Beneath a Dakota Cross by Stephen A. Bly

fate could be worse than that?” Yapper Jim shouted.
    â€œAsk those Alabama boys.” Brazos Fortune’s words silenced the crowd.
    â€œWe ought to vote,” Grass Edwards suggested.
    â€œThis ain’t a votin’ meetin’. Besides, we ain’t going to win if we fight the U.S. Army,” Ernie Sidwell cautioned. “I was with General Custer’s survey party when they came in here last year with a thousand men. They’ll all be back with a thousand more if we put up a fight. So pan out as much as you can and mark your claims well. Maybe by next spring, ever’thing will be settled.”
    â€œThey can’t just chase us out of our claims!” a deep voice shouted.
    With his Sharps across his shoulders, and his arms looped over it, Brazos Fortune replied, “I reckon they can shoot us, if they want to.”
    â€œNot without a fight!” Yapper Jim insisted.
    â€œYou aimin’ to take on the entire United States Army?” Grass Edwards chided.
    â€œIt won’t be the first time!”
    â€œYeah, but you lost that war, remember?”
    A blast from Sidwell’s ’73 silenced the crowd. “We’ve only got two weeks before they root us out. I don’t aim to waste my time standin’ on this stump. It ain’t rainin’, and it ain’t snowin’, and I saw a patch of blue up in the sky. I’ve got a claim to work. I aim to pull out enough color to tide me over ’til spring.”
    â€œYou reckon they’ll really let us back next spring?” Big River Frank pressed.
    Sidwell jumped off the stump. “Yep. The government will get them Indians settled down by then. Them Sioux ain’t goin’ to attack the entire U.S. Cavalry, that’s for certain!”
    Brazos Fortune, Big River Frank, and Grass Edwards made the rounds of visits with the other prospectors before cinching their saddles and pulling out for camp. They rode single file most of the way, with Brazos in the lead. The clouds broke up enough to melt the light snow, and the trail remained muddy and slick. Just past #14 Above Discovery the path widened. Brazos dropped back to ride alongside the other two.
    â€œDon’t trample on the ceanothus velutinus! ” Edwards called out.
    Brazos Fortune stared down at the dense, upright clusters of white flowers on the green-leafed shrub. “Are you talking about this buckthorn?”
    â€œIt ain’t buckthorn. It’s mountain balm. Them leaves is evergreen, and it will make mighty good feed for the horses this winter when we run out of moldy cordgrass,” Edwards lectured.
    Big River Frank cradled his rifle across his lap and searched the trail ahead of him as if expecting an ambush. “Brazos, did you ever wonder whether Grass is tellin’ us the truth with all his stories about weeds and plants?”
    â€œI reckon it don’t matter.” Brazos reached up and combed his horse’s mane with his glove-covered fingers. “It’s more entertainin’ than yakkin’ about the weather.”
    â€œAnd it ain’t nearly as frustratin’ as talkin’ about women,” Big River added.
    Grass Edwards yanked his hat low over his forehead. “Why did you bring up the subject of women?” he snapped.
    â€œBoy, he’s jumpier than a drover at the dance hall after all the girls is pledged,” Big River teased. “Except for Ol’ Man Fortune, we could all use a trip to Cheyenne City.”
    â€œCheyenne City?” Edwards quizzed. “Why did you mention Cheyenne?”
    â€œHe’s surely soundin’ like the littlest dog when there’s one bone short,” Big River laughed.
    â€œI reckon he’s pinin’ for his girlfriend,” Brazos added.
    â€œGirlfriend?” Big River leaned back, letting his left hand rest on the rump of his horse. “You mean that little señorita down at Mamma Gordita’s in