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Show LEE NELSON'S to Boggs. Sipping slowly from the cup, he backed towards the door, never taking his eyes from her. When his back touched the door, he reached out and poured the rest of the water down the barrel of the old Hawken rifle. Loaded or not, the rifle was now useless. Boggs started towards Caroline, his wooden stump thumping solidly solid-ly on the plank floor. She backed up until she felt the warm stove on the back of her legs, then leaned back over the stove as he continued con-tinued towards her. Boggs stopped a step or two in front of her. "Better get out of that dress now," he hissed. Caroline didn't really think about what she was doing as she grabbed the big kettle of steaming chokecherry preserves and slid it across the stove top towards Boggs. Her intention in-tention was to gather enough momentum to enable her to sling the big pot into Bogg's belly. But he was too far away. The heavy pot landed on the floor at Boggs' feet, the hot, sticky contents spilling over his black boot and around the wooden stub, which became a helpless support in the sea of slippery jam. Boggs was momentarily off balance, and when he tried to plant the wooden stub on a dry spot of floor, the stub was slippery and useless. He fell to the floor as Caroline lunged for the baby. She had just picked up the baby side she was shaking. "Is Dan around?" hissed Boggs without moving. "Yes. In the fields," she lied. "You'll be sorry if he finds you here when he returns. ..and that could be any time now." Boggs didn't appear to be alarmed by her threat. "Must have an awful fast horse," said Boggs. "What?" "Last I saw old Storm, he was heading east to South Pass with Rockwell. Just a few days ago," said Boggs, seemingly delighted at catching her in her lie. "What do you want?" demanded deman-ded Caroline. "First of all, like to git off this stub," he said, stepping forward through the doorway without waiting wait-ing for her to invite him him. Caroline Caro-line drew back, giving Boggs the space he needed. He pushed the door shut behind him. Too late, she decided she should have slammed the door in his face. ted to calm her. "Look," he said, an unfamiliar calmness to his voice, "it's been a long time, those fights between Storm and me. Hate grows stale." He paused, carefully picking his words, maintaining what seemed to be a thoughtful mood. "I figure Storm owes me something some-thing for this leg, this eye and ear. I'm on my way to California. Need supplies. How about helping me out?" "What do you need?" asked Caroline, a glimmer of hope in her voice. Maybe, just maybe, Boggs could be satisfied with some sup-plies. sup-plies. "Flour, bacon, beans, coffee, harness leather, the usual. A little whiskey wouldn't hurt." Utah was under martial law and Caroline knew an order had been issued by Daniel H. Wells not to sell supplies to emigrant trains. With the U.S. Army invading Utah there might not be any crops the following year, and every available One instant he was getting ready to kill her and her baby. The next he was unleashing hate and venom on a former slave he hadn't seen for nearly 10 years. CHAPTER 12 Caroline was surprised to hear a knock on the door. Sarah and the children never knocked. Even Indians, In-dians, who came begging for food on occasion, usually called from the front gate. She was surprised one of the dogs hadn't barked, then remembered the boys had gone fishing down to the creek and the dogs had probably followed. Sarah and the girls had gone to town earlier ear-lier in the wagon and weren't expected ex-pected back until dark. The baby was sleeping in the crib. Caroline felt a little uneasy, as if something was wrong, as if there was something to fear. How silly. She shouldn't feel that way just because be-cause Dan was off in Wyoming with Porter Rockwell. Dan was the one in danger, not her. She was standing near the wood stove, stirring a steamy kettle of chokecherry preserves. Pushing the kettle to a cooler part of the stove, she wiped her hands on a moist towel. "Is anyone home?" asked a distantly dis-tantly familiar voice s the knock sounded again. Caroline had heard that voice before, but she couldn't remember where. It was probably an old frend. Still, she resisted the temptation to just ask the visitor in. She put the towel down, making sure she completely covered a long butcher knife lying on the counter. She felt a little foolish for the uneasy un-easy feeling in her stomach that refused re-fused to go away. As Caroline reached for the door latch, she took note of Dan's old .40 caliber Hawken rifle leaning against the jamb on the hinge side of the door. Dan usually kept that gun loaded, but she couldn't remember re-member if it was loaded now. Swinging the door wide, she was speechless, recognizing Dan's old Missouri enemy, a grinning Dick Boggs. His grease-stained hat was in his hand, a gesture of pretended politeness. The top of his mostly bald head was smooth and white like the belly of a fish. Boggs' curly red beard was partly part-ly gray now, still flecked with specks of dried food enough to make her wonder if he had washed it since their last meeting nearly nine years earlier. She noticed the chipped and dirty wooden stub apparently the same one installed after losing his foot in Dan's bear trap. The patch over Boggs eye was new since she had last seen him. Caroline remembered Dan telling her how the big brown and white dog had grabbed Boggs by the head, penetrating the eye sockett and shredding an ear. She assumed the eye patch was a result of the same injury, there being a mangled ear on the same side. Boggs' paunch was different too, not as large as before. The past few months on the trail had thinned him down, made him tougher and meaner-looking, if that were possible. possi-ble. There was a pistol on his hip. Beyond him, behind the gate, was a team of mules and a wagon. "Aren't you going to invite an old friend?" asked Boggs, a hint of mockery in his voice. Caroline didn't play along. "You're not an old friend," she replied. "Now get off this place, right now." Caroline was surprised at how firm her voice sounded. In- Boggs twisted around in his jam wallow and looked up into the face of the biggest, blackest Indian he had ever seen dressed in leggings, leg-gings, breechcldut and moccasins mocca-sins bare from the waist up a broad, muscular man with short, curly black hair. "Member me, Boss? Was yo' big buck, Ike," said the black man. "Still are," said Boggs, swinging his pistol around and pointing it at the black Indian. "Got the papers in my wagon to prove it. You ran away and are going to pay hell for it." Caroline was amazed at how fast Boggs could react. One instant he was getting ready to kill her and her baby. The next he was unleashing hate and venom on a former slave he hadn't seen for nearly 10 years. Ike, who was standing in the doorway, turned his head and said something in Indian to his companions compan-ions mounted on ponies beyond the front gate. Then he turned back to Boggs. "Tell them to get out of here," ordered Boggs. "Already tole 'm what to do," said Ike, "Somedin' happen to me or de missus and dey shoot dem mules, stake you out in de corral. Plenty flies dere. Den skin ol' Boggs, a inch at a time. Take a week. Dem Injuns doan understan' English. Do what I say. Me boss man." "You're a dumb nigger!" scramed Boggs. "Now tell them Indians to get the..." Ike's foot shot forward, faster than Boggs could react. Before Boggs could pull the trigger, the gun was flying across the room. Young Pat scampered after it, picking pick-ing it up with both hands and pointing point-ing it back at Boggs. "Shoot 'em, boy," said Ike. "No!" shouted Caroline. Her intention in-tention was not to save Boggs' life but to protect the boy from the memory of having killed a man. "Git in yo' wagon," ordered Ike. "Can't get up," whimpered Boggs. "floor's too slippery for my wooden leg." Ike picked up the pail Pat had begun scraping the jam into and poured the sticky contents over Boggs' head. "Crawl," ordered Ike, delivering deliver-ing a swift, firm kick to the belly to help Boggs off to a fast start. Ike's companions were at the door now, helping hurry Boggs along as he crawled, cursing, to his wagon. They rolled him in the dust several times, a thick coat of dust caking to the sticky jam. After returning the knife to Caroline, the Indians threw Boggs into the back of his wagon and whipped his mules into a gallop. "Where's dat hay you wants cut and hauled?" asked Ike, finally turning to Caroline. That's when she rembered having sent for Ike to help with the hay as Dan had asked her to do. She was glad Ike had arrived when he had. bit of food needed to be preserved. Still, she knew the authorities would understand why she had to give supplies to Boggs. Anything to get rid of him. She turned and pulled a sack of flour out from under the counter, then the remains of a large sack of sugar. "We don't have any beans," she said. "But after we put this stuff in your wagon I'll get some bacon and harness leather from the barn." Boggs didn't move. He just sat there, continuing to stare at Caroline. Caro-line. "Is there anything else?" she asked. "Gets mightly lonely, a man traveling alone across the plains," he said. He stood up. Caroline realized she had been foolish thinking Boggs would be satisfied with supplies only. She lunged for the knife, but Boggs was there first. "Wondered why you kept looking look-ing at that towel," he said, backing away, slipping the knife into his belt. Then to her surprise he said, "Get me a cup of water and I'll load these supplies and be on my way." Maybe, Caroline thought, he really was going to leave without harming her or the baby. She reached for the dipper and filled it with cool spring water from the bucket beneath the counter. Reaching out slowly, she handed it and was headed for the door when the click of the cocking hammer on Boggs' pistol brought her to a halt. "Stop or I'll shoot," ordered Boggs. Caroline turned, wishing Dan had killed this man years ago. "Who shall I shoot first, you or the kid?" laughed Boggs. Suddenly the door burst open. "Injuns!" shouted Sarah's oldest son Pat as he charged into the cabin, almost falling over the fallen Boggs before catching himself. "Git over by your ma," ordered Boggs. The boy was only eleven, but he understood the danger of the threatening pistol and obeyed. "Now clean this slop up so I can i get up," ordered Boggs, speaking to the boy. "Stay where you are," he said to Caroline. The boy didn't move. "Do what he says," said Caroline, Caro-line, beginning to give the boy instructions in-structions on how to clean up the jam. "But Injuns is coming," protested pro-tested the boy. "Git to work, Injuns'll keep," said Boggs. The boy had no sooner begun scooping the jam into an empty pail when a new voice was heard from the doorway. "Betta put dat gun down, Mas-sah Mas-sah Boggs," ordered a strong, masculine mas-culine voice but not an Indian voice. He seated himself on a stool next to the sleeping baby's crib, resting one of his grimy hands on the crib railing. As she looked at Boggs, Caroline was thinking about the rifle behind the door and the knife under the towel. If Boggs touched ' the child, she would go for one or the other. "Storm's kid?" asked Boggs, nodding towards the sleeping infant. in-fant. Caroline didn't respond. Her heart was thundering in her chest, her palms were wet, her stomach was queasy. She was ready to defend de-fend the baby with her life if necessary. neces-sary. Boggs seemed to sense her alarm, slowing removing his hand from the crib. A fast or sudden movement would have triggered an attack by Caroline. "What do you want?" demanded deman-ded Caroline. . "To make you sweat a little," chuckled Bogg . "You've done that already. "Guess I have, the way that . dress is sticking to your body." Caroline didn't look down. She decided that when the time arrived for action she would go for the knife. "Maybe you ought to take it off, make yourself more comfortable," continued Boggs. Again he sensed Caroline was ' about to do something and attemp- |