Swift Horse

“But what if my mastah hunts and finds me?” Abraham said, visibly shuddering.

“Believe me when I say that I hate injustice—all injustices,” Swift Horse said tightly. “Like I have promised, I will do what I can for you. And I know how far Florida land is from here, so I do not see your, as you call him, ‘mastah’ coming this far to find only one runaway slave. And slave owners here in Kentucky would not dare interfere in what I have done. They know that I have strong ties with the white authorities at Fort Hill and that the colonel there would stand up with me regarding any decision I make about anyone, or anything.”

“You are so kind,” Abraham said, again lowering his eyes. Then he looked up at Swift Horse again. “What Indian tribe are you a part of ?” he asked. “In Florida land, there are many who are called Seminole. What are you called?”

“I am Chief Swift Horse of the Creek tribe,” Swift Horse said, squaring his shoulders proudly.

“I am in the presence of a chief ?” Abraham said, obviously in awe of knowing this.

“Yes, I am chief of my Wind Clan of Creek,” Swift Horse said, smiling. Then his smile faded. “I am sorry about your treatment at the hands of whites. It was a whip that caused the deep scars on your back, was it not?”

“Yessah, it was a whip,” Abraham said, his voice breaking. “My mastah whips all blacks to teach obedience. Abraham . . . could not be . . . obedient any longer.”

Swift Horse turned when he heard footsteps approaching. He saw that it was his sister, who had obviously seen everything from his back window. She had gone for their village conjurer, who was also their people’s shaman.

He turned and saw how Abraham seemed suddenly afraid again. Swift Horse placed a gentle, reassuring hand on the man’s arm. “This is my people’s shaman, who to you might be called a doctor, since you were a part of the white world and that is how they refer to their healers,” he said. “His name is Bright Moon, and the woman is my sister Soft Wind.”

Still Abraham stood stiffly, his eyes darting from Soft Wind to Bright Moon and then t

o Swift Horse.

“As I am your friend, so are Bright Moon and Soft Wind your friends,” Swift Horse reassured. “Bright Moon would like to look at your wounds and study them so that he can know how to medicate them.”

Bright Moon stepped up to Swift Horse’s side in his long robe with the paintings of many crescent moons on the buckskin. His gray hair was worn in one long braid down his back, and his old, dark eyes had lost much of their luster.

“Let him see you,” Swift Horse again urged, taking one of Abraham’s arms and slowly turning him so that his back was to him and Bright Moon.

The Shaman stepped closer and studied the bloody scars. “I have never seen anything like this before,” he said in his perfect English. “Whoever did this to you must not have had a heart. The scars still ooze blood although I can see they are some days old.”

Swift Horse saw many coming from their lodges, and realized that word had spread about the black man that had come into their village. He was amazed at how many were there, for the hour was early, when only women should be up and adding wood to their cook fires. Even children were there with their mothers and fathers. They tried to get closer to the man who had a skin color most of them had not seen before.

A small child stepped boldly up to Abraham as Abraham turned and saw so many people there, staring at him.

Abraham looked down at the small girl as she stepped up to him and ran a hand across his stomach, then looked at her fingers. Everyone was quiet as this was happening.

“Why does the black color not come off onto my hand?” the child asked. She gazed up without fear, but wonder, into Abraham’s black eyes. “Is the color not painted onto your skin?”

Seeing how this might become embarrassing for Abraham, Swift Horse knelt down before the child, Pretty Star, and took her hand in his. “You do not see color on your skin from having touched this man because this color is his own, not painted,” he explained patiently. “This man’s skin is black like our own is copperred.”

Pretty Star smiled at Swift Horse as he took his hand from hers, then ran back and stood between her mother and father.

Swift Horse smiled, for he was proud of his people’s alertness and inquisitive nature. That was how people learned, even after they had reached the midpoint of their lives.

He explained all about Abraham, why he was there, and how badly he was injured.

“Bright Moon will take Abraham now to his personal lodge and help lead the black man on to the quick path of recovery,” Swift Horse said, turning and smiling at Abraham, which seemed to help reassure him.

Swift Horse went up to Abraham. “It is all right to go with my shaman to his lodge,” he said. “He is an intelligent healer. When you leave his lodge, you will be without pain, and soon your back will heal only to scars that will surely be with you for the rest of your life. Perhaps it will be good that they will be there. They will remind you always of the cruelty of one man, while you are among those who are good—who are your friends, forever.”

Suddenly Abraham flung himself into Swift Horse’s arms, again thanking him, then stepped away from him and walked beside Bright Moon as everyone parted and made way for them to pass, then walked away themselves, to return to their homes and their duties of the day.

Soft Wind embraced Swift Horse. “You prove time and again how much a man of heart you are,” she murmured. “I love you and am so proud of you.”

“The man has suffered enough inhumanity,” Swift Horse said, stepping away from Soft Wind. He took her hands in his. “My sister, there are so many injustices that you are not even aware of.”

“I know,” she murmured. “Yes, I know. I plan to listen well to my white husband as I have always listened to you. By doing that, I will feel safe enough against such tyrants who harmed Abraham so terribly.”

“Yes, you will be safe as Edward James’s wife, for you will have him and your brother to look after you then,” he said, his thoughts wandering to someone else.