“He’s not touched in the head,” Nate said. “He’s just determined.”
“You wouldn’t praise him so freely if you knew what I know,” Niles stated.
“Which is?”
“When Campbell told you he’s been practicing, he wasn’t fooling. For the past four months he’s spent every spare moment wrestling a bear.”
If a grain of blowing dust had suddenly struck Nate, he would have toppled from his saddle. “A bear?”
“A big black bear. It belonged to that French Canadian, Chevalier. He raised the bear from a cub and taught it to wrestle, then he took it around offering twenty dollars to anyone who could beat it. No one ever could.”
Nate had heard of the wrestling bear a few years back, but the last he knew the bear and its owner were up in Canada.
“After a while word about that bear spread and Chevalier couldn’t find any takers, so he came south to visit Campbell. I hear they worked together as voyageurs once. Campbell bought the bear and has been tussling with it every darned day since.”
No wonder Campbell had been so confident! Nate stared after the departing trapper, realizing he might have been duped. Campbell had put on a bit of weight and none of it appeared to be fat.
“There’s a rumor going around that Campbell can now pin that bear four out of five tries,” Niles
went on. “The money will be on him this year, I reckon.”
As well it should. Back in the States there were many traveling acts that toured the country and entertained for a modest price. Nate had seen men eat fire, women walk on high wires, and performers who worked with wild beasts in cages. And once, when only six or seven, his Uncle Zeke had taken him to see a man who wrestled a tame bear. The man had been big and strong but the bear had handled him as if he were a child. Afterward, the man had offered anyone in the audience a chance to wrestle the bear for a half dime, and five or six hardy souls had tried their best. The bear had pinned every last one.
Shakespeare chuckled. “Seems to me you’d better head into the mountains and rustle up a grizzly you can practice on.”
“I bet everyone at the Rendezvous turns out for this match,” Niles predicted. “Why, even the missionaries might like to see it.”
Nate’s shoulders slumped. The last thing he wanted was to be humiliated in front of every trapper in the Rockiest not to mention strangers he didn’t even know. Stories about the match would spread by word of mouth until every white man and Indian between the Mississippi and the Pacific Ocean heard the tale.
“To wrestle, or not to wrestle. That is the question,” Shakespeare declared impishly. “Whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to suffer the sling and arrows of outrageous fortune, or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing end them.”
“You are no help whatsoever,” Nate told him.
“Excuse me, husband,” Winona threw in. “Blue Water Woman and I have decided we should make our camp together. It will be nice to sit and talk and we can visit our own people any time we please.”
“Fine,” Nate said absently, and then perceived the women must have been discussing where to stay the whole time and had hardly paid attention to the talk about Robert Campbell. “Did you happen to hear about the wrestling bear?” he asked.
“I heard,” Winona said.
“And you’re not the least bit worried that Campbell might beat me?”
“No.”
“Why not, may I ask?”
“No man can beat you.”
Nate almost took her in his arms to give her a hug to end all hugs. Her unbounded confidence in him sometimes made him feel uncomfortable, especially since he had no idea what he had done to deserve it. Sure, he’d slain a few grizzlies and saved her from the Blackfeet and others, but many free trappers had done as much for their wives and his feats weren’t remarkable in any respect. Yet she regarded him as a supremely capable man. At times he suspected she believed he was practically invincible, which disturbed him.
One of the lessons he’d learned since coming to the mountains was that no one knew when their time on this earth was up. Death claimed everyone sooner or later, and for trappers it often came suddenly and was totally unexpected. A man might be out checking his trap line and be attacked by hostile Indians, or a grizzly might pop up out of the brush and crush his skull with a single swipe. A rattlesnake might spook the man’s horse, and the horse would throw him and break his neck. There were a thousand and one ways a man could die and the majority were unpleasant.
Winona’s inspiring assurance in his ability filled Nate with pride, yet it troubled him at the same time. He was afraid a day would come when he would fail her, and his failure would occur when she needed him the most.
“I’d better be on my way,” Niles commented, shattering Nate’s contemplation. “I’m staying with a Nez Percé friend and he’ll be expecting me.” He turned his horse. “I’ll look you up tomorrow.” With a wave he was gone.
“We should set up our camp before it gets dark,” Shakespeare proposed.
They rode north along the bank of the Green River until they found an isolated spot in a clearing among pines and a few quaking aspen. The horses were picketed, the saddles removed, and their supplies and pelts piled high to one side. Then Nate and Shakespeare constructed a serviceable lean-to for the women and Zach.
The sun hovered above the western horizon when Shakespeare went off to bag meat for their supper. Nate arranged their packs and parfleches next to the lean-to and took the horses to the river to drink. Gazing out over the serene encampment, he heard a man singing an old Scottish song. Dozens of columns of smoke drifted skyward from the four Indian camps. At the Flathead village, which was the closest, children ran and laughed accompanied by a frisky barking puppy.
The primitive scene etched itself indelibly in Nate’s mind. He could smell the wood smoke and the aroma of roasting buffalo. Looking at the lean-to he saw Winona talking to Blue Water Woman while Zach played with Samson. For that idyllic moment, in that suspended moment of time and that tranquil, picturesque place, he was content and happy. He had a wife and son who loved him, good friends who cared for him as much as he cared for them, and all around them reared the majestic Rocky Mountains.
What more could any man want?
He had the horses picketed and was seated beside a growing fire when Shakespeare returned bearing three dead rabbits. The mountain man gave them to his wife, then joined Nate.
“After we eat I’m going to rustle up a bottle.”
“Have you been in a lot of pain?” Nate asked, careful to speak in a low tone so the women couldn’t overhear.
“In the mornings, mainly. Just like always,” Shakespeare said. He stared blankly into the crackling flames, then sighed. “If my time does come, I want you to help Blue Water Woman the best you can.”
“Quit talking that way. You’ll be around for years.”
“I’d like to. I surely would. There’s so much I haven’t done yet, so much I’ve always wanted to
do. I’ve never been south of Santa Fe and I hear the country down there is worth seeing. I never found that gold I was looking for, and—”
“Gold?” Nate interrupted. “Since when have you been interested in gold?”
“Ever since I heard tell about the mining the Spaniards used to do in the Rockies. An old Ute once told me there was a mine not too far south of your cabin.”
“He was wrong. The Spanish never came that far north.”
“Yes, they did, but few know it. Old Badger Hair never told a lie in his life and he got the news straight from his own grandfather. Seems the Spaniards took a fortune in gold from those mountains before they were driven out.”
Nate had heard tales too. Every trapper had. But few gave them much credence, and those who did had no idea where the Spanish mines were located, and weren’t about to waste precious time that could be better spent trapping beaver in searching for the lost wealth.
“Will you?” Shakespeare asked, l
ooking at him.
“Will I what?”
“Do whatever you can for Blue Water Woman. It would be better for her to go back to her people, but I expect she’ll try and remain at our place. If I know you’ll watch out for her, I’ll go easier.”
Nate disliked thinking about the possibility of his friend dying. He glumly wrapped his arms around his knees, and a hand fell on his arm.
“Please.”
“You know I will,” Nate said, and shifted uncomfortably under McNair’s pleading eyes.
Shakespeare sat back and smiled in relief. “Thanks, son. I knew I could count on you.”
Remembering his plan to find Jim Bridger or Joe Meek to ask their advice, Nate tried to come up with a plausible excuse for slipping away the next day. He certainly didn’t want Shakespeare to tag along.
Footsteps crunched in the brush and four men suddenly appeared out of the dark, all trappers similarly attired in buckskins and toting rifles. Niles Thompson was in the lead.
“Hello, the fire. Mind some company?”
“Light and sit a spell,” Nate replied, glad for the diversion. He wondered if Thompson might be able to help him. “I thought you were at the Nez Percé camp.”
“I was,” Niles replied, advancing with the others. “But two things came to my attention and I figured I’d best see you right away.”
“What two things?”
“A Nez Percé hunter found Blackfoot sign north of their village. He estimated twenty warriors in the raiding party. They’re all on foot, but knowing those bastards they won’t be for long if they can get their hands on some stock.”
Nate nodded. The Blackfeet often conducted their raids on foot. That way, if a brave wanted to save himself a lot of wear and tear on his feet and ride back to his village he had to steal a horse. Perhaps because of that, when it came to stealing horseflesh none were more skilled than the Blackfeet.
“Bridger thinks we should get together some men and scout around, see if we can find these Blackfeet before they attack. Since you’re one of the best trackers I know of, I naturally thought of you.”
“I’ll go,” Nate volunteered without hesitation. “Provided someone is handy to protect my family.”
“Good,” Niles said, and glanced at a lean trapper on his right. “There’s one more thing, though. This here is Charley Gordon. He was in St. Louis about five weeks ago and ran into someone who knows you.”
“Oh?” Nate said, and stared at Gordon, a young trapper who sported curly black hair.
“Yes, sir,” Gordon responded. “I was at the Hawken shop stocking up on my ammunition and powder when Sam Hawken asked me if I was going to the Rendezvous. When I told him I was, he asked me to stop by the Chouteau House. There was this woman, he said, who was real anxious to get in touch with one of the mountaineers and he figured I could take a message for her.”
“A woman?” Nate repeated, mystified. He knew no women in St. Louis.
“Yep. A real pretty lady, she is. Her name is Adeline Van Buren.”
Chapter Seven
If the ground had suddenly opened and swallowed him whole, Nate would not have been more shocked. He sat in a daze, his mouth parted, only vaguely aware that Winona’s head had snapped up at the mention of his former sweetheart and that Shakespeare had come alert at the news. He became conscious of the curious stares of Niles Thompson and the rest and forced his mind to work and his mouth to move. “I knew a woman by that name once, back in New York City.”
“Well, she’s in St. Louis now and she’s hankering to see you,” Gordon reported.
“Did she say why?” Nate inquired, struggling to compose his swirling thoughts. Adeline wasn’t the sort to enjoy life on the frontier. She relished city living too much. She thrived on wealth, on the theater, on extravagant dances. He couldn’t imagine anything that would induce her to forgo the comforts of New York City for the more primitive atmosphere of St. Louis.
“No, sir, she didn’t,” Gordon said. “But she practically begged me to look you up.” He paused, noting Nate’s expression. “I did gather she’d been hunting you for quite some time, and had about given up when someone suggested letting the Hawken brothers know. Pretty smart too, if you ask me. Every trapper in these mountains stops by the Hawken shop sooner or later.”
Nate absently nodded. He deliberately avoided looking at Winona because he didn’t want her to see the emotional turmoil undoubtedly reflected in his eyes. At the mention of Adeline’s name all his old feelings for her had welled up inside of him. He had them under control again, but it bothered him that he could still feel affection for her after having been married to Winona for so many years.
“She’s not alone,” Gordon said.
“What?” Nate responded, listening with only half an ear as he stared at his moccasins. Should he go see her or not? Doing so might upset Winona tremendously.
“There’s a gent with her,” Gordon disclosed. “From New York, I reckon. Slim as a rail, and he has the face of a rattler. I wouldn’t trust him as far as I could heave a bull buffalo.”
Nate thoughtfully chewed on his lower lip. Who could this stranger be? A relative of Adeline’s? Her husband, perhaps?
“He sat near us in the hotel lobby while we were talking,” Gordon said. “And he kept watching me like a panther about to pounce on its prey. I didn’t take to him and I’m afraid it showed.”
“You didn’t get his name?”
“No, sir. She didn’t mention it and I wasn’t about to pry. I spotted a pair of pistols under his fancy jacket, and his hands were never far from them. If you run into him, you be careful. He’s poison through and through.”
“Thanks,” Nate said.
Niles coughed and motioned for his companions to move off. “Be seeing you, Nate. Come to the Nez Percé camp at first light if you’re still of a mind to help track down those infernal Blackfeet.”
“I’ll be there,” Nate promised, although at that moment he didn’t feel like venturing into the forest after the raiding party. He didn’t feel like doing much of anything.
Shakespeare added a few branches to the fire and waited until the men were long gone before he spoke. “Isn’t this an interesting development? I remember you telling me about sparking that Van Buren girl, but I’d never have guessed she’s still interested in you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Nate snapped.
“Why else has she gone to so much trouble to find you?”
“How am I supposed to know? And I don’t see where it’s any of your business.”
“True,” McNair said softly, and sighed. “But I am your best friend, or so you’ve led me to believe.”
Nate knew Shakespeare had been offended by his brusque behavior, and he searched for the proper words to mend the rift.
“Perhaps you’re right. She might have traveled across half a continent for another reason,” Shakespeare said wryly, and then quoted the bard. “There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”
Not about to bandy words with a man who could talk rings around a tree, Nate looped his arms over his knees and marveled at the incredible turn of events. He’d never expected to see Adeline again. This surprising news filled him with conflicting currents of curiosity and reservation.
A figure materialized at his side.
“Do you plan to see this woman, husband?”
Nate glanced up. Winona’s features were inscrutable but her tone had been strained. “I honestly don’t know yet. My first reaction is shrug it off. Why should I, when Adeline and I mean nothing to each other anymore? But I can’t help wonder. Maybe she’s brought news of my family.”
“Perhaps,” Winona said with as little conviction as it was humanly possible to convey.
“Maybe she intends to marry that nasty gentleman Gordon was telling us about,” Shakespeare commented. “Maybe she wants to invite you to the wedding.”
Nate stared at him. “Has anyone ever told you that you h
ave a deplorable sense of humor?”
“If you decide to go, I am going with you,” Winona declared.
“What about Zach?”
“He is our son. He goes with us.”
“The trip will take about three weeks and we’d have to cross Arapaho and Cheyenne territory. You would be safer staying at home.”
“You do not want us to come?”
The hurt in her tone made Nate blink. “What a silly question. If you insist on going along, I won’t object.” He stood and took her hands in his. “I was only thinking of your safety. Your people aren’t on friendly terms with the Arapahos and Cheyennes, and you know they wouldn’t hesitate to take you captive.”
“I would face any danger with you by my side.”
Disregarding the presence of Shakespeare and Blue Water Woman, Nate tenderly embraced Winona and held her close. He could feel her trembling slightly as if she were cold even though the weather was warm. “You have nothing to worry about,” he whispered in her ear. “I love you and only you. If I see Adeline it will not have any effect on us.”
Winona nodded, then silently walked to the lean-to, where little Zach had curled up beside Samson and was sound asleep.
“You can’t blame her for being upset,” Shakespeare said quietly.
Nate sat down and poked a stick into the flames. “She should know better,” he insisted.
“Think. Put yourself in her place. How many trappers have taken Indian wives and then gone off and left them? How many Shoshoni, Flathead, and Nez Percé women have been forced to rear half-breed children on their own after being abandoned?”
“I would never do that to Winona.”
“You know it and I know it, and in her heart Winona knows it too. But her head right now is telling her she might lose you and she can’t stand the thought.”
“Then I’ll go over and tell her to her face.”
“Won’t do any good,” Shakespeare said. “Women only take a man’s word when they’re courting. After marriage they doubt everything a man says. He has to show them, to prove himself by his deeds.”
“Winona believes everything I tell her,” Nate stated flatly.
Hawken Fury (Giant Wilderness Book One) Page 5
