Fear Weaver Read online

  Nate threaded through a belt of lodgepole pines and came out on a flat bench. Rather than go lower,he drew rein and dismounted to await the eight. It was a quarter of an hour before they reached him, and in that time Nate gathered dead limbs, used his fire steel and flint, and tinder from his tinderbox, to kindle a fire, and put coffee on to brew.

  When the other frontiersman came over the crest, Nate was seated on a log he had dragged close to the fire, his Hawken across his legs. He didn’t smile or lift a hand in greeting. Instead, he leveled the Hawken and said bluntly, “I should kill you here and now.”

  The man made no attempt to raise his own rifle. Lean and bony, he had a high forehead, stringy brown hair that hung limp under a floppy brown hat, and a jagged scar where his left ear should be. “I thought it might be you. Not many are your size.”

  “My son tells me you were there when he was whipped.” Nate was referring to an incident not long ago in which his oldest, Zach, had tangled with an English lord.

  “Did he also tell you I had no hand in the whipping? And that I did what I could to help him escape?”

  Nate slowly lowered the Hawken. The mere thought of harm coming to either of his children was enough to fill him with fury. He loved Zach and Evelyn dearly and devotedly, and anyone who hurt them must answer to him. “He told me, Ryker. Which is why I’m not going to blow out your wick.”

  Edwin Ryker let out a long breath. “You had me worried there. I don’t want you for an enemy.”

  “We have never been bosom friends.”

  The other riders were filing onto the bench. A white-haired bantam of a woman in a floral dress and yellow bonnet jabbed a bony finger at Nate and demanded, “Why were you pointing your rifle at our guide just now? If you are a brigand, all you will get from us is an early grave.”

  “Aunt Aggie, please,” said a man of fifty or so. His clothes were store bought. He had a thin mustache and thin sideburns and no chin to speak off. “Hush, and let us men handle this.”

  The woman who had threatened Nate was not the least bit intimidated. “Pshaw, Peter. Men are good for two things in this world. As beasts of burden and to help breed. Beyond that, we women would be better off without you.”

  Nate laughed.

  Aunt Aggie’s back became ramrod straight. “Find me humorous, do you, you great lump of muscle?”

  “I find you marvelous. My wife would agree with your opinion of my gender. She has tongue-lashed my ears many a time.”

  “I dare say you deserved it,” Aunt Aggie said, but she was smiling. “Although I must admire her taste. For a lump of muscle you are uncommonly handsome.”

  A woman about the same age as Peter let out with a loud sigh. “Enough, Aggie. Must you always embarrass us?”

  “I speak my mind, Erleen. You would do well to do the same. Timidity never got anyone anywhere.”

  “We don’t know this man from Adam, yet you carry on with him like some tavern tart. I wish just once you would remember you are supposed to act like a lady. And if you can’t do that, at least act your age.”

  “Did you hear her?” Aunt Aggie said to Nate. “She was born with a sour disposition, and life has not improved it much.”

  “Agatha!” Erleen declared. “I will thank you to shush until we find out who this man is and whether he is trustworthy.”

  “I can answer both questions,” Edwin Ryker said. “This here is Nate King. He got his start as a free trapper years ago, and now he lives somewhere in these mountains with his family and a few close friends. As for trusting him, he is as trustworthy as a man can be this side of walking on water.”

  “That is some recommendation,” Aunt Aggie said.

  Peter kneed his horse forward, dismounted, and held out a hand as limp as his hair. “Permit me to introduce us. I am Peter Woodrow out of Philadelphia, Pennsylvania.”

  Nate wondered if they were Quakers, but then quickly realized they must not be since they were armed. Quakers never, ever carried guns; they didn’t believe in violence of any kind.

  “This fine woman is my wife, Erleen. Agatha is her older sister. All of us call her Aunt Aggie. We’ve hired Mr. Ryker on an urgent matter and have spent the better part of two weeks making our way ever deeper into these mountains.”

  The last four riders had come over the top. It confirmed what Nate had seen through his spyglass, and his frown returned. Standing, he rounded on Edwin Ryker. “What in God’s name are you doing, bringing these pilgrims this far in? Have you warned them they could lose their hair?”

  “Many a time and then some,” Ryker replied. “Don’t be mad at me. They would have come by themselves if they couldn’t find a guide. The way I look at it, I’m doing them a favor. And being paid for it.”

  “You seem agitated, Mr. King,” Aunt Aggie said.

  “I have reason to be. You folks are asking for grief. You’ve made a mistake. You shouldn’t be here.”

  “Care to tell us why?” Peter asked.

  “Where to begin?” Nate scratched his chin. “Let’s start with the meat-eaters. Most haven’t been killed off, as they have east of the Mississippi. They are everywhere. Then there are the hostiles. Indians who will slit your throat for no other reason than you are white. And even if you are lucky and don’t run into a griz or a war party your horse could throw you and you could break a leg or come down sick. And there aren’t any doctors.”

  “That was some speech, handsome.”

  “Aggie, please,” Erleen said, and turned to Nate. “We appreciate your concern, Mr. King. But you are the one who is mistaken. We must be here, come what may.”

  Peter nodded. “We are looking for someone.”

  “And did you have to bring them?” Nate asked, nodding at the last four riders. More of the Woodrow brood: two boys and two girls, all smartly dressed.

  “Of course,” Peter said. “We are a family. We do everything together. Where Erleen and I go, our children go.” He pointed at a spitting image of himself. “That’s Fitch. He is eighteen.” He pointed at his other son, who took after the mother. “That’s Harper. He’s seventeen. As you can see, both are armed, and fair shots.”

  “Fair isn’t always good enough out here.”

  Peter Woodrow pointed at a girl in a blue bonnet. “That’s Anora. She’s fifteen, and as fine a little lady as a father could ask for.”

  “Pleased to meet you, sir.”

  Peter indicated the last of his offspring. “And this is Tyne, our youngest. She’s only twelve, and a lively bundle, if I do say so myself.”

  Tyne smiled sweetly. Unlike the rest of her family,who all had dark eyes and dark hair, Tyne had straw-colored curls, and her eyes were lake blue, like Nate’s own. “Aren’t these mountains wonderful, Mr. King?”

  “They can be deadly, too.”

  “As Aunt Aggie likes to say, we can’t fret over what might never happen. She says we should look for the good in life, not the bad.”

  Agatha grinned. “I am a regular sage.”

  “I wish I could make you understand,” Nate said.

  “We have done well so far,” Peter said. “The dangers in these mountains have been exaggerated.”

  “That they have,” Erleen agreed. “To hear folks back home talk, we should have been scalped the minute we crossed the Mississippi River.”

  Nate sighed. “You mentioned that you are searching for someone?”

  “My younger brother, Sullivan,” Peter answered. “He came west with his wife and three boys about a year and a half ago. He managed to get a letter back to us shortly after they got here, and then nothing. I mean to find out if he is still alive, and if not, to learn his fate.”

  “He came to the Rockies?” Nate was mildly surprised. He could count the number of settlers on two hands and have fingers left over. “I’ve never heard of any Sullivan Woodrow.”

  Peter gestured at the towering peaks to the west. “Sully is somewhere in there. He wrote us how to find his cabin. Even with his directions, though, Mr. Ryker
is having a hard time.”

  Edwin Ryker had been listening to their exchange. Now he addressed Nate, saying, “I’ve read the letter. You won’t believe it. This Sully wanted to live as a trapper.”

  “The beaver trade died out long ago.”

  “You know that and I know that, but this Sully figured there must be enough beaver and other animals around to make a living.”

  Nate grunted. A man could make a living at it. Good furs were always in demand. But trapping was hard, brutal work, and the money to be made wasn’t enough for a family of five to live comfortably. “Was this Sully a woodsman? Could he live off the land?”

  “I would rather you didn’t use the past tense,” Peter said. “And yes, my brother is the best woodsman I know. Back East, he spent nearly all his time hunting or fishing. One year he brought down six deer.”

  “Sully has always loved the outdoors,” Erleen added. “The forest was in his blood.”

  Nate wasn’t impressed. The wilds of the East were nothing like the wilds of the West. It could well be that Sully had no idea what he was letting himself in for when he brought his family to the Rockies. “What was this about directions?”

  It was Ryker who answered. “The letter mentions a few landmarks. If I’ve read it right, Sullivan’s cabin is on the other side of this range.”

  “Over the divide?”

  Ryker nodded. “In a high valley. He mentions sand-stone cliffs that can be seen for miles. One is split down the middle and looks like a giant V.”

  Nate gave a slight start.

  “What? Do you know where the valley is?”

  “I might.” Nate had wandered all over the central Rockies when he was a trapper. From the geyser country to the deserts of the Southwest, he knew the land well.

  Erleen Woodrow clasped her hands. “That’s wonderful news! You are a godsend, Mr. King.”

  “How so?”

  “You can take us there. It would save us considerable time, and we would be ever so grateful.”

  “I’d be in your debt,” Peter stressed.

  Nate stared at the stark heights they were making for. “If I’m right, your brother picked country few whites have ever set foot in.”

  “The very kind Sully wanted.”

  “Bears and the like will be as thick as fleas on an old hound. And there are bound to be Indians.”

  “Is that a yes or a no?” Aunt Aggie asked.

  Nate stared at her, then at the two sons and the girls. His gaze lingered on young Tyne’s innocent features. He thought of his own daughter, Evelyn, and he gave the only answer he could.

  Into the Heart of Darkness

  Late summer in the Rockies.

  The lush green of a wet spring had given way to the parched greens and somber shades of dry day after dry day. At the lower elevations withering heat blistered man and beast. But up in the high country while it was every bit as dry it wasn’t quite as hot.

  As best Nate could judge, the pass he and the others were making for was at ten thousand feet. He had been over it only once, many summers ago when he and hundreds of other trappers were prowling in search of streams and rivers that might harbor the industrious creatures their livelihoods depended on.

  At this altitude the air had a rarified quality that made Nate conscious of each breath he took. His lungs had to work a little harder; he had to breathe a little deeper.

  The timberline was below them. Above were a series of steep slopes littered with treacherous talus and dotted with boulders. The ping of metal horseshoes on rock was constant as their animals strained to defy the cant, and gravity.

  Nate was in the lead. They had been climbing for hours when he came to a shelf and drew rein to await the rest.

  Edwin Ryker was close behind. He swung his sorrel in next to Nate’s bay and idly scratched the scar where his left ear had been. “We need to talk.”

  “Flap your gums but keep it short.” Nate was keeping an eye on Erleen Woodrow. Her mare was giving her trouble. It didn’t help that Erleen wasn’t much of a rider.

  “What do you expect to get out of this? They are paying me a hundred dollars, and I’ll be damned if I will share.”

  “Did I ask you to?”

  “Not yet.”

  Nate shifted his gaze from the struggling mare to Ryker. “I have no interest in their money.”

  “Then why put your life in danger for a bunch of strangers?”

  “They need help.”

  “That’s it?” Ryker snorted. “I never took you for the noble type. Your son certainly isn’t.”

  Nate placed his hand on one of the .55-caliber flintlocks tucked under his leather belt. “Insult me or my son again and you will find out exactly how noble I’m not.”

  “Sheath your claws,” Ryker said quickly. “I have nothing against you. But we’re different, you and me. I’d never help these yacks if they weren’t paying me. They are sheep waiting to be slaughtered.”

  “You don’t care about anyone but yourself, is that how it goes?”

  “I make no bones about how I am.”

  “Says the man who helped my son escape from men who were out to kill him. You are not the ogre you would like us to believe.”

  Ryker laughed. “I don’t give a good damn what anyone thinks. As for your son, I helped him to spare my hide. There was a chance he might have gotten away on his own and come after me later. I didn’t want that. Your boy is a holy terror when he is out for blood.”

  Nate opened his mouth to dispute it but didn’t. Ryker was right. Zach was a terror when his bloodlust was up, so much so, Nate often worried about what the future held for his hot-tempered pride and joy.

  “So tell me. Are you thinking what I am thinking about Sullivan and his family?” Ryker asked.

  “There’s a chance they are still alive.”

  “You know better. It has been more than a year since anyone heard from them. We’ll find bones if we find anything, and then only if we find the valley and their cabin.”

  “Do you always look at the bright side?”

  Ryker laughed again. “I like you, King. For a mountain man you would make a fine schoolmarm.”

  The mare was floundering. Stones and dirt cascaded from under her scrabbling hooves as she sought to keep her balance. Erleen leaned well back, the reins taut in her white-knuckled hands.

  Cupping a hand to his mouth, Nate hollered, “Bend forward, over the saddle!”

  “See what I mean about yacks?” Ryker said. “These infants don’t even know how to ride.”

  “Bend forward!” Nate shouted again, and this time the woman listened. Almost immediately, the mare regained its footing and laboriously climbed the final twenty feet to the shelf.

  “Praise God!” Erleen exclaimed. “I thought for sure I would take an awful fall.”

  Ryker winked at Nate. “See what I’ve had to put up with?”

  “How much farther to the pass?” Erleen asked.

  “Another hour yet.” Nate checked the rest, but no one else was in trouble. Peter was a fair rider. The four youngsters did better than their parents, but none of them could compare to Aunt Aggie, who controlled her mount with superb skill. “That sister of yours can handle herself.”

  “Agatha? Well, she is older than me by almost twenty years.” Erleen fiddled with her bonnet. “Our folks had nine children. She was the eldest, and I was the youngest.”

  Ryker said, “One kid would be one too many for me. Brats at ten are brats at twenty, and I can do without the aggravation.”

  “Must you be so crude, Mr. Ryker? I have asked you before to be civil, and it would delight me greatly if you would at least try.”

  “What are you in a huff about? All I said was that most kids are brats.”

  Peter joined them, then the girls, then Fitch and Harper. Last to reach safety was Aunt Aggie. Her cheeks were flushed and her eyes were twinkling with excitement. She brightened even more when Nate complimented her riding.

  “Thank you, kind
sir. It is unfortunate you have a wife. My third husband died on me five years ago and I have not come across a likely replacement.”

  Erleen colored from neckline to hairline. “Is there no end? Have you no modesty or decorum? And in front of Anora and Tyne, no less.”

  “That’s all right, Mother,” Anora said. “We don’t mind. We like Aunt Aggie.”

  “She is the best aunt ever,” Tyne agreed.

  “Agatha can be charming, I grant you,” Erleen responded. “But she can also be as crude as Mr. Ryker, and I would rather she doesn’t influence you with her sinful ways.”

  “Oh Lord,” Aunt Aggie said.

  “Don’t take that tone with me, sister. Three husbands is two too many. You always have been too lax when it comes Tomen and your tart tongue.”

  “I should hope so,” Aunt Aggie said.

  Since Peter was imitating a lump of clay, Nate held up a hand. “Enough, ladies. I don’t care to listen to you bicker every foot of the way.”

  “Oh, this is normal for us,” Aunt Aggie said. “My little sister has always thought she is better than I. She never passes up an opportunity to point out my flaws.”

  “You are impossible,” Erleen said.

  Peter finally stirred. “You heard Mr. King.”

  Nate reined the bay around. Other than pockets of scrub brush and a few small boulders, the next slope presented no problems. He twisted to mention to the others to be sure to string out in single file, and happened to glance past them at the forest below.

  It took a few seconds for Nate to realize what he was seeing. Then he blinked and it was gone.

  Ryker was next to him, and asked, “What was that look on your face just now?”

  “Have you seen sign of anyone following you since you hooked up with the Woodrows?”

  “No. Why do you ask?” Ryker twisted to scan the lower slopes. “Is someone trailing us?”

  “At least one.”

  “White or red?”

  “He was too far off, and in the shadows.”

  “So it could be either.” Ryker scowled. “Damn. And here I thought I was doing a good job of keeping them safe.”