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Site Home » Entertainment » Story Narration
 

The Wolves Nest [ Chapter #7: On the Ice/Cold Draw]

 
Author: Dennis Siluk

End Chapter

The Wolves Nest"in the North

On the Ice/Cold Draw [Winter of 1877; Minnesota]

In the wooded area by this huge lake there was no Army Post, or telegraphs; and danger lurked in every nook, behind every tree and near every shadow. Arizona Blue had an old gray Calvary army coat he wore, and Feba had a bear fur covering her. They were surrounded by forest, except for the lake down the embankment; the lake with its snow, ice and their heated breathe that created from them a smolder like substance, with each exhale: it was what they saw when they looked forward, it was what they'd have to cross.

Feba showed no contempt for the stranger (Blue) who had come into her life at a hell-of-a moment, and saw her lose everything but her life; husband, children, farm, everything. Now she turned to look at the lake, in disgust"shivering.

They had only themselves to look at, somber as they both were. Blue said heavily: "We got to cross the lake, while the sun is out, we won't make better time than now."

It was a question really, but put into a statement form, for he did not want to push her. On the other hand, Feba knew she really needed sleep, and that would have been a good reason to just sit still and freeze to death"a nice way to commit suicide she thought"but she knew also, Blue would die, he was noble and would not leave her, surely she told herself, he would not leave, and she could not have his life on her mind, digging at her soul, too much responsibility, and cold winter days, were short, they turned into nights quickly this time of the year; thus, she had to move, make up her mind to move quickly.

Feba now transferred her attention onto the lake ahead of her, stick in hand, she stood-up, and they walked to the lake, down the embankment, it was but a hundred yards away"now on the lake she poked the stick into the ice"or tried to, here and there and everywhere, looking to see how thick it was, for cracks"etcetera, but it was several inches thick, more than enough to hold them"she told herself, and the horse too.

"Nothing to worry about Blue," she said, "the ice could hold a herd of cattle crossing it."

Blue rubbed his brow after halfway across the huge lake, looked about, knew there was no shelter, but nonetheless, looked about as if to say something, but said nothing, felt the wind slash his face.

"Fine," Feba said, looking at the half frozen horse.

The battle to cross the Lake was coming closer to its end that is all Blue knew if indeed they could make it " some of the ice under them was making noises; it was a ting nervy for him. The shifting snow with the wind, blowing it here and there, and back into his face, one could not see clear, and then all of a sudden, all of a sudden like that, out of the white, appeared three Indians, just like that, as if they had walked right out of a snow mist"right out of a dream, a nightmare would be more like it thought blue after a hesitation to see if what he was seeing was true: walking with their horses, bow and quiver in hand.

Blue tried to smile, they were about fifty feet behind him, tried to smile I say, but his face was too numb, painfully numb, without sensation. Feba dropped to the ground, she was too weak to sand any longer, and passed out; Blue still standing looking: a minute went by, two minutes went by, Feba wouldn't wake up, and then it occurred to him, that the three were waiting for him to be consumed by the weather, and he knew he could not out last, not out last them anyhow: his will and physical endeavor would not last much longer, I mean he was looking at the banks of the lake, and it seemed but a hop skip and jump to it, and all of a sudden the enemy shows up, it was dreadful; it, the body, no matter what you tired, the body and mind could not sustain this forever with the little they had: then, yes then, they would attack; perhaps it was part of the hunt, without an arrow shot, or bullet, what a victory.

Then, like in the old days, Arizona pivoted to a gun stance in front of the Indians, they were bewildered on what this meant, they were not sure if they should laugh or if he was local, or narrow in thinking. Somehow with effort, and sheer determination, Blue put a smile on his face, that is, more of a sneer I suppose you could call it. The Indians were still holding onto their horses, Arizona stone-still in his stance, the Indians let go of the ropes tied around the horses mouths, went for their quiver, and the old gunfighter, Arizona Blue came out like lightening"throwing back his coat, and with close to frost bitten fingers he pulled his gun out as they dropped their quivers, arrow in the bow, and Blue tried to pull the trigger, but his fingers would not obey his mind, and the arrows were being aimed, then all of a sudden like a train blowing its whistle: pop, pop, pop went his revolver, and they all dropped to the ice floor.

He left the Indians where they lay, and wrapped Feba up with the blankets, and emptied the leather quivers of their arrows, and put his hands into them with buffalo fur, no longer on the backs of the Indians; and with the remaining buffalo hinds created a stretcher for Feba tied it to the horses and march to the banks of the lake.

"When Feba's eyes opened up, they were in a hermit's cabin, on the other side of the lake. A warm and cozy cabin, and slowly Blue's hands thawed out, like a stunned fish coming alive.

"My dear..." said Feba as she opened her eyes, two days later, "was I?" she hesitated, seeing Blue looking, and smiling into her face, "I guess I'm still alive, not sure why."

Written 2002/revised 8/2005 [Unpublished]; revised 1/2006. Chapter Seven written...? The author has spent time in this area he is talking about, and although he knows the lakes name, he wishes not to publish it. Written 1/24/06.

Author Bio:

Dennis Siluk

Writing is more than a hobby for me. It's a passion, one of the ways I capture and celebrate life.

You can search for this article using: digital storytelling, online story reading, digital story telling, the art of storytelling
 
 
 

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