They rode northeast, Delaney setting a brisk pace. They stayed within sight of the Yuba River, passing miners standing knee-deep in the water, and small camps. Delaney didn’t stop, nor did he speak to her. The sun was high in the sky when he finally called a halt. Chauncey slipped down from her mare’s back and felt her legs wobble a bit. She hadn’t ridden for such a length of time since she was sixteen. She stamped her feet a bit and wandered to the edge of a bluff that overlooked the Yuba River. God, but it was beautiful! She flung her arms wide, embracing the grandeur of the giant fir trees that studded the hills all about them. The gentle barren rolling hills had ceased about an hour before. “I feel as if I’m the first person ever to be here,” she said aloud. “Like I’m an artist who sees a painting no one else has ever seen.”
Delaney well understood her awe. He felt it himself each time he journeyed to Downieville overland. He said, “Wear your hat. The sun is hot and you’re burning.”
She shot him a look from the corner of her eye. “Excuse me,” she said, and walked toward a clump of bushes.
When she emerged, Delaney handed her a thick slice of bread spread with a dubious mixture. All she recognized were beans. She ate, not wanting to know the ingredients.
“I smell like a horse,” she said.
“You’ll not notice how either of us smell by tomorrow.”
“It is so peaceful here.”
“Yes.”
“Will all the scenery be so beautiful, the land so wild?”
“No, not unless we go inland from the river. Even now, we’re but two or three miles from a mining camp.”
“Will we see Indians?”
“Most likely.”
“What are they like?”
“For the most part, they’re harmless, and helpless. It seems that for every one of us to come to California, one more of them dies. There are renegades, but to survive, they live deep in the forests. Are you finished eating?”
She handed him her plate, and he simply looked at it. “Rub it out with sand. I doubt there are any servants within hearing distance.”
“You have but to tell me what to do, Del,” she said, looking at him steadily.
“Rub it out with sand,” he repeated.
Together they repacked the supply bags. Chauncey felt her muscles beginning to tighten and looked askance at her mare, Dolores. But Delaney had mounted gracefully and was giving her a silent, mocking glance.
She climbed into the saddle. At least she was riding astride. She couldn’t begin to imagine enduring in a sidesaddle.
They moved a good mile inland, and there were no trails. For the most part, their horses walked, avoiding the thick brambles. Chauncey no longer heard the birds singing. She was growing less enthralled with the grandeur of the hills and forest. Her bottom felt raw, her legs numb.
She said nothing. She had promised she wouldn’t slow him down, and she had no intention of compl
aining. She’d fall off her mare first.
Delaney saw her exhaustion and pushed another mile. He halted in a small clearing beside a glitteringly clear creek. “We’ll stop here for the night. Rub down the horses, Chauncey, and see that they’re well-tethered.”
He paid her no more attention.
She sent a scathing look toward his back, gritted her teeth, and dismounted. Her legs collapsed and she clung to the pommel. Muscles in her thighs that she’d never dreamed existed were screaming.
“See to it, Chauncey! And collect some firewood. I’m going hunting.”
She whirled around, her tortured muscles momentarily forgotten. “No,” she called after him in a panic. “Don’t leave me alone!”
Delaney turned and shifted his hat back on his forehead. “Even proper little English ladies have to pay for their supper. I’ll be back soon. Just stick close to the horses after you’ve done your chores.”
She stared after him as he disappeared into the trees, his rifle tucked under his arm.
“Sneering, unfeeling bastard,” she said under her breath. “All right, Dolores, off with your saddle! Hank,” she continued to Delaney’s bay stallion, “you’re next. Stop snorting at me and don’t be so impatient.”