Chapter Seventeen

 

THE FIRE HAD gone out and a cold, saturating mist hovered above. Mayme knew the only way to get warm would be to get up and move. Still undecided, she lay there and looked at the sky through the narrow canopy of pine. Although it was getting light, Venus stubbornly remained in the sky.

Mayme glanced at Duster, who seemed perfectly comfortable despite the weather. She was busy nibbling the last of the grass. The mare had done well yesterday and hadn’t missed a step. Hopefully the leather pads would continue to keep her sound.

rrrRRR-eee-EEE-UH-UH-UH-UH-uh

Mayme flung the blanket back and jumped to her feet. The loud, variably pitched scream had come from somewhere behind her.

rrrRRR-eee-EEE-UH-UH-UH-UH-uh

Oddly Duster didn’t seem disturbed by the ear-piercing scream. Mayme held her rifle close and plastered herself against the rocks. The boulders became too small to give her sufficient cover, and she darted from tree to tree, the trunks of which were twice as wide as her body.

rrrRRR-eee-EEE-UH-UH-UH-UH-uh

Mayme was surprised to find that the forest emptied out into a huge meadow. She now recognized the dark brown animal. The bull elk had a buff-colored rump and long thin legs. His head, neck, belly, and legs were darker than his back and sides, and he sported a chestnut-brown neck and mane. A top his head was a set of massively sharp antlers.

rrrRRR-eee-EEE-UH-UH-UH-UH-uh

A second bull, equally as large, bugled a challenge and came forward. He raked his six-foot long antlers aggressively against a small pine tree and strutted toward his opponent.

They walked parallel to each other, seemingly to size each other up. They passed several times as if comparing each other’s antlers, body size, and fighting prowess. Mayme watched in captivation. A movement at the tree edge revealed several cows watching the two bulls.

Suddenly the bulls faced each other, lowered their heads, and clashed their antlers together, locking them. They wrestled like this for several minutes before releasing and charging each other again. The sounds of the battle echoed throughout the woods. The cows remained motionless.

Finally the first bull drove his opponent off. Their sides heaved and both sported deep, bloody gouges in their hides. Only after the other bull retreated did the cows emerge and casually begin grazing.

The conflict had turned a formerly huge grassy area into churned-up dirt. The cold forgotten, Mayme had never seen anything like it. The power, the noise of the two bulls as they fought, grunted, and struggled was astonishing.

By now the sun had risen and all vestiges of the night were long gone. While she would’ve rather watched the herd of elk greet and mingle with their champion, she knew she had to make a move. Damn Billy.

She saddled Duster while nibbling a strap of jerky and taking small sips of water from her canteen. They’d have to find water today. One of the two canteens she carried was completely empty and the one she drank from now was only half full. Duster was in much need of water too.

She checked the watch against the map, and discovered her route would take her past the elk meadow, on a downhill slope and hopefully toward water. She gave Duster another handful of oats before mounting and riding off.

The litter of needles on the forest floor was a blessing and a detriment. It cushioned Duster’s feet, but it also hid rocks on which she inevitably stumbled or slipped on. By the time Mayme found a narrow groove of a creek that yielded little water, they were both sweaty and tired.

Mayme climbed down and wiggled over two fallen trees to fill the canteens. There was no easy and safe way to get Duster to the water. She took a pot out of the saddlebag, returned to the water and filled it. Duster eagerly emptied each of the twelve offered her.

Her legs felt like jelly by the time she finished hauling water. It was only mid-morning and they had a ways to go before the day ended. She ate another strip of jerky and checked the map while sitting at Duster’s feet. Relief settled over her as she discovered she was close to the route Billy would’ve taken. She hoped to find a trail of some sorts and maybe a clue as to where he was.

Duster ate another handful of oats before Mayme stepped into the stirrup and climbed aboard. They picked their way down an easier slope and eventually came to where the infinitesimal creek she’d gotten water from earlier dripped into a larger flowing mass of water.

Mayme stood up in the stirrups at the river’s edge and studied the moving water.

“Well, Duster, it looks like we’re going to get wet.”

Duster lowered her head and snorted at the rushing water. She stepped in and out of it a few times before moving forward. Mayme encouraged her by squeezing Duster’s sides. She supported Duster’s head with both reins to keep her moving straight.

Suddenly Duster lurched forward as the ground disappeared beneath her hooves. Water flowed up and over the saddle, drenching Mayme from the waist down and filling her boots. Duster lifted her nose over the water. Her nostrils flared as she paddled her way across.

The current pulled them downstream. Mayme found it hard to believe Duster was making any progress against the rushing water. She leaned forward and grasped Duster’s mane.

“Come on, girl. You can do it.”

Duster’s ears twisted back and forth. She suddenly pitched forward and with one great shove from her hindquarters, found purchase on the river bottom. Half rearing, she pushed off again and cantered the remaining distance to the shore.

Mayme was soaked. The saddle and all her belongings in the saddlebags and the bedroll were saturated. There was no way she could avoid camping at the river’s edge for the night. She needed to get dry before the cold set in or she’d be in dire straits.

Fortunately, the flint still worked and she soon had a roaring fire. There was no shortage of firewood. The river had deposited enough debris on its banks for a month of fires.

Mayme strung the rope between two trees and after wringing her clothing out, hung it downwind from the fire. The soft breeze produced by the rushing water pushed the warmth generated by the fire toward her garments.

The sun was bright and warm on the side they’d crossed to. She stood naked by the fire not caring if anyone saw her. Not that it was possible. She was in the middle of an uninhabited nowhere. Besides, if Billy were anywhere in the area, he wouldn’t be able to refrain from saying anything.

When the light weighted garments dried she chose to put them on rather than wait for the heavier ones. Since her bedroll was made of wool, it took no time at all to dry. She decided to not put her chest wrap on until morning. The material was taking longer to dry and besides, it felt good to have it off for a change.

Duster grazed contentedly nearby. Since she’d used the rope to hold her clothes, she’d taken the reins off the bridle, tied them together and secured them around Duster’s neck with one end drooping to the ground.

Mayme ate a dinner consisting of warmed tomatoes with some jerky thrown in for salt. It didn’t take long for her eyelids to get heavy and the yawns to set in. Every muscle in her body was tired. She banked the fire and crawled into her bedroll. With the sound of the water in the background, she barely remembered closing her eyes.

 

A GOLDEN EAGLE’S scream from high above grabbed Mayme’s attention late the next morning. She tugged on the reins and brought Duster to a halt. The eagle circled overhead, gradually rising higher, before it soared away in a southerly direction.

She’d started the ride by following the river. The banks were covered in small pebbles mixed with silt brought down by the melt high in the mountains. Every once in a while she had to ease Duster into the water to pass a boulder outcropping. Fortunately the water remained shallow with the deepest going to Dusters knees.

As she rounded the next bend, the river widened and became much shallower. The terrain had flattened out on either side into large expanses of prairie. Lush grass grew right to the water’s edge.

She’d given Duster the rest of the oats while she’d eaten breakfast, but she knew the oats and sparse grass she’d nibbled in the mountains wasn’t enough to satisfy her appetite.

Mayme guided Duster up the short bank and dropped the reins so she could graze for a while. In the meantime, she dismounted and refilled the water supply. She looped the canteen straps over the saddle horn and noticed a flock of black birds the size of pinpricks, circling in the blue sky about a mile away.

The wind carried the sound of a horse’s neigh from the west. Duster flung her head up and answered. Half chewed grass fell from her mouth and she stared intently in the direction from which the sound had come. She whinnied again and was met with another neigh.

Mayme squinted and tried to find the location of the horse. She couldn’t see anything, so decided to let Duster find it for her. It might be Billy. Mayme stepped up in the saddle and with loose reins, clucked to Duster, who needed no encouragement. She pushed off into a stiff-legged trot, head held high and ears pricked forward.

They eventually came to a brush-filled cove littered with river debris and rocks that had been pushed up by a flood. Young cottonwood trees had sprung up all around it, making the area nearly impenetrable.

Duster nickered loudly. A horse nickered back. Thrashing sounds came from the undergrowth. Mayme untied the rope and slid off the saddle. She looked for the easiest way in by circling around.

She finally located hoof prints in the sand that led into the brush. “How the heck did you get in there?”

Mayme shoved her way through by pushing the narrow trunks to the side. By the time she reached the horse, she was breathing hard and the mosquitos had found her. She barely noticed the whine of the pesky insects, nor the few bites as a couple descended on her for a meal. She brushed them away and approached the horse.

The chestnut gelding had four white socks and a white blaze painted down the front of its face. His hide was dull and speckled white with dried sweat. He wore a saddle and bridle of which one of the reins was broken off. He probably snapped it when he was running, Mayme speculated. The other was caught in the fork of a tree and wrapped so tightly around that the horse could barely move his head. The corner of the horse’s mouth was raw and angry looking from the snagged rein working the bit.

As Mayme moved closer, the horse nickered softly to her and impatiently pawed the ground.

“Easy, boy. I’ll get you out of here. Somehow.” She draped the lariat over her head to free both hands and pushed her way to the gelding’s side.

The saddle was scratched badly, but not enough to miss the widely lettered BP carved into the cantle. Could this be Billy’s horse? Who else might have initials like that? But where was Billy? He certainly wasn’t in the near vicinity, that’s for sure.

It took Mayme a few minutes to free the remaining rein from the tree. She tried to turn the horse so she could backtrack in the direction she came. But the stirrups on both sides of the saddle caught firmly in the brush. The only way to get the horse out would be to leave the saddle behind.

She shook her head and rolled her eyes at the same time. “You’ll just have to ride your horse bareback, Billy, you idiot. Wherever you are.” She was slightly amused that more than likely, Billy was walking around looking for his horse. But what had happened that his horse got frightened enough to run into someplace like this? Once again, she came back to the original question: Where was Billy?

As Mayme untied the latigo holding the girth and pulled the saddle off, she discovered a long shallow wound. The horses’ hide was split, but the bleeding had since stopped.

“Poor boy. That’s what you get for running into stuff like this.”

It took twice as long for her to weave the gelding out of the brush than it did for her to enter it. And then they were finally free from the juxtaposed stand of trees.

Duster nickered as they came out and trotted over to smell the gelding. After Duster squealed a warning and stomped her foot, all was quiet.

The white in the gelding’s eyes had disappeared and it was obvious he was much more relaxed.

Mayme fashioned a halter out of the rope and removed the bridle.

“That’ll make you more comfortable, big guy.”

She mounted Duster and ponied the gelding on her right side. After a trip to the river where both horses drank their fill they turned to the south. As they walked through the tall prairie grass, the horses nibbled on the tops. Oftentimes Mayme let them drop their heads to graze for a few minutes before continuing on.

The flock of birds, which earlier had been black dots in the sky, grew larger the farther south she rode. Finally recognizing them as vultures, a sense of foreboding overcame her. The fact she had Billy’s horse in hand and so far there’d been no sign of boot prints, and therefore Billy, sent chills up and down her spine.

A vast silence reined over the land as she rode closer to the area the birds were circling. A slight breeze moved the grasses and every once in a while brought the smell of rankness with a tinge of sweetness. She recognized it as death. A few years prior, she’d been riding Blaze in the hills and came upon a dead cow. The smell was similar to that.

“Please be a dead cow. Please be a dead cow.”

Although Mayme still hadn’t spotted what lay in the grass ahead, she dismounted and ground tied Duster. She didn’t want the smell to spook the horses. The gelding had already been through enough.

She slid the rifle out of the scabbard and walked forward with great reluctance.

The smell became so repugnant, it nearly knocked her backward. The buzz from what seems like millions of flies filled the air.

“Oh, God.” She pulled her shirt up over her nose and held it tightly against her face. It did little to block the smell, but she knew she had no choice but to move forward.

Although Billy’s body was riddled with arrows he still clutched his pistol. His formerly blue laughing eyes now stared sightlessly from his slack face. A dribble of blood had collected and dried at the corner of his mouth. His saddlebags lay behind his body. The mochila was draped over his lap. Large splotches of crimson stained the leather on both.

Mayme sighed heavily despite the smell. “Oh, Billy. Why’d you have to go and get yourself killed?”

Spent shells littered the ground everywhere. It was obvious he’d fought bravely. There were several other pools of blood in various places that’d been soaked up by the rain-starved ground. Drag marks were evident in the bent grasses where the fallen had been taken away.

“Looks like you held your own. I count one, two, three, four, five, six, maybe seven spots where they fell. At least they didn’t scalp you.”

Mayme realized she’d said more to Billy in death than she’d ever done in life. Horror turned to sadness and then indifference as she set about digging a grave with a battered pot from Billy’s saddlebags. It couldn’t be used for anything else. She’d had to pry an arrow out of it.

The sun was high and hot. There’d be no relief from passing clouds as the air had become quite still. It wasn’t long before her clothes pasted to her. Sweat streamed from her wrap and into the seam of her trousers. The brim of her hat was stained with a white streak as the sun dried her sweat from above.

It took the remainder of the day and the rest of the canteen water to dig the hole. In between scooping the deadpan soil and wiping sweat from her eyes, she stayed vigilant and scanned the area in case the Indians returned.

The smell was unbearable. She knew the longer Billy’s body remained exposed, the worse it would get. The horses grazed nearby for a while, but even they moved farther away. If the gelding hadn’t been tied to Duster, he would have run away as she approached for the canteens. She wore the smell of death.

The vultures circled lower. A sudden flap of wings gained her attention. One of the black birds had landed on Billy and another was on the ground not far from his body.

“Get out of here!” She picked up a rock and threw it at them. It bounced sickly against Billy’s stomach. The bird hopped and landed again, this time on Billy’s head. It bent its head over Billy’s face and peered at him.

Mayme climbed out of the hole and ran toward the birds. “Leave him alone!”

The birds took to the air clumsily and with great objection. But they didn’t return.

Mayme wiped her brow with her sleeve and looked back at the grave. All that time and it was barely three feet deep.

“I’m sorry, Billy. That’s going to have to do. I just can’t dig any deeper.”

She pried the pistol from his hand. “You won’t need this anymore. I hope you don’t mind that I have it and not some Indian.” She hefted it in her hand. “Bullets. SAAs.” She frowned and wondered if he’d run out of ammunition before he died. She searched his saddlebags but didn’t find a single unspent bullet.

“I guess you may as well keep this with you.” Mayme placed it on Billy’s chest and rubbed her hands together. “Okay.” She picked up his feet. “I don’t expect you to make this easy.” She grunted.

Billy looked lighter than he was. He was lean but very well muscled. With a series of jerks and then a couple breaks, she was able to drag him to the grave. She got the body parallel to it, held her breath, and rolled him into it. His head gave a hollow thump as it hit the hard ground.

“Oops. Sorry.”

It took her another hour to scoop the dirt over him. Then she lined the grave with rocks she had dug up and draped his saddlebags over it.

“Don’t worry. I’ll deliver the mail this once for you.”

It took some convincing to get Duster to let Mayme come close. Every time she’d get within five feet of the horses, they’d get a whiff of her and shy away. Mayme finally took her shirt and trousers off and was able to grab Duster’s reins.

While holding the reins in one hand, she rolled her clothes into a tight wad and after a couple of attempts, mounted Duster. She rode straight to the river and took a well-earned and much-needed bath while the horses grazed nearby. Then she washed her clothes and laid them on the tops of the grass. They dried in short order and she was able to get dressed again. This time she had no trouble catching the horses.

It had been a long day and she was bone tired. Initially she thought she would camp at the previous night’s site. But it was too late in the day to make that ride and frankly, she just didn’t have the energy. So she opted to cross the river and found a suitable place upstream, one near some trees where she tied the horses. She was asleep before the moon rose.