Noble Savage

by Judith B. Glad

Only the blackest-hearted scoundrel would take advantage of her innocence.

  Innocent? When she'd done the asking?

  Hell yes! Katie might have grown up on a farm, but she'd spent the last few years learning how to be a lady, not how to be a woman. That fancy school she'd been in probably hadn't taught her much of anything beyond how to crook her pinky and which fork to use.

  She deserved a better man than Luke Savage could ever be. The man who took Katie's innocence would be honor-bound to marry her, something he couldn't do.

  She needed a decent man, one who'd give her strong sons and beautiful...

  A sound penetrated Luke's consciousness, faint, and unlike the whistling whisper of the wind. He raised his head.

  Again he heard it, clearer now. "Luke? Where are you?"

  "Here!" His arms weighed a ton. His legs refused to straighten. And his voice had squeaked like a rusty saw in wet wood. He cleared his throat. "Here," he called again, more successfully this time.

  Carefully he stretched his legs out before him, discovering that he must have crouched here far longer than it had seemed. Had he slept? He was cold through, and stiff as a fence post.

  Before he could get to his feet, Katie materialized out of the swirling snow. She dropped to her knees beside him, her hands patting and stroking all over his shoulders and arms.

  "Are you hurt? Where? Can you move your head?"

  With enormous effort, Luke pushed himself to his knees. His feet were still attached to the ends of his legs, but they felt more like big, awkward blocks of ice than something he could walk on. "I'm fine. Just cold."

  "Fine!" She grabbed his arm and tugged. "You're half frozen and you say you're fine?"

  It was easier for Luke to follow her than to resist. He watched her take up the slack in the rope that seemed to be tied to her waist, but couldn't seem to care.

  The black maw of the shelter took shape ahead of them before Luke had taken twenty stumbling steps. He'd been so close! Ducking under the slanted rock seemed almost more than he could do, but he managed with only a slight scrape across his hat.

  "Here. Take off your coat."

  He could not seem to move. All he wanted to do was get closer to the fire and get warm.

  Katie tugged and pulled, wresting him out of the ice-encrusted sheepskin coat. It fell to the floor with a crackle. When she removed his hat, one hand brushed his ear. At least he could still feel it--unlike his hands, which seemed to have fallen off.

  "Sit."

  Luke tried. He really did. "I guess I'm froze stiff," he said, the words sounding broken even to him. He tried again to bend at the hips. "I can't seem to..."

  "Well, no wonder. Stand still."

  She swung her coat around his shoulders, without letting him slip his arms into the sleeves. It was warm from her body. Luke tried to clutch it tighter around himself, but without hands he could not.

  Her hands went to his middle. In a moment he felt his pants slide over his hips and halfway down his legs. Somehow it seemed wrong to be dropping them right here in front of Katie, but he couldn't quite figure out why.

  "Oh, shoot. I forgot your boots." She pushed him gently backwards. "Try again to sit, Luke."

  His knees bent easier this time, but he found himself hobbled. "Can't," he said, his tongue still reluctant to form words.

  "Oh, lordy, just a minute." She pulled his pants back up and fastened them.

  Luke managed to lower himself to the floor, although he half fell the last little ways.

  It didn't take Katie long to remove his pants and his shirt. He knew he ought to appreciate the situation--wasn't it every soldier's dream to have a pretty girl taking his britches off?

  All he could do was fight the chills that shook his entire body. He knew when Katie piled the quilt and his blanket on top of him, saw her build up the fire into a leaping blaze. But even when she held a cup of hot, meaty broth to his mouth, Luke could no more stop shivering than he could fly. His teeth chattered so bad on the rim of the cup that half the broth dribbled down his front.

  Gradually he warmed from the belly out. His feet came to life, throbbing until he wanted to scream. He still had no hands.

  "At least you're not frostbitten anywhere else," Katie told him after carefully inspecting his ears, nose, and feet. "But I hope you hurt."

  Luke forced one word past chattering teeth. "W-w-why?"

  "Because you scared me out of seven years' growth, that's why. Whatever possessed you to go off like that, anyhow? We have plenty of firewood."

  "N-n-needed to th-th-think."

  "More like you forgot to think. Let me see your hands."

  "C-c-can't-t-t." How could he show them to her when they had dropped off somewhere outdoors?

  She opened his wrappings and pulled his arms out, then slowly eased off his sodden gloves. To Luke's amazement, he still had hands. White, dead-looking things. Concentrating, he told his fingers to move and was amazed to see them obey--slowly, barely bending at the knuckles.

  "Oh, God!" Katie whispered. "Don't move."

  Luke closed his eyes, willing the pain from his feet to go away. Willing himself not to curse aloud until it did.

  Something touched his hands. He looked down to see Katie wrapping a dripping cloth around them. Beside her sat the coffeepot. She was dipping another cloth in it, a cloth that looked suspiciously like her camisole, for there were pale blue ribbons dangling from it.

  "This should warm them up slowly." She removed the first cloth and replaced it with the camisole. "I just hope you haven't frozen them."

  A dagger of pain shot up his arm.

  It was only the first. Before his hands once again felt as if they belonged to him, Luke had lost any inhibition against cursing in a lady's hearing. It was that or scream.

  All the while Katie kept dipping and squeezing and wrapping. Each time a new, warm cloth touched his hands, the pain grew worse.

  About three weeks later, Luke realized that his hands merely ached. "Thank God," he whispered, as close to praying as he'd come in a long time. Maybe they were only frostbit, not frozen.

  Katie turned and stared. "What did you say?"

  "N-n-nothin'." The next time she lifted a cloth from his hands, Luke reached out and fumbled at the cup. Before Katie could help, he'd lifted it to his mouth and sipped. "G-g-good." He drank more deeply of the tepid broth, and sighed.

  "That was about the craziest stunt I've ever heard of," she told him, taking the empty cup from his and setting it down. "What in the world did you think you were doing?"

  "Told you," he said. "N-n-needed to think."

  "You think too darned much," she said, frowning as she tucked a warm rock up against his spine. "All you had to do was tell me to leave you alone. It's not as if I'd rip off your clothes and have my way with you, you know." Once more she settled the wrappings about him, tucking them in around his neck. Her fingers brushed his skin, warm and gentle.

  Luke discovered that there was one part of him that had not suffered from the cold. "N-not even if I ask real n-n-nice?"

  Chapter Fifteen

  Where had that come from? Luke bit his lip, lest he say something even worse. He stole a glance at Katie from under his brows, but her face told him nothing.

  Maybe she hadn't heard.

  The slanted wall behind him reflected back the heat from the fire. He gradually absorbed the warmth, although shivers still cascaded through him whenever he moved.

  His hands merely ached now.

  He was almost afraid to inspect them. One of the men in his company had lost his gloves during an early snowfall the winter of '62. By the time the shooting was over, his hands had lost all feeling. He was lucky, though. Only two of his fingertips had been frozen. The surgeon had cut them off a week later, before gangrene could develop.

  Had Katie checked closely enough? And would it make any difference if she hadn't? The damage, however bad it might be, was done. Gingerly he let himself slump sideways and wriggled into as comfo
rtable a position as he could find.

  For a long time Luke drifted in and out of sleep. Each time he woke, he saw Katie puttering about, tending the stock, feeding the fire, sorting through their gear, making little piles of this and that. He wondered what she was seeking. It was too much effort to ask.

  Last time he'd gone off half-cocked like that, he'd been maybe ten, twelve years old. Ma had been riding him about something or other, and it had rubbed him right raw. So he'd gone haring off to the river. Caught himself a mess of fish too.

  When he'd come home, feeling fine, looking forward to fish for supper, his pa had whopped him a good one. The fish had gone to the hogs and he'd been sentenced to the woodpile for a week of log splitting. What had stung most, though, was Pa's comment that an intelligent man kept his temper, no matter the provocation by a woman. "They're notional creatures, women are, and it don't do any good to argue with 'em when they've got the bit in their teeth."

  Damn it, he was supposed to be taking care of Katie! Instead she treated him like a little kid. Put your hat on, Luke. You'll catch your death, Luke. Wipe your feet before....Hell! Next thing he knew, she'd be telling him how to put his britches on. If she didn't decide first she ought to be the one to wear them.

  Or maybe she'd tell him to take 'em off again.

  Oh, God! If only she was buck-toothed and cross-eyed. Fat as a shoat. Bow-legged. Anything but dainty and sweetly curved and pretty as a sunflower in summer.

  If her breasts didn't fit exactly into his hands, if she didn't smell like the lilacs his mother had cherished. And if she wasn't everything he'd dreamed of, those nights and days of the War, when he never knew if he'd even have a tomorrow.

  There she sat, off to the side of the fire, all wrapped up in the dark red shawl. Her head rested on her knees, so that all he could see of her face was her forehead and one ear, both gilded by the firelight.

  How long had he dozed? A long time, if the snow piled at the ends of their shelter was any indication. His gaze followed wispy tendrils of smoke as they twisted upwards and out of the small, high opening at the entrance. He'd better dig it out before night. If the hole got plugged all the way up, they could suffocate as they slept.

  He was wrapped like a mummy, his arms held close to his body. "Katie?"

  She lifted her head. "Hmmm?"

  "Come turn me loose. We've got to dig ourselves out."

  She frowned at him a moment, then understanding came. "Oh, you mean the doors. It's all right, Luke. No need to worry."

  "Tarnation, woman, don't argue. Come help me out of this...this cocoon!"

  "It's cold in here." But she crawled to him. "How do your hands feel?" she asked as she started to unwind him from the tarpaulin.

  How many damned layers did she have on him, anyhow? "I can't tell. They're buried so deep I can't feel them." As the tarpaulin dropped free, Luke began pushing against his confining coverings. They loosened, but he still couldn't move freely.

  "If you'd sit still, I'd have you free a lot sooner."

  "And if you weren't so bossy...Godalmighty, woman, you're enough to try the patience of a saint!" They'd almost done it again, fallen into bickering like a pair of brats. He felt a loosening, and he shrugged.

  "If you'd just listen to me for a change. I piled the snow up myself. It's almost stopped falling, but the wind is just as strong." She folded the quilt aside. "There. Let me see your hands."

  Luke held his hands out and let her examine them. They were pink, not white. Thank God. "Good idea. The firewood we gathered may have to last us several days." He pretended he didn't mind that all he had on was his longjohns.

  He also kept his blanket across his lap. Just the touch of her hands on his reminded him of things best forgotten.

  With the snow piled up in the entrance, the cave did indeed stay warmer. Katie wrapped herself in her coat and the shawl and lay beside the fire, leaving the rest of the bedding and the warm space under the lowest part of the roof to Luke.

  "Don't argue," she said when he did, "or I'll sleep with you."

  Luke decided that he wasn't up to resisting temptation, but he did insist that she take a couple of the ragged gunnysacks for padding against the cold stone floor.

  * * * *

  The next two days reminded Luke of the expectant waiting before a battle. Neither of them spoke unless necessary. He took care of the stock and she cooked. Katie contrived a latrine down at the far end of the cave, where the roof was low. With a pile of snow and a low burlap curtain hung over a line from the gulch wall to a stick poked into the roof, it gave them a little privacy.

  The fourth day dawned far brighter than any for the last week and more. Once they had eaten their meager breakfast, Luke took the shovel and broke down the snow barrier over the entrance until he could see down the gulch. Katie crowded up beside him and he moved aside so she could see out.

  Five bright suns clustered in a pale, cold sky, all blinding to look upon.

  "Oh, look! Sundogs!"

  Luke glanced up at the sky before looking at the ground before him. "It sure doesn't look like it did when we came in," he said. Snow had almost filled the gulch, lying in long, smooth drifts diagonally across its narrow floor. The big cedar that hid the cave from casual discovery was a mound, higher than a house, with not a branch visible.

  "It's not as deep on that side," Katie said, pointing. "Maybe we could get out."

  "Probably. But once we're out of here, who's to say it won't be even deeper? Let's wait a day or two and see." He didn't relish fighting his way uphill against drifts as high as his head.

  "I sure wish we had more of those leather thongs," Katie said, shading her eyes against the bright sunlight.

  "What for?"

  "Snowshoes. I think I could remember how to make them. Then we could go right over the top."

  Was there anything she couldn't do? "The stock too?"

  "Oh." Again that sheepish expression he'd seen before on her face. "I never thought of them." She turned to look back at the asses and the mule. "We can't ask them to plow through this, can we?"

  "Let's wait anyhow. It might melt a bit." Or it could snow more, he admitted to himself. This was new country to him, and he didn't have an idea about how to read weather sign. Did sundogs augur a storm? Or were they in for a clear spell of bitter cold?

  He scraped and packed snow until the opening was once again small enough to keep the cold out. Two more days. That's all he'd wait. If they didn't move on soon, they might never get another chance.

  The next morning was heralded by the sound of dripping water. Long icicles had formed along the edge of their slanting roof, and puddles were forming at both ends of the shelter. Katie used the shovel handle to knock snow aside so she could see. The air that wafted through the opening was warm, almost spring like.

  "A chinook! Luke! Come see!" Vigorously she dug at the crusted but melting snow barrier. It was soft and mushy, like shaded drifts lingering into spring.

  Outside the cedar had sprung back erect, flinging its snow burden aside. Cornices of snow along the gully wall had fallen, forming huge snowballs as they rolled to the bottom of the gully.

  Best of all, a rabbit's trail twisted across the gully floor. If the small critters had emerged, it wouldn't be long before travel was possible.

  Luke nudged against her elbow. "What am I supposed to see? There's nothing out there."

  "You can't see anything. The Indians call it a chinook, a warm wind from the south. By tonight most of the snow will be gone."

  They were loaded up and out of the shelter within two hours. Patches of bare, muddy ground were showing through the snow by then.

  Going was not easy, for the melting snow would not support a human foot, let alone a donkey's dainty hoof. The animals were game, though, seeming as relieved to get out as Katie was. She knew that she'd be stiff tonight, for each step was a challenge. Either her feet disappeared into knee-deep snow or she was fighting to keep from sliding backwards down the wet hill
side. Getting out was worth the hard going, though. If she and Luke had stayed in the shelter much longer, they would have been at each other like the Kilkenny cats.

  As she'd hoped, the ridge leading upwards was almost clear, the snow having drifted to one side in long, deep ridges. They made good time and were in timber by midafternoon.

  "I want to get over the top before dark," Luke told her when she suggested resting. "It doesn't look too far now."

  "If you can do it, I can," Katie told him grimly. Her legs were so much shorter than his that the remaining deep patches of snow were harder for her to cross. She was wet to the waist, her knees and hips screamed for rest, and she didn't believe she'd ever be warm again.

  They broke out of the woods near sunset and looked down the other side. The low sun gilded the sharp ridge on which they stood, leaving what was below in deep blue twilight. "I was afraid of that," Katie said, peering down.

  "What?"

  "It's a lot steeper and drier over here. I don't see any trees at all."

  "We'll worry about that in the morning." Luke stepped back from the edge and turned the animals around. "We'll camp back a ways."

  They set up camp in the shelter of a ring of big pines, using the tarpaulin as a sort of lean-to tent. Enough deadfall lay on the ground that they didn't have to use the firewood they'd packed on Salome's back. It could come in handy later. They both had noticed that trees in the valley bottoms were stunted and shrubby, poor choices for burning.

  "I'm soaked to the skin," Katie said, shivering, "and I'll bet you are too. If you'll give me your britches, I'll hang them up to dry." Once again she mourned the loss of her satchel and its contents, especially her comfortable britches and the wool shirt. Skirts were all very well and good--warmer than trousers for one thing--but there were times when they were a distinct disadvantage.

  "I'm fine," Luke said. He was feeding the stock, using his hat to give them each a handful of their precious grain.

  She unfastened her skirt and let it fall, then her petticoat. Before she loosened her pantaloons, she wrapped the red shawl around herself. "There. I'm decent," she said, as she picked up the wet fabric. "Now give me your britches."