Little Bear and the Ladies Page 4

  “Colonel Mannheim, I’m John Fitzgerald Kennedy, originally from London by way of Scotland. I’m known around here as Little Bear. I was a scout with Colonel Pickering before I decided to try my hand at trapping. I’d like to be of assistance to ye and yer men.”

  “We don’t need a scout,” the colonel answered a little too brusquely. “We know where we are and where we’re going.”

  “Aye, sir, I’m sure ye do, but those are not the services I’m offering. Ye see, I have need of some workers,” Little Bear cleared his throat after the stressed word and tipped his head back toward the corralled women, “and I just happen to have a little in the way of gold that I saved from my days in England.” Little Bear removed a small leather pouch which contained his lesser gold nuggets.

  “Now, ye can have this,” he dangled the pouch in front of the wide-eyed colonel, “if I can have them. I’ll take the children, too. I wouldna want to separate the family. Ye see, the women get distraught without their bairns and willna work a lick. Them squaws are right handy at scraping the beaver hides,” Little Bear said, realizing that he was really getting into character. His voice, syntax and attitude had changed with his role playing.

  The colonel looked at the women. They really were pathetic. They were white women, to be sure, with nowhere to go, no families to accept them back. And, other than to use as whores, they were useless to him. Little Bear was right. They would be more than worthless if they didn’t have their children—they could be downright dangerous. The men were already talking about who got first pick. If they couldn’t have their whisky or wages, at least they could have a woman.

  “So what’s to keep me from just taking your gold and having my men shoot you?” Colonel Mannheim asked menacingly.

  “Weel, ye’d have the gold, all right, but ye’d still have those women. That’s what…five, six, seven more mouths to feed?” Little Bear asked with a sly grin.

  “Five,” the colonel replied. “Two are on the teat.”

  “All right, that’s five more mouths to feed and all of yer men wanting their turn at the women. Don’t ye think that there’d be a fight or two over them, maybe even a shooting or knifing?” Little Bear kept his all-knowing grin on his face for the colonel to see, swinging his little bag of gold the whole time.

  “Well, I don’t know. Food’s kind of scarce around here. I’m not sure where I’d buy it,” the colonel answered. Yes, he’d trade the women for the gold, but he didn’t like the cockiness of the white-skinned Indian. He’d make him worry first.

  But Little Bear wasn’t worried. He knew that God had it all under control. His sense of calm and order was ethereal, and he appreciated it. “Oh, weel, ye see, I figure that if ye promise each man a share of the gold, ye can send them off in different directions to hunt their own game. That way, not only will they feed themselves and bring back some for yerself and the others, they’re sure to come back for the wages that they ken ye have. And ye willna have to feed those seven…excuse me…five extra mouths. So, is it a deal?”

  Colonel Mannheim was tired of putting on a show of strength. “Yes, show me the gold, and then you can take the women. But no horses! They have to walk out of here.”

  Little Bear didn’t respond with words, but poured out the tiny gold nuggets into the officer’s opened hand. The colonel nodded and Little Bear put the gold back in the pouch. “So this gold for those two women and all five bairns, right?” he asked, to make sure the deal was done.

  The colonel sighed heavily, then shook hands with the wily man. “Done.”

  “All right,” Little Bear said, then relinquished the pouch. “I see ye have quite a few horses there. Those two look like Indian ponies. They’re a bit harder to ride if yer used to bein’ in a saddle. Have ye ever tried to saddle up one of those?”

  Colonel Mannheim pulled his neck back in. “What do you mean?” he bluffed. “They don’t like saddles?” He knew what the scout was talking about, though. His sergeant had tried to saddle one of them and had been kicked in the head for his efforts. The ponies were separated from the others right now because he was going to butcher them. They were useless as pack animals, and none of his men were willing to try riding one after that incident.

  “Weel,” Little Bear drawled, rubbing his chin as if he were making a decision. “I think these Indian women could probably ride them. I mean, they’re a bit pale-faced, but once a woman has lived with the red man for even a day, she’s an Indian. I’ll wager the cost of the ponies that I can get the women out of here riding them. They wouldn’t be too tired to work that way.”

  “How are you going to pay for the ponies? I already have your gold pouch,” the colonel said, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

  “Oh, I kept the two biggest nuggets fer myself,” and produced two raisin-sized gold stones. “Will these be enough? I mean, ye can keep these for yerself. Yer wage should be more than yer foot soldiers, aye?”

  Colonel Mannheim shook his head and snorted. This white man must have been something else before he decided to become an Indian. He was slyer than any trader he had ever seen, either in Europe or England.

  “Did you say you were from Scotland?” the colonel asked, as he took the two large nuggets, shoved them into his waistcoat pocket, and then nodded to the ponies.

  “Aye, I did spend a few years there,” Little Bear admitted in a broad Scots accent. He wasn’t going to tell the officer that he had gone to university there, though. It was better that the colonel believe he was from the gutter, not the glitter.

  7 Sergeant No Good

  The sergeant knew he wasn’t supposed to be spying, but he couldn’t help it; it was in his nature.

  The other soldiers were either carping about when they’d get their whisky rations or what they were going to do with the women after the sun went down.

  But he had other concerns.

  Who was this trapper speaking with the colonel? Where did he come from? And what business did he have here? Then he saw the small leather purse swinging back and forth. He didn’t have to hear the word ‘gold’ or see it on their lips, he could smell it.

  The nods and glances over at the corral confirmed what he suspected. The women, children, and Indian ponies had been purchased.

  If he had a coin, he’d bet those gold nuggets weren’t the last ones that phony Indian had either. It was human nature. No man—white, red, or plaid—would give away his last bits of gold. For anything.

  Hmph! The mixed-breed group was leaving already. The women hadn’t even spent one night in the camp. How was he supposed to strip off their clothes and search for their gold jewelry?

  Ah… But now it would be easier to track them. A large group—two mules, two Indian ponies, the squaws, and all those children—would not be able to pass through this terrain without leaving a marked trail.

  He shook his head and snorted. But now they had a protector.

  A warm smile grew as he realized that it was still only one man against one man. And he was bigger and meaner. He wouldn’t have to worry about the others. Those white women hadn’t fought like the old Indian squaws. Easy enough. Just wait until dark and track them.

  No need to let One-Eyed Jack in on this. He had his own plans anyhow.

  Or Grant. No one knew—or cared—where he had slithered off to.

  Now that he had the money to return home targeted, it was just a matter of aim, search, and grab.

  After all, they were just Injuns. No one would care if he offed them. Like Grant said, the only good Injun was a dead one.

  8 Grant the Disgruntled

  Grant wiped the spider webs off his face, picking at the sticky threads that had clung to his beard. At least the hollowed-out log was a decent windbreak. He sniffed the air. No rain or snow tonight. Only the stench of horse dung, unwashed male, and boiled cabbage wafted from below. No meat cooking. He couldn’t smell ale or whisky from this far away, but he knew the camp was nearly out of the weak stuff and had been without the good brew for years…
or so One-Eyed Jack had said. Damned him, anyway.

  The plan had been for that tub-of-pig-fat sergeant to shoot the colonel and blame it on the Indians. That never happened. No matter. He had taken matters into his own hands. Fritz didn’t even realize that his prized pistol was gone. Serves him right for leaving it in a wooden box. Yeah, it had a lock, but it was easy enough to smash it open on a rock. He had been too far away to hit that other white woman, but the blast was enough to get the party started. Then his plans got cobbled up when Jack disappeared.

  One-Eyed Jack was supposed to swoop in and grab Atholl Junior from Rachel. True, she had a tight hold on him. Him and that other one. The wee one looked like Atholl Junior did when he was smaller. She must have popped out another one in the last few months. She was more predictable in that than a prized sow. He didn’t want that bairn, though. She could keep the half-breed. He wanted Atholl Junior.

  Wrong. The lad’s name was Grant Junior now.

  Yes, he had an heir and his plan to take care of the kin of those fairies—the ones who had come from the future and killed Atholl—was almost set in place. It might take a few generations, but MacLeod blood was strong. It might be his great-great-grandsons who did in Benji MacKay and the Pomeroys, but they’d get it done.

  Or they would, as soon as he got Grant Junior back so he could start teaching him the legend of the stolen fortune.

  Damned that lazy, slow-handed One-Eyed Jack, anyhow. If he’d gone down into that fracas himself, he could have snatched Grant Junior with one hand tied behind his back and while hopping on one foot, so why couldn’t Jack?

  Grant ventured away from his woody berth to see if he could hear what was going on. Someone new was in the camp: an Indian was talking to the colonel.

  No, he wasn’t an Indian. He was definitely a white man—or part white—with those blond streaks in his hair.

  Shit! He was nodding to the women and handing the colonel a pouch.

  Damn! It was probably gold by the look on Mannheim’s face.

  Grant paced in a tight circle, trying hard to contain his anger. He wanted to hit something. Better yet, shoot something. The women and children were leaving with that almost-an-Injun. He kicked the fallen log that had been his hiding place, shattering it with a well-placed punt.

  He still had no horse, no whisky, and now no dry place to sleep in case it rained or snowed.

  Damn!

  9 The Good Book

  “Where are we going?” Morning Star asked, very much at ease on the larger of the Indian ponies.

  “As far away from those soldiers as we can get while the sun still shines. And then, if the moon is bright enough, we’ll go even further still.” Little Bear didn’t even try to hide his disgust with the camp they were leaving. “I don’t want there to be any chance that the colonel will change his mind.”

  “Oh, I don’t think he will. I overheard his soldiers. They’re all hungry and haven’t been paid, or fed anything but cabbage soup, for weeks. They were…um…looking at us as if we were the food and wages they weren’t going to get otherwise. I think the colonel wanted us gone.”

  “Yeah, and they were also complaining about not getting any whisky. Right now, I could use a bottle of that myself,” added Rachel, “I’m cold!”

  “Well, I don’t drink whisky and neither should you,” Little Bear said sharply, then realized how harsh he sounded. He rode up beside her, shrugged his shoulder, and smiled weakly, giving her a silent apology. “Here,” he said, and handed her a blanket, “this should help. And here’s another one, Morning Star. I only have these two, but we’ll manage, I’m sure.”

  Morning Star snuggled closer to Big Sister, grateful for her warmth and glad that she was caring for Rachel’s toddler and her infant while she guided the horse. “Are you and Later okay?”

  “Yes, Mama,” she replied, as she stroked the wayward cowlick down over her cousin’s forehead, taking care not to rouse him.

  It wasn’t traditional in the Cherokee culture for a child to call her mother ‘Mama,’ but it was one of the concessions her father had allowed. It was part of her new mother’s heritage and he respected it. Besides, he had seen the glow on her face when she was first called that special name. He couldn’t—wouldn’t—deny her that title. She was his Morning Star, but Big Sister’s, Baby Brother’s and now Shooting Star’s, ‘Mama.’

  “Rachel, are you all right with those two? Do you need me to carry Baby Brother?” she asked.

  Morning Star was technically Baby Brother’s stepmother, but spiritually he and Rachel had bonded. Rachel had come to the rescue after the tyke’s biological mother had died of the measles. The closeness of nursing him for two months never disappeared. The two women shared his mothering responsibilities, neither of them becoming jealous of the other. It just was—was the situation and convenient for everyone.

  “He’s fine. Actually, he’s asleep. If he moves, then Full Moon will wake up. They’re keeping each other warm. Can I have another piece of jerky? I gave most of mine to him before he fell asleep. I’m sure glad he has teeth now.”

  “Morning Star, how about if I take Big Sister up here with me; that is if you can manage the two little ones. I think you’d be more comfortable. Besides, my horse wants to go too fast. I don’t think she liked the smell of that camp. It stank…”

  Little Bear bit his bottom lip and quit talking. He didn’t need to say that the camp smelled of death. He had already said too much. It was their family—their husbands, fathers, and grandmothers who had been killed. He had seen the mounds and watched the burials, frustrated that he couldn’t speak out from his hidden location, to tell the officer that the women and children should be allowed to grieve and wail over their families’ graves. But if he had spoken, he would be dead, too. And then where would the women and children be? He shuddered at that black and bloody thought.

  “I’ll ride with you,” Little Sister said gently, breaking his gloom.

  “I’d appreciate it,” he replied, and pulled her up to sit in front of him. Yes, the beautiful young girl’s heart still beat, and her words and warmth were comforts to him. But now where would they go?

  “Where we’re going, will there be beavers and foxes? I’ve never trapped before, but I’d like to,” Big Sister said. “Mama and Rachel will be busy with the babies, but I can help you. I learn real fast,” she said, allowing a blend of hope and pride to come forth.

  Just an hour ago, she was wishing that they had all died. Death would be better than what she was afraid was coming. She didn’t understand all the words the soldiers were using, but she did understand their crude gestures and leers at her, her mother, and her aunt. Those were bad men, even if they were only following the orders to kill from that other white man. She was glad that he was gone now. Hopefully, he wouldn’t come back. He brought death with him, and she didn’t want any more of her friends or family to die.

  Little Bear held up his hand for the women to halt. “We’ll stop here for a few hours. We can’t build a fire, but we can put all the bedding together and set the babies in the middle. We need to stop and rest the horses, then we’ll continue. I don’t think the soldiers will follow us at all, much less in the dark, but I want to make certain they can’t find us, so not even a small fire.”

  Little Bear didn’t think that the colonel was greedy. He was happy to get the gold for his men and happier still to have the two larger nuggets for himself. It was the sergeant he was worried about. He had the look of gold lust in his eyes. He wouldn’t put it past the man to desert his post and follow him to see if he had more gold. Yes, he had more gold; the sergeant would never find it where it was hidden…but he still didn’t want him looking for it. Now he had the women and children to take care of, and gold-fevered men weren’t welcome in his home territory…wherever that was going to be.

  The women wordlessly set up the camp, leaving a space in the middle of the bedding for Little Bear. He saw it, but didn’t feel right intruding on the little family un
it.

  “Come lie with us,” Morning Star said in a voice that meant she wouldn’t take no for an answer. “You need your sleep, too, and you can’t fall asleep if you’re too cold.”

  Little Bear’s cheeks twitched as he tried to suppress his grin. The full moon was setting, but it was still light enough that she had probably seen his smile. He had wanted to lie with her for two years now, but this wasn’t how he thought it would be. “All right,” he said.

  He gingerly stepped over Rachel and settled in next to Morning Star, her infant son held close to her, the little smacking noises indicating that he was either getting a late dinner or an early breakfast.

  “Closer,” she ordered, as she snuggled nearer to Big Sister and Baby Brother, making more of the blanket available to him.

  Little Bear inched closer to her, paused, then went ahead and snuggled right up to her back. He was cold, and she felt so warm, the blanket tugged over his shoulder minimal warmth compared to her body heat. Hopefully, she would fall asleep soon, and he wouldn’t become overwhelmed with her smell and nearness.

  “Goodnight,” he said softly, trying to empty his mind of women and soldiers, families and hunger, safety and death. “And thank You,” he mouthed, as he looked to the sky. “Thank You for them.”

  Ж

  Little Bear got up before anyone else and rushed to the bushes to relieve himself. He wasn’t sure if Morning Star had awakened before he had or not. He had mumbled a “Morning,” but got no reply. If she had been awake, she was being graceful. He knew that his early morning stiffness had been up against her back.

  Actually, she was very gracious. His moaning and subconscious grinding against her backside had awakened him from a lusty dream, her reality a shock when he remembered where he was. Yes, she was a gentlewoman in anyone’s culture. A true lady was not determined by her dress or education, but how at ease she made everyone around her feel, and Morning Star was definitely a lady.