Winter Rage (Mountain Times Book 1)

by John Legg

  He looked at Train and could see the fury that stretched the young man’s face into a frightful mask. The youth’s hands twitched on the rifle. Well, Squire decided, it was time to put this ghost business to the test. And if that didn’t scare the Blackfeet, his reputation for ferocity and wildness ought to be of some help.

  “Allons/” he roared, and kicked Noir Astre into a run.

  The five men charged down the hill under a light hail of arrows and rifle balls. The horses’ hooves slipped in the crusty snow. The five fired at random, reloading on the run.

  They thundered through the camp at a dead run, scattering a few of the warriors and the howling, yapping dogs. A few warriors ran, including Elk Horn. He knew his medicine was bad, and even if Squire was not a ghost but real, he could not fight now. He would recuperate and build up his medicine for another time. Willis ducked around Elk Horn’s lodge after firing his rifle to no effect.

  Most of the ten warriors left in the village stood their ground. Each had his own personal medicine, and just because Elk Horn’s had gone bad did not mean theirs had, too.

  The mountain men split, turned, raced through the camp again and on up the hill. Two Blackfeet lay dead, and three others clutched bloody wounds. But the ones who were left were hastily throwing up bulwarks of saddles, skins and logs. The next run would not be so easy, Squire knew.

  Once more they hurtled down the hill. The firing from the village was heavier this time. Arrows and rifle balls ripped through the air.

  Near the fringes of the camp, LeGrande’s horse went down, an arrow imbedded in its chest. LeGrande went flying and crashed into the base of a tree. He screeched as he felt bones snap.

  “Merde,” Squire swore when he saw LeGrande go down. But he was well into the village now and could not yank Noir Astre around fast enough. When he did get the horse turned, he saw Willis racing on foot toward the old mountain man. LeGrande struggled to stand, but his broken bones would not allow it.

  Willis swarmed over LeGrande. Squire snapped his rifle up and fired off a quick shot. He nodded when he saw that LeGrande still had some life left in him. But the struggle between LeGrande and Willis threw his shot off; he couldn’t get off a clean shot without risking hitting LeGrande.

  Squire rammed his heels into Noir Astre’s sides, urging the midnight stallion to spring toward Willis. But it was too late. Squire saw the glint of winter sun on steel, and LeGrande struggled no more. Willis whipped an arm around and then straightened, the old French-Canadian’s thin, white scalp dripping blood in his hand. He held the trophy up for Squire to see, shaking it defiantly before fleeing into the trees near the creek.

  Squire’s jaws hardened until they ached, and he had to blink a few times to clear his blurred vision. He slammed Noir Astre to a stop next to his friend. He hopped down and scooped up LeGrande’s body. He leaped back into the saddle and raced up the hill.

  The others, ignoring the bullets and arrows, sped up the hill and dismounted next to Squire. Train started to put a consoling hand on one of Squire’s massive shoulders, but Peters stopped him.

  “Just let him be, boy,” Peters said softly. “Ol’ LeGrande meant more to Squire than anyone else in the world. Even more’n Marchand. LeGrande was like Nathaniel’s pa. Now ye and your amigo there keep a watch out, make sure none of them Blackfeet come sneakin’ up the hill.”

  Squire finally stood, his face like a chunk of the mountains. His eyes were thin slits, and a thick vein throbbed in his forehead. He mounted his black stallion, then turned to the others. “Willis be mine, boys,” he said softly. But the iciness of his voice made the hair on the other men’s arms and necks stand up.

  “I know this ain’t gonna make no difference in what you’re gonna do, Nathaniel,” Peters said. “But there’s more Blackfeet down there now. Reckon they got some help from that other camp down the creek. There ain’t many come. Maybe half a dozen.” Squire nodded and gazed down the hill.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  SQUIRE’S war cry split the cold air. It was an eerie sound, something that could not be expected to explode from a man’s throat. It chilled the blood of the two younger men, who quickly mounted, afraid something would happen to them if they did not follow their giant friend.

  Noir Astre moved. He began to lope, but gathered speed quickly and smoothly on hooves that kicked up great chunks of snow and ice.

  Squire slid his rifle into the scabbard and pulled the long tomahawk from his belt. He paid no heed to the arrows and rifle balls aimed at him. He pounded into the tree-studded camp. He was no longer a human being but rather a blood-crazed animal, more savage than any wolf or bear. He hacked and slashed in frenzied, wild, powerful swings of the tomahawk as he crashed through the village, knocking over tipis and slaying anyone foolish enough to get within his reach.

  He thundered to a stop and dismounted in the clearing in front of Elk Horn’s lodge. Planting his feet, he stood like a well-rooted oak against the renewed Blackfoot onslaught, bolstered by even more recruits from the other camp.

  An arrow thudded into Squire’s thigh and another into his shoulder. Still another hit his thigh again, a bare inch from the last one. He ignored the pain, just as he ignored the Blackfoot blood that made his hands slippery and painted the snow a bright crimson.

  He became vaguely aware that Li’l Jim was standing at his back. He had almost killed his small young friend in the throes of his fury but had recognized him just in time to stay his hand. Back to back, bloody knife and tomahawk glinting in the brittle sunshine, they stood off the Blackfeet. But for all purposes, the battle was over.

  Through hate-clouded eyes, Squire could see a tall, slim, beak-nosed warrior calling out, urging the men to leave this cursed place. This must be a black spirit sent to destroy them, for no human could be this impervious to the assaults of the mighty Blackfeet.

  With frenzied desperation, warriors rushed toward Squire and Li’l Jim, in a last-ditch effort to retrieve their dead and wounded.

  The Blackfeet warriors faded into the bitter cold, heading over the frozen creek, leaving behind all their belongings.

  Squire slowly came to his senses. He stood panting, eyes sweeping the almost deserted village. Train and Slocum rode up, the latter smiling, Train looking grim still. Both had slight wounds.

  “We sure as shit made ’em come now, didn’t we?” Peters crowed. “Waugh. Shinin’ doin’s, I’m sayin’.”

  “Aye,” Squire growled. “Ye lads seen Strapp? Or Willis?”

  “Not hide nor hair of either,” Peters said.

  “What about Hannah?” Train asked, almost desperate.

  Everyone shook his head. “Star Path?” Squire asked.

  Again the men shook their heads. The rage began to build in Squire’s eyes. “Then I’ll just—”

  A scream and then a shot rang out from inside one of the lodges. The four men looked around. A moment later, Hannah stepped out of the lodge across the clearing from them, a pistol in one hand, a bloody knife in the other. Strapp marched nervously before her, the terror making saucers of his eyes.

  “It took you boys long enough to get here,” she smiled as she arrived at their side.

  Train let out a whoop and picked her up, swinging her in a wide circle, much to Li’l Jim’s amusement. Even Squire’s face cracked slightly at the sight of it.

  “Put me down, dammit, put me down,” Hannah yelled. “This ain’t the place for such foolishment.”

  Train plopped her down, emotions raging inside of him. He was so damn happy to see her that his embarrassment, shame and anger had fled.

  Hannah turned to face Squire. “There’s a dead warrior in that lodge. I shot him after I stabbed this stinkin’ bastard,” she spit on Strapp, “and took away his pistol.” It was all said matter-of-factly.

  Squire nodded, noticing for the first time that Strapp’s right arm was bleeding. “Ye done well, girl,” he said.

  “You’re not gonna kill me, are you, Squire?” Strapp squeaked. “I neve
r meant for any of you to get hurt.”

  “Like hell, you weasel-faced son of a bitch. Ye tried sellin’ my topknot to these shit-eatin’ savages, just to set yourself up as some high-falutin’, fancy-assed factor. Such doin’s don’t shine with this niggur at all.”

  “I’ll make it up to you,” Strapp whined. “I’ll make it up to all of you. I swear it. I have money, connections. They can help. We . . . I . . . Everything will be good, you’ll see. Just don’t kill me. Please. Don’t kill me.” He was almost in tears.

  He screamed as Squire encircled the back of his neck with one hand. With the other, he cupped Strapp’s chin and pushed upward, and upward. Strapp shrieked again as his neck bones creaked. Then there was a subdued snap as Strapp’s neck broke. The screaming stopped, but a few murmurs still bubbled out when Squire dropped Strapp to the bloody snow and mud.

  Hannah knelt close to his face. Strapp still lived, but he would not linger long. “You got better than you deserved, William,” she said in a voice bathed in hate. She spit in his face.

  “Let him be now, girl,” Squire muttered, pulling Hannah to her feet. Squire gritted his teeth and yanked the arrows out of his flesh, heedless of the extra damage it caused. Then he called to his horse.

  The big stallion came running, and nickered softly as Squire patted the animal’s broad forehead. Squire mounted and looked down at Hannah. She shivered with cold, dressed only in a ragged buckskin dress that was torn and filthy. Her hair was matted and caked with dirt and grease. She smelled bad, even to the rank mountain men. She grinned up at him.

  “Ye all right?” Squire asked quietly.

  “I’ll be fine, Nathaniel.” She looked happily at Train, who stood with growing embarrassment and confusion, as the old thoughts and feelings crowded in on him. “I got my freedom, I got my man, and I got my friends. A body can’t ask for more.”

  A smile tugged at Squire’s lips, but he was serious as he asked, “They hurt ye any?”

  “Not so’s I could complain much. Just ...” She stopped, too ashamed to continue. She glanced at Train. His face was frozen in . . . what? Horror? Shame? Hannah hung her head in disgrace, too humiliated to look at any of them. Now Train only looked at her in disgust, she thought. Her heart sank, and she felt sick to her stomach.

  Train stood, wanting to hold her, to soothe away her fears and worries with soft words and loving strokes. But he could not bring himself to do it.

  She cried, the tears unchecked, shame reddening her face. She wanted to die, so deep did her humiliation run.

  Nervously, but with determination, Li’l Jim stepped up to her and placed an arm around her shoulders. He tugged her around until she was crying into his capote. “I don’t know ya real well, Hannah,” he said after clearing his throat several times. “And I know ya don’t know me hardly at all. But if’n that big, dumb sumbitch ain’t got the sense to take ya back, I’d be prouder’n a banty rooster if’n you was to be mine.”

  Train’s eyes registered shock. Hannah’s head came up and she stared at Li’l Jim. “That’s a mighty fine offer, Li’l Jim,” she said. “And I might take you up on it. But I’d need a day or two, to kind of get myself adjusted and all.”

  “I underst—”

  “Get the hell away from my woman, you sneaky little bastard.”

  “Well,” Li’l Jim sniffed, “you sure as hell ain’t actin’ like she’s your woman. Goddamn, make up your mind, boy. Either she’s your woman, and you’ll treat her like such; or she ain’t your woman, in which case I aim to make her mine.”

  “You just get your paws off of her or else.”

  “Or else what?” Li’l Jim said, accepting the challenge. “I ain’t afraid of you, just ’cause you’re almost as big as the big, fat, walkin’ tree over there.” He glanced, a little nervously, at Squire, and winked.

  Squire cracked a smile and nodded, barely perceptible. He knew full well Li’l Jim was going to force Train into doing what he really wanted to do anyway—take Hannah back.

  “Just leave her be, is all.”

  Li’l Jim released Hannah, and she stood between the two men, not knowing quite what to do. Her stomach was knotted, and her heart beat rapidly and unevenly.

  “Well, don’t just stand there, lad,” Squire snapped, angry at the young man’s foolish pride. “Get your woman a blanket or somethin’ afore she freezes to death.”

  Stiffly, the big young man stumbled into Elk Horn’s lodge and emerged with a warm buffalo robe. He carefully draped it over Hannah’s shoulders from behind. He tried not to touch her, but his fingers grazed her hair, then her cheek. Shock rippled through him. Roughly he spun her around and clutched her tightly, whispering her name over and over.

  Hannah responded, putting her arms around his big frame. “Damn,” she muttered into his buffalo robe.

  He held her at arm’s length, alarm splashed across his face. “What’s wrong?” he asked urgently.

  “I’m cryin’ again, dammit all.”

  Train laughed in relief. “Ya had me worried, Hannah,” he said. “I thought there was somethin’ wrong with ya. Like maybe you was ailin’.”

  She looked up at him and smiled through her tears. “You’re not mad at me?” she asked, voice quivering.

  Train tensed but relaxed almost immediately. “Nah, I ain’t mad. It’s just that . . . Well, it’s . . . Hell, I don’t know . . . I . . . still . . .”

  She pulled his head down and kissed him hard, melting his rigid frame with the heat of her warm breath and probing tongue.

  Squire smiled. Everything would be all right between them, he knew. It would take some adjusting, and there would be some tentativeness on both their parts. But they would work it out.

  “Ye know where Star Path be, girl?” Squire asked when Hannah and Train broke their kiss.

  “No,” Hannah whispered, ashamed for forgetting about her friend simply because her man was here. “I’ve not seen her since last night. I’m sorry.” She looked ready to cry again.

  “I’ll be findin’ her, girl. Don’t ye fret.”

  Peters rubbed his chin, frowning in thought. “Wait a minute,” he finally said. “Seems like I recollect seein’ a man ridin’ hellbent outta here a bit ago. There was a woman on the horse with him. I thought at the time it was just one of these Piegans takin’ off with his woman. But now I think back on it, he sure as hell didn’t ride like no Blackfoot. And the women was all gone early on. Think it was him?”

  “Likely was.” Squire nodded. “It’d be just like that little bastard to take Star Path and run whilst the Blackfeet be fightin’ his battles for him. But I’ll be findin’ him. Aye. There be no escapin’ for him now. Which way was they headed?”

  “North, and west. Across the creek.”

  “Bon. Then I’ll be movin’ out.”

  “Let me bind up them wounds, Nathaniel,” Li’l Jim said. “Leastways enough to stop ’em from bleedin’.”

  “The cold’ll take care of it, lad.”

  “You’ll lose your strength, Nathaniel. It won’t do ya no good to catch that sumbitch and not have the strength to deal with him. ”

  “Don’t ye worry, boy. I’ll be seein’ to Zeb Willis. Ye folks take what ye need here and head for the cabin. Take ol’ LeGrande with ye. I’ll be buryin’ him near there.” A few tears leaked out and dripped down into Squire’s full beard. He took a deep, ragged breath, then said, “I’ll be catchin’ up to ye soon’s I can. Two, three days at most.”

  He turned Noir Astre’s head, but Hannah’s small hand on his buckskin-clad leg stopped him. “Find her, Nathaniel,” she said. “Find Star Path. Without her I would’ve never made it through all this. She’s . . . she’s ...”

  He bent over and ran a sausage-sized finger up her cheek, clearing away the tears. “Don’t ye worry, girl.” He looked at Train. “Ye’d best be takin’ good care of this here gal.” The threat was implicit in his voice.

  It was also unnecessary.

  Chapter Forty-Six

 
; SQUIRE rode out of the village, crossing the frozen creek. He didn’t push very hard—Willis had no place to go, and Squire knew it would be only a matter of time before he caught the Alabaman. He wanted Noir Astre to rebuild his reserves of strength and endurance.

  Less than three hours later, he found Star Path trudging wearily southeastward, toward the Blackfoot camp. Though he did not let on, his heart beat just a bit faster at the sight of her. Without a word, Squire pulled her up on the horse behind him and started riding again. He felt the pressure of her body as she snuggled against his back.

  “Were it bad for ye?’’ he finally asked.

  “Not so bad as might be,” she answered in her improved English, a pleasant surprise for Squire.

  “Ye be all right?”

  “Most yes. Feet cold. All cold.”

  “Take my robe and put it o’er ye, woman,” he said gruffly. “It’ll be keepin’ ye warm, and ye can be doin’ the same for me.”

  She pulled the big buffalo rote from his back and draped it over her shoulders, and still had enough left to partially cover Squire. She snuggled up against his back again, and he welcomed her warmth, as she did his.

  “It be nice havin’ ye back, woman,” he said softly, gruffly, patting her hands where they locked on his hard belly.

  She squeezed him tight, and then relaxed, resting a copper-colored cheek against his broad back. Yes, she thought, it was good to have each other again. She was content, knowing that Squire would not question her. Nor would she mention her ordeal, unless it became necessary. Then he would listen quietly and soothe away her troubles. What had happened was in the past. And had little bearing on their lives. She had also known, since he came back to her in her village, that he would not leave her again. That thought had sustained her throughout her captivity. That knowledge would keep her happy now.