EAGLE OF BONE

Jantallian

2

They did not discuss the dream again. The following night was quiet and the succeeding nights also. The days were quiet too, filled with the hard work of securing the buildings, repairing equipment, getting in supplies and rounding up stock, ready for the onset of winter.

Jess worked with his usual single-minded concentration when faced with a heavy workload. It was Slim who became increasingly jumpy as the days progressed. The dream and its aftermath had affected him profoundly and he could not understand why his partner remained so untouched. If anything, Jess was unusually calm, given his essentially volatile nature. Just every now and then he would become totally still, as if listening to something beyond the range of human hearing. It made cold shivers run down Slim's spine. There seemed to be nothing he could do to avert whatever was hanging over them.

It was mustangs who provoked the crisis. The pair of them had been riding out on the edge of the badlands all day, chasing a wild bunch with singular lack of success, and had finally given up and turned for home. Slim was getting increasingly irritable: he disliked having to supplement their income by expanding the horse-herd, even though he knew this was really Jess's first love and particular area of expertise. Wasting a whole day without catching a thing was bound to get under his skin, whereas Jess usually just reveled in the thrill of a chase over rough country regardless of the results.

Today though he was almost absent minded and his attention seemed to be on the distant peaks rather than the territory around them. It was several minutes before Slim, who was riding in the lead, realised that there was no one following him. Alamo stopped of his own accord and let out a piercing neigh. Traveller answered almost immediately. The sound came from behind and on completely the wrong route for home.

Slim gave a growl of impatience and reluctantly turned back. It took him a few minutes to catch up with his partner, who was riding determinedly towards the nearest peak in a direction which caused Slim considerable misgivings.

"D'you know where you're heading?" he demanded crossly.

Jess did not answer, just pushed his hat back as he scanned the precipice breaking the mountainside ahead.

"This is tribal territory," Slim pointed out. "We've been too close all day for my liking."

Jess turned his head and gave him a long look. The look suggested that Slim was making a fuss over nothing. It did not improve the atmosphere. Jess pulled his hat back over his eyes and continued as if Slim had not spoken. Slim rode glumly and irritably in his wake. His keen anticipation of trouble was nothing new where Jess was concerned, but had been given a much fiercer edge by the unexplained dream.

It seemed as if Jess was looking for something. It was not, however, tracks. Although he could and did track as well as any Indian scout, he was indifferent to the terrain over which they were riding. He kept his eyes fixed on the precipice. Slim followed his gaze.

There was bird-sign. Dark wheeling shapes, coming down again and again in the same place. Something or someone up ahead was helpless. The birds would not have been attracted otherwise. There was no help for it now, Slim knew. They could not turn back. They were honour-bound to investigate.

As if he read Slim's mind, Jess urged Traveller into a gallop, cutting his way swiftly across the rocky upland and sliding scree as if it was an open road. Slim wondered grimly if they were both going to break their necks or the horses' legs, but nothing was going to make him fall behind now. Jess was not just being reckless, he really didn't seem to be connected with his surroundings at all. Fortunately Traveller and Alamo were both very sure-footed, but neither of them seemed to be enjoying the experience any more than Slim was.

At such a speed, it took them little time to reach the foot of the precipice. The wheeling birds had been disturbed from their nests on the cliff-face and were swooping and diving towards the base, all focusing on the same spot. It was obvious that they were looking at a potential meal but had not yet decided whether it was actually dead.

"Ravens!" Jess muttered, half to himself. "Smellin' death of course."

"Yeah." Slim took hold of his rifle, intending to fire and scare the birds off, but Jess grabbed his arm and prevented him.

"Look there!"

A solitary eagle was cruising high above, scarcely moving its wings as it coasted along the face of the precipice. The ravens took no notice of it at first. Then its vast wingspan cast a deep shadow over the ground and whatever lay on it. The ravens because raucous in their frustration at no longer being able to see their target, but, intelligent as they were, they did not seem to be able to work out that it was a shadow cloaking the body which lay crumpled at the foot of the cliff. The sight of the great bird made Slim shudder and close his eyes for a moment. When he looked again, Jess had taken off once more at a frantic gallop.

Traveller skidded to a halt almost on top of the body and Jess jumped down to bend over it. Slim pulled up rather less abruptly, but dropped to his knees on the other side. He looked down. He looked up and met Jess's eyes.

"Storm Feather!"

They both knew the young brave over whose crumpled body they were now bending. They'd had a tussle with him over the little matter of who claimed a dead elk, but fortunately this had been resolved without bloodshed. In fact, Storm Feather had been impressed by their willingness to confront him and not back down. Slim and Jess had been invited to join in the feast at the nearby village and counted themselves on reasonably friendly terms with this particular tribe.

Now they were gazing at the broken body of a young man much the same age as Slim. One with whom they had shared not only hunting and feasting, but some good-natured wrestling, tale-telling round the fire and, within the limitations of language, swapping tall stories and jokes. As near as could be, given the volatile situation between the tribes and the settlers, the three counted themselves as friends.

They both instinctively pulled off their hats, recognising the gravity of the situation. Storm Feather lay close to the foot of the precipice, as if he had fallen from the very top. This was inexplicable, since Storm Feather was renowned for his climbing skills and his daring exploits on the mountain heights. They made no attempt to move him. It was obvious from the way his body was twisted that his back was broken and there was visible damage to his rib-cage, where dark bruises probably indicated internal bleeding. Those same ribs heaved sporadically and each breath he drew in was achieved by a huge effort. It was a miracle he was still breathing at all. Despite the extent of his injuries, he made no sound and gave no indication of pain. Indeed his face was calm and serene.

While they were still wondering what on earth they could do to help, Storm Feather opened his eyes.

"My friends! It is good that you are here …"

From the point of view of the two cowboys, this was not necessarily obvious. They were helpless in the face of such injuries, because even the slightest movement would cause more damage. If Storm Feather died, as seemed all too likely, being found with the dead body of a notable warrior, the son of the tribe's medicine man, was going to create an unpredictable situation. And above all this, it was horrible to see their friend, a brave whose courage and endurance they could not hope to equal, trapped in the battered remnant of his once powerful body. They knew well enough that the tribe could not support a cripple, even if he were able to survive his injuries. Nor would Storm Feather endure such a life.

He looked from Jess to Slim and back again. Then he appeared to come to a decision. His dark penetrating gaze locked eyes with Jess and he said in his own tongue: "You understand. You know."

Jess looked puzzled for a second before he slowly nodded. His face lost the look of horrified concern it had born, becoming stern and emotionless as that of the brave himself. Slim held his breath in an agony of suspense.

Storm Feather made a convulsive movement and clutched something he wore on a rawhide thong round his neck. With difficulty he managed to work it over his head until it was free. Slim and Jess watched but both felt somehow bound to refrain from any move to help him.

A stillness held them all when Storm Feather had done this. His eyes closed and his breathing wrenched and struggled against the damage to his ribs. Slim and Jess waited as if they had been commanded to do so.

At last, by a mighty effort of will, Storm Feather opened his eyes and reached out to grab Jess by his shoulder. "You know," he insisted again, this time in English. He used the handhold to pull himself up into sitting position, although the effort made a thin trickle of blood run from his mouth. Jess reached an arm carefully round his back to support him.

"It is good," Storm Feather affirmed again. He sighed quietly, but his lips curved a little in an unexpected smile. "I soar no more. Take my body to my father. And take this …" He lifted his hand to drop the thong over Jess's head.

"Jess, don't -!" Slim cried in sudden agonised apprehension.

It was too late. Jess was already tucking the leather thong under his bandanna with his free hand and the object hung from it was concealed by his shirt.

Storm Feather's head fell back against Jess's shoulder. "It must be returned to the place from which it came so that my spirit may be free to fly with the one who gave it." His eyes closed and did not open again. It was over.

Or perhaps it had just begun.

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The tribe and customs in this story are purely imaginary and intended respectfully.