The picture was all too clear now. Jim had a bounty hunter on his tail for sure. And if the man was as mean as the trooper described, Jim was in real danger. Clay didn’t need to hear any more. He got up from the bank and strode over to Lieutenant Fannin. “I’m gonna be leaving you now. You don’t need me anymore. You know the way back to Fort Laramie.” That said, he didn’t linger for any explanation, but turned and went immediately to his horse.
“What?” Fannin exclaimed, and jumped to his feet to follow the tall scout. “Where the hell are you going?”
Clay stepped up into the saddle before answering. “I’ve got some important business to take care of, and a lot of ground to cover before I even get there.”
“What about your pay?” Fannin asked. “You’re supposed to get paid for guiding the patrol.”
“I’d appreciate it if you’d handle it for me. You can just put me in for pay up till today. I can’t take the time to ride back to Laramie.” At this point, Clay was unconcerned about pay. It had suddenly dawned on him that Jim was in real danger. If he had known before what he had just learned from the trooper, he would have had Colonel Bradley send one of the other scouts to lead this patrol. And he would have gone with Jim to Canyon Creek.
Fannin stepped back when Clay wheeled his horse and gave the stallion his heels. “All right, Clay,” a perplexed Fannin called after the departing scout. “I’ll take care of it.”
“What the hell’s eatin’ him?” Sergeant Dubois asked as Fannin stood dumbfounded, watching Clay’s trail of dust.
“Damned if I know,” the lieutenant replied. “Something set him off, that’s for certain.”
Chapter 13
“Well”—Lettie sighed—“I guess these clothes aren’t going to wash themselves.” She picked up the two buckets by the door and walked outside.
Katie looked up from her sewing, watching her young friend for a few moments before she put Luke’s torn shirt aside and got up to follow Lettie outside. She glanced briefly at Luke sitting by the doorstep braiding a rope out of rawhide before looking toward the barn to where Jim sat cleaning his rifle. “With all these men around, looks like you could get some help filling up that washpot,” she called out in a loud voice, loud enough to be heard at the barn. Jim glanced up at her, then turned to look at Lettie, who was walking down the path to the river. Luke put his rope aside and started to get to his feet. Katie placed a hand on his shoulder and said softly, “Let Jim do it.”
Jim glanced again at the cabin and, seeing no movement from Luke, propped his rifle against the barn and got up to intercept Lettie. Smiling, Katie nodded to herself and returned to her sewing.
“Here, let me give you a hand,” Jim said as he fell in step with Lettie.
“Why, thank you, kind sir,” Lettie responded playfully, “but I’m used to doing this without help.” She let him take the buckets from her. “As long as you’re going to help, though, I’ll go back and get the dirty clothes and you can take the buckets on down.” She turned to return to the cabin. “I’ll be right back. You can go ahead and start filling the washpot, if you want to.”
Now I’m doing the wash, he couldn’t help thinking as he followed the path down by the river. He knew it was a foolish thought, one that was strictly defensive. Since he had returned to Canyon Creek, he found himself constantly thinking up negative thoughts about marriage, giving himself as many reasons as he could manufacture to remain a single man. When he was completely honest with himself, he had to admit that there had been no outward sign from Lettie that she entertained the slightest interest in him beyond simple friendship. If he had given it more thought, he might have surmised that this was the reason for his attitude. The slight young girl had been in his mind on so many nights when he was away from her that there was now a definite fear that she held no special fondness for him. Her feelings for him might be of his own imagining. That was why it was better to shun marriage. “Damn!” he exclaimed, shaking his head vigorously to drive thoughts of Lettie from his mind.
The path ended at an open spot by the river where a huge iron pot sat on some stones. The pot had been brought from Fort Laramie by Nate Wysong, along with the iron stove in the cabin. It reminded Jim of one that was used back on his father’s farm in Virginia at hog-killing time. This one was used to wash clothes, since Katie had no hogs.
I expect she’ll want a fire built, he thought as he set the buckets down beside the iron pot. There was a small stack of firewood a few yards away. Using a stick of wood for a poker, he raked some of the old ashes from underneath the pot and laid a new bed of dry wood. I reckon she’ll bring something to light a fire with, he thought. The fire ready to light, he picked up the buckets and walked down to the water’s edge. He had filled the huge pot halfway by the time Lettie appeared with a bundle of clothes.
“Thanks for your help,” she said cheerfully as she dropped her bundle in the huge pot. “I think that’s plenty of water.”
“No trouble,” he replied, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to linger, or if he should leave her to her chore. She made up his mind for him.
“I’m glad you’re back, Jim. I was worried about you; we all were. Luke was pretty sure something bad had happened to you, from the signs he found around that creek.”
He shrugged his shoulders as if the incident were trivial. “I guess it was understandable he would figure I was done for. It musta looked pretty bad. I wasn’t sure myself for a spell, but I was lucky. I had a first-rate medicine man taking care of me.” He smiled when he thought of Newt and made a mental promise to go back to visit his friend when the business with Johnny Malotte was finished.
She gazed at him, searching his eyes for a few moments, as if waiting for something more from him. When he said nothing, she knelt before the wood he had laid, and busied herself lighting a fire. Once she had a promising flame, she backed away and turned to face him again. Pointing to a log a few yards away, she said, “We can sit over here while we wait for the water to get hot.” That said, she picked up a crudely carved wooden paddle that had been propped against the pot and poked the soaking clothes with it.
He waited for her to join him before sitting down on the log. “Who carved the paddle?” he asked once they were seated.
Lettie smiled when she answered. “That’s Katie’s work.”
“Well, don’t tell her I said it, but I almost broke it up for firewood.” They both laughed at that.
There was an awkward silence between them as they sat watching the fire, both aware of deeper thoughts lying just beneath the surface of the idle conversation. The stern lecture Jim had delivered earlier about the burdens of marriage was far from his mind. And he found himself helplessly thinking back to the lonely nights in the Crow village when he would think of her. Sitting next to her now, he could feel her, even though they were not touching, and the sensation left him confused and bewildered.
Finally she broke the silence. “What are you thinking about?” she asked.
“I don’t know,” he started. “I mean, nothing, I guess.” He dared not tell her that he was at that moment wondering what it would be like to feel her in his arms. “What are you thinking about?”
She shifted her position so that their elbows were touching, making herself more comfortable. “I was thinking that this is the first time we’ve been alone, just you and me, since we rode from Plum Creek together—on our way to Fort Laramie.”
“Yeah,” he said, his gaze firmly fixed on the fire, “that seems like a long time ago, doesn’t it?”
She didn’t answer at once, but turned to gaze at him, wondering if he was even capable of having deep emotions. When he continued to stare into the fire, she shook her head and sighed. “I guess there’s really nothing holding me out here. I know my aunt wants me to return to St. Louis to live with her.” She watched him closely for his reaction. Since he continued to face the fire, there was none that she could see, so she went on. “I know Katie would hate to see m
e go. She needs my help, and we’ve become such good friends, like family really.” She paused again to allow for his response. There was none. “But she’s the only person who really needs me to stay.” Again she waited. He remained frozen in a state approaching despair but outwardly resembling indifference. Finally she threw up her hands in disgust. “Dammit, Jim Culver, you’re as dense as that iron washpot! Do you want me to stay or go back to St. Louis?”
“What?” he blurted. Completely flabbergasted by her sudden demand, he couldn’t think of anything to say at first. “I don’t know,” he finally managed. “I can’t tell you what to do.”
“Damn right you can’t,” she shot back at him, her impatience blossoming into real anger at his seeming inability to respond to her. “I didn’t ask you what I should do. I simply asked you if it makes a damn to you whether I go back east or stay here. Because if it doesn’t, I might as well go back to civilization.” Glaring at the stunned young man beside her, she demanded impatiently, “Well?”
Lettie was very young, but she was sensible and strong-willed. At this moment she was certain that she was in love with Jim Culver. But she also knew that in this wild country nothing was certain. She felt reasonably sure that he had strong feelings for her, if he only had sense enough to know it. Men like Jim were always looking toward the mountains, hearing the cry of a hawk, and in dread of being tied down. It was her misfortune to fall in love with a man of this breed. But she also knew that he was born with a serene strength and a sense of integrity that made him stand out among lesserendowed men. And she felt that he was capable of loving her with the same intensity with which she loved him. In spite of this, she had her own integrity and pride. She would not wait forever for Jim to get his head out of the clouds. She would not permit a future for her like Katie’s—alone, wearing a pistol on her hip, and dreaming of Jim’s half-wild brother, Clay. With an unblinking gaze, she repeated her demand. “Well?”
Jim was stunned, shocked by the unexpected attack from one so young and seemingly innocent. He had known that Lettie had spunk, more than the usual amount for a girl of her tender years. But he had never before witnessed the force of her resolve. He had been in a state of confusion over his feelings for her before this. Now he was approaching panic. Of course he wanted her to stay. He wanted her to always be near him. But how could he make a commitment to her now? There were things to be settled first—Johnny Malotte and the mysterious rider who searched for him.
They sat for what seemed to be a long time with nothing but the bubbling of the water boiling in the iron pot to break the silence. After a few minutes Lettie got up and went to tend it. After she raked the hot coals from under the pot, she dropped some chips from a bar of lye soap into the boiling water, and stirred the clothes with the paddle. That done, she turned again to face Jim, her hands on her hips, an uncompromising expression on her face, but she said nothing.
“I guess I want you to stay,” he stated humbly, as if confessing a crime.
His answer didn’t fully satisfy her. “You guess you want me to stay,” she echoed. “Why, Jim? Why do you want me to stay?”
Totally dismayed and weary of this unforeseen interrogation, he threw up his hands in a gesture of frustration. “I don’t know.” He hesitated. “You know . . . Katie needs you . . . .”
“Katie needs me,” she repeated, getting worked up again. “So if Katie didn’t need me, then it would be all right for me to go?”
Cornered, he suddenly rose to his feet. Flushed with frustration, he replied, “You always were like a thorn in a man’s foot, ever since you insisted I had to take you to Fort Laramie last fall.” He appeared to be angry as he confessed, “Yes, dammit, I want you to stay!”
The stern expression on her face immediately relaxed and her eyes softened. It was commitment enough for her at this point. Considerably short of a wedding proposal, it was enough to warrant further investment of her time. Leaving the paddle in the pot, she walked over to stand before him. Gazing up into his eyes—eyes that still sparked with anger—she lifted her face to be kissed. When he stood unbending over her, she reached up, placed her arms around his neck, and gently pulled his head down to her. In contrast to the stern manner with which she had forced his hand, her kiss was as gentle as the caress of a butterfly. He was immediately lost in the embrace. Thoughts of high snowcapped mountains, cold, clear mountain streams, and the excitement of the hunt—as well as thoughts of revenge—were all dissolved in the warmth of her kiss. At that moment he was completely vulnerable.
* * *
“Ain’t that sweet,” Slocum growled under his breath. The front sight of his rifle was centered right between Jim Culver’s shoulder blades. “I can git him and the gal with one shot.” The thought brought a crooked grin to his grizzled features. It was the kind of thing that brought him pleasure. Feeling absolutely certain that this time he had found the right man, he slowly closed his finger on the trigger. At a distance of one hundred and fifty yards, he wanted to be sure not to jerk the trigger and cause an off center shot. He had waited a long time to get Jim Culver in his sights. This man had caused him one helluva lot of trouble, and it suddenly occurred to him that he was reluctant to end it so painlessly. The thought made him hesitate and relax his trigger finger. Maybe I oughta take him alive and make him pay a little more for the trouble he’s caused me. I might even drag his half-dead carcass all the way back to Fort Lincoln and dump it on that prissy captain’s doorstep. The army would have to pay me then, because that’s what he contracted with me to do. The idea intrigued his devious mind. He rolled the notion over in his head while he drew his rifle down on Jim’s back again. It had always been his custom to take the easy shot because a corpse was always less hassle to deliver than a captive. But this was a special case. This was personal. He had developed a special hatred for Jim Culver and he was reluctant to let him off with a quick death. The prospect of administering a slow death was almost too tempting to pass up. On the other hand, if he brought Culver in alive, as had originally been specified, he might still recoup some of his lost wages. Still undecided, he brought his rifle down and rested it on the dead log he lay behind.
Unhurried in making up his mind, because it appeared the lovers weren’t going anywhere anytime soon, Slocum took a few moments to look the area over again. He decided he couldn’t have planned it better himself. He had Jim Culver isolated from the cabin and his horse, in a spot by the river that offered ample foliage for concealment. A man could move up to within twenty yards of the two of them without them even knowing he was there. He liked the prospects.
His mind working on a new plan now, Slocum got up from behind the log and worked his way cautiously around to a point where he could see the back of the cabin. There was no sign of anyone. They’re either inside or out by the barn, he thought. His concern was not only for the half-breed boy, but for the gun-toting woman with the no-nonsense bearing. He did not doubt that she wouldn’t think twice before using her .45. Satisfied that there was no worry for him from that quarter, he retraced his steps to the spot where his horses were tied.
He led the two horses in a wide circle around the small clearing where the two young people were embracing, weaving his way through the tangle of berry bushes and laurel until he reached the riverbank. Leaving the horses there, he worked his way through the trees to a point almost directly behind Jim and Lettie, and no more than fifteen yards from them. It was in his mind that he still might decide against taking Jim back to Fort Lincoln, but he had decided he would take him alive now and make his final decision later.
* * *
Her lips were soft and moist, and she pressed her slender body tight up against his as their lips met again, this time with deeper passion than the first kiss, a passion that had grown over the long summer months when they were apart. Jim’s head was swimming, intoxicated with the closeness of her. He had thought of what this moment might be like during long, lonely nights when he couldn’t even be sure she would still be in C
anyon Creek when he returned. Now in the whirlwind of the moment, it was more than he could ever have imagined.
They parted for a moment, and he held her by her shoulders as he gazed into her smiling face. Radiant, she beamed lovingly, her expression saying all that needed to be said. Then, in a moment, her expression turned quizzical, and just as instantly to one of distress. Puzzled, he started to question her when she uttered a warning. “Jim,” was all she had time to say, her voice frightened.
“Well, now, I sure do hate to break up such a sweet time.” Slocum smirked as he stepped into the clearing, his rifle leveled at Jim.
Jim whirled about to find himself facing a ghost. Stunned by the sudden appearance of Blackie, a man he had killed back on the Bighorn, he instinctively pushed Lettie behind him and prepared to defend himself. But Slocum did not attack. Instead he stood savoring this long-awaited moment, his heavily bearded face twisted into a wicked grin. “Mr. Jim Culver,” Slocum growled, pronouncing each word slowly, as if tasting each one. “You and me got a little unfinished business.”
Confused by something that didn’t make sense to him, Jim was nevertheless unafraid. “I don’t know how the hell you came back to life, Blackie, but you’ve got no quarrel with this girl.” He glanced briefly back at Lettie. “Go on back to the house, Lettie.”
“I expect you’d better just stay right where you are, Lettie,” Slocum warned. This was the second time someone had taken him for his brother’s ghost. The prospect amused him. “That’s right, Culver. I’m Blackie, come back from the grave to take my revenge.”
Studying the massive figure confronting him, Jim noticed the jagged scar down one side of his face. That was the first clue that he might not be talking to a ghost after all. Blackie had no such scar. The more he looked at him, the more he realized that he was looking at flesh and blood, and not a specter. His biggest regret at the moment was that his rifle was propped up against the side of the barn. “The hell you say,” he finally said. “You ain’t Blackie, but you’re damn sure his twin, and just as ugly. I killed your brother because he came after me. It was his doing. I didn’t go after him. He put these two bullet holes in my shirt. It was just his bad luck that I wasn’t wearing it at the time. He didn’t give me a choice. Now, whaddaya say we let the girl go on back to the house? She didn’t have anything to do with it.”
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