Chapter 2

Well, now what? I'd crossed the river and where was I now? I was on the other side, of course, but that didn't signify. To me, one of the big advantages a highway had over a river was the signs. You couldn't go a mile on a highway without seeing some sort of sign letting you know something. Hell, you could go from one end of a river to the other and not see a damned sign one.

When it got right down to it I didn't have a damned thing to let me know where I was except the pine trees and I knew they actually stretched from East Texas to the East Coast, so I couldn't pin down my location very closely. Those were the actual facts of the matter but I had a notion I was still in East Texas. In fact I had a notion I'd just crossed the Sulphur River, being it was the only one that came to my mind that could even be close enough for me to ride to. Of course there was a chance it could have been the Red River, but not really since I had an idea where I'd started from and I knew I'd have to cross the Sulphur River before I came to the Red.

Of course that all depended on whether I'd really started out from close to where I'd been at the time the lightning and thunder started causing me all the trouble. Thinking about that earlier fuckup let me remember I still hadn't cleaned out the barrel of my Marlin. I stopped and dismounted right away. There was no point at all toting a Marlin 336c around if I couldn't even shoot it.

I hobbled Joe Bob and Mose and then dug around in the pack saddle and found my gun cleaning kit and opened her up. It only took a few minutes to screw the ramrod together, put a patch on its end, and soak it with a little cleaning oil. Sure enough when I ran it down the muzzle I pushed a wad of shit out of the other end and it took me ten minutes to blow the dirt and crap out of the action.

I knew it needed a better cleaning but I concentrated on getting the shit out of the barrel first ... Afterall, if the barrel was clean it would still fire even if there was grit in the action. A dirty action would cause it to wear out more quickly but it wouldn't cause it to blow up in my face like a dirty barrel could. I put a new patch on the end of the ramrod and doused on more gun oil and then ran it down the barrel again. This time the patch looked a hell of a lot cleaner when I dragged it back out but I used one more to make sure. I was done cleaning for now so I put my things away on Mose's pack again and then mounted back up.

I was still going as if I had started from where I thought I had. I knew it couldn't be right since I still hadn't seen the first road, fence, or cow, but it was the only thing I could think of to do. If I hadn't started from where I thought I had, where had I started from? There was the rub. If I was somewhere else somehow where was I? I couldn't know so I had to operate on the assumption I hadn't been moved by the storm.

The more I thought about it the more fucked up things got. What was to say I hadn't been moved by the storm? Either I had been moved or my truck and trailer had been moved, and the roads and highways too for that matter. Hell, I gave up trying to figure out what had happened. Something had damned sure happened and I didn't have way one of knowing what it had been. I'd just have to keep on keeping on until I saw someting that gave me another clue.

I didn't see anything, but suddenly I heard something and it sounded like something human. It was a shout and then a scream and then a fucking roar. Hell, the roar sounded like a bear or something and it was damned close. I turned Joe Bob in the direction I thought it had come from and spured him out toward it.

Not a quarter mile of travel later I saw what looked for all the world like a dead Indian, or at least a very badly hurt Indian anyhow. He was lying on the ground with a lot of blood all around and there was a bear too. A God Damned big black bear. It was currently trying to reach up into a tree and get hold of that young Indian girl, or woman. At least I had the cure for that.

I slipped the Marlin out of its saddle scabbard. Calmed Joe Bob as best I could and then put one right into the bears back between its shoulders. I hit paydirt with the first shot because the bear fell straight down as if his back legs stopped working. His head was still moving around but watching more closely I could see he wasn't breathing any longer and nothing from his shoulders down seemed to work. I dismounted, walked over to him, and put one in his head from the backside. He stopped moving completely then.

I realized he might potentially still be alive so I walked up closer and kicked him. Nothing. I pulled my sheath knife out and slit his throat. By the time I finished that little trick I knew he was either already dead or he would be very soon.

The Indian gal must have felt like he was shore enough dead because she climbed down out of the tree and ran directly to the Indian male to check on him.

Alas, he was a goner too. It was easy to see the bear had slapped at him on the neck at some point and its claws had done for his throat and most of his neck in fact. I went over to him and felt around on his wrist for a pulse and then put my ear to his chest to listen for a heartbeat. There wasn't one. I could see his death distressed the gal and so I just opened my arms and hugged her when she came to me.

She nearly collasped into my arms and then she hugged around me too and just shook and no doubt cried. I couldn't see her face or eyes so I wasn't sure she was crying but from the way she was shaking and sobbing now and again I felt sure she was at least upset over the whole deal.

She got hold of herself in a few minutes and then started fooling with the body. She laid him out on his back, stretched out his arms down by his side and then pulled his legs out straight. She even put his bow in his left hand, sorta, and then straightened his quiver of arrows out alongside his leg and then she started looking around and damned if she didn't pick up a big rock and put it on him, then she did it again with another one.

Hell, I didn't know what to do so I started helping her. After about an hour we had him covered up. Right near the last she'd found a sort of skin he had on him and covered up his face with it and then she'd started putting rocks over the cover. We looked around for rocks to cover him up with for two or three more hours and finally she seemed to be satisfied and just quit so I did too.

She hadn't said shit to me during all of this time, but when she'd finished she turned and looked directly at me and said something I couldn't understand so I just shrugged my shoulders and asked, "What now?"

I guess it let her know right away we didn't share a language.She moved off a few yards and cleared the leaves and pine needles off a spot about three feet in diameter and then she started gathering twigs and soon bigger twigs into a little pile in the middle of the clear spot she'd made and then she put a few leaves back on the twigs and dug out a couple of rocks out of a little bag tied around her waist and started knocking them together. It looked to me like she was tryig to start a fire by knocking the rocks together for sparks.

I kneeled down beside her and flicked my bic. She jumped back when I did it but I set the leaves alight anyway and when she saw the flame getting started she put more twigs on it and built it up. I let her do whatever she was doing. She worked at it for about fifteen minutes until she had it going pretty good and then she got up and walked over to the bear. I didn't understand what she was doing at first when she started pulling around on it but I went over to help her anyhow.