The Shaman looked out over the River, thinking. “No. I meant something else. You said all along that the wiya doesn’t belong here in this time. And now you say she might not belong in your other time. How do you know?”
Glad to get his mind off the thoughts of probes and dissection, Wolf thought about the question. He shook his head before answering. “Just a feeling I get every time I’m around her. I know a woman doesn’t live in the cabin in the other time. But there’s more to it than that.”
The dark eyes were looking at him now, intent and searching. “Explain.”
One of Wolf’s shoulders moved in a brief shrug. He shifted to take the weight off his injured leg. “All I can say is this: Being around her gives me the same feeling I have when I am in the other world. I belong, yet I don’t belong. I’m the same as everyone else, yet I’m very different. She gives off that same aura. She even mentioned the same feeling as I have.”
“What about the doctor you mentioned before? Does he feel the same?”
Wolf groaned. “He’s missing. Again. Now the Fort is closed and he’s disappeared. I’m hoping he wasn’t taken by the pirates. It would be very difficult to get him back if he was.” Wolf stifled a curse knowing his father wouldn’t appreciate it. Things seemed to be getting worse, not better. “Did I mention that Wals thinks Private Crain has joined the pirates? If he is right, Crain will probably do well with them.”
Ignoring the unimportant Private, Wolf’s father had another question. “Did you consider that the doctor may have left before the invaders came?”
Wolf couldn’t help but notice the sly look in the dark eyes staring at him. “What do you know?”
“Mato….” he started, breaking off when Wolf gave a disgusted snort at the mention of his brother—his good brother, the one who had stayed home and raised a family instead of leaving like he did. The Shaman would not let Wolf’s childish burst of sibling rivalry pass. There was pride for Mato and anger at Wolf mixed in his voice when he spoke. “Mato keeps his eyes out for the safety of this village. He is concerned for the family. And, he watches out for you. His eyes are not so personally focused.”
The huge black head dropped an inch and his ears flattened, chastised. “I’m sorry. I know Bear is doing his duty and doing it well. I was out of line. What did he hear?”
The black eyes still stared into his blue ones. After a long moment of silence, the wolf headdress turned to face the long stretch of the River. “Mato believes the doctor is now at Rainbow Ridge. You might begin looking there.”
“How in the world did he get to Rainbow Ridge?” Wolf growled, shaking his head. “Great, now I have to get Wals to go up there. But, how do I convey that? I still don’t think it is a good idea to be known as a talking wolf, even among friends.”
The Shaman grunted and said nothing. He’d let his son figure it out. “Did you call the next oskeca?”
Wolf looked up at the waning light, his eyes narrowed as he sniffed the air. This night would be clear. “Yes, whenever that will happen. It usually comes immediately, but, for some reason, I know it won’t be tonight. For once I’m glad. I still have much to do.”
The wolf headdress nodded once in agreement. “All isn’t in readiness. Until it is, we must all be watchful until the time is right. My son,” he called when Wolf had turned to leave, “when you do go back through the next storm, you must be prepared for any eventuality. It won’t be what you expect.”
Pausing, the wolf waited. When nothing more was said, Wolf gave a respectful bow. He knew he’d be given no more explanation than that.
Across the River from the cabin, concealed by a thick growth of lacy ferns, Wolf kept watch on Rose’s home. It surprised him that it took only one day before he spotted a small band of pirates approaching the cabin. There were five of them in various styles of clothing that had apparently been taken off of captured men. All held swords and some had pistols. Wolf’s attention was drawn to a dark blue jacket with only a few gold buttons left on the front. Wals had been right. It was Private Crain who led the raiders. His Calvary hat had been replaced by a dirty red bandana wrapped around his head. He limped, probably from some initiation rite of passage pressed on him by his new shipmates. The cowardly air that usually hung around him like a waving flag was gone. His attitude was now one of leadership and confidence—a confidence that came with the knowledge that he was backed by a band of cutthroats and nobody would dare defy him. He was finally going to get that woman who had scorned and embarrassed him all those years. And, when he was finished with her, what was left was promised to the four men who had come along with him—the first of whom was the pirate who had boldly claimed her that first day when she was spotted inside their cave.
They had not seen or heard the woman’s protecting wolf since Daniel had shot him. Crain, figuring he had finally taken the animal down with a fatal shot, brazenly approached the cabin from the front in the bright early light of the new day. Emboldened by his crew standing behind him, the preening Crain himself would lead the attack.
When they were in a semi-circle facing the cabin, they all let out a blood-curdling yell and drew their swords and pistols. One of the pirates fired a shot into the cabin. Expecting to hear the woman screaming in fear, they were now astonished to receive no response at all. “She’s hiding inside! I’ll get that biddy!” Crain yelled as he awkwardly put his sword back in its scabbard and stalked up to the closed front door. After throwing a smirking grin back at the watching pirates, he used his foot to smash open the unlocked door. With the hollering encouragement from his four cohorts, he ran inside, letting out his own loud, victorious yell. Within moments he was back outside, some of his bravado evaporating when he found there was no easy prey inside. There was no prey at all. At his direction, the men spread out and searched the grounds around the small cabin and a short distance back in the forest. They ignored the mare that just stood there and watching from her little corral.
Wolf, still undercover in the brush, watched in amusement as they regrouped and huddled in a circle, yelling and arms waving, arguing about what they should do next. Crain had assured the pirates of the easy capture of a beautiful woman. Now there was no woman and no idea of where she had gone. Crain pointed in the direction of the Fort, suggesting she might have run there for help. Or she could be hiding in the old Mill building. The pirates had already taken control of the rafts going to and from the Island, so they knew she couldn’t have gotten off the Island by that route. The only explanation they didn’t explore was the encampment out of sight across the River. Crain knew he himself would never have the courage to go across the River and couldn’t imagine that the timid female would possibly go over there either.
After a few more minutes of arguing, one of the larger pirates—the one who had claimed her—became disgusted and cuffed Crain in the head with the hilt of his drawn sword. The group of five turned to head back to the Fort, the deflated Crain now bringing up the rear in the position of shame, holding his bleeding head where he had been struck.
Giving a silent laugh, Wolf turned and trotted back to his village.
Forgoing the use of a canoe, Mato decided it would be best if he and Wals went overland through the wilderness. It would be easier to conceal themselves in the forest if the pirates appeared on the River looking for the missing woman. With only a basic knowledge of their language, and Mato’s ability to say “Rainbow” in heavily-accented English, Wals got the idea of where they were going to search for the missing doctor. He had shown the men the doctor’s lighter and how it worked. With the limited amount of fuel left in the lighter after so many years of sitting idle, it quickly emptied. Seeing a small flame that lasted only seconds, it was considered worthless by the Shaman and his men. Still, Wals knew it would be as important to show Doctor Houser as his nametag had been to himself. And, hopefully, if his reasoning proved to be correct, it would have the same effect on the doctor.
Before they left, Wals had been presented with differe
nt options with which he could arm himself for protection—a fact that again made him realize all the more the seriousness of where he was and that the danger they were in was very, very real. He wasn’t in Frontierland any more. This was truly the wild frontier. The braves had held out bow and arrows, a razor-sharp hunting knife, the musket that had been retrieved from Rose’s cabin, the sword he had found in the cave, and a handful of rocks that he hoped was just a joke and not an indication of their confidence in his ability to defend either himself or anyone else. At the half amused, half irritated look on Wals’ face when shown the last option, one of the men produced a leather sling and proceeded to knock in quick succession a row of branches off a far-distant tree. Mollified, Wals chose the hunting knife and was given a clever sheath that attached to the belt of his canoe costume. As he carefully slid the deadly weapon inside, he silently hoped he was never called upon to use it.
Mato, armed as if going to his own private war, carried everything except the clumsy, one-shot musket.
His injured leg still bothering him, Wolf knew he would just slow down his brother and chose to remain behind to protect Rose as well as to keep her company. With Wals gone, she would have been relatively alone because of the language barrier. Plus, he didn’t want her to do anything foolish like try to go back to her cabin for some useless trinket or to check on the mare. He knew the trip for the mare would be unnecessary since he had taught the intelligent Sukawaka how to open her gate to get to the new grasses.
When the Shaman had seen Rose’s unnecessary concern over the mare, he listened closely to her arm-waving tirade. Once Wolf had calmed her, his father pulled him aside. “I wonder if she realizes she named her horse Horse.”
Wolf could only shrug.
Not having to worry about hiding their tracks, Mato set a good pace as he led Wals north to what was left of the mining town of Rainbow Ridge. The trip excited Wals who had only seen this part of the territory from one of his rafts or in a canoe.
Mato didn’t cross the River, but stayed on the same side as their encampment. They soon saw the Beaver Dam and its residents quickly slipping beneath the water at their approaching sounds. Thinking back about the River in his time, Wals remembered different animals that had been hidden along the banks of the Rivers of America in Frontierland. Knowing he was in a living, breathing version of that area, he hoped that Rose’s descriptions of the changes were true here in the backwoods as well. If not, they would pass through territory claimed by a huge black bear and a screaming panther.
Their path took them past a lone, lightning-struck tree, its trunk scarred and stripped of bark. The ground around the tree was churned up, and Wals recognized it as the black bear’s scratching tree. As Mato didn’t slow up or seem at all concerned, Wals focused on keeping up with the fleet-footed brave. As the ground rose and became rockier, their pace slowed. Scrambling down the other side of the gravely slope, they approached the large, mossy pool of inviting cool water called Bear Country. Here Mato took their first break, and, squatting down at the water’s edge, took a long drink while Wals watched the surrounding forest.
As they wound through the wilderness, trees became more sparse, the terrain rougher. Seeing the River bend away from them on their right, Wals knew they must be approaching the area that—in his time—used to be known as Nature’s Wonderland. The hills took on the coloration of the beautiful canyons of Utah—dull red veins layered in rock of muted yellow. Only a few remaining windblown spires reached upward and they passed one large red-colored arch and a flat-topped butte. With a catch in his breath, Wals remembered that those two monuments were the last vestiges of the beauty of Nature’s Wonderland. He knew the arch would go nowhere now. It used to be a gateway. Still, he just had to see it for himself.
With a call to Mato who didn’t realize Wals had stopped, Wals started scrambling up the rocky side of the butte. Reaching high, he cautiously felt for any handholds in the deceptively smooth side of the tall rock. Finding one sufficient hold after another, he pushed up with his legs, straining to secure himself. Ignoring the warning calls from the irritated Mato below, Wals inched slowly upward. A few scraggly bushes tenaciously hung on to the face of the butte, only to be roughly grabbed by the intruder and used for leverage.
Thinking his footing was secure, Wals reached for the top of the rock, only to have his moccasin slip out from under him, sending a shower of rocks onto the watching, scowling Mato. For a tense moment, he swung free with only his hands keeping him from plummeting back to where he had started. Sweat pouring down the sides of his face, Wals calmed the panic in his mind and willed his body to become still, his legs to stop their frantic churning. Finding a small ledge for his toes, he pulled himself upward, getting his right elbow over the top of the butte. Once there, the strength of his arms brought him the rest of the way to the top.
Rolling onto his back, gasping for breath, Wals ran his arm over his damp forehead. With a self-conscious laugh at his narrow escape, he got to his feet to survey the surrounding country.
He wished he hadn’t.
What should have been a beautiful area of geysers, colored sandstone and vivid pots of bubbling mud looked as if it had been wiped clean with a scratchy rag. Flat. Empty. Barren. A few new trees had begun their slow growth and a few forlorn cacti poked up in the distance. Instead of the howl of a coyote, he only heard the howl of the wind as it blew up dust devils far below him.
Upset at the extent of this desolation, he turned and looked over the edge of the butte to signal to the impatient Mato that he was going to come down. Mato looked up from where he rested in the shade, a scowl still on his face. He didn’t appreciate this delay. He had wanted to get to Rainbow Ridge before darkness fell.
Wals figured he was going to get chewed out in Lakota when he got to the bottom. But before he could throw a leg over and start down, he saw Mato jump to his feet and wildly wave his arms as he yelled, “Sinte hla!”
“Yeah, I’m coming, I’m coming,” Wals muttered, not understanding.
As he turned backwards to start easing down, Mato yelled at him again. “Sinte hla!”
Glancing back at Mato, Wals was shocked to see him aim a drawn arrow right at his face. “Hey, I said I was sorry!” He immediately threw himself back when Mato’s fingers released the arrow.
Wals heard the arrow strike the cliff just inches below where he stood. The other sound he heard didn’t make sense to him at all. When there was no more yelling coming from Mato, he tentatively looked over the edge. About a foot below his position, just above where he would have placed his right foot, an arrow protruded out of the head of a five-foot long rattlesnake, pinning it to the side of the cliff.
Eyes wide, Wals saw Mato nonchalantly motioning him to come on back down now.
When Wals reached his friend, Mato pointed upward. He then held up two fingers and bent them like fangs and struck at Wals, calmly repeating, “Sinte hla.”
Looking back at the dead rattler, the pale Wals just shook his head. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
At Mato’s amused chuckle, Wals gave an exaggerated gesture for him to take the lead and said in French, “S’il vous plait.”
To his utter amazement, Mato strode past him and slyly grinned. “Merci.”
Wals walked a long ways in complete silence.
The day quickly progressed. In time, they came to a stretch of abandoned train track and the remnants of a small, weathered engine, the letters N.W.R.R. barely visible on the side of the yellow cab. Full of rocks, two ore cars were still attached to the engine, one of them half off the track. A marmot popped its head out of the second car, whistled at the two men, and then dropped back to the safety of the broken, ragged rocks.
Mato said something to Wals as he pointed first at the train and then to the east. Mato indicated that following the track would be the easiest way to reach their destination. Still shook from the near miss with the rattlesnake and the devastation of Nature’s Wonderland, Wals mer
ely nodded to his companion.
Now knowing exactly where he was, Wals took the lead for the rest of the distance to the mining community. Silent with his own thoughts, he wasn’t sure at all what he would find when they reached the end of their journey.
Not the boom town it had been in its heyday, Rainbow Ridge was still a fairly active community. As the two men walked into town, the streets were almost empty, but there was plenty of noise coming out of the various buildings that lined the main street. A couple of burros, not needed for the supply train, were tied to the hitching post in front of the Big Thunder Saloon whose sign, though somewhat weather-beaten, still proudly advertised “Poker, Billiards, Entertainment & Dancing.” They could hear the sounds of a honky-tonk piano pounding out a lively tune over the yells of the patrons inside.
After a small side alley, they walked past the General Store, a one-story adobe building, its porch covered with goods for sale including a large, black pot-bellied stove and various traps. The proprietor, dressed like the miner he used to be in a faded red shirt, buff trousers tucked into calf-high dusty black boots and a floppy brown hat pushed back on his head, was busy sweeping the never-ending dust off the wooden boardwalk out front. Stopping his activity to nod hello to the newcomers, he took the opportunity to wipe his face with the red handkerchief tied around his neck. “Howdy, folks!” he called over in a right friendly way.
Next door was the town’s newspaper, the Rainbow Ridge Clarion. A pair of bleached antlers hung crookedly over the sign that told they also offered “Notary Public, Letters Written, and Ornamental Writing.” The sound of the printing press clanking in the back of the storefront could be heard as they passed by. A wanted poster tacked to the side of the entry door offered $10,000 for the capture of a card shark, his many aliases listed below.
Wolf! The Legend of Tom Sawyer's Island Page 24