Finally it was over. She put her foot against the dead man’s back and rolled him over the brink of the riverbank, watching as his body bounced and tumbled down the bank into the icy water. When she turned to face Trace, her face was still twisted with rage, and she stared at him with eyes wild and unfocused. For a moment, he feared she had gone over the brink with Plum’s body, into a world of madness. A few moments passed as the two of them stood transfixed, staring at each other without her really seeing. Jamie’s face slowly relaxed, the anger seeming to recede, and she became aware of him again.
“You’ve been shot,” she finally uttered, and quickly moved to minister to his wound.
At the time, Trace was not fully aware of what had taken place in those terrible moments. He only knew that it struck him that Jamie demonstrated an unusually calm and steady demeanor as she instructed him to sit while she tended the wound in his shoulder. He would have expected her to be weak and perhaps weepy after such a terrifying incident. It would be sometime later, that Trace would look back upon the events of this cold gray morning, and realize he had witnessed a transformation in Jamie. Gone from that moment on was the frail, fearful girl, replaced by a hardened, confident woman with the steel to make her own way in this wild country.
CHAPTER 15
It had already begun to snow when Trace and Jamie started out that afternoon, headed for Boss Pritchard’s cabin above Three Forks. For most of the journey, the pair rode in silence, deep in their individual thoughts. Trace, at the head of the column of horses, had his left arm in a sling that Jamie had fashioned for him to take the strain off of his shoulder. He had been lucky. Plum’s rifle ball had ripped through the muscle, but had broken no bones. Jamie had cleaned it as best she could and wrapped it carefully. And while it was sore and painful, it appeared that it would heal.
Of more concern to him was the question of Jamie’s welfare. Occasionally, when he looked back at the somber young woman, now riding with a pistol strapped to her side as well as Crown’s Hawken rifle within easy reach, Trace was amazed at her stony countenance.
As for Jamie, she felt a peace within her soul that surprised even herself. There were scars deep in her mind that would never fade away, but she was now confident that she could face the rest of her life on her own terms. No longer feeling the shame that had recently drowned her in despair, she had adopted an attitude of self-reliance that needed no other individual to survive. She was somewhat chagrined to find she could now gaze ahead at the broad shoulders of the young mountain man on the paint pony without feeling a wistful longing. Maybe you’ve finally grown up, girl. She smiled as she thought it. Up ahead of her, Trace happened to look back at that moment. Seeing her smile, he grinned in return, and she gave him a little wave of her hand.
By the time they reached the cabin, the snow was at least two feet deep in the valleys, and deeper on the higher elevations. As Trace had feared, the cabin was empty. They both had hoped that they would find Ox waiting for them, but they soon discovered his frozen body lying next to those of Boss Pritchard, Shorty Whitehead, and Jake Watson. After Trace took care of the horses and started a fire in the fireplace, he took a shovel from the corner of the cabin and covered the stack of frozen bodies with a mound of snow. “That’ll have to do until the ground thaws enough to dig,” he told Jamie.
There was nothing left to do but settle in and wait out the weather. They had a snug cabin, with firewood already cut, even a supply of frozen meat buried outside the cabin door. They both agreed things could be a whole lot worse.
During the next few days the snow never let up, piling up almost to the eaves of the little cabin. It was necessary to open the door frequently to ensure that it didn’t get blocked by a buildup of snow. Trace was kept plenty busy raking the snow off the roof, keeping the woodpile accessible, and providing feed for the horses they had accumulated. It was a full-time job for a one-armed man, but Jamie did her share to help him. He had harbored some concerns that returning to the scene of some of Jamie’s torment might be too much for the girl to endure, but she showed no signs of stress, which was a great relief to him. In weather like this, he was mighty thankful for the cabin. Boss Pritchard and his two partners had done a masterful job of constructing a cozy dwelling.
For the first week there was a minimum of conversation between the two. A lot of healing was required before Jamie could release all of the bitterness stored up after the long weeks of brutal abuse at the hands of her captors. The peace she had experienced after Plum’s death was enough to carry her through the cold, snowy days. After a week, the storm moved on, and a glimpse of morning sun seemed to bring her out of her shell. Soon she was close to the Jamie that Trace had known before she was abducted.
This improvement in Jamie’s frame of mind was a welcome sign to Trace, although it also served to create a new concern for him. As Jamie became more and more her old self, Trace began to feel a little uncomfortable because she gradually took on more of a woman’s role in their daily existence, and Trace was reminded of the declaration she had once made that she would make him a good wife. Though it had been long ago, he had never forgotten it. She did not now mention it. Still, he couldn’t help but wonder if it was on her mind and she might be waiting for him to broach the subject.
As Trace made his way through the snow, walking down the riverbank to find food for the horses, his thoughts were far from the bundle of cottonwood branches he was carrying. His arm was out of the sling now, but it still hung almost useless, making it a struggle to keep the frozen limbs together. Jamie was in the cabin, cooking their supper. He was torn between the image of a dark-eyed Snake girl that he had carried in his mind for years and an obligation he felt building up inside him for Jamie.
He tried to counsel himself as to what he should do. Dammit, he argued, Jamie’s as fine a woman as a man could want for a wife. She had been through hell, and after being with Plum she had to feel used and possibly that no man would want her. That part was not what bothered Trace. His reluctance was born of a love for something and someone else. His heart went out to Jamie, however, and in the end, he decided to do what a decent man should do.
* * *
“What’s the matter with you?” Jamie asked, as she watched Trace push the boiled meat around on his plate. “You got some complaints about the cooking? ’Cause if you have . . .”
“No. No complaints,” he interrupted before she could tell him to cook his own supper. “I’ve just been thinking, that’s all.” He put his knife down on the edge of the tin plate. “You know, Jamie, you and me have been friends for a long time.” Sensing a seriousness in his tone, she stopped chewing and gave him her full attention. He mustered up his courage and finally blurted out, “You reckon you and me oughta get married?”
At first she seemed to have no reaction to his blunt proposal. She said nothing, simply gazing into his eyes, as she formed her reply in her mind. When she spoke, it was without excitement. “Trace, you know I love you, and there was a time when I wanted nothing more in this world than to be your wife. I’m sorry, but things are different now. I guess you’re about the most decent man I know, but I don’t want a man in my life anymore. I hope you’re not too hurt by this, but I don’t think it would be a good idea for you or me.” She paused to watch his reaction. “I hope this won’t damage our friendship, because I truly do think of you as my closest friend.”
“No,” he assured her, “nothing will damage our friendship.” He hesitated, still finding it hard to believe he had misjudged her feelings so completely. “I hope you know it didn’t make any difference to me . . . you know, about Plum and all.”
She smiled. “I know.” She paused. “And Trace, thank you for asking me. I’ll always treasure that,” she added, knowing in her heart why he had proposed marriage and that she would always love him for it. But she no longer had a desire to be tied to any man, even a man as decent as Trace McCall.
Neither of them commented on it, but both Trace and Jamie felt g
reat relief in the days that followed. The winter months became a partnership between two friends, a needed period of healing for both as the cold weather clamped its icy grip upon the river valley. Finally, one day Trace came back from hunting with word that the snow had cleared the mountain passes. It was time to leave for Promise Valley.
It had been a peaceful time for Jamie and Trace, but both were ready to say good-bye to Boss Pritchard’s cabin. The ground was still too frozen to dig, so the day before they left, Trace brought rocks from the river to construct a mound over the bodies behind the cabin. It wasn’t much of a monument to three honest mountain men and one innocent soul, but it would have to do. Trace felt bad about Ox. The poor simpleton didn’t deserve to die like that, but in these harsh mountains, things didn’t always work out the way they should. When the last stone was in place, Trace and Jamie started out, driving their small herd of bony, undernourished horses, before them.
* * *
Buck Ransom held the worn length of rope up to inspect it for signs of weakness. He frowned as he examined it, as if the rope had personally offended him by wearing out. “I reckon I’m gonna have to buy me some new rope when I git to Fort Bridger,” he mused aloud as he laced the offending line around the pack he was securing on his horse. His intention was to set out for Bridger on his way to Fort Laramie to meet a wagon train he had agreed to lead to California. He was in no hurry. It would be weeks before the folks he had contracted with would arrive at Laramie. But early signs of spring had caused a ripple in his bloodstream, and he had an itch to be in the saddle again.
The winter had been a hard one, with more snow than usual, causing Buck to spend more time inside his cabin than he cared to, and he longed for some company. It wasn’t that he had not talked to another soul all winter. At least every few days or so he saw Reverend Longstreet or Travis Bowen, usually when he took some venison or elk by after a hunting trip. Less often, he saw Jordan Thrash. But talking to Jordan always depressed Buck. He had never seen a man go downhill so quickly. Ever since Jamie had been carried off by that band of Kutenais, Jordan just seemed to sink into deeper and deeper despair, and Buck wondered if he was going to just give up and die. It made Buck uncomfortable to be around the man.
So he was packing his horses early because the company he craved was that of other men like himself—trappers and scouts, mountain men and scalawags—men who had tasted the pure essence of life that could be found only in the high country. He felt sure he could find a few of the old free trappers hanging around Fort Bridger, suffering with winter itch, same as he was, looking for someone to swap lies about the old days when beaver was still plentiful. A week or two of that, seasoned with a few quarts of Louis Vasquez’s throat-skinning panther piss, was what he needed. Maybe Bridger himself would be there. Buck was looking forward to it. After that, maybe he would be ready to meet up with his train of settlers.
He was absorbed in thoughts of the old days when a movement off in the north end of the valley caught his eye, and he paused to consider what manner of traveler might be approaching from that direction. Squinting while he tried to decide if he should be fetching his rifle or not, he determined that there were two riders, driving about fourteen or fifteen horses; He dropped the end of the rope he had been holding and walked over to the corner of his small corral. Stepping up on the bottom rail to get a better view, he watched the riders, just now passing the ashes of the old Tyler place.
“Well, I’ll be go to hell . . .” he blurted out when the riders got close enough for him to recognize the familiar form riding easy on the paint pony. “Trace!” Buck yelled, and then he realized who the second rider was. “And Jamie,” he said softly. “Praise the Lord!”
Buck jumped down from the fence and ran to his horse. Without taking the time to saddle it, he threw on a halter and leaped on its back. With a sharp kick of his heels, he was off at a gallop to meet his friends, yelling his best rendition of a Crow war whoop.
Trace and Jamie pulled up to watch the wild charge of the old mountain man, wide grins on their faces as Buck came on at a dead run, his horse splashing up mud from the soggy valley floor. He soon slid up to them, leaning against the reins, his buckskins spattered with mud.
“I swear, Buck,” Trace said, “you’ve scattered our horses all over hell.”
Off his horse before it came to a complete stop, Buck roared in mock indignation, “Scattered your horses? To hell with your horses!” He reached up and grabbed Trace by the shirt.
Laughing, Trace let himself be pulled off his pony, landing on top of Buck and knocking both of them to the ground. Scrambling to their feet, they hugged and slapped each other on the back vigorously. Buck finally calmed down enough to turn his attention to the girl who sat quietly smiling at them.
“Jamie,” Buck said softly, his eyes searching hers, trying to see what condition she was in, dreading what he might find. “Welcome home, honey. Are you all right?”
“I’m all right,” she assured him, her smile warm and genuine.
Buck was anxious to hear every detail of the story, but he contented himself with waiting until the girl had a chance to see her father. “Come on,” he said, hopping up on his horse again. “I’ll help you round up your horses, and then I’ll go over to Jordan’s with you. Lemme run by and put my packhorse in the corral, and we’ll take this little lady home.” He pulled back on the reins, pausing. “Unless you wanna put the horses in my corral—it’s kinda small, but it’ll do till you have time to fool with ’em.”
Trace answered. “No. We’ll drive ’em on over to Jordan’s. Half of ’ems Jamie’s anyway.”
“Suit yourself,” Buck replied loudly. Gracing Jamie with a wide, toothy grin, he declared, “What a glorious day!”
* * *
A tearful reunion followed between father and daughter. The shock of seeing his daughter again after all but giving her up for dead was almost too much for Jordan Thrash. After the initial embrace, he had to sit down to keep from collapsing. He looked into Jamie’s face, feeling the hurt in each of her faint scars, blaming himself for each one. Knowing what was tearing her father apart inside, Jamie quickly assured him that she was all right now and that she had never blamed him for her suffering. It would have been useless for him to try to help her when the Indian war party took her.
While father and daughter reunited, Trace and Buck put the horses away. When they were all in Jordan’s corral, Buck sidled up to Trace. “They’s a mighty poor-lookin’ lot,” he allowed.
“I reckon,” Trace replied. “They’ve had a hard winter.”
Buck couldn’t contain his curiosity any longer. “She had a pretty rough time of it, I reckon.”
“She did,” Trace answered.
“She’ll be all right, though? I mean, the girl’s got spunk . . . she’ll be all right, won’t she?”
Trace smiled. “She’ll be fine.”
Buck was losing his patience. “Well, dammit,” he finally blurted out, “are you two . . . is there anything goin’ on between you two?” When Trace did not answer right away, Buck pressed. “Accordin’ to what you told me, you spent the whole dang winter together in that cabin. You mean to tell me that nothin’ went on?”
“Well, I’ll tell you, partner, it ain’t none of your business, but I know you’ll bust if you don’t find out. I asked her to marry me, but she turned me down.”
“Well, forevermore . . .” Buck was flabbergasted. He had always assumed that Trace and Jamie would wind up together. Now he didn’t know what to think. “She turned you down?” he asked, not sure he had heard correctly. Trace nodded. “Turned you down,” he repeated, slowly shaking his head. Then, “Well, she’s got more sense than I give ’er credit for.”
They both laughed at this and started back toward the house, where Jamie was now busy making a pot of coffee. There was no more conversation before reaching the cabin that Jordan had rebuilt, but Buck was working something over in his mind. He had decided it was best not to say anything a
bout a conversation he had with a little Snake girl back in the fall at Fort Bridger. A lot of trappers sired offspring with Indian girls and rode away thinking nothing of it. Trace McCall was not that kind of man, and Buck knew it. Now that things were not as Buck had assumed between Trace and Jamie, he wondered if he should let Trace know about his Indian son. It was a worrisome thing for Buck. He was going to have to make a decision about it. I’ll decide on it tomorrow. Now ain’t the time.
“What are you aimin’ to do now?” Buck asked, as he approached the open cabin door. When Trace did not answer, Buck turned to see if his young friend had heard him. “Never mind,” he murmured. His question had already been answered. Trace McCall had stopped several paces behind him, distracted by the long, lonesome call of a mountain hawk.
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