by Angela White
This was what Marc had been hoping for and he gave the man his full attention.
Natoli, sensing Marc’s interest, provided more details. “We have hatred in our hearts for the soldiers. We would fight, but they are all gone. The Indian has inherited the earth, not those who drove us out of our homes.”
“And now here we come, ruining the happy ending,” Marc drawled.
He could certainly understand their hatred and their desire to be in charge. They’d never raped the earth the way a government-run society did.
“Yes, the news has been devastating. Some of the tribes are holding councils as we ride through their lands. Some are refusing to consider the fight now that it has come to us. My own tribe has chosen to battle, but we are among the few who practiced the old ways in secret. We have more students than fighters, though. It is true of all tribes now.”
“My people are the same,” Marc said. “Some will fight, but most will hide until it’s over. There was never any doubt for me of my path.”
Natoli viewed Marc’s matching, ivory-handled Colts with the respect they deserved. “No, with one such as you, how could your future be anything but what you’ve become?”
“Indeed,” Marc agreed. He’d been battered through life until he was now the ram that others would be hurt upon. So be it.
“You have Indian blood.”
“I’m a mix of many things. I used to think the Gypsy side was dormant.”
“Until you discovered the spirit lurking inside,” Natoli guessed.
Marc stared. “How do you know so much about my kind?”
Natoli gave a light sneer laced with scorn. “You are not the first ghost to travel these lands since the war.” Natoli’s voice lowered. “Or even before that day.”
Marc felt it then, the kinship, and let himself ask, “You have tribesmen like me?”
Natoli didn’t openly confirm or deny it. Instead, he began to speak in the deep tones of a natural storyteller.
“The odd ones came among our people when the white man arrived. They were drawn to our kindness, to our respect of nature. When the soldiers began driving us out like cattle, the odd ones aided us, healed our warriors and provided shelters that the army could not locate. We were protected.”
Marc noticed all the braves listening and guessed by the expressions that it was a story that some of them hadn’t heard.
“Then the white man began taking the odd ones, stealing them from our vibrant camps. The Indians began to die in massive numbers and the odd ones vanished from our knowledge.”
Natoli stiffened his shoulders. “We were sent here to be brainwashed and it has worked. Half of the tribes are still clinging to the soldier’s rules, though their control of us has ended. Some kept the old ways in secret and those are the warriors who came to view the odd one who calls himself our Ghost.”
“And when they understand that I am who I claimed to be?”
Natoli grunted in set resolve. “Then we will go to war against the soldiers once again, except this time, we will not let our power be stolen!”
Marc instantly felt protected and knew his Eagles did as well. “Are many coming?”
“All the tribes have stories of the odd ones arriving to rescue them from their prisons. Believe in these legends or not, they are curious,” Thaddeus confided from Marc’s other side.
“So I shouldn’t fear to show them who I am?”
Thaddeus’s face tightened. “The more you demonstrate your differences, the more all of the warriors will view you that way. The months of freedom have allowed a return to manhood for those brave enough to chase it. They will follow, if you are worthy.”
Marc thought of Adrian, who was followed despite his now glaring weaknesses. I don’t want that fall. I won’t stand for the disgrace.
Natoli left Marc to his deep thoughts, satisfied the Ghost understood his message. Natoli wanted the tribes to unite against the government so that he could take his people out of these dead lands, but without enough consensuses, the other tribes would hunt them down for bringing the wrath of the soldiers. The government didn’t care which tribe they hit, only that an Indian had broken the rules and must be punished. Natoli wouldn’t bring that down on his people any more than he would run and have his tribe be hunted, but in his heart, he knew they had to fight. If the soldiers made it to Oklahoma, his people would be wiped out this time. Eight months of learning how to be fighters wasn’t nearly enough against the government and Natoli knew it.
He glanced at Marc’s stern profile thoughtfully. If this hard-ass is what he claims, his power alone might give us an advantage.
“They may have odd ones, of their own,” Marc warned. He refused to downplay the danger.
Natoli had considered that. “But they will be weak after living inside the earth all this time, yes?”
“That’s my hope,” Marc stated evenly. “But I won’t count on it.”
“Mine, as well,” Natoli confided. “When the other odd ones join us, it won’t matter.”
“There are a lot of horses moving through the woods around us,” Marc commented lightly. He wasn’t sensing a threat, only curiosity.
“Yes. Most of the scouts will observe from a distance,” Thaddeus confirmed. “There were more than fifty tribes crammed into Oklahoma and many were bitter enemies. The government hoped we would fight each other and finish what they started.”
“And instead?”
Thaddeus’s head went up. “We did to them, what they’d done to us. We learned their ways and copied them. We took advantage of the treaties and enacted new laws to protect our children. For that, we had to sacrifice our heritage.”
Marc thought of the areas they’d come through. The land here wasn’t as if untouched. It was as if marked by nature to flourish. There wasn’t any mold, no mutations that he’d spotted. The air was sweet and inviting, the wildlife, well it was everywhere. Marc had never seen so many animals in Oklahoma. This had mostly been an arid place, full of dust and tornadoes, meant to be harsh on anyone who lived here, but that had changed.
“Why do you want to leave? By staying true to your beliefs, it looks like nature is leaving you alone in these areas. I’m also assuming that the medicine you need isn’t for anyone here. Should I try to guess?”
Thaddeus didn’t look over. “Some of our people have broken the rules and left. The Navajo have missed their rocky homelands, as have the Cheyenne missed the Great Plains. It was a radio transmission from your Safe Haven that drove me to gather the older warriors from my tribe and begin training our youth. Others did the same and we have been able to carry supplies to our rogue groups.”
Marc stared in understanding. “Instead of fighting after you came here, you banded together.”
Natoli offered more details, sensing that if he did, Marc might do the same. “Quiet deals made a tense peace possible at first. When it became clear that Uncle Sam did not intend to honor his promises to any of the tribes, we began talking, trading to ensure our survival. Except for the Iroquois Nation, all tribes in Oklahoma coexist.”
“That’s amazing,” Marc praised. “And your outer clans, will they come?”
“We will take word to them, with the medicine.”
Marc was satisfied. He’d expected to have to convince each tribe that they encountered, but thanks to Indian adaptability, he might have this part of the plan already covered. These men wanted to be free. He could lead them there and Marc now intended to make sure they knew it before he left them. They might be ‘civilized’ Indians trying to remember who they’d been, but with their natural instincts and longings, Marc had no doubt about helping them become as lethal as their ancestors had been. It was who he was in this new life, who he’d always wanted to be before, and there was no longer any wrestling with the demon inside. He asked and the voice answered. Denial had come and gone. Now, only hard anger had that place.
A cold chill swept over Marc and he knew instantly what that feeling meant.
; “Hit the deck!”
Marc’s command was instantly followed by Paul and Jax, but their escorts doubted his concern. Until the arrows began flying at them and they realized their farthest lookouts had been overcome.
Natoli and Thaddeus began shooting orders and Marc led his rookies into the shelter of a nearby thicket, eager to discover if they would be as protected as implied.
Screams and shouts came, though the thicket was too dense for sight, and the three men waited uneasily. They were used to being the ones fighting and it felt wrong to let the Indians do their work.
“It is over,” Atolius called.
Marc cautiously led them out of hiding, a gun in each hand. Behind him, the Eagles appeared much the same.
Atolius grinned. “It was only a raiding party who didn’t know what they were walking into.”
“Iroquois?” Marc asked, holstering as he swept the riders. He was hoping none of them died, already feeling responsible for them.
“Yes. Why do you scan the braves? There are no traitors among this group.”
Marc nudged his horse toward a bleeding man. “To heal them, of course.”
Shock went through the group. He meant to demonstrate his power! They were about to witness the Ghost in action.
Marc wasn’t sure if he could. He’d been on the receiving end and watched it, but hadn’t tried it yet. Determination filled his heart as the demon spoke in his mind, telling him how.
Cameron didn’t flinch from Marc’s light touch or the pain of the arrow in his leg. It wasn’t deep, though blood was dripping steadily to the dirt.
Marc pushed hard, shoving the shaft through.
Cameron screamed, clutching at his leg and Marc used an iron grip to keep him in place. “Look at me!”
Cameron forced himself to stare into Marc’s eyes and the pain faded into a dull throb.
“Good. Be still.”
Marc placed a hand over the gushing wound.
The tiny colored orbs shot out as if from a cannon, striking Cameron and knocking him from the horse.
“Too hard,” Marc muttered, mentally adjusting and he switched positions. “Hold still now.”
The orbs worked faster than Angela’s had and Marc was grateful. Healing was draining.
He weaved slightly as he rose. He would have to figure out how to refill it.
Atolius placed a hand on Marc’s arm, steadying him. His voice overflowed with satisfied awe. “The Ghost has come.”
Cameron slowly picked himself up, staring incredulously at the whole leg and the bloody arrow on the ground. When he finally glanced up, the feverish light of fanaticism was shining on his lined face. “My life is yours.”
Marc reached out an arm, not smiling. “I accept.”
Cameron shuddered in fearful eagerness and Marc let go of him. The flash of the future he’d gotten upon touching Cameron was powerful. He leaned down. “You will be a great leader, one day, Cameron Storm of the Chickasaw. The mighty warrior who saved his people.”
Cameron bowed as contentment and pride swept over him in thick waves. Whatever this odd one wanted from him, he would give. The feel of his power was unlike anything Cameron had felt and he wanted…no, he needed more of it.
Marc hid his triumph, glad of the way things appeared to be falling into place. It was a relief to know it would work for him as well. He wasn’t comfortable using Adrian’s leadership methods, but he was able to when the situation called for it. This one did.
10
The next group of Indians joined their party as dusk came. They were trouble. Marc knew it as soon as spotted the signs of their rebellion. On each horse, hung scalps, some still drying. Instead of dismay, he was relieved. These were killers.
As these new riders merged with their group, they were disrespectful, bumping into both Choctaw and Chickasaw horses in their haste to get closer to the Ghost.
Paul and Jax didn’t have time to defend Marc. The warriors they were riding with quickly closed ranks and refused to let the new riders through.
A skirmish immediately ensued.
Marc kept his men in place with a casually raised hand.
Paul and Jax observed the vicious fight with concern, but Marc was noticing the actions of the warriors protecting them. Each was taking the opportunity to touch him. Some were light brushes, some were pats, but all of them fed into Marc’s energy and strengthened his determination to have all of these men along. They were exactly what he needed.
With that thought in mind, Marc stood up in the saddle and took his place in history.
“Enough!”
His shout stopped the fight and swiveled heads his way.
Marc glared at the new Indians, but didn’t let the red bleed through. “My people are dying. I do not have time for this!” He waved a hand at Atolius. “Move us out.”
It was the first order he gave, and it was followed without question. His group of Indians shoved their way through the shocked new men while Marc kept his hands loose and ready.
When he heard the new men nosily fall into the rear of the group without issuing another challenge, Marc allowed himself to breathe. There would be trouble with that group when they camped, but until then, they would stay behind his men.
My men, Marc marveled. Even his time before the war hadn’t satisfied him this way.
11
Now expecting their first challenge, Marc only ran them for a full day instead of the two he’d planned on. They needed to be able defend themselves and he encouraged his men to eat and drink extra rations. Their lives would be decided tonight.
Paul and Jax knew without being told. It didn’t take a degree in Indian culture to know their drag riders were plotting something. They hadn’t been around for Marc’s good moments and that man wasn’t giving them anything right now. It was a quiet, tense ride.
As the Indians began setting up their camp, Marc stopped his men from breaking down the horses. “Water only.”
Those words implied a lot, and told Paul and Jax to get ready.
Marc waited for the drag riders to come to him, aware that the other Indians were no longer moving between them.
He braced himself, ready to prove his lethality once again.
Atolius stepped in front of the large drag warrior before he could reach Marc. They exchanged a few nastily tossed barbs in a language Marc didn’t know, and then both Indians turned to him.
“My Apache brother says you are no ghost. He demands you prove it.”
Marc shrugged lightly, coolly. “Which brave will he sacrifice to me?”
Red Stone, who had been Jimmy Barrows in another lifetime, scowled at the arrogance.
“You should not have come here! You will get us all killed.”
Marc understood the drag rider was trying to protect his people. He would spare the man’s life if he could. That would increase his following.
Marc began stripping his guns and gear, and found himself surrounded by eagerly betting men. It reminded him so much of downtime in the barracks that the tension he’d been carrying slid from his shoulders.
Paul motioned toward his rifle and then Red Stone’s extra mount. “Gun for the horse?”
“No,” Red Stone denied, slightly insulted.
Paul tried again, listening to the haggling going on around them. “Also, a pouch of tobacco and one moon clip of bullets for the revolver in your pack.”
Red Stone’s eyes lit up. “You have a deal. Even if he dies, you will pay.”
Paul was encouraged that they might be let go even if Marc lost, but it was a very distant concern. Marc was ruthless.
Not to be left out, Jax began viewing the arrows in Red Stone’s pouch. “If I have something you want, I’ll need you to teach me to use that when I win it. I’ve always wanted to learn.”
Red Stone grinned widely, showing crooked teeth. “You will cook every meal for me.”
Word had already spread, stories that were becoming legend, and Jax found himself chuckling. “It was g
ood stew. Deal.”
Marc listened in a vague way, getting set in his mind. He wasn’t going to let the tiger out of the cage unless that was what these men needed to see. After tonight, riders would go out to the Choctaw, Chickasaw, and Apache with a final word on whether the Ghost had come. Marc had counted on many things, but mostly that spiritual instinct each of the Indians felt. He would prove that he could stand against what they threw at him, then give them the sign they were waiting for. This was one legend he’d learned well.
12
There were eleven men in the Apache group, all hard bodied, soldier-hating Indians who felt little mercy.
Marc fought them all.
It could have been ugly, but unlike the cage match, where Adrian had known only a group of fighters had a chance, the honorable Indians formed a circle and took him on one by one, losing the only chance they’d stood at a fair fight. In twenty minutes, all but one of the drag riders were bleeding and glowering hatefully from the side.
Marc faced Red Stone, also covered in blood. He may have won each fight, but they’d left their marks on him. He had half a dozen slices that should get stitched at some point.
Red Stone studied the mostly naked white man with wary hatred. Ten of his hardest warriors going down one after the other had given Red Stone pause. Who was this…ghost-man who could evade the hits of his braves so well? Even the scorned Choctaw riders had bet against the Apache. Only his warriors would be paying on bets tonight. How had this happened?
Marc sensed the time had come. He’d been waiting for it to feel right before opening up to them.
“I am the Ghost, sent to stop the government from rising from the ashes of our people.”
Marc raised his bloody hands and curled them into fists. Drips of crimson fell. “You will walk beside me in this battle. The spirits demand it.”
Red Stone expected protest, but those who’d been with this ghost man longer than his group remained quiet. Could it be true? Their legends were full of messiah stories meant to keep them hopeful, but Red Stone hadn’t believed in any of them.
