The Mountain Man: Sample Read by Adam Lewis LaValley (inspirational books for women txt) 📕

With great regards to member Katrinacjoyce for the wonderful book cover!

Introduction

Amidst the growing western borders – with its plains stretching miles into a wilderness unknown; rivers running rapidly, gushing with ripe life and an internal sense to keep moving; and lakes that rested as calmly as the white moon at night – nothing stood more comparatively beautiful than the deep, northern backwoods and the ever transcending slopes of the rockbound hills that stretched perilously into the rich blue sky.
During the mornings and days, the essence of nature was at its best. Small mammals appeared from within the depths of their fortresses, with intent to scrounge the land for nourishment. Herds of deer swept by with distinction, nosing about the ground or else finding a mate; antlers would rattle and scars would be earned as males tested their might. Rabbits would scurry as wolves or foxes chased tail – a minor skirmish which would end in a plentiful meal or vital defeat. Near the cold, bustling rivers, bears – brown and black – waited eerily and pawed at the water as their prey moved about freely under the surface, only to be whisked away along the strong currents to new bodies.
It was more than awe-inspiring to view the spectacles. A hard-working citizen, if with time on his hands, might take a stroll to appreciate it or perhaps relieve the stress from the business of everyday life. He may even take his gun and a bit of food, and venture out for a day or two, just to get the feel of it. For some, a bond formed and a respectable man could be easily fooled by the allurement – the want for a life in the middle of it all, a feeling of adventure burning so evidently inside them; a robust passion of survival. Young men took up the mantle of the challenge, leaving behind family or friends to introduce a new way of living – that of wit versus land. In time, the land would grow on them, and they would become rugged, experienced surveyors and survivors. One could only bear the strain of returning to a small log cabin or wealthy plantation by making this rough-strewn land, this territory of such brusqueness and serenity, a home. Basic survival skills, such as that of starting a fire with flint and stone, became nothing more than a process of normal life. Movement was constant; it depended on the mood of the man whether settlement should be temporary or permanent. If he decided to further venture, it might be for the same sense or for another.
As the new spring came around, more businesses began to sprout, like that of the bright, colorful buds and green leaves upon trees. Trade was ever more of a necessity for the extension of the economy. Because of their experience with the land, the rugged men would carry on with an entrepreneurship – deals with these businesses, to bring trade to the peoples across the continent. It steadily became a tradition for groups of men to earn their pay during the warm, slowly waning days. For others, it was year-round; in many instances, trade would become slow as harsh winters sent flurries, covering the once solid ground in a white blanket of soft, cold-numbing frozen liquid. The land would become unfamiliar; a man could get lost and never be found again. Constant threat of starvation or hypothermia and other diseases was more than probable. And if one lost his tools, or became injured – losing blood at a constant rate or finding his limbs immovable...
A mountain man knew death was around the corner. But he would use every ounce of life within him to testify against it.

Chapter 1

Western Pennsylvania

He awoke with the echoes of chirping birds; a sense of calm in a time of such desperation, when food supply was low and there was nowhere else to sleep but in a hole buried deep in the snow. It was not yet time to panic, Thomas knew that. The night before, he had eaten a miniscule amount of hardtack and washed it down with a bit of wine. When he could not finish the rest because of the forming mold, he tossed it aside and accidentally scared off a lurching hare. It was only typical.
With a low moan, he poked his head from out of the fur coverings, a hand covering his eyes so as to block off the threatening rays of the morning sun. The biting breeze came briskly, stinging his face with an apparent satisfaction; his cheeks froze and hardened into a block of red while his nose began to run.
Air steamed out of his nose and mouth; Thomas arose from his one-night hibernation. He sniffed deeply and rubbed his eyes with a warm hand enclosed in soft fur, given to him graciously by a native tribe only months before. “My word, ‘tis a wondrous morning.”
A chill entered his body. Immediately, he set out to check upon what little supplies he had – a few fur clothes including socks and garments, carefully wrapped deer meat that would serve just six or seven meals, and other leftovers he gathered the night before retiring; the cold would keep the meats fresh. It was better to be safe than sorry, since this was a place of total survival; a scavenger might come during the night to steal what is his. However, when one wakes up in the cold morning of a February winter, there is no doubt that he will have to find a way to get his blood flowing. What better way to do so than to have a hardy cup of black coffee?
Thomas, deprived of this need, set to build a fire over the one he built previously. During winters like these, fires were the key to life or death. Building one was less complicated during a dry season; during winter, it was evidentially important and crucial to create one. If a mountain man decided to try to best nature without the aid of a fire…most times, nature bested him.
He placed dry twigs all along the base of the now-extinguished campfire and leaned down closely, gathering with his hands the hot ashes that still held a semblance of embers; but not so closely that he might singe his beard if it started to spread.
The embers flared with life as he blew gently, sending in air as to ravage the spirit of the contained heat, edging it to release the warmth it held deep inside. Success positively came in minutes. He was out of breath, and endured the habitual moment of smoke in the eyes, but nonetheless gathered the materials needed for a mock cup of coffee. The mountain man waited patiently as the tin cup bubbled with fluid activity. The snap and crackle of wood and the occasional yammer from the forest beyond accompanied him in his silence; he could not help but take a stroll.
Against the rough, stripped hide of a trunk laid his musket, serene, as it had a temperament from these parts – patterns from its original craft broke across the wide exterior of the stock, almost camouflaging it; for years on end, the gun served him well; such tools were as deadly in the hands of a mountain man as a tomahawk was in the hands of a native.
Thomas grasped the wooden stock in his hands; he studied it for a moment, removed the leather that covered the muzzle, and limped back to the fire, his legs terribly uneasy after lying in an uncomfortable position in bed.
The coffee was about ready. Carefully, he removed the tin cup – watching so as not to burn himself – and took a light sip, taken aback by the bitter, sultry taste. When finished, he held the cup up to his face and allowed the heat to sooth his frozen cheeks.
Such was a day every mountain man had to wake up to – especially those that carried on with their professions of trading. Thomas counted himself fortunate and thanked the heavens above that he was allowed to live another day. There were always tales of the men that died mysteriously out in these territories. He could easily have just died by the cold as by any lurching, aggravated predators that were awoken from their seasonal-slumber. One man he knew of – a personal friend, who had traveled with him through thick and thin – had been killed years before by an enraged grizzly near the border of Pennsylvania. It was after that experience – watching his friend die instantly before him – that Thomas always made sure to expect the unexpected.
There were not only territorial animals; native tribes, if concerned or deeply angered by the presence of a white man on their lands, might send a party to raid his camp, kill him, and take his scalp as prize or else retrieve his body to prove to the settlers that this was not friendly territory.
But he was not afraid.
The mountain man knew such beings preyed on it – used it as evidence, told stories about how these unassuming “tough” men were nothing more than naïve children venturing out with no foreknowledge or little exposure of their territory. Thomas would best any offenses in this venture. This was his wont – to better his life and give it purpose.
He slipped down next to the fire and uncovered his hands, allowing the embracing warmth to consume them; also with this, Thomas pulled a small chunk of meat from his pack, placed it on a small pan, and lowered it over the fire. It sizzled with delight. Only when he finished his coffee and meal, and as the fire died down did he decide to pull the fur back over his hands. There remained just enough liquid in the cup to cleanse the withering flames of its covetous hunger and remove it from the face of the earth. A large, smoky haze formed and trekked under his legs as he stood and breathed out the fresh, cool air. In a day or two, he would reach a small town and sell the goods he had collected throughout the winter. They were small items, but the value would allow him to stay full this winter.
The mountain man strung the sack over his shoulders and grabbed the musket off the ground. After testing the weight and steadying himself, he began the end of his long journey. Two days and he would have good rest. Thick, wooden guns could also prove good as walking sticks and probes. Thomas used the butt of his gun to test points of weakness in the ground, to make sure that he might not slip into an unrecognizable, bone-breaking crack. Such worrying – doubt or fear – can save a man from certain painful death, if he knows