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This story is a work of fiction. The story and characters are copyright Radical Gopher and may not be duplicated or used without the express permission of the author. This story contains adult situations and should not be viewed by those under the age of eighteen.

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A DISTANT SHORE - RETREAT AND ADVANCE

Colonel Collier scowled as he examined the trail ahead through his binoculars. Lieutenant Evans' initial scouting report had been correct. The pass was blocked by a massive landslide that had buried the trail. Had the badger listened to his junior officer, he would not have wasted more than half a day leading the company into the mountains. What galled him the most was that it was his own fault.

He hadn't trusted the lieutenant. He still didn't, but he'd underestimated the young fur's honesty and sense of duty. Collier had thought the officer had been exaggerating the size of the slide. After all, he'd already shown himself a reluctant participant in the Colonel's foray into the wild lands. Now it was evident that despite his personal feelings, Evans was still a professional military officer, with all that it implied. He might question orders, but he'd obey them, even under protest. The slide was, as reported, too large to clear in anything less than a week.

He looked back down the trail. It would not be hard to turn the column around and backtrack, but it would cost them time to reach the next usable path towards the Chimney Rocks encampment. The North trail through Red Eagle Pass was intact, but too narrow for a full company to cross. They would have to make a hard, fast march around the mountains to Henderson's Gap. It would take them two more days; two days which would give the natives that much more opportunity to spot his column and prepare their defenses.

The badger ordered the company to turn around and move back down the trail. He would send Evans and four soldiers ahead to scout Henderson's Gap, and this time he promised himself, he'd listen to the lieutenant.

* * * *

Snowbird brushed a stray lock of white hair from her forehead as she ground the dried maca root into a fine powder then added it to the mixture already simmering in the tiny cooking pot. Nearby, the small wyvern sat on a log watching over Gabe as if standing guard.

The liquid began thickening into a paste. She quickly added dried willow bark then removed it from the fire so it would cool. The vixen picked up a white linen petticoat she had retrieved from the cabin and tore several long strips from it. Watching from nearby, April Collier cursed at the native for ruining her clothes. As much as she wanted to slap the vixen there was nothing she could do since both her hands and feet firmly cuffed. Snowbird ignored her.

Now came the hard part. She rolled the still unconscious Marshall onto his right side and carefully gripped the handle of the dagger that was buried between his upper ribs. Working it gently, she began drawing it out. As the blade slid free, it was followed by a copious amount of blood. Snowbird silently thanked the spirits that Gabriel had not tried pulling it out himself. He would have quickly bled to death. Even now, the shaman was hard pressed to staunch the flow of blood.

She placed both hands on the wound and began softly chanting. Words older than history, older even than the hills danced from her throat. Her hands began to glow with a golden light and the blood welling between her fingers slowed, then stopped. She continued the chant even as she scooped a handful of paste from the cooking pot and spread it across the Marshall's wound. Using a small patch made of buckskin she fashioned a poultice and tied it off with the strips she'd torn from the petticoat.

Sitting back, Snowbird brushed her hand across Gabe's chest, tracing a series of healing symbols across his fur. The Marshall stirred and opened his eyes. His first sight was of the white-furred, native girl as she leaned over him. He drew in a breath of air then began coughing.

"Easy... You must take it easy," the vixen cautioned. "Do not breathe deeply, not until the medicine has a chance to work."

It took the gray wolf a moment or two, but he got his coughing fit under control by taking short, rapid breaths. "What happened?" he whispered.

"What do you remember?"

The Marshall frowned. The vixen was speaking to him in her language, not that of the civilized furs. He played along, answering in her tongue. "I remember getting the drop on Temple and his gang, then not much except for a sharp pain, like someone had taken a bite out of my side." His brows knit together and he looked over at the badger girl. "She stabbed me... I think, then it all gets kind of muddled."

"Two of the gang tried to jump you. They died," Snowbird said simply.

"I remember," he muttered. "I shot Cooper..." He looked up at the sky. The sun was well above the horizon now and not far from noon. "How long have I been out?"

"Several hours at least," the vixen replied. "It took me a while to find the ingredients I needed for your poultice."

"Shit!" Gabe muttered, trying to raise himself off the blanket on which he lay. Snowbird shook her head and easily pushed the wolf back down. The Marshall looked at her. "We've got to get moving. Sound carries around here. Montrose and Pyre probably heard the shotgun and are on their way back even now."

The native girl shook her head. "I know we have to leave, but not for the reason you think." She nodded with her head toward the prisoners. "They think I don't understand the language of the eastern shore. I heard them talking. The girl was not taken against her will. She and Temple are lovers."

"What?"

Snowbird touched her finger to his lips, her face stoic but her single eye grim. "Listen...there is more. Temple was paid by her father to play at kidnapping her. He was given enough money for the two of them to travel south to the mouth of the Great River and hide in the village there."

"New Babylon? Why?"

"To start a new life."

"No... Why would her father do this?"

"He wants to start a war... a war of conquest to open up the western shore for the civilized furs." She turned her head and spat on the ground to show her contempt. "He does not understand what we can do... What the earth mother can do."

"No... he doesn't, but he'll cause the deaths of many furs, civilized and native finding out." He looked up at Snowbird. "Can you help me mount?"

She shook her head. "No... You are too weak to ride, but I can make you a travois."

"Good thinking!" he muttered, closing his eyes. "You do that..." his voice faded out and Gabe drifted off to sleep. The vixen watched him for several minutes. Nearby the wyvern chirred as if responding to what had been said. Snowbird looked at it. She raised a hand and pointed two fingers at her eyes, moved her hand across her face, then waved it toward the hills where Luc Montrose and Abner Pyre had gone. The creature chirred again, twice, and launched itself into the air. It quickly disappeared from sight.

It took Snowbird about four hours to prepare for the journey. The travois she rigged was simple. She used blankets from the cabin to cushion it as best she could, then she saddled three horses from the corral. When ready, she unshackled Temple and Miss Collier's feet and put them up on two of the mounts. She kept their hands cuffed behind their backs and tied their legs to the stirrups, just to make sure they couldn't dismount without help. Lastly, she filled several canteens from the creek and tied the travois to the saddle of the third horse so it could be dragged easily.

She woke Gabe and got him onto the makeshift stretcher, tying him down so he could not fall off. She wrapped him in several blankets to keep him warm and the small party set out from the skinner's cabin. Before leaving she opened the corral and whispered something to the remaining horses. As one they bolted across the creek and disappeared into the wild, free to live as Nokomis, the earth mother, intended.

The vixen led the small party around the hill where she and Gabe had camped the night before. Gathering their things, she tied the remaining horses in line with the rest of the pack train. Then, mounting her own Indian pony, she led them out from behind the hill. There, Snowbird paused. She turned back toward the cabin, raised her hands to the sky and chanted. Within moments a sharp, stinging wind arose, kicking up dust everywhere. She led the horses in line into the shallow creek and rode down its center. Behind them, the wind covered their tracks.

* * * *

Lieutenant Evans quietly led his horse up the trail, followed closely by Private Smith, a short hyena and Sergeant McMullen, a large black bear. The other two troopers had been instructed to hold position where they were.

"It shouldn't be too much farther ahead," whispered the sergeant. "Just beyond that stand o' trees there."

The lieutenant looked up at the slowly darkening sky. "Can the whole company shelter there?"

"It's big enough," the bear replied. "That ol' trading outpost was closed only a dozen years ago, so the buildings should still be intact, unless, o' course the natives decided ta tear it down."

The fennec fox shook his head. "They're not like us," he commented. "We like to build, tear-down and rebuild constantly. The natives tend to leave something standing once it's up. They'll even fix it up as best they can if there's a use for it."

"That explains why there are so many of the old skinner's cabins still around," Smith observed. "They probably make good hunting lodges."

"Maybe," Evans replied. He stopped and raised his hand, fist clenched. The other two soldiers froze where they were and carefully scanned the area around them. Both the Lieutenant and Sergeant handed the reins of their horses to the hyena and moved cautiously forward. They crouched near the edge of the tree line and scanned the open fields before them.

The trading post stockade was indeed still standing; its broad gate wide open. Evans counted at least half a dozen natives working the fields of maze and beans that surrounded the structure. A pole stood by the gate. On it were the markings of the Chimney Rocks Tribe.

"It looks like one of the Chimney Rock families is using the cleared land around the stockade for crops. There's enough food here to feed their whole tribe "

"Makes sense," observed Evans. "The trading post's storehouses would make decent granaries. How many natives do you thing there are?"

"Countin' those in the fields, no more than eight or nine," the sergeant replied. "Are you thinkin' of takin' em?"

"Yes," the lieutenant replied. "The column will be passing by here within the next twelve hours. When it does, any natives along its line of march will raise an alarm. So far, these are the first we've seen. Holding them here would not be a bad idea. The stockade itself is an excellent strong point we could retreat to if necessary."

"You really think we might need to run from these savages, sir?" the bear asked, distain dripping off each word.

"No," Evans replied, "but it never hurts to have a contingency plan in place." He glanced up at the sun. "If they follow native custom, they'll call everyone in from the fields in about two hours for the mid-day meal. We can sneak-up on them then."

"What about guards?" asked Private Smith.

The fennec fox looked at the hyena. "Well, unless you know of someone they're at war with, there won't be any guards."

"Yes, sir. Right, sir."

The three soldiers retreated back to where their two comrades were waiting. Evans had them all strip down to bare feet, revolvers, ammo belts and knives. No shoes or metallic items that could clink together at the wrong moment and alert the natives. When they were ready, they cautiously took up position just inside the tree line and waited.

About thirty minutes later a vixen with a papoose strapped to her back came out the gate and called to the others. Four vixen and two todds, one old enough to be a warrior, picked up their tools and went into the stockade. Just as the lieutenant had figured, there were not guards on watch and the gate remained wide open. The soldiers watched as the last figure disappeared into the main building, and then they began to move forward silently.

Taking positions on either side of the stockade gate, Evans carefully peered into the compound. He could hear the faint voices of the family coming from the long house, but no one was watching from the windows. White smoke curled upward from the chimney. Silently he signaled two of his men, a puma and an otter, to follow. They quickly covered the distance between the wall and the house, positioning themselves next to the door and underneath each of the two front facing windows.

At the lieutenant's next signal, the puma silently moved around to the side of the building, continuing on to the back. He returned moments later and shook his head. The building's front had the only possible exits. Evans signaled to the sergeant and the hyena and they too moved forward, taking position on either side of the door. He nodded once.

The bear stood and kicked in the door. The blow was powerful enough to tear it off its leather hinges. In an instant he was inside, his pistols leveled at the natives, sitting in a circle on furs that covered one whole half of the cabin floor. The young warrior leapt to his feet, drawing his long knife and charged. Two shots rang out, one from the sergeant and the other from the puma. The todd fell dead at their feet. The younger male, no more than ten or eleven, also leapt to his feat but was knocked flat by a backhand blow from Private Smith.

Screams were immediately silenced by an old todd who sat at the head of the circle. He slowly stood, and pushed open his robe. He was unarmed. The bear guessed he must have been the family elder. He looked like he was their grandfather, or perhaps even their great-grandfather. His demeanor was like ice and his control of the family absolute. No one else moved.

Entering the cabin, Evans immediately surveyed the scene. He counted three native males, one dead, another unconscious, and five females; ranging in age from about fourteen to twenty-three. He guessed the dead male was the mate of the twenty-three year old and that her papoose was their child. The others... likely they were brothers and sisters, orphaned by the death of their parents and adopted by their grandfather.

Evans gestured to the hyena. "Find someplace we can hold them secure; a tool shed we can empty or a smoke house; someplace without windows, but good ventilation where they can't cause trouble."

"Yes, sir!" the hyena saluted, disappearing out the door.

The fennec fox glanced across the native faces. All save the vixen with the papoose were staring at him. Their faces were stoic, but he could see the questions, the shock, the fear and anger in their eyes alone. The newly widowed woman had her face turned toward the ground. Though he couldn't see it, he did see the drops of moisture that dotted the furs on which she sat.

The hyena returned in short order and the natives were guided into a large tool shed that had been quickly emptied. Two of the younger girls carried the unconscious form of their younger brother. Once inside, the door was secured and a guard posted. The otter was sent back to retrieve the horses and equipment. He returned in about fifteen minutes

Evans wrote a quick message on a scrap of paper, which he handed to the otter. "Take one of the horses and rejoin the column. Give this message to the colonel and guide the troop to this stockade." The otter saluted leapt on his horse and rode off. The lieutenant called Sergeant McMullen over.

"I'm going to scout the trail ahead, Sergeant. I want you, Private Cutter and Private Phibbs to keep a close watch on the prisoners. Don't let them escape. The last thing we need is to have the whole countryside raised against us."

"You think that's wise, sir. Goin' out alone ta scout?"

"It may not be wise... but it is necessary. I'll leave markers every two miles along my path. If the markers disappear, you'll know something happened to me."

"How long you fixin' ta be gone?"

"I'll scout ahead as far as Henderson's Gap. With any luck, I may be back before the column arrives." Evans mounted his horse. The sergeant threw him a salute, which he returned as the horse wheeled and cantered off. "You're in command here, Sergeant," he called as he passed through the gate.

Phibbs and the sergeant went to the gate and pulled it closed, the latter watching as Evans vanished from sight. He chuckled to himself, a cruel smile dancing across his lips. "That, I am, sir. That I surely am!"

TO BE CONTINUED...SOON