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

by Robbins, David

  “What will you do now?”

  “Stay.”

  “But they might return.”

  “I cannot leave until I have five feathers to replace those that were stolen,” Sitting Bear declared.

  “Are five feathers worth the lives of your loved ones?”

  “My mind is made up,” the Crow stated obstinately.

  Nate reclaimed his rifle and moved to one side as the boys attended to stripping the corpse and then dragged it from the lodge. He moved close to the fire and held his hands over the flames, enjoying the warmth. Sometime ago Shakespeare had explained to him the concept of Indian honor, and detailed how in some tribes a man would do anything to regain prestige once he had fallen from social grace. In a way Nate felt sorry for Sitting Bear. The disgrace of having let the precious horses be stolen was more than the poor man could bear, and now the Crow was willing to sacrifice his family rather than endure the disgrace.

  What should he do? Nate asked himself. Stay and assist the warrior or head on home? He wanted to return to Winona quickly, but he couldn’t bring himself to desert Sitting Bear in the man’s hour of need.

  The Crow came over. “I apologize if my words seem hard. My family and I have discussed this issue and we are all of one mind.”

  “I understand.”

  “Since you will probably leave early tomorrow, I thought I should tell you again that we are grateful for all you have done.”

  “Who said I am leaving?” Nate responded.

  “You plan to stay?”

  “I would like to see how you catch eagles with your bare hands.”

  The warrior’s eyes narrowed. “Is that the only reason?”

  “Yes.”

  “You are not obligated to us in any way.”

  “I know,” Nate said, and remembered the question he had to ask. “Was that you today hooting like an owl?”

  “About the time you shot the black-tail?”

  “Yes.”

  “That was me. When I heard your shot, I believed you might be a Crow so I called to you as an owl would. We often call to each other by imitating the owl. When there was no answer, I knew you were either a stranger or an enemy. That is why I approached you with my arrow ready to fly.”

  “Perhaps you can teach me the call sometime.”

  “Gladly.” Sitting Bear turned to walk off. “We should get sleep. Tomorrow will be a busy day.”

  “Should I take the first watch?”

  “What?”

  “We should take turns doing guard duty until daylight,” Nate proposed. “I will go first.”

  The Crow grinned. “There is no need. The Utes will not be back tonight.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I know,” Sitting Bear stated enigmatically, and moved to the bedding he shared with his wife.

  The boys returned bearing the clothing, weapons, and other personal effects belonging to the slain Ute. They deposited the items in front of Nate.

  “Give these to your father,” Nate told them. “I have no need of them.” He reluctantly walked to his blanket and lay down, listening to the family discuss his gifts, and positioned the rifle next to his side. With a hostile band of Utes roaming the area, he wasn’t about to go to sleep. Instead, he rolled on his back, propped his head in his cupped hands, and reflected on the whims of Fate. Here he was, about to participate in an eagle hunt, when if he possessed any intelligence whatsoever he’d ride out at first light. As the Crow had said, tomorrow would undoubtedly be a busy day.

  Just so it wasn’t his last.

  Chapter Seven

  Whispered conversation brought Nate awake, and he opened his eyes to find golden rays of sunlight streaming in the open flap. Startled, he sat up and clutched the Hawken. He couldn’t believe he’d fallen asleep! Outside the lodge were Strong Wolf and Red Hawk, both engaged in sharpening arrows. He looked behind him and saw Sitting Bear, Evening Star, and the little girl by the fire.

  ‘The new day has begun,” the warrior signed.

  Nate numbly nodded and ran his left hand through his hair. He had no idea when he’d finally dozed off, but he felt as if he’d only slept for an hour or so.

  “We have tried to be quiet so as not to wake you,” Sitting Bear disclosed. “I did not know you are such a late riser.”

  Late? Nate peered through the doorway again and saw the tip of the sun peeking above the eastern horizon. What did the Crow consider to be early? he wondered, and rose sluggishly. He went outside, smiled at the boys, and walked into the forest to relieve his bladder. The crisp morning air invigorated him, and he swung his arms back and forth to get his circulation going. Birds chirped lustily on all sides, greeting the dawn in their own inimitable manner. The avian choir assured him there were no Utes in the area. He propped the rifle against a tree, attended to business, and returned to the lodge.

  Strong Wolf glanced up and his hands flew. “My father has told us you are going with him today. It is good. He is a brave man, but he should not be out there alone.”

  “I agree,” Nate concurred, and entered.

  Evening Star beckoned him. In her right hand she held several small, round cakes.

  “Would you like to eat before you leave?” Sitting Bear queried.

  “Yes,” Nate said, joining them. He took a seat and gratefully accepted the cakes.

  “We have a two-hour trip to the eagle peak,” Sitting Bear revealed. “If all goes well, we can be back here by midday.”

  Nate placed the cakes in his lap to pose a question. “Is that two hours on foot?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then I suggest we ride to save time.”

  “We could save a little, perhaps,” the Crow said, “but most of the journey is uphill over very steep terrain. The horses would only slow us down and we would be forced to leave them a mile from our destination. While I thank you for the offer, your animals would be safer if we left them with my family.”

  “Whatever is best,” Nate stated, and dug into his breakfast. In five minutes he consumed the cakes and enjoyed a cup of blackberry juice Evening Star provided.

  Sitting Bear spoke to his wife, then slung a leather pouch over his left arm, grabbed his bow, aligned his quiver on his back, and started for the flap. “I am ready if you are,” he announced.

  “Wait,” Nate said, and quickly checked the rifle and both pistols to ensure they were loaded. Once done, he walked to the entrance and grinned. “Lead the way.”

  They exited, the warrior in the lead. He took the time to speak to both of his sons, then gestured and led the way to the northwest.

  Nate stayed a few yards behind the Crow, moving as. silently as he could, his eyes constantly roving from side to side as he alertly scanned the undergrowth. His host set a rapid pace that he easily matched, and they covered several miles without incident.

  The forest eventually ended at the base of a sparsely covered hill, which they negotiated. Then they started up a high mountain. On the craggy heights above were bighorn sheep, white dots against the brown of the cliffs the animals frequented.

  Nate saw Sitting Bear slow and peer intently at a thicket to their right. He halted when the Crow did, and he was all set to inquire about the reason for the delay when the warrior stooped and lifted a fair-sized stone. Puzzled, Nate kept silent.

  Sitting Bear suddenly hurled the stone into the middle of the brush, and out darted a large rabbit. It picked up speed swiftly. In a fluid, practiced motion the Crow whipped an arrow from the quiver, notched the shaft, elevated the bow, and took a fraction of a second to aim.

  Nate watched in fascination. The rabbit bounded all out, and he didn’t see how anyone could hit such a streaking target. He heard the humming vibration as the string was released, and glimpsed the flashing arrow. To his amazement, the rabbit abruptly tumbled end over end, dead before it came to a stop, the shaft jutting from its twitching body.

  The warrior hastened to recover the animal and came back grinning happily. He slung the bow
over his right shoulder and nodded at the peak far above them.

  “Why did you kill it?” Nate asked.

  Sitting Bear stuck the exposed portion of the shaft under his left arm and answered with his hands. “To use as bait. Come. We have a long way to climb.”

  They did exactly that, going steadily upward. The slope, at first, was gradual and dotted with trees and patches of shrubs.

  Nate tilted his head and spied a solitary eagle soaring on the currents to the south. The distance was too great to determine if it was a golden eagle or a bald eagle. Both were numerous in the Rockies, as were many varieties of hawks.

  The climb became more arduous the higher they ascended. Fields of enormous boulders had to be traversed and occasional crevices skirted. Sheer cliffs were bypassed. The sun rose steadily, warming even the rarefied air at the upper elevations.

  A layer of sweat caked Nate’s skin by the time they came to an incline spanning a hundred yards in length and twice that distance in width. Short alpine grass covered the ground.

  Sitting Bear stopped and turned. “We are here.”

  Nate gazed uncertainly at the grassy stretch. “This is where you will catch the eagles?”

  “Yes.” The Crow headed for the center of the tract.

  Perplexed, Nate followed. He scanned the heavens for eagles, but saw none. On another mountain to the north, near the summit, was a large herd of elk making for the lower regions.

  Slowing, Sitting Bear studied the area ahead. He voiced an exclamation in Crow and walked to a shallow depression, where he knelt and began feeling the surface with his fingers extended.

  Nate placed the rifle stock on the ground and simply observed, at a loss to explain the Indian’s behavior. He thought about Winona, and passionately wished he was with her instead of on a forlorn peak many miles away. In all fairness, he mentally noted, he had only himself to blame. He was the one who had craved deer meat when there were other types to choose from. The lake near his cabin abounded in fish. There was also plenty of elk and small game in the neighborhood of his homestead. Even a small herd of buffalo. If he’d settled for a continued diet of fish or a different game animal, he’d be snug and warm in his own home where he belonged.

  The warrior chuckled and began tugging at something. Moments later he succeeded in lifting a three-foot-square latticework constructed from thin limbs.

  Amazed, Nate stepped nearer. The limbs had been woven tightly together to form a sturdy platform on which there rested an inch or two of soil topped with grass. Perfect camouflage, he realized, and grinned at the ingenuity displayed. Under the covering was a circular pit, its sides braced by a layer of flat stones.

  Sitting Bear shoved the latticework to the left and looked at Nate. “This pit was dug by my father’s father. There is another over there,” he revealed, and pointed at another slight depression ten feet off. “Conceal yourself within. Soon an eagle will come. If I am fast enough, I can get all five feathers I require from one bird. If not, we will be here a while.”

  “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  “Just do not make any noise. Not even a sneeze. And whatever you do, be sure not to bump the covering. Eagles have great eyesight and can see a blade of grass tremble from a mile up.”

  Nate knew that to be an exaggeration, but he refrained from debating the point. He moved to the spot indicated and succeeded in removing the cover to a second pit. A glance back disclosed his companion positioning the bait at the edge of the trap by jamming the bloody tip of the arrow that transfixed the rabbit into the soil. Nate eased down onto his buttocks, pleased to find there was enough room to sit up. The rifle went between his legs. By poking his fingers into the latticework, he grasped the cover and slid it over him, leaving an inch gap on the side facing the Crow’s hiding place so he could view whatever transpired next.

  Sitting Bear dropped into the first pit and covered himself. He aligned the top to leave a gap for his arms next to the rabbit.

  The simplicity of the technique appealed to Nate, and he marveled yet again at the adaptability of the Indians to their environment. They had met Nature on less than equal terms and bested her. Whether they were hunting buffalo or obtaining feathers, whether they were selecting medicinal herbs or edible plants, they demonstrated an affinity for the wild that the whites couldn’t hope to match. Oh, there were a few white men who had lived among the Indians long enough to be their equals, but in general the Indians had learned to live in harmony with the wilderness while the white race sought to conquer it.

  Time went by slowly.

  Nate made himself as comfortable as he could. A layer of gravel covered the bottom, and he was tempted to lift the covers and tear out some grass by the roots to use as cushioning. To do so would spoil the trap, however, so he bore the minor irritation in resignation. He leaned against the side, his eyes on the rabbit, his mind adrift in reflections of his childhood in New York City. Sometimes, especially in periods of inactivity, he missed his family and civilization.

  He dwelled on the lovely woman he’d planned to marry, Adeline Van Buren, and hoped she’d secured another eligible beau, someone her father would approve of. No doubt she had. With her natural beauty, wit, and charm, she could take her pick of any man in New York. He’d never quite understand what she’d seen in him. In his eyes, she’d been a goddess and he her supplicant.

  Who would ever have thought that he would give up a Venus like Adeline to marry an unaffected Indian woman who was as far removed in her manners and customs from the ways of polite society as the sun from the earth? Truly the whims of circumstance and design were beyond comprehension.

  Nate began to feel sleepy, and he struggled to keep his eyes open. He didn’t want to miss the moment when an eagle first took the bait. Try as he might, though, the lack of rest took its toll and his leaden eyelids closed.

  A peculiar fluttering sound reached his ears.

  Instantly Nate’s eyes snapped open. A loud swishing filled the air, and out of the blue plummeted a diving bald eagle, its terrible talons pointed downward, its wings held erect as it dived for the kill. With bated breath he saw the mighty bird grab hold of its prey, and at that very moment a pair of sturdy arms surged from under the adjacent latticework and firm hands seized its legs.

  The eagle promptly strained upward, its wings beating powerfully, voicing an unusually weak chittering cry from so magnificent a creature.

  Sitting Bear straightened, the covering on his shoulders, his sinews rippling as he fought to restrain the bird. He managed to grip both its legs in his left hand and plucked at its white tail feather with his right.

  At last the eagle understood what was happening and twisted, trying to peck the Indian in the head and neck. Its own wings prevented the bird from craning its neck far enough.

  Nate stood, tossing the covering to his pit aside, and scooped up his rifle. He wanted to assist his friend but had no idea what to do.

  The Crow managed to tear out four feathers and was working on the fifth. His left hand slipped, and the eagle turned even further and snapped at his left shoulder. He ducked to avoid the bird’s wicked beak, then wrapped his fingers around a fifth white plume.

  Enraged to the point of being berserk, the eagle flailed and thrashed savagely, its wings striking the warrior again and again. It was able to tear its left leg free, and like a striking rattlesnake it lanced one of the biggest beaks in the bird kingdom, a beak that could shred the toughest of flesh, at its tormentor.

  Nate gazed in horror as the eagle tore into Sitting Bear’s face.

  Chapter Eight

  Nate surged out of the pit and raced toward the Crow. “Sitting Bear!” he cried out, unable to fire because of the proximity of the bird.

  Voicing a shrill shriek, the eagle suddenly took wing, speeding skyward with the dead rabbit still clutched in its steely talons.

  The warrior pressed his left hand to his face. Blood trickled over his fingers as he gazed at the departing creature, a wry
smile on his lips.

  “Are you all right?” Nate inquired urgently in English, temporarily forgetting himself. He quickly rephrased the query in sign language.

  Sitting Bear nodded absently, his eyes brimming with triumph. He lowered the hand to reveal a nasty cut three inches long, from just under his left eye down to his chin.

  “That eagle almost took your eye out,” Nate declared. “What do you have to be so happy about?”

  Smiling wider, Sitting Bear extended his right arm and slowly unfolded his right hand. Resting in his palm was the fifth feather.

  “You did it!” Nate gestured excitedly. “Now you have all the feathers you need.”

  The warrior collected all five plumes and climbed onto the grass. He stared up at the eagle, still visible but receding rapidly, and spoke in the Crow tongue.

  Nate was delighted at the success of their quest, for more reasons than one. Now they could return to the lodge, and before too long he would be on his way home. If it wasn’t for the threat of the Utes, all would be well.

  “I thanked the eagle for the gift of its feathers,” Sitting Bear explained after a minute. “My first task is done. Next I will recover the horses stolen by the Arapahos.”

  “Are there other warriors who will go with you?”

  “No. Until I reclaim my honor, my friends shun me.”

  “They do not behave like friends.”

  Sitting Bear shrugged. “It is the Crow way.” He gingerly ran a finger along the slash he’d sustained. “I will have a scar,” he commented proudly.

  “We should wash it at the first opportunity or it might become infected,” Nate noted.

  “Evening Star will apply herbal medicine. She is a skilled healer.”

  Nate tilted his neck and spied the dwindling form of the great bird. “I learned an important lesson today.”

  “What lesson?”

  “I would rather have a feather given to me than pluck one myself.”

  The Crow laughed heartily.

  After covering the pits, they commenced the descent, the flush of triumph and the pull of gravity conspiring to hasten their pace so that they reached the bottom in much less time than the climb had taken.