Ghost Warrior by Lucia St. Clair Robson

Author:Lucia St. Clair Robson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 2011-05-03T04:00:00+00:00

RAFE WAS MORE AT HOME IN WAGON YARDS THAN ANYWHERE else. He felt a muted joy and an intense satisfaction in the beauty, practicality, and toughness of wagons. He liked to put a hand on them, to feel the rough wood of their frames and the cold iron of their fittings.

Apache and Mexican bandits had put an end to freight hauling. These wagons had been parked a long time. Their condition hadn’t improved any in the four months Rafe had been away. Grass and bushes grew between the spokes. Canvas rotted on their ashwood hoops.

The one Rafe wanted stood in the same place he had last seen it. It was an old Wilson wagon, the sort the government used during the recent war against the Mormons. The iron fittings had rusted and would have to be replaced, but even in this dry climate, the wooden body did not have to be wedged to make it fit tightly. Its makers had used oak for the framing, gum for the hubs, hickory for the axletrees, and poplar for the siding. He could find no knots or soft spots.

“If you’s fixin’ to buy her, Marse Rafe, you’s made a good choice.”

Rafe whirled around. “Caesar!” He held out his hand, and with no hesitation Caesar’s huge fingers enveloped it. His grip was strong and sure, and Rafe could find nothing of a slave in it. Caesar’s haunting hazel eyes looked directly into his.

“I’s sure glad to see you, Marse Rafe. I thought those Apaches might have caught up with you. Then I saw Red over yonder at the stable, and I knew they hadn’t.”

“It hasn’t been for lack of trying.” Rafe and Caesar walked around the wagon, studying it from every angle.

“When you buy this here wagon,” Caesar said, “I could help you fix it up. I’s learned a thing or two about ’em.”

Rafe lifted the mildewed canvas and looked inside while he searched for the best words to break sad news to Caesar. “Are you driving for the army?”

“Yes, sir, thanks to you, sir.” Caesar slid him a sideways smile. “All that training you gave Marse Absalom and me came in handy.”

“How is Carleton to work for?”

Caesar shrugged. “I stays out of his way. He surely hates Apaches, though.”

Rafe found it odd that two people would mention a fact that applied to so many. “Does he hate them more than most?”

“Yes, sir, he does.”

Rafe knew he couldn’t avoid the subject any longer. “I saw Absalom when he rode through on his way back.”

“Did you now?” Caesar’s face lit up. “I was thinking of going east once’t the Yanks have whipped the Rebs. Helping out on the farm with him and Miss Lila. I ’spect the slaves will all be freed then and he’ll need a hand.”

“He was killed.”

“Apaches?” Caesar squatted, sat back on his heels with his elbows resting on his knees, and pretended to study the broken rear wheel.

Rafe leaned against the wagon bed, glanced sideways, and saw a glitter of grief in Ceasar’s eyes.

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