Chapter Twenty-one
Elihu Levi was his birth name. When he was little, his family took to calling him “Pudgy” and he hated it. By his tenth year, his bulging eyes and squat build sparked a cousin to one day laughingly call him a toad, and the nickname stuck. He hated that even more, and had disliked his cousin ever since.
His schoolmates teased him mercilessly. His relatives weren’t much better. Small wonder he felt like an outcast, even among his own kind. He shunned people and devoted himself to his passion—business. For a few years he worked with his family in dry goods, but his dream was to own his own store. Thanks to his grandfather, who had left him a few thousand dollars in his will, he moved from Indiana to St. Louis and set up a mercantile.
His family was against it. Why St. Louis? they asked. Toad explained that it was the gateway to the frontier, that it was the supply point for freight trains and wagon trains streaming to Santa Fe and to Oregon Country, and there were riches to be made. His mercantile flourished and he was content, or he would have been, if not for the tales.
From the freighters and frontiersmen, Toad heard endless stories about the mysterious lands to the west, about nigh-endless prairie, majestic mountains, and a host of wonders to dazzle the eyes; about friendly Indians, hostiles, and beasts galore. The tales took root. He began to want to see some of the wonders for himself. The desire built and built until it couldn’t be denied.
So it was that one day, Toad promoted one of his assistants and left the man to oversee his St. Louis store while he ventured off into the great unknown. He was determined to have the first-ever mercantile west of the Mississippi River. He advertised for adventurous men willing to brave the dangers of his employ, and Geist was one of the first to respond. It turned out that Geist knew of four others, and before Toad knew it, he had the helpers he needed.
Now, standing alone behind the counter late in the afternoon, his insides in turmoil, Toad berated himself for being so gullible. He’d hired a viper and not realized it. A pack of vipers who’d taken over his store, murdered a Crow maiden, and imprisoned her friends in the storeroom.
Toad had no illusions about the outcome if the Crows found out. The mercantile would become a smoldering ruin. Worse, the Crows might vent their wrath on him. He’d heard that some tribes were fond of torture, and he could do without being staked out and having his skin flayed.
Toad came to a decision. He was going to rescue the maidens. He would sneak into the storeroom, free them, and help them slip away before Geist or any of his men caught on. But no sooner had he come around the end of the counter than Geist and Petrie stepped from the hall, barring his way.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?”
“Out back,” Toad said.
“No, you’re not.” Geist pushed him. “You’re not going anywhere. We have some talking to do.”
Toad had to swallow to say, “What about?”
“That urgent business you sent Chases Rabbits on. You sent for Nate King to warn him about me, didn’t you?”
Toad glanced behind him to see if the aisle to the door was clear. It wasn’t. Dryfus and Berber were behind him.
“Any redskins outside?” Geist asked them.
“A few Flatheads, is all,” Dryfus said.
“You told them the rule that all Indians are to be gone by dark?”
“I did. They said they’d be back in the morning to trade.”
Geist gave Toad a vicious smile. “We’ll wait until they leave.”
“I’m no threat to you,” Toad said.
“The hell you’re not.” Geist shook his head. “No, you know too much.” He drew a flintlock and said to Dryfus, “Tie him up and throw him in the storeroom with the bitches. We’re getting the hell out of here at daybreak.”
“We’re tucking tail and running?” Petrie said.
“We’re being smart. This hasn’t gone anywhere near the way I planned. I should never have left the States. Out here there’s too much I can’t control.”
“We could head down Santa Fe way or off to Oregon,” Petrie said.
“And what? Rob people for a living? What kind of life is that? The pickings would be slim and we’d always be on the run.” Geist shook his head. “The States is where we belong.” He pointed the flintlock at Toad’s face. “Now do as I told you with this fat slob and we’ll get to packing.”
Dryfus prodded Toad in the back with his rifle and Toad moved down the hall to the storage room. Gratt was standing guard over the women. Dryfus and Berber shoved Toad inside, but it was Petrie who tied him.
“Better say your prayers, Levi. You don’t have long before you’ll be burning in hell.”
“If there’s any justice in this world,” Toad said, “you won’t get away with this.”
“There isn’t,” Petrie said, and laughed.
Chapter Twenty-two
Not all warriors were good trackers. Bull Standing was the best of all the Crows; he could track a turtle across hard earth. Chases Rabbits was fair at it. He could track a buffalo if the ground was soft enough.
Zach King was as good as Bull Standing. And it was Zach who abruptly drew rein and announced, “There’s tracks here that shouldn’t be.”
When Zach stopped, so did the wolf.
“What kind?” Chases Rabbits asked. He had been thinking of how much he missed Raven On The Ground and had not been paying much attention.
Sliding down, Zach squatted and pointed. “See for yourself.”
“Moccasin tracks?” Chases Rabbits dismounted to study them better. Their size sent a jolt of consternation through him. “Those be women tracks.”
“And they were running.” Zach rose and led his dun, paralleling the prints. “Three of them.” He hunkered and touched a particularly clear print. “Definitely Crow.”
“Geist say Raven On The Ground and rest go to village. Why they use feet and not ride?”
Zach was bent over a series of large pockmarks. “Hoofprints,” he said. “Made by shod horses going in the same direction.”
“Shod means white men,” Chases Rabbits said, and scratched his head. “Me very confused.”
“Geist and his friends would be my guess,” Zach interpreted the tracks. “They were after the three women.”
“Why?”
“That’s what I’d like to know.” Zach uncurled. “Are you up for some spying?”
Chases Rabbits stared at the sky and then at the ground and said, “Me little bit up.”
“We’re going back and keeping an eye on the mercantile. It’ll be dark soon and I’ll sneak down for a look-see.”
“You think maybe something wrong?”
“That building burned down. And now we find these tracks. Then there was the way Toad was acting.”
“Toad?”
“You didn’t notice how nervous he was?”
“No,” Chases Rabbits admitted.
“Yes, I’d say something is wrong.”
The sun was roosting on the rim of the world when they came to just below the crest of the hill above the hollow. They crawled on their bellies to where they had an unobstructed view.
The wolf lay between them.
“Flatheads,” Zach said, and nodded at a knot of warriors and horses.
“No whites outside,” Chases Rabbits noted.
Soon the Flatheads departed. The mercantile’s shadow lengthened and the bright of day gave way to the spreading gray of twilight. Windows lit with the glow of lamps.
By the stream a frog croaked, and crickets began to chirp.
Chases Rabbits saw shadows flit across the windows. Faint to his ears came gruff laughter and loud voices.
“Sounds like they’re having a high old time,” Zach said. “They must be drinking.”