This is an excerpt from a short story I’m 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 heaven’s gates were opened. A slight breeze rustled it’s 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 didn’t hold anything against you. Shoot, they didn’t hold much against any white man. Crows were simply Crows. And Rowan Creede didn’t 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 wouldn’t 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 indian’s 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.

I like it so far.
If you're open to some unsolicited constructive criticism there is only one small point that I see... In the first paragraph, it seems to indicate that the Crow indians are generally non-violent towards whites, although inclined to stealing. Later, as the scene builds to a climax it seems to insinuate that the Crow's are indeed inclined towards violence, going so far as to nock an arrow to shoot Rowan.

It may be only me, but it seems like the paragraph's following "Now Rowan knew..." directly contradict what was said earlier about the nature of the Crow indians. Other than that, it reads quite well and I do like the pacing. Any chance you'll be adding to this narrative?

Good start. Nice build-up of tension. Slydogx comments are spot on. I wondered the same thing.

Watch out for unintended word repetition. The word "through" is repeated several times in the first paragraph.

Jim

Spellchecker. 50 cal. Hawken

I am a sucker for mountain man trapper tales.
I hope to read the whole story one day.

Any more progress on this Brennan? I'd sure like to read the continuation.

Jack

Well, he did have a coyote with him...maybe that's what the arrow was for.?