Knight in a Black Hat Read online

  Nellie jumped. "Mr. Bradley, I don't recall agreeing to wait for you. Since my uncle is your client, I believe it is up to him to decide on a schedule. And my schedule does not include lying abed half the day."

  "I had things to do," he answered, much too curtly. "Where's your freight?"

  "Inside. I assure you, it all arrived safely."

  "Let's take a look."

  "Mr. Bradley, I just told you that it is intact. There is no need for you to inspect it."

  "Ma'am, my job is getting you and your uncle into some extremely rugged country. That includes hauling your precious freight. To do so, I'll need to know how many mules to arrange for."

  A quick and fleeting smile transformed his face into one suitable for an angel. A fallen one, perhaps?

  "Unless you'd rather leave most of it behind?"

  "Don't be ridiculous! We will need everything we brought." She waved him toward the freight storage room. "Come along then. Let me show you."

  Malachi followed her, admiring, against his will, the sway of her skirts. Her faint touch of floral scent--honeysuckle?--lay in his senses like a breath of summer. I've been too long without a woman, letting a drab like this one get to me.

  She led him back to the far corner of the room. "Here it is. These crates."

  He counted. Seven! Seven big wooden crates, each about three feet on a side. He shoved at one. It moved, but with a resistance that told him it weighed a couple of hundred pounds. Holding fast to his patience, Malachi said, "What's in them?"

  She flipped through the notebook she held. "Number four. This one has medicines, bandages, Uncle's collecting equipment, and a few of his books."

  He was well nigh speechless. "A few?"

  "Yes, the rest are in...let me see...crates five and six." She held the notebook out to him. "Here is the complete list of their contents. I'm sure you will agree that everything is essential."

  With growing consternation, Malachi skimmed down the list. Boots. Oiled silk slickers. Canvas overalls. Oil of Citronella. "They'll need that," he muttered. Six plant presses, whatever they are. Three vasculi. A dozen assorted digging implements. Three thousand blotters... "Three thousand blotters?"

  "Of course, for the specimens."

  He handed the list back, not wanting to know what else it contained. "Miss Sanders, either Franklin didn't tell me everything, or you didn't tell him. He told me you folks were going into the mountains to pick a few flowers."

  "I believe it is you who have misunderstood, Mr. Bradley. My uncle is a renowned botanist, well known for his collections from the montane West. This expedition will add greatly to the knowledge about the region's flora, since the plants of the Idaho Territory have been rarely collected. Our goal is to do a complete floral inventory of the valley that is the source of the Salmon River."

  Thinking about how late snow lingered in the high country, Malachi said, "In one summer?"

  "Of course. I...we are quite efficient. According to the maps, the area in question is only about ten miles wide and less than twenty-five long."

  Picturing a map in his mind, Malachi had to agree. "That's about right. But--"

  "Rest assured, Mr. Bradley, we do know what we are doing." She plucked the notebook from his hand, closed it, and slipped it into to the little purse that hung from her gloved wrist. "Now, if you have no other questions, I really must get back to the hotel. I have plans for this afternoon."

  "No more questions," he said, resigned to his fate. "I'll have the crates sent ahead to Kelton."

  "Sent ahead? Under no circumstances!"

  For the first time, she raised her face so that he could see between the shielding wings of her bonnet. He was stunned. Her eyes were deep violet, surrounded by dark lashes so long and thick they seemed tangled. Her mouth was ripe and ready for kissing, the lower lip plump, the upper sweetly curved. But where her cheeks should have been faintly blushed with pink, both were mottled with patches of colorless skin. The little he could see of her hair was raven black, except for a streak of silver at her left temple.

  Malachi swallowed, forced himself to answer her, and not to stare at her face. "Miss Sanders, it will take us two days to travel by stage from Kelton to Boise City. If your crates get picked up by the freight hauler in Kelton as soon as they arrive, they will reach Boise City about three weeks later."

  "No one told--" She bit her lower lip, then lifted her chin and looked him straight in the eye. "Very well. Please arrange for our equipment to be shipped ahead." She stepped off the sidewalk, then turned back. "I trust there will be no other delays that we haven't been told about?"

  "No, ma'am. Once your freight gets to Boise City, we'll load everything on mules, because there are no wagon roads where we're headed."

  "Mules?" For the first time, her tone lacked confidence. "But I thought--"

  "Franklin did tell you that you'd have to pack in?" He'd seen the letter, but he was doing his best to be diplomatic.

  "Mules?" she said again. "Do you mean that we will have to ride horseback?"

  "Yes, ma'am. I thought you understood that." Now that he thought on it, he wondered if her uncle even knew what a horse was. Did she? He sure hoped so. "Tomorrow morning we'll go down to Franklin's barn and you can take a look at what he has. We want you to be happy with your mounts." What he was really telling her was that he wanted to make sure the three of them could handle the gentlest horses Franklin had. "In the meantime, give some thought to what of your personal luggage you want to take and which you want to leave at the hotel in storage."

  She visibly pulled her dignity about her, like a protective cloak, turning her head slightly away from him so he could not see her face. "Well, then, I shall go back to the hotel and sort through our clothing, so that we will be suitably attired." Her gulp was almost audible. "And I will tell Uncle that he must ride."

  It seemed to Malachi that her voice held less decisiveness when she spoke at last." Only after Boise City," he said, taking pity on her. "We'll ride the stage that far."

  She held out her hand. "Thank you, Mr. Bradley. You've been very helpful. Do you expect we will be ready to depart on schedule, then? My uncle expects to return from Salt Lake City on Monday next."

  He took the small hand, feeling its delicate strength through the soft kid glove. "I've still got supplies on order. If everything gets here, we should be able to leave next Wednesday." Another thing he needed to do was talk to Franklin about mules. Malachi figured they'd need at least twice as many as he'd first estimated.

  * * * * *

  "Uncle, I'm afraid I cannot change his mind. He said that the trail over the mountains is all but impassable. We seem to have a choice of walking or riding horseback."

  Uncle turned away from the window, which looked out over the wide street. "Nonsense. Franklin assured me we'd have no trouble reaching the headwaters of the Salmon in reasonable comfort."

  Reasonable comfort for a western man might be something entirely different from what we would consider it to be. The realization came to Nellie suddenly, and caused her to pause for thought before answering her uncle. "Let me get Mr. Franklin's letter," she said. "I brought it, just in case there was a question about the arrangements I made." She dug in the side pocket of her satchel, pulled out the small packet of papers she had thought important enough to bring. "Let me see, now...yes, here it is."

  The letter laying out the arrangements was written in a strong, untidy hand, as if the writer spent most of his time doing manual labor. She scanned down the first page, turned to the second. Her heart sank into her toes.

  "Well?"

  "He says, 'Although the way to the valley you seek is little traveled, I assure you that we will provide appropriate transportation. I should warn you that it will not be up to our usual standards, since it is an area little visited and virtually empty of all but wild animals. You should be prepared to live in a primitive fashion. We will provide adequate shelter and some furniture for your comfort. Our guides will also engage t
o prepare your meals and to protect you from any untoward danger. We cannot, however, guarantee your safety, since the area to which you travel is far from civilization.'"

  "Humph! 'Appropriate transportation,' indeed! A horse's back is not appropriate transportation. Why even in Colorado--"

  "I'm afraid it must be, Uncle. There are no roads where we go, according to Mr. Bradley." She looked to the next paragraph, read it silently. 'Ordinarily I would not recommend that persons unfamiliar with the wilderness undertake a journey such as you propose, but knowing your reputation, Dr. Kremer, I feel confident that you have encountered conditions equally challenging on earlier expeditions.'

  Uncle often spoke of the specific hardships he'd encountered on his collecting trips to the upper Missouri, or into the Rockies in Colorado Territory. He had ridden horseback, even walked when necessary. She remembered one Mimulus that had come from a high meadow, reached, according to Uncle's diary, after a perilous climb across a talus slope that gave onto a sheer drop of hundreds of feet. "I'm sure you will find the journey no more arduous than when you rode to the top of Pike's Peak."

  Her uncle muttered as he fussed with his pipe. At last, surrounded by clouds of fragrant smoke, he said, "I trust you will see that I have a well-behaved horse. I am not as young as I used to be."

  "I believe Mr. Bradley wishes you to be there when he chooses your horse, so you may approve."

  "I go to Salt Lake City tomorrow," he reminded her. "You and Beckett can do what is necessary about the horses."

  "Miss Sanders, will you give me some advice on what sort of clothing I should pack for Dr. Kremer?" Mr. Beckett said, his first words since her return. "I have no idea what he might need."

  Neither do I. "I shall ask Mr. Bradley tomorrow. Or you can." Her mind was busily cataloguing her own garments, wondering what on earth she would do for suitable clothing. Surely her full skirts and petticoats would not be the thing to wear astride a horse.

  A horse! God preserve me, I cannot ride a horse!

  Chapter Two

  Nellie consulted the desk clerk at their hotel and, following his advice, went to the livery stable just down the street. There she was able to rent a small cart and a donkey to pull it. While the creature was not as handsome as her reliable Lupinus, it seemed dependable and strong. For the next three days she was free to explore.

  Her lunch resting on the seat beside her and a small keg of water secured in the shallow wagon bed, she was well prepared for a day of exploration. The single half-size plant press that Uncle had allowed her to bring in her luggage would hold only thirty or forty specimens, so she would have to be selective in her collecting.

  The hostler assured her that there were adequate roads to the canyons to the east of town, so that was the direction she turned the donkey's head. Excitement bubbled through her, as she looked up to the almost sheer scarp of the Wasatch Range, with its snowy peaks.

  The low-growing oak that grew in tangled thickets on some of the hillsides was new to Nellie. Here and there she saw a patch of green, but most of the vegetation was still dry and bare, remnants of a long, cold winter. She had not thought how early in the season it was here, having considered Utah desert--and hot. But in the shadowy canyon she encountered snow, lying in crusted patches under shrubs and at the foot of the south wall.

  It didn't matter. She spent her days simply exploring, walking miles. It felt so good to get out, after more than a week on the train. The small donkey--his name, she had learned, was Ebenezer--was good company, following along behind her without needing a lead, nodding when she spoke to him, sharing the delicious cracked wheat bread in her lunch. He even found a small, hidden buttercup for her, nestled under a shrub on a sunny, south-facing hillside. She had barely prevented him from nibbling at it. Now it was safely preserved, the first plant she had collected in the West.

  Her plant press was almost filled when, at the end of the third day, she reluctantly returned Ebenezer to the livery stable. He was small and sure-footed, just like Lupinus. Not at all like a great, clumsy horse.

  * * * * *

  Malachi wasn't by nature a profane man, but he'd been ready to swear for the past two hours. He hadn't been able to find John Willard, who was supposed to drive the riding stock to Boise. That morning there had been a telegram from Murphy Creek, saying he wasn't coming to Ogden. He'd meet the party in Boise City. Franklin hadn't yet received an answer from the mule supplier. "He lives out a ways from town. I don't reckon he gets mail oftener than once a week."

  "How does he get any business done?" Malachi wondered aloud.

  "Anybody wants his mules, they can go out and talk to him. Don't worry. He's never let me down yet. Your mules will be waiting when you get there."

  "You're sure he can supply as many as I need?"

  Franklin pawed through the pile of papers that littered his desk. "Here's the letter I had from Savage."

  Malachi read until he came to 'up to two dozen mules. Some of them ain't trail broke yet, but they're healthy and strong and shouldn't give your man any trouble.'

  "Not trail broke?" He leaned over Franklin's desk, looking his straight in the eye. "How the dickens am I supposed to get three tenderfeet and all their truck over the pass with mules that aren't even trail broke?"

  "Savage's mules are like pets, gentle as a kitten."

  "There's no mule alive that's gentle. Just some that aren't as mean as most."

  "Look, Malachi, I did the best I could. When I agreed to get the Professor up to the headwaters of the Salmon River, I didn't know that the Prince was going to want to hunt this summer. I didn't want to disappoint him, since he's the one who sends me so many European muckety-mucks."

  Malachi argued a while longer, but more for ritual than because he thought it would do him any good. Finally he left, saying, as he walked out the door, "Maybe the Prince'll bring you more of his foreigner friends next year, Franklin, but if the Professor isn't happy, he may see that you never get another American customer."

  The expression on Franklin's face showed he'd never thought of that.

  * * * * *

  "You are late, Mr. Bradley," Miss Sanders snapped the watch pinned on her bosom shut as he walked up to her at the barn. "We have been waiting for almost a quarter hour."

  "I was held up," he told her, still fuming over what he saw as Franklin's breach of faith. For two cents-- No. I gave my word.

  "Let's go." Opening the barn door, he motioned her and the skinny fellow with her inside. Beckett? I think that's his name.

  She hesitated, and so did her companion, after a nervous look at her.

  "After you," Malachi said.

  Her chest visibly expanded as she took a deep breath. For the first time, Malachi realized what a womanly shape there was to her. He waited while she appeared to make up her mind. At last she stepped through the open door.

  The horses in the corral watched as they emerged from the dimness of the barn. Most of them were trail-wise veterans of several seasons, dependable on the trails and patient with inexperienced riders. One reason Franklin was so successful was that he provided good stock for his customers to ride.

  Miss Sanders stepped to the fence and peered through. Her gloved hands clutched the rail beside her chin, looking to him like they might leave imprints of her fingers in the dry wood.

  He wished he could see her face but once again the deep poke of her bonnet concealed it. "How well do you ride?"

  At last she looked up at him, her deep gentian eyes wide and scared-looking. "I don't," she whispered.

  "Pardon me?"

  "I don't ride," she said, this time a little louder. "I've never learned."

  For the second time that day, Malachi felt a strong inclination toward profanity.

  Nellie knew Mr. Bradley was angry, although he was very polite about it. He turned and questioned Mr. Beckett about his riding skills, then picked a horse for him to ride. "She's a wise old mare, with a lot of patience. I think you'll get along with her just fi
ne." Then he left the young man and the sleepy-looking dark brown mare alone in a smaller pen to get acquainted.

  "I presume your uncle rides, Miss Sanders?"

  "Oh, yes, he is an experienced horseman, but he asked that you choose a gentle horse for him. He is getting older, you see, and lacks the stamina and strength he had in his younger days." Uncle had not seemed to age one iota since she'd come to live with him, but he had been less active than usual this past winter. In the past, though, he must have spent days at a time on horseback each summer. How else could he have made the enormous collections he brought back every fall?

  Mr. Bradley raised one eyebrow, but said nothing. He went inside the corral again and, using the coiled rope he carried as a goad, hazed a spotted gray horse out the gate. The animal was enormous, with feet the size of dinner plates and big yellow teeth that showed when he made a sound that was suspiciously like a derisive laugh.

  "Dap, here, is the best of the bunch. He'll carry your uncle all day, no matter how steep the trail, and he'll never put a foot wrong."

  "But he is gentle?"

  "Like a lamb." His mouth twitched.

  Nellie felt an instant of distrust. Was he joshing her?

  The gray went docilely into the smaller pen and clopped over to a full manger, to lip at the hay there. Mr. Bradley shut the gate behind him, pausing a moment to watch Mr. Beckett talking softly to the brown horse. "He'll do, once he gets to know Beauty."

  "Beauty?"

  "The mare. That's her name."

  "Ah, I see." Watching Mr. Beckett, Nellie wondered if she would ever become so comfortable with a horse. No, I never will. Never!

  "Now, Miss Sanders, what are we going to do with you?"

  "I beg your pardon?"

  "You say you don't ride. Not at all?"

  She shook her head. "I have never been upon a horse," she told him, with a certain pride. No matter the encouragement to learn to ride, she had always resisted. With good reason.

  "And you're going with your uncle?"

  "I am his assistant. Of course I am going with him."

  Once again the eyebrow rose. "I thought Beckett was his assistant."