Blizzard: Colorado, 1886 (8 page)

Maggie set to work, half stooped as she made her way to the central trunk. Where the pine had died back, the smaller branches snapped off easily. Maggie backed her way out of the krummholz over and over, stacking armloads of splintered wood across her shirts. Every two or three trips she sat on the brittle brush, compressing it. Once she had enough kindling, she tried to get larger branches.

Because the wood was dried so completely by the constant freezing cold and the winds, it was light and fragile. Using only her hands, Maggie managed to break off branches as big as her wrist. Using a stone for a hammer, she got four or five bigger ones.

When the pile of brush and branches on her shirts was big enough, she pulled the outermost sleeves up and over, tying them together to form a tight circle of flannel around the middle of the stack of wood. Then, breathing hard, Maggie stepped back and glanced at the sky. If she hurried, she would have time for one more load.

Maggie rolled the bundle of wood forward so that
the knot in the ends of her shirtsleeves was easy to reach. Using it as a handle, she hoisted the load of wood onto her back. She could manage the weight, but it would be difficult. She looked up the mountainside.

The sharp incline that she had skidded down so fast seemed five times as long now. Twice, Maggie started upward and fell back, unable to balance the weight of the wood. Feeling her stomach tighten, she sat panting to catch her breath. If she couldn't get the wood back up to Hadyn, they wouldn't make it through the night.

The wind whistled through the rocks above. Maggie shuddered, remembering her body lifting, being driven along against her will. If the wind came up again, she wasn't sure she could make herself brave the drop-off a second time. She balled her hands into fists, stamping her feet to warm them. She glanced at the rounded canopy of the krummholz and hesitated, an idea forming in her mind.

Dropping to her knees, Maggie squeezed back into the little sheltered room formed by the wind-tortured branches. Using a stout limb to gouge at the ground, she began to dig.

Hadyn felt a weight on his chest. He had no idea what it was or where it had come from. It was dark where he was now, and there was little sound, only a distant whining, like someone singing a vague, sad song.

Slowly, Hadyn became aware that he was uncomfortable. He rolled onto his side, drawing his knees up close to his chest. It was cold and still very dark. His bed seemed too lumpy, too hard. Was he dreaming? The whining sound seemed to get louder and he wondered what it was.

A trembling began in Hadyn's legs and passed upward through his body. It got worse, until he was shuddering, almost convulsing. He was cold, too cold. What was wrong? He had the awful thought that he might be dead. He wasn't sure why he thought it was likely, but somewhere deep in his heart, he knew it was. Frightened, Hadyn opened his eyes.

For an instant he was confused by what he was seeing. Some kind of dark, uneven wall rose crookedly over his head. Above it was an irregular strip of dusky light. The sky? The mournful whining went on and on, rising, then falling.

Hadyn blinked and uncurled his body, his teeth chattering uncontrollably. Sitting up slowly, he leaned forward, nauseated. He rubbed his hands together as parts of his memory came rushing back. He could recall the terrible wind and the cliff he had been so sure he was heading straight toward. He shook his head to clear his thoughts.

Fingering the bedroll, Hadyn tried to remember how he had gotten here. He could vaguely recall struggling toward the rocks in the howling wind. Obviously someone had helped him—someone who had the kindness to wrap him up in a bedroll. But where had he gone? Hadyn leaned out from beneath the overhanging rock, then ducked back. It was snowing.

Abruptly, Hadyn realized his bag was gone. Where was it? He frowned. Like puzzle pieces falling into place, images of himself leaving the ranch and Maggie yelling at him from the porch appeared. He recalled the mountain lion, too, and running away without his bag.

Hadyn clenched his teeth. How had he gotten here, and where had the person who'd helped him gone? He sat up straighter. His boots were set side
by side near the rock wall, his gloves draped across them. Then he saw a knapsack lying a few feet away.

The wind was dropping, but now it was snowing harder. In the hush left behind by the slackening wind, Hadyn thought he heard someone coming. He struggled to his feet. The bedroll made him lurch to one side, but he managed to catch his balance before he fell against the rock. The footsteps were coming closer. Hadyn kicked free from the blankets, then turned to grab his boots. Maggie had told him about all the crazy miners who still lived up in the mountains. All he wanted was to get home. If some old man living in a shack would get him back to Lyons, he was sure his father would be willing to pay a reward.

Hadyn was trembling as he pulled on his boots. His fingers were numb, clumsy. The footsteps were getting closer. He reached down for his gloves.

Straightening up, Hadyn stood unsteadily. His scarf had come undone and he pulled it off, then rewrapped it around his neck, never taking his eyes off the curving rock ledge. He heard the dry rattle of stone against stone.

The wind was easing up, but it was snowing a little harder as Maggie made her way up the mountainside. There wasn't much daylight left. She wasn't sure how she was going to get Hadyn down to the krummholz tree, but she had to think of something. By leaving the firewood down below, she had eliminated any other choice.

The main thing was to hurry: Maggie knew that she had to get a fire started, and soon. She had to get Hadyn warmed up—and herself. As cold as it was now, it would get far colder by morning. And there was every chance that the wind would come back up.

She ran a few steps, then tripped, flailing wildly with her arms to catch her balance. She forced herself
to slow back to a walk. She was already exhausted. It would be stupid to fall now. If she got hurt, neither she nor Hadyn would ever get home.

The fissure seemed longer than it had before. Maggie was glad she had built the cairns to guide herself through the maze of rock ledges. Walking heavily, sometimes sliding on the loose rock, Maggie finally came around the last curve.

The bedroll was twisted in a heap. For a few terrifying seconds, Maggie thought the cat had found them. But then she noticed that Hadyn's boots were gone.

“Hadyn!” Maggie's cry rang on the rocks.

She was about to yell again when she saw him step into sight. He smiled weakly. He looked so awful she felt sorry for him—but she was still angry.

“Maggie.” He came toward her.

She could see the fear in his eyes, and her anger faded. “I found a good place where we can build a fire and spend the night.” She pulled the canteen out of her knapsack and handed it to him. “Can you walk?”

Hadyn took a long drink of the sweet coffee. Then he nodded. “I think so. How did you find me?
I thought I was going to die out here.” He sipped at the coffee.

Maggie shook her head. “You left a trail that a two-year-old could have followed.”

“I saw some cows—”

“And a mountain lion,” Maggie interrupted. She watched astonishment cross his face. “Mountain lions leave tracks too, Hadyn.”

Hadyn shivered. “It came after me, Maggie. It could still be close.”

“I expect he's still finishing supper,” Maggie said, shaking out the bedroll. She rolled it up and handed it to Hadyn. Then she grabbed her knapsack and shrugged the straps over her shoulders. “Let's go.”

Hadyn hesitated. “It's almost dark, Maggie. We should stay here.”

She shook her head, too tired to argue. “No, Hadyn, we shouldn't. If the wind gets bad before morning, we could end up stuck in these rocks until it drops again. And besides, there's firewood down there.”

“Firewood,” Hadyn echoed.

Maggie nodded wearily. “Come on.” She started down the fissure, glancing back three or four times
to make sure he was following. Her legs felt like lead and her whole body ached. But she knew she still had work to do. She could only hope that Hadyn would be able to help her.

Maggie went slowly—she had no choice. It was getting hard to see. Hadyn managed to keep up most of the way. Maggie waited for him at the top of the incline above the krummholz, snow swirling around them.

“Down there?” Hadyn asked, coming to stand beside her.

Maggie nodded. “Can you make it?” She swayed on her feet, desperate to get going, to get a fire made.

Without answering, Hadyn started forward cautiously. Maggie waited until he was halfway down, then followed. He lost his footing and sat down hard, skidding the last dozen feet to the bottom. He came to rest a few feet from her bundle of firewood.

Maggie felt an absurd laugh rising in her throat. It was all she could do to keep from giggling as he stood up, brushing at his pants. She took the bedroll from him and dusted off the icy soil.

“Go under,” Maggie instructed Hadyn.

“What?” he said, frowning at her.

“Under the branches. It's sheltered in there, almost like a snow cave.”

Hadyn hesitated, so Maggie went past him, ducking beneath the twisted limbs. “Come on, Hadyn.”

Maggie waited, bent over, until he had made his way into the still, dark shelter of the krummholz. Then she dragged the firewood bundle in after them. “Get the matches out,” she ordered Hadyn, pushing the knapsack into his arms as he sat down.

While Hadyn fumbled through the pack, Maggie laid a fire in the pit she had dug, making sure there were no dry, overhanging branches. She used tiny twigs to start with, layering them closely. She wished for a little paper, or even dry moss, but that was impossible, she knew. Adding slightly bigger twigs to the pile, she turned and looked at Hadyn.

“Here,” he said, holding out the little waxed box.

Maggie took the matches from him and struck one, cupping her hands around the flame. She lowered it to the dry tinder. The flame flickered and popped, growing.

“God,” Hadyn breathed. “A fire.”

Maggie didn't answer him, but she knew he wasn't swearing. It had been a prayer of thanks. The
flame seemed like a miracle to her, too. It crackled, spreading slowly at first, then more quickly. Within a few minutes, they had a real campfire. Maggie sat so close to it that the soles of her shoes steamed and she could smell the wool of her coat. Still, she wanted to get closer. The orange firelight glowed on the branches above them.

“I really thought I was going to die, Maggie.”

Maggie looked up. “You came close. We both did. And we still have a long way to go.”

The instant she saw the fear leap back into his eyes, Maggie was sorry she had said what she did. But it was true, and there was no point in babying him. Or herself.

“I'm sorry, Maggie,” Hadyn said. “I should never have left like that.”

She stared at him. His face looked odd; dark shadows framed his eyes in the flickering light of the fire. She didn't know what to say. He was right—it
was
all his fault. But she had never expected him to admit it.

“I lost Rusty. I had him tethered to a log and he slipped his bridle.” Maggie hadn't known that she was going to say this, but as soon as she did, her eyes flooded with tears.

“Your mule?” Hadyn's voice was respectful for once, not teasing or mean.

Maggie nodded. “Maybe he'll make it home. He's smart.” She wiped at her eyes.

Hadyn cleared his throat. “I really am sorry.”

Maggie didn't know what to say, so she didn't say anything. Standing hunched over, she spread her father's bedroll close to the fire. She untied her flannel shirts and draped them over a bough near the fire to dry. Then she sat down.

“Take your boots off and make sure they get dry tonight,” Maggie told Hadyn. He nodded and she untied her own shoes, tilting them up at the edge of the fire with a thick stone placed beneath the heels. She took off her socks and hung them on some twigs she'd shoved into the heat-softened ground close to the fire. Hadyn watched, then copied her. After a few minutes, Maggie stood up to go get more firewood. The snow was coming down even harder.