Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] by Lonesome River Page A

fascination, Liberty’s eyes swept the area again.
    “We’ll burn them,” Farr argued.
    “Burn them?” she echoed stupidly.
    “Unless you want to leave them to be a meal for those scavengers.” He flung his arm upward where the buzzards and the crows waited. “Unless you want to stay and dig ten graves and wait until Hull Dexter comes back to find out if your man had the flux. If not for that, you’d be here too.”
    “But . . . maybe some are alive.”
    “They’re all dead! Now, take this rifle and go!”
    “This one’s alive,” she persisted.
    “I suspect his ma tossed him into the berry bushes. Look at him; he’s scratched all over.”
    Liberty turned and stumbled blindly back down the trail. “Papa,” she called. “Stop the wagon.”
    “What fer? Are ya agoin’ back?” Elija reeled in the saddle. “Who’s that?” He peered drunkenly at the child in her arms.
    Anger and frustration washed over Liberty. “Act like a man for once in your life, Papa,” she shouted. “Go help Mr. Quill.” She dropped her rifle and slapped his mount so hard on the rump that her hand stung. The startled horse sprang forward. Elija grabbed the saddle horn.
    “Why’d ya have to go ’n do that fer?” His complaining voice reached Liberty where she stood beside the wagon telling Amy to take Mercy and crawl into the back.
    “Who’s that, Libby? Why’re you mad at Papa? Did we catch up with them other folks?”
    “Yes, Amy, we did. I need your help, honey. Could you and Mercy take care of this poor little boy? He’s gone to sleep, but I suspect he’s hungry. Stay in the back of the wagon and hold him. Sing to him so he’ll know he’s not alone.”
    “That’s the little Phelps boy, Libby. I threw a ball to him one day. His name’s Daniel. Where’s his mama?”
    “She’s dead. They’re all dead. Now, don’t think about it, just take care of Daniel and Mercy. I’m going back and help Mr. Quill.”
    “Did they get the lung sickness like Jubal?”
    “No. I’ll tell you about it later. Stay in the back with the little ones. Play like you’re their mama, honey. If Daniel wakes up, give him some of the cold pap and put some syrup on it. Give Mercy some too. I’ll not be gone long.”
    Liberty dreaded going back to the clearing more than she ever dreaded anything in her life. But knowing Elija’s condition, she doubted that he’d be any help to Farr. She grasped her rifle and ran up the track to the massacre site. The first thing she saw was her father’s horse, cropping the grass, dragging the reins. Elija was holding onto a young sapling and emptying his stomach on the ground.
    Farr was carrying the stiffened body of one of the women toward a topless wagon. He had tied his handkerchief over the lower part of his face, and his voice when it came to her was muffled. “Go back.”
    “No. You need help and you’ll not get it from him.” Liberty tossed her head toward Elija who was moaning and retching at the same time.
    “Then gather up all the dry timber you can find. Small twigs and grass to cover the bodies, big stuff to go on top. We’ll burn them in the wagon.”
    “But won’t they see the smoke?”
    “We have to take the chance. We either burn them or let the wolves have them.” He turned back to another dead body, knelt beside the woman and covered her privates with her nightdress before he lifted her.
    Liberty worked fast and mindlessly. She carried armload after armload of dry branches and piled them beside the wagon where Farr was placing the bodies of the ill-fated group. She used the axe that had been embedded in a stump by one of the murdered men. No doubt he planned to chop wood for the breakfast fire. She hacked and carried wood until Farr took the axe from her hand. Together they tossed the grass and the wood onto the wagon until the bodies were covered. Farr took a flint from the pouch that hung from his belt and struck a spark, blew on it, then nourished it within his cupped