Yells of delight broke out behind Nate, and he turned to find over twenty Shoshone warriors spread out along the top of the earthen bank. Prominent among them were Spotted Bull and White Lynx, both holding bows. The warriors were all smiles, and those who had shot arrows were being clapped on the back and congratulated for a job well done. Nate slid his knife into its sheath, then faced the Oglala.
Red Hawk was walking toward him, the cradleboard nestled snugly in the crook of his left arm.
“Is the child all right?” Nate signed.
The Oglala held out the cradleboard so Nate could see for himself that the infant was unharmed and had stopped crying. There were teeth marks in the top of the cradleboard above the baby’s hair, where the wood frame flared out to serve as a wide backrest for the child’s head. Apparently the mountain lion had bitten into the cradleboard at just that one spot, its teeth missing the infant by less than an inch, when it carried the child to the gully.
Up close, Nate realized the baby was a little girl. He smiled and touched his finger to the child’s cheek. She grinned, demonstrating the innate resilience of children to bounce back quickly from emotional distress. Where a minute earlier she had been crying, she now cooed happily. It made him think of the child Winona would soon deliver, and he longed to hold his own son or daughter in his arms.
“Is the baby hurt?” Spotted Bull called down.
Nate glanced around and shook his head out of force of habit. “No,” he said. “She’s fine, thanks to Red Hawk.”
“I know,” Spotted Bull said and bestowed a friendly smile on the Oglala. “We saw what he did.”
Several of the warriors were moving south along the top of the gully, seeking an easy way down. They found a spot a dozen yards to the south where part of the bank had buckled, creating a gradual incline to the bottom. Yelling to the others, they descended.
Nate retrieved his pistols and wedged them under his belt. He was bending to pick up the Hawken when the Shoshones swarmed around him and Red Hawk, boisterously expressing their gratitude for saving the infant’s life.
Suddenly White Lynx stepped in front of the Sioux and everyone else fell silent. He slung the bow over his left shoulder and coughed.
Red Hawk stood his ground, his features composed, the baby resting quietly in his arm.
Nate stared at the stocky Shoshone, wishing his guns were loaded. He wouldn’t put it past White Lynx to start more trouble, and he wasn’t about to let the man harass Red Hawk after what the Oglala had done.
“I arrived in time to see you try to save the child,” White Lynx signed. He reached out, placed his right hand on Red Hawk’s shoulder for a moment, and signed, “You are a good man, Dakota. I was wrong about you. Tonight I will say as much to the council and tell them of your deed.”
Everyone else visibly relaxed.
White Lynx took Red Hawk by the arm and started to usher him from the gully when a lean warrior bounded up to the group and shoved his way through to the center. He was out of breath, his expression one of intense anxiety.
“My daughter?” he said.
Even though Red Hawk couldn’t understand the words, he took one look at the man’s face and extended the cradleboard toward him.
The newcomer took it and stared lovingly at the child. “You are safe,” he said softly, almost choking on the words.
“Grizzly Killer and the Dakota saved her,” White Lynx said. “Where were you, Tall Grass, when your daughter needed you the most?”
“I went to visit a friend on the other side of the village,” the father said, leaning down to touch his nose to the little girl’s. “I came as soon as someone told me.”
“You should go show Clay Woman that your child is fine,” Spotted Bull said. “She will be worried sick until you do.”
“Yes, you are right,” Tall Grass said absently and began to leave. He paused and gazed at Nate and Red Hawk. “Thank you,” he said and his eyes brimmed with moisture. “I am forever in your debt.” Then he spun around and hastened off.
The rest of the Shoshones started back. Four of them picked up the mountain lion and brought up the rear. Nate fell in beside Red Hawk.
“It was too bad your clever trick did not work,” the Dakota signed as they went up the incline.
“What trick was that?” Nate asked.
“I saw how you let the mountain lion get so close that you could not miss. I thought for sure you would kill it, but they can be very fast when they want to be.”
“I noticed,” Nate signed. He debated whether to admit the truth, to inform Red Hawk that he had frozen at a crucial moment, but decided against doing so. It was a personal matter, and he would deal with it in his own good time. Freezing when confronted with danger was not an uncommon experience. Any man might do so at one time or another. But if he did it again, if he found himself succumbing to inordinate fear on a regular basis, then he would have cause to worry greatly.
A large crowd of men, women, and children awaited the return of those who had hastened out to rescue the infant. The father became the center of attention as he and the mother tenderly clasped the child and received the heartfelt sympathies of their many friends and acquaintances. Averting the tragedy had put everyone in a good mood.
Nate received countless compliments, as did Red Hawk. Word of their battle with the mountain lion spread rapidly among the Shoshones, embellished, no doubt, in the telling, and Nate started to feel slightly embarrassed by the unwarranted attention. In one respect, though, he was delighted. Red Hawk had become the toast of the tribe, and not one Shoshone so much as gave him a hostile stare. It gave Nate cause to hope that all talk of killing the Sioux had died with the mountain lion.
After twenty minutes the Shoshones began to disperse. Spotted Bull led Nate and Red Hawk toward his lodge.
They covered only thirty yards when they saw Willow Woman hurrying in their direction.
“Grizzly Killer! You must come quickly!” Alarmed, thinking that something must have happened to Winona or the baby, Nate ran to meet the young woman. “What is it?” he asked urgently.
“It is your wife. She is about to give birth.”
Chapter Eleven
Give birth? Nate shook his head and said, “You must be mistaken. I left Winona a little while ago and she was fine. And the baby isn’t due for fifteen sleeps or so yet.”
“She is ready to have it now,” Willow Woman said. “She sent me to find you because she knows you want to be with her when it happens.”
Nate gazed northward in amazement, stunned by the realization that the blessed event he had been acutely dreading might actually be upon him.
“Sometimes babies drop early,” Willow Woman said and motioned for him to get going. “Hurry. She cannot hold it in forever.”
“Hold it in?” Nate said and took off for the lodge as if a slavering grizzly was on his heels. In his mind’s eye he conjured up an image of his wife gritting her teeth and clamping her legs together so the baby wouldn’t pop out before he arrived. Surprised Shoshones glanced at him as he passed, but he ignored them. All he could think of was reaching his wife’s side.
He half expected to find a small crowd gathered in front of Spotted Bull’s lodge, or at the very least a few of the village women, but there was no one. It must be because most of the Shoshones had gone to see about Tall Grass’s daughter, he reasoned, and covered the final twenty yards with the speed of a bounding antelope. The flap was open so he didn’t bother with the social amenity of announcing his presence. He simply barged inside, then halted in astonishment.
Winona and Morning Dove were seated on the left side of the lodge, chatting. Neither appeared in the least bit agitated about the impending birth. They casually glanced up as he entered, and Winona smiled.
“I am glad you are here,” she said.
Nate darted to her side. “Willow Woman told me you’re about to have the baby.”
“True,” Winona said calmly.
“You can’t be,”
Nate said, thinking that perhaps they had played a joke on him.
Winona’s brow knit and she regarded him curiously. “I think I would know better than you.”
“But why are you just sitting here? Where are the midwives? Shouldn’t you be lying down? Shouldn’t Morning Dove be boiling water?” Nate asked.
“Oh,” Winona said in English and smiled. Then she changed to her own tongue again. “I have no need of a midwife. Morning Dove will prepare water for my cleansing while I am away. And I am sitting here waiting for you because walking would only hasten the birth.”
Nate leaned over and studied her belly. “Are you certain now is the time?”
“Yes. The pains are very close now.”
“Pains?” Nate said, aghast.
“Women experience regular pains before childbirth,” Winona patiently explained. “Contractions deep inside.”
“How soon will the baby be born?”
“As soon as you take me into the forest,” Winona said and held up her right hand. “Please help me up.”
“The forest?” Nate said. “Why can’t you have it right here so Morning Dove can assist if necessary?”
“That is not our way. I am a grown woman and will drop the baby myself.”
“But—” Nate began to protest, petrified at the idea of what might happen should he take her into the woods alone and a problem should arise.
“I have no time to discuss this,” Winona said. “The pains are very close.” She wagged her right hand. “Please help me up.”
Swallowing hard, Nate dutifully complied, first leaning the Hawken against the lodge wall and then carefully lifting her to her feet. She immediately walked toward the entrance.
“Wait a minute,” Nate said. “Shouldn’t we take a medicine bag along or some blankets or a water bag or something?”
Winona sighed and stepped to a large buffalo robe that had been folded neatly and placed near the entrance. “This is all I will need. Please bring it.”
“But—” Nate said, then hastened to the robe when she turned and walked out without waiting for him to finish. He started to follow, realized he had forgotten the Hawken, and dashed back to retrieve it. Morning Dove was looking at him as if he might be touched in the head. He grinned to show her he had everything under control, then whirled and ran outside, nearly colliding with Willow Woman, who had chosen that moment to return. “Sorry,” he said and took off after his wife.
Winona was already ten yards to the east.
“Not so fast,” Nate admonished her in English. “My guns aren’t loaded. What if we run into a grizzly?”
“You can load them later,” Winona said and walked faster. Her mouth compressed into a thin line.
“Are you all right?” Nate asked anxiously, sticking close to her left side.
“As well as can be expected,” Winona assured him in a strained tone. She abruptly grabbed hold of his arm for support. “I hope I have not waited too long, but I knew how much you wanted to be with me.”
“I appreciate it,” Nate said, almost wishing she had given birth while he was off fighting the mountain lion. His pulse raced, his mind whirled, and he couldn’t seem to concentrate. He had never felt so nervous in all his born days. Whoever claimed having a child was easy had never known the torture a prospective father went through.
Winona picked up the pace, making a beeline through the lodges until they were out of the village. Then she headed for dense woodland.
Nate suspiciously scanned the wall of vegetation, dreading there might be hostile Indians out there, or maybe the mate of the panther he’d slain, or who knew what.
“We must find a sapling,” Winona said.
“Why?” Nate asked, his attention focused on a bush that was shaking slightly. He gripped the hilt of his knife, then relaxed when a sparrow flew out of the bush.
“You will see,” Winona told him. She placed both hands on her abdomen and grimaced. “We must hurry, husband, or I will have the baby right here.”
Oh, Lord! Nate thought, and looked right and left as they entered the forest, seeking the type of tree she needed. But all the trees he saw were much older with thick trunks.
“Oh, my,” Winona said softly. “Our baby is eager to enter this world.”
Wait! Nate wanted to shout. For the love of God, please wait! He spied a sapling off to the left approximately thirty yards and steered Winona toward it. “There’s one,” he said. “Hang on. We’re almost there.”
“My legs are drenched,” she said.
“Drenched? What do you mean by drenched?” Nate asked, fearing that she had accidentally urinated and the baby would be soiled.
“I will explain later,” Winona said.
His heart pounding, Nate got her to the tree. She promptly gripped it with both hands, then glanced at him.
“Are you certain you want to see this?”
“Of course. I’m your husband. My place is right here with you,” Nate assured her, although deep down he was terror-stricken. He recalled viewing the birth of a colt when he was eight or nine; he had nearly fainted from the sight. If he passed out on Winona, he’d never be able to hold his head high again.
“Please give me the robe.”
“Here,” Nate said, handing it to her. “Is there anything else I can do?”
“Not at the moment,” Winona said, letting go of the sapling. She took the robe and spread it on the ground at the base of the tree, and as she unfolded it a small knife that had been wrapped inside rolled out.
“What’s the knife for?” Nate inquired.
“You will see,” Winona said, picking up the weapon and placing it at the edge of the robe. Then she raised her dress, pulling it above her waist, exposing her sleek thighs and her expanded belly.
Embarrassment assailed Nate. He glanced around, fearful of someone spotting them and beholding his wife’s private parts. All he saw was a small finch flitting about in the trees, which reminded him that larger animals might well be prowling in the area. “I’m going to load my guns,” he said.
Winona said nothing. She squatted and seized hold of the tree again, her knees outspread, her features etched in intense concentration, her bottom positioned over the soft robe.
Nate yanked the ramrod out of the Hawken, glad for the diversion. It gave him an excuse to take his mind and his eyes off the matter at hand. Working methodically, he measured out the proper amount of powder, fed it down the barrel, then wrapped a ball in a patch and rammed both into the rifle. Unable to take his eyes off Winona for very long, every fifteen or twenty seconds he would glance at her. She continued to squat there, her chin bowed, her cheeks flushed. After a bit she commenced breathing loudly and regularly.
Why was she doing that? Nate wondered. He leaned the rifle against a nearby tree so he could load both flintlocks. The snap of a twig to his rear brought him around in alarm, but the cause turned out to be a chipmunk that took one look at him and fled as if a demon was on its heels. He swiftly finished with the two pistols and wedged them under his belt.
Winona gasped.
Nate faced her and saw her legs trembling, her bosom heaving as she began breathing even harder. Fascinated, he moved closer to be there if she needed him but she paid no attention. He wished he had asked more questions about the birth process. How long would it take? Did babies start crawling right away or did it take an hour or so for them to coordinate the movement of their limbs, as it did with certain farm animals? There was so much he didn’t know and he regretted his ignorance.
Winona hunkered lower, her breaths loud enough now to be heard for yards. Her face was red and sweat beaded her brow.
“Anything I can do yet?” Nate asked on the off chance there might be. To his surprise, she ignored him. Feeling like a bump on a log, he surveyed the woods once more. Now there were three finches in a tree a few yards to the north. They were sitting quietly, staring at Winona as if equally fascinated by what was going on.
The breeze became stronger
, stirring the leaves.
Nate rested his hands on the pistols and stepped nearer to Winona. He saw the muscles on her arms and legs quivering, saw her abdomen tightening, and realized she was straining with all of her might. The robe under her legs was wet, and a tangy scent unlike any he’d ever smelled tingled in his nostrils. To his great concern, Winona’s breathing became even deeper.
A minute passed.
Two.
Five.
“Would you like some water?” Nate asked, anxious to do something. He began to doubt the wisdom of being by her side. What could he possibly accomplish that she couldn’t? Maybe Lame Elk had been right. Giving birth should be a strictly feminine affair.
Again Winona made no comment, although she did look up for a few seconds and revealed her taut face and neck. Then she tucked her chin low and breathed with a rhythmic cadence.
Nate shifted uneasily, bothered by her silence. Was she mad at him, or was it simply hard for her to speak when she was focusing her entire energy on the birth? He gazed at her legs, then stiffened when he spied a dark object suspended from between them.
The baby!
He took a half-step and dropped to one knee. Sure enough, the top of a tiny head had poked out of the womb. The head was crowned with slick black hair, and the infant’s face was as red as his Mackinaw coat. He couldn’t determine if the baby’s eyes were open yet or not, so he simply waved and beamed.
Suddenly voices sounded, coming from the direction of the village.
Spinning, Nate scanned the forest. He recognized the voices as female, and before long he spied three Shoshone women walking eastward, small baskets in their arms. Probably going to find herbs or roots, he guessed; by his estimation, the trio would pass within fifteen feet of Winona. He stood and moved to intercept them.
Wilderness: Vengeance Trail/ Death Hunt (A Wilderness Western Book 4) Page 22
