“Sounds ideal. This is the first I’ve heard of any hot springs.”
“Yeah, well, not many white men know about it. Years ago, an Indian scout showed it to a friend of mine, and he and I built a hut and stayed there for a while. Well, we were on the run from the army, if truth be known.”
“Will you be able to find it after all this time?” Gabe got the bullocks moving again. So, Carl was an army deserter. No wonder he rarely spoke about his army service. It explained a lot of things. Still, he wasn’t the only man out West who had secrets.
“Yeah, see the hump on the side of the mountain? It’s to the right of that. It’s under the overhang. There will be marks on the tree trunks, probably a derelict hut left over from when we were there.”
They travelled for another half hour or so. “I’ll get down and go on foot, to make sure the way isn’t blocked.” Carl dropped from the wagon and strode off. You better check that your Injin is still alive.”
Gabe strolled around to the back of the wagon. “You can get out now. We’re stopping near here for a day or so.” He watched as the gal jumped nimbly to the ground and glanced around. He uncapped the top of his canteen, took a couple of swigs before handing it to her. She took several swallows and silently handed it back.
They waited without speaking, and Gabe took the opportunity to scrutinize her. She sat on the ground, leaning her back against the wagon wheel, her arms locked around her legs, head resting on her knees. What would she look like dressed in white women’s clothing?
Carl returned with a grin plastered across his face. “This is the place, best if you lead the bullocks. The ground is even, strewn with stones, though. You might have to pick your way around a bit.
“How far?”
“Half a mile or so in from the track, too far for us to carry the stuff. We can hide them under the bushes, and if someone does happen upon you, they won’t see them. No point taking unnecessary chances. I can be back by tomorrow afternoon or at the latest, the next day.”
Gabe walked beside the lead bullocks while Carl strode on ahead with the gal trailing behind them. It was rough all right. The ground was peppered with large chips of sandstone, and half the mountainside looked as if it had been gouged out. Trees and bushes covered several yawning holes. They followed a creek snaking around the mountain.
Carl returned. “We’ll unload the crates here, and give the bullocks a drink. It’s too rough for them to go any further. The rock pool is around the corner.” He tugged at his beard. “The hut is still here, barely habitable, but it will shelter you if the rain comes. The clouds are starting to build up.”
Sophie kept her distance from Carl. On the few occasions, he did glance her way, his eyes blazed with hatred.
“You.” He stabbed his finger at her. “Follow the creek to the rock pool and gather wood for a fire, while we unload.”
Without a word she scurried off, glad to be away from his surly anger. The ground was rough as she picked her way carefully. She heard the water before seeing it. On turning the corner, she gasped in delight. Steamy ribbons of water spewed out from the side of the mountain before tumbling into a pool enclosed on three sides by walls of shiny brown rock. Tall ferns and scrubby trees could not camouflage the ugly gaping holes in the ground. A tumbledown log cabin with a sagging roof looked oddly out of place. There was plenty of fuel lying around, old trees rotting into the ground, branches and twigs of more recent origin. She gathered up the smaller pieces of wood and set the fire ready to be lit.
She wandered to the edge of the creek, and knelt to scoop up a mouthful of water. It was warm yet drinkable. She swallowed several mouthfuls. The further it got from the rock pool the cooler the water would become. What a strange place this was. Had she not seen it with her own eyes she would never have believed it existed.
Later, when darkness fell she would bathe in the warm water to remove the dirt encrusted grease covering her arms, legs and face. If she was going to be a white woman she had to at least try to look like one. Max used to tell her she was beautiful, honeyed lies like everything coming out of his mouth. The humiliation, the heartache and betrayal, she would never get over it.
Had she not been brought up in isolation by her father without contact with other white people, her life might have taken a different turn. She would be a respectable married woman.
The men returned; she heard their voices before seeing them. Gabe had a deep voice, quite melodic, without the savage undertones of Carl. He walked with a loose-limbed grace, whereas the older man lumbered along.
“Where are you, gal?”
“The filthy squaw has probably sneaked off and good riddance.”
Sophie traipsed toward them. She didn’t answer, better to wait until Carl left before telling Gabe she was Sophie Bear who was as white as him.
Gabe squatted over the fire, stretching out his hands to the feeble, infant flames. Carl lounged against a tree swigging from a whiskey bottle, with a canvas bag and a couple of blankets on the ground nearby.
“A few supplies.” Gabe followed her gaze. “Can you cook?”
“Of course, she can,” Carl sneered. “Prairie dog and buffalo most likely.”
Gabe laughed. “They’re supposed to taste delicious. I’ll get some food on, and you lay off the whiskey. Why don’t you have a snooze, I can wake you up when everything is ready?”
“Maybe I will.” Carl grabbed up a blanket and stomped toward the hut.
Sophie was glad he was gone so she could now concentrate on admiring Gabe. His legs were long and straight, his trousers stretched across well-muscled thighs as he strode over to the canvas bag. She liked the way the cloth clung to his ass when he leaned over. This man was in his prime. What would he look like naked? Butterflies swirled around in her stomach. She was an experienced twenty-year-old woman, not a naïve sixteen year old. No decent man would want to marry her now, she had resigned herself to that.
He filled a can with water and hooked it over the fire, then withdrew a long knife from a leather scabbard that hung from a belt around his waist. With an economy of movement, he sliced up what she supposed was bacon. He was as efficient as the Indians were. Picking up three sticks, he sharpened the ends, skewered the meat on to them and held them over the flames.
˜*˜
After they had eaten meat and beans, and drank hot, sweet coffee, Carl departed. Gabe threw a couple of large logs on the fire and sat staring into the dancing flames.
“Go and have a swim in the pool and clean yourself up. You can’t go into a white man’s town looking like that. I told Carl to bring back clothes for you to wear.”
“Th…thank you.”
He shot to his feet. “You speak English?”
“Yes.”
He stared at her. She was slim and dainty, barely reaching his shoulder. “Who are you?”
She hesitated. “Sophie, Sophie Bear.”
He swung around, grabbed the top of her dress and pushed it down over one shoulder. The breath hissed through his teeth. Her bare skin was white where it had not been touched by the sun. Her breast was small, firm and nicely rounded, crowned with a dusky pink tip.
He dropped his hand and stepped back. “If you are white, there’s even more reason to clean yourself up.”
Chapter Two
The Beginning:
Sophie crept through the forest with her father, neither of them making a sound, completely as one with their surroundings. He raised a finger to his lips and she instantly froze. A large elk stood in a small clearing watching several does grazing on the sweet mountain grass.
Pa raised his rifle and let off four shots in quick succession before she even had a chance to fire. The elk and three does toppled over, the rest of the deer scattered.
“We’ll eat well for the next little while,” he said.
“I didn’t even get a shot off, Pa.”
“There’s always next time.” He squeezed her shoulder. “We’ll take the meat to Chief Straight Arrow. S
tay here and guard the carcasses until I get back with the pack horse. I don’t want no wolf gobbling up our catch.”
Sophie sat under a large tree with her rifle propped between her knees as Pa strode off. He was a giant of a man, tall and powerfully built, yet he moved as silently as a ghost. Dressed in buckskins and a fur coat and hat to ward off the cold it was hard to tell whether he was a white man or an Indian. He was a man of the wild, who straddled both cultures and had brought her up the same way since Ma passed on when she was about three years old.
Moisture dripped off the pine needles, the perfume floating on the cold mountain air was intoxicating, invigorating. She inhaled deeply.
She had felt unsettled since Doe Eyes had told her she was soon to be wed to one of Chief Straight Arrow’s bravest warriors. She’s only a few months older than me.
In the nearby Lakota village, Doe Eyes was her closest friend. They had virtually grown up together. Now her friend would have a husband and babies, while she was alone except for Pa.
I want a husband, too, she though fiercely, and babies, but where could she meet such a man? Doubtful Chief Straight Arrow’s braves would be interested in marrying a skinny white girl, and she didn’t know any white men. Except for Pa and old Harry at the trading post, she had rarely spoken to, or been up close to a white man.
Harry was a fat, ugly man who always stared at her as if she were a piece of succulent meat. Several times he had squeezed her ass or pinched her breast. His touch always made her flesh crawl.
Maybe she could ask Pa to take her with him on his next trip down the mountain into Spruce, whenever that might be. After all she was sixteen years old now and it was about time she saw how other white people lived.
Twice a year, when he had a good pile of skins to sell, he undertook the long trek to the timber town of Spruce. If the timber ever ran out and the town moved, she didn’t know where the next nearest town was.
“Stop daydreaming, gal, we need to load up and be off because I think it’s about due to snow.”
“When are you going to Spruce next?” she asked, dragging a still warm carcass over to the packhorse.
“In the next day or two, if it doesn’t snow. I need to stock up on supplies to see us through the winter, it’s going to be long and cold if I’m any judge.”
“I want to go with you.”
He scratched his bewhiskered jaw. “Maybe you should.”
He shocked her by agreeing so readily.
“It’s time you were wed, and a few of those timber cutters would make you a suitable husband.”
“I don’t want to get married, I just want to go into town and see what it’s like. You haven’t taken me in years.”
He led the packhorse to where their horses waited. “You were always happy to stay with Doe Eyes and her family, which made things easier for me.”
They mounted and rode down the mountain heading toward home.
“Doe Eyes is going to wed Running Wolf,” she said.
“So the Chief tells me.”
They rode slowly, the horses carefully picking their way on the narrow, winding track that was now slippery with moisture. It took almost an hour for them to reach home.
Their log cabin was half built into the side of a hill. Smoke drifting from the stone chimney floated on the air, hovered for a moment before disappearing. There was a holding yard for the horses and their two cows, and a long low building for the animals when it snowed. Other than a few chickens, the place was devoid of livestock.
“Get the coffee on and some vittles going, will you gal, while I see to the horses.”
Skins secured to the walls and floor kept the place cozy. A huge bear skin rug draped across a wooden bench made a comfortable place to lie at the end of a hard working day. Pa made no allowance for the fact she was female and slightly built. She was expected to do the work of a man and did so without complaint.
Things would have been different had Ma lived. She was apparently a gentle, refined woman, who was totally unsuited to being the wife of a frontier man who couldn’t live in civilization for long.
She tossed off her coat before building up the fire in the hearth. Left over stew from yesterday would do to start with, it would put something warm in their bellies while she cooked up a batch of biscuits.
˜*˜
At daybreak, two days after their hunting trip, they headed off to Spruce. Sophie wore her prettiest buckskin dress. It had blue and red beading on the neck and sleeves. Over this she wore a thick coat made from beaver pelts.
“It won’t be so cold down there,” Pa said.
She had washed her hair and wore it in a long, soft plait. Would she find herself a kindly husband? How long would Pa be prepared to stay in town if she didn’t meet someone straight away? It was tempting to ask him, but he had been even quieter than normal since their hunting trip, brooding almost.
If he married her off, he would be able to roam anywhere he chose. She often suspected that he only stayed here because of the Lakota people. He knew she would be safe with them when he took one of his long trips.
“Do I look fetching, Pa?”
“Yes. For the tenth time you do look fetching. You’re a pretty gal, just like your mother. You have my grey eyes, but her brown hair. She was only a slight little thing, too.” He sighed. “Too frail and genteel to survive out here for long.” His voice held sadness and regret.”
“You said it was the consumption that took her,” Sophie said.
“It did, but a warm, dry climate instead of cold mountain air might have given her a few more years. Time we were going,” he said gruffly. “I don’t want to have to spend a night on the trail with you. It will be pitch black by the time we reach Spruce even if we leave now. We’ll take a room there for the night and see what happens in the morning.”
˜*˜
Spruce was a large town to her untutored eyes, a long, winding main street with timber shops and buildings along either side. She glanced around in wonderment as she and Pa walked along the sidewalk to Al’s Diner, a few doors away from where they stayed last night.
The aroma of bacon and eggs made her mouth water, and her empty stomach grumbled. “Smells good, Pa.”
“Sure does. I always eat here when I come down.”
A skinny youth wearing a long white apron showed them to a corner table set up for four. She was pleased because it gave her an uninterrupted view of the doorway and everyone who entered.
A couple of young men sauntered in and stared at her. They were handsome enough, but her heartbeat remained normal. It didn’t take long for the place to be full of rowdy young men.
“How ya doin’, Bear?” A dumpy little man wearing a too tight waistcoat brought them their food, a basket of hot biscuits with the steam still rising from them, and a huge plate of bacon, eggs, potatoes, beans and gravy.
“I’m good, Al. This is my daughter, Sophie.”
“Darlin’, ya Pa always said you was a fine looking gal, and ya are.”
“Goodmorning….um Al.” She smiled, immediately liking him.
“Al.”
Sophie swung round on hearing the man’s voice and her heart missed a beat, then it escalated until it was thumping like a war drum. Standing before her was the most handsome of men, tall, blonde, and blue-eyed. He was dressed all in black except for a brown waistcoat patterned with gold swirls. He wore twin holsters on his hips, the fancy bone handles of his guns clearly visible.
“Well, who do we have here?” He smiled showing even white teeth and a dimple in his chin. Sophie was smitten.
“Bear and his daughter Sophie.”
“Max Russell at your service.” He gave a slight bow. “Call me Max. You’ve been holding out on me Cousin Al, I thought you only served lumberjacks here.” He grinned, and Sophie couldn’t take her eyes off him.
“Mind if I join you?” Max asked, taking the chair opposite hers before Al even had time to answer. “I’ll have coffee and a plate of flapjacks. Tell Ivy I�
�d like plenty of syrup, you know I like sweet things.”
Al waddled off.
“Now, Miss Sophie, tell me what is a beautiful young lady such as yourself doing in a place like Spruce?”
“Well, I’ve come to find….”
“I’m selling furs,” Pa cut in. “What are you doing? Easy to see you don’t belong.”
“Just passing through. I’m hoping to join a wagon train heading further West. I aim to start up a business in one of those new towns that are springing up.”
Al’s return interrupted them. He placed a pile of steaming flapjacks covered in syrup in front of Max, and poured out the coffee. They stayed at the table talking for an hour or more. Sophie enjoyed listening to Max’s cultured voice, and liked the way he cut up his flapjacks with a fork, dipped it in the syrup and fed some of it to her.
“You married?” Bear suddenly asked.
“Ah, no.”
“Looking to?”
“I might be.”
Sophie ignored her father’s frown. “I’d like to wed you,” she said in a breathy voice. “If you want me.”
Max’s mouth dropped open, his eyes widened in surprise, then he smiled. “Well, if you’re asking me little lady, then yes, I’ll marry you.”
“Um…” Pa spluttered. “We don’t know anything about you. I want my daughter to be wed, but only to a decent man.”
“Pa!”
“I am a decent man. I’m Max Russell, late of, well I’ve lived in a lot of places. I’m thirty-five years old, can read and write and have all my own teeth.”
Sophie stifled a giggle by turning it into a cough.
“How do I know you can look after my daughter properly?”
“Well, for starters, if she marries me she’ll be wearing store bought dresses, not animal skins.”
“No need to take offence, I’m her father, I have to do the best I can for her.”
“Sorry. I understand. I will always look after Sophie, she will never want for anything. Al can vouch for me. He knows I’m a man of integrity.”
Sophie Page 2