A Mountain Man's Love Story

My great, great grandfather was a wiry young teenager from Scotland who came to America to escape jail for rebelling against the crown. His brogue was so thick that few people could understand him, so he kept moving west until he found himself living as a mountain man in the Sierra-Nevadas. He was a small man who had to make it on skill and his wits because he had no great brawn. He never drank because it clouded his mind. He never lied because it was wrong. He spoke little because he could not be understood. He was a virgin at twenty-three and had never had a date with a girl. Those who met him or spoke about him said he had an air that kept even the bullies from messing with him. People just knew that he was no-nonsense and would stand his ground regardless. Today we are a large family of mixed races and cultures. At sixty, I wanted to sort out the family fiction from historical facts, so I am spending some time, years, if necessary, to know Nathan MacKaren. Who knows, if that was truly his name? It doesn't show up in the archives in Scotland. It never showed up on any Ellis Island registry. He probably came down through Canada but I could not find any records there either. The next generation told me he joked that his father's family was made up of Judges and thieves and that the family crest said, "We've got both sides covered." He was with the same woman for fifty years, yet the family today knows little about her. My first task was to discover the great, great grandmother who went along with Silent Nat.

Nat read a little, never saw a bible, got nervous in crowds and could see and hear more in a minute in the forest than our greatest modern naturalists could in a month. He belonged there and was part of the natural course of the mountains' life. He did not struggle to get grass to grow where weeds were happy, domesticate cattle or make a fortune trapping beaver for hats that had no purpose in his mind. His logic was his and he had no apologies for it and would not explain his decisions to anyone. He would work to free a fawn from a thicket and later kill a buck for meat.

Many of the native Indian clans had stories that remembered some of the non-Indian men who took Indian wives. I sat through many long hours of basket weaving, simple chores and difficult translations to learn the little stories I'm going to tell you.

Nat's "wife" never changed her childhood name. Quiet Girl had been taken in battle during a summer on the dry plains. She was traded twice as a tall, gangly fourteen-year old. For a while, she was with the Piautes. Their ways were strange and their language was hurtful to her ears. By eighteen, she was a beauty and was noticed by a wiseman's son. The shaman wanted his son to marry high in the clan and his handsome son was pursued by several good prospects, so he told a story of how Quiet Girl would bring sad times to the tribe and she was driven away to wander and starve in the frosty nights of fall.

All the tribes accepted Nat and a few other mountain men, but more and more white men were coming to settle, trap, prospect for gold and trade. As bad elements moved in, it was easier each year for hot heads from all cultures to label everyone different from themselves as evil, liars and not to be trusted.

One evening early, Nat had settled down on the dark east side of a rocky crest and was just about to make a fire when he heard a struggling cry. Stealthily he moved quickly to peer over the ridge and down the hillside. In a clearing three men were holding a woman down while another was stripping her to rape her. She no longer cried out. The men who held her ripped her clothing and she stared at them with hate filled eyes. Nat saw his first pair of almost mature female breasts, his first smooth rounded naked belly and his first patch of pubic hair that did not have a dick hanging out of it. She was too beautiful to be violated. He had never fired his new repeating Winchester at another human.

His warning from the shadows brought on half drunk laughter. "Leave the woman alone; what you are doing is wrong."

The man with his pants down reached for a pistol and carelessly shot in the direction of the voice. The sound of a round from Nat's carbine echoed off the hillsides as a slug struck the man in the thigh. A second man stood, grabbed his rifle and aimed toward Nat's hiding place, so Nat fired again, also hitting the second man in the thigh. This angered the oldest and most drunk of the would be rapist and he stood and pointed his pistol at the woman on the ground. Nat fired across the forty yards and the bullet hit the center of the man's chest killing him instantly. The fight was out of the remaining three. They moved away, discarded their weapons and stood with their hands up.

"Just start down the hillside meadow. Stay in the middle. Sit on the rocks on the far side. Tomorrow morning you can come back for your gear, horses and bury your friend."

There was just enough sunlight left for Nat to cut the woman free, find some of men's clothes that best fit her, an extra blanket and the extra horse. In the lengthening shadows, the naked woman, dressed, put the blanket around her shoulders, followed and was surprised when he trusted her to lead the horse away. In just a few minutes they were where he had been planning to camp. They gathered his supplies in the near darkness. He motioned for her to mount, he mounted and they rode away from her ordeal hoping the moon would rise soon to give them some sense of safe passage. For the first hour and the second, Nat wondered why she did not just ride into the darkness. He could not always see her, but he knew she was there even when he did not hear her horse's steps.

At sunrise, they came upon his camp from the night before. She knew what to do as he pulled in one fish still alive on his tethered line and mixed some once used coffee grounds with some new. She had a fire going. For the first time he saw her face; she was just a girl, younger than him. His stare and admiration emboldened her. She stood her ground as he opened the blanket, lightly touched her face and neck and then looked down her body. She expected to be taken. When he let his hand trail down to her covered breasts, she looked defiant but he pulled his hand back from the exciting softness. At that moment, she knew he would not hurt her and at least sexually, she had some control of this inexperienced, caring man.

She reached out her hand and pointed to the fish and his knife. He gave her both and she returned to the water to scale and clean it. A tiny piece of salt pork was sizzling in the pan when she returned, looked puzzled but put the two filets in. Two corn dodgers, coffee and fried fish had never tasted so good. Quiet girl could do without the coffee. Nat's smile when she turned up her nose at its taste and his sly looks at her body when he thought she was not watching, pleased her and she made a game out of teasing him off and on all day. They stayed at the camp, he snared a rabbit, caught another fish and shared some jerky with her in between his scouting trips to see if they were being followed.

She wanted to use his knife again during the late afternoon to scrape the rabbit skin. She pointed to her light tattered moccasins and used her fingers to make like snow and held her arms around herself and pretended to shiver. He understood. If she stayed with him through tomorrow, she would see his permanent camp, its protected cave full for furs and his stores, all well protected and warm in the rocks at the base of a smooth sided hill. He had used that camp to winter over for the last two years. The snow was not so deep as to keep the game away.

As darkness settled the chill in the night air was very noticeable. He gathered dry leaves, her blanket and showed her an outcropping that she could nestle into to stay warm over the night that was going to go below freezing. She watched as he prepared a place for himself close by. Quiet Girl was starting to understand that he was very interested in her but he did not know about women, how to act or what to do. Indian children play openly together, even play sexually but then the females must be true after marriage. Some good providers, strong braves or powerful leaders had more than one wife. Some men had women from their dead father, their brothers or their friends that they sheltered and provided for and took when they wanted. She was very tired. She felt safe enough to sleep and dozed off wondering how this small man with so much hair would look cleaned up.

As a Paiute captive she would be beaten for sleeping late. It was sunny, the good smell of the bad tasting coffee, woke her. Nat was walking back from the edge of the stream. She was very still, letting him think she was still asleep. He had shaved, pulled his hair back, had hair on his chest and his body was lean and strong. The sun was behind him so she could not see his face until he turned to dig for a clean shirt in his saddlebag. He turned toward her when she gasped. He was young and pretty. His hair was the color of red clay. She had never seen anything like it. Like a moth to a flame, she wiggled out of her bed and went to stand in front of him so the sun hit his face. Her eyes did not blink and her fingers reached out and played with the curly hair on his chest. When she looked at his face, she stared at his green eyes. She could not take her gaze away.

Nat got embarrassed under her gaze and turned away, thinking she must see him as a freak or worse. They ate, broke camp and began the day's journey. All day he tried not to look at her and she felt that he was uneasy from the morning. Still she wanted to touch his hair, play with his chest, see his eyes again and see him with nothing on. She had been a captive. She was no virgin but she was still a young girl and had never known shyness in a male or felt kindness from one. Once she masturbated during the night and cried out and an old woman beat her with a stick. Only a couple of times more had she pleasured herself. No one had told her if was all right and the times she had been taken by men did not please her.

When they got to his camp in the afternoon, he had her begin a fire to heat rocks and he busied himself in the cave, she had not been in yet. He walked her to a spring and farther through a clump of trees to a narrow but deep, fast flowing river. She could see deer, a beaver dam making a small lake on a stream flowing to the river and high over head two eagles danced on the winds. This would be a great positive sign to the Piautes. He showed her where to bathe, gather water, go to the bathroom and then he took her to the cave. He had dug a shallow pit and put a tied frame of sticks over it. He showed her around to his stacks of furs, his few pieces of furniture, a mirror, knives, utensils, rope and many useful things. He had her make another fire in the cave. "How stupid," she thought but the smoke found a hole to rise up and disappear, leaving warmth in the smaller end of the cave. He put a grate over the fire and a pot of water with cooked, dried meat, grain, roots, some nuts and some crushed dried leaves. He had Quiet Girl sit and watch as he worked for her. She realized the pit was for warm rocks and the frame was for soft furs. It was a bed just for her. She would not have to sleep with the dogs to say warm. The pot began to fill the air with wonderful smells. Her stomach growled. He disappeared into a cold, dry, sand filled part of the cave and came out with an apple and handed it to her. While she ate, he sat his small table. She knew the spoon and the knife but the strange four pointed thing was a mystery. His plates were metal, blue with specks like his coffee pot but not heavy and black like his cooking pot. Again he made his coffee but he made it weaker, added milk from his corralled horse and put honey in it. This Quiet Girl could like. It warmed her inside and she liked to wrap both her hands around the hot metal cup.

His brow was shinning with sweat so he stripped off his shirt. Again she watched his every move. He motioned for her to sit by the fire and stir the pot of food. Before she knelt down she ran her hand through the hair on his chest again. When he turned from her, she wanted him to know that she liked doing that so she opened her shirt exposing her maturing breasts. Nat's body froze and he forgot to breathe. Quiet Girl reached out, took his hand and placed it on her right breast. Nothing in his life was so soft, so inviting, so captivating. At first he rubbed softly and then pulled at the nipple. He cupped it. His hand would not cover it all. She jumped back when he squeezed the nipple too hard.

His eyes had tears that he had hurt her. She took his hand again and showed him how to touch her breasts. Just before she knelt down to stir the food, she pulled her right breast up and licked at it. Nat was a statue when she offered it to him. Gently, he bent down licked at her nipple, kissed it and sucked it gently into his mouth. Her soft moan said he had done something right. Still she covered up and sat to tend their food. Her face was just a foot from his spread legs. She could see his pants were tight and uncomfortable. She smiled, she liked making him uncomfortable. She had never been in control before. She liked that too.

When he served the food, he watched every movement she made, searching for approval or rejection. The tastes were new, complex. When she liked everything, he relaxed and enjoyed timing his bites with hers. It was dark outside when they finished cleaning up. He stoked the fire and could not take his eyes off her. He read her question and tried to explain with his strange words and his hands that he wanted to see the rest of her body. She understood quickly but let him keep struggling to explain. Instead, of showing she understood she did the same movements back to him.

Puzzled, but still, he took off his shirt. She did the same. He got her a blanket but the small space with the flickering flames was warm; she did not use it. He motioned at the rest of her clothing. She did not have anything on her feet, so she pointed at his boots. Now they both understood the game. She helped pull his boots off but his eyes never moved from her slightly swaying breasts. She even watched his eyes when she rolled her shoulders first one way and then the next. She clinched her teeth to keep from laughing at how his eyes followed as if bound to each nipple.

Again he pointed to her pants. She held up one finger and then pointed to his, as if to say, "First you take yours off."

Quiet Girl could see his inexperience and uneasy movements. She could see how his pale skin flushed red and how he was using more courage to show her his body than he needed to defeat the four men to save her. The red hair from his chest trailed down to the "V" as he unbuttoned his pants. He pushed at them, had to adjust his cock and pushed again. Under a ball of red hair was a beautiful, slightly upturned shaft, already bobbing and glistening. It was long and thick in her experience. She could not see his balls. The control and knowing that she would not be hurt or raped excited her. She reached out, grasped him, pulled the skin back and felt it throb in time with his heart. A drop of liquid glistened like sun on an ice cycle as her other hand rolled his balls around in their sack. She had never enjoyed touching a male. Always they held her, forced themselves into her body or her mouth, came quickly and then pushed her away because she had no value to them.

Nat's body shuddered and he knew he was about to cum from the touches of the only other human who had touched his adult body in a sexual way. He reached down and pulled his cock from her hand, so she would know that her touch was wonderful and too much for him to endure. It had never happened to her before but somehow she knew what he was telling her. She let go but his dick continued to dance in the flickering light.

His breath was ragged, his eyes were distant, still he pointed to her pants. He was frightened of her. He stood as she reached out and touched the drop on the end of his cock and then licked it from her finger. Her action surprised them both. He had never thought of such a thing and she had never wanted to do such a thing. She wiggled out of the pants and stood with her legs a foot apart in front of him. His eyes looked like he had been smoking peyote. Every inch of her skin he memorized, every movement, he followed. He knelt in front of her, looked up into her eyes, reached for her hand and closed it over his trembling one.

Tears filled her eyes. He did not see, he only saw a woman's body for the first time. Still he had hurt her by touching her nipple too roughly. Now, he wanted to know how to touch her and he was asking, "Take my hand, teach me to please you." His language was strange but the tone was unmistakable, "You are so beautiful, I pray that you will want to be with me."

Quiet Girl took his hand, put his two middle fingers together and pulled them to her mouth. She sucked them, made them wet, parted her legs wider and licked his fingertips. She held his fingers together and guided them to her dripping slit and pushed them inside her. His eyes were as wide open as they could get. He curled his fingers to feel her wetness and she moaned. He felt a spongy spot and pressed at it and her body pressed back. She let go of his hand and used both of hers to open the lips of her pussy. They were wet and the scent made Nat's head swim. He felt his cock drip pre-cum on his thigh. One of her fingers rubbed at a shinny nub just peeking from under its hood. Her finger showed him how to rub above, around but not yet directly on the swelling tiny cock. Now she was moaning and rubbing it directly. It was his move, but one hand was busy inside her. Her body sucked at his fingers and did not want them to leave. One hand steadied him from falling over. She had tasted him. He leaned forward and pressed the flat of his tongue against the pearl. Her fingers retreated. He licked, sucked softly, kissed and then retreated to suck at her swollen lips. The nectar of her body was more addictive than honey. He searched for every drop and then licked up again. The tiny cock was free from it cover now so he sucked at it gently. Her legs buckled. He caught her and helped her lie back. Her hands both grabbed his hair and pulled his face between her legs. He only knew to continue what he was doing and keep thrusting into her with his fingers and raking them across the sponge on the way out.

Nat wanted to do this for the rest of his life but her thighs clamped around his head and her body began to tremble. Her body arched and she cried out. Not in pain so he kept licking, not in objection so he kept thrusting. Again she cried out and a fountain of what he enjoyed burst from her. He drank what he could as her body convulsed under him and her hands pulled his hair painfully.

The arch of her body slowly slid flat onto the sand of the cave's floor. Her hands relaxed; her thighs opened; her belly loosened a great sigh came from her. Her body was so still it frightened him, except he could still feel the sheath around his fingers suck gently. Soon even that ceased. Panic filled his body.

He rose over her, knelt by her head, pulled her face up to his and rocked her over and over asking each time, "Are your ok?" "Are your ok?" "Are you ok?"

Tears were flowing down his cheeks when her eyes opened to see his concern. She did not know what happened either but she knew it was wonderful and she knew she needed to comfort him and tell him how her body was pleased and satisfied by what he had done.

Quiet Girl did not have the chance. When Nat saw her eyes open he scooped her up like she was a feather and carried her to the bed he had made for her. He wasn't sure that he had not hurt her. He tucked her in, held her and said soft things to her. Her body was sated. Her eyes closed and she slept more soundly, wrapped in safety, than it had ever done before.