Wilderness Double Edition #7

by David Robbins

  Slowly Nate took in the rope as he ascended. Judging by the weight, the limb under his arm must be a big one, and would be a welcome addition to their dwindling pile. But a single limb, no matter how large, was insufficient for their needs. He would have to make another foray, possibly many more. The thought sparked a shudder.

  An interminable interval went by, and Nate swore he had been plodding through the ever-deepening snow for hours when a glimmer of pale light outlined the cleft entrance. Coated liberally with snow, he staggered inside and nearly collapsed with relief.

  “Pa!” Zach shouted, coming off the saddle in a rush. “Let me help you.”

  Ordinarily Nate would have told his son that he could handle the job himself. In his exhausted state he did not argue, but rather helped Zach lower the limb to the floor. Then, shuffling awkwardly, he lumbered to the fire and sank down.

  “Are you all right?” Zach inquired anxiously.

  “Never felt better,” Nate tried to answer, and was shocked by the croaking noises that issued from his throat instead of words.

  “Pa?” Zach said, swinging around so he could kneel next to Nate’s legs. “What’s the matter with you? Why can’t you talk?” He placed his hand against his father’s cheek. “Tarnation! You’re frozen!”

  “No,” Nate rasped. He had to swallow several times and massage his throat before his vocal cords would work correctly. “I’m fine, son. And I saw your animal.”

  “You did? What kind is it?”

  “I couldn’t tell, but it’s nothing to worry about.” Nate inched nearer the fire, savoring the pleasant tingling in his arms and legs. As an experiment he tapped a finger on his nose but felt no sensation.

  “Is there anything I can do?”

  “Maybe drag that limb over here and see if you can chop it down to size,” Nate requested. The tingling was spreading, growing painful. Grunting, he reclined on his left side, his face to the flames, unwilling to move a muscle until either he thawed completely out or spring came, whichever happened first. He heard Zach begin chopping, a rhythmic thunk-thunk-thunk that lulled him to the verge of sleep. In his nostrils was the spicy scent of burning wood.

  With a start, Nate opened his eyes. He knew he had dozed off, and wondered how long he had slept. The fire seemed the same, but Zach’s chopping had ceased. Tensing, he rose up on an elbow and glanced over his shoulder to see if the chore had been done. What he saw caused him to scramble awkwardly to his knees and clutch both flintlocks.

  “Shhhh, Pa,” Zach whispered. “Don’t spook it.”

  “It” was a young wolf, no more than a pup, standing just within the opening with head held low and its thin lips pulled up over its tiny fangs. It glared from Zach to Nate and back again, doing its best to appear as fierce as it could but failing miserably. Size alone did not belie its savagery; the soaked, haggard condition of its fur and its gaunt body did. Its thin legs trembled so hard, the pup shook from nose to tail.

  “I was chopping and looked up and there it was,” Zach revealed. “It must want in out of the cold real bad.”

  “Now we have fresh meat,” Nate said, easing his left pistol out. Wolf meat wasn’t regarded as exceptionally tasty, but as hungry as he was he’d eat it raw.

  “No!” Zach yelled, and the pup instantly backed away and twisted, about to flee out into the blizzard. So weak was it that it tripped over its own feet and stumbled against the side of the entrance. “Don’t shoot, Pa. Please.”

  “Why not?” Nate wanted to know.

  “I want to keep it.”

  “You what?”

  “Raise it as a pet, just like we did with Samson.”

  “Samson was a dog,” Nate noted, recalling the huge black mongrel that had lived with them for so many years it had been part of the family. All too vividly he remembered Samson’s death at the hands of murderous Apaches down near Santa Fe.

  “So?”

  “So this is a wolf,” Nate stressed, his finger on the trigger. The pup had stopped and was framed in the opening, as easy a target as he could wish for. One shot, right between the eyes, would ...

  “Drags the Rope raised a wolf once for a couple of years,” Zach said. “He said it made a fine pet.”

  “He did?”

  “Yep. Please, let me try to make friends with it.”

  “Of all the harebrained notions,” Nate muttered, wavering between the rumblings of his empty stomach and the silent yet eloquent appeal in his son’s eyes. “Just because Drags the Rope took one in doesn’t mean this one will take to being domesticated. A wolf is about as wild a creature as walks God’s green earth. It has a mind of its own.”

  “Please, Pa.”

  “The damn thing will likely try to bite you if you get too close.”

  “Please.”

  Nate resisted the impulse to give in. He had their lives to think of. Should the blizzard last for more than three or four days, they’d face the grim specter of starvation. If he had to choose between sacrificing a wretched pup or his son, the outcome was a foregone conclusion.

  The wolf made bold to come a few feet nearer, drawn by the heat of the fire. A pitiable whine passed its lips.

  “What do you say?” Zach prompted.

  Against Nate’s better judgment, he slowly lowered the flintlock and shook his head at his own stupidity. “Go ahead,” he said wearily, taking solace in two facts. One, they weren’t starving yet. And two, if they kept the pup around they could always eat it later.

  Eight

  Even as Winona leaped at the shadowy figure, he straightened to his full height, and as her knife streaked at his chest she realized there was only one person in the entire tribe who was so huge. Too late, she attempted to angle her blow away from him, but the blade was so close that the best she could hope to do was bury it in his shoulder. Fortunately, his reflexes were as astounding as his stature, and the keen tip was an inch from his flesh when his enormous hand seized her wrist, checking the swing effortlessly.

  “It is I, Winona,” Touch the Clouds said. “Not him.”

  She sagged against him then, overcome by the dreadful mistake so narrowly avoided. Her previous statement that he was like a brother to her was no idle declaration. Since childhood they had been the best of friends, and before Nate came into her life it had been Touch the Clouds who served as her protector as well as his sister’s. “I am so sorry,” she mumbled.

  “I saw you come this way and thought I should make certain he did not bother you,” the giant explained, wisely not aggravating her misery by referring to her attack.

  “I needed wood.”

  Touch the Clouds saw the pile. “Let me,” he said. Disengaging himself, he walked over and retrieved the limbs. In his arms they looked like twigs.

  All the way back to the lodge Winona said nothing, so preoccupied was she. Head bowed, she wrestled with the guilt that assailed her. To think she had almost killed one of her closest friends! She had long prided herself on her ability to deal with any crisis that might arise, and she was devastated by her failure.

  At the lodge Touch the Clouds deposited the limbs and stepped back, his dark eyes studying her intently. “Perhaps it would be best if you spent the night with my wife and me.”

  “I will be fine,” Winona said softly, finding the courage to look him in the eyes at last.

  “If not us, then with Willow Woman and her husband.”

  “I do not want to impose on your sister either.”

  “Neither of us would be bothered. Rather we would be honored that you allow us to look out for you.”

  “Am I a grown woman or a child?” Winona said petulantly, and in so doing defined the core of her problem. Would she dishonor her family and her husband by falling to pieces, or would she persevere and prove herself worthy of the famous Grizzly Killer? “Please go. I am in no danger.”

  Like a wraith, Touch the Clouds disappeared in the night, and Winona took her wood inside. Three steps in she abruptly stopped and stared at a neatly fol
ded buffalo robe lying near her fading fire. It hadn’t been there when she left, and she knew immediately it wasn’t hers.

  Going forward, she set down the wood and picked up the robe.

  Her hands told her this was a new one, the hide in excellent condition. Her mind did not need deductive insight to know who had placed the robe there in her absence. Striding to the opening, she shoved the flap aside, tossed the robe out, and shouted, “When I need a new robe I will ask my husband to kill a buffalo for me.”

  Securing the flap, Winona fed branches to the fire and sank down beside it. She thought of Nate and Zach and wondered where they might be. How she wished they were with her now! But since they weren’t, and probably would not show up for some time, she must deal with the situation as she saw fit.

  What could she do that she hadn’t already done? Winona wondered. She had made her feelings emphatically clear to Jumping Bull, yet he persisted in courting her. So she must continue to ignore him and hope he would not become more aggressive. If he did, she must deal with him accordingly.

  The reminder moved her to the wall, where she took a polished pistol from a parfleche and methodically loaded the gun as Nate had instructed her. She had balked when he first proposed teaching her, and was glad he had refused to take no for an answer. In a clash between a man and a woman, where size and strength were decided masculine advantages, a gun equalized things. Jumping Bull would think twice before trying to force his will on her if he knew he risked getting a lead ball in the gut.

  Winona tied a rawhide cord around her slim waist and wedged the flintlock under it so it would always be handy. Jumping Bull was devious; whatever he tried, he would do it when she least expected, so she must be ready at all times. Moving to another parfleche, she removed several pemmican cakes and took a seat facing the entrance. As she bit into one she heard a faint snap from outside, possibly made by someone stepping on a twig.

  Intuition filled her with foreboding. It might be anyone passing by, but somehow she knew that was not the case. Jumping Bull was out there, keeping an eye on her lodge. Why? Did he intend to sneak in and take her to his lodge against her will? Would he be so reckless? Yes, she realized. He just might.

  The pemmican lost its taste, and Winona set the cakes aside to eat later. Rising, she tiptoed to the flap and made doubly sure it was fastened. A strong man might easily break in, but in so doing he would make enough noise to arouse her from slumber. Or such was her hope.

  Winona spread out her robe by the fire, put the pistol and the knife within easy reach, and lay on her side, her head cradled on her hands. I must be strong! she told herself. I must not give in to fear or indecision!

  She gazed forlornly into the writhing flames, thinking how lonely the lodge was without her loved ones. Memories of the first time she had ever laid eyes on Nate, when he saved her from marauding Blackfeet, stirred her heart. He had charged out of nowhere, putting his life in peril for total strangers, and from the moment she saw him, she was his. She could not explain how it happened; she only knew it had. An indefinable yearning had drawn her to him with irresistible force, and that first night of their acquaintance she had gone walking with him under his robe. Her brazenness, in retrospect, amazed her. Had her grandmother been alive, she would have been reprimanded severely. “Only a woman of loose morals,” her grandmother had often intoned, “allows a man to touch her before they are joined together as man and wife.” She had sincerely believed those words, yet when the test came, love had prevailed.

  Love. What a mystery it was! When her daughter was of age—and she fervently hoped the baby due in eight moons would be a girl—she must remember to be patient with her and to understand that love made people commit acts they would not otherwise contemplate. She must also point out that when two people were meant to be together, no force in the world could keep them apart.

  Gradually Winona’s eyelids drooped, and the last sound she heard was the howling of the wind as it raged among the lodges with renewed vigor. A storm must be coming, she thought. Then sleep claimed her.

  ~*~

  “Isn’t he cute, Pa?”

  “Wonderful.”

  “It tickles when he licks my hand.”

  “I suppose it does.”

  “Is anything wrong?”

  “I’m tired of being cooped up in here. A whole day has passed and it’s still snowing.”

  “But not quite as hard.”

  “Hard enough to keep us penned in.”

  “Would you like to play with Blaze for a spell? It might cheer you up.”

  “Maybe later.”

  ~*~

  The second morning after the blizzard struck Nate awakened to a peculiar sensation on his face and he lay still, trying to figure out why his cheeks and chin felt wet. The reason was forthcoming seconds later when a moist tongue pressed against his jaw and left a path of cool drool clear up to his forehead. Opening his eyes, he found himself nose to nose with the pup. From nearby came a youthful giggle.

  “You’re downright hilarious, son,” Nate said, sitting up. Without warning, the pup launched itself into his lap and nipped playfully at his shirt. “Now get this critter off me.”

  “Blaze likes you, Pa,” Zach said, taking the skinny wolf in his arms. “After all the jerky you’ve fed him, you’re his friend for life.”

  “I was trying to put some flesh on his bones in case we needed to...” Nate said testily, and suddenly fell silent, aware of a drastic change outside. “The wind has stopped!” he declared. Shoving erect, he dashed to the opening and gazed in breathless awe on a sweeping white vista extending for as far as the eye could see. Snow four to five feet deep covered everything. Not a single blade of grass or weed was visible. Trees laden heavily with clumps of clinging snow were bent under the oppressive weight. Rocks, boulders, logs—they all were buried. It was as if a heavenly artist had painted the landscape white with a single sweep of a celestial brush.

  “Isn’t it glorious, Pa!” Zach breathed at Nate’s elbow.

  “Yep.” Nate ventured outside, inhaling the fresh, frigid, invigorating air, and craned his neck to scan the sky to the west and the north. A few fluffy white clouds floated sluggishly on the currents. “The storm is finally over,” he said thankfully.

  “Does this mean we head home right away?”

  Nate glanced at the spine, where the elk carcass lay blanketed by thick snow. More than anything he wanted to be on his way to the village, but leaving now would make a mockery of Zach’s hunt and leave hundreds of pounds of prime meat to spoil or be devoured by scavengers. “We’ll stick to our original plan and butcher the elk first.”

  “Do Blaze and me get to help cut up the elk?” Zach inquired hopefully.

  “Blaze?” Nate said, looking down. The pup stood next to Zach’s leg, its tiny black nose twitching as, with tilted head, it tried to catch scents from below. Nate had to admit he’d been surprised at how readily the scrawny beast had taken to the boy. That first night, when Zach had slowly approached with outstretched hand, Nate had expected the wolf to either flee or tear into Zach with all the innate ferocity of its kind. Instead, to his amazement, the pup had sniffed, whined, sniffed some more, and then tentatively licked Zach’s fingers.

  Now, at Nate’s mention of the name that Zach had used so many times the pup already associated the name with itself, the wolf looked up at Nate, its white throat patch bright in the morning sun.

  “You’d better keep the pup here,” Nate advised. “This snow is so deep it’ll drown in the stuff.”

  “Awww, he’ll be lonely all by himself,” Zach said, running his fingers over the pup’s back.

  “You can’t carry him and your rifle both,” Nate admonished. He saw his son frown, and resting a hand on Zach’s arm, he said, not unkindly, “There comes a time when every boy has to accept not being a boy anymore, a time when he has to take on bigger responsibilities than he ever had before.” Nate paused. “You’re at the age now where I’m going to expect more ou
t of you, and I know you won’t let me down. When it’s time to work, you have to put your nose to the grindstone and forget about playing and wolf pups and nonsense like that. Do you savvy?”

  “I savvy, Pa,” Zach responded halfheartedly. Squinting down at the approximate spot where the elk was hidden, Nate said, “Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll ride on down there and dig out the carcass so the sun can get at it and thaw the meat a bit. Then the two of us will do the butchering later on.”

  Zach was not dense. He knew his father had made the suggestion so he would have a little more time to spend with Blaze. “Thanks, Pa. That would be fine.”

  Saddling Pegasus took but a minute. Nate sat loosely astride the gelding as it moved downward, ready to hurl himself to either side should the horse slip and fall. The brilliance of the snow made him squint. He noticed the surface was as smooth as glass and unmarred as yet by animal prints. His own tracks, those he had made on his half-dozen excursions in search of wood, had long since filled in. So had the big holes he’d made when digging down to locate grass and other forage for the horses.

  Nate skirted the ravine this time due to the many large boulders dotting the bottom of it, obstacles he would be unable to see and which might injure Pegasus if the gelding collided with one. Riding a bit further north, he then swung around and rode up the slope of the spine. The going was rough, the snow in places up above the tops of Pegasus’s legs.

  Both of them were breathing heavily when Nate reined up and slid off. The snow came to his waist. Straining, he plowed to where the elk should be and began scooping with his left forearm. In due course he realized he had picked the wrong spot. Moving a few feet to the right, he tried again.

  On the third attempt Nate uncovered a frozen rear leg. Encouraged, he dug until he had exposed the rear half of the kill, then stopped to rest for a minute. Strenuous exertions at extremely high altitudes were exceptionally tiring, and he didn’t care to wear himself out so soon, not with the butchering to do.

  Nate glanced at the cleft but saw no sign of his son. A survey of the valley showed nothing was moving about. For once, total tranquility reigned in the Rockies, a fleeting interlude he took advantage of. Industriously he dug, and didn’t stop until the entire carcass had been uncovered.