Puma ran to his family’s lodge, dreading what he might find. The lodge had been plundered; it was empty. Where is my family? He tried to think of what they might do when they realized that the village was under attack.
Mother would try to escape into the forest to save the children, but which way would she go? Puma saw the slit in the back of the teepee and knew that his mother had run with the children to where the trees were thickest, near the stream. The trees would provide the best chance to hide. He ran to the stream. As he neared it, he saw his mother lying face down on the ground, cradling his little sister in her arms. His sister had been killed by a vicious blow to the head. Nearby, he saw his dead brother, his hand still grasping the stick he had apparently tried to use in an attempt to defend his mother and sister. He, too, had died bravely.
Puma touched his mother. She was still warm. He gently turned her over. Her eyes opened! She saw him, and with her last breath whispered, “Go find your father.” He nodded, to let her know that he had understood, and then cradled her in his arms, trying to prevent her life from slipping away. She died as he held her.
Puma had just undergone the rites of manhood, and he was now a man. Indian men don’t cry, but he could not hold back the tears. He cried, his body racked by long, heaving sobs. Numbed by the realization of what had happened, he sat for a time remembering the last days of his village and the last hours he had spent with his mother.
Chapter 5
Search for His Father
Puma didn’t know how much time had passed while he sat holding his mother, but slowly, his mind returned to the reality of the moment. After recovering somewhat from the shock and sorrow of losing his mother and his village, he wondered, What do I do now? My life with my people is gone.
The first thing that came to his still-dazed mind was his mother’s last words: “Go find your father.” Yes, I must find Father. He must know what has happened. But how can I find Father? He had only heard of Santa Fe. Then he remembered his mother telling him how to reach his father. She said that his father had told her of a mule train which traveled between a place called St. Louis, and another place called Bent’s Fort. The mule train traveled westbound in the late summer and followed a river called the Arkansas. By traveling in the direction from which the river flowed, it would lead him to Bent’s Fort. His father had said to ask for McFarland, who was the leader of the mule train. Puma had never heard of places called “St. Louis” or “Bent’s Fort,” and he had no idea what a mule train might be. But he would try to find this mule train and the man called “Mac.” He would see if Mac would help him find Bent’s Fort, where he would ask about his father. All Puma knew was that he must travel north to a big river where he would find, hopefully, the mule train.
First he had to deal with the death of his family. There was no holy man to guide him. He tried to remember the things to say and do, to make sure that the Great Creator of the universe would allow his family to go to the Great Beyond, where they would live again in a place that is always green and there is no pain, suffering, or unhappiness. He gathered mementos of his brother and sister, then cut a lock of his mother’s hair and tied them together with a piece of rawhide. He placed these items in a small bag that he hung around his neck and would carry them until he had avenged their deaths.
He then placed his family in comfortable positions on dry logs and covered them with green branches. He built a fire under the logs so that the smoke of the green branches would carry their spirits to the Great Beyond. There, they would live forever in a beautiful paradise of plenty. It was a place where they would never be hungry or have to be afraid again.
After completing the ceremony, he said good-bye to his family and his village, and went to where he had left his new weapons. He retrieved them and walked with the morning sun on his right and the afternoon sun on his left, looking for the big river. When he found the river, he would wait until a man named Mac came by to show him the way to Bent’s Fort. His heart was heavy, but there were no tears. He had done his crying—now he must survive, and he must find his father.
* * *
Puma was 12 summers old and, like his father before him, he was alone. He had no knowledge of the world of the white man. He had never seen a white man; he had only heard of them. He had heard of mules, but he had never seen one. He did not know where he was going, but he knew he must go. He would follow the directions his mother had given him.
As he began his journey, he wondered, What kind of man is my father? He had heard of his great skills as a warrior. Will my father be glad to see me or will he be ashamed of me because I am part-Indian? Would he be married? Will he have other children? What kind of lodge does he live in? How will I talk to my father? We do not speak the same language. How will I know the man called Mac, the leader of the mule train, who is to tell me how to get to Bent’s Fort? What is a fort? How long will it take me to get to it?
He had a lot of questions, and he had to seek answers to them one at a time. The answer to each question, he hoped, would lead him to find answers to the next question. As he walked boldly northbound, he entered a land he had never seen before. He would have to find food and shelter along the way. He had no way of knowing what kind of animals lived in this new land, or what danger he might encounter when he was confronted by them.
Puma crossed a high ridge and stayed low to avoid being seen while he looked at what lay ahead. After lingering a time, surveying the terrain ahead, he picked out distant hills to use as landmarks so he could continue walking in a direct line. The landmarks gave him some idea about how far he needed to travel to reach them.
He didn’t want to waste time hunting for food, so he kept a sharp lookout for fruit, vegetables, and suitable game as he walked. He startled a covey of quail; they flew up right at his feet, but he saw them too late to catch one. A cottontail rabbit scurried away. He knew the rabbit would not run far before he found a place to hide. He followed the trail of the rabbit and, as he had expected, he saw it hidden under a bush. Not wanting to chance losing one of his arrows, and wanting to practice with his knife, he waited for just the right time, then threw his knife and impaled the rabbit. He was pleased that he was able to kill the rabbit with one throw.
Puma cooked his food while it was still daylight. He knew he mustn't build a fire at night because the light of a fire could be seen a great distance on the open prairie, and the prairie was becoming more open as he traveled north. Trees grew along the streams, but the high ground contained only a wide expanse of prairie grass that waved in the wind. He found a ravine and built a fire under some trees. He used dry wood that would give off only a little smoke. The branches of the trees would scatter the smoke and it would not be noticed.
He put the fire out and covered it with dirt. A fire, even though it was burned out, could still be located by the smell for a long time. Any Indian would know that the smell of fire meant that someone had passed that way. Indians are trained in the skill of tracking and, should they want to, they could follow his trail.
Puma ate the rabbit as he walked, carefully dispersing the bones so that he would not leave a trail that would be easy to follow. He remained on constant lookout for danger. He tried to be aware of everything around him at all times.
The warmth of the afternoon was wearing away as the sun slowly slid down the summer sky. Color was building in the high, thin clouds that hung in the canopy of gray. Puma’s strong, young legs were rapidly diminishing the distance. He had been walking since early morning, with only a short stop to cook his rabbit and get a drink from a stream. He looked for a spot to spend the night. He didn’t want to sleep on the ground because he had no way of knowing what kind of predators might be on the prowl. He looked for a large tree with a heavy crown of branches to conceal his place of sleeping. He found a large elm tree with branches hanging low, and strong, higher branches on which to hang his buffalo robe to form a sleeping rack.
Puma, careful to leave no tracks near the base of the tr
ee, climbed into it and tied his robe to the branches. He ate the remainder of the rabbit as he sat in the hammock watching the sunlight fade and the shadows grow long.
After sitting for a time, most of the light was gone, and it was getting dark; the moon was just rising. He sensed, more than saw, someone coming. Looking back, he saw the faint outline of two men. Somehow, they had picked up his trail. He didn’t know why they would be following him, and he could think of no reason why anyone would be coming to help him. As the men got closer, he saw by their dress and weapons that they were warriors of the Comanche tribe. They might, and they might not have been, a part of the war party that had attacked his village killing his people. His anger overcame his fear. He waited for them to find him. He quickly moved away from his hanging bed and waited, hidden among the dark, dense branches of the tree.
The two men approached furtively, looking for him. Now Puma knew their intentions—they meant to do him harm. They moved quietly into the low spot at the base of the tree and stopped. They seemed to sense his presence. Puma waited, not moving a muscle or making a sound. They walked under the tree, looked up, and spotted his hammock. One of them notched an arrow onto his bow string and drew the bow to shoot an arrow into what he believed to be a sleeping boy. While the Indian was looking up with his chin raised, Puma threw his knife with all his might. It caught the assailant’s throat, and the knife penetrated his chest. The killer dropped to the ground, mortally wounded.
The other man, not sure where the knife had come from, turned to run just as a steel-pointed lance struck his chest. Puma’s two enemies lay dead at the base of the tree. He had never killed anything but an animal before. He was shaking, as though he had been chilled by a cold, winter wind. The shaking was more from adrenalin shock than from fear. These men were from the tribe that had destroyed his village and killed his mother. Puma had now undergone what the men of his village called “the true test of manhood.” He had drawn first blood, and he was no longer a boy. He was now, and would forevermore be, a warrior—a man to be reckoned with. He had taken the first steps of vindicating the deaths of his family. He was 12 years old.
Lying in his hammock, looking into the heavens through the swaying branches, sleep wouldn’t come. The events of the day kept wandering through his mind. At last, he was lulled to sleep by the night breezes gently swinging his hammock. He was awakened during the night by wolves dragging away the bodies of his assailants. When he descended from the tree, there was little left to indicate that a brief, but violent, encounter had occurred here only hours ago. Nature quickly blots out the passing events, which happen every day in the world where the only law is the survival of the fittest.
Puma knew there was a lesson to be learned from nature; he, too, must blot from his mind what had happened, just as nature blotted last night’s incident from the site where it occurred. This was a harsh land, and only the strong survive. For the strong, life goes on, and he, too, must go on.
Day after day, Puma continued northbound. The land was flat. There were few prominent landmarks to guide him. He crossed small streams, but none were big enough to be called a large river. He was constantly looking for unusual trails or tracks that might be left by something that could be called a mule train. He scanned the endless horizon as he walked and watched herds of buffalo ever searching for grass and water. He watched from the security of a tree, as packs of wolves preyed upon the oldest and weakest of the herd.
Chapter 6
The Wagon Train
The sun had just passed its highest point when Puma reached the top of a hill. In the distance, through a curtain of haze, he saw what might be a big river. Excitement surged through his veins. Could he, at last, be reaching his destination?
Cautiously, he moved forward. If this were the river his father had told his mother about, there should be a trail beside the river that was heavily traveled by white men. He wanted to see the white men before they saw him, so he could study them. There was no chance that he could talk to them; he didn’t know their language. He knew Indian sign language—that might help a little.
After traveling down a long slope and crossing a wide valley, Puma reached the river. He expected to find the trail, but he was disappointed. He found nothing. He followed the river in the direction of the setting sun and just before dark, he found what he was looking for. He saw strange, parallel tracks cut deep into the dirt where something had crossed the river. He had been unable to find the trail, because it had been on the other side of the river. The strange tracks were made by horses that had something attached to their hooves, and they were bigger and heavier than Indian ponies. Tracks of people mingled with the parallel tracks. Some of the people’s tracks were big and some were small, but they had all been left by people wearing strange moccasins.
Whatever had left these tracks was gone now, so Puma bathed in the river, speared a fish, and retreated to a rocky knoll a short distance from the river to cook his fish and spend the night. The knoll was topped by a large outcropping of rocks that provided a lookout from which he could see anything unusual approaching from either direction. Since he was on a high knoll, an enemy would be able to see his fire from a great distance at night, so he built a fire and cooked his fish before it got dark.
Puma waited and watched for many days. He was getting discouraged. Then, one afternoon, he saw them coming. They were approaching from the other side of the river, following the trail that had been left by whatever had made the strange tracks. Puma watched until they reached the river where the previous travelers had crossed.
It was the strangest sight he had ever seen. The horses were pulling traveling devices with something turning on each side. It looked like the people were moving their teepees with them. Puma saw what appeared to be women and children walking beside the teepees. Their bodies and even their heads were covered with strange skins. They were wearing something like the clothes his father had left in the cave.
Some men walked and some rode horses. The animals pulling the tepees were unlike anything he had ever seen. These animals looked more like buffalo than horses. They had horns like buffalo, but their horns were bigger and longer. They were slow-moving animals. Men walked beside them, carrying striking devices and speaking in loud voices, urging the animals along. These traveling tepees must be what he had heard called covered wagons. Some men of his tribe had seen wagons and had described them.
He could tell by the movements and the garments of the travelers which were men and which were women. The children either rode in the wagons or ran beside them. They were laughing and playing. It brought back memories of the children in his village. But that was before the Comanche had killed them and destroyed the village. Anger boiled in Puma’s chest He had killed two of the Comanche, but he wished he could have killed them all.
The wagons stopped just before they reached the river, and the people prepared to cross. One of the riders rode his horse into the river, dragging a long rope. The rope was not like any rope Puma had ever seen. The rider crossed the river, tied the rope to a tree, and then signaled to the men waiting on the other side. They unhooked the animals from the wagons and swam them across the river, then moved a wagon into the river, tied the rope to it, tied logs onto the sides, and floated it across. When the wagon reached the other side, the men, who had crossed the river pulled the wagon up on the bank and untied it. The rope was then pulled back and tied to the next wagon. They continued doing this until they had all the wagons across. It was dusk by the time they completed the crossing.
The wagons were placed in a circle beside the river and the people setup camp inside the circle. They built many campfires, then cooked and ate their food.
The people didn’t look like anyone Puma had ever seen. Some men had hair on their faces, and their hair was of many colors. Some had hair the color of red dirt, and others had hair the color of their horses. The women’s hair was different, also. Some had hair the color of flowers, and others had hair the color of sunligh
t reflecting off clouds at sunset. Their pale skin made them look like they might be sick, but they did not move like they were sick. Most of the men were big and looked as though they might be very strong.
Chapter 7
Meeting Pat Connors
Unknown to Puma, Grant Davis was the wagon master, and Pat Connors, an ex-mountain man, was the scout. Both Pat and Grant were friends of Puma’s father. They knew puma’s father as Michael McBain, but they called him “Sage,” and they both owed their lives to him. Pat had lived among the Indians and learned to speak five Indian languages. Since his wife was an Arapaho, he spoke her language with ease.
Pat and Grant had completed supervising the positioning of the wagons when Pat said to the wagon master, “Grant, we’re all buttoned down here. I think I’ll look around. There’s someone watching us. I saw what looked like sunlight glistening off metal while we were crossing the river. I think there’s only one of them. Don’t alarm the people, but be ready. It’s probably just a scout, but it might be a raiding party. If I’m not back in one hour, prepare for an attack.”
“Where did you see the reflected light?” Grant asked.
“See that knoll over there? Whoever is watching us is hiding among those rocks. I’m going to work my way around behind the rocks and take a look. I think I can do it without being seen. If there’s danger, I’ll fire a warning shot.”
“Okay. We’ll be ready, but be careful."
Pat walked upriver, taking care to remain concealed by walking through the thick vegetation that grew along the river. He walked upstream until he reached a little draw, then he walked up the draw until he was behind the rocky knoll, where he could get a better look.
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