Dorothy Garlock - [Annie Lash 03] (37 page)

Maggie had made her presence known in the mountains.

*  *  *

Two days later, they skirted a series of hills, crossed a narrow valley and followed an animal trail up into the pines. Light stopped and Maggie moved up beside him. In the clearing the grass was green and knee-high. A rock-bottomed stream of clear mountain water zigzagged to the meadow below. Birds flitted from bush to bush and wildflowers grew in abundance.

This was the place Light had seen in his vision. He and Maggie looked at each other. He began to smile and Maggie to laugh.

“We’re here, Light. This here’s yore mountain.”

“Yes,
mon amour.
We are home.”

Maggie slid from her pony and ran to the highest point. She threw out her arms and began to dance.

“We’re home,” she yelled. “Y-oo-dal-la-dee-hoo—! We’re ho . . . me, ho . . . me, ho . . . me. Y-oo-dal-lay-dee-hee!”

Across the valley, the Cheyenne, with his small son riding in front of him, stopped and held up his hand in a distant welcome to his new friends.

Light and Maggie spent the rest of their lives in the cabin they built that year on what was to be known as Light’s Mountain. The Cheyenne became their friends and protectors. They called Light Sharp Knife and Maggie, Singing Bird—the names given to them by the Osage.

Caleb’s blackness and his strength were assets to him. He was adopted into the tribe and took an Indian maiden for a wife. They had many children, who came often to visit with Light and Maggie after Caleb and his wife were gone.

Two of Maggie’s babies were stillborn, but two lived. They were named Eli and Paul. Paul left the mountains to explore the world beyond. Eli inherited his father’s love of the mountains and the forests. He roamed the Rockies, but he always returned to the homestead.

When in his old age Light’s health began to fail and he could no longer go on long hunts, he knew the time was drawing near when he would leave his beloved woods sprite. His life had been good. Forty years before he had found his mountain. He and Maggie had shared a rare and wonderful love. Light worried about leaving her alone, even though he was sure that young Eli would take care of her. He shielded her from knowledge of his pain, hoping to spare her grief for as long as he could.

One summer day they walked hand in hand down the same winding path that years ago had led them to the site of their mountain home. They reminisced about Jefferson Merrick and Annie Lash, Will Murdock and Callie. They spoke of the day they left St. Charles and the vows they had made on the bluff overlooking the river. They recalled the meeting with Eli, Paul and the mad German. Light remembered his shock at learning that Eli was his brother. They wondered if MacMillan’s village had grown into a town, if Aee’s and Eli’s first child had been a boy, and if Bee had married Bodkin or Dixon.

They talked about Roman Nose. When he was a little boy, Maggie had gone down the side of the cliff to rescue him. Now a powerful chief among the Cheyenne, he came to see them each year when he returned with his tribe from their winter camp to the south. He often brought his father, White Horse, to visit with Light; and when they were ready to leave, Roman Nose would ask Maggie to yodel.

Maggie was still slim and spirited, although her dark curls were streaked with gray and she walked now rather than ran. Today she went ahead of Light down the path to peer into a robin’s nest she had been watching.

“They’ve not hatched yet, Light,” she called, then to the old wolf-dog that trotted at her heels, “Ya keep away from here, Moses. That mama robin’s scared yo’re goin’ t’ eat her babies. ’Course I know ya’d not do it.” She patted the rough head. “Go find yore lady friend. Ya been itchin’ t’ mate lately.”

The dog, its gaping mouth and sharp white fangs capable of snapping off her hand, licked it and whined as if he understood what she was saying. Then he bounded away.

Light watched her and the dog. In all their years together he had not known of an animal she could not tame. She was still the beautiful, wild, shy forest creature he had brought to his mountain so long ago. A gentle smile lit his usually grave countenance.

Mon Dieu!
How he hated to leave her.

Overhead, thunderclouds began to gather and in the distance low rumbles of thunder could be heard.

“We should go back,
chérie.
A storm is coming.”

Maggie came to him as she always did when he called.

“It’s here a’ready.”

It was raining steadily when they reached a towering pine and took shelter beneath its spreading branches. Standing close, Maggie wrapped her arms about his waist and lifted her lips to his. Light kissed her lovingly and then raised his head to look at her. She was his love, his life, the other part of himself. He smiled into her emerald eyes and his arms tightened around her. She placed her head on his shoulder.

“I like t’ see ya smile, Light. Ya know that I love ya more’n anythin’.”

“I know, my sweet treasure. And I love you—”

The words had scarcely left his mouth when a bright flash forked down out of the darkened sky. It was followed closely by a sharp crack of thunder.

When twilight came and they hadn’t returned to the cabin, young Eli became concerned about his parents. The howling of Maggie’s wolf dog led him to them. He found the two of them lying beneath the tree. Light was holding Maggie in his arms. They looked as if they had just lain down to sleep for a while. He buried them together on the grassy knoll where their two babes lay sleeping and where Maggie had danced and sung the day they had come to Light’s Mountain so long ago.

*  *  *

The love story of Light, the scout, and Maggie, the beautiful woods sprite, became a legend. Their story was told and retold along the Missouri River, across the great grassy plains, and through the Rocky Mountains. The tale was passed down from generation to generation among both the Indians and the pioneers who followed Baptiste and Maggie Lightbody to settle the country beyond the great river.

It is said that if you are in the mountains and if you listen carefully, you may hear Maggie singing to her lover.

When my hair has turned to silver,

and my eyes shall dimmer grow.

I will lean upon my loved one,

through my twilight years I go.

I will ask of you a promise,

worth to me a world of gold;

It is only this, my darling:

that you love me when I’m old.

The legend lives on . . .