Holt's Gamble (22 page)

Ben quickly came to his old friend's defense. "Aw, he didn't mean no harm, tellin' me about your troubles, Clay. He was worried about you is all."

"I know. It's not that." He hesitated again, knowing what good friends the two men had been in the old days. "I saw Tom this winter, in Washington."

"Hell's bells. Washington? Ain't he come up in the world?" Ben chucked a sound through his teeth. "Washington. Well, he makes a damn good Indian agent and that's a fact. How the hell is he?"

"He... died this past winter, Ben," Clay answered slowly. "Pneumonia."

Ben was quick to hide the stricken look that leaped to his eyes. Clay knew Fitz had been a good friend and a dependable trapping partner to Ben in years gone by. He was a man you could count on in a squeeze. He watched as the trapper mechanically tamped another wad of tobacco into the bowl of his long-stemmed pipe.

"When he heard I was heading West again," Clay continued, "he asked me to deliver his last report to the new commander at Fort Laramie. Some green first lieutenant named Randall."

"A first lieutenant?" Ben nearly choked on the smoke from his pipe. "What the hell are they trying to do? Start a goddamn war? Them West Point Willies is so wet behind the ears they don't know their asses from a hole in the ground, much less a hostile Indian from a friendly one."

Clay shrugged in silent agreement.

"Why you?" Kierin asked, wiping her damp hands on the towel she'd pinned around her dress as an apron. "Surely they've appointed a new agent for the Plains tribes by now."

Clay looked up at her. "By now I'm sure they have. But Tom asked me to do this as a personal favor to him, partly because I was there with him in 'fifty-one when the treaty was negotiated and I know the terms. He told me the Sioux were pretty hot last year over a long list of grievances, including cuts in their annuities."

"Annuities?" Kierin asked.

"The U.S. government promised to pay the Plains tribes in goods each year for the right to move the wagons through their territory safely."

Ben shook his head sadly. "Ain't no stoppin' it now," he predicted as much to himself as to the others sitting around the fire. "Annuities or no, the day's coming when the Indians is gonna run outta fuse with the
wasikun,
the white man. There won't be no place safe out here for us to be."

Dove touched Ben's sleeve and, for the first time since Kierin had met her, spoke in remarkably good English. "You are brother to the Sioux,
Mato."
she told him proudly. "Many have smoked your pipe of friendship. No Sioux brave will harm you."

The old man's face crinkled in a sad but affectionate smile. "There's truth in your words, Wakinyela. But there'll come a time, mark my word, when no
wasikun's
hair'll be safe on the prairie, because the Indians doin' the scalpin' won't bother with all them pleasantries like introductions."

"Then," she answered, "you must wear a fine tunic. I will quill it for you as I did once for my brother. Then all will know you are Sioux—here." She tapped a closed fist over her heart.

Ben's expression had turned solemn. "You do me honor, Dove." Dove fell silent again, but sat back on her heels with a satisfied smile.

From across the fire, Jacob watched Dove with a half smile tipping his mouth. "She speaks better'n I do. But I guess that ain't hard."

A blush crept up Dove's cheeks and she stared at the ground.

Ben seemed to swell with pride. "She knew some from a white girl the Pawnee took alongside her, and the rest she picked up from me. I'll be hornswaggled if she ain't the smartest woman I ever met."

Dove busied herself shoving a few dry logs onto the fire, looking as if she'd prefer to be anywhere but there. Ben patted her back with awkward affection as Jacob rubbed a hand across the back of his neck. Tossing the stick he'd been stirring the fire with into the blaze, he stood up. "Jim gave me first watch tonight, so I best be on my way." He turned to Dove. "I ain't thanked you proper for savin' my life today, Wakin-yela," he told her, stumbling over her proper name. "I... I'm beholden to you."

Dove didn't answer but searched Jacob's dark eyes for a long moment. Kierin watched something elusive spark between them before Dove nodded and lowered her eyes. Almost reluctantly it seemed, Jacob pulled his gaze from her, bid them all good night, and walked off into the darkness.

Ben rubbed the stem of his pipe for a moment thoughtfully. "Well," he said, slapping his thigh, "I'm plumb tuckered out. Think I'll hit the hay. You comin', Dove?"

The Indian woman cast a furtive glance into the darkness after Jacob. Then, in spite of her condition, she rose gracefully from her knees and took her place beside Ben.

"G'night, Dove, Ben," Clay said, standing to clasp the old trapper's hand once more. "It's damn good to see you again."

"You too, boy," Ben answered, taking Clay's hand in both of his in a warm handshake.

Long after they'd gone, Clay stood staring off into the darkness, lost in thought. Watching him, Kierin realized no one would be privy to the memories he grappled with.
He's such a solitary man
. He kept his thoughts and emotions bottled up within him like fine whiskey. Were they too precious to share, she wondered, or too painful?

"Well, I think I'll take a walk," Clay told her finally, shoving his hands into the pockets of his denims. "I'll be back... later."

Disappointment stung her as she watched him walk away. It had become his habit to take a walk at night, giving her time to prepare for bed in private. It was a consideration that she'd always been grateful for.

Until tonight.

She didn't feel like going to sleep and she was much too wound up to be tired. Before she could stop herself, she called after him. "Do you want some company?" Her courage nearly faltered as he turned to face her with that inscrutable expression of his. "I'm... not really sleepy yet," she added with a hopeful smile.

He pulled his hands slowly out of his pockets. "Sure. I just thought..."

Ignoring him, Kierin took a deep breath of the crisp evening air. "It's a beautiful night, isn't it?" she asked, taking his arm.

Clay nearly jumped at the contact. He released a shaky breath. "Mm-hm," he agreed, letting his eyes roam over the deep auburn color of her hair in the moonlight. "Beautiful."

The obsidian sky above her glittered with a million pinpricks of light, scattered like so many seeds in the wind. Wildflowers scented the gentle breeze. Across the encampment, a fiddle and melodian had joined the harmonica and a crowd had gathered around the fire to listen.

Clay and Kierin strolled slowly toward the group.

"It's on nights like this," Kierin said, breaking their comfortable silence, "that I miss Matthew the most."

"Matthew. Is that your brother?"

Kierin nodded. "We used to study the stars when the sky was clear like this. He was quite accomplished for a ten-year-old."

Clay stopped walking. "Your brother's only ten?"

"He was a year ago. He's nearly eleven now. Why?"

"I don't know," he answered. "I thought... when you said you had a brother in California, it was an older brother. Your whole family out there?"

Her expression changed subtly. "Just my father and Matthew. My mother died soon after Matthew was born."

"How did you happen to stay behind in Independence?" he asked, suddenly wanting to know.

Kierin looked away uncomfortably. She didn't want to talk about this; it was too painful. But it needed saying. "Didn't you even look at those papers you signed back there?"

Her answer threw him off balance. "What are you talking about?"

She sighed into the night air, emotion burning the backs of her eyes. "It was my father who left me with John Talbot to work off his gambling debt. He... took my brother and went to California to find gold."

"He
what?"

Kierin didn't raise her head. It shamed her to think of what had been done to her. "He said he'd come back for me when he struck it rich."

"Christ!" he swore. "Your own father? Why didn't you tell me any of this before?"

Kierin's eyes met his on common ground. "Would it have changed anything if I had?"

His eyebrows went up fractionally. "I... I don't know. You could have told me anyway."

"Why? Like you've told me about yourself? About your wife or Ben?"

His expression stilled and grew serious. "That's different," he replied.

"Is it?" She stopped and faced him. "You know, I found out more about you today from that old trapper than I have from you in a whole month."

"That's just who I am, Kierin," he told her without apology. "Don't expect things from me I can't give you."

She laid a hand tentatively on his arm and tipped her chin up to look at him. "It doesn't have to be that way between us, you know."

Clay searched her eyes for a truth he knew he'd find there. It would be so easy to trust her. Easy to share the burden he'd been carrying for so long with a woman like her. But it was an old habit, long ingrained and hard to break. Even if he did tell her about the ghosts that haunted his sleep, it would serve no purpose. He had his devils to chase and she had hers.

Impulsively, he pulled her close to him in the darkness. "It's better if you don't get to know me too well, Princess," he told her, splaying his fingers across her back. "You might not like what you find."

For a long moment, she allowed his arms to enfold her in his embrace. She pressed her cheek against the hard wall of his chest. It felt good just to stand there and let him hold her like this.

"Is that really what you're afraid of, Clay?" she asked against his sleeve. "Or are you simply afraid to let anyone that close to you again?" She untangled herself from his arms and shrugged her loose-woven shawl around her shoulders. Not wanting to hear his answer, she walked on ahead of him into the circle of music and light, leaving him behind to ponder her words.

Chapter 11

Fort Kearny sat on a low sandy bluff overlooking the Platte River. Originally called the Post at Grand Island, both for its lack of fortification and its view of the large, tree studded sandbar on the Platte, Kearny was not much more than an unimpressive collection of buildings strung out around a rectangular parade ground.

The fort was, nonetheless, a bustling center of activity on the Oregon Trail. As the only munitions and supply depot between Forts Leavenworth and Laramie, Kearny served as a hub in the spokes of the army's Western deployment and as protection for the California and Oregon-bound emigrants.

Kierin's disappointment with Kearny's lackluster appearance was short-lived. The fort was humming with the sounds of civilization—something she hadn't realized she'd missed until now. Everywhere she looked, there were people. Blue-uniformed troops drilled in the central square under the noonday sun, while others lounged near the soldiers' barracks watching the wagons roll into the fort. Civilians peppered the walkways in street clothing.

A two-column formation of mounted cavalry troops stirred up a cloud of dust as they rode by the wagons on their way to patrol. They galloped past a small ragged contingent of tepees camped near the entrance. The Indians were Pawnee for the most part and a few Ponca. Kierin eyed them nervously as Jim Kelly called a halt to the wagons.

Clay, who was riding alongside the wagon, reined in Taeva and dismounted. Kierin started to climb down from her perch on the wagon seat, but suddenly felt Clay's strong hands around her waist. Effortlessly, he lifted her down and set her on the ground. His hands lingered at her waist, and a half-smile crossed his face.

"Jim's giving us an hour or so to buy what provisions we need before we make camp," he said. A teasing look lit his eyes. "I don't suppose you're interested in accompanying me to the sutler's store, are you?"

After more than a month in the wilderness, the idea of browsing through a shop surrounded by four solid walls sounded like heaven. She lifted an eyebrow in mock warning. "Just try to leave me behind, Clay Holt..."

He chuckled in response. "Jacob? You want to come along?"

Jacob untied the neckerchief at his throat and wiped his dark face with it. "Naw," he drawled. "I reckon I'll head over to the ordnance depot." With a nod of his head, he indicated the thick-walled earthen building at the north end of the fort. "We's running low on balls and powder. I'll meet you back here if you needs a hand." Jacob started to saunter off, but turned around, walking backward a few steps. "Be obliged if you'd pick up some more tobacco an' papers for me," he called. "Oh, and if they got a peppermint stick or two..."