With only thin, stretched animal skins on the backs of the horses, they rode out of the fort with an Indian guide leading the way—the start of a long, possibly painful ride. Sunshine heated the progressing morning hours.
A soft breeze on their faces whipped around them, a blanket of cool, fresh air as they made their way down a widened endless path. Swaying trees tried to hold on to their last few leaves as they bowed with the flow of the wind. Every now and then, a rustling noise in the bush would catch their attention, but the Indian ahead of them took no heed to it.
Beth bounced up and down as she tried to get with the stride of the horse. Her backside already hurt after only an hour. Carl had no problem so far; he was doing well on the tall tan mustang.
Single file, with Beth in the middle, they made their way down the sometimes narrow trail, stopping only for a noise the Indian guide would inspect by listening while at a pause. Amazing how well he could detect what they were. Without him speaking a word he held his hand high to let them know they would go on. His long black hair flew back as he stepped up the pace. Beth could hardly hold on, but Carl urged her on from behind. “You can do this, Beth; just hold on tight and keep going.”
They entered a clearing with a large stone hill with a rounded opening at the bottom. A small American flag held up by a thin pole sat beside it.
The guide had his horse move closer. Because his English was limited, he motioned with his hand for them to do the same. “Come,” he shouted, waving them on. A cave well known to him opened up to a wide space, inside of which they could stand straight up.
Except for supplies in wood boxes to the left wall, the cave was deserted. The Indian began to check the contents while his tired companions investigated their surroundings. A large flat stone just inside the entrance provided a place to sit and relax while their well-informed guide took inventory of the boxes. His movement was silent and swift, like a cat surveying the place.
“I’m so sore from riding.” Beth complained. “A saddle would have been better than just a blanket. It’s like riding bareback.” She shuffled around on the rock as she tried to get comfortable. “I hope it’s not much farther.”
“Nothing we can do about it, my dear wife. You will have to put up with it. There are no saddles around here.” He took her hand. “They told us it would take the whole day to get there, so we have a ways to go.” He looked up in the sky. “My guess is, it’s somewhere around noon, maybe one o’clock.”
The wind blew in the cave, making a sound like air traveling through a tunnel. They looked deep into the inside to discover it went back a long way—so far back they could not see the end of the long, black darkness. The Indian, Bear’s Friend, handed them sticks of dry meat and a canteen of rum. It was obvious they were there for a rest and what one could refer to as lunch.
Beth tried to bite off a piece of the meat, only to find it tough as shoe leather. Bear’s Friend laughed as he watched her struggle with it. He lifted his to his mouth to show her how to chew on it at the side of his mouth, letting his jaws gnaw away at it. Once he had a little in his mouth, he drank some rum to wash it down.
“At this rate, we’ll all be drunk by the time we get to the settlement,” Carl remarked. “I think this is the way these people get through all of this.”
A wide grin appeared on Bear’s Friend’s face, letting them know he understood what they said. How much he understood was up for grabs.
Carl gave him a slight smile as he tried another chew of the tough meat.
With lunch and the rest period over, they once again were on their way down the never-ending path to a place unknown to them. Beth could not eat much of the meat but had enough rum to make her feel better about her sore bottom, plus it warmed her.
Approaching some of the cleared areas, they watched buffalo bolt and run from the sight of them, and large black birds hovered over a dead carcass lying on the ground decomposing. At one point they were sure they sighted a black bear at the edge of the woods. The sun had traveled across the sky, heading west for its brilliant sunset. White clouds moved slowly in rhythm with the earth as a soft cool breeze swayed the treetops.
At least the temperature was not as cold as the day before. The trousers Beth wore and the blanket wrapped around her shoulders kept her warm. She scratched occasionally to ease the itch from the virgin wool against her neck. The cool air didn’t bother the men as much, but for her it was too cold.
When the path widened, Carl rode up alongside her. “How you doing?” he asked as his head turned toward her.
“Okay, but what about tonight? We can’t travel in the dark. Where do we stop—sleep—if that’s possible?” She gave him a stern look across her shoulder.
“I’m sure he,” pointing to the Indian ahead of them, “will have some plans to accommodate us. He’s traveled this route before.”
“How lovely. I’m happy to know that.” Her sarcasm didn’t go over well with Carl, who dropped back to ride behind her again.
Back in the thick of the forest, they switched to another path that had obviously been traveled before. The sun now sat on the edge of the horizon; the sky darkened, and Beth became worried. She kept looking back at Carl, who tried to ignore her glances by turning his head to the side as though watching something in the woods. He didn’t have the answers she wanted.
They came to another clearing, only this time a log cabin stood off to the side of it. Two horses tied up in front let them know someone was inside. The pintos had Indian blankets over their backs. More Indians, Beth thought as they rode up to the front porch.
Bear’s Friend got off his horse and waved to them to do the same. His limited English of only a few words had him repeating one of his best, “Come.”
“Is this where we will be staying?” Beth asked.
“No—sleep,” Bear’s Friend said in a deep harsh tone, and then he held up a hand in a gesture for them to follow. Carl cleared his throat but said nothing.
They dismounted, Beth holding tight to Carl’s arm, as they hobbled along behind him to the stairs, Beth massaging her backside. They scanned the area before going through the door to see how quiet and lonely the place was.
Inside, they were met by an older Indian man who had several feathers in the back of his headband. His hair was grey and fell long in braids extending almost to his waist. His face had wrinkles so deep it looked like they had been carved into his flesh. Dark skin made the whites of his eyes stand out like glowing lights. He held out a worn, shaky hand to Carl, who responded with a friendly shake. Beth stepped back from him. His eyes fell upon her, making her feel uneasy.
From the table a soldier dressed in uniform stood to greet them. “Welcome,” he held out a hand. “You will be resting here for the night, I take it.” He eyed Beth. “Your wife can have the feather mattress over there.” He pointed to a stuffed blanket in the corner of the room. “And you can stay right at her side. I think that way she’ll be comfortable.” His French accent had a nice ring to it—friendly. He appeared to have been out in the wild by the way his clothes were soiled.
Other than having four more eyes on them to inspect what they wore and the way they looked, Beth and Carl felt safe there. If nothing else, it gave them shelter and warmth for the night and, at that point, that was as good as it could get. There would be no complaining.
The cabin was very much like the first one they’d stayed in but in better shape. The window had large shutters, closed tight to keep the cold or anything else out, the door made of heavy wood and the floors of thick wood planks that didn’t squeak when they were walked on. A fire burned in the large walk-in fireplace built of stone that took up most of the side wall. It generated heat to the whole interior. Oil lamps burned on the long table in the middle of the room. Wooden chairs instead of benches sat on both sides of the table. It looked like they had been eating. The large tin plate in the center of the table still held a few pieces of the dry flatbread they had made. All three visitors were invited to sit and enjoy the offering. The old Indian went to the counter supported by tree limbs, to get more of the bread. He then filled a tin pitcher with water to bring to the table.
“Our supplies have not yet arrived from the ship we’ve been waiting for. Sorry for the little we can offer,” the young soldier said, his brows furrowed. “We don’t always get things we need in a timely manner—even the trading posts are almost empty, these days—but you’ll be warm here tonight, and in the morning you can be on your way.”
“Do you know where we are headed?” Carl asked.
“Most likely the farm east of here. The folks there are happy to help anyone in need. They are Christians—true to their faith. You will be all right there.” His eyes gave Carl the once-over. “Where are you from, may I ask?”
“You may not understand, but we are from…” He hesitated. “It’s a place you wouldn’t know about. A very different place.” Carl’s eyes lowered to avoid contact with his.
“Well, all right then, but you sure look different in those clothes. I’d like to know where you got them.” The young man reached over and touched the sleeve of Carl’s jacket.
“Again, I don’t think you would understand, but I got them from where we came from.” He picked up his backpack and opened it. “Here let me show some things from where I came from.” He pulled out the flashlight, held it up to them then turned it on, but this time it didn’t come on. He shook it but there was nothing. “Oh, great!”
Beth came up beside him. “I think we used up the batteries. We had the thing on so much you know.” She grabbed it and put it back into the backpack. “Let’s just forget it for now.”
The men looked on in utter amazement, but when she closed the large bag, they turned away to resume their effort to make these strangers of theirs feel at ease.
They soaked the bread in the water and ate while the others stood around staring at them. Beth felt strange with them looking on at them, but hunger had her eating the flat, tasteless bread just the same. She was not only hungry but very tired, just like her exhausted husband. It was hard to believe they would be able to sleep in this crowded cabin with Indians and a smelly, dirty soldier with his long tangled beard, who couldn’t keep his eyes off them. But the body screamed out for rest and sleep that could not be ignored. Beth could have laid her head right down on the table, but instead, she walked over to the fire to warm her cold hands. Her hair had not been brushed for days and hung limp and tangled around her shoulders. It even stuck to her neck from all the dust that had settled in it. What she wouldn’t give for a hot bath and some real sweet-smelling shampoo.
Carl watched her as she held her hand out to the open fire. The light from the flames set a bright orange glow on her, highlighting all her wonderful features. She looked beautiful standing there, regardless of her need for soap and water. He almost forgot how unhappy she was. His thoughts ventured back into the future where, at this time of night, he would be enjoying a glass of wine with her, light from the fire in their cabin shining on her so he could enjoy the beauty of her figure through a sheer lacy nightgown. He would have her right there on the thick throw rug.
His thoughts were interrupted by their guide, who tapped him on the shoulder and handed Carl a tin cup with some rum in it. “Drink,” Bear’s Friend told him.
Rum with no Coke was just not the same, but he drank it anyway. It warmed going down, made him feel more relaxed. He set the dented tin cup on the table and nodded to the men in a kind of thanks.
The night closed in on them, and the dark skies overhead threatened rain again. Beth took to the makeshift mattress while Carl curled up on the floor next to her with a blanket wrapped around the two of them. It felt nice to hold her again—comforting. The other men settled down on the floor across from them, while the older Indian sat in a chair by the door. The large room became still, with only the sound of crackling wood in the fireplace, but outside was filled with the night’s symphony.
Noises during the long hours of the night woke Carl often. Beth slept without disturbance. The snoring of the young soldier didn’t overcome the sounds outside. When he heard a wolf howl, he sat up and looked around. None of the others seemed bothered by it, but then again, they were used to this life in the wilderness. He lay his head back down and held his arm around Beth, who still slept, but he could see all around the room and kept a watchful eye out for anything strange.
The older Indian at the door stood and began to walk around. Carl watched as the old man went to the canteen on the table and drank from it. His form looked strange in the dimly lit cabin—like a ghost moving about—more like floating. He walked so light, so soft, with slow and careful steps.
When the old one looked over at them Carl closed his eyes to pretend he was sleeping. When he opened them again the old Indian had sat back down in the chair by the door.
No longer could he hold his eyes open, and even with the sounds of the night, he soon fell asleep with the rest of them.