Page 13 of Shoshone Sun (Native Sun #3)

- Paul Jacobs Homestead, February 1867

Eighty miles west of Fort Laramie –

The morning had begun like any other, a quiet and peaceful start to another winter’s day. The fireplace crackled warmly as Jane moved about the kitchen, preparing the morning meal. Paul was outside, feeding the horses, and Mary was resting upstairs, a spell of ill health having hit her as winter’s cold clung stubbornly to the land.

Jane didn’t feel at ease as she went about her tasks: something seemed different. She couldn’t shake the sense that something was about to change, that today would bring an unexpected turn. She was standing by the stove when she heard the unmistakable sound of wagon wheels crunching over the snow outside.

At the sound, Paul, who was sitting with Flying Arrow at the fireplace, turned toward the door. “Who could that be?” he muttered, frowning.

The door swung open, letting in the biting cold air, and standing there, bundled up in thick winter clothes, was Peter. His face was grim, his eyes tired, and the weight of something heavy hung in the air. Jane dropped the spoon she was holding, rushing forward to greet her brother-in-law.

“Peter!” she exclaimed. “What are you doing here? Is everything all right?”

Peter stepped inside quickly, letting the door close behind him. The warmth of the cabin seemed to do little to thaw the hard, worried look on his face. He was tired, his shoulders hunched, and his clothes were thick with snow, his boots caked with it. Jane could see immediately that something was wrong.

“Are Susan and Petey all right?” Jane asked anxiously.

Peter nodded briefly, but his gaze quickly shifted to Paul, who was now standing just behind her. “It’s not about them. It’s about the homestead. We’re in trouble, Paul. The wolves have been picking off my livestock one by one. I can’t keep up.”

Paul’s brow furrowed in concern, but his face softened as he moved toward his nephew. “I see. That’s a serious problem. What are you doing to deal with it?”

“I’ve been trying to keep the wolves away, but I’m not enough on my own. They’ve been getting bolder. I’ve already lost two goats, several chickens, and a pig.” Peter’s voice was tight with frustration. “I need help, Paul.”

Paul’s face fell as thought about his wife upstairs resting. Her illness was not severe, but there was no telling if it might get worse, and Paul couldn’t leave her when she wasn’t in good health. Nor could he take her along in such cold weather. He turned back to Peter, his face a mix of regret and resolve.

“You couldn’t know this, but Mary has fallen ill. I can’t leave her, not with her not at her best. I would if I could, Peter. I’d help you in a heartbeat, but I just can’t. All I can offer you is root vegetables, dried fruit, and venison you can take back home with you.”

Peter nodded, understanding the limitations of the situation. His gaze shifted to Jane, and for the first time, he seemed to notice the quiet presence of Flying Arrow, who had been sitting near the fire, his eyes keen as he listened to the conversation.

“I see your patient looks well,” Peter said, his voice thoughtful. “How is he?”

Flying Arrow stood slowly, his eyes moving between the two men. He had been listening to the conversation intently, the severity of Peter’s words sinking in. He was strong now that his body had mended under Jane’s care, and his mind was sharp, the language barrier between him and the settlers having gradually worn away.

“I am well, thank you,” Flying Arrow said quietly. Then he added, “I can help you.”

Jane turned to him, her heart skipping a beat at his words. “You can help?”

He nodded. “I know the land. I know the wolves. I will help protect the animals. I will also teach Peter how to hunt and harvest food from the land. I know how.”

Peter looked at him for a moment, a flicker of doubt in his eyes. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust Flying Arrow; it was simply that this was a stranger to him, a man from a different world, a man who might even be considered a natural enemy. Could this savage actually help him? He’d refused to let the man die, but that was a far cry from befriending him or fully trusting him. But in the face of necessity, it might be worth taking a chance.

Peter looked at Jane, as if asking her opinion.

Her enthusiastic nod was as much reassurance as he needed.

Peter turned back to the tall, strong-looking brave. “Can you help me to fend off the wolves?” Peter asked, his voice tentative but desperate. “Can you teach me how to do that ... before it’s too late?”

Flying Arrow’s gaze softened, a quiet understanding passing behind his eyes. “I can.”

Jane glanced at Paul, “Do you think he’s ready?” She was referring to Flying Arrow’s health.

Paul gave her a solemn nod. “He’s strong enough. If anyone can help Peter, he can. You know I wish I could pitch in, but I can’t leave Mary.”

Jane knew Paul’s decision to stay home was firm, even if it had been a difficult one to make. “I understand. Then it’s settled,” she said, her voice steady, though her heart was heavy with worry at leaving Mary. “Flying Arrow and I will go with Peter. You stay here and take care of your wife.”

Paul hesitated, a deep frown creasing his brow. “Are you sure you want to go along, Jane? It’s a hard trip in this weather.”

“Unless you need me here to help with Mary….”

“No, no. We’ll be fine on our own. Mary will likely recover soon.”

“I’m sure, then” Jane replied, giving him a determined look. “I can’t let Peter and Susan face this alone. And you’re right. You can’t leave Mary. It’s the best we can do.” The thought of seeing her sister and nephew again excited her.

Paul’s mouth twisted in frustration. He couldn’t help worrying about Jane enduring the difficult winter trip, but he didn’t argue further. He sensed she was determined to go. “God speed to all of you. And be careful. Every trip through this territory during winter is dangerous.”

The morning after Peter’s arrival, Jane and Flying Arrow saddled two horses and set out with Peter for his homestead, leaving Paul behind to care for Mary. The snow was thick on the ground, the world around them plain and cold, but Jane felt an undeniable sense of determination as they continued.

The trip took several hours, and by the time they arrived, the sun was low in the sky, casting long shadows over the land. The homestead was eerily quiet, the usual sounds of animals muted by the cold and the wolves that had been circling for days.

Susan greeted Peter and Jane at the door. Her face bore a haggard look and her eyes were bloodshot from lack of sleep. But she broke into a wide smile as she let them inside the cabin, where Jane immediately saw the signs of desperation. The pantry was nearly bare, and the fire in the fireplace had long since died down to embers.

After hugging her husband and sister, Susan was overcome with emotion.

“I’m sorry that we fought, Jane,” Susan said to her sister as Peter gathered Petey up into his arms as eagerly as if he hadn’t seen him in months.

“I am also,” Jane replied.

At that moment, the cabin door opened, and Flying Arrow carried in the sack of supplies that had been sent by Paul.

Susan gasped, her mouth hanging open. “He’s still alive … and he’s here!” she said.

“It’s all right,” Jane said quickly. “He’s going to help us. And then he’ll leave right after he does.”

“Umm…” Susan didn’t seem to know what to say.

“Is that all right?” Peter asked. “You needn’t worry. He’s a good man.”

“Yes,” Susan said, gulping. “It’s fine.”

Peter cleared his throat. “Susan, meet Flying Arrow. Flying Arrow, my sister, Susan.”

Flying Arrow bowed. “Jane has told me about you and has explained your fears to me. But you needn’t be afraid of me. I want nothing more than to help you.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Susan could mutter, no doubt realizing this man now knew that she had wanted to turn him out.

As Flying Arrow set the bag of supplies on the kitchen table, Peter spoke, urgency in his tone. “We’ve got to do something about those wolves as soon as possible. They’ll be back tonight. I can’t lose any more animals.”

Susan sidled over to him. “We lost another goat last night,” she said, as if in shame.

“That’s not your fault,” Peter insisted. “The important thing is that you’re safe and that Petey’s safe, darling.” He handed the child back to his mother. “Now we have to get to work.”

Flying Arrow nodded, his face calm and measured. “Don’t worry. We’ll set traps for tonight. The wolves will learn fast to stay away.”

With those words, he turned and headed toward the door. Jane followed him outside, watching as he quickly assessed the area around the homestead. The cold wind bit at her cheeks, but Flying Arrow remained unfazed, his eyes sharp and calculating as he studied the tracks in the snow. He pointed to a spot just beyond the barn.

“They will come there,” he said quietly. “We will set a barrier. We will force them into a trap.”

Jane put a hand on his shoulder. “Be careful,” she said, before returning to the cabin.

Peter walked outside as she entered. “I’ll bring more wood into the cabin,” he said to Flying Arrow who was heading toward the barn. “And then I’ll come and join you.”

Jane sat inside the cabin with her sister in the hours that followed, hours filled with a quiet, focused intensity. She watched as Flying Arrow and Peter worked side by side, preparing the barn in a manner she knew nothing of but would ask about tomorrow. She stayed inside, tending to the fire and helping prepare a modest meal of beans and root vegetables. But occasionally, she glanced outside, watching as the two men moved in perfect harmony, their cooperation silent but strong.

When darkness loomed, the men came back into the cabin and ate. As the wind howled outside, Jane couldn’t help but feel a sense of threatening. The wolves were closer now. She could hear their distant howls, echoing through the trees like a warning.

“Peter,” she said softly, her voice filled with concern. “Are you sure about this? Maybe it’s too dangerous?”

Peter shook his head, his expression firm. “No. We have to do this. If we don’t, it’ll be too late. We have to protect the livestock tonight.”

Flying Arrow turned to her then, his gaze steady. “Don’t worry. We will protect them,” he said, his voice reassuring. “The wolves will not win.”

Jane nodded, though her heart still beat uncomfortably fast in her chest. She had learned to trust Flying Arrow, to believe in his knowledge and instincts, but there was something about the wolves’ hunger that made her uneasy.

The night stretched on, the silence tense. Every so often, they heard howling beyond the snowbanks—closer each time, unsettling.

The wind had dropped by the time Peter and Flying Arrow returned to the edge of the barnyard, the moonlight reflecting off the snow like a sheet of glass. The night was still, the only sound the soft crunch of their boots in the deepening snow. Behind them, the barn loomed dark. Wolves had been circling the homestead for days now, digging their way into the barn nightly and picking off Peter’s livestock. The situation was desperate.

Flying Arrow’s eyes scanned the horizon, his breath coming out in thick clouds of vapor. He was accustomed to the dangers of the wild—the grizzly, the cougar, the wolf.

“This trap had better work,” Peter muttered, his eyes on the barn and his thoughts going to the animals housed inside it. The wolves began an eerie chorus howl spread with sharp barks. Peter shuddered. “They’ve decided this is an easy place to find food. Unless this works, they’ll never leave us in peace.”

Flying Arrow nodded without a word, his gaze never leaving the edges of the clearing. He raised a hand, beckoning Peter to follow.

“I’ve seen the way they move,” he said in his low voice, the words cutting through the silence. “They are hunting from the south. There’s a hollow there, where they like to pass. We will set a trap near that ridge.”

Peter nodded, and together they turned toward the tree line at the southern edge of the property, where the land dipped into a hollow. The wolves had been circling this area, and Peter knew they would strike again tonight. The thought made his stomach churn.

Flying Arrow led him to a small ridge of rocks, where the ground was firmer, covered by an old stand of pine trees. The snow was deeper here, and the trees seemed to crowd together like silent guards, guarding a secret.

Peter dropped to one knee as Flying Arrow began to work. He moved with fluid precision, collecting branches and large limbs from nearby trees, snapping them off with ease. He gestured for Peter to help, and Peter did as he was told, pulling the thickest branches he could find and placing them in a circle around a narrow, rocky gap.

Flying Arrow examined the area carefully, looking for the best spot to set the trap. He would need to use the natural landscape—rocks, trees, snow—to funnel the wolves into the trap. Peter watched in awe as Flying Arrow began his work, his movements precise, each step a piece of the larger plan.

“We make the wolves feel safe,” Flying Arrow explained softly, not looking at Peter. “We funnel them toward the trap.”

Peter’s brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“Wolves are clever,” Flying Arrow said, “but they are not cautious when they are hungry. They will follow the scent of meat, and they will think the way is clear. We use that.”

Flying Arrow set the trap—a simple yet deadly snare—on the ground close to the narrow opening of the trap. He used rope he’d gotten from Peter’s barn, twisting it into a thick, rigid loop. The noose was positioned perfectly to catch a wolf by the leg. But the real genius of the trap was in the trigger. A small section of snow was carved away, revealing a hidden rock just beneath the surface. A thin wire was strung across the gap, and once a wolf triggered the wire, the loop would snap shut.

Peter leaned in closer to inspect the setup. “This will catch them for sure?”

Flying Arrow nodded, his eyes cold but focused. “The trap will hold them long enough for us to deal with them.”

They continued working, arranging the branches and snow in a funnel shape that would guide the wolves toward the trap. The bait—pieces of goat carcasses found after the last attack—was scattered in small piles along the path, leading straight into and beyond the snare.

Peter wiped his brow, a mixture of relief and anxiety weighing heavy in his chest. He’d done his best to protect the homestead, but now, with the wolves closing in once again, he was grateful for Flying Arrow’s help. The man moved with a kind of purpose that Peter had never seen before, the calm of someone who had lived with these threats all his life.

“There,” Flying Arrow said, stepping back to inspect their work. The trap was set, the snare hidden in the snow, the funnel carefully crafted. He turned to Peter. “Now we wait.”

They moved off to a small rise nearby, watching in silence as the night stretched on. The wind began to pick up again, howling through the trees, but neither of them spoke. Peter’s eyes never left the trap, his hand tightening on the rifle at his side. The wolves could come at any moment.

An hour passed, then two. The moon hung low in the sky, casting long shadows over the land. Peter’s body was stiff with the cold, but his mind raced. How long would they wait? Would the trap work? He could hear the occasional distant cry of the wolves, their howls rising in the darkness like a warning.

Finally, in the stillness of the night, the wolves arrived. They appeared like shadows in the moonlight, their eyes gleaming with hunger as they approached.

“They come,” Flying Arrow whispered, his voice barely audible over the wind.

Peter’s breath caught in his throat as he watched. There, at the edge of the clearing, a lone wolf stepped into the moonlight, its fur gleaming black and silver. It sniffed the air, ears flicking back as it tested the wind. Then, another appeared, and another. Soon, five wolves emerged from the woods.

Peter tensed, his rifle raised in preparation, but Flying Arrow’s hand on his arm stopped him.

“Wait,” he said quietly. “Let them come closer.”

The wolves crept toward the bait, their bodies low to the ground. Their eyes were fixed on the meat scattered in the snow, their senses alert. Slowly, they moved into the funnel, a silent, deadly parade.

Peter’s heart pounded in his chest, but he trusted Flying Arrow. The trap would work. It had to.

The wolves were nearly there. Another step and one would cross the trigger line.

Then it happened. The pack leader, a large, black male, stepped forward and—

SNAP!

The trap sprang to life. The noose tightened around the wolf’s leg with a sharp jerk. The animal howled in pain and panic, but it was too late. The snare held fast.

The other wolves froze, their yellow eyes wide with shock. Meanwhile, their leader snarled and yelped, struggling to free himself, but the trap had seized its prize and wasn’t letting go. The snared wolf thrashed violently, but Flying Arrow was already moving, his rifle steady in his hands. He shot two of the band in quick succession and then when the remaining two ran beyond the rifle’s range, he ended the life of the trapped wolf. Peter’s breath caught as Flying Arrow aimed and fired—one bullet to the leader’s head, quick and clean. The wolf collapsed, dead in an instant.

The trap had done its work. The two remaining pack members that had escaped would not return.

Flying Arrow lowered his rifle, his face unreadable as he surveyed the dead animals. “Three down,” he said simply.

Peter exhaled in relief, his hands shaking as he lowered his rifle. “You did it.”

Flying Arrow nodded once, and then turned to Peter, his voice low and steady. “I hated to kill these magnificent animals, but it is necessary to kill to survive sometimes. Now we finish.”

Peter watched as Flying Arrow approached the first wolf, kneeling beside it with the skill of someone who had killed many times before. The process was swift—cleaning the carcass, taking the fur, and preparing the meat for the homestead. Peter followed suit, joining him.

As they worked, the first hints of dawn began to break across the horizon, a pale light spilling over the snow.

“We’ll have food for the winter now,” Peter said, his voice quiet, his face set in a scowl.

Flying Arrow grunted in agreement. “If worse comes to worst, the wolf meat can be eaten. But eating it would be a final resort to avoid starvation. Tomorrow … we will hunt caribou.”

The two men worked in silence, side by side, as the night turned to day.

The next morning, Jane took the opportunity to speak with her sister. Susan had been on edge since the day Jane had left, her worry mixed with anger and frustration. But as Jane sat down next to her by the fire, the unspoken tension that had built between them began dissolving, bit by bit.

“I’m sorry,” Jane said softly, her voice heavy with the weight of their past. “I should’ve understood your fear. I should’ve realized how hard things must have been for you, how afraid you were.”

Susan’s eyes softened, and after a long silence, she reached for Jane’s hand. “I’m sorry too. I was scared. I didn’t want to lose you or Peter ... or … or … Petey,” she finished, as if the thought of losing her son was too hard to even put into words.

Tears welled up in Jane’s eyes as she squeezed her sister’s hand. “We’ll be all right. We’re family, Susan. We’ll always be.”

And in that moment, with the fire crackling softly between them, the divide that had once separated them seemed to completely melt away, leaving room for something far more powerful: the quiet, steady bond of love.