Dorothy Garlock - [Wabash River] (40 page)

Eleanor was quiet for a moment, then backed away from him and faced him with her hands on her hips.

“You don’t want me. You think I’d be like a millstone around your neck. You don’t think I’ll hold up and be a suitable mate for you. Is that it?” she asked in a tight voice. “You didn’t mean what you said . . . that night?”

“I dinna be sayin’ what I dinna mean,” he said sternly. “I be sayin’ ye have a choice to make now. Ye dinna have to be takin’ a rough rivermon with naught to offer ye.”

“Damn you, Gavin McCourtney! You big, stupid ox! I could slap you! How dare you say I’m a cheap, common woman who played up to the only man available! That’s what you mean, isn’t it? If I had all the men in the world to choose from I’d choose you, you big . . . dumb . . . ugly jackass!”

Rain laughed. “It seems I’ve heard those words before. In a barn, wasn’t it, sweetheart? You’d better marry her, Gavin, and get her away from Amy, or she’ll be toting a rifle and wearing britches and swearing.”

“And throwing a knife,” Eleanor added, tossing her head haughtily. “Amy’s going to teach me.”

“Come on, sweetheart,” Rain said to Amy. “Let’s leave them to decide what they want to do, though I’m sure I know what it’ll be. I’ll ride out tomorrow and see if I can find the preacher.”

“Can I go with you? We could all go with you and be married there.”

“If we are wed here, sweetheart, Jean Pierre will record it in the Territory Record Book along with the land deeds, births, marriages and deaths. I want him to record the land in my name and yours, Mrs. Rain Tallman.”

“Gavin can just go with you, Rain,” Eleanor said and looked defiantly at the big man. “He’s not going to pussyfoot around and get out of marrying me because he thinks he’s got nothing to offer. Are you, Gavin?”

“Nay, Nora, me girl. And if I be hearin’ any more sass or swear words comin’ from yer sweet mouth ye know what ye’ll be gettin’.”

“Yes, Gavin . . . darling.”

*   *   *

The first stars of the night had just made an appearance when Pete Hopcus rode down the lane to his cabin. Antoine heard him coming. He slipped his knife in the scabbard and stood waiting. Waiting was what Antoine did best—waiting and listening and looking. The three traits had saved his life more times than he had fingers and toes.

Pete Hopcus was a thin man with a short beard and a long mustache. He wore baggy homespun britches held up with rope suspenders. People usually remembered him because of his big ears.

“Tallman rode in with a woman in buckskin britches and the purtiest black-haired woman I ever seen. Lordy! I thought I was tired a black-haired women, but this one’s a beauty.”

“Is that all?”

“All?” Pete echoed. “Ya ain’t never seen a woman like—”

“Is that all that rode in?” Antoine gritted. “Tallman and two women?”

“Naw. A big feller was with them. He was walkin’ easy, like he’d been hurt.”

“The Scot,” Antoine muttered. “They all survived the ambush that stupid pig set up. The kid wasn’t sure. If they had harmed a hair on that woman’s head I’d have roasted him over a slow fire.”

“I’d like to have me a piece of that’n myself. Wheee . . . she’s a beauty.”

“I’m not talking about that black-haired bitch!” Antoine snarled. “I’m talking about Amy Deverell. Was she all right?”

“The one in britches? She seemed to be.”

“Tallman did just what I’d have done, only I would’ve killed that damn kid!”

“And saved you the trouble, huh?”

Antoine shrugged. “The whelp was like the wolverine—mad to kill. So I killed
him.
I want no tales carried back to Kaskaskia.”

Pete Hopcus gave the Frenchman a sideways glance and a shiver of apprehension slithered down his spine when he saw him eyeing him intently. Good God, Pete thought. Didn’t the man trust him after all these years?

“Tallman said they’d need a room for the women for a couple of days,” Pete said, not liking the uneasy feeling that had come over him.

“Anything else?”

“Tallman had a letter. Soldier left it more’n a week ago, Hoffman said, but I couldn’t find out any more.”

“It’s more than I expected. Come on in. We’ll go over what we’re going to do.”

Pete led his horse around to the back of the cabin, and once again Antoine went over in his mind his plan for carrying out his mission. That his golden princess was close to being his made the Frenchman’s skin tingle. Nothing—or anyone—had ever excited him more. For a brief moment a boyish smile played at the corners of his hard mouth.

“Ma petite. Ma bijou,”
he murmured to the vision of Amy that floated in front of his eyes. “It will not be long before you are mine.”

Twenty-one

“I wish we could have gone with them, don’t you, Amy?” Eleanor and Amy stood on the porch of the trading post watching Rain and Gavin ride away.

“Yes, but this will give us some time to wash our hair and our clothes. I’m glad I brought my blue dress. I’ve only worn it one time since Rain came home. I think he’d like me to wear it for the wedding.”

“Aunt Gilda would be horrified to know I was getting married in that old skirt and a shirt that’s lost two buttons.” Eleanor giggled happily. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m marrying the kindest, sweetest man in the world. I know that Gavin loves
me,
not a dressed-up doll,” she said with a dreamy look in her lavender eyes.

“You would be pretty wrapped in a blanket.”

“Oh, you! If we had some flowers I could make us each a crown.”

“I saw bluebells and Queen Anne’s lace just outside of town. I bet we can find jack-in-the-pulpits too. Would they do?”

“Oh, yes. I’ll weave them into a wreath. It’ll help pass the time until Gavin and Rain get back. I don’t like being here without them. I think that storekeeper is an old . . . lecher!”

“Lecher? What’s that?”

“Don’t you know what a lecher is? Oh flitter, Amy! I swear to goodness. You know about a lot of things, but you don’t know a blessed thing about men.” Eleanor tilted her head sassily and looked up at the taller woman. “A lecher is a man whose mind is on what a woman’s got in her drawers. In your case, your leather britches.”

Amy burst out laughing. “I do declare, Eleanor. Sometimes you surprise me. How do you know that?”

“Because when your back is turned he’s looking at your . . . bottom.”

“Let him look. It seems he’s been looking at Mrs. Hoffman’s bottom too from the number of young ones he’s got. Let’s see if we can get a bucket from Mrs. Hoffman. We can wash our hair at the creek and pick the flowers while it’s drying.”

The population of Davidsonville had poured out of their homes at dawn. Now that the morning meal was over, they settled into the day’s routine. The women worked in the gardens and watched with interest the activity in front of the store. The children played happily in the dirt in front of the cabins or rolled hoops down the dusty road.

Most of the men were gathered around a wagon which had been propped up so a wheel could be removed. A stick had been cut to use as a short axle and another had been tied to the wheel. Amy had seen this method of measuring land done many times. The men carried the wheel to the edge of town. With a man on each end, they started rolling the wheel. Each time the stick struck the ground it gouged a mark. It usually measured a hundred and twenty-six marks to the quarter mile. Many a homestead had been marked off using this method.

A man on a sorrel horse rode around from the back of the store. He slouched in the saddle, nodded to a man who was tying his horse to the rail and went on down the road. Amy squinted her eyes and studied the rider. Something was familiar about him. Yet he was so ordinary he could be one of the hundreds of men who had stopped at Quill’s Station at one time or the other. His head was bent but tilted in their direction. As the horse passed, his head turned. He was looking at them. A feeling of unease came over Amy. She watched him until he rode out of town, then she urged Eleanor back inside the store.

*   *   *

Hull Dexter reined his horse at the prearranged meeting place and waited for Antoine Efant and Pete Hopcus to appear. Mosquitoes swarmed around his face. He fanned at them angrily with his hat and cursed. Hull hated this hot, sultry country. He was beginning to hate and fear Antoine Efant as well. The man had changed since learning of Bull’s aborted attempt to get the Woodbury woman. He had been so angry that he had killed the kid who told him about it. In the days that followed, while they waited for Tallman to show up, the anger had stayed with Efant. Hull was sure of one thing: He would be glad when the job was over and he could head north.

Antoine and Pete came silently out of the woods behind him. The twitching ears of his horse told Hull they were there and he turned to face them.

“What did you find out?” Antoine leaned lazily against a tree. Hull knew the pose was deceptive, that the Frenchman’s nerves were strung tighter than a bowstring.

“Tallman and the big Scot have gone south to fetch a padre. Hoffman was tellin’ people in the store that there’ll be a weddin’.”

“Gawd!” Pete said. “I’d give a year a my life to crawl on that black-haired one. The woman in britches is Tallman’s woman. She—”

Antoine’s dark eyes hardened and sent an icy message to Pete. He stopped speaking and fumbled with the shot bag that hung from his belt.

“You may not have a year, Pete!” Antoine spoke teasingly, but Pete knew he was not teasing. “Where does this padre live?”

“He lives down on the fork of Eleven Point River. He does marryin’ ’n buryin’.”

“Is he known to Hoffman?”

“He’s known to everybody north of the Arkansas.”

“Do you know the country between here and Eleven Point?”

“Like the back of my hand.”

“There’s a bounty of five hundred dollars on Tallman. Bring back his right ear, the one with the nick in it, and it’s yours.”

“What about the Scot?”

“Fifty silver dollars.”

“Do you want one of his ears or his nose?” Pete asked cheerfully.

“If he don’t come for his woman, I’ll know he’s dead. Then you’ll get your pay.”

“Fair enough.”

“You’ve got two rifles; you’ll have two shots. Get Tallman with the first shot or you’ll not get another chance at him.’

“I ain’t no fool. I know what Tallman can do.”

“You know where I’ll be. Hull will take the Woodbury woman to the river. A boat will take them to Kaskaskia.” Antoine looked up at Hull Dexter. “When it’s done, I never want to see your face again. Stay clear of the Rocky Mountain country. That’s where I’ll be headed.”

The Frenchman’s eyes were as cold as death, and a shiver traveled over Hull’s skin in spite of the heat. Something was eating the Frenchman, something that had turned him ugly. He had never been surly and mean before. Hull had seen him kill with a smile on his face.

Without waiting for a reply from Hull, Antoine turned to Pete. “Drag the bodies off into the woods and shoot the horses. I don’t want them coming back.”

“I know what to do.”

“Then go do it.”

Pete left, but before he did he glanced up at Hull and Hull was sure there was a resentful look in his eyes. Hull got off his horse, tied the reins to a sapling, and followed Antoine through the woods.

Two horses were tied near the clear, fast-flowing creek. From that point there was a good view of the front of the store. Antoine squatted down on his heels and threw a stick out into the sunlight.

“We’ll give it until the tree shadow reaches that stick. If they haven’t come out you’ll go and send one of those younguns rolling the hoop to get them. They’ll come when they see the horse the kid brought in. That horse was the one the fellow was riding when he rode down to warn them at Kaskaskia.”

Hull nodded, sat down and leaned back against a tree.

The shadow had almost reached the stick when Amy and Eleanor, carrying a bucket and an armful of clothes, came out of the store. The black-haired woman was laughing and swinging the bucket. Antoine had eyes only for the tall, slender girl in the buckskins It was the first time he had seen her without a hat. Her skin was golden and a long, thick braid of sunstreaked hair hung to her slender hips. The way she moved fascinated Antoine. She didn’t walk; she floated, without as much as a bob of her head. Her legs were long and were hugged by the buckskin britches as was her tight but rounded bottom.

Antoine drew in a sharp hissing breath when they turned and started toward the creek. What luck. Didn’t it mean the woman was meant for him? God had arranged for her to come to him. He touched his fingertips to his forehead and then made the sign of the cross on his chest.

“Get back!” he whispered hoarsely to Hull.

Seconds later they were out of sight behind the thick drooping branches of willows that screened the creek bank.

*   *   *

“Lordy but it’s peaceful here.” Eleanor skipped ahead of Amy, turned and walked backwards for a few steps so she could look at her. “There’s a freedom in the wilderness that I never knew in town.”

“It’s because you’re not wearing that tight corset,” Amy teased.

“Oh, that!” Eleanor giggled happily, then said thoughtfully, “You can be yourself here.”

“You can be yourself anywhere. But it’s harder in some places than in others.”

“It sure was hard with Aunt Gilda. Oh, look behind you, Amy!”

Eleanor pointed through the trees at a young deer, almost invisible in the shadowy light, nibbling on tender leaves. Suddenly its head came up. It stood as still as a statue, then it leaped, disappearing from sight.

“Oh, pooh!” Eleanor exclaimed. “Something scared it. I hope it wasn’t us.”

Amy laughed. “It probably smelled us, it’s been so long since we washed our clothes. Tennessee gave me a piece of lye soap. We can use it on our clothes, but I have a piece I brought from home for our hair.”

“Tennessee’s a pretty girl. I wish she had one of the dresses I left with Vonnie.”

“If the old lecher watches me, Eleanor, his daughter watches you. I think you’ve got her treed.”

“Treed? What does that mean?”