Savage Abandon

by Cassie Edwards

  I am coming, I come,

  By meadow and stile and wood.

  Oh, lighten into my eyes and heart,

  Into my heart and my blood!

  —Alfred, Lord Tennyson

  The moon lit a huge hawk as it soared over the Rush River, soon disappearing among the wolf willows on Shadow Island.

  The transformation was quick, and Wolf Hawk then sprinted, on foot, to Talking Bird’s lodge. He stopped just outside the entrance flap to again think through the events of the day and his role in them.

  This was the first time he felt a weakness in himself, for two young braves had died needlessly under his leadership. Wolf Hawk felt as though he should have been able to avoid such tragedy if he had listened more closely to the warnings of his intuition.

  He looked heavenward and spread his arms up and out toward the dark sky. “Earthmaker above, how did this happen under my leadership?” he whispered, believing that his sorrowful, troubled words, would reach the stars.

  Then he lowered his arms to his sides, turned and faced the closed flap, and softly spoke Talking Bird’s name.

  “Come,” Talking Bird said, his words reaching through the buckskin fabric of the flap.

  Wolf Hawk held the flap aside and stepped inside, where his grandfather was again sitting beside his lodge fire, a blanket wrapped around his bent old shoulders.

  Talking Bird looked up at Wolf Hawk. “I heard the wings of the hawk above my lodge as you came through the wolf willows,” he said. “I knew that you would soon be here. It is late, my grandson. What brings you to your grandfather with such concern in your eyes?”

  He gestured with a hand toward Wolf Hawk. “Come and sit beside me,” he said thickly. “Tell your grandfather everything as you have done since you were a child. It is my plea sure to listen and offer you comfort.”

  Wolf Hawk sat down beside Talking Bird. “Grandfather, when I was here before, talking things over with you, do you recall my telling you about an uneasiness that I was feeling?” he began, looking into the dark depths of his grandfather’s eyes.

  “Ho, I recall your concerns,” Talking Bird said, nodding. “I thought I gave you comfort with my words. Tell me why you are still so troubled. Why do you come again so soon?”

  “I come to tell you that I have wronged my people, especially the mother of two fallen sons,” Wolf Hawk said, slowly moving his eyes to the fire. His memories of seeing those two young braves caught in the traps were almost too hard to bear.

  “Tell me more,” Talking Bird said. He reached from beneath his blanket and placed a comforting hand on his grandson’s bare knee. “Talk and your pain shall be lifted from your heart. I will take the pain into my own if it will help dispell the guilt that I hear heavy in your words. You speak of two fallen sons. How were they downed? By whom?”

  “Dancing Fire, a woman of much strength and courage, who not long ago lost her husband in the thrashing waves of the river during a sudden storm, has lost now not only her husband, but also her sons,” Wolf Hawk said, finding those words so hard to say, and even harder to bear. “Eagle Bear and Little Bull. They did not return home as they usually did after a day of hunting small game. Their mother came to me with much concern in her heart. I took many warriors into the forest and began a search for them. It took us much farther from our village than the young braves were allowed to travel. They disobeyed their elders, and they found more than game. They found the traps of white hunters. When they stepped into the traps, they could not escape them. Their life’s blood left their bodies through the wounds on their ankles. My warriors and I found them lying in their own blood, their eyes locked in death stares.”

  Wolf Hawk rarely heard his old Shaman grandfather gasp in horror, but he did now.

  He looked quickly up at Talking Bird, seeing tears flowing from his old eyes.

  “You feel it, too, the same as I,” Wolf Hawk said, lowering his eyes. “Such a heavy heart I feel. Such loss!”

  “It is not for you to feel the guilt that I know you are carrying within your heart,” Talking Bird finally said. He again gently patted his grandson on the knee. “What you have told me is news that eats away at my very soul, and yours, but it is done and you must move on to the next day and be prepared for whatever else the Earthmaker above has for you. Sadness or happiness. It comes as it is given to you. Today sadness came and it shall stay for a while among our people. Even after the youths are prepared for burial and placed in the ground with final prayers said over them, there will be sadness. But you must look forward to better times. You cannot change what has already happened. But you can prepare for what might happen next, be it good, or bad. Only the Earthmaker knows.”

  “I feel such guilt for having allowed this to happen,” Wolf Hawk said, swallowing hard. “I do feel that I should have done more than I did to ensure the safety of our children.”

  “You said that the two braves wandered farther than where they were taught to venture?” Talking Bird said, searching Wolf Hawk’s tearful eyes.

  “Ho, that is so,” Wolf Hawk said, slowly nodding.

  “Then the fault lies not on your shoulders, but instead on the shoulders of those who did not obey the rules of our people,” Talking Bird went on, again patting Wolf Hawk on his knee. “Ho, I mourn for the deaths, but I also know that the braves brought their own deaths on themselves by not obeying rules they were taught from the moment they knew how to talk and walk.”

  “But I had feelings of uneasiness,” Wolf Hawk said tightly. “Had I…”

  “Do not speak with such guilt in your heart,” Talking Bird said, interrupting him. “You cannot be with all of the young braves at all times to see that they follow the rules laid down for them. You cannot follow every hint of danger that you feel. You have made a good home for your people on this piece of land. Until today, it has not been spoiled by the white man’s greed. You have seen that our people live in a peaceful setting beside the river. For now, this piece of land is ours.

  “You have made wise rules for our people to live by. If some youths do not follow those rules, you are not to blame.”

  “My guilt has been eased by your guidance and kind words, but it is now my place to find the ones who are guilty—the trappers,” Wolf Hawk said firmly. “But there is always the fear of bringing trouble into our people’s lives if the white government discovers that we have taken vengeance.”

  “A man has the right to go on the warpath if one of his people has been wrongfully killed,” Talking Bird said as he drew his hand back beneath his blanket. “I know that the need for vengeance is strong inside your heart. Do what you must, and I tell you now that no white man will stand in your way. I will make it so, my grandson. I will make it so.”

  “I followed the tracks of the two hunters, which led me to the river. There they stopped,” Wolf Hawk said, sighing. “And, earlier, I found horses tied up by a stream. These trappers did not come to our land by boat, so how could they disappear at the river if they did not have a boat to carry them away?”

  “Whites can be clever,” Talking Bird said, his voice drawn. “But I know they cannot wave a hand in the air and magically summon a boat to travel on.”

  “Then where do you think they are?” Wolf Hawk asked, again searching his old grandfather’s eyes.

  “I cannot say, but I can tell you this. You will eventually have them to do with as you please,” Talking Bird said flatly. “Go. Search again. Be patient. Even if it takes you many sunrises and sunsets, in time you will find these men and your vengeance will finally be achieved.”

  “But what do you suggest that I do?” Wolf Hawk asked.

  “The search for the wrongdoers might take much longer than you wish it to take, but in time, it will be the killers who will step into a trap,” Talking Bird said, slowly smiling. His eyes twinkled as he gazed into Wolf Hawk’s. “This trap I speak of will not be the sort that killed the young braves, but one that will assure your vengeance.”

  Again he reached out fr
om beneath his blanket and patted Wolf Hawk on the knee. “Be patient,” he softly advised. “Be patient, for it will happen, my grandson.”

  They embraced, then Wolf Hawk returned home. As he reached his own lodge, he realized there was one more chore left to be done. The deadly traps were piled up outside the entranceway of his tepee. He had promised his warriors that he, himself, would dispose of them.

  He put all of the traps into a canoe, then boarded it himself. He lifted his paddle and guided the canoe out to the center of the river, where the water ran deepest. One by one he threw the traps overboard, until there were none left.

  The water was now quiet as the moon painted its glow on the surface, spreading its light over the ripples in the wake of Wolf Hawk’s canoe as he headed back toward shore.

  He smiled at the knowledge that those traps would never be used again by the hunters.

  “Now to make you pay for your crime,” he whispered.

  Chapter Nine

  Many a man is making friends with death,

  Even as I speak—

  —Edna St. Vincent Millay

  “You dumb cluck, I’m freezin’ to death,” Jeb growled out to Clint as they waded out of the water, onto land. “Some idea you had to hide in those rushes by the edge of the river.”

  “You’re still alive, ain’t cha?” Clint said, trembling from the cold, himself. “If we hadn’t jumped into the water and hid in those thick, tall rushes when we heard the Injun comin’ on his horse, we’d probably be dead. Our scalps would even now be hanging on poles in that savage’s lodge.”

  “I just wish we could’ve gotten farther upriver before almost bein’ caught by the savage,” Jeb said, running his fingers through his dripping red hair and pushing it back from his face. “But I never thought about bein’ tracked. I thought we’d be safe stayin’ hidden in the forest beside the river while we waited for someone to come by in a boat. But there hasn’t been a single boat since we got here. I think we’re stuck, Clint. We might as well let the Injun have us now instead of later. What’s the difference?”

  “The difference is that while we’re still alive and breathing and in possession of our scalps, we have a chance of gettin’ out of this mess,” Clint said, the moon’s light showing a glower on his whiskered face. “Jeb, let’s hightail it outta here. Let’s get as far upriver as we can. I don’t ‘spect the Injun to search this area again. There ain’t no reason to. He didn’t find us, so he must believe we’re gone.”

  “If we make fresh tracks now, he’ll be able to find us and I think he will come lookin’ again,” Jeb said as he grabbed his rifle from its hiding place amid thick forsythia bushes while Clint grabbed his own.

  They started walking quickly alongside the river, staying in the shadows of the trees.

  “Did you see that huge bird awhile back?” Clint said, huffing and puffing as Jeb started walking faster. “I ain’t never seen anything like it. What sort of bird could live to get that big? The wing span reached so far, I couldn’t even say how wide it was.”

  He shuddered. “And its eyes,” he said. “I saw the glitter in those eyes as they picked up the moon’s glow in ’em.”

  “Yes, I saw that, too,” Jeb panted, sprinting now. His clothes were drying on him as he moved. “I felt as though if that bird had seen us, it might’ve dropped from the sky and sunk its claws in us and carried us away. You know, I’ve heard Injun myths where people turn into birds. Ain’t you?”

  “Hogwash,” Clint growled out. “If you said that to anyone else but me, they’d say you was born daft. So just shut up such talk as that. It was only the shadows that made the bird seem so huge. Nothing more. Now concentrate on escapin’ the wrath of those Injuns. Keep an eye out for a boat.”

  Suddenly Jeb stopped.

  He reached out and grabbed Clint by the arm.

  He sniffed long and hard.

  Then he looked at Clint. “I smell smoke,” he said, his voice filled with a sudden bone-chilling fear. “Where there’s smoke, there’s people. Lordie, Clint, what if we’ve gone in the direction of the Injun village? We might be walkin’ straight into a trap.”

  “Funny use of words,” Clint said, glancing over at Jeb. “Don’t poke fun, Jeb. This ain’t no time to compare anything with traps. We’ve left a few behind us in the forest. You know that we also left behind some mighty good pelts.”

  “I ain’t jestin’,” Jeb said, his eyes peering through the darkness, seeing dark shadows and threatening shapes everywhere the moon did not reach. “I don’t know what to do, which way to go, for we truly don’t know what lies ahead of us. Smellin’ smoke ain’t good, Clint. It ain’t good at all.”

  “Well, we sure ain’t gonna know who set that fire if we don’t go farther and investigate,” Clint mumbled. “Hurry into the darkness of the trees. Move onward with caution. Only thing I know is that I’m all turned ’round. I can’t tell where on earth we are, or who we might run across any minute now. I just know that smoke can mean two different things to us. It can mean we’re too close to Injuns, or we’ve come upon some traveler makin’ camp for the night.”

  “I’m afraid to see who it is,” Jeb said, fear in his squinting eyes. “I’m afraid we might be takin’ our last breaths of life. If it’s the Injuns, we’re doomed. Doomed. What if it is Injuns?”

  “We won’t know until we go and see, now will we?” Clint said, clasping his right hand harder around his rifle. “Come on. Don’t become a baby on me now. We need each other to get out of this pickle.”

  “Yeah, each other,” Jeb mumbled. “If you want to know the truth, I wish I’d never laid eyes on you. You’ve been nothin’ but trouble for me. Yeah, I like the pelts we have stored at the old fort, such an ungodly amount for only one day, and I have you to thank for helpin’ me with the hunt, but I doubt now that we’ll ever be able to take ’em out of here. More’n likely, the Injuns’ll find ’em as they hunt for us.”

  “Just shut up your whinin’,” Clint spat back at Jeb. “Come on. Time’s wastin’. If those who built the fire are friends, then we finally have a way out of this mess. We can come back later for the pelts. No one knows where they’re hid. Even the Injuns wouldn’t know where to find them. They are hid down in the darkness of that underground room, and the trapdoor that leads down there is well hid beneath a rug and a heavy piece of furniture.”

  “Clint, look yonder,” Jeb said, reaching out and grabbing one of Clint’s arms. “Am I seein’ things or is that a scow moored at the banks of the river? Look at that thing. It seems to have everything on it, even what looks like a small house of sorts. I wonder who it belongs to?”

  “Come on, let’s hurry to it,” Clint said, yanking his arm away from Jeb’s hand. “This is what we’ve been prayin’ for…a way to escape this god awful forest where Injuns are out for our blood.”

  “It’s so big,” Jeb whined. “I don’t think we can man it.”

  He squinted as he stepped from the shadows, to survey the scow. His eyes widened in surprise when he saw exactly where their flight had taken them.

  The old fort where they’d left their pelts!

  There it was as plain as day beneath the bright light of the full moon.

  And by the light of the moon he also saw smoke spiraling skyward from somewhere inside the fort.

  “The pelts,” he gasped. “Clint, there’s the fort. Those who arrived in that scow have taken refuge in the fort. What if they…?”

  “What’s most important is our own hides. To hell with the pelts,” Clint said tightly. “And chances are those people have no idea they are sittin’ on top of a gold mine. Just remember how well we hid ’em. Mere travelers won’t even think about treasures lyin’ beneath their feet. They have stopped here for one thing. To rest until they travel onward tomorrow. But there’s one thing they don’t know.”

  He chuckled beneath his breath. “They won’t have anything to travel onward on,” he said. “We’re takin’ that scow, Jeb. Now. Come with me. I don’t see
no one standin’ watch. Let’s get away while the gettin’ is good. We’ll travel on to good ol’ Saint Louie, wait until we feel it’s safe to return, then come back and grab those hides.”

  Jeb saw the logic in what Clint said and ran with him to the scow.

  Both placed their rifles on board, then worked at untying the two ropes that held the scow in place.

  When the ropes were finally loosened, they flipped them onto the deck, then shoved and pushed, panting from the exertion it took, until the scow was floating free. Then they jumped on board and guided it to the center of the river with the two huge oars.

  As they moved downriver in the direction of St. Louis, they kept a close eye on the land, still fearful of Indians.

  The farther they traveled, the safer and more self-assured they became.

  Suddenly Clint bent over in a rush of laughter. “We did it,” he said between his snorts of laughter. “We fooled those damn savages. Now they’ll never be able to avenge the deaths of those two young braves.”

  “Vengeance is mine, sayeth the Lord,” Jeb shouted, mockingly quoting a passage from the Bible. “Well, savages, seems the good Lord above knows more about vengeance than you ever will.”

  Something made Clint look quickly heavenward.

  He would never forget that wide span of wings on the bird he and Jeb had seen. If that bird showed up now and dove down toward them on this scow, he’d sure enough wet his breeches.

  He made himself think about other things and looked straight ahead. As the scow made its way through the water, Clint’s arms began to ache at the work it took to keep the craft moving steadily along.

  He’d never done much physical labor before. Trappin’ was his life.

  Well, at least for now, he’d have to work, and work hard. His life might depend on rowing this scow to St. Louis.

  Back at the fort, Mia stirred in her sleep. She awakened with a start, then gazed over at her father.

  The moon was streaming through a window onto her father’s face.