Marna (5 page)

"That's a fact," Matt agreed. "Me and old Grandpop
barely made provisions last year."

"I was sorry to hear about the old man's passin',"
Caleb said. "You're gonna be lost without him, ain't
you?"

Caleb gazed down thoughtfully at his drink a minute,
and then, after a glance at his unaware friends, leaned
closer to Matt. "Why don't you come in with us, Barton? We could sure use a man with your abilities. Ain't none of us really been this far away from home before.
I'm not sure how we'll make out a hundred miles from
nowhere. You and the old man traveled around so
much, I don't expect territory makes much difference to
you.,,

Matt toyed with his glass, tracing wet patterns on the
tabletop. It had always been just him and the old man.
How would he work out thrown in with a group of
men? He and Grandpop had always respected each
other's privacy, realizing that there were times when a
man needed to be alone. Also, there was the question
whether he could take orders. There had been no orders
given between him and his grandfather. Each man had
known his job and had done it. But with seven men
together, there had to be a leader.

He looked up at the waiting Caleb. "Who bosses the
outfit?"

Caleb gave a short laugh. "You joshin'? Ain't none
of us could boss a herd of goats. We just go along,
arguin' and fightin'."

Matt's forehead creased. "That's no way to go on a
hunt, Caleb. There's got to be one man willin' to take
on the responsibility of bringin' the men through and
makin' some money. He has to lay down rules and
regulations, then see that they are carried out. Otherwise you get no good results at all. You can spend an
entire winter makin' only pennies."

Caleb's eyes gleamed excitedly. "Come along and be
our leader, Matt."

His drink halfway to his lips, Matt turned surprised
eyes to Caleb. "Who? Me?" His friend nodded, and he
put the ale back down, untasted. Gazing thoughtfully
into the pale liquid, he wondered if he wanted the
bother of these hard-drinking, hard-living men. It was
doubtful if any one of them had ever taken an order
in his life. Caleb nudged his arm. "Well, Matt, what
about it?"

"I don't know, Caleb. I never led anybody before.
Anyhow, what makes you think the others would be
agreeable?"

"We'll find out." His fist slammed down on the table,
making the tin mugs bounce. Startled, the men were
jerked to bleary-eyed attention. Grinning loosely, Caleb
announced, "Matt Barton is gonna join up with us."

The news was greeted with slurred cries of "Hey,
that's good"; "Glad to have you with us, Barton"; "We
need an experienced hand along."

When their voices had died down, Caleb added,
"He's gonna be the leader. He's gonna boss this bunch,
and make us some money."

Again the added news was accepted with goodnatured willingness. Then, amid the cheering, Matt's
glance fell on a face not in tune with the others. The
big, paunched man sat silently, a dark, sullen gleam in
his narrowed eyes. Fastening his dissatisfied gaze on
Matt, he growled, "We never needed a leader before.
Why put a stranger over us now? Why not one of our
own men if you think it's so necessary?"

As Caleb and the others shouted down his objections,
Matt studied the blotched, whiskey-bloated face. It
wasn't hard to reach his mind. The dirty, bewhiskered
man had intended to lead the men on the hunt.

Caleb, more sober than the others and irritated at the
man's attitude, broke in sharply on the raucous chorus
of the others. "Blast it, Corey, he's the best man here.
He knows the wilderness inside out, and he knows the
best places to set traps." He paused to grin crookedly.
"Besides, he's the best fighter this side of England."

Corey's small eyes became more narrow, almost disappearing in the fat. "Just when was all these things
proved?" he snarled disagreeably.

Caleb jumped to his feet to more ably give proof to
his claim. Matt laid a silencing hand on his arm. His
eyes glittering like flakes of ice, he rose slowly and leaned across the table, his face very close to Corey's.
There was a long, tense moment as their eyes met.
Vaguely Matt sensed the stoppage of activity and conversation among the men as they turned to watch them.
Matt's voice jabbed into the silence. "Is this a showdown, Corey? Do we fight it out here and now?"

Called on to back up his words, the fat man wavered,
his eyes shifting a jot from the menacing gleam boring
in on him. He had heard of Matt Barton's powerful fists
and his ability with the long, broad hunting knife. And
even though he outweighed the younger man by twenty
or thirty pounds, he wasn't ready to face him in a roughand-tumble.

A low snicker from one of the men brought an angry
red to Corey's face. The bastards watched, ready to
judge and compare. If he were going to be boss of this
outfit, he'd have to take Barton on. Drawing on his
shrinking courage, he bounded to his feet. "By God,
yes," he blustered, his hand jabbing at the knife in his
belt.

But even as his fingers closed over the hilt, a blurred
movement had nestled Matt's knife in the palm of his
hand. The blade shone ugly in the ray of light penetrating the dirty window behind him. In the deadly silence
the men stared at it wide-eyed.

Corey's face blanched a dirty gray, and he was
sweating freely, the beads gleaming on his forehead. He
began backing away, his knife still in its sheath. All the
fight had gone out of him, and when he came up against
the wall, he blustered out, "Hell, if the men want you as
their leader, Barton, I ain't gonna argue."

Matt's cold eyes studied the trembling bulk. Should
he force the fight, put his knife between the ribs so
handy to him? This incident wouldn't be the last one,
he knew. He would have to watch him all the time. This
type of man would bide his time and then put a knife in
his back.

While the others watched intently, half hoping that
Matt would finish off the quarrelsome Corey, Caleb
approached Matt and slapped him on the back. "Glad
to have you with us, boss."

Matt let his body relax slowly. He was alerted to the
kind of man he had to deal with, and that gave him an
edge. He returned the knife to his belt and grinned.
"Thanks," he said.

Matt and Caleb left the tavern to make camp together, leaving the other hunters to partake of the ale
and the whores.

The next morning they breakfasted early and broke
camp, When they stopped at the tavern to gather their
companions, the sun was quite high. It appeared from
their sleep-puffed eyes that the men had just roused
from sleep. They were a sorry-looking group, with their
whisker-stubbled faces and ale-stained buckskins.

Caleb grabbed his nose and snorted, "Good Lord,
you smell worse than them whores over there."

Three Indian women lay sprawled across the table in
various stages of undress. Their slack mouths gaped
open as they snored loudly.

As Matt and Caleb watched, Corey stamped over to
the youngest woman and lifted her head by the hair.
Her eyes opened slowly and she blinked up at him.
Then recognition flooded her eyes and she shrank away
from him. Corey jerked a thumb toward the door,
snarling, "Climb on that roan out there."

With a look close to terror in her eyes, the girl shook
her head. "Dove doesn't want to go with you. You are
an evil man."

Corey jerked the girl to her feet and slapped her
across the mouth. "Who cares what you want, bitch?
You're gonna be my squaw this winter." He gave her a
hard shove that sent her reeling toward the door.

As Corey started stalking after her, Henry stepped in front of him. "Corey, if she don't want to go with you,
let her go. You can always find one who's willin'."

Still half drunk, Corey swept Henry aside and followed the girl outside. When Henry would have gone
after him, Matt laid a detaining hand on his arm. "Let
it go, Henry. I'd hate to see you laid up and maybe miss
the hunt. The girl will slip away from him some night
... or put a knife in him."

Reluctantly Henry agreed, muttering that maybe he'd
put a knife in the bastard some night.

Outside they heard the girl cry out, and when they
left to mount up, she sat in front of Corey, a thin trickle
of blood running from the corner of her lip.

The hunters and Corey's squaw had traveled at a
leisurely pace, having plenty of time before the trapping
season began. If they found a likely spot, they might
stay as long as a week in the one place.

After a month or so the terrain began to change in
appearance. The forest was thicker, with the sun coming through only in patches. The hills were steeper and
the valleys more rolling. Many deep gullies and huge
boulders were in evidence. Some of the towering granite
rocks were three times the height of a cabin and several
yards wide. The air was beginning to be cool and crisp,
and Matt noted that before long snow would lie deep in
these hills.

One night, camped at the end of a clear running
river, he spoke his thoughts aloud.

"Men, from what I've heard talked about, I believe
we're in Kentucky. The countryside fits the descriptions
given me."

The Indian girl said, "We've been in Kentucky territory two days now."

Matt bent a doubtful eye on her. "How do you know,
Dove?"

"My tribe lives about ten miles from here."

Matt tossed a chunk of wood on the fire. "Well, that
being the case, I think this is a good spot to make
permanent camp. All indications point to winter settlin'
down anytime."

Everyone agreed heartily, thankful to be settling in
one place at last. They were weary of the saddle.
Mostly, a hunter walked.

As the men brought out a bottle to celebrate, Matt
made one more observation. "You men can build your
quarters as you please. Me, I'm gonna build my own
personal hut."

When he rolled into his blankets a short time later,
the men were still discussing whether to build private
quarters or one community lodge.

Matt thought of this now as he rode toward camp.
He still hadn't started his place. He would have had the
hut thrown up by now if he hadn't been scouting the
neighborhood for the past several days. It was his job
to look for animal trace and trails, deciding where traps
should be placed. As he rode, he had also kept his eyes
open for a settlement or post in the territory. On the
third day he had spotted a small settlement only ten or
twelve miles from where they were camped. It lay at the
foot of a valley and consisted of a tavern-store combination and a whorehouse. The discovery of whores had
spread his lips in a wide grin. His men would shout at
that news.

The stallion reached the top of a steep hill, and Matt
reined it in to breathe it. Sitting the horse quietly, Matt
looked down over the valley that was rapidly being
enveloped in the dusk. Up here on the hill he could still
see the sun, but below all was in shadow.

It's pretty country, he thought, letting his gaze travel
over the frost-tipped maples that glistened in the last
rays of sun. But the blue sparkle of the river winding
through the valley outshone it all. His eyes lingered on
the stream, and he wondered if the fish bit well in its fast-running waters. He would have to drop a line in it
one of these days.

As he was about to move on, Matt's gaze was caught
by a movement along the water's edge. He leaned forward, peering intently, then grinned. Evidently the fish
did bite. Someone sat there now, dangling a line in
the water. Since the fisherman was so close to their
camp, he would ride down and introduce himself, he
decided. It never hurt to be on good terms with the
people around you.

The stallion moved soundlessly over the needlestrewn ground until they were almost upon the figure.
Then the horse's hoof struck a rock, and the figure
jumped and gave a startled cry.

Matt brought Sam to a halt, staring. A girl, wild and
ragged looking, had sprung to her feet and crouched,
like an animal at bay. Through a snarled mass of hair,
startling blue eyes glared fiercely at him. The softness
in him that seldomed surfaced was touched. The poor,
woods queer girl was half frightened out of her wits.
She had probably lived her entire life in this wilderness,
and the solitude must have turned her strange.

He smiled kindly at her, speaking softly, "Don't be
afraid, girl. I just want to introduce myself. My name is
Matt Barton, and I'm a new neighbor."

If the girl understood him, she gave no indication,
but only continued to watch him with threatening eyes
through her matted hair. Matt wondered if the dirty
face had ever seen soap and water. Giving an impatient
grunt, he made to swing from the saddle. As though his
action had released a spring in her, the girl gathered her
skirt in slender brown fingers and sprinted down the
rock-strewn shore. His foot still in the stirrup, Matt
stared after the flashing brown legs in bewilderment.
Shaking his head, he started to swing his leg back over
the mount, muttering, "Let the wild thing go."

He threw her one last glance, and at that moment the
girl's feet slipped from under her. He waited for her to rise and flee on. Several moments passed and she didn't
stir. A worried frown creased his forehead. She lay
strangely quiet with her arms flung wide.

Pushing back his coonskin, Matt scratched his head.
What should he do? Should he just go off and leave her,
or should he check her for possible injuries? In the
tavern that day he had found the Kentucky men
friendly but unusually proud and touchy. He didn't
want to do the wrong thing and have a pack of them on
his trail.

Once again he stepped back to the ground. Hell, it
wasn't right to go off and leave her lying there. She
could be seriously hurt.

Trailing the lines, he walked over to the inert figure
and stared down at her. He saw at once the large flat
rock her head had struck. He hunkered down and
shook her shoulder. "Hey, girl, wake up. Are you all
right?"