STORY ONE -BLESSED PROTECTOR OF THE PLAINS - PART FOUR
"Tarnation, boy," Simms said as he watched Power's pour the wine into Jim's glass, then ease the bottle over Blair's. Simms watched distractedly, "you mean to tell me you thought you could just waltz into a Blackfoot Sioux camp and they were going to welcome you like long lost kin. Well, hidy hoe, don't that beat all Powers?"
The young lieutenant snorted, "Mr. Sandburg's right lucky Captain Ellison came by when he did."
Simms coughed. "Err, Mr. Ellison. Sorry, sir," the lieutenant apologized.
"It's not all that unusual for indigenous cultures to be just as intrigued by a stranger than said visitor by their culture. If I had been able to speak the language and if I had been prepared...I guess I thought the Sioux were the friendlier of tribes. I'll do more research next time," he added sheepishly, trying to get back into the good light. Right now these three men treated him as though he were a half-wit.
"You'll be doing your research back east, boy," Simms said taking a large sip from his own wineglass. "Gave Ellison here my word you'd be placed out of harms way. I always keep my word. One officer to another, right, Jim?"
Ellison sat back in his chair watching the exchange with amusement. "Yep, officers keep their word."
Sandburg frowned, "I beg your pardon, Captain Simms, but I'm a civilian and I don't have to stay here if I choose not to. I appreciate your hospitality and all, but I'd just as soon find out if there are some trappers or ranchers here abouts that can get me into an Indian camp. I'm sure there are friendly Indians around here, and I know there are reservations. However, I need to complete this study and I have every intention of doing just that."
Simms’ face hardened, as he put his glass down, ready for battle, but Ellison saw the look, knew the signs, and reaching a lazy hand across the table, he put it on his old friend's arm. "Blair will do as I say. He'll be returning back east as soon as safe passage can be arranged."
Blair's own face changed now. It reddened in a heated anger he had never felt before. The high-handed manner of treatment from this man was too much. He no longer depended on him for survival. He didn't have to sit here and be treated like a nuisance thrown upon them, something to be dealt with in time. Placing both hands on the table, he was just about ready to push away and stand up, when a low, even voice reached his ears.
"Stay put!"
The blue eyes raised to meet the bluer ones across the table. Simms smiled as he watched the quiet challenge emitting from Ellison's ice blue orbs. The boy's jaw quivered, whether in anger or uncertainty, Simms couldn't tell, but he knew this kid had spunk and he wasn't one to back down easily.
Just then Powers came in with a tray. "Dinner, sir, best Beef Wellington I've ever done, if you ask me."
Powers felt the tension as he placed the huge, silver server in the middle of the table, but he chose to ignore it. Long years of being chief aide to Captain Simms had prepared him for many battles during dinner, usually guests, civilians, not used to taking orders or following commands. Simms soon put them rightfully in their place and the man's gentle nature and basic good humor usually blew storms over quickly.
Powers noted that Simms was merely an observer to this battle. The two men sitting across from one another, the young man and Ellison seemed to be in some battle of wills.
"Be a shame to ruin a perfectly good meal, son," Simms said, amicably.
Blair blushed. Even more embarrassed by his lack of manners. "Yes, sir, I'm sorry." Lowering his head he broke contact with the cool pools across from him. "Lieutenant Powers, it looks delicious," he added as he resettled himself, acquiescing for the time being.
Ellison gave a knowing glance to Simms, who returned the acknowledgment with a wink. The rest of dinner consisted of a series of stories about Simms and Jim's meeting and their life at the academy. Blair found himself amused, intrigued and amazed. Fast forgetting the earlier conflict he found himself asking questions and laughing at the oftentimes-hilarious antics of Harry Simms.
The wine flowed easily. Perhaps the relaxed demeanor of Simms and the even more pronounced change in Ellison colored his world in softer pastels than usual. Blair found himself sipping the wine with casual ease. Contributing to the conversation with short vignettes of his own, he was accepted and acknowledged, not treated like an outsider. Even when Ellison and Simms embarked on long journeys into the past, he was included with "you're probably too young to remember," or "did your ma ever talk to you about," always a hand reaching out to pull him in.
Laughing now at some joke that Ellison told, not remembering what it was, Blair almost toppled out of his chair. Catching himself, he rigidly braced himself, trying to still the spinning room. God, how much have I drunk? Then he burst out laughing, spittle flying across the table, directly at Ellison. Simms and Jim had been drinking coffee for the past hour, but Sandburg finding the bottle next to his elbow, just kept filling his glass.
Ellison smiled at Simms. "Seems it worked," he said quietly, while Blair still hiccuped and giggled, trying unsuccessfully to bring his humor under control.
"He'll be no trouble for a day or two, by my guess," Ellison said, "if he gives you any trouble, slap him in the brig until he's ready to ship back east."
This caught the young man's attention. With a look of indignation, that came out in a comical facial expression, he tried to stand, "Not gonnnna go back," he started, but the fast change in elevation made his head spin and with one last grimace towards Jim, he fell forward.
Ellison rose quickly and caught the liquor-sodden young man. Simms rose as well and grabbing Blair around the waist he eased him back into the chair.
Coming around the table, Ellison lifted the smaller man easily in his arms. The heartbeat increased by the wine reached his ears, pulling him into some dark passage inside himself. He stared down into the quiet face, the slight smile tugging the lips as the kid found some amusement in his condition.
"I'd best put him to bed. I'll be riding out early, Harry. Remember, I'm holding you to your word. Keep the kid safe and make sure he's sent home. Fool will get himself killed if he's left to ride these lands alone."
"Jim, my word, if I have to hog tie the pup, I'll do it."
Shaking hands, both men parted company for the evening.
Ellison kicked the door open to their quarters. Laying the bundle down on his bed, he pulled off the boots. Then reaching for a blanket he covered the sleeping form. His hand went up to the forehead, brushing away the hair. The kid stirred and turned on his side facing Jim, murmuring softly and contentedly. Catching himself, embarrassed by the tender gesture, Ellison stood up quickly. Damn kid will be okay. Harry's a man of his word; he'll get the boy back east safely. I'll be long gone before he even wakes.
Then the lonely man, the fugitive from things he did not understand, went to seek his own escape in the halls of darkness.
When Blair opened his eyes, they refused to cooperate. The bright light of day burned in harsh reality. His head felt like it would explode with the softest sound, his mouth was dry and his stomach churned in some personal rebellion. Memory washed him with cold regret, he remembered the wine, the dinner, the laughter..."Oh, God! I will never drink wine again."
Peeking carefully about the room, he saw the empty bunk across from him. The well made creases to the blanket tucked in beneath the mattress, the empty space around the bunk, missing gear and clothes. Rising quickly he moaned, "No, no, take it easy," he cautioned himself in a steady mantra. "He can't be gone, he just can't."
Walking slowly, more like staggering, he made it to the door. Opening it, he drew his arm up to shield his eyes from the strong rays of sunlight. A passing soldier nodded a good day. Blair reached out an arm halting the soldier's progress. "What time is it?"
"Two, sir," the soldier said. Then seeing the look of utter astonishment on the young face, he added, "Lunch is still being served in the mess, if you're hungry. Cook is usually pretty lenient with civilians."
"Thanks, I'll do that," Blair said without enthusiasm.
"Do you happen to know where Mr. Ellison is?"
"Oh, Ellison, he rode out before sunup. Military men can't change their stripes that easily," the soldier said and smiled, patiently excusing the lethargic habits of civilians.
Blair groaned, watching all his plans, his hopes falling down before him.
Ellison laid out his bedroll. The day's ride was not arduous. As a matter of fact he made very little time since leaving Fort Benton at dawn. Some small sparks of enthusiasm for this new life Simon promised him had seemed to die overnight. He found his thoughts turning behind him, listening for the kid who shadowed his trail for the past few days. Several times, forgetting himself, not hearing the heartbeat, he would turn in a panic thinking the kid hurt or lost or falling behind. Only to shake himself out of the forgetfulness and realize he would never see the anthropologist again.
That night he nestled in under the stars, feeling incomplete. A tug and pull in the corner of his mind kept him gnawing for some answer. Was it something he had forgotten, a sign he misread, or just something uneasy about the whole countryside. Falling asleep dwelling on the problem he never realized how much his hearing focused outward, listening for that one particular heartbeat.
The fire was easy to set. He had helped a chemistry student make them for Fourth of July. However, he never took into consideration the loud explosion, the spooked horses, and the general chaos and mayhem that such a bonfire would cause. Helping himself to candles, rags, and lamp oil, he had carefully set two dripping candles near two separate piles of rags soaked in oil.
One strategically placed near the stables, so he could get his horse out in the general rush to save the animals...thinking the stable was in danger of ignition. The other near the supply shed. He never realized it would explode. He never thought that nearby gunpowder would catch fire too. Well, he just never thought that far ahead. The scheme had worked, though, and in his mind that’s all that mattered.
After helping himself to a small supply of provisions, he had packed his saddlebags and the moment opportunity availed itself in the form of sheer mayhem was able to ride out of the fort. In the chaos and confusion, he had also stolen a rifle and box of shells. Hell, he needed protection out there…out where, he wasn't sure yet, but he just knew west now would be the direction he would take. He needed to track Ellison.
However, if he failed in that pursuit, he could still find a friendly tribe of Indians he could ingratiate himself with. The small map he had taken from Lieutenant Power's office had areas of Indian activity highlighted with large red circles. Looking at the map now, sitting around his small campfire, he couldn't quite place where he was. Never being able to read maps very well, he had gotten himself lost on more than one occasion in South America. Thank God Naomi was with him, and they had laughed at his total lack of direction.
God, I miss her, he thought, as his eyes misted over. Embarrassed, he looked up quickly to see if Ellison was looking at him, then he realized Ellison was no longer with him. Doubt filled him, overcame all his confidence and surety. What the hell am I doing out here? he asked himself.
Then with no more thoughts to sustain him, no answers worth analyzing, he drifted off into a peaceful sleep.
Ellison woke early; the long night offered neither rest nor peace. Some part of his soul was uneasy, edgy, and the darkness only made the absence more pronounced. Several times he woke to the sound of that one heartbeat that had seeped into his soul. Yet, concentrating, he realized it was only a dream. The kid was back at Fort Benton.
After a breakfast of beans and bacon, he mounted his horse. However as he pulled out heading west, something caught his eye in the distance, far north. Perhaps it was nothing, but there was smoke, faint and vague in the distance. It meant another ranch was burning, maybe he could help these people, and maybe he could save a life or two.
With no thoughts directed elsewhere, he turned Bud's head north, the packhorse following as he galloped off towards the gray and smoky sky.
When Blair awoke, he found himself staring into the barrel of a gun. Raising his hands slightly he showed his compliance, a small smile edging his lips, trying to tone down the hostility he saw in the men's eyes.
"Well, well, boys, lookie here. We got ourselves that Injun lover." Then more harshly, a sharp fear creasing the tone, "Check the area, that partner of his has got to be around here somewhere."
The other three men scurried off with their guns drawn.
"It's just me. We parted company back at Fort Benton. It's just me and I don't want any trouble." Blair tried to explain, but explanations meant nothing to these men, and in his heart he knew it.
Looking around he made a quick dash for his rifle, lying next to him. Toothless slammed the rifle butt hard into his forehead. Blair felt the earth shift, saw the morning sky darken, and fell into a soft abyss.
In the end they had spared his life, or to put it more precisely had extended it for some added suffering. If he didn't die of starvation, exposure, or exhaustion, the Cheyenne or Blackfoot or more men like these scalp hunters would put him out of his misery for sure.
Stripping him of his hat, his boots, his shirt and pants…leaving him only in his long underwear…they took his books and journals, all his supplies, the food and gun and his horse.
"Now, we're giving you the same chance your partner gave us. Of course, we ain't hiding your gun anywhere, but Fort Benton is about fifty miles from here. I think if you can walk real fast and avoid the Indian hunting parties, you might make it. What do you say, boys? You think we're being fair here?" the leader asked, only to be answered with chuckles and guffaws.
Then they rode out, leaving the young anthropologist all but naked to fight the elements. He looked towards the mountains in the west and north and turned south, hoping his sense of direction would lead him back to Fort Benton, he began his lonely and painful walk.
Ellison rode Bud hard, but the strong army horse was well conditioned to the hard demands. The packhorse was another thing, but Ellison eased up when the horse started sweating.
As Jim headed into the open fields around the burning homestead he saw the army troops combing the area, looking for survivors. Perhaps small children or women had taken shelter in some cave or storage area beneath the surface. Stopping his horse, he scanned the area with his hearing. When he was certain all heartbeats were accounted for with the soldiers, he couldn't help himself, he did one final scan...searching out of some need for that other heartbeat...the one he was certain was back at Fort Benton.
"Jim!" he looked up to see Captain Simms waving to him.
Urging Bud forward he dismounted in the small area next to the corral and shed.
"Damn it, Jim, don't it beat all. The Cheyenne are raiding right and left. Third homestead in a week." Simms eyed his old friend.
"Jim, I have some bad news. That young feller....I'm sorry, Jim. He got away from us. Lit some fires around the compound then hightailed it through the gate. By time I knew he was gone, we'd gotten word of a ranch burning just north east of the fort. On the way here, we found some scalp hunters. Jim, they were dead all of them, and they didn't die easy."
"Sandburg was with them?" Jim asked, barely getting the words to form on his lips.
Simms watched the normally detached blue eyes drift up towards the mountaintops as though searching for something. The jawbone tensed and the skin twitched in a violent tremor.
"No, Jim, we didn't find the body, but we found these." Then Simms called to Lieutenant Powers. "Bring the kid's belongings."
Powers went to his horse and pulled the old saddlebags off his horse. Jim closed his eyes for one brief moment, recognition hurting the orbs. It was the anthropologist’s.
"There are books and journals, all marked Property of Blair Sandburg." Simms waited, then placing a strong arm on Ellison's shoulder, he added, "I'm truly sorry, Jim. I know I've let you down. He was my responsibility."
Jim shook his head, slowly. Taking the saddlebags, he looked at Simms questioningly. "Sure, Jim, I think he'd of liked you to take care of these for him. You knew more about the kid then anyone else."
"I'll see that his ma gets these." Then Ellison turned a slow pivot three hundred and sixty degrees. He was concentrating intently outward.
"Jim, he's got to be dead. Cheyenne raids don't take prisoners. They just kill. It happened about five hours before we got there, but even if he ran, Jim, they probably killed him and a cougar dragged the body off."
"Where did you find the bodies?" Jim asked, never meeting Simms' eyes.
"Twenty miles south of here."
"Well, I'd best be heading west. If you do find out anything about him, telegraph me in Happenstance, Montana. I'll contact the boy's ma and see his belongings are returned to her."
Then turning he caught himself, "Harry, call your team in, there are no survivors out there."
With that he walked towards Bud, tenderly placing the saddlebags over his own and securing them, he mounted his horse and led the packhorse off. He never bothered to turn and wave and Simms wondered how such strong attachments could have been formed between Ellison and Sandburg in so short a time.
Then he watched with wonder as the tall man rode due south.
The hot sun burned down on him again. He had always loved warm locales. The cold bit into his skin with prickly points, while the warm sun caressed him. The orange sun gave him no pleasure now. Burning to a crisp was not a favored state either. Even the heat in South America did not compare to the scorching fires of the plains.
Stumbling forward he braced the fall with his outstretched hands. The dirt and stones cut into his already tender flesh. The long johns were ripped at the knees and there was a huge gash in the side under his arm where he had fallen down a small ravine.
The gash on his head hurt, where Toothless had rammed the gun into his temple. The bleeding had finally ceased, but the caked wound was attracting flies and Blair had grown weary of shooing them away.
Then he heard the horse's hooves. In blind panic, fearful it was the hunters or Indians, he started running towards a cluster of trees in the distance, terror urging him on in a run for his life.
Ellison rode south as though south were the only direction to go. With a surety and determination born of some hidden knowledge, he tuned his senses up. Every sound, movement, touch of the wind, scent in the air...he even opened his mouth and tasted the blowing drafts.... he was using what he had with a need he never felt and a sense of appreciation. Fearful of the fugue states that at times overcame him, he kept his mind focused on finding that heartbeat. There was something about those rhythms, that steady, excited drumming of the kid's heart, that soothed him like nothing else could. Even if he didn't hear the kid's heart, he might be able to use the memory to help him stay on line.
Then Ellison heard them...hooves. Lots of hooves running off in the distance. He focused his eyes and in the far off plains he saw the Cheyenne hunting party...party of five.... no survivors, please.
He lost himself in the movement of their painted ponies; the colors of their feathers burned his eyes with their vibrancy in the afternoon sun. He sped along in some parallel world following the hooves kicking up in place...all losing him in the throbbing run, run, run...drub drub drub...
He snapped out of it. There it was---the drumming heart, racing now, fearful, but it was out there. Ellison urged Bud forward, pulling the packhorse along.
Blair made the trees just in time. Throwing himself in the deep grass, lying low to the earth, he didn't dare breathe. Indians, Cheyenne by his guess, and they looked like they were tracking him. They knew he was out here, no doubt about it. Perhaps the blood had fallen as he walked, the bare feet scraped and cut, leaving a trail even a five-year-old could follow. No difference, this was the end of his trail anyway. There were no more pyrotechnics in his soul with which to entertain, or distract, or celebrate, it was over.
He buried his face on his arm as he lay flat in the tall grass. He didn't want to see the end come. He would be happy if they would just kill him and be done with it. Suddenly the hair pulled his head up and back. They were going to scalp him, the classic position of pulling the victim's head back and either slashing his throat or ripping the knife through his scalp. Then a large hand clamped over his mouth, and a warm breath touched his ear.
"QUIET!"
Closing his eyes in relief, he sucked in air through his nose and expelled it in a slow, even exhalation. He heard the horses coming near. Then suddenly he felt the grass move around him. Ellison had jumped to his feet. Gunfire blazed around him, but he refused to look up. He refused to join in this final battle. He didn't care.
Jim saw the raiding party approach the crop of trees. Now was the only chance he had for surprise. He took the first Indian with his first shot, the second gave a short war hoop before he fell on the second bullet, the third feigned to ride on, but Ellison clipped him off with one sure shot. The other two angled back trying to split the assault, Jim stood his ground looking only at the oncoming rider, bent low in his saddle, making a hard target.
Waiting patiently until rider and horse were almost upon him, he took swift aim, fired, and dropped the rider. Turning with the sound in his ears, he focused in a matter of seconds on the one coming from behind. His gun blasted one final death knell.
Then it was over. The ponies scattered off into the distance. Ellison searched the perimeter, seeking other heartbeats, other sounds. None came to him, only the one from the ground and the small prayer the kid kept repeating, "Please, please, please no more."
Holstering his gun, Ellison knelt next to the bedraggled figure. The long johns were filthy with mud and dust, caked in areas with blood. The seat of the kid’s union suit was practically open, several buttons lost in his flight.
The strong-jawed man had an overpowering urge to pull the flap completely back and with one strong hand paddle the daring bottom into a pulp. However, the heartbeat pulled him back to reality, the soft prayer colored his world with compassion, for the time being.
Reaching out he pulled the smaller man by the shoulders turning him over. The blue eyes looked up in panic, still not accepting the fact that his life would be spared.
"Easy, it's me, Jim Ellison."
Then the blue eyes focused and the young man threw himself against Ellison's chest. Confused, the larger man held his arms up high behind the kid. Feeling a small wave of embarrassment over the hug, he sat still for several seconds. Then seeing the bobbing head of curls, hearing the great gulps of relief and agonized fears shaking the whole body, he brought his arms down and pulled the figure in close.
"It's okay. You're all right. It's fine. I'm here now."
Ellison looked up at the sun pushing itself down behind the day. Evening was coming fast. It had been a long day for the kid.
Extricating the trembling figure from his upper torso, he brushed the hair back from the wide forehead and examined the wound. Sandburg winced.
"Who did this?"
"Toothless, the ones that stopped us the other day. He felt it was justice leaving me alone out there running for my life." Sandburg closed his eyes and Ellison saw the weariness and exhaustion pull the features downward, crumbling the excitement and joy for life that he had come to expect on the kid's face. Before him now sat a lonely, frightened and compliant little boy…no college student with ideas and dreams. This was a lost soul, if ever he had seen one.
"Come on," Ellison said, as he stood, pulling the deflated form with him.
"Let's get out of here. I need to set up camp and there's a river bed off in the distance."
Blair looked up at his savior the man who was becoming his protector in this wild land, and formed his lips to ask how he knew there was a river there. However, the events of the day robbed his soul and spirit, and depleted his resistance. Falling forward the world covered him in darkness. The last conscious thought he had was of being lifted in the strong, welcoming arms.
Ellison rode with the small figure across his lap. Within a matter of one hour he found the small riverbed. Following it he came across some rock formations branching out from the base of the mountains, small souvenirs of the changing landscape, as the earth began to crust and rise towards the high country.
Setting up camp, he stripped the long underwear from the kid. He had not stirred once during the ride, made no comment when Ellison carried him to the waiting bedroll. Filling a small bucket of water, Ellison washed the scraped and bloodied flesh. The cut was deep, but nothing serious. His time in the military had given him a small amount of medical training, when Colonel Pendergast had decided, after a severe punishment, that Ellison might learn humility aiding the wounded in the infirmary. Now he smiled at the "talks" that he and Pendergast had to have on occasion.
As he looked down on the youthful features, the gash on the forehead, the burnt skin from exposure, the tender feet cut and bloodied, he decided then and there what he would do. He knew that forthcoming a long "talk" with the kid would be in his best interests as well. However, now, the brat needed care. He needed food and clean clothes and understanding.
Ellison heard the night sounds around him. His senses seemed alive, but controlled, as though they heightened, strained, pivoted, and pulled around him exploring the region. There was no longer the raging bursts of one sense to overpower all others. It was as though they turned up, but in unison, with equal degree. Then he focused inside and in his mind, in the deep, dark regions of his subconscious, he heard the drum drum drum...the steady, even, relaxing beating of that one heart.
The idea came to him...a soft epiphany. The kid was the reason. There is something about this bedraggled anthropologist that keeps me on line, keeps my senses from going berserk. It's like his heartbeat is a metronome, keeping the timing and rhythm. It gives me control.
He reflected back as he put ointment on the cuts and scratches. The kid said his mom didn't expect to hear from him for about a year. Simms thought the kid dead. Shaking his head in disgust at his own plans, he covered the tired young man up with the blankets and walked back to his rock by the fire.
Staring into the flames he couldn't believe the idea that was forming in his mind. However, it was for the best. If I let the fool kid go, he'll only try to find that tribe of Indians or some other fool escapade placing himself in harm's way. It's for his own good. In a year’s time perhaps I can find out why he effects my senses the way he does. Give him time to come to his senses to.
Then Ellison laughed and looking up at the sleeping form, the beautifully young and eager face now in repose, he said out loud, "Besides, kid, give you a chance to pick my brain about my time with the Blackfoot. Maybe you had the right idea to begin with."
Placing a pot of beans on the fire, he made a pot of coffee and set it beside the fire to heat and brew. Every so often now, the kid stirred, grumbled and murmured and turned in his bedroll. The tantalizing odors of food were prickling his unconscious, forcing him into the land of the living.
Blair woke with a start. The memory of horses running behind him vividly plastered his inner eye. Darkness met the returning prodigal, confusion welcomed him with open arms, and terror escorted him into the waking. Sitting upright he called out, “Jim!”
Barely a moment passed before strong arms wrapped around him. Ellison sat beside him, pulling the blanket around his trembling, bared shoulders.
“Shhhh, it’s all right. You’re safe now. You need to eat.”
The blue eyes cleared as they stared off into the crackling flames of the campfire, then adjusting to the night, they looked into Ellison’s own sapphire gaze.
“You know, in some cultures, when you save a man’s life, you are responsible for him for the rest of his life. This is the second time you’ve saved mine. You must be my Blessed Protector sent to look after me.” Looking into the cold blue eyes, he laughed, “I guess it’s not exactly something you signed up for.”
“Maybe I didn’t sign up for it, Junior, but I don’t relish a third time. I think that would even be trying the patience of God Himself.”
Looking down, realizing he was naked, Blair pulled the blanket more tightly around himself. His feet were wrapped with strips of cloth that looked like his long johns.
“I don’t have any clothes. They took everything,” he said this with a sadness that was not lost on Ellison.
Rising, Jim walked over to the fire and filled one of the plates with beans. Taking several strips of bacon from a frying pan, he put several rashers on top of the plate. Lifting the pot of coffee he poured a cupful, then deftly carried both over to Sandburg.
“Eat everything. We have two days left and I intend to make some time tomorrow. Eat and then bed. The ponies ran off, so we’ll be sharing Bud. You’ve slowed me down enough already.” The last was added harshly.
Blair eagerly accepted the plate of food. Pulling the blanket around him, he sat back against the small rock where Jim had laid out the extra bedroll. The tantalizing smell made his mouth water. Chowing down with eagerness, he relaxed and his spirit seemed to return with every mouthful.
Jim watched him. Glad he had his appetite. Taking a plateful for himself he positioned his own mug of coffee on the ground and sat down on his own bedroll, leaning against his saddle. Stretching his long legs out he sighed. It had been a long and tiring day for him as well.
Sandburg wolfed down his meal and shyly looked over at the pot. Ellison, quickly rose and taking his plate, refilled it. "More coffee?" he asked as he handed the plate to the kid.
"Please."
When they were both concentrating on their meal again, Blair felt some of his resolve returning. "I'm not going back to Fort Benton," he said emphatically.
The somber man across the campfire never glanced up. The lambent glow from the firelight made his features softer, but he looked almost evil in the dancing light. Although Blair could not make out the jawbone, he was certain that muscle was twitching in a tight chord of displeasure.
Continuing quickly, Blair tried to sound indignant. "I know my own mind and my rights. I can't be forced to return east if I don't want to."
Ellison never said a word, he let the kid have his say; then when the time was right, he would have his and the anthropologist would damn well listen.
"You just don't know how important this paper is to me. It's not like other professions; you have to be established. You have to have a mentor and Sir Richard Burton is the man who can make all my dreams come true. Captain Simms will probably have me lynched anyway," Blair added, his voice trailing off.
After finishing his meal, Ellison rose and took the plate and cups to the river to rinse. Sandburg watched him wondering why the man was so taciturn all of a sudden. When the evening meal was put away, Ellison came and sat on a nearby rock, a matter of three feet from his traveling companion.
"You've had your say, now I'm going to have mine. You're going to shut up and listen to me. When I'm done you can ask questions, and I'll try to explain things to you, but I'll start off by saying you have no choice in the matter."
Sandburg's jaw dropped when he heard the last said with such certainty. Opening his mouth, ready to do battle, he looked up into the cold blue eyes and something in the look made his jaw clamp shut.
"You are no doubt used to doing what you feel like---when you feel like it---and if your ma had any say at all in your upbringing, I have a feeling her baby boy got away with things pretty much Scot free." He paused to see if his words were sinking in. Noticing the quivering lips, he nodded satisfied with the affect.
"I have a feeling most of your little antics were considered charming and cute, but it all stops right here. You've caused me grief and aggravation twice already and I don't plan on saving your skin again, least ways not this week."
Blair tightened his hold on the blanket, feeling young and vulnerable sitting here naked beneath the folds being lectured like some naughty brat by this stoic, uncompromising man. Lowering his eyes, he studied the fire dancing in the darkness.
"No one knows where you are, Captain Simms thinks your dead. You said your ma doesn't expect to hear from you for a year, well, sonny, that suits me fine. You're coming with me. If someone needs to keep your sorry ass out of trouble, then I just guess it's going to have to be me," Ellison said flippantly, not allowing any of the need he felt within himself for this kid by his side to come through in his little speech,not even allowing himself to dwell on the beating heart that seemed to stimulate his senses in a harmonic peace, thriving on the steady, even rhythm of that heartbeat.
Sandburg struggled to rise, but his sore feet and weakened condition would not allow it. Ellison watched as he finally fell back down, the blanket falling off his shoulders exposing his nakedness to the chilled night air.
He threw his fist a hard punch into the earth frustrated with his own weakness, scuffing up the loose dirt, "You can't make me go with you. That's kidnapping. You'll be a criminal."
"Perhaps," Ellison agreed, almost cheerily. "But you'll be alive at least for one year and in that time maybe I can teach you the discipline and self-preservation not having a father no doubt caused you never to learn. I'll warn you now; I won't brook arguments when I tell you to do something. Any foolhardy stunts from here on out, you'll regret every time you sit down."
A red blush crept along Sandburg's face, as he raised his eyes to meet the cerulean orbs. "I'm a college student, an anthropologist, I know what I'm doing. I have work to do and I fully intend to accomplish what I set out to do. You just don't understand," he said the last in the hopes of finding some level of reasoning in this man.
"Tell you what, you behave yourself, I might see fit to fill you in on my time with the Blackfoot. Second hand may not be as impressive as firsthand, but it's a hell of a lot safer."
The wheels could almost be seen turning, Ellison thought, as he watched the kid chew over this new piece of information.
"Besides, I really don't see you having much choice. You have nothing right now," Ellison proved his point, staring down at the blanket. "No clothes, no horse, nothing. You can barely walk and you're in no shape with that head wound to make it back to Fort Benton or any where else on your own. Maybe in a years time, you'll grow up some."
The last cut deeply into the boy, Ellison could tell. Kid was left too much to his own devices. No doubt he thought himself quite the man with his fancy education and high and mighty aspirations. Not one lick of sense in that eager head, though, and it was high time someone put a rein on the kid.
"Now, do you have any questions?"
"Only one," the kid said, bitterly, "what makes you so sure I'll comply?"
"In time you will," was all the tall man said. Then softening his facial expression, shelving the authoritarian display, he asked almost gently, "How's about I help you over to those rocks over there, you can relieve yourself and settle in for the night. We have a long, hard ride ahead of us and Bud will be carrying two instead of one."
Blair tried to stare him down in a petulant display of non-cooperation, but a sudden yawn broke his concentration and he realized he couldn't put up much of a fight when he couldn't even keep his eyes open. Expelling capitulation in a short breath, he nodded.
Ellison bent down and lifted the kid. Carrying him like a child to the rocks, he propped him up against a boulder and released him watching until he saw him finally gain his balance on his bandaged feet. When the kid was through, he carried him back to his bedroll.
Standing by as Sandburg nestled in the blanket, he went to his own bedroll. Taking his blanket, he walked back and covered the small form. "Good night," he said, watching with satisfaction as the figure rolled his back to the fire and to a man he hated right now.
Part 5 of Story One