Wilderness Double Edition #7

by David Robbins

  “True happiness, someone once said, must come from within.”

  “Don’t start preachin’ at me again. I’m miserable enough as it is.” Cain squared his shoulders and raised the flintlock. “Enough palaver. I’ve jawed more in the past five minutes than I have in the past five years. Give me your answer and give it to me now. Will you help me out for two parfleches of gold?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. You won’t regret it,” Cain said, wedging the pistol under his belt.

  Nate touched the gold again, vaguely troubled by his decision. There was still the issue of Flying Hawk to settle. Somehow he must come up with a way of having the warrior freed. And there was one more thing. “I’ll need my rifle and my flintlocks and all the rest back.”

  Cain visibly hesitated.

  “If you don’t trust me enough to hand them over, I won’t help you,” Nate said, facing around. This was the supreme test of Cain’s sincerity. If Cain refused, Nate would know for certain the man had no intention whatsoever of ever sticking to the letter of their agreement.

  “I reckon I should.”

  “And from here on out no one rides my horse but me.”

  “Anything else?” Cain asked, grinning.

  “Just this,” Nate said, and punched Cain flush on the jaw, his knuckles cracking hard against bone, the blow tottering Cain backwards to fall onto his back.

  “What the hell!” Cain roared, scrambling up on his elbows and grabbing at a pistol.

  Nate hadn’t moved. “That was for the knock on the head,” he explained harshly, and tensed to pounce should Cain draw the weapon.

  But Cain froze, his mouth dropping open. “Well, I’ll be damned!” he exclaimed, and erupted in hearty laughter, laughter that muffled the sound of approaching footsteps. Neither of them noticed Smoky Woman until she was right there, beckoning urgently.

  “Come quick!” she cried. “Horses upset. Something outside!”

  Seven

  Filled with fear that Pegasus would be stolen—again— Nate raced along the tunnel and into the main chamber, heedless of a shout from Cain urging him to stop. In his haste and anxiety he momentarily forgot he was unarmed. Past Flying Hawk he sprinted, then around the bend, past the piled provisions, and out into the bright sunshine, where he halted and glanced to his right.

  Flying Hawk’s horse was gone! The rest were indeed agitated, whinnying and straining at the ropes that secured them to nearby boulders.

  Nate was afraid Pegasus would break loose. He ran over, seized the rope in his left hand, and said, “Whoa there! Calm down!” while patting the gelding on the neck. Pegasus and the two other mounts, he noticed, had their heads tilted upward and were peering intently at the top of the rock wall. Turning, he craned his neck and sought the cause of their fright. Barren rock was all he saw.

  “What the hell is the matter?” Cain demanded, arriving on the scene. “Where’s Flying Hawk’s animal?”

  “I don’t know,” Nate said, continuing to stroke the Palouse and to scan the heights above. “Something is up there.”

  Cain stared at the lofty rim. “A panther, I reckon. This is the only spring for miles and critters are comin’ around all the time.” He pointed at hoof tracks leading to the southwest. “Its scent spooked the horses and Flying Hawk’s done run off.”

  “Maybe,” Nate acknowledged, although he had grave misgivings. Wild animals wouldn’t be the only creatures drawn to the water. He saw Smoky Woman appear at the entrance and called to her. “Tell me. Do the Utes know of any tribe that lives in this barren region?”

  She walked toward them, her hands clasped at her waist. “Old men say so. But no one see many, many winters. Think all dead.”

  “Does this tribe have a name?”

  Smoky Woman spoke in Ute, caught herself, and translated slowly, choosing her words with care. “The Rock People.”

  What an odd name, Nate thought, although it was highly appropriate if there actually was a tribe frequenting the wasteland, which he was inclined to doubt. No one in their right mind would want to live in such a stark, lifeless domain. The way he saw it, the barefoot Indians were simply passing through the arid region on their way between the mountain range to the west and the range to the east. Naturally they would stop at the spring. He shifted to survey their general vicinity, but saw no one.

  Cain addressed Smoky Woman. “Why didn’t you tell me about these here Rock People?”

  “You not ask.”

  Nate gazed westward at the setting sun, a third of which had disappeared below the far horizon. “It’ll be dark soon,” he commented. “There’s no time to go after Flying Hawk’s animal now. With a panther on the prowl, we’d be smart to move our horses closer to the cave so we can keep an eye on them.”

  “Suit yourself,” Cain said, “but you’re wastin’ your time. No panther is goin’ to come anywhere near the spring with all the man-scent hereabouts.”

  Untying Pegasus, Nate led the Palouse to the entrance. A roving panther, in his opinion, was the least of their worries. More dangerous would be a return of the band that had taken Simon, and he couldn’t understand why Cain wasn’t more concerned over the possibility. Maybe, he mused, the sparkling allure of the gold had blinded the man to reality. Cain wanted that gold more than anything so he discounted everything that would cause a more rational man to give second thoughts to staying.

  A convenient projection of rock to the right of the opening gave Nate an anchor to which he tied the gelding. One after the other he brought over the other two animals and did the same with them. While he was thus engaged, Smoky Woman took a large pan to the spring and filled it. Cain kept close to her. As they were coming back, Nate remarked, “There’s not enough forage around here to feed a gopher, let alone three horses. What have you been doing?”

  “Smoky Woman and me been sort of takin’ turns goin’ to the park every other day so they can eat their fill. She goes most of the time ’cause I’m too busy diggin’ out ore. It’s the best we can do under the circumstances.”

  After conducting a last check of the high rock wall, Nate followed the pair into the chamber. Flying Hawk had made no effort to escape in their absence; he lay on his side, slumped in dejection. Nate glanced at three rifles, one his Hawken, propped near the buffalo hide bed, and said, “I want my guns and things back now.”

  In short order Cain turned over the Hawken, both pistols, Nate’s butcher knife and tomahawk, and showed Nate where his parfleches and other possessions had been placed. “There,” Cain said. “That’s all of your stuff. See? I’m holdin’ up my end of the bargain.”

  Nate checked the flintlocks to be certain they were properly loaded. He couldn’t help but wonder if Cain would still hold up his end of their pact when the time came to ride off with the gold. That was when the crucial test would come.

  Smoky Woman, meanwhile, had busily gathered the items she needed to fix their supper. Now she headed back outside.

  Seeing her go, Nate started to join her to serve as her protector when a hail from Cain made him turn.

  “I have something to show you,” Cain said. Picking up the lantern, he walked to the wall opposite from the bed. “Come over here a second,” he beckoned. “What do you make of these.”

  Revealed in the rosy glow were numerous crude paintings depicting men and animals, but they were unlike any men or wild beasts Nate had ever beheld. The men had block-like bodies and long hair down to their waists. A few held short spears. Others held odd weapons not much bigger than their hands. Almost always the men were portrayed in the act of hunting game. In one scene a half-dozen figures had surrounded an enormous beast resembling an elephant only it had a great shaggy coat, small ears, a pair of curved tusks, and a bulge on top of its head. In another scene several men were battling a large panther-like animal sporting two top teeth exaggerated out of all proportion.

  “Who could have drawn all this?” Cain wanted to know.

  “Indians, maybe,” Nate guessed. “I
ndians who lived in this cave ages ago.” He based this assumption on the fact that the paint which had been used, a pigment derived from berries or perhaps from mixing water with clay as some tribes currently did, showed signs of having faded considerably.

  “That’s what I figured too,” Cain said. “Until I saw this down here.” Stepping to one side, he squatted and nodded at another painting.

  In one respect the scene Cain indicated was much like the rest. It showed a group of men chasing a herd of elk. But in another respect this particular depiction was extremely unusual; the yellowish-brown streaks of paint had been applied much more recently than the rest. They almost glistened. The color was so much brighter the difference was like that between night and day.

  “I’d say this was done not more than two years ago at the most,” Cain mentioned. “Wouldn’t you?”

  “Yes,” Nate agreed, feeling unduly disturbed. It was just another painting, he reasoned, yet it gave him the same sort of uneasy sensation he experienced when he encountered a grizzly and didn’t know if the bear would charge or flee.

  “Whoever painted it might still be around,” Cain said.

  “True,” Nate responded, thinking of the mysterious footprints and Simon’s disappearance.

  Cain stepped toward the middle of the chamber. “Some of the bones don’t look too old either.”

  “What bones?”

  “That’s right. I ain’t taken you there yet.” Cain headed into the tunnel. “Follow me and I’ll show you what else we found.”

  They went past the exposed vein, around a curve, and along a straight passage extending for over sixty feet. Abruptly, the walls widened and they were in a second large chamber. Here fine particles of dust hung in the air. Dust caked the walls, coated the floor. And covered a mound of bones rearing over six feet high in the middle of the chamber.

  Astounded, Nate stepped forward to examine them. He saw one bone he recognized immediately, the leg bone of a buffalo. A bear skull jutted from the bottom portion of the mound. On one side was the partial skeleton of a panther. None of these remains had the same effect on him as did the many human skulls that dotted the pile from top to bottom.

  Human skulls! He couldn’t quite accept the testimony of his own eyes. There had to be twenty or thirty he could see, and probably more buried underneath. Why, he mused, hadn’t the people who lived in the cave buried their dead or else suspended them in trees or on platforms as did many Indian tribes? How uncaring to just dump the dead into this chamber with the remains of wild beasts.

  Then he spied a human arm bone and he bent over for a closer look. There were odd scratches and grooves on the bone that perplexed him until he glanced at the bones of the animals and saw similar marks. Insight hit him like a bolt out of the blue. Those were teeth marks!

  Nate snapped erect and clenched his Hawken so hard his knuckles turned white. “It can’t be!” he blurted.

  “It can’t be, but it is,” Cain said. “Took me a while to mull it over, but I figure the folks who lived here ate people as well as animals.” He laughed. “Don’t that beat all?”

  Revolted by the images conjured up, Nate backed away from the mound. He was close to the tunnel when faintly into the chamber wafted the spine-tingling sound of a scream of mortal terror.

  “Smoky Woman!” Cain bellowed.

  Whirling, Nate took the lead, his legs pumping as he fairly flew along the tunnel. The scream died suddenly, filling him with gnawing dread. One of them should have gone with her. If something happened to her he was partly to blame for being so careless. Had it been Winona he would never have let her go out alone.

  In the main chamber Flying Hawk was in the act of rolling frantically toward the entrance. Nate vaulted over him without breaking stride, went around the bend, and out into the murky gray of twilight. Smoky Woman was gone.

  He looked to the left and saw the horses were still there. Her scream, he figured, had forced her captors to flee before taking any of the mounts. Then he saw the pans and food scattered near the fire, showing she had put up quite a struggle.

  Something made him glance at the rise. He was just in time to see several hurrying forms vanish over the crest. Wheeling, he dashed to get his saddle and nearly collided with Cain.

  “Where is she? Where the hell is she?”

  “They’ve got her.”

  “Oh, God!” Cain cried, advancing into the open and searching right and left. “Which way did they go? I’m goin’ after ’em.”

  “No, I am,” Nate said as he grabbed his epishimore, a square piece of blanket he used under his saddle.

  “She’s my woman, not yours.”

  “And Pegasus is my horse, not yours. He’s the only chance we have of overtaking them. You’ve ridden him. You know how fast he is.”

  “I’ll take him, then. You stay here in case there are more of the bastards skulkin’ around.”

  Nate brushed past Cain and began saddling up. “You said yourself that he began giving you trouble before. He doesn’t like being ridden by anyone but me.”

  “She’s my woman, damn it!” Cain reiterated, putting his hand on Nate’s shoulder. “I’m the one should go.”

  With a quick jerk Nate pulled loose and turned. “We don’t have time to waste, Solomon. Which is more important, your pride or her life?”

  Cain opened his mouth to reply, froze for a second, then changed his mind and stood aside. “You go.”

  In less than a minute Nate was in the saddle. “Keep the fire going so I have a beacon to guide me back here. If all goes well I won’t be long.”

  “God go with you, King.”

  A gust of wind whipped by Nate as he swung the Palouse and made for the rise. His wounded shoulder ached from the exertion of throwing on the saddle, but not enough to impair his thinking, which was good because he’d need his wits about him when he caught up with the ones who’d abducted Smoky Woman.

  Pegasus seemed eager for some exercise. The gelding went up the slope at a gallop, head low, mane flying.

  Just over the top Nate reined up to scour the land in front of him. He didn’t stop on the crest itself because he would have been silhouetted against the ever-darkening sky. Ahead lay a barren maze. Which direction should he go? He doubted the Indians had gone to the south where the land was more open since they would be more readily detected. Nor would they have gone to the north where a butte barred their path. Due east, he believed, was the right way to go.

  He was sure he couldn’t be more than three hundred yards behind them, if that, and consequently he pushed Pegasus at a reckless speed. Smoky Woman’s abductors were bound to hear him coming, which couldn’t be helped. He cocked the Hawken, set the trigger, and held the Hawken across his thighs, ready for action.

  Behind him a rifle cracked.

  Nate almost stopped. It was Cain who must have fired, at what he couldn’t guess. Twisting, Nate listened for more shots, a sure sign the cave was under attack. But there were no more. Counting on Cain being able to hold his own, Nate galloped on into the night.

  Suddenly, off to the left, a bird called. Another bird, off to the right, answered.

  In all the years Nate had spent in the Rockies he had never heard birds like these. Suspicious, he looked both ways but saw only dark, bleak terrain. What if he had miscalculated? What if there were more Indians than he thought? Or were they even worthy of being called Indians? If they were related to the occupants of the cave, to the vile people who had eaten their own kind or their captives, then they didn’t deserve to be dignified by the word. Savages would be more like it.

  He recalled reading about the Aztecs in school. Rulers of ancient Mexico, they had built stupendous cities and been as civilized as any society that ever existed, except in one important respect. The Aztecs had indulged in ritual sacrifice and often engaged in cannibalism. Their priests would cut out and eat the hearts of those being sacrificed, while the bodies of the unfortunates would be given to the common people to be devoured at pub
lic feasts. When he’d first read the account, he’d shuddered in revulsion. Now, here he was about to tangle with a band that might be just as bad.

  From out of nowhere materialized a short, stocky figure not twenty feet off. Nate glimpsed a muscular, naked body, and a wild mane of black hair. Then he glimpsed a slender object flashing toward him and realized the savage had hurled a spear. So superb were his reflexes that the instant he perceived the danger he ducked low and angled Pegasus to the right.

  The spear missed them by inches.

  Straightening, Nate raised the Hawken to fire but the figure was already gone. He reined up and swiveled, scanning in a circle. Now the night was quiet except for the rush of the wind, giving him the illusion he was the only soul alive in the midst of a vast alien landscape. Yet he knew better.

  He also knew not to stay in one spot too long. Jabbing his heels into Pegasus, he trotted eastward once more. He touched each flintlock, insuring they were in place. So were his knife and tomahawk.

  For a hundred yards the night was deceptively tranquil. He began to suspect he was going in the wrong direction and considered changing direction to the northeast or the southeast. But which should it be? Unexpected aid came in the guise of a stifled shriek to the northeast.

  Hunching low over the saddle, Nate galloped across a rocky flat, the gelding’s hoofs cracking like gunshots. Just when he thought he had misjudged where the shriek came from he spotted a cluster of figures straight ahead.

  There were five of them, four husky, naked savages and Smoky Woman. Two of them had her in their grasp and she was striving mightily to break free. A third had his hand clamped over her mouth from behind. The fourth, trailing his companions by a few feet, heard Pegasus first and whirled.

  Nate saw the man’s right arm sweep back, then streak forward. But there was no spear in the man’s hand, so Nate didn’t slow up or turn aside. And had the savage not rushed the throw, Nate would have died then and there.