Cheyenne

Trail dust filled the air. It hadn’t rained in a month. Even the sun beat down on the dry gully, as if it could draw even a drop of water out of it. It was a hungry soul this year. Yet, the rider on the old paint kept his slow pace. He had what he needed to survive, water. Even the horse, seemingly unaware of the suns thirst for water, carried his rider onward.

Mysteries abound in montana. But this one, well, it seemed to have a purpose. The mountains loomed all around. Beauty, that the eye could barely hold. The sun, two hours high, crested the ridges showing the snow caps in all thier splendor. The reason the man was here. He was drawn to this place, the reason only with in him. Yet, he also had a purpose. His was a mission that would not be denied. It was one he had to see through to the end.

The old town, aged through many a dry summer, yet it continued. It grew slowly, as if it had to replace one life with another, before one could be added. Yet, it grew. Old Doc Brown, had been here the longest of any. He had seen the birth of nearly all the present population. He was nearing eighty two. Old for this life. Only city dwellers lived this long, not those on the frontier. But, he was as crusty as they come. He survived many thing, including a few Indian raids. His scalp was intact at least. He treated all the ailments in town, including old Mrs. Miller and her bouts with the vapors.

Doc was on the trail out to see Mrs. Miller when he spotted a stranger riding in the distance. The man was riding a paint. Doc was curious when the man suddenly stopped near some trees, but as he watched, he realized they had company and Doc jumped off his horse as fast as his age would allow and led his mare to a safe hiding place to watch. A small party of Crow Indians rode up. The stranger held up his hand and appeared to say something to them. They returned the gesture, which was unusual to say the least. They were known for scalping first and asking questions later.

Doc was even more amazed when all mounted up and rode off. The man continued on his was, safe and sound. Since he did not want to try his luck, Doc saddled up and headed to the Miller place.

The stranger knew someone else was watching him, but they seemed no threat. Running Fire had been friendly enough. He remembered the stranger from a few years ago. They had a peaceful agreement between them. The man had even bought some land from them, with the agreement they could come and go when ever they wanted and could continue to hunt there as well.