Wilderness: Northwest Passage/Apache Blood (A Wilderness Double Western #6)

by Robbins, David

  Facing around, Nate cracked the whip. And saw the leading edge of a storm front sweeping in from the west.

  Chapter Seven

  The roiling black and gray clouds unleashed their full elemental fury minutes after Nate and the emigrants reached a thin strip of trees bordering the east side of the gurgling stream. He had pushed the weary teams as hard as he dared in the hope of reaching shelter, all the while watching the swirling mass overhead as the sun was blotted out and the blue sky was transformed into a crackling cauldron that had threatened to explode in a deluge at any moment.

  When the rain came, it came in great driving sheets, mercilessly pounding the canvas covers and the exhausted horses. Lightning flashed on all sides. Thunder boomed, seemingly shaking the very ground.

  Nate didn’t bother to unhitch his team for the time being. They were better off right where they were instead of being tied to nearby limbs or brush since they couldn’t bolt while in harness. If lightning struck close to the wagon, the worst they could do was shy and prance in fright. If they were tied to trees, they might panic, tear the rope loose, and flee. Then he would have to spend hours rounding them up. And too, he didn’t relish the thought of being soaked to the skin.

  So he grabbed the Hawken and climbed under the wagon top to wait out the storm. Made of hemp and waterproofed with linseed oil, the canvas cover kept out most of the rain. There was a drawstring at the bottom for closing the opening, and he promptly did so. Now only a few drops spattered in now and then.

  Nate worked his way to the rear. Outside, high winds shrieked past, violently shaking the canvas. He looked out and found Pegasus standing flush with the wagon. Water ran from the stallion’s mane and tail. It also ran down both sides of his saddle, which he had neglected to strip off.

  “Of all the stupid...” Nate muttered, and set the Hawken down. Bracing himself, he swung over the loading gate and hurriedly removed the saddle and his gear, placing everything in the wagon. By the time he climbed back in, he was dripping wet.

  The emigrants were all in their wagons. He saw Libbie peering out and waved, but she made no response. Drawing the rear string so that both ends of the canvas were now sealed off from Nature’s fury, he settled down on a bundle of blankets and rested his head on a soft pillow. A few minutes of peace and quiet would be nice, he reflected, and began to plot the course they would take once the weather cooperated. But total exhaustion engulfed him.

  Almost immediately he fell asleep.

  ~*~

  A tremendous crash of thunder abruptly awakened him. Nate sat up, blinking in surprise, unsure of where he was or what he had been doing. His mind felt sluggish, his body sore. Shaking his head, he pushed to his knees. One look at the possessions piled high around him sparked his memory and he recalled everything. How long had he slept? he wondered. And why was it so much darker than it had been when he drifted off?

  Nate moved to the back and loosened the draw string. The storm still raged, although with diminished intensity. Gloomy twilight blanketed the landscape, and he realized night was not far off. He had slept for hours! Annoyed, he glanced at the other wagons. Both were lit from within by lanterns, and vague shadowy silhouettes played across the canvas tops whenever someone moved. The emigrants were warm and cozy, which was more than could be said for him. His buckskins were still wet, his skin damp, and he shivered when a gust of wind struck him.

  Locating a lantern, he lit it. Next he stripped off his buckskins and wrung them out. Hanging them up to dry took but moments, and then he wrapped himself in a blanket and squatted next to the lantern, which gave off considerable heat as well as light. In minutes he was comfortably warm.

  His growling stomach prompted a search for food. Eleanor Nesmith had packed enough jerked meat and other foodstuffs to feed an army. Included were a half-dozen biscuits she had baked two days ago. He hesitated before taking a bite, thinking of that young, vibrant woman who had been so full of life when she baked the biscuits and who was now feeding the worms. Such was life. People never knew from one minute to the next when the Grim Reaper would claim them, so it made sense to live each moment to the fullest. What would be, would be, and no amount of fretting about it ever extended anyone’s life a single second.

  He greedily devoured the biscuits. Jerky rounded out his meal, and he washed it all down with gulps of cool water. Coffee would have been preferable, but building a fire would have to wait until the downpour ended.

  Nate resigned himself to staying by the stream until morning. In a way, the storm had turned out to be a blessing in disguise. A night’s rest would do wonders for all of them, especially the horses. Which reminded him. Reluctantly, he donned his damp buckskins and went out.

  The rain had slackened to a drizzle, the wind had died to a whisper. Taking Pegasus first, he tethered the stallion close to the stream where both water and grass were readily available. Working rapidly, he unhitched the entire team and took all of them over. Then he walked to the Banner wagon, but discovered that Simon had already taken care of those animals. The Webster horses were still hitched, though, so he tended to them. Before going back to his wagon, he stepped up to the Webster’s and called softly, “How are you doing in there?”

  Cora appeared, her features downcast. “Neil has a fever, Mr. King. He’s resting right now, bundled up so he’ll stay warm. But I’m worried about infection setting in.”

  “Don’t be. I cauterized the wound good and proper,” Nate said. “A fever is common in cases like this. By morning it should break and your husband will be fine.”

  “I hope so.”

  Nate touched a hand to his hat and went back. As he passed the Banner wagon, a gruff voice hailed him.

  “King! So you’re the one I heard. I take it we’re staying put for the night?”

  “We are.”

  “How’s Neil faring?” Simon asked.

  “He’ll pull through.”

  Banner twisted his head to survey the darkening sky. “What are the odds the Piegans will come after us?”

  “I’d say they’re pretty slim. The storm wiped out our tracks, so unless they were close behind us when it hit, they have no idea where we are,” Nate said.

  “Good riddance, I say,” Simon declared. “I take it we’ll leave at dawn?”

  “We will,” Nate confirmed.

  “Good. Let’s pray we don’t run into any more hostiles.” Banner looked to the right and the left, then shrugged and closed the canvas.

  What was that all about? Nate reflected, stepping to his wagon and climbing up. As his leg slid over the top he saw a huddled figure in the corner. The lantern light glistened off her golden tresses and revealed the earnest expression she bestowed on him.

  “Please, Mr. King, come in. I need to talk to you.” Puzzled, Nate sat down opposite her. “Do your folks know you’re here?”

  “No. Pa thinks I’m answering nature’s call,” Libbie said, and grinned at some private joke. “He won’t expect me back for five minutes or so, which is plenty of time.”

  “For what?”

  “For getting your opinion on something,” Libbie replied, resting her elbows on her knees and her chin in her hands. “I’ve come to respect you. You’re not the uncouth lout my pa thinks you are.”

  “He said that?”

  “Not in so many words, but I can tell how he feels. He’s not very pleased at having you be our guide. He thinks you’re too young, that you don’t know what you’re doing. And he blames you for the loss of Harry and Eleanor. He told my ma that we had better watch you like a hawk from here on out to make certain you don’t make any more mistakes.”

  To hide his anger, Nate bowed his head.

  “But I figure he’s wrong,” Libbie went on. “My pa makes a habit of misjudging people, so don’t be upset. I can tell that you’re a man who knows what he’s about. Everything you’ve told us so far has turned out to be right. And you know these mountains like I know the back of my hand.” She paused. “It wasn’t your fau
lt the Piegans found us. Those things happen.”

  Nate waited for her to get to the point of her visit. He hoped it would shed some light on her strange behavior, on why she was so eager to die.

  “Mr. King, how do you feel about killing?”

  “In what way?” Nate asked, recalling the Piegan she had shot to save his life. Was that what this was about?

  “In every way.”

  He leaned back and took off his hat. “When I first came out here from New York City, I was shocked by it. Indians kill whites. Whites kill Indians. Both kill animals. Animals kill other animals. So much killing was hard to take until I came to see that it’s part of Nature’s way.” He put the hat down. “If a panther wants to live, it eats deer or whatever else it can catch. If an owl gets hungry, it eats a rabbit. If an Indian wants to count many coup and be considered a great man in his tribe, he has to go out and kill his enemies. It’s all part of life in the wilderness.”

  “So you don’t mind having to kill?”

  “Not when there’s a reason. I have to eat, like everyone else. So does my family. And as a husband and a father I have a duty to protect my wife, my son, and my own hide the best I’m able,” Nate said. He patted the hilt of his butcher knife. “Out here, Libbie, only the strong survive. It sounds harsh, but that’s the way of the world.”

  “How many men have you killed?”

  “I haven’t counted them.”

  “Ever killed white men?”

  “A few,” Nate admitted.

  “And it doesn’t bother you? You don’t feel guilt? You don’t feel as if you’ve committed a sin?”

  For a young girl, she was posing difficult questions. Nate toyed with the fringe on his pant leg before answering. “I’ve thought about all that. Many times. I know the Bible says, ‘Thou shalt not kill,’ but look at Samson and David. They were both mighty warriors and they killed time and again. Yet they were close to God.” He sighed. “Have I sinned by killing others who were trying to kill me? Maybe. I don’t rightly know. But I do know I wouldn’t be here today if I’d let them kill me.”

  “Have you ever killed a child?”

  Shocked, Nate glanced at her. “Heavens, no! Shooting a hostile out for my hair is one thing. Murdering children is another.”

  “Would you if you had to?”

  “No.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  There was something about her tone that gave Nate pause. She had leaned forward and her eyes were boring into him as if she was trying to see into the depths of his soul. “I can’t think of any reason for killing a child,” he said slowly. “Even the Blackfeet don’t do it. They adopt young ones into their tribe.”

  Libbie started to speak, but a shout outside made her straighten and gaze anxiously at the darkness that had claimed the countryside.

  “Daughter? Where are you? Your supper is getting cold!”

  “I have to go,” Libbie said urgently. She scooted to the front of the wagon, then hesitated. “Thanks for taking the time to hear me out. Maybe we’ll talk again sometime.”

  “Whenever you want,” Nate said, and watched her step onto the seat. Her legs coiled and she jumped from sight. He heard her clear her throat as she walked toward her wagon.

  “Here I come, Pa! Sorry.”

  Peering over the loading gate, Nate saw Simon Banner waiting for her. Simon offered his hand, but she refused to take it and climbed up on her own. Perplexed, Nate tied the canvas and pondered. Why had she been so intensely interested in the killing of children? Had a younger brother or sister died some time ago and she was trying to come to grips with her grief? He wished they had not been interrupted so he could have gotten to the bottom of the mystery.

  Another meal caused his drowsiness to return. He rearranged some of the Nesmiths’ belongings so he had a flat space to stretch out, then spread the blankets and lay on his back. The rain had almost stopped. Far to the east thunder rumbled. He imagined that it must be raining on Harry Nesmith at that very minute, and regretted they had not had the time to bury the man beside his wife.

  Presently he turned off the lantern, covered himself with two heavy blankets, closed his eyes, and drifted into a pleasant sleep.

  ~*~

  Years of living in the wild had turned him into an early riser. There were only so many hours in a day, and if a man wanted to accomplish a lot he had to take advantage of daylight while it lasted. Thus it was that the faintest of pale tinges touched the eastern sky when Nate opened his eyes and stretched. The long rest had completely rejuvenated him. He jumped up, refreshed and eager to commence the day’s work.

  His buckskins were not quite fully dry, but they would be once he got outside and moved around. He dressed, aligned his weapons as they should be, snatched up the Hawken, and ventured out to check on the stock. All the horses were accounted for, right where they should be. He patted the stallion, then roamed among the trees in search of dry timber for a fire. It took some doing, but he soon had a blaze going.

  The other wagons were still dark and silent. He moved quietly so as not to awaken them. After all the emigrants had been through, they deserved some extra rest. Taking a coffeepot and coffee from the Nesmith larder, he treated himself to a hot tin cup of the brew, adding a handful of sugar for sweetening. Sugar was a rare commodity in the mountains because the Indians never used it and the trappers could rarely afford it.

  Gradually the world came alive. The horses moved to the stream to drink. Birds chirped in the trees, sparrows, chickadees, and jays all vying for the honor of the loudest singers. Ravens flapped overhead. A rabbit hopped into the open near the stream, but bounded off when one of the horses snorted.

  Nate sipped his delicious coffee, warmed himself by the fire, and thought of how different life was in the mountains compared to the hectic existence of those who lived in the States. Here a man could take time to smell the roses, as Shakespeare McNair liked to say. He could relax and enjoy the natural wonders all around him. There was no one looking over his shoulder all the time, no one goading him to work harder or faster as had been the case when Nate worked as an aspiring accountant in New York City.

  Here a man could take what life had to offer at his own pace, a luxury for those burdened souls back East who were constantly working more and more hours to make more and more money so they could have more and more things. His own father had been a case in point, laboring ungodly long hours six days a week so the family would prosper in a modest way. To think that he had once wanted to follow in his father’s footsteps! Thank goodness his Uncle Zeke had invited him to come West, where he had discovered that there was more to life than making money— much more.

  He finished his first cup of coffee, poured another. The horses were grazing. On the other side of the stream a doe stepped into the open, saw the horses, and ran off before he could grab the Hawken and fire. He heard a rustling sound behind him and pivoted on his heels.

  Simon Banner, his hair disheveled, his expression that of a man not quite fully awake, was emerging. He gazed all around, then came toward the fire, scratching himself in various spots.

  “Hello, King,” he mumbled.

  “Ready for a new day?” Nate asked.

  “As ready as I’ll ever be.” Simon surveyed the trees. “Have you seen my daughter anywhere?”

  “No.”

  “Where the hell has she gotten to this time?” Simon groused, and continued to the stream, where he knelt and splashed water on his face and ran his thick fingers through his hair.

  Nate scanned the trees himself. With all of Libbie’s crazy talk about wanting to die, he was concerned she might have taken her own life or simply wandered off to let Nature take its course. Then again, she might be tending to personal business. He swirled the coffee and downed the rest in large gulps.

  “Still no sign of her?” Simon asked, returning from his ablution.

  “Not yet.”

  “I swear that girl gets more contrary every day. Comes from ha
ving a sinful nature.”

  “Libbie?”

  Simon nodded knowingly. “She seems all sugar and spice, but deep down that girl has a wicked streak a mile wide. Satan tempted her and she took the bait.”

  “I can’t believe she’s as wicked as you claim.”

  “That’s because you don’t know her like I do. You see the outside of a cup and think the inside is clean when it’s not.” Simon extended his hands close to the crackling flames. “I never thought I’d be saying this about my own flesh and blood; but Libbie is Satan’s tool. If she would repent I could forgive her, but she won’t.”

  Nate couldn’t resist asking, “Is that why she’s bitter toward you?”

  “You’ve noticed? Ah, well, I should have expected as much,” Simon said. “Yes, the girl despises me, and all because I try to live my life according to the Good Book. I’m stern, I know, but it’s only to keep her on the straight and narrow. I don’t want her to end her days in Hell.”

  “I doubt she will,” Nate said to be cordial. “She has a good head on her shoulders. Eventually she’ll marry a law-abiding man and raise you a passel of grandchildren to be proud of.”

  Surprisingly, Simon Banner turned beet red. “Maybe. But I doubt any God-fearing man will have her after what she’s done.”

  “What did she do?”

  Ignoring the question, Banner rubbed his hands together and turned away. “Now where in tarnation is that child?” He moved toward his wagon and shouted, “Libbie! Libbie, where are you?”

  The yells were bound to awaken the others. About to chide Banner for being so inconsiderate, Nate changed his mind. It would soon be time to head out. He wanted to put as much distance behind them as possible before sunset. Not until then would he feel completely confident they had eluded the remaining Piegans.