the Man from Skibbereen (1973) (10 page)

Parley would be aware of that, and he also probably knew by now that his only chance was to find horses and get out of the country; so he and his men would leave their camp and march out to wherever they could expect to acquire horses.

The man who had Barda was holding a little south of west, and Cris Mayo stepped up the pace. He could go faster than a man with four led horses could go; unless that man chose to switch mounts, which so far he had not done, not knowing he was pursued.

The country was changing, the hills were higher, there were far more outcrops, and there were trees on some of the ridges. The land was drier, the vegetation stiffer, harsher, more gray than truly green. There was no difficulty with the tracks. In fact, when he topped out on a rise he could see them pointing a finger, a whitish streak across the mixed grass plains before him, pointing toward a rocky hill several miles off.

The man might be watching from over there but Cris decided he had no choice. He put the gelding into a gallop and started out for the hill.

Pete Noble was in a quandary. He had found the horses where Murray had suggested he might, and he had started back. He was within a couple of miles of the rendezvous when he saw a rider come out of the hills and start across toward their hideout. No one in the outfit had a horse like the one he saw, a splendid animal.

There was a good chance the man was a spy, and there was an even better chance that a force of men lay in waiting yonder where he'd come from. Pete decided to scout the area before returning. This was something Parley should know.

He was nearing rapidly when he saw the second man leave, leading a riderless horse, and now he was more than ever sure. This was a military detachment or a civilian posse. In either case, Parley must know, to avoid surprise.

Leaving his horses, Pete had closed in carefully. Although a big man he was half Cherokee, had spent much of his life among Indians, and could move with great skill and silence. He was not a brave man but he trusted his skill and so was not particularly afraid of being caught.

Then he saw the girl. She was lying down. He got a glimpse of her face in the vague moonlight and knew that she was young and attractive. He mopped his brow and upper lip. A girl... alone?

He rolled himself a smoke and lit it carefully, shielding the flame, as soon as he'd determined that she was alone. Only one horse was tethered nearby, a mare. Pete Noble thought hard, through that cigarette and then a second. Two men gone, one girl left...

She had been one of the three who drove off their horses! Justin Parley would be glad, and grateful to Pete, to have her a prisoner.

Parley? Why let him have her? Why not keep her for himself? He'd found her, not Parley. And who was Parley after all? Pete Noble did not need Parley. He had lived in the West for a long time before Parley came into the country. Half of his ancestors had lived here forever! Suppose he took this girl and ran with her? Who was to know?

He moved into the small clearing. The girl's eyes flew open. "Ma'am," he said, "if you yell I'm liable to shoot you."

Barda McClean was frightened but she also knew that she dared not give in to her fright. She sat up. "Why should I yell? I know you've come to guide me back to the railroad to receive the reward."

"Reward?" Noble was not the brightest of men, but he knew the smell of money. "What reward?"

"Why, the reward the railroad is offering for anyone who brings me back, or my father. I am Colonel McClean's daughter."

Chapter
Seven

Pete Noble turned the matter over in his mind. Thinking had never been one of his attributes, and he was worried over the problem. He had a girl here, a girl such as he had never had in his life and would never be likely to have again.

On the other hand there was the reward. He knew of no reward, but of course he had been nowhere to hear of it, and it was likely that one had been offered. He was no fool and he realized well enough that Parley had been on the verge of having him shot. Parley had men killed for less than Pete had done.

So why go back and risk Parley's displeasure? Why not take this girl to Fort Sanders and pick up the money? In fact... why not tell them where Colonel McClean was? That would mean even more cash.

Barda could see the man was fretting over a decision and she said no more. Her eyes scanned the dark hills as they rode west, hoping for some sign of Rep or Cris. There was nothing. No matter what this man might decide, she knew that she was in trouble.

"My father was scheduled to be at Fort Sanders on the 23rd," she said suddenly. "There is a meeting there of Generals Grant, Sheridan, Sherman, and Haney, with Thomas Durrant and Dodge and some others. It has something to do with changing the route the railroad is following. So you will have no trouble getting your reward."

The gray morning dawned.

He said nothing. They rode on for several miles in utter silence. As they turned around the base of a hill, she took the chance to look back, but she saw nothing.

Her hopes fell. Ahead was a long, dark grove of trees; for the first time she felt real fear. This man was not only huge, but gross, more animal than man, and she had no weapon with which to defend herself.

Obviously the man knew where he was taking her, for it was a bowl--like hollow, walled around with rocks, and open only on the side toward the river. There was a spring there, trees, fuel, and good grazing for the horses. In the bottom of the hollow lay about forty acres of good grassland, and Noble led the way toward a ring of stones on one side. The ring was filled with the charred remains of old fires.

Dumping her on the grass, he led the horses to water. There was no sense trying to escape, for he would track her wherever she went. Her one hope was to keep the idea in his head of taking her back. She sat herself up slowly, her hands careful.

Me was dangerous, dangerous because he was slow, dangerous because there would be something in him beyond the reach of reason. He had strength. She was not a small girl and he had plucked her from her mare's saddle as if she were nothing. It was a heavy power, yet he was cat--footed when need be, she had seen him move a couple of times with incredible swiftness, so she must keep him on her side. And he was... almost.

She must not confuse him with too many ideas, or dull their edge with talking. He had her now, he could have a reward by delivering her unharmed. This was enough for the moment.

She had lived around Army camps much of her life and knew what life was about; she also knew that the respect of men was something easily lost. She had this man's respect now, for she had moved carefully. She was a colonel's daughter, and she must never forget that.

When he returned he began to put a fire together. His movements were smooth and without fault. This was something he had done many times, and there was no waste motion. She knew what he had been thinking by his first question. "What you doin' out here, anyhow?"

"I was travelling with my father. He had business at Fort Sanders, as I said."

"I mean out here... on the plains... with them two fellers."

"I was looking for my father. I do not know one of the men, he met us out here." Then she lied for the appearance of it. "The other one is a railroad employee. I told him that if he didn't come with me I'd have him discharged."

He considered that. Bringing a few articles from his pack, he began to make coffee. Then he sliced bacon into a pan. His thick hands were dirty, but she knew she must not notice and deliberately she looked away. "The other man joined us on the prairie." A sudden thought came to her. "I believe he had heard about the reward. They have the wire fixed and they offered a reward for whoever found my father and me. I was not gone, but at Fort Sanders they thought I had been taken with him."

She was still then. Noble had enough to think about. He mulled it over in his mind. "How'd I know I'd get the reward?"

She looked astonished. "Why, of course you would! You've been a gentleman, and I will tell them that! I'd tell them how thoughtful you've been. You saved my life!"

He rinsed out a coffee cup and filled it. She accepted it, although the cup was dirty, and she drank the coffee. It was good, very good. She told him so. He passed her a tin plate with bacon on it and she ate it daintily, carefully. Her hunger was such that she scarcely noticed the plate. Then she drank more coffee and he used the same cup and later the same plate.

She watched him eat, wiping the grease from her fingers on the grass by her side. She looked away, her glance touching on the tree trunks, on the rocks... had something moved over there?

No...

He was thinking, and she was worried about the direction his thoughts might take. "You're a very good plainsman, aren't you? I noticed the way you studied the country and guided your horse."

"Sure." He wiped his greasy fingers on his pants, then on his shirt. "Good as any full--blood Injun. Been at it all my life. Good in a swamp, too, and woods. I growed up with the Cherokees down yonder."

"No wonder, then. I think they would hire you as a scout for the Army."

He did not care for that. "Not much they wouldn't. I don't like that Army stuff. Like to do as I please. That's one reason I left Parley."

"Parley?"

"Him. The one who has your pa. He tries to run his outfit like we were sodgers. Calls hisself 'Major'. He ain't no more major than me."

"Why don't we ride on to Fort Sanders?" she asked him suddenly. "We could go on. You could find your way, I know you could."

"Course I could. But the hosses is tired," he said.

"We could shift from horse to horse like the Mongols did."

"Who? Who's them?"

"The Mongols. Under their leader, Genghis Khan, they conquered most of Asia and much of eastern Europe. Each man had several horses and they would change from horse to horse without stopping. They drank mare's milk and blood from their own horses."

He stared at her. "You don't say! Fighters?"

"Some of the fiercest. They destroyed hundreds of towns."

"Never run into any Blackfeet, I bet. Them Blackfeet, they're mean! Fighters, too. I lived among 'em. I could live among 'em again, too, an' nobody could touch me, even the Army. I can do anything I want," he bragged, "then go 'mong the Blackfeet an' nobody could touch me." He looked at her, his eyes suddenly malicious. "I could take you 'mong 'em and even your pa couldn't find you. Never know what happened to you."

They were on dangerous ground and she said, "I've heard that Indians won't talk, but don't they like presents? Suppose my father offered them presents?"

He shook his head, but she could see he did not like the thought. "Wouldn't do him no good. He'd have to buy you from me, and if I didn't want to sell, I wouldn't have to. Them Blackfeet squaws, they'd soon make a worker out of you! They're real mean. I druther be held by a bunch of bucks any time, than the squaws."

"My father has many friends among the Indians. He is a good friend of Chief Red Cloud."

"Red Cloud's a Sioux. He wouldn't cut no ice with the Blackfeet, nor the Cherokee neither." Noble got to his feet. "You bed down right there. We'll pull out come midmornin'."

He went to see to the horses and she pulled handfuls of grass to make her bed softer. Her fingers touched a round, fist--sized rock. She took it and placed it where she would be able to put a hand on it. She looked for a short stick she might use as a weapon, but found none. There had been several, but they were in the fire, burning a little.

She sat down, her back against the tree. Through the leaves she could see the sky, the same morning sky she had seen at home in Maryland... how long ago, how far away.

Thinking back to her schooldays, her grandmother, her home... it was unbelievable that she was here, under these circumstances. But one never knows from any single minute to the next when the sudden change may come. One may drop from peace into horror in an instant.

Realizing this startled her. Life had always been easy. Not that she liked Army camps at first, or that she thought her life easy then, but now she could see how very protected she had been, how surrounded by civilization, by the borders, rims, edges, conventions and rituals of civilization. She realized how little she really knew of the world because of these things that men have made, yet how easily they could all dissolve, destroying even those who most wished for change.

She had been restless with it. She had felt there should be more, not understanding how ill--equipped she actually was to face trouble. She had longed for the wilderness more than once, but when she went into the fringes of it she always prepared a lunch from the things she could buy, and she went provided with the protections her world could give.

Here there was none of that. She was alone with a man who seemed a little less than human, a man who believed he might do anything and escape, scot--free, into the camps of the Blackf eet.

She edged back against the tree, feeling for the stone. It reassured her to have it near. A gun would have been better, but she remembered something her father had said when she commented on the advantage rifles gave the Army. He had said, "Don't forget, my dear, that for a million years before rifles were invented men killed each other with clubs or stones. A thrown rock can kill just as effectively as a fired bullet."