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-Moonlight Fire-

This book is a work of fiction. It is loosely based on the historical accounts and army journals of the men who were with the army column that came to the territory that would one day be Nebraska, in 1819.

General Atkinson, Colonel Morgan, Dr. Gale and Manual Lisa were real people who participated in that historical event.

HOWEVER, all other characters in this book are fictional and have no existence outside the extremely fertile imagination of the author. The conversations between the real people, mentioned above and any of the other book characters are also fiction. They did not occur.

The following are facts of the army column's trip. It did start from Plattsburg, New York and followed the route outlined. They did lose paddlewheel steamers to the Missouri and made the last of the journey in keelboats and on foot. There was a scandal surrounding the procurement of supplies for the soldiers and the Hudson Bay Company was suspected, but nothing was ever proven as to their involvement. They did suffer terribly during the winter and had a severe scurvy outbreak. The column numbered 1500 men, women and children. They lost almost a fourth of them that first winter.

Dr. Gale did stop the scurvy outbreak by using wild onions, supplied by the Omaha Indians, who were successful farmers and welcomed the travelers.

In the spring, the camp was nearly washed away in a sudden, flash flood on the Missouri. The camp, called Cantonment Missouri, was moved up onto the high bluff and the permanent fort, Fort Atkinson, was established there. The fort existed from 1819 to 1827. There was only one serious skirmish with the local natives and that was with the Arickaree, when they attacked fur traders coming out of the Yellowstone Valley. The fort is undergoing restoration right now.

None of the fictional characters have any relation whatsoever to anyone bearing the same name or names. They are not inspired by any individual, known or unknown to the author and all incidents are pure invention.

"O-O-OW!"

Corinna jabbed her scalded finger into her mouth, dropping the iron soup ladle back into the cauldron bubbling in the kitchen fireplace.

"Mercy," she exclaimed, examining the fast-swelling blister, "You'd think I'd learn by now not to grab that ladle with my bare hands, wouldn't you, Elsie?"

"I'd think so." The older woman waddled up to take a better look at the burn. She turned Corinna's hand first one way, then the other, carefully inspecting the damage. "You'd better stick that finger in the water bucket over there. I'll go out to the pantry, and get some of that fresh butter we churned yesterday. That'll fix it right up. Butter's wonderful for burns, you know."

Corinna nodded, sticking her throbbing finger into the cooling water. "Well, I've got to see to this soup. "The master will be down soon. You know how he likes his food on time."

"Aye, he is particular. I'll be right back. We'll just be servin' him tonight. The missus wants a tray upstairs-she's not feeling well."

"Humph!" Corinna snorted, shaking her still-throbbing hand. "I wouldn't feel good either, if I was married to such a shriveled-up, troll of a man. He's just skin and bones-with no heart at all."

Elsie laughed out loud. "Don't be saying that too loud. He might hear you. But you are right; he'd be a real toad to be married to. I'd take more than a few trays by myself, if he crept into my bed every night."

"Oh, ugh!" Corinna shuddered at the thought. She rolled her shoulders trying to physically shake off the unwelcome picture of Master Ohelring, anywhere near her bed. Elsie disappeared down the back hall. Corinna wrapped a kitchen towel around her aching hand. Grabbing the hot handle, she lifted with all her might, to move the kettle to the outer warming hook.

Master Ohelring stepped into the kitchen. A thin, half-smile twisted the ragged corner of his mouth.

"Well, well," the old man muttered, raising a bushy eyebrow, "the kitchen help is looking much better these days."

Corinna stiffened at the sound of his voice coming over her shoulder. She hadn't heard him come into the kitchen. She usually kept a safe distance between them.

"Cook is in the pantry, Master, if you'd like something," she said quickly, to let him know they weren't alone. She had her hands full. Leaning into the cooking fireplace was dangerous. The kettle would tip, if it weren't hung just right.

A vulgar laughed echoed in his throat. "I've seen the cook, my dear. I'd much rather feast my old eyes on you."

Master Ohelring's eyes narrowed into glinty slits, watching Corinna bend into the cavernous fireplace. Hearing his heels click on the tile floor, Corinna knew she had no way out. She couldn't move forward and he blocked her path to the rear. His bony fingers thrust out, gripping through the thin folds of her threadbare skirt. Corinna cringed, feeling his fingers dig into the back of her thigh.

His voice chilled her. "How nice! Just ripe for the picking, I'll wager."

He laughed a cold, expectant laugh, pulling up a handful of skirt. "It's time we got to know one another better, missy. Makes things friendlier, don't you think?"

Corinna bit her lip in silent rage, shivering at the gnarled hand squeezing harder on the back of her leg. She ignored the other hand pulling at her skirt, touching her so rudely. She gritted her teeth and set both feet firmly. The pot settled safely on its hook. With a handful of towel, she grabbed the ladle handle. She swung around toward Ohelring, taking it with her. The ladle and its boiling liquid landed full force on Ohelring's ear.

"A-A-Augh! Damnation! Damn you, girl!"

Stumbling backward, he continued to swear, clawing at the soup chunks sliding off his ear and into his shirt collar. A red lump puffed up on the side of his neck. He ripped open the collar. The soup continued its relentless burn down his neck.

"Well, don't just stand there! Help me! You've scalded me!"

Corinna stayed rooted to her spot, not lifting a finger to help him or ease his pain. He deserved every bit of it.

Elsie's voice echoed in the cavernous kitchen. "Good heavens, Master, what's happened here?"

Elsie stood staring in the hall doorway, butter dish in one hand, its damp covering cloth in the other.

"The girl's mad, I tell you. Turned on me with a soup ladle."

"My goodness. Here, sit down! Let me wipe that," said Elsie. Noticing Corinna adjust her skirt, she threw Corinna a questioning glance over Ohelring's balding head. Jaws clenched, Corinna shook her skirt once more and glared at him in return. Elsie nodded and handed Ohelring the damp towel. Holding it against his throbbing neck, Ohelring thundered in righteous indignation. "You've done your last duty here, girl. Leave my house."

"Yes, sir. I won't work here any more. I won't be manhandled by anyone, not even you."

"Go, then. Now!"

"No sir, not without my week's wages. You owe me that," said Corinna, amazed at her own boldness. Poverty gave her backbone.

"Ha! You think I'll pay you? Not Likely! Ouch! Careful, Cook." He winced. Shock no longer protected him from the burn's searing pain. Elsie tried vainly to dab cool, soothing butter onto the raw flesh, while Ohelring twisted away, still glaring at Corinna.

She glared right back. "Oh, you'll pay me all right! Or I'll go out the front, screamin' all the way. The mistress will come down then. She won't like you fooling with the kitchen girls. No, she won't!"

Corinna stood her ground. Ohelring sat back, staring at her. She was a sight, with her fists clenched, green eyes flashing, red hair billowing around her shoulders. Her errant mobcap lay at her feet.

"Look at her, Cook. She looks like a banshee! I tell you she's insane!"

"We wouldn't want to disturb the missus, Master," said Elsie, quietly, trying to soothe the furious man. "You know she's not feelin' well."

"Humph."

"You know how bad she gets sir, if she's upset!"

Ohelring nodded. "Very well."

He reached into his vest pocket, pulled out several coins and threw them to the floor. "Take that and be damned. Don't let me see you here again."

Corinna snatched up her mobcap and darted across the floor, grabbing the coins he'd thrown her way. The gold pieces were worth far more than her normal pay. She wasn't going to leave any.

"Don't worry," she shouted, grabbing her cloak from the peg rack by the door. "I'll never work here again."

She yanked open the oaken door and stepped outside, swirling the cloak around her. The heavy door slammed, further sounding the finality of the confrontation. Pulling up her hood, she gathered its folds close for shelter from the chilly mist. Bending her head, she plunged into the evening's dusk. The boarding house wasn't far.

She nodded slightly to the lamplighter, who tipped his hat in passing. The soft streetlights twinkled at his touch. She appreciated his efforts. Walking in total darkness didn't appeal to her at all. Philadelphia's streets weren't always safe for a young woman alone. Brigands and ruffians were everywhere these days. Head down, she hurried on, oblivious to those she passed. In her haste, she didn't notice the group coming toward her on the boardwalk.

"Wha . . .No!"

"What's this. . .

Corinna found herself off balance, feet nearly off the ground, locked in a stranger's embrace, staring up into the deepest brown eyes she'd ever seen. His grip sent shivers up her spine. Her heart pounded, while she struggled to be free from this handsome stranger.

A slow, broad smile reached all the way to the corners of his eyes. He gently released her from his grasp.

"I mean you no harm, young miss. You almost bowled me over in your head-long dash."

Her cheeks grew hot. She tore her eyes away from his intense stare. She forced her gaze down to his jacket, festooned with silver buttons and braid. She'd run into a soldier-an officer, from the looks of his uniform. He was handsome, but his tone was too solicitous, almost condescending. She'd have none of that.

"Beggin' your pardon, sir. I'm on my way home. You can't be too careful these days," she said a trifle sharply, gathering her cloak back around her, to escape his appraising looks.

"Yes," he agreed, smiling again. "You should be home. Young ladies shouldn't be about the night streets unescorted."

His tone had changed almost imperceptibly to insolent, teasing, almost laughing at her.

"I'm twenty-two, I'll have you know. More than old enough to be about my own business, if I choose."

Her hair tossed in the rising night breeze. She realized she still had her mobcap in her hands. Ladies never went about in public with uncovered hair. "Oh-What he must think of me . . ."

She glared at him, to cover the rising warmth still creeping up her neck, ignoring the continued pounding of her heart. She could almost feel his eyes taking in every detail of her face, her hair, everything. Their eyes met again and she shivered again. His gaze drilled deep into her as though he could see into her very soul. She wanted no man to see that much of her.

"If you'll excuse me, I don't generally stand on street corners talking to strangers. By your leave, gentlemen." She nodded her head to the small group of soldiers standing behind the officer she had run into. Yanking her mobcap over her curls, she stalked off into the evening shadows, praying not to hear footfalls behind her.

"Guess she told you, Captain Humbolt," said the sergeant. The men watched the pert redhead disappear into the evening mist. "Quite a feisty, tiny mite, ain't she."

Humbolt laughed out loud. "Yes, Sergeant Thomas, she is-and not impressed with soldiers at all."

"Want me to find out more about her for you, sir? I doubt she'd be hard to find," said Thomas.

"Thank you-no, Sergeant," said Humbolt. "We're not going to be here long. We've got a long march. We need to recruit a few more laundresses to fill in for the ones we couldn't get in Plattsburg. Then we'll be ready to move. Remember, we have to be in Pittsburgh by April 30."

"Very well, sir. Whatever you say. Come along, boys. Back to the public house. Tomorrow will come early enough."

Corinna could hear the soldiers tramping away into the distance. She rushed into the boarding house and breathed a great sigh of relief, once she shut the heavy door behind her.

"Goodness, child. What has happened?" said Mrs. Grady, her landlady, poking her head out of the dining room. "You look as though the devil himself chased you home."

"Oh, it's been a bad evening, ma'am. I'll tell you about it at supper, if I'm not too late."

"Of course not. But hurry, everyone else is here. I'm just layin' food on the table."

"I'll be right back down."

Corinna disappeared up the stairs to her small room to freshen up. Dishes were being passed when she returned to the big dining room. Boarders surrounded the dining tables as usual, but Artie, one of Corinna's closest friends, had saved her a place.

"Hello, dear," called Artie. "Come here. Do sit down, we're having a fine gossip about the soldiers tonight."

"Soldiers?" Corinna asked. Those demanding eyes still burned in her memory.

"The ones that are recruiting for laundresses," said Arabelle, another of Corinna's friends. "It says on the poster the Philadelphia 6th regiment is looking for laundresses to go with the column to the new Louisiana Purchase country. President Monroe wants to send another expedition, like Lewis and Clark. He wants to know what we bought for all that money."

"That must be why there were so many of them on the street tonight," said Corinna. "I ran into one of their officers on my way home. He nearly knocked me down."

"I'm not surprised. The whole regiment will come through sooner or later," said Artie. "They'll be marching west for weeks."

"What a Godforsaken place to go," exclaimed Clarrise, a fourth boarder. "You'd never catch me traveling into that wilderness. Who knows what savages you'd run into."

A shudder shook Clarisse to the bone.

"And there's nothing there," said Matilda, chiming in. "You'd be traveling in wagons and sleeping on the ground. Ugh."

"Oh, traveling with the army isn't all that bad," said Artie, reading the recruiting poster more closely. "I did laundry for the troops in my husband's company, during the last war. It's hard work, but you get paid regular. And if the whole 6th regiment is going, there'll be a fort there soon, you can count on that."

"And think of how many men will be there," exclaimed Arabelle, her eyes shining at the prospect. "Way more men than women. You should have made the acquaintance of some of the soldiers on your way home, Corinna. Our company would be especially prized. We're young and pretty."

She laughed a low, suggestive laugh, patting her hair and shrugging a shapely shoulder. Corinna's eyes widened, catching the meaning of Arabelle's comment.

"My, Arabelle, you do carry on." She couldn't stop the flush she could feel rising in her cheeks while she passed another of the food-laden bowls.

"I'm just saying, you could make much more than just your army pay, if you wanted to. Soldiers get lonely. They'll pay just to talk to you. Even more if you're 'familiar' with them-you know!"

Arabelle laughed again, smoothing the golden ringlets piled high on her head, batting her eyes.

"Arabelle!" Corinna shook her head. All Arabelle ever thought of was men.

"Well, that is true," said Artie, frowning in Arabelle's direction. "But you don't have to do anything more than laundry, if you don't want to. The real prize for doing laundry-if you can stand it-is the land."

Corinna snapped around to face Artie.

"Land? What's land got to do with doing laundry?"

"Why, it says right here. If you sign on, the government will give your own land in the new territory- 40 acres a year-200 acres if you stay five years. The longer you stay, the more land you get-anywhere you want out there. It's a bonus for serving."

"Even laundresses?"

"Even laundresses."

Arabelle snatched the poster from Artie. "Let me see that."

She peered at the poster, then announced. "And that ain't all. You can get out any time you want. All you have to do is marry one of them soldiers!"

She laughed that throaty laugh again. "Imagine that! I don't think I'd ever want out bad enough to get tied down to just one man. The more men, the more money, I always say."

"Arabelle!" Artie's icy tone cut through. "There are many ways to earn a decent living. You're talented. You could do lots of other things, besides be a 'gentlemen's companion'."

"Oh Artie. Don't be an old stick in the mud. I'm sure I could find other things to do, but they don't pay nearly as well."

Corinna stared down at her food-laden plate, thinking while the others chattered on. "I'm free to go. I have no position here. This may be my chance." She finally spoke up. "Artie, are you seriously considering the poster?"

"I might. I'm barely getting by here. I have no family left. Since Mr. Baxter was killed in the war. I'm just managing. It's not such a bad life. The new territory might be interesting."

"What about you, Arabelle? Would you go?"

Arabelle squinched up her face, curling a pouty lip, considering the question. "I'd have to think about it. According to that poster, you'd have to do laundry for seventeen men every week. I don't know if I'd want to work that hard. It would ruin my hands." She extended a be-ringed hand for all to admire, ignoring the fact it could stand a good scrub in the wash tub.

"We could go together," said Corinna. "We could help one another, then get our land in the same place."

"Why would you want to go, Corinna?" asked Clarisse. "You've got a position with Ohelring's. That's a beautiful home to work in."

"Well, the Master's not so nice. He grabbed my leg in the kitchen this evening. I bopped him with the soup ladle. Nearly scalded his ear off, I think."

"Oh my!" said Matilda. "You're lucky he didn't have you hauled in."

"I threatened to scream and raise a fuss." Corinna smiled at the recollection. "He was more afraid of having his missus find out than he was mad at me."

"Good for you, dear," said Artie.

"Well, you're out for sure, now," said Arabelle. "Once the word gets out, you'll not get work anywhere in that area."

"Well," said Artie, "Let's think about it overnight. We can talk at breakfast. That's a lot of laundry to do for empty frontier land. There's time to sign on tomorrow."

"You'd never catch me going out there," declared Matilda, handing around yet another dinner bowl. "Not ever."

Back in her room, Corinna lifted a tiny key from around her neck. Kneeling down, she unlocked the wooden travel trunk at the foot of her bed. Clutching the key's crimson ribbon, she raised the lid to gaze at the trunk's meager contents. These few things were all she had left of home and family, the few possessions she had left from their life in Ireland and Philadelphia.

She ran her fingers over her mother's bible, and the tiny shirt that once belonged to her little brother. Nothing but a memory remained of her blessed father. She caressed her only prized possession, a nightgown made of delicate Irish linen, carefully embroidered. She and her mother had stitched it, the first piece in her meager dowry. A few other practical things and small piles of well-worn clothing filled the trunk's spaces.

"There's naught but graves to hold me here," she whispered to no one but herself. "Perhaps I've a new life in the new Missouri Territory," she said aloud, rolling the name around, tasting the sound of its newness. "Maybe I will have the home father always dreamed of."

Taking out her everyday nightgown, she closed the trunk gently, locking it again and slipping the ribbon over her head once more. Changing quickly into the coarse, muslin shift, she slid into the cold bed, shivering until the stiff sheets warmed from her own body heat. She drifted off to sleep, dreaming of an Irish sod house, with fresh Irish linen, on beautiful black earth, deep in Louisiana Purchase Territory and of deep brown eyes that pierced her very soul.

Sergeant Thomas stood, fists jammed on his hipbones, surveying the scene. "This ain't gonna be easy, Cap'n. We got lots a company."

Humbolt nodded, staring down the long line of tables beside them. A sea of army blue, gray and green disappeared into the hall's shadowy interior. "You're right, Sgt. Thomas. Looks like every company in the regiment is here today. We all need laundresses. Women must have left in droves after the war."

"Can't say as I blame 'em, sir. We lost a lotta good people in that mess. Nearly lost you, too, sir."

"Don't remind me, Sergeant." Humbolt's hand unconsciously went to his throat, to the thin red line that wrapped from just under his right ear, down, around and into his left collar, "I'm not looking forward to this trip. I don't think Indians have changed that much since 1812. I'll believe Lewis & Clark's stories of peaceful Indians when we see them."

"Here's hopin' we see 'em, sir. It's the ones we don't see I worry about."

"You're right about that. Let's get set up. It's almost time." Humbolt sat down, re-stacking the pile of recruitment papers in front of him. Thomas busied himself, straightening the rest of their allotted space. A loud conversation caught his attention.

"Sir? Ain't that Cap'n Richardson, with S company, down the way?"

Humbolt glanced toward the noisy exchange. "Don't attract his attention! He's already in a mood. He'll give me enough grief as it is, if he finds out we're still recruiting."

"Excuse me, sir. I thought. . ."

"Yes, Sergeant, he's my friend. But he can be insufferable. Especially since . . .I just don't want to talk to him this morning."

"Hmm. . ." Thomas nodded.

The doors opened and the waiting line surged in. Humbolt straightened in his chair. "Well, Sergeant, look sharp. Here come the ladies."

"If this takes much longer, I'm going home!" Arabelle stamped her foot to punctuate her grumpy comment. "Just look. Now I've kicked dust all over this hem. We haven't even signed up and I'm getting filthy."

"We agreed to do this," said Artie. "You can't quit now. A little dust will brush right off."

"This trip will be interesting, Arabelle." said Corinna. "Look at that fancy gentlemen reading the poster. Even he's interested." The three stared at an elegantly dressed man peering at the poster through his monocle.

"Well, I never," said Arabelle. "He just tore that poster down. Why would he do that?"

"I don't know," said Corinna, "but look! He's stuffed it into his frock coat and look how quickly he's leaving!"

The three watched, fascinated. The gentleman frantically flagged down a passing hansom cab. They could hear him shouting at the driver as soon as he settled himself inside.

"Quickly, driver-to Mayberry's Public House!"

"Aye, sir!" snapped the cabby, whipping the horses to a quick run.

"Whatever do you suppose that's all about?" Arabelle's question hung in the air.

Artie finally answered, "I'm sure we'll never know. And it won't concern us, anyway. Maybe he's an army supplier, looking for business."

"Well it won't matter," said Corinna. "Here, we're headed inside, Arabelle. We're almost to the recruiting tables. We don't want to quit now."

She squirmed to get a better look at what lay ahead of them. Voices rattled through the dimly lit hall. A steady stream of men and women preceded them, being directed to the myriad of tables. To her consternation, she recognized the officer sitting at the table in front of them. "Oh Artie, that's the officer I ran into last night. I hope he doesn't remember me."

"It won't hurt if he does. He needs laundresses or he wouldn't be here."

"But I nearly knocked him over. And he treated me like a child. Said I shouldn't be out by myself at night. Maybe he won't let me sign up."

An icy stab pierced Corinna's heart. What if he wouldn't let her go? What would she do? Earning her own land had become an overpowering dream in the space of 24 hours.

"The two of us will vouch for you," said Arabelle. "If we're going, we're all going together."

"That's right, dear. If we sign up together, it should be all right."

The officer's voice intruded. "Please, ladies. We don't have all day."

He surveyed the three of them, then shook his head. "Are you sure you're laundresses? Have any of you ever been west? This is not a lady's day-outing we're going on."

Artie answered, chin held high, mobcap bouncing, accentuating every word. "I was a laundress for F Company, Philadelphia 6th Infantry in the last war, Captain, for my husband's company. He was killed then. You wouldn't begrudge me a way to earn a living, would you?"

"Of course not, ma'am," Humbolt said, recovering his manners. "It's just that your one friend looks a mite young for a trip with an army unit and the other. . ."

The Captain's voice trailed off, staring at Arabelle. It was clear from his arched eyebrow and slightly curled lip; he did not like the idea of having someone so obviously not a laundress in his company.

"We'll be just fine," said Corinna. "I'm sure traveling with you won't be much worse than coming across the ocean in a stinking old boat. I managed that. And I've made my own way since my parents died."

"Well, you'll have to do it better than you did last night," he said. A small smile played around the corners of his mouth. "We can't have you crashing about the prairie, running into buffalo."

Red was quickly becoming her permanent face coloring around this man. "That was an accident. I'll be much more careful in the wilderness."

"I hope so. And you?" Again Humbolt raised an eyebrow in Arabelle's direction.

"You'll find I'm very talented, Captain," she said gently, dropping her eyes, letting the phrase roll in his direction.

"That's what I'm afraid of. I won't tolerate any trouble on this trip. I don't want my men fighting over female favors. You understand?"

"What a rude suggestion, Captain," Corinna snapped, irritated at his insinuation. "We're hiring on as laundresses, not companions for your soldiers."

Humbolt stared at Corinna. Arabelle suppressed a smirk. Others didn't usually defend her virtue.

"Where do we sign, Captain?" asked Artie. "You'll find we'll be a help, not a lot of problems."

Humbolt drummed his fingers on the table, considering the prospect of these three on the trail with him. Corinna studied him carefully, watching his hand unconsciously rubbing his jaw line. Looking closely, she saw it-the thin ragged line his fingers traced while thinking. Eyes widening, she moved to get a better look, trying not to stare, or to be too obvious. He massaged his neck, stretching his chin up. Corinna could see the line from ear to collar; his hand didn't cover the whole thing.

"Goodness. Someone had nearly slit his throat! He's lucky to be alive." She glanced at Artie, then back to the Captain. Artie nodded, watching his hand as well.

He finally sighed, shook his head again and said, "Sign right here. Here's a set of papers for each of you. Can you all read what you're signing?"

"Of course we can," said Corinna, "You really don't have to be insulting, Captain."

"I just want to make sure you know what you're getting into. I don't want any complaints the first time you have to slog through the river mud or see an Indian on the hillside."

He watched silently while the three read the papers and wrote their names on the bottom. Taking the papers back, he read aloud, "Artie Baxter, Arabelle Colter, and Corinna McGinnis?"

"And do we get to know your name? Or are you just a nameless Captain?" Corinna spoke crisply, wishing she didn't find this irritating man so attractive.

Humbolt struggled to maintain a straight face. He found her amusing and charming and exasperating all at the same time. "I'm Captain Geoffrey Humbolt, Miss McGinnis, at your service. Only from now on it will be Captain Humbolt, or sir to you." He turned to Artie. "Mrs. Baxter. May I trust you'll explain the details of being a laundress to your companions?"

"Yes, Captain. We'll be ready."

He shook his head again. "Well ladies, we'll be pulling out Wednesday. Get your things together and be here at 7 a.m. sharp. Do any of you know how to drive an oxen team?"

Silence prevailed.

"I guessed as much. I'll have a driver assigned to your wagon. I'm putting you all in one wagon. You can't take any more belongings than that."

They shared looks, then Corinna again spoke up. "One wagon will be fine. We planned to be together."

Humbolt nodded and watched the trio disappear into the crowd. "Corinna McGinnis." He grudgingly admired the spunk with which she spoke up for herself. "What a fiery little one." He shook his head. He had to stop thinking of her as little. She was a grown woman and had some very experienced friends, from the looks of the Colter woman. He'd seen laundresses like her before. Little better than the camp followers who straggled along after every army. More interested in easy money from the men than the work. But Mrs. Baxter would be a help. And he didn't have time to worry about it. He still needed three more laundresses.

"Next!"

"I'm sorry Arabelle, there's just no more room in this wagon!" Corinna looked down into Arabelle's distressed face. "You'll just have to leave that hatbox with Mrs. Grady. Besides, what are you going to do with a Paris hat in the middle of nowhere? There's no one there but Indians to see it!"

Arabelle ran her fingers lovingly around the lid of the shiny hatbox, wiping off the dust being kicked up around them, not wanting to leave anything behind.

"Come on, miss. Please finish," begged Private Jamison, their assigned driver. "Cap'n Humbolt will be mad as a wet hen if we hold up formation."

He glanced over his shoulder down the long line of wagons forming in front and behind them. They would be ready to go any minute.

Arabelle heaved a great sigh, handing the hatbox back to Mrs. Grady. "Take good care of it, Mrs. Grady. There's a mighty fine hat in that box. I wore that hat once in New York City."

"Thank you, Arabelle," said Mrs. Grady, taking the hatbox gingerly, holding the cord with two fingers, as though the box were covered with growing slime. She set it quickly behind the seat. "It will be waiting for you, if you decide to come back. I don't wear such things."

"We won't be back, Mrs. Grady," Corinna said fiercely. "We're going to stay in the new territory and make our fortunes and have our own land, just like you."

"I hope you do, child. I hope you do. But I must go. The rest of the boarders will be wanting breakfast. I'm late already. Good-bye to all of you"

The three waved and called their good-byes. Mrs. Grady expertly wheeled the buckboard around and rapidly disappeared from view. Sharp bugle bleats tore through the morning air. Corinna jumped at the sound.

"Whatever is that?" she demanded of Private Jamison.

"Better get used to the bugle, miss," he said. "You're going to hear a lot of it from now on. We do everything by the bugle-it's a lot louder than a Captain, or even a Sergeant. That's our signal. Please ladies, get in?"

Jamison offered a hand up over the wagon wheel to Artie, then Arabelle, and then Corinna. She settled herself on the wagon seat, alongside him. Arabelle and Artie had fashioned sitting places among their things so no one would have to walk beside the wagon.

The clatter of hooves, coming up from behind, demanded their attention. Captain Humbolt rode by, taking in their state of readiness. He nodded to Jamison and rode on, ignoring everyone else.

"Is he always that abrupt?" asked Corinna.

"Not always, miss. Cap'n Humbolt's one of the good ones, you'll see. Most of us are real glad to serve under him instead of some of the other officers."

"Well, he's certainly been grumpy enough to us."

"He's got a lot on his mind, miss. He's responsible for all of us in R Company," said Jamison, picking up the reins from around the wagon break.

The bugle blared again. He cracked the whip and oxen lumbered forward, in time with the rest of the train. Corinna grabbed the edge of the wooden seat, trying not to fall backward.

"What's your name, private? " she asked. "Do I have to call you sir, too?"

"Oh, no, miss. That's just for officers. Private Jamison will do in public. But here, you can call me Jamie, if you like - my friends do." Pink crept up from the collar of his uniform.

"Thank you, Jamie," Corinna said gently. "And you may call me Corinna. We must be friends, if we're going to go all these miles together."

She smiled quickly at him then looked away, along the wagon train, to see if she could catch another glimpse of the captain. Maybe he wasn't such an old grouch. Jamie seemed to like him.

Arabelle settled back into her seat, leaning against the canvas stave. Artie pulled the edge of the canvas in a little closer and arranged herself behind it to keep out as much trail dust as possible.

Corinna found herself swaying gently as the wagon rocked from side to side. R Company, Philadelphia 6th regiment, stretched out in front of her, as far as she could see, over the next hill, headed overland to Pittsburgh, on the Ohio River.

"Well, done, Suthridge, well done."

"Thank you, sir. I thought this might be important enough to cut my trip short and come immediately back to Toronto."

"Quite right, quite right."

Lord Warington struggled to read the last few lines on the torn poster. Suthridge remained ramrod stiff in front of the massive Hudson Bay Company desk. Warington finally glanced up.

"Oh, do sit down, Reginald. We must talk."

"Thank you, sir," said Suthridge, with a sigh of relief. Tucking his monocle into his waistcoat pocket, he dragged one of the overstuffed leather chairs to in front of the desk.

"Well," demanded Warington, "What's your assessment of this situation?"

"Sir, having the American army in the beaver country can only hurt the Hudson Bay Company. I'm sure they'll favor Astor's men, since they're also American."

"I think you're right, Suthridge," said Warington, pleased with his assistant's reasoning. "What do you suggest?"

"Perhaps they could be stopped. The poster says they're going to the mouth of the Yellowstone River. If they don't make it that far, they won't be able to interfere too much."

"We must be careful," said Warington. "England and America are on friendly terms. We can't do anything to upset that, you understand."

"Of course, sir. But you know as well as I, that the natives can be hostile out there. And supplies are notoriously hard to get. An army can't survive without supplies."

"That's true."

"They're marching overland to Pittsburgh. I think I could intercept them there, even though they've got quite a head start. I can travel much faster than a walking infantry."

"What's happening in Pittsburgh?"

"From what I could find out, they've contracted to have sternwheelers built, to take them down river to St. Louis and from there, up the Missouri River to the Yellowstone Valley. Perhaps we could influence their trip."

"Quite so, quite so," Warington smiled. "Suthridge, I think you need to take a trip-to Pittsburgh, then to St. Louis. To see to our interests out there."

"Yes, sir." Suthridge nodded, watching Warington make out a pay voucher.

"Take this to the bookkeeper. This will get you started. Set up temporary offices as you need them. Buy whatever you need to persuade the natives to help us encourage that army to stay away from the Yellowstone Valley. Keep in touch."

"I will, sir. This may take a while. I may need to move to Pittsburgh and even St. Louis."

"Well, then, move. The more trouble the army encounters, the less likely they are to stay. That's all." Warington dismissed Sutheridge with a wave of his hand.

"Yes, sir." Sutheridge left the office quickly, planning his next move while the bookkeeper converted the voucher to cash.

"I say, do we keep records on the scouts who've worked for us in the beaver country?"

"Yes sir. We keep track of the traders as well as the scouts who've served us."

"Oh good. Do you have those lists?"

"Yes, sir. I issue all their pay."

"Have a list ready for me by tomorrow, will you?" I need to know if we can reach any of them who might be near Pittsburgh - Ohio?"

"Pittsburgh is still in Pennsylvania, sir, just all the way west."

"Wherever!" said Sutheridge, brandishing his monocle. "I'll want to contact some of them for a special assignment."

"Yes, sir. We just know their whereabouts the last time we sent them money. I'll get you what we have."

Suthridge nodded. Stuffing the wad of money into his waistcoat pocket, he headed down the hall. That list of scouts in the colonies was just what he needed. Moving arrangements would come next. As slow as an army traveled, he could take a week to get his affairs settled and still beat the army to Pittsburgh.

Corinna's arm ached from stirring the melted fat in her small wooden bucket. "That looks right," she said to herself. "Now, is it lye into fat or fat into lye?"

Sitting on her campstool, she regarded the lye water warily, trying to remember what Artie had said. Soap making was more difficult than she had remembered. She'd seen her mother do it, but had never been allowed to help.

"Well, here goes. . ." She turned her head away, crinkling her nose against the acrid lye odor. The thin stream of lye water hit the melted fat and exploded into spatters. "Oh! Mercy!"

Corinna jumped back, dropping the bucket and kicking over the fat bucket as well.

"Oh, no!" She cried aloud, watching her precious fat disappear into the grassy stubble. Tears welled up in her eyes. The fat was so hard to come by. She'd been saving meat scraps all week to make this small batch of soap. She furiously wiped the lye-fat mixture off her arm. The concentrate had already begun to do its damage. A thin red welt popped up.

Artie's voice echoed around the wagon. "Are you all right, dear?"

"Oh yes, Artie. I'm all right. Just clumsy as a cow, that's all."

"What happened?" Artie asked, coming around the end of the wagon.

"Oh, I forgot what you told me, and mixed the lye water and fat the wrong way. I'll never learn how to make this old soap. Some laundress I'm turning out to be." Corinna aimed a swift kick at a tiny tuft of grass. "I don't usually make such silly mistakes."

Artie laughed gently. "It'll be all right. No use crying over spilt milk or rather spilt fat. We'll make another batch later, if we can find enough fat. I've still got lye water waiting. You can make it for both of us and I'll watch, if you think you won't remember how."

"Oh, I'll remember. I'll probably still have this."

Corinna held up her reddening arm. Artie inspected it carefully. The whitish blister glistened against the angry redness surrounding it. "Just look. First I burn my hand at Ohelring's, now this. I'm going to be a mess at this rate."

"Doesn't matter, they'll both fade in time. Come on, the bugle's blown for supper. We need to get in line or there won't be any left."

"I know. This camp always fills up at mealtimes."

The two walked together, joining the throng of soldiers and laundresses heading for the cook fire. The column had set up a temporary camp near a small village to rest the animals and replenish supplies. A complete meal, eaten in a leisurely pace, would be a treat tonight.

"Evening, ladies."

Captain Humbolt's voice surprised them, coming from behind. "Everything all right this evening?"

"Just fine, Captain," said Corinna, quickly pulling her shawl down to hide her reddened arm. He didn't need to see the new burn. He already thought she was clumsy. "We're on our way to supper."

"You'll be pleased to know we're having roast pork tonight. We managed to buy a few piglets from the local farmers."

Artie looked up at him, surprised at his direct address to them. "That will be nice. We can always use the fat-to make more soap."

He dropped into step beside them, staring ahead, yet matching their pace. "Well, all my men have been instructed to save their fat scraps for you laundresses. Tell Sgt. Thomas if you're not getting the supplies you need."

He stopped, turning to face them. Against her will, Corrina's heart started beating triple time in her chest; his closeness was that unsettling. She bit the inside of her lip and returned his even gaze. She swallowed hard to keep up her nerve and tried to smile, to invite further conversation. "We will, Captain. Thank you for your concern."

He finally smiled that warm, broad smile again, breaking their staring match. "By your leave, then. Enjoy the meal."

He turned and walked away from them, away from the column of wagons, toward the officers' mess.

Corinna watched him go. She couldn't help but notice the smooth ripple of muscle beneath those white military breeches he filled out so well. An unfamiliar tightening grabbed deep in her gut. She forced her gaze back down to the ground. She touched her cheek to see if the heat she felt was all inside.

"Most unseemly, Corinna," she muttered. "Mother would never approve."

She couldn't help stealing one more look. The Captain certainly cut a striking figure in his uniform.

"Military uniforms do flatter a man, don't they," Artie said, seeing Corinna's gaze follow the Captain.

"I hadn't noticed," Corinna mumbled.

"Oh pshaw, dear," said Artie. "I've given many a man a good once-over, when he's not looking. You're old enough for a beau and that Captain would be an amazing catch. You just keep looking at him. He's noticing you. Don't you ever doubt it."

"He thinks I don't belong here. He said so when we signed on."

"You just keep looking, like I said. Officers don't normally speak to laundresses like he just did. He's got his eye on you, you wait and see."

"My, goodness!" Corinna looked his way again. "Well, I must admit, he is a handsome man and he does seem to be a gentleman."

"Mm. You just keep smiling at him. You never know what might happen. He certainly wasn't walking with us to look at me!" A broad smile crinkled its way across Artie's face.

Corinna allowed herself to replay the conversation over and over in her mind, remembering his strong arms wrapped around her the first time they met. A warm tingle surged through her, fueling her imagination and igniting her curiosity. The feeling left her wanting to know more about him. She struggled to retain his every movement and gesture, including how he covered the scar on his throat as he talked.

"Artie, how do you suppose he got that scar?"

"I'd guess he served in the war, dear. Looks to me like someone tried to make it his last war."

"Well, I'm certainly glad they didn't get the job done." Corinna smiled again, glancing toward the officer's mess. She could see him walking toward a table, already set, where another officer sat waiting. He evidently had company. The two walked on, toward the lengthening food line. "Artie, have you seen Arabelle?"

"Not since we set up camp."

"She disappeared right after Jamie unhitched the team."

"I'm sure she's found a friend. This break in the march is a fine stop for her. She'll be looking for some company."

"Oh Artie, don't be too hard on her."

"You know her ways, Corinna. She's really not good company for a young woman like you."

"Now Artie, she was good to me when I needed a friend, you know that. I'd have frozen to death on the curb, where that hard-hearted landlord sat me when my parents died if Arabelle hadn't taken pity on me and brought me to Mrs. Grady's."

"So you said. I have a hard time seeing Arabelle in a guardian angel role."

"Well, I didn't have a penny to my name. She even paid my first month's rent till I found work."

"I can't imagine why. I've never known Arabelle to spend a dime on anyone but herself."

"I tried to pay her back when I found work, but she wouldn't let me."

Artie shook her head, disbelief written all over her face. "I suppose no one is all bad, but still, she could get both of you into trouble with her man-chasing ways. You don't want to follow her example just the same."

"I know. Mother taught me differently than that. But I can't abandon her either. I'm sure she's around somewhere."

"I'm sure she is. But, if she spends too much time with the men, she'll be hearing from the Captain. If she neglects her wash, he could court martial her."

"Court martial?"

"Yes. We signed a contract with the army, remember? He could dock her pay, or cut her whiskey ration or even court martial her. She needs to be careful."

"Oh my! A court martial sounds terrible."

"It could be. Time in the stockade is no fun. And Arabelle always seems to be elsewhere when work needs to be done."

"Oh look, there she is now." Corinna pointed ahead. Arabelle had just stepped into the crowd forming at the roasting pit, from behind one of the wagons. She busily adjusted the folds of her skirt and the tucks of her bodice.

"Hello," she cried, a trifle too gaily, "I'm famished. How about you?"

"Yes," said Corinna. "We've been making soap. We missed you."

"Oh, I have plenty," said Arabelle, shrugging a shapely shoulder. "I had Beulah make some for me-she needed the extra money."

"You paid Beulah to make soap for you? How could you do that?"

"I told you once, soldiers will pay for your company. It's a lot easier than making soap. Besides, soap making ruins your skin. Just look at your hands; they're all raw. And that burn on your arm. It will leave a scar, you mark my words."

"It will not! Will it, Artie?" Corinna ran her fingers over the red welt on her arm, measuring its size against her fingers.

"I don't think so; your skin's still young. Arabelle, Corinna doesn't need to borrow trouble by following your lead."

"Oh, pooh. Artie, you worry too much. Let's eat."

They turned their attention to the food being ladled onto tin plates, out of steaming cast iron kettles. The pork smelled delicious. Supper would pass quickly.

"Geoffrey, come-sit down. Your cook is ready to serve."

Humbolt smiled at the officer already seated at the small camp table. A well-worn muslin cloth covered the worst of the nicks and scratches in the bare wood. Army issue plates and flatware did nothing to enhance the gentility of the scene.

"It's not like home, is it Cyrus?" said Humbolt. He gave a quick, wry, laugh and poured a measure of whiskey into each of the tin cups on the table.

"Your mother wouldn't have fed the dogs on plates this common, old man," commented Captain Richardson, raising one of the tin plates and giving it a sharp rap on the table edge.

"Careful, Cy, you'll dent the good tin!" Humbolt laughed again, handing Richardson one of the cups. "Here's to the new territory," he said, raising his cup. "May this trip be an easier one than our last one together."

"Here, here!" Richardson agreed. "Hopefully this one won't turn into a war."

Cyrus downed the drink in one quick gulp. "Fill it up again. It's been a long ride this far. I didn't think we'd ever get the company settled down. I do believe S Company is bigger than R Company, Geoffrey."

"Well, if you have more men, shouldn't they get your work done quicker?"

"Humph. They don't seem to-just more slackers to make more mistakes."

"Too bad. Never mind, we should have a good meal tonight."

The aroma of roast pork wafted around them. The cook approached the table. The two men continued their conversation while the meal ebbed and flowed, eating but taking no real notice of the various dishes set before them. The food disappeared while they reminisced. Darkness dropped quietly over the army camp. Their talked finally turned to the matter at hand.

"Geoffrey, do you foresee any difficulty in getting to Pittsburgh from here in a week?"

"No. This rest will put our animals in good shape for the last march. We'll be there in plenty of time."

"I don't see how you do it. I drive and drive but it's always a struggle. You always manage to get the best recruits and stock. I have to beat every inch out of the dregs I'm stuck with."

Richardson took another deep draw from his cup. Humbolt held his tongue. He'd known Richardson long enough know it was futile to argue with him when he was drinking or was in one of his "moods". They often coincided. "Well, we're breaking camp tomorrow. What about you, Cyrus?"

"We'll wait one more day. I still need a laundress or two. We started out short. We may be able to pick up new ones here in the village. Don't have any spare ones do you? I've noticed a few really pretty ones in your company," he said nodding toward the laundresses' camping area. "You've always had excellent taste in women, Geoffrey."

"For all the good it did me, Cyrus." Humbolt frowned, a past memory intruding on their evening.

"Heavens, are you still carrying a torch for Rosamunde? She dismissed you more than a year ago. She's probably a mother with a squally brat, by now."

"Of course I'm not," Humbolt snapped. "I just don't intend to get involved with another woman until I leave the service."

"Who said anything about getting involved? Laundresses are certainly beneath your station-to be noticed and 'enjoyed' perhaps, but not considered seriously. This will be a long trip. Rank does have its privileges, you know." Richardson winked and downed another drink.

Humbolt shook his head. "The women are part of my command. I'm responsible for them, just as I am the soldiers. I won't take advantage of their position or mine."

"Oh, balderdash. Enjoy yourself while you can. A hostile Indian could shoot you dead within a month, then where will you and all your principles be?

Humbolt laughed. "Cold in the ground, while you explain what happened to my dear mother. She was heartbroken when Rosamunde married someone else. The least you could do is tell her a good story about me."

"I'll tell her you were shot in the backside, lolly-gagging about with a laundress, that's what. She'd have a fit."

"You're hopeless Cy, you really are." Humbolt shook his head. They'd been chums since childhood and had always been as different as night and day. "You'd better head back to your company. I'll send an escort. It's pitch black by now."

"Well, thank you for the meal and the good company. We may be headed down river together. We should get to Pittsburgh about the same time. See you there?"

"Right, we'll meet again. Sergeant?" Humbolt called into the darkness.

"Yes, sir. Escort for Cap'n Richardson is ready whenever he is, sir."

"Very well."

Humbolt watched the small party ride out of camp, disappearing into the velvet blackness. The moving candle lamps flickered in the darkness, marking their journey. He sat down on a camp box next to the fire, staring deeply into the flickering firelight. Rosemunde's face danced before him in the golden flames. The words of her final letter echoed in his mind:

"I can no longer endure the uncertainty, Geoffrey. You insist on putting yourself in danger again and again. If you must continue this military career, you will continue it without me. I have found another who places my love above his career in his heart. I hope you will be happy, I know I will be.

Rosamunde"

Pressing his palms against his temples, Humbolt tried to force out the conflicting emotions. Military commitment and love did not mix, at least for him. Honor and duty were the bedrock of his life. Rosamunde had dismissed both. He was not interested in a diversion, like Cyrus. At that, another face shimmered in the firelight, almost recognizable, with fiery ringlets surrounding it. He looked away from the fires quickly, running his hand over his eyes. He was not going to notice any of them. He stomped off toward his sleeping tent.

"Well, I'm going to sleep over there where the grass is clean and longer," declared Arabelle. "You-all can sleep here, if you want."

"Just don't get too far from the wagon," said Corinna.

"I'll be fine. We've got lots of protection with us."

Corinna watched Arabelle walk into the darkness with her blankets draped over her arm, away from the campfire lights.

"She shouldn't just disappear, Artie. There are wild animals out here; she could get hurt."

"I'm sure she won't be alone long, dear. There's more than likely a two-legged animal meeting her-see there."

Artie nodded at another shadowy form slipping away from the wagons in the same direction as Arabelle.

"Oh!" Corinna quickly looked away.

"People will be human, dear, and on the trail the niceties of polite society disappear entirely too fast."

Corinna sat quietly by their small fire, brushing the day's dust from her hair. The fire's highlights intermingled with her own. Thoughts of Arabelle and her companion, out in the darkness, swirled in her mind.

Her own encounter with Master Ohelring returned. She shivered at the memory. She wanted no more of that kind of attention. But Arabelle obviously enjoyed the attention she was getting. Things got so complicated where men were concerned. Just thinking about the captain cause her to feel-what? She wasn't sure. She just knew he made her feel things she'd never felt before.

Satisfied she'd removed most of the day's dust, she quickly readied herself for sleep, plaiting her luxurious locks loosely into one long braid. Longing for her real bed at the boarding house, she burrowed under one of Mrs. Grady's quilts. "Thank goodness she sent the quilts along with us."

Footsteps and voices drifted to her.

"Yes, sir, Cap'n. All's well."

"Be on your guard, Private. We don't want any problems. We'll be moving on to Pittsburgh tomorrow. Make sure all of your ladies are accounted for."

"Yes, sir. We'll be ready."

"Very well. Carry on."

Humbolt's footsteps faded away. Corinna smiled. He'd stopped to ask about them. He was concerned for them. She'd find a way through that military reserve while she earned her plot of land. That thought carried her to dreamland.

General Atkinson stared at the sea of tents laid out around his own. The noise of more than 1,500 men, women, children and all the animals it took to move them assaulted his ears. Crumpling the papers he held in his hand, he spun around to face the source of his aggravation.

He glared down at the supplier cowering in front of him. "Damnation, Johnson, I need these supplies! Some of my men have been here nearly a month. You've been paid and paid well."

The man shook his head, opened his mouth as if to speak, then fell silent.

"Well, answer me! Where are my army's supplies?" Atkinson's fist hit the tabletop. "Tell me why I shouldn't throw you in the nearest army stockade."

"Now, now, general. I can't get your supplies if I'm in jail. I'm doing my best to fill your contract. I'm an honest man. It's just that things ain't comin' from the East like they should."

"Well they'd better get here soon, or I'll have your hide. The sixth infantry can't eat Pittsburgh dust for dinner. Now get out of my sight."

The little man scurried away from the tent, clutching his hat, thankful to get away with his skin. Atkinson paced in front of his camp table, smoothing the crumpled paper, reading and rereading the reports his commanders had given him. "The army moves on its belly-it's got to eat!" he bellowed to no one in particular. "And it can't march on water!"

"I've got to give him his supplies; he's going to put me in jail!" Johnson stood rigidly in front of Suthridge, nervously fingering his hatband. "I can't put him off any longer. He's bound he's going up river. If I don't get them, he'll go elsewhere and put me in the army's stockade."

"Calm down, Johnson," said Suthridge. "You're no use to me locked up. Give the general his supplies, without antagonizing him any more. I want you to be his supplier for the entire trip, understand?"

"I don't know. This is getting more complicated than I anticipated."

Suthridge opened his desk drawer and pulled a few bills from the cash box. "I'd say you've earned a little bonus for the time you've delayed them so far, don't you think?"

Johnson snatched the offered cash. "Well, sir, I do appreciate the thought."

"Why don't you go over to the corner saloon and have a drink or two? You can handle the general's supplies, I'm sure. It's not your fault if your American suppliers in the East are slow."

"That's the almighty truth, sir," said Johnson, backing toward the door. "I'll be on my way. I'll see to the supplies."

"Yes, you do that," said Suthridge smoothly. The nervous little man slithered out the door.

Suthridge returned to his lists. The scouts should be arriving shortly. Of course, the good general would need scouts in beaver country. He needed the best. Suthridge intended to provide the "very best" for the army column. Scouts they just couldn't refuse. His mind wandered from the task at hand. The stark emptiness of the rented office weighed heavily. Not even a spare chair.

"This is such godforsaken country." Restlessness welled up inside. He walked slowly to the office window, pushing the grimy, yellowed curtain aside to gaze down upon the street. A pretty blonde head in front of the saloon caught his eye. He watched the young woman intently. After several moments he crossed the office, grabbed his frock coat and headed down to the street. Perhaps he needn't be alone here after all.

Arabelle tapped her foot impatiently, then trudged back up the boardwalk. The saloon was entirely too rough for her tastes. And there were women already there, in the saloon's employ most likely. They wouldn't appreciate her presence. She stared into the hat shop window, contemplating her next move.

"A head as pretty as yours deserves a hat like that."

Arabelle looked up at the reflection in the glass and smiled. The gentleman who'd spoken smiled back.

"Thank you, kind sir. It is a lovely hat."

"My name is Lord Reginald Suthridge, Miss. . ." he allowed his voice to trail off.

"Colter. Arabelle Colter." She flashed him an encouraging smile.

"Dear Miss Colter, I hope you don't find me too forward, but one doesn't meet a lady very often in these frontier towns."

Arabelle studied the vaguely familiar reflection, then turned to face him. "Oh, no sir, not at all. A lady doesn't find suitable company very often either, I'm afraid."

She tried not to laugh as he adjusted the now-remembered monocle. "I'm pleased to meet you, Lord Suthridge. Are you from Pittsburgh?"

"No, I'm traveling through on business. My company still has interests in the colonies. . .excuse me, in America."

"That must be very interesting. Do you travel a great deal?"

"Unfortunately, yes. And you, are you a resident of this fair city?"

"No. I'm traveling with the Philadelphia Sixth Infantry. I'm afraid there aren't many gentlemen such as yourself in the army."

"The army?" Suthridge's voice raised in surprise.

"I'm afraid so," sighed Arabelle, inventing on the spot. "When one is left without anything, one has to keep body and soul together. My late husband liked the horses and his liquor far too much, I'm afraid. When he was killed in a riding accident, it took everything I had to pay his gambling debts. I'm just struggling to get by, doing soldier's laundry. I was never schooled as a shopkeeper's helper or any other profession to earn my own way."

She sighed again, placing a delicate hand against her forehead. She averted her eyes, waiting for Suthridge's reaction.

Suthridge removed his monocle, tucked it in his vest pocket and said firmly, "It is terrible to fall upon hard times. Won't you at least allow me to buy your dinner this evening? The public house has an excellent dining room for its guests."

"Oh, sir. I couldn't impose on you so," Arabelle said softly.

"Nonsense, I insist. I would enjoy your company immensely. Please?"

He offered her his arm. Slowly, she took it, glancing up at him.

"You're very kind, Lord Suthridge. I hope I can do something for you in return."

He smiled and patted her hand. "Don't you fret. Let's have dinner."

They strolled down the boardwalk a short distance to the public house. The last rays of the sun danced in the doorway, lighting their path into the dining area.

Arabelle noted the lengthening shadows, saying, "I will have to return to camp before long. If I'm not there for night roll call, I'll be put on report."

Suthridge smiled. "We'll get you back. I wouldn't want you in any trouble. You're far too pretty to be on report."

The meal moved swiftly. Over after-dinner drinks, Suthridge chose his words carefully. "Tell me Arabelle, the army doesn't pay much, does it? "

He studied the chip in his glass, waiting for her reply.

Curious at the turn of the conversation, Arabelle answered, "No, not what I'm used to."

"How would you like to earn a great deal more money than you do now?"

"How could I do that, Lord Suthridge? What would I have to do?"

"Very little. Just tell me, or my representative, what's happening in the camp."

"But, what could I know?"

"Oh, I'm sure a talented, capable woman such as yourself, knows a great deal about what goes on in an army camp."

"I'd have a hard time getting away from camp. We have very little free time when the column's moving."

"That's no problem. My representative would find you."

"How would I know him?"

"You won't have to. He'll know you. I'm sure I can describe you satisfactorily. In fact, I may be able to arrange for you to meet him before you leave. He'll bring you your pay from me. In small coins, so as not to arouse suspicion."

"Why do you need army information?"

"That's not your concern, my dear. I'm a businessman. I must be able to make business decisions - to stay ahead of my competitors. What do you say? Aren't you tired of dipping those beautiful hands in wash water?"

He picked up her hand from the table, brought it to his lips and kissed the back gently. Tracing a finger around her wrist, he began to massage her palm with his fingertip. "You're being wasted as a laundress."

Needles of lust stabbed deep within her. She rolled her shoulders, closing her hand around his, to stop the persistent pulse in her palm.

"You make a very interesting offer, Lord Suthridge. I must consider it carefully."

"Yes, and this is a very public place. Perhaps we should adjourn to my suite to close our agreement?"

"Does this public house allow you to receive guests in your room?"

"I'm sure it will be fine. I'll just speak to the clerk." Suthridge moved quickly to the desk. "Miss Colter will be joining me in my suite for a few moments. Please fetch a cab for her. She'll be returning to her quarters shortly."

As he spoke, Suthridge slowly twirled a double eagle gold piece in his fingers. The desk clerk stared, first at the gold, then at Suthridge. Finally he said, "Yes, sir. I'll see that a cab is waiting for the lady when she comes down."

"Fine-and be sure the cab is paid for."

"Yes sir, " said the clerk, not about to lose such a gold piece. He smiled, pocketing the heavy coin, watching Suthridge return to the dining room.

Suthridge held out his hand to Arabelle saying, "It's all settled. A cab will be waiting for you. Let's adjourn upstairs to finish our business."

She smiled, taking his hand. The cook and the clerk watched them climb the staircase to the row of rooms above. The cook frowned and jabbed the desk clerk with an elbow. "I thought gentlemen didn't take ladies upstairs in this hotel."

The clerk shrugged and turned away. "For a Double-eagle gold piece, he could take his horse upstairs, for all I care."

The cook laughed. "Oh, I see."

Hearing the door close above, the two exchanged knowing looks and returned to their duties.

Suthridge ushered Arabelle into his room, offering her a seat in one of the stiff horsehair-covered chairs at the small table. Arabelle took in the room while Suthridge rummaged in his trunk. It wasn't much, but nicer than the camp where she was staying, by far. Two sitting chairs, a small table between them, a washstand, a basin and a huge brass bed that dominated the room. Spartan, but serviceable.

"There," said Suthridge, coming to the table, setting out a small pile of coins. "There's your first installment. I'm sure you'll find information that will be useful to me."

Arabelle calculated the amount in the pile. "We're going to be gone a long time. Will I see you again?"

"Perhaps, perhaps not. My business will keep me in Pittsburgh, I'm afraid." He added another gold eagle coin to the pile. "There will be more to come, you have my promise. I want to know the mood of the officers-what's happening-who's visiting-any details, no matter how small they may seem. Just like a news report, my dear. You know, for the papers."

Arabelle considered his last remark. "I think I could be a news reporter."

He nodded. "I'm sure you'll be a very good reporter."

She smiled and finally reached out for the coins. She dropped them carefully into her reticule, saying, "I'll tell you whatever I can. I can't promise anything."

"I'm sure you'll do fine." He caught her hand and pulled her out of the chair. "I hate to see you leave so soon."

She saw the raw hunger in his eyes. Squeezing his hand, pressing her nails into his flesh, she smiled gently and whispered, "It would be a shame."

He pulled her to him, wrapping one arm around her waist, pressing her body tightly against his own. His other arm dropped low, pulling her hips in against the hardening bulge in his trousers. Arabelle leaned back against his arm. She smiled a wicked smile and pushed her hips forward, grinding against him. A low, hollow moan escaped his throat. He covered her mouth with a slathering kiss.

She quickly unbuttoned her top, to keep him from ripping the buttons off. With a shrugging motion, she dropped the bodice, exposing creamy white breasts, nestled invitingly in her corset. He buried his face between the voluptuous curves, tasting her tempting flesh. Raising his head, he glanced into her eyes. Satisfied with what he saw, he lifted her from the floor, carrying her to the big brass bed.

"This will be good business for both of us," he mumbled raggedly, running his hands over her, yanking her clothes out of his way.

"I'm sure it will be," replied Arabelle calmly, reaching to release his desire, letting him please himself. She lay back, ready to take her own enjoyment out of the moment, mentally tallying the coins in her bag. Who knew when the opportunity might again present itself? "A nice evening's work."

The clamoring of people, animals and wagons filled the air around the glistening riverboat, newness sparkling in the midday sun. Teams jostled for position to load cargo box after precious cargo box. The late supplies had finally arrived. The dim memory of the New York City dock flashed through Corinna's mind. She watched the big riverboat roll lazily with the river's determined flow to the west. At last, it was their turn.

"Come on then, move lively,"

The boatswain directed traffic up the perilous gangplank with stern precision. Corinna followed Artie, carrying just a small bundle in her hand. Private Jamison had already stowed her small trunk aboard.

"Corinna, wait for me!"

Arabelle's voice cut through the din. Almost at the top of the plank, Corinna turned to see Arabelle waving from far back in the line. "I will. Don't worry!"

"Watch that wagon!" The boatswain cried out.

"E-E-E-I-I-I!"

Corinna's scream filled the air. She teetered on the edge of the wildly bouncing gangplank, knocked sideways by the skittish team below. Her eyes filled with terror-the yawning gulf between the riverboat and the shore seemed to reach up, to engulf her. Dark, angry water churned below. Arms flailing to keep her balance, she dropped her bundle. She caught a glimpse of it disappear into the foamy, swirling water.

Strong arms jerked her the last few steps to safety on the deck. She gasped for air, lungs screaming with the effort. Regaining some of her composure, she finally looked up-again, into those searing brown eyes.

"We seem to keeping meeting like this, Miss McGinnis," Humbolt said, not releasing her. "Are you quite all right?"

Corinna could feel his heart pounding right along with hers. "Yes, Captain. I think I'm fine, thanks to you."

She looked over his arm, into the treacherous space. "Falling down there would have been terrible."

His arms tightened unconsciously at her words. She looked up, pleased at his reaction. She had the small satisfaction of seeing his face flush just slightly.

"Yes, it would have been. I hope your package wasn't anything valuable. We'll never find it now." He nodded toward the black water below.

"Just a snack Artie had put together. I'll get on without it." Corinna shook her head to clear it, then leaned her head against his chest. She held very still, savoring his closeness. She could feel his heart slowing down a little, keeping time with hers.

Humbolt resisted the urge to stroke the dainty head cradled against him. Those glossy tresses called to him through the gauzy covering on Corinna's head. It would be so easy to caress the tempting curve of neck that he could just see beneath her cap. Exhaling sharply, he released his hold, stepping back to place a more appropriate space between them. "I'm sure you'll be better off in your quarters 'til we get under way."

"I'm sure I will, Captain. Thank you again." Corinna turned quickly and made her way after Artie. Arabelle could find her own way.

"Well, what are you staring at?" growled Humbolt to the boatswain. "Mind that gangplank. We don't want to lose laundresses or anything else."

"No sir, Cap'n, sir. We sure don't," he answered, with a salute. "I'll pay more attention next time, sir."

"Well, see that you do."

Humbolt stalked off, hoping he hadn't looked too ridiculous. He could hear the soldier's quiet snicker in the background. His wayward heart slowly returned to a more normal beat.

"If only she weren't so. . ."

Humbolt forced the thought out of his mind, unfinished. It didn't matter what she was or wasn't. This trip was not going to include an interlude with one of his recruits. It wouldn't be honorable. From the tightening in his gut, he could tell his head was going to have its hands full with the rest of his body. Corinna had definitely left her imprint. He could still feel her body, shivering but strong, pressed tightly against him. From his chest to his groin, he'd felt her. A long unfulfilled ache rose within him, wrapping around him, and almost overwhelming him. It had been a long time since he'd wanted a woman. He could feel the heat rising from his neck to cover his face.

"Get hold of yourself, man," he muttered, struggling to maintain some outward calm. He looked out over the dock to see what holding up the loading. He spied Arabelle, still standing on the dock with two men, one a finely dressed gentleman, the other, a frontiersman, dressed in buckskins.

"She's at it already, and we haven't even left the dock." He could almost taste his disgust. He leaned over the railing, shouting, "Colter! Get aboard! Now!"

Hearing his command, she looked up, waved, and headed for the gangplank.

"I'll be in my cabin," he announced to the boatswain, striding quickly across the deck. He'd put on enough of a show already. This was going to be a long trip on a small boat, even if it was a stern wheeler.

Safely in their cabin, Corinna relived the nightmarish scene on the gangplank. "And the Captain!" She could still feel his arms around her, holding her tight, heart pounding. His heart still insisted in beating triple time, his nearness still intoxicating. "He didn't want to let me go!" What else would happen on this long trip? She could hardly wait.

Suthridge walked down the dock, into the office of the boat builders. "Mr. Davies?"

"Yes sir, Lord Suthridge, at your service." Davies stood up, fingering his tie nervously.

"Were all the modifications we discussed made to the stern wheelers?"

"They were. Those boats look fine. They'll float down river, just like you said."

"Good, very good. And who knows what kind of trouble they may run into? Perhaps none!"

"That's right, sir. Perhaps none."

"What would happen if they were to get hung up on a sand bar or in a tangle of trees?

"Well sir, that keel won't take too much leveraging and pushing. If they hit too many snags, she may split at the seam, I'm afraid."

"Oh, that would be too bad," said Suthridge smiling, handing Davies a fat envelope. "Thank you, Mr. Davies. Perhaps we'll have other business."

"Yes, sir," said Davies, peering into the envelope, smiling at the sight of the money nestled inside. "Anytime."

Corinna wandered alongside the upper deck rail, watching the shadows caress the river in the moonlight. The rolling of the boat no longer made her ill, but sleep wouldn't come. At least when they had been walking, she'd had work to do. Now, the laundry tubs were stowed for the trip and they rarely stopped long enough to wash clothes in the river. After three weeks, the entire boat reeked of sweaty bodies and filthy animals. Sitting in the cramped cabin, with its stifling, stale air, had turned her stomach. She leaned far over the rail, to catch a whiff of the clean night breeze. Its soothing gentleness cleansed her nostrils of the stench. She sighed and pulled back, leaning her head against the deck pole.

"Not quite what you imagined, is it McGinnis?"

Corinna turned with a start, to face Humbolt, who stood in the shadows.

"Captain! You startled me! What are you doing out here in the middle of the night?"

"Making sure you don't fall overboard!"

She could hear the quiet teasing in his voice. "I wasn't going to fall. Tell me, why are you up this late?"

He stepped into the moonlight to face her. "The same reason as you, I imagine. My cabin is no more comfortable than yours and smells just as bad. None of us have private cabins. I needed a breath of fresh air. When I saw you hanging over the rail, I came here. I don't want to lose you to the river before we get started."

She didn't even mind the teasing. The idea of his not wanting to lose her gave her a shiver of pleasure. His smile illuminated his face, even in the moonlight. The shadowy light made it easier to talk.

"You didn't answer me. This isn't what you expected, is it?"

Corinna turned away, staring out over the rippling water. "No, I guess not. I'm not sure what I expected, but I never expected to be on a boat that smelled like a garbage scow."

"None of us are getting what we expected." He stepped next to her, not touching her, just there. "Forgive me, McGinnis. I'm being entirely to familiar."

"Captain? I don't understand. I don't think you're being-familiar-at all," Corinna stared at him, embarrassed at his comment, remembering Arabelle's use of the term. "You've been a perfect gentleman - and we're just talking."

He looked down at her, studying her face, seeing the small frown cross her brow, her confused expression. Remembering the "common" use of his words, he smiled at her again. "You really don't know anything about the military, do you, McGinnis?"

"No, sir. You'll have to explain."

He dropped his head, then lifted his gaze to hers. "Military protocol sets very rigid rules about officers and their behavior. Conversations between officers and enlisted personnel can be considered as being "too familiar". I really shouldn't even speak to you, much less be here in the middle of the night, alone with you."

"You mean we can't even talk, like ordinary people? That doesn't make any sense, Captain," she said, quietly but firmly. "I would think you could be friends with anyone you choose, when you're off duty."

He took her hand gently, saying, "Well, it used to make sense to me. But, I'm not sure it does any more. You're right, McGinnis, I can pick my own friends, when I'm off duty."

"Good. We're going a long way together. We're going to need all the friends we can find."

He nodded, brushing the back of her hand with his lips. "Now please, go back down to your cabin. I won't be able to sleep, thinking about you wandering around on this deck in the darkness."

Her quiet laugh shimmered in the dark. "Very well, Captain. I wouldn't want to upset your sleep."

She stepped lightly away from him and disappeared down the passageway. He stared after her, still feeling the smoothness of her skin against his lips, the pounding of his heart feeling anything but friendly. He turned and stared out into the emptiness of night, savoring the hint of her on his lips. She would not be gone. Her natural fragrance, still sweet, surrounded him, blocking out all the boat's obnoxious smells.

"Take care, you fool. The last thing you need is an impossible relationship." Corinna's lilting laughter echoed in his ears, following him back down the empty corridor to his cabin.

Outside her cabin, Corinna rubbed the back of her hand against her cheek, his gentle kiss still lingered, absolute in its reality. "He kissed my hand!" she whispered aloud. "I am going to crack that wall, Captain. Just you wait!" Smiling a self-satisfied smile, Corinna slipped into the darkened room for the night, planning for the weeks ahead.

Arabelle stood on the high bank, hands punched into her hipbones, surveying the tree-choked river below. The once proud sternwheeler languished at an odd angle, paddle wheel almost out of the water, bow nearly buried beneath a huge tangle of cottonwood limbs and stumps. The smoothly flowing water hid the treacherous current that had caught them, swinging the bow across the channel, into the pile of debris and onto the sandbar beneath.

"What a horrible place to be stuck. And I thought Pittsburgh and St. Louis were awful." She plopped down next to Corinna on one of their ground quilts.

"Oh, St. Louis wasn't so bad. At least we weren't stuck." Corinna plucked a strand of the long prairie grass waving at her side. "This smells nice but I doubt it's very comfortable, if we have to spend the night here."

She pulled the edge of the quilt away from her. "Careful, Arabelle. We'll never get grass stains out of these skirts."

"You're right. And the only thing out here is this long grass and an occasional tree. Barely two weeks out of St. Louis, and we're in the wilderness already."

"And we've been stuck twice! Nobody said this was such a bad river. We're never going to get to the new territory at this rate."

"Yes, we will," said Artie. "The men will get us going again. See, they've formed up already."

The three sat, along with the other women and children, on the riverbank, watching the soldiers ready themselves to try to move the huge paddle wheeler off the pile of trees.

"It's a good thing we have two companies on board," said Artie. "With all of them, they should be able to move it."

"Well there's certainly a difference between the company captains. Look." Arabelle pointed to Captain Richardson. He sat astride a horse, watching the work.

"Don't dally there! Put your backs into it!" He tipped his boot flask to his lips, before shouting again. "You men, get down there. Lift that side."

She smiled at him, towering over the working men. "Now there's a gentleman-looks right smart up there."

"Humph," sniffed Corinna. "Looks to me like he's a bit uppity. Had to saddle a horse just for him-too good to walk like the rest of us. Afraid to get his boots dirty, but real good at bossing others around. I'm glad Captain Humbolt's not like that."

She nodded in his direction. Humbolt had shed his dress jacket and was down at the water's edge with his men.

"Come on, men, put your backs into it. You can do it!" The soldiers struggled to shove the poles into position. "That's right. That's right. Let's get some leverage against this river"

She smiled, reveling in the sight. His muscular chest strained to be free of the confining muslin shirt. He lifted the huge logs easily, as though they were mere twigs. She imagined those strong arms lifting her, tossing her into the air, catching her as easily as he lifted and tossed logs to the men near the boat. A quiver raced the length of her spine. The feeling of his arms around her holding her tight returned with a jolt. She didn't even have to close her eyes to remember those hands gripping, pulling her to safety from the teetering gangplank. She could have stayed forever with her head on his heaving chest.

Arabelle laughed. "Fine. Then we'll not quarrel over the officers. I'll take the one on the horse. You can have the one down in the mud."

Corinna laughed in spite of herself. "Fair enough."

"One more time, men!" Humbolt's voice echoed over the soldiers' grunts. They strained to move the sternwheeler out of the quagmire of trees and limbs that had ensnared them.

"Watch out! She's listing!"

Soldiers scattered at the boat's sudden movement. An ominous groan, followed by a mighty cracking sound, belched from deep within her.

"What was that?"

"Oh no!"

"She's settling even more!"

The bow of the riverboat sank deeper into the tangle of trees that held her captive. The riverboat's captain appeared in the pilothouse window.

"It's no use! We've split a seam below. The lower deck is flooding. We're done."

Humbolt, wiping the sweat from his brow, shouted back up the bank. "Cyrus, make camp. We're stuck here until we can contact General Atkinson. This boat's not going anywhere. We'll start unloading the rest of the gear, before we lose it all."

"Right! Sergeant, sound the order!" Yelled Richardson, wheeling his horse and heading inland.

Arabelle watched her "chosen" officer ride away. "You mean we're staying here?"

"Sounds like it, Arabelle. Come on, your precious officer seems to have left without you." Corinna laughed. She couldn't resist a gentle tease. She lifted the quilt from the ground, folding it carefully to keep the grass stains to the inside. She glanced back down at Humbolt, directing the unloading. He'd have his hands full of work for hours. She threw the quilt over her shoulder and trudged up the bank, after the others. Might as well help get the tents set up. Sleeping on a cot would be better than sleeping on the ground.

Pack animals and horses milled along the water's edge, each one seeking a safe place to stand, to drink without danger on the crumbling, overhanging banks-made-death traps by the constant undercutting of the river. The animals moved closer and closer to the laundresses' tents, which were right at the water's edge. The scout's buckskins were barely discernable from the animal's pelts as he moved effortlessly through them to reach one of the tents.

"Miz Colter?"

"Oh, Andre! You startled me." Arabelle glanced around quickly. No sense in advertising their conversations.

"What information do you have for me?"

"Really Andre, how can you expect me to have anything yet? You've been on this same boat and in this same camp with me ever since Pittsburgh. You've been out more than I have. At least you get to travel with the troops, to scout the area."

She waved her arm toward the vast empty expanse surrounding them. "Surely Suthridge is interested in what's out there."

"He's more interested in what the army's doing in here. You get around. We have friends coming up with the new keelboats. Suthridge will expect a report."

"I'll see what I can do." She sniffed and shivered. Scouts were not the most attractive company. This one smelled like a three-day-dead raccoon. "I'll have something by the time the boats get here."

"I should hope so."

"Well, you can tell him that the food's already terrible. And that boots are already hard to get."

He nodded. "That won't be enough. I know that."

"I'll have something. I must go. We don't want to attract attention." She turned and walked away from him, further along the laundress' row of tents. The scout disappeared into the milieu of pack animals and supplies as quickly as he had come.

Corinna waved from her tent. "Arabelle? Join me for a walk?"

"No, not now. I have ironing waiting."

"Very well. I'll be back shortly."

Corinna sauntered carefully along the bank, watching the water swirl and flow. She bent down, picking a beautiful sky blue wild flower. Its fragrance filled her nose. She'd never seen a flower like it before. She wandered away from the river, following the flower field, picking and walking. The flowers led her over the gentle rise behind the tents, ever further inland, away from the rest.

"McGinnis!"

She looked up, startled by the abrupt shout of her name.

"Oh, Captain! I didn't expect to see you here."

"Where do you think you're going! Do you know how far you are from camp?" He stopped beside her, catching his breath from the quick run he'd made to catch up to her, ready to reprimand her for wandering away. But that intention melted in the sunshine of her smile.

"No Captain. I hadn't really noticed." She held up her wild bouquet. "Aren't the flowers beautiful?"

He bent to take a deep whiff of the wild perfume. "Yes, they are beautiful. . .and so is their gatherer."

She blushed and looked back to the flowers. "Why Captain, thank you."

"And you must be more careful. A beautiful woman on the trail is in danger all the time."

She looked up again, not understanding the grim tone in his voice. "How so?"

"Unscrupulous men, even soldiers, would not hesitate to take advantage of your walking alone, for example. You could be attacked out here and no one would hear you."

"Oh."

"And who knows what the Indians might do, finding a white woman alone? You're not wandering in your back yard."

Corinna's lower lip pulled down dangerously close to a pout. "Must I be afraid, then, Captain? This is such beautiful country. Must I stay away from it?"

He couldn't bear the look in her eyes. The last thing in the world he wanted to do was to make her cry. "Of course not. You're right, it is beautiful, but it's wild." His tone softened, almost pleading with her. "Just think before you wander off by yourself. Find someone to escort you, someone you trust."

She smiled that gorgeous smile at him again, blinking away unshed tears with her luxuriant lashes. "Very well, Captain. I'll do that."

He pulled on the collar of his jacket, stretching his neck to relieve its sudden tightness. He couldn't keep staring into her eyes. He would get irretrievably lost in them, if he weren't more careful. "We need to return to camp."

"Yes, sir, we should. Thank you for escorting me." She carefully studied her flowers, walking along beside him. He forced himself to stare straight ahead, not looking at her, while they moved together, even breathed together, on this innocent path.

It took every ounce of will power he had to keep from reaching out for her, taking her hand, pulling her to him. He had never been so close, yet so far away from such a desirable woman in his life."She's your responsibility, nothing more. Keep it that way." Even the thought sounded hollow and meaningless in his head. He had to find something to do to stay away from her, or his resolve wouldn't last to the next trading post, much less through the entire trip.

With Humbolt away, directing a hunting party, the scene at the riverbank resembled an evening at Bedlam. Richardson tried vainly to get the supplies and people loaded into the first fleet of keelboats that had arrived from St. Louis.

"Oh my!" Corinna's heart sank at the sight of the ungainly boats lying at anchor. "You mean we're going up river in those? It will be so hot in there. We'll all suffocate."

The midday July sun seemed to turn up its brilliance another notch, and the hint of a breeze that played around camp all morning had disappeared without a trace. Corinna wearily wiped her brow with the corner of her apron. The heat was almost unbearable. Losing the riverboat had been bad enough. She couldn't imagine crowding all the supplies and people onto these dinky little boats, in this sweltering weather. St. Louis seemed far away, truly the end of civilization.

"There's supposed to be enough boats to hold all of us, but it certainly doesn't look like it," Artie said.

"I'll bet we're going to walk some more. I never intended to walk all the way to the new territory," snapped Arabelle. "My shoes are almost gone now. They're going to melt, not wear off my feet at this rate."

"There won't even be room for my trunk." Visions of the last of her life's belongings being heaved over the side to make room for military ordinance filled Corinna's head. She plopped down on her trunk to hide it from view.

"Come on," said Artie. "We don't have much choice."

"This way, ladies, if you please." Private Jamison beckoned from one of the boats. "I already have most of your gear stowed below. Got you good places, right next to the hatch, so you'll get whatever breeze there is." He jumped down and came quickly to them.

"Thank you so much, Jamiee," Corinna smiled at him, reaching up to take his hand. He blushed deeply.

"Oh that's all right, miss. Cap'n says I'm to take good care of you--ah--all three of you," he stammered, looking around to all of them. "I have to watch out for you all the way to the new territory."

"Then I'm sure we'll be fine," said Corinna, heading toward the keelboat. Jamie followed behind, carrying her trunk. Artie and Arabelle followed. Arabelle held onto her last hatbox tightly, defiantly, as if daring anyone to suggest that she leave it.

The days stretched into weeks. The companies threaded their way up the river, deeper and deeper into unknown territory.

"Oh Arabelle, look!" said Corinna. "Smoke! Do you suppose we're near that trading post you mentioned-you know, Manuel Lisa's? Can you imagine living out here all alone? Didn't you say he had a wife?"

"Yes, she's the only white woman out here," said Arabelle. "Andre's told me quite a bit about this area. He's been to Canada for the Hudson Bay Company and to the Yellowstone for Astor's Company. He says we'll be the only white women around, except for her."

"Well, there must be Indian women. Maybe we'll meet some of them." Corinna paused, trying to imagine what an Indian woman might look like. The stories ran the gamut from devil to angel, depending upon who was doing the telling.

"I imagine they'll look a lot like us, only darker skinned, from what I saw back east," said Artie.

"Well, I hope Captain Humbolt returns soon. We seem to always need fresh meat. He and the hunting party are gone all of the time, now."

"I know. You'd think there'd be plenty to eat out here.

"I guess there's just plenty of room for the animals to hide. And we certainly aren't getting any supplies from St. Louis."

"Oh, that's always the way. Army suppliers never seem to deliver when they're supposed to. At least they didn't to my husband's unit." Artie sniffed disdainfully at the memory.

"Will there be food at the trading post?"

"I don't know. I don't know who supplies him. If we're supposed to, we're all in deep trouble."

Humbolt sat tall in his saddle, straining to see though his eyeglass. The horizon stretched out before him, a vast expanse of prairie, unbroken by anything but the occasional scrub cedar tree. Where were all these buffalo and antelope the stories told of? They certainly didn't seem to live around here. "Sergeant Thomas!"

"Yes, Sir!" Thomas snapped a salute.

"We're not going to wait any longer for Andre to return. I don't know where he's off to, but we have to find more food. We can't just sit here while he wanders around to who knows where."

"Yes, sir!"

"What do you think of that dust cloud in front of us?" He pointed to a tiny cloud just visible over a nearby hill.

"Well sir, it's either a herd of animals or a passel of Indians-that's what I think."

"I agree. Let's find out which. Maybe it's both. Andre will just have to fend for himself. He can explain where he's been when he comes back."

Andre wrapped his hands around the tin cup, gratefully gulping down a welcome slug of whiskey. "How are things here, Montclair? Have you heard from Suthridge?"

"Everything is going fine, Mon ami, just fine. We've received supplies and whisky from the north. They're well hidden. We can always find helpful people for a few jugs of whiskey."

Andre glanced around again, satisfying himself that they had found a protected spot. "Good, Montclair, good. Have our trappers found beaver yet?"

"Yes. They're nearly to the Yellowstone. They're dodging Blackfeet, though. It's tough going."

"Are there friendly Lakota out there?"

"Yes. We've been moving through their territory."

"Well, keep them moving. We need to bring in a big cache of furs this time. Suthridge has moved to St. Louis to get them-doesn't want to lose out to Astor's men."

"Just keep the soldiers out of our way. We'll get the furs." Montclair poured himself another large cup of the stout whiskey.

"I'm doing my best. I'll see you again at Lisa's. Wait for me."

"I will."

"In the meantime, send a message with the runner back to Suthridge. Tell him Colter says the officers are already worried about the lack of game-the lack of food. The more supplies he can hold up, the quicker this post will be in trouble."

"They really didn't know how hunted out this area is, did they?"

"No. They thought it would be overrun with game."

"Don't they know the French and the Spaniards and the Indians have been here for hundreds of years?"

Andre chuckled and sipped his drink. "We Frenchmen don't count, I guess. And neither one of them speak to the Spaniards. They're not Englishmen or Americans."

The two men laughed heartily at Andre's caustic remark.

"Well, I'd better find the soldier boys again. Wouldn't want them to get lost or anything."

"Couldn't we just have the Arickarees wipe them out?"

"Oh, no. Suthridge says that would bring more Americans and maybe the English government out here. We can't start a war. It would interfere too much with the beaver trade. We just want to make them miserable."

"Humph." Montclair grunted; then shook his head. "Too much politics for me. I'd just as soon shoot 'em all and be rid of 'em."

Andre chuckled, finishing his drink. "That's why you're here and I'm leading the column around. I've got to get back. We'll be moving the boats again; the wind's picking up."

Corinna idly watched the shoreline slip by. Towering cottonwoods, bending deeply with their load of palm-sized leaves, nodded in the ever-present breeze, dipping in greeting to each boat that passed. The men shifted the sails, struggling to keep running ahead of the wind to gain every inch against the downstream current. Leaning on the rail of the high fantail, she watched the crew pole and shift sails. The current fought the heavy boat's progress north, trying to turn them around instead.

"I wish he'd come back . . ."

Corinna shook her head to ward off the thought. The emptiness in her heart had grown as the days dragged by. Even just a look at him would make her feel better. But wishing wouldn't bring him back. They desperately needed meat. A shot broke the silence of the hillside. Straightening, Corinna looked toward the sound. A soldier appeared at the top of the bluff, waving his flintlock over his head, beckoning the boats to shore.

"Oh! Maybe they've found something."

Corinna's words disappeared on the wind, while the pullers strained to reef the sails, turning the boats toward the shore. The rest of the hunting party came over the rise.

"Oh, they have. Look at the pack animals!"

Big bundles hung on the horses' sides. Skins stretched tight over the tops of the loads.

"Thank goodness. We'll have fresh meat tonight."

One of the pullers finally acknowledged her commentary. "Yes'm. I reckon we'll have decent vittles for a change."

The soldiers set up a camp quickly. Soon the smell of roast venison filled the air, fresh for the evening meal. In the haste, the officer's mess had been set up right next to the regular food lines. Corinna could hear the officers talking while they ate. She tried to listen, while not being obvious about eavesdropping.

"Did you see anything while you were out?" asked Richardson.

"Yes. We're being watched. We ran across tracks all along the bluff. The natives are tracking our progress. We saw a small party watching while we cleaned a deer. They wouldn't get close enough to talk to us. They know we're here."

"Too bad we're in front, old man," observed Richardson. "I'd just as soon let one of the other commanders deal with the natives."

"They don't seem hostile, Cy, just curious."

"One never knows about savages. Keep your guard up."

Humbolt nodded, finishing a bite. He heard the chatter of the children, eating not far away. He looked up to see Corinna, in the middle of the group. She seemed to be amusing them while they ate.

Visions of the earlier war pushed into his mind. The children's laughter turned to screams-screams mingled with war cries echoed in his ears. His hand slid down his neck to the ever-present reminder of that last vicious battle. He clutched his throat while the face of a beautiful little girl, a settler's child, floated before him. He hadn't been able to save her. He could still feel her tiny body draped cold and motionless over his arms. He'd stood helpless, amid slaughtered settlers and soldiers, not able to drop her to protect himself, not even from the Cree warrior, screaming a blood-curdling yell, swinging a soldier's sword, stolen from one of the dead. "NO!"

He stood up sharply to bring himself back to the present, unaware of his own shout. They didn't belong out here; none of them did. Indians were savages, not to be trusted. The war had taught him that. He pressed his hand to his eyes to block the memory. Starting to leave, he stumbled.

"Geoffrey? I say, are you all right?" Richardson rose, stepping quickly to his side.

"I'm fine. Just an old memory. Too many Indians. I'll say good night." Humbolt turned away, unable to watch the children or Corinna any longer.

Corinna watched him go. She'd hear the shout, seen him stumble. "Whatever could be wrong?"

The look on his face puzzled her. Every ounce of color had drained from his sun-browned skin. He looked as though he had just witnessed something terrible. She finally turned her attention again to the children, enjoying their chatter. The littlest boy reminded her of the brother she'd lost. Children were so precious. She allowed herself just a thought or two of what Captain Humbolt's children might look like, especially if they had red hair.

Humbolt studied the rough log cabin set back from the riverbank. "What a long way to haul supplies." He dismissed the thought as a tall, burly man steeped into view from the door. He motioned them toward the cabin.

"Well, Cyrus, let go meet the man. Andre says this is Lisa's cabin." They trudged up the bank and up the slope to the burly, bearded man awaiting them.

"Welcome! Welcome, captains. I'm Manuel Lisa, at your service," he said, arms spread wide in greeting. "We've been expecting you."

"Oh?"

"My friends," said Lisa, gesturing to a small cluster of braves behind him. "They've been tracking your progress up river-watching your sailing boats."

"They wouldn't talk to us," said Humbolt, "but we knew they were watching."

"They knew you would come here." Lisa laughed. "Not many other places to go! Come meet the braves. Your name, captain?"

"Humbolt. Captain Geoffrey Humbolt, and Captain Cyrus Richardson, at your service, Senor Lisa. And this is Andre Lucien, our scout and interpreter."

"This is Spotted Deer, one of Chief War Eagle's most valued village chiefs."

At his name, one of the braves stepped out ahead of the group, coming forward with measured steps-not too quickly-until he was even with Lisa. His coal black stare took the measure of Humbolt and his companions. Lisa spoke rapidly in the native tongue, then switched to English for the soldier's benefit.

"You've been hunting on Omaha tribal lands for the past few days."

Spotted Deer's stare grew even colder.

"Andre," said Humbolt, "give Spotted Deer my greetings on behalf of the United State Government and thank him for his tribe's hospitality in allowing us to hunt without permission. Tell him we are prepared to offer trade goods in payment for the meat we've needed to feed our people. Also, tell him our Chief, Colonel Morgan will soon be here. We'd like to arrange a council between our two chiefs."

Humbolt watched Spotted Deer's face during the translation. The stone face relaxed slightly at the offer of trade goods for meat. Then Spotted Deer spoke very clearly and precisely, "Chief War Eagle will meet your chief. We will come to you."

Humbolt breathed easier. Spotted Deer spoke English. That would make it easier to talk. "We're going to move a little further up river to wait for Colonel Morgan. Our destination is the mouth of the river we call the Yellowstone."

Spotted Deer shook his head. "Whites not welcome up river. "Arickarees not want you there. Better to stay here-we trade, not fight."

"He's right, Captain," urged Lisa. The Omahas have dealt with the Indian agent, Kensington, since the big council with General Clark. This is peaceful territory. It's not further up river. The Arickarees don't want anyone, white or Indian, in their territory; and the Blackfeet and the Sioux swear whites will never settle in the Yellowstone Valley. That's their special area."

"Well, Lisa, that's why we're here. It's all part of the United States territory now. President Monroe wants it safe for anyone to travel anywhere, especially the fur traders and trappers in the upper Yellowstone."

"I wouldn't want your job, Cap'n, no sir!" exclaimed Lisa. "I have enough trouble right here. I've been burned out once already."

"I thought you traded with everybody," said Richardson, more of a question than a statement.

"I do," said Lisa. "But there are those who don't want me here-or you either for that matter. It won't be just the Indians you'll need to look out for. Mr. Astor's men won't want you pokin' around in their beaver trade-you can bet on that."

"Astor? The financier?" asked Richardson.

"That's him," said Lisa, "He's got things tied up nice and tight around here. And what he don't have, the Hudson Bay Company does. They come down from Canada. They won't want the army gettin' in their way. Just a warning gents: watch your backs. You'll need to worry more about the whites than the Indians, at least the Omahas, if you stay in this territory."

Spotted Deer nodded. Humbolt made up his mind right then to talk directly to Spotted Deer whenever possible. He didn't trust interpreters, even though Lucien had come with excellent credentials. He'd certainly disappeared from the hunting party often enough.

Spotted Deer turned to Humbolt. "We find you when you make camp. We meet again."

With a nod to his followers, he turned away. The Indians retreated to their horses and left, disappearing into the rolling hills behind Lisa's post.

"Do you suppose he means that?" asked Richardson.

"Of course," said Lisa. "They'll track your every move. They'll know when Colonel Morgan arrives and when you make permanent camp. They'll send a scouting party to arrange a meeting then, not before."

"Well Lisa, let's see what business we can do. We're not stopping here for long. Our orders are to push as far as we can up river before winter. We may not get to the Yellowstone River, but we can surely get a little farther before we make a permanent camp."

"Whatever you say, Captain," said Lisa. "I'm just a trader, not a soldier. I can tell you where the Lewis and Clark expedition stopped-at the great Council Bluff, as the Indians call it. But if I were you, I'd reconsider going much further. It's August already. You don't have much time to get settled and lay in supplies. Fall gets by mighty quick out here and you have to be ready for winter. It's a killer in these parts."

Back at the boats, Humbolt said, "I don't like the sound of this, Cyrus. We may be headed into a trade war among the whites, instead of meeting Indians and showing the colors."

"You're right-if the beaver men are fighting among themselves, we'll be right in the middle-who are we supposed to protect?"

"Unfortunately, all of them," said Humbolt. "We'll have to fill Colonel Morgan in as soon as the rest of the column catches up. We're going to have to play peacemaker on all sides."

"That may be difficult-if Astor and the Bay Company don't want peace-like Lisa says."

"I know," agreed Humbolt. "Oh well, let's move. The winds are in our favor and the days are still long. We'll move until our supplies make us stop."

Further upstream, the two companies made a final camp beneath the towering bluffs on the west side of the river. The land rose abruptly, overhanging the wide flood plain of the meandering river.

"According to Lewis' notes and Lisa's description, up there is the place where Lewis and Clark called their council with the tribes of this area," said Humbolt, pointing to the bluff above them. "That Indian agent, Kensington, should be around here somewhere. We need to find him. We'll stop here until Colonel Morgan and the rest of the regiment catch up to us. We're overextended now."

Humbolt gazed at the broad expanse of flood plain stretching in front of him. The same massive bluffs bordered the far eastern side of the river.

"Well, old man, down here or up there?" asked Richardson, pointing toward the top of the bluff.

"Down here for the time being. Closer to the river. Floods shouldn't be a danger until spring. That's a long way to carry water. I'd hate to get cut off from the water supply if these Indians aren't as friendly as they seem," said Humbolt.

"Right!" agreed Richardson. He began barking orders to the waiting troops. The first camp began to take shape.

Colonel Morgan and the rest of the thousand or so troops joined the advance party in the shadow of the bluff, over the next several weeks. A tent city rose on the flood plain. A tent city surrounded by cords and cords of carefully chopped wood.

"Artie, whatever are we going to do with all this wood," said Corinna, staring at the fruit of the soldier's labors. "It's so hot, I can't imagine we'll ever use all that for campfires."

"From what Andre says, as hot as it is now, it gets even colder in the wintertime out here."

Corinna wiped another drop of sweat from her brow. "It's like an oven here. Or maybe a furnace. A little colder would be very welcome I'd say. It's so hot the river doesn't even want to move."

Artie nodded, running a damp rag around the back of her neck trying to tame the worst of the heat. It was too hot to talk. They silently watched the river creep lazily by-very low now, through the last, rainless, dog days of August.

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