Into the Unknown

Chapter Four

“See here,” I said. “What exactly do you want with me?”

“I haven’t rightly decided yet,” Jess Hook said, and stepping up, he dared to press a finger to the canvas and then stared at the paint on the tip of his finger.

Now, if there is one thing I cannot abide, it is to have my canvases touched. I do not get as hot about it when the paint has dried, but when the paint is fresh, the slightest contact causes a smudge or smear I must work diligently to correct. Accordingly, without any consideration for the consequences, I smacked his arm away, saying, “Don’t do that!”

Jess Hook looked at me in amazement. “Did you see that, boys?” he said to his companions. “Did you see what this fancy pants just did?”

“I sure did, brother,” Jordy Hook said. “Some folks don’t have no more brains than a tree stump.”

Cutter’s hand slid to the knife and wrapped around the hilt. “Want me to gut him for you, Jess?”

I took a step back, my brush in one hand, the palette in the other. “Enough of this childish talk,” I gruffly declared. “I am engaged in serious work, and I will not be interrupted.”

“Is that a fact?” Jess Hook smirked. “Mister, I don’t know about where you come from, but in these parts, when you hit someone, it can be worth your teeth, or more.”

“I will not be threatened,” I said.

“Then you shouldn’t treat folks the way you do,” Jess Hook said. He lowered a hand to a pistol, and his manner became icy. “I have decided I don’t like you much.”

“Let’s be reasonable,” I said, seeking to make amends. “We are grown men, after all. You go your way and leave me to my work.”

“You don’t listen too good,” Jess Hook said. “We are of no account to you, is that it?”

“I do not take your meaning.”

Jess Hook poked me in the chest. “You are one of those who reckons he’s better’n everyone else. I’ve met your kind before, and there’s only one way to treat snobs like you.”

“Now see here,” I began, but got no further. They had spread out to surround me. It was ominous in the extreme.

“What do you say, boys?” Jess Hook said. “Should we whittle on him to teach him some respect?”

“I want one of his ears to add to my collection,” Jordy said.

“You collect ears?” I blurted in horror.

“And other body parts.” Jordy grinned and patted the possibles bag slanted across his chest. “My favorite is the part I took off a Blackfoot once. Want to see?”

“Hush, you infant!” Jess snapped. “He looks down his nose at us and you want to show him your collection?”

“I did no such thing,” I said, but they ignored me. I entertained the idea that this was a joke on their part, a poor joke, it is true, but in keeping with the coarse humor for which frontiersmen are generally known. Then Cutter drew his knife and held it so the blade gleamed in the sun.

“Enough jawing. Let’s cart him off where we can have our fun in private. I want to cut nice and slow so—” He gazed past me and blinked.

“What is it?” Jeff Hook said, turning.

Someone else had ridden up. A young man, bronzed by the sun to where he could pass for an Indian. On closer scrutiny, I saw he was an Indian, in part anyway; his green eyes betrayed the truth. Raven black hair hung loose to his broad shoulders, framing handsome features. His horse was a fine bay. I assumed he was an acquaintance of theirs until Jess Hook addressed him.

“Didn’t that pa of yours teach you better than to sneak up on folks, breed?”

The young man had a Hawken rifle in the crook of his left elbow. Almost casually, he pointed it at the Hook brothers and said, “I can’t help it if your ears don’t work.”

“This is a private matter,” Jess Hook said.

“Be on your way if you know what is good for you,” Jordy Hook angrily added.

The young man was not intimidated. Looking at me, he said, “The problem with fleas is that they come in all shapes and sizes. I can shoo these off if you want me to.”

I was slow to catch on that he was offering to help me, then I hastily replied, “Yes. Please. I would be in your debt.”

Cutter sidled to one side. He had his rifle in both hands, and was inching it up.

“Stupid is as stupid does,” the young man told him.

A strange grin curled Cutter’s lips, and he let his arms drop. “You have a point. When it happens, I want to pick the time and place.”

“Don’t hold off on my account.”

Jess Hook’s jaw muscles twitched. “Damn you. We won’t forget you butting in like this.”

“I think we can take him!” Jordy declared. “Say the word, brother, and I’ll blow this breed to hell and back.”

“What you will do,” Jess said, “is forget about him and head for Bent’s Fort.”

“But we can take him!” Jordy insisted.

At that, Jess took a step and gave his brother a violent push, shoving Jordy so hard he stumbled and nearly fell. “When I tell you to do something, little brother, you damn well better do it.”

I thought Jordy would take a swing at him. But the younger sibling merely clenched his fists and stalked in a sulk to his horse. He swung up and without a backward glance, gigged his animal toward the trading post.

Cutter was next to wheel and leave. “Don’t get a crick in your neck from looking over your shoulder,” he taunted.

Jess Hook smiled. “You made a mistake today, boy.”

“I have made them before,” the young man said.

“Until we meet again.” Jess Hook nodded and walked off.

The young man raised his reins to depart, but I barred his way, saying, “I want to thank you for your assistance. There is no telling what they would have done if you had not shown up.”

“Not all rabid wolves have four legs,” the young man said, and again went to leave.

“Hold on. Must you go?” I asked. “I would like to make your acquaintance.” I was intensely curious as to who he was, and why he had served as my protector.

“Then you are a rarity, mister,” he replied. “Most whites shun halfbreeds as they would lepers.”

“I am not a bigot.” I indicated my easel. “I have some small skill as an artist, and to an artist all hues are of equal worth.”

“Would that all men were artists,” the young man said rather wistfully. He jabbed his heels and rode around me toward Bent’s. “Maybe we will meet again.”

“I hope so!” I called after him, but he gave no heed. I was left alone with my paints and my thoughts. No sooner did I resume painting, however, when another pair of riders came galloping in my direction from Bent’s Fort. So much for my being alone. They passed the three hardcases and then my rescuer, and were wearing scowls when they came to a stop.

“What in God’s name do you think you were doing?” Augustus Trevor lit into me without dismounting. “It is a good thing I ran into Billingsley. You should not be out here alone.”

I did not respond.

“How can we protect you when you refuse to take our advice?” Trevor gestured. “Any one of those four men I just saw would slit your throat and not give it a second thought.”

“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.”