hunt," he nodded to the man behind the counter.

                Grant Hunter, also known as Hunt for his skill in hunting the buffalo and other wildlife on the grasslands, nodded back. "Afternoon, Logan," he said before sitting back on his chair.

                Logan went to the wall and started selecting some things he needed back on the ranch. He hadn't been to town in a month. He had most of what he needed; he shot his own meat, grew his own vegetables, made his own food. There were some things, however, that he needed to buy from the store. He didn't like Hunt, never had; he and most of the folks in this town didn't get along. But the store had things he wanted, like coffee, shells for his rifle, flour, salt, and new clothes. Most of the time he was happy wearing Indian clothing; he was on better terms with the Indians than he was with the town folk, and that was just fine with him. But he did need cloth for some things, which was why he'd come to town today. And now he had to replace the shirt he'd just given the kid.

                A thought occurred to him. Maybe Hunt would know something about the kid? Like maybe what she was doing out there, and where her parents were? He sauntered up to the counter with a box of rifle shells, a four-pound sack of flour, a six-pound bag of salt, and five pounds of coffee, and put them down. As Hunt started to total the items up, Logan leaned across the counter. "Hey," he said. "Ain't been in town awhile. What's up with that?" he jerked his thumb out the store window, where he could see a little bit of the railroad between two buildings.

                "They want to get the railroad in here," said Hunt, opening the box of shells and checking to make sure they were all in there. "They're trying to make a railroad that goes all the way back east an' all the way back west. They got people working on the west end of it, and that gang out there are all the way from the east end."

                Logan raised an eyebrow. "They got some slaves workin' on the tracks. They bring 'em all the way from East too?" He tried not to let the disgust he felt at the thought of owning slaves show on his face.

                "Most of them, yeah. Fact is, the only new one they got is that little starveling out there that carries the water. Won't last long, that little Chinese girl. She look like she's gonna drop over dead anytime. Railmaster tried to get Mistress Becky to take her in as one of her girls, but Becky refused. Too young, she said. And with looks like that she's going to put her other girls off work." The man grinned. "Looks like that railmaster keeping his boys off that little piece of baggage too, considering how many of them go over to Becky's for the night. Wonder if he keeps her for himself, or if he lets the slaves use her?"

                "She's too young for that," Logan snapped furiously. "How old is she? Ten? Twelve?"

                "I hear some say she's fourteen, but she don't look like it. But they say the Chinese are normally small people, and every one I ever seen is short, so maybe she is. But hey, she's the only girl in the slaves' boxcar, and the rest of them are all big blacks, so maybe there is a little something going on." He smiled. "I'd love to get between her legs. All young like that. Only," the man snickered, "She got to get a bath first."

                "What's her name?"

                The man shrugged. "Dunno. She doesn't talk. Nobody's ever heard her say a damn word. She cries a lot when she gets her beatings, same as all the other slaves, but she don't talk. Everybody just calls her the 'water girl'."

                "She gets beaten?" Logan gritted his teeth. That skinny, starved, pitiful little girl? Beaten? He'd never thought anyone could be that cruel.

                "She's never gotten a real whipping like the darkies do, but she gets pushed around and punched a lot. Seen her getting kicked around a bit." The man scribbled the total on a piece of paper and pushed it across the counter at Logan. "There's your total. Hey, can you tell me when I can 'spect to see more of the wolf pelts you bring in?"

                "I bring 'em in when they come in," Logan said, fishing around in his pocket for his money. "When they start botherin' my horses, that's when I go huntin'. I figure I'll live an' let live otherwise. They were here first, they got a right to live an' find their own food, same's the rest of us. Any wolf who can figure out how to get into a henhouse is a mighty smart wolf, and I admire that. See ya later, Hunt." He slapped some money on the counter and started carrying his purchases out to his horse. Dark Star held patiently still for him as he loaded the stuff on him and then swung up on the big horse's back. He took a last look behind him as he started to head out of town, in the opposite direction from the railroad, and saw the little figure sitting patiently by the pump wearing his shirt.

                The image persisted in his mind as he made his way across the mile of prairie that separated his ranch from the town. His horses needed plenty of pasture, and he'd also built a corral where he trained his stock.

                He was a horse rancher, although he did keep some other animals around, mainly for eating. A hog and sow, whose litter of piglets every year went to bacon and hams; several cows and a bull for calves, so he could have beef year round; chickens, for eggs and a chicken dinner every now and then.

                The horses, though, were his favorite. He chose his stallions with care, gelding the unsuitable ones each spring and training them to sell. The good stallions he kept and bred to selected mares, choosing both sire and dam for intelligence and speed first, and all else second. His prize stallion, a gray he'd named Storm, was an ugly, thick-necked beast, but he was much smarter than your average horse, and his offspring tended to be the same. Dark Star was the result of breeding between Storm and a chestnut mare simply called Red; he had the intelligence Logan bred for, the speed he wanted, and long, clean limbs that showed the Arabian bloodlines of his old prize mare. Lightning had dropped four foals, including Red, before a barn fire had killed her, but her Arabian lines showed in all of her descendants.  When Dark Star had been born, Logan knew here was the horse he'd wanted all his life; a working partner, but more than that, a friend.

His horses went for a lot of money; he'd taken care not to let anyone know just how much he had stored under the floorboards at home. He'd never sat and counted all of it, but he knew he could buy out the town he'd just left behind and still have some left.

                A little starved slave girl shouldn't cost too much money…

                Angrily he shook the thought out of his head. He lived alone; he didn't need company, let alone a fussy little female. Everything that needed doing around the ranch he could do with his own two hands. He didn't need an annoying little kid tagging along.

                And yet…there had just been an attitude of hopeless despair about her that grated on him. There was only one other girl in town, that little blond child of the Mayor's, what was her name…Bessie? Lizzie? Oh, whatever her name was…and she was about as different from the railroad kid as night was from day. The mayor's kid was well-fed, hair always perfectly curled and wearing the prettiest clothes, always looking like a doll in a shop window. And there was the water girl, with dark braids, dirty rags, skinny and starving…he ground his teeth. Hunt had said she looked like she was going to drop dead anytime; Logan agreed with that assessment. She looked too frail to carry that big bucket. And the memory of the hands, blistered from gripping the handle of the bucket, rough-skinned and red from the abuse she'd taken on her palms, made him angrier.

                As he came up on the gate that led into his property, he saw two Indian ponies wandering around in front of his shanty. One was a sturdy little paint mare; the other, he noted with some surprise, was a tall Appaloosa with a milk-colored mane and tail, a horse that he'd watched being born and had raised himself. He whistled as he dismounted, opened the gate, and led Dark Star into the front corral. The Appaloosa came up, touched noses with Dark Star briefly, and then nickered as he shoved his nose at Logan. Logan grinned as he rubbed the velvety nose. "Hey there, Boy," he said. "Still 'member me, huh?"

                "He will remember you as long as he remembers his lessons," said a gentle voice from the doorway of his cabin that still sounded like it was laughing.

Logan looked up. He knew that voice. "Howdy there, ma'am," he said, taking his hat off to the Indian woman standing on the step. "Ain't seen ya 'round here in a while."

                "We have not seen you in a moon, and my woman wished to see if you were all right," said the tall Indian man who came out of Logan's cabin and stood beside the woman. Logan grinned as he started to unburden Dark Star. The Indian came forward and took the salt, while the woman took the coffee, and Logan left the rest on the ground until he'd gotten Dark Star untacked and sent him off to play with the other horses with a playful smack on the rump. Then he picked up the rest of his stuff and carried it inside.

                Red Doe looked at him in concern as she saw his bare arms. "You are not one of the People," she admonished him, taking off his vest and inspecting the redness on his skin. "You cannot handle the sun as we do, and even for us it is hot today. Why did you not wear a shirt?"

                Logan made shooing motions at her. "I wore a shirt," he said, "But I saw someone who needed it more, so I gave it to her." Again in his mind flashed an image of that skinny little girl.

                "Her? She is female? You had better not tell Spring Flower that, or she will become jealous!" Red Doe smiled.

                Logan sighed. "Spring Flower should not be jealous," he said. "She's got any number of male friends ta spend her time with, an' I told her a dozen times I ain't interested in warmin' her bed. An' 'sides, the girl's still too young. She's fourteen, at the most."

                "What, the little white girl in the town?" Red doe frowned. "Why would she need your shirt?"

                "No, not the white girl. There's a Chinese girl in the railroad's slave complement. No one knows where she came from. Nobody knows her name. They put a slave collar on her and they're making her carry water." He briefly described the morning's events to Red Doe and Running Wolf.

                "I do not understand the white man's custom of owning another person," said Running Wolf. "And I do not understand how a child can be said to belong to anyone but their own parents. Where are the child's parents?"

                Logan shrugged. "Dunno. The railroad master don't seem too worried 'bout it, an' the poor kid don't talk, so there ain't much chance I'll find out. Anyway, it ain't my problem." He heard the defensive note in his voice, and wondered if he was trying to convince them or himself.

                "If a child is not being raised properly it is everyone's problem," Red Doe said firmly. "You may not be an elder in their tribe, but you must have some say. If this child can be bought and sold, why do you not trade one of your horses for her, as we trade with you?"

                Logan sighed and spread his arms wide. "Would she really be any better off with me? I live here alone, and I don't got a woman ta look after her. I also only got one room. Where would she sleep? Can she eat what I eat? And I don't know the first thing 'bout raisin' a kid. 'Specially one who can't talk."

                "She will be better off with you than where she is now, from what you have said," Red Doe said firmly. "Think on it, John Logan."

                Logan knew better than to argue with her. Red Doe, like most women, was impossible to argue with. "All right, all right, I'll think 'bout it. Now, are we gonna jaw all day, or are ya gonna sit an' have supper with me?"