Freedom in the Mountain Wind

by Misty M. Beller

  Beaver Tail rode beside her, their horses covering ground in an easy jog. She wasn’t sure what had possessed her to ask to come along. Well, if she were honest, the impulse had probably been triggered by more than one thing. But she didn’t want to be honest with herself just now. Didn’t want to think through anything rationally.

  She just wanted to taste the freedom lingering in the air. Wanted to be a little reckless.

  With that thought prodding her, she glanced sideways. “Can we move faster?”

  Surprise flashed through his eyes. Then, he pushed his horse into a lope.

  She should have known he wouldn’t waste time with words.

  She kicked her gelding into a faster run than his to make up the ground they’d just lost, then let the horse speed by Beaver’s mount. His gelding stretched out to pull even with them again. She could push her horse harder and maybe even win the race, but winning wasn’t so important.

  Just letting herself run, releasing the weights that had been holding her down, crushing her beneath their mass—this was what she’d needed. This foretaste of heaven. In that wonderful place, there would be no coughing or illness. No gunshots, accidental or otherwise. No sickness taking mothers from little girls who needed them.

  Everything would be right in that world.

  For just a moment, she could imagine she’d already reached that land. That paradise was here in the vast untamed wilderness. With this man keeping pace beside her.

  When they neared the buffalo, she sat back and reined the mare down to a trot, then a walk. Beaver did the same, keeping stride beside her. He had the unique ability to move in tandem with her, as though he could read her thoughts and fade into her shadow. Words weren’t necessary with him.

  The horses pricked their ears as they walked to the edge of the herd, stopping only a couple of strides from the nearest beasts. From a distance, they’d looked like a dark rolling blanket, all a single chocolate brown. But standing this close, she could see the nuances in their thick, layered coats. Some still had chunks of lighter winter coats covering the shorter, dark layer of summer hair. And their heads—massive wooly things that made the animals look twice as frightening, especially with sharp horns poking through on either side.

  These creatures were large enough to plow her down if she weren’t on horseback.

  “Have you ever been wounded by a buffalo?” She glanced sideways at Beaver Tail and caught the flicker of his cheek as he stared straight ahead.

  “I’ve never given them the chance.” He turned and met her gaze. “I’ve never moved among them without my horse.”

  His gaze was so deep, so rich and luring, his words barely registered as his eyes held hers, cradling her in a warmth she would have loved to wrap herself in all day. His arms would likely be even more wonderful.

  But that wouldn’t be. Not the way he jerked his gaze away, leaving her alone and defenseless as she tried to pull her emotions back to safety.

  She turned to the buffalo and nudged her horse forward. Motion. She needed to move. Needed to do something impetuous for once. And Beaver had said these wouldn’t hurt a horse, right?

  The gelding hesitated when Susanna reined her between the first two buffalo—on one side a cow with her calf tucked close, and on the other a mid-sized buffalo, maybe a yearling or a two-year-old, if these animals grew at the same rate as cattle.

  Susanna nudged the horse forward, and it picked its way through the herd. The buffalo nearest her raised their heads to stare, and with those creatures eyeing them with lowered horns, she could see why the horse hesitated. But they pushed their way through, and most of the herd proved gentle, and even somewhat afraid of this intruder to their peaceful grazing.

  Beaver Tail waded through the beasts just behind her. The ever present shadow. And she couldn’t deny the sense of security his presence provided. She had the pistol she kept tucked in her waistband in case any of the animals charged, but she’d rather not have to use it. Would the smaller caliber gun even affect these massive creatures? Surely it would be enough at close range.

  Unless all that matted hair stopped the bullet before it could penetrate the flesh. She eyed one particularly wooly beast that stared back at her, its dark eyes almost covered by the hair curled tight over its face. A flap of extra skin hung below its jowls, a feature most of the other buffalo didn’t share.

  “He’s one of the bulls. A young one, from the looks of him.”

  She had to force herself not to tense at Beaver’s quiet words. In the world of cattle, bulls were much fiercer than mild-mannered cows. “Is he dangerous?” She shouldn’t have pushed her horse through all these unknown animals. Even though she was feeling reckless, it wasn’t fair to put the horse in harm’s way.

  “More unpredictable than the others. I’ve never seen them attack, but probably best not to push him.”

  She looked back at Beaver Tail, and the gravity in his expression made her midsection churn. She never should have brought this gentle gelding into the herd, and now, they needed to work their way back out posthaste.

  “Turn and ride past me. I’ll stay until you’re out of the herd so he doesn’t think we’re running and come after us.” Beaver’s voice held a quiet strength, a tone that inspired confidence in his abilities.

  She should let him retreat and keep herself as the guardian until he and his gelding had exited the herd. But she hated to put her horse in danger, too. And Beaver would know better how to conduct himself to keep the buffalo from reacting.

  She turned and followed his instructions, careful not to meet his gaze as she rode past him. Their legs brushed in the close confines of the surrounding buffalo. Her focus jerked to his face against her better judgement.

  He didn’t spare her a glance, just stared straight ahead, his jaw carved from stone. He must blame her for putting them in danger. Why hadn’t he stopped her before she entered the herd? He’d let her go in, only staying nearby as that ever-present shadow.

  Of course, his rifle lay across his lap, ready for any sign of danger. Ready to protect.

  Beaver Tail could barely contain his frustration with himself. He shouldn’t have let Susanna ride along with him from the beginning.

  Spending time with a woman always got him in trouble. He knew better than to think this time would be any different. Back at the camp, when she’d held him with those mesmerizing eyes, he’d let his foolish hope lead when he should have used his head and told her to stay in safety with the others.

  The bull buffalo growled, a deep guttural sound powerful enough to reach far across the plain. The buffalo around them raised their heads, a restless energy shifting through the herd. Beaver’s gelding shuffled backward, loosing a nervous snort as it bobbed its head.

  Beaver glanced behind him to see where Susanna was. She and her mount had almost reached the edge of the herd.

  When he turned back to the bull buffalo, the animal was pawing the ground. Not good.

  Another fierce rumble echoed from the beast, louder than before, and Beaver spun his horse to retreat. The animal might charge any second. He’d seen bull buffaloes face off in battle, and the power they wielded could mortally wound his horse. Or him, if he were thrown from his gelding and exposed to the beast’s wrath.

  The milling buffalo had closed off the gap Susanna opened as she rode out. Cows bellowed and calves answered in pitiful bleats. A group about twenty strides away began to scuffle, one cow attempting to climb over another in an effort to reach its calf.

  The bull growled again, and the sound echoed like thunder. But no. That wasn’t the reverberation from the bull. Hundreds of hooves began to thud over the ground as the herd shifted around him.

  No. Maybe if he stayed still, the bull would quiet down. The herd wouldn’t stampede.

  But like water rushing around stones in a riverbed, the buffalo moved toward Susanna, sliding around her, picking up speed. She turned to Beaver Tail with a look on her face that was pure fear.

  As the b
uffalo broke into a jog, then a lope, Susanna’s mare whinnied, and his own mount responded with a high-pitched neigh. He gripped his reins tighter as his horse danced a nervous shuffle, then he freed one hand to raise a palm to Susanna. Stay still. He didn’t dare yell loud enough to be heard above the thunder of hooves.

  But she seemed to understand his meaning. She looked like fear had frozen every part of her, but she held her horse still, even though the mare pawed and jerked at the reins to escape the animals clambering around it.

  Soon the herd would pass and they’d be safe. Thankfully, the buffalo in back of the herd hadn’t reached a full run like those in the front had now. The bull must be somewhere in the midst, driving his herd forward.

  But…no. Realization slammed over him. The stampede was running straight for the rest of their group. Susanna’s father. Joel. Would any of them see the herd coming? Could they get out of the way in time?

  Just once, he wished there was truly a Great Spirit who could step in and control the uncontrollable. An all-powerful being who could pluck his friends out of the path of the buffalo. And while he was at it, maybe that being could heal Susanna’s father.

  But there was no such spirit, and if Beaver Tail could have any hope of helping the others, he’d have to get there in time.

  As the stragglers loped around him, he dug his heels into his gelding’s side and turned the animal toward the edge of the herd closest to the river. The buffalo were smart enough to give a little room between their running and the edge of the cliff leading down to the water. He could use that space to get ahead of the animals. Maybe he could get to the others in time.

  Weaving around the calves who darted in front of him was frustrating, but he kept his horse at a run slow enough to dodge the obstacles. If his horse stumbled over one of them and went down, there was no way he’d reach the men. He couldn’t risk it.

  His mind raced ahead, remembering the image of Joel lying on the ground, Wilkins looking so pale and weak, he probably couldn’t get out of the way of the buffalo even if he were given warning.

  He’d need help.

  Would Caleb and French have the presence of mind to get the weaker ones out of the way? Surely they would. All the men were capable—in mind, if not in body at the present.

  He’d covered half the distance when a glance sideways caught the blur of a horse and rider behind him.

  Susanna. Of course, he should have expected her to ride hot on his heels. She would be there when her father needed her, or she’d die trying.

  He couldn’t let that last part happen.

  Chapter 16

  Ahead, the cliff edge had eroded farther than at other places, narrowing the space Beaver Tail could ride through. He’d have to slow down and nudge the buffalo out of the way. The animals had increased their speed, fear hurdling them forward in a frantic, thundering wave.

  As he neared the spot, he reined his gelding in. The animal fought the hold at first, but finally eased down to a trot as the buffalo thundered past. The space between the crumbled cliff edge and the animals wasn’t wide enough to support a horse. And the way the buffalo tore by, the animals wouldn’t pay enough attention to make them slow. Maybe he should try jumping the opening. But it stretched farther than the length of his horse, and he couldn’t count on the gelding making the leap.

  And Susanna. He couldn’t let her try such a feat. Couldn’t even let her think it was an option. Of course, she certainly wouldn’t stop here and leave her father to whatever fate befell him. The front of the herd had probably already reached the men. With all the dust the animals raised, it was hard to tell.

  But his friends might need help still, and the sooner Beaver reached them, the sooner he could give aid.

  When he reached the narrow place, he reined his gelding to a stop. Within seconds, Susanna pulled her own mount in behind him.

  “I’m going to push my horse into the herd. When there’s enough room, move quickly past this place.” He motioned toward the cliff’s edge.

  “The buffalo will run you down. They’re so panicked they can’t see anything.” They were both yelling over the din from the herd, and Susanna’s shoulders heaved as she struggled for air.

  They didn’t have time to waste arguing, and there wasn’t another way for her to pass through in relative safety. He moved his horse a few lengths before the shortened edge, then pushed his heel against the animal’s side to shift it into the path of the buffalo. The horse didn’t budge, for there was no way to push over the wall of rushing animals. He’d have to move them first.

  He spun to face the oncoming animals, then waved a hand in the air. “Yah!” Using his highest pitch, he broke into the war whoop he’d been taught a dozen years ago. “Yah, yah, yah!”

  The piercing cry worked. The buffalo shied away from him, and he pushed his horse into the path they’d taken just seconds before. He had to keep up the cry, so he couldn’t turn to make sure Susanna was following orders, but he had to trust she was.

  When he’d given enough time for her to get past the narrow spot, he spun his horse and dug in his heels, spurring the animal into a run so they weren’t trampled once the buffalo veered back into a straight line.

  Susanna galloped ahead of him, her horse charging in a full run as they closed the distance between them and the camp. He pushed his gelding hard, but Susanna still led him by a distance.

  He could see a form ahead—the tree they’d sat beside. The buffalo blocked his view of anything underneath its branches. But then a motion near the cliff caught his attention. A cluster of men and animals. Were they all there? He couldn’t tell.

  As he neared, the figures grew clearer. The man kneeling must be Joel. Behind him stood French with two horses. Further back in the row, Caleb’s tall head reached above the others, and several horse bodies shifted around.

  Since the men weren’t frantic, did he dare hope Wilkins was somewhere there, safe?

  Susanna reached the group and flew from her horse. “Where’s my father?”

  He couldn’t understand the men’s response, but she charged past them, moving dangerously close to the stampeding buffalo as she maneuvered around the men. Beaver Tail finally reached them and pulled his horse to a stop, slipping to the ground in the same movement.

  “Is anyone hurt?” He didn’t stop to check each of the men as he followed the same path Susanna had, just waited for a spoken response.

  “We all got out of the way in time.” Caleb’s voice rose above the buffalo’s thundering.

  Thank the heavens above. He reached Susanna, who knelt beside her father at the cliff’s edge.

  He was coughing, probably from the dust that hung thick in the air. Even though the man had turned away from the cloud, it was impossible not to breathe the mess. He might find a little better breathing if he could stand so he was higher off the ground, but the way the coughing wracked every part of his body, he didn’t look able to rise.

  The buffalo behind them were thinning now, and the last fragments of the herd would soon be trotting by. The old and weak, exactly the kind wolves sought. Thankfully, no wolf howls had sounded in recent nights.

  As the noises around them quieted, Wilkins’s cough hadn’t yet lessened. It tore from him in gasping bursts, as though his insides were working their hardest to spew out of him. The man surely couldn’t breathe with the coughs gripping his body so fully, and with each blow, he seemed to lean farther toward the edge of the cliff. If he lost control of his body, he’d topple.

  Beaver dropped to his knees beside the man, opposite where Susanna knelt. He gripped Wilkins’s arm, just in case his body gave way beneath him. Should he thump the man’s back? Susanna wasn’t doing that, and Wilkins seemed so frail, even a gentle pat seemed like it might break something within.

  At last, the coughing slowed, allowing short breaths in between. Each inhale sounded loud and rasping in the quiet around them—the aftermath of the stampede. Something inside Wilkins’s chest gurgled as he worked to
take more breaths. The man was truly ill—more than a bit of marshmallow root could remedy.

  Finally, the cough subsided completely, and Wilkins seemed to wilt.

  “Come lie down, Pa. Rest a few minutes.” Susanna’s voice was so gentle, it surely soothed some of the pain shadowing his face.

  Wilkins nodded, then shifted backward on his knees. He looked over at his daughter and patted her leg with such a loving expression, pain struck in Beaver’s chest. He’d never seen such a bond as what linked this man and his daughter. He was glad Susanna had this connection with her father, but if Beaver wasn’t careful, watching them would crack the cover he’d long ago tightened over his own longings.

  “Here is water for you.” French appeared beside them and held out a canteen to Wilkins. The older man took it, yet seemed too exhausted to raise the flask to his lips. Susanna cupped her hand around her father’s and lifted it for him.

  “The ground is a dusty mess around that tree where we were, what with all those hooves marching through. Might be best just to stretch out right here.” Caleb kicked aside a clump of dirt to clear a smooth spot where Wilkins could lie.

  After another drink of water, Susanna helped her father recline. Beaver stayed by the man’s other side in case he was needed, but father and daughter worked together as if they’d accomplished the task often.

  Beaver glanced around the area. The day was only half over, but it might be best if they stayed until tomorrow morning. Wilkins couldn’t sit a horse in his weakened state, and Joel hadn’t risen from where he knelt, either.

  Both needed rest.

  He cut his gaze to French, who met his look with a knowing nod. “I’ll take the horses to unsaddle and let them graze. I’ll unpack supplies for the night, oui?”

  “Oui.” Beaver nodded.

  Susanna swung around to stare at him, her gaze almost frightened. “Are you certain?”