Beowulf lunged up and swiped him across the face with a slobbery tongue. William reckoned he might as well depend on the Army comin' to their rescue. "Let's go!"
The dog took off in the direction he'd come from.
A few minutes later William was so close to the three men he could smell their coffee. His mouth watered. Two of them was sprawled across their bedrolls, snug under a stretch-out tarp. Over by the fire, the kid was messing with something. He had a smear of blood on his cheek, and one eye was swole almost shut, like somebody'd been whuppin' him.
They must be waitin' for it to clear up. He hoped it wouldn't, but he knew it would. The fog was thinner, and he could smell warmth in the air.
They were camped on the edge of a stand of trees so tall their tops was out of sight, so wide across the bottom ten men would have trouble stretchin' their arms around. Here and there a young tree, more feathery than the big firs, stood with its lower branches brushing the ground. Don't reckon a man could stay clear out of sight over there, but he still might sneak up pretty close.
The big man was Muller, the feller who'd whupped him so bad, back in The Dalles. Still after that dam' gold. Wish I'd never brung it along.
The fat feller, him with gold rings in his ears, looked mighty familiar. William tried to recall where he'd seen that face, but couldn't.
The kid didn't worry William. He was skinny, like he'd missed too many meals. His britches was patched and his coat was torn on one sleeve. He had himself a handgun, stuck into his belt, but no knife in sight.
William couldn't see pistols on the other two, unless they carried hide-outs. There was a rifle leanin' against one of the saddles. A big-barreled gun, looked like that shotgun of Hattie's, was layin' beside it. Muller wore a couple of big knives, and the fat-faced feller had one.
Muller stood and walked over to where the kid was. Kicked him, for no reason William could see. Said something, but William couldn't hear what.
The youngster dodged a second kick and stood up, without sayin' a word. He headed out into the big trees, opposite where William was.
Sure hope you's over that way, Flower, he thought, then changed his mind. The kid was half a foot taller than her. Scrawny or not, he'd be more than she could handle. And there wasn't much cover over there.
After a while, the two that was left started looking worried. They both stood up and started yammering, but they kept their voices low. Muller had picked up the shotgun when a wolf's hair-raising howl came from the direction the youngster had gone. The other feller snatched up the rifle. They stood, back to back, looking out into the woods.
William could have told 'em they wouldn't see nothin' past the first tree.
He picked up one of the smooth rocks he'd piled up beside him, threw it off to the side of their camp.
"What was that?"
The wolf's howl sounded again, this time closer.
William threw another stone. This one hit in the brush and made a noise like a body was trying to sneak through.
Muller whipped around and fired from the hip. The buckshot shredded an elderberry bush, leaving the hollow stems broken, the bunches of berries dripping.
William tossed one more rock, then scooted backwards as fast as he could.
* * * *
Using strips cut from the bottom of her skirt, Flower tied the boy, hand and foot. Perhaps she should have killed him, but she could not. She wanted no more blood on her hands.
She had only stunned him with her first blow. Her second had been less violent, but better aimed. He had gone down bonelessly, completely unconscious.
She hoped he would remain so until they had disposed of his companions.
Beowulf howled, off to her right. That should alarm the other two. Even knowing whence they came, such howls always made her shiver in atavistic fear.
She rolled the boy under a young hemlock's green skirt. Even if you wake, you cannot make much noise there.
Creeping among the boles of enormous hemlocks, she wished for more underbrush. I wonder what William is up to. Something devious, I hope. Here there had been no fire, no slides, for a thousand years. Only in the openings left by fallen trees did light even penetrate, and those were rare and scattered.
Another howl, this one from between her and the camp. Within seconds, she heard the unmistakable boom of a shotgun. Oh, Beowulf, I hope he missed you.
She dashed from tree trunk to tree trunk, circling the camp. They are alert. Now we must attack. But where was William?
She had reached the place where they had separated, expecting to see him here. Surely he would not have remained close to the camp after they knew he was about.
A scuff in the moss showed where he had crawled in. She made sure her knife was securely in its sheath, and crept along the faint trail, going to her belly when it became a tunnel.
Because of her dress, she had to slither, rather than crawl. At last Flower was at the edge of the shrubs, able to see into the camp.
It was empty!
The horses were there, their saddles still on the ground. So was a bulging gunnysack and William's pack. But the two remaining men were gone.
She lay there for a count of one hundred, then cautiously crept into the camp. She and William had no more food, nor would there be time to gather any. Surely the men had food.
She reached the saddles. Threw herself on the ground behind them. Waited for another slow count of one hundred.
When she heard no sound from the surrounding forest, she reached out and took hold of a corner of the gunnysack. Keep them busy, William. I will feed us.
It held bacon, coffee and flour. She took the flitch of bacon. Raising her head, she looked around once more, then sped to the nearest tree, bent over into a crouch.
From there she ran to a second, then a third. At the fourth, she was just beginning to think herself safe when a hand closed on her shoulder.
Before Flower could even tell herself not to scream, she heard, "Woman, that was the damfoolest stunt I ever seed. You trying to get yourself killed?"
"No," she whispered back, angry that her risk had not been appreciated. "I was trying to keep us alive. Here." She handed him the bacon. "Eat."
He glowered, but took it and bit into it, then handed it back.
Flower had eaten many things in her life, but nothing she hated more than raw bacon. Nonetheless, she ate, chewing slowly, stopping only when her throat threatened to reject another bite. William tucked a chunk into his possibles sack. "For Beowulf," he said.
"They didn't shoot him?"
"Don't think so. But they sure killed a elderberry bush dead."
"Good."
"You see anything over your way?"
"The boy. I took care of him." At his startled glance, she said, "He is alive. I tied him and left him hidden."
"Good. What about them others?"
She shook her head. "I heard nothing. They could be anywhere." The moss carpeting the ground deadened sound so thoroughly that one or both of the ruffians could be within yards and they would not know it.
"Let's see if we can get past 'em, then. You head on over there, and I'll go along here." He pointed to the north. "I'd just as soon not stay here. Too easy to get cornered."
Flower hesitated, knowing he was right. Together they could both be taken. Separate, if one were captured, the other might effect a rescue. "Kiss me, then."
He did. Until her toes curled and her bones went liquid. For a moment after he lifted his head, she clung to him, unable to support herself.
He set her away from him. "I'll meet you back where the creeks get real close together," he told her. "Take care."
"Oh, William, be safe," she replied after he'd turned his back. "Please be safe."
Slowly Flower made her way across the somewhat level area between creeks, staying close to the enormous boles of the trees when she could, using boulders and saplings for shelter and concealment when she couldn't. The fog had dissipated, and from the angle of sunlight, she
knew it was about midday.
At least I am not hungry, she thought, as she peered through a screen of hemlock branches. Something had moved ahead. A bird? There were few birds in this ancient forest, for there was little food for them. All morning she had only seen a woodpecker and two small brown birds, creeping their way down a furrowed column, seeking insects.
A hand clamped itself over her mouth.
"Gotcha!"
An arm circled her waist, held one arm close to her body. She kicked back, but her moccasin-clad feet made little impression on thick legs.
A second man stepped from behind a tree. He held a rifle in one hand, a skinning knife in the other.
The clerk at Fort Boise. I remember the earrings.
"Don't move, squaw," he said, "else I split you from throat to crotch."
The hand left her mouth. "Don't yell, neither," a low, scratchy voice said in her ear.
Her immediate instinct was to fight. They would not rape her. Not again!
...maybe they wouldn't have been so careful of you, if you'd fought...
She went limp, forcing the man who held her to support her weight.
"Stand up, bitch!"
She let her eyes roll back in her head, her jaw go slack.
"Shit! The bitch fainted!" Her captor dropped her to the ground, and Flower concentrated on falling without resistance.
"Tie her up," the clerk said. "And be careful. She could be fakin."
"Don't tell me what to do," the other said. He wrapped a thin line around her wrists, her ankles, and pulled it tight between, so that her back was arched. It was all she could do to remain limp.
"Let's see if she's got the gold."
"Muller, will you stop worryin' about that dam' gold for a minute and remember that she ain't alone. That big Nigger buck's still loose."
"He won't bother us, long as we got his mistress." He raised his voice to a near-shout. "We'll carve her up like vulture bait if he tries anything."
"...ything...thing...ing...ng" echoed from the surrounding slopes.
She felt hands on her body, then the icy bite of cold steel between her breasts. Soft air kissed her belly as her buckskin dress parted under the sharp blade. Flower had no need to open her eyes to know that she was all but naked. And helpless.
"Well, lookee here, now," breathed the clerk.
"Now who's forgettin' about the Nigger?" The blade cut from chest to shoulder, down her sleeves. Hard hands. Worked the severed buckskin from her body. She risked a slit-eyed glimpse.
She might as well have opened her eyes completely. Both men were feeling the leather, crumpling it between their hands. It took them only seconds to find the small pouches she had sewn under her arms, three to a side, and the four thick, irregularly circular gold coins they held.
"She's awake."
Something prodded her. Flower lay still.
Then she was slapped, not hard, but enough to sting.
"I saw your eyes gleamin'. Stop playing possum."
She opened her eyes, but refused to look at either man. Instead she let her gaze drift to the deep green of the forest canopy, to a tiny patch of blue above. I will not despair. William will come. I know he will.
"Keep your eye peeled. I'm going to have her." That was the clerk.
"Wait your turn. I'm going first," the one with the scratchy voice said. Her captor.
"Christ! Always you first. As if it mattered. She's naked. She's tied. She ain't goin' nowheres."
"Bickelow, you keep forgetting who's boss here. I'll go first because I say so. You keep watch."
"Hell, no need for that. If the Nigger knows we took her, he's probably long gone. And if he don't he still won't go out of his way to get her loose. He's her slave, ain't he?"
"Some like bein' slaves. But you go on and do her first. And while your britches are down around your ankles, that Nigger'll sneak up and stick a knife in your back."
"The hell he will. I'll keep watch. You go ahead."
Flower heard a strange sound, then realized it was someone scratching a whiskery jaw.
"Take the shotgun, then. That rifle ain't worth shit."
"It would be if you hadn't dropped it in the river yesterday."
"Hold the godbedamned shotgun, will ye!"
Rough hands jerked her knees apart. The man who knelt between them was almost handsome, with a face that looked as if he was kind to widows and children. His smile was sweet and gentle, completely at odds with the lust burning in his eyes.
That frightened her even more than Pyzen Joe's ugly visage had.
* * * *
William reached the meeting place. He had seen nothing, heard nothing, all the way here. Not even the dog.
He had a bad feeling, like he'd missed something.
Leave a sign. What? He cut a strand of fringe off his shirt, tied it around a branch about Flower's eye level. Then he headed back up the creek Flower ought to be following. Beowulf caught up with him after a little ways. "Don't you run off no more," he told the dog. "I'm gonna need you."
Beowulf gave him a doggy grin.
He heard 'em before he saw 'em. They had her, layin' like a lump on the ground between them. He looked close, but couldn't tell if she was still breathing.
There as no way he could take on two of 'em at a time, so he had to be sneaky. He found a handful of good-sized stones, piled 'em up where he'd have some cover, just out of their sight. By the time he was ready, they'd stripped her nekkid. He could hear their voices now. Sounded like they was arguin'. He slipped closer, peered through the branches of one of them feathery trees.
The one called Muller forced her knees apart and knelt between them. No! You'll not rape her, you bassard!
Sending Beowulf under a close by bush, he laid down on the ground and yelled.
He screamed.
He done his best to sound like a man in mortal agony.
Pretty soon William saw the feller with the earrings comin' toward him. He was carryin' the shotgun.
The feller stopped just out of reach.
"Shut up!"
William moaned, making it sound like he was near death. He writhed.
"Shut up, I said."
"My leg," William whined. "It's broke. He'p me!"
"I'll help you," the feller said, lifting the shotgun.
Beowulf attacked. He came from the side, so he couldn't go for the feller's throat, but he got a good bite on his arm. The shotgun fell, and William grabbed it.
He'd never used a gun, but he knew which end was which.
Beowulf had a good hold on the feller's arm and the two of them was wrasselin' around on the ground. Beowulf's growls were almost as loud as the feller's yells.
"Let him go," he said to the dog. "Down!"
Still growling, Beowulf turned loose. The feller stayed on the ground, clutching his torn and bleeding arm.
"Keep him there," William told the dog. "Kill him if he moves."
Slobber dripped from the dog's drawed-back lips. Low growls rumbled in his throat.
The feller with the earrings lay real still, his face pasty white.
William kept hold of the shotgun whilst he ran toward where they'd had Flower. A mashed-down place showed where she'd laid, but she was gone. All that was left was her dress, sliced and torn. But not bloody. God be praised, not bloody!
Muller's heavy boots had left a trail, though, deep tracks showin' he was carrying a burden. He was headin' upstream.
Where there wasn't no way out, but down that cliff.
Walking real careful, William followed. He saw where the tracks veered off from the game trail, heading toward the waterfall.
I bet he don't know it's there. And there's no way out, 'cept back towards me.
There was more underbrush, the closer he came to the waterfall. Pretty soon he seen the ring of big boulders that Flower had called a fortress. He stopped, just far enough back that he was more-or-less hid.
"Muller!"
"Yeah, Nigger? What you want?
"
"I want the woman. Turn her loose. She ain't done you no harm."
"Come any closer and I'll kill her."
"I's the only one knows where the rest of the gold is. Turn her loose and I tell you where it's hid."
"You lie!"
"Tell him, Flower!" he called. "Tell him I know where there's a bunch more of them coins."
He heard her voice, but not her words.
"All right. I'll turn her loose. But not 'til you show yourself."
There had been a rifle in the camp. Did Muller have it? "I will if you will."
Muller stepped into sight, rifle cradled in his arms. "Show yourself, Nigger!"
William moved out of concealment, leaning heavily on his spear, as if his leg was hurt. He dropped the shotgun when he saw that no matter where he shot from, Flower would be hit. He held on to his spear. It gave him one chance.
He hobbled closer.
"What's wrong with you?"
"Ankle." He put a whine in his voice. "I think it's broke."
Muller stepped aside so William could squeeze into the opening by the pool.
The music made by falling water sounded louder, more excited than it had this morning.
As soon as she saw him, Flower whispered, "Oh, William, no!"
He ignored her, hobbled to the edge of the pool where there was a rock just right for sittin' on. He sat, still leaning on his spear. The point was down, so it looked like a plain ol' staff.
Muller had followed him, and now stood just out of arm's reach. "You can make it hard or you can make it easy, Nigger. Where's the gold?"
"My ankle, boss," William whined again. "It hurts powerful bad."
Stepping closer, Muller set the barrel of the rifle against the ankle William had been favoring.
Cold sweat trickled down William's spine.
"The gold?" The scratchy voice was almost gentle.
"It's a long way from here, boss. A real long way. I kin show you, if'n you fix my ankle so's I kin walk."
Muller moved the rifle to one side and pulled the trigger.
William felt the heat of the bullet as it exploded from the barrel.
"The gold? Last chance, before I fix you so you'll never walk again." He moved even closer, started to lift the barrel.
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