Jerimiah's Gold

Chapter 4

I examined the map as I rode on a broken trail. My first landmark was a hanging tree. This was displayed by a noose tied to one of the branches of the crude drawing. I shifted my attention on a rock beside the trail. The rock was completely bare on the side that faced California, but was growing vegetation on the opposite side. This told me that I was leaving the deserts of the west and entering midwest America: a barren wasteland of deer, grass, and hills.

I still had some dirt and sand to travel through, however, slivers of top soil introduced itself with poppies and blades of grass. The mist of rain befell upon the wind that caressed my face and left a thin layer of moisture. It felt good, refreshing. The cooler air rushed into my nostrils and my sinuses. I basked in the sudden change of climate, growing long tired of the humidity.

Steam weighed off of Wiona, sweat for a horse. I had questioned Deak about it a long time ago, for I thought my horse had gone ill. Deak explained that if a horse leaves a previously humid climate, then "steam" will rise from the horse's back, this is to cool the horse down much like how we humans sweat. I knew I'd have to rest yet again, I debated on setting up a camp. Wiona snorted in exhaustion. Smoke wafted ahead, smoke from a campfire. I wiped the sweat and moisture from my forehead and proceeded on the trail. The smell of a burning meat made itself apparent as I continued my path toward the hanging tree, which would be another forty minutes away.

Exhaustion befell me like a weighted cloud drifting upon my shoulders and back. I rolled my neck, popping my spine with each movement. My hands became callused from the coarse leather of the reigns. Noise arose as the sun fell beneath the horizon. I tracked the noise to the ominous smoke. As I rode Wiona closer to a steady walk, the noises warped to music, then chanting of some sort. I heard drums and the aforementioned chanting grew loader and more deliberate. My curiosity peaked when I rode passed a row of trees that allowed me to examine their camp. They were natives. 

I thought the white men killed off most of them or sent them to reservations by the 80's. I suppose, even in 1893, some tribes remained. I dismounted my horse in sudden awe of the culture. My intentions were not malicious, I simply wanted to observe the strange men and women who danced with large feathers attached to their heads by bead strung headbands. The rhythm of the beating drums and stomping feet pulsated through my entire body. The baritone of a Shaman rang proudly through the trees of the Midwest. I knew this was a religious practice, for I wasn't completely ignorant on Native traditions. I politely observed the Natives as they prayed in chants and song. 

Suddenly, breaking my trance of the songs, a twig snapped from behind me. My right ear perked once Wiona let out a worrisome knicker. I slowly turned around to not make noise, but was struck with a blunt object mid rotation. My body seized in response, my limbs vibrated with pain as a hot wave of agony spread across my skull. I dropped to the floor with a hard thud and was dragged towards the direction of the camp. Stars danced in my eyes as I blinked to regain my vision that was now blurred from pain and tears that refused to fall. My feet were thrown disrespectfully to the ground and a fire grazed my back. I heard a woman cry out an objection in an unfamiliar language, and the tribe obliged to whatever order she must've given. 

Chatter in a different language emerged from the darkness of my agonizing pain. It took me too long for my comfort to realize I had been binded by my wrists with a rough, thick rope. More indistinctive chatter fluttered in what was left of my consciousness before I saw a woman's feet walk towards me. Her toenails were painted a bright floral blue that contracted the night. She lifted me to my feet, but my knees buckled as soon as I stood and I fell onto the ground with another hard thud. She grew annoyed and dragged me by my hair, she had grabbed directly where I had previously been hit. I screamed at the pain, my scream only being met by strange whooping noises and jeers. 

I was thrown into a cage that was inside of a tepee, that held a fire directly in the center surrounded by rocks and crudely designed mud bricks. The cage door was slammed and locked. My vision was foggy, and was drifting on the line of sight and complete darkness. Stars still danced in the air, I feared a concussion. Furthermore, I feared negligence to said damage, for I knew the tribe had no medicines advanced enough for treating me. I rested my head on the cold bars that ironically soothed the pain. The woman spoke in her native tongue to me, but I did not understand what she was saying.

She turned around to retrieve a clay bowl that was painted with various figures that were made to look like they were all dancing, the same dance that they preformed around the fire. The contents within the bowl smelt foul, yet herbal. A potent stench of skunk punched itself into my nostrils and filled my entire body with both anticipation and dread. The woman put the bowl to my face beyond the bars, holding it in two clasped hands. She slowly opened the cage door and gently put the bowl in front of me. She politely nodded towards the bowl.

"Forgive," she mispronounced her English, "my English is no good. Eat. Yes?" She gestured to the bowl her hand.

I glared at her with venom. A venom I could see reflect in her eyes and rekindle into a mix of fear and motherhood. She was not a threat. I slowly picked the bowl up by the rim and allowed the warm liquid to nest itself in the pit of my stomach. It tasted like lavender and another herb I could not decipher, but it smelt more like a withering orchid being completely dried by the sun. If flowers ever had a smell of death, this was it. It wasn't too long before I started feeling the effects. My blood inside my body felt lukewarm, my face and limbs grew hot and heavy, my legs were immobile, and my vision became cloudy. It alleviated the pain, but forced me into a deep slumber.