Little Elk rode close behind the G-man and his black stallion as they wound their way through the heavy growth of trees. The spreading branches blocked out all moonlight from their path. It would be slow going now, but it would also be slow going for the pursuers. “This way,” Jack said taking the reins from the boy and leading his mount so they wouldn’t get separated in the darkness.
They could hear the shouts of voices and horses sliding on the rock strewn slope below. The noise was louder now. They were getting closer.
Clayton felt the land falling away into a downward incline. He heard his mount’s shod hooves splash in water. They had found a narrow stream. The stream would have had to have rolled out of the mountains. If they followed its course, it would lead them out without having to thread their way futilely through the trees. They could make time getting away, while the Ghost Soldiers searched the woods. With any luck they could get far enough down the stream that their pursuers would not hear the splashing hooves.
Farther and farther they traveled. The din of shouting voices and horses crashing in the brush and foliage of the woods lessened and seemed to be fading into the distance behind them. Clayton urged the horses forward at a faster clip.
They followed the stream as it angled downward though a narrow valley until they reached where the stream ended in the lowlands. Here the stream eddied out into a river, about a hundred and fifty feet wide. The naked moon shone brightly in the night sky here and reflected its ghostly light on the swirling waters as the current rushed by with a roar. Across the river, the banks rose slightly and Clayton could see open rolling plains disappearing into the dark horizon.
Once across the river, they could make good time and put distance between them and their pursuers. The current was strong along this section of the river as it narrowed from out of the north and continuing to narrow southward into a narrow canyon. It would be tricky crossing, but chances were better here than farther down stream where the waters turned white with rapid churning and swells.
“Hang on tight, Little Elk.” Clayton warned sternly as he led the boy’s horse into the water. “It will be rough going, getting across.”
With determined deliberateness, the G-Man pushed the horses onward into the heavy swells of flowing water. The horses balked at the turbulence, stamping and tossing their bodies as they lunged into the force of the current. The river deepened quickly as they reached midway across: the water now up to the horses ribs and rider’s legs totally submerged in the cold liquid. Even Regret shivered and trembled as he stumbled against the rocky bottom of the riverbed, hooves slipping and sliding. He whinnied shrilly and snorted with effort and discomfort.
Little Elk’s mount, of lesser strength and courage dealt with the challenge with more fear and resistance. He lunged and floundered, splashing water violently about him and frightening himself even more. The horse raised upward, bringing his forelegs off the bottom of the river. He twisted , turned, flailing wildly and pulling back on the reins that Clayton held firmly in his hand. Jack felt the tremendous tug of the lurching horse. It almost pulled him from his saddle, but he regained his hold and quickly wrapped the reins around the saddle horn. Little Elk screamed as his mount lunged again, both hands clinging tightly to the horn of his own saddle.
Jack had turned in his saddle to concentrate on settling Little Elk’s horse and now he could see back across the river. The Ghost soldiers had just emerged from the thicket and rode out onto the river bank. They, for sure, had spotted Clayton and his young companion now more than three quarters of the way across the river.
Little Elk’s horse lunged again and rolled sideways, falling deeper into the waters, just as the firing started. A hail of bullets flew over their heads as the boy lost his grip on the saddle and fell backward into the current. He screamed shrilly and landed with a torrential splash, disappearing below the surface of the dark waters.
Without hesitating, Jack lifted from the saddle and dove into the river after him. Bullets plopped into the water all around him, but he ignored them as he struggled to swim in the wild current. His only thought was to reach the boy. He did not see the pursuing riders plunging into the water coming after them.
He splashed and kicked about, searching desperately for Little Elk. Somehow in the darkness below the surface, he was finally able to see a dark shape. The boy was no longer struggling. Jack’s heart drummed in his head and he was running out of breath as he reached Little Elk, wrapped his arms around the boy’s body and kicked them upward toward the surface.
He gasped for air, his lungs aching, as they came up into the dark night air. He treaded water and shook his head wildly to clear his brain and shake the water from his hair and eyes. He could see Little Elk lying silent with closed eyes, in his arms. Rage and fear consumed him, leaving him oblivious to the resumed firing of the soldiers and bullets flying about them. If the boy was dead, it was his fault for bringing him into this. If he was still alive, Jack knew he must get him ashore quickly or for sure he would be dead.
As he glanced around to see they were almost across the river, he finally realized their pursuers were closing in. So close, yet so far. He couldn’t give up. With stroke after stoke, he swam toward the river bank, his arm under the boy and holding his head above water.
The current was raging faster now and the soldiers seemed to be falling behind. Then Jack suddenly realized that the current had pulled them farther down river toward the narrows. He was now no longer making progress toward the bank. The rapids swirled white around them sucking them into the mouth of the canyon leaving the pursuing riders to cease pursuit.
Faster and faster the force of the water pulled them forward, Jack struggling to hang onto the boy. He slammed against a rock near the river bank. Pain wracked through his tortured and soaked body. He gritted his teeth and clung harder to the boy.
Again and again he slammed into rocks and boulders. Desperately, he tried to obtain a hold on them, trying to slow them down or find some sanctuary from the swirling current. Then without warning, it happened. A large boulder seemed to loom from out of nowhere. Jack’s back slammed full force against it. His head snapped back and his head struck the upper part of the rock with a crushing blow. Lightening seemed to flash within his brain and then total blackness overtook him. In that last fleeting moment of consciousness, he felt his arms relax and Little Elk was swept away into the darkness of the merciless waters of raging death.
****
Chapter Fifteen
Flight in the Forest