CHAPTER 3
The Denver-destined road split in western Nebraska. One route went to Denver, the other to Fort Laramie. He decided to take the Denver route. He’d been traveling over three weeks and met many forms of people on the trail as well as some generous women. Not to have Harp to talk to left him a big space in his being alone as an individual in this prairie world. No woman had turned his head though he found some comfort in the volunteers’ conversation and their individual nocturnal sharing.
That evening he was camped by himself on the Platt River. With his survival skills, plus some gut line tied on a willow pole with a small iron hook and a fat grasshopper, he caught some trout earlier and fried them. His camp was set up well off the main road, and when he noticed his nearby grazing horses look up at something, he saw, on the far bank, two riders preparing to ford the river directly across from him.
One wore a felt hat and the other rider had braids. Her horse was on a lead rope. The Platt there was swift and deep enough at that spot he decided the horses might have to swim the middle to cross it. Both riders made the ford and soon had their dripping mounts shaking water on the gravel under them. The second horse found his footing and came up beside her companion. The braid-headed girl could sure ride. She stayed on, bareback, during the crossing.
Surprise was written all over the stranger’s face, like he had not expected to find anyone, when he saw Long stand up. He booted his horse up onto the bank above the beach. The second horse came, too.
Dripping wet to his knees, he reined up and set his horse down. After a glance over at the one he led, he turned back to Long. “You need her?”
“Who is she?” Long reset his near windswept Stetson to settle it on his head.
“A big Sioux chief’s daughter. He’d pay you a hundred buffalo hides for her safe return.”
What in the hell would he do with that pile of hides? He moved around to inspect her. She turned her face away from him.
“You speak English?” he asked, deciding she was only a teenager.
She sullied for a moment, then turned to him and in perfect English she said, “Only to polite people. My father would pay more than that for my return.”
“Damn you, bitch. She ain’t said one damn word in English to me in two days.”
“How did you get her?”
“I found her out picking wild flowers and decided there was a reward out there for her.”
“I think he was spying on me.”
“There’s two sides to everyone’s story. What do you want for her?” he asked her captor.
“Five hundred dollars.”
“I only have about a hundred and seventy dollars in my pocket in real money on me.”
The stranger dropped off his horse and used the mount to steady himself while he removed one boot at a time to dump the water out of them. “That ain’t enough.”
“Well you will have to go find a more prosperous customer. That is all I have.”
“What does that mean?”
“That means I have no more money than that.”
“Pay me,” he said in defeat. He held out his hand.
“I am sick and tired of putting up with her.”
Long counted the paper money out into his hand. It was most of the hatchet contest prize he’d won at the outpost.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Jack Bromley.”
“That includes her horse?”
“Hell, yes. That’s some dumb Indian broomtail. You got a thing to eat?”
“Nope.” Long shook his head.
“You’re an Injun, too, huh?”
“Part Cherokee.”
“Well you can have that bitch.” Took him two tries to get back in the saddle in his soaked boots. “Oh, she says she’s a virgin. I doubt that.”
“Bye, Jack. Travel safely.” Good riddance of that dumb guy. The man rode away. He walked over . . . got out his jackknife. She drew back.
“Hold out your hands. I’ll cut that rope.”
“Good.” She held her hands out and he cut the rope that bound them.
She lay down on the horse’s neck to catch the lead rope. Once up she booted him to leave.
“Wait,” he said. “I lied to him. I do have food.”
Like she didn’t hear him, she didn’t rein the horse up to stop until she was down at the water’s edge. Then she twisted and looked back at him.
He spoke to her over the river’s rushing by. “I don’t want your body or any rewards, but you should stop and eat. Then you can go find your people.”
She reined around. “You serious?”
“I bought you didn’t I?”
Still on horseback she made a sour face. “I wish I knew why.”
“I hate to see anyone be a prisoner that doesn’t deserve it.”
“That was lots of money.”
“It saved your life. So what is money for anyway?”
“But I am an Indian, you are mostly white.”
“No, we both have hearts that pump our blood, and we both should care for one another.”
“Why should I care for you?”
“Because we are both human beings.”
She shook her head as if she couldn’t figure it out, then slipped off the horse.
How old was she? A teen. No matter she was a real pretty girl. But after their meal she would disappear like smoke in the rolling land beyond that river. No matter. He would feed her and, maybe, she would answer some questions about her people he, himself had no answers for.
He cooked her the other fish he’d saved for breakfast. She sat cross-legged across the fire looking very fixed on leaving as soon as his meal for her was over.
“We get through eating, I need to catch more fish for breakfast.”
“You have a bow and arrows?”
“No, I use a grasshopper.”
She made a face like she thought he was crazy. “How does he catch fish?”
“After you eat I can show you how.”
She shook her head about the possibility of it happening.
He watched her eat the cooked fish with her small fingers a piece at a time. Second bite she smiled. “He is very good. I never ate one so tender.”
“Most people cook them too hard.”
She laughed and pointed at him. “That is it. They do.”
“How far are your people away from here?”
“Maybe three to four days’ ride. They hunt for buffalos to have food this winter. So they move a lot.”
“Can you find them?”
“I will.”
“There are lots more men out there like him.”
“I know.”
“Have you ever seen the Rocky Mountains?”
“I saw lots of mountains. Which ones are they?”
“They told me there are some great mountains that run north to south across the land.”
“Oh, yes, but you have to be at the foot of them to see them.”
That was different from what he thought it would be. He reached forward and poured her some coffee.”
“What is this?” she asked when he handed her a cup.
“Coffee.”
She handed the cup back. “I don’t like coffee.”
“Try it. You didn’t like hard fish.”
She stopped, looked at him, and laughed when she reached for it back. “I will try it.”
She put her lip on the cup.
“It is hot. Only sip it.”
She did and smiled. “It is good and it is hot.”
“See I have not lied to you.”
She nodded.
“I need to get back to Texas. But I came to see those mountains. After I see them I can try to take you to your people. Or you can go back alone and try to dodge guys like him.”
She gave him no answer.
“Can we ride there in a week?” he asked.
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I have been out there but I never counted how far it is.”
“Well, wait until morning and I won’t bother you and we can go find them.”
She was drinking her coffee. “That was very good. Show me the grasshopper trick.”
“Let’s go.” He took off his boots and socks, then he rolled up his pants. Armed with his pole, he led her to the water on the way catching a fat hopper in his Stetson for a net.
She stood close by while he threaded the bait on a hook. When he finished she snickered and shook her head at the joke he’d pulled on her. He waded out and cast the hopper upstream. The hopper traveled down the current, and, immediately, a trout took it. The pole bent and the girl joined him, wading in the stream, to cheer his fight on until he managed to corral a nice-size fish and toss him on the gravel.
He rapped him on the head with a rock before he noticed her skirt and britches were neat-like, lying on the bank. He knew Indians didn’t take being half-naked as seriously as white people. Then she handed him another fat grasshopper.
“Thanks, I needed more bait. Get out there in the water. I can show you how to catch them.”
She obeyed him. He was grateful she still had her blouse on. She tossed the hopper. But not where he felt it should be. He made the next cast for her and handed her the pole. It was swish and the pole bent into a U. She had a real fish on her line, and he caught her by her slender waist to hold her from being drug downstream.
“We—got hi—him.”
“Yes, we did, girl. Lead him to the shallows and I’ll toss him on the bank.”
He moved around, bent over, and scooped the slick large fish up onto the gravelly beach.
When he rose he saw three tough-faced men seated on their horses facing them.
“Not a bad catch. Huh, guys?”