Wilderness Double Edition #8 Page 9

  “That particular mountain already has a name,” Nate said. “Long’s Peak.”

  “Has somebody climbed it, then?”

  “No. Back in ’19 and ’20, a man by the name of Stephen Long, a major in the Army, explored this part of the country for the government.”

  “I remember!” Elden said. “The Yellowstone Expedition.”

  “Yes. Long happened to see the peak and mistook it for Pike’s Peak. Seems his sense of geography was a little flawed. Some of the old-time trappers, in fact, claimed that he couldn’t find his hind end with written directions. So the trappers hereabouts took to calling the peak after him.”

  “What about the rest of these mountains? Do they have names too?”

  “Some are known by Indian words.”

  “But none have been named after white men?”

  “Not yet.”

  “How marvelous!” Elden crowed. “Why, I could have one named after me, couldn’t I? I could just pick one out that strikes my fancy and call it Leonard Mountain.”

  “If you want,” Nate said, concealing his amusement at the childish notion. “But getting some mapmaker to print a map with your name on it might take some doing.”

  “It’s worth the try. Just think of it! A legacy to leave future generations.” Elden chuckled. “Don’t you want people to remember you after you die?”

  “I’ve no hankering to be famous, if that’s what you mean. My family and friends will remember me. Those who don’t know me hardly matter.”

  “All men matter. We’re all brothers spiritually, after all.”

  Nate glanced back. “You never impressed me as being the religious type,” he commented.

  “What an unkind thing to say. I may not wear a halo, but I went to church when I was younger. I’ve read a goodly portion of the Bible.” Elden adopted a hurt tone. “I’m not totally ignorant, despite what you suppose.”

  The trail hooked around a cluster of pines and the lake unfolded before them. Nate walked to the edge and studied the layer of ice that had formed along the shore, judging it to be an inch or so thick and extending a dozen feet out into the water. Kneeling, he set down the bucket, then pounded the ice once with his fist. The surface developed a hairline crack but stayed intact otherwise. He scoured his immediate vicinity for the hole Winona must have made when last she drew water, but there was no evidence of one. Ice had closed over it.

  “Are there fish in this lake?” Elden inquired.

  “Quite a few.”

  “How about if we go ice fishing later? I haven’t done that since I was a little boy. It would be great fun.”

  “If we have the time,” Nate said, with as much enthusiasm as he might evince for wrestling a grizzly. Rising, he moved into the trees, seeking a suitable limb. With everything buried by snow, he had to search for over five minutes before finding the stout branch he needed. Wiping it off, he returned to the lake, where Elden was pacing back and forth to keep warm.

  “Wouldn’t it have been smarter to build the cabin closer to the lake so a body wouldn’t have as far to go on winter days?” the greenhorn asked.

  “If my uncle had built it too close, the deer and elk would all go to the other end to drink. This way, if we need meat and we spot an animal close enough, we can shoot right out the door or the window.”

  A swishing sound drew Nate’s attention upward to a solitary sleek raven in slow flight to the west. Every beat of its big black wings was clearly audible in the quiet of the woodland. He watched it sail over his home, then knelt once again and gouged the tapered end of the branch into the ice. Working methodically, he gradually chipped away until he had a hole larger than the bucket.

  Behind him Elden paced and paced.

  Nate dipped the bucket in, being careful not to get his hands wet since the water was so cold his fingers would freeze in seconds. Once the bucket was filled to the brim, he carefully lifted it out of the hole and started to stand.

  “Here. I’ll hold that for you,” Elden offered, and leaned down to grip the handle. Suddenly his left foot slipped. His leg shot out from under him and he stumbled forward, his arms flailing the air as he desperately attempted to retain his balance.

  Halfway upright, Nate saw Elden sliding toward him and tried to step aside. But the next instant Elden slammed into his shoulder and sent him flying—straight into the lake.

  Chapter Eight

  As Nate King plunged toward the ice, he instinctively let go of the bucket, took a breath, and held the air in his lungs. In a twinkling the ice rushed up to meet him and he heard a tremendous crackling noise. Frantically he clutched for a handhold, but all his fingers found were slick, loose chunks which offered no purchase. Then frigid wetness enveloped him and started to drag him toward the bottom of the lake.

  Panic clawed at Nate’s mind. He had to fight the terror, fight to stay calm and do what had to be done. As he sank, he twisted, shrugging out of his heavy buffalo robe. His buckskins were already soaked, his skin prickling as if from a thousand cold, barbed needles. Looking up, he saw large and small pieces of ice floating where he had broken through, and close to the shore Elden’s distorted moon face gawking down at him.

  With a powerful flick of his legs, Nate shot to the surface, coming up alongside an unbroken section. “Help me!” he roared, thrusting an arm out at Leonard.

  Elden stood only three feet away. He could have reached out and grasped Nate’s lingers. But he didn’t. Instead, he glanced fearfully down at the water, spun, and raced off up the trail, shouting, “Hang on! I’ll fetch help!”

  For a fleeting moment sheer rage dominated Nate’s being. Then he started to sink again and he had to concentrate on staying alive. He lunged, flinging himself partway out onto the ice, heard another rending crash, and went belly-first into the freezing water. His feet lashed every which way, searching for a foothold he could use to propel himself onto the shore. At this spot, however, there was a sheer drop-off, and he only treaded water. And not for long at that.

  Lethargy was setting in. Nate could feel his movements becoming more and more sluggish. He knew the bone-numbing temperature was slowing the blood in his veins. Unless he escaped from the lake and swiftly, he would succumb to the cold and drown.

  Once again Nate stroked to the surface. It took longer this time, and his lungs were close to bursting. Greedily he sucked in air and became aware of water turning solid on his face, covering his mouth and nose. He swiped at the forming ice, clearing his nasal passages so he could breathe again, yet in doing so he neglected to pump his legs and sank a third time.

  The world was a blur. The underwater realm was shrouded in gloom. Nate blinked, or tried to, but his eyelids appeared locked wide open. An air bubble rose upward from the tip of his nose as he dropped lower and lower. Above him beckoned the opening in the ice. If only he could reach it!

  Nate thought of Winona, Zach, and Evelyn, of his love for them and theirs for him, and suddenly he simply refused to die. He wanted to live, to see them again, to hold them in his arms and know the joy of being a husband and a father. Gritting his teeth in savage determination, he pumped his arms and legs, forcing his limbs to cooperate despite the death grip of the icy water. At a snail’s pace, he rose. His chest hurt, his lungs were screaming for relief. He felt water in his ears, water in his nose, and then, to his dismay, water in his mouth.

  Abruptly, light flooded his eyes. Nate bobbed to the surface and gulped in ragged breaths. He was near another intact strip of ice. With no other recourse available, he managed to prop his forearms on top of the strip and wiggle a few inches out of the water. Amazingly, the ice held. He could breathe without difficulty, but he dreaded being pitched back into the depths if he moved too strenuously and literally shattered his only hope of salvation.

  Nate rested a few seconds, conserving his strength for what came next. He glanced toward the cabin but saw only trees. Faintly, he believed he heard shouting. Winona was coming to the rescue. The question was: Would she get the
re in time?

  Swallowing nervously, Nate edged higher onto the strip, squirming like a snake or a worm, applying as little pressure as he could. He heard a soft snap, paused to be sure the whole sheet wasn’t crumbling, then crawled out further. There was no longer any sensation in his legs, so he couldn’t tell if they were still in the water or not, although he thought they were. The shore was only two feet away. Only two feet, yet it might as well be miles.

  Nate stretched out his right arm and his fingers brushed the bank. He probed in the snow for something, anything, to hold onto. All he found was yielding snow. His anxiety mounting, afraid he would freeze before attaining safety, he extended his left arm. Still a secure purchase eluded him.

  Then the ice began to splinter. Nate heard the crackling and saw cobwebs lance outward from under his body. In seconds the strip would give way as the others had. He cried out, or tried to, and summoned the last of his reserve of stamina so he could hurl himself at solid ground. The lower half of his body angled downward, sinking into the lake. He was on the brink of going under for the final time when he executed a rolling flip, and to his astonishment rolled right out onto the bank.

  Profound relief rooted Nate there. He shook and shivered, his teeth chattering wildly, and tried to resist the fatigue and debilitating chill that threatened to make him lose consciousness. To his dismay, he suddenly felt his body sliding slowly down into the water. He had to move or all his effort would have been for naught.

  Nate got his left hand on the ground and dug his fingers in, trying to arrest his descent. His right arm contacted the water. He recoiled, jerking away, and in doing so increased the speed of his slide. His life hung suspended on the scales of Fate, and in another moment he would be underwater once more.

  “Nooooo!”

  The piercing cry heralded the arrival of Nate’s rescuers. Strong hands grasped him and hauled him onto level ground. Nate saw Winona’s face, and Zach’s, and he longed to hug them close but he was too frozen to move.

  “Husband! Husband!” Winona said in Shoshone. “Can you talk?” Her fingers pried at the ice covering his face and neck, and she cut herself in her haste.

  “Pa!” Zach added in despair.

  Try as Nate might, he couldn’t get his mouth to work. His lips moved only a fraction, his tongue only twitched.

  “We must get him inside quickly,” Winona announced in English, addressing someone out of Nate’s line of vision. “Don’t stand there! Help!”

  Selena and Elden Leonard appeared, their heads hanging above Nate’s like disembodied apparitions. Had Nate been able to speak, he would have cursed Elden mercilessly. As it was, he had to let himself be lifted and carted off toward the cabin. Twice Elden slipped on the way there, and the second time the back of Nate’s head hit the earth with jarring force.

  “Be careful, dam you!” Zach shouted.

  Even though Nate could barely move and had little idea of what was going on around him, he knew by the sudden warmth when they entered the cabin. He was carried over close to the flames and set down gently on his back on the bearskin rug. The heat felt so deliciously wonderful he had an urge to crawl into the fire.

  “Blankets, Zach,” Winona was saying. “Selena, we need to boil water. Will Elden and you run back down to the lake and retrieve the bucket? I saw it near the broken ice.”

  “On our way,” Selena said.

  Moist palms touched Nate’s cheeks as his wife lowered her face close to his. Tears rimmed her eyes. “Rest easy, loved one. I will have you thawed out soon.”

  The gratitude Nate yearned to express had to wait until his voice returned. He tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled gurgle. Weariness pervading every part of his being, he closed his eyes and savored merely being alive. Fingers plucked at his drenched buckskins and they were stripped from his still-shivering frame. Something soft touched his skin, rubbing him dry, and he cracked his lids to see his son using a towel. The boy looked so thoroughly worried that Nate mustered a wan grin to show he was feeling better already. Then drowsiness set in, and his last sensation before drifting off to sleep was that of blankets being draped over him.

  ~*~

  A crackling sound brought Nate around with a start and he sat bolt upright. It reminded him of the cracking of the ice, and for a few seconds he imagined he was struggling once again to escape the icy grasp of the deceptively serene lake. His arms swung wildly and he cried out.

  “You are safe, husband. Be calm.”

  Nate saw Winona at his side and felt her hands restraining his wrists. Suddenly weak, he sagged against her and kissed her on the neck. “I thought ...” he croaked, and left the statement unfinished.

  “We brought you inside, remember?” Winona said. “You’ve been asleep for a long time. It must be after midnight.”

  “Midnight?” Nate repeated in astonishment as he gazed around the cabin. Zach was curled up on blankets in the corner with Blaze, their usual resting place. Several times Nate had offered to build the boy a bed, but Zach had always declined, claiming he wouldn’t be able to sleep without the comfort of a hard surface to lie on.

  The Leonards were in the same corner as the saddle, side by side under a heavy quilt, Selena in peaceful repose, Elden doing a superb imitation of an angry grizzly every time he snored.

  Winona noticed where he was gazing and commented, “You were fortunate, my dearest, that Elden reached us quickly. Had he not been with you, there would have been no one to come for help and you might have frozen to death.”

  “Had he not been with me, I wouldn’t have fallen in,” Nate informed her. At length he explained exactly what had occurred, concluding with, “The man is a walking menace. I can hardly wait to get him to Fort Laramie.”

  “Why are you so bitter toward him? It was an accident, was it not?” Winona said.

  “So? You know as well as I do that a person has to be more careful in the wilderness. Any accident, no matter how small, can be downright deadly.”

  “Still, there is no reason to be mad at him. It is not his fault he is so helpless. Selena told me their parents raised him as the pet of the family. Poor Elden never did or learned much of anything as a boy, and his manhood reflects this.”

  Mildly annoyed that Winona would defend the greenhorn, Nate said nothing. He had no inclination to get into a squabble over the subject. All that mattered to him at the moment was recovering as quickly as possible. His cheek rested on her chest, his arms lay around her waist. Once again his eyelids drooped and he sank into sleep.

  ~*~

  When next Nate awakened, sunlight was streaming in the window and somewhere outside sparrows were chirping. He was flat on his back, covered by a soft three-point Hudson’s Bay blanket Winona had traded for at the last Rendezvous. Folded on the floor close by were his dry buckskins and moccasins, along with his two pistols, butcher knife, and tomahawk. No one else was in the cabin.

  Feeling invigorated after his long rest, Nate hurriedly dressed, his eyes on the door in case it should open. He didn’t want the greenhorns, particularly Selena, walking in on him before he was done. He checked the flintlocks and discovered Winona had emptied out the wet powder, cleaned both weapons, and reloaded them. The knife he inspected minutely for dry specks of water, but there were none. With her usual efficiency, Winona had applied a drop of the oil to each side and wiped the long blade clean. The oil helped to prevent rust from forming, which was the bane of all frontiersmen and the reason Nate hadn’t used the knife to chop a hole in the ice. The tomahawk, another possession they had picked up at a Rendezvous, had a metal head, and he checked this too before slipping the handle underneath his leather belt. Neither his clothes nor his weapons were any the worse for having been submerged.

  Dressed and armed, Nate strode to the counter to drink from the bucket. He was puzzled to find fresh strips of jerked venison lying nearby, one of which he nibbled on as he stepped to the door and threw it open. Brilliant sunshine made him squint, and he shielded h
is eyes with a hand as he walked out.

  From the south came voices mingled with laughter. Nate went through the trees until he saw a low hill, one of his favorite spots to go when he wanted to be alone with his thoughts. Careening down the snowy slope on a wide, curved piece of bark was his son, cackling crazily all the while. The makeshift sled came to a rest just yards away.

  “Pa! You’re on your feet again! How do you feel?” Zach asked, springing up and giving Nate a hug.

  “Fine. Really fine.”

  There was a call from the top of the hill, and Nate waved at his wife. The Leonards, all smiles, were with her. “What do you have here?” he inquired of his son.

  “Elden gave me the notion,” Zach answered. “He was telling me about the sledding he used to do in New York and I got to thinking about a way to do the same. Took me a long time to carve off a piece strong enough to take my weight.”

  “Well, I guess Elden is good for something after all.”

  Zach blinked. “Why do you talk like that, Pa? Elden is all right once you get to know him.” Picking up the sled in both hands, he headed back up the slope.

  “So everyone seems to think,” Nate said to himself. Just the day before, he wryly reflected, his son had disliked Elden immensely; now the two were apparently fast friends. This revelation, coming as it did on the heels of Winona’s defense of Elden the previous night, bothered Nate, although he told himself it shouldn’t. Just because he disliked Elden, there was no reason his family had to do the same.

  About to join in the frolic, Nate saw Winona descending and waited for her. She scrutinized him from head to toe as a mother hen might an ailing chick.

  “You seem fully recovered, but how do you feel?”

  “Hungry enough to eat a steak raw,” Nate admitted, adding as he displayed the half-eaten strip of jerky. “Where did this come from? I thought we were out of food.”