Wilderness Double Edition #10

by David Robbins

  The whole time the carving took place, the Crows kept up a scornful verbal abuse of their prisoners. There was much yelling and whooping, and those so inclined picked up discarded body parts and tossed them in the Ute’s face.

  Most amazing of all to Nate was the captive’s ability to endure the torture without complaint or sign of weakness. Not once did a sound pass the Ute’s lips, not even when the lips themselves were hacked off. Until the very end the Ute showed his courage and manhood. He finally expired when his heart was cut from his chest.

  The other Utes had observed everything. Yet not one flinched when his time came. Not one called out, or cried, or did anything that would besmirch the reputation of his tribe.

  At the end, all the heads were chopped off and jammed onto poles which the women took and waved about. When they’d had enough, they smashed the heads on rocks and scattered the brains outside the camp for beasts to eat. The same was done with the bodies of the Utes, except for one. It was tied to a tree, and the children were allowed to amuse themselves by shooting arrows and throwing small lances into it. By the time the children tired of their sport, the body resembled a porcupine.

  Night had descended when the Crows dispersed to attend to their own dead. Nate’s eyelids were growing heavy, and he put a hand to his mouth to stifle a yawn. Suddenly a small figure appeared and boldly stepped up to him.

  “Good evening, Grizzly Killer. I saw them bring you in and have come to stand by your side.”

  Nate blinked in surprise, grabbed Gray Badger’s shoulders, and pulled the boy in. “What are you doing here?” he signed. “You should have been far away by now.”

  “I started to go,” the boy responded. “But your words hung in my head and I could not shake them out.” He paused, then repeated the statement Nate had made earlier. “There comes a time when a man must stand and fight if he is to be worthy of being called a man.”

  “But I did not mean you should put yourself in danger on my account.”

  “What kind of friend would I be if I left you to face Invincible One alone?”

  Nate didn’t know whether to be flattered or angered. He glanced out, but saw no indication that anyone had noticed Gray Badger arrive. “I want you to leave. Go find your father. I am sure he will stand up for you.”

  “I will stay with you, my friend,” the young Crow signed.

  “Like hell,” Nate said aloud, and gripping Gray Badger’s wrist, he hauled the boy through the opening and gave him a push. “Go before you are seen. You can do more good for me if you tell your father that I am your friend and ask his aid.”

  “My father no longer cares about me.”

  “You are wrong. I am a father. So I know that in their hearts all fathers care for their sons, even if they do not always show it as often as they should.” Nate put a hand on Gray Badger’s shoulder. “There is something else you must keep in mind. A man can be measured by the quality of his children. You are a boy I would be proud to call my own, which means your father must be a wise man to have raised you so well. And no man could raise so well who loves so little. I think you do him an injustice, and I think it is time you found that out for yourself. Go home.”

  Gray Badger hesitated.

  “Go home,” Nate repeated. He folded his arms, and watched the boy run toward a lodge at the far end of the circle. A half-dozen fires had been lit, providing more than enough illumination for him to see that Gray Badger made it safely. The Crows were preparing for a special ceremony to commemorate the passing of their fellows, and would be up until dawn dancing and singing and chanting. Over in the council lodge a meeting was underway, the purpose of which wasn’t hard to guess.

  No one was paying Nate any regard. He could have left if he wanted, could have turned and faded into the forest without any of the Crows being the wiser. But he had given his word, and he solemnly believed that once a man had done so, nothing short of death must make him break it. He moved back into the small teepee and sat with his back to the wall.

  The drone of voices and crackling of flames had a soothing effect. Nate dozed despite himself, and would not have awakened until morning, or perhaps never if Pierce had gotten to him first, had a small hand not gingerly touched his wrist. He snapped upright and shifted.

  Gray Badger knelt next to him. The boy’s features were in shadow, but there was no mistaking the glistening streaks on his cheeks.

  “I thought you went home,” Nate signed. “Why are you back so soon?”

  “My father is gone.”

  “Where?”

  “He is searching for me,” Gray Badger replied, his hands shaking a little as he formed the symbols. He made a choking sound and went on. “My mother told me he has been out of his mind with worry. He wanted to come after me, but he is one of the few men brave enough to stand up to Invincible One, and he was worried about what Invincible One might do in his absence. So he sent his friend, Whirlwind Hawk, to find me.”

  “I told you.”

  “There is more,” Gray Badger signed, and had to stop to clear his throat. “Invincible One has accused my father of having a hand in helping your friends escape.”

  Nate was all interest. “Why?”

  “My mother says that Wolverine used my father as a hostage to keep the other men from shooting. Later, the warriors found tracks that showed my father had parted company with your friends without being harmed. Some tried to follow his trail, but lost it.”

  “You met Wolverine. He is not the kind to kill a hostage for no reason. He just let your father go his way in peace.”

  “Invincible One will never believe that.”

  Another possibility occurred to Nate. Since Two Humps had been a thorn in Pierce’s side for some time, Pierce might have been looking for any excuse to turn the Crows against him. But the incident Pierce had picked smacked of desperation, for the Crows were not about to turn on one of their own chiefs without convincing proof of wrongdoing on the chief’s part.

  “I am afraid for my father,” Gray Badger signed.

  “You have nothing to fear. Two Humps would not be a chief if he was not a skilled warrior. He can stand up to Invincible One.”

  “But what if Invincible One challenges my father in public? My father would be killed as so many others have been.”

  The thought that struck Nate brought a somber smile to his lips. “I have an idea,” he signed, and then went on to detail a request.

  “Your mind must be in a whirl for you to think of such a thing,” Gray Badger remarked. “No one can kill him. I know. I have seen his medicine work with my own eyes.”

  “My medicine is stronger,” Nate boasted. “And I can prove it if you will do as I say.”

  The boy looked out at the council lodge. “It is forbidden for anyone to interrupt when the council is meeting,” he signed nervously.

  “Would you rather have your father come back and be accused by Invincible One of being a traitor to his own people?”

  Gray Badger gnawed on his lower lip. “Are you doing this to save my father? He would not want any man to fight his fights for him.”

  “I am doing this for me,” Nate said as he stood, “and for every other trapper in these mountains. Invincible One must be stopped before more whites lose their lives and their furs.” He paused. “But most of all I am doing this for Wolverine. He was the best friend I have ever had, and I cannot let his death go unpunished.”

  “You cared for him very much.”

  “We all make a lot of friends during a lifetime. But a few, a very few, are so special they are too deep for words to describe. Wolverine and I were like that.”

  “Then you should have your chance to avenge him,” Gray Badger said, and hastened away.

  Nate stepped outside, into the inky shadows to the right of the flap, and sat cross-legged with his back to the lodge. He imagined he would not have long to wait, and he was right. Within minutes a heated quarrel had broken out in the council lodge. Many Crows stopped whatever they were
doing to listen.

  In due course warriors began filing out. Jacob Pierce was the last to emerge. He had a firm hand on Gray Badger’s arm, and roughly shoved the boy ahead of him every step of the way as the entire party came to the small lodge. Pierce pushed Gray Badger so violently that the boy stumbled, then knelt to look inside.

  “I’m over here,” Nate said softly.

  Pierce spun and stabbed a hand at one of his pistols. He stopped when he saw that Nate posed no threat, and slowly straightened. “What the hell are you up to now, King? You ought to be ashamed of yourself. Sending the brat to do a man’s work!”

  “What’s your answer?” Nate asked.

  Pierce folded his arms and glowered. “I’m in no mood to humor you. My answer is no. Why should I soil my hands when you’re not worth the bother? You proved that earlier.”

  “Showing your true color at last,” Nate taunted, and regarded the gathered members of the council. “What did the Crows have to say about my challenge?”

  “Most of them side with me.”

  “Do they?” Nate said, and before the renegade could intervene, he resorted to sign language to address the Crows. “Honorable warriors, I greet you in friendship,” he began formally. “I came to this country wanting only to trap beaver, yet because of Invincible One I have been forced to strike at those my people regard as brothers. Is this right, I ask you? Should you let Invincible One carry on as he has, killing whites without cause and antagonizing those who are your friends?”

  “Why you …!” Pierce snarled, advancing. He almost had his pistol out when one of the Crows said something that caused him to abruptly halt.

  “In your hearts you know that he has led you astray,” Nate continued. “You know that your people would be better off without him. If you will let me, I will rid you of him once and for all. I will show you that his medicine is an illusion.”

  Jacob Pierce could bear no more. Leaping, he caught hold of Nate’s shirt with one hand and whipped out his flintlock with the other. He jabbed the barrel at Nate and pulled back the hammer, but before he could fire Nate batted the gun aside, swept up off the ground, and gave Pierce a powerful push that propelled the renegade back into the Crows. The pistol discharged into the ground. A few of the warriors tried to grab Pierce’s arms, but the furious rogue shook them off and stormed forward.

  “All right, King! You get your wish! But since you issued the challenge, I get to pick the weapons. And I choose tomahawks!” Pierce tramped off, shouting over his shoulder. “In one hour in the middle of the village. I’ll be waiting.”

  The confused Crows stared after him, then at Nate, who signed, “Invincible One has accepted. In a short while we will fight with tomahawks.” He went inside as murmuring broke out behind him. Soon the news would spread from one end of the village to the other. The entire population was likely to turn out to see the fight, which didn’t bother Nate in the least. What did bother him was Pierce’s choice of weapons. Why tomahawks, he wondered, when Pierce had already demonstrated that bullets had no effect on him?

  A small form filled the doorway. “I hope you know what you are doing, Grizzly Killer,” Gray Badger signed. “I would not like to lose the first white friend I have ever had.”

  Nate grinned. “Thank you. As to whether I know what I am doing, ask me when it is over.”

  “You sound worried.”

  “I am.” Nate beckoned the young Crow to take a seat. “You mentioned seeing Invincible One fight before. Have you ever seen him use a tomahawk?”

  “No. But he went on a raid against the Blackfeet once to show us that they could not kill him. My father went along. During the raid he saw a Blackfoot swing a tomahawk at Invincible One’s chest.”

  “What happened?”

  “Invincible One was knocked down but got right up again. He hit the Blackfoot on the mouth with his fist and the Blackfoot fell. Then he took the tomahawk. As the Blackfoot went to stand, Invincible One buried the tomahawk in his head.”

  “Was Invincible One bleeding afterward?”

  “No. But he did walk slowly for a while.”

  Nate began pacing, a habit of his when under great stress. Evidently the renegade was as impervious to tomahawks and knives as he was to rifles and pistols. But there had to be a way to kill the bastard, and he would find it or die trying.

  “Is there anything I can do to help you?” Gray Badger signed.

  “Only one that I can think of,” Nate responded, and crouched in front of the boy. “You can do me a great favor if I am slain.”

  “How?”

  “Find a way of getting word to the Shoshones, to the village of Chief Broken Paw. I would like my wife and children to know my fate.”

  “You can depend on me,” Gray Badger signed. “I thank you. Now leave me. I have much to think about.”

  The boy complied, but it was clear he was loath to do so. Nate lowered the flap and sat in the darkness reminiscing, thinking of his loved ones, of his life in general. It was rare for him to have such a luxury before a conflict. The dangers of wilderness living were so plentiful and so varied that usually he was embroiled in a fight for his life without any advance warning whatsoever. He’d often dreaded that one day he might be shot from ambush, or ripped in half by a ravenous grizzly before he had time to so much as blink, and he’d wind up dying without having time to think about Winona or Zach or Evelyn.

  The hour elapsed swiftly. Immersed in fond recollections, Nate had no idea it had gone by until he heard his name being bellowed. Stepping to the flap, he shoved it wide open, and wasn’t at all taken aback to behold scores upon scores of Crows formed into a wide circle with an opening on the side facing the small lodge. Through the gap he could see his nemesis, waiting with a tomahawk in each hand.

  Nate strode briskly to meet Pierce. The renegade had changed into a baggy buckskin shirt several sizes too big. Why, Nate had no idea. He walked up to the Invincible One and held out his right hand. “I’m ready if you are.”

  “You think you are, but I’ll soon show you otherwise,” Pierce said, extending his left arm. “This one is for you.”

  Gripping the haft, Nate hefted the tomahawk a few times, gauging its weight and balance. It was a superior weapon, made by a Crow expert at the craft.

  “I can’t tell you how much I’ve looked forward to this. Once I dispose of you, things can go back to the way they were,” Pierce declared bitterly.

  “Big talk when you haven’t even gotten in the first lick yet.”

  “Then it’s time I did,” Pierce said, and executed a lightning strike that would have split Nate’s face had Nate not skipped backward with a hair to spare.

  Thus the fight was joined. Nate countered by swinging at Pierce’s legs, but the renegade jumped from the blade’s path. Pierce aimed a terrific blow at Nate’s head, which Nate blocked. Then, in a downward motion, Nate tried to rip open Pierce’s abdomen. Again Pierce evaded the swing.

  The two combatants separated and circled, taking the measure of one another. Nate was slightly bigger, but he didn’t delude himself into thinking that gave him any sort of edge. He feinted, forcing Pierce backward, and it was then, when Pierce raised his tomahawk to ward off the presumed attack, that Nate noticed he had been duped. The handle of Jacob Pierces tomahawk was four or five inches longer than his!

  The discovery jolted Nate so severely that he almost had his head separated from his shoulders. Only his pantherish instincts saved him. He backed off an extra stride, mad at himself for not realizing it sooner. Four or five inches wasn’t much, but it was enough to give Pierce a longer reach, a wider swing. It was enough to cost Nate dearly in flesh and blood.

  Pierce wore that aggravating smirk of his as he waded in close once more. He drove his tomahawk at Nate’s chest, and when Nate spun out of reach, Pierce reversed direction and went for Nate’s neck. Their tomahawks clashed, parted, clashed once more.

  Nate ducked to the right, staying well beyond the radius of his foe’s reach. H
is tactic appeared to upset Pierce, who was transparently eager to end their fight quickly. Pierce’s tomahawk cleaved the air, narrowly missing the top of Nate’s head. For a second Pierce left his chest exposed, and Nate instantly struck. The edge of his tomahawk tore into the baggy buckskin shirt but glanced off Pierce’s body!

  The renegade staggered rearward, regained his balance, and sneered. “You’ll have to do better than that, bastard!”

  Nate was at a loss to know what to do. With his shorter reach he would be hard pressed to wound Pierce in the arms or legs. And with Pierce’s chest virtually invulnerable, it seemed as if the outcome was foreordained. Then he remembered the one time he had hurt Pierce, when they had first met and he’d bruised Pierce’s forehead. In a flash of inspiration the simple answer to his dilemma exploded full-blown in his brain and made him grin.

  “What can you possibly find so funny?” Pierce demanded.

  “Just this,” Nate said. He had been circling to the right. Suddenly he circled to the left instead, throwing Pierce off stride. Dropping into a crouch, he swung at the renegade’s knees. Pierce automatically hopped backward, and as he did, Nate flung himself forward, his left forearm rising to block Pierce’s counter-swing even as he slashed his tomahawk in an overhand blow that ended with the blade cleaving into Pierce’s skull. It sheared through hair, through skin, and deep into the underlying bone, so deep Nate couldn’t pull it out again, so he let go and backed away.

  Jacob Pierce’s eyelids fluttered as he tottered to the left, his arms swinging feebly, a dull groan coming from his parted mouth. Blood poured down over his face, covering his eyes, his nose, his lips. He sputtered, began to reach upward, then froze for a few seconds before keeling over with a loud thud.

  The Crows gaped in astonishment, and if was obvious from their expressions that many fully expected the renegade to rise and continue the fight.

  Nate inhaled slowly, calming himself. He stepped to the body, pulled Pierce’s knife from its sheath, and slit Pierce’s buckskin shirt up the middle. In the pale glow of the flickering firelight a large, thin sheet of steel was exposed, attached by leather straps to Jacob Pierce’s chest and shoulders. The sheet bore dozens of nicks, scrapes, and dents where it had been hit by knives, arrows, and bullets. “Well, I’ll be damned,” Nate said to himself. Rolling the body over, he pulled up the shirt high enough to reveal a similar sheet that covered Pierce’s back from the shoulder blades to the waist.