by John Foxjohn
That was it. It wasn’t what he heard but what he didn’t. At this time of morning, the woods should be alive with birds, squirrels, and insects. Something had caused the stillness of the morning, and that usually meant man.
Andy took in a deep breath. Beside the creek were wide bushes with hairy stems. The bushes were loaded with white, funnel-like flowers. He could smell the fragrant aroma from the flowers, but something else—just a teasing, tingling sensation of wood smoke.
Andy leaned forward in the saddle to ensure the leather didn’t creak, grasped his rifle, and eased it out of the scabbard. He rested the butt on his thigh, barrel up, but his thumb remained on the hammer. He had a round in the chamber; all he would need to do was cock it and fire.
Minutes passed but Andy remained still, listening. It wasn’t until the birds began to talk that he eased Big Red forward.
The crunch of gravel and the soft splash of the horse’s hooves sounded loud to Andy, but no one could hear them unless they were close, and he didn’t think anyone was. Not now, anyway.
Smoke odors had come from the north, to his right. The fact that the smell was so light made him believe the fire that caused it was out. He’d caught a whiff of the lingering effect that remained in the thick morning air.
He eased the horse to the right, making sure they didn’t rub against any brush. He hadn’t gone fifty feet when he picked up the tracks. Five shod horses traveling south along the creek bank. He didn’t need to get off the horse and look at the tracks to know they were fresh—made within the last few minutes. They’d come through right before he approached the creek.
With all of his senses attuned, Andy maneuvered the horse to the north and away from where the five men headed, but for another reason besides to stay out of sight. These men had slept close by, and he could learn a lot about the group from the way they camped.
Dismounting, he led Big Red forward. Three hundred yards from where he first found the tracks, he found the camp. Like he suspected, they’d had a fire, and had killed it by throwing dirt on it. He knelt and touched a fire-blackened stick. It was still warm.
He stood and glanced around. Shod horses usually meant white men, but not always. Indians stole horses all the time. The odds of five Indians all on five stolen horses weren’t good, but he didn’t discount it. Four out of the five wore boots. Only one of them had on moccasins. Leaving Big Red ground hitched, he eased forward. The amount of trash left also told him this was a white man’s camp. Burned cans and paper littered the area, but close to the fire was an empty store-bought whiskey bottle. Indians drank whiskey—too much of it—but it didn’t come from stores.
As he studied the camp, what they ate, but more important, where they slept, told him a lot about the men. The four men who wore boots, the ones he suspected were white, were not cautious. The Indian—or the one with Indian blood—was. He also didn’t trust the men he was with.
The four white men had slept close to the fire, but the Indian had slept at the edge of the brush. Andy nodded. The firelight would not have reached where the Indian had slept. If anyone had sneaked up on the camp at night, the four white men would have been visible, but no one would have seen the Indian—not even with a full moon. The shadows would have hidden him.
After examining the camp, Andy wasn’t surprised the Indian led them out. That meant he was a tracker. If he wasn’t, he would never have let the four white men get behind him.
The fact that he left no tracks in the direction the five were headed told Andy that they’d lost the trail and were casting about trying to pick it up. He didn’t know if it was his trail they were looking for or not, but unless they doubled back and to the west, they wouldn’t find it. He’d been careful, but a good tracker would recognize his trail if he came upon it.
At the moment, Andy was only a couple of hours away from where he intended to go. If he didn’t move he would leave no tracks. But he would also not get anywhere.
Andy mounted and headed the horse away from where the five men had gone. He would have to turn back south, but he’d wait until he came to the hills. That way he wouldn’t skyline himself.
As the morning dew burned off, Andy pulled up the crest of a hill. He sat on the horse and inhaled a deep breath of fresh clean air—the cleansing effect of the rain. Just his head peeked above the ridge. As the Lakota had taught, his gaze took in every aspect of the terrain. He looked up close first because that represented immediate danger, and then moving away.
Satisfied he was alone; he still stayed where he was, watching.
He knew this area well. Although the Lakota moved a lot, the Hunkpatilia, the clan he’d lived with, had often frequented the hot water area in the winter. For some reason this area seemed to be warmer than the others.
Then there was the hot water bubbling up from the earth. It was nice in the winter.
He’d skirted the area and now looked down at the falls where the water emptied over the rocks. He couldn’t see it from where he was, but several hundred feet to the south of the falls was the sand bar Worm had told him to look at.
Finally, he urged the horse forward. The big horse moved out slowly and Andy let him set the pace. He made sure not to skyline himself. He became even more apprehensive as they approached the falls because the rushing water hid sounds.
Where were the five men and who were they looking for? Just the fact that they were looking was a problem even if it wasn’t Andy. He could run into the person they were searching for.
After the horse skirted the falls, the fast water still made noise, but not as loud as it was close to the base of the rocks. Andy hobbled Big Red close to the water, but where he could eat to his heart’s delight.
Nestled among lush green grass, the shallow stream was clear as ice. A medley of different colored stones lay on the bottom and reflected the sun’s shimmering glaze. At the place where the sand bar divided the stream, Andy could have jumped across with a running start. Kneeling close to the sand bar, he scooped up some water in his cupped hand and drank. The water was cold, crisp, and soothing as it went down, but his attention was on the rocks on the bottom.
The streambed had blue, brown, black, and red rocks, but he didn’t see the yellow ones he sought. He sighed. Should have known it wouldn’t be that easy.
He debated a long time whether to unsaddle or not. He might need to leave in a hurry. In the end, he did what was best for Big Red. After setting the saddle at the base of a tree close by, he spread the saddle blanket over it so it could dry and air out. He then removed a burlap bag from his bedroll and rubbed the horse down.
With Big Red taken care of, he stepped into the water, and the chill sped up his spine, but he didn’t pay it any attention. Staying low, he eased his way, examining all the rocks toward the sandbar. When he stepped on the bar, he still hadn’t seen any of the yellow rocks.
Kneeling, he put his face within inches of the water. His gaze swept one way then the other. He was about to rise when he spotted a slight golden glimmer. He reached down and with a finger moved some of the rocks away. Below them, he found a jagged yellow rock the size of the ball of his little finger.
He spent two hours gently moving the rocks away, and in that time, he’d found three more. Two of them were smaller than the first, but the other was twice the size.
Although it was summer and the sun shone brightly, the water was cold as ice and he was freezing. He’d just reached down to pick up another of the yellow rocks when Big Red alerted him that something was wrong.
The horse was stamping his hooves and shying away from the brush.
Cursing himself for a fool, Andy leaped out of the water. He sprinted to the tree and his saddle, jerking his rifle out. In a crouch, he hurried to the horse, his rifle in a position he could snap it to his shoulder and fire.
His gaze searched the brush in the direction the horse was looking. It took him a moment to spot the cause of the horse’s anxiety. A large dog, maybe a wolf, stood with his teeth bared at
the horse.
A low growl emitted from deep in the dog’s broad chest. If the animal was a wolf, he was the biggest one Andy had ever seen. Although low to the ground, the dog would weigh in the neighborhood of one hundred fifty pounds.
Andy squatted and studied him. This was an unusual situation. Wolves usually wouldn’t come near man smell. Also, they traveled in packs, but he couldn’t see any more of them. For a full minute Andy stared into the eyes of the dog as if to see which one would look away first.
Finally he rose. He didn’t think the wolf or dog was going to attack. With care, he eased toward his saddlebags. Big Red eyed Andy like he was crazy, but also kept a close watch on the dog.
Andy searched in his bag, found some of his jerky, and ambled back to the horse. When he tossed the jerky to the dog, he darted away, but when Andy turned away, the dog slunk back, sniffing at the meat. When he was satisfied, he gobbled it down.
After reassuring Big Red, Andy searched the bank for dry wood. In minutes he had a smokeless fire going at the base of an eastern redbud. The tree had brilliant pink blooms, but that wasn’t the reason he built the fire there. The thick foliage would scatter the smoke and make it almost invisible.
As he dried out and warmed up, he sat chewing on a piece of jerky. He would have loved some fresh meat, but a shot would have drawn attention to him, and that was something he couldn’t have. Even as he searched for the yellow rocks, he was constantly checking on Big Red. The horse would know if someone was around a long time before he would.
Finally, he had a small piece of the jerky left, and pitched it into the brush for the dog before moving to the other side of the sand bar to search. As the day wore on, he made a couple of discoveries. One was the yellow rocks were a lot heavier than the others and the reason they were underneath. The second discovery was the farther downstream he went, the yellow rocks became less jagged, smoother, and there weren’t as many of them. The jagged ones were more in the direction of the falls. He figured the farther they traveled over the other rocks the smoother they got. If that was the case, he should be looking closer to the falls than the sandbar.
When he made this discovery, he’d found forty of the rocks in varying sizes. As night began to descend, he maneuvered his way upstream. Right off, he found a pocket of twenty-four of the yellow rocks. Most of them were the size of the end of his thumb.
He again lit the fire to dry out and get warm, but he spread his bedroll close. He shaved jerky into his cup of water, added some wild onions, and set it on the fire. As he cooked his soup, he examined the yellow rocks. He now had a double hand full, but he had no idea how much they were worth, or if he should attempt to get more. He wasn’t even sure how they decided how much they were worth. He did know one thing, the longer he stayed here, the better the chances someone would come upon him.
If the yellow rocks were worth a lot of money, as long as no one knew where he got them, he could always come back and get more.
With his mind on the yellow rocks, Andy wasn’t paying attention to his surroundings until the brush moved close by. His heart leaped into his throat as he dived for the nearby rifle. Snapping it up, he trained it where the noise came from, but all he could see was the dog’s eyes. Andy cocked his head. It was strange the dog was still hanging around. The small morsels he was throwing to him wouldn’t keep him from starving.
Besides, it was summer and there was plenty of food available. Still, Andy broke off a piece of jerky and tossed it close to the dog. This time he didn’t run off and come back. He sniffed it once and gobbled it down.
As Andy dried out and warmed up, he retrieved his paint case and a prepared deerskin. He glanced inside the case and counted. He had three left and would need to make more. It took a while to cure the skins.
When he had the paint ready, his brush began to scrape, flowing across the skin. Every so often he would stop and look at Big Red. The horse was the best watchdog anyone could want.
As time passed, Andy mixed more paints and continued. Before it got full dark, he stood and searched for wood, but then continued with his painting. Finally satisfied with the finished product, he set the brush down and picked up the picture and even though he was his biggest critic, he thought this one was exceptional.
JT had told him several times if he’d go to a big city, he could make a lot of money painting, but he wouldn’t know how to begin. Besides, he didn’t like the idea of living around that many whites. He was having trouble with the few in Heath.
He smiled at the painting. It was a perfect imagine of Abbey.
Andy awoke with the sun peeking over the tree line. At first he didn’t move, listening to the sounds around him. He glanced Big Red’s way, but his friend was content to eat the morning away.
With a good feeling for the day, Andy rose and stretched. When he’d overheard the conversation between Abbey’s father and the saloon owner, they’d indicated the few yellow stones were worth over a hundred dollars. Andy had already found ten times more than they had. He didn’t know how much what he had was worth, but it must be a bunch—a lot more money than he’d ever hoped to have.
He strolled to the creek. After several hands full of the cold, almost sweet water, he bathed his face. He then fixed a cup of soup and the wild onions mixed with the meat gave off an aroma that made his stomach beg for it.
The food tasted good, and he thought about making some more but decided he didn’t have the time. He cleaned and packed up, but then decided to look for a couple of hours. He cautioned himself not to get so involved in the hunt, get so greedy he sacrificed his safety. He had no idea who or what he might run into. The rations promised the Indians on the reservations weren’t coming through. Many were starving, and they would be out in force looking for food.
Then there were the young bucks to contend with. It was summer, a time they went out in search of horses to steal and honors to take.
Andy started where he’d left off and moved upstream finding a few, but the closer he came to the falls, the deeper the water got and the harder it was to see the rocks. He realized there probably was a better way to do this, but he didn’t know it. He also couldn’t ask anyone. He didn’t need any more people following him.
Although ignorant in the ways of the white people, he’d found that greed was an emotion that was colorblind.
He was about ready to quit and head back to the camp for Cap, when he sat on the bank’s edge for a moment to rest. The place he sat gave way with his weight and dumped him into the water. Chilled to the bone, he leaped up and would have jumped out, but the sight on the bank stopped him in his tracks. He forgot all about the cold. Staring at him was a large yellow rock twice as big as his head.
Using his hands, he dug around the rock until he could pull it out. He was surprised at how heavy it was when he picked it up. He lugged it to the tree where he’d made camp. If the other rocks were worth money, this one would be worth a lot more. But that left him with another problem. He had nothing big enough to carry it in. It was too big to fit in his saddlebags, and he didn’t think he should carry it on his saddle in plain sight.
Remembering what Worm had said about it being too soft, he set it on the ground and looked around. He found a brownish river rock twice the size of his fist. He brought it back and hit the yellow rock. Although he hadn’t hit it hard, some of it did break off. He again hit it, but this time harder. The big rock shattered into smaller pieces.
Using the burlap sack, he rubbed Big Red down. When he finished, he loaded half the fragments into the sack. He stuffed the bag into one of his saddlebags and loaded the rest, along with the other rocks he’d found, in the other side. When he picked up the saddlebags, they were heavy even for him.
He’d been at the stream too long. With everything loaded, he climbed aboard Big Red and heeled him toward the south and the reservation with his rifle across his saddlebow, ready to use if he needed it. He caught a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye. He half-turned, but it wa
s only the dog who appeared to be following them at a distance. “Come on boy,” Andy said.
As Big Red moved out, the dog came closer.
Andy guided the horse east along the stream and away from the falls. After a couple hundred yards, he guided him into the water, but still going east. A few hundred yards farther, they came out of the water on the same side, but went back in and came out on the other side.
Traveling away from the stream, Big Red entered a deep gully climbing to a high ridge overlooking the stream. The climb was hard and he let the horse chose its own path.
The sun was sweltering and Andy could feel sweat pooling under his arms and rolling down his face. Twice he stopped to give Big Red a blow and to wipe the sweat out of his face.
Big Red topped the ridge an hour after they’d entered the gorge.
Andy glanced around but couldn’t see anything that would mean danger was near. When he was satisfied, he turned and studied his back trail, but again, he appeared to be alone.
He was on a prairie table, a high flat piece of land covering about two miles. If he continued south, the direction he needed to go, he had a couple of ways to get down, and one had more cover than the other. After glancing around again, he gigged the horse forward.
They traveled two miles before he found the draw that would lead them down. Andy stopped the horse and climbed down to study the way they would go. He’d been down this way before, but it wasn’t easy. It was almost a sheer drop for about eight hundred yards. At the bottom, the path divided in two. One went out on the open plains and the other turned left into a tree line. The narrow tree line butted up to a high cliff that had no way up on one side and circled around for four hundred yards to the prairie.
Big Red eased forward; glad he was riding the horse. At times the horse wasn’t sure if he was part mountain goat or not.
