“What?” Mr. Russell looked stricken. “But I do represent ye too, ma’am…” His voice trailed away, and glancing down at his feet, he shuffled about, still twiddling that hat in his hands. Though he appeared doubtful now, he said, “I do.”
“Do you? Well, then, perhaps you would be so kind as to tell the others that I accept their protection, and will honor their feelings. However, if I find that anyone is being unkind, refusing to speak to or treating the Indians or my brother unfairly, I might just ask my brotherandthe Indiansnotto protect any who are found to be doing it—at all. Not ever.”
“Ma’am?”
“Tell them this. It’s the only fair way. If you and the others expect protection, food and good shelter, then we certainly expect kindness. After all, no onehasto defend or feed another, do they?”
“Ah… They’s gettin’ paid to do it.”
“Oh? Are they?”
“Well,” said Mr. Russell, his attention riveted to his feet. “Leastwise, your brother’s gettin’ paid money. The Injuns think differently and don’t value money. They scout and fight for their honor, and of course for their keep.”
“Their keep? But they bring in the food and water. You must give them more than that.”
“They also get a new set of clothes.”
She frowned. “But they make their own clothes. Is that allyou do for them?”
“Sometimes they get a horse.”
“A horse?” Angelia’s expression stilled, then she smiled sweetly once again. “Well, I think that’s the least you could do, don’t you?” Deliberately, she let the silence that intervened between them speak for her, for the injustice she felt.
“Yes, ma’am.” At length, the wagon master gazed up at her, hat still in hand. “I’ll tell the others that you’ll accept the help, but I don’t think they’ll like the rest.”
“No,” she said, “I don’t expect they will, but it still needs to be said.”
“Ah, dad-blast it. Maybe it does.”
“Maybe?” Again she grinned at him. “Youwilltell them?”
“I’ll tell ’em.”
Russell placed his hat squarely on his head. “Though I don’t know what will happen.” He sighed and looked heavenward. “The daughter of a preacher man, huh?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then you’re still goin’ to teach them Injuns and all?”
“Yep,” she said. “I sure am. And I would think that others should follow suit too.”
Russell shook his head. “Ye sure do sound like some do-gooding preacher’s daughter, that’s for sure. And I guess I’ll have to let ye take in all the stray sheep ye want. Jest be aware that some of them sheep may be wolves, miss. And because of that, we’ll have a sheepdog on duty.”
“Yes, Mr. Russell. And thank you.”
With that said, Mr. Kit Russell turned away, while Angelia sat still, frowning thoughtfully, watching his figure as he strode off. The entire conversation had been more than a little upsetting. However, only one fact remained to bother her…there was a Vigilance Committee, right here on this train, now. This was not good news. Not good news at all.
Chapter
Thirteen
Dressed and out in the sunshine we were all happy. There stretched out before us was a new-coined day, a fresh-minted world under a glorious turquoise sky. Sunbonnets bobbed merrily over cooking fires, on the air a smell of coffee.
—MARIAN RUSSELL,LAND OF ENCHANTMENT: MEMOIRS OF MARIAN RUSSELL ALONG THE SANTA FE TRAIL
AVigilance Committee?
As Angelia sat atop the wagon, looking outward, she formed an opinion. The West was indeed a glorious place, yet it was also a very crude place. Certainly the atmosphere here afforded one opportunity. However, Vigilance Committees had begun to spring up all over this country, and the men who ran them—who were usually anonymous—were more feared than any court system in the land. For a Vigilance Committeealwayshung a murderer or a thief—even a person suspected of murder—and it particularly would assault and hang an Indian man caught making love to a white woman. No shotgun wedding would be ordered, no questions asked. It would simply be done.
