Woman of Courage (7 page)

As though they knew she meant business, the twin cubs ran bawling into the woods.

With hands planted firmly on her hips, Amanda surveyed the damage. Her food supplies were nothing more than scavenger pickings. Her plain, dark dresses and Quaker bonnet were dirty. The only pack the roguish little bears had not gotten into was full of Papa’s things. Amanda knew that unless she wanted to die in the filthy black dress she presently wore, she’d have to put on one of Papa’s shirts to go with the trousers she wore hidden beneath her dress.

Unsure of which trail to take, and with few food provisions left, Amanda was certain that unless God intervened, she wouldn’t last many more days.

Amanda hadn’t moved from her campsite all day. She was too weary to travel, and since she was unsure of which way to go, she’d decided it was best to spend the day resting, praying, and reading her Bible. She desperately needed God’s wisdom and guidance if she was going to find the strength and courage to go on.

Amanda had hoped that other travelers going in the same direction might find her and invite her to journey with them. But all day long, her only friends were the sky, the mountains, and the birds serenading her with melodies.

With a lightweight blanket draped over her shoulders, Amanda placed a log on the fire. As she sat, holding her Bible, while watching the sun go down, she tried not to think about the ache in her stomach. She’d had a refreshing drink of water from a nearby stream, but thanks to those cavorting bears, she was forced to ration her remaining food.

Dark clouds drifted across a stunning sunset, vivid with color. Even the clouds feathered the sky with oranges, reds, and purples, as the sunlight touched them. In these dangerous lands, God’s beauty could be seen in every direction. Despite her fear of the unknown, Amanda couldn’t help but take in all this grandeur.

Back home, the maples would be coming to life. The red buds sprouting on every branch always gave an illusion of autumn instead of spring. Up here in the Rockies, she saw no leafy trees—only pines that stood massively reaching toward the heavens.

The landscape was beautiful, and some of the animals Amanda had seen along the way were different from those she was familiar with back East. She’d had her first glimpse of antelope and had even heard wolves howling during the night—thankfully at a distance.

Everything is so different here
, Amanda thought as a shudder coursed through her tired body. Tears streamed down her face, and she looked toward heaven. “Dear Lord, hast Thou brought me this far, only to abandon me now? Wilt Thou allow me to die out here in the wilderness alone?”

A sob erupted from Amanda’s throat. She couldn’t remember ever feeling such despair. She closed her eyes and tried to sleep, but sleep would not come. She wondered if the bear cubs would return. What if, this time, the mother bear was with them? In New York, where black bears were numerous in the mountains, people were always warned never to confront or get between a mother bear and her cubs. That was when they were the most vicious and had no fear of showing rage to protect their young. Amanda knew the cubs that had raided her campsite were black bears. While a black bear was something to be on guard for, her worse fear was that she might encounter a giant grizzly along the way.

As if there couldn’t be one more thing to make the situation even more difficult, the sound of thunder rumbled in the distance, and raindrops followed.
Another spring storm?
Amanda shivered.
I wonder what kind of wrath this one will bring
.

F
or five days, Amanda sat in the same place, waiting for the rain to stop and pleading with God to send her some help, but to no avail. The small lean-to she’d managed to erect had blown over in the wind and had done little to protect her from the relentless rain. The weight of the water had completely saturated her father’s hat. She’d been hot and sweaty one minute, and chilled to the bone the next. If the rain didn’t stop soon, she’d be completely water-logged. Amanda no longer wore her dress, just Papa’s shirt and trousers. She’d put all her soiled dresses inside her valise. She was sure that she looked more like a drowned kitten than a prim and proper Quaker woman. No matter how hard she tried, she seemed unable to get dried off or warmed up. Her lips were numb, her teeth chattered hopelessly, and her arms and legs were stiff and achy from holding them so tightly against her body for whatever warmth she could muster.

The horses and mules seemed to be managing, as they drank from the nearby stream and ate grass and leaves from the rain-soaked bushes. Amanda got water from the same stream, but her food supply continued to dwindle. What made it worse was that she couldn’t build a fire to get warm or cook the dried meat. Although she knew how to use the piece of flint in Harvey’s pack, the logs and branches were too wet to ignite. Over the past couple of days, she had developed a horrible cough that caused her sides to ache. Her throat felt raw and swollen. Never before had she suffered such a bone-wrenching weariness.

Feeling light-headed and exhausted beyond belief, Amanda sat with a blanket over her head under the branches of a tree, praying for a miracle, and fearful that none would come. For the last couple of hours, she hadn’t been able to stop the strange images she’d begun seeing—no doubt brought on by her increasing weakness. Once, she’d become almost jubilant when she thought she’d seen a covered wagon approaching. As she’d reached out her hand to a smiling woman and her family, they suddenly vanished, making Amanda realize they were never there.

Another time, she’d seen an Indian approach, alone and riding bareback on his painted pony. In Amanda’s desperation, even an Indian would be unexpectedly inviting. But that illusion turned out to be just like the last, disappearing as fast as it had come.

Amanda’s last hallucination was the worst of all, when she’d thought a pack of wolves had surrounded her, ready to pounce. She sat frozen with fear.

Amanda knew she was sick and needed medical attention, but that wasn’t going to happen—not here in the wilderness. She needed to find the nearest fort, but had no idea where it would be, for as much as she hated to admit it, she truly was lost.
Perhaps I should get the livestock ready and ride, trusting God to show me the way
.

Despite her wooziness, Amanda made her way over to the place where she had staked out the horses and mules. She freed Jasper first, and then Jake, tying their rope to the saddle of her horse, Betsy. She’d just untied Papa’s horse, when something spooked him. The horse’s nostrils flared as he whinnied and reared up, flipping his head from side to side as he pawed the air.

Amanda screamed as the horse’s hoof came straight for her.

Buck McFadden rode his buckskin, Dusty, slowly through the pines, stopping to check each of his trap lines. Some were near streams where beaver were still plentiful, and other traps he’d set deeper in the forest. Trapping had been in Buck’s blood since he’d met his friend Jim Breck, and he knew from experience that the traps should be approached cautiously until he’d identified what animal was caught. He’d learned some time ago to be keenly alert to his surroundings, for in the wilderness, it took only seconds to change one’s life forever. If not careful, a bobcat, a lynx, or even a wolverine might give a nasty bite when approached in a trap—a bite that could cause infection or eventually death. Despite all of those dangers, Buck loved these mountains. Their jagged peaks were a part of his soul. He was an adventurer, roaming the trails, rivers, and valleys that he respected so deeply.

The Rockies had been Buck’s home since he was twelve years old, and it wasn’t until two years later that he’d crossed paths with Jim, his only real friend. Buck had no family—not since he and his mother had been separated. He had dreams of finding her one day, but from what he’d been told, she was dead.

All these years, whether hunting, fishing, trapping, or relaxing on the front porch of Jim’s cabin, Buck had found joy living in this wilderness. Jim had taught him everything he knew about trapping and hunting. Now Buck’s skills rewarded him with abundant furs for trading whenever the two of them went to Rendezvous or visited one of the mountain forts to replenish the supplies they needed.

As Buck rode silently on, a hawk followed overhead, never leaving Buck out of his sight. “Enjoy the air, my winged brother,” Buck whispered, watching as the hawk circled high above. He knew the awesome bird, flying close to the clouds, must feel the same freedom Buck did swaying in the saddle to his horse’s rhythm on these familiar mountain paths.

The hawk, a beautiful creature, was just a ball of fluff when Buck had first found him a few years back. He and Jim had been checking traps when they’d come upon the half-dead hatchling. After unsuccessfully checking the surrounding trees for a nest it may have fallen from, Buck decided to care for the hawk, hoping to save its life. After that, the winged creature grew stronger, depending on Buck for food. As time went on and the hawk grew, Buck taught it to fend for itself. Now, this noble bird of prey was as skillful as other hawks, even though it had been raised by a man.

The uniformly colored tail of the hawk—reddish above, light pink beneath—and the dark bell band made the bird unique. Red-tailed hawks preyed on rabbits and rodents, so it brought Buck joy to watch his winged brother swoop down and catch a small rabbit with ease.

When fully grown, Buck’s hawk had adapted to its natural instincts and could leave anytime it liked. Buck had no constraints on the bird, but it had decided to stay nearby. All Buck had to do was whistle, and the hawk, calling to him with a high trill, would swoop down and land gently on his outstretched arm, just as it had done during its younger years.

Bringing his mind back to the present, Buck dismounted and checked the last of his traps. As he was preparing to head back to his cabin, he spotted a horse with no rider running toward him. It wasn’t an Indian pony, he was certain of that, as there was a bridle, a saddle, and a supply pack half-secured on the horse’s back. The horse slowed when Buck started waving his hands, and finally the animal came to a stop, pawing at the ground, snorting. The horse’s flanks weren’t lathered, so Buck figured it hadn’t run very far.

Buck grabbed the reins, tied the runaway to his saddle, and tightened the cinch that held the saddle and pack; then he mounted his steed and rode in the direction the horse had come. Looking ahead, he saw the shadow of his winged brother fly directly overhead, screeching, as though urging Buck on.

A short time later, Buck entered a small clearing, where another horse and two pack mules milled about. As he drew in closer for a better look, he was shocked to see a man’s body lying on the ground near one of the horses. Was the poor fellow dead? Had he been attacked by hostile Indians?

Buck climbed down from his horse and secured him to a tree; then he sprinted across the clearing and dropped to the ground beside the man. The fellow looked young, probably in his early twenties, and his face was smudged with mud. The man’s shirt and pants hung loosely over his mud-caked arms and legs. The poor lad was skinny as a twig.
How long has he been out here?
Buck wondered.

Buck put his hand over the man’s nose and was relieved to find a breath, although it seemed shallow. When he spotted blood on the ground near the man’s head, Buck realized the man had been injured.

Buck removed the man’s black hat to get a closer look, and his hand froze in midair when a mass of flaxen hair came tumbling out from underneath. This wasn’t a man at all; it was a young woman with hair the color of straw. But what was she doing in men’s clothing, and where was her man? Surely she wouldn’t be out here alone without someone to protect her.

Buck gulped. A gaping wound marred the woman’s forehead. If he didn’t get help soon, she could die.

M
ary Breck had just put some wood in the stove when a knock sounded on the cabin door. Instantly alert, she grabbed the rifle her husband, Jim, had left for her when he’d gone to check on his traps. With the exception of Jim’s friend Buck McFadden, they rarely had company, so she was nervous about who might be at the door.