Larkspur (33 page)

When she was his, he would be the only warrior in all this vast land with a wife with silver hair. He would bury his manhood in the silvery nest between her legs and beget sons that would lead the Sioux to retake their land. She would be his talisman. With her beside him, he would be immortal.

The Indian smiled. The Gods were pleased with him. He had persuaded Iron Jaw to send Bowlegs as his representative to grieve for a subchief at a camp on Porcupine Butte. The grieving ceremony would last two days. All who remained at the ranch were wet-eared drovers who would be at their sentry posts, a cripple and a light-haired
Wasicun
in a silly hat. Old Gilly usually went to the bluff over the road, and the dog was used to Indian smell.

All was ready.

*  *  *

Gilly was the first to come in to supper. The men had been eating in shifts since the Gateses and Gustaf arrived. Gilly would relieve Gustaf. Then Gustaf would relieve Bernie.

“There isn’t a reason in the world I couldn’t take one of the watches,” Bonnie said, and dished up a large dish of bread pudding for Gilly after he’d finished off a plate of fluffy dumplings that had been cooked with the meat of a young rabbit he had brought to the house that morning.

“Fine and dandy with me, missy. Ya can take mine. It’s five miles out on the bluff.” Gilly liked the spunky girl and liked to tease her. “Only thing is, thar’s a nest a rattlers on that bluff. Don’t reckon they’d bite ya though. It’d be dark, and they’d think ya was me.”

“Gilly, you’re the biggest storyteller I ever heard of. You’d put the devil hisself to shame when it comes to lyin’.”

Kristin watched and listened to Bonnie and Gilly and wished that she could be that lighthearted. A half an hour later when Gustaf came to supper, she noticed that Bonnie made sure that she waited on him.

After Gustaf washed, he threw his arm across Kristin’s shoulders.

“You look worn out, love.”

“I’m not. Bonnie cooked most of the supper.”

“She did? Goshamighty! I’m hungry as a starved wolf and was plannin’ on havin’ me some
decent
vittles.”

Kristin’s glance slid quickly to Bonnie. She had picked up a wooden spoon and rapped Gustaf smartly across the knuckles. They were laughing at each other as if they were the only two people in the room.
He likes her!
Oh, I’m glad. Maybe he’ll want to stay here and make his home in the West with . . . Bonnie.

“You don’t get any bread puddin’ for that remark.” Bonnie filled a plate with dumplings while Kristin sliced the fresh bread.

“Kris, did I hear somebody say
bread
puddin’?”

“You sure did, and in a couple of weeks, if we’re still here, you can have milk with your bread puddin’.”

“If we’re still here? Ya think Buck is goin’ to run us off?”

“We are a bother to him, Gustaf,” Kristin replied.

Bonnie stood at the end of the table looking from one to the other with large, brown, serious eyes. She shook her head.

“Buck will never ask you to leave, Kristin.”

“I know. He’s too nice a man for that. He feels responsible for me because of Uncle Yarby.”

Gustaf almost choked on a mouthful of dumplings. His eyes caught Bonnie’s and held.

“Some folks are blind as bats, huh, Bonnie?”

“Yeah. And they’ve got cousins that are dumb as stumps.”

“Well, now. I wonder who that could be.”

Bonnie was quiet for a long while after Gustaf went out.

“Your cousin is a flirt,” she finally said, then added with a sigh, “some men are born flirts.”

“I never considered Gustaf a flirt. He has a sunny disposition and gets along well with everyone. He has a serious side, too, and takes his responsibilities to heart. That’s why he came out here to see about me. He encouraged me to come here and collect my inheritance.”

When Bernie came in, it was easy to see that he was tired. He washed and came slowly to the table.

“Smells good,” he said, and smiled at Kristin.

“You’re almost too tired to eat, aren’t you, Brother?” Bonnie soothed the hair at the nape of his neck.

“Almost, but not quite. I’m hungry as a bear.”

“Gustaf was hungry as a wolf,” Kristin said. “He would have eaten all the bread pudding if we hadn’t held some back for you and Buck.”

“Buck didn’t think he’d be back until after midnight.”

“That late?” Kristin set the hot coffeepot back down on the stove. “Heaven’s sake. Where did he go?”

“Up north someplace. He said he’d give the signal when he rode in so we’d not shoot him.”

“Let me take your watch, Brother. You need some rest.”

Bernie’s head came up and he glared at his sister.

“Don’t ever suggest that, Bonnie! I’m warning you. I’ll be madder than hell if you do. I can carry my own weight. I may not be able to run as fast, but I can do anything else a man here can do.”

“I know that . . . but just a few days ago you could hardly climb out of the buggy. I worry—”

“Don’t. Gustaf will take the first watch. He’ll wake me when it’s my turn.”

The evening dragged on. After Buck’s supper was in the warming oven and the kitchen was put to order, Kristin sat in one of the big chairs and knitted on the muffler she was making. After an hour she put it down.

“I think I’ll make my nightly trip to the outhouse, then go to bed.”

“I’ll go with you.”

Kristin threw her shawl around her shoulders and lit the lantern while Bonnie went to their room for her coat. They walked out into the cool autumn night.

“This place must be higher than Big Timber. I didn’t notice it being so cool nights.”

“It’s that time of year. The stars seem brighter tonight.”

“That’s because there’s no moon. I love to look at the sky at night.” The woman walked down the path to the outhouse. “This is a nice place,” Bonnie said. “Some outhouses in town aren’t this nice.”

On the way back to the house, Gustaf’s voice came out of the darkness.

“I could sure use more a that puddin’.”

The women stopped, looked at each other and laughed.

“Gustaf, where are you?”

“Blow out the lantern, Kris. You can see that light a mile away.”

Kristin blew out the lantern. “Where are you?”

“On top of the barn.”

“You’re no such thing. Stop teasing.”

“I know where he is.” Bonnie took Kristin’s hand and they walked toward the woodpile. They found him sitting on a log, a rifle beside him.

“How did you know I was here?”

“If you’re goin’ to do any sneakin’ around, you’d better cover that light hair with a cap.”

“Stay and keep me company.”

“Do that, Bonnie. I’m going to bed.”

“How about it, bonny-Bonnie, brown eyes?” Gustaf tugged on her skirt.

“Just for a while. But if you get smart-mouthed—”

“I’ll not get smart-mouthed, but I might get fresh.”

“Just try it. I know how to handle mashers.”

“I think you’ve met your match, Cousin Gus,” Kristin said. “I’ll leave the lantern on the nail on the porch.”

When they were alone, Bonnie became almost tongue-tied. She sat on the log leaving a foot of space between her and Gustaf. Even Gustaf’s wit seemed to have dried up.

“Your cousin’s feelin’ down in the mouth.” Bonnie finally thought of something to say.

“It’s Buck. She’s in love with him and he’s too dumb to know it.”

“He likes her, too. I’ve seen him watchin’ her when she wasn’t lookin’. Do you approve?”

“Hell, I don’t know. Kris has never been courted that I know of. She doesn’t know much about . . . that sort of thing.”

“But you do. I suppose you’re a regular textbook on courtin’.”

“I’ve done a little . . . now and then. Here and there.”

“Probably more than a little.”

“Well . . . what can a feller do when so many girls follow him that he has to carry a club to hold them off?”

Bonnie began to laugh. “I’ll swear. You act like you’re the only rooster in the henhouse.”

“And you’re a pretty little brown hen. Would Bernie let me court you?”

“You’ll have to ask . . . him.” Suddenly Bonnie couldn’t draw enough air into her lungs.

“What about that feller in town that’s got his sights set on you?”

“Did Bernie tell you about him?”

“Said he was crazy about you.”

“I don’t understand why—”

“ ‘It lies not in our power to love or hate. For will in us is overruled by fate.’ Those lines are from a poem by Christopher Marlowe.”

“Who’s he?”

“An Englishman who died a couple hundred years ago. Kris gave me a book of his poems, and I’ve read them all a hundred times.”

“I don’t know much about poems—”

“I didn’t either until I started reading his. This is the one I like best.

Come live with me and be my love,

And we will all the pleasures prove

That hills and valleys, dales and fields,

Woods, or steepy mountain yields.

“Do you like it?”

“It’s . . . pretty. But I don’t understand it.”

“You have to think about it for a while. But enough of that. Tell me about this man who’s so crazy about you. Does he force his attentions on you?”

“He’s never been disrespectful. I’m not afraid of him for me or for Bernie, but I don’t know about anyone else—” Her voice trailed. “He’s dangerous. Very dangerous.”

“Tell me about him,” Gustaf insisted. He moved and narrowed the space between them.

Bonnie told about meeting Del Gomer when she and her brother first came to Big Timber. She confessed that she liked him a lot at first. When she found out he was a killer for hire, she felt a fool for liking him and told him she wanted nothing more to do with him. He took the rejection calmly and still came to the restaurant.

“I think I feel sorry for him.” Bonnie’s voice was hardly above a whisper. Her face was turned toward him but it was all darkness and he could see nothing of her expression. “There is a total lack of feelin’ in him for everythin’ but—”

“—Everything but you.”

“Yes. And I don’t understand it,” she said again.

A low growl came from Sam, and Gustaf jumped up. The dog lay a short distance away. He lifted his head, looked toward the grove west of the house, growled again, then lay back down.

“What is it?” Bonnie whispered.

“Maybe a fox thinkin’ to get in the chicken coop.” Gustaf sat back down, but watched the dog. He appeared to be going back to sleep.

Time passed quickly. The wind stirred, a faint breeze. The night was wide and still. The stars hung like lanterns in the sky. A quail sent out a questioning call. Again, Gustaf cocked his head to listen. It was not the signal. He looked down at the warm hand clasped in his and wondered how long it had been there.

Chapter Twenty-one

W
hen Kristin entered the house, she struck a match, lit a candle and blew out the lamp. She had tried to use Buck’s lamp oil sparingly and chided herself for leaving the lamp burning while she and Bonnie went to the outhouse.

The house was lonely and quiet. She left the candle on the table and went into Buck’s room. He had slept there the first few nights after she came here, then moved out to the bunkhouse when she insisted on taking over the care of Moss at night in order to give him some rest. His clothes hung on the pegs and his extra pair of boots sat on the floor beneath them.

She ran her hand over the foot of the iron bedstead. Bonnie probably wondered why she was sharing Kristin’s bed when this bed was unoccupied. This was Buck’s bed. The sheets had been washed and sun-dried, the feather pillow fluffed. It was ready for him when he came back to take possession of his home.

Kristin felt a desperate loneliness. How could she love a man who had so little feeling for
her?
Was she doomed to go through life without the loving husband and family she’d dreamed of having?

On the way to the door, Kristin touched the clean, mended shirts she had hung on the pegs. If there had been a bureau, she would have folded them and put them in one of the drawers. His heavy sheepskin-lined coat hung on the wall. She rested her face against it for a moment. It smelled faintly of woodsmoke.

She sighed heavily as she lifted the bar on the door, opened it, and went out onto the porch.

A cool breeze was blowing down from the mountains. Kristin hugged her shawl closely about her and looked up at the blanket of stars. She wondered if Buck, wherever he was, was looking at the same stars. He would be hungry when he got home. He was a big man—

The hand that came out of the darkness cut off her thoughts and the air going to her lungs. She was jerked off the porch. The arm about her waist was like an iron band. The hand over her mouth tightened, a thumb and forefinger squeezed her nostrils.

Fighting for breath, feeling her heart was about to burst, Kristin struggled, flailing with her feet, aware she had been lifted off the ground and that her arms were pinned to her sides. Her last conscious thought as she plunged toward an enormous black pit was:
Buck . . . I love you.

With Kristin over his shoulder, Runs Fast ran swiftly through the woods. He was more convinced than ever that it was his destiny to have this woman. The Great One had cleared the way for him to take her. He had not had to send an arrow into the heart of the
Wasicun
beside the woodpile. He had not needed to go into the house or to kill the
Wasicun
woman who slept in the house with his talisman. White Flower had opened the door and come to him.

When she stirred, the Indian stopped, laid her on the grass and waited for her to take great gulps of air into her lungs. Then before she was fully conscious, he put his hand over her mouth and pinched her nostrils until she was quiet again. He picked her up and continued his journey to where his horse waited. By sunup they would be far away and by midday at the place where his other wives waited with the skins for his lodge, his horses, and warriors who admired and followed him.