Nate made a mental note to use river travel more often in the future. The dangers were few and far between, and they could make better time than they otherwise would if they traveled overland on horseback.
Back in the early days of trapping, the trappers had always used the rivers and streams to get around. Not until later, when the Rees had denied them access to the northern reaches of the
Missouri, did the trappers take to using horses most of the time. And by then they were familiar enough with the land and its inhabitants to get by without being killed.
There was a story making the rounds that a steamboat was regularly plying the waters of the Missouri, serving the river outposts of the American Fur Company. Nate hoped he would see such a wonderful sight. He’d heard tales about the big boats, but had yet to behold one himself.
Infrequently Nate would gaze northward, and on each instance he noticed a few more dark clouds scuttling eastward. A storm was brewing, he deduced, but if it stayed well north of the river their journey would be uninterrupted.
Toward the middle of the afternoon Shakespeare gave a shout and pointed to the south. Silhouetted against the backdrop of blue sky were several warriors on horseback who were watching the bull boats.
“Mandans, you think?” Eric asked.
“Could be,” Nate said. “Or they might be Sioux.”
Shortly thereafter the small group turned their war horses and sped southward, tending to confirm his guess since the Sioux homeland lay in that direction.
Another hour elapsed. Nate was paddling idly, his thoughts drifting with the current, when he spotted a few huge animals on the north shore. On drawing almost abreast of them he saw they were buffalo, strays from a larger herd. There were five, one of which was quite big and must be a bull, the rest all smaller and probably cows.
As Nate stared at them, he saw another huge shape appear out of a thicket near where the buffaloes were drinking. His interest promptly perked up, for the newcomer was a grizzly. Ignoring the buffalo, the bear ambled toward the water, and it was in the middle of an open space when the bull charged.
Now here was a scene of no common occurrence, yet not utterly unusual in that such incidents were typical in a violent land overrun by savage beasts. Everyone slacked off from paddling to view the confrontation, and all three boats were guided closer to the north shore so they wouldn’t miss this rare spectacle.
The bull had the edge in size, but not by much. The bear had a slight edge in agility, since when aroused a grizzly displayed a nimble prowess belying its great bulk. And the bear also had the edge in having ten razor claws to the bull’s two wicked horns, although the latter dwarfed the former and had a spread of three feet compared to a length of four or five inches for the claws.
Bellowing and snorting, the buffalo rammed into the grizzly, rolling the bear completely over. In the blink of an eye it was up, though, and turning to meet the bull’s next rush. This time the bear dodged, but not before tearing the buffalo open with a swipe of its front paw.
Again the bull charged, head lowered, horns outthrust. It speared them low at the moment of contact, trying to disembowel the grizzly, but aimed too low and merely knocked the bear for a loop. This time when the grizzly rose it became the aggressor, going after the bull with its claws flying.
The two titans met in the center of the clearing and battled head to head, the buffalo swiping and gouging with its horns, the grizzly using its paws to devastating effect. Like boxers, they circled, sparred, and connected. Blood flowed over both their coats. The bull drove a horn into the bear’s side and tore upwards, tearing a vicious hole in the grizzly. Moments later the bear retaliated by ripping open part of the buffalo’s skull.
Both animals tired quickly. It wasn’t death that decided the outcome, but fatigue. As if by mutual consent, the combatants suddenly parted and went their separate ways, the grizzly limping into the brush while the bloody but unbowed bull rejoined his little harem.
“My word!” Eric exclaimed excitedly when the fight was over. “One day I will have to record that fight on canvas. I only hope my memory serves me in good stead.”
“Some sights are never forgotten,” Nate said. “I still remember the first time I saw the Rockies as if it took place yesterday.”
“It’s curious how our minds work,” Eric replied, stroking lazily. “How we so readily recall pleasant things that make us feel good, but how we tend to forget the bad unless reluctantly reminded of them.”
“Why dwell on that which makes us unhappy? I don’t figure we were put on God’s green earth to go through our whole lives miserable.”
“Point taken,” Eric said, and stared northward. “My goodness! Look at all that lightning.”
A vast, writhing black mass engulfed most of the northern sky. Lightning crackled incessantly, dancing in wild arcs of yellow light, piercing the clouds like celestial spears. Faintly on the wind came the muted clap of thunder.
“Do you think that mess will come our way?” Eric inquired.
“Not unless the wind changes. It’s blowing from west to east, so we should be safe.”
“I hope so. I’d hate to be caught out on this river in a raging thunderstorm.”
They continued eastward, Nate often checking the position of the tempest. To his relief the prevailing wind held fairly steady, although the storm did drift to within a mile of the Missouri, at which time the breeze picked up tremendously and turbulently shook the branches of the trees lining the north shore.
So intent was Nate on the bad weather that he didn’t realize Eric and he were falling a bit behind the others until the Englishman made a joking remark.
“We had better paddle faster or we’ll be making camp by ourselves tonight.”
Nate looked and saw that Winona’s boat was sixty yards in front of theirs, while Shakespeare’s craft was another fifty or sixty yards ahead of Winona’s. For some reason that bothered him. None of them were in any danger at the moment, and they were all as safe as they could be from hostile Indians, so he was puzzled as to why he felt so uneasy.
Shrugging, Nate applied his muscles to the pole. Eric, on seeing this, did likewise. Bull boats were not built for speed, however. Their craft narrowed the gap at an irritatingly slow pace.
Eric gave a little laugh.
“What strikes you as funny?” Nate inquired without taking his gaze off his wife and son.
“I was just thinking of how my cultured friends in England and Europe would react if they could see me now, floating along this wild river in the heart of this untamed land in a primitive boat.”
“What would they say?”
“They’d think I’ve gone mad. You see, in the comfort of their parlors and their drawing rooms they like to talk about the many adventures they would like to have in foreign lands among strange peoples, but they would never actually get out of their chairs and go book passage on the first ship to wherever it is they would like to visit.”
“Why not?”
“Because it is one thing to intellectually dissect the nature of hardship and danger while safely secure in one’s own home or club, and quite another to go out and experience hardship and danger firsthand. To do so would entail sacrifice, and they are unwilling to even temporarily give up their luxuries and comforts.” Eric paused. “That was one of the things that attracted me to Diana and her brother. Unlike most of their peers, they have always been willing to take risks, to explore where others only talked about exploring, to actually do what others dream about doing.” He paused again. “I thought that by associating with them and joining them in their far-flung travels I would be able to paint scenes and people no man had ever painted before.”
“Hasn’t it worked out that way?” Nate asked, more to be polite than out of any intent interest in their conversation. He was still watching Winona and Zach, still doing his best to catch up with them. Yet he had not gained much; they were still forty yards ahead.
Suddenly Nate spied a narrow brea
k in the north shoreline approximately parallel with the position of Winona and Zach’s boat. No sooner did he set eyes on it than to his ears came an odd noise, a grumbling hiss of incredible magnitude, as if a million snakes were all hissing at once. With the sound dawned comprehension, and as stark fear lanced through him he cupped a hand to his mouth and screamed at the top of his lungs, “Winona! Zach! Paddle for your lives!”
Chapter Sixteen
A minute earlier Winona had been moving down the river without giving much thought to what she was doing or her immediate surroundings. Instead, she was preoccupied with a burning question: Why was it that white women were so moody? She had noticed this inexplicable trait during her stay in St. Louis, and now Diana Templar was demonstrating the same behavior. The Englishwoman seldom talked as freely to her as had been the case when first they met. Indeed, Diana was becoming less talkative the further they traveled despite Winona’s many efforts to engage her new friend in conversation. She had told Lady Templar all there was to know about the Shoshones, and was eager to learn more about English society, but Diana was, now strangely reticent on that and every other subject.
Absorbed in her musings, Winona scarcely gave much thought to the storm to the north. Nor did she make special note of the break in the shoreline. Only when she heard her husband’s sharp yell of warning did she glance up, hear the ominous hissing, and perceive the peril she was in.
“Ma?” Zach was asking. “What is Pa all upset about?”
“The stream!” Winona answered as she stabbed her pole into the water.
“What stream?” Zach responded, glancing in all directions in confusion.
“There!” Winona said. She took a hand from the pole long enough to point at the gap in the shore, then paddled with redoubled vigor. Years ago she had lost a favorite cousin who had been out hunting and thoughtlessly wandered into a gully just as a thunderstorm swooped down on the mountain above him. He had died horribly, drowning after the torrent had carried him along with it for a great distance, battering him against boulders and trees. When they found his body, nearly every bone in it had been broken.
Diana Templar, seated at the back of the boat, stared at the small tributary of the wide Missouri and was puzzled. Until a few moments ago she had been brooding over the tragic turns of events that had befallen their expedition and pondering her future should she make it back alive to civilization. On hearing Nate King’s shout she had twisted to see him waving frantically. She didn’t comprehend the cause for his alarm, and Winona’s sudden concern aggravated her bewilderment. “What is all the fuss about?” she wanted to know.
“Flash flood,” Winona said.
“A what?”
Winona nodded at the dark bank of clouds to the north. “The heavy rain has made the stream rise swiftly, so fast there will be a flash flood.”
“But we’re over a hundred yards from the mouth of that stream. Surely we’re safe.”
As if in answer, the hissing rose to a crescendo and a foaming wall of water over twenty-five feet high appeared up the tributary. Like a living juggernaut it rolled down to the junction with the river and surged outward, pushing a smaller wall of water ahead of it, making directly across the Missouri—directly toward the middle bull boat. In the midst of the foam and water swirled boulders and logs large enough to crush the craft completely.
Nate King was shouting himself horse, urging his wife and son to hurry. He wished now that they had never gone closer to the north shore to witness the battle between the grizzly and the buffalo. His own boat was far enough back so that the gigantic swell would miss it. Similarly, Shakespeare was so far ahead that his boat would also be spared. Only Winona, Zach, and Diana were in danger, and there was no hope of them escaping.
Winona saw this. She knew the wave would catch them broadside. Whirling, she grabbed Lady Templar’s wrist. “Can you swim?”
“Yes. But why?” Diana began, and stifled an urge to scream as Winona hauled on her arm and sent her sailing over the right side of the bull boat. She had no chance to protest, to resist. The cold water enveloped her from head to toe, shocking her senses, and fortunately she remembered to close her mouth as she struck. Then, furious at the way she had been unceremoniously treated,. she shot to the surface just as Winona and Zach dived overboard.
In seconds Winona’s head was above the surface and she shouted, “Swim for the south shore!” Suiting her actions to her words, she knifed southward using short but powerful strokes.
Zach shot after her.
But Diana Templar, wrestling with her anger, hesitated. She felt Winona’s action was reckless, bordering on insane. Until she turned her head and saw the enormous wall of water and debris bearing down on the frail bull boat with all the destructive force of a rampaging cyclone. Then the gravity of her situation hit her, and with a gasp of terror she swam for her life.
Diana was a dozen feet to the rear of the Kings, who swam skillfully. Her clothes hampered her, her shoes made her legs leaden. She tried to catch the Kings, but couldn’t. Never one to quit at anything, she gritted her teeth and put all her strength into pumping her arms and legs.
The hissing was much louder, eclipsing all other noises. Diana refused to look back and see how close the wall of water was, since to do so would delay her for precious seconds she might need to get away. Then an explosive crashing and rending sound caused her to forget herself and glance over her shoulder.
The bull boat had been torn apart.
Diana saw that the huge wave was only half the size it had been when it gushed out of the stream, but it was still devastating enough to smash her to pieces. Spitting out water, she swam for all she was worth. Winona and Zach had even more of a lead, and she despaired of ever overtaking them. Suddenly Winona looked around, spotted her, and came swimming back toward her.
Why? Diana wondered. The next heartbeat all other considerations were forgotten as the hissing seemed to fill the entire universe and an invisible hand seized her legs and lifted her into the air. Despite herself, Diana screamed. As she did a watery fist wrapped her in its wet embrace, smothering her at the same time it flung her deep into the river. Vaguely she was aware of tumbling end over end. She hit something with her shoulder and winced. Seconds passed, and she hit something else, only with her head this time. The world went black.
Winona King had seen the Englishwoman caught by the cresting wave, and rather than flee for her own safety she swam to rescue her friend. She gave no thought to her own welfare, or to the new life taking form within her. She simply saw someone in need, and she responded to that need the only way she knew.
“Ma!” Zach screeched.
The wall of water slammed into Winona and hurled her along with it. She spotted Lady Templar sweeping past and clutched at Diana’s leg but missed. Twisting and churning, she tried to keep an eye on the Englishwoman while avoiding the logs and boulders all around her. But it was hopeless. The wave upended her, flipped her, bore her helpless in its grasp.
Winona had prudently held her breath just as she was enveloped. She could do so for a minute or two with no discomfort. Presently, however, her lungs commenced to ache and burn. She longed for a breath of fresh air, yet the force of the current showed no signs of abating.
Abruptly, a hand seized her wrist. Winona, startled, managed to twist her head and found her son clinging to her. Fighting the current, she was able to curl an arm around him protectively, and together they were propelled through the river like lead balls blasted from a gun.
Everything was happening so fast, Winona had no time to think. She glimpsed objects in the water near her, debris from the flood, but saw no sign of Diana Templar. Her lungs ached terribly. She feared she would soon have to open her mouth whether she wanted to or not. Then, just when her consciousness was swimming and the pain had become nearly overwhelming, the irresistible pull slackened and she was cast upward, breaking the surface with her son at her elbow.
Winona sucked the cool air in ragged gas
ps as she floated weakly on her back in a sea of froth. She felt utterly exhausted, drained of all energy. Beside her Zach was sputtering and coughing, and she compelled her body to move, to turn toward him. “Are you hurt?” she rasped.
“Not really, Ma,” the boy answered gamely. I almost passed out, is all.”
Winona hugged him, then scanned the river. She was astonished to discover they were within three hundred yards of the south shore. Shattered trees, limbs, and twigs floated all around her. Among them bobbed a limp figure in a dress.
“Diana!” Winona exclaimed, and pulled Zach along as she moved forward. “We must help her.”
Lady Templar was face down, her arms outstretched, her dress clinging in soaked folds to her body. She showed no trace of life when Winona gripped her around the waist, nor did she after Winona had rolled her over.
Looping her forearm under Diana’s chin, Winona swam for the south shore. Where she found the strength, she had no idea. Zach helped as best he could, and between the two of them they brought the Englishwoman onto dry land and gently placed her on her back.
Winona didn’t know what to do next. She felt for a pulse, and thought she detected a weak beat in the woman’s wrist. But Lady Templar did not appear to be breathing.
Acting on the assumption that Diana had swallowed too much water, Winona flipped her onto her stomach. Then Winona began pressing down hard in a pumping motion, trying to force the excess water out of Diana’s mouth. There was no response, no change in Diana’s condition, and Winona feared she had reached her friend too late.
For half a minute Winona pumped. For a minute. Suddenly Lady Templar twitched and voiced a gurgling groan as river water spurted from her parted lips. Overjoyed, Winona kept pumping until the Englishwoman stopped spitting up. Diana was panting like a horse that had galloped for miles when Winona eased her over and said, “You are safe now. The flood did not claim you.”
Season of the Warrior (A Wilderness Giant Edition Western Book 2) Page 18