This explained Zach’s absence. Nate had taught the boy to always go after wounded game, to never let an animal suffer if it could be avoided. And sometimes, as Winona knew, a stricken deer ran for miles before finally expiring.
Hefting the flintlock, Winona hiked in her son’s footsteps for over fifteen minutes. The sun was halfway gone, the shadows lengthening by the minute. Already the temperature was falling. She hoped the doe hadn’t led the boy too far afield.
The ravine opened out onto hilly terrain thick with brush. Here Winona paused to scan the steadily darkening highland and to call her son’s name again. As before, there was no response. Her anxiety mounting, Winona forged on for over a mile. The sun had retired for the night and the last golden rays were rapidly fading when she came to the top of a hill and beheld a somber valley below, a valley she had never been in before and into which the doe had led Zach.
Quickening her pace, Winona carefully descended the slick slope and stopped at the bottom to get her bearings. The tracks bore due west. High firs, tightly clustered, prevented her from seeing more than a few dozen yards.
Evelyn gurgled softly as Winona tramped into the trees. The baby would need feeding soon, but Winona couldn’t turn around and go back. Not until she found her son.
Suddenly, from off in the distance, came a faint, raspy snarl.
Winona ran, filled with dread that Zach had encountered a roving panther. Unlike grizzlies, which typically denned up for days at a time during the winter and were rarely seen, panthers prowled all year long. Ordinarily they gave humans a wide berth, but during the cold moons, when prey was most scarce, they became bolder, sometimes venturing into villages after horses or dogs. If one of the giant cats had come on Zach, hunger might have eclipsed its normal fear of man.
The snarl was repeated, a drawn-out cry of feline fury that enabled Winona to pinpoint the exact direction and alter her steps accordingly. As she neared the spot, she forced herself to slow down. To blunder onto the panther with a baby on her back might prove fatal to both of them. She rounded a trunk, then halted on hearing an irate young voice.
“Go away, you mangy, flea ridden, no-account cat! That deer is mine!”
The boy’s outburst was greeted with another bestial snarl. Winona crept forward, her flintlock leveled at her waist. She spied a wide clearing ahead, and in it the cause of her son’s anger. Padding round and round a lone fir tree that had taken root in the very middle of the open space was a huge lynx.
While not as massive as panthers, lynx were nonetheless formidable in their own right, endowed as they were with powerful muscles and razor claws able to shred flesh as easily as a butcher knife shredded grass. Often close to four feet in length and weighing upwards of forty-five pounds, they could hold their own against any other creature in the mountains.
Winona saw this one stop and chew on the rear leg of the dead doe, which lay a few feet from the tree. She took another stride, setting her foot down silently. Should she so much as breathe loud, the cat would hear. Lynx were notorious for having outstanding hearing.
“Get away from there, you meat thief!” a flinty voice yelled. “You’re blamed lucky I’m not a little older or I’d come down there and split your hairy skull with my tomahawk!”
Stopping, Winona peered into the fir. Her son was perched on a limb twenty feet up, his tomahawk clutched in his left hand. She wondered why he hadn’t shot the lynx until she saw his rifle lying half buried in the snow near the deer.
“No worthless varmint is going to steal the kill of Stalking Coyote!” Zach blustered, referring to himself by his Shoshone name. “I’m the son of Grizzly Killer, you damn grimalkin!”
Winona had to grin. She watched the lynx slowly turn from the doe to the tree, then abruptly take a flying leap onto the trunk and begin clawing its way upward, making for her son. She darted into the open, pressed the rifle to her shoulder, and tried to get a bead. Intervening limbs thwarted her.
Zachary whooped for joy. Instead of cowering in fear, he waited until the lynx was almost upon him, then swung the tomahawk in a flashing arc. The sharp edge bit into the bole within inches of the lynx’s face, forcing the cat to slant to one side. Hissing and spitting, the lynx swung a forepaw but missed. “Hold still, dang you!” the boy cried. He tried to bury his tomahawk in the cat a second time, to no avail.
Winona had shifted position for a better view of the lynx when it suddenly turned around and shot down out of the tree, jumping the final eight feet. As the cat alighted, it saw her and uttered a savage shriek. She aimed at its front shoulder, her finger beginning to close on the trigger, but in the blink of an eye the lynx spun and streaked off into the forest. Within moments it was gone.
“What in tarnation?” Zach blurted out, as yet oblivious of his mother’s presence. “Afraid of me, are you!”
“I know I would be,” Winona said.
“Ma!”
The boy came down out of the fir almost as rapidly as the lynx had done. Face aglow, he ran over and embraced her around the waist. “Am I ever glad to see you! I figured I’d be stuck in that dumb tree the whole night long.” He stepped back and pointed proudly at the doe. “I got us meat! Lots of meat!”
“So I see,” Winona responded. “You’re a fine hunter.”
Zachary’s chest expanded and he beamed happily. “Wait until Pa hears. He says it takes real skill to bring down a deer at this time of year.”
“Nate will be quite pleased,” Winona agreed, her gaze on the rifle in the snow. “But I doubt that he will be as happy about the mistake you made.”
“You know?” Zach responded, his tone betraying his astonishment. “How?”
“Why else didn’t you shoot the lynx?” Winona inquired. She stepped to his gun and picked it up to confirm her deduction. “Tell me the whole story. And remember, I expect a straight tongue at all times.”
The youngster’s shoulders slumped. “I came on the doe by surprise and rushed my shot,” he said. “I’m afraid I didn’t drop it straight off, so I had to give chase.” He stopped to slide the tomahawk under his belt. “Finally caught up when it was lying there dead. But the lynx had found it first.”
“Go on,” Winona prompted when the boy stopped.
Zach swallowed, then continued sheepishly, “I wasn’t thinking straight. The sight of that cat eating our meat got me so riled I charged out of the woods and went to put a ball between its eyes.”
“But?”
“But I’d plumb forgot to reload after I shot the doe.”
“And what has your father told you about doing that?”
“A man should always reload as soon as he shoots so he’s never, ever caught with an empty gun when he needs it the most,” Zach quoted.
“I trust you have learned your lesson,” Winona commented. “Many free trappers have been killed that way, and we would hate for the same thing to happen to you.”
“I’m sorry, Ma. It won’t happen again. Believe me.”
“Tell me the rest.”
Zach came over and squatted next to the doe. “Well, that ornery old lynx had run off a ways when I came at him. But then he turned and came slinking back. There wasn’t no time for me to reload, so I just dropped the rifle and scrambled up the tree.”
“Why didn’t you take the rifle with you and reload up there?”
“I ...” Zach began, and looked at the ground, the rest of his words choked off by embarrassment.
“Let me take a guess,” Winona said. “You were so rattled by the lynx coming after you that you panicked and dropped your gun so you could climb faster. Is this correct?”
The boy coughed. “Yes,” he said, the word barely audible.
And that was the end of the matter. Winona set to reloading his rifle and said nothing more about his oversights. She had made her point; that was enough. She knew that he knew he’d done wrong, and the next time he’d do better.
Indians never spanked or slapped their children, never belabored them endlessly o
ver petty faults or flaws, no matter how severe the breach of conduct. Parents taught by example, and when mistakes had to be pointed out, it was done tactfully, with respect for the feelings of the child. This was how Winona had been reared and she did the same with Zach. Nate, to her dismay, didn’t always agree with her methods, and there had been a few occasions when Zach had received a mild “tanning,” as Nate called it, for especially bad behavior. The first time Winona had been horrified, certain their son would be emotionally ruined for life. To her amazement, though, the harsh discipline had actually proven effective, nor had it affected their son’s love for them. Proving once again that sometimes the strange ways of the whites worked.
Once the rifle was ready, Winona gave it to her son and took hold of the doe by a rear leg. Zach imitated her example with the other leg, and together they headed homeward, dragging the deer behind them.
Night had claimed the Rockies. A myriad of stars twinkled in the heavens, and the full moon shone like an unblinking golden eye. To the northwest a wolf uttered a plaintive, wavering howl, and was answered shortly thereafter by another wolf to the southwest.
“I hope Pa won’t be mad at me,” Zach remarked light-heartedly.
“Over the rifle?” Winona responded.
“No, over me getting this deer. He went riding off up north to find game because he’s had no luck close to home, and here I go and down this doe.”
“I’m sure he’ll forgive you,” Winona said with a straight face.
“Do you figure he’ll be back soon?”
“I hope so, but there is no telling. Knowing your father as I do, he’ll keep hunting until he finds something. That could take a while.”
The wind, as was invariably the case after sunset, intensified, rustling those pines not laden with snow. It brought with it faraway noises. Once, the hoot of an owl. Another time, the faint squeal of an animal being slain by a predator. And again, the yipping of a coyote.
Winona and Zach made steady progress. The doe was small, no strain to pull, and before too long they had climbed out of the valley and were crossing the brushy highland. Here the wind was stronger yet, plucking at their clothes with invisible fingers. They were almost to the ravine when they heard something that brought them both up short.
It was a guttural grunt.
“Ma?” Zach whispered nervously, staring at a hill to their left. “Is that what I think it is?”
“Yes. Hurry,” Winona said, doing just that. She feared the scent of blood would attract the beast until she realized the wind was blowing from it to them and not the other way around. They were safe so long as the wind didn’t shift.
“What do we do if it comes after us?” Zach asked.
“We do not let it take the doe.”
“Even if it’s a big one?”
“We do not let it take the doe,” Winona repeated sternly. They needed fresh meat in order to survive; she needed meat in order to stay healthy and keep producing the milk Evelyn required. She’d resist with all her might no matter how big the brute might be.
In tense silence they hastened homeward, moving at twice the speed. Their breathing became labored. Soon they began to tire, not from the weight of the doe, but from the sustained exertion of having hauled the carcass over a mile. The forest swallowed them again, veiling them in murky shadow.
Although Winona was filled with apprehension, she resolutely refused to let her feelings show, to betray her anxiety to her son. Since childhood she had been raised to be levelheaded in the face of danger, to confront adversity without flinching. Shoshone women took great pride in being as courageous as their men, in being a credit to their families and their people, and Winona was no exception. She would do what must be done.
Because the trees blocked off nearly all the moonlight, Winona and Zach had to pick their way carefully, avoiding logs and whatever else might bar their path. Minutes had gone by with only the wind for company, and Winona began to think they had outdistanced the creature they had heard, when another grunt let her know the thing was still out there and much closer than it had been the first time they heard it.
“It’s following us, Ma,” Zach said.
“Yes,” Winona responded, and tried to go even faster, but the deep snow clung to her legs, slowing her.
Head lowered, she plodded onward. Giving up was out of the question. However, she might have to stop shortly whether she wanted to or not. Her son’s loud breaths and stooped posture were signs he was near the limits of his endurance although he was gamely refusing to quit.
Another minute dragged by. Winona noticed the darkness deepen. She figured the moon had gone behind a drifting cloud, yet when she idly glanced at the sky, there it was in all its gleaming glory. The reason the light had dimmed even more was because a row of tall pines twenty feet above her now shut out nearly all the moonlight. With a start she realized they had blundered into the ravine instead of going around it.
The surprise brought Winona to a stop. She glanced around and saw they were at least a dozen yards from the opening. Since she didn’t care to be caught in so confined a space by the hulking brute trailing them, she started to turn, to go back out and swing to the south.
From the woods adjacent to the ravine mouth rose a low, rumbling growl.
“Ma?” Zach asked uncertainly. He sensed the worry in his mother and knew something was wrong although he didn’t know exactly what. They were in the ravine, yes, but he mistakenly believed his mother had steered them into it deliberately so they could make better time since the snow wasn’t quite as deep.
“Don’t look back,” Winona told him, bending her shoulders to their mutual effort. The high walls shut off the groaning of the wind, and now the only sounds were those they made themselves and the scraping of the deer. She thought of her lovely new daughter and wondered if she had made a mistake in not leaving the child in the cabin. A slow death by starvation might be preferable to the violence the beast would wreak on them if it elected to contest their ownership of the doe.
“Look, Ma!” Zach abruptly exclaimed, pointing at the south rim.
An enormous black shape was moving along the top of the ravine wall about thirty feet to their rear, a veritable walking mountain, so big its shoulders rose half as high as some of the pines.
“We must reach the end of the ravine before it does,” Winona declared. She did not add that if they didn’t, they would be trapped. Redoubling her pace, she avoided a boulder and nearly fell when the sole of her left moccasin came down on a slippery flat stone.
“Pa says never to show them any fear,” Zach remarked between puffs. “They can smell it.”
“Let us hope this one has a cold,” Winona joked to ease the nervousness her son’s tone betrayed.
“Why isn’t it sleeping in a den somewhere?” Zach asked irately. “That’s what I’d like to know.”
“They venture out now and then during the colder moons,” Winona reminded him. “It is just our luck this one picked tonight.”
Somberly they forged onward. From above them came the loud sound of regular wheezing breaths and the dull thud of heavy footfalls. Snow slid over the crest every so often. The brute was not even trying to move stealthily.
“If it charges, Ma, you take Evelyn and head for the cabin. I’ll hold it off,” Zach declared.
“You will do no such thing. I will not have you risking your life.”
“What about your life? What about the baby?”
Winona looked at her son, about to admonish him for arguing with her at such a time, when the sight of him struggling so valiantly to pull the doe stilled her tongue. She had to remember that he was almost ten now, and while he was years away from becoming a full-fledged warrior, he wasn’t a helpless, inexperienced child any longer.
Among the Shoshones, boys were taught the arts of manhood at an early age, and she had insisted on doing the same with Zach. She and Nate had spent countless hours teaching their son the basics of wilderness survival. Under Nate�
��s tutelage Zach had learned to hunt, track, and butcher game. Under Winona’s guidance the boy had learned to cook, to find herbs and edible plants in season, and to cure and tan hides.
As Zach’s knowledge had grown, so had his responsibilities around the cabin. Each member of their family had specific chores to do daily, and Zach had been doing his faithfully, without complaint, since he was four. That was as it should be, as it was done among the Shoshones.
But back in the States, Nate had told Winona, conditions were different. More often than not, boys back there were pampered by their parents during their early years and never taught more than how to eat, dress themselves, and play. The children were seldom given jobs to do; their parents did it all for them. The children were spoiled to the core, as Nate had put it, and as a result they grew into temperamental, selfish adults who thought the world owed them everything.
Winona had found the white practice bewildering, since it was bound to bring about the ruin of both the children and their parents, but it did go a long way toward explaining much of the inexplicable behavior and attitudes demonstrated by the whites at times.
The next moment Winona’s reverie was shattered by a yelp from her son, and glancing up, she saw they were near the end of the ravine. She also saw something that made her go rigid with misgiving, for barring the mouth of the ravine was the thing that had been following them: a huge grizzly bear.
Chapter Six
Many miles to the north, Nate King lay on his back under his blankets beside the dying fire and pursed his lips in self-reproach. He had been trying to get to sleep for some time with no success. Whether because of the excitement he felt at the prospect of being reunited with his loved ones sometime during the next day or the reservations he had about taking the Leonards to his cabin, he was too agitated to sleep.
Thinking that a short stroll would clear his head and calm him down, Nate threw the blankets off, grabbed his Hawken, and walked a few yards to the horses. He made certain the sorrel was securely tethered, since to lose it now would result in a two-day delay, or more. Then, stepping to the west side of the clearing in which they had made camp, he leaned against a tree and respectfully regarded the night sky. His soul never ceased to thrill to the celestial spectacle afforded by the countless stars, more stars than he could ever recall seeing back in New York. Perhaps, he often reasoned, the elevation was responsible. New York City was virtually at sea level, while the mountain valleys were often more than a mile high. Instead of being in some far-off galaxy, the stars seemed to be suspended just out of reach of his fingertips.
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