A muffled, “Yessir,” came from beneath the blanket, and with Ward carrying the box of kittens and their momma, the men pushed their way out into the storm again.
The wind hit Jason like a slap in the face, but behind him, he heard Ward say, “Believe it’s lettin’ up some!”
Jason didn’t reply. He just forged ahead, toward the Milcher’s place. Thankfully, it wasn’t far, and when he rapped on the church door Mrs. Milcher threw it wide, then burst into tears. “Is he all right?” she cried, pulling at the boy in Jason’s arms. “Is he—”
“I’m fine, Momma,” Peter said after he wiggled out of the blanket. And then he broke out in a grit-encrusted grin. “Louise had her babies!”
Ward set the box down and lifted the cover. A purring Louise looked up with loving green eyes, and mewed softly.
Mrs. Milcher cupped her boy’s face in her hands. “Is that why you went out, honey? To find Louise?”
“Yes’m. And I did, too! She was in the stables.”
Mrs. Milcher looked up at Jason. “She always wants to hide when she feels her time is here. What a night to pick!”
“Mrs. Milcher, ma’am? I know you’ve given away kittens before, and I was wonderin’ if—”
“Certainly, Marshal! Any one you want!”
Jason smiled. “I kind of fancy the little white one. Got a name for him already and everything.”
She cocked her head. “But you don’t even know if it’s a boy or a girl! Do you?”
“No, ma’am. Wasn’t time to check. But I figured to call it Dusty. Name works either way, I reckon, and I’ll never forget when he was born.”
Mrs. Milcher smiled back at him. “No, I don’t suppose you will! Thank you, Marshal, thank you for everything. My husband would thank you as well, I’m sure, but he has retired for the night.”
Jason lifted a brow but said, “I see. Well, take care of young Peter, here, and watch over my kitten until it’s ready to leave its momma.” He and Ward both tipped their hats, and both stepped through the doors at once. But instead of the whip of wind that Jason was expecting, they stepped out into cool, clear, still air.
“What happened?” Ward said, looking around him.
“I guess it quit.”
“Guess so. You wanna go up and get a drink?”
“Nope. Wanna go home and wash up.”
Ward nodded. “Reckon that sounds good, too. Well, you go on ahead, Jason. I’ll have a drink for both of us.”
Jason laughed. “Just one, Ward. You’re on duty, y’know.”
Jason turned around and started the walk back to his house. The air felt humid, as if rain was coming. He hoped it was. Nothing would feel better right now than to just strip off his clothes and stand out in his front yard, nekkid. He chuckled to himself. Yeah, there’d be hell to pay if Mrs. Clancy saw him, but on the other hand, she wasn’t likely to be awake at eleven at night, was she?
Jenny’d skin him, though. It was a terrible thing, he thought, to be ruled by women. Then he pictured Megan MacDonald. Well, there exceptions to every rule, he thought, and grinned.
It did rain, and while Jason was outside, beaming and standing nekkid in his front yard with a bar of soap in his hand, miles away the wagon train was getting the worst of the dust storm. The wagons had been tightly circled and all the livestock had been unhitched and brought to the center, but the wind screeched through the wagons like a banshee intent on revenge. Young Bill Crachit thought that maybe God was mad at them for giving up on the dream of California, and he huddled inside his wagon, praying.
The Saulk family, two wagons down, held their children close, hoping it would just stop. Well, Eliza Saulk did. Her husband, Frank, had the thankless job of trying to hold the wagon’s canopy in place: the train had lost three already to the torrent of grit and dirt and cactus thorns. He was around the far side when, out of nowhere, an arm of saguaro hit him in the back like a bag of nail-filled bricks. He went down with a thud, but was helped to his feet a moment later by Riley Havens, who yanked the cactus, stuck to Frank by its two-inch spines, free.
Blood ran down Frank’s back in a hundred little drizzles, soaking his shirt, and Riley helped him back up inside the wagon.
“Saguaro!” he shouted to Eliza. “Get those thorns out!”
Never letting go of the children, she moved back to her husband, gasped, “Oh, Frank!” and immediately began to ease him out of his shirt.
Riley left her to take care of her man and struggled next door, to the Grimms’s wagon. Their canopy had blown off earlier. It had taken four men to chase it down and get it tied back in place. And that had been before the wind came up so damned hard. He doubted they could repeat their performance.
All was well with the Grimms, except that their dog wouldn’t shut up. He was a cross between a redbone hound and a Louisiana black-mouthed cur, and the wind had brought out the hound side of him, in spades. While he yodeled uncontrollably, the Grimms had covered their heads with blankets and quilts, trying to hold off the noise of him and the storm. Riley hollered, “Shut up!” at him a few times, but it made no difference, and so he moved on to the next wagon and left the howling beast behind.
The raw wind still raked at his ears, though, even though he’d tied his hat down with one scarf, then covered his nose and mouth with a second one. But the crud still got through somehow, worked its insidious way up his nose and into his mouth. His eyes were crusted with it, and even his ears were stuffed.
The wind picked up—although how it managed, he had no idea—and one of the horses reared. He felt it more than saw it, because the horses were circled twenty feet away, in the center of the ring of wagons, but he knew
