Seneca Surrender (13 page)
“Keep growling! Louder! Make your voice more savage!” ordered White Thunder, who was crouched atop a high ground next to the cave. “He’s tired and looking for a place to sleep. He may decide that you’re too much for him. Keep growling.”
Adrenaline pumped through her as, following White Thunder’s orders, she mustered up her loudest voice, as well as what she hoped was her most ferocious-looking face.
Again the bear hesitated, but hearing White Thunder, the bear finally took notice of him. Sensing that he was the greater danger of the two, it came up onto his hind legs and growled at White Thunder, as though warning him away from his find.
When White Thunder did nothing but stare back at the bear and snarl at it, the bear came down again to all fours, and ignoring White Thunder for the moment, turned back to continue its path toward Sarah, as though by deed to say that she was the least likely to give him problems.
Step by step, the bear progressed dangerously close. All at once it rose again to its hind legs and roared at her, this time extending its sharp paws outward. Only one thought surfaced: She was dead. She was dinner. Never had the desire to own and have a gun in her hand been more prevalent than it was at this moment.
Suddenly White Thunder shot straight in front of her, placing himself directly between her and the bear. And if the bear was roaring and kicking up a fine noise, so, too, was White Thunder. Indeed, so loud was it that Sarah could hardly tell what was man and what was beast.
Then White Thunder did what was either the most courageous act she had ever witnessed—or the most reckless. He bent forward, sticking his face into the bear’s, which was only a few feet away, and he snarled and snapped as though he were the more dangerous creature.
The animal yowled right back at White Thunder, and so shrill was it, Sarah thought her eardrums might never mend. Then suddenly, White Thunder was yelling directions at her.
“Make noise!”
Without delay, Sarah screamed and clapped her hands.
“Now we back up,” he shouted at her, “so as to tell him we give him the cave. We are no threat. Slowly, we back up, all the while we make as much noise as possible.”
Though White Thunder was holding his gun pointed directly at the bear, Sarah knew it wouldn’t be protection enough against a head-on attack. After all, the musket had only one shot, the next shot requiring priming and reloading.
He took a step back. Sarah followed suit. Another step back, another and another.
The bear came down onto all fours again. It roared so loudly, Sarah wanted to run for cover. But it was impossible.
“If he starts toward us,” yelled White Thunder, “and paws at me, you are to turn and run—do you understand? Run downhill. A bear cannot easily follow if you go downhill. You are to run as fast as you can and don’t look back!”
“I won’t leave you!”
“You have no choice! I give you no choice! If I say run, you are to run! If I am to fight him, I cannot worry about you!”
Another step back, another and another.
Suddenly, the bear chose to take a leap toward them.
“Run!”
Sarah turned to do exactly as told, but her legs suddenly refused to move. What was she to do? Even taking painfully slow steps was impossible. It was as if she were suddenly crippled.
That’s when she spotted it. There inside the cave. Fire! Weren’t all animals afraid of fire?
The bear was already attacking White Thunder. She could hear their struggle, though because of the fear gripping her, she didn’t dare to look back. But her legs suddenly responded, and rushing back into the cave, she was able to pick up several of the sticks that were burning red-hot at their tips.
Without thinking of what she was about to do, she rushed out of the cave. Later in life, she would wonder where her courage and strength had come from on this day. Until this moment, she’d never been aware of being particularly brave. She could only thank the good Lord that when valor was necessary, it was lying dormant within her.
White Thunder was on the ground, the bear over him. She rushed at the bear with the fire.
“Shoo! Get out of here!” Her voice was piercing and loud. She waved the weapon at the bear and tried to get close enough to light its fur on fire.
But her attempts did almost nothing to the beast; its fur was too matted. Startled, the bear jumped back, allowing White Thunder a moment to bring up his musket and take careful aim.
BOOM!
White Thunder shot off a ball aimed straight into the eyeball of the bear.
It hit.
Still animated, the bear struggled forward. Had the shot served no purpose? White Thunder was reloading as fast as was humanly possible, and as she watched him struggle against time to prime his weapon and reload it, she wondered, was this it? Was life suddenly over? This easily?
Memories of her past instantaneously rushed through her mind. They came with no fanfare, no bells. Rather, they swamped her. Moments from her past flickered before her so quickly, she could barely take hold of them.
Indeed, so overwhelming was it, she rocked back on her feet.
Meanwhile, the battle with the bear was coming to a close. The animal took one final step forward, and fell over, dead.
Sarah watched it in horror, almost afraid to turn away from it, fearful that it might only be catching its breath. Even as she looked at it, she wondered: What damage had it done to White Thunder?
No sooner had the thought formed within her mind than she was struck with another truth. She cared for White Thunder. She honestly cared for this man.
She was breathing hard and fast, and she could hear White Thunder behind her, doing the same. At least, she thought, he was still alive.
Though out of breath, he called out to her, and said, “I told you to leave!”
“I could not do it, sir!” she cried. “You forget that my legs do not always obey me.”
At last she turned toward him. He was on the ground, his shirt torn with claw marks. There were several gashes on his chest and arms where the bear’s claws had found their mark. As Sarah caught her breath, she could only thank the good Lord that, because of the cool weather, White Thunder had worn a shirt this day.
But his clothing was blood-soaked, and was becoming more so by the minute.
“Look at what he’s done to you,” she said as she took several steps toward White Thunder, and came down on the ground beside him.
“They are scratches,” he said.
Then White Thunder did the unthinkable. He opened his arms to her and she went into them willingly, both of them uncaring that he was bleeding all over her.
“You saved my life,” she whispered.
“As you did mine.”
“You came to my defense. You jumped in front of me and confronted the beast head-on.”
“Of course I did. Did you expect me to leave you to fight a bear on your own?”
“I didn’t expect anything, sir. I … I thank you.” She paused significantly. Then a little shyly, she added, “I think also that my mistress will thank you as soon as I manage to find her again.”
He pushed her back from him and stared at her.
Tears were streaming down Sarah’s cheeks as she said, “It’s true. I have remembered my past life and who I am. It happened suddenly. I remembered everything.”
“This is good.” He was smiling.
“Yes, it is very good. I will tell you more about it later. But come, you are hurt and first I must do something about that.”
“I think I will need little attention. They are only scrapes,” he reiterated.
Sarah drew back to look at him. “I will be the judge of that. Come.”
Placing her arms about him, she helped him to his feet, taking a great deal of his weight upon her. Together they limped into the cave.
Using a piece of her torn-off petticoat that had been soaked in water, Sarah washed the blood from White Thunder’s arms and chest wounds. There was something very intimate about sitting with White Thunder as he reclined on his own bedding. But she ignored the feeling. She asked him, “Why did the bear not back down? Did he not understand that we were retreating?”
“He was threatened by me, and a bear’s temper is bad even in the best of circumstances. He must have been hungry, too, for he dared much to come after you. So even though we were retreating, he could not pass up the opportunity to place his brand upon me and at the same time have a tasty dinner.”
“Place his brand on you? ” She paused to look up at him in open astonishment. “He was trying to kill you.”
“And he might have done so had you not rushed in upon him and startled him into backing away.”
“He did not back away, sir.”
“No, but he was frightened enough to pause, giving me time to aim a shot.”
“Yes,” Sarah said as she resumed her work over him. “Thank the Lord you are a good shot.”
“Do not thank the Lord. Thank my uncles and my father, who taught me to shoot.”
“Aye, I shall do so. I will send them my praises, and the Lord, too, thank you very much.”
He grinned at her, then winced as she dabbed at a deeper cut on his arm.
She frowned. “You will need stitches there, sir, at least on this one cut that is deeper than the rest.”
He gazed down at the open wound on his arm. “Do you know how to do it?”
She shrugged. “I saw a doctor do it once. I think I might be able to sew it together, if I can find the right material to use as thread.”
“Sinew from the deer can be used once my wound is cleaned, and a piece of bone might be made into a point so as to poke holes in the skin to pull the thread through. Did you spit on it?”
“I beg your pardon? ”
“Did you spit on the wounds? ”
“Of course not, I know better than to—”
Bending over double, he spit onto the wounds himself, leaving Sarah to watch, gaping. She said, “There are germs in your mouth, sir.”
He grinned at her. “
Nyoh
, and there are other good things there, too.”
Nyoh
, and there are other good things there, too.”
Sarah shook her head, but held her tongue.
He was frowning. “I doubt that we have the right roots and herbs to put on the wound to prevent infection,” he went on to say, “but there is water near here and it can be boiled and placed on the wound to speed its healing. The water is perhaps a hundred to a hundred and fifty feet from us here in the cave, but it is downhill from this place, and it is in the complete dark.” He looked at her sheepishly. “I fear I may not possess the strength to take the path to the water.”
“I can do it.”
“Good, but bring a good fire stick with you when you go there. You will need light to find the stream.”
“And what shall I collect the water in? ”
“I have several bags, there by the fire.” He nodded in the direction indicated. “They should do. There is also a large, hollowed-out rock that can be used to gather water, if you need it. Take more than one of the fire sticks with you when you go there, not simply one. Do not let the fire go out. If it looks as if the fire is dying, return here while there is still light by it. Once blackness falls, it is complete and there is no way to tell where you are. You could get lost. Do you understand? ”
“Aye, I do.”
He breathed in deeply and settled back on his own bedding of pine boughs and blanket. “I will reload the gun while you are gone.”
“Yes,” she said. “Please do.”
He smiled at her. “Are you a good cook?”
“Yes, sir, I am—in the right circumstances.”
“That is good,” he said, “for I believe your skills will be needed while I recover.”
“I’ll do my best, sir.”
He stared at her a moment. “If you have any trouble at the stream, signal me by a cry, high-pitched and loud. I will rouse myself and come and help you.”
“Very well, but I think I can manage.”
“Yes. We will talk when you return. After all, I would like to hear what it is that you have remembered.”
“Aye,” she said as she stood to her feet. “It is important, I think, although it seems to me that there are still pieces of the puzzle that I haven’t recalled yet.”
“Then we should discuss it. When you return here from the underground stream, I will listen while you talk.”
She nodded, and rising up, she made her way to the underground stream. It was not an easy task, considering that she was carrying three bags, one heavy hollowed-out stone and three different fire sticks.
Even collecting the water proved to be almost impossible, since she dare not let the fire on the sticks go out. In the end she made several trips from their camp to the stream and back. But her problems were only beginning.
What in the good Lord’s name was she going to use to boil this water? In the end, she did finally discover the smoked and toughened rawhide bags that White Thunder used to make soup. They were ingenious, actually. When she heated stones and threw them into the liquid, it was as good as boiling the water over a fire.
Other books
Love in Our Time by Norman Collins
Sins & Mistrust by Lucero, Isabel
Slayer 66 2/3: The Jeff & Dave Years. A Metal Band Biography. by Ferris, D.X.
And Justice There Is None by Deborah Crombie
Stepping Into Sunlight by Sharon Hinck
robert Charrette - Arthur 02 - A King Beneath the Mountain by Robert N. Charrette
Delicious by Shayla Black
Dark Wolf Rising (Bloodrunners) by Byrd, Rhyannon
Don't Cry Over Killed Milk by Kaminski, Stephen
Daughter of Albion by Ilka Tampke