He doubted he had been seen or he would already be shot. He was well within bow range and knew, should he give himself away by changing position, he would be equally vulnerable. It was then he remembered the rescue of his wife, and the hoot of an owl used by the raider’s sentry. Should this one be of that same people, he might catch him off guard by such a call. Slowly, he drew his bow to its full reach then made the sound of a hunting owl, concentrating on the place he thought he’d seen movement. The dark form under the tree surprised him by rising to one knee to extend his head and revealing his wolf-skin hood.
The leader let fly the arrow and heard the faint thud of a body hit. Without moving from the spot he nocked yet another arrow and waited. Only when he heard the deep rattle of a lung shot did he move, keeping brush and trees between him and the dying spy. As he crept closer he could see the man was as good as dead, and cautiously continued toward the place he thought he had last seen movement. His friend lay at the base of a tree, shot twice; the last a solid hit. The first cry probably escaped him when he was shot the first time…or the call had been from the wolf––cunning and quick to deceive as were all his tribe. The killer knew he could not be far behind the foraging party and possibly thought to lure someone to the aid of the dying tracker. The man’s cloak hung in a tree to move in the breeze and, if only for an instant be a distraction. This spy was skilled…and deadly but the raiders would never know his fate or where he lay. The villagers would come back in the spring to bury this clansman he must now leave behind.
Daylight was only hours away and he jogged up the ridge, to recover his pack and follow the others. The party left a clear path for him to follow, making his way faster. He was sure now that he would catch them before daylight. There might still be a chance to reach the village unchallenged.
The first gray lines of dawn outlined the mesa to the east and the wind, previously from the south, began clocking around to the west, then to the north. The temperature dropped and the trail turned to ice. Loaded with meat and wood the way down would make for treacherous work, and if they didn’t hurry, the coming dawn would make them easy targets on the cliff’s narrow trail.
~~~~~~
The wolves were waiting for word from their spy before moving on the settlement. They posted an extra lookout down-canyon. This should allow enough warning to reposition their ambush if necessary. Being caught between the returning foragers and those left guarding the village might be a fatal mistake. The alcove was a difficult bow shot from their place in the canyon––but not so hard from the villagers vantage above; that had to be taken into account.
The original plan was to bide their time and figure some way to get past the blocked entrance. They could see now that might come at a heavy price. Should the provisions make it through to bolster the cliff dwellers’ morale, further attempts at dislodging them would probably prove futile. Then they would have to move on and hope for easier prey. That way would take them south and farther from their own country. Whatever spoils they might gain would be hard to transport north to those who remained on the brink of starvation.
They could not wait too long for a chance at these little people who lived high in the rocks and defended their homes so fiercely. If the sentry down-canyon should bring word of the foraging party’s return they would lie in wait, take them by surprise in the depths of the canyon. They might then have provisions enough to wait out these villagers, left with no hope of rescue.
~~~~~~
Just as the boy finally caught up with his companions, the breaking dawn brought a glow to the treetops along the edge of the mesa. At the rim the foragers readjusted their loads for the dangerous descent. The moon fell behind the distant mountains, leaving the canyon shrouded in mists rising from the void, still dark, and in shadows. The boy did not mention the fate of their tracker, but the others sensed the worst and looked down into the foreboding darkness with growing doubt. Even in good weather it was not an easy trail down, with the ice it seemed impossible. Still hidden in shadow, and out of bow-range from below, they could not be targeted until crossing the narrow trail to the alcove. Though the lower reaches of the canyon lay in darkness they knew eyes were watching, waiting for that first glimpse of someone on the trail above.
~~~~~~
From the small lookout tower the young wife also watched the trail skirting the face of the cliff. When she heard the rattle of pebbles thrown down to the alcove as a warning, she signaled to the little girl down below. The foraging party had returned and she must alert those in the kiva to come slide back the stone, and prepare themselves for battle should it come to that. Those called on to fight this day would surely be remembered for many generations…should any be left to tell of it.
~~~~~~
In the first glimmer of dawn, the wolves’ lookout discovered the ruse; knew the foraging party had tricked them by coming across the mesa. Now the raiders’ only hope was to catch the heavily loaded men as they started across the rock face. They must hurry if they were to fall in behind them on the trail––pick off the heavily loaded foragers one by one as they reached that dangerously narrow section before the alcove. A villager would pull back the stone slab and if the wolves were quick they might force their way in. They were bigger and stronger than these little people, and even more desperate. The foragers’ unexpected arrival from above might be more of an opportunity than they first imagined and they now intended to make the most of this new opportunity.
The lingering darkness sheltered those coming in from the top, but offered even more protection for the raiders in the deep shadows of the canyon. They gave themselves over to instinct, doing what wolves do best, moving cautiously, pausing often to listen for the slightest movement…anything that might signal the approach of the descending party. They must wait and catch the returning party stretched out ahead of them on the icy and treacherous trail across the cliff. Should dawn catch the wolves on their way up and in view of the alcove, it might go badly for them. They learned the hard way to avoid going below the alcove––only the day before they had approached too near hoping to shoot arrows into the village. The defenders had prepared for just such an attack, staying just out of sight, the women and old men rained down stones on the interlopers, and quickly drove them away. One of the wolves suffered a broken arm, leaving them short yet another fighting man.
The spy originally sent to follow the foragers and report back had still not returned and they were certain now he had been intercepted. That tracker had been the best of their warriors and the very one who tracked these people to their nest. He felt certain it was these farmers who had wiped out some of their fiercest warriors only months before. When their bodies were discovered it was first not believed possible. The sign showed only two of these farmers killed them. This stirred a frenzy that led the wolves to rampage south, leaving terrible devastation in their wake. The settlements were shown no mercy, nor were prisoners taken; the last thing they needed were more mouths to feed.
Their injured man was sent to an overlook where he discovered there were only women and old men left. With a little luck they would wreak a deadly reckoning on these farmers.
When finally they heard the first of the descending foragers, cautiously edging their way down the steep and icy path, the leader of the wolves turned with an upraised finger, signing the party must be allowed out on the narrowest part of the trail before moving in for the kill. The heavily laden farmers would be unable to turn and fight. There could be no mistake this time…there would be no second chance.
~~~~~~
On the mesa’s rim it was decided the three men who carried the packs of venison should go first, followed by those with the bulkier loads of wood which might be less manageable on the worst of the trail. They would have left the wood behind at the top but knew how badly it was needed for the kiva, where all might take some comfort from it in the coming weather. Should something make this impossible the wood haulers were instructed to release their loads, letting them f
all to the bottom of the cliff, where they might later be recovered. Their leader left his load at the top, so he might better provide cover for the others. When he reached a switchback he knew would allow a view of the cliff-face, he stopped and prepared to defend his companions at all cost.
Daybreak came slowly, creeping over the rim to penetrate the mist shrouded nooks and crannies. The boy could not see the lower trail, and only bits and pieces of the upper trail. He could see across to the village, the stone barrier still in place. He was sure his young wife was watching and heard their earlier signal; there would be people prepared to move the stone slab blocking the entrance. He was certain the wolves would be on them at first light and only a great familiarity with the trail allowed his own men to move ahead in near darkness. His people had a reputation for their agility on these rocky canyon ledges, but even they had second thoughts, especially those with bundles of wood that might catch on an overhang and send the packer to the bottom.
Three of the first four were nearly to the stone barrier, already being pushed aside. An old man, known to have been very good with a bow, had taken a position in the little guard tower alongside the boy’s wife. She stationed herself beside a pile of stones and was prepared to use them. She heard her husband’s shouted warning as the first of the raiders emerged from hiding and sent an arrow among the helpless group on the trail. It was a long shot and the arrow fell short, striking the load of wood carried by the fourth in line. In an instant that man slipped out of his tumpline and edged the pack against the wall, using it as a precariously balanced shield. He eased his bow from the side of the pack and prepared to send an arrow in return but could see nothing in the distant shadows.
The old man watching from the tower spotted the attacker and sent an arrow his way. The range was hard to judge in the early dawn and his missile, too, was low, and only caught that warrior in the knee, enough to cause the raider to lose balance. Although a hand was seen to reach out to him, the man tumbled off the ledge to the rocks below. The wood hauler, behind his pack, loosed his arrow at the dark space where the hand reached out. There was a faint yelp on the wind but the shooter could not know what had come of his effort. He did not dare push the bundle of wood off the ledge. That would leave him defenseless. The man knew it would be only a matter of seconds until another wolf took the place of the first. The three men with the more manageable packs of venison were nearly to the barrier when the first was hit low in the back yet stumbled toward the now open entrance to the village. He was nearly there when hit again, this time in the lower leg and narrowly missed falling as he was pulled inside.
Their young leader crouched on the upper trail, still unable to see the attackers behind their spur of rock. Another arrow was launched at those on the narrow trail to the alcove. This shot skittered harmlessly off the rock wall and the second of the packers was now safe inside the barrier. Yet another shot came, but only stuck in the pack of venison before the third and last load of meat was inside and secure. Still there was the wood hauler, trapped in the middle of the most dangerous portion of the trail. The rest of the foragers held back, temporarily hidden in the shadows of an overhang. Despite the slightly wider ledge there, they too, had little room to maneuver and were forced to hunker down, taking what shelter they could behind their unwieldy packs.
The boy had taken this trail to work in the fields each day, and was aware of a narrow fissure––one splitting the cliff just below the trail. He had often wondered how hard it would be to access the lower portion of the trail in this way, possibly even reach that section lying behind the attackers. It would be a dangerous thing to attempt under the best of conditions, but now, with snow and ice and in poor light, it seemed impossible. Even if he could work his way down quietly enough to remain undetected, he still was uncertain what he might do against so deadly a force. The boy knew in his heart there was no other way. He could only make his way back to the cleft hoping memory had served him correctly and this way down would provide a solution.
As the boy peered into the crevice he was glad there was not light enough to see what he was getting into. Securing his bow and quiver to his back, he eased himself down into the opening using his outstretched arms and feet to bridge the gap between the ragged walls. In only minutes there would be enough light to make the work easier…but that would make him a target as well. He had worked his way down only a few yards when a misjudged foothold caused him to slip and lose his icy hold. For a moment he thought he was finished. Only by jamming one arm and shoulder into the narrowest part of the crack could he keep from sliding into oblivion. It took almost a full minute to recover his courage, reset his foot and continue feeling his way down the fissure. Only a little farther and he should be in position to make the short leap back to the lower trail. One slip, or the dislodging of a single stone could spell death at this point, and only the knowledge that going back was impossible drove him on.
The last few yards were easier than expected and the ledge, when it appeared, more generous than remembered. The pale gray light of dawn was beginning to suffuse the nether reaches of the canyon, and while he could not yet see the enemy, he thought he could feel their presence––occasionally thinking he could detect the scent of them. That might only have been his imagination, but the breeze was in his favor, and that alone lent credence to the thought. If the raiders were still where he’d marked them he should now be almost directly above. It was then the boy noticed a large piece of sandstone, sitting almost balanced on the edge of the precipice. It occurred to him, that should he put his back against the wall and push with his feet, he might dislodge the stone and send it over the brink. The question was, would it come crashing down on his enemies, or if he misjudged, fall harmlessly to one side. Either way, his men would be no worse off, and with a little luck just the distraction might allow the trapped wood hauler to retreat to safety. Then too, should the rock-fall cause the raiders to move even a short distance in either direction there was the chance one or more might come into view and provide a decent target.
When the great stone finally gave way and fell, one of the raiders was actually struck by the rock. The man had moved forward to attempt another shot at the trapped wood-hauler when he was wiped off the face of the cliff. The ensuing rockslide caused the remainder of the raiders to retreat in fear…and as they did, the boy was ready. The first raider to fall went to his knees with an arrow in his back and he rolled off the ledge. The next, hit in the side, tried to turn and go back but his companions’ panic carried them forward and another was struck, but this time by an arrow from one of the wood-haulers shooting from above.
As they pushed and shoved to escape, the retreating enemy came into full view of those still on the trail above making them easy targets. Before the raiders were out of range several more were hit and mortally wounded. Only one of the wolves had the presence of mind to turn and shoot back. He was lucky and killed a wood-hauler before taking an arrow himself. Probably none of the raiders were left unscathed, and the boy doubted those few who made it back to their own country would ever return. In time, there would be others, but for now the villagers knew they had chosen a good place to settle and had new confidence in their ability to defend it. Should they have a wet spring they would prosper in this canyon and the stories passed down would tell of this day and the hard won victory over these…wolves of winter.
14
Provenance
Charlie Yazzie sat reviewing the latest report from the FBI. The investigation into the death of James Erdric had taken a turn, one that warranted further study. The Legal Services Investigator held to his task but was well aware he was being watched.
Harley Ponyboy and Thomas Begay stood at the front desk waiting for some sign they could come on back. The receptionist tried engaging Harley in the sort of light conversation they enjoyed on his previous visit, but he only answered in one or two syllables and kept his main attention on the glass door of Charlie’s office. The pair had something of a bone t
o pick with the Tribal investigator and were growing impatient.
Thomas muttered, “We’ll give him another couple of minutes and then we’re going on back. There’s no sense in keeping us waiting like this.”
Harley nodded. “It’s probably something pretty important––but I don’t see no reason we should have ta stand out here when we could be sitting there in his office more comfy and all.”
“Harley, its more than just being ‘comfy,’ it’s a matter of trust. We’re his best friends and treating us like we’re common walk-in strangers is just not right.”
The receptionist, glancing at Harley from time to time, was trying to figure out why he wasn’t hitting on her like before. She was thinking she might initiate a little something herself when the buzzer told her it was too late. She frowned. “You boys can go on back… Investigator Yazzie will see you now.”
Wolves of Winter: A Navajo Nation Mystery Page 13