The stranger sighed and shook his head. “The mountains get to a man. I’ve been ramblin’ on some. You mind if I have me a taste of that stew you got cookin’ in the pot, Missy?”
“Of course not. I’ll get you a plate.”
“Then you’re a mountain man?” Jamie asked.
“I reckon,” the stranger replied, taking the plate filled with stew. He ate several spoonfuls. “Good grub, Missy. Man gets tired of his own cookin’.” He smiled. “And I ’spect a woman does too, now, ain’t that right?”
Kate laughed at him. “Oh, yes.”
Jamie and Kate took a liking to the friendly and easygoing stranger. As he ate, he told them about Jamie’s grandfather, and about the way of life of the mountain men. Then he had Jamie tell him what type of supplies they’d purchased back in the “city”.
The stranger grunted his approval. “You’ll do, Jamie MacCallister. You’ll do. You brought just what you’ll need and no more. You didn’t waste good cash money on geegaws and foofaws. And you got a good eye for horseflesh. That big black of yours is better than a watchdog — ain’t I right?”
Jamie allowed as how he was.
“Thought so. But seeing Kate in men’s britches is gonna take some getting used to, I reckon.”
* * *
The stranger made his camp about fifty yards away from Jamie and Kate, to give them some privacy and also, Jamie felt, not to offer any attacker a bunched-up camp.
“We don’t even know his name,” Kate whispered that night, snuggled close together in their blankets.
“I guess if he wants us to know it, he’ll tell us. Kate? Tomorrow I start teaching you about guns. You’ve got to be able to fire both rifle and pistol and know how to reload.”
“I know how to reload. But I’m not much of a shot.”
“You will be. You’ve got to learn. I’m told that the danger of Indians is not much where I’ve got in mind for us to live. But we must never forget those who are trailing us. And you’ve got to be able not just to shoot, but to kill.”
Kate was silent, mentally recalling the ugly, savage viciousness of her father and of John Jackson and those awful Newby Brothers. “I’ll stand when the time comes, Jamie. Of that, you may be sure.”
The next afternoon, by the banks of the Fourche River, Jamie and the stranger began Kate’s introduction to weapons. They practiced with her for an hour, until she began to complain that her shoulder and hands were aching.
“Best to stop now,” the stranger said. “We don’t want to push this. Accidents happen when a body does that.”
“You go take your bath, Kate,” Jamie told her. “We’ll stand guard and start fixing supper. We’ll fry up those big fish we caught.”
“She’s a good girl,” the stranger said, kneeling by the fire and pouring a cup of coffee. “You’re a lucky man. She’ll stand beside you.”
“Are you married?” Jamie asked.
The stranger smiled. “Married to the mountains, I reckon. The wind is my woman. You two gonna settle in Texas, huh?”
“Planning on it.”
“Gonna be a war there, Jamie. The Mexicans is not takin’ kindly to the talk of independence.”
“Then I’ll fight.”
The stranger looked at this boy/man. Big feller. Arms and wrists on him held more power than the boy probably realized. The years with the Shawnees shaped him, body and mind. He’ll be a rough one to tangle with, for a fact. Carried a hide-out knife in one leggin, too. And the stranger had no doubts about Jamie’s ability and will to use it.
“You want to tell me why you got all these people after you, Jamie?”
Jamie looked across the fire. He could hear Kate singing softly from the river. “One group is led by two men, Olmstead and Jackson. Kate is Olmstead’s daughter. We ran off. I killed Jackson’s son, John Jr., after the two of them raped a good lady back in Kentucky. The other bunch will be the Newby Brothers. I killed two of their brothers at a trading post just off the Mississippi River. The old man at the store killed the third one with an axe.”
That brought a grunt from the mountain man. He’d pegged Jamie MacCallister right: the boy wouldn’t back up and take water from nobody. “What about the third bunch?”
Jamie stared at him for a moment. “What third bunch?”
“You got three groups of men trailin’ you, Jamie. What do you know about the Saxon Brothers?”
Jamie shook his head and cursed, something he rarely did. He told the stranger about his encounter, several years back, with the Saxon Brothers.
The mountain man laughed. “Twelve years old and shoot a man in the ass with an arrow. I reckon that would get his attention, all right. That might be enough to make him carry a grudge.” He chuckled.
Jamie grinned boyishly. “He didn’t see the humor in it, that’s for sure.”
“I reckon not.”
Kate walked up, smelling of soap and cleanliness, her blond hair dark with water. “What’s so funny?” she asked.
“We also have the Saxon Brothers after us,” Jamie said.
“And you think that’s funny?”
“Not really. But shooting one in the butt that night was.”
Kate laughed and turned around. She had cut short her bath when she felt eyes on her. But she could detect no one. Now she mentioned it to Jamie and the stranger. The mountain man was on his feet in an instant, rifle in hand.
“Get the horses behind them rocks over yonder,” he said, jerking his head. “Missy, you get all them spare guns and start loadin’ ’em up. Double-shot the pistols for close work.”
“Indians?” Jamie asked, working quickly.
“I don’t think so. I can’t give you no good reason why I think that, I just do.”
“I’m not familiar with any of the tribes in this area,” Jamie said.
“No one is no more. Whites keep pushin’ the tribes out of the east and shovin’ ’em west. Some tribes has joined with other tribes, some packed up and went west, and others just disappeared. I don’t know where the hell they went. Last year I seen a bunch of Yuchis and Shawnee out on the plains. Heading west to get shut of the white man. Can’t blame ’em none.”
Jamie cut his eyes. “I think I just spotted a blue shirt across the river. Not that that means a whole lot. Could be an Indian wearing it.”
“Could be but I’ll bet it ain’t. I think we’re about to get fell on by a bunch of white trash.”
“I doubt it’s Olmstead and Jackson. We’re at least a week ahead of them.”
“No more than that,” the stranger said. “Come the mornin,’ we start hidin’ our tracks.”
“Hallo the camp!” the shout came from across the river. “We’re friendly folks and wouldn’t harm nary a butterfly. Can we come over and share our meager food with y’all, kind gents and beautiful lady?”
“Goddamn ridge-runners,” the mountain man said. “Worthless, shiftless trash. From this distance, they wouldn’t have known your lady was a woman... unless they spied on her bathing. And that makes ’em lower than a snake’s belly far as I’m concerned.” He looked at Jamie. “If I wasn’t here, what would you do?”
“First I’d find out how many of them are over there. Then I’d tell them to keep on traveling and make sure they did. Then I’d break camp and move on for several miles.”
The mountain man smiled, and with that smile, Jamie knew he was maybe twenty, at the most. “You’ll do, Jamie MacCallister. You’ll do.” He raised his voice. “Keep on travelin’. We ain’t in the mood for no company.”
“That’s a terrible unchristian thing, friend,” the shout was returned. “We are all poor pilgrims wandering in a vast and hostile land, ain’t we?”
The mountain man’s language coarsened considerably and he told the as yet unseen man where he could go and the shortest way to get there... in a manner of speaking.