King of the Mountain (Wilderness # 1) Page 2

  “Look at what New York has to offer,” Brown continued, still chewing as he talked. “There’s the opera, museums, and the ballet. Our theaters are the envy of the civilized world. Our newspapers are quoted everywhere. Why, the New York Evening Post, the one that William Cullen Bryant edits, is read by the President. Our universities are nationally renowned. Face facts, Nate. New York City is the cultural center of America.”

  The smugness with which Brown maintained his assertion bothered Nathaniel, but he was at a loss to identify the reason. “St. Louis has benefits to offer,” he said lamely.

  Brown snorted and almost choked on his sandwich. “Are you jesting? All St. Louis has to offer are ruffians, Indians, and the prospect of having your throat slit.”

  Nathaniel regarded the fat little man coldly, thinking that Brown wasn’t the only New Yorker he knew who seemed to take an inordinate pride in his city, as if New Yorkers were superior to everyone else by virtue of their birthplace. He realized suddenly he shared that snobbish attitude to a lesser extent. New York could boast a culture rivaled by few other cities, but did that culture truly transform its residents into better citizens, better people, then those raised in, say, Boston or New Orleans or even St. Louis? He saw Matthew Brown stuffing more food into that gaping mouth and shook his head.

  Brown misconstrued the motion. “What? You doubt you’ll have your throat slit if you venture to St. Louis? How can you be so naive? You’re read about the frontier. You know what it’s like.”

  “Do I?” Nathaniel wondered wistfully.

  Chapter Two

  The street lamps were lit by the time Nathaniel bundled himself in his woolen overcoat and started for home. He had performed his work that day in a perfunctory fashion, unable to fully concentrate, his mind adrift with the implications of his uncle’s letter. The traffic outside was every bit as bustling as it had been that morning. He turned to the right and flowed with the crowd.

  One sentence kept repeating itself over and over, unbidden but irresistible: “I have found the greatest treasure in the world and I want to share it with you. ” What on earth could Uncle Zeke mean? Nathaniel mused. What kind of treasure? Had Zeke found gold or silver? There were many rumors about legendary treasures to be found out west, so perhaps Zeke had stumbled on one of them.

  The most persistent legend, a tale every schoolboy learned by heart, concerned the Seven Golden Cities of Cibola. They were said to contain great riches, wealth so great that no man could conceive of the magnitude of the fortune. The seven cities were reputed to exist somewhere in the vastness between the Mississippi River and the Pacific Ocean; they were said to be inhabited by a tribe of fierce Indians. The Spanish had sent several expeditions to find the Golden Cities of Cibola more than two hundred years ago, but although the expeditions had failed, the legend lingered on.

  If Zeke had found gold, wasn’t it only logical to assume that he would want to share part of his wealth with someone in the King family? And who better to share the gold with than his favorite nephew? Or so Nathaniel reasoned, and the more he thought about it, the more convinced he became that his uncle had made a fortune, and now wanted to mend the rift that had branded Ezekiel the black sheep in the King clan.

  Engrossed in his reflection, and eager to reach home, Nathaniel opted to take a shortcut through an alley, a shortcut he might normally take during the day but had never used at night. He was halfway through the gloomy alley, his hands plunged in his overcoat pockets to shield them from the cold, his eyes straining in the dim shadows, when someone stepped from a recessed doorway and blocked his path.

  Nathaniel halted abruptly, surprised but not worried, confident his size alone, six feet plus two inches, would deter most pickpockets and robbers from bothering him. “Excuse me, sir, but you’re blocking my path,” he said.

  “Your money or your life.”

  The gruff words, delivered with an air of impending menace, startled Nathaniel. He knew about the hundreds of robberies that took place in New York City each year, and about the scores of footpads who made their vile living by preying on the innocent and the unsuspecting, but this was happening to him, and the reality of his predicament took half a minute to sink in.

  “Didn’t you hear me, fool? I want your money or your life!” the man declared.

  Still stunned, Nathaniel mechanically pulled his hands from his pockets, about to comply, when he detected the flashing gleam of a large knife reflected in the feeble light from an overhead window.

  “Don’t trifle with me, mister!” the robber warned. “Give me your money now!”

  “Go to hell, Nathaniel blurted out, and spun. He saw the mouth of the alley not ten yards away, and he sprinted toward the opening in the hope that his assailant would not pursue him into the busy street. But he managed only three strides before strong arms caught him from the rear, looping about his hips, and the next moment he crashed to the hard ground with the footpad on top.

  Instantly Nathaniel rolled to the right, nearly upending the thief in the bargain. The man clung fast to his overcoat, though, and Nathaniel saw the knife arching toward his chest. He lunged, grasping the robber’s right wrist in his left hand, checking the knife’s descent, and was clenching his right hand to deliver a blow with his fist when iron fingers clamped on his throat.

  The footpad was attempting to strangle him!

  Nathaniel bucked and squirmed, but he failed to disarm his foe or dislodge the constricting fingers from his neck. He tried to knee his attacker in the spine, but his overcoat impeded his movements. Frustrated, desperate to break free, Nathaniel felt a surge of newfound power course through him at the thought of being slain by an anonymous thug in a filthy alley.

  “Damn you!” the footpad hissed. “Die!”

  “No!” Nathaniel roared, and amazed himself by coming up off the ground in a mighty heave of his steely legs. He hurled the robber as if the man were a rag doll instead of a two-hundred-pounder, flinging him against the wall.

  The footpad grunted as he hit the bricks, then dropped to one knee.

  His fists at the ready, Nathaniel closed in, but the man scrambled to the right, then rose and dashed toward the street. “Hold on!” Nathaniel yelled, and gave chase. Again the overcoat interfered, preventing him from attaining his top speed. He was able to stay within two strides of the robber, though, and both of them burst from the alley without bothering to verify if the way was clear.

  Voicing a harsh oath, the footpad collided with another man and both went down.

  Not about to allow his adversary to escape, Nathaniel pounced and pinned the thief, his arms around the man’s chest.

  “Here, here, now! What is this?” bellowed someone in an authoritative manner.

  Nathaniel felt hands on his shoulders, and then both he and the footpad were hauled erect.

  “Now what is the meaning of this?” demanded a burly constable, who pulled the two men apart and held them at arm’s length.

  “He tried to rob me!” Nathaniel exclaimed.

  “I did not,” the footpad responded sheepishly. Revealed in the glow of a nearby street lamp, he was a stout, unkempt man with oily black hair and beady eyes.

  The constable released both of them and looked from one to the other. “Now who am I to believe?”

  “He has a knife,” Nathaniel stated angrily. “He nearly stabbed me.”

  Smiling sweetly, the robber held up both hands. Both empty hands. “Search me if you like,” he said. “You’ll find no knife on Bobby Peterson. I’m a man who dislikes violence.”

  “He’s lying!” Nathaniel cried. “He attacked me in the alley.”

  “Attacked?” Peterson repeated in astonishment. “Why, all I did was bump into the lad in the dark, and the next thing I know he had pulled me to the ground and we were wrestling. I never attacked him.”

  Nathaniel started to raise his right fist.

  “No you don’t, son,” the constable cautioned. “No more fighting, if you please. Now here I am,
on my way home to my loving wife and a hot meal, and I see you two fighting like a pair of cocks. What am I to do with you?”

  “But he tried to rob me,” Nathaniel insisted.

  “I just have your word for that, now don’t I?” the constable said.

  The implied insult staggered Nathaniel. “Don’t you believe me?”

  “Of course I do. But I can also see where an excitable young fellow such as yourself might, shall we say, jump to conclusions without sufficient evidence.”

  “This is incredibly.

  A friendly smile creased the constable’s weathered visage. “I’ll tell you what. Let’s so through this from the beginning again. Then we’ll look for the knife you say Peterson had. But let’s hurry, shall we? I’m starving.”

  “And the constable didn’t believe you?”

  “No,” Nathaniel related. “Not after he couldn’t find the knife in the alley. He let us go.” He paused and added scornfully, “But he did give the robber a warning that he would be on the lookout and if he ever found Peterson had violated the law, there would be the devil to pay.”

  Adeline Van Buren shook her head sadly, her lovely features downcast in commiseration for his ordeal, her blond hair bobbing as her head moved, her blue eyes fixed lovingly on his face. In accordance with the fashion of dress in vogue all along the eastern seaboard, she wore a dress patterned after the sophisticated Grecian-style clothing so enormously popular in England and France. Her yellow dress had a low neckline, but not too low, and a high waistline. She folded her slim hands on her lap and stared at his scuffed shoes and the dirt on his trousers.

  Nathaniel noticed, and wished he had changed before coming to see her. He’d already overstepped the bounds of propriety by arriving on her doorstep at nine P.M., a late hour for any respectable man to be calling on any decent woman. Fortunately, her parents thought highly of him and trusted him alone with their daughter. Everyone knew they were planning to wed in a year.

  “What did your father say when you told him?” Adeline asked.

  “He wasn’t home. My father has been working long hours at his construction business.”

  “I thought January is one of his slowest months, what with the cold weather and all.”

  “He’s busy with the yearly inventory,” Nathaniel explained, admiring the shapely contours of her neck and shoulders. “I told my mother, but she couldn’t seem to understand why I was so angry over the affair.” He sighed. “That’s when I decided to pay you a visit. I knew you would understand.”

  “I’m happy you came,” Adeline said.

  Her smile thrilled Nathaniel to the core of his being. He wanted so much to be able to hold her in his arms, to touch his lips to hers and smell the fragrant scent of her coiffured hair. Her beauty seemed almost angelic, and when the time came, he would glady throw himself at her feet and plead for her hand in marriage. So far all they had done was discuss the prospect. Soon, very soon, he would tender the formal proposal.

  “There is a matter we must talk about,” Adeline stated. “I promised Papa I would mention this to you.”

  Nathaniel tensed. Her father, a prosperous merchant with three stores in New York City and one in Philadelphia, had always impressed him as being a stern, commanding figure. He counted as a blessing the fact her father and his were close friends. “Mention what?”

  Adeline opened her mouth to speak, then developed a sudden interest in her painted fingernails. “How has Mr. Tuttle been treating you?”

  “As well as can be expected,” Nathaniel replied, perplexed by the question. What did Old Man Tuttle have to do with anything?

  “My father went to see him.”

  Nathaniel’s breath caught in his throat, and he couldn’t have moved if the house was on fire. He blinked a few times, struggling to compose his emotions, bewildered by the revelation. “Whatever for?” he blurted out.

  Adeline looked at him, her eyes radiating all the affection in the universe. “Are you happy working for Tuttle?”

  “Happy? Well, I don’t know. Contented, maybe. It’s a stepping-stone in my career. One day I’ll own my own accounting firm. You wait and see.”

  “And that will take a terribly long time, won’t it?”

  “Not terribly long. Five, perhaps seven years at the most.”

  “And what will your income be?”

  Nathaniel shrugged. “Who can say? It all depends on how successful I am in attracting clients.”

  “Will you make as much as your father does?”

  “Not that much, but enough for us to live comfortably,” Nathaniel answered, feeling uneasy, troubled by the direction their conversation was taking.

  “Will you make as much as my father does?”

  “Of course not. His income is in the six figures.”

  “And how many figures will yours be?” Adeline inquired. trying a new tack. “Five?”

  Nathaniel said nothing.

  “Four?”

  “Oh, definitely.”

  A fluttering sigh issued from her rosy lips. “Nate, I’m accustomed to living in the style my father has provided for me all of my life. We’re not immensely wealthy, but we are well off. I like having servants to take care of the menial chores like cleaning and cooking.” She studied him for a moment. “Will we be able to afford servants?”

  Nathaniel felt strangely deflated, as if his chest had been punctured and all the breath expelled from his lungs. “No,” he admitted.

  “I see,” Adeline said, each word expressed in clipped, precise English.

  “I’m confused,” Nathaniel admitted. “You’ve known for over a year about my line of work and you’ve never raised an objection. Why now all of a sudden?”

  “This is not a sudden consideration on my part,” Adeline replied. “I’ve simply been waiting for the proper moment.”

  “For what?”

  “To ask you to go to work for my father.”

  Nathaniel sat bolt upright in his upholstered chair. “Your father?”

  “Why not?” Adeline rejoined stiffly. “In five years you could be managing one of his stores and making ten times as much money as you could by being an accountant.”

  “Does he want me to work for him?”

  “Certainly, silly. Why do you think Papa went to all the trouble of seeking out Mr. Tuttle?”

  “Why did he?”

  Adeline gave him her most radiant smile. “I asked Papa to do it. He had a long talk with your employer about your career as an accountant.”

  “And?”

  “And we decided you would be better off joining Papa in his business.”

  “You decided?”

  “Certainly. Don’t I have a right to be concerned about your career? As your wife, the amount of money you make will have a direct bearing on my happiness and well-being. I have a vested interest in your future.”

  “But I like accounting,” Nathaniel said softly, gazing absently at the plush lavender carpet, dazed by the unexpected turn of events. First the footpad, and now this. He should have known the day would turn out badly after almost being run over on his way to work. There was an omen, if ever there was one.

  “Do you?” Adeline replied. “I know you think you do, but I have my doubts, dearest. I don’t believe you have the proper temperament to be an accountant, to sit behind a desk the rest of your life and fiddle with figures. You have a restless nature, Nate King. You need excitement in your life, and retailing is just the thing to keep you from becoming bored.” .

  “This is all so sudden,” Nathaniel complained..;

  “You do see my point, don’t you?”

  Nathaniel nodded. “I see that money matters much more to you than I thought it did.”

  “Is that bad?”

  “I suppose not,” Nathaniel responded halfheartedly.

  Adeline straightened and regarded him in the same manner a mother would a misbehaving child. “My father taught me a valuable lesson at a very early age, Nate. As he likes to say, mone
y makes the world go around. Money, darling, is the balm of our existence. Money feeds us and clothes us and provides the pleasures we enjoy. Money separates the superior from the mediocre, and hard workers from the lazy riffraff.” She paused. “I would never marry a man Wh0 was content to drift through life barely making ends meet. A man who will settle for making less than the highest income possible isn’t much of a man in my estimation.”

  Nathaniel’s lips barely moved when he said, “I had no idea.”

  “So will you give Papa’s offer serious consideration?” Adeline inquired eagerly..

  “For you, yes.”

  An airy laugh bubbled from her throat. “I knew I could rely on your good judgment. Why do you think I want to be your wife?”

  The question drew Nathaniel’s head up. “Why do you?”

  “What a silly thing to ask. Because I love you. Because you treat me wonderfully,” Adeline detailed, and giggled. “And because you are the handsomeest man in all of New York.”

  “I knew there must be a sound reason.”

  “Please don’t be upset with me. This is for your benefit, as well as mine.”

  Nathaniel stared at her, studying her exquisite, elegant form, his pulse quickening as always, regarding her as a prize for which he was willing to pay any price. His brow knit and his eyes narrowed, indicative of the intensity he applied to pondering the issue she had raised, and in his single-minded determination to please her he entertained a wild idea. “What would you say if could make more money than your father, more money than you ever dreamed possible?”

  “Whatever are you talking about?”

  “How would you feel if I was rich beyond your wildest expectations?”

  Puzzled, Adeline leaned in his direction. “How could you possibly become richer than Papa?”

  “Don’t you believe I can?”

  Adeline laughed lightly and smoothed her dress. “Please, Nate, don’t become carried away. I want you to make more money, yes, but we must be realistic about the amount you can make.”

  Nathaniel reached in his pocket and touched the letter from his, Uncle Zeke. Smiling, he removed his hand. “And I tell you that within six months I’ll have more money than we will need.”