Jeramie's Chapters

**Jeramie** · 08-01-2005, 11:59 AM

For those of you who missed this post in the lounge, I love to write. I really dont have a good outlet for writing but someday I would love to have some stuff published.

Im currently working on a story, Silent Echos. This is where I will post the story. I not sure whether will end as a short story or a basic Novel. Please forgive all spelling. I try to use Microsoft word but it doesnt pic out all gramatical errors. When I write I flow more toward the content versus the spelling and sometimes use of certain words (such as to, too).

This is something that bottles up inside of me and I have to spill out. Hopefully someday I can find a great outlet where I can put this to use. Until then, if youre a reader, enjoy. Im open to input so feel free to comment after every chapter. I will post chapter to chapter. The very next thread in this post will be chapter one to Silent Echos.

Thanks for hanging out.

Jeramie

**Jeramie** · 08-01-2005, 11:59 AM

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Silent Echos. Chapter 1

Fresh powdered-snow crushed under the wide hooves of the lanky gray-gelding. The continuous creaking of leather whispered in rhythmic time with every step. High on the geldings back, sat a burley man, bundled in several layers, his eyes closed slightly to block the glare from snow. He wore a heavy coat of woven burlap, felt, and lined with a heavy wool neck. It was bound tightly around him with large wooden buttons and cinched around his large midriff with belt made of steer skin. His old brown boots were wet and well marked from years of wear. His gloves covered only a few fingers, the rest wore thin leaving his flesh cold and cracked. His beard hung as heavily against his face and chest as ivy taking over old stone walls. It had collected ice from melting snow flakes and condensation from his warm breath. A tattered old hat, tall with a big brim and with one long feather from a wild rooster, sat snug against his head. They carried a steady pace in line of the soft tracks. The tracks were quickly filling from the steady flakes. They were remained just deep enough to follow. The horse he followed had a much shorter stride. Its tracks were not much more then half of the geldings. It was obviously young from its inexperienced stumbles over brush and briars. It wasn’t a mountain horse. This was to his advantage. He should be closing the distance.

The jenny’s tracks remained steady, just outside the trail. He lead her to the left, she hated to be led on the left. The only good eye she had would be blocked by the rider and his horse. It made her impatient. An attack from a cougar at a young age left her shy of closed conditions. She never stood more then a few feet in her shelter, even in the worse of storms. Her impressions were much deeper; she was still heavily packed. Though she was old she could out walk the lead horse ten times in one day. She was strong. It was to his advantage. She would pull on the horse and horseman until they were too tired to remain at a fleeing pace. She was nearly as tall as the gelding but weighed close to half more. Her tracks were sporadic. They would follow closely behind the lead horse and then venture off behind. She was trying to free her view. She occasionally made it directly behind the horse. He smiled as he thought of the discomfort she was causing the rider. As she switched from side to side the rope would pull tight against his side. After some time the pain was unbearable. He would either have to move her to the right or his pace would slow more and more each day and his sides would be punished for his lack of knowledge.

Mud lined the base of crossing game trails. Occasionally he would lose the tracks to one of the trails. He would ride a few yards before finding the exiting tracks. Twice the river had been visible and he was able to regain the path from the waters edge. Sleep had been a luxury he had forgone for days. He carried dried meats and raw oats in a small burlap sack on his hip. He ate them sparingly as he pressed on. The oats were dry and uncooked. They scratched on the way down but were welcome in his empty stomach. He had only stopped for water. A large bladder swung under his right arm, opposite his food pouch. The rope that tethered the water was long enough to reach a stream from the back of the gray. He rode to a streams edge, allowed the bladder to plunge the full length of the string, and then he continued on. The water froze from time to time. He no longer swung it from this horn of his saddle. Under his arm his body helped to keep the water from freezing. He had been riding for a week since the jenny, his supplies, and the furs had been stolen. He had no idea where the horseman was leading. The tracks remained steady but he knew he had to be closing the distance. He couldn’t stop.

The winds swirled thorough the tops of the lodge-pole pines sending them into a sway and wine. Their creaking bounced off of the surrounding stone cliffs. The winds whistled and swirled through the bottom land blowing blistering cold sprays of snow and sleet into his face. No matter the direction of the winds they seemed to find their way into his face every agonizing step of the way. The only feeling left in his hands was the stinging from their new light shade of blue. His body ached, his mind was numb. He talked to the gray to contain his sanity. The path and days grew increasingly rougher. He lowered his head and pressed on. He couldn’t make spring without the things that had been stolen from him. He had already pronounced death on himself and the gelding by riding into the open wilderness. The jenny and what she carried was now the only chance of survival. If he didn’t close the distance they would not be found until the spring freeze, if then. In these depths of the wilderness another rider may not stumble through for months or even years.

A gust of wind raised the brim of his hat and sent it flying behind him. He reached fast and caught it against the rump of the gelding. Ice coated the gray’s hair down half the length of its tail yet he stumbled along. He turned and mumbled at the wind just as it carried the sent of burning meat, rushing through his nostrils and deep into his lungs. He looked ahead into the distance. A smoldering smoke slowly rose above the trees only to be immediately swept away by the howling winds. He turned straight in his saddle and brought the gelding to a gallop toward the smoke. He sat low in the saddle. His coat flapped open as the gray broke into a full run. Snow flipped high into the air from the heavy pounding of the gray’s hooves. They crash through small branches and one creek as they began their climb over a small knoll. Steam rolled from they grays nostrils in a series of grunts.

Riding within eyesight of the flame he reached into long leather scabbard, tethered just below the horn. The front sight of his heavy hex barrel drug the scabbard as he pulled the full length of his rifle and brought it to his shoulder. He circled the small opening using the heavy timber as cover. Beavers lay a large pile of the soft pines just outside the opening. He rode the gray behind the stack and with a crash he slid from his saddle and quickly fell behind the safety of the downed timbers. The gelding ran a few yards and stopped, his reigns laying in the snow at his side. There was no one within site. He pulled a glass from his side and looked to the surrounding cliff faces, nothing. After several minutes of surveying he found himself to be quite alone. The camp was empty and scattered. The ends of several hand-chopped logs remain in small piles of red coals. They had been burned through the middle. The stranger had left quickly. He couldn’t have more then just gotten the fire started. Heat and ash rose quickly into the breeze. The occasional flake met its demise against the red coals, sounding a hiss. The sun was quickly sinking behind the mountain range. He was happy to take advantage of this opportunity. A metal plate and fork sat scattered but clean beside the dwindling fire. A large knife, with a bone handle, was thrust an inch deep into a piece of the soft pine. The scene was to unnatural; he surveyed the timber looking for the stranger but found no sign. It could possibly have been another rider or perhaps mounting paranoia that caused him to bolt from the only solitude he had been afforded in the last few days. The tracks were no more then a half day old. He had to have left mid-day. It was an odd time to stop for rest but even more odd to leave a site and a newly stacked fire.

He found no intersecting tracks as he walked a full circle around the site. He found deer, elk, and the occasional ram but nothing to pose a threat. Perhaps the rider realized the gap was being closed more and more each day. Still, why would he leave items behind? The gray began to stomp its hooves impatiently. It was time to unsaddle. He made way to the gelding only to find deep impressions he knew all to well. A bear had taken several calves when he was younger. He remembered their half eaten carcass and the veracity in which they claimed their prey. In this solstice of winter a bear should be fat and heavily asleep. He followed the tracks for a few feet until he came along a few furs and a small half eaten bag of dry meat. The tracks quickly changed direction at the dropped items. Drop by single drop he found small amounts of blood heading behind the horseman. The drops wove in between the Jenny and the rider. Perhaps the bear had been shot? With the pelts and meat left behind perhaps the jenny could have suffered a blow! The massive claws could have torn the items from her back! Why would a bear be moving this time of year? Was it the horsemen or perhaps something had to have stirred him to bring him out of such a deep slumber? The gelding continued to dig deep into the ground with its front hoof. It caught his attention. He studied the pattern of the blood once more and then reluctantly made his way to the gelding. He pulled the saddle from its back and rest it on a log protruding the stack in the direction of the fire. Gathering a few branches and small logs he made way toward the warmth of the small blaze.

He took the half burned logs and pushed them into the coals with the end of a short stick. The fire was the first he had been close to in a week. A large river stone sat beside the fire. He pulled his gloves from his hands and stretched them across the rock. His hands felt as if they had caught fire from the warmth of the coals. The burning started in his knuckles and slowly worked their way through to his finger tips. It was such a change from the conditions he desired nothing more then to climb into smoldering coals and dancing flames. He moved as close to the fire as he possibly could. One fillet of a small river trout and a few pieces of bacon lay drying over a small splinter of wood. He carefully moved them over the coals with the fork. The wafting smell caused his stomach to ache deeply.

He needed to press on but this could be his only chance at regaining much needed strength. Deep down he knew he needed this for so much more then the rest and strength. He simply couldn’t go on another day. He hadn’t eaten anything other then oats, he hadn’t slept, and his horse was the only thing he had knows for days. This was simply the end of the road. He would make it through the night but he had no promise for tomorrow. If the bear returned and kill the gelding he would never make it out alive. If the rider gained another half day lead as he had in the beginning he would never be able to catch the Jenny before his strength and food ran out. It was a gamble but it was an impasse. Under any condition he had gone as far as he could. It was only under the weakness of his flesh that the decision was made to take advantage of this lost camp. He needed to rake the snow and find something for the gelding. He had to be hungry. It had been almost two days since the gelding had eaten anything other then a handful of raw oats out of his hat. The gelding stood tied edge of the timber. He was lock kneed and half asleep. He would find something at fist light. For now he would concern himself with the plan to regain the Jenny. It would have to be a short night but he would enjoy the serenity of the fire and the change from raw oats.

Stabbing the slabs of meat one by one, he gathered them into his left hand. He ate the bacon first. It was salty and caused his mouth to water uncontrollably. The fat offered some opposition to what was left of his teeth. He ground it carefully but swallowed it in a fashion expected of someone who hasn’t truly eaten in days. The fish was still somewhat raw but it was warm. It dropped hard into his stomach. Resting against a nearby trunk he finished the bits that remain in his hand. He licked the small amount of grease from his palm and then gathered the wet snow to wash away the remains. It was deeply satisfying. He needed water to wash the salt from his throat but couldn’t bring himself to wash away the flavor from his lips. He would enjoy this meal if it meant choking to death.

The sun quickly dropped behind the cliffs leaving him with only the glow of the dieing fire. He made several trips to the wood pile and added, time and again, to his fire. After he had warmed for a while he wrestled a log as large as a small spinning wheel and roughly six feet long, to the fire. It had been dead for some time. It would burn most of the night giving him light and keeping him warm. He toiled with the plans to follow the trail by moonlight once again. The moon was not to cooperate this night. It was as dark as the deepest depths of a well. He heard a few howls in the distance and he turned to check on the gelding. He hadn’t moved. He remained motionless, head cocked down, and one rear hoof lifted a few inches above the snow. Satisfied he returned to the seat his body had formed in the snow. It was a terribly dark night. The need to press on dug into him as a sticker buried deep in his clothes. It was always there and nearly impossible to forget. He was glad for his fire. He would have hated to spend this night sitting in the darkness. If he would have pressed on his foolish, headstrong nature wouldn’t have allowed him to build a fire. It would have consumed to much time as if that time would have been better wasted sitting in the cold dark night, waiting for enough light to ride. It was only now that he realized the rider couldn’t continue in the depths of this night. He could gain no more lead. They would start the morning fresh with the same distance. The sticker was removed and he was able to draw a deep breath. He removed the hat from his head and placed it in his lap.

A branch sprouting from his backrest was at a forgiving height and he found it to be a better pillow then the trunk he sat against. The breeze carried a mixture of swirling winds through the bottom. Occasionally it would blow smoke and warmth in his direction. The soft whispers of the river and the dancing trees above weaved their natural magic and in mere minutes his body was as limp as it had ever been.

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**muggs** · 08-01-2005, 12:08 PM

That's really good Jeramie. I only got about half way through, and have to leave. But it made me want to keep reading on, so I'll come back to it.

Good story