The wolves kept pace with me. I shouted at them, and hoped my voice would carry to the caves.
Nothing.
Nor did the wolves pay attention. They had the smell of blood in their nostrils, and the smell was coming from me. Despite the intense cold they were hunting, which meant they were probably not just hungry but starving.
Turning about with the heavy pack was cumbersome, but I had to keep looking around. There was no guessing when one of the wolves might decide to leap.
The bow was a poor weapon against them. My guns were hard to get at, and I hated to waste a shot in the vague light. Yet it was a gun I would have to use. Pushing back my coat, I fumbled for the butt of my right-hand gun. I would have to take off the mitten, and in the cold my exposed hand would quickly freeze.
Carefully, I edged along the woods. One of the wolves moved closer, and I stepped out threateningly. It leaped back, wary again.
Something moved at the edge of the woods! Another wolf. Suddenly one of them howled, but not one of those close to me. I plodded on, avoiding projecting branches, thinking only of—
There was a break in the wall of trees, an opening! I swung a wide, sweeping blow in the direction of the wolves and then went into the wide opening.
Ice! I was walking upon ice, so I had come to the stream. The caves would be close-by for the stream swung close. I crossed the stream and mounted the far bank, trying to remember such a place.
There had been an opening upriver from the caves. I started to turn and suddenly something struck me a mighty blow from behind. I fell face downward into the snow, and my bow fell from my hand.
A wolf had sprung on me from behind, landing on the pack of meat and knocking me down. I fought to get hold of my knife. I couldn’t get a gun into action.
The other wolves had leaped on me now, but they were fighting to get at the meat, wrapped in the elk hide. My knife was out. I ripped at the wolf nearest me and there was a startled yelp. Then from somewhere there was a shout and a sound of running feet. I stabbed again, missed, and felt teeth rake my exposed wrist.
With a tremendous effort I got to my knees. There were men all about me, and the wolves were gone.
Somebody had a hold on my arm and was helping me to my feet. With the weight of meat it was a struggle, but I made it. Somebody lifted the burden from my back, unfastening the rawhide with which I’d bound it to me.
Another hand shoved my bow at me, and I took it. Limping, I followed them into our cave. The Indians crowded around.
Keokotah lowered my pack of meat to the floor. “We hear wolves fighting. We come.”
Exhausted and cold, I sank down by the fire. Itchakomi was there, her eyes wide and dark, looking at me.
“We needed meat,” I said.
Nobody said anything. They had opened my pack and given meat to the people from Itchakomi’s cave.
“We fear for you,” Itchakomi said. “You gone long time.”
“It was cold,” I said, “cold.”
There was meat enough for several days, but we could not expect a kill such as this very often. It was going to be a long and a hard winter. Of course, had the Indians been there they would have taken much more of the elk than the chunks of meat that I had saved.
“Your woman of the black moccasins,” I said, “told me her people hunt west to the mountains and then down the mountains to a great peak near here. Each year they do this.
“Then they hunt back across the plains to their home, which is near the Great River. When they return you could go with them to the river and then down the river to your home.”
She looked at me for a long minute and then she got up and left the cave.
I would never understand women.
And why shouldn’t she go? After all, the Poncas were reported to be friendly, and she could cross the plains under their protection. She would be safer by far with a whole tribe than with her few braves.
It seemed reasonable to me. Of course—
I went to my robes and lay down, exhausted. The cold bothered my leg, but it always pained me when I did too much.
Tired though I was, sleep came slowly, and I found my thoughts wandering back to Shooting Creek Valley and my family. Pa was gone … I could find no words to express the emptiness that left with me.
Ma was in England, if she lived, and Brian and Noelle with her. How different their lives would be! And how far from me! Did they think of me sometimes? Did they remember the good times we’d had together?
What was England like?
Easing my leg, I tried to find a more comfortable spot in the robes. Keokotah was sleeping, and the fire burned low. Why had Itchakomi left me so abruptly? Was it that I reminded her of what awaited back there? Or because she knew she must wait until spring brought grass to the hills and water to the streams?
Dozing, I opened my eyes, raised up, and added sticks to the dying coals. Out there tonight I’d nearly tossed in my hand. I might have fought my way out of it, just might have, but the odds were all against it.
And who would have known or cared? My family would not have known. Under the robes I shifted and turned, restlessly. Why could I not sleep?
Yet after a while I did sleep, but only to dream of the great red-eyed monster with the curving tusks that had come charging upon me from the brush. I awoke in a cold sweat once more and it was long before I slept again.
In my dreams it had been shockingly clear. The monster had seen me, known me for an enemy, and charged, blasting sound as from a great trumpet. I had not fled. I had stood my ground as if frozen in place. What was wrong? Why did I not flee?
Never had I been troubled with nightmares, but this dream came again and again.
Lying awake again in the cold of breaking day I stared wide-eyed at the roof of the cave. It seemed I was gifted with second sight … Was this dream a premonition of some reality to come? Was that to be my end? Was I to die impaled on one of those curving tusks, or trampled into the mud and snow under those huge feet?
Above all, why did I not even try to escape?
I sat up, put sticks upon the fire, and dressed for the cold outside.
TWENTY-TWO
A few days later Keokotah killed a deer and our snares netted a few rabbits, but with the winter only half gone we faced a starving time. To survive in wild country was never easy. Hunting had driven the wild game from the area. We had to go farther and farther afield, and the intense cold showed no sign of breaking. Even in the best of times, the gathering of nuts, roots, and herbs was a slow and painstaking business, requiring many acres to feed even one man, unless there were pecans or hazelnuts, neither of which would be available here. All such sources were now buried under deep snows.
All of us now wore snowshoes we had made ourselves. Sitting beside the fire at night, I had woven myself a pair of trail snowshoes, longer and more efficient for distance work than the bear paws I had made.
Keokotah snared some ptarmigan and I killed another deer. Itchakomi came to my fire. I was preparing moccasins and leggings for a longer trip. “What you do now?”
“I go far,” I said. “Soon there is no meat, and we starve.”
“My people are learning, but all this is new to them.”
“It is all right.” I gestured toward the west. “There is a valley over there. There might be buffalo.”
“You will need help. If there is meat it must be carried. I will go.”
“You?”
“Of course. I am strong.”
“It will be hard, very hard. It is a long way, and I do not know the trail.”
“We will find it.”
“But you will need snowshoes!” I protested.
“I have made them. I have made snowshoes like yours. I will come.”
I did not want her. What lay ahead, I could guess. To find a pass without snow would not be easy and with snow upon the ground, covering the trees and rocks, it might be impossible. It would be brutally hard, and I knew only too well that one misstep might mean the end of me. It would be difficult enough alone without having another to watch out for. Alone I could attempt things I might not dare with someone else following me.