“Why, thank you, ma’am,” he said. “This time I’m the one who will take it as a compliment.” He smiled a slow, easy smile that lit up his face like sunshine after a storm. “You, I mean Eddie here, mentioned something about a competition?”
She sliced into her chicken. “There’s a national competition for the most original sketch or painting that best depicts the culmination America’s Manifest Destiny.”
He sipped his coffee. “And you hope to find that in Gunlock?”
“Not in Gunlock but here in the West.” She put her fork down. “The western expansion typifies what’s best in America today. Pioneers taming a savage land. It shows the ultimate in character, strength, courage—”
“Patronization, condescension and forced assimilation,” Josh muttered.
“What?”
“Oh, I was only thinking about the Indians all those pioneers murdered in order to conquer the wilderness.”
“Murdered seems rather a harsh choice of words, don’t you think, Mr. Colter?”
“I call it like I see it.” He didn’t try to keep the sharpness from his voice. How could he when murder was so fresh in his mind?
If she noticed his sudden change of tone, she didn’t show it. Instead, she seemed to consider his remarks, then said simply, “I’d call it progress.”
“I see.” He thought of the high price the Indians had paid for this progress, knowing hers was the prevailing attitude. “I guess this means you won’t be making sketches of Indians then.”
“Indians?” Eddie spoke around cheeks pouched out with steak. He swallowed hard and cleared his throat. “Good Lord, are there still Indians running around?” He fixed Alex with a hard stare. “You didn’t say anything about savages, Alex.”
There was that word again. Why the hell did all whites think all Indians were savages? When whites massacred Indians, it was a great victory. When Indians retaliated, it was a great slaughter.
For a moment he wondered what these good people would think if they knew he was half Indian?
“Don’t worry, Eddie,” Josh reassured him. “With only a few exceptions, all those savages, as you call them, are on the reservations.”
“Whew.” Eddie heaved a sigh of relief, and Josh didn’t resent him for it. He was a boy. How could he know the truth? He wished they could see what it was like, how the Indians lived, then perhaps…
Eddie leaned in. “I was worried there for a minute, Mr. Colter. I mean, I agreed to come along to help Alex, you know, with the wagon and such, but I wasn’t counting on any trouble. Of course, I mean to protect her.”
Josh gave the boy the once-over. “And just who is it you are protecting her from?” By the look of him, he couldn’t protect a baby in a bathtub, let alone anything the frontier would throw at them. “I don’t want to worry you, but Indians are the least of your problems. San Francisco and New York might be civilized, but out here the James Boys are still holding up banks, not to mention several other gangs running loose between here and the Canadian border.”
“Outlaws?” Eddie repeated in a hushed whisper, as though he thought such men were lurking behind the potted palm.
“This is a wide-open country, you know,” Josh told them. “There isn’t a policeman or a sheriff on every corner. Hell, there aren’t even very many corners.”
Eddie turned a worried gaze on his cousin. “Alex, maybe this isn’t such a good idea. Montana is awfully far.”
Alex stiffened. “Mr. Colter, please don’t frighten Eddie.” Then to Eddie, she said, “Don’t worry so, we’ll be fine. The mere fact that it is such a wide, open country means the chances of us running into some such group as the James Gang is highly unlikely.”
Eddie dragged in a breath. “Are you sure?”
“Sure,” Alex confirmed, not liking this turn of conversation. She had to finish this trip. She couldn’t do it alone, and she didn’t appreciate Mr. Colter scaring Eddie to death.
But all this talk about outlaws brought caution to the fore. She’d heard about men who pretended friendship to unsuspecting travelers, only to be scouting for some group who would later waylay them and rob them. She was a woman alone, well, nearly alone.
The caution bell in her head sounded.
It went to the level of a six-alarm fire when Josh Colter said, “I’m leaving tomorrow myself. Perhaps if you told me where, exactly, you are going, I could give you directions, tell you what to look out for and such. I believe you said something about Montana?”
“That’s right,” Eddie began, “there’s a friend of Alex’s who has a ranch—”
“You know,” Alex interrupted, “it occurs to me, Mr. Colter, that I don’t know you very well. And if what you say is true, then it would be unwise for me to discuss my plans…with anyone.” She gave him her sweetest smile in an effort to soften her words.
Smart girl, he thought grudgingly. Too smart. “I applaud your caution. It’s just that I’m heading north myself and thought I could ride along, give you a hand.”
“Yes, Alex,” Eddie entreated, “wouldn’t that be a good idea?”
Alex’s expression was blank. “It’s very kind of you to offer, Mr. Colter. However, I think we’ll be fine by ourselves. We are well-armed, should the need arise. I am an excellent shot,” she added deliberately.
Josh made a derisive sound in his throat. “What do you shoot? Targets?”
“Why, yes.”
“It’s a lot different when you’re about to blow a hole in a man.”
The silence was long and discomforting. Alex pushed her plate away and folded and replaced her napkin on the table. “I’m quite finished with dinner. How about you, Eddie?” She stood.
“Well, no.” Eddie glanced between the two. “Oh, yes, I’m finished.” He stood. “Nice meeting you, Mr. Colter.” They shook hands again.
She didn’t extend her hand this time. “Good evening, Mr. Colter. It was nice to have met you.”
With that, she turned and strode from the dining room with Eddie following close behind.
Josh sat there for a long time, his dinner forgotten.
Lady, you and I are a long way from finished.
The team had been hitched for the past thirty minutes. The remaining supplies had been loaded and all was ready. Alex was sleepy but excited as they pulled away from Frankel’s livery stable at daybreak.
The wagon creaked and groaned like the old-timer it was. The canvas covering was dirty white and looked a little thin where it curved over the front bow. It flapped and fluttered with the movement and with the early morning breeze.
Not a soul stirred as they rolled out of town. Too early even for the dogs, she thought, stifling a yawn with the back of her gloved hand.
She shifted on the seat, grateful that Eddie had put a folded blanket over the rough wood. She could tell, already, this seat was hard as granite and it was going to get a lot harder as the day wore on—and her behind wore down.
Eddie was engrossed in trying to get a little speed out of the team, moving about as fast as ice freezing.
“Git