Wilderness Double Edition #9 by David Robbins

Author:David Robbins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: piccadilly publishing, hawken rifle, david robbins writing as david thompson, nate king, early american frontiersmen, novels of the us frontier, panthers and mountain cats, the us rockies, the wild american frontier
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing

Two

Nate King had an abiding passion for the Rocky Mountains. Ever since he’d initially set foot in them, he’d been entranced by their pristine beauty. The towering, regal peaks, the stark, barren crags, the magnificent forested slopes, verdant valleys, and crystal streams had stirred his soul as no other landscape ever had. And he found that as time went on, to his surprise, he didn’t tire of the stirring scenery. Rather, he became even more enamored of the wilderness. He considered it his home, and he would never leave it.

The Rockies always reflected the changing seasons more drastically than Nate’s home state of New York ever had. In the fall the aspens glimmered with brilliant hues of red, orange, and yellow, and the grass turned a deep brown. In the winter a white mantle invariably covered everything, lending the terrain a pure, virgin aspect. In the spring, when Nature rekindled the spark of life in the dormant plants and animals, the mountains came alive with all manner of wild creatures and the vegetation flourished. Trees budded and turned green, flowers sprouted and displayed their various beautiful shades, birds chirped gaily, squirrels and chipmunks chattered, and insects buzzed about their daily business.

Paradise on earth, Nate reflected as he wound down a steep slope into the valley where Shakespeare was going to set traps. He could see a wide blue stream half a mile or so off, and grazing near it were a number of elk. Overhead, among pillowy clouds, an eagle soared. To the west, a hawk crested a rocky spire. Sparrows flitted in a fir tree mere yards away. Nate inhaled the pine scented air and smiled in delight.

“No Indian sign anywhere,” Shakespeare commented. “We’ll have the region all to ourselves.”

Nate simply nodded. A boulder the size of a wagon barred his path so he swung to the right, hauling on the lead rope when the foremost pack horse balked. They each had three pack animals, only one of which was burdened with their provisions and traps. The other two would be used later to transport bales of peltries to their cabins.

“It was Broken Paw who told me about this area,” Shakespeare said, referring to a Flathead Indian they both knew. “He’d been up here last year hunting and noticed all the beaver dams.”

“If there are as many beaver as he claims, when we get back I should give him a gift to show my thanks.”

“Don’t bother. That crafty coyote already got a knife and some ammo from me for his fusee, as well as a lot of foofaraw and a new blanket for his wife.” Shakespeare snickered. “The man drives a hard bargain.”

Presently, they came to the valley floor supplies where Nate spied a game trail and rode along it toward the stream. In the dank earth were imprinted a variety of deep tracks; deer, elk, mountain buffalo, and a fresh set of gigantic prints that caused him to draw rein in consternation. “Grizzly!” he exclaimed.

“Damn. The last thing I want is to get in a racket with one of those monsters.

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