Wilderness Double Edition 11

by David Robbins

  Winona was happy that her son and the stranger were getting along so well. She could not help but note that Carter acted ill at ease when close to any of the Crows, which she blamed on undue fear that he would be harmed.

  That night the war party camped between two knolls bordered by a ribbon of a stream. Supper consisted of antelope, a pronghorn He Dog dropped with an arrow at a range of seventy yards, a remarkable shot by any standard.

  The men took turns standing guard. Nate had the last watch and got to see vivid bands of pink and yellow decorate the horizon as the sun made its advent known. He had coffee perking when the rest roused themselves from under their blankets.

  Emmet Carter was like a new man that morning. The rest and the meals had done wonders for his constitution, and he chatted amiably with Zach from dawn until they fell asleep that night.

  And so it went for three more otherwise uneventful days.

  Nate got to know Carter better and regarded him as a decent enough young man who would make something of himself now that he knew riches never fell into one’s lap like manna from heaven. He had learned the hard way that most people had to make ends meet through the sweat of their brow. Schemes to get rich quick only benefitted the schemers.

  Then came the fifth day, and that evening Nate picked a site on a low bluff where scrub trees clustered thick around a small clear spring. While several Crows collected dead wood for the fire and Winona was busy preparing coffee, Nate took his son hunting. They descended the slope and bore to the east. Hardly had they rounded the end of the bluff when they spooked five does which bounded off, flashing the white undersides of their erect tails.

  “Look, Pa!” Zach bellowed, giving chase. His pinto was fleet of foot, and in moments he was close enough to shoot. But drawing a bead from the back of a moving horse was hard to do. No sooner would Zach fix the sights squarely on a target than the deer would swerve or bound high into the air, spoiling the shot.

  Nate stayed alongside his son. He refrained from firing to give Zach the practice. One of the does began to lag and he called out, “You have to think one step ahead of them. Aim high just as that last one starts to jump.”

  Zach let go of the reins and used his legs to guide the pinto, a Shoshone trick he had been taught when he was barely old enough to sit a horse. Wedging the stock tight against his shoulder, he sighted down the bobbing barrel, steadied his arms, and did exactly as his father had instructed him. He found that by aiming high, the deer bounded directly into his sights at the apex of each jump. All he had to do was adjust to its rhythm and stroke the trigger at just the right instant.

  At the blast, the doe crumpled as if all four legs had been splintered. It slid to a stop and rolled onto its side, convulsing just once before it went limp with its tongue jutting out.

  “I did it!” Zach cried, proud of his accomplishment. It was a first for him, a feat he could brag of when he visited the Shoshones and all the boys were bragging of special deeds they had done since last they were together.

  Among most tribes, a man’s prowess as a hunter was of critical importance. After all, no woman wanted to move into the lodge of a warrior famed for counting coup but who couldn’t keep the supper pot supplied with a variety of game. Likewise, the quality of a warrior’s clothes, the state of his lodge, and a great many other everyday items all depended on a steady supply of hides, bones, feathers and other bodily parts of various animals.

  So Zach took almost as much joy in improving his hunting ability as he did in counting coup. He had learned a tactic that would serve him in good stead in the future.

  Rather than butcher the doe on the spot, they threw it over the back of the stallion, then returned to camp. Bull Standing With Cow helped them skin the deer and cut the meat. Two Humps gave Winona a hand setting up a makeshift spit.

  Soon everyone was gathered around the fire, waiting for their morsel. Emmet Carter sat near the Kings with his arms wrapped around his legs. He was unusually pensive, which Nate chalked up to fatigue since they had spent over ten hours on the go that day.

  The venison was juicy and tasty. Nate treated himself to two helpings, and when he was done he licked his fingers clean and sat back to let the food digest.

  Carter was still eating. He could never seem to get enough, gorging himself at every meal. Pausing to wipe his hands on his pants, he smiled at Nate and commented, “I want to thank you again for all you’ve done for me. I’ll never forget it.”

  “Thank me when we get you to Bent’s Fort, not before,” Nate said.

  “How long would that be, do you expect?”

  “My best guess would be about a month yet,” Nate said, “provided everything goes smoothly. Which it never does.”

  “A month,” Carter said in transparent disappointment. “I hope you won’t hold it against me if I think that’s much too long to wait.”

  “Not at all. I don’t blame you for wanting to get back sooner. After all you’ve been through, you’re probably straining at the bit to head east.”

  “My sentiments exactly,” Carter declared. “It’s nice to know we see eye to eye.”

  Nate didn’t attach much significance to the conversation and turned to the cradleboard to spend time with his daughter. She laughed for joy as he played with her fingers and made silly faces. When she grew tired, Winona went off to feed her and Nate laid on his back with a forearm over his eyes to ward off the glare from the fire.

  The trapper was more weary than he realized. He dozed off, awakening later when Winona threw a blanket over him and once more toward midnight when He Dog was giving another warrior a hard time about getting up and keeping watch. After the hothead complied, Nate drifted into dreamland, confident that Long Forelock would awaken him when it was his turn.

  The yip of a coyote snapped Nate out of a sound sleep. He had the impression only an hour or so had gone by. Stretching, he observed that the fire had nearly burned itself out. That perplexed him. And his perplexity mounted when he turned his face to the heavens and realized the stars were all wrong. By their positions, it was much later than it should have been. In fact, dawn was less than an hour off.

  Nate sat up. His wife and children slept soundly nearby. On the other side of the fire were seven Crows. The eighth had to be on watch.

  Quietly rising, Nate sought some sign of the warrior. But there was none. He studied those who were sleeping and concluded that Long Forelock was the one missing. The obvious conclusion was that the Crow had gone off somewhere and dozed off.

  Moving around the spring to the horses, Nate scoured the bluff in vain. Mystified, he walked to the end of the string. Suddenly it dawned on him that a horse was missing. He counted to be sure. It was Zach’s pinto.

  Now alarmed, Nate made a swift circuit of the camp. He saw no one and was going to awaken the others when he glimpsed a shadowy shape lying amid thick brush. Drawing a flintlock, he went over.

  It was Long Forelock. The back of his skull had been caved in with a large rock, splitting it like an overripe melon and spilling his brains onto the ground. There was no consolation in the knowledge that the warrior had undoubtedly died instantly without being aware of what had happened.

  An icy chill came over Nate as he walked back to the fire. The spot where Emmet Carter was supposed to be sleeping was bare. The greenhorn was gone, and a hasty check revealed he had swiped Winona’s rifle, Zach’s pistol, a blanket and a sizeable chunk of leftover deer meat with him.

  Nate stood and stared eastward. He felt as if every lick of blood were draining from his body. “You damned fool,” he said under his breath, and bowed his head, the enormous consequences of the greenhorn’s treachery bearing down on his broad shoulders as if he were the mythical Atlas bearing the weight of the entire world.

  After a while Nate stirred. He checked that his pistols were loaded before he saddled the stallion. Into a parfleche he packed enough jerky and pemmican to last him several days. As he was tying the straps, Two Humps rose on an elbow.


  “Are you leaving us, Grizzly Killer?” the Crow signed.

  Nate could think of no way to break the news gently. “The other white man has killed Long Forelock and stolen the paint that belongs to my son.

  In a twinkling Two Humps was on his feet. Nate led him to the body and stood back while the warrior knelt and clenched at the grass in impotent fury. When Two Humps calmed, he turned.

  “I do not understand. How can he have done this? None of us mistreated him. Tell me why,” he pleaded.

  “I will know that when I catch him.”

  “And what will you do then?”

  Nate merely looked at the body.

  The others were waking up. Winona saw her husband approach and sensed right away that something was amiss. On hearing his account, she began to pack up their effects. “We will go with you,” she said.

  “No.”

  When two people have lived together day in and day out for years, they get to know one another as well as they do themselves. Nate’s misery was like a physical force to Winona, a sword knifing deep into the depths of her soul. “You do not need to take this all on yourself.”

  “I was the one who insisted we lend him a helping hand. The blame is all mine.”

  Over half of the Crows agreed. He Dog and Runs Against and two others were outraged and all for pursuing Carter themselves. It took all of Two Humps’s powers of persuasion to convince them to let Nate deal with the betrayer.

  Young Zach was fit to be tied when the commotion woke him up and he learned about his pinto. “Why’d he take my horse?” he railed. “What did I ever do to him?”

  “He took the paint because it was used to him,” Nate answered. “He’d ridden it for days and knew it wouldn’t act up when he threw on your saddle.”

  “The varmint,” Zach snapped. “I’d like to get my hands on him!”

  “Think again,” Nate said, and stepped into the stirrups. His loved ones and the Crows were equally somber as he turned the stallion. “Head to the northeast for two days,” he directed Winona. “I should rejoin you long before then, but if not, camp and wait for me.”

  “Take care, husband.”

  “Always.”

  Nate lifted the reins but paused when He Dog strode forward.

  “Prove you are our friend, Grizzly Killer,” the firebrand arrogantly signed. “Bring us the hair of your white brother and we will know that your words are not as empty as the air around us.”

  The stallion raised a swirl of dust as it trotted around the spring and on down the bluff. To the east a golden crown framed the plain, but there was only darkness in the heart of the man called Nate King.

  Six

  Winona King did not like the idea of being left alone with the Crows. But she made no protest when her husband rode off. She understood why he had to go. And she knew that Evelyn, Zach and she would slow him down. So she stoically accepted the fact and got on with the business at hand.

  Nate had been out of sight but a few moments when Winona caught He Dog giving her a look that did not bode well. But it didn’t worry her unduly. If trouble arose, she was confident she could count on Two Humps, Bull Standing With Cow and Flying Hawk to side with her.

  Then, too, Winona was armed. Nate had given her his Hawken and she also had her pistol. She had demonstrated back at the cabin that she knew how to use a gun as well as any man, so He Dog would think twice before he tried anything.

  Winona was eternally grateful to Nate for teaching her how to shoot. It permitted her to hold her own wherever she went.

  Men, by virtue of their greater bulk and superior physical strength, tended to lord it over women. Even some in her own tribe liked to strut about as if they were bull elk at the height of rutting season, and in their lodges they treated their wives worse than they did their prized war horses.

  At the annual rendezvous, there were always drunks to deal with. White men, Winona had learned, could be unspeakably wicked when they were under the influence of firewater. They often tried to force themselves on women who spurned their advances, causing fights to break out.

  But no man, drunk or sober, white or red, would ever try to abuse a woman who could defend herself. A flintlock enabled a woman to compensate for her smaller size and put her on equal footing with any man. With a gun she could assert herself and stand up to those brutish males who would inflict suffering on anyone weaker than they were.

  It was a King family custom for Nate to read to them several times a week. Once, years ago, during one such session, Nate had mentioned that certain wise men among his people had put on paper a list of all those things which were crucial to the welfare of white men and women everywhere.

  Near the top of that list, Nate had told her, was the right to bear arms. It was not to be denied any citizen, as the whites called themselves. Those wise men had known that those who could not defend themselves were virtual slaves to those who had power over them. Winona had been much impressed by their wisdom.

  An added factor that helped ease Winona’s mind about her husband’s departure was the presence of their son. Stalking Coyote was young, true, but he had counted coup. He had slain enemies in the heat of battle, and would leap to her defense if any of the Crows acted up.

  Zach was prepared to do just that. Astride Long Forelock’s horse, he stayed close to his mother all morning. If He Dog or Runs Against rode anywhere near them, he was quick to heft his rifle and glare until the warriors fell back with the others.

  Two Humps and Bull Standing With Cow were another story. The warriors took turns spending time with the Kings. Zach figured the Crows liked their company, but his mother was more astute. Winona knew it was their way of forestalling trouble. He Dog and Runs Against were not about to bother her when the older warriors were present.

  Noon found them miles from the bluff, resting the horses at an isolated stand of trees.

  The spring day was cool with a brisk breeze. Winona gave pemmican to Zach, then ambled to the opposite side of the stand and sat with her back to a tree to feed her daughter. She laid the heavy Hawken across her thighs and made herself comfortable.

  It was quiet and peaceful there. The serenity, combined with the soft rustle of leaves overhead and the pleasant sensation of Evelyn’s sucking, induced Winona to doze. Minutes went by.

  Suddenly the feeling of pressure on Winona’s legs vanished. She sat bolt upright and was stunned to discover the rifle was gone.

  Standing to her right, holding the Hawken loosely in one hand with his other resting on the hilt of his long butcher knife, was He Dog. Smirking, he leaned the rifle against a sapling just out of her reach, then signed, “Did you lose something, woman?”

  “Do you always play games more fit for children?” Winona retorted. She casually covered her breast without disturbing Evelyn, who slumbered on her chest. As she lowered her arm she contrived to place her hand close to the butt of her pistol without the Crow noticing.

  “It seems to me, Shoshone,” He Dog signed, “that you have never learned your proper place. It is not fitting for a woman to show disrespect to a warrior.”

  “Nor does a true warrior show disrespect to a woman,” Winona said, refusing to be cowed.

  He Dog ignored her comment. “You should never have taken a white man as your husband. Whites do not know how to treat their women. They are too soft on them.”

  “Be sure to tell that to Grizzly Killer when he returns. I want to see the look on your face when my soft husband beats you senseless as he did back at our wooden lodge.”

  A scarlet tinge flushed He Dog’s cheeks, and he took a half step toward her. “If you were mine, I would soon teach you to hold your tongue.”

  Winona smiled sweetly and put as much venom in her tone as she could muster. “Crow, I would not be your woman if you were the only man left alive.”

  “You are Shoshone. What do you know? Any Crow woman would be proud to live in my lodge.”

  A thought struck Winona and she signed, “Questio
n. Do you have a wife yet? Or are Crow women as smart as I think they are?”

  He Dog bristled and bent to seize her. He rooted himself in place when her pistol blossomed as if by magic, the muzzle so close to his face that he was staring into the barrel.

  Winona motioned and the warrior slowly backed off. She set the flintlock on her lap and signed, “Never, ever lay a finger on me, Crow. I will not go easy on you as my husband did for Two Humps’s sake.”

  “Your husband is a fool. He should have rubbed me out while he had the chance,” He Dog responded. “No man puts a hand on a Crow and lives to brag of it. I have held back because Bull Standing With Cow has asked me to.” The stocky warrior leaned toward her, his swarthy visage aglow with fiery spite. “But know this, Shoshone. Once we have rescued Fetches Water, I will hold back no longer. Your precious white man will pay. And you will be in need of a new husband.”

  So signing, He Dog spun and stomped off, his spine as stiff as the trees around them.

  Winona shivered. Whether from the cool breeze or the threat, she couldn’t rightly say. He Dog was not to be taken lightly. For all his faults, he was a man of his word. He planned to kill Nate, and nothing would stop him short of his own death.

  Brush close by shook as if to the passage of a small animal. Or a man on hands and knees. Thinking that the Crow had circled around to take her by surprise, Winona put a hand on her pistol just as the brush parted to reveal her protector.

  Zach strolled into the open, his cocked pistol out. “If he’d kept it up, I aimed to put a ball into him,” he stated. His father had long ago made it plain that when his father was gone, he was the man of the family. Safeguarding his mother and sister was a responsibility he took seriously.

  “Were you spying on him the whole time?”

  “Sure was,” Zach confided. “I never let him out of my sight. Runs Against is another bad apple, but He Dog is the worst of the two.”

  “You heard what he said. I think we are safe until after we find Bull Standing With Cow’s daughter.”