Freedom in the Mountain Wind

by Misty M. Beller

  “He has trouble breathing sometimes. Nothing that’s catching, just a pain in his lungs.” She pressed a hand to her chest, watching Beaver Tail to make sure he understood. It was still hard to believe an Indian could have such a complete understanding of English like he appeared to possess. Had he been raised among whites?

  He nodded, then returned his focus to her father. Pa’s breathing had quieted a little now, and the knot in her chest eased.

  Beaver Tail picked up the pot she’d dropped. “I’ll get water to drink.” Then he turned and jogged away, his long legs covering two or three times the distance with each stride that most men could have managed.

  The sight of so much water spilling over the edge of the rock, thundering in relentless waves, should have captured Beaver Tail’s attention completely. It always had in the past.

  But with Susanna standing just ahead of him, her side profile strong against the magnificent backdrop of the falls, he couldn’t pull his attention away from her. Those sculpted cheekbones tapered to a pointed chin so delicate, he would hardly have believed it belonged to this strong woman.

  Her father stood beside her, his outline stooped with shoulders sagging, making him look even older than he did when seen from the front. A sharp contrast to the strong lines of his daughter’s profile.

  But Beaver Tail would do best not to dwell on the sight before him. Lingering around this woman would only cause him trouble.

  He turned away, staring upriver to where his traps were set. He’d not checked them in two days, which meant whatever he’d caught had likely already become a meal for another creature by now. Maybe he could check a few close snares while this pair lingered at the falls.

  Stepping forward, he motioned for their attention. “Stay here. I’ll return soon.”

  Hopefully they wouldn’t leave before he returned to help them. While he was around, there was no need for the pair to carry their burdens. Also, they’d want him to show the quickest way to the place where Caleb and the others waited with their boat and supplies.

  He’d made it partway to the first trap—an underwater pole device he’d crafted near a large beaver dam—when the rustle of leaves alerted him to the person following. The footsteps came whisper-light, which meant it must be Susanna, and she was probably trying to conceal her presence.

  Did she follow him merely out of curiosity? He’d not read anything threatening in her manner so far, yet he’d also not expected her to leave her father alone. She must have a good reason for shadowing him now.

  He didn’t mind showing her his traps. Especially if it would set her fears of him at ease. So he kept on his route, veering closer to the river in the one place where the cliffs lowered enough to allow him access to the water.

  She approached nearer behind him, probably feeling comfortable because of the tree cover around them. He waited until she stopped, then turned to face the tree she’d ducked behind. She did a remarkable job of hiding behind the slender cottonwood. At first glance, he wouldn’t have known she was there.

  But she had to be. Now he could hear her breathing. And a grumpy squirrel nattered at her from the tree’s branches, clearly upset she’d disturbed his work.

  Beaver fought to keep from smiling—at both the squirrel and the woman. “Would you like to see what’s in the trap?” He looked straight at the tree, but it was three long breaths before she stepped from behind the trunk.

  She had her chin raised, her eyes flashing. No sheepishness at being caught, only the spark of irritation. “What are you doing?”

  He had to fight harder not to smile. Being riled like this made her even more fetching than before. “I’m checking my traps, the three around here anyway.” He nodded toward the river. “Would you like to see if we caught a beaver?”

  Her gaze shifted to the water, then back to him. She wanted to see—the desire was written all over her.

  So he turned and eased down to the river’s bank. She would follow, if he’d read her correctly.

  But then, he’d been completely wrong before, and it had been the end to the life he’d been destined for. The end of the life his family deserved.

  Chapter 6

  Beaver Tail strode upriver a short distance to the snare he’d set near a small beaver dam. Many people didn’t trap in the summer, since these furs would be lesser quality than those he took in the winter. But they needed the meat, and he might as well catch something that could serve as both food and trade goods.

  He waded into the water, doing his best not to flinch at the cold. The pole marking his trap was only a few strides in, and he pulled up the cord to see what he’d caught.

  The beady eyes of a river otter stared up at him. Not a beaver, but still good for eating. He cut the carcass free, then turned to drag it back to the narrow edge of bank.

  Susanna stood there watching him, her gaze a little wide. “Is that an otter? We’ve seen a few on our journey, but I wasn’t certain if it was an otter or another creature.”

  He nodded as he hoisted the animal out of the water. He should reset the trap before readying the animal for transport.

  He waded in again. Maybe he should invite Susanna closer to see how he reset the trap. But she was peering at the otter, so he let her be.

  As hot as it was on the plains, this nook stayed cool under the shrubbery that lined the bank and cliffs—and made the perfect breeding ground for mosquitoes. He swatted at several that pierced the skin of his arm. He’d already made a new pouch of sweetgrass to ward them away since he gave his other to Susanna, but the new plant didn’t seem to be working as well. In fact, he wore two satchels, since he’d made one for her father too but hadn’t give it to the man yet.

  A splash by his leg grabbed his attention just as a sharp poke jabbed his skin under the water. He kicked out, and his foot struck a body. Definitely larger than a fish.

  Another stab of pain pierced his other leg, this time more like an arrow driving through his leathers, penetrating skin and shooting deep into his flesh. He doubled over, kicking hard to shake away the creature embedded in his leg.

  The animal shoved against his other leg, knocking him off balance. Beaver Tail struggled to stay upright, but the animal bit again, driving its fangs lower, just above his ankle. He toppled backward into the water, the icy cold reaching up to envelop his body.

  Even while the creature still clenched its teeth around his leg, another set of fangs dug deep into his upper arm. Beaver Tail thrashed to free himself from both attackers.

  Two of them.

  He had to get back to shore. His hand struck one of the animals again, making contact with thick, course hair. Beaver maybe? Perhaps the creatures whose home he’d set his trap beside. Or maybe another otter. They usually traveled in small groups.

  Both animals released him as he struggled to crawl back to the bank. But his effort seemed to anger them, for they struck again with fury. Biting farther up his leg, his side, his hand. They seemed to be everywhere at once. Maybe more than two.

  He couldn’t keep track, but he finally dragged himself from the water. One of the animals had a hold on the back of his leg, following him onto the shore.

  Only then did his mind register the screaming. Susanna beat at the animal, shrieking like an enraged turkey as she struck the creature over and over with a stick.

  Beaver rolled over to pull himself from the grasp of those fangs, catching sight of the long, furry body of a river otter.

  The animal finally released him and slipped back into the river. Susanna’s screaming ceased, and quiet sank over the area while he struggled to catch his breath.

  “Are you hurt?” She dropped to her knees beside him as he sat propped up by his hands, his legs extended.

  Blood soaked through his buckskin leggings in several places. The leather was torn in even more spots, and he felt like he’d been mauled by a wildcat. Or maybe caught in a hive of bees, stung all over.

  She reached for his arm, pulling back a flap of torn, bloody f
abric to reveal crimson trickling from several gashes. “These need to be cleaned, and I bet you’ll need stitches.”

  He raised his focus from his arm to her face, and she met his gaze.

  “I have what I need in our supplies you’ve taken upriver. Can you make it that far?” Concern laced her eyes, a look that bolstered his strength.

  “I’m fine.” The warmth of her hand on his arm made the pain fade almost completely in that area. As much as he’d like to have this woman tend his wounds, perhaps letting her touch him wasn’t a good idea. Not unless he could detach himself from the pleasure of having her so near.

  He forced his battered body to stand, and she rose too, stepping back to give him space. He sent a glare toward the river where his trap still stood—half of it anyway.

  “Was that another otter that attacked you?”

  “More than one.” He turned from the water and reached down to snag the dead animal he’d retrieved from the trap. “I’ve never seen them attack like that. Maybe they were protecting a den.” He started down the trail back to her father. It looked like he wouldn’t be resetting the snare. Not much could induce him to walk back into that water. Susanna came up beside him, and he matched his pace to hers.

  In the murky river water, he’d not even seen the animals before they struck. What if Susanna had been with him in the water? The thought sharpened the pain of every bite mark, many feeling like they’d pierced all the way to his bones.

  Even though Susanna had been spared the attack this time, she and her father were traveling on the river. They could easily be assaulted by otters any time they stepped into the water to board the boat. But otters weren’t the only danger, as her run-in with the bear well proved. How could the two of them alone protect themselves?

  Yet he couldn’t worry about that. He’d see that they and their possessions made it to the camp above the falls, then he and the other men would mount their horses and ride away.

  Joel was already pushing to leave out tomorrow morning. Although they’d all agreed to make a relaxed trip to find the Shoshone band Adam was living with, Joel never seemed to understand the meaning of relaxed. He fidgeted like a horse with the bit in its teeth every time they stopped for a day or two. Beaver wouldn’t be able to talk the man into staying at their current camp for another day.

  When he and the others rode out tomorrow morning, Susanna and her father would be on their own.

  “I say we invite them along with us. They’re going the same direction we are. They could ride a couple of the pack horses, and we won’t be put out in the least.”

  Beaver Tail stood a little back from his friends, watching the exchange between them. Even though French spoke the words with his usual relaxed manner, the fact that he was standing up to the others showed just how strongly he felt about this decision.

  “They’ll slow us down.” Joel kept his voice low, but it held the usual intensity he’d mastered these days. “They came up the Missouri on their own, they must want to stay alone. They could have tagged along with a boat of Frenchies if they’d wanted help—just like we did.”

  Caleb shrugged. “We could at least ask ’em. If they say no, we’ll ride out this morning like we planned.”

  “And if they say yes, it’ll be a half day at least before we can dig deep enough to cache their boat and any supplies we can’t carry.” Joel turned his glare on Beaver. “We don’t have enough room on the pack horses for two people without leaving some of your furs behind. Shall we bury them in the cache too?”

  They all knew the wet earth would damage the hides unless he took the time to protect them, which Joel would do his best to disallow. The man’s suggestion was merely his attempt to strike at a soft spot. To gain an ally.

  But Beaver Tail would rather stay neutral in this battle. Especially since his desires already warred inside him over the decision. He hadn’t told the others that Wilkins had asked him to be their guide through the rest of their journey. French or Caleb would probably jump at the chance to travel with the pretty Susanna. Or maybe he was underestimating them and their loyalty to Joel. He knew what it was like for others to think the worst of him, and he wouldn’t do the same to these men who’d proven to be friends.

  But in truth, why wouldn’t he want one of these men to accompany Wilkins and Susanna? Caleb or French could protect them, and would likely be happy to see Susanna back down the river to the land of the white people if needed.

  A pinch nipped at his chest. Did Wilkins really expect to die?

  The mountain country wasn’t where he needed to be then, especially as winter would be on them within another moon or two. Could Beaver in good conscience leave a sick man and a young woman to face the fierce season in that unrelenting land on their own?

  Maybe a warning would suffice. But giving an honest caution would require recommending that they hike back around the portage trail and paddle downriver as fast as they could. Back to the land they knew, a home where they would be safe. And he’d almost rather take French’s side and argue to bring the pair along with them than tell Joel they’d need another day or two to carry the boat and supplies back where they’d started.

  “What do you think, BT? You’ve been awful quiet.” Caleb must be tired of playing the peacemaker.

  Beaver scanned the three faces, much easier to see now that the sun had fully risen. French looked expectant, as though there was only one possible answer that made sense. Joel’s scowl said he might be close to heading out on his own, something that didn’t sit well in Beaver’s gut. The man had saved his life twice now, and they’d all three sworn to help him find his missing brother. Although Joel snarled like an angry dog most days, he really was a good man. The kind Beaver would be thankful to have with him through any trial. Besides, if Beaver’d had a brother, especially one who was possibly lost or held against his will, he’d fight against even an hour’s delay in reaching him.

  He folded his arms across his chest. Maybe they could still help Wilkins and Susanna without inviting them to travel along. “I’ll give them my pack horse. Even with only the one mount, their journey will be easier than paddling through all the rapids that lie ahead. I can move some of my furs to Joel’s pack mare.” He sent his friend a sideways look. “And the rest will fit on my own mount. This way we can bid farewell to them both without a guilty conscience.” At least, not as much guilt.

  Caleb tipped his head, as though considering the idea, then nodded.

  French shook his head and threw his hands down. “I don’t believe you all.” Then he turned and marched back to where the animals stood tied, ready to load up and ride out. Was French angry enough to leave their group in order to help these two pilgrims?

  For a moment, Beaver stood with Caleb and Joel, watching their friend. Usually not much riled the man. But maybe he was right in this case. Maybe giving Wilkins a horse and sending them on their journey was the coward’s way out. Was Beaver letting his longing to distance himself from any sign of a female influence this decision? As much as that really was his desire, he wouldn’t put his own selfish whims ahead of another’s life.

  “Best get packing.” Joel’s growl jerked them all from their thoughts as the man turned toward camp.

  Beaver Tail strode toward the horses to ready the spotted gelding he’d leave with Wilkins.

  French was grumbling something under his breath, in his native language of course. Probably nothing Beaver Tail wanted to understand. Before Beaver had his pack animal readied, the wiry Frenchman had loaded his bay pack mare with half her normal cargo and was stomping toward the camp, dragging the animal behind him. The poor horse had to trot to keep up.

  Did he plan to start the quarrel up again? He wouldn’t bring his animal just for an argument though. Maybe he planned to donate the horse for Wilkins and his daughter to ride. That was the more likely possibility, although it would be a sacrifice for their party to lose two animals. Still, they’d have four horses left to ride and two for packing supplies.
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  Wilkins and Susanna would be much better off with two horses than in their oversized canoe. They’d have to leave the boat behind, and Joel surely wouldn’t allow time for Beaver to stay and bury the craft so they could retrieve it later. Unless he chose to stay on his own, then catch up with the men later. That could be a possibility.

  With a sigh, Beaver Tail ducked under the tie rope for the horses and followed his friend back to camp. Nothing was ever easy when a female was involved. True, it didn’t seem like Susanna was trying to cause problems in this situation. But her mere presence had created the first argument the four of them had experienced in the weeks they’d been traveling together.

  He should have turned and run the moment he’d first seen Susanna Wilkins.

  Chapter 7

  She should be grateful for the horses. And she was. Really.

  But as she watched the four men ride away, a weight pressed hard on her chest, smothering. Making her struggle for breath the way Pa did after his coughing fits. For the first time in this journey, the sheer magnitude of what lay before them rose up like a wall reaching to the heavens, impossible to scale. This land was so vast, with so many ferocious animals that could attack from nowhere. Weather that could turn from searing heat one moment to hailstones large enough to bruise the next. And the men had spoken of a winter ahead that could obliterate an entire tribe of people if they weren’t prepared.

  Were she and Pa prepared? Not for what French and the others had described.

  Maybe Pa was right and they should turn back. Getting the boat back around the falls would be a trick, but now that they had these horses, they could ride back down the Missouri. Back to civilization and some semblance of safety. Pa’s condition would still be just as bleak. But at least it was a danger she knew and could prepare for.

  Hopelessness rose up in her chest to strangle her. These thoughts were pure selfishness. Pa had longed for this expedition for years. Not just a chance to discover new country, but also to find peace for him in the majesty of this land. The least she could do was see him through it.