Chapter 18
Chapter
Eighteen
Marietta was sitting up and awake, awaiting Grey Coyote, when four men burst into her room.
She screamed. Yellow Swan screamed. Marietta kept screaming.
Fiercely, two of the men gagged the women, effectively silencing them. One of the brutes threw a sheet over Marietta, wrapping her in it, then tying it with a belt. She kicked out at her assailant, but very quickly her feet were bound as well.
What was going on? This couldn’t be the work of Grey Coyote. He would never approve of such manhandling. Soon, however, the smell of tobacco and rum gave away the identity of the men.
They were white men. But this knowledge only confused her more. White men? Treating her as if she were a common criminal?
“Got her?” one of the men asked.
“Yep,” came the reply. “Got the Injun woman too.”
“Then c’mon. Let’s get ‘em to the mackinaw. Adams has it tied up and waiting on the river.”
“They’re goin’ by mackinaw?”
“Fastest, cheapest way. Better than a canoe.”
Marietta listened to the conversation. What was amazing, and perhaps telling, was that none of these men were disguising their voices. No low whispers. No attempt at secrecy.
The bourgeois knew, she realized, and he approved—likely he gave instruction for this act.
One of the men hoisted her up over his shoulder, the action interrupting her thoughts. He said to some unknown source, “Did’cha kill the Injun?”
“Nope,” came another voice. “Not yet. Couldna find him.”
Kill the Indian? Were they speaking of Grey Coyote?
“Well, find him, man,” said the one carrying her.
“If ye dunna kill the savage, chances are he’ll come after these two women.
Especially if he considers ‘em both his squaws. Don’t know ‘bout ye, but I dunna want to meet up with some warrior out to save his women. Don’t think any of our scalps would be safe. ”
“Ye’ll be safe enough,” said another unknown voice. “Four against one?”
Would they? wondered Marietta. She wasn’t so certain.
Thank the Lord they couldn’t find him. In truth, they would probably never find him. Chances were he had sensed the presence of the men seeking him long before they had ever come close to him.
But what had happened? Why was this occurring? And why now?
As though in answer to her question, Grey Coyote’s words from earlier this evening came to mind, haunting her. “As it is, even dancing as we are, I fear we flaunt the customs of this place. He watches us even now.”
Quickly, Marietta pieced together what few facts she knew and realized Laidlaw had not liked what he’d seen this night.
It was the only explanation which made sense.
She had heard about the men who ran these trading posts and about how they considered themselves to be something like kings.
She had simply not given the matter proper thought… unfortunately.
Without warning, the man who carried her threw her down none too gently. Furthermore, whatever she had landed on was hard, though it rocked.
They must be aboard a boat of some kind. What had one of the men mentioned? A mackinaw? Although she wasn’t certain what kind of a boat this was, one matter was clear—it was wet. Already, her dress was soaking up water like dry cotton.
“Who’s goin’ on this trip?” came one of the voices.
“Jenkins, Adams, you and me,” answered another man. “That’s all. A bit of cargo for St. Louis, but not much, since we just sent some down with the Yellowstone. Mostly we’re supposed ta play host ta the women.”
Raunchy laughter accompanied this bit of news.
“There’s Jenkins now,” continued the voice. “We’re set to go, but where’s Adams?”
“He went lookin’ fer the Injun.”
“Well, go get him,” said another voice. “We’re supposed ta set this boat off now. The bourgeois said there was ta be no delay.”
Aha, thought Marietta. She had been right. This was Laidlaw’s work.
“But he said ta kill the Injun too.”
“Ah, you know we’ll never find the savage. Damned Injuns. No one hides better’n they do. You go tell Adams what I said, hear? We need ta get this boat off now, before the Injun finds us.”
Yes, thought Marietta. I’d be worried about the Indian finding me, too, if I were you.
“Ah, here’s Adams now. C’mon, man, get aboard. Laidlaw wants this mackinaw ta set off now.”
The boat pitched back and forth as someone stepped onto the boat—probably Adams—nice, friendly Allen Adams.
“Did’cha find the Injun?”
“No,” came the voice of Adams. “But you’re right—we best not waste any more time looking for him. Let’s get going.”
Marietta, still covered in a sheet, felt the boat set off from the shore.
The mackinaw turned out to be a cheaply made flat-bottomed boat about forty feet long and pointed at the bow.
A long rudder extended out of its back, or the stern, of the boat.
It required at least two oarsmen to guide her and was steered by a man who sat on a high perch astern.
At the bow of the boat was the hold, which in this particular mackinaw had been set aside to house the women and an odd assortment of cargo.
At the moment, however, the entire crew, as well as the women, sat on a flat, grassy bank. Evening was descending on them, and as was custom along the river, the crew had rowed the boat ashore.
A large fire sat in the center of their small circle, and an iron pot was extended over it, cooking their supper of vegetables and pork.
The crew was an odd assortment of men, Marietta had decided.
Two of them wore red bandannas tied around their heads; another sported a black hat with the brim turned up.
This man was Adams, and, as she recalled from the previous evening, Adam’s face bore a mark of kindness.
All of the men wore buckskin breeches and buckskin shirts that looked as if they’d seen better days. Three of the men sat smoking T-stemmed pipes, while a fourth man worked on the boat, securing it.
An overhanging growth of cottonwood and willow trees sheltered their little nook, creating a sort of park. It was a picturesque spot, and under most any other circumstance, Marietta might have been content to simply sit and enjoy the scenic beauty.
But she wasn’t content, nor was she inclined to relish the idle chatter of the men. Not at the moment. She was boiling mad.
Interrupting one of the men, she said, “You shouldn’t build such a big fire.”
All of the crew except Adams laughed at her. One of the bullies said, “And what would ye be knowing about it?”
“Apparently more than you,” she replied, but it was said more under her breath than aloud.
“What was that?” asked the man.
“A large fire can be seen from far away,” explained Marietta, “and its scent will warn any Indians traveling in the area that you are here. It’s better to build a small, smokeless fire.”
The man snickered. “Ye been travelin’ with the Injun too long, I expect, ma’am.”
“Perhaps,” agreed Marietta, “but at least I felt safe under his protection.”
“Don’t ye worry, ma’am. Ye’re safe with us. If’n them Injuns choose ta surprise us, we can get away in our boat.”
“Get away in the boat?” Stunned at the stupidity of the statement, Marietta stared at the one who uttered it.
“That’s right,” proffered the man.
“I beg to differ, sir,” she replied. “By the time it would take you to run to the boat, you would most likely be dead. Besides, don’t you realize that any Indian could follow you? You do know they can swim, don’t you?”
For a second, the bully looked ridiculously blank. After a brief pause, he grinned at her. “Them Injuns ain’t brave enough ta follow us. ’Sides, they’d flee before our guns.”
“Maybe.” Marietta shook her head and gazed away from the man. “Thank heavens your guns are big enough to make up for your lack of brains and skill.”
“What was that, miss?”
“Nothing,” Marietta replied, though she caught Yellow Swan’s gaze, and the two women shared a secret smile.
Yellow Swan raised her hands, making hand motions—with her palms facing each other, she drove her hands forward in zigzag motions. It was the sign for “follow.” Then she formed the sign for “husband.”
Marietta nodded.
“What did the savage say?” asked one of the crew who wore a bandanna.
“I don’t know, sir,” lied Marietta. “But I have heard that all the tribes use this form of language. It might do you well to learn it.”
“Like hell ye don’t know what she said,” the man cursed. When Marietta remained silent, he took out his frustration another way. He leaned over to one side and spit.
Marietta, momentarily repulsed, closed her eyes.
With the exception of Adams, these men were as different from Grey Coyote as they could possibly be, she thought, her heart warming to the subject. Grey Coyote, who at all times had presented a pleasant manner, would have never spit in her presence. Not like that.
To give the crewman his due, however, she considered that perhaps Grey Coyote could act as grossly as did these men. But if he had ever done so, she wouldn’t know of it. In her presence, Grey Coyote had always been a gentleman.
She sighed. Dear Lord, she missed him. Traveling without him wasn’t the same, wasn’t nearly as interesting, exciting or as beautiful.
For one, she missed Grey Coyote’s constant reference to the different natural phenomena of the plains, his pointing out gullies or flowers or meadows she had neglected to see, his educating her of the grasslands, his showing her how and why the wilderness was not really wild.
Perhaps to abate the feeling of loneliness, she decided to try to converse more intelligently with her captors. “Excuse me, sir,” she spoke to Adams. “Your name is Allen Adams, isn’t it?”
He beamed. “That’s right, miss.”
“Mr. Adams, tell me, did you say you are charged to return myself and my maid to St. Louis?”
“Aye, ma’am. That we are. We carry some cargo downriver too. But our main purpose is to get you to civilization.”
“Thank you, sir. It is considerate of you to do so.”
He smiled.
“It would be even more considerate had I not been dragged away, a sheet forced over my head, and my hands and feet tied.”