Myrtle of the Mountain

This piece started out as a title on a blank notepad, and then shit just started happening.

There's little sex, and not till almost half way though, so don't get your hopes up.

This piece has a direction I want it to go, and that will make itself known in the next part.

* * * * *

Myrtle Of The Mountain

Part One

Saskatchewan, Canada

Winter 1873

'Fuck...I'm gonna die out here.' Eustice Perkins thought as he trudged through the knee deep snow that covered the mountain.

A band of Cree warriors had attacked the trading party he was with, killing four of his partners before they even knew what was happening. They made quick work of the remaining members of their party, but Eustice and another trader had gotten to their horses and ridden off in opposite directions before the Cree could get to them.

Hefting the bundle of supplies higher on his back, Eustice gripped the branch he was using as a walking stick and continued on through the deep snow, thinking back on the events of the morning.

(-)

He remembered riding, not paying attention to where he was going as he guided his horse through the trees, looking back over his shoulder every few seconds to see if he was being pursued.

After almost half an hour at a breakneck gallop, he slowed the horse to a walk, then to a stop, and climbed from the saddle and dropped to the ground.

He felt no pain, but a quick inspection of his arms and legs proved he had no wounds from the encounter with the Cree. Looking at his horse, he moved around it slowly, running his hands over the animal as he examined it.

He walked around it, and as he came back around, ducking under its head, he saw the gash on the animal's neck.

"Shit." He muttered as he examined the wound. An arrow had grazed the animal's neck and glanced off, but had dug in deep enough that a steady flow of blood came from the wound.

"I'm sorry Bertie." He whispered, laying his head against the horse's neck as he stroked its mane. He stepped back and walked back to open one of the saddlebags, taking out a handful of wadding. Reaching up, he pulled a bolt of cloth from under the tarp securing the bundle, and took them both around, dropping them on the ground as he fell to his knees under the animal's head.

"I'm gonna patch ya up best I can Bertie." He told the animal, glancing up at it as he spoke. He tore off long strips of the cloth, using his outstretched arms to measure. When he had enough for what he had in mind, he gathered it up and got to his feet.

Working quickly but carefully, he pressed the wadding against the wound, then used a strip of cloth he wrapped around the horse's neck to secure it. Winding a longer length of the cloth around its neck several times to hold everything in place, he secured it as best he could.

"That'll slow the blood some Bertie, but it ain't gonna stop it." He said as he stroked the animal's mane. "I'm sorry sweetie, but yer a goner. I still need ya to help me get the fuck outta here though, so let's get at it."

He walked back and put his foot in the stirrup, and swung up onto the horse's back.

"Giddyap." He said as he kicked it lightly with his spurs.

(-)

His horse had collapsed three hours later.

Eustice was on foot, leading it by the reins. The snow got deeper, almost calf deep, as they went higher on the mountain.

He felt the animal stop, and as he turned, he saw its legs give out and it fell over onto its side.

Dropping the reins, he walked back and knelt by the animal's head, stroking it gently.

"Shhhhh, ya done good Bertie." He said softly as he looked at the blood soaked bandage he'd put on it. "Ya done got me away from them damn Cree, an' kept me alive...an' I 'preciate it..."

Getting to his feet, he drew his knife and cut the strap on the saddle, pushing it aside and pulling the blanket from under it. He went back and knelt at the horse's head, draping the blanket over it, then drew his pistol and slipped it under the blanket, pressing the barrel against its head.

"Ya been a good friend Bertie." He said as he pulled the trigger.

The animal jerked, and he pulled the trigger again, sighing as he heard its death rattle.

(-)

He'd sat for a few minutes, then got up and walked around the horse. He untied the ropes holding the pack to its hindquarters and pushed the bundle away from the body.

Shaking out the tarp, he spread it on the ground as he started going through the supplies, tossing the things he needed onto the tarp, and throwing anything that couldn't be used to keep him alive off to the side.

The snow had started as he finished sorting the supplies, and he wrapped it all in the tarp and secured it with rope. He made a makeshift harness from the strap of his saddle that he secured across his chest to hold the pack in place.

Getting slowly to his feet, he guessed the weight of the supplies at about sixty pounds as he shifted it into a comfortable position on his back.

Looking east, the direction of the nearest settlement, he shook his head, then turned to the west, and started walking toward the peaks of the Mackenzie mountains.

(-)

Myrtle had heard the single gunshot ten minutes earlier, and she watched as the man stumbled through the snow, less than three hundred feet from her cabin.

'What is that damn fool doin' out there in the middle a fuckin' blizzard?' She wondered idly as she watched him from the window.

Her cabin was in a remote part of the mountains, set back in a wash between two of the lower peaks. It was surrounded by trees on three sides, and a lean-to of sturdy logs covered the roof from the rear, supported by the trees surrounding it. The lean-to was built in an A-frame arrangement, and the front extended over the front of the cabin, leaving a dead air space between it and the cabin roof. With the deep snow surrounding it, and covering the lean-to, the cabin was nearly invisible unless you knew it was there.

She had been born in the cabin, but she didn't know when that was. Her father had died a few years before, her mother long before that, and neither of them had ever mentioned her age.

Her parents had built the cabin with the help of the settlers they had been traveling with, and it was a huge affair. It had to be, it had originally been built to house thirty some odd people to help them get through the winter. They had built well, but most of the original settlers had died that first winter. The rest had stayed, hunting and gathering local plants to stay alive, improving the cabin year after year.

Myrtle watched as the man dropped to his knees in the snow, using both hands on his walking stick to keep himself upright. He sat unmoving in the snow for a few minutes, then hauled himself to his feet and started moving forward again.

'Ten steps...he's got about ten steps left in him.' She thought idly as she watched him. He took a step, pausing to gather his strength, then another one. He kept moving, taking step after laborious step as he plodded through the snow in front of her cabin.

'Damn, that's one tough lil' sumbich.' She thought as she watched him. He was moving parallel to the cabin, and he was going to walk right by it without realizing it was there.

There had been another man two winters before, that she had found in the snow a few miles from the cabin. He had been wounded, so she'd lashed the deer she was taking home to a tree and dragged the man back to the cabin.

She'd dressed his wounds and bundled him into a bed, but had made the mistake of not taking his weapons.

Her father was the only man she'd ever really known, all the other settlers were dead before she was born. She'd been taken by surprise when the man had pointed his gun at her as he got out of the bed, waving it at her as he screamed for her to get out, pointing toward the door.

He'd taken a shot at her as she'd taken a step toward him, but he'd missed. Her hatchet had found its mark, the blade burying itself in the side of his head up to the handle.

That's why she was standing by the window watching a dying man walk to his death. She'd decided that taking the supplies from his corpse would be safer than risking bringing him into the cabin.

(-)

Eustice pulled the rags he was using as a scarf down as he leaned into the wind. Gasping for breath, he peered into the swirling snow, then dropped to his knees, holding onto his walking stick as he reached under his coat and drew his pistol.

He looked at the long barrel of the Colt Peacemaker, considering just ending his misery, then lifted it over his head and pulled the trigger, not stopping until the hammer fell on an expended shell.

Slipping the Colt back into its holster, he struggled to his feet. He got one foot under him, then as he tried to pull himself up with his walking stick, he pitched forward, falling face forward into the snow.

(-)

'There he goes.' Myrtle thought. 'He's done.'

She watched him for a few more minutes, waiting to see if he would move. When he didn't, she closed the window and pulled the heavy bear skin down over it, fastening it in place.

Walking over to the low fire burning in the hearth, she stirred the embers and tossed a couple of logs onto them, then lifted the pot of stew from the hook supporting it.

She took the pot over to the table a few steps away and sat it down as she dropped into a chair and picked up her spoon.

"Thank ya for the food lord." She said as she scooped up a spoonful. "An' please let that poor dead sumbich have somethin' I can use."

(-)

The storm had passed when Myrtle got up the next morning, and she could see the body laying in the snow not far from the cabin. The snow must have stopped not long after the man had fallen the day before. She closed the window and walked over, pulling her buckskins from the pegs they hung from and pulled them on quickly.

Picking up her boots, she went over and sat down, pulling them on and wrapping the thick laces around the heavy fur of the boots, tying them tightly just below her knees. She got to her feet and walked over to the door, putting on her father's heavy wool scarf, then lifting the heavy bearskin coat from its hook beside the door.

She fastened the coat as she opened the inner door and stepped into the entryway, closing it behind her before she opened the outer door.

There was almost no wind, but the sub zero temperature hit her like a fist, and she stood for a moment before stepping forward and pushing the door closed.

She picked up her walking stick, a long thick pole her father had carved from a young cedar tree when she was still a little girl. She could remember sitting beside him as he had whittled on it, picking up the shavings as he told her stories about his own childhood.

Reaching out with the walking stick, she probed at the snow at the edge of the porch, testing its depth. Seeing that it was knee deep on her, she jumped off the porch and started wading through it toward the body.

She slowed as she got close, moving in a wide circle around, looking for signs of movement. When she saw none, she moved closer, stopping next to it. She reached down and grabbed a handful of the pack, then rolled the body onto its back.

A low moan came from it, making her scramble back, watching it closely.

"Well, shit. Don't this put a different tilt on things." She muttered as she stared at the body.

Her father had taught her that taking from someone that was already dead was acceptable, but killing someone to take their things was a sin.

Myrtle squatted down a few feet from the body, watching it closely, looking for more signs of life.

She watched it for long minutes as she considered what she should do. Finally, she got to her feet and walked over to him, rolling him back over and reaching down, wrapping her hand around one of the ropes securing the pack and started dragging him back toward the cabin.

(-)

Myrtle unbuckled the strap on the man's chest, pushing it aside as she slipped the ropes for the pack off of his shoulders and rolled him off of it. Grabbing one arm, she pulled him across the room to a small low bed at the back of the room.

Opening his coat, she worked it off and tossed it aside. She unbuckled his gun belt and sat it aside, then stripped him quickly, throwing everything into a pile. Once he was naked, she lifted him, laying him on the bed and covered him with a blanket, then went over to the other side of the room and picked up two large kettles and took them over to the hearth. She scooped embers from the fire and dumped them into both pots, then broke up sticks that she tossed into both pots, adding a small log to each.

When she was satisfied that both kettles had a decent fire going in them, she wrapped cloths around the handles and carried them over to the bed and placed one on each side.

She stood looking down at him, then walked over and loosened the ropes securing his pack, and took them back over to the bed. She threw one end of each rope under the bed, laying the other end on the blanket. Walking around the bed, she pulled the free end of one rope across his chest as she picked up the other end and tied them together, making sure the knot was off the side of the bed, over the blanket, out of his reach. She repeated the process at the foot of the bed, securing his legs under the blanket.

Picking up the gun belt and pile of clothes, she walked over and dumped it all on the table. She picked up the shirt and shook it out, feeling to see if there was anything in the pockets, then dropped it on the floor. She repeated the process with his pants, then his coat, dropping them on the floor with his shirt.

When only the gun belt was left, she sat down at the table and drew the pistol from its holster, turning it in her hand as she looked at it. She noticed a groove on the case behind the cylinder, and flipped it open. Tilting the gun back toward her, she shook it and a shell casing fell out onto the table. Turning the cylinder slowly, she shook out each shell as she came to it.

When the gun was empty, she sat it on the table and pulled the knife from the sheath on the other side of the belt. She turned it in her hand, then brought it down sharply against the edge of the table. The blade dug in more than half an inch, and she nodded as she pulled it free.

She put the knife back in the sheath and pulled one of the cartridges free from its loop on the back of the belt. She looked at it for a moment, then put it back and pushed away from the table.

Her father had left her a gun, but it was different than this one. His used a cap and ball, and each chamber was loaded with powder. She kept it loaded, wrapped in an oil cloth in a dry part of the cabin in case she needed it. As she looked down at the stranger's gun, she knew this one would be much easier to use.

Stepping over to the pack laying on the floor, she knelt and flipped the edges of the tarp aside and started going through what was inside it, sitting items off in groups as she did. A big bag of flour, two big bags of beans and a bag filled with bottles and tins of spices went into one pile, and she sat a tin with a bag of coarsely ground powder inside off to the side to ask the stranger about if he awoke.

She popped the cork on a bottle of dark amber liquid and sniffed it, turning her head away quickly and replacing the cork. She sat it aside with a bottle of clear liquid for later.

The rest of the pack was made up of dry goods. Two shirts, a pair of pants, a stack of paper, a pen with nibs and a bottle of ink, and six boxes of shells like the ones on the gun belt. She stopped when she came to a large bundle held closed by two leather straps.

She opened the straps and folded the sides of the bundle aside, staring at the contents quizzically. There was a carved block of wood, a long, narrow metal box with metal a ring under it that made another piece of metal at the rear of the box move. There were also two long, hollow pieces of metal. All the pieces seemed to be part of a whole, but she could not imagine how they fit together.

Getting to her feet, she wrapped everything but the food, and the shirts and pants back in the tarp, and carried it to the back of the cabin and hid it in a compartment her father had built for that purpose. She came back and got the food, and took it to the pantry, putting it there with her own food stores.

Coming back to the table, she picked up the gun and carefully loaded shells from the gun belt into each chamber, then put in back in the holster. Putting the belt around her waist, she buckled it, then walked over to the door and got her coat and scarf, putting them on quickly as she picked up her bow and quiver and went out to hunt for food for the next few days.

(-)

The sun was going down when Eustice finally stirred, and when he tried to raise up, he wasn't able to. He assumed that he was too weak, and he was going to die out in the snow. He was warm now, but he thought that was because he was succumbing to the effects of the cold.

Then he opened his eyes.

He saw a log roof above him, and as his eyes moved around the room, he saw a huge man walking toward him. The man stopped at the foot of the bed and stared down at him as Eustice stared back.

The man was enormous, possibly the biggest man Eustice had ever seen. He stood at least six and a half feet tall, if not taller, and had long, matted brown hair, but no beard. He was dressed in loose buckskins and calf high fur boots. And he was pointing a gun at him.

"Who are you mister?" The man asked slowly.

"Eustice...Eustice Perkins..." He replied. "But people call me Huey...it's easier to say."

"Yu...Yustus is a mouth full." the man said. "Yuee just kinda rolls out."

"So you lookin' to die Yuee?" The man asked before Eustice could say anything else. "That why ya was out wanderin' about in a blizzard?"

"No...I had a run in with some Cree." Eustice said, trying to sit up.

"You just lay back there Yuee." The man said, taking a step back and cocking the pistol.

"Yeah, yeah..." Eustice said, looking at the gun. "But uh...is that my Colt?"

"Yup, my papa left me his old cap and ball, but this 'un loads easier. It don't shoot fer shit, 'ceptin' close up."

"Well, that sumbich can be right touchy, so if you wouldn't mind easin' back off that half cock, I'd appreciate it."

"Yeah." The man said turning the gun away and lowering the hammer, then letting his arm fall to his side. "Fucker went off on me once 'for I even touched the trigger."

"It'll do that." Eustice said, trying not to laugh. He looked around the room, then back at the man. "Where am I, and who are you?"

"My papa called me Myrtle, and this here's my cabin."

"Yo...you're a woman?" Eustice asked, his eyes going wide.

"Reckon so." Myrtle said, smiling for the first time. "Got all the same parts my mama had, and they work right and proper."

"I never woulda guessed." Eustice laughed. "Without a doubt, you gotta be the biggest human I ever seen...man or woman."

"Yeah, my mama was a bigg'un, and my papa made her look tiny, to hear him tell it." Myrtle grinned as she turned and walked over to the far wall, reaching up and putting the gun on a high shelf. She turned, pausing at the table to pick something up, then came back over to the bed.

"I had me another man here a couple winters back, pulled his ass in outta the snow too." Myrtle said as she looked down looked at him. "Patched him up, and 'fore I knowed it, he was pointin' a gun at me tellin' me to git outta my own place."

Reaching down, she flipped up the blanket and tied a short length of rope between his ankles, then moved around the bed and untied the rope over his legs.

"I'm gonna untie this here rope in a minute, and you ain't gonna move a muscle, you understand me Yuee?" Myrtle said as she moved up next to the rope over his chest.