“Oh. All right.” She turned and picked up an earthenware jug from the ground where it sat with a number of its fellows. Powell slapped a gold piece on the bar, and Siobhan handed him the jug.
Powell inclined his head toward one of the tables and suggested, “Let’s sit down.”
Akins came with them. As the three men sat down, he asked, “Did you two just run into each other outside?”
Breckinridge frowned at him and asked, “Didn’t you hear the commotion a little while ago?”
“Commotion?” Akins shook his head. “What commotion?”
“Finch took Powell and his friends for whiskey thieves and set his men on ’em,” Breckinridge explained. “There was a big fight over by the creek.”
Akins shook his head again and said, “No, I, uh, I was talkin’ to Miss Siobhan, and I reckon I didn’t notice.”
Breckinridge looked at his friend for a moment and then laughed.
“So you’re so smitten by that gal you weren’t payin’ attention to anything else that was goin’ on,” he said.
Akins looked annoyed and even a little embarrassed. He was older, stolid in his demeanor, and not the sort to have romantic feelings for a soiled dove. But sometimes things like that could sneak up on a man and take him by surprise.
“When I was in here earlier gettin’ that jug for Amos, we got to talkin’,” he said. “She seems mighty nice, and I, uh, I think she likes me a little, too.”
Making men think that she was nice and that she liked them was sort of a whore’s stock-in-trade, thought Breckinridge, but he didn’t see any point in saying that to Akins.
Instead he said, “Well, I’m glad you’re havin’ a good time so far, Roscoe. We’ve worked mighty hard since we’ve been out here. We deserve to enjoy ourselves a mite.”
“Speakin’ of that . . . where’s Morgan?”
“He went off with that tall girl, Francesca.”
Akins grinned and said, “Sometimes those wiry ones can twist a man around so he don’t know which way he’s headed.”
They sat there with Powell for a while, passing the jug around and making small talk. When Powell’s friends came in, Finch greeted them effusively. He didn’t make the same offer to let them have a jug for half-price, though, Breckinridge noted.
A while later, Morgan pushed aside the canvas flaps over the tent’s entrance and walked in. He spotted Breckinridge and Akins at the table with Powell and came over to join them.
Morgan looked just as surprised to see Powell as Akins had. He gave the white-haired man a friendly nod as he sat down.
“I knew you were coming to the rendezvous,” he said, “but I didn’t expect to see you here tonight.”
“A few of the boys and I came on ahead of the Colonel and the rest of the bunch,” Powell explained again. “They’ll be here tomorrow.” He pushed the jug across the table. “Here, have a drink.”
“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.” Morgan picked up the jug and took a long swallow. As he lowered it, he went on, “Ah. I needed a restorative.”
“That Francesca wore you out, did she?” Breckinridge asked with a grin.
“You’d be surprised how strong and, uh, active a slender girl like that can be,” Morgan said with a bit of a sheepish look on his face. He took another pull on the jug. “What happened with you and Annie, Breck? The last time I saw the two of you, she didn’t seem all that friendly.”
“We sort of hashed things out between us,” Breckinridge said.
“If that’s what you want to call it,” Morgan said, grinning.
“No, no, that’s not what I mean,” Breckinridge said, although it was true that he might have wound up going back to Annie’s tent with her if things had worked out differently. “We were just talkin’, and then there was this big fight that broke out . . .”
Morgan frowned and asked, “What big fight? I didn’t hear anything.”
“That’s because you were too busy with Francesca,” Akins said. He didn’t mention the fact that he’d been unaware of the ruckus, too, because he’d been mooning over Siobhan.
With four of them sharing the jug now, it didn’t take long for them to empty it. Powell offered to buy another, but Breckinridge shook his head.
“We’d best get back to our pelts,” he said.
“You really think anybody would bother them?” Powell asked.
“Probably not. We left our pard Amos Fulbright there to keep an eye on ’em anyway. He’s the fella who got drilled in the arm durin’ the fight this mornin’, so he didn’t feel like doin’ any sportin’.”
Powell nodded and said, “I remember. You fellas plan to be around for the whole rendezvous?”
“I will be,” Morgan declared. “This is my first one. I don’t want to miss out on anything.”
“I reckon we all will be,” Breckinridge said.
“Then I’m sure I’ll see you again.”
“You can count on that.”
As Breckinridge, Morgan, and Akins got up and headed for the tent’s entrance, none of them looked back. So they didn’t see the slow nod or the smile that spread across Powell’s rugged face.
The white-haired man was counting on seeing them again, all right . . . especially Breckinridge Wallace.
Chapter Twenty-eight
Fulbright was mildly, pleasantly drunk when they got back to the pelts. He insisted that no one had bothered them, and a quick check on them showed that he was right.
Breckinridge and his friends had brought their bedrolls with them from their camp, so they were able to spread them on the grassy bank beside the spot where they had pulled the canoes out of the water.
With so many people around it seemed unnecessary to post a guard, but they had gotten into the habit of doing so and agreed to continue. Breckinridge, Morgan, and Akins split the rest of the night into shifts, since Fulbright had already spent some time watching over the furs. Breck took the first watch, declaring that he wasn’t really very sleepy yet, anyway.
The other three men rolled up in their blankets and were soon snoring peacefully. Breckinridge sat down on a log with his rifle across his knees and tried not to think about Annie and Dulcy.
That effort was doomed to failure. It would have been difficult for any man to banish two such lovely, intriguing women from his thoughts, under any circumstances.
It was downright impossible when Dulcy came strolling up out of the darkness and said quietly, “Hello, Breckinridge.”
She wasn’t exactly sneaky, just so graceful that she didn’t make much noise when she moved around. Hastily, Breckinridge got to his feet when he realized she was there.
“Miss Dulcy,” he said, trying to keep his normal bull’s bellow of a voice toned down so he wouldn’t disturb his sleeping companions. “What in the world are you doin’ over here on this side of the creek?”
“You won’t tell Nicodemus that I’m trespassing, will you?” she asked with a slight smile.
“No, and anyway, he don’t have any right to tell people where they can and can’t go. He can call this Finch’s Point all he wants, but it don’t really mean anything. This is still a free country, after all.”
“You’d never know that if you spent much time around Tom and his old enemy. They seem to believe that the whole world is their own private battleground.”
“No offense, but those two seem a mite touched in the head when it comes to each other.”
Dulcy gave a soft laugh and said, “You’re right about that. I don’t think they’ll ever make peace. They’re just not capable of it. Those old grudges they’re nursing are too strong.”
Breckinridge swept a hand toward the log and invited, “Why don’t you sit down? It’s not very comfortable—”
“And it’s also not the first log I’ve ever sat on,” Dulcy said as she lowered herself onto the log and smoothed her long skirt down. Breckinridge sat beside her, not crowding her, just comfortably close.
“How’d you get across the creek?” he asked. “
You didn’t wade, did you? Your dress don’t look wet.”
“No, there are some rocks a little ways downstream that I was able to use as stepping-stones,” she explained. “I noticed them earlier when I was looking around, before the sun went down, and when I saw you sitting over here by yourself, I decided I’d see if I could get across on them.”
“You came over here just to talk to me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with that, is there?”
“No, ma’am,” Breckinridge told her. “Nothing wrong at all.”
“You don’t have to call me ‘ma’am,’ you know. I’m not old enough to be your mother. An older sister, maybe, or a young aunt.”
The feelings Breckinridge was having toward her at the moment were nothing like what a fella would feel for a sister or an aunt, but Breck didn’t see what purpose it would serve to mention that. Instead he said, “I suppose I should just call you Miss Dulcy, then.”
“Just Dulcy,” she said. “That’ll be fine.”
“All right . . . Dulcy. You won’t get in any trouble with Mahone for bein’ over here, will you?”
“Tom doesn’t have any say in where I go or what I do when I’m not working for him. Since it appears that the rendezvous won’t really get into full swing until tomorrow, it doesn’t really matter where I am tonight.”
Breckinridge would have just as soon she hadn’t brought up the fact that she worked for Tom Mahone as a soiled dove. Just sitting here and talking like they were, it would have been easy to forget about that fact.
As if she sensed that maybe she shouldn’t have mentioned it, Dulcy went on quickly, “Tell me about yourself, Breckinridge Wallace.”
“Not much to tell,” he said. “I’m just a big dumb galoot from the mountains of Tennessee.”
“Big, no doubt about that, but you’re hardly a dumb galoot.”
“I ain’t so sure about that. You’ve heard the way I talk. I never cared much for schoolin’. Our pa had me and my brothers out workin’ as soon as we could stand up behind a plow, and when I wasn’t doin’ chores I was off roamin’ around the woods.” Breckinridge chuckled. “Sometimes when I was supposed to be doin’ chores, I was off in the woods. My folks had their hands full with me, that’s for sure.”
“And none of that means you’re dumb,” Dulcy insisted. “Do you think I’m smart?”
“Well, you sure sound like a smart woman,” Breckinridge said.
“But I’m sure you know a lot more about surviving in the wilderness than I do. And what’s more important out here?”
“Well, I reckon you’re right about that.”
She laughed, and the sound had a slightly bitter edge to it.
“Besides, if I was all that smart, would I be doing what I’m doing?” she asked, then quickly added, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bring that up again—”
“It’s all right,” Breckinridge said. “Lots of things happen in folks’ lives, and you can’t help but wish that some of ’em had been different. But when you get right down to it, we are who we are because of all the things we’ve gone through, so you have to ask yourself . . . if there’s anything good about your life, would it have been that way without all the trails you followed to get there?”
She looked at him without speaking for a long moment, then whispered, “You’re definitely not a dumb galoot, Breckinridge Wallace.”
With the way she was looking at him and the softness in her voice, it was just natural that he’d lean down and kiss her.
She responded without hesitation, reaching up to loop one arm around the back of his neck while she rested the other hand on his broad, buckskin-covered chest. Her mouth was warm and tasted sweet.
Breckinridge could have sat there kissing her like that for a long time . . . if they hadn’t been interrupted.
“What the hell!”
Breckinridge’s head jerked up and around at the startled exclamation. Between the moonlight and the glow from the lanterns still burning around the camp, he had no trouble seeing Annie standing several yards behind the log where he and Dulcy sat. He had been so wrapped up in kissing Dulcy that he hadn’t even heard the blonde approaching.
Breckinridge stood up, and so did Dulcy. As they turned toward Annie, she strode forward and demanded harshly, “What are you doing on this side of the creek?”
“I go where I please,” Dulcy replied coolly.
“Well, you’re not supposed to be over here. Get back over there where you belong.”
“I don’t take orders from you.”
“No, I guess not,” Annie said with a sneer. “You belong to Black Tom Mahone, don’t you?”
Dulcy’s hands clenched into fists at her side. She said, “No more than you belong to Nicodemus Finch.”
Annie ignored that. She snapped, “It didn’t take you long to come over here and try to steal away our customers, did it?”
“Now, hold on,” Breckinridge said. “Dulcy and me were just talkin’. There wasn’t any stealin’ away goin’ on.”
“Talking,” Annie repeated scornfully. “From what I saw, neither of you were doing any talking. You were too busy doing other things with your mouths. I’m sure this slut can do plenty of other things with hers, too.”
“That’s enough,” Dulcy said. She started to step forward.
Breckinridge put a hand on her shoulder to stop her.
“There’s already been enough trouble tonight,” he said. “No need for any more.”
Dulcy turned her head to look up at him. She said, “Are you defending that . . . that blond harlot?”
“I’m not defendin’ anybody,” he told her. “I just don’t want there to be another ruckus.”
“Fine,” Dulcy said with a definite chill in her voice now. “If I’m not wanted on this side of the creek, I’ll just go back to the other side.”
“Nobody said you’re not wanted—”
“Tell us about that, Breckinridge,” Annie cut in. “Do you want this woman over here?”
“I . . . I . . . hell!” Breckinridge didn’t have the slightest idea what was the right thing to say or do in a situation such as this. Most of the problems he’d run into during his life, he could shoot or punch or wallop with a tomahawk. None of those things would do the least bit of good here.
Dulcy turned and started to stalk along the creek bank. Her back was stiff and angry. She didn’t even say good night.
“That’s right,” Annie taunted. “Scurry back to your hole like the vermin you are.”
Dulcy stopped like she’d been slapped across the face.
“Damn it!” Breckinridge burst out, getting angry himself now no matter how pretty Annie was. “There’s no call for talk like that—”
“It’s all right, Breckinridge,” Dulcy said. “I wouldn’t expect anything else from a little tramp like her.”
She started walking again. Annie glared murderously at her for a second, then suddenly lunged toward her. Breckinridge didn’t realize what was about to happen until it was too late. He made a grab for Annie, but she was too fast, slipping past his outstretched fingers like a blond phantom.
The next second, she crashed into Dulcy, tackling her and driving her off the edge of the bank. Both women fell into the creek with a huge splash.
Chapter Twenty-nine
“Son of a bitch!” Breckinridge roared, no longer thinking about whether he was going to wake up his sleeping friends.
Dulcy and Annie had both gone under the surface, and he stood there on the bank waiting anxiously for them to come up again. He didn’t think it was likely that either woman would drown since the creek was only two or three feet deep, but he supposed it was possible if they’d hit their heads and knocked themselves out . . .
Breckinridge was about to charge into the creek after them when they broke the surface, spitting and sputtering and choking.
That didn’t stop them from fighting. They grabbed at each other’s hair and tried to claw each other in the face. As they struggled
, they lurched back and forth in the creek, spraying water all around them.
Breckinridge’s shout had roused Morgan, Akins, and Fulbright from slumber. The three men threw their blankets aside and leaped to their feet. Morgan and Akins clutched their rifles, which they had snatched from the ground next to their bedrolls. They yelled questions and looked around frantically, trying to discover the source of the threat—if there was one.
The two battling women weren’t any danger to anyone but themselves, however. Dulcy stopped trying to pull Annie’s hair and scratch her eyes out. Instead, she doubled a fist and shot a short, straight, hard right to the blonde’s jaw. That took Annie by surprise and knocked her back a step.
Dulcy lowered her head and tackled Annie around the waist, driving her backward off her feet. Once again both women sprawled in the water with a big splash. Dulcy came up a second later, but Annie didn’t.
That was because Dulcy had her arms wrapped around Annie’s neck and was holding her under the water.
By now the shouting had roused the camps on both sides of the creek. Nicodemus Finch, Tom Mahone, and the men who worked for them all started from opposite directions toward the site of the battle to see what was going on. Some of the soiled doves trailed them.
“Good Lord, Breck!” Morgan exclaimed. “She’s trying to drown Annie!”
That was what it looked like, all right. Apparently Dulcy intended to hold Annie under the water until the blonde was dead.
Breckinridge didn’t think Dulcy was really a killer. She was just caught up in the heat of the moment. So to save her from her own actions as much as anything, Breck plunged into the creek, kicking up water as he stomped toward the two women.
Before he could get there, Annie’s hand shot up out of the water, closed around some of Dulcy’s dripping hair, and pulled hard. Dulcy cried out and had to let go to keep Annie from ripping out a big chunk of dark hair.
Annie grabbed Dulcy’s dress with her other hand and pulled her under, trading places with her. Annie gasped desperately for air once her head was above the surface again.
River of Blood Page 14