He stepped back, slipped one hand free of its mitten, placed the barrel of the rifle behind her ear, squeezed his eyes tight, and pulled off one shot.
With a short chuffing sound, she crumpled. The sharp boom cracked apart the cold air. Without looking at the female he’d spent the last seven years with, Josiah cursed and shook the Henry at the gunmetal sky.
“Have ye took enough from me yet? Or is there more?” A bitter laugh echoed in the unearthly stillness. “Better not be, cause I ain’t got much more to give ye but this tough old hide. Reckon you’ll be seein’ it soon enough.”
Back in the shelter, he made a pack of what he could carry: frozen chunks of the elk he’d brought down a couple days ago, plus a bundle of jerky, hardtack, tattered blankets, the hide from the elk plus some other furs he carried for warmth, a leather water pouch, and his parfleche that contained cartridges, a striking stone, pencil and paper, a sliver of lye soap and his razor and strop. If he made it till spring, he’d surely take a fit to scrape his face.
Fitting the coonskin hat snugly over his head and ears, he shouldered the heavy pack, picked up the rifle, and moved out into the clearing. The rising sun stirred a brutal north wind laced with tiny pellets of ice, and he faced into it, staring in the direction of the Red Cloud Agency. Imagined a summer’s day when he could easily walk it and be there for supper. Tried to remember how sunshine felt on his face. None of it made him the least bit warmer.
In weather like this his danged feet would likely freeze plumb off before he got to the agency, maybe his hands too. Could be he might talk some trapper friend into putting a bullet in his brain like he’d done for old Peg. Or better yet, maybe he’d just lay down on the trail a’fore that could happen and go to sleep. They said it was a peaceful death, curling up in a snow bank.
Oh, well. Time to get moving.
Sparing a last glance toward the shelter and the dark mound of Peg’s still form, he headed out, carrying on a running conversation with himself now that he no longer had the mare to talk to.
****
They never truly got started on the long walk to Fort Robinson before Stone Heart realized he was going to have to teach A’den how to walk or she’d never make it. She minced along beside him like she wore a tight corset and a pair of those dreadful high-heeled shoes, the ones she’d had on when he met her.
Impatiently, he hooked her around the waist with one arm, lifted her out of the snow.
Kicking and flailing, she shouted at him. “Hey, let go.” She pried at his arm, to no avail.
He shook her like a sack of feed. “Relax, stop fighting.”
“I will if you’ll put me down. You scared me. What’re you doing?”
“Trying to stop you from wearing yourself out.” He set her down. “You need to loosen up. Stop prissing along like something is about to break. I know it’s hard to get along where the drifts are so deep. Take long, easy strides and stand straight. Stop leaning forward and wiggling your...uh, waving your arms about. I will clear the way for you, if you will stay behind me.”
She swung and glared up at him, spoke through clenched teeth. “Well, you’re the Indian, not me. Nobody ever told me I’d have to learn to walk in snow up to my...my...” Narrowing her eyes, she finished with a whispered, “ass.”
He pretended not to hear, figured she was trying to annoy him, get back at him for pushing her around. She had a mouth on her and then some, but maybe he deserved it.
Still, he couldn’t stop a sharp retort. “And that same nobody forgot to let me know I’d be dragging some wailing white city woman through Nebraska in the middle of the winter.”
Hands on her hips, eyes shooting fire, she struggled but failed to get her mouth around a reply before he lit into her again.
“I should have left you behind and double-timed it to the fort. I could have sent somebody for you quicker than dragging you along.” He met her stunned gaze with a harsh one of his own. “And I still might do it if we can find a suitable shelter for you. We don’t have time to waste on you back-talking me.”
She swung her arm in a wide arc. “Well, then, just go on. I’m a woman grown, and if I have an opinion I guess I can state it. You...you arrogant son of a—”
He wagged a finger under her nose. “That fire will get you in trouble. Now cool down and listen to me. Out here I know more than you, and it’s time you admitted it. You either keep up or I leave you. And you are not keeping up.”
Her chin began to quiver and the challenge went out of her eyes to be replaced by a wild terror. Her voice dropped so low he could scarcely hear her over the wind.
“Don’t you dare leave me out here. I’ll keep up. Just march on, and see if I don’t.”
A gust of wind whipped around and caught her hair. Her nose was red and tears she refused to shed stood in her green eyes.
Such a stubborn woman, and that only made her all the more attractive. He wanted to take her in his arms, break through that tough shell and explore her inner spirit. The urge ate at him and he fought it. Every time he rebuilt his own defenses, something like this would happen. He settled for reaching down and turning the thick collar of her coat up around her ears and adjusting the small blanket draped over her head. “Wish I’d had a hat for you.”
She sniffed and nodded. “You won’t leave me. I’d die, and then where would you be?”
“No, I won’t let you die.” A dire warning rose in his chest like the fluttering of buzzards’ wings. Suppose he couldn’t prevent it? They could both very well die out here, and him with nothing to say about it.
Snugging deeper into his own coat, he turned his back to her and the brutal wind. That kind of thinking had no place here if they were to make it.
It was better to put a growl in his voice and not be too gentle. Keep her riled and fighting back. “Don’t fall behind. If we walk fast we will stay warm. The sun will not shine today.”
Earlier he’d eyed the roiling clouds far off to the west and feared they would bring snow from the mountains before nightfall. If that happened, they had little chance of making it to Fort Robinson alive.
He could hear her moving along behind him, and the irate words she threw at his back. “I couldn’t move fast enough to ever be warm again.”
Keeping her angry could be the only thing that would save her life. He’d seen right quick that she hated being bested by a man. Had something to prove, he guessed, considering the actions of the last man in her life.
They trudged south across the flat lands, keeping to the windswept patches, leaving the Black Hills behind. Far ahead lay the high bluffs that looked down on the White River Valley and Fort Robinson. A day’s walk on a sunny, clear day. That was not to be their fortune.
Dark clouds had cut their trail even as they got away from the soddie that morning, snuffing out the weak sunlight before it reached its apex. In the blustery wind, bits of sleet sniped at his skin. Filled the cold air with the taste and smell of the coming storm. He would have to find shelter and soon. They would not go much farther on this day. It was rougher going now that they’d left the flat lands. Downed wood littered the sloping ground and scraggly pines swayed against the gloomy sky. In the shadows under a stand of willow trees a slight movement caught his attention. A few antelope, trapped by winter’s ferocity, milled about, peeling bark from the pale trunks.
Cautiously, he stopped in the lee of a huge drift and loaded the trade musket, tamping the powder down with a silent prayer that it had not gathered too much moisture to fire. Adding a patch and ball he prepared the rifle and signaled A’den to duck down out of the wind. She appeared only too glad to obey, disappeared into the oversized coat until he could see nothing of her but the red blanket above a drift.
Favoring a stitch in his wounded side, he tried to forget how their survival depended solely on him, crept downwind of the small herd. If he could get in a good shot and hit one of the delicate animals, they would have food to last them to the fort. If not, his failure could well mean her death as well
as his own.
Raised in his mother’s village until he reached puberty, he’d learned to hunt with bow and arrow long before he ever fired the white man’s rifle. He considered himself only a fair shot with the black powder weapon, and the cheaply made trade musket would not be precise. He’d not fired it to know how it sighted in.
The area where the herd fed was free of drifts, and several dead trees lay around its perimeter, giving him the opportunity for some cover downwind of the game. The animals had nearly stripped the willows clean of bark and would soon move on. Unusual for them to be so far north this time of year. When he drew within range, he sank to one knee behind a fallen pine that had lodged at an angle among other debris. Only one of the animals showed a good target, and he steadied the long barrel against the rough bark to sight-in on its shoulder. Finger squeezing slowly, he held the heavy rifle steady, heard the hollow thunk of hammer hitting home and waited for the explosion of the powder that would send the lead ball on its way. Nothing happened. His heart sank. Dare he try again and have the damn thing blow up in his hands? Quickly, he thumbed back the hammer and fitted another percussion cap over the nipple.
The nearest antelope flicked its tail and turned to look toward him. He froze, held his breath and waited. Either they’d bolt or go back to eating. Now they all faced him, ears pricked, presenting no decent target. Gently, he let out his breath and waited some more. It paid to be patient.
Hunger must have overpowered their fear and curiosity, for one by one, they went back to peeling bark from the trees.
Slowly, carefully, he settled the stock against his shoulder, laid his cheek against it and aimed once more. On the verge of firing, his finger tightened over the trigger as a man staggered into the clearing, sending the small herd leaping into confused flight.
His first inclination was to shoot the fool. But much as he hated white men, he hadn’t yet eaten one, didn’t care that much for killing. Not like this. Damn rifle probably wouldn’t fire anyway. Still, in this kind of weather, it was better not to leave it loaded. Shaking with rage, he aimed above the man’s head and fired. An enormous boom shook the ground and knocked snow from the high pine branches.
The man shouted, sprawled to his belly, hands locked over his head.
Stone Heart trotted into the clearing under the pines, stared down at the man nearly covered in clumps of fallen snow. “I ought to’ve shot your blamed fool head off, scaring my game like that. What kind of man goes blundering around without paying attention to where he’s at?”
The man slowly raised his head and peered from eyes dark as sloe berries. Ice and snow clung to his thick beard and fur cap. “What are ye?”
Clearly this man presented no threat. “Who I am is Stone Heart, of the Cheyenne. What I am is none of your business. What are you doing out here running off my supper?”
The man gathered himself to his feet, staggering under a huge pack. Peered at Stone Heart. “Ye don’t look like no Cheyenne to me.”
Impatient rage must have shown on his face, for the man backed off a few steps and held up a mittened hand. “Sorry, it ain’t like me to be so careless, but I’ve been fighting this here weather and it’s addled me some. Lost my animals and was hoping to make it to the agency.” He arced a glance into the gloomy sky. “Don’t look like I will.”
He shifted his pack, stomped his feet and peered up into Stone Heart’s face. “Maybe I can make up for you losing your supper by offering you a share of mine. Got plenty of elk meat. In this here pack. What say we throw us up a shelter, gather some wood and settle in until this storm clears?”
A spit of icy pellets blasted Stone Heart’s cheeks, and he nervously eyed the threatening clouds. He didn’t want to share a shelter with this fool of a white man, but it looked as if there was little choice. Besides, he hadn’t tasted the sweet meat of elk in a long time.
“Hope you know more about building a lean-to than you do about getting along in the wilderness. I’ve got someone with me. I’ll fetch her while you find us a likely spot out of the wind.”
“A woman? You got a danged woman out here in this? What is she, a squaw?”
An inordinate rage roared through Stone Heart. He fisted the man’s coat under his chin, lifted him so his feet swung off the ground. “Talk like that’ll see you laying out here in the cold buck naked, mister. I could use those clothes you’re wearing and what’s in that pack as well, elk meat and all. Maybe I’ll scalp you and take that fine fur hat and those mittens, seeing you won’t need them anymore.”
The trapper trembled and nearly fell when Stone Heart set him back on the ground. “I didn’t mean nothing by it. You said you was Cheyenne. And I’ve always called Cheyenne women squaws. Meant no harm.” Before Stone Heart could take further offense, he held up a hand. “You go get your woman, and I’ll start cutting us some branches from these here pine trees for a shelter. I’ll even gather up some wood and start us a fire. How’ll that be? I apologize if I said anything wrong. I figure what we both want is to live through this. I’ll be glad to fight you another day. When it ain’t so blamed cold. How do you feel about that?”
Stone Heart actually felt sorry for the man, who was probably having as tough a time out here as he and A’den. Besides it was time to stop arguing and get under cover from the storm. Icy pellets thickened the air until it was hard to see. So he nodded curtly, and trotted off to fetch A’den.
His hand shook her from the burrow in which she daydreamed of another place far from there. Hunkered down under the blanket and buffalo coat her mind had been anywhere but in this remote and frigid land. She moved gracefully across a brightly lit dance floor, satin skirts billowing about her ankles as she waltzed in the arms of a handsome gentleman. Though her feet throbbed and shivers wracked her body, she imagined the heat from a mammoth fireplace, gazed with awe upon the glitter of candles in crystal chandeliers. Perhaps this hand touching her was only another partner begging for a dance.
The hand shook her again, and she moaned, returned to the wilderness from which there appeared to be no escape. If only he’d left her here a little longer she could have frozen to death and there’d be no more hunger and weariness to contend with.
“A’den, let’s go. We have to den up for the night. A storm’s brewing.”
She tried very hard to move, but had no strength left.
“I know you’re not dead,” he said and gathered her into his arms.
Sighing, she snuggled close against his chest, rested her head in the hollow of his shoulder. Perhaps this too was a dream. Maybe she had frozen to death and this was heaven. But with the painful throbbing in her feet and the hole in her stomach where food belonged, she very much doubted it.
Even after he set her down, she clung to him so that he had to pry her fingers loose. There was little left of her reserves and she feared even that was quickly fading. If he turned her loose this one last time, she might give up. She did so want to sleep. But suppose she did and when she awoke he was gone? He’d threatened as much earlier.
He shook her a couple of times, repeated her name. “Don’t go to sleep. You’re too cold. We have to build a shelter and a fire. This man has food. We’re going to make it. Don’t go to sleep.”
To reinforce the order, he pulled her to her feet. “Help me gather some branches so we can get a shelter built. The storm’s moving in fast.”
Though she groaned and pulled against him, he wouldn’t let her be. Finally she followed him into a thicket where he got busy cutting pine boughs which she gathered and dragged back to where the other man wove a sloped roof between two large pines.
By the time they had the shelter roofed and sided she could no longer feel her feet or hands. The storm had set in with a ferocity that stung the skin of her face and froze the blanket to her head. In the back of the shelter out of the wind and lashing sleet, the stranger built a fire and she hovered over it, hands held out to the warmth. If she ever got out of this place she was never, never coming back. Who could
possibly live this way? Who could even think of it?
The two men continued to work gathering firewood, and when they had piled up a huge stack of limbs and branches, went to work lashing together the final wall of the shelter that would enclose them completely. She could no longer do anything but hug the fire, and neither of them paid her any mind.
Dropping to her knees she begged the Blessed Mother for a merciful death that would release her from this torture. A delicious, almost forgotten aroma tickled her nostrils. Her stomach rolled, her mouth watered and she opened her eyes to search for the source of this smell. It surely must be her imagination.
Stone Heart and the stranger sat cross legged before the fire, each roasting chunks of meat over the flames. Outside the wind howled, and while it wasn’t exactly warm in the shelter, it was dry.
“Take off your moccasins and put your feet to the fire,” Stone Heart said without even looking at her. “This is Josiah Meeker, trapper and fool, but we’ll welcome him because he brings elk to the table.”
He sounded almost human, his light manner that of a nearly civilized man.
“It smells so good. I thought I’d died and gone to heaven.”
The stranger laughed. “That well may be our fate before this night is out. Listen to that wind. Good thing we’re in the shelter of these pines. And what might your name be, missus?”
“I’m Aiden Conner. Not missus, however.” Unwrapping her feet, she removed the soaked moccasins and stuck her toes close to the flames. Soon the initial pain was replaced by a soothing warmth and she wiggled them.
Josiah stared at the pale feet. “Hell, she ain’t no squaw. She’s a white woman.”
Stone Heart glared at the man, and Aiden glanced quickly from one to the other. Both were ready to do battle. If they fought in this tiny place it would be bad, but that’s precisely what they appeared to be about to do.
“I wish I was,” she said quickly. “Then at least I’d have me a tipi and a bed mate.”
Josiah crowed and Stone Heart shot them each a dark look, but he didn’t say anything. Maybe the battle had been forestalled, at least for the moment. Trapping this savage with two white people might be more than he could take. He could explode at any moment, skewer them with his knife, and take their scalps. The first chance she got she would warn Josiah not to bait Stone Heart. It wasn’t the wisest thing anyone could do. Whoever this man was, she for one was glad he had come along. The meat smelled wonderful, and though she had never eaten elk it couldn’t taste any worse than that ugly rat or that poor sweet little bunny. And besides, this meat came killed, skinned, gutted, and ready to cook.
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