Fear Weaver (3 page)

Nate wasn’t impressed. The wilds of the East were nothing like the wilds of the West. It could well be that Sully had no idea what he was letting himself in for when he brought his family to the Rockies. “What was this about directions?”

It was Ryker who answered. “The letter mentions a few landmarks. If I’ve read it right, Sullivan’s cabin is on the other side of this range.”

“Over the divide?”

Ryker nodded. “In a high valley. He mentions sand-stone cliffs that can be seen for miles. One is split down the middle and looks like a giant
V.”

Nate gave a slight start.

“What? Do you know where the valley is?”

“I might.” Nate had wandered all over the central Rockies when he was a trapper. From the geyser country to the deserts of the Southwest, he knew the land well.

Erleen Woodrow clasped her hands. “That’s wonderful news! You are a godsend, Mr. King.”

“How so?”

“You can take us there. It would save us considerable time, and we would be ever so grateful.”

“I’d be in your debt,” Peter stressed.

Nate stared at the stark heights they were making for. “If I’m right, your brother picked country few whites have ever set foot in.”

“The very kind Sully wanted.”

“Bears and the like will be as thick as fleas on an old hound. And there are bound to be Indians.”

“Is that a yes or a no?” Aunt Aggie asked.

Nate stared at her, then at the two sons and the girls. His gaze lingered on young Tyne’s innocent features. He thought of his own daughter, Evelyn, and he gave the only answer he could.

Late summer in the Rockies.

The lush green of a wet spring had given way to the parched greens and somber shades of dry day after dry day. At the lower elevations withering heat blistered man and beast. But up in the high country while it was every bit as dry it wasn’t quite as hot.

As best Nate could judge, the pass he and the others were making for was at ten thousand feet. He had been over it only once, many summers ago when he and hundreds of other trappers were prowling in search of streams and rivers that might harbor the industrious creatures their livelihoods depended on.

At this altitude the air had a rarified quality that made Nate conscious of each breath he took. His lungs had to work a little harder; he had to breathe a little deeper.

The timberline was below them. Above were a series of steep slopes littered with treacherous talus and dotted with boulders. The ping of metal horseshoes on rock was constant as their animals strained to defy the cant, and gravity.

Nate was in the lead. They had been climbing for
hours when he came to a shelf and drew rein to await the rest.

Edwin Ryker was close behind. He swung his sorrel in next to Nate’s bay and idly scratched the scar where his left ear had been. “We need to talk.”

“Flap your gums but keep it short.” Nate was keeping an eye on Erleen Woodrow. Her mare was giving her trouble. It didn’t help that Erleen wasn’t much of a rider.

“What do you expect to get out of this? They are paying me a hundred dollars, and I’ll be damned if I will share.”

“Did I ask you to?”

“Not yet.”

Nate shifted his gaze from the struggling mare to Ryker. “I have no interest in their money.”

“Then why put your life in danger for a bunch of strangers?”

“They need help.”

“That’s it?” Ryker snorted. “I never took you for the noble type. Your son certainly isn’t.”

Nate placed his hand on one of the .55-caliber flintlocks tucked under his leather belt. “Insult me or my son again and you will find out exactly how noble I’m not.”

“Sheath your claws,” Ryker said quickly. “I have nothing against you. But we’re different, you and me. I’d never help these yacks if they weren’t paying me. They are sheep waiting to be slaughtered.”

“You don’t care about anyone but yourself, is that how it goes?”

“I make no bones about how I am.”

“Says the man who helped my son escape from men who were out to kill him. You are not the ogre you would like us to believe.”

Ryker laughed. “I don’t give a good damn what anyone thinks. As for your son, I helped him to spare my hide. There was a chance he might have gotten away on his own and come after me later. I didn’t want that. Your boy is a holy terror when he is out for blood.”

Nate opened his mouth to dispute it but didn’t. Ryker was right. Zach
was
a terror when his bloodlust was up, so much so, Nate often worried about what the future held for his hot-tempered pride and joy.

“So tell me. Are you thinking what I am thinking about Sullivan and his family?” Ryker asked.

“There’s a chance they are still alive.”

“You know better. It has been more than a year since anyone heard from them. We’ll find bones if we find anything, and then only if we find the valley and their cabin.”

“Do you always look at the bright side?”

Ryker laughed again. “I like you, King. For a mountain man you would make a fine schoolmarm.”

The mare was floundering. Stones and dirt cascaded from under her scrabbling hooves as she sought to keep her balance. Erleen leaned well back, the reins taut in her white-knuckled hands.

Cupping a hand to his mouth, Nate hollered, “Bend forward, over the saddle!”

“See what I mean about yacks?” Ryker said. “These infants don’t even know how to ride.”

“Bend forward!” Nate shouted again, and this time the woman listened. Almost immediately, the mare regained its footing and laboriously climbed the final twenty feet to the shelf.

“Praise God!” Erleen exclaimed. “I thought for sure I would take an awful fall.”

Ryker winked at Nate. “See what I’ve had to put up with?”

“How much farther to the pass?” Erleen asked.

“Another hour yet.” Nate checked the rest, but no one else was in trouble. Peter was a fair rider. The four youngsters did better than their parents, but none of them could compare to Aunt Aggie, who controlled her mount with superb skill. “That sister of yours can handle herself.”

“Agatha? Well, she is older than me by almost twenty years.” Erleen fiddled with her bonnet. “Our folks had nine children. She was the eldest, and I was the youngest.”

Ryker said, “One kid would be one too many for me. Brats at ten are brats at twenty, and I can do without the aggravation.”

“Must you be so crude, Mr. Ryker? I have asked you before to be civil, and it would delight me greatly if you would at least try.”

“What are you in a huff about? All I said was that most kids are brats.”

Peter joined them, then the girls, then Fitch and Harper. Last to reach safety was Aunt Aggie. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were twinkling with excitement. She brightened even more when Nate complimented her riding.

“Thank you, kind sir. It is unfortunate you have a wife. My third husband died on me five years ago and I have not come across a likely replacement.”

Erleen colored from neckline to hairline. “Is there no end? Have you no modesty or decorum? And in front of Anora and Tyne, no less.”

“That’s all right, Mother,” Anora said. “We don’t mind. We like Aunt Aggie.”

“She is the best aunt ever,” Tyne agreed.

“Agatha can be charming, I grant you,” Erleen responded. “But she can also be as crude as Mr. Ryker, and I would rather she doesn’t influence you with her sinful ways.”

“Oh Lord,” Aunt Aggie said.

“Don’t take that tone with me, sister. Three husbands is two too many. You always have been too lax when it comes Tomen and your tart tongue.”

“I should hope so,” Aunt Aggie said.

Since Peter was imitating a lump of clay, Nate held up a hand. “Enough, ladies. I don’t care to listen to you bicker every foot of the way.”

“Oh, this is normal for us,” Aunt Aggie said. “My little sister has always thought she is better than I. She never passes up an opportunity to point out my flaws.”

“You are impossible,” Erleen said.

Peter finally stirred. “You heard Mr. King.”

Nate reined the bay around. Other than pockets of scrub brush and a few small boulders, the next slope presented no problems. He twisted to mention to the others to be sure to string out in single file, and happened to glance past them at the forest below.

It took a few seconds for Nate to realize what he was seeing. Then he blinked and it was gone.

Ryker was next to him, and asked, “What was that look on your face just now?”

“Have you seen sign of anyone following you since you hooked up with the Woodrows?”

“No. Why do you ask?” Ryker twisted to scan the lower slopes. “Is someone trailing us?”

“At least one.”

“White or red?”

“He was too far off, and in the shadows.”

“So it could be either.” Ryker scowled. “Damn. And here I thought I was doing a good job of keeping them safe.”

“I thought you didn’t care about anything except the money.”

“They can all be scalped for all I care,” Ryker snapped. “I’m only thinking of my reputation. People aren’t going to want to hire me for a guide if I go and get some of them killed.”

“Be careful, Edwin.”

“Huh?”

“I’m beginning to like you.”

“Go to hell.” Ryker jabbed his heels and rode on.

Chuckling, Nate stayed where he was and motioned for the rest to go on by him. Peter nodded as he went past. Erleen smiled. Aunt Aggie drew rein.

“Resting so soon? I figured someone with as many muscles as you must have stamina to spare.”

“It’s a good thing my wife isn’t here. She would shoot you.”

Aunt Aggie grinned in delight, then sobered. “Be honest with me. I saw you whispering with Smelly. What is going on?”

“Smelly?”

“My nickname for our guide. Haven’t you noticed? If you are near him when the wind is right, you would swear you were downwind of a barrel of rotten apples. And that is being charitable.”

It was Nate’s turn to grin. “Baths aren’t considered a necessity out here.”

“You must be a reader,” Aunt Aggie said. “I can always tell by the words people use. And only a reader uses ‘necessity’ Smelly would have said something like, ‘Baths ain’t good for you,’ and then scratched his armpit and smelled his fingers.”

Despite his concern, Nate indulged in a belly laugh. “I do happen to own a couple dozen books. I have my mother to thank. She loved to read. She turned me into a reader when I was six and I have been reading ever since.”

“Smart woman. But then readers always are. Our brains need fertilizer just like plants or they go to weed like Smelly’s.”

A cough came from behind her. The four offspring had drawn rein and were waiting for her to go on.

“Our folks are getting too far ahead,” Fitch said.

“We will talk books later,” Aunt Aggie told Nate, and clucked to her horse.

Fitch and Harper rode past. Anora remarked that she was sore from all the riding. Tyne came to a stop and fixed those trusting blue eyes of hers on Nate.

“Why are Indians following us, Mr. King?”

Nate almost swore. “You’ve seen some?”

“Oh, yes. There are four of them. They are being sneaky, but I spotted them when I was swatting at a fly that wouldn’t leave me alone. I didn’t let on that I knew they were back there.” Tyne chortled. “They are funny, the way they go from tree to tree and try to stay hid.”

“Why didn’t you let me know?”

“I’m sorry. Should I have? No one told me. Mother said that if any Indians came up Tome I was to smile and be friendly so they would be nice, but those Indians haven’t come close yet.” Tyne fluffed at her golden curls. “They must be friendly or they would have tried to hurt us by now. And here I’d heard the most awful things about Indians.”

Nate remembered a Mexican freighter he came across once down near Santa Fe. The Apaches had tied the man upside down to a wagon wheel and lit a
fire under his head. Then there were the three Conestogas caught unawares by Comanches. He could think of plenty more, but he preferred not to. “From here on out, little one, you tell me when you spot an Indian. Anytime, day or night, whether I am awake or asleep.”

“I will.” Tyne smiled and slapped her legs against her pinto. “I better catch up. Father gets annoyed if we fall behind.”

Nate brought up the rear. He deliberately rode slow until a fifty-foot gap separated him from the rest. When he came to a cluster of cabin-sized boulders, he reined in among them, swinging down and shucking his Hawken from the saddle sheath. Then, keeping low, he worked his way to the lowest boulder, flattened, and crawled to where he had an unobstructed view of the slope he had just climbed.

Now all Nate had to do was wait. Whoever was back there was bound to show themselves. He hoped it wasn’t hostiles.

Some whites were fond of saying that the only good Indian was a dead Indian, but Nate wasn’t one of them. He didn’t hate Indians just because they
were
Indians. He’d married a Shoshone woman, after all, and been adopted into her tribe. He dressed more like an Indian than a white. And he was so bronzed by the sun that, were it not for his beard, he could pass for an Indian.

Long ago, Nate had learned an important lesson. The red man was really no different than the white. Oh, each had their own customs, and they wore different clothes and lived in different dwellings and spoke different languages. But when all that was stripped away, the red man and the white man were a lot more alike than either was willing to admit.

Another lesson Nate learned was that, just as with whites, there were good Indians and there were bad Indians. There were Indians who were kind to one and all, and Indians who would slit the throat of an Indian from another tribe as readily as they would slit the throat of a white man.

Movement below brought an end to Nate’e reflection. He rose on his elbows to better see the four warriors who had emerged from the trees and were climbing toward him.

“Damn.”

Nate didn’t need his spyglass to tell they were Blackfeet. And there was nothing the Blackfeet liked more than to count coup on whites.

It was rare to see Blackfeet so deep in the mountains. Rare, too, to see such a small number. Usually their war parties were made up of thirty or more warriors. Nate suspected the four were a hunting party; they had spotted Ryker and the Woodrows lower down and were waiting for a chance to kill them or steal their horses, or both.