Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 03] (8 page)

Maggie could feel the intense gaze of the men as they approached, and she hated it. Men always stared at her. She glanced at each one briefly, then kept her eyes turned away but furtively alert for sudden movement.

She freed Light’s hand should sudden action be required, and hooked her fingers in the belt at his back where he carried his long hunting knife. Her other hand hovered over the thin-bladed knife in her scabbard.

Maggie was worried. Sensitive to every change in her husband’s demeanor, she knew he was tense, untrustful of these men.

Light stopped a good distance from the men. He studied the still face and squinted eyes of the one who had called out to him. The man was looking at
him
and not at Maggie as the other two were doing.

“How do you come to know my name?” Light asked, breaking the silence.

“Baptiste Lightbody?”

Light nodded.

“Jefferson Merrick said you were the best.”

“Best at what?”

“Best woodsman, best hunter, best riverman.”

Light shrugged. “Merrick is my friend.”

“We heard you shoot.”

“Delaware.”

The man nodded. “We better get the hell out of here. They’re all along this part of the river.”

“Why did you call my name?”

“Figured it was a lone . . . white man who sent the partially butchered deer carcass downriver.”

“I’m Osage.”

“French and Osage,” the man said, then added. “Baptiste is French.”

“What do you want with me?” Light asked impatiently.

“You’re headed for the Bluffs. So are we. Merrick said you’re the best scout in the territory. And we could use an extra hand on the poles.”

Light had no intention of going to the Bluffs, but he let the statement stand.

“What happened to your crew?”

“Two men deserted the first week. Two more took our canoe a week back and left in the night. ’Course they won’t make it. None of them had the brains of a flea. Loss of a good canoe is what it amounts to. We put in thinking you were in a tight spot and needed help.”

Light’s dark eyes met blue ones and held. There was something familiar about this man, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. Caught in the scope of Light’s vision, the bald-headed man’s eyes were still on Maggie.

“We’ve had two run-ins with the Delaware. They wanted the horses and they got them this time.”

“I heard that they take prisoners if they can.”

“Death by torture is a ritual among the Delaware.”

“That’s not exactly my idea of a good time.” The stocky man’s worried eyes searched the forest.

“I’m a trader. Name’s Eli Nielson.” The leader of the group introduced himself. “I’m taking a small cargo upriver. I plan to buy furs and bring them back to St. Louis.”

He would not get that boat anywhere near the Bluffs with
two crewmen.
Light kept his thoughts to himself. He looked straight at the bald-headed man, whose lustful eyes were so blatantly ogling Maggie.

“I’ll kill a man who lays a hand on my wife . . . and I won’t wait for him to face me.”

Eli Nielson’s eyes flickered down to Maggie’s face, then back to Light.

“Good enough. I’m from Kentucky country along the Ohio. We feel the same about our women. This is Paul Deschanel.” He indicated the short stocky man.

“Pleased to meet you.” Paul Deschanel pulled off his cap and bowed slightly.

“And Otto Kruger.” The bald one acknowledged the introduction with a darting glance at Light, then his gaze returned to Maggie.

“We’ll get our packs. Knowing that we’re on foot, the Delaware will be back.”

Eli nodded. “I’ll lend a hand.”

Light was hesitant about turning his back. If they were going to kill him and take Maggie, now was the time. He turned, tense and ready to take action if need be. Taking Maggie’s arm, he propelled her ahead of him. He looked down and slightly to the right where he could see the shadow of the man behind them. When they reached the packs, Nielson was several paces back.

“Merrick didn’t mention you had a woman with you.”

“Maggie is my wife. She goes where I go.”

Nielson looked searchingly at Maggie. The only change in his expression was a narrowing of his eyes, and for only a second his brows puckered.

Light knew this man was probably thinking the same thoughts he had had when he had seen Maggie for the first time almost a year ago: that she was more than just a pretty woman. The combination of her beauty and the innocent woman-child spirit that was reflected in her clear green eyes made her very desirable.

She stared openly up at Nielson with the curious naiveté of a babe tempered with the age-old wisdom of a woman. Light watched the man’s expression soften under Maggie’s close scrutiny. Suddenly she smiled.

When Maggie smiled the world stood still.

“It’ll be all right, Light. Ya’ll see.” Her hand slipped into the crook of Light’s arm and shook it gently. “Ya’ll see,” she said again.

Nielson was only a couple of inches taller than Light and heavier, but in his duck pants and heavy boots he seemed much larger. Light was clean-shaven; Nielson had a close-cropped beard. It was impossible to tell which of the men was the older.

Light was puzzled by Maggie’s acceptance of this man. What was it about him that caused her to trust him? She was usually leery of any man.

“We need to leave this place. Those damn Delaware make me uneasy.” Nielson spoke softly and to Light, as he didn’t want to frighten Maggie. He stooped and shouldered one of the packs.

“Go ahead. We’ll be down.”

Nielson nodded, picked up a roll of blankets and walked back toward the boat.

Light waited until Nielson reached the boat before he spoke.

“
Chérie,
you must be careful of all the men and especially the one with no hair.”

“I will, Light. That one is bad. This one”—she nodded toward the boat—“is not like him.”

“How do you know that?”

Maggie shrugged. “I dunno.”

“Come. Relieve yourself in the bushes. There will be no privacy on the boat.”

*  *  *

Nielson stepped on the boat and stowed the pack and blanket roll in the shed. When he turned Paul was there.

“Are we getting out of this place?”

“As soon as they get on board.”

“That’s a damn relief. Where’d they go?”

“They’ll be along.”

“You got your look at Lightbody. What now?”

“He’s not what I thought he’d be.”

“
Mon Dieu,
Eli. You knew he was Osage.”

“Guess I didn’t think he’d be quite so civilized.”

“He’s got enough French in him to sweet-talk that woman into going off with him.”

“She’s . . . different—”

“She’s comely. Otto’s foaming at the mouth.”

“He’d screw a snake if you held its head,” Eli said with disgust.

“You think to take her from him?”

“Dammit, Paul, why’d you say that for?”

“You want to hurt him, don’t you?”

“Hell yes, I want to hurt him!”

“Otto wants his woman.”

“He’d have to kill Lightbody to get her. I’ll not stand for that . . . yet.”

“Wonder why Merrick didn’t tell us that he had a woman with him.”

“’Cause he never reckoned we’d catch up to him. Findin’ a man in this wilderness is like finding a fart in a whirlwind.”

Kruger’s heavy boots landed on the flatboat, rocking it gently. He stood on the end of the boat holding onto the mooring line and looked over his shoulder at Paul and Eli. His eyes were unusually bright. He was grinning like a cat ready to pounce on a crippled bird.

“I neffer see a voman like dot one.”

“She’s married to the scout. Leave her be.”

“Dot voman bein’ vit a breed ain’t right.
Mein Gott,
it ain’t right a’tall. His vife? Vot preacher marry a Indian to a vhite voman?”

“You got a mind to do somethin’ about it, Otto?” Eli asked quietly.

“She ain’t fer no . . . breed.”

“You got something against breeds?”

“Vot? I say she iss not for breed. I ain’t neffer had me no use fer a stinkin’ saffage. He stole her, is vot he done. Bet she’d be plenty tickled to be shed of ’im. Ain’t no voman vantin’ no Indian offer a vhite man.”

“Gawddamn you! I’m telling you to stay away from her. I want no trouble.”

Kruger laughed.

“Lightbody’s not like those rattleheads back at the saloon. He’ll kill you and not bat an eye. He’s had two run-ins with the Delaware and he’s still on his feet.”

“Dot don’t mean shit.”

“I’m warning you, Otto. Keep your eyes and your hands off the woman.”

“She gott yore pecker up too, Eli?” Kruger laughed again, nastily.

“You’d be wise to remember what I said.”

“Vat ya vant to find ’im fer? Ya ain’t needin’ no scout. Any fool can follow the riffer.” When Nielson merely stared at him, he said, “Shit, I ain’t
carin’
vhy ya was lookin’ for ’im. I’d a poled dis ting to the Bluffs all by myself to get a look at dat voman. I ain’t neffer seen one like ’er. Her bottom’s round as melon in dem britches.”

“She’s not for you.”

“Yore vantin’ her fer yoreself, Eli?
Verdammt!
I can see it.”

Eli scowled, turned and walked to the far end of the deck.

“Don’t push Eli.” Paul told the German. “That Swede’ll give you more trouble than you can handle.”

“I ain’t neffer asked, but vat’s that breed done dat Eli vas set on findin’ him?”

“If he wanted ya to know he’d tell ya.”

Paul did not like Otto Kruger. He had not liked him since the day they bought the boat from him. But as long as he did his work and kept his mouth shut, he could tolerate him. Seeing the woman had loosened Otto’s tongue.

Paul feared it was only a matter of days before Eli or Lightbody had a run-in with Otto over that little whip-slip of a girl.

*  *  *

With four men on the poles and Maggie, after a bit of instruction, holding the steering oar, the narrow craft moved upriver. They stayed close to the shore in the gently moving water. Light, on the shore side of the craft, constantly watched for a sign of the Delaware.

They poled for several hours without stopping to eat. The men were drenched with sweat when they rounded a bend and saw a straight sweep of river ahead. Eli took the steering oar while Paul unfurled the sail. The wind took hold and they moved out away from the shore to catch the breeze. The craft glided smoothly onward as long as Eli stayed away from the swift current in the middle of the river and the thick growth of reeds along the bank.

While Light sank down on the deck, his back to the shed, and continued to watch the shoreline, Maggie opened their food pack and laid out the meat they had cooked in the pit the night before. She brought Light a cup of water and a piece of meat and left the others to serve themselves.

Light was thirsty and downed the cup of water quickly. When Maggie went to the barrel to fetch him another, Kruger stood there. He lifted the lid from the barrel. Maggie dipped the water and hurried away, but not before he managed to rub his hand along her bare arm.

In the middle of the afternoon, Light, scanning the riverbank ahead with his spyglass, suddenly rose to his feet. He pressed his hand on Maggie’s shoulder in a signal for her to stay, and went to where Eli sat at the steering oar.

“Take a look at that patch of water grass ahead. No waterfowl are there and none has flown out of there for a while. The reeds are bent.”

Eli lifted his glass to his eye. A deer came to the river but spun around and left without drinking.

Light braced himself with spread legs and searched the red clay riverbank and the grasses that grew in the shallows. He took the spyglass from his eye and pressed it shut.

“There’s a war canoe in there.”

“Paul,” Eli called softly. “Break out the muskets.”

Paul ducked into the shed and came out with four long guns. He lined up the firearms atop the low roof of the shed.

Light checked the load in his own weapon, slipped an unstrung bow from the straps of his pack, and hooked the string of two twisted buffalo sinews to the notched end. He looped it and the quiver of arrows over his shoulder.

“What’s happenin’, Light?” Maggie asked.

Before he could answer, a war canoe came streaking out from the far end of the reeds. A chorus of war-whoops became louder as the six Delaware braves paddled furiously to intercept the flatboat.

“Get in the shed, Maggie!” Light commanded sharply. Without question, she jumped to obey. “Don’t shoot unless you have to,” he said to Paul. “Every Delaware within five miles will know where we are.”

“C’mon, ya saffage deffils!” Kruger shouted. “C’mon ya sonsabitches.”

Eli sat calmly at the steering oar as the wind pushed them toward the oncoming canoe. Light strung his bow and waited for a brave to stand. As the canoe neared, a brave, reckless in the excitement of the battle, stood and shook his war club. Light’s arrow pierced his chest, pushing him back into the river. Without missing a stroke, the paddlers powered the canoe onward. Backs were bent and heads were down.

A sudden puff of wind came from the south, filled the sail and pushed the flatboat along faster and faster into the path of the war canoe. Too late the eager bloodthirsty Indians saw their danger and tried to evade the craft bearing down on them. They had just managed to turn the canoe broadside when the flatboat smashed into it, turning it over and flinging the yelling warriors into the river.

The Delaware swimming toward the raft tried to scramble aboard. Paul and Kruger waited on one side, Light on the other. As heads came out of the water, the poles came crashing down on half-shaven skulls.

The Delaware were heroic as long as they were winning the battle; but when they faced odds not to their liking, they were more likely to flee. They did so now. The few who had survived the head-bashing struggled in the river mud and cast fearful glances over their shoulders as the white man’s boat moved away from them.