Rescued from the River

by Stephy Smith

  Rescued from the River

  By Stephy Smith

  Published by Astraea Press

  www.astraeapress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.

  RESCUED FROM THE RIVER

  Copyright © 2011 STEPHY SMITH

  ISBN 978-1-936852-27-7

  Cover Art Designed By Elaina Lee

  Edited By Stephanie Taylor

  To Joyce Burrow for all her help and encouragement. Thank you for being a good, honest friend.

  Chapter One

  1870 Colorado

  While on the banks of the river, Emma Donley sat with her pen in hand. The beautiful colors of the fall foliage on the other side warmed her heart, yet sent shivers of the expected winter. The sun warmed the crisp air. A gray woolen shawl draped her shoulders. Head tilted, she listened to the rush as the river sang down the riverbed.

  It took a few more moments to gather her thoughts. Mother and Father would be worried. They had talked on her travels more than she cared to think about. There were children out west in need of a teacher and she was going to be that. Dead set against her coming west, her parents shed a lot of tears fell before they consented.

  Now, she sat on the beautiful landscape to write a letter to send home.

  Dear Mother and Father, I have arrived at Fort Collins. I dare say my stage ride was rough, but well worth the efforts of the young men who brought us here. I sit on the banks of the Cache La Poudre River with its trees of gold, orange, red, green and yellow leaves. I so wish you were here with me to see such a wonderful sight as the area begins to take its winter sleep.

  A calloused hand crushed Emma’s mouth. The half-written letter fell to the ground. Fall colors passed by her eyes. A whir escaped her lips as she tried to scream, and a strong arm pulled her tight against the large frame. All of her strength pumped as her legs flailed against the attacker’s shins. Fingers bent, she raked her fingernails down thick arms. The unknown assailant ignored her attempts to free herself.

  Visions of her family flashed in her mind, and she determined she would never give up the fight. If she were still back east, nothing like this would happen to her. Now, she was confident her parents would remind her of the fact. After all, they disapproved her coming west in the first place.

  “Don’t go screamin’. Cain’t see as it’s gonna do ya any good. No one’ll hear ya nohow.” An involuntary cringe scattered down her spine at the loud, gruff voice in her ear. The assailant’s alcohol-ridden breath sent loose tendrils of hair across her neck. Anger and fear sent messages of weakness of being unable to fight the man off.

  He tossed her in the air, and the impact with the ground left her out of breath. The large, burly man jumped on top of her. With a quick roll, he crushed her body against the ground. No matter how much she twisted and turned beneath him, she was unable to free herself.

  The bully struggled to tie her arms and feet. Filthy hands jammed a gag in her mouth. Blood trickled from her lip. With brute force, he hefted her up and tossed her across the horse with another severe blow to her sore lungs. She squirmed against the restraints while the abductor bound her to the horse’s back.

  “I need a woman. Gets powerful cold and lonely on the mountain. T’ain’t far now.” The man led the horse up the trail.

  The shawl hung halfway across her head, her teeth rattled, and chill bumps formed on her skin. The beast of a man climbed further to the top of the frozen mountain. Underbrush tangled and twisted in her hair. Low branches whipped her head back. A pain in her stomach refused to subside; a whoosh escaped with each step of the horse.

  The higher they climbed, the colder and wetter the mountain became. Fear jolted her senses. How would she escape the clutches of this man?

  With a quick glance around, she tried to find some kind of landmark, anything to stand out, but there was nothing. It all appeared the same to her. How would she ever find her way back down to civilization? Hanging upside down didn’t help matters. The needles from the trees scattered the turf. The brush all looked the same. The ground was speckled with white, wet snow the higher they climbed. There was no way of telling how far she had traveled.

  Stings from branch after branch slapped against her arms and face. There was no one around to cry out for help. If she did, would some of this cruel man's friends come to help him torment her, whatever his intentions were? Many stories of this floated around the fort every day. Not once had the thought occurred to her she would be one of them.

  Tiny snowflakes gathered on the ground below and the horse came to a stop. The bonds holding her on the horse loosened, a hand grabbed the back of her dress, and slammed her to the earth. The man carried her into the cabin where he dropped her on the floor. A hairy arm reached for a half-empty bottle, and the man took a swig then wiped his mouth on his dirty shirtsleeve.

  “Wanna drink?” He offered the bottle to Emma. The beat of her heart thundered beneath her dress. Continuous efforts to free herself from the ropes bit into her delicate skin. The failed attempts drained her and she collapsed to her knees. Blinded by fury, she scanned the cold, crude cabin.

  Alcohol and rotten flesh from hides piled in the opposite corner churned her stomach. Large pools of dried blood stained the floor. The possibility she wasn’t the first captive of this man sent an eerie sensation passing through her. With closed eyes, she prayed the man skinned the animals inside, and not the captives before her.

  There was no comfortable impression the fort was anywhere within walking or running distance. Stranded on this mountain with a man she didn’t know, didn’t want to know, sent a new level of alarm as to what would happen next. With the looks of the cabin, the outcome was bleak.

  Sadness entered her mind. Who would teach school if she was still stuck up here with this awful man? The board would find someone new to teach. Her heart was set on being the teacher. Someone other than she would fill the teaching job at the fort. With renewed determination, she had to find a way to escape.

  The large mountain man approached her. One push at a time, she slid across the wooden floor into the corner. Natural instincts told her to fight or flee, yet the bonds restricted her from either. Pride refused to let burning tears flow down her cheeks. There was no way she would succumb to the satisfaction the man may feel if he knew how frightened she was.

  The man’s thick hands locked an iron shackle around her ankle. The shackle was secured to a chain and linked to a heavy metal hook embedded in the wall. Around his waist, he wore a sheath. It held a knife, which he removed.

  Inches from her face, he flashed the wicked blade. She held her breath as he cut the ropes from her wrist, feet, and pulled the gag from her mouth.

  “You’ll never get away with this.” She prayed he missed the anger in her words. An uncertainty warned her to be quiet and she clamped her mouth shut.

  Laughter filled the cabin with more coldness than the air outside. A shiver ran down her spine, and she covered her ears at the repulsive noise. It took all her might to hold her tongue instead of lashing out at the man. As far as she was concerned, he may have her now, but the first chance she got, she would run.

  “Get use to it, li’l woman. This here’s your new home.” His dull brown eyes widened and hid beneath thick brows. Yellow teeth showed u
nder a red moustache. In two steps, he crossed the floor, and his large belly, covered in a dirty brown shirt, shook with each step.

  The man disappeared through the door, and Emma searched the cabin. Determined eyes fell on the cold iron around her ankle. Infuriated, she slid down the rough wooden wall and yanked on the chain. Beside herself, she dug her fingernails in the mortar around the hook until crimson flowed from each tip.

  “Calm down, you need your strength.” The whisper flowed from her lips. All of her physical strength was spent and her mind too weary to think straight. Curled in the corner, she closed her eyes. The dream whipped her mind. Emma foresaw her future contained within the walls of this crude place. Upset with the outcome, her will to survive seemed to go blank.

  How am I going to get out of this? I will not succumb to this wretched cabin. I refuse to do so. Insecurity swallowed her soul. The shackle and chain refused to dislodge. Her thoughts ran wicked circles in her mind.

  The cabin door swung open and banged against the wall. Cold, howling wind rushed in. Huddled deeper into the corner, she waited for the evil man to enter the cabin. Goose bumps fluttered across her skin. She folded her arms across her chest and glared at the open door. She rubbed her arms and legs, but failed to stop the sting from the cold. Coiled in the long skirt to block most of the wind where little needle pricks from the cold numbed her body, exhaustion twisted into a fitful sleep.

  Thick fingers grasped her head and slammed it hard against the wall. Pain drained down her neck. Her eyes flew open, and her hand went to the fisted hand wrapped in her hair. The man shoved her head against the wall again and let go. He wheeled around to place wood inside the stove and started a fire, then secured the door of the stove before he walked to the table in a far corner. Once again, he picked up the bottle.

  “I could use a drink.” Emma rose from the floor on stiff, weak legs. She struggled to straighten in front of his cold, evil glare. The hairs prickled on the nape of her neck.

  The man glanced in her direction. He rose from the table and wiped the mouth of the bottle on his filthy shirt. Bile rose in her throat and she fought the need to vomit as he offered her the bottle. She reached out her nervous hand; she never took her eyes off the malicious soul thrusting it to her.

  With every ounce of energy, she reared back and swung the bottle into the man’s head. Her heart quickened at the sight of the blood tracking down his temple. She held her breath, and then jumped back to watch the large man as he slunk to the floor. His head bounced with a loud thump. She squeezed her eyes shut and winced.

  With shaky fingers, she fumbled in his pockets to find the key to the shackle. Between the cold of the cabin and her intense fright, she dropped the key with a clank. She glanced at the man and picked it up. With the key in her hand, she held it tight and hoped to release her bonds before the mountain man woke.

  Emma tried to clear the catch in her throat. Taking the knife from his waist, she drew in a deep breath and ran from the cabin into the blizzard outside. Nips of the storm gouged in her skin as she pushed at the branches and brush scraping her arms and legs. Her face stung from the ice crystals blowing and thin limbs whipping across her cheeks.

  Focused on the trail to lead her away from the cabin, she shoved her hair from her face. With squinted eyes and clenched jaw, she ran through the blinding snow. Snow caked the hem of the blue cotton dress. Tiny, hot needles pricked her feet from snow-covered shoes. She continued from one path to the next. Her lungs heaved; her limbs grew heavy until exhaustion stopped her. Determination pushed her to continue onward to the edge of the river.

  Tears froze on her cheeks. The trail she followed led to the river. Down the slope she stumbled until her body grew weary and she could no longer move. Between two large boulders, she lowered her body and began to warm. She welcomed the warmth, and embraced the darkness, knowing she may never wake up again.

  Evil laughter startled her awake. The horrid hands of the mountain man yanked her to her feet. With the knife clenched in her fist, she jabbed with all her might. Blood flowed down his arm as the knife made contact and cut deep. He jerked back and yelled in pain.

  “You’ll pay fer that one, missy.” He clenched his jaws. Anger filled his eyes. His hand drew back and his fist smashed into her face, sending her to the ground. With a tight grip on the rock, she swung again with extreme fierceness she hadn’t known she possessed.

  Blow after blow, her mind went wild as she delivered cuts to his head. Anger flashed in his eyes. She felt, if she were going to die, he would at least hurt from trying to accomplish her death. The madder he got, the madder she got. He grabbed her hair and she jerked from his grasp. His fist caught the edge of her jaw. Stars twinkled before her eyes, but she continued to fight for her life.

  His blood mixed with alcohol churned in the air around her, mixing with the snow that fell in large flakes. Numbness took over her body, yet she continued to swing, putting her body into each sweeping pass. A sharp gasp passed her lips as she watched his hand rise.

  He lowered his gun toward her chest and squeezed the trigger. It seemed strange as she slumped to the frigid, hard ground. Words in a foreign language floated above her when the world spun while darkness loomed in her mind. Another gunshot deafened her ears and echoed across the cold, dark Rocky Mountains. The wildlife scampered into the shadows of snow-covered trees.

  Rough, thick hands pushed her. Withered strength failed to stop her limp body as she rolled across craggy rocks until she splashed into the icy, raging river below. Tormenting pain exploded in her chest, back, legs, and head. Every part of her body felt bruised and swollen. Cuts on her face burned with the extreme fire of cold. Through slivered eyes, she watched him mount his horse.

  His voice was faint, but she thought she heard him say, “You weren’t worth the trouble” before he turned the horse and disappeared in the trees on the trail.

  Emma tried to hang onto all the hope that seemed to abandon her soul. Another freezing rush of water splashed in her face. She lost all feeling in her hands as she pulled herself further down the river until the darkness took over once more.

  Chapter Two

  Kale shivered against the cold blizzard. The winter storm blew in with force and power. Bent over his trap to retrieve the beaver caught in its iron teeth, his gaze angled up the mountain at the echo of a gunshot. He scanned the mountain for any signs of an avalanche.

  The faint laugh of Harvey Morgan sent repulsion deep within him. Something wasn’t right, but he would find the reason for the whole episode. Anyone with half a brain knew the dangers of an avalanche. In a few seconds, he twisted back to reset the trap.

  With a quick flick of the wrist, he tossed the pelt on his sled. With his fur-wrapped fingers, he cleared frozen snow from the top of his snowshoes. He pulled his beaver skin hat close around his face. Well-placed steps slowed his pace in the direction of the gunfire. Hope and doubt of finding a living body raced through his mind. If Morgan was involved, death always won the battle.

  Watchful eyes scanned the edge of the river. The bright red stain in the snow faded into the half-frozen water below. He stopped a moment to look over the area for the shooter before continuing further down river. His eyes rested on the dirty mountain man. Morgan perched on his horse, spit a stream of tobacco, and kicked his horse in motion. Fury ate into Kale and he choked back his desire to send his knife flying into the man’s evil heart.

  Morgan was a hard man. Killed more women than most people knew about. The disgusting old trapper was mean and ruthless. Kale’s heart poured out to the victims of Morgan’s brutality. Doubt filled his mind as he wondered who this victim could be and what she had done to deserve Morgan’s wrath. His footsteps fell faster in his quest to retrieve the body.

  Kale followed the blood trail down the river. Doubts of finding a live person ate at his conscience. He intended to bury the dead and head to his cabin lower on the mountain. Cast to the blizzard, his eyes scanned the side of the mountain.

/>   Small handprints in the snow gave little hope to Kale. If the person was alive—he assumed a woman or child lived—it wouldn’t be long before a small body would freeze to death. Breath fogged before him as he placed one snowshoe in front of the other on the snow-covered ice. His eyes stung from the cold and the constant brightness of the freshly fallen snow.

  The thunder of his heart caught in his throat. A mass of long black hair caught on a fallen log and floated on the river. He dropped near the bank and removed the snowshoes. His breath lumped in his lungs on the first step into the river. Drawing his knife, he cut the branches and pulled the body free from its trap of tangled tree limbs.

  His heart plunged at the sight of the blue-tinted skin of the woman with purple lips and closed eyes. Many holes scattered across her chest. Small specks of blood spread intermittently across the blue material covering the limp body. He lowered his head to her mouth and felt a slow, shallow breath escape from her lungs.

  With renewed hope, Kale unpacked his sled with hurried motions. In the bitter cold, he removed pelts. The woman would need a soft, warm place, and he left a couple layers of pelts on the bottom. He picked up the woman and placed the remaining skins on top. His eyes went to the ridge above. A curse to Morgan escaped his lips and he headed to his cabin nearby. The snow grew deep with the drifts. The added weight made travel slow. Even though the woman wasn’t big, the soaked long dress held a lot of water.