This is an excerpt from a short story Iím working on. Pretty basic mountain man story. Will give the full story in time. Leave feedback. Thanks for reading.
He slowly peered through the early morning fog. Rays of sunlight beamed their way through creating a look as though heavenís gates were opened. A slight breeze rustled itís way through the ponderosa pines.
Several Crow Indians were murmuring to one another as they walked their ponies along the creek.
Although friendly in nature, Crows would just as well feed you as steal from you. They didnít hold anything against you. Shoot, they didnít hold much against any white man. Crows were simply Crows. And Rowan Creede didnít figure on anyone taking his belongings.
Slowly shifting his possibles bag, Rowan stood as silent as possible. The beating of his heart grew as the Crows made their way closer.
His coyote, Two Winds, crouched with his paws forward in wait, as though he were about to pounce on a rabbit. The hair on his back stood straight up, a low growl building until Rowan put his hand on him, reassuring the yote. Suddenly, as if on cue, the Crows stopped. One of them, dressed in a magnificent dress of sky blue and blood red, sniffed the air as though a wolf would hunting its prey.
A second Indian dropped from his red and white pony and examined a spot on the creek. The exact spot Rowan had set a trap the day before. The second Indian reached into the water and yanked out his trap and let out a yell. The rest of them began exclaiming in loud gestures.
Now Rowan knew he was in a real bad bind.
One of them began making his way directly away from the creek. Rowan slowly shrank down trying to make himself as small as possible in the shadows of the early dawn.
The Indian stopped. He began scanning the timber in a zigzag with his eyes.
Rowan closed his. One could draw the attention of a man well versed in the ways of the mountains by simply staring at him. He kept his eyes closed praying to almighty God that he wouldnít be found. After a minute he slowly peaked through the grass.
The Crow was staring directly at him and was easing an arrow out of his quiver to fit to his bow. Not 30 feet away.
In what felt like slow motion, Rowan raised his .50 Cal Hawkins, leveled it onto the indianís breast. He cocked the hammer back.
The hammer rang through the dawn as though someone had rang the liberty bell. All of the Indians stopped and turned.