The Drums of Change (19 page)

Silver Fox had found no sign of Running Fawn. He decided to leave the river and head in a direct line toward the Reserve. Perhaps he should have done that to begin with. First he would need to rest his horse. The animal was sweaty and tired from the long hours in the burning sun.

He wondered if he should have brought the horse. He could have pushed on had he been on foot. But he could not disregard the weariness of the animal.

He had tried to pick wisely, choosing instead of the prancing thoroughbreds a rangy little pony that had been used as a dray animal. It was not particularly attractive but it looked solid and, he hoped, would have endurance. Now as he slipped from its back, he wondered if he should have left the little roan in the stable.

He ran a hand over its sweating side, feeling for tightened muscles that would indicate soreness. He laid his small pack on the ground beside the Winchester and began to rub down the horse with handfuls of dried grass.

When he was done he slipped on some handmade hobbles, turned the pony loose to feed, and went to rummage for his own evening meal.

There was nothing to do but to curl up in one of the blankets and take advantage of the time to sleep. The horse would not be able to travel farther until it had rested.

I made the wrong choice
, he murmured to himself as he settled in the blanket.
I should have headed directly home. She has lengthened the distance between us now. I will need to be up at first light. If the pony isn’t ready to travel, I will send him home. I cannot have him holding me back
.

One day blurred into another. Running Fawn’s bread and cheese were gone. Her feet were swollen and cut and bruised from sharp grasses and ragged stones. Still she stumbled on.

I must get home
, was the constant refrain in her head. One that pushed Running Fawn forward, even though she was forcing one foot in front of the other with little awareness or direction. But a new thought was trying hard to surface. One that she had been fighting against. She was in trouble. Confused. She had lost her sense of bearing. Her ability to think rationally. At last, common sense prevailed.
I must rest and refresh myself or I will never make it
, she scolded gently.

For a moment she sat where she had dropped, her head whirling, her senses numbed. She had to think. Had to reason. She could not keep pushing forward, without food, without water. She pressed her hand to her forehead and willed the buzzing sensation to stop.

Water
.

First I need water
.

The river was off to her left. She knew that much. But she had no idea how far away it was or if she would be able to make it.
Wait
, a small voice inside seemed to dictate.
Wait until the day cools
.

She lifted her head and looked for shade. Off to her right was a small bush. She had to go there. Had to rest in the shade.

She dragged herself back on her painful feet and slowly moved to the small growth and fell in its shadow.

I will sleep
, she told herself.
I will sleep until nightfall
.

She curled up in a ball, her blanket-dress pulled tightly around her, and allowed herself to drift off into a deep sleep.

The little pony proved to have a stout body and willing heart, and though Silver Fox knew he had to rest the horse at night, it was always willing to go on with the first light of dawn. As he traveled, the young man’s respect for the small animal grew. As he rubbed him down at the end of another sweltering day, he knew now that it would have been hard for him to turn the horse loose, hoping it would find its way home. He had become attached to the plucky little pony.

“You are a tough bronc, I’ll hand that to you,” he said as he slipped on the hobbles. He let his hand trail down the horse’s neck, sending it off to graze with an affectionate pat.

As he turned from the animal, his thoughts turned to more troubling ones. He had been on the trail for four days, and he had found no sign of Running Fawn. By now her supplies would have run out. What was she doing for food? Was she still okay? What should he be doing that he wasn’t?

He sat and pondered hard as he munched on his rations. At long last he had made up his mind. He would backtrack. He must have passed her by. He would backtrack and then zigzag back and forth across the prairie. It would add many miles to the distance he must travel, but it seemed to be his only chance of finding her.

Chapter Thirteen

Travel

When Running Fawn awoke, the half moon was casting a weak light on the prairie landscape, giving the earth an eerie appearance. A soft wind blew away some of the heat. Running Fawn welcomed the coolness and drew her blanket garment closer about her body.

She felt prepared to think and plan now. She should have realized earlier the effect the intense heat had on her brain. She could have perished without even knowing that she was in trouble.

Now she sat calmly, fingering the pillowcase that lay before her on the ground. It contained nothing now—nothing but the length of cord and the pair of useless oxfords. She lifted the case and let the shoes tumble out on the ground. They really were only a burden to her. She reached down and lifted one, then dropped it again. Why should she carry something that was of no use?

Then she picked it up again, untied it, slipped the lace from the eyes and laid the shoe aside. She reached for the mate and repeated the process. Tying the two laces together she made a cord long enough to easily reach around her waist. It would help to have her blanket tied securely. Her hands would be freed for other tasks.

Do I keep this?
she asked herself of the empty pillowcase. She certainly did not need it to carry the small bit of cord. She could tie that about her body, too.

I will take it. It might come in handy. I wish it would hold water
, she mused.

Running Fawn smiled at the thought of the white cotton holding water for her journey, then stuffed the cord back into the case and wrapped the whole thing about her shoulders.

Water was her first concern. She started off through the moonlight in the direction that would lead to the river.

I wonder how far away I have drifted?
she asked herself.

But she had not traveled for long before she could smell the river on the night air. Her steps quickened. Once she had alleviated her thirst she would be free to consider other needs.

The water was cool as she lifted it to her lips and then splashed it over her face and arms. The wind cooled her body further as it evaporated the droplets. She sat with her swollen feet in the water and felt refreshed.

Now I must have food
, she thought as she stood and looked around the riverbank in the moonlight.

She knew what her food supply must be. Prairie jackrabbits abounded. She would need to snare her meal.

It took a good deal of effort and the rest of the night, but at last she was successful. She had carefully set traps fashioned from her cord and branches, and she did not give up until she had snared two of the animals.

The moon had dipped behind a cloud and left her with little light. On hands and knees she began to grope around in search of a sharp stone that would aid her in skinning the animals.

She found one that would meet her need just as the moon reappeared in the distant west and the first rays of the sun began to lighten the sky in the east.

She felt good about her catch. The skins would make a protective covering for her feet, and the meat would sustain her on the trail. She would search for flint stones so she might build a fire to roast a portion. But if she failed, she would partake of the uncooked meat. It was better than starving. The rest of the meat she would cut into long strips and dry in the hot sun. Once pounded and cured, it would keep for days.

She did not try to travel but rested in the makeshift camp for the entire day. She had made a foolish error in judgment by traveling in the heat of the sun without taking care to have plenty of water. She would not repeat the same mistake.

Once her meat was prepared and stretched out to dry, and the skins were cleaned as thoroughly as she could with the sharp stone, she pulled the blanket closely about her body and lay in the coolness of the small bushes growing along the stream’s edge.

Silver Fox backtracked for two days before he turned his mount and started his zigzag search of the prairie. It took him an additional three days to return to the farthest point he had been in his journey.

He was worried and discouraged as he prepared to camp for the night. Again he was tempted to free the pony and continue on foot.

“I think I have forgotten my tracking skills,” he said to the animal as he rubbed him down. “Surely there should have been
something
for me to pick up on by now.”

He had bent down to place the hobbles on the front feet of the horse when his eyes spotted something in the dim light of evening.

Carefully he lifted back the blades of grass and let his fingers trace out the small indentation. Yes. He was sure. It was the faint outline of a footprint.

Barefoot
, he noted to himself.
She is not wearing the shoes. Feet bare—and swollen
.

On hands and knees he carefully crawled forward, searching out the next step. He found it. The left foot did not seem to be as badly bruised and swollen as the right.

Forward he went, step by step. The prints were not even nor in a straight line. She seemed to be staggering as she walked. She was in need of help, of that he was sure.

By her footprints, Silver Fox could tell she was not heading directly toward the camp but was off course. And she was moving away from the river rather than toward it. He raised himself to stare off into the gathering darkness. Then he returned to the pony.

“You are tired and hungry, I know,” Silver Fox said to the little animal. “I cannot ask you to travel farther tonight. But in the morning—perhaps we will find her. Her trail is not more than a few days old.”

Silver Fox felt many emotions as he settled down for the night. He was relieved to see some indication that she was still alive—at least as of a few days ago. He grieved at the suffering she must be enduring. He was impatient to be back on her trail, but he could not ask for more from the small pony. The animal was already near exhaustion.

It was an unusually long time before Silver Fox could quiet his whirling thoughts enough to drop off to sleep.

In the morning he ate quickly, not bothering to build a fire. Then he set off for the pony to begin the day’s journey. He hoped he could hold his impatience in check and not push the animal too fast.

He had nearly reached the small horse when his eyes spotted an unusual object in the grass off to his left, and he went to take a look at it.

As he approached he could see that it was a shoe. His pace quickened. Yes. Yes, it was one of the oxfords. Left behind, minus the lace. She had been wise to take the lace. He let his gaze drift out further and then saw the second oxford almost buried in a stand of tall grass. Its lace also was missing.

He bent down to trace her footsteps. She was heading directly for the river now, and she did not seem to be staggering. She must have stopped to rest and sorted out her confusion.