There was still a few hours of daylight left when Jack Clayton rode out of Fort Buford. He had left the settlers in the hands of the army and he trusted that the army would take proper action against Latrell and Brave Bear.
Now dusk was starting to fall as Jack rode through the tree covered slopes of the foot hills above Split Toe Creek. He guided the big black slowly and steadily, keeping constant vigil for trouble. Regret seemed to act nervous and Jack reassured him with a pat on his strong gleaming black neck. “Steady, big fellow.” They continued on.
The stallion seemed to be growing more and more skittish as they traveled on, winding between the trees and emerging into a small, narrow, canyon. Clear water trickled in a sparkling stream. Horse and rider stopped to partake its refreshment. The sun had just disappeared behind the western bluff, dark shadows spreading into the canyon covering them with the coolness of oncoming night.
Regret raised his head high and shook it. He snorted and whinnied, stamped his feet nervously and pawed at the turf. “What is it, old fellow?” Jack pulled on his bridle trying to settle him down. His eyes roamed the canyon, peering into the darkness along the stream. He saw nothing. All was quiet, even the birds were silent. Something was ominously wrong here. Too quiet. Much too quiet.
He surveyed the tops of the bluffs along the canyon walls. Nothing seemed to move. He stared and stared trying to discern something, anything in the foliage. At last he saw it move. Without taking his eyes off it, he reached toward the saddle rig and slid his Winchester from the boot and raised it high, stock firmly planted in his shoulder and took careful aim, waiting for it to move and make a clearer target. It was the biggest mountain lion that Jack had ever encountered. No wonder Regret had been so uneasy.
It moved out onto a rocky ledge, just below the rim of the west canyon wall. The glare of the setting sun obscured the target in his sights. The brightness stinging his eyes and making them water. His finger tightened on the trigger and he took up the slack within the trigger guard. Another ounce of pressure and he would send a speeding bullet at the big mountain lion. But just in time the cat screamed a blood curdling cry and dodged back from the lip of the ledge. The rifle roared and echoed down the canyon. The bullet chipped rock fragments in the cat’s face and he leaped from the ledge and disappeared into the shadows of the canyon. Missed.
“Well, old hoss.” Jack said, “We’d better put some distance between us and that cat, pronto.” He climbed into the saddle without booting his rifle. He wanted it in his hand at the ready if the cat came back. He spoke to his mount, nudged him forward and carefully rode on through the canyon.
It was completely dark by the time they emerged from the canyon into a grassy rolling valley. It was difficult to see just how far the valley stretched, but the graying horizon seemed far over the dark mountains. A sliver of moonlight peered through low hanging clouds.
They continued on for another half hour, picking their way along with what little light they still had until they entered a grove of trees. Now it was too dark to continue on. Hoping they had left the mountain lion far enough behind, which they probably had, since Regret no longer appeared skittish. Jack pulled Regret to a halt, dismounted and proceeded to make camp. He was pleased with his progress considering, his encounter with the wagon train and the diversion to the fort. Tomorrow, he should reach the Black Hills.
Jack quickly had fire going, its glow taking away the chill of the evening. With coffee brewing in a tin can and beans sizzling in a skillet, Jack leaned back against the trunk of a tree and relaxed with an open can of peaches. Regret snorted and stamped the ground. What was it this time, Jack thought. He put the can of peaches down, picked up his rifle, rose and strode in a wide circle around his camp. Nothing. Nothing but normal night sounds. Good. If the cat was near the night sounds would probably cease. He would keep his ear tuned. Stay on guard.
He came back to the fire, squatted and reached for the skillet. What happened here? His brows pulled together in consternation. The skillet was more than half empty. He reached for the tin of coffee. It was empty. He glanced to where he had left the can of peaches. Gone. Without moving or showing surprise, he rolled his eyes from side to side, looking around to find sign of the thief. Nothing. He sat back against the tree trunk once again and ate the remaining beans from the skillet. Then deciding to wait for developing events, he spread his blanket beneath the tree and using his saddle for a pillow he wrapped himself in the blanket for a good night’s sleep.
Clayton lay quiet for several minutes, fatigue overtook him and he started to drift off. If the thief, whoever or whatever it was, returned Regret would surely make warning sounds. Jack had learned a long time ago how to sleep lightly and awaken at the least alarm.
He had almost succumbed, when Regret whinnied low. Clayton rolled over in his blankets, positioning himself so he could see Regret in the glow of the flickering campfire. A puzzled grin crossed his face as he focused on the sight before him.
There in the light of the fire, he could see Regret down on all fours. A small Indian boy was on his back, drumming his heels against Regret’s ribs and cursing with a whispered voice, trying to ride off with the big stallion.. Regret merely tossed his head in annoyance and nickered with amusement, refusing to rise to his feet. If it had been a grown man trying to steal him, the black would have treated him disastrously, but a child was a different matter and he would never harm a child.
The mystery of the disappearing food was solved. Obviously, the youngster was hungry and desperate. Alone in the wilderness and probably scared to death. Carefully, silently, Jack arose from his blankets and tip toed stealthily toward the horse and child. The young boy’s attention fully on the frustration of the stubborn horse, didn’t see Jack approaching until almost the last second. Jack reached out for him, but his arms came up empty as the boy spotted him, wild eyed, and slipped off Regret’s back to the opposite side, and ran into the trees.
“Wait. Don’t be afraid!” Jack called after him, regaining his balance and darting around Regret’s large body on the ground and raced after him.
Clayton could hear the boy crashing through the brush up ahead and followed suit. He quickly closed the distance, his stride so much larger than the boy’s short legs. Thorns scratched at his legs and arms as he pushed on through the thicket.
They burst out of the undergrowth into an open plain almost at the same time, Jack only a step behind the boy, his arms outstretched reaching for the boy.
The small Indian dodged sideways. Jack missed him once again and stumbled, his hands hitting the grass before him preventing him from completely falling. He regained his height and continued on as his quarry ran down the slope. The moon had passed out of its cloud cover now, and Jack could see the Indian boy run down an embankment and leap onto a meager trail below.
The boy fell and rolled over in the middle of the trail as he landed. He screamed in terror as his tried to rise in time to see a band of horses coming around a bend in the trail and bearing down on him. The horses’ and riders’ skeletons seemed to glow in the dark and the skull faces of the Ghost Soldiers were blank and menacing.
The boy froze with fear, the thunder of the fiery hooves droning in his ears. They were almost upon him, when Jack dived from the embankment, his arms enveloping the boy and rolling across the trail into a thick growth of tall weeds. Jack rolled to a half sitting position, holding the boy in front of him tightly, his hand over the boy’s mouth, preventing him from crying out.
The ghostly riders thundered on past them, their pace never waning. Sand and stones flying airborne as their gleaming shod hooves churned the hard packed turf of the trail. Jack ducked down, pulling the boy with him, waiting and hoping they had not been spotted in the dark. The boy’s eyes rolled upward into his head and fainted.
Jack remained still, clinging to the boy and feeling his heart drum beneath his chest. He counted eight riders as they passed by and disappeared down the trail. It seemed like an eternity, but Jack waited pati
ently until he was sure they had gone.
****
Chapter Nine
True Arrow