A thin layer of pressure lifted off her chest with the words. She only nodded to him, though. As she’d studied the men today, it seemed they all did a lot of nodding instead of speaking.
The quiet didn’t last long. When Parson finished downing his portion, he tossed the tin dish beside the fire. “Finish up, boys, then bed down. Pitch a tent if you’re gonna, but I want quiet in half an hour.”
She gulped her stew faster. She could take the used bowls to the creek and wash herself along with them. The mud she’d plastered on her skin itched, and she needed to cleanoff some of this sweat. She could dirty her face and hands again in the morning. She also needed to find a protected place to relieve herself. Maybe if she went to check the horses and mules.
Tomorrow would be easier. Now that she knew what was expected of her, and now that she’d made it through a full day without ruining her disguise, she could manage the rest of the trip.
And maybe in the next few days, they would reach the first waterfall and she could begin her search in earnest.
SIX
Grant woke as the first rays of light turned the eastern sky gray, but someone already knelt by the fire ring, stirring the coals to life. It must have been the dropping of a log that awakened him.
He’d planned to be the first one up, to get things going before Frank arose. The boy was probably tired after their first day out. Grant sure had been weary that first week after leaving St. Louis with the supply wagons. Riding all day in the saddle used muscles a man didn’t know he possessed.
Even now, he could feel the effects of the few weeks’ rest during the rendezvous. His back was stiff, and his thighs burned as he sat upright and pushed his blankets aside.
His motion must have startled Frank, for the boy twisted to face him. In the half-light, Grant couldn’t make out his expression, but the eastern sky behind him outlined the youth’s silhouette—revealing a form that wasn’t as spindly as he’d thought yesterday.
Maybe that was a trick of the shadows. But it sure did look like Frank hadcurves. Curves in places boys didn’t develop them.
The lad turned back to the fire without speaking, and Grant squeezed his eyes shut, then reopened them. He needed coffee. He must not be awake enough to see straight.
He slid his stockinged feet into boots, then stood and reached for the kettle. “I’ll get water,” he whispered.
As he returned with a full container, a few others were beginning to rise, including Parson. They’d be hungry, then their leader would likely push to saddle up and get on the trail.
While Grant added coffee grounds to the water, Frank continued to nurse the flame. He’d already placed the pot of remaining soup close enough to heat.
Neither of them spoke until Frank straightened. “Watch this soup, will ya? I’m going to the creek.”
Grant nodded as the boy slipped out of camp. He didn’t go to the water closest to them, though, but moved downstream a ways, disappearing into the brush beside the bank. As the coffee finished brewing and the soup warmed enough to eat, Grant handed out full plates and cups.
Frank still hadn’t returned. He must be taking care of personal matters, but was there something more? Had he been hurt? Or maybe found something he needed help with, but was afraid to call out?
Grant took up his own cup of warm brew and stood, then ambled toward the water next to the camp. He might be able to see the boy downstream.
He dropped to his haunches by the flow, washing the food residue from his fingertips in the cold current. He could just see part of Frank’s body near the bend in the creek. He looked to be washing his face maybe. That was good. The boy had looked a bit like a street urchin yesterday with all that dirt on him.
“Time to load up.” Parson’s call came from behind, and Grant stood, then turned back to the camp. He could load his and Frank’s animals while the boy put away the cooking supplies.
When Grant led the saddled horses to camp so they could load the last of the packs, Frank stood and hoisted the satchel that contained the food and cooking pots. He seemed to work hard to lift it.
Grant reached to take the load. “Anything else need doing?”
Frank shook his head as he scanned the camp. “Just tie on our blankets.”
The boy’s face was still dirty. In fact, it looked like fresh mud. Grant couldn’t help but stare as he tried to make sense of things. Had he seen wrong when he’d watched him splash water on his face?
Either Grant was losing his eyesight—or maybe his ability to think through what he was seeing—or something wasn’t right with this boy.
He took the roll of bedding Frank handed him and tied it behind his saddle while the youth did the same with his own. The rest of the men had already mounted and were talking through how far they might travel that day. Parson wanted to reach the first possible trapping spot by midday tomorrow, early enough they could set a few traps and see if enough catch still lived there, or if they’d need to move on to a larger lake.
Grant mounted first, then watched from the corner of his eye as Frank swung up into the saddle. His movement was sure and quick, like he’d done the act a hundred times before. He turned the animal toward the others, and Grantdid the same. Whatever else was off about the youngest member of their group, he knew how to handle a horse.
The rain the men had been arguing about finally started midmorning. Not a downpour, but enough to soak them. By the look of the thick gray clouds above, they’d stay wet for a few hours at least.
The trail Parson led them on was an animal path through a mountain pass, not overly steep or rocky. Frank rode in front of Grant, with Skeet behind him, mumbling about how he’d told everyone it would be a gully washer. Maybe they’d believe him next time.
