Chapter Eighteen

Marietta was sitting up and awake, awaiting Grey Coyote, when four men burst into her room.

She screamed. Yellow Swan screamed. Marietta kept screaming.

Fiercely, two of the men gagged the women, effectively silencing them. One of the brutes threw a sheet over Marietta, wrapping her in it then tying it with a belt. She kicked out at her assailant, but very quickly her feet were bound as well.

What was going on? This couldn’t be the work of Grey Coyote. He would never approve such manhandling. Soon, however, the smell of tobacco and rum gave away the identity of the men.

They were white men. But that knowledge only confused her more. White men? Treating her as if she were a common criminal?

“Got her?” one of the men asked.

“Yep,” came the reply. “Got the Injun woman too.”

“Then c’mon. Let’s get ’em to the mackinaw. Adams has it tied up and waiting on the river.”

“They’re goin’ by mackinaw?”

“Fastest, cheapest way. Better than a canoe.”

Marietta listened to the conversation. What was amazing, and perhaps telling, was that none of these men were disguising their voices. No low whispers. No attempt at secrecy.

The bourgeois knew, she realized, and he approved—likely he gave instruction for this act.

One of the men hoisted her up over his shoulder, the action interrupting her thoughts. He said to some unknown source, “Did’cha kill the Injun?”

“Nope,” came another voice. “Not yet. Couldna find him.”

Kill the Indian? Were they speaking of Grey Coyote?

“Well, find him, man,” said the one carrying her. “If ye dunna kill the savage, chances are he’ll come after these two women. Especially if he considers ’em both his squaws. Don’t know ’bout ye, but I dunna want to meet up with some warrior out to save his women. Don’t think any of our scalps would be safe.”

“Ye’ll be safe enough,” said another unknown voice. “Four against one?”

Would they? wondered Marietta. She wasn’t so certain.

Thank the Lord they couldn’t find him. In truth, they would probably never find him. Chances were he had sensed the presence of the men seeking him long before they had ever come close to him.

But what had happened? Why was this occurring? And why now?

As though in answer to her question, Grey Coyote’s words from earlier this evening came to mind, haunting her. “As it is, even dancing as we are, I fear we flaunt the customs of this place. He watches us even now.”

Quickly, Marietta pieced together what few facts she knew and realized Laidlaw had not liked what he’d seen this night. It was the only explanation that made sense. She had heard that the men who ran these trading posts considered themselves to be something like kings. She had simply not given the matter proper thought…unfortunately.

Without warning, the man who carried her threw her down none too gently. Furthermore, whatever she had landed on was hard, though it rocked.

They must be aboard a boat of some kind. What had one of the men mentioned? A mackinaw? Although she wasn’t certain what kind of a boat this was, one thing was clear—it was wet. Already, her dress was soaking up water like dry cotton.

“Who’s goin’ on this trip?” came one of the voices.

“Jenkins, Adams, you and me,” answered another man. “That’s all. A bit of cargo for St. Louis, but not much, since we just sent some down with the Yellowstone. Mostly we’re supposed ta play host ta the women.”

Raunchy laughter accompanied this bit of news.

“There’s Jenkins now,” continued the voice. “We’re set to go, but where’s Adams?”

“He went lookin’ fer that Injun.”

“Well, go get him,” said another voice. “We’re supposed ta set this boat off now. The bourgeois said there was ta be no delay.”

Aha, thought Marietta. She had been right. This was Laidlaw’s work.

“But he said ta kill that Injun too.”

“Ah, you know we’ll never find the savage. Damned Injuns. No one hides better’n they do. You go tell Adams that, hear? We need ta get this boat off now, before that Injun finds us.”

Yes, thought Marietta. I’d be worried about that too, if I were you.

“Ah, here’s Adams now. C’mon, man, get aboard. Laidlaw wants this mackinaw ta set off now.”

The boat pitched back and forth as someone stepped onto the boat—probably Adams—nice, friendly Allen Adams.

“Did’cha find that Injun?”

“No,” came the voice of Adams. “But you’re right—we best not waste any more time looking for him. Let’s get going.”

Marietta, still covered in a sheet, felt the boat set off from the shore.

 

 

The mackinaw turned out to be a cheaply made flat-bottomed boat about forty feet long and pointed at the bow. A long rudder extended out of the back, or the stern, of the boat. It required at least two oarsmen to guide her and was steered by a man who sat on a high perch astern. At the bow of the boat was the hold, which in this particular mackinaw had been set aside to house the women and an odd assortment of cargo.

At the moment, however, the entire crew, as well as the women, sat on a flat, grassy bank. Evening was descending on them, and as was custom along the river, the crew had rowed the boat ashore.

A large fire sat in the center of their small circle, and an iron pot was extended over it, cooking their supper of vegetables and pork. The crew was an odd assortment of men, Marietta had decided. Two of them wore red bandannas tied around their heads; another sported a black hat with the brim turned up. This man was Adams, and as she recalled from the previous evening, Adam’s face bore a mark of kindness.

All of the men wore buckskin breeches and buckskin shirts that looked as if they’d seen better days. Three of the men sat smoking T-stemmed pipes, while a fourth man worked on the boat, securing it.

An overhanging growth of cottonwood and willow trees sheltered their little nook, creating a sort of park. It was a picturesque spot, and under most any other circumstance, Marietta might have been content to simply sit and enjoy the scenic beauty.

But she wasn’t content, nor was she inclined to relish the idle chatter of the men. Not at the moment. She was boiling mad.

Interrupting one of the men, she said, “You shouldn’t build such a big fire.”

All of the crew except Adams laughed at her. One of the bullies said, “And what would ye be knowing about it?”

“Apparently more than you,” she replied, but it was said more under her breath than aloud.

“What was that?” asked the man.

“A large fire can be seen from far away,” explained Marietta, “and its scent will warn any Indians traveling in the area that you are here. It’s better to build a small, smokeless fire.”

The man snickered. “Ye been travelin’ with that Injun too long, I expect, ma’am.”

“Perhaps,” agreed Marietta, “but at least I felt safe under his protection.”

“Don’t ye worry, ma’am. Ye’re safe with us. If’n them Injuns choose ta surprise us, we can get away in our boat.”

“Get away in the boat?” Stunned at the stupidity of the statement, Marietta stared at the one who uttered it.

“That’s right,” proffered the man.

“I beg to differ, sir,” she replied. “By the time it would take you to run to the boat, you would most likely be dead. Besides, don’t you realize that any Indian could follow you? You do know they can swim, don’t you?”

For a second, the bully looked ridiculously blank. After a brief pause, he grinned at her. “Them Injuns aren’t brave enough ta follow us. ’Sides, they’d flee before our guns.”

“Maybe.” Marietta shook her head and gazed away from the man. “Thank heavens your guns are big enough to make up for your lack of brains and skill.”

“What was that, miss?”

“Nothing,” Marietta replied, though she caught Yellow Swan’s gaze, and the two women shared a secret smile.

Yellow Swan raised her hands, making hand motions—with her palms facing each other, she drove her hands forward in zigzag motions. It was the sign for “follow”. Then she formed the sign for “husband”.

Marietta nodded.

“What did that savage say?” asked one of the crew who wore a bandanna.

“I don’t know, sir,” lied Marietta. “But I have heard that all the tribes use this form of language. It might do you well to learn it.”

“Like hell ye don’t know what she said,” the man cursed. When Marietta remained silent, he took out his frustration another way. He leaned over to one side and spit.

Marietta, momentarily repulsed, closed her eyes.

With the exception of Adams, these men were as different from Grey Coyote as they could possibly be, she thought, her heart warming to the subject. Grey Coyote, who at all times had presented a pleasant manner, would have never spit in her presence. Not like that.

To give the crewman his due, however, she considered that perhaps Grey Coyote could act as grossly as did these men. But if he had ever done so, she wouldn’t know of it. In her presence, Grey Coyote had always been a gentleman.

She sighed. Dear Lord, she missed him. Traveling without him wasn’t the same, wasn’t nearly as interesting, exciting or as beautiful.

For one, she missed Grey Coyote’s constant reference to the different natural phenomena of the plains, his pointing out things she had neglected to see, his educating her of the grasslands, his showing her how and why the wilderness was not really wild.

Perhaps to abate the feeling of loneliness, she decided to try to converse more intelligently with her captors. “Excuse me, sir,” she spoke to Adams. “Your name is Allen Adams, isn’t it?”

He beamed. “That’s right, miss.”

“Mr. Adams, tell me, did you say that you are charged to return myself and my maid to St. Louis?”

“Aye, ma’am. That we are. We carry some cargo downriver too. But our main purpose is to get you to civilization.”

“Thank you, sir. It is considerate of you to do so.”

He smiled.

“It would be even more considerate had I not been dragged away, a sheet forced over my head, and my hands and feet tied.”

“I understand, miss,” said Adams, “but Mr. Laidlaw thought this way was for the best. I suspect he was afraid you might protest.”

“I see,” she acknowledged. “How fortunate for us that Mr. Laidlaw can think for us all, without ever having to consult us. Heaven forbid we tax our own minds.”

Adams grinned, and Marietta was certain that, if the man had grasped the sarcasm underlying her words, he chose to ignore it.

He said, “You should get yourself ready to turn in, ma’am. I’m sorry that we’ll have to bind both you and your friend, but it’ll be for the night only.”

Marietta frowned at him. “I hardly think that’s necessary.”

“I’m sorry, miss.” And he truly did look sorry. “But it’s Laidlaw’s orders. Guess he felt you might try ta steal away.”

Marietta pressed her lips together, drawing in her brows. “And dear God in heaven, spare us if we should think to disobey Mr. Laidlaw’s orders.”

Adams smiled at her. “I’m sorry. Just get ready to settle in. We’ll be up early in the morning to get started again. Me and the men are goin’ to go secure the boat now, but you and your maid should get yourselves ready to sleep.”

Despite his good nature, Marietta might have replied to that with even more sass, but at the moment, the man who had been securing their cargo stepped into their camp. In his hand, he held a small tree he had uprooted, and with an inane grin, he said, “Look what I found—this little sapling’ll make a good whip.” He swung the tree round and round his head, using the sapling like a lash as he did a little dance. The men all laughed, even Adams.

As Marietta watched, she recalled another time, another set of saplings, another man and another set of values. She wondered, did this voyageur know he had disturbed the oneness of nature?

Probably not. Only days ago, she wouldn’t have known any differently either.

But now she did and was curious if the voyageur would ever come to realize that all life was precious. That the life you took from another could detract from your own immortal soul.

All at once, Marietta slammed into a realization: She had changed. Her viewpoint on life had changed; it was completely different than it had been. Indeed, England seemed very far away, in many ways. Not at all connected with the here and now.

It was a strange feeling, as though all this time she had been living in the future, forgetting that there was a present.

But not now. At this moment in time, she was very aware of the presence of things. She felt the urge to become a part of every living creature—to attain that oneness in nature, and to experience the beauty of it to its fullest extent.

Dear Lord. How had it happened? When had it happened?

Somehow, in some way, her spirit and Grey Coyote’s had merged, had become kindred. They were connected by something more real than this material universe. Perhaps the very spirit of the land had entered into her soul.

If it had, it was a good thing. For it was a wonderful feeling.

She inhaled deeply. Though less than a month had passed since she had begun traveling with Grey Coyote, she was a different person. This was now her home, Grey Coyote, her man.

She would escape. Luckily, thanks to Grey Coyote, she had a good idea of how she might accomplish this.

Glancing toward Yellow Swan, Marietta curled her fingers into fists, and crossing her hands over each other, she jerked them both to the side, slightly upward, opening her fingers at the same time. It was the sign for “escape”.

Subtly, Yellow Swan nodded, making the gesture for “tonight?”

Marietta inclined her head, and Yellow Swan replied with the sign for “good”.

Together, the women smiled.

 

 

Gazing up at the Seven Brothers, Grey Coyote realized that dawn was only a few hours away. It was the time of night for which he had been patiently waiting. Soon the darkest hour would be upon them. It would be then he would rescue the women.

Grey Coyote had followed the boat carrying his wife. He had watched it; he had waited. But he had not acted to take Marietta away yet, mostly because in his own mind, he had realized that perhaps this was the opportunity his wife had wished for. Hadn’t she talked often and long enough about returning to St. Louis?

Indeed, if this were what she craved, Grey Coyote would let her go, for it was not in his nature to hold her against her will. If the curse were to be more difficult to break because he had allowed her to leave, then so be it.

But in watching their camp closely this night, he had witnessed Marietta make the sign for escape—tonight. Seeing those gestures, Grey Coyote’s heart had broken free. Indeed, it had soared.

His wife would rather flee than continue down the path that would take her to St. Louis, even though, for the length of time he had known her, she had talked of little else. Had Marietta finally come to realize that, no matter the circumstances, they belonged together?

It appeared to be so.

Shrewdly, Grey Coyote set his plans, awaiting his moment to act, though he had certainly not been idle in the time intervening. Stealing up close to each man this very evening, Grey Coyote had taken their weapons, one by one. It had been a necessary precaution, but it was also a form of revenge.

Now, advancing noiselessly toward his wife, Grey Coyote placed his hand over her mouth, a safeguard in case he startled her into crying out. Bringing his face to hers, he settled his lips over hers.

Immediately, her eyes popped open. She stared, and he couldn’t help but grin at her, watching as her countenance slowly changed from surprise to enchantment. Ah, how he loved this woman.

He placed his finger to his lips, then taking out his knife, he slipped its blade between the ropes that bound her hands. He did the same with her feet, then repeated the procedure with Yellow Swan.

Quite naturally, both women rubbed their wrists, but Grey Coyote, with a sharp sign, cautioned them to cease all action. Movement, he reminded them with a frown, would send out those ever-expanding air waves. And if he were to secure their escape, they would need to effect their desertion with as little motion as possible.

Marietta nodded.

Taking her hand in his and bringing it to his lips, he kissed her fingers gently and mouthed, “You must remove your dress and petticoats if we are to leave here without notice.”

Again Marietta nodded, and without even a small comment or protest, began to undo the buttons of her dress.

Next, Grey Coyote crept toward Yellow Swan, and with a series of signs, asked her to help Marietta.

But Marietta seemed to have misunderstood, for she reached out for Grey Coyote’s fingers, and bringing them to her lips, she mouthed, “Shouldn’t Yellow Swan also remove her dress?”

Grey Coyote shook his head.

“Why not?” asked Marietta.

Taking up a handful of Yellow Swan’s dress, Grey Coyote made the signs for “buckskin”, “tear”, then “resist”.

Yellow Swan meanwhile had crept toward Marietta, and with two sets of hands working over Marietta’s dress, the chore was soon done. His wife had shed her outer garment, her petticoats and chemise. That it left her sitting in no more than leggings, drawers and corset was becoming to him a common sight.

However, the dress was not cached or thrown away. The dress, the petticoats and chemise were all laid out over the ground. Taking up the ropes that had bound his wife, Grey Coyote tied them to the clothing.

This done, they gradually crept away from the camp. Once out of sight, Grey Coyote ushered the women into a grove of tightly packed willow trees. Here they would hide.

Once more, bringing Marietta’s fingers to his lips, he mouthed, “You are both to stay here while I backtrack, so that I may erase our passage. You are not to do anything or say anything until I return. Do you understand?”

She nodded, and he kissed her again before he turned away.

Sneaking back into the river boat encampment, Grey Coyote took up the weapons he had confiscated earlier, arranging the arsenal into a neat pattern next to Marietta’s dress. If that design gave all the appearance of creating the English word “fools”, so be it.

Noiselessly, Grey Coyote slipped back to the willows, where for a moment, he held his wife in his arms. Then, with one more kiss, they were on their way.