Incident of Yellow Sky, Part 2
As he pressed the already wilted bouquet of flowers into her small hand, Mushy felt the warmth rise into his cheeks and he knew his blush was plain for her to see, but he didn't care. Nothing mattered to him but her; the look of her, tiny, fragile with skin like pale caramel and hair lush like plains' grass in summer and the way she tilted her head with a shy smile on her lips as she watched his face, trying to decipher what it was he tried to communicate to her and the scent of her like a freshening spring breeze, cool and warm all at the same time. Mushy was in love. To make matters all the more complicated, he believed Yellow Sky felt the same way.
He didn't notice as she allowed the blossoms to flutter off in the wind. He didn't notice the tears in her eyes. Mushy's heart was light, so light in fact, that he broke into song which caused the girl to look sidewise at him and Pete Nolan, riding in the back of the wagon, to burst into laughter, albeit short-lived.
"No, Mushy, for my sake, stop singin', can't you? It hurts to laugh!" But Pete got in a final belly busting guffaw before the tune came to an abrupt end.
"I think my singin' is pretty darned good. Least I been told so on several occasions." Mushy pouted. "I been told it goes nice with my harmonica playin' and if a certain Pete Nolan might take some time to gimme a couple guitar lessons well then..."
Pete's reply was a pained gasp as he fought to regain his breath. "Oh, your voice is dandy, just dandy, Mushy. It's the song I was laughin' at! It's a good thing Yellow Sky doesn't understand much English, 'cause that ain't exactly a song a fella might croon to his gal!"
Pete poked his head out from behind the canvas partition, "try somethin' a little more romantic why don't 'cha, I dunno; try Annie Laurie, anything but The Picture above Molly's Bar! And," Nolan paused for effect, "if you sing somethin' a bit more appropriate-like, I promise to teach you a chord or two on that beat up old guitar a yours."
Mushy beamed. "Remember, you promised, Mr. Nolan."
Pete nodded before easing his aching body back into the wagon and settling himself onto his well-padded bed, "A promise made is a promise kept," he replied somewhat drowsily. "Now sing somethin' I can sleep to!"
The young man broke into a sweet rendition of Annie Laurie and since there were no more comments from the back of the wagon and Yellow Sky had settled back into her seat at his side, the baby cradled in her lap, Mushy was satisfied that this choice was the correct one; his voice a perfect match to the music.
That evening as they made camp, Mushy noticed an exhausted, dust-coated Rowdy Yates ride into camp. He met the temporary scout with a cup of hot coffee and a plate of stew, which was gratefully accepted. "Never thought scouting much of a chore until now," Yates whispered, loath to allow Pete Nolan to hear the comment as he had always teased Nolan about the ease of his job as compared to the rigors of ramrodding. "I ain't been outta the saddle for 24 straight hours." Rowdy settled his lanky frame down onto the log nearest the roaring campfire and dug heartily in to his meal.
Mushy hadn't moved from Rowdy's side. He stood, silent and pensive, wondering how to broach the subject for which he figured the handsome, charismatic Yates to be the undisputed expert – women. Finally he cleared his throat, confident he knew what question to ask and how, but when the young ramrod looked up, Mushy lost it completely. Stuttering, stammering and blushing, he turned away in utter disgust at himself.
Rowdy's soft voice called him back. "What's the matter, Mushy? You wanna talk about somethin'?"
Mushy swiveled back around. Taking his hat from his head, he crushed it between his two large hands, nodding. "I do. I surely would appreciate your advice on something important, Mr. Rowdy...real important...but it's gotta be just between us two."
Rowdy motioned the youngster to sit beside him. "Just between us...now what's goin' on, Mushy?"
Mushy stared at the hat in his hands, crushed beyond recognition. "How do you ask a girl to...to marry you? I really gotta know the right words to say and...."
"Whoa now, Mushy! You're askin' the wrong jasper that question! I never did ask a lady to get married. I mighta asked a couple other questions, but never did that particular one come up in the course of a conversation!" Rowdy shook his head.
"You're barkin' up the wrong tree. You oughta go ask one of the men that's been married – the boss maybe, or Pete." Yates adamantly shook his head. "Oh no, not me."
Mushy was crestfallen. Here he'd bared his very soul and gotten shot down in the process. Rowdy was near his age and talking to him was well, sort of like talking to a slightly older brother, but saying something about love to the boss....but Pete, now maybe it wouldn't be so bad to talk to Pete about it and after all, he knew Yellow Sky better than anybody and he was the only one who could speak to the Apache girl in her own language. Mushy brightened immediately.
"Thanks, Rowdy. Thanks anyway! You've been a big help!" Mushy was up and gone to search out Pete Nolan leaving Rowdy Yates alone to enjoy his cooling coffee and now cold stew in peace. Rowdy shrugged.
Mushy found Pete propped up against a wheel of the chuck wagon, hands wrapped around a steaming cup of Wishbone's coffee. A plate of food, nearly untouched, sat on the ground beside him. "Ain't you hungry, Mr. Nolan?" Mushy asked as he stooped down to pick up the plate.
"I'll get my appetite back soon, I reckon. Don't feel quite up to a full meal just yet. You want your first guitar lesson now, Mushy, or did you need somethin' else?" Pete sipped the coffee, smiling in satisfaction. Of all the men in camp, only the boss enjoyed his coffee more than the scout, the stronger and the blacker the better.
Mushy set the plate aside and squatted next to Nolan getting directly to the point.
"You been married once and all and Rowdy said I should ask you how to go about...uh, how to go about proposin' to Yellow Sky."
Out of breath, Mushy remained tense as a coiled watch spring, his gaze focused on the other man's face as he waited anxiously for an answer. Seconds ticked by like hours as he waited, wanting to reach out and shake the answer out of the slow-to-answer scout, though to his credit, Pete Nolan did not appear at all surprised at the question. After all, he'd been privy to the sidelong glances, shy smiles and tentative brushing of fingertips between the young couple for nearly a week now.
"The words don't matter much...it's all in how you feel that counts, Mushy." Nolan grinned and immediately the tension flowed from Mushy's body. He very nearly crumpled to the ground he relaxed so suddenly.
Putting aside the empty coffee cup, Pete held his hand out to the youngster. "Congratulations, Mushy."
Mushy cocked his head, confused, but he shook Mr. Nolan's hand anyway.
"I say congratulations 'cause I'm pretty certain Yellow Sky will say yes." Pete grimaced as the words sank in and Mushy's grasp on his hand, his right hand which was attached to his right arm which still sported a very slowly healing knife wound, tightened painfully as the youngster pumped the scout's hand with unbridled enthusiasm, a huge smile lighting his face.
"You really think so? You really think she'll say yes?" Mushy questioned as Pete eased his fingers out of harm's way, flexing them with caution.
"I do, but this is just between you and me, Mushy...Yellow Sky thinks mighty highly of you. If I'm any judge a women and I consider myself one a the best, I'd say it's love. The rest is up to you, but if you need me to translate...well, I'd be honored."
Tears sprang into Mushy's eyes and he wiped them off against the back of his sleeve, not at all embarrassed to be caught so in front of Mr. Nolan. "I'd be honored if you'd ask Yellow Sky...for me. I'd just be honored."
Pete nodded. "Whenever you're ready, Mushy, but I'll tell you it had better be soon. The past day we been followed by Comanche – I'd say a single scout. Doubt even the boss noticed yet and I ain't had a chance to tell him, but this here adventure is comin' to a head. Ask her soon. Ask her now."
---
Although he'd thought his upcoming action a secret, Mushy noticed every drover in camp seemed attuned to what was in the air; when he caught Jim Quince staring, Quince gave the bridegroom-to-be a grin and a wink. Every drover he passed patted him fondly on the shoulder, one or two shaking their heads as if to ask 'don't that boy know what he's gettin' himself into?' Even the boss, Gil Favor, smiled paternally at him...or perhaps all these things were imagined.
The moon rose full and bright and it was time. Pete Nolan called Yellow Sky over to him. She passed the infant into the arms of the rather proud Boss who cooed and rocked the contented child in his arms, making faces only a baby would understand, woe be it to any drover, scout, ramrod, cook or cook's louse who laughed at the silly expressions. Favor walked off towards the fire and the men clustered about, at ease over second or third cups of coffee and a last smoke of the day, settling himself and his small charge among them where he quickly became the center of attention.
Mushy watched Pete and Yellow Sky, the young woman seated cross-legged at Pete's side, her attention totally focused on the scout and what he said. At one point she looked up quickly, her gaze finding Mushy standing sheepishly at the supply wagon. Her bright smile warmed his cold heart and stilled the shaking in his knees. The look on her face said it all, Pete had been right. Words didn't matter much. Yellow Sky nodded causing Mushy to nearly faint in relief. Instead he let out a whoop of excited joy. "Yes! She said yes!" he hollered to the world. The world responded, to a man, with hearty back slaps and exuberant hand shaking all around, but Mushy heard none of the well-wishes or words of advice. Breaking free, he strode directly to Yellow Sky, offering his hand to her. She took it, rising gracefully to her feet. He pressed her close, his arms tight about her. All was right with the world. It would never be any righter than this.
---
He rode into camp before dawn, a lone warrior on a fine horse, mount and Comanche painted for war. He wanted the Apache woman and her child. He wanted cattle as well, enough to feed his people for a year. If those terms were not met, his men would kill all those in camp, take the woman and her child and all the white man's cattle. He waited while his words were translated by White Scout Nolan. Once again words were not needed. The answer was there for any man to see in the tall chief's eyes, in his face and in the rigid way he held his body. Angrily, the warrior threw down his lance, whirled his horse around and tore off, a war cry echoing back into the silent camp.
Yellow Sky hastily packed what few belongings she had into the saddlebags, mostly gifts given to her and the infant by the Texians, and by Pete Nolan and Mushy. If tears burned her eyes she ignored them. She hated stealing the horse and trappings, but rather than stay and cause harm to those she had come to like and respect, in some cases even love, she would take the child and run. She had been correct in her earlier thoughts – as much as she wanted to be with Mushy, as his wife, forever, some things were not meant to be. Shaking her head, she cleared her thoughts. Perhaps she could make it back to her people before the Comanche caught up with her. The horse she chose was fleet and sure-footed; it was Buck, Pete Nolan's sturdy gelding.
A gentle voice and a touch on her arm caused her to tense, but she did not stop packing, nor did she turn around. "I must go. You can not stop me," she said, though she knew Mushy did not understand her words, she knew he understood their meaning. If she turned around and saw his sweet face twisted in grief, she could never make herself leave. He would die. Pete Nolan would die and she and her child would be Comanche slaves. It was a fate she could not bear. But in a moment Mushy was gone, without a single word to her. She finished packing and swung up into the saddle, the infant safe in his sling, close to her heart.
Before she could kick Buck into motion, Pete Nolan appeared, grabbing the reins, his body positioned in front of the horse, Mushy at his side.
"Don't do this, Yellow Sky. It won't matter if you leave or not. Mr. Favor won't give the Comanche any beeves and there'll be a fight anyway. This isn't because of just you. Stay and let us protect you and the baby. Stay for Mushy if for no one else. Please."
As much as Mushy wanted to believe Mr. Nolan could talk the girl out of her decision, he saw the stubborn way she held herself, chin high, back straight as an arrow.
"I did not tell you, Pete Nolan, that my dead husband was a great Apache warrior, a fierce enemy of the Comanche and brother to the great chief, Juan Castro. Taking Miguel's life would have been a fine coup for any Comanche; taking his woman and son only a little less so. It is me they want, Pete Nolan, and this child. The cattle are smoke to hide this. Let me go. On your horse I have a chance. I will not stay and watch you die for me."
Mushy listened while Pete translated her words, countering her logic with his own, "If you go, Yellow Sky, I go. I'll protect you and the baby!" he swore.
"If she goes, we both go along," Pete replied. "It's the only way outta this mess far as I can see. Her people can't be more than 30 or so miles due north; I'd say more than likely camped at Crazy Woman Creek. Together we might just stand a chance."
"The boss won't like it," Mushy reasoned.
"He won't and that's a fact, but he'll listen once he realizes this is the only way out for all of us." Pete held firmly to Buck's reins. "Yellow Sky...me and Mushy, we'll get you back safe to your people. Give me time to talk it over with Mr. Favor."
The girl nodded and Pete released the reins. Mushy reached up, lifting Yellow Sky from the saddle. In his arms she trembled like a leaf in the wind, her bravery all the more stunning for her fragility and youth.
Gil Favor did not like it and his deep voice rumbled through the camp, thunder before the sudden storm, yet the storm never materialized because Gil Favor was nothing if not a realist. Pete was right. Yellow Sky and her child had to leave. It was the only way to safeguard the lives of 20 men and the trust of the cattle owners who put their faith in Favor and his crew to bring a herd safely to market. If any man could get the girl and her child safely back to her people, that man was Pete Nolan. In Mushy, Favor's faith was less strong, but he knew the youngster well enough to realize he had strength of conviction and a good heart. If Pete could draw out the young man's ability to believe in himself, the little group would stand a good chance at success. But there was so little time....
Pete slid the Henry into the scabbard on Mushy's horse and handed the young man a box of ammunition. His own horse carried the same armament. Yellow Sky carried a small caliber ivory handled pistol tucked into the beaded belt at her waist, a gift from Gil Favor. "It's only good at close range," he told her. Pete translated and the girl nodded.
"I thank you," she said, her English halting, but understandable.
"You're welcome," the boss replied. Pulling Nolan aside, he whispered, "Take care of 'em, Pete...all three of 'em, and yourself." Favor extended his hand and he and the scout shook.
"Count on it, Boss."
As soon as the moon set, the three rode out of camp, Pete Nolan in the lead, followed by Yellow Sky with Mushy bringing up the rear. Since the scout had been through the area many times and knew the terrain well, it was decided he would take the point, his companions following his tracks as closely as possible to make better time and avoid an accident caused by unsure footing in the dark. They rode in total silence, low in the saddle, shadowy silhouettes against a dim sky.
After nearly an hour and no sign of pursuit, Mushy actually allowed himself a deep breath. Only then did he realize how tightly he clenched the reins in his hands and how his back ached from bunched muscles. He relaxed a bit, stretching out his back and opening and closing his fingers to get the circulation going. Directly ahead of him rode Yellow Sky and he wondered if she felt the same way as he, that he'd actually begun to believe they might just make it safely to her people. But then disaster struck.
Driving hard from the east a band of Comanche cut directly in front of Pete Nolan, screaming and firing their rifles. Nolan veered hard to the west, dragging Buck's head around just in time to avoid running headlong into the lead Comanche, but Bucky lost his footing and went down, Pete barely able to roll out of the saddle without being crushed beneath the gelding's body. Behind him Yellow Sky drove her mount forward, jumping the downed Buck with only inches to spare, Mushy close on her heels.
There was no time to see if Pete was okay, only time to keep close to Yellow Sky and the baby. Mushy pulled the Henry from the scabbard. By this time the Comanche were so close he could've almost reached out and touched the nearest with the rifle. Waiting for just the right moment, Mushy swung the weapon in a wide arc, catching the nearest warrior across the face. The Comanche dropped from the saddle. Mushy spurred his horse onward.
A short loud crack of a pistol had him straining hard to see, but in the dark he noticed only the Comanche tumbling from the saddle. Yellow Sky had pushed the small pistol, her gift from Gil Favor, into the man's side as he had reached out to pluck her from the saddle, the girl firing at point blank range. In all probability the man died before his body hit the ground.
In choosing mounts, Hey Soos had chosen for stamina and speed and he had done well for Mushy and Yellow Sky. Their horses ran on, undaunted by the screams and gunfire of the pursuing Indians, outdistancing the raw-boned Comanche ponies with relative ease. Finally, Mushy judged the distance between them and their pursuers to be enough to call a short halt. He was anxious about Pete, more than anxious, worried and he confided his worries to Yellow Sky.
"I have to go back and check on Pete. We can't just leave him there!" Yellow Sky shook her head. She didn't understand. Frustrated, Mushy tried again, this time using gestures and sign language which the girl could barely see in the dark. "I gotta go back for Pete!"
"No, no you don't and I thought maybe you had enough sense to know that! Your place is with the girl and her child. She needs you. I don't." Pete Nolan rode out from behind a stand of mesquite trees. Mushy couldn't make out his face, couldn't even tell if it was Buck he rode, but it was Pete all right and he was angry.
"Your job is protecting Yellow Sky. If something does happen to me, I need to know you'll be there for her and the baby. Swear it to me, Mushy. Swear it to me now so there'll be no need to think on it in the future."
"I swear, Pete. You won't need to think on it anymore. I'll die before I let anything happen to Yellow Sky and the boy. I swear it!"
"Well I'm glad that's settled," Pete replied as he slowly crumpled from the saddle and onto the ground.
Yellow Sky began to dismount, the baby cradled against her body. Mushy shook his head and the girl settled back. In case Pete was bad hurt or worse, he shuddered to think of it, dead, he didn't want the girl to see.
Mushy knelt at Pete's side, a hand pressed to the scout's chest where he felt the rapid rise of fall of Nolan's breathing. "He's alive," he called back over his shoulder, forgetting Yellow Sky understood little English.
Too dark to see the extent of any injuries, Mushy softly called the scout's name. Pete roused at the familiar voice and answered. The words were not the ones Mushy hoped to hear.
"I can't travel. Get Yellow Sky back to her folks. Go now before the Comanche come back around for another try. Go now, Mushy. Protect her...protect the baby. It's up to you. Do it."
"I ain't gonna leave you, Mr. Nolan. Not this way." Mushy felt panic rise in his gut and he swallowed hard, forcing the nausea back. Alone...all alone out here and helpless...he wouldn't wish that on his worst enemy, let alone one of the best, one of the only friends he had in this world. "I won't leave you," he protested.
At that instant the infant let out a shrill cry, his mother hushing him, probably putting him to her breast. Alone and helpless...his place was at her side, hers and the child's.
"I'll be back, Mr. Nolan. Soon as I get Yellow Sky home safe...I'll come back." Mushy's hand moved up to the scout's shoulder and he squeezed gently. "Hold on...just hold on."
A cold hand covered his. "It's Pete, Mushy. No more of this mister...it's just Pete."
In the dark, Mushy nodded. "I'll be back, Pete. I swear it."
Mushy rose to his feet, glancing around for Nolan's horse, meaning to tether the animal under the cover of the thickly clustered mesquite trees, but the animal seemed to have vanished, faded away into the black night. Mushy did all he could for the fallen scout, carefully dragging him to deeper cover and leaving a canteen tucked up against his side along with one of the Henrys and a box of ammunition. He didn't know if Pete had the strength to defend himself, but he was going to give the man every possible chance for survival.
Without saying goodbye since he figured to be back soon enough, Mushy swung up into the saddle. Together he and Yellow Sky rode off, due north, toward Crazy Woman Creek.
END, part 2