Wilderness Double Edition #8 Page 2

  “Sorry,” Elden responded meekly.

  Nate saw no reason to stay and increase the odds of being discovered. He backed away from the log until he was hidden in the trees; then he rose into a crouch, donned his hat, and retraced his steps to the stallion. He was greatly impressed by the woman’s courage and self-control and how quickly she reacted to a crisis. The man, on the other hand, gave every evidence of being one of those pampered, prissy Easterners who couldn’t survive unaided in the wild if their lives depended on it, which often was the case once they foolishly ventured west of the Mississippi River.

  Reaching his horse, Nate climbed up and moved into the sanctuary of the forest. Some of the Bloods might leave the camp to hunt more game and he didn’t want them stumbling on him before the time came to free Selena and Elden. He found a secluded small clearing hemmed in by trees, and there he kicked enough snow aside to allow the stallion to get at the brown grass underneath. While the animal grazed, Nate sat under the spreading limbs of a high pine and made his plans.

  The best time to try and snatch the captives, Nate reasoned, would be about midnight. All the Bloods would be asleep by then except for the brave chosen to keep watch. Provided the escape went undetected, he’d head south immediately and take the two whites to his cabin. Fort Laramie would be the next stop. There they could arrange for an escort to the States.

  Pulling his buffalo robe tighter around him, Nate leaned back against the tree trunk and closed his eyes.

  A short rest was in order so he’d be fresh and alert later. But he couldn’t sleep, no matter how hard he tried. The thought of tangling with the Bloods had him on edge.

  After a while Nate rose and moved into the open. Vivid streaks of red, pink, and orange had transformed the western sky into a striking quilt work of marvelous colors, courtesy of the sun which hung suspended above the horizon. He went to the stallion, opened a parfleche, and took out some pemmican. Of all Indian food, this was one of Nate’s favorites. It was made by pulverizing strips of buffalo jerky and mixing the powdered meat with fat and dried, ground berries. Not only was pemmican tasty, but it kept for months. Winona had insisted he take most of their meager supply when he went off hunting, but he had refused to leave them with hardly any food at all and taken just enough to tide him over in an emergency.

  Nate savored every bite as he made a circuit of the clearing, stamping his feet now and then to warm his legs. The temperature was already starting to drop. Once the sun was gone, it would plummet to near zero, which would work in his favor. The Bloods would be bundled under their blankets and robes and consequently less likely to detect him.

  Thoughts of little Evelyn filled Nate’s mind. She was still nursing, but in time he’d have another mouth to feed, and the prospect was daunting. In the summer months, when game was plentiful, and berries, persimmons and other fruits, and edible roots and stalks were abundant, feeding his family was no problem. But in the winter, with game scarce and the plant life dormant, he was often hard pressed to keep the bellies of his loved ones full.

  Nor did Nate suffer this hardship alone. All Indian tribes, whether they dwelled on the plains or up in the mountains, knew lean times during the cold months. The grim specter of possible starvation hung constantly over their heads from December to March, from the Long Night Moon to the Awaking Moon. March, in fact, was known to all tribes as the Hunger Moon.

  Presently, sparkling stars blossomed in the inky sky. Nate checked all of his guns, insuring they were loaded. Then, taking the stallion’s reins, he led the animal westward and spent the next hour and a half working his way in a wide loop around the Blood encampment. It took so long because he had to skirt the hill flanking them to the west, and once in the trees north of their position, he had to exercise extreme caution. Leaving the stallion secured to a limb, he continued on. The wind was blowing from the northwest to the southeast, causing him to worry the Blood mounts would get a whiff of his scent and act up, but he was able to reach a thicket within twenty yards of the tethered animals without mishap.

  There Nate made himself as comfortable as he could, his chin resting on his forearms, and bided his time until midnight. The Bloods were all talking and joking, in fine spirits, no doubt anticipating the warm reception they’d receive when they returned to their village with two white prisoners. They generally ignored Elden and Selena, who in turn lay quietly, although Elden time and again glanced at the surrounding forest in hopeful anticipation. Nate was glad none of the Bloods noticed, or they might have become suspicious.

  In due course the Bloods turned in. First a few, then more and more, until a single stocky brave armed with a bow was the sole man awake. He sat close to the fire, a robe over his shoulders, his back to the captives. Every so often he’d feed a small branch to the flames or glance over his shoulder to check on Selena and Elden.

  Nate rose and silently retraced his steps to where he had tied the stallion. Shrugging out of his robe, he rolled it up and secured it on the horse. His mittens went into a parfleche. Then, the Hawken in his left hand, he made for the log behind which he had hidden earlier in the day. As he slid into place behind it, he heard the man and woman whispering.

  “—tell you our mysterious benefactor isn’t going to show,” Elden was saying bitterly. “The man must have been a coward at heart. He’s abandoned us to a horrible fate.”

  “A coward wouldn’t have taken the risk he did by coming in so close to these Indians,” Selena stated.

  “Then where is he? Why hasn’t he freed us yet? He told us he’d be back after dark, remember?”

  “Be patient.”

  “How can I twiddle my thumbs when my life hangs in the balance? I don’t want to die!”

  Nate wanted to punch Elden in the mouth to shut the whiner up before the guard heard them. Bloods weren’t fools. The brave would wonder why they were jabbering and walk over to investigate. Nate had to work fast.

  Letting go of the Hawken, he drew his butcher knife and crawled around the end of the log. The flickering edge of the firelight played over the man and woman, showing the fear on Elden’s face and the grim resolve on Selena’s. Nate was still in deep shadow, virtually invisible. Advancing slowly, he wormed his body through the deep snow. The next instant Elden saw him and uttered a loud gasp.

  Over by the fire, the warrior suddenly stood and turned. Brow furrowed, he hefted his bow and strode directly toward the captives.

  And Nate.

  Chapter Two

  Discovery was imminent. All the warrior had to do was take a few more steps and he’d detect the outline of the mountain man’s body. Nate King tensed and began to twist around, intending to dart behind the log, knowing he’d probably be spotted right away. Just as he moved, though, the woman named Selena hurled her bound body to the right, away from him, and rolled over and over across the carpet of snow. Nate kept going, his eyes on the brave.

  The Blood gave a grunt and ran to intercept her.

  In a twinkling Nate was safely under cover. He put his eye to the corner of the log in time to see the warrior catch Selena and seize her by the front of her coat. She tried to bite his wrist and received a slap across the face for her trouble. Then, scowling fiercely, the stocky Blood dragged her back to Elden’s side and roughly shoved her down. The warrior snapped a few words and motioned sharply, clearly ordering her to stay put or suffer severe consequences.

  Elden was a statue, immobile with fear. He came to life only when the Blood stalked off. Licking his lips, he glanced at Selena and whispered, “Damn you and your recklessness! You could have gotten us both killed.”

  “Be quiet, you fool.”

  A few of the Bloods had stirred and sat up during the commotion. Nate was relieved to see them lying back down. All, that is, except a tall brave who conversed briefly with the guard, the two of them staring at the captives the whole time. Nate was afraid they’d move the man and woman closer to the fire. But after a minute the tall one reclined on his side and the guard took up h
is previous position.

  Nate dared not do anything until he felt certain the warriors who had been awakened were again in deepest sleep. He knew they’d be restless for a spell, likely to snap awake at the least little noise. All thanks to Elden.

  Not three minutes had gone by when that particular gentleman whispered harshly, “Mister, are you still there? What in the hell are you waiting for? Get us out of here.”

  Nate heard Selena speak so softly he couldn’t distinguish her words, and after that there wasn’t a sound out of Elden. The wind intensified, rustling and shaking the nearby trees. Nate noticed some of the stars being blotted out by low clouds, possible harbingers of an approaching storm. This brought a scowl to his face. The last thing he wanted was to be stranded in a blizzard with the two greenhorns.

  The camp had long been tranquil and the guard was slumped over as if dozing when Nate crawled into the open for the second time. Holding the knife in front of him, he inched to the captives, both of whom were wide-awake and observing his every movement with bated breaths. Elden was the closest, but Nate went right past him and over to Selena. Putting a finger to his lips to enjoin silence, he applied the finely honed blade to the cord binding her.

  “Hurry, stranger!” Elden squeaked. “For God’s sake, hurry!”

  Nate’s knife flicked out and the point touched the dandy’s throat. “Another word out of you and I’ll leave you here,” he growled. “I’m not about to get myself killed on your account.”

  Elden gulped.

  “You’ll have to excuse him, sir,” Selena said demurely. “He’s never been this afraid before.”

  Lowering the knife, Nate concentrated on her bounds to the exclusion of all else, slicing carefully in order to avoid accidentally cutting her skin. In short order the cord was lying in a loose pile. He took her hand and crawled at her side to the safety of the log, then went back for Elden.

  The man’s eyes were as wide as walnuts. His face glistened with perspiration despite the frigid air, and his breaths rasped from his quaking chest as Nate sawed back and forth. When the cord finally parted, Elden would have scrambled for the log had Nate not grabbed his shoulder and held him in place. Nate gestured for the man to go slow, and after Elden nodded his understanding, Nate preceded him.

  Now speed was essential. Nate had to get the pair out of there before the guard noticed they were gone. Reclaiming the Hawken, Nate rose until he was doubled over, then beckoned for them to follow him and entered the forest. Once screened by the snow-laden trees and bushes, he went faster, but not as fast as he would have liked. Elden and Selena slowed him down. Both had been trussed up for hours on end and their circulation was greatly impaired. They walked awkwardly at first, and would have fallen several times had he not rendered assistance.

  Nate chafed at the delay. At any moment he expected to hear a shrill whoop of alarm. Amazingly, they reached the stallion in one piece and he faced the pair. “I want the two of you to stay put while I fetch you some horses.”

  “You have others hidden close by?” Elden asked.

  “No.”

  “But where ...?” Elden said, and stopped short when insight dawned. “Lord, no! You’re going to try and steal mounts from the Indians!”

  “I don’t have much choice. Horses don’t have the knack of growing on trees yet,” Nate declared as he headed off.

  “It’s too dangerous!” Elden protested. “If you’re caught, what happens to us? We wouldn’t last a day without your help.”

  “I’ll be back.”

  “No!” Elden said. “Our welfare must be your first concern. I won’t permit it.”

  Nate paused. “I’m not one for giving advice unless it’s asked for, but in your case I’ll make an exception. The lady told you a while ago to keep your mouth shut. I’d do that, if I was you, unless you think you can find your way out of these mountains alone.” Without waiting for a response, Nate hastened through the murky woods to where he could see the row of horses. Most were like the Bloods, asleep. A few were chewing on grass and strips of sweet cottonwood bark the warriors had gathered and piled high before night fell.

  Like a stalking panther Nate glided from cover to cover until he was within a couple of yards of the animals.

  He saw several of them prick up their ears and sniff the air, and knew they were aware that he was there. None of them, however, nickered, or otherwise displayed any agitation that might rouse the Bloods.

  Nate stepped into the open. He would have to take the two mounts at the end of the line and hope they wouldn’t resist. As he neared the first one, a sorrel, the horse swung its head around and regarded him intently. “There, there,” he whispered, relying on the soothing tone of his voice to alleviate any fears the animal had. “I won’t hurt you. Honest.” He leaned the Hawken against his leg and placed a palm on the sorrel’s neck. Its skin rippled but it made no sound. Smiling, he stroked it with one hand while untying the rope rein with the other. He glanced at the camp.

  Across the way, the Blood on guard unexpectedly stood and stretched. He moved a few feet, then leaned down to pick up several branches. As he did, his gaze strayed to the spot where the captives had been lying.

  “Damn,” Nate said.

  The Blood straightened and vented a piercing shriek that brought every last warrior off the ground ready for battle. They commenced shouting back and forth and looking every which way.

  Nate took a calculated gamble. Drawing his left flintlock, he cocked the piece, held it aloft, and fired into the air while simultaneously screeching like a tormented banshee. The string of stallions, prone to be skittish under the best of circumstances, whinnied and tore at their ropes. Fully half broke loose and were galvanized into flight, fleeing back across the open space toward the startled Bloods. Nate lunged at the second horse in line, but the animal jerked backwards, tearing its rope loose, and joined the panicked flight of the others.

  Firming his hold on the sorrel, Nate dashed into the trees. A look back showed the Bloods were in turmoil, either striving to stop their fleeing mounts or diving out of the way of flying hoofs. He plunged into the forest, angling for the spot where the two pilgrims were waiting. To his rear rose bedlam, the frenzied shouts of the warriors mingled with the strident whinnies of the horses.

  Nate knew it was only a matter of time before the Bloods reorganized and came after him. They’d readily find his trail in the snow, so he must put as much distance behind him as swiftly as he could. He wended among the trees, hauling the sorrel in his wake, and came to where he had left the man and woman. Only they weren’t there. Nor was his own stallion. He glanced at the ground, thinking perhaps he was mistaken and it wasn’t the right place, but there, visible even in the gloomy woods, was the trampled, torn-up snow. Shock shot through him as he realized they had stolen his horse and fled.

  The shock, though, lasted but a few seconds, and was replaced by simmering anger. Nate swung onto the sorrel and leaned down to study the tracks. The trail bore to the northwest, which was added proof the pair had no wilderness savvy whatsoever since they were heading toward Blood country rather than away from it. Prodding the sorrel in the flanks with his heels, Nate headed in pursuit. They couldn’t be far ahead of him, he reasoned, so he should be able to overtake them quickly.

  Riding on a moonless night was a hazardous proposition, as Nate well knew. Holes and ruts were difficult to discern, and obstacles such as low logs and boulders, blending as they did into the inky shadows, were harder to avoid. He rode with every sense primed, the Hawken across his thighs.

  The course the pair had taken took Nate around a hill, through a gap, and along a winding valley. There the wind lashed him mercilessly, stinging his exposed cheeks with freezing blasts. Since his robe was tied to the stallion, his sole protection against the merciless elements was his buckskin shirt and pants. Ordinarily they kept him quite warm, but now, with the temperature continuing to steadily plummet, he was feeling the numbing effect of the cold, a condition that pr
omised to worsen unless he donned more clothes or made a fire. But Nate wasn’t about to stop to do the latter, not when he had two treacherous greenhorns to catch and a pack of bloodthirsty Bloods soon to be after his scalp.

  All of a sudden there was a commotion ahead of him. Nate reined up and raised the Hawken as a large form crashed through underbrush to his left. He had his thumb on the icy hammer and was cocking it when the form emerged and he recognized the outline of a horse. Not just any horse either. It was his stallion.

  Nate saw the stallion start to swing around him. Apparently it hadn’t caught his scent and didn’t know if he was friendly or not. So, counting on the sound of his voice to reassure it, he said, “Where do you think you’re going in such an all-fired hurry?”

  The stallion promptly stopped, bobbed its head a few times, and advanced warily until Nate touched its muzzle. “Yes, it’s me,” he said. “Don’t you know better than to go traipsing off with strangers?”

  Nate petted his horse a few times, then transferred from the sorrel to the stallion by simply sliding from one to the other. His robe had not been touched, and he lost no time in slipping it on. Then, clutching the sorrel’s reins, he turned and entered the underbrush, backtracking the stallion.

  Not a minute later Nate heard voices. Slowing, he pinpointed the location, and rode toward a hill on his left. Partway up the slope indistinct figures materialized, shuffling through the deep snow toward him. He stayed where he was, concealed by the night, and heard an angry exchange.

  “—never should have ridden off the way we did,” Selena was chiding her companion.

  “You heard the shot and all that wild yelling,” Elden replied. “Whoever that man was, he’s dead. We had to save ourselves or we would have suffered the same fate.”

  “We still may, now that the horse has run off,” Selena said. “I told you this slope was too steep and slippery, but you wouldn’t listen. As usual.”