The white man’s arms pulled her more closely against him. He smiled when she nestled into his embrace. She fit perfectly in his arms. If only, he agonized, she could fit as perfectly into his life in Virginia. Even if she studied and worked hard for years, she could not change herself into an aristocratic southern belle. And even if by some miracle she did, she would no longer be Morning Star. He could not alter her into something she wasn’t just so he could have her forever.
Nor, Joseph Lawrence the younger realized, could he remain here in Lakota Territory for the rest of his life. His family, work, friends, and life were back in Virginia. He had responsibilities and duties to his family and to his father’s shipping business. He loved this wild and carefree existence but, he admitted, he would miss civilization eventually. It was just as cruel to let Morning Star think he would remain here after their task. A world and breed apart— that said it all and he must accept it.
Morning Star was not sorry she had yielded to Joe. Her problem was forcing wild thoughts and dreams from her head. She had heard many tales of how life was in the white world: eating at big tables, having wooden tepees with furniture, dressing in long gowns, behaving in strange ways, working away from your home to earn money, having slaves— servants— to tend your chores, getting food and supplies in stores. To think of going there was intimidating. She could imagine how the whites would treat her, and how they would treat Joe for bringing her into their “society.” No, she could not be happy in the white world, just as Joe could not be happy here. She must not hope for more from him than he had given tonight. She could no more expect him to live in her strange world than he could expect her to do so in his.
After an hour of each telling themselves a permanent bond between them could never come to pass, their troubled hearts found appeasement in sleep.
Joe eased from her side and grabbed his clothes. He slipped away to excuse himself and dress. He knew he had awakened her, so he gave her time to do the same while he checked on the horses. When he returned to the shelter, Morning Star had the sleeping mats rolled and tied. She was clad in the same buckskin outfit she had worn yesterday, and she looked as fresh as the spring day in progress. She glanced at him and smiled. Relieved, he returned the gesture.
She focused on her chore. “Wood is wet and no burn. We eat little and ride. We eat more when stop to rest and wood is dry for fire.”
“Morning Star…” he began in a hesitant voice, kneeling near her.
Her chocolate gaze met his blue one. She caressed his bearded cheek. “No need to speak of last moon. Let it sleep in our hearts until best time to speak of it. That not today. We friends. We partners.”
“When the time comes for both of us, we’ll have to talk about it.”
She gazed deeply into his eyes. “That is so,” she said, grasping how dismayed he was. She believed he loved her as she loved him, but it was too soon to expose such strong feelings. They needed more time together. If their Life Circles were meant to cross or to mingle, they would discover that wonderful truth when the Great Spirit willed it. “Thanks,” he said, his gaze softening and glowing. She knew what he meant. “Eat, and we ride.”
It was midafternoon and they were out of the Black Hills. The sun was radiant and the sky was clear. Everything smelled fresh and was vivid green following the drenching rain. In four days they should reach Orin McMichael’s trading post on the Missouri River, about forty miles north of the settlement that had come to be known as Pierre, pronounced Peer.
Joe lifted himself in his saddle and stared beyond them. He locked his eyes on a rider he recognized and studied him. His mind went to work quickly. He related his daring plan to Morning Star, who nodded her agreement with apprehension. “Let’s ride. There’s our chance to put a good plan into motion. Remember, you’re my squaw, so behave like one,” he jested and grinned. “We don’t want to get ourselves shot.”
Morning Star summoned her courage to face this challenge.
Chapter Ten
Joe and Morning Star realized they were about twenty miles from the site where they had met weeks ago. They had just crossed Elk Creek and left a treeline, after watering their mounts and pack animal. The man Joe had spied was approaching their location slightly to their left, coming from the northwest and heading southeast. As they were riding from the southwest to northeast, their paths would intersect soon. The stranger had seen them leave the trees and was continuing his course, obviously unafraid of them.
As the two traveling parties neared each other, the sunny-haired man and Oglala maiden noticed that the man with two loaded mules was dressed in a buckskin shirt and pants with lengthy fringes. The closer they rode, the more Joe and Morning Star took in details about him. The stranger’s appearance and possessions told the couple he was a mountain man who was coming out of the wilderness to sell furs and pelts.
Joe told Morning Star to rein up and await the man’s arrival, to see what they could learn from him. When he reminded her of her deceitful role, the maiden lowered her head and began her part as a submissive squaw to fool their company. She recalled how she had lost that part of the vision contest and how she was expected to behave. She cautioned herself to do and say nothing to endanger their task.
The trapper joined them. He removed a pelt hat and used one hand to mop perspiration from his brow. “Whar you headin’?” he asked Joe.
The blue-eyed man leaned forward and propped his arms on his saddle horn. Smiling, Joe replied, “For McMichael’s post on the Missouri. You’re the first person I’ve seen in days. Name’s Joe Lawrence. This is my Arapaho squaw, Little Flower. Where you heading?”
After sending a spit of tobacco-filled liquid to the ground, he replied, “To Lookout. First trip since last fall.” He rested a Hawken rifle across his thighs and adjusted the bullet pouch hanging around his neck that had shifted positions during his ride. A powder horn dangled from his pommel, and a large knife was secured around his waist in a decorative sheath. A man in this territory and in his occupation never went anywhere without being heavily armed.
“Have any trouble on the trail? Any of those Indians acting up?”
The man replaced his hat on a head of long and wavy hair that was thick at the base and thin on top. “Nope. Ain’t seen narry a soul since I left my trappin’ grounds, ‘ceptin’ a few Crow huntin’ parties from a distance. I know whar they camp, so I avoids ’em. Ain’t no need to tempt ’em to steal my winter’s catch,” he jested.
“I know what you mean. I keep a sharp eye out for them, too. Aren’t you coming in a mite early?” Joe inquired, knowing there were two trapping seasons. One was in late autumn after furs and pelts had thickened for protection during the impending winter and the other was in the early spring after the snow and ice had cleared enough and before the quality of a trapper’s targets had lessened when the animals shed their excess hair for comfort during the coming summer.
“Pete—he’s my partner—Pete and me take turns gettin’ our catch to Columbia Fur. I comes down firs’ and sells our prime batch; then, he comes down second and sells our last batch. One of us always stays behind to guard and work our trap lines. This late of year, we’re in need of supplies, and I git there afore the others. Columbia pays the best price to private trappers, but all them tradin’ posts are too high on supplies. I leaves there and rides over to the suttler at Fort Laramie to stock up and visit friends. I git back sometime in late June; then Pete takes off to do the same. He gits back sometime in August. That leaves us time to work on our traps and cut firewood and git dryin’ frames built. This year we need to repair our cabin. Mighty cold this past winter.”
Joe caught the clues in the man’s words. “Why don’t we sit and talk a spell? Little Flower can prepare us some supper.”
“That sounds temptin’ to me. My name’s John Howard, but most folks calls me Big John. I’ll tend my critters firs’.” He dismounted and headed for the creek to water his horse and two mules.
From beneath her lashes, Mo
rning Star noticed how large the man was; his name suited him. His hair was dark on top, then steadily lightened to medium brown as it flowed from its roots. He looked to be about forty years of age. His jawline was thick with whiskers and they surrounded his mouth as thirsty grass did a pond. His eyes were small and squinty, but the expression in them was gentle and trustworthy. She was relieved by that, as she didn’t want any trouble from the stranger.
Joe and Morning Star dismounted. She took their reins, as an obedient squaw, and secured them to bushes. She whispered to her man that she would gather roots and wood then prepare their meal while the two men talked. She left to carry out those chores.
Big John hobbled his horse and mules where they could drink and graze. He didn’t seem to pay much attention to the beautiful Indian maiden with the genial stranger. He sat down to converse with Joe, unmindful of the earth still damp from yesterday’s rain.
“Where do you trap, Big John?”
Following another stream of brown spittle over his left shoulder, John replied, “Along the Yellowstone and Powder rivers. It’s a prime area most years. This past winter weren’t so good, though. Too many com’ny boys encroachin’ on the Stony and Missouri these days, tryin’ to get rich fast. Last year, Pete and me made nine hunnard dollars. We’ll be lucky to git five to six hunnard this season. That don’t sit well with either of us. We came here from Kintucky to trap for five year; two of ’em’s gone. I tol’ Pete I was comin’ in early to beat them Crow and Sioux afore theys go on the warpath. We don’t want them furs and our hard work to rot ’cause we cain’t git out.”
“What makes you think new trouble is brewing, John?”
“It’s been comin’ nigh unto two year. Ever’ time we git a visitor, that’s all we hear, that a big war’s a comin’ soon.”
“You and Pete ever have trouble with the Crow or Blackfoot?”
John spat again. “Nope, they leave us be. We respect ’em and stays outta their way, and they do the same with us. Me and Pete shares a Crow squaw; she’s a good worker, right purty, too. Injuns ain’t bad if you treat ’em right. Trouble is, they don’t give some men time to treat ’em any way afore they kill ’em. I don’t want to be ’twixt warring Injuns. When trouble comes, you best ride clear of them Plains,” he warned.
“I will. Tell me, John, isn’t it a long ride to Lookout, then to Laramie and home? That’s a lot of days in the saddle.”
“Yep, but, like I said, Columbia Fur Com’ny pays the best price for prime furs, and I git the cheapest supplies at Laramie. Laramie’s where I have my fun. Them tradin’ posts got too many men lazin’ around, drunk and overusin’ them pleasure women. They cheat you at cards, nearly charge you for the air you breathe, rob you while you’re drunk or asleep, and fight all the time. I don’t like to spend my relaxin’ time at them crazy posts.”
“That makes it sound worth the time and saddle sores,” Joe jested.
The sun was low on the horizon, so John’s gaze, as he faced west, was narrower than usual. The big man stroked his scraggly beard and mustache as he eyed the younger male.
“What you doin’ way out here?” he questioned.
Joe pulled out a bottle of whiskey that he had taken from the burial-site robbers; he offered the man a drink to loosen his tongue even more. Big John beamed with pleasure, thanked him, and took a long swig. As the bottle was held out in return, Joe smiled and said, “Keep it, I have one more.” John thanked him again, then took another long drink. Afterward the big man licked his lips to catch every drop.
As the trapper drank, Joe pondered asking him to take word to Tanner’s father. He decided, since John would be a long way from there soon, his message wouldn’t enter the wrong ears. He took a chance and asked, “Would you mind delivering a message to a friend of mine at Fort Laramie? I’d be much obliged. His name is Stede Gaston. I want to let him know I’m safe and heading to McMichael’s post.”
“No trouble,” the other man agreed. “What work you do?”
Morning Star had tensed when her companion exposed a connection to Stede. Yet she assumed he must know what he was doing. She continued with her preparation of the evening meal and listened to the conversation.
Joe invented an explanation. “I’ve been a trader between here and Texas for years. A few months ago, I decided it was time to try a new area, see something different, learn some new things. I sent word to Stede and he checked out this territory for me. He said McMichael’s is the biggest and busiest post. I’m heading there to try to make a deal with Orin McMichael. I think I can convince him he can sell more supplies if he hires me to travel around the territory taking and delivering orders to white and Indian camps. You know how people hate to leave their settlements and cabins to shop, even when supplies run low or give out. They also buy more things if you make it easy for them. Orin can make more money, and I can make a nice share. It’s a perfect partnership. I sold all my goods last month and headed this way. I’ll be there in five or six days.”
“Sounds like a good deal to me,” John remarked. “You can sell plenty of salt, sugar, coffee, ammunition, and flour. Folks will be happy to have stuff brought to ’em. Save ’em lots of time and ridin’.”
“That’s what I’m counting on to make my plan work. If Orin doesn’t accept, I’ll try at Pierre or Lookout. If none of them agrees, I’ll just have to go into business alone. I’ll do that later. For now, I need to be connected with someone who has supplies and knows this area.”
Morning Star, with lowered head, served the two men their evening meal. She was careful not to look at either one and to assume an air of subservience. She would eat later. She busied herself about the fire and paid close attention to the conversation.
The men feasted on stewed meat with wild roots, heated beans, and johnnycakes and washed the food down with coffee and whiskey.
Joe halted a moment to suggest, “If you want to head on to Laramie, John, I’ll be glad to buy your furs, then sell them at McMichael’s. I hear the price this season is two to three dollars a pound. Looks like you have about a hundred pounds,” he guessed, from years of weighing cotton and goods for shipping. “I have that much from the sale of my goods. I’d just as soon travel with money in pelts as in my saddlebag. Showing Orin I can make a good deal before I reach him should be impressive.”
“You got a sharp eye, Joe. I figured it at a hunnard pounds, too. I been gittin’ three dollar a pound for prime grade at Lookout. I plan to sell my mules for twenty dollar each, and buy new ones at Laramie.”
Joe added up the price of that response and compared it to the money he possessed. “I can pay you two-fifty per pound, John, and forty for the mules; that makes two hundred and ninety dollars. I only have three hundred with me. That would cost you fifty to trade with me, if Columbia is paying three this year. I could,” Joe murmured aloud, “give you the whole three hundred and some supplies. I’ll reach Orin’s in a few days, so I won’t need much. That way you’ll be out less than forty dollars, and you’ll save lots of aching bones and two to three weeks of travel. Then I’ll sell the furs and mules for three-forty, so I’ll make forty. Less replacement supplies.”
The weary mountain man contemplated Joe’s offer. He didn’t care about visiting Lookout and having to face the many aggravations there. In all honesty, his mules weren’t worth twenty dollars each. He could save two bone-jarring weeks in the saddle; he could be back to his trapping grounds two weeks early or spend that extra time in Laramie having fun and be out of this potentially dangerous area in a few days. Avoiding enemy bands as they moved to the Plains, which he’d have to cross twice, and all the other reasons compelled him to say, “You got a deal, Joe.”
“It’ll be a good one for both of us, John.”
Morning Star was pleased with her partner’s cunning. Now, they could head to the trading post as a trapper and his squaw; the furs and mules would make their pretense look real. When he had suggested the plan to the man to obtain pelts, she hadn’t been sure it woul
d work. She was relieved he had enough white man’s money to make it come true. Surely the Great Spirit was guiding them. She experienced anxiety again when the conversation continued.
“You know a big man named Zeke?” Joe asked in a casual tone. He described the villain’s hireling, then added, “He travels with two fellows called Clem and Farley. Clem’s a drunk, and Farley has a knife scar.”
“I seen ’em together last season at Lookout. Don’t know ’em good.”
“I learned that Zeke and his boys haul goods for some of the posts. I figure he’ll be my biggest competition for a deal with McMichael. I know they travel around out here, so I thought you might have run into them.”
“Nope, and hope I don’t. I didn’t take to ’em. Bad, if you ask me.”
“From what I’ve heard about them, I can’t blame you. If you do cross trails with them, don’t mention our deal. I don’t want them hurrying to McMichael’s to save their jobs and cost me mine.”
When the men finished eating and took a walk in opposite directions to excuse themselves, Sun Cloud’s daughter ate a quick meal. She washed the dishes in the stream and straightened the campsite. Taking a hatchet, she chopped off leafy branches to place on the ground, over which she laid the bedrolls to keep away the earth’s dampness. The men returned to find everything ready for turning in for the night. She was surprised when the visitor spoke to her.
“Thank you for a wonderful meal, Little Flower. You do a good job.”
Morning Star nodded gratitude, but did not lift her head and lashes. She excused herself in the woods, then went to her mat and lay down.
To avoid raising John’s suspicions, Joe said nothing more than “Good-night, woman.” He curled on his mat and closed his eyes, congratulating himself.
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