The Cossack Cowboy

by Lester S. Taube

  “Paul.”

  “That horse-meat we ate - whose horse was it?”

  “Yours, of course. Don’t think I’d take mine, do you?”

  She didn’t answer. An instant later, Paul was fast asleep.

  A sudden blinding pain in his head woke him. He tried to sit up, but another stab of pain shot through it. Instinctively, he wrapped his arms around his head and fought against the spinning of his brain, his jumbled thoughts. His legs had no power in them and his stomach felt ice cold.

  Something hard and heavy smashed against his arms and hit his temple. He let out a cry of pain, and then things abruptly fell into place and he knew where he was and what was happening. At once he rolled away from the wall - and directly into Tina!

  His eyes snapped open. The glow of the fire framed her on one knee, both hands holding a heavy branch high over her head, poised to strike. His fist shot out and punched her squarely in the mouth, flinging her over backward. A sharp scream escaped her lips as she fell on her fractured leg, then Paul was on her, pulling at the club in her hands.

  Over and over they rolled, Tina loosening one hand from the club to scratch at his eyes and face. Paul tore the branch from her grasp and grabbed her as she turned away. Clothing ripped. as he jerked her towards him. Then she was pinned on her back, snarling, her green eyes glaring, her hands struggling to break his hold.

  Paul stared down at her naked breasts, freed when her blouse had torn. They were high, full and tight, rising and falling with her rapid breathing, their paps red-tipped and swollen, the cleft between them deep and dark.

  Tina saw-his stare and instantly stopped struggling. “Why don’t you suck them?” she said, “Go ahead, take one in your mouth. Suck it.”

  Fire raced through Paul’s loins. His gaze travelled up to her face. Her mouth was bleeding from his punch, the tip of her tongue licking at her lips.

  “Why don’t you suck them? You want to. Take down my pants. Suck me there, too.”

  For a moment he thought he would. Instead, he pushed her away and rose, placing an exploratory hand to his head. Blood was flowing from a deep gash on one side. He felt a lump on his temple.

  “Whore-bitch!” he spat out. “I should have left you out there to die.”

  She sat up and drew her doeskin jacket together to conceal her breasts. “You didn’t have the guts,” she spat back.

  He thought he would kill her on the spot. “Go back to your corner,” he snapped.

  “I will stay here,” she snapped back.

  He did not waste time arguing. His foot shot out and thudded viciously into her ribs. The air burst from her lips as she fell over. He kicked her again, knocking her against the stone wall. Painfully she rose to her hands and knees and crawled to her corner, huddling there, her eyes finally registering fright.

  Paul threw some branches on the fire, building it up. He saw the bonds from her hands lying near the coals. She must have burned them off, he decided. Probably burned herself doing so. Hope she did, long and painfully.

  He looked at his watch, surprised to see it was almost eight in the morning. Dabbing at the gash in his scalp with his neckerchief, he pulled aside the blanket. It had snowed during the night, obliterating all signs of his footsteps, and it seemed that the sun would come out today.

  He filled their cups with snow, set them alongside the fire to heat water for coffee, then cut thin slices from Tina’s loaf of bread and placed them near the cups to warm. When breakfast was ready, he motioned to her to come to eat. She slid to the fire and dunked her bread into the coffee.

  Without speaking, Paul ate hurriedly, loaded his rifle, and slipped out of the cave into the woods. The sun was touching the tops of the mountains when he neared the edge of the forest where his horse had been killed. Suddenly he stopped when he saw low grey forms moving about. Slinging his rifle over his back, he climbed a tree to see better.

  Wolves! He had seen them often on the plains and in the forests of the Don and on the slopes of the Caucasian Mountains, but never had he seen so many at one time - over forty in the pack. They were smaller than the Russian wolf, but seemed to move about faster and with more agility. But forty! They would have to hunt constantly to feed such a large number.

  They had dealt with the bodies of the horses in their usual fashion - tearing out the entrails first, then biting off the hide to get to the flesh. It was quite evident that they had fed the night before, as the horses were covered by a layer of snow. The wolves were pawing at them, but were unable to eat since the carcasses were frozen stiff. They were probably waiting about for the sun to soften the flesh enough to feed upon them again.

  Paul felt a chill run down his spine when he thought of how close he must have been to attack during his trips to the horses to get Tina and the equipment. But then, he knew enough about wolves to realize that horse-flesh was a great delicacy to them, much more tasty than an armed man who was able to fight back, so he had presumably been safer than he imagined. At least while they had food. It was quite a different story now.

  Quickly he climbed down from the tree and returned to the cave. Tina was tending the fire, but there were indications that she had searched for her revolver and carbine, such as marks in the floor where she had probed with a stick and by the way the pile of branches had been moved to one side. In her apparent disdain for him, she had made no attempt to conceal the fact that she had hunted for the weapons.

  Paul went outside to cut more wood with him Bowie knife, and looked closely at the spot he had hidden the guns. It had not been disturbed, but he could see that she had come out of the cave by the ruffled surface of snow where she had brushed over her footprints. She had undoubtedly tied two long branches together to make a crutch to lean on, he decided. It then struck him why she had made no effort to conceal the signs of her search within the cave; she was aware that the weapons were not there and was hoping to throw him off guard by pretending to look only inside while making a more diligent check outside.

  As he dropped an armful of wood at the rear of the cave, he said, “There are wolves at the horses. I’d be careful moving about.”

  “Did you see them?”

  “Yes.”

  “How many?”

  “Over forty of them.”

  Her eyes flicked up at him. “They’re dangerous in a pack that size.”

  “Even one wolf is dangerous if he attacks from behind.”

  She pushed some of the branches further into the fire. “Who are you really?”

  “Who am I?” said Paul with surprise. “First of all, I’m a bloody fool for not beating your head off. Second, I’m exactly what I am.”

  “You’re certainly not that duke we heard about who inherited the Three Barbs.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “A duke is supposed to be a gentleman. You’re a fighting man. The way you hit Daniel without a word of warning, then almost killed Sam in that knife fight. And beat Ben to the draw, like you did. Ben is fast. And then that battle at the ranch. Paw said whoever was directing it knew how to fight. And when you came out of that house and hid between the two horses, I never saw anything like it before. Then outrunning the boys and me for two days ... Who are you?”

  “I’m a duke,” said Paul, smiling. “I’ve just not been a duke long enough to become a gentleman.”

  When she sat up straighter he suddenly realized that he was actually a man from a different world to her, that she was one step less sophisticated than the Mongol or Tatar or Turkish tribes he had fought against while serving with the Cossacks. One step? A dozen steps!

  Those tribes had once ruled empires with more luxuries, works of art, incredibly magnificent buildings and advanced civilizations than these savage western Americans ever dreamed existed. These children of the plains and prairies thought that anyone who came from a land more than two hundred miles away was an effeminate dude who couldn’t walk along a trail without stepping into a hole and breaking a leg.

  “
Where did you learn that trick? Standing on horses and then hiding between them?” she asked curiously.

  “From the Don Cossacks.”

  “Who are they?”

  “They’re Russians. They were once the frontiersmen of their country. They know a lot about horses and riding.” He came back to reality and pointed at the meat. “We’ll have to use that sparingly. There’s only two or three days’ supply left. And you’ll not be able to move about on that leg for a month.”

  “There’s game here. Plenty of deer.”

  “How do you hunt them?”

  “We stalk them. You can tell from their tracks which way they’re going, then circle around them until they come in range. Or watch where they feed. Deer feed in the same place for a long time.”

  “Is that how you found me, by stalking?”

  She shook her head and strange lights gleamed in those fascinating green eyes. “I guessed where you’d go. Last night when you shot Pinky, the rest of them said you’d go straight up the hill, cross over, then turn south towards Santa Fe. I went on ahead, but when your trail petered out I figured you’d double back to mix your prints with ours and go in the opposite direction. I ran on to your tracks just a few minutes before I saw you.”

  “Who is Pinky?”

  “One of Paw’s men.”.

  “Did I kill him?”

  “You hit him right through the throat. That was good shooting.”

  “What happened to my people on the ranch?”

  She shrugged. “Paw let them be. They weren’t worth getting men shot up for.” Paul began placing more wood on the fire. “Don’t put the branches on the fire like that. Just lay the ends against the coals, then push them in little by little when they burn. They’ll last a lot longer that way and you’ll have just as much heat.” Her eyes darkened and her upper lip curled. “After all, we half-breed cowardly dogs know all about those things.”

  Paul looked at her quizzingly. “I said it only because I hoped your father would become angry and give me a weapon - which he did. You’re quite sensitive about that, aren’t you?”

  “Why shouldn’t I be? I’m a breed. If Paw and the boys weren’t so strong and didn’t have all the land and cattle they’ve got, every white man would figure all he had to do was give me some beads and a drink of whisky and I’d lay right down so he could suck my tits.”

  Paul nodded his head comprehendingly. “I understand what you mean. After all, the British Empire stretches all around the world and we meet all kinds of people. But you, Tina, you don’t…”

  “How did you know my name?”

  “Why, .we’ve spent the night together. You’ve followed me for days just to tell me I can suck your tits.” She had to laugh, and it came out high and zestful, uninhibited, full of the wildness and sudden moods which were her nature, her face changing in an instant from a brooding, sultry beauty to a bewitching, magnetic exquisiteness.

  “I reckon that’s not far from the truth,” she said, leaning forward to push the branches further into the fire. She sat back and looked squarely at him, her lips still twitching. “What did you think when you saw it was me?”

  “Well,” he said, scratching his head thoughtfully. “I imagine I was too stunned by your appearance to think. I suppose if I did have time to ponder, I would confess to having been shot at by the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.”

  Her eyes hardened as if he had soiled her. “You talk just like all the others, don’t you?”

  “I don’t quite know, because I don’t know what the others say. But let me tell you what I mean by beauty. It’s not the length of a nose nor the shape of the lips, but a certain warmth inside, almost as if the woman is singing aloud. It’s also the way she stands and walks - if she holds herself proudly. And I’ve seen proud women whom others thought were plain, black ones and white ones and yellow ones, and they were beautiful to me. A lot of people are born with fetching faces and figures, but that doesn’t mean they are truly beautiful. And there are a great number of seemingly plain women who are actually so beautiful that it’s hard to understand why others don’t see it.” He shrugged. “I think you’re my kind of beautiful.”

  The hardness had gone from her eyes, but they were alert, wary. “What are you trying to say?”

  He gazed into the fire, his deep-blue eyes pensive. “I’m not sure what I’m trying to say.” He sat in silence for several moments, then reached behind him for his rifle, drawing out its cleaning rod and working a patch of cloth down the barrel. Tina stared at him steadily, motionless, her hands folded in her lap, her injured leg stretched straight out, her other leg tucked under her. Paul abruptly stopped the movement of the cleaning rod and looked up at her. “That’s not quite true. The first moment I saw you, I knew that if I went away and never saw you again for the rest of my life, I would think of you often and would remember you as clearly as I saw you then. I’ve never felt that way before and I won’t pretend that I understand it.” He gazed back at the fire but could sense her eyes still fixed on him.

  She remained silent until he had finished cleaning his rifle and placed the rod in its slot. “Do you have a woman?” she asked.

  “I’m not married, if that’s what you mean.”

  “I didn’t ask that. I asked if you had a woman.”

  “No, I have no woman.”

  “Is there one you love?”

  “Well, I…” he rubbed his head and grunted as he touched the gash she had inflicted.

  “Let me see that,” she said.

  “It’s quite all right,” he said, taking his hand away. “The blood has dried, but it’s a little sensitive.”

  “Let me see it,” she said again. “There could be splinters inside.”

  He started leaning forward, then straightened up. “Show me your hands,” he said, grinning.

  She held them up, smiling, and when he bent his head, she parted his hair gently to examine the wound. “It seems all right. I hit you good, though.”

  He sat upright. “How’s your mouth?”

  “It was cut inside, but it’s closed now.” She chuckled. “My ribs still hurt. You’d make a good Indian husband.”

  He got to his feet, propped his rifle against the wall, removed his coat, and took a chunk of horse-meat to the fire. “We’d better have lunch,” he said, drawing out his Bowie knife.

  “Let me do that,” she said, holding out her hand for the meat and knife. “Lie down and rest. You’ll have to be out hunting tomorrow.”

  Paul held the knife away from her. “Tina, my dear girl,” he said in wonder. “If you think I’m going to place a knife in your hands or go to sleep in the same cave with you, you are totally insane. I would rather put my head in a lion’s cage.”

  She beckoned for the meat and knife. “You don’t have to worry any more.”

  Paul drew back. “I don’t think you quite understand me,” he said bluntly. “I don’t trust you, and I have no intention of believing anything you say.” She pulled her hand away as if he had struck it. “So let me make one point very clear - you’ve attempted to kill me twice within the last twenty hours, and there were two occasions when I could have killed you, but didn’t. I promise you now that you will not have a third opportunity. Have I explained myself clearly enough?”

  She turned her face towards the wall.

  “I have asked you a question and I will ask it one more time only. Did I explain myself clearly enough?”

  She lowered her head. “Yes,” she said quietly.

  Paul cooked the simple lunch of meat, bread and coffee. When he had eaten, he put on his coat, took Tina’s canvas, his blanket and his rifle and left the cave. He searched along the face of the escarpment until he found a ledge about seven feet up from the ground. Slinging his rifle, he drew himself up, cleared off the snow, spread out the canvas, then, rolling himself in his blanket and pulling his hat down over his eyes to shield them from the bright sun, he went immediately to sleep.

  He awoke when the
sun went down, feeling like new. Gathering his gear, he dropped down to the ground and went back to the cave. Tina was seated at the same spot as when he had left, as if she had not moved a finger.

  He prepared supper, horse meat and thin slices of bread. But for variation, he opened a can of tomatoes, poured a small amount into each of their cups which he warmed by the fire, then stored the can in the snow outside the cave. When they had eaten, he wiped the cups, filled them with snow and made coffee.

  They spoke not a word until Paul picked up his gear and started to leave.

  “Are you sleeping outside?” asked Tina.

  “Yes,”

  “I will need a weapon in case wolves come into the cave.”

  “Keep the fire burning. There is enough wood.”

  “The fire cannot burn all night long unless I stay awake.”

  “That’s the gist of it.”

  She drew a branch out of the flames and began to rub the blackened end against the stone wall to fashion a point. Paul watched her for a minute or two. “Do you expect to fight wolves with that?”

  “It is better than nothing,” she said, “A wolf is not a house pet. He lives only to kill.”

  “You should know,” said Paul. He reached inside his coat and took out her sheathed knife, throwing it at her feet. “I pity the wolves,” he said as he turned and walked out.

  CHAPTER XIII

  It was a bitterly cold night, and even the shelter of his ledge did not make sleeping easy. At dawn he went to the cave, where he found Tina asleep, sitting up against the wall, two sharpened sticks and the knife by her side. The fire had almost burned out. She awoke with a start as he placed more wood on the coals and fanned them to life.

  After a quick breakfast of coffee and bread, he rolled his blanket, tied it with a rope and slung it over his shoulder, then packed his cup, a small amount of coffee beans and a slice of bread in his pocket, and left the cave. She did not ask him where he was going and he did not say he was leaving to seek food.

  The cold had formed a thick crust at the top of the snow, but it often gave way under his feet. He wished for a pair of snowshoes, but that would require the hide from an animal to make. Moving into the forest, he found less snow and easier walking. Rifle in hand, his revolver and Bowie knife strapped outside his coat, he scouted north across the plateau. For two hours he searched for game tracks in vain, then changed direction west towards the escarpment. Although the air was still frigid, the sun was shining brightly. At the end of the woods, he. came to an open area about two hundred yards wide that extended alongside the escarpment for miles out of sight, but saw no movement.