Maybe I'd make it. Maybe I wouldn't. I had a chance. As time went on, my chances got better, and so I rode east trying to get used to sitting in that damn squeaky saddle. I'd never rode a horse with a saddle on it before.

Dobbin walked like we were on a Sunday picnic. I was in no hurry. The disguise might work if someone saw me from a distance, but close up, I wasn't sure I'd pass inspection.

Dobbin wasn't much of a horse. He'd been Paw's plow horse. He pulled the buckboard when Paw needed to go to town. He seemed a bit shy at first, but after a few days, Dobbin liked this new carefree life. He would trot from time to time and he had a good gate. He was no Shiftless, but we were going to get along fine.

I finally got around to thinking about when I'd see Running Horse again. I thought about never seeing my brother again. I wondered if I'd see Paw or Maw again?

I wondered if I'd still be alive this time tomorrow. The cavalry was behind me, and I kept moving.

I was riding east. I didn't know what was ahead of me. I thought I knew what was behind me. The cavalry would watch the village for a long while. I didn't dare go home. Where was home?

My sadness grew when I saw Lit'l Fox and Morning Star walking ahead. It was crying time. I hadn't had time to think about what I'd lost. Now, it was the wide open spaces and my freely meandering mind.

Could I live without Running Horse. Did I want to live without Running Horse?

I calculated that the village was in mourning over my brother and Morning Star. If the cavalry came, they'd know everyone was in mourning. With a little good luck, there would be some sympathy for what Meeks had done, and how he set in motion the events that ended with his death.

No one at the village would mourn Tall Elk. He was a traitor who led Lit'l Fox and Morning Star to their deaths. There would be no tears for Tall Elk.

I had to shake my head to get this vision out of my head. It was too real, too far away. I wanted to reach out to touch it, but there were only the wide open spaces ahead of me.

There were tears and smiles. I was somehow refreshed by the time I spent at the cabin in the valley where the river runs. I hadn't eaten Maw's apple pie for years. I could still taste it. I smiled. I'd remember the apple pie for a long time.

Paw gave me enough dried meat to last me a few days. I couldn't be sure Dobbin wouldn't drop under me, but he was plugging right along as I put distance between me and the life I had.

My third life had begun. I was a clean slate at the beginning of my second life. I knew nothing. I expected nothing. Now, I'd had half my life, which was my second life, behind me.

There was almost none of me from my first life left, and yet I needed to speak English and never use Pawnee shorthand. It would be the death of me if I slipped up in front of soldiers. The most important item Paw gave me, a cowboy hat.

My parents did not question me or ask me for anything. They went to work preparing me to be someone who wasn't Tall Willow. It seemed to be their purpose, while I slept, ate, and recovered from the sadness and fear I carried. I left the cabin in the valley where the river runs revitalized and determined.

My life should be over. I kilt a cavalry officer. The one thing that would keep my village safe, I wasn't at my village. Their determination to run me down before I left the territory would drive some soldiers. They wouldn't want to take time out to slaughter my people because they were my people.

From time to time, I'd stop my horse, dismount, and stand beside him to slap leather. I dropped the six shooter from time to time. I'd taken the bullets out of it, until I learned how to use it.

How would that look if the cavalry rode up to find my body beside Dobbin, after I shot myself?

I laughed, dropping the six shooter again. I had trouble picking it up. I knocked the dirt out of the barrel. How did anyone learn to shoot the damn thing. It was slippery and nothing like a bow and arrow.

I stopped Dobbin, hooked my knee over the saddle horn, pulled the rifle from its place beside the saddle. I shot a jack rabbit that hopped into my path.

I hadn't forgotten how to shoot a rifle. It wasn't that much like the repeating rifles Claude brought us, but it was similar. A rifle was a rifle, and this was no Hawkin, but it was handy and sturdy, and in the next two days, I shot three rabbits, eating what I could and saving the rest to eat while I rode.

I rode and I kept on riding. A few times I got off the trail and I stopped moving. I always stopped on high ground to watch behind me. Everyone seemed to be going west. I was the lone rider going east.

"When I passed someone on the trail, I said, "Howdy."

Some responded. Some didn't.

I kept riding. Dobbin went along for the ride.

Dobbin seemed delighted to be doing something but stand in a stall.

Paw's rifle was deadly. It hit everything I aimed at. I liked rabbit, but a groundhog now and then didn't hurt. Having something in my stomach was better than not having it. After a while, I felt like I'd been in the saddle for most of my life. We rode and we kept going. Each time I stopped, I couldn't stop looking behind me to see if someone was following.

I saw nothing behind me. I probably wasn't going to see the cavalry coming. One day they'd be on me without warning. I'd probably be dead before I knew they'd caught up with me.

I kept riding. I wouldn't make it easy on them.

I had no buffalo robe to keep me warm. I'd miss those buffalo robes. I used the bedroll Paw put behind me on the saddle for a pillow before I realized I could use the saddle. Leather wasn't that hard.

I stopped Dobbin, getting my feet on the ground. I slapped leather standing a few feet away from the horse. I went for the gun on my hip. I hadn't dropped it yet today. I went for it again and again. I tried it a third time, and I juggled it before dropping it. I was never going to learn how to use the damn thing, and I hadn't put the bullets back in it yet. I'd probably shoot myself and save the cavalry the trouble.

I stood looking down at the slippery gun. Dobbin watched me like a quick draw expert who couldn't believe what he was seeing. I didn't believe what I was seeing. Men actually stood face to face and shot at each other with six shooters. I'd do better with a butcher knife. I couldn't shoot myself with that. I put up the six shooter for the rest of the day.

How did gunfighters hold on to the damn things? They were as slippery as trout.

The first few days, I saw a rider off in the distance a few times. I'd seen a dozen wagons during my second week of moving steadily east. When I was on high ground, I sat watching behind me for a spell. No one was following me, and by the end of the second week, I doubted anyone was on my trail. I was taking my time and cavalry would have caught me a week ago if they were on my trail. Now, I just rode, minded my own business, practiced with the six shooter, and I rode some more.

By the end of the second week, I stopped dropping the six shooter. I'd seen men quick draw, and it didn't look that hard. After I stopped dropping the six shooter, I practiced my quick draw. I usually got it out of the holster okay. I didn't know about quick, but I kept trying. I had nothing else to do but ride and practice. I wasn't looking forward to my first gunfight, but I had loaded the six shooter. I still wasn't sure I wouldn't shoot my toes off.

There were more people the further east I rode. I waved when I was waved at.

I kept moving. I figured I was making twenty miles a day. Some days, if I liked my campsite, I stayed put a day. Not moving had its appeal. I could kill and smoke enough meat to last a few days. I'd rather have hot meat, but cold was good if I decided I wanted to keep moving.

Now that I stopped watching for the cavalry to catch me, I had no plan. My plan was to keep going east until I got somewhere that I wanted to stop. Then, I'd plan what to do next.

We mostly walked, but Dobbin liked to run. I didn't run him much, but when I did, he seemed to enjoy the freedom he now had. I guess when all you're asked to do is pull stuff, it's a vacation to be able to stretch your legs out to run. Dobbin was a good horse, and we rode all day every day. I didn't know how far east I'd gotten, but I'd ride until I reached a town.

That gun gave me some feeling of security, once I could hold on to it. If they came at me, I'd fight. They weren't going to take me alive. If they kilt me, I'd take some of them with me.

I was seeing more people. A few wave and I wave back. I've kept my distance. I knew the white man's talking wire came out here about the time I was finishing school. The further east I got, the more people would hear what was being said.

I didn't need any practice with Paw's rifle. It shot true and it only took one shot to get me a meal. On the mountain, the repeating rifles made a big noise. It alarmed the game and the hunters. On the prairie sound traveled far but it wasn't nearly as loud.

Using a single shot to bring down a meal had me feeling the way I felt as a boy, after Paw told me, "I can't get away. Go get us supper."

I hated the hat.

It blocked the sun and made me feel top heavy. Each time the sweat rolled out from under it, I cursed the damn thing. It made my head hot, especially at mid day. I nearly threw it away a few times, but then I remembered why I was wearing the big hat. I hadn't had a look at myself in a spell, but after three weeks, I might not have lighter skin, but what little hair I had was wet most days if the sun shined.

When I took off the cowboy hat, what I noticed were my brown hands that baked in the sun all day every day for years. I put the hat back on.

I kept riding east.

I had been as far east as two men could walk while on a hunting trip. Paw and I walked for more than a day, and we set up to hunt.

Paw remembered when the plains were full of buffalo, but I only saw small herds, and then we stopped seeing those. By the time I reached the village, buffalo wasn't on the menu. There were plenty of deer and antelope. Those animals were far smaller than a buffalo that could weigh a half ton or more.

White men were sent to kill the buffalo. It was something they did well. One of the generals from the Civil war was supposed to have said, "Kill the buffalo, starve the Indians."

When Paw was born, there were more buffalo on the plains than white Europeans. There was enough meat to feed every one in the country for years to come, and by the time I began my ride east the buffalo were gone. Europeans hunted buffalo not for the meat. They hunted it to deny the indigenous people a food source they depended on for thousands of years.

It takes special people to come up with a plan like that.

They destroyed a food source that could feed the entire country for years to come. It was free for the taking. They were free for the killing, and white men were efficient killers..

It was no wonder Indians could never figure out what motivated white people to do the things they did. Who destroys a major source of food? The answer was, the Europeans. How did they get this way? It wasn't the first time I had that thought. I went to school with mostly white boys, and I frequently wondered, 'How'd they get this way.'

Our hunts were almost always successful, but there weren't as many deer as there once was. We made a point of killing most moderate sized animals that walked in front of our bows. It wasn't much different than the animals I kilt with my squirrel gun at the cabin in the valley where the river runs. We ate woodchuck and rabbit that came out of Maw's pot more often than we ate venison, but we too hunted a couple of times a year to get game we could shoot and store until the next hunt.

There was still plenty of game to furnish meat for the tble when I left for the mountain all those years ago. Even now, when I needed to eat. There was meat nearby. Paw's lever action wasn't much different from my old squirrel gun. When something crossed my path, I stopped Dobbin and got me supper. As convenient as that was, I couldn't imagine a time when game couldn't feed me. There was plenty of game on the prairie. I only kilt me what I needed.

Not having any idea where I was going, I stopped on some high ground and took a few days off after the third week of riding. I still wanted to see if anyone was trailing me. The people I saw were all going west. No one was following me. I realized that the talking wire meant they didn't need to follow me. They'd be on the look out for the Indian they wanted for the murder of Major Meeks. It wasn't murder. Meeks murdered my brother and his wife. He didn't put the knife in Morning Star's hand, or break my brother's heart, but he was responsible. I was responsible for killing Meeks and there was a cost to that.

I became judge, jury, and executioner, because no one would make Meeks pay for the death of Indians. The cavalry's job was to kill Indians. It mattered not who they were related to or how much they were loved. I still cried for my brother. I cried for Morning Star. I cried for the life I'd lost. I cried for the life ahead of me. I did not know where I was going or where I might end up.

I still mostly wanted to see what was behind me. I knew what was back there, and as easily as I could ride east, their scouts and soldiers were capable of making the same journey. I was running for my life and they were running to end my life. I thought my incentive was stronger than theirs, but when the army decided to do a thing, an order got it done no matter the reason why.

I sat by my fire eating fresh cooked rabbit and I kept an eye on the trail that ran past where I camped. There were trees, water, and a solid trail that most people were on while heading west. The few riders who came from the west, riding east, looking like what I was supposed to be. They were farmers, maybe trappers, and like me, they were in no hurry.

I began talking to Dobbin. I practiced my English. I thought in English, but I did use Pawnee shorthand. One slip in front of the wrong person, and I was done for.

Dobbin surprised me with his pep and energy. He liked trotting into the wind with no particular place to go. He hasn't been ridden much. Most of the time he stood in his stall in the barn. Now he was free as a bird.

I gave Dobbin his head and let him run a while. When we slowed, he trotted like he was a happy horse. My voice seemed to sooth him. I told him he was a good horse as we rode even further east.

I was still practicing my quick draw when we stopped for the night. Dobbin watched as he grazed, and he listened when I talked to him. I passed one buggy with a man and woman.

They waved.

I waved.

It was the kind of buggy a farmer might use to go to town. I figured there was a town nearby. I'd gone around any population I'd gotten close to. I didn't need anything and letting people see me didn't seem wise, but sooner or later, I'd need to go into a town. I needed to be around people instead of avoiding them.

There were more people now. Mostly we passed without reacting. As wide as the trail was, no one had to come close to anyone else if they didn't want to. I wasn't ready to try my English out. I hadn't spoken to anyone in so long, I might not remember English or Pawnee. Speaking to white people worried me. Everything worried me.

Where was I going? That worried me most of all.

Paw put everything I came home with in the fire pit. He burned it as he roasted venison over the fire. He raked it and made sure nothing remained of Tall Willow. He'd obviously been successful in laying down a trail that lead the cavalry away from my actual trail. A good scout would notice a rider having changed horses, but Paw would have ridden Shiftless back across the river and my trail would lead toward the mountain. Paw would enjoy this game, because he was Pawnee. Putting something over on the cavalry would please him. Keeping his second son alive was a good incentive.

When I stopped to look behind me, I no longer knew what I might see. The idea of fifty men riding after me had passed like the miles I'd ridden. I still watched. I was still alert to anyone I passed. No one seemed interested in a lone rider heading east. I stayed cautious long after there was a need.

The idea I was a farmer going to town was out. I had no idea where I was or where my farm might be. I was a trapper heading east. Where were my traps, pelts, evidence I was a trapper. I'd work on it.

I thought Paw and Maw would be okay. I hoped my people were okay. The cavalry had been there by now. They'd have taken the village apart. Running Horse would have the rifles hidden, and the village would go on as if two of their members were dead and one on the run. Pawnee saw enough death to be numb to it if need be. There was no need to destroy a village for something one wild Indian did.

They'd watch the village and mourn two of their own. They'd see that my brother and Morning Star had been loved. They'd see our chief mourning with his people. Nothing would indicate anything unusual took place. I left the village a few days before and I hadn't returned. Some of the cavalry would keep an eye on the village, and others would try to track me. That sounded like the most logical thing for them to do.

The men in that fort had no doubt who it was that killed Meeks. They'd seen me carry my brother and Morning Star into the forest. They watched Riggs interact with me. Three of them rode out of the fort together. Only one returned. Only one could tell them what happened and how it was he survived my wrath.

Riggs knew I was Lit'l Fox's brother. Most men in the cavalry had brothers. They would know how I felt. Most would have done exactly what I did. It was difficult to say how dedicated they'd search for me. They might be sympathetic to me ending a bad man, but I was an Indian. They were white men. Even if Meeks was a bad man, you didn't let Indians kill your commanding officer.

They'd be ordered to find me and kill me but no one had found me yet. Had I escaped the cavalry, or were they waiting for me somewhere down the road?

*****

How long did it take for an Indian to turn white?

I wondered what Running Horse was doing that moment. I wondered a lot. In this case Dobbin was nibbling grass as I sat on his back going nowhere. It took me a minute to understand I was sitting on Dobbin's back and we'd stopped moving. It didn't happen too often, but it did happen.

I didn't know where I was going. I had nowhere to go, but I was afraid to stop moving. I got used to moving. Where would I stop? I was comfortable camping and eating fresh kill. I had been riding … for, I don't know how long I'd been riding.

Three weeks last week?

The saddle was hell on my ass. I took to standing beside Dobbin every few miles. Then, I'd be drawing my six shooter. When I was in school, gunfights were common. There were some very bad men with a very quick draw. There were books written on gunfighters in the old west. White men killing white men. They did like to kill.

I wasn't sure how old the west was. I'd never seen a gunfight.

Maybe that's why I was fascinated with drawing my six shooter. I could clear leather in a hurry. I still couldn't hit anything with it, but I did fire it now. I no longer worried I'd shoot my toes off.

I rode into a town after I'd been moving for most of a month. I could have ridden into any of a half dozen towns I passed, but I didn't. I had to get my nerve up before I did something I'd never done before.

I stopped Dobbin in front of the saloon. I walked across the wooden walkway and went in. It was the middle of the day and a half dozen men stood at the bar and at tables near the bar.

"Beer," I said, when the bartender asked me what I wanted.

Maw gave me her egg money and the egg business must have been good. I remembered what a nickel was, and it was nickel beer. The taste left something to be desired, and it wasn't cold, but it was wet, and that had me drinking every drop.

Men talked too loud and no one gave me a second look. I left the glass on the bar and walked back out across the wooden walkway, untied Dobbin, and I rode out of town and back to the trail that ran a mile to the north of the town. The road leading into town was plainly marked. The ground was flat and firm. I rode east.

I rode into the dark, because I rode and I kept on riding. I usually camped before dark. I usually needed to shoot something to eat. It was hard hitting anything in the dark. Some night my mind was elsewhere, and so it got dark and I kept riding, until my mind was on riding, and then I didn't know why I hadn't stopped before.

Each morning I was faced with the same question. Where was I going?

I didn't know.

I'd ride until I got somewhere that looked good to me. The further I went, the more people came into view. They were white people. I wasn't white. I didn't want to be with white people. I'd only known the white people I knew from when I was a boy. If they were all like the people in our town, I had no interest in knowing any. I knew the boys from school, but they didn't know me.

Wherever I was going, I hadn't got there yet.

I had not been stopped or interviewed. I'd gone into a white man's bar, drank a beer, and left without anyone knowing that I was a bad bad man the cavalry wanted dead. Whatever I looked like, it didn't attract any attention.

I looked a lot like other men I'd passed along the way. I'd keep riding and one day I'd find a place where I wanted to stop.

Noone seemed interested in me, and I quit looking behind me. I began looking to see what was ahead. I went to town with Paw. It wasn't much. Lawrence's store was the biggest building in town. There were a dozen shops on the main street. There was a corral on the outskirts of town. There was a saloon, but I only went into Lawrence's with Paw, and when we left there, I wasn't interested in spending any more time than it took to get the things Maw sent us after.

Each town I rode through looked a lot like our town. I no longer avoided towns. Some times I stopped for a beer, but most times I kept on riding. No one paid me any mind and I kept riding.

If I hadn't gone two hundred miles, I'd maybe gone three. I wasn't in the Colorado Territory any longer. I was too far south to be in Nebraska Territory. I was likely in Kansas Territory, and that meant Fort Riley would be ahead of me. I'd make no effort to avoid the fort. If I'd been noticed, I didn't know it, but if I was being watched, trying to go around Fort Riley would be a dead give away that I had something to hide.

As horses went Dobbin was fine. He was no Shiftless, but Shiftless was no Dobbin, and Dobbin was my horse now. The further we went the happier he was. I hadn't hooked him to anything, and as far as he was concerned, that was fine with him. Each morning I saddled him and we went on our way.

I made no effort to go fast but I kept moving. I noticed wire strung along the path in places. Why would a man fence up the outdoors. How did a man get from here, to over there with fences in the way? The trail went straight ahead, even with the fences beside it. No one put his fence on the trail yet. What did I do if I came to a fence that crossed the trail I was taking?

I kept hearing Running Horse's voice. It would startle me awake, but I couldn't be sleeping. I was still on Dobbin and I'd doze off again. I'd been with Running Horse for half my life. I kept thinking, he'll catch up with me soon. He will come to be with me, because he couldn't live without me. He'd give up being chief and come after me.

This dream came to me often. When I wasn't sleeping, I knew where he was. He was in the village.

I wondered if I'd see Running Horse again. 'Go fast. Go far. Return one day' were his final words to me. Did he see me returning one day?

I saw wagons moving west. I pictured myself in a wagon going west. I couldn't imagine anything worse than riding into the unknown. None of them had any idea what they'd find at the end of the line. I wasn't in a wagon, but I had no idea what I was going to find.

I didn't see Indians. They were there, but I didn't see them.

My third life was nothing to write home about. It was like living in no man's land. Each day I did the same thing as the day before. It was always the same with the landscape changing slightly from time to time. The land went on forever in every direction. It was a vast country. There was plenty of room.

It was after I adapted to the saddle and the constant motion. It was after I stopped dropping the six shooter. It was after I ate plenty of rabbit and slept too many nights on the plains. The test of who and what I was hit me head on. I was riding along with my hat pulled low as the morning sun warmed me, and even half asleep, I saw them riding toward me.

One does not miss a detachment of cavalry. They were coming from the east. It wouldn't be Meeks' cavalry.

I kept my head down and kept riding. I was going to town. Don't ask me what town, but I was going. My story would be told as I thought it up. I would be outraged. I would be angry. I wasn't a man who liked being waylaid.

I was minding my own business, when a horse soldier reached for Dobbin's reins and pulled me up short. I went into a fury.

"What's the big idea? Who do you think you are? Get your god damn hands off my horse," I said, letting my right hand drop to the handle of my six shooter.

"Hold your horses. We're just checking. Nothing personal," the officer sat on his horse beyond a sergeant who had my reins in his hand.

"Check while letting my god damn horse alone," I yelped, my hand still on the six shooter while twelve men on horseback smiled.

"Calm down. We're checking everyone coming this way."

I looked at the officer, ignoring the sergeant as he backed his horse up.

Coming up from my right, and then changing direction, a hand reached out to grab the hat off my head.

I heard his horse a second before he snatched my hat. My hand shot out, grabbing his wrist. Twisting it, I grabbed my hat back, putting it back on my head.

"Take it off," the sergeant growled. "Take it off. I want a look at your face."

"He sprained my wrist," the soldier complained.

"You think I'm going to let you steal my hat because you're wearing that pretty uniform? Get off the horse and I'll sprain more than your wrist," I said, removing my hat and putting it in my lap. "Ain't I purdy, now that you got your look."

"We're the US Cavalry. You should mind your manners," the sergeant said without conviction.

"You going to shoot me because I got bad manners? Who do you think you are?"

"We're the 7th Cav," the officer said.

"That supposed to make me piss myself? What do you want?"

The soldier who grabbed my hat rubbed his arm after moving ten feet away.

I couldn't know if Paw's advise would help, but it got some chuckles from the horse soldiers who kept their distance.

I sat, hat in hand, looking square at the officer. I paid no mind to the sergeant or the other men.

"Don't get excited," the sergeant said. "We're looking for a killer. An Indian. We got orders to check everyone coming in this direction."

I laughed in his face.

"I look like a god damn Injun? What's wrong with you people? Got nothing better to do?" I growled.

"You're dark for a white man," the sergeant said.

This posed a problem. Did I go with the farmer going to town routine, or was a better off as Phillip DuBois, trapper.

"Name?" the captain ordered in a no nonsense voice.

"Phillip," I said with enough anger in it to ruffle any man's feathers.

"Full name?" the captain asked impatiently.

"Phillip DuBois," I said begrudgingly. "Where you stationed? I want your name. You can't be treating me like I'm some savage. He must be a bad one if it takes all of you to round up one Injun."

"Calm down. We're out of Fort Riley, and I know Phillip DuBois," the sergeant said. "You ain't within thirty years of his age."

"Yeah, but I'm old enough to be his son," I argued the point. "I'm Phillip BuBois Jr. if you must know."

"Explains the skin," a soldiers said. "In the sun all day."

"What's your father do?" the sergeant asked.

"Same as me. Trapper. Hunter. Wherever there's animals, skins and a market. That's where you'll find us," I said with severity.

"Saw your old man maybe ten days back, Said he's heading for St Louis with a passel of skins," the sergeant said with the edge gone from his voice.

"What are you dressed for? Don't look like no trapper I seen," the captain said, moving closer to take a good look.

"Long story. This is what I got left of my goods. Bushwhackers took my skins, my traps, everything I owned but clothes I ain't fit into for years. Lucky I got those, I guess. They could of left me out here buck naked. I made a run out at them. I keep my guns hidden. They didn't find them. I picked up their trail, but when I found them, there was eight of those dirty rats. Figured I'd let them go this time, but they got all my goods."

Soldiers began laughing at the odds I laid in front of them.

"Well, thanks for the tip on my old man. Ain't seen Paw in a spell. I can go to St Louis. I am going to St Louis," I said happily.

"Why don't you trap with your father?" the sergeant asked.

"He uses that damn wagon. No wagon goes where I trap. We're in the same business, we don't agree on how to get the job done."

"Makes sense," the sergeant said. "Your old man is looking too old to be out in the mountains all year."

"He'll out live all of us," I said, in a more chipper voice. "Mean as a cougar."

"You can go on. Tell your old man Sgt Baker said howdy."

"Will do," I said, moving Dobbin around the man who was still rubbing his arm from our meeting up handshake.

"Phillip?" the captain said before I got far.

"Here. Man down on his luck needs something in his pocket."

I grabbed the five dollar gold piece out of the air.

"Thank you, Captain. Mighty neighborly of you, I'll see to it I get this back to you one day" I said, whistling as I rode away from the 7th Cavalry.

Funny how fast English comes back to you when your life is on the line. I had my story now. I'd need to stick to it. The talking wires could reach anywhere in the territories now.

I was officially Phillip DuBois now. I didn't show any fear, but my legs were shaking the entire time.

I rode east. The cavalry kept going west. I calculated Fort Riley couldn't be that far. They weren't carrying much with them. They'd be at the fort tonight.

The trail took me right past Fort Riley two hours later. I didn't shy away. They had to know I ran into the detachment of cavalry. They wouldn't look at me twice.

I thought about the Phillip DuBois who saved my paw's life. Wouldn't do to be in the same town with him. I'd stay north of St Louis, if I went that far east.

How far east was it?

I passed the first test, which meant I could relax some. I would keep my hair short and my hat pulled low. In a month or two, my skin would start to lighten some.

My third life had started. I had no idea where I'd end up.

I didn't think I could ever be a full blooded Indian again. It was too hard to be Pawnee and too traumatic to give it up. My identity was still a mystery to me. I could pass for white. I had no love for white people, and my Indian identity was a hazard to my health. I aim to stay alive as long as I can. That meant I would need to keep on moving. Sooner or later I'd find a place I liked.

I couldn't be sure how long it took for the cavalry to stop looking for a savage who killed a major, not to mention a scout. I had nothing but time, but my heart was heavy as I moved further east.

It was a few weeks after I passed Fort Riley, and I was going into some foothills. I still had no destination in mind. I was on the road to St Louis, but that had to be a ways yet. I'd run out of energy. I'd been alone for what seemed like forever.

When you're on the run, one day meets the next, and I kept moving. I'd know when to stop, but not yet. There would be a place that appealed to me when I got there. As big as the country was, there had to be a place for me.

There was a chill in the air, and I'd done fair with feeding myself. As I got out of the saddle on a high ridge overlooking a valley ahead of me, I was too tired to go on.

I was plain and simply tired of going. I'd ridden all day every day for near about a month, the way I figured it. I aimed to rest a spell. At twenty miles a day for thirty days, I'd ridden a ways.

There were no road signs to tell me where I was. I didn't know where I was going, but I'd gone far enough today. It was the highest spot I'd been on in some time. The view was nice. I'd camp here a day, maybe two days.

I was standing there with the rifle in my hand, thinking about a spot where I might be able to get dinner. My brother the rabbit hopped out of a cluster of brush. I gave thanks for the fresh meat. I felt like I found a nice spot.

Waiting for my rabbit to get itself cooked, Dobbin took to eating grass next to me. I reached out to touch his head. We'd gotten accustomed to each other, and he kept on going as long as I kept on riding. We'd spend a day or two here.

I doubted anyone this far east knew I was alive. It felt like a good time to look for work. I needed a source of income. Maw's egg money wouldn't last long around a town. I didn't know what I could do, but I'd always managed. I was far afoot from anywhere I knew.

I'd always lived in the western territories. I was well east now. I didn't expect to find much. So far I hadn't been surprised. I was on the run, but I had a good story and I could change my story if I needed.

I liked being out doors. I liked to hunt. I didn't mind moving, although my first two lives had me in one spot most of the time. Seeing the east seemed like what I should do. It's the direction I was going in, and I'd go until I found a place I didn't mind being.

I pulled the saddle off of Dobbin and he wandered over to the stream to drink. He enjoyed the fresh green grass and he stopped eating to drink from time to time. He liked this spot. I did too.

I leaned against the saddle and wondered where I might be going. I knew where I wanted to go. I knew where I belonged. I knew who I missed, and I knew I was getting further from Running Horse. Far enough I couldn't just turn around and go back to him.

Dobbin came over to nudge me as I was waiting for the rabbit to turn brown.

"You don't eat rabbit," I told him.

He nudged me again. I rubbed his nose and he didn't go far. He was as dependent on me as I was on him. Dobbin was not the wild horse kind of horse. He'd always worked for a living, and now he had a life of leisure he liked. I let him run free when we weren't riding. He didn't go far.

I pulled the stick with a nice chunk of meat off the fire when it turned the proper color of brown. I waited a few minutes before biting into the juicy meat. Being on that mesa, leaning back on my saddle, I was at home. Nothing better than rabbit for dinner. There was plenty for tomorrow. I'd stay here tomorrow. I'd watch from my perch tomorrow. My ass was sore. My back was sore. I wanted to sit still.

The meat sizzled once I took the rest off the fire. I hadn't eaten all of what I took the first time. I'd wrap it and put it where predators couldn't reach it. There were trees next to the stream.

I was exhausted. I dozed while leaning on the saddle. I was waiting for enough energy to move the saddle to where I'd sleep. Dobbin stood nearby. He was tired too.

It was right then that something shook me awake. I came up from the depths of my wandering mind, I shook and let loose a sob.

I said the words I dared not say.

"Running Horse. Running Horse. Where are you tonight?"

Riding kept me busy enough to stem my mind that wandered here and there all day. If I didn't want to fall on my head, I needed to pay attention. When my mind went to Running Horse, Lit'l Fox, and Medicine Woman, I shook the thoughts out of my brain.

Tonight I let the thoughts rip through my brain. I cried and fell asleep leaning on my saddle. If anything made me even more tired, it was letting my emotions loose. I'd sleep well tonight.

Most of the people who came to mind, I'd never see again. Most of them were dead. Only Running Horse was alive.

"Running Horse," I said, looking across the fire where he had always been. "Running Horse."

I sobbed and fell over in the grass. I don't know how long I cried, but it was a spell. I'd never cried that way before. I hadn't had the time to mourn. My mind stayed on trying to stay alive. There was no distance I could travel to out run the loss of so many people I loved. The life I loved died with them.

I'd be a fool to go back. If I went back, someone would recognize me. I'd bring hell's fire down on my people. There was no telling if they'd kill the man I loved if I dared to go back there. I didn't know they weren't all lying dead at this moment.

Did the cavalry come and slaughter the people in our village? It wasn't pleasant to think about.

I opened my eyes. I didn't know how long I slept. The fire had burned down to give off little light. I looked across the fire, once my eyes adjusted to the limited light, something with red eyes was staring back across the fire at me. I blinked, looked away, looked across the fire, and slowly the red eyes appeared again. They were on me and hadn't moved away from me.

What was I looking at? What was looking at me?

"What the hell is that?" I asked no one in particular.

We stared at each other. The eyes didn't move. I didn't move. If it was alive, it must eat. If it eats, it probably eats meat. I reached for a chunk of rabbit. I tossed it over the fire at where the eyes watched.

The eyes disappeared. I heard the licking and chewing. It was a dog. Someone's dog was lost out here. I tossed another chunk of meat toward the eyes with the same result.

I smiled.

"It's a dog."

I broke off pieces of rabbit and I kept feeding the dog. There was no telling when it last ate. I could get more meat, and as long as he ate, I kept feeding him until there was no more meat.

By that time I was falling asleep while sitting up. Time for bed.

Glad someone got to enjoy dinner. I took a deep breath and I laid down to sleep. It was chilly and great sleeping weather. I figured, I'm never going to get rid of that dog now that I've fed him. If he's lost and on his own, I had another mouth to feed on my hands.

I laughed and went to sleep.

I rolled over during the night and I felt something up close to me. It was warm. It was that damn dog. How about that?

Well, he's keeping me warm. I'd be cold without his warmth.

When I woke up, that damn dog was licking the juice from that rabbit off my face. His tongue was like sandpaper.

I came up for air.

I was laughing and turning my face away. He kept on licking. That's when I got a surprise. It wasn't a dog. It was a black wolf.

I sat looking at him. His tale was wagging, and he stepped up to lick my face some more. I put my arm around his neck, he did not back away or act fearful of me. Of course he wasn't afraid of me. He was a wolf. I wondered if this was how the first dog made the leap from being a wolf to being a dog? Some Neanderthal started feeding him and they became companions.

There was no more meat and I went to wash my face off in the stream. Dobbin stood next to where I slept. The wolf stood at Dobbin's feet, watching me.

"I've got no more meat. I gave it all to you, Wolf."

He whimpered.

"I'll get some more," I said.

He stood next to Dobbin and panted.

"Come on. Get some water," I said and I stepped out of the way. He came over and drank. I patted his head. He wasn't very old. Something happened to his mom, and it's been slim pickings. Slim enough that he came into a man's camp to beg for supper.

I got up, washed in the stream, and I took the rifle up on the rocks off to the left of where I camped. The Wolf sat next to where I slept. He didn't take his eyes off of me. When I brought the rabbit back, you'd think he shot it. I was really buying myself a handful of trouble. As I ate rabbit, he was beside me eating the rabbit I broke off to give him. He didn't mind me and I was getting accustomed to him by the time I got on Dobbin and rode away. I didn't need to call him. He was trotting along beside Dobbin, and that's where he stayed.

We made for strange companions. A plow horse, a wolf, and a wanted man. This became my new family. Talking to Demon offered a more attentive listener than Dobbin was. Demon acted like he understood what I was saying. Dobbin knew I was talking to him but he couldn't figure out why.

We didn't move fast but Demon stayed right beside Dobbin. From time to time he'd run ahead and nearly go out of sight, and then he'd be sitting and waiting for us a few minutes later.

As I rode, the trail looked a bit more worn and there were wheel impressions in what was hard soil. Grass grew all around, and Dobbin was happy about that. Some days there were wagons. They were always going west.

I eased off my horse and I dusted myself off using my hat.

"Stay," I said to Demon, and he laid beside Dobbin as I stepped up on a wooden walkway. It was another town and another saloon. I had a taste for beer now. Especially after a two or three day ride between towns. Riding into the town and tying up Dobbin in front of the saloon had become a habit. I was up to a beer or two a week as I continued to ride.

I always kept my eyes open, but with Demon tagging along, I made sure he was going to stay when I told him to stay. He didn't know he was a wolf. I did. Wolves were no more popular than Indians.

A man walked between Dobbin and almost stepped on Demon. He immediately went for his gun.

"You pull that gun and you're a dead man," I said, drawing my six shooter before he could draw his.

"That's a god damn wolf," the cowboy said, hand still on a gun that never cleared leather.

"It's my dog, Partner. I'd walk around him if I were you."

The cowboy backed up and walked between the next two horses. I pointed my finger at Demon.

"Stay."

It wasn't much of a town. I hadn't had anything cool to drink in a coons age, and I went into the saloon to get that beer. Saloons were all a like. The beer was rarely cold and the men inside didn't seem to have much to do but waste an afternoon.

Ice was not a commodity that got this far west. In the cold months, I got cold beer, but the rest of the time I settled for what I could get. No one asked me who I was and I returned the courtesy.

I expected I'd been on the run for about a year. It had been cold as hell, and now it wasn't as cold. I'd taken work on a ranch, and I had a camp close by. I did not take Demon with me, because too many men carried rifles and I didn't want my dog shot. When I told Demon to stay, he was there when I came back. He didn't like being left behind, but he stayed when I said, "Stay."

I rode back to my camp. It was payday and I bought Demon a big bone. I tossed it to him as I rode into camp. That kept him put when I rode off and told him to stay, he listened.

I was ready to move on. I was in eastern Kansas, and I'd worked over the winter at the cattle ranch. I had a cowboy who took a liking to me, once he saw my dog. He taught me how to wrangle.

I could be a wrangler now, if I wanted, but cows smelled. A horse was no rose if you didn't take care of them, but cows were a whole other animal.

When we rode out the next morning, no one was happier than Demon. I had twenty dollars in my pocket, and I was looking for work again. I'd stopped moving east for long enough to work on that ranch.

I'd seen my wanted poster. I was worth a thousand dollars, dead or alive. It was actually a good likeness for when I was a Pawnee. It didn't look much like the white man I had become.

I no longer wore my hat all the time. After another winter, I was as white as any white man. I wasn't as white as I once was, but no one looked at me like they thought I was a wanted Indian. My nearly black beard was not something you found on an Indian. Indians did not grow a lot of hair. Europeans had hairy arms and when you worked outdoors, you rarely shaved, until you got into town to buy a store bought bath.

I bathed in lakes and streams and I never cut my facial hair. I did give a quarter to get my hair cut short. My hair was growing in darker each time I looked into the hair cutter's mirror. The blond hair that earned me my name was a thing of the past.

The posters were old and they looked it. That meant there were no new posters. That meant they probably weren't looking for me too far to the east. I had time enough to ride anywhere in the country, but no one expected an Indian that far east. They were busy driving the plains Indians west.

I was Phillip. It's what I said when they hired me to herd cattle. They just wanted to know what to call me. No one used a last name. No one asked anyone where he came from. When we sat around the campfire at night, a few of us sat off in the shadows. I didn't know what they'd done and I didn't ask. They returned the courtesy.

I liked that I didn't act much different than some of the other hands. I didn't exactly fit in, but I didn't stick out.

I was a cowboy now. I'd gotten me a pair of something called 501s. The proprietor of the Emporium where they were selling them said, these wear like iron and never wear out.

They were a bit tough on the skin at first, but once I beat 'em with a rock in a stream trying to get them clean, they were okay, and they hadn't worn out yet.

I had my cowboy hat and my six shooter. I looked like any other cowboy. It struck me as strange. I once played cowboys and Indians with my school chums. Now I'd been an Indian and I was a cowboy. Life struck me as odd. Some of it made no sense to me. Other things seemed logical.

You didn't know which you were going to run into. I kept my eyes open and kept moving until I found work again.

I didn't stay in one place longer than a season. I still wasn't absolutely sure someone wasn't trying to track me. A thousand bucks was a fortune. Most of the people I worked for and with were white. I was white for that matter. There were some real jerks, but some took to me and treated me fine. This was a look I hadn't had before. If you'd a told me I'd live in the white world a few years ago, I'd have laughed. It was no laughing matter. I didn't let myself get too comfortable anywhere.

I was living in the white world, which was built on top of Indian land, but it wasn't all that bad.

I was no longer on edge or bothered by someone taking a good look at me. I went on my way without having much to say to anyone. If I found a job I took, I said what I needed to say, and let other people do the talking. It was a big country full of a lot of people. Where I stopped, I worked at fitting in. I found it easier to ignore things I don't understand. I once questioned everything. Now, I keep my head down and say little. When someone takes a look at me and my dog, they usually keep moving.

Demon got a lot of attention but he ain't got himself shot yet. I ain't got myself shot trying to keep him from getting shot, but I'd be right annoyed by anyone who did shoot him. He was good company and he did not like it when I left him behind. He couldn't look after me if I made him stay with Dobbin, but he often stayed behind.

I hadn't been shot at or shot yet either. I was right happy about that. I was just another cowboy in the land of the cowboy, taking whatever work I could get.

I'd stayed well east of Fort Riley, and I stayed a spell in Oklahoma and Texas. There was plenty of work along the cattle trails. I could cook up meat and beans when I had to, and I sat a horse respectably well. I'd been in the saddle for well over a year. I figure it's closer to two years, but time doesn't mean much when you're always on the move.

I'd signed on in Cimmeron to ride along side a wagon carrying a shipment of gold to St Louis. You didn't apply for a job like that. I'd been working on a nearby cattle ranch, and when I went into town after being paid, I heard the talk.

A guy told a guy, who told a guy, who told me, "They're looking for a guy to ride with a guy who needs a guard to guard the gold he's carrying to St Louis."

The pay was way too much for me to turn down. I'd stayed clear of St Louis, because dear old dad was said to be there, but that was two or three years ago. No self-respecting trapper stays in a city for that long.

I'd take my chances and the pay that went with the job. Besides, I wouldn't stay in St Louis for long.

I rode on the wagon seat with Dobbin tied behind and Demon walking along beside me. I rode Dobbin in front of, behind, and along side the wagon. It looked like any wagon on the trail. It was carrying $25,000 in gold. Gus was the driver and he was mostly quiet. That suited me fine. What did we have to talk about?

It took a bit of time to get to St Louis. We were in no hurry. They wanted the gold to get there safely. There was no hurry.

That's how I came to be in St Louis years after I was advised the real Phillip Dubois was heading that way.

Now, I figure a city is a city. There's big ones, and there are some not so big cities. Nothing could prepare anyone for St Louis. It went full tilt day and night. There was traffic. Was there traffic. I couldn't get across the street for fear of getting run down.

Can you imagine the looks I got riding my horse down the street with a wolf walking along beside me? Once I collected my pay I was figuring on getting a steak and a beer, and I'd get out of St Louis.

That city was crazy, and while I rode in beside the wagon, man did I want to get out of there. How do people live with all that noise and moving around. Everyone is moving all the time. I had to stay with that wagon until it was unloaded at the biggest bank I'd ever seen. It took up near about an entire block and the blocks were huge.

Now wolfs are no more popular in St Louis than they are anywhere else, but no one in St Louis figured a cowboy would have a wolf tagging along with him, and when I told Demon, 'Stay.' He stayed and waited for me to bring him back a treat. Treats in St Louis came in the way of the biggest beef sandwich you can imagine. I had a pocket full of money once I got paid, and Demon got a store bought sandwich. There were no bones to chew on and it was gone in two bites. Next time I'd bring him two sandwiches.

Demon imagined it was fine with him, and as long as I gave Dobbin oats while we was in town, he didn't mind much what Demon and I ate. I made friends with a fellow ran the stables, and he didn't mind if I slept in his loft after I paid to keep Dobbin there for a day or two. He didn't even mind Demon staying with me. I thought about buying a store bought room with a hot bath, but no way they was letting Demon in the hotel. I'd be surprised if they let me in one of them hotels.

In St Louis my life changed. My identity became final, and I got the kind of work a former Pawnee warrior could enjoy. It was something like when I got the job as guard for a gold shipment, only it wasn't a guy who told a guy who knew a guy. It was a guy who took one look at Demon, and he knew I was a guy he wanted to know. I didn't know what he knew, and he knew he needed a man like me, but he didn't say so right off. He was friendly like and looked me over before we spoke.

I saw him standing and looking down at Demon, who was lying next to Dobbin. This guy looked like the president of the 1st National Bank. I mean he was dressed up fancy. I never saw a man dressed as fancy as he was. He was smiling and looked friendly like.

"That your dog?" the duded up fellow asked me.

"Uh huh," I said, ready to go get me one of those beef burgers before I got the hell out of Dodge.

"You do know he's a wolf, don't you?" he asked.

He let Demon smell the back of his hand.

"Uh huh," I said, and the man had my attention.

Demon licked his hand.

"You always offer your hand to a wolf?" I asked. "He ain't ate today."

The duded up guy laughed.

"Brother found a cub. Mother was dead. He brought it home. Best damn dog we ever owned, even if he was a wolf. He didn't know he was a wolf and we didn't tell him. He was a good dog."

"You knew he wouldn't take your hand off."

"You got both your hands. I figured he was safe."

"Walked into my camp a couple years back. I couldn't tell what he was in the dark. I threw him some rabbit, and here we are."

The man laughed.

"Stay, Demon."

"What in the world are you dressed for?" I asked.

"Oh, it's required in my business. I'm president of the 1st National Bank of Wichita. We have a branch here, in Chicago, Cleveland, and New York. I was just going in to eat. Why don't you let me buy you lunch. You're a man I'd like to know."

"Phillip DuBois," I said, figuring a banker would want it all.

"Be my guest, Phil. What brings you to St Louis with your wolf?"

Dan was a fine fellow. He bought me my sandwich and he even paid for Demon's, and he watched him eat it."

"You raise her from a pup?" he asked, once we finished lunch.

"No, he sort of wandered into my camp out in Kansas. I tossed him some rabbit, and here we are a few years later.

Dan laughed.

"You hail from Kansas, Phil?"

"No, Dan, I don't reckon I hail from anywhere. I'm here. I was there. I been a lot of places. Wherever the work is."

"You like to travel, do you?"

"I don't know if I like it, but its what I do. Never took to any place in particular, and Demon isn't welcome everywhere."

"No, I hardly think so."

"Do you know what a surveyor does?" Dan asked.

"Let me guess. He surveys?"

"Close enough," Dan said. "Can you drive a wagon?"

"I reckon I can. Not much I ain't done."

"Do you drink?"

"I throw back a beer now and then. Not too regular. It's good after a long dry spell on the cattle trail. It appeals to me when I'm really dried out. I haven't had five beers in a year. Mostly don't give it much thought. When I'm in a town. I go look for a cold one, Dan."

"Are you as open to work as it sounds like you are."

"I take what I can find. You ask a lot of questions."

"I'm a banker. It's my job. This might be our lucky day, Phil. Let's walk over and get us a beer. I'll lay my cards on the table."

Ice had made its way to St Louis and the beer was ice cold. I'd never tasted anything as good as the beer Dan bought for me.

His cards concerned land banks buying up land in the west. They needed a lot of surveying done to cut their land into sections they'd sell. Before they cut them into parcels, they had to have the result of the survey. It sounded okay, but I had to try a thing before I knew if I liked it or not. I could do anything for a while, whether or not I like doing it.

"What would you like me to do?" I asked.

"We're organizing several teams who will systematically survey our land. It is going into full gear within the next six months. If you're free to go to work learning, we have a wagon train heading overland to do some surveying along the Oregon Trail. I can introduce you to Willard Wayne. See if you can get along, and if you stick with him and get his approval, I'll send you out on a wagon of your own. I imagine it will take five to ten years to survey it all, Phil. Work for as long as you want it. You're the kind of man I want working for me. Independent, reliable, and steady."

"Let's see how this Wayne guy feels about Demon. Can't go nowhere without my dog. We belong to each other now, and Dobbin goes where I goes."

It took two days for me to meet Wil and he seemed like a good sort. I looked over the equipment he carried and it wasn't that complicated once you used it a few times. It seemed like a good deal to me. I'd keep moving and get paid to keep moving. It also got me back in the west where I wanted to be anyway.

I rode out to meet Wil just before the wagon train was leaving town. There were nearly 30 wagons. I tied Dobbin to the back of the wagon and Demon walked along beside where I sat. I made sure he could ride in the wagon when he got tired, and Wil didn't blink twice.

He hadn't gotten a good look at Demon, but when he did, besides a raised eyebrow, he said nothing. It wasn't going to be a factor for long, because I was about to get a lesson in handling a Conestoga wagon. I'd driven the buckboard a few times. A Conestoga was just a glorified buckboard. You aimed it and went if you knew how to release the brake.

It was on the morning of the third day out of St Louis, when the wagon master rode back to talk.

"You look young and able, Phillip. How'd you like to make $40 a month and drive one of these wagons, if you boys are going all the way to Cheyenne."

"He ain't doing nothing but sitting. He can do as he pleases, but we need to take him off in Cheyenne. That's where we're paid to go. You won't have no trouble getting a teamster there."

"That would be wonderful if you could take one of these babies to Wyoming. I had to fire two teamsters last night. They were drunk as skunks. I sent them packing. We can't move until I cover one last wagon. I got my eye on another fellow in one of the last wagons."

"Wil, talk to you when we stop tonight. Let me get my horse. I'll hook him to the wagon you want me to drive."

I followed the wagon master to a wagon with a woman and three children on board.

"Mrs Claudia, this here be Phil. He'll drive your wagon out to Cheyenne. Phil, Mrs Claudia and her kids. Her husband is already out west. She's going to meet him. Tie your horse to the back and get your dog on board."

I climbed up on a wagon larger than the one Wil drove. As I looked around and the wagon in front of us moved, I couldn't get the horses to move. I looked around for a break or something I needed to do to get them going, but I was lost.

That's when Kenny dropped down on the seat beside me, and as young boys often do, he knew everything about driving the wagon.

"Let me do the break. Let me do the break."

"Sure, Kenny, go right ahead," I said, watching him do it.

"Nice dog. He yours," Kenny asked.

"That's Demon."

"Come on up, Demon," Kenny said.

Demon leaped right up and sat pretty as you please between us. Up until now, Demon walked almost every where we went. Now, he began riding on the seat. He seemed to like it. Kenny liked him.

The trip moved along about as slow as one could move. If we made ten miles a day, I'd have been surprised. By the end of the second month, I knew everything about driving a Conestoga wagon. Kenny knew all about it and between the two of us we made it into Nebraska by month three.

Wil told me, "We're close to half way."

I'd talked to Wil about it, and because there was Indian trouble with the Lakota, the bank wouldn't let him go alone. They'd signed him on to go with the wagon train, and once we got to Cheyenne, we went off on our own. Few Indians wanted to risk attacking a large wagon train. There were too many guns on big wagon trains.

Like the wagon, surveying equipment just needed tending to. I watched Wil and I did what he did when he told me to do it. He didn't complain, so I figured I must be doing okay. It worked best with two of us doing the surveying. One guy held the marker stick and the other guy looked through the scope, writing down the readings.

It was cold by the time we reached Cheyenne, and the wagons were going to hold up until spring, because it was mountains straight ahead of them. If they took off in April, they'd be in Oregon by the time fall was coming to a close.

Cheyenne wasn't far from Fort Laramie. We were northwest of the village and Running Horse. When we left Cheyenne, we were heading southeast, which if we kept going, would come out close to where the village was. We weren't going that far.

As we ate lunch one day, about a dozen Indians sat on their horses near a grove of trees. They sat watching us for some time.

I could see Wil shaking. He had a rifle near his seat, but he never once reached for it, and that was a point in his favor. If he'd reached for that rifle. I'd be forced to take it from him. If they were hostile, they wouldn't let themselves be seen. I wasn't going to let Wil know I was an authority on Indians.

"They're coming this way," Wil said with fear running through his words.

"Shoshone," I said. "They're okay. They're not usually hostile. You wouldn't see them if they were on the warpath."

Wil looked at me while I said it. He looked back at the Indians. I kept eating and waited until they came to a stop again. That would mean they wanted to talk. They might want something we had.

"I'll be right back, Wil. They want to talk."

"Phil, I hope you know what you're doing."

I waved as I walked toward the Indians. Once I was far enough from the wagon, I spoke Shoshone.

They laughed and gave me a greeting.

I asked them what I could do for them. I was laughing once I got back to the wagon.

"What is funny?" Wil asked.

"You want to keep your scalp?" I asked.

He turned whiter than white.

"They want coffee. White men always have coffee."

Wil started laughing.

"Coffee? They want coffee?"

"Give them coffee, and any time they see you, they'll give you a gift. They're very sweet people. They helped Lewis & Clark. I have extra coffee in my things."

I walked a couple of pounds of coffee to the braves. They were all smiles. The man who was in charge handed me a very ornate knife. It was beautifully made. I'd seen knifes like this. I took it back and gave it to Wil.

"That's real silver on that handle. Don't lose that, Wil."

Wil was awe struck. Everywhere we went, he told the story of me walking right up to a dozen Indians pretty as you please.

I brought extra coffee for that reason. Even if we gave them all the coffee we had, all we needed to do was ride into town. Indians couldn't ride into town and buy coffee.

"Don't you try that, Wil. I know these people. I've lived around them. If they let you see them, you're probably okay. That doesn't mean there aren't Indians that are out here and out for blood. If you stay cool, you'll be fine."

It took a few weeks to do the surveying we needed to do this time out. When we started for St Louis, we took a trail that was further south of the one we came out on. It took us two months to get back with the wagon and the results of our survey.

Wil and I met with Dan once we returned. Wil gave him a full report on his activities and mine. He mentioned that I'd driven a big wagon for the wagon master, and I could handle all the equipment as well as he could. It was a great recommendation and Dan was all smiles. He had found a man he could use, and I talked to Indians. Wil told the entire story to Dan. I'd heard it ten times already.

"Indians were watching us. They came toward us on horses. Phil jumped down and walked right over to them. They squatted there on the ground. They seemed to come to an agreement, and Phil walks back to the wagon. I don't mind telling you Dan, I was shitting myself. Phil says, "They want coffee."

Wil laughed.

"They wanted coffee, and here, look at this, Dan. They gave this to Phil as payment. He gave it to me. Look at the workmanship."

"You guard gold shipments. You have a wolf for a companion, drive Conestoga wagons in your spare time. You talk to Indians too?"

Dan laughed that big laugh of his.

"I've been in the west all my life. Shoshone don't cause trouble. Most Indians don't, but they get so much harsh treatment, there are times they give it back to whoever is handy. If they let Indians be, there would be no trouble. They just want to be left alone."

"You're an amazing man, Phil. I'd like to introduce you to my partners in New York City. I think you're the man we want to head our western division. We have a lot of land to survey, and we need a man who knows the territory. You are that man. What do you say?"

"Give me a day or two to think it over. I don't want to jump into something before I know exactly what's expected. I don't want to work for no assholes. You're a regular guy, Dan. Wil's okay, but my experience says there are more assholes than regular guys."

"Come east with me. I'll be in charge of our western operation. You'll answer to me, but to hire the head of operations in the west, well, my partners will need to meet you. Once they see you, hear your story, they'll want you on the job. They're smart businessmen, and you will be good for our business."

"I'll go, Dan. I like the work. I'm no good at talking, but I'll do whatever you tell me to do."

"Talked to them Indians. Talked good to those Indians. Don't mind telling you, I was scared," Wil said.

Dan laughed.

"Sounds like you were in good hands. Thanks for taking Phil on. You'll get extra for that. We'll see you next season? I'll have more work for you, Wil. Maybe the Indian situations will quiet down."

It took until October for me to reach New York City. St Louis was a backwater compared to New York City. It was huge. No one sleeps. The city goes full speed twenty-four hours a day. People, there are so many people, you can't believe so many people.

Where'd they all come from? I had to leave Dobbin and Demon in St Louis, but they're together at a stable. The owner promised to give Demon fresh meat and a bone to chew each day. Dobbing gets his oats and will be walked each day. It's where I slept while in St Louis and the proprietor was okay.

There's an investment group Dan runs from his bank. They'd been buying up land in western territories for some time. Dan introduced me and I mostly listened to men who talked about investments and returns. Each of these men I met was wide eyed as Dan explained me to them.

I wear the boots I bought to make riding more comfortable, and those 501s, and Dan gave me a red flannel shirt to wear to meetings. He thought it important for me to wear my six shooter and cowboy hat. I ain't seen anyone in New York City dressed that way. I've seen dozens of guys duded up like Dan. They all wear them suits. I don't know where the cowboys are.

They put me up in a hotel. I never seen anything like it. Everything is super clean and there's a gadget I pick up and they bring anything I want to my room. I don't want much, but it's the kind of thing that's done in them big cities with all them people.

My room is up in the air a ways and I can look out and see all the other buildings around. There is a smell when you walk, but with all those people, they move in big carriages on tracks pulled by horses.

It's difficult to have so many horses and not get a smell.

I walk everywhere I go. Don't want to get on one of those carriages and not know where I am when I get out or how to get back. The investment building is across the street from the hotel. I can't get lost.

I got Dan with me when we go anywhere, but I stand out a little when we go to eat, and he's taking me to see a show tonight. I heard of shows. Don't know I'll like seeing one.

No matter where he takes me, I attract attention.

They all ask the same question.

"You a real cowboy?"

I smile when I'd asked. I'm tempted to say, "No, I'm an Indian."

That wouldn't go over well with the people Dan works with.

Five years after I left the west, I'm going to be going back to send out teams of surveyors to survey the land holdings these fellow's own. Can't say how long I'll do this, but it's easier than herding cattle but not as easy as hiring out as a guard.

One thing is for sure. I don't want to be in no city any longer than is necessary. I'll leave tomorrow with Dan. We'll return to St Louis by train. It will take two days to get from here to there.

Took me over four years to get from Colorado Territory to St Louis. They tell me the train goes all the way across the continent. A man can go from the East to the West in little more than a week. A wagon train, not any relative of railroad trains, takes months to get from here to there.

I don't imagine anyone where I'm from can imagine such a thing. I suppose I'm still wanted out west. I'm pushing thirty-one. I look nothing like I once looked. I'm no longer a boy. I'm no longer Pawnee. I doubt anyone who saw me in one of my first two lives would recognize me now.

I keep my hair short and it's more brown than blond. It seems to get darker every year, and they have these men in shops who cut hair for a living. Dan took me to one. He said they're in every city.

I can't wait to get moving again. I have a hankering to take one of those railroad trains to as far west as I can get. I been about as far east as I can go. Dan rented a carriage and we went to the Atlantic Ocean. He wanted me to see lands' end. The ocean is a lot like the prairie. It's big and wide and you can see forever. Oceans are amazing things, and Dan says they go everywhere.

I learned about oceans in school, but no one can tell you how an ocean is going to strike you. I like feeling solid ground under me. Dan said he'd take me out on a boat. It don't interest me none.

I calculate Dan took me east to trot me out in front of all those men in suits. Seeing me would convince them that I was their man. I suppose he has his reasons. I got mine. Going back west required me to have a good story. Working for investment bankers was one.

It would get me where I wanted to be and I'd be paid to be there. Being there is what I'm after. It's where both my other lives were lived, and it's where I want to be.

I like moving. I'll be moving in the right direction for a while. There ain't nothing they want me to do that I can't do. For the next little while I'll rake care of Dan's surveyors.

If I get tired of that, I'll do something else. As lives go, my third life is still shaping up. As long as I don't have to be in a big city, it'll be okay for the time being.

I have a hankering to get back on Dobbin and see Demon walking along beside me. That's something I can relate to. That's something I know. I want to see the horizon in the distance. I long to see the endless prairie out ahead of me.

That's where I'm at home.


     The End of Fleeting Fall
     Don't miss John Tanner, Book 3, of the Indian Chronicles Coming Soon


     A note from Rick Beck

We, as a people, live in dangerous times.

Resist!

Do you know who Harvey Milk is? He was one of the first openly gay politicians to be elected to office. Google him and learn what they did to him.

Happy Pride!

We will survive.

There is plenty of food for everyone. If we fed each other, we'd never go hungry.

In the end, Mother Nature will decide how to reclaim the land from those who would destroy it. She never loses.

*****

Who was the uninformed guy who said President Zelensky was holding no cards? He just put down a straight flush in Mother Russia.

Way to go Ukraine!

The way wars are fought against bigger more powerful countries has just been changed forever.

What other cards does President Zelensky have up his sleeve?

Who said he held no cards? Maybe there is a reason the United States didn't see the attack that destroyed or damaged a third of Russia's strategic bombers coming.

Estimates are, it cost Ukraine a million dollars to take out billions of dollars of Russian aircraft.

*****

For baseball fans:

On June 2nd 1925, The Yankees 1st baseman told manager Miller Huggins, "I need the day off."

On April 9, 1939, Lou Gehrig told manager Joe McCarthy, "I can't do it any longer. Take me out of the lineup."

Since Wally Pip asked for the day off, Lou Gehrig played first base for 2130 consecutive games.

That could make someone think twice before asking for the day off.


     Peace & Love,
     Rick Beck


Send Rick an email at quillswritersrealm
@yahoo.com

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"Runner"

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