Wilderness Double Edition #10

by David Robbins

  Nate passed the first three lodges without mishap. In each people talked softly. There was no yelling in a village at night, none of the rowdy noise one associated with certain establishments in towns and cities. Neighbors were respectful of one another, and violators were subject to being disciplined by the tribal police, members of a warrior society appointed for just such a purpose.

  The fourth lodge reared before him. Nate swung wide so as not pass too close to the entrance, and as he did the flap parted and out came an elderly woman supporting herself with a cane. She glanced at him and he quickly looked away, but gave a little wave and went on, hardly daring to breathe until he had gone far enough to justify safely looking over his shoulder. The woman had trudged to another teepee and was just entering.

  Nate congratulated himself on his narrow escape and quickened his pace. He went by two more lodges, and was halfway to the sixth when a bulky shape detached itself from the side of the teepee and came straight toward him. In a flash he guessed the truth. As was customary with many tribes, two unwed lovers were taking a stroll with a buffalo robe thrown over their shoulders. Kneeling, he fiddled with his left moccasin, pretending to be adjusting the binding. Out of the corner of his eye he saw the pair come closer, ever closer. Then they were a yard away and he heard a soft giggle and the tinkle of a tiny bell. Raising a hand to his chin as if scratching it, he risked a look, and had to check an impulse to exhale in relief when the lovers went on into the night without so much as acknowledging his presence.

  Nate hastened on. The small lodge was the only dark dwelling in the camp. He half expected to find guards, but there were none. Drawing his knife and holding it next to his right leg, he walked to the entrance and sank to one knee. The flap was tied up. With a sinking feeling in his gut, he slid inside. “Shakespeare?” he whispered. “Curry?”

  The total blackness took a few seconds for Nate’s eyes to penetrate, and when they had, he understood why he received no reply. The lodge was empty. At a loss to know what to do next, Nate turned and scanned the village. He had no idea whether his friends were already dead or whether they had been moved to another lodge. The only thing he did know was that he couldn’t very well go from teepee to teepee searching for them.

  Nate moved to the opening to leave, but stopped when he saw an inky form walking toward him. He darted to one side to wait for the Crow to pass. Moccasins crunched on the dry earth, drawing nearer. To his dismay, they halted in front of the lodge and a warrior spoke, apparently addressing him. With a start he realized the Crow had gotten a glimpse of him and mistaken him for another warrior. No doubt the man wanted to know why he was in there.

  The Crow spoke again, more insistently. Nate clasped the knife hilt firmly and grunted an inarticulate answer. He heard the rustle of buckskin. The black outline of a human head and neck poked into the interior. The Crow said a single word. Then Nate pounced. He grabbed the warrior s hair and yanked, hauling the man inside even as he drove the keen blade into the Crow’s throat. The warrior stumbled to his knees, wheezing horribly as blood gushed from his severed jugular. Nate stabbed again, sinking the knife in the Crow’s chest. The man grabbed Nate’s arm and tried to pry it loose while simultaneously opening his mouth to shout or scream.

  Nate slammed the Crow to the bare earth and leaped on the man’s back to keep him pinned down. The Crow gurgled, thrashed, and flailed in a frenzied effort to shake Nate off and stand. Slowly but surely his movements weakened, then subsided altogether. Nate stayed on top another minute for good measure.

  A peek outside verified no one had heard the scuffle. Nate ran his hands over the warrior’s waist and found another knife and a small pouch. Both he appropriated. After dragging the corpse to the back of the teepee, he cautiously stepped outside. Rather than walk all the way around the lodge circle, Nate opted to make a beeline and cut across the open middle space. Tucking his chin to his chest, he hastened off. Somewhere close a dog barked, making him jump. He looked, saw no sign of it, and walked briskly on.

  Nate was halfway to the other side when he saw a couple under a buffalo robe. It must be the same pair he’d seen earlier, he thought. They were bundled in the hairy folds, their heavy breathing clearly audible. Nate intended to give them a wide berth. But as he swung to the right to go around them, the robe unexpectedly fell to their shoulders. Before he could avert his face, the pretty young woman saw him.

  Nate was on them as the woman’s scream blasted his eardrums. The young warrior twisted. The robe bulged as he moved his arms to grab a weapon. Nate slugged him full on the jaw, then spun and raced for the trees. On all sides there were shouts and Crows spilled from every lodge, seeking the source of the disturbance. Most were women.

  Nate was about to pass between the two teepees nearest the thicket when someone spotted him and had to let the whole village know. To his right were tethered war horses, some grazing, unfazed by the uproar. He swerved and jumped onto the back of a chestnut.

  A sleek warrior carrying a war club sped around one of the lodges and launched himself at Nate as Nate wheeled the horse. The club arced at Nate’s head and Nate jerked aside and kicked, dumping the warrior on his backside. Poking his heels into the chestnut, Nate galloped into the forest and fled for his life.

  The din being raised by the Crows was loud enough to be heard for miles. Nate didn’t know if any would give chase but he was taking no chances. He pushed the chestnut despite the ever-present peril of the horse stepping into a rut or animal burrow and suffering a broken leg.

  Nate was greatly upset by the outcome of his rescue attempt. He had lost the element of surprise. If the Crows still had McNair and Curry, they would take steps to ensure another such try was thwarted. His prospects of saving them would vanish completely.

  On into the wilderness Nate rode for over fifteen minutes. He had not been paying much attention to his direction of travel, and reined up to get his bearings. From the position of the North Star he knew he was riding due east. The forest had gone completely silent, and in that silence he couldn’t miss hearing the drumming of hooves hundreds of feet to the rear.

  It was hard to tell how many there were. Nate galloped to the southeast, pleased when the woods ended and a lowland plain stretched out before him. He flew through high grass, the wind whipping his long hair, on the lookout for roving beasts. Panthers, grizzlies, and wolves were partial to hunting their prey at night, and the last thing he needed was to stumble on one of them with the Crows breathing hot and heavy down his neck. Yet that was exactly what happened.

  Nate came to a rocky knoll and angled to the left to pass it. He saw a large animal rear up on the slope. A rumbling snarl identified the creature, and with the speed of thought it gave chase. The chestnut didn’t seem to fully appreciate the danger until a paw the size of a melon took a swipe at its tail. Fear lent renewed vigor to its limbs.

  Nate glanced over a shoulder and saw the gaping jaws and glistening teeth of the grizzly. It wasn’t as big as the one in the valley, a small consolation given that it was nearly the size of the chestnut and could disembowel the horse in an instant if it caught up. Nate would have given anything for a loaded flintlock.

  Full-grown bears were capable of astonishing speeds that belied their immense size. They rivaled horses over short distances but lacked endurance. This one was typical of the breed, and for ten harrowing seconds Nate thought he would be torn from the chestnut’s back and ripped to pieces on the dank earth. The bear’s fetid breath filled his nostrils as its claws shortened the chestnut’s tail even further.

  Then the horse pulled ahead. A growl of bestial fury was the grizzly’s reaction, and it stopped. Nate made no attempt to slow his mount until they had gone over half a mile. At a walk he rode to the top of a hill. From there he could see clear to the village. He thought he had shaken the Crows, but he was wrong. A lone warrior was two hundred yards off, paralleling the course he had taken.

  Nate was impressed by the brave’s skill. Most men would have lost
track of him long before this. He trotted down the hill and into a tract of forest to make it difficult for the Crow to use a rifle or bow. He also sought a spot to ambush his pursuer. No favorable sites presented themselves, and in a short while the trees ended.

  Nate went fifteen feet out and drew rein. Sliding down, he left the chestnut standing there and sprinted back to the forest. A young spruce tree afforded him the hiding place he needed. He drew one of the hunting knives, then pressed an ear to the ground. The dull thud of hooves indicated the Crow was a lot closer.

  Practically hugging the spruce, Nate crouched and held the knife poised to strike. He figured the rider would emerge about ten feet to his right. He could see the pale horse but the warrior was hidden in shadow. Suddenly, as if suspecting a trap, the Crow stopped.

  Nate’s skin prickled. He wondered if the warrior could see him, if there was a rifle being trained on him or a bow being drawn back. Then the Crow approached slowly. Nate lowered himself until his chin brushed the grass. The horse’s head hove into sight. Nate could see its legs but not much of the man astride it. Again the Crow halted and Nate knew the warrior was staring at the chestnut.

  In a lithe motion Nate surged erect and sprang. He had taken two steps and was in midair when he saw that he had erred. The rider wasn’t a man after all. Unable to stop, Nate caught the boy around the waist, propelling both of them into the weeds. He managed to land on his shoulder and absorbed the brunt of the impact. Rolling, he released his hold and rose partway.

  Gray Badger was shaken but unhurt. He stood, his posture suggesting he would flee at any more sudden movements.

  Nate wedged the knife under his belt and employed sign. “I am sorry, son of Two Humps. I thought you were a warrior come to kill me. Are you hurt?”

  The boy sniffed as if insulted. “Crow men are not weaklings.” He nodded at the chestnut. “That was a fine trick, Grizzly Killer. I must remember it when I go on the war path.”

  Standing, Nate gazed westward. “Are you alone?”

  “Yes. I have been following you ever since you were captured by Whirlwind Hawk.”

  Gray Badger walked to his horse, which Nate now recognized as one of the pack animals belonging to Tim Curry. In all the confusion back in the valley, Nate had never noticed it was missing from the string. Understandable, given his predicament.

  “I slipped off during the fight,” the boy confirmed. “No one saw me go, and I hid on the other side of the stream until they gave up looking for me. Then I trailed them, keeping far back. Much later I saw that you had broken away and were also trailing them, but I could not catch up to you before you reached the village.”

  “You were spying on the village and saw me leave?” Nate signed.

  “Yes. My horse is not as fast as yours or I would have been with you sooner.” Gray Badger gave the animal a light whack on the side. “I am glad you were the one the bear tried to eat and not me. It would have caught me easily. When I heard it chase you, I went far around.”

  “You are brave beyond your years,” Nate signed, and meant every word. It took courage for anyone to brave the wilderness alone. For someone of the boy s tender years to dare the feat was rare. Gray Badgers pluck reminded Nate of his own son, Zach, and he almost reached out and tousled the boy s hair.

  “Question. Did you find your friends?” Gray Badger asked.

  “No,” Nate signed, the reminder kindling anew his anxiety over his mentor’s plight. “I have no idea where they are. Do you?”

  “I did not get too close to the village,” the boy signed. “The Invincible One might see me.”

  Nate brought the chestnut over and moved under the overspreading limbs of a tall fir. Sitting with his back to the trunk, he watched the young Crow tie the packhorse, then signed, “Would this Invincible One have my friends killed?”

  “He kills all whites,” Gray Badger answered, and added hastily, “Many of my people want him to stop but they are afraid of him, afraid of his powerful medicine.” He paused. “How do you fight someone who cannot be killed?”

  Believing the boy was exaggerating, Nate inquired, “Has anyone tried?”

  “Eight warriors so far. I saw one of them try. His name was Black Shield, and he had counted eighteen coup. He challenged Invincible One in front of everyone, then shot an arrow into Invincible One’s chest.”

  “What happened?” Nate asked when the boy fell silent.

  “I could not believe my eyes,” Gray Badger signed slowly. “The arrow hit Invincible One but bounced off. He laughed, as he often does when he hurts others, and he shot Black Shield through the head. No one has dared go up against his medicine since.”

  Nate did not know what to make of the story. He’d expect such an outrageous tale from a half-drunk trapper, but the boy was sincere. Maybe, he reasoned, he could get at the truth another way. He knew that the Crows, like other tribes, had a strong belief in talismans, as the trappers called them, everyday articles believed to bestow good medicine on those fortunate enough to possess them. It might be something as simple as an eagle claw, or a piece of wood, or a stone or a seed. Whatever, it would be wrapped in a piece of skin and worn touching the owner’s body so that the power of the charm was most potent. “What gives Invincible One his great medicine?” he asked.

  “No one knows.”

  “Has he always been invincible?”

  Gray Badger yawned. “We have not been told. He will not talk about his power with anyone.”

  Nate felt an urge to yawn himself and fought it off. “How many whites has he killed?”

  “Nine or ten, I think.” The boy lay on his side. “It might be more. I cannot remember. I am too tired.”

  Nate wanted to learn more, but it was evident the little Crow was exhausted. For that matter, so was he. He’d slept fitfully at best the past few days. “Tomorrow I must try to find my friends. Will you help me?”

  “I will do what I can,” Gray Badger signed wearily.

  “Perhaps your father would aid us.”

  The boy’s eyes shot wide and he swiveled to glare at Nate. “Do not think such a thing. He would be in too much danger. Invincible One would be very mad if he found out and might harm him.”

  Nate smiled. “So you do care for him.”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then why did you run away?”

  “I had to. I made Invincible One angry.”

  “How?”

  “I would rather not say,” Gray Badger signed, then tried to make himself comfortable.

  “What harm can it do?” Nate pressed.

  Gray Badger pondered a few moments. “Very well. I was curious, like all the boys. I wanted to learn where Invincible One gets his medicine. So when Lame Elk, my friend, dared me, I spied on Invincible One by cutting a hole in the side of his lodge.”

  “And he caught you?”

  “Yes, and came running out, very mad. I shamed myself by running. He yelled for men to catch me so he could beat me. Since there are some who do whatever he asks, and since I knew they would have to fight my father to get to me, I left.”

  More pieces of the puzzle fit into place. Nate was more impressed than ever by the boy’s maturity.

  “You left to protect your father. You did not want him clashing with Invincible One.”

  “What else could I do?” Gray Badger lay flat. “Now excuse me. I must sleep.”

  In under a minute the young Crow was lost to the world. Nate tried to stay awake a while longer to mull over the best course of action for him to take, but he was unable to keep his eyes open. It seemed as if he had hardly closed them when chirping sparrows brought him around to find the sun peeking over the horizon. Nate stretched as he stood.

  Gray Badger slept on undisturbed. The pack-horse was trying to get at a patch of nearby grass. But there was no sign of the chestnut, which had wandered off during the night.

  Nate had a good idea where the animal had gotten to, but before looking he untied the packhorse so it could get at
the grass. A short run brought him to the narrow plain. His hunch proved accurate, for forty yards out grazed the chestnut. Nate started to fetch it, then froze.

  A quarter of a mile beyond the horse a large body of Crows had appeared, evidently all the warriors missing from the village the night before. And they were heading right toward him.

  Chapter Seven

  Shakespeare McNair s astonishment at discovering the Invincible One to be white was compounded by a second shock when the man came close enough for Shakespeare to see his features. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he exclaimed.

  “What’s the matter?” Tim Curry asked, moving closer.

  “Why, he is the prince’s jester,” Shakespeare quoted. “A very dull fool.”

  Tim peered out and blinked several times. “As I live and breathe, we’re saved! That trapper must be friendly with the Crows! I bet they’ll let us go if he asks them.”

  “I’d take that bet but I’d be stealing your money,” Shakespeare said. He moved aside as the Invincible One bent to enter. He studied the man’s harshly angular features, and saw recognition in the other’s darkly smoldering eyes. “Fancy meeting you again,” he commented.

  Jacob Pierce knelt in the opening and gave them both a look of utter disdain before focusing on Shakespeare. “Greetings, McNair. I never figured you would be careless enough to be taken by the Crows or anyone else. Must be your years catching up with you.”

  Tim Curry was so overjoyed to see a fellow trapper that he didn’t notice the man’s expression or tone. He leaned forward and twisted to reveal his bound wrists, declaring, “I don’t know who you are, friend, but I’ll be eternally grateful if you would cut us loose and convince these savages to release us. You have no idea of the nightmare we’ve been through. Until I saw you, I thought we were doomed.”

  Pierce reached out and touched the rope. Without warning, he gripped Curry’s forearms and gave them a brutal wrench, causing the greenhorn to cry out. Curry tried to pull loose but couldn’t. “Who is this fool, McNair?” Pierce sneered, and shoved Curry to the ground.