William and the Old Indian

PA DECIDED WE SHOULD move west. By mid-April, we made it to Independence, where a man told us it would cost three dollars and two bits to go with the wagon train. Pa said we didn’t need some trail master telling us when and where to go. A couple of days later, we headed southwest instead of following the regular trail, because Pa said it was warmer to the south.

I was glad the Harris family agreed to travel with us. There wasn’t enough room for me to sleep in the wagon, and Ma didn’t like me being outside by myself. Since the Harris children slept on the ground, she said I could, too.

There were three Harris boys and a girl named Grace. She had sandy colored hair, blue eyes, and a few freckles. She was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen, and instantly, we became friends.

On the twenty-eighth of April, we stopped early to celebrate Grace’s sixteenth birthday. She was exactly four months older than me.

Just like Pa said, the farther south we went, the warmer it got. The ground was hard and the dried up streams were quicker, easier, and safer to cross, but soon our water barrels began to run low.

One morning, around six weeks after we left Missouri, Pa rode south and Mr. Harris headed north, looking for water.

About an hour later, I noticed one of the oxen had pulled loose and wandered off. Ma told me to go find it, so I got a little water and saddled Sally, my horse.

“Give me your canteen,” Ma said. She took it to the water barrel and filled it the rest of the way while Mrs. Harris gave her an ugly look.

The veins on Ma’s neck popped out and her eyes got scary-looking. I saw white all the way around her irises, like the time she got into a fight with a woman back in Missouri. I knew Ma was some kind of scrapper, and Mrs. Harris wouldn’t stand a chance.

I started to get off my horse, but Ma commanded, “Stay.” She looked at Mrs. Harris and said with a shaky voice, “I’ll not chance losing my boy over a little water. I’ll do without for the rest of the day and won’t eat either, if it’ll make you feel better.” Then she said, a little louder, “And I’ll bet you tomorrow’s ration, your husband took a full water jug this morning.” She walked over and handed me the canteen. “Go, William, and be careful.”

I tracked the ox until the wind began to blow hard. So much dust and sand pelted my face, I couldn’t see. Sally got a little spooked, so I got off and pointed her butt to the wind. I sat on the ground with a handkerchief over my face and held Sally’s reins for what seemed like hours. When the wind stopped and I pulled the rag from my eyes, it was almost dark.

Lumps of muddy sand covered Sally’s eyes, so I used half the water in my canteen to wash her face and give her a much needed drink. She was still skittish, so I rubbed her neck and talked to her. “You’re going to be okay. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I chuckled a little, thinking of Grace. I liked her a lot and she always wanted to be around me, except when I was taking care of Sally. One time, she got all mad and said I loved Sally more than her. I’m sure it seemed that way. I wouldn’t take a pile of coins for my Sally, and I knew how to take care of her. Grace was a different matter. I wouldn’t take a pile of coins for her either, but I hadn’t been around girls much, and Pa told me to keep my hands to myself or I’d get the strap.

After Sally calmed down, we walked in the direction I thought we had come from. A couple of hours later, I stopped for the night.

It was already hot when I woke the next morning. Lifting the canteen to my mouth, I remembered Sally. Without her, I would have no chance, so I carefully poured some of the water into my hand and gave her a small drink. I was parched, but thought I should save what little water we had.

We walked for hours on what I’m sure was the hottest day known to man. I took enough water to wet my mouth and gave the rest to Sally.

Later, it was so hot I couldn’t sweat. I stopped and sat on a large rock, waiting until it cooled down a little. When the sun sank toward the wrong horizon, I knew I had messed up. No telling how far out of the way we had gone.

I stood up on my shaky legs and the world spun, causing me to stumble into Sally. She gave me a friendly nudge back. I had walked all day, so I thought if I rode, I could make it back to where we started that morning, then rest a while. Possibly by the next evening, I would be there to give Ma a hug.

After struggling a bit, I climbed onto Sally, then headed her back the way we came. Later, I woke with a hard thud. I had fallen out of the saddle and was sick to my stomach, but there wasn’t anything to come up. Every time my gut wrenched, a sharp pain ripped through my head.

When I woke up later, Sally was gone and an old Indian sat beside me, singing. I shivered with a chill and my head still throbbed, but at least the torturous pain had stopped. I asked the Indian his name and if he knew what happened to my horse.

He answered me in a strange voice, but somehow I understood what he said.

“I was Running Buffalo. Now, I am with the hot breath of the day and the cold whisper of night. I told your horse where to drink and she left.” I must have hit my head. “You did not hit your head. I speak to you because I saw you wash your horse’s eyes and not your own. You gave drink to your horse and took little. I was there when you stepped around the spider, instead of smashing him. I see your spirit. My people have reverence for what Mother Earth has provided and so do you.

After a pause, the old Indian spoke again. “They do not listen to me anymore. They say I am the wind blowing through the rocks. The Faithful Sun has allowed you to hear my words.”

The Indian faded, then spoke on the other side of me. I rolled over and saw him sitting by a cactus. He said, “The horse will come back before the moon sleeps.” Then he pointed beside me as I sat up and he said, “Take the stone from my hand.”

I was confused. He pointed with his hand, instead of holding it out for me to take a stone. He drew his hand back a little and gestured again. The wind blew as I looked next to me and fear seized me momentarily. The dirt had blown away, leaving the bones of a hand with a small blue rock on top. Standing over me, the Indian said, “Take it.”

I shook so bad I could hardly pick it up.

The old Indian spit on me. I looked up at him, wondering why he would do such a thing. Then he spit on me several times. I shielded my head with my hands. Finally, I realized raindrops were landing on my legs and the ground. I looked up again and large drops struck my face. At first, the cool water felt wonderful on my burnt skin, but I quickly became chilled. The rain passed and within a couple of hours the stars and moon filled the sky.

Running Buffalo walked past me and sat by the cactus again.

I apologized for lying on his bones.

“In death my bones joined Mother Earth. They do not lift me up nor bring me pain,” he replied.

I stood and tried to walk, but stumbled and fell.

“Crazy Legs, you should rest,” he said, then vanished, again.

I laid there and drifted off.

Running Buffalo woke me as the sky began to lighten. “It is time to leave. Do you not hear the women at your camp weeping for you?”

I listened for a minute. The wind seemed to be wailing. The eerie sound made me wonder if more spooks were about to appear.

“It is their cries riding the wind. Follow it back to them.” As Sally came to my side, the old Indian said, “Tomorrow, say to your horse, ‘Show us where to drink,’ and she will. Do not stay in this land. You must follow the bright star and lead your people from here, or they will join me with the hot breath of the day and the cold whisper of night. Now go, Crazy Legs.”

As I climbed up onto Sally, the ox walked up behind us. We headed into the wind. The sun was well into the sky by the time I spotted the wagons. I wondered what I would tell my parents and had about convinced myself it was all a bunch of weird dreams because of the heat. Then I felt the stone in my pocket. I looked at it and knew Running Buffalo had saved us.

While growing up in Oklahoma, Gene enjoyed fishing and playing football. As an adult, he has worked in the machining industry and spent almost three decades as a sports official. After raising his family, Gene found himself building custom pool cues, specializing in masse’ cues for artistic pool players. He is a member of the International Cuemakers Association and has sponsored some of the world’s top trick shot artists and many large and small pool tournaments across the United States. Currently, he likes to play tag, fly kites, or just have lunch with his grandchildren. Although Gene has written snippets of nonfiction in the past, a fictional muse recently invaded his life, and writing has become his latest passion. “William and the Old Indian” was the grand-prize winner of the Dusty and Pat Richards Memorial Oxbow Prize for Short Western Fiction at the 2018 Ozarks Creative Writers Conference in Eureka Springs, Arkansas. Fans may connect with Gene through his website at www.cgenerun.com/author or his Facebook page at www.facebook.com/Author.GeneLaViness.