Squire's Quest (6 page)

He hoped it was the latter.

When his arm went around her, Callie had to hold herself in check or she'd have
exploded out of that bedroll like a quail out of brush. Her ma had told her a little bit of what the
urges men were prone to were. She'd learned a sight more in her travels. No man was to be
trusted.

She could feel him all along her back. He was warm, like having a hot brick to snuggle
up to. His arm was heavy across her ribs, but his hand stayed loose, just laying there on the
blanket instead of feeling around where it had no business. His legs were bent, tucked in behind
hers. He was a lot longer all over than she was, so there was some space between their bodies, all
except where he had her shoulders pulled up against his chest.

She kept waiting for him to have an urge.

Instead, his breathing got slower and his arm got heavier. After a bit, she let herself
relax, just a tad, but didn't let loose of her knife.

This was warmer, that was for sure. He was near as good as a campfire. Even the air she
breathed was less cold, and her nose hadn't gone numb.

Her hand opened and the knife dropped. She opened her eyes and felt around for it.

He moved when her arm brushed over his, tightening his hold on her. His breath stirred
the hairs behind her ear and he gave a little snort.

Again she stiffened. After a while, she remembered she'd dropped her knife. Somehow
having it to hand didn't seem as important any more. Not as long as he was so sound asleep. Her
eyes drifted closed, and forcing them open was so hard.

The next thing she knew, the tarpaulin was jerked off and cold air strung her nose.

"Time to rise!"

She knuckled sleep from her eyes and glared at him. "It can't be morning."

"Sure it can. Tea's already brewed."

With her toes, she felt for her boots and her coat, both stuffed down at the bottom of the
bedroll. The coat was cold, inside and out, but not as bad as it would have been if left out in the
wind. She pulled her cap off and ran her fingers through her hair, then pulled it back on real
quick.

All the while Merlin had been gathering their truck together, stuffing this and that into
packs. He bent and picked up her knife. "You must have dropped this."

Taking it without a word, she stuffed it into her coat pocket, and pulled one boot on,
then the other. She wasn't going to let him know she'd slept better than any night since they'd
been in the hotel. No, even better than that. She'd been warm all night long, and... And safe.

Turning her head, she watched him. Sometimes he looked like a man grown, but not all
the time. This morning, with his hair every which way and his heavy coat unfastened, she saw
how slim he was. He glanced her way and grinned, and she saw a boy behind the man.

I wonder how old he is. No more than eighteen, I'll bet.

* * * *

He'd been warm all night long. Way too warm.

As soon as he'd pulled Cal up against his chest, he'd smelled her. Sweat, woodsmoke,
and something else. Something sweet and soft and...and like a girl. Every female he knew had
that different sort of smell, different from a boy smell, different from a man smell.

A couple of years ago his body had started telling him he was becoming a man. More'n
once it had mortified him, particularly when his little brother had made fun of the bulge in his
britches. Right in front of his sisters, too, even after Pa had told him to quit. Merlin had been real
thankful Rhys hadn't ever said anything at school, particularly when Sally Lou Anderson was
about.

Sally Lou was just about the prettiest thing he'd ever seen, with her pretty brown hair
and her slim little body starting to blossom. Just being around her had been a trial, and that was
when he'd learned to think about rolling in snow or jumping in the river in winter.

It worked sometimes. Often enough he'd never disgraced himself around Sally Lou.

He'd come close to disgracing himself last night, though. Good thing his legs were long
enough so her round little bottom hadn't fit right up against him.

He was shamed. A little girl like Cal, and he'd come close to lusting after her.

If only she didn't smell so much like a girl.

* * * *

They'd started climbing again. The trail wound up a hillside, and sure enough, it was
sloped so the wagons all wanted to tip to one side, the outside, where if they rolled, they'd go all
the way to the bottom of the narrow gorge. Their drivers kept them close to the cut-away hillside
and eventually they all reached a wide place where they could rest the mules.

He and Cal spoke but little, that morning. She appeared to be thinking some pretty
serious thoughts. They'd been on the trail for a couple of hours, riding silently for the most part,
when she pulled up next to him. "How old are you?"

For an instant, he was tempted to fib. Just for an instant, though. "Almost
seventeen."

She eyed him. "Just how almost?"

"March. When will you turn fifteen?" He watched her, to see if she'd lie.

She bit her lip. "December."

She was lying. He'd bet his shirt on it. "Which December?"

Instead of answering, she kicked Ruth into a trot.

So she's not fourteen. Older than ten, I reckon, but not by much. Not that it matters,
but I'd like to know the truth. Wonder if she's told any other lies.

He rode along for a while, chewing on the possibility he'd been taken in by a pair of sad
green eyes and a silent plea for help. After a while he decided it didn't matter. He liked Cal. She
was mostly good company, and so far she'd pulled her weight. Besides, they'd be in Virginia City
in a week or so, and that would be the last he'd see of her.

His ruminations were interrupted by the sound of a shot. A high-pitched, sharp crack, it
sounded more like a handgun than a rifle. He turned Bul off the trail and into the scant cover of a
stand of pine, pulling Cap along. After waiting a moment and not hearing any more gunfire, he
tied Cap's leadline loosely to a drooping branch and eased Bul forward, keeping him a few yards
inside the timber. Round the next bend, he saw Cal half hidden behind a house-sized rock. She
was peering forward, her body tense. He gave a hoot, like an owl's, and walked Bul forward,
keeping him on the thick layer of pine needles where his footfalls were muffled thumps.

She looked back over her shoulder. One hand went out, warning him to stop.

A quick look around showed him he'd have to cross an open place to reach her. He
pulled his rifle from its scabbard and slid from the saddle on the off side, keeping Bul between
him and the trail.

Again Cal looked back, saw him afoot, and raised up in the stirrups.

He wanted to yell at her to get down out of sight. Hopefully her dirty gray cap would
look like more rock to anyone looking her way. After what seemed like a half-hour, she lowered
herself in to the saddle and motioned him forward.

He dashed across the fifty feet of open ground and came up beside her. "What?" The
rock was too big for him to see around.

She kept her voice low. "There's a gate across the trail. Five men on horses. One of 'em
shot into the air when Adolph got down and went to open the gate. Now he's got his handgun
aimed at Adolph, and the others have long guns pointing this way."

"Where's Murphy?"

"I don't see him. But I can't see the whole train. There's trees in the way."

"Let me take a look." He stuck his foot into the stirrup she vacated and hoisted himself
high enough to look over the rock. Not good. There was scattered cover between him and the
gate. Two men with both long guns and handguns were behind it, not protected, but with a clean
line of escape and some cover afforded by the gate. Another three were strung out beside the line
of freighters, their rifles aimed at drivers.

He had just one reload's worth of cartridges in his pocket. One rifle against five. Those
weren't his favorite odds.

Something caught his eye up on the hillside. He looked closer.

Murphy!

He was creeping along through the brush, moving so slow he was hard to see. If he
could get closer to the gate, he'd have a good field of fire, but did he have any more ammunition
than Merlin?

Once again Merlin peered over the top of the rock. If he could get across the road, he
could make his way up to where Murphy was. Cover was scant, but adequate, given that his
clothing was about the same color as the dead shrubs and grass up there. Best of all, none of the
bandits were looking back this far.

He dropped to the ground. "Stay here," he told Cal. "Cap's back there a ways, loose
hitched. If this goes bad, pick him up and head back the way we came. There's enough food to
hold you to Eagle Rock. Let my folks know. Lachlans, in Boise City."

Before she could do more than gape, he'd scooted across the road and thrown himself
prone among the brush on the hillside.

Excitement bubbled in his veins. All those years of playing hide and seek were going to
pay off. He knew how to fade into the background, how to slither and sneak his way across open
ground without looking like more than breeze-stirred bunchgrass. Rolling to his side, he plucked
a twig from the shrub he lay under, stuck it into his hatband. A second one went on the other
side. Next he sliced off half a bunch of dry grass with his knife and knotted the bottom ends
together. It went under the hatband too, at the back. It would have to do.

Moving in a series of short dashes and long slithers, he ascended the hillside and
traversed it, until he was scarce twenty feet behind Murphy, who was still moving with slow
caution.

"Hsst."

No response. Murphy was concentrating on what was happening below, where raised
voices showed there was no agreement between the freighters and those holding the gate. Merlin
had heard of folks closing roads long in common use and charging tolls, but this far from
anywhere he'd never expected to see it.

Apparently neither had the freighters. They'd already paid their tolls at the bridges and at
Beavertail Canyon.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and gave a dove call, then another.

I sure hope Murphy knows they've moved to the lowlands for the winter.

Ahead of him, Murphy stilled, then turned his head. When he saw Merlin, he motioned
him forward.

"Sure am glad to see you," Murphy whispered when they lay side by side. "How's your
ammunition?"

"Enough to take care of them, if I get clear shots. How about you?"

"No reloads."

A shot from below had them both hunkering down. When Merlin cautiously raised his
head, he saw one of the teamsters lying on the ground beside his wagon.

"That does it," Murphy said. "Cover me." He went across the slope at a fast crawl, until
he was just above the gate. Merlin crept ahead to a rocky outcrop and wedged himself behind it.
If he bent just right at the hips, he could get a bead on the rifleman farthest from the gate. Not
good enough. He clawed his way uphill and found a good rest under a young fir tree. Murphy
wasn't in sight, but every one of the gatekeepers were. The two behind the gate were screened by
shrubs, so he doubted he'd get either one with a single shot.

Again he called, and a real gruff-spoken owl answered. Holding back his laughter,
Merlin checked again to make sure he could get every one of the men in his sights. He drew bead
on the last one. Shot. Went on to the next. Shot again. He missed that time, but not the next. By
the time he'd taken down the third man, the other two lay in the dirt. He got to his feet and
half-leapt, half ran down the hillside.

The teamsters had clambered from their wagons. Two of them were tending to the driver
who'd been shot. Adolph was sitting on the ground, holding a kerchief to his bleeding shoulder,
the rest were clustered around the would-be toll collectors.

He shouldered his way into the nearest group. "They still alive?" He'd aimed at
shoulders and legs, not chests or guts.

"Not for long," the big Swede said. "We kill 'em quick." He brandished a long-bladed
knife.

"No, keep them alive. Let the law handle them."

"Law? What law? There ain't no law hereabouts," another said.

Murphy pushed between two teamsters. "The three you shot are alive. Did you do that on purpose?"

"I only kill what I'm likely to eat, given a choice."

"He's right," Murphy told the teamsters. "They could've killed Handley, but they didn't.
We'll take 'em to Alder Gulch, let the law there handle them." He motioned Merlin to step
outside the cluster. "You're a better shot than me. I gut-shot one."

They both knew what that meant. Merlin grimaced. "Just luckier. What are we going to
do with him."

Murphy's expression was grim. "Give him a pistol with one bullet. His choice."

"What if he turns it on you?" Merlin couldn't help but ask.

Their shared grins were not amused.

Camp was made where they stood. Some of the teamsters tore the fence down and used
it for firewood. One who claimed to have doctoring experience, patched up Adolph and Handley,
along with the four likely-to-survive bandits. He was less than gentle.

Cal came riding up, leading Cap and Bul, about the time the fence had come down. The
first thing Merlin did was dig more cartridges out of his pack and reload his rifle. He made sure
there were enough in his pocket to reload twice. No telling when they'd run into more
ruffians.

"I saw you shoot. Will you teach me how?" Cal said as they were unloading Cap.

"You don't have a rifle."

"I will someday." She looked so hopeful, he had to smile.

"Yes, I'll teach you to shoot." He held up a hand. "After we get to where we're going.
I'm not going to waste ammunition until I know I can get more."

"Does that mean you'll stay around a while?" He'd already told her he meant to move on
once they found her pa.