Hawken Fury (Giant Wilderness Book One)

by Robbins, David

  “Five!”

  The next stride was even harder. He bit his lower lip until it hurt, using pain to force his mind to focus. Slowly the weakness dissipated.

  “Six!”

  Nate saw a crow wing past the north end of the island and was reminded of the ancient superstition that crows and ravens were harbingers of disaster.

  “Seven!”

  In fifteen seconds he could be dead. The thought sobered Nate like no other could. Fleeting panic welled up within him, but he suppressed it. He

  had chosen this course of action; he must see it through to the end.

  “Eight.”

  Nate caressed the trigger with his finger and swore he could hear his heart pounding in his chest.

  “Nine!”

  He used his thumb to cock the piece and tensed his arm muscles for the motion to follow. Strangely, he seemed to have developed extraordinary hearing. The sounds of chirping birds, the lapping of the Mississippi on the shore, and even the buzz of a passing bee were as clear as could be.

  “TEN!”

  Nate whirled as fast as he could, a lightning spin on the soles of his feet. Then, eerily, he had the illusion that everything was transpiring slowly. He saw Rhey Debussy had also turned, saw Rhey extend his pistol, and remembered to stand sideways to make himself a smaller target as he extended his own flintlock. The birds still chirped, the Mississippi still lapped, yet the sounds were different, impossibly pronounced and melodious. He heard the blast of Debussy’s pistol at the same instant smoke blossomed from the end of the muzzle, and he twisted in pain as an intense stinging sensation lanced his left shoulder. Sighting along the barrel, he saw Debussy’s eyes enlarge in terror a heartbeat before he squeezed the trigger and his gun boomed and kicked ever so slightly in his hand. Nothing happened, though, and he thought he must have missed. Rhey stood there, staring blankly, until suddenly his arms went limp, his knees buckled, and he fell, pitching onto his face.

  Just like that it was over.

  He slowly lowered his pistol as Collins and Maurice Evans ran to Rhey. Evans rolled Debussy over and both men examined him. Adeline, curiously, stayed where she was, wringing her hands, appearing every inch a frightened little girl rather than the woman she was. He heard someone running toward him and hands clapped him on the back.

  “Congratulations, son!” Shakespeare said happily.

  “You won!” Tricky Dick added. “I never would have believed it if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.”

  Nate felt nothing. He had expected to feel elated if victory was his, but instead he felt a bizarre emptiness deep within. His palm tingled where it touched the flintlock. He wedged the gun under his belt and opened and closed his fingers until the tingling disappeared.

  Abner Collins and Evans were walking toward him.

  “You have won, monsieur,” Collins announced gravely. “Monsieur Debussy took a ball in the chest that from all indications pierced his heart. We will let everyone know the duel was fair and honorable.”

  “Thank you,” Nate said.

  “We shall take care of the body,” Collins said. “There is no need for you to remain if you care to leave.”

  Nodding absently, Nate headed for the rowboats. His limbs were sluggish and he experienced a desire to lie down on the spot and sleep. Shrugging it off, he gained strength with every step. He was halfway to the river when a shout brought him to a halt.

  “Nate! Wait! Please!”

  He faced her. His friends continued to the boats without comment. Her golden hair sparkled in the sun and her features were as fresh as the morning dew. She filled out her dress as few women could and swayed suggestively as she walked.

  “Spare me a minute of your time,” Adeline entreated, halting and placing a tender hand on his wrist. “It’s all I ask, and after all we once meant to each other it’s the least you can do.”

  “What do you want?”

  “I want to say how glad I am that you won. I knew you would,” Adeline said, and grinned. “I convinced Rhey to let you use your own pistol. Told him it wouldn’t be fair otherwise and I’d never speak to him again if he didn’t.”

  Nate gazed at the body and saw a splash of crimson on Rhey’s chest.

  “Now I’m a free woman,” Adeline declared, beaming. “Free to live as I want. To go where I please.” She paused. “And to see whomever I want.”

  “That’s nice,” Nate said lamely, and started to leave, but Adeline held onto his wrist, restraining him.

  “Hear me out, please,” she said. “I know you must not think very highly of me after all that has happened, and I don’t blame you. You shouldn’t be angry at me, however, because I was as much a pawn in this affair as you were.” She sidled in next to him. “Rhey used me as badly as he used you. It was his idea to try and obtain your inheritance. He made me go along with him and beat me when I objected.” A trace of moisture rimmed her eyes. “Rhey was the one who shot your squaw, not me. He’s the one who should bear all the blame.”

  Nate slowly began prying her fingers off his arm.

  “I’m not finished yet,” Adeline objected. “Listen, Nate. You and I meant a lot to each other once. Now we can be just like we were. All you have to do is give up your childish notions of living like some grubby Indian and come with me. Think of it! You and I together again! What do you say?”

  “No.”

  Adeline started as if struck. “But I’m all alone! I have no one besides you! And I have no money. Rhey used the last of our funds to pay a doctor the money we owed him.” Tears poured down her cheeks. “What will I do without you? What will become of me?”

  “Who gives a damn?” Nate responded, and walked out of her life forever.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  Nate was eager to reach Tricky Dick’s and let his family know he was alive and well. He chafed at the slow crossing of the Mississippi River, and once out of the rowboat took off at a rapid clip, his long legs eating up the distance. Shakespeare effortlessly stayed by his side, but Tricky Dick had a difficult time trying to keep up and protested mildly several times.

  At last they came to the tree-lined lane on which the Harrington house was located and Nate took the lead, making for the front door with a broad smile on his face. Winona and Zach would be overjoyed! And in a few weeks, after Doctor Sawyer judged Winona fit for travel, they would return to their rustic cabin in the majestic Rocky Mountains and never, ever visit so-called civilization again.

  He burst into the house and opened his mouth to announce his arrival. But the sight of Winona, Zach, Blue Water Woman, and Ruth all seated at the kitchen table with their wrists tied behind their backs caused him to stop so abruptly he almost tripped over his own feet. “What in?” he blurted out, and a hard object jammed into his spine.

  “We meet again, Grizzly Killer.”

  Nate held himself perfectly still, chilled by the malice in the familiar voice. Behind him arose a startled exclamation from Tricky Dick, and then a warning from the intruder.

  “Make one move, either of you, and I will blow this son of a bitch in half! Put your weapons on the floor and go over by the table.”

  Everyone knew the threat would be carried out. Nate heard scraping noises as the rifles and pistols were deposited, then watched as his friends came past him. Tricky Dick appeared apprehensive. Shakespeare was clearly furious.

  “Now turn around, bastard!”

  Nate obliged, keeping his hands out from his sides, and calmly returned the malevolent stare of Robert Campbell. “I should have expected you to show up here.”

  “It took me a while to learn where you were staying,” Campbell replied, smirking. “I was spying on this house when you left earlier, and figured I’d prepare a proper welcome for you when you returned.”

  “What do you plan to do?” Nate asked. He noticed Campbell had previously cocked the rifle now aimed at his stomach, and all it would take was a slight tug on the trigger to send him into eternity.

  “That should
be obvious. I’ve come to kill you.”

  “Then let the others go. They’re not part of this.”

  “I have no intention of laying a finger on the women and your brat,” Campbell said scornfully. “But McNair and Harrington are another matter. They might try to get revenge later. I can’t let them live.”

  “What if they pledge their word not to come after you?” Nate proposed, trying to stall, to give himself time to devise a plan. His life hung in the balance. Unless he could trick Campbell into lowering his guard for an instant, his wife and son would see him slain in cold blood.

  “Not good enough,” Campbell said. “Harrington might keep his promise, but not McNair. He’ll agree to anything just so he can hunt me down later.”

  Nate had an urge to swat the rifle aside and pounce, but common sense dictated he hold still for the time being. Even if he deflected the barrel, Campbell would still get off a shot, and at such short range he was bound to be seriously wounded or worse.

  “So you first,” Campbell said, and tapped the butt of his rifle against one of the two flintlocks tucked under his belt. “Then your good friends.” He smiled. “You have no idea how much I’ve anticipated getting even, how I’ve longed to look you in the face as you die.”

  “You should have left well enough alone.”

  Campbell took a step backwards, nearer the open door, and angrily wagged the rifle. “What? And continue to have everyone laugh at me behind my back because I could never get the best of the high and mighty Grizzly Killer?”

  “No one ever made fun of you,” Shakespeare spoke up.

  “I know better!” Campbell snarled. “I could see the laughter in their eyes when they walked by and hear them whispering when my back was turned. I was the laughingstock of the Rendezvous and I knew it!” An enraged gleam animated his eyes and he seemed on the verge of firing.

  Nate girded himself to spring. They wouldn’t be able to keep Campbell talking indefinitely, and if he took the first shot it would leave Shakespeare and Tricky Dick free to jump on Campbell before the man could pull a pistol. He judged the sacrifice worthwhile if it spared the lives of his companions.

  “With you out of the way,” Campbell was saying, “next year I’ll be the big man at the Rendezvous. I’ll beat everyone at wrestling and horse racing and I’ll win a bundle of money.”

  “All this trouble because you lost a few wrestling matches and a horse race,” Nate remarked bitterly.

  “It’s more than that, you fool. In the mountains a man is only as good as his reputation, and you ruined mine by beating me.”

  “You’re wrong. All we engaged in were friendly contests, nothing more. No one cared much one way or the other who won.”

  “I cared!” Campbell practically roared.

  Nate was ready. He had tensed to leap when from behind Robert Campbell a fierce growl filled the doorway. Instinctively, Campbell glanced over his shoulder, and in that brief interval Nate lunged and plowed into his nemesis, wrapping his brawny arms around Campbell’s waist and bearing both of them to the floor near the door. He glimpsed Samson, who must have come back from rabbit-hunting again in the tract of woods near the Harrington house. Then an elbow caught him on the jaw and bright stars swirled before his eyes.

  He lashed out in pure reflex and struck Campbell on the chin. A knee hit his inner thigh and he began to push up off the floor; unexpectedly Campbell let go of the rifle and a knife materialized in its place. With a flick of his right hand Nate seized Campbell’s wrist and held the knife at bay even as Campbell grasped his other arm. They became locked in a death struggle, each exerting himself to the utmost. As he already knew, Campbell was incredibly strong and applied inexorable pressure, slowly but surely driving the gleaming tip of the blade toward Nate’s exposed throat.

  Nate strained as never before. Every muscle was employed. His face became bright red and his veins bulged. But he was unable to stop the knife from edging closer. Eight inches separated his jugular from the blade, then six and four and two. In a bold gamble he suddenly slid his hand higher on Campbell’s wrist, giving himself better leverage, and wrenched sharply, twisting

  Campbell’s arm and the knife toward Campbell as he shoved downward with all of the power in his physique.

  Caught by surprise, Robert Campbell failed to counter the move. He screeched as the blade sank to the hilt into his chest, then roared with rage as he shoved Nate from him and tried to rise to his feet.

  Nate drew his tomahawk. He crouched, set to attack, but Campbell was in no shape to continue the fight. Sputtering, Campbell rolled onto his side and succeeded in rising to his knees in a costly effort that brought a spurt of blood from his nostrils and mouth.

  “No!” Campbell cried.

  No one else spoke.

  “I won’t die now!” Campbell bellowed, and attempted to stand. His knife fell from his weakened fingers and he swayed as if dizzy. “No!” he cried once more, and turned a mask of vile abhorrence on Nate. “You!” he said, jabbing a finger. “You so”

  Nate saw Campbell stiffen, heard him gurgle, and straightened as Campbell collapsed, exhaled, and died. He stepped up to the body and nudged it twice to be certain before drawing the knife out of Campbell’s chest and wiping the blade clean on his foe’s shirt.

  Tricky Dick Harrington came over, gaping first at Campbell and then at Nate. He mustered a feeble smile and said, “Don’t take me wrong, Nate, but I sure am glad you don’t visit all that often. You have a born knack for getting into more trouble than any man I’ve ever met.”

  “I know,” Nate said, and emphasized softly. “Believe me, I know.”

  Weeks passed.

  During that time Nate ministered to Winona as if she were a little girl instead of his wife, always there to fetch her a drink or food or whatever she might need. When not tending her he sat around and chatted with Shakespeare and Tricky Dick, and it was during one of these discussions he learned about Shakespeare’s gout. Other than a few jests, he let his mentor off easy.

  Finally came the day when Doctor Sawyer announced that Winona was fit to handle the long ride across the plains to the mountains. It was a sunny Wednesday afternoon and Nate walked Sawyer to the lane.

  “I can’t ever properly thank you for all you’ve done for us. You should have let me pay you more.”

  The doctor laughed. “How refreshing! A lot of my patients are always complaining they can’t pay because of all their debts. Perhaps they’ll follow your example.”

  Nate held out his hand. “We’ll never forget your kindness.” They shook, and he stood and watched the physician depart. As Sawyer reached the corner another man appeared and stopped the doctor, apparently to ask a question. Sawyer turned and pointed at Nate.

  The man smiled and hurried forward. A stocky fellow with white hair and a gray mustache, he wore fine but rumpled clothes and had a brown leather satchel slung over his right shoulder. As he neared Nate he doffed his hat and pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to mop his perspiring brow. “Pardon me, sir. But are you Nathaniel King?”

  “I am.”

  “My name is Howard Worthington. I don’t know if you’re aware of it, but I was your father’s attorney at the time he passed on.”

  “Adeline told me,” Nate said, shaking.

  “Good. How is she, by the way? It was her letter that brought me to St. Louis, and when I went to the Debussy estate where she was supposed to be staying, I found the federal authorities had taken it over and arrested a goodly number of people. Some horrid business about importing slaves, I believe. Anyway, through an officer I learned that Adeline frequented an establishment called the Devil Tavern, and there I learned from a gentleman named Hamilton that you were staying at Richard Harrington’s.” He paused long enough to take a breath and glance at the house. “And here I am. That fine man back there indicated who you were. I hope you don’t mind my informal manner, but I feel as if I know you after all your father told me about your upbringing.”

 
Nate was amused by the attorney’s rapid-fire style of speech. He realized that Worthington hadn’t bothered to wait for an answer about Adeline, and wondered if the man was really interested in her welfare.

  “It has been extremely difficult tracing your whereabouts,” Worthington briskly went on. “You have no idea how hard I have been working on this case. If I’d known it was going

  to be so taxing, I might have refused to represent your father.” He replaced his hat. “Dear man that he was, he entrusted me with executing his last will and testament, but I can’t collect my full fee until the estate has finally been settled.”

  The attorney took another breath and Nate took advantage to get a word in edgewise. “Is it true he left a substantial inheritance?”

  “What? Oh, yes. Adeline tell you that, did she? Between the money your father made investing and the sale of the house as stipulated in his will, whoever receives the inheritance stands to collect one hundred and four thousand dollars.”

  Nate whistled.

  “Yes, sir. Your father was much wiser than Adeline’s father in my opinion.”

  “How so?”

  “Didn’t she tell you? Perhaps not, given the circumstances. But her father speculated heavily after reaping hefty profits from real estate enterprises involving your father. He lost practically every penny,” Worthington disclosed. He leaned forward to whisper in confidence, “Which explains why Adeline took up with that Rhey Debussy character. Rumor has it she thought he was rich and would restore her family’s fortune.”

  So Adeline had married Rhey for his presumed wealth even as he had married her for the same reason. Nate grinned at the irony.

  “But I digress,” Worthington said, unslinging the satchel. “I’m sure you’re more interested in the will. The money is yours provided you meet one stipulation.” He opened the flap top and took out a folded sheet of paper. “It’s all explained in this letter your father wrote.”

  Feeling unaccountably nervous, Nate took the paper and stepped to one side. He unfolded it, read the heading, and felt conflicting emotions tear at his heart. Then he plunged ahead, reading quickly: