Savage Horizons

by Rosanne Bittner

  “Michi… gan,” Blue Hawk repeated. He turned to Tom, frowning. “Chippewa?”

  Sax reached over and grasped his arm. “It’s all right,” he told the boy in Cheyenne, hoping he understood. Then he went on in English. “No harm, as long as you’re with me.” He pointed south. “Fort Dearborn. That’s where we’re going. It’s on a river that flows into Lake Michigan.”

  Blue Hawk frowned, looking back to the west. How far were they now from his homeland? His chest hurt, and unwanted tears filled his eyes.

  “Ah, yes, son, you’ll be missing your own people, I know,” Sax told him, hoping the boy understood by the inflection of his voice that he sympathized with the child’s fears. “But you’ve got a friend in me, Blue Hawk, and it’s sure you’ll be like a son to me yet.” He squeezed the boy’s arm. “Na-eha,” he said softly.

  Blue Hawk looked at him then, studying the man’s kind brown eyes. This man called Tom Sax had called him son in Cheyenne. Did he want him to be his son? Perhaps one day he could consider the man his father, but not yet. He missed Black Antelope and his people too much. But the fact remained that part of his blood was white. He suddenly realized he was not totally foreign to the kind of man he was with now. Part of him was their kind, but he had never before considered himself anything but Indian, nor had he even wanted to consider himself any other way. He still did not, but Tom Sax was a good man. He would trust him and go with him wherever this man called home. He had no other choice now. Great changes had come into his life. He stared out at the great lake again. Surely this was the most wondrous thing the Great Spirit had ever created, and good spirits dwelled in this land.

  Blue Hawk rode close to Tom and stared in wonder at all the white people in the strange settlement that was surrounded by a pointed wooden wall. Great log buildings sat inside its walls, and outside Blue Hawk had seen smaller log structures, near which more white people stood. Were they these peoples’ homes, like the mud and thatch huts of the Indians? He stared at the pointed wooden wall that surrounded the bigger buildings as they rode inside the structure. He wondered if the wall was to keep out enemies, or some frightfully powerful god that ruled the great lake. Inside the structure he saw strange, boxlike contraptions on round pieces of wood that rolled, a fine instrument for carrying things and much bigger then a travois. Outside the wall he had seen much land with the earth dug into and things growing from it in rows. He recognized some of the plants as corn. So the white man also ate corn. He wondered if they had learned about the food from other Indians.

  He gawked at two white women who were visiting together. Never in his life had he seen such women, especially not like the one with the golden hair. Both wore dresses that hung to the ground and were made of brightly colored cloth. The two women looked up at him and pointed, one looking at him in contempt, the other with pity in her eyes. Blue Hawk’s head turned as he passed them, and one of them held up her chin and walked away, as though somehow insulted by his stare.

  The boy continued staring at the pale-skinned people everywhere. Blue Hawk wondered if this was the place where all the white people gathered. Was this all there was? Some of them stared at him, and he sat proudly on his horse, determined they all understand that, in spite of his blue eyes, he was Indian, and in spite of his young age, he was not afraid. He spotted a few Indians, but they were not Chippewa. They eyed him as warily as he eyed them, for he was an Indian from the far west, one with whom they were not familiar. In a sense he knew that made him special, something from a land far away that some of these people had never seen.

  They rode to a large building where piles of beaver skins were stacked just outside the door, protected by an overhanging roof. Tom and Bo dismounted, and Tom motioned for Blue Hawk to do the same. They walked inside the building, where three old men sat around a potbelly stove, empty because of the warm weather. All three stopped talking and stared at Blue Hawk, as did the four other men inside the building. They were all dressed in buckskins like Tom and Bo, garb similar to Blue Hawk’s own Indian dress. Blue Hawk gawked at the array of food and supplies inside the building, wondering if all white men were wealthy. He wanted to touch things, but was afraid to and just stayed close to Tom Sax.

  Most of the men greeted Tom warmly, giving Blue Hawk curious glances and wondering at the dark bruise still evident on the side of his face. Their eyes were friendly, except those of one man who looked Blue Hawk over with a note of disgust, then spit out something dark brown. The ugly wad landed on Blue Hawk’s moccasin, and the boy’s eyes immediately narrowed, for he knew he had been insulted. He clenched his fists, but Tom Sax put a hand on his shoulder, warning him to stay calm.

  “Wipe it off, Wiggins,” Sax told the man who had spit. Other men in the store backed away.

  “I don’t wipe the moccasins of no blue-eyed Indian who comes in here dressed like Sioux. What the hell are you doin’ bringin’ home the litter from some whorin’ squaw? Or are you the one she whored with? He your bastard, Sax?”

  Sax stepped closer to the man, and Blue Hawk could see that the one called Wiggins was more than a little afraid of Tom Sax.

  “I ought to kill you for that insult, Wiggins,” Sax hissed. “It’s a disgrace to my Cora. The only reason I don’t have it out with you is that I don’t want to get the boy upset.” He turned to the others. “This is all new to the boy, and he’s scared and alone. Bo and I found him out in the wilds, nearly dead from a bad wound to his head.” He put a hand on Blue Hawk’s shoulder. “He’s a brave one. This boy killed two grown Chippewa warriors, one with an arrow, and the other with a tomahawk.”

  The men stared more intently at Blue Hawk, whispering among themselves, some in astonishment, others in admiration. Blue Hawk sensed Tom Sax had said something good about him, and he straightened more, holding up his chin proudly.

  “I nursed this boy back to health,” Sax continued. “I’m taking him to Cora.” He turned back to Wiggins. “You got any objections, Wiggins?”

  Kyle Wiggins’ eyes shifted from the boy to Sax. “Maybe the little bastard killed two grown men, but they were Chippewa—our friends. He’s Dakota. Dakota fight on the side of the British.”

  “What does a child like this know about our arguments with the damn British!” Sax spit out the words in an angry voice. “Where he comes from the Sioux and Chippewa are always at each other. That’s all he knows. It’s something he grew up with. He doesn’t understand anything about our fight with the British. Don’t tell me you’re afraid of one little boy, Wiggins.”

  Kyle Wiggins clenched his fists. “He’ll make trouble. Mark my words.”

  “That will be my problem. At the moment you’re the troublemaker, Wiggins, and I’d advise you to wipe that spittle off the boy’s moccasin, or I’ll rub your face in it.”

  Wiggins’ eyes darted about the room. He didn’t like backing down in front of the others, but he didn’t like the thought of tangling with Tom Sax either. The hotheaded Irishman had a reputation with fists and knives. “Just to keep the peace,” he finally grumbled. He took out a worn handkerchief from his pocket and bent down, wiping the tobacco wad from Blue Hawk’s moccasin. “You’re crazy, Sax,” he muttered, “takin’ a wild half-breed home to your wife and daughter. God only knows what he’ll do to them. They say a desire for women comes early to—”

  He didn’t finish the statement. Sax’s fist landed squarely on Wiggins’ nose, jolting the man backward and sending him sprawling into a pile of flour sacks. His body slid down and a sack broke over his head, mixing flour with blood and turning him into a cloud of white. Blue Hawk could not suppress a laugh then, and Sax grinned.

  “You know better than to insult the family of an Irishman, Wiggins.” Sax put a hand on Blue Hawk’s shoulder again and turned to the others. “This is Blue Hawk. He says he’s part Sioux—Dakota—and part Cheyenne. That’s all I can figure for now, except it’s obvious he’s also got white blood, so I’m not quite sure what’s mixed with what. But I’m taking him home with m
e and we’ll make a civilized boy out of him—me, Cora and Sarah. He’ll be a Sax, and I want him to have the same respect he’d have if he was my own blood. Do all of you understand?”

  “Sure, Tom,” the man behind the counter replied for them all. “Feelings are running kind of high, what with the Indians split up and fighting on different sides, that’s all.”

  “You think I don’t know that? It isn’t just our war, Hugh. Looks like in the interior country there’s a lot of warring going on among the tribes. We found Blue Hawk in a burnedout Cheyenne village where more than a hundred had been slaughtered. I think it’s more than the Chippewa helping us and the Dakota helping the British. I think it was a vengeance war between the two tribes. At any rate, Bo and I won’t be here long. We’ll be heading out again in about six weeks, and I’m counting on you men to be kind to the boy and watch out for him, just like you do my Cora and Sarah.” He looked back at a coughing Wiggins. “All of you but Wiggins.”

  Wiggins got to his feet, shaking flour from his hair. He glared at Sax a moment, then the boy. “You’re a fool, Sax,” he growled. He stalked out, and Tom turned to the others.

  “He goes near my Cora when I’m not around, I want to know,” he told them.

  “We keep an eye out,” one of the men told him, a pipe clamped between his teeth as he spoke. “I expect you’d best not go too far next time you go out. Seems like things are comin’ to a head with the British.”

  Tom sighed, putting a reassuring hand on Blue Hawk’s shoulder again. “Sure ’n it does,” he commented. He turned to the storekeeper behind the counter. “I’ll take a can of tobacco, Hugh, and I’ve got some furs outside. Oh, and I’m sorry for the mess I made with Wiggins. I’ll help clean it up.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Tom. I expect you’re anxious to get home.”

  “That I am.”

  Blue Hawk looked up at the man with pride, surprised at the strength of the love and respect he felt for him. Tom Sax had clearly stuck up for him, fought because of him. He was indeed a good man, and not afraid of big men like the ugly one who had spit on Blue Hawk’s moccasin.

  “Bo and I went a lot farther west this time, so we sold most of our skins at Fort Crawford before we started back,” Sax told Hugh. “But we collected a few more on the way here.”

  “How much did you get for them at Fort Crawford?”

  “Three dollars a pound. What I have left isn’t much. I hope to do better this winter. Things just didn’t go too well this time around, a lot of bad luck. That’s why we’re going back out. Bo was sick for a while, and I got a bad infection in my leg that slowed us up some. Then we came across the boy. We should have been back a month ago.”

  “True. Cora has been worried. Mentioned it every time she came in here for supplies. Why don’t you go on home? I’ll weight up the skins. You know I won’t cheat you. Come back later for payment.”

  Blue Hawk watched in fascination when the man dipped a feather into something dark and began scratching on something thin and white. He wondered what kind of signs the man was making and what they meant.

  “That’s fine with me, Hugh.”

  “And like I say, forget about the mess. It was worth it, seeing Kyle Wiggins get what was coming to him.”

  Tom grinned. “Well, it’s sure I’ll be spending most of my earnings right here on more supplies, so you won’t be out much now, will you, Hugh? You merchants make out better than the rest of us.”

  Hugh laughed. “Could be.”

  Tom chuckled as he led Blue Hawk out the door.

  “I’ll be headin’ for the inn and a good, stiff drink,” Bo told Tom on the way out.

  “Go on with you then,” Tom replied. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow and we’ll figure up a time to head out again.”

  Both men unhitched their horses, and Blue Hawk unhitched his old mare. The pack mule with its load of skins was left at the store. Blue Hawk noticed the ugly white man called Wiggins sitting nearby, dabbing at a bleeding nose with the dirty handkerchief and eyeing Blue Hawk with such an evil look it gave the boy chills. Already he knew this Wiggins was a bad white man, but he was confused as to why the man should hate him so, for Blue Hawk had done nothing to Kyle Wiggins. Blue Hawk suddenly realized that these people were that strange breed called Americans. He felt like he was walking in an enemy camp, and if not for Tom Sax, he would run way. Perhaps he still would.

  Tom walked with his horse and motioned for Blue Hawk to follow. Blue Hawk walked with him through a gate on the other side of the fort and out toward a distant cabin. The structure was small and built of rough-hewn logs, chinked together solidly with something that looked like mud. Blue Hawk realized it must be the house where Tom Sax lived. They saw a woman hanging some clothing outside, and when she noticed them, she shouted Tom’s name. Tom dropped the reins of his mount and began running toward her. Blue Hawk hung back, realizing it must be Tom Sax’s woman. It reminded him of the times Black Antelope had come back to camp after a raid or a hunt, and Two Stars would run to greet him.

  His heart quickened with curiosity when he saw a little girl running behind the woman, shouting “Daddy! Daddy!” He was not sure what the word meant, but for the moment he was totally fascinated with just watching her. She appeared to be even younger than he, and she was the first little white girl he had ever seen.

  The boy slowly walked closer, leading both horses, watching as Tom Sax swept both the woman and the little girl into his arms. A new loneliness engulfed Blue Hawk. How he wished he could see Black Antelope coming to greet him again. But he was in a new land now, with a new people, and he wasn’t sure how to get out of it, or if he even wanted out. When the little girl looked at him and pointed, Blue Hawk forgot his loneliness for a moment. She was the prettiest child he had ever seen. Her hair was thick and wavy, hanging to her waist in reddish gold splendor.

  Suddenly all three of them were staring at him, and Tom Sax was saying something. Blue Hawk heard his name mentioned, and then they all began walking closer to him. As they approached, Blue Hawk saw that the girl’s eyes were a startling green. Yet it was more than the vivid color that took him by surprise. Her eyes were large and brilliantly clear, with a penetrating, all-knowing look that was too mature for such a small thing. Her face was perfect, her skin a soft milky white. Her eyes were even bigger than usual as she stared at Blue Hawk in wonder.

  “Blue Hawk,” Tom said, forcing the boy to look at him. He led the woman forward, and the boy realized she greatly resembled the little girl, except that the woman’s skin was peppered with little brown spots. Her hair was redder than the girl’s, but her eyes were the same pretty green, and Blue Hawk felt amazed at how colorful these white people were. “This is my wife, Blue Hawk… uh, na-htseeme, wife. Cora.”

  So, this was the Cora Blue Hawk had heard Tom Sax mention so many times. Then the little girl must be Sarah. The woman smiled with genuine affection, putting a hand gently on the side of Blue Hawk’s face that was still bruised.

  “Oh, Tom, the poor boy,” she said softly.

  Blue Hawk immediately sensed her genuine concern, and he liked her right away, sensing she was a good woman, like Small Hands. Surely Tom Sax would want only a good woman at his side, for he was a good man. But she looked so frail, as though she would easily break. She had none of the look of strength to her that Indian women had, and Blue Hawk could not even imagine her carrying wood. But surely she did, for that was woman’s work.

  Tom moved to the little girl. “This is Sarah. Sarah,” he repeated, patting the girl’s head. “She’s our little girl, and if you’ll stay on with us, she’ll be your sister.” He struggled to try to explain in Cheyenne, but Blue Hawk only frowned. Tom sighed and pointed to the cabin. “House. Our home. Come.” He waved Blue Hawk forward, but the boy hung back until the little girl boldly grabbed his hand and tugged.

  “Come on, Blue Hawk. Don’t be afraid,” she said in a tiny voice.

  The boy let her pull him along, afraid that if he did
not follow or offended her in some way, Tom Sax would be angry with him. He still was not sure what these people expected of him: he knew only that Tom apparently wanted him to stay with them for the present. He hoped perhaps Tom Sax would go out to the deep forest again and would take him along, away from this place where there were so many white people.

  How he longed for those deep woods, for his beloved homeland, for Black Antelope. But that was all far away now, and the terrible events he had encountered seemed years rather than only weeks away. He felt strangely removed from himself as the pretty little white girl led him up some wooden steps. They walked through a doorway into a cozy, neat cabin, where the rich smell of something cooking met his nostrils and awakened a keen hunger in his belly. It made him think of sitting around a small fire in a mud hut, watching his aunt cook fresh meat. A thickness came to his throat then, and tears welled uncontrollably in his eyes. The pretty little white girl grabbed his hand again and squeezed it, somehow detecting his loneliness.

  “It’s all right, Blue Hawk,” she told him quietly. “You’ll see. You’ll like it here. I’ll show you everything you need to know. You don’t have to be afraid.”

  He frowned, studying the girl’s amazing green eyes. He understood nothing of what she had said, but he sensed it was kind and that he had a trusted friend in the little girl called Sarah. He would not run away yet. He would wait and see what it was like in this place called Fort Dearborn, near the great lake called Lake Michigan. Perhaps he was destined to stay with these people of his other blood, his white blood. Perhaps it was what Maheo wished, and for the moment, as a feeling of friendship flooded through him at the touch of Sarah’s hand, he didn’t mind the thought of staying.

  Chapter

  Five

  FROM that day forward, Blue Hawk’s life was filled with the struggle to learn. Simply eating at a table was something new, for on his return trip with Tom Sax, they had always eaten around a campfire, much as Indians did. Blue Hawk had no reason to believe Tom Sax would eat any differently at the little log house at Fort Dearborn. He frowned that first night when Tom and Sarah sat down on hard objects at a big, wooden board with legs where food was laid out. Cora took a dish of food and handed it to Blue Hawk, who stood nearby, motioning that he should take it to the wooden board. Confused but hungry, the boy immediately squatted to the floor with the plate and began eating the food with his fingers.