White Wolf by Susan Edwards Page B

you spare Rickard during the day to help Elliot Baker with the Joneses’ wagon? He’ll be paid the same rate as the other two for each day’s work.”
    Rickard, standing next to his parents, stood taller. A wide grin spread across his features. Lars nodded to his son, who replied, “Thank you, Mr. Wolf.”
    Wolf nodded. “Drop the mister. Wolf will do,” he said, dismissing the boy to report to Elliot. He then commenced inspection of the wagons. Finding no fault, he moved on to the Nortons’ wagon. Mr. and Mrs. Hugh Norton were a quiet newlywed couple in their mid-twenties. To his surprise, the new bride batted her long, dark eyelashes at him.
    He ignored her flirting as he checked the outside of the wagon. When he’d finished, he turned his attention to the inside. He lifted a brow. There was only one trunk packed among the stores of food and trail gear. Even the food supply consisted mostly of dried meat, hard bread and crackers with a small amount of bacon, pork and beans. They were also the only family traveling with horses. Rosalyn informed him in a breathy voice that she and Hugh planned to ride most of the way to Oregon, that they’d hired a driver to deal with the oxen and the wagon, as well as the cooking chores. Wolf took note of the long troughs on the outside of the wagon and made sure they had sufficient grain for the horses, as the animals wouldn’t survive the long trip on grazing alone.
    The last wagon rolled up into position, driven by a small woman with golden-red hair. Eirica Macauley had trouble getting the oxen to stop and fall into line. Wolf took over, explaining what to do, then waited for her to lift her three children, all under the age of five, out of the back of the wagon before checking it over. He found no fault with the wagon or the animals. Jumping onto the wagon tongue, he examined the load inside and found the supplies and provisions to be on the meager side. Lifting a quilt, he peered beneath it.
    His brows rose when he found two wooden kegs of whiskey, then discovered two more kegs hidden behind a trunk, and a fifth one buried beneath a gutta-percha sack of sugar. His lips tightened. Food might be in short supply but not the spirits. “Mrs. Macauley—”
    Eirica turned to grab her youngest, a redheaded boy who had toddled too close to the restless oxen. Seeing her in profile, Wolf noticed that she was with child. He did some fastcalculations and figured she’d give birth in late summer. He exhaled. Birthing added complications and slowed progress. Glancing around, he realized he hadn’t seen Birk. “Mrs. Macauley, where’s your husband?”
    Eirica lowered her gaze to the toddler she jiggled in her arms and whispered nervously, “He’s still in town.”
    “Which saloon?” he bit out, his voice tight with anger.
    Eirica stepped back, her arms tight around the little boy. “I don’t know.”
    Recognizing her fear of him, Wolf stalked away. Of all the families making the overland trip, this family worried him the most. Untying his horse, he mounted and rode toward the herd of horses grazing to one side of the cattle. Each hired hand brought with him anywhere from one to three mounts, plus Wolf had purchased an extra ten horses for spares, as each animal would be ridden long and hard during the day. He spotted a tough-looking horse wrangler.
    Cupping his hands, he shouted, “Duarte!” The dark-skinned man rode up to him, and Wolf jerked his thumb over his shoulder toward the Macauley wagon. “Mr. Macauley has several kegs of whiskey tucked into the back of his wagon. My rules state that each family is allowed only one small cask of liquor. Take the kegs into town and trade them for food rations. While you’re there, fetch Macauley. I believe you’ll find him at one of the saloons. Take Bart and Claude with you. If Macauley objects, tell him he doesn’t go. We leave within the hour, with or without him.”
    Duarte rode off, signaling for the two men to join him. Within