Wilderness Double Edition 15, page 11
“Remember when Blue Feather tried?” Evelyn said. “He stunk to high heaven for a whole moon.”
Zach’s laughter swelled. “His parents wouldn’t let him sleep in the lodge even when it rained.”
“Oh, the poor child,” Lou said.
“Child?” Now both brother and sister cackled. “Blue Feather was twenty-two,” Zach said. “Afterward, everyone called him Smells Bad. They still do.”
“You wouldn’t believe it was so hilarious if it had happened to you,” Lou mentioned.
Zach’s mirth died. Did she honestly and truly believe he was dumb enough to pull a boneheaded stunt like that? Before he could ask they arrived at the clearing and he spied his father by the storage room, bent over something he couldn’t quite make out. “Talk to you later.”
Nate King had taken every precaution he could think of, but he worried there was one or two he’d overlooked. A battle was about to be waged, a fierce battle for his family’s right to go on calling the valley their home, and he had to avail himself of every opportunity to punish the NunumBi for their transgressions. He had a whole sequence of surprises set up. Whether they would work, whether he’d succeed in driving the creatures off, remained to be seen.
Hearing his son approach, Nate looked up. It warmed his heart, how they had all pitched in to do what had to be done. Everyone realized what was at stake. “Are they done with the water?”
“Every water skin, every pot, every pan is filled to the brim,” Zach reported. “Although why we need so much is beyond me, Pa.”
“We’re fighting fire with fire,” Nate said. “And I don’t want our cabin to burn down in the process.”
Zach nodded at the keg of black powder his father had. “What are you fixing to do with that? Fill all the powder horns?”
“Already done.” Nate tapped a strip of cloth he had wedged into a hole in the top. “I’ve inserted a fuse.” Holding the keg in the crook of an arm, he rose. “This is our defense of last resort, son. Remember it in case anything happens to me.”
“Nothing will,” Zach said, then realized he was being as unduly optimistic as Lou.
Nate halted and placed a brawny hand on his son’s shoulder. “However this night turns out, I’m trusting in you to see your mother and the girls are safe. I can’t fight the NunumBi and watch over the others, too.”
“You don’t expect me to sit this fight out?” Zach asked, appalled. Here he thought his father was beginning to treat him as a man, as a full-fledged warrior.
“No, I don’t,” Nate conceded. Nor did he want Zach to rashly get himself slain. In the frenzy of kill-or-be-killed mistakes were often made, mistakes that proved fatal. Nate had no choice but to let his son take part, but he would do so in a way that reduced the risk of Zach being killed. “I do expect you to do exactly as I say, when I say it. No sass. No quarreling. Agreed?”
“Sure, Pa.” Zach puffed out his chest in pride. “You can depend on me. I won’t let you down.” He’d gladly sacrifice his own life, should it be necessary, to save his family and fiancée.
Nate passed a deadfall situated under a low evergreen. It consisted of a hefty boulder tilted to fall when the brace was yanked on. A jiggle or two was all it would take, although he doubted the NunumBi would trigger it. They were too intelligent. But they might choose to examine how it had been set up, and if they did, his other little surprise would be sprung.
In front of the cabin Nate paused to survey his handiwork. The piles of dry brush along the perimeter of the clearing stood out like proverbial sore thumbs. As did the belt of branches strewn from north to south midway between the vegetation and the cabin. The NunumBi were bound to divine why he had done it and shy away. Then again, the creatures were arrogant. They liked to toy with humans, treating people like people treated lesser animals, a flaw that might prove to be their undoing.
“Do you think they’ll tell stories about this, Pa?” Zach inquired. “The Shoshones, that is?”
Had Nate heard correctly? Here they were, preparing for the struggle of their lives, and all his oldest cared about was how much fame they would reap? “Live through it and we’ll find out.”
“They might, you know. Like they tell about Coyote and his brother Wolf and Jackrabbit. A hundred years from now, when the Shoshones gather around a winter’s campfire, our tale will be told and retold.”
Nate looked at his son. “You’re serious?” He’d long been aware of Zach’s dream of one day becoming a warrior of great renown, but this went far beyond that.
“Don’t you want to be remembered? I sure do. And not on some moldy old tombstone like the whites do. I want to go down in history as the greatest Shoshone fighter who ever lived.”
“When this is over, remind me to have a talk with you.”
“What about?”
Nate was spared from having to answer by the timely appearance of Winona, who entwined her fingers with his and indicated the orange ball hanging low in the western sky.
“It will not be long now, husband.”
Two hours until nightfall, Nate reckoned. “Let the NunumBi come. We’re as ready as we’ll ever be.”
“Are we really?”
The big mountain man said nothing. In almost two decades of marriage he’d never lied to her. He wasn’t about to start now.
Nine
“I don’t like this, Pa,” Zachary King whispered. “I don’t like it one bit.”
“Hush. Any minute now the NunumBi will show up.”
That was exactly what bothered Zach. The idea of his mother and the girls being alone in the cabin below had him worried sick. He should be with them. He should be there to protect Lou. Not up on the roof of the cabin. About to complain, he tensed when his father motioned for silence.
Nate had detected movement in the pines, furtive rustlings and the faint padding of small feet. Fireflies flared, only they weren’t really fireflies, they were hellish red eyes. He counted ten, twelve, fourteen, sixteen, more than he had bargained for. The creatures glided swiftly from the northwest, fanning out as they drew near. His mouth went dry, his palms grew slick. The moment of truth had come.
Easing forward, Nate peered over the edge of the roof at the front of the cabin. No light spilled from within, not with the windows boarded up and the door shut. He prayed he had done the right thing, prayed his plan worked. If it didn’t, the outcome would be too horrible to contemplate.
The hideous beings from the dawn of time were almost to the clearing. As if on cue, every one of them halted just shy of the high piles of brush spaced at regular intervals around the perimeter. Red orbs moved from side to side. The creatures were studying the situation, assessing whether the piles posed a threat. Presently they advanced, but slowly, warily.
To Zach, those disembodied eyes floating over the ground were so inhuman, so unnerving, he shivered and nervously ran a hand over the lid to the hot pot he held. It would be soon now. Very soon.
Nate saw the creatures stop again, this time at the belt of dry branches he’d laid down. A low trilling arose, mixed with guttural snarls and hisses. Were they trying to make sense of what he had done? Would they realize what he was up to? Or would they assume the branches were to give them away by the noise they’d create crossing?
Everything depended on what the little monsters did next. Nate’s whole scheme hinged on it. A grim grin creased his lips when some of them bore to the right and the rest bore to the left to go around the barrier.
As quietly as stalking wolves, the NunumBi moved toward the door and windows, their goblin forms bent low, their claws glinting dully in the starlight. Their scarlet eyes were intent on the cabin. Not once did one of them think to check the roof. Not once did one of them glance up.
A common failing. Shakespeare McNair had taught Nate how to exploit it on the first hunt the two of them went on, many years ago. “Your best bet, Horatio, is to find a comfortable tree to roost in, near where elk and deer drink or graze, and wait for one to stroll by. Savvy as those critters are, they hardly ever look above them. Same with most everything else, including men, white or red. Three or four times I’ve saved my hide by hiding in trees when hostiles were after me.”
The eight elfin shapes were now ranged along the front of the cabin, two at each window and four at the door. They were signaling back and forth, which Nate took as a prelude to an attack. One pressed an ear to the door, listening. Nate glanced at his son and nodded.
Zach lifted the pot’s lid, then carefully set it aside. In the pot were glowing coals from the fireplace. Quickly, he added kindling from a parfleche crammed with grass and twigs. As soon as it caught and tiny flames blazed to life, Zach snatched up one of the torches beside him and lowered the end bound in cloth into the pot. When the cloth ignited, he passed the torch to his father and grabbed another.
Nate rose onto his knees, gauging the distance. He waited for the second torch to be lit and handed to him, then he hurled one after the other, the first at the belt of dry branches, the second at a pile of brush at the clearing’s edge. Both hit their mark and flames erupted, spreading swiftly.
The creatures whirled. Those nearest the belt of branches flung arms across their faces to shield their eyes from the bright glare.
“You throw the rest!” Nate instructed. Jamming his Hawken to his shoulder, he leaned out and aimed at a NunumBi by the door. It was one of several that glanced upward. And like its fellows, it attempted to bolt.
Nate stroked the trigger smoothly. The boom of the smoothbore slammed the hairy dwarf to the earth, where it lay convulsing, its tapered teeth bared. The rest were fleeing, screening their sensitive eyes as they rushed toward either end of the clearing. Nate dropped a hand to a pistol.
Zach had lit a third torch. Rising, he threw it at a pile of brush off to the right. His part in his father’s plan called for him to set as many piles alight as he could, thereby blinding the NunumBi and keeping them pinned close to the cabin so his father could pick them off. The torch flew true, and in the blaze of fire and light that ensued, Zach saw one of the creatures turn toward him and raise a small object.
Nate saw it, too. He snapped off a shot, but he was a shade too slow. There was an audible twang.
Searing pain lanced Zach’s shoulder. He looked down at a tiny feathered shaft jutting from the buckskin, so puny as to make him chuckle. “I’m hit, Pa,” he said, “but not bad.” Hardly had he spoken when a terrible burning sensation spread down his arm and chest with frightening speed. He broke out in a sweat and felt his pulse increase.
“Son?” Nate said.
Zach tried to answer, but his tongue had become as thick as a cow’s. The burning sensation was seeping into his legs, into his hands and fingers, and he could barely move. He tried to tell his pa, but his lips were numb. His face prickled as from a heat rash, his neck was wooden, and he had to fight to swallow.
“Zachary?” Nate repeated, forgetting the NunumBi. His son’s features were pasty and slick. Nate sprang to him. “Say something!”
Zach wanted to, but he was almost totally paralyzed. His arms, his legs, couldn’t move. A whine escaped him as his knees buckled and he pitched forward. Fortunately for him, his father was there to catch him and gently lower him to the roof.
“What’s wrong?” Nate asked anxiously. Spying the arrow, he gripped it and wrenched it out. On the tip was a tiny sawtooth barb of a sickly sulfurous hue. He sniffed it and jerked back at the foul odor. “Dear God. No!” The barb had been dipped in poison, a common practice among some Indian tribes. Usually rattlesnake venom was used. Or arrowheads were dipped in the kidneys of dead skunks or other animals. One whiff was enough for a mountaineer to determine which type of toxin was involved, but in this case Nate couldn’t.
Zach struggled to lift a hand and failed. His arms, his upper chest, his face were turning as wooden as his neck. He had no feeling in them at all. I’m dying! he thought, and wanted to screech in outrage, but his vocal cords had seized up. Another few moments and he would be gone.
Inside the cabin, Winona King was braced for an onslaught, a pistol in either hand. She didn’t like being cooped up, didn’t like being bait. But with the door barred and boards over the windows, she and the girls were safe enough. Evelyn and Lou were by the table, each with a pistol, each craning her neck as Winona was doing, to hear what was going on outside.
Winona had heard muffled sounds on the roof, then two shots. Grizzly Killer and Stalking Coyote had sprung the trap! Her natural inclination was to throw the door open and assist them, but her husband was depending on her to safeguard the girls. She must stay put. It was up to her to keep the creatures from breaking in.
Each passing moment was an eternity. Winona strained to hear more shots, to have some clue as to how her mate and her son were faring. But there were none. No shouts. No screams. Nothing. The suspense mounted until it was unbearable.
“Ma, what’s going on out there?” Evelyn asked.
Winona had to find out. “Both of you stay right where you are. I will see.” She lunged for the door, stopping when a loud thud sounded.
“It’s those things!” Evelyn cried.
The pounding continued. Aiming low, Winona was ready to shoot when her name was hollered.
“It’s me, Nate! Open up! Hurry!”
The urgency in her husband’s voice alarmed Winona. It had an edge to it, a hint of raw desperation not typical of him. Removing the bar, she learned why.
Nate was carrying Zach, clutching his son to his chest. He’d had to sling Zach over a shoulder when he clambered down from the roof, nearly losing his grip in the grooves he’d gouged in the logs. Zach was motionless, stiff, and cold. “The NunumBi shot him with an arrow,” Nate disclosed as he hustled to their bed. “The tip was poisoned.”
“Zach!” The scream wasn’t torn from Winona or Lou. It was Evelyn who flung herself at her brother and tried to throw her arms around him in a fit of woe.
Nate pulled his daughter aside so his wife could examine their son. Winona was the healer in the family, her knowledge of herbs and cures extensive. She knew how to treat everything from warts to croup. Poison, though, wasn’t an illness. “Can you do anything for him?”
Winona ran her fingers over Zach’s face and neck. She probed for a vein to take his pulse, which was so weak it was a wonder he was still alive. His vitals were affected, his bodily functions slowed and close to stopping. Although his eyes were wide open and clear, no hint of life animated them.
“Can you?” Nate pressed her.
“I don’t know what kind of poison they used,” Winona said. Even knowing might not help. Some were so fast-acting, remedies were useless. “I fear we are losing him.”
Louisa was at the foot of the bed, riveted by shock so intense, she was as paralyzed as her betrothed. She couldn’t lose him! Not before they were married! Not before they had lived many long and happy years together! His face was chalky, his chest as still as the breath she was holding. Her fingers, grasping the quilt, were clenched so tight they hurt.
Nate opened his ammo pouch and took out the small arrow, holding it by the feathers. “This is what they used.”
Winona sniffed the barbed tip as he had done and reacted in the same fashion. “The legends of my people claim the NunumBi dipped their arrows in the blood of giant winged lizards. There is no known cure.”
Refusing to accept their son was a goner, Nate snapped, “There must be something we can do! Try those roots you use for rattlesnake bites.”
Evelyn, sniffling loudly, tugged at her father’s britches. “Pa?”
“Not now, little one,” Nate said. He placed a hand on his son’s brow and was filled with consternation at how icy Zach had become. Touching him was like touching one of the glaciers high up in the mountains.
“But Pa!” Evelyn tugged again.
“What is it?” Nate asked testily. She should know better than to interfere at so critical a moment.
“Is the cabin going to catch on fire?” Evelyn pointed.
Nate had forgotten about the belt of branches and the piles of brush. A high sheet of flame formed a blistering barrier between the cabin and the forest, lighting up the clearing as if it were the middle of the day. He ran to the doorway and saw that none of the fires had spread to neighboring trees. The woods and their cabin were safe.
None of the NunumBi were anywhere in sight. Nate figured the bright light had driven them off, and since the fires wouldn’t die out for a while, he had no qualms about shutting the door partway and shutting the creatures from his mind. “What can we do for Zach?” was all he cared about.
In a parfleche suspended from a peg were most of the leaves, stems, and roots Winona relied on to prepare her medicines. Her supply had to be constantly replenished, a tedious but essential task if her potions and ointments were to be effective. Upending the parfleche on the counter, she sorted through elderberry roots— or duhiembuh, as her people called them—which were used to reduce inflammation; the raw leaves of plantain, which were applied to battle wounds; yarrow, or pannonzia, for toothache; and, at last, the one she was after, the rare root of a certain cactus plant.
Taking one of the many pots already filled with water, Winona put it on the tripod over the fire. “We must make some tea.”
“What does that root do?” Nate asked. She had so many cures, he couldn’t keep track of them.
“It—how do you say...?” In her agitated state, Winona couldn’t think of the right word. “It stimulates the heart and the blood.”
Nate noticed Louisa, tears streaming down her cheeks, her knuckles white as a bedsheet. She needed something to do, something to take her thoughts off Zach. “I could use some coffee,” he lied. “To keep me awake the rest of the night in case the NunumBi come back.” When she didn’t so much as blink, he nudged her. “Did you hear me, Louisa?”
“What? What was that?” Lou had heard him, yes, but as if from a great distance. “Sorry, Mr. King,” she blurted. “Coffee, you said? Give me ten minutes and I’ll have a batch brewed.”
