Wilderness Double Edition 14 Page 11

  “But the Bible says God made Adam first,” Lou had pointed out. “And that Eve was made from Adam’s rib.”

  “Then doctors and such have it all backwards. Our intelligence isn’t in our heads. It’s in our rib bones. And when the Good Lord took Adam’s, He took what little intelligence Adam had.”

  Lou had been shocked by her mother’s blasphemous talk, yet she’d laughed heartily just the same. And it certainly did seem at times as if her pa were missing a few marbles. He was always chasing rainbows, always coming up with new schemes to get rich. Trapping had been his latest, and worst.

  Lou never argued when he railed about higher learning. He could complain all he liked. She’d still planned to do as she darned well pleased.

  Now her dream had been replaced by another.

  Instead of seeking a degree, Lou was content to become Stalking Coyote’s mate, to bear him children. To rear a family together. To spend the rest of their lives in close companionship.

  It would be wonderful if Lou could somehow talk him into going back east so she could go to school, but she had to be realistic. The wilderness was Zach’s home. He had lived in the mountains all his life. He despised most whites and wanted nothing to do with them. There was as much chance of him agreeing to live in the States as there was of the moon falling out of the sky and smashing to bits.

  Lou could live with that, though. She’d rather have love than a piece of paper. A degree couldn’t cherish her, couldn’t keep her warm on a cold winter’s night, couldn’t make her laugh and feel giddy with delight at being alive. Stalking Coyote made her feel all those things, and so many more.

  Sighing, Lou shifted position—and saw that Bartholomew Dunne had done the same. He was facing her again, and again she had the feeling he was watching her on the sly. Telling herself she was being foolish, that it was mere coincidence, Lou stood and walked past him to a flat boulder. Climbing up, she crossed her legs and roosted.

  Another dream Lou had to abandon was her fond wish of one day seeing places like England and Europe. Her grandma was to blame. Seated at her grandmother’s feet, Lou had listened to endless yams about life in the Old Country. It had fired Lou’s interest in other climes, other people.

  Lou always wanted to visit Paris, in particular. Her grandma painted it as a worldly city, full of gaiety and charm. Many a time, Lou had imagined herself dressed in a fine flowing dress, sashaying along a crowded boulevard and drawing the eyes of all the handsome gentlemen she passed.

  Making the trip would be easier than it had ever been. Steamships plied the Atlantic on regular runs now, their passengers enjoying all the comforts of home, and then some. Fine meals were served, and there was music and dancing.

  A tinge of regret afflicted Lou. By taking Stalking Coyote as her husband, she was, in effect, putting an end to her two fondest dreams, attending college and venturing overseas. Hard sacrifices for anyone to make. Is he worth it? Lou asked herself, and promptly felt guilty for wondering such a thing.

  Lou loved him. And love, true love, the kind of love that promised to last forever, was worth any sacrifice, great or small. Too many people went their whole lives being alone and lonely because they were unwilling to give up a few cherished notions for the greatest treasure any person could ever have.

  Yes, Stalking Coyote was worth any cost. Lou would stick with him through thick and thin. She’d always be there when he needed her—as she was doing now by trying to save him. He would surely do the same for her.

  Lou stifled another yawn. Lord, but she was tired. She scanned the area, grateful the night had grown quiet for a spell, and her gaze happened to alight on Bartholomew Dunne. He had turned once more and was facing her!

  Resting a hand on a pistol, Lou slid off the boulder and walked toward him. Enough was enough. She would find out once and for all if he was awake or not.

  Halfway there Lou heard his heavy breathing. She cat-footed nearer, and when she was an arm’s length away he commenced to snore, as loudly as her father had done. It convinced her Dunne wasn’t faking.

  Lou felt silly. She was so overwrought about Stalking Coyote, she was imagining things. The trapper meant her no harm.

  Relieved, Lou took to pacing. Adrift in thought, pondering the new life and new challenges that awaited her once she was wed, she lost all track of the passing minutes. So she was taken aback when a pink band framed the eastern horizon. Dawn wasn’t far off. Soon they would be on their way, and she fully expected to be reunited with her beloved before the new day was done.

  Lou got some coffee going. She saddled her horse and was set to go before the trapper stirred.

  “Morning,” Dunne greeted her. “You’re a bundle of energy today.”

  “I’m looking forward to catching up with my friends.”

  “Let’s hope we do. Then the whole bunch of us can head to Bent’s Fort. From there, I’m off to the States. If you’re smart, you’ll do the same. After all, there’s nothing here to hold you, is there?”

  There was, but Lou wasn’t about to tell him.

  With the rising of the sun they were on the go again, Lou glued to the country ahead, hungry for her first glimpse of Stalking Coyote. She gave no thought to the man riding behind her.

  Which was unfortunate. For, just as the day before, Bartholomew Dunne didn’t take his eyes off her all morning.

  Nine

  Zachary King saw the first Ute shortly after the gold-hungry band of whites filed westward at the crack of dawn. Vince Kendrick was eager to reach Gold Mountain, and whenever the subject of the gold came up, his face glowed with the savage light of pure greed. The others were likewise infected now that they were close to their goal. Even the Batson brothers, who chatted amiably on about the kind of plow they should get for their father.

  The whites were blinded by their lust. The gold was all they thought about, all they talked about. None stayed alert for hostiles except Elden Johnson, and more often than not he was distracted by the conversations of his companions.

  Zach was always on the lookout. The meal and a night’s sleep had refreshed him greatly. And he had something else to be thankful for. They hadn’t tied him so he could ride sitting up, thanks largely to Kendrick’s greed. The big man was so anxious to get to the gold that he had ordered Cyrus Walton to let Zach ride in order to make better time.

  As they trotted toward a series of low hills, Zach spotted the first Ute. The warrior was hidden in pines to the southwest, observing them. No one else noticed. Zach glanced at Ben Frazier, who was fiddling with the whangs on his buckskins, and asked softly so only the trapper heard, “Do you see what I see?” He nodded at the hills.

  Frazier spied the figure right away. Grinning, he said, “Well, lookee there. Told you, didn’t I?”

  “Why are you so happy?”

  “Because I can’t wait for the war party to make wolf meat of these bastards.” Frazier glared at the head of the column. “Especially that polecat who pounded on me.”

  “The Utes will also kill us.”

  “Will they? I heard your pa was on good terms with them. Folks say he’s the only white man they’ve let live in their territory. You’re his son, so they’re bound to spare you. And since I’m your friend, all you have to do is put in a good word and they’ll spare me, too.” So that was it, Zach reflected. But the old-timer had misjudged badly. “My pa did the tribe a favor once, so they tolerate us. But there are a lot who would just as soon rub our family out.”

  “You’re his son. That ought to count for something,” Frazier insisted.

  “It was my pa who did them the service, not me. Most of them have never even set eyes on me before. To those warriors out there, I’m just a half-breed. And part Shoshone, at that.”

  The trapper was beginning to worry. “The Shoshones are their enemies.”

  “Now you’re catching on. I’m in as much danger as these whites. Maybe more, because any Ute warrior would be proud to have a Shoshone scalp hanging in his lodge.”
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  “Damnation. I wish you’d mentioned this sooner. Our only hope, then, is to light a shuck when the gettin’ is good.”

  That was their predicament in a nutshell, as the mountain men liked to say. Zach spent the morning on the watch for more painted figures but saw none until the sun was almost at its zenith. By then Gold Mountain loomed like a gigantic spike striving to impale the sky. Bleak and barren, it had an ominous air about it. Or so Zach thought.

  The second Ute was on a hill to the north, in a stand of aspens, his buckskins and his dusky horse blending into the background so well that Zach wouldn’t have spotted them if the horse hadn’t twitched its tail.

  What are the Utes waiting for? Zach asked himself. The war party should have struck the whites by this time. They outnumbered the whites two to one and had the element of surprise in their favor.

  Maybe, Zach speculated, they had sent a rider for more warriors. Or perhaps—and this was more likely, in Zach’s estimation—they were curious as to what the whites were up to. They were holding off until they learned what Kendrick’s men were after. It couldn’t be beaver, not in that area.

  Ben Frazier was thinking along similar lines. Kneeing his mule up next to Zach’s animal, he commented, “Why the deuce haven’t those red rascals done anything yet? The Utes must be gettin’ lazy. In the old days, they’d have swooped down on us the minute they saw us.”

  “Never look a gift horse in the mouth,” Zach said. “I’d rather they get it over with. If they kill me, so be it. I’ll die content knowin’ that Kendrick and his vultures have met their Maker, too. And when I run into ’em in Hell, I’ll have the last laugh.”

  Elden Johnson picked that moment to holler, “Vince, we should give the horses a short rest. We’ve been pushing all morning.”

  It was plain Kendrick would rather keep going, but he called a halt. The water skin was passed around, and since there wasn’t much water left, Zach and Frazier were denied a drink.

  “Don’t worry, my young friend,” the trapper said. “We’ll be at the stream in another couple of hours. We can drink our fill there.”

  “Provided they let us.”

  Soon the greed that goaded the whites showed itself again when Ed Stark remarked, “Vince, I’ve been thinking about the best way to divide up the gold. Each of us will get to take as much as we can carry, right?”

  Kendrick was screening his eyes from the sun so he could study Gold Mountain. “Plus extra on the pack-horses and the old man’s mule.”

  “That’s what I thought,” Stark said. “And we’ll all get an equal share of what they carry. Which is only fair.”

  “Fairness be hanged. I’m booshway, aren’t I? So I’m entitled to more. Most of the extra gold we pack out will belong to me.”

  The announcement met with universal disapproval. To a man, the whites frowned and exchanged looks critical of their leader.

  Ed Stark opened his mouth, then hesitated. It was Cyrus Walton who voiced the sentiment on all their minds. “That doesn’t hardly seem right, Vince. We share in the hardships but not the gold?”

  “The captains of trapping brigades always get extra,” Kendrick said. “That’s how it’s done and you know it.”

  “True,” Cyrus Walton agreed. “But we’re not a trapping brigade anymore, are we? We’re after gold now, which means file rules don’t apply.”

  Only then did Kendrick tear his gaze from the mountain. Only then did their expressions register. He reacted as he always did when someone opposed him: with rising anger. “Like hell they don’t. Peltries, gold, it’s all the same. I’m still the leader, I’m still entitled to more than the rest of you.”

  “Begging your pardon, Mr. Kendrick,” Frank Batson said, “but there’s a big difference between beaver hides and nuggets. I say we divide the gold fair and square so we all get the same amount.”

  “I agree,” Ira Sanders said.

  “So do I,” Elden Johnson declared.

  Kendrick had an open rebellion on his hands. “You too, Elden?” he said in surprise. “After all we’ve been through, you’d side with them?”

  “Because of all we’ve been through,” the human anvil said. “Stark had it right for once. We should share and share alike.”

  “So that’s how it is,” Kendrick responded. “Even my best friends turn against me.” Strangely enough, the big man’s anger faded and he held up his hands in mock surrender. “I can see when I’m licked. If that’s how you boys want it to be, that’s how we’ll do it. Once we reach St. Louis and convert the gold to money, we’ll divide it up equally. Satisfied?”

  The men greeted the announcement with smiles, but Zach was suspicious. Kendrick had given in much too easily. It wasn’t like him to back down to their demands. The firebrand must have an ulterior motive, and Zach could guess what it was. Kendrick intended to see to it that no one else reached St. Louis alive. On the long trek across the prairie, they would all suffer fatal mishaps or mysteriously disappear. Kendrick was in the unbreakable grip of gold madness; he wanted it all for himself.

  “Sounds good to me, Vince,” Cyrus Walton said. “I can’t hardly wait” was how Ed Stark felt. “Won’t Pa be tickled?” Billy Batson asked his older brother. “He thought this whole trapping business was a waste of time. That nothing good would come of it. But we’ll show him.”

  “That we will,” Frank concurred.

  Of them all, only Elden Johnson wasn’t pleased. His forehead was furrowed, and he regarded Kendrick as he might a pet wolf that had turned on him. Johnson was the one person Kendrick hadn’t fooled.

  Presently, in high spirits, they traveled on. Within an hour they neared the base of Gold Mountain. Their excitement grew and grew, to where several constantly fidgeted in their saddles as if they had ants in their britches. Hopeful faces were craned upward, the gleams in their eyes blinding them to the peril they were in.

  Vince Kendrick reined up and beckoned to Frazier. No one objected when Zach tagged along to hear what was said.

  “We’re here, old man. So tell me where the gold is. And if you’ve been lying to us, you’ll suffer worse than if Comanches got their hands on you. I guarantee it.”

  “Unlike some folks I could name, I’m partial to always tellin’ the truth.” Frazier pointed at a high slope, at a stream glittering in the sunlight like a diamond necklace. “It’s up there, but I have to show you exactly where.”

  “How long will it take?”

  “Not much over two hours, I should reckon.”

  It took closer to three, but no one seemed to mind once they came to the stream, which flowed diagonally down across the mountain and on into lush woodland far below. Walton and Sanders crossed to the other bank. As excited as school kids on a picnic, the whole band climbed higher, each trying to be the first to spot nuggets.

  Frazier found their antics humorous. “Look all you want,” he told them, “but the gold is only along one short stretch.”

  The going became rough and steep. Zach checked their back trail frequently but saw no evidence of Utes. They were there, though. He was sure of it.

  Along about four in the afternoon, the old trapper crested a rise and drew rein on an upland bench dotted with firs and sprinkled with boulders. The gurgling stream divided it into two sections. Random pools were separated by rapids, but nowhere was the water more than a couple of feet deep.

  “Why did you stop?” Vince Kendrick demanded.

  “This is it,” Frazier said.

  “What?”

  Frazier laughed. “What else? Yonder is where I made my strike.”

  Ed Stark whooped and spurred his mount down to the water’s edge. He was out of the saddle and in the stream before the animal came to a halt. Bending, he started moving stones on the bottom and prying at rocks along the bank. Suddenly his hand dipped. “I found one!” he exclaimed. “Look here! Honest-to-God gold, boys!”

  Yipping and chortling, the rest barreled down to join him. Kendrick, Walton, Sanders, Johnson, they were
all swept by gold fever. Fanning out, they plunged in, scouring the bed for more precious ore.

  “Look at ’em,” Frazier said to Zach. “Dumber than stumps, the whole lot.” He winked. “What they don’t know is that I cleaned out most of the gold. Have it cached close by where no one but me will ever find it.”

  Sanders was crowing and flapping his arms like a rooster gone berserk. He had found a nugget, too, and was beside himself with joy.

  “Oh, there’s some left,” Frazier said, “but mostly smaller nuggets I didn’t bother with. I bet if I took the time to pan, I’d probably find a ton more. And that doesn’t count the grains that must be mixed with the gravel and dirt at the bottom.”

  Now it was Billy Batson who squealed and held aloft a prize.

  Zach saw that all the whites practically had their noses in the water. “This is our chance,” he said, and reined his horse around. No one looked up, no one cried out. His captors had one thing on their mind, and one thing alone.

  Zach went over the rise at a brisk walk. An incline linked the bench to a lower slope, and he had to be careful his mount didn’t lose its footing. Any faster and they courted disaster.

  The trapper was close behind, grinning fiercely. “Those idiots! We’ll be long gone before they notice we’ve cut out on them.”

  But Frazier was mistaken. Zach was only halfway down the incline when someone—Elden Johnson?— let out with a shout loud enough to be heard in the States.

  “The breed and the old coot are getting away!"

  By midday Louisa was tired and hungry and thirsty, but she didn’t care. She would ride all day and all night if that was what it took to catch up with Stalking Coyote. Twice she had paid no heed to suggestions by Bartholomew Dunne that they stop and rest, but now she had to. The dun was caked with sweat, and Dunne’s pack animal was flagging.

  Tall pines hemmed them in. For quite some time they had been traveling through shadowed, murky forest, the gloom adding to Lou’s depression. She yearned for open country, for sunshine, for the sight of distant horsemen.