Wilderness Giant Edition 4

by David Robbins

  Satisfied all was in order, Shakespeare cradled his Hawken and strolled to the slope. He was taken aback to see one of the Diggers trying to get a point across to Porter and Clark.

  “I can’t understand you, you silly monkey!” the hopeful suitor was saying. “Quit pestering us and go join your fellow misfits.”

  “Don’t be so hasty, Adam,” Porter said. “Maybe he had something important to tell us.”

  By then Shakespeare was there. “What do you want?” he queried in sign.

  “I am Half Moon,” the Shoshoko signed, adopting an arrogant attitude. “My brothers and I are hungry. We want food.”

  The demand galled Shakespeare. Ordinarily he would have booted the warrior off the knoll, but with scores of spiteful eyes fixed on him and scores of bows ready to fly at the slightest provocation, he swallowed his anger and signed, “We have jerky made from antelope. An entire parfleche full.”

  “I will take it.”

  Shakespeare had to remember which horse carried the antelope meat. He wasn’t about to reveal that there were three more parfleches. Selecting the bag containing the least amount, he gave it to Half Moon, who walked off very pleased.

  “That’s our food,” Porter said. “Who knows when we might need it?” He smacked his mouth distastefully. “Why did you give in to them?”

  “To give them something to do,” Shakespeare said. “An idle mind is a dangerous thing. They might get a notion into their heads to scalp us and be done with it.”

  Porter glared at the Shoshokos, then punched his left palm with his right fist. “I hate this waiting! It’s driving me to distraction.” He watched the parfleche being passed among the Diggers and grew madder. “Thank God none of my peers in Hartford is here to witness my disgrace! Being pushed around by a bunch of scrawny primitives is bad enough as it is.”

  “I should think your friends would admire our common sense,” Shakespeare said, trying to calm the man down. “If we hadn’t handed over something to eat, we might be dodging arrows even as I speak.”

  “There are limits, Mr. McNair,” Porter said. “A man of my standing shouldn’t stoop to trafficking with heathens.”

  “You’d do it to save your daughter, but not us?” Shakespeare said. “It’s nice to know where the rest of us fit into your scheme of things.”

  “I wouldn’t expect someone like you to understand,” Porter said, and huffed off.

  Many times Shakespeare had regretted agreeing to serve as guide, none more so than now. For the umpteenth time he lifted eager eyes to the horizon, fervently hoping all went well. If the woman was indeed Hestia Davin, Porter would turn around and head for civilization, leaving Shakespeare and his friends free to make their way to the Pacific Ocean at their leisure.

  Come on, Nate, Shakespeare prayed. Where are you?

  At that moment, Nate King was looking down on a sea of unfriendly faces, the warriors rife with venom and ready to strike should their chief give the word. His pulse quickened as he thought of how easily the Shoshokos could end his life, merely by pulling him off the stallion and driving a dozen knives or more into him before he squeezed off a single shot.

  But Nate didn’t show his unease. Head high, shoulders back, he behaved as calmly as he would in a Shoshone village. The Diggers chatted excitedly, some pushing and shoving to get close to him and the others. Children pointed in awe, women pointed and whispered. The men merely glared.

  Half the encampment had been crossed, and Nate wondered if maybe he had let himself be lured into a trap. Then Coyote’s Brother stopped in front of a dwelling slightly larger than most. The warrior slid down, stooped, and entered. Nate heard a scuffling noise and a slap. He started to lift a leg from a stirrup.

  Coyote’s Brother reappeared, dragging the captive. He abused her in his tongue and kicked at her back. She made no attempt to resist, but lay on her side as limp as a sack of potatoes.

  Nate longed to leap to the woman’s defense. For her sake and his he had to act as if he didn’t care that she was being mistreated. Tearing his gaze away, he looked sternly at Chavez and LeBeau to insure neither of them intervened.

  The tracker, accustomed as he was to dealing with Apaches, sat looking bored by the whole business.

  The riverman, however, burned scarlet with rage and would have pounced on the chief had he not glanced up.

  Nate gave his head a curt shake, then, composed, he turned. Coyote’s Brother leered up at him and gestured.

  “Here she is, Grizzly Killer. As I promised. You can see for yourself that she is pretty for a white woman.”

  Pretty, perhaps, but her current state belied her beauty. Her curly blonde hair was disheveled and filthy. Her dress was torn, crumpled, and smudged. The skin of her forearms and lower legs was caked with dirt, as were her bare feet.

  Nate couldn’t see her face. He signed, “I would like to look at her features. Maybe you have broken her nose or deformed her with your blows.”

  “I know how to hit a woman without mining her,” Coyote’s Brother signed, offended. Snatching hold of her hair, he wrenched, flipping her onto her back and exposing her face for all to see.

  She was beautiful. Even with her left eye swollen and black and blue, even with her cheeks puffy from repeated blows, even coated with dust soiled by her tears, the woman was undeniably beautiful. But there was something terribly wrong. Her blue eyes were as blank as an empty blackboard. There was no hint of recognition in them that above her sat another white person.

  “What is wrong with her?” Nate signed.

  “She is whole,” Coyote’s brother responded.

  “You lie, Indian,” Nate accused. “Look at her eyes. You have hurt her brain.”

  “I did not!” Coyote’s Brother was livid. “She has been this way since the day we tired of using the men as slaves and killed them.”

  Nate put two and two together. The Shoshokos had taken the settlers captive months ago and kept the men alive until just recently. One of those ghastly corpses was the woman’s husband. The Shoshokos had likely forced her to witness his mutilation and death, and her current state was the result.

  Coyote’s Brother made a surprising suggestion. “Talk to her, white man. Maybe she will answer. She never answers me.”

  Leaning directly over her face, Nate said gently, “Miss, would you happen to be Hestia Davin? My friends and I have come to save you. You can talk if you want. The Diggers won’t hurt you bad with us sitting right here.”

  The woman didn’t react, not the least little bit. Her eyes stayed locked wide, her face pale, her breathing so shallow she might have been a corpse herself.

  “Bastardos,” Chavez said.

  “I kill them all,” LeBeau vowed.

  Nate sat back and sighed. He felt the same but he had to continue acting a part or they all stood to suffer. “You tried to trick us, Coyote’s Brother,” he signed. “You wanted us to trade for this?” He jabbed a thumb at the captive. “She is worthless. We have no need of her.”

  “She is your kind. You can heal her.”

  “None of us would bother,” Nate lied, and wanted to laugh when doubt marred the warrior’s countenance for the first time. “You keep her.”

  “We do not want her,” the chief signed. He was upset and it showed.

  Nate had the wily rascal right where he wanted him. He waited, certain the Shoshoko would make another offer to trade only for much less than the last time. Nate would act reluctant, then agree, and they would all head back. His plan was working out nicely.

  The very next moment a saddle creaked and LeBeau strode to the woman and knelt. Coyote’s Brother took a half-step, as if to interfere, but froze when LeBeau’s right hand dropped to a pistol. Coyote’s Brother backed up. LeBeau tenderly clasped the woman’s head in his hands, saying softly in his heavy accent, “It will be all right, petite. I not let him hit you.”

  Raw rage contorted the chief’s face. His hands clenched and unclenched.

  Nate hid his own anger. Th
e riverman’s rash act endangered them all unless he did something quickly. “Get back on your horse before we join those poor souls by the wash.”

  “Now,” LeBeau said, stroking the woman’s hair. “This poor femme, she has suffered enough.”

  “Can’t you see what you’ve done?” Nate said. “You can help her all you want once we’re shy of this village.”

  “No.”

  “Of all the mule headed—” Nate began, even though he felt the same. He was spared from venting his spleen by Coyote’s Brother, who whirled on him and employed sign so fast Nate had a hard time following the drift of the speech.

  “Someone tried a trick, but it was not me! You lied! You claimed none of the whites want her, yet it is plain this young one cares for her a great deal. Perhaps I should ask for more than I thought. Perhaps I should ask for twice as much.”

  Nate kept his composure and replied, “Once again you are wrong. I did not speak with two tongues. I told you that one of our men was interested in her and willing to pay one knife, one axe, one fire steel, and one red blanket. This is the man.”

  “This one?” Coyote’s Brother signed in disappointment.

  “He is not a rich man, as I told you,” Nate went on. “You would do well to take his offer. No one else would trade so much for a woman who cannot speak or even wash herself.”

  The chief turned and whispered to several warriors. He scowled the whole while, thunder imminent on his brow.

  “I hope you know you nearly got us killed,” Nate said to LeBeau. “As it is, I’ve convinced him that you’re interested in her and willing to strike a deal.”

  LeBeau wore a strange expression. He touched the woman’s puffy cheek and said, “Tell him I give all I own.”

  “Like hell. I do that, and he’ll know I’ve been lying through my teeth,” Nate said. “We want him to think he can’t get much for her so he’ll be more willing to take her back to where the rest are. If he suspects she’s valuable, he’ll keep her here.”

  “I do not go without her,” LeBeau said, his tone leaving no doubt he meant it.

  “What’s gotten into you?” Nate asked. “Sure, she’s pretty, but you don’t even know the woman.”

  “Do I need to?” LeBeau said. He adjusted the tatters of her dress so that she was decently covered. “Have you known many women, Monsieur King?”

  “Known how?” Nate said. “There was my mother, but she hardly counts, not if I take your meaning correctly.”

  “You do.”

  “Then I can’t say as I have,” Nate admitted. The truth was, he’d known two, and only two. “I’ve always been shy around womenfolk.”

  “Not me,” LeBeau said, his eyes on the blonde. “I know many in my time. Very, very many. They are for me—how you say?—the breath of life. I love women. I drink women, sleep women, think women. Comprenez-vous?”

  “What?”

  “Do you understand?”

  “I understand it’s amazing you’re not hitched. Any man who makes a habit of sticking his head in bear traps sooner or later has it caught fast.” The riverman grinned. “You are much like McNair. So far I avoid the steel jaws, but I always have this great fondness for them. More than for anything else.”

  Before Nate could comment, Coyote’s Brother, stepped to the stallion.

  “It is a poor price your friend is willing to pay, white man. But I would like a new knife and a new axe. Tell your friend I accept his offer.”

  Nate winked at the riverman. “The chief has taken the bait. I’ll have his people rig up a travois so we can haul the woman along.”

  “She rides with me,” LeBeau said. Squatting, he hooked both arms underneath her and lifted her slender form effortlessly. ‘Help me, my friends. Please.”

  They had to prop the woman against the riverman’s back and tie her so she wouldn’t fall off. Her cheek rested on the middle of LeBeau’s back, and her arms dangled uselessly at her sides. LeBeau reached back to pat her hand and said, “Soon all will be well, pretty one. You will see.”

  Coyote’s Brother led them to the gully. Once again the Shoshokos pressed in uncomfortably close. Nate expected them to drop behind after the village was passed, but to his dismay a group of fifteen warriors showed every intention of coming along. Worse, they formed a circle around the horses, hemming them in. “Are these warriors going with us?” he signed.

  As slyly as ever, Coyote’s Brother grinned. “They are.”

  “But they are on foot. We will have to ride slow so they can keep up.”

  “They can run far when they have to,” Coyote’s Brother signed. “And we might need them. Two sleeps ago a hunting party saw a Blood war party in the direction of the Snake. A big war party.”

  It was a lie and Nate knew it. The Bloods, like their Blackfeet allies, never ventured into the region. Yet he dared not argue, dared not tip his hand until the right time. “We are glad to have them along,” he signed.

  Getting through the hills took twice as long as the ride in. Coyote’s Brother rode tall on his horse, showing off for the benefit of his tribesmen.

  Chavez rode beside LeBeau. Neither spoke. Every so often Chavez would stare long and hard at the woman, and when he looked away he had a vaguely haunted aspect to his gaze, as if she stirred memories he’d rather not recall.

  Nate rode by himself until the plain hove into sight. He had forgotten all about Two Humps until the Nez Percé came abreast of him.

  “When?” the old warrior asked in English.

  “When we’re within a rifle shot of the knoll.”

  “You say. I teach these Earth Eaters.”

  “You’ll need help.”

  Two Humps smiled hugely. “With them?” he said in utter contempt. “Nez Percé women better fighters.”

  An unforeseen delay arose. Chavez happened to glance at the woman again and saw her sagging off the far side of the horse. He yelled, caught hold of her arm, and everyone halted. The rope had to be retied and lightly looped around her arms so she wouldn’t slip again.

  The Shoshokos became noticeably nervous the closer they drew to their destination. Some fingered their sinew bow strings, unaware they did so. Coyote’s Brother moved to one side so his back wouldn’t be to the whites.

  Nate slowed to ride beside the riverman and the tracker. “When I give a yell, cut to the west and head for those mountains yonder. Protect the woman at all costs. Two Humps and I will take care of these Diggers.”

  “I will fight also, señor,” Chavez said. “The honor of the señorita demands it.”

  “First LeBeau, now you,” Nate joked. “What is it about blonde women that they turn a man’s head inside out and make him act half his age?”

  “It is not what you think,” Chavez replied. “This woman reminds me of another, a woman I care for very much, so much that I killed a man to keep him from abusing her.”

  “Did you fight a duel?” LeBeau asked. In St. Louis duels were a common occurrence. The local field of honor, Bloody Island in the Mississippi, had gained national notoriety after a number of prominent citizens lost their lives there.

  “No,” Chavez said. He pulled the brim of his sombrero lower. “Her name is Anita. We talked of marriage, she and I. But her father did not like my father and would not have given his consent. We tried to think of a way to change his mind. Then another man came along and wanted Anita for his own. She told him that she loved me but he would not listen. He imposed himself.” Chavez stopped, touched his forehead. “One morning I waited at his stable and when he came, I called his name. He went for his pistola. I was faster.”

  “So that’s why you’re on the run,” Nate said.

  “The man’s family is very powerful. They have much political influence. Had I stayed, my father, my mother, my whole family would have been ruined.”

  “I think you do not run for long, eh?” LeBeau said.

  “No, amigo, not much longer,” Chavez responded. “It was Anita’s idea, hers and my father’s. I did wrong l
istening to them. A man must stand on his own two legs or he is not a man.”

  “Do you ever hear from home?” Nate asked.

  “Letters, si. Anita sends them with travelers when she can. She misses me but worries. Our enemies still hunt me.” Chavez tilted his face to the sun. “Soon they will not have to run very far. After Señor Porter pays me, I am off to Tucson. It will end, one way or the other.”

  A low whoop from Two Humps drew their attention to the northeast, where a solitary knob rose from the plain.

  “The knoll,” Nate said.

  “Soon, then?” LeBeau asked.

  “Real soon.”

  The Shoshokos closed in tighter around the horsemen, either because they sensed trouble brewing or they were simply taking an added precaution now that their destination was in sight. Coyote’s Brother unslung his bow and pretended to be examining it.

  Nate pulled up next to the venerable Nez Percé. Two Humps held his lance loosely in his right hand, the pointed tip angled downward.

  The distance lessened, the knoll growing larger and larger. Now that the moment of truth had arrived, Nate was tense, filled with doubt. Once he shouted, they would be committed. Their lives, and all those on the knoll, were forfeit if his ruse failed.

  Glancing at Coyote’s Brother, Nate smiled, then threw back his head and howled like a wolf.

  All hell broke loose.

  Fifteen

  Despite Shakespeare McNair’s vigilance, it was Zachary King who spotted the tendril of dust that marked the progress of Nate’s party. At the boy’s shout, the mountain man swiveled. He estimated the distance at four miles.

  The shout also alerted the Shoshokos, who rose and congregated on the south side of the knoll. Arrows were notched to bows and knives loosened in their crudely made sheaths.

  Shakespeare had already gone from person to person, alerting the greenhorns to the ruse and telling them what to do when he gave the signal. Now, one by one they drifted steadily closer to their mounts, doing their best not to be obvious, pretending they were interested in the dust.