Short Story: Thunder in the Valley Part…

Short Story: Thunder in the Valley Part One:The Song Of Tomorrow

The eyes of the reptile were black and unfeeling, as it lounged upon the warm boulder, soaking up the sun's power. The rattlesnake moved its head to the light, and peered deeply into the sun - it was time to go.

The captive heat of the rocks had filled the snake with life, and now the rattlesnake slipped effortlessly between the cracks of the great boulders. The snake coiled its body of sinew into a dark crevice and waited. It was good at waiting. Only occasionally did it flick out its tongue to taste the air. The rattlesnake shook the bony pieces of its tail, and flexed the venomous jaws - it was ready.

Green-Thorn ran quickly along the buffalo trail, which meandered just south of the Wind River. The trail twisted as the hard ground pushed against his flying feet, and he ran with eagerness in his heart, as he raced across the dry plain. Already that morning he had run six miles along the trail in pursuit of the buffalo, and now he was close, and his young torso shone with perspiration, as he neared the herd. The native boy clutched his father's knife and bow tightly, as the unmistakable odour of buffalo hide wafted over the nearby boulders. The largest of the boulders stood out proudly against the cloudless sky, and its shape pointed up like an enormous finger, into the dazzling blue light. It felt a good day, and if the Great Spirit were with him, there would be good hunting!

Envy burned into his mind as he thought of Tall-Bear, and the power of his jealousy spurred him on. He crouched, and then crawled noiselessly as he neared the dozing herd. He thought of Tall-Bear again, and the glory that he had attained with his success at the hunt. How tall he had stood at the camp fire, his eagle feathers clearly displayed for all to see. Upon his painted chest hung the powerful symbol of the bullhorn. Tall-Bear was a man now, and he no longer ran with the children, and he no longer ran with Green-Thorn.

The hunter inched himself closer to the edge of the final boulder, that stood sentinel over the vast plain. Just beyond the long shadow of the boulder, the buffalo herd grazed unaware of his presence. He eased a long hardened arrow from the heavily stitched quiver, and worked the tight bowstring into position. If the Great Spirit smiled down on him this day, it would be a great day, and awaken the warrior within him.

As the sun began to burn into his bare back, thoughts of Tall-Bear came to him yet again, and he remembered how they had ran together. Yes, Tall-Bear was a man, and walked with the men of the village and sat with the old men at the council, while they listened to the old songs, and the call of the drum. Green-Thorn envied him, and longed for his company. He too wanted to take his place at the fireside and feel the surge of the ancient songs.

The buffalo moved slowly across his line of vision, but he dared not move, for the moment was approaching when the hunter would be tested to the full. The huge hulking animals swayed lazily to and fro, in the morning sun, and only the hordes of relentless flies concerned them.

An enormous shambling bull barged his way through the herd, and stamped into the dry dust with its heavy hooves. The bull sensed something, something deep and instinctive, and wheeled around to face the threat. It was enough to send the bull into a spate of dust clawing and snorting. A rival may appear at any moment, and threaten his dominance over the herd. Many had challenged the bull before, for the battle scars showed clearly on its flanks, and a broken horn capped the massive head. Green-Thorn eyed the one remaining horn keenly, and the magic of its power seemed to sing out to him. His mind became obsessed with the kill, and his hands began to work quickly. He strained his father's bow to the full, and then again once more he strained upon it, such that he thought it would surely break.

The great bull turned his massive shoulders to the shadows of the rocks. Heavy saliva began to froth from the beast's mouth, as it squared himself between the herd and the unknown danger. Time was running out, and Green-Thorn knew he would have only one chance. He must raise himself up in full view of the standing bull, and shoot. His moment had come; a moment that he hoped would change his life. In an instant the arrow had gone. However, in the blink of an eye, another hunter had struck. The concealed rattlesnake had emptied its venom into the flying foot of the boy.

The body of the boy was equally wrenched, between the pain and the ecstasy of the moment. The arrow had struck home, as did the fatal jaws of the rattlesnake. The great bull swirled up a column of dust, as the arrow slid into its thick hide. The bull snorted and shook the hanging arrow from its bleeding neck. A cloud of dust rose up from where there had been a herd of buffalo, and the world shook. The pounding hooves struck the sun baked ground, like the hammers of Thor, and they galloped off in a mass of heaving flesh. The swirling cloud of buffalo moved out and across the plain, led by the great bull.

Green-Thorn watched in dismay as the bull moved the herd away to the safety of the far ridge. Only the swarm of flies remained, and the broken arrow, which now lay trampled into the ground. It seemed his troubles were here to stay, and he yelled out after the moving dust cloud, "Run! Yes run great one! Yet our eyes shall meet again, and I shall pluck the horn from your brow!"

The snake rattled its tail violently, recoiled, and prepared for another strike - the poison sacks within its jaws were primed again. The mind of the young hunter began to spin into a chaotic dance of semi-consciousness, and the bow dropped from his grip, and he fell to his knees. The rattlesnake blinked at the moving target, and arched its back, ready to strike. A gunshot sounded clear across the blue day, and the rattlesnake was lifted high into the air. The body of the snake fell to the ground, and it moved no more.

A man sat upon a black horse, and his hand held out a gun at arm's length. The barrel of the Colt smoked softly in the hard light, and the lean man under the dark hat released the trigger, and slipped the gun back into its holster. In a single movement the horseman spun himself from his mount, and ran quickly to where the boy had fallen.

Green-Thorn recovered enough of himself to be able to withdraw his father's knife, and he thrust its keen blade at the stranger.

"Easy boy - put that away!"

Green-Thorn extended the knife clutching its bone handle tightly. He turned the blade of the knife at the tall dark figure, and it flashed in the sunlight. A lightning blow from the man knocked the knife from Green-Thorn's grip, and it fell to the dry earth. The boy was shamed again, and the song of tomorrow faded into a dream.

The boy felt the earth as it began to rise, and the blanket of night filled his eyes. He slumped over, and his black hair fell into the dust.

Garrett Hobourne pulled the boy to the shade, on the lee side of the boulders, where he propped up the young head. Time suddenly became very precious. To save the life of the boy, he would have to act quickly. Garrett fetched the half-empty whiskey bottle from his saddle-bag, and poured the brown fluid over the boy's knife. He tore the moccasin from the boy's foot, and studied the snakebite. Almost at once he worked into the swollen flesh with the sharp knife, and in moments was sucking at the reservoir of poison. He quickly untied the thin leather strap from his holster, and wrapped a tight bond around the swelling.

High in the midday sky, a dark shape appeared, then another. The shapes of the turkey vultures became more distinct as they circled lower and lower on the up currents of the rising air. The sun had passed its zenith, and was now reaching out to the western horizon. The afternoon sky was spattered with limping columns of cloud, and the shadows began to creep across the plain.

The tired rider urged on his black horse, as it negotiated the rocky twisting trail. The boy lay cradled between his arms, which now ached and burned with a vengeance. They had reached the tree-lined clearing, and Garrett could see rising wisps of smoke, that spiralled up from the cabin below. The small ranch lay nuzzled into the soft folds of the opposite hillside, and for Garrett Hobourne it was a welcome sight.

Maria was already halfway to the door before it burst open. Garrett came through with a clatter, as the feet of the native boy he was carrying knocked over a water jug. Her first thought was for the smashed jug that lay in pieces upon the floorboards, but as Maria saw the boy's head roll back inert, her attentions changed immediately.

"My … What happened?"

Garrett carried the limp body through to the cool of the back room, and placed the boy upon the covered bed. He ignored the question, and proceeded to tear away the buckskin leggings.

"Garrett!"

The tall man looked up into the woman’s searching eyes,

"Rattlesnake", he said softly. “He'll need tending – but I think he's gonna' make it through to tomorrow."