The Last Handful of Clover - Book 2: Gifts Both Light and Dark

2.52 Rage

"Look! They are following you! Did you think you could ride a dozen horses over the desert and leave no trace? You have led them to us!"

In that moment, panic spread through the camp like bitter smoke. It was only through the sheer strength of their respect that Drouillard calmed them.

"What do we do?" asked a young girl with a baby still at her breast. The girl was Drouillard's own granddaughter. The baby, his great-grandson.

He knew he had little time to think, and that the horses would be upon their camp before the sun was fully at its height. As much as it pained him, he could think of only one way that they could escape.

To everyone's surprise, he ordered all the young men to mount the horses. There were twelve of them, and a total of sixteen young men, so some horses had to carry two riders. But to their credit, the young men followed his instructions without question. The sight of their pursuers had placed a fear in them that made them suddenly compliant to the elder's wishes.

Once they were mounted, only the very young, the women, and the very old were still standing on the ground. A group of thirteen were left, plus two babes in their mother's arms. A sad handful of their tribe's past, and it's hope for their future. His great-grandson whimpered, and his mother rocked him until he went silent.

"Take these horses and ride west into the desert, as fast as you can," Drouillard ordered the men on horseback. "Do not look back and ride hard. When you have gone a mile, you all need to head in different directions. I don't believe the band that is pursuing you is large. With any luck, you will evade them, and they will return to the far side of the mountains. If you are not lucky, hopefully only a handful of you will be killed."

"But what about you?" asked the young brave who had led the horses back. "What will you do?"

"We will flee to the East. Hopefully, when the men arrive here, they will not see us, and will instead follow the tracks of their stolen horses. We will make our way back to the home of the Goshute as quickly as we are able."

"But what if they see us?" a trembling woman asked.

"If that is to happen, then perhaps they will spare a group of old men, women, and children. Perhaps they will believe we had nothing to do with this foolish act. They are human. Even the white man may spare the weakest among us."

"What you have told us about the Mormons does not make me believe this." said one of the young men on horseback.

"It is our only hope! Now ride!" He slapped the flank of the horse closest to him, and it lurched forward. The Goshute were not skilled horseman, and several of the braves had never mounted a horse in their lives. It took some time for the band to rally together, but soon they were racing off to the west, as Drouillard had instructed.

"Now we must go," Tuilla said, as she began herding the band of old men and women to the east. "Leave everything in the camp. And walk lightly. Leave no tracks for the white men to follow. If the Great Spirit is willing, we will return someday for what we have left behind."

As he led his old and crippled band out of their camp, supported by his walking stick, Drouillard looked again to the north. The plume of dust was huge now, and he thought he could hear the low rumble of hooves, beating upon the desert sands. Behind him, their small collection of tee pees and wikis looked forlorn in the dust. Tuilla's last basket, half completed, was already gathering blown sand inside of it.

There is no way we will be out of sight before they arrive, he thought. Perhaps the young brave was right. Leaving our people to the mercy of the white man is foolish. It may be the most foolish thing I have ever done.