Uncompahgre

by Reid Lance Rosenthal

  Eagle Talon thought quickly. If they decide, it will be a directive couched as a request. If I refuse, I cannot maintain my honor. But, if Walks with Moon is right, she will give birth within two moons. That I will not miss.

  “I would be honored if that is the Council’s decision.” There were nods of approval and another murmur. “But…” a hush fell over the lodge, “my wife expects the birth of our son in the season of hihpa ye. It could be earlier. Once in the land where water turns rock red, my search for Roo-bin would be shadowed with the worry I would have for Walks with Moon.”

  Tracks on Rock and Flying Arrow leaned toward one another, speaking several words quietly. Tracks on Rock smiled at him. “Your son? How are you so sure Walks with Moon will bear a son?”

  The image of Walks with Moon, her eyes-narrowed, serious, and believing, flashed through Eagle Talon’s mind. “Walks with Moon assures me.”

  There were several chuckles from various members of the Council and Tracks on Rock’s smile broadened. “All of us here have learned not to argue with the women. We understand, but if the child arrives later, your travels may meet with the first snows.” Eagle Talon nodded. I had not thought of that.

  Flying Arrow waved his hand signaling the end of the discussion. “We will make a decision by the next moon.”

  The coals glowed in the fire ring, their light casting a dull glow over their sleeping robes. Lying on her side, Walks with Moon pressed her breasts against Eagle Talon’s back, kissing his neck lightly. Her hand slipped under his arm and across his chest, her fingers playing softly on his skin. She knew his thoughts, as he knew hers.

  “It is a great weight now gone,” he chuckled. “I shall have to practice looking people in the eye again.”

  Walks with Moon brushed her lips to his neck again, letting them linger. Her hand traced downward across the muscled ridges of his belly to the hairy warmth between his legs. Closing her fingers around him, she whispered, “I have been missing you, husband. We should celebrate.” She moved her hand in a slight rhythm, feeling him quicken, his body hardening, his girth filling her hand.

  Eagle Talon turned over to face her, his tongue finding her breast. He began to slide one leg over hers.

  “Husband, we are past the time for that. We must use our other ways.” The image of straddling him, looking down into eyes that once again shine brightly, already stirs my want.

  Yet another image fed Eagle Talon’s desire. Raising his mouth from her skin and smiling, he turned her tenderly over to her belly, and in that gesture Walks with Moon sensed a deeper need. His manhood has suffered… let him fill you in this way…

  Eagle Talon rose to his knees pulling her up and backwards to him. She eased her upper body to the robe, supporting herself with her arms, as he positioned his outer thighs against her inner legs, spreading them. And as his fingers gently dipped into the wetness between her legs, his other hand warm and comforting over the roundness of their son, a heated tingling spread through her abdomen. His hips moved against her buttocks and slowly her body opened to his presence, a wave of intense pleasure, long missed, sweeping through them both.

  CHAPTER 38

  June 25, 1855

  LITTLE MEDICINE

  “I am riding,” stated Johannes firmly, sitting up on Sarah’s bedroll with a wince. “I am not driving the wagon.” His eyes roved from Rebecca, to Sarah, to Reuben and then to Zeb with a determined look and an annoyed tone in his voice. “Besides, you need at least four hands with the cows.”

  But Rebecca was just as determined. “I can ride with Reuben today, Johannes,” she said. “I’ve been aching to get on Red, and Lord knows she’s getting unhappy trailing behind the wagon.”

  Reuben glanced quickly at her, his eyes straying to her abdomen. “But…”

  Leaning over, she raised the brim of his hat and kissed him on the forehead. “I shall be fine, Mr. Frank. I am nowhere near that far along yet.”

  Reuben glanced at Zeb, seeking support but the tall mountain man merely shrugged his shoulders. “I’ve seen Indian women ride up to the day they give birth.” His face was impassive, but his eyes were twinkling. “Doesn’t do them no harm.”

  Johannes began to protest but Zeb interrupted him. “Tell you what, Johannes. Why don’t you just stand up from that bedroll, walk on over to the tailgate, hop on down and take twenty steps?”

  The Dane returned the mountain man’s stare, his jaw tightening. Sliding his legs over the bunk, he rose, clenching his teeth as he did so, sweat immediately beading on his forehead.

  “Go on, jump off and take a stroll.” Zeb tipped his customary keg seat back, leaning his shoulders into the canvas, taking out cigarette paper and preparing to roll a smoke.

  Johannes took a tentative step, then another. His leg buckled, but he caught himself on a trunk. He stood again, white faced, then backed slowly to the bedroll sinking back down. He bent his leg backward peering down over his shoulder to try to see his wounds. “Just how much meat did that son-of-a-bitch chew off my leg?”

  Zeb sprinkled tobacco on the rolling paper and looked up. “A fair amount. And it’s gonna be swollen something fierce for the next few days. I checked it last night when you was asleep. So far there’s no infection and them stitches seem to be holding.” He looked hard at Johannes, “And we still won’t know about the hydrophobia for a spell. But that’s then. This is now. Even if you was to make it to the horse and get in the saddle, them tooth holes might open up again. If you get dirt or horse sweat in ‘em you may not stay so lucky.”

  Zeb finished rolling the cigarette, raising it to his lips and moistening the edge of the paper. “And that mare of yours is going to be a mite spooky for a few days. Horses don’t forget bears all too quick. Nothing flaps Buck, but even he gets a might jumpy when one of them grizzlies is close.” Without realizing it, he reached up two fingers running them down the two long purple scars on the side of his face.

  “That settles it, Viking,” said Reuben. “We’ll give Sarah a break from driving that freight wagon. She can handle the schooner and you can take over her spot for today.” Sarah smiled, obviously pleased with the idea.

  Reuben rose, “And you, milady Marx, can get your first lesson in pushing beef.” Rebecca grinned, her eyes dancing as she looked up into his.

  Zeb struck the flint, lighting the cigarette. With one long arm, he parted the untied flap at the rear of the wagon and peered out. “We’re jawboning. The sun’s almost up. I’m not real sure we’ll find out today or tomorrow if that shortcut is possible, but we surely won’t if we don’t get started.”

  Reuben grinned at the mountain man. “Then, let’s get this outfit moving. Could you help Johannes over to the freight wagon? Rebecca and I will ride out and tell Philippe and the boy what the plans are. We’ll come back up and see how the wagons are doing after the sun rises and we’re on the move. Shouldn’t be too long now.”

  Reuben slid his eyes toward Rebecca. She sat easy and fluid in the saddle on Red, back straight, chin lifted, focused ahead in the semi-dark. Feels like she belongs right there next to me. “I have a confession to make,” he offered.

  Her head swiveled toward him, her silence the question.

  “I wanted you last night.” He laughed softly. “Matter of fact, I want you most every time I look at you but I couldn’t figure a way or a place that wasn’t freezing for us to be alone.”

  “Mr. Frank, I am flattered but now that we are betrothed, we should approach this properly. Your ardor will have to wait until we are married.”

  She must be teasing. “Little late for that, don’t you think?” He waved his hand at her midsection. Besides, that could be months…or more.”

  Rebecca stared straight ahead. “Regardless of my condition and despite our having admittedly delightful carnal knowledge of one another, it is never too late to be proper.” Her voice lightened, a passionate tease underlying her words. “However, I shall make your patience worthwhile on our wedding night.”

 
; Reuben looked glumly at Lahn’s ears and sighed. She’s serious.

  The sky was lightening with the promise of the day as Reuben and Rebecca reined in Red and Lahn by the small fire Philippe had built in the lee of a giant spruce tree. His coffee pot chugged and vibrated as he sprinkled snow on the bubbling, dark colored brew. “Señor Reuben. Buenas Dias,” he said, looking up from the brewing kafee. His eyes slipped past Reuben widening in surprise as he realized Rebecca was the other rider. He rose hastily, bowing and sweeping off his hat, “Señorita Rebecca. Again my congratulations.” He grinned, “Soon I will have to call you Señora.”

  Rebecca laughed. “I’m sure that will be quite a while from now, Philippe. From what Zeb says, we’re not even sure if we can find anyone to conduct the ceremony.” Reuben was silent, hiding his frown by pretending to study his saddle horn.

  Philippe poured a cup of kafee, offering it to Rebecca, “Señorita…”

  “Why, thank you, Philippe.” Rebecca leaned down, taking the steaming tin cup. She took a sip, closing her eyes tightly and wrinkling her nose, “Oh my. That might be the strongest coffee I have ever tasted.” She leaned out from Red extending the cup to Reuben.

  “Thanks, Rebecca.” He took a long sip, then another, letting the warmth seep through his leather gloves. “Johannes is gonna drive the freight wagon today. Sarah will be in charge of the prairie schooner and Rebecca’s gonna help us push cows,” he grinned at the brunette, his eyes traveling slowly down her form, admiring the tailored fit of her heavy black wool jacket and thickly woven grey riding dress.

  Philippe’s eyes widened. “¿La vaquera?”

  Rebecca chortled. “No, I’m not a cowgirl yet, Philippe, but I am sure that under the expert instruction of you men, I soon will be.” The vaquero’s eyes slid to the stock of her Sharps protruding from the scabbard and he nodded approvingly.

  “We’ll ride up through the cows and tell Michael to come and get some coffee with you.”

  Michael’s reaction was similar to Philippe’s. His eyes rounded and his mouth dropped open when he realized it was Rebecca riding alongside Reuben.

  Rebecca smiled warmly, “Are you going to teach me all about cows, Michael?”

  Michael’s eyes darted to Reuben, and then back to Rebecca. He blushed. “Yes… Yes… Yes, ma’am.”

  “Philippe has some of that devil’s brew for you,” Reuben said. “Take a break. Rebecca and I will mind the cattle.” The boy’s face lit up.

  They watched Michael trot toward the small distant glow of Philippe’s fire. Reuben swept his arm toward the slowly milling herd. “The trick with these cows, maybe more so in these hills, is to achieve a fine balance between keeping them moving and not stirring them up. You can take that lariat, which one of these days one of us will show you how to use, and just kind of slap it against the side of your saddle or your leg, once in a while using your voice,” he demonstrated. At the sound of his “Hehhh!” several of the near cows looked up, startled, taking a few quick trotting steps. “Every once in a while one of these cows will get into trouble. She’ll slide down the embankment, or they want to go a different direction, or get enticed by an especially tasty looking patch of grass off the trail. Don’t go after them alone ’til we show you how.”

  “Is that what happened when Johannes had his encounter with the grizzly?”

  “Exactly.”

  Rebecca laughed nervously, looking around. “Don’t worry Mr. Frank. I will not be straying into the timber after a cow.”

  Reuben chuckled, “Good.” He looked east to the ridges of Wolf Creek Pass some miles behind them. A thin band of gold was beginning to permeate the pale blue of the sky through the tops of the trees silhouetted at the highest points of the ridgelines. “The sun will be up shortly. We’ll help Philippe and Michael get these cows started and then ride down to see how Johannes is doing with the wagon.”

  With Rebecca close behind, Reuben rode up to the freight wagon. “How’s it going, Viking?”

  Johannes glanced sideways at him, then back ahead, his hands lightly tightening, then loosening one line, then the other as he guided the wagon between several trees that encroached on the trail and a large slab of rock.

  He nodded down toward his leg. “Take a look. I’m black and blue up to my belt.” He eased the wagon past the last tree as he turned to Reuben. “Zeb was right. It would have been foolish for me to ride this morning.” There was a determined edge to his voice as he added, “But I will be in the saddle this afternoon.”

  Deciding not to argue, Reuben chuckled, “Zeb is usually right.”

  “Usually, but not always,” called out a voice behind them.

  Zeb eased Buck between the rear of the wagon and the trees crowding the narrow trail. He rose up in the saddle, squinting and sat back down. “Don’t think we’re going to make the cutoff today.”

  Reuben’s eyes flickered to Rebecca. Another day behind. “Why not? Snow’s almost gone except in the shade now that we’ve come down in elevation and we got an early start.”

  Zeb pointed, three or four miles beyond the narrow swath zigzagging below them in the trees, to where it disappeared into a rugged, narrow canyon. Beyond was glimpses of a greening, elongated and widening meadow. “Put your spyglass on that meadow, Reuben. I do believe there’s smoke down there in Little Medicine.”

  Lifting the telescope to his eyes, Reuben confirmed Zeb’s spotting.

  The mountain man nodded. “It’s likely that it is Chief Guera Murah’s tribe. They like the hot springs down there. And if that is them, it would be good to stop, talk and pass the pipe.” He looked hard at Reuben. “Those Utes are going to be your neighbors for quite a spell. Wherever you put the ranch, they will consider it to be their land. It would be best to get off to a good start, even if it means losing half a day or so of travel.”

  “Are they going to be happy to see us,” Rebecca asked, her voice tinged with worry, “after we killed two of their warriors?”

  Zeb shook his head. “Different tribe, Rebecca, and not likely they know. But we will have to keep them spotted horses out of plain sight.”

  Thirty yards ahead of them, Sarah was maneuvering the prairie schooner on the narrow trail. Reuben raised his hand to his mouth, amplifying his voice. “Hold up there, Sarah.” Red hair and a pale face peered around the side of the canvas, then disappeared. The wagon rolled slowly to a stop.

  Zeb stroked his mustache with a thoughtful look. “Some of the Ute believe the springs at Little Medicine have great powers. They call the place Spirit’s Crossing and they can be dang territorial when it comes to them springs. Not much for sharing. Not too sure it’s a good thing if we suddenly push three hundred cows through their camp without announcing the visit first, either. Let’s you, me and Rebecca ease on down there, make sure it’s Guera Murah’s band, introduce the two of you and let them know, delicate like, about the cattle behind us.”

  Rebecca looked pleased, but nervous. “Rebecca, they’ll be surprised and respect that a woman is with us and you should meet Ouray’s wife, Black Mare, but take that Sharps out when I tell ya, and ride with it across your lap.”

  Reuben jerked his eyes to Zeb. “Thought you said this tribe has been friendly?”

  “A drawn rifle helps ‘em stay that way,” said Zeb, quietly.

  CHAPTER 39

  June 25, 1855

  THE NOOCHEW

  Lifting himself partially from the saddle, Reuben craned his shoulders, looking back up the trail they had been descending. The wagons were long out of sight and even the bells of the lead cow could no longer be heard. Probably dropped halfway between the wagons and Little Medicine. There was no snow at this lower elevation, the forest changing from tall conifers and aspen to occasional aspen patches, willows and alders in areas of springs and greater moisture. On the south-facing slopes of the rocky, undulating ridges, grew scattered pinyon pine and juniper. In the partially visible meadow several miles below them rose tendril tips of grey smoke and other more mysteri
ous vapor plumes.

  They rode three abreast, Rebecca between Zeb and Reuben. The horses cast sideways glances at one another, softly whinnying and shaking their heads from time to time. Buck seemed especially alert, as if he knew their destination. The chill of higher altitude was gone. Twice they had stopped to shun clothing, tying their jackets and coats atop the bedrolls lashed to the rear of their saddles. Two large birds soared overhead in a cloudless sky, their flight path seeming to follow southern ridge lines, their great brown wings almost motionless, outspread, with irregular light circles on the undersides. Their high-pitched screech echoed from the skies, sifting through the trees around the trio of riders.

  Rebecca’s eyes were fixed on the circling birds. “Golden Eagles,” said Zeb. “Them two is just young-uns; you can tell by the white spot on their wings.” Shielding his eyes with one hand, he lifted his head. “Four, maybe five-foot wings. They get up around six or seven foot when they’re full-grown. I’ve seen ‘em take antelope fawn, even small yearling deer. Some say they can see a rabbit at five miles. If you watch ‘em long enough, they’ll fold their wings and drop out of the sky like a rock. Then you know they’re after dinner.”

  “Magnificent,” Rebecca murmured.

  “Yep.” Zeb spoke softly, not much above a whisper. “I figure we’ll be down to that canyon in an hour or two give or take. We’ll kind of ease into that meadow, make sure whoever is making that smoke is friendly.” His eyes traveled from Rebecca to Reuben. “If I slide my long gun back into my scabbard, do the same.”

  “And if you don’t?” asked Reuben.

  Zeb’s eyes clicked to him and then browsed back down the trail. “Then you’ll know what to do. Likely won’t have any choice.” Rebecca cast an anxious glance at both men.