“The young one was nice enough.” I did not go into detail about my exchange with the Hooks.
“You are a babe in the woods,” Trevor said. “Or in this instance, a babe in the grass.” He pointed at the retreating figure of my benefactor. “For your information, that there is one of the worst killers on the frontier.”
I refused to believe it. “Hogwash.”
“I have seen him a few times, here and there,” Trevor elaborated, “so I know what I’m talking about.”
“Does this terror have a name?”
“Zach King.”
My interest was piqued. So that was the fearsome scourge I had heard so much about? His reputation was at odds with his demeanor. “He is not the monster people make him out to be.”
Trevor did not hide his frustration with me. “A rattlesnake is peaceable enough until you step on it. Zach King has fangs, and he’s not shy about using them. Give thanks he didn’t decide to take a bite out of you.”
“A curious analogy,” I glibly remarked.
“Consarn it, Parker. I can’t keep you alive when you think you know better than me. You said that you hired me for my experience, but you refuse to heed.”
I had a retort on the tip of my tongue, but I remembered that he only had my best interests at heart. And my brief encounter with the Hook brothers and their knife-loving friend had impressed on me, yet again, that I was not taking this life-or-death business seriously enough.
Trevor and Billingsley remained with me the rest of the afternoon. The sun was low to the horizon when I folded my easel and made ready to head back. The painting turned out well. I did not add as much detail as I would for an animal or plant, say, but I never do with landscapes.
Ceran St. Vrain had invited me to his quarters for supper. I was tired and not all that hungry, and I nearly sent word I could not make it. Fortunately, I rallied and knocked on his door at the appointed hour.
“I hope you won’t mind,” St. Vrain said as he shook my hand in welcome, “but I invited someone else. The son of one of my dearest friends.” He stepped aside.
Who should be seated at the table but Zach King! “So we meet again,” I said, smiling and offering my hand. “Perhaps it is an omen.”
Zach rose to greet me, but without any great enthusiasm. “My mother’s people believe in signs and portents, but it is not a belief I share.”
For a so-called savage he was remarkably eloquent. I sat down to table with the hope of getting to know him better.
St. Vrain’s cook had outdone himself. We had our choice of antelope or buffalo, or both. Corn, string beans, potatoes, and bread smeared thick with butter were side dishes. My session on the prairie had made me ravenous, and little was said until we put down our forks and spoons and filled our coffee cups. I smacked my lips in satisfaction, then cleared my throat.
“I have a proposition for you, Mr. King, and I hope you will hear me out.” When he did not say anything, I leaped right in. “Ceran tells me that your family lives in a hidden valley deep in the mountains. It is so far back, no other white men have ever been there.”
“Except for Shakespeare McNair. We like our privacy.”
“Are there a lot of animals?” I asked, recalling full well that their valley had been described to me as an Eden on earth.
“All kinds,” Zach confirmed. “More than you will find in any one area in the mountains. My pa says our valley is a throwback to the times when there were no people.”
“I would very much like to meet him and McNair. Do you think your father would mind if you took me back with you?”
My request appeared to startle him. “You did hear me say we like our privacy?”
“Surely you make exceptions,” I said.
“A few Shoshones and Utes and a Crow have stopped by from time to time.” Zach shrugged. “And a few others,” he enigmatically added.
“Then there is precedent.”
Zach grinned a not unfriendly grin. “You are partial to big words, just like Uncle Shakespeare. Yes, we have had visitors. But they have all been red, not white.”
“Then I could be the first white man to visit your valley, could I not?”
Zach glanced sharply at Ceran St. Vrain. I flattered myself I could read his thoughts, and said, “Please don’t be annoyed at our host. He did not know I would ask this of you.”
“I do not like being imposed on,” Zach said bluntly. “What purpose would your visit serve?”
“I would like to paint your valley and everything in it.”
“What on earth for?”
“I am a naturalist. I came to the Rockies for the express purpose of cataloging its fauna and flora.”
“You can paint anywhere in the mountains,” Zach noted. “It does not have to be our valley.”
“But you yourself said there are more animals in your valley than anywhere else. Imagine the time and effort that would save me. I need not traipse all over. Everything I could possibly want to paint would be right there.”
Zach stalled by sipping coffee. He was not pleased and was trying to come up with a counter to my argument, I suspected.
“I ask only that you think it over and give me your answer in the morning,” I said diplomatically. “My party is small. Only eight others, and myself. We would impose on your family as little as possible.”
“We might make an exception for one,” Zach said, “but never for eight. The location of our valley is a secret, and we aim to keep it that way.”
He had inadvertently given me the leverage I needed. “Just me, then, with one packhorse for my art supplies and journals. How would that be?”
Ceran St. Vrain coughed. “I am not so sure Augustus Trevor will like the idea.”
“Do you have any objection to him and the rest of my men waiting here at the trading post until I return?”
“None at all.”
I smiled at Zach. “What do you say?”
“You gave me until morning to decide.”
“I promise not to reveal where your valley is,” I said. “I assure you I can be the soul of discretion.”
“You won’t be able to show anyone even if you wanted to,” Zach said. “I intend to blindfold you when the time is right.”
I did not relish riding in the mountain under such a handicap. “Is that really necessary?”
“It is if you want to come. But don’t worry. I’ll watch out for you until we get there.”
I had him then, even if he did not realize it. “Whatever you deem best. All I ask is to be treated fairly.”
“That is all I have ever wanted out of life,” Zach said quietly. “But thanks to an accident of birth, most folks I meet either want to kick my teeth in or else want nothing to do with me.”
“I would be honored to be considered your friend.”
Zach King looked me in the eyes. “Very well. I will take you. But don’t blame me if you live to regret it.”
Chapter Five
True to Ceran St. Vrain’s prediction, Augustus Trevor was not pleased. “I refuse to let you go. It is too dangerous.”
“In case you have forgotten,” I responded, “I hired you, not the other way around. I make the decisions. You must abide by them.”
“But this is Zachary King we are talking about. He is a killer many times over. The worst ever, some folks say.”
“Exaggerations, Mr. Trevor. Wild exaggerations.”
Trevor shook his head. “I wish you would give it more thought. You will be completely on your own. I have never been to King Valley, and I don’t know anyone who has. They say it is so well hidden, finding it is impossible.”
“Zach King knows how to get there,” I said dryly.
“Make light of it all you want. But I beg you to reconsider. I will worry myself sick until you get back.”