Nate licked his lips and rubbed his moist palms together. What was capable of slaying a grown bear? He began to wonder if the creature might be of an unknown species, one he had never encountered. All tribes had legends of monsters, many dating from the times of antiquity when the Indians first settled on the North American continent. Most involved tales of heroic warriors who fought and vanquished ferocious beasts unlike any currently alive. And too, he recalled his own harrowing experience not long ago in a hidden valley far to the north where he had nearly lost his life to The Thing That Lurks in the Dark, as the Crows called the mysterious denizen of that valley.
Suddenly his reflection was brought to an end; they emerged from the boulder field less than thirty yards from the base of the cliff. Between them and the rock face the ground sloped down to form a huge bowl. They stood on the rim, surveying the erosion-formed depression. In front of them and to the left the earth walls of the bowl were ten to fifteen feet high. To the right was an earthen ramp extending from the top to the bottom. The opposite side was actually the cliff itself, and at its base was the entrance to a cave, a murky opening a dozen feet high and equally as wide.
Nate took all this in at a glance. His main attention was riveted on the scores of skeletons littering the bowl floor. He recognized bones from all sorts of animals. Whatever killed them must have an insatiable appetite. The cave, he realized with a start, had to be the creature’s lair. He had started to take a step backwards away from the edge when a rough pair of hands rammed into his shoulder blades and he was brutally shoved over the brink.
Chapter Ten
Nate instinctively threw out his arms to balance himself as he fell. He felt fleeting surprise, and then the ground was rushing up to meet him and he had to concentrate on relaxing as he hit to better absorb the shock and save his legs from injury. Too late he saw the bones of an elk directly under him. He tried to slant to one side but his momentum was too great. The soles of his feet slammed down onto the elk’s rib cage and he heard a loud crack as one of the ribs snapped off. Jarring pain shot up his left leg. In a twinkling he was pitched to the left, onto his side, and he landed hard on his left arm, jarring the elbow and causing his arm to go numb.
For a few seconds he lay there, gathering his wits. His blood raced in his veins, his heart pounded in his chest. Now he knew why Kicking Bird had looked forward to his death with such relish. The Bloods were counting on whatever lived in the cave to do the same to him as it had done to countless wild animals. They were giving him his fighting chance, all right, against a monster that killed for food.
Nate pushed to his knees and glanced at the cave mouth, expecting to see a hideous nightmare appear. But nothing moved in the lair. Perhaps it was nocturnal and slept during the day. If he moved quickly he could run up the ramp and get the hell out of there before the thing came out.
He pushed upright and winced as pain lanced his left ankle. Was it broken? Taking a few tentative steps, he concluded he had suffered a mild sprain, which was the least of his worries given the circumstances. He turned toward the ramp and broke into a shuffling run, covering five yards before he heard a buzzing sound and an arrow thudded into the dirt at his feet.
Nate looked up. The seven Bloods, all smiles, were still perched on the rim. Both warriors with bows were set to loose a shaft again should he attempt to use the ramp. They had him right where they wanted him, and now they were going to stand up there and watch as whatever lurked in the cave made a meal of him.
Kicking Bird’s hands moved in sign language. “Do you still pretend to have courage, white dog?”
Twisting, Nate glanced at the ramp twenty feet off. So close, yet so far. And there was no other way out. He faced the Bloods again, clenching his fists in fury.
Eagle Claw was holding the Hawken in the crook of his left elbow. “We decided this would be a fitting end for you, Grizzly Killer. Do not worry. If you die well, we will tell our people and spread the word among the Blackfeet and the Piegans. Sooner or later the story will get back to the Shoshones and they will honor your passing.” He gazed at the cave. “We have known of Silver Hair for many years. Those who came to this mountain for eagle feathers always gave him and his lair a wide berth.”
Silver Hair? They had a name for the monster? Nate pivoted so he could keep an eye on the cave.
“Silver Hair is the oldest of his kind,” Eagle Claw continued in sign. “Some say he has lived forever. Some claim he can never be killed. It is most appropriate that he be the one who kills you.”
Why was it so damned fitting? Nate mused, and cast about for a weapon. There were plenty of bones, some heavy thigh bones that would suffice as a club. He saw one that appeared to be sturdy and went over to pick it up.
Deep within the cave, something growled.
A ripple of fear coursed down Nate’s back and he froze in the act of reaching for the thigh bone to stare at the cave in dread. Whatever dwelled in there was awake and might be coming out! He grabbed the bone and stepped back, his skin crawling. Low chortles from on high drew him up short. The Bloods were laughing at him! A surge of indignation replaced his fear. Mad at himself for letting abject fright get the better of him, he glared up at the band.
Kicking Bird’s shoulders shook with glee.
Nate took a few steps to the left, seeking a spot to make his stand. The scattered bones offered nowhere to conceal himself, so he had no choice but to fight for his life. From out of the cave issued another, louder, growl. The creature was indeed emerging. He hefted the thigh bone, so heavy and yet so puny.
A third growl let him know the monster was close to the entrance.
Nate had rarely felt so helpless. He thought of Winona and Zach and felt profoundly sorry he had failed them. Since a woman was rarely able to live by herself in Indian society, Winona would be forced to find a new husband, even though she had many times asserted that should he die, she would never marry again. And young Zach would be deprived of a father’s guidance when he needed it the most.
Something moved in the cave.
Crouching, Nate clutched the end of the thigh bone with both hands and waited, his eyes probing the gloomy confines of the passageway through which the monster was approaching. He could see an enormous bulk moving ponderously outward. It paused just shy of the sunlight and he heard it sniff several times. Then, with measured strides, it advanced into the open.
Nate wished the earth would open up and swallow him. In all his years in the Rockies, in all his run-ins with wild beasts, he had never beheld anything as huge as the stupendous grizzly that now stood and met his gawking gaze with a baleful stare of its own. A colossal creature, it was almost the size of a full-grown buffalo bull. Likewise remarkable was the color of its coat; while grizzlies could be any color from yellowish-brown to almost black, often with white-tipped hairs that gave them their grizzled aspect, this one was solid silver from the tip of its twitching black nose to the end of its stubby tail.
Now Nate understood why the Bloods kept insisting his end would be so appropriate. After all, what could be more fitting for someone named Grizzly Killer than to meet his end under the slashing claws of the biggest grizzly in existence? He glanced up at the rim, thinking the band would be enjoying more laughter at his expense, and was mildly surprised to see they had all flattened and were peeking over the edge to witness the outcome of his battle.
The grizzly had yet to make a threatening move. It was studying him, perhaps confused at finding a human so close to its lair. Nate knew it wouldn’t stand still for long. The number of skeletons dotting the bowl and lying among the boulders disclosed this one was an inveterate meat eater, unlike a normal bear. All grizzlies ate meat from time to time, but most would rather dine on berries, fruit, insects, leaves, and twigs. Meat was not their staple. Even when they slew trappers or Indians, they seldom consumed the bodies.
This grizzly was a different story entirely. Sometimes the great bears developed a craving for raw flesh and would eat little
else. They would even kill their own kind if another bear strayed onto their territory. The gigantic creature before him was just such a carnivorous monster.
Nate held himself as rigid as a pole. He scarcely breathed. He saw the grizzly sweep its head from side to side, then tilt its head upward to better catch the air currents. There could be no doubt the thing had seen him. So what was it waiting for?
The bear took five steps to its left, halted, and resumed sniffing.
Mystified, Nate waited for the beast to charge. His club might as well be a blade of grass for all the good it would do him. A bear that size would be impervious to any and all blows, except possibly on the face. Once it came at him, he would go for its eyes. Perhaps, if he could temporarily blind it, he might be able to reach the ramp provided the Bloods didn’t kill him first. A quick look at the rim confirmed they were still there, seven heads all in a row, most smirking at his expense. What he wouldn’t give to be able to turn the tables and have them in his place!
A crazy idea blossomed, a way of possibly diverting the bear’s attention from himself to the Bloods. It all depended on the grizzly. Would the beast charge at his slightest move, or would it hold off for ten or twenty seconds, giving him time to put his harebrained scheme into effect?
So far the monster did not appear eager to devour him. Still sniffing, Silver Hair moved to the right.
Nate suddenly had an insight. If the bear had lived in that cave for many years, as the Bloods claimed, then it must be getting on in years, an old-timer well past its prime despite its tremendous size. If so, its eyesight must be extremely poor. Throughout their lives, grizzlies relied extensively on their sense of smell because their vision was inferior even to man’s. Advancing years only compounded the problem.
There was a saying among the Shoshones that adequately described the bear’s senses. “When a pine cone falls in the forest, the eagle sees it, the deer hears it, and the great brown bear smells it.” So now he knew why the colossus was trying so hard to catch his scent. The brute couldn’t see him clearly and wasn’t quite certain what he was.
Could he use that to his advantage? Nate wondered. He searched the ground around him and saw a shattered skeleton of a deer a couple of yards away. Among the broken bones was a piece the size of his fist. It would be perfect.
Taking a deep breath, Nate darted to the piece and scooped it up. Spinning, his eyes on Silver Hair, he raced toward the wall directly below the Bloods. The grizzly had cocked its head and was regarding him intently. Sheer dread lent speed to Nate’s feet. He intentionally avoided looking at the Bloods until the very last instant so they wouldn’t guess his intent and scoot from sight to thwart him.
He saw Silver Hair take a step toward him, and then he was right where he wanted to be, twelve feet from the wall, which was as close as he could get due to the angle involved. Abruptly facing the Bloods, he whipped back his right hand and hurled the piece of bone with all the might in his powerful shoulders. Straight at Kicking Bird.
Years of practice tossing rocks and skimming flat stones on the surface of various ponds, rivers, and lakes now paid off. The bone projectile flew true to his aim, striking Kicking Bird full in the face. The startled warrior vented a yelp of pain, and without thinking pushed to his knees, his hands pressed to his bloody nose.
Nate dived, hitting the ground on his elbows and knees, and held himself still. He glanced at the grizzly and nearly laughed in delight. His strategy had worked!
Silver Hair had heard the yelp and was now gazing suspiciously at the rim where Kicking Bird’s torso was silhouetted against the backdrop of daylight. The bear advanced a third of the way across the bowl, its nose working like a bellows at a blacksmith’s shop.
Nate twisted his head and saw Kicking Bird frozen in place. The warrior was afraid to move for fear the movement would be all that was needed to bring the grizzly up the ramp after him. Nate heard the bear growl, and turned his attention to it just as the monster caught an airborne scent and voiced a roar that shook the walls.
Silver Hair was up and out of the depression in the time it took Nate to blink twice. He never would have suspected the great bear could move so fast. The Bloods were also taken by surprise, and they barely had time to leap to their feet and race for the boulder field before Silver Hair reached the spot where they had been lying. Roaring lustily, the grizzly pursued them.
Nate pushed upright and ran to the ramp. He owed his life to the freakish nature of air currents. In the bottom of the bowl, which the breeze could not reach, there had been no current to carry his scent to the bear. But the breeze off the rim had been another story, bringing the scent of the Bloods to Silver Hair’s nostrils and arousing the temperamental beast to a state of primal fury at having its sanctuary invaded by hated humankind.
He reached the top of the ramp before he realized he still clasped the thigh bone and cast it aside. The Bloods were almost to the huge boulders, the grizzly hard on their heels. To his consternation, Silver Hair inexplicably stopped and watched the band disappear from view.
The next moment the bear wheeled and started back toward the bowl.
Nate was caught flat-footed. There was no cover between the ramp and the boulders. At any second Silver Hair would spot him, and in its agitated state, the grizzly would charge whether it detected his scent or not. He turned to the cliff and saw numerous cracks and spots where the rock face had crumpled. Climbing the rock wall was his only hope.
Stepping closer, Nate reached up and inserted his fingers into a crack, then jabbed the toes of his left foot into a groove at waist height. He gripped a second crack with his other hand and pulled himself off the ground just as Silver Hair roared once more.
A look back showed the bear had seen him and was barreling forward, its lips curled back over teeth that could crush a man’s bones as easily as a man’s teeth could sheer through a slice of bread.
Nate frantically sought another crack, found a suitable one, and clawed upward. If he could get high enough, the grizzly wouldn’t be able to get him. Wedging his fingers into a narrow cleft, he rose another few inches. He dared not glance over his shoulder again. The delay might cost him his life.
Five feet he climbed. Then seven. His fingers hurt, his toes too, but he couldn’t slow down. A horizontal crack enabled him to gain another foot, but he was still far from safe. He expected to hear the monster closing on him, but heard nothing. Then, as he grabbed for a hole formed when some of the stone had eroded away, he heard a rumbling growl from directly below, and peering between his legs, Nate saw Silver Hair at the base of the cliff. That very instant, the bear lunged upward, its huge forepaw reaching up to rip him from his perch.
Chapter Eleven
For a heartbeat Nate clung to the wall as terror flooded through him. Self-preservation, that most basic of human instincts, came to his rescue just as the grizzly’s claws nipped at his left heel. He glanced up, saw an inviting crack a foot above his head, and thrust with both hands, sticking his fingers in as far as they would go. His feet lost their purchase. His body swayed outward, and for several harrowing seconds he thought he would lose his grip and fall on top of the bear.
Silver Hair had put a paw on the cliff face. Snarling, it swiped at Nate’s dangling legs but failed to connect.
Mustering all his energy, Nate yanked his feet up and tucked his knees against his stomach. The tormenting strain on his arms and shoulders caused him to grit his teeth. He looked right and left, found a mere bump of rock, and got one foot braced on top of it.
Growling in anger, Silver Hair swung and missed. Not once, but three times, and after the third futile swing the grizzly lowered itself to the earth and began pacing from side to side while staring hungrily upward.
Nate gulped and sought another handhold overhead. Should it occur to the bear to stand on its hind legs and straighten to its full height, he would soon be in the beast’s belly. He spied a protruding ridge no more than an inch wide about ten inches above and to the ri
ght, and gauged whether he could grip it with a quick flick of his hand. As he girded himself for the attempt, he was stunned to hear sharp retorts of gunfire come from the boulder field, mingled with savage war whoops and frenzied yells.
The grizzly also heard and turned.
Maybe the bear would leave to investigate, Nate hoped. From the sound of things, the Bloods were embroiled in a running battle. But with whom? A likely answer occurred to him and he felt a surge of excitement. It might be his Shoshone friends! The Shoshones could have tracked the Bloods to the vicinity of the bald mountain, then conducted a search when the trail vanished into the ravine.
His joy transformed into horror when Silver Hair began walking toward the boulders. If his friends got past the Bloods, they would have to contend with the monster. “Where are you going?” he bellowed, and whistled shrilly in an effort to keep the bear’s attention fixed on him.
The grizzly halted, then swung around.
“That’s it, you ugly good-for-nothing!” Nate shouted. “Come after me!”
Silver Hair lumbered back to the bottom of the cliff.
“Don’t go anywhere,” Nate kept talking. “I want you to stay right there, you flea-ridden sorry excuse for an animal.”
Growling hideously, Silver Hair placed both forepaws on the cliff.
“You’re too fat to climb!” Nate taunted, and waved his right hand in the air. “You’re nothing but a big, hairy pig!” The shooting and the whoops had died down and his friends might appear at any moment. He wanted them to spot the bear before it spotted them.
Wilderness: Mountain Devil/Blackfoot Massacre (A Wilderness Western Book 5) Page 22
