“That’s not true. You always get your way.”
“If that was the case,” Selena snapped, “we wouldn’t be in this fix, would we?” She paused. “Sometimes I wonder why I tolerate your childish behavior the way I do. You haven’t done a thing right since you learned to walk.”
“Don’t start with your criticisms again,” Elden retorted. “I’ve had about enough ...” He broke off and halted in midstride. “Look! There’s someone below us!”
Nate sat stock-still and said nothing. He swore he could see Elden quaking in abject fear, which pleased him immensely. From their discussion, he gathered that it had been Elden’s idea to ride off and leave him; putting a scare into the coward was fitting justice.
Presently Selena broke the silence. “It’s him, you fool! The man who helped us.” Hiking the hem of her dress, she ran to the base of the hill. “Thank God you’re all right! I was so worried!”
“Then why didn’t you wait for me?” Nate responded.
“I’m sorry. I should have,” Selena admitted, “but I couldn’t let Elden ride off by himself. He’s helpless without me around to look after him.”
Motioning at the sorrel, Nate said, “Climb up. We’ll talk more about this later. First we have to lose the Bloods.”
“What about me?” Elden had found his voice. He hurriedly waddled over, puffing like a steam engine.
“What about you?” Nate rejoined.
“You surely don’t expect me to walk!”
“I don’t expect anything from you, mister. You’re all on your own as far as I’m concerned,” Nate informed him.
“On my own?” Elden surveyed the ominous veil of darkness enveloping them. “You can’t be serious! You wouldn’t desert me in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of demented heathens no doubt hunting us down at this very minute?”
“Watch me,” Nate said. Shifting in the saddle, he saw Selena trying to mount the warhorse but having a problem because the animal was shying away at each attempt. “Try the other side,” he suggested.
“I beg your pardon?”
“That animal won’t let you get up unless you do it from the Indian side,” Nate explained, and when she looked at him as if confused, he elaborated. “Indians always mount from the right side, not the left like we do. Try it.”
Selena had the reins in one hand. Moving around the sorrel, she got a grip on its mane, threw back her leg, and swung gracefully astride the now docile horse. “Thank you,” she said. “All the times I’ve watched them and I forgot!”
Nate turned his stallion and suppressed a grin when Elden let out a frightened yelp.
“Wait! You can’t do this! I’m a white man too! You can’t just leave me here to die!”
“You left me,” Nate reminded him.
“I thought you were dead!” Elden wailed. “And I didn’t want those savages getting their hands on Selena. You would have done the same thing if you’d been in my shoes.”
Nate swung toward the pilgrim so abruptly that Elden took a half step backward. “No, I wouldn’t, mister. One of the first lessons a man learns out here is to stand on his own two feet, to meet hardship head-on. Not to turn tail just because his hide is in danger.”
“I’m sorry. Can’t you find it in your heart to forgive me?”
Before Nate could answer, Selena interjected a comment, saying, “I can’t just ride off and leave him. And I don’t really think you intend doing so either.”
“I won’t run out on you again,” Elden said hastily. “I promise. I’ll do whatever you want.” He clasped his hands and implored, “Please. Please. I’ll beg if I have to. But don’t forsake me!”
Seldom had such coarse contempt filled Nate as at that very moment. He could barely conceal his disdain as he gestured at the sorrel and declared, “I need to be able to move quickly if those Bloods catch us, so the two of you will have to ride double. Climb up with the lady.”
“She’s no lady,” Elden said, mustering a grin. “She’s my sister.”
“Honestly,” Selena said. “Sometimes you can be as crude as tavern trash.”
Nate moved off, bearing to the southeast, picturing in his mind’s eye the route he desired to take. He ignored the greenhorns, even when they drew alongside him, although he did note that Elden was now in the saddle, Selena clinging to him from behind. The man rode sloppily, his legs jouncing uncontrollably, his arms pumping as if he was trying to draw water from a well. It was a wonder the sorrel didn’t attempt to buck him off! “What’s that?” Selena suddenly asked.
The same sounds had reached Nate’s ears. A lot of horses were racing in their general direction from the south. He cut to the left, nearly colliding with the sorrel, and moved at a trot into thick pines. Here the going was slower, but they were invisible to hostile eyes in the valley. He changed direction again, turning to the right, staying within a dozen yards of the tree line in case they had to make for open ground in a hurry.
“Can I ask you a question?” Elden whispered.
“Just one.”
“I’m afraid we haven’t been properly introduced. What’s your name? I’m Elden Leonard, and this is Selena.”
“Nate King.”
“We can’t ever express how truly grateful we are for all you’ve done,” Elden said cheerfully. “Those devils had us in their clutches for ages, and you can’t imagine the ordeal we’ve been through. Why, one—”
“Quit your chawing and keep your eyes peeled,” Nate interrupted brusquely. “We’re far from safe yet.”
“My chawing?”
“Close your mouth. I’ll let you know when you can talk.”
“If you don’t mind my saying so, Mr. King, you have a very gruff manner at times. A little common courtesy, sir, would go a long way to—”
“Elden?”
“Yes?”
“Shut the hell up,” Nate commanded. He was trying to mark the progress of the Bloods and couldn’t with all the jabbering. Just his luck, he reflected, to fall in with a fool who loved to hear himself chatter. Nate came to a narrow gap between the trees and halted. Off to the southwest a moving pinpoint of light flared, followed seconds later by several more, clustered together and swaying as if in the wind.
“What in the world are those?” Elden blurted out.
“Torches,” Nate answered. “The Bloods are using them to track us.”
Frowning, he rode to the very edge of the pines. From this vantage point he could see the group of warriors several hundred yards away, rushing up the valley. The Bloods wouldn’t reach the hill where the tracks changed direction for another two minutes yet. “Stay close to me,” he cautioned, and forsook the cover of the forest for the open grass. Then, facing to the south, he brought the stallion to a gallop.
Nate had been unable to count the number of warriors in the party, but he was sure some were missing, perhaps still chasing their frightened animals or else waiting back at the camp. There might be stragglers also, braves who had caught their horses too late to join the main party and who were hastening to catch up. He must stay vigilant.
They were almost to the mouth of the valley when Nate heard a shout. Looking around, he saw a solitary Blood speeding to head them off. He brought the Hawken up, cocking it as he did, took a bead on the warrior’s torso, and when the now-screeching brave was only fifteen yards off, stroked the trigger. At the sharp retort the Blood pitched rearward in a whirl of arms and legs.
“Ride!” Nate said, suiting his actions to his words. He flew across the snow-covered ground. The Leonards imitated his example, doing well despite their inexperience.
To the northwest rose feral yips and enraged howls as the Bloods realized their quarry had outfoxed them. The dancing balls of light reversed course.
“They’re after us!” Elden cried.
Nate was busy seeking the gap. Shrouded in black as it was, the task was next to impossible. He had to rely on the instinctive sense of direction he had developed during his years in the wilderness and hope he reached it b
efore the Bloods reached them.
“Oh, God! We’re doomed!” Elden shouted.
“Quiet, damn you!” Nate said over his shoulder. Out of the corner of his eye he spied what appeared to be a break in the trees, and thinking he’d found the gap, he guided the stallion into it. Too late he saw his eyes had tricked him, that the break was actually a small half-moon clearing that bordered a high hill. Hauling on the reins, he brought the stallion to a sliding halt and turned.
The Bloods were less than a hundred yards distant. Outracing them was out of the question.
Nate glanced right and left. There was nowhere to take cover, nowhere to make a fight of it.
“What do we do?” Elden yelled. “What do we do?”
About to gallop along the base of the hill, Nate spotted more braves directly in front of him, stragglers barring his path. He went to snap off a shot, then remembered both his Hawken and one of his pistols were spent. Only one flintlock was still loaded. At that instant, arcing out of the sky, a whizzing arrow appeared as a pale, streaking blur not more than eight feet away, coming straight at his head.
Chapter Three
Almost a decade of wilderness living had honed Nate King’s body to a razor’s edge. His muscles had been hardened by constant hard toil, his sinews sharpened to where his physical coordination was superb. In order to survive, he had developed his strength, stamina, and speed to a degree few other whites could equal. Necessity had forged him on the anvil of survival, and it could not have been otherwise, for those men who didn’t adapt to the harsh mistress called Nature were inevitably crushed by her.
So exceptionally keen were Nate’s reflexes that his body was bending a fraction of a second after his eyes registered the threat to his life. A heartbeat later the deadly shaft struck the top of his beaver hat, transfixing it from front to back and propelling it from his head.
With Indians converging from two directions and trees blocking retreat on the third side, Nate had no choice but to bring the stallion around and gallop toward the slope behind them. Elden was right on his heels, stark terror temporarily making a master horseman out of him.
The Bloods were yipping like a pack of ravenous wolves. More arrows rained down, but wide of their mark.
Nate took the slope on the fly and goaded the stallion upward. Mighty hoofs driving, it struggled to keep its footing. Snow sprayed rearward. Nate glanced back and saw the sorrel losing ground. Burdened as it was with two riders, the Indian mount slipped and floundered. Nate’s eyes flicked to the stragglers, who were closer than the main body, and in desperation, hoping to forestall capture or worse, he whipped out the loaded pistol and took hasty aim.
At the blast of smoke and lead, the foremost warrior fell. Immediately the remaining stragglers scattered into the nearest trees, and the main group slowed.
Nate had bought precious seconds at best, and now all three of his guns were virtually useless. He had to reload. But he dared not stop. Legs slapping the stallion’s side, he urged the big black horse toward the crest. A frantic neigh below, however, drew him up shy of his goal.
The sorrel had gone down. Both Elden and Selena had been thrown clear and were rising, their clothes caked with snow. Legs thrashing, the sorrel was striving to regain its footing but unable to get a purchase.
“Help it!” Nate bellowed, jumping to the ground. He ran back to the frantic animal, seized the bridle, and heaved. Elden was standing a few feet off, gaping in dumb horror. “Help me, you idiot!” Nate roared.
Elden only moved when Selena gave him a rough shove. Stumbling forward, he grabbed the other side of the bridle and strained upward, his face going crimson from the exertion.
More by its own efforts than theirs, the sorrel managed to surge to its feet. Nate shoved the reins at Elden and snapped, “Lead it to the top.” Then, whirling, he faced the charging Bloods as an arrow thudded into the frozen earth within inches of his moccasins.
Some of the stragglers had dismounted, the better to use their bows. The main group was fanning out, taking their sweet time about it because they believed the three whites were cornered. One brave, more rash than the rest, was well in advance of his fellows and waving a lance overhead as he bore down on the hill.
Nate did the only thing he could. He flung the Hawken to his shoulder in a blatant bluff, and the brave, seeing the motion, promptly swerved into the trees on the left. Grinning grimly, Nate moved backward, keeping his empty rifle trained on the warriors. Since they didn’t know his guns were empty, they were being prudently cautious.
And there was another factor involved. In most tribes, the men were greatly outnumbered by the women. Ceaseless warfare, raids on enemy villages, hunting buffalo, and other hazardous activities all took a terrible toll on the male population. Consequently, Indians regarded the loss of even a single brave as bad medicine, to be avoided at all costs. When engaged in warfare, they seldom took senseless, reckless risks, although at times their innate courage inspired them to commit audacious acts.
So, for the moment, Nate held the Bloods at bay. A dozen more arrows thudded into the ground as he retreated, the barbed rain not ceasing until he was close to the crest.
Selena held the reins of the stallion. Her brother was leaning against the sorrel, seemingly on the verge of collapse. “What do we do now?” he whined.
Instead of responding, Nate shed his robe and began reloading the Hawken, his fingers moving with practiced precision. Since there was so little light, he had to guess at the proper amount of black powder.
“Didn’t you hear me?” Elden said after a minute.
“We wait and see what they do,” Nate answered without looking up from his ammo pouch.
“That’s all?”
“What would you suggest?”
“I don’t know. But waiting to be slaughtered isn’t very wise, in my estimation.”
Nate began extracting the ramrod from its housing under the rifle barrel. “We can ride on back down there and have them shoot us so full of arrows we’ll look like oversized porcupines, or we can sit tight and use our noggins.”
Elden chewed on his lower lip, the whites of his eyes showing. “Why don’t we go down the other side of this hill? We might be able to get away.”
“With the two of you riding double?” Nate shook his head. “They’d be on us before we went a quarter of a mile.”
“I just don’t think—” Elden started to say, but his sister cut him off.
“No, you don’t. So do us all a favor and let Mr. King figure out what we should do without being pestered by your prattle. He’s our only hope of getting out of this fix alive.”
There was a swirl of activity at the base of the slope. The Bloods were spreading out around the hill, their intent as transparent as ice on a lake; they were going to completely ring the hill to prevent escape.
Selena, always the more astute of the pair, divined the Indians’ purpose first and inquired, “Will they come up after us once they close the trap?”
“Depends on how patient they feel,” Nate said, busy with a pistol. “They might try to wait us out, just sit down there until thirst and hunger drive us down into their arms. Or they might rush us come daylight.” He shrugged. “They might even try to drop us with arrows once they can see clear enough to shoot straight.”
“Oh, mercy,” Elden breathed. “To be struck down in the prime of my manhood! Who would have thought it?”
“We’re not dead yet,” Nate said.
“Your optimism, sir, flies in the face of logic.”
Selena smiled at Nate. “My brother can be unbearable at times, I know, but he means well. He’s really a gentle soul who wouldn’t hurt anyone.”
“Then he has no business being in these mountains,” Nate remarked. “The Rockies are no place for dreamers and simpletons.
Elden’s spine stiffened. “I resent that,” he said.
“Get your dander up all you want. But you can’t change the fact that out here only the strong survive. Wea
klings are just naturally weeded out.”
“Spare me your frontier philosophy,” Elden said indignantly. “It’s all a matter of what you’re accustomed to. I dare say I’d be more at home in New York City than you could ever hope to be.”
“I was born and raised there.”
“You were?” Elden said incredulously. He studied Nate from head to toe. “What brought you to this sorry state?”
“Elden!” Selena declared.
“I don’t mean to be insulting,” her brother said. “I’m merely puzzled as to why any sane man would forsake such a city for this godforsaken wilderness.”
Nate shifted. “If we make it out of this with our hair intact, I’ll tell you.” He walked to the highest point of the crest, working on the pistol as he did. Shadowy figures flitted about at the bottom. The Bloods were taking their positions. He watched them for a while, weighing the alternatives open to him, seeking a way to save himself and the two Easterners.
“How can you act so calm at such a time?” Elden wanted to know. “Doesn’t the idea of dying disturb you in the least?”
“If a man spends all his time fretting about dying, he doesn’t get much living done,” Nate answered.
“Lord. You are a regular fount of wisdom.”
Only an arrogant city-bred popinjay, Nate reflected, would antagonize his savior. He moved further off so he could think undisturbed. The Bloods now ringed the entire hill, the braves spaced at thirty-or forty-yard intervals. They didn’t give any evidence of being eager to mount an all-out rush—yet. He made a circuit of the crown and returned to the anxious pair Fate had thrust upon him. “We can breathe easy for a spell,” he announced. “Doesn’t look as if they’ll attack before first light.”
Elden snorted. “If I believed in God, I suppose now would be the time to make my peace with my Maker.”
Nate walked away and gazed heavenward. Clouds dominated the sky, and the wind was growing ever stronger. His hunch about a storm might prove correct. If so, it could prove to be the source of their salvation, depending on the timing. Would the snow commence falling before dawn or afterward? Soft footfalls intruded on his musing.
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