“John, please don’t go. I need you.”
He stopped reluctantly, not wanting her to see his anger. “Why? You’ve got Lieutenant Green Jeans.”
“Do you remember those men you had trouble with, the ones who were outside Charley’s place? They came this morning and offered to herd my pack animals. When I turned them down, they didn’t like it much. John, I can smell raider a mile away. So can you. You know they’ll hit us on the trail, somewhere down the line. It’s just a matter of when.”
He stood, weighing the possibilities. None were any good and he realized she was right. He could imagine what Hobbs’ men would do if she hired them. They would have gone with the pack train, and then when the time was right, tried to take it over. Since that didn’t work out for them, they’d be waiting up in the hills somewhere in ambush, just looking for their chance. A show of force might just keep them away. “What’s in your packs?”
She looked at him steadily. “Guns, ammo, clothing—and toilet paper. Just everything any self-respecting raider would kill for.”
With an exasperated sigh and softly uttered oath, he turned back to the small group who waited for his decision. “Gunny, there’s a good place to camp about twenty miles east of here. On your map it’s the junction of “U” highway and Eleven Point Creek, in grid fourteen. I will see you there tomorrow if you push hard, otherwise I will see you whenever you make it. I’m going to make a side trip first.” At Katie’s questioning look, he said innocently, “I’m going to the library.”
6
Katie looked after the lieutenant as the man stalked off. He’d just received the worst tongue-lashing he would ever be likely to get. And it was well deserved. Now, she figured his men were going to get one too, if for no other reason than for the lieutenant to let off steam. She almost felt sorry for the man.
She went to check on her pack animals. They carried a valuable cargo—one she wasn’t supposed to be bringing back to Big Springs. Her thought was to get in, and out of the camp without anyone paying attention. People come and go all the time. Now, she was worried. Those men had scared her more than she wanted to admit. What worried her more was how easily they’d given up. Maybe they figured to have the cargo anyway?
As she finished the chores, she stood, hands on hips, gazing after Trent.
Why the library?
7
John Trent was naturally curious—always had been. He liked to know things, especially information about the country he was in. It was no surprise his thoughts wandered to the origins of the pathways in the Ozark Mountains.
Before the Appalachian Mountains were heaved upward in the Paleozoic ages, the Ozark Mountains were there. Before the Rocky Mountains were home to the dinosaurs in the Laramide years, the Ozarks were there. The soft contours and rolling forested slopes give way to rugged highlands that have been a mystery since man had time to wonder.
Millions of years ago, sand deposited on beaches of ancient seas became sandstone that lay buried under layers of limestone, left by the receding water. As the world changed and evolved, eons of ice, rain, and wind wore away portions of the soft sandstone, leaving a valley of elephant-sized rocks, and deep, cool canyons with craggy overhangs of rock and trees.
At the headwaters of Eleven Point Creek is a large spring that comes bubbling out of a little cave about halfway up a medium sized mountain. Cascading through layers of limestone rock, dropping into sandstone pools, then escaping back onto limestone ledges again, the stream finally comes to rest at the foot of the mountain, forming a pool of clear, cold water about a hundred feet across.
Three sides of the pool sported a dense growth of forest fern and arrow weed. Honeysuckle leaned its branches over into the water, while honeybees worked the sickly sweet blossoms for pollen.
The fourth side of the pool is a gravel bar, where the water finally escapes its rock-lined boundaries and tumbles onward down the brush choked valley to join with other tributaries to become a medium sized stream.
It was the second day that he’d been waiting for the pack train, and the third day out of base camp. He’d scouted ahead of them, snooping through some of the obvious places an ambush might be staged. He didn’t really think they would strike this early, but you never knew. They weren’t stupid, and were completely unpredictable. He thought an attack would come a few days from now, when the soldiers would be tired and irritable. Their fatigue would cause them to cut corners to save time, and the soldiers would have trouble staying awake at night while they guarded the camp. If it were to happen, that’s when they would strike.
Sitting with his back to a boulder the size of a house, he was cooking a noonday squirrel over a hat-full of fire when the pack train ambled toward the clearing. He’d been hearing them for the last ten minutes, and marveled that they marched up a rocky wash, advertising their existence to all who wanted to hear. They could as easily have been traveling on the soft earth next to it. He reminded himself to ask Gunny about it. The noncom should know better.
He could see the lieutenant leading his men up the wash, with Katie and her pack animals bringing up the rear. As he watched, she raised her hand in a half-salute.
Slowly the party of pack animals and soldiers moved into the clearing. The lieutenant came straight toward Trent’s small fire. Looking past him, he could see the men were dead on their feet. Leave it to the Ozark mountain terrain to take the starch out of a man.
Katie, with the help of a couple of soldiers, hazed her animals toward a grassy clearing nearby. Gunny was missing.
Lieutenant Spencer stood looking at him a moment. Unconcerned, he turned the squirrel over the fire, browning it as it turned. The juices dripped into the fire, making a sizzling sound that brought rumbles of hunger from the watching soldier.
“We’re late.” Lieutenant Spencer did not sound as authoritative as he had three days ago.
“Yes, you are.” Standing up, he glanced at the squad of soldiers. None had taken off their packs. They were waiting for orders, a plus for discipline but not much for common sense.
“Lieutenant, if you’ll take some advice, I think you should camp here until tomorrow. Your men look done in. You could use the opportunity to check them out on camp procedures, defensive positions, that kind of thing.”
Lieutenant Spencer sighed. “I think you’re right, Trent.” He turned and made a hand sign to the men. With relieved groans and grumbles, the squad dropped their packs, and went about their tasks with efficient movements and purpose.
Catching Katie’s attention, as she finished hobbling her horses, he motioned her over to his fire. The lieutenant sat on a rock nearby. “Where’s the gunny, Lieutenant?”
“We saw some smoke yesterday evening. I sent the gunnery sergeant to investigate. He told me he would pull a cold camp, and catch up with us this morning.” He gazed back down the trail. “He’s overdue.” Lieutenant Spencer looked at him. “Why?”
“I just wondered. You know, Spencer, you shouldn’t travel in creek beds. I know it’s easier sometimes, but sound travels a long way in these canyons. I could hear you coming for nearly a mile.”
As Katie came up to the fire, he pulled a wooden plate from his pack, cut the squirrel in half and shared with her. Digging into the ashes at the side of the fire, he produced two brown trout wrapped in leaves that were baking in the coals. Putting one on the plate, he passed the food wordlessly over to her.
“If you’re trying to get on my good side, you’ve made a good start.” Her strong white teeth were already tearing the meat apart, eating with her fingers.