Season of the Warrior (A Wilderness Giant Edition Western Book 2)

by Robbins, David

  Diana’s eyes were fluttering uncontrollably. Uttering a gasp, she opened them all the way and locked them on the happy face above hers. “You saved me?” she croaked.

  “My ma sure did,” Zach declared. “If not for her, you’d be dead right now.”

  “Son,” Winona chided softly.

  “Well, it’s true.”

  The import of the boy’s words slowly sank in, and Diana Templar shuddered. She vividly recalled the flash flood and the horrendous wave that had swamped her. She remembered the cold, clammy sensation of being submerged, and the nasty blow to the head she had received. But most memorable of all was the image of Winona swimming toward her as the wave crashed down. “Thank you,” she whispered.

  “You would have done the same for me,” Winona said, giving the Englishwoman’s shoulder a tender squeeze.

  Diana Templar did not reply. Her insides felt all twisted up, and she wanted to curl into a ball and cry. Not because of the horror of the nightmare she had just experienced, but the horror she felt over the way she had treated the Shoshone woman. She had regarded Winona as an inferior, a barbaric, ignorant savage deserving of her pity and at times her scarcely concealed contempt. She had pretended to befriend Winona to learn about Indian ways, not out of genuine interest in Winona as a person. She had, simply put, used King’s wife for her own ends.

  And now look at what had happened! Diana closed her eyes and moaned. The woman she had despised had risked all to save her. The primitive she had judged as inferior had proven herself endowed with qualities Diana had long flattered herself that she too possessed. But the plain truth was that she probably would not have gone to Winona’s aid as Winona had come to hers. The plain truth was that this simple Indian woman, in her own way, was more noble than most members of Diana’s select social circle.

  Winona heard the moan and misunderstood. Thinking that her friend was in agony, she sought some trace of a wound, and when she found none, she feared that Diana had suffered an internal injury. “I will make medicine for you,” she offered, starting to rise.

  Diana clutched at Winona’s wrist and held tight. “No,” she said. “I’m fine. Believe me.”

  “We should not take chances. I would not want any harm to come to you,” Winona said. Again she began to stand, but to her amazement Lady Templar suddenly vented a wail of despair, lunged upward, and embraced her. Winona held herself still, listening to the Englishwoman’s racking sobs. Uncertain of what had brought on the outpouring of grief, she waited for the sobbing to subside.

  “I am so sorry,” Diana said after a while, sniffling as she sat up and moved back.

  Once again Winona misunderstood. “It is not a sign of weakness to cry after such an experience. It is joy at being alive.”

  “I can never repay you adequately for what you’ve done.”

  Winona smiled. “What is to repay between friends?”

  At that instant a voice hailed them from out on the river. Nate and Eric were paddling furiously toward shore, while twenty yards behind them came the other bull boat.

  Nate’s heart had nearly stopped when he saw his wife and son go under, and his joy at finding them alive and well was boundless. The moment his boat touched the ground he was out and at their side, giving them both long, passionate hugs. Moisture filled his eyes. Tears trickled down his cheeks. “I thought I’d lost you,” he said hoarsely.

  “Ma saved us,” Zach said. “Saved both of us.”

  Eric Nash, just joining them, overheard as he squatted next to Diana Templar. “You were fortunate that Winona was so handy,” he said.

  “No one knows it more than I do,” Diana replied, brushing at the wet hair plastered to her face.

  “I’ll get a fire going so we can dry your clothes,” Eric offered. “Otherwise you might catch your death.”

  “Wait,” Diana said softly before he could walk off into the trees.

  “What is it?”

  “I want to apologize for the way I’ve treated you in the past. It’s no wonder you felt jilted. But I was the one to blame. I didn’t deserve your love.”

  “Now is hardly the proper time,” Eric said, casting a meaningful glance at the Kings. “Be a bit more discreet and we’ll discuss this later.”

  “Now is as good a time as any.” Diana touched his hand. “This is important. I want you to know I’ve reconsidered. I would very much like to be your wife.”

  “My wife!” Eric burst out, forgetting himself. He could not have been more shocked had she risen and kissed him full on the mouth. “But I haven’t proposed to you.”

  “Isn’t that what you planned to do eventually?”

  “Once, yes,” Eric admitted. He saw Nate looking at him and felt unaccountably embarrassed. Bending closer to Diana, he whispered, “This really isn’t the right time to air our dirty linen, love. Wait until we can be alone with no prying ears about.”

  “I don’t care if they do hear. They’re our friends.”

  “I care,” Eric declared. “There are some things a man just doesn’t talk about in front of others.”

  Diana grinned. “I do believe that you’re beginning to sound more and more like Shakespeare and Nate every day.”

  “Thank you.”

  There was a loud splash as the last bull boat arrived. Jarvis hopped out, and by dint of his prodigious might pulled the craft clean out of the water while Shakespeare and the marquis were still inside. The mountain man was kneeling next to William Templar, who was awake, though pale and slick with perspiration, and seated with his back propped against a side.

  “Diana?”

  “Billy!” Diana cried in sheer joy. Unmindful of her weakened condition, she pushed to her feet, rushed past Nash, and stepped to the boat. “You’ve come around!”

  The marquis nodded, righting his head with an effort. “Lend me a hand up, would you, old man?” he asked McNair.

  Shakespeare and Jarvis both hoisted Templar out and set him down on soft grass yards from the river. Diana flew into William’s arms, and the frontiersman and the giant moved off so the brother and sister could have their reunion in private.

  No one needed to announce they would make camp at that particular spot; everyone just set about doing what was necessary, and soon a fire was blazing and enough wood had been gathered to last the night. Half an hour later a rifle shot shattered the stillness, and as the blood-red sun alighted on the western horizon, Shakespeare strolled back with an antelope over his shoulders.

  By then Diana Templar was wonderfully warm once again thanks to Winona, who had escorted Diana into the brush and wrapped her in a pair of heavy blankets, then hung her dress and undergarments on the end of long sticks over the fire until the clothes were dry.

  Nowhere on the sprawling plains was there a happier group that night as they sat around the flickering flames and talked about the events of the day. Even William Templar shed his customary cheerless disposition and joined in the banter and joking spawned by the heartfelt relief everyone there felt.

  With a singular exception, Eric Nash stayed aloof from the rest. Balanced on a log ten feet away, he listened with half an ear and commented only when addressed.

  After the supper, Diana rose, clasped her slim hands behind her back, and sauntered over to him. “Mind if I join you, kind sir?” she asked gaily.

  “Feel free,” Eric replied, sliding down to make room for her. She sat, but so close their elbows were touching, causing him to slide further.

  “I won’t bite,” Diana said.

  “Your levity is ill-timed.”

  “What in the world is wrong with you? Why are you so out of sorts?”

  “It isn’t every day a woman up and tells me she wants to many me.”

  Leaning back, Diana tossed her head, swirling her shiny hair. “I should think you’d be happy I’ve finally come to my senses. It’s taken me long enough.” Her eyes caressed his. “For which I’m profoundly sorry. Until recently I never, ever gave thought to you as other than a dear
friend. But so much has happened in the past few weeks, so much that was fresh and disturbing, that I’ve acquired a whole new perspective on life.”

  Eric let her talk.

  “Take today, for instance. This morning I was depressed, lamenting my fate and despising this land and everything in it. Then the flash flood caught us” Diana broke off, gazed at the serene waterway, and shuddered “and when I came around I began to see what a bloody fool I’ve been.”

  “Diana ...”

  “Let me finish, please. I want you to fully understand so you will know I’m in dead earnest. This is no frivolous decision. To come back from the dead, as it were, is an intensely unsettling experience. It makes you love life more, if you see my meaning.” Diana paused. “It made me realize how stupid I’ve behaved, and how I’ve had the man of my dreams in front of my nose for years and never seen him for the treasure he is.”

  “I’m no treasure.”

  “You’re too modest by half. You’re articulate, intelligent, and a devoted suitor. How you found the patience to bear with me is a mystery. Today I realized the injustice I’ve done you and I want to make amends.”

  “There is no need.”

  “There damn well is! You opened your heart to me and I threw it back in your face. Can you ever forgive me?”

  “I already have.”

  “Sweet Eric,” Diana said, extending her arm to stroke his cheek. “The one constant in my forever changing life. I wish I had seen the truth sooner.”

  “Indeed.”

  “You don’t believe me?”

  “I was referring to my being the sole constant in your life. It’s patently untrue. Your parents and your brother are your anchors, and I daresay there’s no room for a husband anywhere on your little ship except possibly on the gangplank.”

  Diana stiffened in indignation. “What an outlandish comparison! And what is wrong about having a very natural attachment to one’s own family? Does that mean I can’t love you? Can’t live with you wherever we wish?”

  “Perhaps not. In any event, it’s all irrelevant.”

  “Then why quibble over it? I’ve told you how much I’ve changed, and I’ve acquitted myself well if I do say so myself.” Diana moved nearer to him. “Forget about my family. Think only of me. Look me in the face and share your innermost feelings, the feelings you’ve keep penned up for so long. I want to hear them, dearest. I want to love you as you deserve to be loved.”

  For the longest while Eric Nash sat there gazing inscrutably into her beseeching eyes, his shoulders slumped in resignation. Then standing, he put a hand on her shoulder, squeezed affectionately, and said softly to insure none could hear, “There’s just one little problem.”

  “What is it? Together we can surmount anything. Share it with me and I’ll do whatever it takes to eliminate it.”

  Sadness etched Eric’s countenance as he responded. “I don’t want you anymore.” And turning, he walked into the night.

  Chapter Seventeen

  Then came the day they arrived at the Mandan village of Mato-tope.

  It was early morning, the air cool and crisp and filled with the songs of birds perched in the willow, ash, elm, and cottonwood trees lining both shores. Abundant deer were spotted on the banks. Rich grass of a greener shade than was common on the plains grew all along the river.

  The initial intimation Nate King had that they were nearing their destination came when they rounded a bend and before them unfolded tilled tracts devoted to beans, corn, squash, and sun-flowers. These were the first large farmlands Nate had seen since leaving the States years before. He admired the orderly rows that reflected the pride the Mandan women took in cultivating the soil.

  There was another bend not far ahead, and when Nate’s bull boat passed it he beheld a sight that made his mouth go slack in astonishment. For nothing he had heard could quite prepare him for the reality of seeing a Mandan village with his own eyes.

  As with all Mandan villages, this one was located atop a prominent rise bordering the Missouri, a vantage point that gave the Mandans a sweeping view of the surrounding countryside and rendered a surprise attack by their enemies virtually impossible. A sturdy palisade formed the perimeter, while visible inside it were many odd domed roofs. Jutting high into the sky from the center of the village were a half-dozen tall poles from which dangled fluttering objects Nate could not quite identify.

  The Mandans knew they were coming. A commotion was taking place in the village, and shortly from the front of the palisade spilled warriors on horseback and afoot who were trailed by a great many women and children. They descended to a level area at the base of the rise and awaited the two boats.

  Nate unconsciously fingered one of his flint-locks, then reminded himself that the Mandans were famous for their friendliness to all whites. He glanced at Winona, who was staring in awe at the village, then at Zach, who wore a grin of youthful delight. Behind them in the cramped craft was Eric Nash, whose expression was one of rapture; Nash was drinking in every sight much as a man dying of thirst would quench his parched throat at the first oasis he found.

  Since their boat was in the lead, they landed first. Nate held the craft steady while the others climbed out, then with Nash’s assistance pulled it completely out of the water. Turning, he cradled the Hawken in his left elbow and advanced toward the waiting phalanx of painted warriors, Winona striding proudly at his side.

  A tall warrior stepped forward to meet them. It was obvious that here was a man of considerable stature in the tribe, not only from the way he carried himself, but from the many locks of hair that adorned his quilled buckskin shirt and leggings and the many feathers in his flowing bonnet that reached down to the ground. The right side of his shirt and his right legging had been painted a deep red, while covering the shirt were many symbols attesting to his prowess in battle, among them the painted semblance of a hand that indicated he had killed an enemy in hand-to-hand combat. In his right hand was a lance liberally decorated with scalps and eagle feathers.

  Nate halted and made the Indian sign for friend, which was done by holding his right hand in front of his neck with his palm outward and his index and second fingers pointing straight up, then raising his hand until the tips of his fingers were as high as his head.

  A wry smile creased the stately warrior’s bronzed face. “I am glad,” he signed in response after leaning his lance against his broad chest, “or we would have to kill you.”

  Nate couldn’t help but laugh. He introduced himself, using his Shoshone name.

  “Grizzly Killer is a fine name, as is any name that tells of a man who can kill the mighty white bears. I am Four Bears, chief over all my people,” the warrior disclosed with a twinkle in his eyes,

  and then he tapped his chest and spoke his name in the Mandan tongue. “Mato-tope.”

  In order Nate introduced his wife, his son, and Eric Nash, speaking the latter’s name in English since there was no sign language equivalent. The second bull boat touched land as he was doing so, and the rest of their party came over and was promptly presented to the chief.

  “What are you doing in Mandan country?” Four Bears asked when the preliminaries were out of the way.

  “We are helping these people reach the white man’s land,” Nate answered, pointing to the four Britishers. “Along the way we have been attacked by Blackfeet and caught in a flood. This man” and Nate jerked his thumb at the marquis “is still weak from wounds he received and needs much rest.” He paused to stare up at the palisade. “We have heard much of the hospitality of the Mandans, and we are hoping you will agree to let us stay with you for a while, until we are fit enough to finish our journey.”

  “Four Bears has never turned a white man in need away from his lodge,” the chief signed. “My people have always welcomed whites to our villages. You may stay with us for as long as you like.”

  “We thank you,” Nate signed sincerely.

  Turning, Four Bears beckoned. Other warriors came forward
to be introduced, among them the war chief and the peacetime or civil chief of the village, both of whom were clearly held in lesser esteem than Mato-tope, and then some more important warriors. When they were done, the chief’s immediate family advanced, and he took particular delight in introducing his wives and many children. Among them was a young daughter of exceptionally singular beauty, a smiling maiden of noble bearing whose black hair was streaked silver-gray in parts, a peculiar characteristic of most Mandans.

  When it was Eric Nash’s turn to greet her, he shuffled forward like one who was sleepwalking and gaped dumbly at her ravishing face. Only when Nate nudged him did Nash blurt out a hello in English, and then think to make the Indian sign for friend as Nate had taught him to do during their long trip down the Missouri.

  Morning Dew, for that was the maiden’s name, glanced coyly away and smiled, at which some of her sisters giggled merrily. Later, as they climbed to the village, Morning Dew repeatedly cast shy looks at Nash, who in turn beamed from ear to ear.

  Nate noticed the exchange and grinned to himself. If he knew anything about women—and he had learned as little as any man knew during the course of his marriage—Eric Nash was in for an interesting stay among the Mandans. His deduction was borne out when Four Bears got around to assigning the members of their party to various lodges. Nate, Winona, and Zach were invited to stay with the chief’s family. Shakespeare and Jarvis were assigned to the lodge of a relative. The Templars were invited to yet another dwelling. Finally it was Nash’s turn, and Four Bears was about to have him go with the marquis and Diana when Morning Dew stepped forward and whispered into her father’s ear. Four Bears glanced at her, then requested that Nash also take up residence in his own lodge rather than in one of the others.

  And such lodges they were! Nate had never beheld the like. They were conical in shape, earthen mounds of great size with large holes on the crowns of the domes for ventilation. Scores of lodges were clustered around a central plaza, in the middle of which reared the poles Nate had glimpsed from the river. At close range he was able to establish that the fluttering objects were scalps.