Son of Uintah
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
"Just a moment now, Ke Na Sah, and you can rest," Craig whispered to the slender maiden he had accepted as his lover with such temerity. An innocent girl, young enough to be his daughter, but one who softly petitioned his body to her in true love. Swinging to the ground, he cradled the Indian girl gently in his arms, although the movements, strangely, did not elicit any sounds of pain or spasms of hurting from her many wounds. Only short gasps of labored breathing could be heard as he carried her to the stream bank and carefully laid her down. He turned to the tethered horses and claimed the war bag. In the rapidly expanding dawn, he pulled out his wool blanket and one clean neckerchief. Folding the blanket into a soft mat, Craig slowly pulled back the buckskin robe and began to daub at the bruises and cuts on her shoulders, arms, and breasts. Ke Na Sah lay still, eyes closed, seemingly unfeeling of the pain such clumsy daubing should have induced. Her arms, I’ve got to move her arms. I can’t get to her wounds with her hands clasped to her stomach that way, but they don’t want to move. What the hell?
Craig threw back the robe and stared in horror at the small hands clasped over a disemboweled abdomen. Loops of intestine were wrapped around and now dried to slender fingers. Hands glued firmly together by blood and internal fluids revealed the true gravity of his selfish love tryst of the night before. That last image of Neh Be Na standing smugly in the firelight, knife in hand, flashed before Craig as he clasped the dying girl to his breast. "Oh, dear God! What have I done? Why must she be the one to pay for my selfish urges? Dear God, she only wanted to be held, loved, and cared for by another human. What is so wrong in that?" Craig hoarsely cried as he laid the still face in the crook of his neck. "Is it wrong for a child like this to want the love, the touch, the tenderness of another human? Why her? Why not me? Oh Lord, why?" Tear-shrouded eyes looked to the east, toward the rising sun where a bright morning star sat strangely at an oblique angle. Saliva trickled down Craig’s chest as her breath came in short gasps, then the long, last exhale and Ke Na Sah lay still in death. A slow-rising autumn sun arched upward and toward the south as the shadows shortened to move slowly toward the bases of their originators. The only movement of shadow was a lengthening and shortening image of two human figures locked in embrace as they slowly rocked to and fro to the clear five-note call of migrating meadowlarks, twittering mountain bluebirds, and the hoarse gra -- ack of a raven as it greeted another day. The crushed emotions of an older man seemed to drift away on the soft fall breezes to be swallowed up in the vastness of the Rocky Mountain front that pulsed away to the east in a series of gentle benches and sweeping alluvial fans to fade into infinity over earthly curvature. Two culturally diverse humans had struggled beyond racial bias and language barriers to find sanctuary in each other’s arms, only to be reminded of the part cruel fate plays in such things. A weak, but now warm, sun shone down on the eerie scene as Craig slowly laid his maiden on the prairie grass and straightened her rigid legs, twisted a cocked head back to normal position, and slowly rolled Ke Na Sah tightly in the buckskin robe. In paced and measured movements, aspen were felled, stakes cut, and the typical Indian burial bier slowly raised against a backdrop of the Colorado Rockies. New snow glistened in the distance as an evening sun reflected down on the white-bearded man laying his youthful lover to final rest. At dusk, Craig had completed his task and knelt on a small knoll where he could look down upon the bier, occasionally shaking his grizzled head as if in doubt of reality. Nightfall found him gearing up the pony, whereupon he slowly swung into the saddle and, packhorse in tow, rode off to the northwest and into gathering darkness without looking back. Bearing steadily northwest, he eased the big roan up the slopes of Mesa de Maya, his agile-footed packhorse clattering along behind. He held the lead rope loosely in his right hand on the downhill side. No sense in rolling both horses, gear, and himself if one should lose footing. Methodically, he worked his way upward, utilizing buffalo trails until suddenly he emerged on the almost perfectly flat summit. A herd of delicately-hued antelope gazed briefly at this unkempt creature approaching, then wheeled to rapidly race away. Craig paused and through dull eyes, impassively watched the fleet animals before a backdrop of the beautiful Spanish Peaks. Now that the terrain had leveled off, he dismounted and slowly led his blowing steeds steadily to the northwest. Ignoring the magnificent snow-girdled peaks that had once brought him to a halt with the exhilaration of short breath and pounding heart, he continued his methodical pace, only searching the ground ahead and to the sides. He knew that in time he would intersect the buffalo and Arapaho migratory trail. Although in his grief-dulled mind he knew that not all Indian tribes would necessarily be to the south already, he forged on, caring nothing for caution or peril. Near nightfall, the narrow trail wound gently downward from Mesa de Maya until Craig found himself in a broad saddle. An auburn moon rising into the smoky horizon glinted off a trickle of spring water and a small pool. Just beyond he could see the broad and well-used trail he sought. Unpacking the horses and making camp, he faced into a gusty and sharp wind that played little rippling fantasies on the horse hair before him. He stroked the swirling fur of the adopted Kiowa pony, speaking to his mount. "Kay -- lah, that’s what you are, Kay Lah...Wild Wind. You and I have a long way to go together, Kay Lah. We’re all each other has now so let’s be buddies." With an understanding nicker, Kay Lah responded by laying his head on Craig’s shoulder, cheek-to-cheek. With that, a new bond of affection formed and a small escape of imprisoned pain eased Craig’s distress.
Formats
Book Details
About the Book
Demoralized by twenty-six loveless years in matrimony and bitter retrospect on drudgeries of the past, Craig Burton makes a sudden and dramatic decision to alter his life. Forever mysteriously drawn to the vast wilderness west of the Mississippi River and impelled by a strange longing, he plunges recklessly westward to satisfy these inner urges. Mesmerized by the exploits of Lewis an Clark, Jedediah Smith, William H. Ashley, John C. Fremont and others, this resolute and head strong man leaves the complacency of Rexburg, Ohio to follow the Oregon and Mormon Trails far from his family. Continually ignoring sage advise, Craig staggers from one brutal encounter to another, miraculously escaping each time with the accumulating feeling that he is receiving aid from an unknown force. As he wanders and explores in his fur trapping pursuits, Craig soon realizes that many trails and localities are familiar from some where in a past life. Searching for answers, he eventually meets his ‘Mother of the Uintah’ and confirms that, yes, he had been in these places before. Meeting a wandering and poverty stricken tribe of Utes, Craig quickly develops a bond of mutual respect and feeling of brotherhood with his primitive friends. A relationship that later saves his life when he is besieged by a group of marauding Arapahoes. Later, when inexorably integrated into the tribal culture of the Kwa’da Kiowa, Craig yields to tender sexual temptations with a young Shoshone slave girl only to discover the cruel penalties for such temerity, Heart broken and finding an intense dislike for himself festering within, he forms a strange but mutually beneficial alliance with an equally irresponsible, young prairie wolf. An alliance whereby each learns some facts of life from the other. Shyly returning to civilization, Craig is quickly introduced to the prejudice for appearing more savage than contemporary. Violence seems to gravitate to him in one brutal episode after another. Weary of it all and feeling unworthy of re-entering society he heads back to the one place he knows there are friends and he will feel at home, Keedskadee on the Green River in Wyoming territory. But again, in his last and only remaining haven, tragedy strikes with the loss of his two remaining side kicks and devastating news from back home. Craig Burton is crushed to his knees in abject despair. Hopelessly captivated by the grandeur and vastness of the American West and horribly alone, it is the love of a strong and caring woman who ultimately heals Craig Burtons soul and salvages a place in the wilderness for them.
About the Author
Born on May 21, 1927 to Joseph Dexter McPherson and Eva Christine "Ochs" McPherson in Chewelah, Washington. Raised and educated in Camas, Washington twice married, father and stepfather to five daughters and two sons collectively, Mr. McPherson was employed twenty-six years as a forester for the Washington State Department of Natural Resources. Receiving acclaim for his ability in the writing of technical articles concerning forest and rangeland management, Mr. McPherson began writing short, human-interest stories for publication in senior’s newspapers, magazines and the Washington State Grange Newspaper. Since retirement he has completed two novels of the early American West which he had been working on for years, two Trails To Judith and Son of Uintah. Additional writings are in the formative stage with others nearing completion. An avid outdoors person since childhood, Mr. McPherson roams and explores extensively throughout the American West. Searching for authenticity and accuracy, he retraces each and every step to be taken by the characters in his writings. Visiting historical societies, museums and chatting with descendants of early settlers, "is time consuming and expensive but always a satisfying and fascinating experience", Mr. McPherson says. Such painstaking attention to the details of historical fact and geographical features leads the reader onward from scenario to scenario with compelling magnetism. Blending history and geography with "typical western novel", bravado creates interesting, educational and exciting reading.