by Karen Kay
Heaven forbid that the man should smile. Yet he did, and Effie was struck at once by the fact the sheriff did, indeed, have an upper lip.
“You’re sure a cheeky little thing.”
“And you’re not helping me, though I’m certain you mean to. Now, Sheriff Hopkins, what I really need to know is what is going to be done to discover who entered my room last night—and also where I might hire myself another guide.”
The sheriff took a step toward her. Effie backed up.
“’Fraid I won’t be able to assist you, ma’am, less’n you tell me what it is someone might be lookin’ for. And as far as a guide, you’ll just have to ask around town…but don’t expect much.”
“Don’t expect much? What does that mean?”
The sheriff backed up to lean against his desk. “It means that no one here wants to take on a job that’s jinxed.”
“Jinxed? Who said the job was jinxed?”
Sheriff Hopkins shook his head. “Too much bad luck. Someone breaks into your room in the middle of the night and shoots at you. Then your guide quits on you right sudden. What’s next? Shootin’ your guide?”
“But—”
“We have a sayin’ here in the West that goes like this: Trouble comes in threes. Don’t rightfully reckon you’re goin’ to find many folks here who want to take on that kind of liability. What you really need isn’t a guide. It’s protection.”
“I see.” Hadn’t she had a similar thought last night?
“Do you?” The sheriff squinted at her.
“I think so. And you’re going to provide me with that protection?”
“No, ma’am, I’m not. My job here is to keep the peace. I figure I’m doing that by informin’ you that there’s a double whammy sittin’ over you. If goin’ into Blackfeet country isn’t dangerous enough for a white man—takin’ you and your party through savage and perilous mountains where many men have got themselves lost—you also need someone to act as both lookout and sharpshooter.”
“No, sir, I don’t. I can shoot, and we can post a watch.”
“Yes ’em, I reckon you can. All I’m sayin’ is that you’re asking a lot of a man.”
“Am I?”
“I believe so. Now, if I was you, I might start lookin’ elsewhere than here for a guide. Someplace where they don’t know you.”
Effie’s chin shot up in the air. “Was that an insult?”
“No, ma’am. Just speakin’ the cold, hard truth.” The man returned to his chair, and it wasn’t long before his feet had once again found his desktop. “You might try Helena. You might find more men there who’ll have experience in them mountains. Nice makin’ your acquaintance.” He smiled, then tipping his hat, he placed it over his eyes while he slouched back in his chair.
Effie stood aghast, hardly believing she had been dismissed so rudely. However, seeing that there was little point in making more conversation with the man, she turned and let herself out the door.
Determined that the sheriff would come to realize his mistake, Effie marched toward the general store. Within moments, she opened the door to the establishment, let herself in and walked straight to the counter.
“Excuse me,” she addressed the man there, who had been engrossed in a ledger. Absentmindedly, he looked up at her, then smiled. Effie returned the gesture.
“May I help you?” the clerk asked.
“I hope that you can,” said Effie. “I am looking to hire a guide who can lead myself and a few other people to the Gates of the Rocky Mountains country.”
“The Gates of the Rocky Mountains, you say?”
She smiled at the man. “Yes, that’s right. My name is Effie Rutledge.” She held out a gloved hand. “I am the person in charge of the archaeological expedition that came into town a few days back.” She added another grin when the man accepted her hand. “Do you know of any man who would be willing to hire on as the guide for the project?”
“Clyde Herman’s my name, and I’d consider it a real pleasure to help a pretty little gal like you, ma’am, but that’s Blackfeet country, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that it is, but you see we’ve been there before, although many years ago, and—”
“Don’t reckon,” Mr. Herman interrupted, “that your task is going to be an easy one. Word has it that them Gates of the Mountains is terrible dangerous.” He scratched at his bearded face. “What happened to the guide you hired yesterday?”
“He… Hmm… He quit this morning.”
“Did he now?” The clerk shook his head. “Yep, thought I heard somethin’ about that, and I’m right sorry.”
“You heard about that already?”
“I did, miss.”
“Goodness,” she exclaimed, “news certainly gets around here.”
The clerk raised an eyebrow, then leaned over the counter, as though he were a coconspirator. “Nothin’ else to do, I’m afeard.”
She sighed deeply. “I suppose you’re right. But to return to my original question, dangerous though it might be, do you know of anyone who would be willing to take on the position? Someone who might perhaps yearn for adventure, for risk?”
The proprietor didn’t answer at once, though he did look thoughtful. After a time, he said, “If you don’t mind my asking, ma’am, why did Jake quit? It was Jake, wasn’t it, that you hired on yesterday?”
“Yes, it was. And he quit because…well, because he is not a brave man, and when something happened last night that—”
Again, Mr. Herman leaned in close to her. “Heard tell your room was broke into.”
“Yes,” said Effie, wondering why the man’s knowledge of her personal affairs had surprised her. Apparently one had no privacy in this town. “But you see, I can explain that, and I—”
“Don’t envy you none, ma’am, poor little thing that you are. It’s gonna be awful hard to find someone to help you now.”
“But why? There are lots of men in this town, and among them I should be able to find one who—”
“You see, it’s like this,” said Mr. Herman. “When one of the fellas quits, it’s as good as sayin’ that they all quit. We’re a mining town, ma’am. Close-knit.”
“But—”
“See, there’s precious metal that’s been found in these here hills—all around Virginia City—and a man’s gotta protect his stake. If’n you want him to walk away from his means of livelihood, then…” He left the rest unsaid, as though anything else that followed were self-evident.
Effie cleared her throat. Then, strictly on the off chance the sheriff was right, she leaned over the counter, and as though seeking a tête-à-tête, she said, “Are you certain that protecting their livelihood is the real reason I might have trouble finding someone to help me? It wouldn’t be, perchance, that the men here have been told that my project is jinxed?”
The man gulped. “It might’ve been said a time or two, but me? I don’t believe in jinxes.”
Tightening her lips, Effie nodded slowly. “I’m certain you don’t,” she said, but her meaning was clearly the opposite.
For an instant Mr. Herman appeared uncomfortable, and straightening up, he adjusted his collar. “Look, ma’am, I’d like to help you, but I can’t. I run a store, that’s all. Have you tried over at the sheriff’s office?”
“Yes, I have,” said Effie. “Most certainly.”
“Well…” The proprietor let the word trail away, as if the rest of the sentence didn’t need saying. However, as though he’d only realized this, he added brightly, “Are there more in your party?”
“I am not alone in this venture, if you think that might make a difference. There are four others traveling with me who can shoot.”
“Hmmm.” Mr. Herman hesitated, scratched his chin, then gazed at her over the rim of his spectacles. “And are all your crew female?”
“Why, no,” said Effie. “Does it matter?”
“It might.”
“Well, then, I have one male and one female student; they are a married couple. And there are two other friends, who are also married. Why do you ask?”
“More superstition, I’m afraid, miss.” The proprietor looked downright crestfallen. “The more women in a party, the more likely that party is to get wiped out.”
“What?” Effie stared at the man, uncertain she had heard that correctly. When the clerk didn’t elaborate or say anything else, she replied, “Why, that’s ridiculous. I can assure you that we have been on several expeditions throughout the States, and—”
“It’s also Blackfeet country you’re lookin’ to travel into, ma’am. Them Indians is just plain mean. Around here…” he glanced behind him, “…them Injuns is called the tigers of the plains.”
“Are they? But…sir, this expedition is not about those Indians, it’s about… I…” Effie’s voice trailed away. What was the point? Mr. Herman had made it clear that not only couldn’t he help her, he wouldn’t.
With a sigh that spoke of frustration, Effie said, “Well, I thank you anyway, but I guess I’d better be going.”
The clerk nodded, smiled and turned away to wait on another customer.
Effie spun around, one arm coming down to sweep her blue-striped silk skirt with her. Unwarranted, the swishing sound of her dress as it grazed over the hardwood floor reminded Effie of the sounds of her intruder last night.
For a moment she froze. After a short while reason returned, and picking up the front of her dress, she stepped toward the door.
Mr. Herman—at once the gentleman—met her at the entrance, and opening the door for her, he smiled a final apology. “Wish I could have given you better news.”
Effie returned the smile and was on the verge of adding a further comment, when she realized it was unproductive. Holding out her gloved hand once again, she said, “I thank you, Mr. Herman.”
She beamed up at the man, suspecting that because of the way she was dressed, because of the shapeless peplum thrown over her dress, she had identified herself as a woman of “masculine” taste. She had heard of this before—hadn’t her mother said as much several years ago? But perhaps the misidentification wasn’t the fault of the men in Virginia City. Perhaps the fault, if there was one, lay in the fact that women were few in these parts, and those who were here were generally the “for hire” girls, with their curvy figures and high-combed hair.
Whatever the case, Effie was aware that she was not accomplishing anything of use. Despite what these two gentlemen had confided to her, she was still saddled with a problem: She needed to hire a guide.
Apparently, this left her with no alternative but to solicit each man’s cooperation personally. All right, so be it.
Intending to do that at once, Effie swept off down the street.
Chapter Six
Effie’s boots sounded like a staccato over the sidewalk’s puncheon logs. Things weighed heavily on her mind. Even the events of the previous evening—frightening though they might have been—were fading in significance against this newest problem: Where was she going to find a guide?
She supposed the first thing to do was to find the rest of her crew. Lesley and her husband, Henry, had left on errands with the student and his wife, Carl and Madeline Bell. The reasoning, which had been sound at the time, was that they could all accomplish more if they each one worked at different tasks.
That was before Effie had talked with the sheriff. Now, her viewpoint had changed, and she realized they needed to band together to resolve this problem. Of course, their finances would be stretched because they wouldn’t complete as many tasks if they were all concentrating on only one assignment. However, there was nothing for it, since there would be little point in any expedition at all were there no guide.
She had sent Henry and Lesley to the hardware store to purchase the shovels, axes and trowels required for the dig. Madeline and Carl had gone off to the livery, to buy or hire the wagons needed for the journey.
She would try the livery stable first, and since the hardware store was in the same direction, perhaps she could accomplish two things at once. Changing direction, she set off at a steady pace.
Involuntarily, a thought came to mind. Jinxed.
Drat! Who had started the rumor? And how did she go about changing it?
It simply wasn’t true—why, she and her students had hardly begun this expedition. How could it be jinxed so soon? Outside of this problem of finding a guide and the robbery attempt the night before, there had been no trouble, no bad luck. Nothing.
She climbed down a set of four steps in preparation to cross an alley between buildings.
That was when she saw him.
Standing across the main thoroughfare, he stood watching her. He was wrapped in a blanket, making it difficult for Effie to discern much about him, except that he was, indeed, American Indian. The blanket he wore was a colorful one. Made in geometric hues of reds and oranges, browns and pinks, it covered him completely, except for his moccasins and the bottom of his leggings.
His hair was parted down the middle and held at each side of his face with braids. Two eagle feathers, which must have been affixed at the back of his head, had been pushed forward and were twirling in the wind. However, the style of his hair was different than what she would have expected. Instead of his mane being simply parted in the middle in front, as she had always supposed was the more common Plains Indian fashion, a forelock of his hair had been brushed up high over the forehead, pompadour style.
Also, she could discern a white, looping necklace, which fell down over his chest. Or at least she thought it did. His blanket hid the bottom half of the jewelry.
Around his neck was a white and blue choker, and hanging from his ears were white shells on a string. They were similar to the ones suspended from a gold chain around her neck.
The man wore no war paint that she could discern. And he stared at her. Indeed, he seemed to frown at her.
She caught her breath. Unquestionably, he was magnificent.
She should glance away. But she didn’t.
In truth, she couldn’t quite explain what drew her toward the man, or the fact that she discovered she was crossing the road without having willed herself to do so. It was as though her feet knew the way toward him, and she was simply traveling along for the ride.
As she drew level with him, she smiled. After all, it seemed the polite thing to do.
He did not return the gesture. Instead his eyes flashed at her dangerously.
She ignored his look, and coming to stand in front of him, she was not hesitant to speak to him, saying, “I am seeking a guide to take me into the Gates of the Rocky Mountains country,” before she could stop herself. Perhaps that was what had drawn her to him. Need.
He didn’t answer, and she fretted. Had she forgotten her manners? Or maybe he didn’t speak her language. She bit down on her tongue, then began again, “I’m sorry, sir, but do you speak English?”
He didn’t say a word, though he did narrow his eyes at her.
Perhaps his silence should have made her uncomfortable, but it didn’t. Curiously, she discovered she was at ease with him, and she continued to speak to him. “Excuse me, let me begin at the beginning. I don’t mean to accost you like this, but I am desperate to find a guide for my archaeological expedition.”
She shot a smile at him again, but he might as well have been a boulder for all the good it did her. “Let me introduce myself,” she said. “My name is Effie Wendelyn Rutledge, and I…”
Something in the man’s demeanor changed. It wasn’t so much a look as an impression that some emotion within him shifted. For an instant, he appeared unsteady on his feet before he uttered, “Ehh-fee?”
“Yes,” she confirmed, with a slight bob of her hea
d. “That is what people call me. You speak English, then?”
He nodded and drew his arms out of the blanket, as though he needed his hands to speak the words. He stepped forward, but something went wrong with the simple movement. One moment he was on his feet, as solid as a stone, the next he was falling backward, although he salvaged the move and caught himself before he crumpled completely. However, his pipe fell to the ground.
She glanced at him strangely. Had he tripped over his own blanket? “Why don’t we take our conversation to the sidewalk in front of that store.” She pointed toward the establishment. “We will be out of the way of the wagons and buggies there.” She graced him with what she hoped was a cheery grin. “If you would be so kind, I would like to speak to you, that is, if you have the time.”
Again, he nodded, started to move his hands with the sign gestures that Indians frequently used, changed his mind and instead, he stooped to pick up his pipe. But he must have been thrown off balance, for once again something happened, and instead of grasping hold of the pipe, he lunged for it, missed it and plummeted forward.
Effie stared at him, aghast. Weren’t Indians noted for their unwavering composure?
Deciding to overlook the entire incident, she turned her back on him and walked to the sidewalk made of puncheon logs. Two steps led up to the walkway, and on them were baskets with flowers set in them. Meant as decoration, they looked pretty, but completely out of place in this rough frontier town.
Nevertheless, Effie admired them as she climbed the steps. Turning back to the man, she gestured toward an empty space beside her. “Won’t you join me?”
With the pipe held firmly in hand, the man paced toward the stairs and stepped one foot up, but the end of his pipe hit the hitching post. It caught on something, a nail perhaps. He tried to extract it from the wood. He pulled on it, but it held fast, and instead of it coming away from the post, the force of his exertion caused him to fall forward against the steps, knocking the baskets off.
He tried to right the baskets, but each time he attempted it, he must not have been looking very clearly at what he was doing, for he set the baskets half on, half off the steps. They, too, fell.
