A Whisper In The Wind Read Free Page A

admonished. “I am not yet deaf.”
    Michael smiled his relief. “I’m sorry, Grandfather. Go back to sleep while I fix breakfast.”
    “I am not hungry.”
    “You’ve gotta eat something.”
    “You sound just like old Mrs. Two Bulls,” Yellow Spotted Wolf complained, grinning.
    Michael put the coffee on to heat while he fried up some corned-beef hash. Yellow Spotted Wolf drank several cups of coffee, but ate little. He sat on a rock while Michael washed and dried the dishes and saddled the horses.
    Michael could hear his muscles crying out in protest as he climbed into the saddle, but Yellow Spotted Wolf seemed none the worse for yesterday’s journey.
    As the morning passed, Michael found himself growing eager to reach the hills, to walk where his ancestors had walked. Strange, he thought, the way the towering peaks beckoned him, calling to him in whispered voices of days long past, promising to tell him secrets that were shrouded in the mists of time.
    They stopped at noon for coffee and to rest the horses. At Michael’s insistence, Yellow Spotted Wolf ate a couple of glazed doughnuts, then climbed back in the saddle. The old man’s movements were slower now, and Michael could see the strain in his eyes as he settled into the saddle, see the faint lines of pain etched around his mouth.
    “We can stop here for today if you like, Grandfather,” Michael suggested.
    “No, let us go on.”
    With a nod, Michael swung aboard his own horse. His great-grandfather had not said the words aloud, but they echoed in Michael’s mind. There is no time to waste.
    They rode steadily. Michael’s excitement grew with each passing mile, as did his dread. Death was riding with Yellow Spotted Wolf, and it would not wait much longer.
    They’d been riding for about seven hours when dark purple thunderclouds gathered overhead. Thunder echoed from the tall canyon walls and huge drops of rain showered the earth, quickly soaking man and beast.
    When Michael drew his horse to a halt, Yellow Spotted Wolf called for him to go on.
    “The storm will soon pass,” the old man said confidently.
    And as soon as it had begun, the rain stopped. The clouds moved past, leaving a bright sun behind. Raindrops sparkled on fresh-washed pine needles, and the grass looked brighter and greener than before.
    And then they were at the foot of the Black Hills. Michael gazed up at the gray granite peaks, at the evergreen ponderosa pines and firs and aspens that covered the hills, and felt the wonder and awe that had captured the hearts and souls of the Sioux and Cheyenne and made them fight so hard to hold onto this piece of ground above all others.
    Yellow Spotted Wolf sighed heavily as he urged his horse up the hill. The pain that had been his constant companion for the last eight months receded as he breathed in the scent of damp earth and trees. His soul felt light, as though it sensed it would soon be released from the aches and fatigue of mortality.
    Higher and higher they climbed, leaving all the cares and worries of the world behind.
    In the distance Michael saw a deer and a pair of spotted fawns; further on he spied an antelope grazing on a patch of yellow grass.
    They climbed steadily upward, pausing now and then to rest the horses.
    At dusk they reached a flat section of ground that lay between two narrow granite spires.
    “We will stop here,” Yellow Spotted Wolf said.
    “You’ve been here before,” Michael guessed.
    “Ai, yes, a long time ago. I came here, to Eagle Mountain, to seek my vision. I knew then that this was where I would die.”
    Michael nodded, unable to speak. When Yellow Spotted Wolf died, Michael would have no family left. The thought had never bothered him before. He’d been so busy fighting his way to the top, so engrossed in becoming a white man, he had never given any thought to his family, or to the fact that he would have no family at all once the old man died. He wished suddenly that he had done things differently,