Both men leaped to their feet, turning to the sound. Billy was shaking. Jim had his pistol ready, aiming into the trees.
“Brennan!”
The shout came from another direction, and Jeff stepped into the clearing even as they whirled around. There was a thundering blast, a streak of orange flame, a huge gust of smoke. A man screamed. I leaped to my feet, and through the smoke I saw Jim Brennan clutching his chest. Blood seeped through his fingers, and his face was a mask of incredulity. Eyes wide with shocked disbelief, he gave another anguished cry and toppled to his knees, showers of scarlet blood spurting as he threw his arms out and flopped over the log he had been sitting on only seconds before. The barrel of Jeff’s rifle was still smoking, but he looked calm, almost bored.
Billy Brennan tore the reins loose from the tree where they had been fastened and leaped into the saddle, his red shirt billowing wildly. Digging his knees into the horse’s side, he gave its rump a resounding slap, and horse and rider tore into the woods before the smoke had even cleared. As I pulled the gag off and spat out the rag in my mouth, I was trembling violently and my knees threatened to give way. It had been less than sixty seconds since the rock Jeff had hurled had crashed into the woods.
He strolled over to the fallen man. Putting his foot against Brennan’s side, he gave the body a shove, and Brennan rolled over like a limp, bloody rag doll. Jeff examined the corpse without emotion. I shuddered, turning my head away from the grotesque sight. We could hear horse hooves pounding through the woods, the noise fading in the distance.
“That’s brotherly love for you,” Jeff remarked. “He didn’t even wait to see if Jim was dead or alive.”
“You’re not going after him?”
“No need to. He won’t bother us none. Besides, without his brother to do his thinking for him, he won’t last a breakfast spell out here. Are you all right?”
“I—”
When I couldn’t continue, he stepped over to me and pulled me into his arms, holding me loosely against him. I was still trembling, going through a delayed reaction that was even worse than the initial horror, and Jeff murmured soft words, comforting me. I clung to him, sobbing now, and he stroked my hair. It was several minutes before I grew still. I looked up into those warm brown eyes. He grinned, touching my cheek.
“You thought I was a goner, didn’t you? Thought I was gonna walk right into their trap? Not likely. I knew something was up. It was just too simple. I hung around out there for a good twenty minutes before I finally decided how to play it.”
“I was brushing my hair, and—at first I thought it was Indians, and then—I was so relieved to see it was a white man. He and his brother had seen us earlier. He came to investigate. But when I suddenly realized who he was, he grabbed me and—”
“It’s over now,” he said quietly. “You’re shaken up, but you’re going to be all right.”
“It was you I was worried about. I thought—”
Jeff placed his hand over my mouth, and then he squeezed me tightly and held me like that for a moment before releasing me. He picked up Brennan’s pistol and thrust it into the waistband of his breeches, then glanced around the clearing as though to see if there was anything else worth taking.
“Reckon we’d better mosey on back to our own camp now,” he said casually. “It’s a good long walk, and we still haven’t eaten. Billy Boy’ll probably sneak back to bury his brother. You all right now?”
I nodded. It was over. The nightmare had ended at last.
Jeff grinned, and then he put his arm around my shoulders, leading me out of the clearing. He was his old self again, chattering blithely as we moved through the dark woods.
“Know what? I shot me the bggest, fattest gobbler you ever seen. I’m gonna clean it, and then I’m gonna roast it, and we’re gonna have us the dandiest meal we’ve had yet. Talk about workin’ up an appetite—”
XV
I awoke with a start. There was no grogginess, no period of transition. One minute I was asleep, the next I was completely awake, and I sensed immediately that something was wrong. I could feel it in my bones. I sat up, pushing the blankets away. Jeff was gone. He had been nestled under the blankets with me, and now he wasn’t here. I had the feeling that he had been gone for some time. Why had he left me alone like this? It had never happened before. I got to my feet, deeply alarmed.
The sky was an ashy gray, the stars gradually dimming, barely visible behind a misty haze. The sun would be coming up quite soon now. I could see the campsite clearly, see the heap of charred logs that had been our fire last night, the pile of packs Jeff had removed from the mules. The mules were tethered to a tree at the edge of the woods. Jenny was nibbling the grass, and … one of the mules was missing. The third mule, the one that carried most of the packs, wasn’t there. Why should Jeff leave like this, taking one of the mules with him? It didn’t make sense.
None of it made sense. I was beginning to grow even more alarmed. Could Billy Brennan have crept up and stolen one of the mules and Jeff have gone after him? No, that was absurd. Five days had passed since Billy had torn off into the woods on his horse, and there had been no sign of him. He was terrified of Jeff, and creeping up to our camp was the last thing he would dream of doing. There was little chance we would ever see him again. He could make much better time on horseback than we could on mules, and he was probably two hundred miles away by this time.
But where had Jeff gone, and what had happened to the mule? If there had been any noise, I would have awakened. I felt certain of that. Jeff had slipped out from under the blankets and crept away into the woods, deliberately making no noise for fear of waking me. There was probably some very simple explanation, I told myself. Perhaps the mule had chewed through the tether rope and wandered off. No doubt I was being foolish, feeling this alarm, but I couldn’t shake it. No matter how hard I tried to reason with myself, the alarm remained, mounting as more and more time passed and Jeff still didn’t appear.
The dense forest surrounded me, seemed to engulf me. I was actutely aware of every noise, acutely aware of being alone. The last star flickered out, and the misty haze vanished to reveal a pearl-gray sky. As the pink and orange stains began to spread on the horizon, color began to appear around me, black and gray and silver giving way to the green of leaves, the blue of wildflowers, the tan and brown of tree trunks. Pale sunlight streamed over the treetops, growing stronger. We were usually on our way by this time. My alarm increased. I was on the verge of tears now, frightened, feeling lost. Where was he? What … what if he didn’t come back?
A mockingbird began to sing in the trees. A raccoon peered out at me from behind a clump of bushes and quickly disappeared when I turned to look at him. The mules stirred restlessly. I heard something far, far away in the woods. It sounded like a shriek. A wildcat? The noise was not repeated. I took up my rifle. It was already loaded. It gave me some feeling of security. That feeling vanished after a while. What good was my rifle if Jeff was gone? Without Jeff I would be … I refused to think about that. I had to be sensible. I couldn’t panic.
I put the rifle down. I gathered up wood and dry brush and placed it over the charred logs, and after two or three minutes with the flint I had the fire going. Jeff had walked to the stream and filled the old kettle with water before going to bed last night. I took the tin of coffee out of one of the packs and scooped coffee into the kettle, not bothering to measure it as I usually did. Coffee was precious, and this was our last tin, but I didn’t let that bother me this morning. When the fire had died down enough, I set the kettle on it. I took out the battered tin mugs. I folded up the blankets and put them back in the packs.
I fought the alarm. I forced back the tears. I wouldn’t let myself go to pieces. The sunlight was strong now, the clearing bathed with radiant yellow-white rays. Birds were singing all around. Fifteen minutes had passed since I had heard that peculiar noise in the distance. A wildcat. Of course it had been a wildcat. I wouldn’t let myself believe it h
ad been anything else. There had been no sign of Indians. Jeff had assured me they were well away from the area.
The coffee was boiling vigorously, filling the air with a rich, pungent aroma. Another five minutes passed. I fetched a cloth and took the kettle off the fire, setting it down on a rock, and it was then that I heard the footsteps approaching. I seized the rifle again, aiming it in the direction of the noise, and then the bushes parted and Jeff stood there with a surprised look in his eyes. I lowered the rifle. Looking relieved, he strolled on into the clearing.
“Hoped I’d get back ’fore you woke up,” he remarked. His voice was casual. Much too casual.
“Where were you?”
“Uh … well, you see …” He hesitated, obviously trying to think up a plausible story. “I woke up, and I … I noticed that one of the mules had broken loose and just … wandered off. I went to look for it.”
“Where is it?”
“Couldn’t find it,” he replied. “It musta wandered off early, right after we went to sleep. Musta been gone for hours before I went out lookin’ for it.”
His manner was definitely too casual. He was keeping something from me. I sensed it immediately.
“You could track down the Brennan brothers,” I said, “but you couldn’t find a mule that wandered away from camp.”
“Yeah. I feel kinda stupid, but—”
“You’re lying, Jeff.”
He gazed at me with hurt brown eyes, managing to look like a particularly virile choirboy. It was then that I noticed the cut on his leg. The buckskin was slit perhaps four inches alongside his right thigh. The edges of the slit were stained red, still wet.
“What happened to your leg? You’re hurt—”
“Aw, it’s nothin’, Marietta. Nothin’ to get into a stew about. I ran into a thornbush, long, sharp thorns. Caught my breeches on one of the thorns, scratched myself. Say, is that coffee?”
“Jeff—”
His manner was suddenly stern, irritable, and a deep frown creased his brow. “The mule’s gone, Marietta,” he snapped. “Forget about it. I’m back now. Everything’s all right.”
“I heard a shriek in the woods. I thought it was a wildcat. Jeff, I want to know the truth. The mule didn’t just wander off. You’re keeping something from me.”
“I said forget it!”
He had never spoken to me so sharply before. I knew that he was worried, and I suspected the reason why. He poured a cup of coffee and banged the kettle back down so sharply that hot liquid spurted out of the spout and burned his hand. He let out an outraged cry and then glared at me as though I were responsible. I turned away from him, angry myself. I could hear him digging through the packs, cursing volubly when he was unable to locate whatever it was he was looking for.
“Where the hell is that ointment?”
I sighed wearily and stepped over to the packs, shoved him aside, pulling out the ointment almost immediately. Taking hold of his hand, I smeared it with the clear, sticky gel. He watched closely, a petulant expression on his face.
“I think you’ll live now,” I said coldly, putting the ointment away.
“You’re in a bitch of a mood this morning.”
“How do you expect me to feel? I wake up while it’s still dark and find myself alone in the wilderness. I hear a strange noise in the woods. One of the mules is missing, and you come back with some cock-and-bull story a child of three wouldn’t—”
“Look, let’s not argue. Okay? I just might hit you. I don’t usually beat my women, but you’re sorely temptin’ me.”
I poured my coffee and drank it, ignoring him. Jeff kicked dirt over the fire, dousing it, then poured the rest of the coffee out over it to make sure no sparks were still burning. Then he saddled the mules and began to arrange the packs on them. Jenny and his mule were going to have to carry a heavier load now. Coffee finished, I stood up just as he was fastening the final pack on his mule.
“Will they be able to carry all that and us too?” I inquired.
“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 wildflowers, 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.”
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