by Chuck Buda
The old man wondered what the spirits had in store for the two men. Each possibility had its benefits and drawbacks. If James killed Crouching Bear it would forever change the young man. He was innocent and full of life. To kill another man was to chip away at one’s soul. If Crouching Bear killed James then the Indian would be free of the curse transforming him into the creature. However, he would still be a man without family and friends, forced to wander the earth in search of meaning. Most likely alone. Most men would prefer death to a sentence of eternal solitude.
Of course, there would be the possibility that both men would die in the struggle. Again, the curse would be banished but two worthy souls would be gone from the earth. A tragedy any way one chose to look at it.
Soaring Eagle sat before the fire and warmed some tea. He grew tired since the vigil came with no breaks. He leaned over the flames to light a reed of incense. To pass some time and take a brief respite, Soaring Eagle would chant to the spirits. His pleas for a swift and humane end to the ordeal would most likely prove fruitless. But he had to try.
George moaned and turned to Soaring Eagle. For the first time, he was struggling to emerge from unconsciousness. His eyes fluttered as he attempted to focus on the old man. “Jaaaames.” Hardly a whisper had escaped George’s cracked lips. Soaring Eagle heard the faint words and crawled over to his patient. He spoke softly. “Rest. You have some serious injuries.”
George fought to keep his eyes open. “Jaaaames.”
“James is okay. He went to get help.” He lied to George in order to maintain calm. “You just rest and heal. We’ll take care of everything else.”
George’s eyes slammed shut. A long exhale slid from his lips. He had fallen back into unconsciousness. His body had an uphill battle to recover from such damage. Soaring Eagle felt better that George would make it. The simple fact that he had awakened so soon showed his spirit was fighting hard. He smiled to himself that George was as much of a warrior on the inside as he was on the outside. He still didn’t like him very much.
Soaring Eagle returned to his incense. He closed his eyes and began the rhythmic chant. The ancient Indian language lulled him into a meditative trance. His eyelids fluttered as he sunk deeper into the spirit mind. He called out to the gods that traveled to the stars. His cadence reflected a song that transcended time. A prayer passed down, many generations ago, unifying a whole people. It was old. Older than the sands that filled the desserts. Older than the mountains that rose to commune with the gods.
He drifted to the clouds, high above the plains. His third eye opened to the landscape below. He searched for the men, exploring valleys and hills, prairies and forests. The spirits guided him on the journey, shepherding his safe travels. He felt that the end was a long way off. Deep in his bones, the truth revealed the need for patience. The floating dissipated as Soaring Eagle returned to the hackle-berry grove. A sound, more persistent and pressing, calling him back to this plane.
Soaring Eagle opened his eyes. George was choking and gasping for air. His body convulsed, racked with pain. The old man hurried to his side and brought a cup of fresh water to George’s lips. Most of it trickled down his beard. But some had gotten past as he felt George swallow with difficulty. Soaring Eagle sighed to himself. All he could do was wait.
Chapter 40
Crouching Bear wiped the drool from his mouth. He rolled onto his side and looked around. Gnawed bones with strands of sinew barely attached were scattered in a ten foot radius around his body. It felt like he swallowed a buffalo. His stomach protruded over his naked manhood. His mouth tasted rotten and he felt a breeze whip through the hole in his cheek.
The Indian sat up and surveyed the killing field. The carnage coming back to him in glimpses. He tried to shake the cobwebs from his mind. He must have fallen asleep in a food-induced coma after devouring the men that attacked him. The last thing he recalled was chewing on the skull of the red haired man, thinking how human flesh wasn’t bad as a food source. Next thing he knew, he woke up with a distended belly and a foggy head.
Crouching Bear climbed to his feet. His naked skin was darkened by the exposure to the afternoon sun. He made his way to the clothes he took from George. They were still piled in the grass at the top of the bank. He walked slowly, the discomfort in his belly sloshing around.
Crouching Bear knew James was coming. He could feel the certainty throughout his being. It was not something he looked forward to. He wanted to keep running until James gave up, but he also knew that wouldn’t happen. Better to face the situation and have the spirits settle it once and for all. Even if it meant he killed his friend.
The pressure in his stomach forced him to break wind. The relief was immediate but he would have to move his bowels before he could feel more normal. He settled into a notch of the stream’s bank. The natural cutout gave him room to rest his hands so he could eliminate with some comfort and ease.
Crouching Bear discovered a change in his perception. He had decided to fight this curse to the bitter end. No longer would he waste time worrying about James. The boy was hunting him down so he would punish James for it. He embraced the bear nature, the animal brain that provided so much power. He accepted the fate of the spirits. His warrior soul was doomed for eternity anyway. So he would go out with a fight.
His determination gave him courage and strength. He realized his weakness had been feeling sorry for James and Carson. Being ashamed of what he did to Minnie and the others. But he was just doing what a bear would. He was living. Tucked in the back of his mind, of course, he still regretted what had happened. He liked his new friends and wished things could be different. That circumstances would allow them to be together as friends forever. It just didn’t work out that way. He wouldn’t surrender. He intended to live or die trying. There was more comfort in knowing and being certain as opposed to fearing and hoping.
Crouching Bear finished relieving himself of the digested remains. The acrid odor more pleasant somehow. It tickled a primal sense of smell within his brain. So many changes, he thought to himself. It would be exciting to learn what his new form was capable of. To push the limits and explore the unknown. It was a challenge worth accepting.
As he pulled on the dungarees, Crouching Bear wrestled with his next move. Should he wait for James to find him while preparing for the fight? Should he chase down James and bring the fight to him? Catch him off guard? An unexpected move which could certainly swing the odds in his favor. The element of surprise is what his tribe (former tribe, he chided himself) would use when attacking a settlement or travelers. Hitting an enemy when they weren’t expecting you allowed you to take advantage of their lack of preparation. The idea intrigued him and he felt he was leaning toward that option.
He lifted the leather jacket and began to put it on when he changed his mind. He tossed it on the ground and felt proud to reject the clothing. What purpose did he have wearing a white man’s jacket? And what did he need pants for? Crouching Bear sloughed off the dungarees and stood naked. His mind gathered power from the mammalian side. He would fight James as the bear so there would be no need of clothing. Especially white man clothing. Bears stayed warm because of their fur. Their skin was protected by their fur. Crouching Bear would become one with the spirit of the bear. He would use all the tools the bear provided him for survival. He felt much stronger and larger with his new-found pride.
The Indian climbed up the bank and surveyed the landscape to his east. It might be a short journey if he met James on the trail. The time to fight was now. His power was at its fullest now. He would be victorious and revel in the glory of the beast. He would taste the blood of his enemies. He would devour all human flesh that made the mistake of coming between him and his future.
Crouching Bear sucked in the air, almost hyper-ventilating with excited anticipation. He screamed as loud as he could, summoning the animal from his diaphragm. He was a warrior spirit again. The bear was a warrior. He charged up the hill, naked against the sun an
d wind. The rage warred in his heart. James was no longer his friend, but an enemy to be crushed under heel. Crouching Bear roared and ran. The long grass whipped his legs. Birds fled to the skies. The horizon rushed at him as he sped along the trail to James. He would bring the fight to him today.
Chapter 41
He had made up his mind. He would kill Crouching Bear. He had to. It was the best option. James hated himself for arriving at this conclusion but what choice did he have?
James cried as he rode. He had tried to stop the tears, admonishing himself for being a baby. But he eventually let it go. His emotions were too strong. In a few short days he had to completely grow up from a teenager thinking he was a man. Loved ones had died. Friends had been maimed. And now he had to kill a man. A friend.
The horse galloped over the hilly plains, avoiding rocks and ravines. The saddle shifted from side to side since James had not re-tightened the billet straps before leaving Soaring Eagle’s den. He used his inner thighs to clamp on to the horse’s back as tight as he could.
Thoughts of Carson flooded his mind. He missed his best friend so much. After years of growing up together, he had become accustomed to eating meals together and sharing dreams of exciting futures. James snickered as he thought how he hated to play cards with Carson. The boy always told him he wasn’t paying attention but it was absurd. He watched the kid shuffle and deal the cards. He studied his own cards and even tried to figure out how Carson always ended up with a winning hand.
What he missed most about Carson was his happiness. Carson was always happy. He enjoyed every moment of life. When people made fun of him or treated him like dirt because he was slow, Carson kept on smiling. Maybe he didn’t always understand that people were being cruel to him. But sometimes he did. And his smile would fade but he would turn it around somehow. He would ask the lady if she needed help with her groceries. Or he would volunteer to work for Filler without pay. He just wanted to be a part of things. To be loved and wanted. Such a great kid. God had blessed him with being the best person in the world, even though he was not a regular kid.
James recalled overhearing his mother talking to Minnie one day. It was about five or six years ago. Minnie had told his mother that she hoped he would live long enough to become a man. Apparently, children with his condition didn’t live long lives. James had run off to the hiding spot by himself and cried for hours. The thought of losing his little “brother” had smashed his heart. And that was really before Carson was old enough to show the type of person he was today. When he came home, James had asked his mother about the conversation and he wept uncontrollably in front of her. When he looked up, his mother was crying too. She held James close for a long time and told him that God would always look out for Carson and that we needed to help God by taking care of the boy too.
Fresh tears rolled down James’ cheeks. Life could be harsh. Cruel. Poor Carson had a difficult life already with his childish mind. Now he would have to grow up without a mother. How many times can a small boy be kicked before he stops getting up? Why did the nice people seem to suffer the most? He recalled his mother once telling him that only the good people died young. He hoped that was wrong for Carson’s sake. Although if it were true, then men like Filler and Wilson would probably live to be two hundred years old.
He shook his head to rid himself of his sad thoughts. He had to focus on the task at hand. He had to shift his mind to become more hard. More calloused. The monumental feat before him required him to be something he was not. He was a good person. His mother had raised him to be good and respectful. He hardly ever had thoughts of hurting another person. Sure, when Filler was extra surly he would daydream of punching that crooked nose. And when he got fed up with cleaning all of George’s spitting misses, he imagined himself whacking the large man across the head with the broom handle. But James had never been in a fight or had reason to hurt a person until these last few days. And now he had to go from a non-violent life to killing a human being. It was a huge leap and he knew he had to become something tougher and less thoughtful.
James spurred the horse to pick up the pace. As he re-focused his mind on the fight with Crouching Bear, his energy levels rose. His sense of purpose solidified. James wanted to find Crouching Bear and end the curse quickly. Before anyone else got hurt. And before he softened up again.
He tried to envision how the encounter would go. Would he just sneak up on Crouching Bear and attack him? Would that even be possible? The Indian had grown up in the wilderness and James didn’t think he could sneak up on someone who was always attuned to self-preservation in the elements. Or would Crouching Bear attack him? Maybe he should slow down in case he crests a hill and finds Crouching Bear in his animal form, poised to eat him whole. Would the two men exchange words before the battle? Like an old story about the knights in shining armor. The knights would usually state their claims to such and such kingdom or to avenging the death of their father. The men would then proceed to lance each other from horseback or charge on foot with iron swords smelted in the fires of a famous blacksmith. James snorted that this would not go quite so romantically like a storybook tale.
James pictured Crouching Bear attacking George, sinking his sharp jaws into his friend’s arm. He saw the blood spurts. He heard the screams of agony. He felt the rage of the beast and the horror of the scene. It emboldened him. His time to become a man was now. He had to face down his primal fears. He must become a monster to defeat one.
Chapter 42
Sheriff Danvers rode into town with Jepson at his side. Both men were exhausted and defeated. They rode in silence the whole way back to town, only exchanging glances of disbelief and shattered souls.
As the men came down the street, Wilson, drunk as usual even at this fine hour of the afternoon, pointed and shouted that the men had returned. The folks that were bustling in town dropped what they were doing to approach the sheriff and his solo posse. A few store windows were open, and folks rushed out into the street upon hearing Wilson’s slurred shouts.
The crowd circled the riders so that they could no longer ride further. Jepson slid off his saddle and dropped to the dirt in tears. He cried out that it was so horrible and blood was everywhere and the Indian was a monster straight out of hell. Women gasped and children hid their faces in the skirts of their mothers. Some of the men were shouting over the noise to find out what happened and where were the other men. Jepson carried on without responding to any of it. He was broken. Danvers knew the Doc would have to give him some tinctures to calm the hysteria.
Sheriff Danvers held up a shaky hand to quiet the crowd. He had wanted to take time to prepare words for the public. He didn’t want to frighten people or send the town into a panic. But his mind was a mess the whole ride back. He couldn’t focus on words. Only getting back to town. And trying to rid his mind of the gory scenes. Alas, it was useless.
“Folks. Please. Please. Calm down.” He thought to himself that he was telling the people to be calm when his body quivered in fear.
Wilson, the drunken mouthpiece of the common man stumbled to the inner circle. “Ain’tcha gonna show us the scalp’n all of that danged Injun?”
“Shut up, Wilson.” Danvers had no patience for Wilson’s crap today. He controlled his temper from jumping down and cold-cocking the idiot right across the jaw. “The search is over. It is time for us to return to regular town life.”
The crowd all spoke over each other, questioning what the hell did that mean, where is Hanngian, did they kill that damned red man, how come only two of you returned, what should they tell their families? Danvers closed his eyes to try to shut out the angry mob.
“Quiet.” He shouted over their heads. The crowd slowly stopped yelling. The murmur lowered to a few whispers but mostly silence. The faces stared at him, wanting information. Needing the truth. He sighed as he knew he would have to be frank with them. He had always called it like he saw it and they expected him to be that way, regardless of the news. So nothing shou
ld change now. Although this situation was far worse than a simple bank-robbing or a cattle theft.
“They’re dead.” The faces sank in shock. Nobody said a word. “Hannigan, Murphy, Thomas. All dead.”
Mayor Cosby waddled to the front with his hands on his hips. “Whaddaya mean they’re dead?”
“They’re dead. Just like I told you. It was awful. The Indian was...was...a bear. Some sort of bear.”
The mayor looked at the faces to his left and then his right. “Whaddaya mean he was a bear? Are you saying that a bear killed our men?”
“Yes. Well, no. Sort of. The Indian turned into a bear. Right in front of our eyes.” Jepson wailed again as he beat the dirt below his hands. He hadn’t gotten off his hands and knees since he slid off his horse. “I’ve never seen anything like it before in my life. We had him surrounded. He was right there within reach. And then, he was a bear.”
The crowd exchanged incredulous looks and patted their hands and sobbed.
“It killed the men and we high-tailed it out of there as fast as we could. I’m telling you that bullets did no good here. We were overwhelmed.” He paused and scratched his beard. He lifted the brim of his hat, no longer able to hide the tears that streamed down his face.
The mayor and the townspeople stood silent. They were all in shock at what he was telling them. He knew they didn’t believe him. Hell, he didn’t believe his own words. But it was all he had. The images replayed in his mind over and over again.
Mayor Cosby wringed his hands. “Well we gotta go get some blood for blood. I want every man and able-bodied shooter to get saddled up so we can go kill that sumbitch.”
“Nobody is going anywhere or I will shoot them where they stand.” The crowd gasped again. The mayor looked angry and his hands went right back to his hips. Before he could respond Danvers spoke further. “There ain’t no amount of men or guns that could bring this thing down. I’m telling you. You know these men are the toughest of the toughest. We went with guns on our sides and revenge in our hearts and we were whipped. This beast is supernatural.” He choked on his words. “It was straight out of hell.”