Wilderness: Mountain Devil/Blackfoot Massacre (A Wilderness Western Book 5)

by Robbins, David

  Silver Hair inched higher, saliva dripping from its jaw.

  “If I had my knife I’d show you a thing or two,” Nate boasted, continuing to wave his arm to further keep the grizzly distracted. He stared at the boulders, then stiffened as the edge of the crack under his left hand crumbled and his fingers slipped out. In desperation he clutched at the cliff face, but the damage was done. Downward he plummeted.

  Nate envisioned falling into the grizzly’s gaping maw. Instead, he slammed onto the bear’s head, his elbow smashing into hard bone, and then he was falling again, rolling down the bear’s back until he struck the ground. He kept rolling, knowing to lie still would result in certain death, trying to make himself a difficult target for the bear to hit. A single swipe of those wicked claws would open him up like an overripe melon.

  He rolled and rolled. Oddly, he seemed to be going downhill. The awful truth hit him at the same instant he hit the skeleton of an elk, coming to a gut-wrenching stop, and he shoved to his feet in dismay to find himself once again at the bottom of the bowl. He had rolled back down the ramp!

  Silver Hair materialized at the top, the picture of bestial rage.

  Nate stumbled rearward. He looked for something he could use as a weapon. To his right was the skull of a white-tailed buck with one antler still attached. Beside it lay the other antler, broken into sections.

  Roaring its challenge, the massive grizzly swooped down the incline toward him.

  What happened next transpired in a blur of action. Nate didn’t think as he moved; he reacted instinctively, automatically, grasping the deer skull and raising it into the air, then waiting, poised to throw, until the bear was almost upon him. He hurled the skull with all of his sinewy might, catching Silver Hair on the brow and bringing the beast to an abrupt halt, really a pause of two or three seconds, just long enough for him to grab part of the broken antler, a straight section six inches long that ended in a tapered point, and to spring in close, wielding the antler like a knife.

  The bear saw him leap and opened its mouth wide to bite.

  In the fraction of time before Silver Hair could chomp down, Nate speared the tip of the antler into the grizzly’s left eye and jerked his arm back. The monster erupted in a volcanic tantrum, roaring and swinging its front paws as it reared onto its hind legs. He glimpsed a paw sweeping at his temple, and then a battering ram collided with his head and he was swatted like a helpless fly, sailing ten feet or more to crash onto his back among the scattered bones.

  Dazed, Nate rose on an elbow to see the grizzly swiping at the antler imbedded in its eye. He spotted the leg bone of an elk, one end jagged where the bear had bitten it off to get at the juicy marrow, and scrambled to his feet. In two bounds he had the leg bone in his hands. Whirling, impelled by necessity, he committed an act any normal man would regard as insane. He either fought or he died; so he fought. He charged Silver Hair.

  Blood flowed from the grizzly’s ruptured eye. It growled and swung, missing by inches, its reflexes dulled by agony and age.

  Nate had ducked under that blow. Like a man possessed, he lanced the bone into the grizzly’s side but barely dented its thick hide. Sliding to the left, he drove his crude spear up into the underside of the bear’s chin where the hide was softer, and this time split it open. He drew back the leg bone to try again, but a huge paw walloped him on the chest and he was knocked off his feet, dimly aware his buckskin shirt had been torn, his flesh cut, the clammy feel of blood on his skin.

  He rose slowly this time. Silver Hair was on all fours, moving toward the cave entrance. Suddenly the bear staggered, then sagged onto its forepaws. A thick flow of crimson poured from the stabbed eye.

  Nate saw the deer skull and picked it up. His chest smarting abominably, he dashed to the grizzly’s side and slammed the skull down on top of Silver Hair’s head, flailing away like a madman, striking again and again, pounding until his arms were so tired he couldn’t lift the skull. Wearily, he tottered to the left and gaped in amazement at the monster lying in the dust.

  Silver Hair was motionless.

  “It can’t be,” Nate mumbled, thinking the bear was playing possum. He swung the skull a final time and it shattered on impact, splitting down the middle and falling apart in his hands. The grizzly displayed no reaction.

  Finally convinced Silver Hair was dead, Nate shuffled toward the ramp. His body was caked with sweat. Pain stabbed his chest with every step. Glancing down, he found five gashes where the bear’s claws had ripped into him.

  From on top of the bowl came the patter of rushing feet and the sound of heavy breathing, then a low growl.

  Startled, thinking that Silver Hair must have a mate and it was about to tear into him, Nate looked up. At the upper edge of the ramp stood another huge animal, but this one was an enormous black dog, not a grizzly. It rushed down the incline and right up to him, then reared as it whined in delight.

  “No!” Nate said, trying to brush the mongrel aside. In its enthusiasm the dog paid no heed and its heavy paws smacked into his chest, causing him to stumble backwards and fall onto his posterior. He sat there, a lopsided grin curling his mouth, as the black dog stepped up and began licking his face, getting slobber all over his cheeks and chin. “You dumb cur,” he muttered.

  “Samson, you found him!”

  At the youthful cry of joy, Nate again looked up, and was astonished to see his son running toward him. “Zach?” he said in disbelief, trying to rise but unable to do so because Samson was straddling his legs.

  “Pa! Pa!” the boy shouted. “You’re alive!”

  Nate could only sit in dumbfounded amazement as Zach threw himself into his arms and hugged him tight.

  “I was so scared the Bloods had killed you,” Zach said in a strained tone. “Ma kept saying you could take care of yourself, but I was scared anyway.”

  “Your mother?” Nate said, and suddenly spied Winona jogging along the rim. She wasn’t alone. Trailing her were Touch the Clouds and Drags the Rope, both armed with bows.

  Zach straightened, his eyes brimming with tears. “We had to come, Pa. Samson won’t listen to anyone else but us, and we needed him to follow your scent. Touch the Clouds said we could find you faster using Samson than we could if the warriors had to follow the tracks the Bloods left.”

  Nate absently nodded. “True,” he mumbled, and got to his knees. Zach stepped close for another hug.

  “I love you, Pa,” the boy said softly.

  Feeling constricted in his throat, Nate embraced his son and silently gave thanks for being alive. To his rear, Samson began snarling. He twisted and saw the dog warily sniffing at the dead grizzly, the hairs on Samson’s neck bristling. As he faced front a pair of slender arms circled Zach and him and warm lips touched his brow.

  “You had me very worried, husband,” Winona said huskily.

  “I was worried also,” Nate responded with a grin. There were tears of joy in her eyes as well. She pressed her face to his shoulder and gave a squeeze.

  A shadow fell over all three of them. Touch the Clouds was beaming as he spoke. “My heart is happy to find you alive, Grizzly Killer. When we learned you were missing, I was sure some Blood would have your hair decorating his lodge before too many sleeps went by. It is good to see you are still wearing it.”

  Reverting to the Shoshone tongue, Nate asked, “What about the Blood war party?”

  “All dead,” stated Drags the Rope, stepping into view. “We saw them running toward us and ambushed them among the boulders. They were so busy looking back over their shoulders that they never saw us. ” He paused. “Most strange.”

  “Just the two of you killed all of them?”

  “There are ten more men with us,” Drags the Rope revealed. “They are still stripping the Bloods and dividing the spoils. We came on ahead with Winona.”

  “I can never repay you,” Nate said, glancing from one warrior to the other. “I will always be in your debt.”

  The giant shifted self-consciously
. “We are brothers in the same tribe, are we not? We only did what was right to do, the same as would you if one of us had been taken.”

  “Maybe so,” Nate said, “but if either of you are ever in need, you have only to come to me and I will do all in my power to help you.”

  Winona and Zach straightened and moved back, and only then did they all notice the deep cuts where the bear had slashed him. “You’ve been hurt,” she stated in concern.

  “It’s nothing,” Nate said, rising slowly, his legs threatening to buckle. “A few scratches, nothing more.”

  Touch the Clouds was gazing at Silver Hair in frank awe. “Let me guess. You killed it?”

  “Old age did more than I did.”

  “Our people will be telling tales of your exploits for as long as the sun rules the sky,” Touch the Clouds said, and sighed. “It is just my luck to be living at the same time as you. No matter how many coup I count, you will be the one future generations remember.”

  “As a killer of bears perhaps,” Nate said, dutifully returning the compliment. “But when it comes to glory in battle, I believe your name will be talked about around Shoshone camp fires more than any warrior in our history.” He moved toward the incline, grimacing at an acute pang in his right side.

  “What about this silver bear?” Drags the Rope asked. “Do you plan to take the hide back?”

  “All I want is to lie down in my lodge and not move for a week,” Nate replied. “I do not care if I ever see another bear, dead or alive, for as long as I live.”

  “But you must take the hide with you,” Touch the Clouds protested, nodding at Silver Hair. “You killed this great beast. Our people must be permitted to see its huge skin and to hear from your own lips how you defeated such a formidable creature. It is your duty as a warrior to so honor yourself and our tribe.”

  Nate knew it was customary for warriors to publicly relate their exploits, but he was too tired and too sore to care about anything other than rest and recuperation. Wiping his sleeve across his forehead, he turned and spotted the rest of the Shoshone band making their way toward the ramp.

  “If you are weary, we will skin the bear ourselves,” Drags the Rope offered. “Such a fine hide will bring much good medicine to its owner and to our people.”

  “Whatever you wish,” Nate said in resignation. It was useless to quibble, not to mention rude after they had risked their lives to save his. He sat down at the bottom of the ramp and rested his chin in his hands. The moment he did, Samson came over and resumed giving his face a saliva bath.

  “We brought a water skin,” Winona informed him. “I will get it and tend your wounds. You stay here.”

  “I’m not going anywhere,” Nate said, and tried to move his head away from his dog’s drooling tongue, but Samson stepped closer and kept licking. Saliva dribbled down both cheeks and over his chin.

  “Is there anything I can do, Pa?” Zach asked in English.

  “As a matter of fact, there is,” Nate said solemnly. “You can tie Samson’s mouth shut for me.”

  His son, thinking he was joking, threw back his head and laughed.

  Chapter Twelve

  The entire village came out to meet them.

  Nate walked at the rear of the band with his wife and son. Thanks to Winona’s tender ministrations, he felt well again. She had applied an herbal poultice to the cuts on his chest and they no longer stung. His side still ached once in a while, but the pain was bearable. Considering the ordeal he had been through, he was in fine shape.

  His weapons had been returned, and he felt like a whole man again with his knife, tomahawk, twin flintlocks, and rifle at his disposal. The Shoshones had offered him a share of the spoils taken from the dead Bloods, but he had refused and told them to divide everything, including the scalps, as they saw fit.

  In front of him were two warriors carrying Silver Hair’s hide. The size of three ordinary bear pelts, it wasn’t so much heavy as it was awkward for a single person to tote. The warriors were quite excited about the trophy and couldn’t wait to show it off to the tribe.

  Now they got their chance.

  From all directions the men, women, and children of the village swarmed toward the band. The return of a successful war party—in this case a rescue party—was always a cause for celebration. There would be plenty of food and drink and dancing later that night, and the warriors who took part in the rescue would regale their rapt listeners with their escapades.

  Nate found himself surrounded by curious friends and relatives, all wanting to know what had happened. When it was learned he had killed a great silver bear, every last Shoshone wanted to hear the tale from his own lips. He promised all of them he would relate the full story that night.

  Although he would rather have mingled and chatted, he was eager to get to his lodge and see how Reverend John Burke was faring. Since the band had camped overnight in the forest adjacent to the bald mountain to give him a chance to rest, not starting for the village until shortly after daylight, the minister had been left to his own devices for nearly two days. He hoped Burke had done nothing to antagonize the Shoshones.

  As he hurried along with Winona on his right, Zach on his left, and Samson trotting behind him, he was stunned to see another white man come around a lodge, a grizzled mountain man sporting shoulder-length hair, a beard, and a mustache, all as white as the mantle of snow capping some of the distant peaks. So stunned was Nate that, halting in midstride, he almost tripped over his own feet.

  “How now, Horatio!” the old-timer declared, his lake-blue eyes twinkling. “You tremble and look pale. Is not this something more than fantasy? What think you on it?”

  “Shakespeare!” Nate blurted out, running forward to clasp his best friend by the shoulders. “We haven’t seen you for months. What happened? Did Blue Water Woman get tired of your griping and boot you out of your cabin?” Shakespeare McNair stiffened in mock indignation. “My wife, I’ll have you know, worships the ground I walk on. She would no more kick me out of the house than your lovely missus would you.”

  “I’ve been tempted many times,” Winona said, joining them and giving McNair a light peck on his bewhiskered cheek.

  “Uncle Shakespeare!” Zach chimed in. “Are you going to stay a while? I want to show you how well I can ride a horse.”

  “I might be so inclined,” Shakespeare responded. “If you’re pa can tolerate my snoring for a few days.”

  “I’ll stick wax in my ears,” Nate quipped, thrilled at this turn of events. Next to his wife and son, here was the man he loved most in the world, the man who had taught him practically everything he knew about the wilderness, the man who was a legend among the trappers and Indians alike. McNair, who had been dubbed Shakespeare years ago because of his fondness for the Bard of Avon and his penchant for quoting the playwright at the drop of a hat, had lived in the Rocky Mountains longer than any white man alive. He knew every trail, every pass. He knew the habits of every animal. He knew where to find rare medicinal plants few others were aware existed. McNair was a living fount of knowledge and no white man was more widely respected by the various tribes.

  Shakespeare adopted a serious expression. “Actually, son, this isn’t strictly a pleasure call. I had a reason for coming to see you. I needed your help. Little did I know I’d find what I was looking for right here in the village. In fact, in your very lodge.”

  “I don’t understand,” Nate said.

  “Let’s talk as we walk,” McNair suggested, and slid between Winona and Nate as they all started off. “I should fill you in before we get to your lodge so you know what’s going on.” He ran his fingers through his long beard. “Now let’s see. It was about a week and a half ago that some Flatheads showed up at my cabin. They were all kin to Blue Water Woman, and they’d found themselves a stray white man. A city man, no less.”

  “You’re not joshing me?”

  Shakespeare shook his head. “Seems they came on this gent wandering around the prairie near
their village. He was as lost as could be. Thank goodness he stumbled on them first and not the Blackfeet.” He idly surveyed the encampment. “As you know, I’ve lived among the Flatheads and taught a few of them our language, so they were able to question this white man and learn what he was doing in their country. It turns out he was looking for someone and he wanted the Flatheads to help him. But they had a better idea.”

  “They brought him to you,” Nate deduced.

  The mountain man nodded. “Sure enough. They figured that since I know most everyone in these parts, I’d be the one who could help this man out. Well, I knew I’d need some help so naturally I thought of you. Got here just a few hours ago and heard all about you being captured by the Bloods.” He glanced at Nate and made a clucking noise. “Here I thought I taught you how to take care of yourself! If the word gets out, I’ll be afraid to hold my head up in public.”

  “As I recollect, you got yourself caught by the Blackfeet a few years ago. I was just following your example.”

  McNair chuckled. “True enough,” he said, then quoted from his namesake. “Thus far our fortune keeps an upward course, and we are graced with wreaths of victory. But, in the midst of this bright-shining day, I spy a black, suspicious threatening cloud, that will encounter with our glorious sun, ere he attain his easeful western bed.”

  “I don’t follow you,” Nate admitted.

  “What do you think of the Reverend John Burke?”

  “You’ve met him?”

  “No. Answer the question.”

  “He’s a man with a chip on his shoulder the size of Long’s Peak,” Nate replied. “He wants to teach the Indians about Christianity, but with his attitude all he’ll do is get them riled up.”

  “Then I was told the truth,” Shakespeare said, frowning. “Unfeeling fools can with such wrongs dispense. I know his eye doth homage otherwhere; or else what lets it but he would be here?”

  “Would you stop quoting that long-winded cuss and speak plain English?”

  Shakespeare halted and touched his palm to his chest as if shocked. “Old William S. long-winded? Why, that’s near blasphemy in my book. His too,” he said, and cackled merrily.