Page 91 of The Spirit of the Wolf

They must be aboard a boat of some kind. What had one of the men mentioned? A mackinaw? Although she wasn’t certain what kind of a boat this was, one matter was clear—it was wet. Already, her dress was soaking up water like dry cotton.

“Who’s goin’ on this trip?” came one of the voices.

“Jenkins, Adams, you and me,” answered another man. “That’s all. A bit of cargo for St. Louis, but not much, since we just sent some down with the Yellowstone. Mostly we’re supposed ta play host ta the women.”

Raunchy laughter accompanied this bit of news.

“There’s Jenkins now,” continued the voice. “We’re set to go, but where’s Adams?”

“He went lookin’ fer the Injun.”

“Well, go get him,” said another voice. “We’re supposed ta set this boat off now. The bourgeois said there was ta be no delay.”

Aha, thought Marietta. She had been right. This was Laidlaw’s work.

“But he said ta kill the Injun too.”

“Ah, you know we’ll never find the savage. Damned Injuns. No one hides better’n they do. You go tell Adams what I said, hear? We need ta get this boat off now, before the Injun finds us.”

Yes, thought Marietta. I’d be worried about the Indian finding me, too, if I were you.

“Ah, here’s Adams now. C’mon, man, get aboard. Laidlaw wants this mackinaw ta set off now.”

The boat pitched back and forth as someone stepped onto the boat—probably Adams—nice, friendly Allen Adams.

“Did’cha find the Injun?”

“No,” came the voice of Adams. “But you’re right—we best not waste any more time looking for him. Let’s get going.”

Marietta, still covered in a sheet, felt the boat set off from the shore.

The mackinaw turned out to be a cheaply made flat-bottomed boat about forty feet long and pointed at the bow. A long rudder extended out of its back, or the stern, of the boat. It required at least two oarsmen to guide her and was steered by a man who sat on a high perch astern. At the bow of the boat was the hold, which in this particular mackinaw had been set aside to house the women and an odd assortment of cargo.

At the moment, however, the entire crew, as well as the women, sat on a flat, grassy bank. Evening was descending on them, and as was custom along the river, the crew had rowed the boat ashore.

A large fire sat in the center of their small circle, and an iron pot was extended over it, cooking their supper of vegetables and pork. The crew was an odd assortment of men, Marietta had decided. Two of them wore red bandannas tied around their heads; another sported a black hat with the brim turned up. This man was Adams, and, as she recalled from the previous evening, Adam’s face bore a mark of kindness.

All of the men wore buckskin breeches and buckskin shirts that looked as if they’d seen better days. Three of the men sat smoking T-stemmed pipes, while a fourth man worked on the boat, securing it.

An overhanging growth of cottonwood and willow trees sheltered their little nook, creating a sort of park. It was a picturesque spot, and under most any other circumstance, Marietta might have been content to simply sit and enjoy the scenic beauty.

But she wasn’t content, nor was she inclined to relish the idle chatter of the men. Not at the moment. She was boiling mad.

Interrupting one of the men, she said, “You shouldn’t build such a big fire.”

All of the crew except Adams laughed at her. One of the bullies said, “And what would ye be knowing about it?”

“Apparently more than you,” she replied, but it was said more under her breath than aloud.

“What was that?” asked the man.

“A large fire can be seen from far away,” explained Marietta, “and its scent will warn any Indians traveling in the area that you are here. It’s better to build a small, smokeless fire.”

The man snickered. “Ye been travelin’ with the Injun too long, I expect, ma’am.”

“Perhaps,” agreed Marietta, “but at least I felt safe under his protection.”

“Don’t ye worry, ma’am. Ye’re safe with us. If’n them Injuns choose ta surprise us, we can get away in our boat.”