The Mountain Man: Sample Read - Adam Lewis LaValley (popular e readers txt) 📗

at the quickstep.
The mountain man sought out a wide array of tall, healthy pine trees; new embodiments of shelter for the coming maelstrom. With an upraised hand, he motioned to the Englishman the camp they would set up for the night. A fire would have to be made quickly, as the temperature steadily dropped. Lawrence made his way next to him.
By borrowing the musket for a moment, Thomas was able to sweep out a relatively small area where they could rest and protect themselves from the oncoming torrent. He placed dry timber upon a flat base; life-saving material he gathered into his sack the last few days of fall. Once in a comfortable spot – where snow could not fly into his face – sparks flew as he struck flint against stone; these tools were always valuable in times of desperation; it took only a few minutes to set off a reaction. Tiny embers told hold of the wooded material, growing ever in size. Thomas took the knotted timber in his hands and blew gently. Smoke released. He pulled his head back to gain fresh air and released another breath. More smoke dispersed.
The Englishman sat by, shivering. But he looked on, curious as to the methods this stranger was using. He’d just started his adult life as a merchant – a townsman, going from place to place making deals and selling goods to wealthy citizens. Indians attacked his caravan only days before – and he was still in shock. He wanted to return to his home, to get out of this alive. How on earth did this man survive the years?
“How long does it take?” he asked through a flurry of passive snowflakes.
Thomas blew again. Flames appeared, and he dropped the bundle to the ground, quickly adding thicker sticks as a means of feeding it. “Doubt it takes less than ten minutes – unless you are new at this.” He chuckled, and stuck his finger into the snow, testing its height. “Ah, might melt a few inches but I’m sure it will be all right. Might be best to start cooking a meal.”
The Englishman repressed a smile and held out his hands to the warmth, relaxing as his fingers succumbed to regeneration. “No, I mean travelling out there – with the natives and bears and such.”
A mass of snow fell from the branches of a tree; the wind died down, but the ice rain just kept coming. Thomas assumed the cooking of dinner with a spit; two rods stuck into the snowy ground on either side of the fire held a bold, shaved wood; it took a bit of work to slide the cold deer meat on. When the two meats were in place a sizzling sensation came: it was like music to their ears.
“Well,” Thomas began quietly, “it is not all fun and games.” He grabbed a small log buried in the snow and propped himself down next to the fire. “Heh. I estimate two hundred days round, at the least. Otherwise, I am a lot more active in the springtime. Winters are good and all, but it is terribly dangerous to be out here alone if caught unprepared. One day you might be walking peacefully through the forest or some foreign territory, and the next…” He shrugged and grinned. “You might not!” He rotated the spit, watching interestingly as steam appeared from the meats.
Thomas eyed the Englishman. “What business do you perform? You work for anybody?”
Lawrence bobbed his head, seemingly active. “Ah yes, well, I am a merchant.” He motioned toward the sack of furs the mountain man carried around. “We did our best to bring the best of products to the peoples of this new country. I have personally grown fond of the grand lengths of travel – seeing the sights and all. You know, I’ve even been to the capital city! Too bad such a magnificent structure was burnt down, eh? Magnificent architecture these people have; all the benefits of being a merchant.” He froze then – not from the cold, but realization and deep-felt emotion for the men he left behind, to be slaughtered like…animals. His eyes showed a certain sadness and despair; even more so by an ailment from winter. The cold was penetrating his coat.
Thomas suddenly felt embarrassed. Of all the stupid questions to ask! A moment of silence ensued, but the mountain man made a move to break it by handing the Englishman a piece of well-seasoned, tender deer meat. The attempt did not work, as he ate it without response.
Nothing but the dry, bitter wind and the torrential downfall disrupted the mood. If only it was better.
A frightened hare scurried across the white landscape, its coat a stark and fluffed silvery sheen. Stout, wiry whiskers hung from under the intermittently spiffy nose. It then stopped, yards from the two men, and stared at them - apprehensive, not sure if the two beings were a threat or not. Its eyes were black and bulbous - spheres from a wild edge, a vast distance between man and beast more than evidently different.
Thomas scratched his beard and sighed. “Well, I do not know about you–” and here he glanced at the man’s leg – “but I might as well check on that bandage.” He deliberately made his way over, bending slightly so he could unravel the reddened cloth.
The Englishman snarled and gasped with pain; the whole of his face went scarlet red. His leg shook profusely, reacting to the endeavor. “Careful…careful! It still hurts. Oh, my…gaaah!”
“Steady. Let me clean it.”
Blood flowed down his leg. A form of pus had appeared around the wound. Quickly reacting, the mountain man scooped some snow and washed it away; it was not successful in stemming the flow, but once a new bandage was compressed, the river stopped. Several tributaries continued, only to disappear under his forceful hand.
“There,” he stated with an enthusiastic air. “Check that in a few hours.”
“My…my…” Lawrence’s face was colorless, and his breathing was hardened. He coughed twice. “May I have some…water?”
Thomas handed a wineskin unbendingly, and stood to grab his sack. “I may sound a bit imprudent,” he responded assumingly, putting the musket in the young man’s hands, “but I think it best we continue on.”

Chapter 4

“Just our luck,” the mountain man muttered under his visible breath; he was crouched, studying a steady stream of tracks that bounded into the onward forest with no end in sight. In length, the footprints were gigantic. A man could fit his whole foot in one of the indentations, and still have room left to spare.
“What? What is it?” a concerned Lawrence called from behind.
Thomas put up a finger, warning him to stay silent. “Fresh tracks,” he explained without hesitation, “and they are not friendly. I advise you to stay much closer to me, all right? If I cannot get my musket in time, then we will both be in trouble.”
His eyes went wide with fear when he spotted the tracks. “Are we dealing with wolves?”
Thomas chuckled quietly. “That would be a big wolf. No, it is a bear. Most likely a full adult. And we are stepping right into its hunting territory.”
“Oh my...”
“Yes, yes...do you understand, now? Stay close to me.”
The drudging walk went on - and it got no better. Due to the blizzard the previous day, travel was much challenging. It was only fortune and a blessing that Lawrence should receive the extra pair of snow-shoes his partner brought along. He had gawked at them for a timely amount when Thomas offered them. Now, besides the gun, they were his mode for survival.
As bears were unmistakably trailing the region, the mountain man thought it best to leave the last bit of his food behind; the blacks and grizzlies were more aggressive during winter - like humans, being ferocious scavengers. Only these beasts had far more impressive, dangerous qualities to them: noses which could smell fresh blood up to a mile away; large, furry ears that were perhaps less developed, but still offered incredible aide when listening for the movement of prey; fat, powerful jaws able to break even the strongest bones in half; and most decisively deadly of all: the claws. One swipe from a bear standing at its full height could easily decapitate a human. Running away was not even considerable; Thomas knew he would have to stand up to a bear if he ever crossed one. Hopefully, he would not. It would not be pretty.
Not even the sky brightened things; it was still as pitch black as night, and it was nearly half-way through morning. Trees appeared as ghostly figures, with gnarled limbs and grossly bodies.
“Tell me, Washer,” the mountain man gasped as they climbed up a steep hill, “have you ever seen a bear strip bark off the trees? It’s terribly easy to discover, since all the green leaves are stripped off during winter. If you can find any fresh marks, you will positively know that they are close.” He grinned gingerly.
“Please, do not make me any more nervous than I already am,” the Englishman grunted in reply, having trouble limping up the slope. “I’ve had enough excitement for one week, thank you very much!”
Thomas shook his head. “Of course, the waste they leave behind is a good indicator as well. See, in the wilderness, you need to find any and every advantage in order to get a better edge over your adversaries. I remember this one time where my friend – who is now deceased – and I decided to go out hunting during the winter season, almost one like this. We moved just beyond a small pond, I believe, and a clump of trees gathered along the ridge. Well, we made a move towards the trees, expecting to find some tracks because this area seemed very suspicious. Found some claw marks along a few of the trunks. Nice big ones, too. When my friend pointed this out, he took a step forward and planted his foot into a nice heaping pile; the smell was putrid, and we knew then and there that there was a bear poking about; after seeing it, I said to him: ‘Hey Robert – what’s that under your foot? Looks like you found a vital trail!’ And then he looked down and he replied back: ‘Well Thomas, it seems we have double leads! Mind finding me a big stick?'”
Lawrence smiled slightly and laughed alongside Thomas. Soon, they climbed over the hill. Then silence grew when the two noticed a faint trail smothered in snow. Shock and surprise came across the Englishman’s face. His eyes were stark red.
Thomas pointed a finger. “Ah,