Shelter of the White Raven

All he wanted to do was to get home and have hot coffee with Hank and Martha and let them know that they could depend on him. Four souls salvaged by Mandy: Martha, Hank, Mahandi, and Brent. This was Mahandi’s family also. He had left the Blackfeet Reservation when his father had died, carrying on a tradition of protecting an area of land that his people had once held. Mahandi was fifty five, a few years older than Hank and Martha, but his stamina had not diminished when it came to taking care of the livestock or helping out any way he could during the summer. He took care of the horses, and provided horse-back riding lessons during the summer. This was his true calling. He was a Native American who had made his home with them; he was very much a member of their salvaged family and had certainly proven his loyalty. The siren and the flashing light warned the driver to stop. Brent had already noticed the Texas plates and wondered “what the heck is a Texas vehicle was doing here on the wrong side of the ‘road closed’ sign?” Probably it was a stolen vehicle or a runaway from the Wyoming juvenal detention center. As he got closer, he could see that the driver was leaning forward in the seat, clutching the steering wheel, but showed no sign of stopping. They were now approaching the last curve in the road before the embankment that he and Hank had put up at Mandy’s insistence as a safety measure, before the steep drop off of the driveway. It was doubtful that the driver had his seat belt on, the way that he was leaning forward the only thing that Brent could do was to sit back and watch the inevitable crash. By the time Brent had distanced himself from the van, he could see that it was also slowing down, but when the van still hit the embankment; the driver was thrown into the windshield. As soon as the van crashed, Brent was out the door. Slipping and sliding as he made his way toward the van. All he could see was the top of a baseball cap draped ever the steering wheel. The rear of the van had swung parallel to the embankment so that the passenger side was facing Brent. He had to get this little fool out of the van before it exploded. When a bullet whizzed by his ear, he thought it was an explosion, but the second time, he knew that he had become the target. With his academy training kicking in, he dropped to the ground and rolled into a shallow roadside ditch. Crouching as close to the ground as he could get, he waited for the next shot. He was totally unprepared for the flying weapon that hit his forehead when he lifted his head. Coming up out of the ditch, he grabbed the door of the van with one hand and an arm with the other. Hauling the villain out of the van was no problem because he weighed no more than one hundred pounds. “What the heck! You’re just a kid, why are you shooting at me? I was trying to save your scrawny ass!” Brent held his villain up by the back of his grungy shirt, as he kicked and clawed, and yelled obscenities unfit for a youngster’s mouth. “You son of bitch! Get your slimy hands off me before I blow your perverted brains out.” As he kicked and screamed, his cap fell off and greasy braids fell across his collar and down the back of his neck and onto a dirty face that was covered in smears of black grease. He suddenly stopped kicking and stared at Brent as if he had seen a ghost. When Brent let go of his collar, he fell back, now totally speechless with deep violet eyes examining Brent as if he were an alien. Grabbing the boy’s sleeve to pull him back, he stared back into violet-blue eyes that gleamed with anger and fear. Hell, the little bastard could have killed him! “Hold on sport, you’re going in the wrong direction. There is nothing out there but a steep drop and ice and snow”. Brent’s warm brown eyes smiled down at the boy as he floundered futilely to dislodge the big hand that held him captive. “But on the other hand, we can probably find a cup of hot cocoa in the house. You’ve got to be freezing.” His voice was deep and warm as he studied the boy before him. This could have been himself many years ago. He was sure the kid was running away from some bad situation. What Brent saw in the boy’s eyes, brought back haunting memories of his own rejection. No one should have to be on the run, especially kids. Quickly disengaging herself from the hug, Cassi stood there gazing up at Brent in shock, trying to control her shaking body. This was not Owen at all! She almost smiled, when she discovered the success of her disguise. With her chest wrapped and her baggy clothes, along with her greasy face and braids...Wow! finally! She had gotten it right! Just as she arrived to the point of no longer having to be grungy, she had achieved success. She turned a serious face to Brent, and asked, “Can you please tell me where Saunder’s Cottage is?” Brent turned to face the valley that was his. With pride in his voice, he pointed to the valley with the cabins on the far side of a huge Victorian house that seemed to cast a warm radiance across the valley. “This is Saunder’s Cottage.” Cassi turned to see the beautiful panorama of the valley below. There was a large barn and corral on the far side that made it look like one of those dude ranches she had read about.