Wilderness Double Edition #7

by David Robbins

  “All right.” Cain chuckled. “You sure have a knack for givin’ orders. Forget bein’ a minister. Join the army and you’ll be a general in no time.”

  Nate leaned his forearms on the top of the barricade and scanned the land fronting the entrance. The savages had yet to show themselves. Could it be that they had departed? They’d suffered heavy losses, undoubtedly more than they had expected. Would they risk as many lives in another attack? Or would they do as the Apaches often did when the Apaches met stiffer resistance than they anticipated, cut their losses and go in search of easier pickings? Suddenly a finger touched his shoulder.

  Flying Hawk moved his hands in exaggerated movements so the signs he made would be conspicuous in the dark. “You are a fine fighter, Grizzly Killer. I no longer doubt you are worthy of your name.”

  “Thank you,” Nate signed in the same exaggerated manner.

  “Do you know the secret my sister is keeping from me?”

  The blunt query caught Nate flat-footed and he paused before responding, uncertain whether he should reveal the truth or deny he knew anything. He loathed lying, but by the same token he didn’t have the right to meddle in Smoky Woman’s personal affairs. She must have an excellent reason for not informing her brother.

  “Do not try to deny she is hiding something,” Flying Hawk signed. “I know her well, Grizzly Killer, as well as I do myself. She can hide nothing from me for very long.”

  “If she does have a secret,” Nate signed tactfully, “it is for her to tell you. I would be out of place were I to give it away.”

  The warrior did not respond immediately. His features obscured by shadow, he stood as still as if carved from stone. Finally his hands moved. “Very well. I will respect your wishes.” Shifting, he glanced toward the bend. “But I already think I know what her secret is, and if I am right I must take steps to prevent her from staining our family and our people.”

  Nate straightened. “You cannot mean that. She is your own flesh and blood.”

  “If what I suspect is true, she should have killed herself rather than lie with him.”

  “Maybe she loves him. Have you thought of that?”

  “Love is no excuse for lying with an enemy.”

  “You disappoint me, Flying Hawk. I thought you had come to see that not all whites are as bad as some of your people might claim.”

  “I have. By knowing you I have learned there are white men who are brave and truthful, but this does not change anything. It does not change what has happened and what will happen. Already have your kind killed most of the beaver. One day your people will want these mountains for their own. You said so yourself. Do friends take that which does not belong to them? No. This is an act of an enemy. So whether you like it or not, your people and mine are enemies.”

  Nate knew there was nothing he could say to change the warrior’s mind. Flying Hawk’s logic was irrefutable, and were he in the Ute’s place he’d feel the same way. “If my people were to find out my sister has slept with a white man, they would shun her. The child would be treated even worse. Do not look at me like that. I have heard that your people do not think highly of mixed unions either.”

  “Some do not,” Nate admitted, and would have gone on to appeal to the warrior’s sense of fairness if not for the untimely arrival of Smoky Woman.

  “Have fire. Need water.” She held out a pot. “I fetch.”

  “Not on your life,” Nate said, snatching it from her hand and moving quickly to the end of the barricade to forestall any protest. Hunching down and staying close to the cliff, he trotted toward the spring. Not until he had covered over ten feet did the gravity of the risk he was taking sink home. And all for a man he didn’t like all that much.

  No, he told himself. That wasn’t quite true. He wasn’t doing this for Cain so much as he was for Smoky Woman. For her he felt acute sympathy, and he wished there was something he could do to lessen her misery. There wasn’t, though. She had made the difficult choice and she must now live with the inevitable consequence.

  The smooth surface of the pool reflected the stars overhead, a glimmering mirror afloat in a dull sea of rock and packed earth, easy for him to distinguish. He halted a dozen feet off and crouched. Slowly, his mind cautioned. To rush now would prove fatal. There had to be savages nearby, and perhaps one or two were keeping an eye on the spring.

  Of a sudden the wind picked up again, cooling his cheeks and brow. He ran his eyes over every boulder, every shadow. Any savages in hiding were invisible.

  Easing onto his stomach, the Hawken in his left hand, the pot in his right, he snaked toward the pool, advancing an inch at a time, moving first one limb, then another, much like an oversized turtle moving in slow motion. He had to be extra careful not to scrape the rifle or the pot on the ground. Once he slipped up and the pot made a scratching noise. Freezing, he waited to see if there would be a reaction. The night mocked his anxiety with its tranquility.

  At the water’s edge he inhaled the dank scent and touched his fingers to the cool surface. Cupping his right hand, he ladled water to his mouth and drank quietly. Then he slowly lowered the pot in. Water flowed over the sides, filling it rapidly, making it heavier and harder to hold.

  Somewhere to the west arose a faint clattering.

  Nate lifted the pot out and set it down to free both hands for using the Hawken. The clattering stopped before he could identify it. Staying motionless, he fixed his eyes blankly on the entire scene before him rather than on any one specific spot. It was an old trick used to detect the slightest movement anywhere within one’s view.

  Over a minute must have gone by when a light-colored apparition materialized to the southwest. Assuming it must be a savage, he tucked the Hawken to his shoulder and leveled the rifle across the pool, the barrel so close to the surface it was nearly touching. Gradually the apparition solidified, transforming into a small doe, not much over a year old. Demonstrating the age-old vigilance of her species, she would take several steps, then pause to test the wind.

  Nate knew the animal was coming to drink. In order to avoid giving her a scare and having her bound off, making all kinds of noise as she fled, he backed away from the pool, taking the pot in his right hand. He had gone a yard or so when he saw the most remarkable sight.

  From four directions at once sprang four husky savages, swooping down on the startled doe in a blur of lightning speed. She bounded to the left, saw a savage bearing down on her, and reversed direction, bounding to the right. Another savage blocked her escape route. Spinning, she sought to flee the way she had come but another savage was there. They had her completely hemmed in. Game to the last, she darted between two of them, or tried to, but they were amazingly fast. One got her by the neck, the other dived and grabbed her front legs, and she bleated in terror as she went down. Nate distinctly heard a loud snap. The four savages huddled around their kill, tearing at her with their hands. One of them, exhibiting superhuman strength, tore off her hind leg and commenced greedily devouring her raw flesh. Another leaned down to rip into her slender neck with his teeth.

  Nate had seen enough. Now, while they were distracted, was the perfect time to head for the cave. Turning, he crawled but three or four inches when he saw another savage, this one standing at the base of the cliff wall between the pool and the cave. And the man was coming toward him!

  Nine

  Nate had the Hawken up and aimed in the blink of an eye, and he was all set to cock the hammer when he realized the savage was backing toward him. The man hadn’t seen him yet. He surmised the Indian had snuck close to the cave entrance, perhaps to see or overhear what was going on inside, and now was sneaking off to make a report to the rest of the band. Lowering the Hawken, he drew his tomahawk. Stealth and silence were in order. Should those eating the deer hear a commotion, they would be on him before he could reach safety.

  He marveled at how quiet the savage was. Strain his ears as he might, he heard nary a whisper of sound. Nate held the tomahawk flat i
n front of him and smelled the odor of drying blood. There had been no time to wipe the tomahawk clean after the battle, and he certainly couldn’t do so now.

  Suddenly the savage turned away from the cliff, bent at the waist, and sprinted off to the south, his gaze on the cave the whole time. Soon the night swallowed him up.

  Nate felt some of the tension drain from his body. That had been too close for his liking! How lucky the man had been more intent on not being spotted by someone within the cave than on his surroundings! Tucking the tomahawk back under his belt, Nate gripped the rifle and the pot and resumed crawling.

  From the look of things, the savages intended to stay there for a while. They were more persistent than Nate had imagined. And when he regarded the situation from their perspective, he realized they had everything to gain and little to lose by waiting around. Eventually he and the others would run out of food, and they would run out of water too if the savages thought to keep a closer watch on the spring.

  Nearing the barricade, Nate whispered, “It’s me!” so Flying Hawk wouldn’t put an arrow into him. Then, rising, he ran the remaining distance and sank low behind the barricade with water sloshing over the rim of the pot.

  The Ute and his sister were also hunched low, glaring at one another. Evidently they’d had another argument. Neither moved for fully half a minute, until Smoky Woman turned, took the pot without speaking, and hurried off, carefully holding the pot so she wouldn’t spill it.

  Nate leaned the Hawken against the barricade and rose high enough to peer over the top. Someone had to keep watch, and Flying Hawk was too preoccupied. Nothing moved out there. Craning his neck, Nate tried to catch a glimpse of the four savages consuming the doe, but they were too far off. A hand touched his right shoulder.

  The warrior had moved closer and now employed sign, holding his hands close to Nate’s face so Nate would have no problem reading the gestures.

  Nate concentrated so he wouldn’t miss a one. From long practice he mentally filled in the articles and other words that were lacking in sign language but which were needed to flesh out the statements into their English equivalent. In this instance Flying Hawk signed, “Sister want go white country with False Tongue. Question. Whites make her heart bad.”

  Sign language, incorporating as it did hundreds of hand gestures and motions, could convey a nearly endless variety of meanings and sentiments through the proper combination of symbols. But there were deficiencies, one being that in sign there were no gestures for “what,” “where,” “when,” and “why.” The sign for “question” was used instead. So when someone wanted to ask, “What are you called?” they would sign, “Question you called.”

  There were others areas in which sign language was lacking, from an English language standpoint, and some trappers had difficulty in reading and using sign because of this. They were accustomed to structuring their talk in a certain way and they couldn’t get the hang of doing it differently. Others, like Shakespeare McNair, were as adept as the Indians themselves.

  Nate raised his arms and replied. “Your sister will be treated kindly by some, not so kindly by others.”

  “She should stay with her own people. I do not like this.”

  “It might be for the best,” Nate said, although he wasn’t entirely convinced that it would be. Half-breeds were not highly regarded in either culture. Whites tended to treat breeds with contempt, while the attitude of the Indians varied from tribe to tribe. The Shoshones and Apaches accepted them; the Utes and Blackfeet did not.

  “I will not let her go.”

  “She is a grown woman. She can do as she pleases.”

  “That is the white way, not ours.”

  “Should you stand in her way if her love for False Tongue brings her happiness?”

  “She must not be permitted to shame our family and dishonor our people.”

  Sighing, Nate let the subject drop. It was a hopeless case, he reflected. The warrior’s prejudices were too ingrained. He suddenly recalled he had promised to tend Cain’s wound. “Keep watch,” he signed. “If they attack again give a shout.”

  Tendrils of acrid smoke performed aerial dances in the main chamber. Although Smoky Woman had intentionally kept her fire small, the lack of ventilation was causing the smoke to accumulate swiftly. Steam rose off the water in the pot, giving the air a muggy feel.

  Solomon Cain was on his back on a thick buffalo robe. He looked up at Nate and asked, “Are the sons of bitches still out there?”

  Nate nodded. “And I suspect they have no intention of leaving any time soon. They might try to starve us out.”

  “I’m not about to sit in here until I’m too weak from hunger to lift my guns. We’ll make a break for it come first light.”

  “I thought you’d decided against that notion.”

  Cain shifted to make himself more comfortable. “A man can change his mind, can’t he? I’ve been lyin’ here thinkin’, and I have me a plan.”

  “Let’s hear it.”

  “You let Smoky Woman ride double with you. Your horse is the best of the bunch, and even with her on board it’ll do right fine. Until we hit cover I’ll ride on one side of you and Flying Hawk will ride on the other. Between us we’ll keep those pesky devils off your back.”

  “That’s your plan?”

  “Do you have a better one?” Cain said gruffly. “We sure as hell can’t stay in here and rot. Sure, we might be able to hold out for a spell, but think of the horses. They can’t go for long without food and water. We have to cut out, if only for their sake.” Cain paused. “Unless you want to try and reach the mountains on foot.”

  No, Nate most definitely didn’t. Kneeling, he placed the Hawken at his side and did some calculations. On foot, during the daylight hours, it would take them six hours or better to get to the eastern range, six hours of grueling travel over hot terrain with the savages dogging then every step of the way. If they went at night the journey would take even longer, but the blistering heat wouldn’t be a factor.

  “What do you say?” Cain prompted.

  “Let’s wait and see how things go,” Nate hedged, bending over. “Right now we have to get your shirt off.”

  “Use your knife. I ain’t about to try liftin’ my arm.”

  The blade sliced into the buckskin garment easily enough. Nate started at the elbow and sliced upward, using exquisite care so as not to cut Cain. Once he had a slit from Cain’s elbow to Cain’s neck, he peeled back the buckskin for a closer examination. In the flickering light of the candles he saw a nasty gash, over an inch deep, above the clavicle. Blood still trickled out.

  “Ain’t a pretty sight, is it?” Cain asked.

  “I’ve seen worse.”

  “In a way, Providence was lookin’ out for my hide. The vermin who did this was tryin’ to bash in my head. Nearly caught me by surprise.” Cain grunted when Nate touched the gash. “Go easy there, hoss. This coon ain’t been in such pain since the time I tangled with a grizzly near the Green River. He came chargin’ out of the brush and took a swat at me. Just one, mind you. That was enough to send me flyin’ over twenty feet. About stove in all my ribs, he did.”

  Nate glanced at Smoky Woman. “Is the water boiling yet?”

  “No.”

  “Let me know when it is,” Nate said, and cast about for something to make bandages from. Everything except the buffalo hide and Cain’s possibles bag had been taken out to use in building the barricade. “What do you have in there?” he asked, nodding at the big leather bag.

  “The usual. My pipe and kinnikinnick, some sewing needles, a spool of thread, pemmican and whatnot. Why?”

  Nate told him.

  “I got me a white Hudson’s bay blanket in my supplies. A three-pointer. Best blanket I ever owned, but it won’t do me no good if I’m gone beaver. Look for a parfleche with a bunch of blue beads on the front in the shape of a raven’s head. It’s stuffed in there.”

  “I’ll be right back,” Nate said, and went to the ba
rricade. Flying Hawk was now standing, leaning against the wall at the point where the barricade began. The Ute offered no comment as Nate searched until he found Cain’s parfleche. Pulling out the heavy blanket, he hurried back.

  By then the water was boiling vigorously. Nate cut off a towel-sized piece of blanket, partially filled a tin cup with scalding water, and squatted next to Solomon Cain. “I don’t need to tell you this will hurt like the dickens.”

  “At least it ain’t an arrow in the hump-ribs.”

  Cutting another, smaller, square off the Hudson’s bay blanket, Nate gave it to Cain. “Something to clamp down on,” he advised.

  “You’re right considerate.”

  First Nate had to wash the wound thoroughly. He did this by dipping the improvised towel in the tin cup, then applying the blanket to the gash. Cain’s eyes bulged and he uttered intermittent gurgling noises. The water in the cup became red with blood and Nate refilled it. Presently he had the wound clean, so he put the cup down. “I going to try and set the bone,” he announced.

  Cain merely grunted.

  The task wasn’t for the squeamish. Nate had to slide two of his fingers into the gash until he touched the sagging broken bone, which he then tugged upward until he felt it make contact with the other half. His skin crawled when he felt the two sections grate together.

  Beads of perspiration dotted Cain’s forehead and his hair hung limp and damp. Twice he arched his spine and turned the color of a setting sun. When the sections of bone touched he let out a strangled cry, his eyelids quivering, then slumped back, barely conscious.

  Nate extracted his fingers and wiped them on his leggins. Next he cut four long, wide strips off the blanket. As he began to apply one to Cain’s shoulder, Smoky Woman came over.

  “Let me.”

  The eloquent appeal in her eyes convinced Nate to relinquish the strips. Cradling the Hawken in the crook of his elbow, he walked around the bend. Pegasus nudged him, trying to get his attention, but he walked on to the barricade. “False Tongue will be fine before a moon has passed,” he signed.