“Tell me about this family,” he asks a stable hand and pulls out his wad of money. The boy’s eyes light up.
“What do you need to know?”
“Everything.”
Blood Eagle watches the family for two days before deciding to move on. This woman is surprising him. According to the stable boy, the family sold an army horse which General Barclay verified in his letter that she stole. They obviously sheltered her and somehow found Dr. Rivers. He sees no sign that she’s still with them. Sometimes the direct approach is the best. Killing innocents isn’t what he gets paid for. He only kills when necessary.
His map shows the nearest town to be Riverton. They may head back, but he is thinking that this Doctor will want to take her to safety. “Think like a white man,” he mutters and paces as he looks at the map. The railroad tracks are marked on the map, along with the army fort, rivers, and terrain. “Where would you take your woman to heal?” he mutters.
Someplace private, empty, safe… his eyes trace the railroad tracks, and he grins. Of course! He kicks the fire out and mounts to ride out. Following the tracks, he knows the Indians will have no problem killing him if he’s caught. He’s considered a betrayer to his kind, and it is true.
The goal is to survive, but from the size of the Army, he learned quickly that the only way to survive in the white man’s world was to have money. Lots of money. He joined as a scout and quickly proved his worth. The fact is that he doesn’t kill his own kind. They sometimes need to be convinced to move on. The reservations may seem cruel to those who are used to running free on the land, but it is better than the alternative, which is death.
His vision walk showed him the end of his people. Others fought against his belief, but the Apache don’t ignore the warnings of the spirits.
A few days later he follows train tracks, and it isn’t long before he picks up horse prints. The good thing about snow and cold weather is that the tracks are often frozen, and he’s able to read the depth of the tracks and determine how many riders are on a horse. He can even tell judging by the size if it is a mare, indicating a female rider or male. Blood Eagle follows the tracks to a camp overlooking the railroad tracks. Judging by the condition, he knows they’ve been gone for a while. Leaping down he walks around, following shoe prints. He frowns when he notices the animal print. “Ban-chu?” What is a wolf doing this far out from prey?
He trails along following the animals prints from the camp out around a tree. The smell hits him before his eyes reach the body. A dead white man, with his face missing. He’s on his back staring up in a bloody mess. Blood Eagle reaches for his knife, just in case, and he glances around, to look for more bodies. No signs of others. Footprints around the body as expected, a struggle but it’s the wolf prints that has him stopping, again. One on each side of the man’s body. A left paw and right paw, indicating that he straddled the body. “You’re a big one, aren’t you?” he murmurs.
After a search of the man’s body, he finds enlistment papers. “Craig?” So, this is what became of the scout. “Saved me the work.” Blood Eagle tucks the papers into his jacket pocket. Stripping the body of anything of value he holds up a silver compass and wonders why there are no defensive wounds on the soldier’s hands, indicating he fought back. “What kind of soldier would lay there and let a ban-chu rip his face off?” He tucks the compass in his pocket and pushes the body over revealing the bloody back of his body
“Ah, a fatal wound,” he says. Blood Eagle stands up and steps back. Wolves are kindred spirits of almost every tribe. What is happening here? Nerves strike, he’s never afraid, but this is different.
The first raindrop hits him, he curses and hurries to follow the tracks before they wash away. “Time’s up.” He rushes back to camp and just before he mounts his horse, he hears a low, guttural growl.
Blood Eagle turns slowly, alarmed by the throaty noise. The sound was profound and menacing. It spoke of animal power and ancient savagery reminding him of his Apache brothers. The rumble grows louder, and he releases the saddle as he turns to face the menace. He shouts in terror at the massive, black beast advances on him. Larger than any wolf he’s ever seen with midnight fur and orange glowing eyes that burn with retribution.
The beast leaps and strikes Blood Eagle, turning to mist the moment they collide, ripping his spirit from his body, and both watch as the human form drops forward into the rain and earth.
Blood Eagle screams with agony as his spirit is separated, leaving behind the shell… and he is shown. His vision is no longer clouded with rain and cold weather but instead opened to what will come. Cast to the muddy ground, Blood Eagle rises to his knees prepared to fight for his soul only to freeze as the shadows surrounding him begin to take shape.
“What is this?” he shouts, terrified they will answer. “Only God gets to judge me!” he rages.
They walk out of the darkness, scores of Indians, staring at him with identical orange glowing eyes. Pointing at him, all the faceless shapes open cavernous mouths and scream the anguish of the dead, taken too soon, spearing his tarnished soul.
One, by, one, the shadows walk forward and drop body parts on top
