Swift Horse

by Cassie Edwards

  * * *

  Alan Burton shifted nervously in his saddle, then grinned when he saw Edward James hurry from the front door of the trading post and head in the direction of Soft Wind’s cabin. Alan had heard about her mishap, and smiled at his own good fortune. He could count on Edward James leaving his house every evening to be with Soft Wind as she recuperated, which left Marsha alone and unprotected.

  He edged his horse closer to the clearing and watched Edward James until he went into Soft Wind’s cabin, then he rode out into the open, took his horse to the darkest side of the trading post, and dismounted. He secured the reins on a hitching rail, then after stopping long enough to look over his shoulder, he hurried into the store.

  He smiled wickedly to himself at the foolishness of Edward James’s truly believing everyone was too afraid to cross the threshold of his store because it was said that if they were found there, their life wouldn’t be worth spit. Edward James would either shoot them on the spot, or capture them and take them to Fort Hill to hang.

  Knowing that Edward James would be occupied for a good amount of time, Alan knew that he had the time to do as he wished tonight, and that was to take the lovely woman away and back to his home.

  Edward James and Swift Horse might see him as the prime suspect for such an act since he had made such an issue over having saved her life, so he knew that his home would be the first place they would search when they discovered she was gone.

  He had that problem solved. He had a room at his house that no one knew about, where he kept his money and valuable pelts. The room had no windows, and the only way into the room was a door that he had cleverly hidden behind a chifforobe that he kept wedged up against it.

  “Yep, she’ll be mine,” he whispered to himself. He hoped by the time they gave up on finding her, he’d be long gone, for he had made an important decision the very night he had saved the beautiful woman.

  He was going to leave these parts.

  He was sorely tired of fighting with the Creek for land that he needed for his cows. He would go elsewhere. He would make a new beginning and he would have the most beautiful woman in the world finally accepting her fate enough to marry him. She would have no idea where he had taken her, so she would have no idea how to escape.

  * * *

  Marsha had just sat back down to resume her crocheting after having stopped to prepare herself a cup of hot tea. While waiting for it to cool, she rocked slowly back and forth, her crochet work on her lap, her eyes on the softly burning fire. She smiled as she thought of the wonders of the day.

  “Swift Horse . . .” she whispered, even loving just the sound of his name as it came across her lips, lips that he had claimed today more than once in wondrous kisses.

  A noise in the store caused Marsha to stop rocking and her hands to go to the arms of the chair. She started to get up to investigate, but smiled to herself when she heard nothing else.

  Humming a soft song now, she resumed rocking, and felt a contentment she had not known for so long as she lifted her crochet work.

  When she heard footsteps and then the door opening, Marsha smiled and didn’t look up. “Big brother, did you forget something?” she asked softly.

  “I’m not your big brother, but, yeah, I forgot something, all right,” said a voice that was not Edward James’s. “I forgot you.”

  Marsha dropped her work on the floor, everything scattering at her feet, and before she could scream, Alan had placed a gag in her mouth, then tied her wrists together.

  “Come with Daddy,” he said, laughing throatily. “We’ve some unfinished business, don’t you know? You owe me, pretty lady. And I’m here to see that you give me everything that I ask of you.”

  Frightened terribly, Marsha could only see through a blur of tears as Alan Burton half dragged her toward the back door.

  He held her tightly around her waist as he unlocked both locks, laughing at how she tried to kick and fight her way loose, then took her outside, where for a moment the moon fell down upon her and illuminated the fear in her eyes.

  * * *

  One Eye was on his horse in the dark shadows of the forest. He was watching all of this go down, then laughed to himself. Alan Burton had just done the tricky job of abducting Marsha Eveland for him. All blame would be cast on the cowkeeper, for One Eye knew that Swift Horse was the cleverest tracker of all Creek clans and he would trace his way up to the cowkeeper’s ranch.

  Of course, One Eye was a clever tracker, as well, and knew just how to hide the tracks he had made while watching the abduction taking place, and also those that he would make while going to the cowkeeper’s ranch.

  No one would ever suspect One Eye, and finally he would be rid of two nuisances in one night—the cowkeeper and the woman—and all evidence would point to it having been the cowkeeper who killed the lady, and the lady who killed the cowkeeper while trying to defend herself.

  He laughed to himself as he started following Alan Burton and Marsha.

  Chapter 19

  Another time mine eye is my heart’s guest,

  And in his thoughts of love doth share a part.

  —William Shakespeare

  Swift Horse left Edward James sitting with his sister to go and talk with Marsha. But first he decided to drop in on Abraham, to make sure that his new friend wasn’t left out of things. Swift Horse wanted him to feel like he was home—truly home.

  He drew people to him, because he was such a likable man. It was hard for Swift Horse to envision this proud black man as a slave, being treated so poorly by his “owner,” who had beaten Abraham almost to death with the nasty, deadly whip.

  Swift Horse saw the lamplight in Abraham’s cabin and knew that he was still awake. More than likely Abraham was sitting beside the fire with the fawn on his lap, as he did most evenings.

  Swift Horse stepped up to the door and knocked, and Abraham’s booming voice told him to come in.

  Swift Horse went inside and found Abraham bent over a book, with a kerosene lamp on a table drawn close enough for him to read by. It was obvious that before Swift Horse entered, the man had been absorbed in the “talking leaves,” which was what one of the Creek children had nicknamed books.

  “Comes on in,” Abraham said, placing a ribbon in the book to mark the last page that he had been reading. He set the book on the table and rose to greet Swift Horse, giving him a big hug.

  “I’se got coffee brewin’ over the fire,” Abraham said, stepping away from Swift Horse. “Do you have time to sit and share coffee with me?”

  “I always have time for you,” Swift Horse said.

  Abraham poured coffee into two tin cups and handed one to Swift Horse, then sat in a chair opposite him, a steaming cup of coffee in his hand.

  “Do you see this book?” Abraham said, setting his cup aside and lifting the book from the table. The book seemed dwarfed in his massive hand as he held it out for Swift Horse to see.

  “Yes, and are you enjoying it?” Swift Horse asked as Abraham opened the book, pride shining in his eyes.

  “Very much,” Abraham said, nodding. “Marsha brought it to me when she found out that I could read. My mama sneaked books into our cabin at night when I was a child. She had been taught by a white friend who sneaked books to my mama and read to her by candlelight into the wee hours of the night. My mama taught me and I taught my own chillen from the very same book my mama taught me from.”

  Tears came to Abraham’s dark eyes. “One evenin’, as I was teachin’ my chillen from that book,” he said, his voice breaking, “my mastah caught me.” He took the book and tore pages from it one at a time as he laughed at my despair. Then he held a candle to each page and let the flaming pages fall to the floor of my cabin. I had to stamp out that fire with my bare feet. I hated that man that night more than I can tells you.”

  He clutched the book to his heart and lowered his eyes. “It was a short while later that he killed my family and spared my life because I was such a big, healthy man, w
ho could do the work of three men at his plantation.”

  “I am so sorry for all that you have had to endure,” Swift Horse said, setting down his empty coffee cup.

  “Your people have endured much, too,” Abraham said, laying the book aside and gazing over at Swift Horse. “I heard tales of it when I lived in Florida land. The Seminole did not get treated as bad as I heard tell Indians up north and out west were being treated. ‘Genocide’ I believe is the word I heard used as a description of how it was when so many people of your skin color was killed.”

  “Yes, it is not always a kind world,” Swift Horse said, although he did remember that not all white men took pleasure in mistreating the black community or those with red skin. He could not have a closer friend than Edward James.

  Edward James was a better friend to Swift Horse now than even One Eye, who sometimes did seem to have changed from that young brave Swift Horse had known as a child.

  Whenever Swift Horse thought about that change, Marsha’s accusations against One Eye always came to mind.

  Swift Horse wanted to believe in One Eye and not think that he could be anything akin to the renegade who killed Marsha’s parents, but lately something about One Eye did make Swift Horse begin to wonder. Certainly Swift Horse was paying more heed now to what One Eye said and did.

  “I have received much pleasure in knowin’ Edward James and Marsha, and their skin is white,” Abraham said, seeming to have read Swift Horse’s mind. “And I knew some kind whites back in Florida land, too. My mastah’s wife had the same sweet sort of smile and voice that I have found in Marsha.”

  Abraham suddenly smiled. “She sneaked freshly baked cookies to my chillen time and time again,” he said, lost for a moment in sweet memories. “I misses her as I am sure she misses and worries ’bout me. After her husband killed my family, she sneaked out to my cabin and embraced me and told me she was so sorry.”

  They were interrupted when the fawn limped in from a back room, went to Abraham, and gazed up at him. “You want me to hold and rock you, don’tcha?” Abraham said, lifting the tiny thing into his arms. He smiled over at Swift Horse. “He thinks he’s a real person. He likes being rocked.” He laughed softly. “I even sing to him sometimes like I sang to my chillen when I rocked them to sleep at night.”

  “And so the fawn’s leg is better, I see,” Swift Horse said as he leaned over and stroked the animal’s sleek fur. “He limps, but at least now he can get around on his own.”

  “I took many an injured animal into my cabin at night when the mastah couldn’t see. I did what I could for them, then returned them to the wild and prayed they’d be all right and not taken advantage of by predators,” Abraham said.

  Abraham suddenly yawned. He wiped at his eyes with his long fingers. “I’m mighty tired and I haven’t been in any fields to cause it,” he said, then smiled softly over at Swift Horse. “I must admit, the long journey with such hurt to my back has taken much outta me. I hope I’ll get my full strength back so that I can do my part ’round here. I look forward to my first hunt with your warriors.”

  “There is plenty of time for that,” Swift Horse said, smiling at Abraham as he rose from the chair. He patted him on the shoulder. “I will go now. You and the fawn can go to bed. Tomorrow is another day. Perhaps you will be stronger then.”

  “I’m much happier, that’s for sure,” Abraham said, rising and holding the fawn near and dear to his heart. “Because of you, I’m happier. Thank you, Swift Horse. Thank you.”

  “I am happy to see that you are happy,” Swift Horse said, turning and walking toward the door. “I will see you tomorrow, Abraham. Get a good rest.”

  “I most certainly will,” Abraham said, walking with Swift Horse to the door, closing it behind him after Swift Horse left.

  Chapter 20

  Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,

  And therefore is wing’d Cupid painted blind.

  —William Shakespeare

  After having knocked more than once on Marsha’s door, Swift Horse could not help but be concerned. Edward James hadn’t said that she had gone anywhere. She should be home. He went to a window and peered inside.

  What he saw made his heart skip a beat.

  He saw Marsha’s sewing equipment spilled along the floor beside a chair, and she wasn’t anywhere in sight. And knowing how neat she was, having made Edward James’s store “as neat as a pin,” seeing her spilled sewing equipment and not seeing signs of her anywhere made a fear enter his heart that made Swift Horse feel ill.

  He went back to the door. He tried it, but it was locked securely from the inside. That inspired hope, for if the door was locked, surely no intruders had come and caused Marsha some sort of trouble. Then he remembered the other door.

  He knew that the door to the store wasn’t always locked, for it was known wide and far by those who frequented the trading post that if anyone sneaked into the store for any reason, they could get shot on the spot.

  Perhaps this time someone didn’t heed that warning and went inside, especially if they knew that Edward James wasn’t there to hold a rifle on them if they were caught there illegally.

  Truly fearing for Marsha’s safety now, he ran to the front door and found it agape.

  Someone had stolen Marsha away!

  “Marsha!” he cried as he rushed into the living quarters, stopping and staring again at the spilled sewing equipment. He turned and looked in jerks around him, stopping again at the spilled things.

  “Someone did come and take her away,” he growled, his teeth clenched, his hands in tight fists at his sides.

  Breathing hard, and with a determination he had never felt before, he ran through the store, went outside, and fell to his knees and studied the footprints. He searched the ground and found footprints he knew were made only moments before, then stood tall and gazed, pondering, at his sister’s cabin.

  If he went and told Edward James about Marsha’s disappearance, it would only slow things down, and he knew that time was wasting already, for he had no idea how long Marsha had been gone, or with whom.

  He had to follow the tracks! And he would rather not have anyone with him to interfere in the search. The tracks soon led into the forest. It would be hard to follow them now, he knew, with the leaves such a cushion to anything or anybody who would be traveling over them. But all that he needed was the direction the person had taken after abducting Marsha, and he had it!

  He hurried home, got his steed, and returned to the tracks that he had found.

  He was puzzled, however, when he found another fresh pair, and he was taken aback when he noticed something different about those tracks. Someone had cleverly tied fur around the horse’s hooves. He knew the trick and why it was used.

  But this time it hadn’t worked.

  Swift Horse knew the art of tracking too well, and knew that more than one horse was involved in this abduction.

  But the main thing was that he had a direction to go. He now suspected who was guilty of the crime. The direction of the tracks indicated to Swift Horse that the cowkeeper had come and abducted Marsha.

  Swift Horse was stunned that anyone would be this ignorant, or bold, to come right into the Creek village and steal the woman away who was soon to be the Creek chief’s bride. How did he think he could hide her without being found?

  “The stupidity of a white man, that’s why,” Swift Horse grumbled. He only hoped that that stupidity did not go further than the abduction itself, for if she was touched wrongly, sexually, or harmed in any way, ah, pity the man who did this to his woman!

  With eyes alert as a cat’s in the night, every bone in his body tight with anger, Swift Horse continued onward.

  Chapter 21

  So, either by the picture or my love,

  Thyself away art present still with me.

  —William Shakespeare

  Marsha swallowed hard and licked her dry lips after the gag was removed from her mouth. But her wrists were stil
l tied, and a rope had been wound around her to keep her tied in the chair that she had only moments ago been forced to sit on.

  She was trying to be brave in the face of danger. Not only would her brother be out for blood, so would the entire Creek nation, for the cowkeeper had done a proud and powerful Creek chief’s woman wrong.

  She had no idea what to think, except that she knew that she was in mortal danger by a man who might suddenly realize what he had done and decide to do away with her in order to keep anyone from ever knowing that he had done such an asinine thing.

  “This here room is going to be your home until I hear you tell me, with conviction, that you will cooperate with me,” Alan Burton said.

  “And what do I have to do . . . to . . . cooperate?” Marsha blurted out, trying not to show her fear. But she was so afraid that no one would ever find her. She had seen how the cowkeeper had to shove aside a heavy, huge chifforobe in order to get into this dark, windowless storage room.

  Her heart sank, for she could not help but feel doomed at the hands of her abductor. And what he had in mind for her made her insides crawl. She knew that eventually he would force himself on her, sexually. She could see it in his pale and beady gray eyes that he had abducted her mainly for her, not as an act of vengeance against anyone.

  He wanted her as his wife! He had told her that while riding toward his home.

  “You make me want to vomit,” she rushed out, defying him with an angry stare. “If you ever dare try to touch me, I shall fight you off by any means that I can.”

  “My beloved wife Sherry, God rest her soul, was a feisty one, too,” Alan said, chuckling. “So don’t try those type of threats on me. It only makes my loins get hotter.”