by Gini Rifkin
As the tone and meaning of her words sank in, Kade ran his left hand down beneath the covers. He was stark naked.
“Did you like what you saw?”
“I think it would have been more fun had you been awake.”
At her answer, Kade raised a brow as if in surprise, then gave a little smile.
“Where is Tucket?” Apparently Kade didn’t remember saying goodbye, and his voice, now filled with worry, sounded weaker.
“He left this morning, taking the hides to the gathering.”
“Not alone. He shouldn’t go alone.”
When he tried to rise, she placed a restraining hand on Kade’s chest.
“There was no choice. You are still far from ready to travel.”
He fell back onto the bed, pale and exhausted, illustrating her point.
“Three days have passed since your injury. It was a hard decision—a brave decision. Your friend did not wish to leave you.”
Shifting her attention back to his thigh, she sprinkled pulverized roots of yellow dock on the laceration, followed by conifer resin. He gave a little yelp, and his leg twitched. The stinging of the medicine should momentarily take his mind off Tucket. And the movement was a good sign. Not all feeling had left the extremity.
When he remained silent, she glanced at his face. He stared back, his eyes overly bright, his cheek flushed. Fever still remained their enemy. She remembered the shaman who would dance come the winter, praying and singing for hours, sometime days, gathering their power then healing the sick. If only one of them were here. She had no such ability and could not even build a suitable sweat lodge to drive the illness from him.
Bandaging the leg injury with a strip of clean cotton, she drew the covers up to his chin. “You need more willow bark. And if you stay awake, you can eat more than tea.”
“How is it you’re so handy at doctoring people?” He rallied and appeared more alert.
This was a good memory at least. “My grandmother took me into the mountains one summer. I was barely old enough to expertly ride and care for my pony. For three days we ate nothing but what the forest gave us. She taught me of the herbs and plants and how to use them.
“She told me stories about the old days. We grew very close. She prayed for my spirit guide to visit me during our journey, but he did not come. She said not to blame myself. It was not my fault I was only half Indian.
“Then growing up, my mother taught me of the white man’s medicine. She told me her God didn’t care if I was only half white.”
“I remember now you telling me and Tucket about your momma being white.” He sighed. “And that’s where you got those beautiful green eyes.” Almost a whisper, his last words sounded like something he’d pondered before.
“My eyes are a color prized among my people. But they were no gift to me. I cannot see well.” There, she’d done it, revealed her greatest weakness.
He didn’t appear surprised. “I wondered that day by the river. And the name is a pretty big hint.”
She laughed at his teasing. “Maybe I should have stuck with Belinda Dearborn. The name the missionaries gave me.”
“No. Promise you won’t. That’s not who you are. Besides, I like Blind Deer.”
His words pleased her greatly. She tried not to let it show. “Tucket is an unusual name. Is it not?”
“Indeed it is. Kind of short for the fact he spent a lot of time in Nantucket. Truth be told, he’s from Louisiana. But he keeps that a secret, fearing folks might shorten that too, and call him Louise.”
She couldn’t decide whether that could be true, or if Kade was just trying to make her laugh. He seemed to enjoy doing so. A good quality in a man.
“How did your mother come to live with your tribe?”
He was also very inquisitive—maybe not such a good quality. But Kade’s honesty about how he’d lost his family and met Tucket, gave her the confidence to open up, at least a little. The idea of telling the tale to Kade in comparison to telling Lord Seton felt completely different—back then an act of desperation, now a gift of sharing.
****
“Well I’m not surprised the Blackfoot were involved.” Kade shook his head then added, “She sounds like one courageous lady. Did the thought of leaving never enter her mind?”
Why did everyone always ask that?
“Never. She was happy, with a brave husband and three strong sons. Then they had me. The willful child. I did not wish to come out head first.”
“I guess you were wayward and independent from the very beginning.” Some of his words were slurred, and he closed his eyes.
“Yes. Now you must finish the tea and rest.”
With encouragement, he finished a second cup of willow bark tea, and when she added another blanket to comfort him, he dozed off almost immediately. She fetched the last of the hot water and made herself a cup of tea. Sitting in a chair beside him, she sipped and pondered. Never before had she trusted anyone enough to reveal so much of her life.
After a while, Kade became restless, and knowing her voice calmed him, she rambled on about whatever came to mind.
“My brothers all favored father—no one would mistake them for anything but Indian. But I favored mother. My hair is not true black, and it curls when it rains.” She rose and collected Kade’s buckskins and her sewing bundle. “My thoughts were often troubled as I tried to live in both worlds—two languages, two religions, two ways of thinking and being. I wished there had been two of me like my twin brothers. Each of my parents loved me, and I wished to please them both.”
Returning to the chair, she put awl and sinew to use, salvaging Kade’s linen shirt and repairing the seams in his leather pants. The ones they cut apart when they removed his clothing. But he needed new moccasins. His old ones were worn thin—and they smelled of rot and death from the panther den. She would start on those tomorrow.
As she worked, she glanced around the little cabin. “And now I am here.” Her words came out in a gentle sigh. “Unable to find my people—and unwilling to return to the East. Once again, I am lost between two worlds.”
“Not lost, Blind Deer,” Kade mumbled. “I found you.”
****
Tucket glanced back one last time at the towering white peaks reaching for the sky and the lodgepole pines standing sentry on the trace. He sure felt bad leavin’ Kade and Blind Deer behind.
Hopefully the side of elk would hold them over until Kade was up and about. It hadn’t been a very big animal. Had it been wrong turning a portion of it into jerky for the trail? He’d be to rendezvous in four or five days. There was bound to be game along the way. But with the possibility of unfriendlies around, it was best not to be drawing attention to one’s self by clamoring about and throwin’ fire without good cause.
Too late now anyway.
He faced forward and hunched down into the saddle. The hooves of his mule made soft rhythmic thuds on the trail, and the horses and pack animals added their various jingles and jangles to the song of their passing.
Beyond the muted sounds of animals and forest, a silence settled over everything like a layer of morning fog. Solitude—the one thing he’d missed during his years of whaling. Even though the view from the rail could be the loneliest thing a man could imagine, on a ship full of sailors, a man could never be alone. He was glad to be on dry land.
The taking of those behemoths was nasty business, and hard on the soul. He was starting to feel the same way about beavering. Killing an animal for food was one thing but killing to keep some rich bastard’s head warm back East was another.
Things was getting crowded too. Used to be a man could wander about out here and rarely cross paths with another human being. And the year was measured by the comings and goings of the moon and the changing of the seasons. Now it was near impossible to find a hole Man hadn’t ruined with his greasy handprint. And the beaver weren’t the only thing disappearing. The Indian tribes were growing smaller from warring with the white man, and accord
ingly less friendly.
He never thought he’d see the day when westerin’ sounded more and more like a good idea. He’d heard tell the Oregon territory was something to behold—maybe it was time.
As the animals settled into an easy walk, his mind drifted. It had been a long while since this child had traveled on his lonesome. Him and Kade had shared the trail for many a year, and good ones at that—shinin` times. He smiled, recalling the scrawny boy delivered into his hands by fate. Once Kade came to grips with the loss of his family, he’d worked hard at becoming a man. Always asking questions, always wanting to learn something new, most always wanting to do things his own way.
He couldn’t imagine not being with Kade, although now there was Blind Deer to consider. They made a good match, if they could but see the obvious. Would they cotton to the idea of maybe heading west too?
Tucker revisited old adventures in his mind and thought about what the future might hold, and the morning slipped into afternoon. Then he came to attention as the path up ahead narrowed and dipped downward—a good place for an ambush. Hattie snorted and swung her head to the right, and the string of animals behind him started mincing steps and tossing heads. Something was coming through those trees. Bear, painter, wolf?
Indians.
He kept a steady pace—one hand on the loaded pistol shoved in his belt. With any luck they were Shoshone. He knew quite a few words and signs to palaver with several tribes, and the Shoshone had treated him fair in the past. Of course, alone and laden with beaver plews, he was an easy mark. If they were Siksika he was a goner—the Blackfoot weren’t much on tradin’ or makin’ small talk.
A party of four men filed out of the timber. Crow—big strapping lads, outfitted with bows and arrows, two of them also carrying spears. They appeared amiable—so far.
Tucket offered words of peace, mentioning a Crow chief’s name he’d traded with before. Just like in the city, sometimes it was who you knew that counted, more than what you knew.
They all eyed one another. Three of the braves assessed his packs and accoutrements. The apparent leader urged his horse forward blocking the trail. It wasn’t hot, but Tucket began to sweat while a wonderin’ what they were thinking.
The Crow loved horses—theirs and everybody else’s. Their penchant for them was known far and wide. They seemed to look upon accumulating animals as a challenge, or kinda the way they made their living. He cut loose the HBC mounts captured the day they found Blind Deer and made a sign he was gifting them to the men. Then he held up the bag of jerky and tossed the food to the closest brave.
The four Indians exchanged glances, and words he couldn’t quite catch. As nervous as if he waited for a hang fire, Tucket tried to remain calm. Finally, the Crow blocking the path backed up his mount, indicating for him to proceed.
Touching his heels to Hattie, Tucket gave a friendly nod, and ambled off with the pack animals. Would the horses and food be enough? He hoped by not showing fear he would win their mercy—and not an arrow in his back.
His mountain man luck held. They allowed him to pass unmolested. Indians was hard to figure. On another day he might have gone under, or at least be robbed blind. Not wasting time or daylight, when they were out of sight, he picked up the pace, putting as many miles between him and the Crow braves as possible.
It was strange doin’s in the wilderness, where keepin’ alive could depend just as much on one moment of providence as on a lifetime of learnin’.
Chapter Nine
Kade opened his eyes to morning light—which morning he had no idea. Had it been last night or last week when he’d laid half-conscious listening to Blind Deer’s life story—or at least the parts she was willing to reveal to him.
Turning his head, he searched the cabin for a glimpse of her. His effort was rewarded with a lightning bolt of pain shooting through his skull. An involuntary moan escaped him, and his stomach lurched. Sleeping had done him no good—he felt worse not better. The dizziness increased, and he closed his eyes. Except for the day Tucket saved his life, he couldn’t remember ever feeling so sick and weak.
The bed jiggled. Then a cold wet nose pressed against his bare shoulder. Cautiously, he smiled, but he didn’t open his eyes or move to pet the dog, both efforts sounding too costly.
“Maggie,” he croaked through parched lips. “Hello girl. Go find Blind Deer.”
“I am here, McCauley.” Blind Deer crossed the room, the jingling of beads and shells growing more distinct. She touched his brow.
“Your fever is down.” She sounded much relieved by this fact.
“I hope you are planning to stay with us for a while this time? You have been very poor company, coming and going with no advanced notice. I have had to keep up both sides of the conversation. Not an easy task.”
“How long have I been out this time?”
“Another two days.”
“Holy heck, I’d better get up.” He made to rise, struck down once more when the room tilted and spun at a crazy angle.
“You are feeling dizzy?”
“Like a ’possum in a barrel rolling downhill.”
“You need food.” He fell back upon the pillows. “Tucket shot a young elk before he left. He took some, and the rest is in the meat house. I will bring in the best pieces and prepare something more than soup to strengthen your blood.”
Kade heard Blind Deer’s movements grow faint and disappear. When he was sure she was gone, he tried once more to get up. Slumped over and blurry-eyed, he sucked in a deep breath and made it to the edge of the bed. His shoulder and rib cage painfully rebelled, and he exhaled slowly and with trepidation. Wasn’t there any part of his body still working like it was supposed to?
So far, each little movement was a misery and his head was beginning to throb worse than ever. He sure was a pitiful excuse for a man today, and he wasn’t good at being helpless. In fact, he was downright prideful when it came to admitting frailty of any kind. He gave himself no quarter, and to have his own body beyond his control seemed the ultimate betrayal.
He had to get up and get himself and Blind Deer to rendezvous.
Standing, he felt quite pleased with himself. Walking was another matter altogether. The unwieldy splint and the weakness in his one leg were a lethal combination. He spun around and barely made it back before falling face down on the bed.
****
Kade’s return to consciousness was encouraging. Although still dizzy, he sounded much stronger. Now what he needed was encouragement and good food.
Her happiness faded when she noticed the door to the meat house stood ajar, the wood at the bottom gnawed and broken, the earth in front dug up and scattered. Running the last few steps, she peered inside. As her eyes adjusted to the dark interior, her gaze took in the elk on the floor, torn to bits and scattered about in the dirt. A distinctly rancid smell told Blind Deer the reason for the destruction.
The wolverine snarled and turned to face her full on. His mouth a collection of long white teeth, shining bright even in the dim light. She threw the cook pot she carried at him and drew her knife. The metal container bounced harmlessly off the creature’s back, but the noise seemed to startle him for the moment. Blind Deer backed away. If she could make it back to the cabin, she’d be okay. Then her left foot came down on a twig, and the loud snap triggered the beast into action.
With a hideous snarl, he lunged forward. She slammed the door shut, feeling his weight smash up against the other side. Claws ripping and tearing, he extended one big paw through the hole he’d dug in the dirt at the bottom of the wooden panel. Still leaning against the door, she bent over and stabbed at his foot with her knife. He yelped and pulled back—she turned and ran.
Reaching the cabin, she stopped and looked back. She was safe. The wolverine hadn’t followed. He seemed content with the ruined elk so readily available. Dog barked inside. Should she turn her loose? Tangling with a wolverine, the outcome would be anybody’s guess, and it would serve no purpose. The food was
ruined.
What was she going to do now? She couldn’t tell Kade. Knowing they were without food would concern him all the more. But he needed meat, and he needed it now.
There was only one answer. She would go hunting. Something she had never done before. When she was on her own, camas roots, vegetables, and berries kept her going, along with buying or trading for more substantial fare. Could she do this?
Slipping inside, she searched for an excuse to explain her delay in making Kade the promised meal. She needn’t have worried. He lay sprawled across the bed, unconscious again and full of fever. Obviously, he’d tried to get up and it had cost him dearly. She struggled to rearrange him in a normal sleeping position. Male pride was not good medicine.
Before he had taken his leave, Tucket had shown her how to load Kade’s longrifle. Powder, patch, ball—powder, patch, ball. As she located both powder horns and shooting pouch, she chanted the three words over and over as if they formed a sacred litany. If she got the order incorrect the rifle would not fire, or worse yet a ball could be stuck, rendering the rifle either useless or ready to explode when the trigger was pulled.
Ugh. The Kentucky rifle weighed more than she remembered. Stock down, muzzle up she balanced the weapon against her body, and hands shaking, she measured out the black pepper-like granules. Down the barrel it went, then tapping the side, she settled the powder.
With the patch knife, she cut off a small square of cotton shirting and sucked on the fabric to moisten the material. Her mouth was so dry she barely had enough spit to wet the tiny piece of linen. As saturated as it was likely to get, she laid the square flat across the muzzle. Carefully balancing a lead ball on top, sprue facing upward, she used the short starter to seat the ball.
After realigning the wooden implement, she pounded on it with the flat of her palm, painfully catching the webbing between her thumb and forefinger as the wood connected with the lip of the muzzle. Blood ran down her hand. How in the name of all her ancestors was she going to shoot anything when she couldn’t even load the gun without getting hurt?
