Wilderness Double Edition 15, page 20
“How many times must I tell you? I’m in this for the money.” Banner slowly stood. “Besides, even if I wanted to, there’s little I could do. Festerman has over fifty cutthroats at his beck and call.”
“You’re real good at making excuses for yourself, aren’t you, lady?”
Flushing, Banner backhanded Lou across the face, then raised her hand to do it again. But she didn’t. “Damn you, girl. You’re so high and mighty. Think you know it all. But life isn’t as clear-cut as you make it out to be. Sometimes we do things we might not like doing but we have to. We’re not left any choice.”
Lou grew hot with indignation. “We always have a choice. I’ll die before I let a man violate me.”
“A fate worse than death, eh?” Banner mocked her. “Well, we’ll see. But I’m willing to wager that a year from now you won’t recognize yourself. You’ll be prancing around in silk dresses, catering to the whims of randy rich men. See if you don’t.” Turning on a heel, Banner walked off. She tossed the gag onto the table, saying, “If the girl behaves, let her be. If she makes so much as a peep, stuff this down her throat.”
“With pleasure,” Erskine said.
Tears welled up in Lou’s eyes, but she fought them, resisting a tide of despair and anxiety. Nate King always liked to say, “Where there’s a will, there’s a way.” There had to be a way out of the fix she was in. As long as she kept her wits about her, she would find it.
And there was Zach. Lou knew him. Believed in him. Trusted him. He loved her with the breadth and depth of his soul. He wouldn’t rest until he had turned St. Louis upside down seeking her. Banner might have thrown him off the scent, but he would be back.
Thinking of Zach calmed Lou considerably. He always incited such wonderful feelings. Love, awe, thankfulness. When she was with him, she felt as if she were complete. A strange way to describe it, yet appropriate. He filled an emptiness in her, a great longing she hadn’t realized was there until he came into her life. Maybe it was the same with everyone who fell in love. She couldn’t say. She only knew that she cared for him as much as he cared for her, and nothing could ever keep them apart for long. They wouldn’t let it.
A shadow fell across her. Titus appeared, nervously fidgeting. “Would you like some coffee? Or a bite to eat?”
Over at the table, Erskine swore. “She doesn’t deserve a crumb or a single drop. Not after what the witch did to me. Leave her be.”
Titus stayed put. “The girl was doing what anyone would. Trying to save herself. You can’t blame her for that.” Bending, he asked, “So what would you like? You must be awful thirsty and hungry. Miss Banner won’t mind.”
Lou hadn’t given any thought to nourishment, but her throat did feel parched. “Coffee, I suppose. Unless you can get some water.”
Nodding, Titus tramped to the table and filled his own cup. Erskine, irritated, was shuffling the cards, smacking them down between riffles. “You softhearted simpleton. Why bother? In another five or six hours the van will be here. Let Festerman’s boys take care of her.”
Lou’s interest was piqued. “What van?”
“Every time we snare a new prize, Banner sends word to Festerman and he sends a van to pick them up. Late at night, so no one is likely to notice.” Erskine began to deal. “Lon is one sly fox. He doesn’t miss a trick.”
Titus brought the cup and sat in the chair. “I’ll have to help you,” he said. “Miss Banner would beat me with a broom if I untied you.”
“I’m obliged for your kindness,” Lou said.
Titus actually blushed and averted his eyes. “Shucks. I’d do the same for any lady. I’m real sorry about what we’ve done to you, but it’s how I earn my living. I have a wife and five sprouts to feed.”
Erskine snickered. “Tell her your life’s story, why don’t you? I swear. A turnip has more brains than you do. I could knock you for a row of houses, you get me so mad.”
Leaning lower, Titus whispered to Louisa, “Pay him no mind. He’s always as prickly as a scalded cat.” Titus raised the cup to her mouth, carefully tilting it so coffee trickled between her lips. “You’re one of the youngest we’ve caught so far. As I recall, the only girl younger was a fourteen-year-old.”
Lou swallowed, then said, “How can you do this to people? A married man like you? You don’t seem half bad otherwise.”
“Thank you, ma’am.” Titus swelled at the praise. “I try to be nice about it. My grandma always said that if a man can’t do anything else with his life, he should always be nice to folks. She ought to know. She was the sweetest lady who ever lived.”
“Doesn’t your conscience ever bother you?” Lou bluntly asked.
“I can’t say as it does, to be honest. It’s not as if I’m hurting anyone. Mr. Festerman sets his women up in fancy rooms, with a lot of new clothes and all that other stuff womenfolk admire. They go for carriage rides every day and attend balls and such every night. It’s a fine life, if you ask me. Finer than mine.”
Erskine growled like a vicious mongrel. “You should be a Bible-thumper, Titus. Then you could help people all you want.”
“I can’t read,” Titus said. “I couldn’t quote scripture like preachers do.”
A fit of laughter hit Erskine. When it subsided, he looked at Lou. “Ask him for a steak supper with all the trimmings. Or a couple of pillows and a quilt. Knowing him, he’d get them.”
Titus lowered the cup to Lou again. “You shouldn’t pick on me like that, pard. I treat you nice, too, don’t I? Haven’t I taken you to my home for meals? Didn’t I give you that shirt for your birthday?”
“Shut up,” Erskine snapped.
Lou sipped slowly, racking her mind for a means to escape. She considered playing on Titus’s sympathies, but so long as Erskine was there, it wouldn’t work. Without being obvious, she wriggled her wrists and twisted her ankles, testing how much play there was in the ropes. There wasn’t any. She might be able to free herself if she had half a day in which to do it, and if no one was guarding her.
Hour after hour dragged by. Her captors played poker, using wood slivers to bet with. Erskine’s surly disposition became worse when he fell into a losing streak. Eventually he threw his cards down in disgust and began to pace like a caged mountain lion.
“It was only a game,” Titus ventured. “I won’t hold you to the money you owe me, if that’s what has you out of sorts.”
“I wasn’t going to pay anyway.” Erskine walked to the cot and leered at Louisa. “I could sure use some female cuddling right about now, to relax me. What do you say, smooth cheeks?”
“Stop that,” Titus said.
Erskine whirled on his friend as if to assault him, then froze when the door opened and in strolled Sylvia Banner. “The time has come. The van is here.”
Chapter Four
Waiting was not one of Zachary King’s favorite pastimes. Oh, when he was after game he could hunker as motionless as a boulder for hours on end near a game trail or spring. But when he was anxious to do something, he couldn’t bear to sit around waiting to get it done. In this particular instance his impatience was made worse by the peril his beloved was in. He couldn’t bear to sit in the dark in George Milhouse’s store, waiting.
The old trapper was taking his turn at the window. “This reminds me of the time the Bloods stole a cache of my plews. Or half of it, anyhow. My partner and me expected them to return for the rest, so we hid ourselves in some brush. We couldn’t so much as sneeze for fear they’d be sneakin’ up on us and hear.”
Zach grunted. The oldster had been rambling on since sunset, and it was now past midnight. He would much rather wait in silence. But Milhouse liked to chatter as much as a chipmunk. It would take a fist to the teeth to shut him up.
“So there we were, son, in the dead of night, lyin’ as still as you please, when I felt a snake crawl onto my leg. I figured it was a rattler, since they do most of their huntin’ after dark. But I didn’t dare look, didn’t dare move, not when it might strike. All I could do was lay there like a log hopin’ it would slither off. Thing was, though, it liked the warmth my body gave off, so it crawled higher and made itself to home.”
Despite himself, Zach inquired, “What did you do?”
“What else could I do? I waited until it crawled up on my backside, then I farted and blew it to pieces.” Laughter spilled from Milhouse, laughter that was contagious.
Sharing tall tales qualified as a mountaineer tradition. Zach’s father claimed it got its start at the early rendezvous, when trappers gathered to compare experiences. A little exaggeration for humor’s sake was expected. Some of the mountain men were so adept at storytelling, sometimes it was impossible to tell where the lie ended and the truth began.
Zach remembered listening to an exchange between Jim Bridger—or Old Gabe, as the trappers called him—and Joe Meek. When Meek bragged about a “rainbow bird” he had supposedly seen, so named because every feather was a different color of the rainbow, Bridger told a whopper of his own to outdo Meek. It seems that once on a trek west, Bridger had stumbled on a forest of petrified trees in which petrified birds warbled petrified songs.
“Once, up in Snake country,” Milhouse continued, “I was coming around a narrow trail when I ran into a griz. A huge she-bear. Well, I didn’t hardly want to shoot. It would only make her mad, and I had nowhere to run. So I opened a parfleche and took out a swatch of red cloth I’d bought for a Flathead lovely I was fond of. I held it out for the she-bear to sniff and admire.”
“Did she attack you?”
“On the contrary, son. The next time I saw her, that she-bear was usin’ it as a shawl and struttin’ around as pretty as you please.”
“I haven’t heard that one before,” Zach said, grinning. “You should write them down for posterity.”
“Who’d want to read them? No one gives a hoot about the old days.”
Zach did. He liked to hear about the adventures his father and mother had. His pa was keeping a journal, and maybe one day it would be made into a book, as the exploits of some of the other mountaineers had been.
One of Zach’s secret passions was reading. Ever since he was knee-high to a cricket, his father had read to him every evening. Three whole shelves in their cabin were devoted to nothing but books. The latest from James Fenimore Cooper. Ivanhoe, by Scott. And many more.
“That’s one of the great tragedies of life, boy. Old people are filled with wisdom and experience, but young people don’t want to hear any of it. They have to go through the same experiences and learn the same wisdom before they’re willing to listen. And by then, they’re old themselves, and cycle starts all over again.”
“Anyone ever mention how you talk in circles?” Zach teased.
“All my wives,” Milhouse said. “Except for the Bannock. We communicated mostly in sign.”
“You didn’t bother to learn her tongue?”
“She was deaf.”
Zach jabbed a finger at the window. “Any sign of that van yet? You said it would be here by now.”
“Don’t get your dander up. Some nights it arrives later than others. If it weren’t for the fact I don’t hardly need but three hours’ sleep a night anymore, I’d never have spotted it. Until today I figured it was making deliveries, that whoever owned it wanted to avoid all the traffic during the day. Now I suspect that’s not the case.”
“When it comes, you let me take care of things.” Milhouse looked at him. “Not on your life, sonny. This is the first excitement I’ve had since I left the Rockies. It’s my notion, so I want in.”
“She’s my fiancée,” Zach said.
“And I won’t do anything to put her in more danger than she already is,” the trapper promised. “I won’t make a move unless you say so.”
“I don’t know ...”
“Think for a moment. You’ll need someone to watch your back, and I’m the only candidate. Unless you’d rather rely on a constable. I should warn you, though, that they have a habit of being the first to flatten when guns go off.”
Zach was still against the idea. Milhouse was well past his prime. The man couldn’t take three steps without his walking stick. If they got into trouble, Milhouse couldn’t run. “I don’t want your blood on my hands.”
“It’s my blood. I can bleed as I see fit.” Milhouse was annoyed. “My mettle hasn’t been tested in a coon’s age. I won’t let you or anyone else deny me a little fun.”
“Even if the fun, as you call it, gets you killed?”
The trapper had more to say, but the clatter of hooves and the creaking of a wagon nipped his argument in the bud. He peeked out the window, then beckoned. “At last! Just like I said.”
Keeping low, Zach dashed to the wall and raised his eyes to the sill. A long black van was nearing the dress shop. The driver and another were perched on the seat. Yellow letters were painted on the side, but it was too dark for Zach to read them. He watched as the driver skillfully wheeled the van into a narrow alley between the dress shop and the next building. The van disappeared behind the shop.
“Off we go,” Milhouse said excitedly, hobbling toward the door.
“Off I go,” Zach corrected him, darting past the old trapper and running into the night. In a burst of speed he reached the opposite side of the street, and the shop. At the corner he stopped to listen. Muffled voices gave no clue to what was taking place. On silent soles he glided to the rear, slowing as he came to the next corner. A door slammed, smothering the voices.
Zach looked before committing himself. A rutted dirt yard flanked the shop. The van had been parked so the back end was several feet from a door. A lantern on a peg illuminated the lettering on the side, LON’S SWEETMEATS, Zach read, SWEETEST IN ST. LOUIS. It made no sense to him. He was about to step into the open when the door opened and out strode the driver and his partner. Trailing them was Sylvia Banner.
“… get full credit for this one. She’s as green as grass, Horace. Just the kind Lon is always looking for.”
“Have I ever shorted you?” the driver responded. “I’ve marked it in the tally book, which no one but Mr. Festerman ever touches. He’ll send the money by messenger, the day after tomorrow at the latest.”
The driver’s partner pulled a large key from his pocket and inserted it into a lock on the back of the van. A narrow door opened. From it wafted soft sobbing and a woman’s groans.
“How many do you have in there tonight?” Sylvia Banner asked.
“Yours will make the fifth,” Horace said. “Two local runaways, a gal from New York City who came to St. Louis all by her lonesome on a steamboat, and a pilgrim bound for California who strayed from the rest of her party.” Horace patted the van’s door. “Not a bad haul, if I do say so myself. Usually we’re lucky to get this many in a month.”
The driver’s partner moved toward the front. “We should hurry up, Horace. We’re running late as it is.”
Banner turned and snapped her fingers. “Erskine! Titus! What’s keeping you? Get her out here.”
Zach’s breath caught in his throat when the two big men who had menaced him in the shop appeared. Not because of them, but because of the bound figure in their grip. Louisa was slumped over, her feet dragging. A gag covered her mouth, and she was panting as if she’d just sprinted a mile.
“Don’t blame us,” Erskine said. “This damn hellcat started kicking the second we cut her loose of the cot.”
“He punched her,” Titus said.
The brunette clucked like an ill-tempered hen. “I thought I made it clear. No bruises! Not a one.”
“Don’t lay an egg. I only hit her hard enough to quiet her down,” Erskine said.
A red haze seemed to envelop the yard and the people in it. Zach felt his temples pound to the beat of his own blood and heard a great rush of sound in his ears, like the driving rhythm of rapids. His moccasins moved of their own accord. Pointing the Hawken at Erskine and Titus, he growled, “That’s far enough!”
Everyone imitated tree stumps except the driver’s partner. His right hand dove under his coat and snaked out, holding a derringer. As he brought it up to shoot, a glimmer of silver sliced the air. None of them was more surprised than Zach when a knife embedded itself in the partner’s wrist. Blood spurted in a geyser. Crying out, the man dropped the derringer and clasped the wrist to his chest.
“That’ll teach him,” George Milhouse said, materializing as if out of nowhere. In his left hand was a .55-caliber smoothbore pistol. “Now, which one of these scoundrels wants to be next?”
“You!” Banner exclaimed. “What on earth are you doing, Milhouse?”
Horace, the driver, was coiled to spring. “You know him? Who the hell is he, your grandpa?”
“He owns a store across from mine,” Banner said. “I’ve talked to him once or twice. Always took him to be a harmless old coot.”
Milhouse chuckled. “Figured wrong, didn’t you, hussy?” He trained the flintlock on the driver. “I once slew a Piegan war chief with this. It blew a hole in him the size of an apple. Care for a demonstration?”
Zach was mad at the trapper for not listening. But he had a more urgent concern—namely, Louisa. Erskine and Titus were still holding her. “Untie her, damn you!” He moved forward, the pounding in his head growing louder with each step. When neither moved, he leaped and smashed the stock against the one with the scar. Erskine crumpled, a scarlet rivulet seeping from a nasty gash. “I won’t say it again!” He was ready to slay them all if they didn’t obey.
Titus glanced at Sylvia Banner. “Do as he says,” she instructed, and Titus sank onto a knee.
Banner rounded on Zach. “You’ve just made the worst mistake of your life, savage. No one bucks Lon Festerman. He’ll have you hunted down and stomped into a greasy smear.”
“He’ll have to wait in line,” Zach said, remembering the Hogans. Titus was prying at the knots, but not doing it fast enough to suit him. Impatient, Zach nudged Titus with the Hawken’s muzzle. “Hurry up!”
“Son! The other one—!”
