Talking Fire Hand

If the Indians where in their camp and the guards were not down this way very far, they should pass the village in the rain and darkness beyond their sight and undetected. Strange, the darkness did not seem to be as thick here; the fog, made up by the colder rain landing on the sun warmed grass and soil, seemed to be getting grayer and he could make out the sides of the wash and the grass. Alarmed, he thought that the moon was coming up and that the rain clouds were thinning. Suddenly, they burst from the wash into the river bottom. The Indians had moved their camp, because of the drive of the wind and were almost beside the wash’s mouth. Their bonfire light up the night where they were eating and talking. They were only about a hundred yards from the wash’s mouth and Charlie and Ray could be seen by the firelight, if the Indians looked their way. “Shit!” Mumbled Charlie, “Sorry Lord, I meant shoot! We might need a little help here.” His tension transferred itself to Nails and he bunched, ready to jump ahead and run. Fighting his nerves, Charlie grabbed the reins and pulled Nails back; making him walk slowly forward. He leaned over Nails’ neck, trying to make himself smaller looking in the saddle. He hoped anyone looking their way would mistake them for a few horses going for water. Joe, walking a short distance behind them, did not change his pace and Molly, walking just behind Joe, almost hid the travois. The noise from the Indian village wavered; then increased in intensity. Charlie risked a look over Nails neck. He pulled his hat low over his face and peeked out under the brim because he knew that his face would be a sharp white, reflecting the fire light, compared to the surrounding dark. The Indians were stirred up about something but they were not all looking their way. As Charlie studied them, he decided that they were in a heated discussion about something else besides them. The men were all around the fire and the excitement was electrifying. As Charlie watched a big man, thick through the chest with muscular arms and shaggy black hair and dressed only in breeches was talking; gesturing occasionally with a violent move of his arms first one way and then the other. The motion took in first the expanse toward the east and then the southwest; the direction Charlie knew that they had traveled from. He was a passionate speaker and everyone was paying attention to his words; even the squaws who, even though it was rare, were allowed to sit in on the meeting. He seemed to be directing his words towards a group of younger men; three of whom were standing together. One would occasionally lift a hand as if to speak but was overcome by the words and passion of the big man. The horses, however, did not seem to be drawing their attention. The rain became heavier and, here by the river, ground fog was hanging in the air. Charlie hoped that it would help hide their movement. Each step the horses took seemed to drag into minutes, and the urge to hurry was almost overpowering. Charlie leaned out on the far side of Nails and looked back at Ray. All he could see was Joe and a dark lump behind him on the travois. Ray was not moving and Charlie wondered if she was alright or if she knew what was happening. Who would have guessed that the Indians would move their camp or that they would still be up and outside at this time of night and in this weather. All these thoughts raced through Charlie’s mind and he was distracted from what was in front of him. Half way to the river bushes, dark shapes started to rise suddenly from the ground, popping up beside them and surrounding them were the Indian’s horses. They had been herding here and, as Charlie’s horses moved up and into the herd, they slowly turned, one by one, and walked along with Charlie and his horses.