Ice Princess

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Ice PrincessIce Princess BOOK II OF THEBEHIND THE RANGES SERIES OF HISTORICAL ROMANCES By Judith B. Glad Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges -- Something lost behind the Ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go. Rudyard Kipling:The Explorer

Published by Awe-Struck E-Books Copyright ©2002 ISBN: 1-58749-127-3 Electronic rights reserved by Awe-Struck E-Books, all other rights reserved by author. The reproduction or other use of any part of this publication without the prior written consent of the rights holder is an infringement of the copyright law.

DEDICATION Many folks have helped and cheered me along the rocky, sometimes discouraging journey to publication. This book is dedicated to six women who critiqued my manuscripts with honesty, courage, and love. Laurie, Phyllis, Karen, Barbara, RubyLee and Norma, I'd never have gotten here without you. Or without Neil.... ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS In recent years a number of books and websites have shone new light on the lives of Black slaves in eighteenth and nineteenth century America. While I can't claim to have consulted all of them, I read enough to know that no suffering or hardship I could dream of for William to endure could possibly equal reality. I'd like to thank all those academic and genealogical researchers who have opened this window to a dark and shameful part of our past.

PROLOGUE Cherry Vale, Oregon Country: July, 1846 The knife slid through skin and gristle with a sound like ripping silk. Flower gripped the bone hilt, stared at blood pumping from the gaping cut. The man's body slackened onto the packed dirt floor as the flow subsided. She let the knife drop. "It is done," she said. "I am avenged." She looked down at her bloody hand. "Now I must cleanse myself," she said,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html her voice sounding hollow and distant in her own ears. Rising, she pushed past Hattie's outstretched hand, and rushed into the outer darkness. Stumbling through the dark forest, she had no care for where she went. Her mind was filled with memories--of faces and places, of voices loved and feared, of joy and of pain. At dawn, she went to ground in a half-cave left where a forest giant had fallen. She curled herself into a ball and tried to clear her mind while the voices raged in her head. She hurt. Her face, her breasts. Most of all, her belly. She held her pain unto herself, using it as a shield against remembering. Failing. "The greatest gift a young woman can give her husband is purity." "White men will see you as a filthy half-breed, my daughter, and they will treat you accordingly." "Marry yourself a white man, leetle gal. They ain't an Injun alive will give you the kind of livin' you'd want." "You are a child of sin, Pe-nah-he-ump, and you must never forget that your soul is irremediably soiled." And over and over, "Don't fight me, woman, or you will die!" She lived again the sharp pressure of the knife at her throat, the cutting of her shirt, the heat of his hands on her as he fondled her breasts, probed her secret places. The tearing agony as he shoved himself deep into her with a swift, painful thrust. And most of all she hated herself that she had not fought.

CHAPTER ONE Fort Vancouver: November 1846 Konrad Muller sat far back in the smoky room, never letting his gaze waver from the tall, buckskin-clad man who stood at the crude bar. The stranger wasn't drinking, although a copper mug of grog sat at his right hand. He was leaning across the bar, talking quietly and urgently to the bartender. Eventually an agreement must have been reached, for the two shook hands. The gent in buckskin dropped a coin on the bar, a coin that rang with a mellow note, a coin that was quickly caught up and concealed beneath a grimy apron. Muller watched him leave; let him get well clear of the door before following. Then he crossed the room as if he had nowhere to go, nothing to do. When the tavern door squealed closed behind him, he slipped into the shadows of the Fort Vancouver stockade until he came to the muddy track leading to the docks. No matter where his prey was headed, he was likely to go to the waterfront first. Muller had seen him pay a young Indian to watch his pack. Muller reached the waterfront first, faded into the shadows of a stand of fir where he had a good view of the sleeping Indian leaning against the pack. The moon wouldn't set until near dawn, so he wasn't likely to miss the gent's return. He could afford to be patient. As he waited, he mentally spent the fortune in gold that was to be his. Muted speech woke Muller from a light doze. A pale winter dawn hovered over

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html the mountains to the east. Three men, all tall and lithe, all clad in fringed buckskins, were clustered about the Indian boy. Two pack mules carried traps and knobby bundles. A third mule waited patiently. Muller cursed under his breath. He watched, immobile, as the man with the gold coins hefted his pack across the mule's back and swung up before it. Within minutes Muller's fortune rode out along the trail heading east. He wasn't more than an hour behind the trappers. By the time the trio reached The Dalles, Muller was scarcely a mile behind, unworried that they would think him following. The traffic from Fort Vancouver was almost constant these days. His pockets were all but empty. He'd been thinking on ways to acquire some of the silver brought West by new emigrants, but then he'd been distracted by the tall trapper's unusual golden coins. If there were two coins, it was likely there were more. *** Valley of the Boise: March, 1847 William watched Buff's cabin all day, waiting for some movement to show Flower was there. Nothing moved, save fluttering brown birds in the willows, a coyote nosing in the pile of dry bones behind the outhouse. The air was still, so still that he could hear the Boise River talkin' to itself, a full quarter-mile away. The log cabin wasn't much more than a dugout, its backside right up against the hill behind it. The door opened in, but it was thick wood planks and wouldn't be easy broke. He'd bide his time. Every hour or so he stretched his legs, knowing that when he moved, it might have to be quickly. Whenever the cold seeped through the mountain sheep skin he wore like a coat, he tightened his arm and shoulder muscles. Once in a while he saw a faint waver in the air above the chimney that told him there was heat inside, a careful fire of well-dried wood barely smoldering. William had tended fires in that very fireplace and knew just how long it could smolder. He had time. He could wait. At dusk he moved closer, slipping among the thick cottonwood trunks until he was within fifty feet of the cabin door. He settled behind a clump of dry goldenrod, knowing his stained and mottled leather clothing would blend with the standing dead stalks. Only his eyes could give him away, their whites gleaming in the fading light. Like a hunter, he could be patient. He had pursued her for months now. A few hours, even a few days, would do nothing more than try his patience. He likened his vigil to that of a hunter, seeking wounded game. She had gone to ground as surely as a gunshot doe, fated to die slowly and painfully. Except that her wounds were of the spirit, not of the body. Yet hadn't he seen other folks die when their spirits were tried beyond belief?

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html It was full dark when the door opened. She could have been a shadow as she slipped through the narrow opening, moved silently along the path toward the hot spring. For the first time in weeks he allowed himself to relax, allowed his senses to retreat from full alert. He had found her. She would not escape him again. *** Flower let herself back inside, wondering if she would ever feel clean again. She had bathed twice each day since returning to her father's cabin, had scrubbed her skin with the fine sandstone of the hillside until she felt flayed alive. She had fasted, as her mother's people would have, hoping--praying--for a vision, for wisdom. And she had appealed to the God of Reverend Spalding, little as she liked His vengeful omnipotence, for forgiveness. How could He forgive her when she could not forgive herself? She shuddered when a droplet from her wet hair slipped between her breasts and down her belly. It was like the phantom touch of a man's finger, intimate and invasive. Except that the men's hands that had invaded her had not been so gentle, so careful. With a soft cry, she pressed her buckskin dress against her body, blotting the trespassing droplet. Even though she had no appetite, Flower ate the last of the dried fish for supper. Tomorrow she must reset her snares, down along the riverbank. Perhaps this time she would capture one of the gray geese that had been feeding there these past few days. And it was time to set out her fish trap again. She would need food for her journey. There would be little that she could gather along the trail, so early in the spring. She needed firewood as well. The woodpile set against the cabin's outside wall was growing alarmingly smaller each day. But she had already gleaned all the deadfalls from the nearby cottonwood groves. Upriver there were only dense willow thickets, and if she were to go downriver, she might encounter some of Goat Runner's people. Some of the men. Flower sighed. Eventually she would have to face men, talk with them, trade with them. She could not reach the safety she sought otherwise. Would she be able to hide her fear and her anger when she met strangers--strange men? She did not know. All too soon she had tomorrow planned. And the next day. The next week. There were no books in the cabin, and nothing else to occupy her mind. Nothing to hold the memories at bay. It was too early to retire, for she would only lie in the bunk and stare into the dark, remembering. She opened the cabin door, stepped outside. Sometimes, when the memories became too much for her, she found a sort of a peace by staring into the night sky, tracing the very different star patterns taught to her by her mother, her father, and her teacher. She listened. There was nothing to hear but the usual night sounds. She reached

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html back inside for the shabby woolen coat she had found in the cabin. Then she saw the shadow, black on black. Before her scream could shatter the night, a big hand covered her mouth, a hard body pressed her back against the cabin wall. In an instant she was back in the gold basin, fighting for her life. They would not hurt her again, would not rape her again. This time they could kill her, but they would not defile her. "Stop yo' fightin', gal!" The hoarse voice was punctuated with grunts as the huge man fought to hold her hands away from his face, her teeth from his throat. He caught her threshing legs between his with terrifying ease. Still she fought. She would force him to pay dearly for his pleasure. But it was no use. His sheer size gave him advantage, control. Panting, still fighting to pull her hands free, she glared up at the dark face looming over her. His eyes gleamed whitely in the dark and starlight glinted deep bronze on his sweating brow. "I figured you'd fight me," he said, panting slightly, "if'n you didn't run soon's you seed me. Else wise I'd a' come up to your door jest like a white man." His teeth shone white as his eyes as he pushed her back against the cabin wall. "Will...?" She swallowed, feeling the rawness of her throat from those minutes of stifled screams. "William?" "You gonna be still?" Not believing it was really William, Flower continued to glare. He gave her a little shake. "Woman, I ask you a question." No one else had ever called herwoman with that peculiar combination of gentleness and desire. Finally she believed. "I will not fight," she said. "Let me go." He released her, pulling her to sit beside him on the split-log bench. "I been seekin' you a long time," he said. "Went clear up there to the Clearwater, thinkin' you mighta' gone to your ma's folks." He shook his head. "That there preacher, he tol' me he'd not seed you since you took off last spring. So I come here, not knowin' where else to look." "You came over the Blues? In winter?" It could be done, she knew, but few were brave--or that foolhardy--enough to make the attempt. "I don't know what the Blues is, but if it's between here and Lapwai, I reckon I did. I climbed me some pretty big mountains, crossed a couple of fair-sized rivers." She saw him shrug. "I knowed...knew I needed to come south to get here, so I did." "You came south..." Flower could not believe her ears. Even in the summer, her mother's people considered that journey a major endeavor. "You didn't go west first?" "Naw. I jest come straight." He rose to his feet and she saw again what a tall man he was. Tall and strong. She remembered how he had first come to the valley of the Boise River, and she

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html believed him. If anyone could cross the mountains between here and the Clearwater River in the middle of winter, it would be this man who had walked three thousand miles without shoes, without a gun, and without any idea of where he was going. "You got any food? I laid there and wondered how's come you didn't hear my belly rumblin'." She went inside, knowing he was right behind her. "Only some jerky and some dried berries." "Woman, I'll eat anythin' right now. It's been a spell since I had more'n what I could pick off the bushes." "But if you came south from Lapwai, why didn't you stop at Cherry...? Oh, William, is Hattie all right? Did Emmet stay, then?" Perhaps she had abandoned her friends, but she still cared for them. "He went, all right. Him 'n Silas, they took they...themselves off 'long about first frost. They was goin' to catch 'em a ship and go off to Chiny or somewheres." He sat on the cut log that served as her only chair and accepted the wooden trencher she handed him. "But Mist' Em, he changed his mind." William's smile glinted again in the firelight. "Reckon he couldn't stay away from Hattie like he thought he could." So there were some happy endings despite the cruelty of the world, Flower told herself. She sat on the floor before the fire. As long as she was between him and the door, she didn't feel trapped. She watched him wolf down the jerky, his strong teeth tearing and chewing the stringy dried meat easily. He disposed of the dried huckleberries in two mouthfuls "How long did you watch me?" she said when he had eaten her cupboard bare. That he had spied on her, that he had so easily concealed himself right outside the cabin, made her wonder who else had watched. Her belly clenched. "I thought...the reason I fought..." She took a deep breath. "I would have killed you if..." His big callused hand closed over hers. "I stopped at the Injun camp," he said, gesturing with his chin, "and talked to that there Goat Runner. He tol' me you was bein' mighty shy. Said you was apt to hide if'n you saw a body comin'." He shivered. "Mighty cold out there, woman. Mighty cold." This time she heard the ghost of a chuckle in his voice. Had she ever heard him laugh out loud? William refused to sleep inside, not wanting to endanger his reluctant welcome. "I ain't been under a roof for so long I wouldn't know what to do with myself," he said. "You sleep good, gal, an' I'll see you in the mornin'." The relief in her eyes showed him he'd done the right thing. For her. The right thing for him would have been to take her into his arms and show her how much he wanted her. Someday. He retrieved his pack and his spear from among the cottonwoods and made his

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html bed against the cabin door. He wasn't exactly afraid she would try to run from him in the night, just cautious. Now he'd found her, she'd not get away again. Not 'til he had a chance to show her how he loved her. *** He woke to a scream. Leaping to his feet, William shoved the door open. Flower was crouched in the darkest corner, her breath coming in short, harsh gasps. He knelt beside her, wanting to hold her, to protect her. Knowing he must not. "Please. Oh, please, let me go. Please. Please. Please..." Each time she said it, her voice got weaker, until the last word came out on a whispery moan. Then she collapsed into a limp mound on the sandy floor. William reached to touch her, to gather her to him. Her hands beat weakly against his chest. He breathed in the scent of her, woodsmoke and sagebrush and her own fresh, clean odor. "Hush, gal. Hush now." He stroked her sleek black hair, wondering why she had cut it so short. "It's all right. You're safe. Hush." Her body shook, like a reed in swift water. He continued to stroke, until the shudders slowed, almost stopped. Yet she didn't relax, but leaned stiff against him. "No," she whispered, finally, "I am not." She twisted, trying to escape, but he held her tight. He picked her up, feeling how slight she was. She must have near starved these last months. William silently cursed the fate that had kept him from coming to her before this. She stiffened even more. "Put me down!" Instead he carried her over and laid her on the lower bunk. He knelt beside her. "Now supposin' you tells me what you ain't," he said. "An' whilst you're at it, you tell me why you up an' left us, me'n Hattie, when we needed you." He knew if he mentioned how she must have needed them just as much, she'd deny it. He'd lost track of the times last summer she'd turned away, keepin' all her pain to her own self. It was as if her heart had frozen into a solid block of ice when those bastard renegades laid hands on her. She didn't answer for a long time. Her breathing got even and regular as the shudders stopped shaking her body. Her eyes were open, though, for he could see them gleaming in the dim light from the half open door. He forced himself to be patient. "I could not stay," she said at last. "Do you forget what I did?" Another shudder. "Twice." Her fingers curled into claws, then clenched into fists. William ached to hold her close, even as he knew she would not allow it. Instead he sat, dumb, seeking the words to give her peace. "I killed them." Again the jerky motion of her left hand, as if she clenched a slender object--a knife's shaft. "And I would do it again.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "I would...do...it...again!" Even in the dark he could see how empty her eyes was, as they stared at scenes invisible except in her memories. "Not ever'body's like them renegades." He wanted to promise her that he would keep her safe for always. Except that William knew that he couldn't ever make that promise, knew he'd not be able to keep it. He said the only thing he could. "I wants you to be my woman." As he heard his own words, he knew they were weak, when she needed strength. "Oh, William." Her words were soft. She stretched out a hand and patted his arm. "Reckon I'd like you to come with me," he told her, "back to Cherry Vale." Now that he had found the home he'd sought for so long, he wanted to live there the rest of his life, to raise strong sons in the rich valley where he had already begun building the first home he'd ever really had. He belonged there, as he had never belonged anywhere before. It was where he was meant to live out his life. "Oh, William," she said again, and buried her face in her hands. "Didn't reckon you'd want the likes of me," he said, fighting to contain tears of his own. Silas had told him a man didn't weep like a babe. "But I had to ask." He waited for her answer a long time, until her breathing grew even and slow. He reckoned she wasn't gonna give him an answer. Wiping a hand across his face--he didn't want her to see what a weakling he was--he stood up. With a deep sigh, he left her alone, pulling the door closed behind him. He'd knowed, all the way up to Lapwai and back down here again, that it was a fool's errand. Even if all that was hurtin' her got itself healed, she wasn't for the likes of him. A fine woman like her wouldn't ever want an ignorant Nigra like him. Maybe his mammy had wanted him, but he couldn't even remember her. And his marse had wanted him, for he was a strong young buck, able to work all day in the hot sun. He'd heard Marse once, talking about the price of slaves--five hundred dollars for a good field hand. Five hundred dollars had been more money than he'd even been able to imagine, he who'd rarely had more than a few pennies to his name. Now he had riches more than he'd ever dreamed. Land. Gold. Freedom. But without Flower, what difference did it make? He'd found his kingdom, but he'd have no queen to share it with. *** Flower woke in the dark cabin, alone. Alone? Of course she was alone. That was why she'd come here, to be alone with herself, to learn to live with her great shame, with the suffocating guilt that she had not been able to escape, no matter how fast or how far she'd run. But no! She wasn't alone, not any more. William. He'd come for her. He wanted her to marry him.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html The ache in her heart was much like when her mother had died. Her father had left her with friends, advising her to go to Lapwai, where her mother's family was. "Time you was to learn yore roots, gal," he'd said. "I cain't take care o'you like I should, and yore grandpa, he allus wanted you to know where your ma come from, afore she got took by the Bannock." But Lapwai had been one more place where she did not belong, for she was neither red nor white. Her mother's people had been strangers, her father's had called her pagan. She lay, dry-eyed and hurting, in the lower bunk. The fire had died, for she'd slept heavily and deeply, and the cabin was cold. She would need to bring in more wood before rebuilding the fire, for only kindling lay on the hearth. With a sigh she rose and pulled on the ragged wool coat she had found forgotten in the hidey-hole at the back of the cabin. If only William had not come. Or if he would go away, back to Cherry Vale where he belonged. He wanted from her more than she could give. More than she would ever be able to give. Flower bit her lip, determined not to yield to the self-pity sitting in a painful lump at the back of her throat. If she ever gave way to it, she would probably not stop weeping for days. Thus far she had controlled her tears, not shedding them since the day she'd first lain beaten and bleeding, after Pyzen Joe and his five vicious companions had finished with her. She had come closer to a sense of belonging in Cherry Vale than she had in any of the many places she'd lived. Perhaps if her soul had not been so wounded, she would have made a home there, with Emmet and Hattie, Silas and William. They had not seemed to notice the color of her skin, unlike most of their countrymen, who saw the union of white and red as the vilest of sins, who saw the offspring of those unions as subhuman, beneath contempt. The isolated little settlements inhabited by men of the Hudson's Bay Company had not been typical of the civilization they represented. At Fort Vancouver, her parentage was the norm. She had known no children with white mothers. There had been many like her at the Rendezvous she'd attended as a child, light-eyed or pale-skinned children with mothers of the Bannock, Paiute, Lacota, or Nez Perce. She had been practically grown before she learned that not all white men loved their Indian children, not all white men respected their Indian wives. The first time she'd been called a half-breed, she'd not even known she'd been insulted. Still shivering from the iciness of the water she'd used for her ablutions, Flower opened the door. Nothing moved except a few juncos, hopping about in the debris under the willows. There was no sign of William. She pulled the door closed and went toward the tall cottonwoods that extended down to the river. The

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html trail through the woods was almost overgrown and, as usual, she avoided following it. Each time she went this way, she chose a different path, not wanting to leave traces of her passing. After setting her snares--three among the woods, three more along the riverbank where tall rushes and sedges were a favorite refuge of the ducks and geese she hoped to capture--she pulled her fish traps out from the clump of willow where she'd hidden them. Whether William had left her--the thought brought a strange, empty feeling to her belly--or whether he was simply off hunting, she had to restock her larder. In a few weeks she should be able to depart. The buds on the cottonwoods were fat and sticky and the willows had a green mistiness to them, as if their emerging leaves were shining of their own accord. The first stage of her journey would take a month or more, whether she walked or rode. Riding, she could carry supplies and not be so dependent on what she could snare, pick, or scavenge as she traveled. Goat Runner still had Windchaser, the spotted mare she'd ridden from Lapwai, so she must go to the Bannock village to ask for her mare's return. To do so, she would have to speak to Goat Runner. She was not certain she could do that, without showing her fear. So perhaps she would walk to Fort Vancouver. Even if her will was weak, her legs were strong. They could carry her a long way. The fish traps were quickly set. She would return tomorrow and see if the big, silver fish had taken the bait of fat grubs she'd dug from under the remnants of her woodpile. Flower slipped among the thick cottonwood trunks, careful to watch both the path ahead and her back trail. Still, she was taken unawares when William stepped from behind a tree. Her knife was in her hand before she realized it. "Lawd a'mighty, woman!" He stepped back, well out of her reach. "What for you pull that pig-sticker on me? I ain't meanin' you no harm." She glared at him. Didn't he understand the danger to her, here alone in the woods? "You startled me," she said, "jumping out at me like that." "Wal, I figured you'd be more skairt if I was to come up and knock on your door," he said, falling in beside her. She noticed that he walked as carefully as she, avoiding open soil where his moccasins might leave a track. He walked as the men she'd known all her life, putting his toes down first, testing the ground before trusting it with his full weight. He watched his sides as well as ahead of him and frequently cast quick glances behind. Flower relaxed her constant vigilance slightly, knowing that four eyes always saw much more than two. They walked together in silence until they were almost to the cabin. Then William stepped aside and bent, picking up two jackrabbit carcasses. "They ain't much meat on 'em," he apologized, "but they was all I could get with the sling." He touched a leather strip dangling from his belt. "I didn't see any cottontails, only a skunk, an' I didn't figure you'd want that for supper."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Had he almost smiled again? Flower found herself wishing he would. She quickly skinned the gutted hares, cutting them into pieces to fit in her cooking basket. William's shoulder-slung pouch yielded cat-tail root and succulent greens--the tiny plants Hattie called "miner's lettuce." He went to his pack, dug about, and pulled out an oiled paper packet, which he handed to her. She unfolded it. "Salt! Oh, William, how I have missed salt!" Dipping a finger into the white crystals, she licked it, closing her eyes with the pleasure of it. Carefully she added a pinch to the water covering the hare. Using two flat sticks, she retrieved a large stone from the edge of the fire and dropped it into the water. Steam exploded upwards, and when it cleared, she saw, with satisfaction, that the water in the basket was close to simmering. She nudged more stones close to the coals to heat, for the stringy flesh of jackrabbit took a long time to cook. William stayed outside, coming in only when she called him to eat. Even though she did not feel threatened Flower wondered if he understood how crowded she found the cabin with him in it. No. He had never liked being indoors. That was all. After supper he sat for a while, staring into the fire. Flower watched him, once again struck with how verystill he could be. She had finished cleaning up and was preparing for her bath when he finally spoke. "I'll be stayin' with you," he said, his voice gentle but full of certainty. "Least 'til you decides what you is gonna do." "No!" The word exploded from her before she could stop it. A few days--that was all right. But to be constantly with him--never! She did not need to be reminded every day of all the renegades had stolen from her. "Yes'm, I reckon I am. Or if you don't want me with you, then I'll just have to make me a camp up there somewheres," he waved in the general direction of the foothills behind the cabin, "and keep my eyes on you." "But what if I choose to leave? What if I decide to go somewhere else, where I will be safe?" What would he do when she told him just how far she intended to go? "Woman, I'd go anywheres in the whole wide world with you," he said, his voice deep and resonant. "Just you ask me." She wanted to. Oh, how she wanted to.

CHAPTER TWO Flower woke one morning and it was spring. She felt it even through the thick log walls of the cabin, smelled it in the draft that seeped under the door. She pulled the door open and breathed deeply of the air, sweet with rebirth, heavy with the scent of new growth. William was nowhere in sight, but she knew he was nearby. Since his arrival he had never been out of earshot, nor had he often let her out of his view. He had

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html learned, though, to leave her to herself until she sought him out. She picked up the bag of fine sand and the fragment of soaproot. Carrying the rabbit skins she had cured during the winter, she went to the bathtub her father had been so proud of, an oval, rock-lined basin about three feet deep. It caught and held the steaming water as it gushed from the hillside, then overflowed into a shallow stream that gurgled down the slope toward the river. Willows and assorted shrubs lined the stream, and here and there along its banks grew a few of the yarbs her mother had planted many years ago. She was soaking, relaxed in the hot water, when William called. Not to her. She heard his deep voice but the words were indistinct. A voice answered, a lighter voice, with unfamiliar cadences. She listened, straining her ears, until she could no longer contain her fear. With trembling fingers, she pulled on her dress and, leaving her drying skins and the soaproot, she slipped into the screen of willows on the opposite side of the tub. In a few moments she was far enough away from the cabin that she could no longer hear the voices. Flower cowered in the thicket, memory overcoming her. She had been here before. She had hidden in the willows while William spoke to another stranger. The day grew warm and the sun was suddenly high in the sky. She lay where Silas had pushed her, wondering if the boy had not reacted with unnecessary concern. He had caught her hand, had pulled her behind him, saying, breathlessly, "Men. Strangers. Don't trust 'em. Keep watch and go to Em if they don't leave." He'd shaken her. "You hear me? You'll go?" Flower had nodded. She found it hard to believe that here, so far from the usual

haunts of whites, she would be in danger. No Bannock would harm her, once they knew she was Peaceful Woman's daughter, Buffalo's Jones's child. And Blackfeet were not likely to be here, not in the summer when they were far away in the plains, hunting buffalo. Then there were shouts, a gunshot, a scream of pain. She wriggled through the willows, creeping to the edge of the clearing so she could see. And wished she had not. "Flower! Where is you?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She hunkered deeper into her hiding place. They must not find her again. "Flower! Consarn you, woman, where is you?" The past disappeared and she was back in a gulch in the hills above her father's cabin. It was spring, not summer. She was soiled, no longer the young and innocent woman she had been an age ago --less than a year ago. She stayed where she was, for the voice answering William had been masculine. She wanted no other man to speak to her, wished no man to look at her with desire in his eyes. William called again, and still she did not answer. Flower lay, shivering, in her hiding place. Her buckskin dress, wetted from her dripping body, remained damp. The gulch was narrow and soon the westering sun warmed it no longer. She must have dozed, for she did not hear him come to her, did not see him enter the gulch. The scream burst from her throat as he touched her shoulder and then she was fighting again, kicking and squirming in his grasp. And he released her. "Damnation woman, you is the skairtest thing I ever seed. It's just me. Just William. I come...came to get you for supper." She forced herself to relax, to straighten out of her self-protective crouch. "Is he gone?" "Is who...oh, you mean the feller who come lookin' for his mule?" She nodded, feeling faintly foolish; yet knowing she could have acted no differently. "Yes'm, he's gone. I sent him off to the Injuns. If they's a mule anywheres about, they'll know where it is." His eyes glinted, but his face remained sober. "And they will not tell him," she said, wondering what it would take to bring a real smile to his face. "If I had me a mule, I'd sure not tell anybody where I got him," William agreed, "and that there Goat Runner, he sure do like his horses." They walked down the hillside together, William reaching out to help her over the tumbled black boulders at its base. She took his hand without thinking, and only later realized that she had not shied from his touch. Was she healing? Or was it simply because this was William, who had always treated her gently and with respect? William worried that Flower was still so fearful. Hattie had cautioned him that she was changed by the brutal treatment she'd received at the hands of the renegades, had warned him that she might be a long time healing. She might never heal, Hattie had warned, but he wouldn't believe that. Sooner or later Flower would once again be the strong, gentle woman who'd captured his heart with her shy, sometime smile. He wanted her with every bit of himself. Wanted her in his bed, wanted her beside him in the fields he'd cleared back in Cherry Vale. Wanted her beside him all the days of his life, and beyond, if there was anything more. He watched her from the corners of his eyes as they walked down the easy slope to the cabin. Her shiny hair was short and shaggy -- he mourned the long tresses she'd worn before--and her skin was pale copper, with faint rosy blushes on her

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html cheeks. He'd seen the Injun women in Goat Runner's village, and she didn't look much like them. Her hair wasn't night black like theirs, but showed red fire in the sunshine. Her eyes were a clear, cool gray, just like ol' Buff's had been. But now her eyes was cloudy with hurt, and her lips that had once smiled so sweetly at him seemed to have forgot how. That afternoon Flower worked again on the elk hide she would use for moccasins. The trapping of the young bull had tried her skill and patience, and she was proud that she finally had succeeded. William settled on a section of log near her and honed his big knife.My father's blade , she realized. "Your pa, he was a fine man," William said, as if reading her thoughts, "but you never say much about your ma." "My mother was Nez Perce, but she knew little of their customs," Flower said, not pausing in her work. The porcupine fat she'd rendered was not her first choice for treating the leather, but it would suffice. "When she was very young, she was stolen by the Bannock. Sees-in-the-Dark and Camas Blossom adopted her. Not until I was half- grown did she meet her birth family again. And then it was by accident. "My father and his partner had decided to winter on the headwaters of the Clearwater, and on our way there we stopped at Lapwai. Peaceful Woman, who had never spoken of her life before she was adopted, recognized her father, an old man by then. She learned of sisters and cousins, but she never knew them well. She had turned her back on her Indian heritage when she married my father, shunning even Goat Runner, her adopted brother. Once she told me that the days of the People were numbered, and that in my lifetime the Americans and the British would replace the Indian across the land." "But she taught you Injun things," William said. "Not really. Oh, she taught me a little bit about yarbs, and how to treat broken bones and wounds, but those were not what you would call 'Indian' skills, but necessary ones. I learned more of living in the wilderness from my father." She looked back in her memory, thinking about her mother. Peaceful Woman had been a silent person. Her broken speech had been a mixture of English and Chinook trade jargon, with words borrowed from half a dozen other tribes. In a community of men from many European nations, women from half a hundred tribes, no single language reigned. "If my godfather had not insisted, I would not speak as I do," she said, thinking back to his lessons, his belief that she had to learn to speak well if she wanted to survive in a changing world. "He taught you good," William said. "You talk just about as fancy as my mist'ess done. 'Cept you sound different. She drawed her words out, like she didn't want to say 'em all at once, and you bite 'em off like you wants to get on to the next one." Flower hid her amusement. If anyone drew his words out as if reluctant to let

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html them go, it was William, who spoke in a liquid, almost lazy cadence. She could listen to him all day long and never tire of it. "We speak like the people around us," she said. "Already you use words like Emmet does, and sometimes you sound almost like my father." "I reckon a man could do worse 'n sound like your pa. He was a smart ol' coon." Grief tightened her throat. In William's voice she heard an echo of her father's. How she had missed his wisdom, his solid common sense, this past winter. How she had longed for his unconditional love. "Was this godfather of yours kin?" "Oh, no. Just my father's partner." Then she paused, considering. "In some ways, I suppose that was closer than kin, for a trapper's partner is more than brother, probably more than wife. They depend on each other for survival, for success, and for fellowship. Many trappers leave their wives at the trading posts and winter alone with their partners." "Is that what you pa done?" "No, never. I lived with my father my whole life, until my mother died." And she missed her father so much more, for all that she had loved her mother. Buffalo had been the strong, dependable foundation of her life. When he had left her behind after Peaceful Woman's death, she had felt abandoned. "I never felt I belonged anywhere but with him." She worked in silence for several moments. There was one other place she belonged. "Everett told me that I would always have a home with him." She looked up at William, seeing something in his eyes that made her uneasy.He needs me , she thought. He must not, for I have nothing for him. I am frozen inside. Knowing that she would hurt him, yet unable to do aught else, Flower said, "I am going to England, William. To my godfather. Where I will be safe." He did not pause in his stroping. The big blade flashed in the pale sunlight. "When are we leavin?" Flower tried again. "William, you do not understand. I'm going to England. Around the world from here." "Don't reckon it's that much fu'ther than what I come." "But it is. England is so far that it will take me most of a year to get there." He shrugged. "Took me longer'n that to get here." Standing, he tossed the piece of wood aside. "Reckon I'll look around before beddin' down. Saw some cat tracks down along the river this morning." He walked away. Let her stew on it for a spell, the idea of him goin' with her. Sooner or later she'd see that he was goin', no matter what she wanted, and she'd stop arguin'. Either that or she'd give up this fool idea and go back to Cherry Vale with him. "You are not going to Fort Vancouver with me," she told him that night as they sat on the bench before the cabin. The sky was cloudy, but a warm breeze came out of the south. It brought the sour odor of new cottonwood leaves and a faraway smell of sagebrush. "I ain't?" He kept on carving at the piece of cottonwood he'd took from the abandoned

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html corral fence. It was well-cured and easy to shape. There was a spoon hidin' inside, one of those long handled ones like Hattie used in her big cook pot. Flower's glare was like something pokin' at him. William waited. He knew he'd not win in any argument with her. "I heard Emmet say you would be a fool to go to the settlements in the Willamette Valley. So many of the newcomers come from the southern states. You might be recognized." "Ain't nobody likely to recognize me," he said. "I been a boy when I left, and I be a man now. 'Sides, they think me lost in the hurricane." She was curious, he could see. He'd never told anyone but Mist' Em how he'd managed to escape without pursuit. "I waited 'til the wind was so strong it was blowin' trees every which way. Some of the boys--the field hands--was hidin' in a big dry ditch, prayin' that none of the trees would come down on 'em. Pretty soon water commenced runnin' along the bottom of the ditch, and it just kept gettin' deeper and deeper. We hung on to the sides, barely keepin' our heads above the water, while the trees kept a'fallin' and the wind kept a'blowin'. Some of the boys, they lost their hold and went floatin' away, yellin' and callin' for help. But nobody was goin' to let hisself go to help 'em. And that's when I got me the idea that maybe they'd never see 'em again-- if I floated away, nobody'd ever see me again, neither." He remembered the horror of that night, the belly-clenching terror he'd felt when he let go the fat root that kept him from being carried away. More than once he'd swum in the river that ran alongside the cotton fields, but its usual sluggish current had been nothing like the roiling, sucking flood he'd found himself caught in. "I floated a long ways before I ended up clear out in the river. Probably be floatin' yet but for a big tree that I grabbed on to. I rode it for a long time, 'til the next night, then I let go and swum to shore." "You were in the water overnight?" "Shore was. From long about dinnertime one day 'til full dark the next. When I got out, I felt like one of them sponge things, needin' squoze to get rid of all the water." He shook himself, as he had that night, as if he would never be dry again. "And then you came west?" "I didn't know where West was, but I knowed...knew I had to stay away from folks. And I'd heard tell of a place where every man was like to a king. Made up my mind that's where I wanted to be. So I come...came." "You're not telling me the whole story, are you? It wasn't that easy. Hattie said it took you more than two years." "Took me a long time, that's for sure. I had to figure out where that place was--folks I listened in on talked about Oregon, but nobody said where it was. So I walked the way they was travelin' but a little bit off from the road. Got lost a few times, too, 'cause some of them wagons were headin' for a place called Santy-something. It's a long ways south." "Where did you find Dawg?" He wondered if Dawg missed him the way he missed the mutt. But Mist' Em and

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Hattie needed 'em a dog a lot worse than he did, that was for certain. "That ol' hound, he find me. I reckon he followed me a far ways before I knew he was behind me. Then one day I caught me a fish and he was settin' right there whilst I cleaned it, his tongue hangin' out and his eyes beggin' for a bite. And speakin' of fish, we'll want to dry some more. There ain't near enough to get us 'cross the mountains." Immediately she sat straighter and frowned. "You are not going with me." "I sure is," he said. "Now that big ol' dawg, he was nothin' but a rack of bones with hide stretched over it. Was a wonder he could keep goin'. So I..." "William, you cannot go to the Willamette Valley. You...you would not be safe." "You change your mind?" "What do you mean?" "If you go, I go. If you don't, then I won't neither." He shrugged. It seemed plain as pie to him. He hoped it did to her. Even if he could let her walk away from him again, he wouldn't. No matter how dangerous it was for him. "Reckon I'll be goin' to the Injun village pretty soon," he said the next morning, as they returned from checking the fish traps. "We'll need us some horses or mules, and a bit of flour or meal wouldn't be amiss." "One horse is enough," she said, "to carry everything I own." "Can't carry you and enough gear for both of us," William said, his voice carefully mild, his tone offhand a'purpose. Without giving her a chance to object, he strode off, leaving her standing at the corner of the neglected corral. "I'll be back 'long about suppertime," he called over his shoulder. There wasn't anything he had to do today, but he reckoned she'd do better left by her own self for awhile. He heard her sputtering behind him, but he pretended he did not. One thing he'd noticed about Flower, she was right stubborn. But long as he didn't give her a choice, she handled a lot easier. The next few days both of them worked from early to late, cleaning and preparing fish for drying. The snares caught two geese and a green-headed duck, and their meat joined the fish on the drying racks. Flower sorted the feathers and down, packing them in soft bags made of rabbit skins, intending to make winter moccasins for William before she sailed. Assuming that she could not talk him out of going to Fort Vancouver with her. She was still attempting to do so, but he was about as movable as the rim rock on the flat-topped butte above the cabin. None of her arguments made a dent in his determination. "William, I will be stopping at Grande Ronde to visit friends. From there one of them could see me safely to Fort Vancouver." "Not as good as me," he replied, not even pausing in his careful gutting of an enormous silver salmon. Another time, she tried appealing to his fear of re-enslavement. "What if someone believes you are an escaped slave? Would they try to send you back south?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "They got to catch me first," he said, "and I runs mighty fast." "Emmet said that he doubted Negroes would be welcome in American settlements," she said, remembering conversations she had overheard at Lapwai. "Do you want to be sent away and lose your place in Cherry Vale?" "Mist' Em, he already told me I probably can't lay claim to land hereabouts. So he's gonna do it for me, give it to my firstborn child." He stopped tying the willow withes together into another drying rack and leaned on the partly finished structure. "Reckon nobody gonna argue with a child who's born here about whether he belongs." Having experienced just a little of the prejudice and contempt that some whites felt toward people to whom they felt morally or physically superior, Flower could not share his confidence, but she had no heart for disillusioning him. She shook her head, wondering how she was going to convince him to leave her and go back to the valley where he could be safe and free. "You comin' with me?" William said one morning after they'd checked the snares and fish traps. "With you? Where?" Flower said, not really paying attention. She was wrapping dried fish in the tanned skin of a goose. The twisted grass twine she used to bind the packet was supple from being wetted and frozen so many times through the long winter. "To fetch us some horses. If we mean to head out pretty soon, we need to get 'em so's we can fix up some kind of packs." With each of his words, the icy ball in her middle grew, until she could hardly speak. Flower licked her lips, dry and stiff. She tried to force words through her throat, but they stuck somewhere in her chest. Closing her eyes, she wrapped her arms around herself and reached for calm, for a way out of the trap of panic that held her so tightly. His hands were gentle on her, but even so she screamed when he touched her. "Hey now, woman," he said, pulling his hands away. "I ain't gonna hurt you." Flower forced the images of hungry leers, of cruel smiles, back inside the dark place in her mind. She would expunge them entirely, if she could. But they stayed, and in the deepest part of the night, they crept out, to torment her with guilt, with shame. This was William. He meant her no harm, nor would he force her to...to...she tasted the blood from her bitten lip and it acted like a splash of icy water to her face. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she looked up at him and attempted a smile. From his stricken expression, she failed. "Sorry," she whispered, unable to find her voice. She swallowed. "I am sorry," she repeated, more loudly. "I was...remembering." "Aw, woman, why you have to do that?" He knelt beside her and reached out, but stopped just short of touching her cheek. "Can't you just put it all out of your head?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Another deep breath. "I wish...Oh, William, I wish I could, but I...just...cannot." Unable to prevent it, she spoke the last word in a wail. "Well, hell." Pulling his knife from its sheath, he used the long, sharp blade to dig at the soil before him. Flower wondered if he realized he was slashing and tearing at the muddy ground as if it were an enemy. "That's why you been so shy ain't it?" She didn't answer. He went on. "Goat Runner, he say you hide whenever him or any of his men come close. And the one time you come to the village, you only talked to the women. He said he wouldn't even have knowed...known you was there if his woman hadn't told him." He stopped the digging and began scraping the torn sod back into the hole he'd dug. "You're skairt of men, ain't you. Plumb skairt." She nodded, unable to deny it. Ashamed to admit it. "So how you figure to get yourself to wherever it is you'll catch that ship to England? You gonna sneak along all the way, like I done...did when I come away out here?" "I was going to stay well off the main trail," she said. "There are others." "And what was you gonna do for food all that way? Eat nothin' but the jerky and dried fish we been fixin'?" She had, but she would not tell him so. "I would not starve." He stood, towering above her. "Woman, I figured you was pretty smart, but I'm beginnin' to wonder. Even if you could sneak your way to that ship, you gotta get on it. And once you're there, what you gonna do? I seen me a ship one time, when Marse Yates had a passel of cotton all baled up and sent some of us boys along to take it downriver. It weren't all that big. Where you gonna hide?" Flower shook her head, not wanting to let him read the fear on her face. How many times had she asked herself the same question? She knew she would be safe in England, but how was she to get there, when the journey meant months in close quarters with a ship's crew? And there would be other passengers, too. Many of them would be men. One last deep breath. "I will manage," she said, not sounding like herself, but at least finally able to speak aloud. "Sure you will," he said. "Sure you will." His tone was unconvinced. William went alone to the Indian village. He brought back her horse, her gentle, strong-hearted Windchaser, and a big, rawboned mule that she recognized as her father's. "How?" she asked him, knowing full well that Goat Runner would almost as soon part with one of his wives as with one of his mules. "Like Mist' Em say, you give enough gold, you can buy most anything," William said, grinning. "That ol' Injun, he don't have much use for gold but he sure do like his tobacco. I told him how much tobacco he could buy with one of them gold coins Mist' Em make, and pretty soon he was ready to give me all his horses." "You have some of the coins?" She had not even considered that he might, although she knew that Emmet intended they should all share the gold they'd

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html managed to bring out of the place they were calling Buff's Basin. "Got less of 'em than I did yesterday," he said, once more looking as if he might smile at any instant. "That Goat Runner, he drive a mean bargain." She was unsure what he meant. Either he had gotten the mule for a good price, or it had been far too dear. "Oh, no! You didn't pay for my horse, did you?" "I surely did. Hope she's worth it." Flower could not help but laugh. "Oh, William, she was not Goat Runner's to sell. Before we went to Buff's Basin last year, I gave him tobacco and salt to keep Windchaser until I should need her." William shrugged. "I didn't give but one coin for her." The smile finally materialized. "I wondered why that Injun wanted three coins for the mule, and only one for the horse. Now I knows." She bit her lip. "When you get back to Cherry Vale you must have Emmet give you my share of the gold. I cannot let you spend yours on me." He caught her face in his fingers, forced her to look up at him. His eyes were hot with anger as he glared down at her. "Woman, what's mine is yours. Don't you know that yet?"

CHAPTER THREE Making William do something he did not want to do was, as her father would have said, "like tryin' to push a rope." Flower finally gave up arguing and considered other ways to convince him not to go with her. The river was running full now, cold with snowmelt, dangerous with debris washed from crumbling banks upstream. Each morning Flower looked up at the mountains to the north, watching the retreat of the snow. She knew, from past years, that when only isolated patches clung to the highest slopes here, the Blues would be passable. In the meantime, she gathered what she would need to discourage William. One morning while he was hunting, she went to the Bannock village and waited until one of the women she knew emerged. For one bag of carefully cleaned down and a bundle of bright feathers for decoration, she was able to obtain the yarbs she needed. She was still not certain she should use them. What if the yarbs did not act as Laughs in Sunshine said they would? What if they did harm? When she returned to the cabin, it was empty and cold. The solitude that had been her solace before William's coming now seemed barren and desolate. Forcing her thoughts into more practical avenues, Flower set about her chores. There were still sturdy moccasins to be made, pelts and skins to pack for trading at Fort Vancouver. As she cut and stitched, she thought about her food supplies. If only she had cornmeal and salt. Dried fish and goose would keep her belly satisfied, but only that. Even the fresh greens that she would pick along the way would not satisfy

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html her hunger for more variety in her diet. It would be nice to have flour and tea, too. Good English tea, like Everett had taught her to enjoy, brewed in the British manner. Surely Mr. Craigie at Fort Boise would have tea. If she allowed William to accompany her to Grande Ronde, he could purchase some for her. Unbidden a memory of a conversation with Emmet came into her mind. They had been talking of William's long walk to freedom. She had known some Americans kept slaves, but had assumed they were captives taken in raids as her mother had been. "Slavery in the South isn't anything like what you know." Emmet had told her. "I've heard some tales that are enough to turn your hair white. I never believed that anyone would treat another human being like an animal." His voice grew hard. "Then I saw my first slaver, off the west coast of Africa." His mouth had tightened and he'd shaken his head, refusing to say more. "But we are so far from there," she'd insisted. "It seems unreasonable that William would believe he is still in danger of being returned to his owner. Surely no one would come all this way simply to recapture him." "Why don't you ask him?" Emmet had suggested. "He seems to be easier with you and Hattie than with me." She had asked, and William's answer had shocked her. "Any white man wants to, he can put me in chains, send me back to my marse, keep me for his own or sell me. It makes no difference, 'long as I got nothin' showin' I's a free man, what he does to me. I no better than them oxen there." He had jerked his chin toward the corral where Hattie's oxen had been placidly chewing their cuds. "Maybe not so good, 'cause they don't know what they's missin' and I does." Good God! What was she thinking of, wanting William to go to the fort with her. She doubted that Mr. Craigie or any of the HBC people would care that he was an escaped slave, but Americans would be a different matter. Flower felt a moment of shame, that she had even considered asking him to risk his freedom so that she would not need to face her fears. No, her original plan was best. She would try one more time to convince him not to go with her. And if that failed, she would make certain he could not. The next morning she told him that she was planning to depart with the full moon in two days' time. "I cannot let you risk your life, your freedom, to go with me. You must go back to Cherry Vale." "Woman, I told you. Where you goes, I goes, too." "You cannot!" she cried. "Even at Fort Boise you could be in danger. And the closer we get to Fort Vancouver, the more Americans we might meet. What happens if one of them decides to capture you in hopes of a reward?" He shrugged. "Somebody could come by tomorrow and cotch me. I don't see it makes any difference where I is...am. If I gets cotched, I'll git away. Sooner or later." "Oh, William...!" "I got something for you" he said, as if everything had been decided. He

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html opened his coat and reached inside, brought out several gold coins. "These oughta get us flour and vittles enough to feed us a year or more." "William, I will not take your gold." "You ain't. This here's a little bit of your share of the gold we found. Mist' Em, he sent it to you." Flower hesitated, but when his hand didn't waver, she nodded and accepted six of the coins. The journey over the mountains would be far easier if she had enough salt, flour and bacon. At the thought, her mouth watered. She had had no bacon since her last morning in Cherry Vale, eight long months ago. James Craigie was a gentleman. By the time she got to Fort Boise, she would have herself convinced that she was in no danger from him. "I took only what I might need." One or two of the crude gold pieces she accepted would buy all the supplies she could possibly use, with the rest left over for her passage. The money Doctor McLoughlin held for her would give her independence once she reached England. "Thank you, William." "No need for thanks," he said, gruffly. "I just brung it to you. Mist' Em, he's the one made up those coins. He says they's like some he seen when he was a sailor." *** Almost too soon she was ready to depart. The deer hide parfleches she had made were packed with dried meat, roots, and berries. She had two spare pair of moccasins, and the tattered wool coat was patched, and as clean as she could make it. Windchaser was fat from a winter of idleness, and the mule was strong and willing, if stubborn. William had gone about his work with a slight smile on his lips and warmth in his eyes, making his own preparations for travel. Each time she tired to tell him how much better off he would be in Cherry Vale, his answer was, "I knows. But I's goin' where you is, and that's all there is to it." Finally she gave up attempting to make him see reason. She knew the English names for the yarbs she'd chosen: boneset, yarrow, prickly lettuce, snakeweed, chokecherry, and coyote tobacco. Any one of them would make him drowsy, if given in large enough dose. But they all had unpleasant tastes, and she would never be able to get him to swallow enough to be effective. He was a big, healthy man. So she would use them all. The moon was all but full that evening as they sat on the bench before the cabin, Since he had been with her, she had often made mint tea of an evening, using a coarse aromatic plant that grew in abundance along the muddy banks of the bathtub's outlet. Tonight she added a handful of the yarbs to the basket before she poured water into it, hoping the mint would cover the bitter taste. "We will leave at first light," she told him as she pretended to sip. "My father used to make the journey in two days, but it may take us longer, unless we travel after dark." With his first taste, William said, "Mint's gettin' a little old. Got a

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html peculiar taste to it." Flower tasted hers and made a face. "Yes, I imagine I should seek younger leaves and discard these."Oh, William, will you forgive me for what I do to you? "It ain't too bad." He continued to sip. She hoped he would not notice that the level in her cup remained the same while his steadily lowered. "More?" she said, when he set his cup on the bench, empty. "Half a cup, maybe." He held it out to her. "Too bad we ain't got honey." "It would be good," she agreed, amazed that he would ask for more tea. It was indeed bitter, with an astringent aftertaste that reminded her of boiled willow bark. They sat in silence for several minutes, William sipping again at his tea, and she worrying that she had given him too strong a dose. Finally she rose, stretching. "I am tired. If we are to leave early tomorrow, we should retire now." She went inside, but stood looking through the open doorway, watching as he walked toward the corral. His dark shape soon blended with the night. She would wait until the moon reached the zenith, she decided, having no idea of how long the yarbs would take to have an effect. In the meantime she had much to do, for she had not been able to prevent his packing his few possessions with hers. Flower looked around the cabin, remembering the years she had lived here. Her father had built this cabin after Everett had returned to England, for Buffalo had taken his own furs to St. Louis that summer, rather than selling them to the Hudson's Bay Company or to the American fur traders. She and her mother had stayed here. This was where she had grown from child into woman, where she had learned to know the Bannock family who had been like grandparents to her, for they had raised Peaceful Woman as their own after she had been taken a slave in one of the never- ending battles between Bannock and Nez Perce. Flower had lived here for three summers, until her mother's death. During that time, Emmet Lachlan had become Buffalo's partner. She had said her good-byes to her foster family earlier this afternoon. She and William had gone to the Bannock village, but Flower had waited outside until the men were all gathered around William. Then she had gone to the tipis of Morning Mist and Goat Runner, her mother's adopted brother and sister, to say goodbye. Even now she felt a lump in her throat, for she knew she would never see them again. So many people she would never see again. A coyote's wail broke the silence, lone and poignant. Aware of a tightness in her throat, Flower closed the door of the cabin, let her hand rest one last time on the ingenious latch her father had carved from bitterbrush wood. "It is time

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html to go," she whispered, knowing she had no choice but to steal away while William slept. The night was half gone. She set her pack by the corral and went back for the larger bundle that held her food. Windchaser came to the fence, curious, but the mule-- William called him Hank--ignored her. She had decided to take both animals so that she could carry the larger pack and still ride. On foot she would have no chance of out-distancing William, should he choose to pursue her. Riding she might. The mule cooperated, much to her relief. Sometimes William had had to hobble it to get it loaded. Tonight it was as docile as Windchaser.

She mounted the mare and guided her along the narrow tail toward the river. The mule followed willingly. Their hooves made little noise on the sandy ground, and the dry grass swishing around their legs was just one more night sound. With any luck at all, she would be halfway to the Snake River before William awoke. *** William fought his way out of sleep. His thoughts were confused, his body achy and drained. He peered out of the lean-to, barely able to hold his eyes open. Although it was gray daylight, he could not tell the time, for there were no rays of sun shining through the cottonwoods, their angle marking the time. He lay back, thinking he would rest a bit before he rose. Surely Flower would come to him when it was time to go. He woke again to pattering rain. The cottonwoods above him caught most of it, but the drips from their leaves were loud against the bark slabs that roofed his shelter. For a few seconds he tried to remember why he should crawl out of bed, then drowsiness overtook him and he drifted into a half-sleep, full of unfamiliar voices and memories of pain and fury... When he'd come to his senses, it was slowly, painfully. His head had felt as if he'd run smack into a wall, and his arms was stretched above his head until his shoulder joints had screamed. And it had been quiet. Way too quiet. After a while remembered why he was tied up this way. The silence was almost as

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html bad as the yells and screams had been. He twisted and writhed, but no matter how he strained at the ropes holding his wrists and ankles, he could not see across the clearing to where they had dragged Flower. The Preacher, he'd taught all the children on the plantation to pray, but William hadn't taken much to it. Seemed like whatever he prayed for, he never got, so eventually he'd stopped. What he got, he got by main strength and awkwardness, most times. Today he prayed. "Can you see her, boy?" he muttered when he couldn't bear not knowing any longer. 'Twouldn't do to let the bassards hear him. His belly still ached where the big Injun--the one they called Short Leg--had kicked him. "She's all curled up in a ball," Silas whispered, "but it doesn't look like they've got her tied." "Is she..." His worst fear choked him. "They didn't kill her did they?" "Doubt it. Long as they can get some good out of her, they'll keep her alive." Again William pulled at the ropes, ignoring where his wrists had been rubbed raw. He'd hurt worse, probably would again. "Any chance you can get loose?" he said, having felt no give in his bonds. "I keep tryin'," Silas said, "but they got me tied pretty tight." William heard a rustling of willow leaves as the boy struggled. "Godammit, you hold still." The thud of a booted foot was quickly followed by a grunt of pain. William lay perfectly motionless, but it did him no good. The same foot thudded into his ribs, sending a sharp pain through his chest. As he inhaled to replace the wind that had been knocked out of him, the pain grabbed again. "You ain't a'gonna git loose so's you mought jest as well quit tryin'," the renegade said, bending down to glare into William's face. He was the bald one, short and bandy- legged, with a puckered, white scar circling his naked scalp. "We kin kill you as easy as not, Nigger, so jest keep on tryin' to git loose an' we will. You hear?" William glared back, not trying to hide the hatred and rage he felt. The boot slammed into his ribs again, and this time the knifelike pain was so intense he could hardly breathe. He fought the gray haze that threatened to overwhelm him and wondered how long their captors intended to stay here. Wondered how long he had to live. Given half a chance, he would fight until he was free or they killed him. He'd been a slave once. He would die before they sold him to the Blackfeet. With any luck, he'd take a couple of the renegades with him. He dozed, until the smell of cooking beef brought him awake. His mouth watered and his belly cramped. "Wonder which ox they butchered," Silas said. "Hope it wasn't Apollo." "Whichever one it was, he'd sure taste good." Miz Hattie's oxen had been more like pets than draft animals, but he'd take a hunk of any one of them right about now. Cooked or raw. More rustlings as Silas again struggled. "I'd give all the gold we found for a drink," the boy said. "Yeah, me too," William agreed. Once more he tried to see Flower. "Can you

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html see her now, boy? Is she all right?" "The skinny one's at her again," Silas told him, disgust and anger strong in his voice. "God! Ain't they ever gonna get tired?" "Is she fightin' back?" "She ain't movin' atall. She's just layin' there." William closed his eyes, even though he could see nothing but the darkening sky above and the leaves of the willows to which he was tied. At first she had fought, and fought well. He'd heard the men's curses as her blows landed, as her fingernails raked skin, but not since yesterday night. The big one, Pyzen Joe he was, had whupped her hard, using his belt, while two of the others had held her. Then he'd raped her yet again. Flower had not fought since.... William tried once more to free himself. But his hands weren't tied. His feet, neither. He rolled over and pushed himself upright, shaking his head. It felt stuffed plumb full of cotton bolls, so that his thoughts just sat there and went nowhere. Gradually he recognized his lean-to. And remembered. They had escaped the renegades, with Mist' Em's help. Running for their lives, they'd found Cherry Vale. For too short a spell, William had believed he'd found his kingdom. Then Pyzen Joe had showed up, threatening to take the women. William shook his head, hoping to clear it. Why did he feel this way? He wasn't ailing, yet he felt just as weak and clumsy as he had when Mist' Em had first found him, half froze, half drowned. Forcing his thoughts in the direction he wanted, he found memories of a long walk through snow fast mountains. He'd been seeking some trace of his Flower. And now he remembered finding her, a scairt, shy girl nothing like the brave, fierce woman he'd known before. Then he remembered something else. Flower was going away and didn't want him with her. "No!" He pushed himself to his feet with the help of his spear, staggered from the lean-to and up the path to the cabin. It was empty. The door was latched, with the latchstring hanging out for any weary traveler to see. The corral was empty, as well. She was gone. Without him. *** Flower made good time to Fort Boise. She arrived just before sunset on the second day, camped in a grove of cottonwoods about a mile downstream from the fort. All the way here she had watched her back trail, wondering if William would follow her. Wondering if the yarbs she had given him had been enough. Too much? Is he all right? Did I give him enough to harm him? She slept poorly, even though she knew the mule was better than a watchdog. He would alert her if anything larger than a mouse approached them. What kept her awake much of the night was not just her concern for William.How I

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html wish I knew if he is well. She also worried and fretted about what she must do in the morning. She remembered James Craigie from earlier visits to the fort, and knew he would treat her with kindness and respect. He would give her a fair trade for the small pelts and the deer hide she had, possibly enough salt, cornmeal and tea to last her until she reached Fort Vancouver. Then she would not have to meet strangers who might see her as the renegades had. A squaw, and therefore theirs for the taking. She shivered, and fell once more into restless, disagreeable dreams. *** William's body had rid itself of whatever had sickened him, through hours of gut- churning pain. When he'd finally woke, shaky and wet with cold sweat, the moon was on its way down the western sky and he'd felt like he might live another day. He drank as much water as he could hold, shouldered his pack--it weighed about as much as one of Hattie's oxen, he reckoned--and set his feet to the west. He didn't know exactly where Grande Ronde was, but there was sure to be a road wore in the sagebrush, as many wagons as were heading that way. And Flower said she was gonna stop there and visit some folks. It might take him a while, but he'd catch up with her. For an hour each step seemed like it'd be his last, then he started to feel better. He dug a hunk of jerky out of his pack and gnawed it as he walked. Then he drank some more water. Pretty soon, he was trottin', making good time along the rutted trail. At noon he rested for a while, dropping off to sleep in the shade by the river. Seemed like he'd done a heap of sleeping this past while, so he was able to wake when the sun had gone scarce a hand's breadth across the sky. That night, he walked until the stars faded into a chilly dawn. Ahead of him was a wide river. He scrambled down the bluff and found himself a snug nest in a clump of willows. After he'd slept a spell, he'd go ask the folks at the fort if they'd seen his Flower. And when he found her, he'd make up his mind whether he wanted to kiss her or whale the tar out of her. *** The fort had not changed in appearance. It still stood solid, set back and a little higher than the riverbank. The rough wall of adobe brick was grayish-tan in the morning sunlight. Flower stayed within the shelter of the cottonwoods until she was close to the wall, about halfway around the stockade from the entrance. I can do this, she told herself.Mr. Craigie is a gentleman. An Englishman. He is civilized. He will not harm me. She remembered him from years past, a friend of her father's. Buffalo had admired him, calling him a sharp ol' coon. She could go inside, could face him. Shewould do it.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Taking one deep breath, and then another, she walked around the last corner and approached the gate. It was all but closed, ajar only far enough for one person at a time to enter. She hesitated, then slipped through the opening. On three sides of the rectangular space, wooden and adobe structures sat against the wall. All were weathered; some were missing boards. But the trading post and the factor's residence were in good repair, with strong plank doors and shutters for the windows. The enclosure was empty but for a brown-and-black dog, sleeping in the doorway to what was apparently a stable. Flower walked slowly toward the trading post, fighting the urge to flee.Mr. Craigie is an Englishman. A civilized man. He is not a savage. She stepped through the wide door into the trading post, heart pounding. As she waited for her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside, she drew a deep breath. The mingled odors of tobacco, bacon, dried apples, and neat's-foot oil filled her nostrils, bringing back comforting memories of the winter she had lived at Fort Vancouver and was in and out of the post almost daily.This place is no different. You were safe there. You will be safe here. But the man who stood behind the counter was not James Craigie. "What d'you want?" he demanded. His wet brown eyes swept over her body, leaving her feel as if she had been touched with dirty fingers. He didn't smile so much as leered, and the gold rings in his ears glinted in the dusty light. She decided that she would pay for her supplies. Haggling for her furs with this man would be a futile, expensive business. She listed her wants, her voice growing stronger with each word. "And cinnamon," she said after a moment's thought. Jacques liked it in his coffee. She would surprise him. "Let's see your money." His manner was abrupt, almost sneering. He didn't call her a squaw, but she could all but hear his thoughts, wondering where a "filthy Injun" would get the heavy gold coin she laid on the counter. "Anything else?" he said at last, dropping the flitch of bacon beside the other bundles. She shook her head and pushed the coin across the counter. He picked it up and bit it, his brown and rotten teeth marking the soft gold. Then he dropped it into a drawer under the counter. "Where is my change?" "Change? You're lucky you had enough to pay for what you got. We don't give credit to dirty fisheaters." He turned away, began fussing with a pile of skins behind the counter. "I have change coming from my coin. At least five shillings," she insisted. Surely prices had not increased as much as that since last year when she and Silas had stopped here to purchase coffee for Emmet. "One more word and I'm keepin' them supplies. Now git!" A rage such as she had felt but once before swept through her. She wanted to kill him. She wanted to cut his throat and let him bleed all over her hands,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html wanted to cleanse her hands in his blood until all the soil that would not wash away was gone and she felt clean once more. She wrapped her fingers around her knife's hilt, drew it from its sheath. Then she pressed its sharp point into the clerk's belly. A door opened in the far wall and a big, red-headed man stepped through it. "What the bloody hell is going on here?" At the same time, a deep voice came from behind her. "Flower!" She tightened her grip on the handle, knowing how much strength it took to penetrate skin. She would kill him before he could hurt her again... But the clerk was flung away, out of her reach, to crumple against the wall. "Flower!" A dark hand wrenched the knife from her grip and strong arms turned her, surrounded her. Her face was pressed against supple buckskin backed by a chest hard as a rock wall. She tried to bite, until she caught the familiar odor. As quickly as it had flared, her rage flickered out. She sagged in William's arms, but did not attempt to free herself. Just this moment, she wanted to be here. She raised her head, but before she could speak, the clerk said, "She attacked me, Mr. Craigie, for no reason at all." He wiped a dirty hand across his bleeding mouth. "She pulled that there knife and came at me without cause." "Be quiet, Bickelow." James Craigie said, turning to look at her closely. "You're Buffalo Jones's girl, aren't you?" She nodded, and stepped out of William's now-loose hold. Fortifying herself with a deep breath, she said, in the well-bred English accent she had learned from Everett, "I believe I have change coming, Mr. Craigie. Your clerk did not agree." Her voice was steady, but her body still quivered with the force of her rage. And her fear? "Bickelow?" "No need to get impatient," he mumbled. "I was just gettin' it." He reached into the drawer below the counter and pulled out several coins. Tossing them down beside the bundles, he sneered. "There! Take your change and go. We don't want your sort..." "Bickelow!" Craigie jerked his chin toward the door. "Get out. I'll finish here." Once the clerk had retreated through the door at the end of the room, Craigie said, "I am dreadfully sorry, Miss Jones, that Bickelow was rude." He quickly inventoried the supplies she'd bought and counted the coins the clerk had flung upon the counter. "How much did you pay him?" "One gold coin. He put it in the drawer." Craigie retrieved the coin, looking at Flower strangely when he held it in the palm of his hand. But he said nothing, only tossed it back into the drawer. He scooped up her change, added several silver coins, and handed it all to her. Flower thanked him. While she felt less threatened by him than by his clerk, she still wanted out of this confining room, wanted to shrink away from his touch. A gentleman. An Englishman. My father liked and respected him. "Are you still fond of tea?" he asked, apparently unaware of her discomfort. He gestured toward the door leading into his private quarters. "Perhaps while

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html your man loads your supplies, you would join me in a cup." Flower remembered the first time she had met Mr. Craigie, when he was just come to Fort Vancouver. She had to smile at the memory. He and Everett had taken tea with her. Two bearded men in coarse clothing smiling over tin teacups at the child in a calico dress who was so proud that she knew how to pour out correctly. How young she had been then, and how innocent. For a moment she considered accepting his invitation to tea. He touched her arm, to direct her toward his quarters. Instantly her hand was on the hilt of her knife, and only the strength of her will kept it in its sheath.What am I doing? "I am sorry, Mr. Craigie, but we have many miles to go before dark. Another time, perhaps?" "Of course. Anytime." He watched while William put the last of their supplies into the leather bag she'd made for the purpose. When they were alone, he spoke softly. "Miss Jones, is your servant entirely trustworthy?" "My servant? Oh, you mean William? He's not my..." "I ask only out of concern for you. Now that your father is no longer able to care for you, there are those who might...you saw the way Bickelow acted. These new men, well, they don't understand what it was like under the Company." Flower felt pity for him, trying to explain delicately what she had learned from brutal mistreatment. Biting back the words that would tell him that William was no servant, she said, "He is entirely trustworthy, Mr. Craigie. Please do not be concerned for my safety." Then his words registered. "Under the...Mr. Craigie, what has happened?" He leaned back against the counter. "You didn't know? But Mr. Lachlan and I spoke of it when he was here, last summer." "I have not seen Em...Mr. Lachlan for some time. What happened?" "The Americans now control all of the Northwest, clear up to the forty-ninth parallel. The Company is pulling out of all its forts. I have resigned from the Company and am operating the trading post independently. But I expect I shall depart in the fall. Many Americans prefer to trade with one of their own." Cold fear clutched at Flower's belly. "What of Fort Vancouver? And the White Eagle?" "McLoughlin? He is at Oregon City, at the falls of the Willamette. The Fort is now an American post." "Thank God!" she breathed. Louder she said, "He was a good friend of my father's. Now that Buffalo is gone, I thought to visit him." Flower forced herself to speak polite words of farewell. She had her hand on the door when Craigie spoke again. "Just a moment, Miss Jones. I am curious about something." She halted. "The coin you used to pay for your supplies. Where did you get it?" "A friend gave it to me," she said, shrugging, hoping he would believe she knew nothing more. "Ah. I see. Well, perhaps he has been to India, then." He held the door open

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html for her. "I sincerely regret my employee's behavior, Miss Jones. I pray you will not let it keep you away from Fort Boise in the future." "No, I...thank you Mr. Craigie," she said, knowing she would do her best never to return. "It is not your fault that he saw me only as a savage. It has happened before." The clerk stood near the gate, leaning against the wall of the stockade, glaring. Again she felt as if he touched her with dirty hands. At this moment, she admitted she was glad to have William's company. She slipped Windchaser's lead line from the hitching post and hurried through the gate, to join William and the loaded mule. Silently she checked the mule's pack, then mounted Windchaser. She turned her mount's head toward the northwest and dug her heels into the mare's flanks. At the top of the first hill, she paused and looked back. William was no more than a quarter-mile behind her. She pulled Windchaser to a halt and waited while he caught up, walking beside the mule. "How did you find me?" She was angry that he had followed her, yet relieved that he was not harmed by the yarbs she had dosed him with. "I knowed where you was goin'." He didn't look at her, and his tone was hard. Well, she couldn't blame him for being angry. "Why, William? Why did you come after me?" "Woman, I told you. I's comin' with you, wherever you goes." Flower jerked on the rains and the mare half-reared. "No, you are not! Go home William. Go back to Cherry Vale." Now he looked directly at her. There was a glint in his eye, almost a glare. "Else you'll drug me asleep again?" Biting her lip, Flower shook her head. "You saw how Mr. Craigie assumed you were my servant. After you came so far to be free, how can you bear it?" "'Cause I looks like a servant, I s'pect," William said. He sounded almost amused. "It is your color, isn't it? That was what made him think...oh. William, I am so sorry." "It don't make no never mind to me. I's been a slave most of my life, so bein' a servant is like I got me a premotion. " His chuckle sounded natural, as if he were really amused. Perhaps he was, but she didn't think the situation funny. Flower had not realized, before now, just how much William's appearance would prejudice people against him. He was a Negro, therefore he was a servant--or a slave. Again she was reminded of the danger he could face in any encounter with Americans. The British would, like Craigie, assume he was her servant, but no American would believe a half-breed woman kept a black slave. "I need no servant," she said, forcing her voice to be cold and hard. "I need no one." She turned from him, jerking at the mule's lead line. "I don't want you with me, William. Go back to Cherry Vale." Then she gasped as strong hands took her around the waist and lifted her from Windchaser's back. "I reckon not," William said, taking Windchaser's reins and the mule's lead rope

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html in his big hand. "Let's go. It's a long way to wherever you're goin'." With long strides, he headed west.

CHAPTER FOUR Except for the occasional call of a circling raven, the only sound was the wind rustling the tall bunchgrass. This wasn't his kind of country, William decided. He missed the green fields, the humid smells and dark, moss-hung woods of the land where he'd been born. Here he felt exposed, defenseless, almost naked. There was no place to hide. But Flower was here, and that was enough for him. She'd walked alongside her horse for most of the afternoon, never looking at him. When he'd held out the reins to her after they'd walked a fair ways, she'd snatched them from his hand, but she hadn't mounted. Hadn't run off, as he'd expected her to do. So maybe she'd come to see that he was going with her whether she wanted or not. He'd be back in Cherry Vale if he had his druthers, but the next best thing was being where his Flower was. Walking along like this, with her beside him, he felt like singing. Even so, he kept hold on his mad. She'd had no call to dose him like she had. It wasn't as if he was askin' anything of her. All he wanted to do was see her safe, wheresomever she was headed. That night, Flower made her camp beside a seep, surrounded by low hills. He stayed a ways back, close enough that she knew he was there, far enough so's he wouldn't spook her. In the false dawn, he heard her moving about and he rolled out of his threadbare blanket. His breakfast was a handful of the mixture of pounded, dried meat and berries he'd traded for up at Lapwai--he couldn't remember what it was called, but it sure had kept him alive when pickin's was slim. 'Long about noon the second day, Flower halted at the top of a rise. William stopped walking and looked up the hill. My! But she was a pretty thing, outlined against the sky like that, with the wind molding the soft buckskin of her dress to her sweet body. Both she and her spotted horse had their heads raised and were staring into the distance, like they was watchin' something far off. The mule lowered his head and started nosing at the almost barren ground between the big sagebrushes. After a while Flower turned around and waved at William, motioning him to come to her. She'd walked her horse back from the crest of the hill when he got there. "I saw smoke," she said, "ahead, where the trail drops down to the river." "Injun smoke?" With her along, William didn't reckon he had much to fear from Injuns. "I don't think so. It looked like they were burning green wood." She chewed her bottom lip. "We'll have to go around." His mad came back in full force. "What's this 'we' shi...nonsense, woman? You been runnin' away from me for near a week, and now you wants me with you so the bad men won't cotch you?" He glared up at her, when what he really wanted to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html do was hold her close and swear to take care of her. "Of course not! But they're probably white men--Americans--and you don't want them to see-- " "I don't give a hoot in hell what they sees. All I care about is getting wherever you're goin' as quick as I can. You figure out what trail you're followin' and I'll just follow on behind, 'til you gets there in one piece. Then I can go back to my land and forget about you."Like you could forget your own name , a small voice told him. "You're a fool!" "I reckon so," he agreed. A smart man would go home. It was still too early to plant, up in Cherry Vale, but he could be breakin' ground, not lettin' the land lay fallow and useless. She opened her mouth, then snapped it shut, glaring at him. With a jerk on the mule's lead line, she started down the other side of the hill. By the time he got to the top, she had both animals running across the next swale. He hoped she knew where she was goin'. After a while she slowed, moving little faster than he was. When she stopped at the next creek crossing to let her animals drink, he caught up with her. She ignored him. So be it. William said nothing, figuring he'd let her get over her mad first. But he watched her, seeing how troubled she was. She reminded him of those trees he'd seen broken during the big storm that set him free. The ones that had bent to the ground under the wind's force, they'd sprung back as good as ever. Them that fought the wind, they'd lost their branches or toppled. Flower wasn't one to bend. She was too stubborn, too proud. Sooner or later, she'd break, unless he helped her hold herself together until she was healed. Was he strong enough? He didn't know, but he was gonna do his damndest. That night she made no complaint when he joined her in camp. After they'd eaten in silence, Flower claimed first watch. She climbed to a crest that looked at their back trail and settled herself against the slope so that her head was hidden by a tall sagebrush. He banked the fire and made their beds, then climbed up to join her. "I reckon you's got somethin' you wants to say to me," he said softly, seating himself beside her. If he had his druthers, he'd pull her up against him and pet her until she was soft and pliant. But he didn't dare, and he felt for her, sitting there tight as a fiddle string, so full of hurt that he wondered she didn't shatter. Her short, shining black hair swirled as she gave a quick shake of her head, but she didn't say anything. "Don't do no good to sit there and brood, woman. We's gonna talk about this and it might as well be now." "There's nothing to talk about," she said, still not turning to face him. "I told you I didn't want you to come with me."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Never mind that now. I'm here and I wants to know why you went and drugged me." Hearing his anger made her ashamed. "Oh, William, it was for your own good. I couldn't let you put yourself into danger." Flower didn't look at him, for she'd only admitted to one of her reasons. "Back when you first come with Silas, the first thing I thought was that you was the prettiest thing I ever see...saw." His voice was soft, now, and reflective. "Then I got to know you and I thought you was the nicest, honestest woman I ever met. Even more than Hattie." His big, dark eyes, captured her gaze, held it. "You always said what you was thinkin' but you always said it kindly." His almost-smile flickered across his face. "And you wasn't ever afeared of me." "Afraid? Of you?" Flower hesitated. Even at their first meeting she had sensed a gentle strength in him. "No," she admitted, "I wasn't. Not then." "But now you do?" "Well, I ..." Flower bit her lip. No matter what she said, she would be admitting more than she wished. She simply shook her head. "Go home, William. Just go home." He shook his head. "I reckon not," he said. "Seems to me you don't know what you wants." He was tired of being patient. "You wants to be left alone, but you wants company. You hates men, but you're plannin' on takin' a ship across that there ocean with a whole passel of 'em. And you're hurtin', but you won't let anyone give you solace. Dammit, woman, make up your mind." "You're angry." "Naw, I ain't angry," he drawled. "I been whupped and branded. I been halfdrownded, and I been tied up in the sun and left to lay in my own shit. How come you think I be mad at bein' drugged and left behind?" He caught her arm and pulled her around to face him. "Woman, you'd make a strong man cry, you're so dam' stubborn." She jerked free. "Don't touch me!" Deliberately he wrapped his big hand around her wrist and held on, despite her struggles. "You know I ain't gonna harm you." She kicked at him then, as her other hand pulled the knife from its sheath. Before William could react, he felt the burn of a sharp blade across his forearm and saw the blood welling from a long, shallow cut. "Let me go," she demanded again, as he rolled atop her and caught the flailing hand that held the knife. "Let me go!" "Not 'til you quiets down and listens to me," he said, holding her as well as he could. Lawdy, but she was strong for such a little mite. It broke his heart to hear her wordless cries and her gasps as she fought him. Gritting his teeth, he avoided the worst of her scratching fingernails, her snapping teeth. He held her just tight enough to keep her from breaking free. Something told him that if he fought back, she'd never stop resisting him. Half the Injuns in the country could have snuck up on them as they thrashed and battled on the dusty ground. William couldn't stop them rolling down the hill and into their camp, but he didn't worry much over the bruises and bumps he got.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html He did his best to protect her from the worst of it though, despite her wild struggles that didn't leave him much leeway. When her fingers stabbed at his eyes, he decided he'd had enough. He wrapped his legs around hers and caught her hands in one of his. With the other, he held her head tight against his chest, careful to give her just enough room to catch her breath. The heat of her against him made his own body surge in response. He adjusted their positions so that her soft breasts didn't lie so sweetly against his chest, so that the warmth of her belly didn't cradle his sex quite so well. He couldn't recall doing a more difficult thing his whole life. For a long time they lay that way, as her struggles gradually ceased. William didn't fool himself that he'd won. He'd simply wore her out. "You gonna lay there and listen to what I gots to say?" he said when she hadn't moved for several minutes. She nodded against his chest. He rolled off her carefully, not wanting her to feel the way his body still was aware of hers. The instant he no longer touched her, Flower scrambled to her feet. Her knife was gone, lost somewhere in their struggles, but she still had her teeth--and the conviction that William would never seriously hurt her. "Don't touch me," she snarled. "Don't ever touch me again." "I didn't mean you no harm," he said in the same gentle tone she'd heard him use

with the horses. "All I wanted was for you to listen to what I had to say." "You have nothing to say to me," she told him, moving carefully away. "Don't move!" she snapped when he took a step toward her. Backing, she found her pack with the edge of her foot. Quickly she swooped down and pulled the skinning knife from its sheath on the side of the pack. "William, I don't want to hurt you," she said, "but I will if you don't walk away and leave me alone." A wave of desolation washed over her, even as she spoke. If William wasn't there, no one would be. She had never been alone in her life, not until this past winter. And that long, cold season had taught her how empty, how forlorn life could be. But he was, perhaps, a greater danger to her than all the Pyzen Joes in the world, for he tempted her. He promised to love her. He promised her a future. And the cost was that she stay in this godforsaken land where there was no safety, no refuge from the wicked, no assurance that tomorrow would ever come. "Listen to me, William. You have a choice. I can tie you up and let you take

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html your chances, or I can leave you untied with the promise that you won't follow me." He stood where he had been, a good fifteen feet from her, but she didn't trust him. She'd seen how quickly he could move, if the need arose. "Which will it be?" "Reckon you'd better tie me then, woman. 'Cause there's no way I's gonna promise not to follow along behind you." He held his hands toward her, fists clenched. Not taking her eyes off him, Flower reached into her pack and felt around until she found the packet of rawhide strips. She tugged one loose. "Come here." "I reckon not," he said, his eyes daring her to try and force him. Flower bit her lip. She didn't trust him. Yes, she did. She trusted him to trick her if he thought he could get away with it. "Turn around," she said, still keeping her distance, "and put your hands behind you." "I reckon not." She bit her lip. Gripping her knife more tightly, she stepped toward him and whipped the thong around his wrists. He stood quietly, letting her tie them together. Neither did he move when she knelt to tie his ankles together. Once he was secure, she pulled the long knife from his belt, then ran her hand down his spine. Sure enough, he carried another inside the back of his shirt, as Emmet had taught him. She pulled it out, too. "Sit down," she told him, no longer fearing that he would grab her. He shook his head. "I like standin'." "Oh, for..." She put her hands against his chest and pushed. He fell backwards bonelessly, lay unmoving. For an instant, Flower was certain she'd somehow killed him, then she saw the gleam of his eyes. He was watching her. She had a sudden sympathy for a cat's prey, then told herself she was being fanciful. He lay limp and unresisting as she looped a thong from his wrists to his ankles and pulled it just tight enough that he couldn't stand. All the while she felt his eyes watching her, felt them like ghostly hands upon her face. After testing his bonds, Flower rolled him, unresisting, farther from her pack. Even if he could roll back, there was precious little inside it that could help him escape. "I'll be back," she told him. "Don't go away." A grunt was her only answer, and she regretted her sad attempt at humor. It had not been funny. Not at all. Her knife lay on the ground not far from where she'd been keeping vigil at the crest of the hill. Running a finger along the blade, she checked to make sure that it had not been damaged in their scuffle. Satisfied, she went back down the slope and found William in the same place, the same position she had left him. "I will go now," she said. "But I will leave your knives here for you. All you have to do is reach them and you can cut yourself free." She laid the knives on a hummock a good ten yards from him. Quickly she tossed the packsaddle on the mule and tied her pack and the food bags to it. Her bedroll went across

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Windchaser's back, secured with a wide leathern strap. All the while she fought to stifle the guilt she felt at leaving him alone in the midst of the wilderness. Without a gun, without a horse, and without food. No, she could not leave him without food. She dug around in the linen bags that held their food and pulled out the flitch of bacon and the cornmeal. Dividing them unevenly, she gave him the smaller portions, wrapping them in scraps of cured skin. There was enough to take him back to Cherry Vale. And if she ran short before she reached the falls of the Willamette, she could always hunt. As an afterthought, she laid one of the gold coins he'd given her beside the food and the knife. "I'm sorry, William. But I must do this. Please understand." Not even a grunt answered her, although she could still feel him watching her every move. Flower told herself she hadn't any choice, not if she was to survive as the person she was. She did not fear William as she did other men--why was that, she wondered yet again--but hewas a man and he had the power and the ability to hurt her as had those other men. She had felt his turgid manhood when he rolled atop her, had known that he was aroused. And it was not fair that he would have no satisfaction of her. She was cold, frozen to her very core, and could never be to a man more than a lifeless, loveless puppet. William deserved more. He deserved a woman who could respond to him, could appreciate the warmth and love he had to offer. She was doing him a great favor, riding out of his life. Turning she stared back into the gathering darkness, but was unable to see into the shallow draw where they'd made camp. Yes, she was doing William a great kindness, and someday he would understand. She hoped. Watching her ride away, William lamented his foolishness. He'd let his mad get the best of him, and now look at the fix he was in. She'd not forgive him easy this time. On the other hand, she wasn't too awful mad at him either, if the looseness of his bonds was any sign. He'd tightened his fists to make his wrists bigger when she tied him, but he could've got loose even if he hadn't. Despite the heaviness in his heart, he had to chuckle. If he didn't know just how fierce she could be, he'd worry about her safety. But his Flower could lick her weight in wildcats, no doubt about it. It was the two- legged skunks he was worried about, the ones like Pyzen Joe and his band. It was up to him to make sure she didn't get tangled up with any of them on her way to wherever she was headed. The moon hadn't moved its width across the sky before he was free of the rawhide thongs she'd bound him with. He thought about following her, then realized he could lose her in the dark. Now that they were off the wagon trail, he had no

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html idea where she'd go. He looked around the hollow where they'd camped and saw that she'd left his pack and bedroll, along with a couple of packets of food.No, she ain't too mad at me. Maybe he'd been crazy, letting her tie him up the way she had. His belly was still clenched from when he'd first felt the thongs tighten around his wrists. Bein' tied and helpless scairt him more'n anything else. He rubbed his wrist, remembering the last time he'd been tied. I reckon she remembers just as good as me. No, he'd done the right thing. Flower needed to know he wouldn't use his strength and size to force her to do anything but listen to what he had to say. His sleep was troubled, with vague dreams of danger and pain. Not since Mist' Em had pulled him from the river, half-drowned, had he suffered from such nightmares. As soon as the sky began to lighten, he sat up, through with fighting the nighttime demons. William rolled the food and his coat into his bedroll. It was a bigger load than he usually carried, him who'd come so far with only a rusty folding knife and a hank of string for snares. But he'd eat the bacon quick enough, and make up the cornmeal into some dodgers the first time he built a cooking fire. Sure would miss having coffee, though. He'd developed a powerful taste for it since coming to live with Hattie and Mist' Em. He walked until the sun was overhead, following the fresh trail of a horse and a mule. She hadn't tried to hide where she'd gone, and he wondered at that.Maybe she wants me to cotch up with her. "And maybe she don't." With each step, he thought what he could have done different. Could he have kept her from making up her mind to go off and leave him? Flower was powerful troubled, and it seemed to him like she was making her troubles worse by worrying 'em like a dog with a sore paw. She'd been hurt something awful, but she was still alive. Maybe what she needed was something that would make her see what good there was in her life. He surely wished he knew what that might be. When he finally settled for the night, he slipped into a restless sleep, full of images of Flower--smiling down at Hattie's brand-new baby like she held a treasure in her arms; naked to the waist and covered with bruises as they fled the bloodthirsty renegades; looking lost and defeated as she stared into the flickering fire at Buff's cabin. But the picture that came back again and again was the day in Cherry Vale when he'd asked her to be his woman. For a single instant she'd smiled up at him, glowing with all-too-brief joy. Then the shadows had returned to her eyes and she'd said, "I cannot, William. I am soiled and corrupt. You deserve something better than I can ever be again." Each time he heard her words, he woke, feeling as if he could weep, yet so full of rage at her rapists that his whole body shook. What was he going to do? She needed him, whether she knew it or not. Needed him

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html to deal with the men she'd encounter along her way. But he was scairt. He'd never admit it to her, only to himself. He was so scairt sometimes his belly ached. No matter where they went, there would be white men, and some of 'em was bound to be from the South. They'd see him, a big buck Nigra, and they'd know he was a slave. He didn't reckon they was any slave-takers this far from Alabama, but that didn't make no difference. Any man could cotch him, turn him in for the reward. He'd kill himself before he'd be a slave again. You wouldn't be much good to Flower dead, now would you? If only he could be sure he'd be any good to her alive. All he had was a couple of knives and his spear. Restlessly he turned once again, willing himself to sleep. No use worryin' about what he couldn't fix. *** Flower watched her back trail all the next day, but saw no sign of William. Since leaving the wagon trail, she'd been in new country, and she had to get back to the trail before it started its torturous climb up the Burnt River. Bearing ever north by northwest, she made poor time, for she frequently stopped and looked backward. On the second day she emerged from a narrow draw and spied a hilly profile she recognized. Burnt River was just ahead. Even better, there was a narrow box canyon off to the north of the trail that she remembered from a long ago journey with her parents. It held a minute seep, enough to water two horses and a person, as long as none were overly thirsty. The best part was the stretch of bare limestone in its entrance, hard rock that few trackers could read. A curious twisting sensation in her belly gave her pause.Don't be silly, she told herself.Of course you don't want to be found. There were other men out there besides William. Men who owed her no goodwill. Men who would see her only as a squaw, ripe for the taking. Dear William. If only she deserved him. If only she could be to him the wife he wanted. He was so kind, so gentle, sogood . But she could not. Her nightmares were no less frequent, no less terrifying, than they'd been right after her escape from Pyzen Joe's band. Her body had not healed either. She had not had her monthly flow since the rape, yet the renegades had not made her pregnant. *** The shadows were long when William heard the mule's raucous call. He paused, looked around. The bray had been quickly cut off, as if someone had caught the animal's mouth and held it shut. Flower was about, somewheres. He retraced his steps, and still he almost missed it again. The narrow crack in the hillside was half-hidden by a big cedar tree, growing from a crack in slick, light-colored rock. He slipped behind the tree and saw that the canyon extended back, curving so that he could only see into it a man-length. Cautiously he moved ahead, keeping close to the shadowy wall.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html The soft thud of a hoof on dirt warned him he was close. He stooped, pick up a pebble, and tossed it ahead. It rattled against the rock, and the horse made another cut- off whicker. William flattened himself against the rocky wall of the crack, eased forward a step, then two. With a deep breath, he took a last step around the bend. And ducked away from the shining blade that had been aimed at his throat. Rolled, and came up on the other side of the mule. "You gotta stop and think afore you pulls that knife, woman," he said when a quick flash of her eyes showed she recognized him. "Sooner or later you're gonna kill somebody. Then you be in real trouble." Her face went blank and she huddled in on herself. "I know," she said, her voice little more than a whisper. "I would have killed you," she admitted. "I wanted to. As I wanted to kill the clerk." Her voice rose in pitch until it was high and shrill. "William, I wanted tokill him and all he did was speak harshly to me." "You surely do got a powerful anger with all us men," he said, resisting the urge to take her into his arms, to comfort her. "Can't say as I blames you." "I hate you...them," she said. "I cannot forget what they did to me..." "They's all dead, them bassards what done that to you. That fat little piss-ant the other day, the worse he done was call you a fisheater. That and try to cheat you." He'd wanted to gut the clerk himself, for treating his Flower like dirt. "You can't go along hatin' and fearin' every man you sees." "I do not fear you," she said, sounding surprised. Then slapped her palm over her mouth, as if to stop any more foolish words. William wished he could read what was in her eyes, but he could see only the dim oval of her face in the deep shadows. "Ain't no reason to," he agreed. "You do not understand. The very sight of a man causes a paralyzing fear within my breast." She moved, touching herself, and William wished it was his hand resting on those enticing curves. "They's a passel of men you needs to be afeared of," he told her. "Like that there Pyzen Joe, he was one mean bassard." William still remembered the helplessness he'd felt when they were raping her. "Ain't never seen nobody better deserved a knife at his..." He wanted to bite his tongue off at the root when she made a sound, like a cut-off scream. He knew she was remembering, too. They had seemed so safe in Cherry Vale. Until that night.... William had sensed the blow an instant before he had felt it. When he came to, he had no notion how long he'd lain unconscious in the pasture, but it had almost been too long. He'd crawled up to the cabin wall and used it to keep himself on his feet, for the night had reeled crazily around him. When he'd come to the woodpile next the door, he'd picked up a chunk of firewood. Easing up to the corner, he peered around. The three of them-- Pyzen Joe, Hattie, and his Flower--was standing in a circle around the fire. The bassard had a knife at Flower's throat. "You said you'd go if we gave you food," Hattie protested. "Changed my mind," Pyzen Joe snarled, twisting Flower's arm behind her still harder, so that her mouth tightened with the pain. "Gonna take the squaw. You,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html too. That Nigger don't deserve the both of you." "Please..." Hattie's eyes had turned toward the half of the cabin where her baby slept. "Please, don't..." William smashed the firewood against Pyzen Joe's skull with all his might. The renegade collapsed bonelessly. "You all right, Miz Hattie, Flower?" William gasped. Miz Hattie was on her knees in the dirt. Flower lay huddled into herself next to the unconscious renegade. William shook his head, fighting dizziness. As he stood holding to the solid log wall, he watched Hattie crawl to the renegade's side. She reached across him and picked up one of the large river rocks that formed their fire pit. As she raised it in shaking hands, William pushed himself away from the wall. He plucked the stone from her shaking hands. "No'm Miz Hattie. You don't wants to do that." "Let me," she said. "I must..." Before he could kill the bassard for her, Flower uncoiled. Her knife blade gleamed in the firelight. Bright blood spurted from a wide slash in Pyzen Joe's throat. He twitched once, then was still, his body sagging into a slack lump. William couldn't move, couldn't speak. Flower stared at the bloody knife for a long moment before dropping it into the dirt beside Pyzen Joe's body. She scrubbed her hands against her thighs again and again, even though they wasn't bloody. At last she raised her face and looked across the fire at William. Her gray eyes were round and blank, as if she was staring into the past. He reached to her, wanting to take her into his arms. But she shrank back. He let his hands drop to his sides. With a clumsiness far from her usual grace, Flower rose to her feet. She wiped her hands along the side of her skirt, then held them before her face and stared at them. "Blood," she whispered. "So much blood." Again she scrubbed them together. "I must cleanse myself," she whispered. "Flower," Hattie said, "oh, Flower..." "I am avenged, at last." Flower turned wide, blank eyes on them. "I am avenged, and now I must cleanse myself." She picked up her knife and slipped it under her sash. Three steps took her to the edge of the firelight, then she paused and looked back at them. Her lips parted, as if she was about to speak. But then she turned away. In two steps it was almost as if the night had swallowed her up. William disposed of the body, not honoring it with a grave. The other renegade who had pursued them had died under a cascade of falling rock, and Pyzen Joe ended under tumbled boulders as well. Much as he'd wanted to, he hadn't gone after his Flower. Not then. The other men were off fetching supplies, and he was the only protection for Hattie and her babe. Only a long time later, after Mist' Em had come home to Cherry Vale, had

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html he been free to leave. By then winter had settled in, and he could only guess where Flower had gone... Now she was all huddled into herself, just like that other time. Putting aside how sorry he felt for her, William said, "There's somethin' I been thinkin' on. I never said anything, 'cause I figured you had enough hurt inside you." She didn't move, just lay there in a curled-up ball of misery. "Them bassards who raped you--" She screamed, so full of pain it like to broke his heart. "Who raped you," he repeated, not sparing her feelings, "they ain't no worse than lot of men down where I come from. No Nigra woman's safe, not back there." "It is not the same," she protested, her voice thin and shrill. "I am defiled forever!" "Hell, woman, any plantation's got as many quadroon brats as pickaninnies runnin' around. Most gals I knew, they spent time in the marse's bed--or flat on their backs in the dirt--and dam' few of 'em asked to be there." "It isnot the same!" This time she screamed it. A coyote yipped, somewheres nearby, as if answering her. William forced himself to shrug, kept his voice hard and angry-soundin'. "Rape's rape. I don't see it matters whether six of 'em done you in a day or in a year. If you'd lived where I come from, you might'a been sold to one of them fancy whorehouses in Mobile or N'Orleans, you're so pretty. And I heard once that a lot of those women, they get chained to their beds until they gives up tryin' to escape." She lifted her face, pale and set in the faint light. "Why are you doing this to me, William? Why do you hate me?" Oh, God!"I don't hate you, woman."I love you! He bit back the words. "But I reckon you've been pickin' and scratchin' at your hurt all winter long and it's not healin' the way it ought. I was just tryin' to show you that you ain't the only woman in the world been treated real bad. Some of 'em dies of it, but the strong ones, they get themselves back together again and go on livin'." "I am not strong," she whimpered. "Woman, you is one of the strongest folks I ever met." Although it near killed him to do it, William turned his back on her and picked up his pack. Walking to the other side of where Windchaser and Hank were picketed, he spread his bedroll on the ground. What he'd done to her was cruel, just about the meanest thing he could do. But old Aunty Deed had told him once that the best medicine was the bitterest. He'd given Flower a dose of the strongest, most bitter medicine he could come up with. Now he'd just have to wait to see if it did her any good. She'd been eatin' herself alive with her grievin' and it had gotten to be more than he could watch.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html CHAPTER FIVE Konrad Muller hadn't had a good winter. First he'd lost the trapper with the gold in a blizzard, then his horse had stepped into a snow-covered burrow and broken its leg. Muller had made his way afoot back to an Indian winter camp at the mouth of the Umatilla. The damned savages had refused to take him in. He'd finally reached The Dalles on the first day of 1847, hungry, cold, and mad as hell. The last of the emigrants had gone down the river and the little settlement had been almost empty. He'd moved into an abandoned shack, not much more than a pile of rocks with a wood door and a leaky roof--and found himself work at the saloon. Here he'd been ever since, waiting for summer to bring more emigrants. He scowled as the man leaning on the bar looked pointedly at his empty mug. Only after Muller saw the color of money did he pour a refill. "I'm getting plumb tired of being at the beck and call of the likes of you," Muller muttered, not loud enough to be heard. Sam Bates had given him a bear jaw just last week for cursing at a customer. He'd mind his manners for a while yet, because he wasn't ready to leave town, even this miserable little settlement where the cold, dry wind pulled the breath right out of a man's chest. He cocked an ear at the talk at the poker table. They'd found the squaw this morning, and folks were still exclaiming on the viciousness of the killing. "...still alive when he found her, but she died purty quick afterward. Must'a been layin' there bleedin' all night." "...jest an Injun..." "worried about who's next...many killings this winter...crazy..." He tossed his towel on the bar and opened the door to the storeroom. They'd talk and talk about law and order, but none of them would lift a finger to find whoever killed the Indian woman. And next time it happened, they'd talk again and do just as little. Once the back bar was restocked, he poured himself a beer and watched as men wandered in and out. Each day there were more new faces. With the coming of spring, traffic through town had increased, in both directions, but none of the travelers was the man he was watching for. Another coin had surfaced since the trapper had gone east. Three! Muller was more certain than ever that the trapper had a whole bag of them--worn, clipped, ancient. Muller had seen coins like them in the South Seas, during his brief and miserable stint aboard the trading vessel. Oh, there was other gold about. Eagles and foreign coins, mostly. Now and then somebody tried to pass on some wildcat money, but Konrad Muller wasn't anybody's fool. He was sure that many of the newcomers to the territory had hidden caches of silver or gold, but it was mostly spent on boats, not booze. As soon as this year's emigrants came through, his pockets would be a sight fuller than they were now. Till then, he'd bide his time. Sooner or later another one of those old Eastern coins was bound to show up. When it did, he was gonna be ready to trace it back to its source. He'd be rich, then. He knew he would. ***

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html In the morning William was the first thing Flower saw when she opened her eyes. Big and dark and cruel. She would never forgive him for what he'd said to her last night.Never . He does not understand. Women of his people have no choice. They are slaves and must do as their masters command.Her mother had been a slave, before Ashe-woo-dah, Goat Runner's father, had adopted her into the band. But she had never been mistreated. I am not a slave, and I had a choice. I could have fought until they killed me. But I was afraid. I did not want to die! No wonder William held her in contempt. She had done nothing to earn his respect. She feigned sleep as William crawled from his blankets. He brought the fire to life and filled the battered pot from his pack with water, setting it on rocks next to the flames. Then he disappeared from her view. In a few moments she heard the sound of splashing that told her he was bathing in the tiny pool fed by the seep. I will not speak to him, she told herself when she heard his footsteps approaching.He is cruel. Despicable. The next thing she knew, her blanket had been stripped from her. "Git yourself up, woman. Time's a wastin' and we got a ways to go today." Narrowing her eyes, she considered how best to cripple him. Before she could move, he'd opened her pack and pulled the parcel of coffee from it. "Put that back!" "Nope. If I ever saw a woman needed her coffee, 'twas you. It'll sweeten you up some." He dropped a handful of beans into the small spider she'd purchased at Fort Boise, held it over the fire. His back was to her, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. As if he were waiting for a knife to slide between his ribs. The buckskin shirt that had once been her father's fit him almost as well as his own skin. It strained at his broad shoulders, clung lovingly to the indentation of his spine. The broad belt cinched it at his slim waist, supple above tight buttocks. An infinitesimal flare of heat was born in her midsection. And died just as suddenly.He is a man. Big and strong. He could do whatever he wanted with you. Yes. He was a man, but a gentle man, one who had proved time and again that he meant her no harm. With him she was safe. She knew this, without question. Safe. No!Even William could not always keep her safe. He was too gentle for the wilderness, where civilization was often little more than a thin veneer over men's bestial natures. Only in a civilized land could she relax her vigilance, live as a woman should. Flower turned away and began replacing items in her pack. Even when he handed her a cup of coffee, hot and aromatic, she said nothing. Neither did he. When William tied the last packet on the mule, she faced him and spoke at last. "I have been thinking," she said.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Me, too." When she hesitated, he said, "You first." "I have decided that I will let you come with me to The Dalles," she said, then held up her hand quickly when he opened his mouth. "Onlyas far as The Dalles. Then you must promise to go back to Cherry Vale." He just shook his head. "William! Have you no care for your own safety!" "I reckon I'm man enough to decide for my own self when I's...I'm in danger." *** The westering road up the Burnt River was an ordeal. They stayed on the slopes above the creek whenever possible, but the steep hillsides drove them down as often as not. Flower's arms and face were scratched from her frequent encounters with stiff branches. William's face was grotesque with its mask of dried dust mixed with sweat. She had walked this way before, going east last year with Silas. More than once, as a child, she had traveled both directions along this route. She didn't remember it ever being quite as difficult as this time, with the fresh new growth of willow, alder and hardhack crowding the narrow river. They were nine days from Fort Boise when at last they stood on a divide and looked northward toward the valley of the Grande Ronde. "If we go that way," Flower said, pointing along the worn wagon road to the northwest, "there is a narrow canyon that we cannot avoid. This way is longer, but it leads to the home of my father's friend. I wish to say farewell." "You're the one knows the way," was all William said. He'd been quiet ever since his outburst at the hidden spring. She was still angry with him, but had to admit that she was glad to have him with her. She no longer woke, trembling, at the least sound in the night. Early on a drizzly afternoon they reached the log cabin where Jacques LaJeunesse and his family lived. No one answered her hail. A faint shimmer of heat above the chimney told her that the occupants had not been long gone. "You can camp behind the cabin," she told William, as she removed Windchaser's hackamore. "I will sleep with my friend, Marie." For one moment she felt guilty, leaving him outside in the rain, until she remembered how he hated a roof over his head. Once both animals were in the pole corral, she entered the cabin, left with the latchstring out as it always had been. Here she felt no danger, for she had spent many hours of her childhood happy here. Safe. When Marie and her father returned at dusk, Flower met them at the door. "P'tite Fleur! How happy I am to see you!" Loud, exuberant, and seeming many years younger than she knew he was, Jacques LaJeunesse caught her in his arms. His embrace was truly a bear hug, for he was even bigger and hairier than her father had been. Laughing, Flower disentangled herself and turned to greet his daughter. Marie was a few years younger than herself, but they had been the only two English-speaking girls in the Grande Ronde trappers' camp through several

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html summers, and had become fast friends. Now she looked at Marie, and smiled at what she saw. "How beautiful you've become," she said. "Oui! Ma bebe, she is the prettiest girl in Le Grande Ronde. All the young men, they want to marry her, but she say no, not until they build her a house and bring her many horses." Marie blushed. In a soft voice, she said, "Papa is trying to get rid of me, but I won't go. Who would cook for him?" Once the excitement of meeting old friends had abated, Flower called to William. He came slowly around the corner of the cabin, his expression suspicious. Jacques' welcome was restrained and equally doubtful. Flower bit her lip, not knowing how to reassure them both. She wanted Jacques to see what a good man William was. To make matters worse, William refused to come inside for supper. As they ate, Flower recounted her adventures since the last time she had seen them, the summer after her mother's death. Both Marie and Jacques were intrigued by the story of Buffalo's valley, where 'gold lay on the ground for the takin'.' "Where'd you get this black man?" Jacques asked her as they sat with their coffee after supper. "I worry you travel with him, me." "William is a good man, Uncle Jacques. He is kind and gentle, and he would do anything to protect me." "Hah!" Jacques took a moment to load his pipe. "Kind and gentle is it? Better he should be strong and mean. That is what you need to protect you." "I could not travel with a man who was mean." "But can he protect you, Flower?" Marie asked. "Now that more and more Americans are coming, a woman is not safe as she was when we were children. Hilaire and his friends had to run away last winter, because they fought with one who would not leave me alone." "The bastards called her squaw," Jacques said, disgust strong in his voice. "As if that meant she was a whore. I do not allow her to go from here alone, not any more." Remembering the clerk at Fort Boise, Flower nodded. "My father warned me that this would happen. He said that many white men look down upon of those other colors, and that we who are of mixed parentage disgust them the most." "The word on the wind is that even the missionaries do not trust the savage redskins," Jacques said. "There is unrest at Waiilatpu, because Whitman and the priests quarrel over who knows the exact way to heaven." He spat into the fire.

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"Sacre bleu! Does it make a difference how a man believes, so long as he acts fittingly?" "At Lapwai, too, there was tension between the Catholics and Dr. Spaulding. My mother's people were confused and uneasy at their disagreements," Flower said. "Dr. Spaulding believes that the Hudson's Bay Company is using the priests to turn the Nez Perce against him and his church." Jacques shrugged. "This would not surprise me. But with or without the Company, the priests are hungry for Indian souls, just as are the American missionaries." Remembering the frequent exhortations she had been subject to by Dr. Spaulding, concerning the fate of her eternal soul, Flower had to agree. "You said you came to say farewell, Flower," Marie said. "Where are you bound? And why?" "Do you remember Everett Hetherington? The Englishman who was my father's partner for several years?" They both nodded. "He often said that he believed I would be happier in England than in America, particularly once more settlers came to the Northwest." Biting her lip, Flower knew she had to be honest with these people. To warn Marie, if for no other reason. "Last summer I was captured. By renegades. Wicked, vicious men. They...they hurt me. Badly. Now I cannot look at a man, cannot speak to a man, without freezing with fear." She struck her breasts with her closed fists. "Here. In my heart!" "Oh, Flower," Marie whispered, her voice breaking, "did they...did they--" Flower nodded. "Many times." Jacques cursed, foully. "It is done, my friend. But I am no longer the woman I was before...before they did this to me. Now I live in fear. And so I must go to a place where there are laws protecting the helpless, and strong men who enforce them." "No place is so perfect as that," Jacques growled. "Not anywhere in the wide world." "Oh, but there is. Everett always said that England was the most civilized country in the world. Surely civilization means that the weak and the helpless are protected." "You dream,P'tite Fleur . Better you stay in this place you said your friends found, this Cherry Vale. You will be as safe there as you will in England." He cocked his head at her. "Perhaps you should go to Paris, instead. As a child I was told that it was almost as extraordinary as heaven." "No. I will go to England," she said. "I have decided." "As you will," Jacques said, but he looked unconvinced of her wisdom. The subject of William's suitability as her traveling companion never arose again. Flower was pleased to see Jacques speaking to him in a civil manner the next morning. The two men rode off together, William sitting awkwardly astride her mule, bareback.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html *** "Why do you travel with Fleur?" Jacques said to William when they were a ways from the cabin. "I have spoken with Americans, heard of how they treat those of your color. You can only bring more danger to her." Easing himself astride the mule's bony back, William stared across at the mountains to the north. He sure wished he could see the answers writ in the snow on their tops. Even though Hattie had taught him his letters, he still wasn't real good with words, not when he felt strong about something. "Eh! What say you?" "I don't know," he said. "I ain't got any choice, I guess. Seems like life wouldn't be worth much, if I wasn't with her." "You love her,hein ?" William nodded glumly. "Not that it's gonna do me any good." "Have you told her you love her?" "I told her I wants her to be my woman." Once more he shifted. He'd choose to walk any day, but Jacques had insisted he ride.Tomorrow I'll be so crippled up I won't be able to move. "Pah! Women, they like the poetry. The kisses. The caresses." He squinted at William. "Have you kissed her?" "Nossir. I dasn't." The very thought made his insides shiver. "She's mighty skittish, a man comes even close to her." "Ah,oui . Perhaps you are wise. But do not delay too long, young Guillaume. There is a saying--'in due season we shall reap, if we faint not.' You would be wise to heed it. Do not be afraid to tell her of your love, and do not wait until it is too late to do so." "Nossir, I won't." Once more he shifted, wondering if he'd have any skin left on his arse when this day was over. They had delivered the food Marie had sent to an old woman, had picked up some small varmit skins--Jacques called them conies, but William knew a rabbit hide when he saw one--from another cabin, and were heading back the way they'd come when Jacques suddenly drew his horse up. "Hah! I have it!" Nearly sliding from the mule's back when he half-reared, William fought to stay astride. He managed, but only by the skin of his teeth. "What you got?" he said, wishing Jacques was a little less noisy. "I have the way you can endear your self to ourp'tite Fleur . I think you are not certain you can protect her from the bad men you will meet--ah,oui, mon ami , you will meet many bad men, and some of them will want to take Fleur from you." "I knows that." The thought had kept him awake more than one night. "So you need a helper. Someone to assist you. And me, I know just where to find this helper." He turned his horse off the trail and spurred it into a trot. With a death grip on the mule's mane, William followed. "I ain't gonna like this," he muttered. *** Once they were alone, Marie confided to Flower that she had chosen her future husband. "But it wouldn't do to let Papa know, not until Auguste has formally asked his permission." The sun shone against the wall of the cabin that morning, and they sat in its

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html warmth. Hides in their stretchers were piled in front of them, waiting to be softened so they could be made into clothing. Marie handed Flower one of the hoops holding a stretched deerskin, still stiff and hard, and took one herself. Flower started removing the lacings holding the skin to the frame. "Auguste? Are you talking about little Auguste Entremont? With the freckles?" She dipped her cupped hand into the pot of warm water between them and moistened the stiff hide she held. Once it was moistened, she would work it between her hands until it was soft, a task she had learned as a child and one that never failed to soothe her. "The very one." Marie giggled. "But not so little now. And his freckles have grown so big that they almost cover his face. But he is still very handsome. He and his brother have built a home down south of here, in the Ochoco Mountains. They hope to raise horses to sell to the American settlers." "When will you marry?" Oh, how she envied Marie her future happiness. Flower fought back the tears that burned at the backs of her eyes, as she thought about the home and the babies she would never have. "Auguste will ask Papa in the fall, after he has sold horses to this year's settlers." Marie's smile was sweetly romantic. "We will marry in the winter." They worked quietly, reminiscing of their childhoods, sharing news of events in their lives since they'd last been together. Flower found a contentment she had not felt for many months in the shared work, the mostly happy memories. "Do you remember when Auguste and Hilaire caught the skunk in their trap?" Flower laughed. "Oh, yes. And how furious your papa was when they brought the skin in with his pelts. Did he ever get the smell out of them?" "Not entirely, but he sold them to an American trader, who did not seem to care that they smelled of roses." She giggled. "Papa soaked them in the French perfume he bought for Maman." "I remember when he gave it to her," Flower said, also laughing. "She told my mother that a woman should smell of cedar and sunlight, not of stale and dusty flowers from a foreign land." "I still have the bottle," Marie said, her voice pensive. "So pretty. I like the smell, even if Maman did not." Flower rose and laid the hide she'd been working on across the fence rail. It was soft now, and thoroughly damp. Tomorrow it would be dry and she would rub it with rendered bear fat. "Of course you do. You have always been more French than Wasco." "And you have always seemed more Nez Perce than American," Marie responded, as Flower sat and began loosening another hide from its stretcher. "Isn't it strange how we are like one parent or the other? Look at my brother. Hilaire looks like Maman, and cares nothing for his French heritage." "And Auguste? What of him?" Marie laughed. "Oh, that one! He says he will be an American, now that the question of who controls Oregon has been settled." "It does not bother him that they will see him as half-breed, beneath

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html contempt?" "Auguste? Nothing bothers him. And who will know, anyway? With his red hair and freckles, he does not look Indian." "Neither do you. So perhaps the Americans will accept you both." Marie nodded. "Perhaps." Her hands slowed at their task, and soon they were lying quietly atop the softened hide. "Flower, you do not really look Indian, but you do resemble your mother more than your father. Except for your eyes. The color of rain, Hilaire called them. They are lovely." "I look enough Indian that I am called half-breed. And worse," Flower said, bitterly. "And treated no better." "Do you think it will be any different in England?" Marie's tone said she already knew the answer. "Everett is powerful. And rich. He is a nobleman, and if he says I am to be accepted, I will be," Flower said. But a niggling little voice inside her head whispered,and do you still believe there are fairies hiding under mushrooms, too? "Perhaps the English will see you as exotic, rather than Indian. You can tell them that you are the princess of a distant land. Somewhere far to the East." "Perhaps." She worked the deer hide for a few minutes, silently. Thinking. At last she said, "You said I am more Nez Perce than American, but I am not. You knew that my mother was captured by the Bannock when she was still a child?" Marie nodded. "She lived with them for many years, learning their customs and beliefs, but she once told me that sometimes she felt like a stranger, because of her life before. Then when she married my father, she had to learn still more new customs and rules, especially when we lived at Fort Vancouver. It was a relief to her when we moved here. She could make her own customs, she said, and her own rules." "But she knew so much of her people's herbal medicine," Marie said. "She must have learned--" "What she knew was a little of this and a little of that. She learned from whoever would teach her. Even Everett taught her how the English used plants." Sighing, Flower let her hands go idle again and stared off at the mountains to the south. "I wish I had learned more from her when she wanted to teach me. But no. I was more interested in Everett's books and his traveler's tales. His stories of faraway places were so much more appealing than learning about weeds." "And now you go to those faraway places. Are you excited?" Biting her lip, Flower stared again at the mountains. "No," she admitted at last. "I am frightened. I never felt as if I belonged with the other children at Fort Vancouver--" "You were too quiet, too well-behaved," Marie giggled. "What a rowdy lot we were!" "I did not feel a part of the Nez Perce, when I lived at Lapwai," she said, ignoring Marie's comment. "Mrs. Spaulding was happy to have me teach the children English, but Dr. Spaulding never let me forget I was an Indian, and somehow less respectable than he." "Papa says that too often the missionaries love us philosophically, but in reality they think of us still as ignorant, savage and pagan." "Your father is a wise man," Flower said, holding up the hide and inspecting it.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html There! A stiff patch, in the lower corner. She attacked it. "Has it never bothered you that you belong neither one place or the other?" "Me? No. I belong here, with my Papa, and soon I will belong with Auguste. I have Wasco cousins, and I have friends who are Clatsop and Salish, Chinook and Nez Perce." She caught Flower's hand and squeezed it. "Americans and English as well-- we visited the White Eagle last year and he tried to get Papa to come back to the Company. And now a black man will be my friend, too. I do not worry about what I cannot change." She sobered. "But Hilaire, he does. My brother is more like you, wanting to know exactly who he is and where he belongs. Did I tell you he is with the Wasco now, fishing at Chenoweth?" Flower nodded, thinking that perhaps she would stop and visit Hilaire on her way--no! He will be with many others and I am not ready to face their questions. And their sly glances. The lust in their eyes. "He has taken a name.Skwiskwis. It means squirrel." Once more Marie giggled. So did Flower. Hilaire had been tall and wide-shouldered the last time she had seen him, and he had still been a youth. He had promised to be even bigger than his father.Squirrel was not the image she had of him in her mind. "Did Jacques tell you where they were going?" she asked Marie, as they gathered the still damp hides from the fence rails. "No, but he said they would not return until late. I think he wants to get to know your man, so that he can tell you if he approves." "He is not my man," Flower protested. "He looks at you as if you are his woman," Marie said. "That does not matter. He is not my man." *** The low clouds made it hard to tell when the sun had set, but it was nearly full dark when Jacques and William returned to the cabin. He felt a shiver of need in his belly at the sight of the warm, yellow light shining through the single window. That's what I want. My woman inside a cabin of our own, with supper sittin' ready on the hearth. Maybe even a youngster or two playin' on the floor. He took a tighter hold on his wiggling burden and pushed the thought to the back of his mind.It don't do no good cryin' for what you ain't got , he told himself.Jest be happy you got as much as you does. Jacques showed William where to put the gift they had brought to Flower, then they turned the horses into the corral and brushed them down. They were not friends yet, him and Jacques, but they'd come to an understanding. The old man knew he'd do his best to protect Flower. "Papa, we had about decided you were not coming home tonight," Marie teased, when Jacques entered. William, still in the doorway, looked over the big trapper's shoulder, to where Flower knelt by the hearth. Was that a smile on her face? Was she happy to see him? In the next instant he was convinced it had been his imagination. He stepped inside and laid the bundle of furs he carried onto the table. "Reckon I'll be gettin' my fire lit," he said, turning back toward the door. Tonight he

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html didn't feel near as confined in the cabin. But he still wanted to sleep outdoors. "Wait!" Flower's hand quickly covered her mouth as if she was sorry she'd spoken. "Oh, no, please, you must eat with us," Marie said. "We have dried huckleberry pie and a ragout of elk and root vegetables. And Flower gathered greens for a salade!" "A feast!" Jacques said. "Sit you down, Guillaume. Tonight we celebrate. I have some wine, I think." Resisting the urge to bolt, William looked to Flower. She nodded. "Yes, please. Eat with us, William. It is so wet outside." He'd have been happier if she hadn't sounded so much like she pitied him sleeping in the rain. Like she'd just wanted his company. Sitting around the table felt so good it made him long for home. For Cherry Vale. William half-listened to the laughter and talk of the others, half-heard in his head the conversation last time he'd sat to table with Hattie and Mist' Em. That was the night he'd told them he was going after Flower. Wherever she was. And that he wouldn't be back 'til he found her... "What if you don't find her?" Hattie had asked. "Reckon I'll keep lookin' 'til I does," he'd said, knowing that he might be looking for the rest of his life. Hattie had kissed him goodbye, with tears in her eyes. Mist' Em had offered him the shotgun, but William had turned it down. He'd take his spear any day. It didn't make no noise, and when he wasn't huntin' it made a fine walking stick. Now it didn't look like he was goin' to get home anyhow. It sounded to him like England was so far away that he'd never get back to Cherry Vale. "Guillaume? Will you give Fleur her gift now?" "Huh?" He realized that all three of them were looking at him. Jacques' face was split by a wide grin, Flower and Marie looked excited and expectant. He hesitated, then at Jacques' impatient gesture, he stood. "Be right back." Before he went back in, he wiped the moisture from the pup's fur. "It don't matter whether or not she wants you," he muttered to his struggling burden. "She needs you and that's all there is to it." He pushed the door open. "Oh, he is beautiful!" Marie cried as William set the half-grown dog on the floor. He paid her no attention. His gaze was on Flower's face. She said nothing for the longest time. At last she said, "It is a dog." From the tone of her voice, she might have been sayingit is a rattlesnake . "He's part wolf," William told her, "but he's been hand-raised. He's tame as can be." "A dog? William, what will I do with a dog?" Her face had that set, closed-up look on it that she always got when she was tellin' him he couldn't go with her. "You can sleep at night," he snapped, tired of the way she didn't like nothin' he did. "He's not gonna let the boojums get you, that's for sure. Or anything else wants to harm you. He's not full-growed yet, but once he gets the idea he's your dog, he'll protect you real good." She shook her head. "No, William. No. He is not my dog. He is yours. I cannot

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html take a dog to England with me." "Don't see why not. I'll take care of him."

CHAPTER SIX Flower stared at William. Had he heard nothing she had said to him these past weeks? His dark face wore a placid expression, as if there was no argument between them. As if his traveling with her was a given. "William, you do not understand. I cannot take a dog to England. Not even to Oregon City." "He is a good dog,ma fille ," Jacques said. "He will not eat much. That lazy old Fish-killer, who raised him, taught him to hunt for himself." She spun to face Jacques. "You stay out of this! You know nothing of what William demands of me." His grin was wily. "Eh,oui , but I do. This man--" he shot William a look of pure approval. "He is a good man, wants to protect and defend you in your travels. He brings you this dog so that you may rest easily at night." "So let the dog be his. When he turns back at The Dalles--" William made a sound of denial. "When he turns back at The Dalles," Flower repeated, "he can take the dog with him. I will not accept it." William opened his mouth, but closed it again when Jacques said, "I see how it is. Because you have learned to fear all men, you cannot trust this one." "Ido trust him--" Too late she saw the trap. "Well, then, you have no reason to fear him, do you?" "She don't fear me," William said. "She figures she don't need no man about her, 'cause she can whup her weight in wildcats." "That is not true!" William shrugged. "Looks that way to me. Don't it to you, Jacques?" Her friend--her friend!--nodded his agreement. "She is like her papa, stubborn and too certain she can command any situation she encounters." Shaking his head, he sighed. "So many times I told Buffalo he left her too free, more like a boy than a girl. Now she will not believe that she needs a man." Grief mingled with rage in Flower's chest, choking her. "He was there when they...he did nothing.Nothing! " William shook as if she had struck him. "Oh, William, I am sorry. I did not mean..." "Yes'm you did. And you're right. I didn't do nothin' to protect you when I ought, and you got no reason to think I can now." He turned, moving slowly as an old man would, and went through the open door. Flower stared after him, aghast at her words, but unable to call them back.And they were not a lie , she told herself in self-defense.He did not protect me. In the next instant, she admitted that he could not have protected her. By the time the renegades had captured her, William had been beaten badly and cruelly tied. "That was unkind," Marie said after silence had echoed around the cabin for several minutes. "I am disappointed in you, Fleur."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "I am more than disappointed," Jacques said, his voice hard. "I am angry with you. That Guillaume, he is a good man. He would die for you. And you treat him likeexcrement ." Flower turned to her friend, seeking understanding. But Marie would not meet her eyes. "It is late," she said. "I am going to bed." Flower followed. But tonight there were no smiles, no cuddling together and recalling childhood adventures. Marie lay silent on her side of the bed. After a while her breathing grew even and slow. Flower stared into the dark, remembering. And wishing she could forget. *** In the morning William was nowhere to be found. Neither was the dog. "You have your wish, it appears. He has gone back to Cherry Vale," Marie said, when Jacques returned from the barn with the news. She behaved this morning as if last night had never happened, but now Flower saw that she was still disappointed, still disapproving. "I never wanted him to come with me," Flower said, not willing to back down.It was not William's fault he could not protect me. I do not blame him. And I will be as safe without him. "Tomorrow I go," she told them, "I have delayed long enough." But part of her mourned the lost friendship. Even though she was as determined as ever to seek refuge in England, she hated going away from so many people she loved. Every time she said goodbye, she felt as if a little bit more of herself was being left behind. What a preposterous notion! Everett is in England. His family will welcome me, will replace all those whom I will never see again. Despite their mutual air of disapproval, both Jacques and Marie helped her prepare for departure. They both commented on how meager her possessions were. "What of all the books you had?" Jacques asked. "And your mother's collection of beadwork?" "Everything was stored at Fort Vancouver. With the changes there, I have no idea what has happened to it all." Surely Doctor McLoughlin had made some arrangements for all the goods left in storage at the fort. "Never fear, then,ma p'tite . The Great White Eagle, he will care for your things as for his own." "I hope so," Flower told him, wondering how she would ship it all to England. If she should. What good would a trunk full of exquisitely beaded pouches and moccasins be in a civilized country? And certainly the library at Everett's family estate would put her small assortment of beloved books to shame. Marie gave her a calico dress and an embroidered linen petticoat, saying, "You will not wish to wear buckskin on the ship, for you would never be dry." She picked up the shabby woolen coat that had served Flower all winter. "And this? Phew! It smells of rat and mildew." Tossing it aside, she knelt beside her bed.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "What are you doing?" "Wait. You will see." Marie lay prone, reached under the bed. "Ah, There!" she reached farther, pulled and tugged until a scarred parfleche case slid out. "Here. These were Hilaire's. He will not mind that you take them." Curious now, Flower opened the case. Inside was a heavy wool sweater knit in an intricate pattern, and under it was an assortment of clothing, all faded but still wearable. One by one she lifted the garments out. "I cannot take his clothing," she protested, but knowing she only needed to be persuaded a little to accept the sweater. "Why not? He will never wear it again." Marie held up a pair of canvas pants with many pockets. "I told you he had grown tall. He makes Papa look small and dainty." At Flower's raised eyebrow, Marie laughed. "Well, perhaps not dainty, but heis bigger than Papa. He could not get even one leg into these pants." Standing, Flower took them and held them up to herself. They were a trifle long, but looked as if they would fit around her hips. She untied her leggings and slipped them off, slid her legs into the pants. "They fit perfectly," said Marie when she had them on. "Just a little loose, which is good. You don't want to be giving the sailors ideas." "No," was all Flower could say. The thought of any man having ideas about her sickened her. She felt her fingers contract into claws, as if around the handle of a knife. But she would take the pants, because they would be warm under her skirts when weather at sea grew cold and rainy. Rain was falling again the next morning, a light summer drizzle. Flower strapped the leather bags across the mule's back, wishing she had one of the pack saddles her father had used, wooden frames that held odd-shaped bundles and boxes so that they would not bounce when the animal trotted. All too soon she was ready to say goodbye once more. "Be wary,ma Fleur ," Jacques said, holding her tight for a moment. "You go to places you do not know, to people you do not understand. Civilization is very different from what you are used to. And not always good." He released her. "Just because a man looks civilized, do not assume he is. Even England has snakes." "I will be careful," Flower choked out. "Oh, Jacques, I will miss you!" She went back into his arms for a moment. It was like saying goodbye to her father once more, for she knew she would never see Jacques again. "Be happy," she said to Marie. "And write to me, when you and Auguste are married. Tell me of your children." "And you, be happy as well. And safe." There were tears in Marie's eyes when they parted. And in Flower's. You are a crazy woman,a small inner voice told her as she rode away from the cabin.Jacques would have given you a home. Safety. No man goes against Jacques LaJeunesse unless he wishes to die. "Jacques will not be here forever," she said aloud. "And he is only one man, against a horde of land-hungry, woman-hungry Americans." Their wagon wheels were

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html already cutting deep tracks into the soil. Hundreds of wagons had come, and each year would bring more. But they would not bring civilization with them. Hattie had told her many of the emigrants were escaping the strictures of civilization, the bounds and laws that separated it from barbarism. "I am going to England," she said aloud. Windchaser flicked her ears, but not even the wind answered. *** "There she go," William said to the pup. They were sitting high on a hillside above the river, where it flowed out of a narrow canyon into the Grande Ronde Valley. Jacques had drawn him a map on a piece of hide, and said this was the most likely way she'd travel. "There are other ways across the mountains," the old trapper had said, "but none so agreeable. Along this route there are many places for her to camp, out of sight of other travelers." He had a feeling Jacques knew what he was planning, and he'd been hoping the old man wouldn't say anything to Flower. "Don't look like he did." He donned his pack and picked up the dog's lead. "Let's go. I want to keep her in sight." The pup just sat there until he got dragged a foot or two. "Yeah, I knows you don't like that line," he said, "but I don't want you to be catchin' up with her. We got to be sneaky, you and me, 'til we're a long ways from here." William trailed along behind Flower all the way across the mountains. She'd left the wagon road once they on the down side, slipping and sliding down a faint trail into a narrow, shrub-choked ravine. Then she'd made her way up and down hill for days--he'd lost track of how many--until they emerged onto this gently rolling country south of the big river--the Columbia, Jacques had called it. He reckoned she was doing her best to miss those Indian villages Jacques' map showed along the wagon road between the mountains and the Columbia. She'd said something about paying a visit to Jacques' boy, but now it looked like she'd changed her mind. He was somewheres along the river, and she was heading away from it. He tugged on the pup's line, pulling him away from the dried-up cowpie he was sniffing. "She ain't stopped long enough to hunt since she left Grande Ronde. Reckon she'll be right happy to see some meat tonight." Yesterday evening, along about sundown, he'd caught a young buck drinking at the creek. It was the first time he'd made a kill with his spear. "Pure luck," he told the pup, "but I ain't complainin'." Swinging the tied-together deer haunches over his shoulder, he strode out, moving faster than he'd done for days. "Let's go, pup. My mouth's all set for fried venison." Flower would be sure enough surprised when he walked into her camp this evening. And she'd likely be mad clear through. *** Flower was tired. After four days of uphill and downhill travel across the Blue Mountains, then two more spent fighting her way through the brushy thickets that clogged the bottoms of the ravines leading off the uplands, she felt as if she'd been, as her father would have put it, 'drug through a splintery knothole

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html bassackwards.' She certainly had no energy to cook, and would chew on a strip of dried salmon, eat the scant handful of early raspberries she had found along Birch Creek. At least she hoped it had been Birch Creek. Her father's map did not show all the minor drainages on this route. The mule had been limping when she had finally found this hidden campsite, screened by a dense stand of cedar. She found a small, sharp stone wedged under the shoe of his off forefoot.He needs to be reshod. I hope he does not throw a shoe before we get to The Dalles. Once she had brushed both animals, she staked them where the grass grew most thickly and threw herself onto her bedroll. Perhaps she would not even eat. The thought of all that chewing increased her exhaustion. She relaxed, listening to the sound of the wind among the cedars, a soft whisper. Their sweet-sour scent came to her faintly, coupled with that of dusty horse and distant sagebrush. Windchaser would give warning if anything larger than a jackrabbit tried to approach. After a while the silence palled. All winter she had longed for the sound of another human voice. Now that same yearning curled in her belly like the ache of hunger. "If only you could speak," she said to Windchaser, who had drifted close in her grazing. The horse whuffled softly in reply. "That is not enough," Flower told her. "I need a person to speak to. Someone to listen to." She rolled over, linked her hands behind her head, and stared up into the deep blue of the evening sky. A few pink wisps drifted across, glowing in the sun's last rays. "Someone to listen to me." Hard as she found the admission, she wished William was here. She had grown used to his company. A star became visible, in the darkening east. She wondered which it was. Her father had taught her the constellations when she was a child, but she remembered few of them. She could find the North Star, the Great and Little Bears, and the big W that had a Greek name, but little else. Everett had told her that wishes on the first star of the night often came true. "I wish..." No! Wishes do not come true and prayers are never answered.How painful had been the learning of those lessons. She closed her eyes, did her best to banish from her mind the ugly images that demanded attention. The next thing she knew, something cold and wet was poking at her cheek. She came awake fighting. "Aieee!" And smelled the unmistakable odor of wet dog. Before she could catch him, the dog swiped his wet tongue across her cheek and open mouth. "Paw!" She caught him, held him so he could not lick her again. It was the young half-wolf William had brought to her. "Where did you come from?" she asked, holding even tighter as the dog wriggled wildly. "You didn't

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follow--" "Nope. Not exactly. I brung him." William stepped through the screen of cedars. It seemed to her he almost smiled. "Or he brung me. I don't know which. He followed your scent halfway across them mountains, and I followed your tracks the rest." "I left no tracks!" She had been so careful, walking whenever possible upon thick layers of pine needles or on rock. "Pup, he don't need tracks. He's got a nose." He let his pack slip to the ground next to hers. "Lawd a'mighty, woman. You must be part goat. I never seed...saw such country you led me through." Again Flower pushed the dog aside. He seemed determined to wash her face. "My father sometimes came this way when he traveled. There used to be a band of outcasts who preyed on the trappers between the Umatilla River and the mountains. I have his map." She would never admit to him that she was not certain she had followed it accurately. The one time she had traveled this way with her parents, the journey had not seemed so arduous. "Where's your fire?" "I was too ti...I was not hungry, so I made none." Then she saw what else he had carried. "Venison? Oh, William! Fresh meat!" "I reckon we hadn't better light one this late, lest somebody sees it. But come morning, we'll have us some nice thick steaks." He tossed a line over a high branch on the largest cedar and used it to lift the tied-together hindquarters out of the reach of wolves and coyotes. "I saw some onions this afternoon. I will go out at sunrise and gather them. And perhaps there are raspberries along the creek." "That shines!" Her lips twitched as a smile struggled to be born. He sounded so much like her father. 'That shines' had been the highest praise Buffalo Jones could give. William often spoke of him with awe and affection. Flower supposed she should be angry that he had followed her, instead of going back to Cherry Vale. But she was vastly relieved. Not only was he someone to talk to, she felt...well, comfortable was the best word she could find. Yes, she felt comfortable with him. "I am happy you are here," she said, before she could think better of it. He stared at her. "You're happy? Happy I'm here?" Shaking his head, he said,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Woman, was I to live a hundred years, I never would figure you out. First you tell me I ain't worth the powder to blow me to hell, then you say you're glad to see me. Will you make up your mind?" "I never said you were worthless! " "Near as could be." His shrug was eloquent. He evidently thought she was lying to make him feel better. "You do not understand. I..." "You said that before. Lots of times. Well, let me tell you, there's a whole pile of stuff you don't understand either, and one of them things is me." He poked his chest with a thumb. "I ain't like them bastards done you harm. I'd never treat a woman that way, not even was she a whore. And a good woman, well, I'd want to kill any man treated a good woman the way they treated you." "Why didn't you?" Her words were almost lost in her wail. "Oh, William, why didn't you kill him? So I would not have to." The memory of that sound, as her knife slipped through the skin and gristle of his throat, still echoed in her mind. "The dreams...they come, almost every night. And they frighten me, because they make me want to kill again. Any man who looks at me in that way, as if he wants me--I want to kill him!" She flung herself down on her bedroll, buried her face in the soft wool of the sweater. After a moments, she felt a tentative touch on her back. She shrugged, wishing the dog would just go away. The touch turned into a caress and she knew it was not the dog who was touching her. It was William. A man was touching her. And she was comforted. *** The rest of the journey to The Dalles was easy by comparison. By the time William had caught up with her, Flower had traversed the worst of the many shrub-choked drainages that lay south of the Umatilla River. Unfortunately she had more than enough time alone with her thoughts. William, seemingly tireless, ranged far on either side of their route, his long legs carrying him twice as far in a day as her horses traveled. "Just makin' sure we're not watched," was the reason he gave. His touch had comforted her. And she had suffered no nightmares since. "But it is only because I know William will not harm me," she mused aloud. "A dangerous feeling. If I should come to depend on him, what then? After The Dalles I will never see him again." Once more she felt a wave of unutterable sadness. Why must she sacrifice so many she loved so that she could be safe? No, not love. So many I care for. I cannot love, for my heart is frozen. Their route joined the emigrants' road at the crossing of the John Day, and paralleled it thence to the mouth of the Deschutes. Flower insisted on camping well back from the river until she could find a route around the Wasco village there. "I don't know why you has to go past here at night. These Injuns are suppose to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html be Jacques' kin," William complained, as they crept down the hillside behind the village. The deeply cut wagon ruts made walking difficult, but they followed the only usable route that did not go directly through the village. A short distance upstream the canyon narrowed into impassability. "Hush!" She led Windchaser into the water, bracing herself against the current, which came, well above her knees. The mule fought William for a moment, then he yielded to the tug on his lead line. A dog barked in the village, and the pup yipped a reply. Quickly William caught his muzzle in one hand and prevented a canine conversation. Flower held her breath, but the Wasco village slept on, undisturbed. At last they stood on the ridge west of the river. "We must follow the wagon tracks from here on, but I want to stay as far off of them as possible, The closer we come to The Dalles, the greater the likelihood we will encounter other travelers." "That ain't all bad," William muttered, but he followed her. "You do not know what you say," she retorted. The Methodist mission at The Dalles had been newly established when she last passed through with her parents. Back then there had been the Wasco village near the mouth of Chenoweth creek, and a small settlement of whites farther east where another creek emptied into the river. They had been a worthless lot, according to Buffalo, men who had jumped ship and come inland intending on robbing the Indians. Others had found the trapper's life too arduous and decided preying on the occasional traveler was more to their liking. Jacques had warned her about the settlement, saying it was, if anything more dangerous and ungoverned than before, the ranks of the corrupt swelled by newcomers from the wagon trains. The sort of men who had destroyed her life. Late that night they found a camp in a hollow, sheltered by the stark skeleton of a dead cedar. William insisted on standing watch. "Pup here, he still ain't figured out that he's supposed to be watchin' who comes close. He figures everybody's his friend." "I told you he was worthless," Flower grumbled, as the dog chewed on one of her preciously hoarded strips of jerky. She would have to buy more in The Dalles, and cornmeal as well. The journey had taken much longer than she'd expected, due to her insistence on staying well off the emigrants' road. It had been worth the delay, though. They had seen no one, except at a distance. She was safe. So far. William relaxed against the dead tree trunk, watching Flower as she slept. She seemed different somehow. The first nights he had shared her camp, she had slept in a curled ball, arms tightly wrapped about herself, legs drawn up tight against her chest. As if she was protecting herself from hurt even in her slumber.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Tonight she almost sprawled, her face turned up to the sky. Like she wasn't scairt no more. He knew that wasn't so. Just look at how she'd come near panic when the pup jumped on her. She just wasn't scairt ofhim no more. He came near laughing at himself. If there was anybody Flower should be scairt of, it was him. Just thinkin' about what he wanted to do with her made him hard as a rock. He couldn't see her much, now it was full dark, but the waning moon gave enough light that her face was a pale shape in the darkness. Besides, he didn't need light to see her face. It was graven on his mind, so deep he'd see it 'til the day he died. He'd never even kissed her, but he knew that her mouth was soft, her breath sweet. Her eyelashes lay in rich, dark fans on her cheeks, and delicate tendrils of smoky hair waved across her forehead. In the daylight, it would gleam with hidden fire, but tonight it was a black cloud around her head. Why'd she have to go and cut it, anyhow? The first thing he'd ever noticed about her was the cape of black hair she wore like a garment. Even when she'd tied it back in a long braid down her back, it had made him want to feel its slippery silkiness. Now it stuck out in tufts, like she'd shaved her head with a rusty knife. Never mind. She'd be beautiful if she was baldheaded. The pup lifted his head, ears cocked. William slowed his breath, held dead still. A rustle in the grass down toward the mouth of the hollow grew louder, then stopped. Both William and the pup waited, still and listening. A sudden scuffle. A squeak, cut off short. Then a sound of tiny bones being chomped. The pup sniffed, licked his chops, and lay his head back on crossed forepaws. "You'd like to be out there huntin', wouldn't you?" William said in a low whisper. He'd kept the pup on a line at nights since that time up in the mountains when he'd run off, chasing some critter, and hadn't come back 'til near morning. The pup sighed. "Yeah, me too. Well, we can't always have what we want, and you might as well get used to it," he said, as much to himself as to the pup. *** Three days later they stood on the bluff overlooking The Dalles, the warm afternoon sun bringing out the smell of the tall sagebrush surrounding them. What passed for a town was little more than a cluster of rough-built cabins and tents, huddled at the bottom of the slope. "Don't look like much to me," William said. "And it sure don't look like a place you wants to go." Flower shivered beside him, for all that the breeze was warm. "I do not want to," she admitted, "but I must. The only way down the river from here on is by boat." "Woman, you are plumb crazy! There ain't no way in Hell you're gonna get on a boat and float downthat river." He pointed. After boiling through a place so narrow it looked like he could jump across, the river turned north and disappeared between steep hills, its surface white with rapids. "You'd get drownded for sure."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Boats go regularly from here to the mouth of the Willamette," she said, but her tone told him she wasn't too fond of the idea. "And it is the best way, so I must." "What about that there road Jacques told us about? The one over the mountain?" He looked again at the huge, pointy-topped mountain that towered over them. It made him feel little and no-account, just looking at it. "Seems to me you'd be a lot better off goin' that way." "The road goes high, along the shoulder of Hood, and there could still be snow. On a boat I can be certain I will reach Oregon City in a week. On the road, I might have to wait a long time for the snow to melt." William put as much scorn in his voice as he knew how. "And you're gonna go down there and hire yourself a ride on a boat? You can hardly look me in the eye, and you're gonna dicker with some stranger over ridin' his boat with a mess of men?" Flower stared down at the settlement a long time, not saying anything. At last she sighed. "I do what I must," she said. It sounded to William like she was trying to convince herself, not him. "Well, then you'd better change your clothes," he said, turning aside and tugging on the pup's line. "Let's get on back to camp, so's we can figure out what we're takin' and what we're leavin' behind. We'll need to repack all our gear so's we can carry it. I don't reckon we'll be takin' the stock with us." "Of course I wi--William, you arenot going any farther with me!" "Yes'm, I is." Ignoring her sputters of protest, he headed back down the other side of the bluff. Their camp was a good two hour's walk, down in that hidden canyon, and he wanted to be back there by sunset so he could check the snares he'd set this morning. For a few minutes, he didn't think she'd follow him. Some of the things she did was just plain crazy, and he half-expected her to march down there into that town and wave one of her gold coins around.She'd think them renegade bassards was pure gentlemen, if she done that. He turned, opened his mouth to tell her he'd go into town for her. She was lagging far behind him, her head lowered, her steps slow. Sometime he got so mad with her he could shake her till her teeth rattled. He'd come along with her this far because he'd been hopin' she'd come to her senses and go back with him to Cherry Vale. Today, standing up there and seeing the scabby little settlement, he'd finally come to accept that she wasn't goin' anywheres but that England she thought was so fine. "Huh!" he muttered. "She makes it sound like it's better 'n heaven. I reckon it's just a place like any other." That time his marse had took him and some of the other boys down to Mobile, they'd drove through town. He'd made up his mind right then that he was better off on the plantation, no matter what, than livin' in the filthy, crowded shacks he'd seen there. He'd bet one of the gold coins he still had sewn into his coat that England wasn't all that different from Mobile. But if theEarl she was goin' to stay with

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html was as mighty as she said, maybe she'd never see those parts of town. He wondered once again what anEarl was and why he was so particular fine. The campsite they'd chosen was sheltered and hidden, at the head of a narrow, twisting branch of a deep stream-cut ravine. Flower felt they could safely have a fire, which was welcome. This afternoon's balmy breeze had turned cold as soon as the sun set, and now cut through her buckskin clothing like an icy knife. One of William's snares yielded a cottontail, the other a jackrabbit. She gutted the jack and gave the offal and the head to the pup, but cut the rest into pieces and set it to stew with some of the wild onions and yampah she'd dug today. The plump cottontail she skewered and set above the fire to roast. They sat in silence while the meat sizzled over the fire. At last she could bear it no longer. "You arenot going to Oregon City with me, William. It is time for you to return to Cherry Vale." "Ain't nothin' for me back there," he said, avoiding her eyes. He was half-reclining, his long legs stretched out toward her. Although it was not yet full dark, she could not see his face, except for the flash of his teeth, the gleam of his eyes. And his hands. Strong hands. Gentle hands. They were seldom idle, and now were honing the blade of the long knife he carried, the whisper of steel against stone the only sound audible above the gentle clatter of wind-blown sagebrush. "Oh, William, but there is. You have land. And friends. A home!" A home such as she might never have again. For much as she loved Everett Hetherington, much as she expected to be welcomed into his family, she knew England could never replace all that she was leaving.I have no choice , she told herself once again.I must go where I will be safe. "I will not claim you," she threatened, remembering he'd proposed traveling as her servant. "I will tell them I have never seen you before you started following me. That I fear you." She saw his shoulders move in a small shrug. "I got to take my chances, I reckon. Just goin' into town is a risk for me, even if you do say I's your slave. I still got my brand." "Your brand? What do you mean?" "All slaves got brands, least they do where I come from. My marse, he had me marked when he bought me." He touched his thigh, luring her gaze once more to the lean strength of it. "Long as it don't have the right mark through it, anybody could take me, send me back for the reward." "They tattooed you?" Many of her childhood friends had been tattooed, marks of membership into tribal clans or as devices to enhance personal beauty. Flower had always been thankful that her mother had been determined that she would have nothing ineradicable to mark her as Nez Perce. In England such a mark would define her as foreign, exotic. Perhaps less acceptable to polite society. She wanted to be recognized there as an American, not as Nez Perce.Not as half-breed! William had not answered her, she realized. Perhaps his tattoo was ugly, and he was ashamed of it. Something he had said earlier came back to her in the silence. "What did you mean, I should change my clothing?" He sat up, slipped his knife into its sheath and the stone into the possibles

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html bag he wore at his waist. "Look at you," he said, a note of something--derision?--in his voice. "You looks Injun. What was it that feller at Fort Boise called you? Dirty fisheater? I ain't surprised." Flower had to hold herself in tight check to keep from leaping at him, fists clenched and ready to pound. "Indians are not dirty! We are cleaner than whites. They stink of sweat and sour clothing. And you--" she all but sputtered. "What would he have called you, had Mr. Craigie not intervened? A Nigger? Isn't that the word the Americans use?" "I been called worse." His voice was mild. "But that wasn't what I meant." "Then supposed you tell me your meaning," she snapped. "And do not stoop to more insult, if you value your skin." There was the barest hint of laughter in his voice when he said, "Mighty ferocious, ain't you?" "William!" "All I meant was that you look like a Injun, dressed the way you are. And white folks put a lot of store in looks." Looking down at her clothing, Flower saw what he meant. Anyone might wear moccasins such as hers, but no white woman would appear in public wearing buckskin. Her dress was decorated with beadwork and quills, her leggings fringed. They were styled in the Nez Perce manner, unmistakably of Indian make.I am not ashamed of them! Before she could argue with him, he said, "Now you put on that pretty calico dress Marie give you, and wrap that shawl around yourself, and you'll look white as most anybody. Nobody'll call you Injun then, and they'll treat you polite." "You are right."Much as I hate to admit it. "Tomorrow I will change before I go to town." "I got me some pants and a raggedy shirt I can wear. And I reckon I'll go barefoot. Not too many slaves got shoes." He rolled to his feet, poked at the dying fire to expose unburned wood. "Just you be sure you treat me like I be no 'count. No white woman would act nice like you do to a Nigra." "I will not. That would be cruel." "That'd be safe," he countered. "Just you listen to me, woman. I been a slave a lot longer than I been free. I knows what I's talking about." "'I'm,' William. It is 'I'm', which is short for 'I am.'" "I knows that," he said, softly. "But as long as I's your slave, I better sound like one. Else some redneck bassard from down South might figure I's gettin' uppity and make up his mind to teach me a lesson." "You are neither slave nor servant, William. And you will not go into town with me. You told me yourself that you are in danger of capture." "Not near so much danger as you is," he said, once more stirring the fire. Only a few glowing embers remained, and she could not see his expression, even though he knelt close to them, turning the ashes with a stick.. "Long as I's here, I might as well go with you. You be a lot better off than if you go alone." "I will not argue with you, William," she said, determined to prevail. "You are

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html not coming with me to Oregon City, and that is my final word." "Good. I was gettin' tired of arguin." *** More and more folks was on the trail as the weather got warmer. Muller did his best to get a look at each and every one of them, still convinced the tall trapper would appear sooner or later. The wagons wouldn't start coming through for three months or more, but other travelers, not held back by the obstacles that slowed the wagon trains, would trickle through The Dalles all summer. He could afford to wait, for this season, anyhow. Everybody who went west had to come by here. Even if the trapper failed to arrive, there were other opportunities for a man with enterprise and acumen. But deep in his gut he believed that he would have another chance at those fabulous golden coins. He'll turn up again. And when he does, I'll have that gold. One way or another.

CHAPTER SEVEN Flower stood on the bluff overlooking the settlement at The Dalles. Behind her, William waited patiently. She had made him angry, telling him that she hated the sight of him. That he frightened her as badly as the renegades had, for he would not leave her alone. She had accused him of wanting to enslave her. Unforgivable words. Necessary words, for he was risking his life and his freedom out of a misguided belief that she needed him. I do, but he must never know that. It would not be fair to him, since I can never be his woman. And so she had done her best to drive him away. He had followed her, nonetheless. "I'll see you safe to town," had been his only words. He had avoided looking at her, keeping his face averted all the while they were packing their belongings, his mouth set and a muscle at the hinge of his jaw twitching. Someday, perhaps, he might forgive her. Now she chewed her lip, all too aware of the feel of soft linen petticoats against her legs, the flapping of her skirt in the stiff wind. In a few moments she would start down that hillside, would enter that town. She told her feet to move. Below, on the gently sloping ground where the cabins and tents clustered, men moved about, hurrying as if their days were full and busy. The mission, some distance uphill from the clustered dwellings, was surrounded by fenced gardens, their damp brown furrows still bare of green, but showing evidence of careful cultivation. Off in the distance she could see the long, bark-roofed houses of the Wasco village bordering the banks of Chenoweth Creek.Is Hilaire there? Will he be angry if I do not say farewell?

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Hilaire had chosen his path. He was Skwiskwis now--Squirrel-- had renounced his French heritage, as Flower was about to renounce her Nez Perce traditions, her American birthright. She would go to England and one day no one would remember that she was of mixed parentage. No one would call herhalf-breed. In a week or less she would be in Oregon City. And soon after that she would be at sea, on her way to safety. Again she commanded her feet to move, to take that first step down the hill. Sourness rose in her throat, threatening to choke her. She swallowed.I can do this. Her feet moved with difficulty, as if they were wading through some enormously thick, sticky mass. One step, then another. And at the third step, she fell on her knees, knowing she could not take a fourth. "I cannot. I cannot!" she wailed. "Oh, my God! I am doomed!" For the rest of her life she would be trapped in this untamed wilderness, easy prey for any man who sensed her weakness. Strong arms encircled her, gathering her against a hard chest. Big hands stroked her hair, held her face against warm buckskin. "Hush, woman. Hush. You don't have to be skairt no more. I'll get you to your ship. I'll see you to England safe and sound." She clung, feeling secure and protected. His voice dropped into a wordless murmur of assurance. His hand stroked down her back, and his arm circled her and held her fast against him. She breathed in his odor, buckskin steeped in wood smoke and sweat and the bitter tang of sagebrush, and underneath the distinctive scent of man, strong and virile. They crouched together in the lee of a sheltering cedar until Flower's feet went numb beneath her and William's voice had died away into an almost soundless hum. His hand still stroked her back, and she slowly grew aware that the strokes were more sensuous than reassuring. They were slowly drawing an equally sensual response from her that was frightening in its implications. She stiffened. "Let me go!" Immediately he released her. "You all right?" She scrambled back, until she was out of the reach of his long arms. "Yes. Yes, I am...fine." William watched her, as if she were an elusive prey that he was wary of startling into flight. "You can't go down there, can you?" "Of course I--" The lie caught on her tongue. "No," she admitted. "I cannot. My fear will not let me." What a weak and useless thing you are, Flower Jones. Your father would be ashamed of you. Your mother would be disappointed in you. And Hattie, brave and independent Hattie who has fought and bested adversity most of her life, Hattie would call you craven.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "I sort of figured you'd find it more'n you wanted to tackle," William said. "I'll do it." "I beg your pardon? You will dowhat? " "Go buy your boat ride." He held out the pup's lead. "Here. You set up here with him and wait for me. Shouldn't take me more'n a little while to do it." "You cannot go down there, William." "Better me than you, 'specially seein' as how you can't." "What if someone tries to say you're an escaped slave?" "What if some man decides he wants you?" he countered. "You figure you could talk him out of it?" Biting her lip, she looked at him. He stared back, his expression intent. "You have changed, William," she said, sinking once more to her knees. She patted the ground beside her. "Sit," she told him. "We must talk about this." "Don't reckon there's anything much to talk about." But he sat, close enough to touch but far enough away that she did not feel at risk. She picked up a twig and scratched in the dirt beyond her knees. At last William said, "You gonna say anything woman? Time's a wastin'." "I have told you that I am frozen inside, that I cannot be your woman. Yet you still guard me, protect me. You comfort me. Why?" His dark eyes stared at her. Into her. As if he could see into her very soul. "I reckon I ain't got a choice, not since the first time I seen you. I knew right then that you'd be the only woman I'd ever want." "You are a man! You can want any woman!" "There's want, and there's want," he said, his head tilted to one side. "A man, if he sees a gal he hungers for, his body wants her, never mind how his head thinks. But most of us, we don't grab any gal makes us want her." "Too many of you do," she muttered. "Them renegades, they wasn't the first to treat you bad, was they?" Flower shivered, but did not answer. "You carryin' a powerful lot of fear around, woman. You put me in mind of a dog that's been beat regular, ever since he was a pup. He never amounts to much, 'cause he's always cringing back whenever a man raises a hand, even if it's only to scratch his ear." She remembered other times she'd felt men watching on her, like feeling the touch of ghostly hands on her body. Ever since she had grown breasts, she had been aware that some men had looked on her with desire. At first it had been thrilling. She was becoming a woman! She dreamed of the day when one man--one special man--would come to her with love in his heart. He would court her, as Everett had told her a woman was courted in England, with pretty words and flowers and small gifts. Perhaps even a verse praising her beauty. Such dreams she had had, when she was innocent! Then she realized that some men did not look on her simply as an attractive woman. Flower had quickly learned to avoid those who were new come to the western lands, for they had different ideas. Unlike the trappers who honored the Indian wives and the children of mixed blood, many newcomers respected no native. They saw her as prey. She heard the softly spoken suggestions, the innuendoes and the blatant invitations. She was half-breed, and thus a whore. Her father's reputation had saved her, more than once.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Then the Americans had started coming, in their wagons and carts, seeking land and fortunes. Those who brought their families, or came ahead to prepare a place for wives and children, they had not frightened her. But others, who sought only an easier life, who cheated and stole and lied without remorse, those had looked at her, at all Indian women, with lust. One had said, in her hearing, "Them Injun squaws, they got no sense of sin. They'll lay with any man who gives 'em a pretty bead or a copper penny, and go right back to their men like it don't make any difference." His companions had laughed their agreement and recounted some of their conquests. Flower had been sickened, knowing that some of the women they boasted of having had been no more willing than she would have been. But she still dreamed. Until... "I was virgin when the renegades captured me," was all she said to William. "But they were not the first to look at me with desire." "Won't be the last, neither," he said. "Lawd, woman, I wants you. Any man gets a good look at you, he's gonna feel the same. That don't mean we're gonna..." His voice tapered off, and he looked away. "You will not rape me? Is that what you did not say, William?" He nodded, face still averted. "I believe you. But you are a good man, and I have come to the conclusion that there are few good men out here, so far from civilization. And that is why I must go to England. So many of those who are coming here are barbarians. They come because the strictures of civilization bind them too closely. They wish to be free to indulge their appetites for women and gold and violence." Her voice broke, as a sob swelled in her chest. "Can't you understand, William? Imust go!" "That's why I say I'll go down there and buy your boat ride. I think you're wrong. There ain't no place in this whole wide world that's really safe. But I'll do whatever you want, if it makes you feel good." He stood, stretched. She saw how his buckskins clung like a second skin to his strong body. Although her father had worn these garments the last time she had seen him, on Buffalo they had hung loose, concealing the lines of his body. On William, they defined each muscle, each long tendon. She had never seen a man before whom she would call beautiful, but William was. If only she could be his woman. His wife. The mother of his children. Once more the wave of longing and sorrow swept through her. And once more she stifled it. I must learn to accept what I am--what they made me--and what I will never have. She became aware that William had said something to her. "I beg your pardon. I was not listening." "I just said you best keep the pup with you. He'll keep you company while I'm

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html gone." He held out the dog's leash. Shaking her head, Flower said, "Take him? Why? I will wait here for you." "You'd be better off goin' back to camp. I could be a day or two." "A day or two? Just to find a boat to take me to Oregon City?" She had assumed she would be able to find her boatman within a short time. Jacques had said that there were many boatmen in The Dalles who made a good living transporting people and goods through the long, dangerous river passage through the mountains. "I can't just go down there and say I's lookin' for a boat ride. I got to take a

look around first, see how the ground lays." "You can see--Oh! You want to reconnoiter." Perhaps he was wise. Any Negro who walked into a settlement like The Dalles would be conspicuous. "You cannot do this, William. It is too dangerous. I will go with you." "No'm you won't. Just give me a day or two, and I'll have your boat ride all fixed. You go on back to camp and wait for me." He nodded, and she saw that his mouth was almost smiling. "I gots me a plan." She was tempted. Then she was shamed by how much she wanted him to do this for her. "No," she told him. "I cannot allow you to put yourself into such danger." "It ain't your choice." He laid his spear aside, pulled the knife from between his shoulder blades and handed it to her. "Take care of these for me. I'd hate to lose 'em." "No! there must be another way...." She clenched her fists behind her back, refusing to accept the weapons. Scratching his chin with the hilt of his knife, he was silent for a moment. How she wished she could see his thoughts. Finally, when she was about to demand to know what he was planning, he said, "There's usually more'n one way to skin a cat. Let's go see your friend." "My friend? I have no--" "Jacques' boy. Maybe the Injuns he took up with can help us." *** Only a few families remained in the Wasco village beside Chenoweth Creek. Two winters ago many had fallen victim to a white man's disease. Jacques had told her that most of the survivors had moved upstream to Celilo. Now those who remained were cautious, despite the reassurances of the missionaries in The Dalles. But Jacques had been certain that Hilaire was living with his aunt and uncle, who refused to move away.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html William would not enter the village with her. He halted just below the crest of the hill that overlooked the village, stepping back so that he was not silhouetted against the sky. "Me'n the pup'll go huntin'," he said. "I'll meet you here long about sundown." Flower started to argue, but he interrupted her. "You got friends down there. Talk to 'em, see what they knows that we don't. Maybe there's another way to get you to Oregon City." She had to agree that his scheme made sense. Now if she could only find Hilaire. Only women and small children were in the village that day. The men were all fishing. At the third cedar-bark-roofed lodge, she found Therese White Heron, aunt to Marie and Hilaire, and daughter of a Hudson's Bay trapper and his country wife. She was weaving a wide, almost flat basket from stringy cedar bark. Once invited inside, Flower knelt beside Therese and told her of Marie and her Auguste. Good manners required that she pass on what news she had, then wait for Therese to ask why she had come to Chenoweth. Blurting out her purpose immediately would be the height of insult, as if she had no respect for her elders. "They will live as the Americans do,Chitsh --grandmother--and hope that no one knows they are Wasco and Umatilla. But Marie says she will teach her children the old ways and to respect their elders." Never losing the rhythm of her weaving, the old woman nodded. "It is best. So many of us are gone now, and more will die as the Americans bring their sicknesses and their guns and their whiskey. And their hatred of anyone who looks and speaks and thinks differently." "They are not all like that," Flower protested, thinking of Emmet and Hattie, Craigie and McLoughlin. "Some respect the old ways." "Too few," Therese said, her voice breaking. "Too few." Her hands slowed, rested on the half-constructed basket. "You did not come just to visit, I think, daughter. Why are you here?" "I seek Hil--Skwiskwis. I need his help." "He fishes today with Tenas Eena and his father. They will return for the evening meal." "I will wait, then. May I help you?" She could not simply sit all afternoon. If her hands were busy, perhaps her mind would not spin with confusion and indecision. "You remember how?" "I have not woven a basket for many years, but perhaps you will tell me if I do it wrongly," Flower said, suddenly eager to see if she still had the skill this woman had taught her and Marie so long ago. By the time the men returned, bearing six great salmon for drying, she had half finished her basket. It was sturdy, though neither as round nor as smoothly woven as Therese's. But she felt no shame for it. Flower greeted all three men, and was caught in a bear hug by Hilaire--she couldnot think of him as Skwiskwis, no matter how much she tried. He was far too big to be a convincing squirrel. His cousin, Tenas Eena, was just as big, but not so wide-shouldered or deepchested. Younger than Flower and Hilaire by several years, he still showed

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html the slimness of rapid growth and recent maturation. He blushed when she smiled at him, and smiled back, showing the two prominent teeth that had led to his name, 'Small Beaver.' They ate together, salmon stew and steamed cat-tail root, followed by biscuits with honey. Therese cooked them in a Dutch oven she had traded a salmon for the previous fall. Flower admired it, and hid her amusement. So much for holding to the old ways. "Walk with me," she said to Hilaire when they had eaten. "I wish to speak with you." They strolled along the creek, upstream of the village. "I need your help," she told him, when they were far from possible listeners, "for a dangerous task." She saw his white teeth flash in the light of the setting sun. "You have it," he said. "Who do I kill?" "Be serious. You may have to." That sobered him. "Tell me, Fleur. I will do what I can." She looked up at him, this young man she had know since childhood. Once he had been her hero, and she had told him that when they were man and woman, she would marry him. She still loved him, but as a favorite brother only. Walking slowly beside him, she told him of William, how good he was, and how he insisted on traveling with her, despite the risk to himself. When Hilaire asked why she was going to England, she gave him an evasive answer and he did not press her. He seemed to understand that there were things she would not speak of. "This man, how could he be a slave? I thought Americans only enslaved the Niggers and the Indians." "Don't call him a Nigger!" She clapped her hand over her mouth. "Oh, Hilaire, I should not have snapped at you. But Hattie told me once that it is a very bad word, used to denigrate the Negro race." "So heis Negro." Hilaire looked at her, his gaze searching. "And you love him." "I do not! I respect him and I owe him for what he has done for me." Looking down at her hands, she watched her fingers twist themselves together...apart...together again. "I love no man. I cannot." "Because he is Negro?" "Of course not! There are...reasons why I cannot...why I will never love a man." "As you say." Hilaire's tone was skeptical, but he said no more. They walked on in silence, turning back when the creek cut through a low ridge. As they approached the village, Hilaire said, "Fishing is a good way to live, but it lacks excitement. I will help you, and hope that whatever I do is not entirely unexciting." "It could be far more exciting than you wish," she warned. His shrug was eloquent. "So much the better. What is it you need?" "I am not sure. I have a bad feeling--" She touched her heart. "Here. It tells me that nothing is as easy as we wish it to be. Let me speak again with

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html William, and in the morning we can plan." "Good. I will speak to Tenas Eena tonight. He has complained of boredom lately. And to my uncle. He is a wise man." "Oh, no--" She felt guilty enough asking for Hilaire's help. To ask his younger cousin... "Oh, yes, Fleur. If I had an adventure and he was left behind, he would drown me the next time we fished. I cannot risk that." His laughter rang out in the night. "A quiet life is a long life, my uncle says, but it seems even longer." *** The hair at the back of William's neck felt like it was standing straight out when he stepped onto the dusty track that served as the main street of The Dalles. He hadn't been this scared since he let loose and gave himself up to the flood that had carried him away from slavery. "And look where you ended up that time," he told himself. It didn't make him feel a bit better. He was still scared. He felt naked too, barefoot and clad once more in the ragged pants he'd worn on his long trek West. The shirt, one Hattie had made him, was in better condition. It had pained him to rip open the sleeve, just so it wouldn't look too fancy. He sure hoped nobody would find his pack and the buckskins, where he'd hid them under a pile of rocks halfway up the hill. Pup was staked out alongside his gear, but he'd not stay there long. William had tied him with a worn leather thong, and he'd been gnawin' on it soon as he lay down. If there was trouble in town, the pup wouldn't starve. He might even have sense enough to go find Flower. He was glad she hadn't gave him trouble about going to the Injun village. She'd be safe there. They'd see her safe to Oregon City, if need be. With a feeling of pride, he read the signs that hung on the fronts of the stores along the street. About every other one said 'Saloon' or 'Liquor.' There was a bakery, a tent- roofed place that must have been for sleeping -- the signs said 'Bedz.' And down at the far end was a pole corral that held a couple of mules and a spavined horse. "Ain't much of a town," he muttered. But it was the only town for a long ways, and he reckoned folks hereabouts didn't see any need for fancyin' up. "Now where does I find somebody sellin' boat rides?" He walked the length of the street, stepping aside whenever he met a white man. Some of them looked at him with questions in their eyes, but nobody said anything to him. Knowing just what most of 'em was thinking, he kept his head down, didn't look nobody in the eye. After he'd walked free for so long, it galled him. The street ended at the water's edge, where two peculiar boats was pulled up on the bank. They were flat-bottomed, narrow contraptions, with logs laid along the edges. At either end was a pair of upright logs, set about two handspans

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html apart. One pair held a long, skinny log which trailed in the water. "What you want, boy?" William turned around. A scrawny man, with pants too short for his long legs, was standing in the door of the last saloon, picking his teeth. Somebody bigger and wider, was looking out over his shoulder. "You hear me, boy? I asked what you want." William forced himself to bob his head. "My Mist'ess, she need a boat ride to Oregon City. Sent me down here to buy her one." "Your mistress, eh? What's her name? Where is she?" "Mist'ess Jones. She mighty shy lady, so she waitin' back in the hills wit' the rest of 'em." He didn't reckon it would hurt for folks hereabout to think Flower traveled with a crowd. Tossing the toothpick aside, the scrawny man came toward William. "That's my boat there. Can she pay for passage?" "She give me a coin, tol' me it oughta' buy her boat rides, for her and me." He slipped his hand in his pocket, as if to reassure himself the coin was still there. Under his britches, his long knife was tied securely against his thigh.Sure hope I don't need it, he thought.Gettin' to it won't be easy. "Let's see your money." William dug out the single gold coin he'd bought. The others were hidden with his gear. He held it on the flat of his hand. The boatman whistled. He reached for the coin. William closed his fist around it. "My mist'ess, she say don't give it to nobody, not 'til we on the boat. She say, show 'em you got the money, Weeyum, but don't give nobody that coin." The boatman nodded. "She's right. There's some would take it right out of your hand." He scratched his bewhiskered jaw. "How much gear does your mistress have? Cargo? Livestock?" "She wants to bring a horse and a mule, that's all. And her dog." "That ain't a full boat load. Would she care if I took a load downriver along with her?" William considered. "I don't reckon she would." "Then we got a deal. You bring your mistress down here tomorrow morning, along about dawn. We'll launch at full daylight." Again William bobbed his head. "We be here." He turned to go, wondering why he'd been scared. "Wait a minute," the boatman called when he'd gone no more than two steps. "Let me see that coin again." Fear coiled in William's belly once more. He pulled the coin out and showed the boatman. "Your mistress got any more like this?" he said. Thinking rapidly, William fixed a blank look on his face. "Answer me, boy! Does your mistress have any more coins just like this one?" "I never saw none," William lied. "She got this one from somebody wantin' cows." He hoped he could remember everything he'd said, so he could tell Flower. Makin' him out a liar might be dangerous. "Git then. And mind you be here at daybreak." "We be here, sho' 'nuff." He hurried back the way he'd come.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html He'd gone no more than ten paces when a rough voice called, "Hold on there! You! Nigger!" William kept moving. Heavy footsteps sounded behind him. He wanted to break into a run, but knew it was the worse thing he could do. "You stop right there, Nigger, else I shoot you where you stand." William halted, stood without turning. 'Member what you learned a long time ago about bein' meek. Flower depends on you gettin' back to her. The big man who'd stood behind the boatman stepped in front of him. He was a mite taller than William, and beefy, like he'd once done a good day's work, but had been settin' around for a spell. He smelled like a pigpen knee deep in manure. Some women might have thought him handsome, William reckoned, but they'd not be looking at the cruel twist to his mouth, or the meanness in his pale blue eyes. "Let me see that coin," he demanded. "I can't do that, boss. My mist'ess she say not to give it to nobody, till we on the boat." "Don't talk back to me, boy! Dig out that gold piece, or I'll take it away from you. No Nigger's going to tell me nay." William pulled it free of his pocket, held it between thumb and fingers. The big man snatched it away. He held it up to eye level, examined it closely. "You say your mistress got this from someone wanting cattle. When? Where?" His mam had one time told him that lyin' was the quickest way to dig a grave. William believed it. "I don't recollect, 'zackly," he stammered, and only part of it was feigned. "Back in the winter, maybe. This old feller come past the place, his cows had all died on him. Did we have some we'd sell, he asked, and my mist'ess, she sell him three cows and a bull calf." "An old fellow, you say?" Fingering the coin, the big man watched William closely. "What'd he look like?" "He was big like you, boss, and wearin' a fancy suit with fringes all over it," William said, describing the old man who had given him his buckskins. And his pride. "Made out of leather of some kind, they was. And his hair was near white, and long, way past his shoulders." "You're lying!" "Nossir, I ain't. That's the man who give my mist'ess the coin. Honest it is." "Bah." He spat into the dust. "You better be telling me the truth." "I is, boss." One more bob of the head. "Can I have my coin back?" The man's hand slipped into his pocket. "Coin? What coin? No Nigger's got a right to coins." "Give him back his gold piece, Muller," the boatman said, from behind William. "I contracted to take his mistress to Oregon City and I want my pay for it." Once more the big man spat. But he pulled the coin from his pocket and flipped it into the dirt at William's feet. "Be damned to you," he said, and walked away. "You get on out of town quick, boy, and don't show that black face of yours 'til

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html dawn tomorrow," the boatman said. "This ain't no place for the likes of you." William bent and picked up the coin. "Thankee," he said to the boatman. Although he kept his voice mild, he was burning up with rage. Yet the big man had treated him no different that any white man would have, back when he was a slave. The street seemed longer than when he'd gone down toward the river. With each step he took, William felt the weight of danger lifting, yet he still had a feeling that something was wrong. He wanted to run, forced himself to walk no faster than he'd done coming into town. Rather than go toward the Injun village, he took a trail that went up past the mission. It was well worn, and even showed shallow wagon ruts. Was this the road they'd built across the mountains? He wasn't much more than out of sight of the mission when the big man--the boatman had called him Muller--stepped out from behind a tree next the trail. "Hold it right there, boy," he said. "You ain't going nowhere." Mouth dry, William halted. Why had he put the knife inside his clothes? He'd never get it out in time to fight. "What you want, boss?" he said, hoping to get a chance to defend himself. "I got some more questions for you. You answer me polite, and I'll let you go." William didn't believe a word he said. But he stood still and waited. "Where's your mistress live?" Waving a hand back toward the east, William said, "Back in the hills. A long way from here." Deftly Muller flipped a knife from his belt. "Which hills? How far?" "They calls 'em the Blues." William forced a quaver into his voice. "They back a ways. We come a long way since then." "And why's your mistress going to Oregon City?" "Lawsy, boss, I don't know. She don't tell me why she do things. She just do 'em." A hard palm slapped his head sideways. "Don't lie to me! Why's she going to Oregon City?" "I don't know," William insisted. He couldn't think of a good reason for a woman to be traveling to someplace he knew nothing about. "How many men has she got with her?" "Three...no more'n that--" This time the blow knocked him down. "You're still lying!" If I had my knife...William forced his body to go limp. When the boot caught him over the kidney, he bit back a sharp yip of pain. Then he thought,Go ahead and yell. You would if you was a slave. "Take off your clothes!" William lay still, knowing, fearing what came next. Another kick, this one less violent, and to his ribs, so it didn't hurt as much either. "Take 'em off or I'll cut 'em off!" Slowly he sat up, knowing he was giving up every bit of pride he'd won the past four years.It won't help Flower none if you get yourself killed. He took off his shirt slowly. When Muller saw his back, he cackled. "Beat you good, they did. I'll wager you're a stubborn bastard."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html I was a sick boy. They kept beatin' me just because they wanted to hear me scream.He had been too young to shave, the first time he was whupped, and so sick he'd puked up everything he'd eaten for two days afterward. But the cotton was ripe and every hand was needed in the fields. That was the first time he'd felt the red rage come over him. The first time he'd stuffed it back down, deep inside, and held it there. As he held it still, this long since. It had been easier then. "Now the britches." William stood, keeping his right side away from Muller. Slowly he untied the rope that held his britches up. Carefully he pushed them down, sliding his thumb under the thongs that held his knife to his thigh. When he was sure that the knife would be hid in the folds of canvas, he dropped the britches to the ground. He'd been naked many times, but never had he felt so helpless. So exposed. The rage surged against his hold, but he kept it in check. "Where's your brand?" "Here." William turned so Muller could see the brand running down his left thigh. The thick scar stood up in ridges, crooked letters that William realized he could read now. 'H-L-Y.' His first marse had been Mist' Yates. He remembered the pain when the letters had been burned there. Pain that went on and on, and never seemed to stop, like his whole leg was on fire. He'd still been little enough to walk under a mule's belly standin' straight. "You said your mistress' name was Jones," Muller said, after examining the brand. "This don't say 'Jones.'" "She buy me a long time ago, 'fore I grow big." Muller stooped and picked up the britches. The knife fell out. "You black bastard!" Knowing anything else would get him killed for sure, William stood still.I did my best, Flower. I love you.

CHAPTER EIGHT A sharp prick on his backside brought cold sweat to William's face. "Move! Back to town." Another prod. From the corner of his eye, William saw Muller pick up his shirt. He pushed the rage back where it lived again. It wasn't easy. But Flower needed him, and he had to stay alive. "What you gonna do wit' me, boss?" "You'll see." At the point of William's own knife, he forced William to walk naked back into town and halfway down the dusty, rutted street. On both sides men came to doors to watch and William felt shamed. "In there." Muller shoved him sideways, toward a windowless log building maybe a man-length on a side. It looked sturdy, like it'd take a yoke of oxen to pull apart. He stumbled when Muller shoved him through the open door, got his feet under him just in time to be knocked against the wall. Dizzily, he tried to stand, and another blow took him to his knees. Before he could pull himself upright, the door slammed and he heard the solid thunk of a bar falling across it. Only a narrow crack in the flat log roof let in light. He could barely see

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html his hand before his face. Well, hell! Now what am I gonna do?Maybe he should have fought, instead of acting like a puny, simple slave. He might have got himself killed, but he'd have hurt Muller real good doin' it. Flower needs you he told himself again. You got to do what you can to stay alive. He felt his way around the dirt-floored room, learning that it was solidly built and tied together with notches on the ends of the logs. The gaps between logs were filled with a dried, almost rock-hard stuff that felt--and tasted--like plain old mud, mixed with something spongy and bitter. Once his exploring was done, and he'd found nothing but his ragged britches, he hunkered down against the wall, shivering slightly as his naked back touched the cool logs. The day was warm enough, but the thick walls still held the chill of last night, when it was cold enough to put frost on the ground. How long he sat there, William wasn't sure. He'd come into town sometime in the middle of the morning, and now the sun was all but gone. The little sliver of sky he could see was darkening. His belly rumbled. "Getting' too used to regular meals," he told himself. "A man can go a long time without food. You know that." Water, though was a different matter. He was thirsty. At last he heard voices outside his prison. The door opened. Muller stood there with a torch in his hand, and beside him was another man, older and smaller. But there was something about him that chilled the blood in William's veins. "That's him, Turner. The Nigger that pulled a knife on me," Muller said, as if giving the other man a present. "You say his brand ain't been cancelled?" The man Muller named Turner spoke in a thick, syrupy drawl, the same drawl William had heard all his life from white overseers and sharecroppers.He's from somewheres around the Marse's plantation. I sure hope he's never seen me before. "Nope. He claims he was sold to some woman, but I've seen field brands before, and his is one for certain. What's a woman going to want with a field hand?" "If he's big and strong and ain't been cut, there's only one thing she's apt to want," Turner said, a sneer in his voice. "Some women like bein' fucked by a big black buck." In an instant William was on his feet, hands outstretched. He would shove those words-A whip snaked out and wrapped itself around him. "Watch it, Turner. Like I told you he's vicious." Muller twitched the whip free, but it left behind a belt of fire just below William's waist. "Show him your brand, boy," he told William, making the whip whisper across the dirt floor. Turner took the torch and leaned closer. "Yep, I do recognize that brand. Hiram Leander Yates. He owns practically a whole county. And he always cancels his

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html brands when he sells a slave." The smile on Turner's face told William he believed Yates liked to hear his slaves scream when the red-hot iron seared their flesh. Most of his slaves had been sure of it. Turner looked over his shoulder at Muller. "You say there's a hook on the wall?" "Half a dozen of them. They used to hang pelts in here and the hooks kept them off the floor and dry." "Let's string him up, then." William forgot how much Flower needed him, forgot everything except what it felt like to be whupped. When Turner clamped a hand on his arm, he exploded into a frenzy of punches and kicks, wanting to hurt. To kill. But there were two of them, both strong, and neither afraid to use a club on him. He was soon overcome. His arms stretched above him, his bloodied face pushed against the rough surface of the half-stripped logs, he forced himself to breathe deeply. He knew what was coming, knew it would be pain beyond bearing. He would scream and beg and sob. He did. They took turns. At one point William thought the rhythm of the whip strokes changed, slowed. But he was beyond caring. His entire attention was focussed on the pain in his back, the anticipation of the next stroke. He wanted to faint, but could not. He wanted to die, but knew he must not. After a while, he wondered why he must not die. Nothing could be so important that he had to stay alive. When at last they cut him down, he fell like a dead thing into the blood-soaked dirt. The voices went away. A door slammed and the dark came down. *** William never came. Flower waited until full dark, an absolute darkness with no promise of a moon. Low clouds had obscured the sky all day, and now they hid the stars. She should go back to Therese's lodge.But what if he comes and I am not here? She hunkered down, arms wrapped around her body, for the night was chill.It is so dark! He is waiting for dawn. At last she curled herself in a ball and tried to sleep. Each time she closed her eyes, memories intruded, of William tied hand and foot, herself helpless in the hands of six vicious men. They had talked of keeping her, of selling William and the boy, Silas, to the Blackfeet for slaves. She would have chosen slavery over what they did to her. Was he once again captive of men who would enslave him? And if he was, it was her fault? The night grew colder. Flower moved downhill to the scant shelter of a stunted cedar. She must have slept then, for when something tugged at her skirt, she awoke with a start. "Aieee!" She scrabbled for her knife, never far from her hand while she slept.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html But before her fingers closed on its haft, a rough tongue swiped across her mouth and a furry body weighed her to the ground. With small yips and whines, the pup told her how happy he was to have found her. She caught him around the neck, held him still. He smelled of woodsmoke and spoiled food, so he must have been scavenging in the town. "Where is he?" she asked, knowing he could not answer. "Did you run ahead?" The pup caught her hand between his jaws, held it, though his teeth did not penetrate the skin. He tugged, whining again. "What? Where is William?" She worked her hand free and crawled from beneath the tree. Shivering, she rubbed her upper arms briskly. Immediately the dog caught at her skirt and once more tugged, pulling hard. "Stop! You will tear--You are trying to tell me something! Where is William!" The pup barked sharply. He ran away a short distance, came back. "Whuff!" He grabbed at her skirt again. Tugged even harder. As realization struck, Flower found her belly roiling. William had been captured. The pup, useless as he had been, was intelligent enough to have come for her. "Good dog," she said, catching the thick ruff at his neck. "But we cannot go now. It is too dark." She reached for the broken leash, trailing behind him. Quickly she tied it to the tree trunk. The pup tested his restraint, and when it held him, he turned and began gnawing on it. Flower watched for a moment, considering. "I cannot let you free," she told him, "for I need you. I would not know where to look for him." She pulled the pup into her arms and lay back down. He struggled briefly, then relaxed against her. Before long he had wriggled about until his head lay on the mound of dry grass that served her as a pillow and he was quiet. He seemed to sleep, but Flower did not. Oh, William! Your worst fear has come to pass. You are caught and they will make you a slave again! No! They will not! I cannot let that happen. Not to you! *** There was pale sunlight streaming through the crack in the roof when William awoke. He moved, a little at first, then a little more. His shoulders screamedhold still! but he ignored them. He sat up, the breath hissing through his teeth when he found that there were whip cuts clear around onto the sides of his belly. Deep ones, still seeping blood. Each breath was agony, for drawing it in and letting it out moved his ribs, and the skin over them was crusted with new scabs, wet with stripes not yet scabbed over. He pulled his legs in toward his chest, rested his arms across his knees, and lay his head atop them. He had been whupped before, more than once. And each time he had thought he'd never hurt so much in his whole life. This hurt more, though. Before he'd been a slave, and didn't know any different. Then he'd been a free man, and he'd learned that no man should have to suffer like this. Not clean to the heart and soul of him. *** The squaw came walking down the street, bold as brass. Muller was just

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html opening the saloon when he saw her, filthy, with a sweat-stained buckskin dress and dirty feet. Her hair was short, stiff with grease, and there were dark stains across her cheeks. Tattoos? Some of the Indian women had them--beauty marks someone had told him. In his opinion, there wasn't anything could make a squaw anything but butt-ugly, but when he used them, he wasn't interested in their faces anyhow. He watched her as she drew near him. She was peering around as if she'd never seen a town before. Or like she was looking for something. The big dog at her side looked around too, sort of like it was wondering where its next meal was coming from. One of the stray mutts that hung around town barked at the woman. The big dog just turned its head and lifted its lip, and the mutt went ki-yi-ing off like he'd been burned. Dog? That critter had to be half wolf.

"Hey,klootchman ! You wanteetahla ?" Muller called as the squaw walked by him. She wasn't too bad looking, once you got past the dark tattoo and the dirt. Bet she stunk to high heaven. She looked at him like she didn't know what he'd said. Hell! Maybe she wasn't local. He'd heard that a lot of the Indians from farther inland didn't understand pidgin Chinook. He made an unmistakable gesture, and received a skin-searing glare in return. The dog drew his lips back, showing sharp fangs. "Bitch!"You better not let me catch you without that dog, you worthless squaw. I'll show you what happens to them who sneers at Konrad Muller. He turned his back and went inside. *** Flower felt her fingers curling into claws when the big man in the door of the saloon looked at her as if she were his to use and abuse. His crude invitation made her want to force his words back down his throat until he choked on them. Instead she acted as if his words meant nothing to her. The pup, she noticed, liked him no better than she did. For the first time since William had brought her the pup, she was grateful for his presence, his great strength and his menacing appearance. Most men would think twice before attacking her as long as a wolf walked at her side. She dug her fingers into his ruff, murmured, "I am happy you are with me." His tail twitched ever so slightly, as if he knew that a public demonstration of affections would be out of place here and now. They were nearing the end of the street, only a hundred yards or so from the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html boat landing, when the pup pulled against the short leash that held him. She let him lead her between a large tent labeled 'Hotel' and the only building she'd seen made of sawed lumber. Its misspelled sign proclaimed it a general store, but the door was barred and refuse had piled up against its front wall. Behind the store was a flat-roofed structure of logs, looking almost like the icehouse at Lapwai. A heavy bar held the wide, iron- studded door closed. Flower walked past the structure as if she was going somewhere beyond it, although this seemed to be the edge of town. A pile of discards--a broken barrel, a wagon wheel without a tire, and bits of metal and wood--lay against the back wall. She went to it and began pulling things free, as if she were looking for something worthwhile. When the pup gave no alarm, she stepped closer to the wall. "William?" she called softly. "William, are you there?" A sound came from within, but she could understand no words in it. She dared to raise her voice. "William? Are you there?" Quickly she laid her ear against the wall. Her heart leaped when she heard, "Flower?" in a faint, weak tone. "Listen to me," she said, knowing she dared not risk more than a few moments here. "I will get help. Wait. We will free you." Before she pulled away, she heard, "No. Go 'way. Save y'rself." They had hurt him! She could hear great pain in his voice. The pup gave made a soft sound warning. Flower stepped back grabbed at a piece of wood in the refuse pile. Pulling on it, she found that she had hold of churn bucket, cracked and useless, but still smelling faintly of sweet cream. "What you doin', pokin' around here,klootchman ?Klatawa! Get out of here!" She shrugged, laid hold of something else in the pile, a metal scrap of whose origin she had no clue. Forcing an ingratiating smile on her face, she held it up. "Put that down, you stupid squaw. Don't you understand me? You can't have none of that!Klatawa. Klatawa! " He made shooing motions with his hands. Flower shrugged, pulled on the pup's leash. She bobbed her head, as she'd once seen William do.How demeaning. He must hate himself every time he does this. The man followed her as she returned to the street. She knew he watched her all the way to the end of town, for she turned twice and saw him still standing in the gap, arms akimbo. Once they were well away, she lengthened the pup's leash. "You are a very good dog," she told him as he shook his head and sneezed. "I was hardly frightened at all." Not one man had approached too closely, not one had threatened her seriously. William had been right. In the dog she had a fine protector, even if he never showed his teeth. "You need a name," she told him as he sat before her, grinning, He cocked his head. "A noble name. A strong name." A name was a magic thing, and the giving of one was not lightly done. She searched her mind for something in her mother's tongue, found nothing. Nor did the Bannock language contain anything she

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html would bestow on her brave protector. She looked at him, seeing his size, his strength. His eyes, golden as his wolf sire's, gleamed back at her. "Wolf? No, that is only a label, not a name. But something like...there was a story Everett told me, of a great hero. What was his name?" As she walked toward the Wasco village, she thought once more of a hero's name. Better than thinking of what they might have done to William. The pup ranged far, free for once of his leash. She was no longer worried that he would leave her, for he returned often, as if to reassure himself that he had not lost her. Like a wolf with one pup. "Beowulf!" She stopped walking. "Beowulf, that was it. A hero. Everett called him the greatest English hero, even more so than King Arthur. He told me many stories of him." Dropping to her knees, she called the pup--Beowulf--to her. He came willingly, slurping his tongue across her face as she hugged him "You are Beowulf, my noble hero," she whispered into his thick ruff. "And William's salvation." If only saying it made it true. The men were seated inside the lodge when she returned. She seated herself against the wall and accepted a bowl of fish stew. Words fought to burst free of her mouth, but she could not speak them. When Hilaire's uncle was ready to hear her, he would say so. At last he did, and she told them what she had learned, while holding tightly to the fear and worry that urged her voice to tremble. Once she had spoken, Has Itswoot--Great Bear--said,"I also went to the town today. Many stories are being told. One spoke of the black man having much gold, and knowing where there is more. It is believed that if he is beaten enough, he will tell where it is hidden." "Gold? The coin--" Grief caught in Flower's throat. "He had one coin, a large gold one, and was to say it was mine." "It is said that his mistress--or his whore, some call her--is a rich woman who has a cave full of gold coin. That Konrad Muller--a very bad man--he speaks of seeing other coins like the one the black man had." She clenched her fists on her knees, pounded until her legs throbbed with pain. "We must save him. Wemust." "There are risks," Has Itswoot reminded her. "The place where he is held is watched. And the men in town have guns." "I know, but..." "We have spoken of this and I have said I will help. The young men will rescue him while I draw the attention of any who watch. I will pretend to be a drunken Indian, so that they will forget to be watchful." His mouth twisted, as if at something bitter. "The whiskey they sell our people is destroying many of our young men. And they think it amusing. We will give them more to laugh at." Flower extended her hands to him. "You are kind,Chope -- grandfather. Will you

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html accept potlatch from me? I have more of the gold." She held out a shining golden coin. "If one is so dangerous to your man, it would be even more dangerous to me," he told her. "But I will take it, and someday the children of Tenas Eena may safely spend it." He accepted it and lay it beside him, where the flickering firelight caused it to glitter and gleam. "Now," Hilaire said, "We must plan." Flower said little while the men planned their attack. Has Itswoot would draw the attention of any who were awake in the predawn darkness, by staggering in the street, singing, and pretending an attempt at dancing. Hilaire and Tenas Eena would creep to William's prison and open it. If he was unable to walk on his own, Hilaire would carry him, while Tenas Eena stayed behind to take care of any pursuers. Flower would wait just outside of town with Beowulf, ready to help with William. Soon all retired, to sleep a little before their mission began. *** They approached the settlement silently. Flower had tied a thong about Beowulf's muzzle, and all three of them wore buckskin, which did not rustle as cloth did. Having climbed the bluff above town, they stole carefully down the slope and stopped just short of the first outlying cabin. When Tenas Eena held out his arm to halt their progress, Flower found she was shaking with tension. She sank to her knees, took deep, careful breaths. Hilaire sat beside her and caught her hand in his. "Are you well?" he whispered into her ear. The sound was as soft as a summer breeze. She nodded, and clung to his hand. Tenas Eena sat on her other side. They waited. An eternity later she heard, faintly, the sound of off-key singing, its cadence slightly reminiscent of the menstrual dance she had once watched, but never been invited to participate in. They continued to wait. At last a raucous shout told them that Has Itswoot's singing had reached the proper level of annoyance. As though they were linked, Tenas Eena and Hilaire rose to their feet. An instant later, so did Flower. Hilaire took her into his arms. "We will bring your man safely to you,Ats --little sister. Never fear." She clung, then released him, except for her grasp on one hand. "Take care." "We will return as soon as we can." His fingers tightened about hers, then loosened. "It should not take long to pry him from that feeble prison." Flower watched them walk away, almost disappear into the dark. "Wait," she called softly, when they were almost invisible. "Wait for me. I must come with you."

CHAPTER NINE

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Flower pushed at the door as soon as the men had lifted the bar. It slowly swung open, onto a reeking blackness. She felt her way inside, stepping carefully, keeping one hand on the wall. Just past the first corner, her foot encountered a yielding object. "William," she called softly. A moan was her only answer. Kneeling, she touched him. The tight wool of his hair told her that this was indeed William. The stickiness of blood said that he was hurt. "William," she called again, more softly. "Can you move?" Running her hands over him, she found cloth below his waist, but his upper body was bare, crisscrossed with swollen welts and wet with weeping sores. He moaned again, but moved, his arms slowly lifting his torso. Flower was afraid to help, knowing she would cause him pain wherever she touched him. "Shouldn't 'a come for me, woman. Dangerous." She had to lean close to hear his words. She touched his cheek, feeling more swelling, more blood. "They hurt you badly, William. Oh, I could kill them!" "We must go, Fleur," Hilaire whispered, close to her, "before someone comes. Can he walk?" "No." "I reckon," William said at the same time. "No," Flower repeated. "You must carry him. But try not to hurt him" As Hilaire helped William to his feet, Flower heard hisses of pain and suppressed moans that nearly broke her heart. How he had suffered because she was too cowardly to enter the town. She vowed to herself that never again would she let him take risks to protect her. When he has healed from what they did to him, I will make him go back, she vowed. With an arm over the shoulders of each, Hilaire and Tenas Eena carried William from the shed. Flower pulled the door shut behind them, and replaced the bar. Perhaps no one would notice him gone for a long time. William was hanging unconscious between them when they reached the boat landing at the end of the street. Earlier the men had decided that if he was too injured to walk easily, they would take him to the village by water, rather than risk being seen as they crossed the mile of open land. Gently they maneuvered him into the waiting canoe, laid him flat in the bottom. "You two go ahead. I will bring him," Tenas Eena told them. "If anyone sees, there will be only a drifting canoe." He handed Hilaire his moccasins, pushed off. In the dim, pre- dawn light, Flower watched as he guided the canoe into the slight nearshore current, swimming behind it. "Come, Ahts. He will be there before us, and my aunt will help him carry your man to the lodge." "He is not my man," Flower murmured. "He is my friend." Hilaire's teeth flashed in a grin. *** Therese had already begun washing William when Flower and Hilaire arrived,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html they having taken a roundabout route back to the village. Even in the flickering firelight Flower could see what they had done to him. She was sick at the sight. His face was swollen, one eye completely shut and the other a mere slit. A cut marred the smooth, dark skin of his cheek, and the lobe of one ear was torn and dangling. But his back--she wanted to look away from the sight, yet could not. She had seen his back once before, when he had given her his shirt after their escape from the renegades. The skin had been welted with tangled scar tissue, evidence of more than one vicious whipping. When she had started to express her pity, he had cut her off. "I doin' my bes' to fergit," he'd said, and she'd respected his effort and said nothing more. Hattie had told her of William's dream--to find a place where he could be free. "A place where I be king, where nobody gon' whup me no more," had been the objective of his two-year journey on bare feet to the ice-crusted bank of the Boise River where Emmet had found him. Hattie and Emmet had taken William into their hearts and their family, had helped him to find his kingdom. They had given him a name, pride, and a place to belong, to be free. All Flower had done was take from him--his protection and, almost, his freedom. She knelt beside him, picked up a piece of soft doeskin, and began gently sponging the blood from his torn skin. As she did so, tears clogged her throat. He must have known what would happen if he was captured, yet he had willingly gone into the settlement. "Oh, William," she whispered, "if only you had gone back to Cherry Vale." "Hush, woman." His voice was low, strained. "I's where I wants to be. With you." She threw the doeskin scrap into the pan of warm water, splattering them both. "Oh, you foolish, foolish man! Will you never learn? I can only cause you pain." She picked up the doeskin, rinsed and squeezed it. Again she patted gently at the dirt-encrusted stripes on his back. Once in a while he hissed, but he made no other sound. "Am I hurting you?" she said, when he drew in a long breath and his whole body stiffened. "Every time you touch me, it's like angel's wings done brush over me." Once again he took a long, hissing breath. "Course, it might be better if he was to stop flappin' so hard." "How can you joke?" "Laughin' hurts a lot less than cryin," he said, burying his face in his bent arm as she touched the cloth to a still-bleeding place at the small of his back. His body jerked. Flower drew her hand back. "I cannot do this," she told Therese. "I am hurting him so much." Silently Therese took the damp scrap and applied it. William flinched again, then lay still. Flower swallowed the gorge that rose in her throat.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She went to the door of the lodge and looked out. The sun was near the zenith and the day was warm. A short distance away Hilaire and Tenas Eena napped under a lean- to shelter. Beowulf, who had been tied up all night, was sleeping near them. He had not been happy with her this morning, apparently outraged that she had gone somewhere without him. Since William had left him behind, he had been as her shadow. Now would he transfer his affection once more? She hoped not. A dog's love was simple, uncomplicated to return. A motion caught her attention and she turned to see Has Itswoot approaching. He was limping. She ran to meet him. Beowulf and Tenas Eena's dog both woke and started barking. Has Itswoot's clothing was dirty and torn in several places. His face was bruised about the jaw, and he favored one leg as he walked. "What happened? Who did this?" "Hah! It was a great battle. They tried to hit me and I fell down. They tried to kick me and I rolled away. All the time I laughed and sang, as if I had drunk much whiskey. At last they gave up and went away, so I crawled to the wall of the saloon where I could watch the shed, and fell asleep against the south wall." He winked. "But I did not sleep. They only thought I did. My ears were awake, and my eyes watched, even though they seemed to be closed. I listened and I watched." "What did you see,Tot --uncle?" Hilaire said, grinning widely. "How long did it take them to find the shack empty?" "Oh, a very long time. The sun was half-high," he held his arm halfway between level and straight up to demonstrate, "when the one they call Muller went to whip him again. Hah! That is one bad man. He likes to cause pain." He paused dramatically. "What happened when he discovered William was gone?" Flower asked, impatiently. "He was very angry. He swore and kicked the ground. One man said something to him, and he struck that one. He made them all search, but they found nothing. Nothing." He grinned. "Where have you hidden your man?" "He is not hidden," Flower said, deciding not to argue whether William was 'hers' or not. "He is still inside, because he was badly hurt. Therese is caring for his wounds." "That is not good. Later a new man, one whose name is Tur-Ner, he say that theelite --the slave--is worth much gold. So they will search again. One said he would come here." "Then we go away. Quickly." "I will help you," Hilaire said. "And I." Tenas Eena slowly rose to his feet and stretched. "I have slept enough for now." Has Itswoot shook his head at his son. "Not while it is day. Better we hide him for now, then tonight you can take him away." Quickly they carried William to a rocky cavern in the scablands that lay north of the creek. It was really a wide crack in the rock, floored with sand and

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html partly roofed with a loose slab of the same black rock. Getting him into the fissure must have hurt him greatly, because he fainted before he was on the bottom. Flower knelt beside him, wiping his damp face with another scrap of doeskin. He lay prone, head turned to one side, unmoving. She and Beowulf would stay here, since no one but the Wasco knew she was in the area. Hilaire and Tenas Eena would go downriver and find a hidden place where they could sleep again. They must be awake again tonight. Little light reached the bottom of the cavern, so Flower could not see whether William was awake or asleep. She sat next to him for a long time, simply listening to his breathing, shallow but regular. Perhaps it was best he sleep now. Tonight could be difficult for him. Difficult and painful. *** "Hsst!" Flower's head jerked upright. She listened, heard no repeat of the soft hiss. Beside her William stirred, but made no sound. At last she heard it again. "Hsst!" Then a scratching on the rock above her. After a moment, she heard, "Fleur? Where are you?" Standing, she tried to look over the lip of the cavern, but could see nothing. "Here," she called softly. "Down here." "It is time to go," Hilaire said, his face appearing at the opening. Together they helped William from the cavern. He was moving better than this morning, but his breath still hissed between his teeth more than once as they lifted him to the surface. With Flower at his elbow and the other arm draped over Hilaire's shoulder, he was able to make his slow way across the rough, broken rock to the edge of the village. Tenas Eena waited, holding a horse--no, a mule. "My friend Kwahkwah, his father will not need this mule tonight. We will take you to a place where you may hide while your man heals." "I can walk," William said, but his tone was labored, his breath short. "You will ride," Flower told him. She and Hilaire helped him to mount the mule, which bore a shabby saddle. There was only one stirrup, and the pommel was bare wood with a few scraps of leather still attached. "Must I tie you, or can you hold on?" "Tie me," William said. "Ain't no way I's gonna hang on if he goes up a hill." They fastened his wrists to the pommel, looped a line between his legs. As they were doing so, Flower noted that his skin felt warm. Was he becoming feverish? All night they walked, staying well away from any trails, taking a roundabout route. At last, just as the eastern sky was lightening, Tenas Eena called a halt. They had traveled up a draw, which had grown deeper and narrower with each step, even as it wound its way up the plateau's edge. Flower heard the musical drip of water, smelled green and growing things. The dark shape of shrubs blocked the draw. "He'll have to get down. The mule can't go any farther." They helped William from the mule's back. Together Tenas Eena and Hilaire walked him through the screen of shrubbery and a short distance beyond. "You should be safe here," Hilaire told Flower. "I do not believe the whites have found this place yet."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Before full daylight they had set up a snug camp. A tattered canvas created a shelter against one steep hillside. The afternoon sun would shine directly into this place, Flower saw, and the light-colored soil on the slopes would reflect it back and forth. Without the canvas, they would feel as if they were in an oven. "We will go now," Hilaire said, once they had William comfortable on a folded blanket. "You have food enough for two days, and water. I will return the day after tomorrow and bring more food." "Can you bring our supplies?" Flower asked him. "I have medicines that will help his back heal." "Get my clothes, too," William said. Flower had thought him asleep. He told them where he had hidden his buckskins, outside of town, so he could go in looking like an escaped slave. Once the young men were gone, Flower inspected William's wounds again. Some of the deep cuts on his back were swollen, the flesh around them red and hot. She bathed them and applied more of the salve Therese had given her. "I wish I had my medicines," she told him. "I do not believe this is as good." But it was all she had, and better than nothing. "Feels good, when you rub it on like that," he told her, his eyes closed. William slept most of the day, rousing only when she forced him to drink the thick soup she had brought, or to sip cold springwater. She worried, for his body still seemed warmer than it should. That night and the next day, he was awake more, but lay quietly, speaking little. By the second evening, he was moving less stiffly, and sat up to eat his supper. "Will you go back now?" she asked him, as they sat in the twilight, not daring to light a fire. The scent of burning sagebrush could drift for miles and she wanted to give no indication that they were still here, so close to The Dalles. His head moved, side to side. "No'm, I won't. I reckon you needs me a lot more now than you did. That feller who whupped me-- name of Muller or something like that--he wants the gold. He's got it in his head there's lots more of them coins. He'll be watchin' for 'em." "Then I will simply not spend any more." His shrug made him wince. "Don't matter. You're still in danger, and I can't let you go without me. Besides, I been thinkin' I'd be better off in that England place than here, anyhow." She wished there was more light, for she wanted to see his face, his eyes. "You can't come with me!" "Told you, woman, I'd go anywheres in the world with you." The truth rang in his voice. A truth she was not ready to hear. Might never be ready to hear. Biting her lip. Flower fought the pain that choked her, that gathered around her heart and would not abate. "How can I let you do that, William? In England you would be seen as a servant, perhaps a slave. There is only one place in the world where you can be free. You must go back to Cherry Vale." Once more he shook his head. But he said nothing as he lay painfully down in

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html his hard bed. Hilaire did not come the next day. Flower knew that something had gone wrong. As evening approached, she gathered their few belongings and tied them in the ragged blanket Therese had given them. "We must travel tonight," she told William. "It is dangerous for us to remain here." He tried to take the bundle from her, but she would not let him. "I can carry this, if you will take Beowulf's leash. He must stay close to us." They walked all night, stopping often to get their bearing from the stars, or to allow William to rest. He said nothing, but toward morning Flower could see that he remained upright only through a great effort of will. When dawn finally lightened the sky enough for her to see his face, he looked old, with drooping shoulders and deep lines carved beside his mouth. They went to ground in a thicket of willow and hardhack along a narrow stream. Only a few slivers of dried meat remained in the parfleche, with three of the tiny onion bulbs she had gathered near their hidden camp. She wondered if she dared seek berries along the creek. She could go hungry, but William needed food to help his body heal. Reluctantly she agreed that Beowulf should hunt, for they had no food for him. "If anyone sees him, perhaps they will think he is a coyote," she said, hopefully. William did not respond. As soon as she had spread his blanket, he had laid himself down without argument. Now he seemed to be sleeping, but his breathing was uneven and labored. She touched him. He was warm, but not alarmingly so. Flower told herself not to worry. Some people simply were warmer to the touch than others. Beowulf returned sometime before noon, blood on his muzzle. Flower found herself wishing he was trained to bring food back. She had set snares, but expected them to yield nothing since they were all nearby--she had not wanted to leave William alone. The mere presence of humans would limit their success. The day grew warm and the air still. Inside the thicket Flower woke, feeling as if she could not find air to breathe. Once more she touched William. His skin was dry and hot. She lifted the scrap of linen she had laid over his back, inspected the wounds. Those that had worried her were still inflamed, still swollen, but looked no worse. "It is merely the hot day," she told herself, wiping the sweat from her own brow. He roused when the sun was low in the sky. "Thirsty," he said, his voice husky. Flower gave him water, offered him the few red currants she had found nearby. He took them, hesitated. "You eat yet?" "Of course," she lied. "While you were sleeping." He put the currants into his mouth, chewed. Flower's own mouth watered. She dipped from the stream and drank. A belly

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html full of water did not leave her feeling well-fed. Before they broke camp she checked her snares. As expected, they were empty. That night they made poor time. Flower knew approximately where they were. Has Itswoot had drawn her a map, showing the drainages they must cross before reaching the valley south of The Dalles where the road around Mt. Hood began. She had done her best to keep track of them as they made their way uphill and down last night. She had calculated that they should reach the valley tonight, but after an hour's travel, knew they would not. William was weak. He often stumbled and twice fell to his knees as they climbed steep slopes. When they stumbled upon a rutted trail, unmistakably cut deep by many wagon wheels, she decided to risk using it. For the rest of the night, they followed the ruts, and only when dawn lightened the eastern sky, did she lead William down into a ravine where once more they found a concealing thicket to rest within. He fell into a deep sleep as soon as he lay down, not even stirring when she used the last of the salve on his back. His skin felt warmer than before, but she could not be sure. Flower knew they must have food. William was sleeping so soundly that she felt she could risk leaving him alone while she hunted. With Beowulf at her side and her knife in hand, she crept from the thicket and moved downhill. William heard the distant voices and froze. They was still hunting him, even though he was a long ways from the plantation. Last night he'd heard dogs, yipping and howling, and had known they had found his trail. He waited a long time after the voices had died away, then he crept from the thicket he'd hid inside. He didn't remember getting here, didn't remember much of the last few days. His back hurt to beat the band, just like the last time he'd been whupped. He musta' got into some briars, scratched it up bad. Soon as he could, he'd find hisself some mud to soothe it. He crept uphill, saw the wagon road. "What you thinkin' of, boy," he muttered, "takin' your rest so close? They coulda' cotched you in your sleep and you'da' never knowed the difference." It ran along the top of a ridge. Off the other side the land dropped in long waves into a dark gash, like a narrow river valley. He looked back, down in to the ravine where he'd come from. Movement. Holding real still, he watched. Soon he saw somebody move between two big bushes, followed by a dog. They was on his trail, sure enough. Looking around quickly and seeing no one else in sight, he scooted across the wagon road and down the other side of the hill. He was headin' in the wrong direction, but that didn't matter none. He wasn't gonna let 'em cotch him. *** Tenas Eena and Hilaire returned to Has Itswoot's lodge to discover that the search for the escaped slave had not died down. There was word in the white settlement that the black man knew the location of a horde of gold, enough to make its finder rich beyond imagining. Even some of the Wasco were talking of joining the search, having learned from the whites of the value of gold. "We cannot go back," Tenas Eena said. "It would be dangerous for them."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "They have no food," Hilaire reminded his cousin, "and William needs his clothing." Therese set aside the basket she was weaving. "The clothing is here. I fetched it this morning. No one pays attention to an Indian woman who searches for kamass. But you must go back" she said. "There is much else they need." Has Itswoot shook his head. "Not now. There is talk that one of us helped the black man to escape. We are being watched." "Then we will steal away at night. No one will see us." "No, you will not. Better you go openly, in a boat. Then all will see that you carry no black man with you." Has Itswoot considered." I will go with you, to Celilo. From there you can go overland to their camp and get their supplies. Then you will take them to the Tygh village. She will certainly go there for food before she starts over the mountain." As soon as they had eaten they departed, rowing past the boat landing at the white settlement, whence they were watched closely. *** Flower killed one unwary cottontail with a rock, found two eggs in a hidden nest, and discovered a cluster of pale mushrooms in the rotting remnant of a smashed wagon that must have rolled off the road and down the hill. And Beowulf had startled an unwary quail that she had been able to talk him into sharing. They would eat well today. She returned to their camp by a circuitous route, not wanting to leave a clear trail, even though she doubted her footprints would be found. She had walked carefully, staying clear of soft, easily-marked ground. Even so, she was concerned. At one time she had thought she heard voices, but when she'd listened, there had been only the soft soughing of the wind among the cedars. Not a sound came from the camp. She called softly as she approached, not wanting to startle William.

There was no answer. "William?" she called, a little louder. A distant meadowlark sent its liquid trill to the sky, but William gave no response. Worried now, she pushed through the interlaced shrubs. The tiny clearing was empty. William's blankets lay on the ground, still bearing the faint imprint of his body. Nothing was disturbed, none of their few belongings was missing. Only William. Panic rose to clutch at her chest. She dropped her burdens, turned and pushed back through the shrubs. "William? William, where are you?" She did not dare call loudly, not knowing if anyone was on the wagon road to hear her. She looked at the damp ground along the narrow stream.There! Kneeling, she examined the partial footprint. Surely it was his. There had been no one else nearby, of that she was certain. She followed the stream some distance, but

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html found no more. When she turned back, she saw Beowulf halfway up the hillside, his nose to the ground.Of course! Why did I not think... She whistled and the dog came, but not without backward looks up the hillside. Quickly she broke camp, wrapping the gutted rabbit and quail with the mushrooms in the linen cloth she had used to cover William's back. Beowulf shook his head when she looped rope around his neck, but did not fight it. She lay her hand on the dog's ruff, looked into his golden eyes. "Now find him! Find William!" Beowulf lowered his nose to the ground. In a moment he was sniffing at the footprint, then he pulled her toward the hillside. *** Hilaire and Tenas Eena had no trouble finding the camp. It was exactly where Flower had said. Quickly they packed everything into the leather bags and the pack. Hilaire found the small pouch where Fleur had buried it, and slipped it inside his shirt. They were deciding what to load on each animal when Tenas Eena said, "Let me take the mule. They do not need it, and they owe us for our help." Hilaire stopped what he was doing. "Fleur gave your father one of her gold pieces," he said, "and she said I was to give you another. But you should not spend them for a long time, else they will look to you for the secret of their source." "Bah! Gold that I cannot spend is nothing. I want the mule." Quickly Hilaire considered. His cousin was right. Gold in the pocket was merely pretty metal. A mule was a useful possession. And Fleur had told him that William did not ride. "It is yours," he said. "But I cannot give you the gold, too. They may need it to buy another mule." His cousin's grin told Hilaire how little he cared for gold, when he could have a mule. They tied the pack across the horse's back and led both animals from the concealed campsite. "I will not return to your father's lodge," Hilaire told Tenas Eena. "I will leave her pack at the Tygh village, then I will take Fleur's mare to my father. The Tygh might forget that she is not theirs." Their ways matched for several miles, until they reached the turning that would take Hilaire to the Tygh village, a day's ride south. "I have been thinking," Hilaire said, when they paused to say farewell, "that my sister is right. I must choose whether to be white or Indian. I will speak to my father and think upon it. If I do not return by winter, I will not. You may keep whatever I have left at your father's lodge." Tenas Eena leaned across and embraced him. "Sometimes, cousin, you act more white than Wasco," he said, emotion thickening his voice, "but my father says that you are Wasco in your heart. You will return." "Perhaps." Hilaire turned the mare toward the south. How well he understood Fleur's dilemma. He had lived too long away from his mother's people, was the wrong color for his father's. No wonder Fleur wanted to go far away, where she could make a place that was hers alone. She had no one, belonged nowhere.

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CHAPTER TEN They was after him. He could feel them back there, somewheres on his trail. He'd come a long way and he had a long ways yet to go. Weeyum wasn't gonna let anybody cotch him, take him back to Marse Yates. He remembered what the marse had done to Toby, who'd run off ever' chance he'd got. After whuppin' him so bad they wasn't no skin left on his back, Marse had Toby's heelcords cut, so's his feet just flopped on the ends of his legs like a open gate swingin' in the wind. Then Toby had died of blood poisonin' in his back. Weeyum reckoned he hadn't wanted to live nohow. He couldn't remember gettin' to this place, where the gray-green brush was higher than a man's head and the trees had scaly branches that smelled strong and spicy, 'stead of leaves like they oughta'. Last he recalled, he was sneakin' along a river, slidin' amongst the cottonwoods, hopin' none of the folks in the wagons would cotch sight of him. But they had. "They musta," he muttered, trying to ignore the pain in his back. "Who else gon' whup me?" He stumbled as he went down another hill, caught himself before he could go careening tail over teakettle.Time to find a hidey-hole, whilst I still can. *** Beowulf led Flower across the ridge, down the other side into a willow-choked ravine. There he seemed to lose the trail, for he nosed about the edges of the thicket, whined, and nosed some more. Flower looked where he was sniffing. At first she saw nothing, then she realized that some of the limber shoots were bruised toward their bases, thickened where they had been bent almost to the ground. She pushed them aside and plowed her way into the thicket. "How did he find this place?" she wondered aloud when she had broken through into a tiny clearing. The stream, scarcely a handspan wide, gurgled along a winding, pebble-filled channel. Bordering it was a patch of grass, just big enough to provide a comfortable seat, and there she saw a depression. The grass had not all sprung back erect, and some blades were broken and wilting where a human foot had stepped. Another footprint--a heel print, really--marked where he had emerged from the thicket many feet upstream. For the rest of the afternoon she followed his trail, spending much of her time retracing her steps, casting about for the next clue to where William had gone. Twice she followed the excited dog only to find him scrabbling at gopher holes. After that she learned that when he went dashing away from her, he had been distracted by a scent more interesting than William's. "Why is he running away?" she asked the dog, when she had once again found a footprint, this one in the muddy edge of a seep. But she knew. The warmth of his skin should have told her that he was far more ill than he seemed. Now he was caught in a fever-induced delirium, and there was no telling where he would go or how far.I should never have left him alone.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html If anything happens to William--she would not allow herself to name what could befall him--I will never forgive myself. The sun eventually slid behind the mountains to the west, yet she searched until the dying light prevented it. Then she and Beowulf crept beneath a cedar and shivered through the long night. *** It seemed to Weeyum that every hill he climbed was a little bit higher, each canyon he half-walked, half-slid down into was a little bit deeper. Along about noon the second day of his escape, he crouched on a high ridge and looked to the south.Lawd a'mighty! This here's the up-and-downdest country I ever seed. A ways off to his left was a mighty canyon, far deeper than anything he'd crossed yet, and off the other way was a mountain the likes of which he'd never dreamed. It stuck way up into the sky, and was all white on its pointy top, like summer hadn't got there yet. He'd learned on his journey that there was places so high that snow lay on the ground all summer, but only in the shade and the north sides of hills. This whole mountain was covered with snow, and it looked to him like it never would melt. He looked around for Dawg, realized he hadn't seen the big, brindle mutt since he'd woke up. Had they took him, too? Shot him? A picture came to mind, of Dawg snarling and barking, attacking a big, ugly bassard. Then falling, limp as a wet rag, bleeding from a gunshot at close range. He'd watched Dawg lay there all day in the hot sun, never moving, but the next morning he was gone, only a dried puddle of blood marking where he'd been. I should'a took care of him.Then he remembered why he hadn't. He'd been tied, hand and foot, stretched out flat on the ground between two trees, until the muscles in his shoulders locked up into screaming agony from being held over his head. Silas had been close by, tied the same as he was. Silas? Who's Silas? Now he knew he was out of his head. Dreamin' of things that never happened. People he didn't know. He looked down the slope in front of him. It went down a long way, leveled out at the bottom. There was trees there, looking like they grew along a river, maybe. And where there was rivers, there was generally breaks, rough, cut-up country where a body could find a good place to hole up. He needed a place like that. He was still feverish, still about half muzzy. On feet that seemed heavier with every step, he started down the hill. *** The second day Flower found it even more difficult to follow William. Beowulf was proving a poor tracker, easily distracted by the sent of rabbit, mouse, and quail. She could not complain, though, for he fed them both, very well, with what he caught. Late in the afternoon she climbed to the top of a long ridge, one which gave a clear view to the south where the canyon of the Deschutes cut deeply across

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html the plateau. Somewhere not too far ahead was a Tygh village where she might be able to get food. Perhaps even help in finding William. She shaded her eyes and searched the near distance.There! That must be it. If she hurried, she might be able to reach the village before nightfall. *** When he finally got to the bottom of the hill, Weeyum found hisself a big cottonwood and hunkered down under it. He was hungry, but there'd been water aplenty in the little streams draining down off the ridge. Tomorrow he'd set hisself a snare and maybe catch a rabbit. A rustle in the leaves startled him, then he saw a fat, squirrel-looking critter scurry across an open space.Right now I'd settle for squirrel. Roasted, fried, or raw. A cold wind blew up that night, and before morning it rained. Weeyum kept mostly dry under the tree, last years' leaves piled over him like a blanket. When dawn broke, it was gray and damp. His belly demanded food, or he'd have stayed in his warm nest all day long. He found raspberries and some powdery blue berries that drooped in wide clumps from tall, arching branches. He tried them, but they was about half seed and their sour taste puckered him up good. Down next to the water, a rushing, rocky stream, he found some of the yellow berries that Flower called currants and ate them too. Flower?He saw a sweet face, wide gray eyes, a smile that came seldom and was all the more precious for its scarcity. Where'd I know a woman like that? She's beautiful! "You's dreamin', boy. Jus' dreamin'." The water looked cool, like it would soothe the burning that came and went in his body. But it was wild and fast. Was he to jump in there, he'd be carried all the way to the Mississipp', sure enough. He walked along the bank, until it turned from damp earth to sharp, black rock. But there seemed to be a trail, so he followed it, until it led to a cliff where the river fell into a deep canyon. Spray rose and wet the rock on which he stood, rock that shook under his feet with the force of the water roaring over the falls. Spray that cooled him. Weeyum shivered. He was burnin' up, yet somehow he was freezin' too. What he needed was a place he could have hisself a fire. He felt in the pockets of his britches, but found no flint, no steel.They must'a took it from me. Bassards! The faint trail wound down away from the cliff, right along the brim of the canyon. He followed it, not caring where it went. As long as he was moving he was warmer than when he was standin' still. The rock was slick. He picked his way carefully, stepping careful on the bare places. Below him the river was still white-capped, but it no longer thundered. Now that he was out of the spray, he felt hotter than ever, and weaker. He

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html leaned against a squared-off boulder and rested, wondering where he was going. And why. All he knew was that he had to keep movin'. That was when he spied the nest. Three small tan eggs in a grassy bowl, right out on the edge of the cliff. His mouth watered. Food! His belly rumbled. He took a step, reached toward the nest. The hillside broke under him. He slid, fell, and landed in icy, swirling water. *** The pack was heavy on her back, but Flower did not mind the weight. Now they had food, When she found William--when, notif --she would be able to feed him, to strengthen him so that his body could fight the infection that must be making him feverish. If only she had gotten to the Tygh village sooner. She was not fluent in the Chinook jargon that served as a trade language along the Columbia, but she knew enough to understand that she had missed Hilaire by only a few hours. He had left her belongings in the chieftain's care, with a short note that told her only that he was taking Windchaser to his father. What of the mule?she wondered. Once well away from the village, she opened the pack, heavier by far than it had been. William's buckskin clothing was folded carefully on top of his moccasins. The next layer included her calico dress and linen petticoat, the woolen sweater, and both blankets. A coil of rope, slender, braided from cedar bark. At the bottom was food-- jerked meat, dried fruit and fish, coffee, tea, and her packet of yarbs.Therese must have sent the food. We had not so much. She checked. William's gold was still sewn into the tail of his buckskin shirt. Her small pouch with the rest of the coins was tucked away among the packets of yarbs. "I would rather have had more food," she said aloud, thinking of the long road to Oregon City. Beowulf whined, his head cocked to one side as if askingwhy? "Never mind. We must go. Can you find William?" The dog gave a sharp bark and lowered his nose to the ground. "Not now, you silly animal. We are a long way from where we last found his tracks." She found his trail again that afternoon, down at the bottom of the ridge. It wandered towards the river, no longer showing any attempt at concealment. Twice she saw where he had fallen, and once there was dried blood on the still compressed grass. Beowulf snuffled around and then took off at a fast lope towards the river. Flower followed, more slowly. The last footprint was close to the water's edge, in ground softened by the spray from a waterfall. It was plain, the heel imprint deep, the toes evident.Oh, William, couldn't you see that way is dangerous! The footprint pointed along the black rock that broke away in a sheer drop to the base of the waterfall, toward a narrow, sloping game trail that clung to the very edge of the cliff. Flower was undecided. Would he have gone that way? Or would he have turned back, gone upstream where the hills gave way to broad, almost level ground?

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Beowulf yipped. She looked for him, saw him well along the cliff path, his tail wagging, his mouth open in a dog-smile. "Come here!" she called. "We go this way." He yipped again, lowered his nose to the ground. "Beowulf! Come here!" He ignored her and continued along the narrow path. She followed, stepping carefully, feeling the power of the waterfall vibrating through her feet. The dog kept his nose to the ground, intent. Gradually the black rock gave way to soil, to a steep slope that still hung high above the water. Flower lost her footing and slid sideways, barely catching herself with a handful of sagebrush. Ahead of her Beowulf was still nosing the ground, but he was no longer moving. Carefully, testing every step, she followed. The dog had found a killdeer nest, holding three eggs. "Be careful," she cried. "Don't push them over!" She was reaching for them, mouth watering, when she saw the scuff mark, the loose soil where something large had slid toward the edge. Heart in her throat, Flower leaned carefully out, holding to a clump of bunchgrass for balance.Yes! The marks extended down the hillside to where it changed from slope to cliff, then disappeared. And toward the end of the slide, there was a dark stain on the soil. Dark like blood. William! For a moment she could not move, then she pulled herself back. This river emptied into the Deschutes not too far from here, and if he was swept that far, he had no chance. The Deschutes River was one that even the local tribes respected, wild and strong, with impassable rapids and waterfalls nearly all the way to where it emptied into the Columbia. Across the river the canyon walls were as steep as here.He could not have climbed out. Not there. "Come. We will search," she told the dog, unwilling to give up until all hope was lost. Although the hillside she traversed remained as steep as ever, the opposite wall gradually leveled at its base. The river bent and ahead she saw a low bench across the river. A little farther on, she found a creek on her side, small and almost dry, but big enough to have worn a trough down which she could climb to the water's edge. Once there she looked across again and saw that she was directly opposite the mouth of another creek. There was even a narrow beach there, where a man might have found refuge. If he was conscious. And if he was not?His body...No! He could have been washed ashore. She shaded her eyes against the bright sun, but could see no farther than a few feet from the shore. The ground rose gradually, then seemed to level for a short distance before rising again in a steeper slope perhaps a hundred yards from the river. Beyond that was another level bench, backed by a sheer bluff.If he is

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html over there, he will not go far. She set her pack down, looked about her. Where the creek on this side emptied into the river, a short section of log, torn roots still attached, was wedged between two rocks. It was about two handspans in diameter, half as long as she was tall. Opposite the roots, a splintered end was evidence of a lightning strike. "I hope you can swim," she told Beowulf. Quickly she dig the rope out of her pack, pulled it from hand to hand, estimating its length.Perhaps. Before she could have second thoughts, she stripped her dress and leggings off, stuffed them and her moccasins into the pack. Naked, she shivered in the breeze, even though the sun had a bite to it. She had never been a strong swimmer, had never enjoyed water play as some of her friends had. After making sure it was securely closed, she looped her pack's straps around the roots, wedged it between the two biggest stubs, and tied it firmly with Beowulf's leash. Then she attached the rope to one stub, pulled it to the other end of the log, and tied it again, this time after looping it around the circumference. That done, Flower looked at the river again. Although it had calmed somewhat, whitecaps still broke its surface. She would have to swim hard, fast. A difficult task, with a rope in tow. I can do it, she told herself.I must do it. The log resisted her push, but eventually she had it fully in the water, not quite afloat, but ready to swing freely into the current at the slightest pull. She looped the free end of the rope around her left ankle twice, tied it securely. Then she knelt before Beowulf, took his head in her hands. "You must swim with me," she told him, looking into his golden wolf's eyes. "If I do not succeed, then it will be up to you to find him. He is over there. Iknow he is." She leaned her head against the dog's, eyes closed, sending a prayer to Christian God and Guardian Spirits. Let me do this thing. Let me find him and keep him alive. He is a good man. Before she could lose what little courage she had, she plunged into the water and struck out toward the opposite bank, swimming as strongly as she could. The rope slowed her. Wetted, it was caught in the current and pulled downstream. Feeling as if it had just dripped off a snowbank, the water sapped her strength, tired her. But she kept stroking, kept kicking, even when she saw that she was drifting far from her intended landing place. Cold. So cold.Her arms were leaden, her body weak. She fought the water, then went under when something caught her ankle.The rope. She had reached the end of the rope. Panicked, Flower stroked harder. She could not kick with her right leg, for the rope was stretched taut, but her left flailed, rolling her to her back, forcing her head under. She choked when water ran into her nose, her mouth. From a distance she heard a bark. Another. As if Beowulf was calling to her. Forcing herself into calm, Flower stopped fighting the current. She drifted, floating on the surface. When she no longer gasped for breath, she turned her

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html head. Beowulf had made the crossing and was standing at the water's edge. Watching her. Waiting. Strength returned to her limbs. The water no longer seemed so cold. She rolled back, started stroking again. Only this time she paced herself, stroking, breathing, stroking, breathing. At last she drew nearer the shore, found footing, though the current kept trying to carry her away. Digging her toes into the rocky riverbed, she took one step, tried another and was snubbed up short by the rope attached to her ankle. Upstream. I must move upstream before I can go closer to shore. The river did not yield easily. It pulled at her, sucking her downstream even as she fought to move up. With each foot she gained, the rope grew less taut, and at last she was able to climb the bank and fall, gasping, onto the rocky shore. Immediately Beowulf was beside her, licking her face, her shoulders. He whuffed and whined until she turned her head. His tongue swiped across her lips. "Pah! That is a bad habit you have. I must teach you not to do it." This time the tongue narrowly missed her open mouth. "Go away," she told him. "Let me up." But she had to fight him to get upright. He danced around her, whining, catching her wrist, her fingers, even the rope on her ankle, between his teeth. "Sit!" She might have been talking to a rock, for all the effect her command had. Wearily she bent to untie the rope around her ankle. The dog hindered, biting at it, pulling. When she finally got it untied, she wrapped it around a stick and held the piece of wood out to him. "You want to help, so pull" Between the two of them, they got the log, with her pack, across the river without mishap, although it took about all Flower's remaining strength. She dragged the sodden leather bag up past the cobble beach and let it lay in the grass, not even caring that its contents should be taken out to dry. All she wanted to do was rest. Sleep. Beowulf had other ideas. He grabbed her hand with gentle teeth, tugged. Flower pushed him away. He caught at her hand. She batted at him. Undeterred, the dog took her wrist between this teeth, bit down hard enough this time to leave dents in her flesh. He growled. Not a warning growl, but a sound that she had never heard him make before. At last she realized that he was trying to tell her something. She rolled to her knees, stood. Beowulf dashed a short distance away, stopped and looked back at her. He yipped, spun around, and dashed farther. She followed on bare feet, picking her way carefully between patches of a prickly- leaved plant. At the top of the first rise, she stopped and looked around. The steep hillside she had seen from across the river formed a half circle, enclosing a nearly level area containing scattered tall sagebrush interspersed with a few large

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html cedar trees. From where she stood, she could see no way out but across the river. A hidden dell. Beowulf dashed away again, out of sight. In a moment she heard him barking, short sharp yips, excited and impatient Ignoring the danger to bare feet, she hurried. In the shade of an enormous cedar, nearly invisible in the deep shade, lay a man, prone. Dark and still. "William!" She ran to him, fell to her knees. Hesitantly she reached out to touch him, pulled her hand back.What if...? Beowulf was not so cautious. He pushed her hand aside with his muzzle, started licking at the still face. William moved. Something wet slid across his cheek. Weeyum opened his eyes and saw the face from his dreams. Soft lips, half-open, a stubborn chin, and eyes as gray and misty as the rain. And beside that dear face, another. A wolf's face, almost white, with golden eyes. Before he could fight back, the wolf caught him again with its tongue, this time right across the mouth. Almost afraid to move, lest the dream go away, he shook his head. But the fog did not clear. His thoughts still seemed like they was caught in gumbo mud. All he knew was that she meant him no harm. "William?" A gentle touch on his cheek, different from the wolf's slaver. "William, can you speak?" With a tongue dry and stiff as an old board, he tried to lick his lips, lips cracked and swollen. "Water?" he whispered. "Oh, of course." She backed away to the edge of the branches that hung over him, and Weeyum couldn't take his eyes off her. Either he was out of his head or the woman was buck nekkid. He watched her walk out of sight, golden sunlight on golden skin. If he was to die right now, he'd be a happy man. The wolf whined next his ear, like any ol' hound would. Weeyum tried to move his hand, to push the critter away. The dam' thing tasted him again, leaving a trail of slobber along his chin. Wolf, if you's gonna eat me up, get on with it, will you?He reckoned that the wolf wouldn't hurt him any more'n the woman would lay down beside him and take him inside her. He'd had dreams like this before, where ever'thing seemed bodacious, then when he woke up nothin' was any different than it'd been when he fell asleep. After a while Weeyum decided he'd woke up from his dream. There wasn't no wolf anywheres about, and no nekkid woman with a pert little bottom and legs just long enough to wrap real nice about a man. He was underneath one of them peculiar trees he remembered from somewheres, and the air around him was warm. It had a odd smell to it, familiar, but yet not anything he had a memory of. "Must not be dead yet," he muttered, and went to roll onto his back. "Ahhhh!" Whoever'd whupped him, they'd done a good job of it. Not caring that his nose was flat against the dusty soil, he held hisself still, his whole body clenched against the pain. Gradually the fire in his back died down and he could breathe again. A rustle off to one side. Was the wolf coming back for his supper?

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html I ain't good for much else. He might as well eat me. The rustle came closer, right up beside him. He kept his face in the dirt, his eyes closed. No sense fightin'. He couldn't lick a one-legged bullfrog, the way he felt right now. "Can you sit?" Her voice was like a song, sung a long ways off. Turning his head, he opened his eyes a slit.She's real! Not a dream! But she was all dressed up in a fancy, beaded dress that looked like it was made of leather.So I wasdreamin', at least about her being nekkid. Slowly he moved, feeling as if every bone in his body had been broke, every muscle bruised. At last he half-sat, half leaned on one arm. The woman held a cup to his lips, a cup of icy water. He gulped, once. Twice. And she pulled it away. "Not so fast. You'll make yourself sick." She offered it again and this time he sipped, slowly. "Thankee," he whispered, keeping his eyes down. He didn't want her to see the tears streaming down his face. There wasn't no reason for him to be weepin', but he just couldn't help hisself. He was alive, a beautiful woman was ministerin' to him, and he'd got away again. Maybe this time he'd stay free. When he'd drunk every drop in the cup, the woman set it beside him. "I will get my pack. Your clothes are there." He had no clothes, save the raggedy pants he was wearin'. Before he could tell her that, she was gone again. He must have slept again, curled over on his side, because the next time he saw her, she was layin' clothes and blankets all over the tall bushes that grew around the tree he was under. Most of them looked damp, so maybe this was washin' day. Where's her cabin? He drifted in and out of sleep then, waking once when the wolf nosed him, again when she dropped an armful of wood just outside the tree canopy. A while later he heard the crackle of a fire. I oughta be up helpin', he thought. But when he tried to move, he found he had no more strength than a starvin' calf. Flower cast worried glances at William as she set up camp. His skin had been cool when she had touched him, but he still looked ill. His color was bad, dark putty instead of rich, warm brown. His eyes were bloodshot, the skin around them still swollen and bruised. The stitched flesh of his earlobe was healing, and his back was mostly scabbed over, with the exception of two or three deep cuts that oozed yellowish pus.They must have been the source of his fever . Shaving some of the dried salmon into the simmering water, she silently thanked Hilaire for making sure that her cooking pot was in the pack. William was in no condition to eat roasted meat. He needed soup, thick and hearty. She had

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html found both yampa and cattail root on her brief foray after food. He must build up his strength, if he was to cross the Blues again. The elderberries down near the river weren't as ripe as she would wish, but soon she would follow one of the bees she had seen at the water's edge and see if she could find honey. Even half-green elderberries would be edible if cooked with enough honey. A sweet stew would tempt him, she was certain. William roused in the late afternoon, when the sun had dipped below the western rim of the hidden dell. She went to help him, but when he finally managed to stand, he refused further assistance. She realized why when he hobbled behind one of the tall sagebrush.At least his body is working, she thought with relief.I feared that they had damaged his kidneys. She made a bed for William, using the coat on a mound of cedar branches, covered with the better of the two blankets.How I wish I had my father's bearskin , she thought as she smoothed the blanket. When the soup was ready, he ate slowly, looking as if he relished every bite. She did, for this was the first real meal she had eaten in three days. When he set the cup aside, having finished two helpings of the soup, he said, " I 'members some, but not all. You's Flower, ain't you?" She nodded. "What's we doin' here? And whereis here?" For a moment she thought of lying to him. Of telling him that they were chance-met travelers who had been set upon by thieves. When he was well enough, she would go west, he would go east. His big dark eyes on her made her realize that she could do no such thing. They pleaded for truth. He trusted her. So she told him as much as she thought necessary of why they were here. But not of why she was going to England. If he never remembered that, he would be a fortunate man. "So, you insisted on going to Oregon City with me, to make sure I get aboard ship safely. Then you will go back to Cherry Vale," she concluded. He looked at her, his eyes gleaming in the dusk. "I reckon there's a passel you ain't tellin' me, ain't there?" "Nothing important," she said, avoiding his gaze. After a pause, he nodded. "Did you say you had some clothes for me? I disremember havin' anything but these here britches and a torn old shirt, but I sure would like to cover up my nekkidness a little better." Relieved that he had ceased to question her, Flower smiled. "Of course you would. But would you not rather bathe before you put on your clothing?" "Bathe? You mean take a bath. All over?"

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Now she was sure his memory was still faulty. The William she knew had bathed every day, even if he had only a cupful of water. He had told her once that her father's bathtub, fed by a hot spring, was the closest place to heaven he was apt to get. "All over," she agreed. "In the morning. There is an eddy near the mouth of the stream that will make a perfect bathing place." "If'n you says so," he muttered. He did not seem happy over the prospect. Flower curled up with Beowulf that night on a bed of cedar, with more of the aromatic branches piled atop them. The sky was clear, with a chill breeze rustling the cedars. She told herself that she should share William's bed.He is ill and should be kept warm. He will not harm you. He would neverharm you! She stayed in her cold bed, because she could do nothing else. "You are a good dog," she said, drowsily, as Beowulf snuggled closer to her. "How I wish I could take..." But no. She would not take him to England with her. When she turned her back on her native land, she would leave behind everyone--everything--she loved. She would take only memories, both sweet and bitter.

CHAPTER ELEVEN "Run! Run, Flower. Don't let 'em cotch you!" At the first shout, Flower woke. Beowulf sprang to his feet, ears at full alert. "They got, her. God damn them, the bassards got her." She listened, knowing he was caught in a nightmare, afraid she knew what he was seeing in his dream. The dog settled beside her, but remained awake, tense. "Awww, no! No! Let her be!" Much as she wanted to go to him, Flower could not move. She, too, was remembering the horror of that time, the pain... They had taken turns with her, two holding her arms to the ground while a third rutted on her. The others had watched avidly, eyes hot, hands rubbing at their crotches. She had screamed. Oh, how she had screamed. But no one came to save her. When they were done with her, they tied her hands and feet, left her crumpled in the dirt. She wept until her eyes were dry, until her chest burned. When night came, she welcomed the cool dark, wished she could open her legs so that the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html air could soothe the raw, bleeding flesh between her thighs. Until one of them came to her again, and took her as a dog mounts a bitch, without even loosening the bonds on her ankles. When he was done, he let her drop and walked away, laughing. Then she knew that there would be no respite. Not ever. They came again and again, sometimes one, sometimes more. Once two of them worked her together, the one at her head holding her jaws so she could not bite him. But she had not even tried, knowing how badly they could hurt her if she fought. So for three days and nights, she had let them do with her as they wished, hurting her, humiliating her. Ruining her... Craven! They left you unbound after the second day, and you just lay there, letting them have you whenever the urge struck. You did not fight, you did nothing to help Silas and William. You deserved the pain, the shame. You deserve that you will never be a wife. A mother. Hot tears came then. Tears that she had been unable to shed for so long. "She went, Miz Hattie." William's low, choked cry was vibrant with pain and loneliness. "She went off and left us!" Never before had she given thought to the memories William must have of those days when he lay captive, the bonds on wrists and ankles cruelly tight. The renegades had fed her, but they had given neither food nor water to William and Silas. The only attention they paid the two bound men was to kick them in passing, to laugh at how the Blackfeet treated their slaves. Her hands and feet had been swollen and stiff after a day and a night of being tied. How had the men walked when Emmet had released them? The pain must have been agonizing, yet they had made their way to Hattie and led her and her babe to safety. He is a fine man, a hero. I am not worthy of him. It is better that I go to England and leave him behind, for someday he will find a woman good enough to be his. The gibbous moon, just above the rim of the dell, gave enough light for her to see him creep from under the tree, stagger to his feet. His movements released Flower from her paralysis, and she ran to him. Just in time, for he fell against her, taking her to the ground as well. His sobs shook them both. "I gots to find her," he whispered. "No matter how long it takes me, I gots to find her." Bitter regret filled her, as she accepted what she had denied for so long. William truly loved her, and his love would lead him to sacrifice his very life for her. She murmured wordless sounds to him as she slowly eased him from atop her. "I am here, William. You have found me," she said, stroking his brow. "Don't know where to start," he said, shaking his head from side to side. "I don't even know which way she went." He pushed her hand aside. "Gots to get movin'. Never find her, sittin' on my arse." "You must rest, first. You will not be able to search if you do not rest." Catching his hand, she pulled, and he slowly got to his feet. She led him

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html back to his bed, covered him when he settled into it. "Sleep now," she told him, once more stroking his brow. "Sleep now, and in the morning you will be strong and can begin your search again." "In the mornin'," he agreed, and relaxed almost immediately. Flower did not leave him, even after he slept, for once again his skin was hot, dry with fever. Were he to wake and steal away quietly, as he had done before, she might never find him again. She lay on the edge of his blanket, not quite touching him, but close enough that she would wake at his slightest movement. Surprisingly she slept. For a while. His fever intensified that night. Although she tried to keep herbal poultices on the two deep, infected wounds, his frequent delirium made him fight her. At last, after two nights and days during which she more than once despaired of his life, she returned from a quick dash to the river for water and found him drenched with sweat. He no longer burned with fever and his sleep was deep and tranquil. That night she slept beside him, as she had the past three, but only because she wanted to make certain he did not become uncovered. She no longer wondered if his next breath would be his last. The rumbling of his belly woke him. William went to sit up, found himself held lightly by an arm across his chest. He turned his head. "Flower?" he whispered, hardly believing what he saw. "Flower, is that you?" The dark head at his shoulder lifted, turned to face him. "Oh! Do you remember me?" Quickly she removed her arm and scooted away from him. "Remember you? Woman, if I was wantin' to forget you, I never could." He reared up on one elbow and looked around, recognizing nothing in sight. "Where is...are we?" "I do not know. Near the White River. But I do not know exactly where." She leaned forward, until her fingertips barely brushed his forehead. "Cool," she said. "Your fever is gone." "I been sick?" No wonder he felt like a wet rag somebody'd forgot to wring out. He closed his eyes, trying to recall yesterday. "What happened?" he asked, when he found he had no memory of anything past the time somebody lowered him into a black hole. Flower had been with him, so he hadn't been a captive, but for the life of him he didn't know why they'd been put there. "You were taken for an escaped slave," she said. "I don't know how they saw your brand-- " Once more his belly rumbled, and he wondered how long it had been since he'd had a meal. He didn't know how he'd got loose, but he wasn't gonna worry about it 'less he had to. "You are hungry. I will prepare food and when you have eaten, I will tell you everything." Before he could argue, she was gone, out of his sight. William rolled over,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html crawled to the edge of the branches that hung low enough that they brushed his back. Once in the open, he found that gettin' to his feet was just about the hardest thing he'd ever done. His legs felt like they'd forgot how to walk and his eyes kept wantin' to roll back in his head. With short, careful steps, he followed Flower, to where she was starting a fire in a ring of round stones. The pup leaned against his leg, as if he was sayin' he was happy they was up and about. William scratched his ears lightly, but didn't want to bend down to do more. If he did, likely he'd fall over. He was that weak. There was a big, ol' stump laying beside the fire ring. It looked like it had been in the water a spell, but he didn't care. He eased himself down onto it, watched Flower as she blew on a tiny spark until a tendril of smoke rose from the tinder. William caught a whiff of sweetish smoke, the scent of burning sagebrush. He sat, waiting while she set a battered cook pot on three stones, around the reborn fire. "I shall return," she told him, standing. She picked up a canvas bag and disappeared down the gentle slope. Soon her figure was lost among the big sagebrush, the tallest William had ever seen. Whatever was in the cook pot was steaming, smellin' mighty tasty, when she returned. Her hair was wet and her face shiny, so he surmised she'd washed herself. The canvas bag was fat and dripping, and he realized she was using it as a bucket.Why'd I never think of doin' that? "It will be ready soon," she told him after stirring the pot and tasting. "I'm ready now," he said, mouth watering. William's belly was makin' enough noise to wake the dead when she finally dipped him a full cup of soup from the battered pot on the fire. It smelled of fish, rich and delicious. When she handed him the cup, he grabbed it eagerly, gulped the first, too-hot mouthful. "Careful! You have not eaten for many days. Do not eat quickly or too much." He took another mouthful, found that there were small, not-quite-soft pieces of some kind of vegetable. He chewed, swallowed, thinking he'd never in his born days tasted anything quite so good. Before he knew it, the cup was empty. He held it out for more. "I do not think you should eat more now. If this sits well on your stomach, you can have another cupful after your bath." "Bath?" He sniffed. Lawd a-mighty, but he did stink. It was a wonder she'd come anywheres near him. "I can have a bath?" She almost smiled. "It will be a cold one, I am afraid. You must bathe in the river. But I have soap, and clean clothing for you." William fingered the ragged, filthy pants that were his only garment. "My 'skins?" he asked, hopefully. This time she did smile. "Yes, I have your buckskins. But not your belt knife. You must have taken it with you." That knife had been his most treasured possession. Buffalo Jones had given it to him, and the gift had told him that he was truly a free man. For a moment William felt as if he'd lost a friend.You's alive, ain't you? Knives is easy come by, long as you ain't dead. Feeling stronger now, he rose to his feet. This time when he looked around, he saw what a perfect hiding place they had. It was an almost circular bowl,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html surrounded by steep, sagebrush covered hillsides. It sloped gradually and a tiny stream flowed in the direction Flower had gone to fetch the water. Flower set a large, flat rock across the top of the cook pot and stood up. "The river is that way. There is a place where you can bathe out of the current, but you must be careful. You are still weak." She dug in her pack, pulled out his buckskins, and motioned him to go ahead of her. "I will bring these, and the soap." Grateful that there were those big sagebrush bushes to grab hold of when he was feelin' shaky, William made his slow way down the slope. There was a faint trail to follow.How many days we been here, anyhow? He saw the bathing place, an eddy where the water swirled slowly over a sandy bottom, as soon as he stepped past the last shrub. With care he eased himself down the steep bank and looked back for Flower. She was just setting his buckskins on a big rock. "Here is the soap." She tossed it to him, and he nearly lost his balance trying to catch it. "I guess I'se...I'm still a mite wobbly," he said, ashamed of his awkwardness. "You were very sick," she told him, frowning. "Perhaps I should stay while you bathe." "I ain't that weak, woman. You get yourself back up that hill and I'll wash all by my ownself." The very thought of her watching him as he shucked his britches and washed himself all over made his feel like there was a fire burnin' in his innards. He turned away so she wouldn't see the rising of his shaft. Wouldn't it be something, to sit in a big tub of hot water with her, both of us nekkid as the day we was born? William closed his eyes a moment, but the vision was slow to fade. "William? Are you all right?" "Just fine. I'm waitin' for you to go on back and let me wash," he told her, keeping his back to her. After a short silence, he heard her footsteps. And after a longer wait, he turned to make sure she was gone. *** "Only two of your wounds were deep, and those were what brought on the fever," Flower said. She had told William everything she could remember of events since he had left her to go into The Dalles. He remembered nothing. Perhaps it was just as well, for what he'd suffered at the hands of his captors there was better forgotten. "They're still pretty sore," he admitted. "But I'm feelin' better all the time. We be able to go on whenever you've a mind to." "We will stay until your back is entirely healed," she said. A curious feeling chilled her belly. Regret? Loss? Just the thought of resuming their journey troubled her. They were little more than a week's travel from Oregon City. Their journey was nearly over. And at the end of it, she would say goodbye to him. Even if they stayed here for a full month, he would still have time to get

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html back across the mountains to Cherry Vale. "What about them fellers that cotched me? We gonna have any more trouble with 'em?" Hesitating, Flower chewed her lower lip. "I do not know," she admitted at last. "The one called Muller is known as a brutal, vengeful man. Has Itswoot's people suspected him of killing a woman. No one can prove it, and the whi--the Americans do not care to investigate." She heard the bitterness in her own voice. "She was just an Indian, after all." "Ahuh! And that makes killin' her all right? Seems to me you Injuns are 'bout the same as us Nigras to a lot of folks." "I...I had not thought of that before," she said, staring at him in surprise. "But perhaps you are right. Partly, at least." She knew little of how the Negroes were treated in the East, but it made sense that a race that was enslaved and sold like livestock would demand little respect from their owners. Perhaps not from anyone. "So we'd better keep watchin' our back trail while we goes over the mountain, is that what you're sayin'?" Flower nodded. "I believe we will be safe, especially if we remain here until after the full moon." At his look of inquiry, she added, "Perhaps another five nights." "I ain't in no hurry," he said. "This looks to me like a place we could stay a spell, long as we can hunt. And there's fish in that river. I see...saw some. Big 'uns!" "There is deer sign along the creek. We will not starve." He scratched his head. "You got any notion what come of my spear? I disremember whether I took it into town with me or left it with my 'skins." "I do not know. I have not seen it. Can you make another?" "Sure can. All I needs is a good, strong stick, best if it be straight and still green, 'bout as long as I be high." Casting her thoughts back to what she had seen, Flower realized there was nothing in this dell that was suitable. Although there were some shrubs along the river, most were small, less than waist high. She believed that springs floods were common here, scouring the banks clean of vegetation yearly. Farther upstream, above the Tygh village, there had been trees marking the river's course. "We will look for one as soon as we leave here," she told him. "I do not think we should go out until we are prepared to travel. Just in case..." "Just in case," he agreed, nodding. He scratched at his chin, which still sported the wooly beard he'd grown in the past weeks. "I'd just as soon rest a while before I tackle any more mountains." "Yes, of course. You must regain your strength." She looked at his broad chest, covered now in well-seasoned buckskin. The shirt, which had clung lovingly to his body before, now hung loosely from bony shoulders. "And eat well." Once again she reminded herself to see if she could find honey. The dried fruit in her pack would not last many meals, nor would the meat. She had already used half the fish. "I will go set snares. We must have fresh meat."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "I'll come with you," he said, half-rising before she waved him back. "No, you will not. You will eat the rest of the stew. Your belly accepted what you gave it, and it is time to give it more." It was a sign of his great weakness that he did not argue, but only accepted the cook pot she handed him. The stew was cold, but she knew how hunger could make anything taste delicious. *** Beowulf--he'd remembered what she called the dog--stuck close to William that day, as if watching over him. But come evening, he was off, and a little after sundown, they heard a chorus of yips and howls from the south, with one deeper voice answering from closer in. "He wishes to hunt with his cousins," Flower commented. "Too bad we can't talk him into bringin' back meat." Supper had been another stew, this one with dried venison, and more of the roots Flower dug. They tasted a lot like taters to William, but she called them yampah. "I set a snare where I have seen deer sign. Perhaps it will trap an unwary one." She turned set the now scoured cook pot aside. "While you were bathing, I cut fresh cedar branches for your bed. It will not be so hard tonight." She had been in his bed when he woke this morning. "Where's yours?" "I beg your pardon?" "What for? I just asked you where you was sleepin'." "Oh!" She sounded flustered. "I have a place, over there." Her wave could have pointed to the big white mountain, far as he was concerned. "Over where?" "It is not your concern. I have a place to sleep and so do you. And as you are still not back to your full strength, it would be well if you were to go there now. Sleep is good medicine." William got to his feet and stepped around the fire ring. "I ain't goin' nowheres, 'til you tell me where's your bed." She seemed to huddle into herself, kneeling there on the ground at his feet. William hunkered down beside her. "Flower?" Her shoulders twitched, but she did not raise her head. "Flower, look here." A small shake of her head. It made him notice that her hair had grown longer since he'd first seen her at her father's cabin. Now it moved softly around her head, instead of sticking out like bristles on a brush. His fingers ached to touch it, to feel its silkiness. Once, when they'd been fleeing the renegades, he'd touched her long hair and marveled at the almost liquid feel of it. "Flower," he said again, "look at me." Slowly she raised her chin. Even in the dim light, he could see the pain in her face. "What's the matter? Are you hurtin'?" She shook her head. Her eyes were enormous, her mouth soft and trembling. "Talk to me, woman! If you doesn't, how can I help you?" "You cannot! Do you not see, William? You cannot help me. You should hate me for the way I have treated you. For the danger I put you in." She buried her face in

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html her hands, bent over until she was all but folded double. He had to listen close to hear her muffled, "You have been so good to me, and I do not deserve you." Not knowing the right words, William hovered, afraid to speak, afraid to touch her. He watched, hurting, while her shoulders shook and soft sounds of weeping clawed at his ears. At last he could bear it no more. He laid a hand on her back, lightly, in case she took fright. Instead she seemed almost to curve up under his touch, like a cat stropping against his hand. Encouraged, William took her shoulders in both hands, raised her to her knees and held her there in a loose embrace. Her sobs died away and she leaned against him, not clinging, but not pushing him away either. Moving carefully, like with a fearful critter, he touched her head, felt the wondrous sleekness of her hair, like one of them white pelts Mist' Em had showed him, the ones he called ermine. "Where is you sleepin', Flower?" he asked once again, keeping his voice low, little more than a whisper against her ear. "With Beowulf," her answer came, even lower, "over there, under the big sagebrush." He'd seen the hollow pressed in the grass where the dog slept. It was partly overhung by spreading branches, but it wasn't any kind of bed for a woman like Flower. "No, you ain't," he told her, his arms tightening around her. "Not no more." For one dangerous moment, she clung to him. To stay here, in his arms, would be so comforting, so...safe? His embrace was loose, gentle. She felt none of the nauseous fright she had experienced when other men even came close to her. Kneeling here, surrounded by his strong arms, breathing his clean, masculine odor, feeling his breath warm on her ear, sheknew that nothing, no one could harm her. Flower laid her hands against his chest, and the steady beat of his heart vibrated against them. And for just a little longer, she let herself believe that there might be a future for them. And in the next instant she knew that she was once again lying to herself. She would never be safe in this raw land, where civilization was the thinnest of veneers over man's innate bestiality. The few good men--she refused to count them--were forever outnumbered by those, like Muller, who saw other men only as prey. Who believed any woman was theirs for the taking. She pushed against his hold. His arms dropped instantly, leaving her with nothing to resist. Flower sat back on her heels, looked up at his dark face, seeing only darker shadows and the gleam of his eyes. "Go to bed, William. You need to rest." His head moved side to side. "Not 'less you come with me." Fear flared in her belly, drying her mouth, speeding her heart until it pounded in her ears. "No!" She pushed against his chest again, this time with all her strength. "No! You cannot make me--"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Quickly he moved back, hands raised to his sides. "I ain't tryin' tomake you do nothin'. But I ain't lettin' you sleep on the ground with no dog, neither." "You have no right to tell me--" "God damn it, woman! I got the rights of any man worth his salt. It's my place to care for you, see that you comes to no harm. And I aims to do just that. Now is you comin' to bed, or are we sleepin' out there, with the dog?" His anger should have frightened her, but it did not, somehow. Flower refused to examine just how shedid feel. "You're being unreasonable!" "No I ain't. If I was bein' unreasonable, I'd have you slung over my shoulder quick as a wink, and right after that, you'd be layin' up there under that tree, all wrapped up in a blanket." "You would not dare." "No'm, I wouldn't, but only because you still got so much fright in you that you'd likely go crazy, was I to grab you and shake some sense into you, like I wants to do." His deep voice was mild, with an undertone of misery. Flower realized she had wounded him with her lack of trust. "You will not make me share your bed?" "There's two blankets up there, and it ain't cold tonight. I reckon I can use one and you the other. Up under that tree, or down there, under your sagebrush, it don't matter to me. But you're gonna be right there beside me, woman, where I can know you're safe." How can I make him understand? I will never be safe again."Very well. I will not argue with you." All night William could feel the heat of her body, even though she slept more than an arm's length away. Sometime before dawn, Beowulf crept between them, but William still was aware of every move Flower made, of her soft breathing, the almost silent slide of her skin against the prickly wool blanket. Come morning, he felt like he hadn't shut his eyes all night long. But his body felt stronger, less stiff. The pain in his back had died down to a dull ache, even though the healing stripes still pulled when he twisted and bent. Flower was up before him, and when he crawled out from under the tree, the first thing he smelled was coffee. "Where'd that come from?" he wondered out loud, when she handed him a cup filled with the dark brew. They had been almost out of beans when they'd arrived at The Dalles. "Hilaire made sure we had some," she said, sounding tired. Maybe she didn't sleep no better than I did. I's pushin' her mighty hard. William had thought much about how to convince her to stay with him instead of going off to England like she wanted. He didn't really believe he could, but he was surely gonna try his best. He reckoned that her biggest trouble was the way she felt about bein' safe. He doubted she'd be any better off somewheres else than she was here, no matter what she believed. But he wasn't gonna convince her of that. Nope, what he had to do was show her that there was some things worth takin' a

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html risk on. Like love. *** Flower hunted that day. She would have invented something to do, if they hadn't needed meat. Anything to take her from the camp, where William watched her every move, his dark eyes always focused on her. He had not argued when she told him she was leaving him alone. Saying only, "Mind you be back before sundown." At least he believed her capable of providing their food. Luck was with her. Her snare had trapped a young buck, a yearling, from the look of his antlers. She dispatched him quickly, mercifully, whispering the prayer of thanks her mother had taught her. His meat would feed them for many days. Once she had gutted, skinned and quartered the carcass, she caught Beowulf's muzzle in her hand. "Stay," she told him, looking deep into his yellow wolf-eyes. "Guard!" His share had been the offal, but she knew that fresh, warm meat would tempt even the best mannered dog. As long as he kept other scavengers off, he could have whatever he wanted to chew on. Satisfied that the dog would stay with the rest of the meat, she shouldered one hindquarter and started back to camp. The hide she dragged behind in her other hand. Wrapped in it was the liver and the head. When she arrived, staggering slightly from her burden, William met her. "Laws, woman, that haunch is bigger'n you are." He took it from her, and she noted that he faltered slightly as he lowered it to the ground. He had not yet regained his strength. But like any man, he will never admit it."Will you set it to roasting while I get the rest?" "I'll go with you." "No, William. Please. If you leave the meat here, we may lose it." She knew better than to voice her real reasons for not wanting him with her. His quandary was obvious. At last he nodded. "You're right, but I don't like it, you carryin' that much weight." "It is not as heavy as my pack was," she lied. "Only more awkward." He knew she lied. She could read the knowledge in his expression. But he only nodded again. "I'll start this cookin," he said. Dusk had fallen and the meat roasting over the fire was crisply done and giving off a mouthwatering smell when she finally brought the last forequarter back to camp. Beowulf, who had faithfully guarded the meat, apparently without gnawing on it, walked behind her, carrying a shinbone in his mouth. They ate well. William had fried the liver with a few of the tiny onions that grew abundantly among the sagebrush. The roasted haunch was strong-flavored and juicy, welcome after too many meals of dried meat and fish, soup and berries. As a treat, she scrambled the brains with four tiny eggs William had found, and they ate the creamy dish like a sweet dessert. Flower had not felt so well fed

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html for many months. "Tomorrow we must dry the rest of the meat," Flower told William, as they hoisted the last venison quarter into a tall cedar some distance from their camp. "The days are growing warmer and it will not keep." "I'll build us a rack first thing," William said. "And after that I'm gonna see if I can't catch me a fish or two. We might as well eat good whilst we got the chance." As they walked back to camp, William caught her hand in his. "That Beowulf, he musta' ate near all the guts. His belly's so fat, he can hardly waddle." He swung their joined hands back and forth as they walked. "He'll probably not be hungry again for a week." Curiously, Flower found his handclasp welcome, and not at all frightening. *** With so much meat to slice and hang on the drying rack, William and Flower were busy most of the next day. They worked together quietly, without any of the strain she had felt the day before. William had little to say, but she noticed that he moved easily, and never paused to rest, as he had yesterday. Supper was another satisfying meal, of grilled tongue and cold roasted venison. Replete, they sat in the twilight, each with a handful of early currants for a sweet. Although Flower was tired she was reluctant to end the day. "I have not felt so at peace since before...for a long time," she said, staring into the fire. "It's been a good day," he agreed, stretching his arms above his head. She heard the joints pop, and shuddered. Her father had done that very thing, and she had not liked the sound then, either. "The meat will take a while to dry, and then we must be on our way. In the meantime, we can rest." "Are you in a hurry?" Her mouth open to answer, Flower found that she no longer felt the acute need to reach a refuge. Not right this moment, not here and now. She felt as safe as she ever had. "We can stay here as long as you like," she told him, "unless you insist on delaying until summer is over." "We can make up our minds later," he said. "Right now I'm ready to sleep." Standing, he reached a hand down to help her up. Without thinking, she took it. "You ain't scared of me anymore." His teeth flashed in a wide smile. She had to smile back. "No. No, I am not." Her body felt lighter, somehow, more free. Slowly she reached a hand to touch his cheek. His skin was warm, smooth above the wooly beard. "I never wanted to scare you, Flower. Never." As if afraid to startle her, he lifted his free hand and cupped her chin. His voice was even deeper, more resonant, when he said, "I just wants to love you." Her heart leapt within her breast, but not, she realized, from fear. "I know," she whispered. "I know this, William, and I am not afraid." She looked up at him, this tall, strong man who would give his very life for her. Who would sacrifice his dreams to protect her. Could she not put aside her fear for him? "I make no promises for tomorrow, William, but tonight, I will not surrender to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html fear." His eyes widened, but he did not move. She wondered if he even breathed. Knowing that it might change the entire shape of the future, Flower took one step toward him. Her hands resting lightly on his chest, she rose on tiptoe and kissed his chin--all she could reach, for he did not bend to meet her. "Love me, William," she whispered. "Please, William, love me tonight."

CHAPTER TWELVE For a moment William didn't know what to say. Then, as hot anger flared in his

gut, he grabbed her wrists, forced her hands away from his chest. "William--" Keeping hold on one wrist, he dragged her back to the stump where he'd sat for supper. "Sit!" She sat. The moon was just peeking over the rim of the dell and her face was white in its pale light. Wide-eyed, she stared at him, her mouth trembling. He dropped her wrist, knelt on one knee in front of her. "What you thinkin' of, woman? Saying that? You shame me." "Shame you? William, I offered you...I asked you to love me." "I does. An' I would, if I thought it was really what you wants. But it ain't." "I would not have asked if I had not wanted it." "Ahuh! You wantit , want me to take you whilst you lay there shakin' and quakin'. No'm, I won't. Not 'til you comes to me hot and ready." "What do you mean? I was...amready." Gently he took her hands in his, felt their quivering. He lifted them to his mouth, kissed one then the other, back and palm. "You ain't ready," he told her, knowing the words hurt her as much as they did him. "Maybe you never will be ready, the way you...you're still so scairt of men." "I do not fear you. I have said that many times." "What if I was to do this?" He dropped her hands suddenly, caught her upper arms and pulled her to him. Hungry for the taste of her, he covered her mouth with his, swallowed her cry. Before she could fight him, he caught her around the middle, swept her off the stump and hard against him. She was soft, warm, her belly cradling his sex. Her frantic struggles only made it worse--better-for her body rubbed back and forth against his, her breasts were like hot brands on his chest, even though a layer of buckskin. Before he could go off like a randy youth, he released her, almost throwing

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html her back onto the stump. "So you ain't scairt of me, huh?" With fingertips covering her mouth, she stared at him for the longest time. At last she lowered them. "You startled me," she said. "You did not frighten me." "Pull the other leg." "No! Truly, William. I felt no fear." She paused. "Well, not a great deal, anyway. What frightened me was being held, unable to escape. The kiss...I believe I liked it." "You did, huh?" She nodded. "I think so. But it was so hard, so hungry. I always dreamed that my first kiss would be sweet. Innocent." Tilting her head, she looked like she was about ready to smile. "Perhaps you would let me kiss you, instead. Without holding me." "I reckon I could do that."I been sleepin' beside you for two nights, woman. How much stronger do you 'spect me to be? "Long as you be gentle with me." Her surprised laughter was like balm to his soul. He had not heard her laugh since that terrible day. She leaned toward him, eyes closed, mouth pursed. William held himself very still, for if he was to move, even a little bit, he'd be all over her like bees in a patch of clover. Her lips were cool, soft, on his cheek. He shut his eyes, clenched his jaw. She kissed his eyelids, the end of his nose, the corner of his mouth. He shook like a willow in a high wind. When she put her hands on his shoulders, he felt like he'd been branded all over again. And when her breath tickled his ear, he couldn't hold back the groan. Then she bit him. "Great God, woman!" Quickly she drew back. "Did I hurt you? It was just a nip..." "No..." The word came out on a harsh gasp of sound. He swallowed. "No, you didn't hurt me none. Just took me unawares, that's all." "I will not do it again." Her shoulders lifted as she sighed deeply. "My mother used to nip my father's ear, when I was a child. He liked it..." "Woman, if I'd liked it any better, I might'a died right here. Do it again. Do anything you wants to me." Again he shuddered. "Just don't stop." Once more she leaned toward him, hands on his shoulders. This time her grip was stronger, like she wasn't afraid to take hold of him. And now her lips were warm, moist, as they traveled over his face, along his jaw. When she bit his earlobe again, he was ready, but bein' ready didn't help. He forced himself to remember swimmin' rivers in the dead of winter, of plowin' through snowdrifts near as high as his head. It helped a little, but not much. He was still near ready to go off in his 'skins. "I think that's about enough," he told her, pullin' back. "But I only..." She drew away, looked at him. "Oh! You are...aroused. I am sorry, William. My mother told me that a woman who did this to a man, only to tease, was no better than a whore." Without thinking, he scooped her up and took her seat on the stump. "I asked you to kiss me, remember? That ain't teasin'."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html To his surprise, she sat quietly in his arms. After a moment she said, "I enjoyed that, William. Kissing you. It made me feel..." One hand pressed against her middle, just under her breasts. "It made me feel as if I had tiny creatures inside, in here." Her laugh came again, not much louder than a whisper. "They were scurrying madly about, I think. At least it felt that way." "I know how that feels," he admitted. "Every time I look at you, I gets that feelin'." She leaded back against his chest. Her head tucked just under his chin. "Is that what desire feels like?" "I reckon, at first, anyhow. But it gets bigger than that after a while, 'til you can't hardly think for wantin' someone." Her shudder shook them both. "So that is why the renegades--" "No! Don't you ever think what them bassards done...did to you is anything like what I feels. That wasn't good and clean and pure, like lovin' oughta' be. They wanted to hurt you. They was showin' you that you wasn't any better than...than athing to 'em." Holding her tight against his chest, he said, more gently this time, "No decent man does what they did. They was animals...no, they wasn't even as good as animals, 'cause animals don't get no pleasure from hurtin' others of their kind." Her sigh was deep and long. With the breath goin' out, she relaxed. William loosened his hold a mite, but didn't move. Just holdin' her like this, his heart was content. After a while he could tell she'd gone to sleep. Carefully he stood, still holdin' her, and walked to the big cedar where their beds lay. It wasn't easy, goin' to his knees without wakin' Flower, but he managed. When he laid her on her blanket, she caught his hand and held it. All that night he lay beside her, shiverin' a little along towards morning. But his blanket was too far to reach, and he was afraid if he moved to get it, she'd wake. Flower woke slowly, coming out of sleep as she had as a child. Slowly. Deliciously. Knowing the new day would bring marvelous surprises, memorable adventures. Her right hand was held in a warm, loose clasp, secure and protective. And she knew that as long as that hold remained, she was safe. She opened her eyes. Less than a foot from her, William lay, head cushioned by upper arm, face relaxed and calm. He wore his buckskins, but was otherwise uncovered.Why did he sleep without his blanket? The next instant she knew the answer. He had not wanted to leave her, had not wanted to release her hand. "Oh, William," she whispered, already feeling the pain she would inflict on him when she left him. "Why will you not go back to your kingdom?" His eyelids fluttered, opened. He smiled. The feeling that today would bring wonderful surprises intensified. Without thinking, she reached out and touched his mouth. His lips moved, closed

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html delicately over her questing fingers. She felt a feather-touch of his tongue on her fingertips. And shivered. Her spine felt as if fire-footed spiders were scampering up and down, each step leaving her burned, yet frozen. Drawing her hand back slightly, she ran her moist fingertips over his cheeks, along the bony rim of his eye socket. His skin was like velvet, except where his beard emerged in tight spirals of coal black. His lips were full, pleasing, his nose broad and strong. The black thread Therese had stitched his earlobe with marred the smooth skin of the lobe, and Flower knew that an ugly scar would forever remind him of what her cowardice had cost him. "I am so sorry," she whispered, drawing her hand back. He caught her wrist, carried her hand unresisting to his mouth again. This time his lips nipped at each fingertip in sequence, drawing it inside, to be tasted, suckled for a moment. She felt the pull all the way to her toes, a tremulous, not-quite-ache that both hurt and pleasured. Kissing the ball of her thumb, he wrapped his big hand around hers. "You ain't got nothin' to be sorry for." His voice was husky, not quite steady. "I went down into that town of my own free choice." "I have! You could have died, if I had not found you." "Aw, Flower, I been in lots worse shape that that. Why, you should have seen me when Mist' Em found me. I was near dead that time." "Yes, but that was the cold and starvation and exhaustion. It was my fault they whipped you.Mine! " He scooted closer, until his arm could encircle her waist. He held her loosely, and once again she found that it did not frighten her. There was no sense of constraint, no feeling that she could not break free if she chose. His body was warm. Not hot and feverish, but radiating warmth that soaked into her, seemed to melt some of the ice that had filled her for so long. As his hand rubbed lightly up and down her spine, she leaned into the touch.This must be what a cat feels like when it is stroked. They lay that way for a long time, neither speaking. His hand stilled after a while and she thought he slept. But when she moved, easing a tingling elbow, he opened his eyes again. "I feels like I could eat a bear, 'long as somebody else kilt him." His words caused her own stomach to remind her of its emptiness. "I will make coffee." She rolled to her knees, almost regretting the loss of contact with him. "We have only enough for two more days, but this morning I believe you need it." "That shines!" he said, grinning. She kept an eye on him as she was preparing the coffee and noticed that he moved

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html more easily today.He is healing! She should rejoice, for the sooner he grew strong again, the sooner they could resume their journey. Instead she felt a curious regret. *** Something was different about Flower. William spent much of the morning trying to figure out what it was. She smiled a little more than she had, but he reckoned that was because she knew they were safe here in this hidden dell. "I am going to look for the beehive this afternoon," she told him as they were dragging in more wood for the fire. It had to be kept going day and night until the venison strips were dry and hard. Otherwise, once they had been packed for travel, they would mold. By mid-morning, they had a pile of dry cedar and sagebrush branches nearly as high as her head. "That should be enough," Flower said, wiping sweat from her forehead. She had a streak of dirt across one cheek. "The sun is hot, and will get hotter." "Hot! This ain't hot. Hot's when you feels like you're walking around in a puddle of your own sweat." "Wait until the air burns in your nose when you breathe." Stepping back, she looked at the rack. "There! Now all we have to do is keep it burning well." "I'll keep an eye on it. You go on and get yourself a bath." At the thought of her washing herself all over, his body grew tight.That musta' been a dream, her comin' to me nekkid. He had seen her half-clothed, when they'd escaped from the renegades, but then she had been filthy and bruised. And her hair had streamed over her shoulders. The woman in his dream had been a glowing vision, with high, full breasts and a soot-black thatch to match her short-cropped hair. You's dreamin', boy! Sho' nuff! William watched her as she disappeared among the sagebrush, on her way to the river. "Git," he told Beowulf, who was layin' in the shade, gnawing on a leg bone. "Keep an eye on her whilst she takes her bath." It seemed to him the dog sighed before he got to his feet and followed Flower. Later William had himself a bath, too. As he lay in the shallow, sun-warmed water, he thought about last night.Don't get your hopes up, boy. She ain't ready for lovin' yet. Maybe never will be. But he was. Lawd a-mighty, he was ready! He musta' been crazy in the head, turnin' her down like he did. He'd been hard as a rock, almost shaking with need. And she'd offered, hadn't she? She knew what she was offering him. But he had been there. He had seen what the renegades had done to her, had heard her screams, then, later, her moans. He had seen the rage in her face when she sliced Pyzen Joe's throat. Rage that had still been there when she'd pulled her knife on that there

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html clerk, back at Fort Boise. He'd caught a glimpse of it when she'd turned on him, a couple of times, too, even though it went away soon as she saw it was him. As long as she felt that way, he had a feelin' she wouldn't get much good out of a man's loving. I sure does wish I knew how to help her. She's got to let go of her mad before she's gonna get well.He knew, sure as he knew his own name, that fear and anger was all mixed together inside of her. And they were eatin' at her, like the pup was gnawin' on his bone. Takin' a little bit of her away with every gnaw, leavin' her less than she'd been. Less than she could be. Flower had cold meat and some of the flat bread she cooked on a hot rock ready when he came back from his bath. She didn't look at him when he sat down, and didn't say a word while they ate. He watched her, wishing he knew what to say. Flower watched William as they ate cold roast venison. His teeth, as they tore at the meat, shone white. The sight of his lips, shiny from grease, made her lick her own. A shiver went down her spine. "What you lookin' at woman? Didn't I get my face clean?" "Yes, but you have made it dirty again. You have grease smeared from one ear to the other." He had not, until he drew the back of one hand across his cheek, leaving a shiny trail. "You ain't much better. And they's a bit of meat right he--" He drew back his hand just before brushed her chest. "Right there." Looking down, she saw the shred of venison, stuck to her dress where it lay on the upper curve of her breast. Under the dress, her skin tingled where he had not quite touched her. When she raised her eyes, she looked straight into his. What she saw there made her catch her breath. She looked away, both frightened and filled with a curious warmth. Her fingers were clumsy, her movements jerky as she set the meat she could no longer eat aside and stood. "I must go wash," she said. As quickly as she could, she walked to the river. She would have run, except that William would have followed her, full of concern. He said nothing when she returned, but his gaze followed her as she tidied the campsite. She could almost feel the heat. "The beehive is somewhere off in that direction," she said, pointing to the southeast. "I'm going to see if I can find it." He stood. "I'll come with you." "No!" Forcing the squeak form her voice, she repeated, "No. You must stay here, keep the fire burning well. Do not let the flames grow, and do not let it die away. You must keep it hot, but not let it burn the meat. And if it gets too smoky, you must--" "I've dried a passel of meat, woman. I knows what to do." "Of course you do. I do not know what I was thinking." She fled. The sun was low in the western sky when she finally found the beehive. Once the bees were among the sagebrush, they were much more difficult to follow, and she made many false turns before locating the lightning-struck cedar where the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html bees made their home. They were still flying in and out, and Flower knew that she would be badly stung if she attempted to rob them. "I will come back early in the morning," she said aloud, "and bring wood so we can smoke them out." She picked up shards of wood, weathered but still sharp and splintered from the lightning blast. In this arid place, wood rotted slowly, especially if it was cedar. Beowulf met her some distance from camp, accompanied by William. The dog pranced about her in welcome. William did not. "'Bout time you got back" he said. "I don't like it when I don't know where you is." "Where youare ," she corrected, then bit her lip. William's speech was improving every day, and it was not her place to criticize. He had no right to question her whereabouts, but that did not excuse her tactlessness. "Yes'm. But you still ain't got no business goin' off so far away." "Where I go is not your concern. I did not invite you to come with me, and I do not want you to be here." His big body blocked the trail. "Seems to me you come here after me. You coulda' just gone off to that there England and forgot all about me." "As if I was not aware of what I owe you?" she tried to dodge around him, but he held out an arm to stop her. "You don't owe me nothin'. I's...I'm here 'cause I want to be. Besides, you need yourself somebody to watch over you, the way you is always pullin' that big knife on folks what lay a hand on you." The blind rage she had been working so hard to eradicate exploded and she snatched her knife from its sheath. "Like this?" The sharp point dented the buckskin just below his belt. He did not move. "You fool! I could skewer you as you stand!" She prodded, until the point of the knife punctured the leather of his pants and a small droplet of blood appeared. Like a striking snake, his hand slapped the knife aside. It flew through the air, clanked against a rock, and skittered across dusty soil. "Be a shame if the blade's nicked," he said quietly. "You shoulda' thought of that." Before she could reply, he stepped aside and fetched the knife. His finger tested the edge. "No, it ain't hurt none. But you'd oughta' take better care of it, seein' as how it's the only one you got." He tucked it under his belt. Flower made a grab for it, but he dodged aside. "Give it to me! It is mine!" "When you remember how to use a knife, I will. For now I'll keep it where it won't get ruined." Truly furious now, she flew at him, fingers curled into fists. "Give me my knife!" she screamed, raining blows on his chest, his shoulders, whatever she could reach. "Give it to me!" As he retreated, she followed, still hitting him. A small part of her knew she was out of control, but she did not care. He had taken her only protection from her and she had to get it back. He did not attempt to fend off her blows, but kept one big hand on the knife

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html hilt so she could not snatch it from him. As she clawed at his hand, he only tightened his grip on the shaft. His lack of resistance infuriated her. Flower renewed her attack, striking him with all her strength. She might have made more impression on a cedar trunk. "Give it back," she cried again, from a throat tight with tears. "Give me my knife. I need it. I need it. I need..." "No you don't," he said. "You don't need nothin' but this." Strong arms encircled her, pulled her to rest against a hard chest. His voice, deep and low, came to her ears, meaningless syllables that soothed, comforted, as he swayed back and forth, rocking her. For a moment she fought his embrace, then her strength left her and she relaxed against him. He smelled of sweat and buckskin, wood smoke and sagebrush. His arms were tight around her, but did not imprison her. Inside them she felt as if nothing in the world could reach her, no earthly force could do her harm.How does he do this to me? she wondered, as she found the last of her rage draining away. Her arms went around him of their own accord, clasping his waist. The knife was under her elbow, but she did not care. As long as she was held close to him, she really did not need the knife. Why does he do this to me? I do not deserve his kindness.Her eyes closed of their own accord. The next instant they flew open again, on a world that spun, then settled again into place. But now she was in his arms and he was striding back along the trail toward their camp. "Put me down!" Her demand was as much a plea. "William! You are treating me like a child." "Hush," he said, voice still gentle and low. "Let me do this." Once in camp, he set her on the stump that was their only seat, draped the better blanket across her shoulders. Quickly he knelt beside the fire and coaxed it into flame. Although it was still dusk and the air was warm, Flower shivered. She felt as if she had run a long distance, or climbed a high hill-- short of breath, unsteady, weak. Cold. In short, she felt exhausted.But I have done nothing to exhaust myself! The small packet he pulled from her pack held her meager supply of tea. Flower had not opened it, because she knew he did not like its taste. She had been saving it for a special occasion. "How much?" he asked, holding the packet up. "For the pot? As much as would fill the big spoon one time." "How much for just one cup?" "Enough to fill the small spoon." She watched without curiosity as he put the tea into the larger of their two tin cups. When the water boiled, he poured it over the tealeaves and set the cup aside to steep. "Where did you learn to make tea?" "I watched you, when you first come...came to Buffalo's cabin. You was so

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html careful to do it just right, and you didn't waste a shred." Reaching past her, he picked up the other cup, shook it. A spider fell out. "We got to talk," he said, "'bout what we're gonna do next." His gaze was on the cup he was turning round and round between his hands, not on her. "There is nothing to talk about. When you are well, you will go home. I can be at Oregon City in a week, so you do not need to go with me." "You is the stubbornest woman I ever see...saw! Back there at Grande Ronde, me and Jacques, we got to talkin'. He said what's ahead is the worst part of the road. Some places there ain't nowhere to get off the trail like you did up to now. You'll be walkin' right along with anybody else who's goin' or comin'. No place to hide." Now he looked straight at her. "You figurin' on pullin your knife on ever' one of 'em who lays a hand on you?" "No one will see me!" Hilaire had warned her to be cautious when she followed the route built last year by Palmer and Barlow. Already brigands were preying on the occasional traveler, and at least one man had been left for dead, his pockets empty and his horses and mules stolen. She had planned to stay well of the trail. "I can walk in the woods." His head moved from side to side in denial. "That ain't what Jacques told me. If that trail is as bad as he said, you ain't gonna be walkin' anywheres but right down the middle of it." "Nonsense. He has never been there." She held out her hand. "May I have my knife?" "No'm, I reckon not." "I am not a child! You cannot treat me like this!" "You act like one sometimes. Tellin' me to go on home. Feelin' sorry for yourself. Runnin' away from trouble instead of facin' up to it." His words hit her like blows from a fist. "I have not..." "You ain't give me any good reason why you has to go off to England. That Earl fellow, he's just a man. How can he do any more'n me to keep you safe?" "He will not need todo anything. In England, there are laws to protect women. It is a civilized country, where I would never need to fear being harmed. Men like those who...like the renegades would be locked in prisons or sent away." "You really believe what you're sayin'? That there's places where wickedness don't happen? Where everybody lives by the laws and nobody tries to take more'n his share?" Again that head swing. "Woman, you is livin' in a dream world. I sure hopes you never has to wake up." Before she could find the words to answer, he had stood up and turned away from her. "Reckon I'll go see if I cotched any fish in that weir I set this mornin'. I'm gettin' tired of deer meat." "Come back here!" He never even slowed his pace. Flower stared at the big sagebrush past, which he'd disappeared.He is like a rock. Immovable. I hate him! ***

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Afterward she wondered why she had cooked supper for him. He did not deserve to be fed. Did not deserve to be treated kindly. He held her in contempt. That had been plain from his accusations this afternoon.I do not feel sorry for myself and I am not running from my troubles. Any woman who had been abused as she had would be marked by the experience, would want to know that in the future she could live without fear of its happening again. There was nothing cowardly in her feeling that way. Perhaps he did not understand what civilization could offer. He had, after all, been a slave from birth. He had never been in a city, not as a member of society, entitled to the protection of laws. Neither have you. She banished that thought from her mind. There was only one road to her future, and the sooner she was back on it, the better. Within her breast, her heart was heavy at the thought of walking that road alone. William is the kindest man I have ever known. As strong as my father, and as brave. They spoke little during supper and afterward. Flower did her best not to look at him, although she waited on him like he was still weak and sickly. William knew she was expecting him to tell her he was sorry for his mean words this afternoon, but he couldn't tell her something that wasn't true. She was the smartest, the prettiest, and the most exciting woman he'd ever known. The most set in her ways, too. Once she made her mind up about something, nothing was gonna change it. Maybe she didn't care for him enough to be his woman, but she could still go back to Cherry Vale with him. Mist' Em and him together, they could keep the women and the babies from harm. The babies.William looked across the fire, to where she was wiping the spider with a handful of dry grass.I never thought about babies before. He had a picture in his mind of Flower, big with child--my child!--holding a babe at her breast, holding a laughing, black-headed child on one hip. And then he thought of how she would get that babe and his body tightened painfully. "Let's get some sleep," he said, standing and turning a bit away from her. "I'm wore out." "Yes. You go ahead." There was something in her voice that hadn't been there before. "I will come...soon." A quaver? He checked the smoke-fire before he went to the big cedar where both their beds now lay, an arm-length apart. She had piled fresh branches under both blankets. He sat on his and smelled the tangy scent of crushed cedar. "You comin'?" he called when she did not join him after a long while. "In a moment, I must..." A soft rustle of leaves told him she had left the small clearing around their fire. Laying back, he stared out toward the embers of the campfire. After a while he saw her return, like a ghost in the moonlight.Full moon tonight or tomorrow, I reckon. As he watched, she stirred the embers of the small cooking fire, stood looking down into them. William could not see her face, but he'd seen fiddle strings wasn't stretched as tight as her body was. He opened his mouth to call, then

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html closed it again. No sense pushin'. She'd come to her bed or she wouldn't, and there wasn't nothin' he could do about it. Beowulf came out of the brush and nosed her hand. She paid him no attention, just kept staring down into to the almost dead embers. After a couple of tries to get his ears scratched, he gave up and went to the flattened circle of grass he'd chosen as his bed. Maybe I oughta' go see...no, she's got to puzzle this out all her ownself. Once more Flower stirred the ashes, then tossed the stick aside. She added several small logs to the smoke-fire and sprinkled them with water, just enough to make them smolder instead of flame. At night there was no danger that someone would see the smoke and come looking for its cause as there was in daylight. Slowly then she crossed the clearing, went to her knees at the edge of the cedar's canopy. With a sidelong glance at him, she made a wide detour around his bed and found her own. A few rustles, a sigh, and silence. In the shadows, she was nothing more than a pale shape, but William could see her in his mind. She was layin' there all stiff and scared, not trustin' him any more tonight than she had from the first. "William?" Her voice was not much more than a whisper. "Are you awake?" "Yep." "I have been thinking..." He waited. After a while he decided she'd fallen asleep. "William?" "I'm listenin." She moved. He heard the rustle of her blanket. "Would you hold my hand?" Another rustle. He turned on his side, looking toward her. Even in the darkness, he could see the hand that reached out to him, fingers open. "I reckon." He stretched out his own arm, found he could just catch her fingertips. Without caring that he scooted off his soft cedar bed, he moved closer, so he could get a good hold. Her fingers closed around his, squeezed the littlest bit. The heat that flowed up his arm and all through his body was better than the warmest blanket.Don't you get all hot and bothered, he warned his eager body.This don't mean anything but that she's startin' to feel easy with me. "Good night." Although he doubted he'd even close his eyes, William answered, "Sweet dreams." He wished he could make that a promise, not just words. *** Warmth enveloped her. Flower slowly drifted from sleep, aware of a contentment she had never known. Many years had passed since she had slept like this, in her mother's arms, held close and safe from harm. But my mother is dead!Cautiously she opened her eyes, just a slit. The face beside hers was dark, strong. Masculine. The arm that lay across her body, just under her breasts, was hard and muscular, yet it did not imprison her. She moved, ever so slightly, expecting it to tighten, to hold. Instead William moved too, pulling her closer to his warmth, yet leaving her

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html the freedom to escape. Now she was so close that she could feel the gentle touch of his breath on her cheek. Moving slowly, she reached a hand upwards, touched his cheek where a dark bruise still told of the beating he had endured. For me! His eyes opened. His mouth curved in a smile of remarkable sweetness. "I'd like to wake up every morning like this, you in my arms." Her first thought wasSo would I!Then reality intruded. "Oh, William, I wish we could, but it is impossible." "Then maybe we better take what we can whilst we can," he murmured, moving his head closer. She felt the brush of his lips on her brow like the barest butterfly's kiss. Without a thought, she turned her face upwards. "Perhaps we should," she whispered, afraid to break the spell. For the smallest instant, she wondered how she could be so comfortable in his embrace, then all thought vanished as his mouth closed over hers, causing a response within her breast unlike anything she had ever felt. It was pain, yet it was not. She wanted to examine the feeling, yet she had no time, for her body was responding to his touch with a cascade of new sensations, each one stronger and more thrilling than the last. Her arms and legs tingled, heat flared in her belly and spread, until even her face felt as if it were aflame. The very breath in her nostrils felt fresh and new, with each inhalation bringing life and lightness into her body. As his lips moved over her face, leaving a moist trail, she clutched at his bare

shoulders, her fingers hardly denting the iron-hard muscle under the smooth flesh. Without quite knowing how it happened, she found herself molded firmly against his body, felt the solid thickness of his sex against her belly. And it was good! It was right! The heat in her belly spread, lower, warming her thighs, setting the secret core of her aflame. She felt swollen, ready for...for..."William," she gasped. "Oh, William, I feel-- " Once more he took her mouth, but not gentle this time. He devoured, sinking his tongue deep inside, sucking her lower lip, licking behind her teeth. His hands,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html gentle until now, grew bold and determined, molding her shoulders, girdling her waist, clutching at her dress and working it upwards along her body. The cool morning air on her thighs surprised her. "Wait!" she cried, catching at his hand. "Please." Immediately he froze, drew his head back. The look in his dark eyes nearly broke her heart. "No! I didn't mean...Oh. William, all I wanted to do was help." She rose to her knees, bending so that her head barely brushed the lowest branches. Quickly she untied the laces at her neck. Taking the fringed edge of her long dress in her hands, she started to pull it upwards. But he stopped her. "You's in too much of a hurry," he said, his voice hoarse and shaking. "We got all day."

CHAPTER THIRTEEN They rose then, and ate, although Flower found the roast venison left from their supper tough and tasteless. She chewed on shriveled currants, enjoying their small sweetness, and nibbled at a piece of the hard, unleavened bread she had made from the last of their flour. William seemed almost as lacking in appetite. She felt his gaze whenever he was nearby, and wherever it touched, it burned. Their chores seemed to take forever this morning. The strips of meat were still far from dried, so William went in search of more firewood. Beowulf disappeared shortly afterward, and she supposed he had gone hunting as he usually did in the mornings. The camp tidied, Flower looked around for something else to occupy her time until William returned. She did not allow herself to think of what they would do with the rest of the day. Yet not thinking of it was almost impossible. Her skin tingled, her lips felt bruised and tender. And the ache, low in her belly, radiating into the tops of her thighs, reminded her that they had left something unfinished. Something important. I want him! I never thought I would want a man, but I want William.The realization that she could still desire a man gave her great joy, for it meant that marriage was possible for her. And children. Oh, how she wanted children of her body, to fill her empty arms, to occupy her lonely heart. Smoothing her hands down her dress, she wondered why she felt so different when William did the same thing.His hands are bigger, stronger, but that is not whatmakes the difference. That is within.Once more she felt a surge of heat infusing her entire body. How I wish I could go to him innocent. He is such a good man. But I could never forget that he was there--that he knows. Forcing her thoughts away from her emotional confusion, she dug into her pack and pulled out the dress and petticoat. Way down at the bottom, she found the small scrap of lilac-scented soap Hattie had forgotten at her father's cabin.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She had never used it, although she had sometimes held it in her hand and inhaled its sweet odor during the long, dark winter days just past. On the way to the river, she thought back to that brief spell before the renegades had destroyed her. It had been one of the happiest of her adult life. Emmet and Hattie had made her feel a part of their family, Silas had been like a younger brother, and William...well, she had seen the warmth in his gaze, had cherished it like the new and tentative devotion it was. There was time, she believed then, for it to grow and ripen. After the renegades came, there was no more time for love. They took more than her innocence. They stole her future. The eddy at the river's edge formed a pool perhaps six feet across. The steep bank behind it suggested that a tree had once grown there, and had toppled into the river during spring floods. Although the small pool was shaded for much of the day, now, in the early afternoon, it received full sun. Flower hung her buckskin dress and leggings on a sagebrush and waded into the water, shivering when she felt its chill. Clenching her teeth, she sat, armpit deep, and waited for the shivering to stop. The scrap of soap had nearly disappeared when her hair and body were clean to her satisfaction. Carefully she laid it on a rock, then leaned back until only her face and toes were out of the water. Eyes closed, she let the summer sun lull her into almost total relaxation, as she half-floated in perfect comfort. Perhaps she slept. Perhaps not, but she felt totally at peace. The voice startled her, harsh and strained. "Consarn it, woman! You like to scairt me to death." In her hurry, she lost her precarious balance and went under. Spluttering, spitting, she pushed herself upright and glared at William where he stood on the bank. "You surprised me," she said, shaking the water from her short hair. "I did not hear you coming." "I hollered. When you wasn't at the camp, I hollered to beat the band." He squatted at the water's edge. "When you didn't answer, I reckoned you was hiding, so I got real quiet, wantin' to see what you was hidin' from." Instantly contrite, she reached a wet hand toward him. "Oh, William, I am sorry. I would have left a note, but -- " She hesitated, not wanting to shame him. "You coulda' scratched it in the dirt. I'd have seen it." "But -- " "I can't read good like you do, but I knows...know my letters. Hattie taught me, last fall." Now she was shamed. "I did not know. You never told me." His shrug showed her he was hurt but trying to hide it. "It don't matter. I reckon most folks don't 'spect a big Nigra buck to read or write." He picked up a twig and scratched in the sandy riverbank. "I can't write good yet, but I knows my name." Another series of scratches. "And yours." She leaned forward, but could not see what he had written. "Turn your back," she said, "so I can get out." His eyes gleamed, but he did as she asked. Quickly she shook the worst of the water from her body, then used the petticoat

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html to dry herself. In this heat, the linen would not be damp long. Both garments fit almost snugly at the waist, telling her she had gained weight since leaving Grande Ronde.About time, too. I had become little better than a dry stick . Her breasts, which had looked shriveled in early spring, now were full and proud on her chest. Her belly was rounded and firm, rather than a hollow between her hipbones.How I wish I had a mirror.The water in the eddy was constantly in motion, so that her reflection showed nothing but pale eyes in a tanned face, surrounded by a crown of black hair. The tiny buttons closing the bodice resisted her efforts, but at last she had all twelve of them forced into their buttonholes. Once dressed, she bent to look at what William had scratched in the sand. Crooked letters, but readable.William King . And underneath,Flower Jones . "I did not know your name was King." He turned, smiled down at her. "It is now. Hattie and me, we had lots of time to talk last fall. She told me I needed two names, now that I'm a free man and a landholder. So since I come out here lookin' for my place to be king, that's what I named myself." Biting her lip. Flower swallowed past the lump in her throat. "You smell good." His voice was low and husky. "Good as you look." When she looked up into his face, she could read desire there, desire as she had seen on many faces. But on his it was sweet and loving. There was no demand. Only patience holding his man's hunger in check. The surge of answering longing took Flower by surprise. Her heart grew icy at the very thought of a man's body ramming into hers, of his arms holding her helpless, his hungry mouth sucking and biting at her breasts. But she knew, as surely as she knew her own name, that if she did not make love with William--now, today--she might never be able to let any man lay hands on her. Without touching him, without stepping nearer, she spoke. "It is time."There is no going back now. For an instant hunger blazed in his face, then was masked. Only his eyes showed that he understood what she said. "Now?" The word came out as a croak. "Now." She stepped past him and walked up the path toward their campsite. Once there she paused, looking back over her shoulder. He was right behind her, his moccasined feet soundless on the soft dirt of the narrow trail. Then he was next to her, his arms around her body, his lips delicately questing along her hairline. "Anytime you gets scairt, you let me know and I'll stop." A tiny nip on her earlobe. Hot breath drying the trace of moisture. Shivers rippled up her spine, but not from cold. His hands flattened on her midriff, were still for a long moment. Then his thumbs brushed across the peaks of her breasts, so lightly she wasn't sure if she had felt their pressure or the whisper of their passing. In the next instant she had no doubt, for this time they pressed lightly, teased through the sturdy calico of the bodice until her nipples were turgid and aching. Again and again his thumbs brushed the sensitive tissue, until she thought she would scream with the need for...what? Flower caught at his wrists, pulled

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html his hands higher until they cupped her breasts. "Please," she gasped. "I need...oh, please!" "Ah, woman, you is the sweetest thing ever made," he said into her ear. His arms tightened. His sex was hard against her bottom, and she twisted back and forth, rubbing herself against him. Releasing his wrists, she fumbled with the bodice buttons, wondering why any woman would choose to wear a garment so difficult to get into and out of.Perhaps that is why Marie gave me the dress , she realized, amused.Auguste must have tired of struggling with the buttons. The last buttonhole released its captive and her bodice fell open. William slipped his hand inside, gently touched her. Air hissed between Flower's teeth as she felt his touch like a burning brand. As his fingers stroked over the sensitized skin, she fought to keep her knees straight, for her legs felt as if they had lost all strength, all rigidity. And then she was swinging through the air, caught close against his chest, as William carried her up the slight rise to the spreading cedar sheltering their beds. Going to his knees, he lowered her gently onto the bed closest to the canopy edge. She lay there, looking up at him. His dark face was shadowed and mysterious, here where the summer sun could not penetrate. Then the white gleam of his teeth shone in a wide smile. "I reckon we needs a bigger bed. This'un ain't gonna hold us both." No, it would not, for it was no wider than a single blanket folded endwise. "I will -- " "You ain't doin' nothin'. I'll just pull that other pile of cedar over here and spread the blankets. Then we'll have us a fine bed." He leaned across, suited action to words. Soon the two mounds of cedar were side by side. "Can you roll over?" She scooted aside and knelt while he spread one blanket across the irregular mound, lay the other in a crumpled ridge at the end. Her hands were cold, her belly swirling with those same tiny creatures that had been there before. When William paused and looked across the bed at her, she licked her lips. Somehow no words came to her tongue. She's so scairt she's shakin', William thought, looking across the bed at her. Yet her chin was high and her gaze was steady. He wished he had half the heart she did, after all she'd been through. Her tongue gave a quick lick, then another, flicking in and out quick as a wink. Slowly he worked his way onto the bed, closer and closer. When he was near enough to touch her, he held out his hands, inviting her to come to him. The last step had to be of her choosing. The waiting almost killed him. But at last she leaned forward, crawled onto the bed. Now she knelt no more than a hand's breadth from him. Close enough so he

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html could hear her breathing, could smell the flowery scent of her. Hesitantly he raised his hand and touched her quivering lower lip. Again her tongue flicked out, but this time it licked his finger with liquid fire. William kept himself real still, letting her do what she would with him. Her tongue licked along the length of his finger, back to the tip. He could see his own hand shakin'. "Lie down?" There was scarce any sound atall in her voice. He laid himself at her knees. Between the open halves of her dress top, the shadowy curves of her breasts drew his gaze, reminded his hands of the sweet, round weight he'd held like something precious. Her hands worked at the cloth, until the whole dress gaped, just barely covering her. Then she leaned forward, looming over him and -- "Lawd a-mighty!" A pebbled nipple teased his lips, but when he opened them to take it inside, it drew away. Then the other one offered itself, only to dodge back. "Woman!" he warned, feelin' like he was about to go off right there in his britches, "don't tease me, if you knows what's good for you." Her broken breath was almost a laugh. William held himself still as could be as she sat back on her heels. Slowly she pulled the top of her dress off her shoulders, let it slide down her arms. He watched her face, for he knew if her looked full at her body, he'd be plumb gone. She wiggled, and the dress fell away, puddling around her. The petticoat was tied in back, and when she arched to reach it, her breasts stood high and proud, peaks a deep winey red, undersides pale and delicately veined with blue. He clenched his fists and breathed deep. The petticoat loosened at her waist and slid down her hips to lay atop the dress. With another wiggle, she had both garments around her knees. And then she was layin' right beside him, skin hot against his, hotter'n any fire he'd ever felt. He slid one arm beneath her and pulled her even closer. "I loves you," he mouthed into her hair, but soundlessly, because to say the words might bind her to him. Any bond between them must be of her making, not of his. There was still tension in her body, although not so much as before. As long as she was caught up in what she was feeling, she was fine, but he always knew when she started thinking. Then she went still and stiff, until his careful touches aroused her again. He led her slowly, cautiously along the path to pleasure, ignoring his own needs. When she pushed at the waist thong of his britches, he rejoiced. When his sex leapt under her first, experimental touch, he gritted his teeth and kept his caresses slow and undemanding. And when his fingers at last reached the hot center of her, he smiled at the honeyed moisture he found there. Her wordless cry at his touch froze him, until he felt her buck against his hand. Then he parted her and poised his finger at the mouth of her heated passage. Her whimper was of need, not of fear, and he almost laughed aloud. He

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html let her small movements carry his finger in and out, never going deep, yet always teasing, always tempting. Always promising. "William...please. Oh, please, it...I...you must...!" With his thumb he found the small button that was the seat of her pleasure. He pressed, with a circling motion, and she screamed softly, making a sound like a far-off hawk. And then she was gasping and writhing and panting, and his hand was flooded with hot honey. When her seizure eased, she lay across him as if there wasn't a bone in her body. William let her lay for a little while, petting and stroking her. He inhaled deeply, needing the breathing spell. But soon his own need clawed at him. Holding her carefully, he lifted her above him. "Straddle me." Her thigh brushed his sex as she swung astride him and for a moment he thought he'd lost control. Then she was above him, guiding him to where he belonged. He slipped inside her. With his hands at her waist, he held her still a while, feeling the need grow until it was so powerful he shook with it. Then he lifted her and let her slide back. And she understood, for she did the same thing again. And again. And that was all it took. Waves of passion swelled and broke inside of him as he filled her with his seed. Empty, but filled with such bliss as he'd never known, William held her tight against him. He couldn't have moved if his life had depended on it, but if he was to die right now, he'd go happily. "I never knew," she whispered against his shoulder, "that it could be like this." In the next breath, she was asleep. William lay awake, just watching over her. He didn't think she was healed of her hurt, not by a long shot. But she was on the way. And he was gonna make certain sure she kept on gettin' better. He reckoned her hurt, way down deep inside of her, was a lot like his feelings about being whupped. Nothin', save being taken as a slave again, scared him as much thinkin' of how it felt when the whip lay across his back, cutting deep with a pain like no other. Of thinkin' it might happen again. She'd likely never get over her fear, just like he'd always live with his. But he'd made up his mind a long time ago that he wasn't gonna cower and cringe so's it'd never happen. Now it was time for Flower to learn the same. He cupped her cheek in his hand, stroked his thumb across her closed eyelid. She turned her face into his palm and her lips moved against it. William smiled. He had a while yet to convince her he could take care of her as well as any man. He was gonna do his damndest. *** William was not beside her when she woke, but Flower heard his deep voice, speaking in the singsong cadence he often used with Beowulf. She sat up, aware of a tenderness between her legs, of aches in her thighs. Not pain, as she had

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html felt before. Her movements were slow, languorous. Her body was rested and deliciously content. Leaving the petticoat where it lay, she pulled her dress over her head and buttoned the bodice halfway up. William looked up when she approached, his smile wide and happy. "You slept a long time," he said. "I was just about to roust you." "You should have. Now I will not sleep tonight." She stretched, yawning. "But I do feel wonderfully rested." "I wasn't thinkin' of sleepin' tonight, either," he said, and when she looked at him, he winked. Flower felt the blood surge to her face. "Now I sees why they calls you a 'redskin,'" he said, grinning widely. Spinning on her heel, she walked out of the clearing and toward the river. "I will bathe again," she said, loud enough for him to hear. "And this time, I would like to do so in privacy." "Just don't be too long," he called after her, "else I come and get you." She considered the source and ignored him. She had her pride, after all. Idly scratching Beowulf's ear, William watched her disappear among the sagebrush. She shouldn't ought to be alone down there. Why anybody standing on the bluff across the river could see her. Yep. She needed someone to watch over her. "Stay," he told the pup. Pausing behind a screen of brush, he peeked through. She was layin' back in the water, just like earlier, her body white as a magnolia blossom. "I reckon I needs a bath too," he murmured. Quickly he shucked his britches. Since her eyes were closed, she didn't see him come near, and she shrieked when he splashed into the water alongside her. "Go away!" she cried, covering her breasts with one arm, her thatch with the other hand. "Now! I told you I wanted to be alone." With all the commotion, she came unbalanced and sank. Blubbering and spitting, she emerged and glared at him, her hair laying in dripping strings across her forehead. "Go away!" she said again. "No'm. You hadn't oughta' be alone down here." She turned her back. "I've been alone before, and have been perfectly fine." Lowering himself in to the water, William moved so close he was almost touching her. "You really want me to go away," he said softly, "Yes!" She turned her head, looked at him over her shoulder. William waited, not moving. The water lapped around him, still stirred up from their movements. It seemed like the world was waiting with him. Aside from the constant splash and babble of the river, the only sound was the whisper of the breeze in the sagebrush and cedar. In the afternoon's heat, even the birds were silent. "No," she said at last. "Stay." She turned again and reached out to him. His body never had stopped bein' ready, not even right after he'd had her the first time. He reckoned it'd take him about as long as he lived to get enough of her. And maybe not even then. If the water had been any deeper, they'd have likely drownded, the way they thrashed and writhed. William held her on his lap, knowing she still wouldn't want him atop her. She kept her eyes open as he entered her, smiled as he

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html drove gently into her hot core. Afterward, she smiled a cat-in-the-cream smile and said, "I am surprised the water did not boil." He leaned back, shoulders in the shallows. "Back in Buff's bathtub," he said, referring to the hot spring-fed hollow at her father's cabin, "I used to lay there soakin' and think of doin' this. 'Specially after you come." Idly he traced the faint veins in her breasts with one finger. "But I never figured I'd get the chance." Her smile disappeared. "It is only for now," she said, "so don't expect--" He touched her lips, hushing her. "We can't ever know what's gonna happen tomorrow," he said, "so let's just not worry about it." Her mouth turned down at the corners, but she didn't say anything. Those big gray eyes of hers, though, they told him she hadn't changed her mind about England. "I been thinkin'," he said, wanting to change the subject, "that maybe you could fix my brand so's I wouldn't get took...taken as a runaway slave." With one finger he traced the brand on his thigh, feeling the raised-up flesh, hard and ugly. He could read the letters now. H-L-Y, set inside a box. They'd stretched and bent some as he'd grown, but they was still plain enough that that Turner feller recognized them. How had Marse Yates cancelled the brands? From what Turner had said, there was something special about it. William closed his eyes, trying to see the brand on his brother's leg. It was still red and weepin' when Heke had come to say goodbye. "What are you thinking?" Flower said. "You looked so sad." "I was rememberin' my brother," he told her, staring off toward the hill across the river. His eyes burned, like he was gonna cry, and he didn't want her to see him do it. "Hadn't given him a thought for a long time. He was wantin' to take a wife, and the marse's boy decided he wanted Nolly for his ownself. So Heke got sold." A lump at the back of his throat made the words hard to get out. He swallowed, rubbed a hand across his mouth. And remembered the brand. The overseer had took a red-hot poker, or something like that, and laid it twice across the letters. William had heard Heke scream, clear out in the cotton field. Sitting up, he caught Flower's hand in his, pulled her around to face him. "I wants you to cancel my brand," he told her. "I can tell you how. You can use that knife of mine, heat it up in the fire 'til it's red-hot." Her eyes were wide and scared looking. "You mean brand you again? No! I cannot!" Kneeling in the water, she took his face between her hands. "William, you have given me back my life. You have sacrificed yourself for me. I owe you so much--" "You don't owe me nothin'. I keeps tellin' you." He pushed her gently away, "Look here." He scooted back up on the bank so he could show her his thigh. "You need to make two lines. Here." His finger drew a line across the letters, top to bottom and side to side. "And here." Another line, crossing the first. Like a

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html long, wide X. She stared down at his thigh, traced the letters with a finger that barely skimmed his skin. At last she raised her head. " I cannot." Without a word he stood and shook himself, like a dog coming from the water. He went behind the screen of brush and fetched his britches and pulled them on. Flower was still in the water, watching him. He could feel it. When he was decently covered, he turned back to her. "You keep sayin' you owe me," he said, hating the very taste of the words, "so I'm askin' you again. Will you cancel my brand?" She stared at him for a long time. At last she nodded, her chin barely moving up and down. "Let's go then. Get it over with." He headed back to the clearing, picking up sticks as he went.Guess I better go get more wood before we does it, else I don't feel like it for a day or two. He refused to think about how the hot steel would sear his flesh. I ain't gonna scream. Not this time. Flower had supper prepared when he returned with the third load of firewood. The dried fish was gone, but there was more than enough venison to replace it. They would make it over the mountain easily. Tomorrow she would gather kamass and yampah, perhaps dig some cattail root. She had seen a small stand of it when she was seeking a good place to set her deer snare. The day after tomorrow they could resume their journey. In a week, ten days at the most, they would be in Oregon City. And I will say goodbye to William. Resolutely she sent her thoughts in other directions.I must wash the blankets in the morning. They will dry quickly in this heat. And the deer hide--I must finish scraping it, too. It will not be worth much in trade, but if my father's money is gone--no! Doctor McLoughlin will have kept it safe. And he will help me book passage on a ship to England. Surely there are still ships sailing there, even if the Americans have taken over the fort. William set the wood he was carrying beside the rest. "Where's my knife?" "We cannot use it," she said, not looking at him. "Heating it hot enough to brand you will ruin its temper." She had remembered her father complaining how one of his best knives would no longer hold an edge after it had been used to cauterize a rattlesnake bite. While William might have made her promise she would cancel his brand, she was going to make it impossible to accomplish, if she could. "Are you tryin' to fool me?" This time she looked at him. "No, although I would if I could. Do you not remember that after we heated Emmet's knife red-hot, he gave it to Hattie to dig with? He said it was as useless as...he said it was useless as a knife, until it could be retempered." He muttered something under his breath. They ate in silence, the playful, loving mood of the afternoon fled. Flower wondered if he was sulking, as a spoiled child might, but then she looked

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html carefully at his face. No, he seemed to be thinking. After supper, he went to the pack. "You still got that bundle of mine? The one wrapped in that old red shirt Hattie gave me?" "It is in the bottom of the pack, I believe. I kept it because the cloth could be useful, even though it seems to be falling apart." "Good." He dug, setting her bundles of yarbs and the small pouch containing their gold coins aside. The packets of tea and salt followed, as did the larger one holding the moss she had brought, just in case her courses resumed. "Here it is," he said, holding the small package up. It was tied with a rawhide thong. She had never looked to see what was inside, assuming it held some small thing of value only to William. Curiously she watched him carefully unwind the red fabric. Inside was a string of small, brightly colored beads and something the shade of old brass. When he held it up and opened it, she saw that it was a small folding knife with a chipped blade. He ran a finger along the discolored steel. "Was it not for this, I'd'a starved more'n once." Still holding the open knife, he went to the woodpile and sorted through the smaller lengths. He picked up one about the size of his hand, a stringy, twisted piece of dry sagebrush wood. "This oughta' do." Carefully he forced the blade of the knife into the wood, until it was held firmly. "Needs a handle," he said, answering her unspoken question. Flower realized, with a sinking heart, what he was doing. Mouth dry, she watched as he set the knife in the fire, carefully protecting the embedded blade by laying the cook pot over it. "There. That oughta' be ready in a bit." He leaned down and blew on the coals, causing them to flare into red heat. Flower licked her lips. "William, I cannot do this to you." He knelt before her. "Look at me, woman." She shook her head. Gently he cupped her chin, forced it up. "Flower, I gots...I have to have that brand cancelled, else I'll always walk scairt. As long as it says I'm a runaway slave, anybody who wants can cotch me, turn me in for a reward. Marse Yates, he's a powerful man, and he's got a long memory." "You're imagining that! No one is that powerful." "A feller named Turner, back in The Dalles, he looked at the brand and knew it. Said Marse Yates would pay to get me back." She studied his face, saw the truth in it. Drawing a deep breath, she said, "Very well. I will do it. Just let me get my yarbs, so that afterward--" "No'm. Afterwards you let it alone. If we makes it better right away, it won't look like it was done quick and mean." He turned back to the fire. The knife handle had darkened. With a stick he moved more coals around it, blew them into life. Flower had helped her mother tend the sick and the dying. She had cauterized an

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html infected gunshot wound and had helped in the birthing of more than one babe. Twice she had slit a man's throat and watched, unmoved, the life blood drain from the wound. She was a strong woman. Tonight her hand shook. Again William looked at the knife. Even she could see that it glowed faintly red at its edges. "You oughta be able to hold it with the wood," he said. He loosened the thong at his waist, dropped his buckskin britches. In the flickering firelight, his skin was a dark, weathered bronze inlaid over ebony. "You--" She swallowed. "You must sit." Her voice sounded strained, strange. Leaning forward, she examined the brand. The brand was distorted scars on otherwise matte perfect skin. He must have been small when he was branded, for it had plainly stretched and twisted as his leg lengthened. "How do you want...?" His finger traced an X across the box enclosing the letters. Each line was a good six inches long. "Oh, William, the pain! How will you stand it?" "Do it!" As close to a command he had ever given her. Flower picked up the knife, holding firmly by the makeshift wooden handle. She could feel the heat of it as she guided it to his leg. She bit into her lower lip, forcing herself to move carefully.Do not falter. Lay it firmly on his skin, for to hesitate will hurt him far more. She lowered the glowing brass until it touched his skin, applied slight pressure. His breath hissed between his teeth, but he moved not a muscle. She lifted, lowered again, for the brass handle was not so long as the scar. Again the harsh hiss of indrawn breath. Twice more she applied the heated metal to his leg, smelling the stink of burned hair, of burned flesh. And when the hateful marks had had been made, she carefully laid the knife to cool on one of the rocks surrounding the fire. Only then did she look at William. He had fallen back and was stretched out on the ground. Beowulf, who had been asleep under his sagebrush, was beside him, licking his face and whining. Sweat glistened on his face, on his belly. His sex lay flacid between his legs. And on his thigh was the obscene, already swelling brand she had given him. Afraid to touch him, Flower knelt at his side. "That you?" he whispered when her skirt brushed his arm. He kept his eyes closed. "I am not kissing you, if that is what you ask. But I am here." "Woman, don't you think I can tell the difference between your kisses and the pup's?" "After what I did, perhaps you would prefer his kisses." "Hah!" The sound was breathy, almost without voice. "You done good, Flower. It didn't hardly hurt atall." Then his mouth twisted. "Well, not as much, anyhow, as I recall it hurt the first time."

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She laid her hand on his broad chest. Under it she felt the pounding of his heart. "William, let me bring the blanket to you here. The less you move, the less you will feel pain." He agreed with a nod. Soon she had him settled, his torso and unbranded leg covered against the night's chill with both blankets. She would sleep with Beowulf. Before she could follow her intention, he caught at her skirt. "Lay you down here with me, woman. I needs to know where you is." Willingly she lowered herself to the ground. A corner of the blanket covered her well enough. With her arm across his chest, she tried to relax. "I had hoped to start across the mountains the day after tomorrow," she said, when many minutes had passed and they both still lay tense and awake. "Now we must wait until your leg has healed." "No'm we mustn't. I'll be ready to travel when you are. You want to get to Oregon City before winter, we'd best not waste time." "It is still summer!" "You never know what's gonna happen tomorrow," he said. "That there mountain we're gonna cross, it's got snow atop it right now." He moved restlessly, and she knew the pain from his leg must be torturing him. "William! Are you intent on killing yourself for me?" His hand sought hers, squeezed. "You know I'd die for you, Flower, if needs be." She felt as if her heart had faltered within her breast. "I know you would, William," she whispered. "But oh! Please do not!" She stroked his warm skin, knowing what strength, of body and of will, lay beneath it. "Do not die for me." "I got no intention of dyin', woman. I still wants...want to live my whole life with you." Instead of telling him he was dreaming, she found herself wondering if such a future might be possible.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN Muller was about to give up. The Nigger had disappeared without a trace. He and Turner had searched the whole town. They got help from a couple of Injuns who'd sell their brother for a drink, and poked around the Injun village. He was pretty sure the Nigger wasn't hiding there. A few miles outside of town, they found a place where it looked like somebody'd camped and cleared out quick. He'd wanted to cast around for a trail, but Turner hadn't been in favor of doing any more. He wanted to get started across the

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html mountains. Well, so do I. I'll stick here a while longer, but I aim to be somewhere else come winter. He looked up as a stranger came in the door. "Afternoon," he said. "What can I get you?" "Beer." The fellow dropped a quarter-eagle on the counter. "And information." He was a soft-lookin' man, round-faced and running to fat. In each earlobe he wore a gold ring. His clothes were dusty and soiled, like he'd lived in 'em for a while. Setting a foaming mug before him, Muller waited. "I'm looking for a squaw. Short. Skinny. Her hair cut real short." "There's a Wasco village downriver," Muller said, hooking a thumb in that direction. "You looked down there?" "Not yet. And I doubt she'd be there. She come from over on the Snake." He drained the mug and slid it across for a refill. "She might have a Nigger with her." Muller felt his ears perk up. "What's your reason for wanting to find her?" "That's my business. You seen her?" "Nope. But I seen a Nigger, couple of weeks back." The fellow leaned forward. "Here? He was here?" Now it was Muller's turn to play coy. "Hereabouts, anyhow." "Was he dressed like a trapper? All in fringed buckskin? Carryin' a big skinning knife?" Muller shook his head. "Not this one. We figured he was a slave got loose from one of the wagon trains and been livin' off the land for a spell."No need to tell him everything, and it never hurts to spread a little confusion. "This Nigger was wearing raggedy britches and nothin' else." He paused, looked off to one side. "'Course, he did have a big knife stuck down his pants." "A skinning knife?" Reaching under the counter, Muller brought out the knife he'd took off the Nigger. "This one," he said. He set it on the counter and slid it half out of its sheath. The handle was smooth and dark with use, but the blade was clean and sharp enough to shave with. Somebody had tooled the hard leather of the sheath with curlicues and a crude outline of a beaver. The stranger stared. Finally he said, "That's the one. I'd swear it." "Well, then," Muller said, with satisfaction, "maybe we can help each other." *** "Woman, will you stop fussin'? I'm feelin' fine. Ain't nothin' wrong with me except you won't let me sleep more'n a little while without coming to see if I'm still alive." Flower sat back on her heels. "I was just checking your leg." "You just checked it this morning. Ain't nothin' changed since then." She patted his chest. "You must be getting well. You certainly are testy." It had been two days since she had cancelled his brand, and she was amazed at his powers of recovery. The wound on his leg was clean and already healing well. He had fashioned a breechcloth from the end of their longer blanket, saying his parts needed the cover more than his feet did. Since she had been unable to keep her gaze from his sex, she had to agree. "I ain't testy. Just sleepy. You kept me awake half the night, pattin' me and runnin' your hands over me. Lawd a'mighty, woman, I ain't no sickly babe."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "So sleep, then!" She jumped to her feet, stalked away.Just like a man! No gratitude whatsoever. I wait on him hand and foot, cater to his every wish, and thisis the thanks I get. See if I ever--Hearing the direction of her thoughts, she smiled.William, you may be as testy as you choose. And I will give you anything you ask, for I owe you so much. "Anything?" she questioned aloud.No, not quite. She could not give him her love. Three days later they were packed and ready to resume their journey. William had scouted a route out of their hidden dell, a difficult trail that crossed a rocky, broken area before descending into the river valley well upstream of the waterfall. They'd make a wide circle around the Tygh village, for the fewer who knew they were on the trail, the safer they would be. He didn't reckon anybody was trailin' them, not after so long, but he wasn't one to leave sign of where he'd been. If he had, he'd never have got far from Marse Yates' plantation. They found the westering road easily. Already, after only one season, wagon wheels had cut deep into soft ground. Staying well off the beaten track whenever possible, they followed it. William had traveled in this manner on his journey west, rarely setting foot where the emigrants had gone, yet usually in sight of their road. For three days they climbed. Sometimes the trail wandered, as if whoever first made it had been drunk. Other times it went straight up hills so steep that William wondered if the men who'd first come this way was part goat. Twice they took cover in the woods so's not to be seen by other travelers. As soon as they got into the pines again, he cut a young sapling, big enough around so's he could get a good hold on it. As they walked, he trimmed the branches away, cutting as close to the trunk as he could. Then he skinned the bark off. That night after supper, he sharpened the small end and stuck it in the fire. Flower didn't say anything, but she watched everything he did. When he pulled the stick out of the fire and plunged the smoldering end into the creek, she nodded, like she'd already figured out what he was doing. Twice more he heated, then quenched the pointy end. After the third wetting, he could no longer cut the wood. His new spear wasn't yet hard enough or sharp enough to suit him, but he'd keep workin' on it. Late in the afternoon of the fourth day since they'd left their hidden dell, they stood on the edge of the world and looked down. "How are we gonna get down there?" he wondered out loud. "I do not think we do," Flower said. "At least I hope we do not." She stepped back from the edge and took a good hold on a pine branch. William knew the feeling. Lean a little ways forward and it felt like you was fallin'. And if you fell, it'd take half a day for you to hit bottom. "Let's go," he said, only too happy to step back himself. But they did godown there . The trail zigzagged back and forth down the hill, winding between cut-off trees, some of them so big both his arms couldn't have gone around them. They walked the last ways in the dark, not wanting to sleep

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html on the hill, lest they turn over and roll all the way to the bottom. When at last they were on more or less level ground, they simply wrapped themselves in their blankets and cuddled together like puppies. All three of them, for even Beowulf seemed too tired to hunt. Flower woke to the music of water, the song of birds. She lay still, savoring the smell of pine, the moist air. Beside her William was still asleep, but as soon as she moved, Beowulf lifted his head and made a soft, questioning sound. "Shhh!" she told him. Moving slowly and carefully, she extricated herself from William's embrace. Gesturing to the dog, she made her way toward the sound of running water. Sure enough, there were a few berries left along the creek. She picked red and blue huckleberries, overripe salmonberries, and a few of the plump but tasteless salal fruits. Cooked with a little flour and the last of the honey, they would make a delicious breakfast. After washing yesterday's sweat from her body, she slipped back into her buckskin dress. Shaking out her leggings, she decided not to wear them until it was time to depart. She picked up the leaf-wrapped berries and started back to their camp. Beowulf had dashed off in chase of some small creature, but she knew he would find his way back eventually. When she entered the small clearing where they had slept, William was still in the same position she had left him. Heart in her throat, she went to him, laid one hand on his chest.He breathes! Worrying about him was silly, she knew, but she could not help it. He had suffered so much--first the whippings and beatings in The Dalles, then the branding. She knelt beside him, kissed his partly open mouth. "Wake up, lazybones," she said softly. He stirred. His eyes opened, and a smile spread itself across his face. "Do that again," he said. Flower leaned down again, kissed him quickly. But she did not escape, for one strong arm went around her and held her tight against him while his tongue explored her mouth. His other hand kneaded her bottom, pulling her hard against him until she was sprawled across him. Only when she felt chill air across her thighs, did she realize he had pulled her dress up to her waist. "Unfair," she said against his mouth. "I cannot to the same to you." The sound he made sounded very much like a chuckle. "You want your hands on me, woman? You knows how to do it." He rolled from under her, ending flat on his back. "He'p yourself." The thong at his waist held the breechcloth tightly against him. She reached, then paused. Across his abdomen the woolen cloth stretched taut over his erection. When her hand stroked lightly across it, his whole body stiffened. "You must remove it yourself," she told him then. "I would not want to harm you." The tiny creatures were back in her belly and her breath seemed to catch in her chest.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html He made short work of loosening the leather belt. Naked, his sex rose from a nest of coal-black, tightly curled hair. A single drop of moisture glistened at its tip. Flower touched the droplet, drew back her hand. "Are you so...so ready, then?" "I'm always ready for you," he said, and she heard urgent need in his voice. "But there ain't no hurry. We got time to play." Turning on his side, he caught the lower edge of her dress, lifted it until she could work her arms free of the sleeves. She caught it away from him then and swept it over her head and tossed it aside. He lay before her, arms at his sides, palms open to the sky. She looked the length of him, her gaze hesitating at the still swollen and scabbed X on his thigh.He is so beautiful. It is a pity that he was so cruelly disfigured. When she looked back at his face, she caught her breath again at the expression he wore. It was desire, but a pure, decent desire, not the ugly lust she had seen on the faces of the renegades. Just seeing it directed at herself made her feel reborn. Without thinking, she leaned forward and touched her lips to the tip of him. His hips clenched, his sex leapt. Hesitating, she looked to his face. Had she disgusted him? No, for his eyes were closed, and his parted lips were spread in a smile of transcendent sweetness. Again she leaned forward and took him into her mouth. With her tongue she teased, tracing the shape of him, following the small groove toward the edge of his foreskin. Such textures, pliant and steel-hard at once, hard flesh and soft velvet. Salty. She ran her tongue down the length of him, back up to the tip. He bucked violently when she licked the new droplet from him. Once again she took him into her mouth and suckled. "Great God, woman! What you do to me?" Hands like manacles pulled her atop him, held her upright when she would had drooped across him. "Much more of that and I embarrass myself, sure enough." As he had done before, he lifted her over him, so that she could take him inside her. "No! Wait!" He went dead still, his expression stricken. He held her immobile, then began to lower her to the ground beside him. "No!" she said, again, but more gently. "I want this to be for you, William. You will not frighten me, no matter what you do to me." She held his hands so that he could not release her. "You certain sure?" There was wonder in his tone. "I am as certain sure as I can be," she said. "I do not believe you could do anything to me that would make me fear you." He gathered her to his chest, stroked her cheek. "I'd like...would I be too heavy for you? You're such a little thing." "I am strong," she assured him. Clasping both hands around his thick rod, she said, "And you? How strong are you?"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Before she could draw another breath, he had her on her back, one leg across hers, one hand holding both of hers above her head. Dipping his head, he licked her nipple, then the other one. Back to the first, which he sucked between his lips, teased with the tip of his tongue. Despite his hold on her, Flower arched her back, offering all of herself. And he took. He suckled and kissed her breasts until they throbbed with a delicious pain. He dipped his tongue into her navel, kissed a path lower. Releasing her hands, he rose to his knees and moved between her legs. His big hands slipped under her bottom and he lifted. "Put your legs on my shoulders," he said in a hoarse tone. Uncertain, but knowing he would do nothing to harm her, Flower obeyed. One hand circled her right ankle and held it firmly. His full lips traced slowly down the leg, from ankle to calf, knee to upper thigh. When his breath chilled the wetness between her legs, she gasped. Immediately he retreated, and gave the other leg the same marvelous treatment. Flower's eyes closed and she gave herself up to the most delightful sensations. So when his mouth closed on her, she screamed. And screamed again, as his tongue found a supremely sensitive place and worked it until her whole body felt as if it were about to burst into flame. Waves of heat rose higher and higher within her as his tongue licked and tickled and teased. And then it was as if she were captured in a flood of fire, and carried along into realms of unimagined sensation. She was still caught up in the rapture when he lowered her legs and drove into her. She welcomed the fierce invasion, meeting his lunges with her own. Then she felt the hot surge again, and forgot him in her own pleasure, her own bliss. After that, it seemed to Flower as if she could not get enough of him. She was shameless in her demands. William eagerly responded, thrilling her with his tenderness, his abandon, his unceasing thought for her comfort and satisfaction. Her leggings remained in the pack as they traveled down the mountain, for removing them once or twice a day seemed too much trouble. The river they had followed since their alarming descent down the zigzagging trail merged with another, a wild, rushing stream descending from the slopes of the snow- covered mountain that still fascinated William. "You reckon the snow ever melts off of there?" he said more than once. "I have never seen it without snow," Flower told him. "There are many like it, all with pointed tops that never lose their snow." "I'd sure like to see 'em." Now their travel went faster. The road descended in a more-or-less straight line, although there were still mountains ahead of them. After crossing a long, flat stretch, they saw a crude sign nailed to a tree. An arrow pointed up the trail and beside it were the words, "The Devil's Backbone." "I don't like the sound of that," William said, looking up the steep slope

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html ahead of them. "I thought you said we should be about there." "I said that the trip across the mountain was supposed to take six or seven days. I do not know how much farther it will be to Oregon City." She was tired of traveling. What she wanted was a place to rest, to sleep under a roof and to cook at a decent hearth instead of over a campfire with inadequate tools.I have become soft. But at last I understand why Hattie said she was not going any farther when we found Cherry Vale. "I sure wish I coulda' got you your boat ride." Instantly Flower was contrite. "Oh, William, pay no attention to me. My belly aches and I seem to have awakened on the wrong side of the blanket this morning." "Maybe we oughta' stop and rest for a day. You're lookin' peaked." She was tempted. "No," she said, reluctantly. "We cannot be that far. Two days, perhaps, or three. Let us go on." So they did. Each step seemed to take enormous effort. When Beowulf proudly brought her a mummified chipmunk carcass, she could not find the energy to praise him. The heat, which grew more and more oppressive, contributed to her discomfort. By evening, they were going down again, into a deep canyon. On the other side, the land seemed to fall away into emptiness, but far, far to the southwest smoke rose into a quiet sky. "Maybe that's Oregon City," William said, when she pointed it out to him. "Perhaps. It is more likely a grass fire. I have never seen the valley of the Willamette when it was not burning somewhere." She pressed hard on her belly, wondering what she had eaten that gave her so much distress. "Take this," William said, handing her his spear, "else you fall over your own feet." She tried to smile her thanks, found even that was difficult. At last they reached the crossing and found a place to camp a short walk downstream. You sit and rest," William said. I'll set things up here." She was too tired to argue. Her dress was damp with sweat and her inner thighs were chafed. After resting a short while, Flower went into the woods to relieve herself. That was when she noticed the blood on her calf. Thinking it from a scratch, she used a handful of dry grass to wipe it off. But more trickled down her leg. When she raised her dress, she saw why. Her knees gave way and she collapsed on the ground. Without warning, wrenching sobs gathered in her chest and burst free. How long they consumed her, she did not know, for even as she wept, she rejoiced. Her menses had resumed! She had not flowed since...since she was raped. Still sobbing, she cleaned herself, then returned to camp. Fortunately William was occupied with starting the fire.I was not gone so long as it seemed. He merely nodded when she said, in as normal a voice as she could manage, "I am going to bathe. Perhaps it will make me feel better." The water was cold, and welcome to her aching body.No wonder I've been so out of sorts all day, she thought.I'd forgotten how uncomfortable I could be. Never again would she complain about feeling miserable and achy. Flower

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html wanted to sing. Her body had healed of its hurt at last, and her spirit was almost well again. When she told William they could not make love for a few days, he only said, "No wonder you was hurtin' today. We'll take it easy tomorrow." Once again tears choked her. Such agood man! Two days later they stood on a hillside, looking down toward the small settlement that was Oregon City. The last miles had been difficult, for in order to avoid being seen, they had been forced off the road many times. Fortunately Beowulf shared Flower's aversion to company and gave them warning in ample time. "You got any idea where your White Eagle is?" William said. "No. Craigie just said he had moved here when the Americans took over Fort Vancouver." She looked down and the busy settlement in despair. "I'd not even know where to begin searching for him." "Seems to me if he was boss at the fort, he'd be important here, too." She shook her head. "Not necessarily. Remember Jacques told us there was much bad feeling between the British and the Americans before the boundary dispute was settled." Taking a deep breath, she said, "We might as well go on. Standing here is doing us no good." "You just gonna walk into town and ask somebody where the feller's at?" "I don't know what else I can do," she said, wishing he would not question her. She was uncertain enough without his adding his doubts. "Seems to me that we oughta' find us a place to hole up, somewheres we can go to ground if we has to." When she turned to stare at him, he shrugged. "Supposed we go down there and somebody decides to take me, like at The Dalles." "Oh, William, I had not thought. Of course you must not go into town." "I go where you goes," he said. "But we ain't talked much about what happens next." "Next? Why I will book passage..." "We got six of them coins left. Will that take us all the way to England?" His words were like a splash of icy water in her face.How much does passage to England cost? If I cannot find Doctor McLoughlin, what will I do? For the first time, she was aware of how little she knew of the world. Her parents had taken her away from Fort Vancouver when she was twelve. Since then she had lived in the wilderness. Any sophistication she could claim came from Everett's teachings and from books, not from experience. She looked into his face and admitted, "I do not know." "Then let's us find a place to stay and think about this. If we're goin' to England, we want to do it right. No sense in goin' off half-cocked." He led the way back from their overlook, back the way they had come. After a short distance, he left the well-used road and followed a narrow trail that looked as if nothing but wildlife had ever trod its needle-strewn surface. "I don't know were I'm goin'", he said, "but I'll find us a place to set up camp." Since she was still feeling less than vital, Flower followed willingly. Later William looked around the small camp with satisfaction. It seemed wellhidden. Plenty of water, well-dried wood for an almost smokeless fire, and not

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html a trace that anybody'd ever been here. He wasn't sure what he'd have done if Flower had insisted on goin' down into town. Picked her up and carried her off, he reckoned. I'd had some bruises if I done that. She was asleep, curled up under a blanket, one arm wrapped around the pup so he was solid against her belly. He reckoned she was still miserable. Eulalia, she who'd taught him what went on between a man and a woman, had suffered from the woman's curse something awful. He was powerful happy to be a man. *** "You are not going to England," Flower said to William the next morning. Yesterday she had lacked the energy to argue when he'd mentioned doing so. Today she did. "I told you, woman. I go where you goes." He looked back at her, his dark brown eyes steady, his jaw firm. Even his position, arms across his chest, feet flat on the ground, told her his mind was made up. "You are being ridiculous. I have been invited to England. You have not. What will you do when you get there? What work can you do?" "A man's not gonna starve, long as he's willin' to work hard. I'll get by." "But how will I explain you?" "Easy. I'm your servant. Or your slave, if that makes it sound better." He reached down and scratched Beowulf, who lay dozing at his feet. "Only thing worries me is what we're to do with this useless mutt." She jumped to her feet and paced before him. "If you would only do what is sensible, you could take him with you." She paused in her pacing. "William, listen to me! You would not be happy in England. You have a home in Cherry Vale, land of your own. Hattie and Emmet love you, consider you part of their family. "You could find a wife--there are several young women in Goat Runner's village. Or Jacques and Marie could introduce you to some of their neighbors." "I ain't changed my mind. I want you, Flower, not somebody else. If you won't have me, I won't have no woman." She heard no self-pity in his voice. Only a firm vow. "Oh, William--" "Don't you 'oh, William,' me, woman. Soundin' like you feels sorry for me. I don't need your pity. I made up my mind a long time ago, haven't changed it since. And when I picked you, I knowed...knew there was a good chance I'd never have you." He stood and took the single step that brought him face to face with her. His hands went to her shoulders, where they rested lightly, not holding her, yet feeling like the most unbreakable of bonds. "You and me, we've loved for a little while. Maybe that's all we'll ever have, if you won't take me with you. But I'll remember all my life, and rememberin', I couldn't do right by any other woman. 'Cause she wouldn't be you." His face grew blurred in her sight. Throat tight, chest aching, Flower pulled free of his hands and turned away. She stumbled blindly into the woods, needing time alone.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Time to think. William started to follow her, then stopped himself.Let her go. She's all mixed up and needs time to straighten out her thinkin'. Dusk cloaked the trees in shadows when she returned. Without speaking she accepted the cup of tea he held out to her. He'd used the last crumbling shreds, knowing it wouldn't be long before she could have all the tea she wanted. And tonight she needed it. After she had seated herself on a fallen tree, she stared into the cup for a long while. At last she said, "You may go with me." Happy as her decision made him, William had to admit it was not the answer he had hoped for. He knew nothing of this England, 'cept it was so far away he'd never come home again. But she was going, so maybe he'd find a new home there. "That's good," he said, then paused when she held up her hand. "You will travel as my servant, because you will be safer. But when we get to England, you will be a free man. Free to go where you wish, do as you wish. I cannot guarantee that you will be welcome to live at Everett's home, but I can promise you that you may always visit me there." He stared at her.What about our loving? he wanted to ask.Don't I mean nothin' to you? Instead he nodded. Silence. "Well?" she said, after waiting several heartbeats "Will you say nothing?" If I was to tell you what's in my heart, woman, you'd just throw it back in my face. Like so much rubbish."I'll do what you say," he said, his voice unsteady. "Whatever you say." They slept apart, as they had for the past two nights. William lay on his hard bed, staring up into the night sky. The stars seemed farther away, but maybe the film of tears in his eyes was making 'em seem that way. He was a grown man, but he wanted to blubber like a babe, something he'd never done, no matter how bad things was for him before. And he was mad, too. He'd sat there and let her treat him like some kind of toy.Or a slave! Crawlin' to her, taking whatever she gave him, just so he could stay close to her. He'd seen dogs with more pride. But if it's the only way... "Then maybe she ain't worth it, boy," he whispered. This is Flower. You love her. "She don't love me." Keep hopin'. She might come to it yet. "'Long about the time when pigs sprout wings." He turned on his side, tucked one hand under his head. Across the fire pit, Flower's blanket was a light-colored cocoon against the dark woods. She had her back to him. But he could see her face in his mind. Could he go the rest of his life and never see her face again? Could he keep livin', never knowing if she was well, if she was happy? And what if she married somebody over there in England? Would he want to keep livin'? "No man ever died of love," he muttered, rolling to the other side so he wouldn't have to see her. "But maybe some of 'em wanted to real bad,"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Maybe you'd be better off to go on back to Cherry Vale, forget about her. "Maybe I would." Flower welcomed the dawn, because it meant that she no longer needed to lie in her uncomfortable bed and pretend to be sleeping. As soon as she knelt at the fire pit and added slivers of wood to the still-hot coals, she knew William was awake too. Never turning to look at her, he rose, pulled on his buckskins, and stalked into the woods. When he returned, she had water heating and was slicing dried venison into it. There were no more of the vegetables she had gathered at Hidden Dell, but she still had a bit of salt, to make the broth palatable. Besides, today she could walk into a trading post and purchase whatever foodstuffs caught her fancy. He came up behind her and stood. Without turning, she said, "I have been thinking..." "So have I." His tone was flat, cold. She turned and looked up at him. Never had she seen his expression so hard. "You first," she said. "I ain't gonna go with you," he said. "I'll see you into town, and stay with you until you gets on your ship. Then I'll go back where I belongs." She reeled, as if he had slapped her. Catching herself on her hands, she kept her head low for a moment while she caught her breath. "I was going to tell you that you could come without conditions." She looked up, expecting to see delight on his face. His expression was unchanged. "I mean that you can stay with me at Everett's. You can be my servant, if that's what you want. I did not mean to hurt your feelings, to make you feel unwanted." "What's he gonna say to that? You looks enough like your pa, you can pass for white. There's no way I can." "He will simply have to accept you." William's snort showed his disbelief. "Better get your dress changed, if you wants to get to town before the day's half gone." He turned away and began gathering up the pack's contents. Flower watched him a moment, then went to where her dress hung from the stub of a branch. It was still wrinkled, but it would have to do. Later, at the edge of town, William halted. "Before we goes in, there's something I got to know." Angry at his continued refusal to discuss his decision--he had not even replied to most of her questions on the walk from their camp --she waited without answering. "What if your Earl has writ you not to come? What you gonna do then?" "There has not been time--" She covered her mouth with both hands. "Oh, no!" "What's the matter?" "The letter. I forgot to give it to Hilaire. I must have left it..." An empty feeling filled her belly. For a long moment he stared at her. "You mean to tell me he don't know you's comin'?" She shook her head, wondering if it would make any difference. Everett had invited her more than once. His last letter, which had made its slow way to Lapwai from Fort Vancouver in the pack of an old friend of her father's, had repeated the invitation.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html The date on that letter had been Christmas, 1844. Flower did not know the exact date, but she did know that they were well into July.

Two and a half years ago! Speaking more from desperation than from conviction, she forced a smile to her lips. "That will not matter. He will welcome me."

CHAPTER FIFTEEN Doctor McLoughlin was easy to find. Flower went inside the first mercantile they came to and asked the clerk. By early afternoon, she was knocking on the door of a large white house. The young woman who answered the door was clearly Indian. "Come in," she said, smiling politely. "I will see if he is at home." Looking over her shoulder at William, who stood stolidly at the gate, Flower hesitated. He nodded toward the house.Go on in. "Thank you," she replied. The woman led her down a hall and indicated she was to enter a small parlor. Curious, Flower looked around the room. It was sparsely decorated--two obviously handmade chairs, a table holding a few books and papers. The walls were white, and one held a framed drawing of Mt. Hood, as seen, she believed, from Fort Vancouver. The window looked out into a side yard, but by putting her face against the glass, Flower could see the front gate. William still stood there, clad in the ragged red shirt and his tattered canvas pants. His feet were bare. He had insisted that he would attract far less attention dressed thus than if he were to walk into town in his buckskins. Perhaps, but she still hated seeing how his demeanor changed when he put on his rags. He no longer walked tall and proud, but instead seemed to cringe along, as if fearing that every man's hand might be turned against him. This is what I have done to him.She felt ashamed. The door opened. "Miss Jones?" She turned. "Hello, Doctor McLoughlin. Do you not remember me?" He looked at her more closely. "Flower? Flower Jones? It is you! I had

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html doubted--" In two steps he was across the room and bowing over her hand. " But you have grown up! What a pleasure this is, my dear. What brings you here? How is your father?" "My father is dead," she told him. "More than a year ago." "Ah, I am sorry to hear that. He was a good man." Gently he took her arm, guided her to a chair. "But you are well?" She nodded, biting her lip. "I have come to ask you for assistance, sir. I wish to go to..." She paused, took a deep breath. Begin at the beginning. It will make better sense."Do you remember my godfather, Everett Hetherington?" "Your father's partner? Tall, fair? A younger son, I believe?" "That is he." McLoughlin combed his fingers through his beard, totally white now, instead of the streaked gray she remembered. "I heard he returned to England. Inherited, didn't he? A title?" "He is Earl of Laterade." Her fingers seemed to want to tangle together. She looked down at them and silently commanded them to be still. "More than once he invited me to come to live with him, and I have decided to do so." Hesitating, she wondered once again if she was doing the right thing. "Can you help me?" His silence told her that he was reluctant. After a moment's thought, he said, "What do you know of England, my dear?" "That it is green and lovely--" "So is Oregon." "Civilized--" "A matter of opinion." For a moment she stared at him. "You do not approve," she said. "It is not my place to approve or disapprove. I simply question whether you have given this plan of yours adequate thought. But listen to me! I have not even offered you hospitality. Where are you staying?" "We are camped about five miles from town," she said. "We?" "My...my servant and I. I did not know what the sentiment towards toward him might be. We... had some trouble in The Dalles."There is no need to know that the closer we got to town, the more my belly clenched and my limbs trembled. Let him believe I worry for William. "He is a man of color, you see." "Ah. Of course. There is probably no danger for him here, but one should never take undue risk." "Doctor McLoughlin, I...did my father...Do you know what happened to the money my father had on deposit with the Company?" He smiled. "It is safe, my dear. I was made trustee of several accounts in cases of the owners' whereabouts being unknown. Your father's was one." Relief flooded her. She had enough money to pay her passage to England, and to be independent when she arrived. Everett would have supported her, she was certain, but now she would not have to depend on his charity. Only one more hurdle. "I have no proof I am his heir." "You need none. I know you, know he meant the money for your dowry." His tone was reassuring. "I will make your funds available to you when you need them."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html They spoke a while longer, she telling him something of her life since she had last seen him, he relating his views on the changes the Americans had made in the government and society of the area. She knew she had stayed far too long when she glanced out the window and saw shadows lying long across the garden. "I must go," she said, rising. "Thank you for the advice and your help. If I may come back in a few days and make further arrangements?" Again he bowed over her hand. "Of course. In the meantime, I shall inquire about a ship. Hopefully we will see one bound for England before too many weeks have passed." William was still standing patiently at the gate when she emerged. Seeing him, McLoughlin said, "Next time send your man to the kitchen. No need for him to wait out here." "Thank you. I shall." Flower smiled at William as she passed him. He did not return the smile, and fell in behind her without a word. What a difference looking like a white woman made. The clerk at the store where she purchased tea and coffee, salt, sugar and flour, treated Flower with respect. His manner became even more courteous when she handed him a worn, heavy gold coin in payment. "Excuse me a moment," he told her, closing his hand around it. She watched as he went into a back room and set up a small balance, dropped the coin into one pan and added tiny weights to the other, one at a time. When he returned, he was smiling. "We value all gold coin by weight. Would you like your change in cash, or may I open an account for you?" Not knowing how long she would wait for her ship, she told him to open an account. The clerk bagged her purchases in a cotton flour sack. She reached for it. "You, boy! Take your mistress's parcel," the clerk called before she could take hold. William came from where he'd been waiting by the door. Silently he took the bag, stood aside for her to lead the way. She started for the door, turned back. "Do you have bonnets? Mine was...lost."About five years ago, I believe .I had forgotten that women--ladies-- wear bonnets whenever they go out. The clerk shook his head. "There is a dry goods store a few doors down. They will be able to help you, I think." Much as she would have preferred to censure the clerk for his rudeness to William, she smiled and thanked him. At the dry goods store, William waited outside once again, while she purchased a pretty straw bonnet. It was obviously used, but the straw was still crisp and the ribbons new. Since she intended wearing it only in town, Flower did not care. She hated head coverings of any kind. You had best get used to them. In England you will wear them all the time. Remember the miniature of Everett's mother. She wore a lacy cap, even indoors. William didn't have anything to say as they walked back to camp. He'd been uneasy in town, even though nobody gave him more'n a quick, curious look. Something was gonna go wrong. He could feel it in his bones. Once in camp, Flower went behind a brush to change back into her buckskin

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html dress and leggings. He still wasn't used to seeing her in the calico dress, and once she'd put the bonnet on, she'd been like a stranger to him. A white stranger. He could feel her goin' away from him already. Beowulf, who had dashed away as soon as he was released, returned, carrying a brown rabbit in his jaws. He offered it to William. "You're getting' pretty good." He told the dog, scratching down his spine. "Or did you just get lucky?" The dog gave his hand a lick and ran off again. Flower emerged and hung her dress and petticoat on a branch. "You are angry with me," she said, her back still to him. "No'm, I ain't." "Then why won't you speak to me? You have been silent all day. Are you sulking?" "What's that mean?" "It means," she said, turning and glaring at him, "that you act like a spoiled child who wants his own way." "Me? Look who's talkin'. You made up your mind to go off to England, and you won't listen to nobody who tells you different. I'll bet you didn't even ask that there McLoughlin what he thought about it. That's because you knowed he'd tell you it's a crazy idea." He set the cook pot down beside the fire ring with a hard thump. "Or did he anyhow?" "That is not of your..." She stopped and he could see her talking hold of her temper. "Yes, he did. At least he asked me if I was sure I knew what I was getting into." "Didn't change your mind, did it?" Her chin went up. "Why should it? I know what I am doing." "Woman, you ain't knowed what you was doing since them bassards caught you and treated you so ugly. You run off and hide. You forgot about your friends, all the folks who care about you." "I did not forget!" "Looked that way to us. We could have helped you, could have healed you, if you'd give us time. But no, you go runnin' off believin' you was dirtied somehow." "I was! They raped me, William! You were there. You saw! And I killed them." Her hand clawed, as if around the hilt of a knife. "In cold blood!" "Bullshit!" She opened her mouth, gaped, and shut it again. "What do you mean? Of course I killed them in cold blood. One was sleeping when I cut his throat. The other was stunned. I gave them no chance." Her hands twisted together, and she lifted them to her mouth, bit hard on her thumbs. William caught the clenched fists, pulled them away from her mouth and held them. "Sit down, Flower," he said, guiding her backwards toward the fallen log. "We gonna talk about this, once and for all." Maybe they should have made her talk it out long since. Him and Hattie, they'd figured she was hurtin' too bad to stand relivin' her ordeal, and they'd treated her like she was gettin' well after a long sickness. They hadn't asked her

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html how she felt about what happened to her, and now he believed they should have. "No. We are not." But she sat. He sat beside her and pulled her against his side, held her there. "You said more'n once that you was soiled when them renegades got done with you. How you figure that?" "I was virgin. Untouched. They took what should have been my husband's." Much as he wanted to commiserate, he knew it wasn't what would do her the most good. He made his voice hard, like he thought she was acting foolish "And you're thinkin' you're the only woman that ever happened to?" "Of course not. But in polite society, a woman who is not a virgin is considered ruined. No decent man would marry her." He was so amazed, he forgot to get mad all over again. "That's the biggest pile of hog-wash I ever did hear. What happened to you wasn't no fault of yours. Anybody who'd believe it was, you wouldn't want to marry anyhow."But I'd marry you in a minute, if you'd have me. "Seems to me," he said after he'd got himself together again, "that these fellers you call 'decent men' ain't got any idea what's important." "You do not understand!" "No'm, I don't. Maybe I never will. But what I do understand is that you're a good woman, one of the goodest I know. You got to believe that, Flower, else you're never gonna be happy with yourself again." "How can I? When I cannot forget killing them?" "They needed killin' worse than anybody I ever seen." He thought back to that dawn... Mist' Em had come sneakin' out of the brush, moving real slow, snakin' along the ground with his knife in his hand. He'd cut William and Silas loose first thing, warning them to lay still as they could while the blood got back into their hands and feet. Lawd a'mighty, but that did hurt! Then Mist' Em had crawled back into the brush. William had wondered why he hadn't took care of the renegades right then. Later he figured out that it was to give him and Silas time to be able to move... "If you hadn't took care of that one renegade, Mist' Em and you might not have got away," he said. "Wasn't there still two others left when one woke up and hollered?" She nodded. Her expression showed that she hadn't thought of that. "And up there in Cherry Vale. That Pyzen Joe, he was all set to take Hattie away with him. You too. I wasn't no good, bein' still wobbly on my feet. I thought I'd fall on my face when I reached out to take that knife outta' Hattie's hand. If he'd come awake right then, we'd all been dead." He remembered feeling like he was reachin' through molasses, he was so slow. And weak as a starvin' pup, to boot. "You ever thought about what would have happened to all of us if you hadn't killed him?" Her eyes grew enormous as she stared at him. "He would have killed you," she whispered. "And if Ellen had cried out, he would have killed her, too." "Even if he hadn't found her, how long do you reckon a babe that little would

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html have lasted without her ma's milk?" She bit into her bottom lip so hard he expected to see blood. Her face was white and strained, old-looking. After a bit, she buried her face in her hands, and he heard her take a deep breath. Then another. William waited. Finally she raised her head. On her lips was a little, bitty smile, one that trembled like it was doin' its best to hang on. "Thank you," she whispered. "Oh, William, thank you for giving me back my honor." She leaned forward and kissed him. It was a sister's kiss. A friend's kiss. *** After that, she kept herself apart from him, for William's eyes no longer gleamed with desire. He seemed to have retreated somewhere within himself, to a place where she was not welcome. Each day he disappeared into the woods after their morning meal --eaten in silence, for the most part. "Goin' huntin'," he'd say, but when he returned late each afternoon, he brought no game. Heissulking, Flower told herself with self-righteous indignation. Yet in the still, dark night, when sleep eluded her like the prey of a clumsy hunter, the truth forced itself way into her thoughts. She had hurt him with her disregard for his feelings, his need. She had ignored all the many ways he had shown her respect and regard. In her carelessness, in her self- absorption, she well might have damaged a precious friendship beyond redemption. When daylight came, she found she had no words to speak of what was in her heart. So she said nothing. Three days later they went back into Oregon City again. There was no word of a ship bound for England. Doctor McLoughlin once again hinted that Flower should reconsider her plans. She did not argue, but she did not agree either. Perhaps she should do as he suggested and move into his house. There would be a place for William, too. As her servant, he would be made welcome. She could not. She was slowly accepting what William had forced her to admit--that choosing to live was far better than fighting to inevitable death, that she had killed two men in self defense, not murdered them in cold blood. It did not matter. She still found her heart pounding and her mouth going dry whenever a strange man looked at her with sexual interest in his eye. So William hunted and she fashioned new clothing for him from soft, golden doeskin she had purchased from Doctor McLoughlin. She planned to decorate it with porcupine quills--Beowulf had cornered one but, fortunately, had not tried to catch it--and with richly blue glass beads. I had forgotten how pleasant living close to a trading post can be. Whatever I

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html want is available. There is not even a need for William to hunt, except that it pleasures him. She insisted on waiting four days before their next trip into town. Enough time for her to finish the shirt. She had pretended it was a dress for herself, never letting him see how wide-shouldered it was, or how long. When they said goodbye, she would give it to him. How I will miss him! He is such a good friend. It is too bad... "I have a surprise for you," Doctor McLoughlin said after greeting her. "I received word yesterday that a British ship will call at the Fort within the month. They are bound for England, by way of the Sandwich Islands." "At last!" But the elation she should have felt was curiously missing. "The ship that brought word--an American trader I have dealt with for some time-- picked up mail for me." He smiled. "And for you." His hand held a slim, oiled-silk packet. "For me?" Flower took it, saw familiar handwriting. "It is from Everett." "I thought as much. I have work to do, so I must leave you. But when you have read your letter, and when you have made a firm decision..." He held up his hand, chuckling, as her sputter. "Read your letter, my dear, and think long and hard about what you plan. I still think you are making a mistake." He bowed, and before she could say a word, left her alone. Flower turned the packet over in her hands, almost afraid to open it. In his last letter, written so long ago, Everett had told of his growing family, of his plans to diversify his investments, his hopes for the future. And of the new, young queen who had changed the tone of society in England. "I will wait," she said to herself, "and read it tonight." She wanted to savor the anticipation a little longer. After all, she might have to wait a month more. She said nothing to William as they walked back to their camp. Instead she told him the news. "And they are talking now of establishing a post office at Portland," she concluded. "Doctor McLoughlin says that some think it will someday be larger than Oregon City." "This ain't no big city," William said. "Why, when we took that cotton down to Mobile, we coulda' walked near half a day and never got outside of town." "You did not tell me this. Where is Mobile?" All her life she had wanted to see a place with tall buildings, restaurants, hotels, dress shops, bookstores. "When were you there?" "I disremember when. I wasn't full growed yet, though. And I don't know much about it. We went there in a big wagon, along with the cotton the marse was shippin' and when it was all loaded, we went back to the plantation." He frowned. "It's by some ocean or other." Nothing he had ever told her came so close to showing her how impoverished his childhood had been.Oh, William, how you have suffered. And I will hurt you more. I must. After supper was done, she bought out the letter.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "What's that you got," William asked, looking at it curiously. "A letter. From Everett?" "Your Earl." His tone came close to a sneer. "He is notmy Earl," she told him. "But he is my godfather, and I love him dearly." She slit the sealed packet, carefully pulled the letter out. There were several pages, written on heavy, smooth paper. Holding it in a slanting beam of sunlight, she looked at the date first. November, 1846.It arrived much more quickly than they usually do. My dearest Flower, As always I hope that all is well with you and your father. I have not heard from you for some time, and his last letter-- his usual brief epistle--arrived more than a year ago. We are all well. Florence presented me with another son just last month... Is that two boys, or three? And two daughters, I think. Florence must feel as if she is pregnant all the time. She skimmed the next few paragraphs, an account of his children's adventures, the neighborhood gossip, his wife's social life. Everett knew how she enjoyed hearing about everyday things, about how the English lived. Then she stopped. Went back. Read slowly and carefully, her hands trembling so that she could hardly see the words. I had intended to send this off sooner, but it is well that I did not. This may be the last letter you receive from me, dearest child, for I do not know if I have the will to go on living. Yet I must, for the children need me yet. Perhaps someday... My son is dead. Earnest, my eldest son, that bright, happy child, is dead. And Florence, my beloved wife, lingers in twilight, perhaps never to emerge again. They were in London, having gone up so that Earnest could have a tooth drawn. I insisted, for I do not trust the dentist in our village. Would that I had! I told you many times, have always believed, that England is the bastion of civilization. Now I know that barbarians thrive even here. It is ironic that I was never injured, save for a splinter or two and an occasional scrape, during my nine years in the wilderness. Yet my wife and son were attacked in the most enlightened city in the world by savages more bestial, more merciless than any I met in North America... Flower read those few paragraphs over and over, was still reading them when the light grew so dim she could scarcely see the paper. "...savages more bestial, more merciless..." She let the pages drop to the ground. If England is not safe, perhaps there is nowhere in the world that is.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN When he got back from checking his snares, William saw Flower sitting on the log, all hunched over like she was hurtin'. On the ground in front of her was a piece of paper with writing all over it. He took a second look and saw how her hands were clenched together in her

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html lap, holding tight to each other until the knuckles were white. Quickly he crossed the clearing, tossing the two birds he'd caught down by the fire pit. "What's wrong? What happened?" She only lowered her head even more. William knelt in front of her, caught her upper arms in both hands. Gently he forced her to sit up straight. That was when he got a look at her eyes, her face. Her cheeks were wet with tears, her mouth was turned down, and her chin was quivering. "Flower...?" She said nothing, just shook her head, side to side. Carefully he pulled her into his arms, waited for her to push him away. But she clung to him, like a babe clinging to its mammy, and her body was stiff as a locust post. He soothed her, rubbing his hand along her backbone, massaging between her shoulders. Gradually she relaxed against him. "Tell me." "Everett...new baby...so happy...then...his son.. his wife...oh, God, William, is there nowhere safe?" Her head fell against his shoulder and she sobbed like her heart was fit to break. He didn't know what else to do, so he just kept on rubbing her back, holding her close. When she calmed a bit, he reached down and picked up the letter. But it was writ in a spiky, bold hand and he couldn't make out many of the letters that was all strung together. She wept in his arms for a long time, until he wondered if she wasn't going to be sick. But finally she drew a deep, shuddering breath. When she pushed against his chest, he let her go, long enough for her to sit back down on the log. Then he sat beside her and put his arm around her, pulled her up tight against him. "You better tell me what was in that letter," he said, "no matter how much it hurts to say it. Anything makes you hurt that bad needs to be shared." Another hiccup, another breath. "It is from Everett..." "Your Earl." He handed her the paper, which she laid on her knees, and smoothed, running her hands over it again and again like she wanted to wipe the writing from it. "His wife and son were...are...oh, William." She raised the paper and read from it, slow, with lots of waits for her voice to steady. William felt himself go cold as he listened. He didn't know her Earl, but he still had feelings for any man whose son was taken from him. And it didn't sound like his wife was gonna get better, either. But it was Flower he was most worried about. He'd never thought she'd be all that much safer in England than anywhere else, but she had believed, and that was what mattered. Now she'd lost that hope. He'd seen a woman once who'd had three of her babies die, one after another, then her man sold away from her. She'd just give up. Took to her bed, and in a while she wasted away. As she lowered the paper, Flower pulled herself away from his arms. "Now I have nowhere to go," she whispered.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Yes, you do," he said, doing his best not to hold her tighter. "You can come home with me." She pulled back and stared at him a long time. "Why not?" she said, at last. "One place seems as good as another." There wasn't any life in her voice. It sounded like she didn't care no more. Lest he show her how worried that made him feel, William stood up. "Well, fine. That's good! We can start tomorrow." There was another one of those long silences. "No, William, I must go back and tell Doctor McLoughlin." Her words came slowly, like she was half asleep. "He is still trying to make travel arrangements for me. And the money from my father...I must decide what to do with it, as well." "We'll do that first thing tomorrow, then." Pulling the paper from her hands, he folded it and stuck it in his possibles bag. "Now, let's get some supper. I got us a couple of nice quail to roast. And some blackberries, too." Even to himself he sounded over-hearty and false. Flower wouldn't talk to him that night. She just sat on the log and stared into the fire. A while after full dark, she said, "I am going to bed." Moving slowly, she disappeared into the woods. He waited, worrying, but she came back in a little while. Without a word she crawled into her bed and turned her back on him and the fire. William wanted to go to her, to hold her and tell her he'd keep her safe all her life. Instead he snapped his fingers at Beowulf. "Go to her," he whispered into the dog's ear. "She needs warmin'." As if he understood, Beowulf went to Flower and lay down beside her. A little bit later William saw her arm go around the dog. The next morning Flower felt less numb, less stunned. But she still had no idea what she was going to do. She had counted so much on Everett, on the refuge he represented. Deep inside she wanted to weep and wail, to cry out at the unfairness of life. But her father's voice spoke in her head. "Nobody ever told you life was fair, leetle gal. What you got to do is make yourself so strong you can handle anything it tosses your way." I tried, papa. But what life has tossed me is almost more than I can bear. Had she agreed to go home with William? She remembered something about it, but last night she had been so numb, so dazed, that nothing seemed real after she had read Everett's letter. "You 'bout ready to go?" Flower turned. William wore a pack and beside him sat the gunnysack they had obtained at the mercantile. He leaned on his spear, Beowulf tugged at his leash. "Where are we going?" "You said you had to go talk to Doctor McLoughlin. Let's get movin'. We got lots to do if we're gonna get out of here tomorrow." "Tomorrow? Where--" Shehad agreed, then. "William, I am sorry. I should not have

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html said...should not have promised..." "If you're tryin' to go back on your word, I never figured you meant it nohow. But we can't stay here. I seen bear tracks along the trail to the creek. Pretty soon he'll be up here lookin' for food." Stung at his assumption that her word was not good, Flower said nothing. Instead she gathered her clothing, tossed it onto her blanket every which way, and rolled everything together. She tied it with a thong, sat back on her heels, and said. "There. I am ready to travel." He almost smiled. "Woman, sometimes you acts like a little kid who ain't got her way." "And sometimes you act like you think you are perfect." Making another knot in the leather strip, she slung the resulting loop over her shoulder, letting the blanket roll hang diagonally across her back. "Give me the gunnysack. I am ready." "I'll carry it." He started down the trail. Beowulf looked at her expectantly. Always before he had been left in the camp. Now his leash lay on the ground beside him. She bent to pick it up. "Arrogant ass! Just like all men!" she said to the dog. She would ask Doctor McLoughlin to arrange for her funds to be transferred to England. Last night she had been too upset to know what she was saying. Go back to Cherry Vale? Back to the wilderness? Absurd! On the way into town, William whupped himself good, inside his head. He'd no business callin' Flower a spoiled brat, even if she had been actin' like one. She'd been through a lot this past while. Most of the time he was proud of her that she didn't give way to melancholy. "William, I am sorry." He stopped in his tracks certain he'd been hearing things. Looking back over his shoulder, he said, "You say something?" "Yes." She didn't quite meet his eyes, lookin' off into the woods beside the trail. "Ihave been acting childishly," Flower said. She bit her lip. "I have been so angry that I wanted to scream and strike out at everyone. But you were the only one within reach, and I have treated you abominably." "Not all the time you haven't." He couldn't stop a grin from creepin' across his face. There was times she'd been so nice to him he could hardly stand it. "Yes, well, that was a mistake, too." Stepping forward, she paused beside him. "May we begin new, right here and right now, William? Please? Forgetting all that has gone before?" Regretful, he said, "I reckon there's things happened I don't want to forget." Only her head turned as she looked away into the dark woods again. "That is up to you. But I will make you no promises." "Didn't ask you for none," he told her, starting down the trail again.Maybe she's decided to start healing herself, instead of waiting for somebody else to take care of her. As soon as he thought it, William was sorry for blaming her for something she

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html had no fault in. From what Jacques had told him, Flower's life had been easier than most. She'd had good schoolin', thanks to that Earl-godfather of hers. Even when her ma had died, she'd been took care of, instead of havin' to settle down and take care of her pa. From what Jacques had said, her folks had been mighty protective of her, all the time she was growin' up, and it sounded to him like others had protected her ever since. She'd told him her pa had taught her that life wasn't easy. William had known Buffalo Jones a while and had seen how he took care of those weaker than him. Buffalo wouldn't have nothin' harm his little girl, nohow. Maybe, for her sake, Buff ought to have let her get hurt a little bit now and again, so when she got hurt a lot she was able to get over it easier. And quicker. Thinkin' what should have been done don't get it done, boy. What you gotta do now is puzzle out how you're gonna get her to go home with you. He was still thinking on it when they arrived at Doctor McLoughlin's house. *** "They're here!"

Konrad Muller pulled his arm free from Bickelow's grasp. "Who's here?" he said. He was getting sick and tired of Bickelow and the sooner he was shut of him, the better he'd like it. The puke was lazy and a whiner. If he didn't need Bickelow to identify the squaw.... "The squaw and her Nigger. I saw 'em, goin' into McLoughlin's house." "You're seeing things. If they were here, we'd have heard." For the past week they had been asking if folks had seen them. Bickelow had swore they were traveling together. Muller still doubted it was the same two, but he'd been fed up with The Dalles anyhow. Time to move on. "They just came into town. He was carrying a pack and she had a bundle and a bedroll slung across her back. Maybe they just got here." "Maybe." Tipping back his mug, Muller swallowed the last of his beer. "I wonder where they been." "Hiding out somewheres, I reckon. But they're here now, sure enough. They went up to McLoughlin's place. Knocked on the door, bold as brass. And they went right on inside, too." "Go on! That don't make sense," Muller said, scratching his chin. The whiskers

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html rasped against his fingers, reminding him that he'd best shave. He'd wore a beard, back in The Dalles. "Sure it does. McLoughlin's got a Indian wife, a handful of half-breed brats. So the squaw might be kin." "That don't explain the Nigger goin' in with her." "Hell, Muller, it doesn't need to! They could be man and wife. Or they could have met up and traveled over the mountain together. Even a squaw might not want to come that way alone." "Or he could be her slave," Muller said, thinking back to the Nigger's story. Was this the woman he'd said he belonged to? He made up his mind. "Let's go. We'll have us a look." *** "I want to hear what you talk about with him," William said, catching her arm as she opened the gate. "I reckon what happens next matters to me near as much as it does to you." Openmouthed, she stared up at him. "Of course," she said after a bit. "I never thought...yes, come in with me." He followed her inside, noticing that the girl who opened the door couldn't stop staring at him. It was a relief to him that she seemed more interested than scairt. Maybe she thinks I'm one of them peculiar critters, like that two-headed calf I saw once. The white-bearded man who was waiting for them didn't give him a second look. Not until Flower said, "This William King. He is not really my servant, but my friend." Then the feller looked him over good. Finally he said, "I see." William reckoned he didn't see atall. If a man was to put words to a tone of voice, they wouldn't be kind ones. "Everett's letter," Flower said, holding the much-crumpled piece of paper out. "You should read it. I need your advice." She went to a chair and sat in it, stared down at her hands which were twisting together in her lap. William wanted to take hold of them, to tell her that things was gonna get better. Instead he scrunched down against the wall beside the door and kept his eye on her. After a while Doctor McLoughlin put the letter down on the table. He didn't say anything for a while, just rubbed a hand across his eyes, then sat with them closed and his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Flower moved restlessly, but didn't say anything either. William was wondering if they was gonna sit like this all day, when Doctor McLoughlin said, "What a great tragedy! Yet I am not surprised. Although Peel's men have made a tremendous difference in the level of crime in London, there is still much for them to do." "But I thought London was a civilized city," Flower said. To William she sounded like she was about halfway between hurtin' bad and ready to kill somebody. "My dear. Civilization is perhaps more dangerous than wilderness. Evil lives

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html everywhere, though worthy and godly men do their best to combat it. In cities, there are more places for the wicked to hide, more opportunities for them to practice their vice." "But I thought --" "I know you did. I worried about your unrealistic expectations when you first spoke to me of going to England. But then I thought you would be safe with Hetherington, and might never know how false your picture of England was." He touched the letter where it lay on the table. "This was perhaps a cruel way to open your eyes, but perhaps it is for the best. Now you know that England is not the paradise you expected it to be." "I do not care. I still want to go there." "Can you be certain you have a place to go?" "What do you mean?" "Flower, this letter, at least the last part of it, was written by a man caught in the depths of despair. He speaks of ending it all. When he wrote this, he must have believed there was little left for him to live for." "He says the other children need him. He wouldn't do anything...wouldn't take his own...would he?" McLoughlin shook his head. "I cannot say. One would pray he would not, but a man so bereft...Who can tell?" William couldn't remember when he'd had to bite his tongue so much. Flower was just sittin' there, both fists hard against her mouth. Above 'em, her big gray eyes were wet with tears, and she seemed to be staring at something only she could see. There were so many words he wanted to say to her. Words of love, words of comfort. Begging words that would make him less of a man in her eyes. Instead he just sat there and left the deciding to her and McLoughlin. "What shall I do? I cannot stay here!" Flower felt like an animal at bay. "There is no law, no safety for the innocent, the helpless." McLoughlin came around the end to her. He pulled her to her feet and hugged her hard against his deep chest. "I wish I could give you answers, my dear Flower. But I can't. Only you can decide what to do. I will tell you one truth, however, and you would be wise to give it serious consideration." Fighting to control the tears that choked her, she said, "What? What truth?" "Your father taught you to fight," he said, easing her back into her chair. "He taught you to defend yourself when you were very small. I remember him laughing over the time you bloodied the nose of one of the boys who had been teasing you." "Hilaire," she murmured, remembering too. "He taught you that because he knew that true safety lies in the ability and the willingness to defend oneself. There is wickedness in the world, and always will be." His voice rolled over her, sonorous and strong. "Evil is often where you least expect it. So you--so all of us--must be ever vigilant against it. And willing, nay, eager, to fight it with all our might." "I fought." She swallowed. "I fought, but it did me no good."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Oh, my dear, one can't always win. But there is victory in the fight, for to give in to wickedness is to give it victory. And when evil triumphs, there can be no civilization." His words lent her strength, but were of no help in telling her what she should do. "I must think," she told him. "May we leave our packs here for a time?" "Of course. If you need somewhere to stay tonight, I hope you will be my guest." When she hesitated, he said, "Both of you. Please." Turning she said, "William?" "I be fine in the yard, if that's all right with you," he said to McLoughlin. "He does not like to sleep inside," she explained. "Thank you. We will gladly accept your hospitality." They climbed the steep bluff behind town, and Flower found the exertion helped clear her mind. Once they were standing at the edge of the cliff overlooking the great falls of the Willamette River, she said, "I wish I knew what was right for me to do." "You know what I wants you to decide," William said. He stood just behind her right shoulder, so she could not see his face. But his voice told her what she would see there. Hope. Entreaty. Love? Do not love me, William. I am still not whole. I may never be whole. You deserve better than I can ever be. At the same time, she wanted desperately to feel loved. To belong to someone. "You know," William said, "that night I cotched onto that big branch and floated away from the plantation, I never knew what was gonna happen to me." "You said there was a hurricane?" "That's what they told me. All I knows is it was the biggest wind I ever saw. And the rain! Like the whole sky was turned to water and was fallin' down." His arms went around her waist and he pulled her back against him. But his embrace was loose. She was not confined. "There was four, maybe five of us, but by the time I cotched that branch, only two was left besides me. The others, they got carried away in the water. It was deep and goin' so fast, I don't reckon a man could have swam in it, even if he'd knowed how. Then that big ol' branch come along and I just grabbed onto it and hung on for dear life." "You must have been terrified." She had never before given thought to what he had endured in his escape from slavery. Oh, she had admired his tenacity, his courage. For an ignorant slave to set out on a quest such as his, seeking a place where he might live free--like a king--was admirable and enterprising. That William was a brave man she had never doubted, any more than she doubted his stubbornness. But to willingly give up his hold and trust his life to the raging, wind-driven waters...Could I have done that? I am not so brave. And floating for a day and a night, never knowing where he was or if he would ever reach land again. How easy it would have been for him to be swept out to

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html sea. "How did you get out of the water?" "Even when it was day, it was real dark, so I couldn't be sure where I was or if there was any place for me to get to solid ground. The wind blowed me around some, and now and again I felt grabbed, like I was floatin' through trees or bushes. I tasted salt water once. Then the wind died down and the moon came out. I could see lights a long way off, so I paddled and kicked my feet, and pretty soon I could touch bottom." "Where were you?" "I don't rightly know. Some little place where they was pickin' up the pieces and wasn't too particular about who helped 'em. I stayed there for a couple of days, then took off. Folks was starting to look at me real curious." "So you came west?" He chuckled. He really did, the first real laughter she had heard form him. "Woman, I didn't even know what West was. But I knowed...knew that there had to be better places than where I came from or where I was, so I just started walkin'." "Hattie told me you followed the wagon trains. You must have known where they were going." "That was a while later. I hid out a lot, but whenever I could, I listened to other folks who were travelin'. That's when I heard about the place where every man could have land of his very own. 'Oregon' they called it. Lot of folks, they talked of this Oregon, and I figured that must be the place I'd heard about since I was a child. Where I could be king." His hand came up and pointed out at the view below, rolling hills covered with tall firs, a wide river full of fish. An empty land, where the hand of man had scarcely touched. A land she had known all her life. "Look out there, Flower. Do you want to go away from that, go to where there's folks around all the time? I seen a city, and it was dirty and full of smoke and noise. Worst of all, there was people wherever you turned." She had never looked at her choices in quite that way before. Before she could reply, William pulled her closer. "I never knew when I went to sleep at night if I was going to see the sun rise tomorrow. I didn't have no money, didn't know exactly where I was goin', and any man cotched me, he could send me back for a reward. So every night when I lay me down, I say to myself, 'today was the best day you ever lived.' I still do that." "Even when the renegades had you captive?" she whispered, unable to find her voice. "I had to work some to make myself say it then," he admitted, "but I did. I reckoned that just stayin' alive one more day meant that tomorrow I might figure out a way to get loose." She turned in his embrace. "William, you are a good man," she said, pulling his

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html face down to hers. She kissed him, not with passion, but with tenderness and thanksgiving. "And you have made deciding what to do easy for me." His body went very still. "I will go back to Cherry Vale." "You mean that, woman?" He picked her up and held her high. His face was filled with joy. "You really mean that?" "Wait," she cried, catching at his shoulders. "Put me down!" He lowered her but did not release her. When he would have kissed her, she held him away. "Wait, William. Let me finish. "I will go back to Cherry Vale. Beyond that I make no promises." Her hand went to her breast. "My heart is troubled and my mind confused. I still do not know what will be best for me. But I see now that running away has solved nothing so perhaps it is time for me to go back where it began. To start anew." With a sober expression, he looked long and hard at her. At last he said, "That's enough for me. We'll start home in the morning." He caught her hand and pulled her after him, back toward town. The yank on her hand nearly pulled her off her feet. "Wait!" she cried. "We have decided nothing!" "Nothing' to decide. You say you'll go home with me. We got to get some supplies, so's we can be ready to go at first light. You reckon we got enough of that gold left to buy us a mule?"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN William couldn't get Flower to move fast enough to suit him. She visited some more with McLoughlin, and made arrangements to have her mother's trunk sent to Fort Boise. She wanted to buy presents for Hattie and Mist' Em. A wedding present for her friend Marie and some tobacco for Jacques. She had to shop for food. They needed coffee, tea, sugar, flour, cornmeal--he lost count of what she had on her list. "You sure one mule's gonna be enough?" he asked her, when she finished telling him what all she wanted to take with 'em. "Perhaps not. We can buy two mules if we need them." She didn't seem much worried about spendin' all their gold. William decided ol' Buff must have left a pile of money with McLoughlin. Flower stayed at the McLoughlin house while they were putting together all they'd carry back. Livin' that close to so many folks, some of 'em who looked at him with too much curiosity, made William skittish. He found himself a comfortable hidey-hole out in the woods a ways. Him and Beowulf bedded down there. Three days later they were all packed and ready. Flower still didn't seem in much of a hurry to get out of town, but she finally told everybody goodbye. "Take good care of her, young man," McLoughlin said, holding out a hand. Dumbfounded, William took it. Nobody'd ever shook his hand before. "I'll do that, sir," he said. He hadn't called any mansir since he run away.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html They each wore a pack, carrying bedding and food for their journey, as well as gifts for their friends. Only one mule had been available in the whole of Oregon City and Flower hadn't wanted to leave anything behind. William thought Flower had paid too much for the big gray mule--two of the gold coins--but he wasn't gonna argue. Gettin' out of town was more important than savin' a few dollars. *** "There they go," Bickelow said. He was leaning against the side of the mercantile, picking his teeth. "How big a head start ought we give them?" Muller kept his eye on the woman. Who would've thought a squaw could clean up so nice? "Give 'em a day. We know where they're headed, and there's no call to let 'em know we're following 'em." He didn't trust Bickelow a foot farther than he could throw him. He was in too much of a hurry, didn't take time to plan things out careful. "The way I see it, the farther they are from any settlement, the less likely anybody'll find 'em after we get done. Somewheres up in the hills, past that steep section," Muller told him. "I say we do it before then. And we oughta get 'em off the trail, if we can. There's gonna be settlers comin' through anytime now." "Don't worry. When I get done with 'em, nobody's gonna find nothing." Muller looked down the road once again. They were out of sight. "Let's go. I want to get drunk tonight. It'll be the last time for a while." The liquor here in Oregon City was a sight better than anything to he had in The Dalles. Or farther east, which was where he was headin' soon as he learned where all that gold had come from. He didn't have any doubt he'd find out. If the Nigger wouldn't tell him, the squaw would. *** They traveled faster now than when they'd come west. Having the mule helped, but so did being rested. By the afternoon of the second day, they were climbing up to the narrow ridge called Devil's Backbone. William stopped in a space between trees and looked back the way they'd come. There'd been rain the night before, and the air was so clean and clear he could see something moving down by the river they'd crossed this morning --a long ways down. He watched for a spell, wondering if it was an elk. He'd seen a small herd of them down there on the way over. "What are you looking at?" Flower said, coming up next to him. "Don't know. I saw something movin' down there. Looked like it was followin' the road." There were places where so many wagons had traveled that nothing would grow. They showed as narrow, light brown lines in open places between trees. He could see a place like that now. If whatever had moved was following the road, pretty soon it would cross that clearing. Maybe he shouldn't worry, but he did. That feller in The Dalles had been real set on findin' out where William's gold coin had come from. And whether there was more of them. He didn't seem the sort to give up easy.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html You ain't seen hide nor hair of him since Flower and them hauled you out of there. Stop your frettin'. He watched a little longer, but nothing came into view. Another day and they were in the narrow valley that led up into the heart of the mountains. "We should reach the Sandy crossing tonight," Flower said, when they paused for a brief meal at noon. "Perhaps we can camp where we...where we did before. At the base of that terribly steep hill." William remembered that camp. It was the last time he'd slept with her in his arms. The last time she'd kissed him like anything more than a brother. "We're makin' good time," was all he said. He was checking the mule's pack when he heard Beowulf growl, real low and quiet. Looking across the small clearing, he saw the dog had his head pointed back along the trail. His hackles was lifted and his lips drawn back. Quickly William stepped across to where Flower was bent over his pack. "Quiet!" he said as he grabbed her arm. He pulled her into the shelter of some brush. "Stay there," he told her. She shrank back out of sight. William went back to the mule, as if he hadn't heard nothing. Pretty soon he heard horses coming closer. Beowulf's growls got louder. He backed up so he was standing right next to William, facing toward the approaching horses. William laid his hand of the dog's ruff. "Hush up, now. No need to scare 'em off 'til we knows what they wants." Three men rode into the clearing. The only one he could see clear was a skinny feller looking too young to shave. The other two stayed back in the trees, where their faces were shaded from his sight. William had lived like a hunted animal too long to have much trust in folks. A man who didn't come right out and show his face wasn't somebody he wanted to meet. He grabbed his spear, jerked the mule's lead line loose, and swatted the critter on the rump hard as he could. "Git!" he yelled, real loud, hoping Flower would know he was talkin' to her as much as to the mule. Then he ducked into the brush and ran through it fast as his legs would carry him. Even with all the noise he was makin' as he fought his way through tangled branches and over piled-up rocks, he could hear a ruckus behind him. Then he stumbled, rolled down a rocky slope, and near ended up in the river. "William?" Her call was soft, just loud enough he could hear it over the noise of the water. He pulled himself to his feet, picked up his spear, and looked around. Flower motioned at him from behind some bushes, a little farther up the river. Just before he reached her, Beowulf came running up, carrying a scrap of torn denim in his mouth. He dropped it to lick William's hand. They fought their way upstream, pushing through the dense willows along the bank when they could, moving back among the pines when they couldn't. It was slow going, because they had to stay hid. He reckoned they'd come a mile or so

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html when Flower stopped. She hunkered down beside a rock, taking deep breaths. "You all right?" "Just winded. But William, I do not believe this is the way we came." "I'm pretty sure it ain't. When I came rollin' down the hill, I could see downriver a ways. The crossing's farther on down from there." "We must go back, then. There is no other way across the mountain." From what he'd seen on the way over, she was right. This was the biggest, steepest, rockiest...well, there just wasn't anyplace he'd seen that beat this mountain. *** Muller cuffed the kid. "You stupid sonuvabitch! Didn't I tell you to call out, warn 'em you was comin' in. Anybody don't do that, he raises suspicions."Useless little puke. Don't know why I let Bickelow bring him along. "Let him be, Muller. There ain't nowhere they can go where we can't find 'em." Bickelow lifted the flap of the big pack that was leaning against a tree. "And they won't go far without food, nohow." He held up a gunnysack. "Bacon and cornmeal. We'll eat good tonight." The kid wiped the blood from his nose. "You said to ride into their camp. You didn't say nothin' about yellin' at 'em." "Damfool," Muller muttered, but he didn't say it too loud. Bickelow was touchy about anybody but him knocking his kid brother around. Now the Injun and the Nigger had gone to ground, he needed 'em both to help search the woods. "See if you can catch that mule," he told the kid, "but don't chase him too far. I want you back here before dark." "We ain't got time to chase no mule. We gotta get after 'em before they get away." "Bickelow, I thought you said you'd been up this here mountain." Muller dug into the smaller pack. It mostly had clothes and light stuff. Three or four packages. He opened one. "Tobacco!" He sniffed. "Good stuff, too." Better than what he had in his pouch, anyhow. He stuck it into his saddlebag. "You doubtin' my word?" "Nope," Muller said, tearing the paper off another package. A woman's dress. Silk, it felt like. He rewrapped it. "But if you been here before, then you oughta' know that there's no way out of that valley but back the way they came. And we're going to be there if they do." He slung the pack over his shoulder. There was enough in it to make it worth taking along. "Leave a sign for the kid. I want to get off the trail." They'd camp right beside the river tonight, taking turns watching in case the Nigger and the squaw tried to slip past 'em. Then tomorrow morning, they'd start after 'em. He'd only been a little ways along there last year, but he remembered a place where it got real narrow, so a body just naturally stayed to high ground. Up there, the ground got real high real quick. And then it got too high and too

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html steep to climb. *** Flower crawled back from her vantage point. "They are waiting for us. No matter how careful we are, they will see us," she told William. In the past few years there must have been a tremendous flood here, for the rocky riverbanks were washed clean of trees. What few plants grew in the sandy soil were scattered and low, pathetically inadequate cover. "What if we go on up the river. You reckon we'd find a way over?" "There is always a possibility, I suppose." For a moment she regretted her decision to return to Cherry Vale. Only a few days from what little civilization existed here and already they were fugitives. Again she saw the words in Everett's spiky hand...the bastion of civilization... If something like that can happen in England, I would be no safer there than here,she told herself. Aloud she said, "I cannot decide, William. Either way we risk our lives, and you should have your choice of how." He smiled slightly, and picked up his spear. "Up, then," he said. "Them fellers have guns, and I don't reckon this'll do me much good against 'em. 'Sides, if we go back, we fight where they decide, but if we go ahead, we can maybe pick our spot." They walked all afternoon, although Flower's impression was that they made little progress. This whole valley was a vast boulder field, from small ones the size of her fist to giants, as large as a cabin, forcing them to follow a roundabout route, always trending higher on the mountain. The rounded, tumbled rocks rested in sandy, gravelly soil, which made footing difficult and meant that every footprint remained to mark their passage. In late afternoon they left the worst of the flood-ravaged area and made better time through increasingly dense forest until darkness forced them to stop. Flower had been gathering fruit whenever she could--dark, sweet huckleberries, seedy elderberries, puckery gooseberries. They burrowed into a thicket of leathery-leaved salal and flattened enough of the flexible branches to create a small clearing. A few of the fat, almost tasteless berries were ripe, so she added them to their supper. Beowulf turned up his nose at berries and disappeared, slinking away like the wolf his sire had been. Even if Flower had wanted to sleep apart from William, she would not have been able to. The salal thicket was only big enough to conceal them if they stayed close to one another. She went to him willingly when William lay down and held out one arm, inviting her close. He was so warm. So strong. So comforting. "I am sorry, William," she whispered, once they had wriggled into a comfortable coil. "If only I had not insisted--" "You hush, now. You didn't bring them fellers after us." "But if I had not been so determined to go to England--"

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Flower, I told you once, long time ago, that I go where you does...do. I ain't changed my mind none." His arm tightened around her. His breath was warm on her cheek. "Who's to say we wouldn't have got ourselves into just as bad a pickle if we'd gone on back to Cherry Vale?" His hand began a gentle stroking up and down her arm. "I been thinkin' on it, and I reckon that Muller, he seen Mist' Em spendin' one or two of them gold coins. So when I showed that one to the boatman, he figured there was more'n just a couple. And maybe I knew where they come from." Flower remembered guiltily why he'd been taken in The Dalles. Because she was too great a coward to fight her own battles.Never again, William. You will never again stand between me and my fears. "Now the way I figure it, that Muller was just waiting 'til somebody come along with more of them gold pieces Mist' Em made. Something he said--I disremember exac'ly what--told me he'd been keepin' his eye out for 'em. So when you spent that one at Fort Boise, he was bound to get wind of it." "How could he? The Dalles is a long way from Fort Boise." "Mist' Em, he told me once that news travels faster where there ain't many folks about than it does where's there's lots. That clerk back at Fort Boise, he was powerful interested in your gold. So maybe he told somebody on their way through, or even writ a letter. Pretty soon folks in The Dalles or Oregon City knows there's a Injun woman with big ol' gold coins to spend. How long you figure before somebody comes lookin' for her?" "But William, Emmet spent the gold at Fort Boise and at Fort Vancouver. No one came looking for him." Her belly growled and she silently told it that a handful of berries and water had been adequate food. "Nobody in their right mind's gonna go lookin' for Mist' Em. Like your daddy say, he's one ol' he-coon." Salal stems crackled as he changed position, pulled her closer against him. "I surely have slept in softer beds than this," he said. "How you doin'?" "Better than I would do alone," she admitted, both to him and to herself. "William, I have been thinking..." "Woman, you thinks too much." "No. Listen to me." She covered his mouth with her palm. "And do not interrupt until I have said all that I have to say." When he nodded, she removed her hand. "When my mother died, I felt adrift. Everett had been called back to England the year before. Suddenly I had only my father. And Buffalo was lost without Peaceful Woman. He wanted --no, he needed--to go back into the mountains. When Emmet became his partner, they planned to go into the high country north and east of Cherry Vale, rugged country where they might stay for two or three seasons without ever seeing another human being." William seemed about to speak, so she covered his mouth again, briefly. "Buffalo would not take me with him. And to be honest, the thought of being so

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html isolated did not appeal to me. I was on the edge of womanhood and I wanted to be where there were other young people." She paused, remembering. "Young men. Everett had filled my head with romantic tales, and I wanted romance." "I stayed with Jacques' family for a time, but missed my parents greatly. So when some of the Nez Perce in the valley decided to visit their relatives along the Clearwater, I went along. My mother's family made me welcome, and I was happy there for a while. But I was less happy with the missionaries at Lapwai, for they seemed two-faced. They loved the noble savage and hated the heathen. Because my mother was Nez Perce, they seemed to forget that my father was American. They could only see me as Indian, so they treated me with a certain kindly contempt. It was the first time I understood in my heart that many Americans would call me a half-breed. "Two summers ago I went to Waiilatpu with some of my cousins. Although Doctor Whitman seemed somewhat accepting of my mixed parentage, his wife seemed to fear all with Indian blood. I was preparing to return to Lapwai when my father arrived. He came to say goodbye, for he knew even then he was dying." The shock of Buffalo's announcement returned, and she fought the tightness in her throat. "I wanted to go with him, to spend as much time as I could with him, but he refused. He wanted to go off into the hills alone, he said, and crawl into a hole to die, just like any wild animal." Swallowing tears, she went on. "I was furious with him when I found that he had gone to his cabin, that he had allowed Hattie to nurse him when he would not let me do it." "He shouldn't ought to have done that," William said. He caught her gesturing hand, kissed the fingertips. Flower jerked her hand back. "Don't do that!" She tried to scoot a little farther from him, but the springy branches on which she lay pushed her right back against him. She forced herself to think of what she wanted to say. "If only I had arrived sooner. I might have seen Buffalo again." "He wouldn't have wanted you to see him at the end. He was a proud man, Flower." "But I needed to! He was my father!" She heard her own words, heard the whine in them.Good God! I sound like a child crying for the moon! And she was shamed. "I am sorry, William. I seem to have though only of myself for a long time." "Seems to me we all got to think of our ownselves first. Ain't nobody else gonna worry over us like we do." "Yes, but--" His words penetrated. "You are a wise man, William. A very wise man." "No'm, I ain't. But I watch folks and I thinks about what I sees, and I makes up my mind about things. Seems to me you was at a bad time in your life to have everybody you loved took from you. Then you got treated like you was no-account by folks who should have knowed better. You found yourself a new family, and

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right when you was feeling like you belonged again, them renegades come along. I reckon you had to think about your ownself, 'cause nobody else was doin' it for you. And if you figured you needed to go somewhere safe, well, that's what you needed to do." "But I had no right to ask you to come with me." "I don't recall you askin' me. In fact, more'n once you told me to get along home and let you be." Was that laughter she heard in his voice? She had done her best to drive him away, yet she had showed him time and again how much she needed him. Before she could think of what to say, he went on. "I didn't know what freedom was, all the time I was grown' up. Didn't even know the word. But I was safe." As he spoke, his accent thickened, until he sounded like he had when she'd first met him. "I was real safe. Marse Yates, he take real good care of his slaves. I had food to eat, clothes to wear. If I got sick, he call in a doctor, 'cause I's a good field hand. He never let nobody else whup me 'cept the overseer, and when he done it, he made sure I wasn't hurt for good." "Of course not. What good would a crippled draft animal be?" she murmured very softly, but he ignored her. Or perhaps he failed to hear her near-whisper. "Marse, he woulda' been real mad had he heard the preacher man talk about the place where a man could be king. I remember what he said, just like I heard it yesterday. 'We is poor and we is enslaved but God has give us a kingdom beyond the river and the mountain." He told how there was honey and apples, and sweet water flowin'. Where no man bows his head to nobody, 'cause everybody's all the same. "I thought about his words a long time and listened to folks talk. One day I hear about a place they call Orygun, how it be green and rich, how any man willin' to work for hisself could have a piece of land to call his own. That place sure 'nuff sounded like the kingdom the preacher was talkin' of." For a moment he was silent, as if thinking back to his long journey. "So I come." She waited but he said no more. "You shame me, William. I sought freedom from fear, yet I have always been free. You had to risk your life to be free, and I

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html jeopardized your freedom out of my fear." "This freedom thing," he said, almost as if he were thinking to himself, "we talks about it a lot. But I reckon it means something different to you and me. To most everybody, maybe. "You was so took up in being scared, you was a slave to it. Nobody can ever make me a slave again, even if they chain me up like a wild dog, 'cause I ain't scared no more. I's...I'm free inside, where it makes a difference." His arms tightened around her. "Flower, we is free tonight. Tomorrow we might be dead. I want to show you how much I love you whilst I still can." His kiss spoke of a now that could end at any moment. It spoke of forever. His kiss melted the chains of fear that had bound her for what seemed like an eternity. "Oh, William," she sighed against his mouth, "I...I..." but she could not say the words. Not yet. "Never mind," he told her, spreading kisses across her cheeks and upon her eyelids. "Just don't tell me no." She answered by framing his face between her hands. "Yes, William. Oh, yes. Please." He had taught her how a man could pleasure a woman, how he could cherish and thrill and excite her. Now William taught her how he could make time stand still. Their movements were restricted by the resilient stems that surrounded them, enclosed them, but William simply lifted her atop him. He eased her buckskin dress up and helped her pull it off. When she was naked, he smoothed his big hands over her skin, until every inch of her quivered with wanting. He pulled her up so that she sat astride his thighs, his rigid staff cradled against her. But he would not let her touch him there, try as she might. "I wants this to last," he told her, his voice a hoarse growl as he held her hands away from him. "Oh, yes!" she breathed. She traced the strong lines of his chest, scraped her fingernails across the ripples of muscle defining his belly. "How I wish I could see you," she said, peering through the darkness. In the faint starlight, he was merely a dark shape against the even darker tangle of salal. With her fingertips, she traced his mouth, his broad nose, circled the shell of his ear and found the long tendons extending down his strong neck. At the base of his throat she touched his pulse, deep and heavy, beating faster as her fingers lay upon it. Leaning forward, Flower trapped his manhood between them. She twisted her torso, heard his gasp. Then his hands were on her waist and she was lifted above him. With exquisite care, he lowered her, letting her fit him to herself, letting her control his entrance. Heat rose from her belly, suffusing her chest, filling her head, warming her cheeks until she wondered they did not light the darkness. Then she thought no more, for the heat became raging flames. William felt her stiffen, pulled her tight against him, burying himself in her precious body. He felt the first contractions of her passage around him, then he

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html lost himself in the need to drive deeper, ever deeper into her soft, welcoming depths. When she collapsed upon his chest, he wrapped his arms around her and relaxed. Tomorrow be damned. Tonight was enough for him. *** Morning came. William woke quickly at the sound of quiet footsteps. He listened, holding one hand over Flower's mouth. If she was to cry out when she first woke, they could be dead the next minute. Then a soft "Whoof?" sounded from just outside their thicket. "Beowulf," he whispered, "here, boy!" The dog slipped between the intertwined branches with far less trouble than either him or Flower. He carried a small critter-- some kind of squirrel, William reckoned. Tail wagging, he dropped it beside Flower, as if to say, "Look at me. I found breakfast." While Flower dressed herself, William skinned and gutted the critter. There wasn't much of it, and they daren't have a fire, but he'd eaten raw meat more'n once. He carefully divided the small carcass, handing Flower the larger half. She refused. "I am smaller than you," she said, her voice almost soundless. "I need less." She's right.He took the larger portion. Both their lives might depend on his strength and agility today. He bit into the still-steaming meat. About all he could say about it was that it was food. Too bad it only reminded his belly how empty it was.I'll fill up on water. Then I won't feel hungry. He sent Beowulf out to scout and the dog returned shortly, acting as if there wasn't a soul for miles.What if there's not? What if we worried over nothing'? The hair on his nape tried to stand up, and he knew they was back there, somewhere. Whoeverthey were. Flower must have been thinking the same thing, because after she'd been to the river to wash up, she said, "Perhaps we should go back." "I'd just as soon we didn't. We can hole up for a day or two if you want to, or we can go on, looking for a way over the mountain. But if they're after us, goin' back would be like a rabbit hoppin' right into a trap" She nodded. "I am ready, then." He looked ahead, couldn't see much of anything for the big trees, with sky above. The snow-covered mountain was up there, he knew. And there was a way across it. There had to be. William led Flower across both creeks and headed up the trail. He hadn't seen a deer or elk yet could go where he couldn't. A little while later, maybe an hour, they came to yet another creek, sitting up close to the bottom of a steep hillside. The game trail led along its bank. He looked back at Flower. She shrugged. So William went on along the trail. Beowulf trotted on ahead. Along about the middle of the afternoon, William thought he heard a shot. He stopped walking, motioned for Flower to do the same. The only sound was the whisper of wind among the branches of the giant firs above them and the faint gurgle of the creek.They's back there, though. And they's comin' this way. He didn't have any doubt in his mind they was after him and Flower.Sure hope there's a way over. Two knives and a wood spear ain't gonna do much good against

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html a rifle. The trail got steeper and the hillsides moved in closer. Pretty soon they was walking through a narrow canyon, right beside the creek. And then they was looking into a cut not much wider than a man's two arms outstretched. It was filled with tumbled tree trunks, with branches and small, whole trees stuck in for good measure. William looked up the tree-covered slopes on either side. He couldn't see far, because the woods was so thick, but he could see enough to tell him that the canyon walls went right straight up. "Let's go back to where the two streams come together," Flower said. "We can see if the other one offers a better path." "You heard the shot this afternoon, didn't you? They're back there, on our trail." "And this is a big mountain. We have left no tracks. How could we, in this?" She scuffed one foot in the thick duff. "If they see where we crossed the streams, they could think it was a deer." He looked again up the hillsides again. "I reckon it's worth a try," he said. "You lead." They stayed back from the water's edge as much as they could, even though it meant they had to walk carefully in near-darkness. The trees here were enormous, their massive trunks wider than a man's arm's could span. Their branches were so intertwined that they shut out all sunlight, except where one had fallen and, in doing so, created an opening. Moss covered every surface, even the huge boulders that lay scattered among the trees. Flower gave silent thanks that the weather had been dry for almost a month. If it had rained in the past few days, the dripping trees would make them feel like they were walking through a waterfall. She kept close to the hillside opposite the one they had followed upstream. Another game trail, this one cutting across the slope without climbing or descending, curved away from the narrow canyon in the direction of the second creek. She had no idea what was ahead, but it could be no steeper or more rugged than what was behind. They paused occasionally to gather both red and blue huckleberries, stripping the bushes of even the hard, green ones. Flower also picked mushrooms as she saw them, the reticulate-capped ones Everett had claimed were a gourmet's delight in England. And when she found a patch of kinnikinnick, she stripped those branches of their fruit as well. We will not starve, but I would like to have time to fish.She wondered if she could still catch them with her bare hands, as her father had taught her to do.Her toe caught on a vine and she almost fell.Pay attention! If you go careening down the mountain, you will do yourself no good. The game trail descended, then continued across a more-or-less level area to cross another creek. "We are practically back where we began," she told William, with disgust. "But perhaps this new trail will lead to a place we can cross a divide. Once we get to the other side, we may be able to make our way back to the road."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html She wished she believed her own words. The found a hidden glade some distance up the gentle slope beyond the second creek. William gathered fir branches to serve as their blankets, while Flower sought more mushrooms. They ate well that night, even without the meat they both craved. "I have a premonition about tomorrow," Flower told William as she lay in his arms. He had kissed her with tenderness, but seemed content simply to hold her. "What's that?" "A bad feeling. I think they will catch up with us soon. We will have to fight." "I've been thinkin' the same thing." His arm tightened around her. "Promise me you will not let them take me, William." "Woman, don't you know I'd die first?" She shivered. "I think that is my greatest fear. That you will die, and I will not." "Lawd a'mighty, Flower. You know I'd not let that happen. I'd kill you myself, 'fore I let them bassards have you."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Morning came with a gusty wind and the threat of rain. Clouds lay low over the mountain, catching on the treetops and leaving wisps behind as they scudded across the leaden sky. Flower shivered as she washed her face and hands in the stream. As long as the rain held off, they would be warm while they were moving. But as soon as their leather clothing got wet, they would be miserable. "I can smell it comin'," William said, correctly interpreting her worried glance at the clouds. "So can I." She divided the rest of the mushrooms and the last handful of berries. William ate his quickly, washing the sour berries down with a cupped handful of water. She forced herself to chew and swallow hers, but tucked the mushrooms inside her dress, for later. Before they set out, William climbed a low rise where an old blow-down had left a long, narrow clearing. For a long time, he stood, looking back down the mountain, as if he could see the lay of the land through the dense forest that covered rock and soil. At last he faced her. "We got two choices. Up or down. Let's try sneakin' by 'em first. And if that don't work..." He shrugged. Beowulf stayed close as they made their way through the trees. Twice he growled, low in his throat, but he never warned them of immediate danger. The going was slow, for each step had to be careful, lest a snapped twig or tumbled rock give them away. Flower thought she head voices once, but could not be sure, even though she paused and listened with all her concentration. Perhaps they had walked another mile when they came to a narrow ridge that separated two creeks. It was an open, exposed area, boulder-strewn and mossy. Flower paused, just inside the woods, and listened, but all she could hear was

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html the chuckle and babble of water. That and a faint sough of wind in the treetops.Soon it will rain. I can smell it. William had been walking a parallel course to hers, staying just within view to her left. Now he came up behind her and whispered, "See anything?" She started to shake her head, when Beowulf growled again. She looked in the direction his nose pointed. Movement. Motioning William to retreat, she carefully stepped back, into the deep shadows. The dog stayed where he was, sniffing the air, still sounding that low-pitched warning. From across the creek came the sound of dead wood breaking, loud enough, close enough to be heard over the water noise. Something large, making no attempt at silence.Bear? Elk? Or man? In the next moment her question was answered, when a horse stepped into view. A mounted horse. She motioned William back, slipped between low branches after him. Running was difficult, for the ground was strewn with boulders, mounded with rotting logs, but they ran anyway. She stopped worrying about noise--right now their pursuers were close enough to the streams that they would not hear anything but the loudest of sounds. A good long run took them back to where they had begun their morning's journey. William caught her arm and pulled her to a halt. "We got a while," he said. "I don't think they knew we was there." Gratefully she sank onto her knees. While she could, and had, run for miles, it had been in open, easy country. She was winded, as if she had run for hours, uphill, instead of only minutes. "Your leg's bleeding," William told her. "It's only a scratch." Flower was pleased that his breath came as quickly as hers, that his face was shiny with sweat.As if that matters! You should be thinking of how you will escape. Looking around, William said, "Where's that dadblamed dog," "He stayed, I think. Perhaps he did not realize we left him." Her breathing was normal now. Leaning over, she wiped at the smear of blood on her ankle. She probably got the scratch when she stepped onto, and through, a rotten log. "I hope he does not alert them that we are here." "Doubt it. He ain't stupid." William used his spear to push himself upright. "I think they's lookin' for us, but ain't certain sure we're up this way. They wasn't takin' any trouble to be quiet." "Perhaps. Or they know that we cannot escape them and they have no need to." She followed him as he moved uphill, knowing that the chances of their finding an escape route in that direction were impossibly small. If they turned back, capture was certain. Flower was not surprised that the men had found their trail along the river, for concealing their footprints had been impossible in the sandy substrate left by spring floods. But how had they followed through the woods? "It's almost like they knows something we don't," William said, as if

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html answering her question. Had one of them been with the road-building party? That possibility had not occurred to her.They may know better than we what is ahead. Are they herding us into a trap? Was that why they were making no effort at stealth? The ground rose more steeply now. They had a choice of following the creek bank where it had cut a channel at the base of the slope to their right, or of staying on higher ground where they could seldom take more than two or three steps in a straight line. William stayed by the creek until they encountered another barricade of tumbled rock and wood that forced them away from the water. Before they retreated to the high ground, both drank deeply. "If only I'd brought the water skin," Flower mourned. Despite the continuing threat of rain, she worried that they might be unable to get drinking water if they strayed too far from the stream. "You stop for that, we might be there yet," William said. "Here, let's go this way." He lead her up a steep incline and onto a flat area where enormous boulders enclosed a mossy-carpeted half-circle. William leaned his spear against one of the boulders--it was higher than his head-- and sat beside it. "We might as well rest here. I grabbed me some of them fat blueberries whilst we was walking this mornin'. They'll do us for a while." He upended his possibles sack and poured a good handful of salal berries into her cupped hands. Flower carefully laid them on a flat stone beside her. "I have mushrooms," she said, reaching into her bodice, "and I will be happy to put them outside my body instead of inside." She wriggled. "They itched." William grinned. "I be happy to scratch," he said, his eyes upon her buckskincovered breasts. But his tone lacked enthusiasm. She felt a brief, warm glow anyway. William wished he'd just slung her over his shoulder and carried her back to Cherry Vale, that first day he'd found her. If he had, they'd be all settled in by now, with a good crop of corn and beans ready to harvest and meat hanging in the smokehouse. Now it didn't look like they'd ever have anything like he'd dreamed. Sometime soon, today, or maybe tomorrow, they was gonna be fightin' for their lives. They was more'n likely gonna die. He just hoped he could take care of Flower while he still had strength to do it. And he feared he'd do it too soon, while they still had a chance to get away. Can I kill her? Even to save her? He'd given her his word, but he wasn't sure, when push came to shove, that he'd be able to do it. The rain started sometime after they'd stared walking again. At first William didn't notice it, but when the first big drip went down his neck, he realized that the whispery noise he'd been hearing had been going on for quite a while. The trees was so thick above that they kept the water from coming through,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html until it ran together and gathered in droplets big enough to drown a horsefly. He hunched his shoulders and kept walking. Pretty soon they was inside of the clouds. Leastwise that was how it looked to him. He'd seen fog a'plenty in his day. Back on the plantation there'd been thick ground fog that a man couldn't see through past the end of his arm, yet could look up and count the stars. Comin' west, he'd got caught in fog along one of the big rivers, just before he holed up for the winter. It had froze to his whiskers, turned his raggedy wool coat white, and turned the muddy ground into sharp knives of ice. This was different. It was almost like being in water over his head, 'cept he could still breathe. He looked back at Flower, and she appeared like something seen in a dream, half there, half not. "Only good part is that it'll make us harder to find," he said, and only when she looked up did he realized he'd said it out loud. "We'll need to find shelter," she said, coming up beside him. "I'm beginning to chill, and your clothing is already soaked." Reminded of how cold he was, William shivered. "No way to tell, but we ought to have three, maybe four more hours of daylight. Too early to stop." "William, this is definitely not daylight. And if we get too cold, our thoughts will become confused. I say we stop, if we can find a protected place to bed down." He could remember how half-witted he'd been sometimes when he got cold clear through. "Keep your eye out, then," he said. He took maybe a dozen more steps, and then his foot came down on empty air. For a moment he fell free, then he slammed into a tree. Head ringing, he clung to the slippery bark. "Are you all right?" Flower's voice seemed to come from a long way above him. William took a better hold on the tree and looked up. She standing way above him, right on the edge of the cliff he'd stepped off of. A couple of trees leaned over the edge beside her, but between him and the top was nearly bare, as if a big chunk of mountain had broke off sometime recent. "I'm fine," he said.Now how am I gonna get myself out of this mess? He'd come down maybe twice his height. It would have been an easy climb back, if there'd been anything to take hold of. But there wasn't, and the soil looked crumbly, like if he was to try to clamber up, he'd find himself sliding clear to Kingdom Come. William clung tight to the tree and looked all around. On either side of him the bare ground stretched for quite a ways, but down below it petered out into narrow gullies, like the broke off chunk had come apart and slid down in littler pieces. "I will see if I can find something to pull you up," Flower called softly. "No!" He kept his voice low. "Wait!" He leaned out farther. Yes, if he was to slide down about three times the distance he'd already come, he would be able

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html to hold onto them bushes. And then he could work his way over that way, maybe climb back up. If he didn't start rolling, or kill himself when he landed. If he didn't get into one of them gullies and slide all the way to the bottom. I've seen mountains higher than this canyon is deep. They might be able to get down there, but he wanted to see more of what he was getting into first. There was a shelf sticking out so he couldn't see the bottom. Before he climbed back up. He'd take a look over the edge of that. He turned around again and looked up at Flower. "I'm gonna see if I can get to them bushes, slide down to that flat spot. I think I can see a way up from there." "No." Flower shook her head, knowing he probably couldn't see her. "It's too dangerous." "See if you can find my spear." He let go. William had been tossed and tumbled real bad when the water took him during the hurricane, but nothing like this. For the longest time, he slid, rocks catching at him, tearing skin and buckskin. He couldn't see an arm's length in front of him, what with the dust of his slide and the fog all around. Then he smashed up against a big rock and stayed there. Afraid to open his eyes, he just lay still and took two or three deep breaths. He was tangled up in some kind of bush, he decided, eyes still shut. And the ground under him wasn't as steep.I musta' slid all the way to the bottom. Maybe I'll just rest a spell. It's a long way back up. And there wasn't any guarantee he'd be able to climb that straight-up hill. A rattle of falling rock made him open his eyes. The top of the cliff was lost in the fog, but he could see well enough to know he was almost to the bottom of the bare place, caught in a clump of young fir trees. Off to his left it looked like there was bigger trees, growing up the hill as high as he could see. Feeling like he'd been walked on by a whole herd of cows, he pulled himself to his feet, weaving for a minute whilst his head cleared. The bush he'd run into was one of them with the hollow stems that Flower called elderberry. He pulled his knife--leastways I didn't lose that --and sawed through a stem about as thick as his wrist. He'd need it goin' uphill, to dig in if he got to sliding. Heart in her throat, Flower watched him slide until he disappeared into the mist.He is strong. He will survive. She clung to one of the leaning trees, hoping it was firmly enough rooted to support her. His spear. Although at first she had seen it as a primitive tool, hardly worth the carrying of it, she had learned that William needed the stout, pointed staff. It was his walking stick, his brush-beater, his pointer, and his weapon.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html And they might need it, to defend themselves. She scanned the hillside below her, wondering how, if she spied the spear, she would retrieve it. After a long while, she gave up. He must have dropped it as he fell and it slid past him. Where was he? Should she call out to him? No. Any shout loud enough to reach his ears could also tell their pursuers where they were. Perhaps I should see if I can go down there. Not yet. It had been only a short while since he had slid out of her sight, even though it seemed forever He will return. So it is up to me to see that he has a dry, comfortable place to return to. And food. She was willing to gather anything edible at this point. Cold and wet, they needed food even more now than before. She prowled long the cliff's edge, gathering a few rose hips, some elderberries --if we survive this, I will never eat another elderberry as long as I live!--and two strawberries that had not realized their fruiting season was past. On her way back to where William had fallen, she stopped to pick leaves of the plant Hattie had called springbeauty. They were a poor food, in her opinion, but hunger made her willing to eat anything that would not poison her. As she looked around for more of the fleshy leaves, she saw William's spear, caught in the branches of a shrub, looking like nothing so much as one more bare stem. With great care, for it looked ready to slip free and go sliding down the hillside, she reached out and grasped it. The feel of it in her hand, hard and smooth, gave her an immediate sense of security, as if she were somehow protected. Once more she peered down the slope, but still did not see William. Flower assured herself that he was coming back to her, then turned to explore in the opposite direction of the deep canyon. With her attention only half on her explorations--the other half was listening for any sound form the canyon--she almost missed the cave, merely a darker shape in the mist It was not exactly a cave, she amended after investigating the dark hole. Sometime in the distant past an enormous boulder had rolled down the hill and wedged itself against an equally enormous tree. Over time soil and detritus had accumulated, until the space between them, a triangular cave a bit deeper than half her height and high enough for her to sit upright in the center, became a warm, dry refuge. That small animals had used it was evidenced by droppings and a scattering of hulls. An assortment of tiny bones told her something larger had been here, too. But now the cave was empty and looked to have been so for some time. They would sleep warm and dry tonight. Flow left her gleanings in the cave and hurried back to where she had last seen William. The fog, if possible, had grown thicker.Good. They will not be moving any faster than we have. We should be safe tonight. Still, her shiver was not entirely from the cold.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Flower was waiting for him when he finally reached the top. William took that last step, onto flat ground, and found himself caught tight in her arms. "I was so frightened!" she said, her voice unsteady. "You were so long. Did you fall all the way to the bottom?" "I ain't sure there is a bottom," he said, breathing deeply of the smell of her, sweat and wet leather, and woman. "It looked like it went on down forever. And sometimes I had to go back and look for another way to come, 'cause there's a lot of them places where the ground is bare and slickery." "You are safe. That is all that matters." "Even better, I found us more berries. Here." He handed her his moccasins, both stuffed full. "Oh, good," she said. "Elderberries." *** "I wonder where Beowulf is," Flower said, after they had eaten all the food the two of them had gathered. "Could they have caught him?" "Doubt it," William said. "I reckon he's keepin' his eye on 'em, and if they gets too close to us, he'll let us know." "I hope so." She missed the dog. His senses were more acute than hers or William's. With him nearby, she always slept better. Outside, the forest dripped. The rain had stopped briefly, but had begun again shortly before they had finished gathering fir branches for bedding. Now it was coming down heavily. Even the many layers of tree canopy above them did not stop it. But she was warm for the first time in many hours, so to Flower the steady sound was soothing. Beside her under the mound of fir branches, William gave off warmth, and all around her the rock and tree served as a barrier against intrusion. She was safe. For one more night. "William?" "Yes'm?" He sounded half-asleep. "I love you." He did not reply. After a long while, she said, "Did you not hear me?" "I heard you, woman." She waited. At last she could wait no longer. "Are you going to answer me?" He moved then, shoving the branches aside, pulling her onto his stretched-out legs. His arms held her so tightly she could not have moved had she wanted to. "You just make up your mind to that?" he said, his voice low and vibrant. With some difficulty she freed one hand enough to reach up and cup his chin. "Yes...No. I am not sure." Tracing the line of his lips, she said, "I think I have been afraid to acknowledge it for some time. I was afraid..." "Seems to me you was afraid of a powerful lot of things," he said, and she heard a hint of frustration. "But you's one of the gamest women I ever knew. 'Most as brave as Hattie." She smiled, although with a touch of pique. "A compliment indeed." Then her amusement faded. "I am not brave, though. I am weak and cowardly. Perhaps I always have been, but never had to face it until...until..." "'Til them renegades come."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Nodding, Flower said, almost to herself, "They did more than rape me, William. They made me realize that I cannot always take care of myself, something that my father always told me I must do. And so I failed. Failed him and myself." He pulled some of the branches up, settled her more comfortably on his legs. "Don't reckon Buffalo meant you always had to handle whatever come along. Nobody can do that, not even him." "Yes, he could!" "No'm, he couldn't. He told me one day about the time him and some other trapper got attacked by Injuns. They had to be rescued. And about another time him and that Everett was cotched in a snow slide. They both woulda' froze to death, but another trapper saw it happen and dug 'em out." Flower pushed herself away from him, looked up, although she could see nothing in the total darkness. "Those were difference circumstances. The Indians outnumbered them. And no one can be safe from natural disasters." "You 'n me 'n Silas was outnumbered by six renegades." The simple statement of fact struck her as no impassioned argument would have. A woman, a stripling, and one man, however strong and determined, had been no match for six hardened criminals, especially ones like Pyzen Joe and his band, who had been preying on Indian villages and isolated trappers for a long time.

"But I did not fight." "You fought like a wildcat. I seen you. And it didn't do you no good. Maybe they wouldn't have been so careful of you, if you'd kept it up. Long as you just lay there, they figured you wasn't gonna try and hurt 'em." "You make it sound so...so simple." "'Tis simple. You does what you has to, to stay alive. Nothin' much else matters." Flower relaxed against him.I must think about his words. They would be so easy to believe. "You's gonna squash my legs," he said after a while. "Can you move over to the side?" She did, and he pulled the branches back around them. Although the thoughts seemed to circle in her mind all night long, Flower woke rested. She was ready to crawl out of the cave when William stopped her.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Last night you say you love me. Does...do you still feel that way this mornin'?" "William, I will always love you, no matter how long we live." His smile was like the rising sun. "Folks say things they don't mean when they's tired and scairt. I just wanted to know--" She slipped her arms around his neck, pulled him down to her. Kissing him gently, she said, "I am rested now. And I am no longer afraid...well, only that our lives may not be long enough." "You'll be my woman?" The hope in his voice all but broke her heart. "Oh, William, you deserve more than I can give you." "I don't know about that. Seems to me what I needs is a sight more important than what I deserves." He stretched out a hand and caught hers. "I needs you, Flower." "You need a woman who can love you with a whole heart, not a wounded, fearful one like mine. A woman who will give you strong sons, full of courage." She paused, bit her lower lip. "I cannot promise you children." "Then we find us some who need us. There's always little ones around needin' a ma and pa." Tears threatened to choke her. How she wished she could see his face, could read the truth in his eyes. Taking a deep breath and letting it out on a long, hopeful sigh, Flower said, " Today we may die, so do not ask for promises now. My life seems to be linked with yours, William. Let that be enough for now. Be satisfied that I love you." "You won't go 'way from me when this is over?" "I will stay with you as long as I can." His embrace threatened to crush her ribs. "Ahh, woman, you wait 'til almost too late to make me the happiest man alive. I'd like to lay you down here and love you until you scream, but I won't. If we want to have years 'stead of hours, we gotta get movin.'"

CHAPTER NINETEEN William knew they was out there. He could feel 'em. Could almost smell 'em. "Sure wish that dadblamed dog hadn't took off," he muttered. He'd seen three horses, before he'd scooted out of the clearing where them fellers had caught him and Flower. Three horses meant three men. With Beowulf, at least the fight would be more or less even. Two knives and a spear made out of wood wouldn't be much against guns. If there'd been a good way down into that deep canyon he'd fell into yesterday, he'd have took it. But just below where he'd ended up, the timber petered out and the canyon walls had gone straight down 'til they got lost in the fog. He'd thought about their chances and decided they'd be better off standing and fighting. Trying to make their escape down that hellacious slope would have been sure death. Flower had gone on ahead of him, stealing though the dripping woods like a

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html ghost. Now she stepped out from between two big boulders and motioned. He stepped across the creek and up the slope to her, slipping a little on the wet moss that lay like a rug over all the ground. "We can make our stand here," she said, when he got to her. "It is like a fortress." William looked around and saw what she meant. The big boulders --some was twice his height and as big across--sat in sort of a half circle around a pool. Behind the pool was a wall, like looking at the bones of the mountain. Black, shiny rock like a wall, disappearing into the mist. Water ran and dripped and trickled down the straight-up surface, making a noise like hundreds of little bells. It was one of the prettiest placed he'd ever seen. It was a trap. "We ain't going to make a stand with our backs to no wall," he said. "We've run far enough. Now we're goin' after them bassards and we'll pick the spot to fight 'em." "But--" "Flower, this morning I got something worth fighting for. Up 'til now, all I wanted was to keep you safe. Now I want both of us to keep on livin', and the only way to do that is to go after them 'fore they cotch us." She looked up at him for the longest time. He'd had his say, now it was her turn, so he didn't say nothin', just looked back. Then she smiled, and it was like the sun came up. "Yes! We fight!" They crept through the wet woods, stayin' well apart. No sense in both of 'em getting cotched at the same time. He kept his eye on her, though, best he could. 'Cept he didn't aim to get cotched. He was gonna do the cotchin'. They hadn't come far from the waterfall when he heard a horse snort. William dropped to his belly and wormed along under a big, leathery-leaved bush.Yes! There they was. He scooted backwards, careful not to make a sound. When he got up on one knee, he saw Flower watchin' him. He gestured, held up three fingers. She nodded. Off to his left, a bush rustled, and he pulled out his knife. Was there a fourth man? The bush shook a little bit more, then a golden head poked out of it.Beowulf. You fool dog! Where you been? Now the odds were even. Flower came to kneel beside him. "They's still in camp," he whispered, "and they don't look to be in a hurry." "We hit them now?" "Nope. We watch a bit. Maybe we can cotch one of 'em alone." Her nod showed her understanding. She pulled her knife from its sheath. "I will go this way." Two steps and she'd disappeared into a thicket of leathery-leaved shrubs and head-high trees. William scratched Beowulf's ruff, then caught him under the jaw. He made the dog look into his eyes. "Kill," he said, knowing the dog didn't have no idea what he was saying. "We're dependin' on you to take one of them bassards out." Beowulf lunged up and swiped him across the face with a slobbery tongue. William

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html reckoned he might as well depend on the Army comin' to their rescue. "Let's go!" The dog took off in the direction he'd come from. A few minutes later William was so close to the three men he could smell their coffee. His mouth watered. The two men was sprawled across their bedrolls, snug under a stretch-out tarp. Over by the fire, the kid was messing with something. He had a smear of blood on his cheek, and one eye was swole almost shut, like somebody'd been whuppin' him. They must be waitin' for it to clear up.He hoped it wouldn't, but he knew it would. The fog was thinner, and he could smell warmth in the air. They were camped on the edge of a stand of trees so tall their tops was out of sight, so wide across the bottom ten men would have trouble stretchin' their arms around. Here and there a young tree, more feathery than the big firs, stood with its lower branches brushing the ground.Don't reckon a man could stay clear out of sight over there, but he still might sneak up pretty close. The big man was Muller, the feller who'd whupped him so bad, back in The Dalles.Still after that dam' gold. Wish I'd never brung it along. The fat feller, him with gold rings in his ears, looked mighty familiar. William tried to recall where he'd seen that face, but couldn't. The kid didn't worry William. He was skinny, like he'd missed too many meals. His britches was patched and his coat was torn on one sleeve. He had himself a handgun, stuck into his belt, but no knife in sight. William couldn't see pistols on the other two, unless they carried hide-outs. There was a rifle leanin' against one of the saddles. A big-barreled gun, looked like that shotgun of Hattie's, was layin' beside it. Muller wore a couple of big knives, and the fat- faced feller had one. Muller stood and walked over to where the kid was. Kicked him, for no reason William could see. Said something, but William couldn't hear what. The youngster dodged a second kick and stood up, without sayin' a word. He headed out into the big trees, opposite where William was. Sure hope you's over that way, Flower, he thought, then changed his mind. The kid was half a foot taller than her. Scrawny or not, he'd be more than she could handle. And there wasn't much cover over there. After a while, the two that was left started looking worried. They both stood up and started yammering, but they kept their voices low. Muller had picked up the shotgun when a wolf's hair-raising howl came from the direction the youngster had gone. The other feller snatched up the rifle. They stood, back to back, looking out into the woods. William could have told 'em they wouldn't see nothin' past the first tree. He picked up one of the smooth rocks he'd piled up beside him, threw it off to the side of their camp. "What was that?" The wolf's howl sounded again, this time closer. William threw another stone. This one hit in the brush and made a noise like a body was trying to sneak through.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html Muller whipped around and fired from the hip. The buckshot shredded an elderberry bush, leaving the hollow stems broken, the bunches of berries dripping. William tossed one more rock, then scooted backwards as fast as he could. *** Using strips cut from the bottom of her skirt, Flower tied the boy, hand and foot. Perhaps she should have killed him, but she could not. She wanted no more blood on her hands. She had only stunned him with her first blow. Her second had been less violent, but better aimed. He had gone down bonelessly, completely unconscious. She hoped he would remain so until they had disposed of his companions. Beowulf howled, off to her right. That should alarm the other two. Even knowing whence they came, such howls always made her shiver in atavistic fear. She rolled the boy under a young hemlock's green skirt.Even if you wake, you cannot make much noise there. Creeping among the boles of enormous hemlocks, she wished for more underbrush.I wonder what William is up to. Something devious, I hope. Here there had been no fire, no slides, for a thousand years. Only in the openings left by fallen trees did light even penetrate, and those were rare and scattered. Another howl, this one from between her and the camp. Within seconds, she heard the unmistakable boom of a shotgun.Oh, Beowulf, I hope he missed you. She dashed from tree trunk to tree trunk, circling the camp.They are alert. Now we must attack. But where was William? She had reached the place where they had separated, expecting to see him here. Surely he would not have remained close to the camp after they knew he was about. A scuff in the moss showed where he had crawled in. She made sure her knife was securely in its sheath, and crept along the faint trail, going to her belly when it became a tunnel. Because of her dress, she had to slither, rather than crawl. At last Flower was at the edge of the shrubs, able to see into the camp. It was empty! The horses were there, their saddles still on the ground. So was a bulging gunnysack and William's pack. But the two remaining men were gone. She lay there for a count of one hundred, then cautiously crept into the camp. She and William had no more food, nor would there be time to gather any. Surely the men had food. She reached the saddles. Threw herself on the ground behind them. Waited for another slow count of one hundred. When she heard no sound from the surrounding forest, she reached out and took hold of a corner of the gunnysack.Keep them busy, William. I will feed us. It held bacon, coffee and flour. She took the flitch of bacon. Raising her head, she looked around once more, then sped to the nearest tree, bent over into a crouch. From there she ran to a second, then a third. At the fourth, she was just

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html beginning to think herself safe when a hand closed on her shoulder. Before Flower could even tell herself not to scream, she heard, "Woman, that was the damfoolest stunt I ever seed. You trying to get yourself killed?" "No," she whispered back, angry that her risk had not been appreciated. "I was trying to keep us alive. Here." She handed him the bacon. "Eat." He glowered, but took it and bit into it, then handed it back. Flower had eaten many things in her life, but nothing she hated more than raw bacon. Nonetheless, she ate, chewing slowly, stopping only when her throat threatened to reject another bite. William tucked a chunk into his possibles sack. "For Beowulf," he said. "They didn't shoot him?" "Don't think so. But they sure killed a elderberry bush dead." "Good." "You see anything over your way?" "The boy. I took care of him." At his startled glance, she said, "He is alive. I tied him and left him hidden." "Good. What about them others?" She shook her head. "I heard nothing. They could be anywhere." The moss carpeting the ground deadened sound so thoroughly that one or both of the ruffians could be within yards and they would not know it. "Let's see if we can get past 'em, then. You head on over there, and I'll go along here." He pointed to the north. "I'd just as soon not stay here. Too easy to get cornered." Flower hesitated, knowing he was right. Together they could both be taken. Separate, if one were captured, the other might effect a rescue. "Kiss me, then." He did. Until her toes curled and her bones went liquid. For a moment after he lifted his head, she clung to him, unable to support herself. He set her away from him. "I'll meet you back where the creeks get real close together," he told her. "Take care." "Oh, William, be safe," she replied after he'd turned his back. "Please be safe." Slowly Flower made her way across the somewhat level area between creeks, staying close to the enormous boles of the trees when she could, using boulders and saplings for shelter and concealment when she couldn't. The fog had dissipated, and from the angle of sunlight, she knew it was about midday. At least I am not hungry, she thought, as she peered through a screen of hemlock branches. Something had moved ahead.A bird? There were few birds in this ancient forest, for there was little food for them. All morning she had only seen a woodpecker and two small brown birds, creeping their way down a furrowed column, seeking insects. A hand clamped itself over her mouth. "Gotcha!" An arm circled her waist, held one arm close to her body. She kicked back, but her moccasin-clad feet made little impression on thick legs. A second man stepped from behind a tree. He held a rifle in one hand, a skinning knife n the other. The clerk at Fort Boise. I remember the earrings. "Don't move, squaw," he said, "else I split you from throat to crotch."

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html The hand left her mouth. "Don't yell, neither," a low, scratchy voice said in her ear. Her immediate instinct was to fight. They would not rape her. Not again! ...maybe they wouldn't have been so careful of you, if you'd fought... She went limp, forcing the man who held her to support her weight. "Stand up, bitch!" She let her eyes roll back in her head, her jaw go slack. "Shit! The bitch fainted!" Her captor dropped her to the ground, and Flower concentrated on falling without resistance. "Tie her up," the clerk said. "And be careful. She could be fakin." "Don't tell me what to do," the other said. He wrapped a thin line around her wrists, her ankles, and pulled it tight between, so that her back was arched. It was all she could do to remain limp. "Let's see if she's got the gold." "Muller, will you stop worryin' about that dam' gold for a minute and remember that she ain't alone. That big Nigger buck's still loose." "He won't bother us, long as we got his mistress." He raised his voice to a near- shout. "We'll carve her up like vulture bait if he tries anything." "...ything...thing...ing...ng" echoed from the surrounding slopes. She felt hands on her body, then the icy bite of cold steel between her breasts. Soft air kissed her belly as her buckskin dress parted under the sharp blade. Flower had no need to open her eyes to know that she was all but naked. And helpless. "Well, lookee here, now," breathed the clerk. "Now who's forgettin' about the Nigger?" The blade cut from chest to shoulder, down her sleeves. Hard hands worked the severed buckskin from her body. She risked a slit-eyed glimpse. She might as well have opened her eyes completely. Both men were feeling the leather, crumpling it between their hands. It took them only seconds to find the small pouches she had sewn under her arms, three to a side, and the four thick, irregularly circular gold coins they held. "She's awake." Something prodded her. Flower lay still. Then she was slapped, not hard, but enough to sting. "I saw your eyes gleamin'. Stop playing possum." She opened her eyes, but refused to look at either man. Instead she let her gaze drift to the deep green of the forest canopy, to a tiny patch of blue above.I will not despair. William will come. I know he will. "Keep your eye peeled. I'm going to have her." That was the clerk. "Wait your turn. I'm going first," the one with the scratchy voice said. Her captor. "Christ! Always you first. As if it mattered. She's naked. She's tied. She ain't goin' nowheres." "Bickelow, you keep forgetting who's boss here. I'll go first because I say so. You keep watch." "Hell, no need for that. If the Nigger knows we took her, he's probably long gone. And if he don't he still won't go out of his way to get her loose. He's her slave, ain't he?" "Some like bein' slaves. But you go on and do her first. And while your britches are down around your ankles, that Nigger'll sneak up and stick a knife in

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html your back." "The hell he will. I'll keep watch. You go ahead." Flower heard a strange sound, then realized it was someone scratching a whiskery jaw. "Take the shotgun, then. That rifle ain't worth shit." "It would be if you hadn't dropped it in the river yesterday." "Hold the godbedamned shotgun, will ye!" Rough hands jerked her knees apart. The man who knelt between them was almost handsome, with a face that looked as if he was kind to widows and children. His smile was sweet and gentle, completely at odds with the lust burning in his eyes. That frightened her even more than Pyzen Joe's ugly visage had. *** William reached the meeting place. He had seen nothing, heard nothing, all the way here. Not even the dog. He had a bad feeling, like he'd missed something. Leave a sign. What?He cut a strand of fringe off his shirt, tied it around a branch about Flower's eye level. Then he headed back up the creek Flower ought to be following. Beowulf caught up with him after a little ways. "Don't you run off no more," he told the dog. "I'm gonna need you." Beowulf gave him a doggy grin. He heard 'em before he saw 'em. They had her, layin' like a lump on the ground between them. He looked close, but couldn't tell if she was still breathing. There as no way he could take on two of 'em at a time, so he had to be sneaky. He found a handful of good-sized stones, piled 'em up where he'd have some cover, just out of their sight. By the time he was ready, they'd stripped her nekkid. He could hear their voices now. Sounded like they was arguin'. He slipped closer, peered through the branches of one of them feathery trees. The one called Muller forced her knees apart and knelt between them.No! You'll not rape her, you bassard! Sending Beowulf under a close by bush, he laid down on the ground and yelled. He screamed. He done his best to sound like a man in mortal agony. Pretty soon William saw the feller with the earrings comin' toward him. He was carryin' the shotgun. The feller stopped just out of reach. "Shut up!" William moaned, making it sound like he was near death. He writhed. "Shut up, I said." "My leg," William whined. "It's broke. He'p me!" "I'll help you," the feller said, lifting the shotgun. Beowulf attacked. He came from the side, so he couldn't go for the feller's throat, but he got a good bite on his arm. The shotgun fell, and William grabbed it. He'd never used a gun, but he knew which end was which. Beowulf had a good hold on the feller's arm and the two of them was wrasselin' around on the ground. Beowulf's growls were almost as loud as the feller's yells.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Let him go," he said to the dog. "Down!" Still growling, Beowulf turned loose. The feller stayed on the ground, clutching his torn and bleeding arm. "Keep him there," William told the dog. "Kill him if he moves." Slobber dripped from the dog's drawed-back lips. Low growls rumbled in his throat. The feller with the earrings lay real still, his face pasty white. William kept hold of the shotgun whilst he ran toward where they'd had Flower. A mashed-down place showed where she'd laid, but she was gone. All that was left was her dress, sliced and torn.But not bloody. God be praised, not bloody! Muller's heavy boots had left a trail, though, deep tracks showin' he was carrying a burden. He was headin' upstream. Where there wasn't no way out, but down that cliff. Walking real careful, William followed. He saw where the tracks veered off from the game trail, heading toward the waterfall. I bet he don't know it's there. And there's no way out, 'cept back towards me. There was more underbrush, the closer he came to the waterfall. Pretty soon he seen the ring of big boulders that Flower had called a fortress. He stopped, just far enough back that he was more-or-less hid. "Muller!" "Yeah, Nigger? What you want?" "I want the woman. Turn her loose. She ain't done you no harm." "Come any closer and I'll kill her." "I's the only one knows where the rest of the gold is. Turn her loose and I tell you where it's hid." "You lie!" "Tell him, Flower!" he called. "Tell him I know where there's a bunch more of them coins." He heard her voice, but not her words. "All right. I'll turn her loose. But not 'til you show yourself." There had been a rifle in the camp. Did Muller have it? "I will if you will." Muller stepped into sight, rifle cradled in his arms. "Show yourself, Nigger!" William moved out of concealment, leaning heavily on his spear, as if his leg was hurt. He dropped the shotgun when he saw that no matter where he shot from, Flower would be hit. He held on to his spear. It gave him one chance. He hobbled closer. "What's wrong with you?" "Ankle." He put a whine in his voice. "I think it's broke." Muller stepped aside so William could squeeze into the opening by the pool. The music made by falling water sounded louder, more excited than it had this morning. As soon as she saw him, Flower whispered, "Oh, William, no!" He ignored her, hobbled to the edge of the pool where there was a rock just right for sittin' on. He sat, still leaning on his spear. The point was down, so it looked like a plain ol' staff. Muller had followed him, and now stood just out of arm's reach. "You can make it hard or you can make it easy, Nigger. Where's the gold?" "My ankle, boss," William whined again. "It hurts powerful bad." Stepping closer, Muller set the barrel of the rifle against the ankle William had been favoring. Cold sweat trickled down William's spine.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "The gold?" The scratchy voice was almost gentle. "It's a long way from here, boss. A real long way. I kin show you, if'n you fix my ankle so's I kin walk." Muller moved the rifle to one side and pulled the trigger. William felt the heat of the bullet as it exploded from the barrel. "The gold? Last chance, before I fix you so you'll never walk again." He moved even closer, started to lift the barrel. William hit him in the chin with the butt of his spear. As Muller fell, gagging to the ground, William leapt to the side and slashed the ropes holding Flower captive. He handed her the spear and yelled, "Run." Muller had pushed himself upright and had a knife in his hand. William drew his own. Crouched. Waited. "No man's ever beat me in a knife fight," Muller said, again in that gentle voice. "Neither will you." He reached into his boot and pulled a second knife, this one long and slim. William feinted, but Muller was faster. A line of fiery pain went down William's knife arm. You remember all the tricks Mist' Em taught you, boy. You got maybe one chance. If he cuts you again, you won't have none. He stooped, grabbed a handful of dirt and pebbles, tossed them into Muller's face. The long knife whizzed by his hand so fast and so close he felt the wind. Muller kicked, and his toe connected with William's knife hand. Fingers numb, he felt the haft slip from them. "I'll cut you, boy. I'll geld you. Then I'll hamstring you." Muller laughed. "When I get through with you, you'll be beggin' to tell me where that gold is." At William's command, Flower ran, on legs shaking and weak from being tied. She was well into the woods when she realized he was not behind her. She ran back to the circle of boulders. Cautiously she peered between two of them. They were fighting with knives. William had one, Muller two. Even as she watched, Muller kicked William's hand, knocking his knife free. He showed no fear, as Muller described all that he would do, to make William reveal the source of the gold. Flower drew back her arm. William's spear felt as if it were an extension of her arm. Of her hand. Although her muscles were tensed for the throw, she could not make them move. Her arm shook. Her hand ached. She could not force herself to throw the spear. She could not kill again. Muller laughed. "Where's the gold, boy? Tell me now and I'll kill you clean." William did not answer, but stood tall and proud. Waiting to be tortured. Waiting to die. He willnotdie! Putting her whole body behind the throw, she cast the spear.

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CHAPTER TWENTY William faced Muller, waiting for the final thrust of the bloody knife. He'd die like a man. A free man. A rattle of stones came from behind him, and then he felt a faint wind on his arm. In the next instant, a sharp, smooth spear had skewered his enemy. William was right behind the spear. He drove it deeper into the belly of Muller, the man who would have killed him. Drove it deep and left it there, skewering the man to the ground. Muller looked up at him from eyes already dulling with death. "Where's the gold," he said. "A long ways from here, like I said. In a cave, where you and trash like you ain't never gonna find it." "Nigger bast--" His face went slack. His body seemed to sink into the dirt. "Is he dead?" William turned and saw Flower standing just outside the boulders. Her face was white and strained. Even from where he stood, he could see how her whole body was shiverin'. "He's dead." He bent over and picked up the two knives, his and Muller's. Then he saw the other one, the long, skinny one, dark with blood. He picked that one up, too. "You want his clothes?" Her expression answered him. "I would not touch them." The long slash on his arm had stopped bleeding, but when he knelt beside Muller's body, it pulled open and a thin trickle of blood ran down his arm and dripped on the man's black pants. He ignored it as he searched the pockets. A few pennies and a folding knife in one, a hole in the other. In the shirt he found a map, folded up, that showed the road across the mountains. "Wish we'd had this before we come," he muttered. He tucked it into his possibles sack. "Are you coming?" He looked up at her, standing in the shadows at the edge of the woods. Her skin was streaked with dirt and bruises was already showing at her wrists and ankles. She still looked like the prettiest thing he'd ever seen. When he pushed himself to his feet, he discovered sore places he hadn't paid attention to before. "All done," he said, giving the body one last look. "We ought to bury him." "We can come back," Flower said. She turned and led the way back into the forest. Her naked body seemed to light the way. Feeling tireder than he could recall, William said, "I left the pup watchin' the feller with the earrings. Reckon he's et him yet?" "I hope not. His belly would ache from eating such filth." She looked back over her shoulder. "He was the clerk at Fort Boise. Bickelow." "The one you almost gutted?" She looked back again, and this time she almost smiled. "The very one." "Sure wish I hadn't stopped you." Just then he remembered the shotgun. "Hold up a bit." He fetched it, then caught up with Flower. When she looked a question at him, he said, "I figured to give it to that friend of yours, the one what helped

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html carry me away from Muller." "No sense in letting it rot away here," she agreed. Beowulf was still at guard. When they arrived he lunged at the man, snapped his jaws together just short of the clerk's nose, then sat back on his haunches and grinned. Flower had stayed out in the woods, hidden behind a screen of small trees. "I will take his shirt," she called. "You hear that," William said, prodding the man with one toe. "She wants your shirt." His answer was a curse. Beowulf stepped forward, upper lip lifted, his fangs showing. Bickelow pushed himself upright, favoring his arm. William could see it was

still bleeding a bit. There was half a dozen punctures in it. The shirt stank of tobacco and sweat, but he figured it was better than her goin' nekkid. He took it to her. "William, watch out!" she cried just as he passed the shirt through the brush. He turned, but wasn't quick enough. A knife buried itself in his arm, up high towards his shoulder. He was still turning when Beowulf leaped. And this time his fangs found the throat. William doubted he would ever forget the terror and the torment in that scream. The scream died away into a gurgle. He watched, fascinated, while Beowulf shook the man as if he weighed no more than a big jackrabbit. And then there was no sound except the dogs' growl and the soft whisper of wind in the treetops. "My God!" Flower whispered from behind him. The dog shook the body once more. Dropped it. Turned and scratched dirt over it, as if it was a pile of shit. His mouth was red and wet with blood. For a moment, a wolf looked back at William out of golden eyes, then Beowulf wagged his tail.As if he's showin' us what a good dog he is. "Hold still." He became aware that Flower was holding his arm. He did his best to be still while she pulled the knife free, while she wrapped the cut tight with a strip of cloth from the tail of Bickelow's shirt. "We must find something cleaner as soon as we can," she said. "No telling where this shirt has been." She picked up Bickelow's knife, held it out to him. "There is food in their camp," she reminded him. "And horses." They searched the saddlebags, finding several small bags of coin, a fancy pipe with a curved stem, and some earrings.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html "Pearls," Flower said, holding one pair in her palm. The creamy spheres seemed to glow in the pale sunlight. "We are not the first they have robbed." "We's the last," William said with satisfaction. He piled all the food together--coffee, cornmeal, half a loaf of sugar, and another flitch of bacon. When he found a plug of tobacco, he added that to the pile. Since they'd lost their mule, they'd need supplies to take them to The Dalles. Flower found a pair of almost-clean britches and a plaid shirt in one saddlebag. They must have belonged to the youngster, William thought, seeing how well they fit her.What happened to him? "We must release the boy," Flower said, as if she'd heard him thinking. "I hope I can find him." They left the horses and went looking for the youngster. It took a while, but when they called out, he answered. He was all but hid under one of the saplings Flower called hemlocks. "Where's my brother?" he demanded, before they even got him out in the open. His face was tear-streaked, but he stood up to them like a wrathful kitten. "Which one's your brother?" William said, wondering what kind of brother would bring a youngster along on a job like this. "What's your name?" "I'm Ethan. Ethan Bickelow. Ruben's my brother." "He's dead. So's Muller." The youngster's eyes widened, his chin trembled. Then he took a deep breath. "Good!" "Didn't you hear me, boy? I said your brother's dead." "I heard you," Ethan Bickelow said, wiping a dirty hand across his mouth. "I'd have killed him myself if I could've. And Muller. I'd like to have cut him, let him bleed to death slow." Flower stepped up beside the youngster. "They hurt you," she said softly. "But they will not do it again." She touched his arm, and William saw how he flinched away from her hand. William wished the bassards had died harder. "Why were you with them?" Flower asked. "Ruben said if I went along, he'd give me some money. He said they was gonna rob you, then turn you loose. It sounded so easy. Just scare you--Muller said you was so scared of being sent back South that you'd tell where the gold was just to get loose." "They lied to you," Flower said. "They were very bad men." Ethan bit his lip, snuffled. "I knew that, but I didn't want to think about it. I ain't seen Ruben for a spell, but I'd heard things about him." He rubbed his wrists. "And Muller, he was mean. Real mean." He touched his cheek, under the swelling around his eye." I was scared of him.". "You will find that gold honestly come by is far less dangerous than trying to take it by force or intimidation," Flower said. "Now come. It will be dark soon,

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html and I do not want to spend another night up here." "You're lettin' me go. Just like that?" Ethan sounded like he was about to cry. "I won't tie you up 'til we beds down, but I ain't leaving you loose to kill us in our sleep, either," William told him. "Let's move." William and the youngster dragged Muller's body away from the stream and covered it with rock, since the soil was too thin to dig into. They buried Bickelow where he'd died, in a shallow grave piled with boulders. When they was done, William asked Ethan if he wanted to say any words over his brother. The boy shook his head, lower lip caught between his teeth. William clasped his shoulder for a moment, not sure himself what to say. That night they slept in the same clearing where the three ruffians had caught them, two--no, three days past. In the morning they gave Ethan Bickelow his brother's knife and some bacon and sent him on his way back to Oregon City on one of the horses. "You have a choice now, young man," Flower said, as he tried to thank her for not killing him. "You can follow your brother's path, and probably die by violence, as he did. Or you can go back and make something of your life. You return to a land where there is opportunity for any man willing to work. What you do will decide your whole future." When he'd ridden down the trail, William said, "I feel a little like we turned a rattlesnake loose." "A possibility." Flower shrugged. "He is young, though, and shocked. Perhaps he will chose a different path." She turned her back and faced up the trail. "Let us go home, William. I am tired of seeking something that does not exist." *** They found their mule contentedly grazing near the edge of a marsh just below the steep grade. Although one gunnysack of supplies had been torn open, only some cornmeal and a package of pilot bread had fallen out. With horses to ride--William gave in to Flower's persuasion--the return journey across the mountains seemed shorter, easier. Even so, William kept wanting to travel faster. He was going home. Flower was quiet most of the time. He let her be, but worried. Something was eatin' at her mind. He hoped she wasn't changing her mind about going back with him. The hillsides were dry and the air shimmered with heat the day they reached the Wasco village on Chenoweth Creek. Has Itswoot's lodge was empty. It looked abandoned. A woman told them he'd taken his family downriver to live. William wondered if the whites had given him trouble after his drunken act in town. The moon waxed and waned while they traveled to the valley of the Grande Ronde. When they arrived, they found a gathering of trappers and their families, along with a big Injun camp. Marie's wedding had been moved forward--she and Auguste would be parents by midwinter--and Flower insisted they stay for the festivities. Hilaire was at home, but was planning on returning to his Wasco relatives in the spring. He had chosen the Indian way, and was no longer pulled in two directions.

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html To Flower's delight, Windchaser was in Jacques' pasture. "I knew you would mourn her loss," Hilaire said, "so I gave Tenas Eena the mule and said I would claim the mare for my reward." He grinned at William. "But the shotgun is better. You may have your horse back." She knew he had never intended keeping her mare, but she said nothing. This way everyone was content. Flower distributed the gifts she had bought for Hilaire, Marie and Jacques, and refused to tell them any more than that she had changed her mind about going to England. Being haunted by the events on the mountain in her dreams was enough. She would not relive those horrible moments by speaking of them. She wanted to go to William, to sleep in his arms, but she could not. Until she was sure of her own feelings, how could she risk hurting his? One night she sat late, staring into the fire, long after he slept.I love him. So why can I not give him my pledge? As if written in the flames, she saw the answer. I am still running away. That is why. I don't go back to Cherry Vale because I love him, but because I believe I can be safe there. And that is not fair to William. If I cannot go to him heart-whole and filled with hope for the future, I should not be his wife. "His woman," she whispered, hearing his voice say the words. Oh, how she wanted to be his woman. They swam across the river into Cherry Vale at the end of September. The leaves had not yet begun to turn, but the grasses were golden and dry, the chokecherry bushes heavy with ripe fruit. I feel as if I have truly come home, Flower thought, as they started across the wide meadow below Hattie and Emmet's cabin.I have never belonged anywhere before as I belong here. What a difficult lesson this was for me to learn. Perhaps I will treasure it all the more for the cost. She reached for William's hand, smiled up at him. Hattie's shriek rent the still air. She burst from the cabin and came running down the hill, laughing and calling to them. Moments later, Emmet also appeared, cautiously carrying his long rifle. Hattie was beside herself, hugging them in turn, demanding an account of their adventures, asking why they had taken so long to get here. Emmet merely smiled his slow smile and said, "Took you long enough to bring her back," as he hugged William. The next afternoon Flower rode beside William, up the valley to where it narrowed then opened again into another meadow. "Over there's where I figure to build," William told her, pointing across the river. "'Less there's someplace

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html you like better." She looked around. Mountains rose steeply to the west, north, and east. South was the Lachlan cabin, less than an hour's ride away, yet far enough that it might as well be in another country. Flower laughed aloud. "What? Something funny?" "No." She saw his worried frown. "Well, yes. I was remembering something Dr. McLoughlin said. Did you know that there is nowhere in England that is more than seventy-five miles from the sea?" "That's funny?" "It is only if you live someplace like this. William, do you know how far it is to Fort Boise?" "Three, maybe four days' ride." He shrugged. "I never did figure out miles." "Why should you, when all distances here are measured in days, not hours? It is at least seventy-five miles to Fort Boise, half the distance across England." His expression told her that he had no idea of what she was talking about. "I wanted to go to England be cause it was safe, yet I never thought about what so many people living in so small a space could mean. And how many of them might be like Muller and Bickelow? Like Pyzen Joe?" "Thought you said they had laws, so folks was protected from the likes of them." "I did. And you heard what happened to Everett's wife and son." She opened her arms, as if to encompass all that she saw. "Can you imagine that happening here?" "Not if Mist' Em and me has anything to say about it. Nobody the likes of them bassards is ever gonna get past the first fence. If Dawg and Beowulf don't stop 'em, we will." "But how many would even find their way here? Seventy-five miles, William! Four days' ride. That in itself is better than any number of laws, any walls and barricades." He dismounted and pulled her from Windchaser's back. Enfolding her in his arms, he said, "You think too much, woman. Look out there. That's what you oughta' be thinkin' about. Where you wants your house built." As simply as that, she saw the shape of her future. "Will you live in it with me?" she said. In all the time she had known William, he had never slept under a roof. "You try and keep me out," he said, wrapping his arm around her. He pulled her close against him, staring out at the valley over the top of her head. She leaned back, her body as pliant as a willow withe. The awful stiffness she'd held herself with was all gone. A hawk screamed and they both looked up. It circled high above them, riding the wind, free and wild. Just like me,he told himself. "I's... I'm free," he whispered into her hair. She nodded and clasped his hands, holding them against her. "No," she said. "Not any more. You belong to me." William couldn't say nothing for the lump in his throat. Instead he thought

ABC Amber Text Converter Trial version, http://www.processtext.com/abctxt.html about the house he'd build her. The bed he'd put together. With strong rope springs and a mattress filled with sweet grass and clean straw. Hattie had already started piecing a comfort for them, made from the wool scraps of old coats and britches. Maybe someday he'd build another bed, too. A small one, for, his son or daughter. She'd had her courses again on the way home, and he hoped that meant her body had repaired whatever damage them renegades had done it. But if there never was children of their bodies, he'd still believe he was the most lucky man ever born. Holding Flower close, he looked across the river, where he would build their home. Then back towards Cherry Vale, where their family was. This was his kingdom. He had truly found it. For a long time there he had dreamt of a future where he could be free. Where he could look any man in the eye and call him equal. Maybe that day wouldn't ever come, not in his lifetime. But here, in his kingdom, he could live like a man ought. Proud and independent. And free. "You think too much," he told her again. "All that time you worried yourself sick about finding a safe place, it was here waitin' for you." "I know," she murmured. "But I was so frightened, for so long." "Well, you needn't be no longer. You got no call to worry about what tomorrow's gonna bring. None atall." He turned her in his arms and cupped her face between his palms. Looking down into her beloved face, he said, "I loves you. Nothing's gonna change that. But I can't promise you'll always be safe, and I can't promise life's gonna be easy." "I know," she whispered. "Oh, William, I love you so!" "There's one thing I can promise, though. This time we're livin', whenever it is--even if we lives a hundred years--this time right now is the best we got. There ain't never gonna be better." And just to be sure she believed him, he kissed her. Flower felt the last shard of ice melt from her heart. The End

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