November, 2014

Issue #62

Cakes
by Terry Alexander

"This fella knows what he's doing. Must be part Injun, way he keeps doubling back on his trail." The old man leaned from his patchwork saddle; he closed his bad eye squinting at the ground. "Makin' fer the brush. Yes sir, this feller's smart."

"Can't we go any faster, Mr. Cakes?" A young man rode behind the grizzled tracker. "It'll be dark in a few hours. We'll lose the trail for sure."

The old timer spit a brown stream of tobacco juice to the ground and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Just Cakes, ain't no mister to it." He glanced up at the blazing sun. "Reckon we've got three hours of light left, and we're gaining on him. Ground's moist. If it was late summer, it'd be as hard as a rock. Don't worry. We'll find your child." Doubt gnawed at Cakes' insides. He'd lost the trail twice only to luck on it again.

"We've got to find her. My wife's losing her mind. Charlene wasn't gone more than a few minutes. Just went to get a bucket of water. Who would steal Greta?"

"We'll find yore little girl, Hank. I promise. We'll find her." He spit again, narrowly missing a scrub oak leaf. "Aim's off a mite." He kneed the gelding into motion.

"Are you sure we're gaining? We've been at this since daylight and it don't seem like we're gaining."

Sweat blotted the old man's shirt. He blew an irritating drop from the tip of his nose. Cakes studied the dark mass of clouds in the northern sky. "They ain't more than an hour ahead, but we only got a few minutes of light left. Best make camp, get started again at daybreak. Them clouds worry me some. We may be in for a rain."

"Then we need to keep going. He'll get away sure if we stop." Hank yanked his hat from his head and ran a hand through his sweat soaked hair. "I can't go home without Greta."

"I've tracked men fer years, used to work fer the Rangers down in Texas. Them Comanche were tough men. Move over soft ground and hardly leave a sign. I found them, and I'll find your daughter. Right now, we need to care for these animals, give them a breather and a little grain." Cakes wished he felt as confident as he tried to sound.

"I know the horses are tuckered out, but I don't like waiting." He jammed the hat back on his head.

Aged leather creaked, as Cakes swung his leg over the saddle. "Get some wood. I could use some coffee." He fish hooked the wad of tobacco from his jaw, flinging it toward a stunted tree. "I'll get us somethin' to eat."

Cakes pulled jerky, biscuits, and a packet of ground coffee from his saddle bags. He squatted on his haunches sucking on a piece of dried meat to soften it and protect his bad teeth, waiting for Hank to return with the wood.

Hours later the old tracker sipped his coffee from a battered tin cup, staring at the sky. A wave of sparks flew into the air, as Hank added sticks to the fire. "Hope Greta's warm. She tends to stay cold all the time. Always has been a little sickly."

"Get some sleep. Daylight will be here before you know it." Cakes drained the cup. "We need to be moving as soon as the light's good."

Hank rolled up in his blanket. "Doubt I'll sleep."

Cakes settled against his saddle, rubbing his back on the horn. Oh, that feels good. He stared at the sky. A sliver of moon showed through a break in the clouds. Hope this is over fast. I ain't as good as I used to be. He turned toward the distant flashes of lightning streaking across the northern sky. Rain's gonna hit about daybreak. Need to be traveling 'fore it cuts loose.

A low snore came from Hank's bedroll. Cakes shrugged. That shore didn't take long. Best get some sleep myself or I won't be worth spit tomorrow. The old leather creaked and snapped as he stowed the cup in the saddle bag. Need to work some oil into this old saddle. Might make it last another year or two. He nestled into his blanket. Sleep claimed him quickly.

An albino doe darted across the clearing. Cakes slowly raised the rifle to his shoulder. The weapon settled into the familiar shoulder niche. He peered down the sights, centering the animal's chest. It stopped, wide eyes fastened on the old man. He drew in a deep breath. His finger tightened on the trigger. The deer sniffed at the air. A rumble of thunder overhead sent it leaping into the undergrowth.

Rain drops stung his face. He blinked his eyes, squinting down the rifle sight. The doe emerged from cover. Its front feet pawed the ground.

Cakes bolted upright, rubbing sleep and rain drops from his eyes. "My God, what a dream." His weak eye closed naturally, as he glanced around the camp. He focused on the albino doe standing on the outer fringes of the fire. The flames reflected off her creamy hide. The deer moved three steps. Its head turned staring at the old man.

Cakes rubbed his eyes in disbelief. Albino deer were sacred to the Indians, he hadn't seen one in well over ten years. The doe walked in a wide circle, stopping occasionally to paw the ground. Its round eyes continued to stare at the old tracker.

"What's going on here?" he mumbled. He'd never seen an animal act this way. His wife, Sally White Fawn, told him stories of spirit animals before she died. Claimed a white doe stood under an oak near her father's sod hut on the day she was born.

"Sally, is that you?" he asked. The doe continued its wide circle. Cakes swallowed the hard lump in his throat. He kicked Hank's boots, interrupting his slumber. "Wake up, saddle yore horse."

"What?" Hank pawed at his eyes. "What's going on?"

"Get up." Cakes yanked his saddle from the ground and threw it on the gray's back. "Git that horse ready to travel!"

Hank stifled a yawn and climbed lazily to his feet. "Give me a second to get ready."

"We ain't got a second." Cakes tightened the cinch strap. He jammed the bit in the gelding's mouth and jumped up into the saddle. He scanned the darkness for the doe. Faint beams of moonlight glinted on a white blob in the brush. "Git in the saddle, now."

His spurs touched the gray's flanks. It jumped into a narrow path. Limbs and snags tugged at his clothes and flesh, as he moved through the trees.

"Slow down, Cakes," Hank shouted. "Let me catch up."

"I ain't slowin' down. Got to keep up. I ain't gonna lose her."

"What are you rambling about? Have you gone crazy?"

"Shut up and ride." The blur of white moved through the trees. The gray stumbled. Cakes pitched wildly to the left. He grabbed frantically at the saddle horn to stay upright.

"Cakes, we can't travel like this. We've got to wait for daylight."

"Stay if you want. I'm going on. This is a sign, boy. That animal's gonna lead us to your child. We'll lose her if we don't move double quick."

"We need to slow down. We'll kill ourselves traveling like this at night."

"Got to keep her in sight. It's the only chance we have."

"What are you ranting about? Keep who in sight?"

"She's right up there. I can barely make her out."

"Who's up there? It can't be Greta. Who's up there?." Hank stared into the darkness. "I don't see nothing."

Cakes slapped his neck squashing a pesky mosquito. "It's a white deer. Sally's spirit animal."

"Sally?"

"My wife. Finest woman I ever knew, Irishman for a father and a Choctaw mother." He nudged the gelding ahead. "Only one in a thousand like her."

"Heard your wife died from scarlet fever."

"'Twern't scarlet fever." Cakes shook his head. "Small pox took her from me three years ago, come September. That's her spirit animal ahead. She's leading us to your child."

"Maybe we should go back to camp, get some rest and start out fresh in the morning."

"I ain't crazy." He spurred the gray into a trot. "I know she's there."

Cakes wandered aimlessly through the trees. Lightning sizzled the night air, turning night into day for an instant. Uncertain of direction, he continued to work his way through the brush. Prickly cedar needles scratched his face and neck, but his eyes never strayed from the floating dot of white ahead.

Where are you taking me, Sally? Where are we going? Please, take me to that little girl. She needs her daddy. We gots to find her before the rain gets harder.

"Mr. Cakes, what's wrong with you? You've got us chasing ghosts."

"Yeah, I'm chasing ghosts. I know that's Sally up ahead. She's gonna lead us to Greta."

Thunder rattled the sky and set the air to vibrating. Trees trembled under a fierce gust of wind. Lightning flashed across the night sky, arching down toward earth. "There, did you see her?" Cakes shouted. "Ain't more'n fifty feet ahead of us."

"I saw something. Can't rightly say what it was"

"It's Sally. I know it is." Cakes spurred the tired gelding ahead. "Come on, let's go."

The rain drops grew fatter, growing in volume and intensity. Then the sky opened. A hard driving rain drenched the riders in seconds. Cakes jammed his hat low on his head and lifted the collar of his threadbare shirt to fit under the brim. It's gonna be a long night. He trudged through the driving storm, chasing the ivory dot.

He lost sight of the doe in the downpour. Cakes wandered aimlessly, hoping to spot the elusive white blob. Within two hours, the storms intensity diminished to a small shower. "My God, that was a toad-strangler." Cakes slapped his hat against his forearm. Water sprayed from the tattered brim.

"Do you know where we are?" Hank asked. "I'm all turned around."

"Think so. If I'm right, there's a small valley up ahead. Old trapper and his family used to live there."

"Anybody there now?"

"The old man died a few years back. His family moved on."

Hank shook his head. "I smell wood smoke."

"That's hickory, I believe." Cakes sniffed the air. "Cabin can't be far off."

Individual shapes slowly came into focus in the early morning light. "Daylight's coming." Cakes kneed the horse forward.

"Smell's getting stronger. We're close." Hank drew his horse to a stop. The animal snorted, drawing in huge gasps of air.

"Stay here a minute." Cakes kneed his horse up the muddy trail.

The doe emerged from the brush, shaking droplets of water from its rain-soaked hide. Cakes drew his horse to a halt. It turned, staring at a small cabin near a rapid moving creek. Its head bobbed up and down. It jumped into the thick cover and disappeared from sight.

"Sally, I know that's you. Thanks for leading me to Greta," Cakes mumbled. He stared at the crudely-built cabin. A plume of smoke rose from the rock chimney. "I know she's there." He kneed the gray's sides, returning to a waiting Hank.

"Come on, let's get your girl." Cakes led the way, weaving through the trees. They broke through the cover into a small clearing. The first rays of the sun bathed the rain washed cabin in the early morning light. "She's down there."

"Greta!" Hank's spurs raked the animal's side. The exhausted horse broke into a trot. "Daddy's here." The younger man drew his pistol, and cocked the hammer. The white deer burst from cover and sprinted down the trail toward the log hut.

A steel trap snapped on Cakes' heart. "What are you doing Hank? Hold up." His heels sank deep into the gray's side. The tired animal jumped into a half-hearted run. "Stop, you idjit!"

Hank lashed his gelding with the reins, urging it to greater speed. "Greta, Daddy's coming for you." He jumped from the saddle. His boots gouged deep furrows in the wet ground. Five steps carried him through the door. The exhausted animal walked to the shady side of the cabin and stood head down, filling its lungs with air.

The doe circled the house and stopped near the spent horse, staring back at Cakes. He reined the gray to a stop. His numb legs tingled as he slid from the saddle. The old man stumbled toward the house. A high pitched scream split the early morning stillness. He slid to a stop inside the door, glancing from Hank to the small squalling girl in the animal skin bed.

Hank's pistol pressed against an Indian woman's head. "I'm going to kill you. You'll never steal another child again."

"Hank, don't do it. Don't pull that trigger. You don't want to kill her with your baby laying there." Cakes stared at the old squaw. Recognition gradually flashed in his eyes. "I know you. You're Nellie Turtle Woman, Sally's friend. You stayed with her family when we was courtin'."

"Kill me!" the woman screamed. Tears streamed down her face. "Please, kill me. Please, let me go to my family."

"She ain't right, Hank. She's tetched. You can't kill a crazy woman," Cakes shouted.

"Stay out of this," Hank yelled. "She'll never plague decent folks again." His finger tightened on the trigger.

"She won't Hank. Let her live and I'll take her with me. She won't bother anyone else."

Hank glared at the old man. "This old hag stole my child, nearly drove my wife insane. I'm going to kill her and be done with it."

Cakes leveled his pistol at Hank's middle. The hammer cocked with an ominous snap. "Don't make me shoot you. Be a shame for that little girl to be an orphan after all we been through."

"You'd kill me to save this squaw?" Hank's jaw clenched. A deep flush crept up his face.

"You owe me, Hank. Let her live and we'll call it square." Cakes licked his lips. "I don't want to pull this tigger."

"We've been out in the rain all night, these weapons may not fire."

"Are you willing to take that chance?"

He glared at Cakes, easing the hammer down on his pistol. "You go to hell and take her with you. I'm getting my daughter out of here."

"You need to rest that animal," Cakes holstered his pistol.

"I'll rest him up the trail." Hank scooped the squalling baby from the bed. "It's going to be alright, Greta. It's going to be okay. We're going home now." His eyes fastened on Cakes and Turtle Woman. "If I ever see either of you again, I'll kill you both."

"Don't take the baby," Nellie shrieked. She charged Hank, clawing at his eyes. "Don't take the baby. Please don't take her from me."

The cowboy backhanded her across the face. "Get this crazy squaw away from me."

Cakes's arms circled the woman's waist. Her hands fisted in his hair, fighting his efforts to drag her away. "Turtle Woman, that's his daughter. Do you understand? That's his child."

"I had children once. They all died. My husband, my children, they're all gone. Everyone is gone." Tears streamed down her face. "They're all gone."

"I'm here." He held her close, smoothing her gray-streaked hair. She buried her face in his shoulder. Her body trembled with the strength of her muffled sobs. "We'll let the horse rest today, and tomorrow we'll start for home."