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  He slammed his fist against his thigh. It frustrated him that this curse had caused him to lose his second chance at belonging. At life. He wished he had the courage to defy the spirits and commit himself to his own death. But the eternal unrest was too much to bear even for his sins.

  The darkness closed in around him as he scanned his surroundings again. He lie down without bothering to scoop the leaves back into place. He knew he wasn’t going to sleep so there would be no need of a blanket. He curled up and held his legs to his chest, thinking about the events of the last few days. It had been such a brief amount of time and such a fall from grace. The notion of a tragic tribe story being told for generations flashed within his mind. His tale would become an instructional lesson for many years. “This is what happened to the once mighty, Crouching Bear.” “Don’t do this or you will end up like Crouching Bear.” “It could be worse, you could be frowned upon by the spirits like Crouching Bear.” A tear traced his cheek and settled in his long, dark hair. He squeezed his eyes shut, forcing the rest of the tears to fall. Crouching Bear sighed to himself. He knew what he had to do. As painful as it would be, a peace found his soul, blanketing the torment that lived inside. The future had been written. He must do the bidding of the ancients. The spirits would guide him. What was once, will now be done.

  Chapter 21

  James opened his eyes. The sun had risen and he squinted against the brightness. Soaring Eagle stirred an orange paste in a bowl, using the handle of his knife. George stood on the edge of the hack-berry grove, his back to James and Soaring Eagle. James wondered what George was looking at. Then realized what he was doing as George reached down and shook off the last few drops of a morning urination. He tasted the vile flavor of his tongue, reminding him of the evil brew from last night.

  “How do you feel?” Soaring Eagle asked James without diverting his attention from stirring.

  “Like I’ve been dragged for miles by a thousand horses.”

  Soaring Eagle laughed from his belly. James shot him a dirty look for finding humor at his expense. James thought to himself that the man’s Indian name would be more appropriate if it were Laughing Ass. This made him smile to himself.

  George entered the fire ring with his thumbs hooked in his gun belt. James nodded a good morning and George returned the nod with a juicy splat of tobacco. James shook his head. He guessed everything was the same as it ever was. He stood on wobbly legs and tried to re-orient his equilibrium. Some lingering effects from the previous night, he surmised.

  Soaring Eagle stood and approached James with the bowl of orange paste. He wrinkled his nose at the thought of ingesting any more homemade recipes. “I’m not hungry, but thanks.”

  “This is not for eating. It is for protecting.” The old man dipped two fingers in the paste and drew two lines under each of James’ eyes. The vertical stripes were thick and James could smell the paste. It definitely smelled like an outhouse. “The spirits know the mark of the traveler, and walk with him. You will be protected now that you wear the mark.”

  George spat into the fire and a singe-hiss sounded. “Protected from what?”

  Soaring Eagle turned to face George but continued addressing James. George got the message that the old man was purposely being rude to him. He shifted on his feet and rubbed his dark stubble. “Protection from the curse of the tribe which not only weighs down the cursed, but also those who come in contact with the cursed.”

  James wished the awful smell would go away. He raised a hand to touch the marks and then thought better of it. He didn’t want that stink to be on his hands too. “Well, thanks for taking us in. And thank you for helping us find our friend, Crouching Bear.”

  “Not a friend.” George spun and began securing his rifle and bag to the saddle.

  James shrugged and smiled at Soaring Eagle. “Anyway, I appreciate your help, Soaring Eagle.” He looked at his boots and then back at the old man. “It’s funny. All my life I’ve been told that Indians are no good and they are dangerous. But the first two Indians I met were nice people.”

  Soaring Eagle grinned. He placed a hand on James’ shoulder. “A secret.” He indicated that James should lean closer to hear his whisper. James leaned forward. The old man pressed his lips against James’ ear. “White man speaks out of both sides of his mouth.” He slapped James’ shoulder and started to laugh again. James didn’t know how to respond. He just watched the old man walk away while laughing. Then he chuckled to himself. He didn’t get it but the old man’s laugh was infectious.

  James climbed up on his horse and situated the reins. The old man sat back down and watched as they prepared to ride off. James turned the horse toward Soaring Eagle. “How will I know? How will I find him?”

  The old man squinted in the sunlight. “You won’t. But the spirits will.” He closed his eyes and tilted his face to the sun. “They will take you to him.”

  James was still confused. He didn’t understand all the riddles and double talk. He resigned himself to figuring it out on his own, knowing he wouldn’t get a straight answer from Soaring Eagle. He clucked his tongue and his horse turned to follow George who was already trotting ahead. He looked back over his shoulder at the old man and gave him a timid wave.

  Soaring Eagle nodded at James. The old man bent to add kindling to the fire. “And he knows you are coming.” He said the words softly to himself.

  James felt sick to his stomach. The wild ride he had last night still left him jittery. It was more than just the sick he let loose on George’s clothes. George forgave him after calling him many cuss words James had never heard before. He didn’t know they were cuss words for sure, but the tone and the sound of the words seemed like cuss words. James had heard some colorful language through the door of the saloon but nothing like the ones George used.

  The bouncing of the galloping horse inflamed his upset stomach. They had just begun riding and he already looked forward to stopping. James started to think that adventures weren’t all they were cracked up to be. Long hours in the saddle. Dust and sun. Little water and food. What was supposed to be so exciting, fighting evil and running bad guys off, was missing from this campaign. He swallowed a buildup of bile in his throat.

  James caught up to George who spat in his direction rather than look at him. James wondered if he was still sore at the vomiting. George tugged the reins of his dark horse. James stopped alongside his companion.

  “All right?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “You fixing to tell us which way we’re headed?”

  “Yes. I mean, no. Well, I guess so.” James saw George’s expression match his own confusion. “He said the spirits would lead us to him. Except they ain’t said anything to me yet.”

  George cussed again, but this time under his breath. He tilted his brim lower to shield his eyes from the sun. “Burning daylight so I hope these spirits got lanterns.” George spurred his animal and continued on, leaving James behind.

  James scratched his head and wondered if he should have stayed in town. Or at the very least, he should have left town on his own. George’s ill humor was easier to live with when he could just go upstairs or outside to avoid it. Instead, he was stuck with the big brute. Then he brightened as he recalled Carson’s cheery voice in his head. He missed the little guy and knew the faster he got moving the quicker he could get back to Carson.

  “Back to square one.” He said the words aloud and his spirit picked up. He spurred his horse and sped up to catch George.

  Chapter 22

  Crouching Bear surveyed the horizon from the tree top. From this height he could see for miles around. He was hidden within the dense foliage of the pines. Far to the east he could make out a dust cloud of travelers. Judging by the lack of stealth, he assumed they were the posse from the town. White man rode in large groups for protection. And they weren’t especially aware of the noise they made, nor the signs they left behind. He shook his head at how stupid white man was.

 
; He estimated by the distance that he had about a day to a day and a half lead on the posse. As long as he kept moving he could stay outside their reach. But he would help them out since he had decided to follow his plan of doubling back toward the northeast. As long as he remained careful, he could pass them by in the night and they would never know that he changed direction.

  His larger worry had to do with his tribesmen. They were cunning warriors trained in the warrior spirit. They would know how to track his movements far better than the white man. And he would have to cover his tracks with much more care. These warriors were skilled at tracking and identifying tricks to cover trails. He knew the Indians would be a formidable opponent.

  Crouching Bear looked north to check for signs of the warriors. No signs were visible but he couldn’t be sure if that was due to their stealth or the fact that they may have given up chase. If they did, the delay would only be temporary. Retribution would be too great a motivation. And so would elevated tribe status. He started back down the tree slowly, taking care to ensure his footing.

  What troubled him more was facing James. He was certain now that it was James’ spirit which had visited him last night. Somehow James had figured out how to vision quest. And Crouching Bear knew it would only be a matter of time before they crossed paths.

  He struggled with seeing James after what he had done to Minnie. His guilt overwhelmed him and it would be evident to James. He was ashamed of his betrayal. He really grew to like James, and Carson in such a short period of time. And to cause his caring, innocent friends such pain was inexcusable. It would be difficult to look James in the eyes and explain his actions.

  Crouching Bear reached the trunk of the tree. He hopped gently down to the earth and gathered his few belongings. His stomach growled with hunger. Eating had not been much of a priority between all the running and his desire not to cook game with a fire that could be seen or smelled from a distance.

  His mind shifted back to James and their inevitable rendezvous. He didn’t think James would be capable of taking justice into his own hands. The boy was too innocent to kill a man, even though he was white. And he suspected that the bond they shared before he ruined it was strong enough to temper James’ anger. But what if James did try to execute him. Earlier, he thought he would drop to his knees and accept the death sentence should James choose to carry it out. As the hours ticked by, Crouching Bear’s survival instincts began taking over. He had fleeting thoughts of how to expediently take James out in order to live on. It was an internal battle that he couldn’t yet come to grips with. How could he possibly hurt James more than he already had? Yet his soul wasn’t quite ready to give in. He knew that running from James would only delay what must come to pass. It would be better to meet it head on and get past it, or die trying.

  He slung his pouch over his shoulder and took off running. As he exited the pine trees he lowered his shoulders and bent his legs to keep his running form lower to the ground. He was outside the range of sight of his pursuers but there was no need to tempt fate. Heading northeast, Crouching Bear continued on his journey.

  The posse galloped at a slower pace than Sheriff Cody Danvers liked. But this pursuit was more difficult than most others. He had hunted down his fair share of fugitives over the years as a lawman. An Indian? This one was different. He understood some facets of Indian culture from his own migration west after the Civil War. Indians were downright savages. And cunning. They survived in the wild against other warring tribes and against the spread of the white man. Not to mention the raw elements of nature. Sheriff Danvers knew this chase would be like no other.

  He wanted the posse to spread out and go slowly in order to pick up the Indian’s trail. He knew the Indian would be wise to cover his tracks or at least find ways to mix them in with game animals or travel parties in order to hide in plain sight. He also knew the Indian was on foot, not horseback. So in Sheriff Danver’s mind, going slowly should not set them too far behind as they could cover more ground in a day than the fugitive could. They would also have to stop less frequently for rest than a man traveling on his own two feet.

  The sheriff glanced to his left as Murphy and Hannigan covered the southern flank. Murphy’s shocking red hair and Hannigan’s twisted nose stood out on their profiles. Danvers had never ridden with these boys before but he wanted them on his team this time because of their ruggedness. He had locked each of them up several times to cool off their drunken Irish tempers after a long night at the saloon. They were both fierce fighters and good men, even though they had a taste for booze. Out in the wild, Danvers would have their sober ferocity at his disposal.

  To his right, covering the northern flank was Jepson and Thomas. Jepson was a God-fearing man of unbelievable strength. He had once made a living as a logger and was known to carry twelve-foot cords by himself, one on each shoulder. Once he met Rebecca he opened a dairy on the outskirts of town so he could stay closer to home more often. Thomas was Thomas. The Sheriff shook his head to himself as he thought about Thomas. The man was a wild card. He was part everything and yet nothing at the same time. The man could do just about any task you could set him on, but he never hung around long enough to become a tradesman. He was flighty and unpredictable. However, in a fight, he was a pissed off badger. And that suited the sheriff just fine.

  The men rode on, kicking up a huge plume of dust which drifted easterly in the wind. Sheriff Danvers knew their cloud could be seen from a great distance but he hedged his bets on their speed and coverage. He spurred his horse on faster as his mind returned to the fugitive Indian and the justice that must be served.

  Chapter 23

  James had given up trying to figure out where Crouching Bear was hiding. For hours, his mind ached over which direction the man would have gone. Where were there good places to hide? Was it near water for drinking? Would he stay close to game trails in order to eat regularly? Would another town be a good place to hide rather than alone in the wilderness? The questions were perplexing and James had no clear answer to any of them. Instead, he relied on the Indian spirits to guide him to Crouching Bear.

  George had tried to override James several times throughout the day. George thought he had the “Injun” figured out. He grew frustrated with James’ determination to work through the mystical traditions of the shaman. He implored James to listen to him. First, through ridiculing him for believing in the savage ways. Then, by intimidation, using his size and strength as a means to get his way. Finally, he gave in and let James and his horse lead the way.

  The two riders crested a hilly expanse and slowed to a stop. They surveyed the plains ahead for anything out of the ordinary. George glanced at James and spat. James ignored George’s attention, aware through is peripheral vision that George was looking his way. He was still glad George was accompanying him, but he didn’t think he would ever get along with George. And he certainly didn’t believe they would ever see eye to eye.

  James scouted to the north. His eyes picked up something that he had previously glossed over. About a half mile down the valley, alongside a tributary, it appeared that somebody was standing in plain sight. He squinted his eyes to focus in as best he could. It was difficult to discern if it was a man or a lone seedling. His eyes told him it was a seedling. His mind couldn’t make heads or tails of it. But his gut told him it was Crouching Bear.

  Why would Crouching Bear be caught standing in plain sight? All alone, knowing that lots of folks were hunting him down? If it was him, was he looking for a fight? Would he attack James thinking that he had come to avenge the death of Carson’s mother? Or would he come quietly, surrendering to James in order to answer for his crime?

  George followed James’ stare. He sat up higher in the saddle to get a better view. James looked over at George.

  “It’s him.”

  “How in hell can you see that far, kid?”

  James shrugged. “I can’t. I just know.”

  “Aw, hogwash.” George spat a lumpy wad whic
h splashed on the dry soil below. “Ain’t no way that Injun juju served him up on a platter for us.” His eyebrows came together in exasperation of James’ claim.

  “It’s him, just the same. We’ll come in nice and easy. I don’t want to scare him into running or doing anything foolish. Just nice and easy.”

  “And then what? Ya gonna ask him fer a dance? Or pat him on the back fer killing a lady?” George’s temper escalated with his tone.

  “I’m going to find out what happened and why. Then I’m going to convince him the smart thing to do is to come back to town with us. Otherwise, Sheriff Danvers is going to string him up.”

  “And what do you think is going to happen to him after you waltz him into town for a trial? Ya really think he won’t be swinging then?”

  The truth stung James. He hadn’t really thought it all the way through. Sheriff Danvers and the posse would certainly hang Crouching Bear out here in the wilderness. It was neat and tidy. No risk of a trial going bad. No spectacle in town of a public trial. No gossip or newspaper press. And if James did get lucky enough to find the man and convince him to return to town to stand trial, he would certainly be found guilty and sentenced to hang. Somewhere along the way James had believed that he would be the hero twice over. Once for capturing Crouching Bear and again for persuading the town to forgive the poor man. He cursed himself for being so childish in his view of the world. Maybe he wasn’t ready to be a man after all.