Knight in a Black Hat

by Judith B. Glad

  Guiltily she realized she had not even asked how badly injured the young wrangler was. No matter how forward and rude Tom Ernst had been, he was still part of their party and entitled to her concern. She resolved to visit him in the morning. Perhaps he would like something to read.

  * * * * *

  Much as he disliked doing it, Malachi rode out with the professor's party the next morning. He planned to get them settled, then return here and send Willard out to their camp. No matter what the old muleskinner had said, he looked like he needed another day of rest. His mule was looking gaunt, too.

  They rode slowly, crossing a low saddle, then following the line of hills past the marsh where they'd last collected. This kept them a ways back from the river, where the dark shape of a bear could be seen fishing near the mouth of the creek that drained the marsh.

  Several times the professor called a halt so Beckett or Murphy could collect for him. The plants they picked looked like weeds, but the professor supposedly knew which was which. Close to noon they came to the creek that drained the southernmost lake, where the professor had camped for a week. Not having been here before, Malachi was a mite unhappy to see that they'd either have to cross a high ridge or ford the river to go any farther south. "We'll rest here," he said, wanting a chance to climb up a ways and get a better view.

  While the others ate their cold meat and cornbread, he went up the hill they'd just come around, climbing a couple of hundred feet above the valley floor. When he found a good viewpoint, he studied the land to the south and east. The ridge across the creek was higher than where he stood, and steep. It stuck out into the valley clear to the river. If they went due east though, they could cross the river and travel along the bottom of the hills there. From what he could see, the opposite bank rose to a level flat which stretched far enough back from the river that they weren't likely to encounter any bears. Why am I fretting so much about the dadblamed bears? Chances are we'll get across and back without even seeing one. The professor could probably collect all day long without a whiff of bear.

  He'd learned at a tender age to follow his instincts, and they told him to stay well away from the river.

  Sure enough, they saw no bear sign all the way across the valley. They turned south again and rode parallel to the hills until they reached the mouth of a wide canyon out of which came another creek. The professor, who had been uncharacteristically silent for the past hour, said, "I want to go upstream here, Bradley. Back into the woods, if possible."

  Malachi knew Dr. Kremer had been feeling thwarted at finding so little forest on the valley floor. While he'd said that the dry, sagebrush-covered flats held many plants of interest, he'd wanted to collect in the open woods where the enormous firs and yellow pines grew. To Malachi's secret amusement, most of them had been on higher ridges and benches. The professor liked to stay down in the valley, where the ground was flat and the going was easy.

  The site they chose for their camp suited Dr. Kremer just fine. They were maybe a mile and a half up the canyon, which had narrowed considerably. The forest floor was shaded, more like those at the higher elevations, and moss grew on the many rounded boulders that were strewn across the landscape. Instead of scattered sagebrush and bitterbrush, shrubs with wide leaves that fluttered in the slight breeze grew close together. Even the air smelled different, moister and somehow greener.

  While Dr. Kremer strode around, choosing the best place for his tent, Malachi studied the campsite with a jaundiced eye. He hadn't seen any of the big red salmon in this creek, so the bears weren't likely to bother, and the moose were likely down in the lower marshes this time of year. But the trees here had branches big enough to support the weight of a panther, and his mules were far easier prey than wily deer or elk. "We'll have to keep close watch," he muttered, "and never leave the camp unguarded. The professor's not going to like that."

  Maybe he should have moved the whole camp over here. It might have been easier in the long run.

  To his great surprise, Dr. Kremer made no protest when he was told that only Malachi would accompany them in their explorations the next morning. In fact, the man seemed almost congenial, as he updated his map with notations about the lay of the land and the locations of plants he'd collected.

  The professor's good humor lasted all the next day, and the one after. In fact, Malachi was almost reluctant to depart on the third day, fearing the man was up to something.

  But what?

  "Keep an eye on him," he told Murphy, as he saddled up. "I don't trust this mood he's in."

  "He's probably just tickled that he made you bring him across the river. Don't see what difference it makes. These woods are no different from those woods back there."

  Although he agreed, Malachi said, "We don't know that. Maybe to a botanist, there's a world of difference." He glanced back at the camp, where the professor sat with his lap desk across his knees, studying his map. "I'll make good time alone. Expect Willard back before sundown."

  "Git along," Murphy said. "I'll keep him out of mischief. After all, it's only one day I'll be alone with them."

  "Yeah. Only one day." Malachi mounted and rode downstream. The feeling that something was going bad stayed with him, and twice he turned back to stare at the peaceful camp.

  Soon he was out of the woods and on the sagebrush flats. He urged Rogue into a faster walk, wishing the local gophers to perdition. Without their burrows, a horse might trot safely across this gently sloping expanse. Now that he was well on his way, he was impatient. Nellie was waiting for him.

  He had to detour a long way downstream to avoid two bears that were fishing where they'd crossed on the way out.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  With Uncle gone and no one to accompany her out of camp, Nellie found herself with time on her hands. She visited Mr. Ernst after dinner the first day, but found him with little to say and uninterested in the one book she had found, Malachi's copy of Milton.

  "That sounds like preachin'," he complained, after she'd read the first few lines. "Ain't you got something about real folks? One of them Dime Novels, maybe?"

  "No, I'm sorry, I don't. Mr. Willard brought only his Bible, and nothing of Uncle's or mine would be interesting to anyone but another botanist."

  "Well, I don't want the Bible read over me, so you might as well go on. I'll just lay here like I been doin'."

  To Nellie, his attitude seemed far too much like self-pity, but she said nothing. She promised to ask Malachi, when he returned, for other reading material.

  "Won't do no good. I seen what he brung. That book and another, jest as bad. Plays, or something, he told me it was." He closed his eyes and turned his face away.

  Nellie took the hint. She supposed she should sympathize with Tom--he seemed far younger, now that his bravado had fled--but she had little patience with those who would not strive for dignity in adversity. Malachi had told her that young Tom's father had died in the War and he had been raised in abject poverty by his widowed mother. For that he had her sympathy, certainly. What she could not tolerate was the way he seemed to think his impoverished childhood was an excuse for anti-social behavior now that he was an adult.

  But who am I to criticize? I used the fact of being without formal education to justify my lack of initiative. I could have left Uncle anytime these past four years, used my inheritance to attend a women's college for a year or two. And I did not.

  I wanted to be a botanist, and so I stayed with Uncle.

  In self-imposed penance, she spent the rest of the afternoon checking labels and sorting Uncle's specimens.

  After dinner on the third day, she found herself unable to concentrate on any one thing. She kept looking down toward the corral, hoping to see Malachi returning. When Mr. Willard went out to cut grass for the livestock, she went along, for the grass meadow gave a clear view across the entire valley. "Can you see anything?" she said, when Mr. Willard shaded his eyes and gazed down toward the river.

  "Looks like Ol' Ephra
im's fishin' today. Or is this a different one? This valley couldn't hold too many of 'em."

  "Old Ephraim? I've heard you use that term before. What on earth are you talking about?" Nellie bound a grass stem around the armful she held, laid the resulting sheaf on the small pile they'd accumulated.

  "Silvertip," he said, still gazing toward the river. "Grizzly ba'r."

  "Oh." Likewise shading her eyes, she tried to see what he was looking at. Unfortunately, she was not long-sighted. All she could see was a dark, blurred shape moving along the riverbank. "How can you tell it's a grizzly at this distance?"

  "See that big hump 'tween his shoulders? That'll tell you, every time. And he's big. Real big."

  Nellie was willing to take his word. "Malachi has to cross the river," she said, without thinking.

  "Don't you worry about him, Missy. He's smart enough to check the lay of the land before committing himself to any one crossin'. He'll see Ol' Ephraim from a ways off and go some other way."

  "I hope so." Knowing that if she did not resist the urge, she would spend her entire afternoon watching for his appearance, Nellie went to cutting the tall grass again. She had never given much thought to the practicalities of camping in the wilderness before. It certainly was a lot of work to keep the livestock fed.

  As if reading her mind, Mr. Willard said, "Sure hope he brings in a deer. Game's gettin' scarce hereabouts."

  Not to mention that there is no one to hunt, since they all believe that Tom and I cannot be left in camp alone. Perhaps I shouldn't have been so resistant to learning to use the shotgun.

  But she had, simply because of an unquestioned notion that guns were weapons of destruction.

  They were, of course, but in a situation like this, a good shotgun was also a tool of survival. Before I venture into the field again, I will learn how to shoot, she vowed. Never again would she allow herself to be in a situation where she must depend on others to protect her.

  They gathered enough grass to last for several days. Once it was stacked, Nellie went to visit with Sheba, who told her, in loud and certain terms that she had been neglected. She was scratching behind the donkey's ears, when Mr. Willard said, "Here he comes."

  All else forgotten, Nellie ran to the other side of the corral. Sure enough, a mounted man was approaching from the north.

  "Looks like fresh venison tonight," Mr. Willard said with satisfaction. "That shines!"

  Nellie held herself in check, instead of running to meet him as she wished to do. His horse's gait seemed to grow slower and slower, the closer he approached.

  At last he drew up before them. "Hey, John," he said, nodding. To her he merely smiled.

  "I'll take the meat," Mr. Willard said. "I reckon you two don't need me."

  Malachi never looked away from her as he dismounted and handed Rogue's reins to Mr. Willard. Nor could Nellie stop gazing at him. He had been gone less than four days, yet she felt as if she had not laid eyes on him for an eternity. Vaguely she was aware that Mr. Willard led the carcass-laden horse off toward camp, but only at the periphery of her consciousness.

  She didn't know how long they stood there, a few feet apart, and stared into each other's eyes. All she knew was that this last, brief separation had been an eternity too long. How was she ever going to leave him at the end of the summer? After a while he gestured and she turned, to walk toward the lake. He paced beside her, a correct distance away.

  Malachi wanted to burn all her hideous, concealing bonnets. That was his first thought, after the enormous relief of seeing her safe again. For some reason, his mind had been playing tricks on him as he rode toward their camp, questioning the reality of her return. Telling him he had only dreamt their night together.

  Those dad-blamed bonnets shaded her face and hid the truth in her eyes. When she hadn't run into his arms, he couldn't help but wonder if she was regretting having given herself to him again. Had she changed her mind? Would his bed--and his life--be as empty for the rest of the summer as they had been for much of his life?

  Don't be foolish. She's not going to make a spectacle of herself, not out here where the others will see.

  They walked through the trees to the lake shore. At last they were alone. She lifted her face and he saw the flash of her teeth inside the dark cavern of her bonnet's poke. "I'm so glad you're back safely," she said, her voice tremulous. "I had imagined all sorts of horrible things."

  The she was in his arms. "Oh, Malachi, I missed you! I felt half alive, as if you'd taken part of me with you." Her hands patted his chest, his upper arms, his shoulders. They encircled his neck as she pressed her body full against his.

  Reassured, he kissed her.

  And kissed her. He could not kiss her enough. Her mouth was sweet and her scent was honeysuckle. Her tongue played with his in an erotic dance. Her soft body against his inflamed him, until his own tightened to instant readiness.

  In one swift motion, Malachi swept her off her feet. She made a small, surprised sound, then settled in his embrace as if she had been born to be there.

  Maybe she was.

  The distance to her tent was less than five hundred yards, yet it seemed like miles. When they finally arrived there, he let her slide from his arms, aware of every inch of her curvaceous shape. Once again he took her mouth in a deep, lasting kiss, unwilling to release her even long enough to enter the tent.

  When he did, she looked up at him, gentian-eyes enormous in the shadows of her bonnet. "In the middle of the day?" she whispered.

  "I can't wait."

  A smile flickered across her lips. "Then by all means." She caught the edge of the tent flap and held it aside.

  He ducked inside, and she was right behind him. After shucking his gunbelt and tossing it aside, Malachi sat back on his heels and reached for her.

  She held back in gentle resistance.

  "What?"

  "I need to take off my bonnet," she said, suiting action to her words.

  Reminded, Malachi removed his hat as well, tossing it atop the guns.

  With shaking hands he undid the buttons of her blouse, pushed it off her shoulders. As he traced one finger along her throat, across her collarbone, he marveled at the delicacy of her bones, She seemed so strong, so capable, yet she was a small-boned woman, not much higher than his shoulder--and he was not a tall man.

  Sunlight shone through the oiled canvas of the tent, a shadowless light that surrounded them and infused her skin with a rich golden tone. The white patches all but disappeared, yet her lips were richly pink, her eyes so deep a blue that he felt as if he could sink into them as into a bottomless sea. Nellie sat immobile as he unbuttoned her camisole and slid its narrow straps from her shoulders. Her lips were parted and her eyes stared trustingly into his.

  The delicate lawn fell away from her body and her breasts were revealed to his hot gaze. He circled her waist with his hands, seeing how dark and rough they looked, feeling how hard his callused palms were against skin as pale as milk and as soft as a petal. As he stroked his hands along her sides, lifting and molding her breasts between them, he said, his voice hoarse with passion, "My god, Nellie, you are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. How can you even let a man like me touch your hand, let alone..."

  Her hand covered his mouth. "You hush, Malachi Breedlove. You're a good man, and don't you ever think otherwise."

  "You almost make me believe. "He bent his head and touched his tongue to one rosy nipple. It swelled under his touch, and he opened his mouth over it.

  Nellie arched against him, her hands clutching at his shoulders. Carefully he laid her on the rumpled blankets of her bed. Her skirt was rucked up, above her knees, and her black stockings were stark against the pale skin of her legs. One after the other, he loosened the garters and slid the soft wool knit down, over her dimpled knees and along her strong, rounded calves.

  When he lifted one foot to his mouth and laved his tongue along the arch, she tried to pull it away. "That tickles!"

  "You'
re ticklish?"

  "Yes...No! Malachi, don't you dare!"

  Holding her ankle, he lightly drew his finger along her sole. Her other foot caught him on the shoulder, nearly knocking him over.

  "Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean--"

  "Tarnation, woman, all I did was tickle your foot. You didn't need to kick me into next week."

  "I didn't kick you. I was trying to--"

  "Sure felt like it to me." Pretending to be bruised, he rubbed his hand over the place her foot had struck. "I'll be black and blue tomorrow."

  She came to her knees, ignoring the skirt that dropped away from her waist, leaving her clad only in a white petticoat. "Let me see!" with both hands, she untucked his shirt, tried to take it off, but his arms were in the way.

  Obligingly he lifted them, and found his face covered and buttons poking him in the eye.

  "Ooops!" She let the shirt down long enough to unfasten the front. Once she'd pulled it off over his head, she said, "Where did I kick you?"

  "Right here ," he said, pointing. "Woman, you got a wallop like a mule!"

  She inspected his shoulder, running her fingers over it, leaving a trail of fire wherever she touched. "I don't see a bruise."

  "It'll probably take a while to show," he said, stifling a grin. "Maybe a kiss would keep it from ever showing."

  "You're spoofing me," she said, sitting back and frowning at him, "aren't you?"

  "Maybe just a little," he admitted. "Come here." He pulled her with him as he fell back onto the blankets.

  Her fingers were busy undoing his britches as his were unwinding her from her petticoat. Soon there was no barrier between them. Malachi forced himself to patience, knowing that it would take little more than a touch to make him explode. He touched her belly, let his fingers drift into the fluff that concealed her secrets. Today he could not relax his control, as he had the last time they had come together.

  He had dreamed of her with his babe in her belly. In her arms.