Bart's mind returned to the present when burning logs gave way, sending sparks in all directions. Maude was still lying down, looking content. Nothing else seemed out of place, and the sounds of the night were normal. It was late, perhaps midnight, and past time to get some sleep. Before going to the cave, Bart put more logs on the fire and moved his coffee pot out of the flames onto his sitting rock.
Lying in his shelter, he started to develop some plans. Since he was feeling much stronger, he’d leave by noon the next day after eating a good breakfast. Precaution needed to be taken because several renegade Indians scouted the trails in this part of the country. Bart had been told mule meat was their favorite food. He had also heard a white man's scalp hanging from a lance was highly prestigious for Indians. Maybe I should skirt the trails and depend on Maude to alert me of any danger. She could see and smell trouble as well as a watchdog. If he watched her, she’d signal danger by pointing her long ears.
The next morning, Bart woke to sunlight spilling through the cave's entrance. He rose and went to the cave’s entry and stood listening for any strange sounds while letting his eyes adjust. Everything seemed normal outside, so he ventured out. The fire had burned down but still had a few red embers. Maude was resting on three legs, swishing her tail at pesky flies, and the stream's water was now crystal clear.
Bart yawned and stretched as he readied himself for the morning. His back was still a little sore, but he was feeling much stronger and eager to get on his way.
Walking up to Maude to check the rope knot, he said, "Maude, today we start our journey to Colorado." She stomped her hoof and pulled against her rope. Bart didn't know whether she was eager for the trip or only wanted a drink.
Returning, he placed some small sticks on the red coals to get a flame started and then added larger branches to make a fire suitable for cooking. Carrying the empty coffee pot, he untied Maude and headed for the creek. She waded into the knee-deep water with her front legs spread and took several drinks. Bart filled his pot, and then they headed back uphill. After placing the pot on the flat rock in the fire, he led Maude to a patch of grass and hobbled her with the rope from the food bag.
Bart removed his bandana and shirt as he walked to the creek. At the stream's edge, he took off his boots, pants, and underdrawers. As he waded in, he discovered the streambed was rocky and about two feet deep with a strong current. Slowly, he lowered his naked body into the ice-cold water until he was sitting on the rocky bottom. Water flowed around his shoulders, causing goose pimples to rise on his skin. It was cold but also refreshing. Lying back in the water, he finger-washed his hair and then washed his ears, neck, and face with his bandanna. He grimaced at the jabs of pain when he cleaned the facial cut. Cold but clean, he walked back to dry ground where he stood shivering.
After Bart dressed and walked to camp, he sliced several pieces of bacon, placed them on his forked cooking stick, and hung them over the fire to cook. While the bacon was cooking, he removed all the items from the bag to see what was available.
There were the flintstones and his knife, two more slabs of bacon, ten strips of beef jerky, four large potatoes, two cans of peaches, half a dozen water-soaked corn muffins, and about ten feet of rawhide strips. There were two leather bags. The smallest contained twenty-seven twenty-dollar gold pieces. The larger bag held his mother’s Bible, which had not been opened since her death.
He knew his food would last less than a week, but he hoped he could live off the land for a few meals, which would stretch his stash. His thoughts went back to his ma’s Bible. Was it damaged from the rain? Bart was disheartened when he removed it and saw a large gray water stain spot on the front cover. But he was relieved to find the inside pages dry.
Five pieces of bacon and two corn muffins filled Bart to the brim. He drank nearly half a pot of coffee directly from the pot before heading for the creek to wash the pot and get water to put out his fire. After his fire was doused, he scattered the ashes and headed for Maude.
Bart didn't want to take any chances of losing his mule, so he made a slipknot at the end of the reins and put it around his left wrist before removing her hobbles. He would be dragged if she became frightened, but that was a chance he was willing to take. It was better than losing her again. He patted the mule’s neck and rubbed her down with a handful of dried grass. He lifted and examined each of her hooves making sure her shoes were not loose.
Bart walked Maude back to his sitting rock. He was about to tie the sack back around her neck when he had a thought. Why not put several of the coins in his boots for security purposes? After all, his boots were several sizes too large and would easily hold the money. He sat back down on a nearby rock and took off both boots. Then he removed twenty-four of the gold pieces from his bag, put twelve in each of his boots, and stomped them on. He left three in his bag. If anyone robbed him, maybe they would think the gold coins in the bag were all he had and wouldn't search his boots.
This plan wouldn't work if he had to walk, but since he planned to ride, he’d get along all right. He retied the bag around Maude's neck and considered the best way to mount her. She was a big mule, standing at least six inches taller at the withers than Bart’s five feet. Looking about, he saw a large rock he could use to mount. After settling himself on Maude, he rode up the animal path to the top of the hill and looked down on the surroundings that had been his home for the last five days. Though Bart knew he must leave, it was with some reluctance. It had been a safe place with shelter and water. He turned and observed what lay along his route to the west. As far as Bart could see, there were rolling hills with oak trees, a few pines, and an occasional large boulder jutting upward into a cloudless sky. He decided to follow the hill line, hoping to come upon a westward trail of some kind. Many miles ahead, a huge boulder rose above the horizon. It would become his first destination point; perhaps he could reach it within a day or two.
He lightly tapped Maude's sides with his heels, and she started off. Maude seemed eager to leave and ambled along like she understood his plan. Bart rode ten to twenty feet below the hilltop to keep from silhouetting himself. Other than making their way around trees and climbing an occasional hill, the travel was easy, with little undergrowth. On terrain like this, twenty-five to thirty miles could be traveled in a full day, sunup to sundown. Perhaps they’d make fifteen miles today.
Mile after mile they traveled. The trees blocked most of the sun’s rays, but the temperature rose to the mid-nineties. The heat and Maude's constant, poetic foot rhythm caused Bart to slump forward and nod with dull eyes. He missed the porcupine scampering behind a tree and the white flags of three deer running toward the next ridge. The minute the rhythm ceased, however, Bart became alert.
Maude had stopped, looking toward a distant ridge with pointed ears. At first, Bart couldn't see anything out of the ordinary, but then four Indians came into sight. Bart slowly moved behind a stand of pine trees and watched the Indians move closer. He was well concealed and felt confident he wouldn’t be found if Maude stayed quiet and the Indians didn’t cross over to his ridge and find Maude’s prints. The Indians were in no hurry; their passing seemed extremely slow. He watched their course, north of his, until they were out of sight. After a few minutes, Maude became calm, so he rode on with alert eyes.
It was midafternoon when Bart spotted a grove of willow trees some distance ahead, and willows normally meant water. When the mule smelled the water, she pricked her ears up and quickened her pace. Knowing water could draw Indians and unwanted predators, Bart advanced with a great deal of caution. He crossed over to the next ridge south and then headed for a group of pine trees about fifty yards short of the willow grove. Riding with concern, he stopped every few minutes to study the surroundings. Looking from ridge to ridge, he carefully observed every possible hiding place for a waiting Indian. There were no signs, no movements. The birds were singing, and most importantly, Maude seemed at ease. He rode on, planning to use the pine-tree stand as a hideout near the willows.
The pine grove consisted of twelve large trees, growing in a circular stand. From within, they provided a sanctuary. After tying Maude with a loose knot, Bart removed his boots, being careful not to spill any coins. In bare feet, he slipped behind the trunk of an oak tree. He hunkered down, observing the willows for a full five minutes, and then inched forward a few yards and squatted again. Everything looked normal. No smoke, no sound, and no movement. He moved again, this time to within twenty yards of the willows. There was a small pool of water among the willows and no Indians about. What Bart did see was a well-worn animal path leading into the water. He eased back toward Maude.
Bart was very thirsty and knew Maude was, too. It had been hours since either drank. Perspiration had stolen much of his body moisture, causing him to crave what lay ahead in the pool.
But after careful thought, he decided to leave without going to the pond. His footprints and the indentations from his shod mule in the soft ground around the pool could easily be found and followed. Not knowing when the next opportunity for water would come, Bart was hesitant to leave but knew he should follow his Pa's advice and take the best course when problems existed.
Bart was untying Maude to go when her head came up. She looked toward the willows with pointed ears. Bart could see nothing but knew something or someone was down there. Several minutes passed, and he still didn’t see anything, but Maude's ears flicked back and forth. Suddenly, her head swung north, and he saw five Indians ride over the ridge toward the willows with a deer draped over a pack horse. As they came closer to the water, four more Indians walked out from the willows to greet the party. The deer was quickly hung in a tree and skinned. They spread the hide under the hanging deer with the hair side down and split the carcass, letting the innards spill onto the hide. Bart saw the deer’s raw liver passed from one Indian to another, each biting off a large piece while blood dripped from their mouths. He almost vomited watching them. When the liver was consumed, the other innards were rolled up in the hide for future use.
Bart knew leaving was impossible, so he kneeled, holding Maude's reins and studying the situation. He felt sure he was well hidden but was fearful the wind would change and expose him.
The Indians speared the deer with a strong branch and placed its ends on two forked poles at the end of the fire pit. Bart knew the cooking time would be over two hours, which meant there was a good possibility the Indians would spend the night. The late afternoon’s shadows were already being cast on the valley’s floor. If the Indians did stay, his only chance of escape would come after dark when they slept. Bart was not under any illusions. It would be hard to leave without alerting the Indians or their horses, which were their watchdogs of the night.
Bart studied the landscape. He must prepare his escape while it was still light. Going down the north bank would intersect with the much-traveled path, and Maude’s tracks would alert the Indians of his presence. Traveling up the hill was not desirable either because of the bare rock and loose stone. Maude’s shoes would make an alarming sound if she walked on them. Bart concluded he must backtrack along the same route he had come.
Time passed slowly. It was still light on the hilltops, but the valley floor was already in twilight. The entire area would succumb to darkness within the hour, but after the full moon rose, there would be light enough to travel by.
There was laughter in the camp as the Indians sat eating slices of roasted venison washed down with gulps of water from the pool. Even though Bart couldn’t understand their speech, he felt sure they were reciting some of their recent adventures and telling jokes to one another. He wished he could walk down among them and establish a friendship; of course, that was not possible.
It took patience. Bart waited for an hour after the camp became quiet before picking up his boots and slipping from the trees, leading Maude. They made next to no noise as they walked the moonlit path, stopping occasionally to listen for camp noise—there was none. Maude seemed to understand the predicament and followed closely. She was so quiet, Bart turned a few times to see if she was still following.
After walking for about a half mile, he found a fallen log where he put on his boots and mounted. Maude stood still for a few minutes until she realized Bart had no idea where to go or what to do. She took charge and headed westward at a slow but steady pace.
Bart was hungry, thirsty, and dead tired. So was Maude, yet she continued on and so must he. The marks on Bart’s back were healing but still painful, and his cheek had lost all its feeling. It was numb. Eventually, he slumped on Maude’s neck, sleeping until their motion stopped, and he woke.
Maude had come to a large pine tree beside a stream of clear running water. It was a perfect place to spend the night or what was left of it. Sliding down, Bart removed the bag from Maude’s neck before going for water. After several swallows, they returned to the tree and slept.
Something hard to explain was happening between the boy and his mule. Neither was cognizant of it, yet a special bond was starting to build between the two. Their bond would soon be inseparable, a bond that would last a lifetime.