Wild Thunder

Her brother had explained away Tiny’s latest attempts at discrediting Strong Wolf, by saying that Tiny was hardly different from a large majority of white people who didn’t like Indians.

Yet she felt as though she had achieved something by her latest talk with her brother. As she had talked against Tiny, the very man who made the daily entries in her brother’s journals, she had watched Chuck take out a magnifying glass to study the figures on the pages.

She could tell by his reaction, that although mainly seeing shadows and light as he had looked at the figures, he had seen something that had caused him to glance up at her, his face pale with discovery.

He had seen something questionable in the entries!

Yet again he had scoffed about it, saying that Tiny wouldn’t have the nerve to try and alter the figures.

Not knowing anything about bookkeeping, Hannah felt helpless, yet at least she knew that her brother’s suspicions had been aroused.

And if Clara would agree to come and see to Chuck’s best interests, she would know whether or not Tiny was scheming to swindle her brother, for she was a skilled mathematician.

/> “Clara, you’ve got to come,” she whispered, then rode on toward the house, frowning at Tiny as she passed by him.

His sly smile sent goose bumps up and down her flesh.

Chapter 23

Thou must be true thyself,

If thou the truth wouldn’t teach.

—HORATIUS BONAR

The next day, Strong Wolf and several warriors were on the hunt for the colonel’s meat. Three deer were tied to the backs of horses, with plans to kill at least one more before heading back to the fort with the friendship offerings.

As Strong Wolf rode onward, a blue heron flew out from the brush, its wide wings flapping in a slow beat.

Looking down at the ground, Strong Wolf saw the whiteness of thistle seeds, that which the Maker had placed on the earth as a cushion for those who traveled often in the forest.

He saw jewelweed, balm against the sting of nettle and poison ivy. He also saw the three-leaved raspberry, the fox grape, and the leaves of ginger.

Yes, he thought to himself, it was a good place for his people, a land of loveliness. He was proud to have led them there, although he was constantly faced with challenges with the white man.

The hunt was needed today to again guarantee solid friendships with those at the fort.

He was willing to do this as long as they, in turn, displayed their ways of friendship toward the Potawatomis!

The sun was warm on Strong Wolf’s bare chest. His breechclout fluttered in the breeze as he spied another deer in the path a short distance away.

He drew a right rein, his horse stopping at the command.

He yanked his bow off his shoulder, slipped an arrow from the quiver and notched it to the bowstring, then took steady aim. He whispered his prayer to the deer.

He looked quickly elsewhere when a sudden spattering of gunfire rang through the dense forest, the sparks of the blast catching Strong Wolf’s eyes just as he saw movement.

Proud Heart rode up to his side. “White hunters!” he cried.

Soon they realized that the white men were more than that. While one of the white men went and stood over the downed deer, the others came out of hiding on horseback from all sides and surrounded the Potawatomis braves, their rifles aimed at them.

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?”