by T C Donivan
“Yes, he was born premature; his mother was only sixteen when she gave birth to him. She was a lovely, frail girl. She should never have gotten pregnant at such a young age, but it was not her fault you see.” He was about to say more, but bit off his words and glared at me. “You do dig don’t you?”
“It’s what I do,” I said.
He nodded. “I understand, but don’t ask me more. I will tell you that they asked me to look after the boy, that I become his personal physician and take on no other patients. When he became enamored of traveling west, I concurred that it might be the best thing for his health. There now, you have a story. Let’s leave it at that.”
“As you wish,” I said.
A bemused look crossed Zenobia’s face. “Where do you think the little African picked up the reference about Suleiman?”
I shrugged, “Spencer I suppose.”
“Have you noticed how his accent seems to come and go? Sometimes he speaks like an ignorant field hand and other times as if he were educated at Oxford.”
“Again, I would credit Spencer. The boy is a chameleon; it’s how he’s picked up so many instruments. What is the term, idiot savant?” I answered.
The words had no more than left my mouth when we heard a commotion up ahead. Titlark and Sebastian had dismounted and knelt beside their horses studying the muddy ground for tracks. Suddenly the scarecrow-like frontiersman leapt up as if possessed by spirits, shouting and screaming. Sebastian stumbled backwards, falling beneath his horse which had begun to whinny and rear back on his hind legs. Zenobia and I kicked our horses in the flanks and flew to join them.
As we drew close, I saw a writhing mass of black and gray shapes slithering upon the ground, a rattling noise emanating from them. My blood curdled as I realized they had stepped into a nest of deadly snakes. Sebastian was screaming with hysterics. Zenobia fearlessly rode into them and leaned down from his saddle, snatching Sebastian from where he had fallen and pulled him up behind him. I hesitated at the edge of the scene, knowing I should emulate his actions in attempting to rescue Titlark, but fear gripped me.
Zenobia rode out of the trap and deposited Sebastian on the ground. The doctor dropped down beside the boy and began to examine him. “Are you bitten?” He kept asking, over and over again.
I finally rallied myself from my stupor and pulled out the Colt revolver Spencer had purchased for me. Titlark was beating at the slithering horde, a look of white eyed horror on his face. Riding close, I took aim and began to fire, though I knew the odds of my hitting Titlark were as great as killing the snakes. Still, my aim was true as I splattered great holes in several of the monsters, pausing to pop a second loaded cylinder into the pistol. When only a few remained, I rode in and reached down an arm for Titlark, but he was too weak to take it. Reluctantly, I dismounted and put my arms around, pulling him to his feet. I saw several bloody gashes on the exposed parts of his arms. I quickly pushed him onto Elijah and led him out of the thicket of snakes, treading carefully lest I step upon one. I breathed a sigh of relief and gave thanks to God once the ground was clear.
Zenobia had pulled all of Sebastian’s clothes off to examine him. The boy was trembling like a leaf, but had stopped his hysterics and lay whimpering. I laid Titlark down beside him.
“He’s been bitten!” I said.
“Don’t bother me! I’m looking after Sebastian,” Zenobia snarled.
“Well what can I do?” I begged.
Zenobia tore his eyes from the boy for the briefest moment, his gaze fixing upon the bloody fang marks on Titlark’s hands and arms.
“He’s been bitten too many times. There’s nothing we can do for him,” he said.
I was stunned by the revelation. Titlark lay on the ground staring up at me with frightened eyes.
“Water,” he whispered.
I took off my coat and put it beneath his head then got my canteen down and held it to his lips. He nodded gratefully. Though I had never liked the man, my heart ached with empathy for him as he lay dying.
“Can I do anything for you? Do you have any family you’d like me to contact?” I asked
He shook his head. “Tell Trotter to burn me and bury the bones deep. I don’t want the wolves at me.”
The request stunned me. “I will.”
“Hold onto me, I can’t stop shivering,” he pleaded.
He smelled of animal guts, but I held him close. His breathing became ragged. Then his body went rigid and his agonies ceased. This was a horror I had not anticipated. I could not bear to let him go, so I sat in the tall grass, clutching him to me as the last vestiges of humanity fled his wretched body. I looked over at Zenobia. Sebastian lay still now, only a slight tremble shaking his slim body. He looked like a gutted fish I thought, so white and unnatural lying naked on the prairie.
“How is he?” I asked.
Tears fell from Zenobia’s eyes. “He is not bitten, I’m sure of it. It’s only the shock. Come help me get him dressed. We have to build a fire and warm him.” When I did not move, Zenobia barked at me, “Titlark is dead. I need you.”
I obeyed, his military manner casting a spell over me. There was little tinder to work with, but we soon had a small fire lit. Zenobia brewed a broth of wild roots and forced it into Sebastian. He regurgitated some of it, but held most of it down. Finally the light of reason began to return to his youthful eyes.
“Am I alive doctor?” He asked.
Zenobia grinned ear to ear. “Yes you are my boy and you are quite fine.”
I stared at the neglected body of the sad Titlark that lay where it had fallen, unbelieving that his life had been snatched away so quickly and easily.
****
Bog Trotter honored Titlark’s wishes. We wrapped the body in a tarpaulin and built a platform for it on slim sapling poles as some of the Plains tribes do. Trotter said some words of a Cheyenne ritual and at sunset of the following day, the pyre was lit. It burned on into the night and I was compelled to leave the camp when the wind shifted and sent the smoking ruins of the dead scout into the camp. I was unable to eat meat for some days afterward, the smell of charred human flesh rank in my nostrils. No one of the company shed tears, nor seemed overtly stricken with grief, though a solemn pall fell over the camp and our conversation was muted. Trotter dug a trench for the bones and piled rocks on it. Titlark’s grinning skull and final agony haunted my dreams for many days afterward.
Chapter 6 – The Hunt
A distant thrumming began to fill the air. As a man we turned, ears pricked up like watchful dogs. A curious shadow had begun to fall across the distant hills to the west of our camp. I was confused. The sky was overcast and no light descended from heaven to shape the moving shadow. Was it a storm, or perhaps an earthquake?
Trotter began to shout and dance. “My God! I promised you a hunt boy. They ain’t prairie chicken, but I reckon they’ll do. Them’s buffalo! A whole herd of ‘em!”
From this distance they appeared like locusts, a mass of black insects growing larger in dimension as they moved nearer. We had seen flocks of geese and duck fill the sky from horizon to horizon, but never had I imagined such bestiary possible in one place. My heart leapt into my throat. From natural disaster to animal stampede, how many ways could a man die on the prairie I wondered?
“Will they stampede through the camp?” I asked excitedly, the fear I thought I’d conquered at this wild place quickly returning.
The scout thought for a moment, studying the scene, calculation playing across his grizzled features. “No. They’re headed due south. Should miss us by a good mile or more.”
“We’ve got to bag one!” Sebastian shouted brandishing his rifle. “To your horses men!”
An apprehensive look crossed Dr. Zenobia’s face. Then he gave a grudging smile and nodded, rising stiffly to his feet. At that, the other denizens of the camp fell into a scramble as they gathered firearms and harness for the coming hunt. Even Spencer and Mozart were running like madmen, preparing for the for
thcoming battle. I gazed off into the distance as the black mass of moving flesh filled the hills and hollows beyond the camp, a shiver of uneasiness creeping through me. In my bones, I knew I should not go out, that death lurked among the mindless horde.
I considered my options. There would be more buffalo herds as we made our way west, but there would never be this first time again. It would be a right of passage, something the three of us, Spencer, Sebastian and I, should share. I knew too, if I did not go, I would be held up for ridicule.
Spencer halted his preparations and stared at me. “Come along Clayton. Don’t be a mama’s boy!” He chided.
Had he read my mind, he could have chosen no set of words better suited to motivate me to action. Sighing heavily, I shook off my wariness and started for Elijah, who stood, head to the ground chewing grass. As I approached the pony, he raised up his face and snorted in protest. I leaned against him and patted his neck, then slowly clambered aboard.
By now, all were in the saddle, Sebastian leading the disorganized expedition, the scouts at his heels like spaniel dogs. Dr. Zenobia followed close behind, kicking the sides of his mount, a giant beast worthy of a warhorse from Arthurian legend. Spencer, Mozart and I were the last out of camp, Spencer shouting merrily to me as I lagged behind, Elijah struggling against my imprecations to speed as if he too sensed the folly of our mission.
We rode into the hollow just beyond our camp, the herd looming closer. I could see the horns rising above their shaggy heads sparkling like ivory as the sun crept out from behind the clouds. The Earth shook, its rhythm a constant vibration unlike anything I had ever experienced, my nautical analogies failing me for once. The beasts moved, lumbering but deceptively graceful in their movement. A smell preceded them like nothing you could imagine, so pungent it made your eyes water.
What had seemed a solid wall of moving beasts, revealed itself upon closer inspection to be more akin to a delta with great gaps in its midst. Seeing this, Sebastian was quickly among them, yipping like a devil, rifle held aloft as he guided his horse through the open channels. Zenobia hesitated then plunged in as well. The scouts were more leery, but finally they too were swimming in amongst the swarming mob. For a moment, nothing but horns and hide and the stink of animal flesh filled my senses. Finally I too waded in, casting caution to the wind.
As I did, I realized that Spencer had heaved to at the last moment. From the corner of my eye I could see him and Mozart riding at the edge of the herd keeping pace with us, but safely out of danger. Though he had goaded me to join the hunt, I knew he would rebuke me for my foolishness in following the others into the midst of the dervish. Though we had come to develop a deep, mutual affection for one another in the few weeks we had been together, he had pegged me as a man without direction, drifting where the river of life took me. I embraced the designation and gave Elijah his head, trusting his instincts to guide us within the tumult.
I studied the scene, noting both the majesty and sheer ugliness of the ungainly creatures. How God had seen fit to create such beasts alongside the magnificence of antelope and lions baffled me. Rifle shots cracked as Sebastian and the scouts fired into the herd. I shook my head in disbelief, knowing they could not possibly bring down so mighty an animal with one, or even a half dozen shots so precariously aimed as they were. Like children throwing rocks at pigeons I thought.
We had soon ridden for the better part of a mile, the country flattening out as the horizon fell away into the muddy plain, sunlight glinting off muddy pools left behind by the recent storms. Their rifle shot exhausted and unable to reload while mounted, my companions turned to their Colt Revolving Pistols. One of the great beasts stumbled, its knees buckling and fell. Score one for our side I thought! The little man from Boston had made his first real kill. God how insufferable he would be now.
I steered my way among the multitude of stinking animals, my stamina flagging. Though the ground was wet, great chunks of earth wrested loose beneath the hooves of the buffalo casting a sultry cloud of wet dust upon us. This is too much I thought finally, common sense returning. I searched left and right, hoping for a means of escape from the sea of horns but could find no easy means of egress, their ranks having closed up around me. I was unable to either speed up, or slow down without fear of being trampled.
After a while, I could no longer see Sebastian and the rest. Elijah faltered, legs trembling, his forelocks aiming into the turf. For a moment I thought we were dead, but the pony righted himself, struggling on. Drained now of emotion as well as strength, I made up my mind to try for escape.
Using all my willpower, I forced Elijah from the small circle of safety in which we traveled making for the left bank of the river of buffalo. Miraculously, we moved through the herd as if traversing the main street of Concord on a Sunday afternoon, mounds of wool encased beasts parting as we passed. I could see freedom mere feet away, our safety almost at hand. An opening appeared. As I tugged at the reins, Elijah balked and I tumbled from the saddle. A hoard of cloven hooves crashed on every side and I knew I was dead. Blackness engulfed me.
****
Silence thundered in my ears as the Earth shook with the violence of a thousand hurricanes. I was drowning in a cloud of dust and black legged beasts. My soul broke free of my body and I soared above the buffalo herd. I looked back to see my remains, but they were buried beneath the sea of moving flesh.
The silence in my ears began to scream with a sound like liquid brass. The tumult subsided and peace descended on me. I rode an invisible current that carried me into the sky through the blue heavens and white clouds. I was baptized by sheets of rain whose touch was like the nectar of eternity. Joy filled my senses.
I saw in the distance the gates of an impossible stone cathedral that floated among the clouds. The cobbles of a city began to form beneath my feet. I stared toward the cathedral with anticipation for I knew that a wonderful Library lay within. As I did, I saw a young woman with long black hair dressed in buckskins. She stood in a green forest beside an Indian pony. She turned to me and our eyes met.
Visions of impossible cities and landscapes tumbled like faithless angels through my mind. In that instant I absorbed the knowledge of eternity and let it slip through me like water a sieve retaining nothing. I felt the girl and the cathedral slip away and I cried out in agony as I tumbled back to Earth, back into the tumult of the deadly herd. Death was all around me.
****
I awoke, staring up at the jagged clouds, bright patches of blue peeking down between them. Mud caked my face and clothes. I lay prone upon the hard earth.
“I cannot find the path,” I groaned, my voice barely audible to my own ears.
Spencer knelt beside me. “What path?” He implored, afraid no doubt he would not understand his friend’s final, dying words. Mozart stood beside him holding the horses, hat in hand, solemn expression painted on his chocolate brown face as if attending a funeral.
“The path that travels the sky,” I said.
“I don’t understand,” Spencer lamented.
“There is no direction, she’s gone!” I cried out.
Spencer looked up at Mozart. “He’s insensible.”
“He’s seen the compass,” Mozart told him.
“Do you think so?” Spencer asked.
Coherence returned slowly. I raising myself up on one elbow and stared into the startled face of Spencer.
“Christ, my head hurts!” I exclaimed.
Spencer threw back his wooly noggin and began to laugh. “You’re not hurt?”
“I feel as if every bone in my body has been stomped on,” I protested groggily.
“But you’re alive, it’s a miracle!” Spencer argued.
“Help me to my feet. Best to find out now if anything’s broken beyond repair,” I ordered, feeling surly as well as trampled.
Spencer started to dispute my bravado but thought better of it. “We’ve no hospital for five hundred miles. If there are internal injuries, there’s nothing w
e can do about it.” With his help, I stood, wobbling a bit, but upright. “You look well for a man who should be dead,” he told me with studied indifference.
“I remember falling and then nothing. What happened to Elijah?” I asked.
“I have no idea. I only saw you fall and then rode into the herd, fighting off the beasts to pull away your body. I found you face down in the grass covered in mud. I cleared away the muck that the eyes might see even in death. Then you began spouting epiphanies about a path in the sky.”
I smiled faintly and I extended my hand. “I owe you my life.”
“I’ll call in the debt some day,” Spencer replied with a warm handshake. “By the way, what was that you were babbling about – the path that travels the sky?”
“When?”
“Just now as you were waking up from your nap,” he said with keen interest.
Mozart stood apart, head cocked to one side, amazed at the sight of a dead man resurrected. I tried remembering, but could only recall sketchy images of cloud and sky as if the heavens had descended upon me. There was more, I was sure, but it would not come to me.
“I’m not sure,” I said.
He repeated my words, having committed them to memory. “Is it a verse you read somewhere?”
“If it is, I don’t remember the author, or the occasion,” I replied putting a hand to my throbbing temples. “Did you find my hat; I’d hate to lose it?” I asked.
“No, it’s gone.” Spencer grinned at me. “You’re lucky to have a head to put one on, but I have another in camp you can have.”
I remembered suddenly Mozart’s odd commentary. “You said something about a compass?”
“Did I?” He asked.
I turned to Spencer. “Yes, and you answered him.”
“You were hallucinating,” Spencer said.
I was not entirely sure how much I’d dreamed and how much I’d heard, so I let it drop. “I wonder where Elijah got to?” I asked scanning the horizon.
“Don’t worry, Blue will carry us both,” Spencer said.