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This spring he had gone to St. Louis for the first time in six years to restock his supplies, which he ordinarily would have purchased through the Rocky Mountain Fur Company – his former employer. Now that he was a free trapper, he had to find his provisions elsewhere. While in the city, he’d made an impulsive decision to visit St. Charles. A young woman walking along the docks by the Missouri River had caught his eye. There was something oddly familiar about her. It had taken him a few minutes to try and recollect where he’d seen her before, when he suddenly realized who she was.
Henry Lewis’ sister, Evelyn, had blossomed from a spindle-legged girl into a beautiful curvaceous young woman. Her auburn hair was coiled properly atop her head and shimmered golden like the changing autumn aspen leaves in Jackson’s Hole. She paid no notice to the many men who stopped their work to watch her walk by. She had glanced his way momentarily, but there was no recognition in her eyes. She’d quickly averted her gaze and stuck her pert nose in the air. Can’t blame her, now can you, Walker? You must look a sight.
Alex absently ran his fingers through the thick bushy hair that covered much of his face. No one else had recognized him, either. What the hell had he been thinking? Six years away from civilization, and they would welcome him back with open arms, with him looking like a wild savage? He’d barely escaped with his life after his unknown attacker shot him. Curiosity about Evelyn Lewis after seeing her at the riverfront led him to her folks’ farm. He wasn’t sure what he’d find there, but a strange desire to see her again had overruled any common sense at the time.
No matter how often over the last several months he told himself to get her out of his mind, he couldn’t shake the memory of Evie’s beautiful face. After seeing nothing but Injuns and trappers who looked as wild and unkempt as he, Henry’s little sister had been a feast to his starving eyes. She had to be married already, he told himself forcefully. Regardless, she was not for the likes of him, and he was never going back to St. Charles.
A sudden grunt and loud scraping noise to his left made him groan silently. Gritting his teeth, Alex raised his head slightly and focused his eyes into the darkness. A human form inched awkwardly on the ground in his direction.
Dammit! He could think of only one person who didn’t have the brains to do what he was told. The movements were too loud and clumsy to be made by an Injun. Why the hell hadn’t that fool Yancey listened and stayed behind with the others? The stupid greenhorn had been following him around like a stray dog ever since his return from St. Louis a month ago.
Alex listened for any other possible sounds that weren’t made by the nighttime creatures of the wilderness. Nothing. All seemed quiet at the moment. Slowly, quietly, he laid his rifle on the ground. In one lightning fast move, he leapt to his feet and pulled his hunting knife from his belt. Before the man crawling toward him had a chance to react, Alex bent over him, and pinned him to the ground with one foot on his spine. He gripped his opponent’s hair and forcefully yanked back. Hoping to prevent a scream from his victim, Alex held the sharp blade of his knife to the man’s throat.
“You’d be dead if I was a Blackfoot,” Alex growled quietly into the man’s ear. “I should do us both a favor and kill you right now.” For emphasis, he pulled the man’s head back further. Alex held him in what was, no doubt, a painful position for another minute. “When I let go, keep your mouth shut,” he warned. Loud, quick gasps for air were his answer.
Slowly, Alex eased his hold on Yancey’s scalp, and pulled his knife away from the greenhorn’s throat. Disgusted, he pushed the man’s head into the dirt.
“You don’t start listening, you’re gonna be dead, and get the rest of us killed, too,” Alex said coldly, and walked away to retrieve his rifle.
“The others dared me to sneak up on you,” Yancey gasped, a quiver in his voice.
“Keep your goddamn voice down,” Alex hissed. “I ain’t in the mood to die tonight because of your stupidity.” He glared into the darkness. For all he knew, the fool had already alerted the band of Blackfeet who were camped not a hundred yards away. Their campfires had burned down long ago, and Alex was ready to execute his plan. For two days, he’d tracked this group of Injuns who had stolen not only his saddle and packhorses, but those of several of his companions as well. Luckily, no one had lost their hair in the skirmish with the Blackfeet that day, but he wasn’t about to let them get away with his horses.
Last fall, after nearly six years of working for the Rocky Mountain Fur Company, he’d finally decided to strike out on his own, and his pack animals carried all his worldly possessions, not to mention a year’s worth of back breaking work in the form of beaver pelts that he planned to sell at rendezvous in a few days. He’d be damned if he was going to lose it all to a bunch of cutthroat Injuns. His friend and mentor, Daniel Osborne, had convinced him that he’d be better off as a free trapper rather than busting his back to stuff the pockets of William Ashley and his partner. Even after the company was sold to Jed Smith and the Sublettes, who were all experienced mountain men, he still had to turn in every beaver pelt he brought in while in their employ.
