Wild Thunder

by Cassie Edwards

  Lowering his bow to his side, the arrow still notched, Strong Wolf looked slowly from man to man, recognizing none of them.

  “And so what have we here?” one of the whiskered men said, laughing in a strange sort of snort. “A pack of savages.”

  “Who are you, and what are you doing on land of the Potawatomis?” Strong Wolf asked, his voice guarded.

  “Oh?” one of them said, forking a thick eyebrow, “I don’t see no signs anywhere sayin’ this is Injun land.” He gazed over at the man beside him. “Frank? Do you see any sign sayin’ this land belongs to anyone in particular? Wouldn’t you say anyone can hunt here that wants to?”

  Frank edged his horse closer to Strong Wolf’s. “Yeah, even Injuns are fair game on the hunt, wouldn’t you say?” he said, chuckling.

  Suddenly Strong Wolf’s bow was grabbed away from him and tossed to the ground, his arrow falling limply away from the string.

  White Beaver, one of Strong Wolf’s most valiant braves, was knocked from his horse with the butt end of a rifle.

  Strong Wolf watched helplessly as one of the white men placed a rope around one of Strong Wolf’s other braves, and dragged him from his steed.

  Hate swelled inside Strong Wolf’s heart when the warrior was dragged behind a horse, gagging and grabbing at the rope around his throat, until he finally quit struggling and lay dead when the man finally stopped.

  While the men became caught up in their fits of laughter, that gave Strong Wolf and his warriors the chance to finally defend themselves.

  Strong Wolf leaned quickly over and grabbed his bow up from the ground, notched an arrow, and sent it through the heart of the man who went by the name of Frank.

  Proud Heart and the others drew their rifles from their gun boots and killed two more assailants before the others got away in a frenzy on their horses.

  Strong Wolf watched until the men were out of sight, then slid from his saddle.

  He dropped his bow to the ground and ran to the warrior who lay in a heap, rope burns around his neck. He knelt down beside him and lay his head on his lap, tears of regret flooding his eyes.

  “Son of Sky,” Strong Wolf said, caressing the dead man’s cheek. “You died so needlessly!”

  Dazed, White Beaver moved to his feet. Proud Heart held onto him by an arm as they both went to Strong Wolf and stared down at their fallen brother.

  Then Proud Heart looked at the dead white men, then into the distance, where the other white men had fled to safety.

  “Strong Wolf, the white men are settlers who are not familiar with how things should be in the Kansas Territory?” he questioned, his voice hollow of feeling.

  “No, that is not so,” Strong Wolf said, glaring at Proud Heart.

  “You know them?” Proud Heart said, kneeling beside Strong Wolf, also gently touching the face of the beloved departed.

  “We know them,” Strong Wolf mumbled. “Did you not see the brand on the rumps of the horses? As they rode away, I saw the brand! It is one familiar to us!”

  “I did not take time to look,” Proud Heart said softly.

  “I made the time,” Strong Wolf said bitterly. “As they rode away, the cowards they became under the fire of our weapons, I recognized the brand that is used by a rancher that sits not all that far from Chuck Kody’s ranch.”

  “His name is?”

  “Bryant. Jeremiah Bryant,” White Beaver said as he glared down at Son of Sky.

  Proud Heart gasped. “I am familiar with the man,” he said, looking at White Beaver and then at Strong Wolf. “I have seen him while at the trading post.”

  “And did he show resentment while you were near him?” Strong Wolf said, his eyes points of fire.

  “Yes, I do remember feeling the coldness that came from him when we stood perhaps too close together while making trade,” Proud Heart said, nodding.

  “I have also felt his resentment,” White Beaver added as he rubbed a contusion that was growing purple on his chest, where the rifle had struck him.

  “He is our man,” Strong Wolf said, looking in the direction of Jeremiah Bryant’s ranch. “He is responsible for the death of our warrior.”

  “But, Strong Wolf, he was not among those who did this,” Proud Heart said, eyes narrowing in thought.

  “He whose men kill, condones the killing, not perhaps by giving the order to kill, but by having men under his employ who have the heart of killers,” Strong Wolf said bitterly. “He is no less guilty than if he himself had tied the rope around Son of Sky’s neck.”

  “And what do we do about this atrocity against our people today?” White Beaver said, knowing Strong Wolf’s strong feelings for peace.

  “Yes, what is your plan, Strong Wolf?” Proud Heart said, his eyes questioning Strong Wolf.

  “And what would you do were you chief and had choices to make about such deeds done today, Proud Heart?” Strong Wolf challenged. “One day you alone, when you are chief, will have to make choices like those facing me today, for your people.”

  “I would not have to think hard and long about that,” Proud Heart said, his jaw tightening. “I would say go and destroy Jeremiah Bryant’s ranch, but be careful not to kill any more white men.”

  Proud Heart looked down at his friend who lay dead in the sun, then looked at the Potawatomis warriors who always wished to see another sunrise so that they would be there for their children. “There have been enough killings today,” he mumbled.

  “Your thoughts match my own,” Strong Wolf said, nodding.

  He lifted Son of Sky into his arms and carried him to his horse. He nodded to a warrior who knew by the silent order to remove the deer that now lay behind Strong Wolf’s saddle.

  The warrior removed the deer and placed it on his own horse, while Strong Wolf tied Son of Sky on his.

  “The deer,” White Beaver said. “What are we to do with them?”

  “Did I not give my word to Patrick that I would bring more meat for his soldiers’ tables?” Strong Wolf said, mounting his horse.

  White Beaver nodded as he slowly swung himself into his saddle.

  “I keep my word,” Strong Wolf grumbled. “We will take the meat to the fort, then go home and deliver the dead to his loved ones. Then we will make plans for an attack. We will avenge the deaths of our downed brother!”

  “It could start a war,” Proud Heart said, eyeing Strong Wolf carefully.

  “What we do is right, and let the white soldiers come. They will soon know they should not interfere in our time of vengeance,” Strong Wolf said coldly. “I tire of having to look the other way when things against our people continue to happen!”

  He gazed down at the three dead white men. Then he nodded to two of his warriors who had no deer tied to their steeds. “Get the white men,” he flatly ordered. “We shall deliver them as well as deliver the meat.”

  “One look at the dead white men will cause us to become surrounded by soldiers,” White Beaver softly argued.

  “You do not understand,” Strong Wolf said, leaning closer to White Beaver. “First we deliver these dead white men to Jeremiah Bryant’s land. We leave them to be found by them, not by soldiers. Then we deliver the deer.”

  They rode off. They first threw the dead white men at the far edge of Jeremiah Bryant’s ranch, then went and dumped the deer just outside of the gate at the fort.

  When soldiers came and gaped openly at Strong Wolf, and then at the one fallen brother tied to the horse, Strong Wolf gazed at them with a silent loathing.

  “Take the meat to your colonel, and also take him the news that, while hunting for meat for your tables, white men came and killed my brave as though he were nothing less than deer meat himself!” he shouted.

  He then rode away, his heart thumping wildly within his chest, his anger so deep and hard to control.

  He rode without stopping until he reached his village. Long shadows rippled over the ground, and as he gazed heavenward, he spied the Milky Way.

  “Oh, bridge
of souls,” he whispered. “Where souls pass from one life to the other. Tonight, welcome one more of my people!”

  Then he delivered the dead to the door of his family.

  Strong Wolf cringed and closed his eyes as the wailing began.

  Chapter 24

  I wandered lonely as a cloud that floats on high,

  O’er vales and hills.

  —WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

  Like a firefly, the moon broke through the trees. Strong Wolf rode through the night with his warriors. They all wore war shirts made from a soft piece of buckskin with buffalo hair fringe on the sleeves and across the front. Red, blue, yellow, and white quills were sewn on them, each color of quills radiating from the other.

  When Jeremiah Bryant’s ranch came into sight, Strong Wolf lifted his rifle into the air as a silent command for his men to stop.

  Proud Heart sidled his horse closer to Strong Wolf as he stared at the corral at the far back of the ranch grounds. He watched several horses scamper about, whinnying. “Are the horses that carried the men today on their attack against us in that fence?” he whispered.

  “Of that I am sure,” Strong Wolf whispered back harshly. “I have told everyone what to do. Now, let us see that it is done!”

  He looked over his shoulder as several of his men lit torches. He nodded at others whose duties were to set the horses free, then he settled into his saddle and watched it all happen with Proud Heart and White Beaver leading the silent attack.

  The horses were set free and scattered in all directions. The fences were knocked down and dragged away.

  And then came the most triumphant moment of all, when the white men ran out of the bunkhouse, stumbling as they jerked on their breeches, shouting and cursing.

  When Strong Wolf was certain that no more men were left in the bunkhouse, he gave a nod to his warriors who waited with their torches.

  They smiled and nodded back at him, then rode off in a hard gallop toward the bunkhouse, the white men scattering and falling to the ground in the flurry of hoofbeats.

  “It is as I suspected,” Strong Wolf whispered to himself. “In the white men’s haste to leave their quarters, they brought no weapons. The surprise visit by our warriors made them careless. As planned, it won’t be necessary to kill any of them. We have taken away their mode of transportation. We are now burning their lodges.”

  He gazed over at the ranch house, and his smile faded when he saw Jeremiah Bryant step from his house with his wife close at his side. Jeremiah wore eyeglasses, and the fire reflected in their lenses.

  “And now the debt is paid,” Strong Wolf said beneath his breath.

  He then turned his eyes to his men and shouted for them to leave. His plans had been carried out without anyone being harmed. It was time to return home to the peaceful side of life again.

  As they rode off, Strong Wolf looked one last time over his shoulder. He smiled victoriously as he watched the ranch hands scrambling around with their buckets of water, splashing them on the bunkhouse that was a blazing inferno.

  Then he turned his eyes straight ahead again and rode tall and proud in his saddle. Yet he hoped that tonight would not have to be repeated. He hoped that the message would be loud and clear to those who chose to kill the Potawatomis, that the Potawatomis would not slink away and let it be done to them like cowardly puppies whose tails hang limply between their hind legs.

  They headed back toward their village, then Strong Wolf saw something in the distance that made his heart skip a beat. He looked toward the heavens at the reflection of fire in the sky, making the black inky sky of night turn to crimson.

  “Do you see it?” Proud Heart shouted over at Strong Wolf. “Fire! And not set by us! It is far from the one we have just left behind.”

  “Let us go and see what is the cause!” Strong Wolf said, making a wide turn in the road, his men following.

  Strong Wolf bent low over his horse as he followed the fire tracks in the sky, then when he drew close enough to see whose cabin was on fire, his heart sank and he felt ill inside.

  “Claude Odum’s!” White Beaver shouted, gazing over at Strong Heart. “Someone has set Claude Odum’s cabin on fire!”

  Not hearing anything, only feeling remorse, Strong Wolf broke away from the others and sent his powerful steed into a much harder gallop. His eyes never left the fiery inferno, knowing that if Claude Odum was inside the cabin, surely he could no longer be alive.

  There was a small hope inside Strong Wolf’s heart when, as he got closer, he saw that the back side of the cabin, where the huge stone fireplace reached halfway across the wall, was not yet in flames. If Claude had crawled to that part of the room, just possibly he would be alive. And surely he would have tried to get there, for a door was there, an escape to freedom.

  Strong Wolf wheeled his horse to a shimmying stop and dismounted, then ran toward the cabin.

  Proud Heart ran after him, shouting. “No!” he cried. “Strong Wolf! No! Do not try it! Do not go inside that cabin!”

  His ears deaf to everything, except the pounding of his heart in his eagerness to try and save Claude Odum, the gentle man that he was, Strong Wolf ran to the well behind the house.

  He dropped the bucket that was attached to a rope down into the water, gathered water into the bucket, then cranked the bucket back up and grabbed it. So that his whole body would be soaked before entering the fiery inferno, he poured the water over his head.

  He then grabbed a blanket from his horse and soaked it in the water, then placed it around his head and ran toward the cabin door.

  Proud Heart came to him and tried to grab him by the arm, but Strong Wolf yanked it away. “Your people!” Proud Heart cried. “Think of your people! Should you die . . . !”

  Strong Wolf heard those words, yet paid no heed. A friend of his people might be dying among flames! He had to save him!

  When Strong Wolf yanked the door open, a great burst of smoke and flames reached out for him, giving him a taste of what it was like inside the cabin.

  But not to be dissuaded, his heart thundering, he took a wary step inside, then stumbled over something.

  The flames bright, the heat intense, Strong Wolf looked downward. His gut twisted when he saw Claude Odum stretched out on the floor, his clothes burned off his body, his skin scorched black.

  Strong Wolf felt the strong urge to retch as the stench of burned flesh wafted up into his nose. He shook from head to toe in hard shudders, then composed himself enough to reach down and place his hands on the burned flesh of Claude’s arms and dragged him outside, away from the fire.

  Proud Heart and White Beaver went to Strong Wolf. They gasped, paled, then turned their eyes from the sight.

  “Who could have done this?” Strong Wolf said, his teeth clenched, his face still hot from the flames.

  “Someone who does not want us to have such a friend in the Kansas Territory,” Proud Heart said, his voice hollow.

  “And he was such a friend,” Strong Wolf said, bending to kneel beside Claude. He took the blanket from around his shoulders and lay it over Claude, then turned toward the sound of approaching horsemen.

  “Someone else has seen the flames in the sky tonight,” White Beaver said, his voice wary. “We should have been home safe by now, then questions would not be asked so quickly of us.”

  “Let them be asked,” Strong Wolf said, moving to his feet. He wiped some of the soot away from his eyes, then stood with his arms folded across his chest when Colonel Deshong and several of his men came to a halt on their horses a few feet away.

  Strong Wolf didn’t take his eyes off the colonel as Patrick came toward him, dressed in full uniform. Patrick rested a hand on a saber at his right side, his eyes on the fire, then on Strong Wolf.

  Strong Wolf watched as the soldiers surrounded the Potawatomis warriors, who were still on their horses clustered together.

  “This time I don’t have any choice but to arrest you, Strong Wolf,” Patrick said, going to bend to
a knee to take a look at Claude. He choked back the urge to retch, then moved to his feet and stood before Strong Wolf. “Two fires were set tonight, and after you were attacked today while on the hunt? It looks too suspicious to ignore, Strong Wolf.”

  Patrick nodded toward one of his men. “Tie his hands behind him,” he ordered. “Let the others go. We can’t arrest the entire Potawatomis nation. Strong Wolf is enough. He speaks and acts for all of his people.”

  Strong Wolf winced as tight-binding rawhide ropes were used to tie his wrists together behind him. He said nothing, for he would not humiliate himself tonight before his warriors, or the soldiers who were hell-bent on arresting him for something.

  It was hard for Strong Wolf to understand why the colonel would think that he would kill Claude. Patrick knew that he and Claude had been the best of friends, whose hearts were linked together in camaraderie!

  But Strong Wolf had to think that the arrest was made to keep face for the colonel. Someone had to be incarcerated for the crimes tonight. It might as well be an Indian!

  “Strong Wolf, you will face a judge tomorrow.” Patrick stared at Strong Wolf. “Now go peacefully to the guardhouse. Your fate is no longer in my hands.”

  His chin lifted, Strong Wolf went to his horse. With his hands tied behind him, he could not get into his saddle. Proud Heart came to him and helped him.

  “What are we to do?” he whispered to Strong Wolf.

  “Think, then act,” Strong Wolf whispered back. “But do not chance losing any of our men, or people. There are peaceful ways to settle this. Think about it. You will know the right answers.”

  Proud Heart nodded, then stepped aside as the colonel came and stared up at Strong Wolf, then at Proud Heart.

  “Proud Heart, take your men back to your village and heed my warning well when I say do not come to the fort with the notion of attacking,” Patrick said, his voice filled with warning. “One shot fired against us will mean the death of Strong Wolf.”