The Search for Soaring Hawk Page 21

  He heard the captain say something, followed by the sound of boots retreating from the room. Sam turned back once more as Jefferson disappeared through a door.

  Garrett approached. “Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” he asked, placing his hands on Sam’s shoulders.

  A little startled by this open display of affection, Sam hesitated.

  “No?” Garrett asked, a tinge of concern in his voice.

  “Oh, no…I mean…yes, I did enjoy myself. It was good to be with Iron Crow and Ancient Fire. They’re good men.”

  Garrett looked relieved. “Yes, they are. They’ve made a great effort to be our friends. They feel it will be important to their people to be on good terms with us for their future.”

  Sam inwardly reacted to the word “us.” Was he, Sam, one of those included in that “us.”

  Or was he one of those Garrett referred to as “their people”? Once again, as when he had come in contact with Indians on the trek west, the secret inside him stirred.

  “I’ve been invited to visit the village tomorrow,” he said.

  “That’s good,” Garrett replied distracted, his hands still on Sam’s shoulders. “Ah, Sam,” he said looking down and then up into the young man’s eyes as he continued, “Alan and I were…ah…very close a few years back.”

  Sam nodded.

  “We still are.”

  Sam nodded again.

  “We went our separate ways when he decided the army was his callin’. But, whenever I bring a train through…”

  “You want to spend the night with him,” Sam said, not completely sure of what he was feeling.

  Garrett nodded.

  “I guess I don’t understand. Are you asking if it’s all right with me? Or just giving me information?”

  “I’m asking you to join us.”

  Sam didn’t know what to say. He found the captain very attractive and the thought of being with him had crossed his mind when he first met the man. He had been with Garrett, Todd and Gus at the same time. But Gus had called them family, what Sam had assumed to be a closed circle. Now Garrett was suggesting that circle be expanded to include another, albeit one with whom Garrett had a relationship.

  Finally, Sam said, “No, I…I think you and Captain Jefferson need to have some time to yourselves.”

  Sam couldn’t read the expression on Garrett’s face. Was it relief? Was it disappointment? Had he asked Sam out of a sense of duty, or did the man sincerely want him to be part of their night together?

  “You’re sure?” Garrett pressed.

  “I’m sure,” Sam managed to say, fighting the feeling that spread through him, one he didn’t quite comprehend. “You go with your friend.”

  Garrett took him in a full embrace. Sam could feel Garrett’s partially aroused manhood against his stomach. “Okay, if you’re sure. I’ll see you in the morning. Tell Gus where I am.”

  “I will,” Sam replied, feeling his organ begin to swell and momentarily regretting his decision.

  Garrett gave him one more squeeze and walked him to the door.

  “Good night, Sam.”

  “’Night, Garrett.”

  He watched Garrett walk rapidly back to the door through which Captain Jefferson had exited. The door closed, and Sam was alone. The uncomfortable, unidentified feeling was still there. Sam left the room moments later, walked down the steps and across the yard.

  When Sam got to the wagon, Gus was sitting on a small barrel, leaning against the wheel. Sam pulled up another barrel and sat down.

  “Where’s Todd?” he asked after they had exchanged greetings.

  “Night watch,” Gus replied. “Garrett spendin’ the night with Jefferson?”

  “Yeah,” Sam replied listlessly.

  “Figured he would. Well, guess that means you’re spendin’ it with me,” Gus said with a squeeze of Sam’s thigh.

  Sam chuckled, brightening somewhat. “Guess so.”

  Sometime later, the men lay together in a space they had cleared in the food wagon. It was cramped, but afforded them the privacy they needed. Sam was behind Gus, his phallus buried deep inside the older man. Gus bucked against him as Sam ran his fingers up and down Gus’ torso, tangling them in his thick body hair. Sam buried his face in the nape of Gus’ neck, moaning softly with each thrust.

  “Yeah, Sammy boy, fuck the old man good. Yeah, just like that. Oh, God, yeah…right there. You’re a good fuck, my man, a real good fuck.”

  Sam had become used to Gus’ verbal participation. In fact he found it stimulating. Tonight, however, he was not paying much attention to him. Although he was enjoying the intercourse, his mind was in the captain’s quarters, imagining what Garrett and Captain Jefferson were engaged in.

  Remembering the way the two men had looked at each other, the intimate way they had talked, the frequent, casual physical contact, Sam imagined they were not just having sex; they were making love. He pictured them kissing deeply, hands roaming, and muscles being kneaded and caressed, expressions of endearment exchanged. He thought of how they would explore and reacquaint themselves with each other’s bodies, using fingers, lips and tongues. Of how they would again experience the once familiar contours, tastes and smells.

  Their union would be sweet. He couldn’t imagine at first who would take the dominant role, but, knowing Garrett’s habits and methods, he finally envisioned the captain on his back, legs wrapped tightly around Garrett’s waist, his arms around Garrett’s back. Garrett would be braced on his hands, bending over Alan as he drove his erection deep into the captain's body. Sam saw, in his mind’s eye, Garrett trembling as sweat dripped from his face onto Alan. Then he saw him lean down and kiss him, just as his body tensed and his thrusts became harder and deeper.

  Just as Garrett came to completion in his fantasy, Sam drove his member hard and deep into Gus, stifling a loud groan as he filled him with his seed. Gus was grunting as he pumped himself to his climax.

  Sam lay against Gus, stroking his arm. Both men were breathing heavily.

  I love you, Alan, he heard in his mind.

  And I love you, Garrett…always have, always will, came the imagined response.

  “Damn, that was a good un.” Gus’ voice caused the phantoms to vanish and brought Sam back to reality.

  Sam felt himself slip out of the warm confines of Gus’ body. He pulled the old man tight against his chest and kissed the back of his head.

  They lay there for a time. Just as Gus’ breathing started to become deep and regular, Sam asked, “Do you love me?”

  “Huh? What?” Gus asked back, startled.

  Sam realized then the man had started to drift off. “Sorry. I asked if you loved me.”

  “What kind a fool question is that? ’Course I love you.”

  “I mean like it seems Garrett and the captain do.”

  “You mean am I in love with you? Hell, no.” Gus chuckled, turning to face him while maintaining Sam’s embrace.

  “Are you in love with me?” he asked Sam.

  “No,” said Sam sheepishly, embarrassed he had started the conversation.

  Gus reached up and stroked Sam’s cheek. “Sammy boy, you, me, Todd and Garrett, we got us a good thing going. And, yes, we love each other, but we ain’t gonna mess it up by fallin’ in love. Fallin’ in love can be more trouble ’n it’s worth,” he said with an inflection that clearly indicated falling in love was not held in high regard.

  Sam wondered why. “Were you ever in love with anyone?”

  Gus hesitated. The faraway look that Sam had seen once before was visible for a brief second in the dim light. “You ask too many questions,” he said in his gruff voice, the look vanishing. “Now go to sleep.” Gus kissed Sam on the nose and turned over again, snuggling against him.

  Sam surmised he had his answer. He thought about what Gus had said about the four of them, about what apparently had been— and maybe still existed—between Garrett and Captain Jefferson. Had he, Sam, ever been in love with anyone? Did he know wha
t it felt like to be in love? Before he could answer these questions for himself, he fell asleep.

  * * * Loud voices outside the wagon woke Sam the next morning. “Where he’s at ain’t none o’ your damn business, Rayburn,” Gus was saying.

  “Well, I say it is. I demand you tell me where I can find him. I

  want to know when we are planning on leaving. He’s been

  badgering us to keep moving for weeks. Now here we are with no

  instructions as to what we are to do, when we will move on. People

  are getting restless.”

  The reverend’s haughty timbre cut through the canvas like a

  knife and soured Sam’s first moments of consciousness. He got up

  quickly, pulled on his pants, grabbed his shirt and jumped down

  out of the wagon. He came around the corner as Gus, who was in

  the reverend’s face, said, “When you need to know somethin’,

  you’ll know it. Keep in mind that the folks on this train have sided

  with Garrett right along. So I don’t think there’s anyone but you

  who’s got his dander up over what is or what is not goin’ on.” “What’s the problem?” Sam asked.

  Gus backed away from the reverend a step and, turning to Sam,

  said, “His Highness wants to know where Garrett spent the night.

  Says he needs”—Gus emphasized the words—“to know when we

  plan on leavin’.”

  Sam immediately deduced Rayburn’s real motive was to

  continue his campaign to discredit Garrett. They had only arrived

  at Fort Laramie the previous day. Everyone would assume, Sam

  felt, they would stay at least one day to get rested and re-supplied for the trek over the mountains. He voiced this opinion to the

  reverend.

  Rayburn ignored Sam’s remark and insisted he be told where

  Garrett could be found. Sam was no more inclined than Gus to

  reveal Garrett’s whereabouts, and he told the reverend so. Rayburn

  finally gave up and left in a huff.

  Gus watched him leave. “Shoulda just left him behind when his

  axle broke! Come on. I got breakfast ready.”

  * * * Sam and Wolf made their way from the camp, past the walls of the fort, to the group of teepees that made up the Indian village. Behind the village rose the mountains. The sun shone clear and bright, with no clouds and the snow-capped peaks in high relief against the azure sky. Sam again felt that strange emotion well up with in him. It was as if the mountains were drawing him, calling to him. Other than words of praise for their majesty, he had heard nothing positive about them—only that the trip across them was hazardous and arduous. Yet something about them was overriding these negatives and making his heart swell with excitement.

  He hadn’t realized he had stopped walking until he heard a soft whine from Wolf. He looked down to find the dog also staring off into the distance, apparently looking at the mountains as well. He was standing rigid and attentive. His plume of a tail curled onto his back. It seemed to Sam that the wolf-dog could also hear the call, and in his animal nature, more clearly and with greater understanding than Sam. He dropped to his knees next to his companion.

  “What do you hear, boy? What do you know that I don’t?” he asked as he put his arm around the animal’s neck. Wolf whined again, turned and licked Sam’s face before going back to staring at the snow-covered peaks. After a few minutes, Sam rose, and the two continued on.

  As they approached the village, men and women going about their daily tasks greeted them. A group of braves rode past— apparently a hunting party.

  Younger boys and girls ran to walk with the man and dog as they passed among the teepees. Sam took in the activities of the village: the cooking fires, the tanning frames, the women making clothing from buffalo skin, all so familiar, making his heart ache with the memories they stirred.

  Sam realized he was walking rather aimlessly. The mountains, the village had both mesmerized him, taken him out of the role he now played and back to a time when he was a different man. He remembered his mission.

  “Where will I find Ancient Fire?” he asked, hoping the children who had followed him and the dog spoke English.

  “Come,” said a young boy, taking Sam by the hand and pulling him along.

  The boy led him to a teepee that stood a distance apart from the rest. From the animal skulls and amulets adorning the entrance Sam knew at once he was at the right place. He thanked the boy, who ran off back to the village.

  Sam remembered the time he had stood before the lodge of Rides the Wind, when the shaman summoned him to prepare him for his vision quest. How much his life had changed since that day so many years earlier. Now, as then, before he could announce his arrival, the buffalo robe at the doorway parted and Ancient Fire stepped out into the sunshine.

  He smiled. “I am glad you have come,” he said, placing a hand on Sam’s shoulder. He turned and reentered the teepee. “Come,” he said, “and bring the animal.”

  This was an unusual request. Animals were hardly ever invited into the dwellings of Indians, but Sam did as he was told. He and Wolf entered the teepee. The shaman sat on the ground near the fire pit. Wisps of smoke rose from the embers, which glowed in the semi-darkness. The sun shone on the wall through the smoke opening. The interior was sparsely furnished, with a sleeping mat to one side, rows of bowls lining the wall and bags of herbs hanging from poles. Sam could smell a sweet fragrance.

  “Sit,” Ancient Fire commanded.

  Sam and Wolf both sat facing the shaman across the pit.

  The old man closed his eyes and placed his gnarled hands on his crossed legs. Sam watched him closely. After a time, the man’s head dropped to his chest. Wolf lay down next to Sam. How long they remained as they were, Sam could not tell. He felt himself grow drowsy, but he never closed his eyes or looked away from Ancient Fire.

  Sometime later, Sam saw the shaman nod his head and move his lips as if he were speaking to someone unseen.

  Then, with his eyes still closed, Ancient Fire raised his head in Sam’s direction, and asked, “Who are you?”

  He had been introduced to the old man at dinner. Nonetheless he responded, “I am Samuel Hawkins.”

  “Now tell me who you really are.” The shaman opened his eyes and looked intently at him.

  Sam tried to answer, but found he couldn’t speak.

  “Are you so buried inside yourself that you cannot even say who you are?”

  Sam closed his eyes and bowed his head.

  The voice of the hawk spoke in Sam’s head. ::This is your doing. You have so convinced him that his white side is supreme, he denies his heritage, even in the presence of this wise one.::

  ::You are right,:: said the bear. ::I have done too much. I must make amends.::

  As the bear’s words echoed in his mind, Sam looked up at the shaman. Finding his voice once more, he said, “I am Soaring Hawk, son of River Runs Deep, chief of the people beyond the big river.”

  The shaman smiled. “Good. You do know who you are. I was afraid you had forgotten.”

  Sam knew better than to ask how the shaman knew he was an Indian. Shamans were mysterious and had powers only they could understand.

  “Am I to reveal to others who I am?” Sam asked.

  “You are not to hide who you are. You must never again deny your father. If asked, you must disclose the truth. Your path will be revealed to you in this way. If you continue to hide Soaring Hawk, you will wander for a long time.”

  “Yes, Grandfather,” said Sam, using the name of honor for the man.

  They sat again in silence, Ancient Fire’s eyes closing once again. After a time, Wolf rose and walked over to the shaman. He turned, sat next to him, and looked back at Sam.

  “Look to S’unktokeca,” the shaman said using the Indian word for Wolf’s name. “Like you, his mother and father are of two worlds. It is no accid
ent he came to be with you. When the time is right, he will show you the way.”

  Sam nodded solemnly, not fully comprehending, but trusting the shaman’s words.

  The meeting over, the shaman stood. The old man walked to the side of the teepee where he picked up a buffalo robe. He walked back to where Sam was now standing. “Take this as you will have need of it.”

  Sam nodded and bowed, offering his thanks, again believing in the mysterious vision of the shaman.

  The wise one grasped Sam’s biceps, stared intently into his eyes and said, “Your search will end one day. Remember, trust S’unktokeca.”

  * * * Garrett kept the train at Fort Laramie for two more nights. Both nights he spent with Captain Jefferson. Sam tried not to think about the two men because he didn’t like the feelings that thoughts of them evoked, even though he couldn’t identify the emotions he experienced. He wasn’t sure it was jealousy; at least not jealousy of Jefferson himself. But, if he was jealous, it was of the emotional bond that clearly existed between the two men. Jealous and maybe envious, he decided when he did allow himself to think about it. Most of the time, he just kept busy in order to keep his attention focused elsewhere.

  The morning of their third day at the fort, they assembled the wagons. None of the members of the train had decided to return east. Those that needed to replace wagons had done so. As the Carters were among those who had acquired a new vehicle, they returned Garrett’s second wagon. Gus was openly appreciative of the return of their sleeping quarters.

  The group was in good spirits as they faced the journey yet to come. Not even the knowledge they had only covered a third of the distance to their final destination seemed to discourage them. Rest and success at securing supplies were powerful tonics.

  Sam sat on his horse, watching Garrett and Captain Jefferson. Nothing in their manner suggested the bond they shared. Their goodbyes were friendly, but not emotional. Sam could only imagine what was going through their heads as they were about to part.