Dreams of Eagles (5 page)

“We got to go out there after him, Wes,” Delbert said, the words carrying easily to Jamie, along with the stink of John Mack's charred body. “Hit's the only way. We stay here, and he'll pick us off one at a time.”

“No,” Wesley nixed that suggestion. “MacCallister would love that. Just hold what we have and no movin' around. We can't see him, but he can't see us neither. Come the dawnin', we'll pull out and head on back to the fort.”

Jamie laid his head on the ground and closed his eyes for a moment. If that meant you would never be back, I'd certainly let you go in peace, he thought. But I don't believe that. My God but I am so tired of the killing!

Jamie opened his eyes, aware that the loud talking had diminished into whispering. Something was up.

“MacCallister?” came the shout. “I know you ain't gonna answer me, so just listen. I'm Wesley Parsons. Kin of the Saxons. They's big money on your head back in the States. But it looks like we ain't gonna be the ones to collect it. I don't feel like dyin' for no small sack of gold coins. Somebody's gonna have to come up with a lot more money for me to ever ride out into this goddamn wilderness again. I hate this damn place. If'n you'll let us, come the dawnin', we'll ride back east and odds are you'll never see us no more. Now I ain't makin' no promises on that. But right now I'd say you've seen the last of us.”

Jamie thought about that. The man was leveling with him, he finally concluded. No doubt about one thing: Wesley Parsons had his share of courage and damn little backup in him to speak so frankly.

Jamie scooted back until sliding into a small depression in the earth where he would be safe from rifle and pistol fire. “Parsons?”

“Right here, MacCallister.”

“Build up your fire, tend to your wounded, and get the hell gone from here. I'll send no more arrows at you. When you've gone, I'll bury John Mack as decently as possible. But hear this well: If I ever see any of you again, I'll kill you where you stand. Is that understood?”

“Understood and taken. I'm gonna build a fire and tend to the wounded. We'll lay our weapons on the ground whilst we move about saddlin' up and packin' up. Then we'll ride. Deal?”

“Done.”

Jamie shifted positions and watched the men break camp. There were no more verbal exchanges between them. Long after the sounds of their horses' hooves had faded, Jamie stretched out on the cold ground and slept. At dawn, he'd see to John Mack. He had a hunch that Preacher and Sam would be along about that time.

He was right.

The bounty hunters had left him a piece of a shovel and Jamie had just started digging the hole for John Mack when Sam and Preacher rode up, the string of mules stretched out behind them, Preacher leading Jamie's horse. Sam took the shovel and relieved Jamie while Preacher looked around him.

“Blood here and here and here,” he remarked. “Just one dead?”

“Yes. One of the others was shot by this man,” he pointed to John Mack, “and I got an arrow into another before they decided to give it up.”

“Who were they, Jamie?” Sam asked.

“Bounty hunters. Two of them, maybe all of them, were related to the Newbys or the Jacksons or some other family that felt I wronged them years back.”

Sam paused in his digging. “Kate's father or brothers, you think?”

“Could be. Probably so. I'll see them again. I'm sure of that.”

“We're gonna see something else 'fore that happens,” Preacher said, looking to the south. He pointed. “Co-manche.”

It was a hunting party, not a war party. And some of them had been only a few hundred yards from the fight the night before, lying in the darkness, watching and listening.

Big Eagle, the leader of this band, although no lover of whites, did not want to tangle with Man Who Is Not Afraid and Preacher. He knew nothing of Sam Montgomery, but if he rode with Man Who Is Not Afraid, he was a good warrior. There was no doubt in his mind but what they could kill the three whites, but their losses would be heavy. It was just not worth it. “Good fight last night,” he said, his eyes hard on Jamie.

Jamie spoke some Comanche and he replied, “They were not worthy opponents.” He pointed to the blackened remains of John Mack. “This one did not die well.”

Big Eagle grunted. “Few whites do.” He turned his horse's head and the hunting party rode off.

“Unpredictable bastards,” Preacher said. “I get on with most Injuns. But Pawnees and Comanches ain't among them. And Kiowas ain't no prize, neither.”

Jamie shoved the body of John Mack into the shallow hole and took the shovel from Sam. Preacher began gathering up rocks. When the lonely grave was covered, the three men stood around the mound for a moment. Finally, Preacher took off his hat and said, “Lord, here lies the remains of some white trash called John Mack that made the mistake of tanglin' with Jamie MacCallister. I don't know nothin' good to say about him. Probably wasn't nothin' good about him to speak. But it ain't up to me to judge him. That's up to You. So have at it. Amen.” Preacher plopped his hat back on his head. “Let's fix breakfast. I'm hungry.”

Sam stood for a moment, staring in disbelief at the mountain man. Never in his life had he heard such a disrespectful offering for the dead.

Sam had a lot to learn about mountain men.

* * *

Preacher left the pack train several days before Jamie and Sam reached the long lovely valley they called home, saying he had some business to tend to before he settled in for the winter. With a wave of his hand, he was gone.

“Strange breed of men, those mountain men,” Sam said, lifting the reins.

“They opened up the west,” Jamie said. “They rode trails that no white man had ever before seen and blazed that many more.” There was a wistful note to his voice that Sam picked up on.

“You're going with this expedition, aren't you, Jamie?”

“I reckon so. But there's more. Carson wants me to spend all next spring and summer and as much of the fall as possible scouting out the Wind River Range. That's up north of our place. Indians call it Maughwau Wama. Whites shortened it to Wyoming.”

* * *

Kate received Jamie's decision with a shrug of her shoulders. She had long ago accepted the fact that she had married a wanderer, a man who had the blood of adventurers coursing through his veins. She had never tried to use womanly wiles to keep her man at home and she never would. That was just not her way.

“You'll be gone for how long, Jamie?” Kate asked.

“Several months.”

She looked at the bolts of cloth and flour and sugar and the dozens of other articles stacked around the large cabin. She pointed at them. “Get busy, love. I'm not going to be falling all over these things.”

And one of the heroes of the Texas fight for independence, one of the very few men that Jim Bowie ever admired and looked up to, the adventurer known to Indians all over the west as Man Who Is Not Afraid, the mountain of a man who had killed men with one single blow from his fist, said the words that married men have been saying for centuries, “Yes, dear.”

* * *

Winter locked the high country in with an icy white fist. But even with temperatures dropping at times to forty or fifty below zero, the winds blowing the snow so hard the settlers had to string ropes between cabins and barns and outhouses, the men had to stay busy. They tended to the livestock, chopped open water holes, kept young calves and lambs alive, and did a hundred other things just to survive. But spring would come as it had from time immemorial and one day the morning broke in sapphire hues, the sun bubbling in the sky, the temperature climbing, and the ice and snow began melting. Of course it was a false spring, and it snowed again several times, but spring finally came with a spectacular burst of color from meadow flowers, and humans and critters alike gloried in the warmth.

“We need fresh meat,” Kate told Jamie early one warm spring morning. “If you're going to be gone all summer, we need lots of meat to jerk and lots of fish to smoke.” She pointed toward his rifle and then to the open door.

Jamie smiled and said, “Yes, ma'am.” He saddled up, took a pack horse, and headed out to get fresh meat, with no way of knowing that he was riding straight toward an encounter with a huge old grizzly who had long despised the scent of man.

* * *

The Indians called him Big Paw, for this grizzly was indeed king of all his surroundings. Big Paw stood almost ten feet tall and weighed over a thousand pounds. A normal sized grizzly has no natural enemies, for there was no other animal in the wilderness that could take him down. And a grizzly will attack without any provocation. Big Paw had been wounded several times over the years, and still carried the arrowheads in his hide. He also carried in his brain a wild hatred of man. It is a myth that all grizzly bears cannot climb trees. They generally don't because of their long straight claws and huge bulk, but when angered a grizzly can do just about anything he or she wants to do. If they can't climb the tree, they can, and have, torn the damn tree down to get at their prey.

And Big Paw and Jamie Ian MacCallister were on a direct collision course.

Jamie reined up and sat his saddle, staring wide-eyed at the marks on the tree. He shook his head in disbelief. The claw marks denoting the grizzly's territory were a good fourteen feet off the ground and they were fresh.

“Big Paw,” Jamie muttered, recalling what Black Thunder and some of the others in his tribe had told him about the legendary grizzly who roamed these mountains with impunity. Big Paw had killed several Utes who had foolishly come hunting for him. Jamie looked carefully all around him and then wisely decided to leave the bear's territory. Jamie had no desire to come nose to snout with any just-out-of-hibernation grizzly, and even less of a desire to face Big Paw.

Jamie's horse snorted and suddenly became skittish; it was all Jamie could do to control the animal. Jamie could feel the fear in the animal. His horse was a huge stallion, afraid of very few things in the animal kingdom. But even the bravest of animals has a natural fear of grizzlies.

“Easy, Buck, easy,” Jamie said, patting the animal's neck. His words did nothing to calm the now very nervous animal.

Jamie managed to turn Buck's head just as a roar that caused the leaves to tremble came out of the thick brush. Jamie could actually feel the thunder of the bear's charge. Buck screamed and reared up unexpectedly. Jamie grabbed for the saddle horn. But with his rifle in his right hand and the reins in the other, it was a tentative hold and Jamie left the saddle, hitting the ground hard.

He managed to hold onto his rifle just as Buck wheeled to face the charging grizzly. Big Paw hit the stallion and knocked Buck screaming to one side. The only thing that saved Jamie was one of Buck's hooves striking the bear on the side of the head and addling the huge animal for a few seconds. That was all the time Jamie needed to leap to his feet and run into the brush, picking them up and putting them down with all deliberate haste. Buck was wisely heading the other way, reins trailing.

Jamie was under no illusions. He knew he could not outrun the grizzly. Grizzlies have been known to outrun a horse for short distances; they can certainly outrun most humans, and for their size, grizzlies are very agile.

But Jamie had his mind made up: Big Paw was going to have a race on his hands, or his paws, as it were, and one hell of a fight if he caught up with Jamie.

But Jamie was losing the race. Big Paw was snorting and roaring, pounding the ground behind him, and gaining. Jamie cocked his rifle on the run, rounded a tree in a fast half circle, and turned and fired. The heavy ball hit the huge bear in the shoulder and stopped him momentarily. Big Paw roared in pain as Jamie was once more on the run, trying to reload while zigging and zagging through the underbrush and around trees. Big Paw had resumed the chase, this time with real blood in his eyes.

Jamie tried the same tactics again, but Big Paw was a smart bear and somehow anticipated the move. He angled to meet Jamie's move and Jamie lost precious yardage. Jamie pulled his double-shotted pistol from behind his belt and fired. Both balls struck the grizzly and Big Paw again paused as the pain hit him. Jamie took off running as fast as he could. He had spotted a large tree, too large for any bear to bring down, and thought he just might have a chance to make it. He barely did. With Big Paw snorting and grunting just a few feet behind him, lashing out with those terrible claws, Jamie had just enough time to sling his rifle and leap for the lower branch. He swung his legs up as Big Paw reared up and lashed out. Jamie went up the tree with a speed that would put a squirrel to shame.

While Big Paw pounded the trunk of the tree and slobbered and roared, Jamie got his ragged breath under control and reloaded rifle and pistol. Big Paw grabbed the tree in a massive hug and attempted to tear it down. While the bear could not bring down the tree, he did manage to strip off a lot of bark and give Jamie some very anxious moments.

Jamie sat on a sturdy limb and studied the old silver-tip. Even after all that Big Paw had put him through, he really didn't want to kill the old bear.

“Go on, old man,” Jamie called. “Leave me alone and I'll let you live.”

Big Paw slammed his paws against the tree and roared, slobber flying. Jamie cut his eyes at movement. Buck had trailed his master and was a few hundred yards off, trembling with fear but nostrils flared wide and ready for a fight. Big Paw whirled around at the horse scent.

“Oh, no, bear,” Jamie yelled. “You don't kill my horse.” Big Paw looked up at Jamie just as Jamie felt a warm stickiness on his face. He put his hand to his face and was surprised to find blood there. He had cut his face in a dozen places on thorns and low branches during the wild chase. He'd been so busy concentrating on the wild, rushing, life and death foot-race and on staying alive he had not noticed the slight cuts. The blood was dripping from his face down onto his buckskins. So it was the blood scent that was enraging Big Paw.

Buck took several steps toward the bear, and Big Paw roared and whirled around, facing the big stallion. Big Paw lifted his massive arms and Jamie took aim and placed his shot true. The ball pierced the grizzly's heart. Big Paw screamed and staggered, then fell to the rocky earth.

Jamie waited several minutes, making certain the huge grizzly was indeed dead before climbing down. He leaned his reloaded rifle against a tree just as his pack horse found Buck. Jamie secured both still skittish animals, petting them and calming them. Then he pulled his knife from leather and began the slow job of skinning the bear. It would be a prize rug. He straightened up at the sound of hooves to stand over the bear, his Bowie knife held at what seemed to be a defensive position.

Black Thunder and several of his tribe burst out of the timber and sat their mounts, staring in disbelief at the sight before them. It was a fearsome scene and would be told and retold, thoroughly embellished with each repeated telling, all over the west. Jamie's face was streaked with blood. Blood had dripped down to darken his buckskin shirt. There was blood on the big mans hands.

Black Thunder was speechless, his mouth gaped open. But his eyes did not lie—at least as he saw it. Man Who Is Not Afraid stood over Big Paw, a knife in his hand. Man Who Is Not Afraid had killed the mighty grizzly with only his knife.

“IIiyee!” Black Thunder screamed, and the others screamed their approval. Man Who Is Not Afraid was indeed the mightiest of all warriors. For in all the annals of Indian history—or white history for that matter—very few men had ever been victorious over a grizzly armed with only a knife. Jamie started to correct the story then paused. Maybe it was best this way.

Black Thunder jumped off his horse and walked to Jamie's side, putting one arm around Jamie's shoulders and one foot on the dead Big Paw. “He is my brother!” Black Thunder called. “My brother, Bear Killer. Man Who Is Not Afraid will be known to all Utes as Bear Killer.”

The warriors with him hollered and cried out, shouting out the name over and over.

Jamie decided to let Black Thunder keep his own version of what had happened. He said, “I give the skin to you, my brother. It will keep you warm for many years.”