To the east, perhaps fifty feet away, was a spacious opening. Nate rode to it, and smiled at discovering a cavern twenty feet high and the same distance wide that extended back into shadowy recesses. He lost no time in dismounting and taking the horses inside. As he gently deposited the Crow on the dusty floor, the storm unleashed its full fury.
Lightning crackled nonstop. The attendant thunder rumbled continuously. Like the yowling of a pack of wolves, the wind howled tremendously loud. The sky became an inky canvas.
Nate knelt and watched the trees dancing as if alive. He hoped the lodge would be able to withstand the savage onslaught, and wished he’d reached it first.
Sitting Bear groaned.
A bigger problem presented itself. What was he going to do after he got the Crow home? The warrior would be in no condition to hunt or defend his family for days, probably weeks. Nate debated whether he should stick around, and the mere thought provoked anxiety. He simply couldn’t stay away from his wife for that long.
Winona would worry herself sick. There had to be an alternative, but what?
A brilliant flash lit up the cavern when a nearby tree was struck, and the resultant thunderclap startled the horses.
Nate rose and soothed them, holding onto the reins and speaking calmly. In a couple of minutes they quieted and he returned to Sitting Bear.
Gradually the frequency of the lightning strikes abated, but the rain and the wind persisted.
The prospect of spending more than an hour in the cavern annoyed him. He wanted to reach the lodge as soon as possible, and he was inclined to ride out before the storm ended completely. Such exposure, though, would aggravate Sitting Bear’s condition, and he resigned himself to staying put for the time being.
With nothing better to do, Nate ruminated on his future. In a couple of weeks Shakespeare would help him set out beaver traps and teach him the tricks of the trade. The idea of becoming a full-fledged trapper, of relying on his wits and strength to provide his livelihood, appealed to him. He’d learned how to be largely independent since leaving civilization, and the more he learned the better he felt. No longer did he depend on the market and the mercantile for everything under the sun. He could feed and clothe himself. He was his own man, and the feeling of self-reliance was the greatest he’d ever known.
Nate felt sorry for all the people back East who had no idea what they were missing. They went about their humdrum lives, day in and day out, totally reliant on others for their well-being. He would never allow himself to slip into such a deplorable state again, not even—
A scratching noise from the right interrupted his musing.
Twisting, Nate tensed as he laid eyes on a bulky, squat form moving toward him. He rose, leveling the Hawken, unable to identify the creature until a streak of lightning briefly illuminated his surroundings. With the flaring glow came recognition, and with recognition apprehension. The last thing he wanted to do was tangle with a beast that rivaled the grizzly in ferocity.
Coming toward him was a dreaded wolverine.
Chapter Ten
Roughly bearlike in shape, wolverines were considerably smaller than bruins, with the males reaching four feet in length, standing a foot and a half high at the shoulders, and weighing between forty and fifty pounds when in their prime. But when compared pound for pound with every other mammal on the continent, wolverines rated as the most powerful in existence.
Nate had heard tales galore about the prowess of the gluttons, as they were commonly called. Wolverines had been known to drive panthers and grizzlies from their kills, and one trapper had observed a wolverine bring down a full-grown moose trapped in heavy snow. They were notorious for following trap lines and either eating the bait or consuming the animals that had been caught. They also raided cabins, and in the process they would deposit their musk on everything they didn’t eat.
The indistinct form flowed nearer, then halted and loudly sniffed the air.
Of all the luck! Nate thought, and cocked the rifle. He didn’t know if the creature was entering or leaving the cavern. All he cared about was that it departed, and did so promptly. If the horses got its scent, there would be hell to pay.
Still sniffing, the wolverine took a few steps. Another lightning strike revealed its beady eyes were fixed on Sitting Bear.
Nate deduced the beast must smell the dried blood on the Crow’s leggings. Knowing its appetite for any and all flesh, he feared he would have to fight it off. Once the shimmering glare from the heavenly bolt faded, all he could see was the carnivore’s black form. If he had to fire in the dark, he couldn’t guarantee he would hit it.
The wolverine suddenly growled.
“Go away!” Nate shouted in the hope the sound of his voice would drive the thing off.
Instead, the wolverine moved closer still.
“Go!” Nate bellowed.
Snarling deep in its throat, the beast charged.
Instantly Nate squeezed the trigger. He saw the wolverine jerk backwards and fall, and he thought for a second that he’d killed it. His mistake became apparent the next moment when the animal scrambled to its feet and attacked once more.
This time it bounded toward him.
One of the horses whinnied in terror as Nate drew his right pistol and extended his arm. He stood his ground, his lips compressed, until the wolverine was almost upon him, and then fired the flintlock at close range.
Again the animal was hit, and again it spun around and went down. As before, it heaved erect and leaped.
There was no opportunity to reload. Nate released the pistol, seized the rifle by the barrel, and waited until the wolverine was almost at his very feet before he swung the Hawken like a club. The stock crashed into its skull, dazing it for a moment, and he grabbed at his left pistol to finish the animal off.
Yet another thunderbolt cast the cavern in a bright halo.
Nate could see the wolverine’s upturned, feral visage, see its mouth wide and its tapered teeth poised to snap. Startled, he pointed the flintlock at its sloping brow and squeezed the trigger, the booming retort making his ears ring even more.
The ball penetrated the wolverine’s head between its eyes, and the brute immediately went into convulsions. It thrashed about on the floor, pawing at the ground as its tail whipped in a circular motion.
Prepared to sell his life dearly should the beast renew its attack, Nate braced himself and raised the Hawken on high. He’d club it with his dying breath, if need be.
The terror of the woods uttered a short hiss, sprawled onto its stomach, and went limp.
Nate remained motionless for a full minute before he dared poke the creature with the rifle. After prodding it four times he smiled and vented a sigh of heartfelt relief. Another few inches and the wolverine would have had him.
Outside, the rain and the wind slackened, the downpour becoming a drizzle. Most of the lightning and thunder now occurred to the east.
The horses were fidgeting, so Nate went over and calmed them before attending to the reloading of his guns. He stepped to the cavern mouth and watched the storm clouds sailing rapidly in the direction of the lodge. To the west sunshine caused the soaked vegetation to glisten.
Eager to get going, Nate nevertheless delayed mounting until the rain completely stopped. When he headed out, he stuck to the clearer tracts between the trees to avoid brushing against the drenched limbs and being drenched to his skin. He looked back at the cavern only once, wondering if he should have skinned the wolverine, and decided it was too late to turn around.
The pristine forest seemed renewed by the rain, washed clean of all dirt and dust. Even the wildlife was invigorated. The birds came to life with renewed vitality, warbling or chirping songs in joyous abandon.
Mankind could learn a lot from Nature, Nate reflected. Animals knew how to live life to its fullest; they displayed a passionate zest for existence that most humans sorely lacked. Where men and women were prone to gripe about their lives and bemoan their fates, the a
nimals simply accepted their place in the scheme of things and savored every moment.
Nate pushed the stallion faster than before. He was worried that Sitting Bear had not regained consciousness, and speculated the Crow’s life would depend on Evening Star’s ministrations. So it was that he smiled broadly when he glimpsed the meandering stream through the trees and shortly thereafter emerged from the woods. He glanced to the right and left, and off to the north stood the lodge, maybe a quarter of a mile distant. At last!
Bringing the stallion to a gallop, Nate covered the wet ground swiftly. Farther to the east was the storm. Thanks to the heavy downpour, the stream had expanded a foot on either side, the water rushing at twice its previous rate. He noticed a log floating downstream. Calmly perched on top, apparently enjoying the ride, was a chipmunk.
Nate expected to see the mother or the boys in the vicinity of the lodge, but none of them were in evidence. He also observed there was no smoke curling up from the top, which he deemed odd since the temperature had dropped a few degrees. Perhaps, he reasoned, they’d taken shelter inside when the storm approached and simply stayed there.
Unexpectedly, Sitting Bear mumbled a few words and stirred. His head snapped up and he looked around.
“It’s all right,” Nate said, unable to use sign language. “We’ll be with your family in a bit.”
The Crow spoke a single word, then sagged.
As yet no one had appeared.
“Evening Star! Strong Wolf!” Nate shouted. “Get out here!” He focused on the flap, anticipating it would open, and when he covered another forty yards without anyone coming out he reined up, certain something was wrong. Even though the family couldn’t speak English, they knew his voice. At the very least one of the boys would venture from the lodge to investigate.
Sitting Bear began muttering.
Nate scanned the woods and the field. Sparrows flitted about in the trees immediately behind the lodge, which indicated there was no one lurking in the forest. He looked at the field on the other side of the stream again, and realized with a start that his mare and pack animal were gone.
Stunned, Nate rode to the lodge and halted ten feet from the door. Only then did he see the slash marks in the buffalo skin and a broken bow lying in the dirt nearby. He quickly dismounted and lowered the Crow to the ground, then hefted the Hawken and advanced to the flap.
Something moved to his left.
Nate spun, his thumb on the hammer, and was horrified to see Strong Wolf crawling from the high weeds. The boy’s face and shoulders were caked with blood. “No!” he cried, and ran to the youth, stopping a foot short when he laid eyes on top of the boy’s head and discovered someone had scalped him. “No,” he repeated weakly.
Strong Wolf had his neck craned so he could look up, an eloquent appeal mirrored in his eyes. He said a sentence in Crow, the words rasping in his throat, and coughed up crimson spittle.
Kneeling, Nate placed his hand on the youth’s right shoulder. He saw a wide trail of blood extending back into the weeds and shuddered.
Gritting his teeth, Strong Wolf raised his right arm and pointed at the lodge.
Nate nodded and sprinted to the doorway. He opened the flap and ducked inside, the Hawken at the ready, prepared for anything. Or so he believed until he beheld the savagely butchered form of Red Hawk in the middle of the floor. The boy’s hands had been hacked off and his eyes gouged out. His mouth hung wide, exposing the fact his tongue was gone. Nausea swamped Nate, forcing him to back from the lodge and gasp for fresh air. No matter how many times he witnessed the results of the atrocities Indians perpetrated against one another, he couldn’t get used to such merciless slaughter.
A questioning voice diverted his morbid thoughts.
Nate swung around to find Sitting Bear trying to sit and gazing about in bewildered anxiety. He walked to the warrior and signed for him to lay back down.
The Crow did so, then lifted his head. “Where is my family?”
“I do not know yet,” Nate partly lied.
“They should be here.”
“Rest. I will check on them.”
“I should help,” Sitting Bear said, pressing his palms on the grass.
“No,” Nate responded. “You are in no condition to get up. Stay where you are and I will take care of everything.”
Reluctantly, the Crow complied. His eyes closed and he breathed noisily.
Swiftly Nate returned to Strong Wolf, who had collapsed onto his forearms, and squatted.
The boy glanced at him and feebly manipulated his hands. “Is my brother dead?”
“Yes,” Nate answered, sadness filling his soul.
“My mother and sister?”
“They were not in the teepee.”
Strong Wolf gazed at his father. “What happened?”
“The Utes attacked us,” Nate explained, eager to pose queries of his own. “What happened here?”
“More Utes,” Strong Wolf responded, moving his arms with considerable effort.
“Let me roll you over,” Nate proposed.
“No.”
“You will be able to use your hands easier,” Nate explained, and gingerly grasped the boy by the shoulders. Despite a frantic shake of Strong Wolf’s head, he rolled the youth onto his back. And promptly wished he hadn’t.
The young Crow had been gutted, his abdomen sliced open from side to side, and his intestines dangled from the cavity.
Nate recoiled, aghast.
“I tried to spare you,” Strong Wolf said, his hands gesturing sluggishly.
A sudden, red-hot rage made Nate tingle. He gazed into the boy’s eyes and saw reflected a knowledge of the inevitable. Still, he had to try. “Do not move. I will make bandages.”
“You would be wasting your time. I am dead.”
Nate could only swallow. Hard.
“Will my father live?”
“I honestly cannot say.”
Profound sorrow lined the youth’s tender visage. “The Utes will have much to celebrate.”
“Tell me what happened,” Nate prompted.
Strong Wolf licked his lips and inhaled deeply. “They came just before the rain, a band of nine warriors. Red Hawk and I were practicing with our bows and saw the war party riding toward us from the southwest. I knew we could not protect our mother and sister from so many, so I sent him into the lodge to get them while I ran to your horses.” He paused. “We would have returned them.”
A peculiar lump had formed in Nate’s throat.
“The Utes were faster than I thought, and they were on us before I could bring the horses. I saw Red Hawk push Mother and Laughing Eyes inside while he blocked the doorway and defended them. And then six of them attacked me. I put an arrow in one,” Strong Wolf related proudly.
“Did you see what happened to your mother and sister?”
“No. I heard them screaming and the laughter of the Utes, who had left me for dead in the field after scalping me.” Strong Wolf blinked, and there were tears in his eyes. “I wanted to help them, but could not.”
“You did all any man could have done.”
“I am not yet a man.”
“You are in my eyes.”
A smile creased the youth’s lips. He abruptly arched his back, uttered a strangled whine, and died, his wide eyes fixed on the bright blue sky.
For a minute Nate didn’t budge, too overcome with emotion. His mind seemed to be swirling like a tornado, and there was a bitter taste in his mouth. These had been decent, friendly people, people he’d grown to like, people he was proud to know. To have their lives so callously taken was the height of injustice. The boys’ best years had been ahead of them, and now they were nothing more than mutilated corpses awaiting the embrace of the cold earth.
He stared into the distance, a fiery resolve solidifying within him, a grim determination to see those responsible punished. If he didn’t seek retribution, no one else would. If nothing else, he could attempt to rescue Evening Star and Laughing
Eyes and see them and Sitting Bear safely to their tribe.
Nate stood, his mind made up. One way or the other, the Utes were going to pay. Even if it cost him his own life.
Chapter Eleven
Nate was seated next to the fire, dozing off about midnight, when a firm hand nudged his left leg. He snapped awake, staring blankly at the interior of the lodge until gruesome memories of the events of the day returned in a rush.
Again someone nudged him.
Fully alert, Nate glanced down at the Crow warrior lying on his left. He smiled and used his hands to say, “How are you feeling?”
“A little better,” Sitting Bear signed, and looked around. “Where is my family?”
Nate hesitated.
“Tell the truth,” the warrior admonished.
Although loath to add to the man’s misery, Nate complied. “Strong Wolf and Red Hawk are dead, killed by Utes.”
“And my wife and daughter?”
“I wish I knew. I could not find their bodies, so I believe the Utes took them.”
Sitting Bear closed his eyes and sighed.
Had he fallen asleep again? Nate wondered hopefully.
The Crow looked up again, profound inner pain lining his countenance. “This has been the saddest day of my life. I have lost the boys who were the joy of my heart, and because of my wound I cannot go after the fish-eaters who have taken the rest of my family. What have I done to deserve such anguish?”
“You did nothing.”
“I must have done something. All suffering is for a purpose.”
Nate studied the warrior’s face, amazed the man could be so calm after learning of the death of his sons. Or was Sitting Bear crying inside, where it hurt the most? “I will make you some stew to eat,” he offered.
‘There is another thing you must do.”
“What?”
“Save Evening Star and Laughing Eyes. The Utes will take them to their village. You must intercept the band before then or my wife and daughter will be lost forever.”
Wilderness: Savage Rendezvous/Blood Fury (A Wilderness Western Book 2) Page 22