Man Without Medicine by Cynthia Haseloff

Man Without Medicine by Cynthia Haseloff

Author:Cynthia Haseloff [Haseloff, Cynthia]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2013-09-05T21:19:00+00:00


Five riders left Daha-hen's camp and rode north and west along the trail of the Gambler and the white horse thieves. Daha-hen rode, without looking at the trail, to the river crossing where two days before he had stopped. This time he plunged his pony into the water and rode freely out the other side. Elk and the other boys whooped when they broke the boundary. This was Kiowa country again.

Daha-hen set the pace after crossing the north fork of the Red River above Elk Creek. The Gambler's trail was easy to follow a wide trail of many horses and men. The boys rode silently in a line behind the warrior.

The rough, hilly country gradually gave way to high, elevated plains. As Thomas looked back, he could see a great vista, stretching away for many miles, revealing in the far distance the rising peaks of the Wichita Mountains. The People were there, going about their day, not knowing, not caring that some Kiowas were again on the plains in pursuit of their enemies.

Travel on the plains is ever-changing, yet never changes. Depressions, ravines, canons, each varied from the last yet very like the last, rise constantly before the traveler. Looking over the plains, the topographical features are not visible, and then with sudden abruptness the rider comes upon them.

A constant optical illusion from the atmosphere and deflected perspective of the plains makes judging distance impossible. What seems near turns out to be far away a day's ride perhaps. And when the mind realizes the eye's error and begins to see the distance is great, the rider is right upon what he thought was miles away.

"I think he knows where they are going already," whispered Broken Stick. "I am sure it is not far."

Elk said: "It may well be he knows. My uncle knows this country very well and also the ways of men. Now be quiet."

"I hope it is not far," Broken Stick groused.

"Quiet," said Elk. "It is as far as it is. That is all. It is as far as it is."

"We've already ridden many miles, many hours," complained Broken Stick. "It cannot be far."

Thomas's stomach began to gnaw long before noon, but he rode without saying anything. Thomas had been hungry before many times. Sometimes he had fought the dogs for thrown-out bones. Sometimes a woman left him something outside the teepee. Many times he curled himself in the corner of a building and fell asleep, dreaming of the food he would someday have in abundance. That was when he was a very little boy, when his mother had forgotten him for the soldiers and the whiskey. She never ate.

But the Methodists always had food, good food. Even among themselves they were famous for food. Thomas thought of the big breakfasts of eggs and pancakes, covered with syrup, and meat and coffee and milk. He never was hungry with the Methodists. The cook was always putting more food on his plate, and he was always eating it, eating it, filling his emptiness.



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