Mountain Magic

by Simmons, Trana Mae

  "I haven't heard you get back in that water yet!"

  Caitlyn gasped and scurried to the pond. She splashed into the water, raising her knees higher than necessary and bringing her feet back down with enough force to send waves away from her — and make plenty of noise. At least her movements warmed her body and counteracted the frigidness of the water. When the water reached her waist, she paused and turned around.

  Tentatively, eyes glued on the two figures protecting her to make sure they kept their backs to her, Caitlyn slipped off her dress and tossed it toward the bank. It landed on the rock she had slipped the leather-bound book beneath just before she'd started to undress a moment ago. With a sigh of pleasure, she laid back in the water, luxuriating in the silky feel of it surrounding her and the weightlessness of her body.

  She could feel the globs of dirt washing away, freeing her legs to kick more easily. The desire for cleanliness, which she had trained her mind to ignore, crept over her. Her toes bobbed to the surface and Caitlyn glanced down toward them, but her full breasts wavered in the gentle current before her eyes. She giggled and raised a hand from the water to push one down so she could see her toes wiggle. As soon as she removed her fingers, the breast bounced back up, the nipple standing out in the frigid water, slightly puckered.

  Caitlyn curved her body and disappeared beneath the surface, imitating the otters she had watched. Legs kicking like scissors and arms moving smoothly, she pulled herself through the liquid silkiness until she had to surface for breath. She cast a surreptitious look toward Jon and Silas. The moonlight gave enough illumination for her to tell their backs were still toward her.

  Somewhat reluctantly, Caitlyn swam into shallower water and stood. She lathered the soap between her palms, transferring the lather to her hair. When she was satisfied with the amount of lather in her raven locks, she tossed the soap to the bank and worked her fingers through the black mass of tangles.

  Caitlyn retrieved the soap two more times before she felt her hair was sufficiently clean, then plodded through the water to sit on the bank and work on the the remainder of her body.

  "Silas, I don't care how much older or more experienced than me you think you are," Jon repeated. "It won't cause anything but trouble. Hell, I'll take some cooking lessons, if that's what's bothering you."

  "It ain't just the cookin', Jon. Thought we talked about this a'for. I'm gettin' old, yeah, and I'm lots older than you. That means I gotta start thinkin' 'bout how I'm gonna take care of myself when I can't trap all winter. I ain't never been able to bring in enough furs to much more than buy myself a new outfit for the next winter. Danged traps break and have to be replaced. Cost forty dollars, they do! You know how many furs it takes to make forty dollars to buy a new trap?"

  "Yeah," Jon admitted. "You told me. Thirteen or fourteen dollars, depending on the quality of the furs."

  "And that's if you can buy enough traps. Told you the traders got a limit on the number of traps each man can buy, so's it's fair for everyone. Cat's got her own traps in that there cabin she and Mick built. With the three of us, we can run the lines more often — get the skins quicker and not lose as many to varmits. Have help tannin' 'em, too. Be a lot more profit for all three of us come next summer."

  "You're actually going to ask a woman to help run the traplines? You're out of your mind. You know how dangerous it can be. Why, there's grizzlies and wolves out there. Wolverines. And what about the blizzards that come up without warning? You got lost yourself for almost a week last winter and were half-starved when you got back to camp."

  "Cat's run lines with Mick almost since she could walk," Silas informed him. "She grew up in these mountains and bet she knows as much as me 'bout takin' care of herself. But who said anythin' about her runnin' lines? She kin stay at camp, cook the food, tan the hides. Leave us free for other things."

  "It makes sense when you put it like that," Jon admitted. "But what about her and me? You can tell neither one of us likes the other and we've been spitting and snarling at each other all evening. What about that peace and quiet you value so highly?"

  "We'll be out runnin' lines most of the time, Jon. You won't have to put up with her much. And think how rich we'll be after a couple winters of bringin' in twice as many furs as any other trappers."

  "A couple of winters! Silas, we haven't even made it through this one yet!"

  "Yoo hoo!" Caitlyn called in a sticky-sweet voice. "'S'cuse me, but I think that there's a puma cat lyin' on that rock just above your heads!"

  ****

  Chapter 3

  Silas let out a whoop and dived under the ledge beside them.

  "Move, boyo!" he shouted when he saw Jon crouched in the open, his rifle aimed at the rocks above him.

  The rifle spit fire, drowning out Silas's shout. A tawny body tumbled toward Jon, amid a shower of rocks and small boulders gathering in the body's path. Jon awkwardly tried to fling himself aside, but one rock ricocheted from the ledge and hit him squarely on the head. He crumpled to the ground, the puma's dead weight landing on his legs.

  Caitlyn screamed in dismay and grabbed the white shirt from the pile of clothing as she raced past. Shrugging into it as she ran, she clasped it around her body, her feet flying as she crossed the distance separating her from Jon and Silas.

  "He...he ain't dead, is he?" she asked Silas as soon as she stopped beside him.

  "Who? Him or the puma?"

  "I can see the puma's dead, darn it!"

  Jon moaned and tossed his head, answering her question.

  Between the two of them, Caitlyn and Silas managed to haul the puma off Jon's legs. As soon as he was free, Caitlyn hurried to Jon's head to examine his wound. She found herself staring into his face and froze in her tracks.

  "Go get your damned clothes on!" Jon spat at her.

  Caitlyn clutched her fist at the neck of the shirt and returned his glare. "I'd've been dressed by now, if you hadn't been stupid enough to shoot at a puma in the dark!"

  Jon struggled into a sitting position, shoving away the small pebbles in his lap. "What was I supposed to do? Let it come down here and attack us? You'd have made a pretty sight trying to get away from that lion in the water!"

  "Don't you know nothin'?" Caitlyn shook her head. "Puma's hate water, unless they have to swim for some reason. And it would've run away soon as it seen we'd spotted it. Fact is, it was leapin' away when you shot. I saw it."

  Jon gritted his teeth and stared at her. The white shirt clung to her wet body, outlining every curve. He could even see the dark spot between her legs. And, yes, those legs definitely complemented the rest of her body. He wrenched his eyes away, struggling to bring his gaze back to her face. Somehow it got caught on her fist — or rather, the dark nipple spots on each side of it.

  Caitlyn felt her legs shake and glanced down at herself, eyes widening in horror when she saw the shirt clinging wetly to every part of her. She gasped and ran back toward the pond, her shaky legs pummeling and her heart pounding in embarrassment. Grabbing the pile of clothing and linen bath sheet, she scurried behind the pine tree that had stopped the soap.

  Silas chuckled loudly and knelt beside Jon. "Boyo, you sure it ain't somethin' besides dislike that's settin' off the sparks a'tween you two?"

  "What the hell's that supposed to mean?"

  "Nothin'. Nothin'," Silas said with a laugh. "'Spect the two of you'll work it out sooner or later. Here. Let me see that there head."

  Jon flinched away when Silas's fingers touched his head, then rigidly took hold of himself and allowed Silas to probe around the cut on his head. He could feel the blood seeping out and his scalp was already tightening from the knot swelling against it. Eyeing the puma that had caused the whole ruckus in distaste, he tried to concentrate on it while Silas checked the gash on his head. At least it kept his mind off what was going on behind that damned pine tree.

  "You're gonna have a sore head for a day or two," Silas mused, "but I've seen worse over the years. We best go d
own to that there pond and wash this out."

  "Like hell," Jon muttered. "You bring our guest back to camp and I'll go on ahead. I brought some water in earlier, and I'll wash this out back there."

  "Whatever you say, boyo," Silas said as he rose. "Best let me load your rifle a'for you go. Don't be safe to be trampin' 'round these hills with an empty gun, though probably ain't nothin' left to bother us after that shot."

  "What about the lion?" Jon asked as he stood up, swaying slightly and grasping a tentative hand to his sore head.

  "I'll come back an' skin it after I bring Cat back. Ain't a real good pelt this time of year, but no sense lettin' it go to waste."

  Silas reached down and picked up Jon's rifle, reloading it from his own powder and shot pouch. He handed it to Jon, a worried look on his face.

  "You sure you can make it back all right? Times I've seen a head wound kick up worse a while after it happens."

  "I'll be fine," Jon assured him. "You just be careful around that little scamp we got stuck with. Seems like she's caused nothing but trouble since Tall Man drug her out of that wigwam. Hope you make it back to camp in one piece, none of your legs or arms broken."

  "She sure is a distractin' little thing, ain't she?" Silas agreed in definite contradiction to Jon's meaning. "Even at my age, it brings back memories."

  Jon snorted in disgust and tramped away.

  Silas waited until he saw Caitlyn emerge from behind the tree, fully dressed, then walked down to meet her. Lordy, she was a little beauty, even in that outlandish outfit. Her hair curled wildly now that it was free from the encrusting dirt, though it still needed a good combing. The white shirt clung in places, but the arid mountain air would dry it quickly. It fell well below her knees, and beneath it, the pantlegs of his old britches were rolled up above trim ankles.

  "You feel better now?" he asked.

  "Well, I feel clean, at least," Caitlyn replied. "And hungry. We left Sky Woman's wigwam before I had supper."

  Silas eyed her indecisively for a second. There wasn't much back at camp to eat — he and Jon had planned to visit one of the eating tents. But he wasn't about to take her with him, especially with her looking like she did and a few hundred drunk trappers wandering around.

  "Uh...how 'bout you wait at camp and I'll take our plates over to one of the tents and get them filled? Someone needs to keep an eye on Jon," he quickly added when he saw the mutinous look on her face. "You know well's I do that rock might've done more damage than it 'pears to've at first."

  "I suppose," Caitlyn said with a sigh. "But he ain't gonna be too happy about me bein' the one left to watch over him. Maybe I ought to go get the food."

  "Not on your life," Silas said grimly. "Come on now."

  Caitlyn gathered up her old, ragged dress, surreptitiously slipping her hand beneath the rock to pull out the journal and wrap it among the folds. She followed Silas back down the trail, her apprehension growing with every step.

  This wasn't turning out to be one of her better ideas. Darn, it had seemed like the perfect opportunity at first. She'd only gone along with Tall Man's plan because it would give her a chance to break free from him and get back into the mountains. She had enough sense to realize she couldn't make it on her own, and she had earned her way while she stayed with Sky Woman. It really chapped her sometimes how the Indian men expected their women to do all the work — saving themselves for hunting and protecting the women and children, they called it!

  Caitlyn snorted softly and Silas glanced over his shoulder.

  "Somethin' wrong?"

  "No. Just thinkin'," Caitlyn replied.

  And lordy, lordy, she was getting tired of thinking. Dash darn it, it made her head hurt, especially when those dark thoughts tried to push out of the corner she kept them locked in. Mick had always told her to never mind about them — took care of her like a baby the few times she woke up petrified with terror, screaming in the night. She wished she could feel those huge old arms around her just one more time.

  The mountains always healed her, though. The rugged, wild, peaceful mountains. Beauty so wondrous it almost hurt her eyes sometimes to look at it. How she had resented it five years ago when the mountain grapevine told Mick about the idea William Henry Ashley had of setting up a central place where the trappers could bring in their furs all at once and trade. Rendezvous, they called it.

  A drunken, month-long binge was more like it. The only tribe that didn't show up was the Blackfeet. Games of chance sprang up at the drop of a hat — the best shot, the best with a knife. Heck, last year they'd even bet on whose beard was the longest.

  And the tall tales heard around the campfires at night. Old Gabe, Jim Bridger, and that yarn about a salty lake west of them that a man could almost walk across. That place they called Colter's Hell, because John Colter insisted he had seen bubbling caldrons and a fountain of water gushing up from the ground at such regular intervals that he could set his pocket watch by it.

  A haunting melody drifted on the wind from a nearby camp, and Caitlyn paused as she recognized the lovely strains of the "Wayfaring Stranger" lament. She even recognized the voice — old Tom Snafferty, another of Paw's friends. That was probably Dick Adkins with his fiddle, playing along.

  Friendships were forged at rendezvous, too, Caitlyn admitted to herself. Lasting friendships between men who only saw each other once a year, yet would give their lives for one of their own. She just hoped Tom didn't decide to sing "Greensleeves," Mick's favorite. Her pain over Paw's death might overwhelm her again if that happened.

  "Cat, come here and help!"

  Caitlyn swung around toward Silas's voice, her face creasing in concern when she saw Silas trying to lift Jon's body from the log it lay draped across. Flinging aside her bundle, she ran over and grabbed one of Jon's arms, straining to assist Silas until they had Jon propped up, his back against the log.

  "Go get that buff'ler hide out of the lean-to," Silas said with a grunt as he caught Jon when he slipped sideways. "Gotta cushion his head."

  Caitlyn returned with the robe in record time, and Silas pushed Jon forward into her arms while he adjusted the hide behind Jon's back. Caitlyn gritted her teeth and braced herself on her knees, her slender figure trying desperately to counteract the dead weight. Jon's head lolled on her shoulder, his blond hair wafting against her nose when she took a deep breath against the strain.

  Caitlyn sneezed, then tightened her grip on the broad shoulders. Just in time, Silas turned around and helped her position Jon against the buffalo robe.

  "What's wrong with him?" Caitlyn asked in a worried voice.

  "Must be that there knock on the head," Silas replied.

  Caitlyn's eyes fell on the whiskey jug beside the overturned water pail near Jon. "Yeah," she said. "Or maybe that there likker bottle there!"

  Silas reached across Jon and picked up the jug. He shook it once, then set it back down at his side.

  "Naw. There's just as much in it as when we left for your bath. We're gonna have to get him awake."

  "Awake? Just let him sleep 'til he gets better."

  "Don't work that way, Cat. I've picked up a little doctorin' over the years, like I reckon you have. Man gets hit on the head, he ain't supposed to sleep for a while. Supposed to stay awake, 'til he's sure his sleep don't become permanent."

  "If you say so," Caitlyn agreed doubtfully.

  Silas patted his palm against Jon's cheek, calling softly to his friend, "Jon. Jon, boyo, wake up."

  Jon moaned and turned his head away from the hand.

  "Come on, boyo," Silas said, shaking Jon's shoulders. "Wake up."

  Caitlyn picked up the wooden water bucket and peered inside. An inch or so of water remained, and she lifted the bucket, dribbling the liquid onto Jon's face. He snorted and swiped at his nose, and she quickly hid the bucket behind her back when his eyes opened.

  "What...what are you doing, Silas? Trying to drown me?" Jon grumbled.

  "Just tryin' to get you awake, par
tner," Silas told him. "Told you to watch out for that there wound. Don't want you driftin' off now for a while."

  "Look, I'm tired...."

  "You listen to me, son," Silas said. "We got us some plans, 'member? You ain't gonna be no good to me laying beneath a pile of rocks so the buzzards can't pick your bones."

  "I'm not hurt that bad."

  "How'd you end up tryin' to sleep laid across that there log, then?"

  "I...I don't remember," Jon admitted. "I was trying to wash my hair — get the blood out of it. Then everything went black."

  "You're still bleedin'," said a soft voice near his shoulder.

  Jon swiftly turned his head, giving a moan when the movement sent stabs of pain pounding through his brain. He felt a touch on his head and opened his eyes, blinking them a couple times in an attempt to clear his vision. But the misty whiteness still hovered in front of him. He squinted and made out a bulge in the whiteness, tipped by a dark spot an inch or two from his lips.

  "It's gonna need a stitch or two," Caitlyn said in a concerned voice. "You got a needle and thread, Silas?"

  "Yeah, but you'll have to do it, Cat. Don't bother me none to work on animals, but puts my stomach in an uproar to even think of sewin' on human skin."

  The whiteness disappeared, taking the bulge with it, and Jon dropped the hand he was lifting back to the ground, trying to push himself up and follow it. A wave of dizziness swept over him, and he fell back against the buffalo robe.

  "Stay still," Caitlyn ordered. "I'll be right back."

  Jon's lips curved into a smile, and he nestled his head back. He'd just rest his eyes a minute, then open them again and see what other wonders awaited them.

  ****

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