Wilderness Double Edition 26

by David Robbins

  Many winters went by. Neota’s guilt faded. He shut To-Ma from his mind and got on with his life. Until the day several men who had been off elk hunting came back to reveal that white men and their families were living along the lake in the valley of bad medicine. The very valley to which To-Ma had been banished.

  The veil of time was pierced. All the old feelings welled up, as strong, as disturbing, as they ever were. When it was proposed that someone go meet these whites and see what they were like, Neota argued that the whites and their families should be left alone. The Utes had few dealings with whites, ever since a white trapper betrayed their trust and sided with their enemies.

  The only white they respected was one named Grizzly Killer. It was he who helped arrange a truce with the Shoshones. It was he who slew a bear that had become a man-killer.

  Neota’s surprise was boundless when he learned that the white man who had settled in the valley was none other than Grizzly Killer. Neota could not put it off any longer. He went to the valley he spent almost a week there, and not once did he come across sign that To-Ma still lived. He thought his inner torment was over at long last.

  Then young Niwot was smitten by Evelyn King. Niwot rode to the valley every chance he could to press his suit. It was Niwot, one night in Neota’s lodge, who mentioned hearing strange cries from up near the ice, cries unlike any he had ever heard. Niwot, who told Neota that the Kings heard the cries from time to time but had not seen the creature that made them.

  A new dread filled Neota. He liked Nate King, liked King’s wife and daughter and son. Nate was one of the few whites Neota had met who treated the red man as an equal. Nate was the only white Neota respected as he did his own kind.

  It made Neota’s worry all the more acute. He realized the source of the cries must be To-Ma. He realized, too, that eventually the Kings and To-Ma would clash. The blood spilled would be on his hands, as was the blood of To-Ma’s father, and To-Ma.

  There was only one way to end it, Neota decided. He would ride to the valley and confront To-Ma. He must accept the blame for what he had done, and pay the cost, if that is what was demanded of him.

  So here they were, their first night out on their climb to the glacier, and Neota could no longer keep the truth to himself. He had to let it free, had to tell someone. What better person than the man whose son and daughter-in-law might fall victim to Neota’s folly?

  Nate poked at the fire with a stick for the longest while after the Ute warrior was done. Finally he put down the stick so he could use his hands. “Question,” he signed. “Why you no speak straight tongue before?”

  “My heart much ashamed,” Neota signed.

  “Many winters To-Ma up there,” Nate remarked.

  Neota winced as if he had been stabbed. He signed that no one appreciated that fact more than he did. He had wronged the son, he had wronged the father, he had wronged his own people. He had wronged so many that he could not bear the sight of his own reflection. “I bad man,” he concluded.

  “No. You good man,” Nate signed. He went on to say that Neota had only done what he thought was best. Had he not knocked To-Ma out that day long ago, the Shoshones would have overwhelmed the raiding party and every last Ute would have been slain. Neota’s quick thinking had saved their lives.

  Neota signed that he had hit To-Ma too hard. He thought he had to hit him hard, though. To-Ma was so huge and so powerful that a light blow would not have any effect.

  “I mistake,” Neota signed. “I kill.”

  “We all make mistakes,” Nate told him. “An act must be judged by its intent, not the result. Good deeds are not always an accurate measure of the goodness in a person’s heart.”

  Neota was the graven image of torment.

  “If blame must be placed,” Nate went on, “then the fault lay with the boy’s father. To-Ma had not been mature enough to go on the war path. He had a man’s body—twice the body of most men—but the mind that ruled the body was the mind of a child. The father should have waited another winter. To-Ma had not been ready for so great a responsibility.”

  Neota’s hands started to move but stopped. He said something in the Ute tongue, his voice choked with emotion, then looked at Nate and slowly signed, “I thank you, Grizzly Killer.”

  Nate hoped that maybe now the warrior could live with himself. To take the blame for things over which they had no control was pointless. “We will end it,” Nate signed.

  Neota hunched closer to the fire, his eyes dancing with the reflected light of the crackling flames. “Yes. End it,” he signed, his expression as inscrutable as the night.

  Sleep proved elusive. Nate tried, but he could not stop thinking of Zach and Lou and what might have happened, or be happening. Dawn was half an hour off when he sat up and puffed on the embers. There was coffee left in the pot, and he could use all he could drink.

  Neota yawned, sat up, and stretched. He pointed at the coffeepot and motioned that he would like some, too.

  A rosy hue painted the east when they climbed on their horses and jabbed their heels.

  Nate took the lead. Shifting in the saddle, he could just make out the cabins on the lakeshore far below. Pale gray tendrils curled from the stone chimney atop his. Winona was up early, making breakfast for Evelyn and her.

  Presently, the sun cleared the horizon. High above, the glacier gleamed bright, brighter than the ivory snow that mantled adjacent peaks, the brightest splash of white in all that vast vista of green and brown.

  Nate wondered why To-Ma had sought refuge there, of all places. Was it because no one would bother him? Or had the boy been drawn by the shiny ice and decided to stay?

  Neota coughed to get his attention, and when Nate looked around, he signed, “We hear no shoot last night.”

  “I know,” Nate signed. The Ute was suggesting that was a good omen. That if To-Ma was trying to harm Zach and Louisa, surely there would be gunfire. But Nate did not share Neota’s optimism. He had too much experience under his wide leather belt. He knew all too chillingly well how swiftly, and silently, death could strike. It might be that they had not heard gunfire because Zach and Lou were not alive to squeeze the trigger.

  As if to prove Nate wrong, a vagrant gust of wind from on high bore with it a faint but unmistakable sound, one that sent fear coursing through Nate’s big frame. It was the one sound he hoped not to hear, a sound that told him more than any other possibly could.

  It was a scream. The scream of a woman in terror for her life, or for the life of another, or both.

  Sixteen

  The Thing, as Zach and Lou had come to think of their relentless pursuer, climbed slowly toward them, a growl rumbling in its barrel chest.

  It was close enough that Zach could see its eyes glitter with star shine. They were fixed as intently on him as the eyes of a stalking bear or cougar. He aimed between them. All it would take was a stroke of the trigger, and he could end their harrowing ordeal.

  “Shoot!” Lou whispered. Zach was waiting too long, she thought. He wanted to be sure, but the Thing was too close. If by some chance he missed or the shot was not mortal, the Thing would be on them before Zach could reload.

  Zach held his breath and steadied his arms. The moment had come. The Thing was no more than ten feet below them. He was so confident, he smiled as he tightened his finger. There was a flash, but not the crashing boom that should follow. A misfire. Instantly Zach reached for the ramrod but the harm had been done.

  With a roar that did not seem like it could come from a human throat, the Thing launched itself at them, hurtling up the trunk with astounding speed. That something so huge could move so quick was not unusual; buffalo were remarkably agile despite their size, and bears were fast when they wanted to be. But the Thing was faster than both, faster than anything Zach ever went up against. It was on him in a heartbeat.

  Instinctively, Zach jabbed the Hawken at its glittering eyes, seeking to slow it down. But a giant hand sheathed in a bear paw closed around the b
arrel and wrenched the Hawken from his grasp. Zach tried to hold on, but the Thing’s strength was as immense as its size. The Hawken went clattering toward the earth, bouncing off branch after branch.

  The Thing howled, swiped its claws at Zach’s legs. Jerking them aside, Zach grabbed for his bowie. Honed razor sharp, it could open man or beast with a single slash. He almost had it clear of the beaded sheath when thunder clapped in his ear and a cloud of acrid smoke enveloped him. For a few anxious seconds all he saw was the smoke. Coughing, he swiped at the cloud, then looked down in consternation. “Where—” he began.

  The Thing was gone.

  “It dropped when I shot it,” Lou said excitedly. “I think I killed it.”

  Zach was not so sure. A body that huge would make a lot of noise falling and there had been no sound at all, which told him the Thing had descended under its own power. “I lost the Hawken.”

  “I know. I saw it drop.” Louisa shoved the other pistol at him, then started reloading the one she had fired. “Keep your eyes peeled, just in case.”

  Zach did not need the urging. Holding on to a limb, he swung out from the trunk to peer behind it. He scoured the lower limbs for movement but saw none.

  “If it isn’t dead it has to be hurt,” Lou said as she opened her ammo pouch. “I couldn’t have missed.”

  “If it’s alive, it will try again,” Zach said. He sat and held the flintlock in his lap. If not for Lou, the Thing would have done to him as it had done to the Hawken and he would be lying on the damp earth, broken and bleeding. “Thank you, by the way.”

  Lou’s grin was white against the black. “I’ve sort of gotten used to you keeping my bed warm at night.”

  Zach’s answering grin died as a fierce snarl confirmed his hunch. He glanced down. The Thing was circling the tree, and it was in a foul temper. Snarls and roars and growls tore at the fabric of the night.

  “I thought for sure I shot it in the head.” Lou did not mask her disappointment.

  “Maybe you did,” Zach said. Head shots were not always fatal. Some animals, notably bear and buffalo had such thick skulls, slugs did not always penetrate. And the bear skin would also help protect their attacker.

  “Just so it stays down there and leaves us be,” Lou said. Dawn would break eventually All they had to do was hold out until the sun drove the Thing into hiding.

  Zach was of the same mind. He was content to stay in the tree all night if they had to.

  Time crawled. The roars and growls went on and on. When, abruptly, they stopped, both Zach and Lou leaned out, their ears cocked, expecting the bestial din to resume. But the night stayed quiet except for the shriek of wind from off the cold slopes at the summit.

  “What is it up to?” Zach wondered.

  “Maybe it left.”

  Zach did not believe that for a moment. So long as breath remained in that giant body, the Thing would not give up. “Make yourself as comfortable as you can,” he said. “It’s going to be a long night.”

  Lou leaned back. But comfort was out of the question. The limb she was straddling was scarcely thick enough to support her weight. The slightest lapse in her concentration, and she would slip.

  “Hold these for me,” Zach said, extending the pistol and the bowie.

  “What are you doing?” Lou asked, but instead of answering, he unbuckled his leather belt and held it out to her. “What am I supposed to do with this?”

  “Take off your belt and hook them together. They should be long enough to wrap around the tree and you, both.”

  “Oh. So I won’t fall. But what about you?”

  “One of us can keep watch while the other rests,” Zach proposed. “Since you didn’t get any sleep last night, you go first.”

  “You didn’t get much yourself,” Lou said, remembering what he had told her before. But she didn’t argue. She was ungodly tired. She handed back the pistol and the bowie, then had him hold her weapons while she removed her belt and hooked hers to his. Reaching around on either side of the trunk, she looped the belt around it, then shifted and sat with her back to the bole and secured the belt around her middle.

  Zach smiled and touched her leg. “I know it will be hard but try to get some rest.”

  It was not hard at all. Lou closed her eyes and folded her arms, and just like that she was out.

  “Louisa?” Zach said. When she did not reply, he rose close to her and noted the gentle rise and fall of her bosom. “I’ll be damned,” he said softly. Sinking back down, he hefted the pistol and the bowie. All of a sudden they seemed puny.

  A gust caused the tree to sway. The wind was picking up. Zach did not think much of it since the wind usually picked up at night. But soon the gusts were coming one after the other, and growing stronger. It was a harbinger of a change in the weather.

  That was all they needed, Zach reflected. A rainstorm or, worse, snow. That high up, snow fell even in the summer. And it was growing colder. The temperature had fallen five degrees in the past hour, unless he missed his guess. By morning they would be freezing.

  Zach leaned back. The cold bit into his bones, sending a shiver rippling through him. But it also helped keep him awake. He moved his left leg to relieve a cramp, then gazed lovingly at his wife. So much for starting their family. If they had to go to this much trouble to make a baby, maybe they should get a dog. He grinned at the thought. But the truth was, deep down he wanted a child as much as she did. A son, to carry on the King line. A boy he could take hunting and fishing and instruct in the ways of a warrior. That would be grand.

  The tree shook again, the wind knifing into him. He saw stars to the west blink out as if they had been devoured. A storm front was moving in, the clouds nigh invisible in the darkness. “Just what we need,” he grumbled aloud. Nothing was going right. The next time Lou suggested they take a ride up into the high country, he was going to throw her in the lake.

  The tree would not stop shaking. The keen of the wind rose and fell like the wail of an angry specter. Suddenly the wind died. In the lull the tree continued to shake.

  It shouldn’t, but it did.

  Zach sat up and looked down. Nothing was below him. He smiled, blaming frayed nerves. Then he felt the bole move yet again, and he whipped around and glanced down the other side of the spruce.

  The Thing was almost to them.

  Zach hollered for Lou to wake up even as he thrust his pistol at the Thing’s face and thumbed back the hammer. He always thought he was quick, but compared to the monster in the bear hide he was molasses. An iron bear paw shot out and slammed Zach’s arm against the trunk. Pain lanced clear up to Zach’s shoulder and his arm went momentarily numb. The flintlock was torn away and sent arcing into the night sky.

  The Thing launched itself at him. Zach heard Lou scream his name. Then fingers as hard as rock clamped on to his throat and others on to his buckskin shirt. He was ripped from his roost and swept over the Thing’s head. Another moment, and the Thing would hurl him to the earth below. It would be a miracle if every bone in his body was not broken.

  Desperate, Zach stabbed and slashed with the bowie. He scored, too, cutting the Thing’s shoulders and arms and the neck once. The Thing roared and twisted and must have lost its footing because suddenly it was falling and taking Zach with it.

  Zach tried to wrest free. The Thing was too strong. He slammed onto a limb and pain seared his ribs. He clutched at the branch but could not hold on. Again there was the sensation of falling, stopped by another branch. This time his head and shoulder bore the brunt, and the night exploded in a swirl of fireflies. He was dimly aware of continuing to fall, of another jarring blow. Then came the hardest jolt of all and the fireflies faded to black.

  Fingers were plucking at him. Warm drops were falling on his face. Zach opened his eyes, and never had Louisa looked so lovely. Her own eyes were moist.

  “Can you hear me? Where are you hurt?”

  “All over,” Zach said, and grinned. He could still feel the iron fingers
on his throat even though they were not there. He tried to rise. “The Thing! Where did it get to?”

  “I don’t know.” Lou looked right and left. “There was no sign of it when I climbed down.” Fear had lent her wings. Fear that when she reached the bottom she would find the man she loved dead.

  Zach rose on his elbows. “It has to be near.”

  “Maybe you hurt it with your knife or it was hurt when it fell,” Lou said. But it would not give up. Not that monster.

  Zach stared at his empty hands. “My bowie. I must have dropped it. Do you see it anywhere?”

  “No,” Lou said. As dark as it was, finding it could take forever. “I still have mine.” Drawing her knife, she pressed the hilt into his palm.

  “One knife and one pistol,” Zach said. He did not need to elaborate. Grimacing, he sat up. He had either cracked a few ribs or come awful close. Just taking a deep breath hurt.

  “You shouldn’t move,” Lou said.

  “We need to hunt for cover.” Zach ignored the pain and stood. He took her hand and made toward what he took to be a cluster of boulders. But he had only taken a couple of steps when his left leg nearly gave out.

  Lou slipped her arm around his waist to support him. “What’s the matter?”

  “My ankle,” Zach said. It did not feel broken. He figured he had twisted it. Gingerly, he tried walking and was able to limp to the boulders. He eased down, then raised his pant leg. A cursory grope showed his ankle to be swollen. “Damn.”

  “I wonder where the Thing got to.”

  The sky had clouded over. The night was nearly pitch-black. There were hours to go until daylight, too, a fact Zach tried not to dwell on. “Sit down,” he said, and patted the ground next to him.