Hawken Fury (Giant Wilderness Book One)

by Robbins, David

  Ruxton tried to evade the blow. In desperation he hauled his arm back but he was too late. The tomahawk sank into his yielding flesh an inch shy of the joint, biting deep, severing major veins because immediately a geyser of blood spurted forth. He threw back his head and screamed.

  Stepping in close, Nate reduced the scream to a gurgling whine by slashing his knife across Ruxton’s throat. Pivoting, he buried the tomahawk in the side of Ruxton’s neck, and when Ruxton staggered backwards he wielded the tomahawk again with all the strength he could muster.

  The tomahawk, which had already cleaved a gash inches deep, practically beheaded the man. Ruxton’s head flopped over and he crashed into a wall and slid to the ground, his eyes locked wide open in amazement at his own demise.

  Losing no time and heedless of the blood on both weapons, Nate stuck the tomahawk under his belt, jammed the knife in its sheath, and anxiously searched for the Hawken. He found the rifle moments later, scooped it into his hands, and raced for the end of the alley. Campbell and the brother were bound to have heard the scream. They would be on his heels in a flash.

  He was almost to the avenue when a rifle boomed and the ball buzzed past his ear. Rounding the corner on the right, he poured on the speed. There were dozens of people in the street, including many couples strolling arm in arm. They all gave him a wide berth or moved out of the way, a few of the men shouting questions, demanding to know what all the commotion was about.

  If they only knew.

  Nate glanced over his shoulder and saw a thin figure dash out of the alley and sprint in pursuit. Potential witnesses wouldn’t deter the other Ruxton now. Knowing the Ruxtons as he did, Nate guessed the surviving brother was mad with rage and craved revenge. The second Ruxton would stop at nothing until he was dead and buried.

  “Look out, you fool!”

  He faced front, startled to see a stunned couple mere yards away, and threw himself to the right to avoid a collision. As it was his shoulder slammed into the shoulder of the man and nearly knocked the irate citizen off his feet. He kept on running, a string of curses in his wake. He heard angry shouting farther behind caused by the bull-headed Ruxton, who was considerably less considerate of the pedestrians and bowled over any in his path.

  An intersection appeared, and on a whim Nate sped across the avenue, narrowly avoiding a passing carriage, and down a side street. Had he taken a right he would have wound up near the tavern, and he suspected that Campbell would be coming from that direction to head him off.

  Lining the street were stately older residences. It was one of the affluent sections of the city where the rich lived in luxury every bit the equal of that enjoyed by their counterparts in New York City or Paris. There were high hedges and lush yards and tall trees on either side.

  He stuck to the street and repeatedly looked back, expecting to see the avenging Ruxton brother appear at any second. Oddly, he didn’t. Forty yards from the intersection he came to what appeared to be a city park and halted. Cocking the Hawken, he waited. Where was Ruxton? he wondered.

  A full minute went by and Ruxton didn’t appear. Nate realized he was standing in the dim glow from a lantern suspended next to a gate across the street, and promptly moved into deep shadow under a spreading willow tree where he couldn’t be seen. When another minute elapsed he concluded the brother had indeed given up, if only temporarily.

  He waited five more minutes to be sure, though. Then he cautiously started back toward the avenue. Somehow he must locate Tricky Dick Harrington or Santa Fe Bill soon or be forced to spend the night on the streets, a distinctly unappealing prospect given all the footpads and worse loose in the city between dusk and dawn.

  The snap of a twig saved his life.

  Nate pivoted to see the second Ruxton brother hurtling over a low hedge on his right. Knife out, teeth exposed in a savage snarl, Ruxton swooped down like a lean bird of prey. Nate barely got the rifle high enough to deflect the knife before the brother smashed into him and they both tumbled to the ground.

  Again Nate lost the rifle. He rolled, grimacing as pain racked his shoulder. He surged to his knees, drawing both pistols as he rose and extending both arms, his thumbs pulling back the hammers. Like a panther Ruxton had leaped erect and now charged, his knife aloft, livid with stark fury.

  Nate fired both pistols simultaneously. A cloud of smoke enveloped both muzzles and for a few anxious seconds he couldn’t see Ruxton. Then the breeze cleared the smoke and he saw the brother lying flat and lifeless not a yard away. Elated, he started to lower the pistols when a heavy hand fell on his shoulder and he spun, just knowing all his effort had been in vain, that it would be Robert Campbell with a flintlock aimed at his head.

  Instead, to his profound and thorough consternation, it was Shakespeare McNair.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  “Shakespeare.” Nate shouted, rising and impulsively hugging his mentor. Indescribable waves of pure joy washed over him. He was stunned, confused, disoriented. “How?” he blurted out. “You can’t be!”

  “Not now,” Shakespeare said, looking at the dead Ruxton. “Those shots will draw folks from all over. We have to get out of here.” He took hold of Nate’s arm and started to hasten off.

  “Wait!” Nate said. “My rifle.” He wedged the flintlocks under his belt, retrieved the Hawken, and excitedly followed on McNair’s heels as the ancient mountain man dashed into the night faster than most men half his age were capable of doing. They ran to the corner and turned left while all around them there were loud cries as people tried to find out who had done the shooting.

  After going a hundred yards Shakespeare slowed and walked along the side of the street. “We’re in the clear.”

  Nate noticed that his friend kept glancing around as if expecting to be attacked at any moment. “Don’t worry. I think I lost Campbell.”

  Shakespeare glanced at him. “Robert Campbell is in St. Louis?”

  “He showed up at the Flint and Powder with the Ruxtons,” Nate explained, savoring the sweet elation of having been reunited with the man he esteemed more than any other. “But forget about him! How did you find me? Better yet, what are you doing alive? Adeline told me you had been killed by the same Indians who killed Winona and Zach. And how”

  “Nate, your wife is alive,” Shakespeare said, cutting him off. “So is your son.”

  “What?” Nate said, and halted. It felt as if his entire body had suddenly gone completely numb. He tingled from head to toe and had the greatest difficulty in forming coherent thoughts.

  “Winona and Zach are alive,” Shakespeare reiterated. “Zach is fine, but Winona was shot and she’s still weak from the loss of blood. Doc Sawyer says she’ll be fit as a fiddle in another week or two.”

  “Shot?” Nate repeated, utterly confounded. He tried to take a step and couldn’t. For some reason his limbs were locked in place. “I don’t understand,” he said weakly.

  Shakespeare tugged on Nate’s arm. “I’ll explain on the way. We can’t stay here. Not only is there Campbell to worry about, but you know better than I do that Adeline and her husband will stop at nothing to have you killed now that you’ve escaped their clutches.”

  “You know about them?”

  “We learned about them only today. Now come along,” Shakespeare directed, and practically dragged Nate after him. “I won’t feel safe until we’re at Tricky Dick’s.”

  Dumbly, obediently, like a long-lost puppy following its newly found master, Nate followed Shakespeare along a winding maze of streets, avenues, and alleys. He lost all track of time. He lost all track of distance. His sense of direction was completely askew. When he was finally led into a house he barely paid attention to what kind or where it was located. Seated at a table were Blue Water Woman, Tricky Dick Harrington, and another woman who must be Dick’s wife. They were beaming happily.

  “You found him at last!” Tricky Dick exclaimed, coming over and clapping Nate on the shoulders.

  “Pierre and Logan were right,�
�� Shakespeare said. “They did see him at the Flint and Powder. By the time I got there he had left and the tavern was in an uproar. It seemed a man had just been killed in the alley out back, and when I went out I saw it was one of the Ruxton brothers. So I began asking every person I could find if they had seen anyone leave the alley. Thank God there were plenty who remembered seeing two men run by. I caught up with him just after he killed the other Ruxton.”

  “Good riddance to trash,” Tricky Dick said, and looked into Nate’s eyes. “Are you all right? Would you like to sit down?”

  “No,” Nate said softly. “My wife and son. Where are they?”

  “In the bedroom there,” Tricky Dick said. “They’re both asleep. But neither of them have slept much at all since you were kidnapped by that—” he caught himself and glanced at his wife “—woman.”

  Nate shuffled toward the door, but stopped when Shakespeare addressed him.

  “There are a few things you should know before you go in there. I’ll let Winona tell you who shot her. She was trying to stop your former sweetheart and her husband from carting you off. We’ve been hunting for you ever since. Doc Sawyer had to pressure one of his colleagues, a Doctor Mangel, into telling him where you were being held. Apparently Mangel was paid a hefty sum to keep it secret.”

  “That’s right,” Tricky Dick confirmed. “McNair and I had put the word out among all the trappers in the city to be on the lookout for a man answering your description. It was two of them who spotted you at the tavern. They might not have recognized you if it wasn’t for those stitches in your forehead.”

  Nate recalled the two men who had stared at him and then hurried out of the Flint and Powder. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

  “We still don’t know what Adeline and Rhey Debussy were up to,” Shakespeare mentioned. “Care to tell us later?”

  “I will,” Nate promised, and stepped to the closed door. He leaned the Hawken against the wall, then entered. A lantern on a table, turned low, cast enough light to enable him to clearly see Winona slumbering in a bed and Zach lying on a quilt on the floor. Beside the boy lay Samson. The huge dog lifted its massive head, uttered a low whine, and padded over, its tail bobbing crazily.

  “Hello, big fellow,” Nate said softly, and nearly choked on the words. Tears filled both eyes. He blinked, swallowed, and bent to stroke Samson’s neck and chin. “Never thought I’d be glad to see your ugly face.”

  Straightening, Nate stepped to a chair and carried it closer to the bed, to a spot where he could sit and see both his wife and son. He slumped into the chair, feeling weak, his temples throbbing. Zach snored lightly while Winona’s lips quivered every now and then. He stared at them, overwhelmed by his exquisite good fortune.

  They were alive!

  They were alive!!!

  More tears flowed. He tried to hold them back and couldn’t. They poured out of his eyes and down over his cheeks and chin and he simply sat there and let them. His nose ran but he didn’t care. There was a constriction in his throat but he didn’t mind. All that mattered was seeing his loved ones again and knowing he would once again hold them in his arms and care for them as a devoted husband and father. Nothing else seemed important.

  Zach tossed in his sleep, rolling onto his back, and Samson walked over and licked the boy’s forehead. Zach mumbled and swatted at the air as if at a fly.

  It was too much for Nate. He buried his head in his hands and let the tears gush in earnest. A bottomless well had been tapped and there was no end to the geyser. Low sobs were torn from his throat and his chest heaved with the mere effort of breathing. He doubled over, racked with misery, and cried uncontrollably.

  Suddenly he stiffened. Two sets of arms, one big and one small, had encircled his shoulders, and he lifted his head to gaze tenderly into the tear-filled eyes of Winona and Zach. His wife bent down to tenderly kiss him on the brow while his son tried to hug the life out of him. How long they embraced he could not say, but at long last he forced himself to stand and escorted Winona to the bed. She slid against the wall and he lifted Zach up beside her. Then he sank down on the outside, on his side, and draped an arm over both of them. None of them bothered to speak since no words were necessary. Nate looked from one to the other until his eyelids became heavy from fatigue and he drifted asleep, the happiest man alive.

  An elbow in the ribs abruptly awakened Nate and his eyes snapped open in alarm. For a fleeting instant he had imagined himself back in Adeline’s clutches, but the sight of his wife and son calmed him and he smiled contentedly. Zach, whose tossing and turning had been responsible for rousing him, was still sleeping. Winona, however, must have been awake for some time. She was lying still, affectionately staring at him. “Good morning, dearest,” he whispered.

  “Good morning, husband,” Winona said softly, and reached out to stroke his cheek. “We have missed you.”

  “How do you feel? Shakespeare told me that you were shot.”

  “I am weak but I live,” Winona said, tracing the outline of his ear with her forefinger. “And now that you have returned to us safe and well I will heal quickly.”

  “Who shot you?”

  “I only knew his first name at the time. He came here with Adeline Van Buren while I was watching over you and they took you away, Since then I have learned from Shakespeare that the man’s full name is Rhey Debussy and he is Adeline’s husband.”

  “I know,” Nate said, scarcely able to contain the flaming hatred that coursed through his being. Rhey Debussy! He never had liked the man, and now his feelings were justified. Was it possible that somehow, deep down, he had sensed what the murdering swine had done to Winona? Did that explain his immediate dislike?

  “We did not learn the identity of the man with Adeline until yesterday morning when Doctor Sawyer paid us a visit. For some time he had suspected another doctor named Mangel knew where you were being held, but Mangel would not tell him at first,” Winona related, and tears rimmed her eyes. “All we knew was that Adeline, a man named Rhey, and another named Yancy were involved. But we did not know the last names of the men and had no—”

  “Yancy?” Nate said suddenly.

  “Yes. He works for a man named Jacques Debussy. On the day you were taken by Adeline and Rhey, this Yancy came up to Shakespeare, Tricky Dick, and Ruth while they were out shopping and asked them for directions to a hotel in the middle of the city. They had to draw a map in the dirt before he understood and went away.”

  “He was deliberately stalling them,” Nate deduced, his features hardening. So the foreman had played him for a fool too!

  “That is what Shakespeare guessed,” Winona said. “But he didn’t know for certain until yesterday evening when Doctor Sawyer pointed Jacques Debussy and Yancy out to him at the Devil Tavern. Then Shakespeare figured everything out.”

  Nate placed a hand on her neck and gently stroked her soft skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

  “For what?”

  “For all you’ve been through because of my stupidity.”

  “It was Adeline Van Buren and her husband who have caused us all this harm, not you.”

  Filled with guilt and remorse, Nate shook his head. “I should never have come to St. Louis. I should have put Adeline from my mind the minute that trapper told me that she wanted to see me.”

  “Why did she sent for you?” Winona inquired.

  Nate told her everything, about how Adeline and Rhey needed money and had schemed to obtain his inheritance. About how they had spirited him to the estate of Rhey’s brother, Jacques. About the lies concerning Winona and Zach being dead. About his encounter with the black woman from Africa, the subsequent tragedy, and his narrow escape. About his fight with the Ruxtons and being found by Shakespeare.

  Winona listened attentively. When he concluded she averted her eyes and sniffled. “Now it is I who should apologize.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “I failed you as a wife. I did not have the faith in you every
wife should have in her husband.”

  “I don’t understand,” Nate said, puzzled.

  She looked at him, her eyes haunted by self-reproach. “I was not certain you would come back to me. I thought you might prefer Adeline over me.”

  “Never!” Nate said vehemently, and was stunned when she began weeping. He caressed her hair and squeezed her arm and assured her again and again that he loved her, but she cried continuously for over ten minutes. When the tears ceased he offered a comforting smile. “When will you get it into your pretty head that the only woman I love is you? I wouldn’t have married you if I cared for someone else, and now that I have you I’m never letting you go. You’re stuck with me until we’re both in our graves, and even longer if you take the Good Book into account. I have known more joy with you, Winona, than I ever believed it was possible to experience. So get used to me. I’m yours forever.” He smiled again, pleased with himself, positive his kind words would make her exceedingly glad. So he was all the more astounded when she started crying again, only worse than before.

  He lay there and waited for her to calm down, wishing he understood her better. What had he said to upset her again? Sometimes he wondered if men and women were ever meant to have a complete understanding of each other. They were so different, and not just physically. Men and women were as emotionally and mentally different as two sides of a coin, yet together they complemented one another as if meant to do so by a higher power.

  “I will never doubt you again, husband,” Winona said at length. “If I ever do you may send me back to my people.”

  “Didn’t you hear me? You’re staying with me forever,” Nate told her, and had started to lean forward to give her a kiss when he accidentally bumped into Zach and woke the boy up.