Chapter 10

 

Miranda edged to the opening and peeked out the small hole. She strained to see amid the twinkling fireflies. She hoped the shifting shadows dancing about the clearing were created only by the moonlit trees swaying in the night breeze.

She tightened the gathering line in the canvas opening to shut the rest of the hole and plopped back down. She had to stop thinking dreadful thoughts and get her mind on something pleasant if she stayed sane through this dark, lonesome night. What had Anselm been telling her as they jarred along trails rough enough to loosen her eye teeth?

They were going to homestead land that would be theirs. They would have bountiful crops of fruit in a few years from their orchard and a herd of cattle. Thoughts of a new home with a roof over her head during bad weather and protection from wild animals help calm Miranda's unsettled nerves. Her eyes grew heavy. Her head nodded and rested on her chest.

All at once, the whisper of grass bending and straightening up along side the wagon brought Miranda out of her stupor. Her eyes widened in fright. Her breathing became next to nothing. She strained to listen attentively, and dreaded to know what was out there.

Near the back wheel right under her, she heard a succession of sniffs and the sound of water trickling. An animal, checking out the wagon, had just marked his territory. A whine followed a low growl. That meant there were two animals. Miranda put her hand tightly over her mouth again to keep from making a sound.

Easing forward, she put a finger in the crack to widen the canvas opening. She gasped as she looked out at moving, yellow glares of too many eyes to count. Wolves! Some of them discovered the dead cougar. In a frenzy of ferocious growls, they fought over tearing the carcass apart.

At the sight of the wolf pack, a lump of fear rose in her throat, making it hard for her to breathe. She shrank back in her spot. With all that sniffing around, those keen smelling animals were bound to realize she was inside the wagon when they didn't have the cougar to occupy them. What would she do then?

Determined to protect herself, Miranda frantically fingered the supplies in the dark, feeling for a make shift weapon. She wished she could remember in what order she packed everything at the last camp.

Something shifted and bumped loudly against something else under her hand. Sounds outside the wagon stopped. Miranda closed her eyes and said a quick prayer for her safety. Now those wolves knew she was there. It wouldn’t take them long to figure out how to get into the wagon.

Grabbing the rope ends, she drew shut the canvas opening again. As it tightened, she heard a savage snarl and made out the dark figure of a wolf lunging at the canvas. Miranda held the opening in a tight grip and braced her body against the canvas. The force of the wolf was almost more than she could endure, but the canvas held. At least one of her ribs didn’t. She heard the bone crack and felt excruciating pain course through her chest.

The rustle of trampled grass mixed with threatening growls when the wolves retreated at the sound of her painful scream. Miranda peeked out.

The pack paced cautiously back and forth at the edge of the clearing. They hadn’t left and had no intention of leaving. She'd have to find something to use to fight off their attacks until daylight. Maybe then they would leave, or maybe Anselm would be back in time to help her.

Suddenly as hard as she'd had just longed for Anselm to hurry back, she wished for him to stay gone until morning. He'd be no match for all those wolves while trying to hold on to his skittish horse. He might even lose the mount again in the dark and have to go after him another time.

Again, she ran her hands over the supplies. Her fingers touched cold wood, slender but long and smooth. It was an axe handle, built sturdy enough to hold up under pressure. No sooner had that thought passed through her mind when a wolf reared up with his front paws on the wagon, sniffing the canvas.

With both hands gripped tightly on the cool wood, Miranda drew back the axe handle and swung down through the slit in the opening with all her might. The wolf yelped in pain as he took off for the safety of the trees.

Miranda was satisfied she drew blood when the other wolves tackled the wounded animal. A weak or injured member must be no good to the rest of the pack. A growling, snarling battle began. As long as the scuffle lasted, she knew she had a chance to rest.

Too soon, the carnage ended. With a taste of blood, the wolves were eager for more meat. Miranda rose up from her knees and braced herself with a tighter grip on the axe handle. The wolves came in pairs and kept coming, lunging at the canvas time after time.

The tough material ripped under pressure from the wolves' teeth and toenails and blows from the axe handle as Miranda beat them back. Her angry cries became as fierce as the wolves' savage wails. She felt a dull satisfaction with each blow when she heard painful yelps as the beasts retreated.

Lost in the moment with no thought of time, Miranda’s arms ached from exertion. Sweat dripped from her frizzled curls, soaked her dress and tacked it to her. Cool night air sifted through the tears in the canvas, making her wet, overheated body shiver. Each twisting movement at the waist sent a new wave of pain through her. A thick fuzziness in her head dulled her eyesight. She willed herself not to pass out. She couldn’t let those beasts win this battle.

Suddenly, there came a lull. Miranda tensed for the next rush. The pause seemed forever long. The world beyond the wagon was much too quiet. Now in the dim light, she could make out the crates stacked around her.

She took a deep breath and winced at the pain in her ribs. Wrapping her arms around her middle, she eased herself upright and moved to the canvas opening. She peeked through one of the rips. She could see shadowy trees and bushes. She let out a whoosh of air when she realized that was all there was. The wolves had slipped away to lick their wounds with the exception of one dark furred skeletal carcass.

Miranda’s fingers slipped off the canvas as she gently collapsed back on the quilts. She folded her aching arms across her ribs and cried. How had she thought she'd ever want to live in this terrible wilderness? Now it was too late to go back. Anselm would never do it.

Whatever resolve she had to build a new life with her husband and baby was gone. She wanted no part of this land. Her last thought as she blacked out was she'd live here because she had to, but she wouldn't like it.

Some time later though the fog in her mind came sounds. Already in a panic, she fought to wake up and searched around her with one hand for the axe handle. She recognized the blows of a hard breathing horse. Indians had found her. She looked at the axe handle and wished for a rifle. Despairing fear mounted in her. It crossed her mind, she wouldn't have to worry about enduring this terrible place for long. She’d fought off wolves, but unarmed, she wasn't a match for Indians.

The sound of walking horse hooves ceased. Restless stomps followed. Miranda squeezed her eyes tightly shut to keep from crying. The end of her life was near. All she could do was wonder why she hadn’t been wise enough to start this journey more prepared. If only she could do it over, she’d have ask Anselm to teach her what she needed to know to survive in this wilderness. Though now that she had a taste of what it was like in Willamette Valley, she knew she probably would have talked Anselm out of coming.

Drained of energy, she looked up at the canvas top waving between the hoops in the gentle breeze and prayed her life would end swiftly. Her prayer was interrupted by the whistled tune Old Dan Tucker.

For the first time since Anselm had walked off and left her, Miranda lost the lonesome, whippoorwill feeling. Tears of relief and joy streamed down her face as she eased herself from a sitting position to greet her husband. She opened the canvas and saw Anselm dismounting from his lathered up horse. The man had run his poor horse hard to get back to her as quickly as he could.

Miranda climbed out of the wagon and collapsed in Anselm's arms. His face was solemn as he stared at the wolf carcass.

Perhaps, he was surprised Miranda made the trip in fine shape, considering her health problems. If so, he has to be amazed at her stamina when she told him about fighting off wolves all night.

Anselm seemed relieved she hadn't been killed during the night. She must have looked pretty frazzled, because he told her to go to bed in the tent and stay there until she felt like getting up.

She protested she'd be all right now that he was back, but he told her she had to think about the baby.