Mountain Hawk by Charles G. West

Author:Charles G. West [West, Charles G.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781101662885
Publisher: Penguin Publishing Group
Published: 2001-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 8

Trace studied the open plain before him. The Blackfoot war party had followed the river through a narrow valley that led out of the mountains. The path they had taken was an old hunting trail. Trace was now in familiar territory, for the war party had led him back to the country he had summered in. It was not far from this place that he had killed a buffalo cow, just before he rescued Buck Ransom from the grizzly. He found it ironic that he might have simply stayed where he was and waited for the Blackfeet to come to him, for they were evidently headed for the Blackfoot encampment on the Missouri—Little Bull’s village.

This country was dangerous for white men. No one appreciated that more than Trace. The mountains now behind him had been his summer home, high on the upper slopes where he had been sought out and challenged three times by young Blackfoot braves who sought to gain big medicine by killing the Mountain Hawk. But now the Hawk was in Blackfoot domain, and Trace was well aware of a need to sharpen his senses. Knowing where the trail led now, he decided it would be best to travel at night from here on.

With the setting of the sun, the nights turned cold and brisk on the open prairie, and Trace pushed his horses hard to cover as much ground as possible while there was a three-quarter moon to light the way. The threat of snow that had hung over the mountains had given way to clear skies once he reached the rolling plains, and thousands of tiny pinpricks of light dotted the pitch-black sky His intention was to reach the Missouri by daybreak. Once he reached the safety of the trees by the river, he would stop and rest the horses, maybe catch a few hours’ sleep himself. When his horses were fresh again, he would push on in the daylight, following the river east to Little Bull’s village.

Long and cold, the night seemed reluctant to release the darkened prairie, but at last Trace saw the welcome outline of the trees bordering the Missouri. The first rays of sunlight were just beginning to spread across the rolling hills when he led the horses down to the water. He stretched his back and shoulder muscles while he stood there waiting for them to drink, stamping his feet to get some feeling in his toes. He had made good time during the night, and he was eager to go on to the Blackfoot village. But he knew the horses needed to rest. Looking around at the many gullies that etched the banks of the river, he figured that this was as good a place as any to make his camp. He found a hollowed-out depression underneath a tree-covered bluff and decided it was a suitable spot to spread his buffalo-hide bedroll.

It was late morning by the time Trace was in the saddle and under way again, carefully avoiding the patches of frost that remained in the shade of the trees.

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