Charles Cunningham, ex-captain of the U.S. Cavalry, falls in love with a Sioux Maiden. Their relationship does not run smoothly, and there are various complications. The action takes place against the background of the war between te U.S. Army culminating in the Battle of the Little Big Horn.

The Vision Quest

By Colin Broadbent

Trafford Publishing

Copyright © 2010 Colin Broadbent
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4269-2188-9

Chapter One

The Wagon Train.

Across the North American prairie in the year 1875 a wagon train wound its way slowly and cautiously. Eleven wagons in all, hoping, nay, expecting to reach the promised land of the West coast of the U.S.A.; Oregon or thereabouts.

The train was making its way across an open plain with a distant view of the Dakota Black Hills to the North and a high bluff to the South. In front the way was clear, only grass and scrub and the odd tree. As it made its way ever Westward towards the Shangri-La of Oregon its progress was watched by a keen pair of eyes which noted every little detail of its composition.

A lone rider, a white man, sat his horse on the summit of the high bluff to the South. The wagon train was passing almost beneath his feet. The bluff was an extensive one stretching a mile or more in an East-West direction. At the Eastern end it gradually tapered down to meet the prairie, at the Western end it ended abruptly in a sudden and dangerous precipice.

The man and his horse looked down on the wagons from a height of some eighty or ninety feet; eighty or ninety feet of sheer drop. The wall of the bluff was almost vertical; a few channels cut its face in a downwards direction. Normally they would be water-filled but now, in the summer they were dry; there had been no rain for some considerable time. A few stunted trees, similarly deprived of water dotted side of the bluff. Near the bottom scattered cacti were to be found. A myriad of loose rocks and a few more firmly fixed boulders here and there completed the picture.

Nevertheless, the rider intended to descend the bluffs at that particular spot; he had business with the wagon-train.

The name of this intrepid rider was Charles Cunningham. Ex captain in the U.S. army. How he came to be there was a long story. About twenty-five years of age he had a glittering career before him, or so it had seemed. Now he was an ex officer from the army. There were several theories as to how this had come about.

He had been disgusted by the government's and army's treatment of the Indians, and had gone off to live with them and to better understand them and their way of life.

Another theory was that he had been court-martialled for insubordination and, to avoid the inevitable reduction in rank, had taken refuge with the Sioux.

Yet another theory held that he had not been court-martialled only threatened with it; to avoid the possibility he had joined with the Sioux.

Finally there was the tale that he had resigned his commission and gone to the Indians to escape the attentions of a girl who had designs on him. He had tried to get a posting far away without success, the girl had followed him to the fort and elsewhere in a vain endeavour to get his attention.

Anyway, whatever the reason he had been living with the Ogallala Sioux now almost a year. In that time the Sioux had attacked and overwhelmed three wagon trains and were about to serve this one in the same way.

Charles Cunningham had pleaded with the chiefs and elders of the tribe to allow him to talk with the leader of the wagon train in an attempt to get them to change their route which took them through the Sioux hunting grounds and perilously close to their sacred burial ground.

They had been scornful about his idea; the "White eyes" would not listen. What did they care about the Sioux? Nevertheless Charles had persisted with his plea. In the end they had relented a little. He could warn the wagon train about the danger of pursuing their journey and get them to change direction. The Sioux would wait in ambush somewhere further along the trail in the expectation of his failure.

Charles knew that they wouldn't give him long to change the wagonners minds; about half-an-hour at the most. They were very angry about the constant invasions of their lands; they would show no mercy.

Charles Cunningham was a tall man, about six foot or as near as made little difference; he had fair hair, blue eyes and eyebrows which matched his hair. Apart from side whiskers he was clean-shaven. Those whiskers were quite long, reaching down to his lower jaw. He kept them well trimmed however. He was strongly built with broad shoulders and slim hips.

Charles wore dark blue trousers tucked into his riding boots and a blue and red checked shirt. Around his waist was a gun-belt and holster holding an Army 0.45 Colt six-gun. He also sported a cartridge belt with a Bowie knife attached at his left hip. A stetson, cream-coloured adorned his head.

His horse was an Indian pony, very wiry and strong. The usual saddle and saddle- bags completed his outfit apart from the Winchester rifle which was carried in a scabbard near his left leg.

The wagon-train approached slowly, it was about level with him now; he knew he would have to move swiftly if he wanted to keep them from the Sioux.

The nearest and most dangerous way was straight down the almost vertical side of the bluffs. He would have to do it though if he wanted to warn the wagon-train before it was too late.

He urged his pony over the edge of the bluffs; the animal was reluctant but his rider persevered. With his ears pricked up and snorting his displeasure, the pony commenced his descent. He braced his fore-legs hard against the slope while his hind-legs were flexed as hard as could be; his hind quarters were almost touching the ground. In this rather undignified posture animal and man descended. An occasional push with his hind-legs kept up the downward motion, not that there was much need for that for the steepness of the bluff was almost enough to keep horse and rider moving swiftly downwards. The intelligent Indian pony avoided the dangerous network of dried-up water channels which ran down the face of the bluff, likewise the sparsely scattered trees. His rider was experienced and skilful enough to allow him to find his own way down; he sat almost motionless on the pony's back. He maintained an almost upright posture during the descent leaning slightly backwards.

At last the lower slopes were reached, the pony, snorting his relief, assumed a more dignified stance and proceeded to wind his way through the maze of cacti which now prevailed.

Reaching the floor of the prairie at last, Charles Cunningham glanced up at the wagon-train. He and his pony had raised a large dust cloud during their descent; there was no sign from the wagon-train.

"Pretty poor look-out they must keep," he thought.

He urged his pony to a canter and approached the leading wagon.

The man on the front seat glanced at him but otherwise took little heed.

Charles signalled to him to stop.

Somewhat reluctantly the fellow obeyed. He looked sourly at Charles.

"What can I do fer you, mister?" He asked.

"You heading for Oregon?" Charles asked.

"What if we are? What's it to yuh?"

Charles explained,

"You're heading into trouble mister. This here's Sioux hunting ground. They don't take kindly to people intruding. Scares away the buffalo. If yuh care to let me guide yuh for a spell I can show you another way to the West coast."

The man spat over the side of the wagon.

"Yuh crazy or what? We aim to get to Oregon come what may. We don't give a cuss about the Sioux or anyone else. Yuh're wasting yuh time mister. So long!"

The sour faced middle aged female sitting next to him on the wagon nodded her agreement.

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