Trapper's Moon

by Gini Rifkin

  “What’s that stuff?” Kade’s nose wrinkled.

  “Bear root, cobwebs, and wild mint leaves. It tastes even worse than it smells. Be glad it is for your bruises and not for a pain in your stomach.” Following the application of balm, she wrapped the strips of fabric around and around, starting at his toes and ending just above his ankle bone.

  “Well it sure feels better already. Thank you, Blind Deer. I’m much obliged to you for your help.”

  “You are welcome, McCauley.” She still couldn’t bring herself to use his Christian name. “You should soak it in the cold stream later.”

  “I will, and I reckon it’ll be good as new in a few days. At least I hope so. We’ll be leaving once we catch our breath and finish making repairs on our traps and paraphernalia. We can’t afford for anything to go wrong between now and when we get to rendezvous.”

  “There will be Indians there?” She felt his gaze upon her as she busied herself putting away the ointment.

  “Yes. There usually are. Quite a few.”

  “From all tribes?”

  “Again, yes. And plenty of foofaraw and gewgaws a young gal such as yourself might be interested in.”

  “I seek only my people.” Inwardly Blind Deer smiled. Did Kade try to tempt her to join them with the promise of blankets, beads, and cooking pots? “Where is this gathering to take place?” Before parting company with Lord Seton at Fort Hall, she had heard talk about the location, but she wanted details.

  “It’s on the Green again this year, the Siskeedee-Agie, where it meets Horse Creek. I sure hope things go better there than they did back in ’33.” He gave a shudder. “That was cold doin’s, what with the unexpected icy weather coming on like some bad omen. Then a crazed wolf kept hanging around the camp. The critter bit twelve men. But after they shot that pitiful beast, a snow eater blew through camp, and the weather remained warm from there on out. One thing for sure, a body never knows what to expect at rendezvous.”

  “I have heard of animals losing their senses and biting humans.”

  “There’s no need for concern,” he reassured. “In all the years Tucket and I have been going, I only heard of that occurring once. Mostly there’s just high spirited fun and tangle-foot induced chicanery. Of course, according to Tucket, there are plenty of other strange happenings in the world.”

  “Like what? Strange is not usually good.”

  “It can be. Did you see it rain fire that same year? I’ll never forget it. Stars were a shootin’ across the sky one after another. It seemed like the end of creation, or maybe what it must have been like at the beginning.

  “Some while later, we met a fellow from London, England, and he called it a meteor shower. Sure was rainin’ stars that night. Ain’t seen nothing like it since.”

  “I do remember.” Blind Deer nodded, fighting to keep the sadness from her voice. Her poor vision had prevented her from witnessing what everyone else had enjoyed with awe and wonderment. No one at the orphanage recalled ever seeing such an event. One girl called it watching the stars dance. At such a beautiful thought, Blind Deer had cried, her tears blurring her vision even more.

  Tucket came to the door and poked his head in, and her sad thoughts scattered. “How’s the foot? You been gone so long I thought ya went under.” Not waiting for an answer, he ambled forward, grabbed a hunk of Kade’s buckskins just above the ankle and raised the injured leg to facilitate a closer inspection of the foot in question.

  “Looks all right to me.” He dropped Kade’s foot only half-gently back upon the folded blanket. “What you doin’ palaverin’ when there’s still plenty of work to do. I knowed a man with only one foot could run circles around you. Why you young beaver don’t know what hard work is.” With a shake of his head, he turned and headed back to the corral.

  “I’m comin’ old man. Don’t get your boudins in a twist.” Kade replaced his rather bedraggled moccasin, gained his feet, and made for the door. “Heat must be getting to him. It’s quite a bit warmer down here than in the high mountains.” He paused and glanced back at her. “Thank you again for doctorin’ me up.”

  She watched him walk away, his gait fairly even.

  When he caught up to Tucket, the old man slapped Kade on the back and pointed to a jumble of traps waiting to be cleaned and repaired. “You bein’ so incapacitated, you can work on those while sittin’ on your backside.”

  “But you declared, quite loudly as I recall, you were quitting the beaver business. Won’t be needing no traps.” Kade sounded smug like he’d caught Tucket in a trap of his own words.

  “Ones in working condition sell better. Get on it.”

  Blind Deer didn’t mean to, didn’t want to, but she smiled, enjoying their antics.

  Chapter Five

  Standing in the dusty parade arena, Captain Stuart Sulgrave studied his Hudson’s Bay brigade of misfits. The summer had turned unusually hot, and the heat from the relentless sun fueled his anger to near the boiling point—making him almost yearn for the mind-numbing cold of winter.

  Three of his men had been killed, and Carson, the one who made it back alive, was wounded and kept jabbering on about some female Indian with green eyes, and two trappers who fought with the strength of four men. No doubt more backwoods nonsense, so typical of the rabble he was obliged to command.

  His men should have killed the free trappers, and appropriated the woman, the furs, and the supplies. But accomplishing such a mission would have entailed these half-wits executing a comprehensive plan of action without direct orders.

  Repeatedly slapping his riding crop against his thigh, he paced to and fro, his steps marking time with the whip-like sound. Damn them all to hell and back. He directed his ire indiscriminately at the dead men as well as at the men who’d killed them.

  “You two.” With his short whip, he pointed out the men he’d chosen. “You’re to leave immediately.” He hated wasting manpower on these interlopers. He would need as many men as possible when they reached the horrendously vulgar confluence of mankind called rendezvous.

  “Find the free trappers and bring them to me.”

  The two men he’d selected swallowed hard and stared straight ahead. He could almost smell their fear.

  “Carson is well enough to give you directions as to where the skirmish took place, and you can take a couple Bug’s Boys. Make sure it’s the two Blackfoot who have been causing trouble in the Fort. Might as well put them to work tracking—it’s about all they’re good for. When you complete your mission, return here. If you’re gone longer than one week, we’ll already be heading south. I trust you have the brains to find the location of the gathering. Don’t come back without the murdering rabble you’re hunting, or a good accounting of how they met their demise.

  “Dismiss the men—” He nodded to his second in command. “—and carry on.”

  The two men selected went to saddle their horses and draw supplies.

  What a sorry bunch—the whole lot of them. Sulgrave showed no compassion for the living or dead and didn’t care who knew. Controlling Fort Elise, a desolate outpost of the Hudson’s Bay Company, didn’t leave room for such an emotion. It didn’t leave room for much of anything except dreams for the future, and a well-thought-out plan of escape.

  He took to the ramparts and watched the two men and their Indian guides disappear into the shimmering heat. There was change in the air. He’d heard rumors the American Fur Trade Company was on the verge of collapse, and the demand for beaver back East was dwindling. Soon these annual rendezvous of trappers, traders, and Indians would be a thing of the past, and God only knew where he might be sent next. Good thing his plans didn’t include being on this continent come 1837.

  His assignment at Fort Elise could only be interpreted as a personal affront, more a prison sentence than a command. He hated this uncivilized land and being so far away from England ate at his soul. Now, because returning home was out of the question, moving on was the only answer.

  Prior
rumors about his liaison with a female French spy had ruined his service to the King within the upper echelons. The rumors were true, of course, but on his part, it had been merely a case of lust, not espionage. Not so for his paramour. Too bad she’d been caught and hanged. Barely escaping the same fate, the result had been his banishment to this godforsaken place. Still he commanded men and ruled his own little empire. No one told him what to do or when to do it. No one except George Simpson.

  When the Hudson’s Bay Company merged with the Northwest Company in ’21, George Simpson had been appointed governor of the northern department—a position upon which Sulgrave had once set his own sights. Another slap in the face.

  Being a stubborn Scotsman, Simpson refused to retire or die. The insufferable old man was unpredictable and drunk with his own sense of power. And he had a habit of making unannounced inspections, wearing his damnable long black coat and top hat, bagpipers announcing his arrival with that earsplitting screeching they called music.

  But Simpson was in for a big surprise. Altering the HBC books and appropriating money by selling undeclared hides, Sulgrave finally had enough money to retire in style to a home he owned free and clear. For the past several years, the money he’d been pilfering had been sent to a friend in Broc, Switzerland. Now he was a silent partner in a sheep ranch, and he intended to make a killing in the wool market, which was booming due to industrialization.

  He’d visited the area back then with his former French lover, declaring it the perfect place to live in comfort and anonymity. How could one not like a country that gave the world chocolate, absinthe, cheese, and a decent timepiece? Not to mention beautiful women to cater to his needs. And as an added bonus, it felt as if he were stealing directly from Simpson—making the endeavor all the sweeter and worth the risk.

  Returning to his quarters, he closed the door and lit a cigar, or a close facsimile. An old rope burning would have smelled less foul, but again, it was better than nothing. Nothing. That’s what there was plenty of out here. Setting the smoldering stub aside, he grabbed a bottle of brandy. The liquid lightning washed down his throat and set his stomach on fire as he continued to contemplate his future.

  Touching up the wax on his mustache and oiling his hair, he checked his reflection in the mirror. No need to resemble a philistine even though forced to live like one.

  He’d withstood nearly five years in this uncouth no-man’s land, and this was his last chance at the life he deserved. To lose it now would be unbearable. This fear of failure drove him. He refused to be bested by anyone. On so many levels, survival always boiled down to kill or be killed. Sometimes the killing was necessary, sometimes just for fun.

  He headed for the stables.

  “Lieutenant—ready my mount.” A good hard ride would take his mind off things.

  Once in the saddle, he rode as if in pursuit of glory—or as if something terrible followed close behind. He heard the man at the gate choking and coughing in the cloud of dust churned up in his wake.

  Chapter Six

  The next morning, although wide awake, Kade remained motionless. Tucket had risen earlier and gone outside, and from his bed Kade watched Blind Deer as she busied herself fanning last night’s embers into flames.

  He enjoyed watching her in the mornings as she purposefully went about the small cabin, quiet as a church mouse. The only sound came from the gentle tapping together of shells and tin cones decorating her buckskin dress. A muted tapping he didn’t always hear during a busy day.

  The fire caught and took hold, crackling cheerfully in the old stone fireplace, and the heat brought a glow to Blind Deer’s cheeks. Sitting near the hearth, with those sweet lips pursed, she gathered her hair into a long thick braid, tying it off with a strip of leather decorated with porcupine quills. How much longer could he go without tasting such a kissable mouth?

  She rose and reached for the dumpling dust, and he hoped she intended to make a batch of flapjacks. His stomach growled at the idea. She had the knack for creating this savory treat by adding prepared herbs and greens she found in the forest. This had become his favorite breakfast.

  “Get back, dog.”

  She never called the animal by name, always just dog, as if refusing to become too familiar with Maggie, or for that matter, with any of them. Kade smiled, remembering the first night they had spent together in the cabin and the fight between Maggie and Blind Deer for territorial rights. A truce of some sort had been declared as now the two of them got along tolerably well.

  He tried but couldn’t stifle a yawn.

  “Good morning, sleepy one.” Not turning around, she spoke softly while stirring batter in the bowl. “You rise later every day. By next snow fall you will be getting up just in time to see the sun set.”

  Although he couldn’t see if a smile curved her lips, he recognized her humor. “Will you still make me flapjacks, even if it’s for supper instead of breakfast?”

  She turned to face him, her expression wistful—the mirth had slipped away. “I doubt I will be here come winter.”

  They studied one another, and the rush of emotion when their gazes met seemed to catch fire, creating an almost tangible heat. Then the feeling dissolved away before being allowed to take hold, and the fragileness of the tie between them came glaringly to the surface.

  Blind Deer turned away, her shoulders stiff as if in determination, and with her back straight as a lodgepole, she concentrated on her cooking. Kade silently got up and dressed.

  At times he wished Blind Deer would stay forever. But as far as he could figure, they were both wandering-spirit types, and the chance of them meandering in the same direction for long seemed unlikely.

  In the past few days, the only thing he’d learned about her was she liked a good pipe of kinnikinick after her evening meal, and at daybreak, she chanted an odd combination of Indian words and American poetry. It was mighty slim knowledge upon which to base any hopes of a relationship, granted the time they’d spent together didn’t amount to a poke of jerky in the true scheme of things,

  Yawning in earnest, he ran his hands through his hair and sat down on a three-legged stool by the front window. “Tucket still out talking to the trees?”

  “He was.” Blind Deer reached for Kade’s dry moccasins where they hung on a peg by the hearth, then handed him the footwear. “He is out seeing after the mules now.”

  Their fingertips touched, and Kade glance up—lost in those clear green eyes of hers. He felt as if Blind Deer could see right down deep inside him. Did she recognize the wanting and desire waiting for her there?

  Reading Blind Deer’s thoughts was darn near impossible. With the other females he’d come across, he’d had no trouble interpreting their needs. He didn’t always understand the why element of what they wanted, but there was usually no mistaking the what part. This gal was definitely different. How long had it taken her to learn to hide herself so successfully? Sad to think what had driven her to do so.

  Finished lacing his moccasins, being careful of his still tender right foot, he straightened and shifted his gaze to stare out the window. He should get a move on, but captivated by sharing this time with Blind Deer he remained seated, enjoying the moment.

  Just being near her gave him a sense of joy, like when he came upon a doe in the forest, or a waterfall, or an eagle soaring as high as the mountains. The wonder of her gripped him hard and deep.

  “Eat while the food is still hot,” she coaxed, handing Kade a plate of flapjacks and some refried duck.

  The sound of her voice broke the spell he’d fallen under. Taking the offering, he sat at the little table. She took to the chair across from him, and for a moment they both silently did their share of eating. It tasted even better than he’d imagined.

  “Thank you for cooking breakfast near every morning. And good ones they are at that.”

  “You are welcome. I am thankful for your shelter and protection.”

  She seemed relaxed, and a bit talkative, so he jumped
at the chance to continue the conversation. “We’ll be leaving in two days. Have you decided if you want to go with us?”

  “No.”

  “No, you haven’t decided, or no you don’t want to go? You should join us.” He was disappointed she seemed so willing to leave him and Tucket. “We sure have enjoyed your company and nurturing ways. The cabin never seemed more like a home.” The last few words he’d intended to think not speak, but they were out there now and there was no taking them back. “You shouldn’t miss the rendezvous.” He kept talking, trying to make light of what he’d blurted out.

  “Someone at the great council might know the whereabouts of my tribe?”

  “Sure, I bet they might.” He had no idea really, but anything was possible. Several different tribes usually showed up, and he couldn’t help using every enticement available to get her to come along.

  “Then yes, I will go with you. My tribe no longer makes camp at the place I remembered. I must search for them elsewhere.” Now she only picked at her food, and her sadness seemed to hang in the air around them.

  “Is that what you were doing when we came across you—searching for your people?

  “Again, yes. At first, I traveled with a group. Their leader, Sir Reginald, was determined to help me even after we found my family’s winter camp deserted. We headed farther west, making it all the way to Fort Hall, where we stopped for supplies. Three days travel from there, he was laid low, sick with fever, a recurring illness from his military days. Using herbs and powders from my medicine bag, we got him well enough to make it back to the Fort. The men there spoke of the rendezvous. I believe Lord Seton wanted to go there too.”

  “Then there’s another reason you should come with us. Is he doing better?”

  “I do not know. Unlikely to be up and about soon, and knowing I left him in good hands, we parted company—regardless of his warning about traveling alone. But rather than go to the Bitterroot Valley, I turned back to the east, the way we had come, hoping to find this gathering of which all of you speak.”