Chapter 1
Near The Lakota Sioux Reservation Wyoming Territory 1871
The boy stopped on a smooth flat rock. He was barefooted and sweating, trying to catch his breath. He bent over gripping his waist, panting, looking into the darkness. A bullet slammed into the tree ahead of him. He heard the men coming. It didn’t take them long to catch up to him.
He had run from the river bank, following a trail he had taken many times before looking for elk. He hoped he would be able to double back without being seen. Now that it was dark, he was stumbling and afraid he may have lost his way. His feet and ankles were sore and bleeding and he wanted to lie down and sleep. He had made his way into the mountains, climbing as he followed the winding path higher. In places sections of the hillside fell away beneath his feet.
“I can’t stop yet,” he thought. “I have to get back to camp.”
Crashing into a rock, he lost his balance and hit the ground. He got up and kept running, straining to see obstacles ahead. He heard the men charging behind him. A second bullet whistled past his right shoulder.
Leaving the game trail, he began to zig zag and head away from the noise of the men following up the rocky incline. He gained the ridge top and looked down at the mist filled ravine with vapor rising in jagged wisps, like steam from a boiling pot. The night was cloudless and the moon was high in the sky. Between him and his pursuers the bushes were a shadow of black and gray. He saw the riders with their heads pressed to their horses’ necks as they tried to avoid the dense trees, dripping with vines obstructing their way. They had to dismount and scramble up the steep trail, leading their horses as they skittered and slid, gouging out the red earth and loose rock which fell dangerously when they set their hooves upon it. If they got closer, they surely would be able to see his silhouette as he fled.
He kept moving. He scampered down the draw, snaking through the sage and pinion and coming out downstream along the bank of the river that ran past where he was camping with his mother and Grey Wolf.
When the scrub ended, he found himself forced into the open. He ran toward a buttress of rock that was a deeper shadow on the dark landscape. Upon reaching it, he sank to his knees behind a tree. His breath was rasping and he was aware of his thirst. He flattened out on the river bank and drank. It tasted sweet and cold. His eyes began to ache from drinking too fast.
Somewhere close by a twig snapped. His heart jumped. Scrambling up into a crouch, he fought to control his breathing. He heard a hushed exchange between two men. He stayed still.
“He’s got to be in here somewhere Rory”, one voice said, very close now.
The boy shut his eyes, willing the men away.
“Shut up Jasper,” the other voice rasped. The boy heard them pushing through the scrub brush moving away from him. He was too afraid to open his eyes until the sound of their retreat grew fainter.
Heart pounding, he opened his eyes to see a pair of dark eyes staring back at him, glistening in the night. It was a small deer.
The deer turned, jumped down and nimbly scampered away, leaving him alone with the dark and still silence of the night.
He swore he could hear his heart pounding from fear and exhaustion.
I need to find someplace to hide until these men are gone, he thought.
He moved out. Reaching a rise, he stopped and turned to see if he could catch a glimpse of his pursuers. He heard horses snorting and their hooves striking the ground. The boy ducked into the brush along the path. The horses’ shadows passed over him. These were the other two men who had joined in the chase to capture him.
I can’t outrun them, he thought to himself, and darted away through the dark, effortlessly avoiding bushes and sharp, jutting rock with the ease of a rabbit. Occasionally he would stop to check on his pursuers, or to feel his way up a narrow gully. He was climbing, following a wild animal track up the side of a steep hill when he fell into some bushes, scratching the side of his face and turning his ankle. When he got up and put weight on his ankle the pain made his leg buckle and he collapsed. Lifting his head, he noticed a shallow cave directly in front of him, hardly four feet high but appearing to be quite deep. He crawled forward, forcing some bushes aside. Peering inside, he saw nothing but darkness. He put out his hand to find the perimeter of the cave and crawled forward. Involuntarily he shivered as he inhaled the dank musty air. The smell of wild animal was strong and he hoped the animal that stayed here was gone as he appeared to be blocking the only exit.
I don’t think those men will find me in here. I will stay until morning and then go back to camp using the river bank for cover. If my ankle will hold my weight, I think I can make it.
He peered out of the cave, parting the brush. The moon was high now and only a few stars could be seen in the bright light. He could see the creek far below with the sand shining like silver.
He saw no sign of his pursuers. He hoped they had given up and left.
He lay there, watching and listening for another few minutes. The breeze had died, and he started to shiver. Now that his sweat had cooled, coldness crept over him. He wrapped his arms around himself trying to keep his body warmth close; he curled up like a wild animal, resting his head on his arms
When he woke, dawn was close and the sky was flush with different hues of blue and the black shadows from the night before had melted into a deep green. Nothing moved outside the cave. The air was clear and the sun was rising on the horizon. His fingers traced the lacerations around his ankles and he winced when he touched a tender spot. He ached all over, still exhausted from running half the night and sleeping on the damp ground. Slowly he got to his feet. He was hungry and thirsty.