by Gini Rifkin
The burial detail concluded, Tucket moseyed over near the horses to shade up. “What do you want to do about their critters?”
“There’s plenty of forage and water right now, but at this elevation they’ll have a hard time surviving come winter.” Kade glanced over to where Blind Deer sat. “Guess they’ll have to come along with us.”
“They’re right nice animals.” Tucket ran one hand down the arched neck of the nearest gelding.
Kade continued to study Blind Deer. “Better than right nice,” he mused, before he turned back to face Tucket. “When we get to rendezvous, we turn ‘em loose or give ’em away. I won’t keep or make a profit from anything that belongs to the Company.” His partner nodded and led the animals toward the mules.
Kade retraced his steps and offered the girl a hand-up. She set her jaw, and after two tries, struggled to her feet on her own. He smiled and shook his head. What tribe she came from might be in question, and who her parents were might be a mystery, but white or Indian, she was without a doubt one willful female.
“Pride’s an honorable quality, but stubbornness is plain foolish.” Not expecting a reply, Kade turned and followed Tucket. Maggie fell in at his side. Mere moments later, he heard Blind Deer fall in several steps behind, her horse trailing along in her wake.
“Looks like she’s following us,” Tucket observed from the side of his mouth. “What we gonna do with her? Ain’t got no place for a woman.”
“I know, but same as with the horses, we can’t just turn her out.”
When they reached the mules, Kade studied Blind Deer. How the heck could two men and a woman as good looking as she was share one small cabin?
Again, refusing his help, she mounted her horse, and although she grimaced, the strong-minded female never uttered a sound. When she shifted her position, her buckskin dress rode up her thighs, revealing long legs—tempting legs—firing his imagination.
He forced his gaze upward to her face. “Do you want to put in with us?” Part of him wanted her to say yes, but another part knew he was asking for trouble. Big trouble in a little package.
“You saved my life, free trapper. I belong to you now.” Her tone—flat and emotionless—made it sound as if she had no choice in the matter and wasn’t happy with the idea.
“I also almost killed you,” Kade pointed out. “I think that changes any course of action you might feel bound to observe.”
She gave him a hint of a smile. Even with streaks of dirt on her face and her hair touseled and matted, her quiet beauty shone through.
“I still choose to go with you, McCauley.” Facing straight ahead, she sat her horse tall, her demeanor almost regal, her expression determined.
Figuring that was her final answer and refusing to question why he was so damned pleased with her decision, Kade mounted his mule and turned it toward the trail.
“I hope she can cook,” Tucket muttered.
Chapter Three
They rode nonstop for hours. Blind Deer wove her fingers in the mane of her pony, trying to stave off the pain and nausea. Her arm throbbed continually, and now as the sun dipped lower, her resolve faded along with the comforting light.
Although chilled and exhausted, she was grateful to be rid of the English dogs—or had she only traded one keeper for another? The younger of these two strangers had given her free choice to join them—free choice—a precious gift. She in no way felt obliged to travel with these strangers. She belonged to no man. But it seemed a better excuse then admitting that living rough these last few weeks had taken an unexpected toll on her body and spirit.
So far, these two men had not mistreated her. But they looked half starved. They were either bad at hunting or had wintered in the high country where food was scarce. Based on the many hides they carried, the latter seemed reasonable. Only strong men survived the winter, and you could never trust a fat mountain man.
She glanced around the gathering gloom. Many things had changed since she lived in the shadow of these mountains. As she traveled with Lord Seton and his brigade, she noticed forts made of logs now stood where before only trees and rock gave testament to life. And there were paths and traces cut into the earth by people and wagons, blotting out the trails worn into existence by the animals roaming wild on the land.
She had been away many years. Was she too late in returning to find her people? What if she had become a dim recollection to those she remembered so vividly? What if they were all dead, wiped out by the invaders to her land or an enemy tribe?
Regardless, better to wander free seeking something which no longer existed, rather than to suffer the certainty of the boarding school and the dirty smoke-filled city.
She would rather die than return to St. Louis.
****
As they wended through the forest, thick and deep, her pony began to lag behind, and the image of the trappers transformed into a soft blur. Blind Deer sighed, letting the old familiar sadness replace her newly acquired concerns.
Her eyesight, poor since birth, had grown no stronger. Thankfully, she could still read and sew, but she could not clearly see all of her surroundings. This was her greatest weakness, and her most highly guarded secret. A secret never to be revealed to her enemies.
Urging her tired pony into a trot, she tried to catch up.
They broke through the trees into a small clearing, the land gently rising to the north. A river curved to the south—the water clear and not too swift. A good place to make camp. Apparently, McCauley thought so too.
“I reckon this will do for tonight,” he announced, glancing around.
“Too late to go any farther,” Tucket agreed, “especially if we’re hopin’ to put fresh meat in the pot for supper.”
Both men slid from their mules. They hobbled the animals in a grove of lodgepole pine and unloaded the burdens they carried. The snow remained in the shadows offering moisture, and a shimmer of grass promised feed.
Blind Deer dismounted, removed the parfleche bags and bridle from her pony, and turned the little mare loose. In payment for finding trails and speaking to the Crow Indians they had come across, Lord Seton had gifted her with the animal. Over the weeks, she and the pony had grown close. It would not stray from her or the protection of the larger animals.
Lord Seton had been surprised at her choice in horseflesh. The seller warned the animal was foul-tempered and un-ridable, therefore the price was cheap. But she had reassured both men this cayuse pony was the one she wanted. Her people were known for the splendid horses they kept, and for their kinship with them. This animal had obviously been mistreated and misunderstood—an all too familiar feeling. They had an instant connection.
Kade sauntered over, rifle in hand. “Will you be all right on your own while we’re off hunting?”
She found irony in his concern. Since leaving the boarding school, she hadn’t suffered any true injuries until he’d shot her. Now he seemed to want to protect her. “Yes. I will make a fire in anticipation of your success.”
“I don’t suppose it would do any good for me to point out you should be resting your arm rather than hauling wood?”
She remained silent.
He gave a snort of amusement. “Didn’t think so.” Turning, he set off into the woods with the strange dog and Tucket.
Fetching a sturdy rope from her cache of accoutrements, she set out on her own excursion. A tangle of brush and branches downed by winter winds caught her attention. Glad it was not far from camp, she laid a loop of hemp on the ground and then dragged pieces of wood across the rope. Bringing the free ends of rope over the stack and through the loop, she cinched the wood into a tight bundle and hefted it onto her good shoulder.
After unloading the wood at the campsite, she made three more trips. It would be cold here tonight.
Optimistic for their successful hunt, she fashioned a ring of stones, and as her hands recalled the life she once lived, she took flint and steel and created the miracle of a tiny spark. When the cha
r cloth caught, she placed the ember in the tinder bundle, and blew and blew. It burst into flame—always a wonderful surprise, and she gasped in delight and carefully set the fireball atop the pine needles. Soon a hearty blaze devoured the sticks of wood she placed on top.
The sun slipped behind the far ridge, and the clouds in the sky turned pink as summer salmon. But as darkness crept near, the temperature fell. Blind Deer slipped into her woolen capote, threw another log on the fire, and sat listening for the return of the men. She didn’t have long to wait. Laughing and joking, Kade and Tucket swaggered back into camp, smiles upon their faces, the game bags laden.
She reached for the catch, but neither man allowed her to help. This seemed odd to her. Cleaning and preparing the meal was women’s work, as was hauling water. But they took no notice as they happily performed the chore on the three plump game birds and two rabbits—a feast for so short a time spent hunting.
Never one to sit idle, she went in search of green sticks to use as skewers, and to also gather the wild onions she had seen in the forest while hauling wood.
By the time she returned, the rabbit pelts had been salted, rolled up, and set aside, and Tucket had wrangled a large flat stone into an upright position on the north side of the fire-pit to block the wind and increase the heat. They accepted the sticks she offered, and as they ran the thin ends through the meat, she rubbed the onions on the food. This met with nods of approval.
Then they hunkered down around the circle of stones, and as Mankind had done for one thousand years, they waited for their dinner to cook.
“Nice fire,” Tucket put in.
“Couldn’t be better,” Kade agreed.
Blind Deer did not respond to their compliment. As of late, she had no practice in having her efforts appreciated. She had learned not to care what others thought of her, or at least she had learned not to show it if she did.
“I got a dry needs tending.” Tucket got up and rummaged through his belongings. When he sank back down to the ground, he held a little brown jug. Uncorking it, he laid it back upon his bent arm, mountain man style, and raising his elbow directed a good sip into his waiting mouth. His eyes grew wide, and he exhaled as if a fire had been kindled in his stomach.
The jug must contain hard liquor. Her heart raced, and her hand settled over the hilt of her knife. On her few trips to town in St. Louis, she had seen white men ply the local Indians with drink, and she had seen her brothers become children performing antics unbecoming a human being. Many white men also acted the fool under the same circumstances. What would happen here she wondered?
Tucket passed the jug to Kade. After a sampling, the cork went back in place, and both men gave a sigh of contentment and studied the sky.
“Looks to be a clear evening,” Tucket commented, “and most likely a cold one.”
“Two dog night at least. What a shame we only got Maggie.” At the sound of her name, the dog gave a whine and a yawn, and thumped her tail on the ground.
Blind Deer added wood to the fire and snuggled deeper into her blanket coat. She wasn’t sure what to make of the dog. When she’d first laid eyes on Maggie, she figured she had died, and the Great Coyote had come to take her to the next realm.
From the stories she’d heard as a child, Coyote had prepared the earth for her people, destroying the monsters and creating the rivers. He also enjoyed playing tricks. Other than having those odd blue eyes, this large dog looked very much like the image she carried in her mind of the sacred beast. The mythical animal was big medicine to her people—for good, as well as in times of trouble. The dog stared at her as if longing to speak while harboring thoughts about her as well. A chill raced through her body.
Finished eating, their spirits restored, drowsy musings quickly followed. Before sleep claimed them completely, they got up to check the animals one more time. Then after a final trip to the woods, they each sought their own space by the fire—curled in their blanket, backs to the wind.
The two men quickly drifted off to sleep, their breathing deep and slow—longrifles at their side. The oblivion Blind Deer sought did not come. The short walk in the woods had revived her senses and set her arm to aching.
She should have cleaned the wound and rinsed out the bandage in the stream. Now it was too dark, and she was too weary, and the fire felt too good. Earlier in the evening she had slipped a handful of club moss and crushed buckhorn leaves under the wrappings to draw out any poison. Good enough until tomorrow.
Squinting up at the night sky, Blind Deer studied the swatch of brightness blurred across the heavens. She saw no twinkling points of light, nor the outline of the animals the elders spoke of in tribal stories. And she saw not the smiling face in Saka’am, the moon. This saddened her most of all, for she loved the moon, a spirit-face filled with the knowledge of many mysteries.
Knife in hand, Blind Deer closed her eyes. What must it be like to see such wonders?
****
The next morning, they left the lodgepole pine behind, and relaxed in the saddle, Kade led them down a gentle slope dotted with aspen. Even in the high country, several white-barked trees were already turning. In a few months, when the blaze of orange and gold took hold, the small valley would appear to be on fire.
After several hours, the surrounding area began to look more familiar to him, and anticipation bolstered Kade’s mood. Without prompting, the mules picked up the pace, as if they too sensed they’d soon be within braying distance of the cabin.
Allowing only one respite to relieve themselves and fill their bellies with cold meat and hardtack, the day seemed long. Blind Deer appeared tired, but she never complained—no big surprise there. Trying to read her mood was tougher than tracking a mountain lion on bare rock. But even a painter was more predictable. Was she stubborn, prideful, or foolish? He supposed like everybody else she was a bit of all three, and right now stubborn had the best foothold.
What was she doin’ out here on her own anyway? If she stuck around long enough maybe he’d find out—but he wouldn’t bet mule and beaver on the outcome.
Besides, more important notions were jumping around in his mind—would they make good time getting to rendezvous, and would they get a fair price for the hides? When you were on your own hook, it could be unreliable doin’s. And what about the trade goods from back East? Would they be higher priced than last year, or worse yet, not be there at all?
In ’35 whiskey went for three dollars a pint, and beaver three or four dollars a pound. It didn’t take a banker to figure the cost of wettin’ a dry was becoming astronomical. And then there were the regular supplies they needed—blankets, fish hooks, flour, coffee, and sugar. A new shirt would be nice, especially since he’d cut a chunk out of his present one to fashion a bandage for Blind Deer.
Making a living off the land seemed harder and harder. They’d been fortunate this past season to come across a forgotten valley not yet trapped out. Who could say what next year would bring. The Hudson’s Bay Company had expanded their territory to where a family of beaver was hardly left alive to carry on. The only direction left unexplored was Blackfoot land, and folks who ventured there rarely came back.
When they reached a rise, he took a moment and glanced back at the string of animals following in his wake. He grinned at his partner. Tucket sat his horse as if he’d been born there, quite an achievement for an Easterner who once plied his trade as a whaler. The man was like one of them chameleons. He managed to fit in wherever he found himself.
Loose and easy, shoulders slumped, his friend appeared the same as when he sat a chair by the fire. And while he might seem overly comfortable, Kade knew the man’s rifle was at the ready and his eyes were always watching for sign—human or critter.
They sure had shared some shinin’ times together, and Tucket was as dear to him as ever a father could be. The man knew things about the world that set a body’s mind to wondering and puzzling. And he sure made for good company during the winter doldrums.
K
ade’s gaze slid farther down the line of mules and horses, coming to rest on Blind Deer who insisted on riding at the rear. She ignored him. In fact, she often seemed in a world of her own making—gazing inward rather than out.
She sure was the last thing he’d expected to come across in the middle of a skirmish. Almost like she materialized out of nowhere—like a sprite or a faerie in the stories his Scottish Gran used to tell. Now there were some fanciful thoughts from long ago. Abruptly he turned around and faced forward.
Having Blind Deer around put unexpected ideas in his head, like the uncommon consideration of having a woman to call his own. In the past he’d settled for finding a willing female at rendezvous each year. One who was happy with the foofaraw and trinkets he bought for her. One who would not be insulted when the following winter he’d forget her name and face and remembered only the warmth and the pleasure they’d shared.
What would it be like to have a wintertime love? With a shake of his head, Kade dislodged the outlandish notion and concentrated on the trail, and then a great sadness struck him.
This wild land had come to feel like home, and it might sound foolish, but he believed a body could love a place like a person. After adventuring through these stony mountains for over a decade, the formidable cold peaks and comforting warm valleys were familiar—not always kind, but always there.
Now others came. Some men wanted to own the mountains. There was a heap of difference between kinship and ownership. He gazed up at the jagged white peaks and knew one heartening thing for certain. These monuments, constructed by the hand of God, would be here long after he and Tucket had gone under.
****
When the cabin came into view, Kade’s chest tightened, and a joyfulness filled him to overflowing. He reined in his mule and just sat taking in the sight. He hadn’t seen their off-season stomping grounds for nearly six months. The windows were still securely shuttered, and the old roof appeared only a little worse for wear for having weathered yet another winter.
“Things look hopeful.” Tucket eased his mule up alongside Kade’s. “Even the pitch of the porch don’t seem much more precarious than I remember.”