The American Fur Company caravan started for the borders of distant civilization on July 18th. The horse carts and beasts of burden that had packed in supplies were now laden with the prime beaver furs collected by the fur company from their own mountaineers and purchased from the free trappers. As on the trip out, Tom Fitzpatrick served as commander of the caravan.
Instead of heading straight for St. Louis, the caravan leisurely followed a preplanned route that took them to Fort William on the mouth of the Yellowstone River. From there they made across the prairie toward Bellevue.
Nate rode with his family, Shakespeare, and Blue Water Woman near the head of the long column so they wouldn’t be forced to breathe the dust swirled into a thick cloud in the caravan’s wake by the passing of the cart wheels and the stock animals. Now that he was finally on his way, he was impatient to reach St. Louis. He kept asking himself the same questions over and over. What if Adeline had grown tired of waiting and returned to New York City? What could have brought her to St. Louis in the first place? Why had she sought him out after so many years?
The plodding progress of the carts ate at Nate’s nerves. In his mind’s eye he envisioned their location on the rolling plains, well northwest of St. Louis and heading roughly due east toward Bellevue, a frontier outpost approximately four hundred and fifty miles from the city where Adeline waited. If he was to strike off on a beeline to St. Louis he would arrive there at least two weeks before the slow caravan.
That night, their tenth since leaving the vicinity of Green River, Nate cleared his throat and looked across the camp fire at his wife and best friends. “I have an idea,” he announced.
“We’re in trouble,” Shakespeare said.
“What is it?” Winona asked.
“I’d like to shave some time off our trip by going straight to St. Louis instead of staying with the caravan.”
No one said a word for over a minute. Shakespeare and Blue Water Woman shared knowing looks.
Winona looked down at the flames lapping at the wood she had gathered earlier and said softly, “We run a great risk if we leave the safety of the caravan.”
“I’ve been talking to Fitzpatrick and some of the men driving the carts. They say no one has seen any sign of the Sioux or the Cheyenne in this region for a couple of months. The Sioux are supposed to be north of here, the Cheyenne hunting buffalo off to the south. We should be safe if we push hard and stay alert.”
“Should be,” Shakespeare said.
“You don’t want to do it?” Nate asked, aware of the chilly reception his idea had received.
“I’m just thinking of your family and my wife,” Shakespeare responded.
“And you think I’m not?” Nate bristled.
“I didn’t say that,” Shakespeare said. “I’ll do it if you insist, but I have grave reservations.”
“Winona?” Nate prompted.
She lifted her head and gazed at him with the strangest expression he had ever beheld on her face. Her mouth curved downward for a fleeting interval, and then she squared her shoulders, took a breath, and answered. “I will do whatever you wish, my husband. As always.”
“Fine, Then I’ll inform Tom Fitzpatrick,” Nate said, rising. He hastened away.
Winona watched his broad shoulders disappear in the darkness. She rose, glanced at her sleeping son, and walked a few yards from the fire to be alone with her thoughts. She knew the reason Nate was in such a hurry and it upset her beyond measure. He was eager to see that woman from the great city! All of her fears formed into a single wave of panic that washed over her heart and made her tremble uncontrollably.
“Care to talk?”
“Thank you, no, Blue Water Woman,” Winona replied, keeping her back to her friend so Blue
Water Woman wouldn’t see the moisture rimming her eyes.
“It means nothing.”
“Does it?”
“He was close to her once. His feelings are only natural. Just remember he loves you.”
“Does he?”
“You know he does.”
Winona kept quiet, struggling to maintain her composure. She heard Blue Water Woman move back to the fire and she stepped farther into the night, her arms folded across her chest, feeling chilly despite the warm temperature. She wished she could dig a hole, crawl into it, and pull the earth over her. For years she had dreaded losing Nate, and now her anxiety threatened to blossom into reality. For the life of her she didn’t know what to do.
Should she go on as if nothing out of the ordinary were occurring? Should she behave as she always had on the assumption nothing was changed between Nate and her? Or should she confront him with her fears and see how he reacted? She could even demand they call off the trip and go back to their cabin. But what would he do if she gave him an ultimatum? Would he become angry? Would he leave her for this white woman?
She sighed, overcome with sadness, and rued the day she had ever been born.
The next morning at first light they rode off, bearing southeast. A few of the cart drivers and stock tenders waved.
“Good luck!” Tom Fitzpatrick called.
“The same to you!” Nate replied, and took the lead, his Hawken draped across his thighs for instant use. While he was glad to be striking off on his own, he was puzzled by his wife’s sullen behavior. All last night and since awakening she had been unusually reticent, refusing to speak unless spoken to. With one exception. Around Zach she was her normal, cheerful self.
He tried putting himself in her place. What did she have to be upset about? Leaving the caravan? Or was she still disturbed over Adeline? He couldn’t believe it was the latter. She must know by now that he loved her and her alone. The only logical conclusion left the caravan. She was mad because he was hazarding all of their lives to shave off a few weeks’ travel time, an unreasonable attitude in his estimation. Being with the fur company caravan was no guarantee hostile Indians wouldn’t bother them. Sometimes roving bands refused to permit the caravan to pass until the warriors received a certain amount of merchandise as a token of the whites’ friendship. And there was always the danger of encountering a war party of Blackfeet, although those demons generally confined themselves to the mountains and the northern plains.
So he concluded he would say nothing to Winona. He knew her well enough to know it would intensify her anger, while if he let the storm pass she would be her old self before two or three days went by.
Or so he thought until six more days elapsed and she hadn’t changed at all. Near him she invariably was morose. Where once he could get her to laugh with ease, now she wouldn’t even smile. Neither Shakespeare nor Blue Water Woman offered any advice, although both were aware of the situation.
Late on the afternoon of the sixth day he was riding twenty feet in front of the others when Pegasus suddenly nickered and gazed off to the southwest. He looked in the same direction, his pulse racing upon discovering a large group of Indians riding over a low hill, heading westward. Instantly he reined up and raised the Hawken, fearing the worst, but the group disappeared moments later.
Shakespeare hurried up. “I saw them too, but I couldn’t tell which tribe they belonged to.”
“If they saw us and they’re hostile, they’ll try to get around behind us to attack,” Nate said. “We’ll play it safe and swing eastward for a while.” By doing so they would put more distance and a few hills between the Indians and themselves.
“I could go check their tracks,” Shakespeare suggested. “Might give us a clue.”
“What if they’re waiting for us to do just that?”
“They might be,” Shakespeare said. “Indians can be tricky devils when they put their minds to it.” He swung his white horse. “East it is then.”
For the better part of an hour they pressed on, until Nate was satisfied they had nothing to fear from the band. He angled to the southeast once more, seeking a likely spot to make camp for the night, preferably somewhere sheltered from the constantly blowing wind and where their fire wouldn’t be seen for miles around.
The sun sank ever lower.
Just when Nate had about resigned himself to making a cold camp on the open prairie, he spotted a line of trees indicating the presence of a creek. Rifle in hand, he rode closer. Other than a rabbit that bolted into the brush, there was no sign of life.
The creek was a thin ribbon of sluggish water that would probably dry up by September. A few pools of five or six inches in depth proved perfect for the watering of their mounts and their pack animals. Their camp was established under the trees on the east bank where a circle of undergrowth served to screen the campfire from view.
“We were fortunate today,” Blue Water Woman remarked as she helped Winona prepare the evening meal.
Nate didn’t care to dwell on the subject since it would only fuel Winona’s anger. “I wonder how much St. Louis has changed since last any of us were there,” he remarked.
“Quite a bit, I’d imagine,” Shakespeare said wryly. “But not enough.”
“How so?”
“Once a city springs up, stopping its growth is about as easy as stopping a raging forest fire. So St. Louis must be bigger than either of us recollect. I’d also wager there are more footpads, pickpockets, and killers prowling the streets and alleys than there ever were before. Imagine it. Over fifteen thousand people crammed into that one area on the west bank of the Mississippi like so many sheep in a pen, just waiting to be fleeced by the wolves in their midst.”
Nate saw a pensive expression on Winona and promptly responded, “I’ve been there, remember? It’s not as bad as you would paint it.”
“No. Worse.”
Nate was all set to launch into an argument to soothe Winona’s fears when a welcome interruption transpired.
“Pa, Samson hears something out there.”
All eyes turned to the huge black dog, resting on its haunches next to Zachary. It was staring to the north, its ears pricked, its nose flaring as it loudly sniffed the air.
“Could be any kind of critter,” Shakespeare said. “Nothing to fret over.”
As if to prove the mountain man wrong, several of the horses whinnied nervously and stamped the ground.
Rising, Nate scooped up his Hawken and cautiously moved to the edge of the firelight. Shakespeare was at his side. He saw nothing, heard nothing. Which meant nothing. There were nocturnal creatures capable of moving soundlessly and unseen when the occasion required, fierce beasts such as panthers, wolves, and grizzlies. And there were always Indians, although they rarely raided at night.
“I have a bad feeling,” Shakespeare said softly.
“A panther, you reckon?”
“Could be. Could be worse.”
Nate placed a finger on the trigger and his thumb on the hammer. If it was a wild animal, he counted on the camp fire to discourage an attack. Few beasts, including grizzlies, would venture too near crackling flames, perhaps out of a primitive,
instinctive fear developed ages ago by their bestial ancestors.
Shakespeare abruptly crouched and tucked his rifle to his shoulder. “Something is out there,” he whispered.
“You saw it?”
“Yes. Low to the ground about a hundred yards out.”
Straining his eyes, Nate failed to see whatever lurked in the dark. Long ago he had learned never to discount his mentor’s exceptional sight and hearing. Time and again he had been amazed by Shakespeare’s abilities. And here was another example. How in the world Shakespeare saw anything perplexed him. All Nate could see was a dozen yards or so of trees and grass, then a shroud of total blackness effectively blanketing the landscape in an impenetrable veil.
Pegasus neighed and tried to pull the picket stake loose.
“One of us will have to watch the horses while the other one protects our loved ones,” Shakespeare said.
“I’ll calm the horses,” Nate offered, hastening to the stock. Deep down he would much rather have been closer to his family, but Shakespeare could protect them as well as if not better than he could. And with Shakespeare ill, it was only fair for Nate to tackle the more physically demanding chore.
All of the horses were upright, most bobbing their heads in their anxiety, some stomping their front hoofs. No two of them were looking in the same direction.
That fact worried Nate more than any other. The camp must be completely surrounded. But by what?
“Samson!” Zach suddenly cried as the dog rose and took several strides away from the fire, a growl budding in its barrel of a chest.
“Stay!” Nate directed, hoping for once the dog would obey. It was then he heard the chorus of howls that shattered the night, and identified the creatures he now saw swarming toward the horses in a snarling mass of exposed teeth and sleek bodies.
They were wolves.
Lots and lots of wolves.