Freedom in the Mountain Wind
Call of the Rockies ~ Book 1
Misty M. Beller
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Epilogue
Review Request
SNEAK PEEK: Hope in the Mountain River
Call of the Rockies Series
Texas Rancher Trilogy
The Mountain Series
Hearts of Montana Series
About the Author
And not only that, but we also glory in tribulations, knowing that tribulation produces perseverance; and perseverance, character; and character, hope.
* * *
Romans 5:3-4 (NKJV)
Would you like to receive a free book and be the first to know about new books by Misty M. Beller?
Sign-up for insider email updates by tapping here.
Chapter 1
August, 1830
Falls of the Missouri, Future Montana Territory
They’d made it.
Susanna Wilkins stared across the rolling hills, her gaze seeking snow-capped peaks rising in the distance. But the Rocky Mountains couldn’t be seen from this point.
As much as this felt like the end of the journey—the final destination—she and her father had barely finished the beginning. The first part of this trip was nothing compared to the long journey ahead. As long as she could convince her father to keep going.
She turned back to the river as she dug her paddle into the water again, sweeping the liquid behind their dingy. The thick scattering of rock around them meant they must be nearing the first of the Great Falls.
Captains Lewis and Clark had written of this stretch of the Missouri. Had been overjoyed when they reached it, especially when Captain Lewis trekked on ahead of the party and laid eyes on the massive waterfall she and her father would surely find a little farther upriver.
Yet for those explorers who’d come almost three decades before, the effort of having to carry their boats and supplies around each of the falls had nearly brought death to the soldiers. Big, strapping men had been laid low by the work ahead.
What in heaven’s name made her think she and Pa could manage the same? Yet she had to, or else Pa would insist they turn around and journey back to civilization. Give up the dream he’d craved as long as she could remember.
She couldn’t let him do that. Not when this was his last chance.
A thick, wheezing cough sounded beside her, forcing her thoughts into aching clarity. Her father’s illness wasn’t healing as she’d hoped it would in this new climate and higher altitude.
But this journey was the one thing he’d wanted to accomplish before his final days. She prayed they had time aplenty. Either way, she’d agreed to follow in the tracks of Lewis and Clark’s Corp of Discovery—or rather, follow in the paddle strokes.
If only they hadn’t lost their guide. The last in a string of guides, actually. The man they’d left Illinois with—Mason—had disappeared in the second week. He’d bedded down beside the coals of their campfire like usual, but in the morning, there was nary a trace of him. Not a trace of the roasted venison she’d packed away either.
After that, she and Pa paddled for two days up the Missouri on their own, then found a new escort in the next village they passed. That man lasted twice as long as Mason before disappearing too—this time after breaking his fast with them one morning. He’d said he was walking upriver to see what the water looked like around the bend, but he never came back. She should have known by the nervous way he kept adjusting his grip on his rifle. After they searched for him awhile, she discovered he’d taken a day’s worth of food from their stores, too. Must have tucked the supplies in his trousers or his possibles bag.
This last guide had led them almost to the Marias River, then disappeared a few hours after they passed another boat going downriver—back to civilization. He’d watched the craft float by them with a yearning in his eyes. When the man said he was going to investigate a crop of rocks, then didn’t return, she didn’t have to search long to realize where he’d gone. She and Pa were alone once again.
That was two days ago, and in this barren wilderness, they’d be hard-pressed to find another man to accompany them. Maybe they didn’t need anyone. The men they’d traveled with were almost more trouble than help—especially this last one. He’d helped paddle some as they made their way upriver, but couldn’t be counted on for any assistance otherwise. They were better off on their own.
Now she just had to convince Pa they could keep going with just the two of them. Deep down, she knew the real reason he wanted another man along with them. If the worst happened and he wasn’t able to see her back to Illinois, he wanted someone to take her safely to his cousin in Boston.
A place she had no desire to go. The worst simply couldn’t happen.
The bottom of their dingy struck another boulder with a hard jolt, gripping the front end of the boat fast while the flowing water wiggled the rear.
“This might be as far as we can go with these rocks.” Pa’s voice rasped from the bout of coughing he’d just ceased. “You reckon it’s time to stop and hike to the falls?” He’d promised they would at least see the Falls of the Missouri before turning back.
Now it was her job to convince him that they could keep going past this point. Her father’s dying wish was to see the rugged mountain country Lewis and Clark’s expedition had traveled through. She would get him there if it took all she had.
She pulled the paddle into the boat and rested it on her lap, eyeing the water flowing around the boulders ahead of them. A bend in the river concealed what lay ahead. She needed to know exactly where they were in relation to the map Pa kept tucked inside his shirt front. His replica of Lewis and Clark’s sketch had been hard to come by, but it had proved remarkably accurate thus far on their journey up the Missouri from Illinois.
She swiped at a wad of mosquitos hovering around her face. “How about we make land, then hike up to the first of the Great Falls.” And she could see what the terrain was like. Maybe they should leave the boat behind altogether instead of trying to carry it the eighteen miles around all five waterfalls. If she could talk Pa into it, would they be able to make the journey on land the rest of the way? Did he have the strength to hike day after day? If only they had horses to take them on from here.
In truth, she’d rather have had horses for the entire trip. Paddling and poling up the river was just about the hardest work she could have imagined. Why men ever thought a water route was easier than land was beyond her ability to fathom. Maybe if she’d been floating down a smooth river, not paddling upstream as they had these last four months.
As she stepped from the boat into the icy water, a movement at the edge of her vision snagged her focus. She held the craft and spun to scan the land. The hill to their right was topped by a rocky crag that blocked the view beyond it. But something about the form made her study the top.
There. It looked like a shadow among the stone, but the longer
she stared, the more the spot looked like dark hair framing the top of a face.
“Is that an Indian?” Pa spoke the question at the exact moment the words planted in her own mind. He’d climbed from the boat and now stood beside her, staring at the same spot that had drawn her attention.
She squinted, but the figure didn’t move again. “I think it’s a person, but I’m not certain. And I can’t tell if he’s Indian or white.”
Pa’s vision was so finely honed after years as a gunsmith, he could usually make out details better than she could. He raised a palm for her to stay put as he stepped forward.
After half a dozen strides, he halted, then lifted a hand to wave. “Halloo. We come in peace.”
Some of the Indians they’d met on the journey could speak broken English, but certainly not all. Would this stranger understand? Maybe he was part of the Shoshone tribe, and she and Pa could barter for horses just like Lewis and Clark had. But trade with this man would only be possible if they could converse with him.
The thought made her want to step forward and take over communications from her father, just to make sure they didn’t lose the man. She had to let Pa manage everything he could, though, what with his illness taking away so many of his abilities. A man had to be allowed some pride, and this was something he could do. Besides, the Indian would probably respond more quickly to a man than a woman.
“Friendly white man.” Pa pointed to his chest and raised his other hand high in greeting. “We would like to talk.”
The shadow on the ridge shifted, then eased up to reveal the face of a man. Definitely Indian, if the black of his hair could be believed. The midday sun glimmered on his tawny face, one more sign of his race. Although after only a few months in these rays, she and Pa could pass for Indian as well. Except for the lighter brown of their hair, of course.
As the man straightened to full standing, the wide set of his shoulders revealed powerful muscles under his buckskin tunic. It was possible he was a French trapper or other mountain man, but something about him exuded a majestic strength. Like that of a well-bred stallion, handled just enough to keep him from being completely wild.
Pa stepped forward again, narrowing the thirty strides or so between them. “Do you speak English?”
The stranger was silent for a moment, and disappointment slipped through Susanna. She hadn’t really expected an Indian this far west to know the white man’s language, had she?
“I do.” His deep voice drifted across the distance, not tugged away by the breeze whipping up. Yet it took a moment for the import of his words to settle in her mind.
He could understand them. And talk back.
“Good.” Pa’s smile sounded loud and clear in his voice as he took a few more steps forward. “That’s real fine.”
“You travel with others?” The man’s voice held only a hint of an accent. Where had he learned the language?
“It’s just the two of us, my daughter and me. We’re traveling upriver to see the falls, then beyond. We lost our guide a few days ago, and we’re lookin’ for someone new to take us forward. I reckon’ you know quite a bit about this area.”
She wanted to step forward and grab her father’s arm. Did he really think to ask this man to travel with them?
The man glanced toward the river. “You will carry your craft around the falls?”
Pa followed the man’s gaze. “That’s what we’re plannin’. If we can find a guide to help us.”
This was her chance. Before she could stop herself, Susanna stepped forward. “Or, if you know of any horses for trade, we’d consider leaving the boat.” And good riddance.
The man studied her, and even over the long space separating them, she had to fight to keep from shifting under his scrutiny. She raised her chin and met his look.
A moment later, he stepped over the crest of the ridge, then strode down the hill with the sure footing of a goat.
He marched straight toward them, and as he neared, Pa extended a hand to shake. “Glad to know ya. I’m Thad Wilkins, and this is my daughter, Susanna.”
The stranger nodded a greeting even as he ignored the outstretched hand and stepped around them. “I am called Beaver Tail.” He headed toward the river.
Was he going on his way without even a farewell? But he was aimed toward their dingy.
When he reached the boat, which Pa’d had built especially shallow to manage the sandbar-fraught Missouri, Beaver Tail paused and studied the contents.
What was he doing? Susanna charged toward him. They had few enough supplies. The last thing they needed was to be robbed by this impertinent Indian.
He leaned forward and grabbed two of the packs tucked in oilskins—one that contained their food supplies, and the other their ammunition and tools.
“Don’t touch those.” She grabbed his arm to stop him, but the rod of iron muscle under her grip wouldn’t be swayed by a little thing like her. She reached for the pack in his hand, but he turned and dropped both on the ground.
“Help me empty.” He grunted the words as he reached for another satchel, this one containing their extra clothing.
“You can’t have this.” She snatched up the food case with her left hand, but the pack was so heavy she had to use both arms to drag it away. If she only had the chance to get one satchel from him, she probably should have reached for the one containing ammunition.
He dropped the pack of clothing where he’d placed the others, then with a wide sweep of his arm, he scooped up the canteens and loose items she’d not yet organized into satchels.
“Is there something you need there, son?” Pa had joined them at the river’s edge, but instead of snatching their supplies from this thief, he only watched the man drop his load on the ground at Pa’s feet.
The Indian—Beaver Tail—didn’t respond, just turned back to the dingy and gripped both sides with his massive hands. Bear Paws would have been a better name for him. He hoisted the craft over his head. The mighty growl that slipped through his tight jaw would have made a lesser woman swoon. Any rabbits and birds in the area had surely fled at the ferocity of the sound. Yet the fact that he could actually hoist the boat and carry it atop his head was hard to fathom.
Maybe he really was a bear, one of the famed grizzlies they had yet to see.
The man splashed through the edge of the water, then marched forward on dry land along the side of the river. He’d left all their supplies, and he seemed to be following a trail worn into the ground.
A portage trail?
She glanced at Pa to see what he thought of the situation. Her father raised his brows, his thoughts clearly taking the same track hers had. Then a corner of his mouth tipped up. “I think he’s helping.”
Maybe he planned to take the job as their guide. At least that way, she’d not have to argue with Pa about whether they would keep going beyond the falls. Either way, the man was already disappearing over the rolling hill ahead. She looped the canteen straps around her neck, then loaded the other miscellaneous items in the food pack and snatched it up. “Can you bring the clothing?” That satchel should be the lightest, but she’d still have to keep an eye on Pa. His stamina was less than half what it had been only a year ago.
She scanned the ground once more. She’d have to come back for the ammunition and tools. Maybe make two trips because that pack was so heavy. Not something she’d relish since the portage route was said to be eighteen hard miles around the five falls, but she’d manage. There was no other choice.
Over the next quarter hour, she was torn between trying to keep Beaver Tail in sight as he marched onward with their boat balanced atop his head and staying near Pa in case he needed her.
His breathing was coming rougher with each step, and when a coughing fit overtook him, she had to let the Indian go altogether. Her father was more important than that blasted boat anyway.
“Here, Pa.” She set her oilskins down and held out the bottle of tonic Dr. Williams had sent. Their supply was dwindlin
g, but when these bouts overtook him, he had to have something to ease the pain carved across his face as he clutched his chest.
With a final cough, Pa straightened and turned to take the container. A trickle of blood seeped from one side of his mouth, tightening a raw ache in her own chest. She reached forward and wiped the crimson with her thumb.
The action left a light smear on his leathery skin, and he raised a sleeve to clean the spot as his eyes met hers. His watery blue gaze—rimmed in red from all the coughing—communicated so much, just as it always had.
His apology that shone there was unnecessary, but the love glistening in his eyes made her want to step into his arms just like she had so many times as a girl. Pa’s hugs always made her feel so fully loved, everything else in her upside-down world would surely be righted simply because of his affection.
He took a swig of the medicine, then replaced the cork and tucked the bottle back in the pack. “Let’s keep moving. There’s a whole lot of country left to see.”
She gave herself one last moment to savor his tender smile. If only his love could right the world they’d been forced to face these last few months.
Beaver Tail forced air in and out of his chest as every one of his muscles strained under the weight of the boat. This was no simple dugout canoe, and he wasn’t altogether sure he could manage the burden the entire distance around the falls. At least not in the remaining hours of this day.
Freedom in the Mountain Wind Page 1