Nate was almost to the bank when he pointed both flintlocks, cocked them, and stroked both triggers, the twin retorts booming as one, discharging small clouds of smoke, the recoil snapping his forearms upward.
Struck high in the chest by the balls just as he swept his arm forward, the Ute was lifted off his steed and sailed a good eight feet before he crashed into the water. His horse instantly swerved to the right and kept running until it disappeared in the blanket of darkness.
“Damn!” Nate swore, staring at the crumpled figures bobbing in the creek. Once again he’d misjudged the tenacity of the Utes. Their reputation for savagery, as he was learning to his sorrow, was, if anything, understated. He spun and marched back to the lean-to, where Evening Star and Laughing Eyes awaited him with tense expressions.
“The rest will be after us now,” the mother signed. “Your shots have let them know where to find us.”
Nate nodded and devoted himself to reloading all three guns, reflecting on their predicament as he did. The way he figured it, the Utes must have tracked them to the creek, at which point the band lost the trail, and then separated. Some of the warriors must have gone north along the watercourse, others south, and maybe a few had continued to the northwest just in case. If his calculations were correct, there were five warriors left and one of those was the one wounded by Strong Wolf.
“I will get the horses ready,” Evening Star volunteered.
Nate glanced at the fish simmering on the stones and interrupted reloading to respond. “Eat first.”
“We do not have time for food. The Utes are coming.”
“For all we know they are miles in the other direction. It may take them a couple of hours to get here. And after all the trouble we’ve gone to preparing a decent meal, we are going to take a short time and enjoy the food,” Nate said, and added for good measure. “Think of your daughter. She needs to eat to keep her strength up.”
With obvious reluctance, Evening Star accepted his argument and knelt by the stones. She used her fingers to break the fish into bite-sized pieces and gave several to Laughing Eyes, then dug in herself.
Nate finished with the rifle and pistols and helped himself to a hot handful of delicious fish, his mouth watering at he took his first bite of the tasty, succulent meat. He was famished, and he consumed his fair share of the whitefish in no time. He even licked each of his fingers and his thumb when he was done, and smacked his lips in satisfaction. “The best fish I have ever eaten,” he remarked.
“Fish is very tasty,”’ Evening Star signed in amazement.
Laughing Eyes merely grinned from ear to ear, tiny bits of fish sticking to her chin.
“Now we can leave,” Nate proposed.
“I will get the horses,” Evening Star said, and walked off with the child in tow.
Nate put out the fire. He tore out a clump of long weeds, soaked them in the creek, and deposited the dripping vegetation on the flames, which sputtered and hissed and gave off lots of smoke. He tramped down hard repeatedly, stamping the fire out, and when there were no burning embers in evidence he moved to the horses.
Evening Star was already on the mare, Laughing Eyes behind her. She moved her arms slowly so he could read them in the gloom. “Will we go up the creek?”
“No. Since they know our approximate location, we might as well head directly for your lodge. If we ride all night we can be there by daylight.”
“I like your plan. I am very worried about my husband.”
Nate swung onto the stallion, took the lead to the packhorse in his left hand, and headed out, entering the dank, shadowy forest. Many of the big predators, like panthers and grizzlies, were more active at night, so he was extra alert as he rode on a beeline to the lodge. At least it was cool, which made the riding comfortable, and he liked the feel of the soft breeze on his face. After traveling for about half an hour they came to a clearing and he reined up to check his bearings, using the North Star as a guide.
Once Nate was convinced they were on the right course, he pushed on as fast as the benighted conditions warranted, the Hawken resting across his thighs. The minutes became hours as they forged steadily onward, crossing hills and valleys, skirting the high peaks and the deep ravines, traversing several streams and passing another lake.
Nate listened for sounds of pursuit, but none materialized. He periodically fought off bouts of drowsiness, and once almost dozed off in the saddle. The tip of a branch gouged him in the cheek, snapping him erect, and he shook his head vigorously to clear out the cobwebs.
Evening Star and Laughing Eyes rode silently, unable to communicate with him because of the gloom.
As the night wore on, the ride acquired a degree of monotony that Nate found oddly reassuring. Every mile they went without being attacked increased the likelihood they would reach Sitting Bear without further incident. He hoped the warrior was resting, as he’d suggested.
Occasionally an owl hooted in the trees. Wolves howled frequently. Crickets chirped all around them.
Nate kept scouring the countryside ahead for a landmark he might recognize, such as a familiar mountain, but the terrain was alien at night, an inky expanse stretching into infinity.
At one point, as they were passing through a particularly dense track of woodland, an ominous, throaty growl pierced the air from a thicket off to their right, and the entire thicket shook and rattled as if alive. Finally they heard a huge beast crash through the undergrowth, heading to the north.
Slowly the positions of the stars shifted minutely as the night waned, and eventually a faint tinge of light graced the rim of sky to the east.
Nate was beginning to think he’d misjudged the bearing when they rode out of yet another stretch of forest, and there, not fifteen yards in front of them, was the stream he’d followed to the southeast, the same stream that ran past Sitting Bear’s lodge. He reined up in surprise, then looked at Evening Star, and they both beamed. Advancing to the bank, he scanned in both directions, and concluded they weren’t more than two or three miles from the camp.
With a happy heart Nate turned to the northwest and hastened along the east bank. They had gone a mile when the stallion suddenly snorted and acted up, its ears pricked, its eyes on the trees to the west. Nate stopped and listened but heard no unusual sounds, so he urged the big black on.
Evening Star brought the mare alongside the stallion as they neared the vicinity of her home. Her daughter was slumped against her back, swaying with every step, asleep.
Nate thought of how delighted Sitting Bear would be to have his wife and daughter safely returned, a joyous reunion they would never forget, and complimented himself on a job well done. It felt good to have done something for others that would bring them such happiness, almost as if he’d contributed something meaningful to the scheme of existence. He’d never considered himself much of a philosopher, and had never attached much significance to his life, but at that moment he felt as if he’d justified his presence on the planet.
Dawn flushed the sky with striking hues of pink, orange, and yellow by the time they drew close enough to spy the lodge. Smoke curled from the top and the front flap was open.
Evening Star laughed, reached back to wrap her left arm around Laughing Eyes, and broke into a gallop.
About to do the same, Nate abruptly changed his mind. The husband and wife would probably desire a few moments of privacy. He slowed up and absently gazed at the trees and the sky, enjoying the unfolding of a new day.
Halting near the teepees, Evening Star slid to the ground, took her daughter into her arms, and hastened inside, calling out as she did so.
Nate saw the other two horses he’d brought back munching on grass at the edge of the field near the trees, which assured him no Utes had been there since his departure.
Suddenly mother and daughter burst from the lodge and Evening Star motioned excitedly for him to come over.
Puzzled, Nate complied, sliding off the stallion almost at her feet. “What is it?” h
e asked.
“Sitting Bear is missing.”
Nate glanced at the doorway. “He is not in there?”
“No,” Evening Star said, and apprehensively scanned their surroundings.
“He has to be here somewhere,” Nate assured her. “Maybe he went for a walk.” Deep down, though, he doubted his own explanation, and he moved toward the stream while scouring the landscape for the warrior. Since the fire in the lodge was still going, Sitting Bear couldn’t have gone very far. He probed the woods to the rear, then the field, and finally the stream.
Off to the left, partly concealed in thick weeds on the bank, was a prone form.
“Evening Star!” Nate called out, forgetting himself, and dashed to the water. There lay Sitting Bear, unconscious, his forearms dangling in the stream. Kneeling, Nate pulled the Crow higher and rolled him over. He felt as if he’d grabbed a burning torch in his hands.
In a twinkling Evening Star was there, examining her husband carefully, her countenance mirroring her anxiety. “He has an extremely high fever,” she reported. “We must get him inside right away.”
“Take my rifle,” Nate signed, and gave the Hawken to her. He lifted the warrior and hurried into the lodge to deposit Sitting Bear near the fire. No sooner did he straighten up than his rifle was back in his hands and the woman was tending to her husband.
Laughing Eyes sat nearby, watching intently.
“Is there anything I can do?” Nate asked.
“Do you know how to recognize herbs?”
“No.”
“Then watch my daughter while I get the medicine Sitting Bear needs,” Evening Star suggested, and dashed out before he could respond.
Nate smiled encouragement at the child and took a seat. He noticed a stack of broken branches, and fed a few to the fingers of flame simply to keep busy. So much for his great plan to leave right away. If they tried to move Sitting Bear in his weakened state, the man would surely die. They were stuck there until the Crow recovered sufficiently to travel, which could take days and meant the Utes would easily overtake them.
The Utes.
He stared at the doorway, reflecting. If the war party was eliminated, so was the danger. But how could he hope to defeat five Utes by himself? So far he’d been lucky, and luck was a fickle ally to rely on. Despondent over the turn of events, he absently gazed at Sitting Bear and blinked in surprise. The Crow’s eyes were open.
Chapter Eighteen
Nate promptly moved closer and smiled at his friend. “Stay right where you are,” he directed.
Sitting Bear licked his lips, his eyelids fluttering, then recovered enough to feebly move his hands. “Evening Star and Laughing Eyes.”
“They are here safe and sound.”
The warrior craned his neck with great effort and saw his daughter. Smiling broadly, he spoke a few words to her.
Voicing a cry of joy, the child scrambled to her father’s side and placed her head on his chest. Tears poured down her cheeks and she uttered soft sobs. Sitting Bear tenderly patted her head, then glanced at Nate. “Are the Utes all dead?”
“Five still live.”
“They will follow you here.”
“I know.”
“Do you know what must be done?”
“Yes.”
“There might be another way. If you hide us in the forest, perhaps they will not find us and will leave.”
“You know better.”
A slight nod signified the Crow’s acknowledgment, and he closed his eyes, sighed, and passed out.
Nate let Laughing Eyes stay with her father. He rose, grabbed his Hawken, and moved to the doorway, where he crouched and surveyed the terrain to the southeast. When the Utes came, they would likely come from that direction. He saw no sign of them, but that didn’t mean the war party wasn’t out there, maybe five miles off, maybe ten.
A robin landed near the flap, saw him, and took wing again.
He was like that bird, he told himself. He couldn’t afford to sit still when there was a threat to his existence, and that of his new friends, lurking in the background. Either they fled, which they couldn’t do given the circumstances, or they made a fight of it. Or one of them did.
Nate was still pondering the inevitable when Evening Star returned bearing a selection of plants. She immediately went to Sitting Bear, and Nate watched her for a minute before slipping quietly out and making for the stallion. There was no sense in trying to explain his decision. She might argue, try to get him to change his mind, when there could be no turning back. Her ministrations would keep her too busy to notice his absence for a while, and he could ride off unnoticed. He was almost to the horse when he heard the patter of rushing feet and a hand fell on his right shoulder. Calmly, unwilling to show how nervous he really was, he turned and smiled. “You should be with Sitting Bear.”
“Where do you think you are going?” Evening Star demanded.
“You know where,” Nate told her.
Her eyes darted to the southeast and back again. “We can run. Let me tend my husband, and in an hour we can head for our village.”
Nate took the liberty of affectionately touching her cheek, and shook his head. “You know better. Take good care of him. If I am not back by tomorrow morning, you should make a travois and get him and your daughter out of here. Understand?”
Evening Star simply nodded. Her eyes conveyed her feelings more than words ever could. Turning, she ran back to the lodge and disappeared within.
An odd wave of raw emotion engulfed him, and Nate coughed as he walked to the stallion and swung up. Jerking on the reins, he wheeled the animal and rode toward his rendezvous with five of the fiercest fighters in the Rockies. He recalled a certain spot they’d passed the night before, a narrow opening between two steep hills, that would admirably serve his purpose if he could reach it before the band.
Although fatigue gnawed at his mind and body, Nate galloped into the midst of the mountains again, stopping only once after two hours to take a drink from the stream. By the third hour he’d arrived at the site, and sat in the saddle while determining the best place to make his stand.
The two hills were devoid of vegetation and covered with rocks and boulders. Between them was the opening, ten yards at the widest and thirty yards in length, rimmed by scattered, isolated trees, a mix of cottonwoods and pines. He turned to the right and rode into the shadowed shelter of a boulder as big as a house, then dismounted and let the reins drag on the ground. If he needed to make a quick getaway, he didn’t want to bother with untying them.
Nate jogged to the opening and halted behind the trunk of a cottonwood. His gaze roved over all the trees and depressions, seeking an ideal ambush point. None were outstanding, but there were three pines growing close to each other on the left side that would suffice. He moved behind them, estimating the boulder to be ten yards off, and crouched.
Now let the Utes come!
After confirming all three guns were loaded, he leaned his back against the trunk and plotted strategy. He wasn’t a skilled military man, so he must rely on cunning instead of firepower. Even if he killed three of the war party with his first three shots, which was unlikely, the rest would be on him before he could reload. How could he slow them down?
Nate suddenly remembered the buckskin rope Evening Star had made, and reached into his ammo pouch. It wasn’t the strongest rope ever made, but it was thin enough and long enough to do the trick. Rising, he stepped closer to the boulder and selected two cottonwoods spaced approximately nine feet apart. He shimmied up one, tied the rope at a level corresponding to the height of a man on horseback, then climbed down and repeated the procedure on the second tree. Once on firm footing, he regarded his handiwork critically. Anyone going slowly was bound to notice the trap, so it was up to him to make certain the Utes had no time to admire the scenery.
He walked to the pines and knelt, adjusted the pistols under his belt, and lifted the rifle. All was in readiness. Now all he could do was wait.
A jay landed in the tree overhead, voiced its shrill cry a few times, and flew off.
Nate thought about Winona. She must be very worried about him, and he wouldn’t blame her if she gave him a scolding when he finally made it back to their cabin. Knowing her as he did, he knew she’d probably simply hug him until his ribs cracked and whisper in his ears how much she’d missed him. Never had he felt so loved, never so happy, as when they began their married life. He leaned against the tree, ruminating.
The sun rose higher and higher into the blue vault of the sky.
Nate’s rumbling stomach reminded him of his acute hunger, but he refused to leave his post to find food. The discomfort helped to keep him awake and alert. If he ate, he’d become too drowsy to keep his eyes open. He’d never gone this long without sleep before, and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold up.
By noon his eyelids were drooping, his chin sagging. He slapped his cheek repeatedly to no avail. Shaking his head vigorously did nothing to stem the overwhelming tide of weariness. Frustrated, he heaved to his feet and swung his arms from side to side. He listened to the birds and the whispering breeze.
Suddenly, from the southeast, came the whinny of a horse.
Nate froze and stared through the opening at the woods beyond. He thought he detected movement far back under the trees and he squatted, now in full possession of his faculties. It had to be the Utes!
Soon a rider appeared, then another and another, alternately passing through shadows and beams of golden sunlight, sitting loosely astride their mounts.
Scarcely breathing, Nate molded his body to the tree and peeked around the edge, exposing as little of himself as possible. Now that the band had finally arrived, it almost seemed like a dream, as if he were detached from the proceedings, an observer instead of a participant.
The first Ute carried a fusee, the second a bow, the third a lance. The third man was the same warrior wounded by Strong Wolf, still wearing the crude bandage and swaying precariously with every step his animal took. It seemed doubtful he’d live out the day.
Wilderness: Savage Rendezvous/Blood Fury (A Wilderness Western Book 2) Page 27