He rose from the skin beneath him; he had killed the loin with his bare hands at fifteen and skinned it of its furs which warmed him in the winter. He emerged into the darkness; the fire long gone cold. Around him stretched shadows of tepees in the darkness. Snores drifted to him, as well as the faint sound of those fucking.
Quietly, he made his way through the camp in the dark. He knew every turn. He knew every tepee. He could walk this path blindfolded and not stumble.
Two kept watches at the gates. Standing Oak and Spotted Owl kept watch. Spotted Owl was a few years younger than Standing Oak. Standing Oak had become a man last moon and was eager to please. They turned, despite his light footsteps and he smiled. He was pleased.
“You should be resting chief, you have had a busy day,” Spotted Owl said.
“Should I,” Bear Claw said, sitting next to them. “Anything amiss?”
“No, we see nothing, we hear nothing,” Standing Oak said.
Come rain, come shine, watch must be kept, for they knew not who their enemies were or when they would strike. A false sense of security, a day of feast with their guards down, could be their last taste of freedom.
“What troubles you? Do you think those white devils will come for us?” Standing Oak asked.
They would be stupid to attack them. The Chiricahua tribe weren’t like their kin. They were calm, but when attacked, they unleashed the beasts in them. Their formidable strength had made them withstand raids by other tribes.
What ailed him was different. For days, he had been unable to sleep. He woke up in the night restless. It was an experience he was familiar with. A sign, as Sparrow called it. Whenever this occurred, something was bound to happen. He had thought the attack on his kin was what the omen spoke of, but yet it prevailed. This was not the end. Good or bad, he had no idea what the future was, but in most cases, the restlessness spelled doom.
Tomorrow, he would burn some wood, to cleanse the camp, to ward off any evil that lurked around. Many had drifted from the ways of the old. Even more believed out of necessity. He, son of Claw Skull, and chief of the clan walked in the way of the old. Yes, there were traditions he chose not to partake in, these were traditions he considered perverse, his father had not participated and neither did he. He bore a connection to the spirits, and he would be a fool to deviate from their ways.
A cry came in the distance. A cry of a wolf that sent a chill down his body. Something was headed their way. They had to be prepared.
Chapter 2
The stone struck the spear as Bear Claw sharpened it. Sweat glistened over his brown body as he worked. Tomorrow was a hunt, and there was an excitement in the camp. They were going after buffalos. And there would be a feast after the hunt. Food, wine, music, and women to warm the night.
Speaking of women, one was headed his way. Anika was a beauty. She was tall, with a curvy figure and heavy bosom that made men stare. He had considered her a sister when she had been younger, but she had always seen him as a man. Now that she was older, her eyes were set on him.
He knew there were jokes about him being celibate, but Bear Claw liked women. He liked fucking, but he had been raised in his father's discipline. “Women are to be caressed and loved. They will bring you pleasure. And a home. They can also bring a man downfall.” For many men had allowed their lust control them, and cloud their judgements. These men were no more, a spear in their heart.
He had his own rumble in his tepee, but his control always prevailed, for a man without control was a dead man. He held an esteemed position. One of power and authority, which made the females of his tribe want to share his furs. He needed a wife, one to build a home for him, to continue his lineage. He was thirty, and at his age, his father had had three daughters already. Yet he waited, clinging on to visions that would make others think he was mad. These visions had held him back from choosing a wife, for he feared betraying them.
“You work hard, without rest,” Anika said. She handed him a gourd of fresh water from the spring.
“I am chief. I lead by example,” Bear Claw said. A lazy leader created room for unrest and liberties.
“I should come to your bed tonight,” Anika whispered, pressing her body to his. The scent of sandalwood drifted to him. He was a man and he responded. A smile spread on her lips. “Tonight Chief.”
His rebut that she not come to his bed disappeared as a horse raced into the camp. On it was Long Feather, one of the scouts to the north.
“Wagons! Two wagons!” He said breathlessly.
Bear Claw smiled, a rare sight. And an opportunity.
“Juh!” he called to his friend as he untied his mare from the fence. He sat astride, his spear in hand, his bow and arrows on his back. He was met with five of his men at the gates. They were solemn, but excitement tingled in their eyes.
His mare set off, and the others followed. The trail would take them hours to arrive there, but the scouts had spotted it from a distance. Two wagons, Long Feather had said. It was an easy target, two wagons which would be easily raided. If there was any resistance, it would be easily squashed as well. The trail was one of the least used ones, and then, it was a rare sight to see two wagons; the travelers were not wise, failing to see strength in numbers.
Raids were a norm for the tribes that felt aggrieved in some way. Their people had been attacked, innocent blood had been shed, and retributions would be made. On these raids, those who resisted were slaughtered, and they carted away the horses, food, and any material they considered useful to their clan. There were fruitful raids, like the one that had occurred years ago. It had been a bountiful harvest, with beautiful breeds of horses carted away. His mare, was a reward from that raid.
He lifted a hand, and all halted. From the spot he stopped, he could see the wagon in the distance below, headed towards them. There was no other in the miles that stretched on. This was not a trap, he assured himself. He pulled on the reins, and the horse took to the wind.
His heart raced in excitement; one he could not comprehend. He felt it in his guts that he was doing the right thing. He could have dismissed the raid when Long Feather brought the news. The wagons didn’t seem like they carried anything of value. The horses looked poorly fed. It was probably a simple trader and his family heading west. A doctor perhaps. Yet, from the moment the news of the wagon had been told to him, something raged in him. The spirits called on him to go on the raid, and he followed their call.
*
The wagon tilted to the side as it probably kicked against a stone. Hannah held tightly to the basket on her lap. She breathed deeply as the wagon regained its stance. She hated this journey! She wished they had never come on it. An adventure, her mama had said, but it was turning out to be hell. For weeks now, they had been on the road, riding to the West. Their destination was California, where Samuel believed he would have a fruitful ministry, as a missionary.
