Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 03]

by Almost Eden

  “Well, he can, Eli. And don’t ya say no different or ya’ll get my back up.”

  “Maggie,” Eli said with forced patience, “I’m telling you, MacMillan will need all the help he can get. The pirate has a cannon.”

  “Light’s not ’fraid of a cannon.” Maggie insisted. “Ya just wait an’ see.”

  Eli threw up his hands in mock surrender. “I suppose he’ll catch the ball in his teeth.”

  Maggie’s laughter rang out. “Yo’re bein’ silly.”

  “Get my britches!” Eli roared.

  Mrs. MacMillan appeared in the doorway.

  “You needn’t shout, Mr. Nielson. Here are your clothes, dried and patched, I might add.”

  At the calm, cultured voice coming from this tall, dignified woman in Indian dress, Eli’s mouth sagged open. Her black hair, streaked with fine threads of silver, was parted in the center and two long, fat braids hung down past her waist. That she was heavy with child oddly seemed to enhance her beauty. Her face was unlined, her eyes large and an usual shade of blue. She’s proud and beautiful, he thought. Crowded in behind that thought was another. Light’s mother had been Osage.

  “I beg your pardon, ma’am. It’s just that . . . well, I can’t be lying here when . . . I should be helping. I do thank you for tending me.”

  “You are welcome. Your fever was short-lived.” She turned to her daughter. “Bee, help Aee fill the water barrels should water be needed. Cee and Dee are penning the chickens. Mr. Lightbody is eating breakfast, Maggie. You should join him. We’ll leave Mr. Nielson to dress.” She made to follow the girls out, then turned back. “You shouldn’t try to wear a boot on that foot. If you don’t have moccasins, I’ll find a pair.”

  “I’d be obliged, ma’am.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  Ramon de la Vega steadied himself against the rail and held the spyglass to his eye. The canoe coming downriver was keeping close to the bank in an attempt to avoid the swift flood water and debris washing down from the north. The white man with the slick bald head was paddling furiously as he angled and tacked and sought out minor currents.

  De la Vega removed the glass from his eye and sucked in his lower lip. It would take a full day of going against the current for him to reach MacMillan’s. The canoe, however, was hours away from the homestead, considering it was coming downriver with the fast water. The man in it would, perhaps, have useful information.

  Slender fingers stroked a dark pointed goatee and the silky hair that surrounded his thin red lips. He had not planned to stop at MacMillan’s. James MacMillan was too crude for his taste; and if he discovered that furs were not the only cargo on the Vega boat, he would, no doubt, report the fact to Daniel Boone, who had considerable influence in the territory.

  Vega had been careful, very careful, to do his raiding as far from Natchez as possible. His family had no idea that he was a white slaver, or that the bundles of furs he brought back were not purchased as he claimed.

  On his first trip up the Missouri he had been looking for Caleb, a runaway slave. Then he had discovered how easy it was to relieve a lone trapper of his winter’s work. Over the next two years he had perfected his technique of luring the trappers, hungry for human contact, to his boat. Although the pickings were easy, the Indian women had proven to be more profitable. Now he had hopes of picking up a couple of Osage and heading back home. He had two Delaware, a white woman, a Shawnee, and enough opium to keep them docile until he got them back to the Pleasure Place.

  The white woman was a slut that one of his men had brought back after a foray into St. Louis. He allowed her on board not only to service the crew, but to wash his clothes and empty his slop jar. She had proved useful in other ways too. She washed up the youngest of the Indian girls for his use because he never went where other men had gone.

  The younger Delaware girl he would keep, he mused, unless he found a younger more comely Osage girl. The others he would ship to Spain, including the white woman if she were still alive and not out of her mind by the time they reached Natchez. American Indian women were far more valuable. They had become a novelty in the brothels of Spain.

  “Julio!” Vega shouted.

  A short shaggy-haired man came from the cabin, tying the cord that held up his duck britches. A foolish smile split his swarthy face, revealing large white protruding teeth with wide gaps between them.

  “Have you been banging that slut again?” Vega asked in amusement.

  “Si, señor. It is a temptation I cannot resist.”

  Ramon de la Vega shrugged. Well-serviced men were contented men unless they quarreled over the woman. He had divided the men into two groups. Each group had a day from dawn to dawn with a day of rest in between for the woman. At first there had been some grumbling, but the men soon settled into the routine when they discovered they could use her as many times as they wished on their regular shift. No man dared to break into one of the virgin Indian girls. He knew the penalty. His private parts would be lopped off.

  “On your way, Julio. A canoe is coming downriver with a white man in it. I want him. Alive.”

  As agile as a monkey, Julio leaped aft to the top of the cabin and shouted an order. Minutes later, with eight men at the oars, the keelboat moved out into the river. The canoe must pass between it and the shore or risk the rapid current.

  Within an hour the canoe was tied to the keelboat and Kruger was hauled aboard to face a dark slim man dressed in a shirt of fine lawn with ruffled sleeves and a lace stock. The top of his dark head came to Kruger’s shoulder. In his high boots of superbly worked leather, Vega stepped back a bit so that he could look up into Kruger’s face.

  “Who are you?”

  “Otto Kruger.”

  “German, aren’t you? I’ve not much use for Germans.” Vega pulled a knife from his belt and slapped the blade against the palm of his hand again and again while he stared at Kruger. “Well. Open up, or I’ll open you up.”

  Until now Kruger had thought Vega nothing more than a fop. Now he revised his opinion. The little dandy was like a coiled viper with bright snake-like eyes that followed Kruger’s every move. He began to sweat.

  “V’at you vant to know?”

  “You’re dumber than you look if you have to ask.”

  Kruger looked around him. The men were all dark and swarthy and armed with knives and cutlasses. They were river pirates; he had known that from the first. He also knew that he was at their mercy. His mind worked frantically for information to offer in exchange for his life.

  A woman with blond hair hanging limply around a pock-marked face came to stand in the doorway of the cabin. The neck of her dress was cut so low that her breasts were in danger of spilling out. Her lips were smiling; her eyes were vacant.

  “You want her?” Vega’s eyes had followed Kruger’s.

  Kruger licked his thick lips. “Ja. I ain’t had a voman for a vhile.”

  “My men share her. After our . . . visit, you can have her for as long and in as many ways as you want. Get the man a cup of ale, Julio. We have some talking to do before he relieves himself of that load he’s carrying around.”

  Ramon de la Vega congratulated himself. Persuasion was better than force when you found a man’s weakness. This big, dumb ox was drooling over the slut. In less than an hour he’d know everything the man knew and some of what he had thought he had forgotten.

  * * *

  Light was impressed with the way MacMillan organized. By noon the homestead appeared, from a distance, to be deserted. Heavy shutters barred the windows and doors of the cabin. The livestock had been moved back into the woods. The middle of the afternoon saw the boats hidden away upstream and Eli’s cargo stored in one of the salt caves. MacMillan pointed out a large willow tree that, when felled, would block the stream to prevent Ramon de la Vega from getting close enough to damage the homestead with his cannon. He and Caleb would do the chopping should it become necessary.

  Aee, her braids tucked up under her old hat, bui
lt a small fire beneath an oak tree behind the house. The thin smoke would scatter in the branches overhead. She placed a bar of lead in a small iron pot with a pouring spout. When it melted, she would pour it into the bullet mold. Although they had a good supply, there was no way of knowing how long a siege would last.

  Calmly and efficiently, Mrs. MacMillan packed food and bedding for herself and the younger children. Bee would go with her to the caves above the homestead and stay until the Osage women arrived, then return to the homestead and take up her rifle. Mrs. MacMillan assured her husband that the babe would not come for a day or two, and he could put his mind on protecting their home.

  Light urged Maggie to go with Mrs. MacMillan, but she refused.

  “I stay with you, Light.”

  “Chérie, it would ease my mind a great deal if you went with the lady—”

  “Ya say we stay t’gether . . . always.” Maggie’s beautiful eyes never wavered.

  “That is so. I said that. But, my pet, it is sure that Kruger has told the pirate there are women here. He has told about Caleb. Vega will attack to get his property back and to capture women for his brothel.” He didn’t put it into words, but he sensed that after hearing about Maggie, the pirate would be hell-bent to get her.

  “I won’t go. We stay t’gether, Light.” Seldom did Maggie insist on having her way, but she did so now. Her face was set in stubborn lines; her hand clutched his arm. She did not beg; she merely stated what she intended to do.

  “I want you safe, my treasure.”

  “Give me a gun. I will shoot it.”

  “You cannot fire a gun,” Light said firmly. For the first time since leaving St. Charles, he was impatient with her.

  “Why can’t she?” Eli asked, moving away from the tree trunk where he had been leaning and listening. “MacMillan’s girls shoot.”

  Light turned to the Swede with a look of such intense rage that a lesser man would have cringed and stepped back. Eli refused to lower his gaze.

  “The rifle comes near to equaling half of her weight. There is a chance it would break her shoulder should she fire it, that is if she could lift it and hold it steady.” Light’s lips scarcely moved as he spoke. “I tell you this even though it is no business of yours.”

  “I’ll give her a pistol.”

  “You will give her nothing, m’sieur. This is between me and my wife.” Light’s words were as cold as a frozen pond.

  “That is a thing we need to discuss.”

  Light’s arm swept Maggie behind him. His hand went to the knife in his belt. His body was rigidly alert. His crisp words fell into a deathly quiet.

  “Not now. Not ever. We go our own way from here when this is over.”

  “We’ll see about that.”

  Paul thought it time to interfere. He wedged himself between Eli and Light.

  “Eli, mon ami, come. The man is right. This is not your concern, eh? Mademoiselle Aee is pouring lead. She needs our help to make the bullets.”

  The Swede yanked his elbow from Paul’s hand, and his eyes sent sparks of venom toward the scout. Slowly he followed Paul to the fire where Aee squatted beside the small blaze. When she looked up at him, her lips curled in sneering contempt. She rose, turned her back to him, and waved to her mother and sisters as they rode away in the ox cart led by Linus. The fool was lusting after another man’s woman. How stupid she had been to have fancied him.

  Aee continued to ladle the silver liquid into the bullet mold, her thoughts well concealed. She couldn’t blame the Swede, she conceded. Any man would adore Maggie and want to protect her. She was as small and as perfect as a doll.

  Aee had always been proud of her size and her strength, but beside Maggie she felt big and clumsy and . . . ugly.

  “What needs to be done, chérie?” Paul asked.

  With her foot she nudged a bucket half-filled with rough bullets.

  “Do ya reckon he’s got gumption enough t’ smooth them bullets with his knife?” Her voice was loaded with sarcasm. “Ya don’t have t’ be very smart t’ do it.”

  “You’re a flitter-headed, loose-mouthed woman!” Eli snarled, flopping down on the ground and digging into the bucket. He was as limp as a wet rag and glad to sit down, but he would never admit it to this smart-mouthed female.

  “Yo’re full a sass now that ya don’t need tendin’ to no more. I don’t give a dram a powder or lead what ya think I am.”

  “It ain’t much,” he retorted, hoping to shut her up.

  Aee saw him glance at Light and Maggie standing a distance away. Light was talking earnestly to Maggie. Then with an arm around her he led her into the woods.

  “If ya had any sense ya’d stop makin’ them cow-eyes at Miz Lightbody. Her man’ll cut yore throat a’fore ya can say pee-doodle-dee-squat.”

  “I guess you think I’d just lay back and let him. I’ll tell you one thing, Miss Smart-mouth MacMillan, I’ll not be sitting on my hands if he jumps me.”

  “I heared tell he ain’t got no quit a’tall once he’s riled and don’t hold with no rules ’bout what’s fair in a fight neither if a man needs killin’.” Aee felt a surge of glee when she saw Eli’s face redden with anger. She gave him a sassy grin. “Reckon I’d back off if I was you.”

  “Well, you’re not me, so you back off and mind your own dad-blasted business.” Eli clenched his teeth and spoke through them in a flat monotone.

  “Ain’t ya got enough smarts to know she ain’t wantin’ ya? She ain’t needin’ ya t’ butt in. It jist riles her man.”

  “Haven’t you been taught any manners? Hasn’t anyone ever told you a lady keeps her opinions to herself unless she’s asked for them?” Eli murmured, after glancing up to see that Paul had moved out of earshot.

  “Fiddle-faddle! I ain’t knowin’ nothin’ ’bout ladies and ain’t wantin’ to. I’m thinkin’ the closest ya ever got t’ one was in a picture book.”

  “You need the flat of my hand on your behind.”

  “Try it an’ yo’re sartain t’ get a hole right a’tween yore eyes.” She threw a leather pouch that hit him in the chest. “Put the finished bullets in that—that’s if ya finish any.”

  * * *

  “Are ya mad at me ’cause I didn’t go, Light?” Maggie asked the question as soon as they were alone.

  “You promised to obey me.”

  “I did promise. But if somebody’s tryin’ to hurt ya I can’t stand off an’ wait t’ see it. I got t’ be with ya, Light. If ya die, I want t’ die too.”

  Light leaned his rifle against a tree, grabbed her hand and pulled her to him.

  “Do not forget this, chérie. There are worse things than dying one time. If you were captured and taken from me, I would die a thousand times.”

  “I won’t get taken from ya. I don’t want ya to be sad,” she said quickly, moving her hands up and down his arms. “Don’t be thinkin’ we’ll die. We won’t for a long time after we get to our mountain.”

  “Ah . . . mon trésor, how can you be so sure?”

  “I just know. We got to have our babies yet, Light,” she said so earnestly that he had to smile.

  “You will listen and obey me?”

  “Yes, Light.”

  “You will not butt into my fight?”

  “No, Light.”

  “You will stay where I can see you?”

  “Yes, Light.”

  Above them a blue jay chattered angrily. A crow, daring in his hunger, landed on a nearby bush and added his croaking comments to those of the blue jay before flying away to a more productive bush.

  Maggie was so intent on what Light was saying that she was oblivious to these sounds she loved. She stared into his dark eyes.

  “Why didn’t ya let Eli give me a pistol?”

  “If you have a pistol, it will be one that I provide for you.” His hands closed on her shoulders. “I don’t want you to take anything from him.”

  “Why? He likes you. He likes me.”

  “He does not like me,
Maggie. He’d like nothing better than for me to be out of the way so he could have you.”

  “No, Light.” Maggie shook her head. “He’s not like other men.”

  “I suppose you just know that too.”

  “Yes, Light.”

  Light shrugged off his backpack, placed it on the ground and opened it. He took out two knives. He stuck one of them in a pocket on the side of his knee-high moccasins. The other he showed to Maggie.

  “You need an extra weapon. Carry this knife in the back of your belt.” He turned her around and fitted it so that it lay with the tip resting on her hip. “See if you can get it out quickly and easily.”

  After several attempts she was able to draw the knife in one swift motion.

  MacMillan came through the trees, followed by Paul carrying two extra rifles.

  “It’s my thought that Vega’ll let part of his crew off downriver t’ come through the woods.”

  “It’d be a foolish move,” Light said.

  “How so?”

  “A couple of bowman could pick them off one by one.”

  MacMillan scratched his head, then laughed. “Many Spots will be back in a few hours.”

  “Any news of Kruger?”

  “Vega took him aboard. He’ll wring ever’thin’ the German knows ’bout this place out a him.”

  “Did Zee tell ya?” Maggie asked. “Aee said not t’ worry. Someone called Zee’d watch.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I got his signal ’bout a hour ago.”

  “Is Zee one of yore younguns, Mr. Mac?” Maggie asked in her wide-eyed, unabashed fashion.

  “No, ma’am. I named him that ’cause I didn’t think I’d live to get enough younguns to get through the alphabet. Zee forgot what his name was long ago an’ it ain’t no wonder a’tall. He don’t take to folks right away. He’ll show hisself when he’s ready.”

  “What’s the . . . alphabet?”

  “Wal . . . now.” MacMillan took off his hat and scratched his wooly head again while he tried to figure out a way to explain the alphabet. He looked first to Light for help. Light said nothing and his dark eyes were alight with amusement. Paul lifted his hands palms up in a futile gesture. Finally MacMillan said, “It’s the letters ya read by. A, b, c, d, e, an’ f an’ lots more.”