“To use your own words, I’d rather you didn’t.”
Nate looked at him in surprise. “You haven’t heard it.”
“I don’t need to.” Blunt propped an elbow on a knee. “I’ve taken your measure. You, sir, are a man who always does what he thinks is right, and hang the consequences. Am I correct?”
“Most men do the same,” Nate said.
“No, they don’t. Too many look out for themselves. They put their own interests before everyone else and they don’t care who is hurt by it. They’re petty and mean and can’t ever talk well of anyone else. They carp and they whine and they stab others in the back.”
Nate laughed. “You don’t have a very high opinion of your fellow man.”
“No, I do not.” Blunt sipped and scowled. “I wish it were otherwise. When I was young I did. I lived and breathed the Bible and thought everyone did the same. I believed, truly believed, that all men were brothers and all women sisters and that all it took for all of us to get along was for all of us to care for one another.” His scowl deepened. “I was a fool.”
“You can’t be faulted for thinking the best of everyone.”
“Yes, I can,” Blunt said severely. “My head was in the clouds. I took it for granted everyone was like me when they weren’t. That’s the key, you see. We are all of us different. I have made no secret of the fact I am a Christian. I confess to you now that the great shock of my life was to realize that many, or dare I say most, of my fellow men are not as I am and have no real interest in being so. They are content to go through life being selfish and vain and give little thought if any to their Maker.” Blunt shook himself. “But to get back to you. I suspect you have taken the notion to go out after this Kuruk before he attacks my train. Am I correct or not?”
“You are.” It dawned on Nate that here was a man every bit as shrewd as Shakespeare and every whit as smart as Winona. “I intend to slip away in the middle of the night. There’s less chance the Pawnees will be watching us then.”
“You are being foolish.”
“Hear me out,” Nate requested. “Kuruk is out to get me. His friends might lend a hand but only so long as he is there to lead them. If I can find them, if I can put an end to him, the rest will go. They won’t pose a threat to you and your men.”
“It’s noble of you to be willing to risk your life on our behalf, but you’re overlooking something.”
“Which would be?”
“Kill Kuruk and maybe his friends won’t go away. Maybe they will want revenge for him just as he wants revenge for his uncle. They might even send for more warriors, and before you know it, we’ll have the whole tribe breathing down our necks. Have you considered that?”
No, Nate hadn’t. “The risk is small. The Pawnees have never attacked whites in any great force.”
“There’s a first time for everything. But I won’t try to stop you. You are a grown man and can do as you please. All I ask is that you don’t go alone.”
“You want me to take Haskell?”
“He is a fine lieutenant and has never given me cause to regret choosing him, but he’s not the man for this job.” Blunt twisted and scanned the encampment. Cupping his free hand to his mouth, he bellowed, “Maklin, a word with you, if you please.”
The man who came to the fire was of middling height. He was dressed as the other bull-whackers except he wore a black hat with an uncommonly wide brim. He had two knives, one on each hip. Both of the pistols tucked on either side of his belt buckle were inlaid with silver. His rifle was foreign made, not a Hawken. He was the only freighter who wore moccasins and not boots.
Nate had seen the man around and noticed that he kept to himself and rarely spoke even to the other bull-whackers.
“Mr. Maklin, here, is from Texas. He lived for a while with the Lipans. Quick Hands, they called him. He is the best killer in my outfit and you would do well to have him at your side.”
“You’ve lived with Apaches?” Nate had heard that they were implacable haters of all things white.
“I took a Lipan gal as my wife. She’s dead now.” Maklin didn’t elaborate.
“We have something in common,” Nate said. “My wife is Shoshone and her people adopted me. Did the Lipans adopt you?”
“I can go back to them anytime I want.”
Blunt coughed. “I never pry into the past of my men except as it relates to their work, but I can assure you that you won’t regret taking him.”
Maklin turned to the captain. “What is it you want me to do?”
“You’ve heard about our guide’s run-in with the Pawnees today? He intends to find their leader and kill him so the rest don’t try to kill us.”
Again Maklin asked, “What is it you want me to do?”
“Go with Mr. King. Watch his back. Protect him. Kill any Pawnees who try to kill him.”
Nate smothered a chuckle. “I can take care of myself.”
“Pride, sir, goes before a fall,” Blunt responded. “Are you refusing Maklin’s help?”
“Why do you call him the best killer you have?”
It was Maklin who answered. “Because I’ve killed more than all the rest put together. Thirty-seven men, at last count. Some were white, but most were enemies of the Lipans.”
“You keep a tally?”
“I don’t take joy in spilling blood, if that’s what you’re thinking. It has to be done and I do it and forget it.”
“Would that I could,” Nate said half to himself. “All right. You can come along on one condition. You’re not to kill unless I say. Do you agree?”
“He agrees,” Blunt said.
Nate stood. “I’ll go get ready.” He made for the bay. As he crossed the circle he glanced back.
Jeremiah Blunt and the man called Maklin were huddled together, and Maklin was fingering one of his silver-inlaid pistols.
Chapter Six
No matter how small the fire, at night the glow could be seen for miles. Even when the fire was kindled in a hollow or a ravine as a precaution, a pale patch always stood out against the black ink of the night sky, especially when someone used a telescope to look for it as Nate was doing now. He sat astride the bay half a mile from the freighter camp and slowly swept the spyglass back and forth, seeking a telltale lighter patch.
“Anything?” Maklin asked.
“Not yet.” Nate was convinced Kuruk was out there somewhere plotting to rub him out for the death of Red Rock.
“Ask you a question?”
“So long as it’s not about anything personal.”
“You say the Shoshones adopted you into their tribe. Did it mean something to you, or did you go along with it so as not to hurt their feelings?”
Nate lowered the spyglass and looked at him. “I like the Shoshones. They have my highest respect and I’m honored they’ve taken me as one of their own. Why do you ask?”
“A lot of whites don’t care for Indians.”
That was putting it mildly, Nate thought. Out loud he said, “A lot of people, white and red, can’t see past the color of another person’s skin.”
“I can,” Maklin said without a hint of brag. “I saw through that Lipan gal’s skin to the beauty she had inside. I loved her, King. I loved her more than I’ve ever loved anything, a lot like you must love your Shoshone gal, I reckon.”
Nate acknowledged as much.
“A lot of whites looked down their noses at me for taking her for my wife,” Maklin detailed. “One day in a saloon a man called me a no-account, stinking Injun lover. His very words.”
“What did you do?”
“I used the stock of my rifle on his face. I broke his nose and split his cheek. I told him if he ever pressed charges I’d come back and finish what I’d started. He never did.”