Edge of the Wilderness - By Stephanie Grace Whitson Page 0,61
checked the animal’s wounds. The once unmarred skin would be scarred, but the stallion would live. His legs trembled as he led his horses to a nearby stream. His bay gelding waded in and drank deeply.
Both horses were still jittery. It took a while for Daniel to coax the stallion into the water, to let him wash the claw marks across his shoulders. He wished for a needle. He could have used the cat’s innards to sew up the wounds. “I wish I could help you more, friend,” he whispered in the stallion’s ear. The horse flicked one ear in Daniel’s face and shoved him playfully.
By dawn, Daniel had skinned the great cat and hauled the carcass a mile from his campsite. He had located a plant his mother had used for healing and, breaking it open, spread the gooey substance inside across the stallion’s shoulders. The animal appeared to be none the worse for its encounter with the mountain lion, and by late in the day, Daniel realized with regret there was no reason to delay letting him go.
At sunset, Daniel led the horse to the top of a distant rise. The hills were flecked with orange and gold as the sun sank behind the horizon. “You belong out there, my friend,” Daniel whispered in the horse’s ear. “I send you to the place where our fathers hunted the buffalo.” He raked his fingers through the abundant mane. Then, laying his hand on the horse’s snow-white neck, Daniel looked heavenward. He took a deep breath. “I wish you could have carried Otter to a peaceful life.” He blinked back tears before abruptly removing the animal’s halter.
The stallion did not at first seem to realize he was free. Daniel slapped him on the rump. “Go!” He waved his arms in the air. The horse tossed its head and danced away playfully before rearing up and combing the air with its front hooves. One step, then two, and the horse leaped ahead, stretched into a run and headed for the setting sun, tail flying, nose into the wind.
Daniel watched the horse go and a sad smile crept across his face. “As he runs to freedom, Father, I send with him all my anger, all my bitterness. Cleanse me of it. Make me white. Let me finish the race with You, my Father.”
He stood looking toward the west for a long time before returning to camp and the task of scraping the mountain lion’s pelt. He was still working on it when Robert and Big Amos rode into camp shortly after sundown.
“The stallion?” Big Amos asked abruptly.
“Gone,” Daniel replied. “I let him go just as the sun was setting.”
“And that?” Robert Lawrence asked, nodding at the pelt. Daniel held it up. “The lions roared, but they did not devour me. Our God and Father protected me—just as He did that other Daniel.”
He was surprised to see tears well up in Robert’s eyes, surprised when Big Amos strode over and grabbed him and hugged him. After pounding him on the back, Big Amos looked heaven-ward and shouted “Wakantanka waste!” “God is good!”
Seventeen
Be not wise in your own conceits.
—Romans 12:16
Elliot Leighton lay on his back listening to Simon cough. He sat up. “We have to get you to a doctor, Simon.”
“I’m sorry, Elliot,” Simon said. “I don’t mean to disturb you—” He collapsed in another fit of coughing.
“Don’t apologize,” Elliot said harshly. “I’m not concerned about me. It’s you I’m worried about. You came back from the hunting expedition half dead from fatigue. If that weren’t bad enough, the thermometer has dropped through the floor—”
“I’ll be all right,” Simon wheezed.
Elliot got up and crossed the narrow room to where Simon lay. Feeling his forehead, he said abruptly, “You’re burning up.”
“It’s not that serious,” Simon insisted. He clutched his blankets beneath his chin, trying to will himself to stop shivering.
“Maybe not,” Elliot snapped. “But I’m going to get Mother Friend in here anyway. She’s the closest thing to a doctor available. Maybe she’ll know what to do.” He pulled on his overcoat and stumbled outside.
Simon listened as Elliot’s footsteps retreated in the distance, breathing a prayer of thanks. For a man who despised Indians, Leighton had come a long way since their arrival at Crow Creek late in the summer. Outrage at the conditions at the reservation had been followed by grudging respect for the men on the hunting expedition. Elliot’s going for Mother Friend signaled yet another change in attitude.