STORY ONE -BLESSED PROTECTOR OF THE PLAINS - PART THREE
The trail continued to follow the river and the next morning, Jim allowed them to sleep a little later. Fort Benton was another two days and the ride was taking its toll on the kid. During the night Jim awoke from a sound sleep, the beating heart pushing in upon his unconscious state, insistent and demanding.
Listening closely, he heard the kid crying, the dry sobs of night terrors. Rising from his bedroll on the other side of the fire, he knelt beside the shaking form.
"Blair, wake up!" Jim gently prodded the form.
"NO! PLEASE NO!" Sandburg shot up into a sitting position. Blue eyes wide and unfathomable, he stared off into the night, totally oblivious of Ellison kneeling beside him.
"It's okay. You were having a nightmare." Jim grabbed his shoulders and gently eased him back down into his bedroll. "It's understandable after what you saw today."
The sapphire pools shimmered in the firelight, then as though calling himself back from some distant place, the young man looked at Jim. "Sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."
"No problem. Just go back to sleep. It's still two days to Fort Benton."
"Look. I don't need a babysitter. I think in the morning it might be best if you just point me in the general direction and let me go my own way."
"Nope." The only answer the hard man gave him as he returned to his own bedroll.
"I'm not going back east. You might drop me off at the Fort, but they can't make me go back east. I'll find another tribe, you can be sure of that."
"Kid, once I wash my hands of you, I don't care what you do," Jim lied, irritation making the remark harsh and cold.
Now as they rode along in silence, Jim regretted his words. The kid seemed like he wanted to prove himself to him. Too bad he never had a father. He's a nice kid, but he needs a firm hand to keep him out of trouble. Any mother that lets her son call her by her Christian name is just asking for a willful brat.
The sounds reached Ellison across the great fields of golden grass and rocky formations that ran along the river's edge as the terrain neared the mountains. Pulling his horse up, he motioned for Blair to ride up. When the kid was next to him, he pulled his gun from the holster and laid it across his lap. Then placing his hat down over his hand he looked like a man who had just stopped to wipe his brow and get his bearings.
Blair watched, then asked, "What's the matter? Why are we stopping?"
"Just keep your mouth shut, let me do the talking."
Blair looked around. The grass stretched out to their right, moving in soft swells with the wind. The riverbank along the left gurgled in a steady run towards its destination. Ahead, the trees were thick in areas and the mountain peaks rose like giants against the sky. There was nothing.
Just as Blair started to open his mouth, some riders...five from the looks of it...came out of the trees. Winchesters raised high in the air, the men surrounded them in a matter of seconds. Blair looked at Jim. The cool, collected indifference on the hard features amazed him. How the hell did he know they were there? he asked himself for what seemed to be a litany of the day.
"Gentlemen," the apparent leader of the group said, a toothless grin his only attempt at any real cordiality.
He had no gun drawn, allowing his fellow riders to jauntily point their weapons in Jim and Blair's general direction.
"Nice looking packhorse you got there. Me and my friends here, we been hunting us some Injuns. There are ranchers out these parts that put high bounty on Injun scalps.”
“You mean you kill Indians for their scalps?” Blair asked, disbelief obvious in his voice.
Ellison’s jaw started to twitch a slow steady movement along his chin. He shifted ever so slightly in the saddle; Blair threw a quick glance his way. After spending three days with the man, he was able to tell when he pissed the man off.
“Oh, gents, I do believe we have an Injun lover in our midst,” the leader said, laying his arm across his pommel, hunching over in a deceptive pose of camaraderie.
“You’re no better than the Indians if you hunt them down for their scalps. It’s their culture and tradition, the prize of war, but what you’re….” Blair never finished.
In an instant the gun was out from under Ellison’s hat, pointing straight out at the man seated on his horse a few feet from him. “Tell your men to drop their guns or you go first.”
The cocky leader straightened in his saddle looking down the barrel of the gun inches from his face. “Whoa, mister, don’t go getting all huffy on us. We was just saying a friendly hi. We don’t want no trouble.”
“One.” Blair heard the count he was becoming all too familiar with. The word was a hollow echo when Ellison said it, like a bullet falling into a chamber.
The rifles remained poised on their target. The leader swallowed hard, but continued grinning. Blair looked around nervously. They were surrounded. What the hell was Ellison doing?
Then, like a footfall in an empty room, came the formidable, “Two.”
The rifles moved in a threatening manner, the leader blinked unsure, and Blair froze, terror filling him. Wishing he was still with the Indians.
Then the blue eyes pointing the gun, never blinking, iced over with a cool and distant calm. The leader said, “Drop ‘em, boys.”
Nothing happened. “Damn it, I said ‘drop ‘em’.” He bellowed now in fear.
Amid groans and angry grunts, Ellison heard the rifles fall to the ground. Performing the slow count in his heard, his hearing taking in all the sounds behind and around him. The steady, wild beating of that one heart, pushing all other sounds out. He grimaced in anger. The kid was becoming a damn nuisance.
All rifles accounted for as they clamored to the hard ground. Then the slow pull of metal against leather and in one fluid motion Ellison turned as the man behind Blair pulled his colt. The kid was directly in his line of fire.
Blair saw Jim turn. A look of shock crossed his face as the gun barrel pointed directly at him. In one quick, unthinking moment…a moment directed by panic and fear and survival, he threw himself off his horse and into the dirt. Above him a gun cracked to life and Blair heard a thud but a few feet from him. Disoriented, lost in the moment of disbelief, he took several moments to gather his courage. Opening his eyes, he saw the man dead in the dirt next to his horse.
Jim pointed his gun once again at the leader, who now kept his hands slightly raised in the air, a gesture of surrender and peace. “Hey, mister, no trouble. Just let us be on our way. Jake, there deserved to die. He ain’t been nothin but trouble since he signed on with us. The rest of us, we got no fight with you.”
Focusing in on the heartbeats, thrumming their distress, Ellison knew there were no more fools in their midst. The one heartbeat coming off the ground was distressed, but hearing the soft mutterings and curses, Ellison guessed angrier than scared right now.
“Drop your sidearms alongside the rifles.”
They eagerly complied.
“You can’t leave us out in this country with no guns. Ain’t giving a man a fighting chance.”
“You ride out. I’ll be watching you until you reach that crest over there.” Ellison pointed to a mountain rise about 10 miles away.
“Your guns will be somewhere around here, hidden. You head on back after that and you’ll find them eventually.” Ellison took a long, slow gaze off into the distance. “I wouldn’t take too long looking, though, Cheyenne hunting parties have been in the area.”
“Damn it, we could be attacked up near that butte. You got no…” The leader’s words were cut short by the cold blue eyes and the twitching muscle along the jawbone. This man was at the end of his patience. Best not to rile him now.
The leader turned his horse and kicking his sides he rode out towards the butte with the rest of his marauders behind him.
“Best make it all the way,” Jim said loudly, “I’ll be watching and I got very good eyes.”
Ellison remained watching the retreating riders, gauging their progress, only partially aware of the smaller man standing next to his horse.
“What the hell is the matter with you?” The kid raged, throwing his arms up and about in a gesture of madness.
“Man, I do so not believe you. You could have shot me. I was better off with the damn Indians. Why don’t you just shoot me now? That’s it…just shoot me. I have never met such an inconsiderately rude, self-absorbed…”
Ellison’s hearing became overloaded with the sounds of the voice below him, but even beyond that he heard the beating…that incessant beating that called to him like no other sound. What the hell is it about the kid’s heartbeat? he wondered. Why do I focus on that above all other sounds?
Then seeing the dance…yes, the kid was dancing. Arms flailing, gesturing wildly, walking and pacing around the horse in a mad dance of bewilderment and frustration, Ellison couldn’t help but smile. He watched as the burnished locks flew around the large features, the blue eyes blazing with indignation.
"Pick up all the guns. We'll stash some of them behind those rocks, some more in the hollow over there, and the rest by the riverbed. Should keep them off our tail; give us a head start."
"What the hell am I? I'm a college student, not your damn servant," Blair raged, remembering the lessons of Naomi. You are your own man, my son, not having a father has made you become your own man. You don't take what other men have to give you; learn to fight for your own place in things.
"First off, don't sound like the kind of language they taught in college in my day. Secondly, you do what you're told out here."
Blair stopped his pacing and looked up at the rigid rider above him. Placing his hands on his hips, he looked up at Ellison. Blue eyes challenging bluer eyes. "And if I don't?"
"I don't think you'd want to find out," was Ellison's only reply as he dropped a blanket down for Blair to put the guns in.
Mumbling his frustration and anger, not quite ready for a challenge, not here and now.... surely not after he saw him kill a man, Blair collected the guns and mounted his horse. His anger colored his thoughts and it wasn't until they reached the tree hollow off in the distance, that Blair realized how far it really was...how impossible to see from where they had their showdown.
Quizzically, he eyed Ellison as the tall man took the guns out of the blanket and dropped several into the tree hollow.
"Hey, how'd you see this hollow from way back there?"
"Didn't really see it; there's always a tree hollow in a crop this size," was the man's only explanation.
Chuckling, Blair got into the act and added, "Yeah, just as there are surely Cheyenne hunting parties out there somewhere," remembering the warning to the men. Thinking now that the man didn't really know things, he just had a lot of experience tucked under his belt to allow him certain assumptions in life. Blair chewed on the thought, finding some sense of order in it. He admitted to himself that the uncanny things Ellison seemed to do had put him on edge.
"Okay, Chief, the river bed and then we ride. You think you can handle running the horses for a bit?"
It was this obvious concern for his sore rib and the unaccustomed choice in their activities that made Blair relax and smile, "If it takes me farther away from those guys and the Cheyenne right now, you might have a hard time keeping up."
Then the tall man did something Blair had not seen since the smile to the Indian maiden. A large warm grin lit his face and his blue eyes sparkled. Blair had never seen a smile radiate the entire face of its bearer as this one did. "I have a feeling you might be right."
The remainder of the trip proved uneventful. Rain pelted down on them as they made their way into Fort Benton. Blair followed his savior and leader, bedraggled and worn out. Mixed emotions played with his mind. He wanted to return to the Indian's camp. He needed some Indians to live with, some group of so called savages to write his paper on. This was his plan. His whole life had been planned and even though Naomi Sandburg taught her son to go freely through life, he in fact loved to be structured.
Granted his appearance, his clothes, his organizational skills might have left a lot to be desired, but he loved to be organized in his mind and his plans for the future. To get to point B, point B being Sir Richard Burton, he had to go to Point A, Point A being spending some time with a group of people that would duly impress the travelled man.
Well, trouble was a rock hard man who stood between Point A and Point B right now. Once he shed himself of this one obstacle, he could easily go off again in search of a topic. Perhaps talking to some of the army men, he would be able to find a tribe that would be friendlier. Jim even said many Crow were used as army scouts. Surely they could advise him.
Jim pulled the horses up in front of a small building that said, Commander Simms. Dismounting, he handed his reins to Blair. "Take the horses down to the stable. I'll get you settled in here with Captain Simms and I'll be riding out in the morning."
Blair nodded his head, grabbed the reins and pulled the packhorse and Ellison's large chestnut towards the stables.
Jim gave a light knock on the door and waited for the "Come In" that followed.
A young lieutenant bustled around the room, stacking papers and trying to organize some maps on a wall in back of a desk. An army cot was off to the side and several uniforms hung in an open wardrobe.
"Can I help you?" the young man asked, not bothering to stop his organization of the neat office.
"Is Captain Simms about?" Jim asked, a bit perturbed by the lack of attention the man paid him.
Then realizing he wasn't in uniform anymore, that he no longer held the position of authority, he bristled at his own familiarity with the routine. This life was past, long gone. He'd best get used to being civilian.
"He's on rounds, checking some problem with supplies. Captain likes to keep his finger in the stew."
Just then the door burst open and a man of similar stature to Ellison came in. "My God and I'll be stomped by my own horse, " he chuckled, putting one big paw on Jim's shoulder, giving him a slight slap, then pulling the man into an embrace.
"Tarnation, Simon said I'd see you in about a year or two. Didn't believe the fool, but sure as I can see, it is the one and same before me."
Jim laughed, remembering now the lack of airs this man carried with him. Banks and Simms and Ellison had attended officer training school together and he was always amazed at how the home town boy in Simms could pop up one moment, then the Military Commander, well mannered and aloof could show his face the next. Simms was a man who played at the military life, but he knew the pomp and ceremony did little for the actual work that needed to be done, that took the wit and trust of you and your men. Simms was a man who commanded both with ease.
"Why you out of uniform, Jim? What's been happening?"
"Time to move on, Harry. No questions, please. I'm heading west, no real plans."
"Simon Banks passed this way not more than two years ago. Said he was going to settle up near the Rockies. Had no idea what he was going to do, but he was determined to get as far away from this man's army as he could. Something going on with the army I don't know about," Simms asked slyly, jabbing Jim in the ribs, "you'd tell ole' Harry, wouldn't you? Makes me wonder why the army's best are high-tailing it."
"I wasn’t career like I thought I'd be. Things change, Harry."
"Well, you're welcome to stay here. Stay for a week or so. You know, Jim, I could use a good scout. Your reputation with Pendergast's command has trickled this way. Rumor says you always find your men, know the Injuns are out there before anyone else, and that you know things no one else knows for some time later. I could use a good scout here. Pays not great, but we'd be hanging around again, like the old days and you'd be able to give this move some thought."
"No thought needed. I've made my plans," Jim said, knowing full well he only knew of a town called Happenstance and there was where his future started. He knew little else about what lay before him.
"Lieutenant Powers, would you set my friend, and Ex-Captain James Ellison," Simms added with respect and clear anunciation...this brought the young man to attention and his mouth gaped with awe. Simms laughed then continued, "set him up in the guest quarters. See he has everything he needs."
Blair rode his horse towards the stable door. No one seemed to be around, although he could hear pounding inside the darkened enclosure. Several horses were in a corral off to the side, well-groomed, beautiful steeds---much like Jim's chestnut---powerfully built animals that could cover distance at good speeds.
Dismounting, he entered the stable. In the far back, the open doorway leading out into another corral, a blacksmith, bare-chested and brawny, bent over a rear leg of another brown horse. Hammering the shoe into place, he stopped momentarily to wipe the sweat off of his brow. Glancing up, he saw Blair.
"What can I do for you, mister?" he asked, seemingly pleased with the interruption.
"I was told you'd take care of our horses and supplies for the night. My friend and I," Blair tasted the word on his lips. He did not really consider Ellison a friend, a passing acquaintance at best. However, he plowed forward, "we'll be staying the night and then moving out in the morning. He's with your commanding officer right now."
"Well, sure, leave them there, I'll see to them in a bit. Just as soon I finish shooing Casey here."
Blair stood there watching the huge muscles, sweaty and dirt-covered, as they moved in the rhythmic cadence of hammer to nail, pounding a clear, clean note.
"You have a scout or two around here?" Blair asked, still hoping to find a friendly Indian who knew the territory and tribes.
"Yeah, we have Bold Eagle, he's a Crow, but right now he's out on a reconnaissance. Some ranchers were burned out of their homes up north a ways. Cheyenne are on the warpath again."
"I know, Jim and I saw a homestead burnt clear to the ground about two days ride out." Blair paled recalling the horrors he had seen.
"I was wondering if anyone around here knew of any friendly Indians or at least tolerant ones where the white man is concerned." Blair was on his mission and he would not be happy until it was completed.
"Friendly Injuns? Where you think you are, boy?" The blacksmith chuckled to himself. Then dropping the horse’s leg, he raised himself to his full height. Overshadowing Blair with his bulk and frame, he eased himself backwards, placing one huge paw on his lower back. "Oh....ain't as young as I once was, that's for sure."
Eyeing his young guest, he smiled, "You know, boy, I don't know what your intentions are about finding these friendly Injuns, but Captain Simms hears about it, he's going to hogtie you and send you back home where you belong. He's not a man tolerant of civilians. We had a young reporter fellow out here about eight months ago. Wanted to do a story on the Cheyenne. Begged Simms to let him ride along on one of the sweeps. Simms said no and when the fool whippersnapper snuck out to follow the troop, Simms himself caught him." A low chuckle built inside the giant, then rumbled out in a gleeful hoot, "Sure and then some, Simms don't take kindly to having his orders contradicted. Thought he'd publicly bullwhip the young rascal, but from what I hear Simms dealt with him as a father deals with his son. Heard the boy's hollering and carrying on for some time. Making all kinds of threats about being a civilian and having rights. Simms impressed his rights upon him all right. Young fella must have been too embarrassed to bring charges against Simms. Not that it would have done much good. Captain's a favorite and one of the best men the army has to deal with the Injuns."
Blair took a deep breath and his Adam's apple bounced in nervous wonder at this disclosure. The blacksmith laughed, seeing the desired effect. Fully conscious that a scared youngun was most likely to survive in these parts.
Blair's face paled. Well, I guess I won't get much help from Captain Simms. I'd best just get away from the cavalry and find me a town.
Just then a young officer came into the stable. "Are you Blair Sandburg?" he asked.
Nodding his head, Blair extended a hand. Shaking it, Lieutenant Powers smiled. "Well, any friend of Captain James Ellison is surely welcomed here. I'll show you to your quarters." Then turning to the giant who now stood mouth agape looking at Powers as if he couldn't believe his eyes.
"Yeah, Burke, you heard right. James Ellison rode in with Mr. Sandburg. They're spending the night."
"No shit? Boy, why didn't you tell me?" Burke said slapping his huge paw against his leather apron.
"Why? What's the big deal?" Blair asked, confused.
"Boy, Ellison is a legend in these parts. Hell, legend to the whole damn cavalry. He's been said to hear things and see things no ordinary man can see. He can track better than any Injun scout I've ever seen. Man spent eighteen months with the Blackfoot Sioux and lived to tell about it, as well as becoming Chief Wind Walker’s best friend. Saved his whole regiment from a surprise attack by Cheyenne up in the Badlands, hell, I could go on and on with stories that have come this way about the man."
"Well, how does he do it?" Blair asked, recalling the question he asked himself over and over on the ride from the Sioux camp. The fire in the distance, the Cheyenne hunting party, the arrow that barely missed Blair's head, the snake in the grass, and the gun drawn behind his back. Now it all made sense. Ellison had a secret.
"No one knows, but he does it. Hates to be asked about it, from what I've heard, but he's still talked about. We consider it a right honor having you two at the fort." Burke placed his hands on his hips. "I hope I get a chance to meet him."
"He's spending the night. Take care of their horses and I'll get Mr. Sandburg settled in." Then turning to Blair, Lieutenant Powers said, "Captain Simms has requested you and Cap..I mean Mr. Ellison join him for dinner tonight."
"Thanks, I'd like that."
Then remembering some of the stories, Sir Richard Burton had told, he went to his saddlebags. Pulling his journals and his Burton book, he lovingly caressed the tomes to his chest. Looking at Powers, he said, "I think this is all I'll need for now."
Blair sat on the bunk totally absorbed in the journal of Sir Richard Burton. Occasionally glancing up at the stoic man who lay on the bunk across from him. One arm leisurely draped across his brow as though to block out the sun, the other across his stomach he seemed to be fast asleep. Blair wondered at the man. He seemed hard and oftentimes cold and detached. Even when he looked at Blair, he sometimes pinpointed something over his head, far in the distance, and he would stare off at it as though the sight of the young man were too distasteful.
Could this man be a real-live sentinel. The ones that Sir Richard Burton made reference to. The Sentinels were suspected generic throwbacks to primitive man. Many tribes in South America, as well as Africa, recognized these skills early on. These men were trained from birth to protect the tribe, to stand watch and guard the unsuspecting inhabitants from attack. Many were born with extra-ordinary hearing, some with excellent eyesight, but rarely was the concept of all five senses even discussed. Probably impossible, Blair thought then modified his scientific reasoning, No, not impossible, just improbable. Maybe Ellison has superior hearing and sight, but I've seen no evidence that his other senses are effected. Besides, it could still be a trick he learned. Hell, the Indians probably taught him a thing or two about tracking and reading signs.
Blair shook his head as he stared at the sleeping form. Pulling up his own journals he began to scrawl frantically ideas, premises, possibilities, and future plans for studying this man.
The blue eyes barely open, the arm hiding his features, Jim took the opportunity to study the troublesome young man across from him. He's watching me. Taking notes apparently, or coming up with some other half-baked plan for finding himself a tribe. After Powers had shown him to his quarters and left in search of the young anthropologist, Jim had returned to Captain Simms. In the privacy of their office he explained the package he had picked up along the way. Simms assured him that the young feller would be properly returned to safety with the next troop heading east.
Now as Jim watched the eager face, the curtain of hair falling down and gently tickling the shadowed jaw line, he heard the heart again, loud and clear. The steady rhythm soothing him. He eased his hearing into a background, like a gurgling brook or waterfall, and he found the sound relaxing and easy. Strange how that one heartbeat seemed to reach him just when he needed the reassurance. Hell, what reassurance, Jim thought, reassurance that the fool kid is doing what he's told, reassurance that his sorry ass is safe. What reassurance? he asked himself bitterly. The kid means nothing to me and I'll be quite happy to ride out of here tomorrow and never see his puppy dog face again.
Part 4 of Story One