by Norah Hess
Matt glanced at Caleb, who stared glumly into the fire. He knew where the hunter's thoughts were. In the same place as his own.
Matt stretched out on a bunk. His blood surged through him, and he burned with the longing to make Marna's body tremble and strain against him. He could almost feel the length of her white thighs against his own. For a fleeting second he was determined that he would return to the cabin and claim her. He had every right She was his wife.
But when he sat up and reached for his moccasins, he remembered the cruel words he had flung out at her. He lay back down. He didn't have the nerve to go to her.
He rolled over on his side, determined to put his wife out of his mind. If he continued to dwell on her like this, the first thing he'd know, he'd be hooked. He wouldn't care how awful she looked.
Close to an hour later Marna awakened with an urgent thirst. The salty tears had left her throat parched and dry. She rose and entered the other room and made her way to the water pail. But when she dipped the long-handled gourd dipper in, it scraped against the empty bottom.
She frowned in vexation. Laying the dipper on the table, she picked up the pail and headed for the door. It was a white night, so brilliant each tree and boulder stood out distinctly. She peered across at the men's quarters, and all was quiet. Her soft lips lifted in a sneer. She hoped her husband was enjoying his squaw. Determined not to waste her thoughts on him, she stepped off the porch.
As she made her way quickly to the sparkling water that gurgled from beneath a cabin-sized boulder, she shot anxious glances into the forest There were so many night creatures out there, but they would not bother her, she tried to assure herself as she dragged the pail through the trough Caleb had dug out for her. She was in the act of lifting the full vessel when a clattering of stones rolled down the side of the brushcovered stone ledge. She crouched to the ground, shivering. Was that" awful Corey spying on her? She turned her head to one side, listening. The rattle came again, only this time accompanied by a sharp snorting and hissing.
She went rigid with terror. She knew that sound so well. Her eyes flew up to search the brush, and her blood froze. Perched on the ledge, ready to spring, was a huge mountain cat. Its eyes were twin points of shining red. Overcome by panic, Marna forgot her grand mother's teaching about facing out a cat. Instead, she dropped the pail, wheeled, and raced for the cabin.
As she ran she could hear Matt's hound baying in the distance. Why isn't he here guarding the camp? her frantic mind screamed.
The cabin seemed miles away, and she threw a quick look behind her. The cat was nowhere in sight, and her heart fluttered, wondering where it was. She heard Sam snorting fearfully, and she raced on.
She was almost at the porch when she heard the warning growl at her heels, then felt the animal's heavy weight upon her. As she was brought to her knees, piercing screams ripped from her throat. Sharp claws dug into her shoulders. Instinctively her hands grabbed the porch step, and she screamed again, calling Matt's name.
Her heart racing until she thought it would surely burst, she struggled to crawl upon the porch and gain the safety of the cabin. But just as her fingers touched the boards, strong jaws clamped over her thigh. Dear God in heaven, she prayed as the cat flung its head back and forth, trying to drag her loose.
Her fingers slipped, then quickly found the porch post. She hung on desperately, the blood trickling down her back, her strength waning. She tried to scream again, but only a harsh grating sound came from her throat.
It was no use, she cried silently. The animal, sensing that she was becoming weaker, was throwing added strength into its powerful, tugging jaws. Her fingers were losing their grip and soon it would have her in the deep woods.
Darkness was closing in on her. Her grip was gone, and she was being dragged across the ground, thinking dazedly, Matt will be rid of me now. Then she heard a voice, desperate in its urgency, call her name.
Only semi-conscious now, she heard dimly the sharp report of a rifle, then felt herself released abruptly. Gentle hands grasped her shoulders and turned her over. Her eyes flickered open, and she saw Matt kneeling at her side. She smiled up at him faintly, then slipped into unconsciousness.
Matt had been just drifting into the deep sleep that comes with first rest when a bloodcurdling scream rent the air. He jerked erect, thinking it had come from Dove. When the second scream came, almost on the heels of the first, he whipped off the covers. His heart racing, he heard his name yelled in terror.
"Marna!" he whispered, his body growing cold. He sprang to his feet, grabbed up the rifle, and collided with Caleb at the door. Giving the hunter a shove that sent him staggering back into the room, he was outside, sprinting toward the cabin.
He rounded a large pine and immediately saw the cat The animal had dragged Marna almost to the edge of the forest Matt raised the rifle and shot into the air.
The cat bolted into the woods, and as Matt ran, stumbling toward the quiet form lying on the ground, he realized that he loved his wife desperately. He loved her wildness, her stubborn spirit that stood up to him, but most of all her decency and sweetness.
"Dear God," he prayed, "let her be alive."
He knelt beside her and turned her over tenderly. When she smiled up at him, he gathered her into his arms and held her tight in thanksgiving.
He stood up with her and Caleb jumped to help him. But the cold, warning light in Matt's eyes made the hunter drop his arms and walk along beside him.
Inside the cabin Matt laid Marna carefully on his own bed. Now that it was too late, through his own fault, he realized she had belonged there all the time. He turned to the white-faced Caleb and wanted to shout, "Get the hell out of here. She is mine and you have no right here." Instead he rasped out, "Go get Hertha. Tell her what has happened so she'll know what to bring."
Caleb nodded and raced from the room.
Matt placed his hand on Marna's forehead. She was hot and dry to his touch. Already fever had set in. He called her name softly, but she only rolled her head back and forth, moaning.
I must get her out of these clothes and look at her wounds, he thought.
Rising, he moved to the table to fill a kettle with water. Only the dipper lay there, seeming to accuse him. He knew then why Marna had left the cabin. She had gone to the spring for water, and the cat, lured by the scent of the fresh kill, had attacked her in its hunger.
Matt's great frame was bowed with grief and guilt. If he'd behaved as a decent husband should, the pail wouldn't have been empty, and his wife wouldn't be lying there now with her leg chewed up.
He stepped out on the porch, then stopped. Waiting in front of the cabin was a silent, sober gathering of his men. Each hunter there, with the exception of Corey, had developed a deep respect and liking for the strange, woods queer girl. They had sensed her innocence, and now they wanted to help her.
Henry stepped away from the group and asked anxiously, "Is the little one all right, Matt? Is she alive?"
Matt raked trembling fingers through his hair. "Just barely, Henry. She's losing a lot of blood." He stepped to the edge of the porch. "Would you bring me some water? I think you'll find the pail over by the spring."
Henry nodded and left in a run.
As Matt was about to reenter the cabin, his attention was caught by Corey's squaw hiding in the shadows. Her face shone pale as she leaned against the wall. "What do you want?" he snapped gruffly.
"Please," the girl whispered, "I would like to help you with your wife. I used to help my mother tend the sick in our camp."
Relieved to have some help, Matt pushed open the door and said, "Go on in."
Dove knelt by Marna and carefully lifted one of her eyelids. She nodded her head and murmured, "She is only unconscious. Will you hand me your knife, please?"
Matt looked at her suspiciously. "What are you gonna do with it?"
Dove smiled. "Don't worry. I wouldn't hurt this one. Her grandmother saved my father's life when he was a young man
. I am only going to cut away her clothes."
Swiftly and carefully she slit the seams of the shirt and pants. Slowly she laid them away from Marna's body. Even in his all-consuming worry, Matt gasped at the beauty laid bare before him. This time it was unlike that night Corey had attacked her. That time he had been half blinded by his anger and seen only portions of her body in the semi-darkness of the room. But now every plane and curve was clearly visible in the moonlight streaming through the window.
"Is she not beautiful?" Dove asked slowly.
Matt could only nod his head.
The squaw brushed the tangled hair back from the dirt-smeared face, then looked up at Matt. "Do you know that her face is as beautiful as her body?"
At his surprised look she nodded her head and continued, "Yes, it is true. Old Hertha keeps her beauty hid. She does not trust her husband or the hill men."
"How do you know all this? How can you tell with all that dirt on her face?" Matt asked, puzzled.
"My mother told me. She has seen the girl bathing in the river. She said that before the girl rubbed dirt back upon her face, she looked like a moon goddess."
Matt peered at Marna's face, trying to see beyond the grime.
"Let's turn her over and see to her wounds," Dove said.
They eased her over on her stomach and discovered the angry red furrows reaching from her shoulder to the small of her back. Trickles of blood still oozed from the long scratches.
"My God," Matt whispered. "I thought it was only her leg."
When they examined the leg, Matt was thankful it was not as badly lacerated as he had feared. Probing with gentle fingers around the teeth marks, Dove breathed her relief also. "The cat got only the flesh. There are no punctured veins."
But already there were large patches of red and blue around the fang marks. Dove sat back on her heels, murmuring, "She is badly bruised, but it is the scratches and wounds we must concern ourselves with. The animal's claws are full of dirt, and who knows what kind of rotten meat had been in its mouth. We must begin to try to drain away the poison."
Unnoticed by Matt and Dove, Henry had returned. He had filled a kettle with water and hung it over the flames to heat. Then, not knowing what else to do but still wanting to help, he sat the coffeepot on the fire to warm. He now sat on the rug, careful to keep his back to Matt's naked wife.
Dove had just finished bathing Marna's wounds when pounding hooves came to a stop outside the cabin door. The door flew open and Hertha stood there. The wild ride had whipped loose her hair, causing it to stand out all over her head. Looking more than ever like an old witch from primeval times, she rushed to her granddaughter.
Kneeling down beside the unconscious girl, she whispered, "Oh, no," and turned a dismayed face to Matt.
Matt looked away from the scared, frantic look, unable to meet her eyes.
"How did it happen, Matt? What was she doin' out alone after dark?"
Matt pulled his gaze back to her. "She went to the spring after water."
It was quiet while Hertha's gaze swept over his set and strained face. Then, her tone cold and accusing, she asked bluntly, "Where were you? Layin' with a squaw?"
Matt's face reddened under her steady gaze, but he kept his eyes fixed on hers. "It's true, Hertha, I wasn't here, but I wasn't layin' with anyone. Me and Marna argued, and I walked out"
Hertha gazed at Matt another moment, then turned to open the leather pouch that always hung at her side. Matt watched her, pleading silently with his eyes. When she continued to ignore him, he touched her arm awkwardly. His voice low, he began to speak haltingly. "Hertha, I know better than anyone that I've treated Marna shamefully. I don't know why I did. It was like there was a stranger inside me. Pushin' me to say things that would hurt her." He stopped, unable to continue. He stared down at his clasped hands. Then, as though speaking to himself, he said, "After what I said to her tonight, she'll never want to see me again." He raised despairing eyes to Hertha. "Now that it's too late, I realize how much she means to me. How much I love her."
His words died away in a whisper. Drawing a deep breath, he rose to his feet and left the cabin.
Hertha gazed thoughtfully after him. When the door closed behind him, she mumbled, "Dratted fool."
Turning back to Marna, she asked sharply of the squaw, "What's your name, girl?"
Dove smiled at her timidly. "They call me Dove."
An interested gleam appeared in Hertha's eyes, and she looked closely at Dove. "I saved your father's life one time. Did you know that?"
"Yes I know, old Hertha. I am deeply grateful to you. That is why I would like to help with the little wild one if you'll let me."
A smile hovered around Hertha's lips, a tint of sadness in it"So that's what your people call my baby?"
"Yes, but with deepest respect."
Hertha nodded. "I understand."
The old woman became a bustle of activity now. She called to Henry for hot water and pans. Directing Dove to gather bowls and clean rags, she mixed together different herbs and barks. Henry and Dove waited, knowing that she wasn't finished with them yet.
Finally Hertha was ready. "Henry," she ordered, "grab Marna's shoulders and hold them firm."
Henry hesitated. "I don't know, Hertha. I don't think Matt would want me to see his wife.. .bare and all."
Hertha shot him an impatient look. "Don't be a durn fool. I need a pair of strong hands, and I don't see him around anywhere. Keep your eyes shut if you want to."
While Henry laid uncertain hands on Marna, Hertha spoke to Dove. "Dove, you sit on her legs. This is gonna burn her fierce."
While Henry and Dove held the slender body steady, Hertha gently spread the hot, pungent salve over the wounds. Marna shuddered and cried out, unconsciously fighting against the hands that held her. Hertha talked to her in low, soothing tones, gently stroking her head.
Gradually the searing pain abated and Marna ceased her thrashing about When she lay quietly, Hertha nodded her head in satisfaction. "You can let her go now."
She reached into her pocket and brought out a bottle of whiskey. "Pour us all some coffee, Dove, and lace it good with this."
Henry took the bottle from her and shook it. While he studied the beads that formed on top, Hertha snapped gruffly, "I made it myself, and it's the best you'll find in these hills."
Henry grinned widely, not at all surprised that Hertha was capable of making her own whiskey.
When they had finished the doctored-up coffee, Hertha turned to Dove. "You look beat, girl. Go roll yourself in a blanket there by the fire and get yourself some sleep."
Dove looked uneasily toward the door. "I'd best be getting back to quarters. Corey will be expecting me."
Hertha frowned a fast look at her. "So you're Corey's squaw, are you? Do you care for that hellion?"
Dove hung her head and the tears flowed. "I hate him," she sobbed. "He forced me to come here."
Hertha looked at Henry, and he nodded his head. She moved then to put her arms around the heaving shoulders. "Do as I say, child. That devil will never bother you again."
At the doubt in Dovie's teary eyes, she added, "You'll see. Old Hertha will put the fear of God in him."
Henry pulled a wide-bladed knife from his belt and sent it whanging into the tabletop. "If Hertha don't, I will," he promised.
When Matt left the cabin, he rushed blindly off the porch. Caleb stepped away from the waiting group and reached out a detaining hand, but Matt brushed it aside, hurrying on. Caleb ran after him, calling out, "Matt, is Marna all right?"
Matt made no response. At this moment Caleb was the last person he wanted see or talk to. His wife would turn to this man now. Caleb hadn't been afraid to declare his love for her.
Caleb turned back to the others, shaking his head. Matt was acting like a crazy man. Had Marna died? He jerked around, determined to make Matt talk to him. One of the hunters then reached out and stopped him. "Don't bother Matt now," he said gruffly. "He's hurtin'."
"Hurtin', hell," Caleb swore bitterly. "What about my hurtin'?"
"Your hurt don't count, Caleb. She's Matt's wife." Caleb pulled away from the hunter's hand and moved wearily to sit on the porch.
Matt threw the saddle on the stallion and swung onto its back. He would find that devil cat before the sun was up, he promised himself grimly.
He whistled for the hound. The shrill sound vibrated and bounced off the hills. Faintly, from a nearby ridge, the dog gave a yelping answer.
The stallion pricked its ears and jerked its head, and Jawer came tearing out of the forest. Matt reined the stallion in and reached behind him, pulling out the buckskins that Marna had worn. The cat's scent would be strong on them. He reached them down to the hound, and Jawer whined eagerly as he sniffed the clothes.
"Go get him, boy," Matt ordered softly.
With one long yowl, the dog was off. He ran a zigzag course, his nose close to the ground. When his yowl turned into a running yelp, Matt lifted the reins and touched Sam lightly with his heel.
He did not try to follow Jawer's straight course. It would have been impossible. The dog was tearing through brush that the stallion could never handle. But Matt kept him in sight as they climbed higher and higher. As he had predicted, the cat was heading for high country. The higher it got, the safer it would feel.
The sun was just peeping over the tree line when Jawer's running song turned into an excited bark at the foothill of a towering bluff.
"By God, he's treed the varmint," Matt exclaimed, and urged Sam on.
He raced around the bluff and into a small clearing. About a hundred yards straight on, he spotted the hound leaping and clawing at a jumbled pile of large boulders. His bark now was angry and urgent. Matt lifted his gaze to the tallest rock and spotted the cat perched there, its eyes red with fear and hate.
Matt reined in and stared at the enraged, spitting animal. Slowly he pulled the rifle from its case and carefully checked its priming. This was no time for it to blow up in his face.
The rifle was loaded perfectly, and he brought it up to his shoulder. Drawing the cat into its sights, his finger gently pulled the trigger. The animal gave an earsplitting scream, leapt into the air, then fell senseless to the ground. As it went rolling down the hill, Jawer ran after it, snapping angrily at the rough but beautiful hide.
