STORY ONE -BLESSED PROTECTOR OF THE PLAINS - PART FIVE
Blair woke to the smells of coffee and bacon frying. Turning on his side, his rib ached and he let out a short gasp, catching the man hunkering down by the campsite's attention.
"Careful, you didn't do much for that rib with that adventure you took yesterday." Ellison looked like he was in the same, irritated frame of mind as last night. "There's some trousers, braces, and a shirt for you. I imagine you'll be swimming in them, but we can roll up the cuffs. We'll outfit you when we get where we're going."
"And where may I ask would that be, or don't you think I have a right to know, being kidnapped and all," Blair said the latter bitterly.
Ellison chose to ignore him. "Happenstance, Montana."
"Never heard of it," Blair said as he stood up on wobbly legs, pulling the blanket around himself.
Ellison watched him as he hobbled toward the trees. Satisfied that the anthropologist could make it without falling down, he resumed the meal preparations.
Blair returned and sat on the same rock Jim had sat on last night for his little speech about who was in charge of things. He slowly began dressing in the clothes. All in all they were not that uncomfortable, except for the trousers. Rolling up the cuffs, adjusting the braces, he felt good wearing clothes again. Being naked made him feel like an animal and seemed to strip him of his dignity and spirit.
Feeling much better about himself and even his situation, he slowly made his way to the campfire. Sitting down on a small rock across from his rescuer, he watched the food cooking, the crispy bacon sizzling nicely in the pan. Ellison had even made some biscuits. Blair watched the hardened man. Brushing his long hair behind his ears, he cleared his throat, "Ah, I guess I never did thank you for saving my skin yesterday."
"Like you said, I’m your protector. Fates seemed to think so, anyway."
Filling a plate with the biscuits and bacon, he handed it to Sandburg. The kid graciously accepted it with a small nod of thanks. Jim filled a cup of coffee and set it at Sandburg's bandaged feet.
When he was similarly settled with his own meal, he looked up at the young man. "How old are you, really?"
Sandburg raised an indignant chin and opened his mouth to reply. However a look passed between him and Ellison and he realized he had better start telling the truth and only the truth, "Seventeen, but I really am a college student. I’m a fast learner. While me and Naomi stayed put in Virginia for a bit, I was able to read most of the books in the library." He waited seeing where this new piece of information got him with this man who said he wouldn't tolerate lying or obfuscation.
Ellison only nodded, concentrating on his meal.
Seeing no obvious censure, he continued, "Then there was a funded expedition down to South America, Peru, and I won a scholarship. Naomi went with me, but when we came back, I didn’t feel learning from a book was as good as learning up close. If anything the trip to Peru taught me I needed to travel, see things for myself, have my own field of expertise. The degree isn't all that important if I can prove my theory and Burton's."
Blair watched him. Ellison listened but didn't seem all that surprised or taken with the information.
"Have you ever heard of Sentinels?" Blair asked cautiously. This was the tricky part; he would have to watch the reactions that played across the stern features.
"Nope, can't say that I have," Ellison replied nonchalantly, popping a crispy piece of bacon in his mouth and chewing slowly, as though chewing the idea as well as the meat.
"Well, Burton claimed he could document living sentinels in some of the tribes in Africa and South America. There are men genetically predisposed to hear better than normal men; see farther; and some can feel things others can't. These men with heightened senses were raised from birth as Sentinels, protectors of the tribe. They lived on the perimeter of the settlements and watched for signs of invasion, wild animals, and other dangers. Usually each man had a guide, someone who bonded with him on a very special level." He watched the total lack of interest in what he was saying as Ellison seemed now completely intent on studying every slice of bacon before he plopped it into his mouth.
Blair persisted, wondering if he had been wrong about this man, "Well, you see, Sentinels with their heightened senses can sometimes lose control of that one sense that they have been blessed with. If it's their sight, they focus in so strongly that they lose their hearing or sense of touch. They need this guide to help keep them aware of what's going on around them."
Now Blair could see the blue eyes shifting towards him, a small quiver in the jaw line as though he were keeping a rein on his temper or his interest , Blair thought.
"Seems ridiculous. This Burton guy and you are barking up the wrong tree, if you ask me," Ellison said, matter-of-factly. "Any good Indian can do what you just said and he don't have to have any special senses to do it. It's learned knowledge."
Sandburg sighed, feeling all his hopes and dreams now crashing to the ground. He had been wrong about this man. It was all just things taught him by the Blackfoot. All he could hope to get out of any research here would be a study of one man's eighteen-months with the Blackfoot Sioux. No new epiphanies, no exciting articles to attract Burton's attention coming from this man.
Finishing his coffee, he stared off into the mountains, quiet for the remainder of the meal.
Sandburg rode behind the tall man. Ellison felt his arms around his waist; the long shirtsleeves rolled several times over to allow his hands some freedom.
Does the kid suspect? he asked himself for the tenth time since breakfast. Does he know about my senses, about the lost time that I experience when one overtakes me?
That evening they stopped at the opening in the mountains. Jim had a hard time finding it, even with the instructions and directions Simon had left him, it was indeed a secret entrance into a secret place…not a direct route for most men to come upon. No wonder Happenstance was unheard of. Simon had said that most of the people who came there were foreigners or men running from their pasts…people who heard about the wonderful valley, the friendly folks and the rich land. Simon had added somewhat cryptically, "If you really want to find it, Jim, you will."
Simon had told him there was a slip of a route between the range. Large enough for wagons and a cavalry, but hidden from view off of the plains. Follow the ravine until you come out upon a crest. Below you will see the most beautiful valley you could ever imagine. Then the river flowing north will take you right into Happenstance. Beyond Happenstance to the north was another valley, Moonrider's Valley. Simon had suggested a small ranch there that had been abandoned for some time. It was a day's ride out of town and most folks wanted to be closer to town. He thought this would be a wonderful ranch for Jim to maybe raise some horses or cattle until he decided what he wanted to do with the rest of his life. Ellison had wired him the money he had saved and Simon had put a down payment on the ranch. Simon had explained some old superstitions about the Valley. Jim didn’t give a rat’s ass about superstition. He had dealt with enough demons in his life, real and imagined, to not fear tales from the dark side.
Forwarding his funds to a bank in Happenstance, he had told Simon to close the deal. The ranch was in relatively good shape and Simon had promised to see it stocked with supplies. He had even bought livestock that was being kept at a neighboring ranch until the time when Ellison settled down. It was all ready for him, waiting for the new owner, sight unseen. Jim trusted Simon. He was the only man alive who knew of his senses.
Most of his salary from the cavalry had been banked and he had enough money socked away to see him through a year or two. He had seriously considered catching wild horses for the cavalry, but he didn't need to make a decision right away.
Now he had the kid to think about, too, but the only thing he was interested in was writing his article. Jim was certain he could find enough work at the new spread to keep him out of trouble. Kid's probably not good at anything , Jim thought, but seeing how he's so smart, he should pick up on things quickly.
They rode into Happenstance around dinnertime the next day. Blair had said very little since rising that morning and Ellison didn’t seem to mind. He was lost in his own world of plans and schemes for the future.
Jim stopped Bud in front of the Sheriff’s office. Blair immediately dismounted, stepping back and allowing Jim plenty of room to join him. Motioning for Sandburg to follow, Ellison entered the office.
A tall, black man sat behind a desk, writing in a journal of some sort. The young anthropologist sized up the situation, checking out the surroundings, gauging the rapport between the two men. Ellison said nothing, but as soon as the sheriff looked up a huge grin spread across his face. Rising quickly he went over and both men hugged, unashamedly. Blair looked around sheepishly, somewhat embarrassed by the encounter, not even knowing why.
“Damn it, man, I didn’t expect you for another month or two, but I’m not complaining. Happenstance needs men like you, Jim.”
“If it’s everything you say it is, Simon, I can’t see how you’d be in need of good folks. Sounds like a dream, too good to be true,” Jim countered, grinning at the warm greeting his old friend gave him.
Then the black eyes drifted towards the young man standing back against the wall. Noting the bandaged feet, the oversized clothes, the cuts and scrapes so visible, and the gash along his hairline. “A friend of yours?” he asked.
“No, sir, I’m not a friend of his. I’m trying to find some Indians to study. I’m a student on a government program….I…” his travelling companion and savior turned a steely, cold blue look at him. Cutting off his further explanations with a sharp wave of his hand, Blair’s face flamed.
“Sheriff, the kid is a liar. You can’t believe anything he says. He almost burned Fort Benton to the ground and Harry’s fit to be tied. Probably will throw the kid in the brig for a year if he gets his hands on him.”
“That’s a lie, sir. This man kidnapped me. I’m asking you to help me. Once I’m free of him I can continue the job I was sent out here to do.”
Ellison grabbed the young man by the arm, bent forward and collected him over his shoulder like a sack of beans. Snatching a set of keys off the wall as he passed with the struggling prize, he lowered the kid on the bunk. Pointing a stern finger close to his nose, he merely said, “Stay put!” Pushing the kid none-too-gently back against the wall, he exited, turned the key and locked the door. Repositioning the ring on the hook outside the bank of cells, he shook his head at his old friend.
Banks stood by with a smile on his face. Sandburg raged grabbing the bars, calling out, “Get me out of here. I’m holding you responsible, Sheriff, I work for the government.”
Looking amused and patient, the black man crossed his arms over his chest.
“Come on, Simon, I’ll buy you a drink and we can talk about the long ride over.”
When Simon and Jim came back, Blair knew his best chance for escape was in playing along with them. Taking the keys off the hook, Jim entered the cell and sat down next to Blair on the bed.
“I think it will work in your best interests if you just accept the way things are. I can’t have you running loose. Simon’s going to wire Captain Simms as soon as you and I are on our way to the ranch. Simms doesn’t deserve the grief and guilt you’ve put him through.”
Blair blushed. The self-realization of the trouble he did indeed cause both Ellison and the army captain made him look at himself a lot more closely than he really cared.
“You’re right. I only hope I can someday apologize to Captain Simms. The school will be looking for me, though. The United States Government will be on the lookout for me.”
“Perhaps, but I’m sure Simms already sent word to Washington about the raids and the victims he found. I’m sure your name is on that roster.”
Hiding his head in his hands, Blair leaned forward and groaned. “My mom. She’ll be devastated.”
“Look,” Ellison said, as he placed a supportive arm around the young man. “If you behave yourself, don’t give me cause for concern, we’ll get word to her. But I remember you telling me you yourself weren’t none to sure on where to reach her.”
“I lied,” Blair said. Ellison knew the only lie was the one he was telling now.
Just then an old man entered the office. “There ye be, Simon, I want to report those lights again.”
“Mr. Dawson,” Simon said, in a conciliatory voice, “We’ve been over this before. Your son said you’re probably just imagining it. There are no Indians, no settlers, no one living up in the Moon Cliffs. It’s all a trick of the light, I’m sure.”
“No! No, sir, you’re not treating me like an old geezer who don’t know his ass…”
Simon moved forward and propelling the elderly gentleman out the door, he could be heard saying, “I’ll see you get home, Mr. Dawson, I’ll even take a look around. I’m sure it’s just some old shovel or wagon wheel. Sometimes that moonlight in the value is strong enough to reflect like the sun.”
Turning before closing the door, he shrugged his shoulders with a tired sigh, and gave Jim a long-suffering smile.
That night as Ellison slept in the same bed as Blair---the first bed either had slept in for quite some time---Sandburg quietly hugged the darkness. Into the early hours when the steady breathing of Ellison assured him the man was sound asleep, he silently crept out of bed.
Taking his clothes, wearing only the bottoms to the long johns Jim had bought him, carrying the new boots, he carefully left the room with his bandaged feet softly scuffing the floorboards.
As he exited the hotel, silently past the sleeping attendant, he looked up and down the street. The only route open to him seemed to be to find some trusting citizen and have him hide him out for awhile. Perhaps if Ellison left town to attend to his ranch, Blair could work out some arrangement with the townsfolk without Sheriff Banks getting wind of it.
Heading towards the edge of town, Blair turned into the back alleyways and headed along the stream. The cool night air was a welcome change to some of the bitter cold nights and hot orange days of the plains.
The old cabin along the river glowed with a warm light, the chimney emitted curls into the night sky, teasing the moon. It looked like a place that said, “welcome.”
Raising his hand to knock on the door, Blair froze as he heard the cocking sound of a rifle.
“Hold it right there, lest you want me to blow your head clean off.” The voice croaked with the hollow echoes of age and the hard edges of sincerity.
“Look, mister, I was just about to knock. I’m not a thief or trespasser. I just wondered if you could put me up in your barn or shed. I’ll gladly pay you when I can, but I just need your help. I was brought out here against my will.” Blair turned slowly, keeping his hands in the air, trying to show the old man he was unarmed.
“I recognize you. You think I’m an old man with no sense to him. Well, sonny, I seen you locked away in the Sheriff’s jail. I think I’ve got me an escaped prisoner. You move along, boy, come on.” The old timer had come up behind Blair and shoving the butt of the gun into his back he urged him across the porch and down the steps. Jabbing the end of the gun into his back he herded him towards the base of a small ridge that paralleled the base of the mountains.
“Look, you don’t understand. I was brought here against my will. I was kidnapped.”
“Why ain’t you wearing those boots, carrying them like they was new?”
“Well, they are new, but my feet were badly cut. Indians chased me.”
The old man let out a cackle that was filled with glee, “Don’t that beat all, the stories you younguns tell nowadays. Yessiree, right imaginative tales you spin. You call it kidnappin if you want to, boy, the law and I say prisoner taken into custody.”
As they cleared a rock, Blair saw a door built clean into the side of the sloping hill. Taking a key from his pocket, the old codger opened the door and tilted the gun towards the opening, urging Blair into the darkness beyond.
When Ellison awoke his first conscious thought brought panic to him. His senses jerked about, each screaming for his attention, jostling for supreme position as he rose to meet the day. A headache screamed along his eyebrow and he realized it without even looking that the kid was gone.
A hard crease twisted his face with displeasure. The damn kid is stubborn. I think we’re past mere threats from here on out.
Putting on his clothes and grabbing his gun belt, he headed towards Banks’ office.
“Jim! Will you take it easy,” Simon tried to calm the raging bull that paced before his desk. The old Ellison was in full form and Simon remembered well the days in the army when an angry Ellison was a dangerous breed.
“I’ll not have you running around this town strung out like barbed wire ready to snap. The citizens of this town don’t need that kind of display of might and right, Jim.”
“Where is he? He can barely walk. Hell, Simon, the kid is the most troublesome, most infuriating….he attracts disaster. Can’t find his way out of an outhouse, yet, he manages to find trouble in the damnedest places. He won’t survive out there, Simon, he…”
“Hold on. I don’t think he left town yet. Jim, Happenstance isn’t all that big a town, but the land around is pretty well sealed off from the rest of the country. Other than the pass near Darwin’s Butte where you entered, there aren’t too many entrances into this valley…least ways that I know of.” Simon finally got the irate man to settle down in a chair. He poured two cups of coffee and handed one to the tightly strung man.
“There’s a passage through the Moon Cliffs that I’ve been told about, but it’s a tricky route and it’s only legend. Part of an old tale about these cliffs. Devil’s Walk is feasible, I’ve been told, but it’s right easy to get lost in those rock formations and some men have been known to just starve to death trying to get through. It’s like a maze in that ravine.”
“Let’s check around town first.”
“Don’t you think I’ve done that already, Simon? Don’t you think I’ve used my talents.”
Recalling the confidence Jim had extended years ago, Simon smiled. “I forgot all about that. Yeah, I guess you’d know if the kid were still in town. My guess is he’d try to get some rancher or citizen on the outskirts of town to hide him out.”
Rising Ellison put his coffee cup down.
“Thanks, Simon. I’d appreciate it if you’d check around town though. See if anyone maybe knows something about where he might have gotten. I think I’ll do some scanning out back stretch, towards the Cliffs.”
“Fine, Jim. We’ll meet back here in about two hours.”
Ellison was on foot. No sense in trying to track the kid on horseback. With his injured feet still needing care, he wouldn’t be making much time. Surely the kid was holed up somewhere in someone’s shed or barn, waiting for the opportune time to negotiate help from some good citizen.
Jim walked along the small riverbank. Actually it turned into a stream along the base of the sloping hills that rose towards the mountains. Jim could well imagine the miners that panned for gold along this stream. A small cabin lay nestled in the base of one of the small hills. Behind it the mountain sloped downward in green, lush grass. The porch overlooked the small river and it was the creaking of the rocking chair that pulled Ellison’s attention up and away.<<Erk>> <<Erk>> <<Erk>> And then his hearing pooled out and the river exploded in a river and the geese were filling the sky with their honks, then <<drub drub>>, <<drub drub>>, <<drub drub>>. The kid was here.
His senses coalesced into a harmonic blend of even steady input. The old man smelled of coffee and bacon and the fish were jumping up on down the river and the steady heartbeat was even and relaxed. No doubt wherever the kid was, he was sound asleep.
“I guess you be coming to collect the prisoner,” Mr. Dawson called, a shotgun lying across his lap, rocking slowly to a steady rhythm.
“Yes, sir. I guess that means he’s here.”
“Nicely tucked up safe and sound.” Mr. Dawson rose.
“Follow me, young feller, I’ll show ya.”
Jim followed the old man as he slowly walked to the side of the porch and then down the side stairs. Heading towards the sloping, green hill, Jim panned the area for other signs of life. There were deer in the foothills coming down to drink from the rivers and lakes, he could hear a cougar running through the plains, and several winged birds were taking to flight.
Ellison entered the cool, dank darkness. Mr. Dawson had told him where to find some lucifers and an oil lamp on a table as he entered, but a sentinel needed no such aids. Against the wall, the very far corner, the kid was sound asleep on some old, empty sacks.
Closing the door quietly, Ellison walked over to the table and lit the lantern. The dark space illuminated with a warm light. The sleeping form stirred, nestled deeper beneath the old sacks and looking like a small boy, lost, he returned to the depths of sleep.
An old chair and table sat in the middle of the room, dusty from lack of use. Pulling the chair near the sleeping form, Ellison sat down and waited.
Sandburg came out of an exhausted slumber with all the eagerness of a man walking to his execution. Bleary-eyed, the soft lambent glow coming from the lantern made it difficult for him to open his eyes. He wanted to roll over and curl up drifting back into the harbor of his unconscious.
However, he felt another presence in the room. Without opening his eyes completely he squinted up into the glowing shadows of the darkened room. Not having gotten much sleep last night, he was totally unaware of the hour. Fighting the need for a hasty return to the land of nod, he pulled himself up by one elbow and rubbed his eyes.
The man who sat but a few feet away from him was anything but happy. The stoic face hid all emotions and there seemed to be a deliberate masking of any promise, retribution, or comeuppance due the runaway.
“Hey,” Blair started off in a friendly tone, “you can’t blame me for trying. I mean, it’s every prisoner’s right to try and escape.” He added a small laugh to the statement hoping that now that he had lost the race, he could gracefully compliment the winner.
Ellison merely hooked his index finger into a beckoning gesture, luring the young man from his nest.
The anthropologist slowly stood up, his bandaged feet wet and dirty from the evening stroll. The new boots lay next to him, neatly displayed. The braces were down from his britches and his shirt was pulled outside his pants from a few hours of tossing and turning. His jacket had been used to cover himself. He let it fall to the floor.
Hesitating, he kept his distance from the man whom now seemed like stone.
Ellison raised the finger again and beckoned him near, but now he added the dull clang of the bell, “One.”
Sandburg realized that if he ever would find out what the count amounted to, now would be it. He shuffled nearer, but far from his target.
“Two,” came like thunder crashing unexpectedly against the hollow hills. Blair winced as though lightening were sure to follow.
Before he could instruct his legs to move forward, the final knell tolled, “Three,” and Ellison snaked out a hand. Pulling Blair forward by his forearm, he had barely raised himself from the seat to snag his prey. He brought the startled youth beside the chair, careful of his bandaged feet. In one fluid motion, he pulled the buttons loose from the eyelets and hauled the young man face down across his knees.
The pants were easily pulled down along with the underwear and he settled the struggling youth in a position most advantageous to a clear view of his buttocks.
“Please, you can’t be serious.” Blair tried to sound mature and offended by the move.
“I’m serious when I warn you time and time again about the dangers in this country and you choose not to hear me. If I can’t reason with you, boy, I might be able to put the fear of God in you. Your actions will be met firmly and immediately with a reaction from here on end. No more games, no more foolishness.” Ellison brought his hand down sharply on the exposed spheres. The globes reddened almost instantaneously, blushing like the cheeks of a young miss after her first kiss. Ellison was sure the boy’s face was just as red and warm at the realization that all threats would be carried out.
“I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Please!” the beating heart told him more than all the words the young man could speak. The frantic pulsing echoed loudly the kid’s humiliation and fear.
Ellison took pity on his captive. No doubt he had never been physically punished before and a quick, hard spanking would at least reinforce the seriousness of Jim’s threats from here on out.
The large hand came down in a series of even, hard smacks, covering all the flesh with an even, warm glow. The sharp slapping sound filled the hollow room like cannon fire, reinforcing the pain that followed each burst of rapid-fire assault.
“I’ll let you off easy this time, but next foolish act and I won’t see fit to be so lenient.”
He let the boy up and watched as blue eyes pooled with tears, for now unshed, as Blair rubbed his bottom distractedly, considering the surprise attack.
“This was easy?” Blair mumbled, but seeing the look in Jim’s eyes, he quickly added, “I never thought you’d really carry out your threats,” in a pathetically childlike voice.
“Then it was my fault, Chief. I should have impressed the seriousness of matters to you soon after we met. You’re going to the ranch with me. Are we clear on that fact?” Ellison aimed the icy-blue orbs his way.
Sandburg merely nodded his head, as one small tear fell down his cheek.
Jim smiled as he rose. “Button up. We need to go let Simon know you’re all right and you need to thank Mr. Dawson for saving you from a worse spanking. I don’t think a long goose chase would have spared your bottom much of anything when I’d found you.”
Quickly picking up his britches and underwear, he pulled his braces into position and made a move for his boots and jacket. Ellison beat him to the objects and handed him the jacket. After Sandburg shrugged into it, the taller man stooped and pulled the speechless boy over his shoulder once again. “Your feet don’t need another trek across the rocky soil. We’ll have those bandages changed and you’ll remain pretty much off your feet until I tell you otherwise. Got it?”
Blair hesitated, but a sharp smack to his upturned bottom and he was yelling, “Got it…I got it,” with all the eagerness of someone who truly had.
Part 6 of Story One