Elsa Dutton's Arc

Chapter 4 of 3

Her father's words held her until the fires died. But Ennis's words pulled harder. The tide would drop by first light. So when the camp slept, Elsa slipped past the last wagon and found him waiting by the water. Ennis held his hat in his hands. "You came," he said. He said nothing else for a moment. Then he spread his coat on the gravel. They sat close. He talked about the ford, about Oregon, about green hills he had never seen. Elsa laughed and leaned her head on his shoulder. For one hour she forgot her father, the river, the whole hard trail. She felt only the warmth of him and the cold air off the water. "I'll tell your father I mean to marry you," Ennis said. "Soon as we cross." "He'll shoot you," Elsa said, smiling. "Then I'll say it fast." A branch cracked in the dark. Not the river. Not the wind. Ennis stood at once. He pushed Elsa behind him. Shapes moved between the wagons. Strangers. Men she had never seen, with rifles and knives, slipping into camp to take the grain and the horses. "Run," Ennis said. "Get to the wagons. Wake your father." Elsa did not run. One of the men swung toward them. Ennis charged him. They fell to the gravel, fighting for the knife. Elsa screamed. Lanterns bloomed across the camp. She heard James Dutton shouting her name. The fight was short and ugly. Ennis got the knife free and drove the first man back. A second came from his blind side. Elsa saw the blade. She saw Ennis turn to put himself between it and her. The blade went into him instead. Gunfire cracked. Sheriff Shea came through the dark at a dead run, firing his pistol, white beard flying. "Down," he barked. "Stay down." He put two shots into the bandits and the rest scattered into the night, grabbing what grain they could carry. Then it was quiet. Elsa knelt in the gravel. Ennis lay with his head in her lap. His hat had rolled into the water. Blood soaked through his shirt, fast and dark. "Ennis. Look at me." She pressed her hands on the wound. It did not stop. "Papa! Help him, please!" James reached them and knelt. He looked at the wound. He looked at his daughter's face. He did not lie to her. Ennis found Elsa's hand. His grip was weak. "Green hills," he said. "You go see them." His eyes stayed open, but the light in them went out. Elsa did not move. Shea took off his hat. James put a hand on her shoulder, and for once said nothing. By first light the tide fell, just as Ennis had promised. The ford opened. The wagons could cross now. But Elsa sat in the wet gravel beside the cowboy's body, and she could not feel the river or the morning or anything at all.