Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 03] (4 page)

*  *  *

They traveled for a week without seeing anyone. Then late one evening they met a party of Osage. Light identified himself and they were greeted warmly. Light explained to Maggie that the Osage had heard of him and that they knew his mother’s sister, Nowatha, the healer. That night they all sat around a fire and ate strips of venison, fish and boiled kernels of corn.

The hunters were plainly puzzled when Light prepared the food and his squaw sat beside the fire. After the meal they smoked and spoke in a language Maggie didn’t understand. She curled up on a blanket and went to sleep.

When she awoke, she and Light were alone once again. He had traded a bit of gunpowder and tobacco to the Osage for a bow and a quiver of arrows. They had given Light a black rawhide whip they had found when they came upon a mule skinner who had been killed by the Delaware.

After a breakfast of tea and biscuits, Light showed Maggie how to snake the narrow strip of rawhide out behind her and how to bring it forward. He left her to practice while he broke camp and prepared the horses for their departure.

“You must practice each day,” he told her gravely. “There may come a time when we will be set upon. You must know how to defend yourself.”

Each evening during the following weeks Maggie practiced with the whip and the knife. Crack after crack sounded through the still forest air as she gradually learned how to control the long, writhing snake of rawhide, until she could use the tip with enough precision to snap off twigs and weeds and blossoms.

“It is an extra weapon,
chérie,
” Light explained.

Light taught her to use the bow and arrow, but she did not have the strength to send the arrow with force for any distance and his flintlock was too heavy for her to lift, let alone control. The gun was a colonial make called the “Kentucky rifle” and was four inches over five feet in length. Light was one of only a few men west of the big river who could manage to hit his target at two hundred yards. Even so, he would much rather use a knife, and some evenings he and Maggie entertained themselves with contests between the two of them.

The following weeks were a heavenly time for Maggie as they rode through the wilderness, skirting the flooded lowlands and Indian villages. Deep forests surrounded them, and at times Maggie wondered how Light knew which way to go.

*  *  *

One afternoon Light left Maggie in a secluded place along a small stream so that he could scout ahead. She lay quietly, listening. No voice came to her. She turned her head to listen very carefully. Still no sound but the sounds of nature.

A golden eagle soared down out of the sky from the south. The huge bird settled on the dead, barren arm of a tree long ago splintered by lightning that had forked out of the sky to end its one-hundred-year-old life. The eagle arranged itself on the limb with the composure of one who truly believed that he was lord of all he surveyed.

“Yo’re thinkin’ I’m dead. Ya come t’ pluck out my eyes.” Maggie laughed softly. “Well, I ain’t.” She lifted her hand and wiggled her fingers.

The great claws loosened a piece of dead bark from the limb. It splashed as it fell into the river. The bird shuffled its feathers into place and turned a coolly benign eye on Maggie. It winked at her solemnly. She laughed again—silently.

“A grass lizard passed here a while ago. Did ya see it? It’d make ya a good supper.”

The golden eagle tilted its head and glared down at her.

“Don’t ya pluck up that rabbit over there under the brush. Hear me now? That’s supper for me an’ Light.”

“Awrrch!” The eagle squawked, ruffled its feathers again, then sat stone still, its yellow-rimmed eyes staring down at her.

Maggie slowly and carefully reached over her shoulder and drew an arrow from the quiver on her back. She placed it in the bowstring and waited. Her intention was not to kill the eagle, only to discourage it should its mind be set on the rabbit.

She waited.

The eagle waited.

Suddenly the great bird dropped from the limb. It caught just enough air under its great wings to become airborne Spreading its black talons, it dipped out of sight, then soared upward with a large snake hanging from its powerful beak.

“Good-bye,” Maggie whispered and watched until the majestic bird was out of sight.

The sun had been directly overhead when Light had stopped and held out his arm to halt Maggie. As they had listened, two deer had shot out of the woods ahead of them, frightened by some unknown presence. Light had dismounted and moved the horses some distance behind a screen of brush. He had dropped the pack from his horse in a spot concealed by thick willows and motioned for Maggie to stay with it while he moved along the forest path warily, watching carefully on either side. His flintlock had been tucked under his arm, loaded and cocked. In his belt was his tomahawk.

Maggie had waited beneath the willows, her knife in the scabbard against her thigh. She carried a bow and a quiver of arrows on her back now. She looked like a young boy, except for the long rope of hair hanging to her waist.

They were on course. Light had checked his brass-bound compass earlier in the morning and had pulled out a creased map and consulted it as well. They had followed the river to this point and then left it to travel cross-country.

The Osage had told Light that ahead lay a large encampment of Delaware who had been pushed across the Mississippi River by Mad Anthony Wayne. The Delaware were resentful of the Osage, who had an agreement with the government to supply pelts to Manuel Lisa, an important trader in St. Louis.

Had he been alone Light would have skirted the encampment in full daylight; but life was more precious to him now, and he took every precaution. He and Maggie were on their way to the unknown, the unexplored, the unmapped—the vast territory beyond the barrier of the Mississippi. The Lewis and Clark expedition had returned from their journey with tales of mountain ranges, rich with game and untouched by man.

Now, as she lay beside the small stream that fed into the Missouri, it seemed to Maggie that Light had been gone for a long time. But according to the shadow of the dead tree creeping across the water, it had been but an hour.

Light was not more than six feet away when Maggie finally heard him. She turned, the bow in her hand, the arrow strung and pulled back.

“Light! Ya were close before I heard ya.” She lowered the bow.

“I did well then,
ma petite,
for you have a fine set of ears.”

Light dropped down beside her and reached for the water pouch. His dark hair, pulled straight back from his forehead and held behind his neck with a thong, was wet with sweat that rolled down the sides of his face. His dark eyes caressed her face, then surveyed the edge of the forest.

“What did you see?”

“Delaware.”

“Friends?”

“Not these men, pretty pet. They are outcasts. Not even their own tribe will permit such as they among them.”

“What’ll we do, Light?”

“We stay here and rest until the moon comes up. By then they’ll be so drunk they’d not hear a herd of buffalo pass through their camp.”

He stretched out beside her and extended his arm for her to come close. Maggie snuggled beside him, her head on his shoulder. She would be content to travel with him through the forest and up the river forever.

“What did you see, Maggie, as you waited for me?”

“A great golden eagle. He sat on the limb of that dead tree.”

“You must have been very still.”

“I wiggled my fingers so he’d know I wasn’t dead.” She laughed. Her palm against Light’s chest told her that he laughed too. “There was a rabbit under a brush pile not far away. I would have caught it and cooked it for ya—but ya told me t’ stay where I was. I do what ya say, Light.”

“You’re my sweet
amour.
” He bent his head and kissed the lips she offered.

One kiss was never enough. They turned eagerly to each other. Maggie’s hand wiggled inside his doeskin shirt to caress his smooth chest, then down beneath the drawstring of his britches.

“What do you do, my love?” He sucked in his breath to hollow his stomach and give her access.

“Do ya like it when I do this, Light?” she murmured, her nails scratching into the hair at his groin. “Does it make you happy?”

“
Mon Dieu!
My sweet—” The words came on a husky whisper. “
Oui,
it makes me very happy.”

“Does this feel good?” Her small fingers danced up and down his hardening flesh.

“Very good, my treasure.”

“It makes me feel good too, Light.” She covered his face with quick damp kisses, nibbled his lips, licked them with her tongue.

“I should swat your round little bottom, my little pet,” he threatened in a raspy voice, and rolled her onto her back. “It’s the middle of the day.”

“We did it before—in daylight.”

“We did? When?”

“Ya know it. Yo’re teasin’, Light.” Her laugh was warm and moist against his mouth.

Beneath the shelter of the willows they bared their bodies like two children in the Garden of Eden. When they were ready, he slid smoothly over her, seeking entrance while she waited in rapt and arching anguish. He moved between her legs and pressed into her tightness. He stayed there, gulping air into his lungs, savoring this wondrous moment. They kissed and moved together, joined their hungry flesh.

Maggie felt him hard and deep inside her body and became caught up in an overpowering desire to give to him. He was part of her, he was her world, her universe, and she vibrated with all the love she had to give to him. She reached up and ran her fingers through the dense mass of dark hair over his temples. Her lips spread in a beautiful smile.

“I’ll always be where ya are, Light.”

“Boat comin’ upriver, Jeff.”

Will Murdock removed his hat and wiped the sweat from his brow. Splitting rails was backbreaking work. He and Jefferson had been at it for two days, and the pile was growing; but not fast enough to suit Will.

Jefferson’s eyes squinted against the sun. The long, narrow flatboat, poled by four men, moved easily against the gentle current close to the bank. The man at the sweep oar was bareheaded; the brown hair that swept his shoulders was lighter than his close-cut beard.

“Know ’em?” Will asked.

“I’ve seen three of them down around St. Charles. Can’t say as they’re anythin’ to sing about.”

Will picked up his muzzle loader and followed Jefferson to the sandbar where the boat was being moored.

“Howdy,” Jefferson called.

“How do?” the man at the sweep oar replied. He motioned to a stocky dark-haired man, and they jumped off the craft and crossed the sandbar to where Jeff and Will waited.

“I’m looking for Jefferson Merrick,” the bearded man said. Up close Jefferson could see the beard was shot with gray; he reckoned that the man had lived a few years more than his own twenty-seven.

“You’ve found him.”

“Eli Nielson.” The man offered his hand to Jefferson. “Paul Deschanel,” he said, indicating the stocky man beside him.

Jefferson shook hands with both men and introduced Will Murdock.

“I was told,” Nielson said, “that a man by the name of Baptiste Lightbody was a friend of yours and you could tell me where to find him.”

“Light
is
a friend of mine.” Jefferson looked the man in the eye and said no more.

“Do you know where I can find him?”

“Depends.”

“I’m taking a cargo upriver to Bellevue. I hear he’s the best scout around.”

“That’s true. Light is the best woodsman, tracker and scout west of the Mississippi.”

“Part Osage, isn’t he?”

“You got something against Osage?”

“No. Where can I find him?”

“He left a week ago.”

“He’s gone upriver?”

“It’s what he said.”

“Did he go alone?”

“When he left my homestead he was alone.”

“How long will he be gone?”

“Didn’t say.”

Eli Nielson looked steadily into Jefferson’s dark eyes. “I guess that’s that. I’m obliged to you.”

“Welcome.”

Eli and Paul walked back to the craft. Eli was cursing under his breath.

“Missed him by a week.”

“Give it up,
mon ami.
”

“Not on your life.”

“What will you do now?”

“Go upriver.”

“
Mon Dieu,
Eli. Lookin’ for that feller in the wilderness will be like lookin’ for a flea on a buffalo.”

“You don’t have to go, Paul.”

Paul swore for a long while in French, then said, “What will we do upriver?”

“Depends.”

*  *  *

As soon as Will saw that the boat was headed back downriver, he voiced the question that was in Jefferson’s mind.

“What do ya reckon he
really
wanted with Light?”

“Damned if I know. I can’t see Light hirin’ on with that crew.”

Will laughed. “Puttin’ Maggie on a boat with a bunch like that would be like touchin’ a spark to a keg a gunpowder.”

“He’ll not catch up with Light.”