“Oh,” Palmer said. He didn’t care. A redskin was a redskin, as far as he was concerned. These two might not look it, but they were tainted with savage blood.
He had heard about the Metis. You couldn’t spend much time in this part of the world without hearing about them. Descendants of the French fur trappers who had been the first white men to venture into western Canada and had taken Indian women as wives, they had spread all over the plains and mountains.
When the British had come to spread the dominion of the Crown all the way from one side of the continent to the other, the Metis had tried to get along peacefully with them at first. It hadn’t taken long for the mixed-bloods to realize, though, that as far as the British were concerned, they had no real voice in their fate.
Led by the highly intelligent and charismatic Louis Riel, twice the Metis had tried to rise up against the British. Both times the rebellions had been shortlived. The Metis had scored a minor victory or two, but then the British had crushed their resistance. The first rebellion had led to the formation of the North West Mounted Police.
After the second rebellion, Louis Riel had been found guilty of treason against the Crown and hanged.
That had happened less than fifteen years earlier, but to Palmer, it was ancient history and had nothing to do with him. Or at least, it hadn’t had anything to do with him until now. The earlier talk about guns had sure made him curious.
“Didn’t mean any offense,” he went on. “I’ve heard about you folks. The way those damned Britishers treated you never seemed right to me.”
He might as well make them think he was on their side, he told himself. That was the quickest, easiest way to worm himself into their confidence and find out what was going on.
Charlotte got a tin cup out of their gear and lifted a coffeepot from the edge of the fire. She poured the last of the coffee in the pot into the cup and handed it to Palmer.
“Thank you,” he said with a smile. He knew he wasn’t a particularly handsome man, but he was big and rugged-looking and women seemed to respond to him when he smiled.
Charlotte Marat was no different. She lowered her eyes and blushed.
“What are you doing out here?” Joseph Marat demanded, still scowling suspiciously at Palmer.
“I could ask the same thing of you, you know,” Palmer responded. He sipped the coffee, which was bitter and had grounds in it. He didn’t let his face show how bad it tasted.
“Our business is our own,” Marat said.
“Likewise.” Palmer shrugged. “I don’t mind telling you that I’m on my way to Calgary, though. I’ve heard that some friends of mine have gone into business around there. I thought maybe I’d join up with them.”
That was actually true. The criminal grapevine that stretched across even vast areas of frontier wilderness had carried the rumors that Owen Lundy and Jericho Blake were operating in Calgary now. Palmer had worked with Lundy and Blake in Chicago, before they had all moved farther west and north, and he figured they could probably use another good man.
But they would be even more likely to let him throw in with them if he already had a lucrative scheme lined up.
These two innocents might be the key to that.
“If you’re headed to Calgary,” Palmer went on, “maybe we could travel together. On the frontier, it’s always safer for a group.”
With a stubborn look on his face, Marat began, “Our destination is—”
“Your own business, I know,” Palmer cut in. “Look, if you want, I’ll go back to my horses and won’t bother you folks anymore. I don’t like sticking my nose in where it’s not wanted.”
“It’s not that, M’sieu Palmer,” Charlotte said. “It’s just that we are engaged on a matter of great importance. We must be careful about everything we do.”
Her brother glared at her, as if she had already said more than he wanted her to.
Palmer took another sip of the bad coffee and nodded. “Hey, at least I got to see some more humans. This is lonely country, and a man gets tired of looking at nothing but elk and moose.” He drank the last of the coffee and managed not to grimace. “I’ll be pushing on, I guess.”
“Good luck to you in Calgary,” Marat said, but his surly tone made it clear that he didn’t mean it.
“And good luck to you in whatever you’re doing.” Palmer handed the empty cup to Charlotte and smiled again. He nodded, adding, “So long.”
He left the camp, making quite a bit of racket as he tramped through the woods. That was just for show, because he stopped when he was a couple of hundred yards away and listened intently. He heard them moving around and talking to each other, and a few moments later, the sound of horses’ hooves drifted through the night air. The orange glow of the fire was gone now.
They were moving their camp. Palmer wasn’t the least bit surprised. He had expected Marat to insist on it.
It didn’t matter. They might be native to this land, but he had cunning to spare and never lost a trail when there was the promise of a payoff at the end of it. He would find them again and track them until he discovered what was going on here. The delay would give any pursuers coming after him more of a chance to catch up, but it couldn’t be helped.
Whatever Marat and his sister were up to, Palmer intended to cut himself in on it.
And when he had done that … well, maybe he would just take himself a share of pretty little Charlotte as well.
Chapter 9
