The Oregon Trail Series Short Stories Read online

  Her curiosity piqued, Mary turned to face him. “Is he a parishioner here? I’ve never seen him come in.”

  “No, child, he’s just someone who needs help.” He smiled and patted her shoulder. “Tell me why you talked to him today of all days.”

  She frowned, staring at a hymnbook stored in the back of a pew. “I’m not sure why, but it seems like God spoke to me, telling me to help this wayward soul, snoring in the mud.”

  “You had to answer the call.”

  Glad he understood her reasoning, Mary nodded. “Yes, and I did my best to coax Mr. Bartlett down to the river for a good soapy baptism.”

  The reverend raised an eyebrow. “He resisted?”

  Mary closed her eyes, mortified by what she had to admit to the Godly man. “And used profane language to do so.”

  “I see. So you must have walked away, considering you’re in here.”

  Hearing the amusement in his voice, Mary gave him a stern look. She didn’t consider Daggart’s profanity to be humorous. “Yes, I wanted some divine assistance.”

  “You’re still going to try and help him see the light?”

  “I need to continue this fight for his eternal salvation. At first, when he woke, he had a dazed and lost look in his eyes. Then as we talked, he became more of a man than an animal.” Saying the word reminded her of that sad creature Daggart had led around by the reins. He’d given his mule scratches behind the ear and pats on the neck as if by habit. His kindness to four legged animals had to be considered redeeming. “Even though convincing his pack mule to accept the Lord would be a far easier goal, I believe Mr. Bartlett is worth saving.”

  He laughed outright at her statement and nodded. “Then that’s all it takes, my child. Total belief in the Good Lord and some in that man.”

  Still curious about her adopted mission, she asked, “What else can you tell me about him? He can’t be content living a life of squalor and debauchery.”

  “No, I don’t think he is. Daggart came to me one day, when was it, a year ago? Has it been that long?” Reverend Morris stood and so did she. “At any rate, he was out in front of the saloon, on the church side, of course, and wanted to tie up his mule and wagon out front.”

  Mary followed him out of the pew. “Did you let him?”

  “Not in front, but in back. I’d thought to let him camp there until he cleaned up and found a decent place to live.” He paused in the aisle and motioned for her to continue toward the front door.

  Taking his unspoken request, she imagined sleeping outside in all sorts of weather. Her trip here via ship, while rough at times, seemed much better when compared to Daggart’s life. “And it’s been a year? My, that’s horrible.”

  He paused at the door. “It is, so if you can convince him to find a better way of life, I’ll help however I can.”

  His offer reassured her, and Mary asked for the first thing that came to mind. “Pray for me, Reverend. I’ll need all the help you and God can provide me.”

  “Do you have a plan?”

  “Yes. If you have time today, I’d like to visit him where he prospects and use the water to baptize him. Plus, I want him to bathe well enough to start attending church regularly.”

  “My afternoon is free, and let’s try to remember, one thing at a time, child.” He opened the door for her.

  She stepped outside, turning to the reverend to say, “I agree. We’ll meet here then.”

  Daggart shook the pan half full of water and river sand. Was that…? Did he see a glint? He jumped to his feet, digging through the rough grains until he found a pea-sized nugget of gold. “Hot damn, I’m set for tonight.” He danced around while shouting, “Woo hoo! I’m a rich man!”

  “That may be true in the monetary sense, sir, but your soul is severely lacking.”

  He startled at Mary’s voice, almost dropping his pan and new nugget. Recognizing who’d spoken, he whirled to find her and the reverend walking up to him. Daggart pocketed his gold in what he hoped was a smooth move they didn’t see. “What in tarnation are you two doing up here, bringing everyone to my dig? There ain’t many left in these parts. I don’t need some claim jumper taking what I got.”

  Reverend Morris grinned at him. “Son, you talk in your sleep. Anyone who cares to hear could find your dig.”

  Daggart frowned, already planning his next prospecting site. He didn’t like having to scout around. The larger mining companies had made pickings slim several years ago, and he was running out of profitable places to go. “Damn it. I’m not done with this one.”

  Mary stepped up to him, brows knit and voice growly. “Mr. Bartlett, I’ve warned you before and feel compelled to warn you again: No profanity.”

  Standing this close to her, he could see the blue of her eyes and blush of her skin. Without thinking, he blurted, “You’d be a right pretty woman if you’d get that vinegar drinkin’ look off of your face.”

  Her jaw dropped open for a second before she recovered. “Excuse me?”

  He almost minded her leaving. Up until that little nugget weighing in his pocket reminded him he had a job to do. He could lollygag and stare at pretty women later. “Sure ma’am, you’re excused. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m busy finding my share of this gold.” He turned to the river, hunkering down by the edge and continuing his prospecting.

  “Mr. Bartlett?”

  He glanced back to see her following him yet again. “Yeah?”

  “How do you feel about bathing?”

  He paused for a moment, wondering how did he feel? Before thinking too much more about it, he said, “I don’t unless something itches.” Because he suspected she might faint, he grinned before adding, “Most time it’s my butt that itches real bad.”

  “Oh my!”

  “Other times, it’s my….”

  The reverend stepped between them, holding up a hand at Daggart. “All right, young man, that’s enough. Miss O’Brien, we should leave now. Mr. Bartlett is clearly not meant for polite company.”

  “Aw, hold up there, reverend, miss.” Daggart went to stand between them and their horses. “I reckon I could use a good scrubbing. If I can dig up enough gold today for both whisky and soap this evening, I’ll jump in the river tomorrow.”

  She mulled over his idea for a moment, tapping her chin with a forefinger. “Why not now? It’s as good a time as any. The reverend is here to baptize you as well, and who knows where you’ll be tomorrow?”

  Daggart shrunk back at the idea he might not live to see tomorrow. “I’d rather not, miss.” Even worse was her insistence he bathed right this minute. He put his hands in his pockets and stared at the ground. “I have a bar of soap, but it’s the last one my Lizzy made and I’m not using it. Tomorrow, like I said.”

  “How do I know you’ll remember all this after buying a bottle of the devil’s drink?”

  “I don’t know.” After wrestling and beating down his greed, he dug around in his pocket. “Here.” Daggart held up the small nugget. “Take this and get me some soap, since you’re all fired up about getting me clean.”

  She took the gold, turning it over in her fingers, letting it catch the light. “Such a beautiful metal to attract such evil. Very well. I suppose we could be here tomorrow, Reverend?” He didn’t answer right away, just stared at the metal, prompting Mary to nudge him. “A man’s eternal life is at stake, sir.”

  Broken from his trance, Morris nodded. “Yes, we can be here. God and Mr. Bartlett willing, we’ll get him baptized then.”

  Mary started to clap her hands and cheer before catching herself. “Mr. Bartlett, good luck prospecting today.” She turned to the reverend. “We should go. I’d be glad to help you this afternoon since I’ve taken up so much of your time.”

  “I might take you up on that offer, young lady.” Morris helped Mary onto her horse before climbing onto his own.

  Daggart watched them leave. It’d been real nice seeing her today, even if the reverend had tagged along. They’d been his first true
visitors since he started panning. Of course, he didn’t tell people where he was. Still, he liked seeing familiar faces outside the saloon.

  He grinned, thinking about when he’d teased Mary. The shocked look on her face when he’d said, “butt” didn’t fool him; she’d wanted to laugh. He chuckled at how the reverend might’ve reacted if she’d giggled. Daggart didn’t mind the man, just didn’t want to think about the afterlife.

  But that Mary O’Brien deserved some thought, yes, sir. He found himself staring at her a couple of times today without even paying attention to what she was saying. He couldn’t recollect a woman caring so much about his soul, unless it was Lizzy, or maybe Beth. He didn’t remember either woman being so bulldog determined as this gal. She made him feel cared about in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. The emotions Mary stirred up would give him something to think about while working this afternoon.

  Daggart checked the weight of his little bag of gold. Almost full and he was still finding flecks and small nuggets. He shivered. Looking up at the surrounding hills, he realized the setting sun had put the small valley into the shadows. Darn shame the day ended so soon. He climbed up out of the river and slid the little bag into his pocket.

  After a quick search, Daggart found Muley grazing over the ridge. Time to start his nightly ritual at the saloon. He hopped onto his mule and headed to town. Out of the valley, the shadows inched their way across the land in front of him, spreading east as the sun set.

  The skyline of town, such that it was, approached and he grinned. He could almost hear the saloon music from here. Pondering over what to do first, he drew up a mental list. He could go ahead and do his usual gambling and drinking with the gold he’d found, trusting Miss Mary to buy his soap. Or, he could buy some himself and maybe a few decent clothes for the baptism. Then he’d feel good about drinking and gambling the rest away.

  He shook his head, wondering how he’d been roped into agreeing to this anyway. One look at the deep blue of the twilight sky above the town and he had the answer. Miss Mary’s blue eyes could probably convince him of doing anything, when not full of fire and brimstone, that is. He led Muley past the saloon to the dry goods store. The effort didn’t hurt either of them with both places sharing a wall between them. Daggart dismounted and went into the store, open at all hours for miners who worked until dark. “Howdy, Pierre. I got some gold for ya today.”

  “Good! Bring it over and I’ll see how much you damage my wallet.”

  Daggart did as his friend suggested, giving him the little bag of gold. Another cloth sack, a duplicate of what Pierre held, rested in his pocket as a nest egg. Most times he ignored it. If he treated each day’s gold as the only he had, the metal he hoarded would be some sort of savings account.

  Pierre took the bag he held by the bottom, emptying the contents onto the scale and weighing it. He then marked down the number onto a small card with Daggart’s name on it. Pierre whistled before saying, “I see you’ve found a new vein. Your digs are getting better, aren’t they?”

  “Yep, almost as good as before. I’ll need real luck to find another site like last time.” He watched as the shopkeeper counted out the bills to him.

  Pierre nodded, closing up his safe with the gold tucked inside. “I could probably spare giving you a free rabbit’s foot for luck. You made us both a lot of money.”

  He laughed, thinking of all the gambling and drinking he’d done last time a series of digs gave him good results. “Yeah, I’d like that to happen again.”

  “Mr. Bartlett?”

  Daggart turned to see Miss Mary behind him. Damned woman would make a great spy, always sneaking up on a man. “Hello, miss. Keeping an eye on me, are ya?”

  “Not intentionally. I saw you pass by earlier and wanted to give you the soap before you go to the saloon.” She handed him a little package and put her hands on her hips. “Forgive me for eavesdropping, but did I hear you correctly? You’ve found much more gold than this?”

  His chest puffed up with pride. She’d found out about his expertise, and he hadn’t had to tell her himself. “Yes, I did!”

  “So you’ve made a lot of money?”

  “I certainly have!” He put his thumbs in his pockets and rocked back and forth, grinning.

  “Where is it?’

  Daggart frowned, not sure he understood what she was talking about. “Where’s what?”

  “All the money you made. Where is it?”

  Understanding dawned in him like realizing that it wasn’t a candy bar floating in the washtub. Anything he’d thought to counter with died on the vine before he could voice the argument. She wasn’t going to like his answer. Hell, he didn’t like the answer either, but had to admit, “I reckon I spent it all at the saloon.”

  “All of it on Satan’s spirits, I suppose?” She glared at the shopkeeper before turning her fury back on Daggart. “How many bags of gold, Mr. Bartlett, have you drunk away?”

  “I don’t suppose it’s any of your business.” He crossed his arms, working up some anger at her questioning him.

  She lifted her nose as if struck. “You’re absolutely right. It is none of my business what went on prior to our meeting. However, if you know the answer to my question, you might dwell on what you’ve gained from drinking up the sinner’s swill.”

  Before he could muster up a scathing retort, she turned on her heel and stomped out of the store. Daggart looked down at the package and sniffed it. She’d bought him soap after all. He shook his head. Damned women. Always trying to fix what didn’t need fixing. He’d be better off if she’d forget about this whole saving him and find someone else to help.

  Three hours later, Daggart still sat in the corner of the saloon. Most of the money from the day’s work still burned a hole in his pocket. He sighed, looking at his half empty glass of whisky. It was only his second and still he had a tough time finishing. A wave from across the room caught his eye, and he returned the gesture in a refusing way. Losing at cards didn’t appeal to him tonight. Damned woman. An inner voice in him argued, damned? She certainly couldn’t be, not with all that churchin’ stuff.

  He swirled the last swallow of liquor in the glass. Maybe he was the one cursed, considering all his bad luck with women and his general meanness to them. Some of what he’d done he remembered, but the drink had washed most of it away. All his insides felt like a rusty train engine as he sat there, wanting to both remember and forget. Daggart knew who to blame for his sudden lack of interest in liquor. Miss Mary O’Brien. If she knew more about him, she’d give up this saving his soul mission. He stared into the empty glass. When they tried to dunk him in the baptism tomorrow, he planned to tell them exactly why they were wasting their time with him.

  Mary debated whether to fetch the reverend first or to begin waking up Mr. Bartlett. She ran the leftover coins from cashing in his nugget through her fingertips, having forgotten them in her irritation at him turning money into whisky the night before. Considering how much more gold he’d handed Pierre, she decided she needed to begin with Daggart, dragging him to the reverend if need be. She went to the saloon’s mud pit to see if he’d slept there. Not finding him, Mary hurried to the back of the church.

  Turning the corner, she ran smack into Daggart. Mortified at the physical contact and shocked to see him upright, she gasped, “Oh my! Mr. Bartlett, good morning.”

  He took one of her arms and steadied her before going back to brushing Muley. “Morning, Miss O’Brien. Mighty bright out here, isn’t it?”

  He wore a grin, or was it a squint against the sunshine? Either way, he’d changed into clean clothes. She looked him up and down to see if he’d already used the soap she’d given him. His clean hair, roughly shaved face, and lighter skin told her he had. With an impish smile and sparkling brown eyes, Daggart looked handsome. Recovering from her surprise, Mary asked, “It’s as sunny as usual. Are you feeling well?”

  “I reckon so.” He put the brush into the wagon. “Are you still intent on sa
ving me with a bath?”

  “Certainly. Why wouldn’t I?” Mary held up a hand before he could answer and smiled at him. “While you might not need a scrubbing now, you’ve not accepted the Lord and I can’t accept that.”

  Daggart chuckled. “You might have to, young lady.”

  “Why?” She frowned, not understanding his new argument. “I see no need to stand by and let you go to hell.”

  “Fine, then. I’ll tell you why I’m a waste of your time.” He motioned for her to follow him.

  She walked with him as he went to the back door’s narrow steps and sat. Mary did the same, careful to give him space despite her skirt’s width. “No one is a waste of time, and not even you can judge yourself. It’s up to God.”

  He raised an eyebrow. “Let Him, then. I ain’t sure it’ll be pretty when He does.” Daggart stared off into the space ahead, his eyes already clouded with memories. “It all started with Lizzy Lou. I loved her something fierce and we married. Happiest two years of my life.”

  “Two years?” The question, one of hundreds, escaped her lips and she clamped her mouth shut. Letting him talk on his own would tell her far more than grilling him. Plus, he might tell her things she’d never considered asking about. “Pardon me, do go on.”

  He nodded, interlacing his fingers. “Yep, only two years. She drowned in a flash flood. I wasn’t there, but her sister Beth Ann was.”

  Forgetting her earlier resolve, she blurted, “Did Beth Ann die too?”

  “No, and for a long time I thought she should have.” Mary gasped at this, and he winced as if agreeing with her conclusion. “Me and her Pa both blamed Beth Ann for not saving Lizzy Lou. We were pretty mean to the gal.”

  “You both were wrong.” Realizing she spoke out of turn, Mary covered her mouth with her hands. She slowly lowered them. “It was God’s will to call Lizzy Lou home.”