Wilderness Giant Edition 5 by David Robbins

Author:David Robbins [Robbins, David]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: piccadilly publishing, hawken rifle, the rocky mountains, david robbins writing as david thompson, nate king, american frontier stories, early american trappers
Publisher: Piccadilly Publishing
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Thirteen

Nate King paused just long enough to snap at Ashworth, who was starting to rise, “Stay put. I’ll go have a look.” With that, he was out of the tent in two swift bounds. Winona and Zach were facing to the southeast. “Go to our lean-to,” he said. “You’ll be safest there if it’s an attack.”

Nate very much doubted his words. As he sprinted toward the sound of the tapering shots, he listened for war whoops and heard none.

Few tribes waged war at night. Shoshones, Dakotas, Cheyennes, and Arapahoes preferred to raid enemy villages at the crack of dawn, when their enemies were still half asleep. Utes would strike at any time during the day, just so they could be back in the deep woods by nightfall. Even the Apaches, the most fierce of fighters, had never been known to launch an attack after dark.

The reasons varied from tribe to tribe. Some believed that the spirits of men slain at night were doomed to wander the earth forever. Others had more practical concerns. At night it was hard to pinpoint targets, harder still to hit a moving enemy at any great range.

So Nate had a hunch what he would find when he reached the perimeter of the camp, and he was right. As he flew past a solitary pine, he saw a half-dozen trappers on their knees, peering into the deep forest. The firing had stopped, but smoke curled from the muzzles of several rifles.

Nate, bending low, waited until he was much closer to inquire, “What was all the shooting about, boys?”

“Mr. King!” exclaimed a mountaineer fresh to the mountains. “It’s Injuns, sir! They was tryin’ to sneak up on us, but I cut loose and these others joined in. We drove ’em back, I reckon,” he concluded proudly.

Nate scoured the woods. Other than leaves being rustled by the wind, there were no unusual noises. “Did you see these Indians?”

“Sure did,” the man said. “I was makin’ my rounds when I spotted a whole bunch of ’em creepin’ along in a group. One of ’em stepped on a twig or I might never have noticed.”

Other trappers had arrived and more were hastening to the scene every moment. One was Henry Allen, who had overheard the last remark and glanced at Nate, his lips compressed.

Nate felt the same way. There had been no Indians. The guard’s imagination had fleshed out shadows; his fear had done the rest. “Any sign of them now?”

“No, sir,” the sentry answered. “They hightailed it without loosing a single arrow. We must have scared them silly. They’ll know better than to try a stunt like that again.”

“That they will,” Nate agreed, rising. He wasn’t going to give the sentry a scolding over a bad case of nerves. Every man was entitled once in a while. Besides which, since the guard had gotten the nervousness out of his system, he’d settle down and do right fine from then on.

“The danger is past,” Nate declared. “Everyone can go back to whatever he was doing.

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