“Maybe,” he sighed. With an effort, he straightened his shoulders and nodded. “‘The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’”
Jacob murmured a respectful amen. Obadiah turned and walked slowly out into the forest, the mule trailing behind and Dantès at his side. He didn’t look back.
They walked like that for days, eating dried venison, drinking from clear mountain streams, sleeping under the sentinel pines, enshrouded in the humming quiet of the wilderness. The late spring sunshine was warm enough that Jacob walked in his shirtsleeves more often than not, though he cringed at his threadbare cuffs. Tiny ferns unfurled in the sun, and delicate columbine bloomed along the game trails, its pale blue flowers luminescent on the forest floor. Snow still lingered in the shadows and under the trees, sending out wafts of its icy presence into the saturated rays of sunshine so that they walked through swirling eddies of winter’s chill and spring’s warmth curling around them in an intricate and invisible dance. Mountain bluebirds twittered and sang, flashes of sapphire among the dark firs.
April turned into May while they trekked through the mountains, and though Jacob’s leg had healed enough to walk without support, it wasstill weak. It twinged in a faded sort of pain when he stumbled over the roots threading their path, and by the end of the day it ached something fierce. Each evening, he would take off his well-worn splint and massage the atrophied muscles.
And yet Jacob felt himself coming alive alongside the birds and wildflowers. There was a vibrancy to his step and a lightness in his heart that he hadn’t had in a long time. Maybe it was Obadiah’s persistent positivity rubbing off on him, or maybe it was the loosening grip of his anger, but on the edges of his vision he glimpsed the faint shimmer of hope. He didn’t know what the future held for him. But it just might have some good in it.
Despite Jacob’s renewed vigor, each day they moved slower and covered less ground. Obadiah’s cough became nearly constant. It was as if his will and strength were tethered to that little cabin in the woods, and the further they went from it, the weaker he became. Jacob made a makeshift pack out of some deer hide and poles of willow to carry the bulk of their supplies and managed to convince the trapper to ride Kip. Dantès kept pace at his stirrup. Even still, he had to take frequent breaks to rest. Jacob’s concern mounted with every passing hour.
On the morning of the ninth day, Obadiah didn’t have the strength to get out of his pallet.
Jacob spent the day rigging an improvised A-frame stretcher. Taking the old trapper’s hatchet, he felled two sturdy sapling pines, trimming off the branches and smoothing out the jagged pieces. He lashed the poles together at one end and stretched the deer hide across it, using the rawhide laces of his splint to roughly stitch it together. All the while he listened to Obadiah’s hacking, gurgling cough. It sounded like he was drowning from the inside. Jacob clenched his jaw against the worry burrowing like maggots into his mind. They just needed to get to the fort. There was a doctor there. Obadiah could get help and then he’dget better. Jacob worked tirelessly into the night. Dantès curled up at Obadiah’s feet while his master tossed weakly in his sleep.
In the morning, limbs heavy and eyes grainy, Jacob gathered Obadiah in his arms and gently settled him on the stretcher, wrapping him in blankets and securing him around the middle.
Obadiah cracked his eyes open. “What are you doin’ to me, son?”
“Just makin’ sure you get to Fort Laramie in one piece.”
“Not sure I’m worth all this fuss.” He coughed again. A spot of blood trickled out of the corner of his mouth. Jacob’s heart clenched.
“’Course you’re worth it. Who else is gonna pester me with his preachin’ every day?”
Obadiah smiled faintly as his eyes closed again. “Don’t you worry. I’ll pester you with my preachin’ ’til the Lord calls me home.”
“You got a long time yet,” Jacob said, the empty brightness in his voice clanging in his ears.
“Maybe.”
“Stay with me, old man. You gotta show me the way out of these here mountains.”
“You know the way. Just go south and a little west ’til you find home.”
“Home?”
“You’ll know it when you see it.” His raspy voice was getting softer. “I’ll sure enough know it. He’s callin’ me home, Jacob. I’ll make a path for you. Just follow where I step.” Jacob’s brow furrowed. The old trapper’s mind was getting confused. That wasn’t a good sign. Obadiah slipped into unconsciousness.
Trepidation quickening his actions, Jacob lashed the stretcher to Fernand’s pack. Kip wasn’t trained to pull, and either way Jacob had more trust in his own mount to not wander or bolt while he was busy guiding the stretcher through the tangled undergrowth. He looped Kip’s reins over his arm and drew Fernand’s lead line across his back and behind him and called him into motion. The stretcher jolted and jostled as themule started forward, his haunches bunching under the extra burden, the ends of the poles digging rough furrows in the loamy soil.
The day wore on. It was slow going. The stretcher caught on every root and branch in their path, but Obadiah remained unconscious. Dantès never left his side.
Jacob’s whole body was on fire with the effort of dragging the lot of them through the woods. His muscles, once banding his chest and arms with thick cords, stretched sinewy and lean on his broad frame after the long winter, the weakness in his steps making Jacob curse in frustration. But they were close to making it out of the mountains. Once they reached the foothills and the relatively open plains it would be infinitely easier.
Jacob tried not to think about whether Obadiah would make it that far. Between fits of coughing, the old trapper would mumble and groan, tossing in his traces until Jacob feared he would fall off the stretcher. The only thing to do was to get to help. So Jacob put his head down and toiled until the sun dipped past the edge of the mountains and night descended. They’d only made it two miles.
He woke up the next morning and did it again. Then the next day. And the next. Obadiah refused to eat or drink, roving in and out of consciousness. Jacob was utterly exhausted. His leg flared in pain with every step. The only thing that kept him going was the glimpses between the thinning trees of the mouth of the valley and the gentle hills beyond; they were nearly out of the mountains.
That night, Jacob sat next to the meager fire, fighting against the weary ache in his bones. He slowly chewed a piece of dried venison. Dantès lay beside his master, his gray head resting on his paws, amber eyes flicking between Jacob and Obadiah’s prone form. The night was utterly still. The only sounds were the soft grazing of the mule and horse. The animals were delighted in the new shoots of tough mountain grasses.They sorely needed it. Their ribs stood out in stark relief against their dull coats, clumps of shaggy winter hair molting to the ground.
“Jacob.”
Jacob started at the sound of his name. Obadiah’s eyes were open and held a feverish intensity as his gaze locked onto Jacob’s face. He went over and knelt beside the old man, clasping his thin, knobby hand. Obadiah held on like it was his last lifeline.
“Jacob. Son. Listen to me.” Obadiah’s voice rasped and halted, the effort to speak straining from his chest.
“Shh, you just rest now,” Jacob said.
