Willard scratched the back of his neck, squinted up at the western sky. "Sundown in a couple of hours. Not much time."
"I don't care. Will you try to find the trail?"
"Sure." Willard hesitated. "You know, Malachi, the perfessor ain't a'goin' to like this. He's got his mind set on movin' us all up to that other lake first thing tomorrow."
"The professor can go hang, for all I care. We've got to find her."
"We'll find her, lad," Willard said. "If she's still alive, we'll find her." He looked closely at Malachi. "How long's it been since you slept?"
"Last night." Shaking his head, he wondered if his brains were rattling loose inside his skull. "I think. For a while."
"Then you head over there to Miss Sanders' tent and sleep a while, and I'll go see if I can find any sign of where they went. Murph, you take care of the stock and tell Beckett to rustle up some grub."
"I can't sleep. I've got to--"
"Don't be a dam' fool. You ain't no good to nobody, the shape you're in. Get some sleep."
Knowing he was right, hating it, Malachi trudged to Nellie's tent. He went inside and smelled honeysuckle.
With a hoarse cry, he fell to his knees on the blanket that lay tangled atop her bedroll. Bending over, he clutched the soft wool between his hands and lifted it to his face. Inhaled.
And wept.
Chapter Eighteen
Nellie couldn't find words. Her own ma? The woman was mad!
She rubbed her hands, now coming to life with painful prickling, against the fabric of her skirt, while she thought.
If she is mad, then she could be dangerous.
Could be? What am I thinking? Of course she's dangerous, if she was crazy enough to kidnap me and bring me here.
"Where are we?" she said, to give herself time to think.
Once more the old woman patted her cheek. "Never you mind that now, My Girl. We're in a safe place, where them men'll never find you."
Oh, God! I hope she's wrong! Malachi would look for her. She knew he would.
He'll find me.
"But I--"
"I swan! You must be hungry. You ain't et since last night. You just set here and I'll fetch you some meat."
"No, please... " But the woman had scuttled away, disappearing in the darkness beyond. Nellie looked around, wondering what sort of place this was. A deep cave, that was obvious. No light shone into it. Only the fire, reflecting off rough walls of rock, kept the dark at bay. A black streak on the wall overhead showed that someone--the old woman?--had lit the echoing space with fire many times. A gunnysack and other bundles were strewn along the passage through which the woman had gone. Nellie had the impression there were many of them, lying farther along where she could not see.
Something about them--their dissimilarity perhaps, and the odd assortment of small tools and clothing she saw spilling from some--made her think of a packrat's hoard.
"Here you go, My Girl. Pure sweet water and a nice chunk of roast venison." She held out a battered tin cup and a blackened, greasy object about the size of a closed fist.
Nellie took the cup, holding it clumsily. She sniffed at its contents, smelled nothing. Sipped. Yes, the water was sweet, and icy cold. She drank thirstily, for her mouth had been dry as cotton-wool.
"Eat, too. You're skinny." Again the black object was thrust toward her. "It's still fresh. I cooked it two, three days back."
"I'm not hungry." She was, but right now she doubted she could chew and swallow gruel, let alone a three-day old piece of cooked meat. "I would like more water, though."
The old woman laid the meat on the floor beside her. "You set right there. I'll get it." Again she went down the dark passage.
Nellie's hands still tingled, but the pain had subsided to a tight sensation in fingers that still looked swollen. She pulled her skirt up and inspected the wrapping on her ankle. It looked like a manacle, but when she touched it, she found it felt more like very stiff leather, slick and smooth. To it was attached a chain, which stretched across the floor to the opposite wall, where an enormous, sharp-edged boulder sat on its other end.
She tugged experimentally, but was held every bit as fast as she'd expected.
The leather manacle was fastened together with a thong, so she should be able to get it loose if she had the time. If the old woman would ever leave her alone for more than a few minutes.
As if called, she appeared again and handed Nellie the cup. "Don't you drink too much, now. You'll make yourself sick."
"Who are you?" Nellie said, after taking another drink. "Why am I here?"
"I told you My Girl. I'm your ma. 'Course, you probably don't recognize me after so long, you being a such a younker when you was took from me."
Was one supposed to humor the mad, or to argue with them? Given the size and strength of this woman, Nellie decided to humor her. "No, I didn't recognize you. How old was I when I was taken away?" If she talked, maybe she wouldn't think about all the awful things that could happen to her.
Gertie settled beside Her Girl, happy that she'd stopped bein' so scairt. Purty soon she'd settle in, and then Gertie would take the cuff off her leg. She did hate to see Her Girl tied up like that.
"You was so pretty, back then," she said, touching the soft skin of Her Girl's cheek. "Big blue eyes, curly hair as black as night. And your smile. Why it was sweet as an angel's. I used to tickle your belly, just to make you laugh. Hearin' it was like hearin' heavenly music." She took Her Girl's hand, stroked it. "And you growed up just as pretty as you was then. Prettier than your ma or your pa, that's for sure, even if you do favor me a lot."
Nellie stared at the ravaged face, at the gap-toothed smile. I favor this? She was not a vain person. How could she be, as disfigured as she was? But she knew she bore no resemblance to this crone.
Forcing her lips into a stiff smile, she said,. "It's been so long. Forgive me, but I've forgotten your name." When the woman frowned, she hastily said, "I mean, I know you're...you're 'Ma' but don't you have another name? I'm sure I remember..." She let her voice trail off.
"Lord love you, I'm Gertie. Gertie...." A puzzled frown replaced the grotesque smile and the crone scratched her head, further tangling the gray rat's nest of hair. "Gertie...somethin'. I disremember the other name. It's been so long."
"It doesn't matter." Pity replaced some of Nellie's fear. How tragic! To not remember one's own name! The poor soul. "Yes, it has been a long time. I can't remember why I was taken away."
Gnarled hands twisted and tears welled in the old...in Gertie's eyes. "You was so bad hurt. After you fell down that chasm and I fished you out, you jest lay there where I put you. Your eyes moved some, and you cried. Oh, such a weak, sick little whimper you made. But you never moved your arms and legs, never turned your head. I tried to feed you, but the food dribbled out of your mouth as quick as I put it in." The tears made tracks in the dirt on her cheeks, but she made no effort to wipe them away.
"One morning I woke up and you was gone. Taken away in the night. I kind of figgered it was the angels took you, so they could make you well again. But they never brung you back.
"Not 'til now."
Biting her lip, Nellie reached out and took Gertie's hand. The poor, poor woman! Her child must have died, and the shock, the sorrow had driven her mad!
"I am so sorry," she said. "But I'm not a child any more, and I can't stay with you. I have to go back."
"No!" Gertie clutched her hand so hard Nellie feared for the bones. "No! You can't! You got to stay with me. You're My Girl! I'm your ma!"
* * * * *
Although his dreams had been full of blood and thunder and death, Malachi woke more rested than he'd been for quite a spell. For a few moments he lay where he was, staring up at the canvas above him, wondering why he'd gone to bed in a tent. In Nellie's tent, for the faint scent of honeysuckle filled his nostrils.
Then he remembered. "Oh, God! Nellie!" He rolled upright, found his boots by feel and pulled them on. Tuck
ing his belt gun in place, he crawled to the flap and opened it.
Not a soul in sight. But he heard the low murmur of voices from the big tent.
Blast them! Nellie's missing and they're sitting around drinking coffee? He couldn't remember feeling such rage. The longer she's gone, the less chance we have of finding her al--No! She's alive. I have to believe that.
When he burst into the big tent, he was surprised to see only Beckett and the professor.
"Oh, there you are, Bradley," Dr. Kremer said. "About time you got up. The other men have abandoned us. Gone off hunting I suppose, although I told them we needed no fresh meat, since we'll be moving to the new campsite today."
Malachi ignored him. "Where are they?" he asked Beckett.
The young man glanced nervously at the professor before replying. "They went out looking for Miss Sanders. Mr. Willard said to tell you they'd be back around noon, unless they found her first."
"Nellie didn't come back last night? I'll have a word with that girl. So irresponsible!" Dr. Kremer set his coffee cup aside. "Well, if she's not back by the time we leave, she'll simply have to catch up with us." He walked out of the tent as if he hadn't a care in the world.
Malachi felt his mouth drop open in amazement. When he could find his voice at last, he said, "Is he crazy? Or does he only believe what he wants to?"
"Dr. Kremer is a brilliant man, Mr. Bradley. He doesn't always see things as the rest of the world does," Beckett said. He seemed to be undecided about staying to talk to Malachi or following his employer.
"She's his niece!" He couldn't go out searching as long as Murphy and Willard were gone. Somebody had to stay in camp and keep an eye on the stock. And on the professor, lest he do something stupid. "Doesn't he care about her at all?"
Beckett chewed his lower lip, then said, "I really shouldn't say this, since Dr. Kremer has been very good to me. But no, I don't think he does care about others. He is completely single-minded about his research. The rest of us are either here to assist him or to impede him."
"He's going to think 'impede.' We're not going anywhere until we find her." Malachi saw his rifle leaning against a stack of barrels. He must have been asleep on his feet last night.
"Oh, my! He will be furious!" Beckett's tone seemed to hold just a hint of satisfaction. As if he wasn't entirely distressed with the professor's anger. He started to follow the professor, then turned back. "Mr. Bradley, you keep saying Miss Sanders was kidnapped. Are you certain she wasn't taken by a...a wild animal?"
Because he had, for one hopeful moment, wondered the same thing, Malachi kept the impatience out of his voice when he said, "I'm sure it was a man who took her, Beckett. And he'll regret it, to his dying day."
Beckett's face blanched and his mouth worked.
Ignoring Beckett, Malachi poured himself a cup of coffee, then tipped the lid of the Dutch oven open. Good! There were still a couple of biscuits left. He needed something in his belly if he was going out to search. "Where's the kid?"
"Dr. Kremer compl-- felt he'd be more comfortable in his own tent. Mr. Creek and Mr. Willard moved him before they left this morning."
Feeling the weight of his responsibilities, Malachi took his coffee cup and went to the small tent Willard shared with Ernst. The kid was lying just inside the door, his pallet arranged so he could see out. "How are you feeling this morning?" Malachi said. Tom looked better. His cheeks had lost the bright flush that had come with the fever.
"Like a horse rolled on me," the kid said, with a feeble attempt at a smile. "I can feel my toes now, but all I have to do is wiggle them and it hurts clear up to my ears."
"Let's have a look at that ankle."
"Willard splinted it last night. He said it was broke for certain. It don't hurt much, though."
"They don't, usually. My pa broke his ankle when I was a kid. He walked around on it for a couple of weeks before he realized it was broke. Then he just wrapped it in wet hide and it healed up fine." Malachi made sure the splint wasn't wrapped too tight, then peeled back Ernst's shirt. The cat scratches still looked pink and sore, and there were a couple of places where they were suppurating, but he guessed they'd heal all right as long as they were kept clean and open. "I'll bring you some hot water and a rag. You soak those scratches every chance you get."
"I sure will. I seen what happened once to a fellow who let a dog bite get morbid. He lost his leg."
"You'd lose more than that. Take care of them." In a few minutes Malachi was back with a pot of hot water and a clean towel. He tore a short length of linen for Tom to use as a compress. "Beckett will bring you more water after a while."
The kid seemed to be worrying over something. Forcing himself into patience, Malachi squatted beside him. "What's bothering you Tom? Your legs?"
"No, they're okay. Just sore. I'll be up and around in a day or two."
"Sure you will," Malachi agreed, hoping he was right. "Let's have it then? What are you fretting about?"
"It's Miss Sanders. How come you're not out lookin' for her? I mean, you're the boss, and all. And you seemed right taken with her."
"Being boss doesn't mean I can do whatever I want," Malachi said, holding the fear the kid's words fed at bay. "What it means is that I have to take care of everything I'm boss of. Not just one person."
"Shit, Malcolm, she's a woman! She could be layin' hurt out in the woods! You ought'a be out there lookin' for her."
I would be, if it wasn't for you! And a couple of dozen mules, a hateful old man, and his given word.
In all his life, he'd never gone back on his word, and he wasn't about to start now. He couldn't, for it was the only thing of value he owned.
Last night as he'd lain in Nellie's bed and sought sleep, he'd faced his responsibilities. He had signed on as leader of this expedition. His obligation was to the entire party, not just to one member, no matter that member was a woman and far more vulnerable than any of the men. He owed the others, and the livestock, his best efforts, his loyalty, however divided it was in his heart.
Murphy came in while Malachi was putting together dinner for Beckett and Dr. Kremer. The kid's saddle was tied on behind his own, but he carried only one rifle. One look at his face and Malachi knew there was no good news.
"We found a trail down by the lake, lost it goin' up the ridge behind. Couldn't even be sure it was the one we'd been followin'," Murphy told him, once he'd dismounted. "It went right by where the kid's horse was."
"Up the ridge, not over it?"
"Couldn't tell. The trail forks, once you get up on top. One goes down the other side, the other one heads off up the ridge toward the south. Heavy timber up there, and a body'd have to be a better tracker than me to make much headway."
Since Murphy and Willard were two of the best trackers in the business, Malachi knew the chances of finding Nellie were slim, if that had been her kidnapper's trail. Needing to do something, anything besides sit here and stew, he said, "I'll go out this afternoon."
"Willard said you'd say that. He said to tell you it ain't your place to be mounting search. You ain't gonna like it, he said, but you ought to move the professor and Beckett on up there to that other lake. He'll check both forks of that trail."
"The dickens! You can move 'em just as well as me."
"Nope. The professor don't take orders from me like he does from you and Willard. Besides, I'm a hell of a better tracker than you are, and you know it."
Malachi did know it. Just as he knew where his responsibility lay.
He'd never been closer to cursing in all his born days as he was right now.
"Uh, Malachi? There's something else."
"What?"
"The kid said his rifle was in the saddle scabbard, but it wasn't. His ammunition pouch was missing, too. And that ain't all..." Murphy sounded spooked.
Malachi waited.
"The cat had been at the horse. And so had something else." He seemed to shiver. "Something carved off most of a haunch."
"
You're sure it wasn't eaten?"
"Cut clean as a whistle."
They'd seen no sign of other humans since they'd made camp. And haunts didn't eat red meat. "Don't say anything to worry the others," he told Murphy. "It was probably one of those miners we met coming in. They knew we had a woman with us."
Don't think about that now! He had other problems to worry about. Like what had become of the kid's rifle.
When the talk over supper turned to speculation about who had taken Nellie, he walked out into the night. He had his own ideas, and they all scared him. Listening to the others wouldn't make him feel any better. Or any less to blame.
Willard and Murphy went off to their tent, and he went inside. The professor was working at his table, as if nothing had changed, and Beckett was drying blotters by the fire. "We'll be staying here for another day," he told the professor, "whilst Murphy and Willard search nearby. If they don't find anything by tomorrow night, I'll move you and Beckett on south the day after."
"That's not acceptable," Dr. Kremer said. "I had planned to return tomorrow."
"Go ahead then," Malachi said. "I'll not help you."
"Why you--"
Malachi ignored the interruption. "I'll need Beckett's help with the gear and the supplies, since Murphy and Willard will continue searching, and Tom's in no shape to do much. You two will have to get all your truck together. Can you have it done by tomorrow evening?"
"My own...? Bradley, I'm a busy man! I've got notes to write, plants to identify. I don't have time for minutiae. You'll just have to tell Creek he must stay in camp and help."
"No sir, I won't." It was an effort to keep his voice mild. "Don't you care that your niece is missing, that she may be in grave danger?"
"Of course I care. If she hadn't been so foolish as to get herself lost, I wouldn't be having to write up these notes of mine. Her handwriting is far more easily read."
"She's not lost, Dr. Kremer." Malachi felt as if he was trying to explain to an idiot. "She was taken out of her tent. Kidnapped."
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