by Avery, Joan
The better part of the afternoon saw them crossing the San Luis Valley. The temperature had warmed and the skies brightened. They made good time, but ahead of them lay the San Juans. Kate marveled at their towering heights and impenetrable face. She suspected they were a formidable challenge even in the best of weather.
By late afternoon the clouds were back, heavier and darker than before. They climbed into the foothills, their progress slowed by the tired horses. She reached over and patted her black mare. The horse whinnied its gratefulness.
They had maybe four more hours of light, she estimated, and Stephen was going to use every bit of it. The wind had become biting. She prayed it would not start to rain again or, worse yet, snow. She worked her toes inside her boots in an attempt to warm them. She wore only light leather gloves. She had tucked one hand under the buffalo robe while she held the reins in the other, but with the more difficult terrain she had been forced to use both her hands and they were becoming stiff with the cold.
As dusk approached, the rain began. Before long it had turned to sleet. The frozen pellets felt like buckshot against her freezing face.
She wanted to call out to Stephen, who kept moving forward, pulling the reluctant pack animal up with him, but she didn’t have enough energy left to be heard.
It was another fifteen minutes before they reached a small plateau. It was a valley of sorts maybe a mile long nestled between mountains. They must have climbed more than a mile to reach this altitude and still the mountains on either side towered over them. The sleet meanwhile had turned to snow. It was a relief not to have the pelting sleet; at the same time, the snow posed an entirely new set of problems.
Stephen pulled up and dismounted. He tied his horse and the pack horse to a lone tree near a face of sheer granite. She was relieved when he walked back to help her. She slipped off the buffalo robe and managed to swing her leg over the horse’s back, but when her legs hit the ground, they gave way.
His arms tightened around her waist as she sank to the ground.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. I’m just a little stiff and cold.”
He lifted her in his arms and carried her over to a large rock where he set her down. She rubbed her legs and stomped her feet in an effort to restore circulation. He tethered her horse next to others and began to unsaddle the tired animals. By the time he was done, the ground was white with the snow that now came down heavily.
“We’re going to have to hurry,” he called out. “We need to get the tent up and a fire started.”
She rose on her shaky legs. With hands stiffened by the cold, she helped unload the pack animal. They managed to get the tent up in good time.
“I’ll collect wood. Move everything you can against the face of the rock and cover it. How wet are the buffalo skins?”
She felt the heavy brown fur. “They’re fairly dry.”
“Get them inside before they get any wetter.”
She nodded. The snow continued to fall and darkness settled on them almost instantly. She waited in the tent, her legs tucked underneath her, one of the buffalo robes under her and another wrapped around her shoulders.
It was an eternity before Stephen returned, his arms full of dead wood. He cleared the ground, now covered with over an inch of snow, and started a fire. It was another half an hour before the fire was large enough to offer any heat. She ventured out the short distance to the fire and held her hands up to the flame.
It was wonderful. She moved her feet so that they too could enjoy the heat. It took several minutes to regain normal feeling in her extremities. Only then did she realize how hungry she was.
Stephen offered her jerky. Even this poor excuse for a meal made her mouth salivate. She took several pieces and a biscuit. The cold meal tasted better than she imagined possible. Stephen worked to make coffee. When he presented her with a hot cup, her happiness was complete.
“How much do you think it will snow?” she asked.
He had been pre-occupied, first with the necessities and now with his own thoughts. He looked up at her. A frisson of fear ran up her spine.
“A foot, maybe more. It’s hard to say.” He shook his head.
“How much more?” She needed to know how bad it could get. She was the one who had insisted they go on.
“Several feet.”
She tried to envision four or more feet of snow. The horses would be up to their bellies. They would be hard put to move.
She clasped the warm coffee mug tighter. The buffalo robe wrapped around her was now white with snow. “Do we have enough provisions?”
“We should, providing it doesn’t continue for too long. Right now, we’d best get out of the snow. We can’t afford to get wet.”
Kate lay in the dark tent, listening. The snow made no sound as it fell. It was a silent enemy. The tent sagged under its weight. She and Stephen were forced to share the second buffalo skin, since he had placed the first one on the wet ground for protection.
“Will it be all right?” she asked in the darkness.
“Yes, with any luck.” He sounded hesitant.
She pressed. “How much luck?”
When he didn’t answer, she simply said, “I’m sorry.” She turned on her side away from him.
His arm warmly and gently encircled her waist and pulled her to him. She should have objected, but she didn’t. She nestled into the warmth of his embrace and fell asleep almost immediately.
Chapter Eighteen
Kate awoke shivering with cold. Stephen was awake and sitting up.
“What’s wrong?” she asked groggily.
“Shhh.”
The horses whinnied, disturbed by something. It was still dark. The snow had stopped and a full moon now provided faint light.
The horses were stomping and pacing along the rope line to which they were tied. What had them agitated?
Stephen reached for the rifle by his side.
She was afraid to speak. She listened intently.
He placed a hand on her, a warning to keep silent. He moved to his knees and slowly folded back the flaps of the tent.
She sat up. The moon shimmered off eight inches or so of new fallen snow. The fire had been smothered long ago. From the position of the moon, she guessed it was near morning but the sun had yet to rise.
The horses intensified their noises. Snorts and whinnies echoed against the wall of granite. He stepped out of the tent. Kate rose on her knees and looked out.
The horses were rearing up in fear.
“Shhh, girl.” He spoke to her black mare, but the animal’s eyes were wide with terror. The horse pulled at its tether and paced the short distance it could manage. The pack horse and Stephen’s horse were no less disturbed. All three strained against the rope that held them, desperate to free themselves.
She was horrified and yet transfixed. The whites of their eyes shone in the blue moonlight. Their terror communicated in short snorts and alarmed whinnies.
“Shhh, that’s it girl. What’s the trouble? Do you smell something? Hear something?”
Her hand fell on the cold metal of Stephen’s Colt by the entrance to the tent. She picked it up, cocked it, and let it rest in her lap. Her body shook. Whether it was from fear or the cold, she didn’t know.
She stared into the blackness. The sheer granite cliff gave way to a rocky ridge behind the horses. Scrub brush, heavy now with snow, dotted the overhang.
A wedge of snow suddenly fell ten or so feet from a ridge above Stephen and the nervous horses. A gray shadow moved silently across the ridge. She wasn’t even sure it was real. It moved like no man or beast she had ever seen. It was more like a phantom, a specter.
Her heart pounded. She studied the ridge to confirm her sighting but she didn’t see it again.
The horses’ disturbed whimpers and snorts continued to attack the silence. Stephen’s calming voice had little effect. If only they would quiet, perhaps she could hear the thing. Follow its ghost-like movements. Warn Stephen.
<
br /> Her eyes strained to see something, anything. She rose and stepped outside the tent, his Colt in her hand.
A scream, half-human, half-feline, pierced the air. She saw them then. Eyes. Iridescent stalking eyes. The big cat studied her. Its fawn and gray-tipped fur suggested a shadow against the whiteness of the snow. Its throat and belly were white. Two spots of black fur lay above its eyes like great exclamation marks. The animal moved with a feline grace that belied its strength. It was moving away and for a moment she was relieved.
Then a wild and terrifying scream cut through the night. The sound was like a woman in pain. It made the hairs on her arms stand alert. The great animal turned and crouched. She raised the gun to protect herself before she realized the cat had other prey in mind.
“Stephen!” she called.
He held the bridle of her black mare. Releasing the horse, he went to lift his rifle, but it was too late. The cat crouched and leaped. Kate fired.
The animal continued its graceful and terrifying leap. In her hurry, Kate had missed.
The cat landed on the mare. Its jaws sunk into the horse’s neck. The animal reared in anguish and knocked Stephen to the ground. His rifle skidded out of his reach. The horse shook its black head, but the cat only strengthened its death hold.
The other two horses simultaneously reared. Their efforts finally broke the tether line to which their bridles had been hitched. The horses whinnied in fear and galloped off into the darkness.
Stephen, still on the ground, fought to stay clear of the horses’ hooves. Rolling to cover ground, he picked up the rifle and took aim. A shot rang out. The cat fell to the ground, twitched, and lay silent. Her injured mare bolted, following the other two horses into the night.
She stood stunned. What had just happened? She couldn’t stop shaking. Stephen approached her and took her in his arms, turning her away from the bloody scene. He walked her back to the tent and grabbing one of the buffalo robes, wrapped it around her shoulders. “Wait inside. It’s almost dawn. I’ll start a fire.”
She sat in the tent rocking slowly to calm herself. Gradually she became aware of the light from the fire. When she left the tent, he handed her a steaming cup of coffee.
“We need to talk.” His eyes spoke more to their situation than his words.
She nodded.
“As soon as it’s dawn, I’ll have to go after the horses. With any luck, they’ll have worn themselves out and not gone too far.”
“Let me go with you.”
“No,” he barked, then looked remorseful. “You’re not dressed for tracking them on foot. It’s better I travel alone.”
“Stephen, please.”
“My God, Kate. Do you think I want to leave you out here alone?”
For the first time, she saw his pain in a new light. Before, it had been about Lizzie or about Andy, about the anguish of his back. This time it was about none of these things. It was about her.
“No,” she said, “I don’t believe you want to leave me.” She saw his face soften with relief. “But you see,” she whispered, “I don’t want to leave you.”
He cradled her head in his hands. “Oh, Kate,” he murmured, “why have we just found this out now?”
He kissed her, softly at first and then with a passion driven by their imminent separation. She returned his kiss, shedding her inner turmoil like a heavy winter coat.
“You’ll be all right.” he assured. “I’ll leave you my rifle. Stay near the camp. If I don’t return by nightfall, build the fire up and keep it going all night. Do you understand?”
She nodded and he kissed her again.
He pulled extra ammunition for his Colt revolver from their supplies before wrapping his feet and legs in several layers of buckskin. When he was dressed for the trek, he grabbed a satchel, filled it with several strips of the dried meat and biscuits, and flung it over his shoulder.
He returned to where she warmed herself by the fire. He took her upper arm. “You’ll be all right. And I’ll be back. If not today, then tomorrow.”
She asked the question that haunted her. “What if you can’t find the horses?”
“Then we’ll walk out. Either way, I won’t let you die up here. You have to believe that.”
“I do.” She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him.
He gently pulled away before setting off in the direction the frightened horses had bolted.
She felt more alone than she ever had in her life.
She stood vigil throughout the day. She tried not to look in the direction of the dead cat. It was too harsh a reminder of the dangers of the mountains. The day had dawned clear with no sign of the previous day’s snow. She said a prayer of thanks and one of petition as well. Bring him safely back to me, she prayed. Please, bring him back safely.
Most of her day was consumed with keeping the fire going. As dusk approached, she intensified her search for dry wood. In the earlier bright sunlight, the snow had begun to melt on the rocky surfaces. But as the sun fell beneath the mountaintops, temperatures were once again plummeting toward freezing.
She brought back armful after armful of wood. Her back and arms ached. Her legs had grown leaden. She stacked the wood next to the tent, uncertain as to whether it would last the night. But as the last rays of the sun faded from the snow-covered heights, she realized it didn’t matter. She would not venture out alone in the darkness. Picking up two of the dried branches, she broke them and threw them on the fire.
It would be a long night.
…
Her head nodded uncontrollably. She grabbed a handful of snow and rubbed it on her face. It did its trick. She was alert again, but for how long? She watched the moon traverse the sky playing mental games, measuring its progress, anything to stay awake. Once or twice, she heard the noise of a potential predator, but there was no one to confirm or deny her fears. Without the horses, she was left to her own senses to determine if she were suddenly viewed as prey.
She could barely keep her eyes open as the first rays of the sun struck the snow. Now that it was daylight, she could rest. She crawled into the tent beneath the buffalo robe and fell asleep.
It was well after noon before she awoke. The day was warm. Several patches of snow had melted until the dried grass beneath showed. The fire smoldered and she hurried to re-stoke it before it went out completely. When she had it crackling nicely, she went back in the tent. As she straightened their few belongings, she prayed again. Bring him back safely.
As if in answer to her prayers, a horse whinnied. Hoof-beats approached. Stephen. She opened the tent flaps and hurried out.
Her heart stopped. She took a step backward.
She had left the rifle in the tent. There was no way to get it.
The words of Vickers and Stephen came to haunt her. Massacres and violations. Women and children murdered. She fought panic. She forced herself to stand quietly and face Piah’s penetrating stare.
He did not dismount. His horse pawed the ground nervously. There were four other braves. They had been fearsome when they were naked. They were just as intimidating fully clothed. They wore buckskin breaches and leggings. A few wore white men’s shirts and jackets. Piah wore only buckskin. Several had buffalo robes thrown over the backs of their ponies. One or two had government-issue saddles. The others rode bareback, as did Piah. Their hair was left loose to their shoulders or braided with feathers. Disturbingly, she noticed the scalp still hung from Piah’s bridle.
No one spoke and she weighed her options. She remembered Stephen’s encounter with the braves on the train.
She took a step forward, regaining ground. Piah registered this move.
Still he said nothing. Did nothing.
“What do you want?” she asked, her voice cracking with fear. She berated herself. If she was to survive, she would have to be stronger.
One of the other men finally spoke to Piah in their language. Piah’s gaze moved slowly to where the dead mountain lion lay in the melting sno
w.
Piah finally demanded something of her in his own language.
“I don’t understand.” She was careful to keep her voice calm. She studied his reaction.
“Worth?” Piah shouted.
“He’s gone to find the horses.” She pointed in the direction Stephen had taken.
Piah’s gaze followed her gesture.
“Worth find ponies?” Piah asked more calmly.
He was taking in every nuance of her hair and skin and dress. She swallowed hard.
“Yes, he’s gone to find the ponies. They ran off when the mountain lion attacked.” She pointed to the dead cat. This time he did not take his eyes off of her to follow her signal. She shifted uncomfortably.
Piah shouted directions to one of the braves. The man dismounted and moved toward her. She pushed her shoulders back and forced herself to stand still. To her surprise, the man moved past her and went to the provisions.
Piah asked a question of the man and the response seemed positive.
“You come with Piah.” Piah gestured as he spoke.
“No.” She blurted out without thinking. No. Her heart pounded. She couldn’t go with this Indian.
Again Piah addressed the brave on the ground. Two other braves slid off their horses and came to aid the first. They were taking everything. Wrapping the food in her clothing, making bundles. Two grabbed the saddles, throwing them over their ponies’ bare backs. They tied their makeshift bundles to the pommels.
“No,” she said again. She inched toward the tent. The rifle. She had to get to the rifle.
Piah spoke to the last brave. He too dismounted. He walked quickly toward her. She backed up farther. Still the brave approached.
“No,” she shouted as loudly as she could before darting for the tent.
She wasn’t fast enough. The brave took hold of her upper arm in a vise-like grip. He pulled her behind him before entering the tent himself. Within a moment, he reappeared with the rifle.
She had run out of options. The brave walked back to Piah and handed the Winchester rifle up to him. The Indian examined it. She sucked in her breath as he cocked the rifle. Was he going to kill her? They had taken everything of value. It took only a second for him to aim and fire.
