“I will tell Diana now,” Winona declared excitedly, and rising, hurried off to the tent.
“You made Ma real happy, Pa,” remarked a youthful voice from under the blankets.
“And you remember to do the same with your wife when you tie the knot,” Nate replied. “A man has an obligation to do what he can to please his wife so long as it doesn’t break his spirit.”
The blanket lifted and out popped Zach’s head crowned by a thatch of tousled dark hair. “What do you mean by that spirit part?”
“A marriage should be like a partnership, son. The man and the woman share the work fairly even, and when big decisions have to be made they sit down and talk it over together.” Nate heard a soft crunch to his rear and twisted to peer into the dark shadows along the barricade. “Some marriages don’t work that way, though. Either the man or the woman wants to have the power, wants to have everything done just the way they want. They don’t know how to give and take. So they do all in their power to make life miserable for the other one in order to have their way.
“I still don’t understand about a woman breaking a man’s spirit.”
“There are things a woman can do that twist a man all up inside and slowly wear him down,” Nate explained. “Things like nagging or always carping or always criticizing whatever the man does. Things like making him out to be a fool around others, or always siding with her family against him.” He stopped to listen and heard a faint footstep. Without being obvious, his hand drifted to the Hawken at his side. “Or worse,” he then went on as if nothing out of the ordinary was occurring, “the woman can stay so attached to her folks that she never cuts the apron strings. She always wants to stick close to them, and runs to them for advice instead of to her husband. The husband winds up being third in her affections instead of first like he should be, and he spends his days miserable.”
Nate had kept on talking while he pinpointed the sounds. Seconds later he spied a vague figure moving along the brush wall, and he was raising the Hawken when he recognized the gigantic outline of Jarvis.
The giant ambled toward them, a rifle slanted across his exceptionally wide shoulders, a brace of pistols under his belt. “Evening mate. And you too, lad.”
“You might be happy to hear that we’ve decided to guide your party back to the States,” Nate mentioned.
“All right by me!” Jarvis said. “I’m not a wee bit ashamed to admit we need your help. I tried to have his nibs hire someone before we left St. Louis, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Said he’d survived bloody Africa and South America and had nothing to fear in America.” He sighed loudly. “A nod is as good as a wink to a blind horse, I suppose.”
Zach sat up and stated, “You sure do use funny words sometimes, Mr. Jarvis. Don’t they speak proper English where you come from?”
“Call me Ben, boy,” the giant replied. “And no, since a child I’ve been mangling the Queen’s own. I suppose I’m six pennies’ worth of half-pence in the language department.”
“There you go again,” Zach said.
Laughing, Jarvis stepped closer and squatted. “If I may be so bold, Mr. King, I can use your help tonight.”
“What do you need?” Nate asked.
“With his lordship and the others laid up, there’s only the painter and me to guard the camp at night. Much as I admire Mr. Nash’s talent, he’s as thick as a plank where fighting is concerned. So I was wondering if you would be willing to take it in turns with Mr. McNair and me? Mr.
McNair has already agreed to take a shift. If you lend a hand, we can each take four hours, which will see us until dawn.”
“You can count on me. Just wake me when my time comes.”
“Thank you. You’re well and truly a gentleman, sir, even if you do run around all covered with animal hides.” Rising, he smiled down at Zach. “Be seeing you, then.”
“Do you think I’ll ever grow that big, Pa?” the boy asked wistfully as the giant faded into the night.
“I wouldn’t get my hopes up,” Nate responded. He glanced at the tent, saw Winona and Lady Templar talking, and lay down on his back, a hand under his head. It was good that Winona was taking a shine to the Englishwoman. Perhaps, after this, she wouldn’t think most white women were heartless and cruel. And truth to tell, he was rather excited at the idea of venturing into new country and beholding new sights. He also was enthused by the likelihood of meeting the Mandans, about whom he had heard so much from other trappers. Mandan hospitality, everyone claimed, was excellent.
As for the element of danger, there was always the possibility of finding one’s life threatened anywhere in the wilderness. At any given minute of any given day a ferocious beast or a bloodthirsty enemy might appear. It was an unavoidable part of life, like having to hunt game and seek out water in order to stay alive, something to be taken in stride as it cropped up. All he could do was hope that his loved ones survived.
Rolling onto his side, Nate reached out and touched his son. “Good night, Stalking Coyote.” His voice lowered. “I love you.”
“Are you all right, Pa?”
“Fine. Why?”
“You sound as if you’re coming down with a cold.”
Chapter Eight
The next three days were quiet ones.
Nate made repeated sweeps of the countryside, but saw no evidence the Piegans were still in the vicinity. He also took it on himself to supply all the meat the marquis’s party would need, and as a result he was absent from the camp much of the time.
Winona and Lady Templar became inseparable. Winona was delighted by the countless questions her newfound friend asked about the Indian way of life in general and the Shoshones in particular, questions Winona believed demonstrated Diana’s sincere interest in her and her people. For her part, she learned a great deal about English polite society, and couldn’t get enough of hearing about balls and parties and sundry gala functions.
William Templar was on his feet the day after the battle, his surly disposition still intact. He shunned Nate and Winona as much as possible, preferring the company of his countrymen, who in turn were taken aback by this sudden familiarity on his part, although they never let on to him.
In addition to Jarvis and the now perpetually moody Nash, there was the valet, Harrison, and a stocky, taciturn man named Fletcher, all that remained of the original nine. Harrison had taken an arrow in the fleshy part of the shoulder, and had to go about for a while with his arm in a sling. Fletcher had been cut in the thigh by a knife, a deep cut that required stitching.
Lady Templar had despaired of being able to seal the wicked wound, leading Fletcher to fear infection might set in and make amputation necessary. At that point Winona had stepped up to him, a parfleche under her arm. From the bag she withdrew a thin sewing needle made from buffalo bone and the Indian equivalent of thread, a lengthy coil of buffalo sinew. In short order she had endeared herself to Fletcher by stitching him up as expertly as if a physician had done the task. From that moment on, he would abide no slurs against her, as the marquis learned when he made a few snide references in Fletcher’s presence.
Zachary spent much of his time in the company of Jarvis, who regaled him with gory tales of brutal combat in foreign jungles and on the burning sands of alien deserts, filling the boy’s mind with images of swarthy Arabs, ebony natives, and Asian pirates.
It was the third day after Shakespeare’s departure that Lady Templar found herself temporarily alone late in the afternoon. Winona was spending time with Zach, so Diana took her rifle and strolled down toward the stream. Earlier she had observed Eric Nash, easel, paints, and brushes in hand, going in that direction. She found him on the bank, engrossed in capturing the primal beauty of a stark peak on canvas.
“Mind a bit of company?”
Eric glanced around. The corners of his mouth twitched downward; then he nodded curtly and resumed painting. His strokes, usually so delicate and graceful, were hard and forceful, almost as if he was attacking the canvas.
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“Care to talk about it?”
“About what?”
“Please, Eric. Don’t insult my intelligence. You’ve been behaving strangely toward me for days and I would like to know why.”
“Would you now?”
Stung by his tone, Diana stepped to where he could see her and she could see his face. “Yes, I most definitely would. I thought we were friends, yet you’ve been treating me as if I was an ogre. You hardly pass a comment my way anymore.”
“My apologies,” Eric said crisply, raising his brush from the canvas and fixing her with a frigid stare. “You can be assured that we have been, are now, and will always be friends.”
The last word was spat out as if it was an insult, and Diana blinked in confusion. “I must be dense,” she stated. “For I haven’t the foggiest why you are so mad at me. Tell me what is bothering you.”
“You’re too naive by half.”
“I beg your pardon?”
His shoulders slumping, Nash set his brush and palette down carefully. “Have you ever been in love, Diana?” he asked as he straightened.
“Of course.”
“With whom, might I ask?”
“I love my parents for their gentle, giving natures. I love William despite himself because he’s my brother.” Diana paused. “And I love you.”
“As a friend.”
“Yes. What difference does that make? Why do you keep harping on our friendship?”
A haunted look came over Nash. “Because I had deluded myself that your affection for me was based on more than platonic friendship. Flighty dreamer that I am, I cherished the idea of one day being your husband.”
“Eric,” Diana said softly.
“Hear me out! I want to clear the air so we can spend the rest of our association together being civil to one another.”
Diana tried to alleviate his somber demeanor by injecting some humor. “Is that what you call our relationship?” she laughed. “An association?”
“A rose by any other name,” Eric said, then went on in a rush. “What else would you call it? You are my patron, nothing more, despite the years we have spent together and the intensely personal feelings I have revealed to you time and again. Always you have put me off with the excuse that you didn’t quite feel for me as I feel for you.”
“If you’d just give me more time ...”
“Maybe you’ll come around?” Eric said. “Bother! Quit deceiving yourself. The other day you conclusively proved the depth of your affection when you ran to William’s aid and not to me.”
“Please—”
Eric broke in. “Take it as done, Diana,” he snapped with an angry motion, “and let the matter be. Rest assured that once we reach England, I will no longer impose myself on you. And you can do us both a great favor by finding someone else to patronize.” Then, oddly, he grinned.
“I take your point, but I think you’re being highly unfair to me and blowing what I did out of all proportion. There was blood all over poor William’s face, and for all I knew he might be dying. Was I to just leave him lying there in the dirt unattended?”
“Spare me your feeble excuses.”
“Feeble!” Diana responded irately, her pale cheeks changing to a bright crimson. She burned with a yearning to tell him off, to show that every statement he’d made had been wrong, but the words choked off in her throat. Her rifle clenched tight in her left fist, she stormed off toward the camp, smashing through low bushes in her path instead of skirting them. At one point her dress snagged on a branch and she jerked it loose with an oath. Twenty yards from the stream she halted, her breath coming in ragged gasps as tears filled her eyes. She bowed her head, bit her lower lip, and trembled. “Oh, Eric,” she whispered. “Sweet, sweet Eric.”
The tears gushed, and Diana was glad trees screened her from those within the barricade. Silently she cried for many minutes, until the shriek of a jay jarred her back to reality. Sniffling,
she moved on, using her sleeve to dry her face.
At the barrier Diana halted and gazed sadly over her shoulder. A glimpse of Eric could be seen through the trees. “You’re right, of course,” she said quietly. “And I’m sorry. So very, very sorry.”
On the fourth day Shakespeare returned.
Nate was a mile northwest of the valley hunting deer when he saw the white horse and its rider emerge from pine trees directly ahead. Putting his heels to the stallion, he was soon close enough to see the broad smile that creased his best friend’s mouth. “I gather Blue Water Woman gave her blessing,” he said as he reined up.
“That she did, young Hamlet,” the mountain man answered heartily. “So I’m off to the Mandan country, and the devil take any hostiles that stand in my way.”
“Blue Water Woman didn’t want to come along?”
“No. I asked her to. When she refused, I offered to take her to the nearest Flathead village so she can spend time with kin until I get back. But she declined.”
“Did she give a reason?”
“She wants to be alone.”
“What on earth will she do all by herself?”
“Think a lot, mostly. And probably do a heap of wandering,” Shakespeare said, then quoted, “Over hill, over dale, through bush, through brier, over park, over pale, through flood, through fire.”
“I should think she’d prefer our company to her own.”
“How green you are and fresh in this old world!” Shakespeare exclaimed. “Everyone likes to have time to themselves every so often so they can piece together the puzzle of their life and maybe make sense of the whole mad scheme.”
“Not me. I’d rather be with Winona than by myself any day.”
“Of course you would,” Shakespeare said, and reverted to his inevitable habit: “Your mind is all as youthful as your blood.”
“I love her, is all.”
McNair chuckled and goaded the mare forward, musing aloud, I do much wonder that one man, seeing how much another man is a fool when he dedicates his behaviors to love, will, after he hath laughed at such shallow follies in others, become the argument of his own scorn by falling in love.”
“If I didn’t know you better I’d take that as an insult.”
“Perish the thought, dear Romeo. I was merely stating a fact of life.”
“A minute ago you called me Hamlet. Make up your mind which one I’m supposed to be.”
“Truly, you’re both of them and many more besides,” Shakespeare said. “You’ll have no cause to complain unless I take to calling you Juliet.”
Nate smiled. “I swear that every day you get stranger and stranger. If I don’t watch myself, some of whatever afflicts you might rub off on me.”
“It would do you a world of good. Like most folks, your mind is confined by mental bars of your own devising. But there is a glimmer of
hope for you. Once a month or so you actually come up with an original notion.”
“I’ll try to do it more often in the future.”
They crossed a valley and climbed a gradual slope to the shoulder of a mountain. From their lofty height they saw the camp far below.
“Say, young pup, you haven’t told me whether Winona and you have decided to go along,” Shakespeare said.
“We have,” Nate disclosed, and went on to tell about the events of the past several days, concluding with, “Lady Templar and Eric Nash are acting like they hardly know each other. When they do talk, they’re so damn polite I can hardly hold in the laughter.”
“They must have had a falling out,” Shakespeare deduced. “I saw it coming. He thinks with his heart and she thinks with her head, which is a poor combination.”
“How can a man think with his heart?” Nate inquired.
“Men do it all the time, but they won’t own up to the fact because they’re afraid everyone will say they’re less manly than they should be. Women pretend they do it all the time, when the truth is they think with their heads more than we do, but they’re afraid to own up to i
t because they don’t want men to know how level-headed they really are.”
Mirth exploded from Nate. “Where do you get these harebrained notions of yours?”
“Live another fifty years,” Shakespeare said testily, “then see if my notions are half as crazy as you think they are now. Experience has a way of sweating the fat off a brain.”
Nate assumed the lead as they wound down to where the stream bubbled and gurgled its way eastward. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of the Piegans,” he mentioned.
“And you won’t. I crossed their trail on my way back here. They’re on their way north, heading for home.”
“See any other sign?”
“Just critters.”
“Let’s hope the whole journey is that way.”
Lady Templar had spied them coming from a ways off, and was eagerly waiting at the barrier. When she learned the good news, she broke into a grin and began issuing instructions to her brother, who in turn relayed them to the men. The upshot was that at first light the next morning the marquis’s party began their homeward trek. In order to travel light and thus make better time, a dozen heavy trunks were left behind, as well as the table and chairs, the canopy, and a host of other items Nate and Shakespeare had decided were nonessential.
Only William Templar complained. As they were heading out, he drew up alongside Nate and remarked, I still fail to see why we can’t pack all of our belongings with us. Possessions cost money, my good man. Were they yours, I’d wager you wouldn’t be so free-handed in dispensing with them.”
“In the first place,” Nate replied, “I wouldn’t be caught dead with such worthless trifles as your gold-embossed chamber pot, especially not out here in the middle of the damn mountains where a body can heed Nature’s call behind the nearest tree or bush.” He nodded at the string of horses.
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