Hunter’s Moon

by Norah Hess

  Finally, Jim spotted what he sought. Just off the trail was a small clearing, barely discernible in the cloudy gray of near dusk. It was big enough for a wagon to turn around in nicely, and being surrounded on three sides by the crowding forest, it would cut off the main force of the wind.

  Simon had seen it also and heaving a relieved sigh, turned the weary team into the cavelike opening. "Must have been a little fire in here some time back," he said.

  He climbed stiffly from the wagon and, trying to keep his uneasiness out of his voice, urged Cindy and Darcey to move a little faster. "Come on you two greenhorns," he called. "Let's get camp made before nightfall. Jim, if you will, you can get a fire goin' while me and Darcey go find some wood."

  Cindy moved around, limbering her stiff muscles and starting the blood to flow through her chilled body. Interested, she watched Jim prepare his fire. He had scratched around in the snow, hunting for large rocks discarding any that were not flat. When he had accumulated a pile of them, he carefully arranged them into a two-foot square platform about six inches tall. Then rummaging around under several ground hugging cedars, he emerged with an armful of twigs, small branches, and dry leaves. Stacking them to his satisfaction, from a small leather pouch, he sprinkled a smattering of gunpowder onto the crossed wood. A spark snapped and flames shot up, eating hungrily at the dry material.

  Laying larger pieces of wood onto the leaping flames, he dusted his hands and said, "There. That will do us nicely."

  Cindy smiled and hurried to fill the coffee pot with snow, anxious to get a cup of the hot brew into her body.

  While she did this, Jim brought a shovel from the wagon and began removing the snow directly behind his makeshift hearth. As he bent to his work, the snow fell to either side of him, banking as he moved forward. When he had finished scooping out the white softness, he had a three-sided trench about four feet deep and five feet wide. The flaming fire made the fourth wall of his little room.

  But his project wasn't finished yet. He made another trip to the wagon, bringing back two large bearskin furs. As Cindy watched curiously, he spread one, fur side up, on the icy ground. The remaining fur he laid aside, explaining to Cindy, "We'll cover up with that one."

  She gave him a big smile and hurried to remove the boiling coffee from the fire. In the distance, she heard Darcey's low-throated voice and Simon's clear ringing laughter at something she must have said. "Maybe everything will turn out all right," she thought. "I ain't heard that pair laugh that way in a long time."

  As the forest duskiness enveloped them, Darcey and Simon staggered into the clearing loaded down with tree limbs. The blazing fire was a welcome sight, and they hurried to it. Spotting Jim's shelter, Darcey exclaimed, "What a delightful bedroom!"

  Examining it closely, she praised it until Jim's face flushed.

  Later, hunkering close to the fire, they ate the remaining food in Cindy's basket and drank the coffee pot dry. Then, as Jim tended the animals and brought them in closer to the heat, Simon took a pail and milked the lowing cow.

  Darcey and Cindy packed away the few utensils they had used and then sat close to the fire, thoroughly warming themselves. The men soon joined them, stretching numb feet almost into the hot ashes. At one point, everyone had looked up, listening intently, then laughed happily when they realized that the wind had stopped its howling and the silence of the forest now rang in their ears.

  Simon sighed his relief, which was echoed by Jim, and settled back, thanking God for the wilderness quiet. The stars that began to twinkle in the black sky gave further evidence that the weather was clearing. Most likely it wouldn't snow after all.

  They sat for a while staring drowsily into the leaping flames. The eerie hoot of an owl deep within the forest, roused them and Simon stood up and stretched. "We'd better turn in," he suggested. "Dawn comes awfully early."

  Since they slept in their clothes, they retired quickly. Darcey and Cindy snuggled down between the warmth of the two men. When Darcey had nearly drifted off to sleep, she heard a wolf's howl in the distance, carrying through the clean air. She felt safe, though. Simon would keep the fire going all night.

  Once she had been half aroused by the rhythmic movement of the covers and through half-closed eyes had seen Simon giving Cindy her pleasuring. Sliding back into the unconsciousness of sleep, she hoped that Jim wouldn't wake up.

  CHAPTER 2

  Simon was restless and his sleep was fitful. Feeling deeply the responsibility of his loved ones, he had slept with one eye open, so to speak. Somewhere around midnight the uneasy bawling of the bull had awakened him. Sitting up and shaking the sleep from his brain, he noted the two horses straining at their tether, their eyes rolling in terror. Scrambling to his feet, his grogginess making him slow and awkward, he found that the fire had become dangerously low.

  He hurried to replenish it and caught a glimpse of movement at the forest edge. Piling on wood until the flames were reaching for the treetops, he then peered into the forest. His heart missed a beat. He made out the shadowy forms of wolves furtively pacing back and forth beneath the low-branched firs. Ice forming in his veins, he shook with the realization that only minutes had separated them from sure death. The hungry beasts had only waited for the fire to go black.

  The frightened animals behind him were now becoming more spooked, as the firelight showed the danger they smelled. His eyes never leaving the wolves, Simon spoke soothingly to the livestock, trying to calm them. Their trampling and snorting were sure to awaken the women, and he didn't need two hysterical women on his hands.

  Forgotten was the comfort of the bearskins as he kept the fire blazing, praying that the stock of wood would hold out until morning.

  For what seemed an eternity, he sat with his rifle held ready across his knees, never for a moment taking his eyes away from the circling beasts. A nervous tension engulfed him as pairs of red eyes seemed to stare at him from all directions. As they paced back and forth, snapping and snarling, he remembered all the stories he had heard about attacking wolves. Old Josh Warden, Darcey's grandfather, had been a great one for telling wolf stories and had told some that would curdle blood.

  It was only when the eastern sky above the tree line was gradually turning gray, heralding the approaching dawn, that he relaxed. Deeply relieved, he murmured, "Thank God!"

  Then, muttering an oath, he crouched to one knee, his eyes wide with fright. Two of the braver, hungrier wolves, had started slinking forward. They edged at him from two different directions as though their minds were human, intent on drawing him between them. Inching, they crawled along on their bellies, making no sound.

  Slowly his hand moved toward the fire and waited.

  Suddenly, the larger of the two sprang forward, his lips pulled back, the long fangs reaching for his throat. Simon grabbed a flaming stick and met the creature, head-on, driving the glowing weapon across the gaping jaws. Then, swiftly swooping up the rifle, he took aim at the other rushing wolf. But the pain-filled yell of the wounded animal had communicated the danger, and now, the second wolf was hard on the heels of its mate, streaking back into the forest.

  Trembling, shaking with the chill of terror, Simon watched them circling and sniffing at the whimpering wolf. As he watched, they gathered into a pack and, as though on signal, they ran off through the forest, like ghosts in the misty grayness of dawn.

  When the last bushy tail had disappeared, Simon sank back beside the fire and prayed that he had seen the last of them. He glanced back at the shelter, expecting to see three pairs of frightened eyes staring at him. But all was quiet and he shook his head in disbelief. "How could they have slept on while I lived through this hell?" he wondered.

  He scanned the camp site, seeking to bring himself back to the normalcy of his everyday world. His eyes fell on the coffee pot, its blackened surface a dear and common object. As he packed it with snow and coffee grounds, his hands seemed to caress it. Not until it boiled, however, sending its familiar aroma into the still
air, did he at last begin to feel a semblance of his old self. Bolstered by a cup of the hot, invigorating liquid, he set a pail of snow on the hot coals to melt for the ladies' use, and when in the rosy glow of first morning he awakened them, his considerate act was most appreciated.

  The women and Jim were in high spirits, and much teasing and bantering went on between Darcey and Jim. The relationship that had developed between Darcey and the young man was the first of her experience. She had never before been friendly with a man other than Simon and her grandfather. Every male she had ever known had sooner or later made sexual overtures that indicated they cared nothing about cultivating a friendship with her.

  Last night, lying between the furs, her body snuggled close to Jim's for warmth, she had mused on the fact that she was not conscious of desire and, better yet, neither was he, not even when she had turned on her side and he had turned with her, bending his body to curve around her back, spoon fashion.

  It was very strange indeed, she thought, for even though she had felt nothing but contempt for Rafe, when they lay in bed, she was the first to instigate the fires between them. He had known from the beginning her passionate nature and had used it as a weapon to his advantage. He had never entirely fulfilled her, purposely keeping her anxious for the next time. Only when she had been forced to trade her body for the means of burying him had she known complete release in the arms of her benefactor.

  As they ate their meager meal of cold biscuits and honey, washed down with the hot coffee, Darcey and Jim continued to carry on, their ringing laughter grating on Simon's nerves. Anxiously he scanned the forest, worried that their noise would attract the wolves and bring them back again. Because of this, his voice was sharp as he urged them to finish their meal and to stop their foolishness.

  Later, when Jim objected to a pail of frozen milk being dumped on the ground, he had snapped, "There's more where that come from."

  The spilling of the milk seemed a grievous sin to the milk-starved Jim. It had been many months since he and the settlers had been able to enjoy its sweet goodness. The previous severe winter, following on the heels of a bad growing season, had forced the hill people to butcher their milk-producing animals in order to survive.

  That winter had been the worst in twenty years, so the old-timers claimed. Snow had reached well past a tall man's knees, and there were drifts reaching six feet. The air had been so cold, one could hear the frost-filled trees snapping and falling with every stiff wind.

  The settlement had been completely frozen in for weeks, making it impossible for the men to hunt. He could still remember the day when Clara, with tears running down her cheeks, had announced that the last of the provisions were gone and their only recourse was the cow. He had at first choked on the roast she had prepared, his mind rebelling at the thought of eating the pet cow. But the hunger in his belly had won out.

  The life-giving meat had sustained them until the weather broke, making it possible for the men to hunt. But many times he and his brothers and brother-in-law were unsuccessful and would come home empty-handed. Foot-weary and somehow ashamed, Bill would explain to Clara, "We just can't seem to rout anything out. Everything is either holed up waiting out the winter, or they've moved to the low country."

  Clara would pat his arm and say, "You tried your best, Bill. We'll manage somehow."

  Now, staring at the milk, he thought of the hill children and how desperately they needed the white liquid that lay on the ground slowly melting and sinking into the dirt.

  Darcey came up to Jim, laughing, and shattered his reverie. "Come on, daydreaming lazy bones, Simon is ready to break camp. Do you want to be left behind?" As much as they hurried, it was daylight before Simon cracked his whip, guiding the horses back onto the trail. The way had leveled off now and was much easier on the horses, and Jim informed them that they wouldn't be climbing anymore.

  "Before long it will be mostly down hill," he said. "We'll be coming to the Buckskin River pretty soon."

  "Is that the river we'll be living on?" Darcey asked.

  "No. You'll be living on a branch of the Buckskin. It's called Blue River. It's not as wide as the Buckskin, but it's deeper and swifter . . . and prettier. Clara thinks it's the prettiest river she ever saw. But Bill and my brother Mike don't like it at all."

  He paused a moment and felt in his pocket for his pipe and, when it was going to his satisfaction, continued, "They say the river is deceitful and treacherous like a bad woman. But Clara always defends it. She says if you have respect for its fierceness, you won't come to no harm from it."

  "I guess you have to give all rivers respect," Simon commented. "Especially the ones that act like bad women." A teasing smile came over his face, and he nudged Cindy in the side. "Ain't that right, Cindy Woman?"

  Returning such a swift jab that it caused him to cry out, Cindy retorted, "How do I know how a bad woman acts?"

  And so the traveling went, with much laughter among them to relieve the long, weary hours. At first Simon had been silent, not joining in the bantering as he was still worried about the wolves. But after they had traveled a considerable distance with no further signs of the night visitors, he decided that he had seen the last of them and began to relax. After a while they came to a fork in the road, and Jim directed Simon to take the one due north. As signs of homestead failure became apparent, their happy chatter dwindled and died.

  An uneasy gloom descended on Darcey as more and more empty homes became evident. "Why are they empty?" she asked herself, afraid to ask the question out loud. "What drove the people away? Was the soil poor and unable to nourish the people? Had the people become sick and died?"

  She doubted that there was a doctor in the wilderness, and if one didn't have knowledge of folklore medicine, he would be in sore straits.

  "Then, too, there is the matter of the harsh winter weather," she continued, mulling these thoughts over. "Maybe it had been too cold for them . . . maybe too lonesome, also." A sense of dread sent shivers through her as she gazed at the desolate land.

  She wondered why the people had settled so far away from each other in the first place. She would have wanted neighbors closer than these had been. It gave her a safe feeling to know that she had a neighbor only a short distance from her own cabin.

  Simon noticed her continued silence and sensed its cause. He, too, had noted the lonely looking countryside with its vacant-eyed, dilapidated cabins. He could readily accept and understand her dampened enthusiasm. But it was his opinion that the previous owners of these deserted homesteads had been quitters . . . unfit for this hard country. This rugged wilderness would take only the most hardy to its breast. The weaklings would soon pull out.

  "But that will never be the case with us," he assured himself. "We are made of sterner stuff, although Darcey has forgotten it for the moment."

  He decided that it was time to remind her of that fact and perhaps alleviate some of her fears. Pointing with his whip, he called her attention to a strip of black soil laid bare by the sweeping wind.

  He cut into her gloomy thoughts.

  "It's a good land, Darcey, and we're gonna do fine here. The soil is rich and will grow any seed put into her. You'll never see the day when you'll have to move on."

  The relieved sigh that whistled softly through her lips told him that he had hit his mark. She reached across Cindy and patted his knee. "Thank you, Simon," she said, and he was pleased, for they understood one another.

  A little later he laughed to himself when Cindy complained, "This is a cold and ugly country," and Darcey jumped to defend it.

  It was well past noon on the fifth day when Simon stopped the horses on a small knoll to rest them. They were all tired and hungry and began to snap at each other. They had all voted not to stop for lunch but to continue on to their destination. Darcey was beginning to wish that they hadn't. Her stomach was empty and making rumbling noises. But suddenly Jim said, "We'll be there in about another hour. If you stand up, you can see a part of
the settlement in the distance."

  Hunger and fatigue forgotten, Darcey jumped up and looked. Off in the distance, beyond the rolling ridges and dark valleys, she could see the winding courses of a river and all along its banks were the scattered cabins, looking like small doll houses from a distance.

  Her heart leaped, and she cried out excitedly, "We've got neighbors!"

  Peering through the soft, misty distance, Darcey counted five thin ribbons of smoke rising like feathery ribbons from the cabins along the river and several more scattered throughout the forest. Her sweeping survey showed the valley to be completely surrounded by snowcapped forests, and as she gazed at the vastness of it all, she began to feel very small beside the immensity of the great wilderness. For a moment she was afraid. "This harsh country could ruin me if it wanted to," she whispered to herself.

  Then she remembered the words of her grandfather, "Darcey, with fear comes caution and respect. The three always come together if one is wise enough to know this. Show your fears respect and caution, and you can lick them every time."

  The weight lifted and she felt eager again. They were nearing the end of their journey, and those smoking chimneys below warmed her new neighbors. Her voice full of excitement, she said, "Let's go find our new home."

  Simon's lips spread in a wide grin, and he cracked his whip. Off they went rolling toward the settlement.

  CHAPTER 3

  Clara Wilson sat at the log-hewn table in her small neat cabin and argued with her brother Jarvis. They had argued off and on all morning and the better part of the afternoon.

  Clara was usually light-hearted and good-natured, but there were times, like now, when she would become argumentative and blatantly push her authority. In this state she had been known to go into wild tempers that only the firmness of her even-tempered husband could handle. It took Bill to point out to her that angry words were not always the answer.