Woman of Courage (13 page)

“Yes,” Mary agreed. “He need good name.”

As Jim left the room, Amanda’s throat constricted. Behind Jim’s harsh exterior lay a kind, gentle man, and all it took was seeing his precious son to bring that out of him. Now if she could just get Jim and Mary to see their need for salvation, Amanda’s mission here at this place would be complete, for she felt certain that was the real reason God had brought her to this cabin. “God works in mysterious ways, His wonders to perform,” she whispered.

A
s Jim stood looking down at his wife and baby, an emotion welled in his chest he’d never known before. He had a son—someone to care for and carry on his name. For the first time since Lois died, Jim felt like he had a reason to live—a real purpose for his life. The love he felt for the tiny infant lying in his mother’s arms was undeniable. It was an emotion he thought had died with his first wife. All these years he’d protected himself from getting too close to anyone, even Buck. But now Jim’s heart lay wide open, eager to experience this newfound joy he felt seeing his newborn son. Was it possible that he felt something for the child’s mother, too? He knew he could never love Mary the way he had Lois, but if he were truly honest with himself, he’d have to admit that he did feel something for the Indian woman who’d borne him a son. What did he feel, anyway? Was it friendship? No, they’d never really been friends. In fact, Jim treated Mary poorly much of the time. In spite of his hostilities, though, she’d remained loyal and obedient, much like his dog.

As he continued to study Mary as she suckled their son, Jim realized that what he felt for her was respect. This young Indian woman had endured many hardships, before and after he’d brought her to his cabin. She had cooked his meals, cleaned his house, done many of his chores, and even made friends with his dog. Yes, Mary was deserving of Jim’s respect, if not his love. And now she’d given him the greatest gift of all—a beautiful, healthy son.

He pulled thoughtfully on his beard and smiled down at her. “So, what shall we call this little fella?”

Mary turned her gaze to the now sleeping babe, then looked back at Jim. “What name you choose?”

With no hesitation, Jim said, “I was thinkin’ Joseph would be a fitting name. That was my pa’s name, and he was a good man. I think he’d be right pleased to know he had a grandson to carry on his name.”

Mary lay silently for a while, then she said, “Joseph a good name, but he need Indian name, too.”

At first, Jim was tempted to argue that point, but he changed his mind. After all, little Joe was Mary’s son, too, and she had every right to choose a name. “Guess that’ll be alright,” he said. “What name did ya have in mind for him?”

“Little Wolf. I like he be called Joseph Little Wolf.”

“The boy’s name is chosen then,” Jim agreed. “There’s one thing, though.”

Mary looked at him with questioning eyes.

“He can be told of his Injun name when he’s older, but I wanna call him Little Joe for now.”

“It be as you wish, Husband. You want hold Little Joe now?” she asked.

“Oh yeah.” Jim took a seat on the edge of the bed and Mary placed the baby in his arms. As Jim gazed at his son’s tiny face, his vision blurred, and he swallowed hard, unable to express the way he felt. He couldn’t get over the baby’s dark hair, as coal-black as his mother’s. He’d done nothing to deserve it, but Jim felt as though he’d been given a second chance at happiness. He could hardly feel the weight of the little person he held in his arms, yet his heart felt as if it had grown ten times larger. He looked forward to the days ahead, raising Little Joe, and teaching him to hunt, fish, and trap. But that would come later, when the boy was grown. As Jim tucked his little finger into the baby’s fist, he sighed when his son grasped it strongly and held on. What more could a man ask for in this life? he wondered.

Buck prided himself on his expert hunting skills. He’d bagged more deer and elk than he could count, along with many buffalo, moose, antelope, and even some black bear. Today, he hoped to get his catch quickly and go home with plenty of fresh meat for the table, as well as some to dry and store for the days ahead. If he did well, he would share some of the meat with Jim.

Buck left his horse grazing in a grassy meadow and entered the forest of pine and fir trees on foot. It wasn’t long before he spotted a cow elk stepping out of the trees into a clearing. Taking a deep breath, he loaded his gun, steadied it, and was about to fire, when he noticed a young calf standing next to his prey. “That critter wasn’t there a minute ago,” he grumbled. “Must’ve been lyin’ in the grass.” Annoyed, Buck lowered the gun. He couldn’t bring himself to kill the mother or her baby, even if they were only dumb animals. Maybe he was getting soft. He shook his head in dismay and turned in another direction. He’d try his luck elsewhere.

Crossing the clearing, Buck headed for the woods on the other side. He had barely reached the stand of trees when he heard a loud rumbling noise. Swiveling, he glanced in the direction of the sound, and stopped short when he saw an enormous, brown grizzly bear emerging from the forest. Of all the animals in the wilderness, grizzlies were the most feared by Indians and white men alike. Sometimes towering over eight feet in height, the vicious animals were equipped with terrible needlelike claws. Buck knew that a single swipe could decapitate a man.

His mouth went dry as the giant grizzly lumbered toward him slowly, then stopped to sniff the ground. Grizzlies were noted for their poor eyesight, but they did have a keen sense of smell, and it soon became obvious that the bear had picked up Buck’s scent.

Taking off on a run, Buck dodged the pine and fir trees, until the forest became a blur. If he could just get to his horse quickly enough. Buck was running so fast now that he could hear his heart beating, like drums inside his ears. To his left, as he ran forward, he caught a glimpse of more brown and realized it was a grizzly cub. No wonder this bear was coming after him. Somehow, Buck had gotten between the cub and its mother—the worst thing anyone could do.

The bear was gaining on him. He could hear her low growl and the branches snapping under her heavy weight. The ground shook like it did during an earthquake. Feeling a sense of panic, Buck glanced back over his shoulder and saw that the bear had drawn closer. He could almost smell the grizzly’s rancid breath as it let out another roar.

Buck pivoted on one foot, planning to fire his black-powder rifle at the rushing animal. Too late. The grizzly let out an ear-piercing roar and blindly charged, knocking him off his feet. Buck rolled quickly to one side, narrowly escaping the bear’s cruel teeth. A huge paw came down on Buck’s chest, and he was quickly aware that his buckskin shirt had been torn clear through. His flesh was cut deeply, and warm blood pressed against his skin.

Buck turned this way and that, but the bear, with its relentless strength, kept him pinned to the ground. It continued to tear into Buck’s flesh at every opportunity.

Buck was drenched with perspiration and blood. Saliva from the raging animal mixed with his own fluids, saturating him. He could taste his own blood and smell his own fear, but Buck fought with all the energy he could muster. His gun had been knocked from his hand when the bear attacked, and it lay several feet away. Buck knew his only chance was to reach it and shoot the bear in the head. Each time the grizzly made another pass at him, Buck rolled inches closer to his rifle. Finally, with nearly all his strength used up, his fingers touched the tip of the gun barrel. Buck was thankful he’d loaded the gun before he decided not to shoot the elk and that it hadn’t gone off when he dropped it. Frantically, he pulled the gun to his side, raised it slightly, and shot the grizzly between the eyes.

As the bear’s blood splattered and blended with his own, the animal staggered, swayed, and sagged heavily onto its forepaws. A thick flow of dark blood poured from its skull as it went down and lay motionless, inches from where Buck sat sprawled on the ground.

Gasping for breath, pain stabbing at his chest, arms, and neck, Buck realized that his body was full of gashes where the bear’s claws had made deadly contact. He tried to stand but was too weak, so he did the only thing he could. He crawled on his belly toward his horse, knowing if he didn’t get help soon, he would surely bleed to death.

Clutching the gun tightly in one hand, Buck used the other arm to pull himself along. He’d only gone as far as the stream, when his strength gave out. He lay there in the tall grass, within reach of the water’s edge, unable to move. His mouth had gone dry, and his thirst was fierce. Short of a miracle, Buck knew he was a goner. As everything started to fade, the last thing Buck heard over the ringing in his ears was the bubbling of water as it spilled over a rock like a miniature waterfall. If only he could quench his thirst before he relinquished his soul to death.

W
hen Jim woke early the following morning, a sense of exhilaration coursed through his veins. He was a father now and would do his best to see that his wife and son’s needs were always met. Everything he did—hunting, fishing, trapping—had more purpose. Jim was glad he’d set some new traps yesterday and wouldn’t have to venture far from the cabin today. He wanted to be nearby to see that Mary got the rest she needed and to spend time holding their son.

Jim smiled as he glanced at the loft overhead where Amanda had made her bed last night. As much as he’d fought having her here, he had to admit her presence now that she was feeling better would be a benefit. He could go out to do his chores, hunt, fish, and trap without having to worry about Mary. If she were alone in the cabin with the baby, she’d probably try to do too much.

Thinking about the bed in the other room, Jim realized how foolish he’d been to forbid Mary from sleeping in it. For that matter, he ought to be sharing that bed, instead of sleeping on the floor by the fire.
Guess my stubborn pride got in the way of common sense
, he told himself as he slipped into a deerskin parka.

Jim had noticed when he’d first gotten up that he could see his breath. Despite the month of June bringing warmer weather to the mountains during the day, nighttime and early morning hours were still a bit chilly. While spring was usually wet, on occasion they got snow, even as late as July.

First things first
, Jim told himself. He needed to go down to the stream and fill a couple of buckets with water. If he did that before the women awoke, they would have fresh water for washing as well as for their breakfast preparations.

Whistling for Thunder to join him, Jim picked up the two buckets sitting outside the cabin door and headed for the stream. Only a hint of skunk smell lingered on the dog’s coat, so it wouldn’t be much longer before Thunder could come inside. Jim was glad because once he began traveling farther to check trap lines, he’d feel better knowing Thunder would be back in the cabin, guarding the women and keeping them company.

As Jim headed to the stream, he caught sight of some colorful wildflowers blooming nearby.
Them flowers are sure purty
. Jim reminded himself to pick a few for Mary before he went back to the cabin. He might pick a bunch for Amanda, too, because she deserved some kind of thanks for helping around the cabin.

Jim and Thunder were halfway to the stream, when he spotted Buck’s horse grazing in the meadow across the way.

Thinking Buck must be somewhere nearby, Jim moved on. As he drew closer to the water, he heard a low moan. Jim halted and cocked his head, listening intently.

Another unmistakable moan came from several yards away. Thunder growled, then whined, hair down the center of his back bristling and teeth gleaming against the light of the early morning sun. Cautiously, Jim inched his way along the grassy banks, wishing he’d had the presence of mind to bring his rifle along. He almost never left the cabin without it.
What was I thinking?
he bemoaned.

Looking over the area, Jim was shocked to discover Buck lying in a crumpled heap near the stream, shirt soaked with blood and eyes shut.

Jim rushed over and knelt beside his friend. It was hard to tell how badly Buck had been hurt, but several bloody gashes tore across the back of his neck and into his hairline, indicating that Buck may have tangled with a bear or mountain lion.

Jim placed one hand over Buck’s nose, to check for breath. Thankfully, his friend was still alive, although his breathing was shallow. Jim bent close to his friend’s ear and spoke softly. “Buck, it’s me, Jim. I need to get ya back to my cabin to clean your wounds and see how bad you’re hurt.”

A low moan escaped from Buck’s swollen lips, but he made no intelligible sound.

Knowing he didn’t have a moment to lose, Jim dropped his water buckets and hefted Buck over his shoulder. “God, if You’re up there, help me now,” he pleaded.

While Buck wasn’t a big man, he was no lightweight, either. Each step Jim took was done with great effort, and it took all his strength to keep his balance as he carried Buck carefully toward home. When he finally made it to the cabin, he wondered how he was going to get the door open without having to put Buck down. The door suddenly opened, and Amanda greeted them.