by J. R. WRIGHT
Giving it no further thought, Luke set his plate aside and went to the wagon. In the toolbox he found the nippers Tom Nelson had thoughtfully given him for this purpose.
Then, just as Breanne was taking a sip of water from the pancake canteen she always carried with her, Luke said, “Open wide!”
Looking up to him and seeing the familiar pliers in his hand, she immediately swallowed hard and screamed with joy. Then she gleefully parted her lips, exposing the soft silver wires that bound her teeth in three places.
Curious, Pierre came over and took her head in his hands as if it were a tooth that was to be extracted. Three quick snips, and Luke asked her to part her teeth so he could finish the job.
“There!” he eventually said. “How does it feel?”
Breanne gently moved her jaw about for a brief time. For the real test, she took the remaining piece of bacon from her plate, shoved it all in, and began munching away. The more she chewed, the more she beamed, until she could contain her joy no longer and leapt onto Luke with a huge open mouth kiss that left bacon pieces on his face!
Pierre, not wanting to intrude, went for his bedroll with the notion of placing it down by the river, therefore giving them some privacy.
Luke was happy Breanne was finally able to eat properly again. Perhaps now she could recover some weight lost during this ordeal, he hoped as he watched her take the last of the bacon and biscuits onto her plate.
Feeling completely happy for the first time since the wedding, Breanne glanced over to where Pierre was bedded down, then reached out for Luke’s hand. Of course, he knew what this meant and quickly obliged, following her to the bed.
“I love you, Luke,” she tested her ability to speak clearly again, once under the blankets.
His response to that was swift and forceful. Even though it contained no words, the message came through loud and clear. No doubt the feeling was mutual, she merrily concluded. With commitment like that, who needed words?
The warm sun was high in the sky when Luke tossed the buffalo robe from his face and sniffed the sweetness in the air. He saw Pierre sitting before a dutch oven perched atop glowing coals that remained from the previous fire. Rising to his feet, he looked long at the icy cold river below before throwing caution to the wind and dashing into it up to his knees. The bed heat escaped his naked body even before he had the chance to splash off, which was the original reason for making the fool move. But now that he had, he felt obligated to finish the job, and proceeded to do so in earnest. That is, until Breanne, seeing that Pierre had moved around and now sat with his back them, came cannonballing in beside him with a bar of lilac lye soap in her hand.
Then with a lot of shouting, screaming, and laughing, they helped each other scrub for a total of two minutes tops, before returning wet and cold to the warmth of the bed.
Figuring they may go at it again now, Pierre kept to his thoughts of various times when he was younger and such frolicking with females in various waterholes was commonplace and such great fun. This was especially true relating to the maidens of the Cree tribe, just over the border into Canada. They practically forced their daughters onto the French trappers whenever they passed through. This surely had been going on for generations, since the Cree, young and old alike, appeared to be more French than native. He wondered now how many children he must have fathered there over the years during his many summer visits, a time when trapping was at a standstill until beaver were in prime condition again come fall. Makes no matter, he was just happy he had the memories to relive at times like this, when he was not part of the fun and, perhaps at his age, would never be again.
“What’s in the pot?” Breanne said from the bed.
“Peach cobbler,” Pierre returned without turning about. “Peaches I took from the Missouri Bell. Didn’t figure they’d miss one jar since they had a passel. They’re from Captain Cooper’s private stock, kept under lock and key.”
Nobody asked how Pierre got the key. They were more concerned with the rare treat they were about to receive.
“Cobbler!” Luke came out of the bed and quickly dressed, while Breanne was doing the same under the blankets.
It didn’t take the three of them long to consume the entire cobbler once Pierre set it on the tailgate of the wagon and handed each a fork. It was Pierre’s treat to Breanne for finally being free of the wires. Although he never told her so, she surmised as much, and gave him a hug and a sweet kiss on the cheek once the pot was wiped clean with bits of bread. Of course, Pierre took the kiss as a thank you and excitedly went right to work making the toffee she had mentioned when requesting extra sugar be added to the list of things needed from the fort. He would make it special by adding a few drops of vanilla he also had swiped from the Missouri Bell, having lost his in the storm.
While Pierre and Breanne were busy at pulling and folding the toffee, Luke wandered up the river bank to take a look around. What he eventually saw in the far distance, in the direction from which they had come, disturbed him enormously.
“Dust rising to the south!” he shouted, after double checking the direction on the fancy compass Captain Cooper had given him as a wedding gift.
“Injuns?” Pierre asked, finishing one last pull on the toffee before turning it over to Breanne for cutting into small pieces.
“Can’t tell,” Luke returned. “They’re three or four miles out yet.”
Pierre went to his things in the wagon and came out with a small collapsing brass telescope, extended it fully, and scurried up the bank. As Luke pointed, Pierre did his best to locate any moving object in the glass, to no avail. Finally, in frustration, he handed the scope to Luke.
Once he managed to get the thing into focus, Luke could barely make out what he thought were several riders coming down a distant hill. The same hill they had crossed over that morning. Apparently whoever was coming was tracking the wagon, and at a rapid pace.
“We got trouble, Pierre.”
“Injuns?” he asked again.
“I don’t think so! Unless the Indians in these parts have taken to wearing hats. Shall we move out?” Luke said, panic setting in.
“Won’t do much good, they’ll catch up to us anyway. We may as well make our stand here. Best bring out the rifles.”
Luke thought Pierre had said that almost too casually, and this made him even more anxious.
At the wagon he handed Pierre the big bore and then began removing the new rifles from the blankets he had them wrapped in.
“What’s Pierre doing?” Breanne came over and asked, after noticing Pierre sneaking along the cut bank of the river some thirty yards away.
“Somebody’s coming.”
“Who…?”
“Here,” he said, handing her two of the rifles. “Take these to Pierre and stay with him.”
Without another word, she did as he ordered, gathering that now wasn’t the time for questions.
Luke took the blankets removed from the guns and went to the bed where he made it look as though two people were in it. He then removed Pierre’s bedroll from the wagon, placed it by the fire, and did likewise with it.
One last look with the glass proved that it was three riders. And trailing them were two pack mules. Could be trappers heading for the North Country, he thought, but knew better.
They were less than a mile away and closing fast when Luke turned back for the wagon. It was then he saw Breanne running toward Pierre with two more of the rifles, a powder horn and the shot bag. He took the remaining rifles and followed after her.
At the cut bank Pierre stood, barely able to see over the top.
“They won’t see the wagon in the willows till they’re near on it,” he said to Luke as he walked up.
Luke’s suspicions about Silas Jones were confirmed some moments later when he, accompanied by two other buckskinned riders, pulled up at a group of cottonwoods not a hundred yards down the trail. However, he had never imagined Jones himself would come. That dandy just didn’t seem the
type to do his own killing. But it was unmistakably Jones. He was dressed as he had been when he came to the boat, and he was riding the great red stallion Sir Henry.
As it happened, the wind was just right and Luke got a whiff of something awful.
“Which one is Barney Sparks?” he asked, handing Pierre the glass.
Pierre waved it off. With his far sightedness, he could see them plainly at this distance without the extra help.
“He’s the small one on the paint horse next to Jones.”
With that, Luke leveled one of the rifles at Sparks. He had no intention of shooting from this distance, but wanted to be ready just in case they should spot their location and charge at them.
Then something unexpected happened. Sparks and the other man dismounted and began walking up on the camp. Luke was pretty sure they hadn’t spotted it from there, but judging by their actions now, perhaps they had. Half way there, Sparks and the other man suddenly crouched Indian style, then, using knee down steps only, moved in rapidly.
Coming upon Luke and Breanne’s bed first, the two men fired their weapons near simultaneously into the buffalo robe. Then, swiftly, Barney Sparks leaped to Pierre’s bedroll and drove his huge green river skinning knife into it.
He was soon to his feet, however, when it became evident no one was inside.
By this time Silas Jones had ridden up and was in the process of coming off his horse, rifle in hand, when Luke sprang up from behind the cut bank.
“Hold it there!” he shouted.
This spooked the high spirited horse, Sir Henry, and he reared, throwing Silas, who had only one foot still in a stirrup, into space. He landed to his backside, but still managed to hang on to the rifle. One look at Luke coming over the bank made him scramble in an attempt at getting to his feet.
Luke managed to get there first. He kicked the rifle from Jones’ hand.
“Don’t get up!” Luke ordered, training his rifle on him.
“Luke…!” Breanne screamed from the cut bank. Barney Sparks was charging at him with the knife raised high. She grabbed for a rifle, but Pierre beat her to it.
Before Luke could see what had alarmed her, the roar of the big bore came from behind. He turned in time to see Sparks fall back in his tracks, a huge, bloody hole in his chest.
The third man, also charging at Luke, thought better of it, froze, and slowly laid his spent flintlock to the ground.
Pierre quickly reloaded the big bore before joining Luke, who had herded Silas over to where the third man stood. Breanne gathered Silas’ still-loaded rifle, but stood back, hoping she wouldn’t have to use it.
“What’s the meaning of this, Mister…?”
“McKinney… It’s Luke McKinney. You were ready to kill us, Mister Jones, yet you don’t even remember our names from the introduction Captain Cooper gave on the Missouri Bell. We should be the ones asking what the meaning of this is. But then, that is obvious. Why else would you bring two empty pack mules if it weren’t for hauling our newly bought supplies back to the fort?”
“We were just out on a hunt,” Jones lied. “It takes a lot of meat to supply a trading fort the size of ours.”
“Then why did your two cutthroats here shoot up our bedrolls?”
“That, sir, was a surprise to me as well…”
“Shut up, Jones!” Luke shouted in anger. “Pierre, did we get that rope that was on the list?”
“We did,” Pierre said and hurried to the wagon for it.
He came out moments later with a spool of five hundred feet. “How much you need?”
Luke eyed the group of cottonwoods down by the river where the hungry crows still sat. “Two lengths of fifty feet ought to do it.”
“You won’t be hanging us, Mister McKinney!” Jones protested. “My company will hunt you to the end of the earth if need be, for such an action! I’m an important man to them.”
“Is that so? And just how will they know who done it?” Luke responded. “Now take off your boots – both of you!”
The bearded buckskinned man, yet to utter a word, was the first to drop to a knee and start unlacing. He had been obedient ever since he saw what the big bore had done to Barney Sparks. Silas Jones, realizing the seriousness in Luke’s tone, did likewise.
Breanne, who didn’t know what to make of any of this, was looking around for a place to hide if it should happen. She agreed these men ought to be severely punished for what they had planned to do to them, and if hanging was what Luke chose, then that was fine with her, but no way would she be around to watch when it should come to pass.
Pierre brought the ropes and held the big bore on them while Luke fashioned two crude nooses. Once finished, he yanked the leather belt off each man’s waist and tied his hands behind his back. Then he slipped the nooses around their necks and cinched them up snuggly.
“You’re not going to hang us,” Jones said again, still not believing Luke would go through with it. “I’m a powerful man in these parts. There is probably a search party out looking for me as I speak.”
“I’m not going to hang you, Mister Jones. Hanging is too quick. I have a better end in mind for the two of you,” he said. Then, seeing they were both standing on bare feet, he ordered, “Now head over for those cottonwoods by the river.”
Luke walked behind the two, holding the ropes as if he were driving a team of horses. As they passed the small stinking body of Barney Sparks, Luke reached down and grabbed him by the hair and dragged him along behind.
At the biggest tree, he dropped Sparks’ body under it. He then tossed the ropes over a strong limb, and with Pierre’s help, pulled them tight and tied them off.
Jones started gasping for air immediately and struggled to talk, but couldn’t.
“Stand up on Sparks,” Luke instructed as he kicked the body a little closer.
Both men then kicked their bare feet around until they fully got atop Barney Sparks. Jones ended up with a foot on Sparks’ face. Luke then loosened the ropes a bit so they could breathe easier, and, of course, talk. And talk Jones did, now that he saw the end in sight.
“I’ll give you anything. Take Sir Henry. Just let me go. I’ll ride Sparks’ horse back to the fort. Go ahead and hang Timmins, he’s the one that wanted to kill you. Him and Sparks.”
During all this, Breanne ran around the camp gathering and loading the gear, along with the guns of the three intruders. And Pierre went to work hitching the mules to the wagon.
“How come you’re squealing like a sissy girl, Jones? Timmons here hasn’t uttered a word. Not even to beg a little for his life!”
“‘Cause he can’t talk,” Silas said. “Kiowas cut his tongue out some years back.”
“Sorry to hear that, Timmons,” Luke said. “But you’re still a murderer and deserve to die.”
“You’re not going to leave us here!” Silas Jones demanded to his back as he walked away toward the wagon. “McKinney…!”
There, Luke helped Pierre string the horses and mules on a rope behind. All the while Jones was screaming out pleas of mercy. And was still doing so as Pierre drove the wagon back up to the high land and headed north.
“McKinney…!”
Luke looked back then and saw the crows already dropping down from the trees above to take nibbles of meat from the open wound on the dead body of Barney Sparks.
“McKinney…!”
And when Sparks was mostly gone, the crows might take a little meat from the two men’s toes. And when they were gone… He no longer wanted to think about it.
“McKinney…!”
He heard Jones’ desperate plea one last time before distance and the rumble of the wagon made them impossible to hear.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
For three days and nights they traveled, stopping only long enough to switch the mules in front out for the mules in back and to cook up enough food to last another day. It was then they bedded down for a respectable night of sleep on something that wasn’t jerking and jarring.
The following morning, after having allowed the animals to free range throughout the night, they grained the mules, ate a huge breakfast, and headed out to do it all over again. The plan was to put American Fur’s leased territory behind them before easing up, and that ended with the James River about another three hundred miles distant. In a week at this pace, they should be there; then they could rest.
Luke and Pierre switched off driving. Even so, since Pierre was the only one who knew the way, he was required to be in the seat a lot of the time anyway. This left Breanne in the back of the wagon most of the time. That was miserable for her until she got her sleeping schedule worked out. She found that if she only slept when alone in back and stayed awake even as Luke slept, it was easier. Just being with him was enough. It was better than being awake and alone, left to dwell on the ordeal back at the river. She could still see those men dangling there, faces contorted with fear as the crows settled in at their feet. But then they deserved what they got, she reasoned, figuring they were surely out of their misery by now, all these days later. She knew Luke was suffering from the horror of it all as well. He wasn’t the same. She didn’t know this man, so distant and unsmiling, so lonely and unreachable. Sex would be comforting for her, but so far he had ignored her advances.
Having nothing to distract her except the endless plain of lifeless grass flowing behind the wagon, Breanne finally remembered the preacher’s Bible. She dug around in her trunk for it and soon was reading verses from it. Eye for an eye caught her attention near right off, tooth for a tooth…? But what did it mean? She scrambled to the front to ask Pierre, who she figured would be the one most likely to know, since he was older. His answer was swift.
“If you’re smote, smite the varmints back. I learned that from the Injuns, long before I heard it from the mouth of any preacher, yelling it out on the streets of St. Louie. If they take an eye, you take an eye. If they take a tooth, you take a tooth. Hair for hair! The white man really got something started when they first put a bounty on Injun scalps, a long time ago. Injuns had never done that before then. Now they’ll never stop doing it…”
