Excerpt


The dog pulling the travois hesitated, the hair on his back rising like a crest of trees on a mountaintop. Walks-Far felt the cool finger of apprehension move up and down his spine. What was following, he wondered, animal or man? He squinted, his black eyes searching, probing the area around him. He clucked the dog to a halt, and dropped to one knee beside him. He pulled a slim knife from his legging and feigned an adjustment to the dog's harness. In case warriors were watching, Walks-Far did not want them to know of his suspicions. Exploring the horizon, Walks-Far searched for signs of movement. The landscape at the foot of the mountain was rugged, strewn with limestone outcroppings where trees rambled between rock-falls. The rise was a moss and fern mat scattered with boulders. Beyond the rise was a small stream.

There, over there, he whispered to Dog as he glimpsed the needles of a pine quiver with no bird or chipmunk in sight! At the bottom of the hill were broken ferns and a shadow on the tree. It was a man, at least one. He and the dog moved on, listening and watching. This was not the time for a confrontation. His precious cargo would be a treasure for someone.

Hunting parties of young men were usually two or three. If this were a friendly group they would be seeking to trade, not stalking him. If there were three they would have struck by now. He determined there must be two. The dog growled softly as his fur rose again. He urged the dog onward toward the protection of the mountain and he would pretend to be unaware of the trackers. Surely they would wait until he made camp before attacking. The foaming stream moved rapidly across and around its boulder-strewn path. Walks-Far stopped, took the water bags from the travois and filled them. He let the dog drink, and then drank his fill. The water laden buffalo bellies were heavy. They kept the water cool, yet he could suspend them over the night-fire to warm the water or even, sometimes to warm his blanket on cold nights. All the while he was at the stream he visually searched for a secure camp area. He found just the spot to settle in. Just ahead, near a clump of small saplings located at the base of the mountain was a low ledge with an open niche carved into the stone. It was tall enough for the dog to slip under and wide enough to hide both his tortoise shell container and travois pack. He might even be able to squeeze under the ledge himself.

Walks-Far set to work making camp. With vines he tied three saplings together, bending them to form a lean-to with the opening facing the ledge to hide his actions from prying eyes. He anchored the vines holding the bundled treetops beneath a large rock. Walks-Far covered the lean-to with pine boughs, insulating it against the cold. The prevailing wind would bring scent and sound toward him.

He lit a fire in a circle of rocks with coal from the Buffalo horn. Four times each day Walks-Far fed the Buffalo horn coal with pine needles, small bits of bark, and air. He prepared a second fire-starter horn when the coals were ready. There was just enough light to feed the dog and eat before darkness filled the night. He put a handful of ground corn and beans in a small clay pot with some water and added a small piece of dried meat. The pot was put into the fire to heat.

Brilliant leaves were ready to shed from the trees and the smell of snow flared his nostrils. He must hurry south to stay out of the winter. He and Dog have been on the trade route since early spring. He felt it again, not winter, but the cold chill of an enemy arriving with the night. He moved to the front of the lean-to where he could not be seen. After removing the support sticks from the travois, he tied them together and laid them under the mountain ledge with his quiver and bow. Then he rolled the travois, packing it carefully with food careful to balance the water bottles at each side. He folded it as flat as possible and fastened it to the dogs harness and then, pushed the animal beneath the outcrop with a quieting pat and a piece of dried meat to content him. The man ate his meal hastily, then hoisted the turtle shell pack on his back ready to push himself under the limestone overhang.
The ledge was too low to accommodate both him and his wares. He removed the tortoise shell and slid it back next to the dog. Then he slipped into the crevice. Walks-Far hoped the snakes were inactive and no other animals were in residence under the ledge. He lay watching for hours, but nothing moved. His stalkers must be waiting for first light. The dog had shifted further back in the fissure and was digging.

Walks-Far heard a stone fall behind him and felt a blast of cool air. The dog had tunneled into a larger area. Outside, the ring of a war cry as the vine holding the lean-to was cut snapping the saplings into the air. Walks-Far silenced his breathing. Unhappy men beat the ground searching for him and his trade goods. Walks-Far moved back to where the dog had been, rotating his body to find the opening. He felt the air rushing past and slid the tortoise shell toward the opening.

Too narrow.