Free Savage Cry by Charles G. West

across their lands on the way to the gold diggings north of the Yellowstone. Red Cloud told ’em that his warriors wouldn’t be attackin’ the dang settlers if they wasn’t trespassin’ into Lakota huntin’ grounds. Now, come to find out, some colonel justshowed up with a whole passel of soldiers, fixin’ to build forts along the trail whether the Injuns agree to it or not. Well, that didn’t set too pretty with Red Cloud. He’s already said him and his folks is packin’ up and goin’ back home. There’s gonna be trouble over this, and you don’t wanna be caught in the middle of Lakota territory right now.” He pushed his hat back while he scratched his head, and paused to see if his words had any effect on Clay. “Why, hell,” he went on, “you wouldn’t get ten miles from Fort Laramie before some buck bushwhacked you for that fancy horse you’re ridin’.”
    “I appreciate your concern, Mr. Badger, and I thank you for the food, but I best be on my way.” He got to his feet, and turned to leave. He was about to put a foot in the stirrup when he thought of something more. “Could I trouble you to point me toward the Black Hills?”
    “You’re still set on going alone?”
    “I reckon I don’t have much choice. I’ve got to find my sister.”
    Badger shook his head, exasperated. “You do beat all I’ve ever seen. How the hell are you gonna find somebody when you don’t even know where you are?” Before Clay could answer, he went on. “Just hold on for a minute, and let me think.” Ordinarily, Badger wouldn’t care if a greenhorn wanted to commit suicide or not. But this Clay Culver showed a lot of quiet determination that he couldn’t help but admire. It would be a shame to think of this young man lying cold somewhere out on the prairie while some buck rode off on his horse. But, hell, I ain’t got no time to wet-nurse no innocent young pup. He thought about it a few moments longer while Clay stood there, puzzling over the old scout’s hesitation. Then makingup his mind, Badger said, “I can take you as far as the Powder, but you’ll be on your own from there.”
    Clay could not hide the excitement Badger’s change of heart brought. “Thank you, Mr. Badger,” he said, beaming. “I really appreciate it. When will we be starting?”
    “Tomorrow morning, sunup. Little Hawk—that’s my wife’s brother—anyway, Little Hawk’s band is pullin’ out of here tomorrow, and we’ll be travelin’ with them. So if you still think you want to go to the Powder River country, you’d best go on back and fetch your pack animal and your possibles, ’cause I ain’t gonna waste time lookin’ around for you come sunup.”
    “I don’t have a packhorse. All my possibles are in that saddle pack,” Clay replied.
    Badger was amazed. “You mean you come all the way out here from Virginia with nothin’ more’n you could carry on that horse?” Clay nodded. “Well, mister, you shore do travel light. I’ll give you that.” He shook his head, chuckling as he said, “You must not eat a helluva lot.”
    Clay shrugged. “I brought a little coffee and salt from home. I hunted for what I needed to eat. I’m a fair shot with a rifle.” He didn’t feel the necessity to tell the old scout that he had slept in the open for over two years when he was in the army—winter and summer—with nothing but a rubber sheet and a blanket. He had flint and steel, his new Winchester, and a Green River knife. As long as he didn’t run Red to death, he had felt confident that he could make it all right. Sleeping and feeding himself had not been the problem that feeding Red had been. Like most army mounts, Red had been grain-fed. The little bit of grain Clay packed had lasted only eight days. After that,Red had to learn to survive on nothing more than prairie grass.
    “Well, boy, you’ve got grit a’plenty.” Badger started to say more, then another thought struck him. “What was you gonna do if you found