Swift Horse

by Cassie Edwards

  “I would hope that you would teach each other your own different kitchen secrets,” he said, winking at her.

  “We shall,” Marsha said, nodding. “Yes, we shall.”

  Edward James gave her another wink, then left.

  Marsha sighed and went to the window. She saw how night had come quickly with its moon and stars. She thought about where her brother was going—to have a tryst with his beloved.

  “Oh, how I wish it were me going to meet Swift Horse,” she whispered to herself, her heart doing a strange sort of flip-flop when she saw Swift Horse step up to the great outdoor fire and begin talking with two of his warriors.

  In the moonlight, and with his profile defined by the bright glow of the fire, he made her heart melt.

  Chapter 7

  It is, past escape,

  Herself, now: the dream is done

  And the shadow and she are one.

  —Robert Browning

  The hunt had only just begun a few days ago and already many Indians from other villages were at Marsha’s brother’s trading post, making trade. Even caravans of white traders, with their pack-horsemen to tend the animals, were there.

  Marsha had watched the white traders coming into the village and noticed that the packhorses were small, but Edward James had told her that they were capable of sustaining heavy loads and enduring great fatigue.

  Each pony carried three bundles on its back, and as the loads were unpacked Marsha saw that they contained a wide variety of goods. There were blankets to be used in winter and cloth for clothing, beads and vermilion for decoration.

  In return, the Creek brought dressed deerskins to trade, as well as venison meat. Some had freshly picked herbs that the white settlers coveted or wild honey and beeswax gathered from the forest. There were also medicinal roots and hickory nut oil. Many of the women brought beautifully woven baskets and pottery to the trading post.

  Since so many had arrived at Swift Horse’s village to trade, Marsha had no choice but to help her brother in the store. She had learned quickly enough to give her brother the assistance he needed at a time when, if he didn’t have help, he would lose much money.

  She hurried through the motions of what was required of her to get her through this day, wishing to be back in the privacy of their home, away from those who were not of this village.

  She couldn’t feel comfortable in the crowded store. Those who had killed her parents could be among the traders, pretending to be friendly, whereas in truth, they would as soon kill her brother and her as look at them.

  She had hoped that Swift Horse would come today for trade, for she had thought he would be among his warriors on the hunt. But her brother had said that others were hunting, while he remained in the village to be sure no one came into their fold who were not supposed to be there. She hadn’t seen him at all, but knew that he must be keeping a close watch from his cabin as people came and went to trade.

  She tried to focus her thoughts on what she was supposed to be doing now, being careful that she was right in what she gave those who came with their beautiful pelts for trade.

  Her back aching, her head pounding from the constant work and attention to what needed to be done, Marsha stepped back from the counter and stretched her arms overhead, then kneaded the small of her back as she slowly looked around her. She had been too busy earlier to look carefully at who was there, except for those she had tended to at the counter. But now she saw just how many diverse people there were and was amazed at how her brother seemed to know so many of them as he went from one to the other, talking business.

  Suddenly her throat constricted when she saw the renegade among those who stood across the room from her brother, amidst the crowd of Indians, yet not actually talking with any of them. Instead, he was staring at her with a sort of loathing that made chills ride her spine.

  “Lord, it is him,” Marsha whispered to herself, not so surprised when this discovery made her tremble. How could she ever forget how he had so heartlessly murdered her parents, and how he had seemed to single her out for a moment before he rode off, soon lost amidst dust that was created by his and his friends’ horses?

  Ignoring those who were standing in line waiting for her to assist them, she searched for her brother. When she found him, she saw that he was busy talking with several Creek warriors now, making trade, but she had no choice but to interrupt him.

  He had to know. He had to stop the renegade. He must tie him up and then take him to the fort, for arresting.

  She rushed from behind the counter and went to her brother. “Edward,” she said, trying to get his attention. “Edward James, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve something to tell you. It’s . . . it’s . . .”

  He turned to her with a glower that was new to her, but she understood why. He might lose money because of her interference. But she had to tell him.

  “Edward James, the one-eyed man—”

  “Sis,” he said, taking her gently by the arm and ushering her a few inches away from those who still stood awaiting his decision about what their pelts were worth.

  “I’m in the middle of something,” Edward James said. “Give me a chance to finish and then—”

  “Edward James!” Marsha said, truly stunned by his being this inattentive to her, especially when he had surely heard her start to say something about the one-eyed man.

  She gave him a stare of wonder, then jerked herself free and ran from the cabin, sobbing.

  When she was outside, with the noise of the trading post behind her, she stopped and wiped at her eyes, wondering what she was to do.

  He had surely recognized her. Would he come for her and finish what he had not been able to do on the day of the ambush?

  “Swift Horse!” she whispered to herself, looking quickly toward his cabin. Her heart warmed at the sight of him as he stood at his door. “Yes, I shall seek his help,” she whispered to herself, and broke into a run toward him.

  Swift Horse was suddenly aware of Marsha coming toward him, a frantic sort of look in her eyes, and could only conclude that her brother must be having some trouble inside his store.

  He hurried toward her and met her halfway to see what was troubling her. When she stopped before him, she could hardly catch her breath, her eyes wild as she gazed up at him.

  “What has happened?” he asked, taking her gently by her shoulders. “You are upset. Why? Is it something that happened at your brother’s store?”

  Again she breathed hard, sucked in deep gulps of air, then was finally able to talk. “No, it is not what has happened there—” she rushed out, her eyes pleading into his. “Swift Horse, you’ve got to help me. The man who murdered my parents is at my brother’s store. The one-eyed man. He’s there! He must be taken into custody. He must be made to pay for what he did!”

  When Swift Horse was aware of her distress and heard her describe someone who was one-eyed, he could only conclude that she had mistaken his friend, for he had seen One Eye go into the store only a short while ago, a stack of pelts in his arms for trade.

  “Do not be in such distress, for the man you saw is my friend, whose name is One Eye,” Swift Horse said softly. “I saw him arrive a short while ago. He is there to make trade with your brother.”

  “You are mistaken,” Marsha said, stunned that he was taking this news this easily when he had been told by her brother how their parents had died on their way from Georgia to his village. “The man in there is the one who killed my parents. I have no doubt that it is he.”

  “Did you see more than one one-eyed man in the store?” Swift Horse asked gently.

  “No,” Marsha said, almost knowing what his next words would be, and disappointed that he was not taking her seriously.

  “Then the one-eyed man is definitely my friend, for I saw him go there,” Swift Horse reiterated, lowering his hands from her shoulders.

  “Then it is your friend who I saw murder my parents, because I shall never forget him! Never!” Marsha cri
ed.

  Again taking her gently by the shoulders, Swift Horse leaned closer down into her face. “Marsha, I know my friend well,” he said thickly. “We have been friends since we were young braves learning the ways of warriors. He is not a murderer. He is a man of heart and a warrior praised for his bravery. I was with him when he was injured by a bear he downed to save me. That is why his one eye is missing. He is admired by all for his prowess, kindness, and intelligence.”

  Marsha could not be dissuaded. She reached up and removed his hands from her arms and started slowly backing away from him. “I know what I know,” she said tightly. “I know that he was among those who killed not only my parents, but several of the soldiers who were escorting us from Georgia to Kentucky. Surely there can’t be two men with the same empty socket and same livid white scar that runs down from where the eye had once been.”

  Swift Horse saw her determination. He had to prove her wrong. He took her gently by an elbow and began ushering her back toward the trading post. “I will take you and introduce you to One Eye,” he said, stunned when she yanked herself away from him and glared at him, then ran from him.

  Marsha was devastated that Swift Horse wouldn’t believe her. There she was, in mortal danger, with the very man who killed her parents and who had looked at her with such hate, at the store, and still Swift Horse wouldn’t believe her.

  She hurried back toward the store, alone. Her brother had been too involved in trading earlier to listen to her, and had actually told her not to interfere. But now that no longer mattered. He had to listen to her. She had to make him understand that the man he hated with every fiber of his being was there—so close to them both that he could murder them.

  Pushing her way through the crowd, very aware that people were lined up from the door to the counter where she should be helping her brother, Marsha ignored them and went to her brother and took him by an arm and spoke his name.

  When he turned and glared at her again, obviously still wanting her to stop interfering, she grabbed him by an arm and half dragged him away from those with whom he was talking trade. She took him to a far corner, then turned him to face her.

  “You must listen to me, Edward James,” she said, placing her fists on her hips. “And look.”

  She nodded toward the one-eyed man who was still there but this time talking with others, seemingly for the moment forgetting about her. “There he is, Edward James,” she said, her voice trembling as she pointed at him. “Do you see him now? He’s the one I described to you. He’s the one, Edward James. He killed our parents.”

  Edward scanned the crowd, then stopped when he saw who she was referring to.

  He turned to her, a renewed irritated look in his eyes. “You are mistaken,” he said. “This man is Swift Horse’s best friend, a man who is chief of his Wolf Clan. I have talked often with One Eye. We have also smoked from the same pipe, as friends. One Eye is a rich Creek chief. Why would he have a need to ambush and kill people?”

  Marsha stepped closer and spoke into her brother’s face. “An evil man needs no true reason to kill,” she said, her eyes dancing angrily into his. “It is not so much for money. It is for the sheer pleasure—the excitement of the kill.”

  “Sis, if you can’t do anything but stir up trouble, I’d rather you stay in the living quarters from now on,” Edward James said. He pointed toward the door that led there. “Go now. Forget your foolish notion of who you think this man is.”

  Swift Horse came into the cabin and went to Marsha and Edward James.

  “I apologize for my sister,” Edward James said, seeing by Swift Horse’s demeanor that he knew of Marsha’s accusations. “Marsha is mistaken. Marsha, tell him that you’re mistaken,” Edward James said, turning pleading eyes to her.

  Finding this so unbelievable, that both her brother and Swift Horse could be so blind and unreasonable, Marsha gave them each an angry stare, then spun around and stamped away. Just as she reached the door that led into the living quarters, she took a look over her shoulder.

  Her knees weakened and she felt as though she might vomit when she found One Eye glaring at her with the same contemptuous look that he had given her on the day of the massacre.

  Breathless, almost fainting, she hurried into the living quarters and slammed the door and leaned against it. She felt trapped. She must go for help. Someone had to believe her. One Eye must be taken into custody, or she was a woman staring death in the face. And so was her precious brother.

  She grabbed a cloak, swung it around her shoulders and tied it, then fled through the back door. She mounted her white mare, White Cloud, and rode away through the forest toward Fort Hill. Surely those in authority there would believe her.

  Oh, Lord, she thought to herself. They must believe her, or she didn’t have that much longer on this earth. She knew that One Eye would kill her.

  She thought about Swift Horse. How could he be this deceived by such a man as One Eye?

  Chapter 8

  The Devil had he fidelity,

  Would be the finest friend—

  Because he has ability,

  But Devils cannot mend.

  —Emily Dickinson

  Determined to get One Eye behind bars, Marsha rode hard on her horse. Her golden hair was flying in the wind behind her, and the skirt of her dress had blown up, fluttering now past her knees. The coolness of the autumn day’s breeze caused her cheeks to burn as she continued on her way.

  She snapped the reins against the rump of her steed, sending her white mare into an even harder gallop. “Giddyup, White Cloud!” she shouted. “We can’t let the man go into hiding again! The nerve of him! How could he mingle with everyone as though he is innocent of all wrongdoing?”

  She smiled almost victoriously when she thought of how he had behaved when he first caught her looking at him across the room at the store. A keen knowing, intermingled with fear, flashed in his eyes. At that moment he knew that he had been caught, yet...

  “Yet then he just glared at me,” she cried. “He didn’t flee.”

  She now knew why. He felt confident enough in depending on both Swift Horse and her brother to speak in his behalf.

  Oddly enough, the very man who had taken her brother’s parents away was a friend of her brother’s, who surely traded at the store many times, surely even with blood having been fresh on his hands only moments before he arrived.

  “You’ll pay,” she sobbed. “Damn you, you one-eyed beast, I will make you pay if no one else will!”

  She rode free of the forest and led her steed across a flat stretch of land. She knew that the soldiers at Fort Hill worked in unison with all of the surrounding villages of Indians.

  The fort kept the Indians “in line,” even though they knew Swift Horse to be a man of peace. But again, there were those Indians who weren’t peace-loving, who needed to be watched. If a skirmish broke out between Indians and the white people, she had to believe that the Indians would be the victors, for there were far more of them in this area than settlers or soldiers.

  However, the Indians were surely smart enough to know that although there were only a few soldiers at Fort Hill now, many more soldiers could arrive from other forts if summoned. Together they could stop an Indian rebellion in no time flat.

  She hoped that everyone continued to live together in peace, and her brother was there to help it along, for he was a friend to everyone, both white and red-skinned.

  “Maybe that’s why he won’t allow himself to believe what I told him,” she whispered to herself.

  Riding onward, Marsha was aware of something in the air that made her insides tighten.

  She smelled smoke. The wind seemed to be carrying it from the direction of the fort. Her blood chilled at the thought of Indians having gone there, and set it afire. Had some of them decided to try to run the soldiers off land that had at one time belonged solely to the red man?

  If so, why now? What would prompt it?

  It was obvious that the hunt
was good this season. She had seen the proof of this at her brother’s trading post. Perhaps some had not been as lucky, and decided to take it out on those who lived at the fort.

  Marsha traveled onward, and soon found herself meeting clouds and bursts of smoke. She saw animals running scared in the opposite direction—deer racing past her, their eyes wild with fear, as well as tiny forest animals.

  She knew that she should stop and turn back, but if the fort had been attacked and those who survived needed help, perhaps she could assist in some small way until more help came.

  But she soon found herself riding into a thicker, billowing smoke that caused her eyes to burn and her throat to sting. She knew that she had no choice now but to turn back. The smoke attested to a big fire up ahead. She had to make a fast retreat or meet it head-on and then she wouldn’t have a chance of escaping it.

  Just as she drew a tight rein to stop and wheel her steed around to go back in the direction she had just come, White Cloud whinnied and bucked, but Marsha managed to hold on and wasn’t thrown.

  “White Cloud, come on!” she cried, sinking her heels into the mare’s flanks, urging it onward. “Please get me out of here!”

  She soon discovered, after riding only a few feet, that the fire had not only been ahead of her. She saw it now in a huge, wide circle all around her, advancing on her, the smoke now so thick she felt as though her throat was on fire.

  “Lord!” she cried, only now recalling how the Creek had talked during the hunt council about how some were going to use fire for their hunt today; how it was used to frighten deer so much they went insane with the need to flee, only then to find themselves at the mercy of the Creek hunters.

  “Hunters!” she whispered, a cold dread washing through her to think that she might be amidst a firing range if the hunters were standing just beyond the flames, waiting to shoot at anything that moved, thinking it was deer.

  Thus far, she had seen only a few, but she knew that the Creek knew this land and would understand how many deer to expect to flee the fire.