Wilderness Double Edition #7
Page 14
Several darts served as retaliation. One smacked into the earth next to Smoky Woman. A second passed through the Palouse’s swishing tail. The third flashed overhead.
A bold strategy occurred to Nate, and with a gesture at the warrior to go on, he darted behind a boulder they were passing and crouched with his back against the hard stone surface. The Utes and the gelding were soon dim figures in the night. Suddenly he heard the whispering tread of a stealthy stalker, and a heartbeat later a stout Indian stepped into view, a spear clutched in the man’s brawny right hand. The Indian didn’t see Nate, so intent was he on those he hunted.
Then the man halted, apparently aware one of the figures was missing.
Like a striking rattler, Nate pounced. Only he didn’t use a gun. At the last instant he pulled his butcher knife and buried the keen blade in the savage’s thick throat. The savage sprang rearward, his throat gushing red, and threw back his arm to hurl the spear. Belatedly, the shock of his wound staggered him and he shuffled weakly to the left, his spear arm waving.
Nate knew a dead man when he saw one. Whirling, he sprinted after his companions, sliding the damp knife into his sheath along the way. A harrowing reminder not to make rash judgments jolted him when the spear whizzed over his left shoulder. Twisting, he saw the savage collapse.
Increasing his speed, he soon came on Flying Hawk and Smoky Woman. The warrior had trained an arrow on him. Then those eagle eyes recognized who he was and the bow lowered fractionally. Side by side they followed Pegasus, covering a hundred yards before they were made aware of their blunder. One of them should have been in front of the gelding.
It was Smoky Woman’s scream that caused them both to spin, and they both saw the muscular savage bearing down on her with a club held aloft. Nate sighted, but as quick as he was he wasn’t quick enough, because Flying Hawk got off a shaft first, the arrow flying straight and true, the barbed point biting into the savage’s chest above the heart.
Like a poled ox the savage toppled.
Flying Hawk dashed forward, leaving Nate to protect their rear alone. He anticipated another onslaught of darts and spears, but none was forthcoming. Every nerve vibrant, he glued his thumb to the hammer, his finger to the trigger. One of the Indians was bound to appear sooner or later and he would be ready.
Bewilderingly, time went by and no more savages appeared. Nate couldn’t believe the band had given up so easily. They must be lurking out there somewhere, he figured, waiting their chance. So he didn’t relax for an instant. But after a while his body grew tired of its own accord. There was just so much strenuous exertion and nervous excitement a human being could handle, and he had been through sheer hell ever since finding Cain strung up from that tree.
The seconds turned into minutes, the minutes, inexplicably, into an hour, then two hours, and three.
During all this time Nate’s vigilance inevitably waned, his weariness waxed. Despite the danger, he longed to lie down and sleep. The lack of hostile action lulled him into suspecting he was wrong; the savages had decided to take their dead and leave. Or so logical reasoning led him to believe. His gut instincts were another story.
A graying of the eastern sky promised the imminent arrival of dawn.
The mountains were close but not close enough, two miles or better if Nate was any judge of distance, two more miles of arid desolation frequented by a bloodthirsty band of feral savages. If, he vowed, he made it out, he’d never, ever return unless it was at the head of an army.
A high gorge bisected by a dry wash blocked their route. On either hand skeletal ridges resembled imposing medieval ramparts. They could go around or they could go on through. Flying Hawk chose the shorter path.
Dwarfed into insignificance by the size of the gorge, Nate tried not to dwell on what would happen if the savages gained the high ground and proceeded to dislodge some of the gigantic boulders balanced precariously up above. A single rock slide would crush all four of them and Pegasus to boot.
Nerves taunt, Nate trudged on, his gaze never leaving the tops of the walls. Here at the bottom of the gorge the feeble rays of approaching daylight had not yet reached, and it was as if they were walking through a night-shrouded realm. He could see Flying Hawk, but not the Ute’s features when the warrior turned his head from side to side.
Was it half an hour that went by? Forty-five minutes? Estimating time was difficult when there was no point of reference such as the sun or the positions of the stars to judge by, and the few stars visible from the depths of the gorge were too indistinct to be of any aid.
Shortly thereafter, when the end of the gorge showed as a pale patch of light blue up ahead, the unforeseen transpired. Solomon Cain abruptly awakened and tried to sit up in the saddle.
“What the hell!” he blurted out loudly, his words echoing off the walls. “Why am I tied down?”
In a flash Nate was there and touching a hand to Cain’s cheek. “Quiet or we’re all dead!”
“King?” Cain said, twisting his head with an effort. He blinked, then coughed. “What the devil is going on? Where are we? Everything is all fuzzy in my noggin.”
“We’re trying to reach the mountains but those savages are after us. I don’t think they know where we are, but they will if we’re not mighty careful.”
“Sorry,” Cain muttered, and grasped the rope securing him to the saddle horn. “Was this necessary?”
“It was if we wanted to get you out in one piece. Otherwise you would have fallen off hours ago and busted your head open,” Nate said. “We sure as blazes couldn’t tote you out on our backs.”
“Well, cut me loose. I think my fever has broke and I feel a heap better now. I can walk.”
“Stay up there a while longer,” Nate suggested, afraid Cain would slow them down on foot. Every moment counted, and he felt a compelling urgency to reach the range quickly.
“No, damn it!” Cain snapped. “I’m sore as hell and my back is all cramped up. So cut me free, damn you! I want to stretch my legs a spell.”
Disinclined to comply, Nate shook his head, and was about to explain why when Smoky Woman touched his arm.
“Please, Grizzly Killer.”
Against Nate’s better judgment, he gave in. He justified doing so by reasoning that he had no right to keep Cain trussed up if the man didn’t care to be. And he certainly didn’t want to become embroiled in a shouting match that might attract the savages.
“I’m waitin’!” Cain barked.
“All right,” Nate growled, drawing his knife. “But if you can’t keep up, back on Pegasus you go.” Short strokes parted the rope strands, and Solomon Cain, with a grateful sigh, slid off the Palouse into Smoky Woman’s waiting arms.
“We must hurry,” Nate prompted.
“Hold your horses,” Cain shot back, embracing Smoky Woman so tightly she could barely move. “And quit your worryin’ about those naked bastards. They’re no account anyways you lays your sight.”
Strange words coming from a man those “no account” savages had almost killed, Nate reflected, but he held his tongue. He also thought it odd when Cain gave Smoky Woman a passionate kiss right there in front of him. For all their bluster and bravado, mountain men were uncommonly shy about sexual matters and preferred to do their romancing in the privacy of their lodges or cabins. Public displays of intense affection were rare.
At length Cain broke the kiss, clasped Smoky Woman’s dainty hand in his, and walked slowly toward the end of the gorge. Neither of them bothered about the Palouse.
Nate grabbed the reins and fell into step behind them. Flying Hawk brought up the rear.
“You know, King,” Cain said softly over his shoulder, “I reckon my partner and me never ought to have come here. This place is cursed through and through. Any fool could of seen that. But not us. We wanted that gold and ...” He stopped, glanced at the gelding, then glared at Nate. “Damn you! You told me you were bringin’ the gold!”
“Keep your voice down,” Nate urged.
“It was either you or the gold. My horse couldn’t carry both.”
“You could have brought some!” Cain virtually wailed. “This coon didn’t go to all that trouble to leave empty-handed! I’m goin’ back.” So saying, he started to brush past Nate.
“No!” Smoky Woman exclaimed.
Nate gripped Cain’s wrist and held on. “Now it’s your turn to hold your horses. You’re in no condition to travel all the way back to the cave, and even if you were you’d have the savages dogging you every step of the way. Be sensible, Solomon. Stay with us.”
Cain tried to tear his arm loose. “I’m a free man and I can do as I damn well please without your say-so. That gold is rightfully mine and I don’t intend to leave it there for any old hoss to discover and steal. So let go.”
“Not until you give me your word you’ll give up the notion of going back.”
“Never,” Cain said, again striving to free his wrist. Suddenly, without any forewarning, he blanched and buckled, sagging forward.
Fortunately Nate was right there to catch him and lower him to the ground. “You blamed fool,” Nate said. “See my point? You’re in no shape to go anywhere.”
A fit of coughing prevented Cain from answering. Eyes closed, fist pressed to his lips, he hacked uncontrollably. Smoky Woman came and knelt beside him to affectionately stroke his brow.
Rising, Nate stepped back and draped an arm on Pegasus. In all his travels he had seldom met anyone as contrary as the jackass on the ground. Cain never seemed to learn. Anyone else, anyone with a shred of common sense, would know Nate had done the right thing and let it go at that. But not Solomon. Cain’s lust for gold was a sickness which not even love could cure.
Impatient to be off, Nate tapped his fingers on the saddle horn and touched a sticky substance. Closer inspection revealed a few large drops of drying blood, not on the saddle horn itself but on the leather strap to his possibles bag which he often draped over the horn when riding, a habit his mentor, Shakespeare McNair, had been trying to break him of ever since they met. “Always keep your possibles on your person,” Shakespeare had often said. “You never know when you’ll be left afoot.”
Most trappers crammed their possibles bag with their tobacco and pipe, thread and needle, flints and steel, maybe their bait box for beaver, and other odds and ends. But because Nate didn’t smoke tobacco and carried his flint and steel in his ammo pouch, he felt no need to tote the extra weight along except when out working a trap line.
Solomon was sitting up now, his head bowed low, breathing deep. “I reckon I’m nowhere near fit yet,” he said, rasping out the words. “You’re right, King. Much as I hate the idea, my gold will have to stay where it is until I can come back for it. Just don’t get any notions about taking it for yourself. I’d hunt you down to the ends of the earth if need be.”
“Don’t threaten me,” Nate said. “Don’t ever threaten me.”
The edge to Nate’s voice made Cain stiffen, “I didn’t mean to get you riled,” he mumbled, gingerly touching his shoulder.
Nate noticed a dark stain. “Are you bleeding again’?”
“Could be. My shoulder does feel a mite damp now and then.”
Nate scanned the top of the gorge. For a minute there he had forgotten all about the savages, an oversight he dared not repeat if he valued his life. “We must keep going. I’ll check the bandage later. Can you walk or would you rather ride?”
“Never let it be said that a little thing like a busted shoulder turned me puny,” Cain responded. “I’ll walk, with your permission, your highness.”
“Suit yourself.” Nate assumed the lead once again, the gelding at his elbow. Pink and orange harbingers of dawn painted the eastern sky in broad strokes, and a slender sliver of gold rimmed the skyline. The increasing light even penetrated to the bottom of the gorge. Of the well-nigh limitless number of stars visible an hour ago, now only several shone bright enough to stand out, and soon they would fade too.
Near the gorge mouth Nate slowed. Jumbled boulders on either hand afforded an ideal ambush spot. If somehow the savages had gotten ahead of them, a distinct possibility given the delay caused by Cain, here was where the Indians would strike.
He cocked the Hawken and treaded on silent soles, a useless precaution since there was no way of muffling Pegasus’s hoofs. Or was there? He could cut his blanket into four pieces and wrap one piece around each hoof. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? Sometimes he acted as if he had buffalo chips for brains!
By now he was too near the boulders to stop for any reason. Should savages be lurking there, they’d speedily drop him with their spears or darts. Hawken leveled, he padded toward a golden bowl of sunlight past the boulders.
His apprehension proved unfounded. Not only were there no savages in hiding at the gorge, but before him unfolded a flat tract of arid terrain that stretched clear to the base of the eastern mountains, a tract where they would be perfectly safe because no one could get anywhere near them without being seen. Should a lizard move out there, he’d know it. No matter which direction the savages came from, his rifle and the Ute’s bow would keep them at bay.
Nate chuckled to himself and forged on. A stroke of good luck at last! he reflected. In two hours they’d be among the dense pines covering the lower slopes of the mountains. They’d be safe. He planned to make camp at the spring in the park and stay there for four or five days, long enough for Cain to recover sufficiently to be able to continue eastward. Perhaps he could persuade Flying Hawk to bring them some horses from the Ute village. If not, well, he’d stick with Smoky Woman and Cain until they were in safer territory.
He inhaled deeply, grateful to be alive. He’d outwitted the savages, bested them at their own game, and lived to tell the tale. And what a story he would have for Shakespeare and his other friends! Appropriately embellished, of course, to make it more exciting than the experience had been. If that was possible.
Pegasus perked up immensely at the sight of the mountains. The gelding sensed that water and food were his as soon as he reached the beckoning vegetation, so up came his head and his stride lengthened appreciably.
Nate glanced over his shoulder. Cain and Smoky Woman were strolling arm in arm, Cain remarkably recovered for someone who had been at death’s door. Flying Hawk, while still vigilant, was not as tense as before. All of them realized the worst of their ordeal was over.
Crossing the flat took about as long as he’d calculated. Seldom had simple grass and spruce trees looked so appealing as they did when he reached the bottom of a green slope and paused to inhale the fragrant spicy scent of the pines. Pegasus promptly lowered his muzzle and cropped greedily at the grass.
“Not yet,” Nate said. “Just a little further.”
A survey of the range showed he was north of the ravine through which Flying Hawk and he had passed to reach the wasteland. Was that the sole way in and out or was there another? He put the question to Cain.
“It’s the only one I know of,” Solomon answered, and nodded at the mountain towering above them. “Simon and me searched this here range for twenty miles or better from north to south, but we never did find another pass through to the other side.”
“Then the ravine it is,” Nate said, turning southward and pulling a reluctant Pegasus after him. Once through the ravine they would be in the park, and only there would he feel completely safe.
Doubts crept in as he walked along. He was assuming the savages seldom penetrated deep into the range, but what if he was wrong? Perhaps they did only roam the fringes of the mountains, which would explain why no one was aware of their existence. But maybe, just maybe, they wandered farther afield than he gave them credit for. In which case even the park wouldn’t be a safe haven.
Enmeshed in mulling over what to do, Nat
e paid scant attention to his surroundings except when he scoured the land ahead for sign of the ravine. If he recalled correctly, it was situated snugly between a pair of peaks that effectively hid it until one was right on it.
Behind him Solomon Cain was talking. “You’ll see, Smoky Woman. I ain’t about to give up this easy. Once I’m well enough, I’ll come back here and take out all the gold in that vein. The two of us will live in luxury for the rest of our lives.”
“I no care for yellow rocks. I care for you.”
“You’re sweet. But if we’re to live among white folks, we need the gold. You don’t know how it is among my kind. Unless you have lots of money you’re not considered worth much, and I’ll be damned if I’m ever goin’ to let any well-to-do folks look down their powdered noses at you.”
“I be happy with just you,” Smoky Woman stressed.
“Trust me. We need the gold.”
“Is gold worth life?”
“I ain’t about to die on you,” Cain stated. “Not when I’m so close to havin’ everything I’ve ever dreamed about, everything I could ever want. No, sirree.”
Smoky Woman spoke so quietly Nate couldn’t hear her words, but he did hear Cain’s reply.
“Hell, no, woman. Don’t be crazy. I ain’t goin’ to give up the gold for anything, not even you. If you love me you’ll stick with me until this is all over and then the two of us will celebrate in St. Louis. Maybe we’ll go on and do the same in New Orleans. The world will be ours.” He paused and chuckled. “Why, we could even go to Paris, if we want. That’s in Frenchy country.”
“I see my people again?”
Nate could have counted to ten in the pregnant pause that greeted her query.
“Sure you will. I give you my word.” Cain tittered. “And when you come back you’ll have more foofaraw than all the women in your village put together. You’ll be the talk of the tribe, the richest woman of them all.”
“I just want you,” Smoky Woman said plaintively.
Distracted by their conversation, Nate didn’t recognize the opening to the ravine until he was directly abreast of it. Swinging around in surprise, he peered down its narrow length, jubilant at the thought that soon the wasteland would be a bitter memory and nothing more. Smiling, he beckoned the others and started into the ravine. Only now was he truly convinced they had eluded the savages. At long last they were really safe.