They’d need to avoid those mountains. Especially with a wagon. Memories of past carnage from wagons and animals flicked through his mind, but he pushed them away. That wouldn’t happen on his watch. Couldn’t.
He inhaled a chest-filling breath. He could already taste the higher elevations and the delicious, clean air of the mountain country. This land had been built into him from his earliest moments. If not by his mother, at least by his father. Already, the country they traveled felt like the outskirts of home.
“Lovely, isn’t it?”
At the feminine voice, he twisted to see Miss Grant only a few strides away. He’d not even heard her approach over the breathing of his horses.
Turning back to the view of the mountains, he tried to slow the beating in his chest. Why was it that being so near a woman put him on edge? He could face off with the beady eyes of a cougar and barely feel a pinch of angst, but put someone of the female persuasion near him, and he couldn’t seem to take a steady breath. Especially with this woman.
“Do you prefer mountains or prairie land, Mr. Abrams?” Her voice rang clear, still right behind him.
He swallowed to summon moisture into his mouth. “Mountains.” The word came out on a rasp, pitching high at the end like a lad’s. He cleared his throat, then tried again, just so he didn’t leave her with that sound ringing in her ears. “I, uh, grew up in the mountains. Feels like home.”
The burn of her gaze seeped through his buckskins, but he didn’t turn to meet her stare. What ran through her mind? Did she think his answer unusual? Or did she just think him unusual?
“I’ve always loved mountains, too. Although these are very different than the ones near our home. Much grander. And there are so many of them.” Her voice took on awe with her last statement. An awe he could easily relate to. From this view, the mountains seemed to stretch far enough to cover the earth.
“I can’t imagine growing up among these cliffs and scenery.” Her tone grew soft. “I’d say you were blessed indeed.”
He nodded. “There was good and bad.” Admiring the view was nice, but she had to know the dangers of this place. “Life up here is hard. The winters can kill a person with little warning. Between the weather and the animals and the land itself, half the people who move out here from the east won’t make it past the first year.”
He turned to face her, meeting those sparking blue eyes head on. “I said I’d take you and your friends north, and I’ll do my best to get you there safely. But I still recommend you all turn around and head back the way we came.”
She didn’t back down from his gaze. If anything, she raised her chin a notch.
For a long moment, they stood there. Squaring off. Yet her look seemed to hold a wash of emotion. He’d become so good at reading men’s thoughts in their eyes—a skill that gave him the upper hand in almost every trade. Yet he couldn’t decipher a single thing in her fathomless gaze.
She held him transfixed.
“Thank you for your advice, Mr. Abrams. I understand your concerns. Yet, I do intend to press on. We’ll make it north, sir. We’re among the stronger half of the people you mentioned. You can rest assured of it.”
And with her words, he could almost see it. This woman had more pluck than he’d first assumed. Yet, how many times would her words come back to haunt her? Haunt them both?
DANIEL STRUCK THE FLINT against the steel, sending a spark into the pile of tinder he’d created. The spark flickered against a dry leaf, singeing the brown surface as it faded out.
Again he struck the metal, spraying two sparks this time. One caught on the shreds of birch bark, taking hold of the flammable material. Daniel leaned in and nursed the light to a tiny flame.
The clanking of pots sounded from the wagon as he worked. The women must be eager for the fire he’d produce so they could all fill their bellies with something warm. Long days on the trail seemed to be taking their toll on the group. And the higher elevations made the nights cooler. Soon, they’d be downright cold.
He had a healthy flame now, though still small, spreading across the birch and working to light the twigs he’d piled around it.
A bark sounded from the direction of the creek they’d found.
Daniel straightened, senses straining. That didn’t sound like Griz’s playful yap. Elmer and the boy had gone that direction, too. Were they in trouble? His hand went to the hunting knife at his hip.
Another bark, and Daniel jumped to his feet. No doubt about the danger in the dog’s tone this time. Chest pounding, he sprinted that direction.
Griz had found trouble—from something or someone.
As Daniel entered the copse of trees that shielded the brook from view, he slowed. The branches suppressed the light, but he could see motion in the open area ahead. He had to approach carefully. There was no way of knowing what danger he’d be interrupting, and the last thing he wanted was to make the situation worse.
Someone screamed—high-pitched, like the boy. Griz’s ferocious growl sounded, as though he had hold of something and didn’t plan to let it go.
Daniel lunged forward, weaving through the trees and leaping over a fallen log. He had to get there now. Who knew what trouble those easterners had found? Why had he let them leave the camp on their own?
He barely refrained from bursting into the clearing. Instead, he paused at the edge, straining to quiet his breathing as his gaze swept the area.
Bo lay on his back in the grass, Griz pulling at his trousers. From the other direction, Elmer was running toward the pair, still twice as far away as Daniel was.
Daniel sprinted toward the boy, his gaze still scanning the area. Griz had seen something he didn’t like. Something he thought endangered the lad.
There. A spot of brown fur on the other side of the boy. Too small to be a full-size bear.
Daniel’s heart tripped as he scanned the area around them. A roar sounded behind him, and he spun. There, less than twenty paces away and coming fast, a full-size grizzly was galloping on all fours.
The mother.
He and the boy were right in the path between her and her baby.
Chapter Three
I am capable. I need only the chance to prove it.
~ Noelle
Daniel scooped up Bo, then turned and lit for the woods. “Come on!” Hopefully Elmer could hear him and wouldn’t pause to ascertain the situation.
Griz’s barking never stopped but grew fainter as Daniel left the water’s edge behind. The dog must have spotted the mama bear and thought he could scare the creature off.
Daniel slowed enough to form a shrill whistle—the one Griz knew to answer every time—then resumed his sprint through the woods. The barking stopped, and the only other noise breaking the air was the heavy footfall of Elmer, crashing through the woods behind him.
They reached the camp, and Daniel slowed to a halt, his heart pounding so loudly in his ears he had to strain to hear any other sounds. Especially those from the woods behind.
Was the mother bear so enraged she would follow? Or would she be satisfied when she saw her cub safe?
Elmer jogged up beside him, panting, then took his son from Daniel. The boy had only whimpered once or twice while Daniel carried him, but now let out a full wail. Probably shock from the ordeal.
“What is it? What happened?” Louise was the first of the women to reach them, and Daniel stepped away as her husband answered her questions.
Daniel strode to his saddle and pulled the Hawken rifle from its scabbard. A check of the mechanism showed it was ready to fire. His gaze swung toward the creek. Still no sign of the bears. Should they move camp anyway?
He headed toward the trees shielding the water, the path he’d just run carrying the boy. If the bears still loitered in the creek, Daniel would insist the group re-pack all their supplies and move on. Better to be safe than sit awake all night watching for a danger he still might not be able to fend off.
“Mr. Abrams?”
He’d j
ust reached the trees when the voice caught him, making his heart stutter. So few people called him mister, it seemed odd each time he heard the title. Although maybe the woman who now spoke his name was the reason his pulse skipped a beat.
He turned to face her as she approached.
“Where are you going?” Her pretty face looked worried, her brow creased and her mouth pinched.
“Going to find the bears. See if they pose a threat for us tonight. Stay here in this clearing. Don’t let anyone leave until I come back.” He waited for her nod.
She didn’t offer one, though. She met his gaze, hers uncertain. “Should you go by yourself? Two guns might be necessary.”
The frustration building in his chest released in a scoff. “I’m fine without Elmer. He should stay here to protect the rest of you.”
She raised her delicate chin. “I can help. I’m a decent shot, and I have my own pistol.”
He barely kept his jaw from dropping. But he didn’t have time to dispute her nonsense, so he turned back toward the woods. “Stay by the wagon.” His words rang with a sharp enough bark, surely she’d heed his command. A pistol would be of small account against a bear.
There was no sign of the bears as he crept through the woods. No sound of the woman behind him either, thank heavens.
He paused at the edge of the trees to study the creek. A furry brown back rose above the shrubs growing along the bank. The mother? She lifted a monstrous head, snout turning to the wind.
He froze. The way the breeze blew, she was probably smelling him. Maybe even their camp.
She turned to face him but didn’t move. Not yet.
After an achingly long moment, she dropped back to the water, leaving only the hump of her back in his view.
He eased away from the bank, then headed toward the others. Time to move camp. It looked to be a long night ahead.
But at least they’d have a better chance of staying alive to greet the morning.
TWO NIGHTS LATER, THE group huddled around the fire after finishing a simple meal of venison and corncake. Noelle should have been more creative with the food, but they’d stopped to camp late, and she’d been so exhausted.
Walking all day did that to a person. But with all the steep inclines the horses had to maneuver, she hated to add her own weight to their burden. And going downhill, Elmer had to pull hard on the brake most of the way to keep the wagon from pushing the animals down the trail. She didn’t mind walking, although her aching muscles still complained against it.
The others seemed just as weary, and with the cold closing in around them, the fire glowed as a beacon of warmth.
“I’ll bet you’ve plenty of stories to tell of your travels, Daniel.” Elmer used a stick to poke a log further into the flames. Then he glanced up at Mr. Abrams with a friendly smile.
“Yes, Mr. Abrams. Tell us a story about Indians.” Bo straightened from where he’d been lounging against his mother’s side. He leaned forward, bouncing a little on the log he used as a seat.
Mr. Abrams eyed the boy, a flicker of something like a smile passing across his face. He held his tongue for a long moment—long enough it didn’t look like he would answer. “Let’s see. I’ve known many Indians who I call friends. Especially among the Blackfoot tribes. They’re skilled in most of what they attempt, especially hunting. But what might surprise you is how much they like a good joke.” He cut his gaze to Bo, and the corners of his mouth twitched.
His hand came to rest on the dog’s head where the animal lounged beside him. “One such friend had been visited by a white man, a Colonel from one of the forts. They decided to go hunting because game had been scarce and the people were hungry. The Colonel swore his men had been all over the land where they hunted, and no game could be found. My friend knew of several gullies where the deer liked to feed, and he felt sure they’d find something.”
Daniel rested his arms on his knees. His face seemed to come to life, his gaze working its way around the circle as he spoke to each person. “And so it was, a few miles out, my friend saw fresh whitetail tracks. A small herd of three deer. He was pretty sure the Colonel hadn’t seen them, because the man spent more time talking than watching. The Indian didn’t point them out, though.” He shot a look at Bo. “That’s another thing Indians are good at. They know when it’s best to keep quiet.”
Bo nodded, his eyes locked on their guide, absorbing every word like water soaking into parched ground.
“About another minute down the trail, my friend stopped and raised his face toward the wind, sniffing real loud. The army man said, ‘What are you doing? What do you smell?’ ‘Deer,’ my friend said. ‘Three of them.’
“The Colonel thought he was crazy, and he said so. But the Indian assured him he’d smelled deer and said they should split up. He sent the Colonel a direction where he was most likely to scare the animals toward my friend.
“Sure enough, the deer wandered by the Indian, and he shot one. At the sound of the rifle, the Colonel came running to see what had happened. There on the ground, beyond all dispute—and to the utter astonishment of the Colonel—was the felled deer.
“‘And you smelled him,’ pondered the Colonel. ‘I must confess, your sense of smell beats that of any man I’ve yet fallen in with.’” Mr. Abrams settled back on his log.
Elmer chuckled, and his son giggled in that high-pitched little boy way, almost drowning out Louise’s laugh. Noelle couldn’t suppress her own smile—it was hard not to join in with everyone else so merry.
But what fully captured her focus was the expression on Daniel Abrams’s face. The hint of mirth had been shadowed by something that looked a lot like longing. How closely had he known the friend he spoke of? As close as a brother? She’d heard of men raised among the Indians. Could that have been his upbringing?
She studied him, trying to picture him through that lens. He’d been fresh-shaved when they left the little settlement where they’d met him, but a growth of coarse brown hair now covered his jaw. His buckskins hugged his brawny arms and the expanse of his shoulders, then tapered down to a lean middle. And he’d proved his ability to foresee danger and guide them time after time in the days they’d been on the trail. Surely no Indian could be as capable of enduring the rigors of this wild country.
And no Indian could hold as much mystery as this mountain man.
HE SHOULD HAVE LED them around this mountain.
Daniel winced as the wagon lumbered over a massive, flat boulder that barely rose above the surface of the ground. On the far edge, the rock dropped off about a half foot, making the wagon jerk and shimmy as it landed. If the wheels didn’t break, the axles just might.
He’d remembered this stretch as a wide trail with no steep precipices. But he’d forgotten about all the half-buried rocks. At least the horses had been shod so their hooves wouldn’t be too tender.
He nudged his gelding, Pauper, forward so they could keep ahead of the team, studying the rock-strewn path as he rode. If Elmer steered the horses around the worst of the rocks, they should get past this stretch without much damage. The challenge would be that one flat boulder ahead, partially buried in the ground where the trail narrowed. With a steep incline on the right and a drop-off on the left, they’d have to go over the uneven stone with the sections that spiked up.
Pauper’s hooves clattered as they crossed the rock, the horse stepping high over a particularly sharp jut in the stone. Hopefully the wagon wouldn’t have trouble there.
Daniel reined his mount to a stop a little ways past the rock platform, near enough, in case Elmer needed help. Griz planted himself beside the gelding and turned to watch the wagon.
The team plodded forward, heads drooping as they strained into their load. Another rest would be needed soon. If they could just get past this rocky section first.
Elmer sat rigid on the bench seat, leaning forward as he urged the horses on. From the grim set of his face, maneuvering over and around all the rocks must have been wearing on hi
m. He’d done a decent job with the team so far. Did he regret insisting on the wagon?
The horses clopped over the stone, so many hooves making an uneven racket. He’d tied Gypsy, his pack mare, to the rear of the wagon, so she added to the noise of the animals pulling the rig. The front team stepped over the jut in the rock that spiked up.
When the wagon’s front wheels reached the spot, the animals strained harder, and the conveyance jangled as the rims finally landed on the other side. Daniel eased out a breath. Almost there.
The rear wheels reached the jut and hovered as the horses seemed to fumble for purchase on the stone.
“Git up!” Elmer snapped the reins.
The animals heaved forward, finding their footing and digging in hard. The wheels rolled over the peak of the stone.
Crack. The sound rent the air, echoing over the jangle of harnesses and the clatter of hooves.
“Ho, there.” Elmer pulled hard on the reins, and the horses jerked their heads with the sudden reversal of commands.
Daniel was off his mount in a second, Griz barking beside him. He hadn’t seen any obvious damage to the near side wheel, so he sprinted toward the far side of the wagon. Heads popped up in the bed as the women and Bo clambered to peer over the rail.
“Stay still in the wagon,” he called. If the wheel had split completely, their movement could tip the whole thing over.
Thankfully, the shifting inside halted.
Gypsy nickered as he approached. “Hey, girl.” But he didn’t let his focus stray to the horse.
The rear wheel had splintered at the outer ring—a critical break that would be impossible to repair without a new part. Something he didn’t have.
This Courageous Journey Page 2
