The Cold Rider

THE COLD RIDER

Sam J. Pisciotta

Copyright © 2000 by Sam J. Pisciotta

Smashwords Edition

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The Cold Rider: a novel by Sam J. Pisciotta is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

This book contains mature content, (language, violence, sexual situations) and is intended for adult readers.

Cover design by Lonewolf Creations

Lupo Publishing, Sam J. Pisciotta, Pueblo, Colorado.

Contents

PRELUDE – The Panther

CHAPTER 1 – The Wilderness 1812

CHAPTER 2 – The Cherokee

CHAPTER 3 – Tellico

CHAPTER 4 – Mimm’s Fort

CHAPTER 5 – The River

CHAPTER 6 – The Horsehoe Bend

CHAPTER 7 – The Granfather

CHAPTER 8 – Baltimore

CHAPTER 9 – The Rocky Mountains

CHAPTER 10 – Safe Harbor

CHAPTER 11 – The Way West

CHAPTER 12 – The Captive

CHAPTER 13 – The Cimmarron

CHAPTER 14 – The Woman

CHAPTER 15 – The Cheyenne

CHAPTER 16 - The Purgatoire

CHAPTER 17 – The Graves

About Sam J. Pisciotta

Other novels by Sam J. Pisciotta

PRELUDE

The Panther

His name, in his native tounge, was Panther Across the Sky. And like a shooting star, he was destined to shine brightly in the dark nights of his people. On this day, The Panther moved along the forest path, his hazel eyes adjusting to the changing light as he approached a clearing, the rich soil turned by the settler's plow. He would shun these open spaces void of trees even if no people were in sight. Speed was a necessity, and he must return home allowing no delays. News of a battle at his town on the Wabash River near the Tippecanoe had reached The Panther while he was still far south of the Ohio River. He had gone south to convince the Creek, Choctaw, Chickasaw and Cherokee to join in battle against the Americans, but it seemed only a portion of the Creek would join the Shawnee leader.

The time of war had arrived. He had allied his people with the British who, though he did not trust, he considered convenient partners in stopping the advance of the Yankee settlers in the Ohio Valley. With their aid it would be possible to carry war into the winter; well past the time that would normally be spent setting aside provisions to see the people through the cold hard months ahead. The British would supply food, blankets, and more important guns, powder and lead.

The British had long courted the Shawnee by offering gifts. He carried one of these gifts now, a heavy bladed tomahawk with a long hickory handle, tucked into his belt. He adjusted its position as he dog-trotted along the path. It was a versatile tool and a good weapon for war. Used properly it could knock a foe senseless or kill him out right.

Though armed for war, the Panther was not ready for it to begin. A confederation of tribes had yet to be sufficiently formed. Hundreds of Shawnee were dead from one battle with Governor Harrison's soldiers. For this one victory, the Americans would pay dearly.

The Panther would lead his people on the path of war. For he, Tecumseh, would give his life rather than one more handful of soil to the white man, he would drive them back to the east.

CHAPTER 1

The Wilderness 1812

The area near Duck River in Tennessee seemed to be the perfect place to settle down for Colm and his family. He had promised Rose he would build her a cabin, a home for her and their son. Small Rose was her real name, the one given to her by her Cherokee parents, but Colm called her Rose, his sweet Rose. Colm could tell she was agitated. She made noise with every movement. Stirring the kettle over the fire, she banged the spoon against the black rim. Colm let the smoke rise from his pipe as he looked out across the field he had spent most of the previous year clearing. He was glad he had done enough hunting last fall to see his little family through the winter. The weather had turned warm and it would soon be time to plant his crops. He still could not believe he was to become a farmer again after leaving Ireland so many years ago.

I do not like it Colm, Rose said, a pout on her lips that making her look younger than her twenty-two years. I do not like it a’tall. Colm smiled at the sound of an Irish brogue coming from his Indian wife. It was too bad she let his speech invade the proper English she had been taught as a child. Tommy should be home by now, and it's getting dark.

He turned from the doorway and moved over to his wife removing the pipe from his mouth he opened his arms taking her into their folds. Rose buried her face against his chest. Though Colm was less than six feet tall, Rose was still half a foot shorter than her husband. Resting his cheek against her head, he inhaled the smell of her. Rose always had an scent about her that was all her own. It was a smell he had found only when close to her. She had always joked with him that it was a Cherokee love potion, but Colm knew his love for her came from no potion made by human hands.

Don' worry a’boot the boy, the bitch thinks he's her pup, and will na let harm come to him. He gave her a squeeze.

Some day you'll break my ribs Colm Craigavon!

Yea. If I could, I'd swallow ya up and keep ya deep inside me. Sometimes it even hurts to let go of ya.

Colm please go call him in from the woods, and let us all go to my family in Tellico where there are more people. Colm knew it would do no good to argue with his wife. Like her mother, she had a will stronger then any ten men he had ever known. Colm kissed Rose on the top of her head, and turning her face up to his, noticed the tears. Wiping her cheek, he kissed her ever so softly on the lips and letting her go turned to the door. He knocked the dottle from his pipe and placed the clay bowl on the small table under the window.

He reached above the door and pulled down the long rifle with its curly maple finish worn smooth by the years in his hands. The rifle was his normal companion and he would not usually give thought to reaching for it, but this time he whispered, Cum with me ol' friend. and a slight smile broke the corner of his mouth. Maybe his wife's apprehension was affecting him. He shook it off. Looking down, he checked the priming in the rifle's pan, brought the frizzen back, and then stepped out into the growing darkness toward the river.

Colm knew his wife was right. The hostilities between the British, their allied Indians and the Americans had increased. Colm heard that the British now held Fort Detroit and Fort Dearborn at Chicago where the Indians were allowed to attack and kill soldiers who had been guaranteed safe conduct after surrendering.

Most of the fighting had been north of the Ohio River. Here in the south, his neighbors the Chickasaws had stayed out of the fight and the Creeks were divided over which side to take. There was Red Stick talk of siding against the Americans. Colm knew the Cherokee would try to stay out of the fight if they could. His brother-in-law, Yellow Turtle was a formidable warrior and Colm felt sympathy for any man who would face him on a battlefield. He would take Rose and Tommy to safety at her family’s home in the eastern part of Tennessee. He would then turn to the north and join his friends from Kentucky who had already gone north under General Winchester to fight the British and the Shawnee. The British could not truly think there was a chance of beating the Americans in a war. Wasn't the last time enough for them? It was as though something was always dragging him away from settling down.

He made his way into the darkness of the trees and kept to the path starting at an easy trot. The river was not half a league away and Tommy could be anywhere with that hound. Shannon was quite a dog. Being just a year older than the boy, she had never left the child's side from the time he was born. Even when Tommy was sick, Shannon had laid next to his bed, refusing to move until he was up and around. Colm smiled to think how small Shannon was when he had gotten her, just a wiry ball of hair with four huge feet.

Colm had gone several hundred yards when the silence of the evening was broken with a rifle shot coming from the direction of the cabin. He recognized the report as that made by the squirrel rifle that hung above the fireplace in the cabin. Rose would never fire the rifle unless she needed him to return now. He wheeled around and broke into a dead run for home.

The distance was covered quickly and as he reached the clearing around the house he took in the entire scene. The cowshed was on fire, and there were a dozen warriors in front of the house. Rose was struggling with a large Creek whose head was shaved except for a scalp lock hanging from the back of his skull. With barely a thought, Colm brought his rifle to his shoulder, pulled back the hammer and squeezed the trigger as the sights centered on the shaved head. With a slight jerk, the Indian released his hold on Rose and slumped to the ground. Rose reached to her belt for her knife and went for the closest foe she saw, slashing with the long blade at his face. Her attempt met with success as the blade struck across the nose and left cheek of the unfortunate warrior. As he rose his hands to his injured face, Rose drove the knife into his chest. His weight pulled the weapon from her grasp as he fell to the ground at her feet against the cabin wall.

Colm pulled the plug from his powder horn and poured directly down the barrel, no time to think of using a powder measure, the ball followed, forced down by the ramrod. Three of the remaining Creek turned in his direction, one sprinting into the lead, a war club in his hand. The other, with several feathers attached to the back of his head, was close on the heels of his companion. At the same time the third Creek fired a trade gun at Colm. The .60 caliber ball from the smooth bore gun cut fringe from the shoulder of Colm's hunting shirt as he raised his own weapon for a second shot. A dark hole appeared in the chest of the club bearer who ran four or five more steps before he toppled face forward. Colm knew he would not have time to reload before the feathered Creek reached him. He dropped his rifle, drew his knife and rushed to meet this oncoming opponent.

As the two combatants neared, each reached forward to grasp the other. The painted face showed no fear and Colm's showed only determination as the two men crashed into one another. Colm let out a fierce grunt that made the other man think of a bear. This brought a moment of hesitation that Colm used to his advantage. Twisting his knife arm free from the other’s grasp, the Irishman swung low, bringing the hunting blade up under the ribs of the feather-wearer. His eyes stared at Colm in disbelief as his body began to spasm, making the feathers quivering ever so slightly.

*

Deep in the woods, Tommy awoke with the feeling that he had slept way too long. He was not afraid of the coming darkness, Shannon was with him, but even she could not protect him from his mother's disappointed look. He could not recall ever being whipped, but could not stand breaking his mother's heart and knew when he stayed out in the woods too long she worried. She still thought he was a baby though he was eight years old and in his own mind almost grown. After all, didn't he go hunting with his father and his uncle Yellow Turtle? Hadn't he fired his Father's rifle? And soon the small squirrel-rifle his mother sometimes used would be his to keep.

Let’s go Girl, he told the hound as he reached his feet, hating to leave the warmth of the bed he had made curled up next to the dog. They headed away from the river, up the trail, toward the cabin at an easy run. Tommy ran everywhere, the dog at an easy lope next to him. She was magnificent, Tommy thought. His Pap had told him that Shannon was one of the last of her kind, and that in the olden times dogs like her belonged to the Kings of Ireland. Now these dogs were all but gone. Shannon weighed almost half again as much as Tommy, and her height at the shoulder was well above his waist. He loved to feel her rough bridle coat, especially the longer hairs under her great jaws.

The feeling of running was a true pleasure to Tommy, the ground rushing under him. He sucked in the cooling air and the nap he had taken in the warm sun was long gone from his mind and body. His thoughts were of nothing but the feelings his senses transmitted to his mind, the smell of the damp ground, its softness under his moccasioned feet. A distant sound brought him to a complete halt. Shannon went just a step or two further before she stopped and lifted her long head and muzzle. She stared in the direction gun fire had come from, her tail standing out from her haunches. Tommy recognized the deep sound of his Pap's rifle. The low growl that passed Shannon's bared teeth made Tommy's heart beat faster, and he started running again. This time the great wolfhound ran in front of the youth, the hair along her spine bristled like the roached hair some of the Indians wore.

More gunfire echoed through the forest, and the sounds of war cries seemed to come from every direction. Tommy's stomach began to churn with fear and a cold sweat covered his face.

There was a glow through the trees ahead, and the realization that it was the cabin burning hit Tommy at the same time he reached the clearing. Flames had already engulfed the cow shed next to the house, and the door to the house was hanging on one hinge, the glow of flames lighting the interior. Tommy saw his father directly in front of him, holding someone. Tommy could see the person in his father's arms had feathers attached to the back of their head, then the feathered head fell forward and his father let the person drop to the ground.

Pap! escaped Tommy's lips. Colm turned to the sound of his son's voice and reached out for him. Colm took a step forward and then stopped, a slight smile breaking the corner of his mouth. He closed his eyes and fell to his knees and then over into the path, a dark stain growing in the middle of his back.

PAP! Tommy cried out again. Looking up, he saw several Indians were coming his way, but fear would not let him move. There in front of the cabin was his mother. Her hair waqs twisted around one hand of a large man who was pulling her down, while he raised a tomahawk in the other hand. Tommy could hear hawk bells. The wrist loop of the tomahawk had bells attached to it and Tommy could hear the bells ring as the man's arm rose and fell, again and again.

A flash of light blinded Tommy, pain exploded in his head, and then all was dark and quiet except for the sound of hawk bells ringing.

The leader of the Indians was called, Sees the Enemy at a Distance, and he did not like the results of this raid. Five of the men who had followed him had been killed, two of them by a woman! The White Man had taken down the other three before he himself was shot, but the scalps of both were now hanging on his belt. These would be kept to remember the fallen this night.

It should not have been so hard to destroy this farm. There were twelve Creek warriors with him from the main group, and that twelve were a match for twice that number of Whites thought Sees.

They had numbered thirty when they went north with Chief Little Warrior. Only two had been lost fighting the mostly Kentucky Americans at Frenchtown on the River Raisin south of Detroit. Sees had taken pleasure in the killing of the wounded prisoners left behind by the British after the battle. He wished all the prisoners taken, nearly five hundred, could have been killed, but the British had taken those who could walk away with them.

He shook his tomahawk liking the sound the hawk bells made. Tecumseh himself had given Sees the tomahawk, taking it from his own belt, saying he gave it to a great warrior. Sees had then attached a wrist loop made of strong tanned leather with a row of hawk bells attached along the edges.

Once they crossed the Ohio River on the way home, Little Warrior had allowed the killing of some of the isolated whites they came across. The Chickasaws should have eliminated these trespassers, long ago Sees thought. He would show them how to deal with the Whites. Had not Tecumseh himself said, Let the white race perish! Burn their dwellings, destroy their stock, slay their wives and children, that the very breed may perish.

Sees wanted to find the boy that Raven had shot. He was sure the boy had been hit, as he fell when Raven had fired at him, then a large dog dragged the child into the woods. Sees could not swear it was a dog, its size was bigger than any he had ever seen, but it looked like a dog. Maybe it was an evil spirit claiming the boy for its self. This was of no matter to Sees, as he did not really believe in evil spirits. What was no longer flesh and blood was dead and offered no harm to anyone. As he moved away from the clearing, he shook the tomahawk in his right hand making the hawk bells ring. He liked the sound, Let the enemy know you’re coming, he thought, let him fear you, fear your very step.

Raven moved ahead of Sees into the woods where the boy had been pulled. He had reloaded his old Trade Gun. He would try to talk his brother, The Bear, into a trade for the white man's rifle tomorrow. Bear already owned a rifle. He had used it to kill the red-haired man and now he had claimed the long gun of that dead man. Unlike his name sake, Bear was not of an easy-going nature. When aroused to anger or greed, he was single-minded and at times even thoughtless.

Raven had always been able to take advantage of this. Surely Raven could talk his brother out of the second rifle. Such a fine weapon did not belong in those huge paws. He smiled as he thought of the difference a rifle would make compared to the smooth bore gun he carried. It would take less powder and lead, as well as being more accurate at greater distances.

Ahead of him in the path Raven saw something light colored. It appeared to be the animal that had taken the boy. As this realization came to him, the dog was already in the air, striking the Creek in the chest with its front feet, and grabbing the Raven's throat in her massive jaws. Raven tried to scream but could not find the wind to do so as the dog tore away his flesh with one swing of her head.

Shannon did not like the taste of the paint and blood in her mouth. These men were trying to harm her boy. She would stop them, and keep the boy safe. She dropped the foul tasting meat from her jaws and gave her attention to the next man coming at her. She lunged at him but could only grab his arm in her mouth, swinging her massive head from side to side. She felt pain in her left shoulder, and then a blow to her head. Shannon could no longer see and lost control of her grip on the man's arm. She fell hard to the ground. All sound was replaced with a high ringing that seemed to bounce around inside her head.

The hound tried to gain her feet several times before she finally made it. She still could not see, and her left front leg did not want to hold her weight. She had to pull it up close to her chest, relying on the other three to move off into the brush. Using her sense of smell, her nose led her back to where the boy lay hidden in the brush. She curled around him licking the drying blood from his face. She would rest here with her boy.

Sees could not believe his eyes. The demon-dog had ripped the muscle along his left arm from the wrist to the elbow where it hung grotesquely. He could see both the bones were broken above the wrist, letting his hand hang at an unnatural angle. The hand did not work and Sees could not feel his fingers. After the dog had let go, Sees had turned and ran to the Bear who was a few yards behind. Run there is an evil here that will kill us all! he shouted in Creek.

Bear was quick for his great size and turned back toward the cabin and his remaining friends. When they reached the clearing, Sees tore a piece of the hunting shirt from the White Man's body and tried to wrap it around the remnants of his once powerful left arm.

Where is Raven? Bear asked as he looked out into the darkness.

Lost, answered Sees. We can do him no good. We must leave this place now. Bear looked back down the path wondering what had taken Raven. Bear believed in spirits.

It was not proper to leave fallen brothers without a burial, but back there in the forest was something terrible. The survivors of the raiding party followed, passing Sees and Bear without comment. They left the burning cabin behind, its flames lighting the night sky, sparks floating upward to die out as they cooled in the breeze.

They ran at a steady trot until their leader Sees fell, The Bear coming to a stop above him. Even in the darkness he noticed the blood covering Sees from where he held the injured arm next to his chest. Blood had flowed down across his belly to his knees like red paint.

I can go no further. Sees had lost all strength and could barely hold his head up. Bear bent over his leader loosening the grip of Sees right hand on the tomahawk and slipped the belled wrist loop over the paling fingers. Reaching to the dying man’s belt, he pulled the two scalps free and tucked them under his own belt.

He is lost. Bear spit out the words more for Sees than for the others. We can do him no good. As Bear moved on down the path Sees could hear the bells ringing. Yes, they would hear his coming. Let them fear him, let them hear him and fear his very step.

*

In the camp of the Tsistsistas, Little Wolf, Digger and Antelope ran for the sheer joy of running. They wanted to reach the lodge of Lone Dog as fast as possible. Lone Dog was not only the village's healer but he was the best storyteller of all The People. Even when the weather was still warm like now in the early days of autumn the boys would find time to spend with the old man.

The boys had been with the horse herd since sunrise. Their duty was to watch the animals as they grazed and watered. They were also to sound the warning if there was danger from a predator, like the great bear or if an enemy should attempt to steal some of the heard. Little Wolf and his friends would often daydream of saving the village from an attack by the Snakes or the Crow. Each would boast how they would stand and die like a warrior before they would turn and run like children. In reality they were still too young to even go on raids as horsekeepers for the grown men.

As they raced to see who would be the first to reach Lone Dog's lodge, Little Wolf kept an eye on Digger. Digger was always full of tricks and Little Wolf knew they would not reach the Healer's lodge before something happened. Dogs joined the boys as they rounded the first lodge entering the village adding their barking to the boy's laughter. Digger took advantage of turmoil and tripped Antelope. The younger, long legged boy spilled to the ground in a cloud of dust tangling with two of the dogs. The dogs let out cries of pain and surprise and Antelope came to a rolling stop as the other two boys sped away, both looking over their shoulder and laughing.

Digger's laughter was short lived. As he turned his head back to see where he was going, he found a drying rack full of buffalo meat not two paces in front of him. The collision snapped the rack's poles and sent meat flying. Digger was buried in the derbis and had little time to gain his feet before the remainder of the dog pack descended on the meat and Buffalo Horn Woman exited her lodge to investigate the noise. It took only a brief moment for her to find a stick to beat away the dogs and rain blows down on Digger as he struggled to escape.

Little Wolf had stopped a few paces away laughing so hard his eyes watered. Antelope had regained his feet and joined Wolf, the slight indignity of his fall overshadowed by the beating Digger was receiving from the well-aimed stick in Buffalo Horn Woman's right hand and the oaths she hurled at the boy and dogs alike.

Antelope nudged Wolf and they resumed their race, outdistancing Digger. They came upon the Healer as he sat in the shade of his lodge its sides rolled up to admit the fresh air. Lone Dog worked on a new pipe stem of white ash which he had cut early in the spring before the sap had risen in the tree. He would work the piece of wood until it was smooth and felt good to his hand. Only then would he fit it to the bowl of the scarred red stone.

The boys stopped running some distance from Lone Dog and waited for Digger. The three then walked quietly over. Showing good manners they were silent now, not wanting too disturb his work. If he was to busy to visit he would simply ignore them. This would spare hurt feelings. If he wished to talk he would speak first.

Hello Wolf. The man looked up from his work and smiled at the approach of the young ones. Who is that with you?

Wolf knew that the old man was joking with them as he answered. I am not sure Uncle. As I came to see you I was followed by dogs and these two fell from the pack.

Lone Dog returned a smile almost as big as Wolf. I see, he shook his head. They make the noise of a coyote pack, but I see that they only have two legs. He looked the boys up and down, and putting his hand over his mouth pretending surprise he stated with wide eyes, These are not coyote. This is The Long Legged Antelope and Badger Digging. Everyone started to laugh. Come sit and visit with me while I work.

Are you making a new pipe Uncle? Antelope's brow furrowed as he asked the question.

Yes Antelope. I have put off finishing a pipe I began before the first snows of last winter. Lone Dog raised the stem, squinting his eyes to site down its length.

Uncle would you tell us a story? Digger was never shy, nor patient. Knowing he was showing bad manners did not bother him in the least.

Before Lone Dog could show displeasure, Wolf came to his friends rescue by adding his plea. Yes Uncle would you tell us a story.

What story could I tell that you have not heard many times? He shook his head acting annoyed. On a fine day like this you should be out practicing with your bows or chasing a rabbit.

One story only Uncle. Lone Dog could not resist the boys.

I understand that you will not leave an old man in peace until I tell you a story. Lone Dog showed just a hint of a smile, motioning the boys to come into the lodge and sit across from him.

Long before The People had horses, there was a time when we lived as true brothers to the other animals. None ate the other. We all lived on the grasses, roots and fruits The Creator had given us.

The boys sat motionless, their eyes fixed on the leathered face across from them.

"One day the Buffalo, being the largest of all creatures, decided that they should feed on the others. This was not a good thing, many of the smaller animals said. The Buffalo are so large that it would not take long for all the small ones to be eaten." The shaman began the old Cheyenne tale.

A council of all creatures was called and it was decided that the right thing to do was to run a race to see who would eat who. Lone Dogs kept working on the wood of the pipe stem as he talked. To prepare, each contestant painted themselves a different way and the way each painted is the way they look today. The magpie painted with black and white, the coot rubbed white paint on his nose, the buffalo choose black and brown, the fox red and so on.

In this race, man had the birds on his side especially the hawk, the meadowlark, and the magpie. Though the boys had heard the story countless times they sat quietly and listened, hanging on each word as if it held a hidden treasure. Lone Dog went on to tell how the birds won the race for man by beating a swift and strong buffalo cow.

And the magpie, though he is the slowest bird, through endurance won the race. That is why we never eat magpies, neither do we eat the hawks for the swift one tried very hard to win for us. It was also at this time the people began to have bows and arrows and they started to use these to kill the buffalo and eat them. He looked at the boys with a tooth-filled smile added, So it would be good for you to practice with yours so you can feed the people.

Ah-ho Uncle, thank you. The boys rose to leave, each ducking to clear the doorway with Little Wolf in the rear.

Wolf. The old man stopped him, a questioning look covering his face, I would have you stay a while longer. He motioned for the boy to sit again. I am thinking that you have had something in your heart you wish to talk about?

How did you know Uncle? I have told no one about my dreams. Wolf was a bit frightened at Lone Dog's insight.

It is not as mystical as you may think, he chuckled, Your mother came to me and told me you cry out in your sleep. Can you tell me what you see in the night?

I believe so Uncle. It has happened many times. At first there are two wolves, one black and the other light brown or maybe gray. They move through the trees across snow covered ground. It is very quiet, only the wind in the trees. Small beads of sweat started to appear on the boy’s face and the color began to drain away. Then the ground is shaken by the pounding of hooves. There is a warrior on a large red horse and in his hand he swings an ax like the ones we trade from the Hair-faces. As he swings the ax, it makes a noise unlike any I have every heard. He rides down on the wolves and strikes them. There is blood on the snow Uncle, and I wish to stop this Warrior but I can not.

Why can you not stop him Wolf?

I believe I am the warrior Uncle.

CHAPTER 2

The Cherokee

The odor drifting through the trees was strong, stronger than the aroma of the last few ghostlike fingers of smoke from the burned cabin. Yellow Turtle recognized it as soon as it met his nose. There ahead in the clearing was death. A light fog hugged the ground, and mixing with the smoke gave the clearing around the smoldering remains an unearthly look. Turtle did not have to tell his companions to be careful. They instantly split up and fanned out into the trees, and like the fog each entered the clearing at a different point, their eyes scanning for any sign of danger. Ravens took to wing, disturbed from their feeding, and some small animal scurried off at the men's approach.

For the most part, the cabin had collapsed in on itself. Only the biggest of logs, which had formed the foundation, were still in place. As he came around to the front, where the door had been, Turtle saw the small figure lying face down. At the back of the skull was a dark sticky brown patch where once hung beautiful raven hair.

Gently he raised one of the slender shoulders to look into the face of his sister, her eyes glazed and dull starring out past him. He remembered the look those eyes had given him many times, big, mischievous, laughing. They were especially bright when she had brought him the news she would be going to the Reverend Blackburn's school to learn the reading of the white man's books. But they shone brighter when she told him she would marry his red-haired friend Colm.

Now her eyes had the gray cast over them, and for the first time in his life The Yellow Turtle faced death close to him. He had seen death, and himself delivered it to other men, but never had it touched a place so deep inside. He brushed away dirt from her cheek, then took his blanket and covered Rose as if to bring back the warmth of life that had seeped out onto the ground.

Looking up, he saw that the Creek had left two of their dead behind. One lay face up, a dark bullet hole in the side of his head. The second, his body blackened on one side from the heat of the cabin fire, had a knife standing out from his ribs. Turtle pulled it free recognizing it as the one he himself had given his little sister.

She drove it to deep too pull it out, he said to his half-breed cousin in Cherokee. John, we must look for sign of Colm and my sister's son. His words showed unusual concern for this normally stoic man.

A soft whistle met their ears and they looked in the direction of one of the other Cherokee, Small Hands, who waved them over toward the edge of the clearing opposite the side they had entered. Moving across the open space they passed another dead Creek.

They must have been in some hurry. John Bell said looking down at the dead warrior, Only took enough time to pick up the weapons. Not like them to leave their dead unburied.

Small Hands pointed to the body of the Irishman and that of two more Creek who had fallen. It appears that Colm and Rose made a good accounting for themselves. Think they took Tommy with them? He looked to Turtle.

I see tracks here on the path. called Ethan Green Corn the youngest member of the little party. Those coming this way are the freshest. There, see the small one is under the larger. And here, pointing to the side, the tracks of that big dog of Colm's.

Blood, there on those leaves. Small Hands kicked with his toe.

Turtle moved up the path, his eyes moving form side to side not wanting to miss even the slightest sign. What appeared in front of him brought him to a stop. Face up, his features contorted with fright, lay another Creek. Torn away was the entire front of a once powerful neck that had held a head high.

What do you think did that? Ethan barely spoke trying to make a small joke at the expense of the fallen Creek.

The dog did that. Turtle's eyes brightened. Means she was protecting the boy.

Look. Something has been dragged into the brush, John said as he motioned with the barrel of his rifle. Turtle moved the branches aside, exposing the hiding place Shannon had chosen to take her boy. She had given the last warmth of her body to save Tommy.

He's alive! Turtle felt his eyes mist for the second time this dark day. He reached down and scooped the thin boy up into his powerful brown arms, Tommy almost disappearing in their folds. We have much to do. Graves to dig, he stated as they left the bed Shannon had made in the brush.