Chapter Eight
The Professor's party returned shortly after Malachi and Miss Sanders arrived in camp. Malachi didn't need a fancy education to see the old man was annoyed.
"Bradley, that young man is useless! I demand that you accompany me in the future."
Malachi looked over to where Tom was unsaddling the professor's horse. He looked ready to spit nails. "What's the problem, sir?"
"He's impertinent, disobliging, and lazy. When I showed him on the map where I wanted to go, he refused to take me there. Said it would take too long."
Determined to get the whole story before he talked to Tom, Malachi said, "Well, you did get back fairly late. Perhaps that was what Ernst was concerned about."
"Nonsense. We would have been back much sooner if he hadn't insisted on retracing our route. Why, I could plainly see that we could have taken a shortcut across the valley instead of meandering all over."
"You stupid old fart! If we'd come back the way you want, we'd be there yet. There ain't a foot of solid ground anywhere."
"Why you young whippers--"
"Hold it, Tom! You'll get your turn."
"I ain't goin' out with him no more. Callin' me lazy. Why the old bastard never got off his horse. 'Pick that branch, Ernst.' 'Let me have a look at that piece of dead grass, boy.' Jesus, Malcolm, he don't need a guide. He needs a nursemaid."
"A guide follows orders. If you knew your job--"
Malachi put a whip in his voice. "I told you to hold it, Tom!" He took a step closer to Dr. Kremer. "Professor, if you'll go on over to the fire, you'll find water hot for tea. Why don't you relax while I get some answers."
I could've got a job herding sheep. It might have been easier. They're only dumb. Not quarrelsome. He waited until Dr. Kremer disappeared into the common tent. "Okay, let's have it, Tom. And keep your voice down, for God's sake. Don't get him over here again."
"Aw, hell, Malcolm, he's real pain in the arse. He sets up there on that horse like a sack of flour, makin' me and that pissant man of his scurry around like chipmunks settin' aside seed for the winter. Only time he got off his horse was for dinner, and he made us spread a blanket on the ground for him to set on. Then he didn't like not havin' shade and he beefed about not bein' able to set up to a table like a gentleman!" Tom ran a hand through his hair. "Shit on fire! If he's what a fancy college professor's like, I'm purely glad I never learnt to read."
"You knew you'd be helping him when you hired on," Malachi said, keeping his tone mild. While he sympathized with Ernst, he was pretty certain the kid had done his darnedest to rub the old man wrong. "If you can't get along with him, you'll have to stick around camp and keep an eye on things. Murphy's got to hunt tomorrow, so you'll be all alone. Can I trust you?"
There was a clear note of arrogance in his voice when Tom said, "'Course you can! There ain't nothin' I can't do around a camp. Probably better than that damned half-breed."
Malachi said, "Murphy Creek's a good man, and don't you forget it. He could teach you a lot."
"Yeah, right." Tom walked off toward the corral with a swagger.
Looking after him, Malachi wondered again why he'd agreed to bring the kid here to a place where he couldn't get rid of him for four or five months. He'd had a bad feeling about Tom Ernst from the beginning, for all Franklin said the lad was a good worker.
Then he set himself to pacify Dr. Kremer, who was sitting at his table, sipping tea.
"I'll send Willard out with you tomorrow," Malachi said. "He knows this whole valley like the back of his hand. Chances are, he'll know some shortcuts that'll save you time going and coming."
"Then you should have sent him out with me today. I don't know why Franklin hired that guttersnipe anyway. He's obviously useless, and as obstinate as one of those mules."
"This is his first expedition, sir. He'll settle down pretty soon." Privately Malachi doubted that Tom Ernst would ever 'settle down' but he might get smart enough to act a little more level-headed.
How old was the kid anyhow? Seventeen? Eighteen? Not more than that, for he'd said something about being around seven when his daddy died at Antietam. But he was man high and doing a man's work, so it was time he started thinking and acting like a man, instead of a strutting showoff.
"I think you'll be happy with Willard. But I'll still have to send young Ernst out with you when you need two men."
"Nonsense. He can accompany my niece. I'll not have him in my party!"
Malachi didn't have to pretend much when he showed shock and surprise. "Professor, your niece is an attractive young woman. Ernst is a young man, randy as they all are at that age. I'm surprised you'd even think of trusting him to keep her safe."
"Attractive? My God, man, you're blind! Or you've never looked at her face. Besides, she is a sensible sort. She'll be in no danger with Ernst."
Over the professor's shoulder, Malachi saw Miss Sanders approaching. He knew she'd heard her uncle's words, but her expression told him nothing about how they affected her. "No, she won't," Malachi agreed, "because I'm not sending her out alone with him. As the leader of this expedition, Dr. Kremer, it's my responsibility to keep everyone safe, not make everyone happy. Willard and Ernst will be at your beck and call. That's how it's going to be."
"Well, then, be sure you tell Ernst to explain himself in the future, rather than trying to instruct his betters."
The way Dr. Kremer tapped the table told Malachi he was about to launch into one of his diatribes. "I'll talk to Tom," he said, and escaped.
Behind him he heard the soothing murmur of Miss Sanders' voice. She'd calm the old man down. Malachi knew he ought to be ashamed of himself, leaving her to deal with her uncle's frustration.
* * * * *
The next day Malachi saw Beckett, Willard and the professor off about midmorning. Miss Sanders had done her best to hurry her uncle, but he'd found one excuse after another to linger in his tent. The drizzly rain wasn't enough to soak a man, but it seemed like enough to discourage Dr. Kremer.
His niece, on the other hand, could hardly wait to get out in it. As soon as Willard and the professor rode out of camp, she was ready to go.
"Today I want to take a look around the east side of the big lake," she said. "Mr. Willard told me there's an area over there that burned a few years ago. One often finds interesting plants in old burns."
"One also finds a lot of deadfalls and mantraps," Malachi replied. "It'll be rough going."
She looked up at him with that I am not helpless expression of hers. "I have explored several burned areas, Mr. Bradley. I assure you, I know what I am doing."
Since there was just a possibility that she did, he said nothing.
They followed the creek to its outlet from the big lake, winding through woods, across a patch of sagebrush, then back into woods. Malachi kept his eyes peeled. Something had been sniffing around the stock last night during his stint at guard, and he'd like to know what kind of critter it was. Neither Murphy, who'd had the first watch, nor the kid, who'd had the last, had seen anything.
The closer they got to the lake, the sandier the ground got. Malachi saw what might have been a series of footprints, but in the fine sand, he couldn't be sure. If they were, it was a good sized critter. After a while they lost the possible trail. He decided to send Murphy over here tomorrow to see if he could pick it up.
The burn must have happened two, maybe three years ago, he decided when they reached the edge of it. A few trees were still standing, their trunks blackened and their dead branches bare. Mostly, though, the timber had fallen, either blown down, or broken by the heavy weight of winter snows. Logs lay on the ground like so many jackstraws tossed by a giant. Growing among them were seedling pines and small shrubs, willows, mostly. He couldn't see how Miss Sanders was going to get into that mess, nor why she'd want to.
"Well," she said, " this is not quite what I expected." She climbed on a big boulder and looked into the burned area. "I think I see a path." Clambering back down, sh
e ignored the hand he held out to support her. "We'll leave Sheba here."
"No ma'am, we won't. Either we take her with us, or we take her back to camp. I'm not leaving her here as bait."
"Bait? Whatever do you mean?"
"Something's mighty interested in our stock. I don't know what, but it could have come this way when it left our camp. Whatever it is, I reckon it would find a tender little ass real tempting."
Her eyes were enormous when she lifted her chin and gave him a look into that concealing bonnet. "Are you serious? A wild animal was at our camp last night?"
"We've seen deer and elk on the way in, heard wolves. You saw the bear sign. Did you think they'd leave us alone?" Besides grizzly and black bear, he was sure that both timber wolves and the smaller prairie wolf most folks called coyote were hereabouts. He'd seen scat that looked like coyote droppings, but those howls they'd all heard the first night in camp had come from the larger animal.
"Oh, this is wonderful!" she said, smiling widely. "So exciting. I've never been prey before."
For a moment, Malachi was without words. At last he said, "Ma'am, you are about three spuds short of a stew if you think being looked at as dinner is exciting." He shook his head when her smile didn't go away. "Sheba looks like a tender morsel to a bear or a timber wolf, although she'd probably give a good account of herself with anything smaller. But you--well, let's just say that anything bigger than a wolverine would find you real tasty."
"Mr. Bradley, I am not unaware of the danger. In fact, I confess to frequent episodes of sheer terror." Her smile invited his. She was hard to resist. "However, I welcome them, because they mean that at last I am living!" Flinging her arms wide, she spun around, twice. "Look at this. Wilderness. Unexplored. Full of promise. Why there could be ten...a hundred new plant species here."
Once again she looked up at him, an expression of such joy on her face that for a moment Malachi felt the world around them brighten. I wonder what it feels like to be so happy.
With an effort, he turned his attention to the matter at hand. "If you're bent on getting into that mess, I think I see a way we can do it, for a ways at least."
It was like he'd blown out a lamp. "Of course," she said after a moment's pause. "By all means, let us go as far into the burn as we can."
He led her along a narrow, difficult route, over logs, around logs, under logs, all of them charred. Before they had gone ten feet, both of them were filthy, with black streaks on their clothing, black grit on their hands. Sheba looked striped, and a big smear of soot made her look as if she wore a pirate's patch over one eye. After they'd gone in a quarter-mile or so, the logs became less jumbled, with more standing, charred timber.
"See anything yet?" Malachi asked, stepping across a gopher mound. He sure hoped Sheba wouldn't step in one.
"Most of the herbs are too young to collect." She sounded breathless.
He wasn't surprised. Her legs were a lot shorter than his, and she had those skirts to contend with. He deliberately slowed his pace. "We can come back in a week or two." Shoving a small log aside, he stepped across the one that had supported it. "Oh-oh! Looks like this is as far as we go." An old deadfall lay on the ground, an enormous log fully three feet in diameter, and across it were piled dozens of smaller ones, leaning and teetering every which way. The log he'd moved had fallen against the pile and set it to quivering. He had the feeling that if a man were to touch any one of the precariously balanced logs, they'd all come tumbling down on him. "Don't come any closer."
"What? Oh! I see."
Her words came from right behind him, so close that he could feel the warmth of her breath on the back of his neck, making his breath catch in his chest. "Back up," he told her. "See if you can get Sheba turned around. Be careful."
A scuffle, footfalls, formless sounds of reassurance behind him, then he heard, "All right. We're safe."
He sure hoped they were. As he turned, the log that had never stopped teetering slid toward where he stood, and half a dozen under it rolled every which way. Malachi leapt backwards, caught his boot on exposed roots, twisted in mid-air--and fell flat. Quickly he wrapped both arms around his head.
Clattering and bouncing, the longs tumbled all around him. Something struck his elbow, something else his upper back. When the noise and confusion stopped, he was pinned to the sandy ground by a weight across his thighs. His face was pressed against the sand by a thick length of charred wood on his shoulders, and his left arm was numb from elbow to fingertips.
Eventually the logs stopped moving. He sure hoped Miss Sanders had the good sense to stay well back from where he was.
"Mr. Bradley, don't move. There's another log all ready to roll atop you."
Small, scuffed boots appeared close to his head, a dark wool skirt brushed his cheek. Of course! He should have known better. "Get back, you fool!" he ground out, afraid to move. If a log rolled on her, it could crush her.
"I know what I'm doing, I assure you. Now, tell me, are you injured? Can you move at all?"
"I can move one arm, and no, I don't think I'm hurt, not seriously. The ground's soft enough that it gave when the logs came down."
"I rather thought that was the case. The log across your legs seems to be quite firmly seated, but the one on your shoulders is balanced on another. If I can change the balance point, I can..." Her voice drifted off and he lost sight of her feet.
He lay still, wondering what the dickens she thought she could do. Gradually feeling came back into his fingers, and he started to feel a dull ache just below his elbow. Experimentally, he pushed his shoulders away from the ground.
"Don't move!"
A creaking groan came from the tangled logs all around him, and he stopped trying to raise himself.
Try as he might, he couldn't make out what she was up to. Several times he heard scraping, and once the weight on his shoulders let up for an instant before settling him more firmly into the sand. After a while, the boots reappeared in his limited line of sight, then the skirt. "Go back to camp," he told her. "Get Tom. Or send him after Murphy. I can lie here until you get help."
"Please don't distract me, Mr. Bradley." The skirts billowed out and in a moment she was crouched not too far away, her face almost on a level with his. "I am almost ready to get you free, Mr. Bradley. Just be patient. And when I tell you to move, do not dawdle." She scooted backwards and stood. Again all he could see of her were her boots, which soon retreated out of his sight.
More noises from somewhere off to his right, followed by a plaintive bray. "Hush now, Sheba. I know straddling that log is uncomfortable, but it's the only place for you to stand. As soon as we have Mr. Bradley free..."
He tried to imagine what on earth she was doing, especially when he heard the rattle of stone against stone. Her voice was indistinct, yet comforting. She seemed to be in the habit of talking to herself.
Malachi, who had spent far too much of his life alone, understood. Sometime a body just had to hear the sound of a human voice, even if it was his own.
Her voice grew louder. "Now, if I can just get this line..." A pause, while he felt pressure on his legs increase, then let off. "There. Now don't move, Mr. Bradley. Not until I tell you to. Then roll very quickly to your left."
Malachi waited.
The weight on his shoulders went away. Logs creaked and groaned above him, but they didn't shift.
"All right, now. Roll on the count of three."
He tensed, worked his right arm under his chest and flattened his palm on the ground.
"One."
Malachi drew a deep breath.
"Two."
He exhaled, drew another breath.
"Three!"
The log on his legs lifted and he shoved himself to the side with all the strength in his right arm. His legs were next to useless, having grown numb from the pressure on them, but he still retained enough control that he was able to use his knees to shove himself even farther from the trap.
A good thing
, too, for no sooner had he moved than the pile of logs shifted and a sharp stub drove itself into the ground where his head had been. He rolled again, came up against a blackened stump, and lay there, catching his breath.
Instantly Miss Sanders was on her knees beside him, patting his face with filthy hands. "Are you all right? Can you move your legs? How is your arm? Are you bleeding anywhere? Let me see..."
"I'm fine," he gasped, still finding it hard to get enough air into his lungs. Had he broken a rib? Or was it the nearness of her? The delicate touches? The music of her voice?
He caught one of her fluttering hands, brought it to his mouth. When he kissed the palm, he couldn't resist tasting the soft skin, never mind that her unique flavor was overwhelmed by the acrid stink of old ash and char. "Thank you," he said. Holding the hand tightly. "I was getting mighty uncomfortable."
"Uncomfortable?" Her voice rose to a small shriek at the end of the word. "You couldn't move, and your very life was in danger and you were uncomfortable? Why I...I should have left you there, you ungrateful lout!" She jerked her captive hand.
He held it tight. "Miss Sanders, there's a good chance you saved my life. Those logs were not ready to sit still. Look!"
Nellie turned and saw what he meant, the jagged, broken end of a slender log driven into the sandy soil where his head had lain. "Oh, my God!" The loose pile that had imprisoned him had settled, compacted. If he were still there, his body would bear the weight of the entire mass.
No man, not even one so extraordinary as Malcolm Bradley, could have survived.
She stopped trying to get her hand free. Right now, having him hold it was exactly what she needed. "Oh, Mr. Bradley, I'm so sorry."
"Sorry? For what? You didn't roll those logs?" He scooted himself upright, favoring his left arm.
"I insisted we come into the burn, even though you warned me that it was dangerous."
"I should have checked before I moved that log. I've seen messes like that before. It's like dominoes--move one and they all fall down."
"They certainly did. And you could have been...might have been..." Her voice broke on a sob. In the next instant, tears were streaming down her cheeks.
Knight in a Black Hat Page 10