STORY ONE -BLESSED PROTECTOR OF THE PLAINS - PART SIX
TWO DAYS LATER
Blair sat next to the tall man on the buckboard. Bud followed behind tethered to the wagon that was loaded with supplies. His first impression of the house was nothing to write home about, had he been able to write home to Naomi. It was a one-story log house, L-shaped. Ellison had completely outfitted him at Brown’s Mercantile. Doctor McCoy had checked him over against his protestations. His sense of modesty was clearly ignored and Ellison stood nearby during the whole examination. Any struggles or opposition were met with a sharp swat to the back of the head that quite frankly stung. Dr. McCoy, though gentle and considerate, treated him with the same tolerant disbelief as Sheriff Banks.
No one in this strange place is going to lift a finger to help me, Blair thought as his mind raced frantically around possible avenues for escape. All avenues led no where as long as he was horse-less and direction-less.
Now as he rode into the yard of the ranch Ellison had purchased, he felt a strange panic rise inside. There was something final about the arrival, like the door closing on a long, unexpected prison sentence.
The first few days, Sandburg didn’t do much. Jim pretty much forbade him to get out of bed much. McCoy had insisted that the young man stay off his feet for another week, and he certainly didn’t want him wearing his new boots. So Jim had allowed him only to walk in the small cabin and short trips to the outhouse.
The cabin door entered into the kitchen on the left with a wood-burning stove and a table with two chairs. To the right a large stone fireplace with a leather chair and oval rug placed in front, were the only furnishings left behind. Off to the left of the living room was a small alcove with a bed and bureau. Off of this alcove was another smaller room, probably once a child’s bedroom.
“There’ll be more furniture in time. I’ll order some stuff from the catalogue and I can make things. My first order of business will be getting the barn in shape and the fences. I need to pick up my livestock.”
Don’t bother, Blair thought, I won’t be staying that long.
By the second week, they had fallen into a routine. Blair had started cooking the meals, bored with sitting around doing nothing. Ellison couldn’t help but comment on some of the exotic dishes, but he seemed impressed with the young man’s culinary imagination. Jim spent most of the day, hammering the roof of the barn or fixing the many fences around the corrals.
The end of the third week brought Simon and a young rancher from New Zealand named Rafe for a visit. They were kind enough to bring Jim his livestock: Chickens, a milking cow, and several steers. Enough to start the ranch going.
Blair had been increasingly restless. His feet were healed and he was able to wear the new boots without too much pain and discomfort.
It was on the morning of the fourth week, when Jim had announced he was taking the buckboard and the two-team horses up near the base of the Moon Cliffs to cut some more lumber. He told Blair to pack a lunch for them both and get ready to head out in half an hour.
“I’m not feeling very well,” Blair said, aiming big blue eyes and a sad puppy dog expression at the older man. Many times Naomi had commented on the powers of that one look of his and he felt it was well worth a try with this man.
The steely blue gaze covered him completely in a slow deductive sequence, assessing and calculating. Blair willed himself to remain calm. He must not read anything into this.
“All right, you can stay here, but I’ll expect some work done. Feed the chickens, milk the cow, clean out the barn, and have dinner ready when I get back.”
Blair nodded, willing the exhalation of relief to come out slowly and uneventfully.
Ellison seemed to give him a questioning look, but saying nothing further he left to hitch up the team.
Sending Ellison off with a large lunch, he waited until the wagon was well out of sight. Packing a sack full of canned goods, salted pork, and some coffee…I refuse to be without coffee…he saddled Bud. True it was horse stealing, but kidnapping was illegal, too…one crime against him surely negated the other.
He knew how much Ellison cared for the animal and that did bring a few doubts across his mind, but in time he would find a town and leave the animal with the blacksmith or a trustworthy rancher. He could wire Ellison where the animal was as soon as he got to a town.
Settling the items on the back of the large horse, Blair mounted. The horse whinnied and danced around as though unsure of the rider and the course of action required of him.
“Shhhhh, easy, boy,” Blair tried to hide his own fears and uncertainties. He was not an experienced horseman.
Once the large animal ceased his dance of confusion, Sandburg gently guided him towards the base of Moonrider’s Valley. He was confident that there was passage through the mountains heading north. He had no intention of heading south and falling into the hands of Simon Banks or any of the other good citizens of Happenstance.
Ellison worked steadily chopping down the trees. He had amassed a large pile of logs in the back of the wagon. After a delicious lunch of cold chicken and Blair’s biscuits, he sat looking up towards the mountains to the north and east. In the distance he heard Bud whinnying and sniffling. Straining his hearing off towards that direction he picked up the heartbeat. It was irritated and excited.
Unhitching one horse from the team, he threw a small blanket onto the animal’s back, grabbed a rope and rode out in the direction of the Cliffs. Simon had warned him about the Moon Cliffs and especially about Devil’s Walk. If Sandburg tried to pass out of the valley through Devil’s Walk, he and Bud could both end up dead.
Blair had no idea how it had happened. I can’t do anything right. I can’t find my way with or without maps. I have no sense of direction. Some Anthropologist I’d make, not being able to find anything.
The large chestnut was more than agitated. Blair had found a small passage that he hoped would take him through the base of the mountain. However, after turning several times, moving in and among the high rocks and boulders, he found himself going in circles. Bud had no doubt picked up on their situation. The horse seemed as confused and distraught as Blair tried not to appear to be. He knew animals could sense fear on people.
Every turn they made, took them deeper and deeper into the mountain range, but with no clear route. Progress seemed to be minimal, for every time Blair looked up at the high cliffs, above the same rock formations held their steady guard.
I could starve here, or never find my way out. Why did I even attempt this?
Ellison rode quickly up to the opening of jutting rocks, walled in passages, and tight squeezes. Keeping Bud steady in such a maze would have been hard for him and he and the horse were long used to their pairing. With an inexperienced rider like Blair, Bud could easily lose his controlled demeanor and racing out or rising up he could hurt himself and the kid.
Clenching his jaw tightly shut, Ellison dismounted. Taking the coil of rope he tied one end to a small bush outside the rocky passage. Making sure it was securely tied and that the bush would hold, he began to slowly unwind the rope as he started into the rocks.
He focused his hearing in on the heartbeat. The murmuring and cursing coming from up ahead were not steady enough to give him a sense of direction. But the heartbeat, that one sound that calmed him so, was like a beacon. Not only was his hearing tuned to the steady drumming, but his sight was crystal clear, his skin felt alive and sensitive to the air, he could even smell the kid’s fear and Bud’s.
When he was a child and he had realized he was different from other children, he had suppressed it. Fearful of punishment, he learned to force his senses down, only to realize the striking headaches that were his reward. In time they seemed to just go away, but after his men were ambushed and he found himself walking alone in the Badlands he was near madness with the confusion his senses caused him. Had not Wind Walker found him, he would have died perhaps by his own hand.
Shaking the memories off, he moved forward, the rope trailing behind leaving an exit to easily be followed back.
Blair could feel the horse growing more and more distraught beneath him. Concentrating on his sense of direction, he gave little thought to the idle, calming chatter that he needed to extend towards the large animal. As they slowly made there way around the next large formation, Blair realized it was a dead end. There was no exit. There was no room to turn the large Chestnut around.
Pulling back on the reins, confusing the horse, he tried to get Bud to back out of the tight crevice. The large horse reared up, fighting the panic that enveloped both horse and rider.
“Blair! Stay still! Don’t move!”
“I can’t control him!” Blair screamed back, their voices echoing off the canyon walls.
“QUIET!” Jim said, forcefully. Then he began a soft whistling, a melody that Blair had heard many times in his youth, but couldn’t quite place.
Bud’s ears pricked up. Rearing up one last time, he eased himself down and stood still. Blair looked down bewildered at the change in the horse, as though the whistling was some magic tune played by a sorcerer.
When Ellison came into view of his runaway, all he saw was the butt of his horse protruding from a very tight passage. Damn kid thought he could go through there. It’s obvious it’s not big enough for a horse Bud’s size.
Walking behind the horse, he placed both hands on the horse’s flanks.
“Stay seated, Sandburg, and stay quiet. He rears up now he could hurt himself and you. If he panics in here, he’ll break a leg for sure.”
He saw the curly head nod slightly. Then with a gentle, firm voice he spoke to the horse, “Bud, back.”
The horse took one step back. Ellison turned where the entrance bent into another. Hand still firmly on the flanks, he said again, “Bud, back.” The horse took another step back, easing himself and his ill-trained rider out into the open. Still not having enough room to turn the horse around, Jim placed his hands yet again on the rump, “Bud, back.” Again the horse stepped and cleared the tight enclosure.
Ellison walked to the front of the large horse and grabbed the reins from the very frightened young man who now looked down at him with admiration, gratitude, and awe.
“Get down,” Ellison said to him, trying hard to keep the harshness from his voice. Not wanting to upset the horse.
The kid quickly dismounted and stood where he alit, afraid to move in any direction, fearing for his life when he saw the hardness of Ellison’s features.
“Hey, look, I’m sorry, I…”
“Shut up!”
James Ellison took his horse and started walking back, following the rope he had eased out into the rocky canyon. Sandburg stood stock still, never making any effort to follow. He felt totally lost and abandoned. He felt like sitting down and just letting go. This man had every right to be angry with him. He had only saved his life half a dozen times and was constantly repaid with more trouble.
As Ellison and the horse moved on into the next turn, tears welled in his eyes. He wants to leave me here. Fine! I don’t care. The childish, surly, self-pitying attitude was immature. He knew it, but he couldn’t help it. He hated himself and he hated Ellison and he hated the damn horse and he…”
“Grab the horse’s tail.” Then his hands were taken and two strong hands physically moved him forward by his arms. His own hands were taken like a small child’s and placed on the horse’s long tail.
“Don’t let go, until I tell you to.”
Then the small parade slowly marched out of Devil’s Walk.
When the trio made it out into the open, Ellison began to coil the rope on his shoulder and forearm. Finally looking up at his runaway, he realized Sandburg still stood behind the horse, clutching his tail.
“You can let go now.”
Seemingly startled out of some reverie, Blair quickly dropped the soft rope and quickly wiped his hands on his britches. The nervous gesture told Ellison all he needed to know. The kid knew he was in for more than a lecture.
Jim went to stand next to the team horse. “Come here,” Ellison said to the kid.
Blair approached him cautiously. Ellison cupped his hands together and tipped his head to indicate he would help Blair mount the saddle-less horse. Once Sandburg was seated, Ellison mounted Bud. Grabbing the reins of the team horse, he led his fugitive back to the wagon.
Blair didn’t dare say a word during the long trip back to the area where Jim had spent the day cutting down trees. He couldn’t shake the embarrassment he felt. How could I have been so stupid? I can’t do anything right since I’ve come out here. I never should have left Philadelphia. I’m sure he’s had his fill of me now. He’ll surely send me back east, probably in a pine box.
The sun was already tipping towards the horizon. Ellison dismounted from Bud and walked towards Blair. The jawbone was alive with promises of retribution; his mouth set in a tight grimace. Instinctually, Blair slid down off the team horse. Stepping quickly aside he watched as Ellison took the blanket off the horse and led him to the wagon, hitching him alongside the other horse.
Collecting his supplies, he piled everything in back of the wagon, already filled with cut timber. Blair eagerly went over to the large log Ellison must have been working on before rebellious anthropologists distracted him. Bending down he tried to lift the huge log himself, eager now to make amends for the wasted day. Lifting one end of the nine-foot log, he was only able to drag it a few feet.
Seeing the kid trying to pull the freshly cut log, Ellison grunted his displeasure. He went over and lifted the other end of the log and slowly, allowing for Blair’s smaller size, they eased the log onto the back of the wagon. Blair watched his Blessed Protector’s face, eagerly seeking some sign of forgiveness. The waiting was killing him.
Tying Bud to the back of the wagon, Ellison climbed upon the seat. Blair quickly joined him. Somehow having to be told was not in his best interests he deducted. Best not to rile him any further.
When they arrived at the cabin, Ellison finally spoke his first words to Blair.
“Go inside and get dinner ready.”
Blair nodded quickly and jumped down.
Wanting to make amends the worst way, Blair made biscuits and with some salted pork he added potatoes, carrots and onions. Within an hour, the cabin was a warm and welcoming scene, Blair busily cooking, the tantalizing aroma of fresh biscuits and stew, and a pot of coffee brewing.
Ellison entered the cabin carrying the small sack of supplies Blair had thrown over Bud’s saddle. Quickly turning away, blushing a hot streak of red, Blair tried to pretend he hadn’t noticed. Ellison laid the sack near the sink. Pumping water he washed his hands and face and stuck his whole head under the water spray. Blair quickly handed him a towel, feeling awkward. Not sure he could handle the silence anymore he broke.
“Look, I’m sorry. I had no idea that passage was that treacherous. I want you to know I never would have done anything to deliberately hurt Bud. I don’t treat animals that way and I know how much the horse means to you.”
The tall man brought the towel down revealing his eyes, still wet and brilliant from the refreshing spray. The cold blue eyes studied him for several seconds, then Ellison merely said, “Is dinner ready yet?”
Discomfited by the brush-off, Blair shuffled his feet. “Ah, yeah, it’s done. Have a seat and we’ll eat.”
The strain of the long meal left Blair with little appetite. He pushed his food around the plate as he broke his biscuit into small pieces to dip into the sauce. Most of it ended up in the stew untouched.
Looking up surreptitiously, he was annoyed to see Ellison’s appetite unaffected by the chilly silence. The man was shoveling large spoonfuls of the stew into his mouth and he already had consumed four biscuits.
Finally, not being able to stand it one second longer, Blair pushed his chair away and rose quickly. “I said I was sorry. Why can’t you just acknowledge it? It’s not fair ignoring me. I was wrong. I admit it.”
Ellison stopped eating. Sitting back he grabbed his mug of coffee and took several large gulps of the hot liquid. Moving his tongue along his teeth to clear away particles of food, he also savored the taste of the meal and the comment of his young friend. Deciding then and there what he needed to do, he said, “You’re right, it’s best we get it over with.”
Rising slowly he began to unbuckle his belt. His eyes never left the face of the young man before him. He saw the color drain from the large features, the cerulean pools widen and clear, the step taken back, gauging another break for freedom. Leaving no time for any plans to come to fruition he moved forward, grabbed Blair’s upper left arm and pulled the boy along with him to the large bed they shared off in the alcove.
Blair began to make soft sounds as he shook his head back and forth, trying to shake the disbelief he felt. Ellison threw the belt on the bed, sat down and pulled the shocked anthropologist in front of him. Pulling down the braces he quickly had the britches pooled around his ankles. In another instant the smaller man lay prone across his knee with his upper torso resting on the bed, his legs outstretched and helplessly trapped by the pants.
Ellison pulled down the underwear. His captive let out a shocked protest. Finally finding his voice, he began to plead, “Please don’t. I’m sorry. I won’t try it again. I promise.”
“I know you won’t. At least you’ll be thinking long and hard on the foolishness of such an effort. You’ll be remembering it for a few days at least.”
Securing the struggling figure by pulling him close to his hips, he picked up the belt and folded it over, making a short strap. Placing his right leg over the flailing legs, he secured the target. Taking a deep breath, needing to steel himself to perform the necessary act, he brought the belt down with a sharp smack across the white bottom.
“Ow! NO! Please! Ow, Ouch! NO! Jim, please.”
The striking snaps of the belt and its impact upon flesh were taking on a rhythm of painful repetition. The soft white cheeks were striping in pink layers, crisscrossing the buttocks with hot areas. Jim continued the assault with hard intent, blocking out the sounds coming from the frightened youth. Allowing his senses to go with the heartbeat, allowing them to be in tune with one another as that one heartbeat conducted them in harmonic orchestration, he could hear the distressed rhythm, feel the hot flesh, and smell the perspiration.
“Aw no, no more, please no more.” The young man’s voice was getting hoarse from the yelling and crying. Ellison looked down at the concave spheres. Judging his ministrations were off to the desired start, he threw the belt down on the floor.
Raising his left leg up, he tipped the region of abuse higher, rounding it nicely and exposing more virgin territory for his attentions. Sliding his legs down lower on Blair’s kicking thighs, he brought the “sit down” spot into complete focus.
The flat of his hand would do nicely to impart the rest of the wisdom he was determined for Blair to learn.
“Okay, Chief, time to see if you’re learning your lessons. What will you never do again?”
SMACK! SMACK! He brought his hand down steadily, hard and sure. All areas of the fleshy mounds were now red, hot, and stinging. Jim’s palm could gauge the heat from each area as his hand made fresh contact with the flesh.
The slaps continued. “I asked you a question?”
“I’ll never try to run away again. I swear. Please stop. It hurts.”
“Didn't anyone else ever spank you as a child? Don’t you realize it’s supposed to hurt?” Jim asked, truly wondering what kind of upbringing this free-spirited boy had.
“No NEVER! Naomi doesn’t believe in striking children.”
“Well, I do.” Jim really put his heart into the rest of the punishment. Blair had kept up a series of grunts and groans, prayers and pleadings, but now he was truly distraught. He began to cry in earnest, not caring that he sounded like a child.
Jim pushed the heart-wrenching sobs out of his mind. Concentrating on the punishment, telling himself how the outcome could have played out in Devil’s Walk. Finally he delivered six extra hard swats to the now beet-red butt. Blair buried his face in the bedclothes, unable to think of anything save his burning posterior.
Allowing him a moment to sob out his pain, Ellison released his trapped legs and gently pushed his hips off his knee. He lay back down on the bed and pulled the sobbing youth in against his chest, sighing out his own turmoil and agitation.
The forgiveness of the gesture, the complete enclosing of the troubled soul in strong, warm arms, was enough to release the floodgates. Blair clung to the chest burying his face in Jim’s shirt, seeking forgiveness and absolution.
“It’s okay now. You learned something today, but quite frankly, kid, I don’t think you’ll survive every lesson out here if you don’t start listening to me.”
The curly head nodded against his chest as he hitched in a deep breath, trying to find his voice. “I, <<hiccup>> I, know…<<hiccup>> so sorry.”
“Just part of growing up, kid. Seems you’ve been spared too many corrective discussions. I don’t really see it as being your fault. Just know that I won’t hesitate to discipline you. You might see it as punishment, but it’s discipline. It’s an attempt to correct you and make you stop and think before acting.”
Then pushing the kid away and raising his head up by placing a gentle hand on his chin, he met the blue eyes. “Got it?”
The young man’s eyed filled again, seemingly a bottomless pool of tears. He hitched his breath and tried to answer, but a wrenching sob escaped. He nodded his head eagerly and once released buried his face again in the broad chest. Wrapping his arms more tightly around Ellison, he sought all the protection and safety he never before experienced in life.
“Why do you even care?” the thought cut the air like a knife.
Pulling the figure in closely, Jim smiled. Looking up at the ceiling he let the question marinate in his own childhood memories, making sure the answer was tenderly thought out.
“I care because you’ve grown on me, Chief, in ways I’ve yet to discover. I just know how I felt when I thought you were killed along with the scalp hunters. I don’t want to experience that kind of hollow ache again.” Bringing his hand up he slowly stroked the hair of the young anthropologist.
“Sorry it’s all the answer I’ve got right now. Besides, maybe telling my story about the time I spent with Wind Walker will do us both some good.”
“I really want to hear about it,” came a very non-enthused voice, muffled by the slow veil of exhaustion.
“Just as I want to learn some things from you,” Ellison said softly as he admitted his own needs and concerns.
The large man held the anthropologist for half an hour, lying back and closing his own eyes, he let himself absorb the sights, sounds, and smells of the boy. He felt a calming peace he had never known before, a surety of soul and purpose to his senses and his life that he had never hoped to experience.
When the steady breathing turned to soft snores, he eased himself up and away from the clinging figure. Taking off the kid’s boots, he carefully stripped the figure pulling the britches and underwear completely off and lifting Blair’s legs he deposited him on his side of the bed. Wrapping the comforter around the exhausted form, he finished putting away the remnants of the evening meal and joined his companion in slumber.
The morning sun pierced the gray, murky dawn with rays of dancing particles. Blair focused on the soft channels of activity as he adjusted his sore bottom against the sheets. The painful memory of last night came back with a vengeance and he blushed recalling the treatment, the discipline, at the hands of his Blessed Protector.
Rolling onto his side he snuggled deeply into the pillow and watched the small, minute dust particles whirl and swirl in their golden tubes. Another memory washed upon him, but this time with a cozy sense of wellbeing. He remembered how Ellison held him, forgave him and tried to impart a sense of direction to him. Never having the ministrations or interest of an older man in his life, he acknowledged how good it felt.
Pushing away the covers he jumped out of bed, trying to avoid contact with his bottom. There were last night’s biscuits warming on the stove and a fresh basket of eggs sitting next to the frying pan. Looking down at the shirttails that covered his naked, lower half, he postponed dressing. No doubt he would be much more comfortable undressed for now.
As he cracked the eggs into a bowl, he started humming to himself, never hearing Ellison enter.
Turning around to set the table, he blushed as he saw the tall man standing there watching him. “Ah, I,” he started, unsure of what to say.
“I was just coming in to wake you. You slept like the dead last night.” Ellison watched him, gauging the kid and his attitude.
“I was tired.”
“Me, too, kid. Me, too,” Ellison said, somewhat sadly, regretfully.
Sandburg saw the tired lines etched on Jim’s face, the haggard look of someone who had gone over some rough spots in the last few days. Realizing that he was the cause of this man’s personal grief and aggravation, he decided to be the one to mediate the strained atmosphere into one of mutual comfort.
“Breakfast will be ready in a bit,” he said awkwardly. Then as though an idea just struck him, he wiped his hands on a towel and headed for the door just past Ellison. “I think I’ll make us omelets. I make a good omelet. Naomi and I lived on eggs one summer in New Orleans. It was the only food that didn’t make her violently ill…well, that was before she went vegetarian, but…”
“Whoa!” Ellison snaked out a hand and grabbed the jabbering youth.
Blair---startled, fear washing the color of his eyes to a paler shade---froze.
Ellison quickly released him, hating the look. “Look, about last night, are we okay?”
Blair blushed. Jim read it as embarrassment, when in fact it was, but not entirely. It was shame for his own insensitive and foolish behavior.
“I won’t say I liked what happened. Won’t ever say that,” Blair looked down scuffing his bare feet on the floor. “But I had it coming to me and I guess I will think before I act from now on.”
Then seeing acceptance in Jim’s eyes as well, Blair smiled, joining the morning light with his own promise of sunny skies and dispositions, “It felt kinda good, you know, just knowing there are limits.”
Opening the door, he gingerly walked along the dirt towards the cellar door, as though the weight of responsibility and objectives and needs had been lifted from his young shoulders.
Ellison let out a short laugh, shaking his head as he proceeded to wash up for breakfast.
The meal completed and dishes washed and put away, both men found comfort in the routine. Jim helped Blair clean the table talking about plans for the ranch and the lumber he had chopped yesterday.
“Can I help today?” Blair asked.
“Sure, I could use an extra pair of hands.”
Sandburg hurried to put on his pants and boots and within minutes he was racing out the door following Ellison.
“Let’s work on the back corral. There are some rotted fence poles that might not last the summer, best to repair them before we lose some livestock.”
The routine was simple. Jim hacked the rounded poles into sharp bottoms. Blair dug the holes and together both men settled the cylinders into the earth. The wire fence was strung tautly and they worked well together.
Around noon, Blair left to start lunch. Jim worked on the last of the poles, chiseling pointed ends to be positioned into the earth. As he turned to head back for the house, hearing Blair’s preparations for the mid-day meal, he froze as the sounds around came clamoring in on him. Geese were honking out a far and distant sound, somewhere off in the mountains a small landslide rumbled the earth, the waterfall several miles away raged in a turbulent pool of sound and fury. Overcome by the sounds he stood like a man entranced, lost to reality.
“JIM!” Blair called out, standing in the door. “Meal’s ready!”
No response. He usually didn’t even have to call the older man for supper. Ellison seemed to always know when food was ready. Blair chalked it off to his good cooking and tantalizing aromas that accompanied most of the exotic dishes he prepared.
Walking towards the back of the barn, he saw the tall man frozen in time and space. His eyes were focused off towards the Moon Cliffs to the east of the ranch. “Jim?” Blair approached him cautiously.
Then as concern overcame him, he walked towards Ellison. Placing a hand on his shoulder, he gently shook him. “Jim? What is it, man?”
Slowly, Ellison seemed to return to the present. He seemed dazed at first, confused by the experience. Grabbing his head, the sharpness of a headache pushing itself in upon him, he took a long, slow breath.
The heartbeat came to him. The sweet steady strain of the blood flowing through the hollow chambers of the other’s heart finally pulled him in. His senses evened out, the hearing acutely defined the rocks falling and wind echoing out of the canyons and the birds in the trees; the sky, crystal clear and bright clarified that his vision was sharp and focused; the earth smelled of summer flowers and thick, rich soil.
The hand pressed on his shoulder was firm and friendly. He could feel the pulse of that heartbeat in every pressure point of finger and palm. The tight band around his forehead eased its hold and he felt good. For the first time in his life, an episode did not wipe him out, did not push him into a corner of himself where he would need time to regain his self-assured posture.
Finally looking down into the clearly concerned pools of blue, he smiled. Grabbing the concerned face between his hands he gently patted the cheeks.
“Just geese…just some geese heading North,” he said, as if he were the most contented man on the face of the earth.
Then walking purposefully towards the cabin, he called back, “Chicken and biscuits smells good, Chief, but I think you overdid the paprika.”
Sandburg shook his head, How does he know I added too much paprika? Then looking up at the sound he saw a gander of geese angling towards the north, clearing the lower crest of the Moon Cliffs. Dazed by what he had just seen, the ramifications…he recalled all the coincidences, the ability to know he had headed off into Devil’s Walk a mile away from the grove, knowing he was lost. “You’re…you’re one of them. Oh my God! You’re a Sentinel!”
Realizing the prize that had fallen into his hands, he let out a war hoop, “Whooeee! This is like the Holy Grail! Oh, man, this is all I ever wanted.” Skipping in eager excitement after the tall rancher, the young anthropologist could not believe his good luck. Time alone would show him that he had indeed found all that he could ever want.
THE END
Thank you for reading. I hope that you have been entertained.
