Wilderness Trail of Love (American Wilderness Series Romance Book 1)

by Dorothy Wiley

When they were able, they fanned out about thirty feet apart to cover a wider area as they searched. They tried calling Stephen’s name, but they could barely hear each other through the rain, and quickly gave up that effort.

  Instead, they focused on trying to find some clue that Stephen had passed this way. If he hadn’t, his brother could be in serious trouble because they wouldn’t find him tonight. If conditions worsened, they could be in trouble too. Trudging through mud and water was causing the horses to tire. Soon their mounts wouldn’t have the strength to continue.

  But Stephen needed help, so Sam pushed Alex and the group even harder.

  After some time, the heavy deluge finally let up, and the swiftly flowing waters began to slow and recede. They still rode through a fine mist that felt like a liquid breeze.

  Bear motioned Sam and William over to him. He pointed to a torn branch.

  “The storm may have broken it,” Sam said.

  Suddenly, Camel reared—not an easy task for a horse carrying a man of Bear’s size.

  Sam glanced down. A large Copperhead, with dark hourglass shaped cross bands, slithered between Camel’s legs, skimming the top of the shallow water. Bear managed to stay in the saddle, but now all four spooked horses snorted and pawed the ground, sidestepping into each other in panic.

  William’s mount abruptly cut to the right while Stephen’s horse, led by William, jerked to the left. William ended up laying on his stomach in about three inches of muddy water, facing the yellow elliptical eyes of the snake, now coiled near William’s head on a piece of rotting wood.

  “Son of a...” William hissed.

  “Don’t move,” Sam warned. “I know you want to bolt, but don’t.”

  William froze, not even breathing, and kept his wide eyes on the snake.

  They’d all seen what a Copperhead bite meant. Although seldom lethal, the bite made a large area of skin and muscle turn black with rot. The putrefaction often had to be cut out causing great pain and disfigurement. In addition, the victim quickly experienced extreme pain, tingling, throbbing, swelling, and severe nausea.

  Menacingly, the Copperhead repeatedly stuck out a long red forked tongue, then it coiled tighter preparing to strike William’s face. A bite to the head could be lethal.

  Sam unsheathed his knife, aimed carefully through the rain, and threw but with his wet raw hands, missed. He swiftly jumped from his horse, distracting the still coiled snake from William.

  He would have to be fast. Quicker than the snake and that was saying a lot. And he could not miss again. Sam stepped toward the snake gripping his hatchet. His other hand reached for the end of the piece of wood holding the snake. The snake opened its jaws to strike. With a loud howl and supernatural speed, Sam struck, slicing the snake’s head off and hacking the wood in two. Pieces of bark and snake flew in two different directions.

  William let out a slow breath at the sight of the viper’s severed head and twitching body. With trembling hands, he pulled Sam’s knife from the muddy water and handed it back to him. “Thanks, I owe you one.”

  Sam put the snake’s yard-long body in a sack and stuffed it into his saddlebag. It was food and food was something he never wasted.

  “Quit playin’ with that snake. Let’s go,” Bear said, returning with three mounts. Alex had quickly joined Stephen and William’s horses.

  “How far do you think Stephen could have gone?” William asked, mounting his horse and still looking a little shaken. “Could the water have carried him downstream from where you crossed?”

  Sam peered over at the now smaller steam of muddy water to his right, barely visible in the fading evening light. Stephen must have sought shelter. He could also have tried to find their camp. Or, if Stephen had gotten turned around and crossed to the wrong bank, he could be anywhere by now. They could be getting further away from him with each step of the horses. Yet his instincts pointed him north and the broken branch gave him a small hope that he was right.

  “Sam?” William asked again.

  “Stay quiet, start listening, and stop talking,” Sam said harshly, fatigue catching up to him.

  The three rode in silence until Sam stopped. He dismounted and motioned for the other two to do the same and then he started walking, leading his horse. Immediately, without the creaking of saddle leather beneath their weight, it was quieter.

  About a quarter mile up, Sam tied Alex. He motioned for Bear and William to do the same, then said, “We’ll walk from here. It’ll be harder going for us, but at least we’ll be able to hear. I can’t hear a damn thing with four horses splashing through this muck.”

  They trudged some distance in silence, their feet beginning to freeze in the cold water. Until now, he had successfully fought the cold, but at this point, his teeth began to chatter. He’d been wet and in the storm for hours. Every step was grueling, but he forced himself to put one foot in front of the other. The clearing skies and a sliver of moon allowed him to stare into the gloomy darkness ahead.

  Sam heard a wolf howl. The skin on the back of his neck prickled. Then a second wolf howled. “Hurry,” he yelled, taking off at a near run.

  The three splashed through standing water for several minutes and then William slipped and fell to his knees. Sam and Bear kept going.

  “Stephen,” Sam screamed at the top of his lungs.

  “Stephen,” Bear roared even louder.

  Sam dashed ahead with only his instincts to guide him as to where the wolf howls had come from.

  William caught up to them. “Did you hear him?” he yelled.

  “Just keep going,” Sam shouted, struggling now to continue rushing. He slowed somewhat, but motioned the other two to keep on. He sensed Stephen was ahead and that his brother needed them.

  Bear turned on the speed and charged through the timber, reminding Sam of a real Bear on the run. William trailed closely behind him.

  Sam heard a rifle being fired, probably Bear’s. Bear usually managed to keep his powder dry. In inclement weather, he and Bear both kept their rifles and powder wrapped tightly in deer hide. But even with that precaution, in weather like this, dry powder required a small miracle.

  Within moments, he saw Bear standing over a large dead wolf, its silver-black hair fluttering in the stiff breeze. Blood oozed from a hole in its side where Bear’s bullet entered.

  “Keep going, there’s another one!” Sam yelled.

  The men ran another few yards and found it. The wolf looked like it could barely run, dragging one of its back legs. Its defiant yellow eyes glowed bright with viciousness, even in the dim moonlight. The wounded black monster snarled at them through a bloodied mouth and teeth stained red.

  “Bloody hell,” Sam said at the sight.

  CHAPTER 40

  Sam heaved his knife, this time hitting his growling target.

  They all heard the sound of the blade slamming into the wolf’s thick chest followed by the animal’s dying whine.

  Sam quickly retrieved his knife and they continued searching.

  It didn’t take long.

  Stephen lay nearby under a tree canopy, his knife clutched in one hand, his hatchet in the other. Both were bloodied. His throat torn, blood pooled at the base of his neck.

  Sam froze for a moment, his mind denying what his eyes were telling him. Then he sprung towards Stephen as Bear and William also rushed to their brother’s side. Stephen’s face and hands were nearly blue with cold and loss of blood. Sam took a quick look at the neck wound and motioned for Bear to put his hand against the tear to stop the bleeding. The laceration didn’t appear to be deep, but the ragged gash was about three inches long. William pulled off his cravat, folded the necktie into a bandage as best he could, and then tied it around Stephen’s neck.

  Stephen seemed barely conscious, but Sam suspected it was mostly from fatigue and exposure. He checked his brother’s pulse. It beat slow but strong. For that, he gave thanks. He quickly checked for other serious wounds. A scratch ran across his chest, and bite-mark
s punctured both arms. Jane would need to clean the wounds with whiskey and stitch them. Blood dripped into one of his brother’s eyes from a small scalp wound but he was otherwise intact.

  Everywhere Sam touched, Stephen felt like ice.

  The three put Stephen’s boots back on him and then his coat.

  “Where’s his shirt?” William asked.

  “He used it for a sling for Little John’s arm,” Sam explained. “We’ve got to get him warm now, or he won’t make it back to camp.”

  “But how?” William asked. “There’s no hope for a fire with everything so saturated, including us.”

  “I’ll hurry back for the horses. Then ye can put him on my saddle in front of me. My body will warm,” Bear said. He took off, splashing through water, even before he finished the sentence.

  Stephen needed help now. Bear was as cold and wet as the rest of them and even his big hairy body would provide little warmth. “Drag that damn wolf over here,” Sam told William, urgency in his voice. “Then go get the other one.”

  William had one wolf back in a minute, and then quickly went after the bigger of the two.

  Sam turned his brother on his side and pushed the still warm animal, up against his back, and then as soon as William brought it, pushed the second beast against his front side. Then Sam draped the neck of the front wolf onto Stephen’s neck.

  He noticed both wolves had severe cuts and slashes on nearly every leg and one leg on the larger black fiend hung nearly severed. The stomach of the other had a deep gash, evidently opened by Stephen’s hatchet. He marveled at the courage his brother found to survive the attack.

  He cut the tails off both wolves, wrapped, and then tied them around Stephen’s hands. The heavy air held the musty scent of the wild animals and the shared apprehension of the two men.

  Sam finally stood.

  William looked worried. “Is he going to make it?”

  “Hard to say,” Sam whispered.

  “If he comes around soon, he’ll recover quickly. If he stays out, he’s chilled to his core. His heart may be too cold to get his blood flowing again,” Sam said.

  William knelt down, pressed the carcass nearest him up closer to Stephen’s chest, and held it there with his hands.

  After several long interminable minutes, Stephen started to stir and finally opened his eyes. They glistened unnaturally in the dark.

  Stephen screamed as his eyes flew open. The wolf was right next to him! Horrorstruck, he thrust the beast away and pushed himself up. Flailing his arms around him in a wild frenzy, he grabbed his hatchet. Never comprehending the wolves were motionless, or that Sam and William stood nearby, he slammed the hatchet into the wolf’s neck.

  He stood, swaying on his feet and glaring at the wolves. They weren’t moving. Were they dead?

  “Stephen,” Sam shouted. “They’re dead. The wolves are dead!”

  When he stopped and looked up, Sam grabbed the hatchet, and handed it to William.

  His brothers were here? They seemed to be trying to tell him something, but he could barely hear him. He couldn’t think. But he remembered that he just fought a battle for his life, his entire being consumed with trying to stay alive. He shook his head, trying to understand what had happened and what was happening.

  “He’s delirious with rage and fatigue,” he heard Sam say.

  “We’re here Stephen. We found you. We’ll help you,” William said. “Bear’s bringing our mounts.”

  “Savage fury isn’t something easily turned off,” Sam said. “Give him few minutes.”

  Slowly, Stephen started to calm and his breathing began to slow somewhat. He glared directly at Sam, then at William. Recognition finally came into his head.

  “Did…I ki..kill them?” he stammered, blood dripping from his shaking hands.

  “Fending off an attack by two wolves is a remarkable feat. Both were dying and started running off when they heard us coming. We only finished them off for you,” Sam explained.

  “If they were running off, why were they next to me?”

  “We put those beasts close to you to get you warmed up,” Sam explained.

  Judging from the warmth coming back into his body, Sam’s plan had worked, although he didn’t appreciate waking next to the fiends.

  “Take it easy, you’re leaking blood too fast for you to be moving around,” William said.

  William applied pressure to Stephen’s neck wound, while Sam helped lean him against the tree trunk.

  “Sam, they nearly had me.” Stephen panted the words. “When that big black monster ripped my neck, I thought I was about to be eaten alive. But I didn’t give up. I kept fighting like I knew you would.”

  “You did fine,” Sam said, “mighty fine.”

  “Jane? Is Jane all right?” he asked, still shaking somewhat.

  “Yes, and so are the girls. John’s with them,” William said. “She’s sick with worry though. We need to get you back to her soon or she’ll be out searching for you herself.”

  “Little John?” Stephen nearly pleaded the question.

  “Jane’s tending to him. In a lot of pain, but he should be fine. Going to make a good hunter one of these days,” Sam said.

  “And a good man,” he said, feeling weak but more like himself. He slid down the tree trunk to sit and after several minutes his breathing calmed and the blood stopped dripping from his neck.

  “I’m sorry you got separated,” Sam said. “I tried looking for you, but the rain was so heavy I couldn’t see a thing, and I needed to get help for Little John.”

  “I’m just glad you found me when you did.”

  “Me too,” Sam and William both said at once.

  Bear arrived with their horses and as soon as he saw his owner, George yanked away and galloped to Stephen, snorting and stomping his feet. The stallion acted as though he knew something was wrong.

  “Whoa now,” he soothed. “I’m just fine now.” He reached up and with still cold fingers, stroked George’s wet nose. The stallion calmed and stood still, letting the rein drop in Stephen’s lap.

  After tying the other three horses, Bear helped Sam skin the wolves. Better than blankets and waterproof, Sam wanted to use the furs to keep Stephen warm until they made it back to camp. Now the two wolves would help save his life, not take it from him.

  In the meantime, William took a cloth from his saddlebag, moistened it with water pooled on leaves, and started cleaning as much blood and dirt off Stephen’s face and neck as he could. “Your face is bruised and filthy,” William said as he began, “but remarkably, it’s only nicked in a few places.”

  “Good, I wouldn’t want you to be the only handsome one in the family,” Stephen said, feeling more like himself.

  With each passing minute, he seemed to gain strength. He had survived. As soon as he could hold Jane in his arms, everything would be right again.

  “I still have the meat,” he said, pointing to the bundle that hung high up in the tree.

  “I knew you would,” Sam said.

  CHAPTER 41

  Thankful to be alive, beyond anything he felt before now, Stephen and the group slowly made their way back to their camp through the dark wet wilderness. He could not wait to see Jane again. He had come so close to making her a widow. Now, he just wanted to be back in her arms again.

  The miserably cold wind and rain moved further south and they were all beginning to thaw out. With the help of the wolf hides tied to him, warmth crept back into his body. The damp air smelled like wet earth and leaves. Every sodden tree, branches drooping, dripped with the last drops of the violent storm.

  Before long, with each step of his horse, the drops seemed to grow heavier with menace. The forest seemed unnaturally quiet. Instinctively, he knew something was wrong. He also saw Sam growing more apprehensive by the minute. His brother’s senses, honed by years in the wild, seemed to be on high alert. Stephen watched as Sam scanned the surrounding woodland again and again. This went beyond his ordinary watc
hfulness.

  Now, his own skin crawled. Yet, he couldn’t figure out what was making both of them so uneasy.

  He glanced over at Bear and William. They seemed to sense danger too.

  The unknown threat made the group slow as they drew closer to their camp.

  He steered George alongside Sam and asked, “Is something wrong?”

  “Possibly,” Sam whispered. “Wait here.”

  “No, I’m going with you,” he said, his tone leaving no room for debate.

  “Tell the others to wait here. Tell them to stay silent and load their weapons. Then follow me.”

  Now Stephen worried in earnest. Sam’s instincts were never wrong.

  Stephen silently made his way forward, following behind Sam, the only sound coming from a forest of dripping leaves and pine needles. Dark speculation filled him with unease.

  Within minutes, hidden in heavy brush, they studied their camp. Using the dry wood they stored under the wagons in a storm, the group had managed to get a large fire blazing. The firelight made the drops of moisture on the branches surrounding his head sparkle and let him see the campsite clearly.

  Then his stomach vaulted with the intensity of his horror. He blinked hard, hoping that fatigue made him see an illusion. But it was no illusion—it was Chief Wanalancet himself and four muscular braves. He recognized the Chief, having seen Wanalancet once before when Sam helped to mediate a peace pact between several tribes and the colonists.

  “Bloody hell!” Stephen mouthed silently.

  In addition to a bow, each Pennacook brave carried a rifle and knives. Their dark wet hair and exposed skin looked polished in the fire’s light. Except for mud on the legs of their horses, tied nearby, they seemed unaffected by the storm.

  Jane stood by the fire, as Wanalancet circled, studying her. Her long hair appeared damp and even wilder than normal. Her bright eyes shot daggers of anger at Wanalancet and followed the man’s movements. He prayed Jane’s temper would not get her killed and hoped he could control his own mounting rage.

  John lay motionless on the ground nearby, his hands and feet tied. Other than a bloodied face, he appeared to be unharmed. The children were tied together around one tree, the two girls weeping quietly while Little John, in obvious pain, whimpered pitifully. Anger swelled in his chest and he gnashed his teeth.