Wilderness Double Edition #7 Page 9

  He heard a buzzing noise, as if a dozen hornets were winging past, and felt rather than saw something strike his saddle with a distinct smack. Glancing down, he was amazed to find a slender object imbedded close to his left thigh. There was no time to pull it out and inspect it, though, because seconds later he was among the savages.

  Barking in a strange tongue, they scattered, one of them hauling Smoky Woman by the wrist.

  Ignoring the rest, Nate snapped the Hawken to his left shoulder instead of his right, which had started acting up again after he’d slugged Cain, and sighted carefully. The Hawken spat lead and smoke and the savage keeled over as if felled by an axe.

  The moment Smoky Woman was free, she turned and ran to meet him, holding her arms up to make his next task easier.

  As it was, her weight was almost too much for him with his weakened shoulder. Gripping the Hawken and the reins in his left hand, he swung low in the saddle and looped his right arm around her slim waist while at a full gallop. The shock of her body hitting his arm almost wrenched him from his perch. Had she not leaped at that precise instant, adding her momentum to the backward swing he had started, he would certainly have fallen.

  As lithely as a lynx she slid up behind him and grabbed him about the waist.

  There were angry shouts from several directions. Another buzzing projectile almost struck Nate’s face.

  Then they were out of range, riding hard, bearing to the southeast in a wide loop that would eventually take them back to the cave. Nate could feel her warm body pressed to his, reminding him of the lovely wife waiting for him in their comfortable cabin many miles away. If he had any brains, that was where he’d be instead of fleeing for his life from primitive Indians who’d enjoy having him for their evening meal. Literally.

  Once he believed they had left the savages far behind, he slowed to a walk to reduce the amount of noise Pegasus was making. For all he knew, other bands might be abroad and he wanted to avoid them if at all possible.

  “Thank you,” Smoky Woman whispered at length.

  “You’re welcome,” Nate whispered in reply.

  “Cain?”

  “He’s fine. Mad as a bee in a bonnet, but fine. He wanted to come after you himself but I talked him out of it.”

  “Why?”

  Nate explained about Pegasus’s finicky nature.

  “My brother?”

  “He’s fine too,” Nate assured her, mentally noting that she’d asked after Cain first. He added, “I sure do hope the two of you will be back on friendly terms soon. Brothers and sisters have a special blood bond between them. They should always try to love each other.”

  “My brother not love me again.”

  “He’ll come around. Men can be stubborn cusses, but we see the light sooner or later.”

  “See light?”

  “Yes. We learn not to be so stubborn.”

  “My brother never see light.”

  “Don’t be so hard on him. He might surprise you.”

  “I know him.”

  “Have you told him about the baby yet?” Nate inquired, and felt her arms briefly constrict on his midsection.

  “How you know?”

  “Cain told me.”

  Smoky Woman fell silent. Nate assumed she was upset he knew. Perhaps she viewed her pregnancy as highly personal and no business of anyone else except Cain and her.

  The wind had died. Stygian gloom shrouded the wasteland, relieved only by a quarter moon and the myriad of shining stars. From the southwest came the lonesome yip of a solitary coyote.

  Nate reloaded the Hawken as he rode. He had to measure the amount of black powder by the feel of the grains in the palm of his hand, which was always a tricky proposition. If he put in too little his next shot would lack the usual wallop and might fail to down an attacker at a critical instant. If he put in too much he risked bursting the percussion tube of his rifle. But he had reloaded by feel so many times he was confident he put in just the right amount.

  His nerves on edge, the stock of the Hawken resting on his left thigh, he searched for some sign of the blazing fire. It should be easy to spot, yet over the course of the next forty minutes the blanket of darkness lay unbroken on the land. Had Cain neglected to keep the fire going? he wondered. Or was there a more sinister reason for its absence?

  He grew certain they were near the high rock wall. Stopping, he listened and looked. To his right was the familiar rise. A black patch was all that could be seen of the cave. He couldn’t even tell if the other horses were still there.

  Goading Pegasus forward, Nate leveled the Hawken in case the savages lurked nearby. He was within twenty yards of the entrance when a rifle boomed and the ball whizzed past his ear.

  Eight

  Since, in Nate’s estimation, none of the savages possessed guns and they wouldn’t know how to use a pistol or a rifle if they had it, only one person could have fired at him. “Cain! You idiot! It’s King! Don’t shoot!”

  A yelp of joy greeted his shout. “Sorry! I thought you were one of those devils! Come on in!”

  Smoky Woman’s grip slackened as they neared the entrance, and Pegasus had barely stopped when she jumped off and ran into the outstretched arms of Solomon Cain.

  Nate was dismounting when another figure strode from the cave. “Flying Hawk!” he declared in surprise, for not only was the warrior free but Cain had even given back the Ute’s bow, arrows, and hunting knife.

  “Let’s get under cover and I’ll fill you in,” Cain said, motioning for Nate to go first. “We took the other horses inside so the bastards can’t steal ’em.”

  The animals were between the entrance and the bend. Nate tied Pegasus in the feeble light from a single candle placed so as not to be visible beyond the opening. As he did his gaze fell on the slender object imbedded in his saddle. He had to wrench hard to pluck it out.

  It was unlike any weapon Nate had ever heard of. The only thing he could compare it to were the darts used in popular games played in taverns back in the States. This dart was made of stone and had two slim raven feathers tied to a groove at the back end to add stability in flight. Simple, but extremely deadly.

  “What have you got there?” Cain asked, walking over. He whistled softly. “So that’s what some of the sons of bitches were throwin’! I heard a couple go by me and one nicked my sleeve.”

  “And I heard your shot. What happened?”

  “You weren’t gone very long when I spotted a pack of savages sneakin’ up on me from the west. I let ’em get close, and when one jumped up and went to toss a spear I shot him smack between the eyes. Some of the others tried to nail me but I made it in here. Had to kick out the fire on my way, which made me a good target. But they didn’t want to get too close. Guess they were afraid of the rifle.” Cain paused to smile at Smoky Woman. “While I reloaded I could see ’em movin’ around out there. That set me to thinkin’. If they rushed me all at once, I wouldn’t stand a prayer. So I did the only thing I could. I ran on back and told Flying Hawk I’d free him if he’d help us. He agreed, but only till his sister is out of danger.”

  And then what? Nate reflected. Once Smoky Woman was safe, what would Flying Hawk do? Kill Cain? The warrior was at the entrance, keeping watch.

  “He was the one thought of bringin’ in the horses,” Cain commented. “Smart move too.”

  “Have the savages attacked yet?”

  “Nope. They were flittin’ around like butterflies until a few minutes ago. I figure they heard you comin’ and lit out.”

  “They won’t give up so easily,” Nate said, tucking the dart under his belt next to a pistol. Hurrying to the Ute, he signed, “See anything?”

  Flying Hawk grunted and pointed.

  At the limits of human vision ghostly forms were gliding about like wolves around trapped prey, moving from one place of concealment to another. Sometimes two or three would meet, confer, and separate.

  “Are they still there?” Cain asked.

  “Yes. T
hey must have let Smoky Woman and me through their lines so they’d have us all boxed in together.”

  “Damn their hides.”

  Nate heartily concurred. Primitive they might be, but the savages weren’t stupid. He must not make the mistake of underestimating them.

  “I say we make a break for it,” Cain declared. “Load up the gold on the three horses and head out before the bastards charge us. We’ll be on foot, but it’s so dark they might miss.”

  “Might,” Nate said, conjuring up a vision of what a hail of darts and spears would do to them and the horses. “But there are so many out there now that the odds are we’d never get fifty feet.”

  “I’m willin’ to chance it if you are.”

  “The only way we’d make it is if we left the gold behind,” Nate mentioned. “On foot, leading the horses, we wouldn’t stand a prayer.” He looked at Solomon. “Even if we leave the gold, one of us will have to ride double with Smoky Woman. The horse would take longer crossing the flat to the wash, and we both know what that would mean. Do you still want to chance it?”

  “No,” Cain answered, gazing affectionately at the woman. “No, I reckon I don’t. And I sure ain’t leavin’ the gold.”

  “Then I suggest we make a barricade using the supplies and the packs of gold.”

  “The gold!” Cain exclaimed. “Not on your life. I want it in the chamber where it’s safe and sound!”

  “Those packs are the heaviest things in the whole cave. We can put them on the bottom as the foundation for our barricade,” Nate said. “We have nothing else to use in their place.”

  Clearly Cain hated the idea. His face scrunched up as if he’d just swallowed a mouthful of bitterroot. “All right,” he spat. “You’ve convinced me.”

  Flying Hawk stood guard while Nate, Cain, and Smoky Woman worked swiftly. Fifteen minutes of industrious labor produced a makeshift wall three feet high and extending two-thirds of the way across the cave opening. Standing back to inspect their handiwork, Nate shook his head in disappointment. The barricade was too flimsy and incomplete to hold out a concerted rush for very long. But it was the best they could do.

  Cain must have entertained the same thoughts because he said, “We can use my shovels to scoop out a wall of dirt to finish it off.”

  And that’s what they did, or started to, when Flying Hawk spoke a word of warning and jabbed a finger to the south.

  The ghostly forms were converging on the cave.

  No words were necessary. Nate retrieved his Hawken and crouched near the gap between their barricade and the east wall, the most vulnerable spot. “Make every shot count,” he said softly.

  Cain ran to the flickering candle and extinguished the flame with his thumb and forefinger. Then he took up a post close to Nate. To Cain’s right was Flying Hawk. Behind them, clutching a pair of flintlocks Cain had taught her to use, squatted Smoky Woman.

  Smiling grimly, Flying Hawk notched an arrow to his bow string.

  “Wait until I give the signal,” Nate said, and heard Cain repeat it in the Ute tongue. Their breathing was the only sound after that. Oddly, the savages weren’t making any noise as they charged, unlike typical Indians, who invariably whooped when engaged in a battle.

  “King?” Cain whispered.

  “What?”

  “If something should happen to me, don’t let these bastards get their hands on Smoky Woman. We both know what they’ll do to her. Promise me you’ll take care of it.”

  “I promise,” Nate said, hoping he wouldn’t have to. But if the worst did occur, he wasn’t going to let them take him alive either.

  By now the savages were thirty feet off. Strung out in an uneven line, they bounded forward like a pack of hungry wolves, their manes of black hair blowing in the breeze. Some were armed with spears, some with war clubs, some with their unusual darts.

  Taking a steady bead on one of the foremost runners, Nate held his breath, cried, “Now!” and fired. Cain’s rifle also cracked, followed a second later by the twang of Flying Hawk’s powerful bow.

  There was no time to reload the Hawken. Nate set it down, drew both pistols, and extended his arms. The initial volley had caused some of the savages to slow, but the undaunted majority were still closing. He aimed at one and squeezed off his shot, aimed at another and emptied the second flintlock. Cain was also shooting. Four or five of the savages were down, several thrashing in agony.

  Nate discarded the pistol and yanked out both his knife and his tomahawk. This was the moment of truth. Fully a half-dozen savages would reach the barricade in the next few seconds.

  The bowstring twanged, reducing the number to five.

  A burly Indian bearing an upraised club hurled himself at the gap and Nate moved to meet him. Nate blocked the downward sweep of the savage’s club with the tomahawk, then speared his butcher knife into his foe’s chest.

  The man roared and jerked backwards, tearing the knife out. Heedless of the hole and his spurting blood, the Indian snapped the club up and sprang.

  Nate deftly blocked the blow with the tomahawk, then lashed his knife in a tight arc, going for the savage’s throat this time. Nimble as a bighorn, the Indian swerved, shifted, and slammed his club into Nate’s side. Incredible pain sheared through Nate’s chest. For a desperate moment he thought his ribs had caved in. Doubled over in torment, he glanced up to see the savage raising the club for the death stroke, and with a sinking feeling in his gut he knew he lacked the strength to dodge.

  An arrow abruptly skewered the burly Indian’s throat, sinking in almost to the eagle feather fletching. Driven rearward by the impact, the savage grasped the shaft and snapped it off as easily as Nate might snap a mere twig. Furious, seemingly unfazed, the man took a step and prepared to bash Nate’s skull in. A second arrow, however, transfixed the Indian’s chest, and he toppled where he stood.

  Nate finally straightened, intending to thank Flying Hawk, but another savage had already taken the place of the first. This one carried a spear that he slashed at Nate’s face. Nate pivoted, the spear fanned his nose, and with a mighty surge of all the muscles in his left shoulder he sank his tomahawk into his enemy’s forehead. Like an overripe melon the brow split right down the middle, the keen blade cleaving the brain. Instantly the savage went into violent convulsions, nearly tearing the tomahawk from Nate’s grasp before he could rip it loose.

  Nate turned, expecting more adversaries, finding none. Five bodies lay sprawled over or near the partially crumbled barricade, while the rest of the primitive Indians were retreating into the impenetrable cover of the night. Elated, he leaned on a parfleche in front of him, but only for a heartbeat. The savages, he realized, might regroup and mount another attack. Sliding the tomahawk under his belt and the knife into its sheath, he gathered up his guns to reload them. A groan made him look to his right.

  Cain was braced against the back wall, a slain savage at his feet, a bloody knife in his right hand. His left shoulder sagged as if under a tremendous weight, and he swayed when he took a step away from the wall. In a flash Smoky Woman was at his side, supporting him.

  “What happened?” Nate asked as he pulled the Hawken’s ramrod out. “How bad is it?”

  “Took a damn club in the shoulder,” Cain answered, his lips drawn back in a grimace. “I think the bone is busted.”

  “Sit down and rest. I’ll be with you in a bit,” Nate said. With Cain temporarily indisposed, his first priority was to reload all their guns, not just his own, or they’d never survive another onslaught. Flying Hawk, he observed, was staring intently at Smoky Woman.

  “I can manage,” Cain said, stepping to the barricade. He leaned over to pick up his rifle, then groaned louder than before and slowly sank to his knees. “Hurts like hell!” he declared. “Almost blacked out there.”

  “Hold on,” Nate urged, his fingers moving quickly. They needed Cain badly. Smoky Woman could shoot, but she was nowhere near the marksman Cain was.

  Without him they would drop fewer
savages when the next rush came, meaning more would reach the barricade and possibly overwhelm them by sheer force of numbers.

  An unnerving silence now claimed the countryside. Nothing moved. The erratic wind had subsided to a whisper.

  Relying on Flying Hawk to warn him if the savages reappeared, Nate concentrated exclusively on feeding black powder and balls into gun after gun. Soon he had all the rifles and pistols reloaded. His flintlocks once again under his belt, he dropped to one knee beside Solomon Cain, who sat slumped against the barricade. “Is the pain still bad?”

  “I feel like a grizzly clamped its jaws down on my shoulder and won’t let go.”

  “Let me take a look,” Nate said, gingerly touching the wounded shoulder.

  Cain flinched, then hissed as if angry at himself and sat up straight. “I’m gettin’ right puny of late. Must be all this soft livin’.” He mustered a wan grin.

  “I’ll try not to hurt you,” Nate said, but it was unavoidable. Twice he made Cain gasp as he probed carefully to measure the extent of the damage. One gasp came when he touched a bone that moved when it shouldn’t. “You were right,” he said after he was done. “Your clavicle is broken.”

  “My what?”

  “Your shoulder bone.”

  “Of all the stinkin’ luck,” Cain muttered.

  “I can try to set the bone and bandage you up. It won’t be as good as a sawbones would do, but it’ll hold you together if you don’t go out and wrestle any wolverines.”

  Cain gazed at Smoky Woman. “Forget me. Those bastards may try again. You need to keep watch so they don’t catch us by surprise.”

  “Your skin is split open. The longer we wait, the more chance of infection setting in,” Nate said. He nodded at the barricade. “We might wind up being penned in here for a long time. If you get sick, we won’t be able to give you the doctoring you’ll need. So don’t be mule-headed. Allow me to do what I can now and save us a lot of trouble later.”

  “If you put it that way,” Cain said.

  “I do.” Nate slipped an arm around Cain’s waist and helped him to rise. “Have Smoky Woman take you back into the main chamber. See if she can somehow get a fire going. I’ll need hot water if I’m to do this right.”