Joanna had said the man gave her quite a good time and asked no unusual questions. He could trust Joanna. She was one woman who knew the ropes, and she had long ago learned not to cross Sam Gates. Joanna wouldn’t dream of trying to pull a fast one on him.
He settled in between satin sheets. If he weren’t so tired he would order the new girl to be brought to him. He had just bought her that morning, a pretty little thing, an orphaned mountain girl whose neighbor figured he could make some whiskey money from selling her. The neighbor was right. She was only thirteen and a virgin. Sam would enjoy turning the shivering little thing into a woman who knew how to appreciate men. She would learn to like it soon enough.
He grinned then at the thought of Emma Simms. Tommy would have finally had his turn at her by now, and the haughty bitch would soon have any lingering pride stripped away by the miners. It served her right, especially for lying to Tommy about River Joe’s being dead.
He closed his eyes, finally beginning to drift off. The pendulum of a wall clock drifted back and forth, ticking to four o’clock. The guard in the alley below Sam’s window drifted off to sleep for a moment, and a shadowy figure in buckskins moved silently past him. A gunnysack hung from the intruder’s arm as he deftly climbed the tree at the comer of the building, hoisting himself up with strong arms and with the agility of a man who knew the woods and shadows, a man who had spent his life hunting, stalking wary animals. Now he would stalk a wary man; he would use all his skills and instincts against the most dangerous prey of all.
The guard blinked awake then, feeling a presence but looking around and seeing nothing. Above him the shadowy figure crept silently along the balcony, to the third window.
Inside, Sam Gates had finally fallen asleep. He snored and settled even deeper into his pillow, unaware that someone crept through his window without making a sound. The intruder carefully opened the gunnysack he was carrying, grasping at something from the outside of the bag and carefully letting it come to the opening. He caught it then with one quick movement of his hand before walking on moccasined feet to Sam Gates’s bed.
A quick, strong hand reached out then, a thumb pressing against Sam’s Adam’s apple just enough to make the man stop breathing for a moment. The strong grasp about his throat made Sam jolt awake. He tried to breathe, but something kept the breath from coming, and he could not call out.
In the light of the lamp, as he came fully awake and realized what was happening, Sam could see him—John Beck! What was happening? He looked different, wilder, meaner. He wore buckskins, and in the next moment Sam Gates found himself staring into the open, white mouth of a hissing snake. He knew in that instant his first suspicion had been right. This was River Joe!
River pressed his left hand tightly, maneuvering his thumb in such an expert way that Sam could not breathe enough to yell out. He was quickly losing strength, unable to fight back. But even if he could fight, common sense told him to lie still, for River Joe held the wiggling snake in his right hand, close to Sam’s face.
“Do you know what kind of snake this is!” River sneered, his dark eyes on fire with vengeance. “Some call it a water moccasin. Others call it a cottonmouth.” His voice hissed like the snake, and he moved the snake’s mouth even closer, enjoying the absolute terror in Sam Gates’s eyes. “Whatever it is called, it is poisonous!” River whispered. He smiled at the look in Sam Gates’s eyes. “How does it feel, Sam Gates, to be the one who is afraid! The one who is threatened, tortured?”
Sam’s mouth opened in an effort to yell for help, but nothing came out. The room began to swim around him as lack of air made him weaker and brought on an enveloping blackness so that all he could see was River Joe’s leering face and the hissing snake.
“You will never harm another woman, Sam Gates,” he heard River Joe hiss.
Again Sam tried to call out. River Joe! He was right here! Where were his own men? How had this man gotten in? Joanna! She had something to do with this.
“Tonight you die, Sam Gates!” he heard in a gruff whisper.
It was then Sam felt it, knew there was no hope. A horrible, piercing pain seered through his face, starting near his eye with a sickening sting. He was suddenly unable to move at all. He felt something wiggle across his face, then gasped at another quick and painful bite at his neck. It was the last thing he remembered.
Joanna woke up to a scream. She quickly put on a heavy robe, her heart racing. Sam! Was he dead? Had River Joe really done it? She hurried out into the hall, where she could hear one of the other girls screaming and weeping. She watched as more gathered, and she listened to their gasps.
“Oh, my God!” Stu said.
“What is it?” one of the girls gasped. “Look at his face!”
“I don’t know. Something… something must have bit him,” Stu answered. “Stay back.”
“Oh, God, look at him!” someone else gasped.
There was a moment of footsteps, scuffling. “I don’t see anything,” Stu said then. Another moment of silence. “Good God, it looks like he’s snake-bit.”
“Is he… is he dead?” one of the girls asked.
“Yes. I don’t believe it. I never heard a thing,” Stu answered. “Get some of the other men up here and we’ll search the room. Watch where you walk.”
“Oh, my God. Oh, God!” one of the girls screamed, darting out of the room holding up her robe.
Joanna walked carefully to Sam’s room, putting on a concerned look. “What happened?” she asked. She gasped when she saw Sam, then fought to subdue a smile. What a wonderful sight! Sam’s face was purple and swollen, his eyes open and staring in death.
“Snake-bit,” Stu said to her. “Be careful where you walk.” He shook his head. “Can you believe it? We’ll search the building. What in hell do you think could have attracted a snake to crawl all the way up here?”
“I can’t imagine,” Joanna answered. “Maybe mice. I told Sam just the other day I’ve been seeing a lot of mice.”
She walked to the window and looked out toward the mountains behind town, wondering how far River Joe had ridden during the night. She felt a tightness in her throat, and a keen envy for the woman called Emma.
She turned then, hurrying down the stairs and outside toward the shed where the frightened new girl had been kept for the night. How good it would feel to free her, and how good it felt to Joanna also to be free—free at last! Sam Gates had been killed by a snake. No one would ever know about River Joe’s part in an act of justice.
Chapter 25
Emma took another weary step. She had no idea where she was; she had slept that night on pine needles in the shelter of a rock formation, waking at every odd noise, fearing a bear or a bobcat might pounce on her or a snake crawl across her legs. She had been afraid to make a fire lest someone see it.
The morning sun brought warmth but did not lift her spirits. She had no idea where she was—which way to go. What if she happened to stumble upon men from the mine? How close was she? What would she tell a stranger if someone came upon her? She dared not stick to a traveled roadway, even if she happened to find one. She could not risk running into other people and having to explain. Someone might force her to return to Knoxville.
What if Sam Gates came after her? Her punishment would be great indeed. Of that she had no doubt. But surely River had been there by now. Surely Sam was dead. But what if it was River who was dead? Then all her efforts at leaving a trail for him to follow would be for nothing. All along the way she had torn lace from the fancy stitching of the dress she wore and had tied it to a bush or a branch. If River could find the burned campsite, he could follow her trail easily from there. She could only pray it would not be the wrong men who found the trail.
She kept climbing, remembering River’s telling her not to be afraid of anything, telling her how strong she was, what a survivor she was. If only she were physically stronger. She had not had time to regain her stamina, and the trip to Kn
oxville and the strain of her terror there had drained what little energies she had left after the miscarriage.
Somehow she had to reach the Cherokee. Somehow she had to get back to her babies. This all seemed so easy when she traveled with River. Now the forest had turned into her enemy.
Night came again, and the trees turned into monsters. Their branches were huge arms ready to grab her. She imagined animals all around her, felt their eyes watching her. The forest at night was terrifying, but she feared coming upon men more than she feared coming upon an angry bear or an ornery bobcat.
Morning came again, and no one had found her. She took hope in her aloneness, in spite of her vulnerability to animals and the elements. She made little headway that morning. Every bone and muscle ached, and she was even weaker now from lack of food. She had brought along potatoes and biscuits and a small jar of jam from Tommy’s supplies, but she was trying to conserve, eating just once a day.
She nibbled on wild berries whenever she found them, and her feet hurt in the fancy heeled shoes she had been given to wear. She wished she had comfortable moccasins and an Indian tunic rather than the tight-fitting cotton dress she wore, with its stays and many buttons.
The days were too warm and the nights too cool and damp. Every time she closed her eyes, images returned of Tommy and the burning tent, his blackened body, his white, staring eyes. If only River would come! But he might never come. She forced back the terror and horrible grief this thought brought her, for to live without River would not be living at all. At least if she could reach Joshua and Rachael, she would have a part of River with her forever.
The sun was setting on the fourth night since she had left Knoxville. She climbed still more, wanting to go a little farther before night came again. She left behind a carpetbag of clothes, the supplies seeming to get heavier and heavier. She kept with her only the food and the musket and powder.
She was proud of how calm she had remained, in spite of her inner terror. She had begun getting used to the darkness, the noises. She began to believe she could make it. She had to, for the sake of her babies, and to stay one step ahead of Sam Gates.
Her biggest obstacle now was her weakness and hunger. She knew it would probably take two or three weeks to reach Grace and Mary, her Cherokee family, her children, if she ever managed to find them at all. She did not have enough food along with her for so long a trek. She decided she would have to try to kill something for food. And she would rest as much as she dared to.
She could do this. She had to do it. She was River Joe’s woman. She left another piece of lace tied to a bush. She would survive until River came, and he would come. He would find the trail she had left him and he would follow.
She heard a loud roaring noise ahead, and she headed for it curiously. This day of climbing had been very hot. If there was water up ahead, she would cool herself in it.
The roaring became louder until she reached the edge of a rocky canyon. She peered over the edge. Yes, there was water, but none that she could get to. Far below, a raging river plunged through the canyon. She remembered the night of the flood, her terror of the swirling waters. This river reminded her of the rising Hiwassee.
She had no idea what river this was, but she remembered with an aching heart how River had saved her that night, hanging on to her as they made their way across the mooring rope to shore. They had been through so much since then. That awful night had been the beginning of a whole new life for Emma Simms. If it were not for Sam Gates and Tommy Decker, she and River would still be with the Cherokee, with their babies.
Suddenly the bank on which she stood gave way. It was not rock, as she had thought, but slippery clay. Emma screamed as she felt the ground sliding beneath her. She let go of everything she was carrying to try for a handhold, but everything she touched slithered right out of her hands.
A new terror gripped her as she felt herself moving helplessly toward the raging waters. How ironic it would be if she drowned after all! Her musket went crashing down to rocks below, splintering into a useless piece of wood and metal. Part of it floated away, and her bag of black powder became a soggy mass before it sank from sight. Food tumbled from its supply bag, falling helter-skelter; then Emma’s feet suddenly came to rest on flat rock that jutted out from the bank.
She stood still for a moment, telling herself to be calm. The river still roared below her, but she had not fallen into it. She looked up first, to see the top of the bank was much too high to reach. The bank leading there was nothing but smooth clay, with a few tree roots sticking out. A small root dangled nearby, and she grabbed on to it for support. She managed to stand back just a little, shivering when air hit the front of her. She was covered from her forehead to her toes with wet clay, and she shook her head to get some of it away from her eyes.
Cautiously she looked down, then groaned in agony at her situation. The river roared beneath her, with no banks on which she could stand. If she fell, the deep, violent waters would surely draw her down to a dark, cold grave. But even if there were some kind of bank along its edge, she would not be able to get to it without getting hurt, for the river was still a dizzying distance below her.
A miserable, hopeless dread crawled into her bones as she realized she could not go up or down. She looked around her feet to see that the rock on which she stood was just big enough to hold her if she should sit down. She could at least slither to a sitting position and rest. Perhaps she could think of a way out of this. But helpless fear gripped her when she realized she might not be standing on a rock at all. Perhaps this, too, was only clay! What if it gave way beneath her?
So, this was her end. After all she had survived, she would die the kind of death she feared most. She would not reach her babies. She would not see River again. She was too weak and tired to care about being brave and determined anymore. She clung to the tree root and put her head against the slippery clay and cried, using her last bit of faith in the Maker of Breath to pray that River would come and find her before she died of starvation or fell into the dark waters.
River watched the camp carefully for a moment. Esaugetuh Emissee was with him, for just that morning he had found the place where Tommy and Emma must have camped their first night. He could only pray from then on that he was following Tommy’s trail and not some stranger’s. Sheer instinct had led him along the path it seemed logical for Tommy to take if he wanted to stay off the main road but still have a fairly easy trip. After finding that first campsite the tracking had been easy.
He had followed a trail directly to this second campsite, but something was wrong here. Three horses grazed about, one of them still carrying some gear. A cold campfire looked roughly two days old, and a tent lay in burned ruins.
River’s heart beat with dread. Had there been some kind of accident? Had they been attacked by someone? Outlaws? Robbers? Had someone new carried Emma away? He pulled his musket from its boot and tied his horse and pack horse, cautiously approaching the site, watching, listening.
A little creek bubbled nearby. His dark, experienced eyes took in the entire campsite carefully, moving to the creek, where he was sure that he saw something move. He readied his musket, curling his nostrils at an odd odor as he came closer, an odor that resembled wounded or dead flesh.
He scanned the waters, his eyes widening in shock when he saw what appeared to be a human body in the water. He walked closer, his blood tingling at what looked like a horribly burned man, his skin an ugly red, some of it a hard black. The man lay in the water, apparently for relief from the burns. River felt a chill go down his spine when the man opened his eyes. Surely this horribly burned piece of flesh could not still be alive!
The man groaned. “No!” he seemed to be saying. “Riii… Joe!”
River bent closer, frowning, finding something familiar about the blue eyes. Not all the hair was burned off the body, and River could see that what hair was left was red. A horrible dread moved through him. “Tommy! Tommy Decker
?”
“She… did… this… bitch!”
River lost all sympathy. Emma! She might have been burned, too! Had she set the tent on fire deliberately just to get away?
“Where’s Emma!” he growled, bending even closer.
“Bastard!” Tommy moaned. “Your… fault…”
“Where is Emma! What happened to her!”
Tommy actually managed a grin. “Watched… Sam… rape her… good show.”
River grabbed his arm, yanking it out of the water and squeezing against the burns. Tommy screamed for him to stop.
“Sam is dead!” River snarled. “Where is Emma! What happened here!”
“Lamp… bitch started it. Ran… away… probably lost.”
River threw his arm down into the water. “How long ago?”
“Don’t… know.… maybe two… nights… lost track… dying.”
“You’re dying, all right,” River snarled. “Let me help you on your way!”
He could not control his anger. Tommy Decker was as worthless as Sam Gates. He had watched while Sam Gates mauled his poor Emma. And God only knew the hell he had put Emma through himself. River stood up, and with his foot pushed Tommy’s head off the rock and into the creek. Tommy struggled only slightly before all movement stopped. River pressed his face under the water several seconds to be sure. There must be no remaining witnesses. He finally released the pressure. The body stayed under water and did not move.
“Now you are out of your misery.”
River turned away, feeling no remorse. He searched carefully around the campsite for a sign of which way Emma had gone. All his years of tracking in these mountains paid off. He found what he was sure were the prints of someone very light. But they were over two days old. Following this trail would not be easy.
Tennessee Bride Page 37
