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With all this, Josiah had another more pressing problem. If Emma ever
told any white people of how he had taken her to wife, Josiah guessed he would quickly
find himself hanging at the end of a rope. The mountain man tried to convince himself
that what he had done was perfectly harmless. So he had suggested to the Blackfoot
that he wanted a wife. He had. But Emma owed him as much, after all, he had saved
her life.
Josiah glanced back at the horse trailing his, and wondered how Emma was going to
treat him when he tussled her that night.
They hadn't been in the saddle for very long, before it was time to find a place
to make camp for the night. They had left the Blackfoots' campsite late that same
day, and Josiah had been anxious to get some space between them and the slain Indians.
Dead humans attracted all the wrong kind of wildlife, especially bears.
"How's yer leg feeling?" asked Josiah, helping Emma down from her horse.
Emma found a large rock nearby and sat down. After being jostled by the horse, it
felt good to hold still.
Without asking if he could, Josiah strode toward her and promptly lifted her dress
and petticoats to check the handkerchief. Emma flinched as he did this, though it
wasn't out of pain; Josiah was like a confident bear that knew he could do whatever
he wanted.
"It's doing good," he pronounced, letting down her dress. "Tomorrow
morning, we're getting a mite more distance between us and the Blackfoots' camp,
and then I'm going hunting."
"You're leaving me?" Emma asked in alarm.
Concealing his pleasure at her distress, Josiah shrugged. "I'll be back by sundown.
I wanna hunt buffalo, afore we reach the lodge. Winter's coming on, and I don't hanker
chewing hides and tree bark just to keep my belly full."
At this, Emma's ears perked up. "Lodge? What lodge?"
Quietly, Josiah regarded her for a few moments before answering. He could see she
was happy with the thought of having something over her head, and realized it had
likely been some time since she had had that luxury. "My Pa's cabin is through
the Yellowstone, in Blackfoot country," he explained.
"Your Pa?"
"He's dead," shrugged Josiah, as if it mattered little to him. "Unlikely
any white men will be bothering us, 'cause they'll be at winter quarters until springtime.
Besides, few is crazy enough to go very far into Blackfoot territory, for they hold
their scalps too dear."
Upon hearing this, Emma looked extremely hesitant. "I'm fond of mine as well,"
she confessed.
Josiah laughed. "Your scalp would like mighty fine in some warrior's lodge!
Yeller hair ain't common in these parts!"
Instead of shrinking back as Josiah half expected her to, Emma straightened her shoulders
and began gathering wood for their campfire. She saw nothing to laugh about, but
since she wasn't the one in control, all she could do was follow.
After Emma had gathered enough wood, Josiah took flint and steel and lit themselves
a fire. He pulled out the last of the elk meat from the Blackfoot camp and started
cooking it on a rock beside the open flame. |
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