 
Memories of a Distant Future

Book 1

The Way of the Horse,

Published by M.D. Robinson at Smashwords

Copyright 2015 M.D. Robinson

Cover Design Copyright © 2015

by (http://DigitalDonna.Com)

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or redistributed to others for commercial purposes. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

# Table of Contents

Memories of a Distant Future

About M.D. Robinson

Connect with M.D. Robinson

# Chapter One

## Awakening

A high pitched voice echoed over the expanse, "JIM! WHERE ARE YOU?" coming through a ghostly silence. "I LOVE YOU! WHY DID YOU LEAVE? WHERE DID YOU GO?" the female voice pleaded, echoing as if being screeched into a garbage can, haunting and hollow. "JIM, PLEASE COME BACK! I can't live without you," the voice begged, now dying to almost a whisper, "I am sorry for what I did to make you leave, just come back..." The voice seemed to shrivel, then drown in the distance...

Jim awoke with a start. He sat up and looked around. He beheld a long ridge facing leering mountains before him. The sky behind him glowed as if on fire and the world around him reflected an eerie orange radiance.

He thought he recognized the mountains before him, to the west, as the Bighorn Mountains. He looked upon the valley between the ridge he was sitting on and a mountain that seemed to protrude east from the foothills of the taller, dark green mountains. From between a deep incised canyon in those daunting inclines peered treeless, windswept peaks capped in snow and ice. The higher slopes of both the closer mountain and the foothills behind it were covered in dark green pines broken with lighter aspen swaths while the lower slopes wore the lighter green of brush and grasses ringed like a skirt. He sat among similar tall green grasses on his little ridge. The ridge ran north and south with grass sweeping over much of it until it gave way in the north to a deep red soil. The valley that also ran south to north between his ridge and the mountains beyond revealed beaver dams with their associated wide expanses of water, grassy meadows and trees in the now golden light.

He saw nothing familiar, though. Or should he say nothing that he thought should be familiar. The landmarks seemed familiar, but something was wrong.

His mind reeled as he looked up and down the valley. He had wandered up to the top of this ridge in the light of the full moon the night before and had hoped to gain his bearings in the morning. Now he could see a long ways along the foothills but he was still as lost as he was in the dark. Something was missing. Really missing.

His mind slowly worked the problem starting last night but still he could find nothing to explain it. He suspected where he was by the lay of the land but all the telltale signs were not there. His memory was clouded by the lack of 'things' on the land that he could recognize, leaving him trying to put together a puzzle knowing some of the pieces were missing. But how? The main problem was that he could not remember what the land looked like without those 'things.'

He glanced up and down the valley again. Still there was no sign of anything but a long valley of varying colors of grasses, tall majestic cottonwood trees, and dark sparkling ponds connected by a winding stream through willow flats. Similar winding green veins came into the valley from the foothills before him as well as to the south, joining with the stream and continuing north past the red buttes of which the ridge he sat on was part of.

Jim stared around him, "But where is the town? Where are the houses, the Interstates, the businesses? I-25 comes right up this valley and over that hill, I thought, where it joins with I-90. So where are they?"

Jim's thoughts slowed to a crawl as his mind numbed from the questions lacking answers. He jumped up as a darkness crept into his thoughts, "I gotta find some food and shelter. Then someone will find me and I can go home."

The sun rose over the far away ridge to the east casting its soft light into the improvised shelter he had constructed the night before and driving the cold chill of early morning into hiding. The cottonwoods above the shelter and the willows around the nearby stream to the north seemed to come alive with life as birds began moving, chirping and singing among the leaves. Jim stirred, shaking his head as if trying to climb out of a bad dream. Slowly he opened his eyes and looked around. Then, he shook his head again, convinced that he was still dreaming. His vision blurred and refocused on the same scene before him.

"What is this? Where am I?" he muttered.

Jim stood up and looked around. In the early morning air, the bird's songs floated on the soft wind accompanied by the gentle mumbling of the nearby stream. The soft yellow light of the risen sun burned the scattered fog from the surrounding lands. He was on a stream that snaked along the north side of the mountain that extended from the wall of the foothills in the west into the bottom of the long north south valley. Most of the streams were clogged at intervals with beaver dams that spread the water out across the lowlands leaving a green, grassy carpet full of willows and cottonwood trees vying for control. In between these green stretches of willows, trees and ponds were large meadows on benches of light green grass and gray sage. The foothills rose like as an imposing wall blocking all passage to the west while the mountains peaked around from between a steep canyon where the stream crawled down off of the foothills. Clouds encircled those snowcapped mountains like glowing white halos. The area appeared pristine and wild. In fact, there were no signs of anyone anywhere.

The landmarks were all there, the mountains, the valley, the streams, but where there was once a paved road, nothing but a green boggy meadow. Where houses once speckled the distant hills lining the small valley to the west, nothing but open grass and sage gleaned in the sun. Even Interstate 25 which met Interstate 90 up there on that hill to the northwest was nothing but a sage knoll. His mind raced then wandered, always coming back to the same question, "Where am I?"

Leaving his shelter, Jim walked towards the mountains along the western stream, which he figured to be Clear Creek. In many places he was forced to walk around and up onto the hillside to avoid the flooded areas of the beaver ponds. In fact, he had never seen so many dams along a section of stream before. After having walked a considerable distance, his stomach growled hungrily and he realized that he had a more important problem facing him, survival. The berries and roots from the day before curtailed his hunger then, so as he returned to his shelter he gathered more, placing them in the pockets of his blue coveralls while scouting the area for a better place to camp.

The silent hope that someone would find him lay just at the edge of his mind. That thought competed with the nagging doubt of being lost. His mind went back to the words of one of his Boy Scout leaders, "when you get lost, plan on being there for a week. If no one comes after that week, plan for another week."

Upon finding a better place to camp out of the wind and further up the western stream he thought might be Clear Creek, he began looking for materials to make a shelter, munching the morsels he had found on the hike back. He found a place in a dense grove of cottonwoods mixed with pine trees where two cottonwood trees had large branches sticking out in the same westerly direction. The place was on the eastern side of the grove and therefore afforded better protection from the westerly winds but he could still see some of the foothills and mountains to the northwest. He then found a longer limb lying on the ground and managed to get it up into the crooks of both these trees' branches. Then he gathered more downed branches and used the longer ones to stack from the cross limb to the ground on the eastern side. He set up his fire in front of the lean-to on the western side. He wondered about the prevailing westerly winds but decided that he wanted to look up on the mountains in the morning instead of the small ridge and vast emptiness to the east. One advantage to building my own house, he thought.

Then Jim stacked smaller and smaller branches on the roof until he laid pine boughs over those to hold it all in place. It afforded protection from the rain but not from the cold since it was open on three sides. Still he thought he could stay there for a few summer nights.

Jim wandered into the willows nearby and found a bunch of stout willow branches and sharpened them to points with his pocket knife. While walking down to the stream, he searched the brush for game trails. When he found one, he located a large stick and began digging away at the earth in a section between a sagebrush and a willow. After digging it wide enough to encompass the whole trail between them, he dug it deeper and longer. Then he planted some of the sharpened willows in the bottom with sharpened points up, gathered some long grasses and laid them over the hole. After adjusting a few minor details to hide his activities, he continued off towards the stream.

Hunger filled his stomach as he began looking for a place to catch some fish. He saw a back eddy below a large beaver dam that had enough grass hanging over it that the fish wouldn't be able to see him. Jim crept up to the bank, knelt in the tall grass and laid down on his stomach. As he peered over the edge of the bank, he saw the shadow of a fish just to his left. It floated aimlessly in the back current near the muddy bottom. Jim slowly leaned farther out over the water and began slipping the tip of his willow spear into the water behind his unsuspecting prey. As the tip entered the water, he oriented his aim in the refraction of the water. Then he thrust...

Cold water washed over his head and shoulders causing him to gasp and suck it into his mouth and lungs. Jim's whole body went stiff in the stinging cold water as a fiery burning overwhelmed his nose, mouth and chest. He struggled towards what he thought was the surface only to find mud and water blocked his outstretched hands. His eyes opened to nothing but a watery gray as his head swam in cold shock. The water seemed to grasp and wrap him in its chilly grasp. That cold grasp also weighed heavily on his chest until he realized that somehow his back was firmly on the bottom. He struggled to find the surface again and managed to sit up, coughing and spitting out water and mud.

Jim looked around and found himself sitting in the cold water with a large mound of dirt and grass on top of him. The cold slowly crept into his bones while fits of shivering reminded his shocked mind of his situation. As he pushed the dirt and mud off of himself and stumbled to the crumbled bank he realized what had happened. The underside of the bank had eroded away to the point that when he lunged for the fish, it had collapsed under his weight, sending him into the cold mud bath. As he scrambled out of the now muddied pool he grimaced at how he had almost drowned in nearly waist deep water.

Then something caught his eye as he looked back at the stream. A willow protruded out of the water and danced toward him along the shore.

Well, he thought, at least it wasn't in vain.

He returned to his new camp with his catch in hand. On his return, he stripped off his boots, socks, coveralls, t-shirt, jeans and underwear, hanging them to dry in the afternoon sun while he sunned himself on a large rock thinking of his next task, fire.

Having warmed himself from his chilly swim he re-acquired his boots, underwear and pants, wrinkling his nose at their smell. I guess I need to do laundry, he thought dryly as he put them back on and prepared a tinder bundle and some dry kindling near the hearth he had built at the mouth of his lean-to. Next he found a few larger pieces of wood and split them with his pocket knife into roughly one inch boards. He whittled notches and found a straight stick for a spindle. He eyed his boots as he thought about whether the boot string would hold or if it was too old to use. He shrugged and pulled the string from the eyelets of his left boot. I'll buy more when I get home, he thought.

Next he took one of the heftier leftover willow branches and notched both ends, tying his boot string onto it to make a bow of it. He knelt down and gathered his tools and kindling around himself, then set to using the bow, with the string wrapped around the spindle held between the two planks of wood with the notches and set to sawing vigorously. Smoke wisped up after a minute or two of work and soon he saw the telltale signs of an ember. He stopped and it went out.

Jim shrugged and went to it all the harder. After several more failed attempts he finally got the ember moved into his tinder bundle then on into the kindling. Soon the skewered fish was propped over top of the blazing fire, sizzling in the heat.

Thus, Jim's next few days went as he gathered wood for the fire, caught fish, without the cold bath, and set his snares and traps, checking them often. These activities, even the traps and snares that yielded nothing, kept his mind busy and avoided the nagging doubts and worries that plagued his thoughts.

For the most part, his pit traps were ineffective at catching anything and he had to learn how to devise better traps such as deadfalls or other more lethal means. These worked somewhat better as long as he was able to get to the rabbit or squirrel before another animal did. Usually, he would only find some hair and blood with tracks heading away from the catch.

Jim also tried several times to braid grasses and willow bark into small ropes and succeeded somewhat but the strength was not enough for holding a struggling animal. Thus he kept his mind busy finding questions and solutions to aid him in his daily tasks, keeping his mind busy with the everyday work of survival.

Jim awoke with a start. He lay still on his pine bough bed looking out at his now smoldering fire. The world was coming alive again but the light of day had yet to creep up from behind the rolling plains behind him. His mind was awash with feelings of fear and loss, he felt the pain in his heart and his throat felt tight. His eyes scanned the darkened camp lazily while his mind raced to find the cause of all the turmoil. Somehow a dream seemed to have been the cause, but he could not remember it.

He sat up and looked around for some clues. Nothing. His heart raced with his mind alert to every sound. The world continued to wake up from the summer night. He looked back down at his bed, then rolled out of his lean-to and stoked the fire. Sitting back from that task, he tried to recall the dream. Nothing came. He sat thinking of his life before and now. The whole world had changed for him but hope still lived in his heart as he tried to survive day to day.

Then the feeling from the dream crept back into his thoughts. Doubts worked against his hope. Memories of his past emanated up from his subconscious such as his mother standing in the kitchen cooking breakfast on a Sunday, pancakes and sausage, his father working on the old car in the garage or his two younger brothers racing outside to play. All these memories seemed vivid but distant. Then his grandfather riding a horse across his field to gather some cows flashed through his mind.

Suddenly the flash of a beautiful face, green eyes and red hair appeared in his mind. Jim felt the hair on his neck stand on end and goose bumps rolled across his arms. It was Heather, his girlfriend. The feeling from the dream intensified and he felt the memory of the dream rising from the darkest recesses of his mind. He felt his body shift, then begin falling into darkness while her face and the memories from his past stayed aloft. He reached for them, swam to stay afloat, willed himself to stop falling but still he fell away from them and the peace and joy he had once known. Slowly he lost sight of them and waves of fear and loneliness washed over him.

As his mind returned to the reality he now had, he looked around trying to decide what was real and what wasn't. Still the wind on his face and the heat from his fire told him this was his reality.

Jim continued working to survive day to day. He found that the area was abundant with berries and roots that he had learned to recognize and eat over the years of camping in the West. Exploring these food sources took up some of his time during the day as well as gathering berries and roots, fishing and checking his traps. But Jim felt his curiosity about this world awakening and he started to explore the land, trying to solve the mystery he was living.

He knew that after twenty-four hours someone would start looking for him, but it had been several days and he had not seen a single person. It puzzled him that he had only wandered away from the construction site where he worked and then could not find it again. Jim was perplexed at not being able to find anything that even looked like civilization here or anywhere since that fateful night. He recognized the landscape as that being in and around Buffalo, Wyoming, but the interstates, roads, farms, ranches and the whole town were gone. It was as if the whole world was wiped clean of any trace of mankind. The more Jim thought about this the more he could feel the anxiety wrap around his heart. Reality had changed and his mind's grasp on it floated between his memories and the now.

Was he wrong? Did he happen to wander farther north or south of the town? Were the interstates farther east or west? Maybe he had forgotten where they all were in relation to the mountains? Was this all just a dream?

As the days wore on into a week, every night he would go to sleep with the hope that this was all just that, some vivid dream that he would wake from in his bed in Laramie or better yet curled up on the couch with his girlfriend holding his head in her lap like he had so many times before. He still remembered those waking moments when he would feel eyes on him and opened his own eyes to look into her beautiful green eyes, so full of life and happiness. It happened so many times he could still feel the warmth of those eyes. He always felt he could lose himself in those eyes, to live the rest of his life waking up to them would be like being in heaven. His mind often wandered when he thought of Heather.

The morning found him awaking alarmed, wondering where he was, like before.

On another morning Jim wandered up the stream checking his traps and searching for berries and roots. It was his normal routine but he found that these forays helped him keep his mind busy trying to find edible things to add to his diet. He also enjoyed the exercise and exploring his new environment even though he did not understand how he had gotten there or how things had changed.

Normally, he would pick a route and work his way up a hill or valley then return from the other side. Today though, he thought to change things up and started up the stream bank looking to get as far up the canyon before venturing off into another area he had not explored. He hoped that he could find some new plants or maybe even a new set of places to trap for smaller animals. He spent most of the day in this new area which was a heavily timbered area on the south side of the canyon. It was good to change things and his mind cleared as he ventured into this new territory. He had found a few plants he had not seen in a while and hoped to find some uses for those.

He finally left the timber and returned down the same trail he had traversed the canyon. He moved quickly down the game trail as it wound in and out of the beaver dams and boggy meadows. He was watching the trail and only half noticed his own boot tracks going the other direction.

Then Jim stopped after crossing a soft spot in the meadow. He cocked his head sideways and then turned around very slowly to look back at that spot. He could see his own track he had just made and the one from earlier in the morning. He stepped up to straddle the trail, leaned over and pulled the grasses back from the side of the mud. There in the mud was a depression that had a shape. In fact, it had the shape of a foot. Jim shook his head and looked again. It was a foot although muted, as if something covered the foot but he could see the toes and heal indentations. Then he noticed another thing, the foot was from the right foot and the big toe of the print overlapped his boot print from that morning!

Jim looked up as the hair on his neck and arms rose. Fear gripped his throat as he looked up the trail from whence he had come, then back down the trail towards his camp. He cautiously turned and set off down the trail at a brisk pace, looking back often to check his trail in fear.

One morning he awoke with a start. Panic set in and he jumped up from his bed of pine needles peering into the predawn darkness. The world was different and his mind raced to see where he was. An echo came to him from far away.

"Jim! Where are you?" the familiar female voice resonated.

"I'm here baby!" he yelled as he ran around his lean-to, following the voice.

"Why did you leave?"

"I am coming, wait for me," he yelled even louder as he sprinted east into the darkness.

"I miss you..." the rest of the sentence lost in the distance.

"I am here, just keep calling to me," he screeched as he stumbled in the dark.

Jim ran haphazard into the dark calling loudly, incomprehensibly.

As the darkness continued to wrap him in its cold embrace his mind raced wildly. Suddenly he felt himself falling, his right foot held fast. Pain shot through his right leg as sprigs and branches of sage brush crashed into him, tearing and scratching at his face and arms. He cried out all the louder but found no comfort, just the bitter taste of sage in his mouth and nose and searing pain in his leg. He rolled to get away from the coarse shrub and found himself lying next to it in some tall grass. He curled into a ball and nursed his aching leg, tears streaming across his face, sobs wracking his chest. Darkness and despair crowded into his mind.

The sun was high in the sky when Jim rolled over in the grass, searing pain reminded him of his leg and the bright light in his eyes causing him to squint as he looked around. He was in the middle of the north south valley with his camp behind him in the trees some distance away. As he arose, the darkness hung to him while despair wrapped around his heart. He turned back to his camp, hobbling. The day ended as he shivered in the dark of his lean-to, his stomach growling loudly.

After that, Jim found himself battling the panic every morning he awoke. He would rise only to feel he was falling as the darkness engulfed his soul. He fought to drive the darkness back, fighting his way back into the world that he now lived. Occasionally, the darkness would win like that day and he would find himself still lying in his lean-to that night, cold and hungry.

From those experiences Jim learned to keep busy; that he had to make sure that his chores were done whether he wanted to get up or not. However, the battle within raged on, trying to convince him to just lie down and quit living while another part of his mind fought to explain his situation as a dream that he would wake up from someday. Still he found himself here, nothing to explain it, nothing to show. His reality danced among these disparities in his mind.

As his supplies began to grow, Jim found he had more time on his hands. This added to the battle raging in his mind. He decided to set off on day hikes in different directions to explore this 'new' world, continuing to look for answers while the battle raged on in his mind and heart. On his daily trips he found the same landmarks that he had seen while staying in Buffalo: the foothills of the Bighorn Mountains surrounded in sage at the lower ends giving way to buckbrush higher up and ending with swaths of aspen and dense groves of pine extending like fingers down from the mountains while the Bighorns themselves stood in majestic beauty looking over the broken reddish bluffs to the east. He found his memory of the area marred by man though and without the ability to travel in a vehicle over long distances, his memories of places beyond walking distances of Buffalo were all but useless.

With all this confusion though, Jim found he loved the natural beauty all around him now, he also found himself almost hoping that man would not now magically show up to scar the land as he remembered it to be. He also found the wildlife plentiful. Large herds of antelope could be seen every once in a while in the valleys to the east, but they stayed well away from him and his camp. Deer also could be seen every now and again bounding away from him from some hide-out he did not know about.

One day he decided to try to hunt this bigger game. He took his pocket knife and tied it with one of his bootlaces to a larger spear shaft he had shaped from a straight pine limb. Then he set out to find his quarry. He crept slowly through the underbrush near the stream hoping that the noisy water would disguise his movements. Suddenly, he heard movement to his left. He turned and cast the weapon in the general direction of the noise. It sailed into the undergrowth and glanced off of the ground awkwardly. When Jim picked up the weapon he was surprised to find the blade had broken off at the handle. He searched frantically for the broken blade for a long time, but never did find it. Upon his return to camp the spear was leaned up against a gnarled old pine at the edge of his camp, useless.

Some nights he reflected on the final moments of his previous life. Getting off at 3:30 in the morning from the road construction crew, he went in to Buffalo with some coworkers to get breakfast before returning to the road construction site where his camper was parked. As he walked back from his friend's pickup towards his camper, he heard a loud clicking coming from behind the trailer. Wondering at the sound, he walked around the back to see if something was wrong.

When he rounded the camper, he saw two figures diving behind the top soil pile to the north. Jim paused in shock. Was it really two people he saw? Then he heard their hasty retreat beyond the pile and he rushed towards that point wondering who it was. When he rounded the pile, he saw the two figures heading off into the sage brush hillside to the northwest. He ran into the night trying to catch them but as he crossed the ridge and followed them down into a steep draw he lost sight of them. Jim ran forward in the hopes that he would come across them on the next ridge. As he stopped on that ridge breathing heavily he held his breath to listen for their retreat.

There, to the left, he thought as he heard running footfalls. He raced down the bare ridge in the general direction as fast as he dared in the darkness. There was a full moon showing dimly through a heavy cloud cover so he could see shapes of brush and the void places between as he ventured off of the ridge towards the sounds of retreat. He slowed to a brisk walk as he worked his way down into the draw and up the other side. Here he paused again. Silence rang in his ears as he listened intently through the pounding of his heartbeat in his ears.

Then he realized that in his haste he had gotten turned around and did not know where the construction site was. He looked at the sky but the clouds hid most of the stars telling him nothing more than which way was north, useful if you knew which direction you wanted to go, not so when you did not. He decided to head north towards Interstate 90 which he was certain was in that direction. Then he could walk back along the access road to the construction site which consisted of the gravel pit and crusher. It would be a long walk, but that was all he could think to do. Who knows, he thought, maybe he would get lucky and find another road or the access road anyway. As he walked north over the first ridge and then the second, his resolution waned and he began to wonder if he was moving in the right direction. After several hours of walking, the sun rose to the east with still no interstate in sight.

Jim sat down and contemplated his situation. He was lost and did not know where he was. The sun had come up over a bluff to his right and he was sitting on a small hill looking down into a draw. He glanced at his watch not really seeing but waiting for someone to come looking for him. No one ever did. He felt in his shirt pocket for his cell phone. It wasn't there and he checked his other pockets in panicky jerks.

"AH, GREAT! You HAVE GOT to be KIDDING ME!" he yelled as he remembered leaving the device in his truck. In the search for his phone, he found he only had his pocket knife left. Even his keys he had left in his truck. He shook his head bowing it to look at his watch again. Then he noticed the hands of the device. They weren't moving. He took it off and shook it vigorously. Still nothing. The hands showed 1:01 am with the date as June 22, 2015. He shook it again then pulled his hand back to hurl the useless item. He paused looking down into the shallow draw, withdrew his hand and added it to his shirt pocket disgusted. He spent the rest of the morning napping under a large bush in the bottom of that draw. Jim woke later in the afternoon and climbed to the top of the tallest ridge to the west.

There he saw the Bighorns and the long ridge overlooking the valley where he had spent the rest of his first day lost just sitting on that ridge and looking around. He felt he could do nothing but stare at the world around him.

As night approached, Jim just lay down in the sage and hoped that things would change the next day.

# Chapter Two

## Survival

After a few weeks Jim gave up hope on the search for someone out there. He also gave up hope of anyone coming to find him. The words of wisdom from his Scouting to prepare for seven more days felt hollow and useless. He was alone except for the 'tracker' from weeks before. He had never seen anything more to indicate that his shadow was following him, still he always felt like eyes were on him.

The darkness, despair and depression assaulted him with new fervor after the realization that he was not going home and that he was all but completely alone. These feelings closed in and wrapped him tightly in their suffocating folds leaving him to live in this nightmare for a time.

One afternoon he awoke hungry and thirsty. He did not know how long he had lain in his lean-to but he was weak from lack of food and severely dehydrated. The darkness had almost consumed him with grief and pity. To add to that fact, the lack of work had left him with no fire and few supplies to speak of.

A butterfly flew past his face and his eyes followed it aimlessly as it twirled around his camp, flittering about for flowers. It landed for a brief minute on something shiny on a broken branch in the nearby pine tree. Slowly his mind focused on that shiny spot through the darkness all around him. At first he couldn't remember what was hung up there, then a feeling washed over him that it was something of his. Finally it dawned on him, his broken watch hung from that broken branch where he had placed it when he first found this campsite. One of the few things that remind me that this is not really a dream, he thought.

Then his mind took control from his heart and he crawled out of his lean-to on his hands and knees towards the cool waters of the nearby stream. After having filled his stomach with water he went to work. The traps had already been scavenged by other animals and he had to spear fish for his evening supper. Thereafter, Jim made sure never to dwell on the darkness or his plight, never stopping until his daily tasks were done. If he found time to sit and think, he thought of more tasks and things that needed to be done.

Still, Jim found himself day dreaming of the past. His last memories of his girlfriend were fading as the days went by. He could remember much, but it felt like so long ago and so far away. Dreams kept returning to distort and tangle the truth of his memories while loneliness drove him to talking with himself.

One afternoon Jim had been wandering east of his camp. He ended up among the red ridges far to the east before he realized it. Here he sat down on the eastern side of the ridge top looking out upon the open sky to the east. The landscape sloped southeast away from him in rolling ridges and swales with another prominent red butte to the northeast. The grasses waved in the breeze while the sage brush stood stalwart against its assaults. The immenseness of the world before him threatened to swallow him. But he found he was not as fearful of the open expanses to the east as he had been before. In fact, he found solace and peace as he wandered out onto these open places. He almost felt safe knowing that he could see farther here than in the thick timber of the mountains behind him. The tracker would have to stay farther away to watch him here, he thought.

This particular day he was struggling with the dream he had had the night before. He sat pondering the dream, allowing all its feelings to come crashing back. As these feelings swept over him he relived the last couple of hours with his red headed girlfriend, Heather...

It was just after noon in the little college town of Laramie, Wyoming. Jim and Heather had finished a large lunch at a local cafe and Jim was driving her home. The day was a sunny, warm June day and the wind from the open windows of his truck swirled her red hair into a flowing backdrop of her beautiful face. Her face was thin and ended in a round firm chin. Her nose was small and thin, but it was her green eyes that enveloped you with their beauty and gave her face that glow. She was rambunctious as red heads are rumored to be and she was always full of laughter and joy. Jim liked her for all of the above reasons and more. They had noticed each other while taking a boring Chemistry class together at the University of Wyoming three years before, having helped each other pass both that class and the following semester. Soon they felt their time was better spent with each other rather than their individual circles of friends and found themselves growing close. But for all the love she had for him, and he for her, there were still problems. And that day, one of those ill-fated discussions occurred.

Heather leaned over and kissed Jim on the cheek as he drove through town. "Jim, I think we should talk about something before you head back to Buffalo," she said.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"Marriage," she said forcefully.

"Oh," Jim said as he thought, great here it comes again.

"Why won't you talk to me about it? I love you and you love me, so why shouldn't we get married?" she asked.

"I have told you before, this is not a good time to get married. We are both almost done with school, and if we get married then along comes a kid and then I have to get a job while going to school. Then more pressure trying to finish school so I don't end up working road construction the rest of my life," came Jim's reply. He sat thinking of the day two years before when he had proposed and she had rejected him. He had learned a hard lesson that day with her. She was not interested then so why did she want to now...

"But that is OK. We can work together and get through it."

"That's easy for you to say, you just stay home and take care of the kid," Jim grunted angrily picking one of the things that he knew would send the argument in another direction.

"What?" Heather asked with a sharp tone.

"Oh, nothing," Jim said.

"What did you say?"

"Nothing."

"I will not stay home and take care of our child, I will work to put you through school," she replied forcefully.

"If we have a kid, you will be staying home to take care of it,"

"Oh, yeah, who says," the red headed disposition starting to burn through.

"I will," came the low reply.

"If I want to do something, I will not have you tell me I can't!" her eyes burning as Jim pulled up in her family's driveway.

"If you marry me, you'll let me make those decisions!" came the heated reply.

"What if I don't marry you?!?" Heather countered.

Jim knew what the next reply to his answer would be if he let it out, but his heart was already darkened by the mood and he said it anyway, regretting it as soon as he had said it. "Good!!"

Heather blinked. Pain washed over her face, followed by a cold rage. She turned as she opened the door and jumped out, slamming the door behind her. Jim watched her stomp up to the front door and storm inside. He felt more than heard the front door slam shut.

Jim looked at his watch. He was already pressed for time to get back to Buffalo for work this evening, but he also felt an appeal to apologize to Heather. His mind mulled it over for a few seconds. She is really upset, he thought, I will call her when I get back to Buffalo just before work. With a heavy heart he backed out of the driveway and set off down the street, heading for the long road to work.

As luck would have it, he didn't make it to Buffalo in time to call Heather, and so he resolved to call her the next afternoon. He never made it back the next afternoon...

The feelings of that night and all his anguish, fears, loneliness and depression came crashing down on him like a landslide. He cried bitterly asking, "Why?"

He missed everything about his life, finding no answers to his questions about what had happened or where he was. All he found was the empty landscape of high plains scowling back at him.

In the days after, Jim busied himself with providing more food and water. He began ranging farther and farther away and gathered better materials for his camp. This busy work helped to push the dreams into the recesses of his mind. At night he planned more activities by the fire and by day he gathered food and materials.

First, Jim planned to build a better shelter similar to the wigwams he had learned about as a Boy Scout. He laid out the design of his wigwam next to his lean-to, meaning to keep the lean-to as storage. His first design was a circle but he had trouble cutting the saplings he needed with his knife broken and had no rope. His next idea of making a dugout failed as well and soon he decided to just add to the lean-to instead.

His first task was to begin walling the ends to add more protection which proved easy. The next was to stand more branches up at the mouth to create a fourth wall covering only half of that side. It worked well, especially when the pine boughs were laid as the last layer. Next, he moved the fire so that it was directly outside of the door and erected a three sided wall of rocks on the opposite side of the fire as a barrier to the wind and to act as a heat deflector. It worked so well the first night that Jim found himself unable to sleep due to the heat from his fire. The next day he opened up a hole in the roof of the lean-to that he could cover with a pine boughs from the inside to control the temperature. He also let the fire burn down earlier in the evening.

His reality became this busy work of each day. These tasks became a routine and this routine became his life. A typical day consisted of gathering berries, fishing, checking and resetting traps and hunting for small game in the morning while in the afternoon he wandered farther from camp, gathering more wood for the fire, working on improvements for his shelter, fashioning general tools or just plain exploring the area. It was the hottest part of the day but he learned to stay hydrated and rest often in the shade.

Another concern began to present itself, though. His work coveralls were wearing out, his jeans were holey and thread bear with his tee shirt nearly rags. He washed himself and his clothing daily in the stream but having only one set of clothing was beginning to show. During the heat of the day he wore little more than his underwear but the evenings and nights were cool and he often had to bundle up to make it through the night having no blankets. It was evident that he needed to start learning how to tan small game hides.

During his hunting and trapping trips he started to notice that his senses were becoming more acute as well. He could sense animals before he actually saw them. Oftentimes, a smell or sound would trigger a memory of that animal in his mind and he would feel his body react before he actually thought of it. As he hunted, his skills improved to the point that he could stalk close to larger game such as deer which presented the need for a better weapon than his present club that he threw at small game. Jim refashioned the spear, having found its place leaning against an old gnarled pine after he had discarded it from his first failed hunting trip, and began practicing with it.

He also started experimenting with chipping spearheads. Like all boys, he had tried that for a time and had learned a few things. He finally found a stone that chipped well and he worked the stone, breaking several good starts from an errant strike or pressing in the wrong places until he managed to get one about right. He used the stomach of a rabbit as his cordage and lashed it to the haft of his spear.

It was a big step to go from hunting smaller creatures to these larger ones but he knew the bounty that would come from it. He practiced for days with a practice spear he had made, stalking farther from camp as quietly as possible, picking a target like a bush or tree and launching his weapon at it. Many times he failed to hit but as the days went by he got better at it. He also found that as he practiced stalking he got closer and closer with each coming day. It became a game he practiced all day.

One day as he stalked through the underbrush near his camp, he heard something take a cautious step to his left behind a pine. Jim turned ever so slowly and waited to see what was going to walk out from behind the tree. It took all his will and patience not to go running at the tree. Then he saw the cautious hoof step below the lower hanging branches of the tree. The rest of the body of the animal was hidden behind the pine boughs but Jim pulled his spear back to ready for a throw. Again another cautious step and the head of a deer appeared from the edge of the boughs. It took another step and the front shoulder was visible. The animal looked away from Jim, scanning that direction and took another step. Now, most of its body was visible. Jim waited one final second as it turned its head back and looked directly at him. Seconds turned into hours it seemed as he realized that the deer had spotted him.

He felt his reflexive jerk as he launched the spear.

The amount of food he harvested from this animal presented a new set of problems that he set his mind to. It required him to preserve and store this food for later among other things. The meat was smoked and dried over the fire while the other parts were fashioned into tools, clothing and other items including more cordage.

All the while Jim could feel the dreams pushing at the wall he was building in his mind, trying to return to the forefront. His worries and fears grew as the days went on. There was the footprint in the mud. In all his weeks since, he had never seen any other evidence that there were humans in the area, but still he sometimes felt like someone was watching him.

He was also becoming confused as to how to get out of the situation he was now in. There seemed to be no way out. For some reason beyond his grasp, his life had changed and he was no longer where he once was. He remembered some science fiction accounts of alternative realities or dimensions, but that did not even make sense here. Another nagging doubt was whether he was living what others who had disappeared in such places as the Bermuda Triangle had. As these troubling thoughts fought for attention in his mind he could only look around himself and wonder if this was still a dream or whether this was his new reality...

Jim often found himself sitting in the lonely landscape thinking as he wandered farther from his camp. That was when the dreams from his past would creep up and take hold of his consciousness. This particular day the daydream had been painfully brutal and his mind reeled in the aftermath of the emotions generated.

Just then, he looked up from his emotional storm. The tears made his vision blurry, but still he could recognize something different about the world before him. He fought back his crowded memories and wiped his eyes with the back of his right hand. There, at the bottom of the ridge some 600 yards away, were six brown skinned men wearing leather and sitting on horses. Their hair was long and black with faces and bodies painted in some form of mystic symbols. Jim felt the hair on his nape rise as he beheld their evil appearance.

So, now the Devil comes to tell me of what hell this is, he thought. The rage built in his heart as he wondered if this were his tormentors come to gloat over their captor. His mind tumbled down this path of anger and rage at the situation he was in.

The riders and horses were also adorned in feathers and bead work of various colors and patterns. They each held a lance and war clubs protruded from belts around their waists. Their legs were covered in some kind of leather pants and their upper bodies donned a leather vest that seemed to blend with the body paint.

All six were looking curiously at Jim as he slowly stood from his rocky seat. The one in the front, who was much larger and towered over the rest, turned his pure white horse sideways and looked at the other five. He looked to be the leader as his horse was painted in a black zigzag pattern and his black hair was adorned with three large feathers tied therein. The others' horses were plain and the riders only wore one feather, save the smallest one and his head was unadorned.

The leader pointed at the smallest and barked at him. He galloped up to the larger one, threw his lance into the ground in front of the leader and pulled the war club. The leader raised his brightly decorated lance and pointed it at Jim. The feathers on the haft swung slightly in the breeze as he barked another command.

The youth kicked his mount in Jim's direction, brandishing his weapon.

Jim's mind raced. His only weapon, the spear, he had left in camp. I have never needed a weapon in defense, so why would I carry it, he thought. Now, he wished he had it as he looked around the top of the ridge for something to defend himself with. Seeing nothing but stones, his mind settled upon a strategy and he glanced up to see where his assailant was.

He could see the look of boyhood had not even left this one, yet they sent him to dispatch this lone man who had been sitting on a small ridge in the middle of the prairie. Jim felt the rage build faster than before. The loneliness, frustration, and pent up feelings burst through his consciousness, fueling his anger while rage took control of every sense, muscle, and thought.

"Send the smallest and weakest to prove himself in a one on one fight against an unarmed, lone man!??!" Jim snarled as he slowly bent over and selected a fist sized stone with his right hand. Then he slowly straightened, careful to conceal his weapon behind his leg, as he prepared to face the oncoming rider.

As the horse and rider raced up the gentle slope, Jim saw the battle with this one open up before him like a dream. His vision was clouded in red except right around the attacker advancing up the slope, the rage coursing through his body like electricity, every muscle tense, every sinew taunt. Still his mind kept total control of every movement of his body.

Walks Like Thunder watched as his son, Soaring Eagle, raced up the hill. The stranger had been sitting on the hill the whole time his war band had approached up the draw. They had only seen a lump on the hill from far to the east and had come to investigate. It was a man dressed in rabbit and deer skins with long brown curly hair on his head and face.

Walks Like Thunder was confident Soaring Eagle would prove himself as a warrior this day. He had taught him from the time the boy could walk all that the old warrior knew of fighting and his son had excelled in all the games he was taught as a boy. Still, the father knew the real test would come in the heat of battle. He had seen the best prepared of youth cut down after freezing at the first sign of blood or gore. He had also seen the most docile become a raging whirlwind, striking all who opposed them. He sat outwardly calm, inwardly nervous, waiting for his son to prove himself against this stranger whose hair grew on his face like a moose.

As the horse closed the distance, Jim scrutinized the boy very carefully. Doubt was beginning to set into the boy's face as he realized that Jim showed little fear of him or his threatening war club raised to strike. Jim's senses caught everything, the pound of the hooves, the heavy breathing of the mount, his own heart racing from the adrenaline, the taste of cotton in his mouth. Then, as the pair came closer, time seemed to slow to a crawl. Jim could see the rider slowly leaning out over the horse's right flank, leading his horse to the left of the target. Jim waited until the rider was within two strides...

"With a strike from my war club, I will prove myself in the eyes of my father as well as the other great warriors of our band," raced the thoughts of the youth as his horse bore down on the strange hairy man. Then the stranger disappeared under the horse's outstretched neck. His horse shuddered then seemed to go limp under the boy's legs. He observed the horse's nose roll down towards the ground too far, his own balance being upset by the roll of the horse's back. Then, he felt an upward push on his left leg which sent him flying. Confusion crashed into his mind just ahead of the ground rising up to meet him.

Walks Like Thunder sat forward as he saw the strange one step in front of the charging horse and disappear into the dust of the racing mount. Dust swallowed his son as he flew off of his horse onto the ground and Walks Like Thunder's throat constricted. He watched helplessly as his eldest son was bested by this strange one. Lost on him were the bravery and courage exemplified by the strange one as well as his motives. Fear and anger surged within him. He cried his war whoop, his fear and anger adding to the usually fearsome sound. The sound startled his mount as did the thrust of his heels into the animal's sides. The other warriors reacted an instant later.

Jim's lunge in front of the mount and the rock he had flung at its head did just as he had hoped. The sudden movement followed by the blow to the head had caused the horse to stumble and topple forward. Jim felt stabbing pain as the horse's front leg struggled to catch its fall and kicked him in the thigh, but his mind ignored the pain as he reached up and pushed hard on the boy's left leg. The boy flew head over heels landing hard on the bare ground of the knoll several feet to the side of his panicked horse. The war club landed some ways beyond him. Jim watched as the mount finished its somersault and fought to right itself. The animal screamed and kicked, while the boy just rolled in the dirt gasping for breath. Dust filled the air as Jim leaped over a small sage and the sprawling boy for the now discarded war club. As he snatched it up he looked at the gnarled knot of the tree branch that was the head and the wood that was the haft. The wood was of a light brown color and the head had been polished and probably hardened by fire, blackening it.

As the dust settled, Jim remembered his predicament and turned to look down the hill. He saw the other five charging up the slope in a thunder of hooves. The leader was out in front with his lance raised and an ugly expression magnifying his painted face. Jim felt the fear grip his stomach as he observed the devil and his riders' charge.

The rage rose up to take control again and Jim felt himself scream at them like a madman, rushing headlong down the hill with his newly acquired weapon raised in both hands over his left shoulder. He saw the riders slide into a V formation with the leader at the apex. He watched the maneuver and noted the precision with which it was executed even as the rage held full control of his actions.

The leader raised his lance and prepared to throw the weapon. Jim acted as if he were going to use the same ploy as before by staying as close to the path of the oncoming horse as possible. As the pounding hooves roared in his ears and the dust from the charge swept down the slope behind them, Jim could feel the fear clutching his heart as the rage and adrenaline flowed through his veins. He neither felt nor cared for the searing pain in his legs as they strained to propel him as fast as they could over the sage covered slope. Jim watched the large warrior's arm come forward, launching the lance at him. At the same time, Jim cut to the right effectively dodging the thrown lance and crossing the horse's path a bare stride ahead of the mount. He dove to kneel in front of the mount swinging with his whole body and bringing the full force of his two handed grip on his weapon to bear on the left foreleg of the charging horse. The knee buckled under the blow and the added weight of horse and rider. The mount's head stretched out ahead of itself to try to extend itself long enough to bring its now disabled leg back under itself.

Walks Like Thunder felt his horse pitch to the left as he brought the war club in his left hand down for a crushing blow, having thought the stranger would use the same tactic. But the club struck nothing as he saw the ground rushing up to meet him. He tried desperately to dive away from his mount, but his swing had left him leaning down to the left. His feet let go of the steed, but he was already too late. Walks Like Thunder managed to point his feet at the ground and actually landed standing up when the rump of the tumbling horse crashed down on him from behind, the horse rolling up on him. The mount kicked and squealed frantically while Walks Like Thunder felt tendons straining and bones close to breaking as it struggled on top of him. Eventually, the confused animal rolled to the side and the crushing weight of its body was replaced by blood, sweat and dust with his left leg pinned firmly under the huge animal.

Jim did not hesitate in the ensuing confusion. He stood up and grabbed the leg of the next warrior riding by with his right hand and brought the war club up to meet his opponent's waist awkwardly with his left hand. This warrior, being distracted with avoiding his fallen leader and mount, felt the blow of the weapon in his side. The warrior rolled off his sidestepping horse into the rising dust.

Jim grabbed the rope over the neck of the horse as it turned to escape the fray and launched himself onto the back of the mount without losing his grip on the weapon in his left hand. He turned as he landed in his seat just in time to see the coming blow of the next warrior's war club and ducked. The blow caught him behind the left shoulder blade glancing off, but Jim retaliated with a back swing of the weapon in his left hand. The strike was wild but forced his opponent to pull back. As Jim brought the war club back he caught a second, descending blow and hooked the weapon with his own, then kicked his own horse hard. The mount leaped in response and Jim pulled hard on the locked weapons while hanging on to the horses rope with his other hand. The warrior toppled from his mount and landed hard on his right shoulder.

Walks Like Thunder tried to get up but his whole body throbbed with pain and his lungs seared from the lack of air. He took several deep breaths as he tried again to roll away from his thrashing mount, but his left leg was now firmly pinned under the animal. As he looked around, he saw one other warrior fighting to get away from his downed mount nearby, having tripped over the fallen leader and mount. He also looked over in time to see that the strange one had gained a mount while Deer Killer landed hard on his right shoulder.

Jim quickly surveyed the scene. The boy and his mount lay up the slope while the leader and one other struggled pinned somehow by their screaming horses. One warrior stood facing him holding his side, another favored his shoulder as he knelt on the ground a few yards away. The last was still mounted circling for his attack from farther up the slope. This one hesitated halfway up the ridge as he also surveyed the battle. That hesitation gave Jim the chance he needed and he turned his horse to the south, parallel to the ridge line and kicked the mount hard again. With a jump they were off and Jim could hear the war cry of the last. He could see a deep wash just over the edge of the saddle they were riding through and he hoped to be able to reach it before the last warrior could.

Jim glanced over his right shoulder to see his opponent. Both horses were fast, but Jim's had the advantage of level ground where as the other mount was slowed in trying to run safely downhill through intermittent sage. As the ridge curved down to this moderate sized wash, Jim looked again and saw that the other's horse was not faster but he had the angle to catch him. A final confrontation was inevitable. He thought they could reach the wash but beyond that he was uncertain.

As Jim watched the distance close between him and his enemy, he could see more clearly what the wash looked like and he decided on one last tactic. The wash was not very wide, it looked more like a ditch than anything, and was not very deep, maybe slightly more than a horse.

Jim's horse thundered down the steep side of the wash and he turned the horse right, up the dry stream bed, ducking his head. The wash was only wide enough for the horse to maneuver up its course and the walls seemed to be just beyond Jim's feet. He hoped that his pursuer would not see his move and thunder into the wash thinking either he had fallen or that it was a trap. Jim kicked his horse hard and clung close to the neck. The mount responded agilely to his guidance and soon they were out of sight from the lower end of the wash.

Jim saw his mounts' right ear rotate backwards as if it had heard something and he too looked back in time to see the warrior and mount crest the top of the wash and lunge down towards him with a cry of victory. Jim kicked his horse hard up the left side of the embankment. The warrior's war club struck him on the right hip but his sudden move up had lessened the effectiveness of the weapon.

Instead of continuing to flee, Jim tried to whirl his mount around as it got to the top of the embankment to counter charge. He was amazed at how quickly the mount turned for him and that the animal even knew what he wanted. The warrior and mount were caught in that tight spot with little room for maneuvering, having already turned to follow. Jim's mount bowled into the other horse while he struck with all his might at the warrior, but his lack of experience gave the other the advantage and the warrior countered with a blow to Jim's left side. Jim felt his balance slipping and kicked his mount to climb back up the opposite side out of the wash. As the mount gained the top, Jim turned in his seat and lurched off, grappling the following warrior. Both tumbled off of his now panicked mount and into the wash, rolling down the embankment to the dry streambed.

Now Jim knew he was on even ground, having wrestled with his brothers and uncles. He also noticed that he was a few inches taller and a bit stockier than his opponent. They both twisted and turned trying to get the upper hand. Jim could feel the other's skill and agility, but what he lacked in agility, Jim made up for in strength. Jim got one hand loose and started pummeling the warrior in the face. Soon the warrior was on the defensive and Jim wouldn't let up, using one hand to pin his opponent and striking with the other. Jim could see his opponent trying to get his right hand at something down towards his belt, but Jim kept his hold firm and watched the other's free hand closely. Suddenly, the warrior collapsed into unconsciousness, his face bruised and bloodied with one eye swelling closed and blood pouring from his nose and mouth.

Jim quickly rolled the warrior over and stripped him of his weapons and anything else useful. The warrior was barely conscious as Jim scrambled up to the top of the wash to find both mounts standing a few yards away viewing him suspiciously. One was white with brown patches while the other, the one he had been riding, was almost a red, rust color. He cautiously approached the mounts talking softly like he had been taught by his grandfather when they had found a lone, strange horse on their property as a boy. He managed to grab the ropes hanging from their necks and mounted the white one. He rode up to the edge of the wash leading the red and looked down on the warrior below who was conscious now and crawling towards the crest of the wash. Jim then turned his horses to the east and galloped away down the northern edge of the wash. He looked back one more time, and saw the warrior standing and gazing towards the receding mounts and rider. To the north he could see the silhouette of one rider coming towards the wash and several men limping behind.

Jim continued riding east until the sun was nearly touching the mountains to the west. Then, he turned south to cross the wash that had turned into a large draw. As they traveled south he used the time to relax from their flight and examine his wounds. The first one on his left thigh from the first boy's horse, was turning into a very large bruise and was tender but he thought that no bone was broken since he had run on it right after the horse had kicked him.

The second was his left shoulder. It worried him the most since he could not see it and could only stretch it or feel around with his right hand. His hand never came away bloodied and the rotation of his shoulder was stiff but did not grind to a painful halt anywhere so he again figured he was ok there as well.

The third and fourth were the wounds on his right thigh and his left hip from the last warrior. Again bruises could be felt but he did not feel any sudden pain of things broken, just the dull ache of damaged muscles and tissue.

Jim continued riding south, parallel to the mountains until the last flickering of light faded above the mountains to the west. He then turned his mount back towards the west with the other in tow. The horses seemed to be adept at finding their way in the dark, so Jim let his mount lead them while he kept them heading towards the towering darkness that was the mountains in the night.

# Chapter Three

## The Observer

"JIM!" screamed a female voice in the darkness, "JIM! WAKE UP! THEY ARE COMING!!" Jim rolled from his bed of pine boughs and launched himself out of his lean-to, snatching up the spear and leaped across the smolder fire. He spun quick circles around in alarm trying to see into the predawn light, brandishing his spear. The trees were blurred by a fog that made whole situation feel even more ominous.

Jim's heart raced and he gasped for breath as he whirled around searching for any danger. Sweat ran down his brow stinging his eyes. Fear, panic, menace all ran together as he tried to find where the alarm had come from.

Then he noticed both of his newly acquired mounts standing near his lean-to where he had hobbled them. Their heads were up and attentive but their eyes and ears were focused on him. They watched him with an intense stare, then they both bowed their heads and went back to munching the grasses Jim had gathered for them the night before.

Jim turned one more circle, searching the fog with his eyes for anything out of place, the voice still echoing in his head. Then he let his spear down cautiously and looked back at his horses. They paid him, nor anything else around them, no mind.

With fear still gripping his heart, he walked back towards the lean-to and set kindling on the fire. Then he sat down to await the day's coming to life in the eerie half-light while his mind pondered the dream he had. It was so vivid and lively. Then he also remembered the voice, it was not one he could remember. It seemed to be a new one, one he had never heard. But how could that be, he thought.

Jim spent the following days resting and healing. His wounds healed but still he pondered the encounter on the plains. The questions of who they were and whether he should be worried plagued him in the dark of night, sometimes manifesting in nightmares like the first one. Still, he busied himself with survival and the day to day chores. He also found he had more to do to keep up with his newly acquired horses, specifically providing food and water.

He spent the late mornings and early afternoons re-learning how to ride his horses and getting to know more of the surrounding lands. Interestingly, the horses had horse hair ropes braided into their manes that allowed for easy control without having to worry about the normal reigns and bridles. It was different learning to ride bareback and he found himself bowlegged more than a few days as he practiced riding them.

Both horses were fast and agile. The white was the larger of the two with brown patches on the chest and rump. It was a female and was more mellow and approachable. He called her "Lady" and she enjoyed his gentle touch and soft voice. The other was also a female but she was a light brown that almost shimmered red to rust in the sunlight. She had a contrasting personality from Lady being wilder and harder to control. He called her "Red" for obvious reasons and she was the faster of the two. He enjoyed Red but he had to work to keep her under control. But, he also learned to let her run once in a while to get it out of her system.

Jim remembered hearing his grandfather talk of such horses as a boy while he was learning how to ride on the ranch in Utah, but he had never actually been around a horse like this. His grandfather had explained to him that such horses were a prize, especially when the horse and rider encountered difficult circumstances such as bears. Many people would get rid of such a free spirited horse, he had said, because they were hard to control and not docile enough for them. His grandfather always watched for such horses because they were the true prizes, the uncut gem that would gleam brightly under the right conditions.

His grandfather once told the story of a grizzly bear charge in the backcountry of Idaho in which his spirited horse, Candy, instead of panicking and bolting, had followed his grandfather's every command. He kicked it into a sprint at an angle away from the charging sow and circled back around behind it. His grandfather always talked highly of those horses that "had spirit" and would not run at the first scare.

Jim had seen how such a horse could be used effectively on the day he acquired them. He remembered that it was Red that he had been riding to get away from the last warrior. He also remembered how he had almost gotten ambushed except for his horse's cue with her ear. He knew that her being able to turn at the top of the slope and double back for the counter attack had also been a key maneuver in his victory.

Slowly over the weeks, Jim took longer and longer trips, some of them for days at a time. His adventuring helped to calm his mind and brighten his mood. His two new companions also gave him someone to talk to and care for.

Still the questions remained and often nagged at him. Who were those men that attacked him? Why had they attacked him? Were they still a threat? These combined with the previous questions of where he was and how he got here just deepened the mystery. And then there was the track in the mud, who was that and should he also be concerned?

One night Jim sat by his fire, as he always did, pondering the events of the last month. The loneliness had gone but still the questions lingered. His mind reeled to and fro, as it had since the encounter with the horsemen, trying to explain his present situation. The landmarks and the lay of the land were the same, but where the town of Buffalo once was, Jim could only see a creek filled with beaver ponds ringed in trees and willows surrounded by sagebrush flats. Where Interstates 25 and 90 should have met, there was only a sagebrush covered hill!?!? Nothing made any sense. How could a town, two major interstates and all the fields, roads and buildings just disappear? He would have said it was a nuclear war or some such business if he could have found wreckage or even a tin can, but there was not so much as a trace.

Every time he would begin to reason these things out a nagging doubt would strike him, what if somehow HE moved. He looked up at the watch hanging in the pine tree at the edge of his camp. It had quit working on the night of his getting lost at 1:01 am, June 22, 2015. The puzzle pieces circled in his mind as he reasoned with it. He thought, but even so shouldn't I have been able to have seen some kind of evide...

Huh?

In the darkness behind him, Jim heard his horses snort and stomp down by the creek. He scooped up a handful of dirt and threw it into the heart of the fire. The light dimmed with a hiss as Jim jumped into the enclosing shadows on the west side of his camp, crouching motionless with his back to a pine facing east back across his camp. He waited as his eyes slowly adjusted to the black of night while his left hand slid around the tree to grasp his spear.

As he crouched there in the shadow of the tree, he heard one of his horses snort again. But it sounded as if the horse was facing away from Jim, looking towards the north. His ears rang in the silence of the surrounding trees as he strained to hear any sound that might indicate who his unseen guests were.

Then it was there, the gentle brush of a leaf against something, but no direction could be discerned. Jim's heart pounded in his ears and threatened to cancel out any sounds he might be able to hear. Jim took deep, slow breathes to calm himself and focused on burying his excitement in his consciousness. After a couple of minutes he heard it again. He realized that whatever was out there, was circling around behind him to the west.

The fire had grown back to half its original size and the glare from it could still project a shadow if Jim were to turn or move. Silently, he waited to see where this intruder was headed hoping to get a glimpse of what it might be. It was cautious and silent, but every so often a gentle sound would give away its position, the crunch of leaves, the brushing of something, the gentle rustle of vegetation. It was definitely circling around his camp and as it circled to his right, the night breeze swirled in the trees casting a scent to him.

That's no animal!! Jim's brain screamed. This was something far more familiar than that of the animals he had hunted and trapped. His nose was unaccustomed to identifying smells like this though and it was gone as soon as it was there. Jim had learned from hunting that the smell of deer and elk each had their own odor, but this was unlike either. Yet, he still could not put a finger on what it was even with its familiarity.

Moonlight was useless under the tall cottonwoods and dark pines around him, even if it were shining. That same light from the campfire which kept Jim from moving also kept the intruder at a greater distance. Jim searched for a way to sneak up on the watcher, but his legs were so stiff and cramped by now that movement would be quite painful as well as clumsy at best. With only two decisions, move and alert the stranger to his position, or sit and wait, he chose the latter.

The fire had started to dim and go out as the cautious watcher slowly crept into his growing vision. At last, the flame flickered out in the fire before him. For several moments he heard nothing from his right, but Jim saw another shape appear from the left out in the plains east of his camp. It was crouched and quiet, and kept a slow, steady pace towards the now dead fire. Another, he thought. Was this an attack? He gripped the spear even harder and slowly brought it around the tree to lay across his numb knees.

Jim could see this second intruder as it closed with him, it had a dog-like shape and looked from its shifty, skinny appearance in the darkness to be a coyote.

As it moved in a zigzag path towards Jim's dead fire it would pause and peer around, sniffing the air cautiously. Jim's horses were apparently unalarmed at it and had quieted once the first visitor had moved around to the south side of the camp, for they made no more noise. As the dog neared his camp, it slowed to a crawl and crept on its belly for a few feet. Then, in a burst of speed, the coyote sprinted into Jim's camp, grabbed his dinner of roasted fish from off the stick above the fire and bolted back into the night.

Jim sat waiting for the first intruder to move, but after a long time, nothing was ever heard coming from that direction. Tired of waiting and very hungry, he slowly stood and stretched, listening for any retreating sounds. He heard nothing. He replaced the spear in its spot near the tree and rebuilt his fire, recooking a meal to eat. As the first light of day tinted the eastern horizon with its light blue color he laid down to sleep.

After awaking at about mid-day Jim went out to the area where he had heard the last rustlings and searched around the perimeter of his camp. He could find nothing to prove to himself that there had been anything there, but he knew he was no hunter and that tracking was more of an art that he had never really mastered. Then, he noticed a soft spot in a game trail. There in the dust was the rounded print of a foot but quite a bit smaller than his own worn out boot when he compared them. It looked very similar to the one he had found weeks before, he realized and the goose bumps grew on his skin while he looked up and around himself cautiously.

The next night sleep evaded Jim. After lying next to his fire wrapped in a deer skin staring up into the trees and the starry sky beyond for several hours, he decided sleep would not come. It had been replaced by the scars of his loneliness. Jim arose, gathered some things and, while there was still no sign of light in the eastern sky, climbed onto Lady turning her west up the creek towards the mountains.

He tried to occupy his mind with examining the sides of the dark canyon that he was riding into while his horse picked their way through the undergrowth. Since acquiring the horses he had never really ventured up into the mountains like this. In fact, he had avoided the mountains for the most part since he found that track in the mud early on in his stay here. Seeing a draw cutting up the hillside to the north, he turned his horse into it.

After several hours of slow climbing and weaving up the steep slope, they came to the top of the mountain only to find that it was the first in a series of dark foothills stair stepping up to the higher, more rugged inner mountains that formed the heart of this range standing starkly against the starry night sky. Ahead stretched pine covered ridges of broken, green and black amid steep valleys filled in darkness.

The east was showing a line of soft blue at the horizon as Jim turned Lady back that direction. They passed through groves and meadows steeped in silence, like the passing of a dream. At times, Jim wondered if he hadn't really fallen asleep and whether this was all just a dream. Then a sound or a smell would seem to float to him and he would realize that it wasn't. He could feel his toes growing ice cold from the lack of use in the cold mountain air. He could also feel the bite of the chill mountain air passing on his cheek, hinting of winter's coming grip upon these lower highlands.

In this almost dream world he realized something, the cold that surrounded him and seeped into his bones was a prelude of what was to come. He felt the blood drain from his face as he thought of the cold winters in Wyoming. His mind balked at the thought of trying to stay in this country when the temperatures could drop well below zero and the winds could make it even colder. He looked down at his deer skin jacket he had fashioned. He would need a lot more than that to survive the coming winter.

As he was thinking of all these things, they rode out of the shadow of the last grove of pine trees into the bluish white glow building on the eastern horizon before them. Jim lifted his left leg and slid off of his horse, filing away the problems of winter for later. Feeling the blood rush back into his legs, he led his mount to a small rise. He hobbled her there, walked out onto the knoll and sat down facing the coming day. There in the only place where he could actually feel like he was at home, he wept.

The pent-up feelings of anguish, hope and depression coupled with being completely lost and homesick flooded into his heart. Confusion reigned in a brain where everything had explanations. He prayed to God, but had no faith, hoping still to obtain an answer, but never receiving. Despair ruled his thoughts, suicide broiled forth in his heart, death being the easy way out. As the new day dawned, he noticed nothing except the whirling battles within the confines of his own soul.

Lost in his anguish, he didn't see the orange and purples climbing into the eastern sky. He didn't see the far off clouds erupting in a fiery orange hue, turning yellow then on to gold. Nor did he see the sunlight touch the tops of the peaks behind him. Slowly, the new day dawned around him and still he sat on the knoll sobbing. Slowly, the light crept down the peaks and moved silently over the green and grey landscape of trees and rocks, valleys and mountains. Then, it tracked across the lower plateau of foothills towards Jim, like a mountain lion stalking from ridge top to ridge top, quietly, silently, yet coming ever so slowly.

Jim didn't notice any of the beauty erupting around him when suddenly his eyes were stricken by a bright, yellow light. He opened his tear filled eyes to see why all he could see was red light. His body relaxed and he slumped.

The brilliant light seemed to blind him at first, then he began to distinguish figures and slowly these developed into a clear picture. Jim saw a figure on a horse, an Indian, dressed in white leather skins from head to toe and carrying a brightly decorated lance with feathers hanging from the spearhead. He was riding a horse of pure white whose eyes were as red as blood and smoke curling from his nostrils. The brave's long, black, hair flowed in the wind behind them as horse and rider raced towards Jim. Behind them pursued other Indians, all on foot save three leading them on horses. As Jim watched, he saw another horse and rider appear behind the three. They all rode black horses that looked sickly and shabby, especially when compared to the beauty and brilliance of the white one. The Indians also looked poor and ill fed when compared to the rider. The last rider was bigger and uglier than the rest and all the Indians, both on foot and mounted, did his bidding as they chased the white one.

As the horse and rider approached, the four horsemen on black steeds caught the white horse and Indian. He was knocked from his horse, beaten and dragged back over mountains to the east by the leader of the four riders. The white stallion was taken and given to the leader while the rest of the Indians on foot slowly acquired other horses through some magic power of the dream. The white horse defied all who rode it, but with the maltreatment and undernourishment, its brilliance died out, then its beauty. Soon, it became deathly ill and died, as did all the other horses. Then all the Indians were left on foot.

Clouds of dust billowed up to obscure Jim's vision as he felt his body moving with his mount as it raced over the broken landscape. Jim heard the trill of the warriors as they entered the fray to bring down as many of the stampeding herd of buffalo as possible. The singing of the bows accompanied by the soft thud of the arrows as they struck, reverberated in his ears. He was on Red and ahead of him rode a proud warrior who shot his bow at an outlying buffalo, then turned and raced up an incline to their left. The roaring sound of hundreds of thousands of hooves beating the ground, competed to drown out all thought.

Then the dust churned up to obscure his vision yet again. When it cleared he felt the rage of a people being beaten and trampled by their enemies, not because of their lack of bravery, honor or heart, but their lack of leadership, warfare and experience. The crying of a son who will never see his father again, the screaming of a mother who has lost a son, a girl crying for a mother that is prone in the dust and a wife whose husband's strong breast has been silenced, all knowing that nothing will be done to avenge their lost ones. A people of peace, unaccustomed to war.

Again the dust rolled up to block his view and then cleared again...the feeling of utter freedom filled Jim as he sat on a horse overlooking the vast grasslands and feeling nature all around him, living, breathing, being, as he was. The feeling of a people who had long been the conquerors told in stories and legends of old. The feeling of belonging to a close knit group with their own fundamental part that must be done in that nature. The sacred rights and traditions of ancestors, passed from father to son.

This time no dust obscured his vision, his vision just seemed to focus and Jim saw the face of an old Indian with his eyes closed in some kind of a dream, his large nose, his many wrinkles, the grayed hair laying loose about his shoulders, all part of a proud race of people.

The eyes suddenly opened and the face whitened as the Indian yelled out in alarm. Jim bellowed and jerked back also.

The sun shone brightly in Jim's eyes and he shaded them with his hand as he looked around. Lady stood off a ways, staring at him curiously, then turned back to cropping grass from around some sagebrush.

He stretched his arms and looked around again. The knoll was high and he could see far off into the plains. It was a vast expanse of rolling hills and shallow valleys. The sun was making its slow climb into the sky from the east with the chill of morning gently swallowed in its light.

He sat there on that knoll thinking of what he had seen and realizing that the vastness of the land before him somehow filled his soul with peace. He had never really looked at the flat plains to the east that way but now understood them and found a desire to return to look out over them often.

Wow! Some dream, he thought as he stood up. He paused, half bent over and stared at the object hanging from his neck. At his breast swung a leather sack with several small feathers tied into the intricate beadwork that was sown into the necklace. The beads were of varying shapes and some looked to be bone while others were of stones of varying colors and styles.

The hair on his neck rose as goose bumps appeared on his arms. Was it a dream? He moved to take the necklace off but a strange wind kicked up all around him whipping the grass and brush around and pelting him with dirt and dried leaves. After letting the necklace down to protect his eyes with his arms from the onslaught, it passed and he looked around nervously.

He looked down at the necklace. Maybe someone will want it, he thought deciding to leave it where it was.

Jim paid careful attention every night after that to every sound and movement in the night, sometimes jumping at his own shadow, but the watcher or the old man from the dream never appeared. He would often sit and fantasize about who or what it was and how they would next meet. Then he would reach down and take the necklace in his hand and examine it wondering where it had come from and how he had come to have it. He even thought of trying to take it off, but the goose bumps would return and he would drop it back to his chest.

He continued to look out to the plains wondering if his visitor had anything to do with those attackers and what else was out there in that vast expanse that he knew existed between the mountains behind him and the horizon. Usually he tried staying busy with the daily tasks of searching for food, taking care of his horses and exploring the mountains to the west. Often he would return to that high knoll to look out over the rolling, broken plains below, searching for signs of other people, remembering the last encounter where he had acquired his horses as well as the dream.

One beautiful morning, as Jim was riding Red east, searching the sage covered valleys and gently sloping ridges in between, a low rumble of thunder rolling over the plains caught his attention. He looked to the west, at the mountains, but no cloud hung to their majestic peaks. In fact, as he looked all around, he noticed the whole sky didn't contain a single cloud, let alone the dark clouds of a thunderstorm.

There it was again, thought Jim to himself as he felt Red stomp and paw the ground. He looked east from whence the sound came. Nothing in the sky there either.

Jim tapped his horse with his heel and steered her to the top of the large ridge some miles to the north. The goose bumps rose on his arm as if in warning so he turned her due east for a broad saddle a little closer.

As they climbed out of the last gully and walked toward the broad saddle, Red began to stomp and throw her head. The sound seemed to be coming from the other side of the saddle. Jim managed to get her calmed down and steered her up to the saddle. As they topped the saddle, Jim finally understood her nervousness.

Stretching across the broad valley to the horizon and covering every ridge to the east was a blackish brown mass of milling shapes. Jim's eyes tried to focus on the mass but the rolling dust and heat waves obscured seeing much except the closest extents. He gasped as he realized that he was looking out across a sea of buffalo. The noise alone was almost deafening and the smell of the beasts combined with the dust and trampled grasses create an awful odor that made his stomach churn.

Just down the ridge from the saddle stood a few scattered but alert bulls making up the outer edges of the vast herd. At Jim's appearance, these buffalo had stopped their grazing and stood watching this strange animal, all the while smelling the air for his scent.

Jim wiped the dust from his forehead and eyes and looked again. His mind raced to explain what he was seeing but nothing helped him explain it. He just sat staring in awe. In all his life he had only seen a hand full of buffalo and those in Yellowstone National Park. Legends and stories told of a time before the whites came when the buffalo herds covered the plains like this but never had he even...

Red began dancing underneath him. Jim looked down and saw that one of the lead bulls was charging up the slope with three others in tow. He turned his mount and spurred her into a sprint down out of the saddle toward the gullies to the west.

The four bulls followed him through the saddle and down the hill behind him. As horse and rider crossed the bottom of the first gully and raced up the other side, Jim looked back. Panic rose to grip his throat as he saw the saddle flowing with buffalo, rushing in a wave to fill the gully behind him. Soon the ridges on either side of the saddle were also engulfed in a sea of varying shades of brown and black with sprawling dust rising into the sky behind them. As he crossed the second gully and raced across a small sagebrush flat, the bulls were still behind him. He looked back and saw the whole horizon from north to south was engulfed as the massive herd swept after him.

As he looked back a third time, he realized that trying to cross all those gullies and ridges to the west would wear his horse down and they would be caught in the stampede. Before reaching the edge of the next draw, Jim turned his horse south and kicked her hard.

The mount dug her hooves in, anticipating the urgency of the situation. Horse and rider climbed to a small ridge, then raced to the top of the attached hill. To the left, the staggered, slanting line of buffalo swept towards them while the lead bulls that had been chasing him continued west into the gullies. Jim could see the flank of the stampede a mile or more to the southeast of them cresting a long low ridge, but the herd was closing fast.

He steered his mount southwest along the hill top as fast as he dared push her, then just let go of controlling her and yelled and kicked her while leaning down to hang on to the large undulating neck. Behind him the stampede trampled his mount's tracks into oblivion. Still they raced on, Jim trying to match his movements with his mounts racing sprint.

The distance seemed like a thousand miles as Jim looked ahead, glancing to his left at the coming black heads with little black eyes and gleaming dark horns. Time seemed to stand still as he waited for every lunge of his horse. His heart raged in his ears, but nothing could overcome the roaring thunder of the stampede that seemed to vibrate to his very core.

The southern end of the herd was beginning to break up and scatter as it the crossed in front of them so Jim turned his mount west, running with the scattered leaders but still angling out of their midst. These buffalo were worn out but still fast enough to charge if threatened. Most shied away instead of showing any kind of aggression. Finally, Jim broke free of the stampede and dropped over a ridge into a long east west draw. Following one of its many gullies to the southwest, he began circling around to the west of the huge dust cloud that represented the path of the herd. It seemed that the herd had a mind of its own because he soon noticed that it had turned and was driving its way northeast away from the mountains. Carefully, he wound his way towards the mountains and the safety therein.

As night crept into the valleys and spread over the prairie, Jim sat near his fire pondering the events of the last few weeks. He chuckled to himself over the foolishness of stumbling onto the buffalo herd a few days before, but still couldn't understand where they had come from. There must have been thousands, and yet there weren't supposed to have been that many in all the United States?!?

First, none of the places that were here one night are here now. Then, some horsemen looking like Indians attack him for no reason and now this herd of buffalo that covers the prairie...

THUMP!

Jim's senses strained as his thoughts ceased. His horses were standing with their heads up, looking off into the western night. Lady snorted and stomped her foot again. The horse knew that something was coming and even seemed to anticipate its approach. She also sniffed the air more often.

Jim sat quietly listening as something circled his camp once then settled down in the same place just southwest of him. As it began its vigil, Jim's mind traced the terrain between him and his observer, several fallen logs, a lot of brush, and a few cottonwoods and pines. Not a very good run for me, he thought. By the time I got to that spot the stranger could be well across the creek to the north or, possibly heading back into the forest to the west and up into the mountains. My eyes still have to take some time to adjust, he thought.

Jim jumped to his feet and launched himself across the fire toward the hiding spot.

He is still here. He always looks the same. He has hair not like the People, a lighter color I think. His face also is covered in this same hair. He is also light skinned like a sickly boy. He wears leathers that show no fur under the deer skins, are of a darker color than that of the sky and cover his entire body, she thought to herself. He eats well, for a stranger, meats mostly, but I have not found many vegetables in his camp when I have searched it while he is gone...

He knows I am here! she thought as she saw him lurch over the fire and burst into the undergrowth towards her. She turned and bolted for the creek, forgetting all caution and silence. By the time she had reached the creek, the sounds of pursuit had disappeared, but still she ran on.

After taking a few steps Jim turned right and sprinted north for the creek. Stumbling, he tried to remember the obstacles, his eyes slowly adjusting to the sudden lack of light.

By the time he got to the creek, he could see well enough in the late twilight to jump most of it, stumble through the rest of it and sprint northwest across the sagebrush flat. As he approached the ridge he slowed to a quiet, easy pace and even paused to listen. There it was, a gentle pounding, no louder than the raging of his heart in his ears.

Damn, he thought, forgot my spear.

Jim crouched and scampered to the top of the ridge, then crossed over and raced along below the lip for the outcropping of rocks a quarter of a mile away to the west.

She could hear no pursuit and had slowed her pace, but the fact that the stranger had known where she had been hiding was more than unnerving, it was frightening. How had he known? She continually asked herself as she started up the hill to the top of the ridge. She had observed him for a very long time now and worried that he would eventually find out that she was out there. She smiled remembering the first time she had seen smoke from his fire and had come into this valley to investigate. Then, her smile broadened as she also recalled his daily bathing in the creek, that white skin and sleek body. She had never really felt any affection for any of the other boys in the camp. In fact, she had never felt what she felt when she had seen this stranger bathing. She also remembered her subsequent trips to watch him and her gradual evolution from him being a curiosity to an obsession. She remembered the many days and evenings that she wanted to go out to him and reveal herself to him, but her fear of him always stopped her before she could move to do so.

Jim crouched as he got to the outcropping just as a human silhouette in the backdrop of the night topped the ridge and ran towards him. He waited until the figure was a mere three steps away, then.

As she topped the ridge and began the long run for camp, her mind continued to wander over the last moon of observing the stranger. Suddenly, a sound from the right and a blur of something leaping up to meet her, startled her. She gasped as the figure collided, then felt the arms of her attacker encircle her midsection. She sprawled as her momentum and that of the attacker threw them over the rocky outcropping into the sagebrush beyond.

Jim was bigger than the figure and soon overpowered it. As he turned the body to see the face, long, braided, dark hair fell across his hand and he saw the face of an Indian woman, the round face and eyes and the brown skin were apparent even in the starlight. As he turned her though, a fist came up with the momentum of her turning body and struck out at Jim's left eye. He reeled from both the shock of the blow and at the discovery of an Indian woman here.

She struck with all the power of a cornered animal. Instinct took over while her mind tried desperately to regain control over her frightened body. She felt herself kick at the stunned stranger, throwing him off of her and then she got up and ran with the speed and agility of an antelope, not looking back to see if the stranger pursued. If she had paused to look back, perhaps she would have stopped to ponder why he just sat there holding his eye.

Jim sat in the dark sagebrush nursing his eye and breathing heavily from the exertion. Emotions long absent from his lonely heart tore swaths of darkness and pain through it as he sat crying, the pain bitter, the fear almost tangible. The longing to be touched, to be loved, to be held, burning like a fire through his soul. He sat alone feeling the horrors of loneliness in all of its terrible facets. His darkness was even greater than that of the night around him. Emotions pent-up for too long burst forth, stress from his situation magnifying these into cries of anguish. "Please, wait..." he cried after the retreating form.

# Chapter Four

## Discovery

The next day, no matter how much Jim did or how busy he was, his mind often wandered back to the Indian woman. As the day went on, he recalled the events from last night and felt the loneliness tugging on him, urging him to follow her. He really wanted to see where she had come from and, he supposed, it must be close if she could walk here.

As evening fell on his camp, he sat toying with the necklace with his index finger, thinking on these things when the sun passed behind a cloud. Jim looked up and saw a white horse standing on a ridge far to the north. He watched it prance around gallantly, throwing its head, its long mane and tail flowing around it. It looked to be the stallion from his dream. It stopped and looked at him then turned and galloped over the ridge, out of sight.

Jim jumped up, leaped over the stream to where his horses were hobbled and, pulling the quick release knot on Red's hobble, leaped onto her back. She too had been looking up at the white beauty on the hillside in interest. Jim kicked the mount into a sprint, heading for the top of the ridge where he had seen the white horse disappear.

By the time they reached the top of the ridge, Jim glimpsed a flowing white mane and tail slipping over the next ridge. Horse and rider plunged over the crest and down the back side of the ridge as the shadows of the setting sun raced eastward from their dreary hiding places in the depths of the mountains' valleys.

As they topped the second ridge, again Jim caught a glimpse of the white mane and tail sailing over the next ridge. Realizing that night would soon lay its black stillness over the land, Jim pushed his mount hard to the next ridge top. At the next ridge it was the same, a fleeting glimpse of the horse over the next ridge. The next two ridges were similar, a fleeting white disappearing over the next ridge as they topped the ridge behind.

By the time they had crossed the small creek in the middle of the next valley though, Red was winded and began to stumble occasionally. He slowed the mount to a walk and got off. When they reached the top of this ridge, lonely sage flats covered in darkness greeted them with their ominous silence. The white stallion was gone nor could tracks be seen in the gathering darkness. Jim felt the pang of defeat as he looked around him.

Then he saw his horse suddenly cock her head to the northwest and slow her breathing. She then took a large sniff of the air and snorted. Her head rose higher and her ears rotated forward.

Jim smelled the air and thought he could smell a fire although so faint that he wondered if he were imagining it.

Slowly he led his horse down the slope and up to the top of the next ridge in the darkness. Here he stopped to listen and smell the wind. Again the faint smell of a fire came and went but it was definitely there this time. He peered into the darkness ahead, but could see nothing. His horse, though, was more alert and seemed to be leaning forward. Jim mounted the animal and then let go of the mane rope. She began walking slowly forward into the darkness.

Jim let his horse carry him forward cautiously, noticing that his mount was becoming very excited and jittery. Before reaching the crest of the next darkened ridge, he dismounted his horse again and tried to hobble her to a sage but she threw her head and bolted. He jumped to catch her but Red was well beyond his reach in a bound, turning west and galloping towards the top of the valley. Jim looked after her. Now his anger began to swell. He was miles from his camp and his horse had just ran off! The night was promising to be a long, cold walk back to his camp.

He turned back towards the south and took a step, then stopped. In all his exploring over the months he had always finished by going over that last hill or ridge. Thinking back, he could think of at least one time he regretted that, when the thunder on a clear day turned out to be that great herd of buffalo that stampeded, almost killing him. On other adventures it was usually just another empty valley, draw or lone butte on the other side.

He thought about it for a minute, then decided to just take a peak. As he stomped up the hill he noticed light off in the distance. It was coming from up the valley to his left. He dropped to his stomach and crawled the rest of the way to the top of the ridge and peered into the deep valley beyond.

A wide creek meandered from the northwest to the southeast through the bottom of the valley which must have been more than a mile wide by Jim's estimate. The creek was outlined, like much of the rest of the streams in the area, by a dark band of cottonwood trees and willows interspersed with beaver ponds which made it much easier to identify in the darkness. Just up the valley to the west was a large jumble of tipis on this side of the stream. Jim counted fifteen white cones standing in the dark background of the sagebrush hillside beyond. There was a very large central fire and, at the moment, it was the center of attention for some kind of dance. Some figures dancing around the fire wore skins and costumes of some kind or another, each crouching, pounding or sailing among the other figures. They numbered somewhere between 50 to 75 people within the firelight.

Jim crawled over the rise and down the face of the ridge toward the camp. The dancers gracefully performed their art as if they had seen and done it a thousand times before. The music perfectly correlated with their every move and twirl. It was so uniform yet confused that Jim became entranced with its rhythm, movement and story. He slowly stood and began walking down the ridge towards the camp. He was calm and he felt as if in a dream, seeing himself walk right past the perimeter of tipis into the circle of light.

The women sat in dresses to their knees or ankles, all of leather skins decorated with stone beadwork and other primitive jewelry such as porcupine quills, dyed and colored along the shoulders and arms. The dresses were fringed along the arms and the bottoms. Below the fringe of the dresses could be seen beautifully decorated leggings and moccasins, again in quills and beads.

The women's hair, mostly black except for the older ones who had gray streaks, were tied with straps of leather or braided with dyed leather straps and other decorations wrapped intricately within the braid. Pendants of shells hung from their ear piercings and extended well down below the shoulder. Necklaces of bones and other beadwork also hung from the necks. Their faces of ruddy brown skin were generally round with high cheekbones and almond like eyes.

The men wore leather breechcloths which looked to have a long wide tail of leather that reached almost to the ground, leggings of skins tied to the belts and moccasins on their feet, all decorated in beads and quill work of similar designs and colors as the women. They wore no real clothing above the belt except for the singers and instrument players who all wore shirts with designs of beadwork and quills while the dancers had various skins of animals draped over their shoulders and heads.

One other thing that Jim noted as he sat among them, these Indians were different from the six that attacked him weeks before. Their dress was different and their faces and builds were shorter than his attackers. They were all Indians but somehow these seemed different.

The men had black hair except for those who had varying degrees of silver laced throughout and the hair was long, hanging loosely around their heads. Their faces were square with no facial hair.

No one else watching the dance within the circle noticed him as he walked up and sat down among them. No one even turned to look at him, all seemingly as enthralled with the dance as he was.

Jim could see that the dancers were imitating a coyote or two, a wolf maybe, several buffalo and a bunch of hunters. They twirled and danced among each other to the music which consisted of a series of loud drums and rattles, the sound gradually getting louder and more frantic. The music seemed to be driving the dancers on, into faster and more chaotic whirling and circling.

Then the dance ended in the final, sudden conclusion of the music. All the Indians seemed to relax and an old woman sitting on Jim's right turned as if to talk. Jim groggily turned to her and saw the look of fear and horror sweep across her face as she let out a blood curdling scream. Jim jumped up and stepped into the dance circle, fleeing the frantic old lady. His mind raced as he realized that he had somehow walked right into the middle of their camp. Confusion broiled as the Indians turned to the old lady, then seeing her pointing and wailing they followed her finger to...

"EEEEEEEEEEYYYYYYYYYYYYOOOOOOO!!!!!!" wailed White Rabbit pointing at the hairy man she had just found sitting next to her.

Several warriors followed her pointing finger. There stood a man with long wild hair on his head and face wearing deer skins and strange, dirty skins of blue underneath that wrapped his body like the bark of a tree. The man's skin shone ghostly in the firelight from around his eyes where there was no hair and from his hands and bare arms.

He was looking around wildly as the women fled in panic for the safety of the tipis, children in arms or in tow. Several warriors tried to advance on the stranger but the confusion and the panicked crowd worked against them.

One young woman froze in her tracks. Her mind reeled as she recognized him. It was as if he had just appeared among them. She was mesmerized by the bravery and yet terrified that she had somehow brought him here...

An old man stood stone still near the fire where he had been chanting and dancing. As the women and children scattered, he finally gained a clear view of the threat. His mind raced like a jackrabbit from one thought to the other. His dream came crashing back to him. Could this be the hairy man from the dream?

Jim could see fleeing into the crowd would be worthless so he stepped in the direction of the fire, not realizing that most of the dancers were already there and advancing toward him. Suddenly he was thrown to the ground and held hand and foot by several Indians as six chipped, stone spear heads came to a hovering halt less than an inch from his chest and neck...

"Who are you?!!? Why do you come?!!?" cried Red Horse. He was a warrior with jet black hair and the spark of youth still in his face with his broken nose. He waved his ceremonial war club from the edge of the circle a third time and shouted the questions again.

Raging Buffalo stuck his lance up close to the stranger's neck and declared, "I will kill this mouse among wolves!" The younger warriors all shouted their consent as they watched the stranger's face fill with fear and awe.

Then as the young warrior pulled back to strike the death blow, a voice rang out across the camp. The voice of Old Crow boomed like it never had before in recent memory, "HOLD!!" He walked through the dance circle to the crowd of warriors encircling the stranger.

"Do not harm him!" he bellowed, "H' has strong medicine!"

"He is a monster or worse, a ghost!" shouted the warrior, "He must die as the coward that he is!"

"NO!" Old Crow commanded, "Let m' s' this coward," as he strode into the circle of armed warriors.

The crowd parted, but none of the spears were withdrawn nor did any of the men turn from the stranger.

The old man's face showed curiosity first, then awe, then wonder as his hand slipped between the spears to finger the leather pouch at the stranger's breast. He shook his head as he examined the bead work and feathers. Then he pulled the necklace up over the stranger's astonished face and head and stood holding it high in the air, turning to the circle of the warriors and the growing crowd of women and children curious as to what was going on.

"This necklace is the very same necklace, as you all know, that I lost many suns ago. Many have asked where and I knew not. Some have said it was lost in the fire and that my medicine is no longer. Then, there are those who think to split our people, who think to obtain my power and wisdom of our people by claiming they have the vision power because I have lost mine."

"Now, my people, I know. I had a vision. In this I saw this stranger," he strode out into the middle of the dance circle near the fire holding the necklace high and speaking again, his voice booming like thunder. "In this vision I watched this man as h' saw the same vision I saw. H' was alone. But h' saw our people, h' saw us being driven before our enemies, h' saw us being driven to a strange land and h' saw our customs, ideals and even our horses taken, used and discarded. Our enemies know not the old ways nor the ways of this land, they only want our ponies which w', having the Way of the Horse, are the guardians of. They want our food and our freedom, while w' would be lost to our spirits."

"Look!" cried Raging Buffalo, "He is a rabbit caught under my foot!" and with that he spat in the stranger's face to emphasize his point.

Jim saw the old man and could only stare. It was the same old man from the dream, his mind screamed, what is going on! The old man had on a white skin robe and was much shorter and skinnier than the rest of the group, bent by the years. His manner, though, was stoic and regal. Still, he was humble in his attitude.

Jim lay on his back in fear, thinking through the dream and watching the Indian warriors yell at the old man who had taken the necklace. The old man had moved back near the fire and spoke in a powerful voice. All seemed to listen when he spoke, then the one who had been shouting at Jim and the old Indian, roared in rage and spit in Jim's face.

This younger one was large and brutish but had more flab than muscle. He was confident in his manner but carried himself lazily, even holding the spear tip higher up than the other warriors, showing poor control. Jim could tell his talent was with the tongue and his costume was more elaborate than that of his fellows. His face was round but soft and his skin was not as hardened as even the younger ones near him.

At the insult, Jim's self-control began slipping away as rage flooded his emotions, flames burst into his breast. Bright red light filled his vision as his rage searched his body for a weakness in the Indians holding him. His mind knew that he could be killed or seriously injured if he tried to escape, but frustration at being in a new place and the darkness of loneliness in his heart only fanned the flames of rage burning bright in his heart.

Jim felt the grip on his right leg loosen and his rage took control, even as his mind screamed for it to stop. A swift kick brought the leg free and by twisting his body he was able to kick with it again, catching the Indian who spit in his face square in the chest, knocking him out of the circle of warriors and onto his back, his spear clattering loudly beyond the circle. The Indian holding his right arm pulled hard to tighten the hold but Jim's left hand slipped free. With the added momentum he swung around with his now free hand and pulled down with his right hand, landing his left fist in the middle of that Indian's face.

Spear points flashed in the orange firelight, descending in deadly unison but Jim continued his roll to the right. He kicked hard at the Indian holding his left foot but it never struck as this Indian held him at arm's length. Sweaty legs glistened in the firelight all around him as he rolled amongst them to avoid the spear heads. He grabbed the nearest set of legs and yanked hard. One Indian fell and Jim lunged for him. His attacks caused confusion to erupt in the circle of warriors as various men tried to see where he had rolled to so that they could thrust their spear at him while others danced away or fell hard to the ground.

A right blow to the face of the one he had pulled down knocked him senseless and Jim grabbed the spear from his painted hands. Pulling his left leg up, he shoved the butt of the spear into the Indian holding that leg and was rewarded with a grunt, the grip slipping from his ankle. Then, rolling up to kneel, he swung the butt of the spear in a low circle at a group of legs huddled to his right continuing on around to clear the ground around him. Five more fell to the ground clutching their shins in pain. A sixth lunged for him and Jim clubbed him in the side of the head with the head of the spear. He slowly rose to his feet while swinging the spear in an arc around himself. He found himself taller than all but a handful of the warriors and this doubled the effect on the crowd.

Chaos reigned once again as women who had stopped to watch with curiosity grabbed up their little ones and ran for tipis, warriors grabbed the injured from before him or encircled him with spears pointed back at him. Some looked at the fallen warrior who had spit on him, while he gasped and sputtered in the dust. Others looked at Jim in fear and awe, still others stood looking to the old man. Jim stood facing the old Indian through the confusion. The old one was looking at him with a new look.

Jim suddenly felt a kinship to this man, almost like he was a brother. As he looked him in the eyes he felt a bond develop, a spiritual bond that happens in those least likely of circumstances and at the worst of times. Jim felt the old man's pain, his sorrow, his frustration for this people. He felt the strength of many years of being a leader and now having given up. But, he also saw comprehension as the old one felt Jim's soul, too, lost, alone, afraid, but strong and wise.

Jim knew it was his move, he knew he could try to fight his way out of the camp and probably lose his life, but for what? he thought. To recover what little pride he had?

He felt the old man's question, too.

One hardened warrior, Brave Elk, paused in surprise to view the scene. The warrior was larger than the rest with a build to match and his hair black, speckled with white, hanging loosely around his shoulders.

His spear had descended too late to gain a victory but the stranger seemed to be lucky as he moved away from the older, experienced warriors towards the younger, inexperienced ones, kicking, dodging and then rising from among the throng of warriors. Things seemed to be working in the stranger's favor.

He had seen war and had seen what men can do. It was truly brave of this stranger to fight when the odds were against him. The respect Brave Elk felt for this stranger was distinctive but his next actions only added confusion to an already chaotic situation.

All the warriors stood waiting, some for their fallen leader, some for the old one, and some just for a reaction from this stranger brandishing his newly acquired weapon. The man then stood up to his full height as he extended his right hand holding the haft of the spear and dropped it with a clatter to the ground.

A young woman stood well away from the throng, observing from behind a tipi. Her hearted cheered when she saw him kick Raging Buffalo and then best the other warriors. It was magnificent to watch him rise from among the circle of warriors. She had never seen anything like it, but watching him rise triumphant out of the circle made her heart beat loudly in her ears and caused her blood to boil. Her heart soared when he stood again within the widened circle of warriors, distancing themselves from this new threat.

"Little Weasel! Come we must flee..." came the voice of her mother from behind her but her words died on her lips. Little Weasel's hearted melted as the stranger extended his hand with the spear to his side and dropped it to the ground. Her mind raced to keep up with her emotions. Fear and pride competed. Nothing so elegant and honorable had occurred like this. She felt more than emotions, it was as if the spirits themselves whispered to her.

Little Weasel turned to look at her mother and saw the same look of awe and wonder as she felt in her bosom.

Raging Buffalo, regaining his breath, stood up and glared at the lone man. The anger in his heart burned away all reason. He wanted revenge on this one. He wanted to strike out, to maim and hurt in return for such a disgrace.

Now, he throws down the weapon he had so forcefully taken!??! What kind of a warrior defends himself, obtaining a weapon and then discards it when he has forced the attackers back. It made no sense to Raging Buffalo's military mind.

Raging Buffalo stood tall and looked at Chief Red Bear who had arrived from the other side of the dance circle, then to Old Crow. The Chief spoke in a loud tone, "He looks different from us, but he is a warrior with strong medicine. The words of Old Crow speak for him. The stranger also shows peace by only defending himself when threatened and giving up his weapon when the threat is done. He has shown bravery and mercy and we shall do the same," pausing for effect.

Jim saw an older man coming around the fire to join the group speaking loudly with authority, holding the warriors with his words. His white hair was speckled with black and hung loosely around his shoulders as well. His costume was elaborate, although not gaudy, and seemed to distinguish him as the leader, having more feathers and bead work.

He talked and pointed at Jim and at the old man near the fire. Still, Jim knew only that his actions had diffused whatever response his discovery had elicited.

He went on, "The warriors shall escort him to the welcoming tipi where he will be fed. Old Crow, take the stranger under your care and try to learn from him so we may find out why he is here. Then, perhaps, after we can talk with him, we will decide if he shall stay or move on."

"Yes, Chief Red Bear," proclaimed Old Crow, but Raging Buffalo growled, turned, and stomped away.

The crowd began to disperse with some of the warriors following Raging Buffalo and others retreating to the darkness of their tipis to nurse their wounds or pride. A few stood near the stranger as if on guard. Old Crow motioned to the stranger to follow and walked towards the east side of the camp. Jim followed him with his four 'escorts' as shadows.

As they walked through the camp, Jim immediately realized that it was set up in a haphazard way with no real rhyme or reason for the placement of tipis or groups of tipis throughout. The dance fire even seemed to have been set up as an afterthought.

As they worked their way through the camp, Jim also noted that many of the tipis were decorated in some way or another. He could not tell what they meant, only that there was some kind of design or something painted thereon that changed the aspect in the dark with the flickering light of the various fires outside of each tipi. At a plain tipi on the east side of the camp, the old man untied the flap and held it open for Jim. He looked at the old man and then back at his 'escorts.' The old man said something and motioned for him to step in. Jim nodded and stepped through the hole. The old man said something to the escorts and then followed Jim inside, leaving the flap untied.

The darkness was musty and smelled of animal hides and smoke. The old man sat down near the entrance and chanted. Jim also sat down in the darkness, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness of the tipi. Soon he noticed that the smoke flap at the top allowed some starlight in and he could see various shapes and items all around him.

There was a whisper at the door and the old man got up and pushed the flap open. One of the young men came in bearing a hot coal in a bundle of tinder. Jim felt his pulse start pounding and his rage build as the young man, with a welt on the side of his head, stepped towards him, then around him to the fire where he lit the bundle of tinder and wood already sitting in the fire ring. Jim tried to relax, but still felt the tension as the young man glared at him then left at a word from the old man.

The old man moved to the fire and sat down facing the door across the fire from Jim. The old man had a wrinkled face and seemed ancient just as Jim remembered him from the vision. He wore a large robe of buffalo hide and his costume was used and shabby. His eyes, though shown bright, even in the fire light and they revealed wisdom beyond his considerable years. His hair being completely white from age hung down below his shoulders unbound.

He spoke to Jim and it seemed that he tried to sign with his hands as well. Jim just looked at the old man and shook his head saying, "I don't understand."

Old Crow said it again, signing with his hands, "Who are you and why are you h're?"

Again, the strange one shook his head and said something that Old Crow could not understand. The old man reached over to a pile of wood and stoked the fire.

Old Crow tried to talk to the strange one again, but the results were the same. They were obviously going to have to take more time to find a way to talk, the old man thought.

Jim tried to understand but still could not. He heard a female's voice from the flap behind him. The old man barked an answer and the flap was pulled back as a young woman ducked through the opening. Jim watched as she carried a bag of liquid and a piece of leather over to the side of the fire. She laid them there and then quickly retreated through the flap.

The old man motioned at Jim and made signs while speaking. Jim thought he understood the old man to mean that he was to wash himself. Jim moved over to the bag and saw that the leather was actually a small hardened leather basin that may hold water.

He dumped some water into the basin and then looked at the old man. Jim motioned with his hands pulling them up to his face at which the old man nodded smiling. Jim then set to washing his face and arms using his tattered shirt under his deer skin vest to dry off.

The old man said something and smiled at him. Jim said, "Thank you," and returned to his seat.

Just as he sat down, there was another call at the flap and the old man answered. Another young woman came in carrying food on a flat leather plate. She set them down to the left of Jim and glanced sidelong at him. He looked over at her and almost choked.

There staring at him was the girl he had started calling the 'watcher,' the one that had hit him a night or two before. Her eyes were curious at first but turned to fear and terror at his face showing that he recognized her. He quickly regained his composure, realizing that she may not have told anyone about his being out there in the first place. As such he decided to feign not knowing her. He winked at her with his left eye, it being out of the old man's view, nodded and smiled as he accepted the plate turning back to his host. She hovered close by, seeming to wait for the plate to be returned to her when it was finished.

The plate was made of leather, although this was thicker and hardened some way. On the plate were strips of dried meats of various types and a pile of something that almost looked like mashed potatoes but with some seasonings added. He tasted the meats and found they had a very smoky flavor but were very hard much like the jerky he was used to as a boy. As he chewed on these strips he used his fingers to scoop some of the mashed stuff up into his mouth. It had a turnip flavor and reminded him of some old dishes his grandmother had used to make with potatoes. As he ate, he realized how hungry he was and quickly finished off the rest of the plate and handed it back to the young woman with a nod saying, "Thank you."

She looked at him puzzled then at the old man who waived her to go. She left without a word. The old man then just sat looking at the stranger. He then said something that, again, Jim could not understand. The old man stood and pulled a robe out of a pile to his left and handed it to him across the fire. He then pointed at the bed of furs where it had come from and made to leave.

Jim just sat looking into the firelight as he heard the old man leave and then tie the flap from the outside. He also overheard the old man talking to the guards but he did not pay much attention to it knowing he could not understand them.

His mind wandered as he sat alone in a tipi among a tribe of Indians. His mind raced back and forth until it hurt. And who was this girl...his mind drifted until he finally lay down on the bed of robes and fell into a light sleep.

# Chapter Five

## New Friends

The next day, Jim awoke as another young woman opened the flap from the outside and brought in another hardened leather plate of the mush and more jerked meat. He ate heartily while the girl tried to watch him from her downturned face.

He studied her as she tried to keep from looking at him. He smiled and continued to look at her. She looked to be about 15 years old and her braided black hair hung down to the middle of her back. She was slim and her face had the similar high cheekbones and prominent brow. She had a dark complexion and round eyes.

The flap was suddenly flung open and the old man entered looking from the girl to Jim. His look changed to a scowl when he looked back to her and grumbled something at her. She blushed and left hurriedly.

Then another man who presented himself differently than the old man entered the tipi with a flourish. This was the one from the night before that had spoken last, before Jim had been brought to this tipi. This man was in his middle age with streaks of white hair among the black. He and the old man conversed for a while and then they both sat down across from Jim. They began talking to Jim who just looked at them and shrugged. They asked their questions again. Still he shrugged and this time said, "What? I don't understand."

They both looked at each other and conversed heatedly. Both seemed to be arguing their point. The younger one who seemed to be the leader looked at Jim and said something indicating the old man. The old man nodded. Jim again just shrugged.

The leader stood up and walked out of the tipi. The old man nodded at Jim and pointed at the food. Jim finished the plate he had set aside and then set it back down next to him. The old man smiled at him, stood up and walked to the entrance. Jim watched him go. He paused at the entrance and waved at Jim to follow. Jim pointed at himself and the old man nodded. He stood up and started to follow the old man outside.

The day was bright and it looked to be early morning. His escorts were gone and no one was immediately around the tipi he had slept in. The camp was coming alive with activity as the Indians started their day. Jim could clearly see now that the tipis were decorated in designs, often of horses and probably buffalo or others meanings that were lost on him. Next to the tipis stood poles tied up with various game hanging from the top and middle polls. Many of the racks were bare, as if they had been set up for more than was available.

All the Indians who saw Jim paused from their morning activities as the old man led him through the camp to the north end, towards a tipi sitting out by itself. As they approached, a black dog with a head like a fox but a body like a wolf but smaller growled at Jim from the shadows of a nearby tipi. The old man turned and barked something at the mutt, sending it running for another tipi. The old man glared at the retreating form grumbling something, then continued on to the lone tipi. This tipi had only minor paintings in comparison to the rest of the tipis and it was only decorated with zigzags and lines.

The old man pointed at the entrance and entered, Jim stooped to enter also. The first thing he noticed was the strong odors. It was like walking into an old ranch shed with the smells of leather and smoke and other strong scents such as sage and pine competing for dominance. The tipi had rolls of skins lining the base of the walls and several small bags on top of those. Hanging from the poles inside were boughs of various plants, some Jim recognized while others he did not. Among these were what looked to be skins of liquids and other knickknacks.

The old man was already preparing a place for his new guest and in a few minutes had a buffalo hide rolled out on the opposite side of the fire as his own. Then he sat down looking at his guest. Jim sat down across from the old man and looked back at him across the smoldering fire. They tried to communicate several times, but the most that could be understood was their own names. The old man soon tired of this and turned from his guest and began chanting to himself.

Jim, having spent the last few months working constantly and always being busy with something found himself getting restless. So, he stood and began looking at the various things hanging from the poles. The old man stood and started pointing at the various plants, naming them. Jim tried to copy them, failing miserably, but his attempts encouraged his host. The old man kept at it for several hours trying to teach the young man about everything in the tipi. Jim's head ached but he felt a happiness grow in his heart as the old man taught him. Progress was slow though.

As the day progressed, there was a call from the entrance and this time the old man lead Jim outside where they sat down in the shade of the tipi and picked up the hard leather plates laid in the shade. As Jim started to bring a piece of meat to his lips the old man pulled his hand back and pointed at the meat naming it. Then he took his own meat and named it again encouraging Jim to say it. Then he brought it to his lips and acted like he was chewing it and named that. Each item was thereafter named and the word for eating was named. Jim picked it up quickly, especially since the old man would not let him eat anything until it was properly named and the verb for eating was used correctly. They both smiled as they finished the meal in silence. Neither one of them noticed the many eyes watching their interactions, some with scowls, some with awe and still others in interest.

During that first day they saw a crow flying up towards the mountains across their little valley and the old man jumped up and pointed at the bird. He repeated the name several times then pointed at himself. Jim figured out that the old man's name was 'something' Crow. As Jim got good at pronouncing that name, the old man tried to explain the first word by point at himself and his face and saying it then saying a different word and pointing at Jim. Several other objects were shown before Jim realized that the old man's name was Old Crow.

The language lesson went on all day and well into the night as the old man taught the younger their language. At the end of the day, Jim sat thinking on what he had learned. He kept thinking that he was forgetting something or that something was missing. Tired of trying to remember, he laid down for the night.

The next day, Jim noticed some young boys heading off to the southwest and he remembered Red having bolted off in that general direction the night he came to the camp. As the old man had wandered off, Jim followed them over the ridge and found a large herd of horses, and among them, his mount. He slowly approached the herd walking towards Red, which knew him and wandered towards him. He leapt up onto her back and set off at a gallop across the sage brush bench scattering horses as he went. The boys, thinking he was stealing their horses whooped and yelled as they mounted horses to pursue him. But Jim just split the herd and dashed to the top of the ridge. The boys hesitated as they tried to decide whether to give chase, circle up the scattered horses, or go for help. Jim turned his horse at the top of the ridge and raced west along the top. The boys, seeing the move as a challenge, raced to intercept him but his horse was faster and she was in her element at top speed.

A long haired young woman stood watching from down the valley to the east. She felt drawn to him and had gotten up early that morning to spy on him. He confused and excited her. As he raced along the ridge with the boys in pursuit she remembered something, turned south and set off at a brisk pace.

Once Jim had outdistanced them, he turned into the valley heading north and raced down to the flats. The boys again accepted the challenge and set their mounts to a run. Jim looked over his shoulder and laughed at them. They were smiling and whooping as they raced to catch him. Jim felt his horse lurch in a direction he wasn't ready for and suddenly the ground raced up to meet him. He landed hard on his right side as his mouth and nose filled with dirt and sage. The whole world was dusty and hazy as he sprawled amongst the sage. Several of the boys quickly dismounted and ran to his side. The others pulled up short and stared at the stranger in the dirt. They had forgotten who he was for a minute. The boys got to him, rolled him over and sat him up. He coughed up dirt and sage and gasped for breath briefly. The boys standing next to him realized how much bigger he was than they and they stepped back in fear.

A low rumbling started in his chest that turned into a hearty laugh. The boys looked back to his hairy face and saw him laughing into the sky. They all smiled and joined him. He rolled over and coughed up more dirt, then stood and walked back to Red chuckling to himself. The boys dispersed and set about gathering the herd of horses back up. Jim patted his horse for a while then let her return to the herd and set off up to the top of the ridge to the north. When he had reached the top he sat down to watch the boys at work. He also noticed another man walking with the herd that stopped to talk with the boys then continued on within the herd.

After this older man had wandered for a while among the herd, he turned and walked back towards camp. The boys gathered the horses as he left and led them down the valley to the east, then found some shade to rest in or played nearby, all the while eyeing Jim on the ridge further up the valley, obviously acting out the race and his fall. He sat on the ridge for several hours enjoying the solitude and thinking on this new development in his situation.

Off to the southeast Jim noticed movement and focused his attention there. A lone figure on a horse topped the ridge and was heading, not towards the herd, but towards him. He observed with interest as the figure closed with him. The boys also noticed the horse and rider and several mounted nearby horses, racing up to challenge the newcomer. There was a short exchange in which they then fell in line with the rider and continued towards him.

Jim rose as they approached and he noticed that the rider was actually a young woman, the 'watcher' from his camp, the same one that had brought him dinner his first night with the Indians. At first he could not understand why she would be riding towards him until he noticed the horse she was on. It was Lady! I had forgotten all about her, he thought as he kicked himself mentally. How could I forget her!

The young woman rode up to him, kicked her left leg over the horse's neck, slid down off the back in a fluid motion and said something to Jim as she handed him the mane rope. Then, she smiled and set off towards the camp. Jim followed her with his eyes, trying to comprehend her words. Her figure burned into his mind. Then he felt a wet muzzle in his neck and realized that he was staring, turning back to the boys on the horses. They smirked at him and one giggled while another held out his hand for the rope. Jim looked at them askance and they replied in their language pointing at the herd. He patted his mount a few times asking her forgiveness, then handed the rope to the boy. They set off to add the newest horse to the herd.

That evening Old Crow began a serious conversation with Jim that was obviously about the two horses and Jim surmised that it had something to do with where he had gotten them from. But that was about as much as he could get out of the conversation and his explanation, he was sure, left many more questions than answers.

The next morning, though, the rumors flew around the camp. Old Crow was summoned to the Chief's fire as the People stirred over the news that the stranger had not one horse but two. Questions flooded the discussions. How does one like him get a horse? How did he get two? Where did they come from? The question that stirred many was what was his status if he owned more horses than even an unmarried warrior or hunter?

"He is not of the People, so he is nothing..." was one answer.

"But one who owns a horse must have powerful medicine. He has two."

"So."

"They are not our horses, we do not recognize them so they must have come from another band or tribe."

The Chief, Elders and Old Crow discussed this for much of the morning. This discussion only deepened the mystery of this strange one.

"Having someone who can fight and gather horses as he has would be good for the band."

"No," came the voice of another, "He is a danger to the women and children because he is not of the People."

"He has hair like a bear and is not like anyone we have ever seen."

"During the Great Gatherings we always accept anyone that joins the band."

"But they are not that different," and so the argument continued.

One night, Old Crow handed Jim a sharpened stone and motioned for him to shave. Jim gathered a small leather bowl and a water skin and went to work. Old Crow watched quietly. When Jim was done, the old man took him by the chin and turned him left and right. He said something about his color being white like something, but Jim was clueless as to what it meant. Then the old man handed him a bundle of skins and motioned for Jim to put them on.

He watched carefully as the stranger changed into the breechcloth and leggings that the old man had had made by Yellow Pine, the Chief's wife. Then Old Crow caught sight of the splotches below his left shoulder blade and the other on his left hip and stopped him. He pointed and asked. Jim noticed that the bruises were still there although faded and, understanding without comprehending the words pointed south saying "two horses" in his thick tongued accent and then pointed at two other bruises that the old man had missed. Old Crow's eyes lit up in recognition and he nodded his approval. The old man stood up to show an old scar above his right hip. It was a long jagged scar that ran diagonally up towards his chest, about 6 inches long. He replied with 'one horse and a spear' which Jim heard as "one horse,..." Old Crow smiled and sat back down. Jim smiled back and continued dressing.

Old Crow was soon lost deep in thought. The Elders needed to hear this as well. They would be interested to find that the horses were not stolen as was rumored now in the camp but he had paid the price in combat which would bring him much honor and status amongst the Elders. This strange one was more interesting than even his visions had predicted. I only wish we could talk, thought the old medicine man.

The next day, the reaction from the band was one of awe as they saw the light skinned young man with no hair on his face going out to the horse herd. The rumors flew again. The discussions with the Chief and Elders were again heated and long...

In the coming days, Jim found himself constantly learning and relearning their strange language and the signs that went with it. He found it difficult and the sounds almost indistinguishable to his own ears. He would practice for hours with Old Crow and was always rewarded with a head ache by mid-morning. Old Crow would then begin preparing for lunch and after eating would go on about his daily chores or walk off into the camp.

As those days moved on slowly, Jim noticed the way that these people interacted with their surroundings was different than what he was used to. For instance, one day a thunder storm began to build early in the morning over the mountains to the west and the camp seemed to be in a stir because of it. When the storm finally raced down off of the mountains with its crashing thunder and flashing lightning, the Indians ran for their tipis and hid. Jim did not understand all that Old Crow tried to explain to him but he got the message that the Spirit of the West was hunting with his people. The Indians believed that if they saw one of them, they would be punished, usually involving being killed. Jim thought about this for a while and decided that maybe it was some way to explain to their minds why they were killed when struck by lightning.

Jim continued to study the language but it seemed the wall got taller that separated him from the rest of the camp. Many of the children of the camp would come up and look at him while talking and pointing at him. Often he would tire of being a zoo animal and wander up to the top of one of the ridges and down into an adjacent valley to bathe in a stream away from the peering eyes of the camp. Afterwards, he would sit in the sun on a rock near the stream and try to think of something he had learned.

Jim also noticed that some of the young women watched him more closely now that he had shaved. On one occasion he noticed the young woman who brought him breakfast the first morning after he wandered into camp. She was working on skins in her lap under the shadow of her family's tipi some ways away. As he was trying to learn the language from Old Crow, he looked up to catch her staring at him. Out of nowhere her mother came crashing into her, kicking, yelling and snatching the skins from her and throwing them over the young woman's head. Old Crow turned to look at the ruckus and then looked back at Jim with a questioning face. Jim looked to the old man and shrugged exaggeratingly. Jim looked back to see the young woman holding up the edge of the skins, peering at him and smiling as he looked back, all while her mother stood scolding her.

Later that day, Jim noticed her watching him discreetly as she cooked the evening meal. He smiled her at which she suddenly turned her head but not before he saw the redness color her face in embarrassment. He named her Breakfast Girl in his mind until he could learn her real name.

After several weeks of this daily routine and still being unable to communicate with anyone, Jim's spirits fell. Discouragement became his constant companion. One afternoon after carrying this ill feeling for several days, he found himself alone on a small knoll looking out over the plains several ridges to the east of the camp. He sat thinking of the many attempts over the past week to try to help in any way that he could in the camp. Usually he was met with a scowling face and a threatening jester. Although he had found a few women of the tribe who would allow him to help and even showed him what to do. But his lack of skill soon made more work for them, frustrating him and adding to his feelings of uselessness. The Chief's wife was always cordial and patient with him and would praise his attempts while trying to hide the fact that she had to fix most everything he touched.

The men on the other hand lounged around playing their games laughing at him when he would be found on the periphery of their groups. Some were rude and scolded him like a dog while others just turned their back on him.

These outcast feelings coupled with the fact that he couldn't communicate with anyone beyond a name and what certain objects were, intensified the isolation and loneliness. Here he was, finally with humans again and all the same feelings of being alone and in a strange place kept gouging his soul. It was like he had slipped from one hell of being alone to another with people, but still alone!

That day the frustration flooded into his heart and he felt the overwhelming burning slip into his eyes. His vision blurred and the colors of the plains before him mingled into varying refractions of gray, brown and red. He bowed his head and let the feelings overwhelm him for a while. As if in a dream, he felt a hand touch his left shoulder as his body shook with sobs of sadness and loneliness. Then, as if by a miracle the touch turned into a presence that sat next to him and arms that engulfed him. The smell of leather and sweet flowers wafted into his runny nose and open mouth. Realization fell over him like a blanket. This is no dream, he thought.

Jim turned to look up and glimpsed a dark skinned face framed by long, black braided hair falling down around thin shoulders. Through the tears, Jim could see a small soft nose with high cheekbones stretching the small mouth and luscious lips of the woman beside him. A sense of recognition crept into his mind as his eyes caught those beautiful black eyes. He realized that she was the one that had brought him Lady, the one he had ambushed on the rise near his camp, the 'watcher.'

Her eyes held him for several moments, but the time felt like an eternity to Jim. Memories flooded him of his life before, his girlfriend, his grandfather, his mother and father, his two brothers, his life flashing before him in those eyes. Then another life began passing before them, a happy life of childhood memories, a family of love and joy, living close to nature, the fear of war, the horrible loss of members of the family or tribe. Jim's tears ceased as he felt the pain and fears of the young woman holding him. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, the feeling was gone.

The young woman sat holding him, blinking as well. Then the look in her eyes changed, showing more than just sympathy but understanding. Jim also felt an understanding for her and her life as she looked away, let go and stood to go.

Jim grabbed her hand as she started to turn away. She turned back in surprise and he motioned for her to sit next to him. She looked around then settled back with a little more distance between them than before. Jim blushed at his cowardly show of weakness and bowed his head to wipe the tears from his eyes.

The young woman sat patiently looking out onto the plains around them, pretending not to notice his efforts to bring his feelings under control. When Jim looked back she pointed at herself and said two words in her Indian tongue. Jim tried his best to repeat them back. After a minute he could say them clearly and she smiled at him. Jim pointed at himself and said, "Jim." She tried several times to pronounce it and was finally able to. They giggled at each other and she started pointing and naming things around them while he practiced. Some of the objects were either easier or he had already learned them once from Old Crow, others were new. They spent most of the rest of the afternoon learning and reviewing. Then, as the sun began to fall behind the mountains she taught him how to say farewell and stood to go. He stood also but she shook her head, saying 'no,' one of the words he learned the first day or two with Old Crow, and signed for him to stay here. Jim thought he understood why, she was afraid to show that she had spent time with him and after seeing the way to camp reacted to him, he felt she was better off hiding it as well. So, he nodded and returned to his vigil over the plains before him. She wandered off to the southwest, presumably to return to the camp from the southeast.

Jim waited until the shadow from the mountains crept out to overtake him before he arose and headed north then southwest back to camp so that they would not be seen coming from the same direction. He hoped he would see her again and felt a desire to learn more from her.

As luck would have it, the next afternoon, after his lessons with Old Crow he walked through the camp heading south to where the horses were and he noticed her sitting with another woman, her mother from the likeness, working on some skins. As he passed she glanced sidelong at her mother to make sure she was busy looking elsewhere, then she looked up at him and winked. He smirked and moved past, hoping that they would meet again later for some more lessons and hoping that no one around them had noticed the exchange. He left the camp and walked on over the ridge.

Jim walked down to the horse herd and found his horses, greeting them and patting them down with grass while slipping them some delicious berries from breakfast. Then he turned and continued east to the place where they had met the day before. Not long after he reached the knoll and sat down facing east, she appeared to the north. He observed her without turning his head as she approached. She sat in the same place and greeted him in their language. He tried the greeting and the lessons began.

As the days turned into weeks, Jim continued his lessons with Old Crow in the mornings and his private sessions with his new tutor in the afternoon. They always tried to vary the places and times to keep suspicion down, but it became a game for her to teach him a place or a time and then see if he could get there. He always did, though, which amazed and frightened her.

He later learned that her name was not just a name but it was a description and that it was 'Little Weasel.' She taught him the tools of the language and the ways of life for the "People," as these Indians referred to themselves. He also learned that the pronunciations of Old Crow were not necessarily correct which she quickly cleared up. Jim also wondered if that wasn't a reason he had such a hard time learning the language.

As the language training continued every day, Jim learned more of the daily lives of the People. Slowly, he began to be accepted by the younger boys, especially after his horse race and rough landing, and was soon incorporated into their job of helping in caring for the horse herd. Every morning Jim would step out of Old Crow's tipi into the predawn light, race with the other boys over the ridge to the south and across the valley floor to the first of the sentries guarding the herd. He would search out his two mounts and feed them some morsel he had saved from the previous day. Then they would coax the rest of horses awake and herd them east down the valley towards the watering hole. With the first rays of the sun reaching across the sky to touch the mountains, the boys would lead the herd off to some previously decided place where the grass was long and plentiful. With that having been done, most of the boys would wander a little ways off and play some games to pass the time before the morning meal. Jim, instead, would return to camp to help Old Crow prepare the morning meal of dried meats, wild game or some kind of sausage having vegetables and small fruits mashed in, or jerky, a few roots cooked in the fire and some fresh berries or chokecherries which seemed to be plentiful in the area. Breakfast was followed by the morning tutoring. Jim would then help with the midday meal of more of the sausage or jerky and roots before he set off on his own for the afternoon's secret tutoring. His language skills developed faster under this regimen and his secret meetings with Little Weasel helped him to feel a little less lonely as well.

As the summer went on, Jim continued to try to make friends among the People, but most wanted nothing to do with a stranger who was different from them. Jim found that the young men his age were hostile towards him. One in particular named Raging Buffalo was overly so. One day as Jim was walking back towards Old Crow's tipi from his duties with the horse herd the big brute stepped out of his way in a game of wrestling to blindside Jim. Jim was thrown to the ground and rolled to get away from any further attacks. Raging Buffalo stood laughing with his other friends watching the stranger rise from the dust.

Jim thought about provoking another attack, but just turned and continued on. Their laughter told him all he needed to hear.

On another day he found himself helping one of the mothers reassemble the drying racks. Her daughter, Breakfast Girl, stood close by trying to help but the poles were too heavy for her. After they were finished the mother went into the tipi while the young woman came close feigning picking up something.

"What your name?" Jim stumbled out clumsily.

"----- Flower," she whispered.

Jim repeated it and she nodded. He had no idea what the first word was but knew that any further communications were not safe so he nodded and moved away feigning straightening the upper poles.

Her mother came out carrying a large sack of something and began barking orders to her daughter. They began pulling meat from the sack and hanging it from the rack.

Jim nodded at the mother and moved on.

That afternoon, Jim said the word to Little Weasel and asked for its meaning. She looked at him for a moment then she got up and began looking around in the meadow they were in. She brought back a tiny flower that was purple. She pointed and said the word again. Jim said, "Purple Flower."

She smiled and nodded. Then her face clouded as she realized where he may have learned the words but not the meaning. Her mind raced to cover up the feelings playing across her face, but not before Jim saw them. His heart sank at the idea that he had hurt his only friend. His own mind worked to find a way to heal the damage.

They sat in a strange silence listening to the wind in the brush around them as they each sorted out their feelings and ideas. Finally, Jim had an idea and spoke first, "Little Weasel, thank you for teaching People's speak. I not have many friends who talk to me."

Little Weasel looked at the strange man thinking about his words. "I know. It surprised me that you would learn another girl's name."

Jim looked down, his heart falling, she knew. He looked back up and nodded, "She looks me sometimes and told me her name when I asked."

Little Weasel sat looking at him pondering his words, then she shrugged and smiled. The lessons continued that day, but Jim was still nervous that a line had been crossed. He noticed a distance from her that day.

As the days went by he began to be noticed by several of the other young women as well. One morning as he was walking out to sit and watch the horses a young woman actually caught his attention and smiled at him. Jim slowed and glanced around to see if there was anyone looking. When he was certain there were none he stepped a little closer and asked her name.

"I am Dancing Water," she said holding her head up smiling into his eyes. He looked deep into her dark eyes, her face round and her cheeks rosy. He waited. She broke the silence, "You look better with no hair on your face."

Jim smiled, nodding.

There was a rustle from nearby and a woman who looked related stomped her foot. Dancing Water turned and feigned embarrassment. But as her mother turned to lead her to some task, she turned around and smiled at Jim again.

He watched her go in her long dress. Then he turned and looked towards Little Weasel's tipi, not out of guilt or anything, but more as a reference. He turned and headed east towards the ridge top.

Finding himself alone up on the ridge he sat down looking out over the eastern prairie and began thinking to himself. What is it with Little Weasel? Something is different with her from the other young women, but I don't know what. They show interest in me but something is missing. It's like I am looking at something, but not quite seeing it.

A few days later, Jim decided that he wanted to surprise his tutor. He had purposefully challenged her to find him and gave her some very hard clues as to where he would be and when. She arrived late and breathless at the place which was far south of the camp.

Her face was perplexed as she approached because Jim stood there with both his mounts. He handed her the mane rope for Red and silently mounted Lady. She looked at him and then the mane rope in her hand. Jim just sat there, looking out across the plains as she had that day she first found him, waiting for her to make the decision. She made the decision and in a bound was on Red's back looking at him.

Jim looked over at her and smiled. She smiled back, although it was forced as much of her facial expressions had been since she had found out that other girls were paying attention to him and he was talking to them. He kicked his mount and dashed off to the south, heading for the lower valleys and saddles. He looked back and she followed, although her heart was obviously not in it for horse and rider were falling behind. He smiled and kicked Lady into a full sprint, turning back to guide his mount. They raced over the next ridge and down into the valley beyond. He knew that Red would not like being left behind and hopefully Little Weasel wouldn't either.

As they hit the bottom of the shallow valley and started up the other side, he looked back to see where they were. His heart skipped a beat or two as he waited to see them top the ridge. Just as he thought that his little game would not be enough bait, they sailed over the ridge behind him. He kicked Lady harder and she shot to the top of the next ridge, sagebrush blurring past. Lady hurdled the top of the ridge and shot down the uneven ground on the south side of the hill. This time he did not let up until they hit the top of the next hill at which he looked over his shoulder to gauge their progress. This time his smile widened as he saw that they were now racing across the bottom of the valley behind him. He also could see that Red was taking her cues from her rider who was leaning forward and had a look of intense concentration on her face. Her eyes seemed to be on fire and her ponytail sailed behind her.

Now the race was on and Jim knew it. Lady was an exceptional horse but Red had the spirit. He pulled back on the mane rope to signal to Lady to slow up as they sailed over the hill. Lady responded and Jim turned her southwest, still at a run. Little Weasel and her mount burst over the ridge behind them, thundering hooves and all, then both heads searched the valley from left to right for their quarry. Jim smiled as they turned towards him. He allowed them to catch up before he pulled up again and turned at the top of the ridge.

She pulled Red up so that she could face him. Both horses stood tail to nose breathing heavily. Jim tried to erase the smile from his face before she arrived but he wasn't sure how successful he was.

Little Weasel flipped the long braid of her jet black hair back over her left shoulder with a twist of her head. The look in her eyes and the smile on her face told Jim that his friend was back. She looked around while patting Red on the neck gently then looked back at Jim with that smile that lit up his day. He turned his horse and led them southeast off of the ridge towards the eastern end of a large mountain that projected from the wall that was the foothills of the Bighorns. She followed.

As they rode, neither spoke but both knew where they were going. When they rode into Jim's old camp he slid from Lady's back and walked over to the lean-to. She followed and both mounts wandered down to the stream they had just crossed.

Jim turned and asked, "Do you remember watching me while I was here?"

She nodded.

"Why?" was his quick response.

She looked at him then looked around, letting the question hang in the still silence. She looked back at him and smiled, "because you were...-----."

"What? What was that you said?"

She blushed as she thought about what she had said and pretended to look at his lean-to while he had wandered over to sit on a log in front of the fire ring, watching her. She still wondered how he had constructed such a place. When she turned, he was looking at her. She held his gaze thinking on many things and nothing in particular. He still elicited a response in her heart but that had cooled lately when she had realized that other girls in the band were also interested in him. What had made her heart cool, she thought, he had only asked for a name. So, why had she reacted that way if he had not done anything more? She began to feel the reason why.

Jim sat patiently waiting for the answer. He looked over his shoulder towards the place where she used to watch him from. Her eyes followed his.

The memories flooded back and she felt something more. She paused in her thoughts, thinking of what she felt and wondering what it could mean. Then she looked back to him wondering why it was that 'they' were here and 'talking' to her.

She blinked, making the decision. She walked over to Jim and sat down facing him. His eyes followed her. Her face looked him deep in the eyes, searching, waiting for something. He held her gaze without blinking.

He broke the silence, "Little Weasel, other women have talked with me. Some have even looked me in the eyes like you do now. But they were just that, looks and talk. You are my friend. When I look into your eyes I see something I do not in theirs."

She held his gaze listening and thinking. His blue eyes were bright and full of the same light that she wished to have.

"Little Weasel, you are the only one that risks coming to teach me. Why?"

She continued to look into those eyes although she wanted to look away, afraid that he would see what she was thinking.

Jim waited then said, "None of those women do."

His words struck a chord in her heart. She realized that Jim knew what the value of actions were, that he knew when someone was just talking or actually speaking from the heart. Her mind went back to her finding out about Purple Flower talking with him. Her heart broke as she realized the jealousy that had clouded it. She looked down in embarrassment as she realized the pain and worry it may have caused him.

Jim reached up with his right hand and brought her chin back up so he could see her eyes, "I know a friend when I SEE one."

Little Weasel smiled broadly and began their lesson for the day. He smiled back, knowing whatever had been before was gone and she was his friend once again. But, something else shifted in his heart as well. Over the rest of the summer, he found her smile brightened his day and her laugh illuminated his spirits.

# Chapter Six

## Winter Camp

It was on one of the late summer mornings that Old Crow motioned for Jim to stay before leaving to tend after the horses. As the leftovers from the previous night's meal were gathered for later meals or thrown to the dogs lurking nearby, Jim watched the activities of the camp. He hadn't really noticed the dogs since they mostly hid during the day and avoided people at all costs. They were mangy dogs that looked kind of like a fox but bigger and a wolf but smaller but the colors were nothing like either. They really did not seem to have much of a purpose and there were only a handful of them in the entire camp. He also noticed that they were very quiet and rarely barked as well.

That day Jim also observed that there was something different about the camp. Old Crow sat down and began speaking and signing to Jim. "----- is coming-----, the camp is \----- to ----- for the -----. W' leave tomorrow at first light. You will travel with m'." Jim looked confused and Old Crow repeated it with exaggerated hand symbols. Jim nodded in understanding.

The rest of the day was a blur of packing and readying the whole camp for the trip. Many of the children ran wildly between tipis and adults, excited about the upcoming trip, but many of the adults seemed to grumble about it. Jim found his place as he moved from Old Crow's tipi to two nearby ones helping where they needed and moving back to help Old Crow again. The old man noticed and smiled inwardly at this willingness to help.

Once Old Crow's tipi was down and his belongings were packed a boy was sent to bring his horses. Old Crow sat down nearby to chant and pray for their upcoming journey. We have not prepared properly for this, he thought. It is too rushed, he continued, we should have a dance and ceremony to prepare the people's minds and hearts. He turned to look at several of the Elders. The spirits whispered in his ears and he mumbled, I thought so. His heart sank at the slow departure from the ways. He shook his head and renewed his chanting and praying.

Jim saw that the Chief and his wife were taking down the poles of their tipi and rushed over to give them a hand. The chief's wife was an older woman with more gray than black in her hair and strong as Jim had found all the women of the People to be. Her face lit up when she smiled, which was often, and she seemed to know every member of the tribe greeting them warmly.

Both paused to look at the young man, then looked at each other, the woman smiling, the Chief nodding as the three went to work as a team to bring down the outer poles. Then the two men pulled the tripod of poles down to the waiting woman who unlashed them in a flash. As the heavy lifting was over, the Chief marched off towards the horse herd. The older woman turned to the young stranger and introduced herself, "I am called Yellow Pine."

Jim repeated her name and pronounced his. She proved to be a quick learner and only needed two tries to get it right.

"Gather the poles like so and bring those bundles over here," she asked in her stately but sweet voice. Jim quickly returned and listened as she taught him how the travois was built with the same poles and horse hair ropes. When the Chief returned with several horses they quickly assembled the travois next to the mounts. Yellow Pine nudged the old Chief when they had finished and the old leader stepped up to Jim "I am Chief Red Bear."

Jim nodded and replied with his name. The Chief had a hard time with it but with some coaxing from his wife he got it and the three of them smiled at each other. Then Jim returned to help Old Crow prepare his travois as Yellow Pine had taught him.

The old medicine man, who had been chanting and praying while Jim was gone finally asked him, "Where did you learn to tie and stack a travois?"

Jim smiled, "A very fine teacher named Yellow Pine."

The old medicine man turned to look at Yellow Pine some ways away. He nodded to himself thinking, Yellow Pine is a fine Chief's wife. She has always been a good wife to the People.

Then the old man noticed that his strange friend was gone. He searched the chaos around him but could not readily find him.

Jim finally saw his opportunity to meet Little Weasel's family and wandered over to help them. Her father was a very large man, towering over all, even Jim, with broad shoulders and a high brow. He wore leggings and a loincloth and his chest and back were covered in scars from the hard life of a warrior. His manner though was different, a kind of gentleness and meekness that belied his physical strength. Some in the future would refer to him as a huge, cuddly bear, Jim thought. He worked quickly and took on the larger jobs with no hesitation or grumbling. When Jim tried to step in to help bring down the tipi poles, the older man smirked but his face never relayed his feelings. After completing that task, Jim moved on to help Little Weasel's mother. The older man paused to look after the stranger, his strength cannot be seen in this one but he has enough, he thought, yet another lesson from my past that this strange one has reminded me of.

The woman was shorter than Jim but was stout from all the years of living as a wife of the People. Her eyes were dark but sparkled with life and she hummed as she worked to pack things. Jim was mesmerized by her voice, for when she spoke it was as if a song were being cast onto the wind. She accepted his help readily and patiently showed him the tasks needing done.

The last member of the family was the son, he was stout like both his parents but had not received any of the height of his father yet. His eyes were a dark brown and he had his father's highbrow. He stayed away from Jim for the most part, moving to help another rather than be close to the stranger.

Old Crow sat on his packed tipi, listening, watching and chanting. It did not take long for him to see where Jim had wandered off to. The young stranger had progressed from tipi to tipi and was presently with Brave Elk, his wife, Blue Jay, and their two children bringing poles down to be lashed to a travois. Blue Jay was a beautiful woman whose voice would make even the hardest warrior pause to listen. She had the long black and white braid of a mother and served the People in ways very few would.

Old Crow noticed something, the young woman, Little Weasel, and the stranger showed a few too many smiles having only just met.

So, the old man thought, that is where he is getting his extra language training from. He smiled to himself, there is always something about this strange one that is interesting.

As they finished their packing, the wife stood up, looking at Jim and asked, "What do we call you?"

Jim pronounced his name and the older man and woman each practiced it until Jim nodded.

"I am Blue Jay and this is my husband Brave Elk," in her singsong voice. Brave Elk nodded and moved off to gather the horses with the son. She watched them go before turning back to Jim and saying in a whisper, "You already know my daughter, Little Weasel," pointing at her daughter next to her.

Little Weasel squeaked and stepped away in anticipation of a coming slap, fear flashing across her face. Blue Jay smirked at her daughter's response looking at Jim. Jim's face was white as he realized how badly this could go.

She smirked at him as well and nodded, "Well, you both should fear," leaving those words to hang in the air. "I had suspicions long before I knew but seeing how you both look at each other when no one is looking, it became obvious."

Little Weasel bowed her head and waited for the lecture to begin. Jim stood waiting for something to happen as well. Blue Jay, pausing for effect, waited for her words to settle in, then spoke softly, "I know you are a stranger here," addressing Jim, "and you know nothing of our customs." Then turning to her daughter she continued, "I also know my daughter is headstrong and listens to her heart over anything else." Then looking between the two she concluded, "Your secret is safe with me. But be more careful." At which she turned and walked off into the chaos to help others. Both young people looked at each other shocked and exhaled loudly, then giggled before going separate ways, the daughter to follow her mother, Jim to find others to help.

One particular warrior yelled and screamed at even the slightest mistake or incompetence. Raging Buffalo stood in the middle of his band of warriors barking orders and helping little. His voice echoed above the chaos of the camp. Still nothing got done any faster.

Jim remembered one day many weeks ago when Raging Buffalo and two friends decided to pick on the stranger. Jim tried to ignore them, in fact, he was doing so to the great anger of the three of them. He tried to pretend that he couldn't understand the names they called him, he-woman, white-curly girl, and mare. Finally, after being followed around the camp from one place to another, they lashed out at him. Raging Buffalo hit him on the head, followed by the other two. Jim stopped and looked them all in the eyes. But none would attack while he stood facing them and the incident blew over.

Mostly Jim just avoided him and walked away when a confrontation seemed evident, but sometimes...

"You!!! Strange One," yelled Raging Buffalo, "Pick up that bundle of meat and take it over to my mother's tipi."

Jim walked over and picked up the bundle and headed off to the indicated tipi. The mother looked at the strange one closely as he nodded and smiled at her while asking where she would like it placed. She pointed at the second travois and Jim walked over and, not only placed it thereon, but secured it as Yellow Pine and Blue Jay had taught him. Meanwhile, Raging Buffalo was laughing with his band at how he commanded and the strange one obeyed. Jim walked back to his mother and said, "I know not your name, but can I help with anything else mother?"

She beamed with the compliment, "I am Yellow Meadowlark. Thank you for your kindness." She glanced at her son and scowled at him, yelling across the distance, "I wish I had such a son!"

Jim looked at Raging Buffalo and smiled then said farewell to Yellow Meadowlark. He turned and started towards Old Crow's tipi. Raging Buffalo, seeing a blatant insult from the strange one and his mother jumped up and ran toward him. Still Jim continued on, watching the warrior out of the corner of his eye. Raging Buffalo raised his fist and yelled out, "I am a warrior of the People and..."

As the warrior approached swinging a stick he had somehow acquired at Jim's head, Jim stepped back and left across the warrior's path bringing his right elbow back to connect with his attacker's mid-section. The move caught Raging Buffalo off guard. His own momentum and the force of the blow knocked the wind from his lungs, dropping him to the dirt.

With the warrior sprawling in the dirt and his friends running to join the attack, Jim leaned over him and said, "I serve only those I choose, coward." Then he stood tall and took a step towards the gang advancing on them. The whole group paused when they saw he did not fear them or their numbers. Yellow Meadowlark who had been moving towards the young men with a scowl on her face paused in awe. It has been a long time since I have seen such bravery from a young man, she thought as she watched the strange one stare down the gang.

Jim stood his ground until he knew he had proven his point and let a broad smile of derision develop on his face aimed at the gang. Still they did not move towards him. He turned and stepped over Raging Buffalo, who was still coughing to regain his breath. The beaten young man tried to strike out at the stranger, but his fist landed in the dirt and all he could see was the stranger's receding back. Rage filled his embarrassed mind while his mother now stood over him scolding him for his laziness.

Jim heard her cry out and turned around. Yellow Meadowlark lay in the dirt next to her son and another man stood over the both of them. He growled something low at the woman and reached down to lift his son up after which they both growled at her again. She stood up defiantly between them both, standing her ground and pushing each back with an arm. Jim smirked as he watched both men back down under her gaze.

So the women of the People are not passive, he thought.

As the last remnants of the camp were packed and the travois were harnessed to their respective horses, Jim retrieved his two mounts from the herd and rode up to Old Crow handing him the rope to Lady. Old Crow looked up at the strange one and shook his head. Jim replied, "You are not young and walking will tire you, use my horse since yours are tied to the travois," and without waiting for a response, he rode off. The old man grumbled to himself but climbed up nevertheless. Many in the camp noticed that Old Crow now rode on a horse, something they had not seen in many winters.

As the sun reached its highest point in the sky, the tribe filtered up the ridge to the north and over into the next valley. The Chief would pick the best route from his vantage point on the ridge and then lead the group down into the next valley. Jim noticed that sometimes the group was faced with hard places to cross drainages or washes and they would have to snake along up or down the stream until they found a better place. Once the line had to double back to find a better route. This seemed to waste a lot of time and effort.

Jim mentioned this to Old Crow when they stopped for a break in the late afternoon. The old man said that Chief Red Bear had to go by memory after he asked the help of Raging Buffalo who said that none of the warriors or hunters were willing to go forward to do such "low and menial tasks."

"Has it been that long since the People have been this way?"

"It has been many winters since w' have returned this area."

"Why?" cam Jim's curious reply.

Old Crow turned and looked east into the distant plains and his gaze turned to a distant look. Then he looked back to his young friend, "Troubles that are not to b' spoke of."

Jim paused, not at the response, but the ominous tone of the old medicine man's voice. He had never heard that tone.

Jim waited then returned to their original conversation, "I will go and scout."

Old Crow stared at his young friend. "Truly, you would do such work? It is long, hard rides and can b' very lonely."

"Yes!"

Old Crow walked up to his old friend, Chief Red Bear and explained the young man's willingness to be a scout. The middle aged man turned to look at the strange one. Then he nodded and Old Crow came back to where Jim held the horses.

"Chief Red Bear says that you may ride up ahead as a scout. Your job is to look for the best routes heading north and to warn us of any dangers," Old Crow explained.

With that, Jim rode to the front of the line and nodded to Chief Red Bear. The old chief was not as tall as Jim but was larger than most of the other men. His nose was the prominent piece of his weathered and wrinkled face and he very rarely smiled. The responsibility of leadership weighed his shoulders down so that his back seemed rounded.

Many of the People stared at the strange one moving up the ridge and inquiring voices whispered more of the rumors about the stranger. A few observers watched with more than the common gossiper's interest, some with hatred, others with growing admiration.

The job turned out to be harder than it sounded. Jim found himself riding his horse back and forth between the tribe and the next ridge in order to guide Chief Red Bear into the correct washes that would end in gentle ascents to the top of a ridge or a saddle and down the other side. By nightfall, Jim was hot, tired and sweaty. When they stopped for the night at a small creek he had found, he rode down the small valley to a more private place to bathe. As he stripped off his leathers and strode into the ankle deep water, he felt the bitter cold of the stream numb his feet. Without thinking, Jim fell back into the chilly water, gasping for air as the cold swept it from his lungs. He sat sputtering and coughing in the stream, trying to regain his breathe when he heard movement behind him. He turned to see Little Weasel walking over the ridge towards him with a smile on her face and a bundle in her hands. Jim, not having been accustomed to being seen without clothing, sat quietly covering his nakedness in his lap as she walked up to the bank and laid the bundle next to his skins. She then gathered his skins and walked down below him and began washing them in the stream.

"Why did you come here? Are you not afraid that someone will see us together?"

"I snuck away while no one was looking. And no one even noticed you came this way," was her gentle reply. "They see only what they want."

"But someone will see. Did you not hear what your mother said?"

"I am washing clothes in the stream, they will only see that."

Then, she glanced up and smiled at him still sitting in the stream, "Are you scared to show me your manhood?"

"Where I come from, only those who are married can see each other without skins."

She laughed and turned her back on him, "Is this better?"

"Yes," Jim said bashfully.

"Perhaps I already know what you look like without your skins," she said as she bent to her labors.

Jim paused in his washing and glanced at her. Did she say that in response to his statement or was she just talking to herself? Whatever it was, the cold water was numbing and he could feel his body growing sluggish. He stood up and stepped out of the creek. He opened the bundle and found a set of clean skins. He didn't notice the turned head and sideways glance of his admirer.

As he dressed, she could feel her own heart beat as she watched his lithe body move. She could feel the familiar stirrings deep within her as she memorized, once again, that body. She did notice that, whereas before, when she had these feelings, lust would begin to envelope her, now only a warm unfamiliar feeling engulfed her. She knew as he turned to look at her that he was the brave warrior that would carry her off to the tipi one day, 'they' whispered it to her. Her head jerked back as she tried to hide her face and pretend not to be watching, scrubbing the skins in her hands over the rocks.

Jim stood looking at her, as she labored. He thought when he had turned around that her head had moved back from looking over her shoulder at him, but...

She turned then and he looked into her eyes. Eternities swept between them and visions danced before his eyes of a beauty and love he could not describe. He continued to look into those gentle black eyes and saw something there. He saw something real but intangible, something to hang on to and never let go. His heart ached for that, his mind blocked it. The battle began to rage in his heart as it once did a long time from now. Could he trust this woman? He had tried once before and it had hurt. Now, he could feel the old familiar battleground stretching out before him.

He didn't want the moment to end, but he heard the boys gathering the horse herd to lead them down the valley to water. A yell also came from over the small rise and Jim recognized it as Little Weasel's name. She smiled at him and whisked off towards the voice with his old skins in her hands. Jim watched her go, then let Red join the horse herd as they moved by on the hillside to the south.

Then he thought, wait, I did not thank her for the clean skins.

Old Crow sat resting as the strange one approached. "May I use your horse for tomorrow and let this one rest?"

Old Crow nodded. They ate their meal cold by the light of the setting sun and rolled into their sleeping rolls as darkness enveloped the land. The stars shone brightly in the clear sky over their heads.

The next morning, Jim led Lady to the front of the assembling line, mounted and rode hard for the top of the ridge. Old Crow felt a wave of pride as he watched the young man. It reminded him of something in their oral histories, of days when the People rode and worked and hunted together, no divisions, no groups, only the People. Something had changed since those days and things had degraded to a point that bands stayed together out of fear. He wondered at this strange one and his actions.

Three muffled voices nearby broke his pondering as they grumbled, "Look at that fool. There he goes again, like a lost coyote." "He doesn't know the trail, why should we follow him." "Why just yesterday we almost wandered into a prairie dog town because of this fool!" "Our Chief is growing blind in his old age. He will lead us into the..."

Old Crow felt his anger build as he listened to the women near him. They had done nothing but complain since the stranger had been accepted as a scout for the route ahead, in fact, the strange one had volunteered. Old Crow knew it was the sign of bored minds to talk such lowly words.

He looked at Lovely Calf and commented in a low voice, only loud enough for the women nearby to hear, "Perhaps your sons would do better?"

She blushed as she heard the unsaid statement behind his question. Old Crow knew where her son was and that he had turned down the very same responsibility that the strange one had taken on because of his own laziness. In fact, all three women had sons and they all felt the sting of his words as he followed his question up with a hard stare.

This day wore on with as little of the excitement as the previous. Everyone was tired and they walked or rode in silence. As usual the band would stop at intervals to rest then continue on. Always they saw the stranger return to greet the old chief at the top of the ridge. The two would discuss what was found and then the strange one would disappear over the ridge and not be seen until they reached the following one.

That night they camped in a small valley. After the evening meal, Old Crow showed the young man some tricks to scouting that he could practice the next day. Jim asked if there were a way to leave colors along the route. Old Crow knew what they needed and went to work gathering the ingredients from his things on the travois. He stayed up all night boiling and mixing dishes in the fire.

The next morning, before dawn, he gave Jim a bundle of variously colored leather straps he had dyed and instructed Jim on how to use them. Then both of them went to the fire of Chief Red Bear to discuss the day's plan. After the initial greetings and such, when it came time to tell the Chief of the colored straps, Old Crow fell silent and looked at Jim, waiting for him to explain it to the Chief. Jim sat confused for a moment under the questioning stare of the Chief and a few of the Elders who had gathered until finally, he found the words he needed to explain the use and meaning of each leather strap. Blue, meaning stay between the mountains and red bluffs continuing straight, green for turn towards the mountains to the west, red for turn towards the bluffs to the east, yellow for a resting or watering place, and black for trouble ahead and wait for Jim's return. The Chief and Elders were amazed at the system that this strange one had developed. The Chief nodded and said that it was good. Jim looked to Old Crow as they left, but the old man just wandered back to their makeshift camp without acknowledging the questioning look.

As light crept over the land, the band formed a line and started up the gentle slope to the top of the ridge with the boys herding the horses behind them. At the top, Chief Red Bear found a blue strip of leather tied to the top of a sage. The rest of the day, those coded leather strips and horse tracks were the only indication that the strange one was even out there. As they followed the markers from one ridge to the next, the strange one continued to lead them to easier crossings, gently sloping hills and places of water making the journey faster and, it seemed, happier. By nightfall the band was camped in a well sheltered grove of cottonwoods near the mouth of a small canyon with a large boulder on the north ridge seeming to stand guard. As the band slipped into their robes for the night, a horseman approached from the north and entered the camp going straight to the Chief's fire. The strange one sat down and discussed the layout of the land to the north and asked for any instructions. The Elders and Chief listened and then gave the young man their orders as well as the leather straps that they had collected from the day. Then Jim slipped back to the fire of Old Crow and talked with him for a while. He ate the meal of dried meat and roots slowly as his body relaxed from the hard day. He could see the beaming glow in Old Crow's eyes as he looked upon Jim. But, when Jim questioned him about it, the look disappeared and the old man just returned to chanting.

The following day, as the camp awoke to the first light of the rising sun, Old Crow found his belongings and camp already packed except for his own sleeping robes. Even his horse was tied to the drag and Lady was hobbled nearby. He looked around for the young man but he was nowhere to be found. Old Crow arose and readied himself for the journey, even finding his morning meal already prepared and sitting next to the fire.

That day passed much like the day before, the ribbons led the way but the ghost was nowhere to be seen. Again he wandered into camp late that night.

Little Weasel walked next to her older brother who was mounted on one of the family's mustangs. He was similar to his father being tall and of large build and his black hair flowed freely down around his shoulders. His voice, though, had taken on some of his mother's uniqueness and when he sang, many would pause to listen.

Little Weasel's mind had been pondering the differences between the stranger and her own People, especially her brother, and found some disturbing differences. It troubled her that her brother avoided her friend. She had tried to inquire of her brother, but Flying Hawk had avoided her questionings. Her mind settled on an idea.

"Brother, why do the warriors and hunters not lead in the scouting?"

He looked down at her and then back up to the front of the line where the whole camp could see Chief Red Bear pulling another strap off of a branch of a tree at the bottom of the wash. He shrugged, "Because it is not our duty..."

She looked up at him and wondered aloud, "So, what is their duty?"

He glanced down at her, but her face was one of innocence. He opened his mouth then shut it as his heart felt the pangs of guilt and doubt creep into his mind. When he finally found the words to reply, she was gone. He looked around and found her helping an old woman who had fallen behind them. He frowned as the question from his little sister cracked his resolve and pride.

Maybe the stranger isn't the one that is bad, came an unbidden thought followed by a whispering he hadn't felt before.

The third day, before the first hint of light showed on the horizon, Jim was up and preparing the drag. He then prepared Old Crow's morning meal and his own meals for the day. As he readied to leave, he heard a sound from the darkness, the approach of someone and a horse. At first his body tensed as he readied himself for an attack. After all, Raging Buffalo was the only one of the warriors who had dared approach him and that was in an attack. As he peered through the darkness, the form of a young man leading his own horse slowly emerged from the dark night's mists.

Jim stood waiting for the other to speak but nothing was said as he stepped close to Jim and spoke, "Teach me of your medicine, brother."

Jim stood amazed and confused. He recognized the young man, Little Weasel's older brother.

"I am not your brother, I am strange to you and not of the People. I have no medicine and I am nothing," came Jim's reply.

"Your actions are your medicine and they speak greater of you and your worth than any words ever spoken," he replied.

"Ho! If you will call me your brother, than I will be your brother. What shall I call you?"

"I am Flying Hawk, son of Brave Elk."

"I am not named but you may call me as you wish," signed Jim.

"I will call you 'brother' for you are as a brother to me."

"Ho!"

"Ho!"

Together they rode off into the first blue light of the coming day. Jim taught the young man what each color meant and how to place them. Together they would explore some areas and then at other times they would split and explore others, meeting on the next ridge to compare what they found, sending one of them back to tie up the markers while the other started into the next valley.

Again, like the day before, no one saw the scouts riding ahead except for the colored strips on the ridge tops and in the bottoms of the valleys.

Jim and his new friend spent most of the day getting to know each other and exploring the land ahead of the tribe. Together they could cover more ground as they scouted each ridge and draw. At midday they stopped to bathe in a small stream and eat their dried meat and roots. By nightfall they had reached the valley Chief Red Bear had described to Jim and they set up a camp overlooking their new home.

After another meal of dried meat, roots and fresh fish which Flying Hawk had caught earlier in the day, Jim ventured to break the silence that had crept into their conversation by asking "Where did that mark come from on the side of your head?"

Flying Hawk reached up and rubbed the place on the side of his head thinking before he spoke. "You gave this to me."

Jim felt the fear rise in his stomach as the explanation was given. He tensed in preparation for an attack. Flying Hawk saw the look on his face and laughed out loud.

"Do not worry, brother. You bested me in combat and gave me something to remind me of it. In the People's way, courage and fighting are great skills and to be bested by another is to teach us a lesson much like brothers wrestling, one wins while the other learns."

He paused, then continued, "I have thought on the lesson you taught me that night. Before this day, I did not think well of you. But watching your actions the last few days and then having spent today exploring and understanding you, I understand the lesson I should learn from it."

Jim relaxed a bit, trying to understand how someone could lose in a fight and still not have bad feelings for the one that had bested him. It seemed so different from the way he had grown up in school, having rules and breaking them, drawing lines and then crossing them, each causing fights and chaos. Jim thought about his example of brothers and he remembered his own brothers from the future. He loved them dearly but they had had their differences, arguments and fights. The example made sense to his mind and he settled on the fact that the young man in front of him was not his enemy and therefore could be trusted. They sat back and told stories of each other's home.

It was the first time that Jim had talked to anyone about his home and it felt good to have the chance to remember so much about it. Jim did not have the vocabulary to explain much and Flying Hawk could not comprehend a lot of what Jim tried to say so he was forced to just keep it simple, describing only feelings and ideas. But still it felt good to have a friend to talk to. As they retired to sleep, the coyotes sang for them.

With the first light of morning the pair arose and set off to explore their new home, scouting out the best site for the camp. Jim had assumed that Flying Hawk and the tribe had been here before but his friend said this was the first time that he can remember staying here. When asked about where they had stayed before his answers were vague and unclear.

By late afternoon a camp site had been selected and they waited at the top of the ridge for the tribe.

Many had wondered at the disappearance of Flying Hawk, but Brave Elk gave no sign of his whereabouts nor did any member of the family. Little Weasel knew where her older brother had gone and felt very proud as she saw the Chief ride up to each colored leather strip to pull it off and place it in his belt.

Little Weasel always watched ahead for the return of her brother, but more for the return of her strange friend. She felt something growing, although she did not know what, for him in the past week and his absence made that feeling even stronger. As night approached and the camp found the good spot marked by their scouts they, prepared for the evening meal and rest, but the scouts never returned.

Many gossiped that the strange one had run into trouble and that following him was bad medicine, that the camp would be led into an ambush. But the Elders and Chief Red Bear regarded these sayings as nothing more than old women talking. Still the scouts never returned.

By morning the camp was ready to go again, but the rumors had long since determined that the scout's markers would run out ahead and they would not know where he had gone, probably back to that place in the ground from whence he came, many supposed, leaving Flying Hawk lost and alone in the wilderness.

But, as the day wore on, the markers continued and the resting places were good with lots of water and shade. Still the rumors spread like fire, trying to make sense of the unknown.

Then, as the sun raced for the mountains to the west and the camp marched towards the top of the ridge, Chief Red Bear stopped at the head. He saluted, then signed something, then saluted again.

He turned and announced to those around him, "Spread word, our scouts are on the next ridge overlooking our winter grounds and wait to escort us to the best campsite." Then he turned and led his horse down the other side of the ridge.

As the People reached the top of the ridge they gazed in awe at the two scouts sitting comfortably atop their mounts on the next ridge. All the previous rumors were forgotten and new ones flourished. Old Crow reined his horse out of the line and saluted his young friend who returned the salute. The old man smiled to himself like a proud father and looked down upon the line of the People. The spirits whisked before his eyes and the world dissolved into a smoky vision. He could see a fire and whirling of dancers, he could also hear the beat of drums and singing, and the passing of the spirits. They whispered to him as they often did...

Old Crow observed the last of the People pass him, then he looked up to see the strange one and Flying Hawk salute Chief Red Bear as he approached. He watched as the three turned to look out over the valley beyond. Then the strange one turned his horse and gazed at Old Crow, saluting his old friend. The old man returned the wave. The space between them lessened and he remembered the spirits' song.

Jim and Flying Hawk led the Chief down into the valley towards the spot they had selected as the rest of the camp followed. It was a gentle meadow on the north side of the river with cottonwoods and pines all around and a large hill to the west. The rest of the valley stretched out to the east. As they approached that spot, the last rays of the setting sun raced back across the skies and a yellow twilight settled upon the whole valley.

Old Crow topped the last ridge and looked down into the valley, as he had many winters long ago. The same valley the band had used as a winter refuge since he was a boy. It had been many winters since he had seen it but it had changed little. The same imposing wall of mountains to the west and south with this valley nestled nicely in their shadow. He had to admit that he missed this area. Memories flooded his mind as he thought of the years of his youth here learning to hunt and gather as the old ones had taught. Things had changed since then.

This time as the fading day's light changed to yellow and orange, he gazed down upon the valley below and saw things in a different way. The spirits again whispered their song in his ears and he knew they were right, as they had always been, the time had come for him to find and train a new medicine man. He gazed at the stranger, wondering what the spirits were trying to say about this one. Their voices whispered in his ear but he wondered at their meaning. The stranger was not of the People and they had not accepted him. He took well to their ways and even contributed in his different way but still Old Crow felt the pangs of doubt. This stranger had much to do before the band would even accept his presence let alone adopt him into their ranks but to elevate him to that of a leader, and a trusted one at that...Old Crow had his doubts. It had never been done before. The oral histories said nothing. In fact, he was not aware of any one like the strange one coming amongst the People. There were no answers from the past to lead them. The spirits whispered to him, but still he could not hear their guidance, only their voices speaking to him. Strange, he thought, they usually talk clearly to me but with this one all I hear are voices crowding in upon my ears as if all are talking at once. I cannot hear what they are saying.

He watched as the band filtered down into the valley ahead him. His thoughts followed the men of the band, each with their potentials and weaknesses. None had shown the abilities of foresight and mental aptitude needed to make a good medicine man.

Old Crow thought back honestly on the band. He knew what lay ahead and all was darkness and doom. Each time he looked into a man's eyes, he searched for that light that would lead the band forth through that darkness to their future. The spirits could show their power through a man. None of those eyes showed it. His heart fell with this realization. But he remembered when he first looked into the stranger's eyes there was more than just light, there was something else, he could not tell but the spirits sparkled and danced in his eyes.

Then there was the necklace. He had lost it in a vision, the vision with the pure white horse in which he had first seen the stranger looking out over the high plains. It was as if he just arrived and was surveying this new world with the rising sun basking him in a glory never seen before. The stranger came to the camp a moon later and there was the necklace around his neck. Old Crow had opened the sacred bag to see if it was the same one he had lost. The hair on his neck rose and he could feel the spirits dancing around his tipi as he saw the sacred emblems he had placed in there many long seasons ago. He had meditated for days to understand what this meant. He looked back across the valley at the strange one and reminded himself that he needed to hear his version of the vision from him sometime this winter.

The following days were a series of dances and feasts to set the mood for the coming winter, asking the spirits to watch over them in their new home. Hunters were sent out to procure the last supplies before winter and the camp was made ready for the Spirit of the North to send the freezing cold and snow that would blanket and cleanse the earth once again. The mountains showed their colorful patches of yellow, orange and red ridges against a backdrop of dark green pines.

Soon after, the mountains lost their fall colors, the cottonwoods around the camp turned yellow and then lost their leaves. As the days got shorter, only the dark green pines colored the mountains above and the groves around the camp.

Then, it happened one cold night, the snow began to fall and with the coming of day, it did not cease. Jim watched from the tipi flap all day as the snow blanketed the valley in its thick embrace. The knee deep whiteness made walking hard and daily tasks took longer to accomplish.

The following days a fierce wind like nothing Jim had ever seen, swept through the valley howling in the bare branches of the cottonwood trees and full pines around them. All were thankful for the tree cover as well as the hill to the west, for out on the plains, winds such as these could tear a tipi apart and scatter everything.

# Chapter Seven

## Winter

"JIM! Jim!" The voice was not the normal female one that sometimes haunted his confused mind in the heavy darkness all around him. "Jim, we can't find you! Where have you gone to? Why are you gone?"

Jim's mind searched his memory for the voice that haunted this dream. Nothing but confusion reigned. Then one memory triggered another and a face floated up to crowd out the others, an old man with a grizzled look stood looking off into the distance. His eyes were gray as was his hair, with a prominent nose, wrinkled brow and thinned cheek. His skin was a ruddy brown that fit with his dull brown plaid shirt and well-worn Levis. He had on his old boots and dusty cowboy hat.

"GRANDPA!"

The old man continued call to him but his voice faded with each word.

"GRANDPA! Don't leave me here! Take me with you!"

The voice had all but faded when the vision of the old man began to draw away into the distance.

"GRANDPAAAA!"

Jim found himself kneeling near the smoldering fire, tears running down his face. Old Crow sat in his buffalo robes nearby, looking curiously at his strange friend. Jim looked around, then crawled to the tipi flap, untied it and crawled out into the frigid night air. The wind had calmed but large snowflakes still fell to land on his face and naked shoulders.

He found a nearby log and sat down, allowing the cold air to wash over his body and calm his mind. He sat there shivering while looking into the darkness of the camp, feeling nothing, caring for nothing. He felt more than heard the flap of the tipi open behind him and soon a buffalo robe settled over his shoulders and another figure settled next to him.

They sat in silence, Jim feeling his body warmth returning, his mind calming.

Jim looked at the old man next to him but before he could speak the old man started, "Dreams come to men for many reasons. Some are the spirits talking to us, some are our fears manifesting, others are just dreams."

Jim nodded and looked back out into the darkness.

"You are troubled, your dreams are of your life before. Your mind returns to it often."

Jim turned to look over in surprise.

"Living in a tipi, the People become as close as family. They hear everything, understand each other better, feel together. I have heard you in the dark talking in your own language, sometimes, like this night yelling and screaming. Your slumber is broken on these nights. Your past troubles you."

Jim turned back to the darkness, seeing a light under the clouds to the east on the horizon. The silence stretched on. Then the old man continued, "Do you know what you s'?"

Jim shook his head.

"There, our star will arrive before the great one rises to light this world. It is good to observe them. It is the way of the People to meet them as they come, to gain their knowledge and warmth. Perhaps if you were to learn to pray to them as they arrive, it could calm your dreams."

Jim nodded saying, "Will you teach me this sacred prayer?"

They practiced the chanting and prayer watching the morning star rise between the horizon the clouds far to the east and then to be dimmed and drowned out by the light of the sun, which also soon disappeared in the dark clouds of the storm still wrapping the land in its snowy wrath.

After a week, the blizzard stopped and the People climbed out of their warm cozy tipis to see the new world they now lived in consisted of pure white snow drifts for as far as the eye could see. It was an early snow, they said and many gossipy whispers pointed the blame at the stranger.

Chief Red Bear asked that the hunters go out, but Raging Buffalo protested loudly and violently that he would not go out into the cold when there is plenty to eat now. Thus, the winter began with the People snowed in, not only physically, but mentally.

The nights got longer and colder as the storms hammered the mountains above and the little valley below. Jim kept track of time by slipping out in the night and finding the moon then marking the full moons on his side of the tipi wall. On those evening escapes, he found the feeling of the cold comforted him. It was one of the few things that still reminded him of his home. He would take a deep breath and feel the air freeze the moisture in his nose and chest reminding him of the many winters he had spent as a boy playing, fishing and hunting in the outdoors of Wyoming.

Old Crow shared his buffalo hides with Jim willingly and they would don two or three hides, tying them with leather cords to keep them in place whenever they left the warmth of their tipi. The furs were heavy, but were excellent at keeping the cold at bay. The smell of sweat, smoke and old dusty leathers almost overwhelmed Jim when Old Crow first unrolled them, but once he had them on and was out in the cold, his complaints were blown away on the cold wind. Although, he did promise himself that he would take them outside to air out on the next warm, winter day!

As the first moon passed on to the next, he saw the camp take on a different look. Before, while in the southern camp, they had been more cheerful and happy, but as winter kept most of the People tipi bound and the cold made it uncomfortable to even go outside, their moods darkened and they became irritable.

One particular member talked much of evil and dark things and this spread throughout the camp on the wings of gossip. Jim found himself in good company though, for as the rest of the camp sulked under the foul weather, he found himself among companions that afforded a much needed break from the constant sleeping. Flying Hawk came to visit his new friend whenever he could and the two would sit and talk with Old Crow until the old medicine man would start chanting or praying.

The daily routines for the women consisted of meeting with friends and family and mending leathers and robes, making moccasins, leggings and other articles of clothing or bead and quill work consisting of dying, stringing and sewing. On warmer days, the women were seen doing these activities outside in groups or preparing some of the meals.

When the men weren't making or mending various tools and weapons, they assembled in groups for gambling and storytelling about conquests and hunts. Competition between friends occurred often and the gambling would be converted quickly to the odds of these contests.

It would seem that many of the weapons of the People were developed during these long dark days in the tipis, with the older men teaching the younger ones tricks and trade secrets in return for gifts or items to further craft tools and weapons from. This was not the first time that Jim actually witnessed stone knapping, but it was the first time he witnessed it by men who had learned it passed down from their own fathers. He would try to join these sessions, but was often scowled at for joining these 'men' only groups, so Jim had to find other ways to pass the time.

Old Crow suddenly found himself with company after that first storm. It would seem that the strange one had attracted another who looked to visit him every chance they could find. At first he was confused with this disruption of his normal winter routine, but their youthful excitement was contagious and he soon found himself waiting impatiently for their interruptions. He would put his healing potions aside or quietly conclude his daily chanting and invite his guests in.

Old Crow was a wonderful storyteller and he filled the air of his tipi with the stories of times long gone as Jim and Flying Hawk sat by the fire and watched him perform his story, for it was more of a play than an oration. He would dance around and place himself in the very place of the story, often times tripping over something in the tipi and falling onto the robes or the listeners in a roar of laughter. Jim learned much of the culture and the language during these stories and he learned more about his new friend.

Flying Hawk was Little Weasel's older brother and Jim learned that the two siblings were very close. As the winter turned colder and darker, the two young men broke the almost deathly silence with their laughter and singing.

Old Crow used this time with these youngsters to teach them of the old ways, songs and chants. They were very attentive and both were quick learners. They seemed to crave the opportunity to soak up his endless knowledge and wisdom. He in turn found their youthful excitement invigorating and uplifting.

One morning, Old Crow got up after a long night of storytelling and warmly awoke the other two with smells of a hot breakfast of ground meat and roots in boiled snow water. The three ate and talked some while they waited for the sun to warm the cool morning air. As they waited, Old Crow brought out several necklaces of leather, beads and feathers. He began chanting and placing the necklaces around each young man's neck nodding as if to a brother. Jim was lost but Flying Hawk explained later that Old Crow had placed a great honor upon each of them as he sung to the spirits and pronounced that they were all brothers and bestowed upon them the blessings of the spirits. Jim had no idea what the real meaning was, but he accepted the explanation.

In this new environment, Jim found himself with more time to think things through. Since being taken in by Old Crow and having participated with the tribe in their daily living, Jim had decided he was somewhere in the past. That was the only reasonable explanation for the landmarks being the same with no evidence of modern man having been here, that and the fact that he now lived with an Indian tribe. The "how" of him getting there was a whole other question that he could not answer and he found he had to just accept it as a reality, or a very vivid dream. His mind would ponder it for hours in those long dark winter nights though and he felt sometimes that there was something he was missing. The exact when in the past he was not sure, but he figured it was sometime around the settlement of the West. He had long since forgotten his History of North America, which Mr. James, his high school History teacher, would have been very unhappy with. Jim could still hear his whiny voice saying, 'Someday you will wish you had paid better attention to my lectures on History, and then you will realize,' as he pushed his thick wire rimmed glasses up his nose.

Yes, Mr. James, you were right, Jim would concede.

Still, the world had changed and his mind still tried to make sense of it. He found it easier to focus on the here and now and not dwell on what once was, or will be, as he was prone to correct himself. But in the long dark nights, his mind found more room to dwell on things that his heart really did not want to remember.

He also found something else which troubled him. Little Weasel and her tutoring had not only been helpful throughout the summer but the two of them had grown close. Now he felt the pull of that friendship and the hole that was left from not being able to talk openly. Jim had learned that the culture did not allow for open discussions between young men and young women unless accompanied by a family member. This and the fact that he was not really accepted among the tribe made it nearly impossible for him and her to be together unless it was away from the camp. With the nearness of the snows and cold, neither could find a way to be together as of yet. He would walk through the camp on his way to the horse herd or some other chore and feel his heart flutter at the sight of her while she worked with her mother on the meals or sat outside listening to the other older women while they worked their skins, sewing or beadwork.

Little Weasel too felt the pull of a friendship that wanted to bloom and blossom but was stagnated by culture and confinement. When she would see him saunter by, she would find that her eyes followed him more than she wanted, her mother slapping her, unseen by others nearby, throwing her eyes back to the task at hand.

For both of them, they found that the nearness to each other but the inability to talk or even smile at each other drove each into their own world of near madness and loneliness, neither being able to convey their feelings and thoughts, both bound by silence, in constant anguish. Had they been able to just communicate then both hearts would have been quieter, gaining strength from the other that both were tormented by the silence. Neither were either of them able to bolster and encourage the other to have patience when they were close to their breaking point.

For all that was going on in her daughter's heart, Blue Jay could feel the turmoil and knew somewhat the feelings of her heart. She too had once been in love and her impatience with customs and traditions caused anguish and grief as she learned the same lesson. She would often look to see who Little Weasel was watching, knowing it was always the same person, the strange one. This always played out the same way, mind wondering why her daughter would be drawn to one so different from their own. Then the familiar feeling would return, goose bumps on the skin and a whispering in her ears that she had not heard in a long time. She had noticed since this strange one's arrival that the spirits whispered to her like they used to when she was a girl, like when her grandfathers used to be around her.

One day Flying Hawk came to Old Crow's tipi in the early morning and said to his friend, "Can you come with me to my family's fire? I have something to show you."

Jim was puzzled and left immediately to follow his friend, thinking something was wrong. When they got there his friend sat down on a log near the large drying rack that had been set up to air out the buffalo sleeping robes. He indicated that Jim should sit next to him on the log. Their backs were turned to the drying racks and the robes flapping in the light breeze.

A familiar but gentle voice spoke to him from behind the robes, "It has been a long time since our lessons but you speak the words of the People very well now."

Jim turned to look back but Flying Hawk stuck an arm out and drew his attention to the spear point he had in his hands. He whispered to his friend, "Do not turn around. You must \---- you are listening and watching me closely."

Jim looked at him quizzically then realized what the siblings were up to, settling back to the discussion in front of him. His mind raced to answer her, his surprise at having heard her voice causing his heart to flutter in his chest.

"Not so well as I wish. What was that word you used, Flying Hawk," and he repeated it the best he could. Little Weasel chimed in and taught him the meaning for 'feign.' Jim repeated it a couple of times as he watched his friend reach done and pick up knapping tools to further refine the spear point.

"I've missed our little talks," Jim ventured.

"So have I."

Then something occurred to him and he looked at his friend, "So, you have known about your sister teaching me?"

He shrugged with a smile, "She is my sister. I knew something was different from the beginning of the summer. It wasn't until she defended you when you were scouting the routes for the move north that I started to understand why."

"So that is why..." Jim's voice trailed off.

Flying Hawk finished his sentence for him, "...I joined you. She said something that bothered me that day and in the evening I cornered her and demanded to know what she meant."

"He did not demand," she spoke with a tone Jim had not heard from her before, although he could still feel the fist in his eye from the first time he had met her. "He asked and I finally told."

"Whatever, Weasel One," he quipped while he set to knapping the end of the spear point.

She calmly ignored him and continued her discussion with Jim talking of the weather and trying to find where they had left off teaching him of their language. The meeting only lasted an short time but it was enough for the two of them to at least fill the hole in each other's soul for now. These meetings happened infrequently enough that no one really suspected anything, they hoped.

The weather was as unpredictable here as it had been when Jim in the future. One minute the sun would shine in all its glory, the next, the mountains would turn dark and a shadow would cast itself across the land carrying with it a blizzard that would last for days. The temperature also was always cold enough to freeze your breath. The tipis had a continual fire and an interior liner for insulation that that kept the chill winter out. Wood was constantly being gathered by the women with the use of horses on the days when you could be out and about. On these sunny days, the People would go out and use snow to wash the sweat and dirt from their bodies and skins, sometimes melting water to do so. Other times everyone would sit in their tipi and huddle against the cold of the storms which seemed to crash down from the mountains to batter the plains. The wind blew constantly through the valley and the People were thankful for their shelter on the leeward side of the hill as well as the grove of trees they were nestled against. The temperature dipped well below freezing more times than not though and kept the inhabitants of the camp sequestered in their tipis.

Old Crow not only told stories the whole time but showed his two visitors how to craft items such as arrowheads, spear points and knives. He also used this time to teach them some of the basic healing arts, helping them identify items that were needed for such maladies as a blister to battle wounds.

Sometime in the second month of their winter camp, on a sunny day, the young boys who were in charge of the horses farther out on the plains, bundled in furs and skins, whooped and yelled as they charged out into the snowy sage flats to the southeast to move the herd to another spot farther down the valley that had more forage and cover from the storms. Jim and Flying Hawk went along to observe and help as needed. Surprisingly, the horses seemed to fare pretty well. The large gully where they had been kept was well protected and the boys did a good job of watching them. The boys picked a few of the stronger ones out of the herd and mounted them. Flying Hawk found his mount and Jim found Red while the boys began rounding up the stragglers.

By mid-day the herd was in a nearby gully to the northeast protected by the hills and a few trees. The boys immediately set up a kind of lean-to in the trees for the herd watchers in times of foul weather, then proceeded to play games of tag and such. They were very happy to be out of the tipis and in the open, running and playing as they liked.

Jim and Flying Hawk took this opportunity to go out on their horses and scout to the east a little farther than before, but the drifts got deeper and longer the farther out onto the broken plains they got. Soon they decided to turn back.

Jim felt disappointment set in, realizing how far they didn't go. When they returned to the herd, most of the boys were gone save the two left to guard for the evening. They watched as Jim and Flying Hawk approached and released their horses into the herd. With an acknowledgement from them both, they turned and walked back towards the camp. The sun shone brightly off the snow, in fact Jim began to have a white haze develop over his vision. Having had it before, he knew it to be the very early stages of snow blindness.

As they entered the camp, the People were alive with activity. Flying Hawk asked about the commotion and was told that three of the younger boys had left shortly after the older ones to help with the horses, but no one had seen them since.

Jim and Flying Hawk grabbed some horse hair ropes and extra robes, hefting them onto their shoulders with bags of supplies gathered by Blue Jay and Little Weasel, setting off to follow the tracks of the older men who had left earlier. They soon decided to leave that trail as it seemed to be going the wrong way. As they walked they saw more than felt a shadow wash over them in the snow. Both looked behind them to see the mountains obscured as the sun almost touched the tops of the boiling clouds above the impressive peaks.

"Night will bring a storm," spoke Flying Hawk in a whispered voice and they turned to hurry into the snow covered landscape. Just as he spoke, a heavy wind seemed to launch at them from the mountains to whisk their robes around, wiping out all traces of anyone's tracks.

Flying Hawk looked over his shoulder at the mountains as they climbed to the top of a ridge to the east of the camp, drawing Jim's attention as well. They could see the rays of the sun slicing through the wind and snow. He looked at his strange friend and their eyes spoke the truth, both knew that with the coming night, death would walk among them if they didn't find those three boys. They looked across the howling landscape, trying to see or hear any sound, but were left to their own judgments as the wind drowned out all sound except its constant howl.

Jim, trying to think of how the young boys would think, looked over at the old gully where they had kept the herd and pointed it out to Flying Hawk. He nodded and they pressed hard for the gully. When they got there they found it just as they had left it earlier that day. The area was well protected so the wind had not erased any tracks here but no new tracks could be found. In the waning orange light they turned toward the camp, leaving the protection of the draw and walked more carefully, looking for tracks of any kind in the moving snow.

Flying Hawk found a depression in a drift just to the left of the trail from the camp and as they examined it they found the prints of three small boys filled in with fresh blown snow heading up the ridge to the southeast. They both bolted for the top of the ridge knowing that every second the light from the sun was dimming and their chances of finding them to fall as fast as the temperature now was. On the ridge top the tracks stopped and the night overtook them as did the furry of the blizzard. Standing in the dark on that ridge, both young men felt the ferocity of the wind and snow intensify as the spirits and the Great Spirit that Old Crow had talked of, unleashed their power on the ridges around them. They both felt the cold lump grow in their stomachs knowing full well that within a few hours they themselves would be fighting for their lives, not to mention the three young boys. Jim cried out loud to the God he had grown up with, screaming against the rage of the storm. Flying Hawk jumped and turned to watch his strange friend scream and rage against the storm.

Jim felt his heart burst with anguish at the frustration burning in his bosom, being placed in this lonely world away from his own and then seeing the cruelty of this life that these people led. He felt all his faith in everything he had ever believed in crumbling. It tumbled into the very floods that the scriptures said it should never succumb to and still he could feel nothing of the God of Love, Mercy and Life, that he had grown to love and worship. In that, his very lowest of despair, he felt the grasp of the spirits as they raced with the storm.

Jim felt himself being lifted up from his crumpled position in the snow by his friend. His arms seemed to have lost their strength and his legs felt like rubber. As he was dragged to his feet, he felt his strength return as well as his mind, but all the bitterness and pain, loneliness and frustration, longing and homesickness had been replaced by an understanding and a hope. He felt more than knew why. He could not remember anything more from the time he cried out until then but Flying Hawk said later that it was more than a few breaths before he had tried to wake Jim. Then Jim seemed to feel and see in his mind the dire need for them to walk straight into the blizzard.

As he started off, Flying Hawk looked after him and said "We cannot go any farther. We also will die if we do not turn back and try to find the camp!"

"We have to follow the boys, we must find them," came Jim's reply.

"No!! We cannot save them, we must save ourselves!"

Jim turned slowly to look at his friend through the flying snow and growing darkness, "Then you return to the camp alone, my friend for I would sooner die than give up and let those boys die!" and with that he turned back into the howling storm and started forward.

"You are a fool, Strange One!!" but the words were gobbled up in the howling winds.

As Flying Hawk watched the retreating back disappear in the wind and snow he felt the sting of the words march across his heart and mind.

Jim had a feeling that he had done this before as he walked into the stinging wind and snow. His feet slipped several times and at others he tripped over sagebrush or other obstacles. Stumbling, still he pushed forward. The wind at his back seemed to hold him for a while then let go and then hold him for a while longer. His strength soared as he thought of the boys lost and alone in this wind and snow, but his mind raced as he knew that his strength would ebb and his endurance would also come to an inevitable end. As he felt his muscles weaken and his movements slow, he was startled by a figure brushing past his left arm and pausing to hand him a rope.

"Tie this to your waist," Flying Hawk yelled over the howling all around them.

Jim did as he said and soon Flying Hawk was leading him through the darkness, wading through the now waist high drifts in their snowy, stormy world. Again, Jim felt that familiar feeling of having done this before and tried to remember what came next. But his mind was growing slow in the cold and wind and his memory seemed to slip back into the darkness around him.

After what had to have been a few minutes but felt like an hour, Jim felt more than heard the cry of one of the boys. The feeling came from their left and he tugged on the rope which was all that he could see of Flying Hawk is this world of near dark and blowing snow. The rope slackened and the figure of his friend bundled in his buffalo robes and hides came out of the swirling darkness of wind and snow to sign clumsily why they had stopped. Jim signed for him to listen, but after several minutes neither heard anything. Flying Hawk signaled to continue on but Jim signaled for him to follow as Jim led him off to the left of their original direction.

The darkness was so thick that both continued stumbling over the sagebrush at their very feet, when they weren't wading through the snow. But still Jim continued on with fervor as he again felt the now familiar feeling of having done this before. After a long few minutes and just as Jim's hopes deteriorated to doubt and worry, he tripped over something and heard a muffled cry as he fell to the ground.

Jim, on his hands and knees, whirled around and began digging in the snow at the lump he had fallen over.

Flying Hawk noticed the rope go slack. As he walked carefully forward he could see the shadowy stranger crouched down in the snow on his knees digging at a lump of snow. He shook his head and decided that it was time to take his friend and save their own lives before it was too late to do so.

Jim dug with every ounce of strength he could muster. He knew that he had heard a muffled cry and also knew the thing he had tripped over was something more solid than sagebrush, which he had stumbled over ten times in the last fifty steps. As he dug though, a doubt popped into his mind. This could very easily be a large rock or an animal hiding from the storm, too.

Then, just as he was about to give up, his hand hit something more solid than the surrounding snow and he slowed his work. Just as he slipped his hand under the snow feeling for something, a hand touched his shoulder.

Flying Hawk bent over to pull his delirious friend to his feet when he felt more than saw the young man pull hard at something in the snow. The world froze in time as Flying Hawk saw the dark shape of a fur bundled boy pulled from the drifted snow. His heart leapt with joy as he felt himself grab the little boy and began covering him with a few of the extra furs that he had been carrying on his back. Even as he set the first one down, his friend had uncovered the second, handing him to Flying Hawk. The spirits whispered and swirled on his skin as he felt their familiar, hair raising dance. He placed more robes on this boy also and then watched as the strange one wrapped the third in the robes he had been carrying.

Jim looked around in the darkness and driving snow trying to remember the rest of his dream. He looked at the dark bulk of Flying Hawk and signed, asking what they should do. Both agreed that trying to find the camp in this storm was beyond either of their abilities and even luck would not help. So, they carefully tied the boys to the line and began to descend into the little ravine in search of a place out of the cold. The youngest of the boys had to be carried so Flying Hawk led while Jim followed in the rear carrying the little boy in his arms, staring at the rope tied to the little boy ahead. After another while in which time was lost in the dizzying, swirling darkness, Flying Hawk and the others appeared out of the moving wall. They were buried up to their hips in snow wallowing to get back out of it. Jim pulled each one up and they skirted the drifted in the ravine.

When they were in the bottom of the ravine and somewhat out of the wind, Jim handed the young boy to Flying Hawk. Then he turned back towards the drift and began digging.

Flying Hawk wondered again at the strange one. He has lost his mind, came the thought. What is he doing digging in the snow? Flying Hawk bent down to try to get Jim back up and walking again. Jim pulled away and continued working.

Flying Hawk began getting nervous. He bent over and yelled at Jim over the howling of the wind above them, "What are you doing...we have to keep moving."

Jim turned to him and pointed at the hole he had dug. Flying Hawk frowned at him through his bundle of furs and shook his head.

Jim crawled down into the hole saying, "We have to get out of the wind and snow. We can dig into the snow."

Flying Hawk started to understand and carefully put the boy down near the other two and set to work next to the stranger. Within several minutes they had constructed a wind break and dug a hole deep enough for them to place the boys and themselves in comfortably. Flying Hawk was amazed at how much warmer it was in the hole than out in the wind.

After setting each in the hole and sitting down next to them, Flying Hawk set to attending to the boys while Jim dug deeper and farther back into the drift. At first he only dug a small shaft, pushing the snow back behind himself where Flying Hawk or one of the other boys would throw it up and out to be obliterated by the passing wind. After digging the shaft back into the drift and then up, Jim carefully set to making a flat floor, slowly digging upwards stopping every so often to listen for the storm above. He knew that the ceiling would not cave in if there were enough snow on the roof, but his problem was that he had no idea how much higher he could dig before reaching the top of the drift. He remembered that a small cave would be easier to keep warm with just their body heat so he decided to dig only enough room for the five of them to stretch out and tall enough for them to sit up.

Jim felt his body temperature soar and he realized that the temperature inside the cave was not as cold as outside, so he shed some of his skins and robes, laying them in a finished corner. As he dug he would push more snow down the whole where one of the boys would push it out of the hole into the wind. As he dug in the dark silence with his breathing and movements muffled, his heart felt a warm peace come over him as he realized that the cave was plenty big enough for the five of them.

Jim crawled back to the shaft and waved at the first of the boys, leading him inside. The inside of the snow cave was much warmer than the outside air and Jim helped the young boy out his smaller wet buffalo robes and into some of Jim's larger dry robes that he had laid on the floor of the cave.

"What is your name, little brother?"

Jim could not tell in the darkness if the boy looked up but he could hear him huddle deeper into the large robes as he said, "I am called Quick Rabbit."

"Well, Quick Rabbit, can you stay here while I go and get the others?"

Jim could feel the rising fear build in this young one, even through the pitch black, and responded, "Do you know a chant that your mother has taught you?"

"Yes," came the quick response.

"If I am not back before you finish, you can follow me back out."

"Ho."

As the boy set to singing, Jim slipped farther down the shaft to the next boy and led him inside. Having him exchange his wet robes for a few dry ones that Jim still had, he climbed under a large buffalo robe that Jim had laid on Quick Rabbit earlier. Jim asked about the boy's name which was White Squirrel. Jim challenged them to finish their chant before he returned and they both continued to sing and chant.

Jim returned to the outside and the freezing air. He felt the stinging of the wind and the snow as it whirled over his companions' heads in the trench. He led Flying Hawk carrying the weakened, youngest boy into the shaft. The going was slow and the darkness didn't make it any easier but finally they entered to hear the two boys chanting and singing heartily. Flying Hawk set to placing the boy on the robes, exchanging his wet robes and skins with a few dry ones and laying him between the other two.

After a short time, Flying Hawk explained that Little Deer, as he was called, was doing better with the help of the singing and chanting of the other two boys.

Jim slipped outside one more time to see if anything was forgotten or left and to try to measure the drift. He also needed to build a barrier to keep the wind from swirling into the small cave's entrance.

Flying Hawk tried to see into the dark, but had to extend his hands to find the extent of the cave. It bothered him that they were under the snow, not in the open like he was used to, but the air was warmer and there was no wind. In fact, he started to feel himself getting too warm and started shedding some of his own robes and skins, laying them on top of the boys. Then he explored this new environment carefully. It was a small cave and only tall enough for him to sit up but it was wide enough for him to stretch out and so he settled in next to the boys.

When Jim returned, he knelt up close to the roof in a far corner and told the others to cover their faces. Then he punched his hand up into the ceiling. When his hand was full length he tried to feel the wind or something. Nothing. He even took off his fur mittens and reached up again.

Flying Hawk offered his knife to Jim and he tried again the third time. He was rewarded with a gust of wind and a face full of snow. He laughed to himself and moved to another corner and did the same. Jim, then went outside and began pulling snow down onto a barrier he had built at the entrance until a little hole big enough for his hand was left. With that done, he returned to the interior of the cave and took off some more of his robes, laying them down next to the boys as insulation from the snow. The air in the cave was cool but not bitterly cold and with the heat from their five bodies, it warmed up quickly. Flying Hawk also took some robes and made sure that everyone was insulated from the cold snow below.

Then Flying Hawk threw something at Jim, "You better not lose these. My sister will pull on your ears until you scream if you lose one of her gifts."

Jim smiled to himself and laughed lightly, "Thanks for the advice," as he thought of the night he had been given them...

Early on that winter, just after the first snow had changed their world, Jim had a hard time adjusting to staying within the confines of the tipi, yet when he tried to go outside it was so bitterly cold and miserable that he could only venture out to the edge of the trees. He slowly felt more and more trapped as he found himself bound to the tipi and the camp beyond. His spirit searched for ways to get beyond these two prisons but still he could get no farther than the horse herd nearby.

As his spirits fell, he felt the familiar darkness returning to his life until one day his friend Flying Hawk and Little Weasel approached Old Crow's tipi on a sunny warm winter day. They joined the old man and Jim as they sat around the outdoor fire. They chatted with the old man as custom dictated while Jim sat silently looking out onto the plains to the east. Eventually, the old man wandered off into the camp to find someone and the two spoke to Jim.

"You seem down," said the brother to Jim.

"I feel trapped. I want to wander and run like we did when we were scouting the trail for the People."

"Yes, I feel it too. My father says patience is a hard lesson to learn."

"Ho."

Flying Hawk nodded at his sister and started tending the fire, moving to the other side.

Little Weasel looked longingly at Jim then spoke up, "It is custom with the People that we share when someone is in need of something. I noticed that you lacked a pair of hand coverings. I sewed you these mittens."

Jim turned at the sound of her voice and he listened to her attentively. As she spoke he felt his darkness first retreat, then vanish. It was as if a spell had been broken and he woke up from a dark dream. He looked at the extended hands and saw a beautiful pair of mittens. When he took them he could feel the supple texture of the hide and see the intricate beadwork design. He put his right hand in the mitten and felt the soft hair inside. They fit perfectly.

"Do you like them?"

"They are beautiful, but how can I accept them? I have nothing with which to trade."

She smiled warmly and rose to leave.

Both Jim and Flying Hawk laid back and listened silently to the soft signing and chanting of the boys and the muffled, howling storm outside. Neither said a word that night, both drifting in and out of sleep as they awaited the day. Mostly they would check on each other and the boys to make sure each was warm. Sometimes the boys would awake and forget where they were, fear rising in their hurried movements until one of the other boys would start chanting and the other would join in. The alarmed one would immediately calm and join in and they all would fall asleep again.

# Chapter Eight

## Troubles

The snow cave slowly grew in light until a gentle, soft, blue bathed the small group in its glorious beauty. Flying Hawk and Jim took turns at the entrance surveying the storm and their surroundings.

The storm had let up a little, but the snow still fell from the heavens and it probably would for a few days. The wind had calmed to only a few flurries with ground blizzards interspersed, but there was light and travel was possible, if only slowly. Both of the young men had a vague idea of where they were and where the camp was but neither was willing to march off into the snowstorm with three young boys, looking for it.

In the end, caution ruled out and they decided to stay and wait out the storm, watching for an opportunity to race back to camp if it let up a little more. Both dug into their supplies for some dried meats and roots and passed them to the boys. The boys ate happily and even the little one seemed to be improving. Their gentle talk and whispering showed their comfort with Jim and Flying Hawk and the trust the boys had in the two young men to return them safely back to camp.

As the morning wore on, they felt all three of the boys strength return and it was decided that they could try sometime after the sun stood high in the southern sky. Then, Jim jumped up as he saw a bright yellow glow shining through the roof of the cave. He scrambled for the mouth of the cave. As he bowled through the blocked opening into the sunlight, he looked up into the sky. The storm broke and it looked like it would clear, at least for a while.

He yelled at all of them to gather everything and come outside. Flying Hawk followed the bustling boys as they each crawled out of their shelter into the sunlight. They all donned their robes and set off for the top of the ridge to the north. Flying Hawk led them while Jim kept a wary eye on the mountains to the west from the rear as they crawled over snow drifts and sagebrush to the top. Flying Hawk smiled as he turned to his friend behind him and pointed to the little grove of trees some way up the valley to the west. They all cheered as they knew they would be home soon.

Even though the storm set back in shortly before the group got back to the camp, Flying Hawk and Jim had already burned a small map of the little valley and all its various shapes and curves into their minds. In fact, having explored the camp when the tribe was trailing up from the south, helped them find easier ways to cross gullies and other obstacles. As they trudged up to the group of tipis huddled in the grove of trees, the boys cried out, bringing the little camp to life as flaps tied down against the coming storm and night were thrown open and the People stepped out to see the approaching group. Jim felt relief as the boys ran wildly towards their individual tipis with their mothers waiting outside. Tears flowed freely as parents were united with those whom they had given up as lost. Many stood outside in the falling snow talking and pointing at the strange one and Flying Hawk, who turned to their own tipis without expecting any reward or even thanks. Flying Hawk knew as did all the People, that the thanks would be given in the traditional ways of a secret gift or sacred gesture from each family, returning a reward of great symbol and quality to help the hero remember his important deed and express to others the family's thanks and appreciation. Such was life among the People, helping all for the good of the group, rewarding individually to build ties of brotherhood and unity.

Jim expected nothing except to get something warm and filling in his stomach and some rest. He was interested, though, at what had happened to the other group of men that had gone out in search of the boys. As he ate the warm meal, Jim asked about the other group, Old Crow grew silent.

"Who went?"

"The boy's fathers and several other men."

"And..."

"They got lost in the blizzard," came the short reply.

Jim could tell that the old man was not going to give up the story that easily and pressed on with his silent look of expectation. The old man tried to hide his face but could not get away from the gaze of the younger man. He finally sighed.

"They stumbled into camp sometime late in the night nearly frozen and dragging a third of their group. Their hearts were heavy as they proclaimed all to be dead who were not in the camp."

"They are proven warriors and hunters and had seen many winters of hard and cold. To see them return empty handed while you and Flying Hawk and those three boys had not, that was hard for some in the camp."

Jim's mind fluttered to Little Weasel and her family as he paused from his eating and looked into the fire. He looked back at the old man who had quieted and found him watching the younger man.

"That night was a long, cold, lonely night for those who have learned who you are. They came here to my tipi to chant and pray for you all. Yes, her and her family were here and a few others." He fell silent as he looked away, now.

Jim looked back into the fire while his mind worked on what had been said, and the volumes that had not. His thoughts went back to his tutoring throughout the summer and the kindnesses he had seen from 'her.' He smiled at the fire as he realized what that meant.

Old Crow watched the fire, reliving that long night and the strangeness of having so many in his tipi. Something strange was there but he could not see what the spirits were trying to tell him. Maybe someday he would see. His mind wandered back to the night before...

Late that night, as the storm set in with its fury and darkness settled on the valley, Old Crow stood motionless as he continued to look out to the east. His mind battled his hopes. He knew there was little chance that anyone caught out in this blizzard would survive. He had watched with respect and admiration as his two young friends gathered supplies and hastily left for the search. His heart sang with the spirits of their bravery and courage. Those same spirits whispered to him after they had left. His mind, though, doubted.

As he turned to return to his tipi, he found several figures huddled around his cooking fire. They looked up at his approach and he felt their unspoken questions, for his mind had them as well. His medicine man training took over and he invited each to join him in his tipi.

As they each entered, he directed them to places around his tipi. Each found their place and took off the warm buffalo robes they had donned against the cold storm outside. As he surveyed the group he noted who was here. Some were obvious, others not so.

First was Brave Elk and his wife Blue Jay as well as their daughter Little Weasel. The reason they were here was obvious, but the old man smiled inwardly at the reasons the daughter was here as well. Next was Yellow Pine, the Chief's wife. She was known for her empathy and love for all and was a great example of a good chief's wife. The last was somewhat troubling though, Yellow Meadowlark sat near Yellow Pine but seemed out of place here in Old Crow's tipi. She usually had little to do with the old medicine man and it was no secret her husband was one of the leading Elders that opposed the Chief in most of his decisions. It was strange to see the two wives sitting next to each other in his tipi on this night. Two members of factions within the band and both sat side by side, uncomfortable being here but here for a purpose. He had no idea why Yellow Meadowlark would come.

He settled into his place and began chanting to set the mood. All sat listening to his chant and feeling the closeness of the other world. When he finished he turned to each, asking for the reason they had come. Brave Elk spoke for his family, "We come to pray for protection for our son."

Old Crow nodded but wondered if anyone else noticed the jerk from his daughter. He turned to look at Yellow Pine, waiting for her answer.

Without hesitating she spoke up, "I am here to pray for the three boys, the men who went out after them and the two young men who followed."

The old medicine man nodded and then looked at Yellow Meadowlark.

She spoke slowly and softly, "I come to pray for the strange one."

All in the tipi turned with a start to look at her, then returned their gazes to the fire listening intently. Old Crow continued his stare at her though.

She looked up at him to return the stare. His mind worked over the reasons as he nodded a third time and began placing items around himself in preparation for the coming ceremony.

They chanted well into the night when a cry came out from the edge of the camp interrupted them. The group followed the old medicine man out of the tipi flap into the cold, stormy night. Many had gathered close by as a group entered the camp dragging some. Brave Elk rushed into their midst but returned to the old man's tipi soon enough. They could all see his downturned face as he shook his head whispering, "The men have returned. The boys have not been found and some of the men will need your care, Old Crow."

The old man nodded and said, "You all return to your tipis and I will see to the wounded."

But when he returned to his tipi there were more inside than when he had left. He looked around and noticed that the families of the three boys had joined the rest of the group even though he had instructed them to return to their tipis.

Almost in unison the group pled, "Please help us to pray for our loved ones."

Feeling the emotions and pain pent up in his tipi, Old Crow nodded without thinking and reset them in the proper order within the tipi, re-inquired of each family or individual's purpose and then set to chanting and praying as before.

The night wore on and some dozed, while others chanted or hummed with the old medicine man. Some thought it strange that the number of young children in the tipi never cried or made any noise. Old Crow felt the spirits close by though and wondered at their message to him.

As morning came, the group broke up, each offering a thank you to the old medicine man. Yellow Meadowlark did not move until the last had left. She looked at the old man and asked, "Grandfather, may I ask of you a question."

He nodded.

"When my heart says something, but my husband and family say the opposite, what should I do?"

The old man sat thinking on this, sorting through the myriad stories, legends and oral histories looking for a tidbit of wisdom to offer this woman. His mind landed on one he had learned from his grandfather when he was a boy.

"When a stream encounters a large boulder, the boulder does not listen but stands steadfast in its place. The stream must therefore relent and go around the boulder. But, as the winters come and go, the stream slowly takes from the base of the boulder, wearing at it and chipping away at it until the boulder is washed away by the stream."

Yellow Meadowlark nodded and smiled at the old man. Then she stood and left.

Odd, he thought, I have never seen her smile before.

The next morning Jim found three individually wrapped gifts placed in a semicircle directly outside of Old Crow's tipi flap. Jim looked around in the early morning light but saw no one in the white snowing darkness. He gathered the bundles and took them inside to show Old Crow. The old man smiled and nodded at him, but when he tried to give them to the old man, he said, "Those are yours" refusing to even touch the items.

Jim frowned and shook his head.

"They are gifts to show the gratitude of the People."

Jim sat down opposite the old man and opened the smallest of them. It was a red stone knife with a bone handle carved at the end in the likeness of the head of a wolf. The wrappings on the handle were of various leather colored straps giving the knife a bright appearance. The stone looked to be almost translucent like glass and Jim thought it looked like obsidian, accept he had always seen that type of stone in black and had never knew that it could be red. The handle was wrapped in deer skins and tied with cordage.

"A very useful tool for a hunter of the People. You may find a use for that yet."

The second item was larger and seemed bulky. Jim unrolled it slowly and found a roll of fur that looked to be elk tied with a squirrel skin. When he unrolled it, it was long and wide.

The old voice spoke up before the young man could look up, "An elk skin sleeping hide. Feel the inside?"

Jim did and nodded saying, "It is soft."

"The buffalo robes are warm but can be a bit rough, that will make your slumbers very restful."

The last bundle was long and thin. Jim unbundled it carefully and found a black stone axe wrapped in a rabbit pelt. This was the obsidian he was used to seeing, a translucent black almost like glass. The head looked to be a pear shape with the blade attached to a curved piece of white wood.

"A hand axe! Another useful tool!" the old man smiled warmly and continued, "The People have given you some very interesting gifts. It would seem some look to help you become a member of the tribe and a hunter at that."

Jim just sat looking at the items and thinking of the thought and sacrifice that had gone into making these gifts. He could see the old man eying the elk skin sleeping hide and offered it to him.

"Even though my old body longs for the feel of that wonderful gift, it is forbidden. The spirits would frown on my accepting such a gift. No, you keep it and the others and know that your service to the People is truly appreciated." Jim noted the response and promised to find such a gift for his old friend.

The following day was filled with a feast and dancing, even in the midst of the blizzard that had begun three days before. Flying Hawk and Jim were honored as the heroes of the camp and given many opportunities to tell their stories. Old Crow had warned them, after hearing the story the night before, not to include the portions about the spirits or the dream that Jim had been there before. His reasons were that many in the camp would accept a hunter or warrior receiving guidance from the spirits and even dreams, but they had reacted differently ever since the 'strange one' had come and he felt that the tribe need not know the real details. He also explained to them that when the spirits talked or gave things to men that they were to be considered sacred experiences and not to be taken lightly nor laughed about as would happen at the dance the following day.

That night, as he was making his way back to Old Crow's tipi, he noticed a shadow following at a distance some ways to his left. He paused near the back of a dark tipi and waited for his follower to catch up. Out of the night appeared Little Weasel with her smiling face and eyes lighting up at the sight of him in the snowy night.

"Hello, Little Weasel," he whispered.

Her smiled broadened, if that were possible, as she stepped closer and whispered back, "I...we..." her voice trailed off as she realized she was stammering.

Jim took a chance and raised his finger to her lips, "SSSHHH," he whispered softly. He saw her close her eyes and bow her head.

"What troubles you?"

Her shoulders seemed to shake and Jim looked around quickly in the cold darkness to see if the two had been spotted. Seeing no one, he wrapped his thick robe around her shoulders and pulled her close to him. Her sobs became more vocal as she melted into his embrace. He stood tall and held her until she seemed to calm.

"Come with me," Jim whispered as he led her back into the grove of trees behind the tipi and the rest of the camp. She walked with him slowly and steadily.

As the tipis and camp receded into the now falling snow and darkness and they found themselves alone in the trees, he relaxed and held her close. She breathed deeply almost as if she were sleeping. Finally, her head raised and she looked into his eyes. Her cheeks were moist as she said, "I was so worried for you."

Jim smiled into that beautiful dark face and nodded, "I know."

"I did not know whether I would see you or my brother again. It was like my heart was tearing apart and burning up."

"I am sorry. I..."

"Promise me that you will not leave me," she interrupted.

Jim looked into those eyes and time seemed to stand still. "I am not of your people. I am still called the 'strange one.' How can you be with me? I am an outsider..."

She signed 'no' firmly and then said, "I don't care, I love you. I have ever..."

Jim's mind swirled as he heard the words, feeling jumbled up memories from his past crash into his mind, competing with her words, replacing past feelings of hurt and pain with something more? His mind fought for control with his heart. The internal battle had raged for years, sometimes waning sometimes waxing, but always one or the other battling for control. His mind had won out ever since the crushing defeat of his heart years before. Now, the battle surged again and his heart burst forth, showing him the beauty right in front of him, the one that worried for his safety when so few did, the one who worked to help him, the one who was jealous at the attentions of other females. As the battle raged on, he only caught the last few words of her present sentence, "...bathing in that stream."

His mind latched onto that one detail. Stream, he thought. When has she seen me bathing in a stream? Well, there was that time on the move north, but.

Before she could go on he said, "Stream?"

She nodded and then hid her face in his chest, "Yes, when you wore those blue skins," came the muffled response.

Jim stood holding her in his arms thinking of those words, blue skins. His mind tracked back to his coveralls that he had worn out while in his camp long before he had met the People. In fact, they had worn out about 3 weeks after he arrived here in this new world. How had she seen him in those, let alone say see him bathe in a stream? Unless she...

"You watched me even before I had caught you that night!" he whispered loudly.

She looked around quickly while her right hand slid up to cover his mouth, "SSSHHH, we will be heard."

Jim let her hand cover his mouth, enjoying the feel of the soft skin of her palm against his lips while the puzzle pieces fell into place in his mind. He looked down to see Little Weasel looking up into his eyes, watching his mind work.

He smiled down at her and whispered, "So, you have seen me...naked?"

She smiled back at him and giggled as she said, "Yes."

"It was you that followed me up into the canyon one day, the one I found the track in the mud?"

She nodded, "I was careless that day. You were moving so fast and across bare ground I had to move quickly to keep up after you had entered the trees. When I was following you back I saw you stop from the edge of the trees and look at the spot. When I got there I knew you had found out. From that day on, I was more careful and did not follow you as much."

He smiled at her as he thought on this. Then he said, "Why didn't you show yourself to me?"

"Because you looked so strange, you looked like a bear with strange skins. You acted so strange, your camp was so strange. I was afraid because I was all alone."

He nodded. Then something occurred to him and he said, "I have a favor to ask of you."

She smiled, "Anything."

He whispered softly into her ear and she thought for a minute, then nodded and signed, yes.

So began their secret meetings in the grove behind the camp. They met just often enough to keep their hearts afire but not so much that anyone would notice their being gone. In fact, they developed a hybrid of signs that only they could read to communicate in one or two gestures as they passed each other in the camp during the day. It became a game that they were both very good at. They had to be, to continue their secret meetings in the dark. The lessons during the day with her brother pretending to teach Jim something fell to the wayside, although they still had a few just to keep her brother's curiosity down. Something new and more exciting developed between them.

Even with the rescue of the boys, Jim felt like most of the People were uncomfortable in his presence and a few still showed their outright hatred, namely Raging Buffalo and his small band of friends. But somehow, Jim found himself with more than just Flying Hawk and Old Crow the following night after the dance. He looked around at the group of young men, Flying Hawk, Laughing Cub, one set of brothers, Little Antelope and Flying Eagle, and another set of brothers, Sacred Bear and Rising Star, and saw many that had followed Raging Buffalo. They had come as night fell and Old Crow had welcomed them in, smiling broadly at his new guests. They spent most of that night listening to the old medicine man and his stories. Jim just sat back, watching and listening. He could see and learn a lot from these young men as they sat around the fire in Old Crow's tipi. He patiently listened, learning more of the language and the expressions they used, how they were used and when. But with all things, Old Crow's storytelling ended and the talking soon concluded as each huddled deeper into their robes. Finally, all set their faces to the biting wind and snow outside to return to their respective tipis.

Old Crow sat gazing at Jim with a strange look on his face. He said "Those young men have not talked that freely in a long time, my friend. The spirits have spoken true about you," and with that he prepared his bed of robes and climbed in. Jim just sat looking into the dying fire, thinking.

"I was reminded of something the other night," Jim said at which the old man looked up from the depths of his robes in answer. "The night I came to the camp, I was following something."

The old man sat up and looked him in the eye with interest.

"The night before, I had..." but he paused in the telling and decided that the old medicine man did not need to know of Little Weasel and her watching. He took a breath and continued, "The white horse in the vision, the one you and I had seen in that vision and have talked of. I saw it in the twilight that night. I was racing to catch in until it was too dark to see when, at last, I lost it, Red bolted and left me standing just below the hill. I was going to walk back to my camp to the south but decided to look over the ridge to see what was on the other side, even though it was dark and I probably could not see anything anyway. I saw the People's camp and was mesmerized by the dance that night."

The old man's face showed nothing of his emotions but from the look in his eyes, Jim could see his mind was working. The older man kept his gaze on the young one until he finally looked down into the fire.

"I will need to chant and pray on this," was his only response before he lay back down and rolled away from the fire.

Jim sighed and rolled into his own robes and quickly fell asleep, snoring loudly. Thus, he never heard the chanting and mumblings of his old companion.

Several nights later as the two were finishing up their meal and readying themselves for the evening, Jim pulled a bundle out from under his sleeping robes and moved over next to the old man. Old Crow looked from his face to the bundle curiously.

"You have taken me into your tipi and provided me with all that I need to survive and I have done nothing for you," he said as he presented the gift as Little Weasel had taught him to.

Old Crow was impressed with the young man and his knowledge of their ways. He wondered who had taught him these finer points of the People as the young man placed the bundle in front of him and returned to his place at the fire not watching or waiting for a response but going on about his nightly activities.

The old man looked closely at the bundle and sat thinking, I wonder if this is why no one has come to visit us this night. He reached down and began unwrapping the bundle. He eyes widened as a soft skin of fur rolled out of the bundle to cover his hands. He glanced up at the young man, thinking he saw the head swivel down but not really sure. As more of the bundle was unwrapped he found an elk skin sleeping robe. He looked over to his companion's bed to dispel his fear. No, the young man's elk skin sleeping robe was there under his buffalo robes.

He thought on this for a while before he lined his bed of robes with it. This strange one is very resourceful he thought as he anticipated a good night's sleep in his new gift.

The winter continued cold and bitter, colder than Jim could ever remember it being in Wyoming, but then again he had had indoor heating with hot food and a warm bed to retire to at night. The tipi stayed warm during the day and night, but the majority of days were often spent gathering wood for the fire, mending whatever the wind tore up the night or day before or gathering what it had scattered. The bed of robes that he slept in was much more comfortable with the addition of the elk skin. Such was his new life as Jim tried hard not to think about the past, or the future as he was inclined to call it. He continued to track the moons with a piece of charcoal from the fire on the tipi liner next to his head. He noticed that the months crept by very slowly.

About the sixth moon of winter snows, around early March perhaps, Jim overheard some women talking about the lack of food in the par-fletches. That night he asked Old Crow.

"Many of the tribe's supplies were not full at the summer's end because of the lack of buffalo in the summer. It has been a long time since the tribe has been this far east and north. W' try to follow the buffalo herds as they roam. But w' were...forced to move away from the herds late in the spring and early summer. W' had moved this far north to try to get ahead of them and it seemed that w' were successful until Raging Buffalo and his band refused to help, leaving us with no warning of the buffalo herd coming."

He paused as he could see that his telling was confusing the young man, "In our ways, the hunters range far and wide to find herds of antelope, deer and elk. While they do so, they are ever watchful of our older brother, the buffalo. When they s' the signs of a buffalo herd, they return to the tribe to help organize a grand hunt. This is when w' can get most of our food and supplies for the rest of the year. One hunt a year is usually all that is needed."

Jim asked, "Was there not a very large buffalo herd at the beginning of the summer southeast of the summer camp?"

Old Crow looked intently at the strange one and nodded. "How did you know?"

"I...ran across them..."

"You saw the herd?"

"Yes, well more like rode with the herd..."

"So the mystery deepens..." was the old man's mumbled reply.

"What do you mean?"

"As the dust cloud approached from the southeast, the tribe tried to gather a hunting party. Raging Buffalo and his band resisted and they retreated into the mountains, pretending to hunt elk. The older men banded together and headed for the herd, but it stampeded north and w' were only able to down a few of the satellite bulls before the herd turned and fled. It was a bounty, but was not enough. Had w' had more hunters, the food would have been more plentiful. If w' had been able to prepare properly then w' would have much more..."

Old Crow went on, "As the summer went on, the young men would often b' sitting around the camp unless scolded by their relatives to go look for food, at which they would only go out and find a deer or something small enough to keep the family fed for the week. Much of what was brought in was taken by Raging Buffalo and the older boys leaving little for the others. The Chief is hoping that the storms will let up early this winter and mayb' the hunters can go out and find some food soon."

Jim paused to think before he asked the next question, "What about eating the horses?

Old Crow looked at the strange one in shock, then he recovered saying, "The horse is a sacred gift given to us from the Great One. He is more than a brother to us. The sacred buffalo is given to us to eat and use every part while the horse is like a lance, bow or war club, a sacred member of our tribe and our lives that cannot be used as food."

Jim asked, "How much food is left now?"

"Mayb' enough to hold us until the next moon," was the reply.

The coming moon proved to be just the opposite, though. Just when the weather would lighten up and the hunters would begin preparing for a hunt with the requisite dancing and chants, the mountains to the west would be battered by a storm and the party would be snowed in a day or two out from the camp. Jim asked why they didn't just go out and hunt on the good days. Old Crow's reply was that they had to prepare themselves for the hunt to be spiritually clean to go out and take the body of one of their brothers. Then he said, "But it also seems to be Raging Buffalo is biding his time, hoping that h' does not have to go out in the cold and do the work. H' is as lazy as the coyote that does not hunt but waits for something to die and then goes and eats it."

# Chapter Nine

## The Hunter

As the winter proceeded into the next moon, late April by Jim's reckoning, the fierceness of the storms and the duration of the cold showed no sign of letting up. In fact, it seemed to get worse as the days grew longer, as if winter would not give up her hold on the land for the coming summer. The snows deepened and the winds drifted it into ever greater barriers of white.

The band was running terribly low on its rations and Jim noticed that the soups in the evenings were getting very thin with the pieces of meat dwindling to strips of leather. Still the hunters would not go out. Some, like Raging Buffalo, claimed that there was no game in the area and blamed the strange one for the poor area and even poorer hunting. The older men, desperate to get food for their families, would get no farther than a day away and be snowed in by a blizzard for a week, having to return with nothing more than a deer or two. The Chief and Elders discussed this problem long into the nights with no resolution agreed upon.

Some claimed that the hunters were lazy and unwilling to provide for the band, while others said there was too much waste on feasts and celebrations that should not have been. Gossip ruled the camp and darkness and animosity shrouded the area as one reason or another was decided upon at every fire and then rushed to the next fire. Confusion ruled, where order should have flourished.

Jim sat motionless in the dark shadows of the trees. His heart beat raced as it always did when he found the time to get away for an evening with his secret friend. He listened intently for her approach, but still heard nothing.

A scent drifted to him from behind and before he could turn around two hands covered his eyes from behind. He smiled as he recognized the scent of dried flowers and smoke.

"I caught you again," she whispered through the hood of his buffalo robes in his right ear.

He reached up and gently covered her hands with his, pulling them down to his chest, "Yes, but how do you do it?" came his whispered reply.

"It's a secret."

Jim chuckled as she slid around to sit down on his left with her hands clasped on his right shoulder.

"It has been a long time since we have met," she whispered, "I was afraid you might have forgotten me."

"It has snowed for 10 days."

"So," she teased with a giggle. Then she continued, "You did not hide your tracks very well, I followed you here."

"I tried," he pled.

She shook her head, "Not good enough. We must hide them better."

He nodded.

He smiled from the shadows where her face was hidden in the hood of the buffalo robes. The silence stretched on for some time.

"What troubles you this night?" she whispered softly.

Jim shrugged.

She pressed on, "What is it?"

Jim looked out into the trees around them then began, "The tribe is in trouble."

"Food?"

"Yes."

He felt her answer as she began to shiver but her words did not match, "It will be ok, the hunters will go out when the snows melt and we will have plenty of food soon."

Jim shook his head, "I know this land, the snows will stay for another month and the People will be starving by then. We will all be too weak to do anything, hunt, fish, gather roots. Something must be done now."

Her shaking turned to soft whimpering. Jim wrapped his arms around her midsection and pulled her close as he spoke to her softly, "Don't cry. I am sorry to upset you."

Still she sobbed for a while before her voice returned, "I am sorry I answered you in such a way."

Jim leaned into her, "Why do you say that?"

"I tried to hide the truth from you."

Jim smiled and held her closer, "I am not angry with you for that."

"My heart aches with fear. No one in the camp is happy, all are angry. Lies and gossip are all around us. It is like the spirits have left us with evil. Many blame you."

Jim thought on her words for a while then said softly, "I know."

She pulled back and looked up at his face. It too was shrouded in the shadows of his buffalo robe's hood. "You know?"

Jim nodded and looked back at her, "Everything is blamed on me. I am the only thing that has changed for the tribe, therefore they blame me for everything."

She wrapped her arms around his midsection and pulled herself closer, "I don't."

Jim again said, "I know, I didn't say everyone."

They sat that way for another while before Jim broke the cold silence, "Little Weasel, I..." then he paused.

She responded, "Yes?"

Jim's mind raced, on one hand he felt he needed to warn her of his intentions but, on the other he did not want her to start to worry. They had grown very close in the last few moons and he was keenly aware that she cared for him deeply, but she also worried about his future with the tribe. He noticed that she felt guilty when she even thought that she had lied to him. He smiled at that, but also felt a twinge of guilt for not wanting to be honest with her. He made up his mind.

"I am going to do something about the food."

Little Weasel leaned into his body and held him tighter than before, "I know," came the whispered reply.

Late that night, Old Crow stormed back from the Elders' fire. He threw open the flap with a jerk and marched into the tipi with the wind, a look of shear disgust on his face. Jim looked up and watched as the old one proceeded to pull the bundle of robes from his body and discard them near the door. Then he turned and tied the flap shut against the gusting wind.

"There is a problem, elder brother?" asked Jim.

"The Elders and the Chief are still arguing about who to blame and how to punish them while the rest of us are about to starve to death!" he almost yelled. Jim could not remember ever hearing Old Crow raise his voice before.

Jim watched the old man closely as he sat down and started looking at their meager rations in the leather bags near the back of the tipi. Jim reflected on how empty they were and figured that in another week they would be gone, even with rationing.

Old Crow turned back to the fire and leaned forward, warming himself while he thought.

Jim leaned towards the fire and prepared to interrupt the old one.

"What if I were to go out and find food for us?"

Old Crow turned and looked deep into Jim's eyes, pausing for a long time. His doubts surfaced as well as his hopes. What if this stranger were to go out and hunt for the band? It would be a chance for him to join the band as a member and not be an outcast or stranger. If he were to succeed, the band would have to accept him; if he failed he would not be bothered with life or its cruelties again and the band would no longer be bothered with him. The Elders would scoff at such an attempt since it was a rite of passage to become a man, but then no other 'hunter' has gone out to do so.

"You think to succeed where the older men have not? How?"

Jim turned and looked deep into the fire, "Where they fail, I will succeed. They have families that they must worry about and support. I have nothing, no one that relies on me to live or die. I am a lone man from a world you know nothing about. I am a burden to all around me, yes, even you Old Crow. I am nothing and I have nothing holding me, no purpose here."

Jim went on, "But I have the desire to help, and I have hunted in my world. It is different here, but the ideas are still the same. Let me at least try."

"If you are willing to do this, I am willing to teach you what you need to know and help you to prepare for your journey," was the reply. Old Crow's face was hard but his heart soared. The spirits whispered all around him...

The next morning, Jim was shaken awake in the eerie darkness of early morning to see Old Crow bundled in his robes carrying his bow and quiver. He handed Jim a bundle of robes and stepped outside. Jim placed the cold robes on his shoulders, tying them where needed, strapping on his leggings and leather thick moccasins.

As he stepped from the tipi into the early morning darkness he saw Old Crow looking off to the east, his face glowing from the gentle blue light of the coming sun. Jim knew it to be an hour before dawn and wondered what Old Crow planned to do so early in the freezing cold of morning. Jim approached and thought he heard chanting as Old Crow stood in the snow. At his approach, the old one stopped his humming and chanting and turned to Jim.

"Today, you learn how to shoot," and with that he set off to the west at a fast pace.

Jim followed stiffly behind as the freezing air around his face scoured the last remnants of sleep from his body.

After passing well beyond sight of the camp, but still under the cover of the trees that blanketed the towering foothills ahead, Old Crow stopped and set down the bow and quiver. Then he began to speak. Jim stood listening as the old one busied himself cleaning off a broken old stump and then picked up the bow and quiver. He drew an arrow from the quiver, knocked it and wandered off into the trees a ways, all the while speaking of the old ways and the importance of being one with your surroundings. Jim followed and tried to pay attention, but the phrases were long and hard to understand for one still learning their tongue. Though the exact meanings of the individual words were lost to him, the inferences of the stories and chants were not.

As they walked away, Old Crow suddenly turned, stepped to the side of Jim, drew the bow and loosed the arrow at the stump. Jim turned and looked from Old Crow to the target. An arrow seemed to have sprouted from the wood of the apparition not far away. Old Crow smiled in a knowing way, nodded in approval and handed the bow to Jim.

In his previous life, Jim had done very little shooting with a bow and arrow, preferring to use guns. During the last summer though Jim had had a few more opportunities to play with the bows that the boys would take with them as they watched over the horse herd, so he focused on all that he had learned from before. He pulled an arrow from Old Crow's quiver and knocked it in the bow. Awkwardly, he pulled it back while his robes fought with him. In a flash he released the arrow and it flew towards the target. It hit the target but not in the center, in fact it was at the bottom of the stump.

Old Crow smiled as he felt a twinge of hope for his new student. Maybe this will not be as difficult as many other young boys had been, at least the basics have been acquired, he thought.

After two days of grueling training, Old Crow told Jim it was time for him to go out on his own and hunt as the real hunters do. That night, Old Crow chanted and prayed with the young man in preparation for his hunt. The old medicine man explained the old ways to Jim while he worked through the ceremonies and rituals.

Finally, as the night began to end, the old man got up and moved to the side away from Jim and rustled around under the robes and tipi liner before producing a long flat bundle. He returned to sit next to his young friend and handed it to him ceremoniously.

Jim looked closely at the bundle, then at the old man who nodded with a smile. As he unwrapped the bundle the old man spoke, "Winter is a harsh time for us. I once hunted as many of the young men do and my grandfather taught m' to tie these. Not many of the People still remember this skill, therefore the young men are not good hunters in the winter."

The skins fell away to show a set of long wooden frames bent into a tear drop with webbing across the middles in intricate designs. Jim recognized them immediately as snowshoes and smiled broadly. Then he realized that they seemed new.

"Did you make these for me?"

The old man nodded, smiling, and returned to his place to begin preparing to retire for the evening. Jim sat quietly looking at the gift and thinking before he retired as well.

Jim had dreams of the hunt, all that Old Crow had managed to teach him in the last two days and the night of rituals, ceremonies and prayers. He found himself waking in the middle of the night nervous, his heart racing. The excitement was almost too much and his night was not a restful one. As rest seemed to have evaded him for the better part of the night anyhow, Jim felt it time to arise and begin his hunting quest long before the first light touched the eastern skies.

The night air was cruelly cold as Jim crept across the camp and down into the small vale to the east where the horses were being kept. He whistled quietly at which both of his horses moved up to him excitedly. He packed Lady with his furs and sleeping robes, having declined Old Crow's invitation to take any of the meager provisions, planning, instead, to hunt and trap for what he needed to survive. He figured that it gave the old man at least two more weeks of rations. A fair chance if he failed and the snows actually did melt early. It was better than a single week.

Jim mounted Red, twisting to check that all his belongings were tied in place. Then he turned his horses south, allowing his mount to pick her way through the snow that measured to his mount's knees and the drifts that came nearly to his feet. Jim rode towards that dark hulking ridge ahead, unknowing of the watchful eye of his teacher standing at the entrance to his tipi or of those others who watched from the safety of the camp.

All night Jim had planned for his journey. The sky was still dark as he topped the ridge above the camp. To the east, a gentle touch of light was beginning to announce the return of day, banishing the long night. The light showed a cloudless sky where stars had sparkled minutes before. Jim reined his mount to a stop and sat on his mount atop the ridge looking over the frozen landscape. Somehow his spirit seemed to be free out here. He felt more at peace than he had for several months. He could feel that this was his place, out on the edge of the camp moving out to the fringe with a purpose, not to return until he had accomplished it.

The chilling wind of winter still howled down from the mountains to the west and the air felt wet. That means snow, probably later in the day based on the lack of clouds, he thought. Even with his three buffalo robes and fur wrappings, the wind bit deep into his body and that familiar feeling of being alone facing the elements crept into his senses. He heard the doubts racing through his mind as he realized the severity of the task at hand. Then he thought of all the people in the camp below. He turned his horse so that he could look down upon the camp, remembering the people who now meant so much to him, Old Crow, Flying Hawk, they all meant a lot to him and he knew they would look at him boldly if he returned with food. But none of these seemed to matter as one thought entered his mind, Little Weasel. His heart raced, his mind flew and his emotions exploded as he realized that she was the real reason he was out here. She was the person he cared for more than any other. He knew if he were to have any hope of a future with her, he would have to prove his worth to the tribe, and thus to her. He had never really felt this way about a woman before. Even his old girlfriend, was nothing in comparison to the Indian woman he finally admitted that he loved. He loved the People, but his love for her was more.

As he glanced down on the camp, he thought he could see a figure standing outside of Old Crow's tipi, looking up at him. Jim waved and turned south down the snow covered ridge.

Old Crow could feel the excitement as he too tried unsuccessfully to sleep. The strange one and Old Crow had grown closer than either had imagined and as the young man arose and slipped out into the predawn, Old Crow waited for a while, then followed. He had lain silently in his buffalo robes observing the strange one dress and gather his things, then quietly slip out of camp to find his horses. Old Crow longed to go with the brave one, but his old bones hurt more and more every winter and he knew that his calling to the spirits would come soon.

As he stood outside watching the shadows that were horse and rider followed by the second horse climbed to the top of the ridge south of the camp and then paused backlit by the pale blue of the coming dawn to the east. He saw them turn and look down on the camp for a while then the young man raised his hand in salute and disappeared over the ridge. Old Crow stared at the top of the ridge, remembering his own hunts and reliving a bit of his own history.

Then he turned and looked around the camp. Wind rushed down the slopes of the mountains bringing a biting chill with it. Old Crow shook his head and retreated to the shelter of his own tipi. Still someone else watched from another tipi...

After a full day of riding south through drifts and around snow choked gullies and draws, Jim noticed an icy creek spilling forth out of the mountains to his right. As he looked up into the canyon from whence it came, he noticed the first clouds rolling up and over the mountains. The clouds were not the normal fluffy white ones he had seen rolling away on the plains to the east in the summer, but these had the dark gray appearance of something mean and sinister. Not even the quickly setting sun could penetrate their gathering darkness as the growing mass broiled and grew. It was as if nature sent forth her armies to sweep down from the snow bound mountains upon him. Jim knew it would not be long before the storm would hit and he would be snowed in wherever he was. He had not gotten very far south and knew that better hunting was farther along, but the storm promised to be worse out on the plains. The little canyon offered his only hope for escape from the full wrath of the coming blizzard and he turned west towards the canyon, passing a large rock that seemed to stand as a sentinel to the mouth of the canyon.

With the last light fading from the sky, Jim finally entered the forest at the base of the little canyon and began looking for a place to build a lean-to. He found a dead tree leaning in the crook of another on the north side of the creek and began gathering materials in the growing darkness, looking for anything he could scrounge up. Just then the storm hit with howling winds and heavy snow. But the effects of the storm were diminished in the canyon with its sheltering walls and trees. Still the snow fell amid the howling of the wind in the canyon walls and trees above.

Jim constructed a hasty roof hoping to use the falling snow and a few pine boughs as filler. He also found a large pine tree to tie his horses under for shelter. Then he sat down to consider his options as his empty stomach growled and rumbled at him.

He had seen nothing on his trip south that would have given him much in the way of food. It seemed that even the rabbits and other small mammals knew a terrible storm was coming and were deep in their burrows. He thought of building a fire, but found most of the wood and tinder was wet. Finally, he curled up in his robes and fell asleep in his little lean-to, listening to the howling storm above and his growling stomach within.

This storm, like its predecessors, lasted for days. Jim busied himself over that time in the canyon setting snares, hunting for small game and fishing down where the stream was deeper and the ice thinner, allowing him to break through with his stone hatchet. After catching a rabbit the first day, he worked until dark to start a fire and cook it. As those days wore on, he gathered some small game and even caught a few fish, eating some of it, preserving the rest.

One morning the sun broke out of the heavy clouds and the wind died to a breeze. Jim was almost living in a snow cave by then. His little lean-to kept the wind as well as the snow out and the whole valley was blanketed in a heavy covering of white. He climbed out onto the snow and surveyed his surroundings. The fresh snow would be tough to walk through and even worse for his horses. But from what he had seen trapping, the upper part of the snowed in valley was well protected.

Maybe I can manage to find something to hunt up there, he thought to himself.

Jim pulled the snowshoes out that Old Crow had given him and strapped them to his feet. Then he gathered more grass from under other trees to make sure his mounts had enough feed for a day or so. With that chore settled, he set off up the small canyon. The farther up the canyon he walked though, the deeper the snow got. Then he heard it, a small, hollow, tinkling sound. He walked slowly towards the sound, craning his head as he listened until it almost seemed to be coming from right under him.

The snow underneath him cracked and popped and Jim realized all too late where he was. The snow under his feet fell away from him, seeming to dissolve as he felt himself fall. Shear pain shot through his feet and shins as icy water soaked his leggings. He gasped from the chill as he tried to climb back up onto the snow, but his legs went numb and limp. He threw his things out into the snow to the right and began grabbing and clawing to get out of the freezing stream. His snow shoes were clumsy but he managed to kick them off and throw them up with his things. Finally, soaked and wet from the waist down, he managed to crawl out and onto the snowy bank. He tried to stand but could only get to his knees as the sheer pain and numbness tortured his lower legs. Again he tried and managed to stand feebly. As he gathered his things he tried to stomp the feeling back into his feet but only created more pain and numbness. He turned back toward his camp and started back, stumbling and crawling through the waist deep snow.

The urgency of his return weighed heavily on his clouding mind as the pain shot from leg to leg. Death seemed to be walking behind him, waiting to scoop him up and take him away at the next fall. His mind would cloud, then Jim would think of Little Weasel and Old Crow and their dire need and his vision would clear and he would find himself lying in the snow. He could not really feel himself rise and trudge on but knew it was happening anyway, only to have his mind cloud up and fall again.

After falling and getting up like this through the waist deep snow for what seemed like an eternity, he managed to lunge into the hole where his lean-to was. He grabbed the kindling he had dried from the night's fire and threw half of it onto the coals. His legs were numb and he could feel nothing below his waist. His whole body shivered from the cold and he could feel the numbness creeping into his stomach.

His hands shook as he blew on the kindling in the ashes. On the third try a large spark glowed brightly in the small pile and a wisp of smoke swirled out. Jim continued to gently breathe on the small kindling as more smoke rolled out, then an orange flame danced out of the other side and began its graceful slide around the kindling. Jim reached over and clumsily grabbed some sticks from a pile and laid them on the now burning kindling, gradually increasing the size of the fuel to accommodate the growing fire. Finally, when the fire was burning without constant coaxing, Jim fumbled with his skins, trying desperately to get out of the wet and frozen furs. His legs were numb as he peeled his leather moccasins and leggings off. The skin of his legs was blue as he moved them closer to the fire and began messaging them gently. Slowly and painfully over the coming hours, the feeling returned to his frozen limbs. He worked the rest of the day and well into the night before he had warmed himself fully.

The next day, Jim ventured out into the morning air to stretch. All night he had massaged and worked his legs trying to figure out how much damage had been done and whether they were frost bitten or not. As he walked around in the snow, he decided that there was no damage other than the stiffness of being cramped up all night. The realization of what had happened the day before hit him with a crash and he felt his head swirl, his vision cloud, then he felt more than heard a roaring sensation and everything cleared. The green of the pine trees seemed livelier, the white of the snow, whiter, the smell of pine, more pungent, the sun's bright rays shining through the trees on his face seemed full of yellow and gold giving warmth as he felt the sting of the cold wind on his back. Every sound seemed to amplify into a wondrous chorus of music and the smells of the air he could taste in his mouth. The whole world seemed to come alive with beauty and rich color. He stood gazing around in shear awe. A feeling of survival filled his soul as he realized that he had stood amidst the elements and even in the very grip of death, and had lived!

Jim raised his face to the sky and let out a bellow of triumph as every muscle and fiber in his body seemed to cry out in joy. He stood listening to the echoes of his victory call bounce up into the canyon. He turned to see his horses looking at him with their ears pricked forward in attention from under their tree.

Then he felt it, a whispering as it were next to his right ear and a hollow rushing like the wind. Jim turned to look but nothing was there. He looked back at his mounts, but they were busy finishing off the last of the grass Jim had gathered yesterday. Jim looked around but there was nothing around him either. Still he felt the whispering and the rushing again. This time he concentrated on the sound and thought he heard it going up the canyon. When he looked, all he saw was his own frozen trail to the stream somewhere up the canyon.

As he climbed back into the lean-to, the whispering whizzed by his ear again and he felt more than heard a voice. He listened but then there was nothing. As he sat down by the fire, the whispering came again and he saw himself with his bow near the place where he had fallen into the stream. Chills shot down from the raised hairs on his head as he pondered what was happening.

As quick as it came, the sounds and visions were gone, but the impressions were still strong as he donned a few more dusty buffalo robes, gathered his things and stepped out into the morning sun again. After foraging around under some of the trees and snow for more grass for his mounts, he set off up the trail, having strapped his snow shoes on once again. Before he neared the spot where he had fallen into the stream he slowed to a gentle step, stop, wait, approach. Then when he was close enough that he could hear the water again, he left the trail and moved in closer to a group of trees, trying to stay in, under or around them. Finally, he could see bits and pieces of the shattered area where he had fallen through the ice. He could see where he had wandered in from the left and then a hole in the snow about ten feet in diameter where the black of the stream bed contrasted darkly against the snow white backdrop. He also saw that the stream here was not as shallow as below and was actually a deeper hole below two boulders over which the stream flowed.

As Jim stood peering through the snow covered evergreens he thought he smelled something strong and musky in the air drifting down the canyon. As he watched, Jim saw movement off to his right and up the canyon. Something moved cautiously but urgently down the canyon. This concealed newcomer weaved its way through the trees and he realized that it was coming down towards the hole in the ice that he had crashed through the day before. His body quivered as he felt the rush of adrenaline flow into his body. He knocked an arrow and slid around the opposite side of the tree to keep himself out of sight from whatever was moving down. This also meant that he could not see his prey. As he moved, he watched his prey's spindly legs from one side of the tree amble a few steps, then stop while a dark muzzle sniffed the air, then the legs would take a few more hesitant steps. Jim realized that it was heading for the water, but the evergreens were so heavy with snow that all Jim could see was the occasional black body glide through an opening in the trees, a hoof step from under a tree bough or a dark muzzle smelling the ground. He determined that whatever it was, it was big and definitely worth the taking. As it glided out of the trees and up to the bank into his view, part of Jim's mind screamed STOP, the other half screamed FIRE!

He listened to the second and the arrow flew true to its mark. But whether Jim's aim was off or not, it didn't have the desired effect.

Jim felt the surge of joy as the arrow made a hollow thud and he saw the quills sprout from the black fur. Then he realized his mistake. A bull moose with its webbed, velvet antlers raised its head in pain and then its ugly black head came around while its black, beady eyes focused on Jim. Time seemed to stand still as it seemed Jim could see every hair on its furry neck raise in rage and he thought he could see the eyes squint in rage as they focused on him. Without hesitation it lunged across the stream and lowered its antlers as it charged towards Jim. Jim stood frozen in fear as the huge animal bore down on him just yards away.

Then something snapped and every muscle in his body responded at once. As he took his first quick step back, his snow shoe dug into the snow causing him to stumble and almost lose his balance. In a last ditch effort he lunged to his right trying to duck around the tree he had been standing next to. The moose, with amazing agility corrected and would have caught him on the other side had he not paused behind the tree to hastily pull his snowshoes from his feet. The huge beast pulled up after it passed the tree, turned its large body remarkably fast and charged again. Jim, who wasn't waiting for the animal to decide what it was going to do next, threw the last of his snow shoes in his hand to the right while he ran for a large tree to the left, lunging for the lower branches. He caught the lower branches and was swinging himself up when the bull's antlers caught him in the right thigh and flipped him up higher into the tree. As Jim somersaulted upwards he grabbed at anything in the upper branches, but they gave way under his weight. He felt himself falling back through the branches landing hard on the raging bull's antlers with a jolt and knocking the wind from his lungs. Jim instinctively wrapped his arms and legs around and through the furry antlers and hung on for dear life. The bull, furious that his prey was clinging to his own head whirled and spun, shaking his head left and right. The dancing and jarring seemed to last for hours as Jim felt himself swung in every possible direction. The huge animal huffed, grunted and snorted as it tried to dislodge him. Then the bull turned towards the same large tree and raced headlong into the lower bows raking his antlers up and down at every imaginable angle against those branches as well as the trunk of the tree, trying to rub Jim out of his antlers. Jim hid his face among his burning arms as he felt the gouging bite of the branches as they broke and slashed his skin through his buffalo robes and the hard impact and rubbing against the rough trunk.

Jim was getting dizzy from the rapid movements and the pain of being rubbed against the tree when he noticed the bull's movements beginning to slow. Then he felt the bull stumble. As the animal struggled to rid itself of his prey clinging to its antlers, its breath began to come in ragged gasps and blood frothed from its mouth onto the snow below. Jim felt the animal stumble again, then it lurched sideways and fell over into the deep snow. Jim waited while the moose gasped and snorted, struggling to regain its feet and continue the fight. It rolled and thrashed but still it could not rise. Then, its strength failed it and it lay in the snow wheezing and grunting.

Jim carefully untangled himself from the antlers and quickly rolled away. The beast made a move to stand, but was too weak and only succeeded in raising its head an inch or two. Jim knelt in the snow a few feet away feeling his own pain shoot throughout his chest and legs. It even hurt to breathe. He watched the large animal with unease until it quit moving several moments later. The calm of the snowy forest returned with a deep, eerie silence.

After waiting a few more moments, Jim slowly rose to his feet. He gasped and collapsed to his knees in the snow as sheer pain shot throughout his chest and back. His breath came in ragged gasps as he tried to control his chest's movements while still breathing. He looked down in the snow and could see blood trailing from his left leg as well. His mind clouded as he tried to decide what needed to be done. His body was weakening rapidly.

After finally finding the wound in his leg and wrapping it up, Jim painfully field dressed the animal as best as he could, then assembled enough branches for a drag and went back to retrieve his mounts. It took most of the morning to finally have the black beast quartered and packed on the drag and the rest of the afternoon to lead his horses down the valley towards his makeshift camp. Jim decided that he would wait until morning before setting out for what he now called home.

After caring for his horses, Jim laid down in his snow cave and fell into a deep slumber. Sometime in the night, he awoke to a cold grip on his limbs and the feeling of an uneasy presence looming inside the lean-to. He relit his fire with the last of the dried kindling placed in the coals, fanning them into flames again. Then, finally feeling the warmth banishing the presence and heating his little hole, he gingerly slipped out of his skins and robes and hung them to dry. He examined the wound in his leg which oozed blood when he pulled his field bandage back. He rewrapped it with a fresh set of skins, took some thinner skins and wrapped them around his chest and used smaller pieces to wrap around other wounds he had not noticed before. Having cared for his wounds, he donned dry robes and began warming himself. He sat thinking on why he didn't start the fire when he first came in but his memory was clouded. In fact, he couldn't even tell how long he had been asleep but he did feel Death's familiar presence there when he had awakened.

As he sat looking into the fire, he pondered why he hadn't died when most would have frozen to death. Then, he remembered the day or so before, falling in the stream and the seriousness of his folly then. The fear gripped his heart as he thought of these two mistakes and how life threatening they were, yet still it seemed like someone or something was watching over him. He remembered the whisperings and the visions of that day.

What is happening to me? Is this what it is like to go crazy? He thought as goose bumps rose on his arms. The whisperings and dreams seemed so real, yet it was all like a nightmare too. He felt like any minute he would wake up and be back in Wyoming, in his camp trailer, probably late for work. As an afterthought he reached around and pinched himself. The pain felt real. Then he reached down and pressed on his ribs, his reward coming as searing pain seizing his entire chest and causing him to gasp for breath for several minutes. He shook his head slowly. Nope, this is no dream, he thought, at least none that I have ever had with such real pain.

# Chapter Ten

## Little Weasel

The next morning, just before dawn, the wind began to howl and at first light Jim could tell that it was going to be a ground blizzard. He wondered about waiting for the storm to pass, but felt a strange urgency. For some reason he felt like there was some reason to return immediately to the camp. He tried to explain it as homesickness, but who could miss a chilly tipi which smelled of smoke, sweat, old robes and various herbs and sage. Besides, he enjoyed being out by himself with no one to bother or tease him. Still the foreboding sense that something was amiss turned his stomach to stone and made his heart ache.

Jim tied his things onto the drag previously packed with meat and harnessed Red to it using the same ropes and knots that he had learned on the move up to their winter camp. He then jumped on Lady, tied Red's mane rope to the base of Lady's mane rope and turned the horses east down the canyon. The snow got shallower as they moved farther down the canyon and out onto the valley facing the plains beyond. The wind assaulted them as soon as they left the confines of the canyon and the trees, seeming to punish them for having hid from it for so long.

Jim pulled up on Lady when they reached the top of the northern ridge near the sentinel rock and looked out across the vast expanse of plains to the east. The world was awash with blowing and drifting snow shining in the early morning light of the sun in its blue sky. He turned to look back at the foothills and the canyon they had left. It seemed that the snow was blowing down off the mountains above and closing the door on that haven. Jim longed to stay until the storm broke, but then he looked north. Something at the edge of his consciousness called to him. His mind tried to explain it but nothing could. The next ridge was white with snow and wind.

He turned Lady north into a racing headwind. His eyes burned from the cold wind and the tears he shed from the pain froze to his temples where the wind blew them. His horses plodded forward, stumbling and, at times, almost swimming through drifts. Jim didn't hold the reins very tightly knowing the horses were aware of where they were headed and needed little guiding.

As the minutes turned to hours, and the drifts turned to valleys, Jim's mind began to slow. He could feel the cold biting into his body. His mind wandered from present to past to future. He could find no thought to claim his own as his mind seemed to swim among the chaos around him. He leaped down and started leading Lady to give his mind something else to focus on. He stumbled a few times before the movement finally warmed his legs while he talked gently over the raging wind in Lady's ears. The horse's spirits seemed to heighten as he talked and both began to walk in greater strides and with more strength. Then he moved over to let her pass, waiting for Red and doing the same. The two horses moved faster and Jim had to hurry up to Lady on a bare spot blown free of snow to get on or the two may have left him behind.

The sun shone brightly through the ground bound, swirling snow and slicing wind. The snow reflected all the colors of the rainbow as it swished past in its race for the next drift. Jim tried not to open his eyes too much, knowing that snow blindness could be a hazard, but he could still see the dimming of his peripheral vision from white to dark. He glanced up into the sky and couldn't see any clouds in the light blue, but still he felt like there was darkness enclosing about him. His mind raced as he realized what was coming.

Lady's ears pricked up and she hesitated a step or two. Red let out a nicker from behind them. Jim sat up listening.

Through the howling of the wind, a high whinny returned the call. Jim felt relief as he realized that they had come to the horse herd, but as they continued on, nothing else was heard. His horse called out again, and again a reply, but it was faint and seemed some ways away. Jim looked on more intently as his horses stumbled forward in the blowing whiteness under the clear, blue sky. Then he saw it, the dark shape of a horse contrasted in the white snow, head down and stumbling blindly with the wind. He halted his horses, got off Lady and walked towards the animal. Then he paused as his mind tried to account for this new reality. Where is the horse herd, he thought, only one solitary horse?

There was a shape like that of a rider slouching over the neck of the mount and it looked like the rider was leaning heavily to the side. Jim hurried forward the last few steps and caught the rider before they hit the snow. He couldn't understand what was going on as he turned the bundled figure around in his arms and pulled the skins away from the face. Long, jet black hair spilled out into the wind. As he gently brushed the hair away he recognized the face.

"Little Weasel! What are you doing out here?" Jim screamed in the howling wind.

"I ffffooouuunnnddd yyyyoooouuu," her teeth chattering as she spoke, then her body relaxed.

Jim looked into the raging blizzard ahead and then all around him. A thousand questions raced through his mind, but she was far from conscious and from the looks of her clothing with snow blown deep into her furs and the horse's hair, they had been in the blizzard for quite some time.

The thousand questions competed for space in his mind. Confusion crashed all around him as he looked from the beautiful face that had signs of frostbite to the ragged horse trembling next to him. His mind and body had been numb from the cold, but now his blood raced as his mind settled on the priorities.

He looked at the slope of the land around him, trying to find a good place to dig a snow cave for the night. He could tell Little Weasel had been in the cold for too long and that she needed a fire to warm her. He carried her to the snow covered drag, laying her thereon and walked downwind a few steps trying to remember how far back the last gully was and how deep it had been. Then he ran back to her horse and led him to the back of the drag where he tied him to it.

He secured Little Weasel to the drag and covered her with some extra furs he had. Then he turned the procession around and headed back down the quickly disappearing track they had left in the snow. He led his horses at a fast pace while scanning the lay of the land. Finally, he saw what he had noticed before, the meandering of a small gully. He turned off of the trail towards the east and followed it, aware that time was waning for his new charge.

After what must have been about an hour, but felt more like several, he found where the gully emptied into a deeper one. The cut in the earth was deep, but with a little work, they were able to drop first into the smaller of the two, then come out into the larger one. The three horses would survive much better out of the wind in the bottom of this wash, he thought as Jim surveyed the leeward side for some deep snow. He found what he was looking for and went to work. After several minutes he had managed to dig a hole into the side of the drift. It went into the snow half his body length and then he dug it up another half.

He then crawled out of the hole to check on Little Weasel. She was still unconscious and her lips were blue. He felt her face and it was ice cold. He stuck his hand deep into her skins at her breast. His hand was warmer than her and she felt wet. He frowned and hurried back to his task.

Jim pulled his bundle of hides and belongings over to the hole. After digging out the set of moose antlers he crawled into the hole and began digging. As he tunneled, he had to return often to the mouth of the hole to move the snow out of the hole. He used the antlers to widen the cave at the back until he had a small cavern as large in diameter as he was tall and tall enough for him to kneel without hitting his head. A single thrust up into a corner of the roof with his hand, burying it to his shoulder, revealed the raging storm above and gave some light and air. Jim then climbed out of the hole and with some pain and several tries was able to drag Little Weasel into the cave. Then he returned to gather his belongings and skins from around the cave entrance and the drag and dove back into the hole.

Jim checked her again and found her lips were still blue and her face still cold to the touch. Checking the back of her neck, he could feel cold, wet skins. He regretted having to undress her, but if all of her skins were wet, they all needed to come off. With each layer he gently removed, he saw more and more of her beauty, until she lay on a dry bed of his sleeping robes completely naked. As his mind tried to distract him with her beauty, his heart took control and he covered her in some dry buffalo robes and skins. When he was finally reassured of her condition, he stepped back into the blizzard to see to the mounts. They seemed to be handling the refuge he had found well, and he untied them from each other and the drag from Red. Then, he cut some large pieces from the frozen, packed meat with his bone knife as well as some of the wood and pine boughs from the drag itself and returned to the nearby hole.

Jim looked up into the sky. He could see the blue sky and the sun dazzling its way through the flying snow, but when he looked around himself, there was only the closeness of the blowing snow. Typical Wyoming weather, he thought.

After building a small fire with the wood and pine boughs he scavenged from the drag and cooking some of the meat in a soup he made from the meat, melted snow, and a few herbs he had found in his belongings, he tried to rouse Little Weasel. She was groggy and almost incoherent, but Jim managed to get her to drink some of the warm moose stew. He admitted it wasn't the best, but it was warm and he could feel the relief as it hit his own stomach. Little Weasel, though, fared no better. He sat by her side for a long time watching her shiver and dream, her breathing ragged and shallow. He would feel her body for warmth, but it seemed that there wasn't much there. He knew what to do, but his consciousness screamed that he couldn't. Then his love for her would scream that she was dying. Finally, he stripped off his skins and climbed in the robes and skins next to the girl naked.

Her body was colder than he had anticipated and his whole body shivered for several minutes. But as the minutes wore on her body seemed to relax and the shivering subsided. Her breathing also calmed and she slept more soundly.

As he wrapped his arms around her, his longing for that love only a woman could give came crashing into him. The thought occurred to him that ever since that fateful night when everything seemed to have changed and he woke up here in this world, he had longed for a woman to love him. The loneliness crept back into his mind and he remembered a long time ago when he had last kissed his girlfriend, Heather. Then another memory crept up...

The sun was just setting after Heather and Jim had been down to Denver, Colorado, for a day on the town. Jim liked to take her shopping, mostly so that he could find out what she liked for her birthday, Christmas, or any other time he could think of to give her something. She was a beautiful redhead with blue eyes and long curly hair. He had met her while going to the University of Wyoming the year before and they had become close friends. Now, Jim had planned this special 'trip' to do something that he had been planning for months. As they topped a rise on the highway, Jim pulled off on a dirt road and drove east down the county road. At just the right spot where they could look out over the beautiful landscape he turned off the road and stopped, which woke her up. She opened her eyes and looked around in confusion.

"Where are we?" she asked.

"Heather," Jim said as he reached into his pocket and pulled out a fuzzy red box, "Will you marry me?"

She looked at him in surprise and confusion, then she shook her head. As he opened the box she finally started to realize what it was he was saying.

She put her hand on the box, closing it before he got it completely open. "Jim, I don't think we are really ready for this. Do you?" she said very quietly.

Jim, always acting cool, put the box back in his pocket without a word, started the truck and drove back to the highway. The rest of the way home, Jim sat quietly listening to the radio while Heather kept looking at him for any kind of response. When they had reached her home in Laramie, Wyoming, she said, "Jim don't be mad, I am just not ready to make that commitment just yet. I mean, it has been fun and I really like you, but we are different people. We have different goals. You live your religion so well, but my religion..., my parents don't even trust you. You are truly a wonderful young man, but it wouldn't work out between us. You understand don't you?"

Jim just sat in his truck staring out the windshield at the street before him. His mind was cluttered with so many thoughts that nothing seemed to be there. She repeated her question and he looked blankly at her.

Then as he looked at her, he saw what her point was. For months she had been trying so hard to sleep with him, but he had continually stalled her. He had thought it was just him, but now as he heard her explanation, nothing seemed to matter except that she was playing him up for that. Now, with the lie exposed and her excuses trying to bury it, he just looked away and said "Yea, we will see you." She kissed him on the cheek and climbed out.

With that he had headed off to work, instead of going home for a few hours. He knew she would try to call him or something so he just left straight for Baggs, Wyoming, where his road construction crew had been working that summer.

Jim's eyes were filled with tears as he thought of his last romance. He had forgotten that pain. He had forgiven her the next week, but his heart had been scarred. When she was finally ready to commit, he was not. He never did understand why she refused that day, but a year later she started talking about marriage. Jim hid behind excuses and feints for over a year, never really wanting to talk about it. He wanted to ask her why she had refused that day, but he never had the courage. He thought the answer would be emptier than the excuses he made up for her in his own mind. That last fight over marriage was the last time he had ever seen her. His mind had blocked it out to provide hope for him as he labored in his first few months in this strange land. But in those painful memories, Jim found lessons to be learned and they burned deeply into his soul.

Now as the memories came crashing back, so came the grief that he had buried and forgotten. He sobbed softly into the silky black hair in his face and held closely the young Indian woman's body.

As time rolled on, Jim felt her body begin to grow warmer and her breathing steadied and deepened. She dreamt less, too. But Jim fought hard with his imagination. He kept his hands locked around her arms and shoulders and his legs he tried to keep at her side. As she continued to get warmer still, Jim finally slipped out of temptation's grip and redressed. As he sat huddled near the little fire, he sobbed himself to sleep with memories from some distant future.

Jim awoke with the accustomed loneliness that had been his partner for as long as he had been in this land, but the memories from his future left his heart hollower and his mood darker. The fire had burned down again, and the remnants of the last day were scattered around the cave. Little Weasel had slipped in and out of danger while Jim tended to her. Sometimes he would brew some broth from the meat he had, other times he would just undress and climb in next to her to bring her temperature back up. He slept little as he listened to the raging storm outside and her breathing, sometimes strong and vibrant, others weak and labored. Time lost all meaning.

Jim awoke to ringing in his ears sometime later. He strained to hear the noise in his dream that had brought him to full consciousness. Only an eerie silence reigned. Little Weasel lay at his side and they were wrapped together in his own buffalo robes. As he stirred, she did too and she came up on one elbow looking into his eyes with wonder and something else that he could not identify. Her face lit up as a warm smile spread across it and she looked deep into his eyes. Jim felt embarrassment as he remembered what he had done and looked away. She cupped his left cheek in her right hand and turned his face back to her. With that smile, she spoke softly, "You have saved my life, why do you turn away in shame?"

"I...I...I..." but the words fell into the silence.

She placed her finger on his lips and nodded. "I know that you slept in these robes with me, and I also know that you were naked. But you did not do what most men would do. You did so, not for your own pleasure and joy, but for my life," she spoke slowly and softly.

Jim looked at her with a questioning look and she smiled. "I was aware of your every move, but my body and mind were slow to react. It was almost like a dream. Maybe it was, for at first I saw things through my own eyes. But after you laid me in the robes and went outside, it seemed I could see my body from over there." She pointed towards the tunnel outside. "I watched you as you came in and found my body colder still. I heard your every thought as if I were in your mind with you. Your knowledge of the healer's arts is greater than even Old Crow's, I think, for I could feel and see everything you ever learned." Then, she paused. Her voice softened and tears crept into her eyes. She looked into Jim's eyes with understanding and that something he still could not recognize, "You are not of our people, you are not of this world. Several times I have seen into your soul. Your world is much different from ours and I felt your pain. Your loneliness is as vast as the prairie and I could feel it all. Then, just as I was beginning to understand, I was called back and I felt your embrace. You are different from other men and I will always remember what you have done for me." With that she stood and let the robes fall from her naked body.

Jim quickly turned his face and gathered his own robes from next to the sleeping robes. After dressing he slowly turned to look at Little Weasel. She was donning the last of her robes that he had set out nearby after the fire had dried them the night before. She looked up at him and he turned quickly towards the hole leading outside and crawled over to it. Jim nimbly crawled into the hole and outside, standing up. The wind had died down and the sun shone brightly on the world outside. The landscape around him was as white as anything he could ever remember and his two horses stood farther down the wash. One more horse lay not far away, partially buried under a drift of snow.

Jim crept cautiously over to the horses, talking to them as he went. He turned at the sound of shuffling from the hole to see Little Weasel's covered head and shoulders spring from the snow. She smiled at him, then looked around. Jim wondered how well she understood the closeness that death had come during the previous evening, or had she just explained how close it really had been? As she looked at her mount's frozen body her smile turned to surprise, then fear as memories brought back the ordeal. She climbed out of the hole and walked over to her fallen mount to kneel. Jim followed and knelt in the snow next to her as she gently placed her hand on the frozen mount's nose. Then she bowed her head and gently started sobbing.

Jim gathered her in his arms, she collapsing into his embrace and letting out a wail of grief and sorrow. He held her close and patted her back. As he comforted her, he wanted to ask her so many questions, but his heart told his mind to be silent. After several minutes she looked up into his eyes with that look he didn't recognize and thanked him. Jim smiled and held her closer. He reached up and wiped the tears from her face and admired her beauty. Her dark eyes shown in the morning light as her dark face was made even darker by the ruffled fur of the buffalo robes she wore. The sun glistened off of the fur giving it a sparkling, dark appearance and her soft cheeks were red from crying and the cold.

The moment lasted only briefly but Jim felt his heart stir as he remembered that he wasn't alone anymore. The glimpse of a friendship grown deeper seemed to spring from his breast and he looked down on the only person in this new world who really seemed to understand him. As they stood, she hugged him and noticed his gasp of pain. She looked up into his squinted face, his body rigid. She gently let go and watched as the pain slowly subsided. He looked up as the color returned to his face.

"You are hurt."

He nodded, "The hunt was...difficult."

"Where are you hurt..."

They both returned to their cave as the tables turned. She was more than forceful as she made him undress and show her the wound in his leg and the ribs he had broken. He felt very self-conscious as she put her hands on his body, but he managed to keep from pulling away. She worked her healer's medicine on him and helped to replace his bandages and bind up the leg wound which had not been cleaned in days. Then she set to wrapping his chest tightly with a thinner robe to add support for his ribs. As she worked on him they chatted. He told her of the journey south, the cold bath in the stream, the subsequent hunt and his return trip.

She told him of the fight in the camp, "Raging Buffalo had refused to follow your example and go out to hunt. He said that you had fled as the coward that you were and that maybe you had been a spy from your people to take our medicine from us."

"The whole fight was about food. No one has any and the People are afraid. The Elders cannot force the hunters to go since Raging Buffalo is the strongest, but he is lazy and would sooner steal from the tribe than hunt. In fact he has said that the hunters need more food so that when the winter is over they will have enough strength to hunt. He has sacked many of the stores and now has the only food in the camp."

"So how did you find me?"

"Flying Hawk talked earlier of trying to find you, that you had headed south and that he had tried to follow you but lost your trail in the swirling snow. I just prayed that the spirits would lead me to you. I was scared until I found you..."

"So we must move quickly to get the meat back to the camp."

"You are hurt. How can you?"

"The weather has cleared and the People are in need."

"But..." and the young man was gone. She looked after him with worry but with something more, pride maybe?

Jim climbed to the top of the wash and looked from horizon to horizon. The little valley they were in ran from the towering mountains to the west into the meandering hills to the east and on to rolling plains of whiteness he knew were beyond. He looked north and, having donned his snow shoes, started walking towards the top of the ridge.

The snow was deep but the blizzard and days of sunlight had crusted it over so that walking was easy except for the snow drifts that had collected from this last blizzard. After a short while, he managed to reach the top of the ridge.

As he scanned the next valley and the horizon beyond, he felt the emptiness of the land fill his soul with wonder and awe. He stood alone in a barren landscape of white, seeming to be the only living thing in the world. He felt his mind wander back to the preceding days of his journey. As his mind wandered, he felt the vastness of the land and the fear that should accompany it shrank. He was slowly learning to respect this land, as he thought he never would. But in learning to respect it and its ability to kill in any instant, he also had his confidence in being able to stand in this world and live. His life had changed so drastically that few would ever really know nor comprehend. But the odds were against him at every turn and yet he still lived. Life's meaning began to grow in that instant. He realized that all the education in his past, actually the future, life had never really meant anything when it came down to the meaning of life. Life's meaning as pertaining to survival and skill became the important part, and knowledge of science and math was all but forgotten.

As he again looked out on the vast, snow covered landscape, his perception of the world changed from that of being in the world, to that of almost belonging to the world. He began to see the beauty that his previous understanding only hinted at. His feelings before seemed so shallow when compared to the feelings he now felt for this land and the whiteness all around him. The struggles and pains made the beauty of the land that much more intense. He cried out in a howl of pure joy as his emotions overtook him. He felt alive! He could feel every breath and its overwhelming joy.

He turned back to their little valley and could see Little Weasel standing on the edge of the wash looking up at him. Jim waved and turned back to the scene before him. It was time to go, he thought.

Jim looked back into the wash one last time after leading the horses out of it. Something happened here, he thought, and someday I will want to return here. He looked around the small valley once again. Something was here, a presence he could not understand and a feeling he could not shake either. As he looked around, he memorized every detail. As he did so he felt eyes watching him. He turned back to the travois and found the source. Little Weasel was resting easily in the place he had made for her, having turned around to look forward at him. She sat on the meat and furs he had arranged to allow her to lie comfortably on the drag looking back down their trail. She had tried to tell him earlier that she could walk, but Jim would have none of it.

As Jim looked at her, she tried to glance away, but not before he could see the look in her eyes. He wondered at that look, but paid it no mind as he turned back to his mounts and began leading them up the hill towards the ridge top where he mounted Lady and led them off to the north. He didn't know how far it was to the camp, but he knew from what Little Weasel had told him that the camp was in trouble.

As he thought of the situation in the camp somewhere ahead, he pushed himself and his horses faster and harder. He counted each ridge they crossed and kept mental note of where they crossed while he scanned ahead for the telltale signs of the camp.

Finally just after midday, as they topped a tall hill, the dark shape of the horse herd came into sight far off to the east and the camp could be seen to the west. He helped Little Weasel up to see for herself. She returned to her seat and they began to descend the hill towards the little encampment. The People stirred in the camp and horses neighed to the east as they approached.

Old Crow was the first to bring the camp to life a great whoop. Men clambered out of their tipis, children went bounding out into the snow drifts, to be soundly scolded by their emerging mothers and other women. The mood was somewhat subdued as the adults tried to decide how to react to the return of the strange one. Little Weasel jumped off of the travois and ran to her parents while Jim strode passed Old Crow, handing the lead rope for Lady to White Squirrel who was standing close by and leading Red and the travois towards the tipi of Chief Red Bear. He yanked the robes off of the drag, swirling snow about, to a collective gasp that rippled through the gathering crowd. All gazed in wonder at the bundled meat packed neatly on the drag. The fuzz on the antlers of the moose, somewhat scraped from the battle and use, shone sparkling in the afternoon sun.

Jim looked at the Chief and his wife and said, "For the tribe." A louder gasped rippled again through the crowd.

The old chief looked at his wife in amazement, remembering the discussions that they had had the previous evening, he doubting they would ever see the stranger again, she telling him to be patient.

Yellow Pine thanked him and then openly sang a song of praise for the hunter who had brought such a bounty to the People.

Jim watched the older woman as she gathered several from the crowd to disperse the large bounty. Jim noticed that she was stronger than she looked as she hefted a hind quarter, her black hair braid, more white than most, swung about to her back in response to the motion. Her face was strong and round with a firm but delicate jaw. Her eyes were almost a gray but shone as she began barking orders and dictating work to be done.

Whisperings and wonderings followed Jim as he walked back to Old Crow and they disappeared into their tipi.

That night gifts and items piled high outside the door of the old medicine man.

The next day, the People awoke early to celebrate the great bounty that had been brought and shared. As the meat was cut up and laid out to dry, many looked for the hero of the day but he never showed. Soon the questions and rumors were rampant. Where is the hunter? Why is he not here? He should be here to allow the People to show their gratitude. When Old Crow appeared to accept his portion, several of the older women voiced these ideas.

Old Crow turned with a look of surprise. "Will this suffice us to make it through till winter ends?"

Some shook their heads wondering why the old seer would ask such an obvious and bizarre question.

"H' hunts for more game," came the sly remark as he eyed first the mothers, then the hunters who stood behind them. The rumors and questions died on their tongues. Some turned and scowled at their youth who slunk away in shame. Old Crow smiled inwardly as he saw the balance of power shift...

Flying Hawk, who had been standing nearby, had felt the bite of the words of the medicine man and knew what had to be done. He raced across the camp for his family's tipi. He figured he had half a day's worth of riding to catch up to his friend. As he bowled through the flap he almost knocked his sister staggering to the ground. She cried out but he just growled and pushed past her. She whispered the question, "Where is he?"

"He has gone out to hunt."

"What?"

"He has left again..."

"But he has just returned..."

The young man stepped away from his packing and placed his face close to hers', "I know and I am going to go with him," his tone sharp.

She stepped back trying to make sense of the conversation. She remembered the night in the cave of snow and the morning finding her horse dead but the rest of the time was a blur of dreams and waking. She did remember something though...he was wounded.

"Brother," she said softly. Flying Hawk slowed to listen for he knew when she used that voice that something important was about to be shared. "He is hurt. He will not stop until he finds more food or he will die trying."

"How do you know this?"

"I have seen his heart, he is a good man but he is closer to us than he looks. He has a great heart and will not slow. Look for him far to the south. Old Crow may know where exactly..." and with that she returned to her robes to hide her face of worry. She knew if she showed that worry it would be read by all and the feelings she had for him would be known to whomever saw them. This would only make his life worse. Only her older brother and mother knew but she trusted them. He looked at her and nodded at her back.

Flying Hawk finished packing rapidly and headed for the old medicine man's tipi. Old Crow was sitting out front enjoying the morning sun's rays and brewing a tasty soup in his fire. As Flying Hawk approached the old man spoke without looking at him, "You come seeking a great hunter. H' is gone, but I will tell you where, for h' told m' h' would go if I used my medicine to guide him. Go south, Flying Hawk, fast and straight as an arrow. When you come to where the trees encroach on the prairie three creeks south, you will find a large rock sitting with those trees. H' will b' in the next canyon to the south of that."

"Thank you wise grandfather..."

As the snows melted the stranger and Flying Hawk returned with more game. Each time they returned they left the next morning. Each time they left, their hunting party grew. Soon only Raging Buffalo was left with is little band making excuses why they were not out hunting.

As spring approached, the band had more than enough food for the coming spring and the hunters were celebrated with dances as the camp prepared for the journey south into their hunting grounds. Much talk concerned the upcoming buffalo hunts and how each hunter would take down their own buffalo.

Another interesting thing happened as the snows melted. One night Chief Red Bear called a gathering of the Elders before the sun set. Old Crow was to present his guest before the Elders. They talked much about the deeds of Jim and praised him and Old Crow for their contributions to the tribe. "In return for these, you will be named this night and adopted into the People," said the old Chief. Jim was overwhelmed with joy. He finally felt like acceptance was coming. He looked to Old Crow who tried to hide his beaming face, but failed miserably.

That night the band danced and chanted as various hunters who had learned from Jim about his first hunt and the battle with the bull moose portrayed the hunt in flashy details and haunting dance. Jim had later found out that many hunters had never taken a moose on their first hunt, let alone say a bull, and that to have done so without any other help was looked upon as a great accomplishment by the men. As the story was re-enacted from start to finish the band was enthralled by the story. Then the actor who was Jim emerged victorious from the fight even displaying the two wounds he had sustained from the battle. Chief Red Bear stood and approached the fire solemnly. He took the actor's spear, raised it high in the air and whooped, "Today, the People adopt this hunter into our tribe. He is called He Who Fights the Black Bull Moose Alone." Then Red Horse, the father of Quick Rabbit one of the three boys Jim had helped save, strode forth and hung a great black moose hide onto Jim's shoulders. Jim realized that it was the same hide from his bull moose. Again the spirits seemed to dance and sing in his ears. The People were to call him Black Moose, said Chief Red Bear.

Old Crow too heard the spirits. He listened intently as they danced and circled around his younger brother. They were happy that the People had finally accepted him. At least some of the People, there were some that were strangely absent and Old Crow took note of those. It was interesting to him that these included whole families now. Except one, Yellow Meadowlark sat alone in the crowd. He notes this and hoped that the others would step up to welcome her.

From the crowd, one onlooker's eyes gleamed with tears of joy. No one save Old Crow and her father Brave Elk, at the behest of her mother Blue Jay, had heard her part of the story. They had nodded gravely and her father had shown a tear or two which she had never seen him shed before. Her mind traveled back to their time in the snow cave and she loved to think of his being close to her. She longed to be near him, especially when he was gone hunting. Every time he returned, he would use one of their hand signs to greet her and she would sign a place to meet. They would meet late in those evenings and talk for a short while...

One night she laid her head on his shoulder one last time as the conversation waned like the moon overhead. Her heart beat loud in her ears as she waited for those words that always signaled the end of her time with him and the start of her days of worry again.

She felt him take a deep breath but instead of saying 'I will be going out again tomorrow,' he said, "You know the reason that I go back out every time I return, don't you?"

She paused as she thought it over, "Yes."

"Then why do you dread it when I have to?"

She felt relief that he could not see the shocked look on her face in the dark. Then she recovered, "I do..."

His laugh broke the dark silence, then he spoke more quietly, "I like it when you try to hide the truth from me. It reminds me of Old Crow trying to hide his smiles. You both are not very good at it."

She thought on his words as he sat waiting for her response, "I...I don't know. I just worry for you. I miss you when you are not here to meet and talk to. My life seems so one sided when you are gone."

She waited patiently for a response and was rewarded with an arm encircling her shoulders and holding her close. He leaned over to her ear and spoke even more softly, "I think of you every day. I think of you each night. I want to be with you all the time. But the tribe needs me to hunt."

"But the par-fletches are full and the hunters are bringing in more food by the day. Why do you have to go?"

He sat silently listening to her words slide among the trees around them, "Because I am now a hunter for the People. It is my duty."

Her heart filled with pride at his answer but her mind clouded with other feelings.

He leaned in to kiss her on the forehead, a strange way that she was beginning to understand as a way to show his love. Still it was foreign to her people. "Someday you will understand," he whispered as he arose to leave.

Her heart was full but still the tears came as he wandered deep into the night behind her.

As the spring waned on she was thrilled when he would return and wink at her as he strode through camp with his horses packed full of food. Later that night, like others when he returned from his hunting trips, they would meet beyond the prying eyes of the camp where they would hold each other in their arms and talk or hum to each other. Their love continued to grow and blossom. But there was one set of eyes that did see, and plans were being laid.

# Chapter Eleven

## The Warrior

As late spring finally broke open the cold grip of winter on the land, the People set about packing their tipis and belongings for the move south. Black Moose worked fast on Old Crow's camp and then moved on to Brave Elk's. Old Crow again noticed the amount of time that Black Moose spent around Brave Elk's daughter, Little Weasel, and smiled inwardly at them. The winter had been a good time to let the young men sit at Old Crow's fire and talk and the old medicine man had learned much about that family. He had known Brave Elk's father and even his grandfather and they had always been good hunters and excellent warriors. Brave Elk's wife, Blue Jay was a good mother and cared for the elderly whenever she found them. She came from a long and distinguished line of medicine men on both her father and mother's sides. Brave Elk and Blue Jay's two children were copies of their parents and promised to be good members of the band.

Old Crow smiled as he watched some children running to and fro, getting under their parent's feet and playing with anyone that would pay attention to them. They even approached the old medicine man and ventured a smile or a greeting. He felt the nearness of the spirits as the excitement in the air built to a crescendo. These spirits whispered in his ears as his attention focused on each child, some he could discern, others he could only hear a word or two. When his attention turned to the adults the whispers strengthened. Each one had a path and the spirits tried to guide them as best they could. When the spirits could not get through to them, then they would shout at Old Crow who would try to intervene. If any of the People really knew how close the spirits were, many would never leave their tipis. He noticed Raging Buffalo off on the edge of the camp and the spirits turned mean and distressing. Old Crow knew that he was trouble for the band, but nothing could be done to change him. His father had enabled him to become the tyrant he was. His goal was to be chief and Old Crow prayed to the ancestors that something would prevent that.

Then there was his mother, Yellow Meadowlark. He glanced at her and the spirits calmed to a reverent whisper. His mind wandered back to the cold stormy night when the three boys were lost and the prayers and chanting in his tipi. Of all the People, he had not thought that she would even be there, let alone say who she was there for. He turned and looked to Black Moose. She had been there that night for him. As he thought on it and looked back to her, his medicine man mind rolled up who she was. Her father and grandfather had been great chiefs in another band. They had led the People well and were well loved for their leadership. The stories and legends spoke highly of them. Then he looked at her husband, Red Alder. The spirits' voices turned to a cacophony of chaos and hatred. How had such a beloved family become acquainted with a man such as he? Old Crow knew very little of either this man or his family. He was from the northern bands and had come to them after marrying Yellow Meadowlark. His family and ancestors were little known to the southern bands, but since he had married a woman from a distinguished line of great warriors and chiefs in the southern bands, the new family had been accepted without reservation. Somehow these two had come together, but they were so different. He also remembered the question she had posed and his answer, wondering if there were something more he could do. He looked back to her and the spirits calmed yet again. So much chaos in that family and yet she provides the calm that soothes all? He hoped that she could endure that chaos until the spirits intervened.

His gaze then slid to Black Moose. The whispers stopped. He concentrated to hear what the spirits said about this one. They held their silence. Old Crow had never known the spirits to be so silent. He listened harder. Still nothing, they seemed to refuse to talk with Old Crow about this one causing him to ponder on this. Before the young man had become a hunter, the spirits had talked very openly with Old Crow, now their silence bothered him. What had changed?

Just as they had when they had entered the valley, Chief Red Bear had asked for volunteers to lead them south. Black Moose stepped forward with his band of hunters, Flying Hawk, Laughing Cub, brothers Little Antelope and Flying Eagle, and brothers, Sacred Bear and Rising Star. They counseled all night with the Elders and the Chief and left before the first light of the rising sun. The band followed shortly after daybreak. For days, no one saw any of them, the only evidence that they existed was the continual line of colored leather straps tied ahead of the column. Laughing Cub returned the fourth day to lead them.

As for the hunters, it was not all work. They divided up the work and raced up and down the valleys and washes. They played games and washed often in the overflowing creeks. They never lost track of their primary goal, but they moved so much faster on their horses that after three days they had reached the flats the Elders and Chief Red Bear had told them they would camp in for the summer. As it turned out, Black Moose knew the area well, it was closer than the summer before to his old camp to the south. The valley was a very green, well protected place full of game but close enough to the plains to afford access to the roaming herds of buffalo.

When the small group of young men had arrived, most of them had wanted to settle in and wait for the camp to arrive. Black Moose took control of the situation and sent Laughing Cub to verify the trail was correct and to lead the column back to the valley. He divided the remaining group in two, with Flying Hawking leading the brothers Little Antelope and Flying Eagle while he lead the other brothers, Sacred Bear and Rising Star. Actually, it wasn't so much lead as working together as a team to hunt larger game such as elk, deer and antelope. Each group set out hunting in opposite directions. Black Moose's group moved east while the other group climbed into the mountains.

That night the two groups returned. Both had been successful and they set up a small camp on the northern western edge of the valley near the foothills. They hung their bounties in the surrounding trees and stayed up late telling stories of their hunts. Thus went the next two days, both groups heading out into their respective areas and bringing back game for the tribe.

The band topped the last ridge with Laughing Cub in the lead. They saw the valley and immediately they whooped and chanted as they returned to their summer home. The Elders and Chief Red Bear were impressed as the hunters came down from the mountains to meet them with their mounts loaded with game. All were smiling as the camp moved to the shelter of the large cottonwood trees at the foot of the hills along a stream that seemed to come through a gate in the mountains. Well, almost everyone was smiling, a straggling group trailed the main group into the valley unobserved by the scouts.

Old Crow, though, had noticed it three nights before because he had seen such things happen long ago. He knew that the band was being divided by the strong personality of a leader who could not lead. He had seen it happen in his boyhood and it had led to the destruction of many families and almost the entire band at that time. It had been a dark time that led to some changes in their tribal governance. Ironically, the very tenants that were being used to assume this new type of leadership had been seen before...

His name had been Mountain Bear and he strove hard to be leader of their large band. In fact he also aspired to bring all the bands together in a ceremonial gathering to cement his leadership of the entire tribe. The problem was that he did nothing to help others and would not stand for the weak and old. In fact he used them to attain his goals.

When he became chief, the band rejoiced but soon they lamented. He led by fear and intimidation. He quickly taxed everyone and grew lazy. When he tried to bring the other bands of the People together in a massive meeting, a large rival tribe from the east attacked the large gathering, scattering the People and bands. Their band was scattered and the chief tried to gather his supporters, but they had either been lost or killed in the attack. He was left leading a large bunch of women and children with a few warriors. Those warriors forced him out of power and created a form of government where the chief was passed from father to son or a person designated by the chief as a worthy leader while the Elders held some power as a balance. This type of government spread quickly amongst the bands to the rest of the tribe.

Old Crow never knew what happened to Mountain Bear and his family.

Now, Old Crow was powerless to do anything because several of those within that group were prominent Elders and were striving to change the established ways. These men would never allow the old medicine man to step in to intervene, either. His old friend Chief Red Bear couldn't be much help for the Elders had veto power. So, the old medicine man just watched and prayed that the spirits would show him the solution.

After a week of settling in, the camp was back to normal, at least on the surface. The days went by as Black Moose had found his place among the People and spent most of his time out hunting, sometimes with his group, but mostly by himself. He found he liked his time alone. The People had taken to him being a part of the tribe, for the most part. Raging Buffalo and his cohorts hadn't but they stayed away from him and he from them. Still he found time to spend with Little Weasel when he was back in camp. She was beginning to fill in as a young woman and many of the braves tried daily to impress her as well as a few of the other young women such as Purple Flower.

But even Black Moose could feel the change around the camp. He inquired among his hunting group but they had not noticed it since they had all been with him on the move, besides being younger and not really in tune with the politics of the People. The first time he questioned Little Weasel, she just turned and walked away.

One night, when the two were away on a secret meeting, Black Moose pressed her for an explanation at the risk of driving her away. She tried to be silent but his silent expectation and intense look in the starlight played on her heart.

"On the first night of our journey south to the summer camp, Raging Buffalo came to our fire. He asked to speak with my father alone at which my mother and I left the fire. They met for only a short time, but when Raging Buffalo left, he kicked the cooking pots out of the fire into the dirt. He glared so sharply at me that my mother stepped between me and him. He turned to look back at my father who stood holding his arms in the way that warriors have to warn against further violence. Raging Buffalo spat in my father's direction and stormed off as a crowd formed from around the camp."

"What was it that Raging Buffalo wanted?" Black Moose mumbled.

"I know not," she whispered, "for my father would not tell me. He said that it was men's business and that it did not concern me any longer."

Black Moose questioned her further but could tell by her answers that she knew no more. He pondered this strange story as he sat with her that night.

Later on that night, Black Moose asked Old Crow about the journey south and whether anything strange had happened. The old medicine man denied anything had happened but from his reaction Black Moose could tell there was something left unsaid. He finally relented and began, "While we traveled south from our winter camp, there were several in the group that traveled apart from the group. They talked to no one but themselves and slept and ate among themselves. Some of the tribe thought that was strange and asked some of the Elders from that group concerning it. These Elders retorted that they should mind their own matters. This insulted some. Brave Elk stepped forward one day and challenged the other Elders that traveled with this group. Because he was a junior Elder and did not know his place, by the end of the evening he was stripped of his standing and his family was on the verge of being cast out of the tribe. It was only by the shear will of Chief Red Bear that they were not. His family has been relegated to the least of the tribe and he has been stricken from the role of an Elder."

Black Moose's face glowed with the raw rage that burned in his heart. His feelings for Little Weasel added to the violence boiling over in his mind. Old Crow looked up into those eyes and recoiled as he saw the violence seething in the dark recesses of that mind. It had been a very long time since he had seen such dark thoughts and ideas race across a face. He also realized the mistake he had made. Black Moose was gone and a strange one had come threatening to tear everything that Black Moose had built asunder. Old Crow quickly set to calming the young man and explained that everything would be fine after the summer had settled some of the differences that each man had.

Black Moose, too, realized his mistake and immediately fought to regain control of his emotions. But deep in his heart, rage boiled and seethed. He gently asked who among the Elders was involved in this other group. Old Crow would not tell at first, but the young man had found a new energy and was relentless until the old medicine man could not hold back the names any longer. Among them, Black Moose recognized few but the one that he burned into his mind was associated with Raging Buffalo, the father, Red Alder.

"So, the father looks to ensure that the son rules. Time to start a fight..." he stated coldly. Old Crow started at the words and looked up quickly to see the retreating back of Black Moose as he stomped out of the tipi.

The old medicine man began to worry as he replayed the discussion in his mind.

Black Moose knew where things were headed and that he had to leave the tipi. His mind was racing as he stormed off into the dark to the south. He should have been with the tribe, he accused himself, if I were there, I could have done something. They would not dare challenge a hunter who had brought so much to the tribe! he raged. They were emboldened by his not being there. How could he have not been there for his dear love when she most needed him?

But as he thought more about it, a cooler head prevailed. Black Moose realized that he would not have been able to do much had he been there and that actually he might have made it worse with an outburst similar to what he had shown with Old Crow. As his mind cooled down, he turned to begin his silent walk back towards the camp. He looked up and realized he had walked almost completely over the ridge to the north of the camp. The camp was small and looked like an oasis of light in the dark of night. The stars shone brightly, but no moon was present.

Black Moose felt his heart sink as he realized what this meant for Little Weasel and her family. They were at the bottom of the social ladder and would stay there until they proved their worth to the tribe, or she married someone of importance.

Black Moose's mind paused on that thought. There was more to this than met the eye here. He needed to retell the story to himself to get a better picture. Raging Buffalo sought something from Brave Elk/ Then his father drives Brave Elk's family to the edge of the abyss, but for what? His mind wandered back and forth but it kept landing back at the same conclusion. First Raging Buffalo wanted to marry Little Weasel, all in the tribe could see the way he showered her with gifts this spring, trying to win her and her family. So he asked but Brave Elk said no.

The plan expanded, they would drive the family out to force Brave Elk to accept Raging Buffalo as Little Weasel's husband. The tribe would then see the compassion of Raging Buffalo and select him as their leader because of his mercy for their family and his willingness to bring unity to the tribe by marrying beneath his rank. All would return to normal for Brave Elk's family, only Little Weasel would be his. Black Moose felt his rage return, but instead of heat and violence his mind funneled the energy into intellect and cold, hard revenge.

Knowing the enemy is half the battle, he reflected from a book in the future, knowing their plan gave him the advantage. As he approached the camp, his mind milled the ways in which he could sabotage Raging Buffalo's plans.

THUMP.

Black Moose stopped dead in his tracks and listened...silence. But this silence was not the silence of the night, it was the lack of noise, not even the dogs seemed to be around. His heart pounded in his ears and still nothing moved. Even the wind seemed to be holding its breath in anticipation.

Black Moose was about four hundred strides from the camp. Most of the fires had burned down and the People had retreated to their tipis for the evening. He felt goose bumps again and the spirits began whistling in his ears. Then he realized that they had been screaming in his head for attention but could not be heard through the rage in his heart. Black Moose began running towards the camp, his heart racing and his mind searching. Something was very wrong and he needed to be there.

As he raced forward, he could make out shadows moving amongst the tipis. A large group of the shadows had surrounded an outlying tipi to the east and were proceeding to enter the dwelling. So there was more to Raging Buffalo's plan, he thought as he ran, he looks to sack the family that scorned him! He yelled as loud as he could causing more shadows within the camp to jump into action. Screams were heard coming from other tipis and the sounds of battle erupted. Black Moose's mind erupted with questions, if there are other screams and shadows who is that attacking Brave Elk's tipi?

As the camp came alive with chaos, a group of shadows dragged four from the outlying tipi and began beating two of them while the other two were dragged off towards the east. At that point, the sentries near the horse herd sounded the alarm.

Black Moose was just coming down onto the sage brush flat some distance away from the camp as the battle erupted throughout the camp. He saw flames beginning to lick at several tipis with screaming continuing all around the camp. It seemed that the camp's warriors had rallied and were systematically routing the shadowy figures.

At about a stone's throw away from the camp, Black Moose directed his footsteps towards the outlying tipi. His rage was boiling as he saw the two prone figures being beaten by four shadows. One of the shadows raised a weapon to strike a death blow to one of the unmoving figures.

Black Moose launched himself at that figure as he entered the circle screaming an infernal cry that made the other three step back. He caught the assailant at the waist and drove him hard into the ground rolling to a crouch as the weapon sailed off into the darkness. Without waiting for him to get up, Black Moose whirled to his right and grabbed the nearest shadow by his right arm and pulled down while kicking up with his left knee. In the darkness, he only felt flesh and bone crunch and knew without seeing that this one would not be a problem again. The other two looked at their fallen comrades, recovered from the surprise of the attack and advanced on Black Moose. By now his rage was at a full boil and adrenaline raced through his veins. Both assailants pulled weapons that glinted in the growing fire light. Black Moose also noticed something else about these two, their faces were painted and he did not recognize them. His mind processed these facts and screamed at him that time was not his ally as they circled to attack him from both sides.

Black Moose knew the tactic and waited for them to coordinate their attack. They both whooped and lunged for him. Even though he knew it was coming he still marveled as they both attacked opposite of the other, one high and the other low. As the one on the left attacked high, Black Moose lunged at his knees, exposing his back to the other. Neither expected the counter attack.

As he hit him in the knees, Black Moose pushed his assailant's legs back and then up, sending the already off balanced man up and over Black Moose's back to topple onto his attacking companion. They fell to the ground in a heap of arms and legs. Black Moose scooped up a half burned log from the fire and pummeled them with the firebrand until neither moved before turning his rage on the other two who were just coming around.

Brave Elk lay bleeding with one eye swelling shut staring in wonder at the sheer bravery of their deliverer. When this warrior turned back to scoop up a log from the fire, the old warrior recognized the face, but the look in those eyes was one he had never seen before. But it was the thing of legends, that look, and had frozen the blood of many a warrior, usually resulting in death. As Black Moose raised the smoldering log above his head and set to dispatching each of the attackers, sparks flew from each blow and the glowing arcs created at each lifting of the log added to the image of a fiery spirit wielding a war club that glowed with flames as the dark warrior was silhouetted in the burning tipis beyond. The image burned itself into his nearly unconscious mind.

As his rage cooled and his mind took over, Black Moose turned to the two wounded forms. Brave Elk he saw had crawled to his son's side and was tending to his wounds. They both were severely beaten but would live. Black Moose turned without a word, scooped up a visible war club from the ground and raced off east into the night after the other two shadows and their prizes.

Fear drenched him in goose bumps, rage fueled his stride as he raced across the sage flats. Having been up and down that valley for a week or more, Black Moose had a good idea of where these two were headed. There was a little known thicket of trees in the bottom of a draw where horses could be hidden.

As he approached a patch of tall, thick sage, two figures arose out of the darkness and greeted him as if he were one of their own. Black Moose silently dashed between them before they realized he wasn't one of their raiding party, bringing his war club up in a deadly arch into the right one's face then whirling backwards and planting it in the second's neck, effectively crushing it as he inhaled to sound the alarm. His stride did not break, his resolve set. Black Moose also somehow managed to pick up another war club from the falling, second man.

As he approached the lip of the draw, he could hear voices, two distinctly male and two others whimpering and crying. In the dim light he could see two figures were hunched over another figure on his side of deep wide draw below him with a fourth figure lying on the opposite side of the draw facing him. Black Moose knew that the rest of the raiders were bound to return soon so he bailed over the lip in a flurry of dirt and brush. Both figures looked up expecting a friend and were met with deadly blows from the war clubs in the faces.

Black Moose turned and leaned down over the trembling figure and whispered, "Little Weasel?"

He heard a confirming whimper at which he ungagged her and turned to the other figure on the other side of the wash, "Blue Jay?" and was also confirmed with a nod. Dropping a war club, he pulled his stone knife and quickly cut their bindings, ungagging Blue Jay as well.

"You must be very quiet. Move north up this draw until you reach the end of these trees, go two hundred steps or so, turn and climb up into the sage brush on the east side of the bank. Lay down in the sage brush and do not move, no matter what you hear, no matter who calls. Stay there until I come cooing like a dove for you."

Blue Jay nodded, grabbed Little Weasel's hand and turned to go. Little Weasel hesitated and looked into Black Moose's face. He averted his face in shame and pushed her up the draw, but her eyes watched as he faded into the darkness down the draw among the horses.

Black Moose used his knife to cut all the horses lead ropes in the trees down the draw, replaced the knife in its sheath and returned for his other war club. He mounted one horse as they began milling around from all the excitement. With a shout, they jumped and he drove them down the wash to the south. He had a plan, but it involved getting the attention focused in other directions.

As his little herd broke south down the wash he could hear cries from back over the lip of the draw. The two sentries had been found. Black Moose turned the herd up out of the wash heading southwest, assuring that his escape would be seen.

Whoops and yells followed him as he crested the hill and broke out across the flats. Ahead he could hear the other raiders herding their newly acquired horses back towards him. He whipped his mount and the small herd into a frenzy and they burst over the crest of the next hill just in time to crash into the middle of the much larger herd. Horses scattered as Black Moose bowled into the first rider, pulling him off of his mount and into the churning hooves below. He then launched his extra war club at a second, nearby. The herds scattered as confusion and violence erupted in their very midst. Black Moose allowed his horse to race out into the flats again before he turned the mount and started back towards more assailants.

Confusion reigned as the now smaller group tried to regain control of the now scattering herd. Black Moose closed with another that was racing to catch the lead horses. He obviously thought that Black Moose was one of his own because it wasn't hard for Black Moose to get up behind him, grab him by the arm and pull him off of his mount into the churning, dark, chaos below.

Meanwhile, signs of pursuit were stretching across the valley from the camp. The People were horseless but their rage was no match for the assailants who were now horseless as well. Black Moose surveyed the scene. The horse herd was scattering to the hills, those that had tried to steal the herd were either unhorsed or, the two that were left mounted were headed east for safety. A few of the People had managed to catch horses from those that had scattered towards the camp and were headed east searching for the raiders. Chaos reigned but Black Moose knew it was time for him to gather Little Weasel and her mother. He whistled loudly and like magic Red and Lady appeared. He grabbed their mane ropes and raced north along the edge of the east side of the draw watching for signs of the raiders. It seemed, though, that they had caught what horses they could and headed east back down the valley. The sounds of pursuit were easy to follow and Black Moose avoided anything that sounded like horse or man.

He reached the sagebrush flat he had described and cooed softly into the blackness. A soft coo returned to his right. He spoke softly, "Come and get on a horse."

Two figures gently glided up to the horses and smoothly launched themselves onto their backs. Black Moose listened to the surrounding darkness and felt his mount for any clues to danger. Just as he was about to signal to follow him back to the camp his mind stopped him.

In the darkness his mind reeled at the events. In that darkness the events of the last few months seethed to and fro like the waves of the ocean he once saw as a child on vacation. Instead of racing off to the west, back to camp, he turned them south through the scattered herd and into the night.

They reached his old camp sometime in the middle of the night. Both Blue Jay and Little Weasel had neither questioned nor wondered why Black Moose did not return them to the camp. Their minds were so numb from the experiences of the last night that they could have been led off of a cliff had someone so desired. He knew that they would need healing and being away from the stresses of the camp would help. Having the rest of the family badly beaten would not help. He knew that the camp would care for those that were wounded; these two needed a different type of healing, time.

Black Moose helped each of them dismount and guided them to sit nearby while he went to work. By the time first light touched the eastern sky, he had his lean-to repaired and both women lying comfortably inside. Neither said a word, they were reliving the horror of the night before, over and over in their minds.

Black Moose did not understand this, but left them to their mental healing while he wandered off to set a few snares and mark them with strips of leather. Then, he caught a couple of fish and returned to his camp to build a fire and cook them as the first rays of sunshine were basking the mountains in their yellow light.

Neither woman would eat any of the fish, but they did drink the broth he had prepared. Then, Black Moose sat down outside the lean-to and waited. He looked at himself and realized he was covered in blood and dust. His first reaction was to run down to the creek and wash himself but his mind took control. Instead, he sat in the speckled sunshine and chanted one of the chants that Old Crow had taught him.

Black Moose chanted for much of the morning, only pausing to drink water or to check on the women. By mid-morning he began to hear soft chanting echoing his coming from the lean-to as well but it was only one of the two, not both, and by the beautiful sounds of the singsong voice, it was the older of the two women. By midday, Blue Jay crawled out of the lean-to and approached Black Moose. He stopped chanting as she spoke, "He Who Fights the Black Bull Moose Alone, I owe you the life of my daughter and myself. Thank you. You will always be welcome at my family's fire."

Black Moose nodded at her and said, "Are you hungry?"

She nodded, at which Black Moose arose and scooped up the uneaten fish from next to the fire. She ate it quietly and Black Moose returned to his vigil with his back to the lean-to but obviously watching over the two women. He now had an opportunity to study this older Indian woman. She had the high cheekbones and almond eyes but her hair was laced with gray. She had a strong body underneath her long dress, which was torn in a few places but had held up well in the attack. Her daughter's beauty came from her mother and Black Moose could see a lot of the similarities in her ways and mannerisms.

With her hunger sated, Blue Jay started looking around and asked, "Where are we?"

"When I came into this world, this is where I made my camp. It is the place I was born, you could say."

She marveled at the structure that her daughter lay under and saw all the implements that had been crafted for the camp. She felt something familiar here, almost like she had visited this site at one time before, but she knew she had not, or had she?

"Where are Brave Elk and Flying Hawk?"

"I do not know. The raiders beat them but you don't have to worry about them, I know the raiders that attacked your family are dead."

There was a long pause, "Why did you not take us back to the camp?"

"Because you both need time to heal."

"But..."

"I know what happened on the trail to the summer camp."

Blue Jay stopped and stared at him. Her embarrassment was evident on her face. Tears welled up in her dark eyes, trickling down her cheeks.

"Do not fear, I will help, but you must trust me. You and Little Weasel must remain here for a while. I will return to get you. Will you stay here and wait until I return?"

Blue Jay thought silently about this request. She looked at her daughter in the lean-to who was obviously not ready to travel and probably would not be for a few more days. "Yes."

Black Moose stood and crawled into the lean-to. Little Weasel recoiled at his shadow and whimpered at his touch. He whispered something in her ear but she pulled away. He came back out of the lean-to with his head hung low and tears running down his cheeks. Blue Jay stepped in front of him and touched his arm saying, "She is not herself, let her recover these few days while you travel and she will be better when you return."

Black Moose looked into her eyes and she saw into his soul. A fire raged there and she felt her own soul recoil at the touch of those flames. No fear of him ever crept into her heart, but the fear of what he would do to his own soul made her wonder.

Black Moose stepped past her and moved off to prepare for his journey. "Please, do not build a large fire and stay close to this camp. I have tied leather strips up the stream where there are traps for small game. You should be able to catch them and some fish. I will return in a few days."

Blue Jay nodded.

Black Moose mounted a horse and left his other two mounts hobbled where they were.

# Chapter Twelve

## Black Moose

The sun rose on a dreadful sight. Chief Red Bear and Old Crow surveyed the camp. The camp was in complete disarray with drying racks upended and the meat lying trampled in the dust, tipis with gaping holes torn or burned into their buffalo hides and smoke rolling out of some of the worst of them. Belongings were scattered around near the torn ones with dried and caked blood contrasting sharply in the grey dirt. The People were working in a somber silence to drag off the bodies of the raiders while they prepared their own for burial.

Five of the band had been killed. Many more had been wounded including Brave Elk and Flying Hawk. Three were missing, Blue Jay, Little Weasel and Black Moose. The camp was in mourning. Somehow the herd had come back and riders sent out to survey the valley found many more dead raiders and the two horse herd sentries, also dead. Chief Red Bear sought counsel with his friend, Old Crow, but the old medicine man was not in a talking mood. In fact, he was mourning the loss of Black Moose and tending to the wounds of many of the People, including his dear young friend Flying Hawk. At the center of the chaos stood Raging Buffalo and his allies crying for new leadership and insisting on a safer place to camp.

Old Crow looked at a war club that had been brought to him by Red Horse. It was as he feared. They had found the band. He shook his head. He, the Chief and the Elders had hoped that by moving away from here all those years ago that they would be able to prevent further bloodshed. His mind reeled at the meaning of this raid. There would be more blood.

As the chaos continued, the old medicine man set to the sad task of preparing for the funerals of those that had been killed in the raid.

"What shall we do with the raiders?" came a question from a warrior carrying one of them east towards the draw where others had been found.

"Let them rot in the sun," yelled Raging Buffalo. Old Crow shook his head. He had no time to argue with the reply. His mind was numb from the loss and his heart was heavy with the prayers and mourning of the next few days. Among the dead were Red Fawn and her daughter Dancing Waters, the two boys who were sentries over the horse herd, Laughing Cub and Little Deer and another mother, Orange Sage. He shook his head again listening to the spirits but hearing none of what they whispered.

The day dragged on as the families prepared their dead and the belongings that they wished to send along with them in the spirit world. Still in this time of mourning, there were whispers and rumors, "We should move on before the feud deepens." "No, we have angered the spirits. We must make amends." "The Chief is old and needs to let new leadership take over."

Old Crow was so very tired and was so preoccupied with the tasks of preparing the funerals that he could not even reply when he heard such talk. Even when he had a spare moment to ponder something, his mind wandered back to his strange friend and the other two women who were missing.

He had seen to the wounds of Brave Elk and Flying Hawk early that morning and knew that they were strong and would recover, but it was strange to be around them and not have Blue Jay and Little Weasel close by, helping at every turn. There was something missing but he also felt an odd and deeper hole than he did when he was preparing those that had passed. That gave him pause to think, why do I feel so different when I think of those that are missing than those that have passed on? He could find no reason.

The funerals began at mid-morning and consisted of a procession into the mountains to the west where a prominent ridge was used to place the bodies in crevasses or fissures with their belongings. The old medicine man chanted and sang while loved ones and friends cried and wailed. When they were done, the whole group went down to the nearby stream and bathed and chanted while Old Crow cleansed them as they came out.

After the funerals, Chief Red Bear found he had more to worry about as questions of his leadership and abilities arose. As was the way of the People, he had been designated the Chief from his father. The very old still remembered the near destruction of the bands of the People when the Elders used to elect a Chief to lead the bands. Old Crow had even been in that band and Chief Red Bear had heard the stories from him. Much contention and ill would come from an election of a leader and the People had long since adopted a leader that was passed from father to son. It had helped to solidify the bands and keep power struggles to a minimum.

Now though, the Elders had turned on him and he was beginning to wonder if he would last to the next moon. The Elders were being swayed by Raging Buffalo's talk. The old chief had seen these types before and knew that the honey on their lips would burn any who trusted them, but he thought that it would have happened by now. The band heard the young man's sweet words and leaned towards him as did about half the Elders.

As dusk fell on the mourning camp that day, Black Moose topped the ridge east of the camp. It looked as if the horse herd was in the valley and sentries challenged him as he rode down off of the ridge towards the camp. The young men nodded solemnly as they rode up, their eyes taking in the dusty, blood soaked skins. They then rode back to their posts and he continued on to the camp with one boy in tow. Many of the tipis were repaired while others had been torn down.

One lone figure approached him slowly as he rode into the camp. Old Crow immediately saw the dusty appearance of his friend. Under that could be seen blood. The old man could not tell if it was the young man's or others.

The People noticed the rider and the old man but no one dared approach. All were straining to hear the exchange though. Old Crow looked up into those eyes and could read nothing. There was no hope or even the light that had been there but a day before.

Black Moose looked down into the old man's eyes expecting a question, but hearing none. No words seemed to be needed. He had returned to camp empty handed when two were missing. He had failed. He dismounted and handed the mane rope to the boy behind him without a word. Then he retired to the darkness of their tipi. Old Crow watched him go then turned back to the east and listened to the spirits. They were strangely silent as they had recently become with this one.

Meanwhile the rumors raced across the camp. The strange one had returned but Little Weasel and Blue Jay had not. Raging Buffalo ranted that letting the strange one go after them had angered the spirits. "He failed! How can anyone trust the Chief now that we have lost people, five killed, many more injured and two missing. Even the spirits have abandoned us!"

The next morning, Black Moose went down to the creek to wash himself. He noticed the eyes of all were on him again and the whispering had begun. He ignored them as he was used to.

But it is hard to ignore someone like Raging Buffalo who found the strange one wandering the camp.

Black Moose felt a presence approaching from behind but he was determined not to notice. Pain erupted from his skull as he felt the ground race up to meet him. He sprawled in the dust trying to understand what had happened. Pain erupted from his left side as he felt himself being kicked over.

As the confusion and pain swirled in his head his vision focused on the towering figure of Raging Buffalo looming over him about to land a savage downward kick to his head. Black Moose rolled towards the figure, avoiding the thrust. Then, as the adrenaline and rage burned away his pain and confusion he lurched to his hands and knees. Raging Buffalo realized his dire circumstance and began to step over and away but as he tried to withdraw, Black Moose stood straight up, sending Raging Buffalo reeling backwards into the dirt.

Now the tables were turned and Black Moose stood looming over his attacker. Cries were going out amongst the camp. People were gathering to watch the exchange. Warriors and Elders were running to break up the young men.

Black Moose glared down at Raging Buffalo with rage filling his heart and redness clouding his vision. Here, time stood still. He could feel two paths opening up before him. Neither showed the end in sight but Black Moose could feel the importance of the decision he was on the verge of making.

Black Moose chose.

He walked away.

Raging Buffalo lurched to his feet and shouted a challenge. Black Moose continued his wanderings towards a lone tipi. Again Raging Buffalo screamed at him. Still Black Moose walked on.

Upon entering the tipi he found his friend, Flying Hawk, and his father, Brave Elk, lying on furs sleeping. Yellow Pine looked up at him and nodded. She explained how they were doing in a low voice, touching his elbow comfortingly then retreated through the tipi flat. He sat down silently in the darkness and watched them both breathe heavily. A slight rattling could be heard coming from their chests but other than that they seemed to be doing ok. His eyes burned with rage and hatred for the attack he had just endured. He wanted to attack and destroy Raging Buffalo. His emotions seethed and boiled in the darkness. He could feel himself shaking violently as he replayed the attack. The People were most likely talking and consoling Raging Buffalo who would probably be ranting about the cowardice of the strange one.

After a long while, Black Moose stood and exited the tipi. He knew he had a few days before either of them would be awake or able to question him about the attack.

Black Moose hung his head and wandered off towards the herd of horses.

The boys saw him coming and gathered a small herd of horses from among the much larger herd and raced to meet him half way across the valley. They stopped in front of him with their small herd.

Black Moose's puzzled look caused them to laugh.

Quick Rabbit stepped forward and announced, "These are now your horses."

"What? How?"

"We gathered all the horses that the raiders left, took out the three or four that were obviously killed by the warriors in the camp and the rest are yours."

"I am sorry, young brothers but I do not understand."

"It is the way of the People, if you kill a warrior in battle, you gain his possessions. That means his horse and anything else. We know it was you that killed the four at Brave Elk's tipi because one of us overheard him telling Yellow Pine and he said you went off to the east. So we followed and found four more."

Black Moose looked at the herd and counted them. "But there are 14 horses here."

The boys laughed, "Who said we could count," came an older boy's reply which was greeted with laughs from the other boys.

"Will you tell us the story of the battle?" came one younger, squeaky voice. An older boy kicked him for it.

"Maybe one night when we are calmer, little brothers and the camp is not so worried."

He saw their eyes light up at having been promised to hear a story that only grownups were allowed to hear.

"We will care for your horses as if they were our own, older brother. We have gathered all the slain raiders things when you are ready to claim them as well!" Black Moose smiled at them as they rode off, leading the smaller herd back to the main herd. His heart leaped at the thought of these boys looking up to him even after such a terrible thing had happened. They had lost several friends and family in the raid and yet their youthful outlook could not be squelched. What adults could learn from such youth, he thought as his resolve hardened.

Black Moose approached his old friend sitting in the shade of their tipi. He sat down looking out at the camp and waited for the old man to address him.

"You have been quiet since your return. It is like you are waiting for something," the old man said while looking out at the camp being repaired and rebuilt.

"The raid has caused me to think deeply," then he changed the conversation by asking, "Who was killed by the raiders?"

Old Crow turned and looked at the young man questioningly.

"My heart is heavy but still I notice who is not here."

Old Crow nodded and said, "Orange Sage, Red Fawn and her daughter, Dancing Waters, Laughing Cub, and Little Deer."

Black Moose turned from looking at the camp at the mention of the last name, "Little Deer?" his voice catching in his throat. "Dancing Waters, too?"

The old man looked down into the dirt and nodded heavily.

"But they were just children. Why would such...evil..."

Old Crow looked at the young man and saw the pain that was carved in his heart working its way across his young face, tears crept out of his eyes. He felt his old frame shake as he once again felt the pain.

Black Moose looked back to the camp as the tears continued down his face. "Was there a...burial?"

"Yes, a funeral was performed for each and their spirits have been set fr' with those of our ancestors."

"What do the People do with the body?"

"W' place them in a sacred place with items of importance for their trip to the other world."

Black Moose paused and then said, "May I go and place something with each of them."

The old man turned to look at his young friend thinking, "They are not there now, their spirit has begun the journey and is traveling on to our ancestors."

"In my culture we still visit the place where their body is placed. Do the People do that as well?"

"Yes, some times," came the reserved response.

Black Moose realized something as he heard the response, "You can describe it to me and I will go alone."

The old man turned and looked up on the mountains to the place he knew the bodies to be, "No, I will take you. But first w' must ask for permission."

Black Moose nodded and looked at the mountains.

Black Moose was not the only one surprised to find that not only was permission given but all of the family members wanted to return with him. Old Crow said to the darkness that night, "This is strange medicine. The family usually never wants to b' so close to their family's graves, let alone return so shortly after having been buried them."

Preparations had to be made and Black Moose knew from some of the stories he had heard, it would be noble of him to present something to the dead for their journeys. He asked the old medicine man about what was appropriate and not. He had only a day or so to gather the items but with the help of some of the boys and his other friends, he was able to find what he needed.

The next day, the somber group assembled on horses some distance from the camp and began their short trip to the west. Black Moose looked at each family group, recounting their names, for Red Fawn and her daughter, Dancing Waters, there was only the husband and father Running Stag. Next to him was Orange Sage's older husband and Elder, Chasing Horse. The two lone widowers paired up for the journey on their brown and white mares.

Next came Laughing Cub's parents, Flying Antelope and Mist in the Willows with the daughter and sister, Lovely Rose, following. The parents were middle aged while the daughter was closer to Black Moose' age. They all road white mares and stayed close together, whispering much.

Last came Little Deer's young family. His parents, Leaping Deer and Rippling Water were subdued for their young age and mounted on brown mares. The youngest daughter, Spotted Fawn, was tied securely on Rippling Water's back while the oldest daughter, Snowy Grouse, rode a grey stallion.

Old Crow took the lead on his mount and began chanting and singing as they progressed towards the impressive wall that rose ahead of them. Black Moose brought up the rear on one of the raiders horses he had acquired, a black and white mare, and leading another of his newly acquired horses, a brown stallion, that carried items wrapped in skins.

The procession continued up into one of the many canyons that sliced their way down through the wall that was the foothills to the mountains. The canyon walls were steep and almost all cliffs and scree. Pines grew in patches scattered along its length between the cliffs and talus slopes.

A short time after entering the canyon they entered the forest of pines and the group dismounted in a small meadow where the valleys split and two streams met. They hobbled the horses and the families looked up the razor back ridge between the valleys. Black Moose wondered if they looked for their loved ones to come running down to meet them. The dark pines all around them gave the area an eerie and dark feel. Even Old Crow's chanting seemed to die at the edge of the trees while the babbling of the streams seemed muted and hushed.

Old Crow had warned Black Moose not to allow any of the families to help him as he carried his gifts up to the graves. It would be seen as a sign of weakness for a warrior to not hold the burden of his entire request. So as he shouldered his items and each male came to help, he signed, no, and readied himself for the climb.

The climb was easy as a slight trail had been worn into the ridge back from the previous trips. Again, Old Crow led the group with each family staying together and Black Moose bringing up the rear. As they climbed, Old Crow chanted and sang as did some of the family members now. Others just cried and sobbed. Soon, the trees gave way to reveal a steep set of cliffs and slopes of rock rubble. Here the old medicine man stopped and organized each family to sit in a particular place in the shade of the pines. He nodded at Black Moose who sat farther down the trail and organized his items on the ground around him.

Old Crow signaled to Running Stag, as he had told Black Moose he would, and the warrior stood and moved towards the old medicine man. Black Moose hefted two bundles from the ground and followed at Old Crow's signal.

They wound their way up the north side of the face of the cliffs and rubble chutes to a cleft at the upper end. Here the smell of death was strong but Black Moose kept his face calm. The older man chanted and sang while the warrior howled and cried. Black Moose waited patiently as the ceremony waned. Finally, Old Crow motioned for him to come forward, chanting and singing. Black Moose waited until the time that Old Crow motioned again and then he unwrapped the first item.

"Red Fawn, a warrior has come to present a gift for you on your journey to our ancestors!"

Running Stag, who had finally calmed, looked on the item with interest as Black Moose took his cue and spoke, "Mother, here is a weapon of the enemy, broken and destroyed. The blood on the weapon is from those of their own, not of the People. I know for I used this weapon to defend the People. Take it with you on your journey to show the ancestors that the enemy has paid dearly for your death with their own blood on their weapons."

The wind kicked up and began to blow as dark clouds formed over ridge above them. Old Crow nodded at Black Moose who laid the weapon at Running Stag's feet and waited patiently for his next cue.

Running Stag reached down and looked back at the strange one. The warrior stood stone still as memories washed over him. He had hoped that he could keep them at bay but the journey to this place had been harder than he thought. The darkness of that night crept back into his heart. His mind went unbidden to that night, the night he lost everything of meaning in his life.

His little family had settled in for the night, tying the tipi flap and moving to their respective sleeping robes. His daughter, Dancing Waters, sat humming while she worked on a moccasin while his wife had crawled into the robes waiting for him. He heard, again, the cry from out north of the camp and jerked from his reverie, looking at the fire. His daughter and wife both looked at him in alarm. Hearing rustling from outside the tipi, Running Stag leaped into motion as a knife blade appeared above his daughter in the tipi buffalo skin coverings, descending smoothly. A set of hands pulled the covering wide while another reached in to grab the young woman. She screamed and dove across the fire, dodging the incoming weapon of her father, a war club, as it sailed into the opening. A thud and a grunt followed the weapon, and then another figure began to enter the tipi through the opening. Running Stag leapt to intercept the intruder driving him back into the darkness beyond with his hunting knife. Then, another knife descended near the rear of the tipi. His wife, Red Fawn, who had risen to stand over her cowering daughter, turned and struck into the opening with a short spear she had grabbed from their weapons stash near the back of the tipi. She also was rewarded with a sound strike and a guttural sound.

There was a pause as the attackers seemed to have retreated when one burst in from both openings, having bull rushed the tipi. The family backed towards the tipi flap knowing that it was just as unsafe. Now outnumbered and cornered the parents stepped forward, putting themselves between the enemy and their prey. Both raiders faces smiled wickedly, the paint on their faces and the smoldering fire giving them a horrible visage. Running Stag rushed the biggest one, driving hard with his hunting knife. This attacker tripped over backwards, falling back out of the opening and lying still. Running Stag turned back to the other attacker and gasped as he watched the shorter man finish wrestling the short spear from Red Dawn, impaling her and his daughter behind her on it.

Running Stag screamed in rage and leaped onto the enemy. He grabbed at the man's head and pulled with all his might, hearing the cracking of neck bones. The enemy slumped to the ground still holding the short spear and pulling the two women to their knees over him. Running Stag stood over the vanquished foe with tears running down his face watching the look of pain and fear on his own wife's face as she stared up at him. Behind her, his daughter wrapped her arms around her mother, trying to comfort and be comforted. Her eyes also looked up into her father's, surprise and something more there. Running Stag screamed again and knelt next to the two most important people in his life. He held each of them as they both chanted for strength for their coming journey. He shook his head no but his wife nodded yes and whispered, "Don't be sad my warrior, we journey to our ancestors, together, where we will await your..." and she fell silent, rolling forward onto his shoulder. He looked down at her through his tears, then at his daughter. Dancing Waters had already fallen silent and lay upon her mother's back.

Running Stag only remembered standing up and walking towards the opening where he had driven his foe. The man was just outside the tipi crawling to get up when Running Stag picked up his war club and finished the foe. The rage took him after that and he only remembered awaking in the morning outside his tipi covered in blood and sitting in the dust next to the tied tipi flap.

The warrior looked hard at the stranger and wondered why he felt such derision and unease around him. He looked at the weapon in his hands. It was a wooden club that had been beaten and broken but blood could still be seen caked to his head. He looked back up at the grave and then back to the strange one. Something melted in his heart and he stepped closer to the grave, moving one item down from the top of three rock shelves above the heavily bundled forms and placing the broken weapon there.

Old Crow was astonished but said nothing as it was not his place to tell a family how things should be arranged on a grave as long as it was placed properly.

The clouds overhead darkened and the winds continued.

Now Old Crow chanted and sang saying, "Dancing Waters, a warrior has come to present a gift for you on your journey to our ancestors!"

Black Moose stepped forward again, "Sister, here is a mane rope from a horse of a raider that I have killed. The horse is named after you and is yours. It will ever be rode by only a young woman and will bear the horse herd many stallions in return for you sacrifice."

Thunder boomed down the canyon to the west as if adding to the young man's proclamation while the temperature seemed to plummet. All three could hear the spirits whispering in their ears above the whistling of the wind.

Black Moose handed the horse hair rope to the warrior and reverently turned back down the slope. Running Stag could do nothing but stare at the receding back as his mind tried to comprehend what was said. He looked back to the old medicine man who was looking up at the darkening sky. Then he stepped up to the cleft and moved another item on a lone rock shelf on the other side of the cleft down and placed the horse hair rope thereon.

Old Crow was again baffled by the gesture but once more said nothing while his mind went over the details. Both items that had been placed were placed in the most sacred of places which were usually reserved for close family members to place highly valued items. Black Moose was neither a family member nor had offered anything of real value, but it was obvious from Running Stag's placement that the items presented meant more to him than those he had placed during the funeral.

As the pair returned, the old medicine man signaled for Chasing Horse to step forward. Black Moose had returned to his bundles and waited with a long wrapped one. This time they worked their way along the bottom of the rubble slopes then up a chute to yet another high cleft towards the top of the cliffs, the old man chanting and singing but Chasing Horse never saying a word, never uttering a sound even. He did not show any emotion, his face a mask whenever Black Moose got a look at it.

When they arrived and had taken up their respective places, Old Crow spoke, "Orange Sage, a warrior has come to present a gift for you on your journey to our ancestors!"

"Mother, I have come to offer up an enemy's weapon, a fine lance broken, with no blood to show that they did not draw the blood of the People. Take it with you on your journey to show the ancestors that the enemy has paid dearly for your death."

This time the clouds descended on the trio as lighting and thunder shot across the sky. The old medicine man looked up, alarmed.

Black Moose offered the two broken hafts of the lance to the old warrior. As the older man took the broken weapon he held it out away from himself as if he were going to cast the items over the nearby cliff, watching the younger man. Black Moose saw his actions and, with a frown of sorrow on his face, turned and wandered down the weak trail back to the others at the bottom.

Old Crow watched Chasing Horse solemnly. He knew where this one stood in the camp, he was of the faction that supported Raging Buffalo being chief. To them that meant that anything or anyone that was not for Raging Buffalo was against them. The old medicine man stood patiently waiting for the warrior to complete his action of casting the gift to the wind as the world around them violently applauded with lightning and thunder crashing all around them. His mind chanted to keep him calm as the storm shook everything about them.

The old warrior watched the young man go, never turning back, never hesitating and thought within himself, he has done a great thing and offered more to my wife. I would throw it away for what purpose? He did not do it for me, he thought harshly. He does not even know who I am, that I am his enemy, is lost on him. He came for her.

He turned his head and looked onto the bundle in the crevasse. His nights were long and cold since she had been taken from him. His mind went back to that fateful night. He had been away at the Chief's fire when he had heard the screaming at the start of the raid. He raced back to his tipi to find his wife battling with two of the raiders. He still smiled to think of how she fought so valiantly against two veteran warriors. As he raced towards her he came across a group of the raiders attacking another tipi, his friend Jumping Wolf, and the fight looked to be going badly for them. He joined in a rush and they were able to send the raiders running.

When he looked up from the last of the resistance he saw his wife had been cornered by the two. He gasped as he saw the end coming, as only a warrior can see, the last few moves left for those about to leave this life. He screamed and launched himself across the cooking fire towards his own tipi nearby. Jumping Wolf turned at the sound and followed on his heels.

One of the raiders brought his war club down in a deathblow as the other distracted her with a side swing. She blocked the side swing then realized too late that it was a ruse bringing her left arm up and ducking down from the incoming blow.

Chasing Horse felt himself waiver standing there on that slope, remembering the whole encounter. His heart rent as the blow landed and she slumped to the ground in a heap. Jumping Wolf beat him to the two as the two raiders relaxed from the encounter with his wife. The old warrior knocked the first to the ground pummeling him with his fists while Chasing Horse dodged the first strike from the second who had struck his wife, slid inside his swing and slammed his hunting knife deep into his neck.

Darkness washed over his soul as he returned from his memories, glancing up at the shelf above the bundle, his knife still covered in the enemy's blood that had ended her life. He looked back at the palm of his hands, seeing the lance and realizing the significance of it. The young stranger was right, this was from the raiders, he would recognize those markings anywhere. He heard the spirits whispering in his ears and knew what he had to do. His hearted melted as he looked at the retreating back of the young man reaching the bottom of the trail and turning to follow the tree line towards the others.

Chasing Horse turned back to the cleft and placed the broken weapon upon the bundle in a reverent manner, indicating the place of honor. Old Crow smiled within himself and hoped that something had happened within that old heart.

When the paired returned, they found everyone except Black Moose huddled under a big spruce down the slope. Black Moose knelt at his place with two bundles left. Old Crow informed them that they must wait for the thunder spirits to move on from hunting before they should continue, inviting Black Moose to join the rest under the tree. The strange one refused and knelt in his place chanting as the rain began to fall. Leaping Deer's youngest, Spotted Fawn began crying but her screams were muffled by the dark timber and pattering of the rain.

After a while, the storm passed out onto the plains to the east and the group returned to where Black Moose knelt chanting. They stared at him oddly for his lack of respect for the thunder spirits.

Old Crow gathered the family of Flying Antelope to lead them to Laughing Cub's place of rest. They solemnly moved up the first trail but took another route in the middle and worked their way out along a rubble slope to a small depression in the rock wall. Mist in the Willows cried while the daughter, Lovely Rose wailed. Flying Antelope stood near the opening with tears running down his face but making no other sound.

Old Crow finished his chanting and spoke, "Laughing Cub, a warrior has come to present a gift for you on your journey to our ancestors!"

"Brother, I have come to honor you in your duties to the horse herd. You challenged those who raided us as only a warrior would. To you I present two things, the first for your journey, is the enemy's bow and arrows, all broken to show to the ancestors that the enemy paid dearly for your life, having not fired a shot nor shed the blood of the People. The second is a horse to your family as payment for the life that was sacrificed in the name of the People's way of life, the way of the horse. You were a great hunter and we hunted well this spring. You taught me much in the way of the horse and your skill is great for one so young."

Lightning and thunder flashed and echoed from the plains to the east. Sunshine basked the area with white light, seeming to light the drops of rain water all around with a sparkling dazzle that changed the mood from dark to light.

Flying Antelope stared at the stranger, his tears having stopped, his lip quivering. He looked at his wife then back to Old Crow. The old medicine man indicated Black Moose's outstretched arms holding the broken weapons and a horse mane rope. The warrior looked at those implements and took the bow and arrows and moved to place them in the place of reverence upon the bundle. When he returned, he looked at the mane rope and shook his head. Black Moose, having already practiced the ceremony with Old Crow looked to the wife and offered it to her. She looked to the old medicine man and he nodded. She tentatively reached out and took the rope at which Black Moose turned and strode back across the slope to the trail and then down to the tree line. The three stood watching the stranger go, wondering in their hearts how he could pay a debt for the band. Each pondered the significance of a warrior of low ranking offering to pay the debt. Old Crow's heart soared at such a gesture having been forewarned the night before and listening to the spirits now.

The couple was stunned. They both looked at the mane rope then up at the old medicine man. Old Crow nodded approvingly. He knew that the gesture, although coming from a seemingly inappropriate person, would knit one family to the band and possibly bring more back to the band's fire. The spirits whispered in his mind as he turned to watch his young friend turn down the trail to the rest of the group waiting in the shadows of the trees. The whispers told him of the division in the band being healed even as some strove to leave, that those that would have left were dwindling because of the actions of a hunter who had proven his worth as a warrior. The spirits finally spoke to the old medicine man when he looked at his young friend and they sang for him now.

When the four returned, Black Moose was again kneeling in his proper place holding his last bundle, a large and bulky one.

Leaping Deer and his wife, Rippling Water, stood while the oldest daughter, Snowy Grouse, took the bundle that was now the quieted Spotted Fawn and returned to her place under a tree. Black Moose followed the trio as they started out across the bottom of the clearing, crossing boulder fields and chutes. Eventually, they found a ridge line and began the climb. Black Moose could see why the baby had not been brought along, it was dangerous not to mention hard work crossing the boulder fields and chutes, let alone say the climb up the ridge. Then they found a prominent knoll and behind that was a cleft just big enough for a child.

Old Crow again finished his chanting and spoke, "Little Deer, a warrior has come to present a gift for you on your journey to our ancestors!"

"Brother, I have come to honor you in your duties to the horse herd. You challenged those that raided us as only a warrior would. I present you with the weapon I used to destroy four of our enemy as they attacked my friends. Two of those friends are not well, one of which you would know for he was with me when we went looking for you in the blizzard this past snows..."

The mother cried out and almost fell at the mention of that incident but her husband deftly caught her and held her as Black Moose continued.

"He would be here if he were not this day severely wounded. His mother and sister are not here while his father is also badly beaten. When the time is right, I will tell your father and mother the story that will be only theirs to hear of the use of this weapon."

At which he unwrapped the bundle to reveal a burned log about a hand's width and two forearms long with blood covering one end. He held it out to the father. The young warrior steadied his wife while looking to Old Crow who nodded and pointed to the cleft. The young man took the weapon and turned to place it near the bundle in the cleft. Old Crow knew the young warrior did not know where it should go but kept quiet until Black Moose turned and climbed down the ridge.

Old Crow leaned down and explained that the item needed to be positioned in a place, explaining what places had been taken by what items and what places were left. The young man listened carefully then took the weapon and placed it on the place of honor as the others had upon the bundle. Then the trio set off back to the others.

When they returned to the others, Black Moose was gone. Old Crow smiled again inwardly, this young man knew his station and that this place was for the families. He thought back on their discussions and the old man did not remember having told him that.

The day after the return to the graves, Chief Red Bear inquired of Black Moose what he had found.

"I found tracks leading off into the east. I followed them for a day but I could not catch them," came the lifeless reply. "Are the warriors going out to track them down?"

"No."

"Why not?"

The old chief sighed and looked back across the camp, "No one is willing to lead them. The Elders argue and bicker, some claiming that another attack is possible and that our strength is here in the camp."

"Then I will go out with any who will."

The old chief just sighed again and walked away.

Black Moose spent that day trying to gather men to go out to search for the two women. After the near banishment of Brave Elk's family by the faction of Elders, none dared stand up. As Black Moose moved from fire to fire and tipi to tipi, Raging Buffalo followed. One carried hope and concern for those still missing, the other, doubts and fear for any that would "leave" the strength of the band for the sake of two.

"Another attack is coming! We must not divide our forces to look for two of our group when the rest of the tribe is at risk. How can we leave our children and elderly unprotected?"

When Black Moose went to the place he had announced would be the meeting location for those that were willing to go and search for Blue Jay and Little Weasel, he found Raging Buffalo and his gang watching close by. Anyone who acted like they were going to join Black Moose were threatened or scowled at. Black Moose stood there looking at them waiting to see who would show up. No one ever did. Raging Buffalo and his group leered and cheered at him.

"See, you are a stranger here! Why don't YOU go off and look for them. Maybe your strange ways will lead you out into the plains and the sky can swallow you up."

The gang laughed at Raging Buffalo's words.

A day later, Black Moose heard a commotion at an evening fire and wandered over to see. It was Raging Buffalo ranting that he should be made chief and that Red Bear should be banished. Black Moose listened carefully to the rhetoric, marveling at out how even in this simple society there were those who could speak and convince others to believe their words while those same listeners could not see the lies in their actions. It also disturbed him that the young man would openly call for the old chief to be banished. Finally, Black Moose spoke up from the rear of the group, "What of the women who have been taken? If you would be chief why haven't you went after them, to restore them to the People?"

"Because they are gone," he reasoned harshly, "there is no need to waste valuable men to try to return two lowly women to our tribe. We are vulnerable here and we cannot spare the men to go chasing after two women. We will capture more," drawing laughter from some in the crowd.

"Was not one of them the very woman you had sought to marry?"

Raging Buffalo paused and the brief look on his face showed his astonishment at a comment about his intentions but he recovered swift enough, "Ah, that was a conquest...she is a Blackfoot's slave now."

"So women are just a game to you," at which the crowd began to part to allow this speaker to be seen by Raging Buffalo. As they all looked, the realization slowly crept onto their faces that it was the strange one.

"Strange One, why are you here? Go hunt us up some deer for my celebration when I am made chief."

"So the lives of two women are not worth your time? Do any of the rest of you think he would go searching for you or your families if he were made chief? Do you not see the way he hunts? He does not use a bow and arrow, but he is a coyote that slinks and slithers his way into your camp only to steal what he wants and dash off into the brush..."

A war cry issued from Raging Buffalo as he pulled his stone knife and lurched across the now open ground at Black Moose. Black Moose stood his ground and received a nasty gash across his bare chest. Raging Buffalo jumped back in a defensive posture awaiting a counter attack.

Black Moose looked down at the open wound and then looked up smiling back at Raging Buffalo. "Now you attack. Why? Has your courage been questioned? What kind of leader attacks an unarmed member of the People?"

"You are not of the People...you are a coyote in an antelope's skin come to torment me!" at which he lunged forward with his weapon. His stab struck hard and deep into Black Moose's upper stomach sending Black Moose stumbling back.

Black Moose stood up tall with blood running down his chest and stomach, "People, listen to one who has hunted for you, listen to one whose hands and arms were covered in the blood of your enemies', listen to one who is now bleeding from wounds inflicted by one of your own! Beware this one. He will lead you to your death. Has he sent any out to find the two that are lost or to bring back the dead? No! He stands here in the middle of the camp denouncing our Chief and grasping at power. Did he help gather food this spring? No! He stands apart pointing his finger of blame at everyone else. He is no leader! Leave him to his rantings and his attackings. They are as on me, nothing more than mere wounds to be healed from!" and with that Black Moose turned his back on Raging Buffalo and walked away.

Raging Buffalo's rage overwhelmed him and he charged the retreating figure. Black Moose felt his presence before he saw the shadow as the warrior lunged with a death blow. Black Moose stepped to the left, spinning around and swinging his right fist at the attacker. The blow caught Raging Buffalo on the left temple and sent him sprawling into the dirt.

"You would have THIS LEAD YOU?" he retorted loudly. The sprawled warrior lay motionless in the dust. The crowd shook their heads, turning and dispersing as they saw the final blow. The battle for chief was at an end.

Black Moose also turned and walked away, his blood soaking into the dust across the camp, towards the horse herd. He mounted one of his newly acquired horses and headed off to the east. No one except an old set of eyes watched him leave.

As he rode out east into the night, the spirits whispered and danced all around him. When he was well out of sight of the camp and had rode over one more ridge to the east he turned south again and sped his mount up. As he traveled it seemed that dreams and visions danced in front of him but he could never recall what they were. His body lulled on the back of the horse and he slumped forward several times.

Several hours passed as his mount picked its way through the darkness before he heard the far off neigh of another horse. He let his mount quicken its pace at the sound of other horses but when he had gotten close enough to be heard he pulled her up and cooed weakly. Another coo returned from his right and he let his mount proceed on.

Two figures stepped out of the shadows as he rode into the camp. They met his horse and waited for him to climb down. Instead the ground rushed up to meet him, racing the looming darkness that had grown closer as he had rode that night.

# Chapter Thirteen

## Blue Jay

Blue Jay watched as the one called Black Moose rode away down the creek bottom towards the northeast. She actually knew where they were now, having spent her childhood roaming the area. She smiled as the memories of her grandfathers returned from somewhere deep within her mind where they had been long forgotten. Those two men had taught her important teachings about the area, the People and the spirit medicine all about them.

Her mind, having long since forgotten, returned to the first time her mother's father, Straight River, had grasped her hand one morning when she was twelve winters. The band was camped out there east of this camp and he told her he wanted to show her something. He had packed a small bag of water skins and dried meats and they set off up this canyon. She had thought that he was going to turn south and climb the lone peak that stood out away from the wall that was the foothills of the majestic mountains. But he never did as they negotiated the numerous beaver dams and swampy marshes of the bottoms. As they walked, Blue Jay began to wonder why they had not rode horses.

"We did not bring horses because they will be useless from here on," he said as if he had read her mind. She smiled at him embarrassedly as he beamed at her from where he had stopped to look back down the canyon. He began to chant and sing and nodded for her to copy him. When he was convinced that she had gained enough proficiency in the chant he turned north and started up the steep face of the mountain. She looked up the tall face and then back at his bareback and followed. They continued to climb until the sun was straight above their heads before they topped the slope and found a long ridge running east and west covered in sage brush and scrub oak. In fingers on the north side, pines and aspens crept over the lip to break up the reign of sage and hint at cool shade deeper down the slope.

Her grandfather turned and looked down into the canyon below them. Blue Jay followed his gaze and starred in wonder at the view they had. She could see the mountain that jutted from the foothills towards their camp and the prairie beyond. In fact she could see over it. The prairie stretched east from the foothills in front of them around to the foothills behind them to the north. Far out on that see of rolling hills of grass she could make out dark shapes lying on the horizon. Her grandfather pointed at them as they slowly turned from south to east to north, explaining each as well as the significance they held for the People. He taught her their meaning and the ways in which they were to be revered. Then they sat down and he began chanting from this high point overlooking all. She chanted with him until he ceased and turned to look at her.

"Granddaughter, there are things in our future that must be prepared for. You must be prepared for. I have brought you to this sacred place on this sacred mountain to begin your journey."

Blue Jay remembered warmly how the distinct questions and the confusion on her face could be read by him.

"Darkness lays before our people, a darkness that will consume our people. It will be frightening for many, unfathomable for others."

She sat listening, never having heard these things from him before but knowing that he spoke with the powers of the spirits. He got up and began picking up rocks and placing them in a circle around her.

"My granddaughter you have a part to play in these things. Your part will rely on you to make decisions that will prepare yourself, your family and the band. Those decisions are important and the spirits have whispered to me that you begin preparations now. You are required to stay here on this knoll, in this circle that I am building for you. It is here that you will chant and pray until I return for you. You may not leave until I come for you."

Blue Jay's face clouded, then she spoke, "But Grandfather, I am not a brave, I am a not even of womanhood yet. I am not..."

He broke her off with a wave of his hand, "I know all this, but the spirits are requiring this of me. You must do as they have commanded."

Blue Jay remembered feeling the fear rise in her throat as she looked at her grandfather, then looking at his face and seeing the look of confidence he beamed at her, she nodded, closed her eyes and began chanting as he had taught her at the bottom of the mountain. The older man smiled broadly as he finished the circle and waited for her chanting to finish.

"I will return when the spirits call."

She nodded solemnly and started chanting again, watching him move off down the knoll towards the camp.

The memory broke apart as the newer memory of the night before brought back her heart ache, tears clouding her vision. Her worry for her husband and son intensified her anguish.

A whimper from the lean-to behind her reminded her of where she was and what needed to be done. She spent the next few days working on the one thing she could, nursing her youngest child back, placing her worries with the spirits of the ancestors.

By the next day Little Weasel was eating and drinking. But her mind kept returning to Black Moose and where he had gone off to. Blue Jay tried to lay her mind at ease, but the worries persisted. The young woman's mind had suffered an awful shock and therefore she reverted to that of a child. Her only thoughts were of those she loved. Blue Jay knew that her heart was set upon the strange one. Blue Jay only knew him from afar but she understood that both of her children liked him very much. She also had to admit that he was likable, but he looked and acted different. She could not quite understand him either but he was a man and so she accepted him as being complex like men are.

By the third day it was all Blue Jay could do to keep the young woman from jumping on a mount and riding off to the north. Blue Jay knew that she needed to keep her busy but there wasn't much to do except gather food since wood wasn't very hard to find in this place of plenty. In fact, her mind wandered as much as her daughter's concerning what was happening in the camp. Were her blessed husband and son still alive? Would Black Moose return? What if...

That afternoon, she recalled the previous memories of her grandfather and her vision quest. Her mind continued with the story as if she had never left. In fact she could not ever remember having thought on these events since they had happened. Her grandfather never spoke much of them before he left and nothing, until now, had seemed to remind her of them.

The rest of that day on the knoll passed with her chanting and praying but never seeing or hearing her grandfather. Her fear rose as the sun set behind her and the darkness crept up to wrap her in its eerie silence. She lay down for a time within the circle and chanted and prayed whenever the fear seemed too much for her. Her mind constantly returned to the teachings that she had been given by both of her grandfathers.

Morning broke on her surprised mind as she wondered why the bright light was in her eyes so suddenly. She arose and chanted and prayed until the chill of the morning was replaced with the heat of the day.

Still her grandfather did not return.

The day wore on and the night came. Again, she endured the night with chanting and praying mixed with sleeping. The morning dawned but she saw none of it, a vision swept her away as only they can do. She remembered pieces of the vision now, but with time it had blurred and been all but forgotten.

By the fourth day after the raid things were getting easier. Both women felt their darkness lifting as they talked and told stories. Little Weasel, whether feeling bold or just needing to tell a secret to hold the gloominess at bay, told her mother of her coming here to watch Black Moose when he first came to this area. Her mother had mixed feelings, but managed to keep these locked away in her heart. Her fear was palpable as she heard her daughter talk of the walks to this place from the camp last summer, there was so much that could have happened to her. Then as she thought about it she realized that her daughter was a lot like her, fearless and headstrong. Even had Blue Jay tried to keep her daughter from it, Little Weasel would have found a way. It was just the way they both were. She noticed as her daughter talked that they both forgot much of the last days and their hearts grew together as only a mother and daughter can in troubled times.

After the daughter had finished telling of her trips to this camp, Blue Jay took the opportunity to tell of the memories she was recalling the last few days about this very valley and her grandfathers. Little Weasel was enthralled as she heard details about the men she had only heard in passing before. It was as if a whole new world were opening up from her mother.

As night fell though, the darkness seemed closer than usual and Blue Jay knew from the old stories her grandfather, Straight River, had told her that when the darkness felt like a blanket enclosing you that something dark and foreboding was about the night.

She told Little Weasel not to build a fire and they moved out into the sage flats and sat huddled there in fear. The normal sounds that accompanied the night were not there. The silence rang in their ears as even the wind did not dare to stir. The fears of four nights before crept into their hearts as both jumped at the slightest sound whether real or imagined. Their hearts raced and they tried miserably to calm their breathing. At last, Blue Jay tried softly humming a chant. Little Weasel followed and soon they calmed their fears. Still the hauntings of the raid kept them wide awake.

As they were close to the horses, they heard both mounts stir and turn, looking down the creek to the northeast. Both stomped and snorted. The two women focused their attention northeast. Then they heard the far off neigh of a horse. The two horses near them whinnied back.

Shortly after that, a horse could be heard moving through the darkness up the creek towards them. A slight coo broke the silence when the animal stopped.

Blue Jay cooed tentatively back.

They held their breath as they heard the horse begin moving again and out of the darkness rode a single rider into the camp. The two women hurried from the flat to intercept them. As they reached the slumped figure, it pitched forward before either could catch him and landed with a thump on the ground at their feet.

Little Weasel knelt quickly and rolled him over. She knew it was Black Moose although she could not have told anyone how. Blue Jay started working on the fire and then handed a container of water to Little Weasel. But when Little Weasel tried to get Black Moose to drink nothing would pass his lips. She felt for his breathing but could only just feel it. As the light from the fire grew they both looked into his face and saw the white grip death had on him.

Blue Jay knelt by him and felt his heart. It beat lightly against the palm of her hand. When she pulled her hand back she gasped. Her hand was sticky and moist and when she put it up to the light, firelight danced in black blood on her palm.

Little Weasel pulled back his skins and they saw a long slash in his chest and a gaping hole just below his ribcage. She burst into tears and looked to her mother. Blue Jay, having lived through many raids and accidents immediately went to work barking orders at her daughter.

The panic left their minds as both dragged the young man into his lean-to. They worked through the night to clean the wounds and then sow them up. As the first light of dawn touched the eastern sky, Blue Jay set Little Weasel to giving him a light broth if he would drink it. Little Weasel cradled his head in her lap and watched over him.

"Mother, where are you going?"

"Old Crow is not the only one who knows healing medicine," came the resolute reply, "Your great grandfather taught me much about caring for the sick and wounded. I am going to go gather some plants."

Blue Jay's mind roamed as she wandered in the trees looking for the roots and herbs needed for the potions she wanted to make for Black Moose.

Her memories opened, as they had recently started doing, and she saw a day many winters ago when her paternal grandfather, Joyful Song, had asked her to help him gather some plants for a poultice he was making for a young man who had broken his arm. He would lean on his old staff as he walked along trying to scan the ground for the plants he needed. Then he would find one and sit down on a fallen tree and watch his fourteen year old granddaughter as he pointed at the place where she should look for the next ingredient. She would squeal when she found one and come bounding back.

It wasn't until years later that she realized that some of the plants she had found were actually very poisonous and that he had just smiled and placed them in a different pile that was 'forgotten' when they moved on. This way of teaching was not lost on her and she used it in bringing her own children up.

She did learn to identify the good plants and roots quickly under his kind tutelage and her eyes scanned places she had learned that each would grow to find them quickly.

Hours later, Blue Jay returned to the camp. She had many plants and roots and began preparing them in several of the crude wooden containers over the fire.

"Has he drank anything?"

"No," came the forlorn reply.

"Is his heart beating strongly?"

"No," came the squeak.

Blue Jay approached the lean-to and proceeded to apply poultices and bandages to the wounds. She chanted and sung as she did so while she encouraged Little Weasel to have him drink more of the broth. The liquid ran down his cheek, never passing his lips. Little Weasel was on the verge of tears.

Blue Jay frowned and returned to the fire looking over the containers and herbs she had gathered. As she stood looking around at the items around the fire, the spirits began whispering closer and she felt that long lost but deep remembrance that one has when they are touched by the spirits. Her mind opened again and she found her twelve winters old self on that knoll overlooking this valley all those years ago. Her grandfather had left her there for her own vision quest, although she was not a male. He had disappeared days before and she had been left within the circle he had made, fasting, praying and chanting. It was night and she was feeling the fear rise up in her as she wondered if he had forgotten her.

Blue Jay began chanting again and this time felt the spirits nearness as they seemed to come to wrap their arms of comfort around her. She was lost for a time in their whisperings and embrace, enjoying the feelings and sensations that she had never felt before.

Then, light broke upon her face, bringing her out of her reverie. As she opened her eyes, tears obscured her vision and she began to see figures and forms coalescing in the light. Her mind tried to explain them as her grandfather returning to check on her, to take her off the mountain but as they formed and changed she realized that it was a vision. Her young mind tried to absorb and understand each image as the dream moved from place to place and person to person. Now, remembering the dream, Blue Jay could understand more of what the visions meant and how they were to be interpreted. Her mind grasped hold of a few of the visions, remembering them and the feelings associated with them, filing them away in her mind for later. As the race of dreams and visions ceased she remembered her relief as her grandfather took up chanting next to her and released her from her circle.

After returning to camp, her grandfathers both talked with her about the quest and explained to her what the visions meant. They shared some of their own medicine ways and chants for the various visions she had seen. She felt strange as both old men marched her off at the break of day to some secluded place where they would talk and chant and teach, returning her to the camp after dark. This occurred for many moons after her vision quest. Towards the end of the summer, they both took her into the mountains where they chanted and sang over her. But after that day she forgot the teachings, visions and dreams. Now as she remembered it, she thought it strange that she had forgotten it all and never thought to recall it.

That fall her maternal grandfather, Straight River, left the band and she never saw him again. Her mother never would explain why, only saying that he left. As she thought on this she wondered if his leaving was connected to what had happened on the knoll.

As these memories came rushing back to her, one particular dream and explanation from her grandfathers showed her what needed to be done. She looked around at the ingredients already gathered and knew that more was needed. Blue Jay set off into the trees again as the sun rose slowly into the sky.

When she returned she kicked two of the containers into the fire and began mixing in two more.

"Little Weasel, check his breathing, is it strong or weak?"

"It rattles in his chest..." sobbing following the response.

Blue Jay set to her mixing and began chanting, not rushing or panicking but with a determination and an air of importance to it. One thing that Little Weasel had always listened to was her mother's chants for strength and prayer, but she had never heard these chants before. They had a strangely hypnotic and otherworldly tone. The words were almost foreign to her but she understood some of them. It seemed to be a plea to the spirits but also a prayer or promise. She could not discern everything but she could tell that what was being said was also very sacred.

Blue Jay chanted and stirred the contents of the containers for the rest of the morning and well into the afternoon.

As she would end one chant she would turn back to Little Weasel and encourage her to offer him more broth, still very little passed his lips. His breathing became shallower still and his chest seemed to barely rise. She also noticed that his skin was whiter than before and she asked her mother about it.

"He is passing over into the spirit's world."

"But..."

"Little Weasel, your great grandfathers, my grandfathers, taught me a chant that may be helpful."

"Anything mother,"

"You must know that it is not a normal prayer. It is a very sacred chant that can never be revealed to anyone else."

"Yes?"

"It is a vow to serve the People and the spirits no matter the price. It is reserved for very powerful medicine men and sometimes chiefs. In fact, I doubt even Old Crow would allow it to be used even for one so dear him as Black Moose. It cannot be told to any one, they would never allow such blaspheme, for we women are not to know of the medicine man and his ways. My grandfathers taught them to me in preparation for a time of darkness in our history and told me that the spirits would tell me when I would need to use them," at which Blue Jay left her containers at the fire and approached the lean-to.

"One more thing," she said as she knelt next to her daughter and her charge, "by chanting this you and him make the promise together. There can be no other in your hearts than each of you. I know from watching you both that there is a kindling of love within you both but I have seen into his soul. The connection is more than that. I have my ideas of why and how but that is for another time. You both share something that means salvation for the People. That must never be lost in your heart."

Little Weasel nodded with tears of worry in her eyes. Blue Jay spent the next hours teaching the chant to her daughter while she tended the fire and the mixtures she was brewing.

As her daughter began the chant, Blue Jay began bringing in the containers, cleaning the wounds on his chest and stomach of her first poultices. The wounds oozed a blackish blood that stank with rot. As she cleaned, she applied these new mixtures to the wounds. As she emptied each container she would try to help him drink from a tea she had also made. At first he resisted but as the poultices were applied he seemed to relax and began drinking of the liquids put to his lips. Her final container she smeared on his face, then she moved to kneel before her daughter and smeared it on her face as well. Little Weasel almost stopped the chanting in fear at the touch of the cold paste until she looked into her mother's eyes, seeing the stern look commanding that she continue.

As Little Weasel finished one round and began again, Blue Jay started chanting with her. They chanted the rest of the evening and well into the night. Both could feel the wariness from having not slept in two days but both continued, knowing the graveness of the situation.

The fire continued to burn although wood had not been added for hours. Little Weasel was the first to notice that. She also noticed that the trees around them were strangely silent. Even the three horses were not making any noise. It was as if the whole world were waiting for something.

As they finished the chant sometime in the late night a howling wind could be heard to scream eerily down the valley west of them. It moved with amazing speed and struck the camp before they could start chanting again. The fire suddenly roared high and scorched the trees above them as those same trees were bent to the fury of the winds. The horses broke their hobbles and raced off to the east in panic. It felt as if the whole camp were to be wiped from the land. Dust, ash, leaves and needles pelted their faces and arms. Both looked down at Black Moose's face. Still death's white grip held him fast.

The wind lasted for several minutes and even Blue Jay wondered if they had made a grave error. Her grandfathers had said that something amazing always happened but she had not counted on this.

Finally, the winds died and all was silent again. The fire winked out and darkness reigned. Blue Jay and Little Weasel huddled, dozing in the darkness, shivering from the ordeal and the chill in the night air. One or the other would feel for a heartbeat in between their dozing off.

The morning found Black Moose still and white. Both checked him but his heart still beat. He would drink from the broth but still his breathing was slow and rattling. After having cleaned up the camp from the storm the night before both women started making him more comfortable in his bed.

The morning air carried a charged sense of excitement and the sun didn't really rise as usual but instead the clouds above them lightened but never got very bright. Blue Jay looked up into the dark clouds wondering at their color. They looked more like snow in winter than a summer rainstorm. She instructed Little Weasel to go looking for the mounts while she set to finding what skins and bedding she could to prepare for snow.

By mid-day the storm struck with large snowflakes falling from the sky. Both women huddled in the lean-to waiting the storm out and tending to their charge.

The strange summer snowstorm continued the rest of that day and well into the night. The next morning the light of day revealed the snow was about a hand deep and very wet, in fact it had a blue hue to it.

As soon as the snow quit falling that morning their charge moaned and rolled over on his side. Both looked astonishingly from the snow to Black Moose. Little Weasel checked his heart and it was strong. His breathing also had quit rattling.

By mid-day, Black Moose rolled back over and opened his eyes. He sat up wincing in pain with a look of shock on his face.

He spoke but the words did not mean anything to Blue Jay and Little Weasel.

"What?" questioned Little Weasel.

"Where am I?"

Little Weasel leaned towards him and spoke softly, "Don't be alarmed, you are still with us."

"What happened? Why is there snow on the ground? How long have I been asleep?" his scattered questions tumbled out of his head through his mouth.

"Only a few days..."

"But it was summer a few days ago?"

Little Weasel smiled softly into his face but it was Blue Jay that spoke up from behind him in her singsong voice, "Everything is alright. We are safe, as are you. The rest of your questions will be answered later. You must lie back down and rest," as she laid a soft but firm hand on his shoulder and pulled him back to his bed. He started to resist but was too weak to do so for long. As he lay on his bed the women related the story of how he came into the camp and the healing of him, omitting the medicine chant and the violence of the storm the night before.

The snow melted that very day, soaking the world and leaving water flowing everywhere.

It took a few more days, but finally Black Moose was able to climb out of his bed and wander around the camp. The two women took care of him and his strength grew. He examined the cut on his chest and the hole in his stomach, realizing that his not having attended to them before he left the camp had been a very serious mistake that could have cost him his life. He also felt that something had happened here that would prove pivotal for his life.

By the fifth day of his recovery, he was ready to travel and he knew that they had been gone long enough from the tribe. It was time to return.

The camp scrambled to life as three mounted figures appeared on the rise some distance to the southeast.

Old Crow had spent many of those days staring east into the distance and had even ventured to the eastern most bluffs to watch for his young friend. He also prayed to the spirits for guidance. Their whispers showed no change. It was as if all was well. He played the events of the day Black Moose had left over and over in his mind. Still it made no sense. The young man had been severely wounded in an attack by Raging Buffalo who was now disgraced due to his violence and the fact that the strange one had bested him in courage and words without having raised a hand in defense. Those for Raging Buffalo were embarrassed and confusion reigned amongst their number. Some wondered about their choice of a future leader while the Elders within that group tried to salvage any credibility they might have. Chief Red Bear solidified his leadership by bringing order to the camp. Still the undercurrents could be felt, especially when Old Crow listened to the spirits. They told him of things past, present and future and the camp was in a precarious position. Another raid might scatter the group. The spirits whispered this in his ears constantly and his mind wondered at the next move in this large game of cat and mouse with their enemies. Then when he would focus his thoughts on Black Moose and his disappearance, their voices would fade to almost a reverence. This puzzled him.

Old Crow smiled as he saw that the one in the lead had a familiarity to his ride, the way he sat on a horse was unique and strange while the other two sat more like females. Voices were raised in song and praise as some members of the band rejoiced in the return of those who were once thought lost or dead. Before they reached the camp, the three dismounted and Black Moose took the other two mounts to lead them off to the horse herd to the south. The two women ran to the embraces of several of their friends and even the embrace of a stiff husband and father and limping son and brother. Tears flowed freely amongst the gathered crowd.

Old Crow smiled and watched his friend walk the horses across the sage brush flat to the boys guarding the herd. The crowd escorted the returned to the center of the camp where food was brought out and the reunited family given a chance to bask in their joy and wonder. Old Crow noticed that Black Moose was not headed for the center of camp but towards their tipi. The youth greeted the old man with great joy and respect.

"My older brother, there is much that I have to talk with you about but first we must discuss something of grave importance."

"Yes, brother."

"I saw smoke to the east, like cooking fires."

Old Crow's face drained of all color, telling Black Moose all he needed to know. The pure look of fear and worry that washed over that old face confirmed Black Moose's suspicions and settled his resolve. Black Moose nodded and put a hand on the old one's shoulder. "Do not worry my friend. I need to ask you some questions about whom these raiders were and their customs concerning their dead." Then after pausing to look at the celebrations in the center of the camp, "And negotiations."

The night passed in quiet talk while the camp laughed and sang for those they had lost that were found.

# Chapter Fourteen

## The Return

The next morning Chief Red Bear approached Old Crow at the conclusion of his morning prayers at the edge of the camp. "Where is Black Moose? He should have been there last night to be honored and celebrated."

"H' is there," said the old one.

The Chief looked east into the wide valley and saw a line of seven horses at the bottom of the drainage. "What is he doing down there with those dead raiders?"

"H' is doing what should have been done days ago, h' is readying them for their journey back to their people."

"WHAT?!!? He will be killed for such an act. The raiders have no honor and will cut him down before he nears their camp."

Old Crow turned to his old friend, "Maybe so, but on their journey back, Black Moose told m' h' saw smoke from cooking fires to the east."

The Chief choked on his next cursings as the words he heard sunk in. The same fear and worry crossed his face and he looked back down to the lone man loading horses with dead bodies. "What shall we do, brother?"

"The spirits are with this one, my old friend. H' would not tell m' what h' plans to do but the look in his eyes curdles my blood. His revenge will b' swift and frightening. I fear for our enemies, not for what they may do to us afterwards, but for what they are about to endure."

"What does he plan..."

Old Crow looked east at the young man and shrugged and looked back at his old friend, "H' would not tell m' and his questions revealed nothing. But among all the questions there was one that puzzles m'."

Chief Red Bear looked at his old friend, "What were the questions?"

"There were questions about who the raiders were and their customs of death and burial. H' also asked about how to negotiate with them. But the question that troubles m' was on how fire was seen in their customs and ours."

"Death, burial, negotiations and fire? How strange," mumble the old chief as he heard someone call for him. He mumbled something more before he left his old friend.

Old Crow turned back to see his young friend mount his horse, turn and wave to the old man and then lead the procession down the drainage. Old Crow could almost see the spirits at his lead.

Still, Old Crow worried about the young man. Fire was a sacred and revered tool. Why he asked about it, troubled the old medicine man more as he watched the procession disappear down the drainage. One thing troubled him more, the fact that Black Moose was walking into a fight he knew little about nor the depth of the emotions involved.

Black Moose rode much of the day before he noticed the smoke again to the east. As he topped a bluff, he could finally see the camp in the late afternoon sun. It stood in the middle of a small, flat bottomed valley that continued on to the east from its origin in the southwest. Sage brush patches lined the upper reaches and a small meandering stream ran along the bottom as indicated by the ribbon of willows and cottonwoods choking its banks. As he looked down on the valley, his mind wondered at things that were not relevant to the task at hand such as why the stream had no beaver dams. He shook his head and looked back to the camp.

His appearance had the expected reaction as women and children ran screaming towards the tipis and warriors mounted nearby horses to intercept the threat. From the butte to the north could be seen a lone sentry racing across the flats towards the camp. Maybe he caught that one sleeping, Black Moose thought, as he readied the necessary emblems to show his intent was nonthreatening as Old Crow had taught him. Another sentry raced down the valley from the southwest. Again his mind wondered at that. Why would you raid a tribe, lose like they did, then only place two sentries out? That did not make sense, unless they were confident in their statement.

As he pondered these questions, the warriors gathered into a group with the sentries at the west edge of the camp and charged up the valley towards him.

Black Moose stopped when they were within shouting distance and held up the emblems in his right hand. They did not really mean much to him, but Old Crow assured him that they would stop any armed charge in their tracks. When the warriors reached bow shot he noticed the leader looking intently at what he held. Then, when they were within a stone's throw, the leader pulled up and signaled the others to stop. His scowl told Black Moose all he needed to know. They were bound by some rule not to attack even though their hearts screamed for blood. The leader spit in his direction and led his band off to the south, circling around to the west to shadow Black Moose and his caravan.

Black Moose proceeded towards the camp still holding the emblems up. As he reached the edge of the camp, a tall, tanned individual decorated in a feathered headdress and beads strode out of the center of the camp. The men of this tribe wore skin pants instead of loincloths while the women wore a skirt and skins like shawls over their shoulders. Most of the men also had vests of leather and feathers tied in leather bandanas around there heads. The one with the headdress was naked from the waist up.

Black Moose's mind reeled. It was like watching a dream come to life. The long black hair, the prominent nose and highbrow threw him crashing backwards into his own dreams. He struggled to stay in reality as this one strode towards him. The look in his eyes told Black Moose that he also felt something familiar about this stranger on the horse in front of him.

"I am Walks Like Thunder, Chief of our tribe. What do you want?" he demanded in a heavily accented voice with signs to match as the large man eyed what was in Black Moose's right hand.

"I come to bring your dead," he replied signing with one hand. Black Moose, never dropping his right arm, kicked Red with his left foot causing the horse to side step to the right. The show of horsemanship was not lost on the warriors or their chief.

Their attention was then drawn to the half dozen horses behind Black Moose loaded with bundles wrapped in buffalo robes. Black Moose again nudged Red on each side with his heels and the horse backed up next to the first pack horse. He reached down with his left hand, while his right hand still held the emblems in the air, and pulled the quick release end of the rope letting it flip over in the wind to reveal the cargo. There was a collective gasp from the gathering crowd behind their leader as some who had thought that they would never be able to see their loved ones again realized that they were right there before them.

"Why?"

"You raided our tribe half a moon ago. We repelled your warriors and captured your horses as well. We offer you peace in return for your dead."

"Ha! You think that this weakness will save your people? You revealed your evil to us many winters ago and we will not negotiate with you ever again. These are our ancestral lands, our hunting grounds and we will not share these lands with your people. You and your evil are not welcome here. You must take your people elsewhere..." as the big man spoke and signed, Black Moose's mind tried to digest the words. Evil...ever again...what has happened between these two tribes that no one has told me about, he thought.

"...having only returned to you the payment that is just. We do not fear your tribe. We are mightier than you."

Black Moose sat looking at the leader trying to understand what was being said and where he could change the direction of the conversation.

The big man continued, "It was you who offered to trade many winters ago when I was a young boy. We came in peace looking to find the place of our ancestors. You offered us horses for things you did not have. Then, the night after trading, as we prepared to leave a small group of your warriors attacked us, carrying several of our daughters off to rape and murder them and scattering our newly acquired horses. The next morning we found your tracks heading west over the wall of mountains."

"Our warriors followed but soon lost your trail in the rocky passes there," he pointed to the northwest. "We could not follow as the trails over the mountains are unfamiliar to us."

"Now you return all these winters later and think that we do not remember the great evil? My sister was among those that your tribe raped and slaughtered!" his rage cresting. "I have caused death to walk among your people and you feel our pain from many winters ago. NOW GO, leave us to our dead and know that if you return to these lands we will pour your blood on..."

"NO!" came the cry from the stranger. Even the big man stepped back. "I have bested you twice! You remember me, don't you! The lone, strangely dressed one sitting on a hill south of here! You attacked me that day one winter ago. You remember. You sent a single warrior to take the lone weakling. I bested him AND the rest of your group and managed to take two mounts as my prize. See, here, I ride one of them," at which he nudged with his right knee and left foot to turn Red broadside for a better look.

"YOU!" came the enraged scream. He reached for his knife at his belt. Black Moose did not flinch as the weapon was drawn and the other warriors whooped as they started to descend upon the lone rider.

An old man stepped from among the crowd and barked something in a strange tongue. The warriors stopped cold but still the warrior advanced.

"No, Walks Like Thunder, it is forbidden to harm him no matter what your heart says!" came the order from the old medicine man.

When Walks Like Thunder was within a step of the horse and raising his hand, he stopped his advance, eying the emblems still held high in the stranger's hand. His heart screamed for revenge, yet his mind fought against the fear. To violate the sacred signs was to enrage the spirits but here was a sworn enemy that had nearly ruined his son's life, sitting helpless before him. The other warriors who had stopped fought for control over their mind and hearts. Several looked from the stranger to the old man and back to the Chief.

"I have bested you again. Many of the warriors I return to you were slain by me, not the tribe, but ME!!! They fought bravely as is your custom and mine. But your fight is with me not that tribe. I return your dead and give you this warning."

Raising his voice louder and more dignified, "I am He Who Fights the Black Bull Moose Alone and I come to offer you your dead and six horses. I will leave you your dead to perform your sacred rituals as your ancestors have dictated. I also declare, you will leave these lands by the fourth sun that climbs into the eastern sky. You will travel east to the great river that runs north and cross it." He could see the murmurings rise on their lips, "If you do not, I will call upon my great medicine and I ALONE will drive you to those shores."

The warriors shook with hatred and contempt and the Chief's face was a fiery red. They considered this a great insult. Black Moose somehow knew that they would but he knew that he should be dead by this point anyway.

Without taking his eyes from them he let the rope to the lead pack horse drop from under his left thigh and nudged Red to turn back to face them, backing up a few steps before turning him around and clicking him up to a walk. When he was a stone's throw away he brought the mount to a canter heading up the valley towards the southwest. The whole while, his right hand was raised with the sacred emblems.

The camp came alive with wailing and angry voices. It was hard for him not to turn and look back, but that would be seen as nervousness according to Old Crow. When he felt he was a good distance away he turned south and rode up onto the hill. As he reached the summit of the hill, he proceeded up onto the most prominent bluff overlooking the camp from this southern vantage point.

Old Crow had assured him that until they had prepared and buried their dead, the enemy would not be able to attack him. That would go well for the first day or two but he still had several more days beyond that. He decided to just sit and watch.

He hobbled his horse on the other side of the bluff and sat down on top to pray and chant for the rest of the afternoon. Food would not sit well in his nervous stomach and the cool air of night soon helped him relax as he replayed the events of the day in his mind. The story that Walks Like Thunder had told was troubling at best, but talked of the depth of the hatred between the two groups. He wondered at the evil that they saw, questioning whether the People would do such a terrible thing, well most of them wouldn't anyway. His mind reeled to and fro as he pondered the implications. This tribe would not leave easily since they felt that they were the wronged and they were already entrenched in the area. It would have to be a harsh lesson for them to realize that to leave was better than to fight. Black Moose felt his stomach churn at those thoughts. He feared that tasks in the coming days would be more than he could manage. Still, he heard the whispers of the spirits calming his mind and soul.

As morning dawned, Black Moose realized that he had an excellent vantage point of the camp from the bluff. He could see that they had camped close to a spring which fed the small creek running southeast. Their camp was arranged differently from the People and he made mental notes to compare with Old Crow upon his return. He also noticed something else. Where normally the horse herd for the People was kept downstream from the camp or in another valley, these people kept their horses close. Another thing he noticed was that this group had a lot fewer horses. In fact the dozen or so warriors on mounts that had threatened him were the only ones he could see that had horses. It seemed that they did not have many horses.

Mourning began in earnest at the height of the day and Black Moose, finally feeling like eating, ate of his rations. He watched the camp while he chanted and prayed, never really moving from his chosen rock. The night brought chanting and wailing from the camp.

The second day, the camp assembled and headed off to the north building funeral pyres on a prominent bluff. When they returned, still the watcher was there in his same spot.

The third day was the day Black Moose dreaded. He had wondered all night before if they would listen to his warning and leave or if they would just attack him. But to his surprise a group of warriors only rode out and around him keeping at a great distance then returned to camp. They had feared a trap and would not commit to an attack without knowing. Black Moose smiled at this. His speech had had an effect.

On the morning of the fourth day the camp awoke and looked up on the bluff to the south. A stir rippled through the camp. The watcher was gone. A small pack of warriors rode out to the spot. He was truly gone and there was no sign as to where he had gone. They also found a pile of fist sized rocks where he had sat.

As they stood on top of the bluff the wind began to blow and whip their hair, tearing at their leathers. The warriors all felt evil on the wind. Something was happening that they did not understand.

As they rode back to the camp, cries from the camp turned their attention back towards the southwest bluff. White smoke rose from behind the hill. The camp watched in horror as the smoke billowed and soared up into the sky overhead, carried by the fierce winds. Then their horror turned to panic as the smoke raced northward crossing the creek far to the southwest, behind the hills, and continued north behind the ridge that the stranger had come from to the west. The sentry from the north bluff raced down into the camp.

He rode up to Walks Like Thunder yelling, "The fire spreads north to encircle us with the winds from the west! It is strange medicine!"

The camp burst into chaos as everyone scrambled to gather their belongings and flee the oncoming fire. Walks Like Thunder roared orders to leave the tipis standing and encouraged the group to flee east. The warriors grabbed their mounts and tried to help the old and very young onto the backs but there were not enough horses for all the people. Most just carried what they could, whether it was children or weapons or skins and ran to the east. Chaos ruled their retreat.

As they finally reached the top of the first ridge, they looked back to see that the fire had spread far to the north and was just coming over the hill to the west. Walks Like Thunder looked north and south and could see that the fire was encircling them like a pack of wolves bent on devouring his band.

The band continued east as fast as they could. The oldest and youngest were mounted while the warriors, women and older children ran alongside the mounts. As they fled, Walks Like Thunder paused to look back at the camp again. On the hill now blackened by the racing fire he shook his head and looked again. He thought he saw a figure of a man mounted on a horse standing in the smoke. The hair on this neck raised as this ghost turned and rode down the slope towards them, as if he rode with the fire!

"FASTER!" he yelled to his people.

As the morning wore on, the band would see the fire move off to the north or south and looked to be moving beyond them, then it would spring to life behind them again and they would be forced to march faster. By midafternoon his band was exhausted as they started down into the breaks that fringed the large river that flowed north. With the strange warrior's words ringing loud in their ears, his people worked even harder to make the river and cross it.

When the group had finally crossed the river, they turned to look back and saw the mounted figure atop a finger of the breaks gazing down upon them through the smoke. Fire raced down the breaks all around him but he seemed untouched. As the fire rushed down and across the flats to the river, the people recoiled in disbelief. The stranger and mount bailed off of the top of the finger and followed after it. His mount and body were covered in black and his face wore a fierce expression. It looked as if his eyes shown with the very fires around him. He stopped where the fires did at the edge of the river.

He shouted across the watery expanse, "I warned you...now you have seen! CROSS not this river again or the fire will devour you, your dead and your ancestors!" came his booming voice taking a broken lance from their tribe and sticking the head in the ground at the edge of the river, the broken haft still attached and swaying in the breeze.

Then he turned and raced back up the breaks, seeming to disappear in the broken landscape leaving some to wonder if he were just a phantom, the broken lance the only remnant of his being there.

Black Moose moved back to the top of the nearest finger and paused to look back at the river below through the billowing smoke of the smoldering fires all around the breaks. There stood Walks Like Thunder on the eastern edge of the river looking up at where he thought his enemy would stand. His people were organizing what was left of their belongings and making camp for the coming evening. Black Moose sat on his horse watching him from the head of a finger, not from the point like he had when he had first appeared. It was not as important to be in sight of his enemy now that he had driven them across the river. He wanted mystery and awe to keep the tribe afraid of him, not pride and arrogance to show that he was unafraid.

Black Moose knew somehow that this would not be the last time that he and Walks Like Thunder would meet as he felt the spirits of the People whispering around him with the wind. Their song brought comfort to his heart even though he had nearly destroyed an enemy. He also knew that the warriors would make one foray back to their vacant camp to gather anything useful including their tipis. He knew this because he would do the same. But the main body of tribe would stay on the safe side of the river. The fear was too tangible for them right now to risk another run in with him.

As he sat pondering this, Black Moose heard a muffled sob. He turned and looked back down into a draw behind him. He led his horse down into the draw towards the sound. When he approached an overhang the sobbing stopped and he dismounted to get closer. Under the overhang huddled a girl of maybe 14 years old, scared and alone. Her nose was small and her face was round while her long, jet black hair hung loose around her face. Her frame looked to be medium for her age and she was just beginning to blossom as a young woman with all those curves coming out.

"Come little one, I will not hurt you."

She shook her head, then she spoke smoothly in the People's tongue, "Please do not take me back to the tribe."

Black Moose paused in surprise, "Why not?"

She just curled up tighter in her hideout. Black Moose stood up, thinking. Then he walked over to his mount, returning with his bundle of rations.

"Are you hungry little one?"

She did not respond, but when he tossed the bundle to her she, caught it easily, opened it and pulled out some of the food. She began chewing contentedly on the jerky. Black Moose waited patiently before it dawned on him, hey, she speaks the People's language smoothly. Black Moose smiled knowingly as he sat looking down the charred draw watching a nearby cactus patch smolder. He sat listening to the spirits and thinking. "Well what do you we do with you?" he thought out loud in the People's tongue.

"I am not of that tribe. I was captured last summer and have been kept as a future bride for the Chief's son."

"What tribe were you captured from? Where?"

"I am of the People but I know not from where. They kept a horse hair blanket on my head for two days so that I would not know which direction they had taken me. I only know that you speak the same language that I do and therefore we must be of the same tribe."

Black Moose sat listening to the spirits, who seemed to be closer to him than usual as he sat talking with this girl.

"You can take me with you back to your tribe," she said bravely.

"Ha! You know not what you ask. I am an outlander, an outsider, in my tribe and they may not accept you any more than they accept me."

"I could be your _____." Obviously he did not understand the last word but he could infer its meaning.

"No, I need none of those." Black Moose sat thinking and praying. The spirits whispered in his ears and he knew where the girl would be welcomed.

"You may come with me back to my tribe, then. What is your name little one?"

"My mother called me Lily in the Meadow, or just Lily."

"I am Black Moose."

"I know, your name is strong and memorable."

With that she climbed out of her hole with the bag of rations and he helped her onto his mount. Then just to be safe he crept back up the finger and peeked over the rise. The camp was settling in for the coming night and they had lost any interest in finding their new enemy. But still, there stood a man at the bank of the river, looking up where he had last seen their enemy disappear into the breaks. Black Moose smirked, returned to his new charge and mounted the horse behind the girl, leading them back towards the ruined camp.

They rode most of the afternoon through a burned landscape, Lily talking of her memories and her tribe and Black Moose listening quietly. He enjoyed the company and her personality was contagious.

They approached the now scorched and deserted camp as the sun slowly crept behind the squat looking, future named, Bighorn Mountains far off in the distance. Black Moose noticed movement among one of the tipis and halted his horse. Nothing more stirred but his senses told him otherwise. His mind reeled as he tried to figure out who had escaped and whether he had just walked into a trap.

Lily looked up at him questioningly from her place in front of him. Black Moose dismounted and signaled for her to ride on. The girl nervously guided the horse forward while Black Moose slipped quietly towards a burned out tipi to the right, in line with where he had seen the movement. He watched the rider and mount enter the center of the desolate and darkening camp and saw another figure moving around the edge of a partially intact tipi just ahead of him towards the rear of the rider. Black Moose tensed as the figure crouched and brandished some kind of club.

Just as the girl leaned left to turn around and look back at where Black Moose had dismounted, the figure jumped from behind the tipi and padded silently towards his quarry bringing the club up in a deadly arc to unseat the rider. Black Moose, having been shadowing the attacker, launched himself at the figure as it reached the horse sending him and the assailant into the ashes and dust in front of the horse. Lily nearly jumped off of the horse in surprise as she heard the crash of both assailant and savior going to the ground in front of her. Red lurched back but did not panic. Lily stared apprehensively as Black Moose pinned the other to the ground with a left knee on the chin while holding the assailant's hands on the ground with his right hand.

He paused in surprise. Underneath his knee was the hardened face of an older Indian woman. Her black hair had the black and white look of a mother but the scars on her face told of a harsh life. The look in her eyes made his hair on his neck rise. Her eyes whispered back at him and the spirits were all around him swirling in...happiness? There was also something familiar about her but he could not place her. The eyes though spoke of fear, a fear so reckless that no amount of pain or suffering could have subdued her. He realized that she would fight to the death in that instant.

"Black Moose, do not hurt her! She is like me. We were both captives of this tribe," came the plea from Lily.

Black Moose looked intently into those angry eyes and let her arms go as he rose to his feet, stepping away quickly.

"Walking Moonlight, it is I, Lily in the Meadow."

The woman looked from the girl back to Black Moose and slowly rose to her feet. Then she realized what she had almost done and lowered her face. "I am sorry, Lily. I thought that one of the warriors had returned to take me with them." Then looking up into Black Moose's eyes she said, "I would sooner die than be taken back to them," stated with such intensity and hatred that Black Moose felt his skin crawl. He also heard the spirits chanting in his mind and whispering to him.

Black Moose walked over to where her club had fallen and picked it up. He returned to the woman, flipping the handle over and catching the head and offering the weapon back to her. "Have no fear. Your enemy is my enemy and they now camp on the eastern edge of the river as I promised them they would."

"You are the one that brought the dead back, the one they called the 'Watcher on the Hill?' They had other names for you as well, but they are lowly and degrading."

"He is Black Moose and yes, he is the one that promised to drive them from this land," said the girl.

Black Moose offered the club again and the woman took the weapon but lowered it. He wandered off to search the camp before the darkness set in fully. The other two did as well.

After searching, Black Moose found some useful items ranging from weapons and jewelry to hides and tools. He assembled a travois and set to packing the items. The girl and woman watched questioningly but neither dared to say anything as his silence bore down on them.

Finally, he turned to them and signaled for them to place the items they had gathered on the travois as well. Lily moved quickly but Walking Moonlight stood still.

"You are welcome to return with me to my tribe. They may not accept you any more than they accept me, but it is better than becoming a slave to another group. I cannot offer you more than a warm fire, though."

She seemed to be stuck in indecision. It was evident to Black Moose that she had not trusted anyone for a very long time.

This one is a curious warrior, she thought. He seems...different. There is something about him, the whispers of the spirits surround him. He speaks the People's tongue, although it is flawed and...funny, but he does speak it.

"OK, I will go with you but I want to return to my own tribe."

"I will help you if I can," came the reply.

What a strange thing to say, Walking Moonlight thought as she placed her items on the travois and waited for their departure. Black Moose lead his horse across the flats and up the hill to the west in the dark with his two new charges following along behind. Neither girl nor woman asked why they were setting off in the night but both felt relief with each step they took away from their previous lives.

The moon came out before long and their journey progressed quickly, though not as quickly as it would have in the daylight, nor with horses for all. Still, Black Moose knew the terrain well enough to keep them in the rolling hills and away from the steep slopes and deep washes that riddled the prairie around them. He also trusted Red to guide them through the dark as well. He knew that to camp out in the open this night after he had successfully attacked another tribe would be foolish. Revenge can burn a man to do things he would not normally do and Black Moose was not interested in finding out what Walks Like Thunder was willing to do, or not.

They reached the bottom of the valley where the People were camped as the eastern horizon began to lighten behind them. He led them towards the camp making more noise than he normally would and soon they were challenged by a sentry at which Black Moose declared his name loudly. The sentry saluted and allowed them to pass although his eyes betrayed his interest in his two companions.

They walked into the camp as the stars dimmed and light began to wash across the darkened prairie. Old Crow was standing there in the predawn, wrapped in a buffalo robe watching his friend return. As he was the first to greet Black Moose, he was also the first to see the two he had brought with him. At first, Old Crow was somewhat puzzled by the stragglers until he stepped to the side and looked beyond Black Moose at them. His face clouded over, first with confusion then with surprise, then with joy.

Black Moose caught the changes in his face and looked back at the one the old man was looking at, Walking Moonlight. The same progression of feelings seemed to follow on her face as well. It was then that the spirits exploded in song and praise all around him and he felt their joy expressed in goose bumps on his skin and the hair on his neck stood on end.

Old Crow let out a joyous cry that Black Moose had never heard come from the old man which brought the whole camp to life. The old man stepped up and grabbed Walking Moonlight hugging her fiercely while tears ran down both faces. Soon a crowd had gathered around the two and voices were raised in triumphant song and chant, especially from the older members of the tribe. Black Moose slowly crept away from the gathering crowd with his other charge in tow and let them have their time. He knew his old friend would tell him the story later.

Old Crow's eyes had not flowed so many tears in a very long time. As he looked back into the familiar face through those tears, he could think of only one thing.

"Go! Quickly call Chief Red Bear and Yellow Pine!" then he turned back to the woman in his arms declared, "Walking Moonlight, it is you!"

She could do nothing but cry while smiling and nodding.

The crowd that gathered near the two was mostly made up of the older members of the band while the younger ones stood behind watching the happy reunions. Finally, the old chief and his wife arrived.

As the crowd parted to allow them to join the happy pair at the center they both stopped when they caught sight of Walking Moonlight. The old Chief's face had a similar progression of expressions as that of the old medicine man's earlier. His wife on the other hand let out a wail and dashed quickly into the embrace of the other woman.

Both women stood wailing and crying on the other's shoulder slowly slumping to the ground as the old medicine man tried to hold the pair up.

Chief Red Bear recovered himself and approached the two women with a great whoop.

He then turned to his old friend, "How is it possible that my sister-in-law walks into our camp at the rising of the sun on this day my friend!"

Old Crow pointed to the retreating back of Black Moose as he walked across the camp towards another tipi saying, "That one."

The old Chief looked from the strange one to his old friend then back to the happy sisters still hugging and weeping in each other's arms. The look of awe and wonder on the old leader's face was not wasted on Old Crow.

Black Moose motioned to Lily as soon as the old medicine man was united with his long lost friend and led her to towards a couple who were standing near their tipi. Flying Hawk and Little Weasel were nearby trying to decide whether to join the crowd of cheering people or stay with their family where their friend Black Moose was headed.

As Black Moose approached the older couple he said, "My friends, I have a favor to ask."

"Yes, brother," replied Brave Elk. The use of the word 'brother' caused Black Moose to pause since none of the older men except Old Crow had ever called him that before.

"This one was a captive bride that escaped the raider's camp. She has nowhere to go and still has need of parents..."

"We will care of her," interrupted Blue Jay as she stepped forward reading his mind and feeling the spirits whispering to her, "She will be welcome by our fire as if she were our own." Black Moose looked puzzled at the couple and then smiled.

Lily's apprehension dissolved as Blue Jay leaned over her and began talking excitedly. Soon the girl was beaming with the kindness and affection being shown her as she was immediately swept into the tipi by her now adopted mother.

As Brave Elk turned back from watching them go he saw the retreating back of Black Moose. His face clouded with what he wanted to say but could not get out in time to stop the young man. He determined to try again soon.

# Chapter Fifteen

## Stories

Old Crow spoke slowly and purposefully into the fire before them as Black Moose listened attentively.

"Many winters ago, when the tribe enjoyed their hunting east of the present camp, out on the plains, the People of the tribe were many more then, with mighty warriors who ranged far and wide discouraging raids from other tribes with their show of might on our horses. Other bands could not approach so close to the People without these warriors detecting them and driving them off long before they could become a threat to our camp. The People were secure here in this large basin where they could migrate with the buffalo and hunt the herds as they saw fit."

"One day a tribe came under the symbols of peace to the sentries to the east wanting to trade for horses near the River That Flows North. Chief Red Bear, being young, and the Elders debated it well into the night. The next morning, the Chief told the sentries that they would trade at the river the following day."

"The following day, most of the tribe assembled early in the morning with their wares and some extra horses, setting off towards the east. At midday w' arrived to find the other tribe camped on the opposite side of the river, where the sentries had told them to and waiting to trade on the west side. The trading went well and even a few horses were traded for valuables and such. As the afternoon wore on, the People packed up to return to their tipis."

"When w' returned, w' found our camp burned and several of the old that w' had left murdered. Walking Moonlight was a young mother of two at that time. Both slaughtered while she was missing with a few of the other pretty young women. Our valuables had been taken, only the horse herd remained, for w' had hidden them in the mountains to the west with a few of the more seasoned warriors."

"The People were enraged at such treatment and immediately assembled a war party. They returned to the enemies' camp. But instead of attacking as is our way, the leader of the party decided that they would also steal this tribe's young women."

Black Moose looked up in alarm, causing the old man to pause. "Who led the war party?"

Old Crow sighed, "A man that should not have, Red Alder."

Black Moose sat staring at his friend in silence, then looked back into the fire waiting for the old man to continue.

"The majority of the war party attacked from the north and drew the tribe's warriors along the river to the north while another group entered the camp from the south. They did not take the young women as they had planned."

Black Moose noticed the silence that lengthened, then looked up. The look on the old man's face was all he needed to see and Black Moose finished for him, "They did very evil things."

Old Crow looked up at his friend as tears ran down his face and nodded.

Black Moose looked back into the fire comparing the two stories he had heard. Some similarities pointed at the truth, the differences at the lies.

"What of those that had been captured?"

"The party found no sign of them. Walking Moonlight's husband and several others left the war party after the attack in search of the missing. They were never seen of again."

The tipi fell silent for a time.

"Chief Red Bear and myself did not know the extent of the evil until three winters after. W' fled as soon as the war party returned, their story being that they had found the camp and punished them but that others of their tribe had joined them after our attack and that their numbers were greater than ours. W' sent out riders to recall our sentries and w' retreated into the mountains, gathering our horse herd and using the trails of the mountains to pass over into the valleys and basin beyond. The enemy tried to follow, but w' hid our trail as w' went and left many traps for them."

The old man paused as he gathered his thoughts. "The basin beyond was beautiful but was not empty of tribes. The game was plentiful, though, and the People enjoyed our new home."

Again, he paused, "None but Chief Red Bear have heard the whole story and you must not tell another," the old voice conveying the magnitude of the warning. The spirits whispered in his ear as the silence continued. Black Moose nodded and the old man continued, "The third winter there in that basin, I was called on to perform a healing for one of the older warriors, who had been on the raid. H' was very sick and the spirits were not with m' as I tried to heal him. One night, after his family had fallen asleep, h' pled with me to chant and pray for him. I had thought that his mind was slipping over for his journey to our ancestors."

"H' began telling m' the story of the raid and it was then that the spirits starting screeching and wailing in my ears. I listened to his version as h' was with the smaller party. I was horrified that such evil could b' done by the People. H' told of things too horrible to explain. I tremble to think of such things now..." and the old man sat silently trembling and trying to regain control.

Black Moose was watching the old man now and felt the chill of evil wash over him. The spirits were speaking to him as well. It was a new experience for him, though. He felt as if he left his body and was somewhere else. He was in a tipi with his mother sewing a blanket with hair. He felt joy and peace as he lived with a tribe that loved and cared for everyone. Then chaos broke out as his father heard a cry and launched himself across the fire, breaking from the tipi flap and sailing off into the night. Men could be heard talking loudly of an attack and that they had repelled the invaders but that they were escaping down the river. A large party of warriors assembled and they headed off in pursuit of the raiders.

Shortly after they left and the camp had quieted, there was more noise from the edge of the camp and his mother went out to see what it was. There was a blood curdling scream and his mother seemed to be thrown through the flap into the fire, blood running from a large gash in her neck. Black Moose let out a scream of panic.

A figure appeared at the door, the look in the man's eyes told Black Moose that he was in trouble...

As he lived the raid, it was not as one of the People's warriors but one of the enemies. His mind reeled as he saw things that made his stomach turn. His senses were tuned to every feeling, sight and sound. Suddenly he looked up at the silence that had engulfed the tipi. Old Crow sat looking at him with a strange look.

"What do you s', my young brother?"

Black Moose just stared at the old medicine man, one part of his mind in the vision, feeling, seeing, hearing, tasting and smelling every detail, the other left staring at his friend wondering how to describe what he was experiencing. He opened his mouth to speak but no words came out, his senses seemed to be overwhelmed from the vision.

The look on the old man's face changed from fear to curiosity. He stated, "Can you feel the spirits with us?"

Black Moose closed his mouth and nodded.

"Do you hear them?"

Again, a nod.

"Do you s' them?"

Black Moose's eyes narrowed and his head slowly shook right to left.

"Are they talking to you?"

Again, the shake of his head.

"Are you s'ing a vision?"

A slow nod that lasted longer than the previous one.

Old Crow paused, thinking then spoke very slowly, "Are you watching the raid I was speaking of?"

Black Moose nodded slowly.

"I too have seen it. Do not panic it will pass soon enough. The spirits show us things for reasons."

Black Moose closed his eyes, trying to shut the vision off but that only intensified it. He felt his grip on reality slipping as he seemed to float between the vision and Old Crow's tipi. The chaos of the vision dragged him to and fro, never allowing him to focus on one thing, always jolting to the next evil deed. It was as if he were watching devils in hell dancing from one terrible act to another. His mind reeled trying to understand how so many terrible things could be done in so short a time.

CLAP!

Black Moose found himself laying on his side staring at the fire with Old Crow standing over him, his old hands together near the young man's face. The young man gasped and sucked air, his lungs on fire from lack of breath. Then the old man knelt down and helped his young friend sit up. He sat down next to his young friend, putting his wrinkled hand on the younger's arm, tapping with a finger.

"I am sorry to have spoken of such things this night. I should not have spoken of them with you."

Black Moose sat quietly looking at the old man, then said, "So what happened to the man that told you these things."

Old Crow smiled sadly, "H' began his journey to our ancestors shortly after h' finished telling m' the story. I told Chief Red Bear the next evening and w' decided that it was good that w' stay in that basin."

"So why did you leave?"

The old man looked back into the fire, "W' were no longer welcome."

Old Crow had finally grown tired of staring at the fire and crawled over to his sleeping robes. Black Moose lay down and watched the light in the tipi slowly dwindle as the fire burned down but his mind would not slow down. The vision he had seen was too real and the memories were etched in his consciousness whether he closed his eyes or opened them. Sleep was far from him.

Finally he arose, donned some skins and slipped out into the night. The stars shone brightly and Black Moose took a deep breath of the cool night air. He walked over to the log near the cooking fire and sat down. The night air cleared his mind and helped him see through the cloud that the vision had left. He sat alone in the dark for quite some time, listening to the night's sounds and looking up at the stars.

Finally, he felt he needed to be away from here and stood up looking east. He started off across the flats for the dark horizon that he knew to be the ridge east of the camp. The moon rose shortly after he set out and afforded more light but the going was still slow. When he arrived on the butte he found a place near the eastern side and sat down near a rock outcropping.

Then he began to pray and chant. As he did so, his mind relaxed and he found that he could relive the dream without all the emotions and turmoil. He searched through the vision, thinking back to things he saw, felt or heard. Most was just chaos and noise but he found pieces of the vision that had deeper meaning. These he filed away for further thought. As he sorted the vision out in his mind, his heart settled and he found the peace that had evaded him earlier.

A smell on the breeze reminded him of someone just as a pair of hands covered his eyes from behind. He smiled and covered the soft hands with his own.

"Why is my love out here on this butte in the dark of night?" Little Weasel whispered into his ear.

"How did you find me?" he whispered back.

She slid around to his right and sat down next to him, keeping her hands draped over his left shoulder.

"Don't avoid the question with another, why are you out here?"

"I have much to think about," Black Moose mumbled as he looked off at the horizon.

"I worried when you left for the enemy's camp. I knew not why you went, only that you went. When you returned you were...different."

Black Moose replayed that whole encounter in his mind trying to think of what had happened and why. Then he turned to look into those beautiful dark eyes. The starlight seemed to sparkle in them. "I did what had to be done, not to hurt you, not to abandon you. The enemy needed to have their dead back, but they also needed a show of power."

"You have left like that many times, first the blizzard and the three boys, then the hunting when you earned your name, then the raid leaving my mother and I and finally the enemy camp. Each time my heart was torn between what you were doing and how it made me feel."

Black Moose bowed his head, "And the move south from the winter camp," he mumbled, his mind reeling from the decisions he had made unilaterally without consulting the one person who loved him. The pain she must have endured tore at his heart. How do I explain this to her, he thought.

She slid down to sit next to him looking east, "Let's pray and chant to the rising sun and maybe we can find the dawn of a new day." Black Moose looked up at her, feeling the change in the air as she turned the conversation towards a brighter topic. He turned back to the east, following her lead in the chanting and prayer.

As they sat chanting Black Moose paused to listen. Little Weasel looked over at him and paused as well. He looked at her and said, "Do you hear that?"

The sound came to them as if on the wind from far to the south. It echoed and howled until finally Black Moose thought he could hear a familiar female voice coming to them:

JIM! Where are you? I love you! Why did you leave me? I can't FIND you! PLEASE, COME BACK!! I promise, we can work...

His mind saw Heather, his girlfriend from the future, her red hair tousled and tears running down her face. She stood on the top of a butte looking out over the lonely prairie. Then the breeze seemed to rise from the west and the words fell apart and were drowned out for a while. Her words continued but seemed to be interrupted by the breeze here and there.

Jim, please. Wherever you are, just come back to me. I know I was wrong...I treated you...I want to change. Jim I love you. You are everything to me. I...I...I just want you to come back. Please...

Little Weasel nodded saying, "But I cannot understand it. What is it?"

Black Moose thought about the words on the wind, they still echoed in his mind. The pull on his heart was still there but he felt something else, something closer. His mind had always hoped that he could return to the future, the memories drawing him there. He knew now that that hope needed to be settled. Was he to continue hoping to return to that life?

Black Moose sat pondering the meanings, then made the decision, "It is my memories of the future being carried by the wind away from the life I have been given," he said as he snaked his hand into hers and began chanting and praying, drowning out the lonely echoes on the wind. She followed.

Hours later the day dawned in a beautiful display of orange, yellow and gold.

<===<<< >>>===>

Thank you for reading my book. If you enjoyed it, won't you please take a moment to leave me a review at your favorite retailer?

Thanks!

M.D. Robinson

# About M.D. Robinson

MD (Mike as his friends call him) lives in Wyoming with his wife Nat and enjoys the great outdoors such as camping, hunting and fishing. A longtime resident of Wyoming, Mike has also lived overseas in Asia and enjoys returning to that part of the world, mostly to enjoy the various foods, and visit friends and family.

Mike has finished his first full length novel in the Fiction/Historical/Native American genre, Memories of a Distant Future, published on Smashwords. "It was such a great adventure to pick up this novel where I had left it years ago and finish it," he says. "I had an outline of where it was to go but where it ended up was nowhere near there but the novel is better for not sticking to the original outline." This novel is the first of three novels planned for the Way of the Horse series with more rattling around inside his head.

For more info, see his Smashwords Interview at: <https://www.smashwords.com/interview/Mick185>

Other Titles coming soon.

# Connect with M.D. Robinson

Blog: http://wayofthehorseseries.blogspot.com/

Google+: https://plus.google.com/u/0/115028206642918247749

Smashwords author profile: https://www.smashwords.com/profile/view/Mick185

