She wouldn't cross that log with any speed. Turning to the right, Nellie began to slowly skirt the pond.
The moose gave another grunt and took a step toward her. A stub of branch caught at her skirt. She jerked it free. With the next step, she went into mud up to her knee and flopped forward, arms flailing, into the wet vegetation.
The moose charged.
Gertie screamed and ran toward Nellie. Between Nellie and the charging moose.
"Noooo!" Nellie cried.
In the next instant Gertie's body was caught on the moose's immense antlers, tossed to the side like an empty sack. The moose whirled and stomped, crushing Gertie under its broad hooves.
Nellie fought to stand, screaming all the while.
She might have been a silent shadow, for all the attention the moose paid, as it continued to stomp and kick at the bloody object under its feet.
And then its enormous body jerked, with the impact of one shot after another. It fell beside the mass of torn fabric and flesh, twitched once, and died.
Nellie crawled through the sedges, knowing she was too late.
Gertie's face was, curiously, untouched. Its lined features were relaxed, almost peaceful.
Malachi splashed to a halt. "Are you all right."
"No," she said, bending over to lay her cheek against Gertie's. "I'm not. My mother is dead."
Chapter Twenty-nine
Malachi wrapped the old woman's broken body in a tarpaulin and tied it across Rogue's saddle. Nellie sat on a boulder at the side of the trail, staring blankly, her shoulders slumped, her whole body speaking hopelessness. He was worried about her, but had no time to do as he wished, and comfort her. They would be pushing dark the last mile of the trail as it was.
When he led Sheba to where she sat, she mounted awkwardly, silently.
"Nellie--" He paused, not knowing what to say. "Let's go."
"I want her buried beside Uncle," Nellie said, when the trail widened and he dropped back to walk beside her.
Those were the only words she spoke until they were in bed. Malachi took her into his arms, wanting to offer comfort, not knowing how.
"She wouldn't have been happy back in Ohio," Nellie said, her voice a low monotone. "She didn't want to go, and I think she would have refused, at the last minute." She turned and buried her face against his chest. "Oh, Malachi, what's to become of Buttercup? She was so worried about leaving him."
"He's a wild critter," he told her, hoping his words were true. "He'll be fine."
She lay still for a long time and he hoped she'd drifted into sleep.
"It was my fault," she said, finally. "I knew better than to wander so far from the trail."
"Just be glad she was there. I didn't even know where you were until I heard you scream." His arms tightened around her involuntarily. "And as far as blame goes, blame me. I shouldn't have let you go out of my sight without checking."
Again a long silence. Once more he thought she'd dropped off. Then in a drowsy voice, she said, "We'll have to find her cave and her cabin. There may be old letters, or a Bible, or something to show who she was. Someone may still be wondering what happened to her."
"Tomorrow," he promised. "After the burial."
"Tomorrow." Her breathing softened, and finally she relaxed against him.
Malachi wasn't so lucky. He lay awake most of the night, wondering what he could have done different.
* * * * *
Mr. Willard found the cave. Nellie had told him about where it was, and it still took him three days of searching to locate it. He came back for her, and they rode together, past Mosquito Marsh and over the ridges. She was still numb, unable to carry two thoughts in her head, but she knew that she must go on. Winter would not wait, and their time in this valley was running out.
Once they stood on the narrow ledge outside the cave entrance, he lit the two torches he'd prepared. For the first time, she saw the inside of the long passageway. Its walls were stained with the marks of Gertie's hands, a dark line that led them past the branching and into the cavernous room that had been her summer home.
"I see what you mean about a packrat," Mr. Willard said, when they stood in the center of the room. "I wonder where it all came from."
"I imagine she pilfered it from prospectors and trappers," Nellie said, tipping one leather sack so that its contents fell out. "Look. Here's a tobacco pouch, and a pair of socks, and a watch chain, complete with fob."
He investigated another bundle, this one bound in a faded wool shawl. "One boot, a couple of coins--old ones, it looks like--and a folding knife." Digging deeper, he pulled out a fold of paper. "Here's a letter, looks like."
"Put it here, with the coins and the fob," she said, pointing at the sack she'd emptied. "We'll keep anything that might have identification."
In the flickering light of the torch they searched for a long time. Gradually they filled the sack with scraps of paper, an assortment of coins, a watch on a gold chain and a stained photograph. They had combed through most of the pile when Nellie found a small, heavy leather sack. Curious, she opened it. "Mr. Willard! Look here!"
He brought the torch closer. Its light gleamed off of tiny golden flakes and pebbles and shards. Her breath caught. "Is it--"
"It sure is. A whole sack full of gold, I reckon." He reached past her and picked it up. "Somewheres around fifteen pounds, I reckon. Can you hold this?"
Nellie took the torch and held it while he carefully lifted the bag of gold onto a scrap of canvas. Using strips cut from one of the other leather bags, he bound it tightly.
"There now. That ought to hold it. No sense in taking chance on it leakin' whilst we carry it back."
"Gertie said her husband had found gold many times, but was never satisfied. This must be his hoard."
"Likely so." He got to his feet and took back the torch. "Looks to me like we're done here. Can you manage the gold and this here sack whilst I carry the rest?"
"Of course." She tied a thong about the mouth of the smaller leather bag, then swung it over her shoulder. It was awkward, but not all that heavy--less than the weight of her pack.
After jumping down onto the slope below the cave, Nellie looked back. It seems as if I should leave something here to mark the place. This was her home, and now it will sit empty, until some animal takes up residence. And she'll be forgotten.
She bit her lip. Stop it. Gertie will live on in your memory. That's more than for many folks.
By the time they reached the camp, Nellie was saddle sore, She didn't know what it was about horses, but she simply did not fit the saddle. From now on, she would either ride Sheba, or walk. And she'd sooner walk any day.
Mr. Willard let her tell of their finds. After supper, she opened the bag filled with their gleanings from Gertie's cave. "I'd like you all to look at this," she said to the men, "and see if you can find any trace of a name or a place she might have come from. Some of these things almost certainly belonged to someone else, so see if you can discover their names or where they were from, too."
While the others were looking, Nellie motioned Malachi to go outside with her. She led him toward the lake, where they sat on a convenient log. There was no moon, but the sky was so clear that stars were reflected in the still water. "There was something else," she told him, once they were seated. "Mr. Willard said I should tell no one but you."
Malachi slipped his arm around her, pulled her against him. Ever since Gertie's death, she had seemed frozen inside. After one failed attempt to make love to her, he had simply done his best to comfort and cherish her. And hope that eventually she would emerge from her grief.
"Malachi, there was a bag of gold that Mr. Willard estimates weighs at least fifteen pounds. A fortune!"
His first thought was that she would not need to become a domestic to support herself.
His second was that now she was free to go where she wished, do what she wished. His offer of a year's support while she took care of this summers' collection and w
rote about it seemed paltry in light of a bag of gold.
Fifteen pounds! She could live a long time on what that would bring her, depending on how it assayed.
"I thought I should divide it among the members of the expedition, but Mr. Willard said no. He is certain it was amassed by Gertie's husband, and insists that I'm her heir."
"He's right. That gold will do you more good than it would us. Besides, we'll be paid for our work this summer."
"It just doesn't seem right, somehow."
"Trust me," he told her. "It's about as right as it can be."
* * * * *
Three days later they departed. Nellie looked back over her shoulder as they rode from the campsite, wondering if she would ever return. It's not likely. She looked one last time at the hillside where Gertie and her uncle rested. Goodbye. God bless.
That night they camped at their original site near the large lake, and the next morning Nellie and Malachi went to Gertie's cabin. She still hoped to find something that would tell her where Gertie had come from and who she had been. The few letters with addresses they had found among the papers from the cave had obviously not belonged to her, for they had all been either dated recently or addressed to unknown men.
The cabin door hung ajar. "Stay back," Malachi told her. He dismounted and approached obliquely, his rifle at the ready. He disappeared into the opening.
Nellie held her breath.
When he emerged, his face was set in grim lines. "The cat's been here," was all he said.
Nellie started to dismount, stopped at his command.
"Stay there. I'll look around, but I don't want you to come in." He went back inside. After a few minutes, a flicker of light was reflected on the wood of the open door.
Nellie waited for a long time, but at last she grew impatient. She slid from Sheba's back and approached the doorway. Her eyes, accustomed to the bright sunlight, saw only shadows inside. She smelled rotten meat, and cupped her hand over her nose to filter the stink.
Malachi looked up from where he knelt by the back wall. "I told you to stay where you were," he said. "Go back."
"No. I want to see what you're doing." She caught at her skirt and held the heavy wool over her nose and mouth. It helped, but not much. The hanging haunch that had been half-consumed when she and Gertie were last here was gone. On the floor was a long bone, and another dry, half rotted haunch. Both showed evidence of Buttercup's hunger.
At least he isn't starving. I wonder what will become of him.
She bent to look over Malachi's shoulder. He was sorting through a collection of the same sort of odds and ends she and Willard had found in the cave. Buttons, a worn boot, a dirty sock, coins and a few golden nuggets, as well as several chunks of the shiny mineral she'd learned was fools' gold. To one side lay a silver-cased pocket watch, its ornate case tarnished and dented.
Nellie picked it up and carried it to the door, glad to have an excuse to avoid the stench. She pried the lid open and turned it to the light, seeking an inscription.
A miniature was held inside the lid, a faded drawing of a young woman, and on the other side was engraved a name. 'Jethro Maxwell Ainsworth 1842'. She called her husband 'Max'. Could this have been his? Her hand closed around the watch. I may never know, but I'll keep it, just in case.
Malachi emerged shortly thereafter, carrying a small bundle. "Not much," he said, when she questioned him with raised brows. "No papers, and nothing else that might identify her. I kept the coins and the gold and a few tools." His face still wore that grim expression.
She waited until they were on the way down the hill before asking, "Something upset you back there. What was it."
He shook his head.
"Malachi, I am not a child, nor am I a faint-hearted ninny. What did you find?"
For a long while she thought he would not answer. At last he did. "That haunch on the floor--the half-eaten one?"
She nodded, wondering if Buttercup would return to finish his meal.
"I don't think it came from a critter."
She rode on, wondering why she wasn't sickened at having her suspicions confirmed. "Sometimes," she said after a while, "One does what one must to survive. Would I--or anyone else--have done any different?"
He turned around in his saddle and stared back at her. Rogue halted, lowered his head and lipped at dry grass beside the trail. "Nellie, she ate your uncle's haunch."
"I was reasonably sure she had. When we were here before, she had a haunch from Tom's horse."
"Doesn't it--" He wiped a hand across his mouth. "Doesn't it bother you?"
"Well, of course it does. Salvaging meat from a dead horse is one thing, but--" She swallowed, fought to keep her voice steady. "Gertie survived, Malachi, under conditions that would have defeated most people. Who are we to condemn how she did it?"
He grimaced. Nodded, and kneed his horse into motion.
"Gertie struck me as one who took advantage of every opportunity," Nellie said, after they ridden in silence for a ways. "I do not believe she ever killed anyone for...for food."
They were nearing the bottom of the hill when she heard a squall from off to her right. She drew Sheba to a halt, waving Malachi to go ahead.
Soon Buttercup bounded onto the trail between them. He stood there, ears flat, tail twitching nervously.
Not entirely certain she was doing the right thing, Nellie dismounted and tied Sheba to a nearby tree. She walked cautiously toward the big, tawny cat. He watched her approach, unblinking.
He sat and his ears came upright.
Nellie laid her hand on his head, scratched behind his ears as she'd seen Gertie do so many times. "I must go, my friend," she told him. "You'll have to go on alone, now."
His deep purr rumbled as she continued to scratch. Only when his rough tongue wiped across her face did she realize she was weeping. "Oh, Buttercup," she cried, throwing her arms around him, "I'll miss you so much!"
Again the tongue licked away her tears. Nellie released him. "Be safe. Be happy," she told him. "Find a mate and sire lots of little Buttercups."
His low sound might almost have been a goodbye. In the next instant he leapt up and was gone, in the manner of cats everywhere.
* * * * *
The journey back to civilization was far easier than when they'd come in. Although the nights were cold, leaving rims of ice on ponds and streams each morning, the days were warm and sunny, for the most part. "Back home we'd call this Indian Summer," Nellie told Malachi one day.
He frowned and she wondered if she'd evoked a painful memory.
They spent more time on the trail, less making and breaking camp. Nellie and Mr. Beckett now knew the rhythm of the days, and were able to assist the others in pitching tents and tending the stock.
She continued to share Malachi's tent, but they slept together almost as brother and sister. Nellie excused her own lack of desire as a result of exhaustion. While the journey was easier, they were traveling farther each day and she was sharing more of the chores. She went to bed each night tired to the bone.
The others seemed subdued as well, Mr. Willard and Mr. Creek played interminable games of cards beside the fire, not indulging in the banter that had been their habit. Poor Tom Ernst worked each evening to limber his injured hand and arm, and was now able to lift the arm to shoulder height. He seemed quieter and less volatile than before, and Nellie hoped he had gained a measure of maturity from his experience.
At last they reached Idaho City, and a semblance of civilization. They set up camp about a mile outside town and Malachi called a two-day rest, giving the other men time off. "They'll all get drunk," he told Nellie, "but I reckon they've earned it."
She and Malachi were alone after supper. "What about you?" she asked him as they sat basking in the warmth from the campfire. As usual he faced outward, into the night. Personally, she had no desire to enter the town, still a busy mining community, though far smaller, she understood, than it had been in its heyday.
"I don't drink," he said, "beyond an occasional beer. And I can wait for that."
Reminded, she asked, "Whatever happened to Uncle's brandy?"
"I gave it to Murphy to put in his medical kit. Do you want it back?"
"Heavens no. I just wondered."
He moved restlessly, then stood with his back to her. "Nellie, we need to talk."
"Yes, I do believe we do." She waited, willing to let him say his piece first.
"Now that you have the gold, are you still planning to go back and write your account of this summer's work?"
"Of course." Nellie wished she could see his face, read his thoughts in his eyes. Even if she were to stand directly before him, she doubted there was enough light for her to see past the closed expression he wore all too often lately. "I plan to put my name on the paper. Uncle shouldn't get sole credit." She had given this much thought and finally concluded that her work was due recognition.
Another long silence. "Then I reckon there's nothing more to be said. I wish you success, Nellie Sanders."
He walked away, slowly. After a few steps, he was lost in the night.
Malachi walked into the woods, knowing that if he stayed, he would plead with her not to go back to Ohio. In the days since they'd left the Sawtooth Valley behind, he'd given more and more thought to the future. It lay before him, without joy, without promise. As his life had been since that unforgettable day of the battle in which he'd lost his family.
The hard shell that had grown about his heart then was rotting away. The pain he'd denied for so long was with him every waking moment now. It rode his shoulders like a burden, reminding him how empty and desolate his life had become.
The pain of past events was endurable, but not the pain of a lonely future. Despite his warning Nellie that he would only stay with her until the end of summer, he had, he now admitted, secretly hoped that they could be together always. He would have supported her while she did what she had to do with the plants from this summer. Then when she was done, she would have returned to him, and they could have built a life together.
To be with her, he would have found a new name again, and buried Malachi Breedlove, the shootist, in anonymity.
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