Wilderness Double Edition 14

by David Robbins

  “Any tracks?” Scott asked.

  Rather than respond and trigger an outburst, Nate moved closer to the opening. High rock walls reared on either side, plunging the pass into gloom. Leaning the Hawken against the nearest, he dropped onto his hands and knees and commenced to scramble around like an oversized crab, feeling for the prints that must be there.

  “Oh, no,” Scott groaned. “We’ve lost them, haven’t we? This is a fine how-do-you-do! I trusted you, pard. Trusted you to do right by me.”

  “I played a good hunch.”

  “That dog won’t hunt. Would you have done the same if it were your family?”

  Nate was on his feet without thinking. “Now, you hold on,” he countered, growing warm under the collar. “Do you honestly believe I’d try harder to find Winona and Evelyn than I would Lisa and Vail Marie?”

  Scott squirmed, afraid his rising frustration at being so helpless had made him say something he’d long regret. “No, I’d never do that. You’re as true as the Mississippi is wide. I’ve put our lives in your hands, haven’t I? That should prove something.”

  Nate turned back to the pass and knelt. He had to keep reminding himself that his friend was going through sheer and utter hell. That under those circumstances anyone would be testy. His hand splayed, he groped to the right, then the left. His fingertips brushed a narrow furrow. Examining it closely, he smiled.

  “Any luck?”

  Beside the first print was another, and another, then a whole jumbled cluster. Nate pried at one with his forefinger and fine grains of dirt crumbled like so much sand. “We’re on the right track,” he said dryly.

  Scott whooped loudly, the cry echoing off Bear Claw and rolling across the woodland far below. “My guardian angel must be watching over us! Keep this up and we’ll shave the time it takes to catch those vermin in half.”

  Going through the pass at night was eerie. Stony ramparts blotted out most of the stars, giving Nate the illusion they were at the bottom of a well. All sound from outside was smothered. All they heard was the thud of their own mounts’ hooves, amplified by the close confines.

  The air was chill, as it always was at that high altitude. Chill, yet invigorating. Nate had been feeling drowsy, but when they emerged onto an upland bench he was refreshed enough to push on for another hour. The site he selected for their camp was on a wooded spur overlooking the next valley. Pemmican sufficed for their supper, and they went without coffee so their meager supply would last longer. It also spared them from having to make a fire.

  Nate was stripping his saddle blanket off the bay when Scott called to him from the edge of the drop-off.

  “Take a gander, pard.”

  To the northwest flickered an orange pinpoint of light. A campfire, three to four miles from Bear Claw.

  “Is that them, you reckon? Think maybe they holed up there for a few days before heading home?”

  “No,” Nate responded bluntly. His friend was grasping at straws. The war party was long gone. Whoever they were, they weren’t about to linger in Ute territory after having slain a Ute hunting party. So the fire must belong to one of the Ute bands searching for them. Nate gave his opinion, adding, “We can’t let them spot us. They’ll badger us with questions, or worse.”

  Scott patted his rifle. “No one is delaying us if I can help it.”

  Surrounded by sheltering pines, the two mountain men spread out their blankets and plopped down. Kendall was soon asleep, but Nate lay awake thinking of Winona, Zach, and Evelyn, and how many times their lives had been threatened over the years. What would it have been like, he wondered, if I’d insisted we live in the States instead of in the mountains? They’d have been safer—but would they be any happier? No, he doubted it. Winona, for one, wouldn’t take to being cooped up in a town or city. A farm would be better, but even then she would miss her people and pine for the wide-open spaces.

  Zach would fare a lot worse. His mixed lineage would earn him the scorn of every bigot he encountered. He would be shunned by his peers, treated like a leper by those who couldn’t be bothered to peer beneath his skin to see the person underneath. Eventually, the resentment he’d pent up would explode in violence. Either he would be hauled before a magistrate or he would flee to the high country, never to return.

  Then there was Evelyn. Of them all she would adapt best. Children were much more open and malleable than adults, and as a girl her mixed heritage wouldn’t be held against her as severely as it would against her brother. She’d marry a clerk or a lawyer and have a dozen kids, ending her days in a rocking chair on the porch of a house she hadn’t left in thirty years.

  Nate rolled onto his side. Maybe he had done the right thing, after all. Maybe staying in the mountains, despite the dangers, was best for all concerned. Winona was near the Shoshones, Zach wasn’t subjected to as much ridicule and abuse as he would be in civilized society, and sweet little Evelyn had more freedom to choose the life she’d like to live than she ever would elsewhere.

  Grinning, Nate closed his eyes. He should be pleased with the decisions he’d made, not plagued by self-doubt. And he should stop dwelling so much on what might have been and dwell more on what could be.

  The past was but a stepping-stone to the present, while the present was a gateway to a bright and rosy future. To a time when both his children were married and had kids of their own and he was a happy, doting grandfather, bouncing a gleeful grandchild on his knee.

  Wouldn’t it be grand?

  A jab in the shoulder made Nate sit up in confusion, his hand falling to the flintlocks at his side. A pink tinge framed the eastern sky, and in the nearby trees sparrows and robins were joined in an avian choir.

  “Rise and shine, you lazy coon. Unless you aim to sleep the whole day away.” Scott Kendall had rolled up his blanket and saddled the buckskin. “I can do without coffee this morning, too, if you don’t mind. I just want to be on our way.”

  “Fine by me,” Nate mumbled, struggling to cast off clinging tendrils of drowsiness. He was shocked by his lapse in not hearing his friend moving about and waking up sooner. Evidently he was growing lazy, a fatal habit if ever there was one.

  As a golden halo adorned the world, they prodded their mounts lower. The tracks steered them toward the south end of the valley, Nate in the lead as before. Several does were scared into frenzied flight, and a squirrel gave them a piece of its mind for disturbing its morning routine. In the tall grass butterflies flitted and insects buzzed. Nate was so intent on reading sign that he didn’t give the woods they were approaching much attention. He relied on Scott to keep an eye out for both of them.

  “Dog my cats! Is that who I think it is?”

  Nate jerked up and spied four riders at the tree line, waiting in deep shadow. He started to raise the Hawken, then saw they were white. The smallest of the four gave a cheery wave, which Nate returned. When he recognized who it was, he wished he hadn’t.

  Harry Katz was a notorious figure, known all along the frontier as a troublemaker and hardcase. Those he hadn’t swindled he had run roughshod over, and rumor had it more than a few of his enemies had wound up with cold steel between their shoulder blades. How he made his living was anyone’s guess, thievery ranking high on the lists of those who knew him best. Just the year before, he had been thrown out of Bent’s Fort for cheating at cards.

  Now Katz plastered an oily smile on his ferret face and exclaimed, “As I live and breathe! The mighty Grizzly Killer himself. Haven’t seen you in a coon’s age. And lookee who else, boys? It’s King’s shadow, Scott Kendall.”

  Nate was studying the other three. They were cut from the same coarse cloth as Katz, dark, cruel men whose natures were indelibly stamped on their grizzled features. One he knew from rendezvous days, a hulking brute of a trapper named Larson. Word had it that when the beaver played out, Larson had hooked up with Katz and the two had been inseparable ever since. “Harry,” Nate said coldly, drawing rein.

  “Imagine running into you here,�
� Katz said. “Smack in the middle of Ute country. What brings you fellas so far from those cozy little homesteads of yours? Out hunting quail?”

  Their dealings were none of the sarcastic ferret’s business, and he knew it. Nate wasn’t about to say a thing, but Scott let his fear override his judgment.

  “We’re searching for my wife and daughter. Have you seen them?”

  Katz’s brow knit. “That pretty filly of yours has gone missing? No, we surely haven’t come across the likes of her, or I’d remember.” He leaned forward. “What happened? Did the Utes pay you a visit?”

  “No, a war party from another tribe,” Scott disclosed, and shared the scant particulars.

  The ferret and Larson swapped ugly glances. “Let me get this straight, Kendall,” Katz said. “You want us to believe that a tribe no one ever heard of was stupid enough to send a war party into Ute territory? And they just happened to steal your missus and your sprout? Is that your tale?”

  Scott raised his right hand as if taking an oath. “As I live and breathe, it’s the gospel. Why would I lie about such a thing?”

  Katz snickered. “Oh, I would, if I had ample cause. Mind you, I’m not calling you a liar. That would be dangerous, what with your partner there glaring at me as if he’d like nothing better than to turn me into worm food.” Nate would only abide so much abuse. “Do you really think we’d be loco enough to be here without a good reason?”

  “I’m not saying the story you’ve concocted isn’t reason enough,” Katz-hedged, “but we both know there’s a better one. So come clean. We’re all white here.”

  “Suppose you tell us what this better reason is,” Nate said testily.

  “How about gold?” Katz snapped. “That good enough for you?” His thin veneer of friendliness was fading. “What gold?” Scott said.

  “As if you don’t know,” said Larson, whose rumbling voice was almost as deep as Nate’s.

  Scott was confused and it showed. “Know what? Quit beating around the bush and say what you mean.”

  “Very well,” Harry Katz said. “We’re talking about the Ute warrior who showed up at Bent’s Fort ten days ago with a pouch full of gold. Over two hundred dollars’ worth in nuggets. He bought a rifle and trinkets for his squaw, and left.” Katz swore a lusty streak. “That damned William Bent tried to keep it a secret. I guess he wants all the gold for himself. But a friend of ours got word to us.”

  “You’re risking your scalps for a handful of nuggets?” Nate said, making no attempt to conceal his contempt. “Not no measly handful, no,” Katz said, greed animating his ferret face. “That Injun told the jasper at the trading post that there’s a heap more where those came from. ‘A whole mountain of it’ were his exact words.”

  “You’re a fool,” Nate said.

  “Not as big a one as you make me out to be,” Harry Katz retorted. “That cock-and-bull story about hunting for Kendall’s woman won’t float. You’re here for the same reason we are. You heard about the gold and you want it for yourselves.”

  Nate looked at Scott. “We don’t have time for this nonsense. Let’s go.”

  Katz placed his hand on his rifle. “Not so fast, King. I’ll only say this once. That gold is mine, you hear?” Catching himself, he gestured at his companions. “Ours, rather. And we won’t take kindly to anyone trying to steal it out from under us.”

  Lifting his reins, Nate nudged the bay alongside Katz’s buttermilk. “And I’ll only say this once. We don’t give a damn about any gold. If it exists, it belongs to the Utes. And if they catch you, there won’t be enough left of your hide to make a parfleche. Savvy?”

  The ferret’s jaw muscles worked, but he didn’t reply. “We’re only interested in Scott’s wife and daughter,” Nate went on. He was going to suggest that if Katz didn’t believe them, Katz should visit Kendall’s cabin. But Katz might pay the Wards a visit, too, and cause trouble for Simon and Felicity. “I know I’m wasting my breath, but we’d be obliged if you let us know if you run into Lisa or the girl.”

  “It’d be a cold day in hell, mister, before I do you any favors.”

  The remark angered Scott, who balled his left fist and moved his horse forward. “What manner of man are you? You wouldn’t help save a woman and a child?”

  “Not if they’re yours.”

  Incensed, Scott blundered between Katz and Larson. He didn’t see the hulking trapper lunge at him. But Nate did. Unfortunately, he was on the other side of Katz, with Katz’s buttermilk and Scott Kendall’s horse between him and Larson. He couldn’t bring the bay around fast enough to be of any help, but he could, and did, vault up out of his saddle, pushing off with one hand while his other seized Katz. The ferret emitted a squeal as Nate hurled him to the ground. A quick hop, and Nate was balanced on Katz’s saddle, poised to jump.

  Larson had grabbed Scott around the shoulders. On seeing Nate unhorse Katz, he released his hold and shifted. The next moment Nate was on him, the impact sweeping them both to the ground.

  “Cover me!” Nate roared as his knee dug deep into the* other’s gut. An arm as thick as a club slammed into his temple, dazing him, and before he could set himself he was flipped onto his belly.

  “Give it to that uppity bastard, Zeke!”

  A bristling shape towered above Nate. He rolled as a heavy boot stomped down where he had just been. Another roll spared him from harm a second time. Winding up on his back, he saw a black sole arc at his head and grabbed the ankle above it. He wrenched to the left and there was a yelp.

  Zeke Larson toppled, clawing at a knife hilt.

  Levering up on an elbow, Nate launched himself at the other man before the blade could leave its sheath. They grappled, straining their utmost, Larson hissing like a serpent. Nate had not been in a fight in a while and had forgotten how underhanded mountaineers could be. A knee to the groin reminded him. It sapped his strength, and Larson seized the advantage by locking thick fingers on his throat.

  “Kill him! Kill him!” Katz was ranting.

  Dimly, Nate was aware that Scott Kendall had brought his rifle to bear on the other three, and that he need not worry about being shot in the back. He bashed his knuckles against his adversary’s wrist, but it was like striking solid rock.

  Dark eyes ablaze, Larson attempted to clamp his other hand tight. Nate couldn’t let that happen. Twisting and thrashing, he fended Larson off. But it was only temporary. He had to turn the tables or be done in. Suddenly thrusting upward, he smashed Larson in the face. Once, twice, three times, and on the third blow Larson shook like a redwood in a tempest, his grip weakening.

  Nate drove both of his legs up and in. They rammed into the bruiser’s chest, lifting him clean off. Immediately, Nate pushed partway up off the ground, only to be met by a fist the size of a ham that caught him flush on the cheek.

  Katz was livid. “Beat his brains out, Zeke! You can do it!”

  Larson tried. He was ponderous but immensely strong, and what he lacked in finesse he more than made up for in sheer brute force. He rained blows on Nate, blows that would have crushed weaker men to crimson pulps. On their knees they fought, slugging it out, trading flurries, jabs, uppercuts.

  Nate was rocked, and rocked Larson in turn. He hit Larson’s stomach, but the man’s abdomen was iron. He flicked two swift punches to the jaw, yet all Larson did was blink. In retaliation, the burly bear tried to butt Nate’s face. Throwing himself to the right, Nate landed several powerful wallops to the side of Larson’s head.

  They were too evenly matched. There was no telling how long the conflict would last. And they never found out. For at that juncture a gun boomed and lead sizzled the air next to Larson’s ear.

  Scott Kendall, covering the other three with his cocked rifle, had drawn a pistol and fired into the ground. “That’s enough,” he warned Larson. “I’m not about to have you stave in my partner’s skull. He’s the only hope my wife and daughter have.”

  Harry Katz’s surprise was the real article. “It’s true, then?
You’re only after your family? Not the gold?”

  Scott swiveled his rifle so the muzzle was an inch from the ferret’s thin nose. “What does it take to get through to you? Maybe that head of yours can use some ventilation. How about another hole smack between the eyes?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “Give us any more grief and you’ll find out.”

  Nate was sorry the clash had ended. He felt a peculiar need to pound someone silly, and Larson was as good a candidate as any. Rising, he reclaimed the Hawken and a pistol that had fallen from his belt. His ribs ached, his left ear throbbed, and blood trickled from the corner of his mouth. Licking his lips, he swallowed some. “Another time,” he said to Zeke Larson.

  “I’ll be counting the minutes.”

  Backing to the bay, Nate mounted and rode into the vegetation. He shifted and trained his rifle on the quartet so Scott could safely rejoin him. Larson, he saw, was slowly straightening and grimacing in pain.

  “Don’t say I never did anything for you,” Kendall said. “I’m grateful,” Nate responded. “Now let’s take up where we left off.”

  Finding the tracks wasn’t difficult. Forty-five minutes of steady travel through dense forest brought them to a tableland that could be reached only by a switchback. As they climbed, Nate checked behind them often in case Katz and company were out for revenge.

  “Do you believe that nonsense about the gold?” Scott asked out of the blue.

  “Why shouldn’t I?” Nate rejoined. “The Utes aren’t the only tribe to know where some is. An old Shoshone told me once that there are streams where nuggets are as numerous as stars in the sky. You can snatch them right out of the water. No need to pan or work a sluice or anything.”

  “You never asked him to show you where it is?”

  Nate had, in fact, but Winona wanted nothing to do with the yellow ore. She’d heard stories of other whites whose lust for it brought them to grisly ends. “What use would I have for a ton of gold? There’s not a lot to spend it on around here.”