The eastern sky was beginning to tinge with the hint of grayness as Jack Clayton opened his eyes and stared upward at the ominous sky above him. At first he remembered nothing, then gradually it all came back to him. The raging waters, the Ghost Soldiers and Little Elk. Little Elk…..no he couldn’t have, but reason told him he had lost the little boy. Little Elk had trusted him with his life and Jack had failed him.
Now Jack lay soaked and aching along the shallow stone bed bottom of the river where it met the western bank. The water was calm now and all seemed peaceful around him. He half sat up and half crawled up on the bank, his legs and boots still in the rippling water, and gazed slowly around him. He could see the narrow canyon now to the north of him. He knew he must have passed through it and found himself dumped into the widening river that now ceased to rage before him. By some miracle he had survived and washed up against the river bank.
Perhaps, he thought, Little Elk may have also survived and washed up against the bank somewhere. But no, he did not dare hope. He must accept it. He had lost him forever and it was all his fault. But then, he thought and his jaw tightened with rage. It was the fault of those fiendish demons….the Ghost Soldiers. Well they were going to pay, Clayton vowed to himself. Whoever or whatever they were, they would pay. He would track them down and find them, no matter how long it took. Then realization swept over him as his clouded brain began to clear. He would not have to find them. They would find him.
Again, he looked at the graying sky, dawn was approaching. He had probably been here for several hours. The riders would have had to ride around the canyon to reach this part of the river. That would have taken some time, but Clayton had no idea how long it would take them. With as much time already passed chances were they would be along soon.
Must get off this bank. Get out of sight. Hide in the tree covered slopes along the river bank. No time to run. Just hide. He scrambled to his feet, ran along the level top of the river bank until he reached the woods. He paused to look back and listen. Then he heard them. He had not made his retreat any too soon. The chink of trappings and the sound of horses hooves on rock and the sound of brush popping told him they were almost there. He ran higher up the slope, found a large oak and slid to his knees behind it and peered out.
Down below, he could see the riders emerge from the undergrowth on the other side of the river. They were spread out and far apart, but seemed to be converging along the river bank into one cohesive group. Obviously, they had been combing the area on that side of the river, looking and watching to make sure the G-Man had not somehow survived and escaped into the countryside.
The leader of the band pointed across the river and upwards into the wooded hills. Then they moved forward, fording the river and again spreading out, riding away from each other. They would make a sweep of the woods. Jack knew that if he could avoid them, there was a good chance they would be convinced that he had in fact drowned. The trick would be to make sure, they didn’t find him. He moved out and climbed higher up the slope into the densest part of the forest.
Higher and higher, he climbed until the land leveled out before him. The sound of approaching horses grew louder. From time to time he would seek shelter in brush or behind a large tree and check his back trail. He had just crawled behind large rotted stump, when dried brush crackled behind him. He swiveled on his belly in the leafy bed of the forest and peered up from the hollow he lay in. Almost directly in front of him, a horseman came into view among the trees. He was moving slowly, carefully searching the area. Without the stump in front of him, Clayton’s only hope of concealment was the shallowness of the hollow. He pressed himself close to the ground, lifting his head just enough to watch the encroaching rider.
Leaves and twigs crunched beneath the horses feet, the noise becoming louder as it approached. Jack held his breath and waited. Closer and closer came horse and rider. Steadily and deliberately onward it came. Within inches they passed by and continued on. The rider was a large man, for a man was what he was. He was no ghost. The phosphorescent painted skull face and bones no longer glowed as bright as the darkness was fading into dawn. Knowing he could not elude all the riders as luckily as he had this one, Jack quickly formulated a plan. He groped the ground around him until he found a rock of sufficient size and weight.
He arose and followed the horseman a short distance and then darted behind a tree. Still standing, he reached out and tossed the rock into the thicket just a little ahead of the man and off to his right. The rock landed solidly with a sudden crash. The rider pulled up sharply, listened a moment, then pulled his pistol from the cavalry holster on his side and angled his mount toward the thicket.
Jack had lost his guns in the river but still had his knife strapped inside his boot. He pulled it free and quick on his feet darted after the horse and rider, hoping his own footsteps would be masked by the sound of the moving horse.
The so called soldier heard him at the last minute, startled and started to swing around as Jack leaped into the air wrapping his left arm around the man’s chest and shoulders, pulling him from the saddle and hurtling him to the ground. The horse shied away, reins trailing. The man grunted with surprise as he struck the ground, wind being driven from his lungs and his hand dropped the weapon momentarily, then reached for it again as Jack rolled him over onto his back, reached beneath his tunic, and slid the blade of his knife between the man’s ribs. Jack was so close to the man’s face as he ripped upward with the blade, he could see the man’s eyes widen in the gloom, then shrink to dots as the life waned out of him. The man’s fingers relaxed, never able to regrip the gun.
The moment had been swift and violent, hopefully quiet enough not to draw attention. No time for remorse only swiftness. Quickly, he sheathed his knife in his boot, stripped the army tunic and cavalry holster from the dead man and put them on over his own clothes, pushed the too large hat down over his ears to hide his paintless face, and slid the pistol into the holster. Then he dragged the body into the thicket covered it over with leaves and dead brush before returning to the area where the riderless horse stood; reins caught on a stump.
From now on things were going to get tricky. Mighty tricky, indeed. The G-Man took up the reins, swung into the saddle and urged the mount forward. Somehow he must blend in with the other soldiers and become one of them.
He guided the horse away from the area, but not too far, so the others would see he was searching here and would not venture this way. Slowly methodically he worked his mount as if searching and continuing through the woods. From time to time he would sight one of the other men and wave back, if they waved first. As the woods thinned, Jack could eventually see the others, still spread out but approaching the end of the woods to converge on an open trail along a valley.
Dawn was now imminent for the gray sky was turning to hues of red, purple, and orange. The risk of recognition grew stronger with each passing minute as the sun’s rays began to streak and beam above the horizon.
Clayton was the last of the band to emerge from the woods onto the trail. The others seemed to be acknowledging one man as leader who seemed to be signaling them to regroup. Perhaps, they had now decided they were going to find no trace of Jack Clayton or Little Elk and had accepted that they had drowned with the river giving up no trace of the bodies. They spurred their mounts forward to join the leader. Jack followed suit and rode after them until he was close in line as the last rider of the group.
He would have to play it all by ear now. He had no clue where they were going or what would happen once they got there, but he was sure he was being led to White Fawn and all the other answers he was seeking.
****
Chapter Sixteen
Black Hills Gold Mine