Savage Cry by Charles G. West

supplies promised to be at Amelia Court House were not there. Pushing on toward Appomattox, his belly pasted flat to his backbone, that was a time when he would have eaten raw liver—or a raw chicken—if hecould have gotten his hands on one. No, he would not be surprised what a man would eat if he was hungry enough.
    As Badger had promised, there was a huge feast that night, as well as the following nights until the last of the work had been done, the meat and hides all packed, and the camp ready to resume the trip to the Powder. Clay acquired a taste for the fat meat of the buffalo’s hump immediately. He also found himself to be very comfortable amid the jovial and lighthearted people of Little Hawk’s village—so much so that he experienced a sudden feeling of guilt when after two days, he realized that he had not thought about Martha since the hunt began. He promised himself that he would part with his new friends in the morning, and get his mind back on the business of finding his sister.
     
    Although Clay awoke early the next morning, he found himself in an empty lodge. Badger and Gray Bird were already up and preparing to depart the Belle Fourche. Knowing from experience that Gray Bird would not delay the striking of her lodge for a sleepy white man, Clay wasted no time in getting his possibles together. Outside, he declined the offer of some boiled meat from Gray Bird, and seeing no sign of Badger, walked down to the water’s edge where he had hobbled Red for the night.
    “Don’t sass me, Red,” Clay warned when the big chestnut side-stepped away from the saddle. The protest was of only one step’s duration, then Red stood quietly, accepting the saddle Clay threw on his back. “Probably miss the days after I first got you, when I didn’t use a saddle. Don’t you, boy?”
    “That horse ever answer you back?”
    Clay turned to see Badger riding along the riverbank, leading two packhorses. He laughed. “Hedoesn’t say anything when other folks are around.” He led Red up from the edge of the water to meet Badger.
    “This’un’s your’n,” Badger said, and handed Clay the lead rope to a mouse-colored horse with a shaggy mane. “I traded your pistol for her.”
    Clay paused to puzzle over the loaded horse. “What’s all that stuff on her back?”
    Badger shook his head impatiently, as if bothered by such an asinine question. “What does it look like? It’s dried meat and skins you’re gonna need before we’re through. I swear, Clay, what was you planning to do if we don’t find that sister of your’n before spring?”
    “But I can’t pay for those supplies,” Clay protested. “You said yourself, money’s no good out here.”
    “You don’t owe nothin’ for the meat and skins. They’re your’n. Hell, you helped in the hunt, same as ever’body else. You’re entitled to a share of the meat.” Before Clay could express his appreciation, Badger changed the subject. “Now, I found out somethin’ from one of Black Crow’s warriors that might interest you. He told me him and a couple of his friends come across a burnt-out cabin in a canyon deep in the mountains over yonder. There was sign. Looked to be Blackfoot to him. I’m thinkin’ it’s more’n likely the place your sister got stole.”
    Clay’s heart was beating against his chest. “When did you find out?”
    “Couple of days ago.”
    “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Clay demanded, irritated that Badger had seen fit to sit on the information.
    Unfazed by his young friend’s agitation, Badger answered simply. “Right now, two days won’t make that much difference—the sign’s pretty old—and oursupplies were pretty slim to go traipsin’ off after a Blackfoot raidin’ party. We needed that hunt.”
    Partly angry that he hadn’t been told before now, and at the same time overjoyed to know that the old scout was planning to help him find Martha, Clay didn’t know what to say. Finally, he asked, “Does this mean