The old trapper followed the river looking for sign, his heavy rifle across his lap as he scanned the skyline and trees for signs of game and danger. Dances on Gray Horses followed riding astride the big bay horse and leading a smaller black pack horse. He looked back with admiration of his new companion - she was Choctaw/Cherokee and Irish descent and the mountain sun shined on her beautiful red hair with streaks of gray - creating a halo like an angel - her buckskin skirt, and leggings clung to her body enhancing her soft curves, a simple linen shirt of white gathered by a heavy leather belt with a fine edged skinning knife in a heavy tacked sheath was worn in the small of her back..
They were both mature - more old than young now - but he thought it would be a few more winters before they would have to give up their nomadic lifestyle following the game and fur along the southern Rockies. They rode up a beautiful clear tributary of the Gila, the red and white colored rocks contrasted the green trees of pinon pine and ponderosa at the higher elevations,.
Up they climbed along ridges where dense and low lying clouds made it hard to make out the next landmarks he had used to follow up the canyon. On they climbed, the sure footed mountain horses picking their way up the rock covered trails and grass and pine covered meadows. As they neared the top of a ridge the clouds gave way to bright sun, in the meadow ahead they saw a large herd of elk. Dances - breathlessly exclaimed - Oh my God, they are beautiful" in her astonishment at the large heavy antlered bull standing near the skyline, his tan colored hide dark against the white trunks of the massive, mature, stand of quaking aspens.
The old trapper laughed out loud, his eyes twinkling with mirth at the astonished exclaimation of his wonderful woman. These were the first elk they had seen on the journey and the first elk Dances on Gray Horses had ever seen. He thought back to starlite night, some months back, they talked quietly as the fire popped and glowed, gently illuminating her soft features as she snuggled against his chest, as he told her of his youth in the Highlands - before the War, and how he had hunted the magnificient red stags in the mountains surrounding Loch Shiel, she had thought he was making merry with her - and she sat in stunned silence when he told her of the animals called wapiti that he was sure were close cousins of stags from long ago.
"Do you believe me now woman," he said in a loud guffawing voice, his tone playful. Dances on Gray Horses sat on her horse, gigglling "Well, you can weave a powerful yarn" The animals looked up without fear and after a short time they resumed grazing. The old trapper and Dances sat motionless astride their horses, without a word as the herd grazed contentedly on the the rich mountain grass that smelled faintly of vanilla.
After many long minutes, the old trapper turned his spotted mare up the creek drainage and continued on - here and there a hawk screamed floating on the wind high above the mountain, and they startled a few deer with ears like a mule, that bounded off on the approach of the man and woman and three horses. The old trapper always looking for sign of his quarry was delighted as they topped another ridge and spyed a drainage full of willows, aspen and other trees that had been felled to build the large dam and house in the middle of the high mountain creek.
The old trapper nodded with approval, as he turned to Dances "This will do" he exclaimed as he lead the small party off to higher ground to look for a suitable place to camp and break out his traps to set come the next morning. He leaned against a tree as Dances went about efficiently pitching the camp and unloading the horses in what had become their unspoken routine.
Dan'l Hickham
Topic: Along the Gila River (Read 153 times)