Marlowe's Run-The Beginning



Summary: Marlowe leaves town

Date: January 30/31, 1884

Log TitleMarlowe's Run-The Beginning

LocationColorado Mountains

He'd left the Maison at a dead pack, no food..just his guns, the

clothes on his back, and what money was in his pocket. Despite Meriah's

voice calling to him, he dodged into the shadows and was soon making his way

towards a darkened farm.

The stalled horses nickered softly, their ears pricking forward as he slips in

through a loose section of boards and to a fine looking black stallion, who

nuzzled at him.

The 'breed laid his face against the horse's neck and wept hot, silent tears,

before saddling him, and wrapping burlap around the shod hooves before

leading it out the doors. Nor does he mount immediately, walking the stallion

slowly to the edge of the property, before vaulting into the saddle and

thumping the horse's side with moccasinned heels, headed south.

All through that night, the brooding Marlowe rode, despite the bitter cold,

the wind. Keeping off the main trails, he rode a faint path through the

mountains, not even pausing as the sun made it's tenuous way up in the

southeastern sky.

Not until it reached it's zenith, did the 'breed take a pause, stripping the

saddle and blanket from the wearied horse. Hobbling the great beast, and

staking him to a long picket rope, the 'breed made a dry camp, without a

fire or food and sat huddled in his heavy buffalo skin coat, unable to sleep

as the horse grazed.

The moon was up when he awoke. Exhaustion, a dangerous enemy in the

winter mountains, had taken it's toll, and he had fallen asleep, huddled under

the heavy coat. What had aroused him was the black's angry snorting and

whistling. The stallion's hooves pounded the ground as he reared and pawed

the ground, shaking his head at the underbrush.

The 'breed's gaze followed the horse's, the cold blue eye narrowing. Rising

with a hint of stiffness, he pats the disturbed animal on the neck, speaking

softly, calming the beast. Then, he turns to the underbrush, and speaks in

Cheyenne, 'Ho. Tsan-ska-yan. Come out my brother, and visit with us."

It was not a human form that slunk from the brush, rather it was a lean and

hungry looking gray wolf..a large lobo, his head held low and yellow eyes

fixed on Marlowe. The 'breed reaches out a hand and scratches the animal

behind the ears, to the great consternation of the horse, who pitches about

in a crowhop.

Marlowe holds the fierce head in both hands, looking into the yellow eyes,

speaking softly in the old tongue. 'It is good to see you, my Brother, who

has never deserted me. Now, I must seek your company and help once more,

as it has always been." The man touches foreheads with the wolf, and

another racking sob shook his frame. The old lobo pulls back to loll a long wet

tongue over Marlowe's cheek, cocking it's head to one side as though

listening. Unspoken words pass between man and beast, and the old wolf

turns, padding back into the brush.

Marlowe returns to the horse, and calms him again, giving the beast the

wolf's scent on his hands, 'This one, Nightwind, is a friend. Do not fear him,

for we shall travel long together."

The wolf returns shortly, a thin rabbit in his jaws and drops it near the man

and horse, sitting back on his haunches looking pleased and smug. Marlowe

thanks him gravely, and squats to skin out the rabbit, eating the warm flesh

raw as the wolf extends a nose towards the horse, sniffing.

The horse did not like it, not one bit, but after a time, he too extended his

nose and whuffed loudly at the wolf, who jumped back with a start, startling

the stallion as well.

The 'breed then saddles and puts a hackamore on Nightwind, mounting with a

leap. The unlikely trio heads south once more, dark shadows on a high, faint



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