Wilde, Jennifer

by Love's Tender Fury

  "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 wild-flowers, 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."

  "Was he traveling alone?"

  "Wuzn't anybody with him at the moment, no, but—"

  Jeff hesitated, looking indecisive again, wondering how much he should tell me, how much he should hold back. I managed to maintain a calm expression that belied the apprehension inside. There was a hollow feeling in the pit of my stomach, and it was all I could do to keep from trembling, but Jeff saw only the composed features, the level eyes. When he finally continued, his voice was flat, his eyes grim.

  "I might as well level with you, Marietta. I feel pretty sure the fellow was headin' back to his own camp. He was movin' along like he knew exactly where he was goin'. Don't think his buddies heard his shriek—I doubt their camp was that close—but by this time they're gonna have missed him, they're gonna have found him with a great hole in his threat, and they're gonna be lookin' for whoever did it."

  "That's why we're not on the Trace?"

  He nodded. "They'll go racin' down the Trace first thing, assumin' that's how we're travelin'. One good thing, they ain't found us by this time, chan
ces are pretty strong they aren't gonna. We're miles away from the Trace, and it's a great big forest. I'll feel even better when we get several more miles behind us. If we ride hard, I think we can make the cave by nightfall."

  "The cave?"

  "Place I know. It's small, just a hole in the side of a hill, really, but it's big enough to hold us and the mules, and the entrance is completely hidden by bushes. I hid there once before when the Indians was lookin' for me some years ago. We'll be safe there."

  We resumed our ride, moving on through the forest. It was dim and shadowy, trees close all around, only the faintest amount of sunlight sifting through the heavy, leafy limbs overhead. Sound seemed to echo strangely, the steady clopping of the mules thrown back at us, distorted. A vivid red cardinal burst out of a thicket, wings flapping vigorously. I gave a little cry, almost falling off the mule. Ordinarily Jeff would have laughed and made some teasing remark. He didn't now. On and on we went, twisting this way and that to avoid the trees. I had long ago lost all sense of direction. I prayed that Jeff knew where he was going and could get us back on the Trace eventually. The woods seemed so ominous and forbidding.

  Hours passed. I had never been so weary, but I didn't complain. Jeff was tired, too. His face looked drawn. There were faint gray smudges beneath his eyes, slight hollows under his cheekbones. Healthy and robust as he was, he was showing signs of the hard push and the worry. We had never traveled so hard, so long, and neither of us had had a bite of food all day. The mules, at least, had been able to nibble at the grass when we had taken our break. I was ravenously hungry, but I wasn't going to complain about that, either.

  The sun was going down now. The trees cast long black shadows over the ground, shadows that stretched and merged together in a dark network. The sky was a deep-violet gray, the air filling with a thickening blue haze as the final rays of the sun vanished. We were in a less densely wooded area now. Although there were still hundreds of trees, tall, gigantic trees that reared up like leafy giants, they weren't growing so closely together, weren't choked with underbrush. There was a stream up ahead. I could hear the water gurgling over sand and rocks. I wondered how far we were from the cave.

  "I guess we'd better stop for a few minutes, catch our breath," Jeff said. "It's at least another hour to the cave. Too, I want to fill the canteens and let the mules drink."

  There was a small clearing perhaps fifty yards from the stream. We dismounted. Jeff stretched, flexing his arms, and then he looked at me in the fading light and saw my grim expression and smiled. It was a beautiful smile, tender, not at all like the engaging grin he so frequently wore. He stepped over to me and placed his hands on my shoulders.

  "I think we're in the clear now," he said. "I think we've foxed 'em. They're probably still chasin' up and down the Trace on their ponies, huntin' for us."

  "You really think we're out of danger?"

  "Not completely, o'course. I'd be lyin' if I said that. We'll keep to the woods for a couple more days, then turn back on the Trace."

  "You're sure you can find it again?"

  "We ain't more'n a quarter of a mile from the Trace right now. We circled around, and we've been runnin' more or less parallel to it for quite a while. How're you feelin'?"

  "Tired. Hungry, too."

  " 'Fraid we're gonna have to make do with beef jerky and parched corn tonight—emergency supplies I got in the pack. Can't risk a fire, not even in the cave. We'll have us a nice long rest and see what tomorrow brings."

  "All right."

  "You've been terrific, keepin' right along with me, never complainin', showin' true mettle. Most women—but, hell, it ain't even fair to try 'n compare you to anyone else. You're pretty unique, ya know that?"

  "Am I?"

  "Ain't never encountered another woman quite like you. I'm right proud of the way you've been holdin' up. You're a magnificent wench, no question about it."

  He squeezed my shoulders, still smiling, and then he gave me a quick kiss. I placed my hand on the back of his neck, feeling closer to him than I ever had before. Jeff drew back, eyes twinkling mischieviously.

  "I'll take the mules down to the stream and water 'em, fill up the canteens, and then we'll move on to the cave. I'm hungry, too—and not just for food. I'm gettin' a mighty strong yen—"

  "You're incorrigible," I teased.

  "Reckon I am," he admitted.

  "We've been riding since dawn, expecting Indians to attack at any minute. We're exhausted, bone-weary, and we haven't had a thing to eat all day, and you think about—"

  "I'm always thinkin' about it."

  "Go on," I said, "go water the mules. After we get to the cave, after we've eaten your wretched beef and parched corn, we'll see what happens. I'm not making any promises."

  " 'Fraid you ain't got a choice," he told me.

  Jeff grinned, slipping back into the jaunty manner as he would slip into old clothes. He pulled my rifle out of its leather pouch and handed it to me, explaining that he wouldn't want it to slip out and fall into the water, and then he took out his own rifle, gathered up the reins and led the mules down the sloping ground to the stream. Tall trees arched heavy boughs over the water. There was a particularly heavy oak tree with thick boughs just a few yards from the spot where Jeff stood with the mules, pulling the canteens out of their packs as they greedily drank. I held the rifle at my side, watching them, feeling relaxed for the first time.

  It had been a hard day, but it was almost over now. The immediate danger was behind us. Jeff was relaxed, too, and that was a good sign. He had been so tender and affectionate, treating me like someone very precious, and I had been deeply moved. I was very fond of him, and I wished I weren't. It was impossible not to respond to that warmth, try though I might to resist. Later on, when we reached civilization, I could harden myself against him. Right now I could only consider myself lucky that he was the man he was.

  The light was almost completely gone, just a faint afterglow remaining. Jeff and the two mules were in silhouette. He was kneeling, filling up the canteens. One particularly thick bough of the oak tree stretched almost directly over his head. As I stood there, feeling pensive, feeling at peace, I saw the leaves of the bough move ever so slightly.

  Something moved in the tree. I couldn't believe my eyes. One minute the thickness was there, and then it started to move, edging back toward the trunk of the tree. The stream rushed along, splashed over the rocks with a pleasant noise that was loud enough to drown out the faint noise of the body inching slowly backward on the bough. Jeff capped one of the canteens, slung it on the ground behind him, kneeled down to fill up another. In the bough I saw a silhouette, rising now to its knees, and then it dropped softly to the ground and stood poised there for a moment, not more than six or seven yards from where Jeff was kneeling.

  I saw a tall, powerfully built body, and I saw a muscular arm raising back, saw the tomahawk, all black, in silhouette, and I was so stunned I couldn't cry out. The savage crept slowly toward the kneeling man. I was screaming inside, unable to make the screams audible, and then I realized I was holding the rifle. I reared it up into position and covered the silhouette with the sight and pulled the trigger. There was a blinding orange flash and a puff of smoke and the silhouette moved crazily like a puppet on jerking strings, then fell on the ground in a broken heap.

  I dropped the rifle. I raced toward Jeff. He caught me in his arms. I began to sob. He held me tightly, peering over my shoulder at the Indian on the ground, and, ironically, the mules continued to lap up the water, unperturbed by the explosive blast. I turned in Jeff's arms, glancing down at the body sprawled out there on the ground, arms and legs akimbo. The light was stronger here and I could see the bronze skin smeared with war paint, the bear-tooth necklace, the feathers. The Indian was naked but for a thin loin cloth and moccasins. Half of his face was missing, and I was glad the light was no stronger.

  "Good shootin'," Jeff said. "Now we've got to get the hell away from here."

  "
He was in the tree. I—I couldn't believe—"

  "We've no time to waste, Marietta. If he's here, the others can't be far away. They're probably on the Trace. He was probably an advance scout. In less than ten minutes this place is going to be swarmin' with Indians—"

  "Jeff, he was going to kill you. He had his tomahawk raised and—"

  "Come on! You can tell me about it later. That rifle shot could be heard for miles around. Pull yourself together! Here, help me with the mules—you've had enough to drink, you little bastards! Don't you dare try to balk now—"

  Moments later we were on our way again, and in the distance we could hear hooting, yelping noises that caused my blood to turn cold. We urged the mules on, tearing away through the woods, and my heart was pounding so loudly I couldn't hear the yelps any longer. Ten minutes passed, fifteen, and still we rode. We were racing down a hill now, and then we turned the mules and were moving along the bottom of the hill. Thick, scrabbly bushes grew there, half-concealing the face of the hill. Jeff came to an abrupt halt and swung off the mule. He hurried over to help me dismount.

  "Okay, follow me. It's tricky. I'll lead the mules."

  He took the reins and started toward the bushes, pushing them aside as he reached them. I followed close behind, my heart still pounding. In a moment or so we were completely surrounded by bushes, and Jeff simply disappeared. The mules disappeared, too, and I stumbled on through the bushes. They slapped my arms, tore at my skirts. I saw the narrow opening then and, stepping through it, found myself swallowed up in darkness. The air was damp and cold, the ground soft, spongy. I could hear something stirring, but it was impossible to see.

  "Here we go, fellow," Jeff said quietly. "Hate to do this, hate to put a muzzle on you, but can't have you decidin' to bray. There, that comfortable enough? Now it's your turn, Jenny."