Wellington's Quest - Robert F. Clifton (beach books .TXT) 📗

where he could lean back against a smooth boulder, relax and drink his coffee. As he did his thoughts again returned to her. “Where are you Virginia? Where ever you are I'm coming for you. Please know that dear. Know that I haven't abandoned you. Know, that I think about you at every available moment. Know that I love you, love you with all my heart “.

Darkness came quickly and he looked up into the night sky and saw the millions of stars that glimmered and gleamed in the firmament. He looked for and found the north star. Standing. he drained the last of the coffee in his cup. The brew was cold now. It cooled as he had sat thinking of her. He drank it anyway.

The next morning after a quick breakfast he was saddled, packed and on his way again. As he mounted the paint he searched the skyline for any signs of movement, such as hunting or war parties. What he did see were the high ridges that appeared in the usual, tan, brown and black colors, only now the ridge line present before him was treeless and barren.

His thoughts then turned to water or the lack of it and he reached for and took up his canteen and shook it. He judged it to be half full. Now, his priority became finding another water source, a stream or one more seep.

Shortly after high noon he came to a place where again high grass grew. However, he saw the path of naked earth created by the hoof beats, wagon wheels, canons and caissons along with the marching feet of the infantry as Sully and his command pursued the Sioux south, in the badlands. Jim turned north, towards the Montana Territory.

Two days later he rode into a green grass carpeted valley, surrounded by high grass and moss covered mounds and knolls. Ahead he could make out what was the Little Missouri River and the horse and mule, both thirsty began to smell the presence of water and began to increase their gait. To him, the river sent a message. Not only was there water to drink, but the waterway was a path that led to the village of the Dakota. Hopefully, it also led to Virginia. If not maybe, just maybe it led to One Horn and Matosapa.

He made a camp among a stand of limber pine. Happy at first to at last have water, he was also pleased to have firewood and he walked on a thick, red-brown carpet of dead pine needles as he look for kindling. Finding more than he needed he built a fire under the spreading branches of a large pine. Here, the wide branches would dissipate the smoke as it raised in the air, making it difficult to be seen. Nonetheless, there was nothing he could do to disguise the odor of burning pine wood carried on the wind. It was a chance he had to take.

The animals were secured, their reins tied to trees and to make it difficult for any young warrior wishing to steal the horse and mule and counting coup Jim tied one end of a length of rawhide high on the mules hind leg. The other end he wrapped around his wrist. Just as the Sioux paint had not liked the smell of white men when he first took the pony, the mule disliked the scent of Indians. Then, with the horse and mule somewhat protected Jim rolled out his blankets. After making and eating a quick supper he turned in for the night.

Up at sunrise he packed, then rode following the winding river. He came to a shallow place. On one side of the river green grass had grown. Now, as autumn began to warn of winter that grass was beginning to yellow. Nonetheless, on this day it extended all the way to the waters edge. On the other side long, tall pines grew and behind them in the distance were the rocky hills. Here, where he sat in the saddle the river was divided by a long, sandbar that was exposed to the eye. Jim looked to the other side and saw that a rocky tor, surrounded by weathered rock stood behind the trees. “What was hidden from his view?”, he asked himself mentally. Where he sat the river bank was flat, almost barren, not over grown with foliage. Being cautious, he decided not to cross at the shallows and continued to travel following the Little Missouri. Eventually, he came to a sandy beach. He stopped and visibly inspected the site. Here there were several flat rocks, level stones, revealing a place where the women cane to wash their clothes. Shifting his gaze from the beach he saw a well worn path and decided to follow it. He kept the paint at a slow walk. The mule followed. As he moved through sparse lodge pole pines he finally cane to the end of the narrow trail. Stopping once more he sat in the saddle looking upon a small Dakota village.

He reached for, grasped the Colt revolver then loosened it in the holster. Then, he leaned forward and did the same to the Henry carbine in the saddle scabbard. Again he sat and watched and listened for any sound or movement. The first thing he noticed was that it was perfectly still, no babies crying, no barking dogs no children at play. It appeared that the village was empty, deserted. A half dozen ravens pecked at the remains of a dead dog. He saw the sacred cottonwood pole standing upright, used for the sun dance. After waiting awhile, still cautious, he decided to dismount. When he did he tethered the animals to pole standing erect before an empty tipi. The buffalo hide had been partially removed by someone and he could see inside. Articles of clothing, baskets and blankets were neatly placed in the empty lodge. He turned and went to the next tipi. This one had a coyote skin door that was closed.

Jim removed the revolver from its holster, pulled back the door opened it and entered. In the dim interior light of the dwelling he saw cooking utensils, clothing and stored food, all apparently abandoned.

Going from one tipi to the next, searching, investigating, trying to determine just why the village was empty, Jim entered the last tipi in the clearing. Inside, in the faint light he stood and listened to a soft, but hacking cough that was coming from a pile of animal skins. With his revolver at the ready he walked slowly to the bundle and gently pulled back several pelts. When he did he looked down upon an old, wrinkled face of a woman. Her eyes were closed and it appeared that she was having trouble breathing. He placed a hand on her forehead and felt the heat of a fever that was raging through her body. Feeling the touch of a hand on her the woman opened her eyes and in a weak voice asked, “Nituwe he?” (Who are you?) “Miyeho ca kola” (I am friend) Jim answered.

As the old woman spoke, Jim understanding, the Dakota dialect

knew what she was saying. “Sick, very sick. Old, very old. I am an old woman. I am very hungry”, she said.

“Grandmother, you have pneumonia”, Jim said in English. Then, tapping his chest he said, “I'll make some tea”.

Went he went outside he stood in a cool August breeze as he unloaded the pack from the mules back. The animal stood uneasy, detecting the scent of Sioux who had lived in the village. Finding his coffee pot and tin box of tea he re-entered the tipi, started a fire and began to boil water that he took from his canteen. Soon, he had a strong tea brewed. Pouring it into a tin cup he allowed it to cool a little. Then, lifting up the old woman and supporting her he held her as she took small sips of the tea.

When she had enough she pushed his hand away gently. “Iyena, Iyena” (Enough, enough) she said in a weak voice. He helped her lay back again and covered her with skins, then added fuel to the fire to keep her warm.

As the days passed Jim prepared broths and soups feeding the woman until she was able to feed herself. Eventually, the old woman was strong enough to sit up. One day she spoke to him in a strong voice. “I am Left Handed woman. I am also a spirit woman. Who are you?”, she said in Dakota

“Jim, or James”, he answered.

“Jimorjames”, she repeated.

“Jim, Jim”, he corrected her with a smile as he tapped his chest with a finger.

Nodding her head in understanding, she repeated his name, “Jim”.

“Some of your people call me, Sicha-siha (Bad foot), he added.

One night in the glow of a dying cook fire Left Handed Woman told Jim why the village was deserted. She told of how the young men, the warriors were away fighting the Long Knives. The war parties of the Kagi (Crow) came. The old men tried to fight, but were overwhelmed. The women and children ran. Others were taken captive. He Wonjetah (One Horn) ran like a little girl. One Horn is a medicine man and keeper of the sacred bundle. But, without the sacred bundle, the Tashina pte (Buffalo robe) he has no power. The Tashina pte contains the sacred pipe, the chanupa. Without the chanupa he can not oversee the seven sacred rites and the people will know that he does not have it. It was I who ran into One horn's lodge and gathered up the sacred bundle. From there I ran deep into the forest. There, as I hid from the Kagi the grass and the trees talked to me. Me a spirit woman. They told me where to hide the Tashina pte. Do you believe me, Sicha-siha? (Bad Foot).

“Yes grandmother. I have been searching for a white woman, my beloved who was taken by the Dakota, A time ago I heard that she might have been with two men. One was named, One Horn. The other is called Matosapa. The woman has long yellow hair”, he said speaking in her language.

“The young girl is with Matosapa”,said Left Handed Woman.

“And, where is Matosapa?”

“Only One Horn knows, they are cousins”.

“Then, I must find One Horn”, said Jim.

“Ape tohatu”, (Wait for time) said the woman.

In the days that followed Left Handed Woman told Jim about the seven rites given by the White Buffalo Woman. One of these rites was the Hunk, the rite of relatives. Then, she gave him the direction needed to find the sacred bundle containing the chanupa.

“Go to the spirit of the east and see a cottonwood with the appearance of the evil spirit with horns. There, in back of the tree is a hollow place. Inside of the hollow place you will find the White, Buffalo Robe. Bring it to me”.

The next day Jim saddled the paint and with the mule walking behind he rode out of the village and headed east following the old woman's directions. He traveled over dying wild flowers. A signal that the frost had been there and that winter was on its way. The sight of tall grass changed to the sight of short barley grass appearing like feathers popping out of the soil. Then, in the distance he saw the tree line appearing green, yellow and orange on the horizon. Although it was summer the leaves on the trees were announcing that the end of summer was near. A cool, sometimes, cold breeze blew at him. He thought about the buffalo coat packed and contained in the mule pack, but decided not to stop and put it on.

Entering a small clearing surrounded by trees he stopped his mount and from the saddle took a good, long look at he area. His eyes searched for a cottonwood tree that appeared to have horns, but couldn't find