Tomahawk Revenge/ Black Powder Justice (A Wilderness Double Western Book 3)

by Robbins, David

  Nate wiped perspiration from his brow with the sleeve of his buckskins and longed for a drink. He hadn’t realized it could get so hot at the higher elevations. They were skirting a mountain on their right. Overhead an eagle soared. He wished he had the bird’s vantage point so he could scan the horizon for water.

  Not much later they came to a small lake. Two Owls stopped and studied the shore, then rode boldly to the edge of the bank and slid off his horse.

  Uncertain whether they should expose themselves so brazenly, Nate reluctantly rode to the lake and dismounted. His eyes roved over the shore on each side and saw no evidence of the band.

  The Ute noticed and chuckled. “We are safe, Grizzly Killer. The Blackfeet passed this way much earlier.”

  “What if they’re resting on the north shore? They could see us.”

  Two Owls nodded at the ground. “They rested here for a while, then hurried on. Remember, they want to reach their village as quickly as they can so they can show off their prisoners. Their people will celebrate the capture of your friends for days.”

  “Not if I can help it.” Nate let the mare drink and knelt to splash some refreshing moisture on his face. When she finished he dropped prone and greedily gulped until he couldn’t take another drop. As he straightened he saw the warrior regarding him critically.

  “You should not drink so much at one time. When going long periods without water it is better to drink in moderation when the opportunity arises.”

  “You concentrate on the Blackfeet and I will take care of my drinking.”

  “As you wish. But do not bother to complain if your stomach aches shortly.”

  “My stomach is fine,” Nate declared testily.

  A half hour later his stomach disagreed. They had ridden two miles from the lake when he felt an acute spasm and almost doubled over. Thankfully the Ute was in front and couldn’t see his discomfort. The pain mystified him. He’d drunk equally as much on other occasions, so why should he have trouble now?

  Before them lay a verdant meadow. A buck stood to the northwest, chewing contentedly, undisturbed by their presence. From a cluster of boulders to the east several groundhogs stood erect and studied them before one of the creatures uttered a shrill cry and they all darted into their burrows.

  Nate gritted his teeth and patiently weathered his bellyache. The spasms grew progressively worse for fifteen minutes, then abruptly abated. He mentally vowed never to drink so much again. Ever.

  The terrain consisted of rolling hills sandwiched between regal mountains. In the distance to the north reared a bald peak that strongly resembled a human skull in its general outline. They made directly toward it, and the closer they came the more realistic the imaginary skull appeared.

  “That is Dead Man’s Mountain,” Two Owls revealed, indicating the peak with a jerk of his thumb. “My people consider it to be bad medicine.”

  “Why?”

  “Once three Utes went up the mountain to catch eagles and pluck their feathers. Two of the men were never seen again. The third stumbled into our village, said, ‘The big hairy thing,’ and died.”

  “The big hairy thing?”

  Two Owls nodded, twisting so his gestures could be seen better. “That is what he told the man who caught him as he fell to the ground.”

  “What was he referring to?”

  “We have no idea.”

  “A grizzly maybe?”

  “If a grizzly had attacked him, he would have said so.”

  “Were there claw marks on him?” Nate asked.

  “None. No marks at all. Our medicine man believed he saw something that frightened him so badly it scared him to death.”

  Nate chuckled. “And you believe this story?”

  “Yes. It happened in my great-grandfather’s time and he saw the man who died. When I was a child he told the tale to me and swore it was true.”

  Lifting his right hand over his eyes to shield them away from the sunlight, Nate scrutinized the mountain. “There must be a logical explanation,” he commented after a minute.

  Two Owls slowed so he could ride even with the youth. “Why?”

  “Because there are logical explanations for everything.”

  “Do all whites believe this?”

  “Most do, yes.”

  “Then most whites are fools. There are matters men will never understand. The ways of spirit beings, for instance, are beyond our power to comprehend.”

  “Are these the same guardian spirits you were talking about before?”

  “Those and many others,” Two Owls said, and motioned at the atmosphere. “The spirit beings who live all around us. Surely you have talked to one?”

  “Not recently.”

  “Go on a vision quest sometime. You will see what I mean.”

  “One day,” Nate signed noncommittally, inwardly laughing at the notion of communicating with unseen spirits.

  “Have you ever seen a lake monster?” the Ute unexpectedly inquired.

  “There are no such things.”

  Two Owls adopted an exasperated expression. “There are men in my tribe who have seen them, so do not sit there and tell me such creatures do not exist.”

  “Can you blame me for being skeptical? I would have to see one myself before I could believe such an outrageous yarn.”

  “Go to Bear Lake. A monster lives in the water and is seen often.”

  “I have been there. The last rendezvous was held on the south shore, and not one person reported seeing any monster,” Nate signed with all the patience he could muster.

  “No wonder. There were too many people there and the monster stayed in hiding at the bottom of the lake.”

  “How convenient.”

  “If you do not believe me, ask the Shoshones.”

  Nate straightened and studied the warrior’s features. Two Owls had no way of knowing he was married to a Shoshone so the remark had been made innocently. “Why them?”

  “They live in the vicinity of Bear Lake and they know all about the monster. A woman we captured told us all about it. The beast is like a great serpent but has short legs and sometimes crawls out onto the land. She also told us the monster sprays water out of its mouth.”

  “Was she suffering from a blow on the head at the time?”

  Hissing in anger, Two Owls rode several yards in front of the mare.

  Nate grinned and shook his head in amazement. How could any sane person believe such nonsense. When he returned to his cabin he would ask Winona about the so-called monster, and he felt certain she would laugh and agree with him that the woman had concocted the entire story. Lake monster indeed!

  They continued tracking the Blackfeet in strained silence. Two Owls did not ask another question the remainder of the day. Only when the sun completed its transit of the sky and evening was almost upon them did he deign to look at Nate.

  “We should make camp soon.”

  “Pick a spot. I trust your judgment,” Nate responded, and realized he’d made a mistake when the Ute’s lips compressed.

  They had been rising steadily for the better part of an hour, and above them loomed a ragged ridge. Two Owls rode to just below it and slid from his horse. He stepped higher and peered at whatever lay above, then motioned for Nate to join him.

  Gripping the Hawken in his left hand, Nate moved next to the warrior and gazed out over a plateau stretching for three or four miles. In the foreground was a level, grassy field covering twenty to thirty acres. Across the field lay a pond, then dense forest. And erecting their forts on the north side of the pond were the Blackfeet.

  “They have selected their campsite wisely,” Two Owls noted. “To get close enough to hurl your torches will require great stealth.”

  Nate said nothing. He’d already perceived as much and was plotting his approach.

  “I could do it for you.”

  Surprised, Nate turned. “The job is mine. They are my friends.”

  “True, but I can move quieter than any white
ever born. My chances of success are better than yours.”

  “Thank you, but no. I will do the task myself.”

  “As you wish.”

  They walked to their horses and led them lower into a stand of pine trees.

  “Tonight we will not use a fire,” Two Owls stated.

  Nodding absently, Nate started to remove a pack from his packhorse.

  “What are you doing?” Two Owls asked.

  “Unloading the . . .” Nate lowered his arms as comprehension dawned. They might need to make a swift escape, in which case there wouldn’t be time to strap all the packs on the animals. Although the horses were tired and deserved their rest, he had to leave them fully burdened until the rescue of his friends was achieved. He tightened the pack and reclined against a nearby tree.

  Two Owls strolled over. “You should use what light is left to spy on the Blackfeet and plan your strategy.”

  “I will soon. Thanks.”

  The Ute squatted and scratched his chest. “Do you have a wife, Grizzly Killer?”

  “Yes,” Nate replied, wondering why the warrior asked such a question.

  “Do you have children?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Have as many as you can. Children are the sweetest blessings of the Great Mystery.”

  “I had no idea the Utes were such devoted parents,” Nate signed. The Ute glowered and began to rise, so he quickly added, “I was complimenting your people, not insulting them.”

  Two Owls eased down again. “Children are the legacy we leave for future generations. They are more precious than the finest hides.” He paused. “I was told once that whites hit their children to punish them. Is this true?”

  Nate thought of the beatings his own father had administered when he was younger. “Yes.”

  Revulsion rippled over the Ute’s countenance. “How disgusting. We never hit our children. There are better methods to use when instructing them in proper behavior. When you hit a child, you hurt the child’s soul.”

  “I will try to remember that when I have my own children.”

  “Since you do not pray to your guardian spirit, how do you contact the spirit world?”

  What was all this leading up to? Nate wondered. He signed, “Whites usually pray directly to the Great Mystery.”

  “Then I will do the same for you.”

  “I do not understand.”

  “Even though you are a white, I like you, Grizzly Killer. If you are killed tonight, I will pray to the Great Mystery on your behalf and ask that the passage of your soul from this world to the next be swift and safe.”

  “Thank you,” Nate signed, and meant it.

  Chapter Twelve

  Sleeping was impossible. Nate tried to get some rest, but couldn’t. He lay on his back on a patch of soft grass and covered himself with a blanket, then spent about an hour tossing and turning and staring at the stars. Finally he gave the notion up as a lost cause, replaced the blanket in a pack, and sat down close to the Ute, who still sat under the tree. Without a fire they could barely see one another, so he had to pay particular attention when the warrior used sign language.

  “Are you ready?”

  “Yes. I want to get it over with.”

  “Be patient. Do not try to rush or you will be killed. As much as I despise the Blackfeet, I must admit they are excellent fighters.”

  “I plan to sneak past them into the woods north of the pond, make a small fire where it cannot be seen, and light two torches. Then I will set the forts ablaze. The rest will be in the Great Mystery’s hands.”

  Two Owls grunted. “Your plan is a good one. I will take cover in the field of grass and kill any Blackfeet who try to stop you.”

  “Just be certain you do not shoot my friends or me by mistake.”

  The Ute grinned. “When I shoot someone, Grizzly Killer, it is never by mistake.”

  They engaged in small talk to pass the time. Nate was surprised to learn the Utes had not always been noted for their warlike tendencies. Many years ago, before the coming of the Spaniards, the Utes lived in small family groups. They spent most of their time in the high mountain valleys seeking fish, berries, and game. When the weather turned cold they would follow the buffalo and antelope to the south and stay there until spring.

  But the advent of the Spanish changed Ute life forever. The simple hunters and seed gatherers obtained horses and became expert horsemen. The family groups banded together and began conducting raids on Spanish settlements and other tribes. In short order the Utes were expert marauders, ranging far and wide to count coup, steal more horses, and plunder at will.

  Soon the Utes were in contention with other powerful tribes: the Cheyenne, Arapaho, Comanche, and Kiowa. They held their own against all of them. Only one other tribe successfully conducted raids into Ute territory on a regular basis. The Blackfeet.

  Nate found it hard to conceive of the Utes as seed gatherers and peaceful hunters, and he marveled at the fact that possession of horses should make such a big difference in their lives. Granted, horses gave the tribes greater mobility than ever before and enabled those who possessed mounts to have an unfair advantage in battle, but he couldn’t understand the drastic change.

  Two Owls plied Nate with questions about life in the white man’s world. How many whites were there? How many stone villages? How many horses did the Great Chief of all the whites own? How many coups had the Great Chief counted?

  Nate answered honestly, and was annoyed when many of his answers were greeted with smiles. The Utes found it incredible that there were ten million people in the United States, and that in one village alone, New York City, there were over 125,000. He found it humorous Nate didn’t know the number of horses owned by the President. And he laughed at learning the Great Chief did not count coup after the Indian fashion.

  Midnight came and went. The night grew progressively cooler. Wolves howled and panthers screamed. A strong breeze from the northwest rattled the trees.

  Despite the late hour, Nate felt no fatigue. Nervousness assailed him, and he had to force his arms and legs to stay still. He glanced time and again at the sky, especially the eastern horizon, gauging the passage of the stars, and tried not to dwell on the job he must do.

  They had settled into a mutually reflective silence for a long while when Two Owls gazed overhead, cleared his throat, and signed, “It is time.”

  Nate stood and hefted the Hawken. “Then I will be on my way.”

  “Do you have what is necessary to start the fire?”

  “In my pouch,” Nate assured him, and looked into the warrior’s eyes. “Be careful.”

  “You too.”

  They climbed to the summit of the plateau and headed due north, moving quietly through the tall grass. Once a large animal, possibly a deer, snorted and ran off. They crouched and waited a suitable interval before resuming their approach, reaching the south shore of the pond safely.

  Nate knelt and parted the grass to stare across the oval body of water. He estimated it to be sixty feet in diameter. The three forts were easy to distinguish due to their unnatural conical shape. Not a glimmer of light showed inside any of them. He glanced at the Ute, gave a wave, and bore to the right, swinging wide around the pond until he attained the sanctuary of the woods.

  In order to avoid being heard or seen, Nate traveled a good thirty yards before he stumbled on a narrow gully that would suit his purposes ideally. He gathered limbs from under several trees, piled them at the bottom of the gully, and opened his pouch to remove his flint and steel. Next he broke a few twigs into small pieces to use as kindling and added three pinches of coarse black powder from his powder horn to serve as tinder.

  On only the fifth strike to the flint on the steel did the sparks ignite the powder, which flashed and sparked and in turn ignited the kindling. A few strategically placed puffs and the kindling caught, the flames growing rapidly, and soon the limbs were burning and crackling.

  Now Nate had to hurry. He scoured
his immediate vicinity for a pair of suitable makeshift torches, and found two stout broken pine limbs that would suffice. Cradling the rifle under his left arm, he used his butcher knife to strip off the shoots and seized each limb by its thin end. Rising, he held the thick ends in the flames until both caught.

  Clambering from the gully with two makeshift torches in his hands proved difficult, but he managed. Bending at the waist, he ran sideways while keeping the torches low to the ground. When he had gone two thirds of the way to the pond he turned with his back to the south and moved backwards, his body hopefully screening the torches from enemy eyes. Not that he expected many of the Blackfeet to be awake. Perhaps those guarding his friends were, but the rest should be sound asleep.

  He tripped and corrected his balance in the nick of time. One of the limbs sputtered as if on the verge of going out. With bated breath he waited until the flames burned brightly, then hastened onward, his head twisted so he could see any obstacles.

  The forts had been erected in a row, from west to east, spaced ten feet apart. As before, the Blackfeet had placed Shakespeare and Baxter in the middle structure. Earlier, Nate had watched as his friends were shoved inside and followed by a pair of Blackfeet.

  Please let there be only two in the fort still! he prayed as he drew within twenty feet of the inky shapes and paused to gird himself. He must not slow down for even a second once he burst from cover. To stand still would be to die.

  So far no sound at all issued from the forts.

  Nate clamped his arm down harder on the Hawken, gripped the limbs more securely, whirled, and charged, his moccasins smacking on the pine needles and soft earth underfoot. Go! he goaded himself. Go! Go!

  He sped from the forest and reached the western-most fort. Instantly he propped the torch against it, letting the flames lick at the poles, and dashed to the fort to the east, repeating the procedure. He stood back to watch the structure catch, then ran around to the front, gripping the rifle in both hands.

  Not a sound issued from the structures. All the Blackfeet were evidently still slumbering.