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“One more thing I did not expect.”
~ Moriah
SAMUEL’S GUT CLENCHED tightly as he watched Mrs. Clark ride away, the three horses trailing her mount. Was he sending her into danger?
He had no idea what he’d find as he waited here. He only knew he had to find out what trouble had been lurking about, watching them. The farther they traveled today, the more certain his instincts had become. And twice, he’d thought he’d seen the outline of a dark head rise above the line of grass behind them, then duck down again. Someone was purposely staying just out of sight to avoid discovery. He couldn’t imagine why a man would go through that much effort, unless his plans were sinister.
Lord, don’t let him realize Mrs. Clark is riding away alone. He was counting on the trees to shield her from clear view.
Forcing his gaze away from the solitary form of the woman, he scanned the landscape behind them. He’d positioned himself in the fork of a tree trunk, about a stride up from the ground, where he’d have enough height to see the stranger clearly. There were enough leafless branches that he and his rifle would blend into the landscape, as long as he didn’t move. Even then, a man wouldn’t be able to make him out from a distance.
Within ten minutes, Samuel’s foot had gone to sleep where it pressed into the narrow joint of the trunk. He’d been much more agile at climbing trees when he was a boy. He shifted his footing, trying to work out a better position.
Then a movement in the distance caught his eye. A brown dot on the horizon, bouncing and growing as it moved closer.
A man on horseback? No, as the full body crested the hill, he could see it was only a man. Running.
He kept up a steady jog, coming over the path they’d traveled less than an hour ago. His buckskins almost blended with the brown winter grass, and the stranger moved lithely, as though he could keep up that run for miles.
Who was he? And why on foot? They were days away from Fort Hamilton, but it was possible he lived somewhere in this area. Had he been following them since the night before? And why?
Minutes passed as the man neared, keeping up that steady jog.
Samuel tightened his grip on his rifle as the imposter reached the trees in the exact place they’d built their warming fire. He paused, propping his hands at his waist as his shoulders rose and fell with his deep breathing. Then he stared off into the distance, and Samuel followed his gaze.
Mrs. Clark and the horses were still in sight, mounting a gentle hill that would soon shelter them from this man’s sight. It was plain to see only one person was riding away. Samuel’s gut tightened as he shifted his focus back to the stranger.
The man was gone.
Samuel tightened his grip on his rifle and positioned it to fire, should he need to. The fellow must have slipped behind a tree. Maybe he’d noticed only one figure rode atop the distant horses.
He strained to see between the shifting branches, searching for the light brown of the man’s buckskins.
There. Wasn’t that him? The sliver of brown beside the tree disappeared, but that must have been his arm.
Samuel had to take control of the situation before he lost the stalker. He was in a vulnerable position up in the tree, though. He needed to get to the ground without the man pulling a gun on him. Why had he thought this was a good position?
Easing down, he worked to stay completely soundless. The fellow must have seen him to know how to remain hidden behind the tree, but Samuel still didn’t want to give away his movements.
When he had both feet on the ground, he aimed his rifle squarely at the tree where the man was hiding. “I have a rifle aimed at you. Come out from behind that tree and keep your hands where I can see them.”
Silence fell over the area. A deep quiet that tightened the knot in his gut. Would the stranger obey or try to make a run for it? If he ran, Samuel would have to stop him. The obvious threat couldn’t be left to haunt them. He would aim for a leg or something that wouldn’t be life-threatening, but would stop the fellow.
He deepened his voice to a menacing tone. “This is your last chance to step out peacefully before I start shooting.”
Let him step out, Lord. His stomach churned as he aimed down the barrel.
A flash of brown appeared at the edge of the tree. Samuel tensed. Not a flash, a slow, solid movement.
The arm shifted to reveal the rest of the body, and the man stepped fully into view. Samuel tensed, keeping his aim as he took in the stranger.
Dark features, lean body. Very lean. He was clad in buckskins with a rifle slung over his shoulder, held by a leather strap. Samuel’s gaze narrowed on his face.
He wasn’t much more than a boy.
“Who are you?” Samuel barked.
The man-boy eyed him warily, a shock of black hair shadowing his eyes. His skin wasn’t dark enough to be full Indian, but he certainly looked like he might have some of that blood running through him.
Like Mrs. Clark. The thought jolted through him. Was this boy related to her? Was that why he’d been following?
“Who are you?” He softened his tone just a little, keeping enough steel to hopefully stop the lad from attempting to run. He wasn’t sure he could bring himself to shoot a boy who looked to be just old enough for his voice to have deepened.
He couldn’t let him get away without answers, though. And did he even understand English? If he’d been raised with the natives, maybe not.
The lad raised his chin. “I am Matisse.”
A bit of the tension eased from Samuel’s chest. The lad understood and wasn’t refusing to speak. “And why have you been following us, Matisse?”
The boy eyed him, not giving a hint of what he might be thinking behind that dark gaze. Then finally, he spoke again. “I don’t follow. I go to the same place as you.”
His words had a slight accent. Just barely there. Almost like the lilting flow of Mrs. Clark’s speech. Was he part of the same band of Peigan? “Where is it you’re going exactly?”
“To my people.”
“Which people?”
The boy raised his chin again. “Those who gave me life.”
This was getting them nowhere. Samuel leveled him with a gaze that he hoped would make the boy squirm until the truth slipped out. “You say you weren’t following, but I’ve felt your presence with us for a while now, yet you never showed yourself. Why did you hide?”
The boy eyed him with a glare, not saying a word.
Samuel allowed the silence to stretch out. Let the lad feel the weight of it so maybe he’d break down and answer.
What were they going to do with him? Samuel was no longer as worried about the danger this scrawny overgrown lad would provide, but he’d feel much better if he could keep an eye on Matisse instead of turning him loose to follow and snoop again.
Should he trust the boy around Mrs. Clark and the baby? If Samuel allowed a danger into their camp and either of them came to harm, he’d never forgive himself.
Still, maybe she knew this boy. If they were from the same band, there was a good chance she did. And if not, he’d like to know her thoughts on what to do with him.
He motioned with his rifle. “It’s time we catch up with my group. Start walking.”
The boy eyed him a final time, then obeyed. Turning toward the path Mrs. Clark had taken, he marched forward. Thank you, Lord.
Samuel followed a few strides behind him, his gun still aimed at the lad. He wasn’t sure he could shoot the boy even if he ran, but hopefully keeping the rifle aimed would dissuade him from attempting anything ill-advised.
As they trekked toward the distant rise, it soon became clear Matisse was much better at hiking through the wilderness than Samuel was. He tried to keep his breathing steady so he didn’t give away the effort their clip took to maintain. Matisse didn’t seem winded at all, just settled into his lanky stride.
At last they crested the knoll Mrs. Clark had ridden over, and Samuel eased out a breath of relief. There she sat, still astride her mare with the other horses tethered behind her. The sling with Cherry inside was draped across her front as usual.
Her gaze met his first, and something like relief eased her features. Then her focus shifted to the lad, eyes narrowing, as though she wasn’t quite sure what she was seeing.
He knew the feeling.
When they were a half dozen strides away, he barked, “That’s far enough.”
Matisse stopped. Samuel couldn’t see his expression, since he was behind the boy, but he could tell he was eyeing Mrs. Clark.
And she him, except a softness had taken over her features. A gentleness, almost motherly. Her gaze lifted to Samuel in question.
He motioned toward the lad. “This is Matisse. He says he’s not following us, only going the same direction we are. To his people. That’s all he’s said so far.”
She shifted her focus back to the boy and spoke, yet the words flowed in a language he couldn’t understand. Peigan?
Samuel eased around so he could see the boy’s face. Confusion. And maybe a little disappointment.
Then the lad raised his chin and spoke in English. “I am Peigan, but I don’t know the tongue. I was raised by a white man, a trapper who is no longer of this world. I now go back to those who gave me life.”
“Whose people are you from? Who is the leader?” Mrs. Clark seemed to be attempting to keep her emotions from showing on her face, but her eyes sparkled with a hint of the excitement she must surely be feeling. This boy could be kin to her.
Matisse’s face took on a bit of uncertainty. “I’m not certain. Pierre found me by a hot spring, about a half days’ ride in to the mountains. It was winter, and he said the Indians had already left the area. He took me to his cabin but never found the people I came from.”
A line formed across her forehead. “How old were you? Is Matisse your Indian name or did Pierre give it to you?”
“He thinks I was two when he found me, and he named me.”
The lad was certainly answering her questions better than he had Samuel’s. But he couldn’t blame the boy. With her pretty eyes seeking him out, she would be impossible to resist.
And it probably helped that she wasn’t pointing a gun at him.
There was one thing that still bothered Samuel, though. He’d feel better if he asked it now instead of after the boy joined their group, as he suspected would be the case. “How is it you found us? And how did you know we’re going to a Piegan camp?”
The lad swiveled to face him, his expression turning more guarded. But he still answered. “I saw men on the trail. Heard them talk about meeting a man and woman going into the mountains to find her Indian people. I thought following you would be my best chance.”
So, he had been following. But Samuel wouldn’t call him on the lie he’d told earlier. This boy was simply desperate and finding his way the best he could. He probably didn’t know who to trust. “How old are you, son?” He shifted around to get a better view of the boy’s responses.
Matisse raised his chin. “Fifteen. I think.”
Samuel nodded. A year or so older than he’d have guessed, but still too young to be on his own in this wilderness. Especially with winter coming on.
He turned to Mrs. Clark, studying her face for any sign of lingering fear toward the lad. Inviting him into their camp would require a measure of trust.
She returned Samuel’s gaze, eyes glistening. Then she gave an almost imperceptible nod of agreement. Good.
He looked at Matisse. “If you’d like to join in with us, you can. We’re going to Mrs. Clark’s people, a Peigan camp about a day’s ride into the mountains. We’d expect you to help with what needs done, and you’re welcome to share our food.”
The boy’s gaze turned wary, and he gazed from Samuel to Mrs. Clark. His eyes looked to be almost asking her for permission.
She nodded. “We’d like you to join us. It would help us all.” Based on her tone, she seemed to be trying to maintain her distance, but it wasn’t hard to feel her warmth.
Matisse turned back to Samuel with a nod. “I will do my part.”
“All right then.” He let out a breath as he turned his focus to what should be done next. They needed to get on the trail, but the boy certainly couldn’t walk. He looked to Mrs. Clark. “I think we could move the packs around to let him ride the other mare.”
She nodded. “I can carry more behind my saddle.”
Within a few minutes Samuel had the gear shifted to allow Matisse to ride. Samuel hesitated a long moment over the rifle slung behind the boy’s back. It seemed like a bad idea to take the weapon away, an act that would only build distrust and bitterness in the lad. They just had a couple of days to travel, but the coming terrain would require them to work together, each looking out for the good of the group.
So he didn’t speak of the gun, just held the horse while the boy mounted. “You’ve ridden before?”
Matisse nodded and took up the reins. He seemed to know what he was doing, although he was a bit stiff in the saddle. He would grow more comfortable in time.
Samuel turned back to untether his gelding from Mrs. Clark’s mare but paused at her side, raising his hand to shield his eyes from the midday sun as he studied her. “How’s Little Bit doing?” He tapped one end of the bundle of furs. They were tucked so tightly, from this angle, he couldn’t tell where the babe was among the pelts. “Is she staying warm enough?”
Mrs. Clark looked down. “I think so. She’s sleeping now.” Then she raised her gaze to his, and the power of her beautiful eyes speared all the way to his core. It took everything in him not to reach up and touch her. Not to take her hand.
Did she think of him as more than someone to help on the journey? He wanted to be a help to her, but with each passing hour, he wanted to be more.
Yet she was mourning her dead husband. His thoughts were way out of line.
Forcing himself to step away, he turned toward his gelding. His only focus should be to get this woman and her baby to her family safely. And he should add getting Matisse there, as well.
He mounted his horse and squared his shoulders. Time to accomplish the mission God had assigned him and stop wishing for what would never happen.