by Karen Kay
With the shotgun he had left her aimed squarely at the man in red and black, she shouted, “My brother is innocent. He fired no gun, and killed nobody. Who you really want is me. I’m the one who did the shooting back there in Mississippi. Now, get down and untie my brother, mister. Now.” She motioned with the gun.
Swift Hawk, whose pace could not compete with a galloping steed, had been left behind. He rushed forth.
But like the furious winds of the prairie, his thoughts spun. On one hand, Angelia was his wife, his to protect and aid; on the other hand, it was his mission, his very purpose in life, to show mercy, to help and to give aid to the enemy. And this man, Black Hat, was clearly his enemy.
What was he supposed to do? Help this man arrest his wife? Was this his duty?
It couldn’t be.
And yet, didn’t his tribe’s freedom depend on him doing the right thing?
Yes, but what exactly was the right thing to do? No matter what choice he made, someone would get hurt.
Swift Hawk felt himself pull inward both spiritually and mentally, felt the space around him contract, and so lightheaded did his thoughts make him, his head started to spin.
Black Hat had jumped to the ground, but he didn’t move toward Julian. Instead, he stood in front of Angel, his pose a threat.
“Untie him, I said.” Angelia pointed the shotgun at the man’s heart. “You know that I can use this gun. I’ve not missed yet. Now untie him.”
Black Hat made a halfhearted move toward Julian, but instead of doing as ordered, with a speed that defied his degraded look, Black Hat spun toward Angelia, knocking the gun from her hands.
Black Hat laughed, picking up the rifle. “Thank ye, miss,” he said, raising up. “Yer the one I want.” He grabbed hold of Angelia, none too gently, and tugged.
Swift Hawk was running with every ounce of his strength.
Even as he sprinted toward them, doubt filled his soul. Could he fulfill his destiny and give aid, show mercy to this enemy, a man who was bullying his wife? Not and live with himself.
On the other hand, could he live with himself if he showed no mercy, if he gave no aid? If he failed his people?
The problem was soon taken out of his hands. Angelia was not to be seized so easily. Grabbing hold of Black Hat’s hand, she bit down on it hard.
Black Hat slapped her, and the sound of that strike reverberated in Swift Hawk’s ears, over and over and over. It was a moment set out of time, a moment of clarity, for it was then that Swift Hawk knew he could not, he would not, aid this man.
Angelia was crying. “Have mercy,” she begged. “My brother has done nothing.”
“Angel.” It was Julian speaking. “Let it go.” Though his hands were tied, he swung his leg over the horse’s back and jumped to the ground. He said to Black Hat, “She’s just protecting me. She didn’t do anything. Now, I’ll go with you quietly. But promise me this. If I go with you, you’ll let my sister be.”
Swift Hawk was close. He crept forward.
Black Hat smiled wickedly and scratched his whiskers. “Don’t rightly think so.” He pointed his rifle at Julian. “As a matter o’ fact, don’t need ye at all. Man I work fer wants her ’n’ only her, but he wants ye dead. An’ seein’ as how I got the law on my side, I think I’ll end it right here.”
It was an odd thing, Swift Hawk was to think later. It has been said, by those who have come close to death, that within those last few seconds of life, all becomes clear. And so it was with Swift Hawk.
As he watched that rifle, saw Black Hat’s finger on it move, he knew that he must sacrifice all he had ever lived for, all he had been groomed to do, his entire purpose for being here. He could not let his friend die. He could not let her brother die. To do so was unthinkable.
He knew he had time in which to manage it. In his own mind, events were moving so slowly.
He sprinted toward Julian at the same instant the man pulled that trigger. And so slowly was his world spinning, he could even see the bullet coming. Throwing himself forward, he sprang in front of it.
His body jerked as the full impact of that bullet hit him, and the pain was almost unbearable. And then there was nothing.
Chapter Twenty-Three
…Scenes of the old trail come flooding back to me: Places where the earth was like a Persian rug, the lavender, red, and yellow wild flowers mingling with the silvery green prairie grass. There were places where we saw wild turkeys among the cottonwood trees, and where the wild grapevines ran riot. Always there were buffalo… The old trail, the long trail over which once flowed the commerce of a nation, lives now only in the memory of a few old hearts. It lives there like a lovely, oft repeated dream.
Marian Russell
Land of Enchantment: Memoirs of Marian Russell Along the Santa Fe Trail
“No!” Angelia jerked herself free of the bounty hunter and ran to Swift Hawk. “No! No!”
The bounty hunter had dropped the rifle to the ground. Julian rushed forward to take possession of it. But no threat was necessary. The bounty hunter was backing away from them, his eyes staring into space and popping open. He looked as though he were seeing ghosts.
With a shrill scream, the man turned—abandoning Julian, Angelia and his horse—and ran in the opposite direction.
An odd silence descended over the prairie. One that even the wind did not disturb.
But Angelia could barely sense it. “Please, Julian,” she cried into that silence, “run to the wagon train and see if a doctor can come here at once.”
Julian didn’t move.
“Please, Julian. Hurry!”
But there was no answer from Julian. Looking up, Angelia could see that he too was staring around him as though he were confronting something supernatural.
What was happening? Something was. But what?
And then she saw it. Mists had taken form over the prairie, appearing like… Were they shadows? Shadows of people?
Gradually they were coming more and more into focus. People were materializing from that mist. Instead of shadows, they were real people. A people she didn’t know, she was quick to realize, a people she had never seen. They surrounded her, Julian and Swift Hawk.
More and more mist appeared, more and more hazy images appeared, then became real, more substantial, until they seemed as real as any person walking the face of the earth.
They were Indians, these people, though their appearance, their style of clothing, looked ancient.
From out of the foggy haze one man stepped forth. He was an old man, a very old man. He trod toward them, and, bending at last, he touched Swift Hawk’s face.
He spoke, and amazingly, Angelia understood every word of what he was saying, although she could never be certain that he spoke in English. “Behold, I am White Claw, medicine man of the Blackfoot Tribe.” He regarded her solemnly, his old face wrinkled with age. “This man before you is a great warrior. He has broken a spell that has enslaved his people for hundreds of years.”
Angelia stared, then slowly nodded. “But he needs attention. If you are a medicine man, can you help him? He has been shot—whilst he was saving my brother’s life, and I fear… I fear…” Her voice caught, and she bit her lip.
“There is little I can do,” said White Claw. “It was his privilege to die for his people. His name will be remembered forever. And we will sing songs to his glory so long as we exist.”
“No! No! I won’t accept that, and if you say he must die, then you must go away from here. Julian, go get that doctor!”
Julian didn’t move.
“What’s wrong with you people?” There were tears in her eyes. “Don’t you understand that I don’t want songs or glory? Neither does he. He sacrificed himself for me, for my brother. That man back there—I think that was the man Swift Hawk was supposed to have helped. But he didn’t, because of me.”
The old man gazed at her, his look wise, yet his eyes were wet. “Are you saying he committed a completely unselfish act?”
“I
…I—”
“No, I acted selfishly,” said a deep voice, one Angelia recognized at once.
“Swift Hawk?” Angelia cried, and bending down to him, she placed her face next to his. “Swift Hawk?” One of his arms came around to pull her close.
“Yes.”
Rising up slightly, he glanced down at himself, and placing a hand over his side, his fingers came away with blood. “I think I was knocked unconscious when I fell.”
Angelia was crying. She didn’t want to cry. She wanted to be strong. But she couldn’t help it. “You’re alive. You’re alive,” she sobbed over and over.
With his arms wrapped securely around her, she wept.
The sun was leaving the sky in glorious colors of red, gold and rust, the heavens magnifying the hues until the prairie and everything that covered the earth was bathed in color. His arm in a sling, Swift Hawk sat surrounded by friends and family. Already, he had recounted his story so many times that he was becoming tired of it.
Though it was not the custom of his people that a woman was allowed to sit next to her husband in council, Swift Hawk had done away with the general rule, and no one seemed to object. After all, if not for Angelia, he would not have broken the spell.
But how was it that the spell had been broken? What had he done? In a way, he had shown the enemy mercy, for he had not killed Black Hat. But it had been in his heart to do so.
These and other questions filled his mind, and in truth, Swift Hawk was patiently awaiting the time when he and Angelia would be left alone with the medicine man, White Claw. Perhaps White Claw might be able to explain it.
Red Fox had joined Swift Hawk in celebration and had taken a place next to him. From every corner of the camp was much talk, laughter and happiness.
Soon a dance was announced, and many of Swift Hawk’s people rose to leave the council. One of these was Red Fox, who appeared to have his eye fixed on a particular Indian maiden.
Though Swift Hawk was happy to be reunited with his relatives, he had to admit he was not unhappy to see them leave the council. It meant that soon he would be alone with White Claw.
Almost at once, having materialized on the prairie, his people had pitched a camp within the grove of cottonwoods, somewhat near the white man’s camp, yet apart from it. If anyone in the caravan wondered where all the Indians had come from, no one said a word. Perhaps the white man was simply happy to discover that the Indians were friendly.
Gay fires scented the evening air, and on the wind was the sound of drums, much singing and joy. One by one, more and more people departed the council until at last, only Swift Hawk, his wife, her brother and White Claw remained.
Julian was the first one to speak. “Thank you, Swift Hawk, for saving my life.” He, too, wore a sling around his arm. “I am in your debt. And I wonder how I can repay you for what you have done for me.”
Swift Hawk raised an eyebrow and slanted a glance toward Julian. “Perhaps you might begin by giving your blessing to your sister and me. And then maybe you might practice scouting, so that you can elude this bounty hunter in the future.”
Angelia opened her mouth as though she might say a word or two, but Julian spoke up first. “That would be good. I am happy for you and my sister, and you have my blessing. And what you say about the bounty hunter is true. Had I been a better scout, this man might not have found me.”
“You are a fine scout,” Swift Hawk was quick to respond. “What you lack is practice…and perhaps patience. But these things can be learned.”
“Yes. And I must learn them, for he will be back.”
“But, Julian.” It was Angelia speaking up at last. “Didn’t you hear? Don’t you know?”
“Know what?”
“Honestly. I thought you knew. I saw you and Red Fox talking, and so I thought… Well, no difference. Earlier, when I went to the wagon train in search of a doctor, I found out…” She smiled at her brother. “Do you remember that the caravan was waiting for a government train to pull in and join them?”
“Yes.”
“Well, an outrider from that train arrived here only hours ago. The outrider carried a letter.”
“Oh?” Julian raised an eyebrow, a gesture quite like that of Swift Hawk’s.
Angelia ignored the look and continued, “It was from our father, who has, indeed, been busy.”
“You mean…?”
“We are absolved, Julian. We don’t have to hide anymore. The man whom I shot never died, and there were many witnesses who saw it, who were only too happy to testify that the shooting was done in self-defense.”
“But what about the girl in Mississippi?”
“It was a lie, Julian. It was all a lie.”
“Then…then I’m free to—”
“Free as the wind,” said Angelia.
Jumping up, Julian gave a hoot and a howl, and taking two giant steps toward Angelia, he pulled her up, one handed, into an enormous bear hug.
Angelia laughed.
Swift Hawk smiled. However, glancing at White Claw, it was easy to see that his elder was shocked over such behavior between a brother and a sister. And so Swift Hawk explained, “Grandfather, the white people have many unusual customs. And though we might little understand it, a brother and sister are allowed to speak to one another—even to hug—in front of all eyes.”
“Soka-pii.” White Claw nodded, and using the hand language, he made the gesture for good.
Julian let her go, only to grin inanely. “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m going to go celebrate. Where is this dance?” With a merry laugh, he turned and walked away, toward the general direction where Red Fox had disappeared. In the distance Swift Hawk could see Julian catch up to where Red Fox was standing, and together the two men sauntered toward the dance.
So it was that only Swift Hawk, Angelia and White Claw remained seated around the evening fire.
As was custom amongst his people, no one spoke for many moments. Because White Claw was the elder, Swift Hawk waited for him to begin the conversation.
At last White Claw seemed inclined to talk. “Let us smoke.”
“Yes,” said Swift Hawk.
Lighting the pipe, White Claw first offered the smoke to the Sun and to the Moon, then to the four directions. Taking up a bit of tobacco, he scattered it to the winds. This done, only then did he take a puff on the sacred pipe.
White Claw passed the pipe to Swift Hawk, who smoked in turn. Swift Hawk then passed the pipe to Angelia.
Me? Angelia silently mouthed the word toward Swift Hawk. He nodded.
She took a puff, and though she might have turned a little greenish in color, she stoically kept the reaction to herself. Soon she passed the pipe back to Swift Hawk, and he, in turn, gave it back to the medicine man.
Another long silence ensued, and then, “Let us speak with an open heart,” said White Claw, “for I know you both have many questions. I will answer them as best I can.” He added, perhaps for Angelia’s benefit, “The pipe ensures that we all speak with a true tongue. No lies may be said once one has smoked the sacred pipe. But come, you have questions. Ask them of me now.”
Swift Hawk was the first one to speak. “Grandfather, I do not understand how I broke the curse. I saw Black Hat in a vision, and I knew then that he was the enemy I needed to aid. To him I was required to show kindness, mercy. Yet in my heart, I sought to kill him, for he was mistreating my wife. I caused my clan much danger, for I risked everything—all my life’s work.”
Serenely, White Claw nodded. “Why did you do this?”
“Because saving my friend and my wife was more important to me than myself or my shame. It was more vital to aid them than it was to think of my family and clan. I had not a moment in which to think, and in my heart, this was the right thing to do.”
When White Claw glanced toward him, his gaze was wise, yet unassuming. “Was that the only reason?”
“No, I did it because I love her more than I love my own honor.”
White Claw nodded. “Perhaps that is the secret, my son: to love so much that all else fades before that love. Remember that long ago there was no love in us. Had there been love for all living things, our people would not be enslaved.”
Swift Hawk inclined his head silently. White Claw’s words brought on another question. “You say this as though there are still others enslaved in the mist.”
White Claw sat up straighter before he spoke. “You broke the spell for your clan, the Burnt Chest Band of our tribe. There are still three others. But come, do not be sad. The year has not yet passed. Perhaps your brothers in arms will yet succeed as you did today.”
White Claw became silent. Swift Hawk knew he awaited a question from Angelia.
Leaning toward her, Swift Hawk urged her to speak. “If you would like to ask anything, now is the time to question our wise man. For soon, White Claw will return to the other clans who are not yet freed.”
“He will? Then White Claw can move freely in and out of both worlds?”
“Haa’he,” confirmed Swift Hawk. “It is so.”
Swift Hawk watched her from the corner of his eye, watched her swallow hard, watched her as she formed a question. “Mr. Claw, sir, does that mean you will return to the mist?”
“Aaaa, yes. I must.”
“I see,” she said. “Tell me, will these people I have met here today live normal lives now?”
“Aaaa, yes, they will. When the spell was broken, they became free to live the life that was taken from them so long ago.”
“But they will be existing in a different time and in a different place. Might that not be confusing to them?”
“It is possible that it will be,” answered White Claw. “They could perhaps use a teacher. One who knows and understands this world, as well as their own.”
“Do you think so?” Angelia asked. “Why, I could do that. I am a teacher.”
White Claw nodded. “Aaaa, I know. You could help them greatly.” He turned to Swift Hawk. “It is true that they might also benefit from the knowledge of your adopted people, the Cheyenne, my son, if this is agreeable to your wife. You might speak of it between the two of you.”