THE NARROWS
The Cache La Poudre River rushed, tumbled and roared through the narrow chasm of rock. The lower temperatures at the higher elevation kept its boils tea colored, less muddy than down below. The angry flow threatened the narrow, rocky trail, already slick with shaded ice and partially thawed mud, its waters on the verge of eroding the soil clinging to the roots of the few tough cottonwoods that had weathered flash floods and spring thaws over the decades. Soon, it will get warmer, and there will be no trail, Black Feather thought with satisfaction.
The band rode single file, Dot right behind him and following her, Miguel. Turning in the saddle, Black Feather shouted through cupped hands over Dot’s head, “Miguel, go on ahead to where it opens up above here. It ain’t too far, maybe a couple hundred yards. Don’t show yourself. Just check and be sure we are alone.”
Miguel eased his grey mare carefully past Dot’s mustang and Black Feather’s big black stallion, who was tossing his head nervously at the powerful current. The Mexican had to raise his left stirrup boot far behind him, almost on top of the mare’s rump to avoid contact and even then, his saddle brushed Black Feather’s leg as his mount moved warily past.
Black Feather craned back in his saddle again, staring at Dot’s pallid face, bluish lips and half-closed eyes. Her shoulders swayed left and right as she tried to maintain balance even though the mustang stood still. A dull red bloodstain ran down the length of her pant leg along the calf. Not doing all too well. She’s gonna need some tending to.
The renegade motioned with his hand and the band, still strung single file, began to pick their way up the almost submerged path. Raising his arm, he motioned them to stop a hundred yards further. No sense talkin’, no one can hear me over this racket. Gesturing to the others to stay put, the renegade backed the stallion slightly. Leaning far to the back, he grabbed the reins of Dot’s mustang and eased the two horses another twenty or thirty yards until he could just make out the form of Miguel through the newly leafed trees. The Mexican had stopped his horse at the edge of the widening of the floodplain, his thin frame silhouetted by the wider backdrop of patchy snow, golden spring grass and sagebrush. Glancing back over his shoulder, Miguel motioned him to come up. Black Feather passed on the signal to the men waiting behind.
Emerging from the Narrows, they hugged the toe of steep and rugged slopes rising above them to the north. Angular rocks, granite slabs, scattered pines and the occasional more magnificent, thick red-brown trunks of ponderosas proudly towering above all the other trees, dotted the rugged terrain. Though now several hundred yards from the river, the roar was still deafening. Using his hands, Black Feather motioned to everyone to gather around him.
Pointing backward with his thumb over his shoulder, he half-shouted, “Miguel, Chief, take up positions on the tops of those cliffs. You’ll do better walking into position than trying to ride. Those hillsides is steep, slick, half-frozen like greased snot. No sense riskin’ your horses.” He looked south up at the sun already partially obscured by the high folds of the mountains across the river. “Figure we got four to five hours ’til dark. I’ll send some of the boys up around then to spell you.”
He looked from one man to the other. “Unless we get a spring storm, it should be a little bit warmer each day. When that river comes over the trail down there in the Narrows, we won’t have to post behind us. Until then I want one man out front and two men behind us at all times. Everybody is gonna have to do their part.” Several men shook their head and he thought he heard some grumbles but he couldn’t tell with the rush of the river. “That or maybe have your scalp lashed to an Arapaho lance or a cavalry saber run through you while you’re sleeping or worse if the bunch that sneaks up on us are like us.” Several men half-smiled at the thought. “I will do my share too.”
He looked sharply at Johnson. “When I’m on watch, Johnson, you will be responsible for the girl.” Johnson blinked, then nodded.
Black Feather pointed to a small canyon another several hundred yards up around the toe of the hill they had been skirting. “Looks like it flattens out at the mouth of that little draw. Fairly level and steep enough for good defense behind us.” He looked up to the sky again. “Probably get a bit more sun there, too. Tom, go up a quarter mile. There’ll be some rocks that come down off that hill and another little draw like this. Must have been some slides up there. Lots of them in this country. Some of them rocks come about halfway across this floodplain to the river. It’s a good spot. Get up in them boulders and keep your eyes peeled upstream. Ain’t no trail to speak of on the other side but don’t ignore it. You oughta be able to see anybody coming for quite a ways.” Tom started to put his heels to his horse but Black Feather put out his arm. “And one thing to keep in yer mind, that sun finishes its day swinging across these hills, then sets almost up-valley. Wear the brim of that hat low or you won’t be able to see nothing.”
“Good idea, boss.” Tom spurred his horse into a trot and moved upstream still hugging the toe of the hill.
“Well, what are you waiting for—summer?” Miguel and Chief glanced at each other and then wheeled their mounts, trotting back to some low pines where they tied them off. Slipping and falling every dozen or so steps, they began to pick their way up the slope, which would bring them to the top of the rock faces that plummeted into the Narrows.
“Johnson, let’s get up there and get set up. Ain’t gonna be warm nights this high, probably still frosting. I want to set up a bivouac for Dot. She’s weak and bleeding. I might have to work on that calf and you might have to hold her like before.” Johnson stared at the girl, now half slumped over, then looked apprehensively back at Black Feather.
“I think it will be okay for a fire if we keep it small and up that draw out of direct sight. Not many souls wandering around this high this early. Too late today, but tomorrow Chief and I will hunt up some meat. We both have bows. Way less ruckus. We’ll all get our bellies full, some rest and get mended up.”
Looking up river, Johnson lifted his chin toward the pass “How far you think to up there? I never been. Purty spot, though on the chill side.”
Black Feather smiled. “Thirty miles, maybe a bit more. This here is midsummer compared to up there right now. Winter ain’t quite over at ten thousand feet.”
Dot wasn’t sure where she was. She felt suspended, dizzy, floating. Realizing instinctively she was half-unconscious, she concentrated on keeping her hands tight around the saddle horn, adjusting their pull and pressure when she felt herself slipping one way or the other. Somebody put socks on my hands! It was an effort, but she half-opened her eyes. Mountains, and what is that loud roaring sound? My leg hurts.
Then two strong arms were lifting her, sliding her gently sideways from the saddle. Her eyes flickered. A blurry, bronzed, swarthy face with a scar above thin lips belonged to the arms that wrapped themselves under her thighs and shoulders, carrying her with an uneven gait. She was lowered down on something soft and warm. Fluttering one eye partially open, she saw Black Feather’s black and tan wool coat, the one he kept under his bedroll behind the saddle on his black horse.
His voice seemed far away. “You feeling okay? You with us?” So tired. She forced the one eye fully open. He was kneeling, staring hard at her as he carefully wrapped the folds of the greatly oversized jacket around her, tucking in the edges so it would not fall off. She realized she was shivering. “Cold,” she heard a high, weak, female voice say as if from somewhere else, “cold.”
“That’s okay.” The words came from the scarred lip. “We’ll git a little fire going, get warmed up and some food in you. Going to have to work on that leg a little bit. It’s opened up from ridin’. We gotta stop the bleeding.”
“No, no, it will hurt.” That same far-off girl’s voice. She felt the coat collar getting snugged around her neck with tender roughness. “Yep, it’ll hurt some, but if you keep bleeding it will be far worse than that. Don’t worry none, you’ll be fine.”
Then everything went black.
The next morning the sun shown pale and yellow from the east between the spires of rock that marked The Narrows, bathing their camp on the small alluvial plain at the mouth of the draw with relative warmth. Black Feather crawled into the bivouac he and Johnson had quickly but expertly constructed. The lean-to was simple but effective. They had lashed two poles, entry side higher, between two pairs of saplings, more or less evenly separated, then overlaid cut evergreen boughs on the top and sides. Not square, but cuts the wind and stops the frost.
Twenty feet into the little wash, four of the men huddled, stretching their hands out to a small fire crackling merrily and emitting the pleasant smell of pine pitch in its sparse smoke.
“Damn, fuego! First in una semana!” Miguel said in his thick, mixed English accent.
“Ain’t much of a fire,” Tom laughed.
“Well, may be small but it’s doing the job on my frozen fingers,” Johnson mediated.
Black Feather half-smiled to himself. Sometimes it’s the simple things. He gently separated Dot’s wool pant leg he had split the previous evening, carefully checking the areas he had cauterized with the glowing, red-hot blade of his knife. Good thing she was passed out. He brought his eyes close to her calf, shifting his position to allow more light along the area where the chunk of flesh was missing. Bleeding seems to have stopped.
She whimpered slightly. Still out—probably better that way. He backed out of the bivouac, rose and took several long steps to the fire. “Nice to see those flames, ain’t it, boys?” They all nodded. Tom pointed to the blackened kettle sitting on a rock at the edge of the flames. “Hot coffee, boss. First in a week. We already had ours.”
“Obliged, Tom. Throw me that cup.” He took a long swig of the black, very hot java. “I’m goin’ up river and spell Chief. Keep your eye on the girl, Johnson.” The men round the fire all looked at one another. “Just your eye.” Impelled by the deadly tone in his voice, they immediately turned their faces back to the flames.
“I’ll watch after her. She’ll be fine.” Johnson’s tone was reassuring but permeated with a subtle, odd distraction, which caught Black Feather’s attention, suddenly triggering a long forgotten memory. I wonder if he’s been thinkin’ about that gold he and I took from them pilgrims and buried in secret over on the Yampa years ago.
Black Feather held Johnson’s eyes for a moment, then nodded. “Come get me if she starts bleeding again.” He looked around the small circle. “When it warms up toward midday Chief and I will go get us that meat. I wanna use the bows. No sense making gun noise. Might be an elk back up from winter grounds and I’m sure there’s mule deer. They will be bedded down, easy to spot and we can put on a sneak. Tonight we’ll have ourselves fresh steaks.”
Tom grinned. “Meat, fire and coffee, I might just live here.” There were guffaws from all around the fire.
Smiling, Black Feather walked a few uphill paces and unhitched the stallion tied with the rest of the horses to the tether line slightly further up the draw.