He breathed deeply in relief when they were in the valley beyond, delighted at the warm sunshine and the chirping of birds in the forest to their left. A narrow stream, fed by a spring high in the mountains, meandered across a grassy meadow before them, and he stuck to the bank, watching to see if there were any fish in the water.
“May I ask you a question, husband?” Winona spoke up.
Nate recognized a formal tone in her voice, a tone she used only when she felt she might be prying into his personal feelings and was reluctant to broach whatever subject she had in mind. “Ask away,” he said.
“Do you think of Adeline often?”
“I should have known,” Nate muttered and chided himself for ever having mentioned Adeline to Winona.
The daughter of one of the wealthiest men in New York City, Adeline Van Buren had been the epitome of beauty and charm and could have taken her pick of any man she wanted for her husband. To Nate’s unending astonishment, she had chosen him. They’d met at one of those boring social functions the upper crust so delighted in putting on, and an immediate attraction had led to their avowed intent to marry. In retrospect, Nate knew his love for her had been more in the order of awed devotion; he’d practically worshipped her. He’d placed her on a pedestal a mile high and had constantly reminded himself that he was the luckiest mortal alive simply because he was so unworthy of her affection. All she had to do was snap her fingers and he was at her beck and call.
How strange, he reflected. Back then he’d believed he was truly in love. Now, with the benefit of hindsight, he saw how foolish and immature he’d truly been. Comparing his love for Adeline to his love for Winona was like comparing night and day. He loved Winona as she was and related to her as an equal instead of as a supplicant before a goddess.
When he’d departed New York to go join his Uncle Zeke, he’d written Adeline a letter in which he’d promised to return one day with a great fortune. He’d wanted to be able to support her in the same lavish fashion her father always had; it was the main reason he’d left everything behind to venture west.
Had she found someone else by now? Nate wondered. Most likely. Suitors would have lined up for blocks once word of her eligibility spread. No doubt her father hated Nate. But that couldn’t be helped and didn’t bother him all that much because he had never been fond of her father anyway.
Should he write her another letter? No, he decided. She must resent the way he had gone off and left her; sending a letter would only spark bitter emotions. It was best for him to forget about her and get on with his life, which was hard to do with Winona bringing Adeline up at least once a week.
“Do you think of her?” Winona repeated when he failed to answer right away.
“No.”
“Then why did you take so long to say so?”
Nate glanced back. “When will you get it through your pretty head that you are the only woman I care for? If I still loved Adeline, I wouldn’t have married you, now would I?”
“I have heard about white men who take Indian women as wives for a winter or two, then leave them to go back to families the Indian women never knew they had.”
“Do you think I could ever do such a thing?”
Winona locked her eyes on his as if trying to peer into the depths of his soul. “No,” she admitted softly. “You are a good man.”
“And you are the one I want to start a family with,” Nate said. “You and our children will be all the family I need. I’ll be your husband for as long as you want me.”
Her mouth curled upward. “Then you will be my husband forever.”
“Now that we’ve settled the matter for the twentieth time, do you suppose we can drop it for good?”
“I am sorry if I upset you.”
“You didn’t.”
They pressed onward in awkward silence. By midday both had forgotten the discussion, and they chatted and laughed while taking a break beside a spring situated at the base of a bald mountain.
Sunset found them many miles farther along, in dense woodland. Nate scoured the terrain ahead, seeking a small lake he’d stumbled on previously. He was certain the lake must be close by, and a quarter of a mile later his hunch was confirmed when they emerged from the trees and discovered the serene body of water before them.
“I’ll tend to the horses, start a fire, and go find us something to eat,” Nate proposed as he rode to the water’s edge and dismounted.
“And what should I do while you are taking care of everything else?” Winona asked.
“Rest,” Nate said. “You must be tired after being in the saddle all day.”
Winona sighed. “When will you learn? I am all right. You go hunt while I take care of the horses and the fire.”
Knowing a protest would cause an argument, Nate resigned himself to the inevitable and headed toward the forest forty yards to the south. Twilight shrouded the landscape, bathing everything in a shade of gray. He glanced back to see his wife watering their animals, then peered at the trees and detected a flicker of movement out of the corner of his left eye. Halting, he looked and spotted a large jackrabbit bounding for the shelter of the vegetation. It was moving slowly, covering only five feet at a hop. On every fourth or fifth leap it would jump several feet into the air, giving itself a better view of him and the surrounding ground.
Nate pressed the Hawken to his right shoulder, recalling information imparted by Shakespeare McNair, the gray-haired mountain man who was his best friend and mentor. “If you spook a rabbit,” Shakespeare had said, “stand stock-still and get ready. They usually stop after going a short ways and look back to see if they’re being chased.”
He hoped his friend was right. If he could bag the jackrabbit, it would save a lot of time and effort. Taking careful aim, he tracked the rabbit’s course. After only four more bounds it abruptly stopped and stared at him.
Now!
Nate squeezed off the shot and saw the jackrabbit flip into the air, then slam into the ground hard and commence flopping around. He ran toward it, drawing his butcher knife, preferring to save his twin flintlocks for an emergency.
The ball had struck the hapless rabbit in the neck, and it now lay still on its side, blood gushing out, its eyes flared in panic.
Swiftly, Nate stooped over and plunged the blade into the yielding body, putting the animal out of its misery with one stab by piercing the heart. The jackrabbit quivered for a bit, uttered a low squeal, and died. Watching it expire, Nate thought of the rabbits he’d raised as a child back in New York and felt a twinge of guilt. “Sorry, bunny,” he said softly. “But I have two mouths to feed besides my own.”
He yanked the knife free, wiped the blade clean on the rabbit’s fur, and slid the weapon into its sheath. Grasping the rabbit by the rear legs, he stood and carried his trophy toward the lake. He guessed its weight to be nine or ten pounds, which would more than suffice to feed them.
Winona had turned at the crack of the shot and was waiting for him, smiling proudly. “That did not take long,” she said as he drew closer.
“I was lucky,” Nate replied. He dropped the rabbit on the grass and began reloading.
“I will skin it as soon as I have the fire started,” Winona said and headed for the trees.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“To get firewood.”
Nate gazed at the gloomy woods and changed his mind about objecting. “Let me take care of fetching branches while you hobble the horses and get the rabbit ready,” he suggested.
To his surprise, she halted, glanced at the forest, and came back.
“All right. But please be careful. I have a feeling.”
“What kind of feeling?” Nate asked.
“It is difficult to describe. A feeling all is not well.”
Nate surveyed the countryside but saw no sign of danger. “I’ll take care,” he promised, hoping his wife’s intuition was wrong. After loading the rifle, he hastened off, eager to gather the wood they would need b
efore night fell. A cool breeze from the northwest stirred his hair. He was almost to the forest when the air was rent by an eerie, drawn-out howl arising on the far side of the lake. Nate stopped in mid-stride. Seconds later another howl sounded, then a third and a fourth. An icy hand seemed to gouge into Nate’s stomach and twist his innards as he swung around in alarm. A wolf pack was abroad!
Chapter Three
Nate had a decision to make. Should he keep going or go back to Winona? He didn’t like the notion of leaving her alone with wolves in the vicinity. Although wolves rarely attacked humans, he knew from bitter experience that a pack would do so if the wolves were hungry enough. A few months ago he’d nearly lost his life in such an incident. He weighed the need for a fire against his guess that the wolves were still a quarter of a mile away and kept going. A roaring fire would keep most animals at bay. Once he had their campfire blazing, the pack would leave them alone.
Finding enough broken limbs was easy. Nature’s tantrums and old age had scattered scores on the forest floor. Nate swiftly collected enough to fill both arms and hastened back to the lake. As he neared the horses, the wolves howled once more. Winona was busy at work on the jackrabbit. “Did you hear that?” he asked anxiously.
“How could I not?”
“They might be coming in this direction,” Nate said, selecting a spot to start the fire. He deposited the branches and straightened. From the continued howling, he deduced the pack was moving slowly along the west shore. His stallion whinnied and tried to stamp the ground with a front hoof but the hobble prevented its leg from lifting very high.
Nate stepped to the big horse and opened his possibles bag, which hung from the saddle horn. He rummaged inside and found his tinderbox, then set about starting a fire as he continued listening for the approaching pack. They were yipping as well as howling, and he marveled at the noise they were making.
It took the better part of a minute to ignite the kindling, and then another minute to fan the tiny flames with his breath until they rose over six inches high. He fed small pieces of dry wood to the fire and soon had the campfire roaring in all its comforting glory.
The wolves promptly fell silent.
Nate stood, the tinderbox in his left hand, the Hawken in his right, and looked at his wife. “If those wolves should attack, stay behind me.”
“I do not think they will,” Winona said, removing the last fold of skin from the butchered rabbit. “They are talking to the moon is all.”
The moon? Nate gazed eastward and was surprised to behold a radiant full moon perched above the horizon. Shakespeare had once divulged that wolves and coyotes voiced their plaintive cries much more frequently on moonlit nights than they did on nights when the moon was absent. Why, no one knew.
He replaced the tinderbox in the possibles bag and scanned the southwest corner of the lake, wondering if the wolves would come very close or be intimidated by the fire. He saw several inky shapes flitting over the ground and swept the rifle to his shoulder. A second later the shapes halted and seemed to be regarding the campsite intently. A huge wolf advanced much closer, the firelight dancing in its eyes, making them glow a reddish hue.
Winona had also seen the pack. “Throw him the rabbit skin,” she said.
“What?” Nate responded, surprised by the suggestion.
“That big one is the leader of the pack. As a token of good will, take him the skin and a little meat.”
“And leave you here alone? Not on your life,” Nate said.
“Trust me. My people have been dealing with wolves for more winters than anyone can count. If you do not want to do it, I will.”
“No,” Nate said, moving to her side. He stared at the motionless pack, counting six lupine forms, and envisioned the consequences should Winona go out there and be wrong about the wolves’ intentions. “I’ll handle it.”
Winona picked up the skin and a handful of meat. “Here. Go out a ways and put this on the ground.”
Nate took the rabbit parts in his left hand, feeling the meat squish against his palm and blood seep between his fingers. Dismayed but striving hard not to show it, he advanced toward the predators with his left arm extended. What if they detected the smell of fresh blood and came for him? he wondered. There was no way he could down them all before they reached him and ripped him to ribbons.
The wolves promptly backed away, warily keeping their distance, not taking their eyes off him. Last to back off was the leader, and he only went a dozen yards before stopping.
Nate walked to the spot where he believed the big wolf had stood and squatted to put down his offering.
Loath to touch the rifle with his gore-covered hand, he wiped his left palm on his pants before rising and backpedaling to the fire. He scarcely breathed while waiting to see what the pack would do.
The leader of the pack cautiously moved forward. When it came to the rabbit parts, the wolf sniffed loudly, then swallowed the morsels in three gulps.
“What if he wants more?” Nate asked.
“That is the whole idea,” Winona said.
“Mind explaining it to me?”
Winona spoke softly. “By giving him the rabbit skin, we have whetted his appetite. Now he is hungry for more meat and he will lead his pack off to find it.”
“Or attack us.”
“Why must you always expect the worst?”
“Experience,” Nate said. “If anything can go wrong, it usually will.”
Suddenly the big wolf wheeled and loped off into the enveloping darkness, the other wolves right behind him. They disappeared without another sound.
Nate expelled a breath, then chuckled. “Your little trick worked.” He paused. “You don’t happen to have one that works on grizzly bears, do you?”
“No.”
“Too bad. The way I keep running into them, I could use an ace up my sleeve.”
The next several hours were spent enjoyably. Nate unsaddled their horses and removed the packs from their pack animal while Winona roasted tasty portions of jackrabbit by imbedding slender forked branches on either side of the fire and impaling the meat on a straight stick supported by the forks. By the time Nate finished with the horses, the tantalizing aroma of their impending meal filled the air and made his stomach growl with hunger.
They savored the food, slaking their thirst with cold water from the lake. A multitude of twinkling stars covered the heavens, and they saw several shooting stars while they ate.
Afterwards, Nate spread blankets on the ground and stacked limbs near the fire so he would have a ready source of fuel to use during the night whenever the fire started to die out. They reclined side-by-side and he pulled another blanket over the two of them. “This is nice,” he said.
Winona nodded and kissed him on the cheek, and they cuddled together for a while, whispering as they discussed plans for their future and their hopes for the child soon to be born. More fatigued by the arduous traveling than she was willing to admit, Winona fell asleep first, nestled in Nate’s arms. He beamed happily, pulled the blanket higher, and drifted asleep thinking that he must be the luckiest man on the planet.
~*~
Dawn etched the horizon with a rosy hue when Nate awoke and sat up. As always when in the wilderness, he made a quick survey of their camp to ensure all was in order. The horses had not wandered very far, due to the hobbles, and were munching on the dew-covered grass. A fish jumped in the lake, splashing down loudly and causing concentric circles to ripple outward from the impact point. Off to the east were several deer eyeing the camp. Apparently they had been on their way to the lake for their morning drink, but were now reluctant to approach.
Nate stretched, inhaling the crisp, invigorating mountain air. He slid out from under the blanket, being careful not to disturb Winona, and attended to his toilet. Then he collected the horses, saddled the stallion and the mare, and got the pack animal ready to go. He heard a rustling noise as he completed the job and turned to find Winona sitting up and gazing arou
nd in annoyance. “Good morning, honey.”
“I slept too long,” Winona said. “The sun is already rising. You should have woken me up.”
“You needed the extra rest,” Nate said, going over and squatting by her side.
“A person should never sleep past sunrise. It makes them lazy,” Winona stated, running a hand through her hair.
“My, aren’t you the grump this morning?” Nate quipped and kissed her.
“Grump? What is that? I do not remember hearing that word before.”
“A grump is someone who is always in a bad mood. They always look at the bad side of things.”
Winona seemed shocked. “Am I truly a grump?”
“Not in the least,” Nate assured her, grinning. “I was only making a joke.”
“You should work more on your sense of humor,” Winona admonished him.
“Yes, dear,” Nate said dutifully and kissed her again. He gave her a hand as she began to climb out from under the blanket, gazing in awe at her huge belly. “What do you want for breakfast?”
“Nothing.”
“Not a thing? We have jerky and bread in our supplies. Why not start the day with a full meal?”
“Because my stomach is not feeling well,” Winona said, straightening with a frown.
Nate didn’t like the sound of that. Her bouts of morning sickness had ended months ago. This new feeling might have been brought on by all the riding they had done, and he berated himself for being a fool, for lugging her scores of miles across the Rockies in her present condition. She should be back in the cabin, snug in their bed, and he told her as much.
“Nonsense,” Winona replied. “A woman who lies around all the time becomes weak and no good as a wife. It is too late to turn back, anyway. I am looking forward to seeing my aunt and her family.”
Wilderness: Vengeance Trail/ Death Hunt (A Wilderness Western Book 4) Page 16
