Don't Poke the Bear!

Chapter 50

AFTER SIX HOURS of headin' southwest, I make my way to the top of a short rise and see in the distance hundreds of horses and riders headin' east and west, which tells me I'm about two miles from the main trail. I also have a general idea of where I am, and I'm quite pleased about it. I don't want to walk anywhere near the main trail because I'm wearing Union pants, and someone might take me for a deserter.

The good news is I no longer have to drag my chains behind me. I've tied them to my lower legs with the twine I found in the railroad car. It's terribly uncomfortable trying to walk this way, but I can cover more ground at a faster pace. I've also got two pieces of beef jerky I found in a can in the railroad car that no one took, so that ought to do me till I get back home.

Which ain't all that far.

Over the past two years we've apparently laid around sixty miles of track, which puts me about forty miles northeast of Dodge.

I stay low and keep walkin'. I look all around, same way I did two years ago when I was travelin' the main road, lookin' for Gentry and Rose. Only this time I don't want to see anyone. While Union soldiers might shoot me for desertin', Rebel soldiers will shoot me for wearin' these pants. I'm also on the edge of where Indians used to be a few years back, and you never know if a few might've returned to hide. There's game here, and woods less than a mile north, so it's possible I could run into some hostiles.

For these reasons, and others,' every time I think I hear somethin', I jump down into the tall grass and lie there on my belly a half hour, till I'm completely convinced there's nothin' around me.

The more I think about it, the more I think I should get closer to the woods. The chances of runnin' into Indians is smaller than runnin' into soldiers, 'cause I'm traveling near Fort Dodge. If I do see soldiers, I can dart into the woods and hide.

I'll lose thirty minutes of time, headin' back to the wood line, but I figure it's a smart gamble. As I head north-west, I see the sun goin' down. I'm not gonna stop till I get to Dodge, but thirty miles, walkin' with chains on my legs, is a hard walk in the tall grass.

Based on the position of the moon, I'm guessin' it's after four in the mornin'. I'm travelin' at a clip of two miles per hour, by a sliver of moonlight that's barely sufficient to keep me just south of the tree line that runs all the way to the Arkansas River. This is a good route to take, because it's north of Fort Dodge.

Now I'm about ten miles northeast of Dodge City, barely able to contain my enthusiasm, knowin' each step I take is bringin' me that much closer to Gentry's arms.

In the same instant that I'm the most elated I've been in more than two years, I hear something movin' in the woods less than a hundred yards away.

I stop and drop. But the sound don't stop.

It's gettin' louder.

Whoever it is, they've seen me. They know I'm here. They're gettin' closer.

I jump to my feet and start runnin' fast as I can, through the tall grass. But I'm wearin' leg irons and chains, and feel like I'm movin' slow as molasses.

They're gainin' on me.

The tall grass is whippin' my arms, neck and face, and I only get about ten yards before they shoot me in the back.

And just as I did the last time this happened, two years and four months ago, I scream, "Gentry!"