Yellowstone Heart Song Page 2

  The last rays of the sun quickly disappeared behind the canopies of the tall lodgepole pines that stood sentinel at the edge of the clearing. Aimee briskly rubbed her hands up and down her arms to ward off the sudden chill in the air. She added more wood to her crackling fire, then pulled her sweater on over her head. Tired and alone, she curled up in her small shelter and hugged her backpack tightly to her chest as daylight fell behind the trees.

  The events of the day had left her physically exhausted, but her mind kept spinning, trying to completely comprehend her situation. The warm glow of the fire gave little comfort as she lay there, staring into the absolute darkness, listening to the nighttime sounds of Yellowstone. Male crickets chirping their mating calls drowned out the chorus of frogs, the occasional hooting of an owl, and the rustling in the underbrush. Aimee imagined the forest come alive with a myriad of predators looking for an easy meal. The sudden chill down her spine reminded her of nails scraping down a chalkboard. She’d never been scared before sleeping in the backcountry. The fun of backpacking was to get away from it all, experience nature and its solitude. However, she’d never gone out alone before. And right now, solitude and ‘getting away from it all’ took on a whole new meaning.

  She reached for more wood to add to her fire. The dancing orange flames gave her little comfort. This was the real deal, not some simulated one-week survival trip into the wilderness where rescue was a phone call away. And she’d told Zach she was capable of just such a trip.

  Heck! Who could blame her for not believing the man’s stories that he was a mountain man from the past? He had been a patient in the emergency room where Aimee worked as a first year trauma nurse. She had liked the older man immediately. He’d been friendly and engaging, not rude like many of the other patients she had to deal with on a daily basis. She had noticed his authentic-looking buckskins, and had commented to him about how she loved old west re-enactments.

  Zach’s face had lit up with interest, and Aimee soon found herself immersed in conversation with him about trappers, mountain men, and wilderness survival. When he told her he had traveled through time from 200 years in the past, she had wondered if he didn’t need a psych consult. Nevertheless, she’d found herself listening to his stories with fascination. When he offered to send her to the past to experience “real” wilderness survival, she’d played along, even telling him it would be a dream come true.

  After a sleepless night, Aimee struggled through dense forests and mountainous terrain. Confident that she must be somewhere close to the Gibbon Canyon, she hoped that the stream she’d been following would lead her to the Gibbon River. Her thigh muscles felt like lead from climbing over logs all day, and her stomach was constantly protesting the lack of food. She had found some plants she knew to be edible along the way to add to her diet of granola bars, but none of it kept the hunger pangs away for very long. To keep herself entertained, she sang out loud. Hopefully, that would keep bears away as well.

  Emerging from a particularly forested area, a wide canyon yawned before her. Her eyes scanned the scenery in wonderment. As far as she could see, mountains blanketed in pine forests stretched toward the horizon beyond the deep scar in the earth. The flowing water at the bottom of the canyon looked like a tiny blue ribbon from her vantage point, and she was convinced that she’d reached the Gibbon River. Relief swept over her. She should reach the Madison River - and hopefully her destination - the following day.

  A foul, sour odor filled the air, and she curled her nose in protest. She knew immediately what it meant. Her eyes darted around frantically as her legs went rubbery from the jolt of adrenaline that flooded her system. She spotted the carcass of a partially eaten elk half-buried in dirt, confirming her worst fears.

  “Oh, crap!” Her feet remained rooted to the ground even as her brain told her to get the hell out of the area. When she finally willed her legs to move, a huge grizzly came charging at her from the woods. The beast let out a loud roar, baring huge yellow teeth as drool hung in long strands down its mouth. The breeze carried the stench of rotten flesh that emanated from the predator’s jaws, and Aimee backed up quicker. Hopefully the bear was just bluffing, and it would realize she wasn’t any threat to its food. Her heart pounded violently and her whole body shook.

  Stay calm. Don’t turn and run or you’re dead. She had to force herself to heed her own words while every survival instinct in her body screamed at her to run away as fast as possible. She’d gladly give her right arm at the moment for a can of bear spray.

  The bruin stopped its charge. It scratched at the ground with enormous paws, moving its head from side to side. Its large nose twitched back and forth, sniffing the air. The bear huffed several times, and then let out another earsplitting roar.

  Realizing the grizzly geared up for another attack , her eyes widened. She stumbled backwards, nearly tripping on a rock. Just as she envisioned huge claws ripping her apart, the ground suddenly dropped out from under her feet. Her arms flailed wildly and she groped for any kind of hold on a rock or protruding tree root. Her throat tightened, and her jaw clenched. Her efforts prevented a complete free fall, but the downward momentum proved too great to get a solid grip on any object. Her ribs jutted against unyielding rocks, knocking the air from her lungs. Roots and small trees cut into her arms and hands. When would she stop falling? It felt like an eternity, like she’d been sinking all her life. Her limbs became numb to the sensation of slamming against hard rocks. She stopped hearing the debris falling along with her. Her momentum increased, and her stomach rose to her throat. The sensation of floating through the air, then a sudden hard impact.

  Coughing and spitting dirt, she gasped and sucked in several shallow breaths. Her lungs refused to expand for the air she so desperately needed. She lay still for a moment, listening, trying to calm her heart and trembling body. Had she broken any bones? What if the bear followed her down the canyon? Cautiously, she raised her head, and gazed up the cliff. The predator was nowhere in sight. Her lungs finally allowed for a deep breath of relief. She turned her head slowly to the side, facing away from the rock wall. The bottom of the canyon still gaped hundreds of feet below her. A narrow ledge had stopped her full descent.

  She lay still for a moment longer while her breathing and heart rate normalized. She tried to rise to her feet, but searing, hot pain shot through her right ankle. She couldn’t suppress a cry of pain. Tears stung her eyes, and she bit down on her lower lip, then sank back to the ground. Any hope that she would wake up to reality vanished instantly. No one could be in this much pain in a dream.

  The realization that she would not have survived had she fallen all the way down the canyon hit her full force. Aimee scooted back from the edge of the narrow outcropping, and pulled her backpack free of a pine branch. She slumped against the canyon wall. Staring at the little pine, she reached out and touched the sparse branches, silently thanking the tree for stopping her fall.

  Stay calm, don’t panic. Her mantra replayed itself over and over in her mind. She mentally took stock of her options. Down was definitely out of the question. She would never make it. It was simply too steep. Getting back to the top might be an impossible task with her injury. And if she did manage it, the bear was still a problem.

  She knew the odds of anyone finding her here were less than zero. Perhaps in a hundred years or so, someone would discover her skeletal remains, creating all kinds of speculation regarding her Twenty-first Century effects.

  She wanted to scream in frustration, and at the same time give in to her growing fear, and cry. Instead, she unlaced her hiking boot and pried it from her injured leg. In the process, she noticed the bleeding cuts and gashes on her hands.

  “I must look great.” She tried in vain to lighten the mood.

  Her foot throbbed as she gingerly prodded and examined it. Being able to move it at the ankle gave her hope that it wasn’t broken. Her medical training compelled her to stabilize and wrap the joint. From a survivalist point of view, sh
e needed to keep her boot on if she hoped to get out of this canyon. Recalling her backcountry first aid training, a boot gave a sprained ankle adequate stability in an emergency. She slipped it back on, gritting her teeth as she tightened the laces. Later - and there would be a later, she told herself firmly - after getting safely off this cliff, she would wrap her foot with the ace bandage she knew was in her medical kit.

  Aimee struggled to stand, hugging the wall of rocks behind her, using them for support as she pulled herself up. If she lost her balance . . . She tried not to think about another fall. She’d never get this lucky a second time. Standing on her injured foot proved impossible. Without the ability to bear full weight, her hope of climbing out of the canyon dwindled. Emitting a loud growl in frustration, she eased herself back to the ground, and rummaged through her medical kit for a bottle of ibuprofen.

  “Maybe if I take a large enough dose, I can get up this damn mountain!” she shouted into the wind, her voice echoing off the canyon walls. Her calls sent several startled ravens perched on some outcroppings soaring into the sky, squawking loudly in protest. She grabbed for some rocks lying about and forcefully threw them deeper into the canyon in anger. Whatever possessed you to tell Zach you could do something like this on your own! Were you out of your mind! Damn it, I’m not going to panic!

  The hours dragged on with excruciating slowness. Aimee licked her dry and cracking lips. Dehydration happened very quickly at this altitude. Her empty stomach growled loudly in protest, but water was more important at the moment.

  The ibuprofen proved to be useless. It eased the throbbing ache in her ankle, but not enough to bear weight. She knew it was a futile exercise, but she called out for help several times, which only caused more pain to her already raw larynx. No one would hear her cries. Why even bother?

  She huddled against the rocks late in the afternoon. The wind picked up strong and cold, whistling mercilessly through the canyon. Curling up around her pack didn’t stop the shivers that vibrated her body through another sleepless night.

  The bright early morning sun refused to warm her. Maybe going over the ledge was the thing to do. The river below beckoned. She could quench her torturous thirst. Sleep . . . I just want to sleep. I’ll try climbing out later . . .after I get some sleep.

  Chapter 2

  Daniel Osborne stood outside his small cabin, sharpening a large hunting knife on a whetstone, oblivious to the chill in the early morning air. His hands moved the shiny blade in rhythmic, circular motions against the smooth stone. Movement across the river drew his attention, and his hands stilled. Almost imperceptibly, he raised his head and scanned the tree line along the opposite bank. A lazy smile spread across his face. His focus returned to his work while he waited on the arrival of the man who emerged from the forest.

  “Your senses are not as sharp as they once were, White Wolf.” Daniel’s adoptive brother, Elk Runner called in his native tongue. He loped up the grassy incline and stopped in front of the cabin. Straightening to his full height, Daniel’s face brightened in a wide grin.

  “I already saw you beyond the river.” He waved off the other man’s words. He reached out and clasped Elk Runner’s hand in greeting. “It is good to see you, brother. What brings you this way? I thought you were out hunting the bighorn with your family this month?”

  “Three hunters and I were on our way to the canyon of the E-chee-dick-karsh-ah-shay to hunt the bighorn, when we came across a strange sighting.”

  “What did you see this time? A two-headed bison?”

  Elk Runner ignored Daniel’s mocking. “I left my hunting party and came here to tell you there is a crazy white woman wandering in the woods.”

  Daniel glared at his friend for a moment, then burst out laughing. “Yeah, and I’m Tam Apo himself.”

  “We followed her for half a day,” Elk Runner continued, seemingly unaffected by Daniel’s outburst. “She is alone, and appears lost. I did not see signs that anyone is with her. She wears strange white man’s clothing, and chants loud words in the language of your father. I’m surprised you have not heard her, White Wolf, she makes so much noise.”

  His eyes narrowed. Elk Runner had certainly come up with a good prank this time!

  “Do you remember the time when we were in our eighth summer, and you told me to stick my hand in a hollow log because you had seen a fox hide inside? You told me I would make our mother proud if I brought her a fox fur.”

  A slow smile spread across Elk Runner’s face. “I remember.”

  “And I believed you,” Daniel continued. “When I reached in to grab the fox, it was a skunk I pulled from the log. Do you remember how I was banished from entering the village for nearly a week? And how my father made me sit in the cold creek for an entire day?”

  “We were children then, White Wolf,” Elk Runner defended himself, a wide grin on his face nonetheless. “I would not mock you about this. There is a white woman wandering in the forest. Where she comes from, I could not tell, but I do know there is no man with her.”

  “I have a lot of work to do.” He poured some water on the whetstone to prove his point, and resumed sliding his blade across the stone’s slick, flat surface. “You have really outdone yourself this time with your tales. You came all this way to tell me this so I would go on a needless search for this make-believe woman. Why did you not go to her and take her with you?”

  “She is a white woman, “Elk Runner argued. “I could not make my presence known to her. I cannot speak her language.”

  “You speak a little French.”

  “It was not French she was chanting. Besides, it is bad luck to talk to a person who is crazy in the head.” Elk Runner made a circular motion with his index finger against his temple.

  “Then why am I talking to you?” Daniel threw his arms skyward for dramatic effect.

  “Why would I abandon my hunting party to come this far to tell you this if it was not true?” Elk Runner adamantly raised his voice.

  Daniel had to admit his friend had a point. Only something urgent would have him abandon a hunting trip.

  “I will take you to where I last saw her. Then you will see I do not lie.”

  “How far?” Daniel asked reluctantly. He set the knife on the stone and ran his hand through his hair, pushing back the unruly strands that fell into his eyes. He shot Elk Runner a hard stare. If there was even a remote chance that something like this could be true, even though it was utterly impossible, he felt obligated to find out. How would a white woman come to be here? It was ridiculous. Aside from himself and his father, only a few white trappers came through these mountains in any given year, and they were mostly Frenchmen who had wandered too far south from trapping up along the headwaters of the Missouri River. He hadn’t heard anything this absurd in a long time.

  “It is less than a day’s walk from here, if we travel fast,” Elk Runner answered. “Just beyond the falls of the Little Buffalo River.”

  “Alright. I’ll go with you.” Daniel’s chest heaved a sigh. What would he get himself into this time? After sheathing the now razor-sharp knife in the belt at his waist, he disappeared into the cabin to collect his powder horn, bullet pouch, a water bag, and a rolled-up blanket, all of which he slung over his shoulder. He picked up his tomahawk, long rifle, and gathered a handful of dried meat strips to put in his traveling pouch, and declared himself ready to go.

  The two began their journey in silence. They kept a fast pace heading east away from the cabin. They made their way easily through a gently sloping, open meadow after leaving the small valley Daniel considered home, keeping to the left of what they called the Little Buffalo River. When the area became more wooded, they followed a deer trail single file along the river’s banks.

  By mid-afternoon, they veered away from the meandering river. The landscape changed from rolling meadowlands and forest to steeper, mountainous terrain, and both men knew to avoid the canyon the water had carved, for it made travel a lot more difficult below the w
aterfall.

  Above the falls and beyond, the landscape flattened out again. When they came to yet another meadow, Elk Runner stopped and scanned the area along a shallow creek.

  “This is where I last saw her.” It didn’t take him long to pick up a trail. An almost imperceptible narrow line of trampled grass followed close to the creek banks.

  “I’ve never seen prints like these before.” Daniel’s eyebrows furrowed as he knelt down to examine the tracks more closely, his fingers tracing the odd grooves and circular patterns in the soft earth. His hand nearly covered one print. Whoever made these tracks must be of a small stature, he concluded. Without exchanging words, the two men followed the trail of peculiar footprints.

  Finally, he broke the silence. “How would a white woman appear in these mountains? There are no whites within a thousand miles from here.”

  “It is an omen,” Elk Runner gave him a serious look, “that you should find this woman. “The spirits are telling you that it is past time you took a wife, White Wolf. They have sent this woman to you, since you cannot seem to find one on your own.”

  “That must be it.” Daniel’s face hardened. Elk Runner knew his thoughts about marriage. A wife would require that he give up his life as a trapper, which he was not inclined to do. Even Morning Fawn had wanted him to live with her family as was customary of a husband among her tribe had they married. A white wife was even more unthinkable. His father had always warned him about the frail and delicate nature of white women. Wasn’t his own mother proof of that? His father hadn’t told him about the malicious nature of white females, however. His eyes narrowed and his mouth contorted into a sneer as he recalled his one moment of weakness concerning a white woman. He quickly pushed the unpleasant memory out of his mind.