Wilderness Double Edition #7 Page 2

  “You mean to say you haven’t moved as far from her people as you can?”

  “We figure on stayin’ right where we’re at come hell or high water. Why?”

  “Oh, no reason,” Nate said, heading down the opposite side of the ridge. “I just thought it might be a little dangerous staying around here with the Utes after your hide and all. Why not move somewhere else, somewhere safer? Thirty miles to the north is about the limit of their territory. Go there and the Utes might never find you.”

  Cain appeared shocked by the suggestion. “I couldn’t do that to Smoky Woman. She was born in this area. She loves it here.”

  “Is staying worth your life?”

  “I’d sacrifice anything to make her happy,” Cain said. “I don’t suppose you can understand this, but my life without her would have no meanin’. So everything I do, I do for her.”

  Nate did understand the man’s tender sentiments, but he labeled the sacrifice Cain was making as extremely foolish. If Smoky Woman cared a lick for Cain, she’d agree to go off somewhere, go off anywhere, just so the two of them were out of harm’s way.

  “Do you have a wife, King?”

  “Yes,” Nate answered, and told Cain about Winona.

  “And I bet there isn’t a blamed thing under the sun you wouldn’t do for her,” Cain said. “True love always works that way.”

  Pondering those words, Nate rode at a canter across a grassy meadow, pausing momentarily once to check the ridge they had just traversed. Then he plunged into dense woods, and winced when the tip of a branch nicked his cheek. More vigilant now, he weaved among the countless trunks until they came to a series of rolling hills. The Utes had still not appeared, and he was becoming increasingly confident he’d given them the slip.

  A game trail frequently used by elk and black-tailed deer enabled him to pick up the pace. Once among the hills they stumbled on a spring, and Nate promptly reined up. He let Cain get down, then dismounted and held the reins while Pegasus greedily drank.

  “What matters most in life to you, King?” Cain unexpectedly inquired.

  “Call me Nate. And I’d have to say it’s my family.”

  “Are you doin’ a good job of providin’ for them?”

  “The best I can. We get by.”

  “Have you ever thought about doin’ more than just gettin’ by? Ever thought of being able to give them everything they could possibly want?”

  Nate was puzzled by the line of questioning. Sinking to one knee, he splashed a handful of cool water on his cheeks and neck, then said, “There isn’t a husband and father alive who doesn’t have such dreams. But we have to be realistic. The fur companies aren’t paying as much for prime beaver pelts as they once were. I’m happy if I can just put some money away for the future every now and then.”

  “You’d like to do better, though, wouldn’t you?”

  “Who wouldn’t?” Nate retorted. “What are you getting at?”

  “I was curious where you stood, is all.”

  Nothing else was said until after they had been riding again for over ten minutes. Cain tapped Nate on the shoulder and commented, “I owe you for pullin’ my fat out of the fire back there. If you hadn’t come along when you did, those devils would be torturin’ me right about now.”

  “I did what any man would do.”

  “Maybe so. But the fact is you did it for me. Makes me beholden to you and I always make good on my debts.” Cain placed his left hand on his hip and smugly surveyed the verdant hills. “One of these days I’m goin’ to be the richest son of a gun who ever lived and I’ll be able to pay you back with interest. Mark my words.”

  “Do you aim to do like Jed Smith did and bring in almost seven hundred pelts in a single year?”

  Cain snorted. “When I talk about gettin’ rich I’m not thinkin’ of beaver. The only ones who make a lot of money off the trappin’ trade are the owners of the fur companies. No, I have something else in mind.”

  Suddenly Nate detected movement in spruce trees off to the left perhaps forty yards. Tensing, he slowed and held the Hawken in both hands while probing among the lower boughs. A vague shape materialized, a large black shape that moments later lumbered into the open. It was a bear, but not the most dreaded of all Rocky Mountain animals, not a savage grizzly. This was a full-grown black bear making its daily rounds. One look at them was enough to compel it to flee, and Nate listened to the crashing of its heavy bulk through the underbrush until the sounds became faint and faded.

  Further on he saw a solitary brazen buck watching them from a nearby hilltop. Had the Utes not been on their trail he would have shot the buck for supper. As it was, his stomach growled and his mouth watered when he imagined biting into a thick slab of roast venison.

  “Another mile or so should do ’er,” Cain mentioned. “I guess I was wrong. You did give those Utes the shake.”

  “We were lucky,” Nate said.

  “No, you’re good,” Cain countered. “You’re a handy man to have around in a pinch. I bet you’ve tangled with Injuns before.”

  “Once or twice.”

  “You even dress a lot like they do. If a man didn’t know better, he might mistake you for an Injun.”

  “In a sense I am.”

  “How’s that?”

  Nate explained about being adopted by the Shoshones after his marriage to Winona, and how he was rearing his son to appreciate the customs and cultures of whites and Shoshones alike. He concluded with; “They both have a lot of good to them, but most folks, Indians and whites, are so busy criticizing what they don’t understand in one another that they never see the good parts. They can’t see the forest for the trees.”

  “Never thought of it quite that way before,” Cain said. “You must exercise your brain muscles a lot.”

  “My wife would disagree.”

  Cain laughed and clapped Nate on the back. “Smoky Woman is the same way sometimes. I swear, women must be the most contrary critters in all of creation. I doubt I’d ever understand them if I lived to be a hundred.”

  “How’s your head holding up?” Nate asked.

  Before Cain could answer the rarefied mountain air was rent by the pounding rhythm of driving hoofs, and around the base of a hill up ahead swept the band of Utes, who broke into frenzied whoops of raging anticipation the instant they laid eyes on their quarry.

  Two

  Uttering an oath, Nate wheeled Pegasus and fled. All his efforts to lose the warriors had been in vain, merely so much wasted time. There must, he reasoned, be a shortcut through the hills known only to the Utes, or else the band had ridden like mad and circled around to get out in front of them. Now the warriors were less than two hundred yards distant, and once the gap was narrowed to half that distance the Utes would use their bows.

  “Damn their bones!” Cain cried.

  Nate was doing some fast thinking. He couldn’t hope to outrun the band, not with Pegasus so tired. His only recourse was to find a convenient spot to make a stand and to do it quickly. But where? There was plenty of forest to hide in, but he wanted a spot where the Utes would have a hard time getting at the two of them. Moments later he saw a bunch of boulders halfway up a hill on his right, and without hesitation he look the slope on the fly, shouting, “Hang on tight!”

  Cain’s arms encircled his waist.

  The whoops reached a crescendo when the Utes realized his intent.

  Pegasus was almost to the boulders when the first arrow streaked out of the blue and smacked into the earth within a yard of the gelding’s neck. A second shaft missed by even less. A third struck a boulder to one side of them. Then they were behind another boulder the size of a Shoshoni lodge, one of five of similar size forming a crude natural fortification, and they could hear more arrows cracking against the impenetrable stone surfaces.

  Nate was off the Palouse and at a crack between two of the boulders before Solomon Cain began to lift his leg to climb down. The seven Utes were charging up the slope, spreading out as
they did, all with bows in their hands and firing as rapidly as they could nock shafts to their bowstrings. Clearly they were counting on overwhelming Nate and Cain by sheer force of numbers.

  Nate had other ideas. He pressed the Hawken to his right shoulder, cocked the hammer, and took a quick bead on the foremost Ute. Barely had the sight settled on the warrior’s brawny upper chest than Nate squeezed off the shot. The ball flew true and the Ute toppled in a whirl of arms and legs.

  Darting to the left, to the end of the boulders, Nate drew a flintlock and had it cocked and leveled by the time he stopped to aim at a second Ute. A buzzing shaft smacked into the earth at his feet. Another nipped on his sleeve. Concentrating on the Ute, he fired, then jumped to safety as the warrior crashed to the ground.

  The charge was broken. Breaking to the right and the left, the surviving warriors made for the nearest cover, some vaulting from their mounts before the animals stopped moving. In seconds there was no sign of a single Ute, they were so well hidden.

  Nate wedged the spent pistol under his belt and began reloading the Hawken, first putting the butt between his feet, then pouring the proper amount of black powder into his palm, measuring by sight. Next he hastily fed the powder from his palm down the muzzle. Swiftly wrapping a ball in a patch, he pushed both into the muzzle with his thumb, then used the ramrod to shove them down on top of the powder. All the while the slope below was eerily quiet. As he replaced the ramrod in its housing he glanced at Pegasus, and was shocked to see Solomon Cain still on the horse, bent forward over the saddle. “Were you hit?” he asked.

  “No. It’s my head,” Cain answered. “I can barely think straight. That wallop must have rattled me worse than I figured.”

  “Get off and lie down,” Nate directed, stepping forward. He drew the pistol he hadn’t fired yet. “Here. Hold onto this. They might try to rush us again.”

  “Thank you,” Cain said, taking hold of the flintlock by the barrel instead of the butt end. “And I want to also thank you for the loan of your horse.”

  Nate, already starting to turn away, stopped and glanced up. “My horse?” he said, and too late saw an object sweeping at his head. Instinctively he tried to duck but the blow connected, slamming him backwards, stunning him. His vision swam and he fell to his knees. He heard Pegasus heading up the slope and bellowed, “No!” Solomon Cain paid no heed. It took only five or six seconds for Nate’s vision to return to normal, yet by then the gelding was a dozen yards off and gaining ground with each stride.

  From scattered points below came yells of surprise, and several arrows chased the Palouse but lost the race.

  Without thinking Nate whipped the Hawken up and sighted on Cain’s back midway between the shoulder blades. All he had to do was pull back the hammer, then squeeze off the shot. Yet he hesitated. Shooting a man in the back went against his grain. In his estimation it was the same as cold-blooded murder, and while he had killed many times to save his life or the lives of those dear to him, he took consolation in the fact he wasn’t a wanton murderer.

  His hesitation didn’t last, however. Cain was stealing his horse, leaving him afoot, stranding him in the middle of nowhere with a band of bloodthirsty Utes about to close in. Now was not the time for scruples, he reflected, and his trigger finger tightened.

  Cain cut into a stand of trees and disappeared.

  Furious, Nate relaxed his finger and moved closer to the boulders. He was hoping to see Pegasus emerge from the evergreens, riderless, and trot back to him. The gelding had a passionate dislike for being ridden by anyone else. If a stranger tried to climb up, the Palouse would shy away, kick or buck. Not this time, though. Apparently, since Cain had already been on Pegasus, had in fact ridden double a considerable distance with Nate, Pegasus had grown accustomed to Cain’s presence and didn’t mind Cain being in the saddle.

  A shrill whistle alerted Nate to a more urgent problem.

  He crouched and peered through a crack. Some of the Utes were stealthily working their way toward the boulders. He glimpsed two of them, fleeting shadows impossible to shoot. Soon they would be on him.

  Nate scowled in anger at the turn of events, girded his legs, and sprinted to the left, going from boulder to boulder until he was in the clear and racing madly for fir trees a score of yards off. The Utes saw him the moment he broke from cover. Shouts broke out, arrows flew all around him. He ran a zigzag course to make it harder for the Utes to hit him. A glance showed all five Utes had darted from concealment and were in hot pursuit. Two of the three abruptly realized they would fare better on horseback and ran for their horses, which had strayed toward the bottom of the slope. He had to reach the trees before they mounted and came after him or his life was forfeit.

  His feet fairly flew over the ground. He tried not to think of what would happen should he trip. The Utes were howling, certain they would soon have him in their clutches. The tree line drew closer. And closer. Now he could see the individual leaves and the knots on the trunks. Just a few more feet and he would be there!

  A speeding shaft caught him high on the right shoulder and spun him completely around. Somehow he retained his balance and his momentum carried him forward into the trees. He collided with a trunk, bounced off, and stood still, fighting off the shock that threatened to numb his mind and seal his doom.

  Waves of agony washed over him, eclipsing the shock, restoring his senses. The bloody point of the slender arrow jutted several inches out from his throbbing shoulder and he could see red drops spattering onto his shirt. His hand still held the Hawken, but his fingers were beginning to feel numb so he reached across and took the rifle in his left hand. Then he ran.

  The fleetest Utes were within fifteen yards of the tree line.

  He sprinted for all he was worth, racing deeper and deeper into the forest. The harder his legs pumped, the faster he bled, and he worried about weakening from the loss of blood. It was a risk he had to take. He dared not slow down until he lost the warriors. If he lost them.

  At length his legs began to tire. A look back showed that he had temporarily outdistanced the Utes, who must have lost sight of him and would now be tracking him down. He slowed, then slanted to the right, heading up the slope where he might find a spot where he could try and hold the Utes off. If a fight came he wanted the advantage of the high ground.

  Eventually the trees gave way to a rocky stretch of slope. There he exercised extreme care, jumping from stone to stone wherever possible to leave as few tracks as possible. He came to a place where erosion had worn out a shallow gully and into this he sank, lying on his left side with the Hawken in front of him.

  Now he could catch his breath and take stock. The wound had stopped bleeding but hurt abominably. He knew the arrow must come out, and the sooner the better. Gripping the shaft below the point, he clamped his front teeth together, bunched his muscles, and exerted all the pressure he could. The shaft trembled, aggravating the torment. He could feel sweat covering his forehead. The veins on his neck were standing out. And suddenly the arrow broke with a loud snap.

  Nate tossed the bloody tip from him in disgust, then twisted and tried to get a grip on the part of the shaft protruding from his back. His slick palm slipped twice, so he wiped it clean on his leggins and tried again. This time he succeeded in taking hold, but strain as he might he did no more than move the shaft a fraction of an inch. How was he ever going to get it out?

  Letting go, he sank down, his brow in the dirt, and took deep breaths. He was in the fix of his life. Sooner or later the Utes would track him to the gully. Should he stay and fight or keep running?

  Shouts broke out below. Propping himself on his elbow, he saw a pair of Utes on horseback near the cluster of boulders where he had made his stand. They were yelling and pointing at the crest of the hill. Shifting, he discovered the reason. Solomon Cain had reached the top and stopped to gaze down. The Utes took off after him.

  So now there were three to contend with, Nate reflected. Sinking back, he accidenta
lly bumped the arrow against the side of the gully and grimaced at the fresh pain that engulfed him. His right arm tingled and nausea gnawed at him.

  He had to keep climbing. Grabbing the Hawken, he rose awkwardly and scanned the slope. Cain had vanished and the two Utes were halfway to the crest. Nothing moved in the forest, which meant little. The three remaining Utes might already know where he was hiding and be waiting for him to show himself.

  Nate stepped out of the gully, hunched over, and continued climbing. He felt sluggish and had extreme difficulty concentrating. Fearful he might collapse and pass out, he hurried as best he was able. Constantly he checked the forest below, and also noted the progress of the two Utes going after Cain, both of whom soon went over the top. He saw them go with mixed feelings. On the one hand he wanted them to overtake Cain and give the bastard a dose of his own medicine, but on the other he was worried about them taking Pegasus.

  He went thirty yards before his legs gave out. One second he was plodding steadily upward in grim determination. The next his face was in the dirt and he was inhaling dust. Angered by the betrayal of his own body, he rolled onto his back, then managed to sit up. Nearby was a waist-high boulder, the only cover available.

  Using the stock of the Hawken as a crutch, Nate got himself behind the boulder. Sitting with his back to it, he closed his eyes and struggled with the tide of exhaustion on the verge of overwhelming him.

  When would he learn? he asked himself. How long would it be before he realized he couldn’t blindly trust every stranger he came across in his travels? Several times, now, his unthinking trust had jeopardized his life. He had to do as his best friend and mentor Shakespeare McNair advised, “Be neighborly but keep your hand on your gun.”

  The sunlight warmed his face, making him drowsy. His eyelids fluttered as he valiantly strived to stay awake. But the ordeal proved too much for him. A black cloud seemed to consume his consciousness and he faded into oblivion.