Wilderness Double Edition #8

by David Robbins

  “No doubt it does,” Nate said, rising. “Lie still and rest and you’ll be fit to ride by daybreak.”

  “That soon?” said Selena.

  “The Bloods lost three men, maybe four if that one with the split skull has died. They’re craving our hair right about now, because the last thing they want is to go back to their village in shame.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “If the Bloods can count coup on us, if they can take my scalp and Elden’s and take you captive, it will make up in part for the loss of several braves. Instead of going back to their tribe in disgrace, their people will sing their praises as mighty warriors. So they won’t quit searching for us for a long time. We have to make tracks.”

  “How long will it take us to reach your cabin?”

  “Two days at the most.”

  Elden, grunting, propped himself up on an elbow. “Do you have a washtub? A hot bath would rejuvenate me completely.”

  “There’s a lake you can bathe in if you want.”

  “You must be jesting. No one could swim outdoors in this weather without freezing to death.”

  “I do it all the time. So do the Indians. It hardens you against the cold.”

  “Rubbish. And even if that were true, I’m not about to bathe in water that reeks from fish! I’d come out smelling worse than when I went in.”

  “Then stay dirty. It’s your body and you can do what you want,” Nate said. “But when you get whiffy, keep downwind from the horses. They’ll spook sometimes if they smell a skunk or other polecat.”

  “Hmmmmmph!” was all Elden said.

  Nate took the Hawken and moved off a dozen yards to make a circuit of their hideaway. He listened long and hard but heard no faint hoofbeats. Satisfied the Bloods hadn’t found their trail yet, he retraced his steps and found Elden Leonard sound asleep. Selena was leaning against the boulder, her eyes hooded in shadow. “You should try to get some rest yourself,” he suggested. “We’re going to be in the saddle almost all day.”

  “I tried and I couldn’t. Besides, I wanted to ask you a few questions.”

  “What about?”

  “You. Your past specifically. I’m as curious as my brother. What brought you out here? And why do you stay when you could live back in the States in civilized society?”

  Cradling the rifle in his arms, Nate hesitated before answering. He wanted to inform her that in the wilderness folks didn’t go around prying into the private matters of others, that in fact doing so was downright unhealthy at times, but he didn’t. She was new to the mountains, and as such ignorant of the unwritten etiquette practiced by whites and Indians alike. He excused her prying because she was a greenhorn, and a woman, and he answered simply, “I like it here.”

  “You like wearing animal skins for clothes? You like having to hunt for your food all the time? And you like having to always be on your guard against hostile heathens?”

  “I like being free.”

  Selena stepped closer, her expression one of burning intensity. “Wouldn’t you be just as free in the States as you are here? Wasn’t that why America fought the Revolution?”

  “Americans fought the Revolution because they were tired of being governed by the ruling class of another country. When they won, a new ruling class sprang up right here, and this class has run things ever since.”

  “What a peculiar idea,” Selena said. “You are most mystifying, Nate King. At times you act and talk like a typical frontier ruffian, and at other times you have the air of an educated man. Which are you?”

  “A little of both,” Nate admitted. “As for your question about freedom, the answer is no, I wouldn’t be as free in the States as I am here. Back there we have politicians making more and more laws each and every day, telling people how they should live whether the people want to live that way or not.” He paused and gestured at the lofty mountain. “Out here there are no laws. Every man and woman lives by their own personal code. There’s no one looking over their shoulders to make sure they live a certain way. They can do as they please provided they don’t go over the line that can get them killed.”

  “Fascinating,” Selena said.

  “I’m just thankful I discovered the wilderness when I did,” Nate went on in a rush of enthusiasm for the subject. “Back in New York City I was a slave to others and didn’t even realize it. Everyone from my father to my fiancée wanted me to be the way they wanted me to be, and they gave no thought at all to my own feelings. I had to dress a certain way, act a certain way. I was a puppet, nothing more.”

  “Aren’t you exaggerating just a bit? We all have certain responsibilities, certain—”

  Nate was so engrossed in their conversation he almost missed the distant crack of a hoof striking a rock. He held up his hand for silence and swiveled, his head to one side. There was only silence now, but he knew what he had heard. “Wake your brother,” he stated. “We have to get out of here.”

  “I’m already awake, King,” Elden declared gruffly. “I only dozed off for a minute.” He yawned. “What’s wrong now? Why the rush?”

  “The Bloods,” Nate said, climbing onto the stallion. For once Elden offered no objections. He was mounted, his sister too, and ready to depart in a matter of seconds.

  The south side of the boulder field flanked a forested ridge linked to the mountain. Nate followed a game trail to the top, a trail he would not have found had not several deer used it within the past hour and left clear prints. From the vantage point of the rim, he scoured the area to the north and caught sight of two Bloods winding cautiously among the boulders. Only two, though, leading him to surmise the pair had been sent on ahead to track the greenhorns and him down. The rest, he figured, must be tending to the brave he had smashed with the rifle. They’d catch up soon enough.

  From the ridge, Nate rode to the southeast, into a narrow valley which in turn brought them to an extraordinarily rough mountainous stretch just as the new day dawned. Jagged pinnacles blanketed in white thrust into the dispersing clouds. Spacious slopes carpeted with snow were preternaturally still. The range was devoid of life, as quiet as the grave.

  Nate frequently scanned the heights, remembering the time he had been caught in an avalanche. The memory gave him an idea, and within the hour he came on a defile that promised to be the answer to their prayers. Above it, on either side, perched massive banks of precariously balanced snow.

  “We’re going through there?” Elden broke his long silence. “What is it about you? Do you want to die?”

  Dark shadows enclosed Nate within their dank folds as he slowly advanced. The air was positively frigid, since there the sun seldom penetrated. It was like voyaging into the depths of a damp cave. He had to crane his head back to see the top, and he was unable to suppress a slight shudder at the mental image of what would occur should the snow cascade down before he was through to the other side.

  The bottom of the defile was practically devoid of snow. Isolated rocks and boulders littered the way, debris that had plunged from on high long ago.

  Nate went twenty yards, then looked back. He was angered to see Elden had not yet entered and he gestured for them to follow him. Elden shook his head, eliciting a slap on the shoulder from Selena, who then pointed into the opening and said something. Elden shook his head again. Nate was all set to turn around and drag the flabby Easterner in by his hair, if need be, when Selena flailed her legs, goading the sorrel into a walk. Elden froze.

  The farther Nate went, the colder it became. His breath formed into fluffy puffs that seemed to hang suspended before him. He saw tiny icicles clinging to both walls, and partway along he spied a small pool of frozen water, which he skirted.

  Suddenly there was a muted rumbling from overhead. Nate glanced aloft in alarm, dreading an avalanche, but the snow remained where it was. He was strongly tempted to break into a gallop, yet checked the impulse, fully aware the pounding of hoofs might be all that was needed to precipitate disaster.

  Wh
en, at long, long last, Nate emerged into the sunlight, he exhaled in relief and reined up to wait for the Leonards. They were moving at a snail’s pace, Elden timidly gaping at the snow-capped heights. Selena was trying to hurry them along, but every time she prodded the sorrel, Elden pulled on the reins. Had the situation not been so fraught with peril, Nate would have enjoyed a hearty laugh.

  The delay could well prove costly. Nate knew the two stalking Bloods would be pressing hard to overtake them, so he checked the opposite end of the defile often for sign of the two braves. Thankfully, neither appeared before the Leonards rode out. “Took you long enough,” Nate couldn’t help grousing.

  Beads of perspiration lined Elden’s glistening brow. He licked his lips and said softly, “I’ve never been so terrified in my whole life! Don’t ever expect me to do anything like that again.”

  “You might surprise yourself,” Nate said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You’d be surprised at what you can do if it will make the difference between living and dying.”

  Elden snorted. “I really should be writing these pithy sayings of yours down for the benefit of posterity. When I’m safely back in New York, I can have them published and make my fortune.”

  A caustic retort was on the tip of Nate’s tongue, but he forgot all about it when he spotted movement at the north entrance to the defile. The pair of warriors were coming and, predictably, coming fast. He’d hoped to put his plan into effect before they arrived to avoid more bloodshed, but Elden’s reluctance had spoiled everything. “Our friends have shown up,” he announced with a nod.

  Elden took one look and cried, “Save us!”

  “Save yourself,” Nate responded, leaning over to give the sorrel a solid smack on the rump. The Indian horse broke into a gallop. Nate goaded his stallion into a gallop, but not away from the defile, into it. Traveling thirty feet, he sharply reined up, then drew his left flintlock.

  Both Bloods held lances poised to throw. Blood lust marred their countenances. Neither, though, voiced the war whoops characteristic of braves everywhere, for an obvious reason.

  Nate didn’t want to do what had to be done. He’d much rather fight the warriors man-to-man, yet he was sensible enough to realize this wasn’t the time for scruples. To save the greenhorns he must do the unthinkable.

  The Bloods were a third of the way from the other opening when Nate lifted his arm as high as he could reach, cocked the pistol, and fired. In the confines of the defile the blast was nearly deafening, echoing and re-echoing over and over. The Bloods instantly halted and cast troubled gazes upward. For all of fifteen seconds nothing out of the ordinary transpired; then, with a staggering, rending crash, the snow on top of both high walls buckled and poured over the two crests.

  Nate crammed the flintlock under his belt, wheeled the black stallion, and took flight. His enemies were doing the same. Body held low, he listened to the thunder far above him and swore the walls were shaking. The stallion apparently sensed the urgency because it fairly flew. A few small chunks of snow rained down, one striking him on the shoulder. He resisted the urge to look up and see how close he was to passing on to the great beyond. Ride! his mind screamed. Ride! Ride! Ride!

  The opening swept to Nate’s rear, but he still wasn’t safe. There had been so much snow packed on the summit that some was bound to spill out the two ends of the defile. More clumps fell to the right and the left. Anxious to learn how far he must go to be in the clear, he twisted and beheld a sight that froze the blood in his veins.

  A gargantuan cataract of snow was showering into the defile even as a tremendous backlash of billowy spray was shooting skyward. The next moment the opening itself was obliterated by a thundering alabaster cloud. From out of it spilled a tumbling wave thirty feet high.

  Nate saw the torrent roaring toward him and rode as he had never ridden before. Vivid in his mind was the sensation of being buried alive by an icy cocoon, a sensation he never cared to experience again. The snow impeded the stallion terribly, and the roar grew to deafening proportions. Clods struck his back. Spray formed a mist around his head and shoulders. A solid ball of snow the size of his horse went hurling past. He was certain that he was going to be bowled over and he braced for the collision.

  Then the roar abruptly diminished. The spray lessened to a few stray wisps. Nate looked and discovered the avalanche was losing momentum. The wave was now a series of white ripples, flowing slower and slower. He was safe.

  Nate kept riding anyway until he caught up with the Leonards, who were waiting beside a stand of fir trees. As he came to a halt, Elden chortled.

  “So the mighty mountain man is afraid of something after all! Who would have thought it?”

  The Leonards were not prepared for what happened next. There was no forewarning. There were no grim threats or meaningless curses. Nate simply hauled off and punched Elden Leonard full on the mouth. Elden, venting a panicked squawk, toppled from the saddle like an ungainly goose taking a spill. “I’ve abided all of your insults I intend to,” Nate declared. “The next time I won’t pull my punch, and I’ll use my butcher knife instead of my fist.”

  Elden lay on his back, gaping up at King. His bruised lips worked but no words came out.

  Selena sat riveted in shock, her hands clutching her bosom. Suddenly she threw back her head and laughed in delight. “Someone should have done that years ago!” she exclaimed, and looked at Nate, anticipating he would join in her mirth. But he was already heading south.

  “How can you say that?” Elden blubbered. “I’ve been mortally stricken by a barbarian and you find it humorous? Have you no compassion for your own flesh and blood?”

  “You’re not hurt, you simpleton,” Selena responded, lowering her right arm toward him. “Now get up. I don’t want to fall behind. I doubt our guide will wait for us in the mood he’s in.”

  “Taken a fancy to him, have you?” Elden asked resentfully.

  “What if I have?” Selena retorted.

  Elden stared at the retreating broad shoulders of their protector. “I don’t see what can interest you about a buckskin-clad buffoon.”

  “Haven’t you been paying attention, dear brother? He has a cabin, doesn’t he?”

  “Yes. So?”

  “So we need somewhere safe to hide out, don’t we?”

  The remark wasn’t lost on Elden, whose pudgy features transformed into a devious, malignant mask. “How true, fair one,” he said, and tittered gleefully. “Nate King will be repaid for his arrogance, and sooner than he could possibly imagine.”

  Chapter Five

  Winona King was mending a torn buckskin shirt of her husband’s when it occurred to her that their young son had been gone far too long. She glanced up at the door, which earlier she had opened a crack to admit fresh air, and saw that the light outside was fading. Sunset was not far off.

  Setting the shirt, her buffalo bone needle, and her buffalo sinew thread on a table beside her, Winona rose from the chair and walked over to open the door. A gust of chill wind struck head-on, fanning her hip-length raven hair and causing goose flesh. “Zach!” she called out hopefully in perfectly accented English. “Time to come in.” She waited a bit, then shouted again in the Shoshone tongue.

  Only the groaning wind answered.

  Troubled now, Winona turned and looked at her infant daughter, lying swathed in a thick blanket on the bed against the far wall. She had a decision to make: whether to take little Evelyn along or leave the baby there while she went searching for her son. Where a white mother might have been daunted at the idea of taking one so tiny out into the bone-numbing cold, Winona’s hesitation was prompted by the thought of how helpless Evelyn would be if something unforeseen happened to her. The cold wasn’t a factor at all, since from an early age Indian children were bred to tolerate conditions their white counterparts would have found intolerable.

  Winona made up her mind. She went over and picked up the cradleboard lying next to the bed, then
bundled Evelyn in it. Her cradleboard was similar to those used by the rest of the women in her tribe: narrow at the bottom, flared at the top, with a thick layer of buckskin on the outside and a soft leather lining inside to keep the baby snug and warm. Women in other tribes constructed theirs differently. The Utes, for instance, were known for making their cradleboards with the tops as wide as a woman’s shoulders, while the Cheyennes did the exact opposite, making theirs so narrow the cradleboard fit between a woman’s shoulder blades.

  Donning her heavy robe, Winona next slipped the cradleboard onto her back, grabbed the flintlock rifle her husband had taught her to use, slung a leather bag containing a pouch of black powder and spare lead balls over her shoulder, and stepped out into the frosty air.

  Down on the partially frozen lake nothing stirred. The usual ducks and brants were gone for the winter and wouldn’t return again until spring. No other game was in sight either. The deer and elk were deep in the thickets, the smaller animals nestled in their burrows.

  Winona longed to spot anything she could shoot for their next meal. A squirrel, a rabbit, she didn’t care. Their food supply was critically low, and if Nate was delayed for any reason, she might run out. That was why Zach had gone off hunting, as he did every day.

  The boy’s tracks were easy to trail. Winona followed them around the northeast corner of the cabin and into the woods beyond. There was no sound other than the swish of her moccasins through the deep snow, or the occasional creak of one of the straps holding the cradleboard to her back.

  Since Zach had repeatedly been told by Nate never to stray very far from the cabin when Nate wasn’t home, Winona expected to locate their offspring quickly. But the boy had gone over a mile, to a meadow often used by deer and elk when the weather was warmer, and stopped behind a thicket. From there his tracks took Winona to the rim of a ravine. She saw where he had knelt in the snow, and glancing down into the ravine she saw why. Fresh deer tracks told her that Zach had spotted a doe and dropped to his knees to shoot. Crimson drops disclosed the doe had been hit. Instead of falling, the deer had bounded on up the ravine with Zach in hot pursuit along the rim.