Chapter Twelve

Tucket could see better out of his left eye now, as the swelling had gone down, but his left arm felt useless on occasion. Still, he’d successfully defended his rendezvous campsite. And he’d damn-well continue to do so.

Running late, the supply wagons from back East hadn’t arrived as yet, and the pressing and bartering of hides hadn’t started. Therefore, guarding the plews had been his main concern, causing him sleepless nights, uncomfortable days, and a few nasty altercations.

In the meantime, the HBC boys were crossing swords and throwing punches with any free trapper brave enough to show up, especially one rash enough to show up alone. But he’d held his own against those pork eaters—barely.

As he set about rustling up breakfast, he wondered if this truly would be his last year trapping. The job got harder, the return got less, and from talk around camp, even the High Uinta was getting trapped out.

He knew one thing for sure—he wished Kade and Blind Deer would hurry up and get here. Had Kade gotten worse, or had they met with a band of Blackfoot or Rees? Them Arikara were as deadly as they come. Since he couldn’t backtrack to help them or find out how things were going, there was nothing left for it but the praying.

Speaking of which, the Rev. Henry Spalding and Dr. Marcus Whitman had shown up again this year, all the way from New York City. And much to everyone’s surprise, they brought their wives along. They were the first white women ever to attend rendezvous.

He didn’t especially have anything against psalm singers, but a man endured life in the mountains so’s he didn’t have anyone telling him what to do, or what to believe in. And while religion was strong medicine, too much of it could be poisonous.

The mountains had always meant freedom and shinin’ times. Indeed, things were changin’, and not for the better.

****

“The men you sent out ain’t nowhere to be found, Captain. Seems they should have been here by now.”

Captain Sulgrave had already come to the same conclusion. The elite in Montreal and London didn’t realize there was a war going on in the territory, and in regard to this particular situation, he’d made the mistake of not treating it as such either.

The Indian woman and those damnable free trappers were probably on the way here anyway. He should have waited. Now more of his men were missing in action, or more probably dead. Did it really matter? Soon all this would all be just a bad memory. Still, he didn’t like losing—for any reason or to anyone. And the reward for the runaway bitch would be helpful to his plans.

“Just concentrate on what’s going on here,” he ordered. “Get Carson on his feet and moving. He should be able to recognize the two Americans we’re after, and the half-breed woman won’t be hard to spot. Let me know immediately when they show up. Until then, keep watch on the other free trappers already here. Dismissed.”

As his subordinate went to follow orders, Captain Sulgrave’s gaze drifted over the camp. A big one this year, spread-out almost a mile long, following the river. A small city really, where anything could happen—good or evil. Rarely trusting to the good, he was willing to risk the help of the evil.

He spotted Spalding and Whitman—and their wives Narcissa and Eliza. Dispatched by the American Board of Commissioners of Foreign Missions and blinded by the light of God and truth and right, the little group of Protestants was heading for the Northwest to save the world. Or at least one little corner of it. He couldn’t care less about the success or failure of their grand intentions, or even the continuation of their lives. As previously planned, they were simply his ticket out of here.

Governor Simpson had volunteered the HBC to escort the religious group west to Vancouver following rendezvous. Once the wagon train was well on its way, Sulgrave intended to cut out and double back, heading for the East Coast and then Europe. He should be long gone before anyone of consequence took note of his disappearance.

With a sigh of resignation, he sallied forth. Although hard to stomach this early in the morning, he supposed he should make an attempt at small talk with the proselytizing do-gooders. Gaining their friendship and trust was integral to his plan.