Wilde, Jennifer (40 page)

"They're
sturdy beasts. They'll manage."

He
was still sulking, and I strongly suspected that it was a deliberate ploy to
keep me from asking more questions. I opened one of the packs and put the mug
away. I noticed that the blood had dried on his thigh, and the cut was no
longer bleeding. It couldn't be very deep, I thought. He wouldn't be moving
about so briskly if it were. I didn't buy the story about the thorn bush. The
slit had been made by a blade of some sort.

My
suspicions were confirmed when, once we were under way, Jeff casually informed
me that we wouldn't be following the Trace today but would be taking a "shortcut"
instead. Leaving the trail behind, we moved down a small hill covered with blue
and purple wild-flowers, then into a stretch of dense woods. Limbs arched overhead,
cutting off all but a few wavering rays of sunlight, and it was like riding
through narrow green-brown tunnels. My nerves were on edge, and Jeff was edgy,
too, frequently turning around to look back. His usual jauntiness was missing.
He couldn't conceal his apprehension, and after a while he no longer even
tried.

I
guessed at what had happened. The mule hadn't wandered off. An Indian had crept
through the trees, untied it, and led it away. A single Indian, probably, for
had there been more, we would have been attacked. Jeff had awakened and
followed the thief into the woods. There had been a fight, and Jeff had been
cut with the Indian's blade. I remembered the shriek. Had Jeff murdered the
Indian? He wouldn't have dared use his pistol for fear of drawing even more
savages to the area. Had the Indian gotten away, taking the mule with him?

I
resented his not telling me the truth, even though I appreciated the fact that
he didn't want to alarm me. Did he think I was so dense that I couldn't figure
out what must have happened? If there had been one Indian in the area, there
were bound to be others. I remembered what Jackson had told us and found it
hard to contain my apprehension. I tried not to think about the man screaming
in agony and writhing on the stake as the flames crackled and the Indians
danced and hollered. We rode quickly, making as little noise as possible. Jeff
didn't chatter as he usually did. He said nothing at all, and he kept close to
me, not riding on ahead as was his habit.

The
forest abounded with noises, just as it always did, but now each time a bird
cried out, each time a shrub rustled, I gave a start, certain a band of Indians
was going to fall upon us. An hour passed, two, three. We rode up a hillside
covered with scrubby trees, passed through more dense woods, crossed a stream
shaded by enormous trees, without once stopping for a rest. I was weary, my
bones aching, but I was hardly aware of it, my fear overshadowing everything
else. The sun was directly overhead now, and both of us were perspiring freely.
We had come miles and miles, and I was beginning to relax just a little,
although I still jumped at each unexpected noise.

It
must have been around two o'clock when Jeff finally suggested we take a short
break. I dismounted eagerly. Jeff tethered the mules to a slender tree and then
took out the canteen he had- filled at the stream. He passed it to me, then
drank himself. His sandy locks were damp with sweat. His features were taut,
brown eyes dark and grim. This new Jeff seemed much stronger, much more
capable, than the engaging clown, and it was difficult to believe they were the
same person.

"Did
you kill him?" I asked.

He
looked at me, frowning, debating whether or not he should tell me the truth.
After a moment he sighed and began to brush at a smear of dirt on his tunic,
still silent.

"I'm
not a child, Jeff. I have a right to know."

"I
killed him," he said. His voice was flat.

"He—that's
how you got the cut on your thigh."

Jeff
nodded. "I heard him creepin' through the woods. He made hardly any noise
at all, but I—over the years I've developed a sixth sense about these things. I
heard him, and I woke up, and I lay very still, watchin' him step into the
clearing. I always sleep with the pistol beside me. I had it in my hand, ready
to fire if necessary."

"What
did he do?"

"He
just stood there like a shadow, trying to make up his mind if he should kill
us. Thing is, he wasn't certain there were just the two of us. It was still
real dark, and there were three mules. Coulda been someone else sleepin' behind
that pile of packs. He finally decided not to risk it, just untied one of the
mules and led him off into the woods. I waited three or four minutes, then went
after him."

"Leaving
me alone," I said bitterly. "You could have been killed. It was a foolish
risk to take just to get back a—"

"Took
me a while to catch up with him," Jeff continued, interrupting my tirade.
"It was almost dawn by that time. I had my pistol with me, of course, but
I was afraid to use it, 'fraid it might alert any other Indians roamin' about
the woods. I circled around, got ahead of him, waited behind a tree. When he
came by, I jumped him."

"You
got cut. He—"

"He
was quick, and he was strong, wiry. He grabbed hold of my wrist before I could
plunge the knife down, whipped out his own knife, managed to nick my thigh. We
were rollin' on the ground by that time, wrestlin' furiously. He slammed my
wrist down on a rock, slammed it down hard, and I dropped my knife. He was
straddlin' me, but I threw him off. He got to his feet and drew his arm back to
hurl his knife at my chest. I rolled to one side—the knife missed me by inches.
I grabbed my own knife off the ground, threw it. He let out a shriek—"

"I
heard it."

"Then
he crumpled over, dead as a doornail. I pulled my knife out of his throat and
wiped it off, wonderin' if I should try to catch the mule—it had raced on off
soon's the Indian dropped the reins. But I—uh—thought I should get on back to
camp, see if you were all right. That's when I got the biggest scare of
all—seein' you shakin' like a leaf, the rifle pointed directly at me. Scared me
more than any Indian, I can tell you for sure."

"Was
he traveling alone?"

"Wuzn't
anybody with him at the moment, no, but—"

Jeff
hesitated, looking indecisive again, wondering how much he should tell me, how
much he should hold back. I managed to maintain a calm expression that belied
the apprehension inside. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach,
and it was all I could do to keep from trembling, but Jeff saw only the
composed features, the level eyes. When he finally continued, his voice was
flat, his eyes grim.

"I
might as well level with you, Marietta. I feel pretty sure the fellow was
headin' back to his own camp. He was movin' along like he knew exactly where he
was goin'. Don't think his buddies heard his shriek—I doubt their camp was that
close—but by this time they're gonna have missed him, they're gonna have found
him with a great hole in his threat, and they're gonna be lookin' for whoever
did it."

"That's
why we're not on the Trace?"

He
nodded. "They'll go racin' down the Trace first thing, assumin' that's how
we're travelin'. One good thing, they ain't found us by this time, chances are
pretty strong they aren't gonna. We're miles away from the Trace, and it's a
great big forest. I'll feel even better when we get several more miles behind
us. If we ride hard, I think we can make the cave by nightfall."

"The
cave?"

"Place
I know. It's small, just a hole in the side of a hill, really, but it's big
enough to hold us and the mules, and the entrance is completely hidden by
bushes. I hid there once before when the Indians was lookin' for me some years
ago. We'll be safe there."

We
resumed our ride, moving on through the forest. It was dim and shadowy, trees
close all around, only the faintest amount of sunlight sifting through the
heavy, leafy limbs overhead. Sound seemed to echo strangely, the steady
clopping of the mules thrown back at us, distorted. A vivid red cardinal burst
out of a thicket, wings flapping vigorously. I gave a little cry, almost
falling off the mule. Ordinarily Jeff would have laughed and made some teasing
remark. He didn't now. On and on we went, twisting this way and that to avoid
the trees. I had long ago lost all sense of direction. I prayed that Jeff knew
where he was going and could get us back on the Trace eventually. The woods seemed
so ominous and forbidding.

Hours
passed. I had never been so weary, but I didn't complain. Jeff was tired, too.
His face looked drawn. There were faint gray smudges beneath his eyes, slight
hollows under his cheekbones. Healthy and robust as he was, he was showing
signs of the hard push and the worry. We had never traveled so hard, so long,
and neither of us had had a bite of food all day. The mules, at least, had been
able to nibble at the grass when we had taken our break. I was ravenously
hungry, but I wasn't going to complain about that, either.

The
sun was going down now. The trees cast long black shadows over the ground,
shadows that stretched and merged together in a dark network. The sky was a
deep-violet gray, the air filling with a thickening blue haze as the final rays
of the sun vanished. We were in a less densely wooded area now. Although there
were still hundreds of trees, tall, gigantic trees that reared up like leafy
giants, they weren't growing so closely together, weren't choked with underbrush.
There was a stream up ahead. I could hear the water gurgling over sand and
rocks. I wondered how far we were from the cave.

"I
guess we'd better stop for a few minutes, catch our breath," Jeff said.
"It's at least another hour to the cave. Too, I want to fill the canteens
and let the mules drink."

There
was a small clearing perhaps fifty yards from the stream. We dismounted. Jeff
stretched, flexing his arms, and then he looked at me in the fading light and
saw my grim expression and smiled. It was a beautiful smile, tender, not at all
like the engaging grin he so frequently wore. He stepped over to me and placed
his hands on my shoulders.

"I
think we're in the clear now," he said. "I think we've foxed 'em.
They're probably still chasin' up and down the Trace on their ponies, huntin'
for us."

"You
really think we're out of danger?"

"Not
completely, o'course. I'd be lyin' if I said that. We'll keep to the woods for
a couple more days, then turn back on the Trace."

"You're
sure you can find it again?"

"We
ain't more'n a quarter of a mile from the Trace right now. We circled around,
and we've been runnin' more or less parallel to it for quite a while. How're
you feelin'?"

"Tired.
Hungry, too."

"
'Fraid we're gonna have to make do with beef jerky and parched corn
tonight—emergency supplies I got in the pack. Can't risk a fire, not even in
the cave. We'll have us a nice long rest and see what tomorrow brings."

"All
right."

"You've
been terrific, keepin' right along with me, never complainin', showin' true mettle.
Most women—but, hell, it ain't even fair to try 'n compare you to anyone else.
You're pretty unique, ya know that?"

"Am
I?"

"Ain't
never encountered another woman quite like you. I'm right proud of the way
you've been holdin' up. You're a magnificent wench, no question about it."

He
squeezed my shoulders, still smiling, and then he gave me a quick kiss. I
placed my hand on the back of his neck, feeling closer to him than I ever had
before. Jeff drew back, eyes twinkling mischieviously.

"I'll
take the mules down to the stream and water 'em, fill up the canteens, and then
we'll move on to the cave. I'm hungry, too—and not just for food. I'm gettin' a
mighty strong yen—"

"You're
incorrigible," I teased.

"Reckon
I am," he admitted.

"We've
been riding since dawn, expecting Indians to attack at any minute. We're
exhausted, bone-weary, and we haven't had a thing to eat all day, and you think
about—"

"I'm
always
thinkin' about it."

"Go
on," I said, "go water the mules. After we get to the cave, after
we've eaten your wretched beef and parched corn, we'll see what happens. I'm
not making any promises."

"
'Fraid you ain't got a
choice
," he told me.

Jeff
grinned, slipping back into the jaunty manner as he would slip into old
clothes. He pulled my rifle out of its leather pouch and handed it to me,
explaining that he wouldn't want it to slip out and fall into the water, and
then he took out his own rifle, gathered up the reins and led the mules down
the sloping ground to the stream. Tall trees arched heavy boughs over the
water. There was a particularly heavy oak tree with thick boughs just a few
yards from the spot where Jeff stood with the mules, pulling the canteens out
of their packs as they greedily drank. I held the rifle at my side, watching
them, feeling relaxed for the first time.

It
had been a hard day, but it was almost over now. The immediate danger was
behind us. Jeff was relaxed, too, and that was a good sign. He had been so
tender and affectionate, treating me like someone very precious, and I had been
deeply moved. I was very fond of him, and I wished I weren't. It was impossible
not to respond to that warmth, try though I might to resist. Later on, when we
reached civilization, I could harden myself against him. Right now I could only
consider myself lucky that he was the man he was.