Wilderness: Vengeance Trail/ Death Hunt (A Wilderness Western Book 4)

by Robbins, David

  Nate tried to recall everything his uncle had told him about the brutes. They had poor eyesight, but compensated with a sharp sense of smell. They were fierce when provoked and could rip a man or a horse wide open with a single swipe of their horns. Not very intelligent, they would let themselves be driven off of cliffs or run in circles, which would make it possible for the Indians to use the surround as a hunting tactic.

  Nate also recollected being told that their skulls were almost impervious to a ball or an arrow. The bone covering the brain was massive and thick. To slay one of the beasts, a hunter must go for the lungs or the heart. “Aim just behind the last rib,” Uncle Zeke had advised.

  Easier said than done.

  Once a buffalo was in motion, racing along as rapidly as a horse, trying to get a bead on the proper spot to hit was a damned difficult task. And even if a hit was scored, there was no guarantee the buffalo would go down. It might keep going for miles, or it might turn on its attacker and charge. As Nate well knew, there were few sights as fearsome as that of having a two-thousand-pound enraged behemoth barreling straight at you.

  He saw several bulls glance up at the top of the hill and tensed. But they simply stared for a bit, then resumed grazing, their large teeth chomping the grass to bits. There were a few calves among the adults, distinguished by their reddish coats. In another month there would be many more. May was the month when most of the females delivered their young.

  Touch The Clouds turned his horse, motioned for them to follow, and went to the bottom of the hill. Once there he straightened and beamed. “My father will be very pleased. We have found the main herd. Now two of us must stay here and keep watch while the rest of us go tell my father and the others.”

  “I’ll stay,” Nate said impulsively.

  Red Hawk lifted his hands to address them in sign. “I wish I spoke your tongue so I could know what is happening.”

  Nate translated, and the Oglala promptly offered to stay with him.

  “Very well,” Touch The Clouds said. “Keep out of sight. If the herd moves, trail them. We will set up a camp at the point where we first came out of the forest. By evening I will send two men to relieve you.” He scanned the prairie on all sides. “And stay alert for warriors from other tribes.”

  “You can count on that,” Nate said, then watched the giant lead the rest to the southwest. Drags The Rope waved and Nate waved back. In minutes he was alone with Red Hawk, just two more dots in the limitless expanse of grassland.

  “We can take turns lying at the top of the hill,” the Oglala signed. “That way if the herd begins to move, we will know right away.”

  “I will take the first turn,” Nate said and slid down from his horse. He handed the reins to his friend and padded up the slope until his head was just below the rim. Flattening, he crawled forward until he could view the herd in all its primeval glory. He made himself comfortable, placing the Hawken at his side and resting his chin on his forearms.

  The buffalo were engaged in the varied activities of their species; standing idly, feeding on the lush grass, swatting flies from their thick flanks with swipes of their long, thin tails, or rolling in wallows. The bulls created the latter by gouging their horns in the earth until they had turned over a large circle of sod. Once the soil was exposed to their satisfaction, they would urinate on the dirt, turning the exposed area into mud. Then they would lie down and roll over and over, caking their coats with a muddy layer that temporarily kept insect pests from bothering them.

  Nate’s initial excitement subsided. As he observed the buffalo over the next few hours, he came to realize his uncle had been absolutely right. They were dumb brutes, nothing more. The mystique they had held for him evaporated in the light of knowledge that they were little different from ordinary cattle. Although they were bigger and stronger and inherently wild, their temperament and behavior were much like their domesticated bovine cousins.

  Only once in the time he spent on the hill did anything of significance occur. There was a commotion among the buffalo to his north, and he looked to see a pack of eight white wolves warily approaching the herd.

  Immediately, a line of bulls formed at the perimeter while the cows and calves moved deeper into the multitude. The bulls planted their hooves, lowered their heads, and bellowed their warnings to the intruders.

  Nate had heard tell that buffalo did not fear any predators except man. He now saw this demonstrated as the wolves halted and contemplated the wall of sinew and the dozens of horns confronting them. One of the wolves yipped, and the entire pack swung to the northwest and loped off toward the foothills. The bulls soon went about their business as if nothing had happened.

  Later, as Nate began to doze, he heard light footsteps behind him and looked over his shoulder.

  Red Hawk was creeping to the rim. “It is my turn,” he signed.

  “Have fun,” Nate said and went down the hill to the horses. The Oglala had ground-hitched them and they were standing still in the warm sunlight, swatting their tails or flicking an ear every now and then to ward off bugs. He reclined on his back nearby, put his head in his hands, and passed the time thinking about Winona and Zachary.

  It was odd, he reflected, that every time he thought about his son he did so using the boy’s English name. But Zachary was part Shoshone, and the Indians would always call him Stalking Coyote. It made sense, therefore, for Winona and him to use the boy’s Indian name most of the time. He would have to constantly remind himself of that. Old habits were difficult to break.

  The afternoon dragged on. Nate dozed some more. Several times he sat up and scoured the prairie for sign of hostiles, but all he saw were a few wolves in the distance and hawks high in the sky. He was relieved when he finally heard horses approaching from the southwest and stood up to discover Drags The Rope and Worm returning.

  “Greetings again, Grizzly Killer,” Drags The Rope said when they stopped. He grinned. “Did you scare the buffalo off?”

  “I tried,” Nate said. “Fired my rifle a few times and shouted my head off, but they just looked at me as if I was crazy.”

  The Shoshones laughed and dismounted.

  “Spotted Bull has set up camp,” Drags The Rope said and indicated their back trail with a bob of his head. “Ride just a little ways and you will see the smoke from their fire.”

  Nate rotated, intending to fetch Red Hawk, but the Oglala was already walking toward them. He stepped to the stallion and took hold of its reins. “Try to stay awake,” Nate said. “Watching over buffalo has got to be the most boring job a man can have.”

  “Once our people get here, it will become more exciting than you can imagine,” Drags The Rope said.

  Nate swung onto his horse. That was the problem, he mused. He could imagine what would happen, and the prospect chilled him to the marrow. But—and the good Lord preserve him—it also thrilled him, and he anticipated the surround with intense expectation. Was he a fool? Or was he merely becoming more like his Indian friends every day?

  He waited until Red Hawk mounted, then headed for the camp, looking forward to a hot meal. After traveling a hundred yards, the Oglala nudged his arm to get his attention.

  “Grizzly Killer, there is something I would like to tell you,” Red Hawk signed solemnly.

  Nate waited.

  “It is about the reason I was cast out of my tribe.”

  Surprised, Nate responded, “There is no need. Your personal affairs are your own.”

  “There is a need,” Red Hawk said. “I would like you to know, just in case.”

  “In case what?”

  The warrior ignored the question. “I told you that I killed an unarmed man. I did not explain why.” He paused, his features shifting, registering profound inner torment. “I was married to a lovely woman, the prettiest in our tribe. Her name is Raven Woman. She and I planned to have many children. I wanted nothing more than to please her and prosper.”

  Nate said nothing when the Oglala stopped. He had a fee
ling he knew why Red Hawk was unburdening himself, and he didn’t like it at all.

  “Our life together was happy until another warrior, High Backed Bear, took an interest in her. He was wealthy. He owned hundreds of horses and already had two wives. But he was not satisfied with what he had.”

  The ending of the story became obvious. Nate bowed his head in sympathy.

  “He took to visiting my wife while I was away. I had no idea until a friend confided in me. When I confronted her, she told me that she loved High Backed Bear and wanted to live in his lodge,” Red Hawk said, his hands moving slowly. “Under our law, I should have let her go. I could have thrown her away publicly, and she would then have been free to go to High Backed Bear. No one would have blamed me.” He stopped and sighed. “But I was a fool. I would not let her go. So she told me she was going to leave me and go live with her parents.”

  Nate nodded knowingly. An Indian woman could divorce her husband simply by packing up her things and moving back in with her father and mother. Had Raven Woman done so, Red Hawk would have had no grounds for interfering in her desire to live with High Backed Bear.

  “She piled her belongings outside our lodge. Her father and brother came to help carry them. So did High Backed Bear,” Red Hawk signed. “I should have ignored him and let them go their way in peace. But he looked at me as she was walking off, looked at me and laughed, and something inside of me snapped. Before I knew what I was doing, I had my tomahawk in my hand and attacked. He tried to back away, but I was too fast.”

  The Oglala let his hands slump, his story concluded.

  “Thank you for telling me,” Nate signed. “If it is any consolation, I might have done the same thing if it had happened to me.”

  “I pray it never does. When a wife does such a terrible thing, it twists a man’s insides apart. My heart would not stop weeping.”

  “You should try to put the past behind you,” Nate said in an attempt to cheer his friend up. “You have a second chance on life now. Willow Woman would make a fine wife.”

  “I know,” Red Hawk signed, the corners of his mouth twitching upward. “I plan to ask her after the surround. All I have to do is survive.”

  That makes two of us, Nate thought.

  That makes two of us.

  Chapter Eighteen

  It took six days for the rest of the Shoshones to arrive at the edge of the foothills. All that time, working in rotation, Spotted Bull’s band kept watch over the enormous herd. Two men at a time, day and night, rain or shine, hot or cold, were always close to the buffalo. The herd drifted slowly eastward, and at the end of the six days had gone a distance of fourteen miles. With the green grass in abundant supply, the mighty brutes were in no hurry to go elsewhere.

  Nate alternated between bothersome boredom when on watch at the herd and avid interest in getting to know the Shoshones better during those hours spent at camp or while out hunting. He spent a lot of time, in particular, in the company of Drags The Rope and Worm. The three of them took it upon themselves to teach Red Hawk the Shoshone language, and Nate was amazed at how readily the Oglala learned it.

  Despite the boredom, the time passed quickly. He was elated when on the afternoon of the seventh day several warriors arrived at the camp to inform Spotted Bull that the lodges were set up not far to the west. A rider was sent to tell the two men on herd duty, and then all the warriors hastened to the encampment.

  Nate rode at the head of the band beside Spotted Bull, scarcely able to contain his excitement. The wives of the members of the hunting party were gathered on the east side of the village to greet their husbands, and he spotted Winona the moment the band emerged from the trees. She spied him and dashed forward, Stalking Coyote cradled in her arms, snug in a blanket.

  Oblivious to everyone else, Nate reined up, jumped to the ground, and ran to meet her. “I missed you,” he said and embraced her, being careful not to squeeze the baby between them. For the longest while they merely stood there, their cheeks touching, their breath soft.

  “I missed you too,” Winona said. “When I heard about the Bloods, I was afraid for your life.”

  “Didn’t the men who brought the bodies back let you know I was alive?”

  “Yes. I still worried.”

  “I’m here now. There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “Yes, there is.”

  Nate didn’t bother to ask her what that might be. He knew. “How is our son?” he asked to change the subject.

  “Take a look,” Winona said, stepping back and parting the blanket so he could see their son’s face. Stalking Coyote was awake and staring at the world in innocent wonder.

  “My son,” Nate said and kissed the boy on the forehead. A shadow suddenly fell over them, and he glanced up. Touch The Clouds was a few feet away, astride his huge mount.

  The giant beamed. “Tomorrow is the big day, Grizzly Killer,” he said, hefting his lance. “My father wants everyone ready to leave at first light.”

  “I will be set to go,” Nate said and felt Winona’s fingers dig into his arm. Touch The Clouds moved off, and Nate gazed into his wife’s eyes.

  Neither said a word.

  ~*~

  Dawn bathed the eastern half of the sky in a rosy glow. The Shoshone camp was astir before first light, with the warriors who were going on the surround tending to their horses and triple-checking their weapons while the women of the village sharpened their knives and prepared for the work they would do once the men were done.

  Winona gave Nate a kiss that might have lingered until noon had he not gently pushed away and climbed on his horse. He nodded once, then rode off without a backward glance.

  Spotted Bull and thirty-four warriors were waiting near the forest. No one spoke as Nate joined them, and in a body they swung eastward, making for the prairie, each man a study in somber contemplation.

  Nate scarcely noticed the birds in the trees or the cool morning breeze. His mind seemed to be detached from his body, as if it floated above his head and observed the proceedings with detachment. This can’t really be happening, he told himself, and yet it was. He would soon be risking life and limb, not to mention his future with the most beautiful woman in the world. Any sane person would bow out, but he rode on.

  Spotted Bull picked up the pace when they reached the prairie, and the fourteen miles to the herd were covered in grim silence. The two men on watch were concealed in a thin stand of trees a quarter mile from the unsuspecting beasts. Spotted Bull rode into the stand and did not bother to climb down. He moved to the east edge of the stand where he could study the position of the buffalo.

  Nate did the same. He noticed a small section of the herd, comprising three- to four-hundred animals, was grazing a few hundred yards north of the main body, separated from the rest by a series of low knolls.

  Spotted Bull pointed at the small group. “They are the ones we will kill,” he said. “Half of you will go with me. The rest will go with my son.” He paused and swept over them with a meaningful gaze. “All of you know what to do.”

  “Except me,” Nate said.

  “We are going to approach the buffalo from two sides and drive them ahead of us,” Spotted Bull said. “Once they are running at full speed, we will try to turn the leaders in upon the rest. If it works, we will slay many.” He mustered a smile. “Stick close to me, my friend. You will do fine.”

  In another minute the band was divided and Touch The Clouds led his men from the stand, heading to the north to get on the far side of the herd. Once there they stopped and the giant waved his lance overhead. Spotted Bull then led Nate and the rest toward the knolls.

  Nate figured out the strategy right away. If Spotted Bull could gain the knolls before the buffalo to the north knew what was happening, then the small section would be effectively cut off from the main body and caught between Spotted Bull’s men and his son’s. Simple, but perfect. Nate tightened his grip on the Hawken and stayed near Spotted Bull at the head of their group, trying to
keep his surging emotions in check. His pulse was racing faster than the stallion.

  Many of the buffalo on both sides looked up as the Shoshones approached, the bulls adopting their characteristic defiant stance, but they made no attempt to flee. Confident in their might and their numbers for the moment, they held their ground.

  Spotted Bull was virtually flying across the plain, and Nate was hard pressed to stay even with the aged warrior. He flowed with the rhythm of the stallion, bent at the waist with his head almost touching the horse’s rippling neck. The pounding of many hooves behind him sounded like the distant rumble of thunder.

  Nate glanced off to the left, to the north, and saw Touch The Clouds and his men in motion, paralleling Spotted Bull. Both bands were rapidly narrowing the gap, and he wondered how much longer the small section of buffalo would stand firm. The answer came seconds later, at the selfsame instant his group attained the knolls.

  Erupting into motion, the buffalo wheeled and fled, and since there were now Shoshones between them and the main herd to the south and more Shoshones to the north, they had no choice but to sprint generally eastward, a few of the biggest bulls taking the lead. Dust swirled skyward from under their driving hooves.

  Spotted Bull began whooping wildly and all the Shoshones with him took up the chorus.

  Nate did likewise. Gazing out over the rushing beasts, he noticed that Touch The Clouds and the warriors with him were not making any noise. Why not? he wondered, and then the reason occurred to him. Spotted Bull was trying to drive the small section away from the main herd. If Touch The Clouds and those with him were to start making as much noise as the men with Spotted Bull, the buffalo might turn to the south in a frantic effort to regain the safety of the larger body.