Summary:  A story with a twist. It’s an any-Cartwright story category – it’s up to you to decide who the main hero is.
Rating:  PG-13, violence   Words:  6,161

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The Brandsters have included this author in our project: Preserving Their Legacy. To preserve the legacy of the author, we have decided to give their work a home in the Bonanza Brand Fanfiction Library.  The author will always be the owner of this work of fanfiction, and should they wish us to remove their story, we will.

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Once Upon a Christmas

He was trying to get to the nearest establishment, at the least. There was no chance of getting home for Christmas, not with all the sudden delays on the way. First the run-in with the thieves and the trial, then a blizzard, then finally the fall which caused him to leave his limping horse at the stable back in the small town and rent another. It would take him at least another four days to get home, if not more with the bad luck he was running, and Christmas was just two days away.

He rarely spent Christmas away from home, from his family, and he never looked forward to that experience. He knew well he was lucky to have somewhere to come back to, and even more fortunate that he was happy to come back there. He wouldn’t make it home for Christmas this year, though.

As soon as he reached any sort of town, he’d have to send a telegram home to calm them down, he knew they were waiting for him and surely worrying about his prolonged absence. That was another thing he ought to be grateful for, he thought.

When a particularly cold gust of wind swept over him, he heard himself mutter a curse which didn’t get quite lost in his muffler.

‘What I need now is another stop,’ he mumbled under his breath. ‘Then I’ll never get home this year.’

To get warmer, he envisioned a boiling hot bath prepared by Hop Sing at home, and a steaming hot Christmas dinner. Ah… He had just taken off his clothes in his mind’s eye and was submerging in the wonderful, hot water that could burn your hide right off…

His eyes popped open. No. Then he heard it once again and cursed in his mind. He hadn’t imagined it. Surely just a critter in need of help. He gritted his teeth with a sigh that turned into a groan, and guided his horse to where he’d heard the sound.

It took him a while to find the source of the feeble sounds, but guided by them, he finally came to a small cave with its entrance covered by the long branches of a tree growing over it, bent over and twisted against the wind’s continuous onslaughts.

A trapped fox. Please, let it be a trapped fox or rabbit.

He dismounted, pulled out his gun, tethered the horse and approached the cave. The long swooning branches in front of it were dangling loosely and gave him no resistance. The sounds in the dimly lit cave stopped in terrified stillness at his appearance; he encompassed the whole of the small inside of the cave in one look and uttered one single, heavy curse.

He put the gun back in his holster, and hurried over to the woman. She cringed when he came closer, but was obviously utterly exhausted, terrified and in full labour. He pulled the muffler away from his face to muster up a warm smile for her.

“Will you let me help you?”

She choked on a breath and shuddered, but he couldn’t tell if it was from fear or pain. She was obviously having the contractions, and it seemed the waters had already broken.

“I don’t think you have a choice,” he said in a low, gentle voice, pulling off one of his gloves to stroke her cheek. “I’m not gonna hurt you. I’ll help you as much as I can. Now, turn to your back.”

He was quite sure Indian women bore their babies in a kneeling position, but she obviously had no strength to remain long in that position, and he had to take care of the baby and couldn’t hold her up.

She was too weak to even turn, so he helped her and very gently pulled her knees wider apart.

“I’ll be right back.”

He was indeed right back, having fetched the blanket, canteen and saddlebags from his horse, and some thin, dry kindling to start a fire. He’d have to gather some more fuel for the fire later, but right now he had no time for that. The baby could come any minute. He’d be lucky if he managed to get a fire started in time.

His luck actually held out this time, and he poured some water into his cup to set it by the fire before he came back to the woman. He’d covered her with the blanket but for the legs, and was dreading what he knew was coming now.

“May I?” he rested his hand on one of her knees, looking at her face.

She seemed to have understood he was trying to help, for she nodded, breathing hard, so he positioned himself between her knees, promptly pushed his stomach back down to its usual place and bravely swallowed the bile in his throat. Ranchwork provided him with rich experience of mares having foals, cows having calves, cats having kittens, but here he had a woman having a baby, and that was something entirely different. Out of his saddlebags he pulled a clean shirt, for he had nothing better in terms of a blanket for the baby once it came, and reached over to get the now warm water.

The woman screamed, for the first time, and the sound pierced him. She screamed again, on a shriller note, and he shuddered, yet valiantly tried not to show that. She didn’t notice, though, didn’t look at him at all; her eyes bore into the ceiling of the little cave, her hands balled into fists which twisted the blanket. Another scream, and a shudder went through her.

“Push, girl, push,” he urged. “Push – once more – that’s it – good girl – once more – yes – I can see the head, girl, push – once more – the baby is coming – once more!”

Then he had the child in his hands, and it – he – started crying his little throat out in turn, while his mother heaved in heavy, panting breaths. And then came another scream.

What on earth…

She obviously wasn’t through. He felt sickness roll upwards from his stomach, and pushed it back down forcefully, his hands shaking. He had one baby wrapped in some of his shirt, the cord cut and tied, but there was clearly one more package on its way.

And that other one seemed to be harder. She was getting hoarse, and he was all sweaty as he finally splashed some more heated water on his hands and reached to guide the baby’s head to the opening. He knew only so much about childbirth, otherwise he didn’t know what might be wrong. Once the baby’s head appeared, though, it went quickly. He was smaller than his brother. And grey. Wide-eyed, he felt for a pulse but found none. He gently pressed the baby’s chest to urge the small heart and lungs to work, but even as he did so, he knew nothing could be done. The baby had been gone before the birth.

The woman had her eyes closed and was heaving in panting, wheezing breaths, when he placed the warm, crying bundle in her arms. That caused her to open her eyes immediately, and as weak as she was, she actually laughed, crying all at the same time.

He retreated to give her a private moment with the baby, and went outside where he promptly lost the battle with his stomach. He heaved its contents out down to what felt like the last inch of his intestines. Never again. His stomach spasms went on and on, until the last round of dry heaves eased. Never again. Never again. He caught his breath and slowly, painfully washed himself with the snow.

Meanwhile, he spotted the place he might use for what he needed. He tried digging in the ground with his knife, and although it was frozen, it seemed it would be possible to dig a hole.

Upon returning to the cave, he found the woman smiling and glancing under the blanket, where the little bump was wiggling around a little bit, but was otherwise quite calm and quiet. She noticed him with a little start, but didn’t seem frightened anymore.

He gestured towards her legs.  “I need to wash you up a bit. Is that all right?”

She nodded. Either she understood English, or just his intentions. He tried to save both of them some of the embarrassment, and was as quick about his task as only honest thoroughness allowed, using up the remains of his shirt, saving only the sleeves just in case more dressing was needed. Then he covered her fully and stoked up the fire. More firewood was needed. He used the pretext to surreptitiously smuggle out the bundle wrapped in his neckerchief. It took a while to dig out a properly deep hole, but he had to make sure no animal would drag out the little curled up body. There were enough loose rocks around to cover the makeshift grave to his satisfaction, and eventually he was able to go on about the firewood.

He managed to gather a good bunch of wood – he’d have to hunt up some meat, too, he thought, if the woman was going to build up her strength. But that was a task for later; he didn’t want to leave her alone for any longer period of time, not as long as she was so weak and without anyone else to take care of her.

He thought he spotted movement under a bush, so he changed his plans and put the firewood slowly aside. If he had a chance to catch some half frozen rabbit… Must be half frozen if it hadn’t spurted out at full speed already… Oh, no.

Dark eyes looked up at him with fear, telltale signs of tears drying up on the cheeks below. The child was indeed half-frozen, and he hurriedly unbuttoned his jacket to hold the boy inside warm folds of clothing while he rushed with him to the cave. Goodness, was the boy cold! he shuddered, feeling the chill seeping through his shirt from the little body.

The woman uttered two or three astonished syllables at the sight, and the child clung to her neck with all the force of a frightened two- or three-year-old – it was difficult to judge his age – once he was laid down next to her under the blanket. She shivered at the cold the boy radiated, but managed to put her arm around him and pull him closer to her. Judging by her actions, he must have been her son or otherwise someone close.

The firewood. He returned to where he’d left it, got a good look around just in case more children, or adults, for that matter, were hiding from him in the nearest area, and returned to the cave. All he could do for now was to stoke up the fire with the fresh fuel, for he didn’t think trail food would agree with a child that young or a woman just after childbirth, and check on the woman. She was warm to the touch, clearly weary, but otherwise seemed to be doing much better. The baby was calm, though moving about a little bit, from what he could see; she didn’t open the blanket for him to look at the baby, and he decided she would be much more fretful if anything was wrong, and so didn’t ask to see the infant. The other boy, although still frightened to tears, relaxed a bit under a soft caress on his cheek and at the warm smile of the white stranger.

“I’m going to hunt up some meat.” He pointed at the entrance and made as if he was shooting and then eating, and she nodded. Again, he wasn’t sure which she responded to, his words or gestures.

He didn’t want to go far, and first got a good look around the clearing on which the cave was situated, then ventured a few steps between the bushes, to continue in an ever-growing circle around the clearing.

As if his luck had suddenly decided to go along with him, he soon spotted a rabbit tangled up in a bush – the animal was bleeding from the leg, as if it had escaped snares or wolves’ jaws, and didn’t have much life left in its shivering fluffy body. He convinced himself he was doing it an act of mercy with a quick invisible death, and pulled the trigger. The rabbit was quite fat, its body prepared for a long and hard winter, and would make for a fine broth. He tied the rabbit’s ears to his belt and started to turn when a movement among the nearby rocks caught his eye. He pretended he hadn’t noticed, and acted as if he were looking for another rabbit as he came closer to that spot. Suddenly a small shape bolted from among the rocks almost at his feet and flashed him its back in an attempt to escape. The child stumbled in its run, and he was able to catch up with the small figure. The terrified four-year-old, for the girl couldn’t be any older, tried to wriggle her way out, then scratched at him like a small wild animal. To settle her down, as she didn’t seem to listen to him, he pulled down his muffler with one hand and wrapped her up in it, before he opened his jacket to share his body heat with another child.

“Hush.”

Since her movements were now effectively hampered by the muffler wrapped around her, the child stopped fighting and instead started sobbing her heart out. He stroked her hair while holding her close with the other arm and repeated softly, “Hush. I’m not gonna hurt you. Hush.”

Feeling suddenly very tired, he stumbled with her into the clearing and went into the cave, to find the woman asleep with both boys. He hushed the girl in a firmer, although quieter voice, and turned her head to look at the inhabitants of the cave. She wanted to cry out to them, fretful and relieved at the same time, but he quickly put a gentle hand over her mouth, then raised his finger to his lips with a whisper.

“Hush.”

The girl gazed at him wide-eyed, and he made as if he were sleeping, then nodded at the woman and put again his finger to his lips.

When he put her to the ground, she was confused enough to let him remove the muffler from around her without a fight. Not wanting to wake the sleepers, he decided to wrap the little one in his coat for now, as he was going to sit by the fire anyway, and the girl was shivering; that action met no resistance, either.

When he moved to the fire to prepare the rabbit, the girl stood for a moment where he’d left her, torn between the need to warm up by the fire and the want to be close to someone she knew. In the end she decided to move over where she felt safer, and huddled down next to the woman’s head, not losing sight of the man at any moment, and keeping his warm coat wrapped tightly about her.

He glanced at her once or twice from over his work, and smiled gently each time. She thought his eyes looked like a woman’s eyes; he generally had more delicate features than any man in her family or tribe, and so he reminded her more of the women she knew, although he didn’t resemble an Indian.

He was aware of her scrutiny, but he also knew well the childish need for examining the world and learning every little aspect of it, so he wasn’t bothered. He noticed some of her fright melt down like the snow in her hair, but limited his own observation to a minimum so as not to make her aware of it – it could have frightened her, and for now he was glad of the peace and quiet in the cave, if only for an hour or two. Here he was, all alone, stuck with an Indian woman just after childbirth, her freshly delivered baby, a boy of three at the most and a girl of four, both of whom seemed to be the woman’s other children, in what might be Indian territory. In other words, he was stuck in a mess. And that all of two days before Christmas.

He was about to sigh deeply when he remembered the girl, and so not to startle her he allowed himself a sigh only barely different from a deeper breath, before he returned to preparing the rabbit. He wondered briefly what other members of the family he was going to find next time he ventured out of the cave, but banished that thought ruthlessly. The four he had here were more than enough.

She woke to the aroma of broth. She felt weak and hungry. The baby at her breast moved impatiently and cried. White Hand, for that was the name she gave him, must have been hungry or in need of change.

A shape at her side moved and she beheld in awe one of the most wonderful sights in her life – her daughter Wild Deer was safe beside her. The girl was almost completely covered by the white man’s coat she was curled under, and was now looking with tearful relief at her mother’s face. Now the family was almost whole.

In a quick whispered exchange, the girl said she was fine and less cold now, and explained that the white man had found her and brought her here. She added he had been out only for a very short time once or twice, and otherwise stayed in the cave by the fire. She wanted to see the baby, but her mother shook her head and looked over at where the white man stood. He was wearing his shirt and looked cold, but his eyes were questioning as he gestured to the steaming cup.

She nodded; she needed nourishment. The baby didn’t want to suck, so, with apprehension, she pulled the blanket down and looked at the small, wrinkled face in concern.

The man brought the cup to her side, smiled briefly at Wild Deer, who’d curled up further at his approach, and took White Hand in his arms with a no-nonsense attitude. The mother didn’t know what to do when he stepped over to the fire with her baby, and she pulled herself to a semi-reclining position. She was still too weak to sit up by herself.

The man began talking to the baby softly, in a pleasant, low, unthreatening voice. He went around the fire and for a longer moment she could not see her baby. Then the crying subsided, and finally stopped. White Hand then made a small sound, and the man laughed. He got up from where he was kneeling, the baby at his chest, and brought the boy back to his mother. He had obviously exchanged the soiled fabric with a new piece of the shirt sleeve. Now he was looking at the boy’s face and smiling. White Hand, in turn, seemed to be mesmerized by what he was seeing and kept his still unfocused eyes glued to the face above him. He forgot his interest quickly, though, when she took him under the blanket and he found her breast, sucking onto it vigorously.

The man smiled slightly at the sounds from under the blanket, and turned to Wild Deer, offering her the cup with the meat broth. At her mother’s instructions, the girl felt encouraged enough to grab at the cup, or rather, at the man’s hands holding it, and drank as quickly as the temperature of the liquid allowed.

The man returned then to the fire to refill the cup, this time offering it to the woman’s three-year-old son, Red Sky. The boy had awakened some time ago and was still holding tight to his mother’s arm, but, again at her instructions, he reached for the cup.

It was obviously hot, and the man held it for the boy, as he had for the girl. The woman watched the white man closely, as he was leaning over her while feeding her boy. He had kind eyes, smiling whenever he was looking at her children. He seemed to like children. He had gentle, unthreatening movements and a warm smile. He was completely unlike the men who’d hit her and from whom she’d fled with her children through the snow until she couldn’t go any further.

White Hand had eaten his fill and fallen asleep by the time the man refilled the cup again, this time for the mother. She needed his assistance as she wasn’t able to keep her head raised for long. He obviously tried to be very gentle and, as always, his eyes requested her consent before doing anything. The broth was delicious to her hungry stomach, and she accepted the next cup gratefully.

By the time she finished eating, his arms were shaking with the cold, as much as he tried to suppress it. She moved to make place under the blanket and called Wild Deer to stay by her side, for the girl was still wrapped in the man’s coat. Wild Deer was surprisingly reluctant to let go of the garment, but at her mother’s sharper instruction she slipped under the blanket after handing the coat over to the man. He smiled at both of them gratefully as he put it on, and surprisingly, Wild Deer gave him a fleeting smile before quickly hiding her face. In response, his smile widened into a grin.

Before the day faded into nightly silence, the man fed the small family again and gathered some more fuel for the fire with the help of the girl, who had unceremoniously appropriated his muffler to herself for the short trip.

Red Sky had livened up as well and was playing with sticks at the wall when they came back. With a hidden smile and a few efficient moves, the white man conjured up a skinny stick-horse for the boy to play with. At first reluctant to take it from the stranger, that night the boy fell asleep with the toy clutched to his chest in a fierce embrace, himself secure by his mother’s side.

—-

He stoked up the fire and had to reluctantly admit the firewood was as good as gone by now. He’d have to go and gather some, especially as everyone else was still asleep. The morning was barely waking, judging by the dim light from outside.

He pulled the coat tighter around himself, set the hat on and stopped at a tug at his coat.

The girl was standing next to him, and tugged again with a funny, decided look on her small face. He squatted down to her level.

“What is it, little one?”

She pointed at his muffler. When he didn’t understand, she pulled at the muffler and pointed at her neck.

He gave a low laugh with a slight shake of his head, and pulled the muffler off to wrap it about the girl’s head, neck and shoulders. She seemed satisfied with that, and smoothed it out with her hands with obvious pleasure.

He went to the opening and held her back when she followed. “I’ll check first,” he gestured for her to wait. She remained in the opening, understanding his careful movements as he made sure the outside world was safe to venture into.

The woman was woken by a shrill scream, followed almost immediately by White Hand’s anguished cry. The high-octave shrill tore their heads apart together with her heart.

It was Wild Deer screaming.

He only knew an oppressive weight on his back, blinding pain in his forehead and the sharp constriction of his heart as he realized within that fraction of second what was going to happen. Scalping.

The second lengthened into a full minute. Five minutes. Or did the time just stand still to enable him to live for a moment longer without that excruciating pain of his head’s skin being removed. Someone stop that terrible scream.

A surge of desperation rushed through his veins. Whoever is holding his hair so painfully, may he pull once and end the torment! His whole being protested the thought!

Released, his head fell forward into the welcoming, suffocating, soothing snow.

Deer’s Legs was quick – just as his name claimed it. The white man was unaware of the danger until the very moment when Deer slashed his forehead and tensed his arm muscles.

Had it not been for the scream at that very, very moment, the white man’s scalp would have hung bloody from his hand within the time you need to blink your eyes. Had it not been that sight, that sweet sight of his daughter right in front of him, he would have.

Even when he let go of the man, Wild Deer didn’t stop screaming. He hurried to the cave, heard voices; and there he saw the greatest sight on earth that his eyes had ever fallen upon. His wife. His son. And – his baby.

Wild Deer fell silent when he gathered her up in his arms; then he hurried to his wife, whom he already thought he’d lost forever by a white man’s hand. His boy, safe and sound if still looking anxious. And his baby boy, she said. A healthy boy. Another son.

They spoke, she in anxious tones, unable to see what had happened outside to bring about her daughter’s reaction, he in hushed whispers, drunk with happiness at seeing them all safe, words entwined with touches and embraces. Yes, she was fine – what was going on outside ? the boy was fine – White Hand – born by a white man’s hand – what was going on outside!

He explained only as much as he had to, but his wife was a clever woman and her prompt guess brought unearthly paleness to her face. For the first time his quickness had been a mistake – it had almost turned into a fatal error. A feeling of shame and dread filled him as she described her plight and the stranger’s unbiased help with the delivery, fire, blanket, finding the children, providing for them all, even making a toy for Red Sky and changing the baby – his son. His mind only now realized he had seen her daughter wearing a white man’s garment – a woolen scarf – and cold sweat broke out on his forehead at what he might have done had he been a breath quicker. He calmed his wife down as well as he could, confident his friends would not hurt the man further as long as he wasn’t back to them, and yes, he’d explain to them, yes, he’d provide for him, no, he hadn’t hurt him yet, yes, he’d help the man, yes.

He rushed outside at his wife’s bidding and announced at once the man was a friend. The warriors that had come with him were taken aback, but eagerly listened to explanations, wondering aloud at the turn of events. Deer’s Legs rushed to the group to see the white man; he wasn’t where he’d lain. Where his head had fallen – Deer swallowed at the possible rightful rage of his wife – snow had turned into a greedily spreading crimson patch, a splash of infection on the pristine white.

He raised his head and saw the man. He was sitting against one of the trees, and Wild Deer was anxiously holding a handful of snow at his forehead. The man raised a shaky hand to hold the snow himself, giving her a smile that failed miserably. The snow was melting under his hand, running down his face in red and rosy rivulets, striking the eye against their pasty-white background. He then noticed Deer’s Legs and his face turned into stone with two eyes burning with suppressed anxiety.

It was more than understandable the man would be afraid – had anyone done that to him, Deer would have been deeply shaken, maybe too much to act in the first few hours. When he took a step towards the man, Wild Deer surprised him by throwing her arms around the man’s neck protectively and turning an almost angry face towards her father.

He squatted to her level, assuring her that he wasn’t going to hurt the man. She was indeed wearing a scarf made of wool wrapped around her, and she said she’d got it from the man because she was cold. No, he wasn’t going to hurt that man, he knew from her mother that he had helped them and he would help him now, he assured his daughter.

She reluctantly let go, removing one of her arms from the man’s neck to pull up the muffler that had slid over her eyes. Deer approached the man now, but the white man shifted away from him. He’d manage, he claimed, even though he accepted Deer’s apology and explanation.

“I understand,” he said simply in answer, but still didn’t want their help. Gathering more snow, he managed to wash his face to a semblance of human appearance, and let Wild Deer help him dress his forehead, with a patch of snow placed under the dressing and a smile for the scared little face. He wasn’t sure but he thought it must have been her screaming back then.

He wasn’t sure of much at the moment. He still could barely believe his scalp was intact and in place, and fought to keep his shivers down and his thoughts in something resembling order. The Indian was suddenly helpful and contrite, must have talked to the woman and realized he hadn’t done them any harm. Yet any potential trust had already been smashed to pieces; he couldn’t bring himself to relax in their presence, no more could he make himself accept their help which would mean close contact. Right now he needed distance, and the clearing didn’t provide anything near the distance he wanted to put between himself and the warriors.

What was it today? Christmas Eve? He was supposed to be reaching the house by the evening? He’d be lucky if he made it by New Year’s Eve, even if it would normally be a two- or three-day trip.

He took his time to rest and pull himself together, watching the Indians go about their tasks, as they rested their horses, cared for the family inside the cave, talked and ate. He politely declined the offer of food – his queasy stomach couldn’t take anything in at the moment. Wild Deer had finally left his side to return to her family; she still kept his muffler tight around her. Poor kid; got so scared for him that he felt truly moved by her care.

He checked the dressing on his head, his hands finally stable enough to trust their movements. The dressing was wet and cold from the melted snow, and he exchanged the fabric underneath, pulling the bandage tighter. It hurt like nobody’s business, but the bleeding seemed to have stopped. Someone had thrown fresh snow on the screaming crimson stain in front of him, yet some rosy glimmer still showed through, giving him shivers anew. Head wounds always bled something awful, he comforted himself, averting his eyes. The sky was heavy with the promise of clouds within the next few hours.

He’d have to move if he was going to make it home soon.

His movements caught the Indians’ attention, but they made no move to stop him from getting his horse or packing his belongings. He had to enter the cave to get some of them; the Indian was sitting by his wife, both looking very much in love. No wonder he’d attacked him so fiercely. He explained quietly he wanted to take the rest of his things. While he was doing that, the Indian approached him to thank him for the help offered to his family, and offered to help in anything the white man needed.

He shook his head, the motion stopped short by a shot of pain, and explained he had to hurry before the weather got worse. As he was gathering his things, the woman frowned at the dressing on his head, giving her husband a dark look, and waved the white man over to her. Stiffly he shook her hand and that of the boy for good-bye, mindful of the husband-father over him. Wild Deer had tears in her eyes and squeezed his neck with all her might. A lovely, lovely girl. He stroked her head and shook his own gently when she wanted to give him the muffler back; instead, he smoothed it over her shoulders and got up to take his belongings to his horse.

The Indian accompanied him to the horse, thanked him again on the way and then asked him to wait for a moment before setting out. He was brought a thick buffalo robe – in exchange for the blanket left to the woman, they said – and some dried meat. They had nothing more in way of supplies to share with him.

He thanked them amicably. They were indeed very friendly now, and he thought it wouldn’t hurt to follow that line of action rather than taking his emotional storm out on them.

There was one more task he was dreading, and he waited for the warriors to disperse before taking the Indian’s arm to say it. The other man acted surprised, then grew serious at the information of the other boy; the white man then showed the Indian the small pile of rocks, and was slightly surprised himself as the man showed only sadness, no shock.

Yes, he knew; his wife was aware of that, confirmed the Indian just as quietly. The hide and food weren’t nearly enough payment for the white man’s noble actions, including the burial for an unknown Indian baby. Yet the white man shook his head and quipped something about having his own hide intact which was all the thanks he needed. He smiled to take the accusatory impact out of his words and mounted to leave.

They bid him farewell with assurances of help whenever he’d meet them. He waved back and was then gone among the trees.

Before they were able to travel it became clear a blizzard would have overtaken them on their way, so all the Indians went about settling their horses under the protection of some large rocks nearby, huddling later together, some in the cave and some in a smaller one near the horses. They sent upwards their hopes and wishes for the white man to find a shelter in time and be able to return to his home safely.

The family, together once again, rested in relief and peace. The blizzard savagely attacked the world around them, humbling the trees into deep bows with the wind’s iron hand, blinding with the onslaught of the snow’s needly nails and flaky tongues, suffocating the lesser creatures and plants with a mercilessly cold, thick white cover, but even that couldn’t rob the family of their happiness. The wind sang, the snow danced, the world was right once again.

—-

The sun was rolling down its evening route as Deer’s Legs left the cave, brushing as much of the new snow as he could away from the cave’s opening. Thankfully, the entrance hadn’t been totally buried. They’d fallen asleep to the howls of the wind, content in their security and regained family bliss; he had just woken to the white peaceful silence outside. They’d stay here for the night, he thought, knowing the way home was too long and dangerous to undertake it at night.

A sound from the right made him turn sharply to stand face to muzzle with a horse heavily saddled with a blanket of snow. He recognized it — it was the white man’s horse.

Riderless.

 

THE END