Wilderness Double Edition 14

by David Robbins

  Louisa May Clark had lost sight of the cutthroats. She’d been staying well back so they wouldn’t spot her, but when long minutes passed and she didn’t see so much as a flicker of movement ahead, she worried that she had fallen too far behind and brought the mare to a gallop. So intent was she on catching up that she failed to realize she was approaching a meadow until the blast of a rifle brought her to a halt and she spied grass off through the trees.

  Panicked, thinking they had seen her and that she was their target, Lou reined the mare around and led Zach’s dun into dense growth. When more shots boomed and none of the slugs came anywhere near her, Lou deduced that Kendrick and company were shooting at someone else. Indians, she thought. But no war whoops punctuated the din. She wondered if maybe they were fighting among themselves. Then a third possibility dawned on her, and she came close to flying out into the meadow to find out.

  It might be Zach they were trying to kill! The thought chilled her like a wintry icy rain. Love and caution waged a bitter struggle in her heart and caution won, but by a whisker. A commotion erupted near the end of the trees. Intervening vegetation prevented her from seeing who was involved, but at length the vague forms retreated. After waiting what she judged to be a suitable interval, Lou moved forward.

  The men were well out on the meadow. Lou saw her precious Zach, draped over the same packhorse. She couldn’t be sure, but she thought his legs as well as arms were bound now. Kendrick was at the rear of the line, talking to the man called Johnson, who had a strip of cloth wrapped around his head.

  Confusion plagued Lou. If the cutthroats hadn’t been firing at Zach, what was all that shooting about? Indians were the logical bet, but none was anywhere to be seen.

  Lou did see a high bluff, though, and that posed a problem. Clearly, Kendrick’s men were making straight for it. Any simpleton could figure out why. They’d spot her if she tried to cross the meadow, so either she must take the long way around or she should wait until dark. Against her every instinct, she dismounted.

  To say the next few hours passed at a snail’s pace would be an understatement. For Lou, every second was an eternity of unendurable suspense and awful fear. Not fear for herself, but for the one who had claimed her heart.

  She used to believe that she was immune to the fickle barbs of outrageous Cupid, that she would go through her whole life without ever growing attached to any man. That the tapestry of her fife was meant to unravel alone. Always alone. How could any man ever care for me? she’d often asked herself. What would a male ever see in me? She was so plain, so ordinary, she never merited a second glance from the boys she passed on the street.

  Her mother once told her such feelings were normal. That practically every girl went through a bout of doubt. Many could never accept they were attractive enough, or charming enough, to earn the attention of the opposite sex. “But the truth, child, is that everyone has a true love somewhere. Think of it as two people being two halves of the same coin. And when those halves are joined, no force in Creation can rend them asunder.” Lou’s mother had stroked her hair. “Don’t fret. Sooner or later you’ll meet the handsome prince you’re destined to meet. And from that day on, he will be the only one for you.”

  Lou had asked, “Is Pa the other half of your coin, then?”

  “Yes, he is,” Mary Bonham Clark said without hesitation. “Oh, I know we squabble now and then. I know he sorely tries my soul with his wild schemes. But in spite of his shortcomings, he’s the man I was meant to marry. I wouldn’t trade him for anyone.” Her mother’s devotion, even when times were bleak, had impressed Lou immensely. “ ‘For better or worse’ is how the vow goes. What kind of woman would I be if I only stood by Zebulon when things are going smoothly?”

  It was her mother’s loyalty, more than anything else, that convinced Lou maybe men weren’t as bad as some women claimed. Her aunt Edna, for instance, had always gone on and on about how men were children in oversize bodies. “Look at how they act! They always have to do things their way, and when they can’t, they sulk like five-year-olds. And talk about tempers! Try to give a man advice and he treats you as if you bashed him with a rock. Why the Almighty ever made us depend on them to perpetuate the human race, I’ll never know. Were it up to me, I’d just as soon buy babies from a general store.”

  Aunt Edna always did say the strangest things.

  Lou’s meandering thoughts returned to the present. The cutthroats were at the bluff, winding up a trail on the north side. Soon they would be on the crest. In another hour the sun would set, and then Lou would venture into the open. She could hardly wait. To while away the time, she checked both rifles and her flintlocks, confirming all were loaded.

  Something told her that before the night was done, she would have need of them.

  Zach King was at the bottom of a bottomless well, immersed in pitch-black gloom, blackness so complete it withered the soul. It was as if the universe had blinked out and he were the only living creature left. Nothingness sheathed him like a sheath would a knife. He flailed his arms, or thought he did, and felt blackness swish through his fingers. It was so real, this ethereal blackness, as if endowed with form and substance.

  Gradually his mind filtered the memory of being shot. Zach dreaded that the blackness was the sum total of the afterlife. Maybe both the Heaven of the whites and the Land of Coyote, as the Shoshones referred to the hereafter, were fictions. Maybe this was all there was. Maybe he would spend the rest of forever there in the depths of the inky domain. The thought made him groan aloud.

  “The son of a bitch is coming around, Vince.”

  The harsh voice shattered the veil like thunder shattering benighted heavens. Zach knew he was alive, and with the realization a towering wave of sheer pain crashed down over him, agony so exquisite he had to clench his teeth to keep from crying out so he wouldn’t betray weakness in the presence of his enemies. Slowly, he opened his eyes.

  Beside him hunkered Ed Stark. A dozen feet away sputtered a fire. Around it were hunched Kendrick’s followers. The big man himself had risen.

  “Damn Injun must have a head as hard as quartz,” Stark commented.

  Zach begged to differ. His head felt like his mother’s mush. Mush being pounded on by a sledgehammer, for with every beat of his heart another stabbing pang speared through him. He also felt nauseous.

  Kendrick’s huge frame blotted out stars. “Another inch, heathen, and we’d have left you for the scavengers.”

  Gingerly, Zach examined his temple. A furrow ran from the hairline to just above his ear. The slug had gouged out flesh and hair nearly down to the skull bone. Dry blood caked the wound, his hair, his ear, his neck. The slightest touch provoked more pain. He wanted to sit up, but his churning stomach rebelled.

  “I should shoot you for spoiling my trap,” Kendrick said. “Your pards must have heard the shots and hightailed it, because they never showed.”

  Lou was safe! That alone, Zach reflected, made any sacrifice worth the effort. He swallowed, or tried to, his throat as dry as a desert. “What now, white man?” he asked, still playing the part of a Ute warrior. “Will you let me go?”

  “And lose our ace in the hole? Not on your life. So long as we keep you alive, you keep us alive.” Kendrick stared into the night. “You’d better hope your friends value your hide more than they value our scalps. Because if they jump us, the boys and I are going to make it a point to turn you into a sieve before we go down.”

  At that moment, Ira Sanders, who was on the other side of the fire, declared, “This one is coming around too, Vince.”

  Zach looked over at Ben Frazier. The old trapper was curled on his side, his wrists tied, his bare chest and sides painted scarlet. Sluggishly rising onto his elbows, Frazier crawled toward the fire, probably for the warmth, but Sanders stomped on his forearms, eliciting a yelp of anguish.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” the scarecrow taunted.

  Kendrick walked over and squatted. “You can spare y
ourself a heap of misery, old man, if you’ll tell us where you found it.”

  Ben Frazier glared at his tormentors. “I’d rather die. So blow out my wick and be done with it, you worthless buzzards.”

  Zach had to know. “What is it you want of him?” he asked Kendrick. “What can he have that is so important?”

  “What do you care?” the big man rejoined.

  Ed Stark snapped his fingers, as if struck by inspiration. “Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to tell the Injun. His people must know these mountains like the backs of their hands. Could be he’s seen some of the g”—Stark caught himself—“some of those pretty yellow stones, and can tell us where.”

  “Yellow stones?” Zach said.

  Kendrick had a pouch. Removing several small objects, he held them out so the firelight played over them. “Take a gander.”

  Years ago at a rendezvous, a trapper had paraded into the encampment on the Green River bragging about gold he’d found. To prove his claim, he’d brought a handful of nuggets. He never told where he made his strike, but promised to return in a year with enough gold to weigh down a pack train. When he left, several mountaineers sought to trail him, but he shook them off. And that was the last anyone ever saw of him. Some were of the opinion he had been killed and his claim taken over. But there were never any rumors from St. Louis to the effect that someone had shown up with a king’s ransom in yellow ore. So others thought a mishap claimed the man’s life, taking with it his prized secret.

  Zach had seen the fellow’s nuggets, and they hadn’t much interested him. Being rich was never one of his goals in life. Why should it be, when in the wilderness all the gold in the world amounted to a hill of beans.

  “Have you come across any yellow rocks like those?” Ed Stark asked hopefully, his eyes glittering with raw greed.

  “No,” Zach said.

  “Think about it,” Stark persisted. “They’re usually found along streams and rivers, and your people must have explored every waterway in these parts. Even seen a warrior with the stones like that? Or maybe a squaw? I know how fond Injun women are of pretty trinkets.”

  “No.”

  “Damn.” Stark sighed and faced Kendrick. “Stupid Injuns. They’ve probably ridden past the spot a hundred times and were too dumb to know what it was.”

  The leader replaced the nuggets in the pouch, then regarded the trapper a moment. “Once more, old man. Where did you find it?”

  “Are you hard of hearin’?” Frazier replied. “I’ll never tell. Do your worst.”

  “Don’t think I won’t.” And with that, Vince Kendrick kicked Frazier in the ribs. The trapper cried out and tried to wriggle away, but a heavy boot caught him again, lower down. Slowly, methodically, Kendrick delivered one kick after another. Never to the old man’s face or neck or anywhere that might kill him. No, Kendrick’s intention was to make Frazier suffer, and in that he was ruthlessly effective, for when Kendrick stopped kicking, the trapper was quaking and whimpering.

  “Give him a few more,” Ira Sanders said.

  “Bust a few ribs,” Elden Johnson added. “That should loosen his lips.”

  “It also might kill him,” Kendrick said, “and we need the jackass alive.” Stooping, he jabbed his fingers into several of the knife wounds. “Enough pain, old man? Or do you want more? I can keep this up all night if need be.”

  Tears of mixed agony and despair gushed down Frazier’s cheeks. His mouth quivered and his hands shook as he feebly clawed at the brute’s hands.

  Kendrick shook him, as a terrier might shake a rat, or a cat might shake a bird, then flung Frazier onto his back. “Even if you’ve got all the sand in the world, mister, sooner or later you’ll break. One last time. Where?”

  Zach half wished the trapper would tell them what they wanted. He admired Frazier’s courage, but was the gold worth the cost of Frazier’s life? The trapper must think so, because he didn’t answer.

  “Ed, bring me a brand from the fire.”

  “Sure thing, Vince.”

  Zach tested the loops around his wrists and ankles in a futile bid to free himself. He watched as Ed Stark selected a long, thin limb, one end glowing like the red eye of a demon. Stark handed it to Kendrick.

  Frazier held himself completely still. Jutting his chin defiantly, he said, “Put out my eyes. burn me all over. It won’t make a difference.”

  Kendrick blew on the end of the limb, causing the glow to flare brightly. “I’d like to blind you, but you wouldn’t be able to see to guide us to the strike. And it would be a waste of time to burn you everywhere when one particular spot will do.”

  “What spot?” Frazier asked.

  Instead of answering, Kendrick growled orders. “Stark, Johnson, hold the old geezer down.”

  The trapper fought them, but he was too weak to offer stiff resistance. Flat on his back, he glued his gaze to the red tip as it moved in small circles above him.

  “Should it be your nose?” Kendrick said, and dipped the brand at Frazier’s face. At the last moment, he stopped, chuckling as Frazier cringed and sought to pull away. “Or maybe your neck?” Again Kendrick flicked the brand, but again he didn’t press it against the old-timer. “No. I have a better idea.” A third time the brand moved, and was poised over Frazier’s groin.

  “You wouldn’t!”

  The brand speared downward. A sizzling sound greeted the contact of coal-hot brand and buckskins, and tiny puffs of smoke spiraled starward. Frazier twisted and squirmed, but he was held securely. The sizzling grew louder. Kendrick’s visage was a mask of cruel anticipation.

  Seconds later Frazier screamed. He couldn’t stop himself. No man could. He screamed and bucked as more and more smoke spewed upward.

  The smell of burnt buckskin filled Zach’s nostrils. Then the pungent odor of burning flesh eclipsed it, and a new scream rent the night, a scream so horrible, so inhuman, it was hard to conceive it issued from Frazier’s throat.

  Kendrick raised the brand. “That’s just a taste, old man. I hardly touched you. Do you want me to go on?”

  Zach couldn’t fault the trapper for what he did next. “No, no! Please. Stop! I’ll show you!”

  “On your honor, old man?” Kendrick puffed on the brand some more. “I wouldn’t want you to change your mind come first light. Or to lead us in circles, thinking you might be able to escape later. Because next time I won’t stop.”

  “I promise you. Straight to the gold.”

  Kendrick tossed the limb into the fire, bent, and patted the trapper’s grizzled cheek. “I’m right pleased you’ve come to your senses. To show there are no hard feelings, I’ll have the boys give you some food and water. How’d that be?”

  “Fine, just fine,” Frazier said, his head slumped, his spirit crushed by his defeat.

  “Help him sit up, Ed.”

  Stark and Johnson boosted the trapper. Frazier, exhausted and emotionally spent, tiredly wiped a sleeve across his face. He looked at the fire, at his tormentors, then to his left. His craggily brow knit. “What’s a Shoshone doing here?”

  Kendrick walked to Zach, who had turned his face from the light. “Shoshone? All the years you’ve been in these mountains and you can’t you tell one miser able savage from another? This here is a Ute we caught skulking near our camp.”

  “But his hair is worn Shoshone-style—” Frazier began, and suddenly stopped.

  Kendrick had jerked Zach off the ground and swung Zach around so the trapper could see Zach’s face. “Ever met this buck before? He’s mighty educated, for a redskin.”

  Zach smiled at the trapper, hoping against hope Frazier would catch on to his ruse and not reveal who he truly was. “Greetings, white man,” he said. “Any enemy of my enemies is a friend of mine.”

  “As I live and breathe! Zachary King!”

  Louisa waited an hour after the sun went down so it was fully dark when she started across the meadow. As she emerged from the trees, she was perturbed to see the moon rising. Not a quarter moon or a h
alf moon, but a full moon in all its glowing splendor. The lunar lantern would light up the landscape as brightly as twilight. She must hurry. But she couldn’t go too fast or the drum of hooves would alert Kendrick’s band to her presence.

  Holding the mare to a brisk walk, Lou made for the distant bluff. It was too far off to spot even with celestial illumination, but all she had to do was keep pointed due west and she would reach it eventually.

  With the advent of night, the wild creatures who preferred darkness to daylight were slinking from their burrows and dens to rove, hunt, and feast. Nighttime was predator time, when the big cats and wolves and grizzlies were most active. So were lesser carnivores, a legion of them. Their howls and yips and roars rose in a bestial chorus that had terrified more than one wayfaring pilgrim from the States.

  Lou had grown used to it. Or so she flattered herself. But as she rode farther into the open and the sounds increased in volume and frequency, she grew on edge. It seemed as if a horde of feral beasts were on either side of her, their roars and growls assaulting her ears without cease.

  The bleat of a deer so close that it made Lou jump was terminated by a raspy snarl that set the mare to prancing skittishly. Lou had to firm her grip on the reins to keep control. A feline cough pegged the deer’s slayer. Thankfully, the mountain lion was content with its catch and didn’t molest the horses.

  Lou yearned for sight of the bluff. As the minutes dragged by, she worried that she had drifted astray. She debated angling to the right or left. A soft glow over a hundred feet in the air was like a soothing balm on an open sore to her frazzled nerves. Lou relaxed, confident she’d found her quarry. It amused her that Kendrick was dumb enough to make a fire large enough to be seen. Thank the Lord for stupidity! Without it, nasty people like Kendrick would cause much more harm than they did.

  Lou remembered that the cutthroats had scaled the bluff by using a trail on its north side. She didn’t figure the trail would prove difficult to find, but when she reached the base she was confronted by the bane of riders everywhere: a talus slope. A slope so littered with loose rocks and earth that for her to attempt to climb it would result in catastrophe. To say nothing of the racket she would make, a racket bound to be heard by the ruffians above.