The Legend of Black Wolf - Sully's Journey Home

Chapter Two

        Late the next morning, several miles from where he should be, Sully stumbled upon a low outcropping of rocks and hid himself to sleep through the day. He dare not travel by day in his uniform, knowing eventually, someone would get word back to the Army and he very well knew the outcome that would befall him then. Desertion was a charge almost too severe to think about at the moment. All he wanted was to be away from the killing, away from the war, away from a society that only seemed to live for death.

        Out of sheer exhaustion, he fell asleep until late afternoon. A misty dream full of painful screams awoke him at last, almost causing him to crack his head on the rocks beneath which he was wedged. Sweat was dripping off of him, although it was cool underneath the outcropping. After some rations, he walked again until he came upon a stream. Filling his canteen, he washed up as best he could and continued on throughout the night. Since the attack on the rebel forces behind him wasn't for another whole day, Sully felt confident that he could cover enough ground before the battle started. If he pushed himself, nobody would be able to find him by the time they realized he was missing.

        Keeping to the forest, he managed over a dozen miles in two days. Then he hid himself before the clearing to wait out the afternoon before continuing. But the worry of changing into different clothes to conceal his identity was becoming an issue too much to ignore anymore. Removing his hat and stashing all his gear in an old tree, Sully circumvented the town until he came upon a farmhouse a few miles away that had wash hanging out on the line. Two beautiful white mares stood in the paddock near the house, and upon seeing them, he formulated a plan. Creeping up to the fence quietly, he let the horses out, who were all too happy to neigh and buck and take off down the road. Hiding behind the woodpile, Sully watched as the woman of the house and her three young children took off down the road after the horses. Taking his chance, Sully ran to the wash hanging on the line and took what he needed of the husband's clothes and ran back to safety.

        Changing in the forest, the pants were a little short, but they would have to do. He removed all the patches from his uniform and buried it in the woods. He couldn't be found with it on his person, and he couldn't leave it to be found with the Lieutenant's patches on it, otherwise, they might figure out it was from him. He would have to dispose of the patches later, somewhere that was more secure.

        When it was safe, he traveled during the night again, and went past three towns before he came upon a town near the railroad. Here, he felt the townspeople would have seen enough strangers from what the train brought in, and he dared to go into town during the day to ask for a shave. Next to his uniform, his sideburns were the next biggest identifying mark and they had to go. Using what little he had on him from his Army wages, he walked tentatively into the barber shop and asked for a shave.

        His heart was hammering as the barber lazily went about his work, chattering on and on about the war. Sully sat in the chair, gripping the arms as if it were the first shave he'd ever received. At any second, Sully was sure that someone would walk in, recognize him, and arrest him. But the visit to this town was uneventful, and before he knew it, he was walking back out of town on rubber legs. He was clean-shaven, and nobody had given him a second glance. When he reached a bend in the road out of sight of the town, he dropped back into the woods.

        It had now been two weeks since he had deserted.

        The night of the great feast should have been one of happy celebration for the great tribe of Cheyenne Indians that occupied the hills and grasslands just east of Colorado Springs. The previous day, their greatest warriors had brought down the largest buffalo any of them had ever seen. Chief Black Kettle proudly told his tribe that this was a sign from the great spirits that the next few months would be a time of prosperity among the people. But not all agreed that this was a good sign.

        Everyone had spent the day preparing food and fires. The children had raced around to find the best berries and plants to make great war paint for the warriors to use in their dances that evening. Some freshened the collection of ceremonial headdresses with fresh feathers, while others sang and pounded out songs on their drums. Every part of the buffalo was blessed as it was used, with Cloud Dancing, their medicine man, presiding over it all. He spoke blessings to the Great Spirit over all the food, the hide, and the bones. His voice rang out for all to hear. When he was finished, a happy war cry went up among the braves, and the celebration was fully under way. But of the dream he had been given the night before, he spoke not a word.

        His wife, Snow Bird, watched him as they joined in the feast that night. She had known that her husband had not slept well, if at all, the night before. At one point, he had sat up next to her, shaking her awake in his haste. But he had not said what had kept him from sleep, and he had left the tent very early soon after to spend time with the spirits. After many winters together, she had learned that, as the wife of a medicine man, she had a special role. She had been chosen for her patience and her giving nature. She gave Cloud Dancing time to hear the sacred words from the spirits and she never pushed him in certain duties the other husbands did in the tribe. His role was one that demanded much of his time be given to others, and she never asked for more than he was willing to share with her. In this way, she supported him and never gave him cause to worry about her. It was she who worried about him.

        As the celebration continued, Cloud Dancing stepped back from the dancing and took a walk around the tents, scouring the coming darkness for a shadow that was nowhere to be found. The dream had come to him without him seeking a message, and it bothered him all the more. In the dream, a black wolf was coming towards him, through the tall grass. It had no pack with it, there was no way it could hide such dark fur among the yellow grasses, and it did not seem to be coming fast, but walking slowly.

        It was enough of a bad sign that he was almost sorry to hear, later that morning, that the braves had brought in a large buffalo. He had wanted to prevent Black Kettle from telling the tribe what a good sign this kill was, but he wasn't sure enough of the dream to say anything about it just yet. He didn't anticipate the feast to go as well as it did, he expected the bad sign to manifest at any moment. But, before he knew it, he was back in his tent. Snow Bird was asleep at his side, the night was quiet, and nothing had come.

        Not yet.