Wilderness: Savage Rendezvous/Blood Fury (A Wilderness Western Book 2)

by Robbins, David

  Nate stopped looking and smiled at the Crow. “You honor me too much. I only did what I had to do to stay alive.”

  “You are still young. You do not yet realize the gift the Great Mystery has given you.”

  “What gift?”

  ‘The gift of courage.”

  Nate had never regarded himself as exceptionally brave. He smiled and gestured at the trampled field. “I need your help.”

  “Anything we can do for you, we will.”

  “I lost one of my pistols,” Nate began to explain, and the warrior cut him off.

  Sitting Bear barked instructions to his family, and every one of them immediately devoted themselves to searching for the missing flintlock.

  Nate resumed hunting, thinking of how close-knit Indian families were, how they stuck together and were supremely devoted to one another. He’d yet to witness or hear about a single instance of a child disobeying a parent. By comparsion, many of the families in the cities had succumbed to the severe stress of city living and were rife with animosities. Many children treated their fathers and mothers with outright disrespect. There were some who claimed the crime in the cities was due to the breakdown of discipline and parental guidance. Perhaps they were right.

  Strong Wolf gave a yell and raised his left arm.

  Nate beamed when he laid eyes on the flintlock. He hurried to the youth’s side and took the gun in his hand, inspecting it carefully. The pistol wasn’t damaged. He guessed that the grass and weeds had cushioned it from the hooves, and he chuckled at his good fortune as he slid the barrel underneath his belt.

  “Is it broken?” Sitting Bear inquired.

  “No.” Nate glanced at the eldest son. “Thank you for finding it.”

  The boy pointed at the bull. “You have given us enough meat to last a month. I am glad to help you.”

  Sitting Bear squinted up at the sun. “We must get busy if we are to finish by nightfall. Now we have a buffalo and a buck to skin and strip.”

  “I am ready when you are,” Nate offered.

  “We will take care of both,” Sitting Bear stated. “You can rest while we work.”

  “We will work together,” Nate insisted.

  “As you wish. We will go get all the knives, rope, and utensils we need.”

  “I will stay here.”

  The Crows hastened toward their camp, chatting excitedly among themselves.

  A sensation of extreme fatigue seized Nate, a belated reaction to his brush with death, and he wished he could curl up on the ground and take a nap. To keep busy, he methodically went about reloading the Hawken and the flintlock.

  The mare took to nibbling on the sweet grass.

  He idly gazed at the lodge, and saw the family bustling about in the vicinity of the lodge. They were decent people, those Crows, and he was glad he’d met them. He hoped he could prevail on Sitting Bear to travel to his cabin. Winona would be grateful for the company, and Shakespeare genuinely liked making new acquaintances.

  Nate stretched and stared at a lofty peak to the south. What were his parents and brothers doing at that very moment? he mused. Did they miss him? Were they still mad that he’d departed New York City so unexpectedly? Or had they forgiven him and wanted him to return?

  His peripheral vision registered movement.

  Nate shifted to the east, looking toward the rise over which the buffaloes had appeared, and there, seated on a brown stallion, was an Indian warrior.

  Chapter Four

  For a moment Nate stood still, recovering from his surprise. The man had on a buckskin shirt and leggings and carried a lance. He couldn’t determine if the warrior was a Crow or from another tribe, and he wondered how long the Indian had been watching him. A glance over his shoulder confirmed that Sitting Bear had yet to start in his direction. He faced the warrior and waved.

  The Indian didn’t move.

  Puzzled and curious, Nate stepped to the mare and vaulted into the saddle. He gripped the reins tightly and galloped toward the figure.

  Immediately the warrior wheeled his horse and disappeared over the crest.

  Nate rode hard until he came to the rise, then reined up. Below was a gradual slope and a wide meadow hemmed in by dense forest. The Indian was nowhere in sight. Mystified, he leaned on the pommel and surveyed the woods. Why had the man run off? Was the warrior friendly or hostile?

  He waited several minutes, hoping the Indian would show himself.

  The woods were quiet, the meadow serene.

  So much for trying to establish contact, Nate reflected, and rode back toward the bull. Although the man hadn’t made any threatening gestures, Nate was bothered by his presence. He’d learned to regard everyone he encountered in the wilderness as a potential enemy until they demonstrated otherwise.

  Joking and laughing, the Crows were finally returning.

  Nate reached the buffalo first and dismounted. He debated whether to inform them and decided withholding the news might prove disastrous later.

  “Where did you go?” Sitting Bear signed when he was still a dozen feet off.

  “I saw a warrior on horseback.”

  The disclosure brought a worried expression to the Crow’s face. He gazed eastward, then swept the south and north horizons. “Do you know which tribe he was from?”

  “No.”

  Evening Star was clearly troubled. She addressed her husband apprehensively.

  Sitting Bear responded softly, his forehead creased, in deep thought.

  “If you are worried, I can help you move your camp,” Nate offered.

  “What good would it do? A competent tracker would find us in no time. I say we stay where we are until morning, then we shall move,” Sitting Bear stated. “We cannot leave until we are done with the butchering anyway, which will not be until after dark.”

  “If you are sure,” Nate said.

  Sitting Bear nodded.

  They set about skinning the buffalo. Nate marveled at the skill and efficiency of the Crows. Both Sitting Bear and Evening Star wielded their knives with expert precision, knowing exactly where to cut to speed the process along. They only stopped once, after an incision was made in the abdomen.

  Nate watched in fascination as the warrior laid his bloody knife on the ground, then reached into the abdominal cavity and pulled out a handful of intestines.

  “Would you like some?” Evening Star queried.

  ‘“No, thank you,” Nate answered, his stomach churning, slightly nauseated by the grisly, pulpy mess of entrails.

  The Crows each took a portion and began eating ravenously, chewing and smacking their tongues, their chins dripping wet. The little girl giggled as she ate.

  Nate pretended to be interested in a distant mountain. He’d been told by Shakespeare that Indians usually ate buffalo intestines and the brains at the site of a kill because neither could be preserved, but the foreknowledge hadn’t braced him for the reality.

  Far above the mountain a bald eagle soared.

  After five minutes the family concluded their snack and resumed skinning the shaggy brute.

  Nate noticed Laughing Eyes grinning up at him, her cherubic features caked with gore, and he thought about the child Winona and he planned to have at the first opportunity. He realized that his wife undoubtedly would teach the youngster to partake of intestines too, and he nearly burst into laughter envisioning how his parents would react to such a scene.

  Compared to life in the Rockies, New York City was an alien world.

  ~*~

  The flickering red and orange flames cast dancing shadows on the interior of the warm lodge. Curling wisps of smoke wafted up and out the ventilation flap, and the aroma of the cooking food permeated the air.

  Nate gazed at the pot in which the venison stew boiled. Constructed from the buffalo’s paunch, it was supported next to the fire by four thick, straight limbs lashed together at the top to form a peak.

  Evening Star monitored the progress of the meal attentively. She kept the stew h
eated by regularly dropping in heated stones taken from around the fire, and stirring vigorously. Earlier she had added wild onions and turnips to the concoction.

  Nate couldn’t wait to tear into the food. Butchering the bull and the black-tail had been hard work, and combined with the other events of the busy day had left him fatigued and famished. He glanced at Laughing Eyes, who stood beside her mother, then at the boys, who were seated across from him on Sitting Bear’s right.

  The lodge inside was typical of those Nate had seen. A brightly painted inner lining covered the lower third of the sides. Hanging at various points on the sides were three bows and quivers, a shield, a medicine bag, and parfleches—rawhide bags used to hold everything from food to herbs. The bedding was rolled up at the rear, and other possessions were scattered along the base.

  “We can never thank you enough for the gift of the buffalo,” Sitting Bear reiterated yet again.

  “I only wish I could have shot another one for you,” Nate said.

  “Will you consider staying with us tomorrow?”

  “I would like to stay, but I must take the deer meat home,” Nate explained.

  The warrior shrugged. “I understand.”

  “May I ask you a question?”

  “Of course.”

  “What are you doing here by yourself? Where is the rest of your tribe?”

  “North of here three days’ travel. I will rejoin them after I collect the feathers.”

  “What feathers?”

  “Those of the eagle.”

  Nate reached up and touched his own. “Do you shoot them to bring them down?”

  Sitting Bear blinked. “Who would kill a bird to get just its feathers?”

  Acutely self-conscious of having demonstrated his ignorance of Indian customs, Nate quickly tried another query. “Do you take the feathers from nests?”

  “No, I take them from the eagles.”

  Nate grinned. “And what are the eagles doing while you are removing their feathers?”

  “They try to escape, but cannot.”

  “Do you catch them in traps?”

  “No, with my bare hands.”

  “How is such a feat possible? Surely the eagles try to claw you.”

  The warrior nodded. He held out his left arm and tapped a two-inch scar above the wrist. “An eagle did this when I was fourteen.”

  Nate looked at Strong Wolf and Red Hawk. “Do your sons help you?”

  “No. They are not old enough. Soon Strong Wolf will accompany me, and I will teach him the way that was handed down to me by my father.”

  “But you still have not explained the reason your family is here alone. It would have been safer to bring friends along, other families who could help out in times of need.”

  “The shame is mine, so I must do this alone. My family came with me because they love me.”

  Shame? Nate almost requested an elaboration until he recollected the advice his mentor had given concerning the private affairs of others: Never pry.

  “Would you care to hear my story?” Sitting Bear asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Very well.” The warrior sighed. “Two moons ago I was one of the happiest men in the Crow nation. I had counted twenty-seven coup and owned fourteen horses. All the young men respected me, and the chief asked my opinion in our councils. My family never went hungry. The Great Mystery smiled on my life.”

  Nate leaned forward, hanging on every word.

  “And then the tragedy occurred,” Sitting Bear signed. “One day a hunter reported seeing signs of an Arapaho raiding party near our village. The chief believed the Arapaho were there to steal our horses, and he decided to post guards at night to protect them. I was chosen to stand guard on the second night.”

  Strong Wolf and Red Hawk both frowned.

  “I had worked hard that day,” the Crow went on. “I foolishly let myself become tired, and that night I could barely keep my eyes open. For as long as I could I tried to stay awake, but eventually I fell asleep. The Arapahos must have been watching, because as soon as I closed my eyes, they struck. I was hit on the back of the head, and the next thing I knew, one of my friends was shaking my shoulder and shouting at me for letting the Arapahos get the better of us.”

  Nate looked at Evening Star and noticed her sad countenance.

  ‘The raiders got away with thirty-nine of our horses,” Sitting Bear related. “Not only that, but one of those fish-eaters, probably the same one who knocked me out, took the five feathers I had in my hair.”

  “Fish-eaters?”

  “My people never eat the creatures of the rivers and lakes.”

  Nate nodded his understanding. By calling the Arapahos fish-eaters, Sitting Bear had handed them the ultimate insult.

  “I was ashamed in front of my whole tribe,” the warrior related. “It was bad enough I let the horses be taken, but the Arapahos added to the insult by leaving me alive. They were letting everyone know of their contempt for my people.”

  It took Nate a few seconds to grasp the warrior’s meaning. By not killing Sitting Bear, the Arapahos had shown they viewed all Crows as less than men. The raiders were saying, in effect, that they weren’t worried in the least about the fighting prowess of the Crow warriors and didn’t dream the Crows worthy of counting coup on.

  “I could not hold my head up anymore,” Sitting Bear said. “The younger men mocked me. The chief no longer wanted me at the councils. I made amends as best I could by giving away all of my horses to some of those who lost animals in the raid, but it was not enough to restore my honor.”

  Now Nate understood the reason the family didn’t possess horses. He also comprehended the significance of the quest for new eagle feathers. “So you plan to replace the feathers that were stolen?”

  “Yes, and then I will wage war on the Arapahos and recover the same number of horses that were taken.”

  “All by yourself?”

  “Yes.”

  The forceful sincerity of the reply impressed Nate. “But you will not stand a chance alone.”

  “I lost them alone. I will recover them alone.”

  “You will be killed.”

  Sitting Bear squared his shoulders. “At least I will die with honor and my family will not be shunned by my people.”

  Nate knew all about the importance of honor and proper behavior to an Indian. Insults must always be redressed and taboos must never be violated. But the task Sitting Bear had set for himself was impossible.

  “Tomorrow I will start on the road to reclaiming my manhood,” the warrior vowed.

  Just then Evening Star walked over bearing bowls of stew. She dutifully distributed one to each of the men, then brought on cakes and a previously boiled flour pudding to which dried fruit had been added to give it a delicious taste.

  Nate ate with relish, savoring every morsel. Few words were spoken by anyone; they were all too famished. Except for the noises they made while eating and the crackling of the thin branches fueling the fire, the only other sound was the whispering of the northwesterly breeze against the lodge. So it was that midway through the meal they all distinctly heard the patter of heavy pads from outside followed by the guttural growl of a large bear.

  Chapter Five

  Strong Wolf and Red Hawk were up and to their bows in a flash. They each grabbed arrows from one of the quivers and turned.

  Sitting Bear addressed them sternly while slowly rising. He walked to the side and retrieved his own bow and an entire quiver, then stepped toward the front flap.

  Although the very notion of tangling with another bear bothered Nate, he grabbed his rifle and stood. He’d already experienced harrowing encounters with two grizzlies, and if he never saw another bear as long as he lived he’d be happy.

  The mother said a few words in Crow.

  Silence reigned outdoors. The bear had ceased growling and moving about.

  Nate cocked the Hawken and halted to the right of the flap, which was closed but not tied. He c
aught the warriors’ attention and made the sign for “Now?”

  “Wait,” Sitting Bear said, listening with his left ear pressed to the liner.

  The sound of loud sniffing filtered inside, and part of a paw appeared underneath the flap.

  Instinctively, Nate crouched and pointed the barrel at the center of the flap. If the bruin came through the doorway, they’d be trapped. There wasn’t another way out.

  Sitting Bear motioned with his right arm, signifying not to fire. He crouched and drew his hunting knife.

  Perplexed, Nate watched in fascination. The bear paw eased further inside, revealing black hair and claws over an inch long, and he expelled his breath in relief. It was a black bear, not a grizzly! Even though the former were dangerous when cornered, they weren’t in the same class with their fierce cousins, the mightiest carnivores on the continent and the scourge of Indians and whites alike.

  Grinning at a private joke, Sitting Bear reversed his grip on the knife, holding the weapon by the blunt edge of the blade, and raised it overhead. He waited until the full foreleg of the bear poked within, then brought the hilt down with a resounding thump.

  A bestial bellow erupted from the startled black bear and the paw was yanked from view.

  Nate laughed as he heard the bruin beating a rapid retreat into the forest at the rear of the lodge. It crashed through the underbrush like a bull gone amok.

  “Perhaps I should have invited the bear for supper,” Sitting Bear signed, and his entire family joined in a chorus of general mirth.

  Chuckling, Nate eased the hammer down and returned to his seat. He resumed eating, and in no time at all had finished the meal. No sooner had he swallowed the last morsel than Evening Star brought seconds of everything. Despite being almost full, he tackled the second portions with as much enthusiasm as he had the first, knowing that it was considered an insult for a guest not to eat every bit of food that was offered.

  After the meal the family sat around and discussed every topic under the sun, from the habits of the wildlife to the state of affairs among the Crows and the rest of the tribes inhabiting the Rocky Mountains and the Plains.