A Million Tears (The Tears Series)

by Paul Henke

Sion and Bill looked dubiously at the bed and then at each other. Although they had been sharing a room for three years and seen each other naked many times they had never actually slept in the same bed, even a double one. They both shuffled around it, sat down tentatively and slowly undressed. Once he got his night shirt on Sion quickly slid under the blankets, his back to Bill, almost off the edge. Bill did likewise. They both spent a rough night half hanging out of the bed, their backs carefully to each other. Paddy and Steve spent a similar night. The next morning they were up with the dawn, stiff, tired and short tempered. By eleven o’clock they had bought fresh provisions and were back at the livery stable pestering the old man for the horses.

  From the monosyllabic replies it appeared that the horses were still not available and so they hung around for the next hour. At precisely noon the old man got up and went into the stable then reappeared leading four horses and a mule. Biting back their anger they paid for six weeks’ hire plus a deposit of fifty dollars per horse and thirty for the mule. After packing the mule with their stores Paddy led them slowly out of town.

  ‘At least they seem to be pretty good mounts,’ said Sion.

  ‘Aye, not bad,’ said Paddy, running a practised eye over them. ‘I guess they’ll do for what we want.’

  ‘Where are we going from here?’ asked Steve.

  ‘Like we discussed,’ said Paddy. ‘Up to Yankton and then along the side of the James river.’

  ‘No, I mean right now. I know where we’re headed. Are we just going to follow this path or are we going to follow the river?’

  ‘I was told in town this path cuts out a few miles of bends and joins up again with the Missouri. So we’ll just follow and see where it gets us.’

  They lapsed into silence. Sion gave himself up to the feel of the horse, the sound of the woods and the beauty of the flowers and trees. A sense of well being stole over him. When they stopped on the bank of the river it was nearly sundown. Slowly and achingly they climbed down from their horses.

  ‘God, I didn’t expect to be so stiff,’ said Paddy. ‘Heck, I could ride before I could walk. That’s what three years at a desk does for you.’

  Bill signalled Sion and Sion said: ‘And holidays in New York City.’

  Bill was referring to the fact that Paddy had spent his time between semesters at Steve’s home in New York. There had been few opportunities to go horse riding. Steve’s father was a banker and though he owned an imposing mansion with plenty of grounds somehow they never got around to doing anything more than taking a buggy from restaurant to theatre to party.

  Paddy grinned at the recollection. ‘Boy, what a place that was. I learned so much. Oh, my blasted back. It’s killing me. Hell, I hope this doesn’t last too long.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ said Sion, stretching. ‘I ache all over. I’ll go and find some fire wood.’

  ‘Hang on, Sion,’ said Paddy. ‘Before you do that we need to take care of the horses. They need to be unsaddled, rubbed down and hobbled or tied on a long rope. After that we can think about ourselves.’

  ‘Okay, point taken. Sorry.’

  ‘That’s okay. I’ll take care of the mule. After that I think a swim will go down well.’

  They were camped on the river’s bank, in a glade. It was quiet, no wind, the only sound was the murmuring of the water and the droning of insects.

  After taking care of the horses and gathering firewood, Paddy set three fishing lines twenty yards upstream and then they went swimming. They splashed and fooled around until the sun dipped down behind a far away peak and with the chill getting to them they climbed out, dried and dressed. Paddy went to inspect the lines but found only one three inch trout which he threw back. They lit a fire, cooked beans and bacon, and soon afterwards were rolled up in their blankets. In spite of the hard ground they quickly fell asleep.

  Sion woke shivering in the dark, just before the dawn. He lay still for a few moments collecting his thoughts and then stretched his aching body. Awkwardly he rubbed the small of his back where a stone had been digging into him during the night. He felt worse than after a hard football game in his early days at university. He clambered to his feet still half asleep, pulled on his boots and wandered down to the river to wash. The cold water revived him and he set about lighting the fire. To the east the sky was turning a pearl grey colour, there was no wind and it promised to be a very hot day.

  With the fire burning brightly he went to check the fishing lines and found two fat, twelve inch trout. They kicked feebly when Sion removed the hooks but he quickly poked his finger into their gills and with a flick of his wrist killed them. He cleaned them on a large flat stone and returned to camp. The others were up by this time and had a pot of coffee going. They all agreed that the fish was the best they had ever eaten in spite of the smoky flavour.

  They struck camp and continued along the river bank, heading almost due north. For two days they followed the river, found a place to ford, crossed over and headed west. They were now riding a large plateau, just over fourteen hundred feet above see level, the land undulating with many hills rising another thousand feet. There was plenty of game and they enjoyed the hunt for rabbit, and occasional pheasant and once, a deer. They could see the general lay of the land and the way it sloped gently but persistently upwards. The days were hot and sunny, the skies cloudless. Night times had an edge to them, not cold, just refreshingly cool.

  At the Missouri, they found an old man living in a tumbledown shack. He made a precarious living by doing some trapping, selling appalling liquor he distilled himself and taking people across the river. He charged ten cents a person and fifty for each animal. Here, luckily, although deep the water was not too fast. They crossed one horse and rider at a time on a dilapidated wooden raft, with rotten rails against which they were warned not to lean. It rocked alarmingly as the old man pulled them over using a rope they were sure would part any second. Sion went first. He had never been so glad to reach dry land. The others followed and finally Paddy went back for the mule.

  Paddy led the animal to the water’s edge, stepped onto the raft and was jerked half off his feet by the reins draped over his right shoulder when the mule dug its feet in. Paddy pulled with all his might but the mule would not budge.

  After a few minutes the old man shrugged, walked behind his shack and reappeared carrying two carrots. He fed the mule one and then dangled the other in front of it. Greedily the mule stretched its neck but would not move its feet. After a minute or two of straining it took a reluctant pace forward and the old man stepped back. The mule followed, its fear of the raft forgotten in its greed for the carrot. Once on the raft the old man allowed the mule to reach the carrot while Paddy shoved off and began pulling them across the river. Sion and Steve cheered while the mule stood there, contentedly munching on the carrot as though to say, who’s the fool?

  It walked serenely off the other side and Paddy paid the ferryman.

  ‘Another two bits for the carrots.’

  Paddy was about to protest but Steve handed over the money. ‘It was worth it for the laugh we had,’ he said They dragged themselves onto their horses, still chuckling, and slowly headed west.

  They cut down towards the south west until they reached a river Paddy said was called the Niobrara, though none of the others had heard of it. They topped a low hill and stopped to rest when in the distance a movement caught their attention.

  ‘Look, buffalo,’ said Sion, pointing. Sure enough, less than a mile away what appeared to be a family of buffaloes were grazing, though always with one of them looking suspiciously around them.

  ‘Do you fancy trying to kill one?’ Paddy asked.

  Sion squirmed, Steve looked down at his saddle horn but Bill savagely shook his head.

  ‘Good,’ said Paddy, with a grin. ‘I don’t either. I just thought I’d better ask. After all we are on a hunting trip.’

  ‘Hmmm,’ said Sion. ‘I don’t really want to kill anything more than we need to eat.
I was sorry we killed that deer, because we couldn’t eat it all. I don’t like the idea of killing for say, skins, or the fun of it.’ The others agreed with him.

  ‘I remember reading the story about the plainsmen,’ said Paddy. ‘About men like Bridger and Crocket. They said that sometimes a herd could take as long as five or six days to walk past them, not stopping, heading for new feeding grounds. Now if there’s fifty in a herd it’s considered a large one.’

  They they looked down at the peaceful, grazing, shaggy headed buffalo.

  ‘There’s eight I think,’ said Steve.

  ‘Nine,’ said Paddy. ‘See the calf over there,’ he pointed to the right of the group. ‘Just under the tree.’

  ‘Oh yes. Wait. Look, something’s disturbing them,’ said Sion.

  The buffalo were looking around, pacing nervously. Suddenly one of the smaller cows broke into an ungainly trot, the others followed and then they started to gallop, in a mad, mindless panic that would bring them closer to the boys and upwind of them.

  ‘I wonder what caused that?’ asked Steve.

  ‘Look at the small calf. The one that was by the tree. He’s changing direction. He’s coming straight towards us, not following the others,’ Paddy said.

  Bill pointed and signalled Sion. Sion said: ‘A cat. A cougar? Bill thinks it’s a cougar.’

  ‘What the hell is a cougar doing down here? It isn’t mountainous enough for them, nor are there enough trees for them to hide in,’ said Paddy, thoughtfully.

  ‘I can see it,’ said Steve. The calf was now only about five hundred yards away. They could see the animal’s fear, in its frantic movements. Heading it off was a sleek, black animal that at first looked like a cougar. As it drew nearer they could see it was a large, wild dog.

  Without thinking Sion shucked his rifle from his saddle and broke his horse into a gallop. The others followed, a few seconds behind. The calf, seeing further danger, panicked, staggered and fell heavily onto its shoulder. It scrambled to its feet but now the dog was in position and launched itself into the air, going for the buffalo’s throat.

  It was luck when Sion’s snap shot, taken at the gallop, hit the flying dog in the shank and bowled it over. It lay stunned for a second or two and then tried to get up. Sion closed to within fifty yards, fired again and missed. Now the others, still closing, also fired and at least one other shot found its mark. The dog was whimpering pitifully, trying to get to its feet, trying to escape. Sion pulled up in a flurry of dust and steadied his aim. The dog snarled, baring his fangs. Sion fired into the dog’s head, killing it instantly.

  They drew around the long haired, inert form. In a sad voice, Steve said, ‘He only wanted to eat.’

  ‘I bet he was once somebody’s pet,’ said Sion. ‘Probably just got lost and was trying to stay alive. I bet if we had called him he would have come to us knowing we’d have food for him.’

  ‘You don’t know that, Sion,’ said Paddy. ‘He’d probably reverted back to his wild state, as though he had never known people.’

  Without saying another word they wheeled their horses and started west once more, heading back to the river.

  After a couple of miles their spirits returned and Sion said, ‘You know, I don’t think I could ever kill anybody. I hate killing animals, think how I’d feel if I had to kill another human. I don’t think I could ever do that.’

  ‘You could if the circumstances were right,’ said Paddy sagely.

  ‘How can the circumstances ever be right, to take another life?’ Sion asked.

  ‘If it’s your life or theirs for one. Or if somebody near and dear to you was threatened, or had been hurt in some way,’ said Paddy.

  About to deny it Sion suddenly remembered the night Uncle James had died and how he had been ready to shoot the detective and the Marshal, if necessary. ‘I guess you could be right at that.’

  Eventually they reached a marsh stretching back a few miles from the river’s edge. They followed it around, keeping to the firm ground. There were large clumps of a hardy type of bamboo growing and Sion found two lengths, about eight and six feet long which he cut and cleaned of leaves.

  ‘What do you want with those?’ Steve asked, watching him tie them to the back of the mule.

  ‘Just an idea I’ve got for a kite. If we find a high enough place I’m going to try something out,’ he said vaguely.

  Whenever the opportunity arose, using a spare cotton sheet, Sion worked on his kite. It was one of the most ambitious he had ever fashioned.

  36

  For a month they wandered towards the state of Wyoming and the distant Rocky Mountains, still three hundred miles away. Once the aches and soreness had gone they were developing into hard young men, losing excess weight and toughening up their muscles. As their height above sea level increased so the nights got colder, though the days continued warm and dry.

  Once there was a heavy thunderstorm but they found a large overhang of rock under which they could light a fire, keep dry and even shelter the horses.

  They had given themselves two weeks to return to St Louis and the day dawned when, reluctantly, they decided that after one more day they needed to start retracing their path.

  Disaster struck shortly after they made their camp that night. They had been swimming in the river and had just finished eating a rabbit stew. None of them heard the approach of the intruders. Suddenly they found themselves surrounded by ten men, pointing rifles at them. There was something about these men that chilled the boys’ hearts. It was not merely the silence, nor the odd way they were dressed. It was possibly the lack of emotion; the way they held themselves. They seemed to be ready to kill for any reason. It might have been all these things or none of them.

  Sion was lying on his bedroll and suddenly sat up. ‘What do you . . .’ he got no further as a rifle butt smashed into his jaw and sent him sprawling. For a few seconds he lay still and gave a low groan, trying to clear his head. His jaw was not broken but badly bruised. Tentatively he touched his chin and tried flexing it back and forth. It was too painful to move. Nobody else risked saying a word. Paddy realised that they were surrounded by half-breeds, men of mixed white and Indian parents – outcasts from both societies. Two of them saddled the boys’ horses and packed the mule. One of them indicated that the boys should get up, get their bed rolls and climb onto their horses.

  In the confusion of movement and blankets Sion slipped his Bowie knife from its sheath where it had been hidden under his saddle and pushed it down the top of his boot. He kicked the sheath into some long grass out of sight. The knife chafed uncomfortably against his leg at every pace he took. Their captors collected their guns and their knives but did not search the boys.

  All night they rode west. When Sion was convinced he could no longer stay awake a halt was called, and a frugal camp set. Wearily the boys stripped their tired horses, led them to water and then tied them amongst long, lush grass. After that they unfurled their bed rolls and dropped on to them.

  At all times two of their captors kept them covered with rifles. At no time did any of them speak; it was more and more uncanny. In spite of his exhaustion Sion was unable to sleep. What did these men want? If they were being kidnapped for ransom surely they would not go further west away from their families. But surely there was no other reason for taking them? What possible use were they to these men? These and other thoughts whirled through Sion’s mind until he finally fell asleep.

  They were woken by hearty kicks which brought them instantly to their feet. From the position of the sun they could only have slept for about three hours. Their captors had taken their watches, all their money and even their hats.

  All day they went west. The sun seemed hotter than ever, especially since they had no cover for their necks and heads. They were not given water or food even though their captors drank and ate.

  By the second day they were desperate for a drink and finally, towards evening, they were given some. Greedily they drank their fill. They
were also given a piece of jerky, tough and unpalatable. Somehow Bill managed to keep the rancid stuff in his stomach. Sion was not so lucky. Unable to chew properly because of his aching jaw, he puked when he tried to swallow chunks which were too large, much to the amusement of their captors.

  Sion and Bill exchanged views using their sign language. Why did the gang say nothing? Where were they going? What was their captors’ intentions? Slavery? It had taken a long time to pass their signals as they would make part of a gesture and often have to complete it when the guards looked away. Bill and Sion rode side by side, Steve and Paddy in front, the half breeds surrounding them. One man rode a few hundred yards ahead and two trailed behind.

  The way they back tracked, the frequency with which they changed direction, though continuing generally westward, and the pains they took to hide their tracks suggested the gang was frightened of being followed.

  About mid-morning on the fourth day they approached a high butte, rising sheer for seven or eight hundred feet and sticking out like a thumb into the clear blue sky, surrounded by low lying undulating hills. All day they rode directly towards it, with no meandering off course. It was evening when they got to the foot of the butte and rode around it to the other side.

  The sun set and night was falling fast when they camped. Dawn had just broken when they were again roused by the now regular kicks. They were given water and more jerky to chew on and were taken towards the path up the butte.

  Sion noted that one of the gang stayed below. The path was easy to follow until they reached the first bend. Then it narrowed and became steeper. Rocks were dislodged and dropped out of sight. The horses became more and more nervous. Finally, the group came to a natural chimney; a fissure in the rock that wound round like a spiral stairway. They went round and round as well as up, the light alternating from deep gloom to brilliant sunshine. The going got harder and towards the top they were almost dragging their reluctant mounts behind them. The gang’s horses seemed to take it in their stride and were obviously used to the route. Sion did not like the idea of leading his horse down again. The mule, after being cantankerous at the river crossing took the climb surprisingly calmly; it was loaded with all their gear including the cane Sion had cut for his kite. At the top the view was incredible. In the crystal clear air they could see for forty miles in any direction.