The Darkest Winter

by William W. Johnstone

  On hands and knees, she hesitated, unsure whether to crawl toward the door or toward Carnahan. She knew the man wore a knife. If she could get her hands on it, she could cut his throat.

  But if she could reach the door, she might get away, and if the rest of Carnahan’s men were asleep, she could slip into the nearby woods. Ralston had said something the night before about guards, but Dawn Wind believed she could elude them.

  She began crawling slowly toward the door, moving as silently as she could.

  She kept glancing over her shoulder toward Carnahan, but he continued snoring and didn’t move. She was about halfway to the door when he let out a snort and rolled onto his side.

  Dawn Wind froze, and not from the temperature this time. She waited in the gloom, unmoving, until she heard Carnahan’s deep, regular breathing. Only then did she resume inching toward the door.

  After what seemed like an eternity, she reached it and was lifting her hand toward the latch string when a soft footstep sounded behind her. Carnahan’s big hand reached over her and clamped around her wrist. Dawn Wind cried out in pain and surprise as he jerked her to her feet.

  “You’re not the only one who can sneak around, girl,” he told her as he pulled her against him. He turned and shoved her toward the table. “Thought I was asleep and you could slip out, didn’t you? If you’re not careful, I’ll start to believe you don’t appreciate my hospitality.”

  Dawn Wind caught herself with a hand against the table. “I should have killed you!” she said through clenched teeth.

  “You might have tried, but that wouldn’t have worked out any better for you. Make yourself useful. Go stir up the fire. It’s cold in here.”

  Dawn Wind thought about telling him to stir it up himself, but then she decided that the chore would give her something to do, at least. Glaring, she went to the crude fireplace and used a broken branch to poke at the embers and get them glowing brighter. She bent over and added shavings until flames flickered up in several places.

  A glance over her shoulder showed her that Carnahan had turned his back toward her. He stood at the table, clearing his throat and shaking his head as he tried to wake up for good.

  Dawn Wind closed her hand around a chunk of split firewood a foot long and several inches thick. She picked it up, took a firm grip on it with both hands, and spun around suddenly to lunge at Carnahan. She lifted the firewood and brought it down as hard as she could on the back of his head.

  Chapter 31

  The chunk of wood landed with a dull thud. Carnahan grunted and slumped forward. He caught himself with both hands on the table, but as he did so, Dawn Wind hit him again and then a third time, putting all the strength that desperation gave her into the blows.

  Carnahan fell forward across the table.

  Dawn Wind dropped the firewood, whirled around, and dashed for the door. She yanked it open and plunged outside into the gray light.

  She didn’t realize until it was too late that she should have taken Carnahan’s knife and plunged it into his heart while she had the chance. Flight had been uppermost in her mind, though.

  She had taken only a few steps when arms like iron bands clamped around her and swung her off her feet.

  “What the hell!” Gordon Ralston exclaimed. “Where do you think you’re going, you redskin whore?”

  It was still gray and shadowy inside the canyon because of the overcast and the fact that the sun hadn’t come up yet, but there was enough light for Dawn Wind to see the one-eyed man’s face as he leered at her. Her arms were pinned to her side so she couldn’t strike at him, so she kicked frantically with her legs, instead.

  To no avail. Ralston laughed harshly and maintained his cruel grip on her as he turned toward the cabin. His sour breath was right in her face. It gagged her as he said, “We’ll just take you back where you came from. I’m sure Carnahan wouldn’t be pleased if you were to run off.”

  Dawn Wind had left the door open behind her. Carnahan stumbled into the opening and rubbed the back of his head where she had struck him with the firewood. His mouth was open. Evidently he intended to raise a shout of alarm.

  That angry bellow died on his lips when he saw that Ralston had recaptured Dawn Wind.

  “Good work, Major,” he rumbled. “Bring the stubborn little fool back in here.”

  Carnahan stepped aside so Ralston could carry Dawn Wind into the cabin. He lowered her onto the floor beside the table and stepped back.

  “She’s a pleasant enough armful of squaw,” he said. “I hope you’re planning on giving the rest of us a turn with her before this is over, Jud.”

  “I didn’t think you cared that much about women, Major,” Carnahan said.

  “Oh, the pleasures of the flesh have their place, certainly. It’s just that there are more important things in life, after all.”

  Carnahan grunted. “Like money and power—and vengeance. The girl’s not a squaw to me right now. She’s a lure to bring Wallace into our hands, nothing more.”

  “I agree,” Ralston said with a nod. He rested a hand on his sword’s pommel. “We’ll discuss her ultimate fate when that problem has been dealt with.”

  Carnahan looked like he didn’t intend to discuss anything with the major. He was in charge, so he would give orders, instead. That was the impression Dawn Wind had as she rested one hand on the table to brace herself while she watched the two men.

  She was bitterly disappointed that her attempt to escape had failed, but that didn’t mean she was going to give up.

  Carnahan changed the subject by asking, “Any problems during the night?”

  “None,” Ralston reported. “There was no sign of Wallace or any of the savages from that village. The snow may have covered our tracks too well for them to follow us.”

  “I wouldn’t count on that. Anyway, even if it’s true, Wallace will move heaven and earth to find that girl. He’ll be searching for her, and he’s bound to find this canyon sooner or later. I want men hidden in the rocks at the mouth of the canyon, and impress upon them, Major, that if they do anything to give away their position and warn Wallace, they’ll have to answer to me.”

  Ralston nodded curtly. “You want him and whoever he brings with him to be allowed into the canyon, is that it?”

  “Yes, and then we’ll close the door behind them.” A grin split Carnahan’s face under the beard. “Wallace can come in . . . but he’ll never go back out.”

  “I’ll give the orders,” Ralston said. He started to turn toward the door but then paused. “Is it safe to leave you with the redskin, Jud, or do you think she’ll attack you again?”

  That gibe made Carnahan’s grin disappear. In a tight, angry voice, he said, “She won’t cause any more trouble. You can count on that.” He looked at Dawn Wind. “Do you understand, girl? It’s not an absolute necessity that you remain safe and sound in order to trap Wallace.”

  Dawn Wind looked down at the table and remained stubbornly silent. She wasn’t going to promise that she wouldn’t try to escape again. If she got a chance, she would flee from this canyon—and she would leave Carnahan dead behind her.

  She wouldn’t make the mistake of leaving him alive again.

  Carnahan let out a bark of humorless laughter. “See to the preparations, Major,” he ordered.

  This time Ralston left the cabin without saying anything else.

  “And you,” Carnahan went on to Dawn Wind, “make yourself useful. Get a pot of coffee on to boil and make me some breakfast. Or does a savage like you know how to boil coffee?”

  Breckinridge had taught her how to make coffee. She said, “I must have snow to melt for the pot.”

  “We’ll get it together. And if you try anything else, you’ll regret it.”

  At this point, the only thing she regretted was that she hadn’t killed this man when she had the chance.

  * * *

  The creek that Breckinridge and the others were following upstream twisted and turned through the rugged landscape a
s it ran down out of the Bighorn Mountains. Breck began to think it never ran straight for more than a hundred yards at a stretch.

  That meant there were plenty of places where they couldn’t see very far, which was worrisome. He voiced that concern to Gray Bear.

  “We could be walkin’ into an ambush,” Breckinridge told the older man as he gestured toward the rocky, wooded slopes around them.

  “We could,” Gray Bear agreed, “but there is no other way to follow the trail.”

  Breckinridge scraped a thumbnail along his red-stubbled jaw, then tugged at his right earlobe as he frowned in thought. After a moment he said, “I ain’t so sure about that. There’s a ridge up yonder to the left that’s runnin’ in the same general direction we’re goin’. If a couple of fellas could get up there, they might make better time. And they’d have the high ground if any trouble broke out.”

  Gray Bear signaled a halt and turned to gaze toward the ridge Breckinridge had mentioned.

  “This is true,” he admitted. “But to do such a thing would mean splitting our forces.”

  “Yeah, it’s a risk. But we’re already facin’ long odds. Might be worth it to take a chance.”

  “It will be a hard, dangerous climb. Who would attempt to reach this ridge?”

  “Me and one other fella,” Breckinridge said. “That’s what I was thinkin’.”

  “I will come with you,” Bitter Mouth volunteered without hesitation.

  The grieving warrior had said very little during the journey. Normally the most talkative of the Crow, sorrow had silenced his tongue. Breckinridge looked at Bitter Mouth, saw his cold-eyed determination, and nodded.

  “That’s all right with me.”

  Gray Bear looked at the sky and said, “There are perhaps two hours of daylight left. Will you try to rejoin us tonight?”

  “Only if we find anything between now and nightfall,” Breckinridge replied. “If we see any signs of trouble up ahead while it’s still light, we’ll try to get a warning to you, so keep an eye out for any signal from up yonder. Maybe we can send up some smoke.”

  “It is well,” Gray Bear agreed.

  The two men split off from the main group of searchers and began climbing the hill that sloped down almost all the way to the creek, leaving only the narrow bank they had been following. The ascent was a steep one, but there were trees to help them when they needed to grasp something and pull themselves up or lean against a trunk to rest for a moment. The growth was thick enough that Gray Bear, Swims Like a Fish, and the others were soon lost to sight below.

  The fact that Bitter Mouth was silent now was probably helpful, because both men needed their breath for climbing. The air was thin and cold, and even with Breckinridge’s enormous lung capacity, he was gasping a little by the time they reached the base of the ridge.

  He bit back a groan of dismay as he tilted his head back and looked up a sheer rock face that rose for at least a hundred feet. From down below, the rugged rimrock had been visible over the tops of the trees, but he hadn’t realized the approach to it was so impossible. Not even a mountain goat could climb that cliff.

  “We’ll just have to move along the base and hope we can find a place where we can get up there,” Breckinridge told Bitter Mouth. The grim-faced warrior nodded in understanding.

  It was tough going. The ground sloped steeply under their feet and was littered with rocks. A misstep could mean a bad fall that would send them tumbling down head over heels, probably to smash against a tree trunk.

  They had to move slowly and carefully, and that frustratingly deliberate pace gnawed at Breckinridge’s guts. He needed to find Dawn Wind and assure himself that she was all right.

  Carnahan and the others wouldn’t hurt her, he told himself over and over. She was the bait in the trap. They needed her alive.

  But did they, really? She could already be dead, and as long as he didn’t know that, he would continue searching for her. Besides, knowing the evil to be found in the hearts of Carnahan and Ralston and most of the other trappers, not to mention Machitehew and the other survivors from the Blackfoot war party, Breckinridge wouldn’t put anything past them.

  He shoved those thoughts out of his brain. Dwelling on them wouldn’t do any good. He concentrated on finding a way to the top of the ridge.

  It didn’t help that the light was bad, even though it was still a good while until nightfall. The thick, dark clouds blocked the sun so thoroughly, and the cold was so pervasive, that Breckinridge was starting to feel like life would never be bright and warm again.

  Finally, he spotted what looked like a thin dark line wavering its way up the cliff face. As he and Bitter Mouth came closer, he realized it was a crease in the rock, a natural chimney of sorts. Whether they could follow it to the top, Breckinridge didn’t know, but it was the only promising possibility they had found so far.

  “Look there,” he said as he pointed it out to Bitter Mouth. “Reckon we can give it a try?”

  “We have no other choice.”

  That was the way Breckinridge felt about it, too. When they reached the bottom of the crease, he studied it intently. It was about six feet deep and half that wide. The walls were irregular, narrowing in places and studded with rocky projections. It didn’t run straight up and down but rather at slight angles that bent back and forth where the rock had been sundered under some ancient geologic stress.

  Breckinridge figured he and Bitter Mouth could climb it, although with his broad shoulders and deep chest, he might have a little trouble squeezing through here and there. Bitter Mouth was slender and could make it.

  For that reason, the Crow warrior said, “Let me go first.” He stepped into the crease, found footholds and handholds, and began pulling himself up.

  When Bitter Mouth had ascended perhaps ten feet, Breckinridge started up after him. Back home in Tennessee, he had climbed trees and ridges almost before he could walk, so he knew how to find the grips he needed and test them out before he trusted his weight to them. He rose through the crease in slow but steady fashion and didn’t encounter any trouble until it made its first bend back in the other direction, maybe twenty feet off the ground.

  Bitter Mouth negotiated that turn without a problem, but he paused above it and called down, “Be careful, Breckinridge. There will not be much room for you. Do not get stuck.”

  “I won’t,” Breckinridge promised. “If I have to scrape a little hide off to get through, I dang sure will.”

  He began turning, pressing the front of his body against the rear of the crease to do so. He reached above the bend, found a knob of rock he could close his hand around, and pushed up with his feet. The sides of the crease pinched against his shoulders. He found another handhold and pulled harder. The crease narrowed even more. His jaw clenched and his breath hissed between his teeth.

  He didn’t like this feeling of being closed in. With a grunt of effort, he forced his way past the bottleneck and felt relief surge through him as his shoulders popped free.

  “I’m all right,” he told Bitter Mouth, who was gazing down at him worriedly. “Keep goin’.”

  The warrior resumed the climb. Breckinridge followed. The next bend in the crease was easier, but the one after that was even tighter than the first. Breck had to heave and strain against the rock walls. He was putting so much strength into the effort that he began to think he might pop right out of the crease, like a seed being squeezed out of a piece of fruit. If that happened, it would be a long drop to the ground, followed by an even longer tumble down the lower slope.

  He wasn’t sure but what he actually did leave some skin behind before he got through that one. But he was above it at last, and Bitter Mouth told him, “Only one more.”

  Breckinridge blew out some breath and nodded as it fogged in front of his face. His hands were about frozen from contact with the cold rocks. His fingers were getting numb and clumsy, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to climb for much longer. He braced himself with his legs and shoulders s
o he couldn’t slip and blew on his hands, trying to warm them up with his breath.

  After a few moments he told Bitter Mouth, “Let’s go.”

  They resumed the climb. The last bend in the natural chimney was tight, but not as bad as the one Breckinridge had just made it through. He twisted and pushed through this one, then hauled himself up the final fifteen feet.

  Bitter Mouth disappeared over the rim. Breckinridge pulled himself up and over the edge and then rolled onto his back, utterly exhausted. Weather and exertion—and worry—were taking a toll, even on him.

  After a few seconds, he lifted his head and looked around. Bitter Mouth sat nearby, also catching his breath. The ridge was about a quarter of a mile wide. On its far side, it gave way to a jumble of rocky spires and crevices that looked to be impassible by anyone except one of those mountain goats Breckinridge had thought about earlier.

  Breckinridge sat up and looked over the edge. He caught a glimpse here and there of the creek as it meandered along, but the trees along its banks concealed the stream for the most part. As far as he could tell, the ridge followed the creek fairly closely, although some of its bends weren’t as sharp.

  Nor was the growth as thick atop it. He and Bitter Mouth could make better progress up here than the others down below could, Breck thought.

  “You ready to get movin’ again?” he asked after a few minutes.

  “We do not have much time before night falls,” Bitter Mouth said. “We should cover as much ground as we can.”

  “Damn right,” Breckinridge said as he pushed himself to his feet. “Dawn Wind and them other captives are up ahead of us somewhere, and I sure as hell don’t want to leave ’em in the hands of those bastards for another night if I don’t have to.”

  Chapter 32

  The night had been a long one for Dawn Wind, but the day was even longer. She was torn with worry . . . worry that Breckinridge would not show up to rescue her . . . and worry that he would, only to be killed by Carnahan and Ralston. If she could be certain that he would live a long and happy life without her, she would almost surrender her own life to bring that about.