Knight in a Black Hat

B Glad Judith

Description

Nellie Sanders persuades her uncle, a renowned botanist, to allow her to join an expedition to the Sawtooth Valley in Idaho Territory in 1872. Using an assumed name, infamous shootist Malachi Breedlove contracts to lead the botanical expedition into the wilderness.A crazy old woman steals Nellie, believing her a dead daughter returned to life. As leader of the expedition, Malachi is forced to send others to seek the woman he now realizes he loves. Nellie finally convinces the old woman to take her back, claiming she will die without Malachi. No sooner are Nellie and Malachi reunited than disaster strikes the expedition. Now the lovers must face the dangers of the wilderness must, conquer old weaknesses and discover new strengths. As the summer ends, Nellie faces a choice between academic acclaim and love, while Malachi wonders whether he can hang up his guns and survive. Can they find a compromise that lets them both realize their dreams?

Sujets

• Westerns
• Historical romance
• Western (genre)
• Western

Informations

• Publié par: Uncial Press
• Date de parution: 13 octobre 2006
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781601740137
• Langue: English

Extrait

KNIGHT IN A BLACK HAT
Behind the Ranges, Book V
 
By
Judith B. Glad
 
Something hidden. Go and find it. Go and look behind the Ranges-- Something lost behind the ranges. Lost and waiting for you. Go.
Rudyard Kipling: The Explorer
 
 
Uncial Press       Aloha, Oregon 2006
 
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events described herein are productsof the author's imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Anyresemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirelycoincidental.
Copyright © 2002, 2006 by Judith B. Glad
ISBN 13: 978-1-60174-013-7 ISBN 10: 1-60174-013-1
Previously published by Awe-Struck E-Books
Cover photo and design by Judith B. Glad
All rights reserved. Except for use in review, the reproduction or utilization of this work inwhole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known orhereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the author or publisher.
Published by Uncial Press, an imprint of GCT, Inc.
Visit us at http://www.uncialpress.com
Dedication & Acknowledgements
Women naturalists made enormous contributions to theknowledge of American flora and fauna in the nineteenthcentury, yet few were recognized in their own time. Thisbook is dedicated, with love and honor, to all of them.
Two women helped me enormously on my own pathtoward becoming a botanist. Patricia L. Packard and LaRea J. Dennis, thisbook is for the two of you, as well.
And for Neil, who helped me follow my dreams--allof them.
 
* * * *
 
My thanks to Richard R. Halse, Curator of the Oregon State University Herbarium, wholent his imagination to the conceptualization of Nellie's balloon plants and helped me withexpedition details. He also checked the taxonomy of all the plants mentioned and gave me awealth of historical information about botanical nomenclature.
As always, I consulted many sources while planning and writing this story. Two booksstand above the rest for inspiring me and for the quantity and quality of information theyprovided about women naturalists in the nineteenth century. Marcia Myers Bonta's superb books, Women in the Field (1991) and American Women Afield (1995) are bothpublished by Texas A & M University Press.
Prologue
Gertie woke suddenly, alert. Shivering, she propped herself on one elbow, strained tohear the secret night sounds. What? What's out there?
A rustle, a small shriek as a mouse met its fate, a distant whoo-whoo-whoo , andthe whisper of gentle wind among the treetops was all she heard.
She levered herself upright, groaning as the rheumatiz in her knees reminded her shewasn't as young as she used to be. Buttercup lifted his head, yellow eyes gleaming in the scantlight, and made a soft cat-sound. Then he tucked his nose back under his tail.
I must'a been dreamin'. He ain't worried, so there's nothin' out there gonna botherus.
Sniffing the air, she turned her head from side to side. Rain was coming, that wascertain. But there was something else. Not a scent, not a whisper. She held still, listening withher whole body, but heard no sound that was new, that was strange.
Slowly, stealthily, like a wolf in the shadows, a sureness crept into her mind. Folksis comin'. They're comin' over the mountains. And they ain't lookin' for gold.
Along with the sureness came another thought, one that raised her hackles and sentgoosebumps down her arms. Among the newcomers would be one who would bring danger anddeath to her safe mountain hideaway.
Chapter One
Utah Territory, March, 1872
The train emerged from Devil's Gate. Nellie Sanders kept her face pressed to the dirtywindow, eager for a first glimpse of their immediate destination. Ahead she could see the valleyopen into a bucolic panorama, with tidy farms and small, mostly unpainted houses extendingfrom the abrupt bases of steep, rugged mountains--the Wasatch Range, which formed the easternborder of the Salt Lake Valley. She forced herself to sit still. Pacing the aisle, as she'd done morethan once since leaving Ohio, would not make the train move any faster.
In less than an hour her great adventure would begin.
What still impressed her the most about this vast western land was the lack of trees. Oh,there were the expected cottonwoods along the occasional creek and river, but beyond thatnarrow belt of well-watered ground, only shrubs broke the monotony of the winter-brownlandscape. The Conductor had told her that what trees had been here when the railroad was beingbuilt had gone to make ties and bridge timbers and shacks for the workers.
As if to reprove her impatience, the train gradually slowed to a crawl. Unable to sit still,she checked about her, making sure she had her small valise and the heavy satchel containingbooks. Across the aisle, Mr. Beckett, her uncle's valet, was just closing the lapdesk that heldUncle's correspondence and journal. He had earlier made certain that all their scatteredbelongings were put away, but then Uncle had insisted on dictating one last letter.
"Don't fuss, Nellie," Uncle said, as she picked up the newspaper lying on the seat besidehim.
She laid it back down and returned to her seat. But she continued her mental inventory.The way Uncle strewed his belongings about was a caution. Mr. Beckett gave her a small,resigned smile. He was the one who would be held responsible for any lost items.
The train chugged around a curve and the view through the sooty window beside herchanged from barren hillsides to an endless vista. "Oh my!" she breathed. Beyond the cluster ofbuildings ahead, the lake--Great Salt Lake--extended as far as the eye could see, shining like asheet of silver in the late afternoon sunlight. "Look, Uncle! The lake!"
"Yes, yes, of course it's the lake. You knew it was here. Did you remember not to packmy portfolio?"
Nellie couldn't tear her gaze from the prospect before her. "It's in the book satchel."
"Hmmph."
"Miss Sanders, I can't find the professor's penknife."
She turned, reluctantly. "I think he put it inside the lapdesk. Did you look there?"
"I did, but I'll look again."
Sighing, Nellie went to help him. Eventually they found the penknife on the floor underUncle's seat.
By that time, the train was inching its way into the railyard. There was a raw, unfinishedlook about the place, as if the construction workers had simply laid down what they carried andwalked away when the building of the transcontinental railroad was done. None of the woodenbuildings along the right-of-way were painted, and many looked as if they had been assembledout of scraps of whatever the builder could scrounge.
At last the train approached the depot. It crept past a large, many-windowed buildingsided with white clapboards. A hotel, Nellie assumed, for it looked very similar to the one inLaramie where they had been forced to spend a night, due to a derail some distance west ofthere.
She took stock of the three men who stood on the platform. Surely none of them was theguide who would be responsible for their expedition's safety and well-being for the nexthalf-year. One was an older man in rough clothing, with the look of a farmer about him. The secondwas well-dressed, middle-aged, and portly; not someone she would expect to venture into thewilderness. The third--he was dressed all in black, with a wide-brimmed black hat that concealedthe upper part of his face. He looked exactly as she would expect a desperado to appear, exceptthat he carried no gun. He certainly did not resemble her ideal of a trustworthy guide.
The train came to a halt with a clash of brakes and a jerk that nearly threw her to thefloor.
The other passengers lined up in the aisle, but Nellie stayed where she was, knowingUncle was always the last to disembark. She spent the wait peering through the window andwishing the depot didn't block the view of the lake. And forcing herself into an outwardappearance of calm, when what she really wanted to do was rush to the vestibule and take thefirst step into adventure.
* * * * *
The man whose name was not Malcolm Bradley stood on the platform, watching theapproaching train. Malachi Breedlove still wasn't sure he was doing the right thing, but he wassure his luck was close to running out. It was time for a change, and this was the best idea he'drun into.
Herding a bunch of tenderfeet into the mountains wasn't quite what he'd bargained forwhen he'd wired George Franklin, looking for work. But Franklin had told him that this jobneeded someone with some brains and some couth, so he hadn't been able to resist.
He liked to think he was a cut above other shootists. He read books, spoke well, and hadnever killed a man who didn't need it.
The windows of the train were gray with soot, so that all he could see were dark shapesinside, a long line of them, moving like cold molasses toward this end of the railcar. He watchedthe people stepping down from the Pullman car, wondering which were his party. A professor ofbotany, his manservant, and his assistant. Franklin, who'd guided hunting parties made up oflords and knights and even a prince or two, had almost turned the job down, until he got thetelegram from Malachi, asking about work, and being particular about what kind of work hetook.
The professor did something or other with plants, but Franklin hadn't been sure justwhat. All he'd known was that the client hadn't wanted trophy heads, hadn't cared whether hisguides could hunt or not, as long as they knew how to get him into the Sawtooths, up in IdahoTerritory.
A bent, graybeard stepped carefully down the steps, paused, and looked around. Behindhim were two younger men, each carrying a carpetbag. Malachi straightened, sure he'd found hisparty.
Then a young woman rushed forward and embraced the older man. "Papa!" she cried,"I've missed you so."
Several more people disembarked, but the flood had slowed to a trickle. The Conductorchecked his noteb