STORY ONE -BLESSED PROTECTOR OF THE PLAINS - PART TWO
They rode out at first break of dawn sky. A golden crust forming on the landscape, urging the day up and on. Blair remained silent, per the strict command of Ellison. “You keep your mouth shut and let me do the talking. You’re mine and Wind Walker is a man of his word, but a few of the young bucks aren’t happy over losing their day’s entertainment.”
The curly head just nodded, as the blue eyes looked sunken and lost. The spirited young man of last night seemed to have fled into some unknown land. The youth who greeted him this morning was battle weary and worn. Ellison shook the pity from his heart, and steeled himself. They needed to clear the plains and a hard days ride should see them through. He had neither time nor inclination to baby the greenhorn.
Blair’s horse had fallen behind. It was the third time in the last hour that Ellison had to stir himself from his search of the hills and bush and concentrate on the heartbeat behind him. Damn kid, can’t keep up. He turned in his saddle and saw the figure hunched low over the pommel.
Bringing his own mount up short, he turned and rode back. Dropping the lead of the packhorse, he stopped his horse in front of the kid’s, bringing both horses to a stop. “You’re not keeping up.”
“I don’t want to over tire my horse.” Blair straightened himself in the saddle, but not before Jim noticed the agony creasing his features.
“Well, I think we need to rest,” Jim said, hating himself for weakening his position.
“No. No, we need to move,” Blair said, collecting the reins that hung loosely, spurring the horse forward.
Reaching a lazy hand over, Jim grabbed the reins. “I told you, I’m in charge. I say we rest.”
“I say we part company now. Thank you kindly for all your help, but I have other plans,” the young man insisted.
Jim yanked the reins from his hand, steadying the horse with calming words. He turned his horse towards the packhorse and reaching down palmed both leads in his left hand as he turned the group towards a shady grove. The mountains loomed in the distance and once the plains were cleared, the Indian threat would be minimal.
The Cheyenne were still a threat in this region and Blackfoot Sioux looked like a welcome wagon compared to these people.
Pulling the horses up, Jim dismounted. Blair remained seated, a petulant pout making him look even younger.
“Look, if you’re doing this for me, don’t. I’m fine.”
“One…” Jim started the mysterious count.
Blair stayed seated.
“Two…” Jim drew a pocketknife from his back pocket and started pulling down a low hanging branch. Before he could cut the switch, Blair scurried down from the saddle. Noting the increased heart rate, Jim smiled to himself. The kid had some sense after all.
Morning Mist had sent them packing with a sack of corncakes and salted buffalo meat. Blair wolfed down the portion Jim gave him, almost choking on the dried cakes. The cool shade had made for a relaxing meal. Jim took a long pull on his canteen and handed the flask to Blair. “Thanks,” he said sheepishly, realizing how refreshed he felt after the short rest and the meal. “I guess I was a lot more tired than I thought.”
“I think you’re stubborn. I imagine your folks are going to be a tad upset with you when you get home.” Jim screwed the cap back on the water container.
“She doesn’t care where I am. Naomi’s rather free-spirited. She’s off on one of her adventures. I think New York City right now.” Blair seemed unperturbed with the fact. “I told her I’d be in touch about a year from now,” Blair added proudly.
“Naomi? Who’s Naomi?”
“My mom. Her name is Naomi.” Blair clarified.
“You call your mother by her first name?” Jim could not believe the brashness of this kid.
“She insists,” he said with a smile. “You don’t know my mom.”
“How old are you?” Jim asked, harshly.
“Twent…” Blair started, but seeing the taller man jerk his head back, narrow his eyes in warning, he paused, then said, “Eighteen,” still holding back the whole truth.
“Eighteen and in college and already on an anthropological expedition for he government and you want me to buy into this?”
“I’m smart. I passed the entrance for the anthropology program with flying colors,” Blair said belligerently, “Besides, it’s the one place I’m accepted.”
“What does your father say to all this?” Jim asked.
“I don’t know my father. My mom won’t talk about him and I never knew him.”
“You mean you never had a father?”
Blair tried to rise quickly, but the pain in his side stopped him with a short gasp. Jim was on his feet in a second and helped hoist the injured man to his feet.
“I don’t have a father. It’s no big deal.” He turned belligerently away.
“It’s a big deal when you run off at your age and think you can ingratiate yourself in with the Sioux. I don’t think a father would have put up with such nonsense.”
“Mr. Ellison, you don’t know squat about me. I am a college student studying anthropology and I know for a fact that many a white man has made peace with the Indians and been called friend. You seem to be one of them or I’ve a feeling I wouldn’t be here right now.”
“I lived with them for eighteen months.”
“What? How? Oh, man, can you help me with my book. I mean I have questions, I can take notes and I can write it as told to me by James Ellison. This is great.”
“Whoa, Junior, no deal. I take your ass to safety and then we part company.”
“No, you don’t understand? This is my ticket. Sir Richard Burton, remember I was telling you about him, well, he’s this idol of mine. I’ve heard him lecture and he’s something else. He knows about Sentinels, these men who…”
“That’s enough. The break’s over. Get on your horse.” Jim rose and started towards his mount.
“Look, I think you’re a great guy and all for rescuing me, but you’re rude. I was trying to explain how we could be of use to one another. You could make money on a book, become famous. Why won’t you listen to me?” Blair stood his ground, eager blue eyes seeking the key to this closed-lipped man.
Ellison froze dead in his tracks, like he was suddenly lost. Then he pinned Blair with an intent glare that seemed to go past him. Never had the young man seen such anger directed apparently his way.
Then Ellison leapt…that’s the only way Blair could remember it. One moment he was firmly standing on the ground, the next he was sailing through the short space between them pushing the young anthropologist back into the dirt.
Time froze, all sounds ceased, the long fall backwards stole the young man’s breath. His rescuer was going to beat the living daylights out of him, of that he was certain.
Then swoosh overhead and looking up, Blair saw a long arrow pass through the space his head had occupied moments before. It passed through the now empty air and imbedded its point firmly into a tree across the small grove.
Ellison held him down, clamping a huge, hard hand over the scream that started to wedge his mouth wide and horrified. “Quiet!” The harsh command brooked no argument. Ellison lay on top of him in the tall grass shielding his body with his own, but his face was rigid in a far distant place, as though he were in shock.
Eyes frozen looking off into the distance, he was gone. Blair gulped, “Uh, Jim?” No reply, only the silence. “Uh, Mr. Ellison?” Blair started to panic. Here he was trapped beneath the weight of this man with Indians surrounding them. Maybe an arrow got him. Maybe he’s dead on top of me. Oh God, what am I going to do?
Panic overcame him and he pushed with all his might the heavy, leaden weight upon him. “I’m sorry. It’s all my fault. Please don’t be dead, Jim, please.”
The bright blue eyes above him moved, seeming to readjust themselves and focus downward pinning his own cool orbs with their renewed purpose. Then Ellison shook his head.
“Stay down, it’s just a small hunting party. Cheyenne. There are three of them.”
Sandburg waited for Ellison to roll off of him. Taking the opportunity to gain a better defensive position, they rolled onto their bellies and crawled through the grass, seeking some shelter behind a small group of rocks.
Then all hell broke loose.
Motioning for Blair to stay low, Jim started crawling through the high grass. Blair hugged the rock, low to the earth, praying for his and Jim's safety. Suddenly a war hoop broke the stillness, a shot fired, another hoop and more gunfire.
"Please, please, please, please..." he muttered to the rock, feeling the sharp pain in his ribs. The broken rib screamed from the abuse of the long, arduous ride and the even harder fall under the heavy weight of the stranger. Yet, in all the chaos, with all the unnerving events of the last forty-eight hours, he trusted this man.
All seemed quiet, there was not a sound along the golden fields and the stillness became unbearable. Rising slowly, biting off the agony that threatened to voice itself, he braced himself against the rock and peered about. No sign of another living soul.
"Jim!" he softly called. "Jim!"
A cold chill touched his neck and he slowly turned. The Cheyenne brave, war paint smearing his face in angry, hot lines raised the knife high. Blair stood frozen in time, no self-preservation left in his exhausted frame he sighed as though passing control of his life onto this formidable figure.
Closing his eyes, he waited for the cutting edge to pierce his flesh, but nothing happened. Jerking his eyes open, he looked into the cold blue eyes that seemed to see into his soul.
"Don't you ever do what you're told?" came the gruff observation.
The Indian lay dead in the grass his own knife drenched with the blood that moments ago had coursed through his neck.
"That's it, there are no more. It was a small party."
"How do you know? How can you say that? I never even seen this one, there could be more." Blair scanned the grass and the open plains for more signs of life.
"I'd know," Jim said laconically.
"Well, I think we should just wait here until night. We'd have a better chance of crossing these plains at night. I think you might be wrong and I don’t want to be a sitting target out there for their arrows," Blair said, hating the whining panic that streaked his voice.
"Nope. We ride now."
Blair watched his wishes being tossed aside as Jim picked up the remains of their small meal and gave a short whistle. The lovely chestnut horse came walking leisurely from behind some rocks. Blair's own horse and the pack animal following. He must think I'm a dumb pack animal, the way he just assumes I'll follow him, he thought bitterly, as he retrieved his own hat from the dirt. Dusting if off on his jeans, he gave one final look at the dead Indian and walked towards his own mount.
Jim Ellison let his mind wander, seeking escape from the monotony of the boring landscape. He tried to focus on his new life. The place his former commanding office, Simon Banks, had written him about, Happenstance, Montana. What a pleasant sound that name had to him. It was his last hope for his own salvation and chance to start a fresh life. One where he could forget the burden of his senses and the guilt that took all joy out of his army life. Ten years ago, angered by his father's parental tactics, he joined the army. He had been promised that trip to Europe, but Stephen had won out in the end. Stephen always won out when Father pitted them against each other for his attentions. Jim didn't even want to be in the running by then. The bitter childhood had taken too much out of his soul. He missed his mom that was the only regret he had as he turned his back on that old life and started a new career in the military.
Captain Pendergast had seen much in the smart and cocky young man put under his command. Enough to know that a firm, iron hand could turn this youth into one of the best military men around. Well, Pendergast used his hand often enough, on Jim's jaw as well as his backside. Young men needed discipline if they didn't get enough at home, Pendergast often reminded the hostile private.
It wasn't as if Mr. Ellison didn't discipline his boys. He did often and with little sympathy or understanding thrown in. However, his methods of controlling them only increased the rebelliousness. When he returned from Europe with Stephen, the elder Ellison was so incensed by Jim's military escape that he disinherited him and cut off all communication.
Sitting stoically rigid in the saddle, Blair was determined to keep up this time. In the back areas of their small caravan, he was able to study the tall man who road ahead of him. He wasn't that old, Blair assessed, possibly thirty-two at most, maybe even younger. The short hair and rigid posture suggested a man used to discipline. Possibly an army man, if Blair knew anything about army life. Naomi did date an army officer once while they were in Virginia. This Ellison held himself with the same surety and strict posture. He was just as unyielding and uncompromising as that Lieutenant had been. Blair chuckled as he remembered Naomi's words: "Lieutenant Coughlin walks like he has a stick stuck up his butt." The ever free-spirited Naomi had shocked many a lady's circle with her charm and ease of word.
Not paying attention to what he was doing, he casually reached behind him searching for his notebook. Might as well jot down some notes at this pace, he muttered under his breath. Guy has a death wish, if you ask me, he mumbled softly to himself. His eager fingers met with the familiar grain of the leather notebook. He pulled the book from his saddlebag, but the slight twisting of his body shot an unexpected stroke of pain through him causing him to drop the book into the tall grass. Not wishing to anger the leader of their little procession, he pulled his horse up.
Climbing down, he bit his lower lip as he walked over to the tall grass. Seconds, later, as his hand reached forward, a loud retort sounded and dust shot up into his face. Looking up with a startled look on his face, he saw Ellison's smoking gun.
"What the hell was that for?" Blair screamed at him, not caring about Cheyenne or Sioux or the whole Indian nation coming down on them at that instant. This man was unbelievable. He had no respect for him and he was damn sick and tired of being treated like a nuisance.
Jim slowly dismounted. He walked over to Blair and reaching down, supposedly to pick up the book, he came up with a black snake. "Diamondback," was all he said to Blair.
The young man stood with his mouth open. How the hell did he see it? How the hell did he know it was even there? I didn't hear anything.
"Come on, Junior. We've got another two hours of daylight and I want to be at the base of the high country before we set up camp."
Blair picked up his book, gingerly checking the area around with the tip of his boot. Then, left with little choice in the scheme of things, he mounted his horse and followed the leader.
Jim dreamed of Happenstance, a place where he could be himself and be accepted. Simon had told him about the small town at the base of the Rockies. Snuggled deep in the basin between Moonrider’s Valley and Darwin’s Butte was a plot of land with rivers and lakes and groves of trees so lush and prolific that Simon swore you were always in danger of being bonged on the head with either acorns or fruit. Simon said in his last letter, “I can be black here, Jim, and it don’t matter. It’s like all the people who settle here want a change from something far worse they’ve been running from. If you leave the army, come.”
Sighing heavily, Jim focused his hearing in on the young man behind him. The heart was steady and strong, but the labored breathing that occasionally hitched his breath reminded Jim of the broken rib that sorely pained the rider. He felt a pang of remorse over the strenuous ride, but it was imperative that they reach the shadows of the mountains before they camped. Once off the Great Plains, they would be secure from the Cheyenne hunting parties that scoured the region.
He would have to swing by Fort Benton now and deposit his young charge into the hands of Captain Simms. Let them deal with the civilian. If I were his father, I'd tan his backside until he couldn't sit. What the hell was he thinking, meandering into a Sioux camp? Damn fool hasn't the sense he was born with. College student, Jim scoffed, remembering his own education at West Point, once he had proven himself officer material.
The dark sky glittered with stars. Its blackness eased the strain of the hot sun, sheltering them in cool contrast. Blair pulled the small jacket collar up, hunching over in the saddle for warmth. The gesture pushed the abused rib and he gasped at the surprise of attack and degree of pain. Pain is easily forgotten in its absence, but sharply recalled upon its return. For the past half hour, he caught himself more than once falling asleep, and nearly fell from his saddle the last time.
The tall man, who had seemed to be ignoring him for the past three hours, never looked back. Pulling the reins slightly he stopped the horse waiting for the young man to pull up beside him.
Now what did I do? Blair thought, remembering the sharp retorts throughout the day of "keep up," "sip the water don't gulp," "wear your hat." He was really not looking forward to any more scoldings. His temper was frayed by the events of the day.
He glared into the blue eyes that met his in the moonlight. Ellison didn't say a word. Turning in the saddle he reached behind and unhooked the blanket tied across his horse's rump. Shaking it out he draped it across the astonished young man's shoulders.
Blair gratefully took the blanket and hugged it closely around him. Then, lost in his own surprise at the gesture, he gave a grunt as he found himself pulled from his saddle and gracefully eased like a child across the larger man's lap.
"What?" Blair muttered, struggling at the unexpected maneuver.
"Sit still. You're cold and tired. I don't want to have to collect you from the dirt with a broken neck. We have about another hour's ride before we set up camp."
"I don't see why we can't set up here. This place looks good and we're off the plains." Blair said petulantly, renewing his struggles to get up. "I can ride my own horse."
"Sit still. I won't tell you again." Ellison now looked him in the eye. Waiting for a response, daring the younger man to continue his struggles, he never wavered, never broke the hard stoic facade.
Blair thought momentarily of defying him. This man needed to realize he was not a puppet to be dangled from any strings. He had a mind of his own and he intended to take a stand against the treatment he was being subjected to, but, he sighed, it is warm here and I am tired.
When Ellison saw the short flash of defiance leave the weary face, he pushed the curly head down against his shoulder. "It's just you and me out here, Chief, I wouldn't get involved in any power struggles if I were you. No one's here to see you sleep, so just relax and enjoy it. I might make you hold me while I sleep the next time."
Blair burst out with an uncontrolled laugh. He couldn't help finding the image of the larger man draped in his arms across his saddle ridiculous. When Jim looked down to see the softly smiling face, it was already a memory on the young man's features. He was sound asleep in James Ellison's arms.
Ellison felt an odd pull to his heart muscle. The kid looked so angelic and young. Damn fool is helpless as a newborn babe out here, he thought. Securing Blair's horse to the same tether line that held the packhorse, he reached his arm back around Blair. Pulling the blanket up higher to ward of the chill, he found a warmth and security in holding the bundle protectively against him. He smiled to the stars, grateful to have someone to share the lonely ride.
Blair woke to the dull light of dawn. The chilly air pushed him further into his blanket. He had told himself last night, just before drifting off into an exhausted sleep that sometime during the night he would get up and leave this rigid man. Being off the plains, surely he was safe now and if he headed west, he'd run into Fort Benton or a town along the way. However, the plans were buried under exhaustion.
"Come on, Chief, I know you're awake. Let's get moving. We've got another day and a half before we reach Fort Benton," Jim said carrying a fresh bucket of water.
Jim watched as the curly head drifted deeper into the folds beneath the blanket. Kid's either being obstinate, or he's as bone weary as he looked last night. Jim gave him another five minutes as he set the coffee to brew and pulled out the left over rabbit. Opening a can of beans, he sliced the rabbit up and dropped it into a pan pouring the beans over it. He set it upon the fire to heat.
Blair tried to remain stubbornly under the covers, but the aromas wafting through the air made his mouth water. Rising from the blankets, he sat up and faced the fire, rubbing his hands together to get the chill out of them.
"Which way is Fort Benton?" he quizzed the man busily cooking breakfast.
"Due west, but it's a tricky route with the mountains passes and basins we'll be going through," Jim answered, casting him a questioning look.
Realizing he'd best give the kid directions, knowing full well the country was rugged. He could be killed and leave the greenhorn with no means or method for getting to civilization. "If you follow the sun as it sets in the west, keep to the river we'll be coming up to in about a half day's ride, you'd eventually find Fort Benton or some cattle ranches that are rising up around these parts."
He watched the young man digest the information, the wheels of invention skimming the blue eyes with a bright light.
Smiling he added, "I know you can't tolerate my company right now, but I'd be sorely remiss if I didn't advice you not to try to make the trek on your own. You'd best stay with me, kid, until I cut you lose."
Blair bristled under the scrutiny, but more so from the fact that this man read his thoughts than from the stern lecture.
"I came this far on my own. I can read a map and I can tell direction." Blair tried to rise with as much indignation as his sore rib allowed.
"Fresh water in the bucket over there. Breakfast should be ready by time you’re finished."
Blair walked over to the rocks and relieved himself. Washing quickly in the chilly water, he brushed his hair back. Pulling a short leather strip from his pocket, he secured the long curls behind his head.
Returning to the campfire, he eagerly grabbed the tin of coffee Jim handed him. Sitting down on a small rock, he hugged the mug with both hands, heating himself with the steamy liquid. Sipping the delicious coffee, he looked up into the tall mountains to the north. His eyes glistened with the beauty set off far into the distance.
"Beautiful country, isn't it?" Ellison said, not really expecting an answer.
"Yeah, it is that." Blair offered back, then pursued the conversation, "you said you're visiting folks. Where abouts?"
"I never said they were my folks, you asked if it was family. I guess they're about the closest thing to family I have now," Ellison answered, enigmatically. "Family's pretty much what you make it."
"Tell me about it," Blair said with a slight laugh, that really came close to bitterness. "Naomi's only family I got and other than being my mom, and loving me...I know she loves me. But, well, I guess having a mom and having someone love you doesn't mean you have family."
Ellison watched the somber face that seemed lost in some dusty thought, trying to straighten and clean the image in his mind, make it seem more real. He knew the lost look for what it was…loneliness.
"What'll you do now that your little sojourn with the Sioux didn't pan out?" Jim asked as he started spooning the breakfast onto their plates.
Handing the one plate to Blair, he set about filling the other for himself. Leaning back against the rock he started eating, raising his eyes to wait for the answer.
"I don't know," Blair replied, pushing the food about on his plate. "I just know that I didn't work my butt off in college to have it all thrown away. I'll just find another group of Sioux or Crow or Cheyenne or Flatfoots..."
"Whoa...you don't learn fast do you?" Jim said.
"Look, mister, I need this publication. I need to make my studies credible and get some footing into Burton's world. You could help me easily enough. I asked you to tell me about your time with the Sioux. Hell, eighteen months, you could help me fill a whole novel. But, hell, no, you won't help me. You're so damn pigheaded and stubborn and, and...." Blair almost fell into a whining, sulking voice. For a brief moment he raised his plate, ready to throw it in the fire in a fit of anger and frustration, but the soft caressing voice stopped him dead in his tracks.
"You don't want to throw that, Chief, or you'll be riding across your saddle the remainder of the trip."
Blue eyes caught blue eyes in a tight embrace, holding them and their bearer in a strong, unyielding moment. Blair gulped at the suggested retaliation.
"I'm not a child and I don't take kindly to being treated as one." Trying desperately to regain some footing with this man, establish his credibility as an adult deserving of respect, he slowly brought the plate back down to his lap.
"Act like one, you get treated like one. Seems you have a one-track mind at times. Bet it got you into all sorts or trouble." Ellison relaxed his gaze and concentrated on his own meal.
Blair turned his own attention to his meal and only answered with a short, "I got by."
They rode out within a half-hour after breakfast. Jim, once again leading the packhorse, Blair following a distance behind, keeping to himself. The day promised special warmth, heating the landscape with a warm breeze, catching the golden highlights of the tall grass that whipped in the wind.
Relaxing in the saddle, Blair dared to take a deep, elongated breath, pulling in the soft scents of flowers that were making a spring entrance onto the land. Smiling, finding the pain not as severe, he raised his head to the sky. The hairs pulled off his face made his smooth features seem all the more youthful. Jim had collected most of his belongings back from the Indians, except for the razor, the items he had brought for trade, and some cooking supplies. Thankfully, his journals, books, and personal items were negotiated back in his care. Jim had generously allowed him to use his razor to shave this morning and he admitted the cleanliness of a morning shave and wash did him a world of good.
As the journey led them closer to the mountains, the landscape changed from the open plains of golden fields and groves scattered about to a river running its course in strong currents. The terrain became rocky in parts, treacherous in others, and grassy and flat along the river. It was a changing landscape with every mile they crossed.
Lost in his own thoughts, enjoying the leisurely ride without the threat of hunting parties, Blair didn't see the smoke off in the distance. Ellison pulled back on his horse and eased his way back to Blair. Handing the reins of the packhorse to his companion, he said, "Stay here."
Then with a soft click, never once kicking the horse’s sides, Jim urged the beautiful chestnut into a gallop. Blair sat back and watched as he headed for the fire in the distance.
Ex-Captain James Ellison knew the signs of a Cheyenne raid. The burning houses and out buildings proof of the hate involved against the white man. The small rancher and his family didn't have a chance. The live stock was all gone, taken no doubt as prize. The first body, a man's lay in the front of the house. He was no doubt making one final attempt to protect his loved ones. What was left of the man's face, torn off with the scalp, was a bloody mass. Jim steeled himself as he climbed down. Drawing his gun, he moved cautiously forward. The door stood open still smoking from the inside, most of the house was a charred ruin, but the front portion still remained where stone held up the walls. A woman lay in a bloody heap a small doll clutched to her breast. Turning his head, gagging on the smell, Jim realized the doll was a small child, a little girl no more than two.
His eyes filled with red, the color brightened in its deep magnificence, it pooled and spread throughout his mind as if red were the only color in the world. He couldn't hear for there were no sounds. He couldn't smell, or feel, all was sight to him and sight was none other than red.
"Oh, God, Oh, God.... Oh, man...oh," then the retching, the deep gut wrenching heaves of panic. A heart beating strong and in violent distress caught his attention. The red began to fade. "Jim, oh, man, Ellison!" He slowly re-focused. Coming back to the realm of the present, he spun and raced out of the cabin. The greenhorn was standing over the dead man. A look of pure shock blanched the features to a pasty gray.
"Oh, God. No." The litany repeated itself again.
Jim walked forward, turning his senses on the landscape. No other signs of life, no other hearts reached his ears, only the one before him. He never remembered a heart instilling its rhythms so deeply upon his ears. He never realized the distinctions of each beat, the hollow echoes of the blood hitting the chamber walls. No other heart in all his life had so particular a sound, so persistent a beat.
Grabbing the young man by the shoulders, he roughly shook him, turning him in the move away from the bloodied sight on the ground.
"I told you to stay put," he ground out, shaking him more urgently. "You start learning to do what I tell you." Seeing the hollow, lost look in the blue eyes, he felt remorse, but his anger still held center stage.
Grabbing Blair's arm, he hauled him roughly towards the remains of the corral. Some shovels lay upon the ground near the now-smoldering shed. Jim walked over, picked up a shovel and pick. Dropping the pick, he took Blair's hands, as they feverishly picked at the nails. Wrapping the trembling hands around the shovel, he placed one firm hand on the kid’s shoulder.
"Listen to me, Chief. We can't waste time. It's a hard sight to deal with, but you have to. Now I think the best we can do for these folks is give them a decent burial and be on our way. Start digging. One grave will be fine. They were family and they died together. I'll collect the bodies." He looked down into the confused face.
"Are you with me, Sandburg? I need you, buddy, I need you to help me here."
The eyes pulled in and looked up, the lost look leaving them. Blair slowly nodded his head.
"Chief, face the mountains, in the distance. I'll bring the bodies when you're ready."
The solemn nod he gave Jim bestowed a small grateful smile. The kid knew he was giving him a job to do to keep his mind off of what Jim would be doing. He also knew the mountains would keep his back to the bloody scene.
The ordeal lasted an hour. The small grave was quite adequate to handle the remains of the trio. Jim had collected some blankets and sacks and curtains lying in a heap around the ranch and wrapped the family up. Each body firmly shrouded for burial was placed tenderly in the ground. Jim said a small prayer over the grave. Looking up when he was finished he noticed the tears streaming down the young anthropologist's face. Cursing the world in general, he put a supportive arm around his young traveling companion and led him back to his horse.
The remainder of the day held no magic in the sunlight, no special scent to the wind, only the charred stench of burning flesh and ruined lives. They picked up the river again and Blair refused to stop for lunch, insisting he wasn't hungry. Jim had also lost his taste for food and decided a short rest for the horses and time to stretch their legs was all that was called for. They resumed their journey.
Jim smiled to himself; the kid now made sure he stayed close. The hard lesson at least taught him something about what he was up against if he thought he could make it on his own.
That night they made camp by the riverbed. The night air held the memory or mountain winters, and both men were eager to huddle near the fire. The young anthropologist provided dinner this time. Ellison watched with a mixture of humor and awe as the eager greenhorn pulled out a small knife from his back pocket. Cutting a branch from a tree, he sharpened the point with a clever smile on his face.
“I think it’s time I show you that I am more than capable of taking care of myself out here. Two summers in South America have taught me a thing or two about survival.”
Ellison made no comment, not wanting to encourage any heroics. Still, he couldn’t feign total disinterest when the young man took off his boots, rolled up his pants, and waded into the rocky bottom where the river skimmed the sloping banks.
Bent over from the waist, feet wide apart, shivering and complaining about the cold, the greenhorn held the spear firmly between two hands and waited patiently for dinner to come swimming leisurely between his feet.
Shaking his head at the ridiculous effort, Jim gathered some firewood and began to brew a pot of coffee. His hearing kept refocusing to the river and the short gasps, angry mutterings and conversations the young man held with himself.
“I’ll show him I’m no green kid. Maybe I don’t have much of a stomach for trapping small furry animals, but give me fish and fruits and vegetables and I do all right.”
“Smug and rude and so full of himself…. I think I would have been better off with the Indians.”
Then, “Gotcha!” Ellison heard the increased heartbeat, the lithesome laugh at success. Hunkering down with his back to the river, he continued making the coffee. Pulling a frying pan from the sack, he waited patiently for the meal to be delivered.
“Well, what do you think of my skills for survival now?” Blair asked smugly as he held the large fish high in the air.
“I’ll let you know when I’m not so full of myself,” the man said, still keeping his back to Blair.
How they hell did he hear…how did he know?” Blair stopped dead in his tracks.
“Well, are you going to let me cook the fish or are you better at that, too?” Ellison asked, still hunkering down.
“Look, I don’t know how you heard that, but I didn’t mean…”
Ellison merely rose to his full height and pulling the large knife that hung in its sheath from his belt he turned and walked towards Blair.
The blue eyes froze, intently gazing on the large knife coming his way. His face paled and the Adam’s apple bounced once as he gulped in fear. Ellison kept a steady stare, meeting the blue eyes with secret promise. Blair took one step backwards as Jim pushed the knife forward hooking the fish on its tip.
“Least I can do is clean and cook it,” he said, seeming to enjoy the fear he put in the young man.
Angered by the whole show, Blair threw down the spear and stormed off
towards the river. “Stay close to camp,” Jim yelled after him, content
with the small revenge he gleaned.
Part 3 of Story One