by Jenna Kernan
He could not get in and she could not get out. Trapped. How long until he roused the camp?
As suddenly as it began, the pounding ceased. She held her breath in the silence that ensued. Then came the sound of his footsteps as he staggered away.
She could breathe again. Her knees failed and she sank to the earth floor, then she crawled to Jake now lying motionless in the near darkness.
She added more wood to the fire and soon could see about her. What now?
Jake lay unconscious and Nikki’s men waited just beyond the door. How long until they came again?
Her heart thudded in her temples as she patted Jake’s face, hoping he might come to and help her. Fear tasted metallic in her mouth as she worried over what the trappers would do when they found their leader. She had to get away.
How?
She folded her hands in an effort to ask God’s help, but found she could barely think for the uncertainty. Attempts to rouse Jake with water sprinkled on his face also failed. If she somehow managed to drag him out of the cabin, how would she lift him onto the horse?
It was impossible. But to wait here until they came—she would not.
Their things lay in a pile beside the door. She found her pistol and replaced it in its holster. Their guns rested beneath the Russian’s filthy bed with Jake’s sextant. He stole everything of value. She had stolen it back, along with his blankets and then added his otter furs for good measure.
Emma stood beside Jake wondering how to drag him. Lifting behind his shoulders would surely tear open the clot and begin the bleeding once more. She tried his feet and first could not budge him, but then managed to pull him a few inches.
She laid the blankets on the earth and dragged him onto them. Then she wrapped the wool about his body and lashed them shut, forming a large cocoon. Only his pale face with several days’ growth of whiskers showed now. She crept to the door.
Uncertainty rang in her ears. There was no other way out except turning her pistol upon herself and she was not ready to admit defeat. Her trembling fingers lifted the plank and lay it beside the door. They could come in now. She couldn’t stop them.
She cracked the door and gazed out. Something was wrong. She could not see a thing. The white mist rolled into the cabin, swirling with vaporous fingers across the floor.
Fog. Fog so thick she could not see her own feet. In a moment her legs disappeared and she was enveloped in a white blanket. She turned back. Jake vanished in mist.
If she could not see them, then they could not find her. She took a step from the cabin and then paused. How would she find her way back to Jake?
She retraced her steps, colliding with the door frame, already lost. The door slammed as she leaned against it. Soon she collected all the rope in the cabin. She tied a knot around the latch and headed out into the fog.
Stumbling about she managed to find the tree where they had tied the horses. Scout nickered and she stroked the velvet of his nose. Mist beaded upon them, making their coats slick as any rainstorm. Her hand paused.
“Why they left the saddles on. What kind of men leave horses saddled overnight?” She felt about Scout’s barrel. “The girth is still tight! I suppose they didn’t feed or water you, either.” Her fingers worked the rope as she tied a knot about the tree. Then she retraced her steps to the cabin. If not for the rope, she knew she would have already headed in the wrong direction.
How many trips to the horses and back? She lost count. She had packed the mules so often she thought she could do it in the dark. Now she found the task difficult beyond measure.
On her next trip, a sound halted her. One of the men called Nikki, over and over.
She ran the distance, the rope sliding through her fingers as she raced to the cabin. The man was near, but he had not entered yet. She grabbed Jake’s feet and yanked. He moved a few inches.
“Nikki?”
Nearer now—or was it only the fog, tricking her, distorting the sounds?
Emma looped one arm over the rope until the hemp rested beneath her armpit then grasped the blanket at Jake’s feet and pulled with all her might. Scuttling like a crab, she succeeded in exiting the cabin.
“Nikki?”
The man was right beside her. She dropped to her knees next to Jake and felt the rope vibrate as the man stumbled into the line.
He spoke in Russian, his angry voice coming from just before her. He could find her by the rope. But if she moved away, she would never reach the horses.
His voice came again. She held her breath. The rope danced as he moved along it. This time his voice was farther off. He went to the cabin. In a moment he’d find their leader and then he’d follow the line straight to her.
Springing to her feet she tugged at Jake’s inert form, dragging him backward. She could hear the horses shuffling their feet now.
A cry came from within the cabin and then shouting. More voices joined in as the camp roused. Next came the pounding of feet as the line before her shook.
She drew her knife and sliced. The rope dropped beside her. Emma stared into the blinding whiteness before her. They could still find her if they traced the direction of the line. She clutched the end of the rope the Russian followed and threw it. Then she tied the other end to her wrist and set out at a ninety-degree angle from her current course dragging Jake with painful slowness.
Moments later they came, hesitating, perhaps when they reached the rope’s termination, then charged forward. She ducked low and felt their footsteps as they ran past, falling over rocks and logs.
“Emma?”
She pressed her hand over Jake’s lips and leaned over him. “I’m here. You must be quiet.”
He spoke in a whisper. “I can’t move.”
She sliced through the ropes lashing him into the blanket.
“Where am I?” he asked.
“Near the horses, in the fog. The men are searching for us.”
They were gathering. She could hear them shouting and moving together.
“We have to get to the horses,” she whispered. “Can you ride?”
He sat, swaying. She thought he’d faint again.
“Help me up.”
She wrapped an arm around his waist and he hugged her shoulder. She strained as he drew himself to a stand. In this instant, she realized how weak he was and it terrified her.
She handed him the rope, so she could use both hands to help him along. “Follow the line. It leads to the horses.”
He pulled it toward him and they crept along. Scout nickered at their arrival as Emma untied the line from her wrist. She found Jake with one hand on the saddle horn, trying to lift his leg to the stirrup. She guided his toe into the slot. When he pulled she pushed, pressing her shoulder into his thigh and somehow he got his leg over the saddle. He slumped then, gripping the horn.
“Jake?”
Nothing.
She shook him. “Jake.”
No answer. She wrapped the rope around the saddle horn and over his back. She was not sure it would keep him up. The thought of him tumbling off the horse onto his injured shoulder sent a chill through her.
She tied Scout to Duchess and then added the packhorse and mules behind them. Then she grasped the mare’s reins and led her away from camp toward the sound of the ocean along the sandy riverbank. The shouts of the men disappeared in the fog.
Would they follow?
Emma stopped frequently to check Jake. He moaned now and then, but never roused. She paused to find his wolf-pelt blanket and threw it over his shoulders to keep the worst of the mist from settling on him.
When she reached the sea, she skirted the base of the cliffs looking for some access to the top. She did not find one. Her skirts were saturated and her buckskin shirt no longer kept the water at bay. Onward she trudged. Visibility improved making it possible to see forty feet ahead now.
She paused at a place where the ocean crashed against the rock, safe for the moment in this alcove. She glanced toward the cliff f
inding no access. The tide was rising. Judging from the logs tossed in piles against the stone face, they soon would be in peril.
With tired fingers she tied her skirts up at her waist, preparing to cross the tide line. For a time she studied the waves, but found no pattern to them, so she waited until a breaker hit and tugged Duchess’s reins, venturing out into the retreating wave. The team moved forward, with Emma trotting before the horses, urging them on. She reached a little past the midway point when the wave struck, taking her legs from beneath her. The bridle bit into her hand as salt water tossed her. When the water retreated, she lay on the sand, dangling from Duchess’s reins.
Scrambling to her feet she rushed on reaching dry ground before the next breaker struck. Once safe, Emma rubbed his mare’s head and praised her, feeling guilty for yanking on the poor creature’s mouth as she bounced about in the water like a rubber ball.
She glanced down at her sodden skirts. So much for hiking them up. Water streamed down her face from her drenched hair, burning her eyes. She glanced at Jake and found he lolled left in the saddle.
The wolf hide!
She turned to the sea and saw it rolling in the waves. The breaker brought the hide to shore and then snatched it off the beach once more.
Emma moved the horses up the sand and left them in an attempt to recover his blanket. She waited until the wave broke. Long fingers of water pushed the pelt along. She dashed to the hide and grasped it, running toward the high-water mark as the next wave broke behind her. Just two feet of water hit her, but enough to sweep her feet away again. She fell hard. The retreating wave dragged her toward the sea. Clawing at the beach, she managed to hold her position until the ocean released its grip. Emma staggered clear of danger.
There she sat watching the waves break with terrifying force taking his wolf-pelt blanket far out to sea. When her heartbeat ceased to pound in her chest, she recovered the horse’s reins and set out once more, her legs feeling all the heavier for the sodden skirts. She checked Jake, righting him in the saddle, then pressed on.
The wet fabric chafed her skin. The stress and fear of the terrible night dissolved with the last of the mist. Weariness overwhelmed her. Glancing behind, she realized the Russians could not follow her past the waves now crashing high upon the cliffs. Neither could she turn back. There must be a way to the lip of the escarpment.
By the time she found a break in the rock, her knees bled. The deer trail led through brush and prickers. Certainly these did not bother the deer, but they tore Emma’s skirts to ribbons and then attacked her legs.
Once on top, Emma paused to look at the ocean. From here the waves seemed gentle as they rolled endlessly to the shore. The water sparkled with points of light on a deep blue sea. She had seen the Pacific and now it was time to leave it.
Would she ever see these waters again?
A lump formed in her throat and she swallowed hard to remove it. No time for tears, she must press on.
Emma led the horses inland until exhaustion and her bleeding knees forced a stop. Before her, a forest of giant trees loomed. Here at the edge there was grass for the horses.
She hobbled them first and then slid off packs and saddles, coming last to Duchess, who waited patiently, still carrying her burden.
How would she get Jake safely down?
“Jake?”
He moaned, but did not rouse. She unfastened the ropes, tossing them aside. Then she stood on her toes and latched her arms about his waist. He tipped in her direction. For a moment she thought she controlled his descent, until his far leg dragged free of the stirrup and she held his entire weight for an instant, before toppling.
She fell on her backside with his torso in her lap. Her bottom stung. Her thigh cushioned his head, but Emma knew she’d have a brutal bruise. His near leg still hung in the stirrup. Duchess took a side step and his foot fell free.
“That was ill conceived,” she muttered.
Now he was down in the meadow, in an open area where anyone or anything could easily find them. She dragged herself from beneath Jake and checked him. His breathing was regular and his pulse even. The pallor of his skin disturbed her greatly. Why wouldn’t he wake up?
Duchess grazed nearby and Emma decided only to remove her saddle. The process of dragging their gear to the cover of the trees took some time. She wrapped Jake in a buffalo hide. Finally, she fell beside him and gazed out at the horses and mules munching happily on grass. She lifted the water skin and dribbled the contents onto her raw knees, then held the opening to her lips until sated. She drew out a bit of jerky. Before she could bring it to her mouth she fell asleep beside him, still swaddled in her damp garments.
The hoot of an owl brought her awake. She sat up, unsure of her surroundings. The forest, she remembered. Where was Jake? He lay beside her. His stillness made her scramble to him. A hand pressed to his forehead brought a wave of relief. He was warm.
Her shoulders slumped as her breathing returned to normal. An uneasy tension followed. Too warm. She returned her hand to his skin confirming his fever.
Tears stung her eyes. What else?
Then her head swiveled. Where were the horses?
She sprang to her feet and raced about the meadow, her knees burning with each step and finding the two mules, head to toe near a holly bush. She grasped their halters and brought them to her camp.
Duchess and Scout were nowhere to be seen. She did not know if she should call or even whistle, afraid that to do so might reveal them to predators.
Finally an idea struck. She found the grain bag and shook some in Jake’s hat, as she’d seen him do.
The sound of hoofbeats greeted her immediately. In her relief she gave all the animals grain, then tied them to a tree.
It was there that the Indians found her.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Scout’s whinny brought Emma to her feet. She found an Indian boy in the midst of untying her horse’s lead while another boy spirited Duchess away. Scout lashed out, kicking the thief viciously in the thigh, sending him to the ground.
That threat removed, Emma drew her pistol and took aim, shooting cleanly through the lead line. The boy gaped in astonishment and then ran toward the bushes, leaving his companion rolling on the ground.
Duchess trotted to Emma who patted her neck and praised her highly, then slipped the hobbles on her front legs. Now she aimed her weapon at the injured boy.
He stilled, obviously knowing about guns.
Now what? She had no wish to shoot a boy. But if she released him, he might return with others. The second boy escaped. He would bring them.
She holstered her weapon. The boy took his opportunity to spring up, took one step on the injured leg and fell to the ground howling again.
This time she kneeled beside him and touched his leg. He stilled, lifting up upon his elbows to watch her. Then his hand reached for his knife. She laid her palm on the empty pistol. He stopped and released the blade.
Her gaze swept his leg, noting the raised purple welt growing on his thigh. He would be lucky not to have broken the bone beneath. She left him to find wood for a splint. When she returned he had crawled under a nearby bush. Sweat ran down his face and into his thick black hair and he panted like a dog in August.
She quickly tied the branches on each side of his leg. He seemed very much astonished at her actions. Then she offered him water and waited as he drank. He was suspicious of the meat until he saw her take a bite. Then he devoured that, as well. His appetite reminded her of the soldiers at the fort, always hungry. That thought made her sad and she wasn’t sure why.
Through the afternoon she washed Jake’s fevered body with a damp cloth and waited for the Indians to come. The boy watched her check Jake’s wound, but she feared lifting the clotted cloth from his shoulder. Thoughts of fleeing came and went. Even if she determined to escape, how would she get Jake onto his horse? He burned with fever. Without help, he would die.
They came before twilight, creepin
g slowly forward from the bushes. She kept her pistol ready, thinking she might save a bullet for herself.
Before they reached her, the boy called out. At first he received no answer, but at last the response came. She waited beside Jake, realizing she could not leave him, even to save her life.
Finally a group of seven men appeared, approaching cautiously, their eyes nervous as they held their bows in tight fists. The large-nosed man in the center smiled at the boy. Emma thought this might be his son. The tallest warrior noticed Jake and stepped forward to stare down at his pale, sweaty face.
He cried out and dashed away. The others followed him. From a distance they called to the boy and motioned for him to come. He shook his head and shouted back.
She could not understand why Jake struck such terror into the Indians. His condition rendered him harmless. Finally, the man with the large nose ventured forward to study Jake. With the tip of his bow, he flicked away the hide covering his upper body.
Emma watched him breathe a sigh of relief. Then he stooped to try to lift the bandage. Emma stopped him by placing her hand over his. He stared at her a moment and then smiled.
He stood and motioned for the others. Soon the men checked their own, noting the violet bruise blooming upon the boy’s upper leg and the splint Emma fashioned from the tattered hem of her skirt and two stout sticks. The tallest nodded his approval.
Then they turned their attention to Jake. They soaked the bandage and peeled it away. She gasped at the yellowish pus issuing from the wound. The men exchanged serious glances and spoke in low whispers.
Emma clutched the tall one’s arm. “You have to help him.”
He replied, his voice even and level, but she could not understand his words. He patted her cheek.
The men constructed a stretcher by tying together the ends of two long branches and then adding a crossbar to form a rough triangle. They draped the buffalo hide around the poles in such a way that the leather supported Jake’s weight without bowing. Then they repeated the process creating a second platform for the boy.
