Wilderness Double Edition 14

by David Robbins

  Scott chortled. “You could always buy out the Bent brothers. Think of it. Your very own trading post.”

  “For how long? With the beaver trade dying out, they’ll be closing up in a year or so.” Nate squinted up at half a dozen buzzards. “No, if I had any hankering to be rich, I’d have stayed in the States. How about you?”

  “I already am rich. I have the best wife a man could have, and a gem of a girl to raise. A lot of money would be nice, but it’s not everything. Money can’t buy love.”

  “Tell that to John Jacob Astor.”

  Astor, one of the wealthiest men on the planet, owed a large measure of his wealth to being wise enough to exploit the beaver trade when beaver first became the fashion rage of Europe and the United States. He also had the foresight to bail out of the trade once silk replaced beaver, and was now involved in other enterprises.

  “I’d rather be happy than rich any old day,” Scott declared sincerely. For, as he had learned before coming west, without happiness a man had nothing. In those days he had been stuck at a job he hated, a job where he’d been paid much too little for too much work, putting in so many hours a week he rarely got to see Lisa and Vail Marie. The toll on his well-being had been shattering. He had become moody, his nerves a wreck, always barking at everyone for no reason.

  One day Scott simply decided enough was enough. There had to be a better life somewhere, and he would go to the ends of the earth to find it. A chance meeting with a trapper fresh in from the Rockies had given him the idea to try life on the frontier. Hooking up with a fur brigade, he’d spent a year gathering plews and judging whether it was safe to bring his family out.

  Their new life had been a dream come true. All those years of suffering—and all he’d ever had to do to make his life better was be willing to give up the old and try something new.

  Nowadays Scott and Lisa were living as they saw fit, beholden to no one. For over a decade he’d made a fair income as a free trapper. Of late he was dabbling in several areas, serving as a guide to pilgrims on the Oregon Trail, as a scout for the Army, and as a supplier of rare peltries still in demand, such as otter. Alone, the occupations didn’t pay that much, but combined it was enough for his family to get by.

  Personal needs on the frontier were few. A set of clothes and footwear, a sharp knife, a working rifle, and a good horse were all anyone really needed. People had no use for a closet full of the latest apparel, or enough shoes for every occasion, or fancy carriages to carry them to important social functions. In the States folks were so caught in their craving for worldly goods that they never took a moment to appreciate what really mattered. They never stopped to sniff the lilacs.

  Until Lisa and Vail Marie were abducted, Scott had been so happy, so content. Now he was giving serious thought to returning east once they were safe. Secure in his love and his faith, he’d believed that nothing like this would ever befall them. But he had been wrong. And it scared him as nothing else ever had to realize he might lose them forever.

  Suddenly Scott saw that Nate had reined up and was gazing back down the switchback. He did likewise and spotted a line of riders at the bottom, just starting up. “I’ll be switched. Katz came after us anyway. Do we pick them off from here? Or do it from up top?”

  “We ride like hell, is what we do.”

  “I never thought I’d live to see the day you’d run from a weasel like Harry Katz,” Scott remarked.

  “We’re not running from him.”

  “But you just said—”

  “Those are Utes. And we’re too far from our valley for our truce to save us. Unless you want to try and explain what we’re doing here through a hail of arrows, we’d best light a shuck.”

  Scott didn’t need to be told twice.

  Eight

  Scott Kendall rated himself a good rider. More than good, thanks to spending as much time in the saddle as he did on his own two legs. But he was in awe of his friend, whose ability to race through the densest of growth and over rocky terrain at breakneck speed was little short of dazzling. To say nothing of hazardous.

  Scott was given no time to think. He was constantly dodging limbs, continuously ducking out of the way of sharp points thirsting to pierce his eyes, or vaulting obstacles he couldn’t go around. The buckskin managed to keep up with the bay, no small feat since the bay was as splendid a horse as Scott had ever seen.

  For Nate King’s part, he knew that if they didn’t outdistance the Utes in the first thirty minutes, the warriors would stick on the trail like glue until they caught up. But he was handicapped by having to follow the same route as the enemy war party.

  Not that throwing the Utes off would be easier if Nate could pick any route he wanted. Indians were fabulous riders in their own right. Most were tossed onto a horse almost as soon as they could stand. Some, like the Comanches, virtually lived on their mounts, and could perform incredible feats of horsemanship that had to be seen to be believed.

  It helped that the tableland was flat and relatively unbroken except for gullies and a few hillocks. Nate held to a gallop for the first mile, a trot for the second. By then they were at the tableland’s western rim and confronted by a talus slope every bit as treacherous as the one that almost claimed Scott’s life.

  Here, the war party they were tracking had borne to the south, so Nate did likewise. Their tracks paralleled the rim for another half a mile, and more. Nate had still not found where the war party descended when he glimpsed the Utes in the distance, closing swiftly.

  “Damn.” The delay would prove costly unless Nate found a way down in the next few minutes. As if Providence recognized his need, ahead a ravine slashed the slope, splitting it in two. The south side had buckled, leaving an earthen ramp seventy yards from top to bottom. It wasn’t as unstable as talus, but it would be dangerous. Glancing at Scott, Nate grinned. “Are you game?”

  “Better game than dead,” Scott said, and laughed.

  Nate kneed the bay over the edge. The big black balked and had to be kneed again. Over the side they went, the horse locking its forelegs and lowering its rump. Like an oversized sled, it slid down the ramp, gathering momentum swiftly, a fine spray of dust and dirt spewing in its wake.

  Scott realized the two horses were too close to each other when the cloud sheathed him in choking particles. Coughing and blinking, he hauled on the reins to slow the buckskin down, but it was sliding as fast as the bay and could no more defy gravity than a rock could.

  Scott narrowed his eyes to slits to keep the dust out, but it did no good. They began to tear over, and between the dust and the tears he couldn’t see the buckskin’s nose, let alone Nate and the bay. Panic surged, but Scott quelled it. They would be all right as long as the bay didn’t stop before reaching the bottom.

  Up ahead, Nate King saw a small boulder in their path and hollered, “Watch out! Boulder!” Simultaneously, he reined to the right to veer wide. The bay tried to comply, but with its forelegs locked the best it could do was twist at an angle. Nate tensed as the boulder swept toward them. He braced for a collision, but the bay slid past with a hand’s width to spare, the boulder scraping the bay’s flank. Shifting, Nate looked back to see how his friend was faring.

  Scott heard Nate’s shout, but the words were muffled by the rattle and hiss of dust and dirt. He swatted at the cloud, seeking to dispel it enough to see, but it was too thick. “What?” he shouted. “What did you say?”

  Nate was horrified. He hadn’t realized the plight Scott was in, and now it was too late to do anything about it. Or was it? Throwing his whole weight backward, he yanked on the reins to bring the bay to a stop. The horse pumped its rear legs, digging its hooves in deeper, which had the effect of slowing them down. But at the same time, it caused more dust and dirt to gush like a brown geyser at the buckskin.

  Scott had no warning. Suddenly the cloud was twice as thick, solid enough to cleave with an ax. So much dust, he couldn’t see his mount’s head or neck. Tucking his chin, he sought to ca
tch a breath of clean air, but he inhaled more particles. So many particles, they choked him, making him gag. Again Nate yelled, but Scott had no notion what his companion was saying.

  Nate was bellowing that the buckskin was almost on top of the boulder. He attempted to turn the bay, but the deep dirt clung to it like quicksand. “Scott! For God’s sake! Look out!”

  The last two words registered. Scott leaped to a logical conclusion, that he was about to hit something—probably the bay. He wrenched on the reins, but the buckskin wouldn’t or couldn’t change direction. “No!” he cried, forgetting the dust and paying for his oversight by nearly being smothered.

  Seconds from disaster, Nate leaped from the saddle and ran to intercept the buckskin. Or did his best, anyway. Because the loose earth rose midway to his knees, impeding him, pulling at his legs like invisible hands. Every step was a labor. He took four—and it wasn’t enough.

  Scott felt the jolt of impact, felt the buckskin start to buckle as they were thrown to one side. His left leg spiked with pain. Tugging on the reins, he sought to keep his mount upright, but it was a doomed proposition. The next thing he knew, he crashed toward the ground. Desperation spurred him to push away from the saddle so he wouldn’t be pinned, but he wasn’t quite clear when they smashed flat. Now it was his right leg that lanced with agony.

  Sheathed in dust, they slid downward, out of control, the buckskin on its side with Scott’s boot pinned under it. He yanked for all he was worth, but even his seasoned sinews couldn’t budge that much weight.

  Nate had halted, thunderstruck. Thanks to the dust cloud, he couldn’t tell whether rider or mount had been hurt. He ran toward them, only to draw up short when it hit him that they were sliding in his direction. And gaining speed quickly. Backpedaling, he reached the bay and gripped the saddle horn to climb up. He had to get the horse out of there before they were bowled over.

  There simply wasn’t time.

  Nate had one leg lifted to fork leather when, with a sibilant hiss and clatter, the cloud engulfed him. He was knocked breathless by a jarring blow to the sternum. The bay squealed as it was plowed into, and then the world spun and Nate was tumbling and being gouged and scraped and something struck him across the forehead hard enough to nearly cause him to black out.

  Abruptly, Nate came to rest on his back. Dirt washed up over him like water over a beach, covering his legs and midsection. For a moment he thought it would cover his face as well, but it stopped at his neck. Stunned, he lay still. Nearby a horse nickered stridently.

  What if one of the animals has busted a leg? Nate slowly sat up, pushing dirt off. The dust cloud was dispersing, but not swiftly enough to suit him. A large shape materialized, stumbling toward him. It was the bay, unhurt except for nicks and scrapes.

  “Scott?” Nate called out, becoming alarmed when he received no answer. His head spinning, he forced his body to stand. The sickening sensation faded and he looked around to find the buckskin struggling out from under an enormous earthen pile. It, too, appeared all right. They had been luckier than any two men had any right to be.

  “Scott? Can you hear me?” Nate moved toward the buckskin, figuring his friend would be close to it. But Scott was nowhere to be seen. His concern rising, Nate rotated in a complete circle.

  Tons of dirt had cascaded down, flowing outward in a wide stream, burying grass and uprooting scrub brush and several small trees. It must also have buried Kendall, Nate realized, and scoured the overflow for sign of a projecting arm or leg.

  “Scott! Answer me!” Nate darted to and fro, conscious every second was crucial. His friend would suffocate if Nate didn’t reach him in time. He poked into every large mound, into any bump that might conceal a body part, scooping with both hands.

  “Lord, no,” Nate said, growing frantic. Scott couldn’t die! Not like this. Not with Lisa and Vail Marie depending on him.

  Nate pivoted, stymied and furious and fit to scream. Then he saw the foot. Or, rather, a single heel, jutting out close to where the slide ended. Dashing over, he knelt and dug. Fingers flying, throwing earth right and left, he exposed a leg down to the knee. It reminded him of the talus mishap. But this time, when he gripped the leg and heaved, he was able to pull his friend out.

  Scott Kendall came to with a start. A blow to the head had rendered him briefly unconscious during the chaotic slide. Now a rush of fresh air revived him and he sat up, hacking to spit dirt from his mouth and nose. A strong hand clapped him on the back.

  “I thought you were a goner,” Nate said.

  “You and me both,” Scott responded between coughs.

  “This makes twice you’ve cheated death. I wouldn’t push my luck and try a third time, were I you.”

  Scott allowed his partner to boost him to his feet. Running a hand over his scalp, he inspected the gash, pleased it hadn’t been reopened. His legs were spongy and his stomach was queasy, but otherwise he was fine.

  “We can’t dawdle,” Nate said, scouring the rim. The Utes could show at any moment. “I’ll fetch our horses.”

  Scot had no objection. He was too weak to do much more than shuffle into the grass and bend over. “I’m still coming, Lisa,” he said softly to himself. “Hang on, dearest. Nothing is going to stop me.” He prayed that wherever his wife was, she was comforted by the knowledge that no power on Earth could keep him from her.

  Lisa Kendall had never been so scared in her life. Yet, strangely, she was also calmer than she had any right to be, given her predicament. Clasping Vail Marie in her lap, she watched the ten warriors closely. They had called a halt a short while before and were huddled together, talking. As usual, they pretty much ignored her. Which suited Lisa just fine. Her great fear had been that one of them would attempt to take advantage, but so far that hadn’t happened.

  “When will Pa come, Ma?”

  Lisa gave her daughter a peck on the cheek. “We have to be patient. It will take some time for him to hunt us down.” Of course, trying to convince an eight-year-old to be patient was like trying to stop the rain from falling. It couldn’t be done.

  Vail Marie plucked a blade of grass and stuck the end in her mouth to chew on. She had never been so unhappy. She missed her father, missed their home, missed her bed and her playthings. She didn’t like the bad men who had taken them, and she didn’t like being helpless to do anything about it. The only good thing about their ordeal was that she would have a great adventure to share with her best friend, Evelyn, once her pa rescued them.

  The warriors uncoiled and spread out, facing the trees. Lisa didn’t understand why until she heard the clomp of hoofs. Her heart leapt in the hope it was her husband. But no, the newcomers were coming from the west, not the northeast as Scott would do. She knew this was Ute country, and worried a band of Utes had found them. A fight was bound to break out, with her and her daughter caught in the middle.

  But it wasn’t Utes. Out of the pines rode two more warriors just like those who had stolen her, leading seven horses. They were warmly welcomed. Another discussion took place, with much gesturing and debate.

  Two more of them. Two more to keep Lisa from escaping. She resisted an impulse to curl into a ball and weep. She had to be strong for Vail Marie’s sake. And for her own. Should an opportunity arise to slip away, she must be ready. There might be only one chance, and she couldn’t waste it.

  “Ma?”

  “Yes, little one?”

  “Will these bad men hurt us?”

  Lisa made it a policy to always be honest with her daughter. She was honest now. “I don’t know.”

  “Pa will hurt them, though, won’t he?”

  “More than likely.” Which was putting it mildly, Lisa mused. Her husband was the gentlest man alive, but there were limits to how far he could be pushed. He would tear into the war party like a hurricane into reeds.

  “What if we ask them to let us go?”

  “They won’t.”

  “Even if we ask real nice? And say please?”

&nbs
p; Lisa ran a hand over Vail Marie’s hair. “Sometimes being nice isn’t enough. There are people who have no regard for how others feel, and will do what they want even if you beg them not to.”

  “That’s not right.”

  “But it’s how things are, and we must make the best of it until your father shows up. I just hope ...” Lisa gazed off across the valley, biting her lip.

  “Hope what, Ma?”

  “That he doesn’t come alone.”

  “Why? There are only twelve of them. Samson slew a thousand, didn’t he?”

  Lisa smiled wearily. Her husband was a deeply religious man. Every evening since Vail Marie’s birth, Scott had read to her from the Bible. Naturally, she had taken a child’s shine to some of the stories, like the account of Noah and the Ark, and David against Goliath. Somehow or other, Vail Marie had also gotten the idea into her cute little head that her father was as mighty as Samson, that anything Samson had done, Scott could do better. Once, when they were chopping down a rotten pine for firewood, Scott had suggested going for the mule to drag the trunk home. In perfect innocence, Vail Marie had asked him why he didn’t just throw it over a shoulder and tote it back as Samson would have done.

  “All Pa needs is the jawbone of an ass. Then he can whup these fellas.”

  Either that or a cannon, Lisa thought. She saw several of the warriors stand and turn toward them.

  “Here they come again, Ma. What do they want this time?”

  Fear clutching her heart, Lisa pulled Vail Marie closer.

  The Utes were still after them.

  Nate had entertained the notion that maybe, just maybe, the warriors wouldn’t be foolhardy enough to take the same way down. Maybe, just maybe, they would seek a safer route, which would delay them long enough for Scott and him to make themselves scarce. He should have known better.

  Scott had spotted their pursuers over an hour after the two of them had remounted and resumed tracking. They were crossing a row of low hills when Scott bent his head to the side to relieve a kink in his neck and spied the Utes cresting the first hill. “Talk about persistent,” he groused. “What now?”