by Chuck Buda
Crouching Bear took a chance, figuring he would be dead either way. Inside this thick grove in the pitch black night, his chances of outrunning the warriors were not good. So he returned the clicking noise.
A flame of fire flashed a few feet in front of him. The light was so bright that Crouching Bear could do nothing but squint against it. Another Indian sat across from him, holding a lit match used by the white man.
Soaring Eagle had welcomed him into the circle. The dense foliage provided a backdrop to hide the bright flames from distant eyes. A small opening in the hackle-berries above allowed the smoke to drift up into the starry sky.
Crouching Bear sat by the fire and chewed a dirty root that the elder had offered him. It’s taste was bitter but it gave him sustenance. He studied the old man’s wrinkled face as he toiled with wrapping some tea leaves. Crouching Bear chose not to reveal why he was traveling alone at night. He also avoided the old man’s inquiries about tribal affiliation by complaining of his aches and pains. The old man shifted from his questions to preparing a brew.
“You are running from something.”
Crouching Bear stopped chewing and swallowed the mouthful of root. The old man spoke as he worked the tea leaves, never glancing up.
“I see this in your eyes. And your wounds.”
Crouching Bear raised his hand to the wound on his cheek. He glanced down at the blood stains on his chest and stomach. The bleeding from his shoulder had stopped but the stains remained. As he looked down at the splotches he also realized he was wearing George’s clothing. Another dead giveaway that he was involved in something beyond normal business. Crouching Bear sighed to himself for being so careless.
“It is okay. You are safe here. For now. I have no disagreement with you.” Finally, the old man raised his eyes to Crouching Bear. “I have seen these garments before.”
Crouching Bear’s heart seized in his chest. If he had seen George’s clothes then this must be the shaman who helped James go on his vision quest. It had to be him. Who else in this vast wilderness was there that had the skills and knowledge to help James? This old man was helpful and nothing like the other tribesmen that lived in the region.
“Angry white man wore clothes just like that very recently. Maybe he is no longer amongst the living?”
Crouching Bear shrugged. “I do not know. The white man wanted to take me to his village and I had to do what was necessary to survive.”
“So you are the one they were searching for. You are Crouching Bear.”
He was stunned when the old man used his name. Things had taken a surreal twist yet again. Crouching Bear was amazed with the ancients’ ability to force a man to remember his place in the universe. He nodded in acknowledgment.
“The boy is your spirit bond. You will not outrun him.” Crouching Bear looked down. “There is a way to release you from the curse of your elders.”
He sat up and waited impatiently for the old man to finish pouring the brew into an earthen cup. He accepted the cup and felt the heat on his hands.
“A battle must be fought. A battle where one man will die.” Soaring Eagle sipped from his cup. “You must kill the one with the spirit bond.”
Crouching Bear’s excitement deflated. Fighting James was the last thing he wanted to do. Now the old man told him he must kill James to remove the curse. Again, he was plagued with the decisions he must make. He really wanted to release the curse. But he had no stomach for doing more damage to his friend.
“Why? Why must I kill James? He has done nothing but show kindness to me. I have hurt him and those he loves. Why would I choose to do more harm?”
Soaring Eagle rested his cup on a flat stone. He rubbed his calloused hands together with a scratching sound. “The boy has committed to protecting you. He drank from the oils to find you, knowing that he would forever be bound to you. The only way to remove the bond brought about by the curse, is to kill him. With one act, the bond and the curse will be broken.”
“I cannot do it.”
“He is a white man. The spirits do not care about the white man. The spirits worry about your soul. The only way to join the spirits now is to break that bond.”
Crouching Bear nodded, not in agreement but acceptance. The old man was wise and well versed in the ancient traditions. He spoke truth. But Crouching Bear was no fool. He knew that even if he defeated James, he would still be an outcast. A man with no tribe. A man with no village. A man with no friends, and on the run forever. The curse of the bear would be gone, but the curse of not belonging could never be lifted.
He made up his mind. Nothing would deter Crouching Bear from doing what he had to do.
Chapter 34
James was close. He knew they would soon reach the shaman’s grove. They had traveled for several hours. Slowly as far as he was concerned. But he could only go so fast with George’s injuries and two tired horses. James yawned as the exhaustion tried to overtake him.
He had to stop several times to check on George. The man still had a faint pulse. His bleeding had stopped thanks to the tourniquet and the shirt-bandage. But James kept wondering how long his friend could fight off the hands of death. He chuckled to himself at the thought of considering George a friend. After George saved his life, James had only thought about the positive aspects of the big guy. His fighting skills and loyalty. Well, at least to James’ mother. He even found some of his quirks sort of funny now when he used to hate them. Things like always spitting and missing the spittoon. Or his colorful language. Or his overall hardness. In a way, it could be charming and folksy. Maybe not.
James heard his stomach gurgle. The men hadn’t eaten since earlier in the day. Much earlier. He wasn’t used to going so long in between meals. The one benefit of working in the saloon was that he got three squares a day. The meals weren’t always tasty, and with the exception of breakfast, he had to eat out on the porch like a dog. But there were three meals nonetheless. And he always got to eat with his pal, Carson. The thought of Carson made James really homesick. He missed his mother but Carson was like his shadow. Always there. Bumping into him. Hanging onto his shirttail. Dogs weren’t man’s best friend. Carson was.
He wondered what Carson was doing at this hour. The ladies would be working so who was watching Carson? Was he eating on the back porch all by himself? Was he tucked into the hiding spot, alone in the dark? James hated himself for leaving the boy behind. It was for Carson’s own protection but so much about this adventure left James guessing why he made such a bad choice.
As they crested the rise, James could make out the hackle-berry grove jutting into the flatlands. It was a good distance ahead and hardly perceptible to the naked eye. The only reason he could barely see the grove was because he knew it existed. If a stranger happened by they would never know the stand of trees was there. They were invisible, yet visible.
James felt a renewed energy burst forth as he knew the end was near. He clucked and spurred the horses on. They complained but picked up the pace slightly. The horses were out of gas as much as the men were. George moaned as his body bounced harder due to the quickened pace.
He was afraid of startling Soaring Eagle. He knew the Indian lived there because it was remote and hidden, and afforded him plenty of protection against critters and white men. James whistled loudly as they galloped close so that Soaring Eagle would know to expect visitors without having to unsheathe his knife.
James could smell the fire burning but there wasn’t a stitch of light shining in or around the grove. It was an amazing hiding spot and James thought about using similar aspects of this grove for the spot he and Carson shared. It would be a fun project for them to work on and it would further solidify their hideaway.
As they reached the stand of trees, James whistled again. He spoke loud enough for Soaring Eagle to hear him without his voice carrying too far on the wind.
“Soaring Eagle. It’s James. I need your help.”
Soaring Eagle held a hand up and stopped speak
ing. His eyes narrowed as he listened carefully. He had heard a whistle while he spoke to Crouching Bear, but he couldn’t be sure if it was human or a bird. It was unlikely for a bird to be whistling at this hour as most of the winged creatures would have already gone to sleep for the night. Only the hunting birds would be awake at this hour and those birds didn’t whistle.
He heard it again. It had a sing-songy cadence to it and definitely came from human lips. Before he could stamp out the fire, Soaring Eagle heard a voice. It called out to him. It was James asking for help. He glanced over the flames at Crouching Bear who had recognized the boy’s voice. Crouching Bear jumped to his feet, grabbing his knife. Soaring Eagle waved him off.
“You must face the boy but this isn’t the right place. You must travel toward the setting sun. You will find a grove of weeping willows. There you will prepare for your battle.”
Crouching Bear looked down at his knife. He re-sheathed it and thanked Soaring Eagle for his hospitality and wisdom. As Crouching Bear made his way through the dense foliage at the rear of the grove, Soaring Eagle took a deep breath. He thought about the ancients and their master plan. They cast him right in the middle of this battle. A day ago he was living peacefully, alone in his little paradise. And now he was both the adviser and the instigator to a pair of men. He refused to rebel against the wishes of the spirits. He learned long ago that the spirits would get their way regardless of what man did to alter the course.
He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. The scent of blood was thick in the air. He knew from Crouching Bear’s dress that the cranky white man would be in need of attention. James had brought the man to Soaring Eagle to save his life. The cranky white man could not be in very good shape. He arranged some medicinal herbs and large leaves for poultices. Then he rose to meet James beyond the walls of the hackle-berries. The cranky white man was very large and James would need all the help he could get to bring the injured man into the circle.
Chapter 35
James sat down like a leaden weight. His body hit the ground with a thud and he tilted back. Thankfully, getting George off the horse was much easier than hoisting him onto it. Soaring Eagle had met James outside the grove. He helped James carry George into the grove. It was slow and difficult but they had managed to get the large man inside.
Soaring Eagle got to work immediately on some medicinal poultices which he applied to George’s wounds. The chest wounds were messy but shallow. The old man stitched some aloe fibers through the skin to draw the flaps together. He also wrapped a goat-hide skin tightly around George’s torso to support his fractured ribs. Soaring Eagle had counted five broken ribs tracing his fingers along George’s sides. And those were just the ones in which he felt a broken bone. He told James there might be several more with tiny fractures or cracks. George’s forearm was a disaster. A huge chunk of flesh was missing and part of the bone was exposed. Soaring Eagle found a tooth mark scratched into the forearm bone, signaling just how deep Crouching Bear had bitten him.
James rubbed his temples. His head still ached from the blow he took. His massive headache had never gone away, it had only ebbed between painful and extremely painful. Soaring Eagle was brewing a tea which was supposed to get rid of his headache. While the tea was on the fire, Soaring Eagle continued to work on George’s arm. The old man had a protein paste that he used to fill in the missing flesh. Every few seconds he would pat the mixture heavily to pack it into the gaping hole. He told James it was a mixture of smoked pig meat and some sort of plant that he couldn’t remember the name of. It was supposed to aid in healing of severe burns, and provide a protective skin when it dried. Even though George wasn’t burned, Soaring Eagle hoped the salve would work just the same for this type of injury.
James closed his eyes and fell instantly asleep. The exhaustion carried him beneath the plane of the waking world.
James opened his eyes. He shot up instantly when he saw Soaring Eagle sitting next to the fire. The events of the day flooded his mind and he panicked that he had not taken care of George.
“Relax. Everything is under control.”
James exhaled. He saw George bundled up under animal furs and close to the warmth of the fire. His skin was ashen. His cheeks looked sunken. “Is he going to be okay?”
“It is too soon to tell. He has a chance. If you hadn’t gotten him to me by the time you had, he would have had no chance at all.”
James rubbed his forehead. He still had a bad headache but he felt a little better after sleeping. “How long was I out?” It felt like hours since he had walked into the circle.
Soaring Eagle finally looked at James. “Only a few minutes.”
James shook his head in disbelief. He felt like he had slept for a long time. Soaring Eagle laughed at James’ reaction. He stretched an arm over the flames to hand James the cup of tea. “Drink.”
James took the hot cup and blew on the tea. He sipped slowly and grimaced at the harsh flavor. “Ugh, this tastes like a ten-day old cow patty in a swamp.” The odd phrase got Soaring Eagle laughing again. James smiled and then sipped again. This time more quickly and without breathing through his nose to avoid the horrible taste.
“How did your search go?” Soaring Eagle’s tone suggested sarcasm as he nodded toward George.
“Not good. We found Crouching Bear. He and George fought. It was the scariest time of my life.” James placed the empty cup at his feet. He stared at the flames. “I almost died but George saved me.”
The old man tossed a few sticks into the fire. Wisps of hot ashes popped and fizzed into the air. “The curse is very powerful. It does not care who is hurt by it.”
James reflected on the last two days and how much had changed. Everything had been set in motion by Crouching Bear’s curse. As much as he had always dreamed of his fantasy adventures, he suddenly wished this one had not come true. He handed the cup back to Soaring Eagle. “I don’t know what to do.”
The old man busied himself with cleaning the cups and arranging the next batch of poultices. James watched him work. The old man’s hands were so sure, almost graceful in their movements.
“You must face Crouching Bear and end the curse.” He glanced at James. “He will be expecting you.”
“How do you know that? Did you drink some of that magical potion and fly to him too?”
Soaring Eagle stopped working. He sighed slowly and then leaned toward James. “He was here. We spoke.”
“What? Crouching Bear knows you? But how? When did you see him?”
Soaring Eagle’s eyes narrowed, the lines of age drew wider. “Moments ago. He wanted help. Like you. I help everyone in need.”
James was dumbfounded. He had chased Crouching Bear all across the plains and he had just missed him. And right here of all places. James slapped his knee in frustration. “Well why didn’t you tell me when I got here? I coulda grabbed him and ended this whole thing.”
“You would not have been ready.” Soaring Eagle crawled over to George and began replacing poultices. He worked while he spoke, with his rear facing James. “You needed to concentrate on helping George. And you needed to get your energy back.” He silently worked for a few minutes while James stewed. “You would have died.”
“Nobody is going to die. I am going to grab him and bring him home so he can answer for his crimes. He is my friend but he has to pay for what he did.” James emphasized his points with anger.
The old man turned and dropped his rear to the dirt. “One of you must die in order to release the curse.”
The words hit James like an iron shovel. He began to protest the old man’s theory but stopped before uttering a word. His stomach sank. In his gut, he knew what Soaring Eagle told him was true. James pondered the potential outcomes and grimaced at each conclusion. He stood up and dusted his pants off.
“I must be on my way. But what should I do with George?”
“He will stay here. I will see to his care. You must go and follow the trails that fate has laid before
you.”
James nodded. He looked at Soaring Eagle and then at George. He had to end this curse before more people got hurt. Even if one more had to die.
Chapter 36
Sheriff Danvers watched from the hill crest. Down below, beyond the yellowed grass, an Indian gutted a fish. Every few seconds the Indian would stop working to check the landscape for followers. Danvers thanked the dear Lord for this stroke of luck. The fugitive must have been so hungry that he stopped to have a meal. The sheriff felt a little disappointed that the Indian was just as weak as a white man. Somewhere in his mind, he had hoped for a little challenge, a new twist on the game of manhunt.
The sheriff was low to the ground. He had removed his hat and crawled to the top of the hill before letting the posse cross over. He was grateful now that he had. He watched Crouching Bear from between tall blades of dried out grass plants. Without taking his eyes off his quarry, Sheriff Danvers whispered to the men behind him.
“Hannigan. You and Thomas head northwest. Follow the ridge line about two hundred yards and then cut down on my signal.”
“With pleasure, boss man.” Both men jogged behind the slope.
“Jepson, Murphy. Take the southwest side and stay low. The banks of that stream won’t hide you for long. So be careful. When I signal, you come at him.”
Jepson replied with a “Yessir” while Murphy snickered. They scrambled across the slope.
Danvers watched the fugitive eat. In between bites, the Indian scoured the horizon for movement. His nerves finally kicked in, making him a little jittery. The situation was going to require some finesse. Even though they had the high ground, the Indian had the advantage of wide sight lines. His position, while exposed, gave him ample time to flee in whichever direction suited his escape. He worried about his choices for men now. He had chosen the posse based on needs for tracking and brute strength. Toughness too. But what his men possessed in these abilities, they lacked in stealth. The Irish boys were as clunky as a pissed off mule. They could take a beating as much as they could dish one out. But they were noisy sons of bitches. Jepson was big and lanky, not easily hidden in this environment. Thomas might be his ace in the deck.
