Squire's Quest (5 page)

"Fair enough. I'll take first watch. There's bear and panther about."

They put together a fair supper, pausing long enough to pour the strong coffee and relax
while sipping. Merlin's cup was half empty when Cal finished with the stock and came toward
the fire. He'd noticed her humming had ceased when the fellow rode in. She hunkered down a
ways from the fire and eyed him suspiciously.

"I'm Murphy Creek," the stranger said. "Teamster, guide, jack of all trades. I work for
the freight line into Alder Gulch. One of our drivers is needed at home. I'll replace him."

When Merlin introduced Cal, he gave the impression she was his little brother. Her
quick glance his way told him she appreciated it. "We're hoping to catch up with the freighters.
To my way of thinking, we'd be better off with them than being alone, 'specially if we run into
snow."

Creek pulled out a half-smoked cigar and stuck it into his mouth. With a flaming twig
from the fire, he puffed it into life. "Good plan. If you're willing to lend a hand, we can feed
you."

"Cal here isn't up to heavy work yet."

"That's all right. He can help with the cooking. There's never a shortage of tasks."

After supper Creek, who had made half a dozen freight hauls to the gold camps, told
them about Virginia City and Nevada City, the towns in Alder Gulch. "I've heard they were
rip-roarin' places in their heyday, but they're quiet now. Oh, folks are still pulling gold out of the
ground, but nothing like the fortunes of five or six years ago." He went on to describe the fancy
houses, the saloons, and the other dens of iniquity a man could enjoy.

Merlin had already decided his quest should include a few of those, so he listened with
great interest.

* * * *

A day and a half later, they spied the freighters about a mile ahead. They were well into
the mountains now, following a canyon. There was a lot of up and down, and that made for slow
going. They caught up after a couple of hours, but he and Cal hung back and let Creek take care
of his errand first.

"He's an Injun, ain't he?" It was the first time they'd had to hold private conversation
since Creek had joined them. "Ain't you afeared?"

"Part, I'd guess." He slowed to let her ride up beside him. "No reason to be afraid.
Indians are folks, just like anybody."

"They're murderin' savages."

He reined up and turned to look straight at her, doing his best to keep a tight hold on his
temper. "You know that for a fact?"

Her bottom lip went out. "Everybody knows it."

"I don't. You ever meet an Indian before?"

"If I did, I'd shoot him."

He just sat there, looking at her.

After a while she dropped her chin and stared at the ground. "I'd probably run," she
admitted. "Don't have a gun, anyhow."

"Don't have much sense, either. If somebody tried to take your home away, wouldn't you
fight for it?"

"Maybe."

"Well, I would, and I reckon most everybody else would, too. My Aunt Flower's people,
they've been pushed off the land they lived on for hundreds of years, because white men found
gold on it. So far they haven't fought back, but sooner or later, they will. Does that make them
murdering savages?"

Her eyes went real wide and she chewed on her bottom lip. "Your aunt's an Injun?"

"Yep. Nez Perce." He kicked Bul in the flanks and left her to eat his dust.

Tarnation. I've got to stop getting mad every time somebody badmouths the Indians.
Pa warned me to keep my mouth shut.

He caught up with the wagons and rode alongside Creek until they turned off into a
place that had been used for a camp more than once. Pretty soon Cal straggled in. She took Ruth
and Cap off to one side, well away from the rest of the stock and started unsaddling them. She'd
got pretty good at it, so he walked Bul over and looped his reins over a branch. "When you've got
them fed and watered, bring the bedroll over to the wagons. We'll sleep underneath tonight. I
smell snow."

She glared at him.

He winked at her.

She stuck out her tongue.

He laughed and walked away, more than ever convinced she was a lot younger than the
fourteen she'd claimed.

"How much farther is it to Virginia City?" Cal had sulked a spell after he gave her the
dickens for how she'd talked about Indians, but after a while they'd both pretended it hadn't
happened. He knew she was only repeating what she'd heard. How could she possibly know
better? All of his school teachers had blamed them for the ruckus that had gone on between
Indians and whites these past few years.

"We're more than halfway, but I don't know if that's time or distance. Depends on how
mountainous the road ahead is." He tucked his moccasins down at the bottom of the bedroll.
"And whether we get snow."

* * * *

The freighter crew was about what he'd expected, all ages, all colors, all sizes. He lent a
hand with the unhitching, took his turn leading a pair to water. Because he worried about them
noticing Cal wasn't another lad, Merlin picked the last wagon to sleep under. She was back there
now, making their bed.

"You want to eat with them or fix our own?" he said, when he tossed the saddlebags
underneath.

"Let's eat up that grouse you snared this morning. We can have supper with them
tomorrow. I stuck the last two taters in to bake."

Merlin cleaned the grouse and spitted it with a couple of strips of bacon wrapped
around. Pretty soon he could smell the fat dripping onto the fire and his belly rumbled.

Cal sat down across the fire and hung the coffeepot on its tripod. "How many sisters
have you got?"

"Four, and two brothers. Besides them, I've got some cousins, but they're just like
brothers and sisters. We all were raised together."

"Are they Injuns too?" Earlier she'd seemed to be contemptuous of his having an Indian
relative, but now she sounded more curious than anything.

"Partly." He decided not to tell her what other parts his cousins were. When he'd gone to
school, he'd learned how many folks wanted nothing to do with what they called half-breeds of
any sort. Leaning forward, he gave the spit a half turn. "Almost ready."

"I'll check the taters." Using a stick, she dug the mud-coated potatoes out of the coals. A
pine needle, inserted in one of the cracks in the hardened mud, came out clean. "They're
done."

They ate the roasted potatoes with bacon grease dripped on them and used their fingers
and teeth to pull every sliver of tender meat from the grouse carcass. Once their plates and
utensils had been scrubbed clean with bunches of pine needles, Merlin poured them each a cup
of strong tea. Happily full, he sat back and sipped.

"Tell me about your sisters," Cal said. "What are their names? How old are they?"

"Ellen's the oldest. She's twenty-three. Lives in Boston. Last year she had a baby, so I'm
an uncle."

"Boston? Where's that?"

"A long ways away. I haven't seen her since she was younger than me. After her is Buff.
He's somewhere across the ocean, in Europe. Then Katie. She's twenty now. Just got married last
year."

After he refilled his cup, he sat back. "I'm next after Katie--she's got a new baby, born
just last month. After me is Regina and then Iris and Rhys. Reggie is either thirteen or fourteen--I
can't ever recall--and Iris isn't ten yet. Rhys is in between."

A long sigh came from across the fire. "It must be wonderful to have brothers and
sisters. I had some cousins, but they lived two towns away, so we didn't see them much."

"Sometimes it's fine. Other times brothers and sisters are a trial. Especially sisters." He
drained his cup and set it aside. "Let's go to bed. Those teamsters are gonna start moving at
daybreak."

* * * *

They woke to six inches of heavy, wet snow. By the time the mules were hitched up,
most of it had melted, turning the trail into sloppy mud. That day they made no more than six
miles, according to Murphy. Half the time the drivers were on the ground, shoulders to wheels,
adding their strength to the mules'. Merlin and Cal helped, but Murphy remained on his horse,
his eyes constantly watching the trail ahead, the trail behind.

The freight was tempting to a man needing winter supplies, consisting mostly of barrels
of flour and cornmeal, bags of oats and mixed grains to feed livestock where snow would cover
all forage, burlap-wrapped flitches of bacon and wheels of ripe cheese, and a bewildering
assortment of comestibles. He'd seen a crate labeled 'Bordens' and reckoned it was some of that
canned milk he'd read about.

What surprised him was that only one man was assigned as guard. Of course, every
driver had a shotgun or rifle handy.

By evening the sky had cleared. With the disappearance of the clouds, the temperature
plummeted, but they were able to travel faster on frost-hardened roads. They topped the pass
three days later, according to Murphy. It didn't much resemble the passes he'd seen. They did
start going down after a while, into a wide valley, heading for a canyon leading off to the north.
More climbing ahead.

They camped at the mouth of the canyon, stopping early to rest the stock. Tomorrow,
according to one of the drivers, would be a hellacious day. "Canyon's too narrow," he said as
they sat around drinking coffee after supper, "so up there about a mile the damned road heads
uphill, and it slopes to the side. If you ain't careful, you'll roll over sideways. I seen it oncet. Kilt
four mules and the driver."

"All you gotta do is stick close to the inside," another driver said. "That was Clint
Turpin. He was a careless man. Not surprisin' he rolled her."

There followed a lively debate on how best to drive up the road ahead. Merlin ignored
them. He was going to be on Bul and would stay well clear of the wagons.

Murphy had told him this shipment had been delayed in Ogden because some of the
cargo had been late arriving. "We run pack trains in winter," he'd said. "Can't carry as much, but
mules alone handle snow better'n wagons."

Cal's elbow knocked against him when she snuggled down into her blanket. "I sure hope
it don't get any colder. I got so cold last night my nose near froze off."

Instead of flipping the end of the tarpaulin over their heads like usual, he rose up on his
elbow and looked over at her. It was dark enough that about all he could see was a pale shape
where her face was, with big dark smudges instead of eyes. "Why didn't you say something? It's
just plain dumb to sleep cold when you don't have to."

"And I s'pose you've got three more blankets hid in those packs of yours." She tugged
the blanket higher, hiding about half her face. "Don't worry. I been colder."

Well, hell. So had he, but not when there was a fix. "Crawl out of there," he told her.
"Let me fix this bed."

The blanket edged down an inch or so and her eyes opened wide. "How?"

"Git." He nudged her. "Set your boots aside too."

She wiggled around a while--probably pulling her britches back on--and eventually
crawled out from the blanket, boots in hand. "What're you gonna do?"

"You'll see. Get out of my way."

For a minute or two she just crouched there, staring at him. He gave her back look for
look, thinking she was a lot like his sister Katie, who could teach a mule stubborn. Finally she
huffed and muttered, then sat back to pull on her boots. Shod, she stomped off into the bushes,
leaving him grinning. She was going to have a pure conniption fit when she came back. He'd bet
on it.

He rearranged the fir branches he'd used to insulate their bed from the cold ground,
thinking that tomorrow night he'd cut twice as many. Atop them he replaced the doubled over
tarpaulin. It was just barely wide enough to cover them both, but still long enough to fold back
up and come clear over their heads. He'd slept in bedrolls like this ever since he was a tyke, and
in his mind they were twice as warm as tents on cold nights. Once he had his blanket fixed, he
spread hers over the top. His was wide enough to wrap clear over them, but hers was smaller. It
made only one layer over the spread out bedding.

"Still better than what she had," he muttered. "Why didn't I see how cold she'd be,
skinny little thing like her?"

"What the hell are you doin'?"

He turned around. "Don't swear. It's not--"

"If you tell me it ain't ladylike," she said in a fierce whisper, "I'll--"

Sitting back on his heels, he did his best not to grin. "I was going to say it's not polite,
not after I went to all this trouble to make you a warm bed."

She eyed his arrangement. "Where are you gonna sleep?"

"Right here, alongside you. Now are you going to stand there jawing all night, or are we
going to get some sleep?"

"I ain't--"

"Cal, I swear to God, if you don't get yourself into bed, I'll put you there myself. And
when I do, you'll be hobbled and gagged. I'm getting tired of all the things you ain't going to do.
I've slept in heaps with my brothers and sisters all my life long, and let me tell you, there's
nothing better to keep you warm at night than another body or two to snuggle up to."

"But..." Her stare was half suspicious, half uncertain. "You'll mind your manners? Keep
your hands to yourself?"

"I'll wrap my hands around you if you start to shivering," he said, keeping his voice even
when he realized what she'd suspected him of. "But that's all. I hope you'll do the same to
me."

She stared a moment longer, then sat to pull off her boots. "I've got my knife," she said,
"and don't you forget it."

"Well, just you don't forget I mean you no harm. I need all my fingers and toes." He
scootched himself into the bedroll and reached for the tarpaulin. Once he had it arranged so their
heads were covered, but they still had breathing room, he turned on his side and pulled her close.
"Relax now. Pretend you're my sister."

She was stiff as a board at first, but gradually her taut little body relaxed. Not for the
first time, he wondered if she had reason for her suspicion of him, or if she'd just been taught to
beware of all men.