Swift Horse

She tried to focus her thoughts on what she was supposed to be doing now, being careful that she was right in what she gave those who came with their beautiful pelts for trade.

Her back aching, her head pounding from the constant work and attention to what needed to be done, Marsha stepped back from the counter and stretched her arms overhead, then kneaded the small of her back as she slowly looked around her. She had been too busy earlier to look carefully at who was there, except for those she had tended to at the counter. But now she saw just how many diverse people there were and was amazed at how her brother seemed to know so many of them as he went from one to the other, talking business.

Suddenly her throat constricted when she saw the renegade among those who stood across the room from her brother, amidst the crowd of Indians, yet not actually talking with any of them. Instead, he was staring at her with a sort of loathing that made chills ride her spine.

“Lord, it is him,” Marsha whispered to herself, not so surprised when this discovery made her tremble. How could she ever forget how he had so heartlessly murdered her parents, and how he had seemed to single her out for a moment before he rode off, soon lost amidst dust that was created by his and his friends’ horses?

Ignoring those who were standing in line waiting for her to assist them, she searched for her brother. When she found him, she saw that he was busy talking with several Creek warriors now, making trade, but she had no choice but to interrupt him.

He had to know. He had to stop the renegade. He must tie him up and then take him to the fort, for arresting.

She rushed from behind the counter and went to her brother. “Edward,” she said, trying to get his attention. “Edward James, I’m sorry to interrupt, but I’ve something to tell you. It’s . . . it’s . . .”

He turned to her with a glower that was new to her, but she understood why. He might lose money because of her interference. But she had to tell him.

“Edward James, the one-eyed man—”

“Sis,” he said, taking her gently by the arm and ushering her a few inches away from those who still stood awaiting his decision about what their pelts were worth.

“I’m in the middle of something,” Edward James said. “Give me a chance to finish and then—”

“Edward James!” Marsha said, truly stunned by his being this inattentive to her, especially when he had surely heard her start to say something about the one-eyed man.

She gave him a stare of wonder, then jerked herself free and ran from the cabin, sobbing.

When she was outside, with the noise of the trading post behind her, she stopped and wiped at her eyes, wondering what she was to do.

He had surely recognized her. Would he come for her and finish what he had not been able to do on the day of the ambush?

“Swift Horse!” she whispered to herself, looking quickly toward his cabin. Her heart warmed at the sight of him as he stood at his door. “Yes, I shall seek his help,” she whispered to herself, and broke into a run toward him.

Swift Horse was suddenly aware of Marsha coming toward him, a frantic sort of look in her eyes, and could only conclude that her brother must be having some trouble inside his store.

He hurried toward her and met her halfway to see what was troubling her. When she stopped before him, she could hardly catch her breath, her eyes wild as she gazed up at him.

“What has happened?” he asked, taking her gently by her shoulders. “You are upset. Why? Is it something that happened at your brother’s store?”

Again she breathed hard, sucked in deep gulps of air, then was finally able to talk. “No, it is not what has happened there—” she rushed out, her eyes pleading into his. “Swift Horse, you’ve got to help me. The man who murdered my parents is at my brother’s store. The one-eyed man. He’s there! He must be taken into custody. He must be made to pay for what he did!”

When Swift Horse was aware of her distress and heard her describe someone who was one-eyed, he could only conclude that she had mistaken his friend, for he had seen One Eye go into the store only a short while ago, a stack of pelts in his arms for trade.

“Do not be in such distress, for the man you saw is my friend, whose name is One Eye,” Swift Horse said softly. “I saw him arrive a short while ago. He is there to make trade with your brother.”

“You are mistaken,” Marsha said, stunned that he was taking this news this easily when he had been told by her brother how their parents had died on their way from Georgia to his village. “The man in there is the one who killed my parents. I have no doubt that it is he.”

“Did you see more than one one-eyed man in the store?” Swift Horse asked gently.

“No,” Marsha said, almost knowing what his next words would be, and disappointed that he was not taking her seriously.

“Then the one-eyed man is definitely my friend, for I saw him go there,” Swift Horse reiterated, lowering his hands from her shoulders.

“Then it is your friend who I saw murder my parents, because I shall never forget him! Never!” Marsha cri

ed.

Again taking her gently by the shoulders, Swift Horse leaned closer down into her face. “Marsha, I know my friend well,” he said thickly. “We have been friends since we were young braves learning the ways of warriors. He is not a murderer. He is a man of heart and a warrior praised for his bravery. I was with him when he was injured by a bear he downed to save me. That is why his one eye is missing. He is admired by all for his prowess, kindness, and intelligence.”

Marsha could not be dissuaded. She reached up and removed his hands from her arms and started slowly backing away from him. “I know what I know,” she said tightly. “I know that he was among those who killed not only my parents, but several of the soldiers who were escorting us from Georgia to Kentucky. Surely there can’t be two men with the same empty socket and same livid white scar that runs down from where the eye had once been.”