Chronicles Of The Maca Collection

Chapter 6

Zebediah L. MacDonald surveyed the wooden shack and pushed his hat back on his dark, straight hair. Like many of the buildings in frontier America, the ramshackle building was composed of logs, flat boards, and stone. The builders had used clay for mortar and then the clay, flat boards, and chimney had been whitewashed. Why one of the fierce storms of wind and rain had not demolished the place would remain a profound mystery. A weathered, carved sign proclaimed TAVERN, painted in faded black letters. The N was almost obliterated by a wide crack. Perhaps they twill have a brew, he thought. That thought was strictly optimism. Americans seemed to prefer whiskey or rum in these wild lands.

He heard shouts from within as he tied his reins to the hitching rail.

“Damned Dutchman! Yu all had that king palmed.”

As he stepped through the door he blinked his eyes at the smoky darkness. Four men were sitting at a lopsided table playing whist and the blocky man with long blond hair was speaking.

“Like hell. I don"t need to hide a card vhen playing mitt dumm kopfs like du!”

The sandy haired man jumped up, his hands throwing the table towards the last speaker. As if on cue, the other two had risen and moved to the side, extracting their bowie knives. They were tall, rangy frontiersmen dressed in homespun.

The man they were attacking was shorter, barrel-chested, and stocky. He was dressed in buckskin and moccasins. He proved nimble enough to avoid the table and pulled his own bowie knife. He crouched, his arms slightly extended, and his eyes turning hard.

For a moment the three men stopped, surprised by his swiftness. Then they separated to come at him from different sides.

MacDonald took one look, shrugged at the thought of missing the chance for a brew, and stepped behind one man. His knotted fist crashed into the man"s head and the man crumbled to the floor.

The man at the bar was shouting while waving an old flintlock at them. “Get out, yu bastards, get out. Yu all cain"t wreck my place.”

The blonde man in buckskins was leaning forward to swipe at his opponents. One attacker moved in with his longer arm reach. The shorter man whirled out of the way, turned and drove his knife into the man"s side, raking the knife outward and turning to meet the next man. He straightened and stared. The next man was kicking and turning red-faced while a giant of a man had him around the arms and was squeezing the air from his chest. The other man was stretched out on the floor. The owner of the place now had his flintlock aimed at the giant. His bowie knife went sailing through the air, straight into the owner"s shoulder.

The flintlock jumped upward and the ball pinged against the ceiling beams. Then the ball and bark chips fell to the floor. The roar from the musket, however, caused the giant to turn and drop the man he had been squeezing.

“He appears to be in on the scheme to rob ye.” Surprise mingled in the rumbling voice of the giant.

“Ja, sure, probably hired them. Du mitt them?”

“Oh, nay, I twas about to purchase a brew.”

The blonde man shook his head. “Damn fool, du could have been killed.” He walked over to the owner who was holding a dirty towel against his shoulder and trying to find another ball to ram into the flintlock.

The mountain man yanked the flintlock out of the man"s hand and his knife from the man"s shoulder. A scream ricocheted around the small room.

“I"ll leave this outside. Du can vorry about your friends.” He jerked his head at the three in various states of consciousness.

To MacDonald he said, “If du ain"t mitt these fellows, du best come mitt me.”

Something about the hard blue eyes, the competent warrior"s stance, and the male self-assurance seemed to win the big man"s respect. He nodded at the wounded owner and followed the man outside.

“Du know this country?”

“Nay, I have but arrived.”

The man snorted. “Thought as much dressed like that. Du look like some city boy looking for adventure. Ve ride for awhile, then ve can introduce each other.”

They pulled up under a grove of oak and ash trees near a large, rushing creek that was swollen from a summer rainfall. The blonde man rode a sturdy brown horse and led two mules packed with traps and camping paraphernalia. He dismounted and tied the reins to a tree trunk and MacDonald did the same.

For a moment they eyed each other and then a browned hand streaked out.

“I"m Herman Rolfe and danke, ah, thank du. One against three vas too many.” A smile lit his face and eyes.

MacDonald"s brown eyes filled with amusement and he returned the smile as he shook hands. “I am called Zebediah L. MacDonald.” How he wished he could have used Llewellyn, Maca of Don, but that must stay as hidden as the Golden One.

Golden One“Vant to say vhere du are going or du do vant to stay quiet about that?”

“I am nay certain. I had thought about going to Texas. They say it tis a good place for a man.”

“Do du know how to cross Injun country?”

“I have a map I bought in St. Louis.”

For a moment the blue eye regarded him. “Du are going to get yourself killed, boy. Let"s jaw a bit.” He sank down on his haunches and MacDonald followed suit.

Rolfe grabbed a twig from the ground and used it to draw a crude map. “Ve are about here. To get to Texas, du have to go through Missouri and Indian Territory or Arkansas. Then, depending on vhere du go, du go through parts of Texas that ain"t settled yet. There"s Kiowa, Osage, Platte, Choctaw, Cherokee, Comanche tribes, and Apache. All of them raid for horses or any other damn reason. Most of the Cherokee are more like us, but there"s always a vild bunch. If they stop du, they"ll vant something to let du pass or they"ll take your scalp und your horse. They could do that anyway if du don"t know how to avoid them. Then there are men who run from the law. Some are dangerous, some just vant to be left alone.”

MacDonald swallowed. He did nay have the Thalian Warrior training for being among primitives. Nay did he ken this land, but the Golden One was buried deep in the earth of Texas. He had spent months searching for a safe place and then more months enlarging a tunnel and cave to house his spaceship. All of the excavating was done at night away from the prying eyes of anyone that might ride through the area. He had seen no one. It seemed to be a vacant land, but this man was telling him there were inhabitants.

Golden OneHe had taken one of the Scouts and hidden it near a small city. There he had purchased clothing that did nay fit. Llewellyn changed his name and rented a room before he hired a woman to sew him trousers and shirts. She also knitted socks and a cobbler made the boots he was wearing. Only then did he buy a horse, saddle, and equipment that the store owner said he would need if traveling alone across the plains. Somehow he had to possess the land where the Golden One rested below the earth.

Golden OneRolfe looked at him. “Me, I"m a fur trapper. I"m heading back up towards Ft. Laramie. Once it"s cold enough, I"ll start laying my traps. Dat"s vhy the two pack mules. My partner von"t go again as he got married. I"ll teach du how to trap and survive. Du get ten percent of der profits.”

“I"m grateful for the offer, but I have nay kenning of how much that tis or how long this twould take.”

“It depends on the market for furs. This year not so good, but I made enough to put avay about a thousand dollars. Dot"s after ve split the take. Dot means du vould haf about one hundred dollars or more.”

“How long does this take?” He remembered how rapidly his funds had dwindled.

“About six months.”

“That twould be but sixteen dollars per month.”

The blue eyes hardened. “Ja, but that"s a damn good vage, and I supply the equipment. Du might stay alive and learn how to survive. I teach du how. The only vons better than me are the Injuns. And I provide grub.”

He saw the frown on MacDonald"s face. “Dot"s food, boy. Don"t du understand American?”

“It seems I dinna ken what ye said. Nay do I ken what wages are here.”

Rolfe sighed. “If ve make a good profit and du learn fast, I"ll up it to fifteen percent. But du buy the coat and blanket du vill need. Once ve"re out on the prairie, I can kill a buffalo. If there"s time we"ll tan it enough for making a varm tent.”

His words left MacDonald"s mind reeling. This man was one who would not let MacDonald"s mind into his. It was obvious if he were to get back to the spaceship, he needed money to survive and he needed to learn the ways of men in this land.

“That tis much fairer. I shall earn that fifteen percent.” He grinned and they both stood.

“Ve shake on it now.”

Neither man tried to show their strength in the grip of shaking. Rolfe because he knew the big man/boy was stronger. MacDonald did not because he did not need to prove what was obvious.

“I"ll teach du Deutsche too. Dot"s German in English.” He grinned. “Now ve ride to the next town vhere du can buy the things du need. I"ll make sure that they don"t cheat du.”

He hesitated a moment. “How about I call du Mac? It sounds better than boy if du vorking mitt me.”

“Aye, it does sound better. Someone is apt to laugh if ye call me boy and I"m towering over ye.”

Rolfe broke off a chew and plopped it into his mouth. “Und du buy your own tobacco”