Wilderness: Northwest Passage/Apache Blood (A Wilderness Double Western #6)

by Robbins, David

  For a few seconds Nate hesitated. His reflexes being what they were, he was confident he could step to one side, spin, and fire before Brian got off a shot. Then he heard the distinct click of the Hawken’s hammer being cocked. Unfortunately, Libbie was in front of him. If Brian did manage to fire, or simply squeezed the trigger as he fell, the ball might accidentally strike her. Or possibly Pudge if the shot went wild. And he had no grudge against either of them.

  “I’m waiting, King,” Brian said. “I don’t want to shoot you if I can avoid it, but I’ll be damned if I’m letting you take Libbie back to her pa. Now put down those pistols!”

  Reluctantly, his every instinct telling him he was making a great mistake, Nate lowered the flintlocks to the earth and released them. As he straightened, Brian laughed.

  “You mountain men aren’t as tough as you’re made out to be. We hear all these fantastic stories about how your kind can lick dozens of Injuns with their bare hands and kill grizzlies with just their knives, but it’s all hogwash. This is twice I’ve gotten the better of you.”

  “Don’t remind me,” Nate said, his temper soaring. Pivoting, he stared down the barrel of his rifle.

  Brian beamed and nodded at the hill to his rear. “I was up yonder keeping watch when you showed up. In another five minutes Pudge would have relieved me.” Giving Nate a wide berth, he walked to Libbie’s side. “You’re too persistent for your own good, Mr. King. What am I going to do with you?”

  “I won’t have you hurting him again,” Libbie declared. “You never should have struck him in the first place.”

  “What choice did he leave me?” Brian countered. “You were there. I tried to talk him out of taking you back but he wouldn’t listen. I even offered him every dollar I have, yet he refused to accept it.” Brian scowled. “I didn’t like taking unfair advantage of him anymore than you did, my love. Can I help it if he’s too thickheaded for his own good?”

  Pudge stood and joined them. “What are we going to do with him, Brian?”

  “We let him go,” Libbie said quickly.

  “That would be dumb,” Brian declared. “He’d only follow us until he found some way to take us by surprise, then he’d force you to go with him. Is that what you want?”

  “No,” Libbie answered.

  “How about if we take his horse and leave him here?” Pudge suggested. “He’d never catch us.”

  “That’s what we figured before,” Brian said, “but that pied nightmare of his tore loose and took off on its own.” He glared at Nate. “Your stallion about caved in my head. We’d stopped for a short rest and I was leading it to water when it tore the reins from my hands and ran away. I tried to stop it but it reared on me and knocked me down.”

  “Pegasus knows a polecat when he sees one.”

  “Funny man,” Brian barked, and nudged Pudge with his elbow. “Get something to tie him with and do it as tight as you can. I don’t want him giving us any more trouble.” While he was covered by the Hawken, there was nothing Nate could do as Pudge took a lead rope off of one of the horses and came over to bind him. Pudge used Nate’s knife to cut off a piece.

  “Sorry again, Mr. King,” the hefty youth apologized, then pulled Nate’s arms behind his back, looped the rope about Nate’s wrists, and secured it with three knots. “There. All done.”

  Smiling smugly, Brian lowered the Hawken and let the hammer down. “Have a seat, King,” he said in a mocking tone, and gestured at a spot near the fire. “I’d offer you some coffee, but I’m afraid we don’t have any since you wouldn’t try to reclaim our supplies from those savages.”

  “Don’t treat him so, Brian,” Libbie scolded.

  Nate eased to the ground and crossed his legs. Once again he had taken the greenhorns too lightly and paid for his folly. Once he got free, he would not make the same error in judgment a third time. Glumly, he stared into the crackling flames and resigned himself to being their prisoner for a while.

  “Pudge, go try and catch his stallion,” Brian directed. “It’s grazing on the other side of the hill.”

  “Why me?” Pudge responded.

  “Because I’m not letting Libbie out of my sight,” Brian said, sitting across from Nate. “Take the two flintlocks if it will make you feel any better.”

  “You bet it will,” Pudge stated, gladly scooping up both guns. He took a few strides, then paused, fingering the weapons and gazing anxiously out over the open land to the south and west. “What if there are Injuns watching us?”

  “I doubt it, or Mr. King wouldn’t have walked into our camp the way he did,” Brian said. “We’re safe. Don’t worry.”

  “Are you in your right mind? I won’t stop worrying until we’re safe at Fort Leavenworth,” Pudge asserted. Bracing his round shoulders, he tramped off to do Brian’s bidding.

  “Do you really believe you’ll make it all the way to Fort Leavenworth with no food and no water?” Nate casually asked. “A person can die of thirst and hunger on the prairie just as easily as from a hostile’s arrow or lance.”

  “Not if that person knows where to find water and game,” Brian said.

  “And you do?”

  “No. You do.”

  Libbie looked from one to the other. “What are you getting at, dearest?”

  “Simply this. Mr. King here must know the Plains as well as he does the mountains. If we take him with us, he’ll have to lead us to water and game if he doesn’t want to die along the way. So I propose we make him our unwilling companion until we reach civilization.”

  “And what then?” Libbie inquired.

  “Why, we let him go, of course. What can he do then? We’ll explain everything to the officer in charge at Leavenworth and I’m sure he’ll see things our way. And since the Army has no jurisdiction out here, King can’t press charges.” He chuckled. “Have no fear. Once we’re at the fort, we’ll be safe. The Army isn’t about to let him murder any of us.”

  “But it’s not right to drag him across the prairie against his will.”

  “Then give me a better idea,” Brian said.

  Libbie opened her mouth, closed it, opened it again. “I don’t have one,” she confessed.

  “I do,” Nate addressed Brian. “Allow me to take Libbie to her folks. Pudge and you can ride along and I’ll convince Simon to let the two of you join us.”

  “We’ve discussed that before and I told you what would happen,” Brian said. “No thank you, mountain man. My way is the best.”

  Further argument would be useless, Nate realized. The younger man had his mind made up, and that was all there was to it. Nate had to exercise the patience of a Shoshone warrior until his chance to turn the tables came, and come it would. Traversing the prairie would take weeks. During one of the times when Brian slept, Nate would teach the arrogant greenhorn just how resourceful mountain men could be.

  “Mr. King,” Libbie said, “it would have been best for everyone if you had gone back to my folks instead of coming after us. Why didn’t you leave well enough alone?”

  “And let your true love get the best of me?”

  “I see. Your pride was wounded.”

  “No, my head,” Nate corrected her. “You don’t see at all, Libbie, because you were born and bred in the States. You don’t know that out here a man is measured differently than he is back there. In the States a man is a success if he has a lot of money and power.” Nate noticed Brian yawning. “Out here a man is measured several ways, and one of the most important is the measure of his courage. The Indians count coup to settle who is the bravest. For free trappers like myself, our reputations take the place of counting coup, although quite a few of us do that at times.”

  “You’ve counted coup?” she said in surprise.

  “Many times,” Nate admitted. “I’m an adopted member of the Shoshone tribe. If I didn’t count coup, I wouldn’t be considered a warrior. I wouldn’t be allowed to sit in the councils with the men.”

  Brian threw back his head and cackled, the
n glanced at Libbie. “Don’t this beat all! Your precious mountain man is as much a savage as those red devils who took us captive.”

  “It’s not like that at all,” Nate said harshly. “It’s more like earning rank in the army. An Indian starts by going out and stealing a few horses or killing an enemy or two, and in so doing he qualifies to be a warrior. He continues to advance in standing in his tribe by adding to the brave deeds he’s done. Eventually he works his way up to become what you might call a Little Chief. And after stealing a certain high number of horses and taking a lot of scalps, he may even earn the title of Great Chief.”

  “How quaint,” Brian commented.

  Nate would have slugged the man if his hands were free. Since he had Libbie’s thoughtful attention, he went on. “Becoming a warrior is the most important goal in a young Indian’s life. If he hasn’t done any brave deeds by the time he’s twenty, then he’s not allowed to take part in councils and has to do the same work as the women. In some tribes the women even get to order him around. No man wants to suffer such a fate.” He paused. “So Indians don’t count coup just to see who can be the most savage. They do it as a measure of their manhood.”

  “I think I understand,” she said.

  “Who cares what Indians do?” Brian interjected. “They all deserve to be rounded up just like cattle and put wherever the government wants to put them. That’s what President Jackson said and I believe him.”

  “You would,” Nate muttered.

  Brian bristled and started to lift the Hawken; then his gaze went past Nate and he stood. “Where’s the stallion?”

  “I couldn’t get close,” Pudge announced. “It saw me coming around the hill and took off like a bat out of hell. Chasing it would have been a waste of time.” Walking up beside Nate, he looked down and grinned. “That’s sure some horse you’ve got there, Mr. King.”

  “Believe me, I know.”

  “Enough talk,” Brian said curtly. “Let’s mount and head for South Pass. I know we’re all hungry and we haven’t eaten since we left the Piegan camp, but by nightfall, with some luck, I’ll bag something to eat.”

  “I hope so,” Pudge said. “At this rate, when we get back home folks will change my nickname to Skinny.”

  It was Pudge who helped Nate get on one of their horses. Brian put out the fire. Libbie went into the lean-to and did whatever women do so that when she came back out she was as radiant as sunshine and her clothes were hardly ruffled at all. And she did it all without a drop of water or the use of comb and brush.

  Brian assumed the lead, Libbie riding by his side. Pudge had to lead the animal bearing Nate. They bore to the southeast, holding their horses to a trot that rapidly ate up the miles. Several times Pudge looked at Nate and seemed about to speak, but he always glanced away moments later without saying what was on his mind.

  Over an hour after leaving camp, Pudge looked at Nate yet one more time, then suddenly looked startled and pointed to their rear. “I’ll be damned! Take a gander at that!”

  Twisting, Nate saw Pegasus five hundred yards off, following them. The stallion was cleverly matching their gait and speed. By staying that far out, it could easily avoid being caught should Brian or Pudge go after it. Nate grinned and wished he had the stallion under him instead of the bay he was on.

  “What the hell!” Brian declared, having looked over his shoulder at the yell from Pudge. Reining up, he turned his horse and glared at Pegasus. “It’s that contrary cuss again! For two cents I’d blow its brains all over the prairie.” He raised the Hawken and sighted down the barrel.

  By then Nate was almost abreast of Brian’s mount since Pudge had not yet stopped. He didn’t know whether Brian would really fire, and although the range was too great for any degree of accuracy, he wasn’t going to risk his stallion being struck through sheer dumb luck. So as he came even with Brian’s mount, he leaned to the side and used his legs to propel himself like a human battering ram at the greenhorn.

  Engrossed in taking a bead, Brian was caught off-guard. Nate’s head slammed into his side, throwing him off balance, and together they toppled from his horse onto the grass.

  Nate landed on his left side and rolled. He heard Brian curse, then surged upright, applying his shoulder against the ground for leverage. As he straightened he lashed out with his right foot, catching the sluggish greenhorn in the pit of the stomach. Brian doubled over, sputtering and wheezing, and Nate followed through with a second kick to the tip of Brian’s chin that stretched the younger man out like a board.

  “Mr. King, don’t!” Libbie wailed. She had drawn rein ten yards ahead, but now she goaded her horse toward them.

  Nate quickly sat down, tucked his knees to his chest, and straining mightily, worked his bound hands up over the back of his legs until they cleared his feet. Close by lay his Hawken. Although his wrists were tied, his fingers were loose enough to permit him to grab the rifle and point it at Brian.

  “No!” Libbie cried, stopping mere feet away.

  Disregarding her, Nate managed to cock the Hawken and touched a finger to the trigger. He was forced to hold the gun awkwardly, but there was no doubt in anyone’s mind that he could fire if he was so inclined.

  Blinking several times, Brian groaned and rose on his elbows. “You bastard,” he said, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. “You almost broke my jaw.”

  “I tried my best,” Nate countered, backing up to give himself room to maneuver should one of them come at him. That was when he noticed Pudge. The hefty greenhorn had swung around but had not drawn a flintlock. Instead, Pudge was staring to the southwest, his forehead knit in perplexity. Overcome by curiosity, Nate shifted in the same direction and felt the short hairs at the base of his neck prickle. A mile off was a long brown line resembling for all the world a brown wave rolling across the basin.

  “What the dickens am I looking at?” Pudge asked.

  “It’s a buffalo stampede,” Nate answered, “and they’re heading right this way.”

  Chapter Twelve

  “Dear God!” Pudge blurted out in horror.

  “What do we do?” Libbie asked.

  “We get out of their path or we get trampled,” Nate said, and stepped up to her horse. “I need your help. Climb down and cut me loose. And hurry.”

  “No!” Brian roared, pushing off the ground and taking an unsteady stride, his fists balled at his waist. “Don’t you dare listen to him, Libbie!”

  Pivoting, Nate leveled the Hawken. “Not another step, polecat,” he warned, “or I’ll put a ball through you.” His steely tone stopped Brian cold. The greenhorn made no response, his eyes pools of simmering hatred.

  Suddenly they all heard the sound of distant drumming, like thunder rumbling far off.

  “You’d better hurry,” Nate reminded Libbie.

  She needed no further persuasion. Jumping down, she used his own butcher knife to slice through the ropes, and tossed them at his feet when she was done. “Which way do we go?” she then asked apprehensively.

  The same question was uppermost in Nate’s mind. The buffalo were spread out over a half-mile front and were now only three quarters of a mile off. It was a small herd, but trying to outflank it would be a risky proposition. If one of their horses flagged, its rider was doomed.

  When buffaloes stampeded, they stopped for nothing. Nothing at all. Which was why Indians often surrounded a herd, provoked a stampede in the direction of a convenient cliff, and drove hundreds of the dumb brutes to their deaths. Afterward, there was always plenty of meat for everyone in the village and much rejoicing.

  “What got them going?” Pudge wondered.

  “Anything under the sun,” Nate said, about to issue instructions when he remembered something he had to do. Hastening over to Pudge’s horse, he extended his right hand. “Both of my pistols. Now.”

  “Yes, sir. Whatever you say,” Pudge said, transparently glad to comply. “Just save us from those monsters, will you?”

  Nate p
ointed to the northwest, at part of the range of hills and mountains forming the eastern boundary of the Green River Basin. The nearest foothill stood less than a mile off. “Ride for your lives,” he advised. “When you reach the trees, don’t stop. Make for high ground and the herd should pass you by.”

  “Should?” Libbie said.

  Pudge wasted no words. His legs flapping against his mount, he slanted toward the closest foothill, dust rising in large puffs from under the flying hoofs of his animal.

  “You too,” Nate said, running up behind Libbie’s horse and giving it a smack on the rump. In a flash she was racing after Pudge.

  “What about me?” Brian asked. “I suppose you’ll take the other two horses and leave me here to be crushed to a pulp.”

  “You take them.”

  “What?” Brian said, as if unsure he had heard correctly.

  “You take them,” Nate repeated, and sprinted madly toward Pegasus. The stallion had halted four hundred yards away and was staring intently at the swelling line of onrushing bison. “Pegasus!” Nate shouted, waving his arms. “Come to me! Come on!”

  If the stallion recognized him, it made no move to obey. Perhaps fascinated by the fury of the stampede, it simply stood there and stared.

  “Pegasus! Don’t just stand there, you simpleton!” Nate bellowed, his limbs flying, running as he had seldom run before. Pegasus looked at him but didn’t move. Of all the times for the stallion to be fickle! “Come on, damn you!” he yelled. “Or we’re both goners!”

  At last Pegasus moved to intercept him, but at a walk, not a trot.

  “Faster, damn you!” Nate urged. Well past the stallion he could see the front ranks of buffaloes, their shaggy heads low to the ground, their massive bodies partially obscured by the thick dust cloud swirling from underneath them. Was there time for him to mount and reach the hills before the herd did? It would be close. Too close.

  Pegasus moved faster, reaching a trot in seconds.