by Stephy Smith
“It looks like we have visitors, Oro. Better take care of them first and pick up the mountain lion later.” Elizabeth George bent forward and patted the golden stallion on the neck. The sky was a little grayer than it had been in the past half hour.
Danger of men on the mountain brought mixed grief and pain. Aware of the dangers of the mountain storm fueled her determination to keep trappers from taking what, by all rights, was hers. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to stand toe to toe with one of the rude men and she knew it wouldn’t be the last if things worked in her favor. Her eyes nnarrowed and she squinted against the white ground cover.
She cast one more glance at the paw prints leading to a large boulder. “You, my furry friend, get to live at least one more day. If you follow me, you could have fresh meat for your last meal,” she whispered, and checked the rifle and pistol. With a heave, she pulled the bearskin coat tighter around her neck and spurred the palomino stallion up a rocky, winding trail.
Death of cattle to the mountain lion would be naught. Loss of the land was different. Land, she held close to heart, the land of her mother’s people. The land her family had sacrificed their lives to keep. Their spirits lived on this mountain. She could sense them along the trails when the trees rustled and the rivers sang with rapid water from winter snow. Everything about the mountain held one spirit or another to reach and guide her on some kind of instructive journey. A lesson to intensify skills each time she re-entered the area.
Always on the lookout, alert to the environment, she watched a fox chase a rabbit into dense underbrush. The wildlife touched her heart and left her smiling. God and the great spirits had always been good to provide joy from the world created. She reached to the heavens, thanked both, and asked for guidance as she moved further up the trail.
She followed the smell of smoke in anticipation of what she may find at the end. Another drunken trapper was more apt to be the source of the fire. They would be the type of men to brave a blizzard high on the mountain. This time of year they invaded the territory every chance they got. With a nudge, Oro walked up the trail.
Boulders blocked paths, and shrubs and small trees whipped the legs of the horse. For the most part, the mountain lay silent with an occasional winter sound. The fall of snow from thick boughs overhead cracked branches and fell with heavy thuds on the mountain floor. Winter songs, she called them. She had listened to the songs for so many years now.
From the time Lizzie had been young, big cats frequented the area. Their screams sent the mountain into a frenzy of panicked animals and women who gathered their small children. All of Mrs. George’s children accompanied her to the mountain to gather winter herbs needed for emotional and physical healing and spices for food. The children took nature lessons from their mother.
Lizzie thought on the first mountain lion she’d encountered. She’d been sprawled on her stomach on a rock high above a small, grass-covered platform where a tiny deer grazed. The fawn appeared soft and delicate. Its petite form took a small nip of grass and raised its head to keep an eye out for predators while it chewed. She giggled when it stamped a little foot at an insect. Delighted with the deer, she lay there a long while, mesmerized by the sight.
The large cat appeared on a boulder above the deer. Mrs. George peered over the edge, “Nature at its best and its worst, little one.”
Enthralled with the beautiful cat beast, she couldn’t take her eyes off the mountain lion. It appeared so big towering above the tiny deer. The agile feet seemed to float above the rock like a feather. Massive muscles relaxed and, with confidence, waited for just the right moment. Silent and unsuspecting, the cat kept eyes on its prey. With one swift, powerful lunge, the cat flew through the air to the tiny deer.
Lizzie wanted to yell for the deer to run, but no words would come out. Rolling thunder built in her chest. Frozen on the overhang, unable to pull her eyes from the scene, she glared at the cat dragging its supper up and over large boulders before it disappeared around the bend.
Her little legs carried her to her mother where she wrapped her shaky arms around her legs. Never had her little heart beat so wild, or the tears fallen so swift. She wiped her face on her mother’s skirts.
For months, she would not wander more than a few feet from her mother when they went to the mountain. On that particular day, Lizzie had learned her first lesson about wildlife and its existence in the world.
From that day forward, she listened and learned about the herbs gathered. Her mother taught her which ones to stay away from and which ones to use for medicine or cooking. Her mind had taken it all in.
She chuckled at the memory and made her way up the side of the mountain. “Those were the good days with my family, Oro. I always thought I would be able to save that deer with those herbs.” She laughed at the thoughts from her childhood.
Many times, the screams of the cats echoed down the mountain. She felt the eerie silence of their presence. Stares of their eyes followed as she rode the mountain, and on a few occasions, brought quivers. Yet now, there was nothing except bitter cold as the snow fell.
Common sense told her to step up the pace. It also told her it could be dangerous to do so. She shivered against the cold. Her eyes stung from the wicked wind. Her wrapped fingers tucked the rabbit fur scarf tighter.
The howl of the wind shook treetops. Clumps of snow fell to echo on impact of lower branches and rocks. A harsh stiffness tightened her cheeks and clasped her jaws. Bitter cold chomped down on her thighs. Smoke reached her senses again. This time it seemed to fade with the falling snow, drowning it out.
She continued.
Around a slight bend in the trail, there in a clearance, a fire smoldered within a circle of rocks in the camp. A slight pull on the reins stopped the horse. She listened for any sign of movement. Her heart drummed against the silence of winter. The sizzle of snow fell on hot embers and she waited for anything out of the ordinary besides the dead fire.
An ice-covered body leaned against a tree and a second lay several feet away. With rifle in hand, she dismounted. Each step was muffled beneath the snow. She cocked her head for a quick glance around, and then she removed her finger from the trigger.
Wind whistled across large boulders and into the small clearing where the men lay. An urgent call from the higher beings told her to get off the mountain. Times like now strained her insides. She couldn’t leave the men lying in wait for wildlife to devour their bodies.
The storms moved down the trail, but not slow enough to prevent her from its nasty grip. A full-scale blizzard would hit soon. Temperatures dropped within a matter of minutes. Her mind worked overtime.
A strange instinct rattled her bones. There was a life form in the area. Whatever it was, it wasn’t the big cat, but it still left her uneasy. In front of the men dressed in familiar confederate uniforms, she paused. From time to time, uniformed men filtered through the area since the war had ended.
She wondered why it took the men so long to return to their homes and families. During the war, other things had occupied her mind; as a result, she didn’t keep track of what had caused the ruckus in the first place.
The guilt of her family flooded her senses. At times, their loss hit her square in the face. Tears would flow for days on end. Why couldn’t she have gone with them? This was neither the time nor the place to play that card again. Frozen men needed to be removed from the angry storm.
“How in the name of Mother Nature did you men end up on this mountain? Who led you so far, and left you here to die like this?” Shaking her head, she fought the sting in her eyes.
Her intuition told her who would try something this cruel. It could only be the trapper. Why would he lure men who fought for their beliefs to a mountain in the winter when danger took over?
These innocent men had no coats or blankets to ward off the dangers of the elements. With one glance, she knew their spirits had abandoned the bodies. Lizzie returned the rifle to its sheath.
“A
few months ago you would have made it out of here alive.” She cringed against the cold.
Scarcely able to feel the soldiers, her fur wrapped fingers grasped the first man and loaded him on the travois fashioned from the bedroll. She pulled and tugged. Her thighs burned as she wove in and out of the boulders.
A breath of disgust escaped her lips. “Why couldn’t you have been that mangy trapper? If you were, I’d leave you here for the wildlife to feast upon your rotten carcass. Even the wildlife wouldn’t touch the venomous trapper for fear of their own deaths.”
After a short respite, she continued to fight the heaviness of the man and the bitterness of the storm. Her strength seemed to fade in the abyss of endurance. Without thinking, she set foot for the other body and started the task all over again.
Cold reached to bite her skin despite the leggings and rabbit lined moccasins. It would take forever to warm up if she ever escaped the sharpness of the storm. Regardless of discomfort, she would remove the bodies of these brave young men from the devastation.
Once off the mountain, and when the weather cleared, she hoped to take them to town for a proper burial. It was the least she could do for their family’s sake. Death didn’t mean much. Only the souls moved on to greater plains.
Survivors would have to endure the brunt of the dreadful blow. To face the loss of their loved ones was hard on Lizzie. Once again, she reminded herself there were more important tasks than throwing herself another pity party.
A rustle in the trees caught Lizzie’s attention. She caught a glimpse of movement from the corner of her eye. With a steady hand, she reached under the coat and drew a pistol. The mountain lion she tracked could be lurking in the area. Gut instinct told her that wasn’t the case. A hungry mountain lion wouldn’t be careless unless it was extremely sick.
No, whatever this was, it seemed to be in search of a release. It wasn’t hiding to save its own life and it wasn’t hunting for something to kill.
Ever so cautious, Lizzie crouched through the brush. She peered around a large tree trunk to find three horses tied to a rope stretched between two trees. Fog rolled from between her lips as she resumed breathing. “You horses nearly scared me to death.”
She gave each one a brush off to wipe away the snow accumulated on their backs. Untying the ropes from the line, she led the horses around the tree and boulders. Her primary concern was to remove the men from the mountain. The horses followed with a tug. She returned to the bodies, and rolled them onto the travois.
With the task done, she placed one foot in the stirrup. An eerie groan whirled her around. Pistol drawn, her head cocked to listen for the frequent loud moans. Her hair stood on end. Tightness in her chest strangled her breathing. Despite the shake in her hand, she held fast to the butt of the pistol. She ducked behind one of the boulders and waited for the next move.
A large boulder in front of her stood close to the ring of dying embers. Something slipped around its face and she jumped as the sight of a glazed-eyed man slid around the boulder and fell to the frozen earth.
Tiny needle pricks ran up her arm as she released the hammer on the pistol. She slipped it into her pocket and took a deep breath before she ran to the next victim of the deadly mountainside.
Many times her mother had warned about coming to the mountain in a blizzard. The complex domain could bring down even the most experienced men, and she didn’t want to be the next life claimed.
Pushing her mother’s words aside, she led the horse to the man and reached for the frozen body. A heart-stopping jolt knocked her on her backside when the man’s hand shot up to grab her. Her vision blurred as she glanced at his mouth. His blue lips moved, but no words came out. Running to the horse, she grabbed the fur wrapped canteen and gave him a sip of cold water.
“I’m gonna pull you to the travois and get you off this mountain. If I don’t, you’ll end up like your friends there.” Lizzie nodded to the dead bodies. Waves of guilt spread through her for a second. Then, she set back to work.
A strange prickle spread over her at the discovery of two and a half frozen men. No matter how many bodies were found, the ghostly images always stuck in her mind. Visions seemed to dance around longer than necessary just to torment her winter wonderland. She loaded the man between his companions and placed her rabbit skin scarf over his head and face.
She led the horses down the mountain trail. Glancing back to the cold campsite, she mounted the horse hoping another body didn’t appear. If one did, he had to have walked in since there weren’t enough horses. A tug on the reins twirled the stallion toward the warmth and safety of the log cabin. Her mind concentrated on the men.
Their tattered, thin uniforms told the story of the hardships they’d endured from the war. Times when they would pray things would end, maybe praying for their own safety or life to end to escape the horrid scenes surrounding them. With no more than what they had with them, she wondered if every winter for the last four years had been brutal.
She envisioned the men on their knees asking for mercy, to be relieved from the hands of the enemy, or the nightmarish howls of the wounded men that echoed through the air. No matter where they were, the harshness would burn into their minds like the brand on the hide of cattle.
How could she even think her life had been rough? Look at the things these men had endured for four long years, and she doubted they would complain about the life they had been dealt. How could she have been so selfish to think she was the only person on this earth who endured a pain so deep she never wanted to return to society? She was happier living with the spirits on the mountain.
How had they come to be on the mountain? Unless the new man survived, she would never know the answer to that question. She only wished she had known they were there earlier. Maybe she could have helped, or at least taken them to her cabin out of the vicious winter storm.
A frigid wind whipped up the side of the mountain. Lizzie’s eyes burned against the glitter of whiteness. Her lips threatened to crack with each minute it took to escape the sleepy slope. One last glance at the men rendered a need to coax the horses to move faster.
“If the man wasn’t still alive, I would be wrapped in the warm rabbit fur scarf placed over his face. He’s a lot colder than I am, and closer to death.” Guilt swam around in her mind, twisting and turning her torrential flood of emotions up a notch.
For the first time, she was burdened with the life of another human. Fierce determination to save the man hit hard on her soul.
“This man could die if I don’t get him home before long. Why is it taking so long to get off the mountain today, Oro?” The well-placed steps of the horses were detrimental in the outcome of the journey downhill. She prayed to the spirits for guidance and more strength to endure the wickedness of the deadly storm that pierced like one of her grandfather’s long buffalo spears.
She raised her fingers to her face. The face she could no longer feel from the bulkiness of the fur, and the stone weight on her cheeks, nose, and lips. Her eyelids, heavy with accumulated ice, burned with the fury of stickers pricking her eyeballs.
“Not much further now. Not much further.”
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