I passed her the noggin and a pan of fried meat. “We leave shortly. Eat quick and see to yourself round back. I’ll load the horses.”
We handled calls of nature like a man and woman who’d been together years rather than days. Hard things always seemed easy for us but the smallest thing pushed us apart, a problem I’d thought about since our first meeting. I was beginning to suspect I contributed as much to our personal squabbles and misunderstandings as she did, not that I’d ever admit being at fault to anyone changeable as Zelda.
She returned, robe-coat dwarfing her slim body, and watched me load the furs on the last horse in line. Once she was astride the lead horse, I tied her feet and pointed at the sky. “Rain or snow before we reach Wallace Ridge and the cave.” From a greatcoat pocket I pulled a wide swatch of soft buckskin I’d cut from the bottom of my hunting frock. “Tie this on your head when you need it. It’ll shed water better’n a flat rock.” She stuffed the leather scarf in the front of her coat.
Next I handed across the pistol I’d recovered from her bed. “It’s primed and ready. Keep it dry.” The weapon disappeared inside the robe-coat too.
I stepped against the shoulder of her horse. “Sooner or later the Ballard party will be following along behind us. They might even make a dash for the fort to beat the weather home, so we’ve got to outrun them. We’re traveling far as yesterday, only faster since the trail’s better.” I laid hold of her sleeve and said, “Whatever happens, don’t ask questions. Watch me and do only what I tell you. No matter how bad it gets, even if we abandon the horses, the larder, the furs, all of it, we keep going straight for your paw’s cabin. You understand?”
She nodded twice and settled in the packsaddle.
“I’m with you all the way round the bend, tall man, never fear.” With a sly grin, she knuckled her forehead.
Satisfied I had her attention, I heaped snow on the embers in the fire pit with a bark slab; they hissed and a wave of steam rose. I shoveled snow till the embers were completely buried, killing any chance the wind would rekindle them. That was all that could be done to forestall quick discovery and pursuit. There was no hiding the signs of our overnight stay or the shod tracks and droppings of the horses. Once on our trail, we’d be no harder to follow than your nose. I prayed for snow instead of rain.
Full dawn brought yellowish light far eastward at the bottom edge of the gray cloud cover. The heavy clouds masked the sunrise, and the morning turned gloomy and dank. Steady as the march of time, the chill wind blew without letup, backing around from west to due south. Mean weather was in the offing and we were headed into it.
I guided the pack train southward along the western side of the high ground flanking the Muskingum, staying off the skyline. Toward midday, well away from the Ballard camp, far enough even the noise of our passage was beyond earshot, I angled upward onto the Injun pathway atop the high ridge line overlooking the Muskingum to take advantage of that worn trail.
A few drops splattered my hat brim and sleet commenced. I stopped the horses and looked back at Zelda. She was tying the buckskin scarf over her muslin headband. I fished jerked meat, the last of Abel’s pemmican, and a jug from the larder horse for the nooning.
We ate where we were, she astride, me flat-footed beside her horse. A couple of slugs of Monongahela whiskey fanned a teary sparkle in Zelda’s eyes and burned my throat. The sleet slackened, then quit. But it was only a short respite, not the end of anything. The sky darkened as we watched.
I lashed the whiskey jug to Zelda’s saddle. “Case you need it,” I explained. “Like before, lessen you give out with a whoa, we don’t stop for even the devil’s due till we reach the cave. Ain’t any norther movin’ in, but it’ ll be nasty and cold nevertheless.”
And with that, I clucked the lead horse ahead and set off at a near trot.
The storm held its breath a short while. Then darker clouds forged from the southwest and the sleet began anew, icy pellets so wet and heavy they grabbed hold of cloth and horsehair without bouncing off. A layer of frozen slush soon coated our heads and shoulders and the pack animals with their high saddles. The trail became slick and slowed our pace. Daylight dwindled even though sunset and dusk were a ways off yet.
The earlier gray overcast was completely gone, replaced by roiling clouds of deepest black bringing with them ever stronger winds that tugged hard at my hat brim. Off southwest a deep rumble sounded on high, then rolled toward us. Zelda yelped in surprise. A jagged bolt of lightning zapped downward, followed by another ponderous rumble. Zelda yelped a mite louder.
The trail dipped and turned and wound around a rock shoulder that sealed off the wind. I halted the pack train for a blow and moved back beside Zelda. She clawed sleet from her buckskin scarf and raised the jug for a slug of Monongahela. “Scary, right scary,” she observed.
“Thunder-snow,” I told her.
She raised eyebrows crusted with ice.
“Never seen it myself, but Uncle Jeremiah talked about it. Just like a summer thunderstorm, only it don’t rain. It snows, snows a heap, then turns powerfully cold. Hunters have been soaked clean through to the skin, then frozen stiff as boards.”
Zelda wiped a red and runny nose. “So will we, lessen we hole up in your cave. How much farther?”
I told her straight, no holds barred. “Till after full dark at least. We’ve no druthers. We’ll skirt a ravine ahead where I camped comin’ upriver but the horses can’t make it down in there.”
Zelda braced herself and took a last swallow of corn liquor. She hung the jug back on her saddle and motioned for me to tie her hands fast. “I’m dog-tired. Go quick as you can. I’m cold clean to the bone already.”
We taken out again.
Lightning flashed repeatedly, thunder crashed and rolled. The slashing bursts of white light and ear splitting rumbles upset the horses. They snorted and trembled, and it took all my strength and guile to keep them lined out and under control. They shook sleet from their heads and plodded onward. I admired their heart and bottom and thanked the Lord I had them; I was too worn down for carrying Zelda, who couldn’t walk a rod on her own.
Even after we’d skirted the ravine and traveled in full darkness, lightning and thunder continued and wet snow replaced the sleet. The wind backed off a notch but grew colder. My feet were numb inside frozen moccasins by the time we neared the Wallace Ridge cave.
Zelda’s head was hidden by the collar of the buffalo robe coat and she sagged low in the saddle, still astride only because I’d tied her fast.
I never did tell her I led the horses plumb past our destination. A streak of lightning revealing white blazes on the dark trunks bordering the trail saved our bacon.
The trail being too narrow for swinging the pack train about, I tied the lead horse to a tree, untied Zelda and carried her back past the train. She had enough strength left to wrap her arms round my neck.
The cave entryway was a dark hole amidst a jumble of gray rock. No firelight shown from within and I couldn’t smell smoke. It was deserted but a real surprise awaited, a real godsend. Someone, likely the Ballard party, had replaced the wood I’d burned and cleaned the water bowl.
I laid Zelda on the pounded dirt floor, unslung Abel’s rifle from my back, and started a fire the surest way I knew, plugging the touchhole and igniting a wad of tow in the pan with spark and powder. Flames were leaping and snapping before Zelda moaned and opened her eyes.
I pulled her upright, gently slapped icy cheeks, and helped her out of the robe-coat. Her frock was dry. The bottoms of her breeches that hung below the coat were frozen hard as rock. I swung her feet nearer the fire and removed her tall leather moccasins. “Rub your feet till they’re good and warm. I’ll be back with vittles and bedding.”
I unstrung the pack animals and hobbled them in place. They began lipping the wet snow, ignoring the last of the lightning and thunder. I dropped their loads beside them, but left them saddled with eased cinches. They’d huddle together and ride out th
e snowstorm; they were a toughened lot. Shouldering the larder bundles, I edged round behind them.
Lightning flashed and in that brilliant moment, through the easing curtain of snow, I saw far back up the trail past the cave and a familiar shape stopped me dead in my tracks, for there in the middle of the worn pathway, rifle held across his chest, pelt cap glittering with ice, sparse beard matted into a black lump hanging from his long white face, stood Timothy Ballard.
Chapter 18
January 27-28
As sure as I’d seen him, he’d seen me.
I shielded my body with the larder bundles and lumbered for the cave. I shoved the bundles inside and grabbed Abel’s rifle. Zelda’s head snapped around. “Company. Don’t know how many, only saw one. If I don’t call out, shoot the next body through the door hole.” And with that brief warning I had the rifle primed and was gone again.
I scampered behind a thick trunk twixt the cave and the horses. From there the northern trail shown clearly in the next lightning bolt.
Timothy Ballard was gone.
The oldest Ballard brother was wilier than smoke. He’d been tracking us and knew someone traveled with me. In the darkness following the lightning flashes he couldn’t be certain where I’d gone or where my partner might be or what we might be planning in response to his sudden appearance. Timothy—and anyone backing him—had found cover and watched close as owls.
The lightning and thunder ended. I desperately wanted to stamp some warmth into my feet but stayed dead quiet, listening close since the snow limited what could be seen without lightning to a few feet in the black dark of night. I snugged the beaded cover over the lock of Abel’s rifle and hunkered down. They couldn’t get behind me without my hearing them, and if they moved in front of the cave entryway, I’d spot them against the faint light of the fire showing from inside.
It was a standoff of the worst kind. We could all stick behind cover awaiting a telltale move on the other’s part that might present a target or permit an attack with hand weapons. And if neither side moved a lick, we’d all freeze solid by morning.
I lost all feeling in my feet and shivers racked me. The weather forced me into the open. Maybe I’d be ambushed when I stepped from the cave in the morning, but I’d at least spend my last night warm, with a full belly before departing this ol’ world. I sidled over to the cave entryway and softly called Zelda’s name.
She didn’t answer. When she didn’t hear a second soft call, I plunged inside, too cold to wait any longer, breath held in anticipation of the coming shot.
I needn’t have fretted. She’d wedged herself between the woodpile and the wall of the cave beyond the fire, the farthest point from the entryway, and gone fast asleep, pistol clamped between bent knees. A hard tug freed the pistol and I uncocked the weapon while she slept without awakening.
My greatcoat made a decent bed by the fire and I moved her gently there. I added wood to the burned down flame and had a good look-see. Her forehead was hot and wet and her skin had that sickly pallor of the fever-ridden. Our circumstances had hit rock bottom.
I checked the load and priming of Abel’s rifle and the pistol, laid hand weapons close by, then boiled venison for broth while I rubbed bare feet, facing the entryway all the while.
All was quiet outside except for occasional hoof stamping and a snort or two by the horses. They were miserable and hungry, beset by a wet, cold snow that wouldn’t taper off or stop altogether for hours.
No challenge rent the dark night. No armed enemy appeared anywhere near the entryway. The standoff continued, but at least I’d warm feet and a belly full of hot meat and broth, both of which made clear thinking easier.
Timothy Ballard and whoever sided him had better sense than to attack through the narrow entryway where they’d be shot one at a time or tomahawked. Maybe I’d food and a spring for water in here, but sooner or later food ran out and, if all else failed, they’d starve us into submission without suffering any harm themselves.
That was tomorrow. Tonight was a different story. Unless they wanted to freeze to death, they’d withdraw beyond rifle range and build a fire and hold on through the night. At daylight they’d lay siege to the place and forever hold the upper hand.
The prospect of a siege come daylight left one possible way out: load the horses and make a dash for it in the middle of the night before the Ballards and their friends were in place with loaded rifles trained on the entryway. A running fight in the dark beat a one-sided siege every time.
Much argued against a bold, half-mad dash in the middle of the night. The horses were worn down and might prove balky. Darkness and wet snow made ridge line travel extremely dangerous. The biggest drawback was Zelda. She was hot and sweaty and likely feverish. The strain of such a nighttime trek through the wet and cold was more than she could withstand, might even kill her. The wounds inflicted by Abel’s knife had scabbed over nicely but left a mighty weakened woman in their wake. If she went with me, it might be tantamount to shooting her.
Lord, nothing was ever simple and straightforward where this girl-woman was concerned. If I broke my promise and left her behind, she’d fall into the hands of the Ballards. If I stayed with her, I was a dead man once we reached Fort Frye for I’d no proof to offer my fellow settlers and stay the hang man’s hand.
Zelda stirred and raised her head. “What happened? Where they be?”
“Likely crowded around a fire back the trail a ways, waiting for daylight.”
Zelda was no fool. “We’ll be trapped in here, won’t we now? No way out for you.”
She turned on her side and lay facing me. “What’re we goin’ to do, Matthan?”
“Sit here and say warm, eat like wolves, and surrender come day-light. That’s all there is to it, girl. I’ll die with a full belly and they’ll fetch you home to your paw. They’re a mean lot but they’d not dare touch you. The colonel would have them horse whipped for sure.”
Her green eyes bored into me and she grew stern round the mouth. “I’ll not have them near me, I told you that, didn’t I? After all, you promised, didn’t you?”
I set the noggin in front of her. “They’ll not bother you with me a prisoner. The colonel’ll want me alive for a big show when he hangs me, never you fear.”
She ignored the hot broth. “What would you do if I wasn’t here, Matthan? You wouldn’t laze about and let them take you easy as all get out, would you now?”
No point in lying here, I thought. “No, I’d load the horses and taken down the trail like a crazed buffalo and charge right through them that got in my way. Might get shot but I’d have my chance thataway.”
Her answer was snake-quick. “Then we’ll run for it together.”
My mouth dropped open. “You’re too sick for such a ride. You couldn’t see it through.”
A blush colored her features and it wasn’t from fever or embarrassment. “Damn it, Matthan, I’m tired of menfolk always spoutin’ off ’bout what I can or can’t do. That’s all my brothers and Paw ever done to me. But I did everything I wanted anyways and the hell with what they and other folks thought. You said it before: crazy as a loon. I know that’s what they say ’bout me, but I don’t flat give a damn!” She halted and sucked in some wind. “Do you understand what I’m sayin’, tall man?”
“Sounds like I’m leaving here in the middle of the night and you’re riding with me. If you die somewhere down the trail, you’re trusting me to give you a decent burial. That about it.”
“That it be. But I’m expectin’ I’ll be delivered to my paw’s very door, just like you promised. If you abandon me ’fore we get there, I’ll never forgive you. I’ll haunt you in hell, tall man. Trust me, I can do it.” And with that sworn statement she fell back on the greatcoat.
I sat speechless.
She spoke at the ceiling but I heard every word. “I’m fussy ’bout how I’m fetched home. When folks believe you unladylike and crazy-minded enough you talk with birds, a girl has only her pride to ha
ng on to, don’t you know.”
I realized at that very moment I loved her more than life, would always love her, even if I never saw her again after tonight. She was all a woman could be or need be for a man. She was your own heart beating.
Before I could tell her that, she broke the silence. “Well, load your damn horses while I eat. Time be a-wastin’. I’ve slept long enough and won’t feel any better if’n we wait till mornin’, which we can’t.” She forced herself upright and reached for the noggin, impatient now she’d made her decision. “Git, tall man. I’ll be ready when you be.”
The cold without my greatcoat was shocking. Snow fell with a wet hiss. The horses were bunched tightly for warmth. I cracked ice from their heads with the handle of my knife and separated them enough for cinch tightening and loading. They smelled action and came alert, tired enough to be restless and unfriendly, but too well-trained for outright rebellion. Under a firm hand they lined out for travel.
I scouted the ridge line a short distance in both directions. If the Ballards were still around, they’d withdrawn a doubly safe distance for their night fire. We’d at least get under way without a fight. Unless their brains had dried up and blown away with the wind, they’d be waiting downtrail, the direction of our travel all day.
Zelda was bundled in the buffalo robe and tall moccasins with buckskin scarf covering her head. The larder bundles had been repacked with her kettle tied securely atop the pile. She stuffed the pistol in her coat and waited for me to speak.
“Same as before. Stay low and shoot late as you can. Be ready if I slap that horse’s rump hard and send you on ahead. I’ll catch you, just don’t you stop for any reason.” She bobbed her head, not bothering to knuckle her forehead as before. We were about a serious undertaking and she treated it as such.
I donned the greatcoat, belted knife, tomahawk, and shot pouch round my middle and said, “I’ll load our larder. Throw every last piece of wood on the fire. We want it burning and smoking all night long.” In short order Zelda sat astride her horse. I made a last quick check of loads, straps, cinches, and any loose, clanking gear, then fisted the lead rein. “We’ll move easy and quiet for a few miles and maybe get clear of them.”
Thunder in the Valley Page 15