Savage Courage

Ho, Chief Storm was protecting himself from such hurts. His sole reason for living was to keep his people safe.

But the young braves who were part of his band had sought out wives from the other Apache peoples before they were forced onto reservations. The children of those warriors were the hope of the Piñaleno River Band.

His thoughts strayed to someone else, causing his eyes to narrow angrily and his jaws to tighten. He vividly remembered the name that his father had spoken before he died. Colonel Whaley!

Because of Storm’s devotion to the safety and happiness of his people, he had long ago set aside his vow of vengeance against Colonel Whaley.

Storm did not see how he could have achieved it, anyhow. As far as he knew, the colonel had left Arizona after having been wounded so severely in his leg.

“I, too, see the sadness in the children’s eyes,” his older sister Dancing Willow said as she stepped up to Storm’s side. She frowned at the lack of merriment in the children’s games today.

She placed a hand on her brother’s arm, causing his eyes to move to her. “You met in council with our warriors, and news was brought to me that you have proposed a plan that I see as unwise,” she murmured. “You should not journey down our mountain alone. You know that I see many truths in my visions and dreams. My dreams have told me that danger awaits you if you leave the safety of our stronghold this time. If something should happen to you, all of our people’s lives will change. Let someone else go. Heed my warning, my brother. This time, stay safely among our people.”

She awaited his reply, afraid that she already knew what it would be. She knew that he had never backed down from anything in his life. He had always faced all danger head on, and always came away from it a victor.

Her brother was known for his wisdom in council, and all who heard him speak knew that his words came from the heart, and that what he said was to be heeded.

She was so proud of her brother, a boy on that day of their parents’ deaths, who quickly stepped into the moccasins of a man. He became chief that day and had never disappointed anyone who followed him.

And he was not only a wise, powerful leader, but also a handsome warrior, with a sculpted face, noble bearing, brilliant black eyes, and smooth copper skin.

He had a large and powerful frame, corded with iron-hard sinews and muscles.

His coal-black hair hung down below the middle of his back in a broad, thick plait, wrapped in panther skin.

Today, like most days, he wore panther-skin leggings and moccasins, and a smoke-tanned buckskin shirt that was decorated with green porcupine quillwork and tassels of horse hair.

While away from the safety of his stronghold he always armed himself well. His weapons of choice were a Sharp’s rifle, a bow and quiver of arrows, and a huge Bowie knife.

/> His bow was as powerful a weapon as a rifle, strengthened with layers of sinew on the back, laid on with such nicety that they could scarcely be seen.

His arrows were more than three feet long, the upper part made of cane or rush. A shaft about a foot long made of light, yet hard and seasoned wood, was inserted into this. The point of the arrows was of sharpened stone.

He was able to shoot an arrow five hundred feet with fatal effect.

This younger brother of hers was a man of superior mental qualities. He showed instinct and cunning akin to those of the animals.

He was endowed with great acuteness of perception, and he was witty, quick with a sense of humor, cheerful and companionable.

His code of morals was deep-rooted, and the challenges of his life had made him vigilant, ever on the alert.

“My sister, I understand your concern, but I must go alone,” Storm said, his eyes holding hers. “Too many riders would make a sound like thunder along the ground. Their horses’ hooves would alert the panther that it was being stalked. I have taught my steed to travel lightly, as do I in my moccasins. Do not fret so much, my sister. What must be done must be done, and soon. Once an animal tastes the blood of a human, it hungers for more.”

“My brother, what can I say to make you see the true dangers today?” Dancing Willow said, sighing. “Must I remind you that I am a Seer, and that I know mystic arts, the power of chants, dreams, and potions? My teachers are the sun, moon, and stars. My brother, I listen to the stars at night. I study the curvature of the moon and the sun’s arc across the heavens. They are my mentors. I can predict the death of a man’s relative, the coming of a child. You know that, so often, what I predict comes true.”

She looked past him again, but this time not at the children. Her eyes followed the slow walk of a woman whose aged appearance did not match her years. She was bent and gray, bowed down by a tragedy that had occurred near the same time that their band had been attacked by the pindah-lickoyee.

“Look yonder, brother,” Dancing Willow said, motioning with a nod of her head to the woman who had gone to a stream for a jug of water. The weight of the jug made her shoulders bend even closer to the ground. “You do see her, do you not?”

“Yes, I see her,” Storm said, now also watching the slow gait of the woman. “I have yet to see happiness in her eyes since the day we found her half-alive and wandering amid a small grove of willows as we made our escape from the pony soldiers. She has yet to speak. We have never discovered her tribe or where she came from. We have never even discovered what she calls herself.”

“Had I not foretold finding the woman after the whites had left her for dead?” Dancing Willow said, still watching the woman, whom they called No Name.

“Ho, that is true,” Storm said, still in awe of the way his sister had predicted that event. It still amazed him how the woman had lived after having been shot in the back by a white man’s bullet.

The bullet had still been lodged in her back when Storm had gone to her that day.

She had survived by sheer willpower, but never had she spoken since that day. It was as though the bullet had taken away her ability to speak, instead of her life.