Ride the River

The Sacketts

Their story is the story of the American frontier, an unforgettable saga of the men and women who tamed a wilderness and built a nation with their dreams and their courage.

Created by master storyteller Louis L'Amour, the Sackett saga brings to life the spirit and adventures of generations of pioneers. Fiercely independent and determined to face any and all challenges, they discovered their destiny in settling a great and wild land.

Each Sackett novel is a complete, exciting historical adventure. Read as a group, they tell the epic tale of a country unlike any the world has ever known. And no one writes more powerfully about the frontier than Louis L'Amour, who has walked and ridden down the same trails as the Sackett family he has immortalized. The Sackett novels represent L'Amour at his very best, a high point in a truly legendary career.

Chapter 1

When daylight crested Siler's Bald, I taken up my carpetbag and rifle and followed the Middle Prong toward Tuckalucky Cove.

"Echo," Ma said, "if you be goin' to the Settlements you better lay down that rifle-gun an' set up a few nights with a needle.

"You take them Godey's Lady's Books the pack-peddler left with us and give them study. City folks dress a sight different than we-uns and you don't want to shame yourself."

There was money coming to us and I was to go fetch it home. Pa had wore hisself out scratchin' a livin' from a side-hill farm, and a few months back he give up the fight and "went west," as the sayin' was. We buried him yonder where the big oak stands and marked his place with letterin' on a stone.

The boys were trappin' beaver in the Shining Mountains far to the westward and there was nobody t' home but Regal an' me, and Regal was laid up. He'd had a mite of a set-to with a cross bear who didn't recognize him for a Sackett. There'd been a sight of jawin' an' clawin' before Regal stretched him out, Regal usin' what he had to hand, a knife and a double-bit ax. Trouble was Regal got himself chawed and clawed in the doin' of it and was in no shape for travel.

Me, I'd been huntin' meat for the table since I was shorter than the rifle I carried and the last few years I'd killed so much I was sellin' meat to the butcher. No sooner did I get a mite of money more'n what was needed than I began dreamin' over the fancy fixin's in Godey's fashion magazine.

When a girl gets to be sixteen, it's time she set her cap for a man but I'd yet to see one for whom I'd fetch an' carry. Like any girl, I'd done a sight of dreamin', but not about the boys along Fightin' Creek or the Middle Prong. My dreams were of somethin' far off an' fancy. Part of that was due to Regal.

Regal was my uncle, a brother to Pa, and when he was a boy he'd gone off a-yonderin' along the mountains to the Settlements. We had kinfolk down to Charleston and he visited there before continuing on his way. He told me of folks he met there, of their clothes, the homes they lived in, the theayters they went to an' the fancy food.

Regal had been out among 'em in his time an' I suspect he'd cut some fancy didoes wherever he went. Regal was tall, stronger than three bulls, and quick with a smile that made a girl tingle to her toes. Many of them told me that very thing, and although many a girl set her cap for Regal, he was sly to all their ways and wary of traps. Oh, he had a way with him, Regal did!

"Don't you be in no hurry," he advised me. "You're cute as a button and you've got a nice shape. You're enough to start any man a-wonderin' where his summer wages went.

"You hold your horses. No need to marry up with somebody just because the other girls are doin' it. I've been yonder where folks live different and there's a better way than to spend your years churnin' milk an' hoeing corn. But one word of caution: don't you be lettin' the boys know how good you can shoot. Not many men would like to be bested by a spit of a girl not five feet tall!"

"I'm five-feet-two!" I protested.

"You mind what I say. When you get down to the Settlements, you mind your P's an' Q's. When a man talks to a girl, he's not as honest as he might be, although at the time he half-believes it all himself. There's times a man will promise a girl anything an' forget his promises before the hour's up."

"Did you make promises like that, Regal?"

"No, I never. When a woman sees a man she wants, there's no need to promise or even say very much. A woman will come up with better answers than any poor mountain boy could think up. I was kind of shy there at first, then I found it was workin' for me so I just kept on bein' shy.

"Womenfolks have powerful imaginations when it comes to a man, an' she can read things into him he never knew was there, and like as not, they ain't!"

Turning to look back, I could still see Blanket and Thunderhead Mountains and the end of Davis Ridge. It was clouding up and coming on to rain.

Philadelphia had more folks in it than I reckoned there was in the world. When I stepped down from the stage I made query of the driver as to where I was wishful of goin' and he stepped out into the street and pointed the way.

The place I was heading for was a rooming-and-boarding house kept by a woman who had kinfolk in the mountains. It was reckoned a safe place for a young girl to stay. Not that I was much worried. I had me an Arkansas toothpick slung in its scabbard inside my dress and a little slit pocket where I could reach through the folds to fetch it. In my carpetbag I carried a pistol.

Most unmarried folks and others who were married ate in boardinghouses, them days. Restaurants were for folks with money or for an evening on the town. Folks who worked in shops and the like hunted places where there was room an' board, although some roomed in one place and boarded elsewhere.

Amy Sulky had twelve rooms to let but she set table for twenty-four. She had two setups for breakfast, one for noontime, as most carried lunches to their work or caught a snack nearby or from a street vendor. At suppertime she had two settin's again.

I'd writ Amy so she knew I was comin' and had kept a place for me. A nice room it was, too, mighty luxurious for the likes of me, with curtains to the windows, a rag rug on the floor, a bed, a chair, and a washstand with a white china bowl and pitcher on it.

First thing when I got to my room was take a peek past the curtain, and sure enough, the man who followed me from the stage was outside, makin' like he was readin' a newspaper.

When a girl grows up in Injun country hunting all her born days, she becomes watchful. Gettin' down from the stage, I saw that man see me like I was somebody expected. Making a point of not seemin' to notice, I started off up the street, but when I stopped at a crossing, I noticed him fold his newspaper and start after me.

Back in the high country folks said I was a right pretty girl, but that cut no figure here. Any girl knows when a man notices her because she's pretty, but this man had no such ideas in mind. I'd hunted too much game not to know when I am hunted myself.

If he wasn't followin' because he liked my looks, then why? Anybody could see I wasn't well-off. My clothes were pretty because I'd made them myself, but they weren't fancy city clothes. As I didn't look to be carryin' money, why should he follow me?

My reason for coming to Philadelphia was to meet up with a lawyer and collect money that was due me. By all accounts it was a goodly sum, but who could know that?

Somebody might have talked too much. The lawyer himself or his clerk, if he had such a thing. Most folks like to talk and seem important. Given special knowledge, they can't wait to speak of it.

The only reason I could think of for someone to follow me was because he knew what I'd come for and meant to have it.

Back yonder, folks warned of traps laid for young girls in the cities, but none of that worried me. I was coming to get money, and once I had it in hand, I was going right back where I came from. In my short years I'd had some going round and about with varmints, and although I hadn't my rifle with me, I did have a pistol and my Arkansas toothpick. It was two-edged, razor-sharp, with a point like a needle. If a body so much as fell against that point, it would go in to the hilt, it was that sharp.

Amy Sulky set a good table. She seated me on her left and told folks I was a friend from Tennessee. The city folks at the table bowed, smiled, and said their howdy-dos.

There was a tall, straight woman with her hair parted down the middle who looked like she'd been weaned on a sour pickle, and there was a plump gentleman with muttonchop whiskers who gave me the merest nod and went back to serious eating.

Seemed to me he figured he'd paid for his board and was going to be sure he got his money's worth, and maybe his neighbor's, too. Opposite me sat a quiet, serious-looking man with a bald head and a pointed beard. He was neat, attractive, and friendly. He asked if I intended to stay in the city and I told him I was leaving as soon as I'd done what I came for.

One thing led to another and I told him about us seeing that item about property left to the "youngest descendant of Kin Sackett." I told him we'd found the notice in the Penny Advocate . It had come wrapped around some goods sold us by the pack peddler.

"That strikes me as odd, Mrs. Sulky," he said, turning to her. "The Advocate has but a small circulation here in Pennsylvania. I imagine few copies get beyond the borders of the state. It must have been sheer chance that Miss Sackett saw the item at all."

He glanced at me. "Have you inquired at the address?"

"No, sir, I have just come to town. We wrote to them and they said I must come to Philadelphia to establish my relationship."

"Odd," he said again. "It is none of my business, of course, but the procedure seems peculiar. I know nothing of the legalities. Perhaps they were required to advertise for heirs, but if so, they used an unlikely method. No doubt they were surprised when they heard from you."

The talk turned to other things, but he'd put a bee in my bonnet. I said nothing about being followed, as more than likely they would think it was my imagination, but more and more I was wondering if there mightn't be some crookedness afoot. If any money was coming to us, we wanted it and our family hadn't had any cash money to speak of for longer than I wished to remember.

It was a puzzler that we'd been left money by kinfolk of Kin Sackett, because Kin had been dead for nigh onto two hundred years. Kin was the first of our blood born on American soil. His pappy had been old Barnabas Sackett, who settled on Shooting Creek, in North Carolina. He and some of his ship's crew had done well, finding some gem sapphires east of where Barnabas settled.

Barnabas was killed by Injuns near what was called Crab Orchard, and Kin became the old man of the family. His younger brother Yance settled in the Clinch Mountains, where he raised a brood of wild boys who would fight at the drop of a hat and drop it themselves. Those boys grew up back at the forks of the creek and were raised on bear meat and sourwood honey, but now I was the youngest of Kin's line.

At breakfast Amy Sulky advised me to have a care. "This town is full of sharpers trying to take money from honest folk."

"I've no money for bait," I said. "When I pay you, and my fare on the stage, I'll have nothing left but eating money. The little I have was earned a-hunting."

"Hunting?" The fat man stared at me.

"Yes, sir. My brothers went west, so if there was meat on the table it was up to me. We ate real good, but I shot so much I commenced selling to the butcher."

"Powder and ball cost money!"

"Yes, sir, but I don't miss very often. Nor do I shoot unless my chances are good."

"Even so, one does miss."

"Yes, sir. I missed one time last August. Mistook a stub of a branch for a squirrel. That squirrel ducked from sight and I seen that stub of branch. I hit what I shot at, but it was no squirrel."

"You mean to say you haven't missed a shot since last August?"

"You come from the mountains, Mrs. Sulky. You can tell him how folks are about wastin' powder an' shot. Pappy taught us to hit what we shot at. Mostly we do, and that includes Regal."

"Ah, that Regal!" Amy Sulky said wistfully. "Did he ever marry?"

"Not so's you'd notice. He says he will when the right girl comes along."

When I started to leave the house, the man with the bald head was leaving too. "Miss Sackett? I know nothing of your affairs, but be careful. Don't offer any information you don't have to, and above all, don't sign any papers."

"Yes, sir, thank you, sir."

The man with the newspaper was standing near a rig tied across the street. He was a thickset man wearing a gray hard hat and a houndstooth coat. If he was wishful of not being seen, he was a stupid man. I walked away up the street, and after a moment, he followed.

Chapter 2

James White had an office on a small avenue that ran into Broad Street. The nice gentleman with the bald head and beard had directed me. On this day I carried a knitting bag and I had some knitting in it. I also had my pistol. The Arkansas toothpick was in its usual place and ready to hand.

Womenfolks did not go armed in Philadelphia, Ma said, unless they carried a hatpin, but nobody needed hatpins with the poke bonnets everybody was wearing. I let mine sort of hang back on my neck by its ribbon because I could see better from the corners of my eyes, and I'd spent too much time in the woods to want my vision blocked to the sides.

There were handsome buildings to right and left, with marble steps. The streets were of brick. Passing by a building with a beautiful marble front to it and marble steps, all the marble with blue veins, I glimpsed some brass plates with the names of the occupants on them.

One I noticed in particular because it had a familiar sound.

CHANTRY & CHANTRY, LAWYERS

Seemed to me it was a name I'd heard at storytelling time back in the mountains. We'd set around with the fire crackling, sometimes popping corn or having a taffy pull, and there would be stories told.

Sure enough, I found James White's office on a side street. Opening the door, I entered and found it was a small room with a couple of hard chairs, a sofa, and a small desk with a young man settin' behind it. Yet just as I entered, the door across the room was closing and I caught a glimpse of a boot heel and some pants leg before the door closed. Looked like that man who followed me, but how he could have gotten ahead without me seeing him, I did not know. Maybe it was somebody else.

The young man behind the desk had rumpled hair and a sly look to him. He looked kind of unwashed and slept-in. He looked at me impudent-like and said, "What's for you?"

"I would like to see Mr. White. Tell him Miss Sackett is here."

He sat there for a minute like he had no idea of moving, and then he stood up. "Sackett, is it? You that hillbilly girl?"

"If you will tell Mr. White that I am here ..."

"Little thing, ain't you?"

"I am as big as I need to be."

He leered. "Reckon that's so. Yes, sir! I reckon you're right, at that!"

"Mr. White, please."

He turned lazily and went to the door, opened it, and said, "Girl to see you. Name of Sackett."

There was the sound of a chair moving and then the young man drew back and an older man, short and heavyset, pushed by him. His black hair was slicked down over a round skull. As he came through the door he was shrugging into a coat, and he wore a bushy mustache.

His wide smile revealed more teeth than I'd seen in a long time and he said, "Miss Sackett? I am James White. Will you come in, please?"

He let me go past him and then he followed, waving me to a chair and sitting down behind his desk. "Is this your first trip to Philadelphia, Miss Sackett?"

"Yes, sir. We don't have much occasion to come down to the Settlements."

"Settlements?" He looked surprised, then chuckled. "Of course! Settlements. I suspect it has been a long time since Philadelphia has been referred to as a Settlement."

"I came about the money."

"Ah, yes. Of course. You can prove who you are, Miss Sackett? I mean, that you are a descendant of Kin Sackett?"

"Yes, I can."

"A considerable sum is involved. Of course, there will be charges against it. My fees, the advertising ..."

He waved a hand, smiling and showing all those teeth. "But what am I doing? Talking business with a lovely young lady on her first trip to Philadelphia! We should be planning to go out upon the town! Business can come later."

"I'd as soon tend to it now. I don't aim ... I mean, I don't intend to stay longer than necessary. I'd like to get this over with."

"Of course you would! But I cannot be lacking in hospitality! You must let me take you to one of our restaurants, where we can discuss business at leisure."

"No."

Startled, White stared at me with cold eyes. "You refuse? I assure you - "

"Not to be impolite, sir, but I think we should discuss business first. I must return to the mountains. If you will just tell me how much is coming to me and what remains to be done, we can get along with it."

White was irritated, and he concealed it poorly. What he had in mind, I had no idea, but obviously getting down to business was not part of it.

Why was he delaying? Did he really intend to be hospitable? Or did he hope to turn my head with entertainment and the glitter of the city? Although I was yet to see much glitter in Philadelphia. It looked to me like a get-down-to-business place, as befitted the greatest city in the land. There was much I wished to see had there been time, but there was work to be done back home.

Was the money here? Had he, as my friend at Mrs. Sulky's suggested, deliberately advertised in an unlikely publication?

James White leaned back in his chair and his eyes reminded me of something ... Of a weasel. "You say your name is Sackett and you are from Tennessee?"

"You know my name. I wrote to you from Tennessee."

He seemed to be hesitating, trying to figure which trail to take. If he intended to pay me the money, he had only to make sure who I was and hand it over. I would sign for it, of course. It struck me as a straightforward proposition.

If he planned to steal the money, somehow something had thrown his plans out of kilter. Maybe he had not expected anybody to see his advertisement or answer it. Or maybe he had figured a sixteen-year-old mountain girl would be easy to deal with. Whatever, he figured something had gone wrong for him or was going wrong.

"How did you happen to see the item in the Advocate ?"

"It came wrapped around some goods we bought from the pack peddler." For the first time an idea occurred to me. "Fact is, I believe the peddler saw that notice and wrapped it around the goods a-purpose."

"Why would he do that?"

"So's we could read it. Mountain folks read everything that comes to hand. It ain't much - isn't much, I should say. He would know that and he would know the item concerned our kinfolk."

"Who is this peddler you speak of?"

"Never did know his name. I doubt if anybody knows, or where he comes from or how old he is. He peddles goods in the mountains and he tinkers with things, fixes guns, clocks, and the like, although nobody has much use for a clock except as something to listen to when you're alone."

"How do you tell time?"

"We know when it's daylight and we know when it's dark. What else would be needed?"

"What about appointments?"

"You mean meetin' somebody? If I am wishful to see somebody, I go to his house or the field where he's workin'. He does the same if he wishes to see me. Or we can meet at church of a Sunday."

"And if he doesn't go to church?"

"In the mountains? Everybody goes to church. Even George Haliday ... he's our atheist. We go to meet folks as well as to hear the preachin' an' singin'. George, he goes so he can hear what the preacher says so's they can argue about it at the store."

"They are friends?"

"Of course. Everybody likes George, and the preacher looks forward to those arguments. Ever'body down to the store does. They argued about the whale swallowin' Jonah until the preacher came up with evidence showin' two men had been swallowed and lived to tell of it.

"Preacher, he says for all his mistaken ways George knows more Bible than anybody he ever knew. He says that down inside, George Haliday is a good Christian man who just likes to argue. I wouldn't know about that, but ever' once in a while the preacher throws a sermon right at him; and all the folks know it and they watch George."

"The tinker who brought the Advocate ? Do you see him often?"

"Ever' two, three months. Sometimes oftener. He comes down along the ridge trail carryin' a pack so big you'd think it would take three men. Packs it all by hisself."

"Doesn't he ever get robbed?"

Well, I just looked at him. Where was he raised? Nobody would rob a pack peddler, but especially not this one. Anyway, even among Injuns, peddlers an' traders were respected an' let be. We all needed their goods. If the peddler stopped comin', we'd all lack for things.

"Nobody would rob the Tinker. I reckon nobody could. He's got him a special kind of knife he makes himself, and knows how to use it. I often wished I had one like it, but I have to make do with my pick."

" 'Pick'?"

"Arkansas toothpick." When I said it, I could see he was ignorant. "It's a kind of knife."

He stared at me there for a moment, tryin' to make me out. I reckon I was a different kind of person than he'd ever met. So I changed the subject on him.

"About that money. Folks where I come from, Mr. White, are right serious about money. When somebody owes money, they pay it or explain why they can't. You have money for me. I want it."

"Of course. You are impatient, but I understand that." He reached in his desk and drew out a paper with all kinds of writin' on it and indicated a line at the bottom. "You just sign right there and you shall have your money."

Me, I just looked at him. "Mr. White, I don't figure to sign anything until I have the money in hand. All of it. You put the money on the desk and I'll sign fast enough."

"I am sorry, Miss Sackett. Your signing would expedite matters. In any event, it shall have to be tomorrow, as I naturally would not have such a sum in my office."

I stood up. "Yes, sir. I understand, sir. Tomorrow morning I will be here and you had better be, with that money. If it ain't here or you aren't, I'll start backtrackin' that money. I reckon any kind of money leaves its trail, and I can read sign as good as anybody. I'll follow that trail right back to where it come from an' right back to you, so's I will know how much is involved an' why you keep putting me off."

He stood up too. "There's nothing to worry about, Miss Sackett. Your money will be here. However" - and there was a hard edge to his voice - "I would advise you to change your tone. You are in Philadelphia now, Miss Sackett, not back in your mountains. You would do well to curb your tongue."

"You have that money for me and you'll not have to put up with me."

He started to speak angrily, then changed his mind. He changed it so fast the words backed up on him, but he finally come out with it. "I am sorry, Miss Sackett, we seem to have gotten off on the wrong foot. I did not wish to offend you or cause unnecessary delays. I only hoped to make your stay more agreeable."

To be honest, that was all he had done. Maybe I'd been set on edge by the doubts of my bald-headed friend or something in James White's manner, or the fact that I'd been followed from the time I arrived in town. Come to think on it, he'd said nothing a body could take offense to.

"I am sorry too," I said. "I shall be here in the morning."

Chapter 3

When I fetched myself to the sidewalk, the tall young man from the office was standin' there. He looked me up and down, impudent as you please, and then he said, "Come along, Miss Sackett, and I'll walk you home."

"No, thanks. I shall walk by myself. I have much to do."

He laughed at me, not a very nice laugh. "How'd you an' ol' White get along? You better watch him. He's got an eye for the girls."

I walked across the street, and was so irritated that I did not notice whether I was followed or not. It was several blocks before I thought to look, but I saw nobody. It was late afternoon and folks had either gone home or were going.

Turning back, I saw I was in front of the building with the brass nameplates, and there it was again:

"CHANTRY & CHANTRY, LAWYERS."

Up the steps I went and into a hall where several doors had names on them. Opening the Chantry door, I stepped into an outer office that was all shadowed and still. There were two desks and chairs, and along one side was a leather settee for those who waited. The door to an inner office was open a crack and I could hear the scratching of a pen. Stepping into the door, I peered inside.

A white-haired man was sitting behind a desk, writing. Piled beside him were several lawbooks, and one of them was open.

As I peeked in, he looked up, right into my eyes. He stared at me as if not believing what he saw, and I stared back, embarrassed.

He stood up, and he was very tall. Tall as Regal, maybe, but not so muscular. "Will you come in, please? My clerk has gone home, I believe." He came around the desk. "I am Finian Chantry."

Taking a further step into the room, I stood, my feet together, very erect, very prim. "I am Echo Sackett."

He gestured to a chair, then turned back to his desk, pausing in midstride. "Sackett, did you say? Sackett?"

"Yes, sir. I am afraid I am presuming, sir, but there was no one in the outer office and I hoped to have a word with you, sir."

"Sit down, Miss Sackett. Echo, did you say? What a pretty name!"

"I am glad you think so, sir. Many think it strange, but we live in the mountains, sir, and my father loved the echoes."

"The mountains? Tennessee, no doubt?"

"Why, yes, sir. How did you know? Oh! My accent!"

"On the contrary, Miss Sackett. I once knew someone of your name, a very long time ago, and he was from Tennessee."

Finian Chantry moved some papers aside, and marking his place in the open book, closed it. "He was a fine man, a great man in his way. Were it not for him, I might not be here tonight. He was a good friend to me, and an older friend of my brother's."

"If you could tell me his name, sir?"

"Daubeny Sackett. He fought in the Battle of King's Mountain, among others."

"He was my grandfather, sir."

Finian Chantry sat back in his chair. With his shock of white hair and his lean, strong features, he was a strikingly handsome man.

"Then perhaps I can call you Echo?" His face became serious. "Now, Echo, what can I do for you?"

Seated across from him, I told him my story as simply and directly as possible. How we had seen the notice in the Penny Advocate and how I had written to James White and had come to claim my inheritance.

"This inheritance. Do you know from whom it comes?"

"No, sir. It was to go to the youngest of Kin Sackett's line, so whoever left the money must have known our family for a very long time. Kin Sackett has been dead for two hundred years."

"Strange," Chantry agreed, "but interesting, very interesting. And this James White advertised in the Penny Advocate ?"

"Yes, sir, and anyone who knew of Kin Sackett would know we lived in Tennessee or west of there."

He got to his feet. "Miss Sackett, I shall escort you home. It is not well for a young girl to be on the streets of Philadelphia at night, even if she is a Sackett."

When we went outside, a carriage pulled up before the door and a man stepped down to open the door for us. Riding in a carriage! If only Ma could see me now!

"Tomorrow when you call upon Mr. White, I shall attend you. I scarcely believe there will be trouble."

James White sat at his desk staring at the accumulated papers, a disgusted expression on his face. He glanced up as the thickset man in the square gray hat entered.

"What is it, Tim? I am busy!"

"You'll be busier if you expect to pull this off. You take my advice an' get to that hillbilly girl an' get her to sign a release."

"When did I ask your advice?"

"You never did. That ain't to say you couldn't have used it a time or two. That hillbilly girl's no damn fool. She's gone to another lawyer."

"What? Who?"

"She went right from here to Chantry's office. Walked right in."

"That's impossible!"

"You believe that an' you're liable to find yourself in jail. Old Chantry's nobody to fool with. You know it an' I know it."

White brushed his mustache with a forefinger, throwing a quick, angry look at Tim Oats. Inwardly he was cursing. It had all looked so simple! Everybody on the O'Hara side was dead, the money was in his hands, and Brunn's widow trusted him implicitly. He had made an attempt to find the heirs that would pass muster with her, and he could do what he wished with the money until he found the heirs, which he had hoped never to do. Who would dream a copy of that little sheet would ever find its way into the backwoods of Tennessee?

"Chantry doesn't handle such cases," White said impatiently. "His practice is in admiralty law or international trade. Anyway, how could a hillbilly girl even get his attention?"

"All I know is that she left here and went right to his office. She opened the door and walked right in."

"And probably came right out."

"I figured I'd best get to you. Chantry is tough, an' you know how he feels about the law. To him it's a sacred trust, an' if he finds you playin' fast an' loose, he'll put you behind bars."

"You don't have to explain Finian Chantry to me. I know all about him."

James White was irritated and a little frightened. Still, he had done nothing wrong ... yet. He touched his tongue to dry lips. Thank God he had been warned. Grudgingly he glanced at Tim Oats. "Thanks. You did the right thing, coming right to me."

Finian Chantry had fought in the Revolution. He had been an important government official at the time of the War of 1812. It was said he had refused a seat on the Supreme Court for reasons of health. He was a man accustomed to power and the use of power.

Tim Oats was right. He should have smoothed things over and gotten the Sackett girl to sign a release. He could have given her a few dollars ... After all, the girl had no idea what was involved.

Of course, that was what he had planned. To take her to a plush restaurant, give her a couple of glasses of wine, then produce some gold money and get her to sign a release as "paid in full." Then she turned him down.

Turned him down! Who did she think she was, anyway?

Yet slowly caution began to slip through the cracks in his ego. Chantry, he was sure, would not give her the time of day, but the sooner the Sackett girl was back in her mountains, the better.

When old Adam Brunn died suddenly, his widow had asked White to settle her husband's legal affairs. The old man had a small but solid practice, mostly with estates and land titles, but White agreed immediately. Had the widow known anyone else, she would not have asked him, but a friend of White's had been helping her through the trying period after her husband's death, and had recommended White.

Most of what Brunn had left unfinished was routine and offered no chance for chicanery. Then he had come upon the O'Hara papers.

Apparently, many years before, one Kane O'Hara had been an associate of Barnabas Sackett, whoever he was, and later, of his son, Kin Sackett. Partly due to the Sackett association, Kane O'Hara had done well financially, leaving a considerable estate to his heirs. In his will he left a provision that if at any time the O'Hara family was left without an heir in the immediate line, what remained of the estate should go to the youngest living descendant of Kin Sackett.

To White it seemed a foolish document, but all of the subsequent heirs had included the provision in their wills as well, and for a while there had been some association with the Sackett family. At last the event had taken place, and a search for the youngest Sackett had begun.

Adam Brunn's conscientious search for the heirs discovered the Sackett family living in Tennessee, and Brunn had drawn up an advertisement to appear in some Tennessee newspapers just before he died. His widow was determined Brunn's wishes be carried out, as apparently this was one facet of his business he had discussed with her. White proceeded to advertise, but deliberately chose a paper unlikely to be found in Tennessee.

The letter from Echo Sackett had come as a shock, for he was already devising ways by which the money could remain in his hands. White's income varied between six and seven hundred dollars per year, a goodly sum in 1840. The inheritance came to something more than three thousand dollars, and in addition, there was a small iron cube, a puzzle box of some sort, composed of many movable parts, each one a small square with its own symbol or hieroglyphic.

That iron box or cube or whatever it was had become an irritation to White. It must have some significance, for it was mentioned in the will and was obviously important. He had worked over it, turning the various bits and pieces. Some of the squares slid from place to place and could be realigned to make different combinations of the symbols, but what they meant, he could not guess.

Tim Oats was vastly intrigued. "That there's valuable," he declared. "I began life workin' with metals, worked for a jeweler, I did, an' whoever put that thing together was a craftsman! He really knew what he was doin'!"

"It isn't Latin," White said irritably. "It isn't any language I know."

"It's old," Oats said, "but there's not a speck of rust. I heard tell of iron like that made long ago in India."

"A children's toy," Brunn had written in his notes, "of only family interest."

James White, a devious man himself, did not accept that conclusion. In the weeks since it had come into his possession, he had moved, twisted, and turned it - but to no avail. If it had a secret, it was beyond him.

Since three thousand dollars represented four to five years of income for James White, he had no intention of giving it up to any ignorant hillbilly girl. He stared at the papers on his desk and swore bitterly. Three thousand dollars to that impudent slip of a girl! It was preposterous!

Yet, suppose he had to pay it to her? What then? It was a long way back to Tennessee, most of it by stage. White rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, then brushed his mustache with a forefinger.

Maybe ... just maybe ...

Finian Chantry entered the library of the club and looked about. He nodded here and there to the regulars, men with whom he frequently had dealings, business or political, most of whom he had known for years, and in some cases their fathers before them. When his wife had been alive, they dined out often, but of late he had become more and more of a recluse, preferring his books to most of the conversation about matters whose conclusions were obvious.

The club was different. It was one place that held no memories of his wife. It was a gathering place for men, and men only. As he grew older he liked less and less to be involved in disagreements of any kind, and here, in the quiet precincts of the club, over brandy and cigars, he had settled some of his most difficult cases.

It was easier, sometimes, to meet with people on neutral ground, to discuss probable outcomes and resolve problems without going to court. Chantry was, as they all knew, a thorough student of the law, who prepared his cases with infinite skill. His memory was fantastic and he seemed to forget nothing, recalling with ease rulings made fifty years before. He seemed to have read everything and forgotten nothing. Most other attorneys preferred to settle his cases out of court rather than go to trial and almost certain defeat.

Pendleton was a cheerful man with a bald head and muttonchop whiskers. He glanced up as Chantry approached.

"Finian! Come and sit down! We don't see much of you these days!"

"Busy, George, busy! Reading a lot, too. This fellow Dickens, you know? The Englishman?"

"Indeed, I do know! My wife and daughter can scarcely wait for the ship to get in with the next installment. Pity we don't have such writers here!"

Chantry seated himself. "George, do you know anything about a lawyer named White? James White?"

"I know him." He twisted in his seat and spoke to the black waiter who was approaching.

"Archie? Get Mr. Chantry something, will you? And bring us some cigars."

"Calvados, sir?"

"Please."

"White's a scoundrel. Be disbarred one of these days. Mixes in all sorts of shady dealings. Nothing we can do about it, but we're watching the man."

When the calvados arrived, Finian took but a sip before putting down his glass.

He drank rarely, but the apple brandy from Normandy seemed about right. He accepted a cigar, bit off the end, and accepted a light from Archie.

"He is handling an estate in which a client of mine is interested."

"Your client should be careful. The man's a shyster. If not an actual criminal." Pendleton drew on his cigar. "Some of Adam Brunn's business, I suspect. When Adam died, his widow put the business in White's hands - why, I can't imagine.

"Adam was a nice old gentleman, but when he died, his widow asked White to handle his affairs. I heard her housekeeper recommended White."

Pendleton glanced at Chantry. "A client of yours, you say? I didn't know you handled cases of that sort."

"The client is a young lady who walked in out of nowhere."

"With White involved? I'd be careful, Finian. You are a wealthy man, you know."

"Nothing like that. She recognized my nameplate and came for advice, as she did not trust White. She had recognized the name, and as soon as she mentioned hers, it took me back. I knew her grandfather, George, knew him in the war, and had it not been for him, I'd not be here at all."

"The war?"

"The Revolution. He was from Tennessee. The greatest woodsman I ever met or expect to meet. We met by accident, but he had known my older brother, had dealings with him. In fact, there's been a shadowy connection between our families for many years. I expect it happens more often than we realize, but our families have rubbed elbows a dozen times."

"What is the nature of her problem?"

"She did not trust the man. Instinct, I guess, although one of the boarders at Mrs. Sulky's warned her."

Chantry tasted the calvados again. "The Sacketts are an odd lot, George. No sooner did they get ashore in this country than they headed for the hills. Like homing pigeons. Once there, they took to the wilderness as if born to it.

"This young lady comes from a place called Tuckalucky Cove. Never been out of the hills except for one short trip to visit relatives in Charleston. But she's no fool. Canny little thing, and afraid of nothing."

"A little fear might do her good."

Chantry chuckled. "Might, but I doubt it. If she is like the other Sacketts I've known, it is the others who should have a little fear."

"White's a bad actor. Remember Felix Horst? Involved in some killings down along the river a few years ago? Escaped from prison while awaiting trial? White was suspected of arranging his escape."

"Ah? Yes, I do recall something of the kind. Well, I am glad she came to me. I doubt if he will attempt anything if she arrives at his office with me."

"You are going with her?"

"She's a child, George. Only sixteen. Of course I shall go." He brushed the ash from his cigar. "By the way, George, that clerk of yours who is reading law? I believe his name is Gibbons?"

"Johnny Gibbons?" Pendleton was surprised. "What about him?"

"Did he not work for Adam Brunn before he came to you? I would like to talk to him."

"Well, I suppose it could be arranged. Come to think of it, he did work for Brunn." He glanced up. "Imagine you remembering that."

"Tonight, George? I would like to see him tonight."

Pendleton glanced at his watch. "Finian, you are a most difficult man. I should have known you had something on your mind."

Reluctantly Pendleton got to his feet. "I don't know. I could send a messenger - "

"We shall go ourselves. Or rather, I shall. I do not wish to interrupt your dinner."

"But - "

"Don't worry about it. I shall go myself, if you will just tell me where to find him."

"Sir, you cannot consider such a thing! Gibbons fancies himself as a writer. Oh, he's reading law, all right, and a very astute young man he is, but he is also planning a book on Philadelphia's history as a seaport. He will not be in his room tonight, but in some dive on the waterfront."

"Very well, then that is where I shall go. I must see him. He will certainly know something of the Sackett case, and I must have the information before calling upon White."

"Sir?" Chantry turned at Archie's voice. "I could go with you, sir. I shall be finished here in a few minutes, and I know the waterfront well. I went to sea at one time."

"Thank you, Archie, I shall appreciate the company."

The big black man hesitated. "You know, sir, it is very rough down there?"

"Archie, I am an old man now, but I, too, spent time at sea."

"Very well, sir."

"Do you know Johnny Gibbons?"

"I do sir. There are only a few places he might be, where seamen gather and he can pick up the stories."

Finian Chantry waited at the door for his carriage and for Archie to join him. He felt oddly exhilarated. How many years since he had walked the waterfront? Too many years, far too many.

"You are eighty-six years old, Finian," he said to himself, "of no age to go to the sort of places you will be going tonight. I wonder just how much is left of that young man who commanded his own vessel? Have the years carried it all down the drain? Or is there something left?"

He wore the long trousers that had come in shortly after the beginning of the century, and a top hat. He carried a cane ... was never without it.

"Sir?" Archie spoke quietly. "We must be careful. There are men down there who would murder you for a shilling, a guilder, or a dollar."

"I have met them before, Archie, when I was younger. I am an old man now, but I wonder how old."

Chapter 4

They found Johnny Gibbons seated over a mug of ale in the Dutchman's, on Dock Street. The room was crowded with a sweating, smoking, drinking melange of seafaring men from Copenhagen to Cape Town and all the ports between. They were men from ships which came in with the tide and would be off again in a day or a week. They came ashore for the women, the whiskey, rum, or gin, and some even made it back to their own vessels. Others were shanghaied by crimps and awakened in a dirty bunk aboard a ship strange to them, their belongings lost to them, their future in doubt.

Finian Chantry pushed the door open with his cane and stepped into the room, recognizing Gibbons at once. That young man glanced up, his eyes riveted, and his mouth dropped open in astonishment. Archie led the way through the crowded room. Finian glanced around, enjoying himself, then seated himself opposite Johnny Gibbons.

Johnny was embarrassed and worried. "Sir? With all due respect, you shouldn't have come to this place! It is dangerous, sir. There are a lot of honest seamen here, but almost as many crimps and thieves."

"Johnny, 1 spent my youth in such places. In and out of them, at least. I commanded my own ship with crews who were more than half of them pirates."

"I know, sir, but - "

"Johnny, you worked for Adam Brunn? Do you remember the O'Hara case?"

"Of course, sir. It was the last case on which I was employed. One of the O'Haras, the last of that line, I believe, was a friend of Mr. Brunn. It seems the first of their family had been beholden to Barnabas Sackett, and very close to Barnabas's son, Kin. Several times over the years there was contact between the families, but the last O'Hara willed what was left to the last descendant of Kin Sackett."

"The sum?"

"Something over three thousand dollars. Nowadays that's quite a sum, but the money was the least of it. There was an iron cube, some sort of a Chinese puzzle. He opened it and showed us what was inside. It was a sapphire, a big one, couldn't have weighed less than twenty carats. He showed it to Mr. Brunn and me and then returned it to the box, made a few deft twists concealed by his palms, and handed it over to Brunn.

"When Adam Brunn died, his widow turned his business over to White. I protested, but Mrs. Brunn listened to this woman who worked for her who was always telling her what a wonderful man White was.

"I had given my notice before the old man died, as I wanted to set up for myself, and she would not listen to me. She resented the fact that I was going on my own, although Mr. Brunn did not. You see, I did not want to practice the kind of law he did. He had a very quiet, secure sort of business, but I wanted to be where things were happening. And I wished to write."

"Thank you. I believe you have told me what I need to know. I think we should go now."

"May I come with you? I've noticed, sir, some very rough characters have been watching you. You dress too well to be walking around down here."

"Come, if you will. It is only a few blocks to where my carriage waits, and I have Archie with me."

As they left the Dutchman's, Finian saw a side door back of the bar open and close, and he smiled a little to himself. You are an old fool, Finian, he told himself, to be thinking such thoughts at your age!

When they reached the corner a block from the Dutchman's, they saw three men under the gaslight. The three glanced their way, then turned and walked along ahead of them.

"Did you see them, Archie?"

"I did, sir. There may be trouble."

"It has been a long time since I have had that kind of trouble, Archie. I have often wondered how I would react."

"Sir?" Gibbons said. "One of those men up ahead is Bully Benson - he's a thug and a murderer. If I am not mistaken, there will be others behind us."

"Of course, Johnny. Be careful, now. I grew up on this sort of thing. There was that night in Bombay - "

"There they are, sir. They are waiting for us."

"Johnny, you and Archie take care of those behind us. Leave the three in front to me. I shall take it as a favor."

"Sir, you are eighty-six years old! Please, sir - "

"Years of experience, Johnny. I think we shall surprise them."

"He fences every day at the club," Archie said. "There's nobody there can handle him. Not even those young naval officers."

They rounded the corner and three rough-looking characters were spread across the walk before them.

Finian smiled. "Good evening, gentlemen! Is there something we can do for you?"

"You can hand over d' gelt, d' coin! An' quick!"

Finian Chantry held his cane in two hands and smiled. "Ah? You hear him, Johnny? The man's threatening me!" His eyes went from one to the other. "And if I don't choose to?"

"We'll bust your damn skull!"

"You're Benson, I take it? Well, Benson, I'll give you a chance. Turn about now and run. Get away from here while you can, and we'll make believe this never happened."

"Blimey! Would y' listen to that? The old gent's balmy! He's off his bloody course, he is!"

"You're a pack of bilge-swilling swine!" Chantry said. "I've money enough in my pockets to keep you drunk for a month of Sundays, but if you come for it, you'll be wearing your guts for neckties!"

One of the men started to back off. "Listen t' him, Bully! This one's no gent! Let's get out of here!"

"If I had the lot of you aboard a ship of mine," Finian said cheerfully, "I'd have you kissing the gunner's daughter! You'd be bent over a starb'rd gun getting fifty good ones on the backside from a Penang lawyer!"

"Bully? Let's get out of here! This one's walked a deck of his own!"

"Don't be a damn fool! S'pose he has? I want that ...All right !Take him !"

The shout was accompanied by a lunge. The second man leaped, swinging a cudgel. Bully Benson held a knife.

Finian Chantry's brain was icy. He took a half-step back and the cane seemed to spring apart in his hands. A blade leaped from the cane like a whip of dancing light. Benson caught the flash of the blade and tried to pull up, his eyes bulging with sheer horror. The next moment, where his mouth had been there was an ugly gash as the blade cut ear to ear. The second man swung his cudgel, but the sweeping blade had never stopped moving, slicing his cheek and nicking his nose.

He screamed and dropped his club, both hands going to his face. Bully Benson was already in a staggering run, choking on his own blood. The third and wiser man had never closed, and he was maintaining a fair lead as he ran.

Turning quickly, Finian saw Johnny Gibbons had a man against the wall and was slugging him with both fists. Archie had put one man down, and the third was running away.

Finian Chantry's heart was pounding as he watched them go; then, taking a handkerchief from his pocket, he wiped clean the sword blade and returned it to the cane. "A pack of scoundrels," he commented as Johnny Gibbons came up beside him. "This will give them something to consider before they try it again."

When they reached the carriage, Chantry got in and Johnny followed. "Archie?" he invited.

"Thank you, sir, your coachman is a friend, I shall ride out with him."

"Back there," Gibbons commented, "you spoke of giving that chap fifty good ones with a 'Penang lawyer.' I had never heard the phrase."

"A Penang lawyer is a strip of rattan. It was used to influence discipline aboard craft in the Indian Ocean."

"You were a ship's officer?"

"Briefly. Like my brother, I was a merchant venturer, investing in cargoes and often going along to handle the trading myself. I had read for the law, as had he, so I finally settled for that. It was a fortunate choice."

"In the O'Hara affair, if I can be of any assistance, you have only to ask."

"No, it is a small matter. What you have told me is sufficient."

Alone in his bedroom, Finian Chantry looked down upon his hands. "Useful," he muttered, "useful still. And there was no fear, that is important."

He felt no sympathy for Bully Benson. They had chosen the time, the place, and their weapons. What they got was less than what they deserved.

At supper I was seated in the same place, and discovered that in boardinghouses as at home, most people wanted to sit in the same seats. The bald-headed man who sat across from me was named Prescott. He nodded and smiled when I came in. "How are you enjoying Philadelphia?" he asked.

"There's so much to see! After I saw Mr. White and Mr. Chantry - "

The fat man farther down the table looked up from his food long enough to give me a sharp, somewhat impatient glance. He clutched his knife and fork as if prepared for battle. "Chantry, did you say? Yousaw Finian Chantry?"

"I did. He was very nice."

"Young lady" - he spoke with authority - "you must be mistaken. Nobody, but no body just walks in and sees Finian Chantry."

"I saw him. I shall see him again in the morning. He is coming with me to see Mr. White."

Very patiently the man said, "Miss Sackett, I know very important men who have tried forweeks to see Mr. Chantry. He is a busy man and accepts no new clients. You must have met somebody else who you assumed was Finian Chantry."

He resumed eating and for a moment I thought of replying, then thought it was no use. And what did it matter, anyway?

Amy Sulky came in and seated herself. "Echo, there's a man in the sitting room who wishes to speak to you. His name is White. He said you would know him, but I told him we were at supper and he could not see you until it was over."

Mr. Prescott said, "Miss Sackett? If I can be of service? A witness or something?"

"Thank you. I cannot imagine why Mr. White is here. We were to meet in the morning, when Mr. Chantry can be there."

The man down the table gave me an exasperated glance, but his mouth was full as usual and he said nothing. I am sure he wished to. He was called Mr. Butts, and judging by the size of his stomach, he was a very important man. He mopped the gravy from his plate with a piece of bread and looked enviously across the table at the skinny young man's plate whose meal was only half-eaten.

Amy Sulky arose. "If I can help in any way ... ?" she paused, lifting her eyebrows in question.

"No, ma'am. I have met him before. It will be all right."

White got quickly to his feet when I came into the room. "Ah! Miss Sackett! How good of you to see me! Knowing how anxious you were to return to your mountains, I thought I had best do as much as possible to expedite your trip.

"I have the money here, and you've only to sign a release and you can be on your way. A receipt, that is."

Taking from his pocket a small sack, he began counting out gold pieces on the table. For a moment I could only stare. Never before in my life had I seen even one gold piece, and here they were in shining stacks, and all mine. It was unbelievable.

He placed a sheet of paper on the table before me.

All I could think of was the gold and what it would do for all of us, and I wished that Pa had lived until now.

Mr. White dipped a pen in the inkwell and handed it to me. "Just sign right there" - he put a pudgy finger on the line - "just sign right there and it is all yours."

He pushed a stack of the gold toward me, and I reached for the pen.

Chapter 5

First I sat down and looked at that paper. Five hundred dollars in gold was a sight of money, and it would do a lot for my folks, but I did not like that bit about "paid in full." How did I know that was all there was? And Mr. Prescott, him with the bald head and the beard, he had said, "Don't sign anything."

"Mr. White," I said, "I can't do it. I talked to Finian Chantry and he is coming to your office with me tomorrow morning. There's no reason why I can't wait until then."

His mean little eyes tightened a bit around the edges. "Miss Sackett" - he held his voice patient - "I do not have time to waste. I have brought you the money, five hundred dollars in gold. Sign that paper and it is yours.

"I won't," he added, "even deduct the cost of advertising or my expenses. You can have it all."

Whenever a man like James White gets generous, a body had better hold on to his pocketbook. "No, I've asked Mr. Chantry to handle it for me. It wouldn't be polite if I went ahead without him."

"Finian Chantry," White said impatiently, "is too busy to bother with any mountain girl. You are just using his name. Now, you just sign that paper. I have another appointment and I simply can't wait."

"Tomorrow morning. Finian Chantry will be with me. We can get it all straightened out in a few minutes."

He stared at me; then he got up. "You've had your chance," he said. "You may never see that gold again. I have no idea what your Finian Chantry hopes to do - "

A voice spoke from behind me. It was the tall young man from down the table. "Mister, if I were you, I would leave that gold with the young lady. Anybody who carries that much in the streets at night is crazy."

James White ignored him. He pushed the paper at me again, and then the pen. "If you want that money," he said, "you had better sign."

"I am sorry, sir." I got to my feet. "Not until tomorrow morning."

He got up too, and he was almighty angry, I could see that. His face was flushed a mean red and he glared at me. "You are a very stubborn, foolish young lady, and you may lose it all."

The young man had moved up beside me, and Mr. Prescott had come into the room. He said, "If the money is due her," he said, "you will have it or the courts will take steps to recover it."

He glared at us, then put the money back in the black bag he was carrying and without another word went out and slammed the door.

"Thank you," I said.

"So that is James White?" Mr. Prescott said. "I have heard of him. If you wish, I could arrange the time to accompany you?"

"No, thanks. Mr. Chantry will be there."

We talked a few minutes and they left, going to their rooms. For a few minutes I just stood there staring down at where all that gold had been.

Had I been a fool? Just think! Tomorrow morning I could have been on a stage starting for home again. Now how long would it be? And would I get any money at all? What the law said, I had no idea, and maybe there were ways he could keep it, and I would have to return with empty pockets.

That night, lying in bed, I worried myself to sleep. Mr. Chantry was an old man and he looked frail for all that he was tall and moved well. Suppose there was violence? Where I came from in the mountains, there was often bloodshed over such things, and I did not know how it would be in Philadelphia. When I got up in the morning, I would check my pistol.

Mr. White was stocky, and although a mite thick in the middle, he looked strong. And there was that man who followed me. I should have told Mr. Chantry about him.

When morning came, and when I had my breakfast, I sat waiting in the sitting room. I was wearing a poke bonnet and a long full skirt trimmed with bows of ribbon and a shawl around my shoulders. My knitting bag was on my lap and my pick was inside my skirt in its scabbard and ready to hand. A girl can't be too careful.

Mr. Butts came in, picking his teeth with an ivory toothpick. He glanced at me irritably. "I am surprised," he said. "You should have taken the money he brought. Five hundred dollars? It's more than I earn in a year! Preposterous!"

"I think she did the right thing, Mr. Butts," Mrs. Sulky said. "Why would he come over here at night to get her to sign those papers? They had an appointment for today."

"She will wind up with nothing, nothing at all!"

There was a tap at the door, and when Amy Sulky opened it, Finian Chantry was there, a tall, elegant old man in a gray frock coat and trousers of a lighter gray.

"Mrs. Sulky? Mr. Chantry."

"How do you do?"

"Mr. Chantry?" Mr. Butts thrust himself forward. "I am Ephraim Butts, and I have been hoping to have a chance to speak to you - "

"Another time, Mr. Butts. Miss Sackett and I have business to discuss." He stepped back to allow me to precede him. "Miss Sackett?"

When we were seated in his carriage, I said, "I don't like that man."

"Do not let yourself be bothered by the inconsequential. One has only so much time in this world, so devote it to the work and the people most important to you, to those you love and things that matter. One can waste half a lifetime with people one doesn't really like, or doing things when one would be better off somewhere else."

As we rode along over the brick-paved streets, I told him about James White coming to the boardinghouse with the five hundred dollars.

"You did the right thing, Echo," he said. "There is much more involved."

He stepped down from the carriage at Mr. White's office and shifted his cane to the other hand to help me down. "That's a beautiful cane," I said. "My father had one like it."

"Yes, I shouldn't wonder. Inherited from your grandfather, perhaps?"

"Yes, I believe it was, although Pa never had much use for it. He was always a strong walker."

"Of course." He held the cane up. "It is just a little something I like to have with me. It has become a habit, I am afraid."

The tall, dirty-looking young man stood up quickly when he saw Mr. Chantry. "Yes, sir!"

"Mr. White, if you please. Miss Sackett and Finian Chantry to see him."

"Yes, sir. Right away, sir."

White sat hunched behind his desk when we entered. He stood up grudgingly. "Mr. Chantry? What can I do for you, sir?"

"You can pay Miss Sackett three thousand, three hundred and twenty-five dollars. This is, I believe, the sum due her from the estate of Barnabas O'Hara, deceased."

"Now, see here! I - "

"Mr. White, I am not a very patient man. As I grow older, I find time very important. I also have had occasion to discuss some of your activities with various members of the bar. Miss Sackett has apprised me of your attempt to get her to sign away most of her inheritance, and I am in no mood for dillydallying. The money, sir!"

Reluctantly White got up and went to his safe. For a moment he hesitated; then he turned the handle and opened the door.

When he had counted the money, he pushed it across the desk. "There!" he said. "Now, here's the receipt."

"One thing more." Finian Chantry's voice was cold. "The iron puzzle cube."

White gripped the edge of his desk. He stared at Chantry, trying to frighten him. "That cube? It's nothing but a child's toy."

"My client likes toys, and she is very good at puzzles, Mr. White. The cube, please."

White returned to the safe and brought the cube to the desk. "It isn't anything." He waved a careless hand. "Just a sort of puzzle for youngsters."

"Thank you, Mr. White." Chantry turned to me. "Now, Miss Sackett? Will you sign his paper?"

When we were seated in the carriage, Finian Chantry suggested, "Now that your business is over, would you consent to have dinner with me? You have no idea what it would do for me to be seen with such a young and beautiful lady."

Well! An elegant supper with Finian Chantry! When I was back in my room, I got out the dress I had made for just such an evening. It was not a dress made for this trip, but one I had made after dreaming of all those fancy places Regal had talked about.

Godey'shad a lot of pictures of dresses, although none of them had much of an explanation, and Regal was no help at all.

Amy Sulky helped, and then - and I was fairly amazed - the tall woman who I'd said looked like she was weaned on a sour pickle, she came to help. She was much better at pressing than I was, and she ironed out my dress. Then she said, "Where are your gloves?"

"Gloves?" I stared, in a sudden panic.

"You must have gloves. No lady of fashion appears in public without them!"

In the end, she loaned me a beautiful shawl. "From India," she said, with no explanation at all. And she loaned me some lace mittens which were all the fashion. The shawl was rich cashmere, almost too beautiful to touch.

The dress was a full triple skirt, blue as the sky. I'd only two petticoats, so the sour-pickle lady, whose name turned out to be Alicia, loaned me another. Oddly enough, although she was tall, the petticoat was perfect for me.

When I spoke of it, she said, with never a flicker of expression, "It belonged to my daughter."

"Oh! I hope she won't mind."

"My daughter is dead." She spoke flatly and turned away. I did not know what to say, so I said nothing at all.

When I was all ready and waiting for Mr. Chantry, both Amy and Alicia stood waiting with me. "You are very beautiful," Alicia said. "You should stay in Philadelphia. "

"I love the mountains, and besides, while Regal is laid up, who would hunt for them?"

"You mean youhunt ? You? You actually kill things?"

"Yes, ma'am. Whatever meat we have is wild meat, shot by me when the boys are away. We have hogs, razorbacks they call them, but they run wild in the forest and we only gather them up to sell them in town. There's no more fun ever than being on a hog or turkey drive, going miles across the hills to the towns.

"That is, it's a sight of fun while the weather's nice, but if it comes on to rain, it can be awful. We have to find a place to pen them for the night. Mostly folks along the way are helpful, but if a body's caught in the forest, it can be right mean."

There I was standing in my triple skirt with lace mittens and all, that auburn hair which everybody says is beautiful falling over my shoulders, and talking of driving wild hogs and hunting game.

"If I were you," Amy advised, "I'd say nothing of driving hogs to the people you may meet tonight. They wouldn't understand."

"Yes, ma'am, but ever'body in the mountains does what's necessary."

The United States Hotel served up a supper the like of which I'd never seen, and we had Mumm's champagne to drink, which cost two dollars and a half a bottle!

"Do you have wine in the mountains?" Mr. Chantry asked.

"Some do," I admitted, "but mostly folks drink cider or whiskey of their own make. At least, the menfolks do. There's wild grapes in the mountains, and there have been some planted here and there. Some folks have made wine, but not such as this."

Two dollars and a half a bottle! That was outrageous. In the mountains a body could buy a barrel of whiskey for that price.

"I never paid much mind to it, Mr. Chantry," I said. "Womenfolks in the mountains in our time don't touch whiskey. At least, not in public. There are some who like a little nip on the sly, but not me. None of our family were drinkers, although I've heard tell that wild Clinch Mountain bunch would tap the jug once in a while."

"You must be careful," Mr. Chantry warned. "You'll be carrying quite a lot of money, and I shall be surprised if there isn't an attempt to rob you."

"I came a long way to get this money, and I don't intend to let no thief take it from me. I've got a pistol, and I have my pick."

"Oh, yes. The pick." Finian Chantry had a nice smile. "But be careful. That's a lot of money to most people."

We had mock turtle soup, boiled bluefish with oyster sauce, tomatoes, and eggplant.

Mr. Chantry asked me about the mountains, so I told him about our cabin in the laurel with pines along the ridge above, the clear cold spring that gave us water, and the hole near the spring where we kept our butter and milk. I told him about hunting game and of the Clinch Mountain boys who were raised on bear meat and poke greens.

"There was a time we could have become rich folk. The land was for the taking, but we taken more to hunting along the ridges than settling in the rich bottomlands. Of a sudden the rich land was gone and all that was left was ridges and high country."

Across the room a man had been seated facing us. He was a tall man with high cheekbones, a beak of a nose, and thin, tight lips. When I looked over, he was staring at us, and he turned his eyes away, but I had seen the look. He was a hunter.

"Mr. Chantry, there's a man across the room, just beyond the gray-haired man with the two ladies. I figure him for trouble."

After a moment, Finian Chantry looked over and said, "You are a very perceptive young lady. That is Felix Horst. James White defended him once ... for murder."

Chapter 6

We took our time over supper. There was music playing somewhere out of sight-mighty pleasant it was, too. Most folks dined at home, but there were always a few who wished to go out to eat. The waiters went about their business so quietly a body scarcely realized they were about. Meanwhile, I kept an eye on Felix Horst.

It was unlikely his being here was an accident. He had been sent to prison for murder but James White had got the case reopened and contrived to free him. Maybe it was happenstance that he was having supper at the same time and place as me just after I had come into money, but I didn't believe it.

Murder didn't scare me the way it did most folks. Cuttings and shootings were common back in the hills, and we even had a feud of our own, with some killings over the years.

From time to time folks stopped by our table, and Mr. Chantry introduced me as the granddaughter of an old friend. A good many of them were younger men, mighty fetching in their ways.

Three of them sat at a table not far off, but only two paid their respects, as the saying was. The other young man sat with his back to us, very broad in the shoulders, and he looked to be tall, although I did not see him on his feet.

"My nephew, Dorian," Finian Chantry explained. "He will not come to our table because we have recently had words and he is a very independent young man."

Mr. Chantry smiled suddenly, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "We are much alike, so we do have words occasionally. Lately he has been devoting more time to dancing, riding to hounds, fencing and such things, and not studying law."

"He is a good shot?"

"Excellent, I believe, and a fine horseman, too. He is a great favorite with the ladies and a bit too sure of himself. Nonetheless, he's a fine lad if a little too formal, too stiff."

Mr. Chantry glanced at me. "You mentioned your rifle? Do you shoot?"

"Yes, sir. Pa started me shooting when I was seven. Those brothers of mine had been riding roughshod over me because I was a girl.

"Pa, he said, 'Look, bein' a girl is a mighty fine thing. Don't let those roughneck brothers of yours get the better of you.'

" 'How can I help it? They are older than me and stronger than me.' "

" 'Be better than they are. Learn to shoot better.' "

" 'How can I? Nobody can shoot better than a Sackett!' "

"He laughed at me and said, 'But you're a Sackett too! Just learn to shoot better. Here, I'll teach you!' And he did."

"And did you beat them?"

"Yes, sir. Most of the time. Only Regal ... he's my uncle, although more like a brother. Regal would not shoot against me. I think he did not want to beat me, seeing I just outshot my brothers."

"Maybe that is what Dorian needs, to be outshot by a girl."

"Oh, no! I'd never do that! Regal, he warned me to never let a man know how good I could shoot."

"Good advice, but don't let it stop you. Dorian's a fine lad. What he needs is seasoning. He needs to be taken down a bit, to travel some rough country."

Later, when I glanced over to catch a glimpse of him, he had gone. I felt kind of let down. We talked on for a bit and then Mr. Chantry said, "You surprise me sometimes. You can speak very good English, but sometimes you talk like a mountain girl with no education."

"Yes, sir, but that's the way with most folks, if you think on it. They talk one way to one person, and another way to others."

"Ma insisted I learn to talk proper, and at school it was insisted on, but when around the hills, a body gets to talkin' as they do. But it seems to me we all have several ways of talkin' or writin'. Take you, for example, you bein' a lawyer. You have a set of law words you'd use in court but not over supper like this. And when a body writes a letter, he often uses words he wouldn't use in conversation."

"Down to the store, the men set about talking of politics, planting, the wars, Injuns and suchlike, and most of them can argue the Bible up one side an' down the other. Because a man doesn't speak good English doesn't mean he doesn't have ideas."

"Our atheist, he's a book-learned man. Nothing folks like better than to get him and the preacher talking history and religion. They'll argue sundown to sunup, and folks settin' about listenin'. There's old Mr. Fothergill, he was in the army as a boy and went upon the sea a time or two. He can't read nor write but he's bright, an' he can argue down both of them when he wants."

"Some folks think that being smart in the books is the only kind of smart, but that just isn't so. Men learn a lot by doin', and they learn by listenin' to what others say, but when a man is workin' on a farm or walkin' in the woods or ridin' across country, he can do a lot of thinking. Many a man who reads a lot just repeats what he's read, and not what he thinks."

"It seems to me," I added, "that a body may have a dozen sets of words he uses on occasion. Anyway, lots of men who work at hand labor have read a good bit and can talk of things far from their work."

Given a chance, I changed the subject, because this was about as good a chance as I would get to learn more about grandfather.

"Yes," Mr. Chantry replied when asked, "you are right in what you say. Daubeny Sackett was such a man. He was the finest woodsman I ever knew, and a fantastic shot with a rifle, but when the occasion demanded, he could discuss government or philosophy with the best. He had read few books, I believe, but had read them several times. But that was the way of it in those days."

"He was at the Battle of King's Mountain and at Cowpens also. I last saw him at the surrender of Cornwallis at Yorktown."

"He knew them all, you know. Washington, Jefferson, Patrick Henry, George Mason ... He was quite a man, your grandfather."

He ordered more coffee and I glanced over at the table where the three young men had been. Other folks sat there now.

"Echo? What are your plans? You could stay here, you know. There are several very fine schools for young ladies, and from the attention you are attracting from the young men, I cannot imagine you would be lonely."

"No, sir. I shall head for the hills again when morning comes. The folks back home will wonder how I am faring."

"You could stay, you know. I have a very large, very empty house, and Mary Brennan - she's my housekeeper - would love to have you to fuss over. I am afraid I demand too little of her time."

"Thank you, sir. I'm a-longing for the smell of the pines, and I want to see the clouds gatherin' over Clingman's Dome."

"You should come a-callin' sometime when the leaves are falling and it gets on to storytellin' time. Most of our young-uns learn their history from stories told by the fireside. It isn't the history you folks know, but it's the story of people we know or our grandfolks knew."

"Wars aren't far-off things to us. Pa fit in the War of 1812. He was with the Kentucky riflemen who stood behind the bales of cotton at New Orleans. When fightin' men were needed, there was always a Sackett to be found."

Mr. Chantry, I thought, was a lonely man, and when we lingered at table it was because he wished to prolong the time. I knew how he felt, because many a time when we'd set by the fire telling stories or singin' the old ballads like "Greensleeves" or "Barbry Alien," I wished it would never end.

"I miss my wife, Echo," he said suddenly. "You are so like her, so very feminine." He glanced at me, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "Somehow, I cannot imagine you with a rifle."

"I grew up with one, used a rifle as soon as a needle. I used to walk the woods to school, or canoe on the rivers, and when a girl's much alone, she becomes independent. I've camped out in the woods when caught by storms. It never worried me much."

"You leave in the morning?"

"Yes, sir. I have already booked passage on the stage."

"You must be careful. You will be carrying what is a great deal of money to some people, and that little iron box could buy you a farm in the flatlands, and a big farm at that."

"Felix Horst is still here, and I do not believe it is an accident. He owes White a favor and he is a dangerous man. I wish you would change your mind and stay with me."

"If Horst comes after me for the money," I said, "I think it will be for himself. He looks like a meaner man than Mr. White. He'd rob a man quick enough, I think, and kill him, too. Once I get in the woods, I won't be worried about such as him."

Mr. Chantry smiled, shaking his head. "You Sacketts! You always amaze me!"

"We live in wild country, sir. I know folks who think all wild things are sweet and cuddly, but they've never come into a henhouse after a weasel has been there. He can drink the blood of only one or two, but often as not he'll kill every one of them. Wolves will do it in a pen of lambs, too. There are savage beasts in the world, Mr. Chantry, and men who are just as savage. We've come upon them now and again."

Well, I switched the subject to pleasanter things and got him to telling me of his courtship and how he proposed and all. When he stopped the carriage at Mrs. Sulky's, it was mighty late. As the carriage moved away, something stirred in the shadows across the street.

The trouble was, when I snuggled down in bed, I wasn't thinking of the stage that would take me west to Pittsburgh, but of the back of that young man's head and those broad shoulders. The trouble was, I'd probably never see him again, or get to know him.

Amy Sulky was in the kitchen when I came down the stairs before daybreak. She was there working with the black woman who did most of the cooking. She was a free woman wedded to a man who was coachman for a wealthy family. They went to the door with me and Amy fretted some. "I don't like it! You going home alone, all that way! And you carrying money!"

"The less said of it, the better," I cautioned. "But don't you worry none. I've been about the mountains more than a bit."

We said our good-byes and I taken up my carpetbag, a good bit heavier now, but nothing I couldn't handle. Back in the hills I'd rustled stumps and logs for the fire more than once, and was accustomed to carryin' weight.

First off, I taken a good look about, but saw nobody watching me.

At the coach house there was a goodly crowd, but it was not until I was seated that I saw that man with the hard gray hat and the houndstooth coat a-settin' in the corner of the mail coach across from me, but in the farthest corner. There were twelve passengers, and the rest seemed what a body would expect. Five were women, aside from me, but only one who was youngish. She was a pert, pretty girl with big eyes and a friendly smile.

Seated close beside me was a little old lady with gray hair and quick blue eyes.

We started at a brisk pace, but the road was rough and we bounced around a good deal, which would have been worse but for the bulky sacks of mail crowded in with us. That little old lady was crowded right up to me, and once, glancing down, I noticed that her carpetbag, a new one, was just like mine.

Several times I sneaked a look at the man in the gray hat and houndstooth coat, but he was looking out the window and paying me no mind. It could be he was on business of his own and I was just too suspicious. Nevertheless, I decided to stay suspicious.

We passed several wagons with families bound to the westward, the men walking, the women and children inside. Mostly they were Conestoga wagons, big, strongly built, and built to float if need be. Mostly these folks, according to one of the men on the coach, were heading for Illinois or Missouri. A man named Birkbeck had been settling folks on land he had in Illinois.

We stopped to let off a couple of people in Lancaster, and pick up one more. Regal was forever talking about the fine rifles made at this place by the Pennsylvania Dutch. At least, that's what he called them.

My thoughts kept straying back to that young man in the dining room that night. Dorian Chantry. It was a nice name. I minded what Regal said, "Don't be in no hurry. You'll meet a hundred men, maybe one or two of them worthwhile and of the right age."

"What's the right age?" I had asked him.

"You'll know when you see him," he said, grinning at me.

It was late, so I didn't see much of Lancaster, but we stopped for more than an hour in Elizabeth Town and I carried my bag with me to the place where we could get coffee, bread, and some slices of beef. The little old lady had come from the stage too, and she sat near me, smiling very pleasantly but keeping to herself and showing no mood for talk.

We passed through several towns, none of them far apart, and it was not until Chambersburg that we stopped for the night. By that time we were dead beat. I was so tired of being jounced around that I scarcely could move. I saw the man in the houndstooth coat help that little old lady down from the carriage, taking her bag from her in kindly fashion. Maybe I was mistaken about him.

Picking up my bag, I started for the door to step down, but the bag felt funny. I looked down, and in the dim light it looked all right. Somebody helped me down and I picked up the bag again.

It was too light. Opening it, I taken one look. It wasn't my bag!

Horrified, I looked up just in time to see the man in the houndstooth coat and that little old lady vanishing around a corner! He was carrying my bag.

Chapter 7

Finian Chantry looked up from his desk as the door opened. Slowly he jostled the papers together until the ends squared, then placed them to one side.

Dorian Chantry was a tall, athletic young man, not unlike he himself at that age, although, Finian admitted, Dorian was a bit broader in the shoulders and somewhat more muscular than he himself had been.

"I have a mission for you."

"A mission? Or do you mean a job?" Dorian revealed even white teeth in a flashing smile.

"A mission. Did you happen to see the young lady who was with me last night at supper?"

"Everybody else was paying attention. It seemed to me she could do without mine."

"Then you would not recognize her if you saw her?"

"I would not."

"She left town this morning carrying something over three thousand dollars and a gem in a small iron box just about three inches by two. I am worried about her."

Dorian Chantry drew back a chair and sat down. "Uncle," he said, "I have promised Frances that I would - "

"Send her a note explaining you have been called away on business. She will understand."

"Me? Called away on business? She will not understand. When have I ever let business interfere with pleasure?"

Finian Chantry's eyes chilled. "If you do not wish to write the note, then do not do so. But I shall expect you to be riding west within the hour to overtake the stage for Pittsburgh.

"I wish you to see that the young lady in question, Echo Sackett by name, arrives safely at her home somewhere in the mountains east of Tuckalucky Cove, Tennessee.

"You are twenty years old, and - "

"At that age you were master of your own vessel. I know. You have told me the story a number of times since I was a child. Now - "

"If you are not in the saddle headed for Pittsburgh within the hour, and if the young lady in question does not arrive safely home, you may expect your allowance to be trimmed to six dollars per week."

Dorian started to speak, then looked again at his uncle. Finian Chantry, in this mood, was no one to argue with. "Six dollars a week? I would starve!"

"Many a good job pays no more than that. No, you would not starve, but you would have to find a job. You would have to go to work, which would be the best thing in the world for you."

Dorian Chantry studied the backs of his hands. Echo Sackett ... He had heard the Sackett story often enough to know what it meant to Uncle Finian, and what it had meant to his father as well.

"Where is she going from Pittsburgh? I mean, how will she go? By steamboat? By stage? How? And where is Tuckalucky Cove? Is there such a place?"

"The Sacketts are backwoods people, mountain people. They have always preferred wild country. There's a town called Knoxville - "

"I've heard of it."

"Tuckalucky Cove is somewhere east of there, but whatever happens will probably happen before she reaches her mountains."

"Happens? You expect trouble?"

"Why else would I send you? And you had best take a brace of pistols and your rifle." Before Dorian could interrupt, he added, "Have you ever heard of Felix Horst?"

"His was one of the trials I attended when I first began studying for the law. Of course I remember him."

"I have reason to believe he is one of those who will attempt to rob Miss Sackett." Briefly then he explained about White and Horst, the will and the visit to White's office. Then he added, "Do not take this lightly. Horst is a first-class fighting man and he will kill without a qualm. I suspect others are involved."

Finian Chantry reached into his desk drawer and drew out a small sack of coins and tossed them on the desk. "Take that, for expenses. And you will find Archie waiting in the outer office."

"Archie? You mean the waiter from the club?"

"The same, Archie will go with you, but not as a servant, as a companion. He is a good horseman, and he's not a man to trifle with. I'd rather have him ride with you than anyone else I know. He went with me to the Dutchman's the other night."

Dorian stared. "You? At the Dutchman's? At your age?"

Finian Chantry smiled. "At my age. And I discovered I am still not as old as you might believe. In fact, I feel ten years younger for the experience." He stood up. "Go now, Dorian, and be careful. This is a deadly serious business."

Dorian pocketed the sack of money and after a quick handclasp went out. The powerful black man, Archie, awaited him. "I have our horses at your quarters, sir, and I've packed what is necessary except for your weapons."

"You are armed?"

"Oh, yes, sir! I know Mr. Horst, and White as well, but unless I am mistaken, there will be others involved. White has a man working for him named Tim Oats, a very rough man, sir."

Dorian Chantry listened to the clop-clop of the carriage horse's hooves, his meeting with Frances only a dim memory. His uncle, Finian Chantry, was sending him out to protect a young lady from such as Felix Horst! Suddenly he was very proud. Uncle Finian must think well of him, after all, for this was no job for a child.

His thoughts skipped back a few years. He remembered the coolness of Felix Horst in the courtroom. Once their eyes had met across the crowded room. He still remembered the contempt in Horst's eyes, and flushed at the memory.

"If we ride hard, sir, we can overtake them at Chambersburg. It is a night stop for the stage, and they will start late the next morning."

"If nothing happens until then."

"There's a brief stop at Elizabeth Town, and then they cross the Susquehanna a bit later."

"What will Horst do?"

"I don't know, sir, but he will be careful. He is known to the law now and would get no sympathy from the courts. He will choose his time."

"Would he kill her?"

"Yes, sir. He would. He has killed before ... and, sir? He knows the country we are going into. He used to operate along the Natchez Trace."

"What about Oats?"

"A thug, sir. A very strong man. He was a pugilist for a time. He's been a gambler, a shoulder striker, a thoroughly bad man, sir."

"I've boxed some myself."

Archie glanced at him, then asked, "Have you ever fought, sir? I mean really fought?"

"I could handle them all at school. Don't worry. I can take care of myself."

"No doubt, sir, but the kind of fighting Tim Oats has done is not like you would do at college. It is quite different, sir."

Dorian was irritated. Of course it was different, but at school there had been some good fighters, and their training had been of the best. What chance would a common pugilist have against one of them? He said it aloud.

"Begging your pardon, sir, a man such as Oats would whip them all in one evening and never work up a sweat. There is no comparison between an amateur and a professional. And Oats is pretty good. I have seen him fight. I saw him go forty-two rounds with the Yorkshire Swiper."

" Forty-two rounds?"

The most he had ever done was five rounds - sparring sessions, at that. Sometimes they got pretty heated, but forty-two rounds? By London prize-ring rules a knockdown ended a round, although a fighter could be thrown down or could slip. Even so, forty-two rounds was a lot. It could scarcely be less than an hour, probably more.

Of course, there had been that fight he had with the hostler who was abusing a horse. How long did they fight? It must have been at least thirty minutes, and he had given the hostler, supposedly a tough man, a good beating.

They rode swiftly, clattering down lanes, thundering over bridges. At Elizabeth Town, only a few miles out, they made inquiries. Yes, such a girl had been aboard the stage. Five-feet-two, reddish hair, cute as a button.

The description irritated him. "Cute" by whose standards? Harry Standish had raved about her when he came back to the table. "If they grow them like that in the mountains," he had said, "I've been living in the wrong place!" But then, Harry was easily impressed.

They changed horses in Middletown and rode swiftly on. Chambersburg was not far ahead. At Chambersburg they arrived as the stage was loading. "No, sir," the driver said, "I ain't seen her since we pulled in. Seemed like somebody picked up her bag by mistake, and she went chasin' after them." He turned and pointed a finger. "Right up thataway. They turned the corner, and she after them."

"Who were they?"

"Little ol' lady and a burly, thickset man in a kind of checked coat. I remember he helped the ol' lady off the stage. I hadn't figured they were together until then. They rode separate."

Archie swore softly and glanced at Dorian. "They didn't wait no time at all, Mr. Chantry. They got her bag. They got her money, and maybe they've got her!"

"How long ago?" Dorian asked.

"Three, four hours. I called after her, but she kept a-goin'." He pointed. "She left that bag. She opened it, saw what was in it. Nothin' but some ol' carpet. Then she taken out like her skirts was afire!"

Angry and frightened for her, Dorian started up the street. Bounding the corner, he stopped, staring around. It was a long, narrow street with store buildings and barns empty of people. Dust swirled, then lay still.

"Let's move along slow," Archie suggested. "Maybe we'll find some clue. Maybe they ducked in somewhere, maybe they kept a-goin'."

Dorian Chantry pulled up and sat his saddle, surveying the street. "No use running after shadows," he suggested. "We have to think. Where were they going? Suppose they had it planned all along. By the time they got here, Miss Sackett would be tired. That's a long ride and she'd be bounced around a good deal, not much chance for rest. So she would be sleepy. I think they planned it that way.

"The old lady sitting beside Echo Sackett must have been a confederate. Oats was close to the door. He helped the old lady off the stage, taking the carpetbag from her. No doubt they hoped the switch would not be discovered.

"Suppose they figured it all out, Archie. If so, they would have to have a place to go, a place they could reach quickly and where they could stay out of sight until the stage was gone.

"Also, they may have planned what to do in the event the switch was discovered. In any case, they would need a place to hide. If she followed them, and we know she did, they knew it within a few minutes. She has not returned, so two possibilities are left. She is either still following them or she is their prisoner."

"Or she's been killed," Archie said. "It would be that or go to prison. Or maybe knock her on the head and leave her somewhere."

They walked their horses along the street. "She might leave some sign," Archie suggested.

"Why do that? She was alone."

"She's a Sackett. I've heard your uncle speak of them, and how they always hang together. Seems to me if a Sackett disappeared, somebody would come to find out how. She's got that uncle she spoke of to Mr. Finian, the one named Regal. She'd leave some sign for him. From what Mr. Finian said, those folks needed that money mighty bad. So I think she would leave some sign."

"If she could, and if she is still alive."

It was not something he liked to consider. Dorian found himself suddenly worried, thinking of a young girl in the hands of Tim Oats. Or of Horst.

Yet what sign could she leave?

They reached the end of the street without seeing anything. Suddenly Archie pointed. "There's been a rig standing there! Look at the hoof prints. Must've stood here for an hour or more."

A buxom woman of perhaps fifty was sweeping the walk. Dorian walked his horse over to her.

"Ma'am?" He removed his hat. "Have you seen a rig? A horse and buggy, perhaps? I mean during the night? Or toward morning?"

"A rig, is it? Aye, that I did." She pointed. "I sleep by the window there, and his stomping and the creakin' of the buggy kept me awake the night long.

"Short of daybreak, though, two people came running up the street and got in, and off they went."

"Twopeople? You're sure there weren't three?"

"There was another one, a young lady like, but she came after, just as they were pulling away around the corner. She stopped, angry she was. She stamped her foot and said something ... most emphatic it was."

"What then? Where did she go?"

"Yonder." She pointed toward a barn with a still-lighted lantern over the door. "She went yonder. It's a livery stable.

"Only a minute or two it was, and she was out of the stable and riding off after them. I don't know what was happening, but she was most upset, I can tell you that."

"Thank you, ma'am."

They sat their horses. "She's gone after them, then. We'd better catch them."

"Mister? You ask Pokey Joe at the livery. He can tell you about it. You tell him Martha Reardon sent you." She paused. "Is that girl going to get in trouble?"

"I'm afraid so, ma'am. I'm afraid so."

Chapter 8

Gathering my skirts in one hand, I taken off up the street, but when I rounded the corner they were getting into a rig. This whole thing had been planned, and that team and buggy were just a-settin' there waitin' for them. As I rounded the corner, they got in and it taken off up the street.

Running after it would do no kind of good. A moment I stood there, my heart beating heavy. There went the money we so desperately needed - a mule to help with the farming, a new rifle for Regal, and some fixin's I'd had in mind for myself. All of it was gone because I'd gotten sleepy and didn't think to be suspicious of that little ol' lady.

She had gotten aboard to steal my carpetbag. That man in the houndstooth coat had seen the color of my bag when I got off the stage, so he knew what was needed to make a substitution. Had it been ladylike, I'd have done some cussin'. Then I glimpsed that lantern and the livery sign.

Luckily I'd put some of that gold in my pockets for the necessaries, so when I ran in there and asked for a horse, I slapped a gold piece in that man's hand before he had a chance to argue. Before he could say yes or no, I had me a horse out there and was slipping a bridle on him. That man caught fire and threw a saddle on him and cinched up. Saying I'd return the horse, I taken off after that carriage.

Chambersburg was a small city and they hadn't far to go to a country lane. I glimpsed them turn into it and followed on. Right then I was wishful for my rifle-gun, for with it I could have stopped that buggy before it got from sight. As it was, all I had was my pick and a short-barreled pistol which I carried along with a comb and perfume in my reticule, a sort of bag on long strings that hung from the wrist, usually. Womenfolks wore flimsy, gauzy clothes, all the fashion in the cities, that would not support a pocket, so the reticules were needful. The material of my traveling dress was of sturdier material, but the reticule was the fashion.

They were headed west and had a good lead on me, but I feared to ride too fast because they might turn off and I'd miss the turnoff in the dark. Moreover, they'd leave tracks for me to see when light came, and judging by the pale lemon color in the east, that would not be long.

There was no sort of plan in my rattled-up brain. I'd simply taken off after them. Surely he would have looked back and seen he was followed. It was likely he'd not be wishful to put up with that for long, so I'd best beware of a trap.

Murder, Finian Chantry had said. Murder was what Felix Horst had done, and would be prepared to do again, and so would this man up ahead.

The road taken led through the piny woods, or woods of some kind. It was too dark to make out. The trees crowded close to the sides and there were rail fences here and there. Suddenly, after we'd gone four or five miles, the trees fell away, leaving fenced pastures and fields on both sides, and far ahead, a light.

It was growing gray, but I could make out a cluster of buildings where the light was, and the buggy I was chasing pulled up and stopped.

I touched a spur to my horse and lit out on a dead run, hoping to catch up for a showdown, but the rig started off again and I saw somebody standing there, trying the door of the stage stop, trying to get in. When it did not open, she taken a quick look toward me and scuttled around the house, me after her.

She was coming up to the other corner when I reached out and grabbed. I caught me a handful of bonnet and gray hair that came loose in my hand, and the next thing I knew, that woman had turned on me, grabbed my wrist, and pulled me loose from my horse!

We went into the dust, me on top. She grabbed a handful of hair, and I'd never been that much of a lady. I slugged her in the nose with my fist, and when she tried to tear loose, her nose bleeding, I hit her again. And then I got up and looked at what I'd hit.

It was no little ol' lady at all, but a young, feisty woman with her makeup all scratched away and her hair pulled down around her ears. Her reticule had torn, and gold coins were spilled on the ground, two of them along with some other change. I taken up the coins. "Is this what they paid you to rob a poor girl? You ought to be ashamed!"

It was fresh new gold and I was sure it was mine. I put it in my reticule and caught up the reins of my horse.

"You taken all the money!" she protested. "I haven't enough for stage fare to town!"

"You have," I said. "There's some change, and it's enough. Anyway, the walk would do you good, give you a chance to contemplate on the error of sinful ways."

I fetched the horse closer and stepped into the saddle. "Where is he going?"

"None of your business!"

"Now, ma'am" - I spoke gentle, as Regal would have done - "you just tell me where he's goin' before I ride this horse right over you!"

She started to scramble up, and I bumped her with the horse, knocking her sprawling. She rolled over into a sitting position, her legs spread, hands behind her, bracing herself.

"You got one minute," I said. "Then I ride this horse right over you!"

She glared at me, then began to whimper. "He promised me forty dollars!" she protested. "That's a lot of money!"

"This here is a lot of horse," I said. "Where's he goin'?"

"I don't owe him nothin'," she said. "He's headed for a place in the Dickey Mountains. Used to be a hideout for Davy Lewis!"

Even in the mountains of Tennessee we'd heard of Davy Lewis, the Pennsylvania outlaw. He had been a counterfeiter at first, making false coin and passing it around, but after he escaped from jail, he'd become a highwayman of sorts.

Davy was said to be a sort of Robin Hood bandit who took from the rich to give to the poor. If he was like most of those Robin Hood bandits I'd heard tell of, the poor he gave to was himself or over the bar in the nearest tavern.

Now I could see the buggy track clear and plain. I got down from my horse and walked him a mite, studying the tracks of the horses pullin' that buggy. Horse tracks are like a body's signature, easy to recognize once you've seen 'em. I wanted to get these clear in my mind, and what was just as helpful, to know the length of their stride, so I could tell about where to look for tracks.

It was no doubt that Horst was mixed up in this, and the man up ahead was hand-in-glove with him.

The Doune pistol I carried held but one charge, and I'd powder and shot for but five more charges, but if I was close enough to shoot at all, I was not going to need more than one per man, and I was hopeful of doing no shooting at all.

One thing was on my mind. They had taken my money and I meant to have it back. Right then I wished it was Regal or my brother Ethan or anybody else but me. The trouble was, there was nobody else to do it, and if I called on the law, it would be too late. Unless I found some law close to where they were going, wherever that was!

There were farms along the way, mostly with rail fences and the houses built of logs, making me homesick for my hills. I rode swiftly now, watching the trail, picking up a hoofprint here or there that was clear and strong.

Where were they going? How far? Why did I think "they"? But of course, there was a driver-he who had waited with the rig? Felix Horst, perhaps? I did not know. I only knew that I could not return to home without the money we so desperately needed.

It was not that we were hungry, for the mountains provided game, herbs and nuts in season, sometimes fruit, and our planting provided vegetables and some grain. But there was so much else. My mother was growing old and I wished that she not have to work so hard. There were small comforts we needed. New bedding, new clothing, some of the small things to brighten our lives. We needed books, we needed something on which to build dreams. The money would change all that. Our decrepit old mule could be turned to pasture, our worn plowshare be replaced with another. It was little enough we wanted, but most of all I wished my mother to sit for a while in the sunset of her life, just to sit and live the sounds of our hills, the light and shadows upon them.

Until now I had just raced after them, but now I began to think. What would I do? What could I do? There would be two men, and if one of them was Horst, he was a known murderer. Obviously they were leading me into the lonely hills ... What then?

My other pistol was in the carpetbag they had. It was fully charged and ready, and its barrel was full-length, not sawed off as this one was. Or had they already taken it from the bag?

I had one shot to fire; then I must reload.

Long practice with hunting had given me speed and skill, but no one could reload fast enough when facing a man with a gun. So I must somehow meet them separately. I dared not chance a meeting with both at once.

"Echo," I told myself, "you got to be a good Injun. You got to be sly. You got to be careful. So hold back, stay on the trail, an' wait your chance."

Nobody knew where I was. To Finian Chantry I was on my way home. To Regal an' Ma I was either in Philadelphia or on my way home. Before either of them guessed anything was wrong, it would be all over.

Time and again I'd had to Injun up on wild game. I'd become like a ghost in the woods. It was that or go hungry. Now I would need all I'd learned. I thought back to stalking deer, getting so close I just could not miss. I'd never stalked a man before. It would be like cornering a catamount or a mean bear ... only worse. The game I was stalking was used to being stalked, and it was smart.

My mouth felt dry and my heart was beating heavily. Was this what fear was? No, not yet. They were still ahead of me, but I'd have to ride wary. My feelin' was they would try nothing until they got away from cabins and places where folks might be. Then I'd have to ride slow.

"Regal! Regal!" I whispered to myself. "Tell me what to do! I got to do it, Regal, but I'm scared. I never figured I'd be scared, but I am. There's two of them, Regal!"

Twice I stopped at streams to drink. I was almighty hungry but I did not want to lose them, and it was coming onto dusk. I couldn't follow them after dark, so I'd best find someplace to hole up, maybe to get some grub.

The fields on either side were unplowed and looked abandoned, yet ahead of me I caught a glimpse of smoke - from somebody cooking supper, no doubt. I slowed my horse to a walk. This was careful time, this was the time they might lay out for me, waiting for a shot.

Twice, in small groves of trees, I drew up and studied the trail ahead, one hand in my reticule, holding that Doune pistol. The Dounes were special guns, made in the last century by Scotsmen, and mine was among the last the Dounes ever made. They were the pistols the Scottish Highlanders loved, and many a clansman had been done to death by a bullet from a Doune pistol. John Murdoch had made the pistol I had, made it nigh onto fifty years before. Regal had cut four inches off the barrel for me to carry easy. The other one was my favorite, but a girl couldn't carry a pistol like that unless in mountain country.

Ahead of me the road curved. There were just two ruts for wagon wheels, with grass growing in between them. Some of the rails had fallen from the fences; everything looked abandoned or at least run-down. Drawing up again, I studied the layout ahead of me. Shadows were crowding from under the trees, and the trees themselves were losing themselves in the darkness. The twin ruts of the trail lay white before me, and there was a faint smell of wood smoke somewhere ahead.

My horse had his ears pricked. He smelled smoke, too, and knew it for a sign of folks. Maybe he could smell fresh hay or the barn. He seemed eager enough to go, but I held back, uneasy.

A trap - that was what I had to fear. Slowly I let my horse walk forward, my pistol ready, watching every clump of brush, every tree, alert for any sound of a horse or of a buggy wheel on gravel or whatever. I heard nothing.

Somewhere an owl hooted. My horse walked steadily forward. I was foolish to be apprehensive. Chances were they were miles away, and they were unlikely, I told myself, to try anything in the vicinity of a farm. Still, a body couldn't be too careful.

I was tired. I had been riding in the stage the night long and riding horseback all the day, and I'd had nothing to eat since around midday yesterday. I could still make out the buggy tracks, going straight on.

Now I could see lights in the cabin windows. I heard a door slam as somebody went in or out. Maybe I could get something to eat or even find a place to spend the night. I wouldn't be able to track the buggy tonight. Anyway, I could ask.

Another moment I glanced on up the road, but I could not see anything. It was too dark. Turning my horse into the gate, I rode up to the hitching post, and getting stiffly down, tied my horse, glancing back at the gate. They had forgotten to close it. Farm folks were careful about gates unless they were expecting somebody. Neighbors, maybe, or one of the family still out.

At the door, I rapped. For a moment, nothing happened. I could smell bacon frying and my stomach growled, a most ungenteel sound, but Iwas hungry.

I knocked again, and I heard feet approaching. The door opened, light fell across my face, sudden after the darkness. "Come in!" It was a man's voice. "Come right in! You're just in time for supper!"

Stepping in, I reached to close the door behind me, but it was already closing.

There was a candle on the table, a fire in the fireplace, and there was bacon in the frying pan, and a smell of coffee.

"Come right in and set! You're just in time to have supper!"

The door closed behind me, a bar fell in place. There were two men, and one of them was the untidy young man from Mr. White's office; the other was the man in the houndstooth coat.

Chapter 9

For a moment I just stood there. The younger man was at the fire with a fork in his hand. The man in the houndstooth coat had moved between me and the door. There was no way I was going to get past him and get that bar moved and the door opened before they stopped me.

"Thank you," I said. "Travelin' makes a body mighty hungry. The smell of that bacon stopped me."

Me bein' casual like that kind of stopped them in their tracks. They didn't know what to make of me and I hoped to keep it thataway. I was trying to let them think I didn't know who they were or that they didn't belong here. I could see now this had been an abandoned house. I should have guessed it from the weed-grown fields and the fences with rails down.

"Mind if I set down? It's been a long day." Keepin' my face bland as I could, I reached out a hand. "My name is Sackett, Echo Sackett. I'm bound for Tennessee. Should be meetin' my Uncle Regal in Pittsburgh. He's comin' on to meet me."

I was lyin in my teeth, but I was wishful they would think I was expected somewhere and if I didn't show up folks would be makin' inquiries.

"Finian Chantry, he's an old friend of my grandpa, he sent word to Regal to meet me. Didn't like me travelin' alone."

I kept on runnin' off at the mouth, afraid trouble would start when I stopped. Also, I was hopeful of worrying them some. If they thought there'd be folks lookin' for me or tryin' to find what had become of me, they might hesitate to do whatever they'd had in mind.

"Regal, he's one of the greatest trackers and Injun fighters in Tennessee. He wanted to come with me, but couldn't get away in time. Be good to see him again."

I drew a breath, but before anybody could speak, I said, "My stars! That bacon sure does smell good!"

"Give her some bacon and bread." The broad-shouldered man took off his hard gray hat and put it on a stand nearby. He had a thick neck and one crinkly ear, and somebody, sometime, had broken his nose.

"Thank you, sir." I sat down and primly smoothed my dress. "I didn't catch your name, sir?"

"Timothy Oats," he said grudgingly, "an' that there is Elmer."

"We met." Elmer put a plate of food before me, his eyes leering. "We met before."

"Oh? Oh, yes! You're that nice young man from Mr. White's office! Somehow I thought you were a city man. I didn't expect to find you away out in the country like this."

"Gimme some of that coffee," Oats said.

Did they know I was chasing them? Had they seen me run around the corner after them? I had to chance it.

"I left the stage in Ghambersburg," I said. "It was too rough. The ride, I mean. I left my things on the stage, but I hired a horse. It's easier riding, and I thought I'd stop and see some friends."

"Friends? You said you was from Tennessee," Elmer protested.

"I am. From Tuckalucky Cove, or thereabouts, but we've friends up thisaway." I grasped at a name. "I should say a friend. He's a hunter. Known all over this part of the country. Name of John McHenry."

"Never heard of him," Elmer said.

"If you was a hunter you would. He's a dead shot. He's fed himself and his folks for years. He may hunt for the market, too. I don't know about that."

"What's so great about huntin'?" Elmer demanded.

"If we didn't shoot our meat, we wouldn't have any. I reckon it is the same in these mountains up here. We have great respect for a man's shootin' ability. Take us Sacketts, for example. All of us are hunters, and we are all good shots. Right now," I said, "we've got a feud goin', too. With the Higginses, but we're ahead of them right now. Our boys shoot better than they do."

"What about the law?"

"Folks don't bother much, as long as we only shoot each other. I guess the law figures sooner or later we'll wipe each other out, but that'll take a while. Must be forty Sacketts in the hills now, and some down in the flat country. If you step on one Sackett's toes, they all come running."

The plate before me was empty. Now came the big gamble. I drained my coffee cup and pushed back my chair. "I got to get goin'. If I don't show up pretty soon, those McHenry folks will be huntin' me."

I started toward the door, then stopped, brushed an old piece of sacking away, sacking that had covered my carpetbag. "An' I'll just take this along with me." When I straightened up, the bag was held in my left hand. In my right I had that Scottish Highlander pistol.

Oats had started to rise; Elmer had turned, startled by my sudden switch.

"You just set still. This here pistol shoots mighty straight, an' I wouldn't want one of you boys to have to bury the other. Just set real quiet, now."

I put down the bag, pushed the bar away, never taking my eyes from them, and picked up the bag. Elmer was getting over his shock and he put the fryin' pan down real gentle. I don't know what was in his mind but didn't aim to be around to find out.

Oats had kind of leaned forward, starin' at me, and suddenly he came off that chair with a lunge. Stepping quickly back, I managed with the tip of a finger on my gun hand to start the door swinging shut. He hit it with a bang and I ran for my horse. I heard him cursing, heard Elmer yell something; then the door jerked open and they both came tumbling out. I was in the saddle, trying to hold the carpetbag and reins with the same hand, ready to shoot if need be.

Then I was out of the gate and headed down the road. Somebody behind me was swearing, and they were running for the barn. It was going to take them time to hitch up, and meanwhile, I was off and away.

Lucky? You bet I was lucky! When I got up from the table, my only thought was to get away from them; then I saw that carpetbag only partly hidden by the sacking. I just acted without thinking. Only thing saved me was, my action was unexpected. They figured me for a woman who would set quiet and do their bidding. Growin' up as I had, I was active as any boy and ready for anything.

I taken off down the road. Ahead of me I could see a ridge, black against the sky. Next thing I knew, I was slowing down for a cluster of houses. Two of them seemed to be taverns, but closed for the night. This was Loudon, or some such place. Cove Mountain was ahead of me, and a winding road up it. Slowing down, I started up at a walk, a twisting trail toward the top. By now they would be after me, and they weren't the kind of men to think of their horses. Nonetheless, I taken it easy.

It taken me most of two hours to reach the crest, although I doubt if it was more than seven or eight miles. By the time I was topping out on the ridge I could hear them coming.

Near the top of the hill was another tavern. There were some wagons about, loaded with household goods. Movers, I suspected. Two men were standing in the road arguing, and from their voices they must be Irish.

They turned when they heard me coming, and I pulled up. "Paddy," I said, "would y' be doin' me a favor, then?"

"It's a lass, Rory! Would y' believe it in the night? A lass!"

"There be two men followin' me, thieves they are, and I just got free of them. I'd not want you to get hurt, but if you could stop them? Hold them up for a bit so I can get away?"

Rory stood straight, as if on dress parade. "I would, ma'am! I shall stop them or know the reason why. Do they come now?"

"Right behind me. Two men in a buggy, and one of them is a fighter, I think."

"Who's a fighter?" The other Irish thrust himself forward. "It's a bit of a fighter I am, too! We'll stop them, ma'am, an' go a round or two whilst we wait. We'll see if he's a fighter or not!"

"Thank you, sirs! You are gentlemen indeed!"

Now I remembered my father speaking of this place, for all along the mountains the story was told of battles between the settlers and the redcoats several years before the Revolution. Two forts, one at Loudon and another at Bedford, had been taken from the British soldiers, and there had been many a fight with Indians in those days.

Ahead of me was a village called McConnell's Town, and beyond it another of those steep ridges like the one I'd just come over. The man from whom I had hired the horse had told me I might leave it here at a place called Noble's Tavern, although whether Noble still kept it, I did not know. The food there was good, he had said, explaining it all very rapidly as he bridled my horse. And the tavern was a stage stop.

Unless the stage had passed me when I had stopped at the cabin, it was still behind, and with luck I could resume my passage.

Tired I was when Noble's Tavern appeared, and a man came out to take my horse. "You have ridden far," he said. "I know this horse."

"I'm to leave him with you. Has the stage come?"

"It hasn't, but it is due within the hour." He was a kindly man, and he saw the tiredness of me. "Go inside," he said. "The missus will put something on for you."

She was a cheerful lady with red cheeks and a brusque, friendly manner. "Oh, you poor dear!" She pointed. "Go there, you can refresh yourself. When you come out, I shall have breakfast for you."

The breakfast was good - sausage, eggs, ham, and some applesauce she had made herself. There was no one about, so she sat with me, very curious, as I could see.

"I've come a far piece, and I am going to Pittsburgh, but there's two men coming along after me." I described them. "They have tried to rob me, although it is little enough that I have. They will be coming along soon."

"Don't you worry! We'll have none of that about here!"

She got up as I was finishing my meal. "Come! You're dead tired! You come back to my room and lie down for a bit. Bring your things. You rest up, and when the stage comes, I'll not let them leave without you."

Alone in her room, I sat down on the bed, opening my carpetbag. Nothing was disturbed and the other Doune pistol was there, and more powder and balls. To be sure, I recharged the pistol, for there might have been dampness in the powder. Then I lay back on the bed and slept.

Dreaming, I was. Dreaming of a tall young man with broad shoulders but no face to him - only my feeling that he was handsome. He was riding a horse and he was looking for me. It was a nice dream and I was sorry to awaken, but it was a voice I heard, a voice beyond the wall.

"Cut my lip, he did. I'll say that for the bugger. He was game. I put him down three times, and each time he came up swinging."

It was Timothy Oats speaking, and then I heard the other one, Elmer. "But you whipped him, whipped him good. What I don't understand is why he challenged you, a stranger."

Oats's voice was low and ugly. "You're a fool! Can't you see? It was that girl. She put him up to it. Just wait! Wait until I get my hands on her!"

There was a rap on their door. "Come! Come, now, gentlemen! You must be off! We've the stage coming in and must serve them who've only a minute or two!"

"Have you seen a young girl? On a bay horse?"

"A girl? At this hour? You must be daft! We've only just opened the doors! If anybody passed, it must have been in the dark! Be off with you now, we're busy folk here. We've no time for drunken brawlers."

"Now, see here! I wasn't drunk! I - "

"Whatever, we've only food enough for the stage, so be off with you now. If it is breakfast you're wanting, there's another tavern down the road a bit. No doubt whoever you were looking for would have stopped there, for they show a light the night long."

Up, I was, and slipping on my boots. When I had bathed my face and arms, with no time for more, I combed out my hair. It was a sight, and I was a sight.

A brush here and a touch there, however, and I felt better and may have looked better. I was straightening my clothes a bit when she came to the door.

"Come! There's fresh coffee and you can have a bit before the stage comes." She put a cup and saucer on the red-checked cloth and poured coffee. "There were two men just here, one with his knuckles all skinned and a bad welt on his cheekbone, as well as a split lip. Were they the ones?"

"I heard them talking. It was an Irishman at Loudon who fought him."

"Ah, that would be Rory! What a lad! And a brawny good lad, too, if he did not nurse the bottle so much! Always ready for a fight, he is, and all for the sport of it. There's no meanness in him!"

She bustled off and I sipped the coffee, thinking. Timothy Oats and Elmer were somewhere ahead of me, and they would try to catch me. If not on the road, then in Pittsburgh.

It was unlikely they would expect me on the stage, for they would be sure I had gone on ahead of them. I was finishing my coffee when the stage rolled in, but only three people came to eat. Three and the driver.

He looked at me, startled. "You, is it? Well, you've still your fare paid to Pittsburgh, so get aboard." He glanced down at my bag. "Did you get yours back? Or is this the other?"

"It is mine," I said.

"We're changing horses, but will be off in a minute."

Before he could go to the kitchen, where he was headed, I stopped him and explained about the attempt to steal my carpetbag and the two men on the road before us.

"If they hail you," I pleaded, "do not stop for them. They'll just be looking to see if I am aboard."

"Rest easy," he said. "I'll be stopping for nothing if I can help it, although it is a slow climb up Sidelong Hill, and a narrow road."

With so few people traveling, I put my carpetbag on the seat beside me, where I could rest an elbow on it and where my second pistol was close. I opened the neck of my reticule a mite to have an easier grasp on the pistol there.

People got into the stage. I leaned my head back against the seat and closed my eyes. A whip cracked and we went off with a lunge, rumbling over the rough road,, headed for the mountains again.

I was very tired.

Chapter 10

In Pittsburgh I stopped at the same rooming-and-boarding house as on my way east, and Mrs. O'Brien had a fine large room for me in the old house where she lived. Her maid brought a tub and hot water to my room and I bathed, washed my hair, and meanwhile she did the best she could with my traveling dress. It came back to me looking like new.

No steamboat was leaving that day or the next, so I made inquiries. Mrs. O'Brien suggested I go by way of Wheeling and save some miles of travel. I said nothing to her about Timothy Oats or Elmer.

Yet she was puzzled by me, for after breakfast I remained in the parlor, looking frequently out of the windows to see if the place was watched. It was unlikely they would find me so soon, but I dared take no chances.

"What is it, Miss Sackett? Whom do you watch for?"

For a moment I hesitated, then explained that two men had tried to rob me, and I feared they had followed me. Nevertheless, I must be about my business, and the sooner I returned to my hills, the better.

"If you wish to go by way of Wheeling," she suggested, "there is a coach leaving from an office on Water Street. It is a new line, but they have several stages."

"They will be watching the stages," I said, "and the steamboats too, I am afraid."

A thought came to me. "Coming here, I saw a number of wagons bunched in some vacant lots."

"Movers." Mrs. O'Brien's tone was disparaging.

"We all were movers at one time, Mrs. O'Brien," I said. "Even you when you left Ireland."

"I suppose so, but somehow it seems different."

"Settled folks always look down upon the unsettled," I said, "but somebody has to open the new lands. When they are settled in their homes, they will feel just as you do." A thought came to mind. "I am going down and look them over."

"Please! Be careful! A young girl like you! And you have to walk right past Mr. John Irwin's ropewalk. There are some mighty rough men thereabouts."

"I shall be all right."

Despite the smoke of the factories, which often hung low over the town, Pittsburgh had a beautiful site. I walked along, my reticule hanging from my shoulder to an inch below my hand.

At the ropewalk, men were busy making ropes, and although some of them glanced my way, they did not speak. One young man close to the street tipped his cap to me, and I bowed slightly to acknowledge it but did not smile or meet his eyes.

Beyond were at least two dozen wagons drawn up, where some children were running about, playing. A woman was hanging out her wash, several clothespins in her mouth. She looked very neat despite the work she was doing, and the two children playing nearby were clean and bright-looking.

I stopped. "Ma'am? May I speak with you a moment?"

She took the pins from her mouth and made a quick gesture to straighten her hair. "Why, of course. What can I do for you?"

"You are traveling. Would you by any chance be going toward Wheeling?"

"As a matter of fact, we are going that way."

"Ma'am, I want to go to Wheeling, and I can pay you a little." Before she could suggest it, I said, "I do not want to take the stage." Adding, "Some men are following me."

"It is very crowded, but - "

"I'm a mountain girl," I said. "I'm used to making do. I'll sit wherever you put me, and I'll help with the cooking. I'll tell stories to the youngsters - "

"Here comes Ralph, my husband. We will ask him."

He was a strongly-built man of about thirty-five, a man with a strong, determined look about him, but there was kindness, too.

"As far as Wheeling? Yes, we can take you." He had given me a quick, searching look. "It will cost you nothing, but if you could help with the children ... ?"

"I'll help, but I will pay, too," I said. "I will give you three dollars, and two more when we arrive."

"That's too much," he said. Then he grinned. "But we'll take it. Lord knows, living is expensive. I had hoped to find a job here but have had no luck, and it is too expensive to live here.

"Why, a simple room would cost me one hundred dollars for the year! One hundred dollars! Can you imagine? And beef is seven cents the pound ... even cornmeal is a dollar the bushel! I can't afford to stay on."

He glanced at me again. "We have no comforts, you know. It is just wagon travel, and we are loaded."

"She says she is a mountain girl, Ralph. She may be used to roughing it."

"Oh, I am! You need not worry about me. I shall try to disturb nothing and keep out of the way. One thing I ask. Don't mention the fact that I am going with you, and I shall join you before daybreak."

He looked at me again. "These men who are following you. What do they look like?"

My description was brief, but enough, I know. He nodded. "You'll not worry," he said. "You can stay inside the while, or get out and walk when you wish. I doubt if they will expect you to take that road."

Mrs. O'Brien was drinking coffee when I came into the kitchen. She gave me a quick look. "There's nobody about. I just looked. Drink your coffee. I've some soup heating up, so you can have a bit before you go."

"I'll just have time. You've been very kind."

"Think nothing of it. Just be careful."

Dark it was, and still. I donned my poke bonnet and peeked from the window. No light showed. It was very dark. Taking the bag in my left hand, I loosened the knot on the reticule and let my fingers grip the Doune pistol.

The room behind me was dark, and Mrs. O'Brien opened the door very quietly. "Go now, and the good Lord with you!"

A floorboard in the porch squeaked, and I stood very still, surveying all that was about me. Nothing moved. The air was damp from the river and there was a smell of wet cinders in the air. Tiptoeing down the steps, I started at once. It was three long city blocks to where the wagon waited. The first block was houses, all dark and still at this hour; the second was the ropewalk and a lumberyard with a stable adjoining; then the open area where the wagons waited.

It was going to be all right. I let go of the pistol and walked swiftly, gathering my skirts, not to let them rustle too much, for I wished to hear any small sound. The reticule dangled from my shoulder again. My carpetbag was heavy. I switched hands with it, but after a half-block, as I came up to the ropewalk, I changed hands again.

Far ahead of me I could see a faint glow from what must be a lantern. Ralph, harnessing his horses, no doubt. The shadows worried me. A body simply could not see -

The movement caught my ears too late. Rough hands seized me, and there was bad breath in my face. "Don't you scream, or I'll kill you sure. Now, you just listen to me.

"Tim is across the town watching at the stage station. You just be a good little girl, and I'll not tell him I found you."

He spoke softly. "I don't know where you figure on goin' this time of night, but I know what we can do, you an' me. We'll just - "

Lifting a boot, I stamped down hard on his instep and at the same time smashed back with my head into his face. He was taller than me, but my skull caught him on the chin and he let go, staggering back. Swinging the reticule by its strings, and it carrying my pistol, some shot, and a few coins, I caught him alongside the head. Small I may be, but I've worked hard my life through and am strong. The swinging reticule laid him out in the dust, pretty as you please. He groaned once, started to rise, then fell back. A moment I looked at him, not in the least sorry for him; then I went down and joined them at the wagon.

Several wagons were all ready to pull out, and Ralph said never a word, just motioned to the back of the wagon, and I climbed in and we were rolling.

Among the piled-up packages and rolls of bedding, I found a place to settle my back in a niche, and soon fell asleep, awakening to find it daylight and to see two round-eyed children staring at me.

"Well!" I said cheerfully enough. "My name is Echo, what's yours?"

The little girl looked away, twisting her fingers, but the boy said, "Jimmy. I am Jimmy Drennan, and this is my sister, Empily. She's scared."

"Empily?" I asked.

"Emily!" she said sharply. "Empily! He always calls me that!" Then she looked at me. "Is Echo a name?"

"It's my name," I said, "but, yes, it is a name. We use it for the echoing sounds we hear, but it was a name before that. Echo was the name of a nymph, a sort of sprite, I guess you'd say. She was always chattering, so Hera, who was a goddess, ruled that she should never speak first, and never be silent when anyone else spoke. But Echo fell in love with Narcissus, and when he died she pined away until only her voice was left."

"That's just a story!" Jimmy said.

"You're right, it is, but a very, very old story. When I first went to school, my teacher told me all that."

"Are you going to pine away until you are just a voice?" Jimmy asked.

"Probably not," I admitted. "I have never met Narcissus."

"You will," their mother said. She sat up. "I am Laura Drennan. I hope they aren't annoying you."

"You know they aren't. We don't have any young-uns where I live, and I miss them."

"Where is your home?"

"In the mountains of Tennessee. Away back in the hills. We have lots of bears back there."

"Do they eat people?" Jimmy demanded.

"Not often," I said, "although I suppose if they got really hungry, they might."

"You'veseen a bear? A wild bear? Up close?"

"Several of them. In fact, my uncle is laid up right now because of a fight he had with one. He was without his gun and he disturbed a bear that turned on him."

Ralph Drennan looked over his shoulder "You mean he fought a bear? Without a gun?"

"He had a knife and later a double-bit ax." She glanced at Jimmy. "That's an ax with two blades. He had to fight with what he had, but he killed the bear."

Ralph glanced at me, unbelieving, then turned back to his driving. There was silence in the wagon. Jimmy was the first to speak. "Did the bear bite him?"

"Several times. He clawed him pretty bad, too. Regal killed the bear, then dragged himself almost home. We found him by the spring when we went for water."

By midday we were winding along a very rough road through a dense forest, the trees so thick overhead that it was shadowed and still. Ours was the lead wagon, but Ralph Drennan's team was a good one and they moved steadily on, bumping over logs, squeezing past fallen trees, stopping occasionally to give the horses a breather.

His rifle lay in a corner of the wagon, and it looked to be almost new. I could not see the make of it, but it was a Lancaster rifle, I was sure of that.

"Do you hunt much?" I asked.

He looked over his shoulder. "I have hunted scarcely at all. Not since I was a boy. I have been working in the city," he added, "and decided there was little future for me there, so we decided to try pioneering. We are going to Kentucky," he said, "and probably to Missouri."

We moved on again, and I fell asleep. When I awakened again it was almost dark and the children were asleep; moving carefully, I worked my way to the front of the wagon.

"Want me to spell you?" I asked.

"You can drive a team?" He was amazed.

"Where I come from, ever'body drives," I said. "I can drive, I can plow, I can do what is necessary."

"I'd gladly let you," he admitted, "because I am tired, but I've got to find a place to camp."

"Better do it soon," I suggested, "or it will be too dark to see where we're at. Why don't you catch a nap? I can find a camp."

He hesitated. "Well, I'll rest just for a minute."

I taken the reins and he moved back into the wagon. Glancing up through the trees, I could see he'd already waited too late if a body was to gather firewood and such, so I kept my eyes open. Sure enough, we hadn't gone two miles when I saw a small clearing near a branch, a small stream that rustled over the rocks, heading for the Ohio and the sea.

Rounding the wagon against the woods on the far side, I brought the team to a halt and showed the other wagons where to turn in. There were just three others, and there was room enough, but barely. Catching a glimpse of some open space, I walked that way and found a small meadow. Others had stopped here before us. Unhitching the team, with Jimmy to help, I led the horses out on the meadow and picketed them there. The others, following me, did likewise.

Laura got down from the wagon with Emily. "Better keep them close," I advised. "Young-uns get lost in the woods an' might never be found."

Taken me only a minute or two to break some sticks, gather some shreds of old bark, and get a fire going. It is surely amazing how a fire cheers folks up. "I'd better wake Ralph up," Laura suggested.

"Wait until we've coffee made," I said. "He's put in a long day."

The others built another fire and we made do between the two. Coffee was boiling when Ralph got down from the wagon. "I'm afraid I just passed out," he said. "I'm sorry."

"No need," I said.

He came up to the fire and Laura poured him a cup of coffee.

"Maybe," I said, "come daybreak you'd let me use that rifle of yours? This here's game country, and I might get us some meat."

"You can shoot?"

"A mite," I said. "I can try."

Chapter 11

Come daybreak, I taken that rifle and started off across the meadow. The trees were almighty big, poplars fifteen, sixteen feet around, and red maple almost as big. The soil underfoot was as good as any I'd seen, hundreds of years of leaves falling, decaying, and turning to earth, and big trees struck down by age, wind, or lightning also were decaying and adding to the richness of the soil. This Ohio country was a mighty fine land. Easing through the woods beyond the meadow, I saw another clearing right ahead, and a deer standing there, not more than eighty yards off.

These folks didn't have much, and we needed the meat, so I fetched him with a neck shot and taken the venison back to camp.

Ralph looked up, surprised. "You got a deer?"

"Small buck," I said. Then I looked at him. "I aim to pay my way." I handed back the rifle. "Take good care of it, that's a fine weapon. I'll clean it when we get rolling."

We shared the meat with the other wagons, giving each enough for a meal.

It was slow going there at first, but we hit some open stretches that enabled us to make time. All the time, I kept my eyes ready for Timothy Oats and Elmer. They would be coming along behind, or maybe even waiting for me in Wheeling, where I figured to catch the steamboat.

On the third day I killed four ducks in four shots. Jimmy was with me and he carried two of the ducks back to the wagon. "That's good shooting," Ralph admitted. "You were lucky to catch them sitting."

"She didn't," Jimmy said proudly. "They took off from the water and she got one that time. She got the others later, shot 'em on the wing."

"Flying ducks? With a rifle?"

"Back to home," I said, "I never had no shotgun there at first. It was shoot 'em with a rifle or forget it."

Back in the wagon, we sang songs, some of them hymns which we all knew, others the songs we'd learned as youngsters or those they sang in the mountains. Often in the hills folks would put new words to old tunes, or pick up a refrain and work something around it. We sang what songs we had, and made up others as we went along.

Wheeling was built on a bottom along the river, most of the town on one street, with a hill rising behind it. Here, too, there was a ropewalk, some stores, warehouses, and an inn where I found a place to stay the night. There would be a steamboat in the morning, and I'd made up my mind to leave it at Cincinnati and travel across country to home.

When they put me down in front of the inn, I said good-bye to Laura, Ralph, and the youngsters, and I guess we all cried a little bit, sorry to part, with small chance of ever meeting again.

The food was good at the inn, and I waited by the window, watching out for Timothy Oats and Elmer. There was no sign of them, nor was there when I went down to the boat.

I'd recharged my pistols and was ready for whatever. In a shop near the inn I'd found a seamstress who had a sky-blue dress and bonnet that taken my eye, so I bought it. My gray travelin' dress was lookin' kind of used up. I also bought from her a travelin' outfit, somewhat cheaper, but sturdy. I had the feeling I'd need it.

With my carpetbag stuffed, I stood by waitin' for that boat.

They might be aboard, but I was going to ride it anyway. If they were eager to fetch trouble, I'd not let them yearn for it. So I was standin' there on the dock when I heard that ol' whistle blow and saw that steamboat come chug-chuggin' up to the island.

I looked up as it came alongside, and there by the rail were two men standin', a big black man and a tall, right handsome fellow with as fine a set of shoulders as I'd ever seen. My heart did a flip-flop.It couldn't be! Not here!

Suddenly I was glad I'd bought that blue dress and the bonnet with the lace, but he wasn't evenlooking at me! He didn't even see me!

A man tipped his hat. "Ma'am? Were you going aboard, ma'am?"

"Oh? Oh, yes! Of course!"

"Better hurry, ma'am, that gangway is down only for minutes. The cap'n, ma'am, he's in a powerful hurry!"

Taking up my bag, I went to the gangway. Glancing up there again, I saw the black man watching me. He said something to the tall young man, but he was looking off over my head at somebody. I turned around, and there behind me was Elmer.

He grinned at me, showing his ugly teeth. "Carry your bag, ma'am?"

I turned away from him and went up the gangway, and as I came aboard, Timothy Oats was standing there, not smiling or anything, but just looking at me. His cut lip had healed but there was meanness in his eyes. I walked right past him and went along the deck to an officer.

He was a young, handsome boy with cornsilk hair and a face red from the sun. "Cabin, ma'am? Come, an' I'll show you."

"Sir? That man by the gangway. I think his name is Oats. I don't want my cabin close to his. Please?"

"I'll see, ma'am. I am afraid there's little choice, we're that crowded, but you need have no fear aboard this boat, the cap'n is a stickler for propriety. You will not be disturbed, I promise you."

The cabin was very small and there were two bunks; a valise was already sitting on the lower one.

"Oh? I must share the cabin with someone?"

"Yes, ma'am. Most folks sleep out on the deck, we're that short of space. Seems like everybody's travelin' these days. You goin' far, ma'am?"

"To Cincinnati, I think. I might go further."

"Hope you do." He touched his cap to me. "It isn't often we have a girl aboard as pretty as you."

"Thank you. Do you know who is sharing this cabin with me?"

"Yes, ma'am. She's an older lady. She's going to Cincinnati too. She is called Mrs. Buchanan."

"Called? Isn't that her name?"

He glanced around quickly. "I wouldn't repeat this, ma'am, but I was on another steamboat where she was a passenger, and she had a different name then." Suddenly he was worried. "I shouldn't have said that, but you be careful. You see, I could be wrong about her."

When he was gone, I looked up at that upper bunk. My carpetbag was heavy. How ever was I to get it up there? And I did want it where I could feel it near me. I'd lost it once and did not intend to again.

It was heavy, but I managed, after all. I put it on the back side of the bunk, and my pillow covered it a mite. From down below, I couldn't see it at all.

At the mirror, which was not a very good one, I primped a little, tucking in a curl here, fluffing my hair a little there. Then, letting my bonnet hang by its ribbon, I went out on deck. There was a place nearby where I could stand by the rail and still keep my cabin door in view.

We were already out from shore and moving down the Ohio.

The banks were high bluffs and heavily wooded. Here, as on the roads, were a lot of people moving. They were in flatboats or keel boats, once in a while somebody in a canoe. Most of them were going downstream.

A voice sounded close by, and I looked around. There was that young man! The black man was beside him. He glanced at me, and I smiled.

He stared, shocked, then turned away, turning his back on me. It was him, all right, those same broad shoulders and the back of his head I would know anywhere.

Well! If he wanted to be that way, all right ! Glancing toward my cabin, I saw a woman at the door. She was folding a parasol and about to enter, so I crossed to the door and went in behind her.

Hearing my step, she turned. She had large, very blue eyes, and lips so red they had to be painted, but the job was well done and one could not be sure, not really.

"Oh? You are the young lady who shares the cabin?"

"I am."

"You're very pretty, you know. Do come in! It is crowded, but we can manage." She held out her hand. She wore several rings. Two of them looked like diamonds, although I had never seen a diamond, just heard of them. "I am Essie Buchanan. I am going to Cincinnati."

"So am I."

"Oh? Perhaps I can entertain you there. It is a rough town, but a good, lively one. If you like a good time, it is the place to have it. No end to the men, and most of them very handsome."

"I shan't be there long."

"That's too bad." She glanced at me again, a quick, measuring look. "You are traveling alone?"

"I am." I paused. "I think I'm to be met."

She talked a little, mostly of clothes and the weather, and after a bit she started back to the deck. "Would you like to join me? On the promenade?"

"No, thank you. I think I will just rest."

When she was gone, the cabin smelled of her perfume. I didn't like it very much. She was a handsome woman, and very expensively dressed, but something about her didn't seem right. Or maybe what the young officer had said was influencing me. I must not be prejudiced. Nonetheless, I had to watch the cabin. Timothy Oats would steal my bag and all that was in it if given a chance.

A thought occurred to me. What was Dorian Chantry doinghere ? This was a long way from the hunts, balls, and belles of Philadelphia. Maybe I was mistaken. After all, I had never seen his face. I could not be sure. He must think me brazen, smiling at him like that. The thought made me flush with shame. What a fool I was!

If I had not seen him, he certainly had not seen me, his back to me and all.

The young officer who had shown me to my stateroom explained the boat to me. Although I'd heard most of it before, I listened with rapt attention. Long ago, Regal advised me: "Men like to talk of what concerns them. Learn to listen, and if you can ask a question now and again, do it. Give them those big eyes of yours and you'll have no problem. You'll be bored often enough, but you'll learn a lot, too, and they will go away telling everybody what a charmin' girl you are.

"You learn to listen, or at least act like you're listening and you'll find menfolks doin' all sorts of things for you. Smooths the way, y' know? An' if you're modest about it an' don't flaunt yourself around, the women will like you too.

"A man, he's got to get along mostly with hard work an' persistence, but with a woman it is mostly maneuver. Men have to maneuver too, especially so when it comes to womenfolks."

"You see," the young officer was saying, "there's two lines of cabins, with the main cabin in between. The doors from the cabins open on the main cabin, where folks can mingle and get acquainted. We serve meals there, too.

"Most of the cargo is stowed on the main deck, but sometimes bales of cotton or whatever are piled higher than the deck we're on."

His name was Robinson and he seemed a nice young man. "If there is anything I can do for you, just call on me."

At supper in the main cabin there were three tables. Sure enough, I was seated at the same table with that tall young man. The captain introduced everybody to everybody else, and sure enough, he was Dorian Chantry. When my name was mentioned, he looked across the table and our eyes met. He flushed and looked away, which seemed odd, for he was supposed to be a ladies' man.

There was an older man at the table, a stocky man, taking on some fat at the belt, with thinning white hair, but a face that seemed young for the hair. He glanced at me when my name was mentioned, but said nothing. His name was Ginery Wooster.

At the third table, Timothy Oats was seated close to Essie Buchanan. They were talking. I did not look at them, not wanting them to realize I'd noticed. I had to get away; I had to get off this boat, somehow, some way.

Suddenly I felt trapped, closed in. I did not trust that woman, and now she was talking to Oats. Probably it was idle conversation, but I dared not risk it.

I glanced across the table at Dorian Chantry. Did I dare ask his help? Did he even know about me? If I could just get off, in the middle of the night, when no one suspected .

I was a fool to be thinking of him. He had not so much as noticed me. It was my family I must consider, and what this money would do for them. We had been poor for such a long time. We lived all right because we could hunt, but now it could be different.

Very different.

What I needed now was time to think, to plan. If I could get off this steamboat now, or soon, I could get a horse and ride south. It was closer to home than Cincinnati, although wilder country, I believed.

If I only had a map of the river! Often the steamboat stopped at small places, sometimes only landings. If I could get off without anybody knowing, get off in the middle of the night ...

That nice young man, Robinson. He would know. He had offered to help.

He wasn't thinking of that kind of help, I warned myself. Still, if I could just get off somewhere ...

I could get Mr. Robinson to show me a chart of the river. I knew they must have some in the pilothouse. Suddenly I was startled from my thinking. He was speaking to me. Dorian Chantry was speaking tome !

Chapter 12

"Did I understand you to say, Miss Sackett, that you are leaving the steamer at Cincinnati?"

"That is my present plan, Mister ... is it Chantry?"

"Dorian Chantry, at your service. I believe you know my Uncle Finian?"

"I've had the pleasure, and indeed it was a pleasure. He is a very fine man, a remarkable man."

"And a stern one, very stern."

"With reason, perhaps?"

His glance was cool. "No doubt he feels it so." He resumed the former topic. "From Cincinnati you go home, I believe? Is not that very rough country?"

"Some might think it is."

"But there is a stage? Or can you take another steamer?"

"There is, I think, but right across country is quicker."

He was irritated. How foolish of her to come so far, unprotected and alone! Because of it he had to leave everything and come on this wild-goose chase, escorting a girl who did not seem in the least grateful. She was pert, almost impudent.

"I am astonished that your family would permit it. Suppose you met a bear? Or a man of evil intention?"

I made my eyes very wide. "I'd take him home for supper."

"What? You'd invite such a man to your home?"

"I meant the bear." I smiled innocently. "Could I do less?"

His expression showed his exasperation. "Uncle Finian said I was to see you safely home. He was quite worried about you. He said there were - "

"They are here."

Startled, he looked up."Here?"

Before he could say more, I said, "It is very nice of your Uncle Finian to worry about me, but I shall be quite all right. I would not want you to go to so much trouble. There are bears where I am going, and quite a few men, but most of them are very nice."

"It is preposterous for you to travel alone." He glanced at the woman who sat beside me. "Don't you agree?"