"You're obviously new to the West, Miss Sanders. Out here we don't ask a man what name he bore back East--or last year." Again that infectious smile.
"I knew Malachi Breedlove briefly, under very trying circumstances. I thought he was my enemy, and I was terribly afraid of him. He seemed so very cold, without any warmth in his soul. Then he helped me...us. He may have saved our lives. But he is a dangerous man. Never forget that."
A shiver fingered its way up Nellie's spine. "Dangerous? As in violent?"
While she poured the tea, Mrs. Savage seemed to consider. "No," she said at last, "he is not a violent man by nature, I think. Although he certainly could be capable of violence. He is more...detached, perhaps. As if he finds little in his fellow man to admire or respect."
"Oh, my." Nellie chewed her lip. "I...we had such hopes for this summer's expedition. And now--" Mentally she worded how she would tell Uncle that they must pack up and go back to Ohio. He would be furious. Convincing him of her usefulness this time had taken all her ingenuity. Now he would blame her for this setback. She would never, never again have the opportunity to go into the field with him.
Stifling her disappointment, she forced her mind back to the here and now. "Perhaps I should go and tell Mr. Bradley not to bother about the mules then." She set her cup down and pushed her chair back.
"Wait!" Mrs. Savage reached across and laid a hand on her arm. "Don't do that."
Nellie paused.
"The one thing that impressed me the most about Malachi Breedlove, even when he was holding me captive--"
"Holding you--Oh, my!" Something fluttered in Nellie's middle, just like the time she'd almost stepped on a rattlesnake.
"Please, let me finish. He was extremely polite, so careful not to hurt me. He apologized and explained that he had given his word, that what he did was a matter of honor to him."
Nellie wondered if she had wandered into a lunatic asylum. "Holding a person against her will is not honorable, not under any circumstances."
"Of course it isn't. But he didn't think of it that way. You see, he thought he was recovering a runaway wife, which was another thing entirely." Her tone pleaded with Nellie to understand. "The man who'd hired him had showed him convincing evidence that I was his wife. Malachi saw his actions in an honorable light."
"Yes. Yes, I suppose he would have, although a wife should have the right to run away if she deems it necessary."
"Of course she should." The wide smile flashed again. "But Malachi honestly believed he was doing the right thing. Whitney--the man who had hired him--also claimed I had abandoned my baby. That would have made it even worse in Malachi's eyes, for he seems rather old-fashioned in his attitudes."
"How terrible for you! How did you convince Mr. Bradley of the truth?"
"I didn't. He may still believe I was married, but when Whitney died, it didn't matter any more."
A dreadful, sick feeling spread through Nellie's midriff. "He killed him?" How can I trust my life to a man who--
"No, as a matter of fact, Malachi's cousin killed Whitney, but it could have been any one of us except Malachi who fired the fatal shot. We were all shooting right then. All but him. I don't think he even pulled his gun."
Nellie silently slid her teacup across the table when Mrs. Savage offered a refill. She hardly knew what to say, hardly knew what to think. On the one hand, she was terrified--yes, terrified of the man who had, only minutes ago, seemed competent, trustworthy, and even likable, under his stern exterior.
On the other hand, she might never get an opportunity like this summer's again in her entire life. Perhaps she needed a second opinion.
"Your husband seems less forgiving than you. He looked ready to kill Mr. Bradley."
"Luke is very protective. He will not believe I can take care of myself." Mrs. Savage reached into her apron pocket and pulled out a small gun.
Nellie felt her eyes gape. "Is it loaded?"
"Of course. It wouldn't do me any good if it wasn't." She let the gun fall back into the pocket and leaned across the table. "Look Miss Sanders, if you're going into the mountains, you need to be able to protect yourself. This isn't the East, with a policeman on every corner."
"I know that." She swallowed the rest of her tea, pushed the cup aside. "However, I will not carry a weapon. My parents were Quakers, and while I don't entirely subscribe to their pacific beliefs, I am convinced that the only people who have need for weapons are those whose duty is enforcing the law."
A long, steady stare was her only answer. Nellie found herself marshalling arguments, but before she could voice any, Mrs. Savage said, "Well, if you really feel that way, I'm not going to change your mind. The next best thing is to have someone like Malachi Breedlove along. He'll keep you safe if anyone can."
"I wonder why he calls himself Malcolm Bradley," Nellie said, the thought having just occurred to her.
"He is a shootist. There may be a price on his head."
"Oh, my! Do you suppose?" Nellie covered her mouth with both hands.
A nod. "Entirely possible. If he were known to be Malachi Breedlove, he'd be fair game for any bounty hunter who wandered by. They could shoot him in the back and get a reward for doing it."
Now it was Nellie's turn to stare. "Surely you are joking, Mrs. Savage," she protested. "That would be murder."
"Not if there's a 'dead or alive' warrant out for him. Please, Miss Sanders, Keep his secret. Malachi may be a shootist, but I believe he's a decent man who deserves a chance to live a normal life. As far as you know his name is Bradley. Don't forget."
Nellie agreed, but vowed to herself that she would learn more from Mr. Bradley before trusting him to lead their expedition.
Resolutely pushing that thought to the back of her mind, she said, "How long have you lived here? It seems so isolated, so far from anywhere?"
"Oh, this isn't isolated," Mrs. Savage said, chuckling. "You should have seen where I grew up. It was two days travel to the nearest trading post and we had only one other family for neighbors."
Nellie settled in to learn how a frontier girl lived. How very different it was from her childhood.
* * * * *
Savage waited until the women were in the house, then he said, "You've made quite a name for yourself since Bear River City."
Still anticipating trouble, Malachi simply nodded. Waited.
"So you're workin' for Franklin. Does he know your reputation?"
"He knows," Malachi said. "About those mules--"
"The woman. You said she's part of the party you're taking up into the high country? Does she know who you are? What you are."
"Look Savage, if you're not going to let me have the mules, I'll be on my way." Malachi turned away, wondering if he would ever escape his past. It seemed like everywhere he went, his reputation had got there first.
"Hold on!"
Malachi held his body tense. Luke Savage wouldn't shoot him in the back--would he?
"Your cousins would have killed me if you hadn't stopped them." It wasn't quite a question.
"I reckon so."
"So I owe you something for that," Savage said, "and for treating Katie decent. She told me you could have saved yourself some bruises if you'd taken your hand to her."
Malachi bristled. "I've never harmed a woman--"
"I didn't say you had." A squeal of metal against metal all but drowned out his words. "Well, you waitin' for Christmas?"
Slowly Malachi turned, still tense, still ready to try for his gun.
Savage stood in the open gateway to the nearest corral. "Let's go look at the mules."
"You'll let me have them?"
Nodding, Savage gestured him through the gate. "I made a deal and I'll stick to it, long as you can answer my questions."
On the other side of the corral, a second gate opened into a pasture that extended into the cottonwoods along the river. Among their dark trunks, Malachi could see movement, tails swishing, equine heads lifted to snatch at dangling
leaf buds. "You've got a fine place here," he said. Almost against his will he admitted, "I envy you."
That stopped Savage in his tracks. "You envy me? You?"
"I grew up on a farm in Virginia." Looking around, he went on, "It was considerably different from this, but it's not there any more. There's nothing left for me to go back to. But out here--" He waved an arm, not knowing the words to say how this land spoke to a great hunger in his heart. "I'm using the name Malcolm Bradley," he said, hoping Savage would hear what he didn't say. "I'd take it kindly if you were to forget you ever knew me by any other name."
Savage didn't answer at first. He seemed to be studying Malachi, looking for--for what? At last he said, "Mr. Bradley, how many mules did you need?" He still didn't sound friendly, but he sounded ready to do business.
* * * * *
Oh, how I wish I knew what I should do! Nellie stole a peek at Mr. Bradley from the corner of her eye. Although his wide-brimmed black hat shadowed the upper part of his face, she could see a muscle twitching in the corner of his jaw. Uncle's face twitched like that when he was in the grip of powerful emotion.
If she refused to trust this man, she very much doubted that they could find another guide to take them into the Sawtooths. Not this late in the season. She had no idea how to go about seeking one, anyway. Uncle had engaged Mr. Franklin's services through an agent in Chicago.
Ever since she had first gone to work for Uncle, she had dreamed of making an important botanical discovery. Even as a child, she had loved collecting plants, although she had not been aware of her own ignorance until she had access to Uncle's library, with its floras and journals telling of botanical explorations and discoveries. Now she had the opportunity, after nearly a year's work in convincing Uncle she would be an asset to him in the field. Dare she cast it aside simply because of her own fears?
Mrs. Savage had said she would trust this man with her life, once he gave his word to guard and protect her.
But what if--
No! I cannot trust our lives to a known killer.
But Mrs. Savage believed him to be a decent man, one whose word was his bond.
Could it be possible that there is a good explanation for his frightful reputation?
Nellie looked at him again, studied his strong profile. His face showed no sign of dissipation. When he looked at her, he had never avoided meeting her gaze, nor had he ever averted his from her disfigured face, as so many did.
Nellie admitted to herself that she was inclined to trust anyone who did not see her as a freak. She chewed her lower lip as she continued to study him.
Dare I?
Yes! If I don't, I'll never again have an opportunity like this one.
* * * * *
They were not far from the Savage ranch when Miss Sanders finally spoke to Malachi for the first time. "Mr. Bradley, I think you'd better tell me everything. I am not entirely certain I can trust myself and Uncle to a man who has murdered for money."
"There's a difference between killing when necessary and committing murder," he said, hating what was coming, but knowing he had to convince her. It hadn't taken him long to figure out that Miss Sanders called most of the shots on this expedition, mostly because her uncle was too lazy to take the lead.
"Do not patronize me, Mr. Bradley, and do not pretend you don't know what I'm asking. The ride back to Boise City will take us approximately two hours. That should be ample time for you to explain your reputation and justify our trust in you."
He glanced at her. She was sitting up straight beside him, her gloved hands clutching that silly little reticule she always carried. As usual, her face was hidden inside the deep pokes of her hideous bonnet.
"Take off your hat, so I can see you." So I can see what you're thinking when I tell you the truth. He'd already decided what she deserved to know, how much he'd tell her. Maybe he was a fool to trust her to keep silent, but he had no doubt she would.
She hesitated, then her hands went to her bonnet strings. When she pushed it back, to dangle against her shoulders, she gave him a quick little smile, almost a grimace. "I shouldn't do this, because I sunburn quite easily. But I have to confess that the breeze feels refreshing." Her chin went up and her eyes closed.
Malachi thought he saw her nostrils twitch as she inhaled. There was a faint odor of cinnamon on the spring wind. Bitterbrush must be blooming somewhere about.
"After the War," he said, choosing carefully what he told, "I drifted a while, then went to Kansas City. I was planning to go to Texas, but a friend from the army hired me on as a hunter for the railroad. I drifted for a couple of years, finally ended up at Abilene. That's where I ran into my Breedlove cousins. I hadn't seen them since I stopped in Tennessee, right after the War."
He paused, remembering. Too bad he hadn't known more of Cousin Japhet's reputation before he got friendly with them. "I went to work for the Union Pacific, guarding payroll cars, in '67. In between I hunted for them too. When I wasn't busy, I took on jobs for other folks, mostly guarding swells on their visits to the West. When the railroad was built, I stayed in Wyoming awhile. Eventually I drifted north and ended in the Montana gold camps. I took a job guarding gold and silver shipments out of Virginia City."
"But...but that doesn't sound like the life of a shootist. I've read--"
He had to grin. "I'll bet you have. I've seen some of those stories. I promise you , Miss Sanders, I've never faced a man in a duel and I've never killed in cold blood."
"But you have killed."
"I have. When I had to."
"Then how did you get your reputation?" Her voice showed strong skepticism.
"There was a holdup on the road from Virginia City to the railhead. I was lucky. The bandits weren't." Bitterness about the aftermath still burned his soul. "Some newspaper fellow got hold of the story and wrote about it. He used my name, made me out a hero. According to him, I shot five men before they could even draw their guns."
"Oh." The word was barely above a whisper.
From the corner of his eye, he could see that her hands were pressed against her mouth and her eyes-- Great God! Those eyes!--were wide.
She lowered her hands and shook her head. "I read that story. He...he used your name. Malachi Breedlove. How could he! That was criminal!"
Malachi jerked so hard on the reins that the horse, a livery plug, came close to rearing. Controlling himself, he pulled to the side of the dusty road. Once they were standing still, he turned and stared at her. "You believe me?"
"Of course. Mrs. Savage said you were an honorable man. If she is convinced of that, I see no reason to doubt your word."
Fighting the churning in his gut, Malachi said, "Miss Sanders, you are the most unusual lady I've ever met."
This time her smile was genuine. "Why thank you, Mr. Bradley. Coming from you, that is rare praise, indeed." She pulled her bonnet back onto her head, but didn't tie the ribbons.
As long as she faced him, he could see her just fine. The disfiguring white patches stood out clearly, and he realized he usually didn't even notice them anymore. Poor girl. No wonder she hides like that.
"I won't deny to you that I've done things I'm ashamed of," he said, looking straight into her eyes, "but since the War I've never drawn a gun on a man who didn't wish me ill, and I've never killed when I could avoid it. I give you my word of that, Miss Sanders."
She stared right back at him. "I believe you, Mr. Bradley. What I want from you is your promise that you will, to the best of your ability, guard and protect us all until we return to civilization. If you will give your word that doing so will be your primary duty, then I will say nothing more about your past."
Unbelieving, he said, "You don't want to know any more? Nothing about whatever Katie Savage told you?"
"I am far more interested in what you can do than what you have done, now that I know you are not the scoundrel your reputation made you seem. Will you guard and protect us, Mr. Bradley? Will you bring us back safely to civilization?"
Without thinking, he took her hand in his. Lifting it, he touched his lips to the soft kidskin covering her palm. "I give you my word," he said, his voice sounding unusually hoarse in his own ears.
She nodded. "Good. Then let us be off, Mr. Bradley. We have much to do before we can start our adventure."
Chapter Four
"Why didn't someone tell us beforehand," Miss Sanders demanded, "how long it would take to ship our equipment to Boise?"
"I know Franklin told you to ship it ahead, because there'd be a delay," Malachi said, keeping his tone mild. She was spoiling for a fight, and he didn't want to make her any madder. He'd had copies made of all the letters between Franklin and the Professor--now he realized that she must have written them--just so he'd have a handle on everything. Now he was glad he had.
"A delay! It's been more than three weeks!"
Malachi went on with his packing. He wanted the jerky wrapped so well no small critter would sniff it out. He'd never forget the time he'd found nothing but mouse biscuits in the packet that was supposed to be his emergency rations. "Um-hmmm." Now where did I put that bag of salt?
"Mr. Bradley, you are not listening to me."
Turning to face her, Malachi said, "Miss, Sanders, I told you in Ogden that it could take at least three weeks to get here, so it should arrive any day now. A lot depends on the condition of the trail. Even oxen can't pull those heavy wagons through mud. That storm we had last week slowed the freighters down for certain."
"Well, but--"
"We can't go until Murphy Creek gets here anyhow. Willard can't handle the mules by himself. And the kid..." He shrugged, not sure the kid was worth the trouble he was bound to cause.
"Well, where is this Mr. Creek?" she said, but her voice was calmer.
"I wish I knew." Malachi had wired Franklin about the non-appearance of the half-Paiute hunter and scout, but hadn't received an answer yet. Malachi had worked with Murphy before, and knew that sometimes he went on Indian time. "But don't worry. He'll be here."
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