Page 8 of Wild Sweet Wilderness (Missouri #1)

Whatever it was that woke Berry, she thanked God for it later.

Her eyes flew open to see a motionless figure crouched before her.

Suddenly it moved and a hand clamped hard over her mouth.

She was caught by surprise and got only a glimpse of hard, bright eyes staring out of a bushy face.

She could not cry out because of the hand.

Fear rushed into her heart.

Her reaction was purely instinctive and she was only barely conscious of what she was doing until she heard the deafening roar of the musket.

Somehow she had managed to tilt the gun, where it lay in her lap beneath the quilt, and pull the trigger.

The hand left her mouth as the man was flung back.

She heard the shot, smelled the smoke, and stared in mute fascination at the blossom of blood that spouted on her assailant’s chest.

He was jerked upright, then twisted crazily, reeled, and fell over backward, still twitching.

Berry’s fingers dug into the rough bark of the tree and she pulled herself to her feet.

She was dazed, realizing only that dawn had come.

The quilt lay in a heap around her feet.

She dropped the still-smoking musket and reached frantically for the second gun.

As she straightened, a second shot blasted the stillness.

She screamed inwardly; in her shocked terror she was unable to make a sound.

Then, as if out of a nightmare, an odd-looking figure in buck-skin pants and a dirty, white cloth shirt raced toward her.

Linc Smith! He was bareheaded, his hair stood out around his head like porcupine quills, and his teeth were bared like those of an attacking animal.

“George?”

Then: “Ya bitch! Ya killed ’im!”

Everything beyond the powerful body hurtling toward her became blurred and indistinct. Berry could scarcely draw a breath into her lungs. Then she remembered that she was holding the second pistol. As if in a dream, she felt her arms lift the gun and her fingers tighten and pull. The sound roared in her ears; she closed her eyes against it as she was pushed back against the tree trunk by the force of the explosion.

Linc screamed. Berry looked with horror as he grabbed the side of his face. Blood seeped between his fingers and spilled down onto his cloth shirt in a crimson flood. He reeled and turned into the woods without another sound.

“Rachel!”

The frantic cry came hoarsely from her throat. Her feet felt as if they weighed a hundred pounds each as she ran toward the wagon. “Rachel!”

She stumbled against the body of a man lying crumbled, face down in the dirt. The frightened mules were straining against the ropes that held them, and the mare nickered and danced at the end of her tether.

Berry jumped up on the box and crawled into the open end of the wagon. Rachel was on the floor, trying to pull herself up into a sitting position. Smoke from the fired gun stung Berry’s nostrils. She fell to her knees beside the other woman and threw her arms around her.

“Are ya hurt? Are ya hurt?”

She helped her to sit up and lean against the side of the wagon.

“Did . . .they get in the . . .”

“Did I kill him?”

Rachel looked at her with dazed, wide eyes.

“Is he dead?”

“He’s dead! Oh . . . Rachel . . . !”

“The rifle knocked me down. Get the musket. . . .”

Berry grabbed the musket, crawled to the end of the wagon, and looked out. Her mind still hadn’t accepted what had happened. Israel was trying to calm the mare. Her eyes swept the camp and then she gazed into the woods as far as she could see.

She called out to Israel, “Are they gone?”

“Yass’m.”

He had no time to say more; the dancing mare claimed all his attention. Finally he untied the rope and led her to the front of the wagon.

Berry returned to Rachel.

“I killed George ’n’ I shot Linc in the face! Oh, Rachel! It was awful!”

“Who is it . . . out there?”

Rachel sat on the floor, her legs sprattled and her hands cupped beneath her abdomen.

“I don’t know. I’ll go see, and I’ve got to get the guns I left by the tree. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fit for the shape of me. Let’s leave this place! Tell Israel to hitch up. We can go down to the town.”

Moving carefully and awkwardly, Rachel eased her bloated body over onto the feather tick. Her face completely drained of color, she looked at Berry pleadingly.

Berry crawled to her, her heart hammering with fear.

“Is it the baby? Is it coming?”

“I don’t think so. I’ll be all right if I can rest here for a minute. Load the guns. We can talk later.”

Berry put the musket beside Rachel and loaded the rifle. The look of pain on Rachel’s face filled her heart with dread. Carrying the rifle by the barrel, she climbed out of the wagon, looked around cautiously, then walked over and peered down at the man Rachel had shot. He wasn’t anyone she had ever seen before, but from his dress he looked to be a riverman.

Morning light was flickering through the forest. With the rifle pointed in front of her, her finger on the trigger, Berry carefully skirted George’s body and grabbed up the two muskets and the quilt. Afraid to turn her back on the woods, she backed away, while her eyes searched for movement among the trees. Back at the wagon, she threw the quilt inside and quickly loaded the guns. She thrust one into the waistband of her apron and placed the other and the rifle within easy reach in the back of the wagon. Rachel lay with her eyes closed and Berry thought she was asleep, until she spoke.

“I can’t help you, honey. I wish . . . I could. . . .”

“Don’t worry! There’s nothin’ you can do. We’re goin’ to hitch up and get out of here. Israel!”

“Missy . . .”

Israel had untied the mules and moved them into position to be harnessed. He had the gear slung over his shoulder. His long arm and pointing finger directed her gaze to a humped bundle in the grass.

“Him was gonna take the mules, but ah bash ’is head. The mules kick ’im.”

“Is he dead?”

“Yass’m.”

“There was four of them? Oh, Israel, you done good! If he’s dead it’s his own doin’! Hitch up as fast as you can so we can get away from here. There was one of ’em I didn’t kill. He ran off in the woods ’n’ he might be comin’ back.”

A chill rippled along her spine as she realized what would have happened to her and Rachel if they hadn’t armed themselves.

They were ready to leave in record time. Berry tied the mare on behind the big wagon, then moved up beside the ox and switched it lightly on the rump. As the ox pulled the wagon out of the meadow, past the bodies of the men they had killed during the early dawn, a hatred of men, of the river, and of the town began to burn in Berry. Since they had crossed the river, life had been an ugly dream. A small part of her mind argued against this. The few intimate moments she had shared with Simon were the exception. But, she realized now, she had blown the importance of all that out of proportion. He would have come to them if he had been as interested in her as she had hoped he was.

Berry strode along beside the ox, one hand on its halter, the other on the musket tucked in her belt. It was heavy and uncomfortable to carry, but it was a comfort to know it was there. She let her hand wander down into her pocket where the paper-wrapped bit of sweet Simon had given her remained. She brought it out and, without looking at it, crushed it in her fist and threw it into the grass alongside the trail. She would not be won over with a few treats and a kiss or two. He was more like Linc than he appeared to be, she thought angrily. He wanted the same thing, but he went about getting it differently.

Somewhere off in the trees behind the dense foliage, a blue jay squawked, a wren in the trees overhead scolded, and a squirrel scrambled away as the creaking wagons approached. The sun came up over the trees beyond the river and struck Berry in the face. She could see nothing of the town. She squinted against the glare and listened to the sound of hooves striking the hard-packed trail and to the jingle of the harnesses.

Berry debated what to do as they neared the crossroads in the trail. They could turn south and go down through the town’s main thoroughfare and endure the stares of the locals as they poked one another with their elbows and snickered at the poor eastern deadbeats, or they could take the trail north in the direction of the land her pa had filed on. Except that Rachel’s baby was due. . . . In Saint Louis there was no place for them to stay but at the wagon grounds, and they couldn’t settle down there. More than likely they would have to handle the birthing alone anyway. But, Law! If anything happened to Rachel . . .

She knew she had no right to make the decision alone, so she pulled the ox to a halt and climbed up into the wagon.

Rachel raised her head.

“Is something wrong? Why’re we stopping?”

“How are ya feelin’?”

“Better,”

she said and smiled.

Berry was to remember, later, that Rachel always said “better”

when she was asked the question.

“We’ve got to decide if we want to go into town or turn north ’n’ try ’n’ find the land Pa filed on. If we go on we may run into some settlers who’ll show us the way.”

“We can’t go back,”

Rachel said with her calm reasoning.

“It’s best if we get as far from here as we can. We can’t be sure the people in town will help us after they find out what we did.”

“But what about you? We’ll need help when you . . .?”

“We’ll manage like we did before. Let’s go on.”

“Linc’ll look for us. I shot him, ’n’ he’ll come for me.”

“He won’t be in any shape to look for us for a day or two. We can be far away by then.”

Berry leaned over and kissed Rachel’s cheek.

“You sure you feel like goin’ on?”

“Stop worryin’ about me. Just keep on movin’ north.”

Rachel carefully controlled her face to show none of the pain she was feeling.

“I’ll try to keep the wagon out of the ruts so it won’t jar you,”

Berry promised.

As soon as Berry left her, Rachel groaned and wondered how she could get through the day.

“We’re goin’ on, Israel,”

Berry called.

“We’ll stop for a early nooning ’n’ I’ll fix us a meal.”

“Yass’m, missy.”

By the middle of the morning Berry’s feet hurt and she was so tired she wished she were able to handle the mules so she could ride part of the time.

Sometimes she rode in the wagon pulled by the ox, but to keep the beast to the side of the trail and away from the deep ruts she had to walk beside it.

As she stumbled along, there was a trembling in her bones and her head echoed with long, dull throbs.

She tried to estimate how many hours had passed since she’d had a peaceful night’s sleep, then put it out of her mind as other thoughts crowded in.

How glad she was now that she’d not taken Simon’s offer to court her seriously.

Damn, damn him! Damn Fain, too.

Surely in a place the size of Saint Louis word had spread that her pa had been killed.

If those men had cared what happened to them they would have come, or at least sent the half-breed scout.

Berry straightened her back and stuck out her jaw stubbornly.

She would find the land Asa had filed on.

It was theirs now.

They’d build a cabin with Israel’s help, and raise a garden. She’d teach Israel to shoot so that he could hunt meat. They’d make a place for themselves without help from anyone.

Shortly before noon she spotted a rabbit huddled beneath the brush that lined the trail.

She took the musket from her belt and held it with both hands while she sighted down the barrel and pulled the trigger.

The rabbit jumped and fell.

She had hit it, but it wasn’t dead.

She ran back and held the mules while Israel ran it down and killed and skinned it.

At noon they pulled to the side of the trail and Berry quickly built a cookfire and started the rabbit roasting on a spit.

Israel watered the stock and loosened the harnesses so they could lower their heads and nip at the grass beside the trail.

Berry reloaded her pistol, all the time watching behind and ahead of them.

Her eyes burned and she had to hold them wide to keep them open.

Rachel was sitting with her back against the trunk when Berry went to the end of the wagon.

“Do you want to get out for a while?”

“I think I’ll stay here if you don’t need me. I could use a spot of tea.”

Berry turned away.

She couldn’t help thinking she’d never seen Rachel’s face so drawn or her lips so bloodless.

She forgot her own discomfort.

She poured tea for herself and Israel, then took the teakettle and a cup and set them in the wagon near Rachel.

As soon as the meat was done they would move on.

They could eat it while they were moving.

The air was warm and scented with the blossoms of flowering trees and vines.

Berry was unconcerned with the fact that it was a glorious summer day and the breeze lifted her hair and cooled her neck.

She was so tired that she had let down her guard and seldom glanced behind them.

She had to concentrate on putting one foot before the other so that they could reach a spot where they could camp for the night.

It had to be a place where they could defend themselves again if necessary.

They were out here alone and had not seen another human being, not even on the river the few times the trail curved and they had seen it.

An hour had passed since they had stopped for nooning.

More than anything Berry yearned for a cool drink of water.

She decided to put it off until they reached the next hilltop.

Israel’s shout jerked her out of her lethargy.

“Missy!”

Berry stepped away from the ox and looked back.

Fear took her breath away.

A rider was coming up fast.

She squinted her eyes, but all she could see was the running horse, its rider bending over its neck. She ran to the end of the moving wagon and reached for the rifle.

“What is it?”

Rachel asked anxiously and started to crawl to the end of the mattress.

“Rider comin’. Stay where you are!”

It was all Berry had time to say.

In another minute the rider would be on them.

She almost fell beneath the hooves of the mules Israel had speeded up to get close to the other wagon.

She glanced back, then ran ahead to catch up with the ox and pull it to a halt.

She could hear the pounding of the hooves and the labored breathing of the horse by the time the wagon stopped.

She turned and pointed the rifle at the rider.

Black hair was blown back from a wild, angry face.

Simon glared down at her. Why hadn’t the fool worn his hat so she would have known who it was? The crazy thought flashed through her mind as he pulled the lathered horse to a halt.

“Where the hell are you going?”

he yelled.

Angry because he was angry, and angry because she was so relieved, Berry shouted, “None of your damned business!”

“Stop pointing that rifle at me—it might go off!”

He swung down from the horse.

“Nobody invited you to get down!”

She followed his movements with the end of the rifle barrel.

Simon reached behind his saddle for his hat, snatched it from beneath a strap, and pushed out the crown. He slapped it on his head.

“Berry!”

Rachel called from inside the wagon.

“It’s that . . . trader. He ain’t stayin’.”

The eyes she turned on Simon were as green as a stormy sea.

“We don’t need nothin’ from you. Get on your horse ’n’ get!”

He walked straight toward her, grasped the rifle barrel, and pushed it upward.

“Have your lost your mind? What in hell do you mean striking out alone? Why didn’t you stay in town? Why didn’t you send for me when your pa was killed?”

“You got as many questions as a dog’s got fleas!’ Berry said comtemptuously.

“You get this straight, Mr. Trader, I’m never going back to that town! Never! My pa filed on land and Rachel and me are going to live on it. We don’t need nothin’ from you!”

“Berry . . .”

Rachel had crawled to the end of the wagon.

“It’s all right, Rachel,”

Berry called, but she kept her eye on Simon.

“Mr. Witcher’s just passin’ by. We’ll be goin’ on as soon as we give the team a little rest.”

“I’m not passing by, goddammit! I’ve been on that river all night and got down to Saint Louis to find you gone. If you’d had the gumption you were born with, you’d’ve let me know your pa was dead before I took off upriver. Hell . . . women got no more brains than a speckled hen!”

“We got enough brains to take care of ourselves. If you went up to that wagon ground you’d’ve seen that! You . . . mule’s ass! Nobody asked you to come here and . . . stop us!”

It was beginning to be too much for Berry. Her lips trembled, and she looked away from him, not wanting him to see the tears in her eyes. She left the rifle dangling in his hand and went quickly to stand beside the ox.

“Mr. Witcher . . .”

Rachel called.

Simon was looking at the bedraggled figure with the slumped, tired shoulders. Her hair, damp from sweat, had broken loose from its braid and curled on her neck. He turned his attention to the woman who called out to him.

“Ma’am,”

he said and stepped nearer.

“We need your help, Mr. Witcher,”

Rachel said carefully. Her eyes were full of tears and she drew her lips between her teeth to hold them steady.

Simon’s eyes traveled past her face to the mattress where she had been lying and saw spots of blood. He looked back into her pleading eyes.

“Is it your . . . time?”

He spoke as softly as he could.

“The pain isn’t regular yet. But it won’t be long.”

“Go on back and lay down.”

Simon screwed his hat down tighter on his head and picked up his horse’s reins.

He had gone upriver early yesterday morning to see Zebulon Pike.

Light had sent word to him by a French fur trapper who was headed upstream that the Ohio farmer was dead and that he was leaving on an important mission for Jefferson Merrick.

Simon knew that Fain would stay in town no longer than necessary, so he had paddled most of the night and part of the morning to get back to Saint Louis.

After he’d gotten his horse at the livery, he’d ridden up to the wagon ground.

There he had seen three dead bodies within a fifty-foot radius of where the wagons had been; the only man he had recognized was George Caffery.

Tracks showed that an ox-drawn wagon and one pulled by mules with a horse tied on behind had made a hasty departure.

There had been no sign of Linc Smith, and Simon had naturally assumed he was with the wagons.

Pain had knifed through him at the thought.

He came up behind Berry now where she leaned on the patient ox.

“What happened to Linc Smith?”

“I shot ’em in the face ’n’ he run off in the woods.”

“Did he hurt you or Rachel?”

“No. We didn’t give ’em a chance. The rifle knocked Rachel down when she fired it. She says it didn’t hurt her. What do you care anyway?”

She lifted her head and turned it slowly.

“You’ve held us up long enough.”

She gave the ox a resounding slap on the rump.

Simon jerked on the harness before the animal could move.

“Get in the wagon. You’re so tired you’re about to drop.”

“I’ve a mind to do no such . . .”

“Hush up, and mind me! Linc could be on your trail right now. He won’t come alone, he’ll bring a bunch of river rats with him. Besides that, we’ve got to get Rachel somewhere, and quick. The nearest and best place is Fain’s.”

“What do you mean?”

“She’s spotting blood. Don’t that mean her time is near? If you wasn’t so bull-headed you’d’ve seen it.”

Berry’s arm lashed out to strike him. He caught her wrist in mid-air.

“I’d never do anything to hurt Rachel! I was doin’ the . . . best I could.”

Her voice dripped hurt and desperation. Sobs began to constrict her throat and her words came out jerkily She had no control over the tears that blinded her. She covered her face with her hands and turned her head away. Her pride kept the racking sobs locked inside her.

“I know you did. And you done good.”

His voice was close to her ear.

“Get in the wagon and sleep awhile. You’re worn out.”

“No. We got to go on.”

“I’ll lead the ox. Get in the wagon. We’re wasting time.”

Simon didn’t wait for her to answer. He swung her up in his arms, carried her to the back of the wagon, and set her down inside.

“Make her lay down and get some sleep, ma’am,”

he said to Rachel.

“She’s so tired she’s not showing good sense.”

He left them and Berry crawled to the feather tick and sank down beside Rachel. Her head ached with a dull, persistent throb and her heart was a heavy lump in her breast. She buried her head in her arms and began to shake as reaction set in. Rachel’s hand moved up and down her back in a soothing motion.

“Get some sleep, honey. We’re in good hands. Mr. Witcher knows what to do.”

“But . . . I hate him!”

she said, sobbing.

Rachel was quiet for a long while.

“Even if you do hate him, we’ve got to accept his help. Go to sleep. You’ll feel better when you wake up.”

Simon told Israel to keep up, then tied a lead rope to the halter on the ox and mounted his horse. He was more worried about Rachel than he was about Linc catching up to them. He didn’t know anything about birthing, but he knew enough to know things were not natural and right with the woman.

A grimness settled on his expression.

He’d kissed a fair number of women in his day, most of them in New Orleans—dance-hall girls and high-class whores who were experts at pleasing a man in a variety of sexual ways—but none of them had stirred him as much as this beautiful little Ohio farm girl, with her musical laughter and innocent curiosity.

She was the only woman he’d ever met who was completely unaware of the effect her beauty had on a man.

From the very first he’d felt a strange urge to protect her, to keep this harsh wilderness from crushing her bubbly spirit.

Simon had always known that someday he wanted a wife and a family to take care of.

When he thought about it, it was always something for the future, not now.

He still felt that way.

He wasn’t going to be stampeded into taking over the care of these women.

For too long now he had planned to go upriver with Zebulon Pike.

He couldn’t very well tie himself to a woman and then go off and leave her. It would be a dangerous journey, one that might very well claim his life, but the adventure would be well worth the risk.

Simon hadn’t believed that Asa Warfield would be stupid enough to try to start a tavern on the waterfront.

He had fully expected Asa to pull out of Saint Louis with the emigrant train and settle on land as hundreds of other settlers had done.

That would have made it easy to find the girl if, after a time, he decided she was the one he wanted.

That fool Warfield, by getting himself killed, had ruined Simon’s plan.

Whom did he know who would take the women in and look after them? There were any number of unwed men in the territory who would jump at the chance.

The thought didn’t settle pleasantly in his mind.

He watched the trail and selected it with care.

This close to the river there were only rocky hills, and the comparatively level part of the trail was sandy.

He halted the ox at the top of a hill and waited for the mules pulling the heavier wagon to catch up.

It was getting on toward evening, but the sun was still hot.

He took off his hat, wiped the sweat from his face, and dismounted.

The women were still lying on the bed in the wagon. Berry slept, her arm curled under her head, one hand on the musket that lay beside her. Rachel’s eyes were open and watching as he tied the flap higher to allow the breeze to pass through.

“Are you making out all right?” he asked.

She nodded.

“Can I trouble you for a drink of water?”

That woman is hurting something awful, Simon thought as he walked back to the big wagon and the water barrel attached to its side. Her face was covered with a clammy sweat and her hair was glued to her head with it. Fain had told him about the woman. Asa Warfield was a bastard. No doubt about it.

Simon filled his canteen and took it to Rachel.

“Take this, ma’am. It won’t slosh. The trail won’t be so rocky from now on. I’ll try . . .”

He stopped speaking and squinted as he looked out the front of the wagon over the ox’s back.

Two horsemen had topped the hill and were coming toward them. There was no doubt about who they were. No one rode a horse like Fain. He hated to ride, and sat in the saddle as if he were going to his execution. Lardy was with him, riding ahead. Simon went to stand beside the ox and wait for them.

Fain got stiffly out of the saddle. The horse blew its lips and tossed its head in relief to be rid of the weight on its back.

“I thought you’d gone up ta Kaskaskia ta see Pike.”

“I did. Light sent word Warfield got himself killed. I came back downriver to town.”

Simon jerked his head away from the wagons and Fain followed him toward the trees. Simon told him about the killings, about tracking the wagons, and about Rachel. Fain told him about Israel coming to town to find Lardy and Lardy paddling all night and half the morning to fetch him.

“That woman’s in a bad way,”

Simon said with a worried frown.

“I never thought I’d be glad to see the day I’d welcome Biedy Cornick’s chatter. But she’s the only woman I know of that’s good at a birthing.”

Fain turned away from him. Damn! He didn’t want to be anywhere near a birthing! He didn’t want to like the woman, didn’t want to care about her suffering. But hell . . .

“What’re you goin’ to do?”

“Well . . . I thought we could send Lardy for Biedy. Her boys’ll bring her downriver. If we get the wagons ’cross the Missouri before dark, we can be at your place before morning.”

“It’s the best we c’n do. C’n she wait that long?”

“I don’t know. She’s bleedin’.”

“Shitfire!”

“I tell you, Fain, that woman’s got spunk. She killed one of them river rats with the rifle. When she fired it, it knocked her down.”

“The other’n ain’t short on spunk if’n she killed George and sent Linc to the woods.”

Fain felt a little spurt of something he didn’t quite know what to do with when Simon talked about Rachel. Simon wasn’t much for getting familiar with womenfolk. Did that mean he fancied her? “Wal . . . we’d better shake our tail. But I ain’t a-ridin’ on that damn horse. My tail’s all buggered up as ’tis. I’ll walk with the beast. You go on and get down to the river and get the raft to this side. The ol’ Missouri’s low fer this time o’ year. If’n she gets lower’n she is, we c’n almost ford her.”

Berry heard the male voices beside the wagon and woke with a start. Her hand closed around the musket and she sat up. Her mind was drugged with sleep and she looked down at Rachel with sleep-swollen eyes.

“Who’s out there?”

“Fain.”

“Fain? How’n tarnation did he get here?”

“I don’t know.”

Rachel closed her eyes wearily.

Berry placed the musket on the floor and got up on her knees beside Rachel.

“Rachel? Are the pains comin’?”

Fear knifed through her. Rachel lay on her side, the bulk that was the unborn child resting on the feather tick. The back of her dress was . . . bloody! “Rachel? Oh, Rachel . . . we shoulda stayed in town!”

Rachel opened her eyes.

“Don’t worry, honey. The pains aren’t spaced out yet. Mr. Witcher said he’d get us somewhere. . . .”

Her voice trailed away and she sucked her lips between her teeth. Oh, God, she prayed. Don’t let me die and leave Berry out here all alone until she finds a good man to take care of her.

“Women have younguns all the time and I ain’t no different than anybody else,”

she said with a sudden brightness in her voice.

“Now, stop pullin’ that long face. You ’n’ me’ll have to do this together like we’ve always done.”

Berry jumped out of the wagon, more frightened than she’d been when she faced the men bent on attacking her. Please, God, don’t let nothin’ happen to Rachel . . . she couldn’t help what my pa done to her. . . . “Fain!”

she called. Then: “Fain!”

Fain stood beside the ox, and Simon was mounting his horse. Berry ran past him to Fain.

“We’ve got to find a place to camp! Rachel’s time’s near!”

Simon got off the horse and went to the back of the wagon. He climbed inside and knelt beside the woman on the mattress.

Rachel opened her eyes, looked up, and tried to smile at him.

“Berry’s scared for me,”

she whispered.

“You go on and do what you have to do. I’ve been watching that cloud bank yonder. It looks like we could have a storm.”

“I know. I’ve been watching it too. We’re going to try and get you to Fain’s. Do you think you can hold off for a while?”

He squeezed the hand she held out to him.

“Fain will lead the ox. Berry can ride in here with you. You sing out if you think they ought to stop and boil water or whatever they do at a birthin’.”

“I can hold on. But . . . hurry . . .”

she whispered, and a tear rolled out of her eye and lost itself in the blond hair at her temple.

Simon climbed out of the wagon and mounted his horse.

“Let’s get the wagon rollin’,”

he said to Fain. Then, to Berry: “You get in there and stay with her.”

He spoke curtly, angrily.

Simon didn’t know why he was angry. He glared down into stormy green eyes that glared back at him. She had ignored him and run to Fain! Fain could have her! Let her work her wiles on him for a change. Damn Asa Warfield for getting himself killed! Why in the hell had he let himself get into this situation in the first place?

With unnecessary force, Simon kicked the horse and rode off up the trail toward the river.