“I’m just getting started.”
“No real harm was done.”
“By pure accident. If Buffalo Horn and his bunch hadn’t wandered by when they did, you’d have been worm food before too long.” Shakespeare started to bend over the unconscious ruffian. “I’ve never scalped someone using a tomahawk before. Should be interesting.”
“Please,” Blue Water Woman persisted. “Let my people deal with the last two. Take me home.”
Reluctantly Shakespeare replaced the tomahawk, took his wife’s hand, and headed for his horse. “Do with them as you want,” he announced to the warriors. “Then bring their horses to my cabin and we will smoke a pipe and share old times.”
The screaming resumed when they were halfway across the meadow. Neither looked back. Blue Water Woman sagged against Shakespeare, her arms around his waist, her cheek on his shoulder.
Nor did either of them speak until they came to the cabin. Shakespeare simply let the reins fall when he wearily climbed down. The long hours of hard riding combined with lack of sleep at last took their inevitable toll as he entered and his legs buckled. Embarrassed, he caught himself and shuffled to a chair which he righted and plunked down in.
Blue Water Woman sat in his lap and studied his rugged face while running her fingers through his great beard. “I feared I might never see you again.”
Shakespeare tenderly touched her lips, then quoted in a whisper, “If I profane with my unworthiest hand this holy shrine, the gentle fine is this. My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand to smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss.”
Blue Water Woman smiled. “Only you could think of that at a time like this.”
“I was trying to wax romantic, woman,” Shakespeare said, feigning anger. “After all I went through to get here, you could have the decency to play along.”
The reminder made Blue Water Woman look through the window at his exhausted horse. “Where is Nate?”
“With stuffy Cyrus Porter and company.”
“You came on ahead? Alone?”
“Had to.”
“The risk you took,” Blue Water Woman chided, but love radiated from her like light from a lantern. “How did you know I would need you?”
“I know river rats. The wonder of it is that they took as long as they did to get up the nerve to run off.” Shakespeare embraced her and kissed her as he hadn’t kissed her in a long time.
“You should quote Romeo and Juliet more often,” Blue Water Woman teased. She rested her head on his chest and looped a whang around a finger. “What would you like to do? Sleep, eat, or just have coffee?”
“Talk.”
“About Porter’s expedition?”
“What else?”
“Would you like to go?”
“I’m ashamed to confess that I surely would.”
“Why ashamed, husband?”
“A man my age having a hankering to see the ocean. It’s plumb silly.” Shakespeare chuckled. “Maybe my mind gave out on me and we just don’t realize it. Maybe I’m thinking I’m twenty again.”
“We will go.”
Shakespeare held her at arm’s length, locked eyes, and asked gently, “Have you gone as crazy as me then?”
Blue Water Woman pecked his wrist. “In all the years we have been together, you have never wanted anything for yourself. You have seen to my every need, giving me everything I have ever wanted. Mirrors, ribbons, beads, I had only to say I would like something and you provided it. Now you have a need and it is fitting that I do my part to see it met.”
“I appreciate the thought, but you’re mixing apples and pears. Traveling to the Oregon Country is a far sight more difficult than going to the rendezvous to trade for foofaraw.” Shakespeare paused. “And what’s this ‘we’ business, anyhow?”
“Do not even pretend that you will not take me,” Blue Water Woman warned. “Twelve moons or more is too many for us to be apart. If you go,”
“Sure you didn’t take up with some white women while Nate and I were off raising beaver?” Shakespeare responded. “I swear you’ve got the knack of acting just like one.”
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“Tactful wench, I’ll grant you,” Shakespeare grumbled. Her agreement meant more to him than he could possibly convey, but it also bothered him terribly. He wasn’t trying to scare her when he mentioned the hardships in store. If anything, he was grossly understating the case. It would make their trip to Santa Fe a while back seem tame by comparison, and they’d tangled with Apaches on that one.
“So we go?”
“I’d like to sleep on it a day or two. It’ll take Nate another week to get here so we have plenty of time to talk this out some more.”
He slept around the clock. He didn’t mean to; it just happened that once his head hit the pillow he was out to the world, and Blue Water Woman made a point of not disturbing him. When Buffalo Horn and the hunting party arrived, she insisted that they camp a stone’s throw away.
Shakespeare was flabbergasted on learning how long he had slumbered. The cabin had been tidied, meanwhile, and he sat at the table he had built from a tree that once stood right outside and slowly sipped the hottest, blackest coffee any man had ever tasted. Smacking his lips, he said, “Damn good, gorgeous. Makes me glad to be home.”
“Is that the only reason?” Blue Water Woman asked. “And kindly spare me the swear words.”
“I never should have let you talk to that missionary woman,” Shakespeare complained. “You’ve been a stickler about proper behavior ever since.”
Blue Water Woman brought a fresh baked tray of biscuits to the table. “These will have to tide you over until I fix a meal.”
“No hurry,” Shakespeare said, raising one to his nose and savoring the smell. Mouthwatering, he took a bite. “Bake two dozen more of these first.”
The tray was polished off in no time. Shakespeare smacked his lips and fondly watched his wife prepare supper. Although he hadn’t told her yet, he knew what his decision would be. He could only hope—he could only pray—that his childish notion didn’t get them both killed.
Four
Among the Shoshones it was widely conceded that Winona King was one of the loveliest women in the tribe. Her beauty had more to do with her vibrant personality than the luxurious black hair that cascaded past her slim shoulders to the small of her back, more to do with her strength of character than her comely face or the fullness of her figure.
That Winona had taken a white man for her husband was not held against her by her tribe. The Shoshones had long been friendly to the whites, and the trappers regarded them as staunch allies in the never ending war against the Blackfoot Confederacy.
Winona had done no differently than a score or more of Shoshone women who had found themselves drawn romantically to the strange new corners whose quirky behavior and rowdy lust for life were irresistibly fascinating. And she had no regrets, save one.
Indian women were accustomed to their mates being gone for long periods. Sometimes the men would be gone for weeks at a time on raids against their enemies or when off hunting.
But white men often stayed away twice as long, especially during the two trapping seasons when they had to catch as many beaver as they could while the fur was at its prime.
Winona didn’t like Nate’s long absences. Two or three weeks she handled easily. Four weeks bothered her a lot. Six or more left her distracted with worry, hardly able to eat or sleep. She knew she was being childish. Mature women did not let worry get the better of them. But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t stop herself from fretting.
It took a rare event to take Winona’s mind off her anxiety, and on this day such an event took place thanks to her oldest boy, a bubbling cauldron of energy and curiosity.
Winona had risen before daylight as she almost always did. After preparing breakfast, she had tended to chores until the middle of the morning. Then, her infant daughter bundled in a cradleboard on her
back, she had taken a short stroll down toward the lake, a daily ritual she greatly enjoyed.
The King cabin lay nestled in a remote valley high in the central Rockies, near a mountain known as Long’s Peak, named after an explorer who had visited the region years before. It was a sheltered paradise rife with wildlife. Cool in the summer and spared from the worst of the heavy snows in the winter by a ring of encircling peaks, the valley was so far off the beaten path that few even knew of its existence.
The most prominent landmark was the large lake, a body of water so sparkling clear a person could stand on the shore and see the bottom yards out. Teeming with fish and waterfowl, it was the lure that brought creatures from miles around to slake their thirst. Black-tailed deer came every morning and evening. Elk could be found along the shore at first light. Bighorn sheep sometimes showed up at twilight. And at any given hour throughout the day and night other wild beasts might appear. Including mountain lions, an occasional lynx, foxes, coyotes, wolves and bears.
On this particular sunny morning Winona was nearly to the west shore when she observed a moving black patch of fur in the brush to her left. Instantly freezing, she thought of her rifle, propped in a corner of the cabin, and wished she had brought it as Nate frequently reminded her to do.
The black patch broadened and took on the dimensions of a full-grown black bear. A female, it lumbered to the water’s edge, its nose twitching as it scented the air.
Winona stayed where she was. The bear hadn’t noticed her and would be unlikely to do so unless it should turn and come straight up the path. She would wait for it to move off, then continue her stroll.
A few ducks swimming close to land quacked and paddled off as the bear dipped its muzzle and drank with delicate lapping movements that contradicted its size and bulk. It must have seen a fish because it abruptly took a stride into the lake and swatted with a powerful front paw. Spray speckled the surface but no fish appeared. Grunting, the bear waddled onto terra firma and shook itself.
Winona crouched in case the bear should gaze in her direction. It bent to the water again and she heard the lap-lap-lap of its tongue once more. Another few minutes, she figured, and it would amble into the forest.
That was when Winona saw something else move in the high weeds behind the bear. Imagine her shock on seeing the head of her eldest pop into view and then disappear. It happened so fast that for a few seconds she actually wondered if she had imagined seeing him. Seconds later, though, the boy reappeared, this time closer to the unsuspecting bear.
For the life of her, Winona had no idea what Zachary was up to. The boy owned a rifle but he was under strict orders to leave the deadlier predators alone. Painters, and bears, were to be carefully avoided.
Yet there Zach was, creeping forward as silently as a ghost. He wore a wide grin, as if he were playing some sort of game. At the end of the weeds he stopped and curled his legs under him.
Winona wanted to shout, to warn him to get out of there before the bear discovered him. But her yell might only make matters worse should the bear whirl and spot Zach. Helpless, she looked on, her heart leaping to her throat when the boy unexpectedly stepped into the open, within inches of the bear’s rump. He was unarmed save for a knife at his hip.
Winona began to straighten. She would wave her arms to get Zach’s attention, then motion for him to sneak away immediately. But she was not quite erect when her son did the last thing any sane person would do; he hauled off and slapped the bear’s behind.
The result was predictable and harrowing. With a bestial bellow, the black bear spun. It saw Zach, who was in full flight toward a nearby tree, and promptly gave chase, exhibiting speed that rivaled the gait of a horse.
Zach bounded like a jackrabbit, weaving and swerving to present an elusive target. Three times the enraged bear swung, three times it missed, but each miss was by a narrower margin.
Winona scarcely breathed. She was terror-stricken, afraid her son would be ripped to shreds. She saw him pull ahead when the bear slowed to avoid a prickly bush, and for a fleeting interval she believed he might gain safety. Suddenly, however, the boy tripped and fell, sprawling onto his stomach. Zach glanced back, realized how close the bear was, and pushed to his feet.
The boy was not going to make it. Intuition told Winona that, and no sooner did the insight dawn than she sprang into action. She ran a few feet, waving and whooping at the top of her lungs to attract the bear, hoping to distract it long enough for her son to climb beyond its reach.
In this Winona succeeded all too well. The black bear veered toward her the moment it laid eyes on her. Like a hairy steam engine it plowed through a wall of bushes to reach her that much sooner. Since she’d acted on the spur of the moment to save Zach, she hadn’t given any thought to the consequences of her deed, and now she was the object of the brute’s wrath. To complicate things, she had the infant on her back.
“Ma!” Zach cried as Winona fled up the path with five-hundred pounds of raging hulk huffing and chuffing in her wake. The cradleboard slowed her, rendered her balance awkward. Frantically she cast about for a convenient tree, but there were no branches low enough to be of any benefit.
Little Evelyn cooed and gurgled the whole while, enjoying all the activity. Her squirming threw Winona off balance even more.
The bear closed in rapidly. Winona glanced over a shoulder to see exactly how close it was but the cradleboard shifted, blocking her view. She felt something nip at the hem of her dress and had her answer.
A tall fir tree hove into sight on the left. Winona darted to it and ducked around the trunk. The black bear halted on the other side, growling horribly. It shifted to one side, so Winona shifted to the other.
“Hang on, Ma!” Zach shouted encouragement.
He was out of the pine and running toward her.
“No!” Winona found the voice to yell. “Get to the cabin! Fetch my rifle!”
Zach picked up a busted limb and brandished it like a club. “I won’t leave you!” he responded. “I’ll draw the critter off so Evy and you can high-tail it!”
“Do as I say!” Winona commanded, continuing to circle the fir to keep the bear from reaching her. It was flustered by the shouting and kept looking from her to Zach and back again. But when they stopped, it charged, sweeping past the trunk before she could slide aside. Desperately Winona back-pedaled, her hands raised to protect her face and belly. The bear slowed, elevated a hairy paw to swipe at her.
From out of nowhere a horse and rider materialized. The buckskin clad frontiersman rode his sturdy stallion right into the black bear, the impact bowling the bear over. It rolled several times, scrambled onto all fours, then tried to rear onto its hind legs as bears are wont to do when up against a creature their own size. The rider never hesitated. Cutting the stallion, he rode so close to the bear he could have reached out and plucked hairs from its hide. Then, whipping downward, he smashed the stock of his Hawken into the bear’s upturned muzzle.
Emitting a howl of agony, the black bear hit the ground running and never looked back. The undergrowth crackled to its passage, and soon it was gone.
Winona straightened, her bosom heaving from her exertion. She gazed up into the piercing green eyes of her rescuer and felt her heart melt as it always did. No words were necessary. They both knew how near she had come.
After a bit Nate spoke. “One of these days you’ll surprise the living daylights out of me by listening when I give you advice.”
“I know,” Winona said contritely. “I will never forget my rifle again.”
Nate slid from the saddle, and she molded her body to his. Their kiss lingered and might have gone on indefinitely had Nate not cracked his eyelids and seen the smirking boy. He lowered his arms and said in mock sternness, “Don’t you have chores you should be doing?”
“Welcome home, Pa,” Zach said, offering his hand in manly fashion. “For a while there I figured Ma was a goner.”
“Don’t tell me that you forgot your r
ifle too?” Nate said. “What is the matter with this family? It’s not as if we live in New York City.”
“I left mine inside on purpose,” the boy declared.
“Why would you pull a fool stunt like that?” Nate demanded irritably. He was disappointed in the both of them. Wilderness living demanded constant alertness and exercising basic common sense. To venture outdoors without a rifle was akin to committing suicide.
“I needed my hands free—” Zach began, but broke off, as if he had said too much.
“Tell your father,” Winona prodded.
“Tell me what?” Nate said.
“Why he needed his hands free,” Winona said, and related the bear smacking incident.
Young Zachary withered under their twin glares. He held his palms out and said meekly, “There’s a perfectly good reason for what I did.”
“This I’ve got to hear,”’ Nate said.
Zach shuffled his feet. “Well, you see, you’re always going on about how important it is for a young coon like me to learn what matters most in life and to set myself to doing those things that will make a man out of me. Remember?”
“I seem to recollect a talk we’ve had along those lines,” Nate admitted, at a loss to foresee where the boy’s trail was leading.
“You’re always saying how there are special qualities a man has to have to be worthy of the name.”
“True,” Nate said.
“Such as always being honest, always looking to help folks in need, always being true to yourself.”
Nate was amazed his son could recite his words so correctly. Evidently Zach had a selective memory. When it came time for book learning, the boy showed all the intelligence of a chipmunk. “I’ve said all that.”
“You also told me that a man has to have courage or he’ll never amount to much. He has to be able to look danger in the face, and even though he’s scared plumb through, be able to do what has to be done.”
“So what does all this have to do with you swatting a bear? That wasn’t brave. It was dumb.”
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