Mountain Rose (19 page)

Will, still wearing a relaxed expression, tamped tobacco into a clay pipe. Chase's face, however, wore a harrassed look. Why had he agreed to saddle himself with a girl he did not know? And worse, what would Raegan think when he came riding in with her? Nothing good, he knew. She had probably consigned him to hell more than once already.

Daniels suddenly paused in lighting his pipe and cocked his head to listen. "She's here," he said in a low, nervous voice, and threw the unused flaming twig back into the fire.

A girl, the like of which Chase had never seen before, bounded into the cave, her narrow face lit with excitement. "Guess what, Paw," she exclaimed, then grew silent, a wariness jumping into her eyes when she noted the stranger sitting in her chair.

In the seconds before Will introduced his granddaughter, she and Chase stared at each other. Chase saw brown eyes that seemed too large in the small, deeply tanned face, and if the black, tangled mass of hair had ever known the pull of a brush, it had been a long time ago.

She was not tall, but her lithe slenderness in the close-fitting buckskins gave her that appearance. His eyes dropped to the knife stuck in her belt, a rifle in one hand, and a limp duck in the other. What kind of wild creature had Will Daniels stuck him with? he wondered, almost in a panic.

"We got company, Star," Will said with a cheerfulness that to a keen ear would sound a little

forced. "Meet Chase Donlin. He's spendin' the night with us."

The brown eyes narrowed suspiciously on Chase for several seconds. Finally, barely nodding her head in his direction, the girl walked into a dark recess of the cave and there came the sound of splashing water. She came out a moment later, drying her hands on a coarse towel.

As she rattled tin plates and flatware, setting the table, Will looked at Chase apologetically and said in low tones, "Don't pay any attention to her churlish manner. She don't see many strangers and she's leary of them. She'll loosen up when she gets to know you."

Chase merely nodding, wondering again what he had gotten himself into.

When the Wild Child, as Chase privately called her, lifted the pot off the fire and placed it on the table with a dull thud, Will stood up. "Come on, Donlin, time to eat."

Chase would have liked to wash his hands, but one look at Star's scowling face made him give up the wish. He sat down on the bench next to Will, and when the old man shoved the pot in front of him, he filled his plate with the fragrant stew. Star slapped a half loaf of sourdough bread on the table then, drawing her knife, sliced it into thick slabs. As he helped himself to a piece, Chase hoped the knife hadn't skinned an animal recently.

He hadn't expected Star to eat with them— it was clear she had taken an instant dislike to him—but she sat down on the opposite bench and heaped her plate high with the meat, potatoes, and wild onions.

As was the custom with back hill-people, there was no conversation as the meal was eaten.

And even after Chase and Will left the table later, Will lighting the pipe he'd already prepared and Chase rolling a cigarette, the talk between them was of little importance. Chase knew the old man's mind was on how to tell his granddaughter his plans for her. He wasn't surprised when the old fellow sighed raggedly when Star finished washing the few utensils used and came to sit on the raised hearth on his side.

The girl hadn't spoken except for the few words on entering the cave. She now looked at her grandfather and asked, "What's botherin' you, Paw? You're lookin' hang-dog like Scrounge does when he's been up to mischief." She scratched the old dog's ears.

Will passed a gnarled hand over his chin, then, his scarred and grizzled face grave and avoiding the girl's eyes, he said, "In a couple weeks, I'll be leavin' to rendezvous with the other trappers to swap and sell our winter catch. I'll be gone for a spell, and I want you to go home with Donlin here, and stay at his place for a while."

Star stared at Will as though he had lost his mind. Several tense seconds passed, then, her eyes challenging, Star demanded, "Why can't I come with you? I always have before."

Will nodded. "I know that, and the last time I almost come to blows with a couple trappers who had their eyes on you." He laid a hand on her knee. "In the past couple years, honey.

you've blossomed into a woman and the men ain't missed that fact." He looked at her earnestly. "I'm too old, child, to involve myself in a rough-and-tumble knife fight. I'd be killed for sure. What would become of you then?"

"But, Paw!" the two words came out on a wail. "You wouldn't have to fight. I can take care of myself. I'm as good as any man with a knife."

"I'll grant you that's the truth, but, Star, you're half those men's size and don't have half their strength. What would you do if three of them come at you at once? You know as well as I do that they're a rough bunch, and usually drunk at these meetins'. A man with his brain muddled by drink ain't his usual self. Where ordinarily he'd be too shy to even look at you, drink would give him the courage to rape you, given the chance."

"Then I'll stay at the Indian village until you get back," Star said after Will's long catalogue of the dangers she would face if she accompanied him to the yearly rendezvous had come to an end.

"No, you'll not do that! I won't have you comin' home with your hair full of lice, filled with their slovenly ways."

"Then I'll stay here with—"

"You'll go with Donlin, and that's the end of it!" Daniels glared at at the girl, a look that she had learned to respect.

Suddenly, tears were leaving dirty streaks down Star's face. With a sigh, Will stood up and went to her. He pressed her head against his chest and stroked her hair, his face as compassionate as it had been fierce moments ago.

"You'll be just fine with Donlin and his woman. You'll be havin' such a good time, you won't give me and Scrounge a second thought."

Star wiped a fist across her wet eyes. "I'll be takin' Scrounge with me."

Chase spoke for the first time since the argument began. "That would be out of the question, Star," he said gently. "My Raegan has a pet wolf. He'd kill your old dog the minute he laid eyes on him."

Interest sparked the girl's tear-red eyes. "A wolf for a pet?" she asked, her tone saying she was inclined to doubt it. "You mean a dog with some wolf in him, don't you?"

Chase grinned. "I know it's hard to believe, but Lobo is all wolf. Raegan raised him from a very young cub after his mother was killed."

Star studied Chase's face a minute, then blurted out, "Is your Raegan old like you?"

Chase's lips twisted in amusement as he ran a hand over his whiskered face. To a sixteen-year- old, he probably looked ancient. "Raegan is only two years older than you, Star," he answered.

"There, you see." Will sat back down. "You'll have that female friend you're always yammerin' about."

The girl's shoulders sagged and her head bent. "I reckon."

Chase looked at the old man and saw his Adam's apple bobbling up and down as he swallowed back the tears in his throat. He knew intuitively that Will was saying goodbye to his beloved granddaughter, that he wouldn't be here in the morning when Chase and Star rose.

Blinking rapidly, Will stood up and said gruffly, "Time we got to bed. You sleep with me, Star, and give Donlin your bed." As Star obediently walked across the floor to one of the beds, Will moved to the mouth of the cave and dragged a heavy gate across the opening. After he fastened it with a heavy chain, he blew out two of the lanterns, leaving a third one lit. He slid off his moccasins, said good night to Chase, and climbed into the swing-bed.

"Move over, Star," he grouched as he stretched his old bones. "You're hoggin' my side of the bed."

The mattress rustled a minute as the girl gave her bed partner more room, then it grew quiet in the cave except for Will's rumbling snores—and what sounded suspiciously like feminine sobs.

Chase stood and stretched, ready to test the unusual bed. Unlike the old man and the girl, he shucked down to his underwear before carefully easing onto the mattress of sweet-smelling hay.

Surprisingly, he found the unique bed very comfortable as it swung gently back and forth. Within minutes his eyes closed in sleep.

The next morning when he awakened, he found, as he had expected, that the old man and the dog were missing from the cave. Star had lit another lantern, and by its light she tended a skillet of salt pork. She looked over at the bed when she heard the ropes squeak as he sat up. Noting his searching, she said quietly, "He's gone. Paw hates goodbyes."

When she moved across the floor to set the table, Chase hurriedly slipped into his buckskins, anxious to get started. He wanted to catch the preacher before he left the area.

The meat and bread and coffee were quickly consumed and they were ready to leave. Star gave the big room a lingering look, then, picking up her rifle, she walked down the narrow stone tunnel to where the horses were penned.

"If it's all right with you, Star, we'll move along smartly," Chase said, tightening Sampson's belly cinch. "We have at least twenty miles to travel, and I want to cover it as quickly as possible."

Star nodded and swung onto the sorrel's back. When they rode out of the cave, Chase leading the way, Star left the gate open. "You forgot to close the gate," Chase reminded her.

"It's all right," she answered. "Don't look, but Paw is on the next hill watchin' us. He'll come down and close it as soon as we are out of sight."

The girl was probably right, Chase thought. He could almost feel the old man's eyes boring into his back, wondering belatedly if he had made a mistake sending his granddaughter off with a stranger.

He nudged Sampson with his heel and led off at a fast clip, Star's stallion easily keeping up with him.

Raegan came to a long row of prepared soil and dropped two beans into the shallow trench Jamie had marked off. One chop of the hoe covered the seeds with the rich soil. She lightly stepped on the spot as Jamie had taught her.

"There should be no air pockets around the seeds," he'd explained, "otherwise they'll never

sprout and push through the ground."

She paused and leaned on the hoe handle, wiping an arm across her sweating forehead. She was getting quite proficient at gardening, and well she should, she thought half angrily. She and Jamie had been out here working for a day and a half now, ever since Chase rode away without a word.

Raegan looked down the long row of turned-over sod, resting her eyes on Jamie as he turned at the end of the row and began preparing another long stretch in which he'd said they'd plant corn. He was so sweet, so considerate, she thought, remembering how he had tried to console her yesterday morning after Chase stormed out of the cabin. He had insisted that Chase cared for her, cared deeply. "I know the man," he'd added. "He might not realize it yet, but it will come to him, and when it does you're gonna see a changed man."

Raegan dropped the hoe and sat down beneath the big Cottonwood shading one end of the garden. She dragged the old hat Jamie had found for her off her head and ran her fingers through her sweaty hair. As the tree-cooled air wafted over her face, Lobo flopped down beside her. She dropped a hand on his finely shaped head, her lips twisting in a mirthless smile. She had seen no evidence of Chase's caring for her. To her it seemed just the opposite. Last night, after they had made love, it had sounded like hate in his voice as he let her know how wrong they had acted. He hadn't said so, but she knew he put all the blame on her. If she hadn't come into his

room, he would have never made love to her.

"Oh, Lobo," she dropped her chin on her bent knees, "what am I going to do?" Her whispered wail had barely drifted away when Jamie came hurrying toward her.

"You'd better go in and wash your hands. I hear company comin'."

She scrambled to her feet, her heart racing. Was Chase finally coming home?

"It's young Johnny, Henry Jones's stepson," Jamie hurried to tell her when he saw the hopeful look on her face. "And he's in an all-fired hurry. I didn't think that old mule of theirs could move that fast."

The aged animal slid to a stop in the yard, its sides heaving as Johnny, his face ashen, slid from its back. The teenager stood before Raegan and Jamie, nervously twisting an old felt hat between his fingers. When he didn't speak, only trying to swallow his Adam's apple, Jamie took pity on the gangly youth.

"What brings you here, son?" he asked. "You look a little pale. Is everything all right at your place?"

Johnny shook his shaggy head. "No, they ain't, Jamie." He swallowed a couple times then blurted out, "The Tillamooks done killed my stepfather."

Raegan gasped and dread jumped into Jamie's eyes. The Tillamooks had started their war of revenge.

"You're sure it was Tillamooks, Johnny?" Jamie asked after a moment, for Henry Jones was hated and despised by half the men in the area. He had cheated and stolen from just about all his

Norah Hess

neighbors. Any one of them, in a fit of anger, could have done him in. "It could have been some enemy of Henry's that killed him," Jamie suggested.

" 'Twas Tillamooks," Johnny declared vehemently, looking at Jamie but avoiding his eyes. "I saw two of them runnin' off through the woods right after I heard Henry yell."

"Scalped him, did they?" Jamie studied the young man's face, wondering about the red bruise on his cheekbone. Whatever its cause, it had been done recently, sometime this morning.

Hank shook his head. "They just stabbed him in the back . . . twice."

"That's strange." Jamie continued to watch the teenager. "Tillamooks always scalp their victims."

"I guess I scared them away before they could do it," Johnny muttered, still refusing to meet Jamie's eyes.

Jamie didn't say it, but he thought it highly unlikly that this thin teenager would scare away two strong braves on the warpath. If anything, they'd have killed him too. Something wasn't quite right with his stoiy.

He reached down and pulled Raegan to her feet. "I'm goin' to go with the boy to take a look at Henry. You take Lobo and go into the cabin and bolt the door. I won't be gone too long."

When he reached for his gun and holster hanging from a tree branch, Raegan said, a worried frown on her forehead, "Be careful, Jamie, those two Indians may still be lurking around the Jones cabin."

"Somehow I doubt that," Jamie answered, preoccupied.

Jamie mounted and pulled the boy up behind him. Together, they rode through the woods to Jones's cabin.

With no word spoken between them, Johnny directed Jamie to where fat, bald Henry Jones lay sprawled on his stomach in a small clearing. His arms were outstretched, leaves and pine needles clutched in his fists.

The man was dead, Jamie could tell from the saddle. The body lay too still. He felt the nervous shudder that passed through the thin frame sitting behind him, and the suspicion that had taken hold of him back at the cabin grew.

Before dismounting, Jamie carefully scanned the area around the dead man. He didn't see one moccasin track. There was only the heavy imprint of Henry's big boots and two sets of bare feet. The larger ones belonged to Johnny, he judged, but the other set were those of a child. Strange.

As he swung out of the saddle, Johnny slid down beside him. When he knelt beside the body, Johnny moved to stand at his stepfather's head. There was no expression on his face when Jamie looked up at him, but he caught the hate that flickered in the boy's eyes.

He didn't bother to lift up the blood-soaked shirt to look at the wound that had killed the man. He knew what he would find. Stab wounds from a broad-bladed Bowie. A white man's weapon.

Jamie rose slowly to his feet and looked soberly at Johnny. "You did it, didn't you, son?" he asked gently.

Johnny began shaking his head in violent denial. But as Jamie continued to look at him, his eyes denying the boy's denial, the young man's face suddenly crumbled. He dropped to his knees, his bony shoulders shaking as he sobbed out what had happened.

"I was out huntin' when I heard my little sister cryin', 'You're hurtin' me, Henry. Please stop.' I knew right off what was happenin'. The bastard was tryin' to use her."

He looked up at Johnny, tears making dirty streaks down his thin face. "For God's sake, Jamie, Vera is only nine years old. Little and scrawny besides. He would have killed her, or at least ruined her.

"I started poundin' on his back, tiyin' to drag him off her. He just laughed and hit me in the face with his fist." He gingerly touched the angry-looking mark on his cheek. He scrubbed at his eyes with the heels of his hands, then whispered hoarsely, "It was like someone else drew their knife and stabbed him in the back."

When sobs continued to shake the thin body, Jamie drew the boy into his arms and said quietly, "You did what you had to do, Johnny. There's not a man or woman in these hills would blame you for what you've done."

When Johnny grew quiet and his body stopped shaking, Jamie released him and stood up. "However, kid," he said, "we'll just let the folks around here think that the Tillamooks done it. You can tell your Maw the truth if you want to." Jamie asked, "Can you trust your little sister not to tell the truth of it?"

Johnny nodded eagerly. "Vera would die before she'd tell."

"All right then, let's get him on your mule and take him home."

Three dirty, ragged children burst from the dilapidated shack, young Vera bringing up the rear. They came to an abrupt stop, bumping into each other as they caught sight of Henry's limp body dangling across the mule's back. Within seconds, Meg Jones and her two older daughters, Nellie and Fanny, stepped through the door. Meg, who was somewhere in her thirties but looked more like fifty, stepped off the rotting porch. She walked over to her husband and, grasping a handful of his hair, lifted his head to stare into his sightless eyes. "What happened to him, Johnny?" she asked tonelessly.

"The Tillamooks got him, Ma," Johnny answered, putting an arm around his little sister Vera, who had sidled up to him. A thin line of dried blood ran down the inside of her skinny leg.

"Is that so?" Meg said with no more emotion than if her son had informed her that he had killed a snake. She didn't lower her husband's head gently back to the horse, but dropped it as though ridding herself of some insignficant object.

She stepped back from the horse and Jamie wondered at the transformation that came over her thin face. The deadness in her eyes had lightened, and a glimmer of hope entered them. As he watched, her narrow shoulders straightened, and the children gaped at her as, in a strong voice, she began issuing orders. Never before had they heard her use that commanding tone.

"You children stand back out of the way and stop your gawkin'." She roughly shoved them to one side. "Jamie"—she turned to him—"if you'll