“Suit yourself,” he told her. “After I get something to eat, I have to go meet Tom. He said he’d introduce me to Colonel Baxter today.”
“Good luck,” she said, her voice muffled by the pillow.
Breckinridge tucked his pistols behind the broad belt he wore, settled the coonskin cap on his head, and left the boardinghouse, saying howdy to the landlady as she did the same. She had run a brothel in the past, Sierra had explained to Breck, but decided to go into a slightly less scandalous enterprise. She rented rooms to soiled doves, but they didn’t conduct business here.
A stack of flapjacks and three cups of coffee at a nearby hash house made him feel almost human again. When he left the café, he judged by the sky that it was the middle of the afternoon. Tom Lang and Colonel Baxter might already be at Red Mike’s place. Breckinridge hoped he hadn’t kept them waiting too long.
He’d been very pleased but not all that surprised when he ran into Tom Lang at the Black Ship a while back. The old scout was wintering in St. Louis, too, before heading out again. Tom didn’t have any firm plans for the spring, but he had promised that if he ran across anything good, he would let Breckinridge know.
Tom honored that pledge a few days earlier. Over buckets of beer, he had explained, “This fella Baxter, he fancies himself a colonel. I don’t know if it’s a real rank or just one he gave himself, but the important thing is, he’s got money to pay for outfittin’ a group of trappers to go up the Missouri.”
“I thought most trappers worked on their own,” Breckinridge had said.
“That’s the way it used to be,” Tom Lang agreed. “Either that or they worked for the American Fur Company. But the company ain’t as big and powerful as it used to be, and the market for pelts ain’t as strong, neither.”
Breckinridge recalled John Francis Mallory telling him the same thing. That hadn’t stopped the young lieutenant from wanting to become a trapper and explore the Rocky Mountains himself, a dream that had been wiped out by an Osage lance.
“Fellas have taken to bandin’ together into their own little fur-trappin’ companies,” Tom went on. “Somebody like Colonel Baxter puts up the money and gets a share, and everybody else does, too. That means you might not make as much, but you don’t run the risk of windin’ up flat broke.”
“I’d sort of figured on goin’ out to the mountains by myself,” Breckinridge had said with a frown.
“Won’t nobody stop you from doin’ that . . . but the redskins are gettin’ more touchy all the time. Startin’ out, some of the tribes was friendly to the white man. They figured there was plenty of room for ever’body and that a few white men wouldn’t fill things up too bad. But now they’ve watched the wagon trains and the army and seen how the white men just keep comin’ and comin’ and comin’ . . . and they’ve figured out that if things keep goin’ like that, sooner or later they’re gonna be crowded out. So even the Injuns that used to be friendly are lookin’ to take a fella’s hair now if they get the chance. We saw that last year with them damned Osage.”
“So you’re sayin’ it’d be a lot safer if I joined this Colonel Baxter’s party,” Breckinridge said.
Tom’s shoulders rose and fell in a shrug.
“I’m sayin’ you do what you want to,” he told Breckinridge. “But word is, the colonel’s lookin’ for a scout, and I intend to sign on for that job if he’ll have me.”
Breckinridge had pondered long and hard after that conversation, and finally he came to the decision that what Tom Lang said made a lot of sense. Besides, even if he went west with Baxter’s group, he could always split off on his own if he couldn’t get along with the others.
Now as he went into Red Mike’s, he immediately spotted Tom’s white beard and hair at a large round table in one of the rear corners. Two men sat with the old scout. Both of them were well dressed, especially compared to the rough trappers’ and rivermen’s garb worn by most of the tavern’s patrons. One had hair and side whiskers as white as Tom’s. The other stranger was younger, with tightly curled brown hair and a slightly rounded face.
Tom lifted a hand in greeting and said, “There he is,” to the other two men. As Breckinridge came up to the table, he went on, “We were gettin’ worried about you, Breck.”
“Sorry. I’m runnin’ a little behind today.” Breckinridge pulled out one of the empty chairs and sat down.
“Punctuality is an important quality,” the younger of the two strangers said.
“I reckon that’s right,” Breckinridge said, “but from what I’ve heard there ain’t no clocks in the mountains.”
The man’s mouth tightened. Before he could respond, Tom leaned forward and said, “Colonel, this here is Breckinridge Wallace, the fella I told you about. As fine a fightin’ man as you’ll find west of that big river out there.”
“Based on the sheer size of him, I don’t doubt it.” The well-dressed white-haired man extended his hand across the table to Breckinridge. “I’m Colonel Benjamin Baxter, Mr. Wallace. This is my son Morgan.”
Breckinridge shook hands with the man and said, “Pleased to meet you, Colonel.” The younger man hadn’t made any move to put his hand out, so Breck just nodded to him and added, “Morgan.”
“That’s Mr. Baxter to you,” Morgan snapped.
“Sure,” Breckinridge said easily. “I was brought up to respect my elders.”
Morgan Baxter flushed. He was older than Breckinridge, certainly, probably in his mid-twenties. But they could have passed for roughly the same age, Breck knew.
The colonel said, “I’m sure Tom has told you about our joint venture, Mr. Wallace.”
“Call me Breckinridge. Mr. Wallace will always be my pa. And yeah, Tom said you were outfittin’ a bunch to go to the mountains and do some trappin’.”
“Exactly. I’m convinced that this depression in the market for furs is only temporary, but it’s been enough to weaken the stranglehold that the American Fur Company has had on the industry. When the market comes roaring back as it’s bound to do, I intend to be in a position to capture the lion’s share of it.”
“That’s ambitious,” Breckinridge said, nodding slowly.
“Of course, as with any enterprise we’re going to have to start small and grow steadily. Hence this inaugural expedition up the Missouri.”
Breckinridge thought he understood what Baxter was saying. He kept nodding as if he did, anyway. Truthfully, business didn’t interest him in the slightest. To him it was all just a bunch of squinty-eyed gents bending over ledgers in a dim, airless room. Hell, in other words.
“You understand that we’re going to be working on a basis of shares?” Baxter asked.
“Yes, sir. Tom told me about it.”
“And that’s agreeable to you?”
Breckinridge hesitated. He was committing himself to something here, at least for a while. But everything about it made sense as far as he could tell, so he nodded and said, “Yes, sir, it is.”
“Splendid! I’m glad to hear that you’re going to be one of us.”
Breckinridge frowned slightly and said, “When you say ‘one of us,’ you mean the bunch that you’ll be sendin’ to the Rockies.”
“I mean the group that I’ll be leading to the Rockies,” Baxter said with a smile. “Such an expedition needs an experienced commander.”
“I thought that Tom—”
“Mr. Lang is our scout,” Baxter said. “But I’ll be in charge, just as I was during my military career.”
Breckinridge looked at Tom. The old-timer seemed a little uncomfortable. He didn’t meet Breck’s eyes. Breck figured Tom had known about this and had chosen not to say anything.
“So you’re comin’ along, Colonel?” Breckinridge asked.
“Of course I am,” Baxter answered. “I’m in the habit of keeping a close eye on my investments, and as I said, I’m an experienced commander.”
“I’m coming along, too,” Morgan added.
Breckinridge liked the sound of that ev
en less. He didn’t know where and when Colonel Baxter had served in the army, but he looked soft now, as did his son. Neither of them seemed like the sort of fella who would handle the hardships of the frontier particularly well.
Baxter had put his finger on an important point, though. It was his money funding this trip, so Breckinridge supposed he had the right to do whatever he wanted. Breck had continued to do odd jobs over the winter and had saved up enough to purchase some supplies, but if he started to the mountains alone he would be setting out with the bare minimum he needed and no margin for error. By signing on with Baxter at least he was assured of being better supplied.
“Do you have a problem with this arrangement, Mr. Wallace?” the colonel asked, and now there was a slightly chilly note in his voice.
“No, sir,” Breckinridge answered right away with a shake of his head. “You’re the boss.”
“He’s the colonel,” Morgan said, “and I’m his lieutenant.”
The message behind those words was clear to Breckinridge. You’ll follow my orders, too, Morgan was saying. Breck was more reluctant to go along with that, but he managed to nod again.
“Very well,” Baxter said, brisk now that the business had been concluded. “We’ll be leaving from the docks in three days, weather permitting. You’ll have to make your mark on an enlistment paper before we go.”
“I can write my name,” Breckinridge said. “I’ve had some schoolin’, and my ma taught me even more.”
“That’s good. An education is always a good thing, even in the wilderness.”
“This enlistment business . . . that ain’t like signin’ up to be in the army, is it?”
“Not exactly. It just sets out the scope of our agreement.”
Breckinridge nodded. As long as the paper didn’t say he was bound to stay with them whether he wanted to or not, he was all right with that.
Anyway, even if it did, he didn’t see how they could enforce it, hundreds of miles away from civilization.
Baxter stood up and shook hands with him again. Morgan still didn’t offer his hand. As the two men left the tavern, Breckinridge leaned back in his chair and sighed.
“I’m sorry, Breck—” Tom Lang began.
“You knew, didn’t you? About those two goin’ along, I mean.”
“Well, sure, that was part of the deal from the first. But it’s the colonel’s money. You know how it works. If you’ve got the money, you get to do whatever you want.”
“Yeah,” Breckinridge mused. He understood how the world worked.
But he also understood that all the money in the world wouldn’t mean a damned thing to a bloodthirsty Indian or a charging grizzly bear.
Chapter Twenty-four
Breckinridge barely had time to dodge the half-full whiskey bottle that came flying at his head. He caught a glimpse of the flowery design on the label as it went past him. Then it shattered against the wall behind him, spraying glass across the floor and leaving a wet blotch of dripping whiskey on the wallpaper.
“So you’re going to leave me, are you?” Sierra screeched at him. “After all we’ve meant to each other?”
Breckinridge stretched out his hands toward her and said, “Now hold on a minute. It ain’t like there was ever anything serious goin’ on between us—”
Sierra exclaimed, “Oh!” and started looking around for something else to throw. Breckinridge hoped it wouldn’t occur to her to grab the chamber pot.
Even though he knew it might just make things worse, he went on, “I mean, you never stopped goin’ with other fellas and takin’ their money to, well, you know . . .”
“That’s my job, you idiot!” She glared darkly at him, her breasts heaving with emotion under the thin dress she wore. Mad or not, Breckinridge thought she was more beautiful than he had ever seen her. “None of those men meant anything to me! I never charged you, did I?”
“Well, not after that first time . . .”
She came at him, fingers hooking into talons, evidently intent on clawing his eyes out. Breckinridge caught hold of her wrists before she could reach his face. She started kicking at his shin, but in a soft slipper, her foot didn’t do any damage through his thick, high-topped moccasins. Breck barely felt the kicks.
“Dadgum it!” he burst out. He had thought Sierra might be a little upset when he told her he was leaving for the Rockies, but he never expected such a violent reaction. She knew he had been talking right along about making such a trip, and she had known why he was going to meet Tom Lang and Colonel Baxter.
But clearly, knowing something and accepting it were two different things where Sierra was concerned.
He pulled her closer, then risked letting go of her wrists. He bent, wrapped his arms around her waist, and lifted her off the floor. That wasn’t quite as easy as it looked. Sierra was lushly built and had a good amount of meat on her bones, something that Breckinridge had never complained about before. But with his great strength, he was able to pick her up, take two strides that brought him to the bed, and dump her on the mattress, where she bounced a little.
Breckinridge was ready to try to hold her down on the bed and talk some sense into her, but she surprised him again, this time by rolling onto her side and starting to cry. She put her hands over her face and wailed and sobbed, and he was left staring at her, dumbfounded as to what he should do next.
After a while he eased a hip onto the bed next to her, put a hand on her shoulder, and said, “Sierra, honey, I sure never meant to upset you like this—”
She jerked away from him and said between ragged sobs, “Just . . . just leave me alone! If you’re going to . . . to abandon me . . . why don’t you just go ahead and go?!”
“Well . . . the expedition’s not leavin’ for a couple of days yet . . .”
Sierra’s wails grew louder, but then she pressed her face into the pillow and that muffled the cries somewhat.
Breckinridge wondered if there would ever come a time when he understood women. He wasn’t going to count on it.
* * *
Eventually, Sierra settled down. She wasn’t happy that Breckinridge was leaving St. Louis, but she seemed to accept the fact. She even went out of her way to make sure his last couple of days in town were as pleasant as possible. They seldom left her room in the boardinghouse.
Breckinridge had to get out some, though. Even though Colonel Baxter was outfitting the expedition and furnishing most of the supplies, there were some things Breck wanted to pick up for himself, such as extra powder and shot. He didn’t want to take a chance on running out of ammunition at the worst possible time, like in the middle of a fight with hostile Indians.
On the night before he left, he used the rest of his money to take Sierra out to eat in one of the nicest restaurants in St. Louis. It was nice compared to their usual haunts, anyway, and certainly Breckinridge had never seen tables donned with linen cloths or candles that burned in crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. He knew that some of the other customers gave him and Sierra funny looks, as if thinking they didn’t belong here.
Well, they were right about that, Breckinridge thought . . . not that he gave a damn.
“Thank you for bringing me here, Breckinridge,” she said. She looked lovely in her nicest gown with its bits of lace at the throat and sleeves. “I never thought to set foot in a place such as this.”
“You deserve it,” he told her. “You’re as fine a lady as any of the other gals in here.”
“We both know that is not true . . . but thank you for saying it, anyway,” she said with a smile. “You are a sweet boy. I will miss you when you’re gone.”
“I’ll miss you, too.”
“But you will come back to me.”
“I’ll do my best,” he said. “You can’t never tell what’s gonna happen out there in the wilderness.”
“I know. There are wild animals. Savage Indians. So many dangers of all sorts.”
He grinned and said, “Yeah, but I’m pretty good at tak
in’ care of myself.”
“I know. Can I ask you to be careful?”
“Why, sure. I’ll do my very best to come back with a whole hide. You can count on that.”
When they got back to her room, she made sure his last night in St. Louis was one to remember for a long time. Maybe always. When Breckinridge finally went to sleep, he fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.
Sierra was gone when he woke up in the morning. He figured at first she had just stepped out for something, until he spotted the note leaning against the cold candle on the night table. He picked it up and read the message she had written on it.
Breckinridge,
I cannot bear to say good-bye to you. I know it is foolish for a woman such as myself to feel this way, but you have brought something into my life I have never before known. I have feelings for you the likes of which I have never experienced. And so I cannot face the pain of our parting. Please do not search for me. I know St. Louis better than you. You will not find me. Just go with your friends and know that you take my heart with you. You can restore it to me when you return.
Sierra
“Well, hell,” Breckinridge muttered as he lowered the paper. He would have liked a chance to say so long to her. On the other hand, it was unlikely they could have come up with a better farewell than the one they’d had the night before. So maybe it was better this way, he thought with a sigh.
He dressed, gathered his gear, and headed for the docks. The Baxter expedition would be leaving from there.
When he reached his destination, he saw a dozen canoes lined up in the river, next to one of the docks. Men were loading supplies into them as Colonel Baxter stood there supervising. The colonel wore buckskins, but they were a lot fancier than any Breckinridge had ever seen before, covered with fringe and beaded decorations. Baxter also wore a broad-brimmed brown hat with an eagle feather sticking up from its band.
Breckinridge didn’t see Morgan Baxter at first, and he hoped that meant the young man had decided not to come along. But then he spotted Morgan walking along the street from the other direction, talking to Tom Lang as the two of them approached the docks. At least Morgan was dressed in good quality workingman’s clothes, not like the resplendent outfit his father sported.
The Frontiersman Page 21
