Wild Thunder (29 page)

Life goes on forever
like the gnawing of a mouse.

—E
DNA
S
T
. V
INCENT
M
ILLAY

 

 

 

“Clem, hurry up and get those rocks away from the cave entrance,” Tiny said, his fingers raw as he continued to throw one rock over her shoulder, and then another. “Damn dynamite. It ain't worth spit. We should've been able to get inside that cave by now.”

“Just quit your jawin' and keep on workin' at it,” Clem said, throwing rocks aside as others slid in the way. “We're almost there, Tiny.”

“Yeah, but will it be soon enough?” Tiny growled, looking guardedly around him. “One blast of dynamite was all that was needed to draw those damn Injuns here. I'm sure they even heard the blast at Fort Leavenworth. That's all we need. To have both the soldiers and Injuns breathin' down our necks. Hell, Clem, I heard there was enough gold in here to last a lifetime.”

“Who told you?” Clem asked, glad that he had run across Tiny again recently during a poker game at the back of a saloon in Saint Louis. “Was it a reliable source?”

“Sure as hell was,” Tiny said, laughing boisterously. “He had just read an account of this mystery cave in some book or another. He was trying to recruit someone who knew the area. I spoke up quite quickly and told him that I knew everythin' about this damn mystery cave.”

“Yeah, you knew everythin', yet you didn't know about the pirate chest of jewels?” Clem said, laughing sarcastically. “Tiny, your brains don't match your mouth. I'm probably dumb as hell comin' back in these parts with you after high-tailin' it outta here after our disagreement. I'm not eager to have a rope slipped around my neck.”

“And you won't have no rope around your neck,” Tiny scoffed, stopping to wipe beads of sweat from his brow. “Just let's get this damn cave open and get the jewels. We'll then go back to Saint Louis and live the good ol' life. I already know how I'm goin' to spend my money. And you? What's your plans?”

“Just stayin' alive,” Clem grumbled, finally seeing some space between the rocks. “I hope there ain't no Injun hocus-pocus connected with this cave. The smoke is mysterious as hell. Where do you think it comes from?”

“You idiot,” Tiny said, casting Clem an annoyed stare as he tossed another rock aside. “There are hot springs beneath the ground. The steam is what creates the smoke. Now hurry up. I've got a strange sort of crawling at the back of my neck. That usually indicates that trouble is near. If it's Indians, I want to be far away before they come and see what's happened here at the cave.”

“Tiny, I never thought to ask before, but what happened to the gentleman who told you about the pirate chest hidden inside this cave?” Clem asked, pausing to brush hair back from his eyes. “You just told me that he had told you about it, as he was recrutin' men to come with him. When you told me about it, you didn't tell me anythin' about anyone else knowin' about it.”

“That's because no one else does,” Tiny said, laughing ruthlessly. “It's only you and me now, Clem. Only you and me.”

Clem paled. “Are you sayin' what I think you're saying?” he said guardedly.

“Exactly,” Tiny snarled back at him, his eyes squinting with a look of dark, deep evil.

“God, Tiny, you killed him?” Clem said, taking an awkward step away from him.

“His neck snapped as easy as a rotted twig,” Tiny said, taking a step closer to Clem. He glanced at the cave, seeing the opening. His heart beat soundly at the thought of being so near to the actual pirate's treasure chest. He needed no more help. The rest was a breeze.

He yanked his knife from its sheath with the speed of a lightning's flash. In one lunge he had the knife imbedded deeply within Clem's chest.

Clutching at his chest, blood spurting between his fingers, Clem gave Tiny a look of disbelief, then he slumped forward, his last breath taken after a brief spasmodic gasp.

“
Now
I've got it all to myself,” Tiny said, yanking the bloody knife from Clem's chest. He wiped the blood on Clem's breeches. He kicked Clem aside as he slipped the knife back inside his sheath.

Tiny shoved the last of the rocks aside. Reaching for a kerosene lantern that he had brought purposely to take with him inside the cave, he lit the wick. His hands trembling, his eyes wide, Tiny took slow, careful steps into the cave.

He ducked and gasped when a bat fluttered quickly past his head, and then another and another and another.

“Damn bats,” he whispered, his face hot with excitement as he spied the treasure chest up ahead, only a few footsteps away.

“I can't believe my eyes,” he said, too stunned by the sight to move. “An . . . actual . . . pirate's chest.”

He cocked an eyebrow when he noticed that the lid was somewhat ajar.

Then he gasped and teetered with a sudden fear when he saw several skulls and bones lying near the chest on all sides.

“I'm . . . not . . . the first . . .” he uttered.

Then he smiled. “But there ain't no reason why I can't be the last,” he said, taking sure steps forward now. “There ain't no one here to stop me.”

Tiny knelt down on his knees before the chest. He set his lantern to the side on a tall rock, so that the minute he got the chest opened, he would see the jewels shining back at him.

“There just ain't been no one as clever as me before to
come
for the stash,” Tiny whispered to himself, laughing in a crazed cackle. “Come to me, Mama. Come to me and let's have some fun.”

The lid now almost open, Tiny's eyes feasting on the shine of the jewels already, he could hardly contain his excitement.

Then he jumped with a start and let out a loud scream as the lid fell back, and a rattlesnake suddenly appeared and lashed out at Tiny.

The sting of the bite on Tiny's left wrist sent him sprawling to the floor of the cave. He gripped at the wrist, moaning. He yelped and hollered.

He rolled on the floor away from the snake as it uncoiled from inside the chest and came slithering toward Tiny.

“Get away from me, you damn varmint!” Tiny cried, his eyes wide.

The snake kept approaching.

Tiny grabbed his pistol from his holster. He aimed, fired, and laughed when the snake's head was severed from his body by the gun blast, and flew through the air.

Then Tiny's laughter faded. Cold sweat covered his body when he heard the first squeak and squawl of timber overhead. Dirt fell on his face. Terrified, he watched the timber creak and sway as more dirt slid from the roof overhead.

“No!”
he cried, trying to scramble to his feet.

He was light-headed from the bite. His wrist throbbed. His knees wobbled. His eyesight was becoming quickly blurred.

As spurts of strength would allow, he dragged himself an inch at a time toward the cave entrance as dirt kept spilling all around him from the roof of the cave.

Then he remembered the jewels.

Damn it, he thought to himself. He . . . had . . . to get at least some of the jewels before the cave came tumbling down onto his head.

He turned around on the dirt floor. He crawled past the dead snake's head. He ignored the rocks that began to fall from overhead.

Finally at the chest, he heaved himself up to rest against it, his eyes blurred, yet still able to see the shine of the jewels.

Then suddenly a large boulder fell from the ceiling and crushed the lantern beneath it, taking away Tiny's light.

He gasped and stiffened. He looked wildly above him. His scream became muffled when the rest of the roof caved in and buried him beneath it.

 

 

Strong Wolf scrambled down the path that led to the mystery cave, the soldiers as well as several of Strong Wolf's warriors following close behind him.

Strong Wolf leaned his ear toward a sound that he thought was a man's scream, yet it had been so muffled he was not sure.

They hurried on to the cave where they found Clem lying across the ground, dead from a knife wound.

They found Clem's and Tiny's horses tethered side by side.

But they didn't find Tiny.

“Come and look at this!” White Beaver said as he lifted the empty box of dynamite.

“That's what was stolen from the fort,” Colonel Mooney said, going to inspect the box. “The damn idiots used every stick.”

Strong Wolf knelt beside Clem. “This is the work of Tiny Sharp,” he snarled. He rose slowly to his feet and stared at the cave's entrance. He could tell that the boulders that were once there had been replaced by others. “Tiny is inside the cave. The cave has caved in and buried him alive.”

“You're sure?” Colonel Mooney said, kneading his chin as he studied the cave. “You are sure he is inside?”

“Is not his horse still here?” Strong Wolf said, nodding toward Tiny's horse.

“You know for certain that is his horse?” Colonel Mooney said, staring at the horse.

“I know his horse as well as I knew the man,” Strong Wolf said, going to kick away a few of the rocks. “And the dynamite? It was used on the cave. That is how Tiny is inside.”

“But why?” Colonel Mooney said, scratching his brow. “Why did he go there?”

“Perhaps he discovered the mysteries of the cave and thought it worth the risk of his life to go after it,” Strong Wolf said blandly.

“Do you know what is inside the cave?” Colonel Mooney said, bending to a knee, studying the debris that had fallen when the cave had caved in.

“The man has taken the answers to his grave.” Strong Wolf said, turning to walk away from the cave. He turned to the young colonel. “And I would not consider trying yourself to find what the mystery is. I would say that spirits guard the cave, or why is it that no one is ever allowed to leave once they have entered it?”

The young colonel stared at Strong Wolf, then nodded toward one of his men. “Take this dead man with you on your horse,” he ordered. “We must see to his proper burial.”

“Yes, sir,” the man said, nodding.

Then the young colonel stopped and stared at the smoke rising from the land and water. A chill ran through him. He turned to his men. “Forget what you heard here today,” he said in a solid command. “I do not want to hear that any of you have returned here. There is no need in anyone else losing their lives.”

He turned and gazed over his shoulder one last time at the cave, then walked up the narrow path behind Strong Wolf.

Strong Wolf loosened his reins and swung himself into his saddle. “And now, with Tiny dead, we are certain of peace,” he said as Colonel Mooney eased into his own saddle. “Come. Have council with me. Share a smoke.”

Smiling, the young colonel nodded.

They rode away together as more rock tumbled in on Tiny's body.

“Winter is near,” Colonel Mooney said, in light, friendly conversation.

“Yes, and should your men ever grow short of meat, just come to me and my warriors will gladly go on the hunt for you,” Strong Wolf said, smiling over at the young colonel. “Your table will never be without meat, even on the coldest days of winter.”

“Why, thank you,” Colonel Mooney said, returning Strong Wolf's smile. “You are a most generous man for making such an offer.”

“It is made by a
friend,
” Strong Wolf said.

“Yes, a friend,” Colonel Mooney said, nodding.

The sun was lowering in the sky. The trees overhead were silent, the birds having flown south for the winter. Acorns suddenly showered the path as the breeze picked up and became a howling wind.

“
This
friend most certainly needs the warmth of a fire before heading on to the fort,” the young colonel said, drawing his jacket collar closer around his throat.

“We will be at my lodge soon,” Strong Wolf said, nodding.

The colonel gave Strong Wolf another smile and rode off, Strong Wolf at his side.

Strong Wolf rode tall in the saddle, his thoughts now on Hannah. Just thinking of her made his heart soar and sing! For now, at least, everything seemed perfect for him and his wife, and his people.

But he could not help but worry about someone else. White Wolf and Dawnmarie. They should have arrived by now. If they waited too much longer, they would be threatened by the ice and snow of winter.

He gazed up at the sky. The sun was setting, painting the sky the color of chokeberries. He wondered where White Wolf and Dawnmarie were now as
they
gazed heavenward?

Hopefully near!

Ere the oldest star began to shine,
Or the farthest sun to burn,
The oldest of words, O heart of mine,
Yet newest, and sweet to learn.

—H
ILDEGARDE
H
AWTHORNE

 

 

 

The aroma of freshly baked plum pudding and bread wafted through the air as Hannah prepared the cabin for the arrival of her parents for Christmas.

Alone in the house, Swallow Song with Strong Wolf outside enjoying a walk through the thin layer of snow that had fallen through the night, Hannah stopped and looked around at her creations. Evergreen sprigs clipped from the forest framed her fireplace mantel. Candles that Hannah had made of rolled cotton and the silky down from milkweeds flamed and danced on the mantel, shedding soft white light across the room. A tree as tall as the ceiling, displayed glass balls dangling from the limbs, as well as stoneware ornaments, crisp blue on white, that Hannah had hand painted and sponged with native designs. A Christmas angel stood at the top of the tree, glistening white. Gold-braided garland adorned the tree.

Above the door hung a handmade wreath of preserved leaves and flowers in winter white, gold, and cream, with a muslin bow a generous twenty inches wide. And beside the door stood Chuck's organ. He had sent cowhands to Hannah's house only this morning with the organ, so that everyone could sing Christmas carols.

Her mother had always had a romance with the holidays. She had spent the full week before Christmas decorating the house and baking breads, cakes, and cookies.

Some of Hannah's fondest memories were of family holidays when she was young. She was going to carry on the tradition, anxious to be the one who had a house full of friends and relatives, laughing, and singing Christmas songs together.

The room exuded a warmth that came naturally from being loved, for Hannah did adore her home. And she couldn't be happier.

She placed her hand over the tight ball of her stomach. “Come spring, child, you will also join the fun,” she whispered proudly.

The sound of sleigh bells drew her quick attention. “They're here!” she whispered, yanking her apron off.

With a pounding heart she gazed around her again. Her gaze stopped at the wrapped packages beneath the tree. She had had such fun choosing the gifts from the trading post for everyone.

“And Strong Wolf is learning how we white people celebrate Christmas,” she whispered, smiling as she recalled how he questioned her about everything that she did in preparations for this special day: The tree, the ornaments, the holly and sprigs of evergreens, her insistence of baking everything that she could think of these past several days on the new woodburning stove that Strong Wolf had surprised her with one day.

It even had a portable oven, that which made baking cookies and plum pudding great fun. There was also a sheet-iron heat stove in the corner of the room, glowing cherry red from the flaming fire inside.

“Hannah?”

Hannah's face flushed a soft pink with anxiousness when she heard the soft voice of her mother outside the door. She grabbed a shawl from a peg on the wall.

She then flew to the door and opened it widely, not even noticing the rush of cold air on her cheeks as she ran on outside and flung herself into her mother's outstretched arms.

“Mother, it's been so long,” Hannah murmured, relishing the feel of her mother in her arms. She inhaled the expensive French perfume on her mother's black velveteen cape. “I wish I could have come to Saint Louis before now, but Strong Wolf doesn't allow me to travel very far now. I've only been as far as the trading post and Fort Leavenworth.”

Over her shoulder Hannah saw her father walking toward Strong Wolf who was coming back from the river with his mother. It made her heart sing and swell with joy when the two men embraced.

She then watched Strong Wolf introduce Swallow Song to her father, and smiled to herself when she saw the look of appreciation in her father's eyes as he gazed upon Swallow Song's earthy loveliness.

“Where on earth is your father?” Grace said, stepping away from Hannah. She turned and gazed around her, then smiled when she caught sight of Howard now walking with Strong Wolf and Swallow Song toward the house.

Grace turned toward Hannah. “And is that Swallow Song?” she asked, brushing flakes of snow from Hannah's hair as it began snowing again.

“Yes, that's Strong Wolf's mother,” Hannah said, hugging herself with her arms.

“Why, she doesn't look a day older than thirty,” Grace said, gazing at Swallow Song again.

Then she turned to Hannah, frowning. “We must get you back inside the house before you take a death of cold.”

Hannah hurried back inside. “Yes, Strong Wolf's mother is quite beautiful, and she has aged gracefully,” she said, slipping the shawl from around her shoulders.

She hung it on the peg again, then helped her mother with her cape. She swung it around a chair so that it could dry.

“How lovely!” Grace said, lifting the hem of her silk dress into her arms as she stepped farther into the room. “Oh, Hannah, it reminds me so much of the earlier homes that your father and I lived in, and the way I decorated them for Christmas.”

She stopped and fingered the decorations on the tree, then turned and took a slow look around her. When she spied the stove in the kitchen, her eyes widened. “And you have two new stoves? One for cooking? One for the living room?” she marveled. She inhaled the aroma of the baked goods. “Do I even smell plum pudding?”

“Yes, plum pudding, apple pie, and sorghum cookies,” Hannah said, hurrying into her kitchen. “Come, Mother. See how your daughter has changed from a tomboy into a cook. I am so proud of all that I prepared for today's celebration.”

“Oh, I forgot to tell you, Hannah, Chuck will be along shortly,” Grace said. “He is coming by way of Clara and White Beaver's house. He will bring them in his sleigh.”

“Isn't it grand, Mother, that Clara found herself such a wonderful man such as I?” Hannah said, setting a teakettle of water on the stove, for tea.

“It's not something I would have expected from Clara,” Grace said, laughing softly. “She always had her nose pressed in books, men seemingly the last thing on her mind.”

“And now she is not only married, but with child,” Hannah said, beaming with the news that had only been brought to her yesterday.

“With . . . child . . . ?” Grace said, her jaw going slack with surprise.

“I shouldn't have said anything, Mother,” Hannah said, reaching up inside her cupboard to take a stack of coffee cups from the shelf. “I should've waited and let Clara tell you the news.” She placed the cups on the table, and then reached for the saucers and placed them on the table beside the cups.

She went to her mother and took her hands. “But, Mother, I am so excited about Clara's news, I can hardly contain myself,” she said. “I will be an aunt.” She laughed softly. “Aunt Hannah. How do you like the sound of that, Mother?”

“I shall be a grandmother twice in so short a time,” Grace said, sighing. “I wonder if it will make me feel so much older? Always in my mind's eye, when I hear a reference to a grandmother, I see someone much older.”

Hannah stepped back from her mother and looked her slowly up and down. Her pale blue silk dress, with its embroidered decorations of iris on the skirt, nipped in delicately at her tiny waist, and her face had only a trace of wrinkles. “Mother, you do not look your age at all,” she said. “Why, you look hardly older than twenty.”

Grace laughed softly. “Now, that is stretching it just a mite, wouldn't you say, Hannah?” she said, then turned as everyone started coming into the cabin.

Strong Wolf stepped aside as his mother entered, and then Hannah's father.

And while Hannah and Grace had been talking, they had not heard the arrival of two other horse-drawn sleighs.

Chuck came into the room, his cane out before him searching each step. Clara was at his right side, gingerly holding his arm, and White Beaver was at his left, also helping him along.

But who came in after them made Hannah almost faint with surprise. “White Wolf!” she cried, “Dawnmarie?”

“Finally we made it from Wisconsin on our way to Mexico,” Dawnmarie said, her laughter ringing in the air with its soft sweetness. “My heart is strong, my face is calm, my eyes are eager for new land—the land of my true people, the Kickapoo.”

Hannah hurried to everyone and gave each of them hugs, then when she came to White Wolf, she hesitated long enough to gaze up at him, still in awe of his noble presence and utter handsomeness at his age of sixty.

“It is good to see you again, Hannah,” White Wolf said, himself doing the honors of taking her into his arms. He gave her a hearty hug, then stepped away from her as Strong Wolf came to Hannah and took her by the hand.

“It is good that you are here,” Strong Wolf said, reaching his free hand to White Wolf's shoulder. “We had thought you had changed your mind about traveling to Mexico. When winter set in, we gave up looking for you.”

“We had missed our son Proud Heart for so long, we decided to stay awhile to enjoy being with him since we will not see him again for many moons,” White Wolf said, helping Dawnmarie with her white rabbit fur cape.

Hannah quickly took the cape and laid it across another chair for drying, then took White Wolf's white doeskin jacket and laid it beside his wife's cape.

“Did you run into much bad weather on your journey?” Strong Wolf said, stepping between White Wolf and Dawnmarie. He placed gentle hands to their elbows and led them to the fire.

“We are foolish,
ay-uh,
for taking out in such weather, but we are prepared well enough for even the deepest snows with the sleigh,” White Wolf said. “When we reach the warmer climates down south, we shall then travel by horse. My wife is a skilled horsewoman.”

“You traveled without escorts,” Strong Wolf said, easing an arm around Hannah's waist. White Wolf and Dawnmarie eased down into upholstered chairs.

“I am capable enough to care for my wife on the lengthy journey,” White Wolf said, smiling warmly over at Dawnmarie, who was dressed in a brilliant-white doeskin dress resplendent in beads. Her hair was long and loose over her shoulders, almost as white now as the dress. “And traveling with many would draw too much attention. We wish to arrive at Mexico without any interferences.”

“And how is Proud Heart and his wife?” Hannah asked, remembering that his wife should be quite heavy with child by now.

“They are faring well,” White Wolf said, nodding. “My son carries the title of chief well on his broad shoulders.”

“Yes, I am sure that he does,” Strong Wolf said, filled with melancholia over missing his friend so much.

Soft Christmas music began wafting across the room as Chuck sat playing the organ. Everyone went and stood around the organ. Hannah and her parents began singing the carols as the others, who were not familiar with the songs, listened.

“The spirit of Christmas lives in the soul of the people,” Strong Wolf had told her when they had discussed Christmas.

Hannah smiled over at him now, feeling so lucky to be with the man she loved on their first shared Christmas. They were learning each other's customs well.

She was glad that Strong Wolf had entered into this holiday with such zest and understanding. And it thrilled her to know that next Christmas they would have one more person with whom to share the holiday. Beneath their tree would lie presents for their child!

She lifted her voice above the others in song, never having felt so at peace with herself and the world. She laughed softly as Clara gave her a soft nudge in her side.

“Hannah, you are drowning out even the organ music,” Clara teased.

“Yes, I guess I am,” Hannah said, reaching for her sister's hand, gently squeezing. “But don't you see? We have so much to be happy for. I want to sing and sing and sing!”

Clara gave Hannah a hug, then began singing just as loud, feeling the happiness and gaiety of it all.

Hannah's eyes widened when she heard someone else enter the singing. Strong Wolf had listened close enough to learn the words as the most special Christmas carols had been repeated.

Hannah twined an arm around his waist and leaned against him. She joined him in song and joy.