Earthbound E-Book

Mari Collier

• Herausgeber: Next Chapter
• Kategorie: Fantasy und Science-Fiction
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2022

Beschreibung

Marooned in 19th century West, Llewellyn meets young frontier woman Anna. The two become friends and comrades, their fates forever intertwined.

They find themselves together in the prairies of 19th century Texas, the bordellos of Civil War-era New Orleans, to Prohibition in the 1920s, the Great Depression, and the vastness of space.

But can they survive hardships through history, the enmity of their southern neighbors and the Civil War, to return to his home planet and exact his revenge?

Leseprobe

Earthbound

Chronicles of the Maca I

Mari Collier

Copyright (C) 2015 Mari Collier

Layout design and Copyright (C) 2021 by Next Chapter

Published 2021 by Next Chapter

Cover art by http://www.thecovercollection.com/

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.

This book is dedicated to my children, Barbarie E. Collier-Bowling and to Lawrence D. Collier.

Chapter 1: Hunger

The crowd surged forward waving their clubs and staves. Screams of anger and desperation driven by hunger erupted from their throats. They needed food for themselves, for their families. If there was no food, vengeance would serve as their substitute for they would die either from hunger or the hated British troopers.

Three men stood in their path. One was a townsman serving as a guide to the other two. He promptly took to his heels. His pay as a guide was not adequate to cover this danger. One, a tall, red-haired gentleman clad in elegantly tailored clothes and fine boots, stepped forward, a serene look on his face as he pointed his index finger at the approaching mob. The other was his servant, a huge dark-haired youth dressed in dark clothing. He stared at the mob and began to edge backward, his fists curling and uncurling. This tis folly, thought the youth. They are too many. Even my great strength twill nay stop them.

The man pointing his finger at the mob realized too late that his mind could not penetrate any mind of the people in the foreground and a puzzled look came into his eyes. He sent his mind swooping among the crowd until he found one that he could control.

'You are to attack the person next to you,' his mind commanded. The mind command was too late.

The man given the mind instruction stopped, drew back his club, and began swinging it viciously at the man next to him. The crowd moved forward and knocked him down. With a roar the angry men attacked the red-haired, finely dressed interloper with the strange copper eyes.

Screams for food and yells to look for his purse came from some of the group. Others took after the youth fleeing down the road. They were too weak from hunger and the youth too strong and long of limb.

The youth stumbled into the pub where they had lodged and gasped out his tale of a master dying. A man was dispatched to inform the local priest. The priest then sent a message to his Lordship. By late afternoon a group of men on horseback arrived at the country lane and recovered the stripped and mangled body of the stranger.

The body was returned to the village and his Lordship sent a trusted man to speak with the youth named Llewellyn. To no one's surprise the youth was gone and the room vacated.

“Two strangers they were on a strange quest.” The pub owner assured the Lord's servant. “They had questions about whether a different redheaded man with copper eyes and a golden ring around the pupils had been here. The man asked about the local cemeteries. Wanted to check out the tombstones, he did. His gold was good though. The gentleman's servant had a strong accent. He's probably from across the water.” The owner cleared his throat before daring to put a question to such an important man.

“Do ye think we are in any danger from the prowling mobs?”

“His Lordship has sent an urgent message to the brigade stationed but a few miles from here. I'm sure they will heed his call for help.”

“That won't quiet all of the people. They can't eat or sell their rotten potatoes.” The pub owner understood why the hungry mob prowled this part of Ireland. Still, it was worrisome.

“True, but 1842 has to be a better year for crops than the last two. We'll have protection until then. Let us know if the young servant returns.” He turned and left the smoky establishment.

“He's probably run all the way home or took a ship for the new world.” The last was muttered by the owner. Why in God's name, he wondered, would anyone in his right mind stay in Ireland now?

Chapter 2: Freedom

Llewellyn sat under an outcropping of rock, a shield against the mist, and considered his options. That he was Maca of Don, hereditary administrator of one continent on the planet Thalia, meant nay more to these Earth beings than it did to the Justines who had beaten Thalia. Earth beings thought him to be about twenty-one, but he was nigh sixty-three according to the data aboard the Golden One when he checked about thirty days prior to landfall. Of all the places they had looked and scanned for signs of Toma's landing, Ricca, the Justine, had deemed this planet as the one that possessed areas where people were red haired and brown eyed. Ricca postulated that these beings might have the ability to evolve into a Justine like being. In time, these Earth beings could replenish the Justine gene pool. It was possible that Toma, the missing Justine, may have made the same assumptions. Of Toma's Golden One there had been no trace, but there was no other habitable planet that matched the encodings on the crystals Toma had left in the Justine knowledge banks. They had investigated two other countries and then went to the one called Ireland. Ricca had left this area as second to last as Ireland was an economic disaster. Another land, the United States, was a vast area of empty space and ill looking towns. Its scattered populace meant that any search there would take years. Research in London had shown there might be small groups of people scattered over Europe and Asia, but those areas were unlikely places for Toma to dwell.

Llewellyn kenned that Ricca had planned to abandon him on this planet. Until then, Ricca had used him as a servant. It was also Ricca's way of avoiding mind contact with these primitive creatures as they caused him headaches. The realization that it wasn't the primitive ways of this planet that bothered Ricca, but the fact that many of these beings could close their minds to the Justine's mind probe gave Llewellyn immense satisfaction.

Llewellyn's Thalian-Justine mix of genes had endowed him with the Justine ability of mindspeak and entering another's mind. Ricca had taught him control while aboard the Golden One to keep him from killing any of the Krepyon crew. The one Krepyon's vomiting while he groveled before Llewellyn had been an accident. The Kreppie (as Thalians called them) had struck him and he had lashed out with his mind rather than his fists. He kenned that the use of fists would have caused Ricca to lock him away. Llewellyn did not know how he had managed to channel directly into the Kreppie's mind.

Ricca had taught him to mindspeak, to build walls in the mind when privacy or contemplation was necessary, and how to direct his mind into that of others. Like Ricca, Llewellyn was unable to enter the minds of all the Earth beings they had encountered. He had assumed it was because of his youth or the fact that his abilities were less than a full-blooded Justine's. He realized that Ricca could not enter their minds when an innkeeper in the last town cheated them, nor could Ricca's mind command make the man repay them. Ricca's headache had been ferocious that evening, and Llewellyn smiled in remembrance.

He was to be marooned to complete the sentence given when he was but one and twenty. The Justines denied the possibility of a mutant being born to parents from different planets, but he existed. They did not allow the beings on the planets they controlled to believe or teach that mutants could exist. To rid themselves of a perplexing problem and a refutation of their biological teachings, the Justines condemned him to isolation. The last forty odd years had been a darkness. Thalians needed to touch, to hug, to bed another, and he had had nay!

Ricca had detested that a servant be entrusted with funds. Customs in this land decreed that gentlemen did not soil their hands with money. More funds could be manufactured on the Golden One if one knew the proper procedures. The spaceship, manned by four Krepyons, was on the dark side of the Earth's moon where the Earth's primitive telescopes would miss it. The Scout from the Golden One was carefully hidden not far from here. It was guarded by two Krepyons in case a curious passerby chanced upon it.

Llewellyn could book passage on a ship to the new lands if he had more of the currency and gold from the Golden One. If he tried to hire on as a sailor on one of the ships sailing for the Americas, he feared he would kill one of these Earth beings before they arrived. He'd seen some of the brutality the sailors endured during their travels on this planet. If the Scout were in his possession, he could fly to the place called America and find somewhere to hide it, but he would still be without funds in a strange land. There was also the chance the Kreppies would scan for the Scout and locate him. Even if he avoided them, he would die here. Without Ricca, the Kreppies were apt to kill him anyway. If the Golden One were his, there was always the possibility that he would live long enough to acquire the needed information from the knowledge crystals aboard the ship to return to his planet and complete his Mither's revenge on the Justines. His Mither had destroyed the Justine planet. He would destroy the Justine Refuge and Thalia would be free. All were dreams until he procured the Golden One.

Night was beginning when he approached the cave. A light mist was falling as it seemed to do most of the time in Ireland. A three-quarter moon vied with a cloud as to which would dominate the space and the cloud was winning. Llewellyn dug out the hand com from the valise. It was hidden within the elaborate compass. He swung back the cover to access the audio.

“I have been sent to retrieve the rest of the funds. Ricca tis resting for the eve.” It must have sounded plausible as the high sharp, quick speaking Kreppie named Aloyed answered.

“You are to wait outside. One of us will bring it to you.” The com went silent.

Within two minutes the voice was back. “Why did not the golden Ricca appear?”

“I told ye, he tis resting. The primitive thoughts of the populace wear on his mind.”

Again the com went dead. The bushes parted and the Kreppie appeared, glancing in all directions. He dared not let Earth beings see his greenish, brown facial skin with scales on his cheeks. He wore the usual tight fitting garb of a space being, but as a Krepyon, his uniform was light green.

“This is the last of the currency and gold we brought with us. Did the great one say if we should order more?”

“Aye, that he did as we have discovered nay trace of Toma.” Llewellyn reached out as if to take the proffered valise and instead grasped the Kreppie by the head and neck and twisted. Aloyed died without a sound.

Llewellyn plucked the weapon from the Kreppie's holster, lifted the inert body, and carried it back to the Scout. Quaten appeared in the doorway. “What is wrong?”

“Catch.” Llewellyn tossed the dead body to Quaten.

As Quaten staggered and fell, Llewellyn reached out and snatched the slight body towards him. A swift twist of the neck and the body of Quaten joined Aloyed's in the back of the Scout. Llewellyn retrieved the valise before he entered and sat in the navigator's seat.

He waited for an hour as darkness closed over the Earth before soaring upward. Most of the populace below slept at night and would not see the golden streak rising from Earth. Two of the Kreppies aboard the craft would also be sleeping for they worked in shifts. There was no way they would disappoint Ricca in caring for the Golden One. It was possible that three were sleeping as there was no danger from an Earth space vehicle.

Upon docking, he left the bodies inside the Scout and hurried to the lift. A faint bluish glow emanated from the curved walls and floor. He was surprised at the clacking noise the Earth shoes made on the metal flooring. Once in the lift he removed his shoes. Silence was essential as he had decided to take control of the Command Center first. The awake Kreppie or Kreppies would be there. If the Kreppies had been alert, they should know that someone had returned in the Scout, but no one had sent out a voice request.

It was as though the Gar his people named as Creator blessed his efforts. A surge of triumph went through Llewellyn as he entered the Command Center and saw the sleeping Kreppie hunched over the control panel. Revenge was sweet as he twisted another neck. That was for all the suffering the Kreppies had inflicted on Thalia and damage they had done to his Elder Lamar when they shrunk his right arm and took his seed. With a set face, Llewellyn marched down the hall towards the sleeping quarters. The bluish glow from the walls was dimmer here as though providing less light would simulate night. One of the Kreppies had boasted that his father died trying to prevent Llewellyn's Mither, LouElla, from escaping the asteroid. He had taken particular delight in making Llewellyn's existence miserable and bringing false allegations against him. Ricca had silenced him. A Justine knew when a Krepyon lied. None of the three rooms were locked. Llewellyn entered each room and performed the physical act of killing the others. He wrapped them in their blankets and grabbed three extra blankets before carrying them forward.

The body in the Command Center he wrapped in one of the blankets. He would need to clean in here, the rooms, and the Scout. He did nay care. He had time. Soon all six wrapped bodies floated outside to tumble downward and burn as they entered Earth's atmosphere.

Ricca had taught him to fly the Golden One within a gravitational orbit, but not the necessary math and system usage to chart starpaths. He was trapped until he acquired the knowledge to fly among the stars. He and the Golden One needed a haven where this violent planet would nay destroy it; a place that was quiet and away from prying eyes and curiosity seekers. He crisscrossed the planet letting the geological scanners probe underneath. Then he fled behind the moon while the data downloaded and he slept. When he awoke he would find the best areas and then begin the process of selecting one to bury the ship before beginning a new life. He realized it would take weeks, possibly longer to hide something as large as this craft. Creating a new life would take even longer.

Chapter 3: The Mountain Man

Zebediah L. MacDonald surveyed the wooden shack and pushed his hat back on his dark, straight hair. Like many of the buildings in frontier America, the ramshackle building was composed of logs, flat boards, and stone. The builders had used clay for mortar and then the clay, flat boards, and chimney had been whitewashed. Why one of the fierce storms of wind and rain had not demolished the place would remain a profound mystery. A weathered, carved sign proclaimed TAVERN, painted in faded black letters. The N was almost obliterated by a wide crack. Perhaps they twill have a brew, he thought. That thought was strictly optimism. Americans seemed to prefer whiskey or rum in these wild lands.

He heard shouts from within as he tied his reins to the hitching rail.

“Damned Dutchman! Yu all had that king palmed.”

As he stepped through the door he blinked his eyes at the smoky darkness. Four men were sitting at a lopsided table playing whist and the blocky man with long blond hair was speaking.

“Like hell. I don't need to hide a card vhen playing mitt dumm kopfs like du!”

The sandy haired man jumped up, his hands throwing the table towards the last speaker. As if on cue, the other two had risen and moved to the side, extracting their bowie knives. They were tall, rangy frontiersmen dressed in homespun.

The man they were attacking was shorter, barrel-chested, and stocky. He was dressed in buckskin and moccasins. He proved nimble enough to avoid the table and pulled his own bowie knife. He crouched, his arms slightly extended, and his eyes turning hard.

For a moment the three men stopped, surprised by his swiftness. Then they separated to come at him from different sides.

MacDonald took one look, shrugged at the thought of missing the chance for a brew, and stepped behind one man. His knotted fist crashed into the man's head and the man crumbled to the floor.

The man at the bar was shouting while waving an old flintlock at them. “Get out, yu bastards, get out. Yu all cain't wreck my place.”

The blonde man in buckskins was leaning forward to swipe at his opponents. One attacker moved in with his longer arm reach. The shorter man whirled out of the way, turned and drove his knife into the man's side, raking the knife outward and turning to meet the next man. He straightened and stared. The next man was kicking and turning red-faced while a giant of a man had him around the arms and was squeezing the air from his chest. The other man was stretched out on the floor. The owner of the place now had his flintlock aimed at the giant. His bowie knife went sailing through the air, straight into the owner's shoulder.

The flintlock jumped upward and the ball pinged against the ceiling beams. Then the ball and bark chips fell to the floor. The roar from the musket, however, caused the giant to turn and drop the man he had been squeezing.

“He appears to be in on the scheme to rob ye.” Surprise mingled in the rumbling voice of the giant.

“Ja, sure, probably hired them. Du mitt them?”

“Oh, nay, I twas about to purchase a brew.”

The blonde man shook his head. “Damn fool, du could have been killed.” He walked over to the owner who was holding a dirty towel against his shoulder and trying to find another ball to ram into the flintlock.

The mountain man yanked the flintlock out of the man's hand and his knife from the man's shoulder. A scream ricocheted around the small room.

“I'll leave this outside. Du can vorry about your friends.” He jerked his head at the three in various states of consciousness.

To MacDonald he said, “If du ain't mitt these fellows, du best come mitt me.”

Something about the hard blue eyes, the competent warrior's stance, and the male self-assurance seemed to win the big man's respect. He nodded at the wounded owner and followed the man outside.

“Du know this country?”

“Nay, I have but arrived.”

The man snorted. “Thought as much dressed like that. Du look like some city boy looking for adventure. Ve ride for awhile, then ve can introduce each other.”

They pulled up under a grove of oak and ash trees near a large, rushing creek that was swollen from a summer rainfall. The blonde man rode a sturdy brown horse and led two mules packed with traps and camping paraphernalia. He dismounted and tied the reins to a tree trunk and MacDonald did the same.

For a moment they eyed each other and then a browned hand streaked out.

“I'm Herman Rolfe and danke, ah, thank du. One against three vas too many.” A smile lit his face and eyes.

MacDonald's brown eyes filled with amusement and he returned the smile as he shook hands. “I am called Zebediah L. MacDonald.” How he wished he could have used Llewellyn, Maca of Don, but that must stay as hidden as the Golden One.

“Vant to say vhere du are going or du do vant to stay quiet about that?”

“I am nay certain. I had thought about going to Texas. They say it tis a good place for a man.”

“Do du know how to cross Injun country?”

“I have a map I bought in St. Louis.”

For a moment the blue eye regarded him. “Du are going to get yourself killed, boy. Let's jaw a bit.” He sank down on his haunches and MacDonald followed suit.

Rolfe grabbed a twig from the ground and used it to draw a crude map. “Ve are about here. To get to Texas, du have to go through Missouri and Indian Territory or Arkansas. Then, depending on vhere du go, du go through parts of Texas that ain't settled yet. There's Kiowa, Osage, Platte, Choctaw, Cherokee, Comanche tribes, and Apache. All of them raid for horses or any other damn reason. Most of the Cherokee are more like us, but there's always a vild bunch. If they stop du, they'll vant something to let du pass or they'll take your scalp und your horse. They could do that anyway if du don't know how to avoid them. Then there are men who run from the law. Some are dangerous, some just vant to be left alone.”

MacDonald swallowed. He did nay have the Thalian Warrior training for being among primitives. Nay did he ken this land, but the Golden One was buried deep in the earth of Texas. He had spent months searching for a safe place and then more months enlarging a tunnel and cave to house his spaceship. All of the excavating was done at night away from the prying eyes of anyone that might ride through the area. He had seen no one. It seemed to be a vacant land, but this man was telling him there were inhabitants.

He had taken one of the Scouts and hidden it near a small city. There he had purchased clothing that did nay fit. Llewellyn changed his name and rented a room before he hired a woman to sew him trousers and shirts. She also knitted socks and a cobbler made the boots he was wearing. Only then did he buy a horse, saddle, and equipment that the store owner said he would need if traveling alone across the plains. Somehow he had to possess the land where the Golden One rested below the earth.

Rolfe looked at him. “Me, I'm a fur trapper. I'm heading back up towards Ft. Laramie. Once it's cold enough, I'll start laying my traps. Dat's vhy the two pack mules. My partner von't go again as he got married. I'll teach du how to trap and survive. Du get ten percent of der profits.”

“I'm grateful for the offer, but I have nay kenning of how much that tis or how long this twould take.”

“It depends on the market for furs. This year not so good, but I made enough to put avay about a thousand dollars. Dot's after ve split the take. Dot means du vould haf about one hundred dollars or more.”

“How long does this take?” He remembered how rapidly his funds had dwindled.

“About six months.”

“That twould be but sixteen dollars per month.”

The blue eyes hardened. “Ja, but that's a damn good vage, and I supply the equipment. Du might stay alive and learn how to survive. I teach du how. The only vons better than me are the Injuns. And I provide grub.”

He saw the frown on MacDonald's face. “Dot's food, boy. Don't du understand American?”

“It seems I dinna ken what ye said. Nay do I ken what wages are here.”

Rolfe sighed. “If ve make a good profit and du learn fast, I'll up it to fifteen percent. But du buy the coat and blanket du vill need. Once ve're out on the prairie, I can kill a buffalo. If there's time we'll tan it enough for making a varm tent.”

His words left MacDonald's mind reeling. This man was one who would not let MacDonald's mind into his. It was obvious if he were to get back to the spaceship, he needed money to survive and he needed to learn the ways of men in this land.

“That tis much fairer. I shall earn that fifteen percent.” He grinned and they both stood.

“Ve shake on it now.”

Neither man tried to show their strength in the grip of shaking. Rolfe because he knew the big man/boy was stronger. MacDonald did not because he did not need to prove what was obvious.

“I'll teach du Deutsche too. Dot's German in English.” He grinned. “Now ve ride to the next town vhere du can buy the things du need. I'll make sure that they don't cheat du.”

He hesitated a moment. “How about I call du Mac? It sounds better than boy if du vorking mitt me.”

“Aye, it does sound better. Someone is apt to laugh if ye call me boy and I'm towering over ye.”

Rolfe broke off a chew and plopped it into his mouth. “Und du buy your own tobacco”

Chapter 4: The Maca

The sound of terror in the horses' whinnies and mules' braying brought the sleeping men to their feet. MacDonald and Rolfe had camped with another group of free traders heading into St. Louis. It had been a disastrous year for trapping. The danger of a larger group from the fur brigade stealing what few furs they had was real. They intended to sell their furs directly to the American Fur Company in St. Louis. They had found an abandoned squatter's cabin on the edge of western Kansas. It took minimal work to make the fence sturdy enough to hold their animals.

The fear of losing their horses and mules added swiftness to their movements. Men were grabbing their clothes and at their loaded rifles when Rolfe noticed a Kentuckian reaching for the door.

“Don't open that door. It could be anything from Injuns to bears. Vait till ve are ready.”

He bent to pull on his moccasins when the blast of cold morning air hit him.

“It's Mac,” someone yelled. “He's gone loco. It's a damn grizzly out there and he ain't got nothing but a bowie knife.”

Rolfe pushed the others out of his way to get to the door. There were no windows in this cabin. One look and Rolfe stopped.

MacDonald was almost to the grizzly, his long legs cutting the distance in that peculiar rolling bear-like gait. He had on nothing but his under clothes and moccasins. The grizzly had its back to him as it tore at the fence rails, pulling one board loose and then another to get at the stock. It stood a bit shorter than MacDonald's six foot nine inches. He leaped the remaining distance to land on the grizzly's back.

MacDonald grasped under the open mouth and ran the knife across the middle of the right side of the throat towards the back of the neck. The grizzly roared and tried to claw at his right side, then at the left. MacDonald had released his grasp, but the claws still raked at his arm. Blood gushed from the grizzly's jugular vein. The wind and turning grizzly spewed blood in all directions. As his feet hit the ground, MacDonald reached upward and thrust the knife into the grizzly's left eye. He tried to retreat keeping behind the grizzly, but the beast stood, roared, turned, and charged.

“Get down du damn fool.” Rolfe was shouting.

The men watched as MacDonald managed the impossible. He had gotten to the side of the charging animal and was back up on the beast's back. He had transferred the bowie knife to his left hand and was ripping at the jugular vein on that side. This time the blood oozed out and the bear dropped to his four feet, shaking his head as to clear his sight and charge at his antagonist.

MacDonald stepped back dragging the cold air into his lungs and creating clouds of iced vapor as he expelled the air. He could not explain to these men that for one moment he was back in the Sky Maist Mountains that bisected his continent of Don and that he, the Maca, was proving his worth by killing the wild elbenor with a knife. That he should have been wearing only a thong was irrelevant. The grizzly was close enough in size and the bowie knife sufficient in killing efficiency.

The grizzly shook its head and more blood spewed. Then the bear turned to peer at the livestock with its remaining eye, turned again toward the men at the cabin, and reared before toppling to the ground.

MacDonald threw his head back and his yell rolled out into the prairie sky. “I am Mac,” and he hesitated just a moment, “Donald.” I am Maca screamed in his mind. He bowed to the beast on the ground and walked back towards the cabin and the wide-eyed men staring at him in awed disbelief.

“Du crazy, Mac. Vhy didn't du let me shoot him?”

“Because, Friend Rolfe, I needed to do that. Now the frustrations of this year's hunt are somewhat alleviated.” MacDonald smiled at him and his brown eyes filled with amusement.

Rolfe shook his head. “Vell, at least ve can sell the fur. Too damn bad du ruined der face.”

“Why sell it? We can keep it, or ye can. Mayhap it twill keep us warm one of these nights.” He realized the cold was biting into him and he stepped inside the cabin.

The others hurried out to check the animals and to keep them contained. Rolfe started skinning the bear. There was still plenty of salt left to start the curing, and the bear meat could be eaten that night.

Chapter 5: An Era Closes

MacDonald and Rolfe walked out of the American Fur Company, their backs straight and their shoulders swaying. MacDonald walked with his rolling gait and Rolfe was not much different with his legs bowed from the time spent in the saddle. Not until they were outside and mounted did they speak. When Rolfe did speak, it was in German.

“I still have to go home and tell Mrs. Rolfe what happened to the prices. You wait a couple hours and then come by. Don't do anything stupid, Friend Mac, and drink up what little you do have.”

MacDonald looked at him. “It twas a good two years.” It was their normal conversation pattern. Rolfe spoke German, MacDonald his own brand of English.

“No, there was one good year, one halfway decent year, and this year we barely made a profit. We've got to plan for next year. I have an idea, but don't want to bray it all over the streets. Now that I think about it, you have enough to rent a place. Come by in the morning and we'll make our plans.”

MacDonald decided to save his pittance from this year. He was up to thirty percent after three years of working with Rolfe, but it looked like 1845 was the last of the good times for fur trappers. The men in the camps the last two years had been different, rougher, and meaner. Rolfe claimed they were far less educated than the earliest trappers and most of them were Frenchmen out of Canada. They were a dissipated lot and drank their furs away before they even made it to St. Louis or left the Rendezvous. The Indians were prone to drinking and trading their women. The tribal women and men appeared slovenly compared to the first year MacDonald had seen them. Rolfe was different from the other trappers. He had a wife and an established home here in St. Louis. MacDonald still puzzled over the rapidity in which the female of the Earth species bore their young. Rolfe had married Miss Clara Reiker in 1842 and their daughter, Maria Gretchen, was born that same year. Maria died before her second birthday, Olga had been born last year, and now another was expected or already born. Rolfe had even been prudent with his funds, either leaving them with his wife or securing letters of credit.

Banks were risky. They were given to collapsing and their script became worthless. MacDonald had either carried gold coins in a belt around his waist or left his funds in the care of Mrs. Rolfe. He was afraid to speculate in land in Missouri or anywhere else. Right now he planned to visit a bathhouse, find an eating establishment, and then spend the night outside of town hidden away for a needed rest. The hotels would be bedbug infested or filled with people ready to take what funds someone dressed as a trapper might be carrying. Sharing a bed with a snoring, farting, probably unwashed stranger did not appeal to his Thalian sensibilities.

The sun was well over the eastern horizon when MacDonald knocked on the Rolfe's door. Rolfe opened the door with a wide grin.

“Welcome, Friend Mac. Frau Rolfe is in bed with our son, and the midwife is still with her. As soon as they wake, I'll introduce you to Martin Luther Rolfe. Maybe he will be a pastor or a rich merchant.”

“I rejoice with ye.” MacDonald used the formal words of Thalia.

“Twould ye rather I come back tomorrow?”

“No, with another mouth to feed, I need to make our plans. I think with all that has happened this will work.” He continued speaking as he closed the door and led MacDonald into the small kitchen. “We will become traders out of here and Santa Fe with a route clear into Texas.”

“But Texas might go to Spain. Last night at the restaurant, I heard men discussing that it would be a protectorate under Britain.”

“The South won't let that happen. They want Texas for a slave state. Once it becomes a state, we won't have to pay the country of Texas anything for trading there. There are German communities in the state and they would welcome us.

“Are you ready for a cup of coffee, Mac? There's some damn good coffee cake a neighbor brought over. Then we can look at figures. We'll need one, maybe two wagons. If we have two, we'll need to hire one or two men.”

“Aye, to the coffee and the treat. I dinna ken about selling merchandise till I see yere costs and what we twill be selling. It sounds risky. Mayhap we should do more trapping or join the army. If the Union takes in Texas, there may be war with Mexico. They twill nay like it.”

“The army doesn't pay enough to live on, Mac, but they need supplies. That's where an established firm would make more money.”

“Are there nay traders there?”

“Ja, but they can't fight off marauders like we can. Some might know the country, but it's always an iffy business. If we get lucky, we can become rich. Then I'll move Mrs. Rolfe and the family to Santa Fe or Texas. That way we'll see each other more often.”

“What kind of merchandise do we sell? Do ye ken about keeping accounts?”

“We sell doodads for the ladies, blankets, fabric, some whiskey, some guns and ammo, some beads for the tribes we run into, and maybe some metal pots and pans. First we go see what other traders are buying. That will tell us how we need to plan. Don't want food goods. Too heavy and might spoil. Ships take that in faster anyway.”

“Don't they take the same goods ye are planning on?”

“Yes, but they don't make it to the little towns and smaller settlements. Even if the goods get that far, they cost double, triple, or more. A trader coming in from the north would be welcomed.”

Chapter 6: Hard Times

Millard Hurley fought to unhitch the mules from the last wagon and get them hobbled. His shoulders were strained and hurting from the effort and one of the damn mules had stepped on his foot. It had been a fight with the mule teams everyday. His employers were not shy about telling him they were replacing him in the next civilized town.

Millard was in his middle forties with a sun lined face and graying hair, his exact age uncertain. Who bothered with such things anyway? He wouldn't have been hired out of Lawrence, Kansas except the other man had the bad luck to keel over dead. Millard was convinced the mules must have brought on a fit of apoplexy.

Rolfe appeared with an antelope. God knew how the bastard could find game when no one else could. Not in this dry, rocky place. MacDonald had hobbled and fed his horse and now was starting a fire behind one of the wagons. Dust stirred with every movement. This was a hellish part of Texas, all sand and rock unlike the prairie they just came through. MacDonald and Rolfe were delivering supplies to one of the new Army forts that had sprung up since the Mexican War. Millard was seriously wondering why he had agreed to work for them. These two drove men like animals and treated the animals better than men. He would have preferred a wagonload of whores instead of sundries for the dragoons.

Rolfe threw the antelope down and started to dismount when his horse began lifting its nose to the wind.

“Mac, something ain't right. Saddle your horse and bring your rifle. Hurley, du best grab your gun and be ready to ride a mule.” He swung his horse around to gaze at the horizon.

MacDonald never questioned Rolfe's instincts. He tossed dirt over the fire, grabbed his rifle and saddle before running towards his horse. On the horizon appeared a line of warriors that broke into a gallop, whooping and shaking something in their hands that looked like a stick with feathers on it.

Millard tried to mount the mule and was promptly dumped on his backside, cursing mules and the men who had brought him to this godforsaken country.

Rolfe aimed a shot at the oncoming men.

“Vhat du think, Mac?”

“There's too damn many of them.” MacDonald voice roared out over the mesquite and scrub brush savanna.

Millard was fighting the mule, trying to get it to stand still. The roar of Rolfe's Henry had startled the mules and they began running, some towards the oncoming men, others back the way they had come. There was a sinking feeling in his stomach and he raised his fist to hit the mule when he was grabbed from behind and lifted bodily off the ground.

MacDonald had one arm around his chest and was carrying him as his feet made running motions.

“Hold still till we get off a ways. Then ye can mount behind me,” came the roar in his ears and mind.

How the hell was the man holding on to him? Millard didn't care. A couple of the yelling bastards were riding after them, but the other yells seemed to grow dimmer.

Rolfe and MacDonald raced around a boulder and drew up.

“Get on behind me.” Millard found himself dumped on the ground and MacDonald's hand extended downward.

Rolfe had slid off his horse and took a quick shot around the rock. Then he jumped back in the saddle and pointed to the north before riding off. With a nod, MacDonald followed.

Two hours later they pulled up and dismounted. Rolfe took a swig out of his canteen and looked at MacDonald.

“Vhere's yours?”

“Back in the saddlebag that tis on the ground.”

“Damn careless.”

“Aye, it twas.”

Millard was shaking. “Be they gone?”

“Mayhap.” The big man shrugged. “What do ye think, friend Rolfe?

“I think they chased down the mules and now they're having a party mitt our goods and tonight's dinner. Vhat the hell do du think they're doing, Mac?”

The big man let out his breath. “Any chance we can make our own attack and recover our merchandise?”

“Vhen ve stopped at that boulder, I saw smoke. Vhat they ain't took, they've burned along mitt der vagons.” Rolfe fought to keep the German out of his speech. “Damn Kiowa. Du think the Comanche vould keep them too busy to bother mitt us. Ve need to move on, Mac. Ve valk the horses now and find wasser, then a good place to camp.”

“What about food?” Millard was regaining his courage.

“Ve go hungry tonight. No fire, and don't complain. Du damn lucky to be alive.” Rolfe glared at him and Millard swallowed. Rolfe probably would have left him back at the wagons.

Chapter 7: Friendship and Gold

MacDonald and Rolfe sat near a small campfire. Their one meal of the day, a small, skinned deer, was in a pit that was lined and covered with hot rocks. A small fire burned over the heated rocks. It was an improvised a cooking chamber constructed by Rolfe. Their money was gone and the people in this part of Texas did not know them.

Their conversation was low and grim. They had dropped Millard Hurley off at the nearest pueblo, a town more Mexican than the towns the Americans and immigrants had built or were building near their farms and plantations. They had left the hot, dry lands of Texas to the Comanche and the 2nd Dragoons. Here the land was green prairie grass with juniper and scrub oak. High bluffs and red rock mountain-like hills covered with trees jutted upward from the plains.

“We're busted, Mac. Do you have any ideas that will get us home alive?”

MacDonald was on his haunches and he rocked back and forth. He kenned where he was. The Golden One was hidden to the north, mayhap three or four days ride. There was still gold there. He had taken enough to buy a horse, equipment, clothes, and food when he left.

The year was 1850 and Texas and California were now part of the United States. It meant this land was being sold to white men like him and Rolfe. He had learned that land records were kept at the county seat and would have the legal description of the land covering his secret. Then he could find out if anyone owned the land, purchase the land from the owners, or from the state of Texas. He would probably need a lawyer, but he could use his mind to determine if people were honest or trying to cheat him.

Still, he had to consider Herman; his friend had taught him to survive in this wild land, lent him money to start in the trading business, and then made him full partner. Rolfe had given him the cover he needed to learn the ways of this world. How could he convince Herman that he had left the gold hidden all these years? Earth beings' short life spans meant they reckoned time differently than Thalians. Would his reaction be indignation or would he agree to go partners and become a rancher? MacDonald relished the idea. In Thalia, Don had supplied the kine to all of the Houses. It did nay matter that kine were called cattle here. It twas the same brown-eyed beastie.

“I have been thinking, Friend Rolfe. I like this land. Most of it tis open grassland and cattle do well here. They are running around free since the turmoil of the Mexican War and Texas claiming the Spanish land grants here and the United States in California. How would ye like to become a rancher?”

“Have you gone stark, raving mad? What the hell would we use for money?”

MacDonald glanced up. “Before I met ye, I stumbled on a cache of uh, well, it tis gold. I twas new in this land and did nay ken how to use it or where. It remains hidden, and the location tis near here; about four days ride at the most. Without yere teachings, I twould have died in this land or been reduced to starvation. Tis more than willing I am to share it with ye.”

“And this isn't a way to keep me silent if it's been stolen?”

MacDonald stood. “Friend Rolfe, ye canna believe that!”

“Well, was it stolen?”