Wilderness: Savage Rendezvous/Blood Fury (A Wilderness Western Book 2)

by Robbins, David

  “I plan to go after them as soon as you recover enough to take care of yourself.”

  “Go now.”

  “I cannot.”

  “Why not?”

  “Even if I wanted to, it would do no good. I cannot track at night.”

  Sitting Bear peered at the top of the lodge. “Stars. I did not notice them before.” He stared at Nate. “Then you must go at first light.”

  “I will not leave you alone.”

  “Then take me with you.”

  “You must be delirious. You know you are in no condition to travel.”

  Exasperation flicked across the warrior’s face.

  “Surely you understand that my life is unimportant. You must save my wife and daughter and not worry about me. Leave enough jerked meat for me to get by and some water. I will be fine.”

  Nate frowned. “I am sorry. No.”

  Sitting Bear put his hands on the floor and endeavored to sit, but he only succeeded in rising to his elbows. He swayed, then sank down with a groan.

  “See? You are too weak to fend for yourself. If I left you behind, it would be the same as killing you,” Nate told him.

  “Please go after them in the morning.”

  “No.”

  “I beg you.”

  “No,” Nate signed emphatically. “Now rest while I prepare food.”

  The Crow’s mouth compressed into a thin line.

  Feeling supremely guilty, Nate devoted his attention to cooking a tasty bowl of stew using the remains of a rabbit he’d shot earlier for his own supper. Both the buffalo and buck meat had been stolen by the Utes.

  As he heated the water he noticed a smudge of dirt on the back of his left hand, reminding him of the hour he’d spent digging graves and burying the two boys, and thinking about the grisly job turned his stomach. He remembered how full of vitality they had been, and he could well imagine the depth of Sitting Bear’s love for them.

  The warrior grunted.

  Nate turned to discover the Crow sitting up, flushed from the effort. “You should not exert yourself,” he advised.

  “I must convince you I am well enough to take care of myself,” Sitting Bear replied. “If not, I must take more drastic steps.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Ignoring the question, the warrior examined the charred hole in his side. “Did you do this?”

  “Yes. It was the only way I could think of to stop the bleeding.”

  “You did well.” Sitting Bear gazed at the wall. “Those vermin even took our parfleches. All my wife’s herbs were in one of them.”

  “I can collect more herbs tomorrow if you will describe the plants to me,” Nate said.

  “You will not be here tomorrow,” Sitting Bear stubbornly insisted. “Not if you are truly my friend. I would do the same for you if the situation were reversed.”

  “I will think about it,” Nate offered in the hope of having the subject changed.

  The warrior smiled wanly. “Once you have done so, you will realize you must go after them.”

  Nate placed a few extra limbs on the fire to build up the flames. He gathered an armful of wood before settling down for the night, and he hoped it would be enough to last them until dawn.

  “You must be very careful tracking the Utes,” Sitting Bear mentioned, apparently taking Nate’s departure for granted. “They are extremely clever. My people have fought them for many generations, yet we have not wiped them out yet.”

  “I do not intend to get my head shot off.”

  “The war party probably headed southeast toward their main hunting grounds. All Ute villages are in that direction. The nearest will be two or three days off. You must ride hard to overtake them,” the Crow said. “Is your mare a good animal?”

  “They stole my mare and pack animal.”

  Sitting Bear’s mouth dropped. “Then how will you ever catch them?”

  “We brought back the three horses belonging to the warriors who attacked us, remember?”

  “No.”

  “You revived somewhat when we were riding back. I thought you would,” Nate said. “One of the animals is a fine black stallion. I will use it.”

  “They will stay close to the stream for the first day, then take a trail that leads to the Green River.”

  Nate stirred the stew and tasted its temperature with his right index finger, then turned to the Crow. “There is something I do not understand.”

  “What?”

  “I suspect the three Utes we fought were the ones who tried to sneak up on us last night. But where did the second group come from? And why did the larger party attack your family instead of us? If all of them had gone after us, we would never have stood a chance.”

  Sitting Bear suddenly pressed his hand to his temple. He swayed for a moment and sat down.

  “Are you all right?”

  “A little dizzy. It will pass,” the warrior said. “As for your question, the four who crept up on the lodge must have been part of the larger war party. When you drove them off, they went back to their companions and told them what had happened. Then they watched our camp and saw us leave.”

  “We should never have gone.”

  The comment made Sitting Bear’s face become a mask of sorrow. “I agree. The blame is all mine.”

  Nate realized his mistake and promptly urged, “Go on with what you were saying.”

  “In order for the warriors who were driven off to prove their courage, they came after us themselves. I wish all of them had done so.”

  Nate swept the lodge with his gaze. “Why did they leave your teepee standing?”

  A faint hint of a smile curled Sitting Bear’s mouth. “Indians rarely steal lodges. It is difficult for a war party to make an effective escape while dragging twelve or more poles the size of small trees and a heavy buffalo-hide cover.”

  Amazed that the man could joke in the midst of such tragedy, Nate grinned and tested the stew again. It still wasn’t hot enough. He moved closer to the warrior. “Let me feel your forehead.”

  “Why?”

  “To see if you have a fever.”

  “I am fine.”

  “I want to see for myself,” Nate stressed, and placed his left palm above Sitting Bear’s brow. For an instant he had the impression he’d touched a scorching coal. “You are burning up.”

  “I may have a slight fever,” the Crow allowed.

  “You must lie down and rest. If you overexert yourself, there could be serious complications. Trust me.”

  “Are you a healer?”

  “No, but I know a little about medicine.”

  “White man’s medicine.”

  “And what is wrong with our medicine?”

  “I do not know exactly because I have never met a white medicine man, although I was told such do exist. But they must not be very skilled because whites are so unhealthy.”

  “We are not,” Nate said.

  “Then why is it so many white men get mouth rot? My people never have problems with their teeth, yet in white men such a disgusting condition is quite common.”

  Nate had no answer for that one. Shakespeare had told him that tooth decay was unknown among the tribes.

  “And if your medicine men do know what they are doing, then why do quite a number of white men suffer from a whirling brain?” Sitting Bear went on.

  “I do not know,” Nate admitted. When an Indian said someone’s brain was in a whirl, it meant the person was insane.

  “Our medicine men teach us valuable things like which foods are best and those we should avoid. They keep us healthy at all times, and that is why we live so much longer than you whites. In my village alone there are eleven men who have seen over one hundred winters go by, yet I have never heard of a white living that long.”

  “Few of us do.”

  Sitting Bear nodded. “Because your medicine is wrong or weak or both. Perhaps your Great Chief should send white medicine men to us and we will train them properly.”


  “I will mention your idea to the Great Chief the next time I am in...” Nate paused because there was no hand gesture for Washington, D.C. He finished the statement using language the Crow would understand. “... the village where all our chiefs gather.”

  “Does this village have a name?”

  “Yes, but it is unlike any name you know.”

  “Tell me.”

  Nate did so, employing English.

  Clearly perplexed, Sitting Bear repeated it several times. “You are right. I have never heard such a strange name. What does it mean?”

  ‘The city was named after our first Great Chief, the man who defeated the British and secured peace for us all.”

  Sitting Bear nodded. “You refer to the war between the redcoats and the tea-drinkers. Yes, I know all about it from a trapper.” He stopped and pondered for a moment. “Is it true what he told me about the manner of fighting in that war?”

  “What did he say?”

  “That when both sides wanted to fight, they would march up to each other in straight rows, stop, and shoot until one side or the other had lost too many men to continue.”

  Nate grinned. “Some of the battles were fought in that way, yes.”

  “And they did not hide behind trees or rocks?”

  “Not in those instances.”

  Sitting Bear shook his head slowly. “White men are so strange. I do not understand why the Great Mystery put them in this world.”

  “Some white men have wondered the same thing.”

  The warrior looked into Nate’s eyes. “Please do not be offended by my remarks. They do not apply to you. Out of all the men I have known, you are one of the bravest. And in your inner spirit you are very much an Indian.”

  “Thank you,” Nate responded, feeling self-conscious at being the subject of such blatant flattery.

  “I mean every word, Grizzly Killer. You are a man who is at home in the wilderness. You will never leave it.”

  The assertion troubled Nate. He thought of his parents and friends and Adeline. Especially Adeline. “One day I might, just to visit those I love.”

  “But you will be back.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “It is your nature,” Sitting Bear signed.

  Nate heard the stew boiling and turned to it. The tantalizing aroma of the rabbit filled the lodge. He stirred the stew, thinking about New York City. Maybe he wouldn’t go back after all. The prospect of being away from Winona for a month or two was singularly unappealing. Perhaps it would be for the best if his family never heard from him again. They’d simply assume he’d been slain and go on with their lives after a period of mourning. Why stir them up by going back?

  Some things were better left alone.

  Chapter Twelve

  Nate awakened to the cheerful sounds of chirping birds. He rolled onto his back, stretched, and sat up. Sunlight streamed in the open doorway, which puzzled him because he knew he’d shut the flap before retiring. He idly glanced at the fire and received a shock.

  Sitting Bear was already awake and in the process of preparing the morning meal. He wore a clean pair of leggings and had washed the dried blood from his body. Arranged in his hair were the five eagle feathers obtained at such a terrible price. He looked around and smiled. “Time to greet the new day.”

  “What are you doing up?” Nate asked while sliding out from under his blanket.

  “One of us had to make breakfast and you were sound asleep.”

  “That is not what I meant. You should be resting, taking it easy until your wound heals.” Nate stood.

  “I wanted to prove to you that I am capable of taking care of myself so you will go after my wife and daughter,” the warrior explained. “I have prepared a pouch containing lots of berries and wild onions. I also saddled the black stallion for you.”

  Nate glanced at the door. “Saddled him?”

  “Yes. I found your saddle in the field where the Utes must have tossed it. They are not very fond of the kind white men use.”

  A rejoinder concerning Indian saddles was on the tip of Nate’s tongue, but he kept his peace. Many Indians liked the simplicity of bareback riding, but there were those who used saddles that were constructed from rawhide and stuffed with grass or buffalo hair. While the Indians considered them comfortable, the whites generally disdained them.

  “So will you save Evening Star and Laughing Eyes?” Sitting Bear inquired anxiously.

  Nate bent over to retrieve his rifle, giving himself time to weigh all the factors involved. His friend was mending much faster than he’d anticipated, and it certainly seemed as if Sitting Bear would fare all right on his own. There was also the fact that the sooner he started, the sooner he’d be reunited with Winona. Straightening, Nate nodded, tucked the Hawken under his arm, and used sign to say, “I will leave right away.”

  Raw relief was mirrored on the Crow’s countenance. “You have made me the happiest man alive. But first you should eat. You will need all your strength to kill the fish-eaters.”

  Nate attended to his morning toilet, ate, and went out again to mount the stallion. Once in the saddle he glanced at the spot where he’d buried the butchered boys, keenly aware the same fate awaited him if he failed, then wheeled the horse. He looked at the doorway and saw Sitting Bear watching him.

  “May the Great Mystery guide your footsteps.”

  Nate nodded and rode to the southeast, feeling the warm sun of his cheeks and a light breeze in his hair. The stream was at its former level, enabling him to cross easily, and soon he had settled into the flowing rhythm of the stallion. Thankfully, the horse didn’t mind the saddle, leading him to surmise a previous owner had used an Indian version.

  True to Sitting Bear’s prediction, Nate found plenty of fresh tracks to indicate the war party had indeed headed the same way. Since the Utes had evidently ridden off just as the storm passed on, the prints of their animals were distinctly imbedded in the soil. He had no difficulty following them.

  He worried about how he would save the mother and daughter once he caught up with the band. Nine Utes were formidable opposition. He’d have to improvise, to use his head. Above all, he had to ensure he spotted them before they saw him. The element of surprise was in his favor, the only advantage he possessed, and without it rescuing the Crows was a forlorn proposition.

  The minutes went by swiftly, as did the terrain. Nate pushed the stallion, hoping to catch up with the war party before nightfall, encountering abundant wildlife everywhere. There were herds of elk and buffalo, squirrels chittering in the trees, ravens soaring on the air currents, and an occasional predator or two in the form of a wolf or a fox. As always, he felt as if he were traveling through a veritable paradise, a Garden of Eden where many of the animals simply stood and stared at him because they had not yet learned to fear the mere sight of a human being as did their bestial cousins back East.

  He stopped at midday and rested on the bank of the stream while munching on a wild onion. Minnows darted about in the water, and an insect that resembled a thin spider swam from side to side on the surface. After consuming the snack he knelt and drank deeply, savoring the cold liquid.

  Once in the saddle, Nate resumed his southeasterly journey. He estimated the Utes were no more than two or three hours ahead and moving much slower than he was. Apparently they believed themselves safe from reprisals. He was a bit surprised they hadn’t waited for their three companions to catch up. But then, maybe the reason they were going so slowly was to give the trio an opportunity to do just that. Little did they know the threesome would never lift another scalp.

  At one point he spied an enormous grizzly bear off to the east. The monster watched him go by, its kingly composure undisturbed, and did not display any aggression.

  The stream wound through a series of low hills, then flowed into a wide valley. Antelope and deer filled their bellies on high grass. Ground squirrels scampered from his path. It took him an hour to traverse the valley. Beyond,
the tracks took a course between two hills, and there lay a small plain hemmed by mountains. He reined up in surprise when he saw a column of smoke curling skyward on the far side.

  Puzzled, Nate angled toward a stand of trees a few hundred yards to the right. The Utes must have stopped, but he couldn’t understand why. Plenty of daylight remained, and it seemed unlikely the Indians would waste it without a good reason. He studied the position of the smoke and deduced the camp was almost three quarters of a mile away.

  Off to the south five vultures circled high above the landscape, seeking carrion.

  Nate rode into the trees, a cluster of cottonwoods, and dismounted. He secured the reins to a limb and ventured to the south edge where he could see the smoke unobstructed. Now what should he do? Trying to approach the camp when the sun was up qualified as certain suicide. The wise thing to do was wait until nightfall.

  The whinny of a horse came from the north.

  Startled, Nate pivoted and beheld a pair of Indians heading in the direction of the smoke. They were less than fifty yards off, both mounted and both armed with bows.

  Utes!

  Nate crouched and slid behind the trunk of a cottonwood. One of the Indian mounts whinnied again. He wondered if the animal had detected the airborne scent of the stallion, and he moved toward his horse to prevent it from answering. But he was too late.

  The black stallion vented a neigh loud enough to rouse a hibernating bear.

  Halting in midstride, Nate saw the warriors stop and look at the trees. Would they investigate or keep going? He hefted the Hawken and waited for their reaction, barely breathing.

  The pair turned their steeds and rode straight toward the cottonwoods.

  Nate hurried to the stallion, keeping as low as he could and using the boles for cover. He didn’t want to tangle with the duo if a conflict could be avoided. Gunshots were bound to alert the rest of the Utes.

  Fidgeting and tugging on the reins, the stallion had its eyes on the approaching horses.

  Quickly Nate reached his animal and wrapped his left arm around its muzzle. He could see the Indians through the trees. Neither betrayed any hint of alarm. They appeared to be mainly curious. He began to guide the stallion to the west, moving slowly, hoping the shadows screened them from hostile eyes.