Shining as the Sun: Book Two of the "To Sing God's Praise" Trilogy

By Carl Jon Munson and Katie L C Philpott

Book Two, Shining as the Sun, continues the journey begun in But Now I See. Pastor Amos Nordquist heads west on the new Northern Pacific railroad line, stopping in the growing boomtown of Billings, MT. There he befriends “Fur Man,” a big drifter familiar with the Sioux Indians as well as the Little Big Horn battlefi

• Language: English
• Publisher: Earthen Vessel Publishing
• Release date: Jun 15, 2017
• ISBN: 9781946794017

Carl Jon Munson

Carl Jon Munson lives in Bellevue, Washington with his wife, Wendy Lynn Munson, and is "Dad" to seven, all grown. "To Sing God's Praise: a Journey in Three Parts" was written over a period of twenty-four years and is Munson's first novel series. The purpose of the trilogy is educational: reliving significant events generally overlooked in the annals of history, and the extent to which faith was a formative influence in adolescent America.

Book preview

Prologue

In Book 1, But Now I See, we learn that Amos Nordquist, son of Göteborg fleet owner Stig Nordquist, is gifted physically, intellectually and spiritually, but constantly struggles to control his temper.

Following his father’s untimely death, Amos, his mother, Kjersten, and later his younger brother, Anders, take over the shipping business after buying out Amos’ Uncle Sven who had effected a fraudulent scheme with three Russians. To insure they get paid the rest of the money Sven ostensibly owes them, the Russians commit arson, setting fire to the best Nordquist ship. Lloyds of London pays for the loss, the Nordquists pay the Russians, and Sven is safe, but Lloyds sends Inspector Adam Jones-Curran to conduct a thorough investigation. Jones-Curran proves to be smarter than the Russians. Lloyds and the Nordquists get repaid.

Subsequently setting out to sea, two Nordquist ships are hit by a hurricane, extreme even for the North Atlantic, with both ships sent to the bottom. Amos is one of four who ultimately survive in a lifeboat for two weeks before being found near death by a British man o’war returning to Southampton for decommissioning. While still adrift on the North Atlantic, however, Amos determines his call in life is not shipping or exporting, but, in accordance with the parable of the talents, to serve God in whatever capacity he is called if he survives.

After Amos is brought to Southampton by the man o’war, he sails back to Göteborg where he encounters two additional disasters: his brother has forgotten to pay the fleet insurance covering the two ships and their cargoes, and, while Amos was adrift on the North Atlantic, his brother, Anders, and Karin, the girl Amos loves, became involved with one another.

Losing Karin, however, opens the way for Amos to go to the United States, a decision many Europeans were making at that time. Amos’s Uncle Torvald, for example, has already been in America for several years. Aboard one of two Nordquist ships delivering goods to the North during the Civil War, Atlantic ocean leeway carries them too far south and they are captured by Confederates. Put over the side in oarless lifeboats, Amos and the others drift while the Confederates, with a Swedish skeleton crew, clandestinely sail under the nose of a Union blockade into the Cape Fear River and upriver to Wilmington, North Carolina where the cargo is unloaded to serve the South. Eventually drifting ashore, Amos and the crew hike through woods and marshland, finding Wilmington and the two ships, but are betrayed by two crewmembers opting to serve the Confederacy.

Imprisoned on their own ships tied up to a Wilmington pier, in the early morning hours with the help of a Swedish river pilot, the men re-hijack the ships, sailing down the Cape Fear River and out into the Atlantic under cover of darkness, only to be chased and caught by a Union blockade ship after sunrise. Although they helped the Confederates unwillingly, the Union captain determines the two Nordquist ships now belong to the United States of America. Upon reaching Wilmington, Delaware, however, with the help of a Union supply colonel, Amos is able to get them back. The ships then sail off to Sweden as Amos watches from a Wilmington pier, arm vertical in an extended wave good-bye to the ships, and the European chapter of his life.

Amos’s Uncle Torvald is to receive a substantial inheritance from Amos’s father, but the only locational evidence Amos has is the last letter received from Torvald, primarily describing the Battle of Gettysburg in which Torvald had fought as a Union cavalryman, but mentioning the outfit Torvald was in. With this information, Amos attempts to find Torvald, a journey that takes Amos down the Shenandoah Valley following The Burning, the devastating destruction of Shenandoah Valley farms by General Phillip Sheridan’s cavalry as ordered by General Grant.

Riding with Amos, the reader sees the burned and blistered Valley, and meets a variety of men and women caught up in the war’s ravages including hardened infantrymen, a Confederate death wagon nurse, a Union field hospital nurse, Union deserters, a Southern woman whose non-combatant husband was killed, and Union troops disabled but not needing further medical attention, left behind to heal. Continuing to look for Torvald, Amos assumes a position of itinerant chaplain, leading worship services – sometimes for both sides – and assisting Union field surgeons in an integral but grisly part of the Civil War.

Eventually Amos reaches Uncle Torvald’s outfit, only to find Torvald had been killed during Sheridan’s attack on Pickett’s troops at Five Forks. With no other reason for being where he is, Amos effectively becomes a Union chaplain, attaching himself to Custer’s cavalry where the reader learns why, many years later, Little Big Horn was such a big deal. During this time, in self-defense Amos kills a Rebel soldier in hand-to-hand combat, Amos’s temper rising to save his life. Chasing along after Custer’s cavalry, Amos witnesses the battle that places the nails in the Confederacy coffin, Sailor’s Creek, followed by Custer’s capture of Army of Northern Virginia supply trains at Appomattox Station, and the final battle at Appomattox Courthouse. There the reader waits with soldiers during a brief cease-fire, unsure of what is happening, before watching the explosive reaction of the Federal troops, and the dejection of the Rebels, upon learning Lee has surrendered.

The Appomattox Campaign experience ends with Amos and the reader watching an event all Americans should know about, but few do: the laying-down-of-arms ceremony and the valiant exchange between Union General Joshua Chamberlain and Confederate General John Gordon, reflecting quintessential respect between soldiers of the North and South at war’s end.

Leaving Appomattox, accommodating Uncle Torvald’s last will and testament, Amos heads north to deliver money and property to the Lutheran Church in Minnesota, and to offer his services as a pastor. Along the way he joins former slave and Union soldier Fatha Abraham Cole, gaining significant insight into antebellum slavery. Reaching Minnesota, Amos meets church administrator Nels Hanseth, a gray-haired, life-long servant of God who tells Amos that if he is to minister, he needs to become ordained; while some people just become preachers, in the Lutheran Church it’s a little more than that. After becoming ordained, under Nels’ direction Amos’s job is to plant new churches: find specific locations, engage the growing community, coordinate construction, order supplies, and initially pastor the church while overseeing the church school until stability is reached, then bring in a new pastor, go elsewhere and do it all again. Although extremely busy, Amos is lonely and still not over Karin, his former love, now the love of his brother.

What was a difficult time for Amos and his brother, however, turns into a blessing when Anna Hildegaard interviews for the teaching position at a church school. Amos finds her beauty breathtaking. An Oberlin College graduate, she is effectively overqualified, but after hiring her, the two work together with extraordinary efficiency, grow close, fall in love, and with subtle encouragement from Anna, his heart racing, Amos asks Anna to marry him. Laying her head on his shoulder as he embraces her, she quietly agrees. It is the beginning of a life-long love affair, Amos realizing that, as Benjamin Franklin once said, God governs in the affairs of men, and that all along it was Anna, not Karin, he was to wed.

While church planting across Minnesota, Amos and Anna have three daughters, Inga, Esther and Rachel, and Anna’s dream is a church where the family won’t have to move again. The country is growing, however, and Nels Hanseth makes the decision to send Amos west – for safety reasons, without his family – establishing a church and sending for his family later. Nels gives Amos the choice of three growing towns as Amos heads west: Miles City in Montana, Eagle City in Idaho Territory, or Seattle in Washington Territory, with Amos making the initial decision upon reaching the first, Miles City. The West is still far from being tamed, and having read about lawlessness and still-occasional incidents with Indians, Anna is worried. What is Amos riding into? Book 2, Shining as the Sun, gives the answers.

1

Fur Man

1883

December 29, 1883

After leaving Brainerd, Minnesota, as the train rolled west, Pastor Amos Nordquist was looking out the coach window at a dusting snowfall, but by the time the train approached Dakota Territory, he was being mesmerized by a high plains blizzard, the snow so thick, he couldn’t see where it was coming from.

Amos glanced around at coach occupants, all studying the thick snowfall outside. Across the aisle was a woman with her young daughter, perhaps six, and in front of Amos sat a well-dressed, older gentleman with a white mustache, silently grateful to be travelling in an enclosed railcar, trying not to wonder what would happen if something broke down.

At a stop west of Fargo, while the engineer and brakeman checked train car couplings, Pastor Nordquist felt restless, stood up, put on his hat, and stepped off the train for a moment in the driving snowstorm to stretch his legs. Muted by the falling snow, the wind sounded like the heavy breathing of an approaching giant, a ghostly Hhhoowwhhhhaaahhhoowhhhh…, repeated over and over as if admonishing Pastor Nordquist to turn back! Standing slightly slumped over in his heavy fur coat, his hands deep in his pockets, Pastor Nordquist sensed the eeriness, the presence of his ancient nemesis, and did not heed the warning; he was not going back, for while the snow and wind made visibility impossible, the spiritual path before him was clear.

During the second day of the journey, temperatures dropped, and the snowstorm, as if becoming too cold to continue, stayed to the east, allowing the train to enter a land blanketed by sunlit snow cover, bright enough to hurt Amos’s eyes. Beneath the icy, blue prairie sky, wisping winds began the job of shooing snow into drifts, and the passengers were more relaxed as the train continued toward Miles City in eastern Montana Territory.

As the hours passed, Pastor Nordquist thought, planned, considered, reconsidered and reminisced, for there was little conversation among passengers. Amos worked on designs for his next parsonage and the church. Simplicity is the essence of good design, he reminded himself. He also organized liturgy and prepared sermons.

The food on board was interesting, and his entire effort thus far seemed rewarded when he was served a new dessert: ice cream with a chocolate sauce poured over the top, and crème Chantilly around the edge. My golly, thought Amos as he tasted it. Wouldn’t Anna love this?

Heading west without incident, the train arrived in Miles City which was as Nels Hanseth described. There were already representatives of the Lord, however, providing spiritual leadership countering cow town temptations. The battle in Miles City was already underway.

Pastor Nordquist looked apprehensively westward from Miles City over the expansive snow-covered prairie, and considered traveling another 600 miles to the Bitterroot Mountains in winter. Am I being called there or am I not? he asked himself. He stood looking westward, deliberating, and turned toward Miles City. He prayed, asking direction. The sensation within him was not encouraging; his destination was not Miles City. Without further consideration, Amos decided to continue on to Eagle City. He reboarded the train, took a seat, and thought as he sat, arms folded, apprehensively looking out the train window: alea iacta est. The die is cast.

On the morning of the 4th day as the train ran along the Yellowstone River roughly 150 miles west of Miles City, the new town of Billings came into view. When the train slowed as it pulled into Billings, Pastor Nordquist looked out the window at a young community with construction expanding almost as fast as prospective residents arrived although, apart from the railroad, there was no evident reason why they were arriving.

Folks, the train will have to stay here in Billings at least two nights, possibly more, said the conductor. We have some maintenance issues, and have to wait for parts from back east. There were groans of resignation. Amos decided to walk around the town, interested in what was in Billings. Why Billings? he wondered as he stepped off the train. Since he didn’t immediately see a barber shop, he went to the next profession most able to answer his questions.

Well, it’s an interesting story, said the bartender. Folks didn’t want to chance comin’ out here because of the In’jins. But when the In’jins became peaceful, folks started comin’, slow at first, and then more. Over yonder, the bartender pointed to the east, a little less’n a couple of miles is the little town of Coulson along the river. Now, Coulson was here first by about five years. Weren’t no Billings. Folks in Coulson expected the Northern Pacific would go through Coulson because that was how the line was laid out. Lotta people bet the farm on the railroad goin’ through Coulson. Problem was, Coulson would be the location of the railhead for future railroad expansion, and for cattle and freight shippin’ all over these parts. Could wind up bein’ the biggest city in the state.

That doesn’t sound like a problem, said Amos.

"Well it was a problem for the people in Coulson because the profitability was so obvious that some of the bigwigs in Northern Pacific decided they could make another bundle of money startin’ their own town. Greed makes the world go ‘round, y’ know.

One of those men was Heman Clark who was the Northern Pacific Railroad railway contractor, the guy in charge of laying down the rails. This whole Billings thing was his idea. Then there’s Thomas Oakes, vice president of the railroad, and Frederick Billings who was the past president. They were in a position to tweak the railroad line a tad, bypassin’ Coulson. So they bought land from the railroad, the government, an’ ‘homesteaders’ no one ever heard of. The bartender smirked and wiped his mouth. And assembled enough land t’ lay out a pretty fair-sized townsite where we stand. Named it Billings. The man chortled. "Dunno why. Just had a nice ring to it, I guess. Billings, Montana.

"Well, then they start promotin’ the proposed town, an’ other land speculators start comin’ around. The railroad line is headin’ this direction, and everyone knows who Frederick Billings is. Actually a real decent guy. He don’t live here, but he’s been here plenty. So, people are figurin’ this town’s here t’ stay and could get big. Icing on the cake is that Frederick Billings funds a new library and the new Congregational Church over yonder. To people back East, if ya got a library and a Congregational Church, that’s a real town, no two ways about it. All permanent-like. Well, that’s all it took. People been comin’ in droves. An’ some are wanderin’ over from Coulson. Not much future there, I’m afraid.

See, people think that while other western boomtowns gotta fend for themselves, Frederick H. Billings’ll take care of ‘his’ town. Maybe, maybe not. I wouldn’t get too concerned anyway. We got the railroad. And this big Montana world here? We’re smack dab in the middle of it. Gonna stay in the middle of it. For me, business has never been this good anywhere I been. I suspect Billings, Oakes, Clark and them all made a pretty bundle too. Probably done better ‘n they even dreamed.

I understand the Little Big Horn battlefield is somewhere southeast of here, said Amos. I have a special interest in it. Who should I talk to about seeing it?

Dunno why you’d want to see it. Nuthin’ much there. Tombstones. All covered with snow. But go see the In’jin agent down the street. The man pointed south. He might be able t’ help y’.

Amos thanked the man, finished his glass of wine, and left to go down the street.

There are still a few hostiles, said the agent, but most have learned to keep their distance rather than causin’ trouble. The hearts of some Sioux are bad; others good. Gotta get to know ‘em. Like everything else here, I’m relatively new, so I don’t know too many yet, but those I’ve met seem honorable. Still, gotta be careful.

Major, is it safe to ride south, perhaps visit the Little Big Horn battlefield? asked Amos.

Yeah, I suppose, if you have that much time. But right now there’s not much to see. Snow covers everything. That big gent there, the agent pointed at a large man standing near the door, his back to Amos while looking out the window, seems t’ know the territory pretty well. If you pay him, he’ll take you down there and back.

Amos thanked the agent, and walked over to the large man. If Pastor Nordquist was a man-of-the-cloth, the guide was a man-of-the-fur for he was clothed in dark fur from head to foot, with a black beard and thunderstorm of black hair pushing out from under his black fur and leather hat. He looked half man and half bear,

Hello, said Amos. Without unfolding his arms, the large man looked sideways at Amos. I’m told you know your way around these parts pretty well.

Know my way around a lotta parts pretty well.

Could you take me down to the Little Big Horn battlefield?

Why you wanna go there? Nothin’ t’ see. Place is covered with snow.

I want to be there, study the surroundings; perhaps get a sense of what happened. Sometimes it helps to stand on the ground – feel it – where something happened in order to get a better sense for what went on. Spiritual intuition, maybe. How much will it cost me? The big fur man became more attentive when Amos mentioned remuneration. How long do you think it will take?

Depends on how fast we ride, said the man as he turned toward Amos. He stroked his beard with big hands the texture of buckskin. His forehead – what could be seen of it – looked like a laterally eroded hillside. Takin’ it easy? Three, four days over and back.

I might not have that much time. I’ll need to check with the train I’m riding. Could you wait here a few minutes?

Sure. Weren’t plannin’ on goin’ nowhere.

Amos left the Indian agent’s office and walked to the railroad station a short distance away.

I’m interested in seeing the Little Big Horn battlefield, said Amos when he found the conductor. Do I have enough time to ride down there and back? It will take three or four days. How long will the train be here?

I don’t know, answered the conductor. Your timin’ might be good. We have to wait for a new part and it looks like that part won’t be here until the next train arrives or, more likely, the one after that. You might have time.

How much time is that?

"Usually longer than anyone expects. Three, four days, maybe more. Won’t wait for ya. Get back as soon as possible.

What happens if I’m not back on time?

Maybe catch the next train. Take your luggage with you if you get off.

I don’t have much luggage…travelin’ light.

The conductor shrugged his shoulders. Head on down there if y’ know where your goin’. May not be much else t’ do for a few days.

Amos walked back to the Indian agent’s office thinking about a horse and provisions.

We have time to go down to the Little Big Horn battlefield, Amos told the large man. I’ll need to rent a horse and buy provisions but, after that, there’s no reason we can’t leave at once.

You sure you want to ride down there? Like I say, ain’t nothin’ there. Snowin’ again outside. Cold. Ain’ gonna be much t’ see.

I was with Custer toward the end of the war, said Amos, his expression brimming with resolve. No doubt this will be the only chance in my lifetime to see the battlefield, and we’re so close to it. I want to take advantage of the opportunity.

The big fur man studied Amos for a moment and nodded. Three other men in the room, listening to the conversation, asked to join Amos and the large guide. Two of the three men, Amos would learn, were range riders, cow-boys, done with a cattle drive. The third man was about to check into a Billings hotel, but figured he’d wait until after he saw the battlefield.

The guide and the other three men had horses tied up in front of the Indian agency. Amos walked with the four men as they rode to the nearby livery stable; the fur man knew the owner.

We got three here, the owner said to Amos, all about the same size and temperament. Names are Tumbleweed, Dapper Dan, and Olaf. Same price. Which one ya want?

Olaf.

Based on cash up-front and the fur man’s word that the horse would be returned, Amos rented a horse named Olaf. The men bought food – flour, bacon, beans, coffee, sugar, salt, potatoes – at the General Store. The fur man and the others already had cooking utensils, rifles, ammunition, tents and soogans. Amos bought a knife, fork, tent and soogan at the store; he would need them anyway when he arrived at Thompson Falls en route to Eagle City. Equipped, the five men rode south, forded the Yellowstone River, and headed east southeast.

As they rode, the range riders said little and talked only to one another; loquacious behavior in comparison to the big fur man who said nothing to anyone. Pastor Nordquist furtively studied the fur man from time-to-time and figured the man was probably more at home away from civilization than most people would be at home, and was uncomfortable in polite society. The fur man’s large, black horse with a thick winter coat seemed to have similar temperament. Amos’s horse, Olaf, wasn’t small, but the fur man’s horse seemed as high at the withers as Olaf’s ears

Several hours later, they were far from town. Amos looked around – snow covered everything. Fur Man also kept looking around. Others had ridden to the battlefield in the past, and the trail would be obvious to someone like Fur Man who could read sign – broken twigs, bent grass, scraped dirt – as well as the Sioux. Unknown to the others, however, Fur Man was having trouble because of the snow. Apart from topographical variations, everything appeared the same. Signs of animals – matted grass, scraped brush – were occasionally seen although only Fur Man recognized them. At one point, antelope appeared on a distant ridge, but disappeared in a blink. Snow fell lightly, silently re-covering recent sign. Fur Man doesn’t seem like the type who would get lost, Amos thought hopefully. Amos attempted to engage the fur man in conversation.

So, began Pastor Nordquist as an opener, are you a resident of Billings? The fur man looked at Pastor Nordquist as if Pastor Nordquist just woke him up, causing Pastor Nordquist to repeat the question pleasantly. Are you a resident of Billings?

Billings? said the fur man in a rumbling voice. Hell, maybe. Dunno. As good a place as any. Maybe I’d stay awhile, but I might not. A man should have someplace t’ go back t’. It’s a thought.

While talking, the fur man looked about as if expecting to see someone or something.

Pretty safe in town. Not that ‘safe’ is the greatest thing in the world. We’re headin’ toward a spot that gets both whites and In’jins fired up. We’ll see what kind of reception the locals afford along the way.

Locals?

A few years ago, said Fur Man, people like us weren’t any too popular in these parts.

Fur Man slowly looked about again.

The Sioux cover a big area. Add the Cheyenne and the Crow, and the five’a us might as well be lil’ prairie chickens. Red Cloud, Gall, Sitting Bull, Crow King, Kicking Bear, younger chiefs… Fur Man nodded his head several times. They’re tryin’ t’ figure out what they want to do now. The gov’ment ain’t been any too good at holdin’ up our end of any bargain, y’know. Fur Man looked at Pastor Nordquist with concern. Pressin’ the Sioux. You cain’t jes’ change a people’s whole way ‘a life overnight. Dunno that the Sioux are gonna sit tight the way things are goin’. Lot of ‘em never have. In’jin agents use the word, ‘Unreconstructed.’ They’s the ones I worry about. Not a good situation.

Fur Man looked directly at Pastor Nordquist, and seemed to be warming up to a conversation.

You know what the worst thing is that coulda happened to the Sioux? asked Fur Man. Pastor Nordquist looked back, anxious to hear comments from someone who appeared familiar with the plains Indians. I’ll tell ya, said Fur Man. We’re headin’ toward it: Little Big Horn.

My understanding is, said Pastor Nordquist, the Indians did pretty well at Little Big Horn.

Yep, replied Fur Man. And then what?

Well, responded Amos, I don’t know.

One word, said Fur Man. Heard it for quite a spell. ‘Retribution.’ Whole goddam’ U.S. Army comes after ‘em. Timin’ couldn’t a’ been worse for the Sioux: killin’ a Civil War hero on the eve of the nation’s Centennial. People back East wanted to up the ante and then some, Fur Man looked at Amos knowingly, and they wanted it done pronto. Woulda been better for the Sioux if ol’ Custer had himself a little skirmish and hightailed outa there, but, no, he and his whole bunch gets massacred. Worse thing the In’jins coulda done. Now, t’ them it didn’t seem so at the time but, afterwards, ehm, no doubt about it. It was Custer’s Last Stand but, dunno, might turn out t’ be theirs too in the long run.

Amos nodded, thinking about what Fur Man had said.

Sioux consider this land theirs, continued Fur Man, but maybe it ain’t. Maybe they took it from someone else. Sioux weren’t always up in the Black Hills, for example. Kiowa were there for quite a spell until the Sioux pushed ‘em out. Long time ago.

Who did the Kiowa push out? asked Amos after a moment.

Good question. Someone. Don’t know. Wish I did. Them Hills got a history.

Fur Man looked about again. All Amos could see was rolling prairie, hills, gullies, and a line of trees at a distance, probably along a creek, everything white and snow-covered. Cold.

Normally I can follow someone’s trail, read sign as well as some can read a newspaper, said Fur Man, "but this snow ain’t helpin’. The key ain’t seein’ what you should see; it’s seein’ the little things what shouldn’t be there. That’s what ‘sign’ is. In’jins can follow a trail none of you boys can see. So if they want to tail y’, snow or no snow, they will. Nuthin’ y’ can do about that except be ready."

Amos glanced around.

Funny thing about the Sioux, the Crow, the Cheyenne, said Fur Man, refocusing on the snow covered ground that slowly flowed by, when you think about them bein’ around, and decide they ain’t around, that’s when they is. How many? Usually more’n y’ think even if y’ think they’s around. He looked at Amos. Custer found that out.

Pastor Nordquist looked about, attempting to hide his naïve anxiousness. He looked at Fur Man who looked back without expression, understanding Amos’s reaction.

Sometimes I c’n tell, said Fur Man, "but sometimes, well, let’s just say, the Sioux c’n surprise y’.

I’ll tell you who knows most of the time: ol’ Black Jack, here, added Fur Man, reaching out and patting the thick neck of his huge horse.

What breed is he? asked Amos.

Only one of his kind, far as I know, said Fur Man. Father was a Percheron, bred for war back in the day, and the mother a Kentucky Saddler. Damned helluva horse. Smart as hell. Ain’tcha? Fur Man patted Black Jack again.

Ol’ Black Jack – Fur Man put emphasis on Jack – his ears’ll stand up and he’ll start actin’ a little spooky an’ be lookin’ in a direction where it ain’t exactly obvious there’s anything to look at. In the past when he does that, I’d pull out my rifle and we hightail it outa there. Right now, though, shouldn’t be much to worry about. Sioux been peaceful for a spell. No immediate reason t’ think that’s about t’ change. But, like I said before, there’s still bad blood, an’ y’ never know.

Fur Man looked right while studying the ground.

I knows some of ‘em, said Fur Man, looking back at Pastor Nordquist, probably a lot fewer ‘n knows me, I suspect.

The men continued on for several hours until it was getting too dark to see clearly. Camp was pitched beneath a rock overhang, and a fire lit. While the others grouped together, Amos took out his soogan and made ready for the night. A coffee pot, hung from a big stick, was put over the fire for coffee. Bacon, pan bread, and potatoes were fried and gulped down.

Keep the horses close by, Fur Man told the others. Get ‘em over here – I don’t care how dam’ tired y’are. In’jins don’t like to travel in weather like this – who does? – but y’ never know. Always gotta be ready. Sioux highly value horses, especially good horses like the ones we got.

The men complied although it was cold, real cold, and everyone wanted to get to sleep. As the men repositioned their horses, Black Jack’s ears stood up and he began acting spooky, more like a small dog than a large horse.

Make sure the picket pins are dug-in strong! Tether your horses tight! said Fur Man to the others. The Sioux are real good at retrievin’ stray horses…or horses that could be stray with a little help!

Maybe we should stand watches, suggested one of the others apprehensively, imagining berserk braves pouring over surrounding ridges.

The sky had cleared, stars were everywhere, and the moon was full. The snow reflected the night light, further brightening the scenery. Anyone creeping up in the night would likely be spotted.

They decided to each take a turn. If nothing else, it would prevent the element of surprise; perhaps discourage an unfortunate larcenous act in the middle of the night.

Fur Man looked at the range riders securing their picket pins. So, you boys come up from down around Texas, New Mexico?

Yep.

Apaches? Commanches?

Yep, said one of the men neutrally as he took the saddle off his handsome piebald gelding.

They like t’ collect horses too, said Fur Man with a smirk. Like shod ones best, I hear.

Hell, shod or unshod, Apaches and Comanches get horses and then run ‘em t’ death, said the first range rider.

Run ‘em t’ death, then eat ‘em, said the second.

Sioux are different, said Fur Man. Take care of their horses. Value good horse flesh. So let’s not give ‘em any valuin’ opportunities, said Fur Man.

Amos’s watch was from midnight until 2:00 a.m., but otherwise he slept restlessly, awaking from time-to-time. Nothing happened that night, however.

False alarm? asked Amos the next morning as they prepared to hit the trail again.

What did I tell y’ yesterday? asked Fur Man. No, friend, that weren’t no dam’ false alarm! Ol’ Black Jack’s got eyes in his ears. When he acts like that, they’re out there. We’re bein’ followed. I’m not worried about bein’ attacked, added Fur Man as if to reassure himself. But while the Sioux are presently peaceful, a few of ‘em will sure as hell take any opportunity we give ‘em to add to their herd or food supply. Fur Man gestured a wide sweep of his arm. Take a look around. Where are we? Fur Man looked back at Amos. Middle a’ goddam nowhere. Good place for ‘em to make a move. We don’t need that happenin’.

The five men continued on. Weather conditions were unchanged, but snow drifts were becoming smaller. Before the railroad was built, pioneers carried belongings in wagon trains. Around noon Amos and the four men passed the bleached bones of some maple furniture – nice furniture once – someone’s tie with the past, discarded to insure a future.

As he rode with nothing else to do, in his mind Pastor Nordquist again built the sanctuary, remodeled his conceptual parsonage kitchen, and generally entertained himself with thoughts of his family and what would be awaiting them when they followed him to Eagle City.

About three in the afternoon, Black Jack stopped cold in his tracks, his nostrils flaring and his ears straight up. He began to paw the ground and snort as if attempting to say something to Fur Man. Fur Man understood perfectly, and patted his horse while staring wide-eyed in the direction Black Jack turned and faced. The two of them had been in some tight spots, and Black Jack’s memory was good.

Fur Man urged Black Jack forward, away from the others. He stared without blinking, attempting to see what Black Jack sensed, smelled or heard. The wind whipped about wisps of fine snow powder, and caused some exposed prairie grass to cringe and shudder, but, otherwise, there was no movement. Fur Man pushed Black Jack to a slow cantor while, at a distance, the others watched, wondering what was happening.

Fur Man, listening to his feelings, pulled on the reins. Horse and rider came to a halt a short distance from a rise on the prairie. For a moment nothing happened.

Then they were there.

2

The Sioux

1883

Six Sioux braves sat motionlessly on horseback along the ridgeline as if there the entire time, invisible until the leader flipped a switch. Expressionless and dressed much like Fur Man, they studied Fur Man and the others, knowing where the men were heading.

While the others watched, the Sioux leader rode down the ridge toward Fur Man who remained where he was. As the Sioux leader approached Fur Man, the leader slowed his horse to a walk as the braves, still motionless on the ridge, continued to watch without expression. From Pastor Nordquist’s vantage point, it appeared as if the Sioux leader and Fur Man knew one another. While there was solemnity, there was also an air of familiarity when the two communicated using both words and sign language. After a couple of minutes, Fur Man pulled the reins to the right, turning Black Jack around, and rode down to the men while the Sioux leader remained where he was. The