Confused, doubting he had seen what he thought he saw, Shakespeare bowed his head. He sat perfectly still for the longest while. Finally, seemingly apropos of nothing, he remarked out loud, “As God is my witness, I would never have guessed.”
The lake was still, the waterfowl momentarily silent. Shakespeare surveyed the blue expanse and shuddered. But not because he was still damp and the breeze was brisk. He said, “What do I do now?”
He held up the pistol and laughed. Wedging it under his belt, he swiveled onto his belly and slowly dipped his feet and legs into the water until he was half in and half out. Reaching down to grip the sides, he began kicking.
The dugout moved at a crawl, but it moved. Shakespeare reckoned it would take him the rest of the day and the better part of the night to reach land, but by God, reach it he would.
Shakespeare chuckled. A great weight had been taken off his shoulders. He sought a suitable quote to mark the occasion, but for the first time in a coon’s age, he could not come up with one.
Several teal swam near and Shakespeare smiled and waved to them. “Wonderful,” he muttered as he lowered his hand. “I am behaving like a perfect idiot.”
His cold leg muscles were protesting and his hips were hurting, but Shakespeare ignored the pain and went on kicking. He wanted solid ground under him, wanted it more than he had just about ever wanted anything. He promised himself that if he made it back, he would fight shy of canoes for the rest of his born days. He thought of what he had almost done, and unbidden, a quote tripped from his tongue: “O monstrous arrogance. Thou liest, thou thread, thou thimble, thou yard, three-quarters, half-yard, quarter, nail, thou flea, thou nit, thou winter-cricket thou!”
He was not talking about the fish.
He was talking about himself.
A sustained hiss drew Shakespeare’s attention to the return of the swell some sixty feet out.
“You again! I have made my peace! Leave me be! Don’t remind an old man of his folly.”
But the swell grew. It started to circle and then swung slowly toward the dugout.
“What the devil!” Shakespeare hollered. “Go eat a duck, damn you!” Expecting the swell to swerve, he made no attempt to push clear.
But the swell didn’t swerve. It bore down on the canoe, rapidly gaining speed.
Appalled by the enormity of his mistake, Shakespeare shook a fist in the air. “Don’t you dare! Do you hear me? Don’t you dare!”
The swell kept on coming.
Aquatic Cavalry
The canoes were gone.
Nate King stood at the spot they should be, consternation flooding through him. Any hope he had of finding Shakespeare quickly had been shredded. The hurricane-force winds had sent the canoes out onto the lake, where the waves had carried them off or sunk them. But the storm was not entirely to blame. Part of the fault was his. He should have come back when the storm first hit and dragged them higher.
Hoping against hope, Nate scoured the lake, but all he saw were geese and ducks and gulls.
Nate had to get out there. He racked his brain for an idea. Building a new canoe would take too long. But there was something else he could build, something that would only take a couple of hours. With a little luck, he could complete it before the women returned and demanded to go with him.
Turning, Nate raced for his cabin. He saddled his bay and led it from the corral. Then he collected his axe and all the rope he had, climbed on, and galloped toward the woods. He knew right where to find a stand of slim pines ideal for his purpose. Bigger trees would provide bigger logs and be safer, but felling and trimming them would take most of the day.
Rolling up his sleeves, Nate gripped the heavy axe and went to work. He swung with steady, practiced strokes, the axe biting deep. After each tree toppled, he removed the branches and shoots. He worked as fast as he could, but worry made his frantic pace seem much too slow.
Four trees were down and Nate was chopping a fifth when a feeling came over him that he was being watched. He had learned the hard way never to ignore his intuition, and he glanced up, reckoning a deer or an elk or some other animal had strayed by. But the watcher was two-legged. “You!”
“I’m happy to see you, too, Pa,” Zach said dryly. He gestured at the downed saplings. “Why do you need firewood at this time of year?”
Instead of answering Nate asked, “What are you doing here? What about Lou? Should you have left her alone?”
“She practically threw me out of our cabin,” Zach reported. “She was fine this morning when we woke up except for feeling a bit queasy. She sent me over to get some of those sage leaves Ma keeps on hand.”
The Shoshones chewed the leaves for stomach upsets. Nate had used them on occasion himself. “I am not chopping firewood. I’m making a raft, and I could use your help.”
“A raft?” Zach repeated.
Nate explained about Shakespeare taking the dugout and going back out on the lake by his lonesome. “We fear he was caught in the storm,” he concluded.
“I saw some of it out my window—” Zach said, and stopped. “Dear God, Pa. Some of those waves had to be three feet high. No one could survive.”
“We don’t know that,” Nate said angrily, and swung again, sending slivers flying. “Start hauling these to the lake. With your help I can get done in half the time.”
“Sure thing. Lou will understand. She cares about that old grump as much as we do.”
Nate doubted anyone other than Blue Water Woman was as fond of McNair as he was. He owed Shakespeare more than any man could ever repay. When he first came to the Rockies, he was as green as grass and would not have lived through his first winter if not for McNair’s sage advice and kind help. Their bond of friendship had grown to where Nate regarded Shakespeare as more of father than a friend. His real father had always been cold and aloof, completely unlike Shakespeare. Nate sometimes wished his father had been more like his mentor, but then Nate might never have left New York for the wilds of the frontier. He would never have met Winona, never had Evelyn and Zach.
Nate was glad he had come West. He had seen things few men ever saw, lived as few men ever lived. He would not trade his experiences for all the jade in China. Yes, life in the wilderness was fraught with danger, but every pearl, it was said, came at great price, and the pearl of true freedom, of being able to live as he wanted without let or hindrance, was worth the perils that had to be overcome.
“Pa?”
Nate realized his son was trying to get his attention. He looked up. “What is it?”
“You can stop chopping,” Zach said, and pointed.
Blue Water Woman was riding along the water’s edge toward Nate’s cabin. She had a rope in one hand. The other end was tied to a bark canoe she was pulling after her.
“Let’s go,” Nate said. Hastening to the bay, he climbed on and galloped to meet her. She spotted them, and was off her horse and untying the rope from the canoe when they reined to a stop.
“Where did you find it?” Nate asked as he alighted.
“Washed up on the shore.” Blue Water Woman glanced at where the canoes had been before the storm struck. “There wasn’t one for you to use? It is a good thing I brought it, then.”
“I was making a raft,” Nate explained. He looked in the canoe; the paddles were missing. He mentioned the loss, adding, “I have one at my place. But only one,” he emphasized.
Blue Water Woman patted the canoe. “Finding this is an omen. I am going with you, and I will not brook no for an answer.” Something more than simple anxiety was telling her she must hasten out on the lake after her man.