Page 83 of The Spirit of the Wolf

No one answered her. It was as if the shock of her presence had momentarily startled them out of speech.

At last, a short, balding man came rushing toward her. From his waistcoat and vest, to his brisk, no-nonsense manner, Marietta fathomed at once that this man was most likely a clerk.

He said, “The bourgeois, Mr. Laidlaw, has requested I bring you to him, miss. Follow me.”

“Yes, thank you, Mister…?”

“Smith,” supplied the man.

“Thank you, Mr. Smith.”

Mr. Smith spared a glance over his shoulder and smiled at Marietta. But espying the Indians, he ordered, “The Injuns cannot come with you, Miss… What did you say your last name was?”

“Welsford,” replied Marietta. “And it is Lady Welsford, sir. But there is a problem.”

“A problem?”

“Yes, you see, Mr. Smith, these Indians are with me. I would ask that they be allowed to accompany me everywhere I go. Mr. Coyote, here, saved my life.”

“Saved your life, did he?”

“That’s correct, sir, he did,” said Marietta. “Surely in light of this, you might understand my position on this matter. Besides, Yellow Swan is my maid, and I will require her attention.”

“Well…” the man hesitated, “…all right. Just this once I reckon we can forgo the rules. Follow me.”

Picking up her skirt, Marietta prepared to do exactly as he said. Ignoring the stares from all around her, she and her party paraded across the grounds to the house of Mr. Laidlaw, Fort Pierre’s bourgeois, a title that, in this land and at this time, was much like a king.

“What a lovely dinner this was, Mr. Laidlaw.” Marietta patted her lips with a white linen napkin. Sitting forward in the dining chair, she said, “It has been a long while since I have been treated to real butter and cream. I assume this comes to the table via the large herd of cows I saw when I first approached the fort.”

“That it does, lass,” said Laidlaw, a fair-headed Scotsman who seemed to favor long sideburns and whiskers. “That it does.”

Marietta nodded, and Laidlaw continued. “Now tell me, lass, what has happened to ye? How have ye come to be here in these western plains?”

Marietta placed both hands in her lap, pausing briefly. “I traveled here originally with members of royalty, led by Princess Sierra, heir to the throne of Baden-Baden. There was a fire aboard our steamship, the Diana, and I became parted from the princess.”

“Terrible transportation they are, those ships,” observed Laidlaw. “’Tis a wonder ye are here in one piece, lass, for ’tis a savage land, these western plains.”

“True,” agreed Marietta, “yet this land is also a country of beauty.”

Laidlaw frowned but appeared to have nothing of import to add to this last comment. “Come, ye are safe now. Whatever ordeal ye suffered is over.”

“Thank you, Mr. Laidlaw. I appreciate your kind words. However, I have need to ask you for information, if I might. I search for someone, a man.”

“Do ye, lass?”

“Yes, sir. He is rather beastly. Of large frame and ill temper, he is of haggard appearance, long, dark hair, beard and mustache. Have you knowledge of this man?”

“And why would ye be lookin’ for him?”

“It is…” Marietta hesitated. “It is personal, sir, but of one thing I can say. We suspect that this…beast has killed many people.”

“We?”

“Mr. Coyote, Yellow Swan and myself.”

“Ah,” said Laidlaw. “The Indians.”

“Yes, sir. The Indians.”