Darrel Sparkman - After the Fall

She went to check on her pack animals. They carried a valuable cargo—one she wasn’t supposed to be bringing back to Big Springs. Her thought was to get in, and out of the camp without anyone paying attention. People come and go all the time. Now, she was worried. Those men had scared her more than she wanted to admit. What worried her more was how easily they’d given up. Maybe they figured to have the cargo anyway?

As she finished the chores, she stood, hands on hips, gazing after Trent.

Why the library ?

John Trent was naturally curious—always had been. He liked to know things, especially information about the country he was in. It was no surprise his thoughts wandered to the origins of the pathways in the Ozark Mountains.

Before the Appalachian Mountains were heaved upward in the Paleozoic ages, the Ozark Mountains were there. Before the Rocky Mountains were home to the dinosaurs in the Laramide years, the Ozarks were there. The soft contours and rolling forested slopes give way to rugged highlands that have been a mystery since man had time to wonder.

Millions of years ago, sand deposited on beaches of ancient seas became sandstone that lay buried under layers of limestone, left by the receding water. As the world changed and evolved, eons of ice, rain, and wind wore away portions of the soft sandstone, leaving a valley of elephant-sized rocks, and deep, cool canyons with craggy overhangs of rock and trees.

At the headwaters of Eleven Point Creek is a large spring that comes bubbling out of a little cave about halfway up a medium sized mountain. Cascading through layers of limestone rock, dropping into sandstone pools, then escaping back onto limestone ledges again, the stream finally comes to rest at the foot of the mountain, forming a pool of clear, cold water about a hundred feet across.

Three sides of the pool sported a dense growth of forest fern and arrow weed. Honeysuckle leaned its branches over into the water, while honeybees worked the sickly sweet blossoms for pollen.

The fourth side of the pool is a gravel bar, where the water finally escapes its rock-lined boundaries and tumbles onward down the brush choked valley to join with other tributaries to become a medium sized stream.

It was the second day that he’d been waiting for the pack train, and the third day out of base camp. He’d scouted ahead of them, snooping through some of the obvious places an ambush might be staged. He didn’t really think they would strike this early, but you never knew. They weren’t stupid, and were completely unpredictable. He thought an attack would come a few days from now, when the soldiers would be tired and irritable. Their fatigue would cause them to cut corners to save time, and the soldiers would have trouble staying awake at night while they guarded the camp. If it were to happen, that’s when they would strike.

Sitting with his back to a boulder the size of a house, he was cooking a noonday squirrel over a hat-full of fire when the pack train ambled toward the clearing. He’d been hearing them for the last ten minutes, and marveled that they marched up a rocky wash, advertising their existence to all who wanted to hear. They could as easily have been traveling on the soft earth next to it. He reminded himself to ask Gunny about it. The noncom should know better.

He could see the lieutenant leading his men up the wash, with Katie and her pack animals bringing up the rear. As he watched, she raised her hand in a half-salute.

Slowly the party of pack animals and soldiers moved into the clearing. The lieutenant came straight toward Trent’s small fire. Looking past him, he could see the men were dead on their feet. Leave it to the Ozark mountain terrain to take the starch out of a man.

Katie, with the help of a couple of soldiers, hazed her animals toward a grassy clearing nearby. Gunny was missing.

Lieutenant Spencer stood looking at him a moment. Unconcerned, he turned the squirrel over the fire, browning it as it turned. The juices dripped into the fire, making a sizzling sound that brought rumbles of hunger from the watching soldier.

“We’re late.” Lieutenant Spencer did not sound as authoritative as he had three days ago.

“Yes, you are.” Standing up, he glanced at the squad of soldiers. None had taken off their packs. They were waiting for orders, a plus for discipline but not much for common sense.

“Lieutenant, if you’ll take some advice, I think you should camp here until tomorrow. Your men look done in. You could use the opportunity to check them out on camp procedures, defensive positions, that kind of thing.”

Lieutenant Spencer sighed. “I think you’re right, Trent.” He turned and made a hand sign to the men. With relieved groans and grumbles, the squad dropped their packs, and went about their tasks with efficient movements and purpose.

Catching Katie’s attention, as she finished hobbling her horses, he motioned her over to his fire. The lieutenant sat on a rock nearby. “Where’s the gunny, Lieutenant?”

“We saw some smoke yesterday evening. I sent the gunnery sergeant to investigate. He told me he would pull a cold camp, and catch up with us this morning.” He gazed back down the trail. “He’s overdue.” Lieutenant Spencer looked at him. “Why?”

“I just wondered. You know, Spencer, you shouldn’t travel in creek beds. I know it’s easier sometimes, but sound travels a long way in these canyons. I could hear you coming for nearly a mile.”

As Katie came up to the fire, he pulled a wooden plate from his pack, cut the squirrel in half and shared with her. Digging into the ashes at the side of the fire, he produced two brown trout wrapped in leaves that were baking in the coals. Putting one on the plate, he passed the food wordlessly over to her.

“If you’re trying to get on my good side, you’ve made a good start.” Her strong white teeth were already tearing the meat apart, eating with her fingers.

The lieutenant looked at her portion, then at Trent’s, and got up to leave. He could take a hint.

He moved about his part of the camp, putting out the fire, cleaning utensils, and stowing away his gear. Katie was unashamedly licking her fingers, as she used them to clean the last of the grease from the wooden plate. Her eyes hadn’t left him since she came to the camp, a fact that made him more apprehensive by the minute. “Why?” He finally asked.

She didn’t act very surprised. “What?”

“Why are you watching me all the time?”

Katie let her gaze wander over him a moment—long enough to make him uncomfortable. “I like to watch you. You don’t waste any movement. You’re sure-handed, and quiet. I like that.” She grinned as she held the wooden plate out to him. “You’re also going to make some lucky woman one hell of a good cook.”

He smiled as he bent to take the plate. “I’m just used to doing for myself.” He looked at her pointedly. “That’s something you should consider. I’ve been doing for myself a long time. I’m set in my ways. Likely, some younger man might be better for you. After all, I am probably twice your age.”

“You trying to get rid of me?”

His smile was slow in coming. “Now, that would be plain crazy on my part. I just want to lay it out so there are no misunderstandings.” His face slowly colored up under her frank scrutiny.

“You are worried, aren’t you?” She laughed, then held her hand over her mouth to suppress a grin. “Are you afraid I’m going to get,” she searched for the right word, “amorous?”

“You do that here, you’ll get spanked.” He tried to be serious, but it was a losing battle.

“See,” she said with dancing eyes. “That’s what I like about you older men. You have more imagination.”