Gather The Children (Chronicles of the Maca Book 2) (8 page)

He eyed the horses. They were standing there, waiting, and swishing their tails against the heat and the flies. If he could get to them, take both, he wouldn't have to worry about pursuit for days. Rolfe wouldn't leave his sons and money, and MacDonald was sure as hell too big for Rolfe's horse. That wagon was back there somewhere, getting closer. MacDonald's chest was moving slow and easy. He'd wait awhile and then stand real cautious like. All he needed was a few feet to be away. Maybe he'd even look in on Mama. Nobody would think he'd do that. He sat very still and listened to a scrub jay screeching and scolding. A light breeze stirred the willow leaves and a low snore escaped from under MacDonald's hat. Lorenz waited for his breath to even out again.

Very slowly he bunched his legs, glanced at the prone body, and straightened in one easy motion. He studied the ground, deliberately uncrossed his feet, and placed one foot slightly in front of the other. Then he glanced at MacDonald again. The man hadn't moved. He started to inch forward when unspoken words pounded inside his mind. 'Dinna be so foolish, laddie.' Lorenz sat his grey eyes wide in amazement. He took another look at MacDonald.

This time the hat was tipped back to show one brown eye and a smile on the man's lips. “'Tis glad I am ye dinna try that.”

“Ah got stiff. Had to stretch.” His lips tightened and he looked straight ahead.

MacDonald grunted. “Tis time to be leaving.” He stood and brushed the dirt from his backside.

“Remember, ye dinna touch yere beastie.” He kept his rifle in his right hand and swung the saddle to his shoulder. Lorenz stood and watched.

He was puzzled. Was the Big Bastard going to make him walk? He savored his renaming of MacDonald in his mind. Whenever he thought of him it would be Big Bastard. Once more unspoken words pounded inside his head. 'And ye are nay punished for thoughts.' Lorenz could swear he heard a chuckle on that one, but MacDonald's face was smooth, mouth closed, unsmiling. He watched the Big Bastard saddle his horse, making soft, soothing noises as he cinched the saddle down and returned the rifle to the scabbard.

MacDonald gathered the reins of both horses and pointed at the incline where he had ridden down. “Walk,” he commanded.

Lorenz saw no gain in refusing and began walking, the stiff leather of the new boots protesting against his heel and instep. He'd druther have his old boots for this hike, for hike it would be he realized when they reached the road. They'd ridden a fair piece and only dust wavering in the distance showed there was anything nearing them. He glanced at the Big Bastard to see why he had stopped.

The Big Bastard was tying Dandy's reins to his saddle horn. He smiled at Lorenz and said, “Ye twill ride behind me.”

By the time Lorenz was ready to protest, MacDonald had his left foot kicked out of the stirrup and his hand down. Lorenz stood rock still, his eyes screaming hatred. MacDonald sighed, “Laddie, either ye ride behind me or I twill truss ye up like a pig going to market and hang ye over the back.”

Lorenz took the extended hand and swung up. MacDonald kept his big hand securely wrapped around Lorenz's left hand. “Now put yere right arm around my waist and yere right hand over yere left hand.”

Lorenz hesitated and the huge hand began to crumble his. Son-of-a-bitch, he thought, and rapidly put his arm around MacDonald as directed. In an instant, MacDonald had both of Lorenz's hands clamped firmly against his belt. “I want nay tricks on this ride.” He clucked his tongue and Zark began a slow trot.

It was downright humiliatin'. Lorenz sat with his back as straight as possible, but the gait was uncomfortable, and the almost musky smell exuding from the sweat stained shirt in front of him was bewildering. It flat was no human smell he could recognize. There was no seeing around the man's bulk so he contented himself with searching to the side, committing the terrain to memory.

Within one-half an hour they met the approaching wagon. “Whoa up, twill ye, Martin?” asked MacDonald and trotted to the back of the wagon.

“Dismount.” His hands released their grip and Lorenz slid down. MacDonald followed and tied Dandy to one of the back hoops. “Now walk to the front.”

As they moved to the front, James glared at Lorenz as MacDonald gave a rueful grin and said, “Sorry, Young James, but ye twill need to ride in the back again.”

James looked longingly at his father, then at MacDonald, but decided that begging for a ride at this point would not be in his favor. He climbed over the seat and settled for a position at the sidewall.

Lorenz looked at MacDonald and the big man pointed to the seat. Red faced, he swung up over the wheels, plunked his butt on the hard seat, and folded his arms across his chest. Martin didn't even bother to look at him. He had his face set, eyes forward with no welcoming smile as he snapped the reins over the team's back to start their journey again. That was fine with Lorenz. He didn't want to talk anyway. He sure as hell had lost that round. He watched the back muscles of the horses move with easy ripples, dust raising and swirling around the hooves with every step. A light breeze shifted the smell of spring into dry summer.

When they passed the point of his debacle, he looked the other way. Flat, gently undulating prairie stretched over the horizon, studded with an occasional oak or boulder. Sometimes you could see a column of smoke in the distance where some rancher was holding onto the land for a reason that only God could know or see why. He looked over at Martin. The young man still had his jaw set in a stubborn line while staring straight ahead.

Young James had hung his arms over the wagon lip and was standing on the possible box. He was clearly bored with the scenery and was watching the clouds. Every so often he would turn and stick his tongue out at Lorenz. Lorenz half laughed to himself. Crazy little kid! Hell, he didn't want his seat.

He looked again at Martin. “What's got yore back up? Ah'm the one who took the lickin'.”

“Ja, and I'm the one who's a jackass.”

“Hell, didn't yu'll figure ah wuz going to hightail it?”

Martin shifted uncomfortably. “Never even thought about it, but Papa did. It seems I should a little smarter be.” His speech had slid back into the German syntax. “Besides, I figured y'all would be glad your Mama to see.”

“Ah doan even remember her.” The lie slid out easily. “Ah might have swung by there iffen ah got away just to see iffen she wuz all right.” He spat over the wheel. “Nobody would figure ah go that way. Besides,” he added, “she doan want me, hit's Daniel she'd be waiting for.”

“Y'all know what, Lorenz,” said Martin, “I think y'all are half-crazed on loco weed. Tante Anna wants all of her children back. If y'all don't really remember anything, why do y'all think she wants only Daniel?”

“Yeah, and if Tante doesn't want you, how come we had to put your name in all of our prayers?” Young James had been waiting for his chance to talk again.

Lorenz straightened. “Prayers?” He laughed, forgetting to use his broken language. “Y'all have been saying prayers for me? That's funny. Y'all don't really believe there's a God listening to that?”

“You're here, aren't you?” shot back James. “And Papa says your sister's alive too.”

Lorenz shifted his position. The strapping had been nothing, but the wagon seat was tolerably hard as it jolted from rock to rut, and his backside bruised from when MacDonald knocked him on the log. James's logic worried him. He didn't like it that Martin had seen through the fact that he did remember Mama. That adults labeled his words lies was natural, but he was unaccustomed to give and take with someone his own age. Now these two had called his bluff. He drifted into silence.

The day's heat was retreating when Martin pulled off the road under a shaded spot guarded by tall cottonwood trees. The bank, pebbled with stones and grass, spilled down towards the river where willows clustered and covered the bank at the turn where water pooled. Cottonwoods sprouting up from the roots provided a natural fence. The blackened stones around the cooking area gave testimony to the fact that here was a spot favored by travelers.

Young James scooted from the wagon, glad to be free of its confines and began a mad search for firewood. He caught the bundle MacDonald tossed to him.

“There were plenty of cow chips from our passing.” MacDonald grinned at Lorenz. “Ye have yere choice: work and eat. If nay work, ye hunger.”

Martin had already swung down and was busy unhitching the horses. Rolfe was working at the wagon gate, obviously going for the camp gear. “Ah'll work, ah reckon.” He climbed down, his legs stiff from bracing against the jolting ride.

MacDonald dismounted and unhooked the cobbles. “Then take the nosebags from the side. When we get to where the beasties are to be bedded, use a portion from each and put that into yere hat for yere own horse, but dinna touch him. I'll attend.”

Inside, Lorenz fumed, but did as he was told. At least they had given the squaw's work of wood gathering to Young James. MacDonald walked beside him as he led both Zark and Dandy over to where Martin was removing the harnesses and bridles. Martin took two of the hobbles from MacDonald and carefully clamped one pair on each horse while Lorenz apportioned part of the grain for Dandy. MacDonald slid his saddle off while Martin finished hobbling the last two horses and then loped down to the river, lay prone, and gulped the fresh water. He half-rose, rinsed his hands and came back grinning. “By God, I was dry I'll have supper on before long, Uncle Mac.”

Lorenz watched him stride off. “He do the cooking?” he asked. Dandy was making a mess of what was left of his hat. He wondered if maybe he could convince the Big Bastard to replace it before he left for good. Probably not.

“Aye,” came the reply to his question.

Rolfe joined them, unsaddled, and attached the last nose bag “I think ve should get wasser here, Mac.”

“Aye, twill nay be as clear nearer to House.” To Lorenz, he added, “We twill be the last two days with but a trickle of water.” He and Rolfe headed back to the wagon carrying their saddles and guns.

Should he run now? Naw, either one could drop him. He watched MacDonald take both saddles and walk to the back of the wagon where he deposited them. Rolfe took down the barrel on the passenger side and slung it over his shoulder and hiked back to the river. MacDonald appeared on the side with a second barrel. By now Dandy had finished his grain, and Lorenz wiped out his hat and set it back on his head. The sun was slowly meandering toward the back of the low foothills while the leaves rustled in tune with the singing river.

“Ye can give a hand, laddie, with the filling of the barrels,” said MacDonald.

When both barrels were filled, Lorenz helped Rolfe carry the one and MacDonald took the other. Big Bastard, thought Lorenz. Damn, the man was strong.

Rolfe finished lashing their barrel and bit off a chew. He grinned at Lorenz. “Gut day for a swim.” He swaggered off while Lorenz tried to puzzle if Rolfe had meant good when saying goot.

Once more MacDonald emerged from the back of the wagon. This time he carried one of the bundles from the store and a towel wrapped around it. He too was grinning.

Lorenz considered running, but the man was beside him with the huge hand clamping down on his shoulder, brooking no opposition. They marched back to the river. He could hear potatoes plopping into the hot grease and wished he was helping Martin.

MacDonald released him and began to undress. “Take yere clothes off.”

“The hell!”

The next thing Lorenz knew his britches were down around his ankles, his shirt and hat removed, and his butt hit the ground. MacDonald yanked his boots off and pointed his finger at him.

“Dinna move.” He then continued to disrobe.

Lorenz sat with his knees up to his chin, once again thoroughly humiliated. He hoped like hell Martin and James hadn't been watching. He sensed MacDonald folding his clothes and was rudely raised from the ground by the hand under his arm.

“This, laddie, tis called soap. Yere mither has spent long hours preparing it. If ye drop or lose this in the water, I twill consider it open rebellion. Do ye ken?” The bar was but three inches from his eyes.

“Reckon,” he muttered sullenly while half looking at the man and stopped to gape. Never, never in his life had he seen such a build. The man was solid, corded muscle. Normally a man of such girth had flab for a stomach or was stocky fat: not MacDonald. He had rope cords for an abdominal wall, biceps ran into triceps, even the calves of his legs were hard, rolled muscle, and unlike most white men, the body was practically devoid of hair, even in the genital area. “My God, y'all ain't fat nowhere,” slumped out of his slackened jaw.

“Thank ye, laddie.” The man's eyes twinkled in amusement. “Now 'tis time ye joined the ranks of civilization. Walk.” He pointed towards the river.

Defiance snapped back into Lorenz's eyes. “The hell!”

MacDonald's hand was on his shoulder again and he thought the better of saying more obscenities. He walked. When the water was up to his thighs, the pressure stopped. Once more the soap was held directly in front of his face, a faint whiff of lavender greeting his nose.

“Now, ye are to wet yere hair and rub this into it and soap yere body. Remember what I said about the hours it took to make.”

Lorenz remained standing. The huge hand went around his neck and a knee hit behind his. His face and upper torso were completely immersed and he was shaken like a rag flapping in the breeze He came up sputtering, water running from his long hair into his eyes and mouth.

“Now, ye take the soap and begin at the top of yere head and finish with yere toes, or by Gar, I'll do it for ye, and nay too gently.”

Lorenz did as he was ordered. He hoped the Rolfe's were all busy elsewhere and not watching his final humiliation. He thought seriously about pounding on Martin if there was so much as a snicker when they got back. He fought desperately to hold onto the soap. He figured MacDonald was just waiting for the chance to belt him again, and this time there would be an audience. He was about to hand the soap back when MacDonald checked him.