Written by: Julie Dieck
Chapter 13 “Surfacing Enmity”
A few miles from the fort, two prancing horses moved along at a ground-eating pace, their riders in high spirits. Kathy sat tall and proud on her new mount as Alan rode alongside. The race to the crossroads had been a close one, but Trooper had reached it half a length ahead fair and square. The shooting match had been just as close, Kathy coming ahead by one bullseye. Had Kathy looked at Alan at the time she might had seen the twinkle in his eye when he said he “just couldn’t understand how he’d missed that stone” they were using as a target; though he didn’t know that his good deed had put Privet Hayes out of twenty dollars. The two had long since wondered off the beaten trail and struck out across the open land and into the woods of Sunset Valley. They were chatting away and having a good time, when Kathy abruptly reined in. Alan brought his chestnut up close beside her.
“What’s the matter?”
Kathy pointed near a clump of bushes. “Look. A riderless horse.”
It was true. A ways up ahead, near the edge of a sharp drop in the ground, a pinto horse stood alone; a colorful blanket on his back with a hackamore bridle. Painted symbols of vibrant hue also colored the black and white rump and shoulders.
Alan frowned. “An Indian pony.” He drew his pistol. “I want ya’ ta’ stay here, lass. I’m goin’ ta’ have me a look. Could be a scout for ah’ war party. I’ll check.”
He dismounted and started forward at a quick crouching pace, gun ready for action. As he neared the drop he could hear a slight commotion from below; what sounded like quick loud shouts, the words he couldn’t distinguish. Someone was down there all right. Reaching the edge, Alan kept behind some bushes and peered down.
At the bottom of the drop, the first thing he saw was a young boy; an Indian boy of about eighteen. He was crouched on one knee, holding a short knife in his hand. He gave another sharp yell and slashed the blade at the air. At first Alan was slightly baffled, but then he saw the reason. About a hundred yards off, the lean tan form of a mountain lion lurked in some rocks. The large cat was crouched low, lips curled back to expose razor teeth as a hair-raising hiss chilled the air. Gold eyes set on its prey, slowly, the slinking monster was making its way closer.
Alan’s eyes flicked between hunter and hunted. “The little fool. Why don’t he git out of there?”
But looking closer, he saw why. The boy was kneeling because he couldn’t run. His right foot was caught in a trap attached to a stake in the ground by a short chain. He was easy game for the big cat. Out of natural reflex, Alan quickly brought his pistol up and aimed down the barrel; sights on the scrawny animal. He cocked the hammer and his finger tightened on the trigger; but then it slackened. Though his sights stayed on the cat; his eyes were drawn to the boy in buckskins.
Things suddenly flashed before his eyes, scenes and images that had been buried deep inside. He could see the ranch house in flames, his father laying in the dirt, his best friend dying in his arms – and the sight of the blood of both on his hands. Again it all came back: the hatred and bitterness. The hammer eased back into place as Alan slowly lowered the pistol.
Then he began to talk, voice low. “It won’t make ya’ suffer the way ya’ve made me do all these years, but it only be fittin’ ya’ get ah’ taste of what ya’ gave them.”
Suddenly a small hand grabbed his arm as a pleading voice cried out, “Alan! Do something!”
Alan realized that Kathy had followed him at some point. She was now beside him, pulling at him in desperation. “Kathy! What are ya’ doin’? I told ya’ ta’ stay where ya’ were!”
The girl wasn’t listening as she watched the scene below. “You gotta save him, Alan! Shoot the cat!” she pleaded again.
“He be gettin’ what he deserve!” Alan snapped. “It’s fittin’ justice.”
“It’s inhuman, that what it is!” Kathy’s voice answered back just as sharp. “No man, not even the worst criminal in the world, deserves a death like that! Especially when he can’t even fight back fair! I know you, Alan, you can’t let it happen!”
Alan paused. Within, something pricked at him. Kathy was right; it would be inhuman to allow anyone to be ripped to shreds by the slashing claws and teeth of such a beast; even if he deserved no better. He couldn’t let that happen; especially with Kathy there watching.
With a bitter sigh, Alan held the pistol out before him, again taking aim. “T’ain’t gunna be easy gittin’ the devil with this gun at this range,” he mumbled. Then a hand tugged on his sleeve.
“Here,” Kathy said and held out something to him.
It was the silver diamond rifle; she had brought it with her. Re-holstering the pistol, Alan took it and cocked the lever. Just then a horrible snarl sounded below as the mountain lion began to swiftly close in for the kill.
“Hurry, Alan! Hurry!” Kathy urged.
Alan brought the rifle up and took aim. The cat was ready to pounce. The Indian boy crouched slightly in his kneeled position, knife out; ready to die fighting. Then as the cat drew itself back for the leap, a loud CRACKsuddenly disrupted the scene. The cat gave a yowl as the bullet struck true and the killing pounce was cut short. The shoulders went slack and hindquarters awkwardly flipped over the small head in a summersault. The lifeless body fell limply to the ground not six feet from the shocked boy as the report of the rifle died away in the distance.
Up above, Kathy slapped Alan on the arm. “You got him! A direct bullseye! It’s a wonder I won that contest.”
Alan said nothing as he lowered the smoking rifle. He came out from behind his cover and made his way down the steep drop with Kathy on his heels. At the bottom, Alan strode first to the mountain lion’s crumpled form. Assured it was dead, he then turned to the other form. The Indian boy watched him approach without expression, still knelt on the ground with knife held ready. Alan stood over him, the rifle still in hand. The two pairs of eyes met. Again the scenes flashed before Alan. It all flared back up again, the burning inside. Alan brought the rifle up and the lever slowly clicked as it was again cocked. The Indian boy looked death in the face, without expression; without fear.
Then, a small hand grabbed his arm and a voice spoke softly. “Alan, please don’t.”
Alan didn’t look at her; neither did he look away from the red skinned boy. His voice was low. “They killed me father and me best friend; then they went and done killed yer parents as well. Why should I be sparin’ his hide?”
Kathy swallowed hard. “I know what they did,” she said quietly. She looked up at him with a new confidence in her eyes. “But remember what Captain Henderson said? He said this isn’t the way; that revenge isn’t the way to handle things. He said that only more trouble can come out of it. What if you kill him and something bad comes of it? And if we hurt them because they hurt us that makes us as bad as they are. Please … don’t do it, Alan.”
Turmoil churning inside, Alan stared with uncertainty. For a moment, his finger began to whiten on the trigger as it tried to pull back to complete his revenge – tried. In that brief second, Alan found himself hesitating as the pleading words of a child rang through his mind. If he pulled the trigger, what would that make him? A murderer. There was no other word that Alan could find for it. That made him no better than those who had hurt him; hurt Kathy. What would revenge get him? Blood stained on his hands for the rest of his life. Was that what he wanted? To spend the rest of his life bearing a grudge that he would never be able to throw off? It wouldn’t change things; it wouldn’t resurrect the dead – it would solve nothing. Alan glanced down into the small face gazing beseechingly up at him; a face that no longer held hate for those who had hurt her. Slowly, the gun barrel lowered.
“Alright, lass,” he said quietly. “If that’s the way ya’ be wantin’ it.”
The stolid expression on the boy’s face ever so subtly shifted to one of puzzlement. Kathy let out a shaky breath, relieved.
Alan gave a slight sigh as he handed the rifle back to her. “Well, guess after all the trouble I gone to ta’ save him, I mis’well git him out.”
He stepped closer and the young Indian crouched back as far as the chain would allow, his knife held threateningly in front of him. Alan’s steady gaze never shifted as he knelt down with hands slightly up, showing he meant no harm. He talked as he inched forward.
“Ya’ mis’well put that sticker away, lad. Much as it’s against me judgment, I’m gunna get ya’ outta’ that thing. Though ya’ most likely can’t understand ah’ word I be sayin’. Course if ya’ talked I t’wouldn’t understand ya’ neither, so ya’ might say we be even.”
He was finally close enough to reach the trap. Lowering his gaze, Alan looked over the dilemma. It was an old trap, rust covered from years of exposer to the elements. The boy’s ankle had been saved by his leather leggings and the trap’s jaws had no teeth so it would probably leave nothing more than a few tender bruises. Moving slow and easy, Alan reached out to it, muscles tense, ready to dodge the blade he expected would start slashing at him any second; but the boy made no move. In fact, he even lowered the knife a bit; apparently having gotten the message that they were going to help. The clamp was too rusted to squeeze with his hands, so Alan placed a boot on the release and shifted his weight onto it while prying at the jaws with his fingers. The old hinges groaned in protest, but reluctantly released its grip and the boy’s foot slid free. Alan quickly let go and drew back as the jaws closed with a short squeaking snap. The Indian boy sat massaging the ankle as Alan went to work on the stake, working it loose from the hard ground. Gripping it with both hands, Alan gave a mighty heave and the stake yanked up. He looked over the rusty pieces of metal.
“A small game trap. Been here quite ah’ time by looks of it.” He gave a sharp toss and the trap sailed through the air and disappeared in a patch tall of grass; now harmless.
Gingerly putting weight on the sore ankle, the boy stood up. Without a word he dropped the knife at Alan’s feet and stood there; tall and straight with face set.
“He must think he’s our prisoner,” Kathy speculated.
Alan reached down and picked the knife up. He held it back out, the bone handle first. The boy looked at it then back, confusion in his eyes. When the knife continued to be offered to him, he slowly reached out and took it.
“Go,” Alan said.
The Indian boy stood fast, eyes locked with those of the privet.
Alan took a step back this time. “Go,” he said again, more adamant as he pointed up toward the waiting pony.
Understanding came to the boy’s face and he turned away and started up the incline. He paused halfway up and looked back at Alan and Kathy; gratitude and even a mixture of admiration in his black eyes. Then, to their surprise, he spoke – in English.
“You have saved Tokala’s life. For that I will never forget. Someday I will repay both of you for what you have done.” It was all he said.
Alan gave no reply, only stared after the departing figure. The boy called Tokala quickly reached the top and mounted his horse. Before turning away, he raised a hand, palm outward; the Indian gesture of farewell and goodwill. Then they were gone and the sound of hoof beats faded away from above.
Alan continued to stare at the empty ridge for a time. Oddly, his body felt limp and weak. He didn’t know what to feel. It was like anger, frustration, guilt, and satisfaction; all mixed together to make one big mass of confusion in his wheeling head. Was he angry at what he had done; or was he glad? He couldn’t seem to pull them apart.
Beside him, Kathy stood like a quiet little mouse. A full minute ticked by before she finally dared to lift her head, and peered up at Alan. She didn’t know what Alan was going to say or do. He hadn’t wanted to do it; but he had decided to anyway. But deep inside she hoped that it had been Alan’s decision to also lay hate aside. Whether he had or not she didn’t know. The privet just stood there, his face was opaque, no expression or feelings showed.
Finally Kathy spoke, her voice small and soft, yet sincere, “Thanks, Alan.”
Alan said nothing; only continued to gaze. Finally he turned away. “C’mon. Best we be gittin’ back ta’ the fort,” was all he said. There was no anger; neither was there gratitude; his voice was flat.
Obediently, Kathy followed him back to the waiting horses. They mounted and headed back in the direction of the fort. They made the ride in silence and Kathy decided it be best not to mention anything of what had happened to Alan for a while. With the way he felt about the Indians, it might only upset him, and she had no want to rile up the Irish temper within. Not that she was afraid of him, she knew better than that; but it was the thought that was still frightening. She knew how Alan was feeling; and she would have been a liar if she said she still didn’t hold a certain dislike for what the Indians had done, and the want for revenge always lingered. It was a hard thing to fight off, but she had to admit it to herself: she was glad Alan hadn’t pulled that trigger.
(Chapter 14 will be released next Saturday, February 10, 2024)
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