Chapter 9

A chilling rain had set in right after they left Pumpkin Creek and Luke unrolled the canvas he had removed from Mary Beth’s wagon. Half of it was used as a tent for her when they camped. The other half he had cut into two pieces. With one, he fashioned a raincoat to drape over her head and shoulders. The other was secured over the packs on the extra horse. For his own protection against the rain, he always carried a cloak made out of deer hide. The rain never let up throughout the morning as they continued on a northwest course, and it was close to noon before it began to taper off. By the time they reached the east bank of the Tongue River, horses and riders were both ready to stop and rest.

After Luke took a good look around them, he picked a spot on the west bank, and they crossed over. Mary Beth was bone-weary, but after Luke got a fire going, she rallied to take on the chore of fixing something for them to eat while he removed the packs and the saddle from their horses. “We’ll stop here for a spell and give you a chance to rest up,” he told her. His demeanor also told her that he was no longer worried about being followed by the two Sioux warriors. Enough time had passed since their flight from the Powder to suggest that they had left that danger behind them. Added to that was the possibility that the morning rain had helped to obliterate their tracks. In spite of the improvement in their situation, Mary Beth was still unable to discard the feeling of tension that had remained with her ever since David’s death—for she was still a woman alone with a man as close to a wild savage as she had ever met in her entire life. Now that imminent danger was no longer upon them, would he attempt to take advantage of her as a savage might? As if intercepting her thoughts, he turned at that moment to gaze at her. After a lengthy pause, he said, “You look like you need some extra time to rest. We’ll stay an extra night here.”

“All right,” she replied hesitantly, “if you think that’s best, but I’m not too tired to go on right now.”

He continued to gaze intensely at her for a few moments longer, then said, “It’s best we stay here and rest. Then we’ll head for the Yellowstone.”

He seemed forceful in his tone. She wasn’t sure she liked it, for it might be a sign that he had things on his mind now other than their escape from the Sioux. Suddenly she felt exhausted. If what she feared was true, there was very little she could do to stop him. Sooner or later she was going to find out what was on his mind. It might as well be sooner. Weary from carrying such thoughts of fear of the man, she poured them out on the ground between them. “I’m afraid of you,” she blurted. “Do I need to be?”

Her blunt statement caught him completely by surprise and his eyes opened wide. “Why, no, ma’am,” he replied, baffled by the question. “Why’d you think you did?”

She stared at him, half expecting him to fly into a rage, but the genuine astonishment she read in his eyes was enough to finally convince her that she had made a gross misjudgment of the man. “I swear . . . ,” she started to apologize, realizing she had let her fears and imagination create a ridiculous picture. Suddenly she found the situation hilarious and started to laugh uncontrollably, unable to finish her remark. His bewildered reaction to her laughing fit almost convinced her that, contrary to the fears she had harbored, he might be more afraid of her. Her nerves, strained to the point of exhaustion by the harrowing events of the last several days, seemed to release their tension with her laughter. He stood, perplexed, watching and wondering if the woman really had gone mad, accustomed as he was to the resolute reaction of Crow or Cheyenne women when faced with danger. Although he was born a white man, he had always lived with one Indian tribe or another. This was his first exposure to a white woman and he had wondered if they were different. Maybe she was not really mad. Maybe she was just white.

When finally she was able to recover from the massive release of the fear she had built up, she dropped to the ground, feeling very much like a rag, but with a great sense of relief, for she felt safe with her wild man for the first time. She wiped her eyes with her sleeves, and released a long sigh that signaled the end of her attack. “Mr. Sunday,” she stated in straightforward words, “I apologize for not trusting you completely, for thinking you might rob me or harm me. I promise I won’t misjudge you again.”

“Luke,” he reminded her again. “There ain’t no Mr. Sunday.”

His reply brought yet another smile to her face. “Luke,” she repeated. “Thank you for all you have done for David and me.”

“I ain’t got you there yet,” he reminded her.

Her smile broadened. “Even so,” she said, “I thank you.” She realized that he didn’t really know how to accept thanks for doing something he was being paid to do. “Now, let’s see if I can cook up some more of that meat we’re packing, and if the flour stayed dry, maybe I can come up with something to go with it.”

Things went better for both of them after that. Mary Beth no longer tried to keep one eye on Luke, secure in the belief that her welfare was his main concern. As for Luke, he couldn’t help noticing the change in her manner, and that made it more comfortable for him. After spending an extra day at the camp on the Tongue River, they started out on a course that led them to the northwest, leaving the river. One day’s ride brought them close to the Yellowstone at the point where Rosebud Creek emptied into it. There had been no sign of Indian travel between the Tongue and the Yellowstone except for one trail heading west where unshod ponies, some pulling travois, had passed. Luke determined that the trail was several days old. They continued through a line of low hills until he figured they could be no farther than a mile or two from the river, so he turned the gray toward the slope of the highest ridge and climbed to the top. From there, they could see the wide, peaceful river as it flowed snakelike through the high plains of Montana Territory.

While Luke was intent upon searching the river for as far as he could see, east and west, for any sign of Indian camps, Mary Beth was struck by the beauty of it. “I didn’t know it was so big,” she said. “It’s so wide and peaceful.”

“I reckon it is peaceful on this part of it,” Luke allowed, “but it ain’t that peaceful back up in the mountains where it starts out.”

She turned to look at him then. “You’ve seen where it originates?”

“Yes, ma’am, up in the Absarokas. It’s pretty country up that way.”

She smiled and slowly nodded with a slight feeling of envy. “You really are a child of the wilderness, aren’t you?”

He shrugged, not knowing how to answer the question. It seemed that since she had decided she had nothing to fear from him, she tended to talk to him more. And much of what she said confused him. “Well,” he said, “I can’t see any sign of trouble, so I reckon we best get movin’.”

* * *

Having reached the Yellowstone, Luke was now as much in the dark as she, for he had never heard of a town called Coulson until he met David and Mary Beth. The Crow people had frequented the area for many years, but Luke had not been back for quite some time. Based on what David had told him, Coulson was on the river, some distance east of the Gallatin Valley. That could be anywhere within a large area, so the only thing they could do was to travel west along the river until they eventually found it.

Late in the afternoon of their first day following the winding river, they came upon a trading post. Little more than a shack perched on the edge of a high bank, the store looked in danger of tumbling down the bluffs to land in the water at the first gust from a north wind. The owner apparently lived in an old army squad tent beside the store. Luke pulled the gray to a halt to study the shack. “’Pears to be a tradin’ post,” he said to Mary Beth.

His remark caused her to pull the paint up closer to the trail leading down to the store to get a look for herself. “It doesn’t look like much,” she said.

“I expect he mostly trades with the Indians,” Luke replied.

“Do you suppose there’s any chance he might have coffee beans?” Mary Beth asked. “We’re almost out, and we don’t know how far it is to Coulson.”

“Don’t know,” Luke answered. “He might.”

Mary Beth looked doubtful. “Where on earth would he get them?”

“Riverboat,” Luke replied. “I expect that’s where he gets most anything he sells.”

She was still skeptical. “Why would a riverboat stop at that little shack?”

Luke pointed to several stacks of logs, cut into even lengths, down near the water’s edge. “Wood,” he answered. “Those riverboat captains will pay for wood for their engines.”

“Oh,” she exclaimed softly, then gave him a smile. “Let’s go see if he has any coffee beans, because in about two more days we’re going to be out.”

Luke glanced at the packhorse, then back at her. “I ain’t got no pelts or nothin’ to trade,” he said apologetically.

She laughed. “I’ve got a little bit of money,” she said. “Remember?”

“I forgot,” he replied, truthfully. Nudging the gray gently, he guided the horse down the path to the trading post.

Lem Sloat frowned and squinted in an effort to identify the two riders descending the path to his store. As they came closer, he reached up and thoughtfully stroked his beard, curious as to what they might be carrying in the packs on the extra horse. “Pearl,” he called. His Crow wife, Walks-With-A-Stick, whom he called Pearl, came from the tent to stand beside him. “You ever see them folks before?” Lem asked. She shook her head. “One of ’em’s a woman. T’other’s an Injun or a trapper. I ain’t sure which, but it don’t look like a load of pelts on that horse.” He got up from the stool he had been seated on by the fire, and then set his plate on it. “Seems like somebody always has to come when I’m eatin’ my supper.” He rubbed his ample belly with one hand, wiping the grease from his fingers, and started toward the front of his store to greet the strangers.

“How do?” Lem called out when Luke and Mary Beth pulled their horses to a stop before the door. “Ain’t seen you folks around here before. Where you headed?”

“Coulson,” Mary Beth volunteered cheerfully as she stepped down from the saddle, her spirits lifted by the mere sight of another white man. “Maybe you know where that is.”

“Yes, ma’am, I surely do, and a right lively little town is what I hear. It’s about three days west of here, dependin’ on how fast you’re traveling.” Sloat smiled pleasantly for the lady while his eyes never left the sandy-haired scout holding a rifle in one hand with a bow strapped on his back. “My name’s Lem Sloat,” he said. “This here’s my place of business. What can I do for you folks?” He stepped back cautiously when Luke threw a leg over and slid off the spotted gray pony. The couple was not a common sight on the trail along the Yellowstone, and Lem’s mind was already turning over the different explanations for the seemingly odd pairing.

“We were wondering if you might have some coffee beans we could buy,” Mary Beth spoke up as they followed him inside. If anything else came to mind, she decided it would have to wait, for Lem Sloat’s shelves were sparsely stocked.

“I do,” Lem replied. “You’re in luck. I’ve got some come fresh up the river last month, and we got two forty-pound sacks of ’em already roasted. My wife is the one who roasts ’em, and there ain’t nobody does ’em better.”

“I reckon she’d be the woman standin’ at the back of the cabin with that rifle stickin’ through the knothole,” Luke commented dryly.

Lem Sloat had close to a full face of dingy gray whiskers, but even so, the sudden flush was clearly evident in the small parts of his face not covered by hair. “No offense, mister, but with what just happened southwest of here on the Little Big Horn, ever’body’s kinda jumpy.” He hesitated before adding, “And you did look a helluva lot like an Injun when you came ridin’ up, even if you was with him, ma’am.” He favored Mary Beth with another smile, then called to his wife, “It’s all right, Pearl. Come on in.” Turning to Luke again, he said, “You got pretty sharp eyes, mister. Most folks don’t spot that rifle barrel stickin’ through them pelts hangin’ on the back wall.”

Astonished by the words just exchanged between Luke and Sloat, Mary Beth was at a loss for words, but soon recovered. “I guess we’ll take one of those forty-pound bags if the price is not too high.” She looked at Luke then for approval. “Is that all right? Can I put forty more pounds on the horse?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Luke replied. “It ain’t too much.” Without pause, he then turned back to Sloat and asked, “What trouble on the Little Big Horn?”

“You ain’t heard?” Sloat responded with surprise. “Some army troops under General Custer attacked a big camp of Sioux and Cheyenne on the Little Big Horn. Only problem, I reckon, is them soldiers didn’t know there was so many Injuns in that camp. What I heard was ol’ Sittin’ Bull and Crazy Horse’s people were there, Cheyenne, Arapaho, thousands of Injuns, and Custer jumped ’em. They wiped out ever’ last one of them soldiers, includin’ Custer himself. Don’t know how many was killed, maybe five hundred or more, maybe a thousand. The word I got was that that big Injun camp broke up after they whipped the soldiers and scattered, so folks along the Yellowstone has been seein’ Injuns behind ever’ outhouse, expectin’ to get scalped ever’ time they go to do their business.”

“Have you seen any Sioux war parties up this far?” Luke asked.

“Nah, I ain’t seen none, but there’s a lot of settlers movin’ into this part of the valley, and they’re scared them Injuns might take a notion to start raidin’ up through here.”

Sloat’s story had a chilling effect on Mary Beth, just when she was beginning to believe she was soon going to find her brother-in-law. She had visions of a giant red horde overrunning the countryside, plundering and killing innocent white settlers. Luke noticed her trembling and sought to set her mind at ease. “But you ain’t seen no Indians hereabouts yourself?” he repeated.

“No, I ain’t,” Sloat replied.

“Well, I reckon you’d best pay him for the coffee,” Luke said to Mary Beth, “and we’ll be goin’ along. Not much daylight left before we’ll have to make us a camp for the night.” He paused to nod a greeting to Pearl when she walked in to join them, then said to Sloat, “We’ll be right back.”

Outside the store, he led the packhorse to the side where it could not be seen through the open door. “You want me to untie that knot on your sack of corn, or can you reach it all right?”

His question caught her quite by surprise, for she realized that he had obviously known all along that she had hidden all her money, eight hundred dollars in gold and silver coins, in the sack of corn. She should have guessed that he knew a sack of corn didn’t weigh that much, but he had made no further comment on it after his initial statement. Embarrassed now that she had assumed he was too dumb to question it, she made no comment on the matter. Instead she proceeded to untie the sack and dig around in the kernels until coming up with the required amount. “I’ll tie it back,” he said.

“Thank you,” she replied politely, her face still slightly flushed with embarrassment, and turned at once to return to the store.

Inside, Lem Sloat, moved quickly back from the wall, where he had witnessed her search through a crack between the boards on the side of the building. “Yes, ma’am,” he offered jovially when she placed the coins on his small counter. “Hard cash, I was hopin’ you weren’t gonna try to pay with paper. I’da rather had pelts than paper money.” He watched while Luke took the sack of coffee beans and rearranged his packs to make a place for it. “You folks oughta stick around for a while,” Lem suggested. “You could camp right here and Pearl can cook you up some supper—plenty of wood, plenty of grass for your horses, easy to get to the water.”

“Thank you kindly,” Luke replied at once, “but we’ve got a piece to go before we call it a day, so I expect we’d best move along.” He walked over to stand by Mary Beth’s stirrup, waiting to help her up in the saddle.

“Stop by and see us if you’re back this way again,” Sloat called after them as they ascended the path to the main trail. He stood there watching until they disappeared near the bend of the river, then beckoned to Pearl. When the stoic Crow woman came to him, he said, “Go find Ben Kirby. Tell him I need to see him.” She nodded and turned to do his bidding.

* * *

It was rapidly approaching dark by the time Luke found a campsite to his liking. Mary Beth was beginning to wonder if he planned to continue on into the night before he finally came to a lively creek that emptied into the river where the bluffs were some six feet high. “This’ll do,” he stated simply, and turned the gray to head up the tree-lined creek. After a ride of about a hundred yards, he pulled up and looked around a small clearing in the cottonwoods where the creek made a U-shaped bend. “Here,” he said, and slid off his horse. “We’ll build a fire in the crook of that creek.”

She looked at the spot he pointed out. “I’ll make the fire while you take care of the horses.” She smiled as she walked past him. “We’ve got plenty of coffee now. I’ll grind some of the new beans.”

He tried to answer her smile with one of his own, but his mind was occupied with the layout of his camp. He had a gut feeling about Lem Sloat that told him the man was not to be trusted. That was his reason for keeping Mary Beth in the saddle for a longer day than usual and also the reason for selecting a campsite far enough removed from the main trail along the river. He decided not to tell Mary Beth of his concerns until after they had eaten. She had already been troubled earlier that day with reports of Sioux and Cheyenne war parties, so he wanted her to be comfortable for a while until bedtime. Then he would tell her of his concerns.

With supper finished, Luke got more wood and built up the fire as he usually did, but when she started to lay out her bedding, he stopped her and led her to another spot farther up in the trees. “I want you to sleep back from the fire a ways tonight,” he told her. “I’ve got a feelin’ that we ain’t seen the last of Lem Sloat. Take that big ol’ pistol of your daddy’s to bed with you, just in case.” He pointed to a willow thicket on the other side of the creek. “I’ll be right yonder in those willows, and I’ll be keepin’ an eye on things. Maybe my hunch is wrong, might not be nothin’ at all, but it won’t hurt to be sure. If we do get any visitors tonight, you just lie low right here, and I’ll take care of it. That pistol is just in case I’m not as smart as I think I am. All right?”

“All right,” she answered after a hesitation that reflected her uncertainty.

“I’m just gettin’ spooked a little,” he said, trying to reassure her. “Probably nothin’ at all.”

* * *

“All silver,” Lem said, “she paid me in silver coins, had ’em hid in a sack of somethin’. It looked like a sack of grain, or corn, or somethin’ like that. She went diggin’ around in that sack and pulled out a handful of money.”

“I swear,” Ben Kirby exclaimed. “And there wasn’t but the two of ’em, a man and a woman?” A lean, lanky man of average height, clean-shaven except for a drooping mustache that formed almost a full circle around his chin, he pursed his lips to shoot a stream of tobacco juice toward the porch post.

“That’s right,” Lem replied, “just the two of ’em.”

Kirby grinned and worked his chew around to the other side of his mouth. “Sounds to me like me and ol’ Gopher here oughta go see what the lady has in that sack. Whaddaya think, Gopher?” He shot a stream of tobacco juice in the direction of his partner’s foot, but the simpleminded brute’s reactions were quick enough to jerk it out of the way, causing Kirby to chuckle. Gopher simply grinned in response to his partner’s question, his swift reactions being confined to physical, rather than mental, agility. Kirby turned back to Sloat then. “Hell, if there wasn’t but two of ’em, and one of them a woman, how come you didn’t just do the job yourself?”

“There wasn’t but one man,” Sloat explained, “but he looked like he mighta been half mountain lion.” He shook his head at the thought. “He held a Henry rifle in his hand the whole time he was here, and his eyes never missed nothin’. If he’da ever turned his back on me, I mighta thought about it, but he never did.” He tilted his head back and scratched under his beard while he recalled the broad-shouldered scout. “Besides, that’s your job. I’m just supposed to spot ’em for you.”

“Might do you some good to get out from behind that counter once in a while,” Kirby needled. “Work some of that fat offa ya.”

“If I did, then you and Gopher would be out of a job, wouldn’t you? Now, I expect if any of us is gonna get any of that woman’s money, you two better start doin’ some trailin’. They’ve already got an hour’s start on you, and mind you don’t take my warnin’ lightly ’bout that feller with the rifle. He was wearin’ a bow on his back—didn’t look like one of the usual pilgrims that come by here.”

“I reckon we can handle him,” Kirby said. He grinned at his oversized partner, and said, “I’ll let ol’ Gopher tie his ass in a knot. Then I’ll slit his throat and scalp him.” Gopher beamed and nodded in response.

“Sometime they gonna cheat you,” Pearl said when she came to stand beside Sloat as they watched Kirby and Gopher ride up the path.

“Maybe,” Sloat replied, “but those two ain’t got brains enough between ’em to pour piss out of a boot. They need somebody to tell ’em which way to go. They’ll be back with the money.” He was truthful when he said he wasn’t worried about them, for he figured they needed him more than he needed them.

* * *

“It’s gettin’ so dark I can’t hardly see the damn tracks no more,” Kirby complained.

“There ain’t no tracks on this side,” Gopher said from the other bank of the creek.

“You mean you can’t see no more?”

“I can see good enough,” Gopher answered. “There ain’t no tracks to see over here.”

“They rode up the creek,” Kirby said, while Gopher continued to puzzle over the disappearance of tracks. “We’d best take it real slow now, till we find out where they made camp. Come on back on this side, and we’ll follow it till we catch sight of ’em.”

They had gone no farther than about twenty yards when Kirby caught the movement of their intended victims’ horses in the trees up ahead. He signaled Gopher to dismount and be quiet, then dismounted himself. “They ain’t very far up this creek,” Kirby whispered. “Let’s go back a little and wait till it gets darker.”

It was not a long wait until a hard dark set in the cottonwoods bordering the narrow creek. The conscienceless assassins sat on the ground, each with his back against a tree, impatiently waiting for the proper time to strike the unsuspecting camp. Gopher was eager to get on with it, but Kirby convinced him that it would be far easier if they waited until the man and woman were asleep. “Then all we’ll have to do is walk in and shoot ’em while they’re still in their blankets,” he said.

“Maybe we’ll catch ’em goin’ at it in the same blanket,” Gopher said, his perverted mind conjuring an image that appealed to him. “That’d be somethin’, wouldn’t it?” His voice trailed off as he pictured it. “I’d like to see that.”

“I wanna see what’s in that damn sack Lem saw,” Kirby said. “We need to wait till they’ve had time to fall asleep. Don’t make no sense to go in there earlier and take a chance on gettin’ shot. Lem says this feller looks like some kinda stud hoss.”

“I reckon,” Gopher conceded, unable to rid his mind of the picture he had formed, “but I’d like to see ’em goin’ at it.” Kirby shook his head in disbelief, but he said nothing and Gopher could not see his gesture in the darkness.

An hour passed and finally Kirby thought it was time. “All right,” he said, “let’s get movin’.” He got to his feet and looked down at his simpleminded partner, who had fallen asleep. Taking him by the shoulder, he shook him awake. “Come on, you big dummy. You was so damn anxious to go a while back. You wanna stay here and sleep while I go do the job?” Gopher scrambled up quickly, his grin wide in anticipation of the pleasure he always enjoyed when falling upon innocent victims.

Leaving their horses tied in the trees, they drew their rifles and advanced upon the camp on foot. In a short distance, they spotted the flames of the campfire. A gentle breeze rustled the branches of the low bushes that grew between the cottonwoods, causing the flames to flicker nervously. Inching a few yards closer, they stopped to look over the camp before walking in. As they had planned, there was no activity in the camp. All was quiet except for a few inquiring whinnies from the horses. To make sure this was not enough to wake the sleeping couple, they continued to wait a few minutes more before advancing once again. Still there was no sign of movement.

“Where the hell are they?” Kirby whispered, for he had expected to see two sleeping forms close to the fire. “You see ’em?”

“Nope,” Gopher replied.

“Well, they gotta be here somewhere,” Kirby said, and proceeded to make his way to a closer position. “You step across the creek and head toward them willows. They musta figured to bed down outta sight. I’ll go up this side. One of us is bound to spot ’em.”

“All right,” Gopher said, and stepped into the waist-deep water, causing a soft splash as he did so. Kirby grimaced at the sound, but still there was no evidence of alarm in the camp. Gopher grinned sheepishly for his clumsy step while he continued across to the other bank. Pulling his heavy body out of the water was not without a slight sound, but not as loud as his entry had been. In silence now, save for the singing of frogs along the creek bank, he moved toward the willow thicket. Suddenly he spotted what he searched for, a form rolled in a blanket. He did not wait. Pulling his rifle up to his shoulder, he fired, cocked it, and fired again to be sure. At that distance, he did not miss. “I got one, Kirby!” Eager to see which of the couple he had shot, he ran into the willows.

Kirby did not answer. The only sound he could make was a choking gurgle as his throat was cut from ear to ear. When released from the powerful grasp that had held him, his body dropped lifeless to the creek bank. Luke wiped his knife blade clean and returned it to its scabbard. He reached over his shoulder and drew an arrow from the quiver. Notching it, he stepped up in the shadow of the trees and waited. In a few seconds, Gopher lumbered out into the clearing after finding he had killed an empty blanket. “Kirby!” he yelled. “They ain’t here.” With no answer from his partner, he started to yell again, but was stopped abruptly by a solid blow to his chest. Confused by the sudden pain, he looked down to discover the arrow shaft protruding from his body. He staggered backward, still on his feet when the second arrow struck, piercing his abdomen. Like a wounded buffalo, he snorted, dazed, unable to defend against an antagonist he could not see. There were no muzzle flashes to tell him from whence his assailant struck, only the silent missiles from somewhere in the darkness of the trees. Helpless against the assault, he tried to escape and turned around to go back to the creek, but found that his steps were uneven and awkward, causing him to drop his rifle and clutch a willow trunk to keep from going down on his knees. The final arrow, shot from a much shorter distance than the first two, struck him in the back, piercing his lung, and the simple brute collapsed face forward in the creek.

Luke walked slowly to the creek to make sure of the kill. He reached for Gopher’s foot and pulled the heavy body to the bank of the creek, where he stripped it of its gun belt. He took a good look at the man, just as he had done with his partner. Neither of the two was Lem Sloat, which surprised him. Even so, he felt that Sloat had a hand in it, but there was no way he could know for sure. Thoughts of vengeance filled his mind as he tried to pull his arrows out of Gopher’s corpse, but there was the possibility that Lem Sloat had nothing to do with the attempt on their lives, that it was just coincidence.

He was able to recover only one of his three arrows. The other two broke when he tried to extract them, having been driven too deeply into the carcass. He heard Mary Beth call behind him. “Luke,” came the cautious cry, “are you all right?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied.

“I heard the shots and then there was nothing,” she said, her voice trembling. “I didn’t know who did the shooting. I was afraid you might have been shot.”

“I reckon that was the plan,” Luke said. “It might be best if you go on over closer to the fire while I take care of these two. I’ll take a look back down the creek just in case, but I don’t think there was anybody else with ’em.” He had thought to keep her from seeing the bodies of their assailants, but it was too late.

“Oh my dear Lord,” she gasped when she saw the huge body lying on the creek bank. “Oh my Lord,” she said again. “Why would they come to kill us?”

“I expect they found out what was in that sack of corn of yours,” he replied.

“But why kill us for it? Why not just rob us and be on their way?”

He was surprised by her naïveté, especially in light of the suspicions that she had harbored for him in the beginning, but he chose not to remind her. “That’s just their way of makin’ sure nobody comes after them,” he said. “You go over by the fire now, and I’ll be back when I’m done with this one and his partner over in the trees.”

She did as he said, suddenly feeling a chill about her shoulders that was not totally a result of the night air. There was no doubt in her mind that sleeping was out of the question for the rest of that night. And even though he had said there were no others to fear, she knew that she would be afraid until he returned. What a fool I was, she scolded herself. I should never have agreed to go to Montana. The few friends she had made in Cheyenne had told her of the harsh reality of trying to carve out a life in that wild territory, but David’s brother had told them that it was no rougher than life in Wyoming Territory. Well, she decided, my friends were right, and now look at me. David’s gone and there’s been nothing but murder and savagery at every turn. She was suddenly struck by the stillness of the dark trees along the banks of the creek, and she could not help feeling that someone, or something, was watching her every move. She shivered once again and thought, I wish Luke would hurry back here.

When Luke had found the horses tied in the trees, after a short walk back down the creek, he was positive that the two men he killed were the only assailants he had to worry about. Having pulled Gopher’s body halfway up the bank, he had decided that hauling the hulking carcass away from the clearing was work better suited to a horse. He got on one of the horses and led the other back to the camp, where he tied a rope around Gopher’s ankles and looped the other end around the saddle horn. He dragged the body well out of the way past the edge of the trees, then repeated the chore with Kirby’s corpse. “Well, boys,” he said upon completion of the chore, “I expect the buzzards will be right glad to see you in the mornin’.” He paused again to consider whether or not he should pay Lem Sloat a visit. It bothered him to think the grubby little man might have set these two upon them, but there was no way he could know for sure. I reckon I’d best just forget about it and worry about getting Mary Beth to her folks, he told himself. He wondered now if he could believe Sloat when he had told him that Coulson was three days west of his store.

When he returned to the clearing, he found Mary Beth making a pot of coffee. When she saw the look of surprise on his face, she informed him that she was positive that she could no longer sleep, although it was in the wee hours of the morning. “This place is just too creepy,” she said. “I just want to get away from here as fast as we can, and I can tell by the expression on your face that you’re thinking about waiting until morning. So it’s a good thing I made some coffee. It’ll help me keep my eyes open, because I have no intention of closing them again in this place.”

Astonished by her long and frank statement, Luke paused, still holding the reins of the horses that had belonged to the men just killed. He guessed that she must have really been frightened by her rude awakening to gunshots only a few dozen steps from her bed. But he could not understand why she was still afraid now that the danger was past. “Both of them fellers are dead,” he reminded her, hoping that would ease her fear. She looked at him as if she thought he was insane.

“Yes,” she exclaimed, as she would have if trying to explain something to a child. “They’re dead! They came to kill us, but you killed them instead!” Her voice became louder and louder as she released her emotions. “The Indians tried to kill us, but you killed them. Everyone in this territory is trying to kill everyone else! My God! What’s wrong with you people?” In an attempt to vent her frustration, she began kicking dirt on the fire. Luke could only stand and watch while she threw her tantrum. He had never seen a woman behave in such fashion, and he had no idea what was wrong with her, but she was going to put out the fire if she kept kicking dirt on it. So he realized something must be done to settle her down. He dropped the reins he had been holding, moved quickly toward her, and in one swift motion, he swept her up in his arms. While she fought helplessly against him, he calmly walked to the edge of the creek and dropped her in the middle of it. Then he stepped back and watched as she thrashed about furiously in the cold current, gasping for air while spitting blasphemous oaths. Still straining to catch her breath, she struggled to climb out of the creek, only to slip and tumble back to sit down once again in the chilly water.

He waded part of the way out to her and extended his hand. “Here, take hold and I’ll pull you outta there.” She eagerly grasped his hand.

“I’m freezing,” she exclaimed when she gained her footing on the grassy crest of the creek bank. Drained of her anger and frustration, she shivered uncontrollably.

“You’d best get outta them wet clothes,” he said. “You’ve got some dry things to put on, ain’t you?”

“In the packs,” she replied, and hurried to find them. She paused for just a moment to ask, “Why did you do that?”

“I saw a dog throw a fit one time in a Crow village. It was kinda like the one you just threw, only the dog didn’t say all them things you did. The Indian the dog belonged to grabbed him by the hind legs and threw him in the river. He came out of the river and slinked off in the woods—seemed to be calmed down. I thought maybe the same thing might work on you.”

She shook her head in exasperation as she gazed at him, finding it hard to believe what had just happened. “Well, I’m calm now,” she said, “freezing, but I’m calm. I’ve just got to get out of these wet clothes before I catch pneumonia.”

“I’m glad you’re calm, but I’ll still be keepin’ my eye on you for a while.”

“Why?” she asked.

“’Cause a couple of hours after that Crow threw his dog in the river, that dog came outta the woods growling and foamin’ at the mouth. He came after one of them Indians and they had to shoot him.” A slight smile threatened to appear on Luke’s face. “I was hopin’ it wouldn’t come to that with you.”

Shocked, by his casual manner, she didn’t know how to react for a few moments until it struck her. “You’re joking, aren’t you?”

“Yes, ma’am,” he replied, the smile expanding to a grin. “I wouldn’t have shot you. Fact is, I was afraid you mighta shot me after I threw you in the creek.”

She found that she could not be angry with him, and she realized that this was the first time he had ever joked since she had known him—about anything. She could not help uttering it. “You actually joked with me. I can’t believe it, Dead Man.”

It was his turn to be surprised. “How did you know my Crow name?”

“Oh, I know a lot of things,” she teased as she pulled some dry clothes from the pack. “Women know a lot more things than men suspect.”

“I wouldn’t know about that,” he said. “I’d have to take your word for it. You’d better get outta them wet clothes, though. I’ll take a walk back down the creek if you wanna stay by the fire.”

“No,” she said. “I’ll go back in the trees to change. You stay by the fire.” Where I can see you, she thought. She was willing to trust him with her life, but she didn’t rule out the natural curiosity that men seemed to be born with.

While she changed, he took a more thorough look at the horses they had just acquired. Fairly sturdy, he decided, but nothing special; both were sorrels. At least he could use one of the saddles and would no longer have to ride bareback. His first thought was that he would get his horse back now, with two saddled horses to choose from for Mary Beth. But after thinking about it for a moment, he decided that he had better leave her on the paint. She had become accustomed to the horse, and with possibly only about three days left to Coulson, maybe it was a good idea to let her be. Next, he considered the possibility of putting a saddle on the spotted gray pony he had been riding. It was a good horse, but had obviously never had a saddle strapped on its back. A spirited pony, the gray might not be willing to accept the saddle without a lively protest, and he wasn’t willing to take the time at this point to saddle-break a horse. I reckon I’ll just ride the one with the best saddle, he thought, and worry about breaking the gray when we get to wherever we’re going. His decision made, he yanked the saddles off both horses and let them rest with his three Indian ponies, for in spite of Mary Beth’s tirade, he did not intend to leave until daylight.

Mary Beth came back to hang her wet clothes up to dry on some small limbs Luke had driven into the ground by the fire. She glanced at the saddles on the ground, then looked at Luke with a question in her eyes. He answered it before she had a chance to put it in words. “There might be some rough places along the river trail, and I’d rather see ’em in the daylight,” he said. “And I’m plannin’ on gettin’ a couple hours’ sleep. It’s gonna be a long day tomorrow. I expect you oughta do the same.”

She looked at him, amazed that he could even think about going to sleep after what had taken place on this night. He gave no indication that he was preparing to sleep as he poured a cup of coffee from the pot she had put on the fire, and gnawed on a strip of dried venison. “Well, I’m not closing my eyes,” she reminded him. “So I guess I’ll act as lookout while you’re sleeping.” She could not help adding a little barb. “Maybe I will see them if somebody else comes sneaking in to kill us.”

“I hope so,” Luke replied rather casually. He finished his coffee in silence, then held his blanket up to inspect the two bullet holes. “They didn’t do my blanket any good,” he commented. Settling himself a few feet from the fire, he soon was asleep. Mary Beth was left to her thoughts of frustration and astonishment. That he could simply roll up in his blanket and go to sleep was beyond her understanding. She poured herself a cup of coffee and sat down near the fire, clutching her father’s old revolver in one hand.

He awoke with the first rays of the sun that filtered through the cottonwood branches. Before going into the trees to relieve himself of the coffee he had drunk the night before, he paused to look at the woman sleeping peacefully by the dying fire. Her empty coffee cup lay on one side of her and her pistol lay on the other, and as she slept, she had hugged herself in an effort to keep warm. He took the blanket she had spread to sit on and folded it gently across her shoulders, then proceeded to the woods to take care of nature’s call.

By that afternoon they came upon signs of civilization. Passing fields being cleared of trees, even some that had been cultivated, they assumed they were nearing Coulson. The task now was to find the land claimed by John Freeman. Finally they overtook a man driving a wagon loaded with cordwood, a wood-hawk, Luke guessed. When Mary Beth asked, he explained that it was a term for men who stacked firewood by the river to sell to steamboat captains. “Like Lem Sloat. Remember?” When aware of the riders coming up behind him, the man pulled his horses over and positioned himself behind his load of firewood with his rifle in hand, relaxing only after he saw that one of the riders was a woman.

“Howdy,” Luke called, and held both hands up in the air. “We’re lookin’ for Coulson.”

Still using his firewood as protection, the man said, “Well, you’re almost there—another five miles, about.”

“Much obliged,” Luke said.

“Do you happen to know John Freeman?” Mary Beth asked when it appeared that Luke was not going to.

“Why, yes, ma’am, I do. He staked out a tract that runs right down to the river, not more’n a mile from here—right on the road you’re ridin’. You’ll see where the road passes a corner of a field he’s been clearin’. There’s a lane runnin’ down to his place right at that corner.”

Mary Beth thanked the wood-hawk, then nudged her pony forward, unable to resist giving Luke a knowing smile as she passed him. “I’ll be your guide the rest of the way,” she teased. “Just follow me.” He nodded soberly, then grinned. His reaction was so rare that she had to take a second look.