Noble Savage

by Judith B. Glad

  She thought quickly. The wagons would arrive at the docks in just a little while. Whitney would soon deduce where she was. "Lizzie, do you have a spare dress?" She looked down at her bright red coat. "And a coat?"

  "Well...yes, but nothing as nice as what you're wearin'."

  Katie hesitated, not wanting to hurt her new friend's feelings. "I need something a little...a little less fancy. Haven't you got a spare dress you would sell me?"

  "A dress?" Lizzie looked down at the faded gingham she wore under her wool shawl. Its carefully ruffled neckline and cuffs showed a certain vanity and pride of appearance. "I got me a housedress. It ain't near as nice as this."

  "Would you sell it to me?"

  "Lawks, Katie, it's just a faded old calico. It ain't even long enough for me."

  "That's fine." Lizzie was a little shorter than she, but far more full-bosomed. The dress would hang longer on Katie. "I'll give you a dollar for it." She saw hesitation in Lizzie's eyes. "Two."

  Round blue eyes got even rounder. "Two?" Lizzie whispered. "Two whole dollars?"

  "Yes, but you'll have to get some of the other women to hide me while I change into it. They can spread their skirts," she said, remembering stories her mother had told of crossing the treeless plains.

  Lizzie narrowed her eyes. "What you want my dress for? You plannin' on doing something bad?"

  "There's a man...I don't like him, but he likes me. And he's following me."

  The smile that spread across Lizzie's face showed that she was no child. "And you don't want him to find you. But won't he see you on the train?"

  "I hope not." She sincerely doubted that Hamilton Steens Whitney III would think to look for her among the emigrants. Not immediately, anyway. And once the emigrant train was away, he would have trouble catching up.

  Katie waited while Lizzie made up her mind. She hoped the girl wouldn't ask for much more than five dollars, because she had only about ten in her pocket.

  "Tell you what," Lizzie said after a few minutes. "I'll trade you my other dress and my old shawl straight across for that coat."

  "Done!" Katie set the carpetbag down and peeled out of the coat.

  Lizzie recruited her mother and sisters and two other women to surround Katie in a corner of the wagon while she changed into the faded blue calico dress. They were enthusiastic participants in the game of disguising Katie, laughing and teasing her. She wished she thought her predicament was amusing.

  Katie twitched and tied the calico into a semblance of style, then wrapped the threadbare wool shawl around herself. For a moment she regretted giving up her pretty red coat, with its fur trim and gold braid. But it was distinctive, easily recognized by someone trying to follow her. She said, "It's going to be winter before I get where I'm going. Does anyone want to sell a coat?"

  In a few minutes Katie had a serviceable wool coat, a relic of the late War, with sleeves just a little too long and only two buttons missing. It cost her a five dollar gold piece, and was worth every penny. The attached cape probably made her look half as tall and twice as wide, but she didn't care. She'd stay warm.

  "My man's got a fiddle case," one of the women said. "He'd likely trade it for that carpetbag of yours."

  Katie had wondered how much mud it would take to disguise the distinctive floral pattern. "Perfect. Let's see if everything will fit."

  Fortunately Katie had wrapped each important item in her carpetbag in a shawl or a petticoat. Transferring them to the violin case was a simple task, and no one saw anything she didn't want them to see.

  While her fellow passengers were gathering their belongings prior to unloading, she rubbed her hand across the dusty floor of the wagon and then across her face. Her hair was now plaited and pinned into a severe style, and the heavy dark coat made her appear older and stocky. She hoped she no longer resembled the fashionable Miss Lachlan of Boise and Boston.

  * * * *

  By the time Luke and the cattle's owner got all the livestock calmed down, he figured she'd found a place to hide. The two bullyboys had stood around for a spell, cussing, then stomped off, so he figured they hadn't seen her get on the wagon.

  Had she? He'd been so busy sorting out the livestock he hadn't been able to make sure she'd found a ride to the docks.

  Even though his assignment didn't really start until they left Omaha, he considered himself on the job. The fancy swell must be who he was supposed to protect her from, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why.

  Was she the swell's fiancée? Her denial had been vehement, but maybe they were just having a lovers' quarrel. Still, Luke didn't like to see women forced into anything, and he didn't regret interfering.

  He unloaded the two jennets, earning himself a bite from the smaller. Salome, that was her name. And the other, the sweet-tempered one, she was Sheba.

  He mounted Sheba, leading the other two. Smith had warned him that Lafayette--"Don't ever call him 'Lafe.' He don't cotton to it"--wouldn't be rode bareback, and didn't like carrying a man at any time. They passed two of the big transport wagons on the way down to the ferries across the Missouri. Was Miss Lachlan inside one of them? He hoped so.

  There had been four or five railcars full of emigrants on the train. How many thousands of farmers could Nebraska hold?

  Too many. He wasn't planning on being one of them, not when there was so much open land beyond.

  He'd read a little of Smith's book about raising mules this morning, enough to give him ideas about how to get away from being a farmer. There wasn't much that would wear a man out and use him up faster or break his heart quicker than farming, yet Luke had a deep and lasting hunger for land of his own, learned at his father's knee.

  His father's dream had taken him to Kansas, but years of Bushwacker raids had destroyed everything Adam Savage had built. When Luke's sister died in a raid, his mother had given up. She had survived winter storms and summer tornadoes, grasshopper plagues and drought, but losing her daughter had killed her as surely as the bullet that snuffed out Amy's life.

  Luke had seen hope die in his father then. He'd aged, his hair turning white in a season, his back growing more rounded, as if the burden of life was too heavy to bear. He had not even objected when his son left to join the volunteer militia, not yet seventeen, but man-high and strong enough to lift a young bullock.

  Lucas wished Adam had lived long enough to welcome his son home from the War. But he had died in the winter before the War's end, and neighbors had dug the grave and minded the livestock until Luke's return.

  He gave them the farm and all it held, taking only his mother's ring and the family Bible. Mick had them now, and would hold them safe until Luke sent for them.

  All the way to the docks Luke thought about Miss Lachlan. She'd caught his eye in Chicago, and he hadn't been able to get her face out of his mind. Her wide mouth looked like it was about to smile, her pointed chin had a feisty tilt to it, hinting she wouldn't take orders from much of anybody.

  Down at the docks, the tall, twin stacks of the ferry towered above milling emigrants and bawling livestock. Luke pulled Sheba to a halt, looking down the sloping road. It would be a while before they could find space on one of the ferries. While he was waiting, he'd keep his eyes open for a fancy swell and his two bullyboys.

  * * * *

  After the crossing, the emigrants--those who couldn't afford a hotel room in Omaha--camped on open land just outside town. Katie chose to sleep in the lee of one of the wagons, far enough from any family group to preserve privacy, close enough to be heard if she called for help. Now that she was away from civilization, old cravings for solitude and silence were making themselves felt. The far-off cry of a coyote was as lovely to her as the most poignant Beethoven sonata. She had been too long in the cities.

  Besides, she didn't anticipate needing assistance or protection, for she'd seen no sign of Whitney or his menacing lackeys since she escaped him. If she never saw any of them again, she would consider herself a lucky woman.


  She was ashamed of how easily Whitney had overpowered her. She vowed to herself that next time she wouldn't be taken unawares. Wouldn't Pa give her a scold, though! And her brothers would never let her live it down.

  "You're not very big," Pa had told her more than once, "so you've got to be sneaky. Like this." And he would show her one more way of using her opponent's strength and momentum to defeat him.

  "If guile does not serve," her aunt advised, "then you must apply force." And she had given Katie the means to do so as a going-away gift.

  Katie had never imagined herself able to shoot a man, but this afternoon she could have, and never regretted it. She touched her aunt's derringer, tucked under her rolled-up petticoat pillow. No, next time Hamilton Steens Whitney III wouldn't take her unawares.

  She dozed, never sleeping soundly, a technique learned in childhood, when the world had been full of perils for the careless.

  A sound not of the night brought her into complete wakefulness. She listened, waiting for it to be repeated.

  A muffled thud. Another. Katie relaxed, recognizing the random steps of a grazing horse. As if to reassure her, a soft whuffle came from beyond the cluster of wagons and tents.

  Turning onto her stomach, Katie propped her hands under her chin and looked across the moonlit plain. Here, just above the bluffs along the river, few trees broke the monotony of the measureless prairie. Far away sparks of yellow light marked civilization's encroachment on wilderness, but they were scattered and feeble. Yet if she were to turn her head just a little, she would see the vast Union Pacific yards piled high with supplies and equipment, humming even at night with the restless energy that was rushing to link East and West with a tie of iron rails.

  The horse drew nearer, until she could see it, pale and indistinct in the moonlight. No, it was a donkey, not a horse, small and gray, with a dark muzzle and a bristly mane. Its strong teeth chopped at the dry grass, each bite a faint rasp now that it had drawn close.

  Katie held out her hand, clucked her tongue in the way that had called their horses at home. The donkey raised its head, looked at her, and moved a little closer. She clucked again and was answered by a soft whuffle.

  Now she could see the lead attached to its halter. She reached out and caught it, drew it through her fingers. Sure enough, at the end was a stake, its pointed tip still damp from the ground it had been driven into. She looped the lead about her wrist and lay back, relaxed at last.

  First light would be soon enough to turn it loose. She wasn't likely to be accused of horse stealing in the middle of the night. And as long as the donkey was nearby, no human could approach unheralded. Katie settled herself for sleep, wondering idly if this was the same donkey in whose stall she had taken refuge.

  What a day it had been! Would she have believed it if it had happened in a book? Probably not.

  That Hamilton Steens Whitney, III. Crazy as a bedbug. Coming all this way, believing she was going to marry him.

  Thinking he could make her do what he wanted.

  Katie smiled without opening her eyes. Pa could have told him how difficult that could be. He'd said often enough that she had enough stubborn for four people and a cat.

  With any luck at all, she was shut of Whitney now. Surely he wouldn't follow her any farther west. And even if he did, she was now on her guard. And armed.

  Her thoughts drifted to the redheaded man who'd helped her without question. Something about him had appealed to her, in a way no man ever had before. She found herself thinking about what it would be like to kiss him.

  Up to now, she'd never had a kiss that felt a whole lot different from those she'd received from her brothers or her father. Sweet, affectionate, but not terribly exciting.

  Now she wondered if perhaps being kissed by the right man could be a whole world of different from being kissed by a brother.

  Chapter Four

  "If there's any damn critter worse than a stubborn, jug-headed jennet, I'll fry it up for supper," Luke muttered, approaching the low rise cautiously. Sheba had somehow pulled her hitch pin and wandered off. He'd awakened, as he often did, to check his surroundings and found himself short one ass. She wouldn't have gone into the rail yards, and the bluff was too steep for her to descend easily. So she must have come this way.

  He hoped.

  He stopped just below the rise, stepped forward just enough to see over the top. Luke realized he was acting as if he was alone in Indian country--or on a raid in enemy territory. Old habits died hard.

  On the other hand, a little caution had kept him in one piece through five years of war and three of cattle drives, so he guessed it wasn't unwarranted.

  "There you are, you idiot hayburner," he muttered. Quietly he approached the grazing ass, his footsteps only a faint whisper in the dry grass. He didn't want to startle Sheba. Like as not she'd set up a ruckus that would wake the whole emigrant camp. That or take off like her tail was on fire and he'd be the rest of the night catching her.

  Intent on sneaking up on Sheba, Luke didn't see the dark mound until he'd tangled his feet in it. He fell, landing on a soft, wiggling body. It whooshed at him just before it started trying to snatch him baldheaded.

  Hell! He caught the hands that flailed about his head, pinned the rest of the thrashing body with his own. It was only then he realized that he held a warm, sweet-smelling, softly rounded female body, one he'd likely give some thought to holding, if circumstances had been a mite different.

  "Get off of me, you son of a cross-eyed frog!" She bucked under him, nearly dislodging him. Her knee rammed against his lower belly, just a little too high to do him considerable damage.

  "Hold still," he snapped, tightening his hold, "else I'll have to hogtie you."

  "You and what regiment?"

  "Lady, I was just looking for my ass...for my jennet. It ain't my fault you took a notion to sleep out here in the middle of the prairie." He loosened his hold again, hoping that she'd calmed down enough to listen to reason.

  "Well, it's not my fault you can't watch where you put your big feet."

  He breathed again of her fragrance, a combination of lilac and a deep, musky scent that reminded him of sweaty bodies and hot need. Luke felt himself harden, and he scooted to the side, still holding her wrists in one hand.

  "Turn me loose," she demanded, "or I'll kick the pea-waddin' out of you."

  Nose to nose, he stared into her face. "Lady, if I was going to do you harm, you wouldn't have had a chance. How come you're out here all alone?" As soon as he'd found a spot for his stock to graze, he'd gone looking for her, hoping she'd found refuge with the emigrants. Once he'd seen her safe among them, he'd gone back to his livestock, staked out not too far from the edge of the emigrant camp.

  Luke reckoned he'd given her credit for too much gumption. She hadn't had the good sense to stay with the emigrants, despite her scare.

  Her eyes narrowed as she recognized him. "And what business is that of yours?" She tugged, trying again to free her hands. Unable to break his hold, she stopped fighting and glared at him. "Turn me loose!"

  "Not 'til you give me your word you'll go back where there's folks about."

  Her teeth flashed in a quick smile. "I'm probably safer out here, as long as that donkey is nearby."

  He'd be hanged if she was going to have the last word. "That's my jennet, Miss Lachlan, and I ain't leaving her out here all night."

  "How do you know my name?"

  "Never mind. Will you go back?"

  "I'll move closer to the wagons," she countered, her voice pleading.

  Her eyes gleamed in the starlight. Her lips were a darker smudge against the pale ivory of her face. Luke stared at her for a long moment. Then he shook his head. "You don't give an inch, do you?"

  "Not if I can help it." Laughter lurked behind her words. "Can't we compromise?"

  He released her. "Keep the jennet. I'll be back before daylight to get her." And he'd move Lafayette and Salome up closer, so he could keep her
in sight the rest of the night. He wasn't likely to sleep anyhow, wondering what damfool thing she'd do next.

  He rolled to his knees, but before he could stand, she said again, "How do you know my name?"

  Luke improvised. "I heard the swell say it."

  She seemed satisfied, for she pushed herself upright. Her face was only inches from his. Luke could feel the faint warmth of her breath, smelled again a bare hint of lilac.

  He licked his lips.

  So did she.

  Luke fought the urge to lean forward just a little. To kiss her. Fought and won. If he started, he was afraid one kiss wouldn't be enough. "Look, I'm real sorry I grabbed hold of you like that. Once I knew you were a woman, I mean. But you smelled so good, felt so--" He halted, feeling heat mount into his face. "I haven't held a woman for a long time, and I reckon I just went a little crazy."

  Her smile widened. "No harm done, I guess. You just startled me, falling all over me like that." She straightened her skirt around her legs.

  Not before he had a chance to see that her ankles were slim, her calves nicely rounded.

  "I hope you didn't get in trouble for what you did this afternoon. Those men might have caught me if you hadn't stirred up the stock like that."

  "Glad to oblige. Why were they chasing you, anyhow?"

  "Let's just say I didn't want to be made to do what I didn't choose."

  "Can't blame you for that. I don't take kindly to folks telling me what to do either."

  "Yes, well--" She looked up at him, eyes huge. "I really am obliged--"

  "Show me," he said, knowing he was the biggest damned fool on God's green earth, "just how obliged you are."

  "What do you mean?"

  "What do I mean? Lady, you're about three spuds short of a stew if you can't figure that out." With his free hand, he drew a line from one corner of her mouth to the high collar of her dress, feeling the heat of her all the way up his arm. "I'll settle for a kiss."