Page 14 of In These Hills

Dodge bit back a sigh. “I aim to get this load where it’s going. So you’re not taking what’s in the wagon. Best you move on.”

They hesitated for a beat then responded with high-pitched laughter, the first man gesturing. “Y’seems to be missin’ somethin’ here—like it’s two guns agin’ one. Reckon me and Rufus here’s the ones who’s gonna be settin’ the way of things, don’tcha think?” His gaze slid to Mrs. Dunham who noticeably stiffened. “So after we take us a gander to what’s in yer wagon, reckon we’ll take a look at yer woman, too. Her face ain’t too comely just now, seems like you done seen to that.” He let out a low chuckle. “But the rest o’ her . . . she’s more’n lookin’ like she’s wantin’ for a good—”

Dodge raised the revolver, took aim, and fired. The man’s worn, low-crown Confederate hat went flying as he ducked, eyes wide. His partner cocked his rifle and took aim just as Dodge got off another shot, considerably lower this time, and the man’s horse reared, nearly throwing him off. His rifle fell to the ground.

Dodge retrained his focus. “Now toss that Springfield down or next time I’m taking flesh.” When the man didn’t comply, Dodge feather closed his left eye. “Right ear or left? It’s all the same to me.”

Cursing, the man finally threw his rifle to the dirt. “You don’t got no idea who yer messin’ with, boy. If ya did, you wouldn’ta gone and done that.”

“You’re the one who picked the fight.” Dodge jerked his chin. “Now get on down the road. Come back later for your rifles. I’ll leave them in the brush.”

A sharp tug on his sleeve. “Mr. Coburn, I strongly object to that—”

“Quiet.” Dodge cowed her with a look, not about to give the men cause to pursue this. A contentious, mouthy woman could trigger a man from the hills faster than a hot brand to a bear’s backside. Dodge held their stares as they passed, while Mrs. Dunham’s indignation burned a hole clean through him.

Once the pair disappeared around the curve, he hopped down, removed the cartridges from the rifles and scattered everything in the brush, then got the wagon moving again. He wanted to clear the pass sooner rather than later, especially now, and still had to negotiate the narrow switchback trail ahead.

He could feel Mrs. Dunham’s attention, but hoped she would just let it drop. The altercation was done and over. No bloodshed, nothing and nobody hurt, other than manly pride, which usually healed up sooner or later, given time. Now to get this load—and her—delivered. But the next time he saw Slim Poyner, he was going to give the man a piece of his mind for—

“You truly believe that was a wise choice, Mr. Coburn?”

Dodge tightened his grip on the reins.

“I mean, really,” she continued. “Leaving rifles for men like that where they can come back and get them? And then do who knows what to us or anyone else?”

“Mrs. Dunham, I realize you’re—”

“I, for one, believe those men lost the right to those firearms when they pointed them directly at us and threatened us.”

“Out here, ma’am, a firearm can mean the difference between life and death. It’s been an especially harsh winter, and the code among people in these hills is—”

“The code?” She gave a disbelieving huff. “I believe what we just experienced borders on something between life and death, so I think—”

Dodge pulled hard on the reins, ready to grab hold of her if need be. But to her credit, she maintained her seating.

He nudged up the brim of his hat and looked her square on, pained again by the wounds on her face. “Listen to me, Mrs. Dunham. You’re not in Nashville or Chattanooga or Raleigh or wherever else it was you came from anymore. It’ll come as no surprise that I didn’t want to take you with me today, and there’s a reason for that. This is no place for a woman like you, and you’ll do well to get back to wherever you came from lickety-split.”

Her mouth slipped open. “A woman like me? And just what do you mean by that, Mr. Coburn?”

Not at all swayed in his opinion, nor in his desire to take a whip to whoever had done this to her—presumably the husband she was running from—he looked pointedly down at the embroidered sash hanging out of her coat pocket, having noticed it shortly after she’d climbed onto the wagon. Only able to see the partial phrase Votes for W— he knew what declaration the sash bore. He was no stranger to that movement. A familiar bitterness filled him.

Mrs. Dunham followed his line of sight, and she quickly stuffed the sash back into her pocket, her chin lifting. “You have no right to judge me. Or to think you can even begin to understand what it means to—”

“I know all about your cause, ma’am, and what you stand for and what it is you want. And I’m not saying it’s all for naught. What I am saying is that folks in these parts, hill-folk especially, don’t take kindly to a woman claiming to be the same as a man. And back there when you were about to give me what for?” He gestured behind them. “You could’ve gotten us both killed.”

To her credit, she didn’t respond immediately. “So, Mr. Coburn, you’re of the mind that women are not equal to men?”

He briefly looked away, wondering if she’d even been listening. “I’m of the mind, ma’am, that you need to understand that no one much cares about suffrage in these parts. Or whether women can vote or what they get paid. Most women here do good just to survive, to get enough to eat, enough to wear. Enough for their children.” He paused. “Do you have any idea what those men would have done to you if given the opportunity?”

Her gaze flickered and in that instant he read understanding. And fear.

“With all respect—” He looked at the angry red welts on her face. “This is nothing compared to the brutality of some of the men in these hills. That is what I’m trying to say to you. You’re in unfamiliar country now, Mrs. Dunham, and foreign to your sensibilities too, I’d wager. Best hold your cards a little closer to the vest . . . and keep your mouth shut with men like that.”

Emotion welled in her expression, and she quickly looked away.

He did the same, steeling himself against the vulnerability he knew she hadn’t wanted him to see. He pulled his hat low, slapped the reins, and Flossie and Betty responded. Blissful silence settled in as the road passed beneath them, the plod of the mules and sway of the wagon as familiar as the sigh of the breeze. He welcomed the stay of conversation, especially with the hairpin turn ahead.

It wasn’t suffragists filling a woman’s head with all manner of nonsensical ideas that angered him. Their notions weren’t all nonsensical. But the few that did bear legitimacy proved far too dangerous and costly in the end. The woman sitting beside him was living proof of that, even if she couldn’t see it.