“These fellas offered to help skin that she-bear before we head up the river. That’s where we’ll be if you need anything.” Pa gave her a smile that held just enough twinkle to show he understood her dilemma.
A surge of love flowed through her. Such a wonderful father he was. What would she ever do without him? But before that thought could summon the burn of tears, she locked her jaw and nodded. “I’ll cook some of the meat for us to eat today.” Most of their fresh food was gone, so this would be a welcome relief from the heavily salted and preserved fare they’d resorted to the day before.
Pa led the men out of camp, each of them falling into step behind the other as they took the now well-worn path toward the bear. Beaver Tail was the last to go, and he paused long enough to turn a final probing stare on her. What did the man hope to see? Was he simply curious about a white woman? Maybe he’d never seen one before yesterday. Yet his gaze didn’t seem to hold any curiosity. More like…taking her measure.
Well, he’d find her more than a match for any man in this territory. If not in physical strength, at least in tenacity.
After they’d skinned the bear, Beaver Tail left Caleb and Joel to ready the meat while he and Wilkins worked on the hide. Cleaning hides was usually women’s work among his people, but Susanna didn’t look to be in any condition to handle the task. Besides, living on his own meant every role fell to him. There was no such thing as women’s work anymore. Just his own responsibilities.
And that was the way he wanted it. He didn’t fit among all the women in his family, so it was best he be out on his own.
Caleb, Joel, and French were good companions, each of them handling their own tasks, yet sticking close enough to share safety and food. Clan-members where it mattered, yet not stepping all over his toes. And he could count on them in a pinch.
Or when he stumbled across a sick white man and his daughter who needed an oversize canoe carried around five waterfalls.
Once they had the pair and all their possessions moved to the top of the falls, what did Wilkins plan to do? What was his purpose for coming into the Great Plains, as the whites called this rolling land?
He slid a glance to the man. Wilkins worked with a steady focus, cutting the flesh from the hide. He didn’t seem to know much about skinning, but once Beaver Tail had showed him what to do, Wilkins worked at it with an attention to detail many people didn’t worry over.
“You’ve come to the plains to hunt?” He kept his voice as casual as he could. Some people didn’t like to be questioned.
Wilkins looked up with an easy smile before turning back to his work. “Came here to see what there was to see. Always wanted to trace the Missouri to its headwaters, especially after I read Patrick Gass’s book about his journey with Captains Lewis and Clark. Susanna and I figured now was as good a time as any.” He turned his head away as a hacking cough punctuated the words, the sound shaking deep in his chest.
It took a long moment for the coughing to dwindle away, and Beaver Tail gave the man the dignity of not staring at him while he worked to regain control. Should he ask about the sickness? That was probably too personal a question, so he chose a different one. “I’ve not heard of this Patrick Gass or Lewis and Clark.”
Wilkins wiped his sleeve across his mouth, and Beaver Tail caught a flash of crimson. “Lewis and Clark led a group of men, Mr. Gass among them, by boat up the Missouri, then across the Rocky Mountains and all the way to the great ocean that lies to the west.”
Beaver Tail played the words through his mind. With an Englishman for a father, he’d spoken both the English and Blackfoot tongues from his earliest days. He’d picked up a good bit of French from the trappers who passed through their camp. Yet he’d not heard the word ocean. He knew better than to show ignorance, though.
Even without knowing what that final part meant, the other words raised caution inside him. “You will go through the mountains?” That land was hard and relentless, not for the likes of a woman and a sick man, even if they traded for horses and packed enough food to see them through. The snows would be starting within the passing of another moon, and he’d seen the icy powder mount up higher than the tallest person. Higher even than Caleb, giant that he was.
“If we make it that far. I also want to see some of those geysers they wrote about where the water shoots straight up in the air. I’d like to meet some of the tribes in these parts. Maybe find out where the best place to winter is.”
He could feel the weight of the man’s glance.
“I suppose I should ask you, since you’re from these parts.”
Wilkins went back to his work, and silence fell between them. He was waiting for Beaver Tail to respond.
Would it hurt him so much to tell of his people? Especially when Wilkins seemed a genuinely good sort. “I’ve only traveled twice through this land and farther south. My people are the Blackfoot in the mountains to the north. I don’t know of the geysers, but I do know the mountains you call Rocky are hard when the snows come. Beautiful yes, but the food moves to warmer lands and the winters are such that you could lose a hand or foot in only a few minutes if not prepared.”
The lines in the older man’s brow deepened. “I’d hoped to at least reach the mountains before winter. I don’t know how long we’ll be able to stay come spring.”
Something about his tone—the sadness maybe—made Beaver Tail wonder why he didn’t think they’d stay long. Did the man expect his illness to worsen? What of his daughter if the worst happened? But that was probably a worthless line of thought, for surely the man wasn’t at death’s door. Everyone obtained a cough at some time or another. This ailment would pass. Surely.
“There’s one other thing.” Wilkins’s voice pulled Beaver’s focus back up. The older man had stopped working and now pinned him with a solid gaze. “If something happens to me, I need someone to see Susanna back east. To my cousin in Boston. Her safety is more important to me than almost anything else. This will be hard on her, but I know she’ll lean on God to see her through. I just need to make sure she’ll be in a safe place where she can start fresh.”
Beaver swallowed, his breath clearing from his chest. Take responsibility for another woman? Dealing with females was his greatest weakness. And this one probably wouldn’t want the arrangement her father was requesting.
He forced himself to breathe and cleared his face of expression that might give away his thoughts. “I’m not sure I can do that.”
The words were pure truth, but for some reason, they didn’t make him feel any better.
Wilkins’s gaze softened, not the reaction Beaver Tail expected from him. “I understand. If you change your mind, the offer still stands.”
Susanna swatted a cloud of mosquitoes away from her face as she shifted the coffee closer to the fire’s flame. Not even the smoke drove these awful creatures away. She’d be lucky if the coffee wasn’t littered with the varmints by the time it finished brewing.
She couldn’t quite stop the groan when she pushed to her feet, then fought a limp as she strode through the trees to the open area where the men worked. Beaver Tail’s two friends were slicing the meat into smaller strips, so she moved toward them. “The fire’s hot enough to start roasting.” She smacked at a new sting on her hand.
The big man—her pounding head couldn’t remember either of their names—held up several pieces of raw meat with a grin that tipped his mouth a little more on one side than the other. “This is ready to cook.” He nodded toward her father and Beaver Tail, who were working on the hide. “See if BT has an extra sweetgrass pouch to keep the insects away.”
The Indian raised his head at the apparent nickname. He wiped a hand in the grass, then reached under the tunic at his neck and pulled out a leather strap with a fabric pouch hanging from the end. After raising the string over his head, he held it out to her.
Would that little sack really keep the mosquitoes away? The thought was too appealing to turn down. But this one looked like the o
nly leather necklace he wore. She hated to take his insect protection when he needed it as much as she. Yet he was offering…
She stepped forward and took the string before she could talk herself out of it. “Thank you.” If it helped even a little, she owed this man more than a cup of coffee, no matter how precious the drink was, with their supply dwindling so rapidly.
He nodded and turned back to the bear pelt. Such a quiet man, this Indian. Was it part of his nature, or because he didn’t know many English words? He spoke with such a slight accent, the latter didn’t seem to be the case. Maybe all Indians were as quiet as he.
She turned back to the others. Understanding the mind of this stranger was the least of her worries this day. “I’m brewing coffee. By the time you finish cutting the meat, I should have enough of it cooked for our morning meal.” Cleaning a hide that large would take longer, but surely all of them would need a break by then. Pa would, certainly.
When she had the food ready and the steaming brew had turned richly aromatic, she called the men. They filed into camp on the footpath, Mr. Jackson leading the way with an eager grin on his broad face. He had just a hint of overgrown boy to his features, which made it easy to like him. Mr. Vargas followed—now that coffee filled her senses, she could remember their names—and Pa settled a grateful smile on her as he entered the camp.
Beaver Tail wasn’t among them. As she scooped out cups of coffee, she sent a glance toward the meadow where the men had worked but couldn’t see through the trees. Maybe he’d gone to wash in the creek. Of course, the others had done that too and now stood in the camp. Perhaps he’d stayed behind to wash their equipment also.
By the time the other three had seated themselves with freshly roasted bear meat and tin cups of coffee, Beaver Tail still hadn’t come. She glanced once more toward the meadow, but no Indian brave emerged through the foliage.
“He’s still out there working. Said he ate his fill before he left our camp this morning.” Mr. Jackson shrugged. “He’s a funny sort, BT is, but a good man. Quiet, hard-working.” He grimaced. “Not much for fun, but the kind of fellow you can’t help but like anyway.” Those final words were delivered with a cheeky grin.
“You’re traveling together?” They seemed unusual, this band of three. All a similar age, at least somewhere in their twenties by her guess. As far as she could tell, that and the ability to speak English was the only thing they shared in common. Each of them seemed so different, in looks and personality—and even nationality.
Mr. Jackson took another swig of coffee, then released an appreciative breath. “That’s good coffee, ma’am. Haven’t had the real stuff in a month of Wednesdays. This tastes better than I remember.”
She couldn’t help but smile at his pleasure. “I brew it with licorice root to deepen the favor.” And to help with Pa’s cough, but that part she didn’t need to share.
After another gulp, he seemed to remember her question. “Yep, we’re on our way southwest to meet up with Joel’s brother. We last heard he was travelin’ with a Shoshone band down there, lookin’ for horses we heard about from the Hidatsa.”
So there would be a fourth in their group? Why had these men joined together in the venture? She phrased the question as innocently as she could. “Have you known each other long?”
He shot a sideways grin at Mr. Vargas, who’d been watching them as he sipped his coffee. With those dark eyes shifting from one person to the next as each spoke, he seemed to be almost brooding.
Mr. Jackson answered. “I met up with Joel an’ Adam—he’s the brother we’re lookin’ for—back in St. Louis. We all wanted to go west, so we joined up with a group of Frenchmen in a pirogue and almost worked our skinny legs off haulin’ and pushin’ that boat upriver.” He scrunched his nose with the words, making him look even more like an overgrown boy. “We learned an awful lot on that trip, but the best part was that we met French along the way.”
One side of his mouth tipped up. “Some days he makes me change that opinion, but he’s mostly a good chap.”
“French?” Surely there wasn’t another in their group. A fifth?
Mr. Jackson nodded toward the north, where they’d left the last satchel of supplies downriver from the falls. “He’s gone to get the rest of your things. Should be along any time now—if he’s not takin’ a nap.” He winked at her. “BT woke us in the middle of the night to come help you folks.” Then he raised his mug as if in salute. “Glad he did, though. This coffee’s worth every minute of runnin’ in the dark.”
Beaver Tail had woken them in the middle of the night and made them run here? Her gaze wandered toward where he still worked in the heat and mosquitoes. Would he like coffee and just didn’t want to stop for it? Surely he needed food for sustenance after exerting himself so much that morning.
She poured coffee into a bowl, since the other men were using their only cups, then gathered some meat and attempted to stand. Fire seared her leg as she used the muscles, and the pain nearly sent her down to her knees. She clamped her jaw against a cry, then set down the food and drink before she spilled them.
“Here, ma’am. Let us help you up.” Mr. Jackson’s words broke through her tension, but the hands that appeared at her side belonged to the quiet Mr. Vargas. He gripped her arm in a hold surprisingly gentle.
She shook her head. “I can do it.” She was no fainting flower, and a leg wound that hadn’t even broken a bone wouldn’t send her running to a man for help.
“Are you certain?” Vargas had a slight accent that made each word short and a little choppy, yet his tone seemed kind.
“I am.” She put more certainty into her voice when she could finally breathe through the pain in her leg.
His hand pulled away, leaving her on her hands and knees. Gritting her teeth, she ignored the burning from all three of her wounds and raised up on her good leg, using the injured one for balance.
Once she’d managed to stand, she eased her weight onto both legs, but only enough to test the faulty limb. It held, although the muscles trembled.
Mr. Jackson lifted the bowl and plate of meat. “I’d be happy to take these out to BT, if that’s where you were goin’ with them.”
She shook her head. She’d accomplish this short walk even if the effort killed her. Beaver Tail deserved her thanks for working so hard to help them. The least she could do was tell him face to face.
Chapter 4
Doing her best to disguise her limp, Susanna made her way through the trees and out into the open area. Their Indian guest bent over the dark mat of animal skin, the linen of his tunic turning translucent as the sun shone through, outlining his lean torso. Her mouth went dry at the sight. All that male strength honed on each stroke of his knife blade scraping the hide.
She had to force her feet to move forward, and not because of the pain in her leg. She wasn’t one to ogle a man, but she could appreciate the beauty of God’s handiwork as well as any other woman. She wouldn’t let it affect her actions though.
Raising her chin, she limped onward with as much indifference as she could muster. He didn’t look at her as she approached, just kept his focus on each swipe of metal against flesh and hide.
She did the same. Or at least, she tried to.
After stopping in front of the bear, she waited for him to finish and look up. Her gaze caught on the creature’s massive paws, the pads large enough to send her flying, and the claws sharp enough to dig through her flesh in a single swipe. She could well remember both sensations, and the memories made her head swim.
She closed her eyes to still the spinning, but that only made things worse. She forced the lids open again. She would conquer her body if it was the last thing she did.
While she’d been taming her wayward reactions, Beaver Tail had risen and now stood in front of her. Watching her struggles with eyes so dark they were almost black. She hadn’t even heard him move, although now that she thought about it, the sound of his blade scraping had ceased.
&nb
sp; She held out the dishes, hopefully to distract him from her embarrassing display. “I brought you coffee and food.” The words tumbled out of her mouth, probably only making things worse. Could he hear her mortification?
He took the offering with a nod, then raised the bowl to his mouth as he dropped his gaze.
“I’m sorry we don’t have any more cups. Since it’s just Pa and me, we only brought two of everything.” Now she was rambling.
He nodded again, but this time his gaze bounced off her face. Those eyes, so dark and piercing. Had she realized how intense they were when she’d met him yesterday? Now she couldn’t remember. Couldn’t recall much of anything with his presence looming larger than life before her.
She needed to escape back to camp, but there was one more thing that had to be said. His attention shifted away from her as he bit off a chunk of meat, giving her courage to speak. “I wanted to thank you for your help. For carrying the boat. Bringing your friends. All of this.” She motioned toward the bear hide. “Things would have been much harder without you.” Those last words didn’t burn as much to speak as she’d expected.
She hadn’t quite said, We couldn’t have done it without you. She would have found a way. Somehow. Maybe left the boat behind and moved forward on foot until they could procure horses. That wouldn’t have been so bad. On her, anyway. And they would have moved as slowly as they needed to for Pa.
But now they wouldn’t have to. They would accomplish in two days what had taken Lewis and Clark’s expedition a month to complete—portaging around the five falls. Hopefully when they had everything moved to the upper portage camp, she’d be able to hike down and actually see one of the falls.
Treacherous cliffs and other landscape around the massive waterfalls required this portage trail to veer away from the river and onto smoother land, not allowing any view of the water in most sections. It would be a shame to come this close without seeing any of those natural wonders, though.
Freedom in the Mountain Wind Page 3
