The Darkest Winter

by William W. Johnstone

  Besides, if he exerted himself too much, more than likely he’d just pass out again before things could get too out of hand.

  So maybe for once in his life, he ought to just act like a gentleman, naked gal or no naked gal.

  Despite that resolve, his heart pounded along at a pretty good pace as Dawn Wind helped him get his clothes and boots off. The wet buckskin stubbornly resisted her efforts. Eventually, working together, they got him into as much of a jaybird state as she was. Her gaze roamed over his body, frankly assessing him, and she appeared to be pleased by what she saw. Breckinridge felt himself turning red all over.

  “Does the warm sun not feel good?” she asked.

  “Yeah, it does.”

  Dawn Wind gestured toward the rock slab at their feet. “We should sit down again.”

  “Yeah, that’s a, uh, good idea.”

  Breckinridge sat down, pulled his knees up a little, and rested his arms on them. Dawn Wind sank to the rock beside him, stretched her legs out in front of her, and leaned back, placing her hands slightly behind her to support herself.

  “Where do you come from, Breckinridge Wallace?” she asked.

  “I was born and raised in Tennessee. My folks had a farm there.”

  “Why did you leave and come west?”

  He didn’t want to tell her that he’d been fleeing a murder charge, even a false one. So he said, “I always liked bein’ out in the woods, huntin’ and explorin’, better than I did farmin’.” There was a large measure of truth to that statement. “When I got a chance to be part of an army expedition that was mappin’ the frontier, I was glad to go along. From there I moved on to fur trappin’.”

  “I am glad you decided to come to our land. I think you will always be a friend to my people.”

  “I’d sure like that,” Breckinridge said. “I’m the peace-lovin’ sort and never go lookin’ for trouble.”

  She glanced over at him, then laughed. “You sound like you really believe that.”

  “Well . . . it’s my intention, anyway. It don’t always turn out like that, though.”

  “No, I am sure it does not.”

  They sat in easy silence for a few minutes. Breckinridge kept stealing looks at her, but he had to stop because she was having too great an effect on him. He frowned slightly and concentrated on the pool in front of them instead. To get his mind off their nudity, he asked, “How’d you learn to talk English so good?”

  “A white trapper taught me, many moons ago when I was a little girl. He was a good man who never grew annoyed when the children of the village followed him around. A very good friend to my people. He was called Preacher.”

  Breckinridge’s shaggy red eyebrows rose in surprise. “Preacher!” he repeated. “I know that fella.”

  “He is still alive?” Dawn Wind seemed surprised, too.

  “Sure. At least, he was last year when I met him. When it comes to bein’ a mountain man, there ain’t nobody more famous than Preacher. He’s like Colter, Bridger, Beckwourth, fellas like that.” Breckinridge waved a hand at the mountains. “Probably wouldn’t even be a fur trade without men like Preacher. That old varmint might just live forever.”

  “That would be a good thing. He has helped the Apsáalooke many times, especially in their wars against the Blackfeet.”

  “Yeah, I remember your people don’t get along with them.”

  “No one gets along with the Blackfeet, as you put it, Breckinridge.”

  “I’ll be sure to watch out for them, then.”

  “They are mostly north of here. They should not trouble you. But from what I have seen, it is your own people who are the greatest threat.”

  Breckinridge frowned. “Carnahan and his bunch ain’t my people. I’d hoped they had moved on. Nobody else in these parts would have any reason to take a shot at me, though. Wonder if it was an accident they spotted me and decided to try to kill me, or if they been followin’ me and waitin’ for a chance like this.”

  “You should not be alone. You and your friend Morgan should stay together.”

  Breckinridge rubbed his jaw and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. And I’ve got to worryin’ . . . Those fellas who took that shot at me know Morgan’s out there somewhere by himself. What if they go to look for him?”

  “Do you know where he is?” Dawn Wind asked.

  “I know where he started out for. He was gonna work his way up the other side of the creek. I don’t figure he got this far, because he had more traps to check than I did. I was mostly lookin’ for new places to set ’em.”

  “We must go and make sure he is all right. Our clothes should be mostly dry by now.” She stood up and reached for her dress. She nodded as she felt it. “Yes, it is fine.”

  “Yeah, we should go,” Breckinridge said.

  But even though he knew she was right, he still felt a pang of disappointment go through him as she slipped the dress over her head and pulled it down, hiding her body from him once again.

  * * *

  They left the pool behind and started back downstream, staying on the other side of the creek this time. Despite the distraction of Dawn Wind’s nudity, Breckinridge had tried to remain alert while they were sitting beside the pool, just in case whoever shot him had doubled back. He was watchful now as they made their way through the trees and stayed in the cover of the woods whenever possible.

  His head still hurt some, but he was able to ignore it. The dizziness and weakness had gone away. He wouldn’t be at his best in a fight right now, but he hoped that if they ran into trouble, his best wouldn’t be needed to cope with it.

  Before setting out, he had searched among the rocks surrounding the pool and found his rifle. It appeared to have been undamaged by the fall except for a nick in the stock from where it had landed on a jagged stone. Breckinridge felt better with the weapon in his hands. Since his pistols had been submerged in the pool, he had also unloaded, cleaned, and dried them before reloading them.

  Dawn Wind’s only weapon was a small knife she carried in a deer-hide sheath. Breckinridge didn’t intend to put her in harm’s way, though, so he told himself it didn’t matter how she was armed.

  When they reached the bend in the creek, he paused and turned to look back at the waterfall. As things had turned out, it was a place of both beauty and danger, but he didn’t think he would ever forget what had happened there today. It had been memorable . . . in more ways than one.

  They had gone perhaps another mile back toward the camp when Breckinridge and Dawn Wind both paused suddenly at the same time. Breck heard some popping sounds in the distance, and when he looked at Dawn Wind he knew that she had heard them, too.

  “Gunshots,” he said. “And not just from one man, either.”

  “Your friend Morgan must be in trouble.”

  He jerked his head in a nod. “I got to get there as quick as I can.”

  “I can keep up,” Dawn Wind vowed. “Let us go.”

  They plunged ahead through the forest at a much faster pace now, throwing caution to the wind. The exertion made Breckinridge’s head hurt worse, but he didn’t care about that. He just wanted to reach Morgan in time to help his friend.

  If anything happened to Morgan, Breckinridge would see to it that the men responsible paid for it, no matter how long it took. He would track them down and settle the score, and his vengeance would be terrible to behold.

  But it would be better to save Morgan than to have to avenge him, so Breckinridge practically flew through the trees. He heard Dawn Wind panting behind him as she tried to keep up, but he didn’t slow down for her. Honestly, it would have been fine with him if she weren’t so stubborn. He would rather deal with the trouble without having to worry about her.

  He figured nothing he said would make her hang back, though. She had saved his life earlier. She probably felt responsible for him now.

  The gunfire got louder, although sometimes it was difficult to hear it over the pounding in his head. They came in sight of a mostly b
are knoll that stuck up about fifty yards from the creek. A few trees grew on top of the little hill. A figure knelt there among them, trying to take advantage of the meager cover as he fired his rifle down toward some thick brush at the bottom of the knoll. A thin gray cloud of powder smoke hung over the brush as men concealed in it returned the fire at the man on the hill.

  Breckinridge thrust out an arm to stop Dawn Wind as she came running up behind him. He pointed and said, “They got Morgan trapped up there, the sons o’ bitches.”

  “At least he is still fighting them. That means he is alive.”

  “Yeah, I thought of that.” Breckinridge stiffened as he caught a glimpse of a couple of men darting through the brush. “But he may not be for long. Those varmints are gonna try to get around and come up behind him.”

  “We must stop them.”

  “That’s what I figure on doin’.”

  Breckinridge lifted his rifle and aimed at a gap in the brush. The men attempting to flank Morgan would have to cross that gap to reach the other side of the knoll. He wouldn’t have time to drop both of them, but he hoped if he could down one of the bastards, the other man would turn back and not risk it. Even doing that much was going to take quick reflexes and dead aim, though. Breck wished his head wasn’t throbbing quite so much.

  A flicker of movement from within the brush near the gap caught his eye. Getting even that much warning was a stroke of luck. He took up some of the pressure on the trigger. A heartbeat later, one of the men emerged into the open and started across at a crouching run.

  Breckinridge fired.

  The distance was at least a hundred yards. It was going to take a hell of a shot. And that was what Breckinridge made at that moment. The running man stumbled, threw up his hands, and pitched forward on his face.

  The other man had just broken out of the brush when his companion dropped. He stopped short and scrambled backward so abruptly that his feet went out from under him and he fell to his knees. He dived back into cover, obviously afraid that a rifle ball might come looking for him at any instant.

  Breckinridge started reloading. He performed the task swiftly and efficiently as he said, “That’ll stop ’em for a minute, anyway.”

  “But now they know someone has come to help Morgan,” Dawn Wind pointed out.

  “Yeah, and if it’s Carnahan’s bunch—and I don’t see who else it could be—they’ll probably figure it’s me, too. Carnahan will split his force and send some of ’em after us.” Breckinridge looked over at Dawn Wind. “You got to get outta here now, while you still got the chance.”

  She regarded him just as steadily and said, “I will not leave you, Breckinridge Wallace.”

  “Now, damn it, Dawn Wind—”

  “You are wasting your breath and your time. Time that would be better spent giving me one of those pistols you carry.”

  “You know how to use a pistol?”

  “I have shot a gun before. Cock it, point it, and pull the trigger. Is this not correct?”

  Breckinridge fought down the impulse to grin at the matter-of-fact way she put it. He still wanted her to flee, not to encourage her to stay.

  But then a gun cracked somewhere not far away, and a ball clipped through the branches not far above their heads. He bit back a curse, yanked one of the pistols from behind his belt, and pressed the butt into her waiting hands.

  “Don’t shoot it unless you have to,” he told her.

  “And if I have to?”

  “Then make sure you kill the son of a bitch you’re pointin’ it at,” Breckinridge said.

  Chapter 16

  More shots blasted. Breckinridge put a hand on Dawn Wind’s shoulder. They knelt as the rifle balls tore through the undergrowth and thudded into tree trunks. Splinters flew.

  “They’re tryin’ to soften us up for a charge,” Breckinridge said in a low voice. “There might still be time for you to get outta this mess. You’d have to crawl—”

  “And have them hunt me down after they kill you?” Dawn Wind shook her head. “We will fight them together, Breckinridge. We will live or die together.”

  Damn, she was one hell of a gal, he thought, and then he exclaimed, “Here they come!”

  Four men rushed forward, firing pistols as they charged. The balls hummed perilously close. Breckinridge didn’t let that distract him. He took aim and pressed the rifle’s trigger. The flintlock boomed. One of the attackers doubled over as the shot tore into his midsection. Breck dropped the rifle, pulled his second pistol, and fired. A man twisted around and blood flew from a wounded arm.

  The other two turned and ran. The man Breckinridge had just shot stumbled after them, his injured arm flopping at his side.

  “They run like dogs!” Dawn Wind said.

  “Yeah, varmints like that don’t have much stomach for fightin’,” Breckinridge said. “They’re only brave when everything’s goin’ their way.”

  More shots searched through the forest for them, but Breckinridge and Dawn Wind were able to pull back slightly and take cover behind some pines. The tang of fresh sap hung in the air from the places where rifle balls had blown away the rough bark. Breck reloaded his rifle and pistol, then slid the flintlock’s long barrel around the tree trunk and drew a bead on the brush where the men firing at Morgan were hidden. He sent a ball into that growth and was rewarded by a pained yelp.

  Dawn Wind said, “We have them in a . . . what do you call it? A cross fire?”

  “Yep,” Breckinridge said. “Morgan’s got the high ground in front of ’em, and we got their backsides. That ain’t a good place to be. They’ve tried bustin’ out past us, and that didn’t work for ’em. Now they can keep fightin’ or—” He paused and let out a hearty laugh. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Look over yonder, to the right of where they were. See that brush wavin’ around? They’re lightin’ out!”

  “But two of their men are dead,” Dawn Wind said, clearly puzzled. “Do they intend to leave those bodies behind?”

  “That bunch ain’t got the same sort of honor that your folks do,” Breckinridge told her. “Right now, all they want to do is cut their losses. Those dead fellas ain’t worth nothin’ to them anymore.”

  Wary of a trick of some sort, he watched and waited for quite a while before venturing out from cover. On top of the knoll, Morgan did likewise. Breckinridge could see his friend up there, kneeling behind one of the few trees on the hill.

  Eventually, Morgan stood up and waved his hat over his head. Since Morgan had the better vantage point, Breckinridge took that to mean he was sure the attackers were gone. Breck stepped out, took off his hat, and returned the signal. Then he said over his shoulder to Dawn Wind, “Stay here whilst I have a look around. And hang on to that pistol I give you. You might still need it.”

  The first thing he did was check the bodies of the two men he had shot. Both were dead. When he used a boot toe to roll them onto their backs, Breckinridge recognized their faces, although he couldn’t recall their names. They were two of Jud Carnahan’s men, though, no doubt about that.

  Morgan came down from the hill and walked toward him, still looking around warily and holding his rifle ready for instant use. As he came up to Breckinridge, he said, “I’m mighty glad to see you, you big redheaded rascal.”

  “You don’t appear to be shot to doll rags.”

  Morgan grinned. “No, I’m not hurt. They tried to sneak up on me, but either they’re not very good at it or else I’m starting to turn into a halfway decent frontiersman myself. I heard them coming and was able to take cover on that hill.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, once I got up there the cover wasn’t as good as I’d hoped and there was nowhere for me to go.”

  “Why didn’t you go down the other side?”

  “Then they would have just pursued me. I thought it was better to make a stand.” Morgan grew more solemn. “Actually, when Carnahan yelled up at me and demanded that I surrender, he claimed you were dead. That just made me more determined than ever to put
up a fight.” He smiled again. “I’m glad to see that he was wrong.”

  “Yeah, but not for lack of tryin’.” Breckinridge took off his hat and pointed at the gash on the side of his head, which had oozed enough blood that now it was starting to scab over. “That’s how close they come to blowin’ my brains out.”

  “Son of a—It’s a good thing you have a rock for a skull, Breck. Are you all right?”

  “A mite light-headed now and then, but I’ll be fine . . . thanks to Dawn Wind.”

  He turned and gestured for her to come out of the trees. Morgan’s smile widened into a grin as she did so.

  “She just happened to come along after you got shot?”

  “That’s right,” Breckinridge said. He tried not to sound defensive about it.

  “Well, I’ve always said you were a lucky man, Breckinridge.”

  Morgan didn’t know how lucky, Breckinridge thought as he remembered the time he and Dawn Wind had spent beside that pool at the bottom of the waterfall. Breck didn’t intend to tell him about it, either.

  Instead, Breckinridge said, “I figure a couple of those varmints spotted me, took a shot at me, thought I was dead, and went back to tell the others. Then they came a-huntin’ you, knowin’ that you were gonna be by yourself.”

  “That makes sense,” Morgan agreed. “I was hoping that Carnahan and his party had left the country, since we hadn’t seen them in a good while.”

  “Perhaps they will leave now,” Dawn Wind said. “You have killed several of them and wounded others, is this not true?”

  “Yep, we’ve done some damage to ’em,” Breckinridge said.

  “Will they not . . . how did you put it? Cut their losses and leave?”

  “We can hope,” Breckinridge said.

  But somehow in his bones he doubted it.

  * * *

  Morgan wanted to know more about Breckinridge getting bushwhacked and Dawn Wind’s involvement in the incident. Breck told him an abbreviated version as they headed back to the Crow village, leaving out most of the details. Breck wanted to make sure Dawn Wind was safe among her people before he and Morgan returned to their camp.