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wish, minding my own damned business!
The man was shocked. He had been so sure he held the strongest position that
my reply shook him. He stared at me, unable to make me out, and then I saw his
eyes go beyond me, looking for my supporters.
Look here! he said roughly. I want
to know to
I cut him short. Whatever you want to know, you ve a damned impertinent way
of asking. Now I have no business with you. If you have any with me, state it
and be damned quick. I want to get on with my riding.
One of the men started forward angrily and my rifle twitched only an instant.
Hold it right there! I said. I have no idea who you are or what you want,
and to be perfectly frank, I don t give a damn. Now if you want trouble, start
the music and I ll sing you a tune. If you don t, get the hell out of the
way. I m coming through!
They did not believe it. That one man alone would talk so to them. Obviously
they fancied themselves of some importance and they could not accept it.
I slapped the spurs to my horse and leaped him among them. As I did so, I
kicked back with my right spur raking the horse nearest me on that side.
Instantly he began to pitch, turning the small group into turmoil.
My horse swung to my bidding and I held my aimed rifle on the head of the
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leader. All right, gentlemen! I said. Do you ride or do I shoot?
Oh, they did not like it! They did not like it at all! But they rode. Glumly,
bitterly, they quieted their mounts and they turned their backs on me. One of
them growled, We ll be meetin again, mister. This here ain t over.
I sincerely hope not, I replied.
You re a surly, impolite, and dirty-necked crowd, and somebody should teach
you some manners.
They rode off and I watched them go until the shoulder of the hill concealed
them, and then I wheeled my horse and ran him down the trail for a good half
mile at a dead run, not wanting to open a shooting war with five men out on
the shortgrass plains. When I could, I turned up the slope and worked around
behind the hill where the outcropping was. I had an idea whoever was up
there, if it was not all imagination, had witnessed the recent meeting, and
would be wondering about it.
Now I had need of care. The way before me was plain enough, but I wanted
neither to be shot by those I wished to help, nor by those searching for them,
so I took my way along the reverse slope, angling along toward the crest,
hoping to top the ridge somewhere back and to the north of the rocks.
Several times I drew up to look carefully around. My own position was
exposed, but the bulk of the hill lay between myself and my enemies. No one
else was within sight. Nearing the crest, I dismounted, and rifle in hand
walked slowly forward.
There was the sort of place I sought right before me. It was a slight break
in the crest where erosion had cut out the sandy earth from around the rocks
and brush, leaving a gap. I went to it. Trailing the reins of my horse, I
crept forward on my belly and looked across the ridge.
The outcropping looked like a cluster of small stone buildings from here,
with broken rock all about, and some brush as well as cedars. Beyond, I could
see nothing. If watcher there was upon those hills yonder, he was well hidden,
as I was.
As for the outcropping, if it was not now the refuge of those I sought, it
certainly had been, for crossing the ridge right below me and angling toward
the rocks was a dim trail, the sort that might have been left by one horse.
The afternoon was well advanced and there was no time for delay. Nor as far
as I could see was there reason for it. Leading my horse, I crossed over the
slope and walked into the circle of rocks.
They stood side by side, facing me, a rather tall young woman of perhaps
nineteen or twenty, and a lad of about thirteen. They stood together, their
backs against the flat side of a great square block of sandstone. She had
auburn hair and hazel eyes and was dressed in what had been a handsome riding
outfit of a style much in fashion when I was last in Europe. The boy wore
buckskins and a sombrero. He had black hair and black eyes and he carried a
rifle much too long for him.
How do you do? I said. I m Ronan Chantry, and if I can be of assistance,
I d be pleased.
I m Lucinda Falvey, and this is my friend, Jorge Ulibarri. He s helping me
to reach the Mandan settlements.
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The Mandans! I exclaimed. But ... but the Mandans are far and away to the
north! Hundreds of miles!
That s true, she replied quietly, but that s where I must go. My family
have friends in French Canada. If I can reach them, I believe I can arrange to
return to my home in Ireland.
Frankly, I was disturbed. I had not imagined anything of this sort, and had
no particular desire to go riding off to the country of the Mandans. Not that
I did not know something about them, for I did, indeed. They were a tribe of
Indians who lived in well-built mud lodges in the land of the Dakotas, on the
Missouri River.
We had best get you out of here, I suggested, before those men come back.
They were pursuing you, weren t they?
They were ... and are. They followed us from Santa Fe, but so far we ve
given them the slip.
She volunteered no further information and I asked for none. She was a lady
in distress and I was, I hoped, a gentleman. And she was, obviously, a lady.
Moreover, it was equally obvious she was Irish, as was my own family ... not
to say that my line was innocent of other blood. My noted ancestor, Tatton
Chantry, the first of the name to visit these shores, had set us all an
example by wedding a most lovely lady whose family was of Peru. She was the
descendant of a Spanish grandee who married an Inca princess.
I have friends farther along the way, I said. We ll catch them, and then
it ll be time enough to make plans.
She looked at me with great severity. You have evidently misunderstood, Mr.
Chantry. My plans are made. I go to the Mandan villages.
Yes. Of course.
We mounted, and rode down the long hill toward
the trail. They had two excellent riding horses, fine stock with more than a
little of the Spanish Barb in them, and a packhorse as well. What the packs
contained, I had no idea. But in view of the long journey before them, I hoped
it was food. However, looking at the young lady, I would almost have wagered
my last cent that it was clothing ... and not the clothing of the trail
either.
We rode swiftly. Their animals were in better shape than mine and were in any
case better horses, so we made good time while watching the country for the
five men.
Rather hesitantly, I inquired if she knew their identities or motives. She
denied knowledge but somehow I only half believed her and warned her we were
in danger.
Oh, them! She was scornful. I saw it all. You sent them packing, and if
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