Wilderness Double Edition 14

by David Robbins

  They rode on, Lou forced to fall behind him because the aspens were packed too close together. She hoped he was wrong about the scream. Unfriendly tribes like the Blackfeet, Piegans, and Bloods sent war parties into that area from time to time. Should she fall into their hands, they would force her to be the wife of one of their warriors. Stalking Coyote would be viciously tortured.

  Just then a piercing cry wavered on the wind. This time there was no mistaking it for a bird of prey. Zach drew reins and lifted his Hawken.

  “Goodness gracious!” Lou breathed. It had been horrible, the screech of a soul in mortal agony. And it came from just over the ridge. “Let’s get out of here.”

  “We can’t.” Zach listened a bit, then kneed the dun forward. “Stay close and keep your eyes skinned. If it’s a war party, they may have lookouts.”

  Louisa couldn’t believe him sometimes. “What in tarnation are you doing? It’s none of our business. We should leave while we still can!”

  Zach didn’t take his eyes off the crest. “Someone’s in trouble. And my pa always helps folks in need.”

  Her pa had always done the same, but Lou would still rather apply her heels and ride hell-bent for leather. “It might be a white man,” she mentioned, fully aware Zach wasn’t very fond of whites thanks to the years of abuse he had suffered for being a “half-breed.”

  “It might,” Zach acknowledged, and surprised himself by climbing higher. He really didn’t share his father’s fondness for lending a helping hand. Or he didn’t think he did. So what was he trying to prove? He should whisk Louisa out of there. But curiosity, or something else, compelled him to keep going.

  “Men!” Lou fumed, and was dismayed by her remark. Not because she was upset at Zach, the one she cared for more than any other, but because she sounded just like her mother. Countless times she had heard her mother say the very same thing. And as much as Lou had loved her ma, she’d vowed never to turn out like her. Could it be she would, after all? Had her grandmother been right when she said all little girls grow up to become their mothers?

  Another scream rent the wilds, spooking sparrows into flight. Whoever it was suffered horribly.

  Louisa grasped her rifle tighter, the hairs at the nape of her neck prickling. She’d heard stories about the atrocities Indians sometimes committed, about bodies terribly mutilated, about fingers and toes hacked off, tongues ripped out, eyes gouged from their sockets. In her mind’s eye she saw a hapless mountain man being tormented by leering Bloods or Piegans. So she was all the more bewildered when they reached the top, slid off their horses, and peered down into the next valley. From their vantage point they could see into a clearing in a belt of dense woodland.

  “They’re all white men!” Louisa blurted.

  “So they are,” Zach said. Eight, all told, one apparently asleep, a younger man at his side. Across the clearing, an oldster had been tied to a trunk. Dwarfing him was a hulking brute almost the size of Zach’s father. The brute wielded a long knife. Four others watched intently.

  Lou saw the blade flash. “Why, they’re whittling on that old-timer! Why would they do a thing like that?”

  Zach had no idea. Another scream greeted the slash. Zach was sure he saw a red rivulet flow from the wound, even at that distance. “I know him.”

  “Who?”

  “That old one.” Zach had to think a bit before he recollected the details. “Saw him at the rendezvous a few times. His name is Frazier. He’s a friend of Shakespeare McNair’s.” Who, in turn, was mentor to Zach’s father. “He also stopped at our cabin once, about eight years ago. Pa and him played checkers half the night.”

  “Then let’s go fetch your pa,” Lou suggested. “He’ll know what to do.” She said it mainly to keep Zach from getting involved. Ruffians who would cut up an old man like Frazier would have no qualms about doing the same, or worse, to a “half-breed.”

  “It would take too long.” Zach eased onto his belly and snaked to a flat boulder. Slowly rising, he studied the lower portion of the ridge. There was no cover to speak of. Until they were below tree level, they would be exposed, easy for the men in the clearing to spot. “We’ll have to swing around to the south.”

  “You’re going to help this man you hardly know?”

  “Need you ask?”

  “But he’s white,” Lou reiterated in a bid to convince Stalking Coyote to change his mind. She couldn’t bear to see him hurt. Not ever.

  Zach was no fool. Her motive was as plain as the dainty nose on her pretty face. “Frazier never treated me as most do. He never had that look in his eyes when we met.”

  “What look?”

  “That gleam they get, the ones who hate ’breeds. The ones who have to choke back their hatred just to be civil. The ones who think people like me should be squashed like bugs.” Zach’s jaw muscles twitched. “The ones who have no right to go on breathing.”

  The tone he used held a world of meaning. Lou accepted she would not be able to convince him, and said, “All right. How do we go about saving the old codger?”

  “We?”

  “What you do, I do.”

  Zach had another of his many daily urges to kiss her. “It’s too dangerous. You’ll stay with the horses and come on the fly when I give a holler.”

  “Like hell I will.”

  Rarely did Lou swear. Zach looked at her, impressed by her determination but just as determined to keep her safe. “Only one of us can sneak—” he began, but she wouldn’t let him finish.

  “Let’s get something straight here and now. I’m not one of those gals who will sit around twiddling her thumbs while her man goes off to risk life and limb. I meant it when I said that what you do, I do. I refuse to be like my ma, no matter what my grandma believed.”

  “What do they have to do with it?”

  “My ma always stayed at home while pa went off to work. She never had a job of her own, never had anything to do except housework. She sewed and cleaned and scrubbed until her hands were blistered, all because she loved us and wanted us to have a clean house and nice clothes. But she never got to go out and do anything. She never got to really live. I won’t do the same. I refuse to spend my life chained to a washcloth.”

  “I still don’t see—” Zach tried to get in a word edgewise, but Lou raised a hand to silence him.

  “You’ve asked me to be your wife. You want us to be a couple. Then we have to live as a couple should. The things you like to do, I’ll do, too. Things I like, you should take the time to share. That’s how two people who are in love should be.”

  Lou paused, and Zach waited. He didn’t have the foggiest notion what this had to do with rescuing Frazier, but he decided it was best to let her vent her spleen so he could get on with what needed to be done.

  “When there’s danger, we’ll face it together. I’m not about to cower in a corner while you go off to slay dragons.”

  Zach couldn’t help himself. “Dragons?” She was being ridiculous, but he refrained from saying so. What was it Shakespeare McNair once said? ‘Zach, my boy, the important thing to remember about women is that they’re always right. Even when they’re wrong, they’re right. It’s a basic law of nature, and the sooner you accept it, the better off you’ll be.’

  “You know what I mean,” Lou said, clasping his hand. “Please, Stalking Coyote. Don’t be like my pa. As much as I loved him, I’d never marry someone like him.”

  Gruff laughter from below spurred Zach into motion. They could hash over the “couple” business later. Those men in the valley might take it into their heads to make wolf meat of poor Frazier at any moment. “Come with me.”

  Louisa was elated. He had understood her exactly, just as she had always foreseen the love of her life would do. Stalking Coyote wasn’t like most men. He listened to her, took her feelings into account, and was wise enough to give in when he was wrong. Their marriage would be nothing like the union of her ma and pa. They would get dong perfectly, never spatting, never squabbling
over trifles. It was all she could do not to throw her arms around him and hold him close.

  When they were clear of the rim, Zach rose and hastened to the horses. Every minute counted. Swinging up, he trotted to the south, skirting the ridge and entering the valley. Trees screened them until they reached a strip of high grass. “You wait here.”

  “I’ll do no such thing,” Louisa asserted. “Didn’t you hear a word I said back there? Don’t tell me you’re one of those men who let everything a woman says go in one ear and out the other.”

  Sliding off, Zach shoved his Hawken at her. “Take this and wait.”

  “You didn’t listen!” Louisa said, appalled. How could she have misjudged him so badly?

  “When you hear a shot, come in hard and fast. I’m counting on you to get there quick. If you don’t, I won’t live long enough to be your husband.” So saying, Zach crouched and glided into the grass.

  He was counting on her! The words pealed in Louisa’s mind like bells in a church, and she grinned in triumph. He had been paying attention! And he was proving the depth of his devotion by putting his life in her hands! Oh, how she adored him!

  Zachary King made a beeline for the clearing. He was through the grass and in among the pines when yet another wail rang out. Drawing a flintlock, he advanced on cat’s feet, dropping flat when movement ahead hinted he was near enough to be seen.

  Zach was glad Lou hadn’t raised a fuss about being left behind. He simply couldn’t put her in peril. Being a couple was well and good, but that didn’t mean they wore each other’s pants. He was the warrior, not she. He had counted coup, he had held his own against Sioux and Apaches. So he was the one who should rightfully confront these strangers.

  Voices grew in volume.

  From behind a log, Zach watched as the big man with the knife waved it under Frazier’s nose. “How much longer do you think you can hold out, old man? Why not make it easy on yourself and tell us what we want?”

  The gray-haired trapper raised his head, his mouth moving as if he were trying to spit in the big man’s face. Either his mouth was too dry or he was too weak, because he sagged and said weakly, “Do your worst, bastard. I’d rather die.”

  A small man with an uncanny resemblance to a rat gripped Frazier’s beard. “You’ve got grit, mister. We’ll grant you that. But you’re also as stupid as the day is long. Vince Kendrick is a wizard at carving people down to size. He can go on sticking that steel into you until you beg him to stop. Trust me. I’ve seen him do it before.”

  Fury lent Frazier the energy to rasp, “I wouldn’t trust you as far as I can throw a bull buffalo! Kill me and be done with it!”

  “Not on your life,” Kendrick said, and chuckled as if he had made a joke. Elbowing the rat-like man away, he held the dripping knife close to the trapper’s left eye. “What will it be next? Maybe this eyeball? Or how about if I cut off your nose? Or an ear?”

  Incredibly, Frazier arced a knee at the bigger man’s groin. But Kendrick skipped backward, bumping into one of the others. Another tittered, earning a glare. Kendrick then stalked to their captive and seized Frazier by the shirt. “That’s how you want to be? Fine. Forget your eye or your nose. What I’m fixing to cut off is a lot lower down.” To demonstrate, he dipped the blade below his waist.

  Zach had witnessed enough. He couldn’t let the torture go on. Crawling to the left to come up on the tree from the rear, he stopped when the young man who had been on the other side of the clearing joined the rest.

  “Mr. Kendrick, that tea the old man made is doing wonders. Frank’s quieted down and is sleeping like a baby.”

  “That’s nice, Billy,” Kendrick said without turning. “Go back and stay with him while we show our guest how grateful we are.”

  Billy pivoted but didn’t obey. Visibly mustering courage, he said, “It ain’t right, Mr. Kendrick.”

  “What isn’t?”

  “To treat Mr. Frazier like you’re doing. He never did anything to deserve it. I wish you’d let him go.”

  “Do as you were told, boy.”

  “Please, Mr. Kendrick. As a favor to me.”

  The big man, hissing like an agitated serpent, spun. From a pocket he produced a pouch and shook it. “Are you blind? Didn’t you see what was in here?”

  “Sure, I saw. And it’s not ours. Taking it would be stealing.”

  Amazement etched Vince Kendrick’s face. “Are you addle pated? After all the trouble we went to, all the suffering, and you want us to go on home flat broke?”

  “It’s not ours,” Billy repeated. “What we’re doing is wrong.”

  “Boy, you have a lot to learn. Being right or wrong depends on which end of the gun or knife you are. We can be rich, Billy. Rich. We can have more money than we ever would have earned raising plews. Think of it! Everything you’ve ever wanted, yours for the taking. And the only thing standing in our way is this stubborn jackass.”

  Zach resumed circling. If he could get the drop on them, he’d free Frazier and guide the old-timer to the grass. Once on the dun, he would use all the tricks he’d learned from his father and his Shoshone friends to elude the cutthroats.

  “I’m tired of you pestering me,” Kendrick was saying. “So if you want equal shares for your brother and you, scat. Or the rest of us will divide it up five ways.”

  Five! Kendrick had said five! Zach remembered seeing that many near the old trapper earlier, but now there were only four, plus Billy. One of them had disappeared while Lou and he were riding down the ridge. But where to?

  The answer came in the form of a distinct metallic click as a gun muzzle was jammed against his temple.

  Three

  “One wrong move and I’ll splatter your brains from here to kingdom come.”

  The barrel was pulled back a few inches, allowing Zach King to turn his head. A lean broomstick in a brown homespun shirt and pants with holes at the knees was eyeing him as if he were a mountain lion about to spring.

  “Do you savvy the white man’s tongue, you red devil?”

  Zach realized the broomstick mistook him for an Indian. Which was easy to do, given how he was dressed and the style in which he wore his hair. His green eyes would give the truth away, but the broomstick hadn’t noticed. Should he reveal who he was? In light of how they were treating Frazier, he didn’t think it would make much difference. “Yes, I understand English,” he answered.

  The broomstick blinked. “You do? Will wonders never cease.” His finger was wrapped around the trigger, his thumb twitching on the hammer. “Let go of your flintlock and sit up. Do it real slow.”

  Zach did as he was told. The man had him discard his other pistol and his knife, then raise his hands over his head and stand.

  “Start walking toward camp. I’ll have you covered the whole way, so don’t try anything. Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to blow a window in your skull.”

  Yet another Indian-hater. Zach wanted to beat his own head against a boulder for letting himself be taken by surprise. He had been unforgivably careless. Shoshone warriors like Touch the Clouds and Drags the Rope would never be caught with their guard down. It shamed him.

  The group in the clearing saw Zach being escorted in and stopped arguing. Several raised rifles and fanned out. All were glancing every which way, as if in fear of being attacked, and the big one, Vince Kendrick, exclaimed, “An Indian! Here! Where the hell did you find him, Sanders?”

  “Spying on us over yonder,” the broomstick said, then bragged, “I snuck right up on him without him noticing.”

  The rat-faced man was greatly agitated. “I don’t like this, boys. I don’t like this one bit. Where there’s one stinking Injun, there are always more. There could be a whole war party out there, waiting to pounce.”

  “Calm down, Stark,” Kendrick said. “They won’t dare jump us while we have one of their own.”

  A pudgy man in a floppy hat was more scared than anyone. “I say we light a shuck. My grandpa was killed by heathens.
Butchered, he was. I was only ten and puked my guts out when I saw it.”

  Kendrick did not like having his authority challenged. “I’m the one who says what we’ll do and what we won’t. Rein in your nerves, Cyrus. I want you to take Johnson” —he pointed at a short man who had the build of a blacksmith— “and go have a look-see. Make a sweep of the woods, then report back.”

  The pudgy man looked at the shadowy forest and blanched. “You want us to go in there? Forget it, Vince. I’ll be damned if I will.”

  “You’ll be damned if you don’t,” Kendrick said, pointing his pistol. “You’ve been with me long enough to know I never bluff. Either you go check like I want, or so help me, I’ll shoot you where you stand.”

  Scowling fiercely, Cyrus tromped off with Johnson in tow. The vegetation closed around them.

  “I swear,” Vince Kendrick griped. “The next son of a bitch who sasses me is going to have his skull split.”

  Zach saw that Frazier was unconscious. The old man’s stomach and chest bore half a dozen knife wounds, all bleeding profusely. But they weren’t as severe as they seemed. Kendrick had not cut deep and had avoided vital organs. Zach braced himself when the big man suddenly swiveled toward him.

  “Anyone have any idea what tribe this redskin is from?”

  No one did. The broomstick shook his head, saying, “I should have asked. He speaks our lingo, Vince. Speaks it real good, too.”

  “Is that a fact?”

  Kendrick studied Zach closely. Zach tucked his chin so the man couldn’t see his eyes. He considered making a break for it. Only four men ringed him, and only two had him covered.

  “What tribe do you belong to, Indian?”

  “I am an Ute,” Zach lied. Maybe a bluff could succeed where he had failed. “And I am not alone. Twenty warriors are nearby. Harm me, and they will hunt you down and slay you all.”

  “Oh, Lord!” Billy declared. “Utes are some of the worst! Remember what that feller we met a while back said? They kill every white man they catch in their territory.”