Page 5 of Teton Sunrise

If Henry was going to apprehend Alex, then she wanted to be there to look him in the eyes and demand answers. Why had he killed her parents after everything her ma and pa had done for him while he was growing up? Her mother had tended to the injuries inflicted by his father as best as she knew how, and treated him like a son. Often, he’d spend several days at the farm before returning to his own family. How could he kill the people who had been so kind to him?

Alex has always had it in him to become just as ruthless as his father, and the wilderness has made him ten times more so. Henry’s words echoed in her mind. If that were so, then how did Henry figure to apprehend him? Henry was a farmer. He could shoot an occasional buck or snare a rabbit when called for, but he was not a killer. One glance at the men who stood with her brother gave her the answer she needed. Perhaps her brother had chosen wisely when he hired the men who now surrounded him. Not only would they protect her brother, they would also hunt down Alex and bring him to justice.

Her lips curved in a quick smile. Henry would be spitting mad when he found out that he couldn’t get rid of her so quickly. She glanced down at the britches she wore. She had spent the better part of the night altering a pair of Henry’s old pants and shirt to fit her slighter form. By wearing men’s clothes, combined with the heavy coat she wore, she hoped to keep her gender disguised at least until they were far enough away from St. Louis, and it would be too late to turn around.

Her ploy had worked before when she was younger. Many years ago she’d donned Henry’s old clothes when her mother forbade her to watch the men castrate calves. Her mother had been adamant that it was not something for a girl to watch. Her disguise had been successful then, so why not now? This would be her only chance to follow her brother. Once she confronted Henry, he would have no choice but to bring her along. Scanning the hustle and bustle of men and horses along the shoreline, her eyes rested on the keelboat that her brother and his companions had just boarded. Now she only needed to figure out a way to get onto that boat without notice.

Slowly, she made her way to the docks, keeping her head down and her hands in her coat pockets as she walked. Amid the multitude of people going about their business, no one seemed to take notice of her. She moved between boxes of cargo, making her way toward her objective. If she could somehow manage to get on board the boat without being seen, she could hide among the freight goods until the vessel was well on its way up the Missouri. Her fingers wrapped around the bread she had rolled in a piece of cloth and stuffed into her coat pocket. At least she would have something to eat later on.

“Hey, boy!”

Evelyn stopped in her tracks. Her heart leapt up into her throat. Slowly, she looked up to see who had shouted at her so gruffly. She expelled the breath she’d been holding when a young boy scurried past her to stop in front of a burly man wearing a sweat-stained cotton shirt and dirty britches. He looked as though he could lift an ox.

“Yes, sir,” the boy said eagerly.

“Take these here sacks up into that there boat.” He pointed to some burlap bags at his feet, then toward the boat Evelyn wanted to board. He tossed a couple of coins into the child’s open hand. The sacks looked much too big and heavy for the one boy to carry.

“Here, let me help you.” Evelyn quickly stepped up next to the boy, seizing her chance to get on board the boat. She made sure to keep her head down, lest the big burly man noticed her.

“I ain’t sharing my coins with you,” the boy said in a warning tone, and stuffed the money into the pocket of his britches.

Evelyn smiled. “I don’t want your coins. I’m only trying to help.” She bent over the sacks, and lifted one end while the boy lifted the other. Despite his surly disposition, he shot her a grateful look.

By the time they were halfway up the gangplank with a heavy sack between them, perspiration beaded Evelyn’s forehead even in the chill of the morning air. “What is in these sacks?” she groaned, the muscles in her arms burning from exertion.

The boy shrugged. “Dunno. Gunpowder, most likely.”

Evelyn stepped off the plank and into the boat, when a dark figure blocked her way. He was clad in buckskins and a fur coat that seemed much to heavy an article to wear in early May. She shot a hasty glance at the bushy-faced man, whose head was covered by a coonskin cap, then lowered her gaze just as quickly. A foul odor that reminded her of a decaying chicken and rotten eggs emanated from the man’s clothing and Evelyn coughed, trying to keep the bile from rising up her throat.

“Allow me,” the man said, his words laced with a thick French accent, and without waiting for a reply from either her or the boy holding the other end of the sack, grabbed hold of their burden.

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