Yellowstone Redemption Read online

  A quick glance in all directions told him he was alone. Where the hell had they all gone? His sleeping bag wasn’t where he’d laid it out the night before, either. Those assholes took everything, and left him. There’d be hell to pay when he got out of this canyon and back to the barracks. He only hoped his crew leader didn’t catch wind of where he’d been. No doubt he’d be arrested again. Hiking in the canyon was illegal. He knew that. That had been made clear during the pep talk they all received when they started the season. Just as hot-potting was illegal, but they’d done that, too. He remembered Todd suggesting they sneak out one night and piss into Old Faithful’s cone. But no one had been brave enough to try that. Not yet, anyways.

  He pulled his soaked t-shirt over his head and gave it a hard twist to wring the water out. How long had he been passed out? Judging by the sun directly overhead, it was noon or a little later. At least he’d dry faster. The last thing he remembered from the night before was stumbling from his sleeping bag to the river to hurl his stomach contents. Not enough food and too much alcohol had been to blame for that. Apparently he never made it back to his sleeping bag, and passed out right here. Good thing he hadn’t rolled sideways, or he’d have gone for his first and only wild plume ride. Watching the water rush past, even he knew that this was one whitewater trip no one would survive.

  A renewed wave of bile threatened to rise from his stomach. He smacked his dried lips together, and realized how parched and swollen his tongue and throat were. He didn’t have enough spit in his mouth to even swallow. He glanced at the river. Why the hell not. He shrugged. It was the only water available. He laid down on the rocky bank and stuck his head in the water. The icy liquid felt good going down his throat. He hoped he didn’t catch giardia or something. Oh well, he’d know soon enough. There was medication for that.

  Chase pulled himself to a standing position again. He picked his shirt up off the ground and tied it, turban style, around his head. He looked up the jagged face of the canyon again, then squared his shoulders. No pain, no gain. He could hear his football coach yelling in his ear, driving him to greater effort.

  His stomach grumbled and churned, but he ignored it, and picked his way up the yellow rocks. Once he’d reach the top, it was just a short walk to the parking lot, not that he expected his newfound so-called friends to be waiting for him. He’d most likely have to walk a couple miles back to the Canyon Village barracks, but at least the road was paved and flat, and maybe some tourist would take pity on his soul, and give him a lift.

  He cursed Todd, Jimmy, Phil, and all the other guys with every step he took. His knuckles scraped against the jagged brittle rocks, his bare knees scuffed and bleeding. The blisters on his heels burned like hell whenever they rubbed against his barely-broken in hiking boots. Gritting his teeth, he pushed on, taking advantage of every knarled tree root that jutted out of the rocks to pull himself upward. It hadn’t been this hard climbing down into the canyon, and it sure as hell didn’t seem as long. But the same drive that had earned him all star quarterback his senior year in high school pushed him forward now. Too bad that intense desire to be the best hadn’t carried over to college.

  Riding on a full football scholarship, he’d started partying more and more, and eventually pledged a fraternity. From there, the all night drinking escalated to drug use. His grades and game had suffered, and he was kicked off the team his junior year. The arrest for possession followed, and now he was here.

  With a quick glance up, Chase fingered the dog tags that dangled from a chain around his neck. They were the only things his loser father had ever given him. Why he wore them, he didn’t know. Hell, if he had any sense, he’d toss them down the canyon right now. His thumb rubbed the tags out of habit, then he let go and reached for the next rock jutting out of the canyon wall above him. With one final pull and grunt, he hauled himself over the edge and collapsed to the ground, emitting a long sigh of relief. Endless pull-ups in the gym had finally paid off.

  Man up, Russell. Just a few more miles, and you can get some chow. Right before you knock the shit out of Todd and the rest of those idiots. His fists bunched at his sides at the thought. With an impatient swipe of his hands, he brushed away the gravel that stuck to his sweat-soaked chest and abdomen. A mosquito landed on his leg, and he slapped it away, hitting his knee in the process. He hissed and inhaled sharply. His knees looked like freshly ground beef. Cursing, he plucked some pebbles from the open sores. It had been a hot day yesterday, and he’d worn cargo shorts instead of long pants. Hindsight wasn’t helping him now.

  He took a final glance down the canyon, then turned. The gravel path that led to the parking lot should be just beyond that line of trees. They seemed denser than he remembered from yesterday. He pushed and weaved his way through the trees. His shirt caught in one of the lower branches and was yanked off his head. His forward momentum jerked his neck back.

  “Shit.” He wrestled his shirt out of the branch’s grasp, and pulled it on over his head. He cringed when the fabric scraped the skin on his back. Damn, he hadn’t realized he’d gotten sunburned. The tingle of his skin became more intense with each passing minute, exacerbated by his movements. The soft cotton shirt felt like sandpaper across his tender flesh.

  “I’m going to kill you, Todd,” he ground out between clenched teeth, and shoved his way between more trees. Where the hell was that path? He should have reached it by now. The hiking path led parallel along the canyon rim. There was no way he could have missed it. The further he walked, the darker the forest closed in around him, the sun obscured by towering lodgepole pines. The air chilled, replacing the heat from the shadeless canyon. His boots squished loudly in his efforts to trample through the moist and soggy ground.

  Water trickled nearby and Chase followed the rippling sounds. He dropped to his knees at the edge of a shallow creek that snaked through the underbrush. Giardia be damned. He cupped his hands in the cool water, and splashed it on his face and neck. He refilled his hands repeatedly, gulping the water as fast as he could. With his hands on his thighs, he inhaled sharply and tilted his head back to stare beyond the canopy of the trees.

  Where the hell am I? I couldn’t have missed the path. Was it his imagination, or had the blue patches of sky that peered through the trees turned an ominous dark gray? It happened so fast, it was as if someone had turned out the lights around him. Before the thought had barely formed in his mind, he heard the rumble of thunder in the distance. This day couldn’t get any worse, could it?

  Rain pelted him without mercy. Ferocious wind forced the lodgepoles to swing and bend ominously in its wake. One downed tree on your head, and it’s all over, Russell. He wrapped his arms tightly around his middle, and trudged on through the forest. He kept his head bent into his chest, and only glanced up every so often in hopes of spotting the parking lot. He had no idea how long he walked, but the rain and wind were relentless.

  Darkness swallowed up the trees in front of him, and Chase’s body shook violently. He could barely move. His boot caught on something, a tree root maybe? He stumbled forward and yanked his foot free of the protruding obstacle. Before he could catch his balance, he fell to the soggy ground. He spit the mud out of his mouth and wiped at his eyes. You need to find shelter, man. No, just a little further. The parking lot is just a little further. He tried to stand, but the world around him tilted, and he sagged back to the ground. Crawling on hands and knees, he forced himself forward. His body refused to listen to his brain. The muscles wouldn’t obey.

  I have to get to the parking lot. Find shelter. No, everything will be okay once I get to the parking lot.

  He couldn’t feel the ground beneath him anymore. Couldn’t tell if he was crawling on rocks or soft earth. Was he still in the forest? He willed his head to move so he could look up, but the darkness hindered his vision. Shit. I’m going to….kill….those guys. Right after I rest here for a minute….so tired.

  Voices! He definitely heard voices. His body no longer felt
cold. He wasn’t shivering anymore. He was so damn tired, he couldn’t move. Someone was hauling him off the ground. He tried to open his eyes, but his lids felt like one ton anchors. He caught a quick glimpse of movement, but it was blurry. He tried to blink, tried to open his eyes, but it was no use. He was floating through the air. Something slammed into his stomach and his breath rushed from his lungs . His world tilted upside down.

  His head floated freely, swinging from side to side. He had lost all control over his body. He forced his eyes open again. The ground moved underneath him. It was like looking at the road while riding a bike. Only, instead of smooth pavement, dirt and rocks and tufts of grass moved beneath him at surreal speeds. The ride jolted and churned him like a puppet without a master.

  Soft melodious sounds of a woman’s voice mingled with deeper voices penetrated his mind. They sounded far away. Someone hurled his body through the air and whatever had pressed so hard into his gut was gone. His back made contact with hard ground, and all nerve endings caught on fire. He willed his eyelids open one more time. Through the haze and fuzziness, the vision of a dark-haired angel stared back at him. Chase drowned in the pools of her deep blue eyes.

  Chapter 3

  Sarah stared at the man on the ground. His lids fluttered open for a mere second, and she caught a glimpse of emerald green eyes. The hint of a smile formed on his lips, and he groaned weakly before drifting back into unconsciousness.

  “We found him wandering alone in the woods near the canyon of the E-chee-dick-karsh-ah-shay. The cold has made him sick in the mind.” The deep voice of the Absaroka warrior standing behind her tore Sarah’s gaze away from the man. She turned to look at the three Indians.

  “Dosa haiwi will know what to do with him,” a second man added.

  Yes, mama would know what to do, but she’s not here. She wasn’t about to let these men know that her parents were gone. The man they brought suffered from exposure. Even she knew that. She could help him without her mother’s presence. But that meant he had to stay here. She was alone. Her father would be furious if he found out she had kept a strange man in the house in their absence.

  What choice do I have? He’s almost dead already. Mama wouldn’t let that happen.

  “Can you carry him into the cabin,” Sarah asked the men. “My mother will return shortly. I can care for him until she returns.”

  The undecided look that passed between the warriors didn’t go unnoticed. She didn’t trust these men. The Absarokas weren’t exactly hostile, but they had a reputation to steal whatever they could. Having them in her parents’ home was not the wisest course of action, but she saw no alternative. Looking at the man on the ground again, she knew she’d never be able to move him on her own.

  “What happened to his britches, and the rest of his clothing?” Sarah asked before she could recall her words. She hoped they didn’t think she was accusing them of stealing. The man’s dirt-caked britches fell barely to his knees, and his shirt was torn in several places.

  “This is what he wore when we found him,” the first man spoke. Sarah caught the distinct note of annoyance in his tone. The other two picked him up, one man hoisting him up by the shoulders, the other by his legs. She rushed ahead to open the door to the cabin. Her parents’ home was a spacious three-room dwelling with a loft. The front door opened to a large main room. A huge hearth and fireplace took up almost an entire wall. Shelves and a workbench that served as the kitchen area covered the rest of the wall. A rocking chair stood in the corner. The center of the room held a large table with six handcrafted chairs. Doors on opposite sides led to two bedrooms. One belonged to her parents, the other was hers. The loft had served as sleeping quarters for her brothers, as well as extra storage.

  In a hasty decision, Sarah led the Indians to her bedroom. She flipped back the covers on her bed. The warriors dropped the man not too softly onto the mattress, and turned quickly to leave.

  “Thank you for bringing him,” she called lamely. She followed the two men outside and watched them mount their horses. They took off at a fast gallop. She caught the angry stare of the one man who’d lingered outside. She hadn’t meant to insult him with her question. Shrugging it off, she went quickly back to the stranger in her bed. This was not a good idea. Why couldn’t this have happened two days ago, while her parents were still here?

  The man was covered in dried mud, but cleaning him would have to wait. She needed to warm him first. She unlaced and pulled his odd boots off his feet with some difficulty, and set them on the ground, spraying dirt all over the floor in the process. She covered him with the blankets on her bed, then left her room and rushed up the ladder to the loft to retrieve several animal hides – a buffalo robe and a bighorn sheep hide. She threw these over him as well, tucking them in at the sides. Her mother had taught her how to read a person’s heartbeat by feeling the throat. What she felt now alarmed her. His pulse was weak. His skin was like ice to her touch. She rushed to the main room and stoked the fire in the hearth. Next she poured water into the kettle over the flames. She reached for the three water bladders hanging on the wall by the front door, and filled them once the water was hot enough. She hastened back to her room, and placed one of the bags under each of the man’s armpits, and the third under his neck. It was all she could do for now. His body would have to do the rest.

  Sarah stared at the man. Only his head was visible now under all the blankets and furs she’d piled on him. His hair struck her as odd. It was caked with mud, so she couldn’t even tell what color it was, but she suspected it would be a lot lighter once clean. She’d never seen such short hair on a man before. Curious, she reached out a tentative hand and touched it. It felt stiff with dirt. The man moved and groaned in his sleep, and she quickly pulled her hand away. She waited for any other movement, but he lay perfectly still again.

  A scraping sound and a whine brought her head around to the bedroom door. Something pushed it open from the outside.

  “Come in, Grizzly,” she said with a smile. “Where’ve you been?” She knelt down to hug the huge dog that padded into the room. His tail wagged furiously and he licked at her face. She buried her head in the dog’s shaggy gray coat. He looked more like a wolf, actually, and was at least as big.

  Sarah stood, watching her dog’s nose twitch while he sniffed the air. A deep low growl emanated from his throat.

  “It’s okay, Grizzly. He’s no threat to me.” At least not for the moment. She patted the dog between the ears for reassurance. Grizzly cautiously walked up to the bed and sniffed the man’s face. Then her dog ran his tongue across his cheek. He stirred again, and seemed to cringe, but he didn’t wake.

  “Okay, boy, that’s enough. Come on, let’s see if we can find something to eat. She slapped her hand against her leg, and the dog immediately turned and followed her out of the room.

  The kettle still hung over the fire, and Sarah poured more water into it. She’d have to head to the river to refill the bucket soon. After adding more wood to build up the flame, she grabbed a slab of dried venison from a rack by the workbench, and pulled her knife from its sheath on her hip. The sharp blade sliced through the meat like butter, and she dropped small chunks of it into the water. She added a few onions that she had gathered the day before. If he was to regain his strength, the man would have to eat. She tossed several large pieces of meat to the eagerly waiting dog.

  That’s when she remembered something else her mother had taught her.

  She scooped a cupful of the hot water, and added a few spoonfuls of sugar to it. The man’s body needed fuel, and sugar was the simplest, quickest form. She stirred the cup with a wooden spoon to dissolve the white granules, then headed back to her room. She eased the door open tentatively and peered in.

  The man hadn’t moved. Was he dead? She held a hand above his nose. No, she could feel warm breath on her hand. She knelt beside her bed, and dipped the spoon in the sugar water. She pried his dry lips apart with the spoon, and let the liquid flow into
his mouth. Most of it dribbled out the side. This wasn’t going to work.

  Sarah contemplated what to do. Taking a deep breath, she sat on the edge of the bed and scooted as close to him as she dared. Then she lifted his head into her lap. He emitted a low moan. His head felt heavy on her thighs. Her pulse quickened. With a trembling hand, she spooned more water into his mouth. Most of it remained, but she didn’t notice him swallow. She rubbed his Adam’s apple. There! Success. She repeated her actions several times, until a good half of the cup was empty.

  The man squirmed. His eyelids fluttered, and slowly he raised them. Sarah stared down into green eyes again. His mouth moved, but only incoherent sounds came from his throat.

  Sarah smiled in encouragement.

  “Angel.” She barely heard the raspy word, taken aback. She lifted his head off her lap and scooted away. His eyes looked dull and tired, and he obviously had a hard time keeping them open. She readjusted the covers around his neck, and left the room.

  For the better part of the morning, she completed mundane chores around the cabin. She finished tanning the hide she’d been working on for several days. She needed a new pair of britches. For hours, she sat outside in the sun, rubbing sheep and elk brains into the hide to make it soft as silk and very pliable. Her Tukudeka aunt, Little Bird, had taught the skill to her. After letting it cure in the sun for a day, she would soak it in the river, and in a couple of days, she could begin sewing her new clothing. She had also planned to forage in the woods for some bitterroot and camas, but she wouldn’t leave the unconscious man alone.

  Late in the afternoon, she ladled some soup that had been simmering all day into a bowl, and sat at the table to eat. Her thought went back to earlier in the day. Angel. Something had stirred in her, like having her heart tickled by a feather, when he’d said that. Had he meant her? He was probably hallucinating. She finished her simple meal and sat the bowl on the ground. Grizzly eagerly lapped up the leftovers. She patted him affectionately on the head, then returned to her room to check on the man.