* * * * *
"I won't have it! This sort of behavior is outrageous. Do you have any idea of how you have inconvenienced me?"
Malachi set a flat lid on top of the spider. The steaks were keeping warm until the biscuits were cooked, and he didn't want them to dry out. "Inconvenienced you?"
"Willard told us what happened this afternoon. Just when that useless boy was getting well enough to take over some of Creek's tasks, he is incapacitated again." Dr. Kremer still wore his boots and slouch hat, which meant he hadn't been to his tent yet. "Have you any idea of what a setback this is for my work?"
"It's a bigger setback for Tom," Malachi muttered, but the professor must not have heard him.
"A man who can't maintain control over his minions without resorting to violence is a failure. I've had my doubts about you all along, Bradley, and this only corroborates them. When we get back, my colleagues throughout the land will hear of this summer's debacle. Why I doubt if Franklin will ever get work from any reputable scientist again." Without waiting for a reply, he turned and stalked toward his tent.
Beckett lingered, drawing patterns in the sand with his toe.
Malachi looked up. "Something you want?"
"Is it true, what Willard told us? Did you really shoot Tom?"
"He gave me no choice," Malachi said. How many times had he said it? How many more times would he have to? I am so tired of this. Maybe next time I'll refuse to fire.
Yes, that'll solve everything won't it?
The young manservant frowned. "He's lying on his stomach. Did you shoot him in the back?"
"He drew on me and I shot him, face-on." Laying the cooking fork atop the spider, Malachi rose to his feet. "I've never shot a man in the back, and I've never shot one who didn't ask for it," he said. "Now why don't you go on and get the professor ready for supper? It'll be ready in a little while."
Beckett went, but he glanced back over his shoulder several times on his way to the professor's tent, as if wondering if Malachi was about to shoot him, too.
Supper was a quiet meal. Dr. Kremer glowered, but didn't speak. Beckett kept stealing looks at Malachi, until he wondered if he'd sprouted horns and a barbed tail. Willard was sleeping, and Murphy was with Tom. When Malachi returned from taking supper to them, he found the professor alone by the fire.
He knelt to fill his cup, hoping the coffee would keep him awake. Once again they were short handed for night watches, and he'd be taking the first one and half of the second. Willard would finish up the night, while Murphy kept an eye on Tom.
"Whatever possessed you to shoot that young guttersnipe, Bradley?"
"He drew on me. I didn't have a choice." He felt like an actor, repeating familiar lines. "He's been on the prod ever since Boise City."
"Then it was up to you to discharge him before the situation got out of hand. I am disappointed in you, Bradley. Franklin assured me that you were an experienced guide and a good leader of men. So far you've proved yourself ignorant of geography and an incompetent manager."
"Yes sir." Malachi supposed he deserved the reproach, but tarnation, it stung!
"Well, what can't be cured must be endured," Dr. Kremer said.
He didn't sound all that resigned, but Malachi guessed he thought he was being pretty long-suffering.
The professor consulted his diary. "Now, about tomorrow. I want to collect down along the river. We haven't been there for almost two weeks and there are surely new plants in flower."
"I don't think that's a good idea," Malachi said, thinking of something Willard had mentioned this morning. His confrontation with the kid had put it right out of his mind. "Can you wait a few days?"
"A few days! Of course not. Why I could miss an entire flowering if I were to wait. It's vital that I revisit the area within the next day or two."
Knowing it was a futile effort, Malachi said, "Willard saw a big silvertip down by the river today, after the salmon. It won't take kindly to being bothered."
"Humph! We've seen that ridiculous bear half a dozen times so far. He hasn't bothered us yet, and I see no reason why he should start now. Besides, we can keep our distance. Stay on the opposite side of the river, or something." Snapping the journal shut, Dr. Kremer rose. "We'll start early tomorrow. The afternoons are getting too hot to be comfortable, so I'd like to be back in camp by the time it warms up."
Malachi nodded. Trying to tell the professor anything he didn't want to hear was like spitting into the wind. "I'll let Willard know," was all he said. He was tired of the professor, of worrying about the stock. For two cents he'd let the panther have the mules, consign the professor to perdition, and walk away. Willard and Murphy would salvage what they could and leave the rest. And neither of them would put up with the old man's crotchets, either.
He stood and walked down to the lake's edge. Across it, the mountains towered stark and sharp. They called him, for up there where the eagle kept its aerie, he'd hear no sounds but those of nature, see no trace of man's hands upon the land. In the high country he would be alone with his thoughts. And his memories of Nellie.
The woman he realized now--too late--that he loved.
Chapter Twenty-one
The meadow was empty. From the edge of the trees, Nellie stared at the place where the camp had been. All that remained was some of the corral fenceposts, bare rectangles where tents had stood, and a ring of blackened stones.
She walked out into the open, her belly filled with a sick, empty feeling. Had they abandoned her?
"Malachi," she whispered, "where are you?"
No, I won't believe he left me behind.
I can't. They've just moved to a better place. Closer to the lake?
"That's it. They've moved closer to the lake, as Uncle wanted."
She walked that way, her steps faster and faster as she crossed the open area. When she reached the opposite wall of timber, she was running. By the time she broke out into the open again, on the sandy beach, she was panting and clutching her aching side.
The beach was empty.
She swiped a blur of tears from her eyes. As far as she could see in either direction, the beach was empty, the pale golden sand shining in the late afternoon sun.
Malachi? Where are you?
Only the quiet lapping of water against the shore answered.
Hopelessly she turned back and slowly returned to the meadow. Chaotic thoughts tumbled in her head, but she couldn't get hold of a single one, couldn't make sense of anything except that she had been abandoned.
For a moment she was back home, listening to the neighbors discuss what was to become of her, now that both parents were dead. Although she had not been left destitute--her father had been a moderately prosperous merchant--there were no relatives nearby to take her in. She had the same sense of total loss she'd had then, but this one was far, far worse.
Influenza had taken her parents from her. Malachi and her uncle had simply ridden away.
"Can you read writin'?"
She looked up, to see Gertie standing near a tree at the edge of the meadow, holding a thick slab of wood.
"Why, yes, I can read."
"Somebody writ on this, I reckon. Leastways some of it looks like writin'. Here."
Nellie took the board. Someone had scratched on it with charcoal. She turned it around, saw that there were indeed words, above a peculiar drawing. NELLIE. Gone south. Come. MB. She studied the drawing. An X, a squiggly line, some upside-down Vees, and four irregular circles, with an arrow pointing at the third. A map?
"Of course, It is a map! Gertie, how many other lakes are there south of here?"
The old woman scratched her head. "I dunno. Four or five down low, a bunch more up a ways. These hills have lakes in just about every crease."
"I'm sure this means down low, along the river. My uncle went to a lake near the headwaters of the river. And there are others, aren't there?"
"Yeah." Gertie made a face. She had several times given her opinion of Nellie's u
ncle, but this time she said nothing. "That bunch that went off upstream, they camped at the farthest lake."
"You know where my uncle camped? Did you follow him?"
"I wondered what he was up to. Never did figger it out, the way he'd sit up on his horse and point at stuff on the ground. And them fellers with him, they brung him sticks and flowers."
"I told you, he's collecting plants to take back, so people will know what grows here." She had given up trying to explain the value of botanical exploration to Gertie. The old woman simply could not grasp that pure knowledge had any value. Or that a grown man would spend his time picking flowers.
"If you don't want to tell me what he's really lookin' for, you don't have to. But stop lyin' to me." Gertie turned away. "Buttercup! Where'd you get to?" she yelled.
Biting her lip, Nellie said nothing. But she traced the charcoal lines on the slab of wood with a trembling finger. He didn't just go away and leave me. Uncle must have insisted they move. That her uncle cared so little for her did not surprise her, but it still hurt.
Buttercup came out of the trees, his long tail twitching. He rubbed against Gertie, growled, and dashed toward the far woods.
"Let's get out of here," Gertie said. Moving faster than Nellie had seen her move before, she trotted after the panther, angling toward the east side of the lake.
Nellie followed. When she caught up, she said, "What's wrong? Why are we hurrying?"
"Don't know," Gertie told her, not slacking her pace, "but when Buttercup says it's time to go, I go. There ain't much he's skairt of, but when he is, I pay attention."
They climbed the ridge beside the lake and went over the top. After following a well-used game trail for perhaps a half mile along the slope of the other side, they came to a rock structure built out from the hillside. Gertie pushed some brush aside, revealing a crude wood door, made of small logs laced together with leather thongs. "We'll sleep here tonight."
Nellie followed her inside. After her eyes had become accustomed to the dim light, she saw that she stood in the middle of a good-sized room. Furs hung on the walls and a haunch was suspended from a rafter. Several gaps between stones served to let light in, and a small opening between two rafters seemed to be a chimney, as evidenced by the wide ring of black soot around it. The room extended into the hillside several feet, and Nellie realized that it was built as an extension of a natural cave formed by two enormous boulders wedged against each other. "What a clever cabin!" she said.
"My winter home," Gertie said, pride in her tone. "I built it myself."
Nellie looked around again, seeing the rock walls, comprised mostly of boulders easily a foot in diameter. While such stones were abundant on this ridge--Uncle called it a lateral morraine, but Nellie saw no need to be so precise--the sheer magnitude of Gertie's accomplishment astonished her. She doubted she could even lift one of them off the ground, let alone pile them to the height required by the front wall of the cabin. "It's wonderful!" she said, and meant it.
"We'll hole up here 'til Buttercup says it safe to go. When he gets fearful, it's time to hide. Ain't much fusses him."
"A bear?" Nellie wondered aloud.
"I dunno. Could be a moose. Last summer an old cow took it into her mind this slope belonged to her. Iffen I hadn't moved up to the cave for the summer, me and her might'a butted heads."
"Surely Buttercup isn't afraid of a moose?"
"My Girl, every critter's a'skairt of an ol' cow moose, when she's got young. Here, you get this fire goin' whilst I go after water. There's some dried berries put by in my larder and some taters."
"Potatoes? You have potatoes?" The expedition had only cornmeal and flour as their starches. The thought of a hot, mealy, baked potato made her mouth water.
"That's what I calls roots that grow down on the valley floor. They taste something like." She picked up a stiff leather bucket that sat by the door. "Keep this shut 'til I get back. No sense takin' chances."
"Wait!" Nellie cried as Gertie opened the door. "If there's something dangerous out there, you shouldn't go."
"Never you mind about me, My Girl. I've been slippin' around these here woods for a long time. Nothin's gonna catch me."
Nellie found flint and steel on a ledge beside the crude fireplace. Using tinder from the bottom of another leather bucket, and kindling stacked against the wall, she had a fire burning before Gertie returned with the water.
"Bear," she said as she pushed the door closed behind her. "A sow with young. She's riled about something. I could hear her and the tykes squawlin', down by the lake."
"So we're in no danger?" Mr. Willard had explained that the smaller, more common black bears were not as belligerent as the grizzlies, nor as dangerous. They'll leave you alone if you leave them alone, he'd said. Nellie had not been inclined to test his words.
Gertie made a stew from dried meat and the knobby brownish roots she called taters. Having learned that the old woman wouldn't reveal anything until she was ready, Nellie kept her questions to herself. They ate from thin orange slabs of pine bark, using their fingers as often as the single spoon. A week ago I would have turned up my nose at such primitive conditions, Nellie realized. Now she was simply grateful that Gertie had provided a safe place for them to sleep and decent food to fill their bellies.
While they ate, the scant light coming through the small windows grew dimmer. "Cloudin' up," Gertie said. "Likely it'll rain tomorrow."
Nellie bit back the protest that sprang to her lips. Mr. Willard had said that summer storms in the mountains were infrequent but fierce. If it rained tomorrow, would Gertie want to travel?
Complaining won't clear the sky, she reminded herself. She set her bark plate aside. All day long a question had been at the tip of her tongue. Knowing she'd not sleep a wink without knowing the answer, she said, "Why are you taking me back?"
For a long time she thought Gertie wasn't going to answer. The old woman tossed both bark trenchers into the fire, wiped the spoon on the hem of her skirt, and with her foot, nudged the steaming kettle back from the flames.
"I know what it's like to near die of heartbreak," she said at last, her voice little above a whisper.
"I ain't gonna let it happen to you."
* * * * *
The steady rain that fell all day postponed the confrontation Malachi knew was coming. The professor was content to stay indoors, his work table pushed close to the fire in the common tent. All morning long he wrote in a notebook while Beckett changed blotters in the presses. Malachi looked in now and then, but mostly he stayed in his tent or patrolled around the corral. They'd seen no sign of bear or cat at this camp thus far, but he wasn't taking any chances.
Was Nellie out there in the rain somewhere, cold and miserable: Was she lying hurt and unable to take shelter?
It's been almost two weeks. If she was hurt, it's too late to help her.
He heard someone approaching and looked over his shoulder. It was Beckett, coatless, his head pulled down between hunched shoulders.
"Mr. Bradley, Dr. Kremer would like to speak to you."
Following Beckett to the common tent, Malachi realized it must be well past noon. He'd not had any appetite for some time now, not since Nellie's disappearance. Today's inactivity wasn't enough to make his body demand food, so he'd not given it a thought.
Likely the professor was wondering where his dinner was.
He stepped inside the tent, shook the water from his hat. "Yes, professor?"
Dr. Kremer looked up. "Ah, yes. Thank you, Beckett. You may go now."
The slender young manservant edged past Malachi and went to the other end of the tent. Malachi waited.
Kremer shuffled papers, tapped them into an even pile, and set them aside. "I believe it is time for me to take charge of this expedition, Bradley. Your attention is obviously not on your work. You're allowing too much looseness in the daily schedule, allowing your employees to dictate their own activities, and failing to provide me with the services we..
.I contracted for." He thumbed the cover of his pocket watch open, clicked it shut.
"It is well past one o'clock, yet there has been no meal preparation. This is only one instance of the lack of command you are demonstrating. Yesterday I was forced to rely only upon Beckett for assistance, which meant that I could not go any distance from the camp."
Pausing, he laid a hand on the stack of papers. "Therefore, I have taken the liberty of preparing a schedule which we will follow for the remainder of this week. Hereafter, I will provide one each Sunday, and will expect you to see that it is adhered to." He lifted the top sheet of paper and held it out.
Malachi took it, glanced over the first few lines.
Arise each morning at sunup. Creek to prepare breakfast, which will be served no later than seven. Ernst will clean up after, and Willard will tend the livestock.
At eight, Creek and Bradley will accompany Dr. Kremer to the day's designated collecting area, where they will render appropriate assistance.
Beckett will remain in camp to perform curatorial duties...
Although he had the almost irresistible urge to crumple the sheet and throw it in the professor's face, Malachi did not. He set it down and pulled his coat off. Going to the entrance, he stepped outside to shake the moisture from the coat, then brought it back and hung it on a hook attached to the center pole.
"Were you listening to me, Bradley?"
"Yes sir. I heard you." Placing his hands on the table, he leaned forward until his face was close to Dr. Kremer's. "Now it's my turn."
The professor reared back, but not before Malachi caught a whiff of his brandy-scented breath. That was the last straw.
He picked up the tin cup, sniffed it. Sure enough. "How much more of this do you have, Professor?"
"Put that down. It's mine!"
"No, sir, it's not. Not any more. You were told not to bring spirits on this expedition. So as leader, I'm confiscating the rest of it. "He poured the cup's contents on the fire, which flared into bright blue flame, before subsiding with a hiss.
"Beckett?"
The young manservant started. "Yes?"
"Do you know where the professor's brandy is?"
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