My Dearest Friend

Part2

"Are you ready, Kathleen?" Mingo asked, using Jemima's middle name as he did in private. Its use began as simply a pet name for a young girl. Now, he thought it suited her beautifully. He paused halfway inside, filling the doorway. Hands clasped loosely behind his back, his dark hair falling across his shoulders, Mingo gazed at the woman behind the room's lone table. A warm glow from the stub of a beeswax candle highlighted the gold-red tints of her hair, the soft curve of her cheek. After a moment, he crossed the planked floor to where she sat folding a letter. "I am in no hurry. Please, take your time."

She stood. "No, I'm finished."

Mingo lifted a dark eyebrow and crossed his arms. "Ah! I thought writing to all the young swains in Williamsburg would take longer."

He smiled and there was a hint of teasing in his deep voice. Sweeping the long skirt of her plain cotton dress as if it were an elegant silk gown, Jemima Kathleen came around the desk to stand before him. She had to look up, for she came barely to his chest.

"And what, kind sir, makes you think the young men of Williamsburg are eagerly awaiting a letter from me?" she asked sweetly in return.

Mingo did not answer for a several seconds. When he did, there was seriousness to his voice she did not expect.

"Because, if I were they, it would be the hope of my heart," he replied quietly. A corner of his mouth lifted and he regarded her, head tilted to the side.

Embarrassed, Jemima Kathleen blushed, and then decided he was still teasing and laughed. While she put away her pen and bottle of ink, Mingo covered the fire with ashes so that sparks could not escape. He picked up her muff and heavy woolen wraps from the table, and when she had donned them, he offered his arm.

Several townsfolk saw them crossing the fort's common area. They smiled perfunctorily at the couple, but their expressions turned to frowns after the Indian and young woman passed. Some, under their breath, made ill comments.

Stopping by the tavern, Mingo went inside to leave the letter for Jericho, who would come for it in the morning. The task accomplished, he returned to Jemima Kathleen, who waited by the community well, talking with an older woman.

"Good evening, Mrs. Blackburn," Mingo said pleasantly. The woman did not smile, but pulled her cloak tighter about her shoulders and scowled up at him disapprovingly.

"Miss Boone, I'm concerned about your walking home in the dark," the widow, snapped, abruptly turning away from Mingo. "What with all the dangers about, it is not safe for a young woman to be alone in the woods. I insist on finding you a proper escort."

"I am escorting Miss Boone home and I assure you she will come to no harm," Mingo answered evenly, ignoring the roundabout insult. He'd learned long ago to overlook such comments.

For a long moment, the older woman frowned and was silent. Mingo took far too many liberties with Daniel Boone's daughter, she thought. Miss Boone should be walking at night with other men- one of their own, not that Indian- and her father should insist she marry soon. Friend or no, Daniel Boone would be wise not to let Jemima and Mingo become close. No good would come of it, the widow was certain.

"Very well," she answered finally, casting a quick, dark glance his way. She turned her attention to Jemima Kathleen. "Good evening then, Miss Boone. Please, do be careful."

"Good evening, ma'am" Jemima replied. "I will be."

The widow marched away, and Jemima Kathleen wondered what had caused her to be rude to Mingo. She dismissed the conversation; the widow's odd way was well known.

A breeze stirred the air and Mingo looked to her, concerned.

"May I give you my jacket, Kathleen?"

Mingo spent most of his time out in the elements, yet he wore far less clothing than anyone she knew. His jacket was his only concession to the colder weather. She shook her head.

"The walk will warm me and this is my heaviest wrap with a lighter one underneath," she reassured him. She took his arm again, squeezing it in thanks for his offer. Under the leather sleeve, she could feel hard, thick muscles. She held his arm a bit tighter, comfortable in his company, happy to be with him again.

As dusk faded to darkness, they walked unhurriedly in silence. At the fork in the trail, Mingo slowed his pace and looked to her, then led her to the left, along the Moon Trail. His footsteps were quiet and sure.

Jemima could hear rustling from the darkness beyond the edges of the path, but she was not afraid. There would be small animals still moving about in preparation for sleep or waking for their nocturnal ramblings. Even if it were a larger animal, she was with Mingo and that was enough to ease her mind. He would protect her, she knew.

Over the years, she and Mingo had walked the trail many, many times. Jemima Kathleen could recall walking beside the tall Cherokee as a young girl, fascinated by the mystery that was Mingo. He was powerful and brave in the most literal meaning of the words, a forceful and skilled fighter when the circumstances called for it. Yet, he was the gentlest of men, quoting philosophers and poets in a voice that captivated her.

There was a soft click of beads and brush of suede as he leaned forward, his hair grazing her shoulder, to push a limb aside so it would not scrape against her. Mingled with the scent of damp earth and fallen leaves, was the sharp smell of smoke that clung to his jacket. She had lived with the aroma all her life and it reminded her of warm kitchens and crackling fires on frosty winter nights. It reminded her of home.

There was a bright moon, enough to light the familiar way easily, yet not enough to wash out the brilliance of the stars scattered across the velvet-black sky. Her hand tightened on his arm as they came to an overlook, and he stopped.

"Oh, Mingo, this is so beautiful! I don't think I will ever see anything as lovely," Jemima Kathleen marveled, leaning against his arm. She looked up and found him gazing at her intently, his dark eyes shadowed.

"Nor will I," he replied softly. He looked away quickly and after a moment silently led her down the trail.

The odd feeling came to her again that something was not right between them. What had she said or done to cause it? Would Mingo rather not be walking with her- was there someone else he wanted spend the evening with? It hurt her to think that she might simply be a chore to him.

Without speaking, Mingo stopped to help her over a log fallen across the path then continued on, still silent. Before, they would have chatted the whole way home, agreeing and disagreeing companionably. Now, the air seemed almost…strained.

Everything was changing and Jemima Kathleen did not understand how or why. She felt as if she had no control over her world and an important part of her life was slipping away. It was not just time escaping, but something much more valuable.

She dearly wanted what her parents had. She wanted to experience the love and trust that held two people together through hard times and good. She wanted to know the joy that followed bringing a new life into the world and watching her child learn and grow. She wanted a family of her own. The chance for this, however, was fading away, year by year.

Mingo was slipping away as well.

Losing Mingo was something she could not endure for he was too precious a friend…or, perhaps he was more than simply a friend.

Jemima Kathleen bit her lip as tears gathered and she wished Mingo would put his arms around her and hold her till the confusion and despair went away.

He'd held her once, when she returned from Williamsburg. She had rushed across the room, throwing her arms around him, hugging him in happiness. He embraced her for a long moment only to let go, stepping away to say she looked very well. During the evening, he said little else to her, but sat watching and listening to stories of her visit. Since then, nothing had been as before between them.

With all her heart, she dearly wanted it to be.


They entered the clearing by the cabin and Mingo stopped at its edge and let his gun fall against a large huckleberry bush. He looked at Jemima Kathleen. A tear, silver in the moonlight, spilled from between her lashes, followed by another. Mingo lifted a calloused hand and lightly brushed away the tears with his thumb.

"Kathleen," he asked gently, "what is troubling you?"

Had his words in town caused this? Had his silence? He stroked her cheek, brushing away another tear. If he was the cause of this…Mingo squeezed his eyes shut against the thought and felt a tightness growing in his heart.

"Please, Kathleen…"

Mingo rested his hands on her upper arms but dared not pull her close.

"Tell me. I want help." He could feel the tension in her slender body, a slight trembling from tears held at bay. "Please…"

She shook her head and looked away, trying not to cry. "I'm so afraid…"

"Afraid? Afraid of what, Kathleen?" His large hands spread, tenderly covering her shoulders. Did he frighten her? Did she know the strength of the feelings he fought constantly to conceal from her? Could she see through the cover he'd woven so carefully and firmly over his heart?

"I…I worry that no one will ever love me, that I'll never have a family." Her voice was just above a whisper. "I'm afraid I will lose you. I couldn't bear to lose you."

Her words tore at his heart- it was too much to endure. Without hesitating, he slid his arms around her, their bodies barely touching. Through his leather jacket, he could feel the warmth of her.

If only he could tell her…if only….

"Dearest Kathleen," he breathed. He leaned back slightly so that he could see her and found her watching him, eyes damp with tears and full of trust. Even though he knew they should remain unspoken, the forbidden words came.

"You are loved, Kathleen, and you will never lose me- never!"

He bent down, touching his lips to hers, kissing her gently. Her lips were soft, her kiss as sweet as he had always imagined it would be.

Mingo groaned quietly with the pleasure it gave him.

"My dear one, you are loved," he whispered, feeling her hesitantly place her hand on his chest. Her arms moved around him and she pressed closer.

Unable to resist, Mingo cupped a hand behind her head and kissed her, more deeply, urgently. Her thick hair entwined in his fingers, he pulled her tight against him, her body, so very supple and delicate, melting against his.

She smelled of lavender and sunshine and soap. Mingo kissed her again, on her lips, her neck, her cheek. He laid his head against hers, his mind filled with the love he felt for Jemima Kathleen, his heart soaring.

He wanted to be with her forever, to protect her, and care for her. He wanted to comfort her in times of distress, laugh with her in times of joy.

Mingo sighed, truly happy for the first time in his life. Holding Jemima Kathleen was more wonderful than he ever dreamed. He pressed a kiss to her hair and heard her whisper his name. Closing his eyes, he dared not breathe lest he found the woman in his arms an illusion.

Jemima Kathleen Boone was in his arms.

With a sharp intake of breath, Mingo jerked back, holding her away. Dear God! What had he done?

"Mingo…" she murmured contentedly, her voice filled with love, her smile one of elation. She reached for him, but he kept her at arm's length. He did not smile; his face was stone.

"Mingo?" she repeated hesitantly, her smile fading.

He squeezed his eyes shut. After all this time of denying himself, how could he have lost control?

Words tumbled out of him. "Kathleen, I'm sorry…I should not have…"

"Mingo…I don't understand."

He steeled himself to look at her. "It was not right…for me to-"

"What did I do? I thought…" Jemima Kathleen interrupted, growing frantic. She clutched at his sleeves. "Mingo, tell me what I did wrong!"

"Nothing, you did nothing wrong- I was wrong! You must understand it is not your fault, Kathleen. I never meant to…" Her fear and confusion clawed at him. He forced back words that would further betray his heart and cause her pain. "I must leave…I must! Forgive me, Kathleen…please!"

Mingo released her shoulders and stepped away, seizing his gun. She moved to follow.

"I'm sorry, Kathleen…so very sorry," he whispered, backing away, then pushed through the brush into the woods leaving Jemima Kathleen behind, fresh tears streaming down her cheeks.

Mingo stumbled blindly through the underbrush oblivious to the thorns, unaware of and not caring where he was going. He had kissed Jemima Kathleen Boone- Becky and Daniel's daughter- after swearing he would never let her know of his feelings for her.

Everything had changed now; it could not be as before. He'd held her in his arms, tasted the sweetness of her kiss, and heard his name on her sigh. He could never forget.

Heaven help him, but he did not want to forget.

Over time, his fondness for Jemima Kathleen had grown, changing to one of deep friendship when she became a young woman. They shared a love of nature, of literature and learning. They had a common need to search beyond general beliefs for truth. Laughter came easily when with her and there was a joy in her company Mingo found with none other.

Upon her return from Williamsburg, the realization that she was a woman hit him like a blow, and the affection he held for her burst into an unthinkable passion. Vowing to keep it hidden away, he buried it deep in his heart, beneath his hopes and dreams and darkest fears. There it had stayed…until now.

He pressed on blindly, and when the moon was halfway through its nightly journey, he stopped, realizing he'd come to a path leading to his village and lodge. With a deep breath, he looked around, finally going to a nearby rock, and leaned against it wearily. His gun upright before him, he placed his hands on the end of the barrel and rested his forehead on them, forcing the fog from his mind.

What was Jemima Kathleen feeling? Anger? Disgust? He was the cause. She cared for him, he knew; they had been friends for years. Perhaps she felt a bit more than friendship for him in recent times, but it was not love.

Jemima Kathleen could not possibly love someone like him.

She should not.

He wanted to see her and make sure she was unhurt. Daniel would be home in a few days; if he had to answer to her father, so be it. He would go back and do all within his power to make amends.

How he would explain his actions, Mingo did not know. There was absolutely no excuse. He was older, more mature- he should have prevented anything untoward from occurring. Instead, he'd held Jemima Kathleen as a lover would…he'd kissed her.

As dead grass rattled in the strengthening wind, he raised his head. He was exhausted both physically and emotionally. His lodge was not far; he would rest, then leave in the morning to return and try to undo the hurt he had caused.

Between heavy clouds, pre-dawn light was beginning to show in the eastern sky when Mingo reached his people's village. He bent low to enter his small lodge of wood and hides and it was not long before a fitful sleep overtook him.


"Cara Mingo, you will awaken," the insistent voice repeated. Mingo opened his eyes. Dim light spilled in through the parted skins.

"Cara Mingo, there are men here to speak with you. They arrived yesterday. Come." The skins fell across the doorway and Mingo sat up, again in darkness.

Men were here to see him. Remembering Jemima Kathleen's tears, he took a steadying breath. Could it be Daniel? he wondered, rising. No, it could not be; Daniel was not due home yet.

Pushing aside the deer hide flap, he blinked in the gray sunlight as cold, snow-scented air stung like thorns deep in his chest. Making his way to the large fire that blazed in the middle of camp, he saw two men he did not recognize crouching beside it. They rose as he approached.

"You Mingo, friend of Boone?" the taller of the two asked slowly and loudly. The man's clothing, like that of his companion, bespoke of affluence.

"I am he. You wished to speak with me?" Mingo answered warily. He moved closer to the fire's warmth, and then sat.

The strangers did not speak, but stared in shock at hearing perfect King's English from the roughly dressed native. After a moment, the two men hesitantly followed, folding themselves awkwardly into the position Mingo assumed easily on the hard earth.

"I am Jeddidiah Marks," the older, dark-haired man explained, "and this is Elias Collins. We are associates of Colonel Benjamin Frist."

"We have come to ask your help…sir," continued Collins, a portly, nearly bald man. "We were told you know the area to the north."

Mingo hesitated. Colonel Frist, he knew, had been active in organizing opposition to the Crown and fought alongside General George Rogers Clark on the Ohio River. Daniel mentioned meeting Colonel Frist shortly after Lord Cornwallis' surrender at Yorktown. "What is it you wish to ask me?"

"We need your help in taking a shipment of…goods to the north," Marks explained, choosing his words carefully. He watched Mingo closely.

"Why?" Mingo asked flatly, tossing a stick onto the fire. He did not like the way the conversation was going.

"Why the shipment or why you, sir?" Marks queried in return.

"Answering both would be an excellent start." Mingo's patience was beginning to wane. Trappers passing through Boonesborough could be hired as guides. He had a pressing obligation and no time for this. He wanted to be on his way to the Boone cabin as soon as possible.

Marks hesitated, debating whether to answer. He looked at Mingo appraisingly then lowered his voice. "The shipment is to be used to purchase muskets and other means of resisting the British, should they attempt to occupy land along the Ohio River Valley. It is an important trade route, as you know, and it is imperative this purchase of arms occurs. A great many people are depending upon us."

"I see," Mingo replied grimly. In the back of his mind, he wondered how long it would be before the firearms were turned against his fellow Indians. "Who is supplying you with these materials?"

"The French," Collins explained excitedly. "Of course, they do not wish to be open about it, now that hostilities have ceased, but there have been arrangements made through contacts."

Mingo nodded, and then raised an eyebrow. "And the other…"

Collins leaned closer. "We have heard of incidents in which you assisted those engaged in our cause during the war. We need someone we can trust and who can deal with any…native residents we might encounter. Daniel Boone was to have accompanied us, but yesterday the Boonesborough tavern-keeper said that Boone would not be returning for several days yet."

"Colonel Frist is expecting us and we must not delay in our meeting. I do not think it will be difficult finding the rendezvous point," Marks added reassuringly.

Collins continued enthusiastically, "We will rendezvous with the colonel in seven days to deliver the shipment. You would be free to leave- with our deepest thanks, of course- after we meet with the colonel."

"You have the gold-' here Mingo looked from one man to the other for confirmation of what he suspected they carried "-with you?"

Collins shot a questioning look at his partner. After a pause, Marks nodded.

"Do either of you gentlemen have experience in the wilderness?" Mingo asked, even though he knew the answer. He wondered how they hadmade it this far.

Marks colored faintly and shook his head. "I am afraid not. You see, we were responsible for raising the funds and were tasked at the last moment with bringing the payment to Colonel Frist, otherwise we would have found different means or persons to convey it."

Mingo leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs and stared into the fire. Several months ago, Daniel mentioned there was concern over British encroachment onAmerican territory and that there were plans made to guard against such a possibility. Apparently, it had come to fruition. Daniel would return home too late to keep his word to assist.

He glanced at Marks and Collins huddling closer to the fire as they waited for him to respond. The two men would not last long in the woods, and neither would their gold.

Mingo groaned inwardly.

Jemima Kathleen. To delay returning was impossible because of his concern for her, yet delivery of the gold and procurement of the guns was a pressing need affecting the safety of many settlers.

Mingo sighed. If only Daniel were here to make good on his promise...

"I will accompany you since Daniel Boone is not available," he agreed, reluctantly. Mingo rose and Marks and Collins followed stiffly. "We will leave immediately."

"Excellent, sir! We have a horse for your use and supplies for our trip," Collins explained, gingerly straightening his back. "However, were unable to procure tents or cots, so I fear we shall have to sleep-"

"We will not need tents or cots, Mr. Collins," Mingo replied with as much forbearance as he could muster. He glanced at the overcast sky and grimaced. It would be snowing soon. The thought of traveling over two hundred miles on noisy horses with two inexperienced gentlemen did not make him optimistic about this trip. "I will get my things and we can leave."

"Yes, yes, very good. We shall wait," Marks called to Mingo's retreating back, before turning to shake Collin's hand. Once they'd congratulated each other on being another step closer to completing their task, they quickly moved back to the fire's heat.

A half hour later, sitting atop a large brown mare, which snorted irritably and would not stand still, Mingo surveyed the small troop he was to lead. In addition to the two men on horseback, there were two mules packed so high he feared the loads would topple over. Among the bags and boxes were small items of furniture. He rolled his eyes and prayed for patience. Perhaps if they stuck to the larger, more easily traveled paths, they could make good time and still avoid trouble.

"Gentlemen, let us leave," he said curtly, turning his horse to the trail leading north.

"Quite so, let us be off," Collins said brightly. "I daresay we can get in at least a good two hours travel before we stop for luncheon!"

Mingo's jaw tightened and he kicked his horse to move faster. The sooner he got his charges to the colonel, the sooner he could return to Jemima Kathleen.

"I say, uh...um, Mr. Mingo…must we carry on at such a pace?" Collins called out, bouncing along behind. "We do have all week, sir."

Mingo bit his lip and did not reply as small, white flakes began to fall.


Fueled by a hot rage that burned deep in his gut and heart, Daniel Boone trudged doggedly in the cold shadows of the mountain's dark firs, grateful for the clear tracks left by the five animals in the ankle-deep snow. From the signs of frequent stops the group made, he figured he was covering more ground on foot than Mingo and the men on horseback. They had, however, a three-day head start on him.

He thought of his family back at the cabin. He returned four days ago, earlier than expected, and by suppertime knew something was wrong. Although not one to try his hand at ciphering people's minds, female ones in particular, he couldn't help but notice that something, or someone, had upset Jemima - Becky too, but just a mite less.

Maybe it was the fact that Jemima barely spoke to anyone. Or, maybe it was her gazing off into the distance, lost to the goings on around her. Then again, maybe it was her reddened and puffy eyes, runny nose, and sniffles. He was 'pert near sure the blooms of wildflowers didn't cause it, not in the dead of winter. Nope, Jemima had been crying.

After supper, Becky told him what she knew of it. They thought for certain Mingo would return, but when almost two days had passed and Mingo hadn't, Boone decided to go after him. He would get to the bottom of this, one way or another.

In all of Ken Tuckee, there was not another man he had felt more close to. He had shed his own blood for Mingo, several times, and had entrusted his family to Mingo's care on even more occassions.

He had been a fool- but never again. Boone's jaw tightened.

During the years he'd known Mingo, not once did he give thought to the close friendship between Jemima and Mingo, despite what many townsfolk repeatedly warned.

Apparently, he should have.

Boone remembered his daughter's muffled sobs and tear-stained cheeks. He gripped Ticklicker tighter in his fist, and quickened his steps to a run.


"No, I must return. I have…responsibilities to attend to in Boonesborough," Mingo replied to the burly man across from him. Several of the militia entered the cabin, suddenly quiet at the sight of him. Not surprisingly, Mingo had received less than a warm welcome from Frist's frontiersmen when he and his companions arrived.

"We thank you for your help, sir," Frist said, reaching across the rough table to offer his hand, which Mingo shook. He looked Mingo squarely in the eyes and the vicious scar across the left side of Frist's face twisted as he grinned. "I seriously doubt that gold would have made it here without your help. Jenkins, over there, will get supplies to see you home and show you a place to bed down. I am in your debt, sir."

Mingo took his leave of the colonel and followed the man who was apparently Jenkins, out the door. The man was short and bow-legged with a distinct limp and wore a dirty, oversized blue velvet coat, the tails of which dragged the ground.

"We wuz wor't 'bout tha' gold a-gettin' har," Jenkins declared around an enormous plug of tobacco. He spit a thick stream of brown juice, which Mingo barely managed to sidestep, and waved his hand toward a small cabin hiding behind the larger ones. "Ye kin curl up in tha' 'un. A few fellers'll be jinin' ye in a spell, but fer now they'd be in th' meetin' wid Fris'."

"Thank you," Mingo answered dryly as he stopped and looked at the ramshackle structure squatting in the shadows.

"A'fore long I be bringin' ye a bag o' meal an' sech fer yer trip back 'ome," Jenkins continued amiably. He gave Mingo a toothless grin then spit another stream. Singing an unintelligible ditty, Jenkins limped away, leaving Mingo alone.

Mingo entered the cabin, relieved to have fulfilled his obligation and rid himself of his charges. They arrived earlier in the day, exactly a week after starting out, the trip plagued by delays of one sort or another. Marks and Collins insisted on boiling water for coffee each morning and stopping for a midday meal, sometimes with another pot. Boiling water over a campfire in freezing weather took a great deal of time- too much time.

Five days into the trip, one of the mules went lame on a stretch of slippery rocks. It took him an hour to convince them the poor creature could go no further and would have to be put out of its misery. Once persuaded, the two men proceeded to unload the distraught, braying beast and spent a good portion of the afternoon's scarce light trying to combine the two oversized loads on the one healthy mule.

Patience at an end, Mingo, showing great restraint as he saw it, climbed down from the boulder where he'd sat watching the two men and shot only the stricken mule. He loaded the sacks of meal, meat, gold, and extra powder onto the remaining mule then flung everything else as far as he could into the woods, including the folding table, matching chairs, and coffeepot.

Without a word, he mounted his still ill tempered horseand left the men gaping in silence. Marks and Collins dared not speak until he called for a stop long after dark. Neither man complained about the lack of coffee. Frist's camp had been a welcome sight.

Inside the cabin, embers smoldered in the crude fireplace. Mingo laid his gun on the sagging mattress of the room's lone bed before tossing two logs on the fire. Exhausted, he collapsed on the hard chair next to the smoking blaze, resting his head on his hands then lost himself in thoughts of Jemima Kathleen.


Daniel Boone walked slowly toward the cabin hidden in the long shadows of the fading day. Now that the man he sought was just ahead behind the weathered door, what was he going to say?

He made good time on the trail, much better than Mingo and his companions by the looks of what he found along the way. The table and chairs and other items strewn down the hillside still puzzled him. At first, he feared the group had been set upon, however there were no bodies and the tracks continued…minus the dead mule.

At the door, he paused and a boiling fury welled inside him. Boone pushed it back. He would keep his temper and, because of who Mingo had once been to him and his family, he would at least hear Mingo out. Even so, he was first and foremost Jemima's father. Without a second's hesitation, he would tear apart any man who hurt her...Mingo included.

He grabbed the worn leather strap that served as a handle and yanked it open, then stepped inside.

By the fire, sat Mingo, head down.

"Well, you 'pert near made me walk clear up to Canada to find you," Boone snapped, his rage simmering just below the surface of his words.

Mingo turned with a start and half rose from his seat.

"Daniel! Why are you-" Mingo stopped then sat. He looked away to the barely glowing coals, ashamed, and for a long moment neither man spoke.

"How is she?" Mingo asked quietly.

Boone slammed the door shut, and then crossed to the dying fire. Bending, he pitched two logs on it causing sparks to fly wildly. Danged if he was going to freeze to death now after tramping five days in the frozen mountains! He dragged a nearby stool closer with his foot and then dropped onto the seat, a loaded Ticklicker across his lap.

"Mis'rable," he replied curtly, watching Mingo. It took all Boone's effort to keep his anger at bay and not strike out at the man who'd hurt his daughter.

Mingo drew a deep breath then leaned forward. His long, black hair fell over his shoulders as he stared at the floor.

Boone wondered impatiently if Mingo was going to answer. Suddenly, the Indian looked up at him, eyes dark with a misery and hurt Boone had never seen before in the one he previously thought of as a brother. A pang of concern for Mingo hit him in his midsection; Boone shoved it aside.

"Daniel, I am sorry," Mingo said, his voice rough. He looked back to the licking flames, again silent.

Exhaling noisily, Boone stretched his long legs as near the blaze as he dared and shifted his weight on the hard stool. He was tired, hungry as a bear, damp-chilled to the bone, and of no mind to coax Mingo into talking.

"Becky saw you kiss 'Mima," he said sharply, not taking his eyes off Mingo.

Boone saw Mingo stiffen, then slump back against the slat-backed chair.

"Daniel, I…I never meant to hurt her. I do care, despite…" Mingo shook his head and sighed. "Rebecca should have shot me and saved you the trip."

Mingo fell silent and Boone waited, but the only sounds were the pop and hiss of the fire and the muffled voices of men outside the log walls as they put the horses away for the night.

"Are you going to sit there and tell me you have feelin's for 'Mima?" Boone demanded scornfully, his patience gone. Mingo's head came up, meeting his gaze.

"Yes, I do," he quickly replied. No matter the consequences, he would have Daniel know he truly cared about Jemima Kathleen. His voice was just above a whisper. "Heaven help me, but I do love her."

Boone sat up straighter. Mingo's answer was a shock, one he didn't at all expect. His eyes narrowed as he cocked his head to one side. "An' jes' how long have you felt this a'way 'bout my daughter?"

For a long moment, Mingo did not answer. With a deep breath, he twisted in the rickety chair to face his friend.

"I cannot say for certain… since she returned from Williamsburg…perhaps my feelings for Kath-, for Jemima were more than simple friendship even before then," he began, his voice low. Mingo paused, spreading his hands before him as if to capture words to express how he felt in his heart. "I realized I longed to be with Jemima, that I felt empty without her."

Mingo leaned forward slightly, willing the words to come, willing Daniel to understand. "I wanted to share everything with her- the heavens at night, the world awakening at dawn… my thoughts… my hopes and dreams. I wanted the same from her."

Silently, Boone stared at Mingo with a fierceness that had caused many a man to back down in fear. Mingo did not flinch; he did not look away.

"Daniel, please believe me," Mingo begged, struggling, the words harder now. "I never intended-"

"You were triflin' with my daughter's feelin's!" Boone ground out between clenched teeth, his hands tightening on Ticklicker. He'd heard enough.

"No! No, I wouldn't!" Mingo shook his head and began again. "I knew that we could not…I knew one day she would… marry another and I would have to leave, but-"

"You did leave," Boone countered bluntly.

Mingo's words were barely audible. "Yes, I did."

"Mind explainin' why?" Boone barked, his jaw as tight as a trap.

"I had to or I might have said…Jemima was confused and crying and…Daniel, I would have done anything to take that hurt from her."

Mingo ran his fingers through his bangs and looked at Boone, pleading for him to understand. "I would have done anything except tell her how I felt. I could not do that, no matter how much I wanted to."

Boone glared at him, his fury mounting. "So, out of this so-called love fer 'Mima, you left her cryin' an-"

Mingo shot to his feet, his chair crashing backwards.

"What else could I do?" he shouted bitterly. "Tell her my heart is hers… tell her she is the only joy I have in this miserable half-life I live?"

Mingo paced two steps away then turned back to Boone.

"Should I tell your daughter that I love her? Should I tell her she is my only hope for happiness? Should I speak the words of my heart even though I dare not dream of a future with her? Is that what you would have me do, Daniel?"

Boone did not answer.

"No! You know it isn't! I cannot because of what I am!"

Mingo swung around, his back to Boone, his breathing ragged as his own inner battle raged within. After several minutes, when calmer, he turned to face the only man, in truth, to befriend him.

Boonewas staringat the fire. Mingo cleared his throat.

"Daniel, I am truly sorry," he said quietly.

Slowly, Boone lifted his gaze to meet Mingo's, but did not speak.

"I planned to return to Jemima and try to…make amends but this-" Mingo waved a hand toward the camp outside "-came up and I was unable to."

Boone continued to stare at Mingo, silent.

"I care deeply for your daughter, but I never meant for my feelings to be known. I knew there was no future for me with Jemima," Mingo continued, pulling himself up tall and straight. "Please believe me, Daniel. I never meant to hurt Jemima Kathleen and I will do whatever I must to set things right."

Rubbing his hand across his stubbly jaw, Boone said nothing for a long moment. He shook his head slowly.

"A man hopes th' best fer his daughter," he began heavily, "an' I know 'Mima always had a fon'ness for you, but as for it bein' anythin' else…I…I can't rightly say I ever imagined...I never thought…"

Words came slowly to Boone. What he saw so clearly before, was now more akin to mud.

Fists clenched against the pain in his heart from Daniel's words, Mingo closed his eyes as Boone continued. "Seems t' me th' whole sit'ation has brought ev'rybody nothin' but pure mis'ry. I think you'd best go-"

The sharp crack of muskets interrupted him, followed by a shout.

"They got th' gold!"