Wilderness Double Edition #8 Read online

  Selena moved closer and smiled at the baby. “What amazes me most about you is how well you’ve learned English. I know I’ve mentioned it once before, but you speak it perfectly.”

  “Nate and Shakespeare say I have a natural gift.”

  “Shakespeare?”

  “McNair. Nate’s closest friend, a man who has lived in these mountains longer than any other white. He lives north of us a ways. Any day now he might stop by for a visit and you can meet him in person.”

  “Oh?” Selena said, her jaw muscles twitching at the distressing news. “Are you expecting him?”

  “No. He just swings on by whenever he wants. If we are lucky, he’ll bring his wife along. Blue Water Woman is a wonderful person.”

  “I hope he does,” Selena lied. She could just see the couple showing up after she and Elden had killed the Kings but before they were able to dispose of the bodies! Then there would be two more to kill, and that much more work to do lugging the corpses away.

  A few minutes later Zach woke up and went out to gather wood for the fire.

  The wolf, Selena noticed, had not budged. She looked at it several times, and each time it was looking right back at her. As an experiment, she moved to the fireplace. The wolf’s eyes never left her. Acting on the assumption she might be able to make friends with it, she started to walk over. A chilling, barely audible growl halted her in the middle of a stride.

  “Was that Blaze?” Winona asked, turning.

  “Sure was,” Selena said. “I was about to pet him, but I guess he doesn’t like me.”

  “We can’t have that,” Winona said. Opening the door, she gestured and yelled, “Out you go, Blaze! Come on!”

  The wolf twitched an ear, nothing more.

  “You heard me,” Winona persisted. She slapped a thigh and pointed at the snow. “If you cannot be nice to our guests, you are not allowed to stay. Now go!”

  A ripple of fear made Selena’s pulse race when the wolf suddenly stood and took a step toward her. She thought it was about to spring. A yell from Winona elicited another low growl. But head low, Blaze padded across the floor and into the sunlight of a new day.

  “I am very sorry,” Winona said as she closed the door. “I have no idea what caused him to behave the way he did. Wolves can be so unpredictable.”

  “Do you think it’s safe to keep around?” Selena asked.

  “Blaze would never hurt any of us. However, if you would feel safer, I’ll keep him outside until Nate takes you down to Fort Laramie. We want you to feel comfortable during your stay here.”

  “Oh, I do. I like this cabin so much I wouldn’t mind owning it myself.”

  “Nate’s uncle built this,” Winona said, giving the wall a pat. “He would never part with it.”

  Taking a seat at the table, Selena pondered her next move while waiting for her breakfast. Events had worked out in her favor; temporarily she was alone with the squaw and the child. All she had to do was get her hands on a weapon. Since Winona was at the counter, she’d need to use something other than a knife. But what? she asked herself.

  Selena saw a pair of rifles leaning against the wall near the door. Either would suffice, but she didn’t know if they were loaded. And using a gun would make a lot of noise, maybe alerting the boy. Prudence dictated she do the job quietly. As her gaze roved along the walls, she spied an Indian lance in the same corner as the bed.

  Standing without making any noise, Selena moved slowly. Winona was facing the counter, engrossed in preparing coffee. All Selena had to do was scoop up the lance and bury it in the Shoshone’s back before Winona turned around. She tiptoed to within a yard of the weapon.

  Selena reached for the lance. Her fingertips brushed the smooth shaft, and she was on the verge of grasping the weapon when she heard the door open and a gust of air fanned her hair. Spinning, she forced a carefree grin and held her hands at her waist in an attitude of perfect innocence as Zach King strode in bearing an armful of chopped wood, which he carried to the fireplace and set down.

  “Want me to fetch more, Ma?”

  “That should be enough for a while,” Winona told him.

  The boy closed the door, then fed some of the logs to the fire and squatted with his hands extended to warm them. “It’s cold out there, but not quite as bad as yesterday,” he commented.

  Concealing the bitter disappointment she felt, Selena moved to the table and took a seat. Now she must wait until Winona and the breed were separated again. The boy was young, but he must be viewed as potentially dangerous; he always had his rifle with him, and in addition had a big knife and a tomahawk wedged under his belt. She entertained no doubts that he knew how to use all three weapons proficiently. Frontier brats, she had discovered, learned at an early age the skills they needed to survive in the wild.

  The meager fare Winona was able to offer for breakfast did little to elevate Selena’s spirits. She munched half-heartedly on the pemmican, sipped the weak coffee, and daydreamed of the many breakfasts she had enjoyed in New York; thick, juicy strips of bacon, a plate heaped with eggs, hot toast or muffins, and all the hot chocolate she could drink had been her ideal way to start a new day.

  After the meal Winona busied herself at the counter for a short while. Selena cradled the baby in her arms and pretended she liked infants by talking gibberish and tickling Evelyn under the chin. She speculated on how her brother was faring, and hoped Elden would find a means of dispatching Nate King. The more she thought about the idea of using the cabin as a hideaway until springtime, the more she liked it. Their only problem would be finding enough food until the weather warmed. They’d simply have to shoot anything and everything they saw moving.

  “Ready to go check those snares?” Winona inquired.

  Selena brightened. Here was the answer to her problem, and she hadn’t even realized it! If she could learn how to set snares, then she could provide a steady supply of meat. Elden and she would have no difficulty hanging on. “Yes,” she answered cheerfully. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  Winona donned a buffalo robe, belted a knife around her waist, and selected a rifle from those near the door. “We will be back as soon as we can,” she informed her son. “Please watch your sister carefully. She’s sleeping now, and she should nap for a long time if you are quiet.”

  Zach glanced up. “What if she wakes up, though, and wants to be fed? She can kick up a fuss when she’s of a mind.”

  “Try rocking her in your arms. If that does not work, go outside and yell for us. I won’t be far off.”

  Selena’s interest perked up. “The snares are close to the cabin?” she asked.

  “Most of them are,” Winona said.

  Important news, Selena reflected. She must make certain she disposed of the Shoshone quietly. And she must remember to keep an eye out for Nate King. Bundling into her coat, she trailed Winona to the doorway. “I don’t mean to bother you,” she said tentatively.

  “What is it?” Winona inquired, her hand on the latch.

  “After all that’s happened to me, I’m a bit frightened about going back out into the woods,” Selena said with a convincing tremor. “Do you suppose I could impose on your kindness and ask for a weapon?”

  “Of course,” Winona said, and went to grab another flintlock.

  “I’m not a very good shot,” Selena said quickly. “I’d probably be better off with a knife or one of those tomohawkens or whatever they’re called, if you must know the truth.”

  “Oh.” Winona glanced around, then walked to a drawer, opened it, and sorted through a number of tools and other items. “We do not have any tomahawks to spare, but there is a ...” She grinned and pulled out a knife in a beaded scabbard. “This belonged to my mother. I keep it stored away because I don’t want to lose or damage it, but for you I will make an exception.”

  “Why, that’s very gracious of you,” Selena said, taking the knife.

  “For a friend I can do no less.”

  The knife went into
Selena’s right pocket as she walked from the cabin. Just as Winona closed the door behind them, a shot cracked in the distance, to the east, from near the vicinity of the lake.

  “Perhaps Nate or Elden has found us meat,” Winona said hopefully.

  “I hope for my brother’s sake that he has made himself useful by shooting something Selena mentioned, adding, “If he got what he went after, he’ll be so proud of himself.”

  The sun was suspended above the eastern mountains, and the air, as Zach had indicated, was frigid but not bitterly so. Glistening and sparkling in the bright sunlight, the snow lent the deep forest a chaste, untrammeled aspect. The Rockies themselves radiated a sublime beauty befitting their majesty.

  Selena Leonard never noticed. All she cared about was killing Winona King. She fingered the hilt of the knife in her pocket, biding her time until an opportunity should use. And as she fondled it, she talked up a storm, king every question she could think of related to the technique of setting snares so she would know enough keep Elden and her alive once the Kings were dead. Winona was pleased to find her guest so interested id went on at length, explaining how to find the narrow pathways in the undergrowth that served as connecting links between watering areas, bedding spots, and feeding grounds for a variety of animals. She elaborated on how the width and depth of the runs showed the type of animals using them.

  Selena was an attentive learner. As the two of them checked from snare to snare, she acquired an understanding of the different kinds, and how to judge the sort to be employed from the type of animal traveling the run and the lay of the terrain itself. Peg snares, rock snares, hook snares, she became familiar with them all, and more. So engrossed did she become, in fact, that she was shocked when Winona made the following remark:

  “Well, we only have two more snares to check, and they are both up this gorge. Then we can head home.” Halting in surprise, Selena watched the Indian woman advance into a wide gap between towering rock walls, she looked to the right and the left, insuring Nate King as nowhere in sight. Then, drawing the knife that had belonged to Winona’s mother, she hurried forward to deal the fatal blow.

  Chapter Ten

  Earlier, at the very moment the two women had venture from the cabin, Elden Leonard had been following Nat along the south shore of the lake. He’d been profoundly miserable, on the verge of tears. Not only was his stomach empty and constantly growling to remind him of his hunger, but the cold had sapped his strength and energy to the point he felt unable to go another hundred yards. Several times in the span of a minute he glared at the broad back in front of him and fingered the trigger of his flintlock, yet each time he removed the finger an pressed on.

  Elden was scared to do the deed. He feared he might miss, or his shot would spare a vital organ, thereby giving King time to turn and shoot at him. And as much as Elden wanted Nate King dead, as much as Elden couldn’t wait to spit on the trapper’s lifeless face, most of all Elden wanted to go on living. He had mentally vowed not to commit himself until success was certain.

  The morning had consisted of alternate periods of hiding in the brush and hiking to different vantage points. Elden had soon grown tired of the boring routine. Twice he had suggested to King they were wasting their time, but the man had ignored him. And Elden sorely hated being ignored. His sister did it far too frequently; his parents had been little better. Being ignored made him feel useless, insignificant, as he had often felt as a child, a feeling he utterly despised.

  So Elden’s dislike of Nate King mounted. Once he’d almost mustered the courage to fire, when they were hidden in a thicket with King kneeling in front of him. It would have been the work of an instant to lift the flintlock, touch the end of the barrel to King’s head, and put a lead ball into the mountain man’s brain. But Elden had hesitated, afraid of the frontiersman’s cat-like reflexes. Seconds later, Nate had shifted position so they were side by side, ruining the chance.

  Now, as Elden tramped along in King’s wake through a tract of scattered spruce, he dejectedly hung his head and lamented the quirks of fate that had brought him to the horrible mountains. If the blackmail scheme had not gone sour, if Bascomb had not been such a jackass and followed him after dropping off the money, if Selena hadn’t had to kill the fool—there were so many things that had gone wrong there at the end, it was as if they had been jinxed. Or perhaps the odds had finally caught up with them, he conceded. Sooner or later someone had been bound to suspect that Selena was his sister.

  The blast of a rifle startled Elden so badly he nearly dropped his own gun. Looking up, he was flabbergasted to see a bleeding buck go leaping off into the brush.

  “Come on!” Nate yelled, and raced in pursuit.

  Momentarily forgetting about his plan to slay the trapper, Elden broke into a stumbling run. His heart beat with excitement at the likelihood of getting fresh meat. He was caught up in the thrill of the hunt, of seeing their hours of hard work rewarded, and he wanted to be there, to be in on the kill, so he could boast to his patronizing sister, so he could show her he was more capable than she believed. The brush snagged his clothes and limbs tried to gouge out his eyes. He slipped often on the treacherous snow and his lungs ached from the exertion. Yet somehow he kept Nate King in sight. When he saw Nate stop at the base of a steep slope, he jogged to the spot expecting to see the fallen buck. Instead, there were only tracks, leading upward.

  “Did it get away?” he asked anxiously.

  “Not yet,” Nate replied, gazing at the mountain above them. “But it has a lot more life left than I counted on.” He rested the stock of his Hawken on the ground, uncapped his powder horn, and went on in disgust. “That’s what happens when a shot is rushed. I took aim too fast.”

  “Can we catch it?”

  “We can try,” Nate said, pointing at red drops paralleling the tracks. “Are you up to a little climb?”

  Elden leaned back to survey the full sweep of the jagged peak. The lower slopes were covered with trees and boulders, as usual, while mounds of wind-tossed snow gave the upper slopes the appearance of white sand dunes. “I’m not about to quit when we’re so close,” he declared.

  “Good,” Nate stated. He clapped Leonard on the back, then reloaded the rifle.

  A grin of companionship lit up Elden’s features. He hefted his rifle, eager to continue. For a few seconds he felt genuine friendship for the big trapper, and he imagined them walking into the cabin together, happily dragging the dead buck behind them. The thought made him blink, for it reminded him of what he had to do, reminded him of who he was and why he must murder one more time. A fleeting twinge of guilt assailed him, no more than a pinprick of conscience, which he dismissed with a shrug and the thought that unless he eliminated the Kings, he might swing on the gallows.

  “Watch your step,” Nate cautioned, taking the lead once more. Rather than forge straight up the slick incline, he climbed at a slant, crisscrossing back and forth, knowing exactly where to place his moccasins to keep from falling.

  Elden was alert for the occasion he needed. Soon they were among thickly clustered trees and boulders, where no one could see them from below. They were far enough from the cabin that Elden was positive a shot wouldn’t be heard. His thumb was glued to the hammer, his body tensed for the act.

  The wounded buck had fled in a panic. Goaded by pain, it had made no attempt to conceal its trail as it wound haphazardly higher, passing a dozen adequate hiding places.

  “Won’t be long now,” Nate announced, crouched to examine the snow. “It’s tiring rapidly.”

  Elden absently nodded. He saw the trees part, and they stepped out onto a shelf heaped high with drifts. The deer had plowed on through, creating a path for them. His elbow brushed the side as he negotiated a sharp turn to the left. His attention on his footing, he failed to realize the frontiersman had stopped until his nose was almost touching King’s shoulder blade. “What’s wrong?”

  “Take a gander,” Nate said.

  Easing alongs
ide the trapper, Elden was amazed to see a sheer drop-off of fifty or sixty feet. At the bottom of the cliff lay the black-tailed buck, its head twisted at an unnatural angle, the bones in two of its shattered legs showing. “How will we get down there?” he asked.

  “I don’t think we can from here,” Nate replied. He inched to the very edge and leaned out to better study the cliff face and the flanking slopes. To the right of the shelf the mountain seemed less formidable than elsewhere. “But we might be able to over there,” he said, turning.

  And Elden hit him. Taking a short step, Elden swung the flintlock in a vicious arc with all the might in his pudgy shoulders. The barrel caught Nate flush on the temple, staggering him so badly he dropped the Hawken. Closing in, Elden swung again, and again. Blood spurted. Nate sagged, doubling over, his right hand clawing at a pistol.

  “No, you don’t!” Elden hissed, lowering the flintlock and ramming it into the trapper’s chest.

  Nate was hurled rearward. His legs shot over the rim. Arms swinging wildly, his face covered with crimson, he plummeted. Never once did he cry out.

  Elden couldn’t bear to witness the impact. Whirling, he shut his eyes and shuddered on hearing a dull thud. He waited for a yell, a wail, a moan, for anything that would tell him the mountain man had lived, but the only sound was the wind ruffling the snow. Stroking his courage, he dared peek over the edge and was bewildered on seeing no sign of King initially. Then he noticed a pair of feet jutting from a bank. He watched them for the longest while, the flintlock tucked to his shoulder, ready to fire if there was movement. But there was none.

  “Well,” Elden said at length. “That’s that.” Shouldering the rifle, he headed back down the mountain, whistling softly as he sauntered along. Selena would be pleased, he reflected. Now all they had to do was attend to the squaw, the boy, and the baby, and the cabin was theirs for as long as they needed it. He shouldn’t have been so upset earlier. The day had turned out just fine after all.