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  The Rising Storm

  Each year more and more people are making their way west, encroaching the land known as the Wilderness. Pioneer and mountain man Nate King values his privacy – it’s one of the main reasons he recently moved with his family to an even more isolated part of the vast Rocky Mountains.

  Nate’s good friends Simon and Felicity Ward have also felt the call of the wilderness; listening to the words of Nate King – a man highly regarded as Jim Bridger and Kit Carson and deeply love the valley where they’ve built their homestead.

  Now a ruthless Easterner has laid claim to hundreds of square miles as his private hunting preserve, including the Wards’ land. When Stalking Coyote—Zach King—hears of this his father’s words ring out in his head: a King never gives up, never says die, never lets hardship stop us. Like his father, Zach is a man of honor through and through, he won’t leave his friends to fight alone—even if it costs him his life!

  Pure of Heart

  Nate King likes to think he’s taught his family everything they need to know about living in the wilds of the Rocky Mountains. And now they’re about to be put to the test. What was supposed to be a fun trip up to the high country quickly turns into a desperate struggle just to survive. From rattlesnakes to a flash flood, Mother Nature has unleashed a bitter arsenal. But the worst threat of all comes from mankind as four vicious murderers stalk the forest, ready to finish off anyone left alive.

  WILDERNESS DOUBLE EDITION

  53: The Rising Storm

  54: Pure of Heart

  By David Robbins Writing as David Thompson

  First Published by Leisure Books in 2007

  Copyright © 2007, 2020 by David Robbins

  First Digital Edition: August 2020

  Names, characters and incidents in this book are fictional, and any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons living or dead is purely coincidental. You may not copy, store, distribute, transmit, reproduce or otherwise make available this publication (or any part of it) in any form, or by means (electronic, digital, optical, photocopying, recording or otherwise), without the prior written permission of the publisher. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

  This is a Piccadilly Publishing Book / Text © Piccadilly Publishing

  Series Editor: Mike Stotter

  Published by Arrangement with the Author.

  Visit www.piccadillypublishing.org to read more about our books

  WILDERNESS 53: THE RISING STORM

  Dedicated to Judy, Shane, Joshua and Kyndra.

  One

  The Garden of Eden had its serpent.

  Which is why it was fitting that Simon and Felicity Ward named the valley where they had settled after the first of all gardens. Situated amid emerald foothills that bordered the towering Rocky Mountains, the valley was their notion of paradise on earth.

  Thanks to a year-round stream fed by runoff from the snow that crowned the highest peaks, Simon and Felicity had done a wondrous thing. They were the first homesteaders to have a thriving farm. Seeds they brought from Boston were the key to their success. Seeds for corn, wheat, barley, tomatoes, potatoes, lettuce and more. The Wards planted those seeds and nurtured the resultant seedlings and reaped a bountiful harvest.

  All was not perfect, though. The growing season was not as long as Simon liked. Spring did not come until late, and fall came much too early, but with careful planning the Wards had accomplished what many claimed was impossible. They were wresting a living from the wilds.

  Their homestead was a model of efficiency. Their farm was the talk of the territory. It was talked about at Bent’s Fort, where trappers and mountain men and Indians and settlers came to trade and obtain supplies and socialize.

  The two strangers who stayed at the trading post for a week heard about the Ward farm. Indeed, when the Wards and their valley were first mentioned by the blacksmith in casual conversation, the pair could not hear enough. They plied the blacksmith and everyone else at Bent’s Fort with questions about the Wards and their achievements, but they did so in such a way that no one realized how intensely interested they were.

  The strangers were from England. One was named Severn, the other York. Severn did most of the asking. He was tall and broad of shoulder, with a severe face and a long nose that he looked down when he talked to people. He had an air about him that some of the mountain men disliked, but since he was free with his money and bought drinks for everyone he talked to—a lot of drinks if they knew a lot about the Wards and their valley—his arrogant manner was overlooked.

  Severn claimed he and York were looking for a site to homestead. After a week the pair left, and no one gave them any thought. No one wondered why they often huddled together and whispered and then became quiet if others strayed near. No one thought much of the fact that for homesteaders, they did not appear to know the first thing about building a cabin or growing crops.

  The only comment made was by the blacksmith, who remarked the evening after the pair left that they had not been very forthcoming about where they were from, or anything else, for that matter.

  Simon and Felicity Ward did not hear of the pair’s interest in their valley on their next visit to Bent’s Fort. They came once every three months, whether they needed anything or not, principally because Felicity loved to mingle with any women who happened to be there.

  On those occasions, Simon would watch over the apple of their eye, their four-and-a-half-year-old son, Peter. The boy was a bubbling fount of childish curiosity who could never sit or stand still for more than a minute. He was always exploring, always venturing places he should not venture, which was why Simon kept a tight rein on him. At Bent’s Fort it was safe enough, but elsewhere, even their valley, it was not.

  At last count there were eight homesteads along the Front Range and twice that many dotted the nearby prairie. The rest was raw wilderness. Raw, untamed, savage wilderness. The land teemed with game, with elk and deer and buffalo and mountain sheep, with squirrel and rabbit and grouse and a variety of waterfowl and fish. And where you found game, you found the meat eaters that preyed on them.

  A host of carnivores roamed the mountains and the plains. Huge grizzlies, able to crush a man with a single swipe of a giant paw. Black bears, which generally avoided humans but now and then decided people were as edible as anything else. Mountain lion, wolves, coyotes and foxes—all were plentiful. Wolverines were there, if rare, and most folks were thankful for the rarity. Rattlesnakes were abundant, some as thick as a man’s arm, with fearsome fangs that dripped venom.

  The beasts were but one peril. Violent men were another. Renegade whites who came to the frontier to evade the law and find new victims. Red men who resented the white influx and counted coup on the invaders.

  All perils Simon Ward had to keep in mind.

  Thus it was, ten days after he and his loved ones returned to their valley from Bent’s Fort, that he stiffened at the drum of hooves in the still of the evening as his family sat at the supper table. He glanced meaningfully at his wife, then dashed to the Hawken rifle he always kept propped near the front door. He took his ammo pouch and powder horn from pegs on the walls and angled them across his chest.

  ‘Douse the lamp,’ Simon said, moving to the window. It had a glass pane, a luxury Felicity insisted on having but which Simon could have done without. The window was a weak spot. Anyone could break it, and get inside. But he had never refused his wife anything, and when she asked for a real window with real glass instead of a deer hide covering, he had sent all the way to St. Louis for the pane.r />
  Now, careful not to show himself, Simon waited until their cabin was plunged in darkness, then peered out. The sun had set and twilight shrouded the valley.

  From the sound, Simon judged that there was one rider. He relaxed a little. A war party would consist of a lot more, and renegade whites tended to travel in packs.

  Still, as his mentor and good friend, Nate King, had taught him, it never paid to take anything for granted. Simon placed his thumb on the Hawken’s trigger and listened as the rider slowed from a trot to a walk and soon came to a halt right outside.

  Both horse and man were big. Uncommonly so. An arm rose in salutation and a deep voice rumbled, ‘Hello, the cabin! I come in peace!’

  Simon hurriedly removed the bar from the door and flung it open. ‘Nate!’ he happily declared as he stepped out into the cool evening air. ‘This is unexpected. What brings you here?’

  The mountain man dismounted. Up close, he was even bigger. He wore buckskins and moccasins, not homespun, like Simon. A walking armory, in addition to a rifle, he was armed with a brace of pistols, a tomahawk, and a bowie knife. His raven hair and beard were neatly trimmed. Piercing green eyes settled on Simon in warm regard, and a grin lit his rugged features. ‘It is good to see you again, hoss. How is the family?’

  ‘Why don’t you come in and see for yourself?’ Simon responded, clapping King on the shoulder. ‘We were just sitting down to eat and would be honored if you would join us.’

  ‘Only if you have enough to spare,’ Nate said. ‘I won’t put that pretty wife of yours to extra bother.’

  Felicity chose that moment to step to the doorway, young Peter in her arms. ‘It’s no bother to feed you,’ she said with a smile. She wore a plain dress almost the same color as her sandy hair. ‘But as it happens, I made plenty. This husband of mine has turned into a bottomless pit. Give him a few years and he’ll have a belly.’

  Nate chuckled and ambled indoors. He had to stoop to clear the lintel. ‘You know, just because you two are short doesn’t mean you should have a doorway fit for midgets.’

  Simon laughed. He was by no means short. At five feet, ten inches, he was of average height, Felicity a few inches shorter. But Nate was close to seven feet tall, as big a man as Simon ever met. ‘What about your bay? Can I put it in the corral for you?’

  ‘I won’t be staying the night, I am afraid.’

  Simon hid his disappointment. He and his wife owed their lives to Nate, and Simon regarded him as he would a brother. ‘We’ve missed you and your family since you moved. You rode all the way here and can only stay a few minutes?’

  ‘An hour or so,’ Nate said.

  ‘How is that lovely wife of yours doing?’ Felicity asked while lighting the lamp. ‘And everyone else?’

  ‘Everyone is fine,’ Nate said. He pulled out a chair and sat. ‘Winona asked me to relay her regards. Zach and Lou are getting along well.’ He was referring to his son and daughter-in-law.

  ‘Is Louisa with child yet?’ Felicity asked.

  ‘No,’ Nate answered. ‘But the way they’re making cow eyes at each other, I wouldn’t be surprised if it happens any month now.’

  Simon grinned as he took his usual seat at the head of the table. ‘That is young love for you. Our passion rules our heads.’

  ‘Is that so?’ Felicity asked, blushing.

  Nate King folded his big arms over edge of the table. ‘As for my daughter, Evelyn is being courted.’

  ‘No!’ Felicity exclaimed in delight. ‘By whom? Anyone we know?’

  ‘I doubt it,’ Nate said.

  Simon had few dealings with the tribes in the region. Once he had visited Winona King’s people, the Shoshones, and been pleasantly delighted by their kindness and courtesy. Each fall a small party of Utes came to his valley for a share of the crops he harvested. It was a special arrangement Nate had worked out. In exchange for part of the farm’s bounty, the Utes agreed to let Simon and Felicity live there unmolested.

  ‘Is another marriage in the offing?’ Felicity asked,

  ‘Not if Evelyn can help it,’ Nate said. ‘She thinks she is too young, and Winona and I agree. She’s doing what she can to discourage her suitors, but they are persistent.’

  ‘I wish your family had come with you,’ Felicity said. ‘I miss them so.’

  ‘We’ve missed you too, but the new valley is beautiful,’ Nate said. ‘I’ve had my fill of cities and towns. Civilization is a cage. Its laws, its rules, pen people in. They have no control. I came to the frontier partly to get away from all that.’ Nate paused. ‘But don’t get me started or I will go on forever.’

  ‘How far is it from here?’ Peter asked.

  ‘About a ten-day ride,’ Nate revealed. ‘Less if you push. We wanted to live like we did in the old days, when I first came here. We wanted our privacy back.’

  ‘I don’t blame you there,’ Simon commented, which was not entirely true. Unlike Nate, he did not mind people. He had not come West to get away from them. He came for the land, which was there for the taking. He would not mind at all if more homesteaders came. He would not mind if farms sprang up the length and breadth of the land, and if the towns and cities Nate so disliked sprouted along with the crops.

  ‘Nor do I,’ Felicity said. ‘It is terrible, the things your family has been through the past couple of years. Those awful men who tried to kill you, and then to have Evelyn kidnapped by that evil Borke woman.’

  ‘That wasn’t all,’ Nate said bitterly. ‘Our old valley had become a stopping point for half the folks heading West, and I was tired of it.’ He gestured at the window. ‘It wasn’t like here, where you have all the peace and quiet a man could want.’

  ‘We’re not close to the Oregon Trail, like you were,’ Simon said. Bent’s Fort was only a day and a half ride to the east, but few of the people who stopped there were aware his valley existed.

  ‘You chose well,’ Nate complimented him. ‘You are far enough south that the Blackfeet don’t bother you, and far enough north that you do not need to worry about the Comanches.’

  The Blackfeet, as Simon had learned, were the lords of the northern plains. Now and again Blackfoot war parties penetrated into the mountains, into Shoshone and Crow territory, and occasionally, albeit rarely, into the vast domain of the Utes. Their counterparts to the south, the Comanches, were the masters of the southern plains and much of Texas. Other tribes were warlike, and feared, but it was safe to say none were as feared as those two.

  Felicity stopped Peter from picking up a knife. ‘What is this new valley of yours like?’

  ‘It’s so remote, no white man has ever set foot in it.’ Nate said. ‘Indians shun it because they say it is bad medicine. But you never saw the like! There’s more wildlife than you can shake a stick at and plenty of water thanks to a lake fed by a glacier. We will have it all to ourselves, us and the McNairs. It is as close to heaven on earth as this earth ever comes. I love it there.’

  ‘We’re happy for you,’ Simon said. But he was not happy for himself and his wife. He was not happy at all. It had been nice having the Kings close. In a crisis, they had always been there to help.

  As if Nate King could read Simon’s thoughts, he said, ‘We’ll still come on the run if ever you need us. Just because we are a little farther away does not mean we stop being friends.’

  ‘That is good to know,’ Simon said. He did not consider a ten-day ride a ‘little’ farther.

  The rest of the meal was devoted to small talk. Afterward, Nate took his leave. He gave Felicity a hug, shook Simon’s hand, and climbed on his bay. ‘Be safe, you two.’

  His arm around his wife, Simon stood and watched the mountain man vanish into the night. A deep unease gripped him. ‘I do miss them. We’ve been very lucky so far.’

  ‘We can manage,’ Felicity said. ‘We have so far, haven’t we?’

  ‘Yes, we have,’ Simon agreed. He told himself that things would be fine, that he was fretting for no reason.

  Not a mon
th later the serpent arrived.

  Two

  Felicity Ward was hanging clothes out to dry. It was wash day. She had spent most of the morning at the stream dipping and wringing. She had a large wooden tub but washing the clothes in the stream was easier, and besides, she liked washing outdoors when the weather permitted.

  Peter was always with her. He was never out of her sight unless he was with Simon. On this particular morning her husband was off breaking new ground down the valley, backbreaking labor even with the use of a horse-drawn plow.

  Felicity was on her knees on a large flat rock, bending to dip one of her bonnets into the cold water, when Peter ran up to her and tugged on her sleeve, squealing in his high-pitched voice, ‘Men come, Mommy! Men come!’

  Instantly, Felicity dropped the bonnet and stood. Strangers were not always friendly, as she and Simon had discovered the hard way. She never went anywhere without her .55-caliber smoothbore pistol, wedged under a belt at her waist, and now she put her hand on it as she turned in the direction her gleeful offspring was pointing.

  ‘Oh, my,’ Felicity said.

  A regular caravan was winding into the east end of their valley, riders and wagons in a long procession that made Felicity think a wagon train had strayed from the Oregon Trail.

  Scooping up Peter, Felicity hurried to their cabin. Her rifle was propped within quick reach. Cradling it, she moved over near the chicken coop to better study the newcomers. ‘Stay behind me,’ she said to Peter.

  ‘How come?’ the boy wanted to know. ‘Are they bad people?’

  Felicity had sat him down one day and did her best to explain to him that the world was filled with basically two kinds of people, the good and the bad. The good were those like the Kings, who never harmed a soul unless they were set upon. The bad were those who hurt out of hate or anger or simply because they liked to inflict pain and suffering, and might want to hurt him. ‘I don’t know yet.’