Philip Dampier's Blog

Shootout at the Spring

Episode Twelve

Chad

Chad’s internal clock woke him up just as the first hint of light touched the far edge of the grassland. By the time he had roused himself and removed the hobbles, and saddled Buck, the morning light was touching the dew-doused grass and throwing thousands of pinpoints of sparkling light all across the landscape. Another time, he would have delighted in the visual show, but his mind was totally occupied by two divergent thoughts.

What was Nancy doing, and how far ahead of him was Lance? Before Nancy became his wife, he only had one worry, and that was to do his job. Even now, he had no reason to worry about her, but just the same, he was concerned, and it seemed natural to be so. She had visited him twice in his dreams during the night, but her appearance did not seem to have produced alarm or concern, more of a reminder of how he was missing her. Lance was another problem entirely. Lance now stood between him and seeing his recent bride. The sooner he captured Lance, the sooner he could turn back east to the fort and Nancy. He had not dreamed of Lance, but Lance was on his mind as soon as his eyes opened. It was time to move.

He turned his horse towards the mountain and set out looking for Lance and water. The hills were less pronounced now, as if the prairie were flattening out before the foothills of the mountains. A chilling wind blew down from the mountains, beginning to surround him. He looked at the sky that had been clear the night before and saw low gray clouds sitting over the Black Hills. Were they moving his way? It seemed so. That was not a good sign. Finding a trail in the rain or blowing snow might prove difficult.

Chad raised up in the saddle, standing on the stirrups. He was sure he saw something glittering in the early morning sun. Before he was seated, Buck snorted and flicked his ears. His nose was keener than either of their sight. Chad moved his heels, and Buck broke into a cantor. A row of various-sized trees rose from the horizon and grew larger and larger as they hit the flatter ground. The glittering turned into blue-green water flowing just past the trees.

The ground grew softer, and the nature of the grasses changed. The grass was shorter and mixed with flowers and small shrubs. No doubt, the small stream ahead of them flooded in the spring after the snow melted and the early rains came. Chad hated to lose time, but both he and his horse needed water, and he needed something to eat. As they neared the stand of trees along the flowing stream, Chad detected movement among the heavy growth. He slipped his Spencer out of its scabbard.

Whatever it was moved downstream, showing up now and then between the thick trees. He turned Buck’s head towards the front of the movement and closed the gap between himself and the trees. Suddenly, a small herd of deer broke the cover of the trees and sprinted across the prairie. Chad dropped the reins and aimed his carbine at one of the smaller members of the herd.

The sound of the carbine caused the herd of deer to swerve again and take a direct path away from him—all but one. A young buck stumbled and swayed for several yards, gradually losing speed, and then dropped to the grassy floor.

Chad took as much meat as he could eat and cure and headed for a break in the trees. He turned Buck loose to drink and began his search for fallen limbs and a safe place for a fire. He intended to make a steak for breakfast and jerky for the next day or two. The coffee from the preacher was a blessing, and the water was cool and clear.

He wished he could take the entire deer carcass with him, but he knew it would not go to waste. Various birds, foxes, and coyotes would dine on the remains of the deer before night came to the valley. Eventually, only parts of the hide would be left. Like all those who lived off the land, he felt no shame at feeding himself and dozens of others.

Chad refilled his canteen and brought Buck back up the bank. He didn’t unsaddle him as they had not been long on the trail that morning. He was so hungry that he took half of the steak from the fire pit as soon as it was seared on both sides. The flavor was so good that he closed his eyes to savor the taste. He wished he had some beans to go with the venison, but he was thankful for the little package of coffee.

The sound of noisy birds drifted through the trees. They were approaching the carcass of the slain deer. The overwhelming chatter came from the raucous gray jays who had moved into the branches above him. They had no fear of humans or seemingly anything else. He moved closer to his cooking meat; these birds weren’t called camp robbers for nothing.

Suddenly, Chad found himself in a battle for the jerky smoking above his small fire ring. Jay after jay swooped down, attempting to take the thin pieces of meat off the green sticks stacked in a tripod shape above the coals. He tried to cover the meat with his hands in spite of the heat the flame and coals were giving off. The birds landed on his hands, using them as a perch to peck at the meat.

Chad stripped off his mackinaw and began beating at the birds with the arms of the covering flying around. The birds retreated to the tops of the young saplings just across the creek. Chad used the reprieve to grab his saddlebags and quickly stuffed the hot strips of venison down inside them. He would have to finish the job of cooking and drying them later in the day at some other place.

Chad smothered the fire and refilled his canteen one more time. He and Buck crossed the creek and set out on a beeline to the point he had chosen earlier. He checked the sky again. The dark clouds were definitely moving his way, and he could see they went all the way down to the top of the mountain. The wind was in his face, and it was damp and cold. He urged Buck forward, hoping to make the thin forest growing at the edge of the mountains looming before him. He and Buck would need shelter, and soon, that seemed sure.

One consolation: Lance would be caught in the storm as well. He would probably hold up in a shelter of some type, and as long as Chad could move, the gap between them would narrow. Storm or no storm, Chad meant to bring the infamous bank robber to justice, and that very soon.

Two hours of a steady gallop brought Chad and Buck to the edge of the timber and the first serious ascent of the mountain slope. Miles of heavily forested mountains lay ahead of them. The temperature continued to drop as the wind increased in velocity. Horse and rider moved into the scattered trees, thankful for the respite the heavily wooded area gave them from the gusting wind.

Since Chad was looking for some sign of Lance, he did not turn straight onto the mountain itself but set out in a southwest direction. He figured he was close to the latitude where his quarry had left the preacher and crossed the prairie to the Black Hills. He was not sure how far it was across the Black Hills into Wyoming, but he hoped to catch up to the outlaw before he could leave the Dakota Territory.

Chad reigned Buck back to a slow walk and leaned down to better focus on the ground. He needed to locate a sign that Lance had crossed into the Black Hills if one was present. He moved a hundred yards and hit softer ground and then a small creek flowing down off the mountainside. He crossed the trickle of water and spied the first hoof print. He turned up the creek and found another and then another. Lance followed the creek, probably thinking it would lead to a wider path further up the mountainside. We’ll follow Lance, Buck. Won’t be long now.