She could not quite remember where she was. Her father’s grisly death she would never forget. But what had she done afterward? Ah. In a spurt of memory she relived some of it. Her flight. Her fear. The loneliness. Then she had met someone. Who?
A face floated on the insides of her eyelids, a handsome face with a dazzling smile. It was the face of an Indian, or someone who was part Indian, but she was not afraid of him. Nor did she hate him, as she rightfully should. No, she drank in the image of the handsome vision as a parched wanderer would gulp down refreshing water after a trek across a scorched desert.
Stalking Coyote. She remembered his name now, and how she had laid herself down next to him the night before. Shameless hussy! her father would say. Did she have no morals whatsoever?
Smiling, Louisa opened her eyes. And tensed. She was not lying next to him. She was lying on him! And her head was not on the ground. It was on his chest. A blanket lay over both of them. His arm was around her shoulders. She didn’t recall this part, and she wondered what else she had forgotten. How shamelessly had she behaved?
His chest rose and fell steadily. He was still asleep, even though the sun was an hour high in a lake-blue sky. Louisa tilted her head to study his wonderful features. In repose they were softer, even more handsome – if that were possible. She had a most unsettling urge to run her fingertips over his lips.
What is happening to me? Louisa asked herself. Why was she doing things she never had before? Why was she having thoughts no decent girl ever should? Her parents, were they alive, would cringe in reproach and remorse.
Yet Louisa could not help herself. She marveled at how black his hair was. At how hard his body felt. At how a tiny vein on his neck pulsed to the beat of his heart. Evidently, he had thrown the blanket over them to keep her warm. Or was it for another reason?
For a moment Louisa feared he might have taken liberties. But a glance assured her she had not been violated. Her clothes were intact. Her body felt as it should. Many men would have taken advantage, but Stalking Coyote had not. In her exhausted state she would have been helpless – but he had behaved with honor.
A comment her mother made years ago, one she had forgotten, was recalled with perfect clarity: “When you find a man who will respect you, little one, then you have found the one for you. All men lust. Many men love. But only few ever learn true respect. That is the kind of man you want.”
Louisa started to sit up. Instantly, Stalking Coyote’s eyes snapped open. His hand dove for a pistol at his waist. Then he saw her, and relaxed.
“About time, sleepyhead,” he said.
“Me?” Louisa responded. “I’ve been awake for ten minutes. You’re the one wasting the day away.”
Zach could not get over how beautiful she was in the rosy light. “I woke up before daybreak. You were still out to the world, so I didn’t disturb you. I figured you had a lot of rest to catch up on.”
“How sweet of you,” Louisa said.
“I’d have done the same for anyone,” Zach said, sure he was blushing. He did not tell her that he had lain quietly for half an hour after he woke up, reveling in the splendor of her features and the feel of her body against his. He had wanted to hold her even closer. To run his hands through her hair. To kiss her. Instead, he’d let himself drift off to sleep again.
“I’ll fix breakfast,” Louisa proposed. It was the first thing her mother had always done each day.
“I’ll get the fire going and tend to the horses,” Zach said. Chores his father did every morning. After gathering logs, he arranged them in a circle, the inner ends almost touching – similar to the spokes on a wagon wheel.
Louisa was mystified. “I’ve never seen anyone make a fire quite like you do,” she remarked while chopping rabbit meat into bite-sized bits.
“This is how Indians do it,” Zach explained “It reduces the smoke so enemies cannot spot them.”
“Good thing you came along, then,” Louisa joked. “My fires gave off enough to gag a buffalo.”
“So I noticed. How do you think I found you?”
She giggled. “I’m glad I was doing it wrong if it brought us together.”
Awkward minutes elapsed, with neither of them saying a word until they were halfway through breakfast.
Zach liked how she had cooked the meat until it was well done and flavored it with gravy made from elk fat. The combination was tantalizing. “You’re a good cook.”
“Passable,” Louisa amended, pleased beyond measure. Something else her mother had said sprang full blown into her mind. “You’ll hear a lot of women say that the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach. And you know what, daughter? It’s true. Even if a man can cook better than you, he’d rather eat your cooking than anyone else’s. Men take it as a token of your love. Just like they do when you mend and clean. But cooking always counts for more.”
“Almost as good as my ma,” Zach said. As far as he was concerned, his mother was the best cook who had ever lived.
“I can’t wait to meet her,” Louisa responded, although she was nervous at the prospect, afraid his mother would not approve of their interest in one another.
The next order of business was preparing the elk meat. Zach constructed several racks to dry it on, employing slender limbs and rawhide. “We won’t be able to leave until tomorrow,” he informed his companion. “Noon, at the earliest.”
Louisa could not have been happier. The longer they took, the more time she spent in his company. Just the two of them. They could get to know each other better. Maybe grow closer. She grew all warm and tingly just thinking about it.
By about two in the afternoon the last of the elk meat had been carved into thin slices and hung on the racks. Their time was their own.
Zach was at a loss as to what to talk about. He had never been alone with a girl for so long – not even with his sister. Afraid he would make a fool of himself, he kept his mouth shut.
Louisa did not know what to think of his silence. She blamed herself, suspecting she had accidentally done or said something to offend him. After trying a number of times to draw him out of his shell, without success, she was at her wit’s end. Since he did not seem interested in talking, she reckoned it was as good a time as any to treat herself to that bath. “I’m going to the stream,” she announced, rising from the log.
“I’ll go with you,” Zach said. He was eager to do something other than sit there like a wart on a toad.
“I don’t want to bother you,” Louisa said. She did not come right out and say she did not want his company, for fear of angering him. But under no circumstances would she take a bath in his presence!
Snatching his Hawken, Zach declared, “No bother at all. Bloods and Piegans come through this area now and then, and I’d hate for you to fall into their hands.”
“You would?”
The radiant smile she bestowed on Zach was bright enough to illuminate the blackest night. “No one should ever be held against their will,” he said huskily. “I was a captive once, so I know how it feels.”
Here was a subject ripe for discussion, Louisa mused. “Who captured you?”
“The Blackfeet.”
“And you’re still wearing your hair?”
Zach chuckled while ambling to the north. “It wasn’t as bad as I always feared it would be. They aren’t as mean and despicable as most people make out. They treated me decently.”
Louisa was quite surprised. “My pa always said the Blackfeet, Piegans, and Bloods are the worst of the lot. That they’ll as soon kill a white man as look at him.”
“They’ve hated us ever since the Lewis and Clark expedition,” Zach disclosed. “Meriwether Lewis and his men got into a tussle over some guns the Blackfeet were trying to steal, and a Blackfoot warrior was killed. Another was wounded. So they’ve hated us ever since.”
“That’s hardly right. It was their fault. Why is it red men are always so willing to think the worst of whites?” Just a day ago Zach would have bris
tled at the statement. Now, he responded, “I could ask the same about white men. But in this instance you’re right. Both sides were to blame. Innocent trappers have been paying with their lives ever since.”
“What would they do to me if they caught me? Kill me?”
“No.” Zach shunned details. He had suffered enough embarrassment since they met. “Don’t worry, though. I won’t let them get their hands on you.”
“My protector,” Louisa stated with uncommon pride. “I feel safe with you by my side.”
“You do?” Zach was flattered, but also practical. Alone, he would not be able to save her should a war party catch them by surprise. The best he could do was put a ball into her head if it appeared they would be taken prisoner. So he was extra vigilant as they approached the stream.
A grassy glade ringed by cottonwoods bordered gurgling water. Dappled by sunlight, a tranquil pool enticed Louisa to its edge. She dipped her hands in, washed them, then drank.
Zach had quenched his own thirst earlier when he brought the horses. Idly scanning stark mountains to the southeast, he waited for her to finish. A bee buzzed past, and he followed its flight to a patch of flowers above a gravel strip that jutted into the stream like an accusing finger. An imprint in the center was cause for concern. He walked over.
Louisa had not been this happy in years. She felt so happy, in fact, she was racked by guilt. Less than a week ago her father had died. Yet here she was cavorting with a young man, a man who was as much a mystery to her as life itself, and entertaining notions no upstanding young lady ever should. She began to wash her face and neck.
Zach hopped off the bank onto the gravel. The imprint was a track, made by an unshod horse. He found several others, less obvious. A rider had forded the stream a couple of days earlier, heading due north. Zach peered into the distance.
“Something wrong?” Louisa asked. Stalking Coyote wore the same look her father had had just before the Indians jumped them.
“We must hurry back and saddle up.”
“What?”
“We’ll have to leave the elk meat behind,” Zach said. He did not like it one bit, not after all the trouble he had gone to. But the packhorses must not be burdened.
Louisa stood. “After all our work? Why?”
Zach could have said, “I do not want any harm to befall you.” Or he could have replied, “We must sacrifice the meat to save ourselves.” But he did neither. He merely raised his arm and pointed at a long line of warriors descending a tableland. Descending toward the valley, and the stream.
Ten
The huge cat snarled, a fierce, hissing cry that caused Evelyn King’s pony to whinny and shy. Evelyn was so scared, she forgot to firm her grip on the reins. Her mount bounded to the left, brushing against a boulder, and pain seared her leg.
In a lithe leap the mountain lion reached the lip of the high boulder it was on. Crouching to spring, it snarled again, its black-tipped tail twitching.
Evelyn gaped up into savagely piercing eyes, horrible orbs that seemed to stab icy claws deep down inside her. She knew she should wheel her pony and get out of there, but her limbs would not move.
The painter’s whole body went rigid. Her pa had told her mountain lions did that when they were about to attack. Evelyn tried to tear her gaze from the cat’s, but she couldn’t. She sensed that in another second it would be on her, rending and ripping.
That was when a bristling guardian hurtled past. Blaze stood between her and the boulder and growled up at the cougar, which partially rose and cocked its head as if in surprise at the wolf’s challenge. The cat’s snarls took on a shrill note; its ears flattened. Blaze’s hair rose on end, making him appear even bigger than he was, and saliva dripped from his lower jaw.
For long moments the pair glared at one another. Evelyn was sure the cat would pounce. Fear for Blaze spiked through her and broke the spell that held her frozen. She whipped out her pistol, thumbed back the hammer, and fixed a bead on the painter’s chest. She tried her best to hold the muzzle steady, but her pony was prancing up a storm. As the big cat stiffened, she squeezed the trigger.
The blast was magnified by the boulders. It sounded as if her father’s Hawken had gone off instead of her small flintlock. The ball struck below the mountain lion and ricocheted off, creasing the cougar’s foreleg, digging a furrow that oozed red. In a twinkling the painter whirled and was gone, bounding from boulder to boulder in tremendous leaps few living creatures could rival.
Blaze started to give chase, but halted at a shout from Evelyn. The wolf was brave, but foolhardy. It stood no chance against the larger, bulkier, more vicious feline.
Another yell echoed off the slope, from lower down. Evelyn swiveled, then beamed. Galloping toward her was her pa, his whangs flying, his bay lathered with sweat. “Here I am!” she hollered, waving.
Nate King was worried sick. When he had found the pony gone, he had quickly thrown a saddle on his horse and lit out. Winona had wanted to tag along, but one of them had had to stay home in case Evelyn returned. The pony’s fresh tracks were as plain as day, and he had pushed the bay to overtake her as rapidly as possible.
Nate had reached the bottom of the slope in time to hear the painter’s fearsome cry. Spying the cat, and his daughter, he had barreled up the mountain, seeking a clear shot. Now, watching the mountain lion flee, he gave inward thanks his daughter had been spared. She turned and came to meet him halfway, his relief and her smile almost enough to make him overlook her willful disobedience. Almost, but not quite. Reining up, he waited for her to speak.
Evelyn noted her father’s stem expression, and knew she was in for it. When they got back, her mother would punish her like never before. Until then, she might as well make the best of the situation. “Hi, Pa,” she said cheerily.
“You were lucky.”
“It wasn’t so bad.”
“That cat would have killed you if Blaze had not been here.”
“It didn’t, though,” Evelyn stressed to show that all was well that ended well. “I tried to shoot it, but my horse wouldn’t stand still.” She thought to impress him with how maturely she had handled the crisis, to temper his anger, in the hope he might convince her mother not to be too rough on her.
Nate grew sterner. “Do you think I just dropped out of a tree? I saw the whole thing. You should have shot sooner.” He leaned forward. “What were you trying to prove? Why did you sneak off?”
“To help Blaze.”
“Explain yourself. And it had better be good.”
Evelyn detailed how she was only doing her part to reunite the wolf and Zach. “I wouldn’t have gone much further, honest. Only to the pass. If Blaze didn’t pick up the scent by then, I was going to turn around and head straight home.”
It was something any girl her age might do. But Nate did not have the leeway parents in the States did. Back there, when a child misbehaved, it seldom resulted in injury or death. Here in the wilderness, tragedy was commonplace. People paid for their mistakes with their lives. A cruel state of affairs over which no one had any control. “You should never had left in the first place.”
“I was only going to be gone a little while,” Evelyn emphasized.
“You snuck off. You were afraid that if you asked us, we wouldn’t let you go. So you broke the rules.” Evelyn was going to deny it, but how could she deny the truth? To lie would only make things worse. “You’re right, Pa. But I didn’t think any harm would come of it.”
“We never do. We think we can do as we please without having to worry about the consequences. That we’ll never have to pay for our mistakes because bad things always happen to other people, never to us. Too late, we realize no one ever avoids paying the piper.”
Evelyn was not quite sure what all of that meant, but she suspected her father was talking about more than the rules her parents laid down for Zach and her to follow. “What will Ma do to me?”
“That’s up to her. I’m giving my own punishment. For the ne
xt month, you will do your brother’s chores as well as your own.”
“Pa!” Evelyn squealed. He had never, ever been so harsh. She blamed the stupid mountain lion. If it had not almost eaten her, her father would not be nearly as angry. “That’s not fair!”
“So? Whoever told you life is supposed to be fair? If an unarmed man meets up with a hungry grizzly, is it fair for the bear to eat the man? Is it fair that some people are cripples? Is it fair that liars and cheats can live in the lap of luxury while honest, hardworking folks live in hovels and wear threadbare clothes?”
Evelyn did not see what any of that had to do with her.
“Is it fair that babies are cast aside by their own mothers? Fair that people starve to death in a world of plenty? Fair that people can be murdered in their sleep for the change in their pockets? Fair that you can try and try to get ahead and wind up worse off than when you started?” Nate shook his head. “Life in and of itself is never fair, little one. Get that mistaken notion out of your head here and now.”
“I only meant that Zach gets to take it easy at my expense.”
“He’s had to do some of your chores before.”
“Yes, but not all of them. For so long.”
“You have to learn a lesson. And sometimes, Daughter, the lessons we learn the best are those which are the hardest.”
Evelyn came close to saying, “That’s not fair either!” But she held her tongue. She had learned one lesson, at least.
Nate wheeled the bay. “Let’s go. Your mother will be worried sick.”
“Will it help if I say I’m really sorry?”
“Apologizing is like closing the corral gate after all the horses have strayed off. It’s nice to do, but it doesn’t bring the horses back.”
“What do you mean? I closed the gate before I left.” Sighing, Nate wound down the mountain. He had ridden several hundred yards when it dawned on him that they we’re shy an animal. He drew rein. “Where did Blaze get to?”
Evelyn looked over a shoulder. She was so mad at having to do her brother’s chores that she had lost all track of him. “He was here a bit ago.” Fear sprouted. “What if he went after the mountain lion, Pa?”
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