Jubal Sackett (1985) by Louis - Sackett's 04 L'amour Page A

and went through the willows to the place under the trees. It offered shelter from the wind and rain, a hidden place for my fire, and access to water. Above all it was inconspicuous, a place to be passed by unseen.
    My fire was small. In a dish made of bark I fixed a small stew from buffalo meat and a few herbs gathered by the way. With this I ate some cattail roots baked in the ashes of my fire. When the meal was finished and my coffee made of chicory was ready, I carefully put out my small fire.
    It would soon be night. My bed was made of cattail rushes and willow leaves and I spread my oilskin on them and covered myself with my blanket. I was tired. It had been a long day. Tomorrow, with luck, I should find my valley.
    According to various Indians who knew of it the valley was three or four days travel in length, which might make it anywhere from thirty-six to eighty miles, depending on the Indian and how far he liked to travel in a day.
    The night was warm, for since I had left Shooting Creek spring had faded into summer. The trees, just leafing out then, had their leaves now. It seemed just a few days ago that I had left the settlement we called home, but the country changed from day to day and I was lower in altitude here and the weather was warmer.
    Where was Keokotah? Had he reached his village? Or did he travel still?
    And who was following me, if anybody at all?
    Of these things I thought as I lay under the trees. The water rustled, the leaves brushed gently, and occasionally something splashed out in the stream. It was very quiet, very still.
    And then I was asleep.
    Stars were above me when my eyes opened. I knew I had not slept long, but now I was wide awake. Something was moving out there in the night. A bear? A panther? It was some large creature.
    A snort, a sound of drinking, and then of water dripping. It moved again.
    A buffalo ... no, several buffaloes. I listened, wondering if they had scented me, for they were suddenly still. I could picture them standing, their great, dark heads lifted, nostrils sensing the air, testing it for--
    They moved off suddenly in a great rush. Something had frightened them.
    There was another long silence and then a rustling as of movement, and I heard someone speak in a language I did not know. Another voice answered him and I caught a word which meant buffalo. There was a brief conversation in which I was sure I recognized a voice, and then they moved off.
    How many? Three ... perhaps four. I waited, listening, but heard no more.
    After a while I slept, and it was full daylight when I awakened. For a time I lay still, listening to the morning sounds, placing each. There was nothing more.
    Rising, I looked all around and then went down to the stream, making my way through the willows. Listening again, I scooped water in my palm and drank. On the opposite bank there were tracks where the buffalo had come into the water, although some had walked upstream. When frightened they had rushed downstream and out at some other place.
    Gathering my things I took my bow and quiver and scouted around carefully. Fifty yards upstream I found tracks. At least five warriors, traveling at night. That was unusual unless they planned a surprise. Were they hunting for me?
    That voice? I could not place it, yet there had been a familiar ring. Perhaps only my imagination.
    Returning to camp I completed packing my things, tore off a piece of jerky to chew on, and then hesitated, thinking. The Indians seemed to have gone downstream but they might have camped nearby. I sniffed the air, but caught no smell of smoke.
    Staying close to the willows I went back upstream, found a thick patch of forest, and went into it, moving quietly, scouting for tracks. I found none.
    Beyond the patch of forest lay a wide meadow, and here I did find tracks. Five warriors again, no doubt the same ones. Whenever I could get a distinct print I studied it and filed it away in a corner of my mind for future reference.
    The