A Million Tears (55 page)

He needed to get out of the water but the bank was too high. Then around a bend he saw the tops of trees near the waters edge and he made for them, hoping to find a way out. When he got there he found a tumbled down mess of nature, with two trees collapsed and in the water. They were prevented from being swept downstream by an old and withered root embedded in the bank. The bank was washed away from underneath and it looked to Sion that the third tree was on the verge of falling in. The idea flooded into his mind when he heard the horse’s hooves. He quickly pushed his way through the rotten roots and climbed under the bank.

On the other bank he saw one of the men galloping past. He heard another riding overhead. The earth trembled and for a fearful moment Sion thought the bank was going to collapse on top of him as earth and small stones rained down. Then they were past and Sion breathed easily again.

The squeaking made him look over his shoulder to the ledge about two feet further back and he had to suppress a shudder and a yell of horror when he saw the grey sleek bodies of water rats. There were over a dozen of them, running back and forth, stopping and staring at Sion’s white face. Taking solace in the fact that they were probably more frightened of him than he was of them he turned away, to keep an eye out for his pursuers. The water was up to his waist and the warmth drained out of his legs taking his strength with it.

The day passed slowly. When it was dark Sion left his bolt hole and crawled back through the roots of the trees. Outside, he climbed onto one of the fallen trees and felt his way around. He found the root that appeared to be holding the trees in position and began hacking at it with his knife. Either the root was tougher than he thought or his knife was blunter, because it took him a good hour to get through the wood, but finally it parted. Nothing happened.

Sion sat still for a few minutes, expecting the tree to move. When it didn’t he placed his feet against the bank and pushed with all his strength but to no avail. He got off the trunk and this time put his back to the bank and his feet on the tree. He strained as hard as he could and just as he was about to give up he felt the trunk move. He rested for a few minutes and tried again, this time he pushed until the blood pounded in his temples and his head swam. Then it shifted. At first an inch, then two, then Sion’s feet shot out in front of him and the two tree trunks were picked up by the current, slowly at first, but as they drifted out towards the centre of the river they picked up speed.

Sion rested for a few moments then slid into the water. He swam quickly, reached his makeshift raft, and pulled himself on. For a while he lay still, too exhausted to move.

The trees were well and truly interlocked and quite steady. The biggest of them, close to two feet in diameter had a clump of roots at one end. Sion crawled along to the roots and settled down in the small cradle they fashioned and quickly fell asleep.

He awoke with the sun in his eyes and a gentle rocking motion which caused him to smile with self satisfaction. Lifting his head he looked to right and left but could see no movement on the banks, the nearest to the south only fifteen yards away. He was laying on earth and mud that had come away with the roots and now he began digging with his hands and placing the earth on either side of him. When he had finished he had hollowed out his cradle so he was hidden from the banks when laying out flat. Satisfied, he settled down to sleep again, ignoring the pangs of hunger from his stomach.

When he next awoke it was late afternoon and he was still near the middle of the river. He carefully looked about him and, satisfied no-one was watching, he drank some water. He guessed he was doing between two and three miles an hour which over a day made for steady progress in the right direction. His clothes had dried on him and he had stopped shivering. Night fell with no change to his gentle movement and under the stars, in spite of the cold, he drifted into an uneasy sleep.

It was only after the sun came up and he was warm once more that he could sleep properly for a few hours. He did not feel the different movement of the trees, the slight jerk as he came to a stop on the end of a rope. Nor was he aware of the change of direction as he was pulled gradually to the southern bank.

Something woke him, though he did not know what and he sat up to look across ten yards of water and a length of lariat to see the breeds sitting on their horses, one with the end of the rope around his pommel. Both men were looking directly at Sion, no expression on their faces, their guns laying casually across their laps. Sion felt a bitter frustration having come so far. If he was captured it had been his intention to plunge his knife into his neck rather than be taken alive. He did not have the courage. Instead, Sion prepared to fight.

‘Your death will last forever,’ the leader said, throwing down his rifle and pulling out a knife.

The trees hit the bottom and Sion jumped into the shallow water. He waded ashore and stood with his knife held awkwardly in his hand, his body leaning forward. His opponent suddenly darted forward, his knife sliced through Sion’s forearm and blood oozed through a three inch gash. For the next fifteen minutes that was the way of it. Sion was unable to touch the man while he suffered cut after cut. He was getting dizzy, and his vision was blurring when he stumbled and fell to his hands and knees. The breed moved in slowly and Sion knew it was all over. He found the courage from somewhere and lifted the knife to plunge it into his neck when it was torn from his grasp.

Sion looked up at the man and said: ‘Please . . . kill me.’

A shot rang out and the man’s head disintegrated in blood, skull and gore. Another shot knocked the other man off his horse. Sion turned his head and saw three more bullets pluck at the inert body. He looked back, wiped the sweat from his eyes and could have sworn he saw his father and David running towards him. He thought he saw an Indian walking behind them when he passed out.

BOOK 5

David’s Story

39

We explained to Sion that it was not a fluke we had arrived when we did, though luck got us there in time to save his life.

We knew most of Sion’s story thanks to the incredible powers of Clive. With few errors Clive had told us what had happened by reading the signs, as he explained, both up on the butte and later when we tried to find Sion. Sion was surprised to learn that it was the second week of October, but he did say he thought the leaves on the trees were losing some of their green and he had wondered.

Sion said later he thought he had been hallucinating. He also apologised for his tears but we could understand his reaction. Clive Fleetfoot had some sort of herbal, foul smelling stuff to put on Sion’s cuts which Sion said made him feel cool. We stayed where we had found him for a couple of days telling each other our stories.

A week before he had been due to leave for Harvard we began to keep a watch for them. By the middle of the week Dad had been cursing them and Mam was getting worried. At the weekend Dad had sent a telegram to Harvard explaining that Sion, Bill and Steve would be late. He sent another to Steve’s parents informing them of the situation and that if the boys didn’t appear by Monday he was going to go looking for them.

‘That was when I told those idiots I was working for that I was going with Dad,’ I grinned at Sion. ‘They were glad to see me go and told me that under the circumstances, as they had no idea when I’d be back it was only fair I gave in my notice. I did so, gladly.’ I reached over to the coffee pot and refilled all the mugs.

‘I’ve been dreaming about having coffee to drink,’ said Sion, looking at his mug, ‘but now I’ve got some, I don’t see what I was missing,’ he grimaced.

‘Anyway, on the Tuesday we caught the train for Sioux. It didn’t take us long to learn from the livery man that you hadn’t returned. We asked around town and, who was it Dad? The girl in the eating house?’ Dad nodded. ‘She had overheard you talking and she told us you were going up the river and crossing at O’Toole’s Ferry.’

‘Where?’ Sion asked.

‘Where one of you pushed the mule onto that rickety ferry.’ Sion nodded. ‘The old man told us about it. He also said that it had been so long ago he only remembered you because of the mule. It was while we were there that we met Clive Fleetfoot.’ At the mention of his name Clive gave a big toothless grin, nodded and went back to shredding his chicken, the only way he could eat it.

‘Oh yes, him. In Sioux we hired a so-called scout who claimed all sorts of tracking powers and woodcraft knowledge. He turned out to be worse than useless, when Clive came on the scene, so we told him to get lost. In fact, meeting Clive was the best, single bit of luck you can imagine. See, Clive had seen your sign a few weeks back near the Niobrara River. He also knew where the half breeds had taken you. He knew all about them and told us what they wanted you for. You can imagine our reaction. We had a choice to make; either to go back to town and get enough men to get vengeance, or rush like mad after you in the faint hope we would be in time to help. Dad decided on rushing after you. He gave old Clive here a hundred dollars in gold and a promise of another two hundred if we were in time to save any or all of you. Boy, did we ride hard. Clive says the gang are well known amongst the tribes and the outlaws that live further west. We must have been about half way to the butte when we detoured north to a ranch Clive knows and there we changed horses and bought another three. That way we could change mounts when they were beginning to tire . . .’

‘Hang on a minute,’ Sion interrupted. ‘Since when could you ride, Dad?’

‘I needed to ride to help with my electioneering for Congress. Just as well under the circumstances.’

‘Unfortunately, the ranch owner was in the middle of branding and couldn’t spare any men to come with us though he did say if we were too late then he and his men would help to wipe out the gang once and for all. When we got to the butte we went in slow like, spread out and real quiet. It was Clive who saw the buzzards first, flapping around the top. You wouldn’t believe his eye sight Sion, it’s remarkable. Anyway, seeing them we rode straight in. We left the horses at the bottom and climbed the pathway.’ I paused, the horror of what we found washing freshly through my mind. ‘Clive worked out what had happened and what you’ve told us coincides with what he said. Except he couldn’t figure where you had gone. He was adamant that you had gone over the edge. The trouble was we couldn’t see your body from up there. We buried what the buzzards had left of Bill but . . .’

‘But I wouldn’t let him bury the breeds,’ Dad said. ‘They deserve to be picked clean by the buzzards. I only wish I could have got my hands on them before they died.’ Dad’s voice was steady but intense. I knew how he felt. Having been with Dad all the time I hadn’t noticed any change in him, but Sion said he seemed to have aged ten years. Sion pointed out the grey in Dad’s sideburns which I hadn’t noticed before. The going had been rough on both of us but especially for Dad. Though as I told Sion, if anybody had changed, it was him. There was now a hardness, a toughness to him. And I didn’t mean physical toughness either. It was a mental toughness that showed itself in small ways. From the way Dad sometimes looked at him I guessed he saw it too. Even then I knew there was no question of him going to Harvard.

‘We went back down the butte, searched around the bottom, found Paddy and Steve and buried them. We found the man you’d killed. Clive couldn’t see how you had got there but after he explained what he read in the sign it was Dad who suggested you had somehow flown down on a kite. Clive clearly thought Dad was mad and, I must admit, I was pretty sceptical myself. That must have been something. Weren’t you scared?’

‘The gang had brought them down, hobbled them and left them in the long grass. We cut them loose and scattered them,’ said Dad. ‘One of the men had stayed on the butte for a couple of weeks, injured according to Clive, and then he went to find the other two. In fact we found his body where you shot him. He had some bad burns on his hands and body.’

Sion nodded. ‘I did that when I fired their tents.’

‘Just as well,’ said Dad, ‘otherwise we would never have found you.’

‘That’s right Sion,’ I said. ‘See, it had rained a short while after we left the butte. But then we cut the tracks of the man who’d stayed behind and presumably he was going to a prearranged meeting place with the other two. We realised, or I should say Clive told us, that they couldn’t find you and were still looking.’ I broke off the story to exclaim, ‘You should see him working Sion, he’s incredible! Honestly, I wouldn’t even be able to tell a herd of buffalo had passed while Clive can tell where an ant has peed!’ Clive obviously liked the analogy because he gave a wide grin.

‘We, or again I should say Dad, decided we would keep on their trail in case they led us to you. Trouble was we had more rain and the sign was washed out again. So then Dad decided to search for them and kill them before they got to you.’

‘You know,’ said Sion, ‘I can’t help wondering why they tried so hard and so long. It doesn’t make sense, I could have been anywhere.’

‘We wondered about that too,’ said Dad. ‘Not even Clive could explain. We think that you had become an obsession with them.’

I continued, ‘By accident we came across their sign near the river and then yours. We came hell for leather after you. We saw where you ambushed them and then we followed their tracks. We could see the knife fight but if we had just charged straight in then they might have killed you before we got close enough. Clive told us that the man was only playing with you.’