Deadman's Lament (The Deadman Series Book 1)

by Linell Jeppsen

  Up seemed like down, and all sense of north and south was lost in the murky gray cloud-cover overhead. He had meant to follow the trail back down off the mountain and into the town with the large stockyard but that seemed as far away as the moon now. For all Mattie knew, he had traveled in circles for the last six hours.

  His stomach cramped as hunger gnawed at his innards despite the nausea that rose up in his throat every few minutes. Understanding that he needed to rest, Mattie stopped and gazed around for a few moments, trying to get some bearing on where he was.

  He saw a very tall tree with mighty branches not too far away. Taking a deep, shuddering breath, Mattie plunged through the snow. Thankfully, his feet did not encounter any obstacles as he plowed his way toward shelter. Then he stopped, gasping in fear as a horrifying sound filled the air, raising gooseflesh on his arms and neck. A warbling, anguished howl echoed off the trees and filled the boy’s heart with dread.

  Quietly moving another twelve feet toward the tree and a clear patch of ground under its branches, Mattie fell to his knees and let the leather sack he carried over one shoulder fall to the ground. His head felt like a knife had been plunged into it and his scalp burned like fire. Mattie lifted his hands to his face and allowed himself to weep in pain and fear. Too much had happened and he mourned… too much death and sorrow for one boy to endure. Unheard, his sobs filled the air.

  Finally, too weary to waste more energy crying, Mattie dropped his hands and looked around. I was lucky, he thought, as he observed the tiny clearing in which he knelt. The ground was covered in pinecones and needles. In addition, a number of dry branches littered the area…enough, perhaps, to make a small fire.

  He opened the satchel and found one of the biscuits. It was as hard as old leather but—at this point—he knew he needed something in his belly, no matter the taste or texture. Then his heart skipped a beat when the hideous howling filled the air again. It sounded like nothing he had ever heard before, as if an unholy beast was roaring from the throat of hell. It sounded close, too, and Mattie could hear the sound of rushing water.

  WATER! He thought with sudden hope. That was another thing his pa had once told him: “If you get lost in the woods, follow a river or a creek downstream.” Mattie got to his feet, wishing the Indians hadn’t taken all the guns with them when they left. Clutching a knife in his hand, he crept toward the source of the terrible howling and the sound of the water.

  Stepping as lightly as he could and shaking with nerves, Mattie crested a rise and saw that a wolf struggled and snarled at the trap that held its back leg in its grip. The wolf, distracted by the boy’s presence, stopped gnawing at her leg and growled. Then, whining piteously, she worked at the trap’s steel jaws again.

  Mattie’s heart sank. Somehow, the wolf had been caught high on her leg and, as he watched, arterial blood poured out of the animal’s wound. The wolf was dying right in front of his eyes and Mattie wished again that he had a weapon with which to put the creature out of its misery. He slunk from the sorry sight, aching with shame.

  He knew that he was still a youngster—innocent of the world and its ways—but he had seen more cruelty and suffering in the last few months than he could believe. In all the time he had worked with Jacques Dupre’, Mattie had not considered the animals that used to inhabit the skins that moved in and out of the trading post. They were inanimate, soulless rugs, hats and blankets judged by size and quality only.

  Now, however, he saw the savage waste of life and the agony resulting from humanity’s desire for fur. Realizing he was guilty of the same callous cruelty, Mattie vowed to do what he could in the future—if he even had a future—to keep from supporting fur trappers and traders in the world he lived in.

  Stepping away, he turned to his right and walked toward the sound of a river. He came to its banks and stared down into its tumultuous, icy rapids. Growing dizzy again, his head throbbed with pain. Knowing that he needed to rest for a little while, Mattie walked back toward the tree and his meager belongings. He paused once to glance at the injured wolf and saw that the animal was resting now, her long pink tongue lying on the snow bank as she panted in agonized exhaustion.

  He stumbled to his place under the tree and thought about eating another biscuit, or building a fire, or maybe following the raging water downstream into the prairies and towns below. Instead, he curled up close to Parker’s old leather satchel and slept.

  Mattie dreamed he was home in his bed and he smiled. It occurred to him that he must be ill. Why else would his ma put a hot-water bottle on his chest? Yes, she was wiping sweat from his face and brow and murmuring words of comfort as he tossed and turned. The boy fell unconscious again and the dream fled.

  A few minutes later, however, Mattie’s eyes flew open in alarm. The warm, heavy weight still lingered and his face was being scrubbed clean but he knew he was not at home. Looking up, Mattie gasped. An animal had taken up residence on his chest and the creature was licking sweat and dried blood from his cheeks and forehead.

  A wolf pup with large, amber eyes was stretched out on Mattie’s prone body, both paws cradling the boy’s face as it licked and licked. Those beautiful eyes looked into his own and Mattie thought he saw all of eternity reflected in those golden orbs.

  Then nerves took over and Mattie sat up with a cry. The little wolf tumbled backwards with a yip and landed on his back in the snow. It crept away a few feet and sat, staring remorsefully back at Mattie.

  Wolf and boy regarded one another for a few moments until Mattie relented. “Come on, you…” he said, holding his hand out for the animal to sniff. He judged the puppy to be a couple months old with soft gray fur and a black mask on its face. Its oversized paws were black as well and the creature gazed up at him with a grin.

  Mattie tried again. “You look like a little bandit, puppy. Come here…I’m sorry I scared you.”

  The wolf stared at Mattie’s extended hand and back up into his eyes. Finally, it walked slowly over and licked the boy’s knuckles. Content for the moment to let the pup lick his hand, Mattie realized that this animal was probably the offspring of the wolf that had been caught in the trap.

  Mattie had slept soundly for quite a while. He had no way of knowing how long but, judging the failing sunlight, he figured it was going on sunset now. He could not remember hearing the injured wolf howl after he had seen her last and he wondered if she had died.

  The puppy crept closer and Mattie slowly reached his hand up to caress the animal’s head and ears. Whining, the baby scooted close to Mattie’s thigh and lay down, trembling slightly, as the boy petted him. Then it fell asleep and, in doing so, bonded the human boy to it for the rest of its life.

  Mattie sighed. His stomach ached with hunger and his head was still sore but he knew he was past the worst of his injury. The snow had lightened up as well. Tiny, white flakes flittered and Mattie could see stars winking in the darkening, purple sky.

  Reaching into the pack, Mattie rummaged around and found a piece of wool rag. Taking it out, he spread it over the sleeping puppy and got to his feet. It would be dark soon and Mattie feared being alone in the forest at night. All manner of creature roamed the woods after dark; cougars and bears, perhaps even this puppy’s pack mates.

  Gathering dried pine needles, cones and dead bark, he cleared an area and piled everything into a pyramid. He used the last of his kerosene and, praying silently, used one of Parker’s matches. There was only smoke at first, but Mattie knelt low and blew on the embers. Suddenly flames licked up and the boy added small branches and twigs to the fire.

  Sitting back on his heels, he saw that the wolf pup had awoken and stared at the rising flames in fascination. Mattie thought it might be hungry or thirsty—or both—so he poured water from one of the canteens into his cup and placed it on the ground in front of the animal. The little wolf promptly drank it all.

  Mattie grabbed the smoked bacon out of the oilcloth and cut a chunk of it off for the puppy. Snatching it in haste, the
little wolf ran away a few feet to eat it, keeping a watchful eye on its human companion.

  Mattie grinned at its greed and ate some of the meat himself along with a biscuit and some water. He watched as the pup crept back to his side, staring into the fire’s depths as he stroked the puppy’s soft fur.

  Well, he thought, I’m alive for now. Maybe I can find my way back to that town. I have about six dollars…that should be enough to buy a bath, some food, and maybe send a telegraph to Doc Abrams…

  He stood up, got a few more branches and fed fuel to the fire. Bright orange and yellow light painted the trees, sending distant shadows into stark relief. Mattie thought he glimpsed the reflection of glowing eyes watching him from the deeper depths of the surrounding forest. If so, they were close to the ground—a raccoon or possibly a beaver—and no threat to him.

  The baby wolf snuggled as close to him as it could get. Feeling it shiver, Mattie reached down and carefully lifted the animal. Tucking it inside his jacket, an old one of Parker’s, the wolf wriggled until it found the perfect spot, then curled up on the boy’s shoulder with its nose buried in the crook of Mattie’s neck.

  “Don’t worry, little Bandit,” he whispered. “Looks like we’re both on our own now so guess we’ll just have to watch out for each other.”

  Chapter 11

  A Test of Will

  Mattie awoke the next morning soaked to the skin. The fire was nothing but sodden ashes even though he had forced himself to rise a few times during the night to keep the flames high. He had stared into the shadows, heart in his throat, as animals lurked just out of sight. The boy shook rain out of his eyes as he remembered the night before…

  Bandit had growled, the wolf’s fierce snarls almost comical because of its youth. Its eyes were fierce, however, and shone golden in the fire’s glow. Mattie did not doubt that the pup would attack any threat despite its diminutive size.

  At one point, Mattie saw a long, tufted tail and realized the creature that threatened was a mountain lion. Somehow knowing what circled his fitful fire made things easier as he knew that panthers were timid creatures and, more importantly, loners by nature.

  Standing up, Mattie grabbed a burning branch and jerked it out of the flames. Whipping the torch back and forth, he screamed, “Get outta here, cat! Go on! Git!”

  For a moment, Mattie panicked when he realized that his eyes were blinded by the light. An animal could jump him now and he wouldn’t even see it coming. Then he listened carefully to the sudden silence; Bandit had stopped growling and Mattie heard no additional sounds coming from the surrounding forest.

  Trembling with nerves and fatigue, Mattie rejoiced. Using the firebrand had chased off the cat so he and Bandit were safe. He picked up the wolf again, tucked it into his jacket, and slept.

  …Yet now the wolf was gone and Mattie’s heart sank at what might have happened to his newfound friend. As he sat gazing at the sodden fire and the plumes of misty fog enveloping the world in its clammy grasp, Mattie also understood that something was wrong with his body.

  Even as he acknowledged the tightness in his chest and the raw, red burning in his throat, he started to cough. One cough turned into two and then he was overcome with a paroxysm of deep hacks that threatened to strangle him to death. As he hunched over, wheezing, Mattie felt Bandit’s wet, inquisitive nose and he reached out to the animal panting anxiously by his side.

  Finally, his chest stopped hitching and Mattie took a deep, gasping breath. Shoot! He thought. Now I have a cold on top of everything else.

  He shivered with a sudden chill and looked around while Bandit snuffed eagerly at the satchel that held the smoked bacon. “Okay, Bandit. I know you’re hungry. Let me get us something to eat,” he murmured. Standing up, Mattie watched in amazement as rainwater ran in sheets off his hat and jacket.

  He saw shimmering stars and heard a high-pitched whine inside his head when he bent over to open the leather sack. His stomach lurched, as well, but the wolf was scratching at the oilcloth in hunger so he quickly took the meat out and cut off a hunk. Knowing he should eat something—he actually felt his own body weight disappearing—could not compel him to partake of the meat or sodden biscuits.

  Mattie let the pup have his fill while he collected his belongings. Then he called out, “Let’s go, Bandit. We’re getting down off this mountain… come on!”

  The wolf watched as the boy moved away from the fire toward the river and then it followed. Pausing briefly by its mother’s side, Bandit whined and looked up at Mattie who waited patiently, staring down at the dead wolf. Although he wasn’t surprised, his heart wept with pity. The once magnificent animal looked diminished now. Nothing but skin and bones, her fur was lank with death.

  “Yeah, it’s a shame, Bandit, what happened to your ma.” Wiping a tear from his eye, Mattie added, “My ma’s gone, too.”

  Feeling his chest hitch again but unwilling to let himself succumb to any more grief, Mattie turned away.

  “We gotta go, son,” he muttered. “I think I’m sick and I need to get both of us down off this mountain. Come!”

  Bandit sniffed at his mother’s corpse one last time and then bounded after the boy who followed a fairly well-defined path alongside the river. In places, Mattie had to climb and grab hold of tree roots and branches to keep on course. Most of the time, however, it was easy going.

  Mattie, when he wasn’t bent over grasping his knees and coughing until he thought he might puke, became more and more convinced that this was a busy trail, used by both animals and people. He saw human rubbish: an old tin coffeepot, a filthy pair of torn britches and a cast-off rag doll as he walked along.

  He also saw deer scat, broken traps, and the imprint of two huge bear paws sunk into the soft, damp banks of the river. The claws on each of those prints were almost six inches long. Shaking his head and shivering with chills, Mattie backed away and called the pup that nosed avidly at the fresh tracks.

  The boy walked another four hours until he was forced to stop. Swaying in place and staring up into treetops that swirled and whirled around in the sky above, Mattie had no way of knowing that he had pneumonia and that his body temperature was over 103 degrees. His teeth clacked together in his mouth and—as he fell to the ground—the wolf at his side whined, licking its new master and recoiling from his hot, fevered flesh.

  Then, not knowing what else to do, Bandit crouched by Mattie’s side…one orphan determined to guard another from harm.

  The next few days passed in a nightmare collage of sights and sounds, all accompanied by the painful body-wracking illness that tried its hardest to kill him.

  At one point, Mattie woke to the little wolf’s fierce snarls. Someone—the ugliest, oldest and stinkiest man Mattie had ever seen or smelled—stood over him in the pouring rain.

  Covered from head to feet in assorted furs, his long white hair was tangled and matted with mud, twigs and leaf chaff. Mattie noticed the man’s gray beard sported what had to be remnants of many meals and it seemed to wriggle and writhe on the oldster’s chest with a life of its own. Mattie was too weak to do much more than cry out when the man threw a tarp over Bandit.

  “Don’ ye worry, laddie…the wee beastie won’ be harmed,” the man murmured. Mattie watched as the fur-clad creature opened what turned out to be a sack, then deftly twisted it so that the wolf tumbled inside.

  Mattie tried to speak yet, when he opened his mouth, nothing but deep, rasping coughs issued forth. The man shook his grizzled whiskers.

  “Ack, laddie,” he grunted as he scooped the boy up in his arms. “Do na try to talk…you’re ill.”

  Mattie felt himself being lifted then placed in the back of a wagon, watching as an invisible form lunged—growling and whining—against the sack that held it captive.

  He slept, waking occasionally to gaze up at the sky with dazzled eyes. It was daytime now and clouds whizzed by in the blue sky like soldiers on the march. At some point, the old man must have loosened the ties on the sack
that held Bandit as the little wolf snuffled his skin and burrowed in the crook of his neck. Mattie fell unconscious again.

  He woke up to the sound of voices; he was in a dark room, his body was covered in sweat. He heard someone say, “Good, the fever has broken.”

  “Where am I?” Mattie croaked.

  “Shh…you need to rest, son. I think you’re going to lick this thing but you’re not out of the woods yet. Go back to sleep.” Opening eyes that seemed to be glued shut, Mattie peered up at the speaker.

  Three men stood by the side of his bed. One was small and neat, wearing a checkered vest and holding a small vial of medicine to the boy’s lips. Mattie obliged but cringed, gagging at the taste of the foul concoction. But the little man held his jaws closed with ruthless efficiency, forcing Mattie to swallow despite the razors lining his throat.

  Lying back on the pillow in exhaustion, the boy stared up at the other two men. One was an elderly fellow with splendid white, mutton-chop whiskers. Dressed very well in a gray, silk suit and shiny black boots, he looked a little like Father Christmas only much fiercer. The thought made Mattie smile.

  The man gasped and muttered, “Christ, Jon! Would you look at that? He is the spitting image of Robert…” Suddenly, fat tears were leaking out of his eyes and he fumbled for a large hanky.

  Another man stepped into the lamplight and now it was Mattie’s turn to gasp. At first, thinking a haint was calling, he scooted back against the wall, gasping with fear. It was his father—only taller with dark hair rather than blonde.

  Lean—with high cheekbones and kind, green eyes—he stared down at Mattie and said, “I’m your uncle, Jonathon Wilcox, and this is your grandfather, Peter. We came a long way to find you, son.”

  Mattie looked from one face to the other and saw his father looking down at him through eyes just like his own. Then, to his shame, he was sobbing.