Wilderness: Vengeance Trail/ Death Hunt (A Wilderness Western Book 4) Read online

  Blue Water Woman stood three feet away, attired in a beautiful beaded dress that barely did her justice. Raven hair fell to the small of her back, framing an oval face remarkable for its smooth complexion and deep, dark eyes. Her lips were full, her nostrils thin. Her teeth, when she smiled, were small and white.

  “Hello,” Nate blurted, and mentally berated himself for being an idiot. She might not even speak English. He had to admit she was one of the loveliest women he’d ever seen, perhaps even second to Winona. She betrayed no sign of her age, yet he knew she must be nearly as old as Shakespeare.

  “Hello, Grizzly Killer,” she replied, her pronunciation crisp and precise. “This contrary female is very pleased to meet the famous man she had heard so much about.”

  Nate wished he could shrivel up like a dry plant and disappear. Either that, or beat his head against a tree. He mustered the friendliest smile of which he was capable and said, “You must be Blue Water Woman. I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

  “Have you, now?” she responded, and looked at McNair.

  “He thinks he has,” Shakespeare said quickly, “but he doesn’t know the bare bones.”

  Blue Water Woman nodded. “That is nice to hear.” She held out her right hand toward Nate. “I believe this is the customary way whites greet each other.”

  “Sure is,” Nate said, shaking. He got the impression there had been a hidden meaning to his mentor’s words, but for the life of him he couldn’t figure out what it might be. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance.”

  Buffalo Horn stepped forward. “Did you see the fight between Carcajou and Standing Bear?” he asked angrily.

  “I saw,” Blue Water Woman answered, letting go of Nate’s hand.

  “What do you have to say for yourself?” Buffalo Horn demanded.

  “I have no control over Standing Bear,” she said.

  “Did you know he was interested in you before you begged me to go after Shakespeare?”

  “Yes,” Blue Water Woman stated calmly, then added, “And I did not beg you to go find Shakespeare. I asked you.”

  The tall Flathead’s features became iron. “And you did not think to warn me so I could warn him?”

  Blue Water Woman refused to be intimidated. She replied in an even tone, “I have told Standing Bear many times that I have no interest in sharing his lodge. He refuses to accept me at my word.”

  “Has he courted you?”

  “He sent Wolf Ribs with four fine horses. I sent them back. He also sent Smoke over with a deer he had killed, but I sent it back, too.”

  “This is bad,” Running Elk commented.

  “I will tell you what my heart feels,” Buffalo Horn said to Blue Water Woman. “I believe you deliberately did not tell me because you knew I would not want to involve my brother Shakespeare in a fight with Standing Bear. I believe you deceived me.”

  Blue Water Woman stiffened indignantly. “I have never deceived you in all the years we have known each other. I did not expect Standing Bear to challenge Carcajou.”

  “Before this is over, there might be blood spilled,” Buffalo Horn said. “And it will be on your shoulders.” He turned on his heels and walked off, Running Elk dogging his heels.

  Nate detected profound sadness in the woman’s eyes and felt sorry for her. He suddenly realized that Shakespeare would probably like to be alone with her and turned. “Well, I’d better be getting along myself.”

  “I’ll look you up later,” Shakespeare said, his eyes on Blue Water Woman.

  “No rush,” Nate said, heading northward. Wind In The Grass fell in beside him. He glanced back once to see his friend holding her hand. Neither was saying a word; they simply stood and stared into each other’s eyes. And here he thought Shakespeare had been upset with her.

  They walked for a dozen yards when Wind In The Grass turned and asked in sign, “How did you learn to be so brave?”

  “I’m no braver than most,” Nate replied absently, still thinking about Shakespeare and the strange manner in which his mentor had been behaving.

  “That is not true,” Wind In The Grass said. “I was there. I saw you go up against the four worst men in our village, and you never hesitated.” He laughed lightly. “You beat all of them in the time it takes to blink.”

  “You take after the Wolverine,” Nate signed. “Both of you exaggerate stories.”

  “This is a very serious matter to me,” Wind In The Grass noted. “I would not make light of it.”

  “I did not mean to insult you,” Nate signed.

  Wind In The Grass sighed and gazed toward Stinking Creek. “Did you see the way the older warriors treated me?”

  “What do you mean?” Nate responded, feigning innocence.

  “Buffalo Horn and Running Elk do not think I am much of a man. Many other men in our tribe feel the same way.”

  “Do they have a reason?”

  “They think they do,” Wind In The Grass signed.

  “Want to talk about it?” Nate inquired, certain the young warrior had broached the subject for that very reason.

  “If you do not mind.”

  “Why would I mind? Go ahead.”

  Wind In The Grass moved his arms and fingers in a fluid flow. “It all started eight moons ago when I took part in a raid on a Blackfoot village. It was the first such raid I had been on. Buffalo Horn was in charge, and he left me in a gully to watch the horses while he and the others snuck up on the Blackfeet. All went well at first. They gathered nine Blackfoot animals and started back to where I waited.” He stopped, his expression forlorn.

  “What happened next?” Nate prompted.

  “I was sitting there on my horse when three Blackfeet came out of nowhere. They had been off hunting because one had a small antelope slung over his shoulder. Two had bows, one a rifle. The moment they saw me they shouted and charged. I put an arrow in the first one, then the brave with the rifle fired.” He lowered his arms for a moment. “The shot missed me but scared several of the horses and they bolted along the gully. The rest followed. I had a choice to make. Either I could stay and fight the two Blackfeet, who had taken cover, or I could go after the horses and retrieve them so my friends could make their escape. I went after the horses.”

  Nate nodded. “I think I would have done the same,” he signed.

  “Thank you,” Wind In The Grass said. “But there is more. The Blackfeet in the village heard the shot and rushed out to investigate. They spied Buffalo Horn and the others and gave chase, forcing our warriors to let go of the horses they had stolen. Buffalo Horn led our warriors to the gully, but I was not there. They took shelter in nearby woods and fought a running battle for many miles before the Blackfeet turned around and returned to their village. Two of our warriors were killed.”

  “And they blame you?”

  “I gathered the horses as quickly as I could, but they had scattered over several miles,” Wind In The Grass related. “By the time I tracked Buffalo Horn and the rest down, they were far into the forest. Some of them accused me of running off. I explained about the three Blackfeet, but it seemed to make little difference.”

  “Surely Buffalo Horn saw the two Blackfeet who were still in the gully when you rode off?”

  “No,” Wind In The Grass signed. “The pair must have seen our warriors coming and hid, or else they had gone after me and were not there when Buffalo Horn and the others got back.”

  Nate pursed his lips, pondering the tale. Small wonder that Buffalo Horn and Running Elk had treated his host so coldly. Wind In The Grass bore the worst stigma any Indian warrior could ever have; that of being a coward. The young warrior was branded unless he could prove them all wrong.

  Wind In The Grass cleared his throat. “I will understand if you want to move out of our lodge and stay with someone else.”

  The poor man practically radiated anguish, and Nate wasn’t about to add insult to injury. “Are you throwing me out?” he signed.

  “No, of course not,” Win
d In The Grass replied. “I just—”

  “Then why bring it up?” Nate cut him off. “I certainly do not believe you ran away on purpose.”

  Wind In The Grass looked at him. “You do not?”

  “I always take a man at his word unless he gives me cause to think otherwise,” Nate explained. “And I think I know you well enough to say that you are the kind of man who would stick by his friends through the worst possible danger. You are definitely not a coward.” He smiled, hoping his words had cheered the warrior up. To his astonishment, tears welled in the man’s eyes.

  “Thank you, Grizzly Killer,” Wind In The Grass signed.

  “Be patient,” Nate advised. “You will get your chance to prove yourself to their satisfaction.” He chuckled. “In a way, you remind me of myself a year ago.”

  “I do?”

  “Yes. I had a lot to prove when I first came to the wilderness. If it had not been for a grizzly that tried to take its own life by throwing itself on my knife, I still might have a lot to prove.”

  Wind In The Grass tossed back his head and laughed in delight. “Thank you for those kind words,” he then signed. “But I may not be able to prove myself if no one will take me on a raid.”

  “No one?”

  “Buffalo Horn has been out twice since that terrible time. Running Elk and several others have also led raids against different enemies. None have invited me along, and no one will go with me should I try to lead one.

  The man had a problem, Nate reflected. Wind In The Grass needed witnesses when he demonstrated his bravery to refute those who accused him of cowardice. But if none of the other warriors would associate with him, Wind In The Grass had no way of clearing his reputation.

  Suddenly, from their rear, a gruff voice barked out a string of words in the Flathead tongue.

  Nate turned, and was shocked to see his four newly made enemies advancing toward him. They were still a dozen feet off. He raised the Hawken, covering them, and they immediately halted.

  Standing Bear addressed Wind In The Grass, who gave a brief answer. The muscular warrior grunted, then resorted to sign. “This coward tells me you are fluent in sign language.”

  Other Flatheads had stopped their activities to view the confrontation, including two gawking boys nearby.

  Averse to lowering the rifle, Nate nonetheless did. He couldn’t use sign with his hands full, and he wasn’t about to let the quartet think he was afraid of them. After tucking the Hawken in the crook of his left elbow, he glared at them and replied, “Call my friend a coward again and we will finish what you started earlier.”

  Bad Face hissed and made as if to attack, but a word from Standing Bear froze him in place.

  “We have no quarrel with you, Grizzly Killer,” the muscular warrior signed. “I came to apologize for what happened.”

  Surprise delayed Nate’s response. Could it be he had misjudged Standing Bear’s character? No, he doubted it. Still, he had to exercise proper Indian protocol. “Your apology is accepted.”

  “I also want you to talk to Carcajou,” Standing Bear said.

  “About what?”

  “Tell him to leave our village at first light. Tell him Blue Water Woman is going to be my woman and no one else’s. Tell him no one will take her from me.”

  Nate felt his temper flare. The gall of the man, he mused, and signed emphatically, “Tell him yourself unless you are a coward.”

  Standing Bear took a pace forward, his hand straying toward his knife. He glanced at the Hawken and the pistols, scowled, and dropped the notion. “I can see words are wasted on you. You are as stubborn as your friend, Carcajou. It will be fitting for the two of you to die together.”

  “A lot of men have tried to kill us,” Nate signed “and their corpses are feeding the worms.”

  The muscular warrior snorted. “How did a cub like you ever get the name Grizzly Killer?”

  “The hard way,” Nate replied. “How is it the four of you are strutting around like men when you should be mending hides with the women?”

  Again Bad Face made as if to leap. The other two grabbed his arms and held him fast.

  “This is not the end of it,” Standing Bear signed.

  “You will regret the day you insulted us.” Wheeling, he stalked off with his three friends in tow. Bad Face kept glancing back and glaring.

  Nate heard Wind In The Grass expel a long breath. He cradled the Hawken and resumed walking toward his host’s lodge. “Now what were we discussing?”

  “Bravery,” the warrior answered. “And I will tell you here and now that you are either the bravest man I have ever met, or else the biggest fool who ever lived. Those men will not rest until you are dead.”

  “Then maybe I should move out of your lodge. It might be safer for your family.”

  “Nonsense. You may stay as long as you want. Your enemies are my enemies.”

  They looked at each other, and a genuine friendship was born.

  Chapter Ten

  Nate awoke before sunrise and glanced at the peacefully slumbering family on the other side of the small lodge. Wind In The Grass snored lightly, while Flower Woman and Roaring Mountain were both breathing deeply. The parents were a foot apart, each with a hand resting on the other, while snugly nestled between them was the infant. He smiled, thinking of Winona and the addition they would have to their own family in a relatively short time, and imagined them sleeping in the same intimate fashion. It warmed his heart.

  He slid out from under his blanket, wedged both flintlocks under his belt, and stepped outside for some fresh air, leaving the Hawken by his bedding. As he straightened he was shocked to see his mentor seated cross-legged not six feet away, facing the lodge. To the east a pale rosy light indicated the sun would soon peek above the horizon.

  “Good morning,” Shakespeare said quietly.

  Nate walked over and squatted. “What are you doing here so early? Is something wrong?”

  “Terribly wrong,” Shakespeare said, and gazed eastward, his features reflecting fatigue and a strange melancholy.

  “What is it?” Nate asked, certain Standing Bear must be somehow involved. “Were you attacked?”

  Shakespeare looked at him and grinned. “Not in the way you think. I came here to talk to you. I’ve been up all night wrestling with a personal problem, and I thought I’d ask your advice.”

  “You want my advice?”

  “What’s so unusual about that?”

  “Nothing,” Nate said struggling to prevent his amazement from showing. He regarded Shakespeare as the wisest man he’d ever known, as someone capable of handling anything and everything that came along; supremely self-confident and self-reliant. The notion that Shakespeare needed help with a problem was incredible.

  “I spent most of the night with Blue Water Woman,” Shakespeare disclosed. “We walked and talked about the old days, about how it was when I lived among the Flatheads.” He paused. “They were fine times.”

  “I gather you’re not mad at her.”

  “Mad?” Shakespeare repeated, and snorted. “Nate, I think I’m in love with the woman, just like before.”

  “Before?” Nate said, bewildered. He promptly sat down, stunned. This made two astounding revelations in a row, and he didn’t feel he was alert enough to handle them. He shook his head, dispelling lingering tendrils of sleep from his mind.

  “I reckon I should start at the beginning,” Shakespeare said, bowing his head.

  “Whatever is best,” Nate replied, hearing a camp dog yip to the west.

  “It all began before I even met Rainbow Woman,” Shakespeare said, “and before Blue Water Woman was married to Spotted Owl. We knew each other. In fact, we were quite fond of one another. I made every excuse I could to see her, and we talked about maybe becoming man and wife one day.”

  “But you wound up marrying Rainbow Woman instead?” Nate asked in confusion.

  “Let me explain,” Shakespeare said. “You see, Blue Water Woman’s fath
er didn’t like me. I suspect he was a bigoted son of a bitch who didn’t like whites, period. So when our romance became serious and we started to think about living together, he put his foot down and forbade me to see her.”

  “Did you stop?”

  Inner pain was briefly visible on the mountain man’s weathered countenance. “Yes. Only because I had no choice. Indian culture is a lot different from ours in some respects. It’s unthinkable, for instance, for a young woman to go against her father’s wishes. His word was law.”

  “So you went your separate ways?”

  Shakespeare nodded slowly. “I don’t mind admitting I was half out of my mind with grief. I even climbed a cliff, figuring I would throw myself off and end the misery.”

  “You did?”

  “Yep. Fortunately I came to my senses when I looked down at the bottom and thought of all those big boulders smashing me to a pulp. I also realized I’d be playing into her father’s hands by showing I was too weak to confront life’s problems head-on, proving I was unfit to be his daughter’s husband.”

  “What did you do next?”

  “I got on with my life. What else could I do?” Shakespeare answered. “I spent a lot of time trapping and hunting. Before long I heard that Blue Water’s father had arranged her marriage to a warrior named Spotted Owl.”

  “Wait a minute,” Nate interrupted. “Her father set the whole thing up? Didn’t she have a say in it?”

  “No,” Shakespeare said. “It’s a common practice in some tribes for the parents to arrange marriages. Sometimes the daughter doesn’t even know the man she’s going to wed.”

  “How can they do such a thing?” Nate wondered, appalled. It seemed to him that a woman should have a say in who she wanted to spend the rest of her life with, and he was glad his romance with Winona had developed naturally, based on the strong affections of both of them rather than the wishes of others.

  “Easily,” Shakespeare said. “You see, sometimes a father will set up a marriage to a warrior from a prominent family, one that has scores of horses and whose men are noted for their bravery. It’s the father’s way of moving up in the world, so to speak.”