Mountain Man (Book 2): Homecoming

by Jones, Nathan

  “Yeah,” Tom said sheepishly, pulling back just enough to smile down at her. She had to admit he looked happier than she'd ever seen him, which lit a warm fire in her. “Took my time, huh?”

  Kristy laughed and nuzzled his neck this time, finding it odd but enjoyable how soft and welcoming his stubble felt. “Better late than never.”

  “In that case, we should make up for lost time,” he said in a solemn voice. She felt her pulse quicken as he gently lifted her chin with his finger for another lingering kiss.

  This time it wasn't either of them who ended it. Instead, the moment was dashed by a youthful voice drifting their way from across the stream. “Ewww!”

  Kristy jerked backward, feeling her face turn scarlet in mortification as she whirled towards Skyler, who was staring up at them in disgust while Lisa giggled at his side. She shot her son a dire glare at his rudeness, but to her relief, Tom just laughed at the interruption.

  “Sorry,” she told him sheepishly.

  He grinned and wrapped an arm around her, pulling her close and starting down towards the stream with her. “Good to know he's got his head on straight and realizes girls are icky.”

  She transferred her glare to the mountain man and nudged his ribs with her elbow. “Oh really? Then I suppose that's the last time you want to do that?”

  His grin just widened. “Hey, I never said my head was on straight.”

  Kristy gave up, deciding she was happy he was comfortable enough with her to tease her, and that he was being a good sport about the embarrassing event. Although she was going to have to have a chat with Skyler about all this, make sure he understood what was going on with her relationship with Tom.

  She didn't want her son to think she was trying to replace Miles.

  Chapter Four

  Plans

  Over the next week, they made satisfying progress.

  The Hendricksons' cabin wasn't actually as big a job as Tom had feared. For one thing, the design was fairly simple and straightforward; like those log cabin toys he used to play with as a kid. All they had to do was cut a bunch of similarly sized logs to the same length, notch the ends, and then stack them on alternating parallel sides, planning to cut out the doors and windows later. The most complex part of it was switching off between stacking thick end and then thin end, so the entire structure didn't end up absurdly lopsided.

  Which wasn't to say the job wasn't labor-intensive, or frustrating at times. They had to cut down, limb, and smooth the logs, of which Tom estimated they'd need roughly fifty for the walls, and then they'd need to figure out what to do for the roof. Then the logs had to be moved, which was certainly a job in its own right. And notched, which was a surprisingly delicate task to make sure the notches were uniform so the logs fit snugly.

  By the time everything else was done, actually stacking the logs was the easy part.

  At least, it was until they realized just how hard it was to find logs of the same width and taper that were close enough to straight to be usable. The most frustrating and time intensive part of the entire job was actually finding enough logs that fit well together to make tight walls, ones that wouldn't require much chinking. To manage it they had to chop down far more tree than expected using their two axes and saw.

  They quickly had a pile of extra logs that were either too bent, too short, or not the proper width or taper. Those could either be chopped up for firewood, which you could never have too much of, or set aside for further construction projects.

  “Pity Emery doesn't have a sawmill,” Bob complained on the third day, after a fruitless half hour or so of trying to find the next log for the north wall that wouldn't leave a gap of at least three inches. Tom was of the opinion they'd probably have to take the one below it off to make it work, which didn't please either of them since they'd have to take logs off the east and west walls as well, to free it.

  “No need for a sawmill when everyone's still living in their houses from before the Ultimatum,” he replied, not minding the chance to take a break. “Only a handful of new houses have gone up in the last decade, unless of course, you count outhouses.”

  “Nobody does, they're just a necessary evil.” His friend smiled dourly. “You know the two things I've dreamed of most often, ever since the world went crazy and we were all tossed back into Old West living? A real, honest to goodness bacon cheeseburger like my dad used to serve up hot and juicy from the grill, and a heated room to take a dump in on cold winter nights.”

  “Hopefully not at the same time,” Tom said, deadpan. The younger man actually chuckled at that, showing a brief reprieve from the haunting specter of Newpost. A glimpse of what he might've been like before that nightmare.

  On the subject of outhouses, one of the first tasks to get done, even before finishing the Hendricksons' cabin, was putting up a double-stalled outhouse on the flat at the base of the path leading up to the winter lodge. Kristy had taken one look at the small outhouse Tom generally used only during the winter, then politely requested he burn it to the ground and bury the hole under a pile of dirt before getting started on a new one for everyone to use.

  They put in a good few hours the first day digging a trench for it, and grabbing castoff logs that were unsuitable for the cabin to make its walls. Skyler seemed to enjoy the digging, surprisingly enough, and even after they finished disappeared with one of the shovels to dig a secret hideout for himself, with Lisa soon joining him.

  Tom was a bit irked that the boy was abandoning the work, but since at the moment he and Bob were busy putting up walls he let the kids have a break.

  Along with the outhouse and the cabin, another priority was clearing the path up to the lodge and widening and smoothing out the holes where he'd put flat rocks for steps. Vicky had stumbled and nearly hurt herself the first day after their arrival, and Kristy wanted him to make improving the path a priority.

  A slightly less urgent task than those other projects, but still important, was building a place to house the animals: the Hendricksons' mule, and his and Kristy's horses. To say nothing of any future livestock they might buy for the ranch, or any foals Mary might have. So when they took a break from chopping trees at noon for lunch the fourth day, Tom wolfed his share down and then began pacing out the walls for a barn not far from where they had the cabin nearly completed.

  Bob soon joined him, although he frowned when Tom got to work marking dimensions that would make a structure far larger than would be needed for three animals. “Making it a bit big, aren't you?” his friend asked. “Not that I have any problem with our animals living in luxury while we're crammed into a cave and a matchbox, respectively.”

  Tom smiled in response. “Was planning for when we have more animals, actually.”

  His friend's frown deepened. “I suppose when Mary has a foal or two, a bit of extra space would be nice. But the way you're pacing this barn out, it looks like it could hold twenty horses.”

  “Yeah, that sounds about right.”

  Bob gave him a disbelieving look. “You're planning ahead for twenty horses?”

  “And cows. Maybe sheep or goats. Pigs.”

  The younger man snorted, shaking his head. “Not that I wouldn't love that, but Vicky and I are tight on funds even with the ounce and half of gold we got between us and Lisa for the sale of those trucks in Grand Junction. Minus what we paid for Cant and supplies for the trip home, of course.” Cant was what they called their mule, short for Cantankerous. A name he'd more than lived up to on the trip to Emery.

  Tom clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Goats are cheaper than cows, good for getting started. Anyway, if you'll bear with me about building this thing optimistically large, I guarantee with a bit of hard work we'll get it filled before too long.”

  This time Bob laughed outright. “Shoot, it's just backbreaking work. Better too big than too small . . . at least, that's what Vi-” the bantering words choked in his throat, as if he'd just reminded himself of the hell his wife had suffered. His face v
isibly paled, and he fell into a grim silence.

  Tom did his best to hide the surge of pity that filled him. The poor man already felt helpless enough; he needed to be encouraged to keep moving forward, not dwell on the past. So Tom kept the conversation going. “I figure we can hire on a few folks from the convoy to help out with a project this big. I'm sure Brandon would appreciate some work.”

  “Yeah, sure,” his friend said dully. He turned to walk away, not back to where the others were eating but to the tree he'd been working on felling before Tom called for a lunch break.

  There were a couple of familiar routines apart from the usual day's work that Tom followed, which provided a welcome reprieve from backbreaking work. The first was going out early each morning to check the snares and occasionally bag a deer when the opportunity presented itself.

  He kept bringing Skyler along, and although the boy complained about the early hour Tom had a feeling he enjoyed it. The kid even worked up the nerve to help with the gutting, skinning, and portioning the meat from the rabbits and other critters they snared. He wasn't up to deer yet, but he was learning quick and Tom had a feeling he would be before long.

  He taught Skyler other things along the way when the opportunity presented itself, survival skills like recognizing animal sign and keeping an eye out for potential threats on the slopes around them. All the hard-earned knowledge he'd won battling to survive all these years, passed on to a young mind eager to soak it all up.

  Tom also, taking heed to Kristy's urging about how their diet was a bit thin with only meat and grains, showed the boy all the edible plants he'd discovered over the years. He also showed him what plants to avoid as poisonous by using the obvious warning signs, such as shiny leaves, leaves growing in patterns of three, milky sap, seeds in a pod, spines, fine hairs, thorns, almond or root beer scents, etc.

  “Is it safe to eat if other animals eat it?” Skyler asked.

  He hesitated. “Sometimes. But there are some plants that some animals can eat that are poisonous for us, so you have to be careful. In a pinch, though, it's a good test. The better one is the universal edibility test.”

  He spent the next few minutes talking the boy through how to find a plant that was abundant enough to make testing it worthwhile, then separate it by its components: the stem, root, bud, flower, fruit, and leaf. Then he showed how to test each for toxicity by first fasting for eight hours, which probably wouldn't be an issue in a survival situation, then crushing it and rubbing it on the skin, ideally the inner elbow or wrist, then waiting another eight hours to check for a reaction.

  The next step was to cook the plant component if possible, or if not settle for raw, and rub a small piece on the outside of the lips for around five minutes, paying close attention to any reactions such as tingling or swelling. Then you put it in your mouth without chewing or swallowing and let it sit on your tongue for about fifteen minutes, again checking carefully for a reaction. Next, you chewed it for about fifteen minutes without swallowing. If there was still no reaction you could finally swallow it.

  At that point, you waited another eight hours to make sure there was no bad reaction such as cramps, nausea, vomiting or diarrhea, or anything else. If there were no bad reactions you could then eat a slightly larger amount, about a quarter of a cup, and wait another eight hours. At that point, finally, you could assume it was safe to eat.

  “That takes forever,” Skyler complained.

  “So does being dead,” Tom replied dryly. “Although if you're lucky you'll just end up violently sick for a few days and wish you were.” He tousled the boy's hair and got back to listing edible plants, showing any he found.

  Setting snares, cleaning the animals they caught, and learning about edible plants weren't the only survival skills they worked on during those morning trips out into the mountains. Tom taught Skyler anything that came to mind as they did their rounds with the snares, of course, but the boy was impatient to learn things that would be more useful in a fight. He started pushing for Tom to teach him more along those lines the third morning they went out.

  Tom had left Skyler to set a snare while he investigated deer sign nearby, and on the way back he was observing his usual cautious habits when it came to moving through the mountains. Although if pressed, he'd admit he might've been trying extra hard to be stealthy to show off a bit, ghosting up to where Skyler was busily working without being noticed.

  Just for fun, he even tried approaching from the direction the boy was facing to see if he could manage it. He almost did; around six feet away, Skyler finally looked up and spotted him, then jumped halfway out of his skin with a surprised shout.

  “Wow, I didn't see or hear you until you were right on top of me!” he said, sounding awed. “How did you do that?”

  Tom smiled slightly. “Years of practice.”

  The boy thought that over for a second. “Then I should get started right away, shouldn't I?” He glanced at the snare, then gave him a pleading look. “Like, right now?”

  It was hard to say no to that kind of reasoning. Besides, they could set snares and learn woodcraft at the same time. Tom nodded and dropped into a couch, motioning for Skyler to join him. When the kid opened his mouth he curtly motioned for him to be quiet. “What do you hear?” he whispered.

  Skyler listened intently for fifteen or so seconds. “Birds, squirrels. Wind in distant trees. Branches rustling.” He paused and smiled. “Your breathing.”

  “Good. And are those noises loud, or quiet?”

  The boy shrugged. “Some are loud, some are quiet.”

  “But it's never completely quiet, is it,” Tom said more than asked. He got a hesitant headshake in response. “You'd be surprised at how adept our ears are at picking up sounds. But everything we hear, we hear around, over, or even beneath other sounds. Our brain is constantly filtering out ambient, innocuous noises so it can draw our attention to ones that might be important.”

  Skyler's brow furrowed impatiently. “What does that have to do with moving quietly? Or sneaking around without being seen, for that matter?”

  “Everything.” He crept forward a few feet, moving as quietly as possible. “Hear me?” The boy nodded; the pine needles and twigs and other dead plant matter underfoot made a distinctive noise even when carefully stepped on. “That's because, like the world around us, it's pretty much impossible to move completely silently. Not unless you happen to be on an ideal surface you rarely find in nature, and you've got your clothes tied tight to your body so they don't rustle with every movement. You can minimize the noise you make, and should, but just moving quietly isn't enough.”

  The sandy-haired boy's brow furrowed even more. “What else is there?”

  “Using the brain's filtering against it. If you make your movements sound natural, or time them to the ambient noises around you, any noise you make will barely register to the person or critter you're trying to sneak up on.”

  “Oh.” Skyler brightened. “So it's kind of like camouflage for sound, right?”

  That was an interesting way to put it. “Kind of.” Tom motioned to the tops of trees swaying in the wind in the distance. “Speaking of camouflage, the same principle can apply for movement. Our eyes are incredibly good at picking out even the slightest movement, but like with our hearing the brain filters out constant or expected motion. We barely even notice the tops of trees moving on a windy day.”

  “So if I can't stay completely hidden behind something, I should try to make my movements look natural, and time them to everything else moving around me?”

  Tom nodded. “Especially if you're moving through something like long grass or thick bushes that move around a lot in the wind. You can pick out places to move that will make your movements and sounds less noticeable.”

  He moved beneath the shadow of a tree, crouching. “And don't discount lighting and shadows, especially if those shadows are moving a lot. The eye takes a second to focus between bright and dark places, and where it can't immediate
ly supply you a clear picture the brain tends to fill in the gaps with what it expects to be there. There's all sorts of eye puzzles and tricks I've seen that fool your perception, and part of learning to move unseen is figuring out how our eyes trick us.”

  Skyler was starting to look a bit dazed, as if a lot of that had gone over his head. “So I guess this is all a lot more complicated than just trying not to make noise and hiding behind things?”

  “A bit,” Tom agreed, trying not to smile. “That's a good place to start, though. Consider everything I just said the advanced class.”

  Another teaching opportunity came on the fifth morning. This time it was Tom who suggested a learning opportunity, stopping on an open slope and unslinging his trusty .308.

  Skyler immediately perked up. “You see a deer?” he asked eagerly; he was still squeamish about the field dressing, but he knew how important it was to bring that meat back for everyone.

  Tom shook his head. “I see a good target for shooting practice,” he said, pointing to a wide aspen in the distance; any hit would show up prominently on the white bark.

  To his surprise, the kid didn't show nearly as much eagerness as he'd expected. He stared at the rifle, face pale, and it took several long seconds to guess what he was thinking of. Tom slowly lowered the weapon, dropping into a slight crouch to meet the boy face to face. “This is the first time you've shot a gun since Newpost, isn't it?” he said in a low voice.

  Skyler flinched slightly, obviously still lost in thoughts of that horrible night outside the occupied trading post, when he'd been forced to shoot the bandits attacking his mom. “I-I still have nightmares about it,” he whispered. “Mom's screaming for help, and I'm running and running to help her, but I never seem to get any closer.”

  Tom felt a sick clench in his gut at the reminder of his own failure to be there for the young mother and her son. He could admit he'd had a few bad dreams about it himself, since. He sat beside Skyler, resting a supportive hand on his shoulder, as the boy continued in a tiny voice. “Sometimes after I shoot them they get back up and chase me. I can see their faces and they're dead, I know they're dead, but they won't stop chasing me.” He shuddered. “Even after they wake up I can see their faces.”