Wilderness Double Edition #7

by David Robbins

  “You are placing all of our lives in peril,” Little Dog corrected him. “I only pray it is worth it.”

  ~*~

  Not quite twelve miles distant, nestled in a hollow where the whipping wind couldn’t extinguish their tiny fire, Nate and Zach hunched over the last of the fish they had caught at dusk. Except for a few essentials such as ammunition and black powder, they had not brought any supplies along with them, not even jerky to munch on along the way. They had been living off the land ever since leaving the village, all part of Nate’s plan to give his son a true taste of life in the wild reaches of the uncompromising mountains. If they wanted full bellies they had to snare game, and so far they had not gone hungry a single day.

  “What do you reckon Ma is doing right about now?” the boy wondered.

  “Probably visiting her cousin, Willow Woman. I swear those two are like two peas in a pod. You can hardly pry them apart once they take to jawing.”

  Zach chuckled and tried to sound mature as he said, “You sure have them pegged, Pa. I reckon you know more about women than Uncle Shakespeare said you do.”

  “Oh? And what did dear Uncle Shakespeare have to say?”

  “Do you remember that big fight Ma and you had once over me going along on a raid into Ute country?”

  “Your mother didn’t want you to go, and I thought it might be good for you since all you were going to do was tend the horses and lay low if we ran into Utes,” Nate recalled. “So?”

  “So I asked Uncle Shakespeare why Ma and you argue like that sometimes even though you love each other. He said it’s only natural. He said men and women can’t help rubbing each other the wrong way now and then ’cause they’re so different. Then he used a lot of those funny words from that big book he carries around all the time.”

  “He quoted from the works of Shakespeare.”

  “Yep.”

  “When did he mention me?”

  “When I asked what all those funny words had to do with Ma and you. He said you’re still young so you don’t rightly know much about women and it’s not your fault if you get Ma riled now and then. He said your life is”— Zach thought for a few seconds—“a comedy of errors, whatever that is, and then he laughed so hard his face turned beet red.”

  “Remind me to pay your uncle a visit when we get back.”

  “Can we? I’d like that, Pa. He’s a lot of fun to be around.”

  Nate spread out their blankets side by side, then strolled over to where their horses were tethered. Pegasus was grazing. The mare stood with her head bowed and her eyes closed. He patted the gelding, and scanned the adjacent forest while listening intently to the various night sounds around them. An owl posed its eternal question. A wolf wailed a lonesome lament far to the west. To the south, faint but unmistakable, arose the throaty snarl of a prowling panther, and Nate waited to see if it would be repeated so he might get some idea of which direction the panther was moving. But the big cat didn’t cooperate.

  After a while Nate walked toward the fire. He wasn’t particularly worried about the panther since the solitary cats rarely attacked humans or went after livestock in the close proximity of humans. The horses should be safe. Even if the panther did venture near, he was confident the keen ears and nose of the gelding would detect its presence and that Pegasus would act up something awful, thereby awakening him.

  The fire had burned low. Reddish-orange tongues of flame licked at the few pieces of wood not yet charred. Zach, exhausted from the many hours spent in the saddle, had already curled up and appeared to be sound asleep.

  Nate gazed fondly at his son, feeling all warm inside. The boy tried so hard and did so well. Suddenly he saw a vague shape gliding out of the inky shadows toward Zach and he froze. The dancing firelight illuminated a low-slung creature on all fours. He glimpsed a hairy, triangular face framed by high, pointed ears and a long nose held close to the ground. For a second Nate thought it must be a wolf, and his right hand streaked to one of the two flintlocks wedged under his wide leather belt on either side of his metal buckle. As he took hasty aim the animal took another stride closer and was bathed in more firelight, allowing Nate to see that it wasn’t a wolf after all.

  Their visitor was a coyote.

  Mystified, Nate held his fire. Coyotes were not noted for their ferocity, and this one gave no sign of being about to pounce. Rather, it seemed more curious than anything else as it slunk steadily closer to Zach. Nate could see its nose twitching as it tested the air, getting the boy’s scent.

  Abruptly, Zach shifted, rolling onto his back and uttering a low moan as he did. The coyote reacted as if shot, recoiling and wheeling to vanish in the brush with nary a sound.

  Nate stuck the flintlock back under his belt, and returned to the blankets to take a seat next to his son. He scoured the shroud of darkness, but the coyote was long gone. Reflecting on its odd behavior, he thought of his wife and how, if she had been there, she would say the incident had been an omen. Like all Shoshones she was quite superstitious, reading meanings into everyday events that Nate tended to shrug off as simple happenstance. But it was strange, he conceded, that Zach, whose given Shoshone name was Stalking Coyote, should be visited by a wild coyote in the dead of night.

  Shrugging, Nate positioned his Hawken next to his right side, and lay down on his back so he could gaze at the myriad of brilliant stars on high. Few spectacles inspired his soul like the celestial tapestry that nightly adorned the heavens. It was a time to lie quietly and think, to ponder what had happened during the day and plan for tomorrow.

  He thought about the five Indians and hoped they had given up the chase. Many times in the past he had lost pursuers by taking to water as he had done today, so he was optimistic the five wouldn’t pick up the trail again. Still, he would have to be vigilant for a while.

  A twig snapped in the brush.

  Nate smiled and held himself still. The coyote had come back, and he didn’t want to do anything that would scare it off. He was interested to learn how close it would venture if he pretended to be asleep.

  A second twig cracked.

  Ever so slowly, Nate twisted his head, his eyes nearly shut, and waited for the animal to appear. An indistinct shape moved at the limits of his vision and he heard a loud crunch. For a coyote, the critter was uncommonly noisy. He had to suppress a laugh when it made yet another sound.

  Gradually the indistinct shape solidified into a black mass, a huge black mass, an enormous lumbering bulk that strode fearlessly forward into the last of the light from the fire and grunted as if in surprise on finding two humans in its domain.

  Nate’s breath caught in his throat and his blood changed to ice. A shiver rippled down his spine. His right hand rested on the barrel of the Hawken, but he dared not try to use the rifle since he couldn’t hope to put a ball into the monster standing in front of him before it ripped him apart with its giant claws. Even if, by some miracle, he did, it was rare that a single shot dispatched a full-grown grizzly.

  The bear swung its ponderous head from side to side while sniffing loudly. Perhaps it smelled the lingering odor of the cooked fish, or perhaps another scent attracted it. Whatever, the grizzly stepped forward until its great head hung directly above the two figures on the ground.

  Nate could feel its warm, fetid breath on his face and see the underside of its chin. From where he lay the bear resembled a living mountain of solid muscle. Within a foot of his face was a gigantic paw, the claws glistening dully. A drop of drool splattered on Nate’s cheek but he ignored it.

  Grunting, the bear nosed the man and the boy. The latter mumbled and fidgeted and the bear cocked its head, its cavernous mouth opening and closing. The scent of the morsel was tantalizing, but the grizzly had eaten half an hour ago and its stomach was full. Too, the bear had never seen anything like these two creatures, and it still remembered the bitter lesson it had learned at an early age when it tried to eat another creature it had never encountered before, a creature covered with long
, sharp quills that had cut into its nose and mouth and had taken weeks to tear loose, causing no end of pain.

  Nate saw the grizzly staring at Zach, and braced for the worst. His left hand inched to the tomahawk on his hip, and he started to ease the weapon free. He would undoubtedly be crushed to a pulp, but he was not about to lie there and let the monster devour his son. The wooden handle felt small against his palm, the weapon itself puny. Girding his courage, he tensed to leap erect and swing.

  All of a sudden the bear backed up, spun, and shuffled off, plowing through the brush with all the finesse of a steam engine. The crashing and crackling grew progressively fainter until they were smothered by distance.

  Nate sat bolt upright, his heart thumping in his chest. That, he told himself, had been too damn close for comfort! He looked at his peacefully slumbering son, and was so relieved that tears formed at the corners of his eyes. Then he quickly rose and gathered more fuel for the fire, bringing back a half-dozen loads of broken branches, enough to make a waist-high pile.

  Not in the least sleepy, Nate fed wood to the few remaining flames until he had a roaring blaze going. From where he squatted he could see the horses, and he marveled that the grizzly had not caught their scent and that neither horse had whinnied in fright during its brief stay. Shaking his head in amazement, he verified that his two pistols, the tomahawk, and his butcher knife were all in place about his waist. The Hawken went across his lap. He sat up until near midnight, dreading that the grizzly might see fit to wander back, but the forest lay tranquil under a moonless sky.

  Despite his best efforts, Nate’s weary body succumbed to the inevitable. His eyes closed. He reclined on his side, the rifle in his hands, and decided to sleep a little while, just enough to refresh him. Then he’d build the fire up once more and keep watch over his son until daylight. That was all he needed. A few hours’ rest.

  ~*~

  The sharp neigh of a terrified horse slashed into Nate’s consciousness like a hot knife through butter and he came instantly awake. He was upright and glancing every which way before he quite realized what had awakened him. The mare whinnied, providing an answer, and he heard both horses restlessly moving back and forth.

  From the deep woods came a guttural growl.

  For a second Nate believed the grizzly had returned and was about to attack their mounts; then the growl lengthened and grew louder, becoming a drawn-out, savage snarl such as only the largest of cats could utter. It was a panther, perhaps the same panther he had heard previously!

  “Zach!” Nate said as he scooped up the Hawken. “Wake up, son. We have trouble on our hands.”

  The boy tossed and his eyelids fluttered.

  “Wake up!” Nate urged, fearful the beast would spring before they reached their mounts. He prodded his son with his toe. “Come on!”

  “Pa?” Zach said uncertainly, sitting up. He looked around in confusion. “What is it? What’s the matter?”

  “Panther,” Nate explained. “Grab your gun and follow me.”

  Young Zach came to full alertness as the tension in his father’s tone conveyed the danger confronting them. He grabbed the long rifle lying beside him, the first and only rifle he had ever owned, given to him by his parents just a few short weeks before the elk hunt began, and jumped to his feet.

  “Stay close,” Nate cautioned, treading warily toward Pegasus and Mary. Both animals stood stock-still, staring intently into the darkened woods to the north of where they were tied. He wondered why the cat had snarled the way it had since usually panthers were quiet when stalking prey, and he gave silent thanks that this cat was the exception rather than the rule. Had it approached noiselessly, by now one of their horses would be dead.

  “Where is it, Pa?” Zach whispered, his small thumb on the cool metal hammer. He tried to keep his voice steady so his father wouldn’t suspect how scared he felt. His mouth was dry, his palms damp.

  “It could be anywhere,” Nate responded. “Keep your eyes peeled.”

  Zach absently nodded, his mind whirling so that he couldn’t think straight and didn’t realize his father, being in front of him, couldn’t see his head move. He scanned the line of trees on both sides, the dark, ominous trunks not more than ten feet off on either side, and remembered the many tales he had heard about how far panthers could leap. What if the cat charged his pa or him instead of the horses? It would be on them before they could get off a shot. The thought spawned terror that spread like wildfire throughout his body, causing an odd burning sensation on his skin and making his limbs tingle as if they were asleep.

  Pegasus had raised his head to sniff the breeze. His front hoof stamped the ground hard twice and then he moved a yard to the left, his big eyes locked on the bole of a large tree in the forest directly across from him.

  Nate could guess why. The Hawken cocked, he moved around the horses until he was between the gelding and the tree. “Get set, son,” he said softly. “If it’s going to attack, it won’t wait long.”

  Zach, struck dumb by his terror, made no reply, and he saw his father glance at him. At the very same instant he saw something else: the panther, its claws extended, its razor teeth exposed, vaulting from concealment straight at them.

  Three

  To one who has never experienced raw, unbridled fear, the first time can be virtually paralyzing. There had been times in the past when young Zach had been afraid, but he had never, ever known such stark fright as that which seized him at the moment the panther sprang. He wanted to cry out, to warn his father, but his vocal chords had changed to stone. He wanted to raise the Kentucky rifle and fire, but his arms were frozen in place. All he could do was watch helplessly as the huge cat sailed gracefully through the air.

  Nate was not taken completely unawares, however. He’d seen his son’s eyes widen, and he pivoted toward the forest just as the panther slammed into him. By sheer chance he had the Hawken at chest height, so it was the rifle the cat’s slashing forepaws struck instead of his body. Nate was spared from being ripped wide open. The impact, though, sent him stumbling backwards into Pegasus.

  Hissing like a venomous serpent, the panther crouched and gathered its leg muscles to jump again.

  At last Zach found his voice. Horrified by the mental image of the panther sinking its teeth into his father, a heartfelt “No!” burst from his thin lips.

  Distracted, the big cat looked at him.

  And it was then that Nate, having recovered his balance, hastily pointed the Hawken at the panther’s head. His finger was tightening on the trigger when the courageous gelding, which was eager to close with the intruder, tried to get past him, jostling him roughly as it did and inadvertently jarring the barrel to one side. The Hawken thundered, but the ball missed by inches.

  Swiftly Nate clawed at a flintlock, hoping against hope he would be able to fire before the cat pounced. The blast and the cloud of smoke had momentarily startled the panther into immobility, and he knew the spell wouldn’t last long. It didn’t. Just as the flintlock was clearing his belt, the cat snarled, whirled, and flashed into the undergrowth.

  Nate extended his arm, but there was no target to hit. He listened, yet heard only the wind. Slowly he lowered the pistol as it dawned on him that the crisis was past. The panther had been scared off and wasn’t about to bother them again.

  “Is it gone, Pa?” Zach asked timidly.

  “Yep.” Nate studied the boy’s ashen features and mustered a lopsided grin. “Gave you a bit of a fright, did it?”

  Zach gulped and nodded.

  “Happens to all of us at one time or another. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

  “I’ll bet you weren’t afraid.”

  “There wasn’t time for me to be scared. It all happened so fast.”

  Nate took a minute to reload the Hawken, then stroked each of the horses in turn, speaking softly to them to calm them down. Presently he headed for the fire, his son, head bowed, at his side. “Are you all right, Zach?”

  “I
’m fine, Pa,” Zach lied, because his emotions were in seething turmoil. He felt so bad he wanted to crawl into a hole and die. The way he saw it, he had behaved like a coward. And in his estimation there was no worse fate in all the word than being yellow.

  To Shoshone men, courage was everything, the most essential of manly traits. Some of Zach’s earliest memories were of Shoshone warriors recounting the brave deeds they had done to earn the coups they had counted. Countless times he had listened in rapt fascination as Touch the Clouds, Spotted Bull, Drags the Rope, and others told of their daring exploits, and always he longed for the day when he would perform deeds to match or exceed theirs.

  As if that wasn’t unsettling enough, for years Zach had heard stories about his father, about the many grizzlies his pa had slain and the many foes his pa had killed in defense of the tribe. At least a half-dozen times various warriors had said that Grizzly Killer was one of the bravest men alive. More than once Zach had been told that he was a lucky boy to have such a stalwart father, and that when he grew up he must do his father proud by being equally as courageous.

  And look at what had happened! Zach reflected sourly. He’d had a chance to show just how brave he was, and instead he had discovered that at heart he was a coward. He’d let his pa down and himself down. How could he ever hope to make his pa proud when he had no courage at all? His lower lip trembled as he held back the tears dampening the corners of his eyes, and he was glad his father couldn’t see his face as he lay down on his side with his arms wrapped around the Kentucky rifle.

  “You get some more sleep, son,” Nate remarked. “I’ll keep watch a spell.”

  “I’ll try.”

  “Are you sure you’re not feeling poorly? You sound as if you’re coming down with a cold.”

  “I never felt better, Pa,” Zach said, and then, under his breath, he repeated bitterly, “Never felt better.”

  ~*~

  The barking of a dog brought Winona out of her peaceful sleep. Snug and warm under a thick, soft buffalo robe, she rolled onto her back and stretched languidly while gazing up through the open smoke flap at the top of the lodge. A pink hue tinged the sky, signifying dawn was not far off.