Sadie had a small fire going, just big enough to boil a pot of coffee and fry some strips of salt pork in a little pan. She must have brought all that with her, Breckinridge thought. At the moment, his stomach was glad she had come after him whether his head was or not.
The sun wasn’t up yet, but there was enough light in the sky for him to get his first good look at her as she hunkered next to the fire in what Maureen would surely think was an undignified, unladylike position. Thick ropes of honey-colored hair hung around Sadie’s face. It was a nice face, too, even if it was a little dirty.
She wore a plain gray homespun dress that looked like it was a little small for her. Either that or she was just pretty womanly for her age. In Breckinridge’s experience, hill girls tended to mature early. Sadie had been right about one thing: most places she’d be considered marriageable enough.
However, the last thing in the world Breckinridge was looking for was a wife.
She had noticed that he was awake. Hard not to, when he’d sat up the way he had with a gun in his hand. She smiled across the fire at him and said, “Good mornin’, Bill.”
Breckinridge wasn’t a liar by nature. It bothered him that he had given her a name not really his own. But under the circumstances, it was the best thing for him to do, he thought as he grunted, “Mornin’.”
“Hope it’s all right I started a fire and put some coffee on to boil. I figured if you’re gonna make me sleep way over there on the other side of the camp I ought to make myself useful to you in other ways.”
“Yeah, it’s fine.” Breckinridge couldn’t help licking his lips at the smells filling his nostrils. “I got to admit, that coffee smells mighty nice. It’s been a while since I had any.”
“You’re welcome,” she told him, even though he hadn’t thanked her.
Breckinridge stood up, stretched, and went to tend to his morning business. While he was doing that, he got to thinking that maybe the fire hadn’t been such a good idea after all. If anyone was close behind him on his trail, they might be able to follow those smells right to the camp.
It was too late to worry about that now, he told himself. In the meantime he was going to enjoy the coffee and salt pork. He might even wind up enjoying Sadie Humboldt’s company, although he vowed he wouldn’t let her share his bedroll. That would be an unwanted complication and an invitation to even more trouble that he didn’t need.
The breakfast was a good one, he discovered when he rejoined her. He wasn’t sure, but when he complimented her on her cooking he thought she blushed a little. He didn’t expect that from somebody as brazen as she apparently was.
By the time they had eaten and cleaned up, the sun was scarcely above the horizon. It was time they were moving on, Breckinridge thought. He fastened the two bedrolls behind Hector’s saddle, hung the supplies Sadie had brought with his own, and then told her, “Come here.”
She stood in front of him, the top of her head barely up to the bottom of his chest.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Hold still,” he told her. Then he grasped her under the arms and hoisted her into the air. She exclaimed in surprise and started kicking her feet, which were shod in well-worn work shoes.
“Put me down, you big ox!” she cried.
Breckinridge set her on her feet again.
“What was that about?”
“I was just seein’ how much you weigh,” he told her. “Hector’s a strong horse. I reckon he can carry both of us without too much trouble. But if I see that he’s gettin’ tired, you may have to get down and walk for a spell.”
She raked her hair back from her face and said, “You could always walk, you know.”
“Yeah, but he’s my horse,” Breckinridge said. “And I don’t recollect invitin’ you to come along on this trip.”
“All right, fine,” she snapped. “If I have to, I’ll walk.”
Breckinridge nodded and swung up into the saddle. He extended a hand to her. She hesitated, then took it and climbed up in front of him. Breck heeled Hector into an easy walk.
As they rode, Breckinridge asked, “Your grandfather, did he mistreat you?”
“Grandpap?” Sadie said. “Shoot, no. He’s one of the nicest fellas you’d ever want to meet. He was good friends with Dan’l Boone, you know.”
“Yeah, he mentioned that.”
“He never treated me bad at all,” Sadie went on. “He just never saw that I was pinin’ away for somethin’ different. Somethin’ better. I don’t want to spend my life as no farmer’s wife, workin’ from before dawn to past dark and raisin’ a bunch of squallin’ brats. That’s no way to live.”
The way she talked about it, Breckinridge couldn’t help agreeing. It sounded like a life of misery and drudgery, all right.
Then he reminded himself that his mother had lived that way, and it never seemed to bother her that much, although she had her times of melancholy, sure enough. He supposed that whether a person’s life was good or bad depended more on what was inside them than anything else.
Breckinridge’s route still angled southwest. For one thing, the lay of the land made that the easiest route for traveling, because he and Sadie could follow the valleys between the numerous ridges that ran in that direction.
For several days they drifted along in that fashion. At night Sadie still made a comment now and then about how she was willing to warm his blankets, but Breckinridge was steadfast in his refusal. Morality didn’t come easy to him, so he knew he had to be stubborn and not give an inch, or else there was no telling what he might do.
Eventually they came to a crossroads where a little whitewashed church sat. Nobody was around at the moment, but a signpost stood at the intersection and on it were written the words CHATTANOOGA 10 MILES, with an arrow pointing to the southwest, the way they had been going.
“I never heard of a town called Chattanooga,” Breckinridge said. “It must be new. But if it’s big enough to have a sign pointin’ toward it and sayin’ how far away it is, I don’t reckon I want to go there.”
“You try to stay away from towns, don’t you?” Sadie said. “What’s the matter, ain’t you the sociable sort?”
“Of course I am. I love bein’ around people. But it ain’t a wise idea right now.”
Sadie nodded solemnly and said, “Because you’re on the run from the law.”
“Because I got a wild, runaway gal with me,” Breckinridge said, not admitting that he was a fugitive. He turned Hector onto the trail that led almost due west. “Come on, we’ll see what’s this way.”
Sadie sighed. She said, “I thought I was runnin’ away to a more excitin’ life. Instead all I ever see is you, Bill. You ain’t hard on the eyes, but a gal gets a little tired of lookin’ at the same thing all the time, especially when it’s a fella who won’t even spark her.”
“It was your choice to come along.”
“You’re gonna keep throwin’ that in my face, ain’t you?”
“As long as it’s true, which is gonna be from now on.”
Sadie snorted and then fell silent.
A few hours later, Breckinridge reined in at the top of a hill and looked down at the biggest stream he had ever seen. There were lots of creeks and a few rivers around home, but nothing like this. The blue water stretched for a hundred yards from shore to shore. He figured it had to be the Tennessee River, which started up at Knoxville where the Holston and the French Broad rivers flowed together.
“Son of a gun,” Breckinridge said. “How are we gonna get across that?”
“Look!” Sadie said excitedly, pointing at the near shore. “There’s a ferry.”
So there was, Breckinridge saw as he looked down the hill. The ferry landing had a cluster of buildings around it, too, a village that had no doubt grown up because this was a place where folks could cross the river.
Breckinridge felt worry stir inside him. So far he had avoided being around people very much on this journey, and it had worked out well for him.
Now, though, he didn’t seem to have much choice. He wanted to continue heading west, and he couldn’t do that without crossing the river.
“You’re nervous about goin’ down there, aren’t you?” Sadie asked.
“Yeah, a little.”
“I’ll behave myself, I promise. And that ferry looks like the only way we’re gonna get across.”
“I know.” Breckinridge heaved a sigh and nudged Hector into motion again. “Let’s go.”
He felt like he was riding into trouble, but there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.
Chapter Nine
A board with jagged ends mounted on a post at the edge of the tiny settlement had the words COOTERS LANDIN burned into it in shaky letters. Breckinridge hadn’t heard of Cooter’s Landing any more than he had Chattanooga. This part of Tennessee was all unexplored territory to him.
The ferry landing, which consisted of a dock and a shack built of rough-hewn planks, was at the far end of the broad, muddy expanse that passed for a street. Four buildings stood on the right: a combined blacksmith shop and stable, a general store, a lawyer’s office, and a tavern. The opposite side of the street occupied another tavern and a doctor’s office. Half a dozen log cabins were scattered around haphazardly behind the business buildings.
“Well, this don’t look like much of a place,” Sadie commented as they rode along the street toward the landing.
“It probably hasn’t been here very long,” Breckinridge said. He wasn’t really interested in Cooter’s Landing. He just wanted to board that ferry, get to the other side of the river, and keep going.
As they passed the store, Sadie said, “Oooh, can we go in there and buy some things, Bill?”
“With what?” Breckinridge asked. He had a few coins in his pockets that he had brought from home, but he had managed not to spend any so far. He considered the coins to be for emergencies only, and he didn’t want Sadie or anybody else to know that he had them.
“I’ve got some money,” she said. “I, uh, brought it with me from Grandpap’s place.”
Breckinridge felt his eyes widening. He said, “You mean you stole it!”
“I got a right to it,” Sadie replied in sullen tones. “I been cookin’ and cleanin’ for him ever since my ma died, and that was almost three years ago!”
“Maybe so, but you shouldn’t have just took it like that.”
“What else could I do? I couldn’t very well tell him I was leavin’ and ask for it, now could I? If I’d done that, he never would’ve let me off the place. He’s a good man, but he’s set in his ways.” She twisted on Sadie’s back to gaze longingly at the store as they rode past it. “Please, Bill?”
“You can do whatever you want,” he told her, “but I ain’t stoppin’. I’m boardin’ that ferry and headin’ across the river as soon as the ferryman will take me.”
Sadie pouted and made angry noises, which Breckinridge ignored like he had all the sultry looks she had given him and the seductive noises she had made over the past few days.
As they approached the landing he realized he was going to have to part with some of his carefully hoarded coins after all. A sign was nailed up on the side of the shack announcing that riding the ferry cost ten cents per person and five cents per horse. Breckinridge recognized the writing as being the same that was on the sign at the edge of the settlement. The prices seemed awfully high to Breck, but he didn’t really know anything about the ferry business.
A man in overalls and a floppy-brimmed hat stood next to a capstan with a thick rope looped around it. He had his hands on his hips and looked disgusted. Off to one side was a pole corral holding a couple of mules. Normally those mules would be hooked to the capstan, which was attached to the pulley that provided a means of locomotion for the ferry. As the mules plodded around and around, the rope dragged the ferry first one direction and then the other, depending on which side of the river it was on.
Now, however, the big ferry made of logs floated on the river next to the landing, its only movements in response to the gentle current.
Breckinridge reined in and called to the man, “Hey, mister, how long before the ferry goes across the river again?”
The man turned to glare at him. His face was angular and unfriendly.
“As soon as I get this damn capstan to workin’,” he replied, “and I don’t know when that’s gonna be. Blasted thing’s seized up. I can’t get the ferry across the river and back without it.”
Worry crawled along the back of Breckinridge’s neck. He felt like trouble was closing in on him from behind, and the last thing he wanted was to be delayed.
“An hour or two, maybe?” he asked.
The ferryman snorted and shook his head.
“More than likely it’ll be tomorrow mornin’ at the earliest,” he said. “If you’re in a hurry you’ll have to go on downstream to Chattanooga.”
“We’re in no hurry,” Breckinridge lied. His instincts told him to avoid the bigger towns, and he was going to stick with that as long as he could.
“You and your missus can get a room for the night at Rollins’s tavern, I ’spect,” the ferryman said. “He’s got a couple o’ rooms he rents to travelers. I’ll try to get you across the river by the end o’ the day tomorrow.”
He pointed to the closest of the two taverns.
Breckinridge didn’t correct the man’s assumption that he and Sadie were married. It was simpler not to, plus a married couple traveling together wouldn’t attract nearly as much attention as a man and woman who weren’t hitched doing the same. Breck nodded, said, “Thank you kindly,” and turned Hector around.
“That man thought we’d jumped the broomstick,” Sadie said as they rode toward the tavern.
“I know.”
“I don’t mind pretendin’ we’re married if you don’t,” she purred.
Breckinridge tried not to sigh. Sadie was doing an almighty good job of testing his resolve, and these circumstances sure weren’t making it any easier.
They dismounted at the tavern. Breckinridge tied Hector’s reins to the hitch rack out front, and they went inside.
Breckinridge had been in taverns before, although some people—mostly his pa and brothers—figured he was too young to be drinking. Once he’d gotten his full growth, though, nobody tried to keep him out. He liked to have a bucket of beer now and then, but he didn’t care for the taste of hard liquor or the way it burned going down his throat.
He enjoyed the way some of the serving girls fawned over him, too, if he was being truthful about it. They liked to sit on his lap and run their fingers through his long red hair, and they didn’t seem to mind if he got a little frisky with them.
But that was the old Breckinridge, he told himself. The new one behaved himself and tried to stay out of trouble.
Problem was, he was getting damned sick and tired of behaving himself.
The air inside the place was thick with pipe smoke and whiskey and beer fumes, as well as the smoke from candles that burned on wagon-wheel fixtures hanging from the low ceiling. The floor was hard-packed dirt. Tables made from empty barrels were scattered around. Men used kegs as seats. A rough bar filled up one wall. On the far side of the room a blanket hung over a doorway. It was pushed back part of the way to reveal a dim hallway beyond.
Three men stood at the bar drinking, two together and one down at the far end. Half a dozen more were split between two tables. A skinny, white-haired man with a face ravaged by time and alcohol stood behind the bar wearing a gray canvas apron. He nodded to Breckinridge and Sadie.
“Something I can do for you folks?”
“Fella at the landing said you might be able to rent us a room for the night,” Breckinridge explained.
The bartender nodded and said, “Waitin’ for the ferry to be fixed, are you?”
“That’s right.”
One of the men at the bar said, “That capstan’s busted more’n it works. Cooter has to work on it almost ever�
� day just to keep it goin’.”
“He’s the one the settlement’s named after, is he?”
“I wanted to call it Rollinsville,” the bartender said. “That’s my name. But Cooter claimed he was here first and had the right to name the place. I couldn’t argue with that.”
“What about that room?” Breckinridge asked.
“Oh, yeah. Sure, I got a couple of rooms in the back that ain’t bein’ used right now. You can sleep in one of ’em. Cost you a dime apiece.”
“That’s what it costs to ride the ferry.”
Rollins shrugged and said, “It’s the goin’ rate.” His watery eyes narrowed as he gazed at Sadie. “Unless you’d care to make a business arrangement. The gal can use the room, split whatever she makes with me, and you and her can sleep there for free once she’s done with her customers.”
Sadie wasn’t so brazen now. She shrunk against Breckinridge’s side. Breck felt himself getting angry and said, “You just watch your tongue, mister. I never said that this here girl is . . . is a trollop!”
The man rubbed his chin and said, “Well, if she ain’t, she could be. She’s comely enough. If you ain’t ever considered hirin’ her out, you ought to. She could make you a pretty penny.”
“Bill,” Sadie said in a voice that quavered a little with nervousness, “I ain’t sure I want to stay here after all.”
“Ain’t no other place in Cooter’s Landin’ to stay,” the bartender said reasonably.
One of the men at the bar edged closer. He was stocky and had a thick sandy mustache that drooped over his mouth. He said to Breckinridge, “Mister, I’ll give you two bits for half an hour with the girl. Now, you got to admit that there’s a fair price. Maybe more than fair.”
“Forget it,” Breckinridge snapped. He took hold of Sadie’s arm and started to turn her toward the door. “We’ll just find us a place to camp—”
He stopped as he saw that three men who had been sitting at one of the tables had stood up and moved to place themselves between him and the entrance.
The Frontiersman Page 7
