Charles West - Lawless Prairie

Although the tracks were easy to identify, it was not always easy to find them, and a fair amount of time was spent before Clayton detected a consistent trail to the north. It was obvious to the seasoned tracker that the direction taken was not selected with any thought other than running as fast as possible. Once Clint settled on a definite direction, Clayton found it easier to track him, following the most sensible path through the rolling prairie, and stopping less often to look for tracks to verify the trail.

Looking ahead at a low plateau, he wondered how far Clint would run, looking for sanction in that direction. It would be a hell of a long way before reaching terrain that he couldn’t track him in. Coming to a creek running through the bottom of a ravine, he stopped to water his horses. Looks like he stopped here to rest his horses , Clayton thought. Examining the prints, he tried to guess how far ahead Clint might be. No more than a few hours , he thought. Following the tracks out of the ravine, he stopped and smiled to himself when he saw the trail bend to the east. Downfall of many a young man , he thought, remembering other occasions when he had cornered fugitives who could not stay away from their lady-loves. It was a reasonable bet that he wouldn’t need the tracks to know where Clint was heading.

The chase continued for most of a week, crossing Big Porcupine Creek and the Little Porcupine. Clayton traveled long days, from first light until dark, but he could not shorten the distance between him and the fugitive. He was determined to run Clint to ground now. He had spent too much time in closing the case, and he was anxious to see it end. Consequently, when day after day ended without sight of the man he trailed, Clayton grew impatient to the point of irritation, resulting in a stronger determination to run him to ground. He knew, however, that the chase was nearing an end when he made his camp for the night with less than a day’s ride from Frederick Steiner’s farm. He would start out in the morning with no need to follow tracks. He was certain of the trail’s end.

One-half a day ahead of Clayton, Clint sat in the saddle watching the house from the wagon track that led along the Yellowstone as darkness fell over Frederick Steiner’s farm. Now that he had ridden Rowdy to the point of faltering, he hesitated to ride the final yards. What if Joanna had changed her mind about going with him? Maybe it was not right for him to take her. He knew it might break her father’s heart to see his daughter ride off with an outlaw, maybe never to see her again. One might argue that, if he truly loved Joanna, he would turn around now and take his trouble elsewhere. Finally he told himself that he was going to have to make up his mind, and knowing she was only a few dozen yards away, he could not turn away.

Joanna Becker took her apron off and left it on the back of a chair. For the most part, the supper dishes were done, except for the cups that were still being used to finish the last of the coffee. Her father and her uncle were still sitting around the table swapping stories about their youth, much to the entertainment of her cousin John. Aunt Bertha had retired to her bed with a headache.

Joanna stood and listened to the two men for a few moments before deciding to go out on the porch for a breath of air before finishing the cleanup. “You’ll be giving that boy some ideas,” she said, laughing as she spun on her heel and started for the door.

Outside, she pulled the door shut behind her and walked to the edge of the porch, where she stood to breathe in the cool night air. Gazing up at a clear moonless sky, she smiled at the canopy of stars so far away, yet seeming so bright in the crisp fall air. As her eyes became more adjusted to the dark, she let her gaze fall to the path before the house, and suddenly gasped as a dark figure on a horse slowly took form.

Immediately alarmed, she had started for the door when his voice stopped her. “Joanna,” he said as he dismounted.

She recognized his voice at once. Turning back toward him, her heart threatening to burst from her breast, she gasped, “Clint?” hardly believing it could be him. In a moment of unbridled joy, she hurried from the porch, her feet barely touching the ground as she flew into his arms.

Holding him as if he might disappear as suddenly as he had appeared, she pressed her face against his chest. Joyful tears rolled down her cheeks as she cried, “I thought I might never see you again.”

“I thought I could stay away, but I couldn’t,” he confessed openly. “I love you, Joanna. I had to come back.”

“I prayed you’d come back soon, and if you did, I promised myself I wouldn’t let you leave again without me.” She reached up to kiss him.

His lips found hers in an embrace of two souls crying out for each other. When at last they parted, he placed his hands on her shoulders, holding her at arm’s length while he confessed. “I shouldn’t have come here, Joanna. Zach Clayton is comin’ on behind me. I don’t know how far back, but I know he’ll be comin’.” He told her about the killings at Coulson. “I can’t seem to get that man off my trail. Everywhere I go he shows up, so he’s bound to show up here sooner or later. Clayton’s a smart man. He knows I’d have to come see you one more time.”

She felt as if her heart was being wrenched from her bosom. She didn’t think she could stand to see him leave again without her, but she understood why he would not want to endanger her while he was on the run. She shook her head in indecision. “Oh, Clint, will we ever be together? Maybe it was not meant to be.” Then she stepped back and said, “You must be hungry. Come inside and I’ll fix you something to eat.”

“No, I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said. “It’s best if your folks don’t know I’m back.”

“They’ll start to wonder what happened to me if I don’t come back,” she said.

“I know. I’ll ride over to that little island by the river and camp there tonight. If you can get away in the mornin’, meet me out there. But don’t tell anybody where you’re goin’.”

“I’ll be there,” she said, “right after I give them their breakfast. Aunt Bertha’s gone to bed, sick with a headache, so I’ll probably be fixing breakfast by myself.”

They embraced again, and then he said, “You’d best go on back inside before somebody comes lookin’ for you.”

She kissed him lightly again. “Good night, darling. I’ll come to our special island as soon as I can.”

The next morning Bertha was not as fragile as Joanna expected her to be. The two women cooked breakfast for the men as usual, but there seemed to be something different about Joanna’s attitude. Bertha noticed that her niece appeared to be impatient, and when Joanna commented that she wanted to take her horse for a ride this morning, Bertha said, “Go on and go. I’ll finish up the dishes.” Then she paused to watch Joanna as she hurried to rid herself of her apron. “You’d best wear your coat. It’s chilly out these mornings.”

“I will, Aunt Bertha,” Joanna replied as she grabbed her coat from one of the pegs by the door.

Her aunt raised an eyebrow as the door closed, and announced to herself, “If I didn’t know better, I’d think that young man was still here.” Her niece had not gone for a ride since Clint left.

Not wishing to bother the men who were clearing some brush down by the stream, Joanna saddled the little mare and led her out of the corral. Stepping up in the saddle, she encouraged the horse to lope down the path and swing out on the wagon track by the river. She could feel the joyful flush upon her cheeks caused by the frosty morning air, oblivious of the man leaning against a cottonwood next to the river, or the horse standing below the bank.