A Gown of Spanish Lace (13 page)

He was early—had planned it that way. He would just find a comfortable, hidden spot and wait.

He chose his place of concealment carefully, brushed the snow from the stump with the brim of his Stetson, and took a seat. He had no sooner settled himself than he heard a soft chuckle.

“You make noise like moose,” came the soft, familiar voice.

Laramie whipped around. White Eagle stood a few feet away, grinning, his arms folded across his chest.

“Yer here,” said Laramie, rising to his feet again.

White Eagle, the amused look still on his face, made no comment but crossed to where Laramie now stood.

“We meet here—no?”

It was Laramie’s turn to smile. He reached out, and the two young men shook hands firmly.

“Yes, we were to meet here,” he agreed. “It’s been a long time,” he continued, placing a hand on the young Indian’s shoulder.

“Long,” agreed White Eagle. He nodded his head to the stump Laramie had vacated and eased himself to the ground. Laramie returned to his seat.

For some minutes the two friends sat silently, their eyes traveling out over the expanse of the valley beneath them. White Eagle broke the stillness. “You call,” he said simply, and Laramie understood his implied question.

He removed his hat and ran a finger through shaggy, heavy hair. “Yeah,” Laramie admitted. “I had to talk to someone.”

“Trouble?”

“Not…not really trouble. Jest…”

Laramie stopped and White Eagle waited for him to go on. It was some time before Laramie continued.

“My pa brought this here girl to the camp,” he said, feeling that the spoken words sounded pretty silly.

White Eagle nodded solemnly. “Trouble!” he said softly.

“Well—no trouble yet,” Laramie hurried to explain. “I mean she’s just a…a young…not a troublemaker or anything like thet. She’s off in a cabin all alone. The fellas don’t even know she’s there.”

White Eagle waited.

“Pa gave me the…the chore of…of guardin’ her,” went on Laramie.

“Nice—chore,” White Eagle said, his eyes glinting with amusement.

“No—it’s not,” quickly cut in Laramie. “She’s…she’s…it’s not a nice job—at all.”

“She mean squaw?” asked the Indian.

“No,” Laramie said quickly. “Nothin’ like thet. She’s young an’ she’s scared an’ I have no idea what she’s there for. I mean—I don’t know what Pa plans. I asked—an’ he got mad. Wouldn’t say nothin’. Jest says I gotta guard her.”

White Eagle shrugged his shoulders and spread his palms upright as if to say that there was nothing he could do to help the situation.

“It’s jest…well, I mean…you’ve lived in camp—with women—all yer life. I…I don’t know a thing about women. What…what am I supposed to…how am I supposed to…?”

White Eagle smiled. Yes, he knew about women. Elderly ones who, because of their years and wisdom, were the mothers of the tribe, wives of hunters who tanned the hides of the game the men brought in and tended the cooking pots. Younger women, eyes soft with love for their newborn papooses, maidens who modestly lowered their eyes when the young braves walked by, and then stole covert glances beneath long, dark lashes. Even the frolicking, playful little ones—on their way to “becoming.” He knew about life surrounded by women.

“But,” he went on to explain, “I have visited the white man’s fort—a few times. The women there are different—very different—from the Indian women in my camp.”

He shrugged again. “I know nothing—of white squaws,” he said, and spread his hands again.

“But—”

White Eagle shrugged again. “Not same,” he said as though that was final.

Laramie was agitated. White Eagle stared at him, looking both surprised and confused. Finally he asked, “Why such little bit of woman trouble so much?”

Laramie couldn’t answer the question.

“What you do for her?” White Eagle asked, his tone indicating he was genuinely trying to help his friend.

“I jest…jest bring her wood an’ water an’ food an’—”

“Why she not get own wood and water?” questioned White Eagle.

“She’s our prisoner,” responded Laramie.

White Eagle nodded. Then he frowned. “White man not make prisoner work?” he asked.

“She’s locked up,” said Laramie.

White Eagle nodded again.

“So you not like…chore?” asked the young brave.

Laramie stood to his feet and began to pace. He reached up to push his hat back a trace. “No,” he said. “No, I don’t like it. She shouldn’t be there. Shouldn’t be in the camp. It’s gonna mean trouble. I can feel it in my bones.”

“Maybe she…escape,” observed the Indian with a knowing look.

“She’d never make it. She’d die—or be killed—or taken,” declared Laramie. He continued to pace, his jaw set firmly, his blue eyes darkening.

“You…not want that?”

Laramie whirled around to face the young brave. He did not even offer an answer. Of course he did not want that.

“So…you not like…care for…but you want…keep,” White Eagle continued, as though carefully sorting through Laramie’s problem.

Laramie did speak then. “I don’t want to keep—I jest want to—”

He broke off. How could he explain to the Pawnee what he was feeling? That it was all wrong to take another captive. That his father had broken some moral code in bringing the young girl into camp. That he knew, deep down inside, that this was totally against everything that a real man should stand for.

“I want her…back…where she belongs,” he stumbled on awkwardly. “Only…I have no way to get her there…so…so I have to do my best to take care of her and I don’t—”

“You got trouble,” agreed the young Indian again. “Plenty trouble.”

Laramie stopped his walking and stared out over the valley. Down below he could see the ramshackle buildings of the camp. From the high vantage point the crude shacks looked fairly organized, almost attractive. In the far distance he could see the rising smoke of a campfire. By the way the small column drifted, he guessed it to be an Indian hunting party who sat around its warmth.

“Yer men?” he asked White Eagle, nodding his head eastward.

“Three,” said White Eagle in reply.

“Hope they got something,” mused Laramie.

White Eagle nodded. “They did. Snow deep. Stop to roast meat for strength on home trail.”

“I think I’ll do a little huntin’,” said Laramie. “We could do with some fresh meat.”

The young Indian brave stood to his feet, his movements catlike with grace and strength.

He did not brush the snow from his leather garments but pulled down a branch of the spruce and brushed it back and forth across the ground where he had reclined, removing all trace that he had been there. At its release, the branch sprang back into position.

“Fresh meat,” he echoed Laramie. “Make strong. If girl ever…escape…she need eat. Be strong.”

The two young men looked at each other. A silent message passed between them. Even as the idea crossed Laramie’s mind, he discarded it as preposterous.

“You make signal,” said White Eagle, and Laramie understood the brief words as a promise that he would be there. He nodded.

Before his very eyes the young brave seemed to melt into the shadows of the forest.

“You should get some fresh air,” said Laramie after he had knocked, then brought in the plate of food to his charge the next morning.

Ariana glanced at the heavy wooden door.

“After you’ve finished yer breakfast we’ll go fer a walk,” Laramie continued. He had done a lot of thinking throughout the night. White Eagle was right. He had to try to keep her strong. Keep her healthy. Who knew what the future might hold?

She nodded silently, but he thought he saw a little sparkle come to her eyes. Was it fear—or anticipation?

When he returned later he was surprised to see she had eaten more than usual of what was on the plate. She stood, dressed in one of the calico gowns from the trunk, staring out of the window.

“It’s rather cold,” he observed. “You’ll need all the warm clothes ya got.” He hesitated, then pointed to the corner. “I would suggest thet ya wear those moccasins ’stead of those shoes.”

She changed footwear quickly, her back to him. He walked to the window and stood looking out so she wouldn’t be embarrassed by his presence.

She was soon bundled in her heavy coat, her hat firmly in place over her pinned-up curls. He knew the flimsy bit of felt and ribbon would be absolutely no protection against the elements, but he didn’t say so.

He pushed the heavy door open and preceded her out into the wintery sunshine. Though it was weak in warmth, it was bright as it reflected off the whiteness of the snow. He saw her squint against it and remembered it had been some time since she had seen the full light of day.

They had taken only a few steps when the door of the big cabin burst open and three of the gang members stepped out into the light and headed for the barn.

Instinctively Laramie glanced around for cover. There was none. There would be no way to avoid a meeting.

Laramie heard the rough words, the coarse laughs, and then three heads came up and three pairs of astonished eyes stared in his direction.

“Well I’ll be—” exclaimed James and followed his comment with a muttered curse.

Curly, a bottle dangling from his limp hand, could only stare, openmouthed.

But it was Skidder who drew the attention of Laramie. After his initial shock, his eyes narrowed and an evil grin began to spread over his face. “A ‘prisoner’?” he guffawed. He spilled out a stream of profanity. “Prisoner, ya call thet? I’d bet my Winchester thet Daddy done gone and got his boy a pretty little filly.”

He hooted again and slapped his thigh.

Laramie felt the heat rushing to his face.

All three of the men grinned, James fidgeting nervously and Curly twisting his near-empty bottle in bare hands.

Laramie chided himself for his carelessness. He had stepped out of the cabin right into a nest of hornets. He glanced in silent apology at Ariana’s downcast eyes and burning cheeks. Skidder, who was known to be drawn to women, was bound to make an issue over a girl being in camp. But how big an issue? Would he be smart enough to back off? Or would he force Laramie into unwanted action?

For the first time in his life Laramie felt his fingers itching for the security of the cold butt of his forty-four.

Chapter Ten

What Now?

Laramie had heard the girl’s sharp intake of breath and sensed her stiffen at the crude comments of the men before them. It was all he could do to hold himself steady. Inwardly he willed Skidder to keep his head and just move on. What would he do if the rough outlaw decided to push further?

“Reckon you boys got business at the barn,” Laramie drawled softly. But his hands hung loosely and his stance had changed.

For a few moments the whole winter world seemed to hold its breath. Skidder stood poised as though deciding whether to have a bit more fun at Laramie’s expense, or get himself out of the area in one piece. Common sense finally won and he nodded, still leering, and moved off toward the barn.

Laramie waited until the three were several steps away before he relaxed, nodded to the girl, and motioned for her to continue.

Her face had blanched white; her large eyes had widened. He could see that she trembled slightly, and he knew she was fully aware of the danger that had just passed.

“I…I’m not sure…” she began in a trembling voice.

“He won’t be back,” he said with more confidence than he felt.

She looked unconvinced.

“I think I’d just like to stay in,” she managed hesitantly.

He nodded. He would not argue further. It was unfortunate that they had been spotted. He should have been more cautious. Now the others knew there was a girl in the camp. Now there would be no rest—and sure trouble.

Secretly he wondered if she would even be safe in the cabin—but he didn’t mention that to her as he led her back down the snowy trail.

He would do what he could.

Ariana was surprised later in the day when the young man returned and brought with him a hammer and a large hook and eye. He spoke not a word as he nailed the two pieces firmly in place. She watched from her spot at the table, her book open before her, but she said nothing.