Wilderness double editio.., p.1
Wilderness Double Edition 16, page 1
The Home of Great Western Fiction!
Blood Kin
Growing up in the wild frontier of the Rockies, Zach King survived countless dangers, from nature and from human predators. Like his father, the legendary Nate King, Zach has learned to anticipate threats before they appear. But even Zach can’t predict the danger he’ll face when he travels with his fiancée to meet her family in St. Louis. He knows they’ll probably look down their noses at him because he’s a half-breed. He’s used to that by now. But he doesn’t know just how far his beloved’s family will go to “protect” her from marrying Zach. Some of the self-righteous relatives will stop at nothing to save the family’s good name ... even murder.
The Westward Tide
Life in the majestic Rockies is hard. Only the hardiest and bravest of pioneers can survive the never-ending dangers of the frontier. Still, young Zach King can’t wait to return there with his bride-to-be. For the frontier is his home, the only place he feels free from the constraints and prejudices of so-called civilization. But it looks like he’ll have to postpone the homecoming just a little longer. He has no choice but to agree to lead a wagon train of dangerously unprepared settlers into the mountains. Without his help they’ll surely die. But even with it, will they be able to survive a trek through lands ruled by bloodthirsty Pawnees?
WILDERNESS DOUBLE EDITION
31: BLOOD KIN
32: THE WESTWARD TIDE
By David Robbins Writing as David Thompson
First Published by Leisure Books in 1999
Copyright © 1999, 2018 by David Robbins
First Edition: October 2018
Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information or storage and retrieval system, without the written permission of the author, except where permitted by law.
Our cover features The Californios, painted by Gordon Crabb, and used by permission.
This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book
Series Editor: Mike Stotter
Text © Piccadilly Publishing
Published by Arrangement with the Author.
WILDERNESS 31: BLOOD KIN
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
WILDERNESS 32: THE WESTWARD TIDE
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
About the Author
WILDERNESS 31: BLOOD KIN
To Judy, Joshua, and Shane
One
“It’s your deal, Injun. Make sure you keep the cards on top of the table where we can see ’em.”
The thinly veiled insult caused Zachary King to tense. For a moment he considered leaping across the table and throttling the man responsible. But then he glanced at Adam Tyler, who sat on his right, and remembered what Tyler had told him the previous night: “The first rule of gambling, son, is to never let your emotions get the better of you. You do and you’re dead. It’s as simple as that.”
Swallowing his pride, Zach picked up the deck and shuffled as Adam had taught him. When he dealt, he did so slowly, deliberately, so everyone could plainly see he was dealing from the top.
“Hell, Injun,” said the same player who had insulted him before. “A damn turtle could go faster than you.”
Adam Tyler cleared his throat. He was a tall, broad shouldered man, dressed in an expensive black suit and frilled white shirt. His brown hair, graying at the temples, was neatly combed. Gray-blue eyes that glinted like steel blades fixed on the speaker. “Is it something you ate, Brak? Is that why you’re so disagreeable tonight? Or is it that you just don’t like the cut of my young friend’s clothes?”
Zach didn’t quite understand Tyler’s last remark. His clothes were as fine as the gambler’s. In fact, Tyler had given them to him. They consisted of a double-breasted blue frock coat, striped trousers, a tartan vest, shirt and silk cravat. Typical attire for white men in St. Louis, Zach had learned. His long raven hair was tucked under his jacket, which was open at the front so he had quick access to his pistols and bowie.
The man called Brak paused in the act of reaching for his cards. He was a beefy chunk of muscle with beetling brows and dark, beady eyes. His brown suit was the best money could buy but it was rumpled and wrinkled, as if he had slept in it, and flecked with specks of dust and food. “He’s your friend, you say? Adopting wayward pups now, are you, Tyler?”
“My personal business, Brak, is none of your concern.” A sharp edge laced the tall gambler’s casual comment.
“And I would never presume to pry,” Brak responded. “I’m surprised, is all. You’ve always been a loner.” Brak fixed his beady eyes on Zach. “Though, now that I think of it, I did hear someone mention you had taken a kid under your wing. Of course, I never figured it would be a half-breed.”
Zach tensed again. Being called a ’breed never sat well with him. All his life he’d had to put up with bigoted whites and red men alike who looked down their noses at him because of his mixed lineage. He’d had no say in who his parents were, yet most held it against him, as if having a white father and a Shoshone mother somehow made him inferior. “I’d rather you didn’t call me that,” he said harshly.
Brak grinned. “A mite touchy, are we? Sure, kid. Whatever you want. I’m happy to oblige a friend of Tyler’s.” Picking up his cards, he shot a barb at the tall gambler. “Your protégé has a lot to learn, doesn’t he?”
Adam Tyler frowned—and so did Zach. He was upset at himself for letting the gambler down. His only excuse was that he was new to the game. He’d only developed a passion for it in the past couple of days. So, yes, he would be the first to admit he had a lot to learn. But he wanted to acquit himself proudly, if for no other reason than to prove to Adam that he was worthy of the gambler’s time and instruction.
Tyler suddenly pushed a pile of chips to the center of the table. “I open at two hundred, gentlemen.”
The other two players glanced at one another. Brak blinked, then began counting his own chips. “Isn’t that a little steep? The usual amount has been twenty.”
“I have a good hand,” Tyler said. “If you want to see exactly how good, put up or shut up.”
Brak leaned back, his thick brows knitting. “Now I’ve heard everything. The great Adam Tyler bragging about his cards? Before anyone else has even bet? Only a beginner like this ’breed would be so foolish. What are you up to, Tyler?”
“It will cost you three hundred to find out.”
“A challenge? Is that what this is?” Brak laughed coldly. “Very well. I’ll see your three hundred and raise you another fifty.”
Zach laid down his cards. He had come into the game with thirty dollars to his name and was another thirty ahead. He intended to stay ahead, too, in order to prove to Louisa that wagering at cards could be profitable. The other two players also folded, leaving Tyler and the troublemaker.
“I’ll see you,” the former said and held up a single finger.
Zach dealt Tyler a card. Brak requested two. The stakes rose to four hundred and twenty dollars. At last the moment of truth came, and Brak, smirking, laid down a straight, all hearts.
“Beat that, if you can.”
Adam Tyler showed his hand one card at a time. In a neat row he lined up four Kings and the two of diamonds, then raked in the pot. “I thank you, gentlemen, for an evening’s diversion. Now my young friend and I must excuse ourselves.”
Brak wasn’t pleased. “You’re leaving without giving us a chance to win our money back? That’s hardly sporting.”
“Poker is a game of chance, not a charity,” Tyler said. “After all these years you still have a lot to learn, don’t you?”
Having his own question thrown in his face angered Brak, but he tried hard not to show it. “Another time, then, Tyler. Bring the pup along. I might as well fleece the both of you as one. And think of what it will do for my reputation.”
Tyler rose and slipped his wallet into an inner pocket. “We’re all well aware of your reputation,” he stated with a smile. Yet he somehow contrived to make it the most insulting remark of all. Taking his wide-brimmed black hat from a peg on the wall, he said, “Come along, Zachary. We shouldn’t keep your fiancée waiting.”
They waded through dense clouds of cigar and cigarette smoke and out the grand double doors of The Golden Bough. Tyler adjusted his hat while striding down the steps. “You did well in there, son. You controlled your temper admirably.”
It was past eleven at night yet carriages and pedestrians bustled by in a steady stream. After a week in St. Louis, Zach still couldn’t get over how many people there were and how they never seemed to sleep. “You don’t think much of Brak, do you?”
“I don’t think much of anyone who divides the human race into sheep and those who shear them.” Tyler turned left. “You’ll find, son, that there are two types of gamblers in t his world. Greedy men like Phil Brak, who are out to take every sucker for all they can, and those who see gambling as an honorable profession.”
“As you do,” Zach said. One of the reasons he liked Adam Tyler so much was Tyler’s strong sense of personal honor. It reminded him greatly of his pa.
“I like to think of gambling as jousting with cards,” Tyler said, smiling. “Blame it on my mother. When I was young she liked to read Walter Scott’s Ivanhoe to me, and ever since I’ve tried to live like a chivalrous knight in shining armor. Only in my case, it’s a frock coat.”
“My pa liked to read to us when we were little, too,” Zach revealed. Most whites east of the Mississippi tended to think of trappers and mountain men as uncouth, illiterate simpletons who couldn’t read or write, but the truth was that nearly every mountaineer Zach ever met could do both. Many were quite fond of books, which they devoured by the dozens during the long winters months when twenty foot snowdrifts confined them to their cabins or lodges for days on end. The mountain men even had a special nickname for it, the Rocky Mountain College.
Some had a special passion for great literary works like Ivanhoe. Zach knew of two, Jim Bridger and Shakespeare McNair, who were extremely fond of the Bard of Avon and would spend hours around a campfire reciting his works for the benefit of their companions.
Zach always liked to listen to his father read, but he had never been much of a reader himself. He preferred to be out doing things rather than sitting around indoors with a book in hand. His pa claimed he was missing out on a lot, that books taught important lessons well worth learning. But the way Zach saw it, anything he could learn from a book he could also learn from real life.
Zach became aware that Adam Tyler was talking to him. “—met a lot of men like Brak in my profession. You’ll meet them, too. When you do, as the old saying goes, grin and bear it.”
“I don’t intend to gamble forever,” Zach said, realizing his newfound mentor assumed he meant to do just that. It was a pleasant way to pass the time until Lou’s kinfolk showed up, was all.
“Why not? I can tell you like the game. You have a natural talent, and you could go far.”
“You’re serious?” Zach had to admit he liked the challenge and excitement, but he had never considered making a living at it. In a month or so Louisa and him were bound for the Rockies where they already had a pristine valley all picked out for their homestead. It had a year-round stream, plenty of grass for grazing, woodland that harbored abundant game, and best of all, it was only a two-day ride from his folks’ place.
“Very serious.” Tyler clapped Zach on the back. “Give it some thought. I can teach you all you need to know. You might never become rich but you’ll always be able to afford to keep a roof over your head and food on the table.”
“Me? A gambler?” Zach couldn’t get over the notion. It was silly. And yet—and yet he did enjoy raking in a wining pot and the look on the faces of the men he beat. In a limited way, it was similar to counting coup. Only it was done with playing cards instead of a coup stick or a war club.
“Why not?” Tyler asked. “Because of who you are? No matter what line of work you pick, there will always be bigots like Brak who can’t see past the color of your skin. For that matter, many people don’t think all that highly of the gambling fraternity. You’ll be doubly despised.”
“Just what I need,” Zach quipped, wondering what his betrothed would say about the idea.
Louisa May Clark was dreaming. In it, she and Zachary were in a stately white church with a high steeple. The seats were crammed with well-wishers, and her uncle was escorting her down the carpeted aisle toward the altar and Zach. A beautiful wedding dress clung to her slim form, a thin veil hung over her eyes. She couldn’t stop smiling, for this was the single most happiest event of her life. She was about to wed the man she loved.
Then a strange thing happened.
Lou was halfway down the aisle when the happy features of the onlookers changed. Their faces became masks of feral hatred. They sneered at her, cursed her, shouting things like, “’Breed lover!” and “Squaw woman!” She asked them to stop but they yelled louder, all of them pointing accusingly, some spitting on her. Tears welled up and Lou pleaded for them to desist but they either didn’t hear her or didn’t care.
From out of their midst came a familiar figure. “How could you, Louisa? How could you betray me like this?”
“Pa?” Lou couldn’t credit her eyes. Her father was dead, slain by hostiles. He couldn’t be at her wedding. He just couldn’t.
“He’s not good enough for you, little one. You should marry above your station, not below it. I didn’t raise you just so you could throw your life away on a romantic lark.”
Lou began to bawl. Her father had never talked to her like that before. So far as she knew, there wasn’t a lick of prejudice in his bones. “I love Zach!” she cried. “I love him with all my heart and soul!”
“Do you?” her pa asked. His query was echoed by every member of the congregation. Over and over again they chanted accusingly, “Do you? Do you? Do you? Do you?”
With the chant echoing in her head, Lou abruptly awakened and snapped bolt upright. It took a minute for it to sink in where she was, in a bed in the spare bedroom at Adam Tyler’s house. She was caked with perspiration and trembling as if cold. A block of ice encased her heart. Or was it a block of fear? she fretted as she slid to the edge and stood.
The lantern was lit. In its rosy light Lou saw her reflection in the mirror attached to the door. She had on a plain but pretty dress, bought that morning at a local shop. Zach had said she could have any one she wanted, but they were trying to make their money last as long as possible so she’d settled for the cheapest available.
Which explained why she had been so annoyed, earlier, when Zach announced he was taking most of what they had left to go gamble. She’d about thrown a fit until Adam Tyler assured her he would watch out for Zach. And, the truth be told, they needed more money. Their stay in St. Louis was being extended. Not by choice, since they were both eager to return to the mountains. No, her relatives were to blame.
They were missing.
Lou couldn’t begin to imagine what had happened.
How vividly she recollected the day a rider showed up at the King cabin and dropped off a letter from her Aunt Martha. In it, Martha wrote that she, her husband and son, would be in St. Louis for the entire month of August, waiting to meet with Lou and her father, Zebulon. One of Zeb’s brothers, along with his two daughters, would also be there.
None of them knew Lou’s pa was dead. She’d never written them, never felt the need. Lou had Zach and Zach’s family. Nate and Winona King had taken her into their home and made her as much a part of their family as Zach and their little girl, Evelyn. Lou had never been happier, never more content, never felt more at peace with the world.
Her aunt’s letter, though, sparked feelings Lou had long denied. Martha and the others were blood kin. She’s spent many an hour perched on Martha’s knee when she was little, many a day and week in the company of her cousins. Lou owed it to them, she felt, to go meet them in person to tell about her father.
Then, too, Lou couldn’t wait to impart the good news about her engagement. Zach was the best thing to ever happen to her, and she couldn’t wait to share her happiness with her kinfolk. She figured her aunt and uncles and cousins would be delighted.
Which made Lou’s dream all the more mystifying. Aunt Martha had been one of those in the pews. Her cousins Harry, Ethel, and Gladys had been there, also, pointing and chanting along with the rest. What was she to make of it all?
Shaking her head, Lou opened the door and walked down the hall to the sitting room. Tyler’s home was nicely furnished, with thick beige carpeting, dusky drapes, and polished mahogany furniture. It was comfortable yet undeniably masculine. A rumbling noise, like the snort of a boar, drew her gaze to the divan.
Stretched out flat on his back was the gambler’s other houseguest, an old, grizzled trapper Zach had befriended. George Milhouse had been a free trapper once but nowadays he ran a shop devoted to the trapping trade. A spry, feisty veteran of years in the high country, he sported a mane of white hair and needed a hickory cane to get around. At the moment he was sound asleep and snoring loud enough to be heard in Blackfoot country.
