"That old fraud! He's no more done all them things he talks about than I've flown like an eagle. He got to talking this mornin', tellin' about how he climbed a mountain down there in Colorado. To hear him talk, he walked right up to the top, were he found some fancy flower or other growin' on a rocky ridge 'way above timberline. I asked him some more questions, tried to find out where he was talkin' about."
"Did you?" On a couple of occasions Malachi had wondered exactly where the professor's adventures had taken place, but he'd never been able to get the man to give an exact location.
"Yeah, sort of. 'Cept there ain't no place like that where he said he was. I been up in them hills, and I can tell you there ain't no place he could get to that easy. Why he can't walk half a mile without gettin' winded."
Although Malachi was equally skeptical about the adventures Dr. Kremer claimed to have had, he said, "It's been a while since he was in Colorado. Maybe he could have, back then."
"Malachi, I'm tellin' you, that old turkey ain't never been to Colorado Springs. I said something about Cheyenne Mountain, and he acted like he didn't know what I was talkin' about. That hill he claims he climbed, there ain't nothing it could be but Pikes Peak. I'm tellin' you, he never jest walked up to the top. Not him"
"It's none of our business, Willard. Miss Sanders says he's got plants he collected on that trip, so maybe he had a helper who did the climbing."
"Could be." The old muleskinner kicked at a rock, which went bouncing across the ground. "Guess I shouldn't complain. I'm getting paid same as if I was workin'."
"Believe me, Willard, taking care of the professor is work. It's just not what you're used to doing." He slapped the man on the shoulder. "Be happy he likes you. Otherwise he'd make your life miserable."
"Yeah, he's good at that. Why I thought the kid--"
"That's another thing," Malachi said. "Keep your eye on the kid. Seems to me, he's bound and determined to rile the professor. I'm depending on you to keep the peace."
"Don't you worry. If the kid gets out of line, I'll slap him upside the head 'til he quiets down."
Knowing Willard would never give the kid a chance to get the drop on him, Malachi merely nodded. Sheepherding looks better every day.
While he was alone in the camp during the day, Malachi used hard labor to blank his mind. He chopped enough wood to last well into fall, rebuilt the corral so it would be easier to take apart and put back together again when they had to move it, and dug a new latrine pit so that Miss Sanders wouldn't have to share the men's toilet. He fashioned a head-high enclosure from split logs around it, with a stone-lined basin in one corner where she could stand to bathe without getting her feet muddy. One day he even did laundry, washing all the men's underwear, now that the weather had gotten warm enough for them to change into their summer unionsuits.
Well, he and Murphy and the kid did, anyhow. Willard probably was sewn into his.
When the botany parties returned to camp each evening, he had supper ready. While his cooking wasn't anywhere near the caliber of Willard's, he made a mean biscuit and hadn't had to bury his stew yet. Nobody would starve with him at the fire.
Murphy and Miss Sanders had been going farther and farther afield as the days lengthened and more and more flowers bloomed. Several times she'd complained about having to break off early enough to return to camp. She had even started riding Sheba, so as to get to her destinations faster.
Tonight it was close to dark when they came in. He'd been helping Willard sort gear for the trip to the upper valley the professor was planning. She looked like she couldn't take another step and was aimed toward her tent when the professor called to her.
"Yes, Uncle?"
He was sitting at his table, which Beckett had moved out in front of the common tent. "Come over here. You too, Bradley."
The old man didn't seem to see how tired his niece was, or care. Malachi stepped inside and brought out one of the sections of log they were using for seats. He set it beside her. "Sit down before you fall down," he said.
Her quick smile was thanks enough.
"Now then, Nellie, I'll be going out for a week or more, and I want to tell you what your duties will be while I'm gone."
She covered a yawn, nodded. "Of course. Shall I get my journal?"
"No need. I've written it all down, but I want to make sure you understand." He picked up the sheet of paper he'd been writing on, held it so that the single candle illuminated it. "I've collected about two hundred new specimens. You'll need to make certain they dry properly. I don't want them mildewing."
Since she already spent an hour and more each evening changing the blotters on his collections as well as hers, Malachi didn't see why he thought he had to tell her to keep doing it. Sometimes he thought the professor talked just to hear his head rattle.
"You'll need to make a copy of the notes I've made thus far, as insurance against their loss. And do be careful, Nellie. Make sure your writing is readable."
"Yes, Uncle."
"Oh, yes, and you can start packing the specimens that are completely dry. Be sure and wrap them carefully. We don't want them damaged on the journey back to civilization."
Dr. Kremer paused, tapped his fingers on the table. Then he looked directly at Malachi. "Bradley, you'll come with me this time. Young Ernst can stay here with Nellie. Surely he's competent to mind the livestock and guard the camp."
"No, sir, he's not. He's a good man, but he's inexperienced, and I'm not going to leave him alone." He'd as soon leave a bear to guard a honey-tree as leave the kid alone with Miss Sanders for a week. "He'll do more good going along with you."
"Absolutely not! He's lazy, hot-tempered, and impertinent. I won't have him in my party."
"Then you'll have to make do with Murphy Creek and Willard. I won't leave Ernst alone in camp." Murphy and the kid had been clashing more and more often, mostly of the kid's doing. It seemed to Malachi that he was determined to provoke a fight with somebody, and Murphy rose to his taunts easier than Willard did. So far they hadn't come to blows, but sooner or later they would.
Even in the near dark, Malachi could see how red the professor's face got. "Aren't you forgetting who's in charge of this expedition, Bradley? I gave you an order."
"Miss Sanders, there's some stew in the pot over by the fire. Why don't you go have a bite before you fall asleep?" Malachi saw a flash of gratitude in her eyes as she rose. She knew what he was up to. When she was a fair distance away, he said, "No, Dr. Kremer, I haven't forgotten. You may be paying my wages, but what you're paying for is my judgment and experience. And they both tell me that your niece would not be safe if I left Ernst here with her while Creek, Willard and I were out with you."
"Pshaw, man! Nellie can take care of herself."
Biting back the angry retort that fought for release, Malachi said, "Yes sir, she can, under most circumstances But these aren't most circumstances. I've been able to manage the livestock and keep meat on the table, but that's because the other men were here at night to stand watch. One man can't do it all." He stared straight into the professor's eyes. "What I will do is send Creek and Willard with you and I'll stay here with Ernst and your niece. With young Beckett, you'll have three men to help you. I can't see why you'd need more."
"You have no concept of my needs, Bradley. You haven't bothered to accompany me often enough to gain an understanding of my methods."
Malachi had had enough. He planted his palms on the professor's table, leaned down, and looked the man straight in the eye. "I'm sure Franklin would be happy to refund part of your fee if we were to go back right now, Professor. And we will, if you don't trust me to do what 's right for your whole party. Now you just make up your mind. You'll let me decide on how to assign my men, or we'll pack up tomorrow and head back to Boise City. Your choice."
"Why you...how dare you! I engaged you...my research..." He sputtered on for another few seconds, not making much sense.
When the professor's fist struck the
table with enough force to tip the candle, Malachi grabbed it before it could set the papers afire. "What will it be, Dr. Kremer? Do we strike camp tomorrow?"
A few more sputters, then the man folded. "Oh, very well. Have it your way. But I warn you, Franklin will hear of your insubordination. You'll never work as a guide again."
Since Malachi had already made up his mind about that, he wasn't too worried. "Yes, sir. Now if you'll just tell me what you're planning, I'll get the men started getting gear together first thing tomorrow. You said you wanted to be out a week or so?"
"Open your ears, man. Of course that's what I said."
"Let's get Willard over here, then, and figure out what you'll need to take with you."
They spent the next hour planning for the professor's expedition to the large lake at the upper end of the valley. Privately Malachi thought they might be gone longer than a week, so he made sure they were taking enough supplies to tide them over for ten days.
When the professor went to bed, Malachi went out to the corral where Murphy was standing first watch. He followed the sharp scent of tobacco smoke to find the man leaning against the outer section of fence, staring into the night.
"Something out there again?"
"Yeah, and I don't like it." Murphy removed the pipe from his mouth, used the stem to scratch behind his ear. "It ain't hungry, but it's watchin' and waitin' for something. Sure wish I knew what."
"Curious, maybe. I've known critters to hang around for a long time, almost as if they were wondering what folks were up to."
"Yeah, me too. But there's something different about this one." He sucked on the pipe. "Damn thing's gone out again!"
Malachi stifled his chuckle. "If you'd ever clean it, it might draw better."
"What, and ruin its flavor? Naw!"
"When you're done playing with that fool pipe, I need to talk to you about this expedition of the professor's. You're going with him."
Murphy's head turned swiftly toward him. "You're leavin' the kid alone with Miss Sanders?"
"You think I'm crazy? No, I'll stay here, too. The old man doesn't need more than you and Willard. Give young Beckett a chance to help out, too. He's turning into a good man with the stock."
"Thought you didn't want to ride herd on the lady any more?"
Malachi didn't like the suggestive tone of his voice, but he decided to ignore it. "I don't have much choice. If I leave you here with the kid, only one of you will live to tell about it. I can't have her in the middle of something like that."
"Oh, hell, Malachi, I can keep my temper, you know that. But he's such a little shit, all full of his own consequence and sure he's got the makin' of a real bad man. I don't know why you don't take him down a peg or two."
"I will if I have to," Malachi said, knowing he might not have a choice. "But I hope I won't."
"The professor don't mind consortin' with an Injun, then? How'd you convince him I won't scalp him in his bed?"
"I didn't ask him how he felt. Come on, let's move. We stand here much longer, I'll fall asleep." They moved along the corral fence, speaking in low voices. When Malachi had told Murphy all about the professor's plans, he headed for his bed. In two hours it would be his turn to stand watch.
* * * * *
Alone in her tent, Nellie fumed. Not that it did her any good, but she felt better for it.
That man! He must spend hours thinking up tasks for her. Mr. Beckett wrote a perfectly readable hand, but no, Uncle insisted she copy his field notes.
And drying the plants. It took her at least an hour each night to replace the damp blotters separating the plants within the presses with dry ones. Fortunately they had brought a sufficiency of the blotters. So far she hadn't had to stand them near the fire to dry so they could be used the next day. Although Mr. Ernst had offered to help, Uncle had not allowed him to. Not that Nellie objected about that, for the longer she knew that young man, the less she trusted him. There was something about him...something predatory.
Mr. Beckett had also offered to assist her, but Uncle always found something else for him to do. It was as if Uncle didn't want her to have time to spend on her own collections, for all he would claim them as his in the paper he would write describing this summer's expedition.
And that was another thing. Why should he take credit for her work? No, she didn't have academic credentials, but neither had Jane Colden, whose father had been her greatest supporter. Nellie had recently read of the pioneer American botanist's accomplishments and dreamed of emulating her. Miss Colden had been so well respected that she had even dared contradict the great Linnaeus on one occasion.
Nellie didn't dare argue with her uncle, for to do so would ensure that he would never take her into the field with him again. If she angered him completely, he might banish her from the herbarium, if not from the home they shared. She had never doubted that he considered his obligation to her had ended with Aunt Temperance's death.
Now he supported her because she was useful to him.
* * * * *
"Hush. Now, Buttercup. You ain't hungry." Gertie slid backwards off the big rock where she'd been perched, watchin' the camp. 'Til it got dark, she'd been able to see all that was goin' on, saw the old man's party come stragglin' in.
My he was a piece of work! Even from so far away, she could see how he treated everybody else like they was his slaves or something.
She surely wished she could hear what they was talkin' about. Maybe she should follow the old man next time he took off from camp, instead of watching the girl.
Chapter Twelve
Nellie waited until her uncle paused in his writing. "Uncle, if you can spare me today, I would like to go have another look at a plant that I found yesterday. It was too dark to see well, but I believe it is something we haven't seen before."
"A new plant, you say? Are you certain?" He laid down his pen and frowned at her. "It's undoubtedly something you aren't familiar with. Thus far I have been disappointed with what I've found. Nothing new or interesting. Just the same species we found in Colorado and Montana."
"That is why I'd like to go back and take a second look. I'll collect some and bring it back to you for identification." She was as sure as she could be without careful examination that she had never seen this particular plant before. "I'm almost certain it's some sort of fumitory. I'd like a second opinion."
"Where is it?" His voice was sharp with curiosity.
"Well up along the ridge on the west side of the lake, perhaps two or three miles from here."
"I'll go with you then. Have someone saddle my horse."
Oh, no! You can't! She bit her lip, then said, "Of course. I'll be right back."
She wanted this plant to be her discovery, not his. Perhaps she was overly suspicious, but lately she had been listening to the men talk behind Uncle's back. According to them, he rarely put a foot to the ground. Instead he pointed out what he wanted to look at, made them bring it to him. If it interested him, he had them collect it.
Mr. Beckett, of course, understood the principles of collecting for a herbarium. He had been a student at Epimedion College for two years, before his father became unable to pay his tuition. His specimens were complete, with roots, stems, leaves, and flowers.
Not so those taken by the others. Flowers snapped off without leaves or stem, a handful of crushed leaves, a fragment of root with soil still clinging to it. Only rarely was there something she considered worth pressing. If Uncle knew how many of his specimens ended up on the trash heap behind the big tent, he would have a conniption fit.
She stopped off in her tent after asking to have Uncle's horse and Sheba saddled. Much as she disliked the idea of riding, she knew that he would not tolerate her walking while he rode. Even though she knew she could walk as fast as his horse, he would accuse her of dawdling. She changed into her boots and picked up the pack that held her canteen, field notebook, trowel and secateurs.
Uncle was waiting for her near the corral. So was
Mr. Bradley.
"Where are you going?" he said as she approached.
"I told you, Bradley, we're just going out to see a plant my niece found yesterday. No distance at all."
"We're going up on the ridge where Mr. Creek and I were yesterday. I can find my way back, I assure you."
He didn't quite smile. "I don't doubt that, Miss Sanders. But didn't I tell you that no one was to leave camp alone?"
"Well, of course, but Uncle--"
"Are you implying that I cannot--"
"Professor, you yourself admitted that you can't hit the broad side of a barn with a bucket of birdshot." He straight at Nellie. "Where's your shotgun?"
"Why, I...ah...in my tent," she admitted.
"So you were going out without any gun at all? You're both fools." Disgust was plain in his voice as he called, "Willard, come take over here. I've got to lead a couple of tenderfeet into the woods."
"Now see here, Mr. Bradley, I don't think there's any call for you to insult us. I am fully aware that there are dangers--"
He turned back, and she cringed away from his expression. "Two weeks ago you saw a bear carcass right here in camp. More than once you've heard wolves." He stopped, took a deep breath, and she saw that his anger had not subsided with his tirade. "You are surrounded by wild animals, and most of them would just love to have you for supper."
Uncle sputtered, but went silent when Mr. Bradley shot a searing look at him.
"Yesterday you saw a cow moose with a calf, Miss Sanders. Murphy said you went on and on about how 'sweet' the baby was. Do you know why he got you away from there real fast?"
She shook her head.
"Because there's no critter on God's green earth more unpredictable than a cow moose. She'll weigh a good ton, she's got a lit fuse on her temper all the time, and she moves faster than a locomotive under full steam. About as stoppable, too."
"I'll get the shotgun," Nellie said, wishing she knew how to load it. Perhaps Uncle did.
"No, you won't," he said, catching her forearm before she could walk away. "I'm going with you."
Just then Mr. Ernst led Dap and Sheba to the corral gate, saddled. "Bring Rogue," Mr. Bradley said. "I'll saddle him."
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