Between Two Worlds
Copyright© 2025 by Megumi Kashuahara
Chapter 5: Into the Powder River Basin
The land began to change on their eighth night crossing the Thunder Basin. What had been endless, featureless prairie slowly gave way to rolling breaks and shallow draws. Johnny’s injured knee had improved enough so that he could walk without leaning heavily on Winona, though it still throbbed with each step. More importantly, their water bags were nearly empty, and their food supplies had dwindled to barely two days’ worth of pemmican and hardtack.
“There,” Winona said suddenly, stopping and pointing ahead to where the starlight revealed a dark line cutting across the white landscape. “Dry Fork Creek. We follow it north now, up into the mountains.”
Johnny felt his heart lift at the sight of trees—actual timber lining the creek bottom, the first real cover they’d seen two weeks ago since leaving the Thunder Basin’s southern edge. “Does this mean we’re close?”
“Close to Powder River country, yes,” Winona replied, but her voice carried a note of caution. “But Johnny, the hardest part comes now. We must climb up through broken country, through snow that gets deeper as we go higher. And...” She hesitated, her breath forming clouds in the bitter air. “My people, they move their winter camp to protected valleys in the mountains. I think I know where, but if I am wrong...”
She didn’t need to finish the thought. If she was wrong, they could wander the mountain valleys until they froze or starved to death.
They descended into the creek bottom, and Johnny at once felt the difference. The wind that had tormented them on the open prairie was broken by the cottonwoods and willows that lined the frozen stream. Snow lay deeper here, unscoured by the constant wind, but the psychological relief of having shelter was enormous.
“We can risk small fire here,” Winona said as they found a spot beneath an overhanging bank. “Trees hide smoke, and anyone tracking us would not expect fire after we travel so careful across Thunder Basin.”
As Johnny gathered deadwood, moving carefully in the deep snow, Winona began setting snares among the ponderosa pines. Her movements were quick and efficient, but he could see the worry on her face. Their traps had caught nothing for the past two nights, and both of them were feeling the effects of reduced rations.
When the tiny fire was crackling and they had settled close to its warmth, Johnny broached the subject that had been weighing on both their minds.
“Winona, we got maybe two days of food left, even if we stretch it thin. How long before we reach your people?”
She stared into the flames, her face troubled. “In good weather, with strong legs and full bellies ... maybe five days. But in deep snow, with need to be careful, to hide...” She shook her head. “Maybe eight days. Maybe ten if storms come.”
Johnny felt his stomach clench—and not just from hunger. “So, we’re gonna run out of food.”
“Yes,” she said quietly. “We will.”
They sat in silence for a moment, the crackling fire the only sound in the winter stillness. Finally, Johnny reached out and took her hand.
“Then we hunt,” he said simply. “We set more traps, we look for game sign, we do whatever it takes. I’s didn’t come this far to watch you starve, Winona.”
Her eyes glistened in the firelight. “And I did not ask you to die for me, Johnny McKenzie. Maybe ... maybe when food runs out, you should go back. Try to reach settlements on Platte River. You might live if—”
“Stop,” Johnny said firmly, his grip tightening on her hand. “Just stop right there. I’s ain’t goin’ back, and I’s ain’t leavin’ you. We’re in this together, ‘member? Whatever comes.”
She looked at him for a long moment, her dark eyes searching his face. Then, without warning, she leaned forward and kissed him.
It was soft, tentative at first—her lips barely brushing his—but when he didn’t pull away, she pressed closer. Johnny felt his heart race as he kissed her back, his free hand coming up to cap her face gently. She tasted of wood smoke and winter air and something indefinably sweet that was purely her own.
When they finally broke apart, both were breathing hard, their faces flushed with more than just the heat from the fire.
“Winona,” Johnny whispered, his thumb stroking across her cheekbone. “I—”
“Shh,” she said softly, placing a finger against his lips. “I know what you want to say. But not yet. When we reach my people, when we are safe ... then we speak of such things. Now, we must think only of surviving.”
But even as she said it, she didn’t pull away from his touch. Instead, she leaned against him, her head resting on his shoulder, and for a few precious minutes they simply held each other beside the crackling fire.
They took turns sleeping, but even with the shelter of the creek bottom, the cold was brutal. Johnny woke before dawn to find Winona shivering violently beside him despite being wrapped in both their coats. Without thinking, he pulled her closer, sharing his body heat, and felt her gradually stop shaking.
“Better?” he asked quietly.
“Much better,” she murmured against his chest. “Johnny, I—” But whatever she was going to say was interrupted by a sound that made both of them freeze.
Footsteps in the snow. Heavy, deliberate steps coming down the creek bed toward their camp.
Johnny froze and Winona was already reaching for her knife, but before either could act, she grabbed his arm.
“Wait,” she whispered. “Listen.”
The footsteps were wrong for a human tracker—too heavy, too regular. And as they listened, they heard something else: a soft snuffling sound.
“Deer,” Winona breathed, her eyes lighting up with sudden hope.
They crept to the edge of their shelter and peered through the willows. There, not thirty yards away, a small whitetail fawn was picking its way through the snow, looking for food beneath the trees. It was young, probably born earlier in spring, and alone separated from its herd by the storms.
Winona’s hand went to the short spear she had crafted from a straight piece ash branch and her knife, but Johnny caught her wrist.
“Too far,” he whispered. “And if you miss—”
“I will not miss,” she said with quiet confidence. “But you are right. Too far for spear.” Her eyes scanned their campsite and settled on something that made her smile grimly. “But not too far for this.”
She reached into their pack and pulled out a length of sinew, and a curved piece of ash wood Johnny had seen her working on during their rest stops. An atlatl—a spear thrower that would give her cast much more power and range.
Moving with infinite patience, Winona fitted her spear to the throwing stick and rose to a crouch. Johnny held his breath as she drew back, her entire body coiled like a spring. The fawn had moved closer, now only twenty yards away, completely unaware of their presence.
Winona’s arm snapped forward with explosive force. The spear flew true, taking the young deer through the chest. It leaped once, stumbled, and fell into the snow.
“Jesus,” Johnny breathed. “I’s never seen anythin’ likes that.”
Winona was already moving, knife in hand, racing through the snow toward the fallen deer. Johnny followed, marveling at her skill. When they reached the fawn, she quickly and efficiently finished what her spear had started, then began the work of field-dressing their prize.
“Help me,” she said, her hands already busy. “We must work fast. Blood smell will draw scavengers, maybe wolves.”
For the next hour, they worked together butchering the deer, Winona’s knife skills and Johnny’s willingness to learn making quick work of the task. She showed him how to separate the choicest cuts, how to strip meat for drying, how to save every scrap that might keep them alive. Dressed down the tiny fawn would not provide much meat, but was a long-awaited victory.
“This,” she said, holding up a piece of liver, “we eat now, while fresh. Give strength.” She cut thin slices and handed him some. “And this,” she showed the backstraps and hindquarters, “we carry. Maybe eight, ten days of meat if we are careful. We set out to freeze.”
Johnny bit into the raw liver and tried not to grimace. It was warm and metallic-tasting, but Winona was right—he could feel strength flowing into his empty stomach almost at once.
“How’d you learn to hunt like that?” he asked as they worked. “That throw ... that was impossible.”
A small smile played at the corners of her mouth. “My father, remember? He teach me many things. Says daughter of war chief must be able to provide for herself and others. Atlatl is old way, before our people had guns. Very quiet, very deadly if know how to use.”
“Remind me never to make you angry,” Johnny said, and was rewarded with her laugh.
They spent the rest of the day processing the deer and preparing for the next stage of their journey. The meat gave them both renewed energy and hope, but Winona was adamant about one thing: they needed to move fast now. The kill site would attract predators, and the blood trail might be visible to human trackers as well.
As evening approached, they loaded their packs with fresh meat and set off up the creek bed, following Dry Fork as it wound its way north into increasingly broken country. The snow was deeper here, often coming up to their knees, and the going was slow and exhausting.
But Johnny felt stronger than he had in days. The fresh meat had restored his energy, and more than that, the kiss they had shared seemed to have changed something fundamental between them. There was a new intimacy in the way Winona moved beside him, the way her hand would briefly touch his arm when she helped him over a difficult patch, the way her eyes would meet his across their small evening fires with a warmth that had nothing to do with the flames.
On their second night following the creek, as they huddled together for warmth in a shelter of piled stones and brush, Johnny finally found the courage to speak of what was growing between them.
“Winona,” he said quietly, “about the other night, when you—when we—”
“Kissed,” she finished softly, not pulling away from where she lay against his shoulder. “Yes, Johnny. I know what happened.”
To read the complete story you need to be logged in:
Log In or
Register for a Free account
(Why register?)
* Allows you 3 stories to read in 24 hours.