Then up ahead, a mile or so, he noticed a cut in the cliff. When he got there, he found it to be a large gap at least a hundred yards in width, as if the mountain had split in two.
He saw the deer tracks immediately. They came down the sharp incline of the fissure in a direct line and then continued across the open ground to the forest where grass lay not far under the snow.
Following them up, he stole warily through the trees, finding spots here and there where the animals had dug with their sharp hooves to get at the grass. He walked for two more hours, breaking off pieces of bread to appease his hunger, until he realized he might search the rest of the day without spying any of them, so he turned west again towards the escarpment where he could see for a greater distance.
As he came to the edge of the woods, he stopped dead in his tracks. Not a hundred yards away there were three deer feeding in the open. Inch by inch he drew back behind a tree, slowly raised his rifle and fired.
His target was a sleek doe. As the bullet pierced her heart, she leaped high in the air, ran for several steps and then crashed to the snow. Paul considered shooting a second deer while the other two stood transfixed with surprise, but instead he ran to the doe, the others bounding off as fast as they could. Her legs were still kicking when he reached her. Drawing his Bowie knife, he slit her throat, then grasped a leg and dragged her to the woods. Under a large fir tree, he took the rope from his blanket, threw it over a limb and raised the doe high enough to eviscerate it. He was not skilled at this, but slitting her carefully, he removed the entrails without incident and separated the heart and liver from the internal organs. Estimating the carcass would weight seventy or eighty pounds, he hacked it in two and climbed the tree to store one of the halves high in the branches. Back on the ground, he marked the spot by slashing chips out of the trunk with his knife, then looked long and hard at the cliff to pick out identifying features to help him find the cache at a later time. Shouldering the remaining half, heart and liver, he started homeward.
He heard the wolves before he had gone half a mile. They had found the blood, entrails - and his scent.
Immediately he looked about for a big tree. He did not waste time making a detailed selection, but went up the nearest one which had the largest branches to climb. A dozen feet up, he tied the carcass of the doe to the trunk, counted the eighteen rifle cartridges and twelve sixgun shells in his pocket, and leaned back to wait. He did not have long - within minutes four wolves came loping past him, then circled back, looking about. The leader of the wolves sighted him at once and led the others to the base of the tree, rising on his hind legs to see better.
Paul shot him through the lower part of the spine. With an ear-shattering howl of pain, the wolf tumbled away from the tree and crawled into the bushes. At that moment fourteen others came running up. All of them circled the dying leader and sat there, waiting. His lips drew back, baring his teeth, and he growled at those around him. They waited patiently. The instant he placed his muzzle on a paw to seek relief from the pain, one of the wolves sprang, sinking his fangs into the leader’s neck. The leader could only try to pull away, but the attacker turned him on his back. Like flashes of lightning, the others leaped in, ripping open his stomach. Still alive, held fast by the wolf at his neck, his front legs flailing helplessly, he lay there as the pack fed on him.
When he was dead, the wolf holding his neck released him and walked stiff-legged around to the open stomach, growling, Reluctantly, the others made way for him to thrust his muzzle inside and tear out a piece of flesh.
Paul shot that one, also in the lower part of his spine. Immediately the others scattered, leaving the wounded one by himself. They made a large ring around the tree, staring up at Paul in its branches.
Half an hour later, eleven more wolves came up. While most of them joined the ring, two walked slowly up to the second one shot by Paul. He was not yet dead. One sank his fangs into its neck and dragged it out to the circle. At once, the wolves which had come up late began feeding on the crippled one. Paul let them eat without interruption. Slipping out his Bowie knife, he cut a thin slice of meat from the doe, and chewed it slowly. When it was gone, he cut more until his hunger eased.
He hadn’t realized the lateness of the hour until he noticed how hard it was to see the forms of the wolves moving about to feed on the body of the second wolf then resuming their places in the circle. It had been a hard decision to make - to use up most of his cartridges to drive them off or to wait until they left. Once his shells were expended, he would have only Tina’s carbine and about twenty cartridges, and he didn’t like her gun at all, not compared with his own. Her carbine would be just the thing to drive off the wolves, but to fight professional gunfighters, he needed the accuracy of his rifle.
If these American wolves were anything like their Russian cousins, they would tire of waiting once they had fed. Although as lean as greyhounds, they did not appear to be famished, so there was enough game about to draw them away sooner or later; especially when they saw two of their pack crippled by the man in the tree. It was their nature to wait for a while. Who knows, perhaps the deer he was carrying would be thrown to them to appease their hunger or maybe even the man himself would fall by accident and be too badly injured to resist the attack. They bad never eaten a man, but they knew by instinct that he would be delicious.
At twilight, Paul unrolled his blanket, drew it around his shoulders, and tied himself securely to the trunk of the tree. Cutting off slices of deer meat, he placed a few inside his coat to be kept warm, then ate the rest with some of the bread in his pocket.
It was a long night, He slept rather well, considering the circumstances of sitting astride a branch and leaning against the trunk, but when dawn finally broke he was stiff and aching. They were still down them, rolled up in balls in the snow or stretching their legs and yawning. Paul ate the strips of meat from his jacket, tied his rifle to a branch and descended to six or seven feet from the ground. Drawing his revolver, he looked carefully at the pack around him, trying to identify the new leader, but when he could not pick him out, he shot the first one that came within range. He had hoped to wound it to impress upon the others his power to inflict pain, but it rolled over, kicked spasmodically for a few seconds, then died. A few wolves sniffed. at the body, but none fed upon it. Later in the morning, when it appeared they were not going to leave, he caught another one within range and killed it, too, At this, the remainder moved further away, still keeping watch, three or four leaving the pack at intervals and then returning. Paul moved up and down the tree to keep his circulation going, then hacked off pieces of the frozen deer flesh and placed them under his coat to be thawed for eating.
At nightfall, he decided to remain in the tree until morning and use his cartridges to break free if the pack was still there. When the sun did come up, he breathed a sigh of relief to find them gone. Cold and stiff, he climbed down and lit a fire, huddling over it until his teeth stopped chattering. Roasting the chunks of meat, he ate part, then warmed by the food and a cup of piping hot coffee, he shouldered the half-deer and continued on towards the cave.
He did not stop for lunch, but ate the cooked pieces of meat as he walked, keeping a watchful eye out for any of the wolves who might have doubled back.
It was like entering the most fashionable hotel in London when he pushed aside the blanket and came into the cave. It was warm and cozy. Dropping his burden to the ground, he stepped to the fire, looking in the slash for Tina. His head shot up in alarm when he found it empty. Going swiftly to the entrance he looked out and studied the snow, his heart skipping a beat when he saw her footprints heading towards where they had first met.
At once, he threw off his blanket and rushed out of the cave, following her tracks at a trot, his rifle held at the ready.
She must have started early, for her footprints and the marks of her crutch went past the remains of the horses and to the draw leading down from the plateau. He broke into a run, crashing
through the snow, not wasting time or breath to shout out to her.
He rounded a bend - and stopped abruptly in his tracks! She was leaning back against a huge rock, stabbing with her crutch at seven wolves darting at her from a semicircle. Her face was white with pain and fear.
Suddenly, a figure loomed into view on top of the rock directly behind her! Instantly he fired! The wolf, fangs bared, poised to leap down on her, tumbled through the air and landed inches from her feet. She screamed at the sight of it, not comprehending what had happened, then she fell to the ground, utterly and completely exhausted, no longer able to resist.
Paul let out a high yell, drawing the attention of the wolves to himself as he levered the rifle and fired and levered and fired and levered and fired. When he stopped shooting, four of the beasts lay dead, the rest put to flight.
He raced to Tina and dropped to his knees by her side. Her face was buried in her hands and she was trembling uncontrollably.
“Tina,” he said urgently, putting his arms around her. “It’s all right. You’re quite all right. They’ve gone.”
The words or the arms about her must have reached her sub consciousness, for she raised her head, her eyes wild with fright. Slowly they focused on his face.
“Paul!” she moaned, flinging her arms around his neck. “Paul, Paul.” Then she began to weep, racking sobs that tore at her frame. “I thought you had left me,” she choked out.
He kissed her temples and her hair and stroked her tenderly. “I could never leave you, Tina. I was unable to get back earlier.”
She rested against him, holding him as tightly as she could then she raised her face and pressed her lips to his. He kissed her with a gentleness he had not known was in him, the softness of her lips like the touch of velvet, the salt of her tears tasting almost sweet. Her body molded to his, he held her close in his arms, rocking her like a mother would soothe a child, then, drawing back, he wiped away the tears with his finger.
She tried to smile. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. “Come,” he said rising to his feet. He helped her up, and while she wiped her face, he reloaded his rifle, slung it over his shoulder and stepped forward to pick her up.
“I can walk, Paul. All I need is some support.”
“You will ruin your leg, if you haven’t done so already. I’ll carry you.”
Lifting her in his arms, he started off. She leaned her head against his chest. “I thought you bad gone away for good. It would have served me right for the way I treated you.”
“Can’t get rid of me. I’m in love with you, you know.”
She hid her face. “Oh, Paul.”
“Stop crying, for the love of Peter. You’re heavy enough as it is.”
She looked at him, the green of her eyes like cool, deep waters. “I’m in love with you, too, Paul.”
“You’d better be. Can’t go mooning about like a lost lamb, howling at the stars.”
“Would you howl if I didn’t love you?”
“Like a prize banshee.” He raised his head. “Wh--e-ee”, he yelled.
She hugged him tighter, laughing with joy.
It took a good hour to reach the cave, but it seemed like minutes only. They stopped often for Paul to rest and to hold each other and to kiss again and again to make sure it was not all a dream. But finally they reached the cave and he set her down gently, then flopped down beside her. She slid to the small pile of branches and laid several of them on the fire, blowing on the few coals still glowing to bring a flame to life.
Paul noticed it was getting dark outside. “I’d better cut some wood - we’re almost out.” He got to his feet.
“Cut a lot,” said Tina shifting around so her back was to Paul and continuing to fan the fire. “I want to take a bath.”
“A what!” said Paul.
“A bath.” She kept her head averted. “I want to be clean when you make love to me.”
Paul chuckled. “Would you kindly tell me how you are going to bathe in two cups of water? And would you also tell me how to make love to a woman with a broken leg?” He kneeled and put his arms around her, kissing her ear. “I can wait, you know. Loving you is not just for the moment, Tina.”
She pressed his arms against her breasts. “Perhaps you can wait, but I cannot.” She turned to him, her face flushed. “And we will find a way.” To cover her feelings, she became businesslike. “Here’s how to get water. Take my square piece of canvas and prop it up above the fire on four poles. Don’t put it too close or it will burn. Then fill it with snow. In fifteen minutes we’ll have all the warm water we need.” .
Paul shook his head in wonder. “Marvelous idea. I’ll prepare supper first.”
She leaned forward and kissed him. “I will take care of that now.” She slid over to the deer carcass and felt it. “It’s thawed out enough to skin. Go get wood, my darling.” She drew out her knife from the sheath hanging around her neck.
By the time he had cut and carried in two armfuls of wood, she had skinned the deer. With his Bowie knife, she butchered the side, cutting it into half a dozen pieces, and threaded a piece of rope through them. “You must hang these up,” she said to him. “We’ll eat the heart and liver tonight.”
When he returned from hanging the pieces out of the reach of wolves, she had supper already cooked, the heart and liver sliced thin and lightly grilled, a can of tomatoes heating beside two cups of coffee and slices of bread almost toasted.
It all tasted marvelous, and when he had finished, Paul leaned back, sated. “I wonder what you’d be like in a proper kitchen,” he groaned happily.
She grinned. “I’d put two inches on your waist in a week with my biscuits.”
“Do you do the cooking at home?” he asked.
Her grin grew broader. “Do you have any idea how much land and cows we have?”
“Including mine?”
She threw back her head and laughed at that. “Paul, my dear,” she chuckled, “We had thirty-five thousand cows before we even heard of you. Paw has fifty hands working for him. We have range huts that take a full day’s ride to reach. Cook? We have three cooks and five helpers, so I cook because I like to, not because I must.” She tugged at his hand. “Now, up with the canvas.”
Together they set up four poles and tied the canvas corners to them. Paul carried in loads of snow, placed them on the canvas, and as Tina had predicted, there was warm water in no time at all.
“You look away while I wash,” she said, taking a small bar of soap from her saddlebag.
“I’d rather watch,” said Paul. “You may need help, anyhow.”
“You can watch tomorrow, but not now. There is one thing, though. You’ll have to help me take off my pants. I can’t reach down far enough to slip them over the splint.”
There was a tightness in his chest when he drew them off. She was wearing knee-length woolen under pants. “Shall I help with those, too?” She nodded. Eyes riveted to her ankles, he helped with them, then turned his back and began to clean his rifle and revolver.
She used the tomato can to pour water over herself to wash and rinse, and dried herself with her blouse, then she slid around the fire to where their blankets were laid out in the slash.
“I’m washed now,” she said in a little voice.
“Have to hold things up a bit longer,” said Paul. “This bathing idea is too good to waste.” He brought in more snow, undressed and washed himself. Tina watched without speaking. After drying himself with his undershirt, he stepped around the fire to the blankets.
Tina sat up when he came near and her green eyes were as large and deep as all the seas of the world. She reached up and placed her hand between his legs, softly caressing his testes, then leaned forward and kissed his stiffened manhood.
“Come, my darling,” she said hoarsely. “Come, come.” He sank down to the bed and lifted the blanket.
CHAPTER XIV
It was a glorious morning. There was the cheerful sound of pine branches crackling in th
e fire, the tantalizing aroma of fresh-brewed coffee, the warmth of the blankets and the body scent of. the most extraordinary woman in the world next to him. Paul stretched luxuriously, a sense of the most delightful well being spreading throughout his body, and his eyes slowly opened.
“Come back to bed,” he said.
She was seated in front of the fire, wrapped in her fine doeskin coat, preparing breakfast. Her face turned at the sound of his voice and he marveled again at how utterly beautiful she really was, the long face with its firm chin and narrow, tip-tilted nose, and the high, wide cheekbones which seemed to enhance those intense, flaming green eyes, filling with radiance as her mobile, expressive lips curved into a smile. “Immediately, my darling,” she said. “I’m bringing breakfast.”
“I could eat you,” said Paul, now fully awake.
“And I you. We shall save each other for dessert.” She slid to his side with cups of coffee, warm bread and a few slivers of deer heart left over from the night before.
Paul sat up, drew the blanket over his nakedness and began eating. “I don’t know what you do with this coffee but it’s actually drinkable.”
“I put salt in it.”
His eyes flicked up at her. “I say, Tina, I hadn’t known I would be your first lover.”
She smiled with satisfaction and pride. “There was no time to tell you,” she quipped. The faintest trace of a flush spread over her face. “You were like a bull last night.”
The Cossack Cowboy Page 20