17 comments/ 52142 views/ 25 favorites The Mystery of the Mountain By: ronde Clyde Barlow exhaled an enormous cloud of fragrant pipe smoke, pulled at the brim of the filthy, brown cowboy hat, and smiled a toothless smile. “So, you bought that old lodge up on Crippled Pine Creek? That’s a piece o’ Teton County hist’ry ‘f ’ere ever was one. Yessiree, been there since WWI, and afore that, it’uz mining country. Up in them mountains there’s a whole bunch o’ old, rotted-out cabins and them little mines them prospectors dug lookin’ fer gold. I suppose your lookin’ to get away from it all, just like the others.” “No, I’m looking to bring a little of it to me. I’m going to open up the lodge for hunting and fishing parties, as soon as I get it fixed up. Funny, the real estate agent didn’t say anything about any mines on the property.” The old man smiled again as he packed the nails and other assorted hardware in a cardboard box. “Well, Harry’s sold that place before, so he oughta know ‘bout ‘em. Some folks think there’s ghosts up there, the ghosts of them miners, least that’s what they say. The young folks go up there neckin’, and they claim to’ave seen em’. Harry prob’ly thought it’d queer the deal f’you heard ‘bout that. Some folks is funny that way, ‘specially if they’ve got some Injun blood. Never worried ‘bout it, myself, though, an’ my Grandma was a Blackfoot. Fishin’s too good up there to care about a few spooks.” The pipe belched out another voluminous cloud. “Well, that be all for ya today?” Dave Morrison hadn’t planned his life to include owning a hunting lodge. His plan was an MBA, a high-paying job as a stockbroker with a partnership sometime before he turned forty, and a life of ease beginning at fifty-five. This spring had forced some changes to his plan. The markets were down, and clients weren’t trading as heavily as the business plan had forecast. This meant the monthly profit figures were short, and Walters, the manager of the brokerage firm, had made a “suggestion” that all brokers should roll their accounts. Dave knew he was a key account manager for the firm. He’d brought a lot of investors to the brokerage, and his clients’ trading generated better than half of the firm’s income. He had been there when Walters bought his way in, six years ago. What right did he have to tell Dave to screw the people who depended on his advice for their retirement income or for college funds for their children? On Friday, he told Walters he was taking two weeks vacation, and headed for his favorite spot on earth. He needed time to think, and Teton County, Montana was a place made for thinking. Dave had been fishing and hunting in that area for most of his adult life. The hotel room in Choteau wasn’t fancy, but Dave didn’t need fancy. His favorite fishing spots beckoned during the day. After a good evening meal at the hotel restaurant, he read a little and then went to bed. Dave spent more time out of town than in the room. It was almost an accident that he looked at the real estate pamphlet over breakfast. The place had five hundred acres that were mostly mountains, a year-round stream full of trout, and enough grassland and forest to attract deer, elk, and other game. His inspection of the lodge was a little disappointing. It needed a new roof and some way to get water from the stream, but he figured it might dress out in an acceptable, if really rustic, fashion. For the price, he couldn’t really have expected more. On his final night in Choteau, Dave poured himself a double scotch and tallied his own investments. It had taken another month to sell some selected stocks, the house, and most of his furniture. The convertible made a nice trade on a four-wheel drive pickup. Dave transferred the money to the bank in Choteau, and drove to his new home. After nine weeks of hard work and several trips to Clyde’s store, the place was looking better. Dave had planned on at least a year of repairs before he could open the lodge, but it was now at least livable. The roof no longer leaked, and he’d replaced the rotted floor with new white pine planks. Water was still a problem, but Dave had located and repaired the old cistern put in by one of the former owners. A little plastic pipe would get water from the Crippled Creek to the cistern, and a hand pump would get it from the cistern to the kitchen. All this could easily be done before winter. The cold months would be spent fixing the interior. In spring, he’d place ads in several hunting and fishing magazines, and would hopefully host the first guests for deer season in the fall. Dave and Clyde had quickly become friends. The old man was about eighty, looked at least a hundred, and belched vast plumes of smoke from the battered old pipe that seemed to be a part of his face. It had become a pleasure to make the long drive to the store even though it cost Dave most of a day to make the trip. Clyde’s son actually ran the store now, but Clyde still came to work every day. The old man was a volume of area history and myth. “D’I tell ya ‘bout them hippies used to live up there? Bunch of rich kids from someplace in California. They bought the place in sixty-six, back afore people knew what the land was worth. Twelve of ‘em moved in with a bunch of goats and a whole passle o’ chickens. Six of the mos’ raggedy-assed boys ya ever saw and six of the purdiest girls on God’s green earth. Said they come here to start a commune and have free love. Them girls looked like they’s ready for it. Ain’t none of ‘em wore any underwear that I could tell. Pissed me off good, they did.” “Why?” Clyde grinned a pink-gummed grin. “They never invited me up for any o’ that free love. Hell, I wasn’t old then, only ‘bout fifty, and horny as a three-peckered billy goat. I’d a showed them girls what lovin’ was all about. Well…”, Clyde winked, “one at a time, anyway.” “What happened to ‘em?” “Well, the cougars got the goats, and the sheriff found out about them marijawanna plants. They allowed as how they was hemp plants and they was growing ‘em for rope and stuff, to barter with, but he pulled ‘em all up and burned ‘em anyways, right there in their front yard. Funniest thing you ever did see. The sheriff and all his deputies got higher’n hoot owls from breathin’ the smoke. See, they had to keep it little so’s not to set the woods on fire, an’ it took quite a while to get it all burnt.” Ol’ Fred’ll never live that down. Anyway, they up an moved out after a couple o’ years and three bastard kids. Don’t know what happened to ‘em after that, ‘cept they put the place up for sale. A guy by the name of Breedan bought it in seventy. Odd sort of guy. From Kentucky if I recollect right. Thought the gov’ment was gonna fall apart and there’d be riots ever’where. Said he come up here to survive till things got straightened out again.” “How come he decided to sell out?” “He didn’t. He went up there like he was one o’ them old-time mountain men, to live off the land, he said, and he never come back down again. Sheriff looked all over for him, but up there, that’s like findin’ a flea on a hairy, black dog. His brother finally had him declared dead last year, and put the place up for sale. Thought he had a gold mine, and asked about twice what the place was worth. He decided to drop the price ‘bout the time you come along.” Summer ended in tall, brown grass swaying in the wind and the calls of geese flying in formation to warmer climes further south. Early mornings were crisp air and the bugle calls of bull elk in search of mates. The crashing of mule deer antlers against aspen saplings could be heard from the lodge porch, and the inviting grunts of the does punctuated the songs of the mountain birds. The weather quickly turned colder, and the small wildlife disappeared into burrows and nests to await the coming of spring. A few bears prowled for their last food of the year; they disappeared soon after the first snow. Dave prepared for winter by chopping a mountain of firewood and laying in enough food to last a few weeks should he get snowed in. The first fire in the big hearth was a pleasure to be accompanied by old scotch, a good book, and the satisfaction that the woodpile would last through the winter. A light snow followed quickly, and Dave was thrilled to find deer tracks behind the lodge the next morning. That week, Dave made the first of many hunting trips across his property. Usually, he didn’t shoot anything; it was just a wonderful experience to walk through the countryside and explore. Winter brought both hardship and beauty. The lodge was a prison when the wind whipped the fragile snowflakes into swirling clouds of fluff. It was not safe to be outside during these blinding storms. The millions of white wisps could make a man lose his sense of direction. If he didn’t make it to shelter quickly, the killing cold would lull him into an everlasting sleep. When the snow stopped, the winter-crisp air forged the new snowfall into pristine white armor that covered everything. It was easier to find the way through the woods when this cloak pushed down the brambles and grasses. Dave explored much of the forested land on snowshoes. He relished the openness and fresh air. Walters could go to hell with his business plan. Dave’s current business plan was to hump his elk quarters back to the lodge, and then have a cup of coffee and watch the chickadees through the window. Tomorrow’s plan…, well, he’d wait until tomorrow and see what he felt like doing. It was on the fifth of January that he found the deer kill, or rather, the depression and bloodstain in the snow where someone had gutted the deer. He also found snowshoe imprints and the twin streaks left by sled runners. There were animal tracks all around, probably from scavengers jousting for the entrails from the carcass. Dave had killed a couple of deer so far, but none in this area, and anyway, the snowshoe imprints were longer and narrower than the short ovals left by his bearpaw style. This discovery was strange, because all the other lodges had their own hunting land, and the townspeople of the area always asked permission to hunt on someone’s property. There were too few people in the area to do otherwise without being discovered. It was also strange that there had been no shots. He would have heard the sound echoing off the mountains. This had to be the work of poachers who caught the deer with wire snares and sold the meat and hides in other states. At best, they were trespassers who killed the deer in a cruel manner; at worst, they were criminals who might do anything to protect themselves. Dave slipped the safety off the rifle and started following the tracks. They led toward the face of a rocky cliff that rose at least fifty feet from the forest floor. He had seen the cliff the summer before. There seemed to be no way to reach the top, and a half day’s walk in each direction had revealed nothing but more vertical rock at least as high. The poacher must have made a camp of sorts at the base of the cliff. The trail led to a giant spruce that sat tight against the cliff face. . Dave knew spruce trees were good shelters when one was caught in a storm, because while the outer blue-green fronds kept off the rain or snow, the inner portion was only bare branches. He approached as quietly as the crunch of his snowshoes would permit, and stopped behind a tree to survey the situation. He could see where the poacher had dragged the deer under the boughs. Thoughts raced through Dave’s mind. The poacher was probably hiding beneath the tree in hopes he wouldn’t be seen. There might be a rifle pointed in his direction at this very instant. Maybe the poacher had hidden the carcass, and had gone back for help. No…, no tracks went away from the tree. It was then that Dave decided he was being stupid, and backed down his own trail. One deer was not worth getting shot. He kept telling himself that as he walked back to the lodge. The sheriff said he’d relay the information to Fish and Game, and cautioned Dave to get him the next time instead of following the tracks himself. Spring burst out with singing birds, fawns cavorting in the meadows and beaver kits learning to swim in the large pond above the lodge. Nature’s rebirth filled the land as if to make up for the time lost over the cold winter. The lodge was fixed inside and out, and Dave placed ads for the coming hunting season. After that, there wasn’t much to do except drive to town once a week for the mail and some supplies, fish the creek and pond, and explore. There was one other thing to do, but it took Dave some time to muster the courage to go back to the giant spruce. He was certain the poachers were long gone, but every time he thought about the experience, the hair stood up on the back of his neck, and he found some reason or other to do something else. Finally, the first week of June, he drove the pickup as far as he could, picked up his daypack and shotgun, and started for the cliff. The aged tree stood with its branches gracefully clothing the rugged face of the cliff. He pulled aside a large bough and peered inside. Someone had been there, as evidenced by the trampled bed of brown needles that carpeted the ground. It was only a small effort to step through the caress of the exterior foliage and into the cave-like interior. The light that filtered through the needles revealed a pitch-black opening in the cliff face. Dave’s short exploration of the entrance only revealed that the opening went deeper than he could see. A rough wood shelf just inside the entrance held the rusting remains of an old kerosene lantern. It was the entrance to an old mine, and must have been the center of the poacher’s activities. He had not thought to bring a flashlight. The next morning, Dave returned with his own lantern, though this one burned propane. The brilliant white light cast shadows on the rough-hewn stone and caused the quartz crystals set in the granite to glitter like diamonds. Clyde said some of these old mines had become winter dens for cougars and grizzlies. He jacked a round of buckshot into the shotgun, released the safety, and started inside. The shotgun wouldn’t have the stopping power of a rifle, but the range would be point blank and he probably wouldn’t miss with the buckshot. Dave passed a broken, rusting pick leaning against a pile of rubble. His nose picked up the pungent odor of a skunk mixed with the cool, damp smell of the cavern. Faint footprints were visible in the mix of chipped rock and dust that formed the tunnel floor. They led deeper into the mine and Dave followed. After fifteen minutes of edging ever deeper into the blackness, he saw a dim light ahead. It was just a few pinpoints, really, like stars in a moonless sky, but it had to be coming from the back of the tunnel. When he arrived at the end, the lantern lit the rough-hewn, moss-cloaked timbers of a heavy door set into the rock. A crudely forged iron bar protruded from the face of the door, and Dave tried it. Apparently, this lever served as a release for the latch, because there was a hollow click, and the door moved slightly. A strong pull on the bar brought the grating screech of iron hinges, and the door swung towards the inside of the tunnel. After a few moments to accustom his eyes to the bright daylight outside, Dave looked through the opening. The high rock wall circled about a hundred or so acres of grassland interspersed with forested areas. Untarnished nature beamed her glory in the morning sunlight. At one end, a small stream emerged from the rocky surround, spilled out in snake-like curves over the canyon floor until flowing into a small lake fringed with aspens and cattails. The wake of a beaver was visible on the surface and Dave saw the beaver dam directly in front of the tunnel. The outflow from the dam wandered off past a large grove of large spruce trees in the other direction. It was almost as if he had stepped into some sort of huge movie set, so perfect was the setting. He watched an eagle swoop down on the beaver pond with a splash, and then battle the water with flailing wings to regain flight while it gripped a wriggling, glistening trout in it’s deadly talons. The powerful bird flapped slowly upward until it settled on the branch of a tall, dead tree at the other end of the canyon. The bird screamed and a second eagle swept through the air to join its mate. Dave quickly extinguished the lantern, picked up the shotgun, and stepped through the doorway. He was standing on a narrow ledge twelve feet from the canyon floor, and he saw a footpath that lead off to his right. The footpath was difficult to negotiate. Dave slipped on a small stick about half way down the steep slope that led to the canyon floor. He flailed for something to grab, and lost the shotgun in the process. The weapon plummeted to the ground, butt first, as Dave pitched over the edge. Just before hitting the ground, he heard the shotgun fire. Then, his head hit a rock, and Dave’s world turned to blackness. Waking was a screaming headache that forced his eyelids to clench shut. He felt sick at his stomach. After what seemed like an hour of mind-searing pain, Dave forced his eyes open. Things were blurry, as if he looked through the thick bottom of a cheap whiskey glass, and the surroundings were dark. After only a moment, he fell back into unconsciousness. He woke again, how long after the accident he could not tell. Beneath him was something soft, the grass-carpeted floor of the canyon, he assumed, but the smell was wrong. Dave was certain he could detect the odor of wood smoke. The blow to his head must have affected his sense of smell. He tried to remember the symptoms of concussion, but found it difficult to focus on any one thought for long. The blinding pain in his head caused flashes of bright, white light in his eyes,. Closing his eyelids only changed the white light to red interspersed with black. Finally, he sank back into the blackness where he could hide from the pain. It was sometime later that the hallucinations began. A wolf sniffed at his hand and growled a low rumble of warning. Dave jerked at the sound and looked for the source. He saw nothing but the red glow. Trying to rise brought another pain that left him gasping for breath. Time had ceased to be for Dave. He drifted through the mists, sometimes awake, or so he thought, sometimes dreaming of things impossible. He saw an old girlfriend kneeling over him and saying he was going to be all right. Then, the face changed to a woman he had never seen before. The wolf came again and again. It seemed so real he could feel the snuffling breath as the large animal sought for his scent. The strange woman appeared again, and changed into Walters. His old boss chided him to keep rolling his accounts and promised him a corner office and his own secretary. From time to time he tasted something bitter, then something salty, then something sweet. He felt chilled to the bone, and then hot and sweaty. At one point, he was inside a building that seemed to be the log walls of the lodge. At another, it was daylight and he was moving through trees and grass, but he couldn’t feel his legs doing anything. Patches of daylight shined bright red through his closed eyelids. Dave tentatively opened his eyes to a squint and found the pain in his head was gone. Inhaling deeply brought the scent of spruce and mouldering forest floor to his nose. He was lying just outside the tunnel opening inside the giant spruce at the base of the cliff. The shotgun and lantern were beside him. How had he gotten there? His last reliable memory was of slipping, hearing the shotgun fire, and then pain when he hit his head. Somehow in his delirium, he must have found his way back through the tunnel and then collapsed while still inside the sheltering boughs. After forcing himself to his feet, Dave walked slowly through the foliage and sat down. He could see the pickup parked at the edge of the meadow below the cliff, and hobbled toward it. It took several short walks interspersed with five minute rests, but Dave finally sat down in the cab, fished the keys from his pocket, and breathed a sigh of relief when the engine coughed and came to life. The Mystery of the Mountain Dave looked in the rear view mirror and saw a cut on the side of his forehead, He was sure he had fallen yesterday, but the cut was beginning to heal. He stepped on the clutch, and felt a twinge in his leg. The pant leg was in tatters, ripped from the cuff to his knee in several places. When the ribbons of heavy cotton duck fell open, he saw two red, circular wounds. These were buckshot wounds, he was sure, but they were almost healed too. In an attempt to prove he was not losing his mind, Dave opened the action of the shotgun. An empty shell flipped out of the ejector port and landed on the seat beside him. The shotgun had not only fired, just as he remembered, but he apparently had also managed to shoot himself. A trip to see Doc Jefferson was probably in order, but the next morning, Dave felt pretty good, and there was hardly any pain. Doc would have to ask a bunch of questions about the gunshot wounds for which Dave had no answers. It was better to find those answers first. Two days later, he drove to Clyde’s for supplies. The old man put on a show of anger, but he was obviously glad to see Dave. “Where the Hell you been? Hell, I figgered you got ate by a bear or sumpin. Good to see you didn’t.” “Why would you think that?” “You been comin’ to git supplies ever Wednesday since the thaw, and then I don’t see you for almost three weeks. What the hell am I supposed to think? You goin’ to go off in them woods fur that long, you oughta tell somebody, so’s we can go lookin’ if you don’t come back.” Dave made an excuse about scouting for hunting spots, picked up his supplies and left. On the way back to the lodge, he barely saw the road. Thoughts flashed through his mind, confusing thoughts that would not let him piece together the two weeks he had lost, and fear of what could have been an explanation. He would have to go back to the canyon as soon as he was able. The door was still there. He hadn’t dreamed it. The same tug on the lever produced the same hollow click, and soon he was standing back on the same ledge. With the shotgun on “safe” and hung over his shoulder by the sling, Dave started down the trail. This time, he saw the handholds chipped in the rock face, and made it to the canyon floor without incident. Not much had changed. The beaver still swam in the small lake, and the eagles were soaring overhead. He almost missed the faint trail that led from the water’s edge toward the grove of large spruce trees. It was probably made by deer on their way to water, but following it seemed like a good idea. Just in case, he slipped the shotgun off his shoulder. As he neared the blue-green canopy, the smell of wood smoke wafted on a gentle breeze. The tiny log cabin was hidden deep in the grove, and Dave would have missed if he hadn’t followed the faint trail. To the side of the faint path was the decaying skeleton of a blown-down spruce. Dave knelt behind it. No sense giving himself away until he knew who and what he was dealing with. . Nothing changed at the cabin as the sun climbed from the edge of the cliff face to beam down from directly overhead. The needle-carpeted ground was cool and comfortable, the air warm and filled with the quiet drone of insects, and his eyes kept slowly closing. Without realizing it, Dave leaned back against the tree trunk and drifted off to sleep. Perhaps it is the animal instinct that lies just beneath the veneer of civilization in all humans, or perhaps it was just imagination, but Dave rose from the depths of slumber with the feeling he was being watched. Without moving anything else, he slowly opened his eyes to mere slits. In his peripheral vision he saw a face, the same face that had appeared in his dreams when he was lying hurt. This time, the face didn't change to Walters or his old girlfriend. It stared intently at him with a half smile. The look changed to slight concern as he opened his eyes fully and turned to face his observer. She was young, of that he was sure, but how young he could not estimate. Her face was deeply tanned, with pronounced cheekbones, a rounded chin and deep brown eyes, and was framed with black hair that cascaded over her shoulders to her waist. The wide mouth opened as if to speak, and then shut again. The girl rose as if to leave. “Please don’t go. My name’s Dave Morrison. I’m looking for the person who helped me.” The woman turned back. Dave rose to one knee. “I promise I won’t hurt you.” Dave looked back to pick up his daypack. A low, menacing growl froze him motionless. The woman’s words came a little slow, as if she had learned the language only recently. He couldn’t place the accent. “Don’t move fast, or Jake’ll jump on ya. He’ll chew ya up real bad if he thinks you’re gonna hurt me.” Dave released the leather strap from the pack, and turned back to the girl. A large, almost white wolf sat by her side, and the flattened ears and snarling lips left no question that the threat was serious. How the animal had managed to get there, unheard and unseen, Dave could not imagine, but there he was. “I just wanted to get my pack, that’s all.” The girl absently draped her arm around the wolf’s neck and said something Dave couldn’t understand. The snarl changed to a grin, the ears perked, and the animal lay down beside her. Dave noticed that the wolf’s steel grey eyes never left him, and a slight chill slipped down his spine. “I’m not going to try anything. I promise.” “I fixed ya’ good, huh?” “You took care of me?” The woman smiled and nodded. “Yes, you did. I’m fine, now. Thank you.” “You’s hurt bad, and I fixed ya good. Momma showed me how.” “You’re mother lives here, in the cabin, with you?” “Momma lives with Daddy. They went up in the sky, with the Old Ones.” “In the sky? Old Ones? I…I don’t understand.” “I prayed them there. Momma and I did Daddy. I did Momma, all by myself.” “They’re dead?” She seemed frustrated and twisted her lips before answering. “They’re not dead. They’re gone with the Old Ones. Now they live in the sky. Sometimes I see ‘em, here, in the trees, or in the water, but most times they’re in the sky, at night. Momma teached me how to see ‘em, and I see ‘em ‘bout every night, lessun the sky’s all cloudy.” “Well, OK. I don’t understand, but I’ll take your word for it. What’s your name?” “Daddy called me Ginny. Momma called me Weeginacho’te, and he couldn’t say it right, so he just called me Ginny. It means little brown mouse, but that was just my baby name. Now, I am Minaku – Eagle Spirit Woman. I dreamed it after my womanhood ceremony.” “Your mother was a Native American?” “Nope. Momma was a Blackfoot. Daddy said he was a real American, though. He said most people weren’t real Americans. He said Momma was an Injun, but that I was an American too, cause he was.” It was late afternoon, and the sun cast long shadows from the spruce trees. If Dave left now, it would almost be dark when he got back to the truck. “Well, I think Ginny suits you fine, at least until I learn how to say your other name.” He started to rise, and heard the low growl again. “I have to leave if I’m going to get home before dark. Will your wolf let me go?” He was amazed to see the look of disappointment that flooded her face. “You don’t hafta go. Ya can stay in the cabin with me and Jake if ya want. I like talkin’ with ya.” The invitation left him speechless for a moment. “Uh…, are you sure you mean that?” “Yep. Ya can sleep in Daddy’s place.” “What about your wol…, about Jake?” “Jake’ll do what I say. Besides, I think he’s startin’ to like you. Come on and I’ll fix us up some supper.” The woman rose and strode past him. As he watched her firm hips move sinuously beneath the short leather skirt, Dave felt an unexpected attraction to her. It was not his normal reaction to women. He couldn’t really explain it, but he really wanted to stay and talk with her. He also reflected that if Jake liked him, he’d hate to see how the wolf treated someone he didn’t like. The cabin was one rectangular room smaller than the kitchen at the lodge. The dimming evening sun lit the interior through a few small, glass-paned windows. At one end was a fireplace of river stones with a log mantle. A cast iron pot hung from a swinging hook over a bed of glowing coals and emitted the scent of onions and rabbit. The aroma reminded Dave’s that he hadn’t eaten the sandwich in his daypack. Ginny went to a shelf beside the fireplace and carefully took down two white bowls from the set of four. She picked up the wood ladle that sat beside them and dipped it into the pot. After filling both bowls, she turned and sat them on the rough table. “I forgot to get water when I saw you. I’ll be right back.” She picked up a wooden bucket, and walked out the door. Dave watched through one of the windows as she walked to the lake, dipped the bucket full, and started back. He turned back to the table, and came face to face with Jake. They were staring at each other when Ginny walked back into the cabin. “Jake, it’s all right. He’s not gonna do nothin’ to me.” The wolf turned, walked to a bed along the wall, and curled up beneath it. “Come on, sit down.” Dave was intrigued. Ginny seemed to be thoroughly enjoying herself. The rabbit stew was excellent, although Dave couldn’t figure out where Ginny had gotten carrots, onions, and potatoes. As he ate, the girl kept staring at him. When he scraped the last of the broth from the bowl, she picked it up, went back to the pot and filled it again. Dave couldn’t have protested, even if he had wanted to. The gesture was as great as the stew. He eagerly finished the second bowl, and pulled it away when Ginny reached for it again. “No, please. I can’t hold another drop. It was really good, but I’m stuffed.” “You eat good, just like Daddy did. He always liked rabbit stew. Not as much as deer stew, but you can’t hunt deer ‘til fall. They’re all skinny now, and the deer mommas have babies.” “Do you hunt deer here?” “No. There’s no deer here. I hafta go outside, through the tunnel.” “So, it was you who killed the deer last winter?” “I killed some. I hunt deer real good. Daddy taught me, but I don’t use his gun. It don’t have no bullets anymore. Momma taught me to make a bow and arrows, and I hunt with them now.” “That tunnel, did you make the door?” “Momma and I did. After Daddy went to live with the Old Ones, a bear came in through the tunnel. We killed the bear, and then made the door to keep out other ones. Bears are the old grandfathers of the woods, and they can be nasty sometimes.” “Your momma must have been something else.” Ginny’s face turned quizzical. “What’s that mean?” “Just that she must have been a very special woman.” “Momma could talk to the Old Ones. She came here, from her people in the North, to find a dream. She walked for three days without eating or sleeping, and then dreamed about a man who lived in a cave with no roof. She found the tunnel and walked inside. The man was there, and he took her to his house and gave her food. That night, Momma had another dream. The Old Ones told her this place was sacred, and that she should stay and take care of the man who lived here. Then the Old Ones gave her and Daddy a baby - me. Momma teached me how to be a medicine woman and how to take care of Daddy, and Daddy showed me how to hunt and fish.” The coals in the fireplace were just a dull red glow, and only the feint light of dusk came through the windows. Ginny placed a few sticks on the coals, and they burst into flames. She placed them in holders around the room. “This is pitch pine. Momma showed me where to find it.” Dave marveled at this woman. How long had she lived here? He figured the man she called “Daddy” had to be the same man Clyde had told him about. That would have been thirty-three years ago. Ginny would be…. “Ginny, how old are you?” She looked at him and her mouth fell open. “I don’t know. I haven’t counted since Momma went to be with Daddy.” “Counted? Counted what?” “The marks on the wall, over here.” The knife cuts were the standard four vertical slashes with one diagonal to make five. Ginny pointed them out with a finger. “Daddy made these, then Momma, and then me, one for each winter. Let me count. One, two, three….” She looked at Dave and blushed. “Daddy told me not to say the numbers out loud, but I’m not used to having anyone else here.” Ginny went on counting, her lips moving, but silent. “Twenty-five plus four makes…twenty-nine. I’m twenty-nine. Is that old?” She screwed up her face when Dave laughed. “No, twenty-nine isn’t old. I’m thirty-eight, and I’m not old, so you’re still young.” She smiled at him and he nearly pulled her to his chest. She was so innocent in some thoughts, yet so mature in others. He found himself wanting to protect her, but knowing she didn’t need protecting. “How long has it been since…since your Momma went to live with the Old Ones?” “That’s this mark here, so it would be…ten years.” “What on earth have you done by yourself for ten years? Weren’t you lonely?” “I just…lived. I hunt deer in the winter and make clothes, in the spring I plant the garden and hunt rabbits and squirrels. In summer, I fish and make other things, and in the fall, I gather seeds and put away food for the winter. Jake keeps me company.” “And you never see any other people? Even when you go out through the tunnel to hunt?” “Yes, I see other people sometimes, but they don’t see me. Daddy said other people would take away everything we had, and we should stay away from ‘em. He said that’s why he came here. I saw you lots, but I always ran away.” “Then why did you help me?” “I had a dream, one night. In my dream, the Old Ones told me about a man who was running away from something bad, something he knew was wrong and didn’t want to do. They said he was a good man, and he would come to me for help. Jake told me you came through the door to the tunnel. When I heard the shot, I went and found you layin’ on the ground. I brought you back to the cabin, and fixed your leg. I gave you medicine for your head, too, because you hit it on a rock. When you were almost well, Jake and I took you back through the tunnel and left you under the tree.” “You and Jake? Did he grow arms and legs to help you carry me?” Now it was Ginny’s turn to laugh. “No, silly. Jake pulled the sled. I teached him to do that, to help me when we go huntin’.” One of the pitch pine torches sputtered and went out, and Dave realized he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. He stifled one yawn, but another caught him off-guard and left him gaping in fatigue. Ginny smiled again. “It’s time to sleep. Daddy’s place is over there, where Jake sleeps. Don’t worry, he won’t do anything. He really likes you now.” “How do you know that?” She shrugged her shoulders. “He told me.” “Uh, Ginny, I need to go outside to…, well, I need to go outside.” Her face was quizzical for a moment, and then his need dawned on her. “Oh, so do I. I’ll show you where.” They walked through the spruce grove, and although Dave couldn’t see his hand in front of his face, Ginny seemed to have no trouble seeing the trail. They quickly arrived at a little clearing beside the stream. Ginny lifted her skirt and squatted. Dave turned away quickly, embarassed by the sight. “Don’t be afraid. Jake is watching.” Sheepishly, Dave slipped down his fly and relieved himself, still facing away from the woman. He almost pinched himself to prove he wasn’t dreaming all this. He could still be lying on the floor of the canyon, hallucinating while waiting to die. He’d heard people tell of this, having very realistic dreams that seemed to span months, when in reality, they were only unconscious for a few hours. He knew it was real, though. Dreams were different than this. When they arrived at the cabin, Ginny closed the door and went to bank the fire. Dave took this opportunity to gingerly walk to the bed and pull back the blanket. To his surprise, it was clean. The woman must still be keeping the cabin as if her mother and father were still living. He knew some people became a little odd after living alone for a long time, and this, along with the belief her parents were living with the “Old Ones”, must be her way of denying they were really gone. He slipped out of his clothes, lay down, and pulled the blanket over himself. He heard the quiet panting of the wolf beneath him. Ginny walked around the cabin, lifted the torches from their holders, and then tossed them into the fireplace. They made a last flare of flame, and then the cabin became dark. He heard her removing her skirt and shirt, and then the quiet padding of bare feet. As Dave lay waiting for sleep he wondered what he should do with this woman. He thought he should probably take her away from here, away to civilization where she could get the help he thought she needed. Then he reflected that Ginny would surely not go of her own accord. He was still pondering this problem when he drifted off. Dave felt something warm and wet touch his hand and instinctively jerked it back. He jumped to a sitting position and was temporarily disoriented by the strange surroundings. Then, yesterday came back to him. Jake was sitting next to the bed, his pink tongue lolling out of the mouthful of wicked-looking teeth. “See, I told you Jake liked you. He’s tellin’ you it’s time for breakfast.” Fresh mountain trout was not his usual selection for the first meal of the day, but Ginny had outdone herself. The tender, white flesh flaked effortlessly from the bones and tasted of the crystal clear water of the stream and the smoke of an open fire. Dave easily finished the first, and welcomed the second when Ginny placed it on his plate. She offered a third, but he had to refuse. They spent the morning on a tour of the canyon. Ginny showed him the pools in the creek that held the largest trout and together they watched the beavers leading their kits across the pond to a grove of aspens. As they walked toward a small grove of spruce trees, Jake flushed a rabbit. Dave watched as the big wolf easily ran down his prey and killed it with one swift bite. To his astonishment, the wolf then picked up the rabbit, trotted back to them, and laid it at Ginny’s feet. Ginny said something in a low soothing voice, and it was obvious to Dave that the wolf understood her. The big animal wagged his tail, picked up the rabbit, and trotted off toward an overhang in the cliff face. “Does he always bring you what he kills?” “Most times, yes. Jake likes to take care of me, on account of I took care of him when he was a baby. He thought I might want that rabbit for supper, but we still got stew left, so I told him he could have it.” The “we” was not lost on Dave. Ginny must be assuming he would stay another night. The canyon was a microcosm of the outside, and Dave could understand why a would-be mountain man would stay here. Except for the absence of big game, the food supply was self-replenishing, and there would be few worries of intruders. If he hadn’t been following Ginny’s trail, he would have never suspected the entrance lay behind the big spruce. Apparently, Ginny didn’t eat a mid-day meal, but after the trout, Dave wasn’t hungry. He supposed she had lived like this all her life, doing what she wanted when she wanted, eating when she was hungry, sleeping when she was tired, and in general, living life at the pace suitable for the moment. He thought of Walters and his former colleagues, always racing at breakneck speed to do something that usually didn’t mean anything in the long run. Often, he himself had worked furiously against a deadline, only to work just as furiously to return things to their former conditions a day or so later. At the time, it all made perfect sense, but Ginny’s lifestyle made a folly of all that. Why burn oneself out over things that will be quickly undone? Nature understood what was important, and Ginny lived by Nature’s rules, not by client demands and margin calls. The Mystery of the Mountain Dinner was more rabbit stew, but Dave didn’t mind. It was still the best he’d ever had, and he was truly enjoying Ginny’s company. She emptied the pot after he’d finished two bowls, and he didn’t resist much when she insisted he finish it. It would have been worth the effort of stuffing it down just to have her sitting across the table from him. Ginny cleaned the dishes and carefully placed them back on the shelf. Dave was wondering how they would spend the evening. Ginny took care of that with a simple statement. “I have to talk to Momma and the Old Ones tonight.” Ginny sat cross-legged on the floor before a small fire. Pungent smoke rose from the fire, the result of the leaves Ginny pulled from a doeskin bag and tossed onto the coals. Her voice murmered a chant. Dave could not understand the words, but he assumed they were in the Blackfoot language. The drone of Ginny’s voice went on for half an hour, and then she grew silent. Outside, the normal sounds of the spruce grove, the insect and night animals, seemed to stop, too. Dave could hear only Jake’s panting breath and the soft crackle of the fire. The moon had not yet made it over the canyon wall, and the night was pitch black. The cabin was a dark void save Ginny’s slender silhouette against the orange-red glow from the fireplace. According to Dave’s watch, the young woman sat motionless for over an hour. He was about to go to her side when she stirred slightly. Slowly, her head raised from a bowed position to stare into the dim glow of the embers, and she began to speak. The words formed another chant. This chant ended quickly, and Ginny rose to her feet and turned toward him. “If you have to go outside again, I’ll take you back there.” The path was easier to find this time, but Dave was still glad Ginny was there to show the way. He zipped his fly just as she stepped to his side. “Jake will take you back to the cabin. I have to do something, something I saw when I talked to Momma.” Ginny set out in the direction of the lake, and Jake nuzzled Dave’s hand before turning and walking away. Dave reached the cabin and opened the door. While Jake went in and flopped down in his place under the bed, Dave quietly walked to the edge of the grove and looked in the direction of the lake. The moon had just peeped over the rim of the canyon and turned the lake into a pool of quicksilver. Against that backdrop, Dave saw Ginny standing naked at the shoreline. She waded out to her chest and then sank beneath the water. Her head bobbed quickly back to the surface. Dave watched as the young woman rubbed something between her hands and began rubbing it over her shoulders. She also did this to her hair, then waded to shallow water, and repeated the process over the rest of her body. After wading back out and immersing herself again, Ginny started back to the cabin. Unsure if he was supposed to have seen this, Dave quickly went inside the cabin, undressed, and got into bed. The door opened and he saw Ginny’s form in the doorway. She was obviously still naked. Then the door closed again and the cabin was once more dark. Dave heard her quiet footsteps as she crossed the small room. He nearly jumped out of his skin when her hand touched his face. “Ginny, what-“ “I talked to the Old Ones, and to Momma and Daddy. They told me you came back because you needed me, and that I would be your woman.” Dave felt the blanket being lifted, and then her warm body snuggled next to his. “The Old Ones always tell the truth. I am to be your woman. I thought it when I saw you lying hurt and I asked them then. They said I should let you go, but if it was to be, you would come again. You did.” Her arms encircled him. He felt soft breasts press against his chest, and the soft hair between her thighs tickled his belly. Ginny laid her cheek against his and stroked his side. “Momma and Daddy layed together like this every night. Momma told me it was the way men and women loved each other. She told me everything that I should do, and said it would be wonderful.” For a minute, Dave could only lie there and feel her body against his, feel her slender fingertips tracing every inch of his body, and feel her lips searching for his. When she kissed him, he forgot where he was, forgot who this woman was, and forgot about the wolf under him. He took Ginny in his arms and held her tight. His hands found her small breasts and gently stroked the pert nipples. Ginny shivered and sighed; he felt her hand gently explore the length of his cock. Her body was soft as velvet and warm with passion. She smelled of something herbal and the fragrance was intoxicating. Even before his fingertips had traced from her breasts down the softly rounded belly, Ginny moaned in his ear. “Make me your woman, like Momma said would happen.” Dave touched the silky little patch of hair on her mound, swirled his fingers through the tangles, and then slipped lower to the warmth between her thighs. He had intended to go slowly. Ginny had other ideas. When his fingertip touched her swollen lips, Ginny humped against his hand, pushing his finger between them and leaving it wet with moisture. “Yes, touch me there.” She was aflame with passion. Her body radiated sexual heat and tension. Everywhere Dave touched her reacted in some way. A kiss brought on searching, soft lips that tried to engulf his mouth and a wonderful, exploring tongue that entwined with his in a wet, caressing dance. Her nipples hardened at his touch into wrinkled nubs of stiffness that bored into his palm for more stimulation. A touch to her hip made her place her thigh over his and rub against his fingertips. He touched the swollen little button at the top of her sex, and Ginny cried out. When he began to gently rub the area in tiny circles, she arched against him, mashed her lips to his, and reached for his cock. Her movements were fumbling, but their impact on Dave was to bring him nearly to his peak. He gently held her still until the wave subsided. Dave found her entrance and slipped in his middle finger. Ginny moaned, pushed back, and Dave felt warm liquid flow over his finger. He marveled at the tightness of her passage, and then came to the sudden realization that Ginny had to be a virgin. He was trying to contemplate this discovery, but was having trouble because Ginny was groaning and trying to push his finger deeper. Suddenly, she rolled on top of him and touched his face. “Momma said I would be little, and you would be big. She told me what to do the first time.” Ginny reached between them and grasped his stiff cock. He felt her move the head to her soft lips and rub it between them. Fluid coated him, warm, wet, slippery fluid. Ginny moved back and down slightly and Dave felt the velvet caress of her inner lips. Gently, she pressed over him until she felt resistance. Ginny pulled both his hands to her nipples and closed his fingers in a rhythmic squeezing motion. Dave continued the stimulation when she released his hands, and Ginny gasped. “Yes, keep doin’ that.” He felt Ginny reach between them and begin rubbing herself. She pushed down on him again and rubbed quickly. Dave heard her begin a low murmur and realized she was saying another chant. She pushed down over him harder, moaned again and raised herself. The murmur stopped. He heard Ginny’s ragged intake of breath, just before she quickly impaled her body on his entire length. She cried out and sagged against her arms. After a few moments, she lifted herself slowly until his cock was barely inside her, and just as slowly lowered herself back down. He felt her shudder as her hips met his thighs. Ginny lowered her face to his and kissed him. At the same time, she began raising and lowering herself over his cock. Dave lay still for a while, only moving his fingers at he massaged first one swollen nipple and then the other. Ginny’s fingertip was still rubbing and sometimes bumped his cock. He didn’t want to hurt her, but control was becoming difficult. Just as Ginny had reacted to his touch outside her body, she reacted to his cock by squeezing him when she stroked over his length and by pushing down until he felt pressure against something deep inside her. The sensation was incredible and he was having a difficult time pacing his level of arousal. When Ginny clamped her passage tight around him and groaned, he gave up and pushed back. She was wet, clasping, and slippery around him, and she seemed to touch him everywhere with her hands and lips. She began to murmur again, but this time, Dave recognized the sounds as the beginning of her release. He tugged harder at one nipple, and the murmur became a moan. Another tug, and she slammed down on him and cried out. Dave could take little more of this. He felt Ginny quicken the massage of her little swollen nub. Her moans became continuous and her body begin to stiffen. She pushed back and down as she stroked and mashed the little nub hard into him. Dave rolled her nipples between his fingertips and then squeezed tightly. Their explosion was led by Ginny, and Dave quickly followed. It was her cry and the rapid pumping of her hips that pushed him over. He tried to pull out, but Ginny thrust herself down and held him there until he had spurted his seed deep inside her body. She continued to gently ride his cock until her body stopped shaking, then collapsed on his chest and burrowed her face into his neck. After a while, she rolled to her side, but held him tightly to keep him inside her. They fell asleep like that. The next morning, as the sun rose over the rim of the canyon, Dave stood with Ginny at the edge of the lake. He felt vulnerable standing in the open with no clothes. Ginny was naked, beautiful, and completely at ease. She took him by the hand and led him into the water. They bathed, then watched the eagles soar above the canyon as the sun dried their bodies. “Gin…,Minaku. Did the Old Ones tell you I could never let you go?” Ginny snuggled into his side. Her firm breast mashed into the back of his arm and caused a tingle of excitement to flow through his body. “No. They said I would never want to leave you.” At dusk, Ginny built a fire in the clearing before the cabin. When the stars twinkled bright in the infinite blackness of the night, she said the Blackfoot ceremony of marriage. Dave offered a dowry of sage to the Old Ones watching from the sky, and Ginny offered dried venison as a symbol of her worthiness as a wife. ********************* “Hey Grandpa. You know how to get to Crippled Creek Hunting Lodge? We asked the sheriff and he said to come see you.” Clyde leisurely blew a cloud of pipe smoke in the direction of the middle aged man in a new-looking, red-plaid coat. Probably another dumb-ass executive from Chicago or Los Angeles, judging by the clothes. “Yep. Take the highway out of town fur twenty miles and turn left at the first cross road. Oh, that’d be Crippled Creek Road. It’s about ten more miles ‘til you get to the lane. It’s on the right. Take you right to it.” “Thanks. I thought we’d never find it.” “Mister, why you goin’ up there?” “We have a hunting reservation for next week. We’ve been hunting over at the Skyline the last couple seasons, and thought we’d try a new place this year.” “Well, I’ll call Bob over at the Twin Pines for you. I think he has a cabin and a guide available.” “But what about Crippled Creek.” “Oh, it closed up. The guy that owned it went up in them mountains and never come back. Don’t rightly know what happened to him. Nice sort of fella, too. Gonna miss him around here. Oh, there’s some money probably comin’ to you. Now lemme find that list. Guy had a brother in New York. He’s makin’ good on all the reservation fees people paid.” The Twin Pines had an open cabin, and after grumbling a bit, the hunter left. Clyde hadn’t believed Dave’s story, at first. He’d had to see the canyon for himself. He finally believed when he met Ginny. As he looked at her, he saw a carbon copy of the woman who’d been burned into his memory over thirty years ago. He’d seen the young woman walking along Cripple Creek Road on his way back from fishing early one morning. He remembered her because, not only was she beautiful in her traditional Blackfoot clothing, but because she looked exhausted. He’d stopped and asked if she needed a ride. The woman turned her face to him, but Clyde didn’t think she really saw him at first. Her gaze had been distant, as if she looked through him toward the mountains further up the road. Those eyes had focused when he touched her arm. “W-what?” “I asked if you wanted a ride.” The young woman looked in his eyes for several moments before speaking again. “No, I’m almost there.” With that short statement, she walked away from him. Clyde had called the Sheriff as soon as he got to the store. Fred and a couple of his deputies had searched up Crippled Creek Road for an hour, but never saw any trace of her. He’d had a peculiar feeling about that woman, like she was different somehow. When she looked at him, it was as if her eyes probed deep into his soul, searching for something. Ginny gave him that same feeling. He liked her immediately, and Ginny seemed to trust him. Clyde liked to think of her as another granddaughter, and he treated her as one. Dave had done right by all the people who made reservations. He sold some more stock, paid off the mortgage, and opened a bank account for taxes and to reimburse the reservation fees. Through Clyde, he’d made arrangements at other hunting lodges for each party, and had paid the reservation fees in advance. He hadn’t wanted to hurt anybody by taking the course it seemed was his destiny. He’d asked Clyde to check in on them once in a while, and Clyde had agreed. The old man knew he would have to pass the task on to someone else soon. He’d decided on his son’s wife, Mary. Mary was half Blackfoot, believed in the old ways of the Blackfoot people, and would understand. Dave had met Mary, and agreed on Clyde’s choice. Clyde watched the sky. It looked like snow. He’d better go up to Crippled Creek this weekend unless it snowed too much. Ginny was due in three months and he wanted to make sure she was all right. He might not get another chance until spring. She’d asked if he had any baby clothes the last time he’d stopped in. He had a box full ready, including a couple of warm winter suits. The color was pink, because Ginny was convinced the baby would be a girl. She said the Old Ones told her, and somehow, Clyde believed her. After living for over eighty years, Clyde had seen a lot, and knew there are some things that just are, and can’t be explained. The moon slipped silently over the canyon rim and lit the lake in silver. The large wolf lay under the bed, watching the two figures in front of the fire. He liked this man who had come to live with Ginny. She seemed to like him too. The man placed his hand on Ginny’s swollen belly, and smiled. “She’s kicking again. She does that everytime I touch you.” Dave laughed. “I don’t think she likes me very much.” “She likes you a lot. She told me that last night.” Dave smiled. At first, he’d had a hard time believing Ginny when she talked about the Old Ones and about talking with her Mother, but everything she’d said had come to pass. Perhaps one day he’d understand. For now, he just accepted what she said without question. If Ginny said the baby was a girl and that his daughter liked him, it had to be true. Dave put his arms around Ginny and held her close. It might take a while to convince her to leave the canyon for the lodge, and she might never really feel comfortable around other people. Dave was prepared to stay with her until she was ready. If she never was, well…, the last few months had been the happiest of his entire life. He could think of a lot worse ways to spend the rest of it. *********************************** Thanks for reading this work. Please vote to indicate how much you enjoyed it, and send feedback if you can spare the time. Your votes and feedback are the only way I will know how much you enjoyed my effort, and furnish the only means to improve my writing. Thanks again, Ronde.