Chapter 3
Hours later Mingo lay on his side gazing into the fire. Israel lay asleep in his arms. The damp ground was cold against his chilled body. Above him the stars and moon wheeled in their nightly dance.
Israel had tried to stay awake, and even made two careful trips to the stream searching for silkies. He had asked dozens of questions regarding their size, shape and color. Mingo had resisted answering, but the child was nearly impossible to silence without resorting to more severe words than Mingo was willing to use. So he kept the fire bright and answered the questions with as little information as Israel would accept. Finally the little boy could remain awake no longer and drifted to sleep secure in Mingo's warm embrace.
Into the quiet of the night soft sounds intruded. Mingo was instantly alert. His right arm reached out and his hand grasped his rifle. The sound was coming from behind his back, near the stream. He could hear the lap of water. Nocturnal animals drinking, he told himself. But he couldn't shake his feeling of unease. Far, far away came a sound very like muffled drums. Pressing his ear to the ground, he was alarmed to discover that the sound appeared to be coming from beneath the surface, deep inside the earth.
Though his Celtic blood was rather thin, there was enough of it to mix with his Cherokee strain and create more than a passing belief in things unseen. His mind flashed back to stories he'd heard as a boy from his friends and family. Cherokee custom frowned on speaking of the Little People, especially after nightfall, and he had most assuredly shattered that custom only hours before. It was quite possible that they were now angry with him. He closed his dark eyes to avoid accidentally seeing them and bringing misfortune upon himself and Israel. After another hour he too was asleep.
In the early light of dawn Mingo awoke. Israel was just wakening, squirming in his arms. The fire was out and the cold March air caused them both to shiver. "Israel, run and get some more firewood. Quick now, son! Run. That will help you warm up."
Israel scooted for the timber as Mingo blew on the nearly dead coals and added some shredded bark to the ashes. When it caught he added the last firewood gathered the night before and the fire began to heat the air around him. Israel came trotting back with an armload of wood and dropped it beside the fire. He thrust his small hands out to the blaze.
"Sure is cold, Mingo. I wish we'd a brought some blankets."
"I do too, Israel. But we'll get warm soon. Didn't your run help you warm up?"
"Yep. Hey, Mingo, I almost forgot to tell you. There's strange tracks down by the creek."
A chill ran up Mingo's long spine as he raised his head. "What kind of tracks?"
"I don't know. They look kinda like mine, only smaller."
Mingo frowned and threw another stick on the fire.
"Ain't ya goin' to go look?" Israel's high voice betrayed his surprise.
"No, Israel. There's no need. How about another fish for breakfast?"
"Sure Mingo. Look for them tracks when you go get the fish."
Mingo straightened and walked to the creek. He carefully avoided looking at the creek bank as he bent and pulled the rope free of the water. He removed two fish and replaced the others in the cold stream. Keeping his eyes on the horizon, he strode back to Israel and cleaned the fish. Then the two hungry people quickly roasted their breakfast as the sun's warm rays toasted their backs.
An hour later the two friends were walking back to the Boone cabin. In his left hand Mingo carried a dozen fish strung on his rope, and Israel proudly carried his biggest trout alone. "Ma's goin' to be so proud when she sees what I got." Israel's voice was bright with pride.
Mingo nodded beside him. He was remarkably quiet, even for himself. Israel noticed and frowned at his tall friend.
"Hey, Mingo, did I do somethin' wrong?"
"Why do you ask that, son?" Mingo's smile eased the boy's mind and he smiled in return.
"You're just so quiet. You're always quiet, but you're too quiet."
Mingo smiled to himself at the boy's understanding of his mood. "Yes, I guess that I am. What would you like to talk about, Israel?"
Immediately Mingo regretted his question as Israel looked into his eyes and burst out, "I want to know about silkies. Did you ever see one with the seals?"
Mingo sighed. "I've told you all I know about them Israel. They aren't real. People make up tales like that to explain the natural world around them."
"What's that mean?"
"When people can't explain what they see, hear, or smell, or when something happens that they can't understand, they make up tales to explain it. Like having ashes in your food."
"The fire popped and made the ashes go all over my fish. Then I dropped it in the fire. That's how it got all ashy."
"Exactly. There is an explanation. But when someone doesn't understand how something happens, they make up a tale to explain it."
"Oh."
They walked on in silence. Soon the Boone cabin was visible in the distance. Suddenly Israel stopped and turned to look into Mingo's face. "What made the tracks by the creek while we was sleepin'?"
Mingo looked down into the bright blue eyes. He started to answer Israel with a lie, then changed his mind and replied, "I don't know, Israel."
"Them tracks was like mine, only smaller. If there hada been a boy there, we'd a heard him, right Mingo? Or he'd a seen us an' come to our camp."
Mingo tightened his lips. He nodded, then replied, "I can see your cabin. If we hurry we can get these to your mother and she can fry them for the noon meal. I imagine that your father would like some fresh fish, don't you?"
Israel nodded. Then he smiled at his friend, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "I bet we just about seen a new kind o' silkie out there Mingo. Sure am glad I didn't get taken under the water! Ma'd be right mad at me if I got took."
Mingo placed his warm hand on Israel's shoulder. "I'd miss you terribly if you went to live with the fairies, Israel! I'm very glad they didn't take you last night."
"You wouldn't a let 'em have me. I know you'd a grabbed me back."
Mingo's brown face lit with the knowledge of Israel's unshakeable trust. His wide smile was reflected in Israel's own. Together the man and boy walked the last half mile to the warm cabin. Behind them near the deep forest at the edge of Silver Moon Glen the footprints remained.
