The Traherns #1 (27 page)

CHAPTER TWO

On the frontier, a woman needed to be able to defend herself,
and a gun made her as strong as any man. I was dressed like a man, but that
wouldn’t fool anyone for long.

I heard the sound again, closer this time, a faint crack like a
stick had been stepped on. I didn’t think an Indian would step on a stick.
Maybe a white man would. Or an animal.

I grabbed my rifle and moved into my hiding place. It wasn’t
much, only a heavy pile of brush, but by putting a dark blanket over me to hide
my form, Pa had said I was hard to see. I pulled the blanket over and left the
rifle sticking out.

Whatever I heard was coming into camp, moving slow,
hesitant-like.

I was already thirsty, but fear made my mouth drier.

A horse walked in, barely moving. Pa’s horse, Pride. A man slumped
in the saddle.

Not Pa.

This man was thinner, maybe even taller. He had blood all over
him.

Pride lifted his head, looked around, and walked straight up to
me.

I shucked off the blanket, but kept my rifle ready as I stepped
clear of my hidey-hole.
Where was Pa?

Some of the blood was Pride’s. He had several scratch marks on
him, deep and still weeping blood.

Cougar? Or bear. By the width of the scratch marks it was
probably a bear, and a big one.

I looked the rider over. He had tried to bandage himself,
tearing off parts of a shirt to wrap around the deeper wounds.

His eyes were closed. I doubt if he knew where he was.

Pa’s canteen was on the saddle and I lifted it up. Empty.

If I got the man out of the saddle, he would die and so would I.
We had to have water, both of us.

I couldn’t wait for Pa any longer. He could be alive or dead.
Most likely dead, although the man may have come for help for him.

I quickly saddled Rosie, put out the fire, gathered my few
things and swung on. As I reached for Pride’s reins, I saw the stranger’s eyes
open.

“My Pa? The man who rode this horse. Is he alive?”

He shook his head, a small movement, but one I’d expected after
waiting so long for his return. “Buried him,” he said. His voice was just a
whisper.

“I have no water,” I told him. “We have to find some.”

“Northeast. Small crick. One day.”

It was the opposite direction my father had taken. I would be
riding away from him.

I took Pride’s reins and rode northeast. If we lived, I would
get the stranger to return and show me his grave.

It was early spring, the snow still deep in shady spots on the
high mountain slopes. I could see them, but they were a long way off. Pa had
headed out before the wagon trains got started, so he’d have a better choice of
land when we arrived. He had gone trapping in the western lands while he was
around my age, still in his teens, and the high country called to him. He spent
seven years there, learning its ways, before he met Ma on one of his trips back
to civilization. They married and started a small store in Missouri. He wanted
to move west, but then I was born, and Ma talked him out of it.

When Ma’s team ran away and flipped the buckboard, killing her,
I had just turned sixteen.

That winter the store failed and I could see Pa failing. He kept
looking at me with haunted eyes. He’d never been much of a storekeeper, and now
didn’t even go out of his way to make a sale. His heart wasn’t in it, and
neither was mine.

Now as I was growing up, he had told me stories about fur
trapping and all the adventures he’d had, so to keep him going, I asked him to
tell me about it again. It brought the life back to him, so when he decided to
go west, I said I was going, too.

He sold the store to a young man who had tried to court me. I
think the man thought I would come along with the store, but not me. I’d
inherited some of my Pa’s wandering blood, and I couldn’t leave soon enough. Ma
had loved that store, but it only brought back unwanted memories to both of
us. 

Out here, riding with my Pa, I had found the same calling from
the land that he’d described to me. It was wild, beautiful, and magnificent,
from its majestic mountains to its huge herds of buffalo.

I kept Rosie walking at a steady pace, into the night, and found
the stream just before daybreak. How that stranger managed to stay on, I don’t
know, but he was still there when we got to water.

It wasn’t a good stopping place, so I took the canteens and
filled them, getting a drink as I did so. I handed one up to the stranger. At
my touch he opened his eyes again, saw what I had, and tried to lift his hand.

He wasn’t making it. He could only raise it two inches. I
remounted, put Rosie next to Pride, and tipped the water into his mouth.
Slowly.

He drank it all, what we didn’t spill, and then all of the second
canteen.

“Don’t get off yet. We have to find a better place to stop.
There’s no defense here.”

He lifted his head and for the first time looked around. There
was enough early morning light for him to see.

“Upstream. An overhang.”

I refilled the canteens, let the horses get another drink, rode
back and forth across the stream a few times, then took both horses straight
into the stream before turning up. Pa had taught me how to cover my tracks.
This wasn’t very good if anyone came along who knew how to track, but I figured
it might slow them down.

I used that streambed for a trail for over a mile, even when the
going was difficult. It was rocky, so shouldn’t leave too much evidence of our
passing. Then a second stream joined it.

“Right.”

I looked back at the stranger. His finger pointed right, so I
headed up that stream. It was smaller and harder to keep the horses in, but
then, suddenly, there was no need, as we came around a corner and I saw the
overhang he had mentioned.

I looked back. He was swaying.

“Don’t let go now,” I said, loud enough that he straightened
himself up. I didn’t want him falling into the water. I wouldn’t be able to
pull him out. Actually, if I tied a rope around him, Pride could.

But that would reopen his wounds.

We made it to the overhang. I could see evidence of an old
campfire.

I jumped off Rosie, on the wrong side, for that gent was
starting to come off sideways. I caught his arm as he tumbled, keeping his head
and shoulders from hitting the ground as he landed on top of me.

He was a big man. I crawled out from under and let him lay where
he had fallen. I unsaddled the horses and staked them out on some nearby grass.
Then I set about making up a bed for the man using dry grass as a base and a
blanket on top.

He was out cold, so I put Pa’s blanket next to him, rolled him
over onto it, pulled him slowly over to the grassy bed, then rolled him onto
that.

When our pack mule was lost, we still had our own ammo, and
guns, canteens, a knife and rope. Flint to start a fire. Fish hooks and
material for traps. Two smalls pot to cook in.

I had the items from both Pa’s saddlebags and my own now. Plenty
of things, including dried meat we’d brought from the store.

Since he didn’t have a son, he’d taught his daughter how to
fish, hunt, and set a trap. I hadn’t had to do any of those things on the trip
so far, but now I got my cords and strings and set out three traps before
coming inside again. Those rabbit trails looked promising.

The stranger was awake and I took him a canteen and gave him
another drink.

“Bear. It were a bear. A big one. He…”

“Tell me after you’ve rested more. I’m Mahala Richards. What’s
your name?”

“Luke. Luke Trahern.”

“Howdy, Mr. Trahern.”

“Luke.”

“Well, Mr. Luke, you go about getting well. I’ll see if I can
keep us alive in the meantime.”

“Thank you, Ma’am.” He closed his eyes and went to sleep.

I stood up, went outside and started to rustle up some firewood.
There weren’t many trees in that part of the country, we were still in the dry
area they called the Great American Desert. We’d reached the fringe, but water
and fuel was still scarce. There was quite a bit of brush near this creek, and
I knew how to make a small fire. I wanted to make a hot rabbit stew to give
that stranger. Luke.

I couldn’t remember his last name. It didn’t seem to matter out
here. Pa said a lot of men changed their names when they traveled west, some
because they were on the wrong side of the law, others because they just wanted
to. English lords and Russian adventurers, they all came through. Some stayed.

I wondered about Luke. He had that mountain twang to his voice,
music to me. My mother’s mother, Mahala, was from the hills, and she talked
that way.

Right now he was weaker than a newborn lamb, but as he gained
strength, I’d need to rethink this situation.

As I returned to the overhang, I checked my traps. One rabbit.
He must’ve been late getting back to his burrow. His loss. My gain.

I picked up a rock and gave him a quick, killing blow, untangled
him, and reset the trap.

This would be enough for stew.

I built the fire, roasted the rabbit, then cut him into small
chunks and put him into the boiling water. I threw in a handful of wild onions.
Pa had warned me not to pick any plant that looked like an onion but didn’t
smell like one, as it could be poisonous.

Pa and I had gone past a spring that had brought minerals up
with it, so that it had a covering of white crystals. We broke off some pieces
for both of us to carry. It replaced what salt we’d lost on the mule, so I
threw a few of them into the stew.

I had found a good lookout place while I was gathering grass, so
went back there while the stew cooked. I checked the land for people and
animals, and saw nothing. Then I gathered grass for my bed, along with some
more brush for the fire and more onions. I checked again, as I didn’t want
Indians coming up on me, then went back to camp.

I kept the small fire going, building up coals under my two
pots. One had the stew in it and the other water. I wanted the water if I had
to clean any of Luke’s wounds. If not, it would be warm to drink.

I saw he was awake and gave him some stew water to drink. He
looked like he might be able to stay awake for awhile, so I handed him the
rifle and his handgun and lay down on the bed I’d made for myself. When I woke
a couple of hours later, he was still awake.

“Stew smells good,” he said, setting his rifle aside. He was
sitting up, looking at it.

“Rabbit. I’ll get you a spoon.”

I had one big spoon and one little one in my bag. I handed him
the big one and we ate, taking turns dipping out of the hot pot. I’d cut that
rabbit small enough so we’d not need our knives to spear out the chunks.

It was almost too hot to eat, but it spread a warmth through me
that was both relaxing and sustaining.

“I’d like to know what happened to Pa,” I said, after we’d
slowed down somewhat and were near the point of emptying the bowl.

“He come upon me when I’d landed myself in a whole heap of
trouble. I was riding down a gully when I surprised a bear. A big one, but
gaunt from long winterin’ and as ill-tempered as they get. He rushed me. I
tried to shoot, but my horse was a’buckin and trying to run out of that there
gully at the same time. He hit a soft spot and slid right down on top of that
bear. The ole bear was swinging left and right. He killed my horse and reared
up to take me out, when your Pa showed up and shot him.”

I nodded.

“He could see I’d been hurt and jumped off’n his horse to check
on me.”

He looked at me, sorrowful-like.

“The bear wasn’t dead. Must have been knocked out only. He come
a’roaring back to life and caught your pappy across the head. Snapped his neck.
He was dead before he hit the ground.”

Poor Pa. Always trying to help someone else
.

“That thar bear went after your Pa’s horse, a’roarin mad, which
give me time to grab his gun and shoot that bear again, and twice more for good
measure.”

“Thank you.”

“Your pa saved my life. I didn’t have the strength or a shovel
to bury him, so just put rocks over him. When I’m more up to travelin’, we can
go back. If the bear pelt’s any good, you can have it for a blanket.”

“No, I don’t think I’ll want it. At least not thinking about it
this minute.”

“I’m a’goin to try to sleep some more, Ma’am. Then I’ll be able
to keep watch tonight.”

He put down his spoon. “Mighty fine stew,” he said, and just lay
down and passed back out.

That sleep was the best medicine he could get, so I banked the
fire low, then moved the horses to new grass, while I sat near them and kept
watch.

I missed Pa already. I missed the stories he was always telling
me. Still, he wanted to live and die in this country that he loved, far from
civilization. He got his wish. I’d like to think that he was with Ma.