Terry OReilly The Search For The Soaring Hawk

EARCH

OARING

AWK

…Sam stood on the bank of the pond, staring into the water. On

the other side, a family of loons searched for food among the reeds. A
beaver swam toward its lodge carrying a branch. The young loons,
some of them paddling in the water, some on the backs of the parents,
seemed, to Sam, to be content: a feeling that was far from him at that
moment.

He reached down and scratched Wolf’s ear. The animal was

watching the birds and the rodent.

“You leave them be,” Sam said. “You got no cause to be hunting

them. I feed you well enough.”

Wolf looked up and whined, shifting his weight from paw to paw,

as if to say, “Yeah, but the wolf part of me wants to hunt.”

Wolf turned his head away from the pond. Sam followed his gaze.

He heard a noise. Garrett was approaching from the direction of the
thicket where, apparently, Todd still lay sleeping. He turned back to
the pond. Garrett walked up behind him, encircling Sam’s waist with
his strong arms, burying his face in his neck, caressing him. Sam
leaned back into the embrace with a deep sigh and closed his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Garrett’s deep voice resonated throughout Sam’s

body.

Sam sighed again. He turned without breaking the hold in which

Garrett held him. He looked deeply up into the eyes of the man he
could no longer deny he had feelings for.

“I love you,” Sam said simply. When he said these words,

however, he felt turmoil inside…

THE SEARCH

FOR SOARING HAWK

TERRY O’REILLY

MBER

UILL

RESS

, LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

EARCH

OARING

AWK

MBER

UILL

RESS

OOK

This book is a work of fiction.

All names, characters, locations, and incidents are products of the

author’s imagination, or have been used fictitiously.

Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, locales,

or events is entirely coincidental.

Amber Quill Press, LLC

http://www.AmberQuill.com

No portion of this book may be transmitted or

reproduced in any form, or by any means, without permission in

writing from the publisher, with the exception of brief

excerpts used for the purposes of review.

ISBN 978-1-60272-610-9

Layout and Formatting provided by: Elemental Alchemy

PUBLISHED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

To Drew Hunt, whose constant encouragement,

friendship and love make my life all the richer.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

CHAPTER 1

MALL

AWK

“See! You believe me now that you see with your own eyes?”

Fox Cub whispered to his friend, Small Hawk.

Small Hawk’s breath caught in his throat. Astonished, he

looked into the clearing from his hiding place among the bushes.
There he saw three men from the village—-men he knew, all
naked.

“I’m ready,” said White Wolf as he pushed Lean Bear, who

turned, bent over and put his arms around a small tree.

White Wolf stepped forward and rubbed the tip of his erect

penis, hood retracted, against the crevice of the bending man’s
butt.

Small Hawk shivered.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

“Hurry up,” called Short Bull, who stood a bit apart, watching

and stroking himself. Small Hawk saw a glint of silver as a strand
of fluid that had emerged from Short Bull’s hard cock, stretched
and descended to the ground. “If you don’t, I’ll finish before I get
my turn.”

“Patience, brother,” White Wolf retorted with a laugh. “Put

your hands on your head and stop pleasuring yourself. You’ll get
your chance.”

Small Hawk felt his heart pounding in his chest. He was

embarrassed. He glanced at his friend. Both boys were breathing
hard.

Small Hawk turned back to the scene before him, just in time to

see White Wolf thrust forward and impale Lean Bear on his turgid
shaft. Lean Bear let out a gasp and then a low growl. The boy
watched, fascinated, as the man thrust himself backward against
the invading pole.

“Yes, White Wolf, yes.” His voice was a growl. Short Bull

whooped as White Wolf grabbed Lean Bear by the hips and
roughly thrust himself in and out of the man. Occasionally he
would slap the sides of the man’s butt and laugh. When he did this,
Lean Bear made sounds that let the boy know he was receiving
immense pleasure from the actions of the brave penetrating him.

After several minutes, White Wolf yelled, “I-I-I” and slammed

himself against Lean Bear. Stout Bull grunted as if encouraging
him. White Wolf then began a frantic undulation, rocking his
partner almost off his feet. He then collapsed onto Lean Bear’s
back; Small Hawk thought both men would fall to the ground.

White Wolf steadied himself against the tree, then backed

away. Lean Bear had barely stood up, when Short Bull charged
forward and pushed the brave’s head down and thrust himself

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

inside with a deep growl. After only a few strokes, however, he
pulled himself out and turned Lean Bear around, pushing him to
his knees. Lean Bear grabbed hold of the brave’s thighs and
engulfed his manhood in his mouth.

Small Hawk’s eyes widened in amazement. Fox Cub let out a

gasp. As the boys watched, Lean Bear sucked and licked the thick
erection. Short Bull pulled out of Lean Bear’s mouth and began to
stroke himself, causing the foreskin to slide back and forth,
exposing its glistening head. He let out a roar of pleasure and
began to spurt milky white liquid into the open mouth and onto the
face of the man kneeling before him. Small Hawk watched in
disbelief.

“His seed,” Fox Cub whispered.
The two standing men pulled Lean Bear to his feet. They

cuffed the man on the head. Then they picked up their
breechclouts, put them on and walked off into the forest, laughing,
without a backward glance at the man they had just used for their
pleasure.

Small Hawk felt a wave of sorrow for the man who was now

left standing alone and naked in the clearing. As he watched, Lean
Bear walked to the tree to which he had clung only a few minutes
before. Leaning against the trunk, he began to stroke his now
flaccid penis back to hardness. He accomplished this in a few
strokes, and in a few more, he raised his head, closed his eyes and
breathed out through his nose. Strings of the white fluid, which
Fox Cub had identified as seed, flew from the tip, coated his hands
and landed on the ground.

After leaning against the tree for a few more seconds, Lean

Bear stood. He wiped his face with his seed-coated hand,
collecting that which Short Bull had issued and mixed it with his

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

own. He then set about cleaning his hand with his tongue.

How can he do that? Small Hawk thought.
The man then retrieved his garments and followed the same

path the others had taken back to the village.

Fox Cub and Small Hawk crept out of the bushes. Fox Cub

trotted to the base of the tree and kneeled down. He hesitantly bent
to smell the issue that lay on the ground. He wrinkled his nose and
spit.

“Ugh!” he said in disgust.
The boy then picked up a stick and poked the end of it into the

pool of seed. He pointed the stick at Small Hawk.

“You want to try some?” he asked, laughing.
“No,” Small Hawk shouted.
Fox Cub laughed and threw the stick away. “You want to try

what White Wolf did?” he said in a teasing voice, pulling his
loincloth aside and thrusting his hips.

For a moment, the desire to assent to the suggestion surged

through his body. But once again, Small Hawk refused. “No,
you’re crazy. Of course I don’t.”

Fox Cub laughed and adjusted his garment. “Well, now you

see. I told you Lean Bear was a squaw inside a man.”

“Yes, I see,” said Small Hawk, shaking his head. “I feel sorry

for him.”

“Sorry?” Fox Cub echoed. “Why? My father says some men

are born that way and it is how they get their pleasure—by giving
pleasure to other men in need.”

“Will he ever marry? Have a family? Find love?”
“Why would he want that? He’s different. This is the life he

wants. He does not need love. Love is for a man with a woman, not
a man with a man.”

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

The boys walked back to the village. Fox Cub continued to talk

about what they had seen that day. Small Hawk only grunted in
response. He was lost in thought.

What he had witnessed had excited him. He had wanted to

pleasure himself as he did at times when he thought of his mother
and father making love in the lodge. Many nights he lay awake
listening and watching the silhouettes in the dying firelight. How
different that act was from what he had just seen: the gentle
tenderness, the whispered endearments, satisfied sighs after the act
was over. Was Lean Bear never to have this? Small Hawk shook
his head. He did feel sorry for the man. Being a squaw inside a
man was not something good.

When they returned to the village, the boys parted company.

Small Hawk hesitated at the turn that would take him to his lodge.
Instead of turning toward his home, he took the way that lead to
Lean Bear’s dwelling. When his destination came into view, he
slowed down. Why had he come this way? Why did he want to see
Lean Bear again? He stopped a short distance away from the man’s
home. Lean Bear was just coming out of the lodge. He carried a
bowl Small Hawk knew was filled with his evening meal. Lean
Bear squatted next to his cooking fire and began to hang strips of
meat on the spit.

Small Hawk dropped his eyes. Lean Bear had no wife to

prepare his meal. He had to do women’s work. Small Hawk knew
that only on long hunts would a man prepare his own meal. His
feelings of sadness for this man increased.

He walked on past the lodge. As he did, Lean Bear looked up

and saw him. He waved.

Embarrassed he had been caught staring at the man, Small

Hawk lowered his eyes and raised his hand to return the greeting.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

Lean Bear rose from the fire to return to his lodge. Small Hawk
looked back over his shoulder. What he saw caused him to stop
and look once more. Lean Bear wore a breechclout that left most
of his butt exposed. The boy had never noticed this before. He
turned and continued on his way home.

* * *

Small Hawk sat by the side of the lodge watching his mother

and sisters preparing the evening meal for the family. Sky Eyes, as
the tribe called his mother, was a white woman. Her Indian name,
as the boy knew, was attributed to the deep vivid blue of her eyes.
She had shared her story with Small Hawk and his sisters. Her
white man’s name was Martha Hawkins. She had been brought
here as a prisoner of Chief Kikusgowlowa. The chief and his
people had passed through this village as they moved beyond the
big river from their home in the east to escape the encroachment of
the whites.

Small Hawk’s father, River Runs Deep, had told the boy how

he had been attracted to her the moment he first saw her. Since he
was the son of the chief of Small Hawk’s people, an exchange was
readily arranged and the white woman, along with two horses, had
been traded for fox and beaver furs, deerskins and a large number
of finely made bows and arrows.

River Runs Deep took her as his wife immediately. Small

Hawk was glad his father had made no objection to her teaching
him and his sisters English, making them aware of their white
heritage, and reading to them from her God’s book. He found the
stories of the white man’s life interesting. Small Hawk often teased
his mother about her being part of a bargain that included two

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

horses.

“Mother?” Small Hawk asked in English when his sisters had

entered the lodge.

“Yes, Samuel?” she replied using the white man’s name she

had given him.

He did not reply at once. She stopped her meal preparations

and looked to where he was sitting.

“What is it, Samuel? Is something troubling you?”
Small Hawk hesitated. He did not know how to bring up the

disturbing thoughts of what he had witnessed earlier that day.
Finally he said, “Lean Bear wears a garment which allows
everyone to see him from behind. Why does he do this?”

Sky Eyes seemed surprised. “Why do you ask me this?” she

said.

Small Hawk was fearful. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.”
“No, it is all right,” his mother reassured him. “I did not expect

a question like this from you so soon.”

“I am nearly thirteen summers,” the boy said, standing as if to

emphasize the point.

She came around the cooking fire and laid an arm on his

shoulder. “Yes, I forget sometimes how old you are. You will soon
be a man and go on your vision quest. It is time for you to know
some things a grown man should.”

Small Hawk smiled at her. He was almost as tall as she was.

This pleased him.

“But,” she said, “I would rather your father explain about Lean

Bear. His people look upon such as him differently than do the
people from which I came.”

“How is that, my mother?”
She bit her lower lip, as if not sure she should speak of these

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

matters. “According to the book of my God—”

“The Bible?” the boy interrupted.
“Yes, the Bible,” she continued. “People such as Lean Bear

were called an abomination in the sight of God and were to be put
to death.”

Small Hawk was taken aback. “Do you believe this?”
“I am of your people now. I accept many things I never would

have when I lived among white men. Although, I must confess,
sometimes it is still difficult for me.”

“So, you do not think Lean Bear is an abom… abom…”
“Abomination.”
“Yes, an abomination?”
“I do not know. I only know my God’s Bible says he is, and the

God of this people does not seem to think so. And, as I said, I am
now of this people. You must talk of this with your father.”

* * *

For two days, Small Hawk vacillated between ignoring his

desire to know more about the life of Lean Bear and seeking out
his father to ask of it. During that time, he found excuses to walk
past the lodge of the man who was now the center of his curiosity.
Several times, he had seen Lean Bear. One time he was talking
with White Wolf. They were laughing and joking with one another.
Small Hawk wondered how they could do this so normally when
they had done what he had witnessed in the forest.

On another occasion, he saw Spirit of the Tree and Lean Bear

leave the village together in the direction of the clearing where he
and Fox Cub had hidden and watched Lean Bear and the braves.
His small penis grew hard at the memory. He was tempted to

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

follow them, but he resisted.

On the third day, River Runs Deep called to him as he was

leaving the lodge. “Small Hawk.”

“Yes, Father?”
“Get two spears and the fish basket. Today we go to the river to

find our dinner.”

The boy ran to the side of the lodge and procured the requested

items. He always felt proud when his father asked him to
accompany him on man’s work. The younger boys stayed behind
to help their mothers, but as a boy grew, his father began to take
over his instruction. Today was such a day.

The path to the river came very close to the place where Small

Hawk had watched the men have their way with Lean Bear. It
reminded the boy of his intent to talk to his father about the man
with whom he had become fascinated. He would wait until his
instruction in fishing was done.

Father and son hid in the rushes and watched a heron as it stood

majestically in the shallows. It looked to Small Hawk more like a
statue than a living thing. Every so often it would lift one leg,
balance for a time, and then take a slow, careful measured step.

“See how still Brother Heron stands, Small Hawk?” his father

whispered. “Observe him carefully. He will teach you to fish.”

The boy watched. The bird’s head moved slightly to one side,

then, with lightning speed, his beak darted into the water and came
up with a wriggling silver fish.

Swallowing his prey, the bird resumed his statue-like stance to

await his next victim.

“You see?” said his father. “Brother Heron waits with patience

until his quarry is near, then strikes with speed.”

Small Hawk nodded.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

“Now we will try.”
Wading out of the rushes, the two startled their teacher, who

took flight. River Runs Deep held up his hand for his son to stop.
The man took two more steps and stood still, with the spear raised
to his shoulder. After several minutes, the thrust of his father’s arm
startled Small Hawk. The man pulled the spear up out of the river
and their first catch of the day was secured. Small Hawk was
proud.

After spearing several more fish, River Runs Deep motioned

for the boy to come forward. It was his turn to try. His first
attempts failed. His father told him he must aim below where he
thought the fish might be, as the water spirit played tricks on the
eyes and made one think the fish was where it was not. Small
Hawk tried again and whooped with delight when he pulled a
small bass from the water. He turned to look at his father, who
beamed with pride.

At the end of the morning of fishing, they pulled their basket of

fresh fish from the water and strolled back to the village. Small
Hawk decided it was time to ask River Runs Deep about Lean
Bear. He also decided it was better not to let his father know he
had observed the man with White Wolf and Stout Bull.

“Father, there is a brave in the village named Lean Bear. He

does not dress as the other braves. Why is this?”

River Runs Deep did not respond right away. He walked

silently beside his son for some time before stopping near a fallen
tree. He motioned to the boy to come and sit with him on the trunk.
“Lean Bear is not a brave.”

“Not a brave?” repeated the boy. He had not expected this.

Weren’t all grown men braves?

“No, he is ikoueta, a squaw inside a man. He will never be a

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

brave.”

Never be a brave? Small Hawk thought. That is awful. A man

who can never be a brave. “Why is that, my father? He seems to be
a man of strength and power.”

“He looks like other men on the outside, but inside he has the

soul of a woman. He is of two spirits.”

Small Hawk did not speak. He tried to think of what it must be

like to be both man and woman. He could not fathom it.

Finally he asked, “Why does he wear his breechclout as he

does, so his butt shows like a small child’s?”

“He does this to show he is available to men in need, he will do

for them as a woman would.”

“But why would a man want to be with Lean Bear that way?”
The man smiled at his son. “You ask many questions, Small

Hawk. Soon you will understand what it is like to be in need.
Before a man marries, he must take care of these needs in other
ways. One way is to visit one like Lean Bear.”

The boy thought about this. He had seen Spirit of the Tree

leave the village with Lean Bear. Spirit of the Tree was married.
“Do married men visit ikoueta as well?”

“Yes, sometimes.”
“But, why?”
“I cannot say for sure. There are times when a man’s wife is

not available to him: when she is sick or near her time with a child.
If the need is great, then he might visit a squaw inside a man, a
man with two spirits.”

Small Hawk’s next question was out of his mouth before he

could think to stop himself. “Have you ever visited Lean Bear?”

“No, never,” his father replied.
Small Hawk stared down at his feet, thinking. “Do the people

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

like Lean Bear?” He gazed up at his father.

River Runs Deep looked at him as if he thought this an odd

question. “I do not understand. Why would the people not like
him?”

“Because he is not like other men,” Small Hawk said, looking

down again. “The book of mother’s God says he should be killed.”

“Ah,” the man said. “I see. First, know this, my son. The Book

of Sky Eyes’ God is from the white men. It has no authority in our
tribe. As for Lean Bear not being as other men are is no reason to
dislike him. He is what he is. Because he was created in this way,
he still has value and deserves our respect.”

Small Hawk thought further. “Fox Cub said Lean Bear would

not marry. Is this true?”

“Lean Bear is of two spirits. He will not marry. He will never

be a brave. He will live as he does now. He will help men in need.
That will be his life in the tribe.”

The boy pressed farther. “Is he happy?”
“You ask too many questions,” his father said with a laugh.

“Come, it is time to go home for dinner.”

The two set off for the village. River Runs Deep had answered

some of the boy’s questions, but the one that really mattered to the
boy remained unanswered. Small Hawk wondered: Could Lean
Bear be happy? The question kept coming to his mind, though he
did not know why.

Over the next few moons of summer, Small Hawk often found

himself walking near the dwelling of this man with whom he had
become fascinated. He watched as different men of the tribe came
to talk with Lean Bear. Sometimes he followed them, hid again in
the bushes and watched as they satisfied their needs. As he
watched, he would find himself aroused and excited. He did not

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

share his curiosity with Fox Cub or any of his other friends.

He had the urge to speak with Lean Bear, to find out from the

man himself how he felt about this life he was destined to lead. But
he did not. He kept all his thoughts inside himself.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

CHAPTER 2

ISION

UEST

“This is the summer of our vision quest,” Fox Cub said to

Small Hawk and Young Otter.

Three years had passed since the day the boys had hidden in the

trees to spy on Lean Bear. Three years during which Small Hawk
had often returned to the clearing, sometimes following Lean Bear
and the man or men with him, sometimes alone. Small Hawk did
not know why he did this. But when he did, he often pleasured
himself, thinking of the things he witnessed in this place. It was
here he had first produced seed.

The three friends had been swimming in the river. They were

now lying in the warm sun to dry, their breechclouts hanging on a
nearby bush.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

“When will we learn about the quest?” Young Otter asked.
“Rides the Wind will call us to his lodge. The time is up to him.

He will tell us of the quest then,” Small Hawk said.

Young Otter sat up and hugged his knees. “Will we go alone to

Rides the Wind’s lodge?”

“Ho, ho,” said Fox Cub as he laughed. “Are you afraid?”
“Yes,” Young Otter replied defensively.
Fox Cub laughed again and threw a small stone at his friend.
“There’s nothing to fear. Our shaman is a wise and good man,”

said Small Hawk.

“You can say that, Small Hawk,” said Young Otter, still

holding his knees and staring at the river. “You’re the grandson of
the chief. You have been with Rides the Wind many times. I’ve
never spoken to him.”

“I still say you have nothing to fear. You’ll see; you will like

him.”

Young Otter did not look convinced.
“I can hardly wait to receive my new name. I am too old and

too big to be called Fox Cub,” he said, standing and flexing his
biceps.

“What name will you choose?” asked Young Otter.
“His spirit guide will choose the name,” Small Hawk

interjected, rolling over on his stomach and pulling out a few
blades of grass.

“Can I not say what name I want?” said Fox Cub, sitting down

cross-legged.

“I don’t know. You can ask that of Rides the Wind. I only

know my father was given the name River Runs Deep by his spirit
guide.”

“What form did his spirit guide take?” asked Young Otter.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

“A river monster,” yelled Fox Cub and lunged at the smaller

boy, who screamed in surprise. The two wrestled in the grass for a
time.

Small Hawk laughed as he watched his two friends roll about.

“Come, it’s time we went back to the village.”

He stood up and walked to the bush where their breechclouts

hung. The other two followed.

As he unfolded his garment, preparing to put it on, he looked

and saw that Young Otter was staring at him.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“Why is it you have so much more hair down there than we

do?”

“Or than most of the men of the village?” Fox Cub added.

“And you have hair that grows up to your belly button.”

Small Hawk looked down. He felt himself blush. He did,

indeed, have much more pubic hair than the other men of the
village. He had a trail of hair growing up to his navel, and even
some hair beginning to grow around his nipples. He had asked his
father about this.

“Your mother is white,” he had answered. “White men have

much hair on their bodies. Perhaps your white grandfather had the
hide of a bear.” River Runs Deep had laughed at this, but Small
Hawk did not think it funny. He was not sure how he felt about the
prospect of having hair like a bear.

Small Hawk shrugged his shoulders, trying to ignore his

embarrassment. “My father says my white grandfather might be
hairy like a bear.”

To his relief, the other boys laughed at this. He sheepishly

joined in.

“I wager your spirit guide will be a hairy old bear,” Fox Cub

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said still laughing.

The three donned their breechclouts and made their way to the

village. As they approached, three men came toward them. Lean
Bear was among them. As they passed the boys, Fox Cub and
Young Otter snickered into their hands. Small Hawk, however, did
not laugh.

* * *

“Rides the Wind wishes to see you,” Sky Eyes said to her son

as he rounded the corner of the lodge, carrying a load of wood for
the cooking fire. “Your father left word as he was leaving this
morning for the hunt.”

A thrill shot through his body. His disappointment at not being

invited to join the men on their hunt was erased. “When?” he asked
excitedly, dropping the sticks next to the pit.

“When you have stacked the wood as it should be done,” his

mother said with a smile.

“I’m sorry,” said Small Hawk. He set to the task of stacking the

kindling. “But does he really want to see me today?”

“Yes, today.” She smiled, but the smile had a hint of sadness in

it. She walked to her son. He stood. He was now much taller than
she. Sky Eyes reached up and stroked his cheek. Small Hawk
understood. Her son was on the threshold of manhood. He knew
this must be both a happy and sad day for her.

As if not wanting to dwell on those thoughts, she said, “Now

finish this job. Do not keep the shaman waiting.”

The boy quickly stacked the wood next to the fire pit, hugged

his mother and made off for the shaman’s lodge at a lope. He
passed Young Otter. “I’m going to meet with Rides the Wind,” he

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called to his friend. “My vision quest!”

Young Otter smiled and waved.
Small Hawk slowed to a walk. He did not want to come to the

lodge of the shaman out of breath and acting like a child. He was
about to take his first formal steps into manhood. He would
approach it like a man. He paused and waited until his breathing
was more normal, then proceeded to Rides the Wind’s dwelling.

When he arrived at the lodge, he was not sure what to do or

how he should announce his presence. For the first time since his
mother told him Rides the Wind wanted to see him, Small Hawk
was anxious. He stood awkwardly outside the entrance to the
lodge. Before he could decide what he should do, the robe at the
entry was pushed back and Fox Cub emerged.

The two friends stood for a moment smiling. Then they threw

their arms around each other and thumped each other on the back.

“When do you go on your vision quest?” asked Small Hawk,

assuming that was why Fox Cub was there.

“Anytime during the month of the green corn moon.”
“That’s a long way off,” Small Hawk said, hoping his

appointed time would be sooner.

“I know. But at least I have a time. Young Otter has not even

been called yet.”

At that moment, Rides the Wind came out of the lodge.

Although his braids were grey, the skin of his face was smooth and
his eyes bright. He stood straight and tall, not appearing to be an
old man. Small Hawk knew the shaman and his grandfather, the
chief, had been boyhood friends. Yet this man did not show his age
as his grandfather did.

The boys turned to the shaman.
“Ah, Small Hawk,” he said in greeting. “I’m glad you’re here. I

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see Fox Cub is sharing the news of his vision quest.”

The two young men nodded.
“Well, come in, my son, and we will talk of your quest.”
Fox Cub said goodbye and went on his way. Small Hawk and

Rides the Wind entered the lodge. The shaman indicated the boy
should sit near the fire pit. There the coals burned low, and Small
Hawk caught the aroma of a sweet smelling herb. It was a pleasant
scent and, in a few moments, he felt a wave of relaxation sweep
over him.

For some time, the two sat in silence. The effects of the herb

seemed to abate Small Hawk’s anxiousness to find out the details
of what was to come. While he still wanted to know what the quest
entailed, he felt he could easily wait until the shaman was ready to
tell him. He felt very calm and at ease.

After a while, Rides the Wind spoke. Small Hawk stared into

the glowing coals as he did.

“You are about to go on your vision quest. It is the first step to

your coming to manhood. The more seriously you approach it, the
more you will learn about yourself and your destiny in the world.”

Small Hawk looked up from the fire pit and into the deep, dark

eyes of the shaman. He felt something stir within him. Rides the
Wind held his gaze and continued.

“You may begin your quest at anytime during the month of the

Thunder Moon. The quest will last for two to four days. For two
days before the quest, you will eat nothing. You will not eat again
until the quest is finished. You may bring only water to drink.
When you reach the place of the quest, you will trace a circle that
is two times your height. You will stay within that circle for the
entire time you are on the quest.”

“When you are ready to enter the circle, you will discard your

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garments. They, and all things from this world, must remain
outside the circle. You must not leave the circle for any reason.
Once you do, the quest has ended.”

Rides the Wind paused, waiting to see if Small Hawk had

anything to say.

“What will I do inside the circle?” the boy asked.
“You will look into your soul.” Still holding his gaze, the

shaman narrowed his eyes, as if trying to penetrate into Small
Hawk’s mind.

“How do I do that?” he asked.
“It is different for each of us. You’ll know how you are to

proceed as the quest unfolds. One word of warning.”

“Yes?”
“Often a strong urge to leave the quest area will come to the

seeker and a feeling of losing one’s mind may set in. You
overcome this by remembering the purpose of the quest and the
good that will come of it. These feelings will pass.”

Once more the shaman paused as if to let this wisdom settle in

the young man’s mind.

After some time had passed, he continued.
“If you are serious and endure, you may be granted the special

privilege of meeting your spirit guide. Not everyone who goes on a
vision quest has the good fortune of meeting his guide. When your
guide appears, listen to it. It has great power to show you who you
are. Once it has revealed itself, and you have received its wisdom,
ask for some token that you may carry to remind you of its
presence in your life.”

“Where will I go?” Small Hawk asked.
“Anywhere away from the village to a place that has significant

meaning for you. It is up to you.”

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

The first location that came to mind was the clearing; the

clearing he had visited so many times over the years, the clearing
he associated with Lean Bear. The thought disturbed him.

It must have shown on his face because Rides the Wind asked,

“Is something troubling you?”

Small Hawk quickly responded, “No, I just…ah…just don’t

know where I’ll go.”

“Is there no place where you’ve shared a special time with

someone: your father, some of your friends?”

Again, the clearing came to Small Hawk’s mind. He pushed it

aside once more. “I’ll find a place,” he said finally.

The shaman looked at him with his wise eyes. Small Hawk

almost felt the man knew the conflict within him.

“I know you will,” Rides the Wind said, placing his hand on

the boy’s shoulder.

* * *

The month of the Thunder Moon had arrived. Since Rides the

Wind had said Small Hawk’s quest could begin anytime during
this month, he had decided to go when the moon was full. Every
night he watched the sky as the moon rose. As the moon
approached fullness, he stopped eating. Finally, the orange orb had
risen behind the trees of the forest, large, round and full. He was
ready to leave the next morning.

Now he made his way out of the village. He took nothing with

him, save a deer bladder filled with water and a small pouch. That
morning the shaman had appeared at his lodge as he was saying
goodbye to his father, mother and sisters. Fox Cub and Young
Otter were there as well. Small Hawk had not told Rides the Wind

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

when he was to leave. Somehow, the wise man had sensed it. After
all the goodbyes and good wishes had been given, the shaman
handed the boy the pouch.

“Take this into the circle,” was all he said.
Taking his leave from his family, friends and the shaman, he

purposely left the village on the side opposite that of Lean Bear’s
clearing. Just as he entered the forest, however, Lean Bear
emerged. The man stopped and smiled at him, startling Small
Hawk. Placing his hand around the boy’s neck, Lean Bear bent
forward and whispered, “May your quest reveal the truth.” Then he
continued on his way.

Once the man disappeared from view, Small Hawk could not

decide if he had truly seen him or if he had imagined it. This
unsettled him. He had fasted for the prescribed two days. Could
this be one of the effects of the fast—seeing things that were not
really there?

He was not sure where he was to go. He only knew he wanted

to be far from the clearing. He hoped his choosing a place that had
no meaning for him would not lessen the effects of the quest. After
wandering for several hours, he stopped to rest under an ancient
oak at the edge of a meadow. He took a sip of water from the deer
bladder.

The hot summer sun shone through the leaves of the old tree.

Small Hawk leaned against the trunk. Tipping his head back, he
looked up into the branches. There he saw a nest of sticks. He
heard a screech. Looking out over the meadow, he saw a hawk
flying toward the tree, holding a rabbit in its talons. The bird
landed on the nest, and Small Hawk could hear the peeping of the
young as they fought for their share of the meal. The hawk stood
on the branch beside the nest and looked down into Small Hawk’s

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

eyes. It cocked its head to one side and then took flight, circling
the area in front of the oak. Small Hawk knew where his quest was
to begin.

The boy stood and removed his breechclout, folding it and

leaving it by the trunk of the oak. He looked around and found a
large stick. With the stick, he dug a circle the diameter of which
was twice his height. When he finished, he stood just outside the
perimeter looking in. He held his water bladder and the pouch
Rides the Wind had given him. A feeling that was a mixture of joy
and fear swept over him as he gazed into the circle. The words of
the shaman came to him.

“It is the first step to your coming to manhood. The more

seriously you approach it, the more you will learn about yourself
and your destiny in the world.”

“What will I do inside the circle?” he had asked.
“You will look into your soul.”
Small Hawk stepped into the circle.
At first, he felt disappointed. He didn’t know what he had

expected, but he had hoped it would not be this ordinary. He
chided himself. The quest had just begun. For the first several
hours, he sat and looked around at the countryside. He took a brief
nap. He got up and paced around the circle. His thoughts were
random: his parents, sisters, friends. He thought of life in the
village, his fishing and hunting trips with his father, Lean Bear.

He quickly put that thought out of his mind.
He was quite hungry now. He had not eaten for almost three

days. He tried not to dwell on it. But the frequent return of the
hawk to the nest with food for the young was a constant reminder
of the fact his stomach was empty. He wished this were not a part
of the quest.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

The day became hotter as the afternoon wore on. He drank

from the bladder frequently. He realized if he kept drinking as he
was, he would soon run out of water. He devised a plan for
rationing it.

As the sun set, the hawk returned to the nest. The sounds of the

night began to emerge—the crickets, an owl, something scurrying
in the dry leaves of the forest floor behind the old oak, the howl of
a wolf. Upon hearing that cry, Small Hawk shuddered in fear. He
was out in the open, alone, with no weapon. He wished now he had
chosen a location for his vision quest closer to the village. Wolves
never came near the village. He sat down in the middle of the
circle and hugged his knees, rocking back and forth.

The warm summer night descended. It was the night of the full

Thunder Moon and it bathed the meadow in a silver light as it rose
above the trees to the east. The rising of the moon increased the
baying of the wolves. How far away are they? He rose and paced
the circle, shivering despite the summer heat.

As he gazed out into the meadow, he saw shadows emerge

from the trees. His heart pounded in his ears; his mouth went dry.
He strained his eyes to make out which animals were cautiously
making their way out onto the grassy field.

“Deer,” he said aloud, surprising himself with the sound of his

own voice. The herd stopped, evidently hearing him as well. The
sight of the deer herd calmed him. If the deer were on the meadow,
the wolves were not close. Yet, the presence of prey could also
draw them to this place. For now, however, he relaxed. The
behavior of the deer would alert him to danger.

He sat once more and watched the animals begin to graze, their

silhouettes highlighted by the moon. The silver outlines of the
deer, along with the twinkle of fireflies, transformed the meadow

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

into a place of magic. The wolves had stopped their baying. The
more soothing sounds of night replaced them once more. The boy
smiled, his fear slipping away.

Small Hawk’s stomach growled. He took a sip of water from

the deer bladder. He lay down on his back and stared up into the
starry, moonlit sky through the leaves of the old oak. He heard the
rustle of the hawk chicks as they shifted in their nest, safe under
the watchful eyes of their parents. The sounds of the hawk family
caused a feeling of security to steal over him. He curled up on the
ground and slept.

* * *

It was the screech of the hawk that woke him. Small Hawk sat

up, stiff from his night sleeping on the bare earth. He stood and
stretched. Everything was damp with dew, and even he was coated
with a film of water. It gave him an odd sense of connection to the
grass and earth. He walked to the edge of the circle relieve himself.
He looked up into the branches of the old oak. The hawk was
looking down at him, staring intently. Small Hawk was tempted to
shout good morning, but the thought made him feel silly. He
watched as the bird took to the air to hunt. It reminded him of how
hungry he was. He took a drink of water. Laying the deer bladder
at the edge of the circle, he looked around the meadow. All was
quiet. He sat and sighed deeply.

All morning the sun shone directly into his small space. At

noon, the sun was high overhead. He moved to the very edge of the
circle, in order to find a bit of shade that was now becoming
available from the oak. He wished he had better planned where to
draw his circle. The day was hot; he was sweating profusely. He

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

drank again, tempted to pour some of the water over his head to
cool himself. Knowing he had little left, he resisted. As the sun
moved behind the oak, the area of shade increased. It was welcome
relief.

By mid-afternoon, his hunger was intense. All he seemed to be

experiencing was hunger and discomfort. He began to wonder if he
was doing something wrong, not emptying his mind, not focusing
on his inner self. He tried sitting in the center of his circle and
concentrating on finding his soul. He fell asleep.

When he woke, the circle was almost completely in shade, but

the heat and humidity were intense. If he were home, he would be
swimming in the river with Fox Cub and Young Otter. He drank
again. Rides the Wind said a quest could last as little as two days.
Well, this was the second day. Maybe he should just give up.
Nothing seemed to be happening except he was hot, hungry, and
now, sunburned.

He was bored. Maybe he would pleasure himself to make the

time go faster. That did not seem to be right, not on a vision quest.
But he needed to do something. He was beginning to feel anxious,
almost panicky at the thought of remaining there much longer. He
decided he would dance. Dancing had spiritual value he knew. The
people danced all the time to celebrate the hunt, the harvest, to
mourn the dead. He would dance.

He began a slow, rhythmic stomping of his feet. He increased

the tempo and began to chant. Around and around the circle he
went, faster and faster, twirling and spinning, stomping and
chanting. Suddenly, he felt something soft beneath his feet. He
heard a low pop and felt a rush of water. He opened his eyes. To
his dismay, he saw he had burst the deer bladder. Now he would
have thirst to add to his other hardships. He cursed himself and his

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

stupidity.

Night came again. Still nothing he would consider spiritual had

happened. He still hadn’t found his spirit guide. He felt the shame
of returning to the village and admitting he had discovered nothing
about himself, and that no guide had come to him. He curled up for
his second night on the ground and fell asleep to the sounds of the
night. Maybe the wolves would come. Somehow, he didn’t seem to
care.

The sound of thunder quite close by roused him. He sat up. A

flash of lightning illuminated the meadow. Another peal of thunder
followed. The wind began to blow. More flashes of light and more
deafening cracks of sound surrounded him. Then the rain came.
Not a gentle, cooling rain, but a deluge. Big heavy drops pelted his
body. He rolled into a ball. Within seconds, he was soaking wet,
his hair plastered to his scalp. The rain was cold and driving. The
wind moaned in the trees. For some strange reason, he thought of
the hawks in their nest above him. He hoped they were safe.
Suddenly, he felt as if rocks were pummeling him. Hail, as big as a
man’s thumbnail, beat down upon him. He cried out in pain. He
had to get away.

He stood up and took two steps toward the protection of the old

oak tree. Lightning flashed, and there before him in the silver glare
stood Lean Bear, beckoning him to come to him. A second flash
revealed the man had turned and bent over, leaning against the
sturdy trunk of the oak. The boy dropped to his knees and covered
his eyes.

The storm passed. The rain continued, but the sounds of

thunder and flashes of light were moving away. Small Hawk
uncovered his eyes. He could barely make out the trunk of the tree.
No one was there. He sank into the wet grass, doing his best to

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protect himself from the cold rain that still fell. He shivered with
cold. Soon all was darkness.

* * *

When Small Hawk opened his eyes, the rain had stopped. He

rolled onto his back and looked up into the sky. It was grey and
cloudy. He sat up. A wave of dizziness swept over him. He felt he
was going to be sick. Turning onto his hands and knees, he crawled
to the edge of the circle. There he retched and coughed. Though his
stomach contracted violently, nothing, save a brown, vile tasting
liquid, came forth. Trembling fiercely, he sat back down. He was
past the point of hunger, but his thirst was terrible. Why had he not
thought to drink of the rain that had fallen so abundantly the night
before? He lay on his stomach and licked the wet grass. As he did
so, he felt something with his hand. It was the pouch the shaman
had given him. Sitting up, he opened the deer hide. Inside, he
found a handful of dried leaves. What was he supposed to do with
these, he wondered. He brought the pouch to his nose and inhaled.
They smelled sweet. The aroma made his mouth water.

Am I allowed to eat these? Is that why Rides the Wind gave

them to me?

His hunger made him ignore any hesitancy, and he emptied the

contents of the pouch into his hand and ate, licking his palm to be
sure he got all he could. It tasted as sweet as it had smelled. He
wished there were more.

Taking a deep breath, he rose and returned to the center of the

circle. Sitting with his legs crossed, he made a concerted effort to
let his mind go blank. This was the third day of the quest.
Something, anything, had to happen. He could not stand the

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thought of failing.

As he sat, he began to feel strange. As he looked out across the

meadow, the scene went in and out of focus. He squinted his eyes
and shook his head. The meadow seemed to be undulating like the
waves on a lake. The movement was making him feel sick again.
He closed his eyes and bent his head forward. When he opened his
eyes again, he was looking down at the space between his crossed
legs. He could see his flaccid penis resting over his sac. He reached
down and petted it as if he were petting a dog. He smiled and
giggled.

Something caught his eye. Looking closely, he saw a small

beetle crawling in the triangle of grass created by his crossed legs
and body. He giggled again.

“Hello, little bug,” he said, his speech slurred. “Are you my

spirit guide?” He snickered.

“No, brother beetle is not your spirit guide,” said a voice from

directly in front of him.

He looked up with a jerk of his head. There in front of him

stood the hawk.

“I am your spirit guide,” it said.
“That has yet to be decided,” said another voice from off to his

left. This one was deeper and more guttural.

Looking in the direction from which the second voice had

come, Small Hawk saw a large black bear walking toward the
circle.

“I am sorry, brother bear, but you see, you are outside the

circle, and I am in it,” said the hawk.

“That can be altered,” said the bear. “The boy can invite me

in.”

“Since I am in the circle,” the hawk retorted, “he has already

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

invited me.”

Small Hawk’s head swiveled back and forth between the two as

they engaged in their conversation. He realized he did not think it
strange for him to be able to participate in the discourse.

He addressed them both. “Am I to have two spirit guides?”
“Are you of two spirits?” asked the bear. “For if you are, then

you shall have two spirit guides, one to guide each spirit within
you.”

Before Small Hawk could answer, the hawk said, loudly and

firmly, “He is not of two spirits.”

“Very well,” the bear said, “but I still should be given

consideration. Look at him. Hair covers his body and there will be
more as he grows. He’ll need the guidance of a bear to know how
to handle that part of his life.”

“That’s nonsense,” the hawk returned. “But it is his choice.”

The hawk looked directly at Small Hawk and commanded,
“Choose,”

The boy looked from one to the other of his two candidates for

spirit guide. There was something that drew him to the bear, but in
the end he said, “I choose the hawk.”

“Suit yourself,” said the bear with a growl. “But remember,

there’s something within you that recognizes me.” He turned and
lumbered into the forest.

Small Hawk watched him go and then turned to the hawk.
“Now that is settled,” said the bird. “Let us begin.”
The two sat and stared at each other for a time. Then Small

Hawk said, “What am I supposed to do?”

“Anything or nothing,” it replied.
“That does not make sense. Rides The Wind told me I’m to

learn about myself from you. How can I do that if I do nothing?

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

And if I do just anything, without guidance, I still will not learn.”

Small Hawk was beginning to think maybe he had chosen the

wrong guide. Maybe the bear would have been more helpful.

“Then ask me a question,” said the hawk.
“All right.” Small Hawk thought for a moment. “Will I grow to

be a brave, marry and have children?”

“I cannot predict the future,” said the hawk. “I can only reveal

what is inside you. I know you want to have someone in your life
to love.”

Somewhat frustrated by this, Small Hawk thought again. What

is it that I most want to know about myself? “You told the bear that
I’m not of two spirits. Was that true?”

“You do not believe it is true? Do you think you are of two

spirits: one man, one woman?” asked the bird.

“No, I don’t believe it’s true. I believe I am of one spirit,” said

the boy.

“Then why did you ask me?”
Small Hawk snorted in dismay. This was getting him nowhere.
The hawk seemed to see his confusion. “Small Hawk,

understand this. I am not separate from you. I am you.”

“What?” the boy said, more confused than before.
“I’m your inner self, in the form of a spirit guide. I reveal what

you believe to be true of yourself. What I say to you is as you see
yourself. That is how I help you learn who you are.”

Not sure he fully understood, Small Hawk shrugged and said,

“Then what would you have me know about myself?”

“You are not of two spirits. But the one spirit that dwells within

you is not as other men’s are.”

Small Hawk considered this. “You are saying I’m not like Lean

Bear, but I’m not the same as other men either?”

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

“That is correct,” the bird said. He waited for a moment before

continuing. “The spirit that dwells within you longs for love, but
not the love of a woman. It longs to love and to be loved by a man.
However, it does not want to be used by other men merely for their
pleasure, but to share that pleasure as a man does with his wife. To
be one with another man, as a man is with his wife.”

Small Hawk reflected on this. The revelation did not upset him

since it seemed to be true. What he had seen of Lean Bear and the
men of the village had aroused him, but had also disgusted him.
Now he understood. It was not the acts themselves that offended
him, but the manner in which they took place. Realizing this gave
him a feeling of peace.

“Is such a life possible—a life where two men can love one

another and be together as a man is with a woman?”

“I do not know the answer to that question,” the hawk said.
Again, Small Hawk pondered. And although it bothered him

that there was no answer to the question about two men loving one
another, he felt a peace knowing he was not a squaw inside a man,
ikoueta, but a man, fully and completely.

“Can I know more about myself?” the boy asked.
“You have within you honesty, courage, kindness, love and

loyalty. You are a man of strength.”

“All very well and good,” came another voice, “but let us make

sure the boy knows the full story, shall we?”

Small Hawk turned and saw the bear had returned, although he

was still outside the circle.

“A man can have but one spirit guide,” the hawk broke in.
“That is not altogether true,” the bear rejoined. “But, for now,

have it your way. I will wait and, when the time is right, I will let
the boy know what I can reveal about him.”

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Once more the bear lumbered off into the forest.
“You really don’t want to hear what he has to say, do you?”

said the hawk.

“I…I…don’t know,” Small Hawk answered.
“Well, it would be better for you not to know. My time is up. I

will leave you now.”

“Wait,” Small Hawk cried out. “I want to know more about

where I can find the love you have spoken of.”

“Remember,” said the hawk, “I can only let you see what is

inside you. The answer to that is not within.”

With those words, the hawk rose into the air.
“But,” cried the boy, getting to his feet, “my name, and the

token of which Rides the Wind spoke. When shall I receive these?”

The hawk did not answer. It flew off over the meadow.
Small Hawk watched until the bird was out of sight. He sank

back down to his knees. He felt good about what the hawk had
revealed. It answered so much of the turmoil that had been within
him. Yet, it left him wondering how what he longed for would ever
be possible. He wished he had received his name and a token to
remind him of this day.

And then there was the bear. What part did he play in all of

this?

For the rest of the day and into the night, Small Hawk sat and

pondered these things. The clouds cleared and the stars came out.
A warm wind blew over the meadow from the south. The night
sounds began, the fireflies dotted the landscape and the deer
shadows appeared from the trees. Small Hawk looked up and saw
the silhouette of the hawk return to the nest. Was this his hawk? Or
just a hawk? Another thing to ruminate on as he drifted off to
sleep.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

* * *

Morning on the fourth day dawned. The wind, still blowing

from the south, promised another hot day. His thirst had returned.
He felt weak and, despite his sleep, tired.

He wondered when he should leave the circle. This was the

fourth day. Yet he had the feeling something more needed to
happen. He was not sure he could return to the village with the
revelations he had received. He didn’t even have a man’s name.

He heard a screech overhead. The hawk flew above him. It

seemed to be purposely remaining over his circle. Around and
around it went. Small Hawk thought it to be a beautiful sight.
Higher and higher the bird flew, soaring on the warm south wind.
A feather detached itself from the wing and floated downward. It
came directly into the circle, into Small Hawk’s outstretched
hands—a feather from his spirit guide, a token from a soaring
hawk.

“All right,” came the now-familiar growly voice, “the quest is

over. Come out of the circle, Soaring Hawk.”

He turned and saw the bear. “Over? If the quest is over, how

can I still see you? And what did you call me?”

“Soaring Hawk. Don’t you even recognize your name? Or

would you rather be called Small Hawk for the rest of your life?”

Soaring Hawk smiled. He had received his name after all. “No,

Soaring Hawk is a good name. I will bear it with honor.”

“That’s better,” said the bear. “Now come out of the circle and

we’ll find you some food and water.”

The young man looked around the circle that had been his

home for four days. He took the pouch which Rides the Wind had
given him. He placed the feather, his token from his spirit guide,

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inside and hung it around his neck. He felt a wave of happiness
tinged with curiosity as he prepared to step across the line. He
looked up at the nest, then at the bear, and stepped out.

“Come on,” said the bear. “This way.”
Soaring Hawk started to follow the bear, remembered his

breechclout and returned to the oak to retrieve it. Trying to put it
on and keep up with the bear made for a hard go. The beast kept
urging him on. Finally, he gave up trying to dress and just trotted
behind the bear.

Rounding a bend, he came to a small lake. The water looked so

inviting. He hesitated on the bank.

“Go ahead,” said the bear. “You need to clean off, and you

need to drink, but only a small amount or you’ll make yourself
sick.”

Soaring Hawk dove into the water. It was cool and refreshing.

He stood and scooped up several small handfuls. He looked back
to the bank. The bear sat waiting. As Soaring Hawk waded out of
the water, the bear rose and walked a short distance to a thicket of
wild blackberries.

“Eat,” the bear commanded.
The young man picked several handfuls and ate. They tasted

wonderful.

When he had eaten his fill, he took time to dress, and then sat

cross-legged on the grass looking at the bear.

“How is it you are still with me when I have left the circle?

Rides the Wind said once I did that, the quest was over.”

The bear had lowered itself to the ground and now returned the

boy’s stare, with paws crossed in front of him.

“Rides the Wind is from your father’s side of you. I am from

your mother’s. I do not follow the rules of the people.”

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

“But,” Soaring Hawk protested, “I am of the people. I live

among them. I am not a white.”

“Oh, aren’t you? You know the language of the white man.

Have you not noticed we are speaking in that language now?”

Soaring Hawk considered this.
“And besides that, you have the body of a white man. You are

stocky and your muscles are heavy and full. You are not slender
and sinewy as the men of the people. Your body is beginning to be
covered with hair. Come.”

The bear got up and walked back to the water’s edge. Soaring

Hawk followed.

“Look into the water. What do you see?”
He looked at his reflection in the calm, clear water. What he

saw was a handsome face, but not the face of a man of the people.
He saw a dark-haired white man. His eyes were dark like those of
his father, but his features were like those of his mother, only
masculine.

“Look at your hair,” the bear suggested.
Looking once more at his image in the water, he saw his hair

was not straight. It was wavy. And when the sun shone on it, he
could see his dark hair was not really black, but dark brown, with
hints of red. He frowned.

“Do these things trouble you?”
“I don’t know. I don’t want to be different from my people.”
“You may come to value that difference more and more in

time. But enough. It’s time for me to leave you. You’ve learned
what you can from me.”

With those words, the bear turned and walked away. At the

edge of the forest, it paused and looked back. “One more thing,”
said the bear. “It would be good to keep in mind the name by

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which your mother calls you.”

This puzzled Soaring Hawk, but he raised his hand in farewell.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

CHAPTER 3

EAN

EAR

“It’s been three years since your quest, and you’re now

nineteen summers. It’s time you took a wife,” said Cunning Fox.
“I’ve been married now two summers and already have a son,” he
added proudly.

“And I’ll be married in the fall,” said Shining Otter. “You need

to consider your future. You have been pledged to marry Wind
Flower for some time. I’m sure she’s wondering what’s taking you
so long.”

Soaring Hawk listened to his friends as they returned from a

hunt. Each carried several rabbits and a pheasant or two. He
sighed. They’d had this conversation before.

“Yes,” agreed Cunning Fox. “Your father is now chief, And

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

you’ll be chief after him. You will need a son to follow you.”

“Have you been with Wind Flower?” asked Shining Otter.
“We are not married yet,” replied Soaring Hawk. “Why? Have

you been with Laughing Water?”

“Oh, yes, many times,” Shining Otter replied, smiling broadly.
This surprised Soaring Hawk.“The elders do not encourage it.

But once you’re pledged, they do not interfere,” continued Shining
Otter.

“Cunning Fox, were you with Hummingbird before you were

married?” asked Soaring Hawk.

“No, but we were married soon after we were pledged, so there

was no need. You, though, have been pledged for more than two
summers. Don’t you feel anxious to be with her?” Cunning Fox
replied.

“Maybe he visits Lean Bear to take care of his needs,” Shining

Otter said with a laugh.

“No!” cried Soaring Hawk, more loudly than he should have.
“Easy, my friend. There’s no need to be upset,” said Shining

Otter. “I’ve been with him.”

Both Cunning Fox and Soaring Hawk stopped and turned to

their friend in surprise.

“Why?” asked Cunning Fox.
Shining Otter shrugged. “I wanted to know what it was like.”
“And?” prompted Cunning Fox.
“And it was not as good as being with Laughing Water, but it

was all right.”

The three friends walked on toward the village. Cunning Fox

and Shining Otter continued talking; Soaring Hawk was lost in
thought.

Ever since returning from his quest, Soaring Hawk had

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struggled with the things his spirit guides had revealed to him. He
had not told anyone the nature of the revelations, only how pleased
he was with what he had learned about himself.

This was true, up to a point. He was pleased he was not of two

spirits, but the fact he desired the love of a man over that of a
woman was troublesome. In the time that had passed since the
quest, he had not found the courage to bring this to anyone who
might help him understand what this could mean for him and his
future. Now this conversation had caused him to consider again
what he had learned.

His friends accepted his account of the quest. They were

impressed Soaring Hawk had had a conversation with his spirit
guide and had received a name and a token, which still hung
around his neck in the shaman’s pouch. He had not mentioned the
second guide, however.

Cunning Fox said he’d had no revelations and had not met his

spirit guide. He had chosen his own name. Shining Otter didn’t
share whether he had learned anything of himself, but said he
dreamed of a shining otter, so decided that was his sign for a name.

“Soaring Hawk? Are you listening to us?” Cunning Fox asked

when his friend did not respond. “I asked if you were ready to
marry Wind Flower.”

Shaken from his reverie, he said, “You’re right. I need to move

forward with my life,” avoiding the question of marriage.

The conversation moved to other things as they continued their

walk back to the village. Soaring Hawk knew he must take
responsibility for his future. He was the son of a chief. One day he
would be chief. He had to do what was right for the people. He
would seek the council of Rides the Wind.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

* * *

Soaring Hawk sat once more inside the lodge of the old

shaman. He had not been here since the day he had been told of the
quest. He had been with Rides the Wind at other times, but never
in his dwelling. He sat nervously, looking across the smoldering
fire pit, trying to find a way to begin.

Rides the Wind sat waiting, a patient expression on his face.

Once again, as so often in the past, Soaring Hawk thought him a
handsome man, an ageless man.

“How can I help with what is troubling you?” he asked in his

kindly tone.

Soaring Hawk took a deep breath. “My father is now chief,”

the young man began.

Rides the Wind smiled and nodded, obviously pleased River

Runs Deep had been elevated to that rank.

“And someday…um…someday I may be chief, too.”
“If the people approve, yes.”
“Of course, if the people approve,” said the brave. He was quiet

for a time.

Rides the Wind spoke. “Is that what troubles you? Do you not

desire to one day be chief?”

“No, no. To be chief would be a great honor and,” he added,

“responsibility.” He thought for a moment and then continued.
“Must a man be married to be chief?” He dropped his eyes, feeling
embarrassment at the underlying reason for the question.

Rides the Wind did not respond at once. When he did, he

seemed to choose his words carefully. “Traditionally, yes, the chief
takes a wife. But there is no reason he must.”

Soaring Hawk looked up, relieved, only to be confronted with

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the shaman’s next question to him.

“Soaring Hawk, why do you not want to marry?”
Taken aback at the abruptness of the query, Soaring Hawk’s

mouth dropped open.

When he did not respond to Rides the Wind, the shaman

continued. “Do you believe you are of two spirits?”

There was no remonstration, no condescension, just a simple

question. This encouraged the young man to speak openly to his
shaman.

“No, I am not of two spirits. My spirit guide revealed that to

me.”

The old man nodded.
“But I am not as other men are. I am fully a man, a man of

honor, courage, kindness and loyalty.”

“These are good qualities, my son, desired in any man, and

especially in a man who would be chief. So, why do you say you
are not as other men are?”

“I am a man who desires the love and companionship of

another man.”

“Then you are of two spirits,” Rides the Wind said simply.
“No,” said Soaring Hawk, running his hand through his hair. “I

am not a man on the outside and a woman within. I am not ikoueta.
I am a man.”

“But if you desire to pleasure other men, then you are of two

spirits.”

Soaring Hawk closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Opening

them again, he looked at the shaman, who sat smiling kindly at
him. He dropped his gaze and looked again at the ground. The
wise, all-knowing shaman did not understand. He had no point of
reference for this. Soaring Hawk realized in Rides the Wind’s

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

mind, he either was a man who desired a woman, or a man of two
spirits. There was no room for the concept of his being a man who
desired the love of another man.

“I do not desire to pleasure other men,” he said looking into the

glowing coals. “I desire to be with another man and to offer myself
to him alone. I do not wish to be used by other men without love.”

He raised his eyes to meet those of Rides the Wind, imploring

him with his intense gaze to understand, and offer some word of
encouragement.

The two sat in silence for a time. Soaring Hawk knew Rides the

Wind was trying to make sense of what he had just heard.

Finally, the old man spoke. “Soaring Hawk, you are young.

Perhaps this confusion is just from your lack of experience.
Perhaps it would be wise to gain some experience and see if that
does not clear your mind.”

“But, my spirit guide—”
“Sometimes what a spirit guide reveals is not fully understood

at first.”

With that, Rides the Wind rose, signaling the end of their time

together

* * *

Soaring Hawk paced impatiently back and forth along the path

just outside the village. He had asked Wind Flower to meet him.
Was she late, or was he early, he wondered?

Despite his misgivings, he had decided to defer to the wisdom

of the shaman. Perhaps he had not fully understood what the hawk
was telling him. After all, he was hungry, thirsty, and feeling
strange from eating the leaves given him by Rides the Wind. So,

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

here he was, waiting to see Wind Flower, hoping to gain some
clarity as to what path his life would take. Finally, after several
more minutes had passed, he heard a rustle in the bushes. He
turned just as his intended bride came around a bend in the path.
He smiled as she walked toward him, trying to take in her beauty;
waiting to see how he would respond.

She was, indeed, a lovely young woman. Her long black hair,

done in braids, hung below her waist. Her eyes were almond-
shaped and deep brown as with all of the people, save Soaring
Hawk’s mother. She was small and looked almost fragile. Her hips
were narrow and her breasts small. She had a radiant smile for her
would-be husband.

Running the last few steps between them, Wind Flower came

into Soaring Hawk’s arms and laid her head on his chest, folding
her delicate hands around his well developed biceps as he wrapped
his arms around her. She lifted her face to his, and he bent and
kissed her tenderly.

As he held her, he felt warmth and tenderness, but no passion

or excitement. He dropped the embrace, took her by the hand, and
led her down the path into the forest. They walked in silence for a
time.

She began to talk of this and that, happenings in the village, her

sister and the birth of her baby. He listened. He did not speak.

Coming to a clearing where there was a niche of smooth, soft

grass, he bade her sit. She did so with her legs tucked beside her.
She leaned on one hand and picked the small purple flowers
growing among the grasses with the other. He stretched out on his
side and leaned on one elbow, continuing to listen to her soft,
melodic voice, taking in the contours of her face and surveying the
lithe body that could be his for the asking.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

Again, there was deep appreciation for her beauty, but no

arousal, no building tension. He reached up, pulled her to him and
kissed her. She responded with sweet innocence, rose, turned and
curled against him, placing her small hand on his, which lay lightly
on her stomach.

He nuzzled her hair with his nose and whispered a breath into

her ear, which made her giggle. He then moved his hand up to her
breast and caressed it, feeling the small nipple harden beneath his
touch. She arched her back against him, reached over her shoulder
and put her hand on the back of his head, turning her face to him.
He bent again and kissed her.

She turned to him, throwing both arms around his neck, and

pulled him close. She ground her pelvis against him. She was his
for the taking. He felt himself hardening, but there was no urgency,
no passionate response. He knew then that it would be wrong to
continue, to engage in something that might harm this beautiful,
delicate flower, when he was so unsure. He did not want to hurt
her.

He pulled back, smiled and said, “Your wedding night will be

one of beauty and love, Wind Flower. You would be wise to wait
for that.”

She kissed him once more and responded, “I can wait. For you,

I’d wait for many moons.”

Soaring Hawk smiled to hide the sadness he was feeling. He

stood and pulled her to her feet. With arms around each other’s
waists, they returned to the village.

* * *

Soaring Hawk strode purposefully toward his destination. As

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he did, he felt an excitement growing within him, a tension
building in his loins. He was determined to find a path for himself
to his future place in the tribe.

Walking down the familiar corridor between the lodges of his

people, the home of Lean Bear came into view. There before it,
with his back to Soaring Hawk, was the man he had come to see,
stretching to hang skins to dry on the rack next to his lodge. The
sight of his muscular back increased Soaring Hawk’s excitement.

He walked, without hesitation, up behind him. “Lean Bear.”
Lean Bear turned around and broke into a broad smile.
“Soaring Hawk,” he greeted the young brave. “It is good to see

you.”

Soaring Hawk watched as Lean Bear’s gaze swept up and

down his body. He felt a thrill of anticipation.

“You surely have grown into quite a man,” Lean Bear added,

as his eyes returned to Soaring Hawk’s face. “Is there something I
can do for you?”

Soaring Hawk faltered. “I…uh..I am…”
“In need?” Lean Bear finished the sentence. “I hoped one day

to have you come to me.” He reached out and laid his hand on the
younger man’s shoulder. Soaring Hawk felt as if lightning had
touched him. “Come, we will go to the forest.”

Lean Bear turned and started to walk away.
“Oh, no, I…I’d rather not go there.” Soaring Hawk stammered.
Lean Bear chuckled, turning back. “Ah…so you’d rather not be

spied on, as you used to spy on me when you were a boy…you and
your friend Cunning Fox.”

Astonished, Soaring Hawk replied. “You knew?”
“Yes, I knew.” He continued to laugh softly.
“I am sorry. I…” Soaring Hawk suddenly felt like that young

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boy hiding in the bushes watching as Lean Bear offered himself to
the men of the village. He could feel his cheeks getting warm.

“No matter,” Lean Bear said, walking back to where Soaring

Hawk stood. “I knew you were there. It didn’t bother me. It’s
something all boys do. It’s how they learn of such things. But if
you would rather, come, let us go inside.”

Lean Bear led the way into his small lodge. Soaring Hawk took

a deep breath and followed. Once inside, he let his eyes get
accustomed to the semi-darkness. There was no fire in the pit, as it
was summer and Lean Bear fixed his meals outdoors. The only
light came from the smoke hole in the roof. Soaring Hawk felt his
heart beat harder against his chest; his hands were wet with sweat.
It ran down his sides as well. His moment of truth was at hand.

When he could clearly see his surroundings, Lean Bear was

kneeling on all fours on a mat on the other side of the fire pit, with
his butt toward Soaring Hawk. He had completely lifted the short
flap of his breechclout. Soaring Hawk could see the brown ring of
the man’s hole.

“No,” he said. His voice sounded strange to him. “No, this is

not how I want it to be.”

Lean Bear rose, so he was kneeling. He walked on his knees

until he was in front of Soaring Hawk. He started to raise the
brave’s breechclout.

“No,” Soaring Hawk said again.
Lean Bear looked up into his eyes. He had a puzzled expression

on his face. He rose and stood facing the young man.

“What then?” he asked, sounding confused.
Soaring Hawk did not respond at first. He merely raised his

hand to Lean Bear’s cheek and caressed it. “This,” he said softly.

Lean Bear at first looked surprised, then smiled and leaned into

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the caress, covering Soaring Hawk’s hand with his own. With his
other hand, Lean Bear undid the drawstring of his loincloth and let
it fall to the floor.

Soaring Hawk watched the man’s phallus lengthen and rise. He

reached down and undid his own breechclout, which freed his
already hard cock that stood beyond the horizontal—pointing at
the roof.

Lean Bear reached out and ran his hands over Soaring Hawk’s

firm, muscular chest, twirling the black hair between his fingers.

“I have wanted to do this for so long,” Lean Bear said, his

voice husky with desire.

In turn, Soaring Hawk let his hand roam over his partner’s

body, finally cradling his sac in one hand, massaging the stones
within. He felt Lean Bear take hold of his penis, smearing the clear
fluid over the head that had emerged from its covering. He pulled
Lean Bear closer and pressed their foreheads together.

Lean Bear slid his hands around the young man’s waist and

caressed his butt.

“Hmm,” he said. “How full and round you are. And even here,

you are covered with fur.” He gently, but firmly, massaged the
muscular globes. He pulled back and looked into the brave’s eyes.
“I am called Lean Bear, but it is you who should be called by that
name.” He smiled.

Soaring Hawk put his arms around the man. As if by some

signal, the flood of emotion broke the dam, and both men
desperately sought each other’s lips, mashing them against their
teeth. Soaring Hawk sought and gained entry to Lean Bear’s
mouth, his tongue seeking its counterpart. Once found, the two
members wrestled and danced as the passion between the two men
rose. Soaring Hawk ran his hands over Lean Bear’s back and

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kneaded his firm butt, seeking the brown hole he had glimpsed
earlier.

Lean Bear broke the kiss. He looked at Soaring Hawk with

shining eyes. He then slowly lowered himself to his knees, licking
and kissing Soaring Hawk’s torso as he did. Once kneeling, he
took the man’s swollen organ in his hand, and moved the foreskin
back and forth over the glans. Soaring Hawk moaned in pleasure.
Then Lean Bear took him into his mouth and slid his lips along the
veined sides of the distended organ, until he buried his nose in the
brave’s thick pubic bush. Soaring Hawk rocked back and forth as
his organ moved in and out of Lean Bear’s mouth.

Just as he was about to lose control, Lean Bear released him.

Lean Bear rose, took him by the hands and led him, as he walked
backwards, to the mat on which he had first offered himself to the
brave. This time, however, he did not get onto his hands and knees.
He lay on his back, pulling Soaring Hawk to his knees between his
legs. He guided his inexperienced partner to his hole, and rubbed
the tip of his hardness against it, smearing it with the clear,
slippery fluid.

“Now, Soaring Hawk,” he said, pressing against the organ that

was about to invade his body.

Soaring Hawk tightened the muscles of his butt and pushed

against the offered entry. There was little resistance and the brave
gasped as the head passed the ring of muscle surrounding the
brown hole. He felt the soft, moist confines of Lean Bear’s body.
The sensations made him light-headed. He continued to press
forward, until his pubic hair contacted the flesh of his willing
partner, just below his sac. He raised his eyes from the site of his
union with Lean Bear and looked into those of the man so
willingly offering himself. He felt Lean Bear contract and relax his

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

rectal muscles around his shaft, encouraging Soaring Hawk to
initiate his undulations. As he did, he leaned forward, bracing
himself on his hands. Lean Bear wrapped his legs around his waist.

At first, his strokes were long and slow. He pulled back until he

almost withdrew from their union. Then he pushed back until he
was as deep inside Lean Bear as was possible. Each time he did,
Lean Bear moaned in pleasure. Soaring Hawk’s eyes locked with
those of the man to whom he was joined.

As his passion rose, his strokes became faster and shorter. He

began to pant through his mouth, sweat dripping from his face.
Lean Bear half closed his eyes, pleasure showing on his handsome
face. He extended his tongue to catch the drops of sweat as they
fell from his partner.

Soaring Hawk felt his sac contract. His rhythm became erratic,

and he grunted with each stroke. A tingling began at the base of his
spine, his body convulsed, and his seed rushed up through his shaft
and exploded into the confines of Lean Bear’s body. He groaned
loudly as the volleys of semen continued to erupt and fill his
partner.

When he was spent, Soaring Hawk knelt, trembling, above his

mate. Breathing heavily, he lowered himself, until he lay full out
on top of Lean Bear. He felt himself slide from inside his partner’s
body. Lean Bear wrapped his arms around the brave. They turned,
so they were lying side by side. Soaring Hawk looked into Lean
Bear’s eyes and kissed him.

After a time, Soaring Hawk felt Lean Bear’s penis still hard

against his abdomen. He felt his own phallus filling again. He
reached up, brushing the damp hair from Lean Bear’s forehead. He
pressed his lips to Lean Bear’s and rolled him onto his back
without breaking the kiss. Raising his hips, he arranged his

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

member, so it lay next to that of Lean Bear, who raised his hips to
intensify the contact. A rhythm, punctuated with ardent kisses,
brought both men to the brink of climax. Each time they would
ease their movements to prolong the pleasure.

Soaring Hawk rose up and began to kiss and lick Lean Bear’s

neck and throat. Without hurry, he made his way down the man’s
torso. He found and suckled each nipple in turn, causing Lean Bear
to writhe beneath him. When he reached his navel, he swirled his
tongue around the orifice and then probed its depths.

Continuing to make his way toward his target, he took strands

of Lean Bear’s soft fine pubic hair into his mouth and sucked on
them. Finally, he took the man’s throbbing member in his hand. He
took a long time to gaze at it as he slid the hood back and forth,
exposing, then hiding, the head. He wanted to give Lean Bear the
exquisite pleasure he had received and hoped his lack of
experience would not deny the man his due.

After some time, he tentatively reached out with his tongue and

probed the puckered foreskin. Retracting the hood, he licked the
sweet-tasting fluid as it emerged from the slit at the tip of Lean
Bear’s manhood. He traced the crown of the glans and licked the
sensitive groove on the underside. He slid his lips down each side,
tracing the convoluted vessels and felt them pulse with the beating
of Lean Bear’s heart, each new sensation reaching deep within his
soul and attesting to the reality of who he was.

Reaching underneath his partner, Soaring Hawk massaged his

butt muscles as he took Lean Bear’s sac into his mouth and rolled
the contents on his tongue. He was gratified Lean Bear responded
to his ministrations with moans and groans of pleasure, his butt
muscles contracting and relaxing.

Then Soaring Hawk let Lean Bear’s shaft slip fully into his

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mouth. He bobbed his head as Lean Bear raised and lowered his
hips, forcing himself deeply into Soaring Hawk’s throat. He began
to whimper, and Soaring Hawk knew the man was close to spilling
his seed. He backed off. Lean Bear raised his head, his eyes
pleading with the brave to continue. Soaring Hawk, however, had
other ideas.

He crawled up beside Lean Bear and lay down, rolling on his

back and pulling Lean Bear on top of him. He raised his legs,
offering himself to the man.

“It will hurt,” Lean Bear said, caressing the brave’s face.
“That doesn’t matter. I want you to be one with me, as I was

with you.”

“You are sure?” he asked.
Soaring Hawk nodded. Lean Bear rose and walked to the side

of the lodge. He picked up a small pot and returned. Soaring Hawk
watched his lover’s swollen phallus swing back and forth in time
to his strides. He shivered with anticipation tinged with fear.

“Roll over,” Lean Bear said.
“But I want to see your face,” Soaring Hawk protested.
“You will, but I must prepare you. You haven’t done this

before. You need to be made ready. I don’t want you to have too
much pain.”

Soaring Hawk rolled onto his stomach, adjusting his erection.

He felt Lean Bear kneel between his legs and spread the muscles of
his butt. Lean Bear caressed and massaged the mounds of flesh.
Soaring Hawk was shocked to feel Lean Bear’s tongue begin to
lick and probe his hole. He shuddered in surprise and pleasure as
his tongue pushed inside and licked the tender tissue. He moaned
his pleasure. Following this, he felt Lean Bear rub the entry with a
slippery substance, which he realized was from the pot the man

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had gone to retrieve.

Slowly, gently, the brave felt Lean Bear’s finger enter his body.

At first, he clenched his anal ring, resisting the invasion. But soon,
with Lean Bear’s encouragement, he relaxed and allowed the man
to penetrate deeply.

Suddenly, an intense tingling shot through his body as Lean

Bear touched something inside him.

“Your pleasure spot,” Lean Bear whispered, as he continued to

massage Soaring Hawk’s prostate.

Soaring Hawk closed his eyes and immersed himself in the

wonderful sensations. He let himself relax and felt Lean Bear
further stretch and open him by inserting two, then three fingers
into his rectum.

Lean Bear squatted back on his haunches and rolled Soaring

Hawk onto his back, raising his legs to his shoulders.

“Are you sure?” he asked again.
Soaring Hawk smiled. “Yes,” he said simply.
Lean Bear wrapped one hand around Soaring Hawk’s thigh.

The brave felt the tip of Lean Bear’s manhood against his hole.

“Take a deep breath and push,” his mentor commanded.
Soaring Hawk obeyed. He felt the pressure increase. At first,

nothing seemed to happen. Lean Bear shifted on his knees and
pushed harder. Then Soaring Hawk felt a sharp pain as the head of
Lean Bear’s penis forced into him. He bit his lip and stifled a cry.

Lean Bear nodded and smiled. He held still. Soaring Hawk

relaxed and the pain lessened.

“It’s all right,” he said.
Lean Bear began to push again. Taking his time, he slipped

farther and farther into Soaring Hawk. Finally, the fringe of pubic
hair rested against his perineum. Once again, Lean Bear remained

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motionless, allowing Soaring Hawk to adjust to the invasion.

Soaring Hawk felt uncomfortable and full, like he needed to

move his bowels. He concentrated on the face of the man above
him and tried to breathe evenly. In time, he relaxed further and
began to enjoy the feeling of having Lean Bear inside him. He
signaled Lean Bear that he was ready by contracting and relaxing
his butt.

Lean Bear picked up the rhythm and soon they were lost in the

sensations and emotions of union. The feelings Soaring Hawk was
experiencing became more and more enjoyable. The cadence
increased. Soon Soaring Hawk felt the powerful thrusts and
convulsions, which let him know Lean Bear had reached his peak.
The man collapsed onto him. Soaring Hawk thrust himself up
against the man’s abdomen and brought himself to his orgasm,
spilling his seed against the walls of muscle that held his manhood
captive.

Lean Bear raised his head and whispered, “Thank you.”

* * *

Soaring Hawk woke. Lean Bear’s head was cradled on his arm

as they lay spooned together. Soaring Hawk listened to the
sleeping man’s breathing. He reached out and stroked his hair,
letting his hand trail over his shoulder, down his arm and onto his
chest. This was how it should be for them—two men living
together and loving each other. He sighed deeply and let a feeling
of contentment settle over him.

Lean Bear stirred and took a deep breath, snuggling back

against the brave. As Soaring Hawk continued to stroke the man,
he spoke. “No one has ever let me take them before.”

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

“What?” Soaring Hawk said in surprise.
Lean Bear turned to face him, cuddling deep into the brave’s

strong arms. “This was my first time, too…my first time to be
inside a man, I mean.”

“You mean you never…” Soaring Hawk was astonished.
“No, never. It was wonderful.”
“You are not really of two spirits, are you?” Soaring Hawk

asked.

“No, I am as you are, a man who desires other men. I am not a

woman on the inside, and a man on the outside.”

“Then why do you let the people think you are?” The

admission confused Soaring Hawk.

“What else is there to do? The people believe a man who

desires other men must be a squaw inside a man’s body.”

“But you could tell them that you’re fully a man,” Soaring

Hawk said, his feelings of contentment fading.

“They wouldn’t understand that,” Lean Bear said, a note of

sadness in his voice. “Once they know you’re willing to be with a
man, they only see you in one way: two spirits, a man to be used
by other men in need.”

Soaring Hawk remembered his insight into Rides the Wind. If

even the wise shaman could not see that a man could be fully a
man and desire other men, then surely the ordinary men and
women of the tribe would not see it either.

“What if we were to live together? We could show them that

we’re not of two spirits, but men…braves…fully men.”

Lean Bear took Soaring Hawk in his arms and kissed him. “Is

that what you wish…that we live together?”

“Yes.”
Lean Bear drew the younger man to him and held him tightly.

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“I would be happy with that. But once the people know you desire
men, you’d be expected to meet men’s needs.”

“I wouldn’t do that,” said Soaring Hawk, pulling away and

sitting up.

Lean Bear sighed and said, “Then we cannot live together, not

if you wish to keep secret your true desires.”

“What are we to do then?” Soaring Hawk said, feeling his

earlier happiness drain from him.

“Come together when we can. Let people think you are using

me when you’re in need.”

“Hide who we really are? Pretend we don’t mean more than

that to each other?”

“It’s the only way you can escape my fate.”
Soaring Hawk sighed deeply.
Lean Bear kissed him and said, “Let us not waste the time we

have together worrying over what cannot be.” He slid down
Soaring Hawk’s body and took him into his mouth.

* * *

The days of summer passed and the time of the harvest moon

approached. During that time, Soaring Hawk and Lean Bear were
together as often as they could be without arousing suspicion. They
were able to spend nights together occasionally. These were the
times Soaring Hawk relished the most. These were the times he let
himself believe they were living together, and enjoying the love
growing between them without fear of discovery.

However, as the days grew shorter and the morning air became

chilled, several things occurred that made Soaring Hawk uneasy.
Although his mother and father did not push him to decide when to

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marry Wind Flower, and indeed, even the maiden herself seemed
to endure the wait with patience, her parents began to put pressure
on him to fulfill his pledge and marry their daughter. Soaring
Hawk knew once he married his excuse to see Lean Bear would be
compromised. What young husband needed to visit the ikoueta
when he had a new mate of his own in his lodge?

Then there had been the day when he and his friends, Cunning

Fox and Shining Otter were preparing the skins for the arrival, in a
few weeks, of the white traders.

“I saw you come out of Lean Bear’s lodge two days ago,”

Shining Otter had said.

“Yes, you seem to be spending a lot of time with him,”

Cunning Fox had added. “If your need is so great, why have you
not set the time for your marriage to Wind Flower?”

“Yes,” Shining Otter had said, “Laughing Water and I are to be

married when the harvest moon is full. You and Wind Flower
could join us. I’d be honored to have you share our day.”

Soaring Hawk had put him off saying he would consider it.
Then Cunning Fox had spoken words that had chilled Soaring

Hawk. “If you do not marry soon and you keep up your visits to
Lean Bear, people will think you are two spirited as well.”

The two friends had laughed at this, and although he had

laughed along with them, it made Soaring Hawk wonder if they
already were suspecting the truth about him and Lean Bear.

It was shortly after this when the dreams started. In the dreams,

Soaring Hawk was back at the place of his vision quest. He would
be sitting at the base of the old oak, or standing just outside the
circle. He could see the hawk in the circle. The bear stood just
outside it. It appeared they were not aware he was there. They were
arguing, but Soaring Hawk could not understand what they were

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

saying. As the dream ended, the bear would shake his head in
disgust, and the hawk would turn his back on him. The dream
troubled him, though he did not know why.

“I’m worried,” said Soaring Hawk to Lean Bear. They had just

made love by the light of the fire in the pit of Lean Bear’s lodge.
“It seems our secret may become known.”

Soaring Hawk lay on his stomach. Lean Bear was stretched out

beside him, resting on his elbow, tracing the muscles of the brave’s
back with his finger. Occasionally he would lean down to kiss his
shoulder.

“We could solve this if you’d be willing to let it be known that

you prefer men to women. We could be together then.”

“And I’d be expected to be used by men in need. I could not do

that.” Soaring Hawk rolled onto his side and looked into Lean
Bear’s eyes.

The man looked away. “I do that, I have all my life.” He looked

back at the brave. “Do you look down on me for it?”

“No.”
Soaring Hawk reached out and ran his hand down the man’s

cheek.

“I know that’s what the people expect of men like us. It’s not

your fault, but I don’t know that I could do it. And if I am to be
chief someday…the chief surely could not be used that way.” He
hesitated. “I have had a dream. In this dream I see my two spirit
guides.”

“Yes, the bear and the hawk. You’ve told me of them,” said

Lean Bear.

“They are arguing about something, but I did not know what it

was. I think now I know.”

“Can you tell me?” asked Lean Bear.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

Soaring Hawk hesitated again. “I think the bear is telling the

hawk we should leave the village and live among the white men.”

Lean Bear sat up. “What? Leave the village? Are you a crazy

man? You’ve heard how the whites treat our people. How would
we be better off among them?”

Soaring Hawk sat up as well. “I just thought, since I look like a

white man and can speak his language, we could live among them,
and then we could be together.”

Even as he said these words, Soaring Hawk thought of the

things the book of the white man’s God said about men such as he.
He realized what he said sounded crazy. “Never mind. It was just a
thought. You are right…it is crazy talk.”

The men lay down in each other’s arms. Soaring Hawk thought

of what he had just proposed. He sighed. There must be a way.
There must be a place where they could find peace and acceptance.
He drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It was late afternoon. He had worked many hours getting the

furs ready for the traders to pick up the next day. They would be
exchanged for tools, fabrics, vessels to cook in. The people gained
much from trading furs. Now he was on his way to be with Lean
Bear.

Ever since the night he had suggested they leave the village, he

had not been able to get the thought out of his mind. He understood
Lean Bear’s hesitancy: fear of the white man, separation from his
people, no certainty it would be any better for them in the other
world.

He had the same concerns. But overriding them was his desire

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to be with Lean Bear in a way freeing them both from the cultural
influences dictating men such as they had to live as objects to be
used by other men, with no chance of a life on their own terms.

When he reached the lodge, he pulled the elk robe back from

the door and entered without hesitation. What he saw almost
caused him to become physically sick. White Wolf was just
finishing with his man. The brave stood, wiping his still dripping
erect penis on Lean Bear’s butt.

“Ah, Soaring Hawk,” White Wolf said with a laugh. “He’s all

warmed up and ready for you. I have finished with him.”

Rage surged through Soaring Hawk’s body. His fists clenched;

his jaw became rigid. He saw Lean Bear turn his head and begin to
rise from his knees, a look of agony on his face.

“Ho, Lean Bear, just stay down there. You have another

visitor.” White Wolf placed his foot on Lean Bear’s back and
pushed him down to the mat.

Soaring Hawk was shaking with anger. White Wolf walked

past him, misconstruing his reaction.

“I can see you’re in great need. Go. He knows how to satisfy

well.” With those words, he left the lodge.

Soaring Hawk stood in the doorway, looking at Lean Bear, who

now lay on the matt, curled up in a ball.

His emotions ranged from fury at White Wolf, to bitterness at

the mores of his people that allowed this, to compassion for the
man he had come to love, who now lay before him in abject
humiliation. He had assumed Lean Bear was still allowing men to
use him, but actually witnessing it had brought the reality home to
him in full force.

Letting the compassion he felt take the central role, he went to

him and pulled him into his arms. The two sat. Lean Bear propped

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against Soaring Hawk’s chest, his legs drawn up, his arms folded
against his own chest. He did not cry, but made whimpering
sounds, like an animal in pain.

“We must leave,” Soaring Hawk said, trying his best to make

his voice steady and soothing. “We’ll leave tonight. I’ll take my
share of the furs. I have two horses And we can go while the
village is quiet. We’ll go to the trading…”

“Yes,” Lean Bear said. “Yes, but it’s you who will go. I’ll

remain here.”

“No! Why? Why will you not come with me?”
“I’m too frightened by what’s out there. I fear the white man. I

cannot go.”

“Then I will stay,” said Soaring Hawk desperately.
“No. If you stay, what happened today will happen again. I

cannot stand to have you see me like this and to know how much it
hurts you. You must leave as we cannot go on this way. It would
tear us both apart and lead to your downfall. Your anger would
betray you. I could see, in your anger, you were ready to do White
Wolf harm. You must go, tonight if you must, but go.”

Soaring Hawk tried to think. He knew he had been only

seconds from attacking the brave who had violated what he
considered to be his. He cried out in frustration and rage. He sat
rocking Lean Bear back and forth, his eyes clenched tightly shut,
praying this was a dream and he would wake. When he did open
his eyes, he looked into the fire. There he saw an image of the
bear. The last words the bear had spoken came back to him.

It would be good to keep in mind the name by which your

mother calls you.

He held Lean Bear close one last time.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

CHAPTER 4

AMUEL

AWKINS

“Lookie what I found sneakin’ around outside. Sez ’is name’s

Sam Hawkins. He’s lyin’. Ya can tell by what he’s wearin’. Looks
like an Indian to me shore ’nough.”

Sam was pushed inside a log building. It seemed to serve as

both trading post and general store for the small settlement along
the Mississippi River. Once fully inside, he looked around warily.
The four or five men present turned to look in his direction.

Pulling himself free from his captor’s grasp, he squared his

shoulders and looked back at the men. They were dressed in
deerskin for the most part. They wore hats made of fur. Most had
full beards. Sam knew these men were trappers and fur traders.
They looked similar to the men who came to the village to trade.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

“I’m no Indian,” he said with authority. Immediately he felt a

twinge of pain in his heart, as with those few words, he denied his
heritage. “And I wasn’t sneakin’ around. I was just tryin’ to figure
out how to get in here. I have some skins to trade.”

“He shore don’t sound like no Injun,” said one of the men. “He

talks better English than you do, Russell.”

The men all laughed.
“Well, then, where’s them skins he’s talkin’ ’bout?” the man,

apparently Russell, his captor, replied defiantly.

“I’ve got them hidden in the woods. I’ll bring um in here if you

give me a chance,” Sam shot back in the same strong voice he had
used earlier.

A tall, heavyset bearded man came forward from behind a

counter piled high with furs and animal skins. He extended his
hand to the young man, and introduced himself.

“I’m Dexter Manningham. I run this post. Thought I heard the

name Sam Hawkins?”

Sam took the proffered hand. “That’s right.”
“Well, Sam, guess you kin forgive old Russell here for being

confused, cuz with your clothes and all, you look for a sure enough
Indian.”

Sam nodded. Scanning the room, he saw all eyes were still on

him. He decided it would be good to get his story out.

“I was raised by a tribe up north. My mother and I were

captured by the Shawnee and brought there to be traded. She
married River Runs Deep, and he adopted me.”

Father, forgive me for denying you. Sam’s heart ached. “I came

of age,” he continued, “and decided to find out what my own
people are like.” Again, his words caused a deep twinge within
him.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

“River Runs Deep? Ain’t he the chief of that tribe?”
“That’s right, Dexter,” said another of the men. “We did some

tradin’ with his tribe a while back before them Frenchmen took
over that area. Ain’t been up that way in a few years.” The man
looked closely at Sam.

“Seem to ’member he had a son. What was ’is name? Soarin’

somethin’.”

“Soaring Hawk,” someone else added.
“That musta been you.”
“Yes,” Sam said simply, doing his best to hide the misery he

was feeling at his betrayal of his people.

As he raised his eyes to meet those of the man speaking to him,

he saw, standing beyond the group gathered in the trading area,
another man. This man was not dressed in animal skins as the
trappers and traders were, but rather in a shirt of an unfamiliar
material in a pattern of overlapping squares. Sam immediately felt
a strong stirring in his groin. The man had a handsome face and
was powerfully built. He had hair the color of yellow flowers.
Even at a distance Sam could see he had eyes as blue as his
mother’s. He was staring intently back at Sam.

“Well, Russell, that seems to clear up the question of who you

found ‘sneakin’’ around,” said Dexter. Then to Sam, “You go on
out and get them skins. Yer welcome to bring ’em in fer tradin’.”

Sam acknowledged the invitation and left the building. As he

did, he glanced over his shoulder. The young man with the yellow
hair was still looking at him.

* * *

He returned some time later with his load of pelts. After

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bringing them into the trading post, he laid them on an empty table.
The men gathered around. There were exclamations of admiration
for the quality of the barter.

Sam looked expectantly around the group. The man with the

yellow hair was not there.

“Hold on there,” Dexter said with a laugh. “Don’t wanna give

this here fella the idea he can get some extra outta me.” He turned
to Sam. “Only joshin’. This here’s good stuff. I ain’t ’fraid to give
you top dollar.”

Sam smiled his thanks. “I’m goin’ to have to trust you,

Dexter,” he said. “Having been raised among the people, I don’t
have a handle on how your money works.”

“You can trust me, son,” Dexter replied.
Sam felt he could.
Dexter and his assistant, Tanner, carefully went over the pile of

furs, examining and cataloging each one. Sam noted that here in
the trading post, dealing with a man they considered one of their
own, his goods were getting a more complete evaluation than the
traders gave the same quality fur back in the village. He realized
angrily that the people had probably been given much less than
they deserved for the caliber of product they were offering.

He wandered into the general store as the two men assessed his

pelts. He looked at the shelves of foodstuffs and racks of tools. He
walked through the tables laden with articles of clothing—shirts,
pants, overalls, jackets. In crates at the ends of the tables were hats,
gloves and scarves. All this was strange to him and he wished he
had someone to help him to make some selections to begin his
transformation into Samuel Hawkins. Along with this thought
came the image of the man with the straw-colored hair and blue
eyes, and the realization he was disappointed the man was no

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longer present. In the end, it was Russell, who now seemed to want
to be his friend as firmly as he had once intended to be his enemy,
who helped him pick out some shirts, pants, a jacket, some socks,
boots, underwear and a union suit. The latter, Sam regarded with
deep suspicion.

Russell led Sam to a small room in the back of the store. Here

he supervised his changing into his white man’s clothing. Sam
dropped his breechclout. He now stood completely disrobed before
his mentor. Russell stood holding a pair of underwear in one hand,
looking Sam up and down with obvious appreciation.

“Well, golly, if’n I’d seen all this,” he said reaching out and

running his fingers through Sam’s dark chest hair, “I’d never
mistook you for no Indian. Ain’t never seen no Indian with this
much fur.” He chuckled.

Sam trembled slightly under the touch of Russell’s fingers. He

felt his cock grow longer and heavier. His response was not lost on
Russell, who gave his nipple a small squeeze, smiled and winked
at Sam.

Embarrassed, Sam grabbed the shorts out of Russell’s hand and

stepped into them. His semi-hard penis flopped out of the slit and
he hurriedly tried to stuff it back inside. Russell laughed.

“What’s this?” he asked, taking hold of the pouch that hung

around Sam’s neck.

Sam gently removed it from Russell’s hand. “Just something to

remind me of home,” he said, thinking of the denials of his father
and his heritage he had already made that morning.

Once Sam had finished with his dressing instruction, he

returned to the main floor of the trading post. The proprietor
greeted him. They went over the transaction for the skins and
deducted the price of the supplies Sam had purchased. His final

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

tally was nearly five hundred dollars. He had no way to gauge
what this meant. Russell whistled through his teeth, however, and
called him “one rich son of a gun.”

“Well, Mr. Hawkins,” Dexter said, “if we get rid of that hair of

yours, we’ve got us one right proper white man.”

The two or three men still in the building all laughed. Sam

managed a small laugh as well, but the thought of cutting his hair
caused him much anguish. To a brave, long hair was a sign of
strength and virility. Yet he knew if he were to gain acceptance in
the white man’s world, he had to break his ties with his past.

“Anyone here want to do that for me?” he asked with

determination.

“Tanner kin,” Russell piped up.
“Yup, I kin,” said the man who had helped Dexter with the

assessment of Sam’s skins.

Sam took a deep breath. “Let’s have at it then. Might as well

get this done now as later.”

Dexter seemed to sense something of the turmoil brewing

inside him and said, “Ya don’t have ta go all that way, son. Lots a
men leave their hair long and tied back, Indian or no.”

“No, let’s do it,” Sam said with conviction. He’d made his

decision. He was Samuel Hawkins now. Soaring Hawk was to be
left behind.

“All right then,” said Tanner. He left to get shears, while

Russell sat Sam down in a chair, and one of the other men tied a
large cloth around his neck. Tanner returned. Sam closed his eyes
and gritted his teeth. He could hear the snip, snip of the scissors
and feel the weight of his hair lessening.

In fifteen minutes, Russell tapped him on his shoulder. He

opened his eyes to see his reflection in a mirror held before him.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

He stifled a gasp and fought to control a tear forming in the corner
of his eye. Staring back at him from the glass was a handsome,
young white man, his face framed in dark wavy hair, quite
different from the brave who had sat down in the chair only
moments before.

“This’ll fetch you another ten dollars,” Dexter was saying.

“Those folks back east with their wigs and fancy hair pieces will
pay top price for this.” He held aloft a long tail of black hair tied
together at the end. “That’s if’n it’s all right with you?” he said
looking deeply into Sam’s eyes.

Sam stared at the tresses hanging in space before him for a full

second, then nodded to Dexter.

“I’ll add it to what I owe ya,” he said, “less Tanner’s fee for the

cut.” He winked and chuckled.

* * *

Later that night, Sam sat alone by the fire at his camp in the

forest. Russell had asked him to stay with him. He’d said he had a
room over the trading post. Sam had been tempted after what had
transpired between them as he had changed clothes, but declined
the invitation. He needed to be alone, to let his emotions catch up
with the external changes that had taken place. He stared into the
fire. He wished the bear would appear once again. He wanted to
ask the spirit guide of the white side of his being if he was on the
right path. But there was to be no reassurance that night. So, alone
in the forest by the fire, Samuel Hawkins fell asleep.

Morning came, and Sam busied himself taking care of his

needs and those of his horses. As he went about these tasks, he
found he was restless, feeling empty and somewhat lost. He had

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

accomplished his goal of leaving his people, making his way to the
white man’s trading post, and taking on the identity of Samuel
Hawkins.

But now what? He realized he had not thought beyond this

point. If Lean Bear had come with him…but he hadn’t. Now Sam
was alone and no closer to finding the life he desired than he had
been back in the village.

Well, he thought, as he gathered firewood, at least here I won’t

be expected to be used for other men’s pleasure unless I choose to
be.

That thought reminded him of the brief encounter he’d had

with Russell while changing clothes. He felt himself responding as
his mind took the moment beyond the reality of what had
transpired, to what might have been if he had accepted the
invitation to spend the night. He liked Russell now that the issue of
his being an Indian thief had been resolved. But would it be right
for him, with his goal of finding love, to just be with a man? It
would not be the same as being used as Lean Bear was, if both
partners desired to pleasure the other and gain release, he reasoned.
Sam shrugged and shook his head. He had no answer. Tasks
finished and not knowing what else to do, he made his way back to
the post.

Inside, he found only Dexter and Tanner going through the

pelts that Sam had brought in the day before. They looked up as he
entered. Dexter smiled and came around the long table and clapped
him on his shoulder.

“’Mornin’ Sam. How are you today?”
“Good,” Sam returned, with a nod to Tanner, who had greeted

him with a wave.

“How about a cup a Tanner’s coffee? If you kin call it that,”

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

Dexter said with a laugh.

Sam was not sure what coffee was, but he accepted the offer.
Tanner walked over to the fire, where a large black pot sat on

the grate. “Ain’t all that bad,” he muttered, as he poured a
steaming black liquid into a tin cup. “It’s purty hot, so be careful,”
he said handing Sam the cup.

“Hot’s about all that’s good about it,” said Dexter, keeping up

the good-natured teasing.

“Don’t like ma cookin’, then you can just do fer yerself,”

Tanner retorted as he went back to his work on the skins.

Sam took a sip. Dexter was right. Hot was about all you could

say about the bitter tasting liquid. He didn’t think he was going to
like this white man’s drink. He wrinkled his nose and shuddered.

Dexter laughed. “You’ll get used to it. After a bit you’ll feel

like ya can’t start yer day without a couple a cups to wake ya up.”

Sam wasn’t sure about that, but nodded politely.
Looking around the room and over into the general store, he

found he had a sense of disappointment. It took him a minute to
realize he had somehow hoped to see the young man with the
straw-colored hair and piercing blue eyes again.

“Where are the men?” he asked Dexter.
“Getting ready for a trappin’ expedition,” he replied. Then as if

an idea had struck him, he added, “How’d you like a job workin’
fer me on the trap lines? These skins you brought in are top
quality. I could use a man like you.”

Sam contemplated the offer. He had not thought of what he

would do living among the whites. Now this opportunity had come
his way. It matched the skills learned in his former life. It seemed a
good idea.

“I think I’d like that,” he said. “What would I be doing?”

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

“Ya’d work with Bernard, Henry, Charlie and Russell. They go

out fer sometimes a week at a time. Set traps, hunt, skin the kill
and bring the skins back here. Sometimes they visit the local tribes
and do some tradin’. I’d pay ya a good wage and give ya a room
upstairs. Tanner ’ere would keep you fed, if you can stomach what
he serves up.” Dexter chuckled again.

“You watch out there, Dex, or ya’ll be dealin’ with a cold fire

and empty pots,” Tanner retorted.

Sam could tell this banter was a usual occurrence between the

two.

“Sounds good,” Sam said somewhat hesitantly. Once more he

felt the tug of the tribe and shuddered at how quickly he was being
assimilated into this new world.

“Somethin’ wrong?” Dexter asked.
“No, I was just thinking about how my life was changing so

fast. I’d really like the chance to work for you. Don’t know about
that room, though. Not used to being inside much.”

“I surely understand ya must be a might confused with your life

right now, and I understand about the room. You may change yer
mind, though, come winter. But good! I’m happy to have ya take
me up on ma offer. Think ya’d be ready to go on this trip
tomorrow? I got me an extra horse ya could use.”

Sam smiled. “I won’t need your horse. I got two of my own.”
“Well, shit, I got me a first-class trapper and he comes all set

with his own horses. I’m a lucky man,” Dexter said with a laugh
and a one-armed bear hug around Sam’s shoulders.

“I was wondering,” Sam added, “is the man with the yellow

hair one of the men you mentioned?”

Dexter gave him a thoughtful look and slightly raised one

eyebrow. “No, that’d be Nils, Nils Bjorn. He’s not a trapper. He’s

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a settler. Got himself a small place south a here. Comes in here a
couple times a month for supplies.”

Sam merely nodded in response, not wanting to reveal more

than he might already have regarding his interest in the young man.

* * *

The next morning, the five men rode through the quiet forest,

usually single file as the trail was so narrow. At times, it widened,
and when it did, Russell usually rode next to Sam. Russell filled
Sam in on the pattern of a trip like this. The first day they’d ride to
a campsite and set up. The day following they’d go out, set traps
along the river for beaver and muskrat, then hunt for any prey that
would provide a good pelt. After that, they’d check the traps and
bring in the kill for skinning.

Sam became uneasy with this description of the work he’d be

doing. Raised as an Indian, he had been taught you only killed for
food when necessary. They used the skins for shelter and clothing
and the bones to make tools. They did not approve of killing for
the sake of killing.

“Yeah,” Russell was saying, “we gotta go ferther south now.

Lots of settlers movin’ in up north and them Frenchies are takin’
over that territory for trappin’ and tradin’. Game’s getting harder to
find all the time.”

About that time, Bernard, who seemed to be the man in charge

of the operation, turned in his saddle and addressed the group.
“We’re about a mile from camp. Russell, you take Sam and hunt us
up some dinner. We’ll go on ahead and get things set.”

Sam and Russell voiced their assent to the plan, pulled up and

dismounted. They tethered the horses and began to make their way

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through the woods.

“You need to get yourself a saddle,” Russell said.
“No need,” Sam replied. “I’ve never needed one and I don’t

need one now.”

“You do need a rifle. How do you expect to bring in game usin’

a bow?”

Sam looked at his partner. “Russell, I was raised hunting with a

bow. How do you think my people feed themselves? The game
didn’t just wander into the village and hop into the cooking pots.”

Russell started to say something more, but Sam shushed him.

“How are we supposed to hunt with you talking all the time?”

“That’s what everybody says,” Russell replied, but he quit

talking.

As they approached a small meadow, Sam said, “You stay

here. With all the noise you make, we’ll never find any game for
dinner.”

Russell began to protest, but a look from Sam quieted him.
Sam walked silently into the meadow. Almost immediately

there was a whirring of wings and the telltale cluck, cluck of a
pheasant taking flight. With one swift movement, an arrow found
its mark and the bird fell.

“Hot dang,” Russell yelled from the trees. “You’re good.”
Sam just shook his head as he brought the pheasant back to

him. There he held the bird on its back in his hands and spoke in
his native tongue. Then he held it to his mouth and breathed onto
its face.

“What’s that fer? What you sayin’?”
“I’m thanking the bird for offering its life to nourish us. Then I

breathed on it to release its spirit to live again in the above.”

Russell looked at him quizzically. Sam realized this white man

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

had no concept of what he had done or what it meant. He smiled
and began explaining more of the ways of the tribe.

Russell listened intently, and when Sam was finished he said,

“I never really looked at killin’ that way. Kinda makes you think
don’t it?”

Sam nodded, but he was realizing that living among the white

man was going to be a challenge.

Later, the two returned to the horses with several rabbits and

two more pheasants. They rode the last mile to the camp the others
had set up.

Arriving, shouts of gratitude greeted them for bringing such a

bountiful harvest. “Hey, Russell,” one of the men taunted, “we got
us a hunter. Maybe we’ll get to eat our fill for a change.”

All the men set to work dressing out the animals, carefully

skinning the rabbits to bring their fur back to the post for sale.

After eating, as the sun was setting, the men sat around the fire.

Charlie produced a bottle from his bedroll and it was passed
around the group. When it reached Sam, he hesitated.

“It’s whiskey,” said Charlie. “Take a swig. It’ll put hair on yer

chest.”

“He’s already got that,” Russell sang out.
The men laughed. “Knowing you, I’m not surprised you’d a

found that out already,” Bernard said.

Sam took a small mouthful. It tasted awful and made him

shudder. It burned going down his throat. He coughed.

“Ah,” he said. “Why do you drink this? It’s terrible.”
The men laughed.
“You’ll see after a couple more drinks,” said Henry.
The bottle came around several more times, and each time

Sam’s reaction lessened. He also was beginning to relax. He had a

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warm feeling of affection growing within him for the men of the
group. He thought of Russell and his offer to spend the night and
felt a tingle in his groin.

Maybe tonight when the camp is quiet…
The men were talking about trapping and the Frenchies. Then

Charlie brought up the name Lulubelle.

“Yeah,” he was saying, “she has the best tits I ever played

with…and that ass of hers, so round and plump. Man, I shore wish
she was here right now.”

Sam had no idea who this Lulubelle was, but the rest of the

men seemed to know and appreciate her endowments. Each talked
about her and then offered the names of other women they
apparently had known. Sam noticed a couple of them were rubbing
their crotches.

They all seemed to be bemoaning the fact there were no

women around, when Henry said, “Hell, we ain’t got us no pussy,
but we got the next best thing. Hey, Russell, how about it?”

“Shit, I thought you’d never git ’round to askin’,” Russell said,

jumping unsteadily to his feet and starting to fiddle with the tie
string of his deerskin pants.

The other men also stood, undid their pants and slid them down

to their knees. They sat back down and started fondling
themselves. The bottle made its way around the circle again. This
time Sam refused.

Sam watched as the genitals of the men grew in size and

length. They hooted and called to Russell to be first in line. Russell
completely removed his pants and dropped to his knees in front of
Bernard. He engulfed the man’s thick, hair-shrouded member and
made guttural sounds of pleasure. Bernard grasped the sides of
Russell’s head and thrust his hips, making the smaller man gag.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

Bernard quickly pulled Russell off. “That’ll do for now. Don’t

want to shoot too soon. Get that mouth of yours over to Charlie.
He’s about to give it up in his hand.”

Russell crawled over to Charlie and repeated his performance.

It didn’t take Charlie long until he roared like a cornered bear. Sam
could see the excess of the man’s seed dribbling out of the side of
Russell’s mouth.

“Shit,” Charlie said, “I wanted to hold off.”
“There’s always tomorrow,” said Russell, leaning forward and

licking the last of the semen from the tip of Charlie’s softening
penis.

Charlie reached out and ruffled Russell’s hair. Then leaned

forward and kissed the top of his head.

“My turn,” Henry called out. “Only I want to get right to the

point of all this.”

Russell laughed and stood up. He began to work his hand into

his ass crack, rubbing in the excess semen he had wiped from his
face. He turned around and backed up to Henry, who remained
seated. Spreading his cheeks, he positioned himself over the long,
erect phallus.

“Ready or not, here I come,” he sang out as he impaled himself

on the turgid shaft.

“Oh, man! Oh, shit! Yeah, yeah,” Henry cried out over and

over as Russell bounced up and down on his lap.

Sam watched as Russell’s swollen member flopped and

bounced as well. After several minutes, Henry grabbed his
partner’s hips and held him tightly in place. He arched his back
and stifled a moan into Russell’s back as he erupted into the man.
Russell grabbed his own cock and pumped it furiously, leaning
back against Henry, breathing raggedly. Several long streams of

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his seed flew from the tip of his inflated organ, illuminated
momentarily by the firelight as they flew through the air.

The two sat breathing heavily for a few seconds. Then Bernard

called out, “Get over here and finish me off, ’fore I do it maself.”

Russell rose, and Henry’s still-hard cock slid out of his ass. He

walked over to Bernard.

“You know how I like it,” the man said.
Russell lay on his back and raised his legs, spreading them

wide. Bernard got up. Sam was amazed at the size of the man’s
organ. Surely, Russell would not be able to take all that inside him.

Bernard kneeled down. “You ready, sweetheart?” he asked

almost tenderly.

Russell nodded.
The big man pressed the head of his monstrously large member

against the entry. Sam held his breath along with Russell. Slowly,
gently, Bernard pressed. Sam watched as the head disappeared
within Russell’s body. Then ever so slowly, the thick shaft
followed, until the dense tangle of pubic hair was surrounding
Russell’s testicles. He remained motionless for several seconds.
Then Russell nodded. Bernard started a rhythm.

Sam noticed Henry was stroking himself in time as he watched

the union of the two men. Soon the rhythm of both men became
erratic. Both men groaned and bellowed as they brought
themselves to completion. Bernard lowered himself and lay down
on his partner breathing heavily for several minutes. Then he got
up, pulled Russell to his feet and gave him a huge bear hug.

“You got yourself one more customer,” Bernard said,

indicating Sam.

Russell smiled and walked toward him, his half hardness

swaying as he did. He stopped in front of Sam.

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“How can I help you?” he said with a huge smile.
Sam just shook his head. “No, I’m fine. I’m…ah…fine.”
He was hard and breathing deeply, but he just could not bring

himself to participate in this orgy. Bernard, who had pulled his
pants back up, came and stood behind Russell.

“He’s good. Almost as good as any woman,” he said.
“Ah, I’m sure he is, but I’m fine, really.”
“Suit yerself,” Bernard said, and walked back to where he had

been seated. He took a swig from the bottle passed to him.

Russell shrugged his shoulders. A look of distinct

disappointment on his face, he turned away. Sam felt a surge of
compassion for him. He almost reached out to him.

* * *

The camp was quiet. Sam lay on his back, staring up at the

stars through the branches of the trees.

It’s no different here. Yes, they treated Russell with more

respect than the men of the village treated Lean Bear. They’d even
shown him some affection, but it was the same. A man who needed
other men was only there to satisfy those in need.

What would be his fate if they knew he was of the same spirit

as Russell? Would they expect him to let them use him? He would
not take that chance. He turned on his side. He could see Russell’s
silhouette as he slept between him and the fire. He wished he could
cradle him in his arms and let him know he understood. But he
would not do that. He would guard his secret.

With that sad thought, he fell asleep.

* * *

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

“You gonna tell me what’s goin’ on?” Dexter asked Sam as

they sat at the long trestle table after the men had finished eating
and had gone their separate ways.

Tanner was clearing off the remains of dinner.
“I don’t know what you mean,” Sam countered.
“Well, ya been here a month now. At first, ya seemed pretty

satisfied. But now ya seem sad somehow. So, what’s goin’ on?”

Sam considered what to say. He liked Dexter. He liked all the

men he trapped with. He appreciated the way Dexter had taken him
on. However, two things weighed heavily on him. One he would
share with the man. The secret he was guarding he couldn’t.
Finally, he said, “I guess I’m still more Indian than I thought.”

“Meanin’?”
Sam sighed. “I know white men look at things differently than

do Indians. They look at life in a different way. To the Indian, all
living things have a spirit, an inner being that is respected.”

Sam paused. Dexter looked at him and waited for him to

continue.

“I’m not judging you or the men. It’s just that the way I was

raised, I cannot continue to hunt, trap and kill just to make money
from the animals. They’re left to rot in the forest. We don’t use
them for food and they’re not given the honor they deserve. I know
that sounds crazy to you, but that’s my belief. I am a white man,
but after all those years in the village…” He let his voice trail off.

“I guess that means you’re thinkin’ a movin’ on?”
Sam looked him directly in the eye. “Yes.”
“Damn. You’re a fine hunter and trapper. You skin them

critters cleaner than I can.”

Sam was about to say he was sorry when Dexter spoke again.
“But though I’d like ta try ta talk you outta it, I gotta respect

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your way a thinkin’. Where’ll you go? Got any ideas?”

“No,” Sam said. As he said that simple word, he realized how

small his world was—the village, the trading post and the hunting
land surrounding it. He didn’t even know which direction to think
of taking. He stared at the rough lines of the log table.

“Well, I got me one for ya.”
Sam looked up.
“Ya know that fella Nils Bjorn? The one that was here the day

you came?”

Yes, Sam remembered him. Many were the nights when he had

been seeking relief by his hand, and the image of the handsome
blond man had risen before closed eyes just as he had come to his
peak. Sam nodded.

“Well, he was in the other day while you was out on a trip.

He’s lookin’ for some help with clearing more a his land and
building a cabin. Don’t know what he’s livin’ in now. Anyways, I
bet he’d take ya on if you was interested.”

Sam felt his heart begin to pound and tightness come to his

groin. “I’d be interested,” he said, trying not to sound too eager.

“Sounds like ya got yerself a plan then,” said Dexter, rising

from the table just as Tanner walked up beside him.

“And, who knows, you may find just what you’re looking for. I

got me a feelin’ that things are gonna work out fer ya in every
way.”

Dexter smiled what Sam took for a wise fatherly smile. At the

same time, he laid one arm across Tanner’s shoulder and gave it a
squeeze. Tanner looked at Dexter and smiled, then looked back at
Sam.

Sam smiled at the two men. “Thank you,” he said, “for

everything.”

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

CHAPTER 5

ABIN

Following the directions Dexter had given him, Sam rode

south, away from the trading post in the warm October sunshine.
The men had given him a fair send-off. They all seemed sorry to
see him leave; no one more so than Russell, who had shed some
tears at their parting.

Sam rode uncomfortably. He had decided to get a saddle. He

figured he would fit in better in the white man’s world, with fewer
questions, if he looked more like one of them. He didn’t like
having his movement restricted, nor did he care for feeling out of
touch with the horse beneath him.

Along with the saddle had come a rifle. This was a gift from

the men. He figured Russell was at the bottom of that as, despite

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being impressed with Sam’s prowess with a bow, he still often
expressed his opinion on the superiority of firearms. The rifle
would also help him blend in with the whites.

Behind him, he ponied his second horse loaded with his new

clothing, a few supplies and two bags of money Dexter had held
safe for him.

Reaching a place where the trail Dexter had set him on

intersected with a stream, he dismounted. He tethered the horses
and squatted at the water’s edge, taking several handfuls of the
cold, clear liquid in his cupped palms. He then sat down with his
back against the trunk of a gnarled old oak tree. Resting his head
against the tree, he closed his eyes.

“Well, Samuel Hawkins,” came a low growly voice, “how are

you doing in this life among the white men?”

Sam’s eyes flew open. The bear was lying in front of him, his

great paws crossed.

Astonished, Sam’s jaw dropped.
“I asked you a question,” the bear repeated.
“I’m…I’m doing all right,” Sam finally managed to get out.
“Are you sure? You left the trading post.”
“He left because there are many things about the white man’s

world that are troubling him,” came another voice, this one from
the branches of the oak.

Sam looked up. There above him was the hawk. The bird

unfurled its wings and glided to the ground, gracefully landing
next to the shaggy bear.

“It could be he’s regretting his decision to leave his people for

this life among strangers,” the hawk said, rustling his feathers.

“But,” rejoined the bear, “he’s not traveling in the direction of

the village, but in one that will take him to more of the white

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man’s world. It seems to me he’s still intent on living his life as
Samuel Hawkins, rather than Soaring Hawk. What say you,
Samuel?”

Sam closed his eyes. Taking a deep breath, he prepared to

answer. On opening his eyes, he discovered he was alone. He
smiled. Whether his spirit guides had actually been with him or
not, they did reflect the turmoil going on in his mind. After getting
up, he untied the horses, mounted, crossed the stream and
continued to head south.

* * *

As the day wore on and the sun climbed higher, its warmth

made Samuel wish for the freedom of his Indian garb. How did
these white men tolerate being covered from head to toe in heat-
trapping clothing, even in warm weather?

Of greater concern, however, was the fact he didn’t seem to be

close to finding Nils Bjorn. He was fairly certain he had followed
the directions given and had not missed a turn in the trail, but still
he began to worry he was on the wrong path.

He was just about ready to retrace his steps to be sure his

course was correct when he came out of the trees into a clearing.
There he saw a small, erratically shaped pen enclosed by a stack
rail fence and beside it a ramshackle building made of logs and
animal skins.

Off to the side was a garden, clearly in the final stages of

productivity. Inside the pen were a cow, a horse and two horned
animals Sam surmised were goats. Wandering aimlessly,
scratching and pecking the ground, were a dozen or more chickens.

Sam surveyed the not-too-impressive homestead. He

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understood why Nils needed help building a cabin. It didn’t appear
he had much in the way of construction skills. As he sat on his
horse looking around, he heard the intermittent, chop, chop of an
axe in the distance. He swung down out of the saddle, rubbed his
backside and stretched. Even riding bareback, he was not used to
so many hours on a horse, and the saddle made it worse. He long-
tied the horses to a small tree so they could graze, then started off
in the direction of the sounds.

The forest closed in around him again as he made his way

down the path toward the chopping noises. Here and there were
felled trees of various sizes. At times, he had to step over a log that
lay across the path. He crossed a stream via a downed tree trunk.
Sam figured it was the same one he had stopped at earlier, snaking
its way through the landscape. At the point he crossed he could see
the stream was a good two feet deep.

The sound of chopping became louder. He could see the form

of a man through the trees. Nils?

Walking silently, as his life among the people had taught him,

he came to the edge of the trees without detection. He stood and
took in the sight of the man working with his back toward him. He
was naked to the waist and the muscles of his back glistened with
sweat in the warm autumn sunshine. Sam felt his body become
alive with awareness of the masculinity displayed before him.

Just then, a golden haired dog came out of the forest beyond

where the man was working. It was a smallish dog and was either
quite fat, or very pregnant, as she waddled on short legs spread
wide to support her weight. Upon spying Sam, she began to bark
and broke into an ungainly trot. The tone of the bark was friendly,
however, and her tail wagged furiously.

At the sound of her barking, the man straightened and turned.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

In an instant, Sam took in the muscular chest, the powerful arms
and shoulders, the narrow waist, all accentuated by the sun on his
sweat-drenched torso. The man’s trousers sat low on his hips, and
Sam could see the rippling muscles of his abdomen extended far
below his navel Other than the blond hair, plastered to his scalp
with sweat, there was no other hair on the man’s body. Upon
seeing Sam, he smiled.

“Well, hello there,” he called out in a deep, pleasant voice.
He leaned the axe against the log he had been attacking and

started to walk toward Sam. At about that time Sam felt something
press against his legs. He looked down to see the dog, tail still
waving frantically, begging for an introduction. Sam squatted
down, and she immediately pushed against him, welcoming his
touch.

“She’ll let you stroke her all day if you let her.”
Sam looked up from the shiny golden head and stared directly

at the man’s crotch, amply distended and about a foot from his
face. He swallowed. He rose and faced the man who was still
smiling broadly, standing with his hands on his hips.

“You’re Sam Hawkins, right?” he said.
Pleased the man had recognized him, Sam said, “Yes, I am, and

you must be Nils.”

“Yep, and this is Molly. Well, you can see she’s gotten herself

in a bit a trouble, though I can’t figure out how. There are no other
dogs around here as far as I know.” As Nils spoke, he held out his
hand and Sam took it in his. The grasp was firm and warm.

“I’m glad to meet you,” Sam said with a strong desire to take

him into his arms and hug him.

“Happy to make your acquaintance myself,” Nils said, placing

his hand on Sam’s shoulder and firmly squeezing it. “What brings

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you out this way?” he asked, dropping his hand.

“Dexter said you were looking for help building your cabin. I

thought maybe I could give you a hand.”

“I would appreciate that. I’m not very handy with tools,” said

Nils, turning back to where he had left his axe.

As he walked away, Sam watched the beautifully formed

cheeks as they alternately contracted and relaxed. He followed.

Nils sat on the log and indicated Sam should sit beside him.
“Well, I hope Dex made it clear I cannot pay much. I can make

sure you get fed, though,” he said with a chuckle.

“I don’t need pay. Don’t have a use for the money Dexter paid

me for my skins and the work I did for him. I still have all of it.”
Sam tried to explain. “I don’t know if you know my story, but I
was raised by Indians. I’m…I’m trying to find my way with the
whites and…well… so far I’m having a hard time.”

Nils wrinkled his brow. “Dexter said you were doin’ well with

the men trappin’ and skinnin’ and all.”

Hearing Nils and Dexter had discussed him gave Sam a good

feeling inside.

“Oh, Dexter and the men were fine. It’s just that our ways are

so different.”

Sam went on to explain how killing for the sake of killing, with

no honor to the prey, wasn’t something he could tolerate. He
avoided talking about the way Russell had been used for sex.

Nils listened. When Sam finished, he placed his hand on Sam’s

thigh and said, “Well, Sam Hawkins, I don’t hunt for the thrill of
it. I hunt to keep me and Molly goin’. So, I think we’ll get along
fine. If you care to work with me here, I’d be happy to have you.
But I’d like to pay you something for your time.”

Sam smiled and extended his hand once more. “Like I said, no

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need for pay.”

“You said you were havin’ a hard time finding your way in the

white man’s world.”

Sam nodded.
“Well, maybe I can help with that.”
Nils accepted his hand and the agreement was made.

* * *

As the sun set and the shadows of the trees lengthened, Sam

and Nils sat just outside the shelter. After taking care of his horses,
Sam had worked the rest of the afternoon with Nils on splitting the
logs of the felled trees. He had taken the opportunity to shed his
flannel shirt and the two men worked side by side, naked to the
waist. The contrast between them was stark: Nils was blond, his
body hairless, and his skin, despite some sun exposure, a pale tan.
Sam was dark-haired, his chest covered in thick black hair, and his
body, due to his Indian heritage, bronzed. His eyes were a dark
brooding brown; Nils’ a brilliant blue.

After working all afternoon, they made their way to the stream,

where they stripped and waded into the chilly water to rinse off the
sweat. Sam had the opportunity to surreptitiously appreciate the
man with whom he would be living and working. He was not sure
how he would keep his desires from showing. Nils was a
wonderful specimen of manhood.

They sat around the fire as their dinner was cooking.
“As you can see, I’m not much for buildin’. This is about the

best I can do,” Nils said, indicating the structure behind him.
“Surprised it’s still standin’,” he added with a chuckle. “Gonna
need a better place for both me and the animals before winter sets

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in. And you, too,” he added with his warm smile.

Sam listened as he watched the horses walk around the small

enclosure, getting acquainted and working out the pecking order
with nips and squeals. The goats and the cow stayed out of their
way.

“I don’t know much about building a cabin,” Sam said. “But I

can build you a lodge that’ll get us through the winter. I can fix
this,”—he pointed to the shelter behind them—“so those horses
and all will be taken care of.”

“I’ve been talking to Dex up at the post,” Nils put in. “I’ve

been lookin’ carefully at the way the thing was built, too. I think I
have the idea of how to get the cabin done. But it needs more ’n
one man. I’d like to have it done before next summer and have all
ready when Sally gets here.”

“Sally?” Sam asked, his heart sinking.
“Sally’s my intended,” Nils said, rising and turning the rabbits

on the spit. He sat and continued, “Her father said we couldn’t get
married until I had a proper house for her to live in.”

“Where is she now?” Sam asked, trying to hide the

disappointment in his voice.

“Back home.” Nils looked directly into Sam’s eyes. “I only met

her once. Whole thing was arranged between her family and mine.
I hope I like her when she gets here.” He looked back at the fire.
“Well, rabbits are done.”

* * *

The evening chores consisted of getting hay and water for the

horses, cow and goats, rounding up the chickens and getting them
settled in the coop in the back of the lean-to where they would be

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safe from predators, and cleaning up after the evening meal, giving
Molly the remains. Nils milked the cow and one of the goats. He
poured some of the warm milk into a pan for the dog.

“Well, don’t have much use for the milk right now,” he

explained. “But wanna keep them from dryin’ up. Gotta keep
milkin’ to do that. You wanna try some?” he asked, pouring the
white liquid into a cup for himself.

Having never had milk, Sam declined. “Maybe another time.”
Nils set about making up a sleeping matt for Sam in the shelter.

Sam noted that he positioned it quite close to his own. After a final
check of the small homestead, Nils suggested it was time for bed.

“Gets pretty cold at night now,” he said. “I sleep in my union

suit and wear my socks, too. Thought maybe puttin’ our beds close
together would help us keep warm.” He smiled his endearing
boy/man smile.

Sam went to his pack, pulled out his union suit and held it up

for Nils’ approval. “Russell made me get this. I haven’t used it yet.
But if you think it’ll do?”

“Well, I think it will,” said Nils, giving his approval.
The men changed, exhibiting the same measure of modesty that

had been apparent when they had bathed in the stream. They
settled down on the mats and lay facing each other, heads propped
on hands. Molly waddled into the shelter and looked from Nils to
Sam. Finally making up her mind, she walked to the end of Sam’s
matt, circled a few times and lay down with a huge sigh.

“Those pups will come soon,” Sam observed.
“Yes,” Nils agreed. “I’m a bit worried about it. Don’t have any

idea who the daddy is, but she sure is big.”

Sam nodded.
Nils looked at Sam in the fading light. “I’m really glad you’re

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here,” he said. “Especially glad it’s you who’s come to help me.”

Sam felt a surge of emotion pass through him. “I am, too,

Nils.”

He wanted with all his heart to reach out and touch the man’s

face, to let him know in some way what he was feeling. But he
refrained.

Nils smiled at him for several seconds. “Well, good night

then,” he said and laid his head down on the grass stuffed mat.

“Good night,” Sam said. He did not immediately close his eyes.

He looked through the gathering darkness at the man lying next to
him. What was to come of their friendship? What was to happen
when Sally arrived? He listened to the sounds of insects, still
holding out hope of a mate as the cool weather of fall closed in on
them. He heard the soft hoot of an owl, the rustling of the chickens
in their coop as they, too, heard the sound. Insects hoping for a
mate, predator and prey, Sam and Nils. He drifted off to sleep.

He was roused at some point during the night. It took Sam a

minute to discern what had awakened him. He had turned away
from Nils as they slept, but now he felt an arm reaching across his
chest and drawing him close. He responded by covering Nils’ hand
with his own and pressing back against him. He could feel Nils’
erect penis against his butt. Sam felt his organ responding,
straining against the fabric of the union suit. Nils nuzzled the base
of Sam’s neck and sighed deeply. They remained in this
embrace—Nils gently pumping against Sam; Sam caressing his
hand and leaning back into Nils’ nuzzlings. At some point he fell
back to sleep, not knowing for sure if Nils had been awake while
he held Sam in his arms.

* * *

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

When Sam felt Nils rise from the mat, he opened his eyes. The

early light of morning filled the shelter. The chickens were
clucking, anxious to be out and about foraging for insects and
seeds. He rolled over onto his back, his morning erection pressing
against the rough cloth of his union suit. Nils was disappearing out
the flap of the lean-to. Sam got up, stretched and followed him.

He found Nils around the back of the shelter. He had finished

relieving himself and was adjusting his garment. He turned to Sam
as he approached. A broad smile broke across his handsome face.

“Good morning,” he said. “You sleep all right?”
Sam nodded, returning the smile and greeting, undid a button

and pulled his semi-hard cock through the slit in his union suit and
began to relieve himself. He felt mildly self-conscious as Nils still
stood beside him.

“Well, I mean, nothin’ bothered you? Did it?”
“No, nothing bothered me,” Sam replied. He finished urinating

and tucked his penis away. Turning to face Nils, he added, “I slept
real well. It was a good night.”

“For me, too,” the big blond said with a broad smile, looking

almost relieved. “Well, I guess we better get dressed and get this
day started.”

Sam smiled as he followed his new friend around the side of

the lean-to, wondering if and when this game of cat and mouse
would come to the point, and if he should be bold enough to press
the issue.

They repeated the pattern of the night chores in reverse. The

chickens were released, the livestock fed and watered, the cow and
the goat milked. Breakfast consisted of fresh eggs cooked over the
fire, with strips of dried venison. Sam had eaten eggs before,
although not those of domestic fowl. And, of course, venison had

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been a staple of his diet. Once again, he was offered milk and
again he refused. He wished now that there was coffee. Dexter had
been right. After a month of drinking the stuff, he had begun to
tolerate it. It did give him a wake-up kick.

“Whatcha got against milk?” Nils asked as they cleaned up

after their meal. “It’s good for you. We drank lots of it back
home.”

“Where’s home?” Sam asked, not sure if he had anything

against milk except it didn’t seem to appeal to him.

“England,” Nils replied. “I was born in Sweden, but we came

to England when I was a boy.”

Sam waited to see if further information was forthcoming.

When Nils offered none, he prodded. “Why did you come here?”

Nils looked up from his task of rinsing the metal plates and

cups and stared off into the distance. After a moment, he turned to
Sam and looked intently at him. “Well, to be honest, it was an
excuse to put off marrying Sally.”

“Oh?”
Nils looked away. He almost seemed embarrassed by his

admission. “Anyway, I found out about how there was land to be
had in the new world, and I convinced everyone it would be a good
way to get a better start than back home. They didn’t like it at first,
but I showed them how people could get rich over here…and they
finally agreed. So, here I am.”

He turned back to Sam with a sheepish look on his face and

shrugged.

Sam understood. He had left his people because he couldn’t be

forced into living as they expected a man who preferred men over
women to live. Was Nils here for the same reason? Did his
avoidance of marriage stem from the same root as Sam’s need to

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leave his people? Deep inside, he hoped so. Nils’ behavior seemed
to indicate it did, But Sam would wait and see.

“Well,” Nils said, “you said something yesterday about buildin’

a place to stay while we built the cabin. You want to get started on
that?”

Sam agreed they should get to work on the lodge. He had Nils

choose the location, telling him it should be on high, flat ground,
so water would drain away from it. That accomplished, he
instructed his partner on the size and length of saplings needed for
the frame.

“They have to be long, but thin enough to bend.”
They spent the morning in the forest surrounding the

homestead, procuring the requisite materials. The sun was warm
once again. Sam enjoyed the sight of the muscular body of the man
with whom he worked. He had shed his shirt, too, and he watched
to see if Nils was surreptitiously looking in his direction as well.
He wasn’t sure, but he thought he caught Nils giving him
appraising glances every now and again.

By noon, Sam figured they had collected enough wood to begin

constructing the frame for the lodge. They ate dried, salted meat
and fresh carrots from the garden as they tore deer hide into narrow
strips about the length of a man’s arm. As he explained to Nils,
they would use the strips to lash the saplings together to form the
frame of the dwelling.

After eating, they began to dig holes, filling them with water.

The water would soften the earth, and they would force the thin
logs of the frame deep into the ground. With the skills borne of his
life as Soaring Hawk, Sam demonstrated how to bend and lash the
limbs, leaving a smoke hole in the center of the structure. As the
vertical poles were bent and secured, thinner branches were

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fastened horizontally around them to add stability.

By late afternoon, the skeletal framework of the lodge was

completed. The men stepped back and surveyed their work. Sam
was beginning to see patterns in Nils’ behavior: standing with his
hands on his hips, beginning sentences with “well,” smiling most
of the time. Sam was enjoying making these observations.

Nils turned to Sam. “Well, I’d make a pretty fine Indian, don’t

you think?”

Sam smiled back at him. “Yes, you would.”
“Well, I should have an Indian name, ” he said. “You must’ve

had one when you were back livin’ with them. What was it?”

Sam suddenly felt a wave of homesickness wash over him as

Nils’ question caused a flood of memories to break in his mind. He
swallowed hard.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel bad,” Nils said, moving

to Sam’s side and placing his hand on the back of his neck. He
pulled him close, their bodies touched, their faces almost in
contact. Sam looked into the deep blue eyes. He smiled.

“Sometimes I do miss the life I had with the people,” he said

wistfully. “When I was with them, they called me Soaring Hawk.”

Nils released his hold on Sam and took a step back. “Soaring

Hawk…I like that. What do you think my name would be?”

Sam thought for a minute. He looked from Nils to the

framework they had just completed.

“Home Builder,” he said.
“Home Builder,” Nils said thoughtfully. “Yeah, Home Builder.

I like that.”

He repeated the name several times as he walked around the

partially finished structure.

Sam watched him and reflected on the moment of intimacy that

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had just passed between them. He felt good.

After eating the evening meal and taking care of the animals,

the two men lounged by the fire. The autumn chill was descending
as the last rays of the sun filtered through the trees. Molly waddled
up and nestled in against Nils’ chest. He draped his arm across her.

“She is getting close to her time,” Sam observed as he gently

massaged her abdomen. “She is starting to fill with milk.”

Nils looked down at the teats, which had begun to swell. His

forehead creased. Sam could see his concern for her.

“Sure hope she’s goin’ to be all right,” the big blond said.

“She’s been my partner for the whole time I’ve been out here. Kept
me from gettin’ lonely. Of course, now you’re here…” he said
looking across the flames at Sam, his expression softening.

Sam felt a stirring within him.
“Still, she’s my family. I don’t want anything to happen to

her.”

“We’ll make sure she gets through this,” Sam said reassuringly.
Nils nodded, then added, “I’m glad you’re here, very glad.”
Sam smiled that agreement back to Nils. Yes, he was glad to be

here, too.

Sam was already lying on the matt when Nils came to bed. He

had made one last check of the livestock. Sam looked up as he
walked toward him. He wished he could just open his arms and
welcome him into his embrace. But he hesitated. Despite all that
had been said and demonstrated between them, he didn’t want to
assume more than might be there. He would rather forego his
desire for intimacy with Nils than lose the easy relationship that
had established itself.

He needn’t have worried. Nils lowered himself onto the mat

and reached for Sam, drawing him close and pressing the full

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length of his body against him. Nils was already erect. Sam could
feel the man’s organ pulsating against his own rapidly hardening
cock through the layers of material that separated them.

“I’m not makin’ a mistake, am I?” Nils said in a voice that was

almost a whisper and was full of desire.

Sam returned the embrace, wrapping his arms around Nils,

mirroring the pressure of his body against him. “No, you’re not
making a mistake,” he said reassuringly, leaning forward and
brushing Nils’ lips with his own.

Nils pulled back. “I’ve never done anything like this. I’ve never

been with a woman…or a man. I’m not sure what to do.”

Sam smiled at him. He was so innocent, so genuine. Years

later, when Sam would look back on this time, it was at that
moment he knew he loved Nils.

“First, let’s get rid of these clothes,” Sam offered. “Then we

just let happen what will. There’s no right or wrong. You just do
what you feel inside.”

They stood and peeled away their union suits, throwing them

aside. Standing before each other, they reached out and embraced.
Sam’s pounding heart reflected that of his partner as they stepped
together. Sensations of skin on skin, muscle on muscle zipped to
Sam’s brain and he felt his heart as well as his penis swell with
love and desire.

Nils’ eyes were wide. Sam knew he was experiencing the same

feelings, probably for the first time. Sam reached up, placed his
hand behind Nils’ head and pulled him forward. He kissed him. At
first, Nils just pressed his lips against Sam’s. Then, as Sam
massaged his lips with his tongue, Nils responded in kind, opening
his mouth. Soon their tongues were engaged in a duel of passion.

They sank onto the mat, never breaking their embrace. They

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stretched out together, bodies rubbing against each other, hands
roaming, exploring, fondling. Mouths seeking, tasting, caressing.

All too soon, Sam felt Nils’ body tense, cease all movement,

then heave against him. Warm, moist sensations followed as Nils
emptied himself onto Sam’s abdomen. His partner’s climax
provoked Sam’s. Almost immediately, the seed of the two men
was mingling between them.

For a few moments, they lay together as their pounding pulses

returned to normal and their heavy breathing subsided. Sam
opened his eyes and looked into those of his lover. Nils gave a
shuddering sigh.

“I love you, Sam,” he said in a soft, trembling, almost hesitant

voice.

Sam responded by drawing him into a tighter embrace. This is

what he had hoped for, longed for, envisioned. He had found it
here, with this man, with this white man.

“I love you, too, Nils,” he replied, “so very much.”

* * *

Morning saw the two men still locked in their embrace. Sam

opened his eyes to find Nils already awake and looking at him as if
he had been waiting for him to open his eyes.

“’Morning,” he said, pulling Sam to him and kissing him. “I

had the best dream last night.” He smiled broadly.

“Oh?” enquired Sam, innocently. “Tell me about it.”
“I’ll do better than that. I’ll show ya,” Nils replied. He drew

Sam against him and began a gentle rhythm.

Sam returned the cadence. After a short time, he rolled over

onto his back, pulling Nils on top of him. Nils raised himself on his

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elbows and smiled down at his partner. He ground his tumescence
into the groove between Sam’s leg and abdomen. As his breathing
deepened, Sam stopped him.

“Wait,” he said.
Nils was breathing heavily. “Wait?”
“I want to show you something.”
“What’s that?”
He pulled Nils up onto his knees until he was on all fours, his

throbbing member above Sam’s face, strands of glistening fluid
flowing from the tip.

Sam looked up to see Nils staring down at him, wide eyed and

panting. Sam reached up, placed his hands on Nils’ muscular
buttocks and pressed him down. He opened his mouth and Nils slid
inside. The man let out a gasp. He continued to ingest Nils’ cock
until he buried his nose in the scant fringe of rusty blond hair
surrounding its base. He could feel Nils’ heart pounding in the
heavily veined shaft of the huge organ. He forced his captive to
hold still.

As soon as Sam felt Nils was not going to climax too quickly,

he began to knead the muscular mounds he held in his hands. Nils
followed the pace Sam dictated, and began to contract and relax his
butt. This heightened Sam’s arousal.

Three times he brought Nils to the brink, only to force him to

back off and prolong the pleasure. Nils’ moans and strangled
grunts testified to the intensity of his enjoyment, as well as the
frustration of not being allowed to climax. Finally, when Sam tried
to hold off the inevitable for the fourth time, Nils took charge.
Bucking like a wild stag in rut, he thrust deeply into Sam’s throat.
Sam felt the organ throb and pulsate, and then experienced the first
taste of his lover’s seed as it coursed into his mouth and down his

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gullet. After he had drained himself, Nils rocked back on his
haunches, shuddering and twitching. He lowered his chest to
Sam’s and lay there breathing heavily.

“Wondrous!” he said over and over between deep tremulous

breaths.

Sam kissed the top of his head. “Happy to be able to please

you.”

Nils raised his head, gave Sam a quick peck on the nose and

said, “I want to try to please you as well.”

With that, Nils slid his body down until he was between Sam’s

legs, holding his much- distended member tightly in his hand. He
moved his hand up and down, causing the glistening head to
disappear and reappear beneath the hood. Tentatively he licked the
tip, then swirled his tongue around the crown. He seemed to gain
confidence from what he was experiencing, so he thrust Sam into
his mouth…and gagged. Pulling himself off, Nils looked up and
sheepishly apologized to Sam, who was reclining on his elbows
observing him. Sam chuckled and reached out to tousle Nils’ blond
curls.

Nils returned to his ministrations and, with Sam’s guidance, set

up a rhythm that soon brought Sam to climax. Sam tried to warn
Nils. He was waved off, and, although he choked a bit, Nils was
able to swallow Sam’s offering. He held Sam captive until his
member softened. Only then did he release him.

Nils bear-crawled up beside his partner. With a hopeful look on

his face, he asked, “Did I do it right?”

“Wondrous,” Sam replied. “Wondrous.”
They lay together for some time.
“I never thought it would be as good as this,” Nils mused as he

lay with his head on Sam’s shoulder, running his hands through his

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100

luxuriant chest hair.

“It gets better,” Sam replied, smoothing his hand over Nils’

muscular back and running it down to the top of the crevice
between his muscular buttocks.

“Well, how can it get better than this?” Nils queried.
“You’ll see,” Sam said, thinking of the ultimate union yet to

come. “You’ll see.”

* * *

It was difficult for the men to pry themselves out of bed that

morning, but the lowing of the cow pleading to be milked and the
pressure of their bladders convinced them they needed to be up and
about the business of the day.

After breakfast and the usual morning chores, they began the

task of enclosing the lodge in deerskin. They punctuated this with
several sessions of lovemaking, during which Nils perfected his
skill at giving Sam pleasure. Sometimes these times were
passionate and lusty; others were tender and gentle. It was clear to
Sam that he and Nils had both found something they had wanted
for a long time. Tiring of disrobing and dressing again, they finally
worked naked so as to have easier access to each other as the need
arose.

“Well, we didn’t get much done today,” Nils commented as

they lay on the ground inside the semi-completed lodge. Sam
stretched out on his back with Nils curled against him. Sam could
see the sky turning orange through the framework of the unfinished
structure.

“Oh, I’d say we accomplished quite a lot,” Sam replied, giving

Nils a kiss and running his hand from his chest over his rippled

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101

abdomen, massaging his testicles.

Nils pressed into the stimulation and reciprocated. “I mean on

the lodge.” He bent to lick Sam’s nipple.

“No matter,” said Sam, squaring his shoulders and raising his

chest, giving Nils freer access. “We need more skins to complete
the job anyway.”

Nils continued his ministrations to Sam’s hair shrouded nub,

while Sam stroked his now fully erect member.

“That’ll take a long time if we have to hunt some deer, skin

’em and dry the hides.”

“No need. We can ride to the post tomorrow and buy what we

need.”

Nils stopped what he was doing, raised his head and said,

“Well, I don’t have much money. I don’t know I can afford that. I
usually get what I need by tradin’ skins and food from the garden.
Garden’s all but dead now.”

“I have money,” Sam said.
“Oh, no, I can’t do that. You’re the one helpin’ me out here.”
“Let’s just say it’s an investment in our future,” Sam replied.

An image of a faceless white woman floated across his
consciousness.

“Well, I don’t know,” said Nils, still sounding skeptical.
“Look,” Sam said, lifting Nils face to his and looking him in

the eye. “After what we’ve found together, I’m happy to help in
any way I can. Done. We’ll go to the post tomorrow.”

Nils gave him a reluctant smile, leaned forward and kissed him.

Then he went back to the business of pleasuring the man he had
professed to love.

When night fell, the two crawled into bed. This time they

didn’t bother with their union suits. However, due to the numerous

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102

times during the day they had made love, their immediate needs
were well satiated. Instead of passionate lovemaking, they were
happy to hold and kiss each other to sleep.

* * *

Sam was awake before dawn. Despite the satisfaction of the

previous day, sleep and love had reawakened his desires. He
wanted to take Nils to another level in their relationship. He was
already erect and the clear liquid of arousal was dripping from the
tip of his organ.

Nils was in the crook of his arm, sound asleep. Sam turned on

his side and repositioned his thigh, so he could place it between
Nils’ legs. He began to massage the man’s scrotum with his knee.
He felt Nils respond.

Nils stirred, stretched and rolled away from him. Reaching

down, Sam took Nils in hand and began to stroke his semi-
tumescent penis. He looked down at the recumbent figure. A slight
smile played on Nil’s lips.

Without opening his eyes, Nils asked, “Do we have to go to the

post today?”

“Not for a while. First I want to be with you again.”
Nils’ eyes opened. Sam leaned down and kissed him. Reviving

their pattern of kissing and fondling, both men soon were
experiencing a full state of arousal. When Nils attempted to
position himself so they could both take the other orally, Sam
stopped him.

Without a word, Sam lay down on his back and directed Nils to

kneel between his legs. Using spit and the copious clear liquids
flowing from their swollen members, Sam readied himself. He

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103

raised his hips and guided Nils to his entrance.

Nils looked questioningly at Sam, who smiled up at his lover

and said, “I’ll show you.”

Nils scooted forward until Sam’s legs were resting on his

thighs. Nils took hold of himself and pressed the end of his organ
against Sam’s waiting hole. There was some resistance at first, but
Sam’s experience enabled him to relax, and Nils, with a sob,
entered his body.

“I am yours, Nils. I love you.”
Nils’ response was to begin a gentle pumping motion, while

tears formed in his eyes. As his rhythm increased, each stroke took
him deeper into Sam’s body. Sam could feel Nils contacting the
place within him that made him see spots of light and feel small
shocks. He took hold of himself and stroked in time to Nils’
rhythm.

Sooner than either wanted, the wave began to crest. Sam

erupted with spurts of his seed coating both his and Nils’ stomachs.
Nils soon followed. Sam could feel Nils’ member throb within him
and knew the issue of his lover’s body was now spreading through
him. As Nils slowly lowered himself until he was prostrate on top
of him, Sam had the feeling of loss as Nils slipped from the
confines of his body. Neither spoke. The beating of their hearts and
the intensity of their embrace spoke for them.

* * *

“You take care of things while we’re gone,” Nils said to Molly

as she sat before him, cocking her head to one side, looking as if
she understood every word he said. Her tail wagged back and forth
in the dust.

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104

Sam was already mounted, watching as Nils stroked the dog’s

golden head. He looked up at Sam.

“You think she’ll be all right while we’re gone? She looks like

she’s about to pop.”

Sam looked at the sweet dog that sat patiently at Nils’ feet. She

did look like she was about ready, but he was reasonably sure the
whelping was not going to happen that day.

“I think she’ll be all right,” he said. “But if you’d rather stay

here, I can go to the post alone.”

“No,” Nils replied somewhat hesitantly. “Well, I wouldn’t

know what to do if anything did happen anyway.”

He mounted his horse and the men, ponying Sam’s pack

animal, headed down the trail toward the trading post.

As they rode along in the pleasant October sunshine, Sam took

a deep, contented breath. He glanced sideways at his partner, who,
upon seeing him, turned and gave him a dazzling smile.

“Wanna stop and play?” he asked with a wink.
Sam laughed. He wouldn’t mind stopping, but if they were to

get to the post and back by nightfall, they should keep going. He
was just concerned enough about Molly that his desire to make
love to Nils was overridden.

“Let’s save it. It’ll be that much better when we get back

tonight.”

Nils chuckled and said, “Then let’s move it along. Sooner we

get there, the sooner we’ll be home.” He clucked his mount into a
trot.

Home, Sam thought, as he, too, urged his horse forward. The

word sounded good to him. He had a home. There was still the
specter of Sally, but that was in the future. For now, he would be
going home with Nils.

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105

* * *

The men reached the post just before noon. Dexter looked up

from his work of sorting skins as they walked in. Tanner was just
coming out from the kitchen area. Both men broke into smiles,
came to embrace Sam and greeted Nils warmly as well.

“What brings you two here?” Dexter asked.
Sam went on to explain their needs, while Nils followed

Tanner out the back door to the sheds where they kept skins.

“And I might as well buy a can of coffee while I’m here.”
Dexter laughed, ribbing Sam about how he knew he’d get

hooked on the stuff. He then asked, “So, things is goin’ well fer ya
with Nils?”

“Yes, really well,” Sam replied.
“In every way?” Dexter said with a look that belied what was

behind the question.

Sam felt himself blush. He smiled at Dexter. “Yes, Dexter, in

every way,” he said.

“I was right about that, too.” Dexter nodded sagely.
Sam returned the nod.
“We got them skins you was a wantin’ all loaded,” Tanner said

as he and Nils returned to the room.

“We’ll be on our way then,” said Sam. “We have a dog that

may need our help if her pups decide it’s time.”

“Molly?” asked Dexter.
“Yep,” Nils said. “She got herself mixed up with somebody’s

dog and from the looks of it, he was one big son of a gun.”

“Well, you gotta eat anyways so why don’t ya’ll stay for a meal

then you can be on your way?” Tanner suggested.

They agreed. The men made their way to the kitchen, where

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106

Tanner rustled up food for them. While they ate, Dexter said he
was sorry the men were out on the trap lines as he was sure they
would want to see Sam again, especially Russell. Sam agreed it
would have been good to see them.

After they were finished eating, the men said their good-byes,

mounted up and made their way back to the homestead. Arriving
just before dusk, Nils was quick to check on Molly, who hadn’t
come to greet them. Sam unsaddled the horses and unpacked the
skins. After turning the horses out in the pen, he hurried to the
shelter. He found his friend on his knees next to Molly, who was
curled up on a pile of skins and clothing. Sam kneeled down beside
him.

He saw right away Molly was in no distress, but it was clear

she had made her birthing nest. Nils looked at him as Sam joined
them.

“Well, looks like it’s about time,” he said, a note of anxiety in

his voice.

Sam put his hand on Nils shoulder to reassure him. “Looks

like. She seems all right, though. You stay with her. I’ll go take
care of the stock.”

“Thanks,” Nils said. Then, as Sam was about out of the shelter,

he added, “What about the milkin’? You think you can handle
that?”

Sam turned and chuckled. He placed his hand in front of his

crotch and made a stroking motion. “I think with all the practice
we’ve had the last couple of days, I got the hang of it.”

They both laughed. Molly wagged her tail as if she, too,

enjoyed the joke.

Chores finished, Sam returned to the lean-to, herding the flock

of chickens before him. Once they were safely caged, he came and

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107

knelt beside Nils, stretched out on his side beside Molly’s nest.

“How’s she doing?”
“She’s gettin’ close, I think. She’s lickin’ herself and startin’ to

leak a little milk.”

Sam put his hand on Molly’s abdomen. He immediately

became concerned. There was no movement. As big as she was,
there should be something. He looked at Nils.

“What’s wrong?” Nils concern heightened.
“Something doesn’t feel right,” Sam said.
Just as he said that, Molly whined and raised her back leg. Sam

could see her strain. Labor had started. Nils looked from him to the
dog. He went pale.

Things happened very quickly after that. Molly’s water started

to protrude, and she whined and strained harder.

“Come on, girl,” Sam said gently. “You can do this.”
She strained and strained, but nothing happened. As Nils and

Sam watched, the brave little mother tried valiantly to give birth to
her puppies, but it was apparent she was not able to. They were
just too big and probably already dead.

Sam looked at Nils. “We’re gonna have to help her. You sit by

her head and hold her.”

“What’re ya gonna do?”
“Open her up.”
Nils stifled a sob.
Sam got up and got his knife from his pack. He wiped it off and

looked at Nils. “Ready?”

Nils nodded.
Sam made a small incision along her abdomen. The blood ran

freely. He wiped it away. He looked up at Molly; her tongue was
hanging out, her eyes closed. Her gums were pink, a good sign. He

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108

retraced the incision. A body appeared at the entry he had created.
With care he pulled it out, wiped the membranes away and laid it
aside. It was dead. He pulled out another and another. In all, he
pulled out six pups. All lay lifeless on the skins beside the nest. He
looked up at Nils, who still held Molly’s head on his lap. Her
breathing was labored, but she appeared to be doing well.

“Wolves,” Sam said. “No wonder she was so big.”
“That all of them?” Nils asked.
Sam checked inside once more. He felt one more pup. This

one, incredibly, wriggled at his touch. “There’s one more. It’s
alive.”

He extracted the final puppy, removed the sack and massaged

its body. This pup was smaller than all the others, and while they
appeared to be grey or black, this pup, although damp, Sam could
see was a golden red, like his momma.

Sam worked to get the small dog to begin breathing.
“Come on, little guy, come on. You wanna see your momma,

right? Come on.”

At last, the puppy wiggled and let out a whine. Molly opened

her eyes and tried to get up. Nils held her down. The pup continued
to mew as Sam dried it off. He laid the pup next to Molly, who
began to lick it in earnest. Sam looked at Nils. There were tears
flowing down his cheeks.

Sam turned his attention to getting Molly closed up. He went

outside and got a rabbit bone splinter from the waste pile behind
the shelter. He then peeled a thread of sinew from the carcass.
Fashioning a crude needle, he stitched up the incision he had made,
and washed the area with clean water. Molly had endured the
procedure, being intent on caring for her one surviving baby. Sam
then disposed of the rest of the litter.

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109

Later that night the men lay facing each other, with Molly and

baby between them. The pup had tried to nurse. Sam thought he
had gotten some nourishment, but he seemed weak. So he had
gotten some cloth, tied a strip of hide around it and made an
artificial teat. He had dipped this in goat’s milk and squeezed a few
drops of the liquid into the puppy’s mouth. Sam hoped this would
strengthen him, so he could nurse on his own.

“Well, what’ll you call him?” Nils asked.
Sam looked at his partner. “He’s yours, Nils. You should name

him.”

“No,” said the big blond. “You saved him. He’s your dog. You

name him.”

Sam smiled down on the little ball of golden hair, sleeping

peacefully next to his mother. “S’unktokeca.”

“Shun to…what?” Nils said, looking puzzled.
“Shunk toek tah,” Sam said slowly. “S’unktokeca,” he said

again and laughed. The puppy stretched and yawned. “See, he
knows his name already.”

“Shunk toe,” Nils tried again. “Bugger! I’ll never get that. What

does that mean in English?”

“Wolf.”
“How about this then? Varg,” Nils offered.
“What?” Sam said frowning.
“Varg,” Nils repeated. “That’s ‘wolf’ in Swedish.”
“Varg,” Sam repeated looking quizzically at the pup.
“Don’t like that much, huh?” Nils said.
Sam didn’t want to hurt his friend’s feelings, but he shook his

head.

“Well, then, I’m callin’ him Wolf, even though with that color

he don’t look like one. Never saw a gold wolf.”

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110

Sam looked at Wolf and smiled. “Maybe one day he will.”

* * *

Over the next few days, the men spent their time feeding the

hungry little pup, encouraging him to nurse, working on the lodge
and making love. By the third day, Wolf was strong enough to
nurse on his own. Molly couldn’t have been a better mother. She
fussed over her baby, kept him fastidiously clean and guarded him
from the chickens when they wandered too close to Molly’s nest.

Nils laughed at this. “When that boy gets a little bigger, it’ll be

those stupid hens that’ll need guarding.”

Sam smiled. He would teach Wolf not to bother the chickens.
On the fourth day following their trip to the post and the birth

of Wolf, they finished the lodge. The men moved their belongings
into their new home. Molly watched the proceedings with interest.
Halfway through the move, she went back to the shelter, picked
Wolf up and brought him into the lodge. She laid him on the
sleeping mats next to the fire pit. Then she proceeded to move her
nesting materials and arrange them. When she was satisfied with
her work, she placed Wolf in the nest and lay down beside him.
Sam and Nils watched with pride.

“Well, guess that makes it official—this is home,” Nils mused.

Sam put his arms around his partner and nodded.

That night after dinner, they sat together by the fire with an elk

skin wrapped around their naked bodies. The warmth of the past
week was giving way to cooler weather, but both men were
reluctant to trade the pleasure of skin-to-skin contact for the added
insulation of their union suits. Molly curled up with her son, snug
in her nest. The fire light danced on the walls of the newly

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111

constructed lodge. Sam had a sense of deep contentment as he
gazed around the lodge.

Nils, too, looked about. “This is really nice. I wonder if we

should even bother with a cabin?”

Sam looked at Nils. For a moment, a spark of hope leapt in his

heart, then died.

“I’m not sure Sally would appreciate this,” Sam said somewhat

wistfully, stirring the fire with a stick.

Nils sighed. “No, you’re right. Sally expects a cabin and even

that isn’t gonna be something she’s used to. No, we’ll build her a
cabin.”

They were silent for a time. Then Nils turned his face to Sam.

“I want to thank you for all you’ve done for me, saving Molly,
building the lodge and all.”

Sam pulled him close. “Being here with you like this is all the

thanks I need.” He kissed Nils.

“You know how much I like it when you let me come inside

you,” Nils continued.

Sam nodded.
“Well, I was thinking you must like that, too, and…well…I

wanna give that to you to say thanks.” His simple, innocent smile
made Sam feel warm all over.

“Are you sure? It isn’t very comfortable the first time.”
“Heck, a little discomfort is nothing compared to all you’ve

done here. ’Sides, I’ve been thinking, I might like it a bit, too.”
Another smile broke across his boyish face, made all the more
endearing accompanied by a slight blush.

Sam thought back to when he had offered himself to Lean Bear

for the first time. He remembered the joy it had brought both of
them. He returned Nils’ smile and said, “If that’s what you want,

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112

I’m happy to oblige.”

“Well, that’s what I want,” Nils said.
Later that night, Sam lay spooned against his sleeping partner.

Nils’ breathing was deep and even. He held Sam’s hand, which
rested on his chest. From Molly’s nest, he could hear a soft
mewing followed by the sounds of suckling as Wolf woke to eat. A
feeling of bliss and permanence stole through Sam’s being.

He snuggled against Nils, pressing his face into the blond curls

that covered his neck. He breathed in the scent of his man. His first
penetration had been painful for Nils. Although he’d tried not to
show it, Sam had seen the grimaces that the smiles failed to hide.
Sam knew it would get better for him, and he loved Nils all the
more for his willingness to allow Sam this pleasure, despite his
discomfort. He had reciprocated by letting Nils achieve
gratification by coming into him.

The next day they would start on the livestock shelter and when

that was completed, the cabin. The thought of the cabin brought a
moment of melancholy to dampen the good feelings his evening
had engendered, but only temporarily. The completion of the cabin
was a long way off. Much could happen between now and then.

* * *

As the weeks passed and turned into months, the men fell into

an easy routine. They worked first on the new animal shelter until
it was complete, then on the cabin. They also hunted and, when the
first snows arrived, frolicked like children with Molly and the
now-eighty-pound golden wolf dog.

Wolf had grown into a magnificent beast. He resembled his

wolf ancestors, but his coloring was a deep rich gold, accented by

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113

white. He was intelligent and responded well to Sam’s training. He
had killed one of the chickens, but one day of having the dead bird
tied to his neck quelled his appetite for that sport.

They laid out the cabin some distance from the lodge. For now

it was to be a one-room affair, with plans for adding more rooms if
needed. Sam had shown Nils how to use the horses to drag the
heavy logs to the site. The coming of the snow made this task even
easier.

Several times during the winter and early spring, Dexter,

Tanner, Russell and the men from the post came by to check on
progress and share a time of camaraderie. Dexter’s suggestions for
the work on the cabin had proven to be very useful. They also
brought news of developments in the area. Dexter told them of a
new family who had begun to set up a homestead just before
winter had set in, and how the men had helped them get a shelter
built before the worst of the snows began. But Nils firmly rejected
the offer to do the same for him with the cabin. Sam and Nils were
grateful for the friendship that was developing, especially with
Dexter and Tanner.

Nils and Sam spent their evenings in the lodge next to a warm

fire. The men relished these times together. They sat and talked,
often with one or the other of the dogs curled up next to them.
Hardly a day went by without an expression of their physical love
for one another. As Sam had hoped, Nils came to enjoy taking Sam
within him. Sam felt he had found all he ever wanted in leaving his
people. Only the specter of the completion of the cabin and the
time of Sally’s arrival intruded into his happiness and contentment.

In that regard, it seemed to him Nils often found excuses not to

work on the cabin. Nils rarely mentioned Sally. When he did, it
was often followed by the suggestion they hunt instead of work on

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114

the structure, or take a day to play with the dogs, or some other
chore that needed to be done. Sam never questioned his friend
about this, but merely went along with any suggestion he made
with a glad heart. The longer it took to finish the cabin, the longer
he had Nils to himself.

One warm spring evening, after they had been working most of

the day on the final tier of logs before they hoisted the main beam
of the roof, Nils walked away from the cabin to a pail of water
sitting nearby. He dipped a tin cup into the water and took a long
drink. Refilling the cup, he brought it back to Sam. He turned
toward the unfinished cabin and stood with his hands on his hips, a
stance which was very characteristic of the man Sam had grown to
love so deeply.

“Well, I’ve made a decision,” he said.
Sam regarded the handsome profile. Nils stood for a long time,

looking at the cabin that the men had labored on through the long
winter. The twittering of birds and the mating songs of the frogs
and peepers filled the vernal twilight. Sam waited patiently for
what Nils would say.

Nils turned to him. “I’ve decided not to send for Sally.”
Sam’s heart seemed to stop for an instant. When it started

beating again it was racing.

“Nils, are you…”
Nils finished the sentence for him. “I’m sure.” He turned back

to the cabin and began to walk around it, surveying the structure.

“What will you tell her?” Sam asked as he followed Nils.
“Nothing. I’m just gonna disappear.” He stopped and looked

again at Sam. Then he began to walk again, looking intently at the
log building. “We’ll finish the cabin. Then we’ll sell it.” His voice
took on an air of enthusiasm. “We’ll find another place and build

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115

another lodge. I’ll sell the cow and the goats. The chickens, too. I
only got them because I thought Sally and I would need them.
Besides, you never liked the milk anyway.”

He stopped for a second time, turned to Sam and chuckled.

“We don’t need them.” He walked over to Sam, placing both hands
on the man’s shoulders and looking into his eyes, smiling broadly.
“We’ll live off the land; hunt and sell the skins to Dexter, just you
and me, Molly and Wolf. We’ll live like your people do.”

Sam drew Nils into a tight embrace. He could scarcely believe

what he was hearing.

“Are you sure? I don’t want you to do something you’re going

to regret later.”

Nils kissed him, hard and full. “That show you I’m sure?” he

said breaking the embrace and holding Sam at arms’ length.
“You’re the life I want. I knew it that day a year ago when you first
walked into the tradin’ post. Only I didn’t know how that would
ever happen. Then when you showed up here…well, it didn’t take
me long to know I loved you. It just took some time for me to work
out what was the right thing to do.”

“And you think this is the right thing?” Sam asked, still not

wanting to push Nils into doing something he would be sorry for.

“Well, I don’t know if it’s right or wrong in the big scheme o’

things. I only know it’s right for me, for us. I only hope you feel
the same.”

Sam hugged him and kissed him hard and full. “That show you

I feel the same?”

Nils threw his head back and, still holding Sam, let out a

whoop that stopped the birds and frogs from singing. It brought
Molly and Wolf running to see what was going on.

Nils looked back into Sam’s eyes. “This is the happiest day of

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116

my life. And it’s only gonna get better and better.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Yes, Nils, better and better.”

* * *

That night, when they made love, Sam sensed a new freedom

in his partner. He certainly felt it in himself. When they came
together and Nils was deeply inside him, Sam knew there were no
longer any barriers between them. He abandoned himself to the
physical and emotional sensations their union brought him. His
climax was intense, leaving him fulfilled as he had never been
before. And later, when he guided his penis into his lover’s body,
he could feel Nils offering himself to him in a new and deeper
way. That night was what Sam had imagined a marriage night
would be like for two people who were deeply in love, ready to
embark on their life’s journey together.

The next morning Nils was up early.
“Come on,” he encouraged Sam to get out of bed. “Come on.

Let’s get started.”

“What?” said Sam, laughing softly.
“I can’t wait to get the cabin done so we can get out of here. I

want us to have our own place. This was never ours. It was for her.
The sooner we get the cabin finished, the sooner we can have a
home of our own.”

Sam reached up and pulled Nils down on his knees beside the

mat. “The day will take care of itself. The cabin will be built. We’ll
find a place to call home. Right now, I want to enjoy you.” Nils
sank down on the mat beside Sam and wrapped his arms around
him. Their lips met and tongues danced. Their hearts beat as one.
The first day of the rest of their lives had begun as it should, but

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117

how it would end would forever be etched in Sam’s memory.

* * *

The two men worked hard on the cabin that day. His partner

mirrored the lightness of heart that Sam felt. Nils straddled the
highest point of the cabin on top of one of the side walls. A rope
stretched across the peak was raising the log that would form the
center beam of the roof. The other end of the rope was attached to
one of the horses. Sam gently encouraged the animal to move
forward slowly, Sam looked back and listened as Nils gave
instructions as to how far to raise the beam.

“Nils,” Sam called out, stopping the horse.
Nils raised his head from watching the rising beam and looked

at him. “What?”

“I think we should wait. We can have Dexter and the men

come to help. This is more than we can handle by ourselves.”

Nils placed his hands on his hips as he continued to balance at

the top of the peak. Smiling down at his partner and shaking his
head, he said, “We can do this. We’ve almost got it up to the notch.
It’s just a foot more. Let’s just get it done.”

Sam sighed; he knew Nils was anxious to quit this place and

move on, and he was too. He turned back to the horse, softly
clucking it into a careful walk.

Just then, the dogs started barking. Sam stopped the horse, and

Nils raised his head from guiding the center beam. Dexter rode out
of the woods.

“I got a surprise for you, Nils,” he called.
Tanner came up behind, driving a wagon. There, on the seat

next to him, was a young woman. Sam’s heart stopped. “Sally,” he

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118

mouthed. He looked up at Nils.

The man was standing on the wall wide-eyed. As if waking

from sleep, he shook his head. A look of confusion and pain briefly
crossed his handsome face. He glanced in Sam’s direction, then he
seemed to force a smile and yelled, “Sally!”

* * *

Sam sat staring into the fire. Wolf lay by his side, Molly next to

Wolf. Sam was numb. He had watched as Nils had accompanied
Sally back to the trading post where her parents were waiting.
They had come with their daughter to find Nils, having become
impatient waiting for word from him to bring Sally.

“I’m sorry,” Nils had said. “I should’ve let her father know

how things were going, how long it would take to finish the cabin.
Sam, I’m sorry.”

The way he had spoken those words was so final. He hadn’t

offered any suggestion as to how they could circumvent this turn
of events. He had just said he was sorry. Then he had left to go
back to the post to greet the parents.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” Nils had said.
Sam knew what he must do.
Taking a deep breath, he rose and went to the lodge. He

avoided looking in the direction of the sleeping mats as he
gathered his belongings. Wolf and Molly followed him. They sat in
the doorway watching his every move. He went to the pen and
brought his riding horse out. Taking the saddle from the lean-to
that had served as their shelter, he tacked up his horse, placing his
pack behind his saddle. He would leave the second horse behind.

He walked toward the forest. Wolf and Molly followed. Sam

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119

stopped.

“No, Molly,” he said, kneeling and taking her head in his

hands. “You have to stay here.”

She whined. He buried his face in her neck.
“He’ll need you,” he said releasing her.
She whined again, turned and walked back to the entrance to

the lodge and lay down.

He swung up into the saddle. “Come, Wolf,” he said.
Without looking back, Sam rode out into the night.

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CHAPTER 6

ACLEDE

’

ILLAGE

“Ya don’t have ta go, ya know,” Russell said again. He had

repeated this more times than Sam could recall. “Why do ya wanna
go ta the city anyway? It’s got too many people, it’s dirty and,
well, ya ain’t gonna be happy there.”

Russell continued trying to make his case for Sam to stay with

him at the trading post. He had made it abundantly clear he would
be very happy to take Nils’ place in Sam’s heart.

Sam laid his hand on Russell’s shoulder. “It’s not that I want to

go. I have to go.”

Dexter joined the embrace, putting his arms around the

shoulders of both men. “Don’t mind him none, Sam. You do what
you need to do. We understand.”

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121

Sam looked at Russell. He wasn’t sure the man understood.
The men were standing on the shore of the big river, waiting

for the barge that would ferry Sam to the small city on the other
side. Wolf sat at Sam’s feet. Dexter and Russell had accompanied
Sam to the small settlement of Cahokia, where he would catch the
ferry. Sam was grateful to Dexter for all he had done. The night
Sam left Nils’ farm he had ridden into the forest. He had found a
place to camp and had remained there for several weeks. When he
was reasonably sure Sally’s folks had left, he returned to the
trading post.

Dexter told him some of the men went and helped Nils finish

the cabin. He told Sam that Sally was staying with the new
neighbor family until the wedding, which would take place at the
end of the summer. Without his having to ask, Dexter let him know
Nils inquired of Sam’s whereabouts regularly. With his horse, his
belongings and Wolf, Sam moved back to the trading post for the
summer.

He had seen Nils only once during that time. He had come in

for supplies just as Sam was walking out the door. The two men
stood and stared at each other for several seconds. Nils had stepped
forward, arms outstretched as if to embrace Sam. Sam had taken a
step back, extended his hand and turned the hug into a handshake.

“Sam, I don’t know what to say,” Nils had said, his voice soft,

trembling.

Sam had felt a surge of sorrow. “Don’t say anything. You’re a

man of honor. You see your duty and are fulfilling it.” His mind
went back to his own betrothal to Wild Flower, and how he had
run from it in search of… In search of what? Just then, he wasn’t
sure.

As fall approached, Sam became restless. He knew in his heart

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he needed to be away from there before the wedding. But he didn’t
know where to go. Returning to the village and his people was not
an option. By chance, one evening, several French trappers stopped
at the post. They talked of crossing the big river. The lands on the
other side were more open, and trapping was flourishing there.
They also talked of the city growing on the western shore, and how
there was opportunity for work. Upon hearing this, Sam decided to
cross the river himself and seek a new life.

Standing now next to the dock with Dexter and Russell, the

morning mist lifting from the water, he could see the barge
approaching on its return trip from across the river. Sam felt
reluctance, anxiety and anticipation vying for supremacy.

Four men with long poles guided the barge to its berth. As it

came to rest against the dock, the two passengers it was carrying
disembarked and walked off the pier. The bargemen followed after
tying the craft to the pilings.

“You lookin’ to cross?” a burly man with a captain’s hat said to

the men as he walked past them.

“I am,” replied Sam. “Me, my horse and dog.”
“Give us an hour,” the man returned.
The captain, plus his crewmen, continued on as Sam, Dexter

and Russell returned to where they had tied their horses. Wolf
stayed close to Sam’s side.

“Ya got yerself an hour to change yer mind,” Russell said, still

pressing his idea of what was best for Sam.

Sam just smiled at him. Somewhere inside, he wished he could

return what Russell was feeling for him, but he knew he couldn’t;
not here, not so close to Nils.

When the hour had passed, the bargemen returned to the dock.

They followed their lead and walked onto the wooden platform.

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123

The barge pilot took Sam’s horse and led it aboard. The animal
warily walked across the gangplank and was tied to a hitching rack
in the middle of the craft. Three other passengers boarded—a man
and a woman, and another man who looked to be a trapper. Sam
turned to Dexter and Russell.

Russell put his arms around him. “I wish this had turned out

differently for you,” he said.

Sam nodded as he hugged the man.
Sam then embraced Dexter.
“You’ve been a good friend. I don’t know if I’d have made it

through this without you,” Sam said.

“You’re a good man, Samuel Hawkins. I’m glad to know you.

Remember, you always have a home with us if you need it.”

They said their goodbyes, and Sam, with Wolf at his heels,

stepped onto the barge.

The flat-bottomed boat was poled away from the dock and into

the river. Sam stood at the rail and watched as his friends receded
into the distance. He waved one last time and turned to face the
opposite shore.

The river at that point was narrow and not very deep, making it

an excellent place to cross. However, the pole men still had to
strain to keep the craft on course for the western riverbank. Sam
looked down and watched the muddy water swirl by. The man Sam
had supposed was a trapper came and stood beside him.

“First time?” he asked.
“What?” Sam said, not understanding what he meant.
“First time crossing the river?” the man clarified, leaning on his

forearms against the rail, with his hands folded, staring across the
water.

“Yes, yes, it is.”

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124

“Whatcha hope to find over there?” the man asked, raising his

head to indicate the approaching shore.

What am I hoping to find? Sam allowed fleeting images of Nils

to cross his mind.

When he didn’t answer right away, the man standing next to

him turned to Sam and asked, “Running away from somethin’, or
to somethin?”

“A bit of both, I guess,” Sam replied. “I’m hoping to find

work.”

“Plenty to be found over there,” the man said, nodding again in

the direction of the shoreline, “both in the city and beyond that. A
man who’s searching for somethin’ is pretty shore to find it out
there somewhere.”

He straightened up, looked at Sam, smiled and walked away,

leaving Sam standing at the rail, staring at eddies of muddy water
that churned around the barge. He raised his eyes to the city that
stood on the banks of the river. What would his search lead him to
in these strange new surroundings? He looked down at Wolf sitting
at his side, his eyes fixed on Sam. He reached down and scratched
the wolf-dog’s ears.

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said. “Don’t feel so alone having

you with me.”

Wolf whined, wagged his great plume of a tail, and leaned

against Sam’s leg. Sam looked back at the advancing shore. He
squared his shoulders and took a deep breath.

He would find what he was searching for. If not here, then,

maybe beyond, but he would find it. Of that he was sure.

The bargemen skillfully maneuvered the flat-bottomed boat to

the mooring on the west side of the river. Sam untied his horse and
led him off the vessel and onto the dock. There he paid the pilot.

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125

He continued on foot, leading the horse, with Wolf following close
behind.

He was struck by the contrast of the two shores. The one he had

just left was calm and uncluttered; this side of the river was
bustling with activity and noise. Sam’s first inclination was to find
a way out of the confusion and get into the open. He mounted his
horse and called to Wolf to follow, heading in a direction along the
crowded street that he thought would take him away from the city.

Within a short distance, the buildings gave way to woodlands.

Sam reined up, turned and looked back. He let his mind settle.
What was he to do? He had lived all his life in the peacefulness of
the forest, first at home in the village, then those few months when
he worked at the trading post. Even with Nils, he had lived much
as he always had in a lodge in the style of his people. If he were to
find out who he was—white man or Indian—he would have to
experience this aspect of life among the whites. He retraced his
route and went back into the city.

He discovered away from the river and the dock area, the city

was much more peaceful. The large buildings where the barge had
landed gave way to a street on which Sam found a store, a two-
story building with a sign that read Mary and Martha’s
Boardinghouse, another whose sign read Saloon, a church and a
livery.

As he rode farther, there were three more streets lined with

houses. Those nearest to the center of town were made of stone
and logs, and resembled the cabin he and Nils had been building.
Those structures on the outermost streets were made of wooden
planks and were larger. As Sam rode along, the people he met
either ignored him, or gave him an appraising look. At one point,
two small dogs emerged from behind one of the dwellings, barking

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126

furiously. Wolf stopped, raised his hackles and gave a low,
warning growl. The two would-be assailants stopped in their
tracks, turned and ran whining with their tails between their legs.
Wolf snorted his triumph, prancing in circles, his plumed tail
curled over his back. Sam chuckled softly.

Having finished his tour, Sam concluded the city was not as big

as he had imagined when viewing it from the barge. He began to
feel more relaxed and comfortable. The next order of business was
to find somewhere to stay and a place to keep his horse and Wolf.
He turned back to the main street of the small city.

He stopped at the livery, dismounted, tied his horse to the

hitching post, instructed Wolf to stand guard and went in.

“Hello?” he called.
“Hello,” came the reply in a heavy French accent.
Out from behind a row of stalls came a tall, thin man. He was

not particularly good looking, but had a pleasant face. He was
chewing tobacco. When he smiled, his teeth testified to that fact.

“Bonjour. Comment peux-je vous aider?” he said.
“I’m sorry,” said Sam. “I don’t speak French.”
The man smiled again. “I speak English. How may I help

you?”

“Yes,” Sam replied. “I just came from across the river. I need

to find a place to stay and keep my horse. And I’d like to find
work.”

“There’s a boardinghouse in town, Mary and Martha’s. It’s

very clean and they have a dining room for meals. Most people
stay there until they find work. If they work for either the trading
company or the lumber mill, they usually move to the workmen’s
quarters. Those who work on the docks live at the boardinghouse
or above the saloon.” He paused, and Sam nodded.

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“As for your horse, you’re welcome to keep it here. I have

stalls and a pen for turning out. It would cost one dollar a week.”

Sam looked around the establishment. He saw it was well

ordered and smelled clean. “I think I’d like that. I have a dog as
well,” he added.

“Hmm, a dog. I don’t think Miss Mary would let you keep it

there. If your employment turns out to be at either the post or the
mill, and you go to live there, I know they wouldn’t let it stay.”

Sam was concerned. There was no way he would be separated

from Wolf. He was the last vestige of his life with Nils.

The livery owner must have sensed his concern. “You’re fond

of this animal, yes?”

“Yes, he’s a very special partner. I wouldn’t want to have to

give him up.”

“Well, let me meet this special partner of yours. Perhaps it

would work for him to stay here as well.”

“He’s outside, guarding my horse and belongings,” Sam said,

turning to walk toward the door. “I’m Sam Hawkins by the way.”
He held out his hand to the man who walked beside him.

“Pleased to meet you, Sam Hawkins. I’m Edouard Moreau.”

He took Sam’s hand. The grip was firm and strong, attesting to the
many hours of hard work attending to the needs of horses.

The men continued outside. When Edouard saw Wolf, he made

a whistling sound through his teeth. “Mon Deiu! What a
magnificent animal.”

Wolf still sat where Sam had ordered him. He looked from Sam

to the stranger, as if waiting for a cue.

“No one would dare to try to steal from you with this beast

around. What do you call him?”

“Wolf,” said Sam. Then to Wolf he said, “It’s all right. Friend.”

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Wolf relaxed and stood, his plumed tail wagging, his eyes

softening. Edouard cautiously took a step toward him.

“You can pet him. He knows you’re a friend.”
Edouard knelt, and Wolf came to him, burying his head in the

man’s chest, accepting the attention with relish.

“Would he obey me as he does you?” he asked Sam.
“Of course,” Sam replied, “if I teach you his commands.”
“This would be a good thing for me. I could have him guard the

livery. I would not have you pay then to keep him here,” Edouard
said enthusiastically, still stroking the dog’s head.

The men walked back inside, Sam leading his horse, and Wolf

following behind. Edouard showed him where to stall the horse
and stow his tack.

Sam took some time to acquaint Edouard with Wolf’s training.

In a short time, Wolf was readily responding to Edouard’s
commands. Wolf seemed to like the Frenchman, so Sam was
pleased. This would work well, he thought. Making sure things
were settled with Edouard, Sam instructed Wolf to remain behind,
before making his way to the boardinghouse on foot.

Upon entering the building, Sam immediately felt self-

conscious. His limited experience with whites had not prepared
him for an establishment such as this. He stood inside the doorway,
looking around awkwardly.

To his left he could see a small room with tables spread with

white cloths and chairs. On each table stood a vase of flowers. In
the other direction was a flight of stairs. There was carpet on the
floor. In front of him was a counter. On the counter was yet
another vase with flowers. He felt nonplussed. He was just about to
turn around and leave when a portly, gray-haired lady came
through the doors of the room with the tables.

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129

“Hello,” she said pleasantly. “May I help you?”
“Yes, ma’am,” Sam replied, removing his hat and taking a step

forward. “I’d like to stay here, if that’s all right?”

She laughed softly. “Of course it is. Come right over here to the

desk, and we’ll get you signed in.”

She walked to the counter and stood behind it. Sam approached

and stood, holding his hat, still not sure what he was to do.

“I’m Mary,” she said as she lifted a registration book from

behind the counter.

She opened the book, laid it on the surface of the desk and

turned it toward Sam. He looked down at it, then back up at Mary.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I haven’t been in the city before and…”
Mary’s soft laugh came again. It was a pleasant, welcoming

sound, putting Sam at ease.

“Land’s sakes, Laclede’s Village isn’t much of a city…at least,

not yet. Here”—she handed Sam a quill pen and a pot of ink—
“just make your mark.” She pointed to a line on the page above
which were a number of names and Xs. “One day this will be an
important city, being right on the river and all.”

Sam took the pen and wrote Samuel Hawkins neatly.
Mary turned the book back to her. “Well, Mr. Hawkins, it’s a

pleasure to meet a man who can write his own name. So many that
come to Laclede’s can’t, you know.”

“Please call me Sam,” he said. It was the first time anyone had

addressed him as “mister,” and it felt strange. “My mother taught
me to read and write.”

“Bless her heart,” Mary said kindly. “But a man who can read

and write should be shown some respect. Let me at least call you
Samuel.”

Sam nodded. He liked Miss Mary very much already.

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130

“How long will you be staying with us, Samuel?” she inquired

as she closed the ledger and replaced it under the desk.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. “I’m looking for work. If I work at

the mill or the trading post, I understand they provide you with a
place to stay.”

“They do,” Mary said, in a tone that conveyed she didn’t think

much of the lodging provided by these employers. “Well, you’re
welcome here for as long as you care to stay. The room is fifty
cents a day. With all three meals, it’s a dollar-and-a-half. With just
breakfast and supper, the charge is one dollar. I provide you with
warm water and towels morning and night, and the facility is out
back, just down that hall,” she said, indicating the hallway beyond
the stairs.

“That’s fine,” Sam said. “Does Miss Martha do the cooking?”

he asked to be polite.

“She did, God rest her soul. She passed about this time last

year.” Mary was quiet for a moment. “Gus Henderson is the cook
for the wagon train, just got back last week. He’s with me during
the winter. I’ll need someone when he leaves again in the spring.”

“Wagon train?” Sam said.
“Yes, Garrett Taylor takes a train from Independence to

California about once a year. He’ll be here in the spring to pick up
Gus and head for Independence where they’ll organize another
one, I expect. I don’t know where Garrett goes during the winter.
Well, enough about that. You’ll want to see your room.”

She turned and took a key from a row of pegs behind the desk.

“Follow me.”

Mary led Sam up the flight of stairs to a hallway with doors on

either side. Windows at both ends provided light. Sconces with
candles hung on the walls between every other door, ready for duty

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131

once night fell.

Sam’s room was the third from the end on the right. Mary

opened the door and walked to the window. She pulled the curtains
back to let in the afternoon sun.

Sam looked around. He had never been in a room like this

before. There was a carpet on the floor. The double bed had a brass
headboard and sported a fancy bedspread. In the corner was an
overstuffed chair. On the opposite wall from the bed was a dresser
with a white bowl and pitcher standing on its surface. Behind the
dresser was a mirror. On the floor next to the bureau was another
vessel with a lid. Sam looked at it curiously.

Mary caught his questioning glance and smiled. “My, you are a

country boy, aren’t you? That’s a chamber pot.”

“Excuse me?” Sam said feeling a bit foolish.
“A chamber pot,” Mary said again. “You can use it at night, if

you don’t want to go out to use the facility.”

“Oh,” said Sam, blushing slightly.
“If you have clothes that need hanging, here’s the closet.” She

opened a door to the left of the bed.

“I’ll leave you to get settled. Supper is at six.” As she started to

leave, she stopped and turned back to Sam. “I don’t suppose a man
like you needs to be told, but just so you know, there’s to be no
liquor on the premises.” She smiled again and left.

Sam gazed around the room once more. He looked into the

mirror at his reflection. Shrugging, he addressed himself in his
native tongue. “This be a lot different than a lodge, Soaring
Hawk.” He turned and walked to the bed, where he lay down and
placed his hands behind his head. He laughed softly to himself.
“Hmm, I think I’ll sleep on the floor.”

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132

* * *

The next morning Sam made his way to the river. He had not

slept well. The strange surroundings, noises that filtered through
the walls of his room, being away from Wolf, whose warm
presence had comforted him at night ever since he had left Nils, all
conspired to make for a restless night.

He had visited the livery after the excellent dinner at the

boardinghouse and again in the morning after breakfast, before
setting out in search of employment. Both Wolf and his horse were
doing well. Wolf had greeted him with unbounded enthusiasm. It
was hard for Sam to have to leave him behind each time he left.
Edouard assured him that Wolf was content, but Still Sam missed
him.

His task now was to find employment. He did not even

consider the trading post with its dealing in animal skins. His
experience at Dexter’s post had shown him he could not be
comfortable with that line of work. This left the lumber mill and
the docks. He had no strong inclination either way, so when he
came upon the mill first, his decision was made.

He walked among the sheds where the sawed planks were

stacked and through the rows of logs waiting to be milled. From
one of the buildings he could hear the sounds of machinery and
rushing water. He entered the structure and stood to the side as
several men passed him, carrying a log. The log was placed on a
long platform. At the end of the platform was the saw, moving up
and down, powered by the water diverted from the river. The men
guided the log into the teeth of the saw. The log was repositioned
for the next run-through once a plank was cut from it. “Ya want
somethin’?” a rough voice behind him asked.

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133

Sam turned around. A burly man, at least four inches taller than

Sam, stood before him.

“I’m looking for work,” said Sam, looking the man in the eye.
“Ya need to talk to LeBlanc. He’s in the office. Next shed

over.” The man walked by him into the mill shed.

Sam watched him as he began to help with the stacking of the

hewn boards, then turned to find this man, LeBlanc.

Sam walked out of the mill shed and stepped aside as the men

carried another log into the building. None of the men carrying the
log looked in his direction. Sam located the shed where the big
man had told him he’d find LeBlanc. There were three men in the
building. Two were younger and seemed to be writing in books of
some kind. The third was older with a full beard of dark hair mixed
with white. He sat behind a large desk in the far corner, going over
some papers. One of the young men got up from his work and
approached Sam.

“Yes?” he said.
This man was short, with a boyish appearance and a ready

smile: the first Sam had seen since arriving on the mill’s premises.

“I’m looking for Mr. LeBlanc,” said Sam, returning the smile.
The small man turned to the man sitting at the large desk, who

rose and came forward. “I am Antoine LeBlanc. What can I do for
you?”

“I’m looking for a job.”
LeBlanc gave Sam an appraising look. “Have you worked in a

mill before?”

“No,” Sam admitted, “but I have cut down trees.”
LeBlanc seemed to be considering this. “I do not need another

lumberjack at the moment. But I do need men to stack in the sheds
and load the wood on wagons for transport.”

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134

Sam nodded. “I can do that.”
Sam noticed that the young man who had originally greeted

him was still standing behind LeBlanc and was still smiling at him.

“All right. The pay is one dollar-fifty a day for ten hours of

work. You are welcome to stay in the men’s sleeping quarters.
Meals are served in the dining hall.” He turned to the man standing
behind him. “Todd?”

“Yes, Mr. LeBlanc?”
“Show Mister…” He turned back to Sam.
“Sam Hawkins.”
“Mr. Hawkins around and then take him to Edgar.” LeBlanc

walked back to his desk and sat down.

Todd came up to Sam. He barely stood as tall as Sam’s chest.

His smile still present, he said, “Follow me. I’m Todd, Todd
Perkins by the way.”

“Good to meet you,” Sam said.
As they left the building, Sam watched the young man who

walked in front. His eyes seemed to be drawn involuntarily toward
the small, tight, muscular buttocks that moved rhythmically before
him. For the first time in many months Sam felt tightness in his
groin. He fought it, focusing instead on what Todd was saying
about the mill.

The tour took the men past the storage sheds and the milling

room Sam had already seen. They inspected the sleeping quarters,
which Sam found to be not to his liking—two large rooms filled
with rough mats on low frames, very close together. He decided he
would stay at the boardinghouse. The dining hall consisted of
several long tables in rows. In both the dining hall and the men’s
sleeping room, the windows were high on the walls and very dirty.
The more Sam saw, the more uncomfortable he became.

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135

Their walk around the mill ended at the storage sheds once

more. Here, men were bringing planks to wagons hitched to mules
or horses, preparing them for delivery to the docks or to other
customers. Todd led the way through the labyrinth of activity,
nodding to and greeting several of the men as he went. He walked
up behind a heavyset man, who seemed to be supervising the
loading activities.

“Edgar,” Todd said. Sam caught a note of timidity in his voice.
The big man turned around. When he saw Todd, his expression

turned to one of distain. “What do you want, moffie?”

Sam had no idea what the man meant by this, but he saw that it

had a definite affect on Todd, who cringed slightly and swallowed.
“Ah, Edgar,” he stammered, “this is Sam Hawkins. Um, Mr.
LeBlanc said to bring him here to work on the loading crew.”

Sam noted that Todd did not look directly at the man as he

spoke.

Edgar turned his attention to Sam. His expression changed to

one of casual interest. He extended his hand. “Edgar,” he said by
way of introduction. “Glad to have a new man. Can’t hardly keep
up with the orders we’re getting. Lots a buildin’ goin’ on.”

Sam took the man’s hand and acknowledged the greeting.
Edgar then turned back to Todd, who seemed to have dissolved

into the background. “Go on back to the boss, pansy. You did your
job.”

Sam still did not know why Todd was being addressed in this

way, but he immediately felt protective of the small man.

“Thank you for showing me around, Todd. Maybe I’ll see you

later.”

Todd mumbled something that was barely audible and left.
Sam turned back to Edgar.

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136

“You better be careful,” the man said. “Don’t want people to

get the wrong idea about you if they see you with that bit of fluff.
One puff around here is one too many. Come with me and I’ll
show you your job.”

As Sam followed Edgar, he looked back over his shoulder at

Todd’s retreating form. He wondered what had prompted Edgar’s
derision. Still puzzling over Edgar’s obvious dislike for Todd, he
walked after his overseer.

* * *

Sam adjusted quickly to his work. He relished the physical

exertion. He got to know many of his fellow workers, at least
casually, and learned some things about the society in which he
now found himself. It seemed that where the men outnumbered the
women by a large margin, casual relationships between men for
the purpose of release were tolerated, even expected. But, if it were
found out a man preferred men to women, that man was judged
harshly, reviled, and even feared by some. It appeared most men
believed Todd fell into that category.

He knew Todd lived in the men’s quarters. Sam had decided to

remain at Mary’s, so he rarely encountered Todd. He occasionally
saw him at the noon meal in the dining hall, where he often was
eating alone or with the other clerk from the office.

One day Sam passed by the main office on his way back to

work and noticed Todd had a bruise on his cheek. He was about to
stop and enquire about it when one of his co-workers called to him.
He left without finding out the cause of Todd’s injury.

Away from the mill, Sam spent as much time as he could with

Wolf. He would visit him every evening. On Sundays, his one day

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137

off the job, he would take long rides in the surrounding
countryside, with Wolf joyously bounding beside him. Often
Edouard would join them.

When winter came with its cold and snow, Sundays were spent

in the warmth of the livery, grooming his horse, or sitting with
Wolf near the forge, listening to Edouard’s stories of life on that
side of the big river. Sam looked forward to these times all week.

* * *

Spring arrived and with it a deepening sense of restlessness.

Sam returned from work at the mill one warm evening, went to his
room, washed his face and hands, changed into clean clothing, and
came down for supper. When he entered the dining room of the
boardinghouse, he noticed a stranger sitting at a table with Mary.
The man’s rugged, handsome face, caught Sam’s attention.
Although weatherworn and etched with age lines, his face was a
combination of masculinity and gentleness. He sported a long
handlebar moustache. Sam felt a surge of attraction to him.
Realizing he had stopped dead in his tracks and was staring at the
man, he roused himself and made his way to his usual table. When
he turned to sit, he saw the man was looking in his direction and
smiling broadly.

Mary looked in Sam’s direction as well. She, too, smiled and

motioned Sam to join her at the stranger’s table, so Sam rose and
crossed the room. The man got up and extended his hand. Up
close, Sam could see a powerful body hidden beneath the man’s
plaid flannel shirt. He felt himself stir with desire.

“This is Garrett Taylor, said Mary. “You remember I told you

about him?”

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138

“Yes, the wagon master,” Sam said, smiling at Garrett and

taking his hand, feeling a jolt of longing, combined with a sense of
betrayal for his lost love.

“Join us for supper,” Garrett said, taking his seat again. “Mary

here tells me you’re familiar with the ways of Indians.”

Sam smiled at Mary. “I was raised in an Indian village, but I

don’t know about tribes to the west. Many Indians who lived east
of the river are crossing and seeking new homes. I know their ways
well.”

“Reason I’m askin’ is I need a man who knows how to get

along with Indians. Fixin’ to take a train to California when the
weather breaks. Leavin’ from Independence in a month or so. You
think you’d have an interest in that?”

Sam knew right then it was something he would want to

consider. He had felt hemmed in here in Laclede’s. His work at the
mill, while not difficult and not without physical rewards, left him
feeling unchallenged. He had learned enough in his time there to
know this expression of the white man’s world was not something
he would want to commit to for very long. He missed the open
spaces, the forest, Wolf. Yes, he would be interested.

“Yes, sir, Mr. Taylor, I think the idea appeals to me.”
“Call me Garrett. I’m glad you’re interested. From what Mary

has told me about you, you’re just the kind of man I’m looking
for.”

Sam smiled at a beaming Mary and then at Garrett.
For the rest of the evening, Garrett and Sam talked of the

wagon train, what the trip entailed and Sam’s duties, should he
decide to sign on. By the time Sam went to bed, he had a sense of
freedom he had not felt since coming to Laclede’s Village. He
would give Garrett his decision at breakfast. There was little

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139

question in his mind as to what that decision would be.

* * *

Sam went to the office at the mill the next day. Todd saw him

come in the door and rose to greet him, the smile that was always
there for Sam on his handsome face. Mr. LeBlanc was at his desk
as usual. All this reminded Sam of the first time he had been in this
room. How fast now the time seemed to have gone.

“Sam,” Todd said walking to his side, “what brings you here?”
“I’ve come to see Mr. LeBlanc.”
Upon hearing his name, LeBlanc looked up from his work.

Sam walked by the clerk and stood in front of his employer’s desk.

“Good morning, Mr. Hawkins. What is it you wish to see me

about?”

“Good morning, sir. I came in to let you know I would be

leaving Laclede’s in a week. I’ve signed on with Mr. Garrett’s
wagon train.”

LeBlanc rose and came around his desk. “I am sorry to hear

that,” he said, his expression somber. “I have heard good things
about you from Edgar. He says you are a fine worker.”

“Well, thank you for that,” Sam responded. “I appreciate the

opportunity you gave me here, but I’m really not much of a city
boy. I think the job with the train will suit me pretty well. I’ll stay
on here till it’s time to leave.”

“Well, good luck to you. Please stop by before you go to say

goodbye.”

“I will, sir.”
The two men shook hands. LeBlanc returned to his desk and

Sam turned to leave. Todd stood where Sam had left him; the smile

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140

had faded from his face.

“Are you really leavin’? I was hopin’ we’d get a chance to

know each other better.”

The remark caught Sam by surprise. Over the months he had

been at the mill, he had had only brief encounters with the young
man. He had not known Todd would have liked to become friends.
Sam wasn’t sure what to say to him.

“I’m sorry, Todd,” he said finally. “I think I’d have liked that,

too.”

He shook hands with him and left the office, feeling

disappointed with himself for not reaching out to Todd these past
months. All those times he had seen him eating alone and he never
made a move to join him, never took the opportunity to invite him
to spend the evening at the livery, or take a ride with him on
Sundays. He wondered if he had been affected by what was said
about Todd or by Edgar warning him not to associate himself with
the man?

The thought that he might have been, upset him. Had he turned

his back on someone who needed the support of a friend who
understood?

Don’t suppose there’s time now to make it up to him without it

looking a mite phony. He kicked the dirt with his toe and jammed
his hands in his pockets as he walked back to the shed and his
work.

* * *

The last week in Laclede’s passed quickly for Sam. He met

with Garrett several times for dinner and, with each meeting, his
excitement about the trip across country grew, as did his attraction

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141

to the man. Both Mary and Edouard expressed their reluctance to
see Sam leave, but also let him know they were pleased for him.
Wolf seemed to take the news they were leaving in stride. He sat,
head cocked to the side, tail making a fan shape in the dust, his
tongue hanging out as Sam gave him the word.

“So, you see, boy, we’ll be together all day every day again.”
Wolf rose and walked to Sam, pressing his head between

Sam’s knees. Sam bent down and buried his face in the thick,
golden fur.

We’re leaving you farther and farther behind, Nils. Sam

swallowed hard.

After work the day before he was to leave, he went to the mill

office to say goodbye to Mr. LeBlanc and Todd. Todd was not
there. Disappointed, he asked LeBlanc to say goodbye for him. He
left the office and was walking between the sheds in the semi-
darkness of the rising spring moon.

The Sprouting Grass Moon, he thought, letting his mind

wander back to the village of his youth. How far away that seemed
to him now.

He heard voices.
“Do it, I tell ya!”
The voice was barely audible, but Sam could tell the speaker

was angry. He stopped to listen. He could not understand the reply.

“Ya did it for Donovan, so now you kin do it fer me, moffie!”
Sam turned and quickly made his way down a narrow passage

between the sheds, where the voices seemed to be coming from.
There he saw a large man whom Sam had never seen before,
towering over another smaller man, pinned against the side of the
shed. The larger man was pushing the small man to his knees. Sam
could see the large man’s erect cock sticking out of his pants.

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142

Todd! Sam thought frantically.
“I said suck it!” the attacker almost shouted, thrusting himself

forward against Todd’s face.

Todd turned his head to one side and struggled against his

assailant. The man pulled Todd to his feet, punched him twice in
the face, screaming, “I’ll teach you to say no to me, you little
puff.” He threw Todd to the ground and kicked him savagely.

Sam took off at a run. He reached the pair and grabbed the

large man by the shoulder, spinning him around. His fist connected
with the man’s protruding belly, knocking the wind out of him and
throwing him against the side of the building. Recovering from his
surprise, the man launched himself at Sam, knocking him off his
feet. Sam pulled the man to the ground with him and the two rolled
in the dirt, exchanging blows.

When the pair stopped rolling, Sam had the upper hand,

straddling the man’s chest, pinning his arms to the ground with his
knees. He got up, pulling the man to his feet by the front of his
shirt. He brought his knee up quickly between the man’s legs.
When he bent with a bellow of pain, Sam bashed him on the chin.
The man crumpled to the ground.

Sam stood for a moment, breathing hard. He tasted something

warm and wet. Raising his hand, he wiped his nose and mouth. His
hand came away covered in blood. He then went to Todd, who had
pushed himself up to a sitting position against the shed wall. His
cheek was swollen, and already black and blue. He held his side.

“Come on,” Sam said. “You’re coming with me.”
Sam helped Todd to stand. Supporting him, he took Todd to the

boardinghouse. When they came in the front door, Mary was
behind the counter. Looking up from her work, she saw the men
and her eyes went wide.

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143

“My Lord,” she cried and came around the desk to help Sam

with Todd.

Mary and Sam took Todd up the stairs and into Sam’s room.

There, Mary poured water from the pitcher into the bowl and
cleaned Todd’s face. She helped him take off his shirt. Todd
winced as she applied the warm, wet cloth to the angry bruises on
his ribs.

“I don’t think they’re broken,” Mary said with kindness in her

voice.

“Thank you,” Todd said softly.
Mary turned her attention to Sam, who stood next to the

dresser, watching the proceedings.

“Your turn.” She pushed him backward until he was sitting on

the bed. “Take that bloody shirt off,” she commanded.

He obeyed. She took the shirt, pitcher and bowl and left the

room.

Sam looked over at Todd, whose eyes were on him. He let his

own eyes roam over the small man’s body. Sam was surprised at
the man’s muscular frame. His eyes went back to Todd’s face. He
was smiling, though there was pain in his expression. Sam returned
the smile.

“Thank you, Sam.”
Sam nodded, as Mary returned to the room with fresh water

and towels. She began to clean the dried blood from Sam’s face.
She pressed the warm cloth against his swollen lip. Sam winced,
and Todd chuckled. When she had finished, Mary gathered the
towels and bloody clothes.

“I’ll see about getting these clean. Will you come down for

supper, or do you want me to bring it up to you?”

Her care and concern touched Sam. He looked over to Todd,

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144

then to Mary. “I’ll come down. I need to talk to Garrett about
tomorrow.” Looking back at Todd once more, he said, “Do you
want to come down with me?”

Todd hesitated a moment, then said, “I think I’d rather not.”
Mary smiled at him. “I’ll bring your supper up here then. Can’t

have you going hungry, can we?”

“I don’t want to be no trouble,” Todd said.
Mary just smiled again and waved a dismissive hand in his

direction as she made her way out the door.

“I don’t know how to thank you,” Todd began apologizing

again.

Sam stood, walked to the dresser and pulled out a clean shirt.

“No thanks needed,” he said, putting the shirt on. “I couldn’t let
that scum treat you like that. Who is he anyway?”

Todd looked away from Sam. “He’s new. Started day before

yesterday on the logging team.” Todd shuddered. “I don’t know
what he’ll do when he sees me again. He’s got a mean streak.”

“Well, you just relax and don’t worry. You stay with me

tonight. We’ll take care of things tomorrow.”

Todd looked back at Sam, relief on his face. He stood up and

took a step toward him. He wrapped his arms around the taller
man’s waist and laid his head on his chest. Sam returned the
embrace, being careful of the injuries to Todd’s body.

He stroked Todd’s hair and said, “It’s gonna be all right. You

rest here. I’ll be back soon.”

The men broke apart. Todd looked up into Sam’s eyes. He

started to speak.

“You don’t have to say it again,” Sam said. “I understand.”

* * *

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145

An hour later, Sam returned to the room after eating with

Garrett. All had gone as he had hoped. Garrett had agreed he
would find a place for Todd on the wagon train crew. Sam was
relieved the wagon master had agreed to take him on. There was
no way Sam could let Todd go back to the abuse he received from
the men at the mill.

Todd was on the bed. He seemed to be sleeping, so Sam closed

the door as quietly as he could and looked around the room. He
usually slept on the floor, taking the covers off the bed. However,
Todd was already in bed and snuggled down under those covers.
Sam shrugged and stripped off his clothes down to his shorts. He
blew out the candle and walked around the bed, climbing in, trying
not to wake the sleeping man.

Todd stirred and turned toward him. Light from the Sprouting

Grass Moon coming through the window illuminated the
handsome boyish face. Sam felt himself respond. Todd’s eyes were
open now. He leaned forward and kissed Sam’s chest, wrapping
his arms around his rescuer. Sam pulled the small man to him and
kissed the top of his head. Sam could feel Todd’s erection pressing
against his own. He thought of Nils. There was no guilt or regret.
He smiled in the pale silvery darkness. He was free to move on.

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146

CHAPTER 7

, G

ARRETT

ODD

Sam woke to pale light filtering through the curtains. He knew

it was early, so took a few moments to luxuriate in memories from
the previous night. He recalled how he and Todd had made gentle,
tender love: a long period filled with kisses and caresses had
culminated in a wonderful union. Todd had straddled Sam and
guided the big man’s tumescent manhood into the welcoming
confines of his body. Then he had pulled Sam to a sitting position,
whereupon he wrapped his legs around Sam’s waist, pressing his
chest against him. They had kissed and stroked each other’s backs
as Todd skillfully brought them to a prolonged and intense climax.

Sam had lain back down, drawing Todd with him. Todd now

lay where he had fallen asleep, his head on Sam’s chest, his legs

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147

draped on either side of Sam’s hips. Sometime during the night,
Sam had slipped out of Todd. The desire to return to the soft
warmth of Todd’s body came back to him. Sam bent and kissed the
top of the young man’s head.

The small man stirred, opened his eyes and raised his face to

Sam’s.

“Good morning,” Sam said, kissing him first on the nose, then

on the lips.

“Good morning,” Todd returned.
Todd’s weak smile reflected the sadness Sam could hear in his

voice.

“There’s still some time before we need to get up,” Sam said in

a low voice.

The veil of sadness lifted from Todd’s face and he snuggled

into Sam’s embrace. Then he rolled off Sam, and the two lay
facing each other. Todd began to kiss Sam’s face, lips and neck.
He lowered himself until he was swirling his tongue in Sam’s rug
of chest hair, taking each of his erect nipples into his mouth in
turn, kissing, sucking and licking them. Sam moaned softly and
held Todd’s head in his hands.

Following the trail of soft black fur past Sam’s navel, he buried

his face in Sam’s forest of pubic growth. Todd inhaled deeply,
letting the air out with a shudder. For several moments, he
remained there, his hands slipping around to find and knead Sam’s
firm buttocks. Sam responded by contracting his butt muscles and
pressing his erection against Todd’s throat.

Todd took hold of Sam’s erection and began to lick the tip still

enshrouded in its foreskin. He slipped his tongue under the hood
and swirled it around the moist glans. Pushing the foreskin back
with his lips, he took the length of Sam’s organ into his mouth and

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148

once more buried his face in Sam’s lush pubic hair. Todd’s
ministrations brought Sam close to his peak. Todd released him
and began to lave Sam’s sac, taking each of the egg-shaped glands
into his mouth by turn.

Todd then crawled up to straddle Sam as he had the night

before. He kissed him and then lay down next to him, his back
against Sam’s abdomen. Raising his leg and taking hold of Sam’s
engorgement, he led the organ to the entrance to his body. Sam
thrust forward and, once again, the two men became one.

Sam reached over Todd’s body and took hold of his erect

phallus. Todd was small, but what his manhood lacked in size, it
more than made up for in beauty. Rising from a soft nest of dark
hair and above a pair of rounded testicles, its gentle curve and
well-shaped head sent waves of pleasure through Sam’s hand to his
head, and back to his own organ buried deep inside his partner.

Todd erupted first, accompanied by soft groans of contentment.

Sam followed soon after, filling Todd with his seed for the second
time in a few short hours. Sam breathed deeply, letting the
satisfaction and contentment of the moment flow through his
being. He pulled Todd more tightly against his chest and kissed his
ear. Todd pressed back into his hero’s protective embrace. They
dozed once more.

* * *

When Sam woke for a second time, the room was bright. He

shook his sleeping partner. “Todd, wake up, we need to go.”

Todd turned toward him. “I’m not ready to go back to the mill.

And I don’t want to say goodbye,” Todd whispered, his voice
revealing the anguish inside him.

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“Who said anything about going back to the mill? And we

definitely are not saying goodbye,” Sam said, hugging him tightly.
“Now get up. We have to clean up and get down to breakfast.”

Sam got out of bed and held out his hand to a confused Todd,

pulling him to his feet. “How are the ribs?”

“Better,” said Todd, wincing slightly. “But what do you mean

I’m not going back to the mill?”

“You’ll see. Now get dressed,” said Sam, giving Todd an

affectionate pat on the butt.

* * *

The two men walked down the stairs and into the foyer of the

boardinghouse, where Mary was arranging some fresh spring
flowers on the counter. She turned as the men approached.

“Thank you for washing my clothes for me,” Todd said.
“Land sakes,” Mary replied, “that weren’t no problem. Happy

to help out. ’Morning, Samuel.”

“Good morning, Mary, and I need to add my thanks to Todd’s.”
“Tush,” she said. “If a body can’t help out a friend, then they

aren’t much of a friend.”

Sam gave her a warm smile. He was going to miss her.
“Garrett’s waiting in the dining room,” she said, going back to

her flower arranging and nodding in the direction of the doorway.

“Garrett?” said Todd, turning to Sam.
Sam just smiled. Putting his arm around the young man’s

shoulder, he steered him through the doorway.

Garrett saw them and stood. He had just made love to Todd, so

Sam was surprised at the waves of desire that flooded him as he
looked at the handsome man. He took a deep breath to steady

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himself.

“This must be Todd,” Garrett said as they approached the table.
“Yes, I am,” Todd said, taking the hand Garrett offered him

and looking at Sam with a questioning expression.

“Todd, Garrett is the wagon master of the train I’m joining. I

talked to him last night, and he’s agreed to take you on as well.
You’re coming with me to California.”

Todd’s mouth fell open. He looked from Sam to Garrett, and

back again.

“That’s what you meant about not goin’ back to the mill, not

saying goodbye?”

“Yes,” Sam said, smiling broadly.
Todd grabbed Sam around the waist and buried his face in his

chest. Sam could tell he was trying not to cry. He looked up and
smiled at Garrett, who was grinning at them. Sam also caught what
he thought was an almost imperceptible downward glance at
Todd’s behind. He shook it off as his imagination.

Following breakfast, Sam gathered his belongings from the

room that had been his home for the past few months. He looked
around. Other than missing Mary, he would not regret leaving. He
rejoined Garrett and Todd in the foyer of the boarding home to say
goodbye to Mary. Gus was waiting there, too.

“I hope to see you in the fall, when you and Gus get back,” she

said.

Sam was not sure he was planning to return to Laclede’s

Village. He passed over her remark by saying he would miss her
and thanking her again for all she had done for him.

Mary shooed them out the door with the excuse that now she

was without her cook, she had dinner to prepare. Sam knew it was
to keep the parting from becoming too emotional.

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Garrett and Gus headed for the livery. Sam steered Todd down

the street to the general store. True to his word Todd would never
return to the mill, Sam bought him clothes and supplies he would
need on his trip across country. Todd protested, but in the end
acquiesced, acknowledging he had no desire to return to the mill.
The few possessions that would be left behind wouldn’t be missed.

When the pair arrived at the livery, Sam introduced Todd to

Wolf, who took to the man with an enthusiasm that gratified Sam.
Their traveling companions had already saddled up the horses,
including one for Todd. There were six horses in all, one for each
of the men, and two to carry the supplies they would need on the
two-hundred-mile trek to Independence. The two packhorses and
the ones ridden by Gus and Todd would pull the chuck wagon and
Garrett’s personal wagon on the trip west. Todd’s job would be to
drive the team that pulled Garrett’s wagon.

Another round of goodbyes ensued, with Edouard showing the

most emotion when it came to bidding farewell to the big wolf-
dog.

“Vous avez été un bon ami. Je vous manquerai le beaucoup

grand loup-chien,” he said, kneeling and holding the dog tightly
against him.

Sam had picked up enough French in his time in Laclede’s to

know Edouard was telling the animal he would miss him, as he
would miss a good friend. Sam smiled at the man who had taken
such good care of his dog. It meant a lot to him.

The party rode out of Laclede’s Village. Neither Sam nor Todd

looked back.

* * *

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The four men took a northward route out of the town, following

a trail beside what Sam knew now was the Mississippi River. They
would follow the river until it intersected with another large river.
Garrett called it the Missouri and they’d follow it to Independence,
where the wagon train was being organized. He said they might
even meet up with folks on their way to join the train. Some people
even went to Independence by boat on the river, he told them.

At times, the trail was wide enough for all four men to ride side

by side. Other times it was so narrow they had to ride single file.
Most of the time they rode by twos. When that was the case, Sam
usually rode next to Todd, with Garrett and Gus leading the way.
Sam breathed deeply of the clean, fresh air of the forest. He felt a
sense of freedom that he had not had in a long time. This was
familiar. It reminded him of the village and the people he had left
behind.

Wolf thoroughly enjoyed being away from the city as well. He

gamboled about the party, making frequent forays into the
surrounding bush to chase a rabbit or flush a quail, the wolf side of
him expressing itself. When he returned to the group, Sam was
sure Wolf had a prideful grin on his face.

Gus turned in his saddle and called to Sam, “That dog o’ yours

is happy to be on his way.”

“How can you tell he’s happy?” Sam called back.
“Look at that tail, curled up high on his back. If he weren’t

happy, you could tell. That tail would be hangin’ down behind.”

Although it was still early spring, the sun in the cloudless sky

made the day warm. By afternoon, the men had shed their jackets
and rode comfortably in their shirtsleeves. When they came to a
tributary transformed by a beaver dam into a small pond, Garrett
decided it was time to make camp for the night.

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The task of setting up camp produced a sweat. Garrett took off

his shirt and walked to the edge of the pond, squatting to rinse
away the grime of the trail. Sam had his first look at the man’s
naked chest and back. Garrett’s broad shoulders tapered to a
narrow waist. A lush growth of hair covered his deep, muscular
chest. Sam felt himself react to what he saw.

As Sam stood and watched Garrett, Todd walked by, followed

by Wolf. The dog ran ahead and jumped into the water, splashing
Garrett, who stood and laughed. Todd removed his shirt and he
joined Garrett in splashing water on himself. Sam looked at both
men, so different physically, yet both attractive to him. He was not
comfortable with the feelings that seeing them engendered. After
what had occurred with Todd before they left Laclede’s, he felt he
was somehow betraying the young man by feeling such a strong
attraction to Garrett.

Garrett turned to Sam and motioned for him to join them.

“Come on…the water feels great. You gotta be as itchy as we are.”

Sam had to agree he was feeling prickly from the day’s tasks.

He reluctantly removed his shirt and walked to where the men
were washing themselves. Garrett gave him an appraising look,
raised one eyebrow and nodded, a warm smile on his face. Sam felt
tightness in his trousers. He made a point of looking away. Garrett
rose and left the pond. Sam saw Todd turn and watch him depart.

“That is one handsome man,” Todd said. “Don’t you think so,

Sam?”

Todd’s comment flustered Sam. He awkwardly looked over his

shoulder and, trying to sound casual, said, “Yeah, I guess you’re
right.” Sam turned, squatted down and began to splash water on his
sweaty chest.

“Gus, too.”

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154

“What?” Sam asked in surprise.
“Gus is one handsome man, too,” Todd said as he joined Sam

at the edge of the water. “He’s got that head of white hair and that
full beard. His eyes are so blue. I wouldn’t mind seeing him down
here, rinsin’ off.”

Sam did not comment. He just finished his job, stood up, called

to Wolf, who was still romping in the shallows, and walked back to
camp with Todd following. As the trio approached, Sam looked at
the cook, who was preparing dinner, and observed the wagon
master lounging nearby. He thought of the feelings he was
experiencing and what Todd had just said. He wasn’t sure what to
make of this.

“Supper’s ready,” Gus called.

* * *

After eating and securing the camp and horses for the night, the

men sat by the fire. Wolf curled up between Sam and Todd. Garrett
and Gus took turns telling stories of past wagon train adventures.
Some of the tales were humorous, and the men all laughed heartily.
Some of the accounts were frightening. Sam could see Todd tense
and pull Wolf closer. After about an hour of this, Garrett
announced it was time to call it a night.

They checked the horses once more and made up the bedrolls.

Sam was relieved they were arranged with a good distance
between them, although he would have liked being closer to Todd.

They all wished each other goodnight and bedded down.
Sam lay on his side, with Wolf curled up against his chest.

Occasionally, some sound from the forest would cause the dog to
raise his head, perk up his ears and sniff the air. In the orange glow

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155

of the fire, Sam could see Todd facing away from him. Beyond
Todd, he saw Garrett, propped against a log, gazing into the fire,
the shadows of the flickering flames dancing on his handsome
face. He was smoking a pipe. The firelight made his masculine
features more prominent. Somewhere on the other side of the fire,
Sam could hear Gus snoring softly. Sam grew hard. It wasn’t his
attraction to Garrett that disturbed him because he found many
men attractive. It was the undeniable fact that he wanted to be with
Garrett, as he had been with Lean Bear, Todd, and Nils. The
images of the three men and Garrett filled his mind. Finally, he fell
asleep.

When Sam woke the next morning, he was still erect. He

wasn’t sure, but somehow he felt he had dreamed about Garrett.
Todd was still asleep, but now turned toward Sam. Sam looked at
his sweet face, a slight smile playing on his lips. Sam wondered if
Todd was dreaming, too…and if he was, who was in the dream?

His need to relieve himself forced Sam out of his warm bedroll

and into the chill morning air. As he stood, he looked to where Gus
had been sleeping. He let out a small gasp. Gus and Garrett were
curled up together in the older man’s bedroll. They were facing
away from where Sam stood, but he could see Garrett was spooned
against Gus and slept with his arm draped across the man’s chest,
his face snuggled into the white curls at his neck.

While it was clear the two men were not concerned about being

discovered, Sam was reluctant to have them know that they had
been observed. Embarrassed, Sam turned and walked out of camp
into the forest. He steadied himself against the trunk of a large tree
and urinated. When he was finished, he stood with his forehead
against the tree. What he had seen had unnerved him.

“Why is this upsetting you?” said a voice Sam recognized at

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156

once. He turned to find the bear sitting near the tree, idly
scratching himself with his hind leg. “You’ve seen men together
before.”

There was a soft swooshing of wings and the hawk soared into

view before perching on one of the lower branches of the tree.

“He’s upset because he thinks he loves Todd, but feels he could

also love Garrett. Now he’s seen Garrett with another man in his
arms. Anyone can see that bothers him.”

“Ah,” said the bear, looking intently at Sam. “So, you are torn

between the two?”

“No…No, I…” Sam stammered.
“Yes, he’s torn,” said the hawk.
“What should I do?” Sam asked the pair.
“Is there a need to be torn?” the bear asked.
“I don’t know, I—”
“And,” the hawk interrupted, “he thinks Todd may find Garrett

to his liking as well.”

“Is that a problem for you? I don’t see why it should be,” the

bear said to Sam.

“It’s a problem because I—” Before Sam could finish, another

voice broke in.

“Who are you talking to?”
Sam wheeled around to see Todd walking out of the trees. He

looked quickly back over his shoulder. The bear and the hawk
were gone.

“An Indian custom. Greeting the day,” he said awkwardly,

turning back to the approaching man.

Todd put his arms around Sam’s waist and hugged him. Sam

closed his eyes and leaned into the embrace. Trying to reorient his
thoughts, Sam bent down and kissed Todd on the head.

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157

Todd broke the embrace and turned to the tree to relieve

himself. “Gus is making breakfast. Garrett says he wants to get an
early start.”

Sam thought about seeing Garrett with Gus, thought about his

feelings for both Todd and Garrett, and then of the conversation
with his spirit guides. A jumble of emotions passed through him.
He nodded to Todd and the two made their way back to camp.

* * *

The next few days passed in much the same pattern as the

first—riding by day, camping at night. For the most part Sam was
enjoying the trip along the river, enjoying being in the company of
these men. Occasionally his confusion over his feelings for Todd,
his attraction to Garrett, and the unmistakable sounds that came
from Gus’ bedroll where he and Garrett slept made him
uncomfortable.

This was one such time. Sam purposely dropped back a

distance behind the others to ride alone.

Ahead, he could see Todd and Garrett riding side by side. Sam

had not had any chance to find release for his physical needs since
the day they left Laclede’s Village. As he watched the two men
swaying in the saddles, as their horses walked along the trail, he
felt a growing tension in his groin. He let his mind wander. He
found himself imagining what it would be like to be with Garrett.
He had seen Garrett shirtless and knew the man’s muscular, hair-
covered frame excited him. He had surreptitiously inspected the
apex where the man’s legs joined his torso, imagining ample
endowment there as well. Feeling himself growing hard, Sam tried
to distract himself by watching Wolf stalk some unseen animal in

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the brush.

“Garrett says we should be in Independence by sundown

tomorrow.”

Sam turned quickly in the saddle at the sound of Todd’s voice.

He was somewhat surprised when Todd appeared beside him. He
had not noticed the man pull up and wait for him. Garrett had
ridden on ahead and was talking with Gus, who had been leading
the quartet.

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”
“Garrett says we’ll be in Independence tomorrow,” Todd

repeated.

“I figured we should be getting close. A couple of those big

paddleboats passed us this morning. Guess they’re carrying folks
to join the wagon train.”

“Ah…we haven’t been able to…. Um…” Todd said nervously.
Sam looked at him. “Yes?”
“Well, I don’t know what the arrangements will be once we get

to Independence or when we leave, but I was hopin’ we’d get some
time to be alone and…” His voice trailed off.

“I’ve kind of been thinking the same thing,” Sam said, feeling

an unexpected relief that Todd had brought the subject up.

Todd brightened. “You think, maybe tonight, after they’re

asleep, we could sneak off aways?”

“I think that could be arranged,” said Sam, giving Todd a big

smile.

Todd smiled back. “Great!”
Supper that night at camp seemed to take longer than usual.

After they ate, they cleared away the remains of the meal. It
seemed to Sam that Gus had more stories to tell than any time
previously. He tried to listen and not seem too anxious to move the

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159

evening along to bedtime. Todd, however, was not as subtle. He
reminded Gus, twice, he had told a certain story before. Sam
thought he saw Garrett look in Todd’s direction, giving Sam a
slight smile and nod.

Finally, Garrett said, “Gus, I think you’re putting Todd and

Sam to sleep with them yarns of yours. Best be gettin’ things
settled for the night. We’ll be in Independence tomorrow.”

Todd almost fell into the fire pit he got up so fast at Garrett’s

announcement. Garrett looked at Sam and laughed softly. Sam
smiled back, feeling his cheeks burn.

Does Garrett suspect something? Shouldn’t make any

difference to him. He doesn’t make it a secret what he does when
he sleeps with Gus.

Sam got up, being careful not to seem in any hurry. He walked

out to the horses, tethered on a stock line, to make sure they were
secure. Todd followed him. Making a show of checking the lead
ropes tying the horses to the line, he turned and looked over his
shoulder back toward the camp. Sam had to smile at Todd’s
attempts at elevating the situation to that of an intrigue.

“I’ve found a place,” he said, turning back to Sam, his voice

barely audible. “It’s just a ways north of camp. There’s this pond.
Next to it is a nice open patch with a thicket on three sides. Faces
away from camp.” He turned to see if they were being observed.
“We should be safe there.”

Sam considered telling Todd he didn’t think they had to be

concerned about discovery with what he had observed the last few
nights, but he thought better of it. He knew Todd’s fears were
based on the treatment he had received at the mill. His own
hesitation, however, stemmed from some unconscious
apprehension at being identified as a man who preferred men,

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160

though he didn’t understand why he should feel this way seeing as,
apparently, so did Garrett and Gus.

“Sounds good,” Sam said.
“All right,” Todd said, still keeping his voice low. “You wait

here a minute. I’ll head back to camp.”

Sam barely managed to contain his snickers.
Todd turned and, with exaggerated casualness, sauntered off in

the direction of the campfire. When Sam stepped from the shadows
into the ring of firelight, Todd was stretching and yawning loudly.
Sam shook his head.

“Yep, gonna sleep like a log, all right. Really tuckered out

tonight. Gonna get me a good night’s rest…yes, sir, a good night’s
rest.”

Gus was looking at Todd as if he had lost his mind. Garrett on

the other hand, still reclining by the fire, smoking his pipe,
regarded the performance with an amused expression. He looked in
Sam’s direction. Sam had no doubt he had a complete
understanding of the situation.

Sam’s unexplainable uneasiness returned.

* * *

“I think they’re asleep,” Todd whispered. He was crouching

next to Sam’s bedroll. “Meet me by the horses in five minutes.”

Sam sat up leaning on his elbows. “I thought you said the place

you found was north of camp. The horses are south,” Sam said,
glancing at the forms of Gus and Garrett on the other side of the
campsite. They did look to be asleep.

“It is, but if we’re followed…”
Sam reached up, tousled Todd’s hair and laughed softly.

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161

“Okay,” he said.
Todd started to leave, then returned. “Bring a blanket. It’s

cold.” He stealthily retreated once more.

Sam lay back down. His anticipation of what waited for him

caused him to begin to swell. He thought of Todd and the time in
his room before they left for Independence. He also thought of
Garrett: his broad shoulders, narrow waist, hair-covered chest and
arms. Sam remembered the ample bulge that filled the front of his
pants. He shuddered slightly as he pictured the handsome, rugged
face. He realized he had begun stroking himself beneath the
blankets and brought himself back to reality. Checking once more
to make sure the two men on the other side of the fire were still
sleeping, he rose, taking his blanket with him. His erection caused
him a mild discomfort as he made his way out of camp.

Todd was waiting for him at the tie line. When Sam stepped

out of the trees, Todd came to him and put his arms around him,
raising his face to Sam’s. Sam bent and kissed him, the fire of his
need igniting as he pressed himself against the smaller man. Todd
moaned softly.

They broke apart. Todd looked in the direction of the camp.

“You get away clean?”

Sam nodded. “They’re still asleep.”
“Good, follow me.”
Todd led the way through the moonlit forest, each man

carrying a blanket. They skirted the camp. Occasionally Sam could
see the light of the campfire through the trees. Both men froze at
the sound of something coming toward them through the brush. As
Sam turned, a frolicking Wolf bowled him over. “Oh, damn!”
Todd intoned. “What’re we gonna do about him?”

Sam knelt, his arms around the animal’s neck and pressed his

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162

forehead against the wolf-dog. “You have to be quiet, Wolf,” he
said.

Wolf sat and looked intently at Sam for further instruction.
“Come,” the man said as he rose and walked to Todd. “He’ll

stay with us. It’ll be okay.”

Todd looked like he wasn’t sure he believed this, but turned

and made his way once again through the trees. They came to the
place Todd had described earlier and Sam looked around the
clearing. Moon shadows flickered on the water. It was secluded.
They laid their blankets on the ground.

“Wolf,” Sam commanded, “lay down. Stay.” The wolf-dog

obeyed.

Sam looked at Todd, shafts of silver moonlight playing on his

face. Sam walked to him and took him in his arms. They kissed.

“Wish it was warmer,” said Todd as they stepped apart and

began to undress.

Sam had to agree. He was shivering as he dropped his pants

and peeled his shirt from his body. They quickly lay on one of the
blankets and covered themselves with the other. Their lips met and
tongues danced. They massaged chilled muscles until the heat of
their rising passion drove back the cold of the night air. Todd lay
on his back, Sam on his side supporting himself with his arm,
looking down on the boyish face. He slipped one arm beneath
Todd’s shoulder and stroked his face with the other. He lowered
his face to kiss him.

A soft yip from Wolf caused both men to sit bolt upright. Todd

gasped and moved behind Sam. Leaning against a tree in the
moonlight was Garrett, shirt unbuttoned, one hand on the bulge in
his trousers, massaging it slowly.

“Got room for one more under there?”

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Garrett’s deep voice seemed to resonate the length of Sam’s

body. Sam felt himself shudder.

Without thinking, Sam raised the blanket. Garrett shed the shirt

and opened his trousers, letting them fall to the ground, releasing
his erect organ to stand rigid against his tight, muscular abdomen.
He stepped out of his pants and, on bare feet, padded his way
toward the pair. He slid beneath the covers, laying on his side next
to a trembling Todd. He added his arm to Sam’s around Todd’s
shoulders.

“Shhh,” Garrett said to Todd, brushing his lips lightly over his

forehead. “Ain’t no one gonna hurt you.”

Sam felt Todd relax.
With his other arm, Garrett pulled Sam to him. The kiss was

soul shattering. Sam released his pent-up feelings for Garrett and
surrendered himself to the man.

Garrett broke the kiss and smiled at Sam. Todd had reached out

and had one arm on each man’s back. Garrett bent and kissed him
as well. Todd writhed under his kiss. Sam knew he was
experiencing feelings similar to his own. He leaned down and
joined them.

For the next hour, the three men explored each other’s bodies

with hands and mouths, touching, massaging, fondling. Sam
relished Garrett’s hard, muscular contours, the feel of the thick mat
of hair on his chest, the rod of iron rising from the base of his
torso.

Sam also delighted in Todd. His smooth, muscled body and his

eager acceptance of the affection given him warmed Sam’s
emotions. Sam allowed the physical and emotional sensations to
carry him away.

The pinnacle of their lovemaking, as that was how Sam viewed

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164

it, came when he was on his side, inside Todd. Garrett had
penetrated Sam from behind. The three men, joined together as
one, each erupted in turn with exclamations of ardor that seemed to
seal a bond among them.

Sam lay between the two men, under the canopy of stars, his

arm draped over Todd’s chest. Garrett was snuggled against him
with his arm over them both, his hand lightly resting on Sam’s
forearm. Sam could feel their deep, even breathing. He knew they
were sleeping, but he could not sleep. The confusion had returned.

He thought of how the braves of the village had used Lean

Bear, how Russell had happily allowed the men of the trading post
to satisfy their needs, of the love he had shared with Nils. Where
did what had transpired here, what he had felt for both of these
men, fit into this?

Surely what he, Todd and Garrett had done was in no way

similar to Lean Bear’s humiliation. They had not taken turns using
Todd, without regard to his needs or desires. Even though the
attitudes of the men of the trading post toward Russell had been of
respect and affection, there was still the aura of Russell’s
participation being to please them. Whether or not he derived
pleasure was irrelevant. No, what had just taken place was more
akin to what he had shared with Nils. He had felt love for both
men, had sensed that love flowed between them, and to him, from
them.

How could that be possible? Could you love more than one

person at the same time? He had no answer for that. He let his
mind go back to the moments of shared passion and drifted off to
sleep.

* * *

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165

Sam stood on the bank of the pond, staring into the water. On

the other side, a family of loons searched for food among the reeds.
A beaver swam toward its lodge carrying a branch. The young
loons, some of them paddling in the water, some on the backs of
the parents, seemed, to Sam, to be content: a feeling that was far
from him at that moment.

He reached down and scratched Wolf’s ear. The animal was

watching the birds and the rodent.

“You leave them be,” Sam said. “You got no cause to be

hunting them. I feed you well enough.”

Wolf looked up and whined, shifting his weight from paw to

paw, as if to say, “Yeah, but the wolf part of me wants to hunt.”

Wolf turned his head away from the pond. Sam followed his

gaze. He heard a noise. Garrett was approaching from the direction
of the thicket where, apparently, Todd still lay sleeping. He turned
back to the pond. Garrett walked up behind him, encircling Sam’s
waist with his strong arms, burying his face in his neck, caressing
him. Sam leaned back into the embrace with a deep sigh and
closed his eyes.

“What’s wrong?” Garrett’s deep voice resonated throughout

Sam’s body.

Sam sighed again. He turned without breaking the hold in

which Garrett held him. He looked deeply up into the eyes of the
man he could no longer deny he had feelings for.

“I love you,” Sam said simply. When he said these words,

however, he felt turmoil inside.

Garrett smiled and kissed him. He looked at Sam with his head

cocked to one side. He reminded Sam of Wolf, when his faithful
companion was trying to understand the strange vocalizations his
master was uttering.

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166

Garrett said, “But?”
“But?” Sam repeated.
“I love you, but—” Garrett said. “I know there’s a ‘but’ in there

someplace. Not as cute as this butt, though.” He dropped his hands
and gave Sam’s bottom a squeeze.

“Garrett, I’m serious.” Sam broke the embrace and walked a

few steps away.

“I know you are,” said the wagon master. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re right,” Sam said. “There is a ‘but.’” Sam leaned his

shoulder against a willow tree on the bank. Garrett walked up
behind him once more and also leaned against a limb with one
hand, waiting for Sam to continue.

Sam took his time. Still staring at the family of loons, he said,

“I love you, but…I love Todd, too.” He turned to Garrett. “I can
see Todd loves you and yet he says he loves me. How can I love
you and Todd? How can you love each other and me?”

Garrett smiled and pulled Sam against his chest. Sam laid his

head on the man’s broad shoulder, and, for an instant, felt as if he
were one of the loon chicks secure on the strong back of his father.

After a minute had passed, Garrett said. “You got the wrong

idea about love, my man.”

Sam raised his head and looked up into Garrett’s face. “I don’t

understand.”

Garrett pressed Sam’s head back down against his shoulder.

“You think love has to be a permanent thing, that it’s exclusive
between two people.”

Sam wrinkled his brow against Garrett’s breast, trying to

understand.

Garrett continued, “Love can be permanent and exclusive, but

it don’t have to be. Love is a feelin’. You can’t control havin’ it,

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any more than you can control not havin’ it. If I love you, it don’t
mean I shouldn’t or can’t love Todd, or Gus, or even a hundred
other people. And to try not to feel it when it’s there, as plain as
the nose on your face, it can make you miserable inside. Especially
if you think it’s wrong to feel that way.”

Garrett paused. Sam thought about what he had just heard. It

made sense to him on some level. When he had been with Nils,
though, he had felt love for none other and felt no desire for any
other love. But there, he didn’t have others to love. There was just
him and Nils. Would he have loved Garrett if he had been there as
well?

“Another thing about love,” Garrett was continuing. “It don’t

have to last forever. If you feel it for someone for an hour, a day,
or a week, and then it goes, that’s all right. It ain’t wrong to have it
be for a short time. It’s a good feeling and should be shared and
enjoyed. Not something to be ashamed of or regret if it don’t last.
So, if you love someone, tell ’em. You’ll both feel good.”

Sam raised his head once more.
“I love you, Sam,” said Garrett.
“I love you, too,” Sam replied. This time he felt better saying it,

but he still thought something was missing, something he couldn’t
quite understand.

The two men walked back toward where Todd lay sleeping.

Sam turned back to the pond.

“Wolf,” he called, “you leave them loons alone!”
Wolf reluctantly turned and walked back to his master, his head

down and tail dragging.

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CHAPTER 8

NDEPENDENCE

Sam walked with Garrett down the busy street. They were on

their way to see Cletus Weston, owner and organizer of the wagon
train company. Garrett had sent Gus and Todd to locate their
wagons and start procuring supplies for the journey. They had
Wolf with them.

The men had arrived in Independence at dusk the day before

and after bedding down the horses at the livery went straight to the
hotel where they spent the night. Todd and Sam shared a room
with Wolf; Garrett and Gus were in another.

Sam and Todd had made love. Sam was certain Garrett and

Gus had done the same. Somewhere inside him, Sam wished
Garrett had made other arrangements so they could have been

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169

together once more.

As they made their way through the crowds of people—

shopping, haggling over the prices—Sam got his first look at the
settlers they would be taking across country: men and women,
children, and several dogs. There were young couples and older
families. Some looked to be too old to be thinking of resettling, let
alone traveling two thousand miles to do so.

As they rounded a corner, they had to step aside as a small herd

of yoked oxen—led by the drovers—went by. It surprised Sam to
see oxen being led by the rings in their noses, not like horses in
harness.

“God, Cletus’s gonna use ox again this year,” Garrett said,

watching the animals lumber by. “That’ll add two weeks to the trip
at least. And you gotta teach folks how to work with them. They
already know how to handle horses.”

“Are they taking them to the train now?” Sam asked
“No, they’ll be delivered to the train later in the week. Be kept

out of town for the time being.”

“If it takes longer, why would you use them?”
“Well, probably the main reason is so Cletus can make more

money,” Garrett began as they let the beasts pass before the men
continued on their way.

Sam waited for Garrett to go on.
“They’re a lot cheaper than horses or mules, but the old man

charges the settlers horse prices cuz they don’t know no better.”

Sam’s sense of fair play was ruffled. He decided he wasn’t

going to like this Cletus.

“But oxen got their good points, too. First off, they eat

anything, not finicky like a horse. They’re stronger, can get
through some tough spots better. And with these women wantin’ to

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170

take everything from home that ain’t nailed down, they pull bigger
loads. They don’t stray off neither. Real good reason is that Indians
ain’t as interested in stealin’ ’em, like they are horses.”

Sam took slight offense at this last remark, but said nothing.
“’Sides bein’ slower, a good argument against ox is that they

get reckless when they’re hot and thirsty. Can cause stampedes in a
rush to get to water. I remember a year or so back, we had a
stampede during a dry spell. Took us a whole day to find ’em all
and round ’em up.” Garrett shook his head at the memory.

By the time Garrett had finished his tutorial on oxen, they had

come upon a two-story building. On the glass window next to the
door was painted “Cletus Weston: Wagoner and Guide.”

“Humph,” Garrett said, pointing at the sign. “He ain’t never

been farther west than this here town. Wagoner and guide, my
ass.”

Sam’s preconceived dislike of Cletus deepened, although the

mention of Garrett’s firm, muscular, hair-covered butt made him
smile.

The men entered the building.
A man Sam assumed to be Cletus was seated behind his desk.

Even sitting, Sam could tell he wasn’t very tall. He was bald. He
had a thick moustache that flowed down the sides of his mouth. It
connected with a narrow beard that outlined his jaw, joining the
fringe of hair that began over his ears and went around the back of
his head. He looked up when he heard the door.

“Taylor,” he said without rising. “We got sixteen signed up

already, and I’m expectin’—”

“Nice to see you, too, Cletus, and how was your winter?”

Garrett interrupted, as if to point out the man’s rude lack of
greeting. “This here’s Sa—”

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171

Cletus, oblivious to Garrett’s attempt at observing the civil

niceties, interrupted back. “I’m expecting more in the next few
days. Thought we’d hold off leavin’ for another week in case
there’s a few stragglers that want to sign on.”

“Well, Cletus, you’re plannin’ on using oxen again this year?

That’s gonna add some time as it is,” Garrett returned.

“Posh. One week isn’t gonna make that much difference,

man!” Cletus said, looking at Garrett with a scowl as he rose and
walked around the desk.

Sam could tell from the expression on Garrett’s face that a

week’s delay in departure did make a difference, but before he
could voice any objection, the door opened again. A very tall, thin
man dressed in a suit and dark shirt with a white collar entered the
office. A small, plump, mousy looking woman followed him. As
he closed the door, he looked over the three men assembled before
him.

“I’m looking for Cletus Weston,” the man said.
Sam caught an air of pretentiousness in his voice.
There was an immediate transformation in Cletus’ manner. He

walked forward with an ingratiating smile on his face. “I’m Cletus
Weston,” he said. “With whom do I have the pleasure of
speaking?”

“Same ole Cletus,” Garrett whispered, leaning slightly toward

Sam.

“I am the Reverend Ezekiel Rayburn,” the man announced

pompously. “And this,” he said, gesturing over his shoulder
without turning, “is my wife, Mrs. Rayburn.”

“I am so pleased to make your acquaintance Reverend

Rayburn,” said Cletus, rushing forward and grabbing the man’s
hand. “Mrs. Rayburn,” he added, nodding in the woman’s

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172

direction. “I’ve been expecting you.”

The Reverend Rayburn took Cletus’ hand and shook it,

inclining his head and placing his other hand on his chest. Mrs.
Rayburn peeked out from behind her husband and performed a
slight curtsey.

“Let me introduce you to our wagon master, Garrett Taylor,”

Cletus said, looking in Garrett and Sam’s direction. “He’ll be
guiding the train to California.”

“Since you introduced him as the wagon master, I assumed as

much,” the Reverend said disdainfully. He extended his hand to
Garrett.

Garrett took his hand. “Nice to meet you, Reverend.”
Garrett turned to Mrs. Rayburn, touched the brim of his hat and

nodded. “Ma’am.”

She smiled slightly at the acknowledgement and curtsied again.
“And this?” the Reverend said looking at Sam.
“Ah, this is, ah…” Cletus stammered, opening and closing his

mouth like a fish out of water.

Garrett let him flounder for a while, then came to his rescue.

“This is Samuel Hawkins. He’s our Indian scout.”

The Reverend Rayburn stood up imperiously and raised an

eyebrow. “Mr. Hawkins,” he said without offering his hand, “you
don’t look like an Indian.”

The man’s arrogance awakened something in Sam. He wanted

to speak the truth about his heritage. He squared his shoulders and
stood up erect and tall, but, at the last moment, he changed his
mind. He reverted to the story he had told since leaving his people.
Mrs. Rayburn gasped.

“How awful for your poor mother,” she said in a hushed voice.
“No,” Sam said. “River Runs Deep was a good husband. He

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173

was like a father to me. He’s a brave and honorable man.”

“Still, being raised by savages in a heathen environment must

have been an ordeal for you,” the Reverend Rayburn intoned
piously.

Sam looked Rayburn in the eye and spoke with strength and

pride. “You would be surprised, Mr. Rayburn,” he said omitting
his clerical title. “In many ways, Indians are more civilized and
spiritual than the white man.”

As if slapped, Rayburn recoiled. His face reddened.
Garrett turned to Sam with an expression that was a mix of

surprise and admiration.

Only Cletus seemed unaffected by what had just transpired. He

nodded and said, “Yes, this is Samuel Hawkins and he’ll be the
Indian guide to help with negotiations with the Indians, should any
be needed.”

Mrs. Rayburn gasped again. The reverend, regaining his

composure, looked at Garrett and asked, “Do you suspect any
negotiations will be needed, Mr. Taylor?”

As if the question had been addressed to him, Cletus began to

answer.

Rayburn cut him off. “Excuse me, Mr. Weston, but I was

addressing the wagon master who would know better than you
what dangers we face on the trail west.”

Cletus blustered, then was silent.
“We encounter Indians on the way west, yes. Whether or not

we need to negotiate with them depends on a lot of things, like
how other whites have treated them recently, how threatened they
feel with us on their land, what we have that they may want. Most
times, if we respect them and their territory, they’re friendly. At
times, they can be hostile, yes, but usually not without good

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174

reason.”

Sam looked at Garrett. He felt good about the way the man had

answered. He had given the Indians the honor due them.

“Well, I hope we do meet with them. I want to bring the Word

of God to these heathens and offer them the hope of salvation, lest
they burn in hell forever,” the reverend intoned with his head held
high and a faraway look in his eyes.

Sam opened his mouth to speak, but Garrett lightly put a hand

on his arm.

Cletus then asked the Rayburns to move to his desk, where he

started to go over the contracts for their passage on the train.

Garrett signaled Sam, and they slipped out the door.
When they were outside, Garrett faced Sam. “You sure gave

the old reverend what he deserved in there.”

Sam shrugged. He had spoken strongly in defense of his

people, but in the end, he had still denied his heritage. His identity
as Soaring Hawk remained a secret.

* * *

The two men walked from the main street to the field set aside

for the staging of the wagon train. Several wagons were already in
the area, and families were busy packing them with their supplies
and belongings.

“You be careful with that barrel, Hiram. That’s my

grandmother’s china packed in there,” a woman with chiseled
features screamed at a man Sam assumed to be her husband, as he
struggled to lift the barrel and secure it to the side of the covered
wagon.

Garrett shook his head and went to help him. Sam followed.

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175

Once the barrel was in place and both husband and wife thanked
the men profusely, Garrett and Sam continued on their way to find
Gus and Todd.

“Nothing you can say to convince ’em it’s foolhardy to be

taking stuff like that. Nary a cup’ll make it, no matter how well it’s
packed,” Garrett said with a shake of his head. “They’d do better
packin’ the barrel with flour or salt pork.”

Sam looked back at the couple they had just helped. The

woman was now directing the husband to place a large, oval,
wood-framed mirror in the wagon box. A familiar bark made him
turn around. Bounding toward him—causing a few folks to scurry
out of the way in fear—was Wolf. Sam braced himself for the
animal’s greeting.

Wolf came to a sliding stop in front of Sam, stood on his hind

legs, placed his forelegs on the man’s shoulders and covered his
face with sloppy kisses.

Garrett laughed as Todd and Gus joined them. “Wagons ’re

right over here,” Gus said, turning to lead the way to two wagons.

Sam looked them over. They were good-sized and were already

packed with supplies and gear. The second wagon had plenty of
room in the bed. The men would sleep there.

“How’d it go with Cletus, the ole bastard?” Gus asked.
“Same as always,” Garrett replied. “Wants us to put off leavin’

for another week so he can milk every nickel he can outta people.”

“Dang!” Gus said shaking his head.
“What?” Todd asked. “Why does a week make a difference?”
“A week at the other end of the trip can mean a snow-covered

pass. Come late August you never can tell what Momma Nature
ain’t gonna throw at cha,” Gus said in disgust.

“Not much we can do about it, ’cept maybe pray,” Garrett

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176

added. “Who’d you line up to hunt for us?”

“Well, I figured this here Indian boy of yours probably would

be good with a rifle.” Gus smiled at Sam.

Being referred to as an Indian pleased Sam. It made up for his

hiding it back at the office. He was also pleased to be called
Garrett’s boy.

“Probably you’re right, Gus. But we’ll need more than one

gun,” Garrett put in.

“Dagnabit, I know that. I been across country more times ’n

you, Taylor.”

They all laughed at Gus’ indignation. Gus stopped grousing

and smiled, too. “I signed up Cody and Walt Tucker.”

Garrett nodded his approval. “They’re good ones. And they

don’t mind takin’ turns on watch.”

“What’re they gonna hunt?” Todd asked.
“Food, boy!” Gus said loudly. “Honest to God, Garrett, this

one’s cute as a button, but dumb as a stone!”

Before Todd could take offense, Gus grabbed him in a

headlock and affectionately rubbed his head.

“Well, I better call a meeting of the folks that’re here,” Garrett

said. “Make sure they know we’ll be waitin’ a week to leave. Make
sure they know what to take and try to convince ’em not to bring
stuff they don’t need.”

“That won’t do no good,” said Gus. “You know that.”
“You’re right, but I gotta try,” Garrett said. “We’ll meet again

the night before we leave. Make sure they know the rules and all.
If old Cletus signs more on, won’t do much good to do it ’fore that.
Come on, let’s get somethin’ to eat and head back to the hotel. I
need to drop by the office and have Cletus make up some meetin’
notices.”

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177

“Ain’t we gonna sleep in the wagon?” Todd asked eagerly.
Garrett smiled. “You’ll have enough of that wagon before long,

Todd. Might just as well sleep in a soft bed as long as we can.”

“Like I said, cute as a button, but dumb as a stone.” Gus put his

arm around Todd’s shoulders.

The four men and Wolf made their way back to town.

* * *

Todd and Sam sat on the porch outside the hotel after they ate,

with Wolf lying on the wooden floor between them. Garrett and
Gus had gone back to the wagons with the Tuckers. They had met
Cody and Walt at dinner. Although they were on watch duty at the
wagons, Gus needed to check on some things before bed, and
Garrett wanted to post notices of the meeting to be held the
following night. Sam watched as people walked up and down the
street.

“They look like they’re having a good old time,” said Todd.

“Like this is a party or a picnic or somethin’.”

“Yes,” said Sam. He thought of the things Garrett and Gus had

told them about the trip and wondered just how many of these
folks realized what they were getting into. Maybe it was better if
they didn’t know.

“I been meanin’ to ask you somethin’,” Todd said quietly,

looking down at his hands, which were nervously rubbing his
thighs.

Sam regarded Todd’s actions and then looked up at him.

“What’s that?”

“Well…” Todd paused. Well,” he said again.
Sam inclined his head forward as if to urge him on.

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“Gus wants me to sleep with him tonight,” Todd said in such a

rush that the sentence sounded more like one word. When he
finished he did not look up at Sam; he just kept rubbing his legs.

“Oh, I see,” Sam said, pursing his lips and nodding. His

immediate reaction was, That means Garrett will sleep with me.

“That okay with you, Sam?” Todd looked up, but his hands

kept up their assault on his trousers.

“Do you want to sleep with him?”
Todd nodded.
“Well, then, sure,” Sam said. “Why do you need to ask me for

permission?”

“I dunno. I just kinda felt cuz what you done for me and all…”
“Todd, we all care about each other. And we enjoy each other.”
Sam wasn’t completely sure he understood what he was

saying—or why—but he continued. “So if we all want to be
together—or if we want to pair off—it’s okay. You, me and
Garrett have shared some, so if you want to include Gus? Well, I
guess that’s your business.”

“It’s okay, then?” Todd persisted.
“Yeah, it’s okay.”
Todd stopped wearing out the canvas of his pants and let out a

deep sigh. Giving a relieved smile he said, “I’m glad that’s over
with.”

The men returned to watching the activity on the street, but

Sam’s mind had switched to other things. He thought about the
morning after he, Todd and Garrett had made love.

He thought of the conversation he had had with Garrett by the

pond. Was this what Garrett had meant? That they should be free
to enjoy being with each other and loving as they felt the urge or
need? He loved Todd. He loved Garrett. He realized he didn’t feel

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179

disturbed or jealous of Todd’s desire to be with Gus. It seemed to
make sense to him, yet somewhere deep inside something was
missing. Try as he may, however, he couldn’t flush it out. It was
just beyond his grasp.

* * *

Sam lay on his side on the bed in the hotel room. He was naked

and idly fondled his scrotum as he watched an equally naked
Garrett at the washstand. Garrett’s back was to him, and Sam could
admire the tapering musculature that ended in a well-rounded
bottom. He felt his cock twitch.

Sam looked up to see Garrett’s reflection in the mirror, smiling

at him. He blushed at being caught. Garrett chuckled and turned
around. His manhood, rising from its thick nest of black hair, stood
away from his ponderous testes. He was not yet fully erect, but
even so, the length and girth of his member was impressive,
kindling Sam’s desires.

Garrett laid the towel he was using on the washstand, turned

slightly and blew out one of the two candles on the wall sconce. He
began to walk toward Sam, who had swung his legs off the bed and
was now sitting on the edge. Sam watched as Garrett came toward
him, his manhood swaying to the rhythm, engorging to its full
stature as he did so.

When the man had stopped and stood in front of him, Sam ran

his hands up the backs of Garrett’s legs and caressed the taut
mounds. He pulled Garrett forward and laid his head against the
older man’s rippled abdomen, the shaft of his organ against his
cheek. Sam began to kiss and lave the hair-shrouded belly muscles
and buried his face in the thick, coarse hair. He breathed in his

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180

manly scent. Garrett’s hands were on the back of Sam’s head,
gently encouraging his actions.

Sam turned his head and wrapped his lips around the base of

Garrett’s penis, moving toward the tip, tracing the pulsating veins
with his tongue as he did. Finally reaching the apex, he kissed the
puckered foreskin before peeling it back, exposing the lustrous
head. He teased the slit with his tongue. Garrett shuddered. Sam
could feel the clear fluids discharging from his own member,
sending miniscule tingling sensations through his body.

He began to take Garrett into his mouth, just the glans at first,

but with each stroke, more and more of the huge organ, until he
buried his face once more in the tangle of thatch. He remained
there for several seconds, feeling the man throbbing in his mouth
and throat. Sam then withdrew, until only the very end of the cock
was within him. He repeated these actions over and over,
increasing the speed and pressure with each assault on Garett.
Garrett began to thrust and groan. Finally, he grabbed Sam’s head
and held him motionless, his phallus quivering in Sam’s pharynx.
Sam could feel volleys of the man’s seed rushing into him. He
swallowed as much as he could, letting the excess run down his
chin and drip onto his own throbbing organ.

Garrett pulled back. He pushed Sam down on the bed and lay

on top of him, covering his face and mouth with kisses, seeking the
recesses of the cavity with his tongue, grinding his still rigid
tumescence against Sam’s stomach. Garrett rose, supporting his
torso with his outstretched arms. He looked at Sam with
tenderness, yet with such passion that Sam felt his heart would
swell to bursting.

Standing, Garrett placed Sam’s legs on his shoulders. He

gathered the bodily fluids excreted between them, mixed them with

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181

saliva, and began to massage the entry to Sam’s body. Sam
moaned and thrust his hips off the bed, eager for their union to
begin. Garrett was at his entry. Sam closed his eyes and felt the
immense organ glide into the confines of his body. As he opened
his eyes, Garrett lowered himself and affectionately kissed him.
The two men lay motionless, staring into each other’s eyes for a
time.

Then Garrett stood once more and, holding Sam by the ankles,

began a measured cadence, which increased in tempo and strength
until Sam felt his testicles contract. Without touching himself, he
let out a mighty roar and issued his seed onto his chest and belly.
Garrett held his breath, stiffened and then gave several powerful
thrusts, before falling on Sam. Garrett rolled to his side, pulling
Sam with him into an embrace that communicated the depth of
emotion both men were experiencing.

After a time, they arranged themselves comfortably on the bed.

Sam lay facing Garett. Entwined in each other’s arms, they smiled
at each other. Garrett kissed Sam on the forehead, snuggled more
deeply into Sam’s arms and drifted off to sleep.

Sam lay awake for some time, re-living what had just

transpired. Finally, he began to nod off himself. Just before he did,
he wondered what Todd had experienced this night.

* * *

The next evening Sam and Todd stood at the back of the crowd

that had gathered in the torchlight to listen to Garrett. Gus was
passing out lists of supplies the settlers should take. Garrett was
encouraging the folks to pack only what they needed, and not try to
take unnecessary things that would weigh down the wagons. Wolf

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182

had found a couple of dogs to tussle with at the edge of the crowd.

“Don’t know how much plainer he can make it,” Gus said

rejoining Sam and Todd. “But they won’t listen and then, when
they run outta food, or have to dump some family treasure along
the trail, they’ll bellyache and say no one ever told ’em.”

Sam looked toward the buckboard upon which Garrett stood,

admonishing the travelers. He smiled with pride. Garrett was a
strong, handsome man, fair-minded and compassionate. These
people did not know how lucky they were to have a man like this
to lead them.

Garrett had just announced there would be a week’s delay in

their departure. The Reverend Rayburn seemed to lead the ensuing
jumble of mutterings. Sam felt a ripple of animosity. He wondered
just how much trouble the man would bring to the trip. As Sam and
the others watched and listened, Garrett masterfully took control of
the discontent. The crowd quieted and began to disperse. Garrett
jumped down off the wagon and walked toward Sam and the
others.

“I noticed Cletus wasn’t here when you let them know we

weren’t leaving for another week,” Gus said.

“He’s never around when there might be trouble,” Garrett said

with a laugh. “He’ll be here next week to give his big send-off
speech, though. You can count on that.”

The four men stayed around for a time in case anyone had

questions. When no one seemed to need to talk to Garrett, they
made their way back to the hotel, Wolf trotting along behind.

“I’m gonna go have a drink at the saloon before I turn in.

Anyone want to join me?” Garrett asked.

“I will,” said Gus.
“Todd? Sam?” Garrett asked, looking from one to the other.

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183

Todd looked at Sam. “I think I’m just gonna go to bed.” He

ended the sentence in such a way that it seemed almost as if he
were asking Sam a question.

“I think I’ll turn in, too,” Sam said, returning Todd’s look.
The men parted company. Todd and Sam went directly to their

room. Once inside and the door closed, as if they had been apart
for several weeks, Todd was in Sam’s arms, kissing him. Wolf,
who had accompanied them upstairs, jumped on the bed and
regarded them with his head cocked to one side.

“Hey, slow down,” Sam said, laughing. “We have all night.”

* * *

Making sure everyone was prepared for the trip to come filled

the following days. Cletus’ delay had produced some fruit. Two
additional families had joined the train to make the trek to what
they hoped would be greener pastures. It brought the total number
of wagons to twenty-six. One was a widower with his son, looking
to make a new life for himself after the death of his wife. Sam
understood his need. The other was a young married couple. The
wife was pregnant. “’Bout halfway along,” was Gus’ assessment.
Garrett was not pleased Cletus had allowed them to join up.

“The trip is hard enough without a woman carrying a child.

That baby’ll come early if it gets to come at all,” Garrett said,
shaking his head. “These wagons aren’t for ridin’ in…they’re for
carryin’ goods.

“Can’t they take a buggy or spring wagon for her to ride in?”

Todd asked.

Gus laughed derisively, “Them rigs won’t make it to the

foothills, let alone through the mountains. Not built for it.”

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184

Sam looked over to where the young couple was happily

loading supplies in their new covered wagon, blissfully unaware of
the perils that lay before them.

Two days before departure, the oxen were delivered to the

train. The drovers trained those making the trip to handle the
beasts. The animals seemed tractable enough, but Sam was glad he
had a horse to ride and wouldn’t have to walk to California beside
some lumbering behemoth. He thought again of the young woman
who would have to endure the journey on the wooden seat of an
unyielding prairie schooner.

For most of the week, the Tucker brothers had stood guard at

night over the wagons that the men would use. Now, with two
nights left before departure, they asked for the night to blow off a
little steam. Gus volunteered to guard instead. When time came to
head for the hotel, Gus turned to Sam.

“Why don’t you and that dog of yours keep me company? We

could even get some shut-eye with him on board. Ain’t no one
gonna mess with the wagons seein’ him around.”

Sam hesitated. He wasn’t sure if the invitation was an innocent

one, or if Gus had more in mind. He wasn’t sure what his reaction
would be to any overtures the older man might make. While Sam
was more open now to being with more than one man, he still held
that affection had to play some role in the relationship. He had
liked Gus ever since his first days at Mary and Martha’s
guesthouse, even found the older man attractive, but he wasn’t sure
his feelings for him included wanting to have sex with him.
Finally, though, Sam agreed.

The four men said goodnight, and Garrett and Todd left for the

hotel. As they rounded the corner of the wagon that would carry
their food supplies, Todd looked back at Sam and winked. Sam

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had an idea of what Todd meant, but he wasn’t going to
acknowledge it.

Gus and Sam sat for some time outside the wagon. Wolf lay

next to them. They watched their fellow travelers as they readied
themselves for bed. Most of what they heard was happy and
carefree. Gus smiled. “Best they don’t understand what a trip like
this is all about,” he mused.

Sam thought about this. He had heard this before, had thought

it himself. Music came to his ears.

“Hmm,” Gus said. “Good to have someone that can play a

fiddle on the trip. Makes for some good times in the evenings
when we stop for the night. Makes the trip a mite easier.”

Sam listened to the lively tune being played. “Tell me more

about what it’s gonna be like, Gus,” he asked.

The older man looked out toward the wagons. He rubbed his

grizzly grey beard. Finally he said, “You’re gonna find out
yourself soon enough, sonny boy.” With that, he stood and
stretched. “Let’s go to bed.”

Sam wondered if Gus meant to add, “Best if you don’t

understand,” to his statement, but he didn’t press it. He got up and
followed Gus to the wagon.

* * *

Sam stretched out on his side in the wagon bed. Gus lay with

his back to him. They sent Wolf to guard under the food wagon.
Sam knew he would let them know if anyone tried to steal
anything. He had spent a good hour wondering what the future
would hold, going over the things that he had been told, thinking
about Todd and Garrett, wondering what they were doing back at

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the hotel. The thought caused him to feel tightness in his groin.

Gus turned over and faced him. “Pull down your pants.”
“What?” Sam said in surprise.
“You deaf? I said pull down your pants. And take off your

shirt.”

Almost without thinking, Sam did as he was told. When he lay

back down, Gus ran his hands over Sam’s chest, swirling the hair,
teasing his nipples. “Nice,” he said. Then he wriggled down under
the blanket that covered the pair of them. Reaching around, he
began to massage Sam’s butt.

“Nice,” he said again, his voice muffled by the cover.
Sam felt himself responding. He took a deep breath. As he did,

Gus took hold of his hardening penis, and Sam could feel his
tongue on the tip, then probing under the foreskin. As he reached
complete erection, the head slipped out and Gus took the ample
organ into his mouth, burying his face at the base of Sam’s
erection. Sam reached down and stroked Gus’ head.

The older man was laving and sucking Sam with a gentle,

persistent rhythm. Sam did not resist. He just let the good feelings
of arousal wash over him. He felt himself coming close to his
climax. Gus seemed to sense it, too, and released Sam. He sat up,
took off his shirt and wriggled out of his pants, then he turned over
on his side and scooted back, until his hair-covered bottom was
against Sam’s erection. Gus reached behind him, took hold of Sam,
and guided him into his body.

“Ah, that’s nice,” Gus said with a deep sigh, using his favorite

word again. “Nice to have a big, thick pecker inside you. Nice to
have that hairy nest against your ass. Ah, yeah, that’s nice.”

Sam smiled and slipped his hand through the dense tangle of

Gus’ chest hair. He continued down to take the hard cock in his

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hand. He began to stroke Gus as he set up his rhythmic assault on
his butt.

“Oh, yeah, Sam, fuck me and make me give you my stuff.”
It was the first time Sam had been with anyone who had talked

this way while in the act. It amused and aroused him. The more
Gus verbally ejaculated, the more excited Sam became.

“Go deep…yes, yes, yes.” Gus moaned. “Fuck the old man,

boy, fuck him good. Oh, yes, Sam, do it good.”

Sam increased the length and strength of his strokes. He would

pull almost out of Gus’ body and then slam himself to the hilt.
Each time he did, Gus would cry out in ecstatic pleasure.

“Yes, oh, yes, Sammy boy, the old man’s gonna give you his

stuff. Oh, yeah, yeah, here it comes. It’s all yours, Sam, my boy,
all yours.”

As Gus groaned deep in his throat, Sam felt the warm silkiness

of his issue flow over his hands. As Gus’ climax reached its peak,
he clenched his sphincter around Sam and pumped him as if he
were using his hand. Sam bucked over and over, then pushed all
the way into Gus, holding perfectly still. His member throbbed as
contractions forced his seed from his body and into his partner.

“Yeah, boy, fill me up with your hot stuff. I want it, boy. I need

it. Yes, yes, yes. Oh, yes, Sam, thank you, thank you.”

Both men were trembling and breathing heavily. Gus brought

Sam’s wet hand to his mouth and kissed the sperm laden fingers.
Sam pulled Gus close and kissed the back of his head.

“Nice, real nice,” Gus intoned as his breathing began to return

to normal.

Sam felt a warm flush of affection fill his being. His mind

flashed back to the day when he had stood on the banks of the
pond with Garrett.

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“Another thing about love,” Garrett had said. “It don’t have to

last forever. If you feel it for someone for an hour, a day, or a
week, and then it goes, that’s all right. So, if you love someone, tell
’em when you feel it. You’ll both feel good.”

“I love you, Gus,” Sam said, kissing the white-haired man’s

neck.

“That’s nice, too, boy. It’s good to be loved,” Gus muttered.

Sam knew he was falling asleep.

Still buried deep inside the old man, Sam fell asleep with a

smile on his face.

* * *

“Tomorrow we’ll be leaving Independence,” Garrett said as he

stood before the assembled migrants. “It’ll be a long journey and a
tough one. At times, it’ll be difficult. At times, it’ll be dangerous.
But, if you keep in mind a few rules, it’ll be successful.”

“First, I’m in charge. Me and the men standing in front of you,”

he said indicating Gus, Sam, Todd and the Tuckers. “Gus and I
have made this trip five times. We know what’s waiting for us, and
we know how to get through the rough spots.”

Sam watched as the crowd shifted uneasily and looked at each

other at the mention of the difficulties that could lie ahead.

“Sam and Todd here ain’t never made the trip, but they got

skills and know how that makes them good leaders. Cody and Walt
Tucker have worked for us and other trains. They’re here to help as
well.”

Garrett paused and looked around the crowd of faces, as if

wanting to make sure what he was saying had sunk in. Then he
continued. “So, what I say goes, no questions asked. Is that clear?”

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189

Garrett paused again.

There was a murmur of assent.
“If you got problems with the way the train is run, you come to

us first.” He looked around the crowd yet again.

Sam sensed they were behind this man, trusting him, depending

on him.

“We’re gonna need to help each other out along the way. You

never know when someone’s gonna need something. We got to be
willin’ to be good neighbors and share what we got if it comes to
that.”

There was another moment of shifting and exchanged glances.
“Now’s the time to make sure everything is ready to leave. If

you have any questions or if anyone has anything to say, let’s hear
it.”

There were a few questions about how long it would take to get

to California, how far the train would go each day, and if the threat
from the Indians was real. Garrett answered that the trip would
take four to five months; how far they got each day depended on
lots of things, not the least of which was the weather. As far as
Indians, he felt they were better off worrying about the weather.

Garrett was just about to call the meeting to a close, when

Reverend Rayburn strode to the front. “I have a few things I want
to say,” he said.

Garrett nodded and gestured toward the assembled group.
“I am the Reverend Ezekiel Rayburn,” he announced in his

most pompous, arrogant manner as he turned to face the crowd. “I
will avail myself to all those who seek spiritual guidance. I will
lead a daily prayer service each morning and a Sunday service
each week. I intend to make God the center of this journey as I am
sure Mr. Taylor would agree.”

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190

He looked over to where Garrett stood. Garrett nodded.
“Now,” he continued, “I will lead us in prayer for a safe

passage.”

The men in the group removed their hats, and the women

bowed their heads and folded their hands.

“Holy Father, Creator of the universe and Lord of all, into Thy

hands we commend this undertaking. We ask that, just as your Son
calmed the storm-tossed sea, that You grant us fair weather, that
You tame the wild beasts that may threaten us and that You stay
the hand of the savages that would attack us.”

At this juncture, Sam looked up. The reverend was looking

directly at him.

The minister continued. “If we should confront the heathen

hordes, may they, by the power of your Holy Ghost come to see
the light of Your love and accept You and Your salvation,
renouncing their hedonic ways and practices.”

Sam held the man’s gaze.
Finally, Rayburn looked away.
“Further, most Holy God, keep our hearts pure, bind the

demons of debauchery and fornication that seek to enter the hearts
of some that are of our company.”

At this, Todd looked from Sam to Garrett. Sam smiled as

Garrett winked at the boy. Todd lowered his head once more, but
Sam could see he was fighting not to snicker aloud.

The reverend continued for another fifteen minutes with praises

of God and blessings on each family individually, including Sam
and the men. He ended his prayer with an altar call, inviting all
who would forsake the ways of Satan and the world to come
forward and be saved. When no one responded to this, he bristled
and ended with a lofty amen.

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191

“Longwinded son of a bitch,” Gus said as the crowd began to

break up, and the men made their way back to the hotel for their
last night of comfort.

“Now, Gus,” Garrett said with a laugh, “the man’s just doin’

his job. A preacher’s gotta preach, just like a bird’s gotta fly.”

“Birds flyin’ is a lot better ’n that load of horse dung,” Gus

continued grousing.

Garrett laughed again, pushed Gus’ hat down over his eyes and

said, “Time for a couple a drinks to celebrate the trip before we hit
the hay.”

An hour later, Garrett and Sam helped a very intoxicated Gus

and an equally inebriated Todd down the street. Sam had had only
two drinks, but because he was unused to drinking, he was feeling
very mellow and relaxed. Garrett had drunk as much as Gus, but if
the alcohol was affecting him, he showed no signs of it.

Gus was singing “Amazing Grace” as he leaned on Garrett, his

arm around his waist. Todd was almost hanging on Sam’s neck and
professing his undying love for him. Wolf, who had obediently
waited outside the saloon doors, walked along behind. When the
party had almost reached the steps of the hotel, a tall, angry
Rayburn confronted them.

“So,” he spat out, “these are the men to whom we will entrust

our lives! What is the meaning of this? I came to ask your advice
on a matter of concern, and I find you in the lap of debauchery.”

“I ain’t in nobody’s fuckin’ lap,” Gus said with slurred

defiance.

The reverend looked as if he had just eaten a persimmon.
“Now, Reverend, don’t get your dander up. We got us a long

trip ahead, and we’re just celebrating our last night here in
Independence,” Garrett said soothingly.

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192

Reverend Rayburn looked from one man to another in utter

disgust. “You would be better off if you spent your last night
begging God’s mercy on your knees.”

“Well,” Todd giggled, “we just might be spendin’ some time

on our knees.”

Sam shushed him.
Without another word, Reverend Rayburn turned and headed

back to the wagon train.

The men all laughed and made their way into the hotel and up

to their rooms. Garrett steered all four of them into his room. He
closed the door and pulled them all into a hug. Sam stood with his
arms around Garrett and Gus, looking into Todd’s eyes. He felt a
warm glow of affection for them all.

“Enjoy this,” Garrett said. “This won’t happen again for a long

while.”

Sam watched as Gus turned to Todd and kissed him. He felt

himself growing hard as Garrett sought his lips and mouth. Before
long, he was kissing each man in turn, often sharing a kiss with
more than one of them. He could feel someone’s hand rubbing his
crotch. Someone else was kneading his butt. The scene dissolved
into a swirl of physical and emotional sensations.

* * *

Sam awoke in the night. He found himself in a tangle of arms

and legs. His head throbbed and his mouth was dry. His ass was
sore as well. He smiled. He vaguely remembered parts of the night.
He had penetrated Todd, had welcomed both Garrett and Gus into
the confines of his mouth, had kissed and held each man and
expressed his love for them. His last memory was lying belly to

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193

belly against Todd, who was impaled on Gus’ long, thin cock,
while he had held Garrett tightly within him. He recalled how each
man had reached his climax, and how he and Todd had deposited
their semen between them.

Now Sam was hard again and had to relieve himself. He

carefully got out of bed and walked to the chamber pail. Leaning
against the wall to steady himself, he took a deep breath, trying to
get his stiff penis to relax enough to operate appropriately.

When he finished, he turned to the bed. He stopped and looked

at the men still lying in a jumble of naked bodies. Sam felt the
same warmth he had the night before. He realized he loved them
all. He knew they also loved him. For the moment, he was content.
Crawling back into the jumble on the bed, Sam awaited the
morning and the next adventure.

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194

CHAPTER 9

AGON

RAIN

Sam and the men got up early while it was still dark outside,

dressed and went downstairs for a quick breakfast. Todd, however,
still feeling the effects of his imbibing, passed.

“You’re lookin’ a little green around the edges there, sonny

boy,” Gus said with a laugh as Todd sat, leaning on his elbows and
rubbing his temples.

After they finished eating, they made their way to the wagon

train. Once there, Garrett had Sam help him make sure everyone
was up and getting ready to depart. He sent Todd and Gus to the
livery to get the horses. Many of the would-be settlers were already
awake, making their morning meal, and getting the oxen yoked and
hitched to the wagons. There was an air of subdued excitement.

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Sam also sensed something else among some of the members

of the party. They seemed to be watching him out of the corners of
their eyes. He rounded the side of one of the wagons and saw
Reverend Rayburn and several men huddled together. When he
approached, they stopped talking. At that point, Cletus Weston
came from the opposite direction. He seemed flustered. He looked
at Sam and then the group of men.

“What’s going on?” came Garrett’s voice from behind Sam.

“You’re here a bit early to give your ‘have a good trip’ speech,
Cletus.”

Garrett walked past Sam and up to the group. Sam followed

him.

“I will tell you what is going on,” the pompous sound of

Reverend Rayburn’s voice cut the morning air. “I have asked Mr.
Weston to meet us this morning to discuss your behavior of the
past evening and to request that you be removed from command of
this wagon train. We cannot have a person lacking in moral
character entrusted with the safety of these innocent souls.”

Sam felt anger rise within him. He looked first at Garrett, then

at Cletus Weston. The latter stood, eyes wide, fidgeting with his
watch fob.

Garrett, however, just smiled and calmly said, “Fine with me.

Cletus here can lead the train. Sam, come on, we’ll tell Todd and
Gus we’re not goin’. Oh, yeah, I don’t think the Tuckers’ll want to
go without us either, but you all have a good trip.” He started to
walk away.

The crowd began murmuring and milling about. The reverend

looked confused.

Cletus ran after Garrett. “Come now, Taylor,” he said, his voice

pleading. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

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“What’s there to work out?” Garrett said without looking back.

“The reverend don’t trust me, so, that’s that.” He continued
walking away.

“The reverend don’t speak for us,” called a man in the crowd.
“No, he don’t,” chimed in other voices.
Garrett stopped and turned to the men. “All right, if you want

me, I’ll lead you, but you understand I’m the undisputed leader.
My word is law. If you have a problem with that, you can stay
behind and wait for another train.” He addressed his last remark to
Rayburn.

“You know very well there is no other wagon train this year,”

the man said, seething with anger.

“Suit yourself. Either come with me or stay here and start a

church or somethin’,” Garrett said standing with his hands on his
hips.

“God will have his way with you one day, Mr. Taylor.”
“Better hope it’s after I get you safely to California,” Garrett

said pleasantly.

The minister turned on his heel and stormed off.
The man who had spoken before came forward. “We’re mighty

sorry about this, Mr. Taylor. We know you’re a good man and
we’re willin’ to follow your lead.”

Garrett acknowledged the man’s words. Cletus wiped the sweat

from his brow. Sam just smiled.

“Let’s get this train rollin’,” Garrett called out.

* * *

Three hours later, with Garrett and Sam in the lead, Wolf

trotting beside them, his plumed tail curled on his back, the wagon

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197

train set out for California. The whole town of Independence
turned out to line the road as the settlers and their guides embarked
on the journey west.

Sam looked at Garrett, who sat tall in the saddle. Sam felt that

now-familiar surge of pride flow through him. Turning in his
saddle, leaning on the cantle, he looked back over his shoulder.
Directly behind him was Todd, seated on a horse-drawn wagon,
which would serve as shelter and sleeping quarters for them. Todd
was smiling and waving at the bystanders. Sam caught his eye and
gave him a wave. Todd responded with a salute. Affection for the
young man bubbled up inside him.

Sam gazed beyond the lead wagon at the rest of the train as it

snaked its way out of town. At the end of the procession, Gus
would be driving the wagon carrying the men’s food. Sam knew he
would be happy to be underway. Warm feelings for the crusty old
curmudgeon arose as well.

What lies ahead? he wondered as he watched the men leading

the oxen, the women walking next to them, children and dogs
skipping and romping alongside. Will they all make it? Would the
buoyancy and joy he observed be sustained when the rigors and
dangers of the trek arose and reality hit them? He turned back to
face the road ahead. What was coming would come. They would
face that when it happened. For now, he would enjoy the sense of
excitement and anticipation. He focused on Garrett’s broad
shoulders, as he rode slightly behind him, and on the horizon
beyond.

* * *

That night, they circled the wagons for the first time. It took

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198

Garrett, Gus and the Tuckers a bit of time and a lot of patience to
help the travelers get it right. Sam felt he and Todd were more of a
hindrance than a help, due to their inexperience, but in the end, the
task was accomplished.

Garrett told Sam he was pleased with their progress. They had

covered about six miles. He felt that was better than average for a
first day. They had left the last of the homesteads behind and were
heading out onto the open plains. They had traveled alongside a
river that flowed into the Missouri. They would follow its route,
then strike off north to find the Platte, and use that as a guide.

The only incident had come when the train passed close to an

Indian village. Garrett informed the members of the train that this
was a peaceful group of natives who were used to the wagon trains
passing through their territory, and not to be alarmed if they
approached.

As the wagons rolled along, a party of braves appeared at the

crest of a hill. Garrett halted the train as they approached.

“Well, Sam,” he said, “you get to earn your pay as a Indian

scout.”

He and Sam rode out to meet the braves. They exchanged

greetings. One or two of their company spoke rudimentary English
and a dialect close to that of Sam’s people. To his relief, he was
able to communicate with them fairly easily. Things were going
well until a loud voice came from behind. He and Garrett turned to
see Reverend Rayburn striding toward them, holding his Bible
aloft.

“Repent and turn from your heathen ways! Embrace the Lord

and be saved.”

“God damn fool,” Garrett intoned.
The bevy of braves looked questioningly at Sam. He tried to

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199

explain the man was attempting to tell them about his God. The
braves thought this amusing and chuckled softly as Rayburn
approached. Hearing their laughter, the reverend launched into a
tirade of the curses which would befall them for making fun of the
Almighty, how His angels would smite them for their blasphemy.
The more he ranted and raved, the more the Indians laughed.

Garrett had finally convinced the overzealous evangelist to be

quiet and go back to the train. He and Sam had spoken further with
the braves before heading back to the wagons themselves.

Once there, a fuming Reverend Rayburn greeted them with

another rant. “How dare you, a drunkard, and who knows what
else,” he clamored, giving Sam a sideward glance, “stand between
me and the Lord’s calling to convert the heathen.”

Garrett’s firm, calm retort silenced him. “I don’t know about

your callin’, but I do know you will never—never, you understand
me—ever again speak to these people in such a manner.”

Sam smiled.
Garrett continued, “They came to offer us fresh antelope for

supper to celebrate our first day. They came in friendship, and your
raving lunacy nearly cost us their friendship. They told us as long
as the ‘crazy man’ was there, they would not share their meat with
us. Only some fast talkin’ by Sam here convinced ’em you would
not be here when they returned. So, Reverend, tonight, when our
friends arrive with their gift, you’re confined to your wagon. Is that
clear?”

“You have no authority to do any such thing, Taylor!” Rayburn

returned.

“Try me!” Garrett said, narrowing his eyes, placing his hands

on his hips and taking a step toward him.

Rayburn backed away, turned and stomped off back to his

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200

wagon.

The camp settled. People were cooking and enjoying the meal

provided by the Indians, and Garrett sent the Tuckers to make sure
Rayburn stayed out of sight. Gus was preparing the antelope for
the men. When it was ready, Sam, Garrett, Gus, Todd, and the
Indians who had brought the meat sat in a circle and ate. Wolf
prowled the circumference and heartily accepted the scraps tossed
to him.

“Ask them if they’ve had news of the trail, or of any trouble

ahead,” Garrett said to Sam.

Sam did as requested. He reported the braves felt the trail from

here to the Platte was good. They had not had rain for a while so
the ruts from previous trains passing would be firm. There was
plenty of grass for the oxen and horses, and antelope were
abundant.

Once they entered Sioux territory along the Platte, the Indians

had heard of some attacks on fur traders by the Lakota, one of the
confederation of Sioux tribes.

Garrett listened with a steady gaze. “The Lakota have never

given us trouble before. We’ll have to see what’s stirred them up.”

As the last of the light faded from the western sky, the Indians

took their leave. While Todd and Gus cleared up the meal, Garrett,
Sam and the Tuckers walked to the center of the camp and called
for a meeting of the men.

“Sam, go tell Rayburn he can come out,” Garrett said with a

laugh.

Sam did. A very angry man exited his wagon and followed

Sam to where the men were gathering.

Garrett addressed the group. “We got us off to a good start, but

keep in mind this is the easy part. Once we get through the plains

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201

and into the foothills of them mountains, things’ll get a good
measure tougher. Tonight, though, we have to set up night watch.
The oxen and horses need to graze. Some of us have to stay with
’em to keep them together and stop them from wandering off.
We’ll also have a patrol keep an eye on camp. Don’t expect no
trouble yet, but we need to get the hang of this, so when we get to
places that are more dangerous, we’ll all know what to do. Todd,
Cody and I will take the first watch. We’ll need about six men to
help us.”

Plenty of men stepped forward and volunteered.
“Good,” said Garrett. “Work in pairs. One man awake; other

catchin’ a few winks where he can. Spell each other.”

The men looked at one another.
“On the ground?” one asked.
Garrett smiled. “You’ll get used to it. I’ll be around to show

you what to do.”

The group broke up. The oxen and horses were unhitched and

driven to an area outside the camp, where they could graze. Once
the routine was set, they would free them before dinner. Cody went
to show the men how to keep the herd together and make sure they
could get to the river to drink.

Garrett and Sam walked back to the wagon. When they arrived,

Todd and Gus had things in order.

“Todd, you’re comin’ with me for first watch. Get the horses.”
Todd nodded and followed Garrett’s instructions. Garrett, Sam

and Gus walked around to the side of the wagon opposite the
camp.

“Gus, you and Sam get some rest. You’ll be takin’ watch

tomorrow night.”

“Good,” Gus said with a smile. He walked over to Sam, put

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both arms around his neck and said, “My turn tonight. You owe me
a fuck.”

Garrett laughed. Sam blushed. Even so, he felt himself swell

slightly.

“Walt’ll be sleeping under the wagon most likely. He won’t

like being kept awake,” Garrett said, still chuckling.

“Why not just invite him to join you?” Todd interjected,

walking up as he led the horses, apparently having heard the last of
the conversation.

Gus turned and looked at Todd, then walked over to him. He

put an arm around his shoulder and pulled him forward, until their
foreheads were touching. “Aside from the fact he probably
wouldn’t ’preciate it, he ain’t family, little buddy. He ain’t part of
the family.”

“Family?” Todd replied, seemingly not understanding.
“Yeah, family—you, me, Sam, Garrett. The four of us.

Family.”

Gus’ statement took Sam by surprise. He had no inkling from

anything that had gone on before that the man had such a
perspective on their relationships. His affection for Gus increased.
So did his anticipation of the night to come.

* * *

Once again, as they had back in Independence, Gus and Sam

lay facing each other in the bed of the wagon. Even though they
had just been together the night before, those memories, along with
Gus’ disclosure of the importance of what he had called family,
made Sam’s arousal sweeter. He lay with one arm around Gus’
shoulders. With the other, he stroked the side of the older man’s

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203

face. Gus leaned his head on one hand. He ran the other up and
down Sam’s hair-covered chest, stopping to tease his nipples. He
stopped and held the leather pouch.

“Been meanin’ ta ask ya, what’s in this thing you keep ’round

yer neck?”

Sam hesitated. He didn’t know how much he wanted to share

with Gus, or anyone for that matter, about his life as Soaring
Hawk. After a moment, he sighed and said, “Memories, memories
of another life.”

“I get ya. Private stuff. Well, we all got a right to that,” the old

man said as he released the pouch and returned to an exploration of
Sam’s muscular chest.

The men kissed gently, probing each other’s mouths with their

tongues.

“You kiss good, Sammy boy,” Gus said in a soft voice. “Sort a

surprises me that you’d like to kiss an old codger like me.”

This was a different aspect of Gus that Sam had not expected to

see: a softer side, almost vulnerable, perhaps harkening back to an
earlier time in his life before undisclosed forces had shaped the
gruff exterior most folks now observed.

Sam kissed Gus again before responding. This time he pressed

his body against him and ground his erection into the dense pubic
hair. “I have no problem kissing a handsome man like you.”

“You got a problem with your eyes, boy?” He laughed,

reverting back to his gritty personality before kissing him again.
“Now let’s us get down to business here. I got me a fuck comin’.
How do ya like it?”

Sam laughed and pulled Gus in for another kiss, this one

reflecting the passing of the tender moment and the increase in
sexual arousal. “However you want to give it to me, old man,”

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204

Sam said with a playful growl.

“All right…roll over and get on your hands and knees.”
The thin bedroll did little to soften the hard wooden floor

beneath his knees. Gus maneuvered around behind him. He traced
the crack of Sam’s butt with one hand, while kneading the firm ass
cheek with the other. Sam felt himself tingle as he began to reach
complete erection.

Gus continued his ministrations to Sam’s buttocks by placing

his fingers against Sam’s puckered entry. Pushing firmly with a
constant pressure, Gus’ digits slipped inside. He moaned softly as
Gus moved his fingers in and out, gently palpating the place inside
which made him tremble with pleasure. Gus slipped his free hand
between Sam’s legs and began to massage his sac.

“You got yourself a set that’d make one a them bull oxen

jealous,” Gus said, sensually.

Sam could feel the fluids begin to drip from the tip as it slid

beyond the hood. He leaned on his elbows and lowered his head to
his hands, letting the ripples of pleasure surge through his body.

Gus moved his hand from Sam’s scrotum to his cock, while at

the same time replacing his probing fingers with his tongue. Sam
could feel it dart in and out of his ass and swirl around the entry.
He felt the slippery saliva coating him, making ready for Gus’
penetration.

“Stop, Gus,” he said, breathing heavily, “or I’m gonna finish,

and I don’t want to. Not yet.”

Gus removed his hand from Sam’s cock and placed both hands

on his ass, spreading the muscular flesh. He then attempted to line
his erection up with Sam’s entryway.

“Ain’t got the meat Garrett does, Sammy boy,” he said, “but I

know just how to make that sweet spot a yours sing. Shit, you got

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long legs, boy. Can’t get my pecker up high enough. Fuck! Turn
over!”

Sam laughed and did as he was told, resting his legs on Gus’

shoulders, glad to have the pressure of the hard wagon floor off his
knees.

Gus wasted no time aiming his tool at the target. With relative

ease, he slid inside Sam. Both men groaned their pleasure. Gus was
true to his word. While he didn’t fill Sam as Garrett did, he knew
how to finesse his motion to cause shockwaves to travel
throughout Sam’s body, concentrating the peak of intensity in the
head of his organ. He wrapped his hands around Gus’ hairy
buttocks and squeezed in unison with their contractions.

“Gettin’ close, Sam, gettin’ close,” Gus forced through gritted

teeth. He began to grunt with each thrust.

Sam urged him on by squeezing the man’s throbbing organ

with his sphincter muscles, and arching upward to meet Gus’
downward jabs as his own breathing grew ragged and strained.

With a huge shudder, Gus impaled himself deeply inside Sam.

Sam could feel a pulsating within him as Gus emptied his seed.
Gus shuddered again, leaned down on his hands and smiled into
Sam’s eyes. Sam continued to contract his ass muscles, relishing
the feel of the man within him.

“Nice?” Gus asked.
“Very nice,” Sam responded, still arching his back, feeling the

need to reach completion.

“Your turn,” Gus said, rocking back on his haunches and

slipping out, leaving Sam feeling bereft.

Sam rose up, bracing himself on his elbows as Gus bent down

and took Sam’s swollen shaft into his mouth. He swirled his
tongue around the head and probed the slit. Then he slowly

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ingested the engorged member to its base. Once there, he began to
press the underside with his tongue, while pumping with his throat
muscles. The effect was instantaneous. Sam grabbed the sides of
Gus’ head and arched once more, forcing himself even deeper into
Gus’ pharynx. His testicles contracted. His semen shot out and
down Gus’ throat. The man never once gagged or choked, but
easily took all Sam had to offer.

Sam was spent. Gus released him and crawled up until he was

lying on his chest. He gave each nipple a playful bite and then
reached up and kissed Sam full and hard.

“Glad you’re part of the family, son,” he said.
Sam put his arm around the older man and nodded. Gus slid off

to Sam’s side. There he lay, his arm draped across Sam’s chest, his
leg over his thigh. He snuggled into the crook of Sam’s neck.
Within minutes, he was snoring.

Sam lay on his back, staring at the canvas ceiling of the wagon

above him, listening to the sounds of the quiet camp. Contentment
stole over him. The long trip across country didn’t seem so
formidable just then. He pulled a cover over them to ward off the
chill of the night and held Gus close. Soon Sam joined him in
sleep.

* * *

The next few weeks passed in relative ease. The weather was

warm and dry. The train, although moving at a snail’s pace in
Sam’s opinion, was making good progress as far as Garrett was
concerned. Sam had no reason to doubt him, so he relaxed and
took in the experience.

The terrain became gently rolling. The prairie grass was knee

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207

deep, and when the wind blew, it rolled in waves, which Gus said
reminded him of the ocean. Sam had never seen a body of water
larger than a lake or a river. It was hard for him to imagine the
ocean, but he looked forward to seeing it for himself at the end of
their journey.

The long grass, while beautiful to look at, and a boon for the

grazing animals, proved to be a problem for those who walked
beside the wagons, making it almost as difficult as wading through
water. Some resorted to riding, enduring the bumpy ride for as
long as they could. When they could take that no longer, they went
back to walking, trying as best they could to place their feet in the
wagon ruts. This, too, was problematic as they had to be careful of
the oxen, which trudged along behind them. More than one close
call came when an unexpected stumble put someone in danger of
being trampled or falling under the wheels of the heavily loaded
wagons.

As they moved farther north and west, herds of buffalo began

to appear on the plains. Sam marveled at the size of these herds.
The Tuckers had no trouble providing an abundance of fresh food
for the travelers. The aroma of cooking meat, the sounds of fiddle
music, happy conversation and laughter filled the evenings.

There was a good share of complaining as well. Sleeping on the

hard ground after a full day of walking made for uncomfortable
and not too restful sleep. Thus, when the men and women were
roused before dawn to start a new day, they were frequently
cantankerous and often belligerent. Some were averse to the use of
buffalo chips for their cooking fires, as they felt it would
contaminate the food. However, they soon came around when no
other choices were available, save burning their belongings.

As the days passed, Sam took his turns on night watch. At these

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208

times, as he gazed out over the star-lit grassland, listening to the
sounds of the night, watching the herd of oxen graze, with Wolf by
his side, his native heritage would often rise to the surface of his
consciousness. At such times, too, he could almost hear the voice
of the bear asking again if the path he had chosen was the one he
truly desired. He could catch the whisper of the hawk calling him
to remember he was still Soaring Hawk. No one knew that the
heart of an Indian beat within his chest, save perhaps Wolf, who, in
the way of all animals, could sense the truth. These moments were
both a source of comfort and confusion for the young man.

When he was not on watch, Sam spent his nights in the arms of

one or another of his, as Gus called it, family. There were often
moments of great passion, but just as frequently, there were times
of quiet affection. Over all, the bond among the four men grew and
strengthened as the weeks rolled by. Sam found he relished and
eagerly anticipated his time with each, and none was more desired
than any other. Each brought to him a uniqueness that made him
stand apart. Each touched Sam in a way that nurtured a different
need. Todd brought out Sam’s desire to be a protector; Garrett, his
need to be the one protected; Gus, someone with whom he could
share as an equal, giving and receiving pleasure in an atmosphere
of jovial camaraderie.

When he was on watch, he sometimes thought of what those

back in camp were sharing with never a hint of jealousy. They
were truly a family. Sam wondered if this expression of a
relationship existed anywhere else in the lives of men.

The only disquieting aspects of those first few weeks came

from Reverend Ezekiel Rayburn. The preacher’s constant attempts
to proselytize the travelers, his over-long morning prayers before
departure, and his stubborn insistence that to travel on the Sabbath

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209

was to bring doom and despair on the venture often put him at
odds with Garrett.

What disturbed Sam the most, however, was Rayburn’s thinly

veiled criticism of Garrett’s authority and the insinuation that
Garrett, as well as Sam, Todd and Gus were involved in a way that
could bring God’s wrath crashing down on the entire enterprise.
Garrett seemed not to mind Rayburn’s attempts to undermine his
position. It was a source of consternation to Gus, however, who
frequently advised Garrett to dump the reverend and be done with
it. Rayburn’s innuendoes were a concern for Sam, for whom
exposure of his sexual proclivities still held the specter of negative
consequences.

Upon reaching the Platte River, Garrett announced to the

assembled group one evening following dinner that the train would
reach Fort Childs sometime the next day. Enthusiasm greeted this
news, as the fort would provide an opportunity to replenish
supplies. Of greater importance was the chance to send off or
receive letters from home, since the fort boasted a reliable mail
service back to the east. Garrett also announced they had made
such good progress they would be taking a full day’s break from
their trek while there. Anyone who had aligned his thinking with
that of Rayburn regarding Garrett’s capacity to lead, readily
changed his mind as they enthusiastically proclaimed him man of
the hour at this announcement.

As promised, by late morning the next day, the train came

within sight of Fort Childs. What they saw dimmed the enthusiasm
that greeted the previous night’s announcement. The fort was not
the walled fortress many had expected, but rather a collection of
ramshackle buildings, most of which were made of sod. Many of
the party were further dismayed when they were greeted by what

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Rayburn described as the most unsoldierly lot of military men he
had ever seen. Sam reluctantly had to agree. The soldiers were
unshaven, their hair was uncut, and their uniforms patched. They
immediately began offering money to the travelers for any whiskey
they might be carrying. Due to Garrett’s strict rule against bringing
spirits on the trip, they had none to offer.

Sam and Garrett dismounted outside one of the buildings that

looked to be in better condition than the others. A tall man with a
reddish moustache flecked with grey, came out and approached the
men. He was dressed in an officer’s uniform.

“Ah, Taylor,” he said in greeting, extending his hand to Garrett,

“it’s good to see you again.”

“Thanks, Lieutenant,” Garrett replied. “Nice to see you, too.”

He turned to Sam. “This is Sam Hawkins, our Indian scout. Sam,
this is Lieutenant Stonem.”

Sam shook the lieutenant’s offered hand. The grip was firm and

warm.

“Not your usual type for a scout, Garrett,” he said, holding

Sam’s hand. “You don’t look much like an Indian to me,” he
added, addressing Sam.

Sam smiled. His identity once more camouflaged by the

Hawkins genetics, he replied, “I was raised in an Indian village,
sir. My mother was taken captive. But,” he hastened to add, “we
were well treated. In fact, we were received as full members of the
village.”

Stonem smiled. He released Sam’s hand and turned to Garrett.

“You may need him as you head out,” he said. “We’ve been
having some trouble with the Indians of late.”

“How’s that?” Garrett asked.
“Well, it seems a bunch of trappers decided to have some fun

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211

after a day of getting liquored up. They killed about fifty buffalo
and left ’em to rot.”

Sam immediately tensed at hearing these words.
“That don’t sit well with the Indians,” the lieutenant went on.

“Seems they hold the buffalo in high regard.”

“The buffalo are the source of their life,” Sam put in. “They kill

him only for their needs of food, homes, tools. They leave nothing
to decay. It is an affront to the Great Spirit. The Indian treats all
animals in this way.”

“You’re right, son,” Stonem agreed. “Well, the Indians

intended to take their revenge on the trappers. We had to intervene
or they would’ve gone after all the whites passing through their
land. We got ’em settled down, but it’s still a tense situation. When
you all leave here, be careful how you hunt and how you take care
of the kill. They’re watching close now.”

“Thanks for the warning,” Garrett said. “We’ll be sure to take

care.”

The lieutenant then invited Garrett and Sam to eat with him.

Garrett added Gus, Todd and the Tuckers to the guest list with the
officer’s approval.

During the meal, the lieutenant reiterated his earlier warning

for the sake of Cody and Walt. They also discussed the fact there
had been no rain for weeks. While that had made travel in the
wagons easier as the ground was firm, Sam knew good prairie
grass was essential for the feeding of the oxen and horses. Now the
grass was beginning to dry out. This could prove to be an
insurmountable obstacle to the travelers. As long as they were near
the river, water wouldn’t be a problem. But the only grass would
be near the banks of the river, and would be overgrazed by the
buffalo.

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212

Sam feared this could also set the stage for further tension with

the Indians, as they wouldn’t welcome the competition for grazing
with the wagon train’s herds. Sam had the feeling the easy days of
travel for the train were about to end.

As the group was leaving, Stonem handed a leather packet to

Garrett, “Letters for your people.”

Garrett thanked him and gave the pouch to Todd, asking him to

deliver the contents to the travelers.

Later that evening as Sam, Gus and Garrett rested beside their

wagon, Todd returned. Wolf lay at Sam’s side.

“There’s a letter for you, Sam,” he said, holding out a

rectangular envelope.

“What?” Sam looked up in surprise. “Who’d be writing me?”
Garrett removed the pipe he had been smoking. “Only one way

to find out. Open it.”

Sam took the letter from Todd. He broke the seal, opened the

letter and looked at the bottom signature.

Your friend, always, Nils.
Sam’s heart stopped. He stared at the missive with his mouth

open.

“Somethin’ wrong?” asked Gus.
Sam half shook his head, still staring at the name at the end of

the page. “’Scuse me,” he said, rising and walking away.

“Sam?” Garrett said, concern showing in his voice.
“It’s all right,” Sam replied without looking back, not wanting

to say more, or show the emotion he was feeling. He walked
around the corner of the wagon and slumped against the side. Wolf
followed him and sat down, staring up at him. After a time he
unfolded the letter once more.

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Dear Sam,

I hope you and Wolf are doing well out there. I came
here to Laclede’s looking to find you. Miss Mary at the
hotel told me you had taken the wagon train to
California and that I could write to you.

First off, I miss you something terrible. I know you said
I was a man of honor by staying by my promise to marry
Sally. I guess maybe that’s true, but it don’t keep me
from wishing things had been different for us. I just
wanted you to know that.

I wanted you to know that Sally and I had a baby. It is a
girl. We named her Sarah. If it would have been a boy, I
wanted to name it after you. That’s why I came looking
for you. To let you know that. That, and to let you know
I miss you.

You stay safe out there. Maybe we can see each other
once in a while when you come back. Miss Mary says
you and the men you are with come back in the winter. I
sure hope so because I miss you. I guess I said that a lot
of times. But it’s the truth. I could probably get over
here to this side of the Mississippi about once a month. I
hope you like that idea.

I am going to sign this with the words I feel. I love you.
Your friend always,

Nils

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Sam stood for a long time, just staring at the letter. He dropped

to his knees and pulled Wolf to him. Molly’s pup responded by
licking the warm tears from Sam’s face. Sam could see himself and
Nils, Molly and Wolf, laughing, working, building, playing,
loving.

Nils, Sam said in his mind. Nils, Nils. If only…now it’s too late

for us. We’re worlds apart.

Sam composed himself and went back to the group, the letter

folded in his pocket. His three companions looked up as he
rounded the corner of the wagon. He sat down.

“Well,” said Todd, “who’s the letter from?”
Garrett took the pipe from his mouth, and, turning in Todd’s

direction, raised an eyebrow. Gus glared at Todd.

“What?” said Todd. “I just asked…”
“Hush!” Gus admonished.
“It’s all right,” Sam said with a wan smile. “It was a letter from

a friend, a friend from before we met, a friend from a different
life.”

“You want to write back?” asked Garrett.
“Don’t think so. No.” He sighed. “I don’t think so.”

* * *

The next day was spent relaxing. Sam could see the travelers

had needed the break. Aside from tending the animals and fixing
meals, everyone took advantage of the time away from the march
by just sitting, or taking long naps beneath their wagons. The
soldiers had stopped looking for whiskey and were now avoiding
the train. This was mostly as a result of Reverend Rayburn’s

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215

repeated calls to repentance and salvation, which rang out
whenever one of the soldiers ventured near.

That night Todd and Sam were on night watch. As they rode

slowly around the circumference of the grazing herd, they talked
quietly.

“I don’t believe I’ve ever been happier,” Todd was saying. “I

got three good men to love me and love back. I feel like I’m doin’
somethin’ important helpin’ these folks get to their new homes.
How about you, Sam? You feel the same?”

Sam did not answer him immediately. Was he happier than he

had ever been in his life?

He was happy and for the same reasons as Todd, but happier

than any other time in his life? As he stared out across the prairie
grass, waving slightly in the light late spring breeze, several scenes
flashed across Sam’s mind. He saw himself at his father’s side
learning to fish, he thought of the first moments he had been with
Lean Bear and the flood of emotion that had cascaded over him.
Then he thought of Nils and of the nights they shared in the lodge
they had built for themselves. He reached down and felt the letter
still folded in his pocket. Before he could answer Todd, something
caught his eye. On the far horizon there was a flash of lightning
and then the wind began to stir.

* * *

In the morning, the sky was overcast, but no rain had fallen.

Garrett, Sam and the men got the wagon train up and ready to
depart. They said their goodbyes to the lieutenant, thanking him for
his hospitality and advice. They set out onto the trail, hoping the
clouds would bring the needed rain, which would revive the

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216

grasses and sustain the animals for their journey. They traveled for
three days beneath the cloudy sky, but no rains came, only the
rumble of thunder in the distance.

Screams roused Sam and Garrett from sleep in the back of the

wagon before dawn on the fourth day. Sam sat up and could see a
strange orange glow through the canvas.

“Fire!” Garrett yelled as he leapt to his feet.
The men scrambled to pull on their pants. Not bothering with

shoes or shirts, they raced to the area inside the circle of wagons.
One wagon was on fire. Men and women were running around
aimlessly, crying out in fear and terror. Garrett took charge
immediately. He ran back to his wagon, got his gun and fired it
into the air. The frantic settlers stopped and looked at him. He
ordered some men to push the burning wagon out of the circle,
away from the others. He commanded people to get buckets and
fill them with water from the barrels. Yet others he told to get
canvas or burlap and beat out the flames. The men and women
obeyed, but the flames, fanned by the wind, threatened to spread to
another wagon. Garrett ordered them to push that wagon out of the
circle.

Just when Sam thought all was lost, a crash of thunder drowned

out the shouts of the people and the roar of the fire. The skies
opened and a deluge began to fall. The welcomed downpour
quickly brought the inferno under control. Cries of joy and thanks
poured forth. Everyone was jumping and dancing in the pouring
rain. Garrett got Sam’s attention and the two men began to inspect
the camp for damage and injuries.

The fire caused minimal damage, aside from the one wagon,

which was almost completely destroyed. A few of the company
had suffered minor burns. As the downpour continued, the

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217

celebration ceased and everyone sought shelter from the pounding
rain. Sam and Garrett returned to their wagon. Once inside, Sam
looked at Garrett. Water dripped from his face and thick
moustache. His body hair was plastered to his skin. He was
breathing heavily. Sam’s admiration for the man’s authority had
increased at seeing him take control of the situation. Garrett wiped
his forehead and sighed. It had been a close call.

Sam leaned forward and took the man in his arms. He could

feel Garrett’s heart pounding against his chest. He shuddered as
Sam held him. Garrett was human after all.

* * *

The heavy rain lasted for over an hour. Finally, it lessened.

Garrett and Sam emerged from the wagon. They roused the settlers
and began to make preparations for leaving. The Tuckers, Gus and
Todd returned to camp driving the oxen before them.

“Jesus, Garrett,” Gus clamored, “we saw what was happening,

but we couldn’t leave the animals. With the fire and the thunder, it
was all we could do to keep ’em from stampeding.”

“It’s okay, Gus. You did the right thing,” Garrett answered.
“How the hell did this start?”
Garrett looked around at the charred grass and the flame scars

on the wagons. “Dry grass and someone not being careful to put
out their cookin’ fire probably.” He sighed. “Get everyone over
here. We’ve got to talk before we get goin’ again.”

Sam and the others helped the men yoke the oxen and then

called the settlers together, so Garrett could address them. When
most of them had assembled, he spoke in his strong voice.

“We nearly had a tragedy here. Someone almost brought the

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218

whole train down by not followin’ the rules about the fires at night.
’Specially with the grass being dry as tinder.”

Those gathered looked uncomfortably from one to the other.
“Now we got us one wagon gone. There’s folks that’s lost

everything. We’re gonna need to share with them so they can make
it to Fort Laramie. Maybe they can get a wagon there and some
supplies.

“Carter,” Garrett said addressing the man whose wagon had

burned, “you get what you can from your burned out wagon. You
can use our wagon for storage and sleepin’.”

Sam saw Gus scowl. He chuckled to himself. He knew Gus

was thinking of the loss of private sleeping quarters and the
activities that privacy afforded.

Garrett was continuing. “Now finish up because we need to be

on our way.”

“In the rain?” came a voice Sam was only too loathe to

recognize.

“Yes, in the rain, Reverend,” said Garrett, turning to face his

adversary. “We’re lucky we can move on. We need to make time.
Momma Nature don’t play no favorites, and she may let this rain
go on for a while.”

“Don’t you mean the Almighty?” Rayburn retorted.
“Call it what you will, Reverend. We’re movin’ out as soon as

we can.”

“I say we wait,” the reverend continued his challenge.
“You jist hush your mouth, Reverend,” Carter, the man who’d

lost his wagon, interjected. “It was your cookin’ fire that weren’t
put out. You caused this whole mess.”

Rayburn flinched as if he had been struck.
Garrett glared at the man. “’Nough said. Let’s head ’em up and

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219

move ’em out.”

For the next three days, the rain was unrelenting. That which

had once been the train’s salvation became its enemy. Progress
slowed to a crawl. The trail became a quagmire. The wheels of the
wagons sank deep into the ruts. Often they had to stop altogether to
push or pull a wagon to freedom. Frequently heavy items were
removed from the wagons and tossed aside to lighten the loads and
get them moving again. Among the discarded jetsam was the barrel
of china and the large oval mirror Sam and Garrett had helped load
into the wagon back in Independence. Sam marveled at Garrett’s
patience and ability to keep from lashing out with epithets
proclaiming he had warned them not to overload the vehicles.

Frequently, the train had to stop while the men worked to

replace a wheel wrenched from an axle by the sucking mud.

There was one disaster during this time. One young boy,

pushing a wagon from behind, slipped in the mud. The oxen of the
following wagon trampled him. He was crushed instantly, and they
buried him along the trail where he fell. Garrett did his best to
comfort the devastated parents.

On the fourth day, the rain slowed to a drizzle, then a mist, and

finally ceased altogether. By afternoon, the sun broke through the
clouds. Although Sam knew Garrett wanted to keep moving
forward, the trail boss ordered the train to a stop to let the travelers
air out their soaked belongings and get some much-needed rest.

They were still following the course of the Platte River. Cody

Tucker returned to camp to report that the river was swollen and
overflowing its banks.

Garrett took the grim news in stride. “Let’s hope the South

Platte’ll be down when we get there and have to cross,” was all he
said.

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220

That turned out not to be the case, however. Intermittent rain

over the period had kept the wagons from moving very fast. When
the slow moving train arrived at the river after four weeks of
arduous travel since leaving the fort, the tributary was above its
banks. Although it was not the raging torrent they had feared, it
still would be a formidable crossing. Just below the ford, Sam
could see the river deepened considerably.

Sam, Gus and Todd stood a bit back from the flow as Garrett

stood with his hands on his hips, surveying the scene. Gus
explained they were at the point where the watercourse was
normally at its narrowest, the place where they usually forded the
stream with relative ease. Garrett took off his boots and rolled up
his pants. He waded out into the current. He walked back and
forth, stopping every now and then, it seemed to Sam, to probe the
riverbed with his foot.

Wading back to the bank, Garrett said, “Well, the bottom’s still

solid. The current’s not over bad. We should be able to make it.
Hate to waste more time. We’ll hit snow for sure. We’re way
behind as it is. Damn rain!”

That evening Garrett once again gathered the pilgrims together.

In the light of the setting sun, he spoke to them of the morning’s
enterprise.

“Tomorrow we’ll be crossing the river. I’d like to wait a bit for

the river to go down, but that’s not possible. The time we’ve
wasted because of the rain is gonna make for problems farther
along if we don’t move on now.

“We’ll be crossing one wagon at a time. There are twenty-five

of us. It will take all day, maybe two. So, let’s get the rest we
need.”

The next morning they assembled the train a few wagons at a

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221

time. Garrett explained to Sam and Todd that the wagons would be
brought to the water’s edge. The horses or oxen would be
unhitched and led across the river. They would tie ropes to the
wagons and the animals would pull them across from the opposite
side. The men would walk beside the wagons and steady them as
they could. If a wagon started to tip, it was to be let go. There was
no way the men could keep it upright. They brought Garrett’s
wagon to the bank first. Before they unhitched the horses and led
them into the flowing water, the Reverend Rayburn stepped
forward.

“Hold on there, Taylor. I’m going to offer prayers for a safe

crossing.”

This took Sam aback. Even the rigors of the trial and his guilt

at starting the fire had not dampened the man’s arrogance.

Garrett, however, nodded. “That’d be good, Reverend. We’re

gonna need all the help we can to cross safe.” He removed his hat.
Those gathered on the bank with him followed suit.

This time Rayburn’s prayer was simple and, Sam felt, more

sincere than he had ever heard from the man. Maybe something
had changed in him after all.

When the reverend’s “Amen” was echoed through those

gathered, Garrett and Gus led the horses across the river. The rest
of the company watched in tense silence. The water came only up
to the animals’ hocks. Nevertheless, Sam could see they struggled
to keep their footing in the current of a river deeper than normal
for fording. Sam was cognizant of the deepening of the bed just
beyond where they were crossing. If the river pushed a wagon just
a few feet in that direction, disaster could strike.

Sam felt himself exhale as Garrett and Gus safely reached the

bank. He hadn’t realized he had been holding his breath as he

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222

watched the men cross the river.

Next, two yoke of oxen were led across. Gus and Garrett tied

ropes to the beasts, and they pulled the first of the wagons into the
water. Sam and several of the men walked beside the wagon. Todd
held the tongue. Progress was slow and steady, and Sam could feel
the force of the current against him, feel the wagon strain against
it. He sensed the key was to keep the wagon moving. If it were to
stop, the force of the moving water could overpower the vehicle
and it would be lost.

The success of the first crossing acted as a tonic, and Sam

sensed a lessening of the anxiety among the group. One after
another, the wagons were brought to the opposite shore. Garrett,
Sam and Gus crossed and re-crossed the ford, helping lead the
animals, giving instructions to the men, while Todd organized the
teams for pulling. The women and children walked across
upstream of the wagons for their safety. They placed the young
expectant mother on the back of one of the horses and she was
carried across, as were some of the smaller children. Wolf prowled
the banks, barking occasionally and nipping the heels of the oxen
reluctant to enter the water.

All was going well until a sudden strong wind came up in the

afternoon. It blew in tandem with the flow of the water. The wind
gusted at its strongest just as the wagon belonging to the widower
and his son was in mid-crossing. The wagon’s canvas covering
acted as a sail as it caught the wind, increasing the force on the
wagon, unbalancing it as it made its way to the opposite shore.
Things happened too fast for Garrett to give the order to drop the
canvas from the bows. The boy carrying the tongue must have
forgotten Garrett’s admonition to let the wagon go if it tipped. He
hung on and was pulled into the river as the wagon was swept

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away into deeper water. His father let out a cry and tried to follow
after his son. The men restrained him.

He screamed, “Caleb, Caleb! Oh, my God, Caleb! No…No!”
“Dad, Dad!” Caleb called back over the roar of the water.
As Sam watched, the boy was swept farther and farther

downstream. He heard Wolf bark and saw him race off down the
shoreline, beyond where the wagon and the boy had progressed. As
Sam helplessly looked on, he saw his faithful companion launch
himself into the swirling stream. The men and women on the banks
were shouting and screaming. Sam broke into a run along the bank,
until he was even with the wagon. The swirling water swept debris
from the overturned wagon.

As Sam watched, Wolf, swimming against the current,

somehow reached the boy and, grabbing onto his shirt, pulled him
from the wagon. They both disappeared beneath the surface. Sam
held his breath. They were out of sight for what seemed, to Sam,
an eternity. He waded into the water up to his knees.

Wolf and the boy resurfaced. Sam started calling to Wolf,

encouraging the dog to swim toward him. Wolf responded,
dragging the boy by his arm. He was barely making headway. Sam
waded farther out into the water. When he saw that Wolf, despite
his efforts, was not going to make it, he dove in and swam to meet
the dog. He could feel the power of the flowing water pulling him
away. Redoubling his efforts, Sam reached the pair and took hold
of the boy’s other arm.

Together, man and dog fought their way to the shore, where

Garrett and several other men met them. Strong arms pulled the
trio from the river. Sam stood with Wolf by his side, shivering in
the strong wind. Both were breathing in deep heaves. Caleb’s
father stood beside them, his arm around Sam’s shoulders, his

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224

fingers digging into his flesh. Garrett, kneeling on one knee, rolled
Caleb on the other and pressed forcefully on his back.

Water gushed from the boy’s mouth. On the third attempt to

clear Caleb’s lungs, he coughed, sputtered and started to cry.
Garrett carefully rolled him over. His father was there
immediately, scooping the boy into his arms.

Sam bit his lip to keep himself from tears. He heard Wolf

whine. Dropping to his knees, he buried his face in the animal’s
wet fur. Sam felt a hand on his shoulder. He looked up into the
tear-stained face of Caleb’s father. Sam stood, and the man
embraced him. Letting go of Sam, the man kneeled, encircled the
wolf-dog’s neck with his arms, and sobbed his thanks into the
animal’s thick coat.

That night after the camp settled down, Garrett held Sam in his

arms as they lay under the wagon, Wolf curled up against Sam’s
back. They had congratulated Sam over and over, until he became
embarrassed. Wolf had been fed well by the grateful settlers Sam
was glad now to be away from the commotion. Garrett said it was
a good crossing: only one wagon and no lives lost. With those
thoughts, Sam drifted off to sleep.

* * *

From the time they left Fort Childs, Sam had accompanied

Cody and Walt Tucker when they went to hunt. Whenever they
brought an animal down, Sam was there to perform the prescribed
ritual for taking the life of the creature. Often during a hunt the
men had seen Indians watching them from a distance, but never
had they been approached or impeded from their task.

Once they had crossed the South Platte, however, according to

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225

Garrett and Gus, they were in the territory of the Arapaho, a more
war-like tribe.

Sam and the Tuckers were hunting. They had just brought

down two buffalo.

“I suppose we gotta go through the ‘thank you Tatanka for

givin’ up your life for me,’ stuff again,” Cody said sarcastically.
“Don’t see what good that does other than keep the Indians
watching us happy.”

Sam ignored him. It was useless to try to get someone not

raised in the culture of the Indian to understand.

Sam and the brothers dismounted. He was about to begin the

ritual of thanking the animals for sacrificing their lives for the
benefit of those who had taken them when a group of six braves
rode up and surrounded them. The brave’s faces and horses were
painted. The men stood back to back facing the group. Sam felt
Cody put his hand on his gun, so he reached back and placed his
hand over Cody’s indicating he should make no aggressive moves.

Sam raised his hand in greeting. The Indians did not respond.

He tried again, this time addressing them in what he hoped was a
dialect they would understand. Still they did not respond. One of
the braves urged his horse forward until it stood with its muzzle
nearly against Sam’s chest. Sam held his ground.

“Uh!” the brave grunted, nodding his head and smiling.
Sam knew he had scored a coup by standing firm.
“What is your name?” the Indian signed.
“Soaring Hawk,” Sam signed back.
The braves around the circle grunted and exchanged glances.
“You have the look of the white eyes, yet you call yourself by

an Indian name,” the leader continued in sign language.

“I am the son of River Runs Deep, chief of the People, and a

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226

white woman,” Sam told him with his hands. As he did so he felt a
surge of pride combined with melancholy. It pleased him to be able
to speak the truth under the cover of anonymity, which the use of
sign gave him.

“Why are you with these men?” the conversation continued.
Sam explained he had been hired to be the Indian guide for the

wagon train and that they were hunting for food for the settlers.
They had taken these two buffalo, and he was about to offer thanks
to the animals for allowing the men to take their lives. He added he
was grateful to the braves that they would share the bounty of their
land. He asked if they could divide their hunt with the Indians.

“Uh, that is good,” the brave signed.
“What’s goin’ on?” Cody asked.
Sam held up his hand to indicate he didn’t want Cody to speak.
“You are welcome to hunt the buffalo. We are pleased you

would share your hunt with us.”

The brave dismounted and shook Sam’s hand in Indian fashion.
“What’s goin’ on?” Cody asked again more insistently.
Sam turned to him. “I told him we would divide our kill with

them in thanks for letting us hunt.”

Sam could tell Cody didn’t care much for this arrangement. He

was grateful the man held his tongue.

Sam then performed the required ritual and the men set to the

task of dressing out the buffalo. When they finished, the Indians
took their share and departed.

“What the hell did you give half our kill away for?”
“Better than sharing your scalp with them. You saw they were

a war party. You saw the paint on their faces and horses. While
we’re in their territory, it’s better to show we’re friends. Sharing
the kill is the best way to show that.”

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227

Cody shrugged and turned away.
That night back in camp, Garrett praised Sam for his handling

of the situation. “I knew it would pay to have a man who knows
how an Indian thinks,” he said as he squeezed Sam’s shoulder.

The train continued on its way. Some days they made good

progress, traveling ten to fifteen miles; other days they seemed to
hardly inch forward at all. There were several small streams with
very muddy beds to cross. The ruts of the trail took their toll on the
wagons’ wheels. Many broke as the wagons bounced through the
deep ruts. They would stop to fix the wheel if they could. Two
wagons had to be abandoned because the wheels were damaged
beyond repair.

Some days swarms of biting flies and mosquitoes plagued the

travelers, driving the oxen to distraction, as well as the settlers.

One morning, shortly after breaking camp, Walt and Cody,

who had been sent ahead to scout the trail, came riding back.

“You better come and see this,” Cody said.
They led Garrett and Sam up the trail to where three men were

lying in the grass, hands tied behind their backs. They had been
scalped. One man had a boot missing; the pants of all three men
were tattered and torn.

Next to them were the carcasses of three butchered buffalo.

From their condition, it was clear they had been dead for a few
days.

Garrett looked from one man to the other and then to Sam, who

sat stone faced on his horse. “What do you think?”

Sam looked at Cody. “These men killed the buffalo, took what

they needed and left them. They were captured and dragged back
here to pay for their crime against the animals.”

“That’s about what I make of it, too,” Garrett agreed.

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228

Cody pushed his hat back on his head and whistled through his

teeth. “Sorry I gave you a hard time, Sam, about sharing the kill
and makin’ fun of thankin’ the animals. I see now you was right.”

Sam just nodded.
At that point, the wagon train arrived on the scene. The people

gathered around and gazed at the gristly scene. Reverend Rayburn
came through the crowd.

“We will give them a Christian burial,” he announced.
Garrett sighed. “We’ll give them a burial all right, but we

won’t take any more time than necessary. We have a long way to
go, and the summer’s movin’ along.”

“Would you deny these men their last rites, just to make a few

more miles, Taylor?”

“Yes, I would. A few miles here and a few there and pretty

soon you’re up to your a…er, hips in snow and having to make a
hundred-mile detour. No, we’ll bury them quick. You can pray
over them if you want, but no funeral service.”

“I think we should take a vote,” the reverend insisted.
Sam thought this standoff was for reasons other than Christian

piety on Rayburn’s part.

Garrett sighed again. “Okay, Reverend, we’ll vote.”
In the end, the settlers voted to follow Garrett’s leadership. The

reverend stormed off to his wagon, evidently forgetting even to
pray over the interned men.

That task fell to Gus, who intoned, “Good God, don’t let these

fuckers go to hell, even though they probably deserve it. Amen.”

“Amen,” said Garrett. “Let’s roll.”
The settlers returned to their wagons. Slowly the train began to

move forward. Sam sat on his horse next to the graves, watching
the wagons roll by. Many of the travelers acknowledged him with

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229

a nod or wave. He watched as the parents of the boy who had
perished beneath the hooves of the oxen in the rain walked by:
their shoulders slumped and their heads down. The trail had
extracted the greatest of all sacrifices from them. Caleb and his
father passed him. They walked with heads high, smiles on their
faces. They greeted Sam with a hearty wave. Reverend Rayburn
passed without a glance in Sam’s direction. His lips were set in
grim determination. Near the end of the procession came the
wagon of the couple expecting their first child. The young wife sat
on the seat of the wagon, a wan smile on her face, her arm wrapped
around her protruding abdomen. Her husband walked next to the
oxen, leading them with firm confidence.

Will the fates be kind to them? Sam wondered.
He turned his horse and galloped to the front of the train, where

he joined Garrett and Todd. They smiled in greeting. Gus was
immediately behind them driving their food wagon at the head of
the procession of wagons. He waved to Sam. Sam felt that now-
familiar warmth spread through him as he looked at the trail ahead.

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230

CHAPTER 10

ORT

ARAMIE

EYOND

Another three weeks of travel brought Sam, Todd and the

settlers their first glimpse of the majestic mountains rising out of
the mists. Gus had told them of the Rockies—how grand they
were, but nothing he had said had prepared Sam for seeing them
himself. Their snow-capped peaks made Sam’s heart beat faster,
stimulating a sense of longing, which he didn’t completely
understand.

He had never seen anything so beautiful. At the same time, he

had a sense of the formidable task the mountains imposed. They
had to cross these mountains to reach their destination. Only his
knowledge that others had gone before gave him the conviction it
could be done. He also had complete confidence in Garrett’s

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231

leadership and abilities.

Fort Laramie lay somewhere ahead. It would be the first sign of

civilization for the travelers in the six weeks since leaving Fort
Childs. Many were eager to get to the fort where they could
replenish needed supplies. Many hoped they would be able to trade
some of their possessions for these supplies, as Garrett’s words
about not taking unneeded items had proven true. The overloaded
wagons had become more and more a burden. They were the
greatest enemy of all on the trail. The heavy loads bogged down in
the mud, unbalanced the wagons over rough terrain, and caused
axles and wheels to break, many beyond repair. Three more
wagons had been lost. One of those belonged to Reverend Rayburn
and his wife. Gus had suggested this was Garrett’s opportunity to
get rid of this pain in his butt. However, Garrett, man that he was,
made sure another family took in Reverend and Mrs. Rayburn.

Those who had suffered losses hoped to be able to secure the

wagons of settlers who had gone before and had given up on
reaching their destination once they reached the post. Many had
returned east by faster means, leaving belongings behind.

Most wanted to take some time to rest and prepare for the

journey which still lay before them. How long Garrett would allow
them, Sam couldn’t guess. Although it was still late summer, he
knew making South Pass before it was snowed in was Garrett’s
greatest concern.

As they approached the fort itself, they found mounds of

discarded items. Some of the abandoned items would have been of
considerable value under other circumstances, but now they were
worth no more than the most common refuse. The sight of this
debris was disheartening to those who had hoped to trade their
belongings for supplies. It was clear the traders at the post had the

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232

upper hand in this situation.

In contrast to Fort Childs, Fort Laramie met the expectations of

the pilgrims. It was a walled fortress, complete with gun turrets.
What surprised Sam was the presence of a small Indian village
outside the fort itself.

Gus was riding alongside him when the village came in sight.
“I’ll be,” he said. “That’s somethin’ that wasn’t here this time

last year. I guess the soldiers and the Redskins are gettin’ on all
right if they’re livin’ here side by side. What you make of that,
Garrett?” Gus asked as the man in question rode up beside them.

“Looks mighty good to me,” Garrett said, “The better we get

along with ’em, the better off our wagons will be.”

The train rolled by the village. The occupants came out to greet

the travelers, smiling and waving. Much to Wolf’s delight, several
dogs ran alongside the wagons, romping and barking. The big dog
joined in, happy to be with some of his own kind again. Sam knew
how he felt. He smiled and waved back to those who lined the
route.

As had been the pattern at Fort Childs, once Garrett had settled

the wagons into a campsite, he took Sam to meet the officer in
charge. In the case of Fort Laramie, this turned out to be a captain,
and a handsome one at that, Sam thought. He stood taller than
Sam, his broad shoulders and narrow waist speaking of a solid
body beneath the shell jacket with shoulder boards signifying his
rank. His eyes were a piercing blue, his full red beard enticing, his
smile open and honest. Sam felt himself responding to him
immediately.

“Garrett.” The captain’s voice reflected the warmth of his

smile. “Garrett, so good to have you back. Welcome to Fort
Laramie.”

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233

“Alan,” Garrett replied.
An enthusiastic handshake and what could be construed as a

partial embrace complimented their verbal greeting. The men held
this position for several seconds, staring, it seemed, deeply into
each other’s eyes. Were they just fast friends or was there
something more?

Finally breaking contact, Garrett turned to Sam. “This is

Captain Jefferson. He and I go back a long way.”

Sam noticed as Garrett said this, he turned to the captain with a

wistful smile on his face.

Captain Jefferson extended a hand to Sam. Sam took it and

said, “I’m Sam Hawkins. I’m the Indian scout. It’s good to meet
you.”

“You still know how to pick them, Garrett,” Jefferson said,

shaking Sam’s hand, while at the same time placing a hand on
Garrett’s shoulder.

Garrett gave a soft laugh, looked at Sam and said, “He’s a good

one, all right. Knows his job, does it well, and he’s good company
to boot.” He raised his hand and gave the back of Sam’s neck an
affectionate squeeze.

“Very good,” the captain replied.
The three stood for several seconds holding the circle of

physical contact. Sam felt a shiver of arousal pass through his
body. He wasn’t sure he understood completely what was being
intimated, but what he did sense seemed to confirm his earlier
suspicion that there was more than friendship between Garrett and
Captain Alan Jefferson.

* * *

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234

That night at dinner, hosted by the captain, Sam was pleased

and excited to see two Indian guests in full eagle feather headdress.
Captain Jefferson introduced Iron Crow, chief of the small tribe
that had chosen to establish itself alongside the fort, and Ancient
Fire, the tribe’s shaman. They both spoke English and seemed
comfortable in the company of white men.

After a period of casual conversation, they all settled down to

eat. Captain Jefferson sat at the head of the table, with Garrett to
his left, and Iron Crow to his right. The fort’s first lieutenant sat
next to the chief. Ancient Fire was between Garrett and Sam.

As they ate, conversation revolved around the challenge of

crossing the mountains, the improved relations with the Indians,
and Jefferson’s hopes for the fort. Sam noted the way Garrett and
the captain seemed not to be able to keep their eyes from one
another for very long.

After Captain Jefferson introduced Sam to the two Indians, the

old shaman seemed to regard him intently. Now, while the others
were distracted in conversation, the shaman leaned close to him
and quietly said, “That part of you kept hidden longs to be free.
Tomorrow you must come to see me.”

Surprised by this, Sam just nodded. By the time he had

recovered enough to speak, the shaman had turned away to
converse with someone else. What had the old man sensed?

After dinner, when all the guests had gone save he and Garrett,

Sam stood a little away, staring out a window toward the gates of
the fort. Beyond the walls he could see the glow of the fires from
the Indian village. He glanced over his shoulder at the two men
who stood close together, talking quietly. They were looking in his
direction. When he looked at them, they smiled. He turned away
quickly, feeling ashamed he might have intruded on a private

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235

moment, although he had the sense they were talking about him.

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.

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236

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.”

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237

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.

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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.

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239

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 what it

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240

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

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241

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

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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.

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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?”

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244

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 accident 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

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245

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

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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.

“You’ll be back next year?” Jefferson asked.
Garrett nodded. “Yes, Captain, I’ll be back next year, one way

or another.”

“Good, I’ll look forward to that.”
They shook hands. The captain placed one hand on Garrett’s

shoulder. Then Jefferson turned to Sam. “It was good to meet you,
Hawkins.”

Sam nodded, acknowledging him.
“You’ll take good care of Taylor here, won’t you?”
Sam was surprised at the statement. What was he implying?
Before he could say anything, Garrett said, “Oh, Sam takes

very good care of me, Alan, so don’t you worry.” With that, he
mounted his horse, raised his hand and shouted, “Wagons, ho!”

The train started to move. Garrett never looked back. Sam

watched him intently. Was he purposely keeping his eyes from
returning to where the captain stood? Sam did look back. Jefferson
stood where he had been left, watching as they rode away. When
he saw Sam looking in his direction, he gave a wave, one Sam felt
was for Garrett. Sam saluted him and turned toward the trail ahead.

A day out of Fort Laramie, the foothills of the Rockies began.

The uphill climbs, at first manageable, soon became steeper, harder
to navigate, more dangerous. As the days went by, the high spirits

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247

of the travelers as they left the fort were dissipated by the arduous
task of moving forward. The trail was no longer a straight line to a
goal. It zigzagged back and forth, at times seeming to be more
sideways than ahead. Sam understood this was necessary to avoid
the steeper slopes and to find grassy valleys for the livestock, but
still the slow progress frustrated him.

When the climb was extreme, they often had to double-team

the oxen to get a wagon over the crest. Then they had to tie the
wheels so they skidded down the other side, as rolling could cause
a wagon to descend out of control. With the wheels tied, however,
wagons could still slide sideways and overturn. It seemed to Sam
there was danger on every side.

Sam looked forward to the hunting trips with the Tuckers as a

break from the monotony of the daily grind. The herds of buffalo
and antelope behind them, the men hunted mountain goat and big
horn sheep. Sam marveled at the agility with which these creatures
scaled sheer cliffs and clung to seemingly smooth surfaces. He
envied their ability to navigate the crags and crevices.

The days crawled by and turned into weeks. Sam lost his ability

to gauge how far they had come. He, like the others, just kept
trudging on, trusting that at some point they would be on the down
side of this barrier to their mission.

The stress of the trail and the fatigue it engendered left little

time or inclination for Sam to dwell on thoughts of Garrett and
Captain Jefferson. He was only dully aware that what he had
witnessed between them had left him feeling a mild emptiness
where there used to be contentment in the relationships he shared
with the men. Fatigue also wore away at the intimate times they
spent together. Often they were so tired that, even though they
once again had the privacy of their own wagon, sleep overcame

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them despite their need for relief. More times than not, slumber,
wrapped in each other’s arms, came as the only solace.

* * *

In early September, when the train traveled down into the

valleys, the heat and the insects were overwhelming. As they
began to climb once again, the temperature dropped drastically,
causing the travelers to labor in heavy clothing to ward off the
cold.

One night, Garrett and Sam lay together in the back of the

wagon. They had made love. Or did they have sex? Sam wondered.
Now he had become aware of Captain Jefferson and his place in
Garrett’s life, he found it difficult to connect to the deeper emotion
he once had when with the wagon master.

“We’ll reach South Pass in a day or two,” Garrett said, pulling

Sam against him, his arm across Sam’s chest.

Sam nestled back into the muscular frame, still feeling the

probing of Garrett’s semi- erect penis against his backside. He
could tell by Garrett’s tone that he was concerned for the
conditions they would find when they reached the pass. Rather
than responding by talking, Sam communicated his understanding
of Garrett’s concern by squeezing his hand, which was caressing
the tangle of hair on Sam’s chest. Garrett buried his face in the
nape of Sam’s neck and said something he couldn’t understand.
Soon he heard and felt Garrett’s deep breathing. He uttered a soft
groan in his sleep, his cock hardening against Sam’s buttocks.

Who are you dreaming of, my friend? Sam, too, drifted off to

sleep.

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* * *

“Snow!”
It was snowing hard as the first wagons reached the top of the

trail leading down into South Pass, the twenty-mile wide valley
that marked the halfway point of the journey. Garrett told Sam that
South Pass, on the continental divide, was an important element in
a successful crossing of the Rockies. If the pass was snowed in,
days, maybe even weeks would be added to their journey. Sam,
Todd and Garrett stopped their horses. It was clearly evident South
Pass was impassable.

Sam looked at Garrett. The wagon master’s face was grim. Sam

knew this situation had been a worry for him from the very
beginning of the trek. Now his worst fears had been realized. Gus
pulled up in the wagon.

“Got no choice, do we, chief?” he said, climbing down from

the wagon seat and walking up to the men.

Garrett didn’t answer the question directly.
“Let’s get ’em outta this snow,” he said in a stern voice. “We’ll

try to get over the Antelope Hills and into the valley to set up
camp.”

Gus sighed deeply and returned to the wagon. Sam felt the

weight of the decision, even though he had never faced this
situation, from the reaction of the two men. Garrett urged his horse
on. Sam and Todd followed. A hundred yards or so from where
they had stopped, the trail divided. They took the one that led south
of the pass. Sam soon realized why this was the less preferred
route. Whereas, despite its ruts, the trail they had been following
was wide and flattened by the passage of many wagons, this route
was little more than a path, narrow and rough.

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250

The Antelope Hills proved to be a series of mounds or swells in

the terrain. As they were now on the down side of the mountains,
they were descending more than climbing, and they needed to
secure the wagon wheels more often to keep the wagons from
picking up too much speed. This took a huge amount of time, made
to seem longer since they traveled in snow for the better part of the
day. As the light was fading from the sky, the snow tapered off and
the sun broke through the clouds, low on the horizon.

This was the time when Garrett usually halted the train, but

there was no place to circle and camp. If they had been able to
travel across the pass, there would have been ample space for this.
Garrett pushed the train on. It was almost completely dark when
they came to a flat area that afforded enough space for them to
spend the night. Because there was no way to monitor the
movement of the oxen once unyoked due to the hilly terrain around
the camp, they released them into the center of the circle to graze
on what they could find. Cooking fires were set outside the ring.

Sam, Garrett and Todd went from wagon to wagon making

sure all the travelers were faring well. Most were cold and
exhausted, but none seemed to be suffering undue trauma. They
stopped to talk with Caleb, Joshua and the Carters. While they
were in conversation, Rayburn came around the side of the wagon.
When he saw Garrett, he stopped and glared at him.

“Well, Taylor, I hope you’re satisfied. Your perverted dalliance

back at Fort Laramie has cost us dearly. Your need to gratify your
lustful desires will make the trip more dangerous and take longer.
But perhaps you don’t care as long as your lustful needs are met.”

Sam felt his anger rise to the surface. Todd looked from the

reverend to Garrett, astonishment clearly written on his face. The
Carters, the boy and his father, looked confused.

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251

“Well, Taylor, what have you got to say for yourself?”

Reverend Rayburn said, taking a step toward Garrett, an
expression on his face that clearly revealed he believed he had
made a coup.

Sam had had enough. Without stopping to think, he launched

himself forward and landed a blow to the reverend’s jaw that
knocked him to the ground. There were gasps from those
assembled. Mrs. Carter let out a small scream.

Garrett stepped between Sam and the man lying on the ground,

who was groaning in pain. Garrett gave Sam a look that said,
Thank you, but no thank you. Sam felt his anger battling with
shame. He knew Rayburn deserved it, but Sam also knew his
action was out of line. Why had he done it? Garrett was capable of
fighting his own battles, and he certainly wouldn’t have resorted to
physical violence with this man. So why had he?

Deep inside he knew it had something to do with Garrett’s

relationship with Alan Jefferson, the essence of which was missing
from his own life. He realized he had lashed out in anger, not only
because Reverend Rayburn had been a thorn in their sides the
entire journey, but also because Rayburn’s attack on Garrett was
related to his alliance with the captain. Therefore, it was an attack
on the very thing Sam seemed to be searching for.

Sam’s shoulders sagged and he stepped back. Garrett was

helping Rayburn to his feet. The minister stood on shaking legs,
rubbing his jaw. He glared at Sam and threw off Garrett’s
steadying hand.

“You savage!” Rayburn shouted. He turned to Garrett. “Well,

what are you going to do about this? First, you endanger the whole
of our company with your wanton behavior. Are you now going to
allow us to be bullied as well?”

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Before Garrett could answer, young Caleb stepped forward.

“You’ll excuse me for sayin’ this, Reverend, but ’pears to me as if
you’re the one whose done the bullyin’ this whole trip.”

Everyone turned to look at the boy. Rayburn opened his mouth

to speak, but Caleb continued. “Sam here, he saved my life, and
Mr. Taylor, he gived up his own wagon for Mr. and Mrs. Carter
when they lost it in the fire that you started. These two men been
nothing but kind and brave the whole time, while you’re always
yellin’ at folks and accusin’ us of all sorts of sin and stuff. And
you’re always trying to turn us against Mr. Taylor and Sam. That
ain’t right, Reverend, that ain’t right.”

Rayburn flushed. He wheeled around to face Joshua.
“Are you going to let this insolent child berate me and defend

these degenerates? You should be stepping in to do your fatherly
duty and discipline him for his disrespect of a man of God.” Before
Caleb’s father could respond, the reverend shouted, “Well, if you
won’t, I will.”

He raised his hand as if to strike the boy. Sam grabbed his arm,

holding it fast. The two men stared at each other, straining to get
the upper hand.

“Lay a hand on that boy, and it will be the last thing you ever

do, Reverend Rayburn!” Sam said in a menacing whisper.

Rayburn wrenched his arm away from Sam’s grip, rubbing his

wrist where he’d been grabbed.

Caleb’s father stepped forward and put his arm protectively

around the boy’s shoulders. “You don’t punish a child for speaking
the truth,” he said in a steely voice.

“Go to hell, all of you,” Rayburn screamed. He turned and

stomped away.

Later that night, in the bed of the wagon, Garrett held Sam in

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his arms as he stroked the young man’s hair.

“He was right, you know,” Garrett said softly.
“What?”
“Rayburn…he was right. I’ve put the train in danger. My need

to be with Alan those extra days was pure selfishness. Just proves
love makes you do things that go against what you know to be
right.”

There it was—Garrett’s declaration of love for the captain. Sam

didn’t know how to respond. They had just been together, Garrett
buried deep inside Sam’s body, and yet apparently what he felt for
Sam was not what he felt for Captain Alan Jefferson. Sam, Gus
and Todd were available to this man at any time. Yet, the emotion
that attached him to the master of Fort Laramie was stronger,
deeper. Sam felt again that shrinking of emotion inside himself.
Things were definitely changing between him and the wagon
master, and maybe even Gus and Todd as well, although Sam was
the only one who was aware of it.

* * *

They were definitely on the downside of the journey over the

mountains. Although the travel was treacherous, almost everyone
welcomed the daily changes in altitude, which brought warmth and
a sense of progress.

Another week saw them arrive at Fort Bridger. This was not a

military post, but rather a privately owned supply depot. Garrett
told Sam many immigrants hoped Fort Bridger would be a
civilized outpost, perhaps something similar to Fort Laramie.
Instead, Sam saw Fort Bridger was a crude collection of rough-
hewn log buildings. This greatly disappointed him and the other

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254

pilgrims. They spent only one night at the fort, giving those who
needed it the opportunity to purchase supplies. It was clear to Sam
that Garrett had no great affection for Jim Bridger, the fort’s
founder. He had a sense of relief after Fort Laramie and Alan
Jefferson.

They pushed on, a sense of excitement growing among them

all. Although they had many miles still to travel, the feeling they
were approaching their goal was apparent. Conversations turned to
what it would be like in California, and plans for what would be
done when they arrived were revisited, having been shelved during
the long trip when, at times, it seemed they would never complete
the journey.

Sam could sense it, too. He had a strange feeling his life was

about to change. Just how that change would come about, he did
not know. It was just a feeling with no substance, but it excited
him.

As fall approached, they dropped below the timber line. First

stands of conifers and then broadleaf trees flanked the trail. The
latter were a blaze of color. Only one barrier yet to cross: the
Humbolt Sink and the forty-mile dry desert beyond. Garrett had
warned the settlers of the desolation of the area. They needed to fill
barrels with water before they got to the sink itself. If the lakebed
did have water, because it had no outlet, it would be stagnant and
foul tasting. If it was dry, then all the more need to have a water
provision.

Garrett, Sam and the Carters sat around a small cooking fire at

the end of a day on the trail. The conversation turned to the final
stages of the journey. Sam could tell Garrett was being careful to
be honest, yet not alarm anyone. As they sat and talked, a man
came running up to them.

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“Mr. Taylor, Mr. Taylor, help please. It’s Polly. The baby’s

coming.”

Garrett and Sam followed the man as he ran off in the direction

of his wagon. Mr. Carter followed them. Garrett stopped and
turned to him. “Go get your wife and any of the women who might
be able to help. Go!” Garrett shouted, giving the man a gentle
push.

He turned and ran off.
When they arrived at the wagon, Sam could hear the soft

mewing of someone in pain. A sharp scream followed these noises.
Polly’s husband, then Garrett, climbed into the wagon. A moment
later, Garrett jumped down.

“Not good, “he said quietly to Sam. “Didn’t you tell me you

had to help Wolf’s momma with him?”

“Yes, but…that was a dog. This is a human being, Garrett,”

Sam said, panic rising at the thought of performing the same
procedure he had on Molly.

Carter arrived with several women. Reverend Rayburn had

come with them. Garrett and Sam helped the women into the
wagon.

A few moments later, Polly’s husband climbed out. He was

white as a sheet. He slumped against the wheel. “She ain’t gonna
make it,” he said in a detached voice, almost as if he were in a
trance. “The baby’s comin’ feet first. None of the ladies know
what to do.”

“She’ll be fine, Nicholas,” Garrett said, looking at Sam while

putting his arm around the young man. “Sam, it’s you or no one.”

“What?” bellowed the minister. “You cannot put your wife in

the hands of this…this…sodomite!”

“I’d put Polly in the hands of the devil hisself if I thought it

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would save her,” the young husband said in anguish.

“No good will come of this. Mark my words, no good will

come of this.” Rayburn then began to pray aloud.

“You never give up, do you, Reverend?” Garrett said.
Sam took a deep breath and removed his jacket. He pulled out

his knife and handed it to Garrett. “Get this clean as you can.”

It was crowded in the wagon bed, with Polly surrounded by

three women. They gazed up at Sam as he clambered in. Looking
around, he assessed the situation. Polly was sweating profusely.
One woman was cradling her head and wiping her forehead.
Another was holding her hand and stroking her forearm. The third,
Mrs. Rayburn, was rocking back and forth saying, “Oh dear, oh
dear,” over and over. Sam’s decision was easy.

“Mrs. Rayburn,” he said.
She stopped rocking, and looked up at him.
“Please, go get as many clean cloths as you can find. Find some

strong needles and heavy thread. Make sure the needles are clean,
too.”

She left the wagon.
The woman stroking Polly’s hand looked apprehensively at

Sam.

“I’ve done this before,” he said, hoping they wouldn’t question

him about the circumstances.

Garrett appeared at the opening of the rear of the wagon. He

handed Sam the knife.

Sam knelt beside Polly. He carefully slit the fabric covering her

swollen abdomen.

“Garrett, you hold her legs.”
Garrett climbed into the wagon.
“Get ready to wipe the blood,” Sam ordered the woman at

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Polly’s side. “You,” he said to the woman at Polly’s head, “give
her a towel to bite on, and hold her hands above her head. Hold
’em tight.”

Polly groaned as another contraction swept through her.
Sam took a deep breath. Carefully, he made an incision in

Polly’s lower abdomen.

Polly shuddered in pain, let out a wail through the towel held in

her clenched teeth, and then went limp. Everyone looked at Sam.

“She’s breathin’. It’s best she’s passed out.”
Twice more he traced the path of his first laceration. The

women wiped away the blood. He could see the baby now. Gently,
he reached in and extracted the infant. He cut and tied off the cord,
handing the baby to the woman at Polly’s head, who began to wipe
and clean it. As she did, the child cried. The sound aroused Polly.

She whimpered softly, “My baby, my baby.”
The men boosted Mrs. Rayburn into the wagon, holding the

items Sam had requested. “Praise the Lord,” she cried.

“And Sam,” Garrett added, smiling up at him.
Sam took the needles and thread, and began to stitch up the

incision. That task done, he and Garrett left the delivery of the
afterbirth to the women.

He and Garrett climbed down out of the wagon.
Nicholas met them.
“You got yourself a daughter,” Garrett said.
“Thank you, thank you,” Nicholas said, hugging both men as

tears rolled down his cheeks. “And Polly?”

“She came through it. Wait a bit till the ladies get things

squared away. Then you can go in and meet your little girl,” the
wagon master told him. “Come on, Sam, let’s get you cleaned up.”

Garrett put his arm across Sam’s shoulders, and the two men

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258

walked past the reverend, who stood watching them in silence.

* * *

They had reached the sink.
“Worst time of all to get here,” Gus said. “Not a lake, but not

dry either. Garrett, we’re gonna have ta go ’round it.”

Sam looked at the wagon master. He was gazing intently at the

marshy landscape before them. The wind came up and blew across
the wet muck in their direction. Sam winced, covering his mouth
and nose. The stench was terrible. Behind him, he could hear the
exclamations of disgust as the smell spread through the train.

“Let’s move on,” Garrett said with a gritty determination,

raising his hand and signaling the train to roll. “The sooner we get
by this, the better off we’ll be.”

It took two days to pass the sink. Many had become nauseous

from the putrid smell emanating from the dead lakebed. All were
relieved to leave the sink behind them. What they faced next,
however, Garrett warned, would be one of the greatest trials of the
entire journey: the forty-mile desert with only the water they
carried and hardly any vegetation for the oxen.

Day after day, in the hot sun they trudged along. As the oxen

became weaker, they jettisoned more belongings to lighten the
loads. Five days into the trek, the first of the oxen died of thirst.
More dropped on the ensuing days. As wagons were abandoned,
folks made room for their stranded travel mates in their vehicles.

Garrett told the pilgrims that the greatest danger lay as they

approached the end of the crossing and the Carson River. “When
the thirst-crazed animals smell water, they could stampede.”

“What are we going to do?” Sam asked when they were alone

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259

later.

“When we see the oxen getting restless, we’ll cut ’em loose and

let ’em head for the river. We’ll try to herd ’em with our horses.
Once they get to the river and have had all they need to drink,
we’ll bring ’em back.”

Sam, once again, trusted Garrett’s experience and wisdom, but

the plan seemed tenuous at best.

As the wagon master had predicted, the animals gave signs of

restlessness after ten days on the trail. They lowed frequently and
strained against their yokes. Several times a team would break into
a run. The men on horseback headed them off. One wagon was lost
because of this.

Garrett gave the signal to circle the wagons. They released the

animals into the inside of the ring to keep them together and avoid
their running to water. They milled about in agitation. Sam was
concerned they would suddenly break, overturning a wagon in
their desire to get to the yet unseen river.

Garrett positioned the riders once all the animals were free. He

ordered a wagon pushed aside, allowing the beasts their freedom. It
took only a short time before the herd lumbered through the
opening and headed west. The riders took up their positions
alongside the animals and tried to keep them together. The closer
they got to the river, the faster they went. Several of the weaker
ones fell and were trampled under the rest of the herd. When the
river came in sight, they could be contained no longer and broke
into a full run. The riders let them go.

The crazed animals ran into the water, drinking large quantities

too quickly. Sam knew this could prove fatal to some, but there
was nothing the men could to prevent it. Deprived of water for so
many days, there could be no stopping them, despite the

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consequences.

Once the herd had drunk its fill, the oxen came out of the river

and began to graze on the grasses that grew along the banks. The
men dismounted and allowed their horses to drink small amounts
and then let them join the oxen in grazing. They let them feed for
several hours before rounding them up and heading them back to
the wagons.

In all, four more teams were lost. The wagon train that had

started with twenty-five wagons now was reduced to seventeen.
Only three lives were lost, however, and Garrett told Sam that was
a miracle in itself. The worst of the journey now lay behind them.

Two weeks later, on a day in mid-October, the train came to the

top of a ridge. There, before them, was the settlement of
Sacramento. They had made it. The four men stood together
looking down. Garrett turned to Sam. “Your first crossing under
your belt,” he said with a smile.

Sam looked down into the valley.
::Your first and your last,:: said a gruff, growly voice inside

him.

There was a piercing screech. Sam looked up. A hawk circled

overhead.

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CHAPTER 11

AMÓN

Sacramento was a new experience for Sam. California was part

of Mexico, and the architecture of the city, the dress and language
of the people were all sources of fascination. The first Spanish
phrase he had to learn was Yo no hablo Español, as he was often
approached by the local citizens, who had assumed, from his
Indian countenance, he was of their culture. The young women
seemed to be especially taken by him. He was taller than the
average Mexican, a trait that, apparently, was highly desired
among the fairer sex.

“Looks like you got your pick of any number of these

señoritas,” Gus chided him as they made their way down the street
toward their hotel. Garrett and Todd laughed.

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262

Sam merely blushed and shook off Gus’ remark. The cook

knew very well where Sam’s sexual interests lay.

They had been in Sacramento for several days. During that

time, the immigrants had gone their separate ways. Those headed
for other regions repaired and re-supplied their wagons. Some of
the settlers sold them as Sacramento and the surrounding area was
the goal for many. Most of them had come to Garrett and the
others who had led the train to say goodbye and express their
gratitude for getting them safely to their destination. The more
emotional of the partings were from the Carters, Nicolas and Polly,
Caleb and his father. The trials these travelers endured had created
a special bond between them and the men. The only member of the
train’s company who had failed to make contact with them was
Reverend Rayburn.

“No skin off my nose,” Gus said when Todd pointed out the

minister had not come to say goodbye. “Good riddance, I’d say.”

“The reverend’s going to have a rough road,” Garrett added.

“The Catholic Church is pretty much in charge hereabouts. He’s
gonna have a tough time sellin’ his brand o’ Christian teachin’ in
California.”

“Probably get strung up,” Todd chimed in. “You heard how he

talked about them Catholics bein’ the hand of Satan, and how he
was gonna bring the true religion to the souls the church was
holdin’ captive.”

Sam had no knowledge of who or what Catholicism was, but if

it were something that could bring the reverend down…well, more
power to it.

The men were making their way to the cantina. There they

would have supper before heading for the hotel and another night
of much needed rest on a bed, instead of the back of a wagon. Sam,

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263

who had never slept in a bed until he arrived in Laclede’s Village
the previous year, was surprised he now enjoyed the luxury as
much as any of them. Somehow, his enjoyment caused something
inside him to feel uneasy, as if some part of him was slowly fading
away.

As they sat and ate, Garrett detailed the plans for their return

east by the southern route. The coming winter would make
returning the way they came nearly impossible. He told Sam that
the trip back would take far less time as it would be only the four
of them, and they would travel on horseback. They were to leave
as soon as they felt rested and ready for another long journey. Sam
thought of going back. He had saved Nils’ letter. Just why he had,
he wasn’t sure. He felt uneasy at the prospect of returning east.
Deep inside he felt something was unfinished here.

“Let’s have us another round,” Gus said, his speech slightly

slurred. “This tequila stuff ain’t half bad.”

They all laughed. “Okay, Gus, but then that’s it for tonight.

Kinda want to be able to enjoy the evenin’ now we’re rested a bit,”
Garrett said with a wink at Sam and Todd.

“Shit, Garrett,” Gus said indignantly, “you know better than

anyone I kin get it up and keep it up no matter how much I drink.”

They all laughed again. Sam had an odd feeling he was being

watched. A strange tingle at the back of his neck made him turn
slightly. There at the bar were three young men who seemed to be
looking in his direction and speaking in hushed tones. They were
dressed in the garb of upper class landowners. As Sam,
embarrassed at the attention, started to turn away, he focused
briefly on the tallest of the three. His mouth went dry, his heart
seemed to stop within him, and his groin reacted as if struck by
lightning. The handsome, young man smiled, nodded and lifted a

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glass in salute.

Sam quickly turned back to the group.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?” Gus said, much too loudly,

Sam thought. Gus looked around. “Oh, I see. Looks like you got
the attention of someone other than those señoritas, Sammy boy.”
Gus raised his glass in the direction of the three men at the bar.

“Gus, don’t,” Sam demanded.
But it was too late. Evidently, the men were hoping for some

invitation and, receiving it, came across the room.

“Buenas noches, los caballeros,” the tall, handsome young man

said, addressing the group, but looking directly at Sam. He
continued in English. “Do you mind if my friends and I join you?”

“No, no not at all,” said Gus, smirking as he watched Sam

squirm in his chair. “Get yourselves some chairs and sit down.
Have a drink with us.”

Todd enthusiastically vacated his seat and retrieved another

chair. Sam felt his heart beating in his throat and sweat running
down his sides beneath his shirt as the men sat. The man who had
saluted him was in Todd’s seat next to him. His leg brushed
against Sam’s. He swallowed and glanced at Garrett, who had a
pleasant, but guarded expression on his face.

“Let me introduce my friends and myself,” the young man said.
Sam felt the deep, heavily Spanish accented voice wash over

him.

“I am Ramón dela Vega. These are my friends, Rafael Ortiz

and Manuel Ramirez.”

“Are you related to Don Victorio dela Vega?” Garrett asked.
“Si, yes. He is my father.”
“He’s a good man. I had the pleasure of meeting him last year.

He produces some very fine wine.”

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Only Sam, and maybe Gus, would be able to see that Garrett

was still guarded.

“Well, pleased to meet you boys. I’m Garrett Taylor and this is

Gus Hendersen.” Gus nodded. “Todd Perkins.” Todd shook hands
with the men. “And Sam Hawkins.”

At the mention of his name, Ramón smiled. Sam felt something

inside melt and flow out to the man sitting next to him. It was a
feeling he had never had in his life. It both excited and frightened
him at the same time.

“Ah, Sam Hawkins? So you are not Mexican after all?”
Sam had difficulty finding his voice. When he did, he was as

astonished as his three companions at what came out. “My real
name is Soaring Hawk. My father was River Runs Deep, chief of
the people back home. My mother was Martha Hawkins, a white
woman.”

“Ah,” responded the young Mexican, “that makes you all the

more intriguing.” He pressed his leg more firmly against Sam’s
beneath the table.

* * *

“Why didn’t you ever tell us you was an Indian?”
Gus’ question roused Sam. He was in the midst of a tangle of

warm, naked bodies on the bed in the hotel room. The combination
of deprivation from the long journey and the breakdown of
inhibitions due to the tequila made for an especially intense and
satisfying renewing of the group’s physical relationship. For Sam,
thoughts of the young Mexican they had met that night heightened
his response. When he had been kissing Todd, it was Ramón’s lips
he was seeking. When he had entered Gus, Gus had become

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Ramón, and upon Garrett’s penetration, it was the Mexican’s cock
Sam imagined was taking possession of him.

He felt some degree of shame for these thoughts. After all,

these men were the ones he purported to love. The dashing,
handsome stranger had somehow invaded his mind, though, and
Sam thought with a shudder, his heart.

Gus’s voice cut into the reverie once more. “Well, you gonna

answer me?” Why didn’t you tell us you’re the son of a chief? His
real son, not a ’dopted one?”

When Sam did not respond immediately, it was Garrett’s voice,

close to his ear as he cradled Sam against his warm, muscular chest
that answered Gus’ query. “Probably, cuz he knows how whites
treat most Indians, he figured it was better to keep that a secret.
That right, Sam?”

“Something like that,” Sam replied.
He decided to let it go at that. He didn’t want to go into the

deeper reasons behind his subterfuge—the need to determine his
true identity, the desire to discover if he was to live his life as a
white man or an Indian.

“Shit,” said Gus, “you shoulda knowed we didn’t give a damn

about that.”

“Gus’s right, Sam. You coulda told us,” Todd added, “so why

did you tell that Ramón fella and his friends?”

“I don’t know,” Sam said truthfully.
“Tequila,” offered Garrett.
“Yeah,” Sam agreed.
But he knew there was a deeper reason: one he could not quite

put into words. He wasn’t sure that, even if he could, he would
want to tell his friends. He considered it may have something to do
with what Ancient Fire, the shaman at Fort Laramie, had told him.

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“You are not to hide who you are. You must never again deny

your father. If you are asked, you must disclose the truth. It is the
way your path will be revealed to you.”

If his path was to lead to the handsome Mexican he had met

that evening, he didn’t want to do anything to prevent it from
happening. That included revealing the truth of his heritage.

* * *

Sam stood, looking at his reflection in the mirror. The others

had left before him. Gus had told him he was primping. He’d asked
what that meant, and when he was told, he vehemently denied it.
Yet, here he was, turning sideways, running a hand over his flat
stomach, looking at the muscularity of his chest, wondering how
Ramón would react.

He shook his head, trying to clear it of such thoughts. He may

never see the man again. Gitche Manitou, don’t let it be so! Why
had he thought that? He had not reached out to the Great Spirit
since he had left his village. Now, in a matter of a few hours, he
had admitted he was Indian and had resurrected a connection with
his past. All due, it seemed, to his meeting this man, Ramón.

He heard a whine. Wolf lay on the floor, looking up at his

master with his head cocked to one side.

“What? Do you think I am doing this primping, too?” Sam

asked the dog.

Wolf sat up and whined again.
“Or are you just in a hurry to get outside?”
At the word, the wolf-dog jumped to his feet and put his

forepaws on Sam’s shoulders and let out a sharp bark. He gave
Sam’s face a lick.

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“All right, all right, let me get dressed, then we’ll go out.”
Sam dressed quickly. The two descended the stairs and crossed

the lobby of the small hotel. Just as they reached the door, it
opened, and Ramón stood facing him. The two were only inches
apart. Sam felt a mix of emotions flood him—relief he was with
Ramón again; embarrassment, with no apparent cause; and arousal,
stemming from the physical beauty of the man standing before
him.

“Buenos dias,” he said with a smile. “They told me I could find

you here.”

“They…they did?” Sam fumbled.
“Si, your friends, Gus, Todd and Señor Garrett.”
Despite his confused state of mind, Sam was impressed Ramón

had afforded Garrett the respect of that title.

“And who is this?” He said looking at Wolf, who sat

protectively close to Sam’s leg.

“Ah…um…this is Wolf. My…dog.”
“Hola, Lobo,” Ramón said, extending his hand toward Wolf.
Wolf lowered his ears and let out a soft growl, his hackles

rising slightly.

Ramón withdrew his hand.
“Wolf!” Sam admonished the animal. “I’m sorry. He usually is

very friendly. I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“It does not matter,” Ramón said, his eyes on Sam’s. “He will

come to like me in time.”

Sam felt as if something drew him into Ramón’s very being as

the two stood looking at each other. Had the Mexican’s remark
been meant merely for the dog, or had it also had a meaning for
him, too? Sam felt a shiver run down his spine. He involuntarily
wetted his lips.

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The gesture was not lost on Ramón. He reached out and took

Sam’s hand in his.

“Perhaps I will be able to respond to that invitation at some

later time.”

Sam, realizing what Ramón was saying, became even more

confused.

Ramón dropped his hand and laughed softly. “I seem to be

having quite an effect on you, amigo. Bueno, I hoped I would. You
are having the same effect on me.”

Wolf growled again. Sam didn’t react to the dog’s soft

warning.

“I have come to invite you to visit my father’s hacienda.

Would this afternoon be a good time for you? Please bring Wolf. I
would like the chance to become his friend.”

Again, Sam wondered if Ramón had a double meaning in his

words. Finding his voice, he said, “Yes, I’d like that.”

“Bueno, I will meet you here then. Do not eat lunch. We will

dine at the ranch.”

Ramón placed one hand on Sam’s shoulder and said, “Hasta

luego.”

He turned and left. Sam stepped out on the wooden walk in

front of the hotel and watched him walk away, his eyes drawn to
the man’s gently swaying behind. Wolf whined.

He dropped down, taking the dog’s head in his hands and

pressing their foreheads together. “You’ll come to like him. You’ll
see.” He stood up and looked in the direction Ramón had gone. But
he was no longer in sight.

* * *

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Sam came out of the hotel. He was upset. Why had his friends

reacted so badly to his announcement that he was having lunch
with Ramón at the hacienda? Gus had said he had heard some
things about the man that made him distrust him. Even the level-
headed Garrett had been reserved in his response to the news.

“Just be careful,” he had said.
Were they jealous? Did they have something against

Mexicans? First Wolf and now the men who were supposed to be
closest to him warned him against this man. What trouble could
Ramón cause him? It was just a simple lunch with a new friend.
And, the biggest question of all was why was he so disturbed by
their concern?

“Come on, Wolf!” he called. He started down the street toward

the livery to get his horse. Before he had gone more than a few
yards, Ramón’s voice reached his ears.

“Hola, Samuel!” he called.
Sam hadn’t heard anyone use his formal name since Miss Mary

back in Laclede’s or since he had left his village where only his
mother called him that.

Sam turned and saw Ramón riding up to him on a magnificent

bay stallion. A man in peasant’s garb riding a small Paint followed
him leading a beautiful chestnut mare, her burnished bronze coat
gleaming in the sunlight. She had a white blaze and four perfectly
matched white stockings. Her saddle and bridle were unfamiliar.
Sam was impressed.

“Hello, Ramón,” he replied. “I was just going to get my horse.”
“No need. I brought this one for you. She is my gift to you. Do

you like her? Her name is Tormenta dulce de Verano…Sweet
Summer Storm.” Ramón was beaming.

“I…I…uh… Thank you,” Sam fumbled. “But you don’t have

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to… I mean, she’s beautiful, but—”

“Do not be silly,” Ramón said with a laugh. “I give her to show

how much I like you.”

He turned in his saddle and snapped his fingers. The peasant

leading the mare jumped down and brought the horse to Sam,
handing him the reins with a slight bow.

“Thank you…ah?” Sam turned to Ramón, expecting to be told

the name of the man so he could properly address him. Ramón did
not offer it. He ignored the peasant as if he weren’t there.

“She is a Paso. Have you ever ridden one?”
“No,” replied Sam.
“Then you are in for a delight. The Paso are the most

marvelous of horses. Get on. You will see.”

Sam mounted the horse. The peasant came forward and

adjusted his stirrups. Again Sam tried to thank him, but the
peasant’s eyes never met his. He looked back to Ramón, was was
still beaming at him.

With a toss of his head, and a wave of his hand, Ramón turned

his horse and ambled off down the main street. Sam followed, with
Wolf trotting behind. Ramón was right. The Paso was smooth as if
he were gliding on a stream in a canoe. There was no jarring as
with a regular trot as he moved along the road. He had never
experienced a ride such as this.

“See, did I not tell you she is marvelous?” Ramón called to

him.

“She is,” Sam called back. He reached down and patted her

neck as they moved along. “Thank you, Ramón.”

His benefactor smiled. “What will you call her?”
Sam thought for a minute. “Storm,” he said, returning the

smile.

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* * *

They reached the outskirts of Sacramento. Ramón kicked his

stallion into a faster pace. Storm followed suit. The smoothness of
the ride did not change, but the speed was impressive. Sam noticed
the peasant on his little Paint horse had to gallop to keep up. The
Paso was, indeed, a remarkable breed.

After a short time, Sam asked that they slow down so Wolf

could keep up. Twenty minutes of riding brought the men and dog
to the entry gates of the hacienda. The peasant immediately
jumped from his horse and opened them. They rode through and
down the road to the main house. Sam had never seen anything
like this. The courtyard was adorned with flowers and statuary.
The house with its tiled roof and balconies boasted of the wealth of
the family.

There were men and women tending the gardens. As they rode

in, servants came running to take the horses. Sam dismounted and
patted the mare once more. As the horses were lead away, Ramón
took his arm and steered him to the main entry to the house. Sam
ordered Wolf to stay at the door.

“Now, when you meet my father,” Ramón said with a slight

laugh, “do not be…oh, what is the word…intimidado?”

“Intimidated?” Sam offered.
“Si, yes. He is really not as gruff as he will appear. But, being

the patron, he feels he must show his authority.”

As they walked through the entry hall, the opulent furnishings

astounded Sam as he admired the ornate woodwork, the gleaming
stone floors. They passed several servants. He noted that Ramón
did not pay them the slightest regard. They in turn stopped their
work, turned in his direction and bowed their heads. They

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remained in this position until both men had passed.

They stopped before a set of massive double doors. Ramón

knocked.

“Entre,” said a deep voice from beyond the barrier.
Ramón took both doors in his hands and flung them open,

making a grand entrance into the room. Standing beside a large
desk, whose dark, rich finish gleamed in the light from a pair of
arched windows, was a tall, handsome man. He looked stern and
imposing. His hair was white and thinning and he sported a
moustache and a narrow beard, which covered only his chin. His
shoulders were broad, his waist narrow and circled by a red sash.
His deep blue trousers had gold braid down the sides. The man
wore a white linen shirt unbuttoned at the collar, revealing a patch
of thick white hair. His deep chest filled out the shirt and his
prominent nipples pressed against the fabric. He stood erect and
proud.

Sam was both attracted to him and awed at the same time.
“Father!” Ramón said in English.
“Ramón,” the man replied with a quiet confident air. “¿Quién

es esto? ¿Un nuevo juguete, quizás? he continued, but now his
voice carried a hint of sarcasm.

Although Sam did not understand, it nevertheless made him

uncomfortable.

Ramón laughed. “Father, this is my new friend, Samuel

Hawkins. He has just arrived with the wagon train. His father is an
Indian chief.” Ramón made it sound as if this made Sam royalty.
“Samuel, this is my father, Don Victorio dela Vega.”

The older man stepped forward and proffered his hand. “Señor

Hawkins, welcome to my home,” he said in a formal tone.

“Thank you, sir,” Sam replied, taking the man’s hand. The grip

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was firm and strong.

“Samuel will be staying for awhile,” Ramón announced,

smiling broadly at an astonished Sam.

Dela Vega released Sam’s hand. “With you, or in a guest

room?” Again, the suggestion of sarcasm tinged his voice.

Ramón laughed again. “With me, of course.”
The man sighed. “You are welcome, señor. Enjoy your stay

with us. I will see you at dinner.” He turned away from the men
and went back to his desk.

Sam knew the interview was over.
“My father likes you,” Ramón enthused as they left the room.
Sam’s head was spinning. “Ramón, I didn’t realize I’d be

staying. I have no clothing and I…I…need to let Garrett know
where I am. And Wolf…I…

Ramón stopped, turned to him and put both hands on his

shoulders. “I have it all taken care of. We are about the same size.
You can wear my clothing. I will send someone to inform your
friends that you will be staying and… Carlos!” he called, turning
from Sam.

Out of nowhere, a servant appeared. He stopped and stood with

his eyes averted in front of Ramón.

“Carlos, cuide de perro de Senor Hawkins. Su nombre es Lobo,

Wolf.”

“Si, señor,” said Carlos, backing away and turning to the door.
“There, all is arranged. Carlos will take good care of

Wolf…and I will take care of you,” said Ramón with an evil grin.
“Come it is time for siesta.”

Ramón turned and bounded up the curved staircase, taking the

steps two at a time. Sam followed more slowly.

“Come!” Ramón called, extending his hand toward Sam, who

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picked up his pace.

When he reached the top of the stairs, Ramón grabbed Sam’s

hand and pulled him down the hallway. The men were laughing.
Taking both hands in his, Ramón backed into a room, pulling Sam
after him. Once inside, he stood holding Sam’s hands and smiling
his inviting handsome smile. “Welcome to our private world,” he
said.

He then released Sam and cupped his chin. Sam placed his

hands on Ramón’s slender hips. Ramón pulled him into a tender,
loving kiss. Sam’s mind exploded with emotion. When the kiss
ended, he moved back slightly and looked into the deep brown
eyes of the man who was capturing his heart. Then restraint ended.

Ramón stepped back and pulled his white linen shirt over his

head, while Sam in turn unbuttoned his shirt and cast it to the floor.
Ramón seized his wrists and backed Sam forcefully against the
wall. He held his arms above his head, pinning him. His second
kiss was alive with passion. His tongue snaked into Sam’s mouth
as he ground his rapidly hardening penis against Sam’s cock,
which was responding in kind. Ramón dropped his head and
tongued Sam’s nipples until they stood erect and swollen, then
raised his lips to Sam’s once more.

After several minutes, Ramón pulled Sam to the ornate bed. He

pushed him down and stood before him. He undid the sash holding
his trousers. They slid slowly off his hips and to the floor, releasing
his turgid organ, which sprung to stand against his rippled
abdomen. He placed his hands on Sam’s shoulders.

With a whimper of desire, Sam reached around, took the globes

of Ramón’s buttocks in his hands and pulled him close. He
swallowed the engorged organ and buried his face in the black hair
at its base. Ramón began to thrust and massage Sam’s head,

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moaning his name over and over.

Breaking the union, Ramón pulled Sam to his feet and undid

his belt, pushing his pants to the floor. Sam kicked them to one
side. Ramón forced him back onto the soft, cool, smooth bed, then
lifted Sam’s legs and placed them on his shoulders. Using saliva,
and the clear fluid oozing from the tip of his organ, he gently
massaged Sam’s sphincter, until Sam could feel it relax and open.

“For you, with all my heart,” the Mexican whispered. He

pressed against the entry to Sam’s body.

Sam relaxed and allowed himself to be taken by the man.
“My Samuel, my Samuel,” Ramón said over and over as he

moved in and out of Sam’s body.

Sam reached up and pulled Ramón forward, moving backward

on the bed until Ramón was kneeling between his legs, still buried
deep inside. He leaned down, wrapped his arms around Sam’s head
and kissed him. As he did, he stiffened and Sam could feel him
release his seed into him. This pushed Sam to his own release and
his warm issue flowed between the two men.

Ramón lay astride Sam’s torso for a long time. Sam realized

Ramón was as reluctant as he to break their first union.

“Do you believe you can see a man one time and be in love

with him?” Ramón asked.

The words echoed and ricocheted in Sam’s mind. Ramón had

said “in love with him.” Not just love him. In love, as with Alan
and Garrett. In love, as in the condition Gus warned him about. In
love, as the wish that had been forming in his heart over the past
year.

“Yes, I believe it can happen,” said Sam, warmth growing in

his heart.

“I believe it has happened,” said Ramón. “I am in love with

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you, Mr. Hawkins.”

“And I with you, Señor dela Vega.”
Ramón kissed him and then snuggled down on Sam’s broad

chest, his head in the crook of his neck.

* * *

When Sam woke some time later, he was spooned against

Ramón, his hand draped over his chest, his head against his
shoulder. He lay for a moment, re-orienting himself, then realizing
he had the urgent need to urinate. In the corner, he spotted what he
was looking for. Carefully getting out of bed after giving Ramón a
soft kiss on his neck, he made his way to the receptacle and
relieved himself.

He looked around the room. It was bright and pleasant. The

furnishings, as in the rest of the house, were of the highest quality.
Sam realized his clothing, as well as Ramón’s, was no longer in the
room. On a wooden rack near the bed, he saw two sets of white
linen garments. Two pairs of sandals sat side by side beneath the
rack. He walked over and picked up a pair of pants.

Slipping them on, he turned to a full-length mirror. He smiled.

The pants sat low on his hips and extended to mid-calf. He had to
admit he looked good in them.

He walked to the arched doorway to the balcony. A gentle

breeze ruffled his hair. Here he saw a table and two chairs. Flowers
were on the table and in various containers around the area. Going
to the rail, he looked down into the courtyard. Several men and
women were going about their business below him. One of the
men looked up. Sam waved at him. The man quickly averted his
eyes and turned away. Sam frowned and went back into the room.

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As he re-entered, he looked at the man lying on the bed. Ramón

was on his back, his hands clasped behind his head, his legs
crossed at the ankles. Sam leaned against the doorframe and
studied the man with whom he was falling in love. Ramón had
black hair and a handsome face, with dark, thick eyebrows. Right
now, a slight smile played on the man’s sensuous lips. The short,
soft, black hair that coated his chest and rippled abdomen lay
against his skin, accentuating the muscular frame. The brown
circles surrounding his nipples protruded slightly from his chest.
Sam found this to be highly arousing. Ramón’s manhood was fully
erect and lay against his stomach, reaching nearly to his navel.

Ramón opened one eye. “Well?” he said seductively. “Are you

just going to stand and stare, or come and enjoy me?”

Sam smiled and walked quickly to the bed, letting the white

linen trousers slip to the floor. He leaned forward and lifted one of
Ramón’s feet to his mouth. He licked and caressed his toes and the
sole of his foot. Ramón giggled and tried to pull his foot away.
Sam fought him for a while, then let go. He crawled up on the bed,
tracing the contours of Ramón’s legs with his tongue and fingers.

Then Sam tenderly kissed the insides of the lightly furred

thighs. With deliberation, taking infinite care, he took each testicle
in turn in his mouth and sucked it. When he had given the man’s
scrotum due attention, he took the hard member in his hand and
directed it toward his mouth. Pausing, he looked up to find Ramón
staring down at him. Wetting his lips, he smiled and then
proceeded to lick the drop of clear fluid emerging from the swollen
head. Encircling the engorged organ with his lips, he slid it all the
way into his mouth.

Ramón reached down, holding the sides of Sam’s head in his

hands. At the same time Sam reached around and cradled Ramón’s

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smooth butt. He eased Ramón in and out of his mouth, tracing the
veins of his cock with his tongue. Ramón’s climax was slow and
gentle. He tensed and moaned softly. As he pulsated within his
mouth, Sam drank the salty-sweet fluid that gave him such
pleasure.

Ramón shuddered as Sam released him, then made his way

toward Ramón’s waiting lips, stopping only momentarily to caress
each nipple and the area surrounding it. Their lips came together.

“I love you, Ramón,” Sam whispered.
“I know you do, and I love you,” he replied.
With Ramón’s urging, Sam raised up until he was straddling

his partner. He leaned against the headboard as Ramón took him
into his mouth, gently stroking his backside while he ministered to
Sam’s erection. Sam released his seed within moments and slid
back down to lie next to the man whom he now thought of as his
lover.

“Are you happy here?” Ramón asked.
“Yes,” Sam said without hesitation.
“Good. I am glad.”
A thought came to him. “Ah, Ramón, what did your father say

to you when you introduced me to him this afternoon?”

Ramón laughed softly. “He asked if you were my new toy.”
“What does that mean?” Sam asked, leaning on an elbow and

looking down at Ramón.

Ramón pulled him down and kissed him. “Father has his little

jokes. Come. It is time for dinner. Father will be waiting.”

Sam wondered why Señor dela Vega would make such a joke.

* * *

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Dinner was a formal affair. The senior dela Vega sat at the

head of a long table. The younger men sat on either side. Two
servants waited on the three men. Sam kept thanking them every
time they brought him something, but Ramón laughed and
admonished him.

“You do not have to thank them, that is their job.”
Both the dela Vegas treated their servants as if they weren’t

there. This made Sam uncomfortable, but he adjusted his behavior
to fit what was expected.

After dinner, during which Ramón had carried the

conversation, they went out into the courtyard, while Señor dela
Vega retired to his room. Sam wanted to be sure Wolf was being
taken care of and to see the horse Ramón had given him. As they
walked across the courtyard, Sam inhibited his tendency to smile
and greet the workers they passed. The workers in turn invariably
stopped, turned toward the men, and inclined their heads in their
direction. Ramón completely ignored their deference.

As they approached the stable, a sharp bark greeted them. Wolf

bounded out of the door. He stopped a few feet short of the men
and regarded Ramón warily. Sam dropped to one knee.

“Wolf,” he called.
The dog immediately loped to Sam, nearly knocking him over.

He covered his face with kisses, his tail wagging furiously. Ramón
stood a ways off, hands on his hips, watching.

“He loves his man,” he said in a quiet voice. “As much as I do,

I am sure.” He smiled at Sam.

Sam felt that now-familiar warmth spread through his body.
The men and dog went into the stable and stood outside

Storm’s stall, leaning on the doorway. The filly came to them and
nuzzled Sam’s chest. He reached up and scratched behind her ears,

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just as Ramón ran his hand up Sam’s back, resting it on his
shoulder. Sam turned in his direction and they kissed. Wolf pressed
against Sam’s leg, whining, but Sam ignored Wolf’s gesture. He
was far too happy to heed anything the animal might be trying to
tell him.

Later that night, back in Ramón’s bedroom, Sam held his lover

in his arms as he penetrated Sam’s body once more. Locked in the
most intimate union that men can achieve, he professed his
undying eternal love for the man who moved seductively on top of
him, and had completely captured his heart and soul.

This is forever. My wish has been fulfilled. I am complete.
Somewhere in the distance, Sam thought he heard the cry of a

hawk. However, he decided it was only his imagination.

* * *

Two days later, in the early morning, there was a knock on the

bedroom door. Ramón had been lying with his head on Sam’s
chest. He rolled over on his back and said something in Spanish.
There was a reply.

“What is it?” Sam asked.
“Someone is here to see you.”
The men rose from the bed and pulled on their pants. They

went out to the balcony and looked down. Garrett, Todd and Gus
were in the courtyard sitting on their horses. Sam’s horse was
there, too, saddled and loaded with his pack. Wolf came out of the
stable and cavorted around the men. Todd dismounted and tussled
with the dog. Gus and Garrett laughed.

Sam looked at Ramón. “They expect me to leave with them.”
“And?” said Ramón, taking one of Sam’s hands in his.

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“Come on. I need to talk to them.”
The men donned their shirts, trotted down the stairs and went

out to meet their visitors.

“Well, don’t you look all settled in,” said Gus as they emerged

from the house.

“He is,” Ramón replied.
“That right, Sam?” asked Garrett.
Sam looked from Garrett, Gus and Todd to Ramón.
“I need to talk to you, Garrett,” he said finally.
“Carlos!” called Ramón. Immediately, the stable man appeared.

“Estos caballeros estarán permaneciendo para el desayuno. Cuide
de sus caballos.”

Carlos ran off in the direction of the stable.
Ramón turned to Garrett. “Carlos will take care of your horses.

Please, come in and have breakfast.”

The men dismounted. Carlos returned with four servants who

led the horses away. Ramón walked to the house and the men
followed. A young woman met them at the door. Ramón said
something to her in Spanish, and she left. The party continued to a
room off the foyer.

“Please, make yourselves comfortable. I have asked Maria to

tell my father of your arrival and to prepare our meal. Samuel,” he
said turning to him, “if you wish to give Señor Taylor our news?”

“News?” said Gus.
“Garrett, can we go for a walk?” Sam asked.

* * *

The two men left the house and went into the inner courtyard.

The warm fall sun shone on the beautiful flowers. A small fountain

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in the center gurgled softly. They moved slowly along the stone
path.

“So, you’re gonna stay with him?” Garrett asked.
Sam stopped and looked at his friend. “Yes.”
Garrett took a few steps toward the fountain. When he turned

back, he said, “Sam, I know you’ve been lookin’ for somethin’ a
long time now, somethin’ that me, Gus and Todd aren’t able to
give you. But”—he stopped and turned back to Sam, pulling him
close with a hand on the back of his neck—“I don’t think you’re
gonna be findin’ it here.”

“Garrett, he loves me. He’s in love with me. Like you are with

Alan.”

“Ah…so that’s what this is all about. Being in love.” Garrett

sounded like he was going to laugh.

Sam pulled away. “Yes, being in love. There’s a big difference

between that and just lovin’ somebody. Ramón not only loves me,
he’s in love with me.” His voice was sharp, defensive.

Garrett sighed. “Sam, when all is said and done, being in

love…well, fine as it is at the beginning, you got to have more to it
if it’s gonna last.”

Garrett took a step away from Sam. He placed a foot on the

fountain wall and leaned on his elbow looking into the cascade of
water. After a long pause he continued.

“It’s true. Alan and I were in love, still are. But we don’t have

that somethin’ extra. That’s why he stayed in the army when I
asked him to join me on the trail. That’s why I left when he asked
me to stay in the army.”

He turned to Sam once more. “We’re in love, but neither one

loves the other enough to give up our dreams.”

“What makes you think what Ramón and I have isn’t the kind

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of love that’s gonna last? That it’s not the kind of love that will
sacrifice for each other.”

“I don’t know that it’s not. But I have heard that he—” Garrett

stopped.

“That he what?” Sam asked sharply.
“That he’s done this before…brought a man home to his daddy

and the hacienda. Then a few months down the road—”

“This is different,” Sam interrupted him, not wanting to hear

the rest of what Garrett might say. “I don’t know about those other
men. I do know that he’s in love with me, and I’m in love with
him. I’m staying, Garrett.”

“All right,” Garrett said with a sad sigh. He took Sam in his

arms, kissed him on the cheek and whispered in his ear, “I love
you, Sam Hawkins. We all do.”

“I love you, too,” Sam said, trying not to let the emotion

welling up in his chest overcome him.

* * *

Breakfast was quiet. Señor dela Vega and Garrett talked softly

about the prospects for the area, of his vineyards, his winery. The
rest of the group was silent. When Todd and Gus weren’t looking
sadly in Sam’s direction, they were staring at Ramón with thinly
veiled anger. Ramón ignored them. He would lean toward Sam,
making silly, intimate statements in hushed tones. Sam was
embarrassed because he thought Ramón was purposely baiting his
friends. But he said nothing.

After the meal, they went outside. Each gave Sam a tight

embrace. Then the men mounted their horses. Todd openly shed
tears. Sam stood with Ramón’s arm around his waist watching the

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285

men as they rode out of the courtyard. They left his horse and
belongings behind.

“Let them go,” Ramón said. “We have each other, so what need

do you have of them?”

Sam nodded, but it was barely perceptible. He swallowed hard.
Wolf trotted along beside the group until they came to the gate.

There he stopped. He looked back at Sam, then at the departing
men. He dropped his head, his plumed tail hanging down and
walked slowly back to Sam and Ramón. In the distance, Sam could
hear the roll of thunder.

* * *

Sam rode Sweet Summer Storm slowly along the trail that led

from the hacienda to the vineyards. He was alone, except for Wolf.
For many months now he had lived happily at the ranch with
Ramón as his lover. They had made love almost daily, sometimes
several times a day. They had gone for long rides over the dela
Vega property. Frequently they went to Sacramento with Ramón’s
friends for a night of drinking and laughter at the cantina. Often
they would spend the night at the hotel.

While Sam enjoyed these times, as spring approached, he had

become increasingly restless. He was not used to being idle. This
life of total leisure began to lack direction, seeming to have no
purpose.

When he had asked Ramón what he intended to do with his

life, what his plans were, his lover had laughed and said, “I am the
son of Victorio dela Vega. I do not have to make plans. My only
plan is to make love to you.”

Sam had pressed him. “But someday your father will be gone,

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what then?”

Ramón had merely indicated that the dela Vega fortune would

be his, so what was there to worry about?

Sam had decided there was something to worry about, that

Ramón was being shortsighted. Without proper management, the
dela Vega wealth would whither, like the grapevines without
attention.

The combination of his boredom and his concern over his and

Ramón’s future motivated him to spend time with Señor dela
Vega, asking him about the running of the ranch, involving himself
in its daily activities. The older man welcomed his interest. He
enthusiastically began to teach Sam the intricacies of growing
grapes, and how they were converted into wine. They spent many
hours together involved in these pursuits. Sam became increasingly
fond of the older man and felt comfortable in his presence. His
fatherly aspect filled a need Sam had not realized he had. He
missed River Runs Deep.

At first, Ramón paid little attention to the budding alliance

between his father and his lover. Then he began to make jokes that
Sam would rather spend time with an old man than with him. In
time, Ramón seemed to begin to resent Sam’s attempts to learn the
family business. Sam could not decide whether it was jealousy
over his growing relationship with his father, or that in the course
of his learning the practicalities of managing a winery, he was also
spending time and becoming friends with Carlos, a mere servant in
Ramón’s eyes. Or was it something more sinister, something Sam
did not want to consider?

Whatever it was, Ramón began to be more distant, became

more critical of Sam and, sometimes, was unkind to him. Lately,
he had gone to town with his friends more often without inviting

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Sam to accompany him. These actions had hurt Sam, but what hurt
most deeply was that Ramón began to make excuses when Sam
attempted to engage him in lovemaking.

That morning had been one of those times. Sam had tried to

embrace Ramón, kiss him, and tease him into intimacy, but Ramón
had rebuffed him with the excuse he was too tired. Sam fell back to
sleep and when he awoke, the bed was empty. Sam had gone down
to breakfast, but Ramón had already left. Señor dela Vega and Sam
had eaten alone, had discussed the day’s needs for the vineyards,
and had parted company. Sam had gone to the stable to get Storm,
and, as he approached, he had overheard part of a conversation
someone was having with Carlos. Sam could understand the gist of
what was being said although his Spanish was still faulty.

“He is the best one that spoiled son has ever brought home,”

one voice had said.

“Si, and he has lasted longer than any of the others,” had said

another.

“He is what Senor dela Vega needs. He is more like a true

son,” said the first.

Carlos chimed in, “Yes, but it won’t be long until he tires of

him I am afraid.”

Not wishing to embarrass the men or hear more, Sam had

called to Wolf as he approached the doorway to warn them of his
presence.

Now, those few snatches of dialogue replayed over and over in

his mind as he rode the horse that had been a gift in the warm
summer sun. He had been told Ramón had gone to town, but no
mention had been made of whether he wanted Sam to join him
there.

Sam reined the horse to a stop, dismounted, and allowed her to

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drop her head and graze. They were on a small rise overlooking a
large vineyard. Several men were working among the vines and it
was their work Sam was to inspect. Sam stood for a while,
observing the men’s progress in removing unwanted growth from
the base of the vines. He looked down at his faithful Wolf, who sat
by his side. Kneeling, he took Wolf’s big head in his hands and
buried his face in his thick mane.

“What am I to do, my friend? What am I to do?”

* * *

It’s my fault, Sam told himself for the twentieth time as he rode

along in the late afternoon toward Sacramento. I haven’t been
spending enough time with him, like a lover should.

Sam had decided to go to town to surprise Ramón. After

finishing the tasks Señor dela Vega had assigned to him, he
washed, changed clothes and left for Sacramento. He now reined
up in front of the cantina where Ramón and his friends often could
be found.

He entered the building and looked around. There, at their

usual table, he saw Rafael and Manuel, but Ramón was not with
them. Sam walked over to the men.

“Well, well, Manuel,” Rafael said in a mock serious voice,

“look who has decided he has time for his friends today?”

“Ah,” responded Manuel, “what brings you to Sacramento, an

errand for old man dela Vega?”

Sam decided to ignore the disrespect to the patron. “I came to

find Ramón. Where is he?”

Manuel and Rafael exchanged glances and smiled.
“Oh, did you hear that? He came to find Ramón,” said Rafael

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289

to his friend. “How generous of him.”

“Ramón is at the hotel. We are spending the night in town, so

he is getting our rooms,” Manuel said, still looking at Rafael with a
strange smile on his lips. Then, turning to Sam, he suggested,
“Why don’t you go over and surprise him.”

Rafael snickered.
Sam wrinkled his brow. He didn’t understand what was going

on between the two men. Right then, however, his interest was in
finding his lover and making up for whatever it was that was
bothering him.

“Gracias,” he said and walked toward the door. When he

reached it, he looked back to see Rafael and Manuel laughing.

Sam shook it off and made his way to the hotel.
He didn’t see Ramón in the lobby, so went to the desk and

asked if he had checked in. He was told he had and was given the
room number. Sam ran up the stairs, anticipating the surprised
reaction when he entered the room and swept Ramón off his feet.

He tried the door. It was locked, so he knocked. There was no

response. He knocked again and said, “Ramón, it’s Sam. Open the
door.” This time he heard movement inside the room.

After a moment, the door opened. Ramón stood with a towel

wrapped around his waist.

“Ramón, it’s almost like you were expecting me,” Sam said

with a smile, stepping forward, intending to take Ramón into his
arms.

“Come in, Samuel. I want you to meet someone.” Ramón said

sweetly.

“What?” Sam said as he entered the room.
“Samuel, this is Miguel Santiago.”
On the bed was a bare-chested man leaning against the

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headboard, his lower half covered by the sheets. He saluted Sam
with a hand holding a cigarette.

“It is good to meet you, amigo,” the handsome, mustachioed

stranger said in a deep, sensual voice. “Ramón has told me much
about you.”

Sam looked from the man to Ramón. “I don’t understand.”
“Ah, my sweet, innocent Indian boy. Samuel, it is so simple. I

have tired of you.”

“Tired of me? But you told me you loved me.”
“No, my friend. I said I was in love with you. Now I am not. I

am in love with Miguel. If I loved you as well as being in love with
you… well, things might be different.”

Sam looked back at the man on the bed.
“Miguel understands. Don’t you, my love?” Ramón said. He

walked back to the bed, let his towel slip away, crawled in, kissed
Miguel on the cheek and turned to look at Sam. “He knows that
being in love may not mean forever. Perhaps it is your Indian
blood, Samuel. Perhaps your ways are different than ours.”

Sam felt sick to his stomach. How could he have been so

stupid? Why had he not seen what, apparently, all others had
seen—that Ramón was nothing more than a handsome, selfish,
spoiled child? He turned to leave.

“Oh, Samuel,” Ramón crooned.
Sam stopped with his hand on the doorknob, but did not look

back.

“Miguel and I will be returning to the hacienda tomorrow.

Please have all your things out of my bedroom by then. Since you
and my father are such good friends, I am sure he will want you to
stay on. Carlos can find you a bed in the servants’ quarters.”

Sam left the room, closing the door behind him with a bang. He

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leaned against the wall, his fists clenched, his jaw rigid. He could
hear muted laughter coming from the room behind him. He took
several deep shuddering breaths, trying to regain composure. After
a moment, he made his way downstairs and out onto the street.
Walking determinedly toward the cantina where Storm was tied,
he met Manuel and Rafael.

“Did you find Ramón?” Manuel asked, smirking at him.
“I am sure you were happy to meet Miguel,” Rafael said.
Both men broke into laughter.
Sam ignored them. He mounted Storm and rode out of town.

* * *

Back at the hacienda, he took Storm to the stable, leaving her

with Carlos. The servant’s eyes revealed to Sam that he sensed
what had happened. Sam did not have to explain. He went
immediately to the room he had shared with Ramón. He wasted no
time in finding his pack, filling it only with the clothing he had
brought with him to the ranch. He took none of the things that
Ramón had provided him. Taking off his clothing and throwing it
on the bed, he donned the garb he had not worn since the day he
had arrived at the hacienda. These were the clothes he’d worn on
his trip west.

Sam went to the desk in the corner of the room. Taking out

paper and pen, he wrote a note to Señor dela Vega. He knew he
should speak with him in person, but his shame was too great. He
could not face him. The older man’s words about his being
Ramón’s toy came back to him.

Taking the letter and his belongings, Sam went down to the

patron’s office. It was dark. Relieved, he entered and placed the

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note on the massive desk. He took a moment to look around the
room as a tinge of regret at leaving this fine man swept through
him. He deserved better than this sham of a son, with his childish
character.

Leaving the house in the gathering dusk, he walked across the

courtyard to the stable. He was almost to the doors when Wolf
emerged. He stopped and stared at the man. Sam dropped to one
knee. “It’s me, Wolf,” Sam said. The dog ran into his arms,
whining and licking his face.

“You tried to tell me, didn’t you, boy, and I wouldn’t listen.

They all tried. I am sorry. In the future I promise I’ll pay more
attention to your advice.”

Sam stood, and Wolf bounded around him as if he understood

what was happening. His tail caught Sam’s eye. It curled onto his
back once more. Sam now realized that all through the months they
had lived at the hacienda, it had hung lifelessly down behind him.

How blind I must have been to miss all these signs that we did

not belong here.

Entering the stable, Sam went to Sweet Summer Storm’s stall.

Carlos had bedded her down after Sam returned from Sacramento.
He was glad Carlos was not there. She came to him, and he
snuggled his head against her neck. He would be leaving her
behind, along with all things connected to Ramón. Leaving her and
the patron were his only regrets.

Two stalls from the filly was the horse Sam had brought from

his village, the horse that had carried him across the continent. He
brought him into the aisle way. Finding his saddle and bridle in the
tack area, he put them on and led the horse outside. Wolf looked at
him expectantly.

“Let’s go,” Sam said to the dog and mounted his horse.

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Together they turned and walked out of the courtyard. Once

beyond the arch, they broke into a run down the main road. Sam
raced through the open iron gates, suddenly feeling free. Wolf,
however, stopped at the entry.

Sam reined his horse to a stop. “Come, Wolf. We don’t have

any business here now.”

Evidently, Wolf felt they did. He very purposefully walked

back to the gatepost and lifted his leg.

“Well done,” said Sam, laughing.
Wolf trotted back to Sam with a wolf smile on his face. The

two of them rode off into the twilight.

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CHAPTER 12

OUR

OTEMS

Sam’s first inclination had been to head east from Sacramento

to try to meet Garrett, who would be on his way back to California
with another train. But he knew in his heart that part of his life was
over, just as was his life with Ramón. Once he made that decision,
he left his horse at the livery. He had given the smith instructions
to give the animal to Carlos in thanks for his friendship. Now he
and Wolf would continue their journey on foot.

He recalled the words of Ancient Fire. “Look to S’unktokeca ,”

the old shaman had said. “When the time is right, he will show you
the way.”

So now, he followed Wolf. And the dog seemed to know where

he was to lead as he maintained a steady course northward. The

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mountains loomed ahead of them. The same feeling he’d had that
they were calling him when he first saw them returned.

On the fourth day after leaving the hacienda, Sam stopped for

the night in a grove of spruce trees. He built a fire and cooked a
rabbit he had shot that afternoon. After eating, sharing the meal
with Wolf, he stared into the fire. He did not know where he was,
but it didn’t upset him. He didn’t know where he was going, but he
was not disturbed by this either. He was content, for the moment,
to be wherever he was, to be with Wolf, and to let the future and
memories of the previous two years sort themselves out.

Staring at the fire, images of Lean Bear, Nils, Garrett, Gus,

Todd and finally Ramón shimmered in the dancing flames. He
sighed and pulled Wolf, who was lying beside him, closer.

“Tell me what you have learned?”
Startled, Sam looked across the fire. There lay the black bear,

forepaws crossed in front of him. Wolf did not stir at the sound of
the bear’s words.

“Bear,” said Sam, “it’s good to see you again.”
The bear ignored his greeting. “Are you going to answer my

question? Tell me what you have learned.”

Sam took another deep breath and redirected his gaze to the

flames. “Life for a man who prefers men to women is difficult in
all worlds.”

“Mmm,” said the bear. “Now you have discovered this, what

have you decided?”

Sam thought again. “Though I look like a white man and have

lived with them, I have the heart of an Indian.”

“Then do what you must do,” the bear said. “You will see me

no longer.”

Sam watched him rise and lumber off into the darkness.

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Resolutely, with no regret, Sam got up, removed his white

man’s clothing and threw it on the fire. Wolf rose and watched him
intently. Sam then went to his pack and removed its contents. He
burned all things connecting him to the white man’s world. At the
bottom of the pack were his elkskin breeches, shirt, breechclout,
moccasins, knife, flints, and the buffalo robe gifted him by the old
shaman at Fort Laramie. These he lay on the ground before he
threw the pack into the fire. He put on the native garments and
watched the flames consume the remnants of his life as Samuel
Hawkins. Wolf looked up at him and whined.

The two lay down side by side on the buffalo robe and were

soon asleep.

* * *

The cry of a raptor roused Soaring Hawk. He sat up and

stretched. Wolf got up and stretched also, bowing with his front
legs extended. He then rolled over on his back and squirmed on the
ground. The Indian laughed. The dog came to him and licked his
face.

“Good morning to you, too, my friend,” he said in his native

tongue.

Wolf yipped and licked him again.
“You seem happy to hear words in a language new to you.”
Wolf play bowed again and barked.
“It is the language of my people. It feels good to speak it

again.”

“I would imagine hearing you speak in your own tongue means

you have made a decision?” It was the hawk. He was perched in
the low bows of a tree near the clearing.

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Soaring Hawk was not surprised to see him.
“Yes,” said Soaring Hawk. “The bear is gone.”
“So, you have decided to live your life as the son of your

father, River Runs Deep?”

At the hawk’s words, the young Indian smiled.
“Good,” said the hawk. “And have you found the love you set

out to search for—the love of one man for another, living together
as one?”

Soaring Hawk paused before answering. “I have found that

love has many faces. Though I once came close to finding the love
I desire above all others”—he looked at Wolf as memories of Nils
flitted across his mind—“I have not found it.”

“Are you still looking for it?” the hawk asked.
Again, Soaring Hawk did not respond at once. He went back to

the business of rolling up his buffalo robe and putting out the last
of the embers in the fire pit.

After a time, he looked at the hawk and said thoughtfully,

“Although I still desire to find one with whom I can both fall in
love and love in a way that binds two souls together, I will no
longer strive to find that love. I will let it come to me when it will.”

“Wisdom such as this often has a mysterious power,” said the

hawk. “Remember to look to the wolf.”

Soaring Hawk looked at Wolf, who was sitting near the tree in

which the Hawk perched. Wolf cocked his head to one side. He
seemed to be trying to determine to whom his master was
speaking.

“Does that mean I will soon find the one—” Soaring Hawk

looked up as he spoke. The hawk was gone.

Soaring Hawk shrugged his shoulders and turned to Wolf. “He

would not have answered me anyway. A spirit guide cannot predict

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

298

the future, only reveal what is inside.”

The Indian dropped to one knee and pulled the dog close. “You

seem to know where we are to go, so I will trust you, S’unka,” he
said, using the diminutive form of his name.

Wolf placed one large paw on Soaring Hawk’s leg and nuzzled

against him. The man ruffled the thick fur on the animal’s neck.

“Come,” he said. “Show me the way.”
Wolf barked and bounded off into the forest. Soaring Hawk

picked up the rolled robe and trotted after him.

* * *

For several weeks, the two meandered, aimlessly it seemed to

Soaring Hawk, amid the towering conifers. It did not matter to
him. He continued to trust that Wolf was somehow leading him to
his destination. During this time he was reacquainting himself with
his roots, going back to a life, which, he realized now, suited him
far more than life in the white man’s world. For the time being, he
was content to wander.

His skill in hunting and trapping without the use of firearms

returned quickly. He fashioned himself a spear and was able to
keep himself and Wolf well fed on the plentiful small game of the
region. It wasn’t that Wolf would not have been able to fend for
himself, for just as Soaring Hawk’s native heritage was in
resurgence, so, too, Wolf’s wild nature was asserting itself. The
man and dog usually worked together, as Wolf would have as a
member of a pack, to corner and capture their prey. Often,
however, Wolf provided the meal without the man’s assistance.

Although Soaring Hawk was satisfied with his life and in awe

at the beauty of the land in which he found himself, two things

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

299

were of concern to him. First, the more practical of the two, were
the rains and mists that occurred almost daily. He had never lived
in a place where the rain gods held so much sway. He was more
appreciative of the robe than he ever imagined he would be. It
frequently provided the two sojourners protection against the
elements without which, Soaring Hawk felt, his appreciation of
this region would be greatly diminished. He offered many prayers
of thanks to the old shaman as he and Wolf huddled together under
the robe’s safekeeping.

The second matter of concern, which seemed to be growing as

the days passed by, was that he had not met another human since
leaving the Sacramento area. There seemed to be no sign of
habitation, by either white man or Indian. He was happy with his
life with Wolf, but his desire for human companionship and his
need for an emotional connection with another man were
beginning to weigh on him. He held these feelings in check,
however, and continued to trust in the words of the old shaman:
Wolf was the key to fulfillment.

* * *

By early fall, the wanderers were far from Hacienda dela Vega,

far from the vestiges of Soaring Hawk’s life as Samuel Hawkins.
As he looked back on those days, they seemed almost as a dream.
The only realities now were the vastness of the forest in which they
now lived and the loneliness growing in his heart.

On a rare bright sunny morning as the two were making their

way through the trees, a strange sound came to Soaring Hawk’s
ears. Wolf heard it, too, as he stopped and inclined his head in the
direction from which it came. It was a constant roar, swelling,

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

300

receding, then swelling again. Not the roar of an animal, but of
something else. They walked forward in the direction of the sound.

As he broke through the trees, Soaring Hawk found himself on

a high bluff, a gasp escaping his lips. There, below him, was an
endless expanse of water.

“The ocean!” he exclaimed aloud.
Garrett and Gus had told him of this marvel, but seeing it with

his own eyes left him breathless. It seemed to go on forever, a
limitless sweep of deep blue reaching to the curved horizon. At the
base of the cliff on which he and Wolf stood, the waves crashed on
a rocky shore. He had seen lakes and rivers, but they were nothing
compared to this. For a long time he just stood, enthralled at the
spectacle of it.

After a while, Soaring Hawk and Wolf began to walk along the

top of the bluff. Some distance from where they had first witnessed
the ocean’s majesty, they found a steep, but manageable, trail
down to the shore, which, in this place, was a sand beach.
Carefully, but still slipping several times, the man and dog made
their way down. When he stood on the sand, Soaring Hawk was
even more impressed with the power of the water. The waves,
nearly half as tall as the man himself, raced toward him, thundered
onto the shore, dwindled, and then retreated to meet and mingle
with the next whitecapped breaker. The roar was deafening. Wolf
ran back and forth, barking as the waves broke and receded over
and over.

Soaring Hawk squatted down and dipped a handful of water

from a wave that reached his feet. He brought it to his lips. Salt.
Garrett had warned him of this. He had told him tales of men who,
lost at sea, in desperation drank of the water, only to die an
agonizing death.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

301

Soaring Hawk rose once more and gazed at the vast panorama

before him. A sense of insignificance in the face of this
phenomenon filled him. Yet, at the same time, he also felt a feeling
of well being, a feeling that he was connected somehow to this
body of water in a way he could not explain. Here, miles from the
village in which he was born, he sensed he had returned to the
source of his being, the place from which he had come.

He looked up. Overhead, floating on the wind current that

ricocheted off the face of the bluff, were birds. Birds of varieties he
had never seen before. He watched as they dove into the waves,
returning to the surface carrying fish. He marveled at their skills.

He was unwilling to leave this place. He walked along the

beach until he found a hollow in the side of the bluff. Here he laid
his robe and built a small fire. Here he and Wolf spent the night as
the endless rhythm of the ocean lulled them to sleep.

* * *

For several days, the pair traveled north along the shore. When

the beach gave way to rocks, they retreated into the forest, or
climbed the bluffs. But always, as the opportunity arose, they
returned to walk at the edge of the sea. Soaring Hawk felt
something drawing him here, something he could not explain. At
night, when he could find dry fuel, Soaring Hawk would build a
fire on the sand. With Wolf by his side, he would sit and listen to
the eternal song of the waves as he stared into the flames. He no
longer saw the faces of the men from his past, but, occasionally, he
thought he could see a face wavering in the firelight, a face he
could not clearly make out. When this happened, his heart would
quicken. It gave him reason to hope.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

302

* * *

One morning they came upon a delta where a river flowed into

the sea. Several times in their travels along the shore, they had
encountered smaller streams ending their journeys to the ocean, but
they had been fordable. This time, they had to make their way
inland along the course of the estuary, in an attempt to find a place
to cross. What they found, as they did so, amazed Soaring Hawk.

The river became a rapid, and there the Indian witnessed many

brown bears standing on the rocks, or sitting in the shallow pools.
They were grabbing the large fish that seemed intent on dashing
themselves to pieces in frenzied attempts to make their way
upstream.

He and Wolf stood a safe distance away and watched as the

mammals caught and feasted on the bounty of the river.

“They have a good idea,” Soaring Hawk said to Wolf over the

din of the cascade. He laid down his pack and extracted his hunting
spear. He waded out into the rushing water, staying well away
from his fellow fishers. As he stood with his spear poised, he
recalled the days of fishing with his father and the lessons he had
learned about patience from brother heron. Today, though,
patience was hardly necessary. The fish of this place almost
begged to be caught. They swam all around him, paying no mind
to his presence in their domain. He had merely to raise and strike,
and the prize was his. Within minutes, he had more than enough
for him and Wolf to feast on.

Soaring Hawk waded out of the water onto the shore where he

had tossed his catch. Wolf stood looking at the bounty of the river.
He raised his head to his master and gave his wolf smile.

“Ah, yes, S’unka, we will eat well tonight.”

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

303

He gave thanks to the fish for giving their lives for him. As he

was gathering them up, he heard a low growl behind him. He
turned to find a huge brown bear making its way slowly in their
direction. Wolf’s hackles raised and he returned the beast’s growl
with one of his own. The animal came at them more quickly. Wolf
began barking furiously. He charged at the bear. Soaring Hawk
stood and started to back away. He tripped on the rocky bank and
sprawled out on his back. The huge ursine roared and raised itself
up on its hind legs, towering over the man and dog. Dropping
down on his forelegs, it lumbered toward the supine figure, lying
helpless on the rocks.

Wolf interjected himself between the man and the beast. He

was growling more fiercely than Soaring Hawk had ever heard him
before. He launched himself at the attacking animal, sinking his
teeth into its flesh just above the shoulder. The bear bellowed in
pain, and once more rose up to its full height. In doing so, he
dislodged Wolf, flinging him some distance, where he landed with
a dull thud on the rocky river bank. Wolf did not move. The bear
dropped again to all fours and ran toward the motionless dog.

Soaring Hawk got up. He ran at the invader, yelling as loudly

as he could, snatching up and throwing rocks as he did so. Another
voice joined his. Turning his head in surprise, he saw a young man
running nimbly over the stony ground. He was also shouting and
throwing rocks at the bear. The beast raised himself, roaring
defiantly, but then, seeming to sense danger, turned and ran off.

Soaring Hawk rushed to the fallen dog. “S’unka, S’unka!”
Wolf did not move. Dropping to his knees, Soaring Hawk saw

Wolf was barely breathing. His tongue lolled out of his mouth and
a trickle of blood ran from his nose.

Turning to the man who stood beside them, “What can I do?”

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

304

Soaring Hawk asked hopelessly.

The man said nothing at first, but knelt beside him. He looked

deeply into Soaring Hawk’s eyes. Placing his hand on his shoulder,
he said something in an unfamiliar language. Then he placed his
hands on Wolf. He closed his eyes. His lips moved, but Soaring
Hawk could not hear anything spoken aloud.

For a time, nothing seemed to be happening. Then Wolf

shuddered, took a deep breath and whined. The dog opened his
eyes and raised his head slightly. His tail thumped weakly on the
ground.

Soaring Hawk buried his face in Wolf’s thick fur.

“S’unktokeca!”

Wolf licked his hand.
Soaring Hawk turned to the man who was now squatting next

to him, smiling. “Thank you, thank you,” he said in his native
tongue.

The man shrugged his shoulders and smiled.
“You do not understand me, do you?” Soaring Hawk said.
The man smiled again and shook his head, gesturing with his

hands outstretched.

“Well, I thank you just the same, “said Soaring Hawk, placing

his hand on the man’s shoulder and pointing to the dog.

“Ah,” The man nodded. “Kamooks,” he said, pointing at Wolf.
“Yes,” said Soaring Hawk, still speaking the language of his

people. “S’untokeca.” He placed his hand on the dog’s shoulder.
Then he added in English, “Wolf.”

“Ah,” said the man excitedly. “White man’s word.”
“You speak the white man’s language?” Soaring Hawk asked

in English.

“Yes, some,” Wolf’s savior said, holding up his thumb and

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

305

index finger about an inch apart. “Learn from white man come for
fur.”

Soaring Hawk sighed. “Good. We can talk to one another.”
“Yes, talk,” the man said. “Name, Spirit of the Big Water.” He

pointed to himself.

“Thank you, Spirit of the Big Water, for saving Wolf. He

means a lot to me. My name is Soaring Hawk.”

A strange look came into Spirit of the Big Water’s eyes.

“Soaring Hawk? You not white man?”

“No. Well, yes. My mother is white; my father is an Indian.”
“Mmmm,” Spirit of the Big Water said nodding, the smile on

his face broadening. “Welcome to land of Tillamook, Land of
Many Waters. Come, we take Kamooks to house.”

Soaring Hawk gathered his things together. With the man’s

help, he placed Wolf on the buffalo robe. With Spirit of the Big
Water in front and Soaring Hawk behind, the men lifted the robe
and carried the dog. As they walked along a trail that led into the
forest, Soaring Hawk studied the man who had saved Wolf. He
was of small stature, slender, but with a defined musculature. He
seemed to be younger than himself. He wore almost no clothing
and was barefoot. Soaring Hawk wondered at the way he had
revived Wolf. He also wondered about the mysterious manner in
which he had responded to learning Soaring Hawk’s name.

After a short time, they came to a clearing. There was a house

made of wood, decorated with paintings and carvings. Before the
dwelling stood a totem pole. They carried Wolf into the house.

Laying the dog on the floor, Spirit of the Big Water probed the

fire in the center of the house. It burst into flame as he placed a log
on the embers. As the firelight illuminated the walls, Soaring
Hawk saw more paintings.

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

306

The man offered the dog water. He ran his hands over the

animal’s body once more. He patted his head and accepted the
licks of gratitude for his kindness.

“He be well soon. Just need rest. Sit,” he said to Soaring Hawk.
The men sat on the floor.
“You live here alone?” Soaring Hawk asked. “You don’t have

a village?”

“Yes, but I live apart. I am osabu…a healer. In Tillamook

people, man who is osabu live alone, apart. People come for
healing, for counsel.”

Here was the explanation of Wolf’s apparent healing at the

touch of Spirit of the Big Water’s hands. This young man was one
of the wise ones. It surprised Soaring Hawk that one so young
could hold such high office in the tribe. All the healers he had
known were older, some much older.

Soaring Hawk looked around, taking in more of his

surroundings. He looked again at the young man seated across the
fire from him. As the firelight played on his dark skin, Soaring
Hawk could see he was handsome in a youthful way. He returned
Soaring Hawk’s gaze with a warm smile, causing something to stir
within the brave. The face he had tried to discern in the fire on the
beach belonged to the man who now smiled at him through the
flames.

* * *

In the moonlight, Wolf gamboled through the breakers and ran

along the shore of the ocean. Soaring Hawk and Spirit of the Big
Water walked along the beach, arms around each other’s waists.

“It twelve moons since Wolf bring you to me,” said Spirit of

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

307

the Big Water.

In the semi-darkness of the moon’s reflection on the ocean,

Soaring Hawk smiled as he watched the dog romping in the waves.

“Yes,” he said and leaned down to kiss his lover on the top of

his head.

Spirit of the Big Water looked up at him. “You happy live

among Tillamook?”

Soaring Hawk stopped and pulled Spirit of the Big Water into

an embrace. “Yes, how could I not be happy?”

He knew his words were as if he’d spoken of a small puddle,

whereas his love and the contentment he felt were as vast as the
ocean. He had been welcomed by a people who respected and
honored men who found love with other men, where they were not
degraded as they were in his own village, or reviled and persecuted
as in the white man’s world. But most importantly, he had found
and fallen in love with the man with whom he would live out the
rest of his days. Yes, his happiness was complete.

Soaring Hawk tightened his embrace, tilted the face of the man

he held in his arms, and kissed Spirit of the Big Water tenderly. He
felt his partner reacting to the kiss. He also responded, his
manhood pressing against his mate’s abdomen.

“Let’s go home,” Soaring Hawk said. “I want to share my

happiness with you. Wolf! Come!” he called to the dog.

The three climbed the bluff to where the house they now shared

stood. As they strolled into the clearing, the moonlight shone on
the totem pole standing before the entrance to the dwelling. On the
day he and Wolf had arrived, he had not paid it much attention, but
now, every time he passed it, his heart swelled and he filled with
joy. For the pole had but four carvings—a black bear, a golden
wolf, the waves of the sea and on the top, with wings spread as if

THE SEARCH FOR SOARING HAWK

308

in flight, a hawk. He reached up and took the pouch that hung
around his neck and squeezed it gently.

The search, for Soaring Hawk, was over.

ERRY

O’R

EILLY

Terry O’Reilly, a retired schoolteacher, lives in the Midwest. He
began writing after retirement upon the encouragement of a friend.
He has published several e-books and now embarks on a career
with Amber Quill. When he is not writing, he takes care of his
three dogs, works with animal rescue and successfully shows his
American Quarter Horse.

To find out more about Terry and his writing, visit his website at:

http://www.terry-oreilly.com

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, LLC

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