Knight in a Black Hat

by Judith B. Glad

  "Safer than you would be, wandering out in the dark all alone. Let's go." Deliberately he caught her hand in a hard grip and all but dragged her back toward camp.

  * * * * *

  The rain returned the next morning, then turned to snow. Instead of warming toward afternoon, the day grew colder. Snow blew around the tents and piled up in drifts between them. The men went out after dinner to gather extra feed for the livestock, in case the storm lasted more than a day.

  Once they were gone, Nellie fetched her journal from her tent and joined Uncle and Mr. Beckett in the large one. But it was too cold to write. She set it aside and suggested a game of dominoes.

  "Not now, Nellie. I have field notes to compose. And Beckett, you'd better get those trousers of mine mended. I want to wear them tomorrow."

  Mr. Beckett went after his sewing kit and Nellie found a comfortable seat among the sacks of flour and coffee beans. She scanned the draft of Uncle's Flora, seeking a mention of a plant similar to the one she had found near the small lake two days ago. Turning to the species list at the back, she carefully studied it.

  "Nellie, I'm chilled to the bone. Make me some tea, there's a good girl."

  Setting the book aside, she said, "Yes, Uncle. I'll see if I can get the fire going." She had no knack with open fires. That was why, on most of her field trips, she had carried food that could be eaten cold.

  "Well, if you can't, call one of the men. Where are they, anyway?"

  "They are gathering feed for the stock. Mr. Willard says that sometimes these mountain storms can last for several days."

  "Nonsense. It's May. The worst we could have is a quick snowstorm that melts in a day."

  She carefully added kindling to the smoldering embers, hoping she would not put the fire out. Mr. Willard had cursed the wet wood this morning, and had carefully banked the fire before he went out with the others. Nellie knew she shouldn't disturb it, but Uncle would have a fit if she didn't make his tea.

  How pleasant the last few days had been, despite the rain. The daytime temperatures had hovered around sixty degrees Fahrenheit, according to Uncle's thermometer, and the nights had been almost balmy. After waking to ice in the drinking water ever since they'd entered the mountains, everyone had enjoyed the respite from wintry weather. Now the cold had returned, although not so bitter as they had experienced on the journey in.

  She leaned down and blew again, gently, so as to encourage the tiny flame that flickered among the sticks of kindling. At last one stick caught fire, then another. Gingerly, Nellie laid a small log across them, not disturbing the charred logs that lined the firepit. She sat back on her heels and watched, ready to blow again if necessary.

  She had been cold, sitting against the back wall of the tent among the provisions. The heat felt good. Holding her hands out to it, she spread her fingers. A tingling in their tips told her she had let them get too cold, so she briskly rubbed them together until they felt warm again, then tucked them into her armpits. Once, as a child, she had frostbitten several fingers, and ever since then they had been far more sensitive to the cold.

  When flames licked along the sides of the new log, she hung the pail that was used to boil water over the fire, using a hook extending from a wrought-iron tripod straddling the firepit. Such a clever device! So much easier than trying to balance a pot on stones.

  If she were going to cook over open flames, however, she would much prefer the way they had grilled the meat from the elk Mr. Murphy had shot yesterday, in strips threaded on peeled sticks. She had eaten hers right from the stick and found it delicious. There had been something delightfully barbaric about the experience. Afterward she had earned Uncle's frown, when she had licked the grease from her fingers.

  She made tea for herself and Mr. Beckett, too. The poor man curled his bare hands around the hot tin cup before sipping it. Nellie had watched him trying to sew with fingers that were almost blue and had wished her uncle were a little more thoughtful. It wasn't as if he needed those torn trousers tomorrow.

  Warmer inside, she poured herself a little more tea, then returned to her comfortable nest, and picked up the Flora again. How she wished she were more knowledgeable about western plants. Perhaps then she would be able to deduce what the mystery plant was, just from its gross anatomy.

  The men returned after more than an hour's absence, stamping the snow from their boots before they entered the tent. "Colder'n a well digger's ahh-- Than the bottom of a well," Mr. Willard said, as he shook the snow from his coat.

  Mr. Murphy hung his wet gloves on a line strung between a centerpole and the side of the tent. "Wind's got a bite to it." He shivered. "Don't know why I didn't stay in Arizona."

  "There is warm water in the pail," Nellie said. "I'm afraid I let the coffee get cold."

  Mr. Ernst frowned, but before he could say anything, Mr. Willard said, "It won't take a minute to heat it up, soon's I get the fire goin'." He knelt and stirred the embers with a long, stout stick. "It held pretty good. You put more wood on?"

  Nellie nodded. "Yes. I hope I didn't do anything wrong?"

  "No, ma'am. You done just fine. Long as you don't put the fire out, there ain't much you can do to hurt it." He hung the coffeepot where the pail of tea had been. "Here. You'd better take the rest of this before it gets cold. No use wastin' it."

  She did, and divided it between her uncle and Mr. Beckett. If she drank any more, she would have to make a trip to the necessary, something she wanted to put off as long as possible.

  "Well, when do you expect the snow to let up?" Uncle said, once the men had settled with their hot coffee. "Time is wasting. At this rate we'll never get our summer's work done."

  "There's not much we can do about the weather, Professor," Mr. Bradley said, his tone mild.

  "Maybe the old fart expects us to dig his flowers out and bring 'em to him," Mr. Ernst said, from where he sat against the firewood piled near the door.

  "Why you young whi--"

  "That's enough, Ernst." No mildness in Mr. Bradley's tone this time. "Unless you want to find yourself chopping wood in the snow, you'll keep your mouth shut."

  "And watch your language around the lady," Mr. Willard added.

  Nellie was touched. The old muleskinner used the most vulgar language she had ever heard, but when he knew she was within hearing, he did his best to moderate it. She happened to glance toward Mr. Ernst, who winked at her.

  For some reason she felt soiled for a moment, as if he had touched her with filthy hands. Nonsense. He's only a boy.

  By the time the snow ended and the wind calmed three days later, Nellie wondered how they had all survived. Tempers had flared regularly. Mr. Ernst seemed to take great delight in baiting the other men, particularly Uncle.

  Personally, she would have liked to smack him soundly.

  Chapter Ten

  The snowstorm tapered off into freezing rain. Nellie awoke on Monday--she thought it was Monday--at the sound of a shot. She lay paralyzed with fear for a moment. Another shot. And another.

  A whole volley. Good grief! Is there a war going on out there?

  Then she realized that she had heard similar sounds before. She pulled her clothing to her and began dressing, as she always did, inside her warm bedroll. Only when she had her upper half warmly clothed did she crawl free and rise to her knees to don her petticoats and skirt.

  She stood and stepped to the doorway. The tent flap was frozen closed. After some effort, she was able to peel it open. She looked out upon an ice-coated world, silent except for the occasional sharp crack as a branch broke under the weight.

  Despite the muted light, the surface of the snow sparkled, but she knew that the beauty was only superficial. Small mammals were trapped under the crust, browsers and grazers would find little that wasn't ice-coated. All the tents were sheathed with a transparent coating, and the roof of the big one drooped alarmingly between the centerpoles. Even as she looked, it swayed, bucked. One of the spans shed its burden with a clatter. The m
en must be inside, working to unload the canvas.

  An excellent idea. She took her stout walking stick and whacked at her own tent. The drooping canvas resisted, then gave. Breaking ice crackled and scraped and scratched as it slid to the ground.

  She stepped outside, and promptly broke through the crust halfway up to her knee. A second step was the same. Taking short steps, pulling her feet free one at a time, she started toward the necessary. After half a dozen steps, she realized that her skirt was getting soaked. Exasperated with her own folly, she tucked the hems of skirt and petticoats into her waistband and went on, her stocking-covered legs exposed.

  She had almost reached the small, crude enclosure when she heard her name called.

  "I'm here," she called back. "Just a moment."

  Mr. Bradley appeared around the corner of the common tent. "Are you all right?"

  "I am perfectly fine," she told him. "If you will give me a few minutes, I will come and help you clear ice from the other tents." She waited until he nodded and disappeared before going farther.

  "What the dickens did you think you were doing, going out alone?" he demanded when she emerged to find him waiting beside the common tent. "Didn't I tell you--"

  "You were busy, and I saw no reasons to--"

  "I'll give you a reason," he said, looking fierce. "Look over there!" He pointed toward the corral.

  A dark shape lay on the ground just inside the corral. All around it the snow was splattered with... Blood? "What happened?"

  "Bear. He was sniffing around, got inside. The mules had him half dead before Willard got a bead on him." He gestured her to enter the tent ahead of him.

  "He got into the corral? Are the mules--"

  "They're fine. A couple got scratched up, but nothing serious."

  She let him nudge her inside the big tent. "Is that a grizzly bear?" the carcass had appeared smaller than the massive animal she'd imagined.

  "No, just an ordinary black bear. If a grizzly had gone after the mules, we'd have lost some."

  She shivered, and not from the cold. Reluctantly she gave him her coat to hang beside his. "When did the bear--"

  "About an hour before dawn. None of us expected critters to be out and about, what with the rain, so we were caught unawares. If we'd been on our toes, he'd never have got inside the corral." He sounded almost as if he was apologizing.

  Nellie stepped as close to the fire as she could and spread her skirts to its heat. As soon as she warmed up a bit, she intended to return to her tent and remove her petticoats. The damp fabric clung uncomfortably to her thighs.

  Mr. Bradley came to stand across the firepit from her. He had hung his coat on a line strung between one corner post and a centerpole. His black shirt looked damp, and his trousers were wet and clinging.

  Nellie told herself she should not notice how strong and well-formed his legs were. But she had never seen a young man's legs so revealed, and she could not keep her gaze from straying in their direction. He is built like a classical statue. All long, lean muscle and tendon. Beautiful!

  He picked up a cup and filled it with coffee, offered it to her. Nellie took it gratefully. Her wet clothing had her thoroughly chilled, but not, she was certain, half so cold as he must be.

  For the first time this morning, she looked into his face. His eyes were shadowed and the lines at their corners seemed more sharply defined. "You look as if you haven't slept for a week!"

  Wiping a hand across his face, he grimaced. "I feel like it. I never did get to bed last night."

  Nellie had slept soundly, unaware of peril or weather. "Oh, I am sorry. Why didn't you wake me? I could have helped. Kept the tent clear of ice, or something."

  "I didn't sleep because Tom called me before I got to bed. He'd seen something prowling around at the edge of the woods about dusk. The trouble was, it was so dark, we couldn't see much beyond our noses." He refilled his own cup. "We all patrolled through the night, didn't see or hear a thing."

  The other men entered then, hung their dripping coats and hats on the line that was strung between one center pole and a corner post.

  "That coffee ready yet?" Mr. Willard said.

  Mr. Bradley nodded. "Did you get the professor's tent clear?"

  No one answered until all three cups were filled with the strong, hot coffee. Mr. Willard took a swallow, then said, "Good thing we did, too. Him and Beckett were close to gettin' squashed. The back nigh pole was broke and that whole corner was layin' on the ground."

  "The old fart was havin' a real fit," Mr. Ernst said. "Don't know why he or the pissant couldn't have done something about it their ownselves."

  Mr. Willard swatted the younger man across the back of his head. "Watch your mouth!"

  "Keep your hands off'a me!"

  "Then you keep your language decent."

  "Look who's talkin'. You old puke, you know words I never heard of."

  "Enough!" Mr. Bradley pushed between them. "Willard, see if you can get a path shoveled to the out--to the necessary. You, Ernst, you go start butchering that bear."

  "Aw, Malcolm, can't it wait? I'm froze to the bone."

  "Do it now. Before the smell of blood draws something else."

  "I'll go along and get rid of the blood," Mr. Creek said. "C'mon, Tom. The sooner we get it done, the sooner we can change into dry clothes and get some breakfast."

  They exited, young Mr. Ernst clearly reluctant. Mr. Willard said, "I'll clear a path to your tent too, ma'am. No need for you to get your skirts any wetter."

  "Why thank you. I'd appreciate that. And to Uncle's tent, too?"

  "I'll give Beckett the shovel when I'm through with it." He followed the other men out of the tent.

  "Uncle is not going to be pleased to have to wait for a path to be cleared to his tent," Nellie told Mr. Bradley.

  "Then let him walk in the snow. You did."

  She looked at his face, saw again the near-exhaustion, and decided not to make an issue of Uncle's impatience. "Did Mr. Creek say you gentlemen hadn't had your breakfast yet?"

  "Haven't had time." Mr. Bradley went to the line and pulled his heavy sheepskin coat from it. Although the garment no longer dripped water onto the ground, it was no drier than it had been a quarter hour past. "I'm going out to check the feed supply. We may have to gather more."

  "While you're doing that, I will prepare breakfast. I'm sure I can manage something."

  He looked almost embarrassed. "No need for that. I'll send Willard back in--"

  "Don't be silly, Mr. Bradley. I can cook well enough to feed us a simple breakfast. Just give me half an hour."

  He hesitated, clearly wishing to argue.

  "Go on." She made a shooing motion. "Go feed the mules. I'll call when breakfast is ready."

  He went.

  Alone, Nellie wondered if she had bitten off more than she could chew. Well, perhaps it was time she learned to cook over a campfire. It couldn't be all that difficult, could it?

  * * * * *

  On Thursday Malachi took the professor out, just to give Miss Sanders and poor Beckett a rest. His pipe, his journal, a book, a map--seemed like he looked for excuses to have both of them dancing to his tune.

  "There's still flooding to the south," Malachi warned, as he led the way down the hill to the bench overlooking the river. "There's a pile of debris damming the river about a half mile upstream, and the water's spread across half the valley."

  "This is intolerable. We're losing precious time!" Kremer jerked on the reins, causing Dap to prance sideways. "Be still, you benighted beast!"

  "You know, Professor, I spent a few years in Montana, up around Alder Gulch. The weather we've had isn't all that different from what we'd have gotten there. Seems to me that you'd have expected some late snows, given all the years you've been coming West to do your exploring."

  "Well, of course I did. Why, two years ago, in Colorado, we had such snow we couldn't get out of our cabin for a week. One learns to expect such setbacks when one travels i
nto the wilderness."

  Malachi turned Rogue's head upstream. Behind him, the professor droned on about the hardships he'd faced in Colorado. Funny, I thought he told us he'd gone to Montana two years ago.

  The debris dam broke that day, sending a rush of water down the river, draining the upper valley. But the ground was still saturated and treacherous. A couple of days later, Willard took the professor a ways up the river, just far enough for them to get mired in a wet meadow. Both were cold and mud-covered when they returned to camp late that afternoon.

  "I think you'd better stay close until the valley dries out, sir," Malachi said, once Beckett had got Dr. Kremer settled. "We don't want you getting into trouble again." He suspected that Willard had got them stuck on purpose, but nothing would be gained by accusing the old muleskinner.

  Miss Sanders raised one eyebrow at him and bit her lower lip as Malachi apologized for the inconvenience. But she didn't say anything.

  * * * * *

  More than two weeks after the big snowstorm, the weather finally moderated. They awoke to clear skies, a balmy breeze, and a carpet of green surrounding their camp. Dr. Kremer was ready to go.

  He came bustling into the common tent while Malachi and Murphy were eating breakfast. "I'll want a full kit, including my tent. I plan to be out at least a week."

  "We've got a smaller tent you can take. I'd like to leave yours set up."

  "Nonsense, man! Mine is hardly big enough as it is."

  "Beckett can sleep outdoors, with Willard." Malachi had already discussed this with the quiet young manservant. He was eager to earn the respect of the other men, and perfectly willing to share any chores and hardships. The trouble was, the professor kept him hopping, fetching and carrying.

  "I told you I wanted you to go out with me from now on."

  "Yes sir, you did. And I told you that I couldn't do that, particularly when you're going to be gone overnight. Willard and young Ernst will take good care of you." He turned his back on the professor and walked away.

  Behind him he heard Willard say, "Now then, Perfessor, we'll have us a grand old time. You jest git your breakfast and we'll be off. My bones tell me we're goin' to have some nice warm days comin' up. I bet those flowers will be springin' up all over the place."