Captive Bride (49 page)

 
Her rambling thoughts evaporated when Benjamin steered her into his elaborately furnished quarters. His appurtenances were not the crude, hurriedly assembled objects that lined the walls of their simple abode. Plush, stuffed chairs, imported from the East, stood in every corner, and fine French brandy had been stocked in the delicately carved cabinet that stood near the large oak table. Tapestries depicting the magnificent creatures of nature hung upon the walls. On the white linen tablecloth fine China and silverware rested. Indeed, the refinement and sophistication of civilization had been brought to this niche in the wild. It is as Hawk said, she mused, her eyes circling the elegant quarters. The Prince of Yellowstone surrounds himself with luxuries one might find in St. Louis.
  

 
"It is possible to take a man from culture, but one cannot take culture from the man," Benjamin boasted as he made an exaggerated bow. "Although I am compelled to dwell amid these majestic mountains, I still demand the finer things in life, unlike some of my unsophisticated friends." His gaze shifted to the procession of clean-shaven
 
trappers
 
who had come to
 
take their evening meal with the lady—without being invited. Before Benjamin could utter a protest, Rozalyn was snatched from his side and whisked to the far end of the table. Once she had been seated, the trappers surrounded their fairy princess like four hovering bodyguards, and when Hawk entered the dining room, Benjamin had plopped into his chair and was brooding while the other four men were being quite social.

 
Heaving an exasperated sigh, Phillips thrust a drink into Hawk's hand and then gulped down his own. "I didn't invite those heathens to join us," he grumbled.

 
Hawk leisurely sipped his brandy and then gestured his head toward the opposite end of the table. "Beauty and her beasts." He smirked caustically. "It appears that you and I must be satisfied with our own company. I feared Rozalyn would cause a stir, but I did not anticipate that neither of us would be allowed to get a word in edgewise." Easing back in his seat, Hawk's gaze circled back to the administrator of the fort. "So tell me, what news has passed through here during the winter? Has the American Fur Trading Company gained ground against our notorious entrepreneur?"

 
Benjamin nodded affirmatively as he, too, settled back in his stuffed chair. "Many of the free trappers have joined the trading company to protect their own interests and lives," he informed Hawk. "DuBois has attempted to stifle this competition, but it is attracting more trappers. And the increasing threat of the Blackfoot has forced more men to band together for protection. But it seems the tide has turned." Benjamin sighed heavily. "The popularity of silk hats has crippled the fur market. I fear soon trappers will be forced to look for another profession or they will simply have to settle for living off the mountains they have come to love. There is talk of unrest in the East. Before long, wagon trains will be venturing through the mountain passes on their way to the fertile valleys to the West. I wonder how many of these trappers who prefer to live in the wild will start to lead the caravans west?"

 
Hawk shuddered at the thought of dusty trails marring the beauty of Wyoming Territory, but he knew emigrants would come. It was inevitable. Settlers were constantly searching for a land of milk and honey. One day they would head toward the grassy plains that lay to the west of the towering Rockies. And how many times would he witness the march westward, searching the faces of the emigrants, looking for a woman who wouldn't be among them? That thought made Hawk's spirits plummet.

Chapter 25

 
While Rozalyn nibbled on her meal she found herself listening to the wild tales the trappers were weaving. They sounded so convincing that she almost caught herself believing their superstitious nonsense. The men spoke as if their stories were fact rather than legend, as if they were prepared to stand behind their tall tales and proclaim them to be truth.

 
"Have you ever head of the Nin-am-beas?" Wolf-Paw asked as he rambled from one legend to another. Before Rozalyn could respond, the trapper chuckled. "No, I don't reckon you have, being a flatlander. Well, in Shoshone land where I wintered two years ago, one of the squaws"—a slow blush crept into Wolf-Paw's ruddy features when Rozalyn raised an eyebrow—"she and I was friendly, I suppose you could say. As I was sayin' . . . I was in camp when I first heard about Nin-am-beas. They're little people like elves, leprechauns, and such. Though they stand only a foot tall, they kin lift a horse by one hoof, whirl him around, and toss him hundreds of feet in the air, as if the critter was as light as a feather."

 
"An' Lordy, do them Nin-am-beas delight in playin' practical
 
jokes,"
 
Two-Dogs chimed
 
in, his deadpan expression making Rozalyn giggle in amusement until he eyed her disapprovingly. "Don't you be doubtin' it, girl. There is such things as Nin-am-beas." When Rozalyn composed herself, the trapper continued, "That's why Indian squaws place the tenderest meats of the bison and antelope in the crotch of a tree near camp. If Nin-am-beas ain't served vittles in generous proportions they fly into a rage and plague the tribe with bad luck."

 
"A foot tall, you say?" Rozalyn queried, striving for a serious tone.

 
"No more than that," Fuzzy affirmed. "And you should hear how scared Indians are of gophers. Not that I would cross one myself, but if one of them varmints darts in front of an Indian he starts chantin' prayers to the Great Spirit and offerin' tributes." Fuzzy shook his head and then snickered lightly. "Once I was stayin' with the Sioux and one of them pesky gophers burrowed on the edge of camp. Lo and behold, the news spread like wildfire. Them Sioux pulled down their tepees, packed their belongin's, and moved to a new spot where the medicine man was sure they would be safe from gopher evil. I went to sleep in the middle of a Sioux village and woke up in a deserted camp."

 
"Is there nothing that brings Indians good luck?" Rozalyn questioned before munching on her meal.

 
"Why, shore," Trapper insisted, propping his elbows on the edge of the table to peer straight at Rozalyn. "A chickadee twittering near a village is a good omen. The Indians say it was that little bird that discovered the world. Then there are the spirits of the Yellowstone that live in the springs."

 
Rozalyn pricked up her ears, and her gaze swung to Hawk who lounged at the opposite end of the table, sporting an I-told-you-so smile. "I suppose all of you have been visited by these specters and have indulged in a swim in these boiling springs."

 
"That's usually the only time we can git Trapper to take to the water . . . 'cept when he lays eyes on a lady as perty as you," Fuzzy chortled, his dark eyes dancing with teasing amusement.

Trapper thrust out an indignant chin. "That ain't so."

 
Before their taunting raillery led to physical blows, Rozalyn steered her attentive admirers onto another subject. "Is there good trapping in the Yellowstone?" She directed her inquiry to' Trapper who instantly mellowed beneath her curious smile.

 
"We've bin trapping the Yellowstone for several years, after Hawk got us permission from the Crow. But he still ain't found the valley where legend has it beavers are so thick they fight one another to get into a man's trap. I've heard tell there's more game in that hidden valley than the night sky has stars."

 
That was the tallest tale Rozalyn had yet to hear. The expression on Hawk's face warned her not to scoff at Trapper's remark without insulting her companions. Still, beavers fighting to have their paws lodged in a painful trap? Rozalyn thought these men were prone to believe anything.

 
Deciding it best to sit back and listen to the trappers fantastic stories rather than contradict them, she found herself assaulted by tales of gigantic avalanches, ground blizzards, and hostile Indian attacks. Finally, the talk of the long-winded trappers turned to the numerous superstitions about the man-eating Wendigo, the giant beaver that prowled the rivers, and to the mysterious Folly of the Woods which crept in during the night to steal men's minds. Rozalyn had thought she had heard all there was of legendary lore while she was under Bear-Claw's care, but it was obvious she had been mistaken. The four trappers she had recently met were filling her head with so many exaggerated tales that she began to wonder if she could again separate fact from fantasy.

 
More than two hours later, she was hoisted to her feet and shuffled into the open square. There, other mountain men had gathered, bringing their fiddles, harmonicas, and drums to provide music. Rozalyn, along with a few Indian maidens whose white husbands had brought them to the fort, was passed around the boisterous group. Several of the trappers had partaken of so much White Mule whiskey and rum that they were dancing together, seemingly unconcerned that their partners were not of the female persuasion. Rozalyn barely had time to catch her breath before she was snatched from one trapper's arms to be whirled around by another.

 
Her situation had been tolerable until two drunken trappers had begun to become overly intimate, while dancing. Rozalyn was furious when Dark-Eagle and Yellow-Calf herded her away from the crowd with every intention of molesting her. In no mood to be diplomatic, she attempted to slap some sense into Dark-Eagle and then turned her hand on Yellow-Calf s bristled cheek. Growling at Rozalyn's hostile attitude, Dark-Eagle fastened her hands behind her back while Yellow-Calf attempted to steal a kiss without having the hide lifted from his face. But before the inebriated trapper could see his dream come true, Two-Dogs intervened, jabbing his sharp-bladed knife into Yellow-Calf's ribs.

 
"The lady came to dance, naught else," he insisted through a tight smile. "If you heathens got other ideas in yore heads, it's best that you forgit 'em." Clamping a vise-like grip on Dark-Eagle's arm, Two-Dogs forced Rozalyn's would-be molester to unhand her.

 
"Go find yer own woman," Yellow-Calf grumbled. "We found her first."

 
Two-Dogs pressed the stiletto convincingly against Yellow-Calf's tender flesh, evoking a pained grunt. "Maybe you didn't hear me the first time, friend," he gritted out. "Back off before I lose what's left of my temper."

 
After a strained silence, the trappers retreated, but not without glaring holes at Two-Dogs for interrupting what might have been a satisfying tete-a-tete. After Rozalyn had rearranged the gown that had very nearly been twisted around her neck, she graced Two-Dogs with a grateful smile and allowed him to usher her back to the circle of dancers who were enjoying a lively folk tune. Her gaze circled the rambunctious group in search of Hawk, but when he was nowhere to be found, a troubled frown etched her brow. She knew he had been in a sour mood : most of the evening, but would he desert her? Obviously he had or he would have come to her aid when she'd been hustled off by those brutes.

 
"Hawk ain't here. He went to see his people," Two-Dogs informed Rozalyn when he saw her glancing about the compound. "But don't you fret none. Me and the men will take care of you 'til he comes back."

 
"He could have told me what he was about before he wandered off," Rozalyn muttered irritably.

 
"I guess he ain't used to answerin' to nobody," Two-Dogs remarked with a careless shrug. "Hawk is set in his ways, jest like the rest of us. It probably takes some gettin' used to before a man recollects that he can't jest go waltzin' off without reportin' to his wife."

 
A thoughtful frown creased his brow. Something wasn't right, Two-Dogs mused. He could feel it in his bones. Hawk had behaved strangely all evening, but he wouldn't divulge the source of his trouble. There were a few questions Two-Dogs wanted answered, and he had the sneaking suspicion that what was going on between Hank and Rozalyn Whoever-she-was might not be a simple matter. Two-Dogs was notorious for possessing the curiosity of a cat. Now he wanted to know exactly what a refined young beauty was doing out here. Hawk had lied to his friends, Two-Dogs was prepared to bet his left arm on that.

 
When Two-Dogs herded her toward her cabin, Rozalyn accompanied him without objection. Her ear had been severely bent and her toes sufficiently trounced upon for one night. She was eager to stretch out on a bed and enjoy a moment's solitude, but it disturbed her that Hawk had strolled off without personally informing her of his intentions.

 
Two-Dogs noted the melancholy expression that settled on Rozalyn's features, and he gave her hand a fond squeeze. "I suppose you ain't accustomed to all these doin's. Mountain people get a mite uproarious at times, but they don't mean no harm." When Two-Dogs had ushered Rozalyn into a seat, he dragged a chair over in front of her and then plopped down on it. "You ain't really Hawk's wife, are you?" he asked point-blank. "You don't have no ring to prove yore wed. A lady like you would have one because Hawk woulda seen that it was all proper, right down to the gold band. He may seem uncivilized like the rest of us, but he's got the manners of s gentleman. His pa seen to that."

 
"Did you know Hawk's father?" Long, tangled lashes swept up and Rozalyn's eyes met the crusty mountain man's faint smile. "Do you know why the DuBois and the Baudelairs hate each other?"