by Chuck Buda
“Don’t call Carson dumb. He ain’t dumb, he is just different.” James spun in his saddle and faced the large man head on. “I am the one bringing Crouching Bear in. You are here to help me and watch over me. But I am the one making the decisions. It’s my call.” James maintained his glare without flinching. He felt the hair on his neck rise with his blood pressure. His skin began to warm from the inside out with the surge of adrenaline.
George spat again, this time striking James’ horse’s rump. The darkened juice dripped from the light brown skin of the horse. He sat up in his saddle and tugged on the reins while spurring the stirrup. He trotted forward without a word. James sighed to himself. He was afraid of George and knew the big man would whoop him something fierce. But his frustration got the better of him and he challenged George directly. James wondered how many men actually got away with such an incident with George. He figured probably none.
As his anger deflated, he tugged on the reins and tried to catch up with George. The journey would be difficult enough without the two men fighting. James thought he should apologize to George for his hostility. Would George take an apology as a sign of weakness? Was it better to stand up to a man as a strong man should? What did he really have to apologize for anyway? George was out of line for wanting to take justice into his own hands, especially with Crouching Bear who deserved a chance to explain his actions. James struggled with how he should handle all this new territory he was traversing. As an adult. For the first time. He knew this journey was as much an emotional and mental journey as it was a physical one of riding across the plains.
James rode on as he wondered what he had gotten himself into.
Chapter 18
James and George crested a sloping hilltop and surveyed the valley below. A grove of hack-berry trees offset the flat expanse. A thin wisp of smoke rose from within the shaded confines, quickly dispersing in the wind. Only a trained eye would pick up the plume. George saw it right away.
James noticed George studying the grove below. George nodded at it and they both spurred their horses to approach slowly. A hundred yards from the trees, they dismounted their horses and continued the rest of the way on foot. George freed his rifle from the saddle pouch while James withdrew the pistol from the belt loop of his dungarees.
Inside the shady stand of trees, a small fire burned. A stick spit held a small muskrat carcass which was blackened on the bottom but nearly raw on top. There was no sign of anyone. James stuffed his pistol back under his belt and walked straight to the fire. As he walked he saw George roll his eyes at him from behind a tree. Before James could react to his own carelessness, he felt a long knife blade press against his throat.
“Come on out from behind that tree.” James heard the man behind him speak to George. He saw George step halfway out from his cover. He spat tobacco juice without wiping up the drops that collected on his chin. George’s eyes narrowed, making it difficult to see what he was focusing on.
“Come now. What brings you to my home?”
“Take it easy, old man. We’re just looking for an Injun that done something wrong. We ain’t got no beef with you. Unless you want one.”
James was surprised that George referred to the man behind him as old. James hadn’t yet laid eyes on him, but from the strength in his hands, old was the last thing James would have imagined.
“Injun, huh? What makes you think there’s an Injun in this patch of woods?”
George held his hands out in front of him to show he meant no harm. However, the rifle was still in his right hand. “That’s what we were checking on when we came in here. A man don’t know nothing until he knows something.”
The man holding the knife to James’ throat laughed. He let go of James. “Sounds about right.”
James turned and saw a short, old man with long gray hair. The man slid his knife back in its sheath and extended his arm toward the fire. James didn’t know what to make of it so he waited to see what George would do. George lowered his arms and slowly approached the fire.
“I don’t have much but you are welcome to a little lunch before you continue looking for your Injun.” The old man flipped his long hair back and sat on the grass next to the fire.
George set his gun down as he plopped to the grass. James followed George’s lead. They looked at each other and then back at the old man. George nodded at the old man. James spoke first. “Thank you, sir.”
The old man handed James and George carrots that still had soil on them. James brushed his carrot on his pant leg. George bit into his carrot, soil and all. James realized George still had a wad of tobacco in his cheek. He couldn’t believe the man could eat food with that stuff in his mouth.
“So, let’s hear about this Injun and what he did that has you out here looking for him.”
James glanced at George who was busy chewing his carrot. “Well, sir...”
“Please. My name is Soaring Eagle.”
George stopped chewing, one cheek lumped out with carrot. The other with tobacco. James was speechless. Here they were searching for Crouching Bear and George kept referring to him in the slang. But now they were talking to another Indian. James was confused because this man did not look like an Indian. He had the long hair, sure, but many wilderness men grew out their hair. This man had fairer skin than all the Indians James had ever seen. Admittedly, he hadn’t seen any other than Crouching Bear.
“Uh, sorry, Mr. Eagle, I mean...oh boy.” James was flustered.
Soaring Eagle leaned back and laughed hard as he removed the meat from the skewer. He seemed to take great delight in James’ awkwardness. He broke off a rear leg and handed it to James as his laughter subsided. He tossed the other back leg across the flames to George. He tore a slice of charred meat from the side of the carcass with his dirty fingernails and slurped it up.
“You’re an Indian?” James tried to recover. He looked at Soaring Eagle under raised eyebrows.
“A man has to do what he can to survive these days. I dress to blend in.” Soaring Eagle indicated his white man clothing.
“A wolf in sheep’s clothing.” George condemned the man with his tone as much as his words.
“Perhaps to some it would appear that way. However, this wolf doesn’t eat sheep.” Soaring Eagle grinned wide as he tried to set his guests at ease.
George snorted under his breath and continued gnawing on the leg bone. His eyes watching Soaring Eagle closely.
James wanted to reset the conversation so he related the tale of Crouching Bear coming to town after being ostracized by his own tribe, how he and Carson saved him from trouble and then the final act which set them on this course to find the fugitive. The whole time James spoke he noticed Soaring Eagle listening with great interest. Soaring Eagle nodded with understanding throughout the story.
“Finding a dangerous man like this can be very difficult.”
“We are expert trackers. We’ve followed his markers so far.” George tossed the leg bone into the fire, sucking the juice off his greasy fingers.
“Hm. Tracking and finding are two different things, no?” Soaring Eagle spoke with an air of wisdom that James admired. He wished he was as sure about the ways of the world as this old man seemed to be. “I might be able to help you fellas in such matters.”
James waited for more but Soaring Eagle paused. James glanced at George who was still studying the old man closely. His eyes shifted to James momentarily and then back to the old man.
“In my world, the tribe relies on an expert to shepherd folks to the truths as they are written in the sky. The spirits reveal these truths to those who know how to read them. I am such an expert.”
James and George exchanged glances. Soaring Eagle smiled and offered another portion of muskrat.
Chapter 19
The darkness within the hack-berry grove was palpable. Soaring Eagle had shielded the fire by enclosing it within a screen of animal skins, adding to the darkness. He said it would prevent the glow of the flames from
attracting unwanted visitors. The old man handed James a concoction that he had just brewed.
“What’s in it?” James accepted the earthenware cup.
“A little of this and a little of that.”
George protested immediately. “We ain’t drinking nothing we don’t understand, old man.”
Soaring Eagle ignored George. “Ancient peoples in these lands have traveled with the spirit guides many times. I assure you, the tea is not harmful.”
James sniffed the brew and recoiled from its strong aroma. It smelled like something from an outhouse and he was not very keen about having it pass his lips. “Ugh, it smells horrible.”
Soaring Eagle laughed. “It smells powerful because it requires much to reach the heavens. You must drink it down and then lie back to fly with the spirits.”
“And once I drink this, I will find Crouching Bear through my dreams?”
Soaring Eagle nodded.
James thought about all his dreams of adventure, and never in his life had he envisioned an adventure like this. He was on the precipice of trusting a strange old man, an Indian man no less. And drinking a foul-smelling liquid so he could have magical dreams. It sounded crazy in his own head. He couldn’t help wondering if his father had ever done something as wild as this. James shrugged and then nodded at George.
“I’ll make sure you’re safe. If anything happens to you then I will wear this old man’s skin for pajamas.” George pointed at Soaring Eagle with his bowie knife.
Soaring Eagle kept smiling. “Fair enough. Now, let’s get on with it.” He indicated with his hands that James lift the cup to his mouth.
James sniffed the brew one more time and winced at the aroma. He looked up at the stars that peeked through the small canopy of branches above. He lifted the cup to his lips and swallowed the broth down quickly. He gagged and dropped the cup to the dirt. George sat up straight in anticipation of attacking Soaring Eagle. But James recovered and nodded reassuringly at George. He burped and then laid back upon his pack. The heat of the liquid spread from his stomach to his extremities. A tingling sensation grew in his fingertips and he closed his eyes.
Within seconds, James was gone. His body was no longer anchored to the earth. The night breeze carried him gently across the sky. He felt weightless and thought that this must be what it feels like to be an angel. James no longer heard Soaring Eagle or George. The smell of the fire was replaced with the freshness of a spring morning. He knew he floated high above the ground even though blackness surrounded him.
The sensations of floating and freedom from earthbound limitations consumed James. He smiled to himself in sheer ecstasy with this novel experience. It did feel magical and he sort of hoped he would remain in this state forever. It was peaceful and exciting. His body drifted along the currents of air, circling in increasingly smaller loops until he approached a wooded lot. As his dream-being landed gently in a thick patch of pine needles, James saw Crouching Bear. The man was nestled under a pile of leaves with his knees pulled up to his chest. The smell of decaying brush filled James’ nostrils. Crouching Bear sat up startled. His knife at the ready, the Indian strained to see through the darkness. James tried to jump back from a potential assault but he had no control of his body. He just stood still in the pine needles, watching Crouching Bear. He tried to speak with him but words would not come out. Apparently, the spirits brought James to this place but he was unable to interact as he would in the physical world.
Crouching Bear sniffed the air and looked around with nervousness. James could tell by his reaction that Crouching Bear sensed his presence. But he must be invisible. He giggled to himself as it reminded him of playing hide and seek with Carson. James caught his breath as it seemed that he and Crouching Bear had locked eyes. His heart skipped a beat. Deep inside Crouching Bear’s gaze, James thought he saw sorrow behind the fear. It felt like James was reading his true self, knowing that Crouching Bear felt terrible about the tragedy that took place. James felt sorry for Crouching Bear, and as he did, his body flew up into the sky. A pit filled James’ stomach. He strained against the forces that carried him away, wanting to return to Crouching Bear. James had never felt such a strong connection, a link, with anyone before. Not his mother. Not even Carson. It was a bond of kindred, of knowing, of oneness.
Immediately, James’ heart sank and he drifted across the sky at incredible speeds. The wonder and enjoyment had passed and was quickly replaced with pain and terror. What had seemed magical just moments ago was now a death spiral. James didn’t trust this feeling anymore. He was overwhelmed with a foreboding sense of doom and tragedy. James imagined himself dying.
George sprung over the fire and landed upon Soaring Eagle. His knife upon the old man’s throat. “Save him. Save him right now.” Tobacco juice drooled from his mouth as he spoke.
“He is fine. The body goes through several changes in order to reach out across the universe. It is normal.”
George kept the knife tight against Soaring Eagle’s neck. He stole a glance at James’ body, writhing in a fit upon the ground. The tortured spasms had scared George. Pained expressions flashed across the boy’s face and it appeared to George that the devil himself had overtaken his companion. George had never witnessed anything like it before. He kneed Soaring Eagle in the balls and rolled off the old man. Soaring Eagle shrunk into a fetal position to combat the anguish. George crawled over to James and hovered over him. He searched the expressions on the boy’s face, trying to figure out what must be going on inside to create such horrific movements. George put his hand on James’ chest and felt his heart thundering beneath his fingers. He glanced over at the old man who was busy rubbing his groin and moaning. George sat back in the dirt and kept his hand upon James, waiting for him to return.
James shot up like a lightning bolt surged through his spine. George fell over from the fright of the sudden motion. James turned his head to look at George and then vomited all over the large man. His chest heaved as he struggled to catch his breath.
Soaring Eagle rolled over with a grimace of pain on his face. George stared down at his lap with his hands held high in the air. His expression revealed his disgust and surprise at his soiled garments.
James blinked a few times and then burped. “That’s one mess I am not going to clean up.”
Soaring Eagle laughed out loud and rolled back over in the dirt. James shrugged at George. And George just stared incredulous at James.
Chapter 20
Crouching Bear snored gently. It had been the first time in several days that he had relaxed enough to catch up on sleep. He had scooped up a pile of rotting leaves and covered his body with them for warmth. The pine needles underneath the tree provided a soft cushion against the rocks and roots below. He thought it was going to be a long night since he couldn’t light a fire to keep himself warm. He didn’t want to reveal his location to his pursuers.
An urge for survival overtook his body. He sat up alertly, unsheathing his knife for protection. He was fast asleep when he felt like somebody was upon him. He squinted against the darkness to find movement. But he found nothing. He sniffed the air to pick up the scent of the intruder but again found nothing. Crouching Bear’s nose was as skilled as his fighting abilities. Years of warrior training and fighting had taught his nose to pick up various scents. He could easily distinguish fear from surprise, rage from anger and other subtleties. His senses were that strong.
Crouching Bear shifted his legs without a sound. He got them ready to spring into action to either flee or strike forward. He wasn’t sure yet which way to go but at least he readied himself for action.
The feeling of being watched went through him like a chill. He knew somebody was there, and yet they weren’t. He continued to scan back and forth for movement or sound. His breath paused to sharpen his hearing.
A vision of James ran through Crouching Bear’s mind. It seemed as if James were inside him, probing for answers, questioning. He tried to brush it aside and focu
s on his survival but failed to avoid it. The feeling of James’ presence began to consume him. He felt the boy through the darkness. He thought he felt James talking to him. But there were no words. It was just a sensation that he couldn’t explain.
As fast as the feeling shook him from his rest, it was gone. Crouching Bear sat back against the earth, relieving the taut muscles in his legs. He felt safe again. Undisturbed.
Crouching Bear knew it was James that came to him. He also knew what it was. James had embarked on a vision quest to find him. But how? James was not versed in the ways of the spirits. At least, he didn’t think he was. How could a seventeen year-old white man know how to reach Crouching Bear across the universe? It was impossible. Unless somebody had helped him. But who? James would have to leave his town and then find a shaman capable, and willing, to bring him into the mystical realm of the ancients. It seemed unlikely but there could be no other explanation.
Crouching Bear rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He yawned and realized that another sleepless night was ahead of him. His mind twisted with thoughts of the experience. If it was truly a vision quest that James had come to him through, then running would be useless. Crouching Bear knew the power of the vision quest and how it would lead James directly to him. Whether he stayed put in this spot or traveled another hundred miles, James would know how to find him.
Upon that thought, Crouching Bear realized the truth. James was coming for him. Why James? He expected his tribesman to hunt him down. And he knew that a posse from the town would be formed to chase him. But James? James? Was James coming to kill him like everyone else? Or was he going to try to protect Crouching Bear from the other hunting parties? As much as he hoped James was coming to his aid, he couldn’t help but believe his doom would be at the hands of his last true friend. What made matters worse was the fact that he felt so terrible for what he did to Carson and James. He didn’t think he had the stamina to fight James off. If James was coming to kill him for his deeds, then he knew he would submit completely to the will of the spirits. He deserved the punishment for what he did to Minnie. Crouching Bear never felt more sorry for anything in his life than the pain he brought Carson and James by hurting Minnie.
