The river was high enough to splash against the horse’s breast, sending the freezing water high into the air and into the rider’s face. He kept his head bent so his hat could shield the spray, and he eyed the flow of the river as his mount picked its footing toward the opposite bank. The setting sun seared the western sky in angry crimson, and the low hills were becoming silhouettes. The sound of the flow was deafening, but the rider was lost in the comforting thought of making camp with the river crossing behind him in the morning.
The horse high-stepped out of the water and onto the bank. The rider dismounted and walked away from the shore to a nearby horseshoe of large rocks – shelter for the night. As the animal huffed and shook, waiting for the saddle to be removed, the man pulled matches from high in the leather pack and returned to the camp area to collect dead sagebrush. He methodically, expertly, started a fire and, when the dried sticks caught, he walked the area, pulling the smaller bushes from the ground and stomping them flat with his boot into makeshift logs for the night.
The horse erupted in one final spasm to shake off water as the saddle was pulled off its back. The rider unrolled the blanket, thankful it had made the crossing mostly dry, and thoroughly wiped down the horse as he murmured to it about their day and how far they had come. He tied the horse onto a long length of rope so that it could feed on the prairie grass that thrived near the water, and returned to the camp. He tossed the blanket on the nearest rock to the fire to allow it to dry. It immediately began to steam from the heat as the rider tossed more sagebrush on the fire.
Dinner was spartan – a few biscuits from breakfast at the overland park two days prior, and coffee made in the cup over the fire. He’d make a pot of coffee in the morning, and eat the salted pork he had been saving. The stars were out, and the river sounds were comforting ones now, he thought as he chewed. Evening red, morning grey, sets the traveler on his way, he reminded himself. Finishing his coffee, he rose to take the horse to the river to drink.
The blanket was dry and warm, and he wrapped himself in it as near to the smoldering fire as a comfortably could. His Colt Navy was in the blanket with him, loaded but hammer forward. He could hear the horse moving to get comfortable for the night. Coyotes began their wary calls to and fro. The rider closed his eyes, relaxed by the heat and sounds of the fire. He would be up and moving before sunlight, and with any luck, he thought, he would catch up with Meriwether in the afternoon.
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