Chapter Fourteen

 

DUSTER DANCED IN place as if she knew they were about to embark on a big adventure. She tossed her head proudly and snorted.

“Easy girl. You don’t want to wear yourself out before we get out of town.” Mayme patted Duster’s neck. She circled the horse, making sure everything was securely tied, and then checked it again.

“Thank heavens I caught you before you left,” Mayme heard Iris say as she finished tightening the girth.

She freed the hooked stirrup from the horn, let it down, and turned around.

Iris shoved a small sack into Mayme’s hands. “I made these for you.”

Mayme opened the sack to find a several pieces of fried bread, each with a hole in it. She looked at Iris with raised eyebrows.

“I put holes in them so you could just poke a finger in and eat them as you rode.”

“Oh! What a great idea. Thank you.” Mayme realized that she now had to say goodbye to Iris again. She felt a lump working its way into her throat and suddenly she couldn’t find her voice, couldn’t find the words to tell Iris what her friendship meant to her.

Iris must have read the look on Mayme’s face. She pulled her into a hug and then pushed her toward Duster. “You better get going. I’ll see you when I see you.”

Mayme smiled weakly and tied the sack onto the saddle horn. She stepped into the stirrup and pulled herself up into the saddle. She tipped her hat and said, “Yeah. Count on it.”

She pushed Duster into a slow trot to expel any lingering thoughts of changing her mind and staying. By the time she reached the town’s western edge, her concentration was solely focused on moving in rhythm with Duster’s gaits. Not for the first time, she gloried in being on the back of a horse again. She’d missed the wind in her hair, the smell of horse sweat, and the creak of leather. Duster felt good beneath her and didn’t seem to be bothered by the weight of all her gear.

The sun was high in the sky before she finally reached the point where she had to change direction and head north. The land fell away in gullies and ravines to the river. According to the map, she had to cross here.

Mayme pulled Duster up and double-checked the map. From her vantage point, she saw steep rolling hills that led up to huge outcroppings of underlying granite and gaunt pines that towered somberly everywhere. It all seemed so wild and untamed to her mid-west bred eyes.

A barely perceptible cattle trail led her eyes to the river below. Beyond, the trail cut through a wall of white birch trees. She clucked to Duster, leaned back in the saddle, and let Duster pick her way down the rocky slope littered with rocks and old piles of cattle dung.

The closer she got to the river, the wider it seemed to grow. Large boulders were spattered downstream just before a series of rapids rippled the water. Mayme scanned the current for the best place to cross and found a spot where it seemed calmer. She pointed Duster toward the river and entered the water. The sloshing and dull thuds of hooves meeting the rocks beneath the water mixed with the breeze created by the river.

Aside from a few stumbles, which Duster easily recovered from, the crossing was uneventful. Convinced they both could use a break, Mayme dismounted on the other side. While Duster drank her fill from the river edge, Mayme sipped from her canteen. As she did so, she scanned Duster’s legs and made sure the shoes were still securely nailed to her hooves. She untied the bandanna, dipped it into the water, and wiped her face and neck of sweat and dust.

A slap against the water caused her to look up quickly. She watched a beaver resurface and scramble onto flattened ground where a cluster of poplar trees grew, several of which sported notches from the creature’s gnawing. The beaver had squinted slits for eyes and crinkly bare ears. It stood up on its hind legs and tipped its nose upward to detect any possible danger. As its nose wiggled up and down, it showed off four curved teeth stained as if from eons of continuous tobacco chewing. Eventually it ambled back into the water and disappeared.

Mayme checked the saddle girth and gathered the reins. Duster seemed refreshed from her long drink and short rest. The sweat on her neck had dried and Mayme made a mental note to give her a good brush down when she camped for the night.

The trees ahead were dense and green. “I better take advantage of the sun while we still have it, eh girl?” Duster pricked her ears forward and seemed to listen. Mayme slid the pocket watch out and checked the map against her current position. “So far, so good.”

A few minutes later she wove Duster through the stand of cottonwoods lining the river. The ground slowly rose as she rode. She knew she must be close to, if not into the foothills. The landscape was quite pleasing. The foliage was lush and shadows dappled the ground.

Eventually the water loving trees gave in to the pines. The ground was littered with brown needles and the tops of the trees stretched up tall into the sky. She came to an edge where the trees emptied out into a meadow covered in blooming flowers. As she took in the colorful landscape, her eyes came to rest at the base of the huge pine next to where Duster stood. A litter of pinecone flakes on the ground betrayed the red squirrel sleeping on the branch above. With its tufted ears and tail of fine hairs curled over its back and projecting just in front of its face, it resembled a large, hairy pinecone.

Duster tossed her head and stared intently across the meadow. Her big chest expanded as she took in a deep breath and fidgeted beneath Mayme. She put her hand on Duster’s neck and squinted to try to see what had her horse’s attention. She thought she might have seen some shadows and maybe a glint of something shiny, but in the end, she couldn’t be sure. Besides, whatever it was must have moved on because Duster snorted once and lowered her head to grab a few mouthfuls of grass.

Mayme loosened the strap on the rifle scabbard just in case. She knew Indians lived in this part of the country, although she’d ever laid eyes on one, even in town. Then again, it very well may have been the stallion that Mr. Smart had spoken of. If it came down to preventing him from stealing Duster and shooting him, she didn’t think she would hesitate. Suddenly she realized exactly how Mr. Smart felt.

The sun touched the peaks of the mountains and was starting its slow decent into night. Slivers of bright orange and red streaked across the sky.

Mayme had already made her first mistake. She’d forgotten how quickly it got dark after the sun disappeared behind the mountains. She scanned the meadow. Other than a few taller flowers moving in the slight breeze, all was still.

She dismounted and quickly got to work. After looping a rein over a low branch, she loosened the girth and slid the saddle off Duster’s back. She untied her bedroll and saddlebag and put them next to a downed log. Realizing she needed to get a fire going quickly, she scraped the ground of litter and scuffed as much dirt to the sides as possible. There wasn’t much because of the deeply imbedded granite, but it would suffice. She snapped dead branches off the pines and soon had a decent pile.

The flint was easy to use. With the dry tinder, the sparks caught hold and soon small flames licked the wood. The pine resin snapped as it burned and reminded Mayme of the fires she used to build for cooking at Mrs. Randall’s house.

That thought brought about a pang of loneliness. She missed Iris’ and Mr. Smart’s company. They both had added so much value to her life. There was no doubt in her mind that she wouldn’t have succeeded in getting this job if it weren’t for their help. Her fatigue would make her long for their company more, she knew, so she focused on caring for Duster and making something to eat. She was tired enough that sleep wouldn’t be long in coming afterward.

Mayme woke suddenly to impenetrable darkness. The fire had died down to embers so the only light was the bit that crept from the moon through the tree canopy. Duster’s dark form remained motionless, although her head was up and alert with ears pricked forward. Mayme strained to look through the darkness, but to no avail.

An owl hooted from across the meadow and was answered by another from the trees behind her. Other than that, all was quiet. But what woke her? And what had Duster’s attention? Mayme’s heart beat thickly in her ears. She was sure even Duster could hear it. She slid her hand out from under the blanket and felt for the rifle. She’d propped it against the saddle before she’d gone to bed. A surge of panic was nearly her undoing as she failed to find the gun. Her fingers finally landed on it as she bent her elbow and felt nearer to her head. She rolled her eyes, thinking this was all ridiculous. But Duster’s sudden snort told her differently.

Mayme fought the instinct to freeze. With a shaky hand, she slid the rifle down along her ribs and held it to her chest. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Beads of sweat formed on her upper lip and she licked it nervously. As slowly as she could, she shoved the blanket off to the side and rolled into a deeper shadow, one where what was left of the fire couldn’t touch. She crept forward on her hands and knees until she crouched by Duster’s front legs.

Duster lowered her head and blew a soft breath into Mayme’s hair.

“Easy girl,” Mayme whispered.

Uneventful minutes turned into what seemed like hours. Her knees ached from maintaining her position. She finally gave in and sat down. She draped the rifle over her lap and leaned against the tree to which Duster was tied.

A bird woke her once again, although this time it wasn’t an owl. In fact the meadow and woods around her was full of birdsong. Robins, magpies, and chickadees flitted among the branches above her.

She couldn’t believe she fell asleep. Her butt was asleep and she was sure she had the bark imprint on her cheek. Her muscles ached from the tension of last night and riding all day yesterday.

Duster wiggled her lip over the top of Mayme’s head.

“Some help you are. You let me fall asleep, you big oaf.” Mayme got to her feet and stroked the mare’s neck. Dried, crusty sweat flaked under her hand and she instantly felt guilty for not giving Duster the grooming she’d promised.

After surveying the expanse of the meadow for any movement, Mayme grabbed handfuls of pine needles and rubbed them over Duster’s hide. After she finished a little while later, Duster’s coat was smooth and shiny. Mayme untied her and with the rope dragging at her feet, Duster grazed the grasses nearby. She was quite pleased to see the mare didn’t seem to want to wander too far.

Breakfast consisted of some of the fried bread Iris had given her and a can of beans. She’d been so engrossed in navigating the countryside on horseback that she’d only eaten a few bites of jerky yesterday. She made a mental vow not to do that again as it added to her fatigue and could ultimately be deadly if her reaction time was slowed.

While chewing the last mouthful of bread, she wound the watch and confirmed her route for the day. After making sure the fire was completely dead, she readied Duster, gathered everything, and tied it onto the saddle.

Her route would take her into the southern side of the meadow. Curiosity got the better of her so she decided to ride to the meadow’s far side before taking the prescribed way out.

Mayme watched Duster’s ears and paid particular attention to her body language as they crossed the meadow. Aside from a few hard tail swishes, she didn’t seem to be bothered by anything. But her blood chilled as she saw the large area of flattened grass. She looked around as she slid the rifle from the scabbard. Everything was still. Even the birds had quieted. The hairs on the back of her neck stood up and she felt like she was being watched. She zig-zagged Duster back and forth looking for clues but saw nothing that hinted at what had been here.

Deciding she’d wasted enough time looking for what well could be nothing at all, she pointed Duster toward the intended course and eased her into a canter. The further she got from that spot, the more at ease she felt.

She just reached the edge of the meadow, about to enter the trees and heard an owl hoot. She pulled Duster up fast, turned around, and scanned the tree line. Owls were normally quiet during the day. Something wasn’t right. Whatever or whoever was out there was well hidden and had no desire to be seen.

She gathered the reins and squeezed her legs into Duster’s sides. It seemed Duster was just as anxious to leave because she half-reared and pushed off with her hindquarters.

A light mist settled over the mountains as they climbed higher and the trees grew shorter. The horizon to the east was clear and several rays of sun speared their way out of the clouds. It seemed a vast silence reigned over the land.

Mayme looked behind her every few minutes for the first two hours. But eventually her neck grew tired of the harsh twisting and every time she turned, Duster reacted to her weight adjustment in the stirrups. She’d had to check the pocket watch a couple times to make sure they were still on course.

The trees eventually fell away to a huge meadow that occupied the entire side of a mountain. Jagged boulders of granite sporadically littered it. The cloud deck had finally risen to reveal the vast mountain range. She suddenly felt very small and alone, and patted Duster’s neck for reassurance.

She pointed Duster downhill toward a flatter ridge, which seemed to circle the mountain. According to the map, this would take her northwest and within a day’s ride of Oro Fino Creek.

Two brown ptarmigan, small chicken-like birds, skittered like moving shadows through the short plants. They crossed in front of them and finally took to the air on stiff wings.

A golden eagle screamed from above. As Mayme brought her gaze down from the sky, one of the boulders moved. No, not a boulder. Her heart caught in her throat as she realized it was a grizzly bear.

Thankfully the bear was occupied, busily eating berries and seemingly anything else it could find. It had a massive head, concave facial profile, and small ears. Its high shoulders produced a sloping back, which emphasized its robust build. The light-colored shaggy coat glimmered in the sun as it moved. It casually turned its head and caught sight of her and Duster. It watched them for a few moments before rising up on its hind legs. The high shoulder hump was more visible and Mayme saw the mass of powerful muscles that drove the front legs. Six-inch daggers for claws hung from its paws.

She silently urged Duster on and left the bear to fill its stomach with the berries and not fresh meat.

The hours passed without event. By mid-day she’d descended the mountain far enough to meet up with a fast-rushing creek. According to the map, this was Oro Fino Creek. Tomorrow she’d need only to follow the creek upstream and make her first mail delivery.

Once she made camp, gathered firewood, and had a low fire burning, she led Duster to the creek. She wetted the now empty sack Iris had given her and rubbed it over Duster’s hide. Dirt, sweat, and hair ran down her legs and were swept away by the water.

Mayme drank in the fragrance of the cool water. By the time she was done with Duster, she was anxious to clean off her own sweat and dirt, in addition to that of Duster’s that clung to her.

While Duster grazed the lush grasses along the stream, Mayme shed her clothes. She breathed a sigh of relief upon removing the wrap from her chest. She was chaffed in a few places, but nothing severe.

Finally naked, she didn’t hesitate to submerge herself into a quiet pool beneath a tree, which had at one time lost the fight against an eroding torrent. Although the water was chilly and goose flesh peppered her skin, it was quite refreshing. She used the sandy silt from the creek bottom to scrub the dirt and grime from her body. The cold eventually drove her out and she stood by the fire to dry and get warm. Her last chore before settling down to eat was to rinse her shirt and wrap, and hang them by the fire to dry.

Mayme kept her eye on Duster. She’d come to trust her to alert her to any danger. But the horse seemed content to graze. Every once in a while she’d raise her head with a mouthful of grass and watch Mayme work around camp.

Before she retired for the night, Mayme tied Duster close. This time she laid the rifle right alongside her instead of propping it against the saddle.

Duster’s nicker woke her later when the moon was high in the sky. She flung the blanket back, grabbed the rifle, and stood by Dusters side.

“What is it, girl?” She laid her hand on Duster’s neck. The horse seemed more curious than nervous. She heard horses stepping among the rocks somewhere downstream, heard them drink from the shallow pools in the dark where the rocks lay smooth. Eventually all was quiet.

She stood for a while longer and hearing nothing, returned to her bedroll. She still kept the rifle close. As she lay here, she wondered if the horses belonged to the stallion Mr Smart had spoken of. Would he have driven his herd this far into the mountains? But, she reasoned, if that were the case, why hadn’t the stallion tried to drive Duster away?

Sleep claimed her again before she came to any conclusions. Aside from a few minor snaps as the fire cooled down, the only sound was that of the moving water.