Wings of the Hawk

by Charles G. West

  Frank nodded, understanding. “That’s what you oughta do, then. But I don’t reckon you got any notion ’bout how you’re gonna get to St. Louis, have you?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “From what I’ve seen, your estate consists of three shovels and them ragged clothes you got on.” He smiled at the bewildered expression on the boy’s face. “I’ll tell you what. Now this is all subject to Buck’s okay, understand. You can ride with me and Buck till rendezvous, helping out as campkeeper and with the trapping. What plews you trap is yours to keep. That’ll give you a month, and that should make you enough plews to buy you a passage downriver on the boat. How’s that sound?”

  Jim didn’t have to give it a lot of thought. “I reckon it sounds fine to me.”

  “Buck?” Frank turned to his partner.

  “Well, I was wondering if I had a say-so in this little contract you and the boy drawed up.” He spit in the fire and laughed. “Why, shore, it’s all right with me.”

  “It’s done, then,” Frank said and grinned broadly at the boy. “And maybe we can fix you up with some buckskins before them rags drop off ya. Might even be able to find you a possibles bag so’s you don’t have to carry that pouch under your shirt.”

  Jim flushed. He was glad it was dark so the two trappers couldn’t see the red hue that had washed over his face. There was a long silence, punctuated only by the wry grins that adorned the craggy faces of the two trapper partners. Finally Jim responded.

  “I reckon I wasn’t as slick as I thought. But that little bit of dust is all I’ve got to show for almost a year of hard work, and I aim to take it to my ma.” He hesitated, waiting to see if there were any objections. When there was no comment from Buck or Frank, he reconsidered. “But I guess it’s only fair to pay my way if I’m gonna hook up with you.”

  Buck grunted as Frank said, “No need fer that, boy. You keep your little pouch. Take it home to your ma, like you said. I expect she’ll need it, and more besides. Like I said, you can pay your way trappin’, same as me and Buck.” Buck spit into the fire to make it official. Frank continued, “But you got the right idea about keeping it quiet, and when we get to rendezvous, you best keep it hid fer shore.”

  It was settled, then. Frank and Buck took on a new partner, if only for a month. The boy was grateful, and wise enough to know that there might not be many of that wild breed that trapped the Rocky Mountains who would be as honest. He fully realized that if they’d had any notions about his little sack of gold dust, it would have been a simple thing to dig a third grave and nobody would have ever been the wiser. He was thankful and considered himself lucky to have crossed trails with Buck and Frank. Still, he didn’t get much sleep that night, and every time a limb popped in the fire, he couldn’t help but snap his eyes open.

  CHAPTER 2

  Julia Tracey stood in the doorway of the modest cottage set back a few dozen yards from the dusty road that led from Milltown to St. Louis. It was not a well-traveled road, but a winding, rutted trace that ran no farther than a mile past her house, ending in a small scattering of hovels around a gristmill. The mill had long since shut down, but the settlement had acquired the unofficial name of Milltown.

  It was unusual to see anyone on the road in the early afternoon, most of the traffic consisting of the few souls from Milltown who traveled by foot to work in the city, leaving early in the morning and returning late in the evening. For that reason, Julia Tracey was curious about the fancy rig with the shiny hubs and leather upholstered seat, pulled by two sleek black horses, that had just come into view, a quarter of a mile up the road.

  She knew of only one such rig, and that one belonged to Mr. Hamilton Blunt. As the carriage came closer, her curiosity was stirred, and she wondered if the owner of Blunt Brothers Freight was in fact paying her another visit. If so, it would be the second time he had driven out from town this week. Two days before he had stopped in to visit her, saying that he just wanted to see if she was getting along all right, what with her husband gone these many months.

  She had assured him that she was getting along as well as could be expected, with her elder son, Cameron, bringing home his pay every week. Though only seventeen, he had taken the responsibility for providing for her until his father returned. He was quite proud of his ability to do so, and she was quick to express her appreciation to Mr. Blunt for giving her son a job. It had been a most pleasant visit from the owner of the freight company. Hamilton Blunt had a reputation as a charmer when it came to the ladies, and Julia found him to be courteous and certainly attentive. She also found it surprisingly considerate that he concerned himself with her welfare, for she knew that he must be an extremely busy man. For that reason, she was surprised to see him driving down her way again.

  Perhaps he was not coming to her house and would drive on past, toward Milltown. Just in case, she removed her apron and took a hurried peek at herself in the mirror, smoothing her hair and giving each cheek a little pinch. Then she picked up a ball of yarn she had been working on and seated herself at the table, facing the open door.

  In a few minutes’ time, she saw the horses reach the hitching post in front of the house. She could now see the imposing figure of Hamilton Blunt as he looped the reins around the side handle of the seat and stepped down. She sat watching the tall, almost regal figure as he paused before the carriage, casually surveying the humble cottage. When he started toward the door, she got up from her chair and went to meet him.

  “Mr. Blunt, how nice to see you again, sir. What brings you out here again so soon?”

  “Ah, Mrs. Tracey,” he said, doffing his wide-brimmed black hat. His generous smile reflected his pleasure in seeing her. Then, as quickly as his broad smile had flashed, he turned it off and assumed a most serious countenance. “I’m afraid it is my sad duty to be the bearer of bad news. Your son—”

  “Cameron?” she interrupted, her pleasant smile fading to a concerned frown.

  “Yes, Cameron.” He reached out and placed his hand on her arm. “I’m sorry to have to be the one to bring you bad news, but I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else.” He could feel her body stiffen. “Cameron’s met with an accident.” She inhaled sharply, almost gasping. “It happened at work. It couldn’t be helped.”

  “How bad . . . is he all right?” she stammered, pressing both hands over her mouth to suppress her anxiety.

  “I’m afraid he’s dead.”

  She would have fallen had he not been quick to grab her by the shoulders to support her. She could make no sound at first, staring at him with eyes wide in shock, unable to believe what she had just heard. When he nodded his head, confirming the truth of what he’d said, she sobbed uncontrollably. He pulled her close to his chest, holding her tight to his body.

  While she cried out her anguish, he consoled her. And when she was in control enough to listen, he told her how her son had been killed. It was a freakish accident, he explained. Cameron had been helping to load several large freight wagons. “One of the mule teams bolted, frightened by something—I don’t know what. Cameron couldn’t jump out of the way in time, and he was struck down.” He had to pause when she swooned again in grief. After a few more minutes, during which time Blunt continued to hold her close and stroke her hair with his hand, she became calm once more. He continued, “You should know that I’m pretty sure it happened so fast that he never suffered. It was over so quick, nobody could help him.” He continued to stroke her hair and the back of her neck. “Cameron was a good worker, a smart boy. I had great plans for that boy.”

  When Julia had recovered sufficiently, she poked up the fire in the kitchen stove and put some coffee on to boil. Then she sat down at the table with Hamilton Blunt, appreciative for his visit, despite the tragic news he brought. She would never have guessed from the reports of John and Cameron that Hamilton Blunt could be so compassionate and considerate.

  Blunt went on to explain that he had taken the responsibility to have Cameron’s body transported to the undertaker
, thinking it more kind to do that than to arrive at her house with the body of her dead son. When she registered mild alarm, he was quick to assure her that he would pay all the funeral expenses, including burial in the church cemetery next to his own family plot. She was almost overwhelmed by his generosity. When she expressed concern over how she could ever repay him, he insisted that she should let him worry about that.

  “When my husband returns, perhaps he will have been fortunate enough that we will be able to repay your generosity.” Then, thinking about the circumstances that had prompted John to leave Blunt Brothers, she added, “I hope you hold no ill will against my husband for leaving your employ.”

  “Not at all, Mrs. Tracey—may I call you Julia?” She nodded. “Why, I greatly admire his courage. It takes a great deal of ambition to risk the hazards of that savage part of the world.” He patted her hand and held it as he went on. “If John is lucky and finds his fortune, and if he wants to repay me when he comes home, why, that’ll be fine too. But I want you to know that it isn’t necessary.”

  She could not believe his generosity. There was no way that she could have paid Cameron’s funeral expenses. Then the thought struck her—without Cameron’s wages, how would she live? Studying her face as closely as he had been, he must have guessed the thought that had caused her expression of sudden distress.

  Still holding her hand, he said, “I don’t want you to worry about a thing. You hear?” He gave her hand a little squeeze. “I’ve already taken the liberty to set up an account for you at Trotter’s General Store. You can get whatever you need, whenever you need it. He’ll send me the bill.”

  At first she was speechless. When she could find words, she exclaimed, “Mr. Blunt. . .”

  “Hamilton,” he interrupted.

  She flushed. “Hamilton. I can’t ask you to do that.”

  “It’s already done. No need to trouble your pretty head about it.”

  “I don’t know what to think. I declare, you must be an angel, right here on earth.”

  He squeezed her hand again.

  * * *

  Two months had passed since the interment of her son. The little cottage on the Milltown road had begun to close in around her as she spent the lonely nights wondering if she could stand it until John and young Jim returned from the West. The days were not so bad, for she found any number of ways to busy herself. But the nighttime—from the early-evening hours when Cameron used to come heavy-footed through the door, tired and hungry, until she finally found the solitude of sleep—was the hardest time.

  The only person she could count as a friend was Nettie Bowen, whose husband, Travis, had worked in the freight yard with John. But she only saw Nettie once or twice a week, when she would make the two-mile walk to Trotter’s Store. Nettie and Travis lived in a little white house about a hundred yards short of the store.

  Travis had acted a little peculiar when Julia asked about Cameron’s accident. He plainly had no desire to talk about it. When Julia pressed for details, Travis explained that he was not in the freight yard when it happened. In fact, no one was in the yard but Tyler Blunt, the youngest of the three Blunt brothers. Travis insisted that he didn’t know any more about the accident than she did. He sought to avoid any discussion about it, and after the funeral it seemed that he even avoided her. She thought his behavior strange, but then, Travis Bowen was a somewhat peculiar man anyway.

  Hamilton Blunt’s visits became more frequent, a fact that surprised Julia, for she had expected to see very little of him after his magnanimous gestures. He would show up at odd times during the week, usually with a gift of some kind. She protested that he need not waste his time checking on her, but he insisted that he needed to satisfy himself that she was all right. He often expressed his concern about the fact that she was living alone. She assured him that while it was painfully lonesome, she would manage, and that her husband and younger son would soon return.

  Then one hot July day, she received another visit from Hamilton Blunt. His sober expression when she answered his knock immediately alarmed her. It was the same expression he had worn when he came to tell her about Cameron.

  “Julia, I don’t know how to tell you this,” he started. Knowing it was tragic news, she clutched her hands to her chest. He shook his head soberly. “It seems that I’m destined to be the bearer of sad tidings for you.”

  “What is it?” she pressed. “Is it John?”

  He nodded gravely. “I’m afraid so. One of the trappers came in from the Wind River country yesterday.” He took her hands in his. “Julia, John’s been killed—the boy, too.”

  “Jim! Oh, no!” she cried. “There must be some mistake!”

  “I’m afraid not, Julia. We’ve known this trapper for a long time. He’s completely reliable, and he knew your husband—called him by name, John Tracey. He said John and the boy were panning for gold on a little creek in the mountains. They were attacked by Blackfoot Indians. He and the boy were both killed. The trapper saw the bodies himself.”

  Julia was devastated. Her entire family had been destroyed, all within a two-month period. Suddenly her limbs would not support her, and she started to swoon. Blunt helped her to a chair and dipped a glass of water from the bucket for her. She took a few sips and then pushed it away. Overcome with grief, she bowed her head and sobbed. All the while, Hamilton stood over her, stroking her shoulders and back.

  “Julia, I can’t stand to see you suffer like this.” He reached down and gently lifted her chin so she could look at him. “I want you to come and live in my house. I won’t take no for an answer. It’s not good for you to be alone at a time like this.” She looked at him, bewildered, unable to think beyond her sorrow. He persisted. “Come on, get what things you need. You’re coming home with me right away. I’ll send someone back to get the rest of your things tomorrow.”

  * * *

  Morgan Blunt leaned back in his chair until it rested against the wall and propped his feet on the corner of the wide walnut desk. He took a long pull on his cigar and exhaled a dense blue cloud that rolled across the desk toward his younger brother. Tyler grinned, showing teeth already yellowed from chewing tobacco almost constantly from the time he was twelve. He sat down on the corner of the desk and helped himself to one of the dark-leafed cigars from the ornately embossed cedar box. Spitting his plug into the brass spittoon, he lit the cigar from a candle on the desk. He puffed furiously in an effort to generate more smoke than his brother. When the door opened, neither brother bothered to take notice.

  “Get your behind off my desk,” Hamilton Blunt ordered in a gruff, scolding tone. Tyler, grin still in place, took his time getting to his feet. Hamilton took one hand and raked Morgan’s feet off of the desk. “And keep those damn dirty boots off my desk. I swear, you two aren’t fit to live indoors.” He sank down heavily in his leather armchair.

  Morgan leered and righted his chair. “I swear, brother, what are you in such a rank mood for? You ought to be a happy man. Right, Tyler?” He winked at his younger brother, who widened his grin in reply. “You got what you want, don’t you? Your sweet little bird’s in the nest.”

  “That’s a fact,” Tyler chimed in. “She’s a right pretty little thing too. If she was younger, I might wanna try some of that myself.”

  “You watch your mouth,” Hamilton warned. He would stand for just so much of his brothers’ insolence—and they knew it. There was no question who gave the orders in the family. Hamilton had always been the driving force, as well as the brains, behind the fortune he had amassed for the family. But they also knew he would have to stand their chiding because they were his brothers—and, more importantly—they knew too much about the dealings of Blunt Brothers Freight Company.

  “That’s right, Tyler,” Morgan said. “Watch your mouth. Show a little respect for a widow in mourning.”

  Hamilton ignored the sarcastic tone. “Are you sure LaPorte took care of that business?”

  Morgan smiled. “I’m sure.” He pi
cked up a sack that had been lying beside his chair. Reaching in, he pulled out a couple of grisly strips of flesh, a shock of thick hair attached to each.

  “Goddamn, Morgan, put those damn things away!” Hamilton blurted out. “Don’t ever bring things like that in my office.”

  Morgan laughed. Tyler giggled delightedly. “Lemme see ’em, Morg.” Morgan dropped them back in the sack and threw it across the desk to his younger brother. Tyler dove into the sack like a child with a bag of candy.

  Hamilton took a moment to watch his youngest brother, shaking his head in disgust. Then he turned his attention back to Morgan. “You’re sure LaPorte got the right ones? Because I’ve already told her they’re dead.”

  In a serious tone, Morgan replied, “Yeah, I’m sure. LaPorte’s seen John Tracey before, working in the freight yard. He took his Injuns up there and found his little gold mine. Those scalps are the receipts for the money I paid him. Don’t worry, your little bird is a genuine widow.” Morgan had no qualms about committing murder. He had done it before, but then it was to eliminate competition. He was more concerned with Hamilton’s obsession for the wife of one of his employees. Morgan wondered how long this passion would last—probably no longer than it had with his first wife. Poor Constance, he thought, with no earnest compassion for his brother’s late wife. She made the mistake of getting fat. He almost laughed when he thought of the unfortunate woman’s last days—so ill and not knowing why. She finally succumbed, almost two years to the day before Hamilton brought Julia Tracey to his house.

  If there was a weakness in Hamilton Blunt, it was his obsession for certain women. Not content to satisfy his desires with the likes of Madge Pauley—who worked as a barmaid and was always ready to perform a service for a modest fee—Hamilton cast his roving eye on the rather handsome features of Julia Tracey. Once that happened, nothing would stop him from gaining his prize.