Nate was eager to reach Tricky Dick’s and let his family know he was alive and well. He chafed at the slow crossing of the Mississippi River, and once out of the rowboat took off at a rapid clip, his long legs eating up the distance. Shakespeare effortlessly stayed by his side, but Tricky Dick had a difficult time trying to keep up and protested mildly several times.
At last they came to the tree-lined lane on which the Harrington house was located and Nate took the lead, making for the front door with a broad smile on his face. Winona and Zach would be overjoyed! And in a few weeks, after Doctor Sawyer judged Winona fit for travel, they would return to their rustic cabin in the majestic Rocky Mountains and never, ever visit so-called civilization again.
He burst into the house and opened his mouth to announce his arrival. But the sight of Winona, Zach, Blue Water Woman, and Ruth all seated at the kitchen table with their wrists tied behind their backs caused him to stop so abruptly he almost tripped over his own feet. “What in?” he blurted out, and a hard object jammed into his spine.
“We meet again, Grizzly Killer.”
Nate held himself perfectly still, chilled by the malice in the familiar voice. Behind him arose a startled exclamation from Tricky Dick, and then a warning from the intruder.
“Make one move, either of you, and I will blow this son of a bitch in half! Put your weapons on the floor and go over by the table.”
Everyone knew the threat would be carried out. Nate heard scraping noises as the rifles and pistols were deposited, then watched as his friends came past him. Tricky Dick appeared apprehensive. Shakespeare was clearly furious.
“Now turn around, bastard!”
Nate obliged, keeping his hands out from his sides, and calmly returned the malevolent stare of Robert Campbell. “I should have expected you to show up here.”
“It took me a while to learn where you were staying,” Campbell replied, smirking. “I was spying on this house when you left earlier, and figured I’d prepare a proper welcome for you when you returned.”
“What do you plan to do?” Nate asked. He noticed Campbell had previously cocked the rifle now aimed at his stomach, and all it would take was a slight tug on the trigger to send him into eternity.
“That should be obvious. I’ve come to kill you.”
“Then let the others go. They’re not part of this.”
“I have no intention of laying a finger on the women and your brat,” Campbell said scornfully. “But McNair and Harrington are another matter. They might try to get revenge later. I can’t let them live.”
“What if they pledge their word not to come after you?” Nate proposed, trying to stall, to give himself time to devise a plan. His life hung in the balance. Unless he could trick Campbell into lowering his guard for an instant, his wife and son would see him slain in cold blood.
“Not good enough,” Campbell said. “Harrington might keep his promise, but not McNair. He’ll agree to anything just so he can hunt me down later.”
Nate had an urge to swat the rifle aside and pounce, but common sense dictated he hold still for the time being. Even if he deflected the barrel, Campbell would still get off a shot, and at such short range he was bound to be seriously wounded or worse.
“So you first,” Campbell said, and tapped the butt of his rifle against one of the two flintlocks tucked under his belt. “Then your good friends.” He smiled. “You have no idea how much I’ve anticipated getting even, how I’ve longed to look you in the face as you die.”
“You should have left well enough alone.”
Campbell took a step backwards, nearer the open door, and angrily wagged the rifle. “What? And continue to have everyone laugh at me behind my back because I could never get the best of the high and mighty Grizzly Killer?”
“No one ever made fun of you,” Shakespeare spoke up.
“I know better!” Campbell snarled. “I could see the laughter in their eyes when they walked by and hear them whispering when my back was turned. I was the laughingstock of the Rendezvous and I knew it!” An enraged gleam animated his eyes and he seemed on the verge of firing.
Nate girded himself to spring. They wouldn’t be able to keep Campbell talking indefinitely, and if he took the first shot it would leave Shakespeare and Tricky Dick free to jump on Campbell before the man could pull a pistol. He judged the sacrifice worthwhile if it spared the lives of his companions.
“With you out of the way,” Campbell was saying, “next year I’ll be the big man at the Rendezvous. I’ll beat everyone at wrestling and horse racing and I’ll win a bundle of money.”
“All this trouble because you lost a few wrestling matches and a horse race,” Nate remarked bitterly.
“It’s more than that, you fool. In the mountains a man is only as good as his reputation, and you ruined mine by beating me.”
“You’re wrong. All we engaged in were friendly contests, nothing more. No one cared much one way or the other who won.”
“I cared!” Campbell practically roared.
Nate was ready. He had tensed to leap when from behind Robert Campbell a fierce growl filled the doorway. Instinctively, Campbell glanced over his shoulder, and in that brief interval Nate lunged and plowed into his nemesis, wrapping his brawny arms around Campbell’s waist and bearing both of them to the floor near the door. He glimpsed Samson, who must have come back from rabbit-hunting again in the tract of woods near the Harrington house. Then an elbow caught him on the jaw and bright stars swirled before his eyes.
He lashed out in pure reflex and struck Campbell on the chin. A knee hit his inner thigh and he began to push up off the floor; unexpectedly Campbell let go of the rifle and a knife materialized in its place. With a flick of his right hand Nate seized Campbell’s wrist and held the knife at bay even as Campbell grasped his other arm. They became locked in a death struggle, each exerting himself to the utmost. As he already knew, Campbell was incredibly strong and applied inexorable pressure, slowly but surely driving the gleaming tip of the blade toward Nate’s exposed throat.
Nate strained as never before. Every muscle was employed. His face became bright red and his veins bulged. But he was unable to stop the knife from edging closer. Eight inches separated his jugular from the blade, then six and four and two. In a bold gamble he suddenly slid his hand higher on Campbell’s wrist, giving himself better leverage, and wrenched sharply, twisting
Campbell’s arm and the knife toward Campbell as he shoved downward with all of the power in his physique.
Caught by surprise, Robert Campbell failed to counter the move. He screeched as the blade sank to the hilt into his chest, then roared with rage as he shoved Nate from him and tried to rise to his feet.
Nate drew his tomahawk. He crouched, set to attack, but Campbell was in no shape to continue the fight. Sputtering, Campbell rolled onto his side and succeeded in rising to his knees in a costly effort that brought a spurt of blood from his nostrils and mouth.
“No!” Campbell cried.
No one else spoke.
“I won’t die now!” Campbell bellowed, and attempted to stand. His knife fell from his weakened fingers and he swayed as if dizzy. “No!” he cried once more, and turned a mask of vile abhorrence on Nate. “You!” he said, jabbing a finger. “You so”
Nate saw Campbell stiffen, heard him gurgle, and straightened as Campbell collapsed, exhaled, and died. He stepped up to the body and nudged it twice to be certain before drawing the knife out of Campbell’s chest and wiping the blade clean on his foe’s shirt.
Tricky Dick Harrington came over, gaping first at Campbell and then at Nate. He mustered a feeble smile and said, “Don’t take me wrong, Nate, but I sure am glad you don’t visit all that often. You have a born knack for getting into more trouble than any man I’ve ever met.”
“I know,” Nate said, and emphasized softly. “Believe me, I know.”
Weeks passed.
During that time Nate ministered to Winona as if she were a little girl instead of his wife, always there to fetch her a drink or food or whatever she might need. When not tending her he sat around and chatted with Shakespeare and Tricky Dick, and it was during one of these discussions he learned about Shakespeare’s gout. Other than a few jests, he let his mentor off easy.
Finally came the day when Doctor Sawyer announced that Winona was fit to handle the long ride across the plains to the mountains. It was a sunny Wednesday afternoon and Nate walked Sawyer to the lane.
“I can’t ever properly thank you for all you’ve done for us. You should have let me pay you more.”
The doctor laughed. “How refreshing! A lot of my patients are always complaining they can’t pay because of all their debts. Perhaps they’ll follow your example.”
Nate held out his hand. “We’ll never forget your kindness.” They shook, and he stood and watched the physician depart. As Sawyer reached the corner another man appeared and stopped the doctor, apparently to ask a question. Sawyer turned and pointed at Nate.
The man smiled and hurried forward. A stocky fellow with white hair and a gray mustache, he wore fine but rumpled clothes and had a brown leather satchel slung over his right shoulder. As he neared Nate he doffed his hat and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his perspiring brow. “Pardon me, sir. But are you Nathaniel King?”
“I am.”
“My name is Howard Worthington. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but I was your father’s attorney at the time he passed on.”
“Adeline told me,” Nate said, shaking.
“Good. How is she, by the way? It was her letter that brought me to St. Louis, and when I went to the Debussy estate where she was supposed to be staying, I found the federal authorities had taken it over and arrested a goodly number of people. Some horrid business about importing slaves, I believe. Anyway, through an officer I learned that Adeline frequented an establishment called the Devil Tavern, and there I learned from a gentleman named Hamilton that you were staying at Richard Harrington’s.” He paused long enough to take a breath and glance at the house. “And here I am. That fine man back there indicated who you were. I hope you don’t mind my informal manner, but I feel as if I know you after all your father told me about your upbringing.”
Nate was amused by the attorney’s rapid-fire style of speech. He realized that Worthington hadn’t bothered to wait for an answer about Adeline, and wondered if the man was really interested in her welfare.
“It has been extremely difficult tracing your whereabouts,” Worthington briskly went on. “You have no idea how hard I have been working on this case. If I’d known it was going
to be so taxing, I might have refused to represent your father.” He replaced his hat. “Dear man that he was, he entrusted me with executing his last will and testament, but I can’t collect my full fee until the estate has finally been settled.”
The attorney took another breath and Nate took advantage to get a word in edgewise. “Is it true he left a substantial inheritance?”
“What? Oh, yes. Adeline tell you that, did she? Between the money your father made investing and the sale of the house as stipulated in his will, whoever receives the inheritance stands to collect one hundred and four thousand dollars.”
Nate whistled.
“Yes, sir. Your father was much wiser than Adeline’s father in my opinion.”
“How so?”
“Didn’t she tell you? Perhaps not, given the circumstances. But her father speculated heavily after reaping hefty profits from real estate enterprises involving your father. He lost practically every penny,” Worthington disclosed. He leaned forward to whisper in confidence, “Which explains why Adeline took up with that Rhey Debussy character. Rumor has it she thought he was rich and would restore her family’s fortune.”
So Adeline had married Rhey for his presumed wealth even as he had married her for the same reason. Nate grinned at the irony.
“But I digress,” Worthington said, unslinging the satchel. “I’m sure you’re more interested in the will. The money is yours provided you meet one stipulation.” He opened the flap top and took out a folded sheet of paper. “It’s all explained in this letter your father wrote.”
Feeling unaccountably nervous, Nate took the paper and stepped to one side. He unfolded it, read the heading, and felt conflicting emotions tear at his heart. Then he plunged ahead, reading quickly:
Dearest Son:
I write this on my deathbed, the first communication we have had in years. The fault, however, is not mine. Had you been a dutiful son and stayed at home we would never have suffered so bitter an estrangement.
Here is your chance to redeem yourself. I’ve always cared for you the most of all my sons, and I prove this now by the offer I’m making.
Every cent I’ve made is yours provided you meet one small condition. You must forsake living in the wilderness like a simple savage and return to New York City. Prove your mettle by making something of yourself. Erase the dark blot put on our family name by yourself and my misguided brother Zeke.
None of my sons have turned out as I had hoped. You have all let me down with your stubbornness and stupidity. Prove that you, at least, have some sense. Accept my offer. Go into business for yourself. Justify my selfless love. Be a man for once.
Your devoted father
Nate stared at the scrawled signature for the longest while, swept up in a whirlpool of memories and feelings and thoughts. Only when the attorney coughed did he look up.
“Well?” Worthington prompted eagerly. “What is your decision?”
“Just this,” Nate said, and methodically tore the letter into tiny pieces that drifted to the ground around his feet.
Worthington conveyed sincere shock. “Do you realize what you have done? Now your brothers stand to inherit the money.”
“Thank you for traveling so far to see me,” Nate said, and headed toward the house where Winona was waiting in the entrance.
“Do you realize what you have done?” Worthington called after him.
Nate paid no attention. He inhaled deeply, savoring the scent of the grass and the trees and a hint of moisture wafting from the Mississippi River. At the doorway he halted and put his hands on Winona’s waist. “I love you,” he said.
“What was that all about?”
“Nothing,” Nate said. “Nothing at all.” He gave her a kiss to stifle further questions, then stood back and smiled. “I’m ready to go home. How about you?”
“I was waiting for you to ask.”