A Back-Pocket Miracle

by jfclover

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

The day seems normal.  A quick wash, and we’ll be on our way.   After shooting and dressing the buck that Hoss shot, we’ll sling it over our pack horse and head home in time for dinner.  But life doesn’t always go as planned, and we won’t make it home as planned.

The Paiutes are a peaceable tribe, but the Bannocks are another story.  Causing havoc seems to be their mission in life.  I can’t say they are all a bunch of thieves and roughnecks, but a group of young renegades who want to prove their manhood by stealing a white man and his horse had come upon me, lassoed me, and dragged me away from the stream before I had a chance to fight back.

Within seconds, I become a captive of the Bannocks, a white man who stands little chance of finding his way to freedom.  A white man who will never see his home or his family again.  My head swims with thoughts I don’t want to consider, thoughts that scare me.  Thoughts that no nineteen-year-old boy should have to dwell on when all he wants to do is ride home alongside his big brother and bring home the deer we promised our cook.

Words are grunted in my direction.  Words I don’t understand but need to obey, although after being dragged over shale and gravel, I’m in no condition to do much more than roll from my stomach to my back.  The skin above my belt hangs like Hop Sing’s rags on a clothesline.  My cheeks burn, and I figure that a number of scratches and burns will swell up and mark me in no time flat.

The leader of the band isn’t interested in my aches and pains.  His young braves have brought in a young man and his fine horse, a great achievement for youngsters who are anxious to become men.  He can’t let me go.  He has to uphold the customs of his tribe.  The young braves will be honored for their daring and for their heroism within the band’s camp.  There will be a bonfire.  There will be a ceremony.  This is the boys’ night to shine.

Two women loosened the rope that dragged me into the camp hours ago.  One of the ladies pulls the rough hemp over my head, then coils it before walking away.  When the woman left behind touches my arm, I can’t help but cry out.  As much as I want to keep the injuries to myself, the movement feels like fire shooting across my shoulder and down the length of my arm.

I turn my head away when she grunts more words I don’t understand.  Enduring the discomfort of a busted arm takes all my strength, but I won’t let the woman see me grimace, and God knows, I don’t want to moan or cry.  I don’t dare show weakness.  If they think I can’t handle the pain, I’ll be put to death before sunrise.

As the day wears on, rain threatens.  Dark, heavy clouds gather, and the warm afternoon air soon cools and leaves me shivering.  Whether it’s the drop in temperature or the injury taking over, I’m beginning to lose what strength remains, and I need every ounce I can muster.  And then the downpour I anticipated lets loose, and the pounding rain leaves me exhausted and shivering, but I can do nothing.

Upon my arrival, my boots had been thrown into the woods, and my ankles were tied to wooden stakes the Bannocks had pounded into the ground.  The same with my wrists.  My arms had been pulled straight out and tied to two more stakes.  It may have been the best thing for a broken arm, although I don’t think Doc Martin would agree.

I try to close my eyes, but every time I hear a noise coming from the camp, my eyelids pop open, and I stare into the darkness.  Will they leave me alone until morning, or do I need to worry about an arrow or giant spear impaling my heart and ending my life forever?  For the remainder of the night, I stay awake, listening and wondering if I will survive until dawn.

*~*~*~*~*

If I only knew where Hoss was, or what he’s thinking.  He’s the best tracker I know, and my drag marks will tell him exactly what happened.  I can only hope the Bannocks didn’t tow a branch behind one of their mounts and obscure the marks my boots should’ve left behind.

There isn’t much I can do to relieve the pain in my arm or the deepest gouges that scar my stomach and back.  Lying on my back in the dirt isn’t going to keep the open wounds clean.  Even if I survive whatever the Bannocks have in mind for the captive white boy, I can die a week later from infection.  The gods aren’t with me this time.  The only choice I have is to honor my father’s god with a prayer.  If there’s a solution to the madness surrounding me, He is the only one who can pull a miracle out of his back pocket and hand it over to a boy named Joe Cartwright.

When daylight looms on the horizon, I fear the worst, but what I don’t expect is to see the band of Bannocks pulling up stakes and preparing to move on.  The women dismantle the lodges while the men gather up the stock.  In no time, the people are packed and are off to another vista overlooking a valley where they can hunt and fish and not be discovered by the white man.

I don’t realize my fate until the tribe begins to leave, and Cochise is tethered to a tree rather than thrown in with the other paint ponies.  Even though I’m still tied to the ground, my life has been spared, and my family will be searching.  I will be ready and waiting.

~*~*~*~*~

“Joseph?”

“Over here, Hoss!”

~*~*~*~*~

The End

3 – 26