Chapter 6: Trial by Fire
#6 of A Distant Shore
This story is a work of fiction. The story and characters are copyright Radical Gopher and may not be duplicated or used without the express permission of the author. This story contains adult situations and should not be viewed by those under the age of eighteen.
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A DISTANT SHORE - TRIAL BY FIRE
Marshall White Cloud lay on his back, looking up into the pre-dawn sky. The moon lay just above the eastern horizon, shedding a dim radiance across the landscape. He gently shook the vixen lying next to him. A single, ice-blue eye opened beneath the mask and immediately locked onto his visage. Snowbird smiled, craned her heck and gently kissed the underside of his jaw, brushing her nose pad against his fur to take in his scent. He returned her kiss, brushing her single braid back behind her shoulder. "It's time," he said simply.
They rose and dressed quickly. The white vixen reached into her pack and brought out her last four acorn cakes and passed two of them to Gabriel. The pre-dawn air was brisk, but not cold. They ate quietly, then gathered their weapons and wordlessly moved toward the creek.
The two furs edged into the cool water which only came up to their knees. Walking with the stream's flow allowed them to move with a minimum of noise. At this time of year, there was little difference between the temperature of the morning air and the water. They crept slowly along the edge of the creek, using the rushes to hide their movement. No lights shown from the dugout, but that didn't necessarily mean someone wasn't on guard.
Gabe gestured toward the opposite bank. Snowbird nodded and silently made her way behind an outcropping of rocks that bordered the creek. Climbing up the bank, she took position behind a large bolder, careful to keep it between herself and the skinner's cabin. She signaled her readiness to the Marshall by tapping her fingers twice on her forehead and pointing downstream. The wolf nodded, bent low and cautiously waded past the hideout until he reached a spot where he could safely exit the creek without being seen.
In the east the deep velvet of the night sky was surrendering to the pale reddish gold of dawn. Gabe moved closer to the cabin, advancing from shadow to shadow until he'd reached the portion of the structure that merged with the steep, rocky hill behind it. Scooping up a large piece of sod that had fallen from the roof, the Marshall climbed the hill, careful all the while not to dislodge any rocks. Examining the roof, he quickly found where the ridge pole and the hillside met.
He silently tested it, placing one foot at its base and applying a portion of his weight. To his satisfaction he found the cabin had been well-built and the pole could easily support him. He inched his way out onto the roof until he was adjacent to the chimney pipe. White smoke billowed into the cool dawn, carrying with it the scent of burning wood. Taking the piece of sod, he placed it over the top of the chimney pipe and packed it in tightly. He could feel the heat radiating off the metal so he was careful not to touch the pipe with his bare hands.
The smoke immediately vanished. Gabe quickly worked his way off the roof and crept around to the side of the dugout just next to the door. He drew his sawed-off shotgun from it sheath across his back, checked the barrels and quietly cocked both hammers back. Then he waited.
A minute passed, then two, then five. The sounds of people stirring within the cabin began with a slight cough. It quickly escalated as smoke slowly filled the dugout. This was quickly followed by complaints, accusations and curses from several different voices until finally the front door burst open and four figures staggered out into the morning air. All of them were coughing furiously.
The Marshall recognized Ambrose Pyre and Temple immediately. The two coyotes were dressed is slightly dirty long-johns and boots. Neither appeared armed. Next came Calvin Cooper, a short, squat weasel with unkempt fur. He was leaning on a short-barreled hunting rifle that did not look as if it had been cleaned in a long time. Gabe suspected it wasn't even loaded, but he wasn't about to take any chances on that score.
Finally, trailing behind the others came a young, shapely female badger with raven-black hair. She wore a pair of slightly torn and frayed, ivory colored silk bloomers.
Holding the sawed-off shotgun Gabe gave them a moment to catch their breaths then quickly stepped around the corner. "Federal Marshall! HANDS UP!" he ordered. The figures froze in stunned silence. He glanced at the weasel who was still holding the rifle above his head. "Drop it Calvin...NOW!" The gun clattered to the ground. "Very slowly... I want you to put your hands behind your heads and get down on your knees."
He nodded towards the badger. "Not you Miss Collier. I want you to move away from that pack and sit on the rocks over yonder." He nodded with his head towards a small outcropping about ten feet behind him. "Just stay clear until I get these furs corralled then we'll see about getting you back to your father."
The badger smiled in relief and moved away from the others, circling behind the Marshall and moving toward the rocks.
"I know you!" Temple said smoothly. "You're that half-breed lawman... Gabriel White Cloud, ain't cha?"
"If you know that, then you also know I won't hesitate to shoot if you so much as look at me wrong," Gabe replied. Now, on your knees."
Slowly, very slowly Temple and his men knelt on the ground, their fingers laced together behind their heads. The Marshall kept his eyes on the three furs, all had their heads down, focused on the dirt, all save Temple. For an instant the coyote locked eyes with Gabriel. The outlaw's hatred was plain to see, but there was something else too, something indefinable.
Temple's eyes flicked involuntarily to the side for an instant, focusing on something else. Gabe wheeled around and the knife aimed for his back struck him in the side instead. The point of the thin dagger drove in between his ribs and lodged itself tightly, puncturing his left lung. The Marshall swung the butt of his shotgun, catching the Collier girl across the muzzle. She staggered back, nose pad bloodied and dropped unconscious to the ground. Her knife remained jammed in Gabriel's side.
Whirling back he leveled the shotgun just as Ambrose pulled a knife from his boot and charged. The wolf jerked the trigger, discharging a single round into the coyote's chest. The blast sent him flying backward a good ten feet or more. His body landed in a tangled, bloody heap. Gabe spun, leveling the weapon at Temple's heart. "DOWN! NOW, DAMNIT! NOW!"
The two outlaws went back down to their knees. Gabriel walked around behind them, pulling a pair of handcuffs from his pocket. "Lay down... On the ground," he ordered.
Temple complied. Cooper on the other hand was slow to respond, cursing the Marshall instead. Gabe planted one moccasined foot against the weasel's back and shoved, driving him down into the dust. The wolf bent over, intending to snap the handcuffs on Cooper's wrists. The world suddenly began spinning around him. He staggered, then tripped on a half-buried log, falling onto his back. The shotgun flew out of his hands.
White Cloud struggled to hold onto consciousness. He saw both outlaws leap to their feet. Temple picked up the weasel's rifle and went over to the Collier girl. Cooper snapped up the shotgun. Gabe scrabbled for his navy colt. He managed to get it half out of its holster but froze when the weasel pointed the shotgun into his face.
"Well look here, boss!" he called out to Temple. "I done think the Marshall here's bitten off a tad more than he can swallow." He laughed briefly at his own joke. "Looks like the table's turned, ain't it?" He started laughing again as his finger moved toward the trigger.
The laughter abruptly changed to a choking gurgle. Without warning an arrow had pierced the weasel's neck, severing the juggler and protruding from his throat. Dropping the shotgun Cooper reached up and gripped the arrow's haft, blindly trying to pull it out. His hands slipped on the blood that coated it and he was unable to move it even an inch. He tried to speak, but could only spit up blood. Cooper's eyes went glassy and he slowly keeled over.
Gabriel rolled over onto his stomach and aimed the colt at Temple. "DROP IT, OR I DROP YOU!"
The outlaw assessed his options. Not only was he staring down the muzzle of a very powerful handgun, but he had no idea of where the arrow had come from. He was certain that whoever had fired it was now aiming one at him. Roark Temple let the rifle slip from his fingers and once more put his hands up.
Instead of getting up, the Marshall gave a high pitched whistle. Temple spotted movement across the stream. A ghost-white figure moved out from some rocks and made its way down to the water. The outlaw could see it was a white furred native girl, no more than eighteen or nineteen years old, wearing a bronze dancer's mask. She quickly forded the creek and hurried over to the still prone wolf.
Blood had soaked into the dry earth, staining it a rust color. Before the native girl could even start to tend him he shook his head. "Get the cuffs," he ordered. "Bind them both, hands and feet. I'll cover you"
Snowbird nodded, her expression stoic. Without a word she went over to the outlaw. Drawing her fighting knife, she forced him to the ground and quickly locked the cuffs on him, hands and feet. She picked up the hunting rifle and hurled it into the stream, then repeated the procedure on the unconscious badger girl.
She turned and looked back at the Marshall. Gabe smiled at her with a quirky satisfied grin, then his head dropped into the dust and his pistol slipped from his slack hand.
TO BE CONTINUED...