The Morning River

  Her laughter bubbled up. "It might have happened anyway, Ritshard. I spend too much time dreaming of you as it is." And the dreams would haunt her with greater intensity now, fulfilling in fantasy what they had so narrowly avoided in fact.

  "And I you," he replied sadly, reluctant gaze tracing the curve of her breasts, the flat lines of her belly, and the length of her legs. "God in Heaven, Willow, you're beautiful."

  "You have your ways, Ritshard . . . and I have mine." She glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "And I am going away soon. It is better that we do not join in that way."

  He nodded distantly, staring at something invisible in the water.

  She turned then, wading through the shallows to her dress. On the sand, she used her hands to wipe the last droplets from her skin, and reached for her dress. As she washed it, she glanced at him.

  He stood motionless, calf-deep in the clear eddies of the stream. His hands were clenched at his sides, and the long muscles in his arms flexed. Water had slicked the brown hair on his white legs and chest and beaded like dewdrops in the kinky hair around his softening penis.

  Don't even think it, Willow. Coupling with Ritshard would only bring you heartbreak. Resolute, she pulled on her damp dress and moccasins before picking up her war club and beginning the climb back to camp.

  "Reckon I seen whipped puppies what looked a heap more pert than ye do, Dick." Travis gave Richard a sidelong glance as they rode their splashing horses across the gravel-bottomed Cheyenne River.

  Everything had come undone. Laura, oh Laura, what have I done? All those vows of chastity, the promises he'd made himself and her had come so close to disaster that day at the Grand Detour. He'd been torturing himself ever since, trying to find his way—but nothing rational remained to him.

  Blessed God, I’m totally lost. Nothing makes sense anymore. That magnificent clarity with which he'd once viewed the world was gone, and a maelstrom of confusion was unleashed in its place.

  Richard concentrated on not losing his seat as his white mare climbed the steep bank in buck jumps. Shouldering through the brush, the mare trotted out onto the cottonwood flats beyond. A series of sculptured bluffs—weathered, scalloped, and grass-covered—rose in the distance. Here, the Missouri had cut deeply into the plains, and the valley slopes were speckled with oak, cedar, and patches of buffaloberry.

  Richard watched Travis lead the horses alongside, and gave the scar-faced hunter a sour glare.

  "Wal?" Travis asked mildly. "Ye gonna tell this coon why Willow and ye are looking so sad? Hell, fer the past three days, the both of ye've been so damned careful to keep from saying anything, or looking at each other, that Baptiste and me, we're getting a mite fidgety."

  Richard snorted as he tried to slouch in the saddle the way Travis did. "I should have gone ahead and jabbed you in the eyes during our fighting session this morning. Maybe it would have kept you from seeing more than what's there."

  He kicked his mare into the lead, trotting the animal across the flats. For a while they rode in silence.

  "Thar's another old Ree village over yonder," Travis said, pointing. "Sioux massacred a big bunch of 'em about twenty years back. Chopped the dead into pieces and scattered 'em. Even the wimmen and kids. The stories say the survivors were too horrified to return. They just left the corpses for the coyotes and the Sioux."

  "Why women and children?" Richard shook his head.

  "Wanted ter teach the Rees a lesson,"

  "A lesson? They call butchery like that a lesson?"

  "Ye ever read yer Bible? They's butchery akin ter that all through the Bible. And God's work, too. I reckon Sioux just ain't civilized like them Hebrew folks." Travis paused. "I'm kinda surprised we ain't run into more of them coons. This hyar's the middle of their country now."

  "And the Rees? Will they be around?"

  "Reckon they sneak through here when they have the notion. All this country used to belong to them. Funny people, the Rees. Related to Pawnee, but twice as cussed unpredictable."

  "Indeed. Well, we've had enough trouble with Pawnee," Richard muttered. Before the whiskey trip with Half Man, life had been so simple. He could just hate, fume, and plot his escape.

  Travis continued to watch him with eyes that sliced past all Richard's defenses. Just like Willow, he can read my soul.

  "I reckon if'n I's ye, I'd tie up with that gal, Dick."

  Richard tightened his grip on the wrist of the Hawken. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  " 'Course ye do. We're talking about Willow and ye."

  'There's nothing to talk about."

  "Uh-huh."

  "There isn't!" Richard glared at his tormentor.

  Travis Hartman had an unnatural eloquence of facial expression. Just a slight lift of a ruined eyebrow, the quirk of the lips, and a tightening of the eyes that declared, "Yer a miserable damned liar."

  Richard surrendered. "It won't work, Travis. I know it, and she knows it."

  "Knows what, fer God's sake? Hell, coon, if n she's a-looking at me with them fawn-warm eyes, I'd slip her straight off inta the bushes. Then I'd be right tempted to hightail my cussed butt off ter the Snake lands and never look back."

  "You would." Richard shook his head. "And then into another Sioux woman's bed, and then a Ree's, and Crow's, and whoever's next would be next."

  "Something wrong with that?" Travis's voice lowered menacingly.

  Richard cocked his head. "No. It's your way is all, Travis. It's not mine. I want more."

  "Like a nice wife? One of them white 'ladies'? The ones that talk about tea, and Mrs. Snootbutt's cookies, and lace? Hell, I been a fool fer years dreaming about finding me a white wife, of being all them things a man's supposed ter be. It's shit, Dick. Can ye see this coon living on a farm someplace back in the settlements? Gee-hawing a damn mule on a plow line? Smoking up a cabin and shucking corn? Naw, coon, that don't shine, not to this hyar child. But nigh onto twenty years now, I been a-believing it."

  At that moment a small band of whitetailed deer broke from a thatch of brush. They dashed away in zigzags, white tails flagged high. "I'm trying to decide if I believe you."

  "I don't give a damn if'n ye do or not."

  "I guess I do. You told me all this when you were delirious."

  "Ye mean raving? When I's fevered?"

  "Yes."

  Travis worked his jaws, squinting into the distance of his mind. "Reckon I remember." A pause, then he gave Richard a slit-eyed look. "So, why not Willow and ye?"

  "Dear God, Travis! I couldn't take her to Boston. She's a savage. She eats with her fingers! She's . . . she's an Indian*"

  "That's it, ain't it?"

  "No, that's not it. I made a promise, that's why. A promise to myself and Laura."

  "Who the hell's Laura?"

  "A woman ... the one I want to marry."

  "A rich Boston lady?"

  "What if she is?"

  "Wal, she ain't hyar, for one thing. But Willow is. And don't give me no shit about yer not in love with her, neither."

  Richard's desperation goaded him. "She's been married, Travis. Another man's wife. How could I marry a widow? It's not proper. Don't you understand?"

  Travis nodded, face suddenly expressionless. "She ain't a virgin."

  "That's right!"

  "Packrat took her, too."

  Richard lost his train of thought. "What?"

  Travis continued to give him that cold stare. "Why'n hell did she hate him so much? Come on, coon. She's a slave to that Pawnee kid fer nigh on three months. What in hell do ye think? He lay in his robes each night choking his chicken? She's been used. And that just makes it worse, don't it? A pure man like ye, a plumb dainty Yankee Doodle, wouldn't dare stick hisself where some other coon pumped his come, would he?"

  "It's not that! I tell you I—"

  "Ain't it?" Travis barked harshly. "Yer a stinking hypocrite, Dick. A damn liar! Fer all yer fancy talk about life and justice and morality, yer nothing more than a
Doodle Dandy, as stuffed full of shit as the rest of 'em. Ye makes me sick. And sure as hell, ye ain't worth Willow's spit."

  The tone in Travis's voice was too much. "Get off that damn horse!"

  Travis kicked a leg over and dropped lightly to his feet.

  Richard leapt from the mare, facing the hunter. "You don't ever use that tone of voice with me again, you hear?"

  "Yer a two-faced, double-tongued hypocrite, Dick. And Willow—and maybe this Laura, fer all I know—deserves more than a crawling worm like ye."

  The rage broke loose. Richard struck, whipping a balled fist at Travis's head. The hunter blocked it, and jabbed at Richard. Knuckles glanced off Richard's cheek, but he was already kicking out, letting loose of the Hawken to gouge those angry blue eyes.

  He never got his grip; a knee jacked into his crotch. The force of it lifted him into the air. He was doubled up with agony by the time he slammed the ground. For long moments he could only writhe in the grass, tears leaking from his eyes and breath stuck halfway down his throat.

  Travis stood over him, fists knotted, a soul-deep sadness in his eyes.

  Richard managed to gasp a breath. The cool air only relieved the paralysis of his sick stomach. He vomited weakly, then lay in limp misery.

  "Sorry, Dick." Travis bent down. "Tarnal Hell, coon, I figgered ye's ready ter kill me."

  "I was," Richard squeaked. "Damn, Travis, what did you do that for?"

  "Stopped ye cold, didn't I?"

  Richard rolled onto his back, hands probing his genitals, feeling for blood or. . . well, who knew what.

  "Reckon yer gonna be a mite tender fer a couple of days. Is yer sack swelling full of blood?"

  "No."

  "Wal, that's a relief. I'd hate ter doctor ye. I seen fellers hit hard down there and the sack fills up with blood. Sometimes the only thing ye can do is take a knifepoint, or a steel awl, and drain it out. Sort of like popping a big tick."

  "Please, God, no!" Richard probed again, then dragged a sleeve across his tear-blurred eyes.

  Travis walked over to catch up the horses and tied them off while Richard stifled grunts of pain, wiped his mouth, and rocked tenderly.

  When Travis returned, he offered a thin tin flask from his possibles. "Hyar, coon. Reckon a sip'll cure ye."

  Richard took the tin in trembling fingers, lifted it, and almost threw up again at the sticky pungent odor. Seeing Travis's scowl, he took a taste, gulped it down, and tried to keep his eyes from crossing.

  "What in the name of God is this?"

  "Castoreum, coon. It'll fix yer cojones and pizzle if'n they's mashed."

  "Where on earth do you get something that tastes that vile?"

  "Off'n a beaver's balls, pilgrim."

  Richard suffered a heaving of his gut, but kept it down through sheer force of will. God alone knew, the stuff was bad enough the first time; the second might kill him.

  Travis offered a hand and pulled Richard to his feet. Step by wobbly step they made their way across the knee-deep grass to a gnarly old cottonwood. There, beneath the spreading branches, Travis helped Richard to settle, then dropped down so they both sat with backs to the thick bark.

  Butterflies fluttered across the grass, the sound of grasshoppers and bees filling the air with life. In the branches above, robins and a grosbeak fluttered to nests hidden in the deltoid leaves. A fox squirrel leapt nimbly from branch to branch, pausing crosswise to stare down at them with uneasy black eyes.

  "Set ye off, didn't I?"

  "You did," Richard said wearily.

  "Good, 'cause yer being plumb stupid. Now, what's this shit about marrying a virgin?"

  To kill the cloying aftertaste of castoreum, Richard pulled a grass stem from its sheath and chewed the sweet pith before saying, "Laura Templeton is my best friend's sister. She's just seventeen and the most beautiful woman in the world."

  "Yer promised? Arrangements made?"

  "Well, no, not exactly. She said she'd wait for me. That I could pay court to her when I got back from Saint Louis."

  "An what if ye go home ter Boston and find she didn't wait? Hell, ye'll be nigh to two years gone, Dick. Reckon she'll wait that long?"

  "I don't know."

  "Wal, I don't figger this'll come as a surprise, but yer not the same Doodle lad that left Boston. Ye've become a man, and a heap different one than she knew. Even if'n ye went back, do ye reckon ye'll see her the same way? Folks change, grow, turn into something different.

  "Meantime, what about Willow? I seen that look in yer eyes. Ye got a hard case, coon. Why in hell cain't ye love her when she's loving ye back?"

  "I made a promise to myself, to Laura, that I would keep myself for her." At the skeptical look in Travis's eye, he added, "It's just the way I am. In this sullied world, is it so terrible to keep yourself for your true love?"

  "And this Laura, she's yer true love? Yer sure of that?"

  "I am. And it's about my children, Travis. About who their mother is. What sort of person. It's . . . Oh, God, I'm not sure I really understand, but, I tell you, it's important."

  "Why?"

  "Because it is, that's why. I don't want my child growing up the way I . . ."

  "Goon."

  Richard's heart had begun to hammer, and he closed his eyes, shaking his head.

  "Is it about yer mother?" Travis asked gently.

  Richard wiped his face and sighed. "She was a wonderful lady, Travis. From the finest Boston family. She died giving birth—to me. I never knew her. And all those years, my father would leave, late at night. It was only when I was older that I found out he had a mistress."

  "Ain't nothing wrong with that."

  "I guess not," Richard lied.

  "Ye guess not. Shit, tell me straight, boy, why did it bother ye that yer father let hisself be a man every now and then?"

  Richard's jaw tensed. Dear God, why? "Because ..."

  "Ah, he wasn't being loyal to the dead, huh?" An eyebrow raised, rearranging the scars on Travis's face. "And ye don't think Willow had a covenant with her husband? Or is it that he's an Injun?"

  Richard twirled the grass stem between his fingers. "I don't know."

  "Reckon ye do."

  "Do you know what she did? Back at the Grand Detour, she came down to the beach. She took off all her clothes, Travis, and waded into the water. She said that Shoshoni do it that way all the time." He pitched the grass away. 44 And I wanted her. I wanted her so badly that I almost gave in to what I knew was wrong."

  "Ye were gonna take her against her will?"

  "No. She was willing, Travis. I'd never force myself on a woman. But it's just impossible. She knows it, I know it, and I think you know it."

  "Because a fancy Boston nob like yerself can't lower hisself to marrying an Injun?"

  Richard nodded slowly. "My father—imagine the expression on his face. It would only be worse if I married a Negro."

  "It ain't yer father, Dick. It's you."

  "It's me," Richard whispered. "It's about the kind of life I want. Laura is that kind of wife, one suitable to a professor of philosophy. When I get back, I will marry her. Travis, you know me. How can I hold her, love her, knowing that when I was with her I'd be thinking about an Indian woman? And if Laura ever found out..."

  Travis tapped at his knee with thoughtful fingers. "Ye don't have to go back, hoss."

  "I have to, Travis. My life is back there. That's who I am." Richard dropped his hand down to massage his tender testicles. "If anyone ever found out. Travis, you've got to understand. I'm a gentleman."

  "Is that another word fer silly idiot?"

  "You know what I mean."

  "Yer being a fool." Travis stared down at his sun-browned hands. "Ye come from the top and I come from the bottom of what's back there. Lookit, hyar we are, jawing up a storm, and back thar in Boston, ye wouldn't give me a nod in the street. And Baptiste, ye'd figger him worse than shit on yer heel. Nothing but a nigger, free or not. Tell me, coon, with all yer savvy about m
ankind and culture and morality, which way's best? The top on the top like back there, or all mixed up like out hyar? Who's free, coon?"

  "Is it freedom, Travis? Or a lack of responsibility?" Richard winced as he straightened his legs.

  "Huh! I figger it's freedom. Life don't let nobody skip outa responsibility. Take me and Green. It don't matter that I owed him, I'd a took this trip on account of he's my friend. If'n the play was turned around, if'n it was my boat, Davey Green would be thar. Baptiste is stringing along looking fer fun, and ten percent, sure. But if'n I wasn't with this company, nine outa ten says he wouldn't be hyar. Don't matter where ye are, ye gotta be responsible ter yerself and yer companions. That, or ye ain't a man."

  "All right, accepting that argument, I must be responsible enough to say no to the temptation Willow offers. In the end it would only hurt us both."

  Travis sighed in defeat. "All right, I can accept that if'n that's how ye reads sign. That's a man making a choice to keep a friend from trouble. Willow would savvy that"— Travis's eyes hardened—"so long's it ain't that she's spoilt goods, and a damn Injun in yer eyes."

  Is that it? Was that why I wanted to kill Travis? Because he spoke the truth, and I really am a hypocrite?

  Travis grabbed futilely at a big black fly that buzzed around his head. "White men have got some tarnal strange ideas about what's what, and right, and proper ways fer folks ter act. Same fer Injuns; just ask that Packrat. Hell, maybe ye can't make it work without breaking each other's hearts. On the other hand, coon, maybe yer gonna throw away the best woman ye'll ever meet."

  "What will people say, Travis? A white man ... married to an Indian."

  Travis waved toward the west. "Ain't nobody out there gonna care. Baptiste figgered that out long ago. Yer only in trouble if n ye goes back ter America."

  "But I must, Travis."

  "Wal, ain't no man can walk yer road fer ye. How're ye feeling? Reckon we otta drop back toward the river, see if n the sneaking Sioux's wiped out the engages. Can ye walk?"

  Richard stood slowly and made a face, legs bowed. "I'll say this, Travis, I sure won't have to worry if Willow catches me in the river again. You took care of any concerns in that regard."