“I reckon they gave the idea some thought,” said Coburn. “If they had outnumbered us, they sure might have.”
Baron Walter von Stauffenberg, a stocky man with curly, light brown hair asked, “How do we know that was all of them? Could they not return to their village for reinforcements and then attack anyway?”
“They might, Baron,” Coburn admitted, “but it ain’t likely. Their chief, Stone Bear, said that we can pass through their hunting grounds as long as we don’t cause any trouble. There’s a good chance he won’t go back on his word.” He paused, then added, “One of the things Injuns don’t like about whites is that we can’t be trusted to stick by what we say.”
Von Eichhorn sniffed. “As if I care about the opinions of a savage. At any rate, they were never any real threat to us.”
“How do you figure that, Earl?” Coburn asked, using the English version of von Eichhorn’s title.
“I saw not a single rifle or pistol among them. They were armed only with bows and arrows, knives, and . . . What is it you call them? Tomahawks?” Von Eichhorn sniffed. “Very primitive creatures, if you ask me.”
“It’s true they didn’t have any guns, or weren’t showin’ any, but there’s one thing you need to remember about them Blackfeet.”
“And what, pray tell, is that?”
“If one of ’em wants to kill you, he’ll sure as sin find a way to do it.”
* * *
As the group got underway again a short time later, Lieutenant Clarence Barton moved his horse alongside Coburn’s as the frontiersman rode in front of the party.
“You should have consulted with me before negotiating with that redskinned heathen, Coburn,” the young officer said. “In fact, I should have been included in any such negotiations.”
“I’m sorry about that, Lieutenant,” drawled Coburn, even though in reality, he wasn’t the least bit sorry. “The whole thing came up sort of suddenlike. I looked around for you but didn’t spot you until after the Blackfeet were already approachin’. I figured it best to go ahead and talk to ’em, as long as they wanted to parley and not go to fightin’.”
Barton might make a good officer one of these days, but he suffered from the same afflictions that plagued a lot of young lieutenants: a stiff neck and a prideful nature. Experience would take that ramrod out of his backside—if he lived long enough.
Coburn considered keeping Barton and the other dragoons alive to be part of his job. He and his men knew the ways of the frontier. If Barton would just ease off on his arrogance enough to listen to reason—
“The next time we encounter hostiles, you are to notify me before you take any action, Coburn. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir, Lieutenant, it sure is.”
Coburn was glad Barton hadn’t talked to Stone Bear. Given the officer’s attitude, likely it would have made things worse. Maybe a heap worse. It didn’t take much to rub a Blackfoot warrior the wrong way and get him all proddy.
The wagons and riders pushed on until late afternoon without running into any more Indians. Coburn dropped back alongside Graf von Eichhorn’s wagon and informed the earl that they would be making camp as soon as they came to a suitable site. Von Eichhorn nodded curtly without saying anything.
He wasn’t the friendliest fella in the world. Stiff-necked, like Lieutenant Barton . . . which was maybe why Countess von Arnim, who was betrothed to him, had such a flirtatious nature, Coburn reflected. He had heard that a lot of the marriages among European nobles were arranged with political considerations in mind, not because of any attraction between the folks involved.
On a whim, Coburn slowed his horse until the next wagon in line caught up with him. Each of the vehicles had a driver assigned to it, but Baron Walter von Stauffenberg handled the reins on this one himself. He might come from noble stock, he had explained to Coburn early on. Some of his ancestors had been farmers and worked the land, so driving a wagon came naturally to him, he claimed.
Coburn had to admit that von Stauffenberg did a decent job of it. And he didn’t put on a bunch of airs, like von Eichhorn.
Coburn liked the fellow. “We’ll be makin’ camp before too much longer, Baron.” Von Stauffenberg was by himself on the seat, which came as a bit of a disappointment to Coburn.
Then the canvas flap behind the baron flicked open, and a lovely blond woman stuck her head through the opening and smiled at him. “Did you say we’re stopping, Herr Coburn?” asked Countess Katarina von Falkenhayn.
She was the person he had hoped to see. Not only was she beautiful, she had treated him decently ever since they’d met, too, which was something that couldn’t be said for all the Prussians. Countess Katarina always had a smile and a friendly word for him.
Coburn pinched the brim of his hat, nodded to her, and said, “Yes, ma’am, that’s right. We’ll make camp soon as we come across a good spot.”
“I’m very glad to hear it. It will feel good to climb down from this wagon and walk around.”
“Aye, it will,” von Stauffenberg agreed.
He and Countess Katarina were close, but after watching them for weeks, Coburn had come to the conclusion that they were just good friends, without any romantic feelings between them. That was encouraging, even though he was level-headed enough to know the countess would never have anything romantic to do with a scruffy frontiersman like him. Still, sometimes it was nice to think that a thing was possible, whether it really was or not.
And he purely did admire Countess Katarina.
“Coburn!”
The shrill sound of Lieutenant Clarence Barton’s voice made Coburn wince. He turned his head and saw the officer waving him forward.
“Reckon I’d better go see what the lieutenant wants,” he said to Katarina and von Stauffenberg. With another respectful nod, he added, “Countess. Baron.” Then he wheeled his horse and rode ahead.
He had no idea that behind him, Countess Katarina von Falkenhayn was watching him with a warm, speculative look in her expressive brown eyes.
Chapter 7
Less than half an hour later, the expedition came to a stream that ran along the edge of a meadow bordered by trees on the far side. A couple of hundred yards to the left, a rugged, rocky cliff jutted up. The creek flowed over its edge and plummeted seventy or eighty feet in a beautiful, silvery waterfall, throwing up a haze of spray and creating a small pool at its base before it began its meandering way across the countryside.
“That’s beautiful,” Katarina said to Walter as she sat on the driver’s seat beside him. She pointed a slender, elegant finger toward the waterfall.
“Very much so,” Walter agreed. He turned his head. “Gerda, Helmuth, come look at this.”
The two people who had been riding in the back of the wagon, sitting on camp stools and playing a game of whist with a short, thick keg serving as a table between them, joined the two aristocrats at the front of the vehicle.
The man, slender, brown-haired, and fine-featured, pushed the canvas flap aside and leaned forward to peer out. The heavyset, auburn-haired woman shoved her way up beside him, drawing an annoyed look from him.
“What are we looking at, mein herr?” asked Helmuth Kurtz. He was the Baron von Stauffenberg’s personal manservant, just as Gerda Reinhardt was Katarina’s maid.
“The waterfall,” Walter said. “Isn’t it pretty?”
Helmuth sniffed. “If you like that sort of thing, I suppose.”
“Are we going to stop soon?” asked Gerda. “The way this wagon rocks and bounces, my insides will never stop moving around!”
Katarina laughed. It was difficult to get anything other than complaints out of those two, but they were excellent servants and devoted to their charges.
“It appears that Herr Coburn is signaling for Peter to stop,” she said. “So I imagine this is where we will camp for the night.”
“I can’t imagine that we’ll find a better place,” added Walter. “A good source of fresh water, plenty of grass for the stock, and
firewood to be found in those trees.”
The creek was shallow and its bed rocky enough that the wagons had no trouble crossing it. The water didn’t even come up to the wheel hubs.
Von Stauffenberg hauled back on the reins as the wagon in front of him slowed. The procession—four wagons, plus two dozen riders and several pack horses brought along by the American military escort—came to a halt near a brush thicket on the creek’s western bank.
Coburn rode up to Walter’s wagon and paused long enough to say, “We’ll be makin’ camp, folks. I think you’ll be comfortable here.”
“I think so, too, Herr Coburn,” Katarina said. “Such lovely surroundings. You have done a fine job leading us here.”
Coburn looked a little embarrassed by the compliment. “Thank you kindly, ma’am. I mean, Your Countessship.”
“Katarina would be fine, Herr Coburn.”
“Not if Peter heard it,” von Stauffenberg warned with a frown on his face.
“And I reckon Lieutenant Barton would feel the same way,” Coburn said. “He sets a lot of store by things bein’ all properlike. No offense, ma’am.”
“Of course not,” Katarina assured the frontiersman. “Will you come by later? Perhaps have supper with us?”
“Maybe. I’m obliged for the invite.” Coburn moved on.
Walter gave Katarina a stern look and said, “You should not toy with the poor man’s affections that way. You know that he likes you.”
“I’m not toying with anyone’s affections,” she protested. “I admire Herr Coburn and find his company interesting and pleasant.”
“We both know that absolutely nothing will come of it. It cannot. Such a thing is . . . inconceivable in our circumstances.”
Katarina sighed and nodded. “I know, Walter. There are no affairs of the heart for the likes of us. Only affairs of political expediency.”
He patted her on the shoulder and said, “But such a life has its advantages. We are still allowed to make friends, as you and I are.”
She took his hand, squeezed it, smiled, and nodded. “Indeed we are. I would hate to think of being out here in this wilderness without you at my side, Walter.”
Von Stauffenberg laughed and shook his head. “What can I do in case of trouble? I’m no fighter, Katarina, you know that. We can all be thankful that Herr Coburn and his friends and the American soldiers are here to keep us safe.”
So far that had been true. The expedition had encountered no trouble on the journey across the American frontier.
But suddenly, as Katarina looked at the dark, thick forest about fifty yards away on the far side of the meadow an unaccountable chill went through her.
Anything could be hidden over there in those trees, watching us right now, she thought. Any sort of wild animal . . .
Or worse.
* * *
Graf Peter von Eichhorn had brought his personal chef along on the expedition, but there were limits to what even a skilled individual could do under such primitive conditions. His name was Herbert Wessells, and he spent more time complaining than cooking.
Reese Coburn thought they actually had been eating pretty well, though. Game had been plentiful, so there was always plenty of fresh meat. They had brought along a more than adequate supply of flour and salt and beans. Wild onions grew most places they had been. What else did anybody need?
As he walked past Baron von Stauffenberg’s wagon that evening, however, he smelled something new and enticing in the air. The tantalizing aroma drew him over—not that it would have taken much, since he’d already spotted Countess Katarina sitting by the fire, looking as lovely as ever in its warm glow.
“I thought you were going to join us for supper, Herr Coburn,” she said with a mock pout on her pretty lips as he walked up.
“I’m sorry, Countess,” he said. “I got busy tendin’ to some chores, and I plumb forgot.”
She shook her head. “How discouraging that an invitation from me would totally slip a gentleman’s mind.”
“I’m sorry,” he said again, hastily. “I know I should have remembered—”
Her laugh forestalled his apology. “That is all right, Herr Coburn. I was only . . . what is it you frontiersmen say to each other? I was only joshing with you.”
Von Stauffenberg, who also sat by the fire, nodded solemnly. “Katarina is a great josher.”
Coburn scratched at his jaw and said, “Yeah, I, ah, reckon that’s so.”
“Luckily for you, mein herr,” Countess Katarina went on. “Although it is too late for supper, it is not too late for räderkuchen. You will join us?”
“I, uh, reckon I would . . . if I knew what you were talkin’ about.”
Another laugh from Katarina, then she repeated, “Räderkuchen. It is a pastry from my homeland, a treat to be enjoyed after a meal. Some call them angel wings. Gerda prepares them, and they are delicious.”
“Yes, ma’am, I’m sure they are, and I’d be happy to try one.”
“Gerda, give Herr Coburn one of your räderkuchen.”
Gerda took a pastry from a pan that was sitting on top of a Dutch oven to stay warm and walked it over to Coburn.
He took it and said, “I’m obliged, ma’am.”
The pastry was light and fluffy, twisted on itself so that it actually did look a little like a pair of wings, and sprinkled with sugar, a precious commodity out in those parts so far from civilization. The thing felt so delicate that he worried it would crumble in his big, rough fingers, but he managed to get it to his mouth without any mishaps and took a bite. It tasted so good that he immediately put the rest of it in his mouth.
“That’s mighty good, ma’am,” he said when he had finished the delicacy. “You were right.”
“Have another,” Katarina invited.
“I hate to take ’em away from you.”
Von Stauffenberg laughed and patted his slightly rounded belly. “Please do, Herr Coburn. Otherwise I will sit here and stuff myself with them. I cannot resist such sweet delicacies.”
“Well, in that case . . .” Coburn took two more of the pastries. “Thank you, Gerda. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Danke, Herr Coburn.” The normally dour Gerda looked pleased by the compliment.
Helmuth stood up from the log where he’d been sitting and asked, “Do you require my services at the moment, Baron?”
“No, I don’t believe so, Helmuth,” von Stauffenberg replied.
“In that case, I shall attend to some, ah, personal matters, but I will return before you’re ready to retire for the evening.”
“That’s fine,” von Stauffenberg said, smiling. “Do whatever you need to do.”
Coburn tried not to grin as the servant stalked off around the wagon and disappeared into the gathering darkness. Like Lieutenant Barton, Helmuth was a mite on the stuffy side, but other than that he seemed like a decent enough fellow. He was devoted to the baron, that was certain.
Von Stauffenberg looked at Coburn and went on. “How long will we be crossing the territory claimed by the Blackfeet? The . . . hunting grounds . . . as their chieftain called them?”
“Probably another two or three days. It all depends on how fast we move. We can’t push these teams too hard, as heavily loaded as the wagons are.”
Indeed, although he wasn’t going to say too much about it, it seemed to Coburn that the foreign visitors had brought half the things they must have had in those castles of theirs, back in Prussia. Von Eichhorn’s wagon had an actual bed in it, although the bedposts has been removed because they were too tall for the canvas cover.
Coburn had seen immigrant wagons on the Oregon Trail piled high with goods, too. Many of the items were abandoned on the journey west, though. They were just too heavy to haul all the way to Oregon.
The situation with von Eichhorn’s party wasn’t quite that bad, but clearly, these nobles didn’t believe in traveling light.
Von Stauffenberg looked into the dancing flames of the campfire and a
sked, “Do you believe the savages will honor the truce they made with you this afternoon?”
“I sure hope so,” Coburn replied. “If there had been a good way to go around their territory, I would have, but they roam too far and wide for that. We would have wound up going almost as far south as Mexico!”
He was exaggerating for effect, but not much.
Von Stauffenberg had a more serious look than usual on his face as he glanced over at the countess and said, “Perhaps we should have stayed in Prussia, Katarina. There was no need for any of us to make this journey. It was only at Peter’s whim—”
“Be careful, Walter,” Katarina broke in, pitching her voice lower so that it wouldn’t be heard around the camp. “You know that Peter wanted to prove himself worthy of the destiny that may await him someday, and of course, those of us in his circle of friends and family had to accompany him.”
Coburn frowned slightly. “Wait a minute. This is none o’ my business, but from what you’re sayin’ . . . is the earl . . . the graf . . . gonna be the king of your country someday?”
“He is in line in the succession,” von Stauffenberg answered stiffly. “There is a clear path for him to someday ascend to the throne and lead our country. Whether that ever comes about is in the hands of fate, of course, but Peter felt it best that he be prepared to assume that responsibility. He has never tested his mettle in battle, but he thought that if he were to venture into a hostile wilderness, it would demonstrate his courage.”
“I reckon I understand,” said Coburn, nodding slowly. “It wasn’t really wantin’ to know about America that brought you folks here. It was political ambition.”
“I did want to see America,” said Katarina. “I still do. It is a magnificent country, Herr Coburn. The sheer vastness of it amazes me! One could travel for weeks, even months, and never see the entirety of it.”
“More like years,” Coburn told her. “I’ve been roamin’ around the frontier for a long time, and there’s plenty of places I’ve never been.” He might have said more, but at that moment, a frightened yell suddenly sounded from the direction of the trees.
That was the way Helmuth had gone, Coburn recalled, probably intending to answer the call of nature.
When All Hell Broke Loose Page 5