“No man lays a hand on me!” Emilio stated, cocking his arm for a second punch. Now that the shock had worn off, all he felt was outrage that another man had gotten the better of him. It had never happened, not once in all the years of his violent life.
Young Zachary King had also been covering the Crows. Now he advanced and trained his Hawken on the mountain of muscle who had jumped his father. “Attack my pa again when he isn’t looking, you varmint, and I’ll splatter your brains from here to kingdom come.”
Emilio looked at the boy. Were it not for the rifle trained on his midsection, he would have dismissed the threat as the boast of a mere child. He debated snatching the gun, then realized that both the boy’s mother and the trapper named Allen also had rifles fixed on him.
Ashworth didn’t notice. He had turned to the Crows. “Please accept my apology for King’s behavior,” he said. “There is no excuse for the way he acted.”
Nate had about reached the limits of his patience. “Oh? What do you call having my wife and children abducted by Little Soldier’s friends?”
Unruffled, Ashworth said, “So Clive Jenks claimed. But what proof do you offer?”
“My word should be more than enough.”
“Hardly enough to satisfy a court of law, and certainly not enough to justify your barbaric behavior,” Ashworth pointed out. He was severely disappointed. After hearing so many flattering remarks about King, he’d expected the trapper to hold to a higher standard of conduct than the majority of uncouth mountain men.
To Nate, the implied insult was enough to rate a sound throttling, but he held his temper. “You want proof, greenhorn?” he shot back. “We’ll give you proof.” Nate gestured. “Henry, would you do the honors?”
All eyes settled on the Tennessean as he walked to the string of horses beyond the crowd and led a pack animal over. Lying across it, bound and gagged, was Tall Bear.
“What is the meaning of this outrage?” Ashworth wanted to know.
The Indian’s face looked as if someone had held it over an open fire until the flesh was nicely done and then pounded on to tenderize it. In addition, one eye had swollen shut.
“He’s a Crow,” Nate said. “Him and four of his friends snatched my family and were heading for Crow country when I caught up with them.” He gestured curtly at Little Soldier. “Why don’t you ask your good pard here about it? Or do you just naturally side with polecats?”
Ashworth suddenly became aware that the ring of trappers had grown openly hostile toward him. He could see it on their faces. King had put him on the spot. The only way out was to get to the bottom of the dispute. “Little Soldier,” he said, “I want to hear your side.”
“I not know anything about taking of woman and brats,” the Crow answered in much better English than he had used to date. “Tall Bear and others do it on their own.”
Ashworth nervously grinned at King. “There, see. You assaulted an innocent man.”
“And I was born yesterday,” Nate said, eliciting snickers from some of the mountaineers. “Do you really believe, mister, that if was purely by chance that those warriors took my wife and kids? Do you really believe that any warrior in Little Soldier’s band would risk turning every white man in these mountains against them without Little Soldier’s say-so?”
“I don’t quite follow you,” Ashworth conceded.
Nate jabbed a thumb at the Crow leader. “Then I’ll spell it for you. Did you, or did you not, let Little Soldier know that you sent Kendall to fetch me?”
Ashworth had to think a moment. “I believe I did, yes.”
“How did Little Soldier take the news?”
Again Ashworth had to jog his memory. They had been over by the Green River at the time. Ashworth had been on one of his twice-daily strolls to get some exercise and several Crows had appeared. “He was very quiet for a while, as I recall.”
“He didn’t say anything?”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Ashworth remembered. “He told me that I didn’t need your help, that I already had more than enough men to get safely into Blackfoot country and out again.”
Nate nodded. “He didn’t want me to show up because he knew I’d make damn sure you got rid of him. So my guess is that he sent warriors to watch the trails leading in from the east and four of them spotted us coming. When I rode on down, they took my family captive to draw me off.”
Ashworth glanced at Little Soldier and was horrified by a fleeting crafty gleam that confirmed everything King alleged.
“Your pard knew that I wouldn’t rest until I found them,” Nate went on. “He figured that you’d tire of waiting and head on out without me.”
“Little Soldier?” Ashworth said. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
The Crow hesitated, and Nate stepped closer. “He’ll never admit it. But you can take it as gospel that he wanted me out of the way so he could help himself to your supplies and stock.”
“Aren’t you exaggerating?” Ashworth said. “He’d have to kill every last man here to do that.”
“Exactly.”
Ashworth stared hard at the Indian he had formerly trusted and a cold chill passed through him. Could it really be, he mused, that King was right? Had he nearly made the biggest and perhaps last mistake he ever would? Allen and Scott Kendall had tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen. “I’m still not one hundred percent convinced,” he said, “but I’ll bow to your judgment. What do you propose we do?”
Nate walked up to Little Soldier. “You have until tomorrow when the sun is straight overhead to break camp and leave. I’d make you go sooner, but you have women and children along.”
“And if we do not go?” the Crow snapped.
It was Henry Allen who answered, first in English for the benefit of the mountaineers, then in the Absaroka tongue. “If you haven’t taken down your lodges and made yourselves scarce by then, you’d best be prepared to tangle with the whole pack of us. Remember, I know your treacherous, thieving ways better than most. If you pester or molest us in any way, we’ll smear the grass with your guts and turn it red with your blood.”
Little Soldier and the Crows could not hide their resentment. As one, they wheeled and marched off to their camp.
“I’ll sleep a whole lot easier once we’re shy of them,” Allen commented to no one in particular.
Nate agreed. He was sorely disappointed that he had not given Little Soldier his due, but there was every likelihood their paths would cross again one day. Still holding his Bowie, he strode to the packhorse. Tall Bear glared at him as he grabbed the Crow by the hair and dumped him on the ground. Bending, he cut the warrior loose. “You’re free to go,” he said and stepped back to say the same thing in sign language.
Tall Bear slowly rose and departed, rubbing his mouth. If looks could kill, he would have withered Nate to a blackened husk on the spot.
Richard Ashworth hardly gave the warrior a glance. To atone for his blunder, he warmly clasped King’s hand and pumped it. “I’m glad we’ve worked that out. And now I need to know. Are you with us or not?”
“There’s still a lot I need to learn about your expedition,” Nate answered. “And there are conditions we must both agree on before I can say yes.”
Ashworth frowned. There was that word again. Conditions. First the Brothers, now the mountain man. “Such as?”
“If I’m to be your second-in-command, you’re to do as I say when it comes to trapping and dealing with Indians. Not to hurt your feelings, but as you’ve just shown us you’re about as savvy as a Chinaman about life out here.”
“That’s all?” Ashworth said, pleased.
“Not quite. My wife is to take the place of Lisa Kendall. Half of the money she and I make will go to them after we get back.”
Richard Ashworth waited for additional demands. When none were forthcoming, he smiled smugly and placed his arm on the mountaineer’s wide shoulders. “Mr. King, I can see that working with you is going to be a real pleasure. If
you handle the Blackfeet like you just did the Crows, we won’t have a thing to worry about.”
“You hope,” Nate said, and prayed to high heaven they would all get out alive.
Eleven
Two days later, as the sun crested the far eastern horizon, the Ashworth expedition began its long trek northward. Riding well ahead of the main column were six heavily armed mountaineers who would scout the terrain ahead and keep their eyes peeled for hostiles. Six others rode about the same distance to the rear, just in case.
The main body was strung out over hundreds of yards, some of the men riding four and five abreast, others riding alone. Immediately behind them came the horse herd tended by twenty trappers, ten strung out on either flank to prevent any of the animals from straying.
All precautions that could be taken were taken. By and large the mountain men stuck to open ground. When that wasn’t possible, a dozen would fan out wide to either side to insure no nasty surprises were sprung by unfriendly tribes or savage beasts.
The first day passed uneventfully. Richard Ashworth was in tremendous spirits when camp was made that night. They had covered seventeen miles. If they duplicated that every day, they would arrive at their destination in three weeks, perhaps less. It would give them time to spare before the next trapping season began.
Ashworth had been perturbed to learn that the mountain men did not lay traps twelve months of the year. There were two seasons, the first starting in early fall and lasting until winter set in, while the second began in the spring and came to an end about the middle of the summer, when hot weather induced the beaver to shed a lot of hair and rendered their hides next to valueless.
Ashworth had counted on trapping all year long. The lost time meant he had to stay longer in the wilderness than he had bargained on in order to acquire as many pelts as he needed. It would delay his return to New York. It also increased the odds of being discovered by the Blackfeet or their allies.
Even so, Ashworth was not about to call the expedition off. He had invested all the funds he had plus most of the money loaned to him by the Brothers. He had to succeed or else lose everything.
Ashworth shrugged off such disturbing thoughts as he rose to greet his supper guests. A table with swivel legs occupied the center of his tent. Around it had been placed seven collapsible stools. “Greetings, fine people!” he declared happily. “Welcome to my humble abode.”
Nate held the tent flap open for Winona and the children. As he entered, he glanced back to find Emilio giving him the same sort of a look a grizzly might give prey it was sizing up for the slaughter. No one needed to tell him that the giant harbored a grudge over being knocked down the day before. Sooner or later they would lock horns again.
Winona matched their host’s smile and stepped to the table. Among her people, women always bore to the left when going into a lodge and sat apart from the men. She had never given the practice much thought since it had been the accepted Shoshone way since the dawn of time. After meeting Nate and learning how his kind did things, she had to admit that she much preferred the white custom of men and women mingling as they so desired. “Thank you for inviting us, Mr. Ashworth,” she said.
“My pleasure,” Ashworth replied, marveling at her impeccable English. He hastened to pull out a chair for her.
Winona did not know what the man was doing. Nate always let her seat herself. She wondered if perhaps Ashworth were being forward with her, as Nate would say, and whether she should slap him for the affront. But then she decided that he would hardly be stupid enough to insult her with her husband present.
Puzzled by her perplexed expression, Ashworth glanced at the mountain man. “You can assure your wife that I don’t bite, Mr. King. It’s safe to sit.”
Nate turned from the flap. “He’s just being polite,” he told Winona. “Holding a chair for a lady is considered the proper thing to do.”
“Then why have you never done it for me?” Winona asked.
“It’s done in public, at restaurants and such,” Nate explained. “A man doesn’t do it in his own house.” He snickered at the quaint notion. “Heavens, he’d never get to relax.”
Young Zach listened with half an ear. They hadn’t been there two minutes and already he was bored enough to cry. He’d begged his folks to be allowed to stay with the mountain men around one of the campfires, but they had insisted that he come. “The invite is for all of us,” his pa had said. “It would be rude if only three of us showed.”
Zach was resigned to several hours of dull talk. He didn’t think much of the expedition leader. The man reminded him of an oversize chipmunk, always chattering and never able to sit still for more than a few seconds at a time. Besides that, Ashworth’s handshake was clammy and weak, a sure sign of a puny nature.
The Kings sat, Winona holding Blue Flower in her lap. Nate leaned his Hawken against the table within easy reach. No sooner did he do so than a shadow fell across him. Someone had opened the tent. He grabbed for the rifle, expecting it to be the man called Emilio, but it was only Henry Allen and Clive Jenks.
“Come in! Come in!” Ashworth hailed them.
“Pull up a chair and we can start.”
Nate exchanged nods with the two lieutenants. He didn’t know if Ashworth intended to make supper together a daily ritual. If so, the man was in for a disappointment. His place was out with his fellow mountaineers, sharing the work. Not to mention overseeing the hundred and one tasks that needed to be done.
Ashworth surveyed his guests and had to suppress a smirk. At his last supper party before leaving New York City, a city council member, a state senator, and one of the richest men on Long Island had attended. Contrasting their expensive clothes with the rustic buckskins of the bumpkins before him was outright comical.
Clapping his hands, Ashworth yelled, “Lester! You can serve the first dish now!”
Nate’s brow knit. He’d seen a scrawny trapper named Lester Maddox hovering around Ashworth like a hummingbird around honey water throughout the day, but he hadn’t really given it much thought until now. Into the tent came the man in question, awkwardly trying to carry five small platters at once.
“Careful! Careful!” Ashworth warned. Those plates were the finest china money could buy. They had belonged to his grandmother. He rubbed his hands in anticipation as one was set in front of him. His smiled died. Aghast, he raised his fork and picked at five charred lumps.
Nate was flabbergasted. He hadn’t set eyes on a set of china in more years than he cared to recollect. His nose crinkled at the burnt odor but he picked up one of the lumps and plopped it into his mouth. He had to chew a bit before he recognized it for what it was. “Roasted mushrooms. Now that’s something we don’t see out here every day. They’re quite tasty,” he said to complement their host.
Ashworth could feel the blood drain from his face. He was so embarrassed, he wanted to shrivel into a ball and die. “You’re too kind,” he said lamely.
Rising, Ashworth watched Lester fumble with a plate and place it with a thump in front of Winona King. He cleared his throat. “Mr. Maddox, when I agreed to take you on as my manservant, I knew I couldn’t count on you to do as sterling a job as my butler and chef back in New York. But I did think you would be able to cook a pot of mushrooms without burning them to a crisp!”
“Sorry, hoss,” Maddox said. “But this coon ain’t never et no rabbit food before. So I cooked ’em the same way I like my meat. Tough as shoe leather.”
Ashworth was apoplectic. “You did what?” he said. “After I went to all the trouble of having some of the men pick them for me just for this occasion? I’m sorry, Mr. Maddox, but you really won’t do. I know you wanted the extra pay, but I’ll have to find someone else to fill the position.”
Nate had heard enough. “I’m sorry, too,” he said, “because no one else is going to bother.”
“What?” Ashworth said blankly, unable to come to terms with his supper being ruined.
Folding his arms, Nat
e did not mince words.
“You’re not in the States any longer,” he began. “Out here, no one has the right to lord it over anyone else. There are no servants. We’re all free men. Equals.”
“Equals?” Ashworth repeated, dazed by the concept. How could a bunch of ragtag ruffians rate themselves on a par with the cream of high society?
“You’ve hired eleven women to do our cooking,” Nate continued. “It’s only fair that you eat whatever they fix, just like the rest of us.”
“Now see here,” Ashworth broke in. “Never forget who is the leader of this expedition and who is the second-in-command! I have every right to demand special treatment. Without me, none of this would be possible.”
Nate glanced at Allen, who rolled his eyes. “You’re missing the point, Ashworth,” he said. “It has nothing to do with you. It’s us. Mountaineers don’t take kindly to anyone putting on airs around them.”
“Well, I never!”
“You won’t catch a trapper having a servant,” Nate detailed. “It’s just another word for a slave, as far as we’re concerned. Out here, when a man wants something done, he does it himself.”
Richard Ashworth blinked. “But that’s preposterous! What good is having money if a man can’t use it to make life’s burdens easier to bear? Why, I’ve never had to cook a meal in my life!”
“Not once?” Winona found it unbelievable that any person could have been so pampered. “What about your clothes?”
“What about them?”
“Did you make them yourself?”
“Oh, my dear woman, be sensible!” Ashworth at back down, his chin in his hand. Having to stoop to sharing the common meal was too destressing for words. “Surely there must be some way around this? Some compromise we can each?”
“No,” Nate said bluntly. “It’s in the best interests of everyone for you not to act as if you’re our lord and master.”
Ashworth sulked. He was beginning to regret ringing King along. “Any other changes you’d like to make?” he sarcastically quipped.
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