Survival-instinct! (Part 8 of 8)

 Yellow lightning illuminations danced to the north of his tidy little encampment; he smelled rain on the air but the storm stayed well north of his location. He slept well, yet alert, through the night. Come dawn, the river was running rapidly from the overnight torrent further north but the camp was dry and fresh coffee brew filled the chill morning air with promised comfort warmth.

He checked the animals, lead the horse and mule to the river to drink a little and gave them each another handful of bunch grass careful not to overfeed them; Wolf got a hard biscuit and seemed thankful for the treat although one never knew just what the cur really thought. He was a fine companion on the trail but he didn’t cotton to humankind remaining isolated.

“When we hit ole Denver-town,” Buckskin spoke in a low tone to the animals although none seemed even remotely interested in what he had to say, “I’m gonna get a bath, a shave and the biggest steak with potatoes and gravy that I can find.

“Commander and Rufe will get three days at the livery, I’ll sell my furs and trade this silver cache for cash money. Wolf! I’ll give you the steak bone when I’m done with it.” He smiled.

When he had repacked the pannier and burdened Rufe with the supplies, he saddled and mounted Commander and headed north by several degrees east toward Denver and civilization; he should make the city lights by dusk, just in time for that hot bath, shave and steak dinner.

Once clear of the mountains and in the rolling swale of prairie past the front range he spied five Indians far to his east; probably a hunting party chasing “phantom-ghost” antelope.

By dark, with the animals snug and secure in the livery and having washed down a fine meal with “real” smooth whiskey, Buckskin slept on a feather mattress in a hotel room. Wolf melted into some rough brush just outside the livery stable. The man kept his Hawkin beside his bed and a six gun in his ready hand just under the woolen blanket covering.

“Careful, I am,” he thought, “out yonder in the ‘jungle’ among the many Wild critters; but, here in civilization?---I’m much more on-guard!...this is where the real Wild animals live!”

With that warning conviction of fact, Buckskin fell into half-sleep awaiting dawn adventure.

And when?---his last breath is drawn…here lies an Independent-Individual! A satiated spirit!

 

Amen!

The end