Mountain Rose (8 page)
Authors: Norah Hess
"How come? Are you lazy?"
Jamie shook his head. "You see, I've always had to walk a narrow path. My Indian mother on one side, my Irish father on the other." He made an attempt at light laughter. "I don't know if it's the Pauite in me that people don't like, or the Irish."
Chase went along with the amused note. He grinned and said, "No doubt it's the Irish."
Jamie laughed, recognizing the name Donlin as being Irish.
How it came about, Chase never fully understood, but Jamie stayed on with him. Five years now, celebrating his twenty-sixth birthday last week. They trapped together in the winter, hunted in the summer, caroused together in between. Jamie had became the younger brother he had always wished for.
And though he was seemingly content with his life in the Oregon wilderness, Jamie was often restless. The other trappers in the area had taken an immediate liking to the carefree young man, accepting him as one of them. But the wives, although they too were fond of the handsome Jamie, would not allow him to court their daughters. And though he pretended he didn't care, even joked about it, Chase knew better. Jamie hurt like hell, being judged by his Indian blood.
Chase sighed and tilted the bottle oyer his glass again. When life with the whites became too much for his friend, he disappeared for a while.
The ignorance of some people, he thought glumly.
Chase looked down the bar at Roscoe. He had a glazed look in his eyes, and his movements were awkward and unsure. One more slug of whiskey and he should be stretched out on the floor, dead to the world.
Chase transferred his gaze to the four men playing poker at a table lit by a hanging lantern. He downed his drink, swung away from the bar, and joined them. Pitting his wits against the gamblers would make the night go faster and keep his brain sharp, so he could keep an eye on the fat man.
A couple of the players ragged him about leaving his new bride to sleep alone, but when he didn't rise to their ribbing, the cards were dealt and the game went on.
The black of night was just giving away to the gray of approaching dawn when the game broke up. The cards were gathered into a stack and left in the center of the table for whoever wanted to use them next. There were no new decks passed out every night at the post. If anyone was caught trying to mark cards, he was barred from ever playing there again.
Consequently, new cards appeared when the old ones became dog-eared in such a way that everyone knew who had what by the certain way the corners were worn down.
There came the scraping sound of chairs being pushed back and complaining voices. "I lost everything but my name," one trapper gripped, while another grouched, "You was mighty lucky tonight, Donlin. Thanks for leavin' me my back teeth."
"You're welcome, Ike." Chase stood and stretched. "I didn't want you to have to gum your breakfast."
The good-natured grousing went on a few minutes more, then the trappers prepared to go to their individual homes.
From the corner of his eye Chase saw Roscoe stir, then sit up from the spot on the floor where he had snored all night. "Hold on a minute, men," he called, striding over to the fat man and hauling him to his feet. "Roscoe wants to tell you somethin'. He wants to let you in on his latest dirty adventure."
The trappers stared at Roscoe expectantly, but he remained silent as he struggled to free himself of the iron fingers grasping his arm. "Go on, you bastard," Chase ordered coldly. "Tell them of the danger your action will bring down on them and their families."
The trappers, having drunk or played cards all night, were in a sullen mood with aching heads and burning, bloodshot eyes. All were anxious to get home, eat, and go to bed. Their tempers grew short when Roscoe still wouldn't speak.
"Spit it out, you tub of lard," one man growled. "What did you do that's got Donlin all riled up?"
When Roscoe only continued to look down at the floor, his mouth working wordlessly, someone yelled, "Look at him, he's scared witless." He took a step toward Roscoe. "Have you been foolin' round with some youngin', you bastard?"
"You'd better tell them, Chase." Sid Johnson came from behind the bar. "You ain't gonna get a word out of him."
Tightening his grip on the fleshy arm, Chase bit out, "He's got a Tillamook woman tied up in the stables."
For a moment, stunned silence filled the room as the trappers stared at Roscoe in disbelief. Then one man found his voice. "You worthless piece of dog dung, you fat bastard! Damn your miserable hide, bringin' the wrath of the Tillamook down on innocent people. Only you would do somethin' like that!"
The dark muttering that had started grew to a roar as one by one, the trappers started to close in on the cowering man. Their intent to beat him to death was clear in their rage-spitting eyes.
Chase hurried to stand in front of the sagging man. Holding up his hands for attention, he spoke loudly to be heard over the bloodthirsty men. "Men, stop and think for a minute. Killin' him is the worse thing you can do."
"How so, Donlin?" a man demanded as they all came to a halt. "If ever a man needed killin', it's him. He's jeopardized our famlies—all of Big Pine is in danger. Them Tillamooks are gonna swarm into this valley, killin' every man, woman, and child they come across."
"Not necessarily," Chase reasoned. "Oh, they'll come lookin' for her all right, but don't it stand to reason that they'll want to find the woman first? That the man they find her with might be the only one who gets killed?"
It quietened down in the room and Chase saw that his words were being turned over in the trappers' minds. He held his breath, hoping they would realize the sense of them. Finally the one called Ike spoke.
"Could be you're right, Donlin, but we want him and the woman away from here, clear out of the region, and right now."
"Of course, that goes without sayin'," Chase agreed. "Also"—he turned on Roscoe—"If you have in mind to take the woman out in the woods and kill her, give it another thought. I'm gonna have one of Chief Wise Man's braves track you, keep an eye on you and the woman. If she turns
up dead, you'll follow her in short order."
He grasped Roscoe by the collar. "Do you understand what I said? You're a marked man."
Roscoe nodded sullenly, and when someone held the door open, Chase shoved him through it, calling, "And don't stop for any
pleasurin.'"
Loud curses, mingled with the sound of tramping feet across a wooden floor awakened Raegan. She heard a door slam, then it grew quiet in the barroom with only a low murmur of voices. Had there been a fight? she wondered. And where was Chase?
She sat up in bed and looked at his empty bedroll. It hadn't been slept in. It was exactly the way she had spread it out last night. Where had he slept?
She wouldn't let herself finish the thought that crept into her mind.
Raegan got out of bed and padded over to the window that looked out over the area around the post. "Oh no," she cried. Roscoe and the Tillamook woman were leaving—he riding and she limping stolidly behind him, her face expressionless, hiding whatever pain she might be feeling.
Poor soul, Raegan thought, then turned around when the door opened. "Well, I see you're up." Chase smiled at her, then looked quickly away. The thin nightgown didn't hide any more than it had last night. "As soon as you get dressed, we'll have a bite of breakfast and leave," he finished huskily, bending over his blankets and rolling them up.
Raegan was tempted to ask him where he had slept last night, but knowing that it was none of her business, she hurried to take her undergarments from the back of the chair where they had dried overnight.
"I saw that dreadful Roscoe leaving," she said. "From the noise I heard, it sounded like the men chased him away."
"They did." Chase nodded.
"And the woman? Did you and Ruthie find her last night?"
"Yes. She was in the stable tied to a post. Ruthie fed her and tended to her bruises. You'll be happy to know that she had a full night free of Roscoe's attention."
"How did you manage that?" Raegan looked her surprise.
Chase grinned. "I had Sid feed him whiskey until he passed out."
Raegan giggled and stuck one slender foot into her mid-thigh bloomers. "That was mighty enterprising of you. I'll bet.. ." The door slammed and she became aware that she was now speaking to herself. Chase had bolted at the first sight of the trim ankle and calf disappearing into the white lace-trimmed undergarment.
Her lips curled in amusement as she finished pulling on the bloomers and tying them around her waist. She must remember to practice more decorum from now on. She had never had to bother about dressing and undressing before. There had only been Mama and Papa, and later the old squaw, to see her.
By the time Raegan finished dressing she had come to the conclusion that there were a lot of things she must learn. She was beginning to realize that up until noW she had led a very protected life. Mama and Papa had shielded her from a lot of ugliness, had kept her somewhat naive as to how the world truly was sometimes.
When Raegan walked into the barroom, she found it empty except for Chase, Ruthie, and Sid. The three sat around a table, platters of steaming food in its center.
Chase smiled at her and Ruthie said, "Good morning, Raegan, did you have a good night's sleep?"
Raegan laughed as she sat down in a chair across from Chase. "I don't know if I slept, or I died for several hours. I don't think I even moved."
"Well, Chase, it's plain your little bride didn't need your presence to lull her to sleep," Sid teased.
Ruthie saw both Raegan's and Chase's faces flame red, and she slapped Sid playfully on the hand. "Hush up, you randy ruffian." She handed Raegan a platter of eggs and ham. "Eat hardy, Raegan. You have a fifteen-mile ride ahead of you."
"Where in the world did you get eggs and pork?" Raegan gaped, wide-eyed. "It's been over two years since I've eaten either one."
"I buy them from Aggie Stevens, one of the trapper wives. When she came here to the hills, she brought along two dozen hens and one rooster, plus a boar and a sow. That was seven year ago. Today she has over two hundred chickens, and every fall after it frosts, Ike, her husband, butchers a half dozen hogs. Aggie keeps people supplied with eggs and pork for miles around."
Raegan looked hopefully at Chase. "Will we ... ?
"There's a good supply at the cabin right now," Chase interrupted with a wide grin. "I picked up a couple dozen eggs along with a side of bacon a day before I got your mother's letter. I'll get a ham from Aggie too."
"Good." Raegan grinned back and dug into her breakfast.
Shortly, she and Chase were astride their mounts, taking leave of the Johnsons. "Come visit soon," Ruthie called as they rode away.
"I will," Raegan assured the first friend she'd made in Oregon. "I want you to teach me how to make that tasty stew I had for supper last night."
"Sid and Ruthie are good people," Chase said as they rode along, Lobo running ahead of them.
"They certainly are," Raegan agreed. "Do the women of Big Pine associate with Ruthie?"
"Most do. Of course, like everywhere else, you find a few ignorant, biased people." Like Liza
Jenkins, he thought silently.
"It's their loss then, not getting to know her," Raegan remarked.
Although spring had come to the hills and valleys, the mountain tops were still snow-capped, and when the wind blew down from them, as it did now, it was definitely chilly.
Raegan pulled her jacket collar up around her ears and nodded agreement when Chase grinned at her action and said, "Kinda brisk this morning, huh?"
No more was spoken between them for the next hour. Raegan was occupied with her surroundings, marveling at the towering firs and a sky so blue it made your eyes hurt to look at it. She was going to be happy in this country, she knew it.
Chase's thoughts ran along the usual line. How was he going to keep his hands off Raegan? Never in his thirty-two years had he wanted a woman so badly. It was going to be pure hell living with her, pretending that he had only avuncular feelings for her.
Suddenly, their silent musings were broken with a nerve-shattering jolt. From high on a distant hill came the scream of a panther. Raegan's whole scalp prickled, and Beauty tossed her head nervously.
"Them big cats sound just like a woman screamin', don't they?" Chase remarked, tightening his grip on the snorting stallion.
"It's a scary sound." Raegan shivered.
"A panther is somethin' to be scared of," Chase said. "Because of them, and many other varmints that range the hills, don't ever go into the forest alone, Raegan. There are stories of men who have gone into those thick woods and never returned. It's still debated whether they were killed by Indians or animals, or become lost and starved to death.
"I thinks it's best if you . . ." Chase broke off, and grasping Beauty by the bridle bit, he pulled the two mounts behind a tall thicket of bushes.
"What is it?" Raegan asked in a low voice, alerted to the frown on Chase's face that it was imperative not to make a noise.
Chase swung out of the saddle and motioned Raegan to do the same. "I just heard the slap of a paddle on the river below us. I want to see if it's friend or foe." He carefully parted the bushes so that they had a view of the Platte flowing along.
They hadn't long to wait. Within minutes, at the bend in the river, a canoe came into sight, sliding smoothly and silently through the water. While they watched with held breaths, another followed, and then another, until six in a row slid past them.
"Tillamooks?" Raegan asked in a whisper, her hand unconsciously gripping Chase's arm.
"Yes. It appears they have begun looking for the woman." Chase grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him. "Raegan, promise me that you will never go far from the cabin alone."
She nodded, unable to speak. She had never before stood so close to Chase, never felt his hands on her bare flesh. She had the urge to move closer, to melt against him, to feel his arms go round her, his lips cover hers. When she saw an answering flare in his eyes, she leaned closer to him.
She blinked when Chase snatched his hand away and said brusquely, "We'd better get goin'."
Raegan cringed inside as she climbed back on Beauty. Had Chase read what must have shown in her eyes? Was he disgusted with her? Did he think she was a loose woman?
She'd never be able to look him in the face again, she wailed silently, lifting the reins and setting Beauty to walk behind Sampson.
Chase's mind was filled with uneasy thoughts also. Raegan's desire had wafted from her body in waves, meeting and mingling with his own. He had found himself weakening in his determination that there would never be carnal knowledge between them. When she leaned toward him, her soft lips parted, it had been the hardest thing he'd ever done in his life not to grab her in his arms and hungrily devour her red lips.
But he had listened to the inner voice that warned him, "You must not lose control. You must be the strong one. It's up to you to walk away."
But now, as they rode along, Raegan trailing behind him, Chase knew that she was embarrassed, probably had hurt feelings. He pulled Sampson in, and when Raegan came abreast of him, he said with his usual friendly smile, "Over that next hill is your new home."
Relief washed over Raegan. Chase hadn't noticed her wanton behavior back there after all. A wide smile stretched her lips. "I can't wait to see it," she cried, and gave Beauty a jab of her heel that sent the little mare racing away.
Chase laughed and sent the stallion galloping after her, praying that he would never be tempted by her again. His will power was only so strong. Another time might be his undoing.
The mounts lunged up a small hill, then at a slower pace descended the backside of it. And there, at the bottom of the hill, drowsing in the warm afternoon sun was a long, L-shaped cabin. Chase reined in his mount, bringing both horses to a halt so that Raegan could get a slower, more rounded view of everything.
Raegan's gaze moved over the building of peeled logs, frowning at its neglected state. Where were the flower beds Mama had described so glowingly, the rose bush that climbed up the chimney walls? There was nothing in the yard except tall weeds that grew right up to the wide porch stretching the width of the cabin.
She ran her glance over several outbuildings set some distance from the log house, the largest being a barn. There was no deterioration in any of the structures, however, including the cabin. It was the weedy growth, the dead flower beds, the negligence of the entire area that made one think at first glance that it was an abandoned homestead. She imagined that such things were of small importance to a man. After all, Grandmother Molly had been dead for many years.
"Well, what do you think?" Chase probbed after Raegan's long, silent scrunity.
"It's much like Mama described it," Raegan answered after a hesitant moment. "She talked about her home a lot. Especially the last months, when she was bed-ridden." She paused, then added, "I was wondering, though, what happened to the flower beds she spoke of, and the big rose bush that covered the chimney in red blossoms in the spring?"
A small frown etched Chase's forehead, as though he had noticed for the first time the absence of the things she mentioned.
"Pa tended the yard after Molly passed away, but I'm afraid I didn't do the same after his passin'. Actually, I guess I didn't even notice how the weeds were takin' over. I'll get the sickle after them tomorrow."
He lifted the reins and they moved out, arriving at the cabin in a short time. When the mounts were tethered to a hitching post, the mare a safe distance from the stallion, Raegan followed Chase along a beaten path bordered with waist-high weeds. Here and there she saw a flower struggling for its share of sun and air.
I'll help you tomorrow,
she thought, then stepped through the door Chase held open for her.
She stood just inside a large room for a moment, peering into the gloom of drawn drapes. Stale air greeted her, as of a room long shut up. When Chase tramped across the floor and pulled aside the covering on the two windows, her sweeping glance took in the accummulated dust and grime. Her eyes lingered a moment on the dead flies caught in cobwebs formed in the corners of the glass panes, then dropped to the floor where sand and grit had somehow blown into the room and now lay in small drifts.
