by Karen Kay
“But I—”
“That’s all there was to it, Miss Clayton. Nothing more.”
She slowed her steps until the lieutenant was forced to do the same. She muttered, “I see.” Although truly, she did not. Why was the lieutenant lying? Surely he must know that she was intelligent enough to figure out that he was hiding something. But who was she to draw suspicion on herself? She continued, “You could be right. I’m terribly glad that you have informed me of this. And I must say, it makes the merchants’ integrity and their intentions, ah…clearer to me.”
Amazingly enough, he seemed satisfied. “You’re too pretty to set your mind to worrying about these things,” he said. “You should be concerning yourself with more feminine matters.”
“Should I?” Abruptly, she removed her hand from his arm. “Do you have anything in mind that would be…more appropriate?”
“I have no knowledge of what the female mind would consider important.”
She afforded him a meager grin before she commented, “Then perhaps you shouldn’t pretend to have wisdom about something you know nothing about.” Though her meaning was more than a little harsh, her words were so softly spoken and so gentle that the lieutenant stopped to stare at her.
“I beg your pardon?” he asked.
She smiled. “Thank you for escorting me to the general store, Lieutenant. I have found our conversation most enlightening.” And with nothing more said, no further explanation given, she fled into the comfort of the general store.
What was happening here in this town? Why was Lieutenant Warrington telling stories out of hand? And why had he made it a point to seek her out and try to mislead her? Were her opinions that important?
It seemed unlikely.
Still, the lieutenant had done nothing if not confirm her suspicions: wagons were heading north illegally and, if the lieutenant’s actions were to be at all significant, whoever was doing it was in league with the military.
She sighed, feeling helpless. She’d placed herself into the middle of it by aiding Moon Wolf. Yet what choice had she had? She couldn’t have allowed someone else to find him, could she?
Perhaps she should write a letter back east. If she could find a sympathetic ear?…
“Good morning, Miss Alys. What can I do for you today?”
Alys brought her attention back to the present and smiled kindly at the owner of the general store, a slightly plump young man whom she had known most of her life. “I have come to look at your new bolts of fabric, Mister Thompson—”
“You can still call me Bobby, Miss Alys.”
She grinned up at him, remembering briefly when they had played together as children. “Fine, Bobby,” she replied. “Thank you. And how have you been?”
“Oh, I reckon I can’t complain none, though business hasn’t been as good as it used to be. Don’t have as much trade from the Indians as we did in my pa’s day, but that don’t make much difference since them beaver-skin hats have gone out of style.”
“Hmmm. That’s true,” Alys replied, “but then buffalo robes are all the rage back east right now, aren’t they?”
“I guess so, but even the trade in buffalo robes is dwindling. Ain’t near as many buffalo in these parts as there used to be.”
“Is that so?”
Bobby nodded. “We’ve had some lean years, but my ma says there’s always been lean years, even when pa was alive.”
“Yes,” Alys agreed. “I think your mother is right. And how is she, your mother?”
“She’s well enough.”
“Hmmm,” was Alys’s only reply. What more could she say? Unfortunately, Bobby’s mother, one of the few white women in the fort, had the reputation of being the town’s worst gossip, as well as its most prejudiced resident. Her poor son might never find a wife, considering that most of the women in these parts were Indian. Alys changed the subject. “My mother tells me you have some fashionable new lengths of cloth. She said there had been a recent shipment?”
“That’s true, Miss Alys, that’s true,” Bobby affirmed, turning around to gather up the colorful bolts of material and lay them before her. “These have come to us all the way from Boston.”
“From Boston?” Alys repeated. “Indeed.” She fingered a length of the muslin lovingly, while Bobby watched her with a look in his eyes not unlike adoration.
Alys grinned at him self-consciously, more than aware that she was one of the few eligible young women in town, if one didn’t consider the Indians.
“This material is beautiful,” she said, quite honestly. “Do you mind if I look at all the material before I make a choice?”
“Take your time, Miss Alys, take your time.”
Alys smiled. She hadn’t really happened into town to look at material; she’d come here to discover, if she could, some information for Moon Wolf. But now that she was here, she was discovering that the urge to have a new dress, one that more suited this western environment, was infinitely pleasurable.
After all, though her percale walking suit had been the rage back east, she really should consider making herself another outfit, perhaps a simple one of calico.
Alys stood still for several moments as indecision played across her mind, feeling at the same time rather silly and frivolous. She had to remember her purpose.
Several days had passed—almost a week—since Moon Wolf had asked for her help. And in that time, she had debated whether to assist him or not. She had to be careful; there being so many factors to be considered.
In the end, of course, she’d had little choice. She would aid him.
The tinkle of a bell and high-pitched giggles sounded behind her and interrupted her thoughts.
She heard Bobby gasp, and she glanced up quickly to catch a red flush gradually beginning to stain the poor man’s cheeks, his attention clearly centered upon someone who had just entered. Glancing behind her, Alys noted two young women, younger than herself—perhaps barely over seventeen—who stood at the entrance to the store, accompanied by Lieutenant Warrington.
Young white women? Here? What an unusual sight.
Alys had long been used to the notoriety of being the only young and unmarried pale-faced woman in these parts—that is, except for the hurdy-gurdy girls down in Helena. Of course there were other beautiful women in town, but they were mostly of mixed blood, not that there was anything wrong with that in her opinion.
She asked Bobby, “Who are those women?”
“H-haven’t you met them, Miss Alys?”
“No, I don’t believe that I have.”
“Th-they come from…one of them, the blond, is the governor’s daughter, and the other is her cousin and, well, I reckon she’s about the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen.”
“But what are they doing here? At Fort Benton?”
“Her father is in town for some government meeting. Gonna be here for a while. Brought his daughter and her friend with ’im. She sure is pretty.”
Alys reserved her opinion. It looked to her as though the two young ladies might be the kind of females that she could barely tolerate: spoiled, willful, and prejudiced against anyone the least bit inferior to themselves.
Clearly, however, Bobby Thompson did not agree with her. As he gazed at the two young women, Alys was reminded of a look she had once seen upon a man’s face, when he thought he had seen an angel.
Bobby turned to Alys and muttered, “Excuse m-me, M-Miss Alys. I have th-the new c-cus…customers to attend to.”
Alys gave the poor man another kindly smile. “Of course, Bobby. I’ll be fine here. You go on and wait on them. Don’t give me another thought.”
Bobby nodded and moved away, Alys observing that even his movements had become strained. He suddenly tripped over something, a piece of matted rug, and fell clumsily to his knees, though he recovered himself quickly. Standing up and brushing off his clothes, he stepped forward to meet the girls.
Alys shook her head. Bobby’s infatuation was obvious. She spared a momen
t to wonder at the stupidity of the male character—that is, when it came to love. There were so many other beautiful women in town. Why would Bobby fall for one who, in Alys’s opinion, probably had a vicious tongue? Because of his mother and her prejudice?
Sighing, Alys decided she could be judging the women prematurely, and, resolving to leave the store and come back at a later time, she put the material down.
She heard Bobby stutter, “M-may I h-help you two be-beau…beautiful women?”
“We have come to look at ribbon,” she heard a young, though haughty, voice reply. Alys looked around to see which one was speaking: the pretty blond. “Have you anything new?”
“Y-yes, come right this way and I will—”
“Oh, Lieutenant Warrington,” it was the other young woman speaking—the redhead—“you simply must help me make my choices.”
Alys turned away from the picture of the lieutenant and the girl, considering for a moment that perhaps the female mind was just as witless when it came to men.
Lieutenant Warrington, however, was doing his best to disentangle himself from the young lady. “Really, Abigail, I have more important matters to attend to than to help you with…ah, there you are, Miss Clayton.”
Alys suddenly wished she could shrink to perhaps an inch tall. The lieutenant started to walk her way, poor little Abigail hurrying after him, keeping her arm firmly affixed to his.
“…It had better not be the same ribbon that you showed us yesterday, Bobby,” came the voice of the pretty, yet harsh blond. “…such inferior quality that was. I think you might have mistaken us for the more lower-class of woman in this town. Now, please…do not do it again. I will return tomorrow to see if you have any new samples. Abigail, are you coming?”
“I…I think so. Lieutenant, will you leave?”
The lieutenant, however, had caught up with her. Alys gulped and tried to look polite.
He reached out toward Alys, taking her arm. “Miss Clayton, have you met Abigail Flint?”
The two women exchanged hellos, Abigail pulling on the lieutenant’s arm. “Daddy told you to accompany me, so—”
“Oh, please,” Alys waved toward the two of them, “do stay with her, Lieutenant Warrington. I was leaving to go home and I—”
“But there was more I wished to discuss with you.”
“Was there? Perhaps you could call on me at a later date, then.”
“Say tomorrow?” he asked her.
She gave him a polite smile. “Perhaps.”
“It was so very nice to meet you,” said young Abigail, who exchanged smiles with Alys. “Come, Lieutenant.”
Lieutenant Warrington, having little choice, did her bidding.
Alys turned away, intent on making good an escape, when from behind her came a loud shriek. Alys whipped around quickly, in time to catch the blond giving poor, slightly overweight Bobby a good dressing down.
Alys’s eyes widened. How dare that woman?
Ready to interrupt on Bobby’s behalf, Alys had taken no more than one step when, from outside a nearby window came the question, “When is it leaving?”
The voice had been deep, slightly husky, as though the man were trying to whisper.
Alys froze in midstride.
She had to hear this. Much as she wanted to defend Bobby, she could not leave this spot. Not yet.
Alys turned toward the cloth still laying on the counter and, bending back toward it, pretended interest in it.
“Day after tomorrow, Jake.” Jake? Who was Jake? “That is, if that rascal Wolf Shadow doesn’t get to it first.”
Alys caught her breath. Day after tomorrow? Was she overhearing a plot to send more whiskey up north?
“Come meet me in the usual place in about an hour and we’ll discuss the terms.”
What place? What terms?
Did she dare follow the men? Of course she would have to if she were to assist Wolf Shadow.
From out of the corner of her eye, she watched the two men walk away and with a brief, sympathetic glance toward Bobby and the blond who was, even now, scolding him, Alys turned away.
She would make it up to Bobby later. Somehow. She promised herself this.
Chapter 7
She watched him as he slept, his chest rising and falling in an even and unchanging rhythm. She had crept upon him, her footfalls making little noise as she had entered the caves, only to find him resting…a result, most likely, of his recent exertion.
Though his injury had barely healed, already Moon Wolf was testing his body, running longer and longer distances each day, hunting and carrying home his prizes despite the weakness in his body.
She bit down on her lip, her brows pulled into a frown.
Should she tell him what she had learned? About the bull wagon ready to leave in only two days’ time?
He had asked her to find out what she could, and she had done it. But now that she knew, could she tell him? He would seek to stop it, of this she had no doubt.
Which left her in what position? Had she healed him only to have him risk his life again? This time he might not be so lucky, especially when he was still so weak.
Would he forgive her if she kept the knowledge to herself? Or more importantly, would he give her quarter when he at last found out? Particularly if the whiskey train got through to the north? To his people?
She doubted it.
She glanced toward his face, espying there, over to the side, his wolf headdress. Odd, it seemed to beckon her.
She set her lips together and scowled. Was there another way? Could she possibly ask one of the other Indians at the fort to take the Wolf Shadow’s place? For this night and this night alone? Did she know of anyone she could trust?
She knew the answer to her question and despaired. It was too bad. With the wolf headdress hiding the more prominent features, it was doubtful anyone would know that someone else took his place…except Moon Wolf.
It was also too bad that she wasn’t male. She would herself have pretended to be the Wolf Shadow. It would have been easy. She was already a good shot and had learned at a young age to track and care for herself. Plus, she knew these caves better than any other individual alive, besides perhaps her mother and Moon Wolf.
She glanced up, her eyes coming to alight on the large yellow ones of the wolf. The animal sat at a good distance from her, watching her carefully.
“What do you think, Wolf?” she asked the animal. “Should I find someone to impersonate him so that he can quietly regain his strength?”
No answer.
“I have two days to find someone. And that would give him at least two more days to regain his strength. Do you think he would forgive me for keeping this to myself just this once?”
The wolf blinked. Did that mean yes?
“I’ll ask my mother. She knows a great many of the Indians in the fort. I’m sure there must be one of them that I could trust. Do you think so?”
No answer came, not even a blink this time.
She arose. It didn’t matter. She had to try.
She crept around Moon Wolf toward the wolf headdress. She had thought he was never going to go to bed despite the fact that she had given him a light sleeping potion earlier.
She had to work fast. There was only a certain amount of time in which to stop that whiskey train. She was already testing her luck by waiting until the wee hours of the morning, but she hadn’t wanted to force an attack too soon. More military would have been on duty in the early evening, and her chance of success would have been less.
She knew the enormity of what she was attempting and hadn’t told a soul of her plans, not even her mother. But she could not let Moon Wolf expend all of his strength. Not this once. Besides, she’d not been able to find another to take his place.
Oddly enough, all the Indians she had approached had expressed some sort of antagonism toward the Wolf Shadow, and she’d dared not share her secret or coax one of them into doing this.
There was nothing e
lse for it. She would do it.
The wolf headdress would fit her as well as another. And she would wear the Indian shirt that she had purchased from one of the hang-around-the-fort Indians. It would cover up her figure completely while also allowing her freedom of movement.
She didn’t dare think too closely about what this night could bring. She knew it could mean her life.
But oddly enough, she would rather it be her life than Moon Wolf’s. Why she felt this way was something she had no wish to examine too closely.
“Don’t look at me like that,” she addressed the wolf, who stared at her from the foot of his master’s bed. “You know this is the only way. I have written a letter to Washington. I even suggested they send a sheriff here to police the whiskey traffic. But that will take time, too much time, if Washington will respond at all. Besides, I thought you had agreed with me about this.”
She’d had many conversations with Wolf over the past few days, finally deciding that what she was contemplating was for the best. There was simply no other way. She had even imagined that the wolf approved of her decision.
She rose, trying to gain as much familiarity with what she wore as she could. Knee-high moccasins, which she had also purchased from one of the Indians, clung to her calf muscles. A long Indian shirt hung shapeless over her form, hiding her more prominent feminine features.
Carefully, she tried on the wolf headdress. The nose and eyes of the animal covered the top of her head and, like a hat, fell forward, the shadowy reflection masking her features. The rest of the body of the headdress, long hangings of fur, fell down over her shoulders, covering the lengthy tresses of her hair.
“What do you think?” she asked of the wolf, who appeared to watch her with disapproval. “Don’t look at me like that. I’ve told you and you alone why I have to do what I’m doing. Don’t make me feel guilty now.”
The earthy smell of the garments and the headdress served to increase her anxiety. Though she would carry a gun, what she was about to do was completely alien to her. Still, she had come this far. She would go the distance.
