Knight in a Black Hat

by Judith B. Glad

  "Well, of course you can. But I don't see--"

  "Then look." His voice was hard. "Look and see what a grizzly's claws can do to wood. Then imagine what they can do to human flesh. And his teeth are worse."

  "Mr. Bradley, are you attempting to frighten me?"

  "I only hope I'm succeeding. Sometimes, Miss Sanders, you don't heed good advice. So I'm making this an order. Don't leave camp alone. Take one of us men with you, even if you're going down to the creek."

  "What you seem to forget, Mr. Bradley, is that you are working for us. That precludes your giving me orders."

  For a moment he looked down at her. His expression was still stern, but there was a flare of--anger?--in his eyes. When he spoke, though, his voice was even and quiet. "No, ma'am, it does not. I explained once before that my job is to keep you folks safe during this expedition. I will do what I have to in order to fulfil my responsibility."

  "And I, Mr. Bradley, will do what I must to fulfil my responsibility, which is to explore as widely and as thoroughly as possible in the brief time allotted to me. You and the other men will surely not have time to accompany me every day." The very thought of spending hours at a time in his company, knowing each moment that he held her in contempt, was simply more than she could tolerate. "I shall do very nicely on my own. I have a shotgun, and am reckoned quite adept with it."

  "A shotgun? You?"

  The disbelief in his tone grated at her.

  "Does that surprise you? I'm not surprised. You men seldom believe a woman is able to take care of herself."

  A muscle at the corner of his jaw twitched. She imagined he was grinding his teeth and resisted the impulse to warn him that it was bad for them. "I have never doubted that some women can defend themselves quite well--just not against a grizzly bear. Few men could do that, and then only if they were very lucky. I can't force you to follow my advice--"

  "Your orders," she reminded him, in a voice as sweet as she could make it.

  "As you will. I can't force you to follow my orders, but if you have the sense God gave a goose, you will not go far from camp alone."

  She looked up into his face and found herself distracted by the memory of his lips on hers. They had been soft and gentle, nothing at all like what she had imagined. The few kisses she had observed between young men and women had seemed almost fierce. Hungry, with a touch of desperation. Mr. Bradley's kiss had held a promise of...of what?

  All she knew was that nothing would ever again hurt like his apology.

  Stop picking at your hurt like a child with a scab. "Will you promise me that there will always be someone available to serve as my jailer?"

  This time his smile held no kindness. It was, rather, a threat. "Miss Bradley, I will be your jailer at any time you request. Just be sure you give me enough warning that I can assign someone else my camp duties."

  "Thank you. I will let you know when I will want your company. Since there is still snow on the higher slopes, I would like to commence my explorations around the nearby lakes in two or three days. Please plan to start shortly after dawn and to be away the entire day." Nellie looked again at the scratches, extending some two yards higher than her head, and admitted to herself that meeting a bear that could reach so high was just about the last thing on earth she wanted to do. "Be prepared to walk a considerable distance."

  He nodded, turned, and led her back to camp in silence.

  Well! I supposed I damaged his amour-propre. Men are such delicate creatures!

  * * * * *

  "Lookee there, Buttercup. There's a gal with 'em. Wonder whose she is." Gertie could see most of what went on in the camp from her aerie, but she sure wished she still had her man's spyglass. The folks down there weren't much bigger than ants, scurryin' around, settin' up camp.

  The cat made a sound like he'd seen a bird.

  "Hush, now. They's not for the likes of you. Not unless they bothers us."

  The tip of his tail twitched. He looked up at her, his huge golden eyes half-closed, as if to say They will. Sooner or later.

  She hadn't seen a woman come into the valley before. 'Cept her. The few miners who'd come this way had been in small parties, or alone.

  "She moves young, don't she? Even if she does dress like a old lady. That's got to be the ugliest bonnet I ever did see." Yesterday Gertie had been close beside the trail as they had passed and she'd got a good look at them, all but the woman, whose face had been concealed inside the deep poke of her bonnet. The young kid looked like trouble, with his tied-down gun, and the skinny, bearded feller was one Gertie would avoid. He was a smart ol' he-coon, if she'd ever seen one.

  "That feller in the black hat, he's prime, ain't he, Buttercup?"

  The cat made a sound that could be agreement. Or hunger.

  "Now that old feller, the fancy one, wonder what he's doin', comin' in here. Ain't a miner. Ain't a hunter. He looks like he ought be somewheres back East, sittin' in a fancy parlor, drinkin' tea."

  Gertie had liked tea once, when she was young. Before her girl-child had been took from her.

  She decided that the Injun--no mistakin' that coppery skin and straight black hair--was another to stay out of the way of. But the fancy old man, he was a toothsome sight.

  Buttercup made his bird sound again.

  "Hush up, I told you. We'll leave 'em alone 'til they gets settled in. But we'll keep an eye on 'em."

  His sigh told her just what he thought about that idea.

  * * * * *

  Malachi trudged behind Dr. Kremer's horse and wondered if he might not have been better off leading a party of rich hunters into the wilderness. The risk of getting mistaken for trophy animal, as one of Franklin's men had last year, might be easier on a man than putting up with a puffed-up posy-picker.

  "Bradley! Don't dawdle, man. You're wasting time!"

  He didn't see where they had any reason to hurry, but Malachi was the first to admit he knew nothing about what botanists did. He took a shortcut across the rocky outcrop to where Dr. Kremer was waiting. From here they had a good view of the upper valley to the south.

  Their camp was at the north end of the valley, rather than near the headwaters of the river, which had been Dr. Kremer's goal. When Malachi had asked why Willard had chosen the location, the muleskinner had said simply, "Skeeters." Looking south, Malachi agreed.

  The floor of the Sawtooth Valley was narrow, virtually flat, and still brown. The way the weather had turned warm, Malachi reckoned that it would soon turn green. The river wound through it like a silver snake through grass, its coils wide and looping. Here and there bare thickets of shrubs or low trees hid the water--willows, he supposed.

  The valley floor had looked like this up around Alder Gulch. Wet, treacherous, with a scattering of hummocks amidst channels of stagnant water where clouds of mosquitoes waited for a rash critter to come and be drained of its blood. He'd seen more than one deer that looked like it had been sucked all but dry, staggering and weak after grazing the bottomlands on a sultry day.

  "I'll want to explore along the river," Dr. Kremer said, "as soon as possible. I expect that will be the first place any flowering will occur."

  "That might be a problem. Looks pretty soggy to me. We'd be better off waiting until later in the summer."

  "I'll be the judge of when we will study any given area, Bradley, not you. Your job is to get me there."

  "I'll send Tom out with you. He's got the longest legs. He'll need them if that's as boggy as it looks."

  "Ernst? He's an impertinent rogue. I'd rather you'd accompany me." The professor lifted his spyglass to his eye again. "Look! There's a bear!"

  Malachi looked where the finger pointed. Sure enough, a big bear was lumbering across the sagebrush-covered terrace along the east edge of the valley. Even this far away, the hump-back shape was unmistakable. "Grizzly," Malachi said, deciding that the Professor would be insulted with a warning. "That's why I'm assigning Tom to be your helper, sir. You're far more experienced in th
e wilderness than your niece. I'll go with her, make sure she stays safe."

  "Humph. Well, just make sure Ernst understands that he's to follow my orders without question." He lifted the spyglass again. "Now, tomorrow I want to start south. Since it's still too early in the season to be collecting, this will give me a chance to reconnoiter the valley."

  If it was too early to collect, what had been the all-fired hurry? Malachi guessed there was no accounting for the scientific mind. "Will Miss Sanders be going with you?"

  Dr. Kremer turned and looked at Malachi, frowning. "My niece? Of course she will not accompany me. Her first duty is to get our working area set up. Once she does that, she will probably be exploring the area near our base camp. She is not a botanist, you know. Simply a technician, although she is quite competent."

  "I thought--"

  "Yes, I suppose you did. I've seen her making eyes at you. I probably should not have allowed her to accompany me. Women have no place in the field. But she pestered and begged until I gave her my permission, just to be left alone."

  Considering that his niece watched over him like a mother hen and waited on him hand and foot, Malachi reckoned the Professor wasn't telling the whole truth. Furthermore, Malachi doubted that Miss Sanders would stay anywhere near camp if she had her druthers. If ever there had been a woman likely to take the bit between her teeth, it was Nellie Sanders.

  "If you need more help, just let me know. Either Willard or Murphy Creek will lend a hand."

  They made their way back to camp by a different route, one less steep and rocky. Watching how Dr. Kremer clutched at his saddlehorn when the trail grew steep, Malachi wondered again just how the man had done all the things he claimed. There was many a tenderfoot more at home on the trail.

  * * * * *

  "Free at last!" Nellie loaded a vasculum and a leather bag containing her collecting tools and her lunch onto the small pack saddle Mr. Willard had fashioned for Sheba. The donkey wasn't particularly happy about carrying it, but she was a sweet natured animal and had only sighed deeply when it was strapped to her. Uncle was off on his reconnaissance, accompanied by Tom Ernst and Mr. Beckett. Mr. Bradley would be free to accompany her soon.

  She wanted to go downstream and circumnavigate the small lake today, just to get an idea of what she might encounter later. Then tomorrow she would go upstream to the large lake drained by the rollicking stream that tumbled past their camp. Mr. Willard had told her that the ground was level for some distance along the shore on either side of the outlet. Despite the lowering clouds, the air was warm today. If the temperature stayed high, she should find a few early plants in flower soon.

  "Ready to go?" Mr. Bradley carried his rifle, and wore a large knife in a sheath suspended from his belt. A second knife hilt protruded from one of his high black boots. The only touch of color about him was the bright scarlet kerchief at his throat. With his eyes shadowed by his wide-brimmed black hat, he looked the consummate desperado.

  "Eager," she said, unable to contain her excitement. "Did you bring a lunch?"

  "We're not going two miles from camp. I don't need to carry food."

  Nellie bit back the obvious rejoinder. "Then let us be off." She caught up Sheba's lead and started across the rock-strewn flat toward the woods surrounding the small lake. He lagged a moment, then caught up with her. "Uncle prefers to collect widely," she said, when he was walking easily beside her. "I would rather study a small area intensely, and document everything that it contains. I have told him I would initially concentrate my efforts on this outwash plain between the river and the mountains back of the lake." She smiled to herself. "I didn't tell him how high in the mountains I intend to go later."

  "You didn't tell me, either. I'd hate to have you get your heart set on doing something I can't allow."

  "Mr. Bradley, I have told you that I do not require your permission to leave camp."

  "Miss Sanders," he said, neatly imitating her intonation, "You don't know anything about this country--"

  "Neither do you--"

  "You don't know anything about this country and what dangers to beware of," he repeated, as if she hadn't spoken. "I may not be familiar with specific hills and valleys, but I know the high country and what problems a tenderfoot can encounter."

  "Like grizzly bears?"

  "Bears, and panthers and rattlesnakes, along with bottomless bogs and rock slides. And men. Don't forget, there are miners hereabouts. Where there's gold, there are bad men. It attracts them like a magnet draws iron. You may be the only woman for a hundred miles. To some of the barbarians I've seen in the back country, you'd be as tasty and tempting a morsel as a newborn calf is to a hungry wolf."

  "Don't be ridiculous, Mr. Bradley. What man with eyes in his head is going to be attracted to me?"

  Malachi stopped in his tracks, unable to answer. Had she no mirror, to see how sweetly kissable her mouth was, how deeply blue-violet her eyes? Had no man ever told her how her deliciously rounded body drew his eyes and his hands?

  Then she lifted her head and looked at him from the depth of her bonnet.

  The white patches on her face contrasted starkly with her tanned skin. They no longer startled him when he saw them, for they were simply a part of her.

  How could he tell her that to him she was beautiful? She'd never forgive him for kissing her.

  "You're a woman, that's all that matters," he said, and heard the harshness in his voice. "Let's get a move on."

  For hours she led him hither and yon, in a seemingly aimless meander. Often she knelt and touched a bit of dry weed, or ran gloved fingers along a tree trunk. They gradually worked their way around the marshy edge of the smaller lake, often struggling through willow thickets or splashing across ice-rimmed patches of standing water. By the time she called a halt for lunch, her boots were mud-covered and her skirt wet above her knees.

  The small glade she had chosen for their rest held an enormous, rounded boulder. She perched on one end, and Malachi leaned against the other. He pulled a strip of jerky from his pocket and bit off a shred.

  "Is that all you have for lunch?"

  "It's all I ever eat."

  "How silly." She dug into the bulging canvas bag she'd pulled from Sheba's back, pulled out a cloth-wrapped parcel. "Here. I always bring twice as much as I can eat."

  Curious, Malachi unwrapped it. Between two pieces of the sourdough bread Willard had baked last evening was a thick slab of venison. His mouth watered.

  "Go ahead," she said, opening a similar parcel and showing him her own sandwich. "I told you I brought too much for myself."

  Malachi took a bite, chewed. "Butter?"

  "Of course. I packed a small churn inside one of the vasculi." Her smile was smug. "Uncle had a fit when I told him, but he will appreciate the butter. I'd feel guilty wasting the cream."

  Shaking his head, Malachi said, "You think you're smart, don't you?"

  "No, Mr. Bradley, I simply like to be prepared for all eventualities. I knew we'd have a milch cow, and couldn't see why we shouldn't have butter as well as milk." She held out her canteen. "Would you like some?"

  "I've got water," he said, touching the metal container that hung from the strap across his body. Much as he hated to admit it, having a milch cow along was a luxury he'd come to appreciate. He'd almost forgotten how sweet cream could improve the flavor of the vilest camp coffee. When the huckleberries came ripe, he'd ask Willard to bake up a cobbler. As a boy, his favorite dessert had been berry cobbler with thick, fresh cream, his grandmother's specialty.

  Why was he so often reminded of her recently? And of his father? For years he'd kept memories of his boyhood, before war had brought hatred and horror into his life, safely buried. Now it seemed like they were surfacing more and more frequently, as if something in his life was drawing them out.

  Restlessly, he pulled away from the rock, went to stand beside a big snag that had lost half of its bark in the years since its death. The silvery inner wood was scarred with
insect furrows, but otherwise silky smooth.

  Like her face. Like her body?

  "Libertine!" he muttered, as he dug his fingernails into the hard wood. If he didn't get a handle on his hunger for her, he might just go crazy before summer's end.

  "Did you say something, Mr. Bradley?"

  He turned, schooling his expression to blankness. "No. Nothing important. Are you about ready?"

  "If you will give me a few moments to...to step into the woods, I shall be."

  Even the white patches on her face turned bright pink.

  Mr. Bradley had already been making noises about starting back to camp when Nellie found flowers. Well, buds, actually. In the middle of a bright glade where sunlight and heat was reflected from a rocky south-facing hillside, spring had arrived, while the rest of the area still fought off the lingering effects of winter. A few tall plants with finely dissected leaves had already produced minute buds at their branch tips. She sternly denied herself the indulgence of picking just one, knowing that in a few days, if the weather held this warm, the buds would open and she would be able to determine the species.

  "We'll come back in a week," she told Mr. Bradley, "unless it turns cold again."

  "We're a good two miles from camp. And you want to come back in a week, just to see some flowers?"

  "Mr. Bradley," she said, doing her best to keep her voice from showing her irritation, "may I remind you that the entire purpose of this expedition is to find and collect flowers. It really doesn't matter how far we are from camp or how many times we return to an area. This is the first specimen I have seen that is even close to flowering, and I must catch it at its peak."

  "Of course," he said. "How could I have forgotten?" He stood while she tied the still-empty vasculum securely onto Sheba's pack. "Why don't you ride her and use a mule to carry your gear?"

  "Because I cannot see what is on the ground nearly as well from her back." She tugged on Sheba's lead. "Well, shall we go? You were the one who was concerned about getting back before dark."