Nine

Nate King began to jerk his own rifle up, but realized instantly he would be shot if he tried anything, so he held himself still as the cutthroat walked toward him wearing a quizzical expression. His mind racing, Nate plastered a welcoming smile on his face and blurted out, “You’re white! Then I’m safe at last! Am I glad to see you!’’ He knew his fate would be sealed if the band of bloodthirsty killers suspected he was after them; his life depended on convincing them he was totally harmless.

Are you now?’’ the man responded suspiciously. Halting a few yards off, he scrutinized Nate from head to toe. “Who the hell are you and what are you doing spying on our camp?’’

Spying?’’ Nate laughed long and loud. “I just saw the smoke from a fire and was working my way close enough to see if I’d found whites or Indians. After what I’ve been through, I had to be sure before I showed myself.”

You haven’t told me your name.”

Jess Smith,” Nate lied. Hiding his identity seemed like a good idea. He was fairly well known among the trapping fraternity, and he had a widespread reputation for being an honest, forthright man in all his dealings. Should the killers learn the truth, they’d fear the worst and slay him on the spot. “What’s yours?”

Roarke,” the man said. He scanned the forest. “Are you all alone?”

That I am,” Nate said. “My two partners were captured by the Blackfeet two days ago and I’ve been running from the devils ever since.”

Blackfeet? In this area?” Roarke didn’t like the news. “Yep. They can’t be more than a day behind me if they’re still on my trail,” Nate said. He nodded at the other man’s gun. “There’s no need to cover me, friend. We’re on the same side. It’s us against them, isn’t it?”

Roarke lowered his rifle, but only slightly, and motioned for Nate to precede him. “You go first, mister. My friends will want to hear this.”

A crawling sensation broke out all over Nate’s skin as he headed for the camp. All eyes were on him the moment he appeared, and the renegades gathered in a group to await him. None were men he knew, but he was able to pick the deadly Belker out of the bunch by the exceptionally long knife Belker wore. Stout, hairy, and grimy, Belker had the aspect of an undersized but ferocious black bear.

Nate noticed Clay Basket at the fire, watching him. He studiously paid no attention to her, since any interest he showed might arouse suspicion. Bestowing his phony smile on the group, he called out, “Howdy, gents! What a sight for sore eyes you are!” None of them answered him. A few whispered back and forth, and each one had a hand close to a weapon when Nate stopped and regarded them with what he hoped was a convincing imitation of heartfelt relief. “I never thought I’d set eyes on another trapping party again!”

Roarke halted behind Nate, and to one side. “This here is Jess Smith. He says he’s on the run from Blackfeet.”

Oh?” said a skinny man sporting a wicked scar on his left cheek and three pistols jammed under his belt.

That’s right,” Nate declared good-naturedly. “Like I told your friend here, a war party jumped Bill, Adam, and me two days ago. I saw old Bill go down with a lance in his shoulder, and Adam was set upon by three whooping warriors and taken alive. I’ve been on the run ever since.”

How is it that you escaped?” the skinny man asked.

Sheer luck,” Nate said. “I was answering Nature’s call, and I’d just gone into the brush when I spotted one of the Blackfeet peeking at me from over a log. I gave a yell, but it was too late. They were already swarming into our camp, so I bolted.” Nate shook his head as if in amazement at his own good fortune. “I tell you, the Good Lord must have been watching over me! Arrows and lances were raining down thicker than hail, yet I didn’t get so much as a scratch.”

Remarkable,” the skinny one said. “But I’ve heard of it happening before. Hell, once the Bloods came after me, shooting and firing until they ran out of bullets and arrows, and I still got away.” Grinning, he offered his hand. “The name is Ira Galt. I’m the booshway of this here outfit.”

Pleased to meet you,” Nate said, hiding his revulsion. “Any chance of another Mountanee Man getting himself a bite to eat and some coffee? I don’t mind telling you I’m starved to death.”

It’ll be a while before the grub is ready, but you’re welcome to join us,” Galt said. “Never let it be said we don’t show hospitality to a brother trapper.” Draping an arm over Nate’s shoulder, he steered him toward the fire.

The others had relaxed. One of them chuckled. Another winked at a companion.

Are you partial to kinnikinnick?” Galt asked Nate. “We’ve got plenty to share.”

Thank you, no. I never did pick up the tobacco habit.”

No? Most do sooner or later. How long have you been trapping?”

A year, or thereabouts,” Nate said.

Galt’s dark eyes raked Nate from head to toe. “Really? I would have expected you to be an old hand.”

Nate saw Clay Basket staring at him. Since they were making straight for her, he couldn’t very well continue to act as if she didn’t exist. Consistent with his acting the friendly fool, he commented, “My goodness! A woman! I haven’t seen one of those in a coon’s age.”

She’s mine,” Galt said, his harsh tone belying his grin. “So don’t be getting any notions.”

I have a wife in the States,” Nate said. “She’d shoot me if she caught me so much as looking at another woman.”

Just so you know how things are,” Galt said. “Clay Basket is her name, and she’s the best damn cook this side of the Divide.”

Do tell,” Nate said, trying to sound suitably impressed even though he knew there hadn’t been time for the Crow woman to prepare a single meal for the band since being abducted. “I can hardly wait to fill my belly.”

Galt indicated a spot close to the flames. “Have a seat and we’ll chaw a spell.”

Easing down, Nate set eyes on dozens of bundles of prime peltries lying over near the horses. He let his eyes go wide and exclaimed, “Land sakes alive! You gents must be the best trappers around! You’ve enough hides there to set all of you up as kings!”

Not quite,” Galt said, laughing. “But there’s no denying the past two seasons have been the best ever for us. We were raising so many beaver a day, at one point I thought my elbows would give out.”

So you’re on your way to the Rendezvous?” Nate casually asked.

That we are. We’ll get there early and wait for the caravan to show.”

I envy you,” Nate said. “I’ve lost everything but the clothes on my back. This trapping business isn’t at all what it’s cracked up to be. Between the weather, the Indians, and the animals, it’s a wonder a body lives out his first year.”

Thinking of quitting?”

Yes,” Nate said. “I’m going back to New York and take up accounting like my pa wanted.”

Accounting is a nice, safe profession,” Galt said, smirking. “The worst you’ll have to worry about is smearing ink on a page.”

Nate leaned the Hawken against a leg and held his hands out to the flames. Out of the corner of one eye he observed Clay Basket cutting up a doe. Out of the other eye he saw Roarke hovering in the background. The rest were taking seats around the fire. He was, in effect, hemmed in, as effectively as if they had built a fence around him.

Ain’t I seen you somewhere before?” Belker suddenly inquired. He was directly across from Nate, his right hand idly resting on the hilt of his big knife.

It’s possible,” Nate said. “I was at the Rendezvous last year. Were you?”

Yep,” Belker said, “but I don’t think it was then. Another time, maybe?”

I’ve only been to one Rendezvous,” Nate responded. “If you’ve seen me, that’s where it was.”

Belker’s forehead creased and he tapped a finger on his knife. “I suppose.”

It was like being the lone coyote among a pack of ravenous wolves. Nate was acutely aware of the cold, probing eyes fixed on him, but he didn’t let on that he was in the least bit bothered. A plan was taking shape, a daring scheme that would result in the freeing of Clay Basket and reunite him with his friends, provided all went well. If not, he’d wind up like Nelson or Pointer, a most unappealing prospect.

In order to carry out his idea, Nate needed to convince the cutthroats he was no threat to them whatsoever. So he smiled and babbled about his limited trapping experience, about the problems he had faced and how few beaver he had caught.

The latter perked Galt’s interest. “What about your friends? Did they have many furs?”

About two hundred and ten, as I recall,” Nate said, adding, “They were more experienced than I was.” He glanced at the ring of faces, at the greed reflected by the firelight. “But now the Blackfeet have laid claim to them.”

What a waste,” Galt said.

True enough,” Nate agreed. “Over a thousand dollars worth of hides gone, just like that.” He snapped his fingers for emphasis.

A thousand dollars,” one of the men repeated longingly.

Galt thoughtfully scratched his scrawny beard. “How many Blackfeet did you say there were?”

I didn’t,” Nate answered. He disliked the direction the talk was taking. The renegades were so eager to add to their spoils, they just might seriously consider going after the Blackfeet to get the extra pelts. In which case Nate had to discourage them. “There were over a dozen shrieking braves I saw with my own eyes and more off in the brush. Too many for one man to handle, which is why I lit out of there like my hind end was ablaze.” He lowered his hands so he could readily grab his pistols if need be. “Too many for even an outfit this large to tackle.”

Sounds that way,” Galt said, and cursed. “Too bad, Smith. We’d have liked to do the neighborly thing and help you reclaim your hides.”

That’s awful decent of you,” Nate said, continuing the charade. “But I wouldn’t want complete strangers to lose their lives on my account. It’s better this way anyway. I’m not cut out for the mountain life.”

Some are, some aren’t,” Galt said, and the issue was dropped.

Clay Basket stepped to the fire, a large pot and tripod in her hands. She pointedly looked at Nate, and because he had glanced up on hearing her footsteps, their eyes locked. For a fleeting second Nate thought he read an eloquent appeal for help in hers, yet all he could do was smile dumbly and act as if nothing was wrong. A flicker of disappointment etched her face as she bent to set up the tripod, and Nate deliberately gazed at the brightening stars.

Nate had to admire her courage. Here she was, in the clutches of the men who had attacked the man she loved, at their complete mercy, her life forfeit if she gave them any grief, yet she had the poise of a princess. Small wonder Nelson had been smitten by her.

Hurry it up with the food, woman,” Galt growled. “We’re hungry, damn it.”

Clay Basket wasn’t intimidated. She finished arranging the tripod, hung the pot, and moved off.

Squaws!” Galt chuckled and jabbed his elbow into Nate’s ribs. “They can’t hold a candle to white women. Lazy, uppity biddy hens is all they are.”

I wouldn’t know,” Nate said, though in truth he considered his Shoshone wife a competent, hardworking woman, and every inch a lady. Arching his back, he slowly stretched, turning his head to the right and left as he did, which gave him the opportunity to study the camp. The horses were to the south, strung in a long row. Saddles and parfleches were nearby, to the right of the mountain of peltries. To the east reared dense forest. The same to the north. To the west was the hill Nate had descended before being caught by Roarke. Which reminded him. What had Roarke been doing up there?

Nate half turned and discovered Roarke was gone. He nodded at Galt and asked, “Where did our friend get to?”

To make a circuit of our camp. As you learned the hard way, it doesn’t pay to let your guard down in this country. We always survey the countryside before we turn in.”

A smart practice,” Nate said. “I wish we’d done the same.”

Again Clay Basket returned, this time holding a wooden spoon with which she stirred the contents of the pot. Again Nate had to ignore her, although it pained him to do so. He figured she took him for the biggest fool in all Creation, as did her captors, and for the time being the illusion served his purpose admirably.

The renegades loosened up and talked about matters of no special consequence. Nate contributed little. When the stew was done, he ate heartily, two heaping helpings and part of a third. Nate often caught Galt lecherously ogling Clay Basket, and wondered if the cutthroat would try to force her to submit with him present.

And Nate had another concern. Would the renegades let him live or see fit to slay him when the whim struck? Countless corpses were testimony to their callous lust for money, yet he had nothing of great value. Nor did he have a pretty woman to catch the eye of Galt, as Tim Nelson had. No, he reflected, the killers might be inclined to let him be, if for no other reason than to show up anyone who might later point the finger of blame at any of them in connection with the murders. They might say something along the lines of: “See? Jess Smith spent time with us and we didn’t kill him? So how dare you accuse us of going around killing every trapper we met?’’

Regardless, Nate never let his vigilance down for a minute. When he was eating, one hand or the other was always next to a pistol. When drinking coffee, it was the same. He kept the different renegades in sight at all times, and when one or another went off into the brush, he never turned his back to that part of the forest.

Eventually Roarke showed up.

Anything?’’ Galt asked.

No campfires, no smoke, nothing. If the Blackfeet are after Smith, we’ll be long gone before they show.’’

Galt and two of his men walked over to the peltries, and Galt selected a grassy spot on which the pair began constructing a conical structure of limbs and brush similar to the makeshift forts used by the Blackfeet on occasion. This one was smaller, suitable for two people at the most. Nate didn’t need to ask who the structure was for, and he couldn’t help but see Clay Basket’s apprehension.

It ruined everything. Nate had hoped to wait until the cutthroats were asleep, then spirit the Crow woman to safety. Now he had to change his plan and embark on a riskier venture: to spirit her away right from under their noses before she was forced to go into the fort with Galt.

Doing his best not to be obvious about it, Nate kept watch over Clay Basket, always noting her position in relation to the forest and the horses in case a chance presented itself. None did. The renegades bossed her around freely, keeping her busy doing minor chores such as fetching them coffee or jerky and gathering fuel for the fire. A killer always went with her when she went after branches, and hovered over her in camp like a hawk over its prey.

Nate was so preoccupied with watching Clay Basket that he didn't realize someone had addressed him until a hand clamped onto his shoulder and he twisted to see Galt eyeing him critically. “What?” he blurted out.

I said,” Galt repeated slowly, “what are we going to do about you?”

How do you mean?”

We don’t have any extra horses to spare. All the pack animals are carrying as many peltries as they can, so we can’t double up the loads.” Galt stared at the animals. “You could ride double with one of us until we get to the Rendezvous site. Would that do you?”

I’d be very grateful.”

We don’t mind the company,” Galt went on as if he hadn’t heard, “but never forget that I’m the boss here and what I say goes. If I want you to lend a hand with the work, I expect you to chip in.”

That’s only fair,” Nate said, adopting his fake smile. “Hunting, cooking, chopping wood, you name it, I’ll do what I can.”

There should be more folks like you,” Galt said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Most don’t know the first thing about gratitude nowadays.”

Strange words, Nate reflected, coming from a confirmed murderer. He nodded and responded with: “How true. You’ve hit the old nail on the head. One of the reasons I left the States was because I’d grown so fed up with the cold way people in New York City treated others. I wanted something different.”

So did I,” Galt said softly. “But the first few years I was out here, nothing went right for me. I was like you. Barely caught enough beaver to stake me for the next year. Had brushes with the Bloods and the Piegans. Nearly lost my hair more times than I care to remember.”

Yet you stuck with it.” Nate bobbed a chin at the furs. “And now look! What’s the secret of your success?”

Hard work.” Galt’s smirk returned. “My pa always used to say that no matter what line of work a man picks, he should always do it the best he possibly can. I never thought much of his preaching when I was a kid, but now I see he had a point. I’m doing better than I ever dreamed I could by doing what I found I do best.”

Trapping,” Nate said.

What?” Galt glanced at him.

Trapping beaver. Collecting pelts.”

Oh, yes. Collecting peltries is all I live for, you might say.”

One of the men, Belker, had a coughing fit.

Nate played the innocent and leaned back, letting them think he didn’t have any idea of the true meaning behind Galt’s words. He glanced around, seeking Clay Basket, and was surprised to find she was gone. So was Roarke. They were probably off getting additional wood, he figured, and didn’t think more of it until a sharp cry pierced the night and there was a loud crashing in the underbrush to the north.

Every last cutthroat leaped erect and had a gun ready when Clay Basket burst from the trees and halted to catch her breath. Her left cheek was bleeding from a small cut and there were red marks on her throat.

What the hell!” Galt roared, racing over with his gang close on his heels.

Nate followed, but at a slower pace. He held back as Galt grabbed Clay Basket’s wrist and gave her a vigorous shake.

What happened to you, woman? Where’s Roarke?”

He tried to take me,” Clay Basket said.

This was the first Nate had heard her speak, and he was struck by the musical lilt to her pleasant voice. Her English, while heavily accented, was almost as good as his wife’s. Placing a finger on the hammer of his Hawken, he edged closer.

Tried to take you?” Galt was saying. “In what way?”

You know in what way.”

The son of a bitch!”

I slapped him and he fell,” Clay Basket said.

I’ll turn the bastard into a gelding!” Galt snarled. Drawing a knife, he plunged into the forest. His men stayed right with him.

In the excitement and anger of the moment, Nate and Clay Basket were left alone. He took a bound, snatched her hand, and declared, “There’s no time to explain. I’m here to help you, to take you back to Nelson. You must come with me.” Whirling, Nate headed northward, glancing once at the horses. He would much rather have cut them loose and stampeded them, but there were so many it would take a minute or two to drive every last animal off, and by then the renegades might return. He couldn’t risk that. The only alternative, he felt, was to reach his own horses and ride like a bat out of hell back to where he had left his friends.

Clay Basket offered no protests. As fleet as a deer, she sprinted beside Nate, casting anxious eyes on the pines.

They crossed the open space, and were almost to the tree line when a strident shout erupted to their rear. Glancing around, Nate saw one of the killers.

Galt! Galt! He’s stealin’ your woman, damn it! They’re headin’ west!”

Furious yells broke out. Nate raised his rifle to swat a limb aside as he sped into the woods. He could have shot the man who gave the warning, but he preferred to save the ball for when he would need it the most. Darting around a tree trunk, he ran flat out, Clay Basket matching his pace if not his stride. He was angling up the hill when the night thundered to the blast of a rifle and a searing pain lanced his left thigh.