Winter Love Part 20

The sun was setting when Laura came in sight of the narrowest and shallowest spot in Lake Superior where Little Fox had said he would cross to Isle Royale. It had not been an easy task to follow the boy all day, but she had managed. Now she looked out over the lake and saw the lad kneeling in the bottom of a canoe, the sun glistening on droplets of water falling from the paddle as he moved toward the sh.o.r.e of Isle Royale.

When the lad landed and dragged the bark vessel onto the sh.o.r.e, then disappeared among the trees, she urged Beauty into the water. When the little mare reached the center of the narrow strip, the water was up to her belly, and Laura kicked her feet clear of the stirrups and tucked them up behind the saddle. The water was smooth here, and they moved slowly but steadily.

Beauty lunged onto the sh.o.r.e, water streaming off her flanks. Laura reined her in and gazed around, wondering in what direction to ride. She saw no sign of the canoe; the boy had hidden it well. But she saw his tracks leading off to the right.

"I'll not go that way," she said to herself, for it was doubtful he would go to the cabin that b.u.t.terfly had mentioned. In his search for manhood he would shun all comforts.

She nudged Beauty with her heels and turned the mount's head left. The great firs were filled with bird song as Beauty stepped daintily along, but Laura was barely aware of it. Her attention was on the forest that seemed to move in on her. She had remembered hearing about wolves and bears on the island, and a film of anxious sweat had formed on her brow.

Laura had just glimpsed the shadowy figures of two wolves slipping through the trees when she came to a small clearing and saw the log cabin glowing in the light of the setting sun. She urged Beauty into a full lope, then moments later pulled her in sharply only a few yards from the st.u.r.dy building.

It was hard to say who was the most surprised and alarmed, she or the old Indian who sat on a large, flat rock near the porch. He was old and wrinkled, and most of his teeth were gone, she noted when he stood up and grinned warily at her.

She urged the mare forward, stopping within a few feet of the old brave. "Who are you?" she asked in the charged silence, her voice breathless from her unease.

"I am called Spotted Horse," came the answer in a cracked voice. "I have not damaged your home," he hurriedly added. "I will get my blanket and move on."

He looks so frail, maybe even ill, Laura thought as the bone-brittle Indian stepped upon the porch. He had wrongly a.s.sumed the cabin was hers. Actually, he had as much right as she did to be here.

"Where will you go?" Laura asked on impulse as she swung from the saddle. "Do you have people to go to?"

The black eyes that were dimmed with age clouded over. "My wife and children are gone, taken away by the white man's disease, pneumonia. The killer wiped out half our village. I wasn't told to leave my people, but food is always scarce in the winter and I could sense that food was given to me begrudgingly, especially when a child was crying from hunger. So, one morning in December I paddled my canoe across the lake to this island. I told myself that it was in the Great Father's hands. Either I would survive or the wolves would make a meal of me."

"It appears that you have survived." Laura smiled at the old one.

"Yes," Spotted Horse answered gravely, "but only because I found your cabin empty. There was enough wood chopped to see me through the rest of the winter, and I was fortunate enough to send an arrow through a deer's heart. Only once did I have a narrow escape with a wolf."

When Spotted Horse continued on into the cabin, Laura stared thoughtfully at the ground. It would be lonely here with just Jolie for company, and she was sure the old fellow had nowhere to go.

When Spotted Horse came outside, his ragged blanket rolled and tucked under his arm, a much-used bow and quiver of arrows slung over his bony shoulder, Laura said, "The cabin is big enough for both of us, old brave. Tomorrow we will plant a garden patch." She patted the dog on the head. "This fellow will keep us safe from the wolves while we work."

Thanksgiving flashed in the Indian's eyes, but that was the only sign he gave of his relief When he answered, "If that is your wish, I will stay with you," Laura had difficulty not to laugh out loud. What a proud old fellow he is, she thought.

"What is the age of your papoose?" he asked as Laura removed the fussing Jolie from her back. "She will have her first birthday soon," Laura answered, stepping up on the porch, taking note of how the old man's black eyes stared at her daughter's blond hair. Little Fox had done the same thing until he grew used to the color.

She stepped through the door that Spotted Horse had left open and stood a moment to accustom her eyes to the dim interior. When articles of furniture began to take shape, she moved purposefully into the room as though she were familiar with it. She must keep up her deception of owning the cabin, otherwise the old man might chase her away.

The large-sized room had a musty, alien odor of meals Spotted Horse had cooked over the winter. As she walked across the floor to the hand-crafted bed, she said, "Would you please open the shutters and raise the windows?"

When bright light flooded the room and a fresh breeze wafted inside, Laura laid Jolie down on the bed fastened to the wall next to a large fieldstone fireplace. The bed was so neatly made up it was clear the old Indian had preferred sleeping on the floor, curled up before the fire.

After taking Jolie out of the cradle board, Laura straightened up and took stock of her new home. Beneath the window was a good-sized table, its top made of handhewn boards, and along each side of it was a half-rounded log bench. In its center was a lamp, its bowl nearly full of kerosene. Grouped around it were ajar of matches, a salt and pepper cellar, and a narrow wooden box just big enough to hold knives, forks, and spoons. On each end of the table there had been placed tin plates with matching cups. They were clean but dusty.

Completing the furnishings were two chairs, rudely constructed like the other pieces but comfortable-looking with seat and back padding made from a colorful Indian blanket.

All in all, Laura decided, she could be much worse off The cabin was sound, and there were plenty of deer to supply meat and the lake to give up fish. There was also the garden she and the old man would make. Above everything else, she could at last live in peace. There would be no more whispering behind her back, no more sly, knowing looks.

Jolie fussed and as Laura picked her up Spotted Horse said, "The papoose is hungry. I will pull down the deer haunch from where I hung it in a tree and make us a fine stew."

Laura smiled at him and said, "Make a big pot of it, would you please, for I am very hungry too."

Spotted Horse nodded, and she thought that his footsteps were more sprightly as he left the cabin. He's as happy as I am to have company, she thought.

Chapter Twenty-Two.

Laura plopped down beneath a young birch, her body crying out for rest. She twisted the toes of one bare foot in the cool green gra.s.s as she looked out over the large garden patch she and Spotted Horse had toiled over. They had taken turns with the spade the old Indian had purchased at the trading post five miles down the lake.

The soil was virgin and rich, having never before nourished man's vegetable crops. The seeds she had thoughtfully brought from home, beans, com, peas, onions, turnips, squash, and pumpkins, had quickly taken root and now were st.u.r.dy, flourishing plants. Last night for supper she and Jolie and Spotted Horse had enjoyed their first meal of sweet peas. How good the first fresh vegetables of the season had tasted after the long, cold winter.

Laura looked up in the branches where Spotted Horse had suspended a contraption he had put together to hold Jolie while they worked in the garden. The little one was safe from any wolves that might sneak up on them. She was quite content looking up at the leaves and blue sky.

Laura glanced at the mare staked nearby, then looked down at the rifle lying beside her. Usually the dog guarded Beauty, but at the moment he was off in the woods somewhere chasing rabbits and squirrels. Spotted Horse had left this morning to paddle his canoe down to the post.

What a G.o.dsend that post had been for her. When she had learned of its presence she had sent the old man off with a shopping list without much hope of it being filled. But he had returned with all the necessary ingredients to make bread, along with a pail of lard, a slab of bacon, a tin of crackers, a round of cheese, and a bag of coffee beans. And to her delight, canned milk for Jolie. Spotted Horse had paid for the items with some beaver pelts he had trapped along the lake over the winter. He had not set a line in the forest for fear of being set upon by wolves. He had gone to the post today because she was low on milk and kerosene.

Laura leaned back against the tree trunk.

Looking up at the sky, she thought that the last three weeks had pa.s.sed much better than she had expected, due to the old man's presence. She depended on his wisdom, his company, and Jolie adored him. Many times when he talked to the little one in his language, Laura saw a softness in his black eyes.

Her lips twisted ruefully. Jolie was beginning to chatter back to him in his tongue. Wouldn't that tickle Pa if he knew?

Sadness settled over Laura's face. How upset Pa must be, how worried. Had she been wrong to run away from home? When she remembered all the reasons that had sent her to Isle Royale, she knew she had made the right decision. She was content here. Her daughter and the old Indian were all she needed. She had loved and trusted a man once but would never be so foolish again.

She was thinking of lowering Jolie down from her perch and returning to the cabin to fix lunch when the dog came running out of the forest, barking furiously. He came to a bracing stop in front of her, whining and yipping, trying desperately to tell her something.

"What is it, boy?" she asked. When she stood up, he ran a few feet away from her, then stopped and looked back, plainly telling her to follow him. The thought went through her that something had happened to Spotted Horse as she looked up in the tree to check on Jolie. The old man's contraption was motionless, telling her that her daughter was sleeping. She grabbed up the rifle, freed Beauty from her stake, and swung onto her back. Grasping the mare's mane and gripping her belly with her knees, she raced after the dog.

He had run but half a mile when he stopped before a jumble of rocks and boulders and nudged at a slender figure lying facedown at their base.

"Little Fox!" Laura gasped, sliding off the mare, her eyes glued in horror to the buckskin tunic that hung in shreds on the boy's back and shoulder. She didn't have to be told that the teenager had been attacked by a bear, and that Brave had driven the animal away.

"Please, G.o.d, let him be alive," she prayed as she ran to kneel beside the crumpled figure. She picked up his limp wrist to feel for a pulse.

She had almost given up hope that there was still life in her young friend when finally she felt a flutter of movement like that of a baby bird. "I must get him to the cabin before wolves smell the blood," she whispered frantically.

She led Beauty up close to Little Fox, chastising her severely when she sidled away at the scent of blood. In her anxiety to get the lad onto the mare's back she had a strength she wasn't aware of having before. At any normal time she would have been unable to lift the st.u.r.dy body and lay it over the mount's back. With one leap, she was mounted and was sending Beauty racing toward the cabin.

Laura gave a breath of relief when she rode into the small clearing and saw Spotted Horse coming up the path from the lake. If anyone could help Little Fox, it would be the old Indian. She jumped to the ground at the same time as Spotted Horse came hurrying forward. He saw the torn garment, the blood dripping off the dangling arm, and asked no questions. He slid the boy onto his shoulder, and Laura followed them into the cabin.

"Put him on the bed." Laura hurried forward to turn back the covers. When she had helped Spotted Horse ease the unconscious boy onto the leaf-filled mattress, the old man pulled his hunting knife from the top of his knee-high moccasins and began to cut away the tattered buckskin. They were both appalled at the long, deep gashes that had been visited on the tender flesh.

"Get me a basin of water and a cloth," Spotted Horse ordered. "Then go take Jolie out of the tree."

Laura heard her daughter's angry cries then and hurried to fulfill the old man's request. It took but a minute to bring Jolie into the cabin, and Laura kept an anxious eye on Little Fox as the little one used her chamber pot.

The boy was moaning weakly as his ugly gashes were bathed, and she said, "Poor little brave, he must be in a lot of pain."

"He is"-Spotted Horse nodded grimly-"but I must make sure all the dirt is out of his wounds. Otherwise infection will set in and we could lose him."

"Do you think you can save him?" Laura asked hopefully as she set Jolie into the chair that Spotted Horse had raised the seat to her height at the table. She gave her a piece of skillet bread liberally sprinkled with sugar.

Spotted Horse looked up at her, concern in his eyes. "I will do my best, but it is in the hands of the Great Father. Watch over the boy while I go into the forest to gather special roots and leaves. They will make a tea that will draw the poison out of his system." When he straightened up he looked at Laura and said, "Something tells me that you know this lad."

"Yes, I do," Laura answered, but didn't go into details why she was acquainted with her young friend. The Indian might ask questions that she didn't care to answer. She was taking no chances that anyone from her village might learn of her whereabouts.

Spotted Horse didn't press her for any more information, and when he left at a trot she hadn't known he was capable of, she took the seat he had vacated.

Lying on his stomach, his head turned to the side, Little Fox began to fret and move about. He whimpered in his native tongue, and Laura had no idea what he was saying. She wondered if he cried for his father or the aunt he now called Mother. She gently smoothed the long black hair from his forehead and felt his brow.

Did it feel a little warm? She chewed thoughtfully on her lower lip. When she felt the pulse in his wrist, she was certain it beat faster than normal.

"He's going to be all right." She patted the dog's head as he nosed up beside her and sniffed his playmate's face. "Spotted Horse knows how to doctor him."

Laura prayed that her promise would come true, for the angry-looking slashes on the slender back were still oozing blood. She stood up, and taking the basin of b.l.o.o.d.y water she exchanged it for a pan of clean water, along with a clean cloth.

She was carefully bathing the wounds and softly crooning a song mother Marie had sung to her as a child when Spotted Horse entered the cabin. In one hand he carried a branch from a bush she had seen many times in the forest but did not know the name of In his other hand he grasped some roots that still had dirt clinging to them. Laura watched the old man strip the leaves off the branch, then wash them thoroughly in a pan of water. When the leaves were cleaned to his satisfaction, he brought them to the bed and carefully laid them over the deep gouges.

When every inch of the bear's claw marks was covered, he looked up at Laura and ordered, "Scrub the roots clean; then put them in a pot of water to simmer over the fire. The juices from the roots will help keep the fever down that is beginning to build inside him."

"How long should it brew?" Laura asked as she walked over to the table and picked up Spotted Horse's knife that lay there. Spotted Horse looked at the mantel clock. "When the long hand points to three it will be long enough," he answered.

"Fifteen minutes," Laura said to herself, for it was now one o'clock. She busily cut off the limp stem and leaves from the three different kinds of roots, scrubbed them with a rough piece of haversack, transferred them into a pot of water, and placed it on a bed of red coals. To hurry the heating along she laid wood chips against the coals, which immediately caught hold and flamed around the cast-iron vessel. When the water began to bubble, she raked the chips away and the water settled down to a gentle brewing.

When fifteen minutes pa.s.sed, Laura removed the pot and carried it to the table where she ladled the greenish juice into a tin cup. She picked up a spoon and hurried to the bed with the cup.

Little Fox was quite restless now, making it necessary for Spotted Horse to forcibly hold him down so that he wouldn't disturb the poison-drawing leaves on his wounds. All the time Spotted Horse talked soothingly to the lad in his native tongue. When he sensed that Laura stood beside him, he looked up and said, "If you will hold his head steady I will spoon the liquid into his mouth. He will fight it, for it is very bitter."

Laura climbed over the foot of the bed, and positioning herself at Little Fox's head, she gently but firmly placed her hand on his head and held it steady. Spotted Horse filled the spoon from the cup, blew on the liquid to cool it, then held it to the boy's dry lips.

Little Fox fought its unpalatable taste as it hit his tongue, but Laura didn't let him move as Spotted Horse's remedy trickled down his throat.

Twenty minutes later half the cup's liquid had been drunk, and Spotted Horse straightened up. "That will do for now," he said. "We'll wait an hour, then get some more inside him."

Laura rose stiffly from her knees, and as she crawled off the bed she looked over at Jolie, who had grown very quiet. The little one was sound asleep, her head on the table. "Poor baby," she said softly and lifted the little body and gently laid her down on Spotted Horse's bed of blankets.

"I will prepare the little brave a bed of soft pine needles," the old man said, walking to the door.

"Oh, but I wouldn't want him sleeping on the floor," Laura objected.

Spotted Horse looked at her as though her words were foolish. "Where do you think he would rest if he was home in his wigwam?"

Laura nodded and said no more. Like the rest of his family, the boy would have abed of furs on the floor. The old man closed the door behind him, and she set about making a pot of venison stew. It had just began to simmer over the fire when Spotted Horse returned, his arms full of soft pine tips. When he arranged them on the hearth next to where he slept, Laura took the quilt from her bed and tucked it neatly over the thickness of the featherlike boughs. When they had carefully moved their patient to his new bed, she took the top sheet and spread it over the slender body that was growing restless again.

"It is time to get more medicine inside him." Spotted Horse reached for the cup and spoon.

"Is your root tea taking effect on him yet?" Laura asked anxiously, taking up her position beside Little Fox.

Spotted Horse shook his head. "He is still in the grip of the fever, still fighting off the bear in his mind." He pulled the sheet down to examine the wounds on the slender back. "The bleeding has stopped, though. When we have finished dosing him, I will put fresh leaves on the gashes."

The rest of the day wore on, and dusk settled around the cabin. The stew was eaten, and after Brave had his share he was sent outside to watch over Beauty until morning. During this pa.s.sage of time Little Fox had been forced to drink the bitter tea every hour on the hour. He no longer tossed about, but lay in a dull stupor of exhaustion from the fever and loss of blood.

It was close to two in the morning when the fever broke and Little Fox slipped off into a deep sleep. The crisis was over. Spotted Horse laid a hand on the sweat-dampened head and said, "His spirit will not pa.s.s into the unknown world. He will live to kill many deer."

"Poor little brave," Laura said softly. "The reason he came here was to kill a deer with his bow and arrow, to put his childhood behind him and become a man. He will have to go back to his village now, still an untried lad."

Spotted Horse shook his head. "You are wrong. Much will be made over him at his village. Will he not bear the scars of the grizzly? Is he not a man to have survived the mutilation of his back and shoulders? His father will be very proud of him."

Laura hadn't thought of it that way, and an amused smile hovered on her lips. She could just see Little Fox holding court, showing off his scars to his peers, boasting how he had fought off the bear. Most likely he would embroider his story by saying that he had gravely wounded the animal with his bow and arrow. Who was to call him liar?

Later when she lay in bed, Jolie cuddled up close to her, Laura remembered that the boy's month would be up at the end of the week. Her eyes flew open. If Little Fox didn't show up in the village shortly after that, his father would become concerned and come looking for him.

Laura lay awake, staring into the darkness trying to figure a way out of the dilemma that loomed ahead. Her young friend wouldn't be able to travel for at least another two weeks, and Red Fox would come looking for him way before that. Her hiding place would no longer be a secret.

The next morning Laura's eyes ached from the lack of sleep, but during those dark hours she had reached a decision. She must take Jolie and make their way to Detroit. She felt confident that Spotted Horse would help her. If not to accompany them, at least to sell some more of his beaver pelts and give her the money to buy pa.s.sage to the city where she could become lost among so many people.

Chapter Twenty-Three.

Fletch stood on the porch of the Great Northern Hotel in Detroit, looking up and down the unpaved street. Across from him a big sign on a building read "Johnson and Bros." and beneath it in smaller letters, "Guns, Pistols and Munitions Done to Order."