Wilderness Double Edition 28 Page 4

  The young man raised his reins to depart, but I barred his way, saying, “I want to thank you for your assistance. There is no telling what they would have done if you had not shown up.”

  “Not all rabid wolves have four legs,” the young man said, and again went to leave.

  “Hold on. Must you go?” I asked. “I would like to make your acquaintance.” I was intensely curious as to who he was, and why he had served as my protector.

  “Then you are a rarity, mister,” he replied. “Most whites shun half breeds as they would lepers.”

  “I am not a bigot.” I indicated my easel. “I have some small skill as an artist, and to an artist all hues are of equal worth.”

  “Would that all men were artists,” the young man said rather wistfully. He jabbed his heels and rode around me toward Bent’s. “Maybe we will meet again.”

  “I hope so!” I called after him, but he gave no heed. I was left alone with my paints and my thoughts. No sooner did I resume painting, however, when another pair of riders came galloping in my direction from Bent’s Fort. So much for my being alone. They passed the three hardcases and then my rescuer, and were wearing scowls when they came to a stop.

  “What in God’s name do you think you were doing?” Augustus Trevor lit into me without dismounting. “It is a good thing I ran into Billingsley. You should not be out here alone.”

  I did not respond.

  “How can we protect you when you refuse to take our advice?” Trevor gestured. “Any one of those four men I just saw would slit your throat and not give it a second thought.”

  “The young one was nice enough.” I did not go into detail about my exchange with the Hooks.

  “You are a babe in the woods,” Trevor said. “Or in this instance, a babe in the grass.” He pointed at the retreating figure of my benefactor. “For your information, that there is one of the worst killers on the frontier.”

  I refused to believe it. “Hogwash.”

  “I have seen him a few times, here and there,” Trevor elaborated, “so I know what I’m talking about.”

  “Does this terror have a name?”

  “Zach King.”

  My interest was piqued. So that was the fearsome scourge I had heard so much about? His reputation was at odds with his demeanor. “He is not the monster people make him out to be.”

  Trevor did not hide his frustration with me. “A rattlesnake is peaceable enough until you step on it. Zach King has fangs, and he’s not shy about using them. Give thanks he didn’t decide to take a bite out of you.”

  “A curious analogy,” I glibly remarked.

  “Consarn it, Parker. I can’t keep you alive when you think you know better than me. You said that you hired me for my experience, but you refuse to heed.”

  I had a retort on the tip of my tongue, but I remembered that he only had my best interests at heart. And my brief encounter with the Hook brothers and their knife-loving friend had impressed on me, yet again, that I was not taking this life-or-death business seriously enough.

  Trevor and Billingsley remained with me the rest of the afternoon. The sun was low to the horizon when I folded my easel and made ready to head back. The painting turned out well. I did not add as much detail as I would for an animal or plant, say, but I never do with landscapes.

  Ceran St. Vrain had invited me to his quarters for supper. I was tired and not all that hungry, and I nearly sent word I could not make it. Fortunately, I rallied and knocked on his door at the appointed hour.

  “I hope you won’t mind,” St. Vrain said as he shook my hand in welcome, “but I invited someone else. The son of one of my dearest friends.” He stepped aside.

  Who should be seated at the table but Zach King!

  “So we meet again,” I said, smiling and offering my hand. “Perhaps it is an omen.”

  Zach rose to greet me, but without any great enthusiasm. “My mother’s people believe in signs and portents, but it is not a belief I share.”

  For a so-called savage he was remarkably eloquent. I sat down to table with the hope of getting to know him better.

  St. Vrain’s cook had outdone himself. We had our choice of antelope or buffalo, or both. Com, string beans, potatoes, and bread smeared thick with butter were side dishes. My session on the prairie had made me ravenous, and little was said until we put down our forks and spoons and filled our coffee cups. I smacked my lips in satisfaction, then cleared my throat.

  “I have a proposition for you, Mr. King, and I hope you will hear me out.” When he did not say anything, I leaped right in. “Ceran tells me that your family lives in a hidden valley deep in the mountains. It is so far back, no other white men have ever been there.”

  “Except for Shakespeare McNair. We like our privacy.”

  “Are there a lot of animals?” I asked, recalling full well that their valley had been described to me as an Eden on earth.

  “All kinds,” Zach confirmed. “More than you will find in any one area in the mountains. My pa says our valley is a throwback to the times when there were no people.”

  “I would very much like to meet him and McNair. Do you think your father would mind if you took me back with you?”

  My request appeared to startle him. “You did hear me say we like our privacy?”

  “Surely you make exceptions,” I said.

  “A few Shoshones and Utes and a Crow have stopped by from time to time.” Zach shrugged. “And a few others,” he enigmatically added.

  “Then there is precedent.”

  Zach grinned a not unfriendly grin. “You are partial to big words, just like Uncle Shakespeare. Yes, we have had visitors. But they have all been red, not white.”

  “Then I could be the first white man to visit your valley, could I not?”

  Zach glanced sharply at Ceran St. Vrain. I flattered myself I could read his thoughts, and said, “Please don’t be annoyed at our host. He did not know I would ask this of you.”

  “I do not like being imposed on,” Zach said bluntly. “What purpose would your visit serve?”

  “I would like to paint your valley and everything in it.”

  “What on earth for?”

  “I am a naturalist. I came to the Rockies for the express purpose of cataloging its fauna and flora.”

  “You can paint anywhere in the mountains,” Zach noted. “It does not have to be our valley.”

  “But you yourself said there are more animals in your valley than anywhere else. Imagine the time and effort that would save me. I need not traipse all over. Everything I could possibly want to paint would be right there.”

  Zach stalled by sipping coffee. He was not pleased and was trying to come up with a counter to my argument, I suspected.

  “I ask only that you think it over and give me your answer in the morning,” I said diplomatically. “My party is small. Only eight others, and myself. We would impose on your family as little as possible.”

  “We might make an exception for one,” Zach said, “but never for eight. The location of our valley is a secret, and we aim to keep it that way.”

  He had inadvertently given me the leverage I needed. “Just me, then, with one packhorse for my art supplies and journals. How would that be?”

  Ceran St. Vrain coughed. “I am not so sure Augustus Trevor will like the idea.”

  “Do you have any objection to him and the rest of my men waiting here at the trading post until I return?”

  “None at all.”

  I smiled at Zach. “What do you say?”

  “You gave me until morning to decide.”

  “I promise not to reveal where your valley is,” I said. “I assure you I can be the soul of discretion.”

  “You won’t be able to show anyone even if you wanted to,” Zach said. “I intend to blindfold you when the time is right.”

  I did not relish riding in the mountain under such a handicap. “Is that really necessary?”

  “It is if you want to come. But don’t wo
rry. I’ll watch out for you until we get there.”

  I had him then, even if he did not realize it. “Whatever you deem best. All I ask is to be treated fairly.”

  “That is all I have ever wanted out of life,” Zach said quietly. “But thanks to an accident of birth, most folks I meet either want to kick my teeth in or else want nothing to do with me.”

  “I would be honored to be considered your friend.”

  Zach King looked me in the eyes. “Very well. I will take you. But don’t blame me if you live to regret it.”

  Five

  True to Ceran St. Vrain’s prediction, Augustus Trevor was not pleased. “I refuse to let you go. It is too dangerous.”

  “In case you have forgotten,” I responded, “I hired you, not the other way around. I make the decisions. You must abide by them.”

  “But this is Zachary King we are talking about. He is a killer many times over. The worst ever, some folks say.”

  “Exaggerations, Mr. Trevor. Wild exaggerations.”

  Trevor shook his head. “I wish you would give it more thought. You will be completely on your own. I have never been to King Valley, and I don’t know anyone who has. They say it is so well hidden, finding it is impossible.”

  “Zach King knows how to get there,” I said dryly.

  “Make light of it all you want. But I beg you to reconsider. I will worry myself sick until you get back.”

  “You are a good man, Augustus.”

  The scout sighed. “I could just shoot you.”

  He did not understand why I laughed so hard.

  The next morning broke clear and crisp. I hurriedly dressed and went out to the square to await Zach King. Few others were out and about. One of the Bent brothers was opening shutters. He waved to me, and I waved back, then drifted toward the stable. I had no purpose other than killing time.

  The stable doors were open. But then, they always were. There was no need to close and bar them when the stable was surrounded by high adobe walls, a sentry was always posted at the gate, and more men manned the ramparts.

  I was almost to the shadowy entrance when several shapes materialized in its depths. Out came the three people I least desired to run into.

  Jess Hook was carrying a half-empty whiskey bottle. He took a long swig and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. Passing the bottle to his brother, he spotted me. His face split into a vicious grin, and he came toward me, walking unsteadily. “Well, well, well. Look at what we have here. It’s the fancy gent who thinks he’s better’n everyone.”

  “I don’t want trouble, Mr. Hook,” I said. His brother and the other one, Cutter, stared at me with ill-concealed resentment. That they disliked me so intensely without real cause mystified me.

  “Well, you have got trouble,” Jess Hook said.

  The smart thing for me to do was to walk away, but I was still smarting over their treatment of me the day before. “So much as raise a hand to me, and I will see to it that your actions are brought to the attention of the post’s owners.”

  “I don’t like to be threatened,” Jess said. He did not have his rifle, but a pair of flintlocks were wedged under his belt.

  “What you like or don’t like is of no consequence,” I retorted. “If it had not been for Zach King, there is no telling what you would have done to me yesterday.”

  Cutter scowled and started toward me, his hands on his knives. “How about if I show you?” But as he went to pass Jess Hook, the latter gripped his arm.

  “No.”

  “Let go. I don’t like him. I don’t like him one little bit.”

  “Not here,” Jess Hook said, with a bob of his chin at the broad square. “We get the Bent boys or St. Vrain mad at us and they’ll toss us out and won’t ever let us back in.”

  Cutter’s scowl faded but not the flinty glint in his dark eyes. “For now, then. But only for now.”

  I’d had about enough of their attitude. “Listen to yourselves. Grown men, and you go around blustering and posturing like ten-year-olds. No more, I say. You will leave me alone, here and elsewhere.”

  “Was that a threat, Big Words?” Jordy Hook said.

  “I have eight men in my party,” I informed them, “including Augustus Trevor, who I am sure you must have heard of, living on the frontier as you do. The next time you presume on my good graces, I will let Mr. Trevor and the rest deal with you.”

  “We know Trevor,” Jess Hook said. “He’s a tough one, but he’s not us.”

  “What does that mean?” I demanded. My anger swelled when all they did was look at one another and smirk. “Are you saying that you are not afraid to tangle with Trevor? Then how about Zach King?”

  “King?” Jess Hook repeated.

  “He made you back down yesterday,” I gloated. “And soon I expect to leave with him for the valley where he and his family live. I will be in his company for weeks.” My intent was to show them that if they persisted in imposing on my good nature, they might have to answer to the most widely feared man on the frontier.

  “He is taking you to King Valley?” Jess Hook asked in considerable surprise. “No one knows where it is except the Kings and that old goat Shakespeare McNair.”

  “So I have been told,” I said.

  “Folks say there’s a reason the Kings keep it a secret,” Jess went on. “They say the Kings found gold, and they’re afraid that if words gets out, their valley will be overrun.”

  This was news to me. “I wouldn’t know anything about any gold. My only interest is the wildlife.”

  “What is it you call yourself again?”

  “A naturalist.”

  “And you expect us to believe you’re more interested in critters than being rich?” Jess Hook laughed. “Mister, one of us is pulling the other’s leg, and it ain’t me.”

  “Believe what you will, but leave me be.” I pivoted on my heel and strode off. I was simmering inside. I tried to tell myself that I shouldn’t let three crude louts upset me so much. I was halfway to the trading post when I was hailed, and I promptly forgot about the unsavory trio in the excitement of seeing the man who had cowed them. I hurried to meet him. “Good morning. I have been waiting for you. I hope you haven’t changed your mind.”

  Zach King placed the stock of his rifle on the ground and leaned on it. “I was up most of the night thanks to you. But when I give my word, I keep it.”

  “You lost sleep over taking me to your valley?”

  “I wish my pa was here. It is his decision to make, not mine.”

  I was perplexed. “You are a grown man. Surely you can make up your own mind.”

  “It’s not that,” Zach said. “I told you. We like our privacy. If word of how to find our valley ever got out, we would have hunters and trappers and you-name-it paying us a visit every time we turned around.”

  “And gold seekers,” I mentioned. “Rumor has it your family made a rich strike.”

  “I’ve heard that nonsense,” Zach said. “It started when Shakespeare paid for some supplies with a nugget he found years ago. Tongues commenced to wag, and pretty soon that nugget turned into a vein of pure gold somewhere in our valley. We tell people it’s not true, but they think we’re lying.” He let out a long sigh. “When folks get silly notions like that into their heads, nothing you can say will change their minds.”

  “What was it you said to Cutter yesterday? Oh, yes, now I remember,” I said. “‘Stupid is as stupid does.’“

  “Exactly.” Zach smiled.

  “To get back to the issue at hand,” I said. “Don’t keep me in suspense. When do we head out?”

  With obvious reluctance, Zach said, “First you must agree to the conditions.”

  “I already said you can blindfold me. What else is there?”

  “You will do as I say at all times. No arguments. Ever. When it comes time to blindfold you, if I catch you trying to peek from under it, we go our separate ways. Once we reach the valley, you are not to leave it for any reason until you are done
doing whatever it is you do. Then me or one of the others will escort you out. Blindfolded, of course.”

  “Of course,” I said. “Your requests seem reasonable enough.”

  “They are not requests,” Zach warned. “If, at any time, I suspect you are up to no good, I will take whatever steps are called for.” He studied me. “I hope to God you are sincere. If this is a trick, if later you bring others to our valley, I will kill you.”

  “Just like that?” I bantered, and snapped my fingers.

  “Just like that,” Zach King said.

  Something in his tone persuaded me I should take him seriously. “It’s no trick. I promise. So how soon do we leave?”

  “I have some supplies to buy,” Zach replied. “We will head out about two this afternoon.”

  “I’ll be ready.”

  “Just so you understand,” Zach said, and pointed to the west. “You have never been in the mountains. You have no idea what it’s like. I will do my best, but I can’t promise that you will make it back alive.”

  “Honestly,” I said with a grin. “It won’t work. You can’t scare me into changing my mind.”

  “You don’t get it,” Zach responded. “You think I am making much ado about nothing, as Shakespeare McNair would say. But the plain truth is that in the wild it is do or die. Nature does not play favorites. A mistake can cost you your life.”

  “You have managed well enough,” I said. “You and your entire family. Including a younger sister, I hear.” I chuckled. “If she manages, so can I.”

  “My sister and I were raised in the wilderness. We know all the animals and their ways. We know the plants and the trees. We can read the land, the weather and the stars. We never get lost. Can you say the same?”

  “The sun rises in the east and sets in the west,” I glibly responded. “How hard can it be?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” Again Zach sighed. “You will find out for yourself soon enough. Be sure to bring a rifle and two pistols and a water skin if you have one.”

  “I thank you from the bottom of my heart.”

  The next several hours went by in a rush. Before I knew it, it was noon, and I sat down to eat with Trevor and Jeffers and the rest. The scout sought to talk me out of going, but I was immune to his entreaties. Finally I held up my hand.