Wilderness Double Edition 13 Page 15

  Zach’s whole mouth and throat went suddenly dry. He swallowed a few times, but it did not help much. Giving up, he slowly leaned toward her. Fear gripped him. Fear that she would change her mind and slap him for taking liberties. Then their lips made contact, and all else was forgotten. There was just the pressure of his mouth on hers – the slightest of pressure to be sure. Yet it sent a bolt of lightning coursing through him clear down to the tips of his toes.

  Louisa was breathless. Her innards felt all warm and squishy. Her heart throbbed wildly. She could feel her skin prickle, as if from a thousand pins. Somewhere, birds were singing. She would have liked for the kiss to last forever, but at length Zach pulled back. “Oh, my,” she breathed. “That was nice.”

  “Nice” did not begin to describe what Zach had felt. He bent to kiss her again, and happened to gaze westward. On a jagged spine of rock riders had materialized, on a spine he and Louisa had crossed half an hour earlier. He shot to his feet and nodded at their determined enemies. “I was wrong. They show no sign of stopping.”

  The special moment had been spoiled. Louisa would gladly have sold her soul to the Devil if only the earth would open wide and swallow the Indians whole. “But the sun is almost gone. They’re going to chase us even after it goes down?”

  “So it appears.”

  “Our horses are tuckered out. They’re bound to catch us. What then?”

  Zach did not mince words. “We kill them, or we die.”

  Twelve

  The first packhorse died seven hours later. It snorted and buckled, spilling Louisa, who luckily was unhurt. Ridden to the limit of its endurance, the horse thrashed and nickered, its body lathered with sweat, its mouth rimmed with froth.

  Zach had been pushing relentlessly on, refusing to stop even when Louisa pleaded. In the dark he could not see the warriors, but he knew they were back there, knew they were still in vengeful pursuit, knew they would not rest until they had caught up. To save Louisa he would ride all three animals into the ground. But save her he would, or die in the attempt.

  As the packhorse spat blood, Zach drew his butcher knife, pressed the blade against its neck, and slashed once, deep. It would hasten the end, lessen its suffering. A shot would be swifter, but the warriors might hear. He guided Louisa by an elbow to the other pack animal, boosted her up, and forked the sorrel. All without saying a word.

  Louisa had an urge to cry. She felt so sorry for the poor horse. But now was not the time. Riding at night was hazardous enough without having tears in her eyes.

  To say she was bewildered by the change that had come over Zach would be an understatement. Granted, they were newly acquainted. She had just never imagined he could be so grim. So forceful.

  As they resumed their flight, Zach was grateful for the full moon. He avoided dense woodland wherever possible. Always, every single minute, he had the Hawken propped against his leg, his fingers on the hammer and the trigger.

  Nighttime was made for predators. For the great grizzlies, for roving panthers, for packs of wolves, and more. The mountains resounded to their roars, their snarls, their howls. Often the sounds came from close by. Mingled with them were the bleats and squeals and screeches of hapless prey.

  Zach had to always be on his guard. A meat-eater might rush out at them at any given moment. Once, a bear snorted not twenty yards away. Another time, a frightened fawn bounded across his path, appearing so abruptly that he had the Hawken extended and cocked before he recognized what it was.

  As if he did not have enough to occupy him, Zach could not stop thinking about Louisa. What was he going to do about her? Inviting her to stay with his folks for a while was all well and good, but what about later on? She could not stay with them indefinitely. What were his intentions?

  The answer scared him.

  Louisa was finding it hard to stay awake. Her eyelids constantly drooped. She would give her head a vigorous shake and sit straighter, but after a while even that failed to help. She yearned to curl up under a warm blanket and sleep until the cows came home, but it was not meant to be. Not yet. Not until they had eluded the war party.

  If they did. Louisa was not one of those people who forever fooled themselves into believing what was not true. She faced whatever life threw at her head-on. The warriors were out for blood, and if they were willing to ride all night long in order to satisfy their bloodlust, then nothing short of death would stop them.

  Hour after hour passed at a snail’s pace. It was with mixed feelings that Zach viewed the new dawn. Now the predators were less of a threat, but the warriors even more so, for daylight would permit them to ride faster.

  The sorrel and the packhorse were glassy-eyed, and the latter kept shaking its head as if it were being annoyed by flies. Only there were no flies. Just as the sun cleared the horizon, it stopped cold, nearly pitching Louisa over its shoulders. She worked the reins and slapped her legs against its heaving sides, but the horse was completely played out. It literally could not take another step.

  Zach reined up, dismounted, and walked back. “Get down,” he said, sliding out his butcher knife.

  This time Louisa could not hold back the tears. “Must you?” she said. “It might recover if we left it in peace.”

  “You know better.”

  One stroke and the deed was done. Zach wiped the blade clean on the horse, his gaze on the rugged country to the west. Perhaps a mile off floated a cloud much lower than any other in the sky. A cloud that should not have been there. A cloud of dust. How the warriors had managed to stay on their trail in the gloom of night, he would never know. He had heard of Indians who could do such a thing. Apaches, for example. But he could not, and it amazed him they could.

  Stepping into the stirrups, Zach offered his hand to Louisa. “I’m sorry about the horses,” he said for her benefit.

  “We’ll kill this one, too, riding double. He’s on his last legs as it is.”

  “Can’t be helped. I’d ride a hundred to death if it meant I could save you.”

  It was the most wonderful compliment anyone had ever given her. Louisa scrambled up, wrapped her arms around his waist, and kissed the side of his neck.

  “What was that for?”

  “For you being you.”

  Zach had no idea what that was supposed to mean. Who else would he be? He lashed the sorrel to bring it to a trot. A new range rose up before them, the terrain more unforgiving than any so far. Louisa pressed against him, laying her cheek on his shoulder, and for a while he forgot all about the war party and the sad shape the sorrel was in and everything else. The feel of her warm form was indescribably marvelous. It made him tingle ail over. Among other things.

  More hours were spent scaling switchbacks, crossing divides, winding along canyons. They came to a stream, and Zach forced the sorrel to wade in, then turned upstream and stuck to the middle until the sun was at its zenith. The ploy would delay the warriors, but not thwart them.

  Early afternoon. The sorrel plodded up a tree-dotted bench. Zach sagged in the saddle, weary to the bone. Louisa was asleep, her breath fanning his ear, making it hard for him to concentrate.

  At the top, Zach reined up. He did not have to search for their pursuers. Half a mile behind were stick figures. Coming steadily on. They never seemed to tire. They never seemed to need to eat. “They’re not human,” Zach said softly to himself, then gave his head a toss. Enough of that! It was the fatigue talking, not him. They most definitely were human. Flesh and blood, just like he was. As such, they could be stopped. They could be killed.

  On to an upland park, Zach goaded his doomed mount. Across it to a rocky saddle, and from there down a steep slope to a meadow so serene that Zach was strongly tempted to stop. Louisa slumbered on, and he did not wake her. She would need to be refreshed later on, when the final clash came.

  Zach had never given dying much thought. When it happened, it happened. Violence and death were part and parcel of his life, and had been since he was born. Trappers he knew had b
een killed by hostiles. Shoshone kin and friends had fallen in battle or been devoured by wild beasts. He had always taken it for granted he would die young, and now he was about to be proven right.

  No! Again Zach railed at himself. “Kings are not quitters!” How many times had his pa said that to him? He must not give up. He must resist tooth and nail, as a true Shoshone warrior would. For sweet Louisa. He placed a hand on her arm and gently squeezed. Why did she like him so much? What had he done to deserve her affection? “Many things in life are a mystery, but none more so than love,” his Uncle Shakespeare had once said.

  Late afternoon now. The sorrel’s head hung low, and it stumbled every so often. Zach’s chin was on his chest, his eyes half-closed. He willed himself to stay alert, but his body refused to obey. He thought of how short life was, and how precious. Like most, he had always taken it for granted. He vowed that if he lived, he would never do so again. He would live each day to the fullest.

  Twilight. The sorrel stopped and would not move, even after Zach whipped it with the reins. Realizing it was pointless, he looked up, and was riven by shock.

  For the past half an hour Zach had not been paying much attention to their surroundings. His oversight had cost them dearly, for they had blundered into a narrow, high-walled gorge. Sheer cliffs towered to the right and the left. He looked over his shoulder, and saw the gorge mouth a full quarter of a mile distant.

  Ahead, only a few hundred yards, was a bend. Beyond it, quite possibly, was another way out. He tried once more to spur the sorrel forward. Wonder of wonders, his mount stumbled on, and they moved slowly to the stone outcropping. Louisa stirred as they went around it. The hopeful gleam in Zach’s eyes faded, smothered by anger that lent life to his sluggish limbs.

  “How could I have been so careless!”

  The outburst roused Louisa. Blinking, she straightened and stared about her in confusion. “Where are we? Have we lost them?”

  “No. I’ve trapped us.”

  Louisa saw sheer rock ramparts on either side and a steep talus slope ahead. Talus, that slippery combination of loose earth and small stones. As slick as ice for man and animal alike. “Turn around and go back,” she said.

  Zach tried, but the sorrel refused. It had given its all, and could give no more. Disgusted more at himself than the horse, he swore and swiftly slid down. “We’re on foot from here on out. Let’s get out of this gorge while we still can.”

  His alarm was contagious. Louisa clasped his hand, and they ran back to the bend. She was behind him, so when he suddenly halted, she nearly knocked him down. “Sorry!” she exclaimed, recovering her balance. But Zach was not listening.

  Into the mouth of the gorge had filed six warriors. Shadows shrouded them as they spread out from cliff wall to cliff wall, the man in the center motioning as if he were in charge.

  “Why are there only six?” Louisa wondered. “Nine were left. What happened to the rest?”

  “They took the bodies of Tall Elk and those others we killed back to their village,” was Zach’s guess. Which was fine by him. The fewer there were, the better their chances. He ran back, pulling her with him. The warriors had not spotted them yet. They had the element of surprise in their favor.

  Louisa felt sorry for the sorrel. Its whole frame slumped, its head hung low. It was breathing as loud as a bellows, blood trickling from a nostril. She doubted it would live out the day.

  Zach was thinking the same thing. Going over, he quickly removed the saddle and the saddle blanket and placed them near the north wall. The talus slope was like a gigantic, pulverized ramp. Climbing to the top was possible, but it would take forever. Footing would be treacherous, doubly so after dark.

  “Come on,” Zach said, and started up. Immediately, loose gravel rattled out from under his moccasins. He tried to step only on sizeable stones or flat boulders, which were less likely to slide, but they were few and far between. Using the Hawken as a crutch, he covered ten yards. Twenty.

  Louisa had never tried to walk on talus before. She had heard stories, though, about mountaineers who had lost limbs and lives in the attempt. So she was extra wary, lowering each foot lightly, her calves bunched to firm her legs. Imitating Zach, she leaned on her rifle for added support.

  Zach was calculating how much time the warriors would need to reach the bend. They would be cautious, anticipating an ambush. So he figured seven to ten minutes. It had to be enough. More stones and dirt clattered down, some spilling against Louisa, who stood stock still until the talus stopped shifting. “Sorry,” he said.

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Louisa responded. Talus was like quicksand in some respects. It was as molten as mercury, as unpredictable as a rattler. She eased her left foot up, then her right. So long as she did not rush, so long as she waited a few seconds after setting each leg down, she would be fine.

  Or would she? Louisa felt the talus move again. She stayed still, but it did not help. Her feet slid downward as the stones under them flowed toward the bottom, picking up speed as they went.

  “Grab this!” Zach declared, thrusting the Hawken’s stock at her. She grabbed it and held on, the slope around her rippling like water in an ocean. And like the ocean, it grew calm after a bit.

  “Thanks.” Louisa pulled herself toward him, but her added weight on the rifle caused his own feet to begin to slide. She promptly let go. “It’s hopeless.”

  “So long as we are alive, there is always hope,” Zach said, quoting his mother. An enormous boulder forty feet higher up, and to the right, was his goal. “That’s where we’ll make our stand.”

  Louisa thought he must be insane. Pebbles and the like were constantly raining lower. She slipped five or six times, and it was only by the grace of the Almighty that she didn’t wind up where she had started with her body battered black and blue. “I hope you know what you’re doing.”

  “I always know,” Zach quipped. In this instance he was doing what he felt was best for her, not necessarily for him. Were he alone, he would take the fight to his enemies. But now his priority was her safety. Getting her to cover came before all else.

  The rap of a hoof warned Zach how close the warriors were. It was still ten feet to the boulder. Ten feet! Taking a desperate gamble, he said, “Give me your hand.”

  Louisa deduced what he was going to do. It was madness. A single misstep would reap disaster. “Maybe we should just take our time.”

  “Maybe you would rather look like a porcupine,” Zach rejoined. Entwining his fingers with hers, he grinned, then bounded toward the boulder, taking leaps an antelope would envy.

  Her heart in her throat, Louisa did the same. The talus gave way, spewing a torrent of earth and stones. She could not keep her balance for the life of her. Frantically holding onto Zach, tilting first one way and then another, she jumped for all she was worth, jumped again and again. On her third spring a gaping cleft opened, and she started to drop.

  Zach yanked, straining every muscle in his shoulder. She came out of the hole so fast, she bumped into him, almost spilling them both. He tottered, the boulder so close, yet not close enough. A cry from the gorge floor heralded the crack of a rifle. A slug missed them by inches and whined off a rock.

  Louisa glanced over her shoulder. The six were down there, still mounted. A burly man sent a shaft whizzing toward them. “Look out!” she yelled, throwing herself to the left and wrenching on Zach’s arm. The shaft buzzed by, so close she could have reached out and touched it.

  More and more talus cascaded out from under them. Zach feared they would be swept to the bottom, hurled at the very feet of their foes. Girding his legs, he shouted, “One more time!” Then he executed a last, long leap.

  Louisa was astonished they made it. She landed off balance, falling against Zach, who flung his arms against the huge boulder. Small stones underfoot oozed like grains of sand, but he and Louisa stayed upright, and within moments the shifting ceased.

  Louisa clung to Zach anyway, afraid that if she did not,
she would be swept away.

  Below them, someone yelped. Zach peered past the end of the boulder. Four of the warriors had started up the slope. One was on his belly, being carried back down by a torrent of talus. The others had realized their folly, and were retreating to solid ground. Releasing Louisa, he sighted down the Hawken at the warrior with a rifle. The man caught sight of him just as Zach fired, and sprang aside.

  In the confines of the gorge the blast echoed and reechoed. The ball cored the warrior’s torso, high on the shoulder instead of through the heart as Zach had intended. The man crumpled, but the wound was not mortal. Pushing unsteadily erect, he staggered toward the bend.

  Zach shoved his rifle at Louisa and took hers. The rest of the band had also decided that a frontal assault would only get them killed. On foot or on horseback, they raced for the shelter of the outcropping. The slowest was a bowman who was tugging on an arrow snagged in a quiver.

  Fixing the front bead on the center of the man’s back, Zach fired. He had no compunctions about shooting someone who was not facing him. In the heat of battle there were no rules. It was kill or be killed. “It’s either them or us,” his pa had once said. “So make damn sure it’s them.”

  The warrior’s chest exploded outward. Tottering, he slowly spun to the earth, his eyes wide in disbelief.

  Zach had seen such looks before. No one ever expected to die. They always thought it would be the other fella, not them. A faulty line of reasoning his pa had warned him against. Zach clutched at a pistol, but there was no one to shoot. The other warriors had made it past the bend. Hunkering to reload, Zach remarked, “We’re safe enough for the time being.”

  Louisa knew a lie when she heard one. They were only a third of the way up the slope. Reaching the top was beyond human ability. The only way out, then, was the same way they had come. It was the old proverb all over again, the one about being caught between a rock and a hard place. Only in their case, they were caught between the slippery talus and enraged warriors.