Slocum and the Spirit Bear (9781101618790) (7 page)

7

Slocum and Ed found the wagons trundling along on the same trail, having made about as much progress as could be expected. As the wagons shambled to a halt, he and Ed were greeted by several questions asking about the howling noises and what some had thought was gunfire crackling in the hills. Slocum kicked around the notion of saying he and Ed had frightened away some wolves by shooting at them, but knew the stranger truth would leak somehow eventually. Since it would only seem worse after having been hidden, he and Ed gave them the bare bones of the story.

“You boys got jumped, huh?” Josiah grunted once the tale had been told.

Putting on a brave face while tying his horse to the lead wagon and climbing into the driver's seat beside his wife, Ed replied, “That's right, but John and I sent them away with their tails between their legs.”

“Didn't kill none of them?”

“At least one was wounded,” Slocum said while tying his horse to the cook's wagon. “Probably more. I'm guessing they were just trying to spook us into offering up some sort of toll for using this trail.”

Tom McCauley had been watching intently. “Did they ask you to pay a toll?”

“Not as such. We didn't give them the opportunity.” Slocum sat up straight and looked at each of the anxious faces in turn. Every man, woman, and child in that wagon train listened intently when he declared, “They took a run at us and we turned them back with nothing but lead in their hides to show for it. All we need to do now is stay alert, which is what we've been doing this whole time.”

“John's right,” Ed told them. “This doesn't change anything. We've made it this far and we'll press on. When the next hardship comes, we'll press through that as well. Once we get to Colorado and divvy up those mining claims, we'll get together and swap stories about this journey for years to come. Tom and Josiah, you men are to take over scouting duty just like we planned. Let's all just keep doing our part and move along. Daylight's burning!”

Most of the sunlight was still being blotted out by the clouds, but some still made it through.

“What about that howling?” James Wilcox asked. Although Theresa wrapped an arm around him and whispered for him to be quiet, the skinny young boy fixed his eyes on Slocum as if the next words he spoke would be gospel.

Meeting the boy's gaze, Slocum told him, “It was just someone all gussied up to catch our attention and frighten us. That's all.”

“You swear?”

“If I knew any more than that, I'd tell you.”

That was good enough for James and it seemed to be good enough for everyone else. As Slocum climbed down from his saddle, Tom and Josiah climbed down from their wagons to untie horses that were kept independent of the wagon teams. After getting himself situated on his horse, Josiah looked in Slocum's direction and grunted, “Yeah. Real good choice to bring you along. Can't think of a better way to spend our money.”

“Shut your mouth, old man,” Tom said as he rode to the head of the wagons. “With all the complaining you do, it's a wonder we haven't cut you loose.”

Josiah laughed to himself and rode on ahead, leaving Tom and everyone else behind.

“Don't mind him,” Theresa said as Slocum climbed up to sit beside her. He almost made it without a hitch, but one of his hands slipped and his weight was shifted to the leg he'd been using to climb aboard the wagon. Feeling a stab of pain through that entire side, he winced and let out a sharp breath. Theresa was right there to grab his arm and help him up. “What's the matter?” she asked. “Are you hurt?”

“Just twisted my leg, is all,” he assured her.

But Theresa wasn't having it. “Come on,” she said. “Follow me.”

“To where?”

“The back of the wagon. I've got some blankets and a few things in there that could help you feel better.”

“I don't need any medicine.”

“Maybe not,” she said. “But you could stand to get off that leg for a spell.”

“Once I can sit down in that seat up there, I'll be off my leg just fine,” Slocum insisted.

“And it'd be even better for you if you lay down and let me take a look at it.”

James clambered up behind his mother to peek over her shoulder. “Go on and go with her, Mr. Slocum. My ma's a real good doctor.”

In response to the question written across Slocum's face, she said, “No, I am not a doctor. I do know a thing or two about mending cuts or tending to bumps and bruises, though.”

“She's real good at it,” James said. “I bet she can get you feeling right as rain if you do what she says!”

“I believe my son just wants to sit up here and drive the wagon on his own, but . . .”

“But,” Slocum conceded, “he does have a point. Fine. I'll get in the back so we can get moving again.”

Despite his efforts to discourage her from helping him, Theresa insisted on draping one of Slocum's arms across her shoulders as if he were nursing a broken leg. Since several of the others were watching, he kept his chin up and walked as steadily as he could while loudly rebuffing her attempts to coddle him. After he and Theresa had disappeared inside her wagon, Slocum heard some snickering at what were surely lewd guesses as to what they were truly doing once that tarp had been pulled across the opening behind them.

The interior of Theresa's wagon was crammed with trunks, boxes, and a few pieces of furniture, all stacked neatly along the back and left side of the wagon. There was an area along the right side, just wide enough for someone to squeeze through if they turned themselves sideways, that she and James had been using for their sleeping quarters. Some of the boy's books and a quilt Theresa had been working on were strewn at the back of the space. She pushed all of that aside so she could reach up to pull down some of the blankets and bedding that had been stuffed on top of the crates.

“Here,” she said while piling some pillows on the floor. “Lay down and put that leg up.”

Slocum did as he was told. “You know,” he grunted, “it's less comfortable wedging myself in here than if I was sitting up front.”

She ignored that and stuffed a few folded blankets beneath his bent knee just in time to get it in place before the wagon started rolling again. “Take off that boot and let me have a look.”

Once again, Slocum followed orders. His foot, ankle, and most of his calf were covered in thick, dark bruises. When she saw that, Theresa let out a hissing breath as if she was the one feeling all of that wear and tear. “What happened?”

“Got hung up in one of my stirrups,” he grudgingly said. “Just like some stupid kid who's never seen the back of a horse before.”

“That happened when you and Ed were ambushed?”

“Yeah.”

“There was more that happened than what you told us, wasn't there?” When Slocum didn't answer, she gave his foot a quick squeeze.

“Ow!”

“Tell me the rest of what happened.”

“There isn't much.” Seeing that her hand was still poised above his sore foot, he quickly added, “Those men who ambushed us were strange, is all. There was a strange smell around them. I thought it was like . . .” Slocum stopped and leaned back into the folded blankets as Theresa hovered less than an inch in front of his face. “What are you doing?”

“There's something on your face.”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. Your eyes are red. Looks like you're tearing up.”

Slocum had felt a burning in his eyes, but hadn't taken much notice of it since his twisted leg had hurt so much. With all the wind in his face while riding and the dirt that had been kicked up in the ambush, he hadn't wasted much thought on why his eyes had been burning. Theresa, on the other hand, was much more concerned.

“Hold still,” she said. Having wrapped a kerchief around one hand, she dabbed at his face and rubbed the bridge of his nose as well as his cheeks and brow. “There's something on you. Did you get any in your eyes?”

“I think it's in there now,” he said. “In fact . . . damn! It burns.”

“Don't rub it. You'll only make it worse.”

“Can you tell what it is?”

She brought the kerchief to her nose and sniffed it tentatively. “Smells like some kind of sap. No . . . maybe some sort of glue?”

“Can't be glue. Let me see.” Slocum sat up so he could smell the kerchief for himself. Although he couldn't tell exactly what it was, the scent sure brought back memories. “That's what we smelled around those bushwhackers,” he said as he slumped back into the makeshift bed. The scent was weaker than before, but very distinctive.

“Stop trying to rub at those eyes,” she said.

Slocum would have insisted that he hadn't done any such thing, but felt her fingers wrap around his wrist to pull his hand away from where it had been poised above his face. At that moment, he couldn't help thinking back to the times when he'd seen Ed doing that very same thing after the ambush. At the time, he'd thought Ed was fussing with a scratch or had gotten so rattled that his emotions had gotten the better of him. But Ed hadn't been cut in the face and he sure wasn't the sort to cry like a baby when things took a turn for the worse. In fact, Slocum was starting to feel badly for considering those possibilities where Ed was concerned.

“Do you have a mirror?” he asked.

“Somewhere in here, I do,” she replied with a shrug. “But somewhere in here, I've got just about one of everything. What do you want a mirror for?”

“To see if there's more of that stuff on my face.”

“I'm not about to root through everything just for that. Sit still,” she told him as she scooted in closer to him. “I'll take another look.”

She braced herself with one arm on either side of him and leaned in close enough for Slocum to feel the warmth of her body, the soft touch of her breasts against his chest, and the delicate brush of her hair against his cheek. The more he resisted the urge to kiss her, the more difficult that task became. Finally, he gave in to the urge by placing a hand on the back of her head and drawing her closer so he could press his lips against hers.

Theresa responded out of instinct. Her arms wrapped around him as best they could considering the awkward way he was propped up on all those folded blankets. Her body pushed in even closer to him and she tilted her head to an angle that allowed her to kiss him even deeper. When Slocum opened his mouth, she was quick to follow suit and the first to slip her tongue against his lips.

They might have gotten even more carried away if she hadn't accidentally dug her knee into his aching leg while trying to straddle him. When Slocum turned his head away and grunted in pain, she winced and covered her mouth.

“I'm so sorry,” she said through her fingers. “Did I hurt you?”

“No . . . just . . . just get off my leg.”

She crawled off as quickly as she could to sit beside him on a crate of books and papers. Placing a comforting hand upon his chest, she rubbed him and said, “I didn't mean to. I shouldn't have . . .”

“It's all right,” he said. “I'm the one who started it. Did you see any more of that stuff on me?”

She laughed quietly. “Actually, I wasn't looking for it. You startled me and I got a bit swept up. Here . . . let me take another look.”

When she closed in on him this time, she did so as if she was trying not to break him. Her hands were placed on either side of his head and she examined him with calmer, more scrutinizing eyes. Even then, Slocum couldn't help taking a moment to admire her beauty.

“There's streaks of it here and there,” she said. Her fingers wandered along his ears and through his hair. Before Slocum could make sure she was still on task, she told him, “There's a lot more back here. Didn't see it before because your hair was covering it and it mixed with some dirt and such. Let me get you cleaned up.”

Using some water from a canteen, she wet the kerchief and proceeded to wipe away the trail dust as well as the stuff that had been smeared on him. “Whatever this is,” she said while rubbing vigorously at the side of his face, “it's sticky. Almost like tar or some kind of syrup.”

“That'd be the worst-tasting syrup I ever heard of,” Slocum said.

“It sure would. I imagine it must feel pretty good to get this stuff off of you.”

“It does. I'm feeling a lot better than before. You were right about putting this leg up.”

“I'm amazed you rode all the way back with that kind of injury. I knocked my shoulder out of joint once and nearly passed out from the pain. Even after it was put back right again, I was still dizzy for a few hours.”

“This wasn't nearly as serious as that,” Slocum told her.

Ever since the wagons had gotten moving again, Slocum and Theresa had been rocked back and forth within the confined space. The boxes and furniture around them creaked or groaned every now and then, but had been packed too tightly for them to worry about it falling over. As she looked down at him, the wagon rolled over a particularly deep rut in the trail that knocked her off her balance. He took advantage of the moment by wrapping her up in his arms once more and pulling her on top of him. Since she was lying mostly on her side, there was no danger of her inadvertently jabbing his leg.

“If I talked harshly to you when I was climbing into the wagon,” Slocum said, “it was just for the benefit of the others.”

“Oh. So everyone else benefited from watching you act like an ass?”

He laughed and settled into the bed a bit more. “I can only imagine what everyone was saying after they heard that howl and saw me and Ed ride off the way we did.”

“We've been through a lot since we all left our homes, John. We've seen and heard worse than that. When the wagons caught fire and Peter Bourne was caught in the flames. He . . . it was . . .” She closed her eyes and drew a steadying breath. Nestling within Slocum's embrace comforted her enough to go on. “It was terrible. But that howling . . . was strange.”