Wilderness: Mountain Devil/Blackfoot Massacre (A Wilderness Western Book 5)

by Robbins, David

  “Will you throw in with us?” Tom asked bluntly.

  “Your offer is intriguing,” Nate told them. “I’m definitely interested, but I need some time to think about it and discuss it with my wife.” He gazed at the window. “How soon were you fixing to head on out?”

  “Any time you’re ready,” Milo responded. “Our pack animals are down by the lake in a clearing. They were plumb tuckered out after the long climb up to this hideaway of yours so we left them there to rest and came on ahead.”

  “How about if you let us know in the morning?” Tom proposed. “Would that give you enough time to make up your mind?”

  “More than enough,” Nate said. “I’ll give you my decision at dawn, then.”

  Winona brought over the coffeepot and poured each of them a full cup of the steaming brew. Over an hour was spent in idle conversation, with Nate eliciting information from the two Pennsylvanians about the latest news in the States and sharing information about his years in the Rockies and the trapping business in general.

  He learned that a new religious group calling themselves the Mormons had sprung up and were causing quite a stir. They had been driven out of New York after being relentlessly persecuted by those who regarded them as blasphemous. He heard that a slave named Nat Turner had instigated a revolt in Virginia. The insurrection was speedily crushed and many innocent blacks slain by the outraged whites. And he also listened to a fascinating story about a new hotel in Boston that was the talk of the East. Apparently this hotel had installed elegant imported indoor water closets that were all the rage. Folks would travel hundreds of miles and take a room just to be able to use the newfangled bathroom facilities.

  “And did you hear about the Fulton I?” Milo asked.

  “No. What about it?” Nate replied. The Fulton I had been designed and constructed by the famous inventor Robert Fulton. It was Fulton who had built the first commercially successful steamboat, the Clermont, back in 1801. The Fulton I, authorized by Congress in 1814, was the world’s first steam-powered warship and had been put into service specifically for the defense of New York Harbor.

  “It went and blew up,” Milo related. “Caused by some kind of breakdown in the engine, I think the newspapers said.”

  Tom Sublette took a sip of coffee. “And I guess you’ve heard about the trouble brewing down Texas way?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Nate admitted. Texas was a province of Mexico, and all he knew about it was that it was terribly hot in the summer and took a man forever to cross on horseback. Or so many of the tall-tale tellers claimed.

  “There might be a shooting war down thataway in the next couple of years,” Tom mentioned. “A lot of Americans have drifted to Texas to live, and by all accounts they’re none too happy with the way Mexico is running the province. Our government is interested in buying Texas like we did all that land in the Louisiana Purchase, but when an envoy was sent down to Mexico City to make the Mexican government an offer, they sent him back with his tail between his legs.”

  “A lot of folks back in the States are riled by the whole affair,” Milo added. “The former governor of Tennessee, Sam Houston, has gone there to see about bringing independence to the province, and the Mexicans aren’t likely to sit still for any meddling in their country.”

  “I wish those folks luck, whatever they decide to do,” Nate commented, “but it doesn’t concern me.”

  Then the two Pennsylvanians plied him with questions about the state of affairs among the various tribes. He knew little they didn’t already know. How the Blackfeet, the Piegans, and the Bloods were still united in a confederacy that controlled all of the northern plains region and most of the northern Rockies. How the Kiowas were giving travelers on the Santa Fe Trail a hard time. And how the Nez Percés and the Flatheads had sent delegations all the way to St. Louis to request religious instruction for their respective tribes.

  At that remark Nate saw Milo Benteen glance thoughtfully at Winona, and he could deduce the man’s thoughts. Benteen was wondering what it must be like to have an Indian woman for a wife, and how the differences in cultures were reconciled. To Benteen s credit, the man had been in the Rockies long enough to know not to pry into the personal affairs of other folks and he didn’t voice any of the questions filtering through his mind.

  “Well, I reckon we should go check on our horses,” Milo said, rising. “Ma’am, the coffee was delicious.”

  “Thank you,” Winona said.

  Nate also stood. “You can keep your animals in our corral for the night, if you wish. They won’t wander off and you won’t need to fret about prowling panthers so much.”

  “We’re grateful,” Milo said. “We’ll bed down under the trees and await your decision come morning.”

  “Fair enough,” Nate responded. “And we’d be happy if you’d join us for supper. My wife can make the best venison stew this side of the continental divide.”

  Tom beamed and licked his lips. “Home cooking! Why, I haven’t tasted a home-cooked meal in a coon’s age. Be sure and have Winona make extra.”

  Nate laughed. “We’ll fill the pot to the brim,” he promised, and escorted them out to their mounts. The trappers waved, Red Moon nodded, and off they rode.

  “They’re nice men, Pa,” Zachary said at Nate’s side. “Me like them.”

  “Me too,” Nate absently replied, and instantly regretted it.

  “See? You say ‘me,’” the boy pointed out.

  “Yes, but it’s not the same. You’re supposed to say I most of the time when you’re talking about yourself.”

  “Then why is there a word called me?”

  “Because you use that at times too.”

  His smooth brow knit in confusion, Zachary shook his head and declared, “Me no understand when me is I and I is me.”

  “We’ll sit down and go over your English after I get back,” Nate said, turning toward the cabin. Winona stood in the doorway, and she gave him a troubled look, wheeled, then went in. He picked up Zach and carried the boy inside, setting him near the table. Winona was at the fireplace, adding a few small limbs to the flames. “I take it you don’t think I should go?”

  “I do not like the idea, husband, no.”

  “If what Red Moon says is true about all the beaver in this valley, I could collect three times the amount of pelts I ordinarily would in half the time. I can be home from trapping that much sooner.”

  “If you live,” Winona said, her shoulders held stiffly.

  “Do you believe his story about the thing that lurks in the dark?”

  “I would not take it lightly.”

  Nate sat down and rested his feet on the edge of the table. “All right. Let’s talk this out. Let’s accept for the moment that there is some kind of strange critter up there, something few Indians have seen and fewer white men even know about.” He paused to get her attention and she faced him. “Didn’t you tell us that long ago your own people fought these Giants and drove them out of your country?”

  “That is the legend the old men tell.”

  Nate shrugged. “Then I don’t see where we have much to worry about. Your people used bows and lances back then. We’ll have four rifles among us and pistols besides. Even if this critter is as hard to die as a grizzly, we can kill it.”

  “Didn’t you say grizzlies should not be taken lightly?” Winona asked softly.

  “Yes. And you know me well enough to know I’m not about to take any reckless chances. If we find any grizzly sign in this valley, I’ll track it down and we’ll dispatch it right off so we can run our trap lines in safety. And you know I’m a damn good tracker thanks to Shakespeare.”

  “You are one of the best trackers alive, Indian or white,” Winona agreed.

  Nate rose, walked up to her, and put his hands on her shoulders. The concern in her eyes touched him deeply. “Dearest, I’m only thinking of us. We could use a good haul of peltries. And I like the idea of getting my trapping down well before the end of the season.
It means I’ll have more time to spend with Zachary and you.”

  “So you have made up your mind?”

  “Not yet, but I’ll confess I’m leaning toward going,” Nate said, and tenderly embraced her. He kissed her lightly on the lips and smiled, trying to cheer her up. “Don’t worry. I’m not about to let some old legend stop me from coming back to you. And I’ll swing by Shakespeare’s cabin on the way out and ask him to check on Zach and you every now and then. Knowing him, he’ll probably ride on over and move in until I return. So you have no need to get all bothered. Everything will be fine. You’ll see.”

  Winona made no reply, but Nate swore he felt her tremble slightly in his arms.

  Chapter Four

  The four men rode out the next morning two hours after sunrise.

  Nate had agonized all night over whether he should go. He tried to sleep but caught only snatches now and then. Beside him Winona slumbered fitfully, tossing and turning more than she normally did and mumbling words in the Shoshone tongue occasionally. The only word she said loud enough for him to understand was “beast.”

  The determining factor in his decision to go was his family. He simply couldn’t afford to let such a golden opportunity pass. They could use the money. And, as he’d told her, he liked the idea of completing his trapping season early so they would have more time together.

  Shortly before dawn he slipped out of bed, donned his buckskins, wedged his pistols under his belt, and went outside. Red Moon was already awake, seated quietly at the base of a tall tree and gazing thoughtfully at the gradually brightening eastern horizon. Nate informed the Crow he would go, and Red Moon said he would tell the two Pennsylvanians when they woke up.

  Tiptoeing back inside, Nate found Winona sitting up. There was no need to tell her his decision. He knew that she knew from her troubled expression and the hint of anxiety in her lovely eyes. She didn’t protest, though, or complain. She simply got up, got dressed, and began preparing breakfast. Then she helped him pack the supplies and trapping gear he must take along.

  There was a lot of it. Not only must he take enough flour, jerky, coffee, and other foodstuffs to tide him over for an extended period, food he would naturally supplement by killing wild game as needed, but he must tote a dozen Newhouse traps, each of which weighed about six pounds, two skinning knives and fleshing tools, a heavy axe and a light tomahawk, extra fire steels and tinder boxes, blankets, assorted small tools, and odds and ends.

  Most of the trapping gear was stored in the southwest corner of the cabin where it was handy for packing. Since they knew the routine by heart, they had the pair of packhorses Nate wanted to take fully loaded within an hour. Zachary helped, carrying small items when requested and repeatedly dashing outside to give Benteen and Sublette status reports on their progress.

  The Pennsylvanians were mounted and patiently waiting when Nate loaded the last pack and went inside to get the Hawken. Winona stood to the left of the door, out of sight of the three men. Her eyes said everything.

  Nate enfolded her in his arms, their cheeks touching, her warm breath on his ear. She hugged him tighter than she ordinarily did, much tighter, almost as if she expected it to be the last time she would do so, but her eyes were dry and her face proud when he stepped back and smiled. “Take care of yourself.”

  “I will.”

  “I’ll miss you. You know that.”

  “And I you.”

  “I will carry you with me always, right here,” Nate said, and tapped his chest above his heart. He kissed her then, a lingering kiss, savoring the feel of her lips and tongue. When he straightened, small arms looped around his left leg and he glanced down.

  “Me miss you, Pa.”

  Nate lifted Zach and hugged him. “I’ll think of you every minute I’m gone,” he said. “You’re the man of the house while I’m away, so you be good and help your mother. Listen to her at all times.”

  “Me will.”

  “And don’t wander off like you did yesterday.”

  “Me won’t.”

  Feeling a constriction in his throat, Nate kissed the boy, then laughed and said, “Me love you, little one.”

  The Pennsylvanians had their mounts turned to the northwest when he emerged and climbed onto his black stallion. “I’m ready, gents,” he announced. “And if you don’t mind, I’d like to stop by the cabin of a friend of mine and ask him to keep watch on my family during my absence. He’s my nearest neighbor. Lives about twenty-five miles north of here.”

  “Fine by us,” Milo said. “Who is he?”

  “Shakespeare McNair.”

  “The Shakespeare McNair?” Tom blurted out.

  “Yep,” Nate said. He looked at his wife and son, standing rather forlornly side by side in the doorway, gave a little wave, and forced himself to face forward and ride off, the lead to the two pack animals in his left hand. Twenty yards from the cabin he twisted in the saddle and looked over his shoulder. Winona and Zach both waved and he did likewise. Leaving them periodically to go off trapping taxed his self-control to its limits. He hated leaving them alone. But he had to make a living. He was a free trapper, and since the beaver weren’t about to march up to his front door and lie down to be skinned, he must go where the beaver were. Still, thinking of all the grizzlies and panthers in the Rockies and the constant threat of the Utes didn’t make departing any easier.

  “We’ve heard McNair is a good friend of yours,” Tom commented.

  “The best I have,” Nate admitted.

  “They say there isn’t a mountain man alive who can hold a candle to him, except maybe Jim Bridger,” Milo said.

  Both men were clearly eager to meet McNair, and Nate couldn’t blame them. Shakespeare was a legend in the Rockies, a man who had ventured into the unknown region decades ago, long before wearing beaver became so fashionable and trappers flocked to the mountains in droves. Shakespeare was one of the original white inhabitants of the territory, a man whose knowledge of the wildlife and the Indians was unsurpassed, who knew how to hunt and trap better than any man alive, and who spoke a dozen Indian tongues fluently and could converse adequately in six or seven more. The trappers in general looked up to him as a model of what they could achieve if they tried.

  Provided they lived long enough, of course. Every mountaineer was acutely aware of the odds. Every trapper knew that for every ten men who trekked to the Rockies, less than half would make the return trip one day to civilization. Most wound up slain by hostiles or animals. Many simply decided to stay. There was something about the Rockies, an indefinable quality of majesty and wonder combined with the alluring appeal of the wild and of untrammeled freedom, that touched deep into their souls and held them as firmly as the strongest magnet held iron in its grasp.

  Nate had proven susceptible to the same allure, and he didn’t regret his decision to stay at all. His sojourn in the wilderness had tempered him much as a sharpening stone tempers a keen blade, dashing his boyish beliefs and his Eastern illusions on the hard rock of reality. He’d learned early that the only law that mattered in the wild was the law of the survival of the fittest. Nature played no favorites. Men and beasts must always be alert, always on their toes for trouble and ready to take advantage of situations as they developed. Those who blundered gravely seldom lived to commit the same mistake twice. If a deer didn’t run fast enough from a panther, then that deer became panther food. If a man neglected to keep his rifle loaded and handy at all times and then encountered a grizzly, that man became grizzly food. It was as simple as that.

  Yet despite all the latent savagery in the wilderness, despite the constant hovering overhead of the grim shadow of death ready to claim its next victim, he loved the mountains with almost as much passion as he loved Winona. He loved the regal, towering peaks crowned with snow; he loved the lush, green valleys packed with trees and verdant meadows; he loved the constant ebb and flow of the wild creatures inhabiting the Rockies, the constant swirl of life, the vibrant vitality that reached into
the core of a man and made him feel truly alive.

  So it was that as they rode northward, he immersed himself in the mountains, admiring the breathtaking scenery, alert for animals, keeping his mind active to take his thoughts off Winona and Zachary. They would be all right. He must trust in the Good Lord, keep his fingers crossed, and get back to them as soon as he could.

  There was plenty to observe as they rode. Hawks soared by. Eagles sailed high in the sky. Ravens and mountain jays flapped overhead now and then, while smaller birds flitted about in the trees. Squirrels chattered in the high branches while chipmunks scampered on the ground. Occasionally they saw larger wildlife. Black-tailed deer were numerous. Twice they passed herds of huge elk grazing not far off. And once they saw a small herd of mountain buffalo in the brush. An enormous bull strode into the open and watched them go by but made no move to charge.

  The air was crystal-clear, digging deep into the lungs with each breath and invigorating the whole body. The sky was a tranquil azure blue. A few pillowy clouds floated eastward.

  “I can understand why you stay out here,” Milo Benteen remarked when they were halfway to McNair’s place. “If there wasn’t a certain young woman waiting for me back in Pennsylvania, I’d be tempted to build a cabin and stick permanently.”

  “I feel the same way,” Tom said. “You’re fortunate, Nate, that you didn’t have a woman back in the States when you came out to the frontier.”

  But Sublette was wrong. Nate had been close to a woman, and the statement provoked memories of the lovely Adeline Van Buren, the wealthy, prominent woman he’d intended to marry. What was she doing now? he wondered. It had been a long time since last he saw her. He’d departed New York City back in April of ’28, and here it was April of ‘32. She must be married to a rich businessman or lawyer or politician and have children. Well, he wasn’t so sure about the children, but he knew beyond any doubt that Adeline had married someone as wealthy as or wealthier than she was. Her whole life had revolved around money, no doubt because her rich father had spoiled her from childhood, had pampered her with anything and everything she wanted.