White Moon Rising Page 10

  “No. No track. Follow horse.” Whiteside pointed to the tracks beside the bush. “Horse stopped to rest. Rider no get off. Horse need rest. Not rest him. No rider.”

  “What are we sitting out here in the sun for?” one of the men complained. “Let’s go.”

  Perkins glanced from the trail to the tracker and back. “Follow the horse,” he snapped.

  Whiteside shrugged. It made no difference to him. He wanted the horse anyway. These white men didn’t think much of Johansson. Whiteside wasn’t about to tackle him head on. Ambush was a different tale, though.

  Andy fought his way back to consciousness. He blinked. Where was he? What had happened? He tried to move, but nauseating pain rushed through him. The ache brought back the memory of the fight with the renegades, the chase, and the impact of the bullets.

  He lay on his back, in a gulley, and under a thick bush. The sky was a light blue and splashed with weepy clouds. As he lay still, he remembered the horses chasing him, but he didn’t know who they were or where they came from. Since they shot him, he’d have to assume they weren’t friendly. He had to get away. To hide.

  It took every bit of willpower he possessed, but he rolled over, using his left hand, pushing to a sitting position. His mouth and throat was parched, and he had very little strength, but someone had chased him, shot at him, and he couldn’t stay where he was. He didn’t know how long he’d been there, but the sun was setting when he faced the renegades. Now it was two hands high in the east.

  Andy tried to get up, but dizziness made him fall back. He lay on his back with pain exploding through him. He was only vaguely aware of the smell of stale sweat and blood as the morning sun beat down on him. He closed his eyes a moment. He had to get back to Worm. He’d left Cap there. Although he didn’t know him well, he felt responsible for him.

  His eyes snapped open to darkness. Shamed that he’d fallen asleep and slept so long, he tried to get up, but only succeeded in sitting. He was in a heck of a fix: wounded with no food, water, horse, or weapon, except the knife he carried. Besides that, people he didn’t know, and for reasons he also didn’t know, were trying to kill him.

  With his mouth as dry as a creek bed in drought, he searched the dirt around him until he found a small rock. After wiping the dirt off it, he put the rock in his mouth. It wouldn’t satisfy his thirst, but it would stimulate the saliva.

  As he was about to try to get up, something moved in the nearby brush. His heart leaped into his throat and his right hand dropped for his knife. The sharp movement exploded daggers of pain through him.

  He relaxed somewhat when he spotted the pair of eyes staring at him. In the vague moonlight, he could just make out the dog or wolf, whatever he was. What he couldn’t understand was why the animal was following him. Surely he could find more food than Andy had thrown to him.

  On an impulse, he said, “Come here boy,” and reached his hand out.

  The dog took a couple of steps toward him, stopped, and then took a couple more.

  Tishing with his tongue, Andy called, “Come here, boy.”

  With his head cocked as if he remembered being called, the dog came almost to Andy, but stopped. Moments passed as Andy kept his hand out. The dog eased close enough to stretch his nose out, but far enough away to escape. Andy let the dog sniff him.

  After the dog came closer, Andy dropped his hand. The dog darted away a few steps, but when Andy called, he came back.

  Andy eased his hand forward and gently placed it on the dog’s head. He stroked it lightly from the front to the back. He ran his hand down the dog’s fur on the back, but stopped at the neck. Something was around the dog’s neck. Feeling with his fingers, he discovered a collar. It was so tight, Andy couldn’t get his fingers under it.

  That was why the dog was following him. The dog was slowly choking to death and the small morsels Andy had thrown him were all the food he could get down.

  “Easy boy,” Andy said as he continued to stroke the dog. Someone must have put the collar on the dog when he was a puppy and the dog got loose. As he grew up, the collar tightened. Andy reached down and withdrew his knife. This might have been easier if he had use of his right arm. He could hold the collar and cut it off with the other hand, but he was sure he couldn’t hold it.

  Carefully, Andy brought the knife up so he wouldn’t startle the dog. He laid the sharpened edge of the tip of the knife on the collar. In a soothing voice, he told the dog. “I’m just trying to help you. Don’t run away.”

  In the same quiet, soothing voice, he continued to talk to the dog as he gently sawed on the outside of the collar.

  Twice the dog moved away, or turned, but as if he sensed Andy was trying to help him, he came back, licking Andy’s hand. Several minutes after Andy began, the collar popped. When it did, the dog began to gasp for air like he’d never breathed before. Andy stroked the dog’s fur as he got used to breathing again.

  With the collar off, Andy’s attention turned to his problem. The people who chased him would eventually realize Big Red was not carrying a rider. When they did, they’d backtrack the horse looking for him. He had no doubt they’d find him if he stayed where he was. He wasn’t in condition to fight, either.

  Andy ground his teeth. He hated running and hiding but he had no choice.

  He pushed himself off the ground, his mind swirling with pain. At last, he was able to stand, and when he did, he became aware of pain in his side. That’s when he remembered being hit the second time. He reached around as far as he could with his left hand to feel for the wound. He gasped in pain and decided he could wait to examine his wounds.

  In a way, it was good luck that the moon had come up. It made it easier for him to see, but then again, it also made it easier for the ones looking for him.

  With the dog beside him, tail wagging, he said, “We have to find water, boy. If you lead, I’ll follow.” Surprisingly, the dog moved out, stopped and looked back as if to see if Andy followed, then started again.

  As the night wore on, he didn’t know how far they wandered. Through the night air that turned to a morning mist, he toddled behind the dog. He kept telling himself to take one step at a time. Twice he fell, and each time the dog came back and licked his face.

  Each time he fell, it became harder for him to get up. He was burning up with fever and he kept telling his befuddled mind he had to move. The situation he was now in took him back to the days before he came to live with the Indians. He’d been away from the wagon train when the massacre occurred, the only reason he’d survived. Afterward, as an eight-year-old, he had taken a trip like this one with two differences. Then he was following a horse because he was too small to get on him and ride, and he wasn’t hurt then.

  He paused, bent over, hands on his knees. He didn’t know how much farther he could push on without rest. He fought against the part of his mind telling him to lie down, give it up.

  Andy straightened fast as a sound penetrated his mind. He gasped in pain because of the movement. The sound continued, but he couldn’t make it out. It took him several moments to realize it was a dog lapping up water.

  Just the thought of water was enough to give him strength. Stumbling forward, it was light enough for him to spot the dog at a small creek nestled in some willows. Pain shot through him as he fell on his knees at the bank of the stream, but at that point he didn’t care. His hand trembled as he scooped some up. The coolness of the water going down his parched throat was as good a feeling as he could remember.

  His brain screamed for more and more, but somewhere in the dark recesses of his mind, a warning sounded for him not to drink too much. He wanted to disregard the warning, drink all he could handle, but he obeyed his instincts. He could have more later.

  Backing away from the water, he turned to another problem. He had to take care of his wounds. Glancing around, he began to gather small sticks and twigs for a fire. Although all his stuff was in the saddlebags with Big Red, he kept some matches in his shirt pocket.
Close to one of the trees with low-hanging branches, he set up the small pyramid for the fire. He searched in his pocket and came up with three matches. He couldn’t waste them; he needed the fire on the first match.

  Beside the tree, he found a small bird’s nest. He’d used this as the base for the fire. He struck the match and applied it. It went out, but not before he had a small blaze. Bending forward, he blew on it gently. He sighed with relief as the fire caught and began to spread. Carefully, he laid a couple of small sticks on the fire and waited until they caught before adding more. When he had a good fire going, he searched at the base of the trees until he found a large piece of bark formed like a bowl.

  Andy made his way back to the creek. After drinking a couple of hands full of water, he dipped the bark bowl into the water and returned to his fire. He added a couple more sticks but made sure he kept the fire small. With his knife, he shaved some of the plum from the inner bark of the willow into the water. He stirred it and placed the bark bowl over the fire to heat.

  He kept a close eye on it. As long as the fire didn’t get above the water level in the bark bowl, the water would heat but the bark would not burn.

  Sitting beside the small fire, he glanced around for the dog, but it was nowhere in sight. After waiting patiently for the fire to heat the willow medicine, he stuck his finger in the water to test it. He took it away from the fire and began to sip the bitter tea. Although it didn’t taste good, the warmth felt good, and the willow would help with his fever.

  After drinking the first bark bowl, despite the fact he was so weak he could hardly move, he repeated the process with the water and the willow bark. However, this time as it heated, he ripped the sleeve off his shirt, took it to the creek and washed it. After he heated the water, he used the water to clean his wounds. A bullet had hit him in the back of the shoulder and had gone clean through. It was difficult, but he was finally able to clean both sides.

  The hardest to clean was the side. He whistled through his teeth as pain knifed through him when he pulled the shirt, caked with dried blood, away from the wound. The second bullet had grazed him, leaving a groove about a half-inch deep.

  After he had the side clean, he blew out a breath and lay back for a minute.

  His thoughts went to the first time he’d seen Abbey. He smiled. They’d been on the wagon train together, heading for the Montana gold fields. There weren’t many kids, and although he was a mite older, they talked and played. How their lives might have turned out, no one would know.

  An argument had ensued amongst the men on which route to take. Most wanted to take the faster, easier route east of the Big Horns. The other group argued to take the longer, harder route to the west of the mountain range. Under normal situations, the last argument would sound silly, but the experts considered the longer more difficult route a lot safer than the other. The shorter route would take the wagon train right through the middle of the Sioux hunting grounds.

  Without coming to a consensus, the wagon train split up with ten wagons, including Abbey’s, taking the safer western route.

  In the morning they’d split up, Abbey came to Andy. She stood on her tiptoes, kissed him on the mouth, turned and ran away.

  A week later, Andy’s world had ended and another began with the wagon train massacre.

  Crazy Horse had found him wandering the plains, trying to survive. A boy then, Crazy Horse had thought Andy was a spirit sent to him by the Great Spirit. That was the only reason he’d spared the little boy’s life.

  The next time Andy saw Abbey was after the murder of Crazy Horse. Too late, Andy had seen it coming and tried to stop it. The soldiers had beat him and thrown him in the guardhouse. Abbey had recognized him and got him out.

  His eyes flared open. It was total darkness and he’d somehow slept all day. Something moved beside him. He reached out and touched fur. The dog had come back and was sleeping beside him. As he reached to pet him, the dog leaped to his feet, a low growl coming from deep in his chest.

  Something or someone moved in the brush nearby. Andy grabbed for his knife.

  Chapter Twelve

  Andy, although stiff with pain, clutched his knife, and eased into the shadows. The noise in the brush had been slight and could be an animal, but most would not come near a man. The dog had leaped to his feet but now lay down.

  Minutes passed as Andy waited. The air had a sweet smell of wildflowers and a hint of rotting leaves. Andy’s gaze swept the area the sound had come from, and then froze. There was something different about the brush, but he couldn’t understand what it was. Finally his patience paid off. With just enough moonlight filtering through the trees, the place he was watching moved.

  Relief surged through Andy. His knees shook. The area he spotted was dark red and different from the rest. It was different because it was the flank of Big Red. The horse must have trailed him.

  He almost shed tears when he caught his friend’s reins. The horse turned his head and nuzzled him. Andy smiled. “Boy, you have certainly earned a treat.” He searched in his saddlebags, found a lump of sugar, and fed it to the horse.

  Big Red ate it, licked his lips, and nuzzled Andy again, the horse’s way of saying give me more. Only on rare occasions had Andy given a second lump, but this was one. While he was in his saddlebags, he found a piece of jerky and held it up.

  The dog had looked enviously at the horse, but now sensing he might get a treat, he jumped to his feet and hurried to Andy. “If you are going to stay around me, boy, you need a name.”

  Rising up on his hind legs, the dog seemed to be saying, “Give me, give me.”

  “Sunka (shoo-ka) would be a good name for you. What do you think?”

  The dog must have agreed because when Andy tossed him the meat he gobbled it down.

  After both animals had their treats, Andy led Big Red into the moonlight. Everything remained where it had been, including his rifle. He was thankful he’d thrust it into the scabbard when he took off running. He needed that rifle and had no money to replace it if he’d lost it.

  Then he remembered the saddlebags full of those yellow rocks. Maybe he did have some money. How much he wasn’t sure. He also wasn’t sure how he would go about changing the yellow rocks into money.

  Maybe Cap would know how. If not, Abbey’s father was sure to know.

  He rubbed Big Red’s neck. “I know you probably need rest, boy. But I need to get back to Worm.”

  Andy was stalling and knew it. The last thing he wanted to do right then was try to mount a horse, or the journey he would need to take. He sucked in a deep breath. He’d been hurt worse than this before, and he survived.

  It took him three tries before he could mount up. When he finally succeeded, his head swirled from the intense pain in his shoulder and side. Gritting his teeth, he heeled Big Red forward.

  All through the night, Big Red eased his way through and around obstacles, and Andy let him have his head. Although Worm’s camp was to the west of their location, he guided the horse with his knees, trying to keep to the east. He figured he’d go that way until he reached Buffalo Springs, and then turn and head for Worm. He wasn’t about to go back the way he’d come.

  Right before daylight, they topped out on a high ridge, and Andy stopped the horse. A fire a good way off to the south caught his attention. He studied it for a moment. It was too big for an Indian fire.

  A second group of people, and he didn’t know who, hadn’t even known of their presence, had chased him after the fight with the renegades. Someone from that group had shot him. It could have been the group of whites with the Indian tracker. If so, that could be their fire to the south.

  His problem: if he continued east to Buffalo Springs and turned toward Worm’s camp, he ran the possibility of running smack dab into them. The white men didn’t worry him, but that tracker did.

  Also, he was in no condition to fight. He didn’t even know if he could cock the rifle. He’d never tried with one hand. The only good part was t
he wound was to his right shoulder and not his left.

  He squeezed with his calves to get the horse to move forward. He still had a long day’s ride before he reached Worm.

  A vibrant deep blue sunset, interspersed with light red and yellow, greeted Andy as he topped the hill leading to Worm’s camp. The western sky was so beautiful, Andy had to fight back the urge to get off the horse, sit right there, and paint it.

  Several things stopped him, the first being the aroma of cooking meat in the village below. He hadn’t had anything to eat but a little jerky in a couple of days, and he was out of that.

  Hunger alone would not have stopped him from painting the sunset. He had enemies, and he believed he’d gotten around them, but he also had enemies in Worm’s camp. Besides, he’d left Cap there and was responsible for him.

  If he stayed careful, he would have other sunsets.

  Halfway down the hill, a bird called off to Andy’s left. Immediately, the mate to the bird relayed the call. By the time Andy reached the village, everyone had come out of their lodges to see him. Most had hostile glares, but not all. Andy kept searching the crowd for the four warriors who’d followed him out of camp when he left, but didn’t see them. What he did see caused him to sigh with relief. Cap was standing with Worm.

  As easily as Andy could, he swung down from Big Red. His father motioned one of the young boys to them and indicated for him to take the horse to the herd. Before the boy left, Andy reached up and pulled the saddlebags loose, holding them in his good arm. They were heavy, even for him.

  “Bull, let me tell you, you are a sight for sore eyes. I was beginning to think you’d left me,” Cap said. “Dead out on the prairie someplace.”

  Andy swayed with pain and weariness. He blew out a breath. “Um…dead tired is all.”

  Andy’s father glanced at the blood on his shirt and said, “Come, I fix.”

  As he had done as a boy and man, Andy followed the old medicine man.

  While Worm worked on Andy’s shoulder, one of the women brought him some meat. The savory flavor was almost enough to make him faint. He bit into it, chewed a moment, and then stopped.