Sitting up, Nate saw the pair smash into a bush. The collision knocked them apart and both immediately scrabbled upright. The dog was the slower of the two. As it rose, one of its legs slipped, and before it could regain its footing the wolf was upon it, razor teeth sinking into its throat. Yelping, the dog tried to pull loose. Blaze hung on, jerking his head from side to side, doing to the dog what the dog had previously done to Nate’s wrist. Seconds later the clash was all but over although Blaze continued to worry the mongrel’s neck.
“Husband!”
The sharp cry brought Nate to his feet. He turned to find his wife and son speeding toward him, Winona bundled in a heavy buffalo robe, Zach wearing only his leggings, each armed with a rifle. “Just in time,” he told them as they slowed. “I’m about plumb tuckered out.”
“What happened?” Winona asked anxiously, glancing at the two animals. “Is that another wolf?” She looked at him, at his arm, and suddenly she was on her knees inspecting his wrist. “You’re hurt! Hurt bad!”
“My arm does sting a little,” Nate said, trying to make light of the situation. “I could use some of that herbal tincture of yours.”
“We must get you inside,” Winona said, taking his hand in hers and pulling him along. “Zach, run ahead and start water boiling for tea.”
“Yes, Ma.” The boy was off like the proverbial shot.
“He’s a dam good son,” Nate said proudly. “Knows how to listen to his folks without giving them aggravation all the time like those pampered kids back in the States.” He forced a grin. “You could take some lessons from him.”
“What do you mean?”
“I thought I told you to keep the bar in place until you heard my voice.”
“Since when does a wife listen to every word her husband says?”
“Hardly ever,” Nate grumbled. “But I’d be a happy man if you’d listen just once”
In the glare of the burning logs Zach had tossed onto the fire, the wound was sickening to look at. The flesh had been mangled, some of the skin hung in strips. Veins and arteries had been uncovered and one had been severed.
“Gosh, Pa,” the boy said. “If that was me, I’d be crying my lungs out. Doesn’t the pain get to you?”
“I hardly noticed it.”
Winona made Nate sit on the bed. She helped strip off his shirt, then took a beaded parfleche off a peg on the wall and spread out the contents beside him. There were dried plants, roots, pouches of herbs, and other Shoshone remedies for ailments as diverse as sprains and smallpox. Some of them Nate recognized, such as sammabe, as the Shoshones called juniper leaves, which were used to make a tea that was helpful in the treatment of rheumatism. There was pannonzia, or yarrow, used for toothaches and a variety of other conditions. And there was honeysuckle root, which the Shoshones relied on to treat swellings.
“Did you find the one who tried to kill Two Owls and you?” Winona asked as her preparations unfolded.
Nate detailed his encounter, keeping the account short and sweet, and said nothing to indicate how close he had come to meeting his Maker.
Not fooled in the least, Winona commented when he was done, “Your guardian was watching over you this night. If you are not careful, one day you will go too far and I will have to cut off another finger.”
The reminder drew Nate’s gaze to her hand. Years ago, on losing her father and mother to the Blackfeet, she had chopped two of her fingers off at the first joint as a token of her grief. The practice was one of the few Shoshone customs that he found personally revolting, but no amount of persuasion on his part had sufficed to change her mind. When a loved one died, grief must be displayed. That was the way it had always been; that was the way it would always be.
For the next hour Winona hovered over him, ministering her poultices and ointments. She cut strips off an old blanket, washed them in a bucket, and applied them as bandages. As she tucked the end of the last strip under, she smiled down at him and commented, “We will not be able to leave for six or seven sleeps now, but Two Owls will understand the delay.”
“We leave the day after tomorrow,” Nate informed her.
“That is too soon. Your wrist needs more time to heal. If it was my decision, we would not go for a full moon.”
“The day after tomorrow.”
“You are being stubborn. What difference would a few more sleeps make?”
“Two Owls is counting on me to have the Shoshones arrive at Bow Valley in time. Time is tight. Any delay is costly.”
“What if your wrist becomes infected?”
Grinning, Nate stroked her chin. “I’m not fretting. The best healer in the world is taking care of me.”
“Your flattery is wasted,” Winona said indignantly, rising in a huff. “And you have your nerve to talk about wives.”
Nate reverted to the Shoshone tongue and said softly, “I love you.” But she ignored him and walked over to sit down in the rocking chair. Closing his eyes, he gave thought to soothing her ruffled feathers. Lethargy set in before he could, the warmth and the security combining to send him to sleep despite his best intentions.
~*~
The feeling of a warm body cuddled next to his brought Nate fully awake. He twisted his head and found Winona sound asleep, her features incredibly lovely in the rosy light from the crackling fire. A heavy blanket covered both of them. Smiling, he kissed her soft cheek, then glanced at Zach, who lay asleep in the corner, snoring softly.
A feeling of supreme satisfaction flooded Nate’s inner being with profound happiness. There were times, such as now, when he rated himself the most fortunate man alive. He had been blessed with a marvelous family, he was living where he preferred to live, in the often violent but always gloriously stirring Rockies, and he had a sturdy roof over his head. What more could a man ask for?
Well, there was one thing, Nate reflected. He was thankful for the freedom he enjoyed, a freedom such as he had never known back in the States, the true freedom to do as he wanted at any time of the day or night without answering to any man. Of course, with that freedom came tremendous responsibility. Every action, every word, had to be weighed carefully, because a single mistake might cost him his life and a single tactless word might result in bloodshed.
Civilization coddled the people living under its influence. It gave a false sense of security by protecting them from their own folly. If a man insulted another, the offending party might lash out with insults in return, or perhaps even beat the stuffing out of the offending party, but the one insulted would never think to do anything more drastic because the stem arm of the law would punish him if he did. So men were at liberty to treat one another as shabbily as they desired without fear of grave consequences.
All that was much different in the wild where an unwritten natural law held sway. Should a man be so foolish as to insolently heap an indignity on someone else, the offender might well wind up dead. Insults were never, ever tolerated by whites or Indians. Every man had responsibility for everything he said or did, and he knew if he took that responsibility lightly he might soon be worm food.
There were some who claimed such behavior was barbaric. Nate didn’t agree. In his estimation the civilized viewpoint was the incorrect one since it allowed those with savage or spiteful streaks or those who were just plain wicked to prey on those who were peace loving without fear of retribution.
Handling responsibility well was the earmark of maturity. What did that say about the many civilized folks who were unwilling to accept that fact and live accordingly? Sometimes Nate wondered if all those laws the politicians were so fond of imposing were no more than substitutes for personal responsibility intended to make sure the immature didn’t get completely out of hand.
Nate gazed fondly at his son, musing on whether the boy had any idea how lucky he was to be reared among the regal peaks and valleys of the mountains and not among the constricting streets and alleys of some city or town. Did the boy even recognize the importance of being able to roa
m at will and not having to mold his growing manhood the way others would have him do?
Probably not, Nate decided. Youngsters that age pretty much took things for granted. Somehow, Nate must instill in Zach the same love for freedom that Nate had.
Suddenly there was a light scratching sound at the door.
Lifting his head, Nate listened. When the scratching was repeated, he eased out of bed without waking his wife, and briskly crossed the floor. Not until then did he realize his wrist no longer throbbed. Winona’s herbal treatment was doing wonders for the wound.
A familiar whine greeted Nate at the door. He lifted the bar with his right hand, then worked the latch quietly and stood back so Blaze could enter. “You’ve sure got me trained,” he whispered. The wolf whined and sniffed at his legs as he replaced the bar.
On the bed Winona moved, rolling onto her back, and mumbled in Shoshone, but she didn’t awaken.
“Here,” Nate said, moving to the counter where several strips of venison had been laid out so they would be handy when Winona fixed breakfast. He took the largest, squatted, and dangled the tantalizing morsel over the animal’s head. “This is for saving my hide.”
In a single gulp Blaze snatched and swallowed the meat.
“You might enjoy your food more if you didn’t wolf it down all the time,” Nate commented. Then, realizing what he had said, he burst into laughter and had to cover his mouth with his hand so as not to disturb his loved ones.
Blaze eyed him expectantly.
“I know my life is worth more than a single measly piece,” Nate said, “and tomorrow I’ll see that you get a thick chunk for your trouble. How’s that?” Giving the wolf a pat, he stood and returned to bed.
Once under the blanket, Nate wrapped his good arm around his wife and pressed flush against her. Her warm breath fluttered against his neck, tickling him, and coming as it did on top of his inadvertent comment to Blaze, it triggered a new round of merriment. The bed began to shake as he buried his face in the pillow and laughed until he couldn’t laugh anymore. It had been ages since he last enjoyed such hearty mirth, and he figured it was due in part to his harrowing experience across the lake, sort of a release for all his pent-up tension. Still chuckling, he looked at Winona, and was dismayed to find her wide-eyed and studying him as if he was demented. “Are you done trying to break the bed, husband?”
“Sorry,” Nate blurted out. “I don’t know what got into me. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You should be sleeping,” Winona chided, reaching up to check his brow. “Your skin is still very warm. If you keep acting foolish, it will take you much longer to heal. I want you to make yourself comfortable and lie still.”
“Yes, dear,” Nate said. He had to suppress a snicker at his next thought: What was that he had been pondering about freedom? For a married man there was no such thing!
Chapter Five
“Pa, I think we’re being followed.”
Nate reined up and swung his black stallion so he could scan their back trail. They were eight days along on their journey, strung out in single file with him in the lead, Winona next on a mare leading one pack animal, and Zach bringing up the rear with the other. He scoured the valley they had just traversed, but saw no hint of movement. “What did you see, son?”
“Two riders, moving quick,” Zach answered, pointing at the slope of a mountain to the west. “I just had a glimpse of them before they went into some trees. But they were Indians, Pa, sure enough.”
Winona stopped next to Nate. “The two you tangled with before we left. You were right. They did trail us, just as you expected.”
Nate nodded. “Based on their actions so far, I’d say they’ll stop at nothing to prevent us from reaching the Shoshones.” He indicated the country ahead. “Between here and the Snake River region they’ll make their move.”
“What do we do, Pa?” Zach asked.
“We keep on going,” Nate replied. “So far they have no idea we know they’re shadowing us, which gives us an edge.”
“We could bushwhack them.”
“If the opportunity comes along, I’ll try,” Nate said. “But it won’t be easy. They’ll be on guard every step of the way.” He resumed riding northwestward, his right arm resting on his thigh. The wound was mending nicely, as wounds invariably did in the clean, rarified mountain air, but as yet he could not use his right hand for more than a minute or so without causing pain to flare up.
The past eight days had been largely uneventful. Abundant wildlife was everywhere in evidence; deer, elk, bighorn sheep, and mountain buffalo were encountered almost daily. Twice they had seen grizzlies, and each time the huge bears had promptly reversed direction and disappeared in the woods, much to Nate’s relief. Grizzlies were notoriously fickle; the same bear might run from humans one day and charge the next.
Nate had been especially alert for Indian sign. They had come on an old trail made several days ago by a large hunting or war party. Other than that, they had seen nothing to cause alarm until Zach spied the pair on the mountain. Now they must be extra vigilant.
On several occasions Nate had been through the stretch of rugged country they were in, so he knew it fairly well. While not the normal route he took when going to visit Winona’s kin, it would shave two days off their time if a certain high pass was clear of snow.
For the rest of the afternoon Nate repeatedly sought the two Utes. They never showed themselves again, though, leaving him to conjecture on where they were and what their strategy might be. He tried putting himself in their place, and didn’t like the conclusion he reached, namely that they might strike much sooner than he had thought, perhaps even in the next three or four days to make certain Winona, Zach, and he didn’t get anywhere near Shoshone territory. After the fourth day, even though they would still have a considerable distance to cover before they came on any Shoshone villages, they would be in a region the Shoshones routinely hunted in, and might stumble on a band that would escort them the rest of the way. The Utes couldn’t let that happen.
That evening, as Nate sat by the fire munching pemmican, he commented, “I figure it’s wise to have one of us on watch at all times from here on out, so we’ll divide the night up three ways. Zach, you’ll go first. Winona can sit up after you’re done. And I’ll go last.” He didn’t bother to mention that the last stint would be the most dangerous since Indians traditionally liked to attack their enemies right before dawn, no doubt because that was when most people were in the soundest sleep and sentries were starting to doze off themselves.
“You can count on me, Pa,” Zach said excitedly. “No dam Ute is going to lift our hair if I have anything to say about it.”
Before retiring Nate checked the horses, insuring they were firmly tied. He arranged the saddles, packs, and parfleches in a ring a few yards out from the fire for some added protection. Then, the Hawken at his side and both pistols loose under his belt, Nate reclined on his back, his hands under his head. Across from him Winona was doing the same, while Zach sat down on one of the packs, his back to the forest.
“Son?” Nate said softly.
“Don’t worry. I’ll wake Ma on time.”
“It’s not that.” Nate nodded at the fire. “Eyes take a while to adjust between light and darkness. What if you hear something while you’re sitting there staring into the fire? You wouldn’t be able to see a thing when you turn around.”
“Oh. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. No one knows all there is to know the moment they’re born. One of the purposes of living is to learn as we go along.”
“Sometimes it seems like it will take forever for me to cram all the stuff I need into my brain.”
“A parson would say it’s supposed to take that long.”
“It sure is hard sometimes. I mean, how do you manage to remember all the little things?”
“Practice, son. If you do something long enough it starts to come easy.”
Winona giggled. “And having a wife
to remind you whenever you forget also helps.”
“Which wives do, every chance they get,” Nate confirmed.
Quiet descended on the camp except for the crunching of the horses as they grazed on the sweet grass, the snap-crackle-pop of the fire, and the sigh of the wind through the trees.
Nate doubted he would be able to sleep, not with the threat of the Utes hanging over their heads. But he reckoned without the effect of their hard day of travel and the high altitude. Before he knew it, he was out to the world.
~*~
Young Zach heard his father utter a series of snorts, and looking over his shoulder saw that Nate was asleep. His mother also appeared to have drifted off. The knowledge that their lives were in his hands made him grip his rifle more firmly. He must be vigilant until his mother relieved him.
The dancing firelight caused bizarre shadows to dance around the perimeter of their camp. Zach, as boys often do, lent life to the shifting shapes where none existed.
He imagined one to be a stalking bear, another a slinking panther, his nervousness mounting to where he just had to jump up and make a circuit of the camp.
The horses were peacefully bedding down. Zach counted on them to let him know if something came near. Their superior hearing and sense of smell enabled them to detect predators or hostiles far off, so he kept an eye on them at all times.
For two hours all went well. Then, with Zach resting on his saddle, wearily fighting off waves of fatigue, the black stallion nickered. Instantly Zach was awake and on his feet. Remembering what his father had once said about exposing himself, he jumped behind the saddle and crouched.
Off in the trees something was moving. Brush crackled as if from the passage of a large form. A tree limb broke with a loud crack.
Zach gulped and jammed his rifle to his shoulder. Was it a horse? he wondered. Or a bear? Whatever, it was coming closer and closer. Soon it would be right outside the camp.
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