The Search for Soaring Hawk

by Terry O'Reilly

  She whimpered softly, “My baby, my baby.”

  The men boosted Mrs. Rayburn into the wagon, holding the items Sam had requested. “Praise the Lord,” she cried.

  “And Sam,” Garrett added, smiling up at him.

  Sam took the needles and thread, and began to stitch up the incision. That task done, he and Garrett left the delivery of the afterbirth to the women.

  He and Garrett climbed down out of the wagon.

  Nicholas met them.

  “You got yourself a daughter,” Garrett said.

  “Thank you, thank you,” Nicholas said, hugging both men as tears rolled down his cheeks. “And Polly?”

  “She came through it. Wait a bit till the ladies get things squared away. Then you can go in and meet your little girl,” the wagon master told him. “Come on, Sam, let’s get you cleaned up.”

  Garrett put his arm across Sam’s shoulders, and the two men walked past the reverend, who stood watching them in silence.

  * * * They had reached the sink. “Worst time of all to get here,” Gus said. “Not a lake, but not dry either. Garrett, we’re gonna have ta go ’round it.”

  Sam looked at the wagon master. He was gazing intently at the marshy landscape before them. The wind came up and blew across the wet muck in their direction. Sam winced, covering his mouth and nose. The stench was terrible. Behind him, he could hear the exclamations of disgust as the smell spread through the train.

  “Let’s move on,” Garrett said with a gritty determination, raising his hand and signaling the train to roll. “The sooner we get by this, the better off we’ll be.”

  It took two days to pass the sink. Many had become nauseous from the putrid smell emanating from the dead lakebed. All were relieved to leave the sink behind them. What they faced next, however, Garrett warned, would be one of the greatest trials of the entire journey: the forty-mile desert with only the water they carried and hardly any vegetation for the oxen.

  Day after day, in the hot sun they trudged along. As the oxen became weaker, they jettisoned more belongings to lighten the loads. Five days into the trek, the first of the oxen died of thirst. More dropped on the ensuing days. As wagons were abandoned, folks made room for their stranded travel mates in their vehicles.

  Garrett told the pilgrims that the greatest danger lay as they approached the end of the crossing and the Carson River. “When the thirst-crazed animals smell water, they could stampede.”

  “What are we going to do?” Sam asked when they were alone later.

  “When we see the oxen getting restless, we’ll cut ’em loose and let ’em head for the river. We’ll try to herd ’em with our horses. Once they get to the river and have had all they need to drink, we’ll bring ’em back.”

  Sam, once again, trusted Garrett’s experience and wisdom, but the plan seemed tenuous at best.

  As the wagon master had predicted, the animals gave signs of restlessness after ten days on the trail. They lowed frequently and strained against their yokes. Several times a team would break into a run. The men on horseback headed them off. One wagon was lost because of this.

  Garrett gave the signal to circle the wagons. They released the animals into the inside of the ring to keep them together and avoid their running to water. They milled about in agitation. Sam was concerned they would suddenly break, overturning a wagon in their desire to get to the yet unseen river.

  Garrett positioned the riders once all the animals were free. He ordered a wagon pushed aside, allowing the beasts their freedom. It took only a short time before the herd lumbered through the opening and headed west. The riders took up their positions alongside the animals and tried to keep them together. The closer they got to the river, the faster they went. Several of the weaker ones fell and were trampled under the rest of the herd. When the river came in sight, they could be contained no longer and broke into a full run. The riders let them go.

  The crazed animals ran into the water, drinking large quantities too quickly. Sam knew this could prove fatal to some, but there was nothing the men could to prevent it. Deprived of water for so many days, there could be no stopping them, despite the consequences.

  Once the herd had drunk its fill, the oxen came out of the river and began to graze on the grasses that grew along the banks. The men dismounted and allowed their horses to drink small amounts and then let them join the oxen in grazing. They let them feed for several hours before rounding them up and heading them back to the wagons.

  In all, four more teams were lost. The wagon train that had started with twenty-five wagons now was reduced to seventeen. Only three lives were lost, however, and Garrett told Sam that was a miracle in itself. The worst of the journey now lay behind them.

  Two weeks later, on a day in mid-October, the train came to the top of a ridge. There, before them, was the settlement of Sacramento. They had made it. The four men stood together looking down. Garrett turned to Sam. “Your first crossing under your belt,” he said with a smile.

  Sam looked down into the valley.

  ::Your first and your last,:: said a gruff, growly voice inside him.

  There was a piercing screech. Sam looked up. A hawk circled overhead.

  CHAPTER 11

  RAMÓN

  Sacramento was a new experience for Sam. California was part of Mexico, and the architecture of the city, the dress and language of the people were all sources of fascination. The first Spanish phrase he had to learn was Yo no hablo Español, as he was often approached by the local citizens, who had assumed, from his Indian countenance, he was of their culture. The young women seemed to be especially taken by him. He was taller than the average Mexican, a trait that, apparently, was highly desired among the fairer sex.

  “Looks like you got your pick of any number of these señoritas,” Gus chided him as they made their way down the street toward their hotel. Garrett and Todd laughed.

  Sam merely blushed and shook off Gus’ remark. The cook knew very well where Sam’s sexual interests lay.

  They had been in Sacramento for several days. During that time, the immigrants had gone their separate ways. Those headed for other regions repaired and re-supplied their wagons. Some of the settlers sold them as Sacramento and the surrounding area was the goal for many. Most of them had come to Garrett and the others who had led the train to say goodbye and express their gratitude for getting them safely to their destination. The more emotional of the partings were from the Carters, Nicolas and Polly, Caleb and his father. The trials these travelers endured had created a special bond between them and the men. The only member of the train’s company who had failed to make contact with them was Reverend Rayburn.

  “No skin off my nose,” Gus said when Todd pointed out the minister had not come to say goodbye. “Good riddance, I’d say.”

  “The reverend’s going to have a rough road,” Garrett added. “The Catholic Church is pretty much in charge hereabouts. He’s gonna have a tough time sellin’ his brand o’ Christian teachin’ in California.”

  “Probably get strung up,” Todd chimed in. “You heard how he talked about them Catholics bein’ the hand of Satan, and how he was gonna bring the true religion to the souls the church was holdin’ captive.”

  Sam had no knowledge of who or what Catholicism was, but if it were something that could bring the reverend down…well, more power to it.

  The men were making their way to the cantina. There they would have supper before heading for the hotel and another night of much needed rest on a bed, instead of the back of a wagon. Sam, who had never slept in a bed until he arrived in Laclede’s Village the previous year, was surprised he now enjoyed the luxury as much as any of them. Somehow, his enjoyment caused something inside him to feel uneasy, as if some part of him was slowly fading away.

  As they sat and ate, Garrett detailed the plans for their return east by the southern route. The coming winter would make returning the way they came nearly impossible. He told Sam that the trip back would take far less ti
me as it would be only the four of them, and they would travel on horseback. They were to leave as soon as they felt rested and ready for another long journey. Sam thought of going back. He had saved Nils’ letter. Just why he had, he wasn’t sure. He felt uneasy at the prospect of returning east. Deep inside he felt something was unfinished here.

  “Let’s have us another round,” Gus said, his speech slightly slurred. “This tequila stuff ain’t half bad.”

  They all laughed. “Okay, Gus, but then that’s it for tonight. Kinda want to be able to enjoy the evenin’ now we’re rested a bit,” Garrett said with a wink at Sam and Todd.

  “Shit, Garrett,” Gus said indignantly, “you know better than anyone I kin get it up and keep it up no matter how much I drink.”

  They all laughed again. Sam had an odd feeling he was being watched. A strange tingle at the back of his neck made him turn slightly. There at the bar were three young men who seemed to be looking in his direction and speaking in hushed tones. They were dressed in the garb of upper class landowners. As Sam, embarrassed at the attention, started to turn away, he focused briefly on the tallest of the three. His mouth went dry, his heart seemed to stop within him, and his groin reacted as if struck by lightning. The handsome, young man smiled, nodded and lifted a glass in salute.

  Sam quickly turned back to the group.

  “What the hell’s wrong with you?” Gus said, much too loudly, Sam thought. Gus looked around. “Oh, I see. Looks like you got the attention of someone other than those señoritas, Sammy boy.” Gus raised his glass in the direction of the three men at the bar.

  “Gus, don’t,” Sam demanded.

  But it was too late. Evidently, the men were hoping for some invitation and, receiving it, came across the room.

  “Buenas noches, los caballeros,” the tall, handsome young man said, addressing the group, but looking directly at Sam. He continued in English. “Do you mind if my friends and I join you?”

  “No, no not at all,” said Gus, smirking as he watched Sam squirm in his chair. “Get yourselves some chairs and sit down. Have a drink with us.”

  Todd enthusiastically vacated his seat and retrieved another chair. Sam felt his heart beating in his throat and sweat running down his sides beneath his shirt as the men sat. The man who had saluted him was in Todd’s seat next to him. His leg brushed against Sam’s. He swallowed and glanced at Garrett, who had a pleasant, but guarded expression on his face.

  “Let me introduce my friends and myself,” the young man said.

  Sam felt the deep, heavily Spanish accented voice wash over him.

  “I am Ramón dela Vega. These are my friends, Rafael Ortiz and Manuel Ramirez.”

  “Are you related to Don Victorio dela Vega?” Garrett asked.

  “Si, yes. He is my father.”

  “He’s a good man. I had the pleasure of meeting him last year. He produces some very fine wine.”

  Only Sam, and maybe Gus, would be able to see that Garrett was still guarded.

  “Well, pleased to meet you boys. I’m Garrett Taylor and this is Gus Hendersen.” Gus nodded. “Todd Perkins.” Todd shook hands with the men. “And Sam Hawkins.”

  At the mention of his name, Ramón smiled. Sam felt something inside melt and flow out to the man sitting next to him. It was a feeling he had never had in his life. It both excited and frightened him at the same time.

  “Ah, Sam Hawkins? So you are not Mexican after all?”

  Sam had difficulty finding his voice. When he did, he was as astonished as his three companions at what came out. “My real name is Soaring Hawk. My father was River Runs Deep, chief of the people back home. My mother was Martha Hawkins, a white woman.”

  “Ah,” responded the young Mexican, “that makes you all the more intriguing.” He pressed his leg more firmly against Sam’s beneath the table.

  * * * “Why didn’t you ever tell us you was an Indian?” Gus’ question roused Sam. He was in the midst of a tangle of warm, naked bodies on the bed in the hotel room. The combination of deprivation from the long journey and the breakdown of inhibitions due to the tequila made for an especially intense and satisfying renewing of the group’s physical relationship. For Sam, thoughts of the young Mexican they had met that night heightened his response. When he had been kissing Todd, it was Ramón’s lips he was seeking. When he had entered Gus, Gus had become Ramón, and upon Garrett’s penetration, it was the Mexican’s cock Sam imagined was taking possession of him.

  He felt some degree of shame for these thoughts. After all, these men were the ones he purported to love. The dashing, handsome stranger had somehow invaded his mind, though, and Sam thought with a shudder, his heart.

  Gus’s voice cut into the reverie once more. “Well, you gonna answer me?” Why didn’t you tell us you’re the son of a chief? His real son, not a ’dopted one?”

  When Sam did not respond immediately, it was Garrett’s voice, close to his ear as he cradled Sam against his warm, muscular chest that answered Gus’ query. “Probably, cuz he knows how whites treat most Indians, he figured it was better to keep that a secret. That right, Sam?”

  “Something like that,” Sam replied. He decided to let it go at that. He didn’t want to go into the deeper reasons behind his subterfuge—the need to determine his true identity, the desire to discover if he was to live his life as a white man or an Indian.

  “Shit,” said Gus, “you shoulda knowed we didn’t give a damn about that.”

  “Gus’s right, Sam. You coulda told us,” Todd added, “so why did you tell that Ramón fella and his friends?”

  “I don’t know,” Sam said truthfully.

  “Tequila,” offered Garrett.

  “Yeah,” Sam agreed.

  But he knew there was a deeper reason: one he could not quite put into words. He wasn’t sure that, even if he could, he would want to tell his friends. He considered it may have something to do with what Ancient Fire, the shaman at Fort Laramie, had told him.

  “You are not to hide who you are. You must never again deny your father. If you are asked, you must disclose the truth. It is the way your path will be revealed to you.”

  If his path was to lead to the handsome Mexican he had met that evening, he didn’t want to do anything to prevent it from happening. That included revealing the truth of his heritage.

  * * * Sam stood, looking at his reflection in the mirror. The others had left before him. Gus had told him he was primping. He’d asked what that meant, and when he was told, he vehemently denied it. Yet, here he was, turning sideways, running a hand over his flat stomach, looking at the muscularity of his chest, wondering how Ramón would react.

  He shook his head, trying to clear it of such thoughts. He may never see the man again. Gitche Manitou, don’t let it be so! Why had he thought that? He had not reached out to the Great Spirit since he had left his village. Now, in a matter of a few hours, he had admitted he was Indian and had resurrected a connection with his past. All due, it seemed, to his meeting this man, Ramón.

  He heard a whine. Wolf lay on the floor, looking up at his master with his head cocked to one side.

  “What? Do you think I am doing this primping, too?” Sam asked the dog.

  Wolf sat up and whined again.

  “Or are you just in a hurry to get outside?”

  At the word, the wolf-dog jumped to his feet and put his forepaws on Sam’s shoulders and let out a sharp bark. He gave Sam’s face a lick.

  “All right, all right, let me get dressed, then we’ll go out.”

  Sam dressed quickly. The two descended the stairs and crossed the lobby of the small hotel. Just as they reached the door, it opened, and Ramón stood facing him. The two were only inches apart. Sam felt a mix of emotions flood him—relief he was with Ramón again; embarrassment, with no apparent cause; and arousal, stemming from the physical beauty of the man standing before him.

  “Buenos dias,” he said with a smile. “They told me I could find you here.”

  “Th
ey…they did?” Sam fumbled.

  “Si, your friends, Gus, Todd and Señor Garrett.”

  Despite his confused state of mind, Sam was impressed Ramón had afforded Garrett the respect of that title.

  “And who is this?” He said looking at Wolf, who sat protectively close to Sam’s leg.

  “Ah…um…this is Wolf. My…dog.”

  “Hola, Lobo,” Ramón said, extending his hand toward Wolf.

  Wolf lowered his ears and let out a soft growl, his hackles rising slightly.

  Ramón withdrew his hand.

  “Wolf!” Sam admonished the animal. “I’m sorry. He usually is very friendly. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

  “It does not matter,” Ramón said, his eyes on Sam’s. “He will come to like me in time.”

  Sam felt as if something drew him into Ramón’s very being as the two stood looking at each other. Had the Mexican’s remark been meant merely for the dog, or had it also had a meaning for him, too? Sam felt a shiver run down his spine. He involuntarily wetted his lips.

  The gesture was not lost on Ramón. He reached out and took Sam’s hand in his.

  “Perhaps I will be able to respond to that invitation at some later time.”

  Sam, realizing what Ramón was saying, became even more confused.

  Ramón dropped his hand and laughed softly. “I seem to be having quite an effect on you, amigo. Bueno, I hoped I would. You are having the same effect on me.”

  Wolf growled again. Sam didn’t react to the dog’s soft warning.

  “I have come to invite you to visit my father’s hacienda. Would this afternoon be a good time for you? Please bring Wolf. I would like the chance to become his friend.”

  Again, Sam wondered if Ramón had a double meaning in his words. Finding his voice, he said, “Yes, I’d like that.”

  “Bueno, I will meet you here then. Do not eat lunch. We will dine at the ranch.”

  Ramón placed one hand on Sam’s shoulder and said, “Hasta luego.”

  He turned and left. Sam stepped out on the wooden walk in front of the hotel and watched him walk away, his eyes drawn to the man’s gently swaying behind. Wolf whined.