Page 92 of The Spirit of the Wolf

“Get away in the boat?” Stunned at the stupidity of the statement, Marietta stared at the one who uttered it.

“That’s right,” proffered the man.

“I beg to differ, sir,” she replied. “By the time it would take you to run to the boat, you would most likely be dead. Besides, don’t you realize that any Indian could follow you? You do know they can swim, don’t you?”

For a second, the bully looked ridiculously blank. After a brief pause, he grinned at her. “Them Injuns ain’t brave enough ta follow us. ’Sides, they’d flee before our guns.”

“Maybe.” Marietta shook her head and gazed away from the man. “Thank heavens your guns are big enough to make up for your lack of brains and skill.”

“What was that, miss?”

“Nothing,” Marietta replied, though she caught Yellow Swan’s gaze, and the two women shared a secret smile.

Yellow Swan raised her hands, making hand motions—with her palms facing each other, she drove her hands forward in zigzag motions. It was the sign for “follow.” Then she formed the sign for “husband.”

Marietta nodded.

“What did the savage say?” asked one of the crew who wore a bandanna.

“I don’t know, sir,” lied Marietta. “But I have heard that all the tribes use this form of language. It might do you well to learn it.”

“Like hell ye don’t know what she said,” the man cursed. When Marietta remained silent, he took out his frustration another way. He leaned over to one side and spit.

Marietta, momentarily repulsed, closed her eyes.

With the exception of Adams, these men were as different from Grey Coyote as they could possibly be, she thought, her heart warming to the subject. Grey Coyote, who at all times had presented a pleasant manner, would have never spit in her presence. Not like that.

To give the crewman his due, however, she considered that perhaps Grey Coyote could act as grossly as did these men. But if he had ever done so, she wouldn’t know of it. In her presence, Grey Coyote had always been a gentleman.

She sighed. Dear Lord, she missed him. Traveling without him wasn’t the same, wasn’t nearly as interesting, exciting or as beautiful.

For one, she missed Grey Coyote’s constant reference to the different natural phenomena of the plains, his pointing out gullies or flowers or meadows she had neglected to see, his educating her of the grasslands, his showing her how and why the wilderness was not really wild.

Perhaps to abate the feeling of loneliness, she decided to try to converse more intelligently with her captors. “Excuse me, sir,” she spoke to Adams. “Your name is Allen Adams, isn’t it?”

He beamed. “That’s right, miss.”

“Mr. Adams, tell me, did you say you are charged to return myself and my maid to St. Louis?”

“Aye, ma’am. That we are. We carry some cargo downriver too. But our main purpose is to get you to civilization.”

“Thank you, sir. It is considerate of you to do so.”

He smiled.

“It would be even more considerate had I not been dragged away, a sheet forced over my head, and my hands and feet tied.”

“I understand, miss,” said Adams, “but Mr. Laidlaw thought this way was for the best. I suspect he was afraid you might protest.”

“I see,” she acknowledged. “How fortunate for us to know Mr. Laidlaw can think for us all, without ever having to consult us. Heaven forbid we tax our own minds.”

Adams grinned, and Marietta was certain that, if the man had grasped the sarcasm underlying her words, he chose to ignore it.

He said, “You should get yourself ready to turn in, ma’am. I apologize to you now because we’ll have to bind both you and your friend, but it’ll be for the night only.”

Marietta frowned at him. “I hardly think this is necessary.”

“I’m sorry, miss.” And he truly did look sorry. “But it’s Laidlaw’s orders. Guess he felt you might try ta steal away.”