Swift Horse

Oddly enough, the very man who had taken her brother’s parents away was a friend of her brother’s, who surely traded at the store many times, surely even with blood having been fresh on his hands only moments before he arrived.

“You’ll pay,” she sobbed. “Damn you, you one-eyed beast, I will make you pay if no one else will!”

She rode free of the forest and led her steed across a flat stretch of land. She knew that the soldiers at Fort Hill worked in unison with all of the surrounding villages of Indians.

The fort kept the Indians “in line,” even though they knew Swift Horse to be a man of peace. But again, there were those Indians who weren’t peace-loving, who needed to be watched. If a skirmish broke out between Indians and the white people, she had to believe that the Indians would be the victors, for there were far more of them in this area than settlers or soldiers.

However, the Indians were surely smart enough to know that although there were only a few soldiers at Fort Hill now, many more soldiers could arrive from other forts if summoned. Together they could stop an Indian rebellion in no time flat.

She hoped that everyone continued to live together in peace, and her brother was there to help it along, for he was a friend to everyone, both white and red-skinned.

“Maybe that’s why he won’t allow himself to believe what I told him,” she whispered to herself.

Riding onward, Marsha was aware of something in the air that made her insides tighten.

She smelled smoke. The wind seemed to be carrying it from the direction of the fort. Her blood chilled at the thought of Indians having gone there, and set it afire. Had some of them decided to try to run the soldiers off land that had at one time belonged solely to the red man?

If so, why now? What would prompt it?

It was obvious that the hunt

was good this season. She had seen the proof of this at her brother’s trading post. Perhaps some had not been as lucky, and decided to take it out on those who lived at the fort.

Marsha traveled onward, and soon found herself meeting clouds and bursts of smoke. She saw animals running scared in the opposite direction—deer racing past her, their eyes wild with fear, as well as tiny forest animals.

She knew that she should stop and turn back, but if the fort had been attacked and those who survived needed help, perhaps she could assist in some small way until more help came.

But she soon found herself riding into a thicker, billowing smoke that caused her eyes to burn and her throat to sting. She knew that she had no choice now but to turn back. The smoke attested to a big fire up ahead. She had to make a fast retreat or meet it head-on and then she wouldn’t have a chance of escaping it.

Just as she drew a tight rein to stop and wheel her steed around to go back in the direction she had just come, White Cloud whinnied and bucked, but Marsha managed to hold on and wasn’t thrown.

“White Cloud, come on!” she cried, sinking her heels into the mare’s flanks, urging it onward. “Please get me out of here!”

She soon discovered, after riding only a few feet, that the fire had not only been ahead of her. She saw it now in a huge, wide circle all around her, advancing on her, the smoke now so thick she felt as though her throat was on fire.

“Lord!” she cried, only now recalling how the Creek had talked during the hunt council about how some were going to use fire for their hunt today; how it was used to frighten deer so much they went insane with the need to flee, only then to find themselves at the mercy of the Creek hunters.

“Hunters!” she whispered, a cold dread washing through her to think that she might be amidst a firing range if the hunters were standing just beyond the flames, waiting to shoot at anything that moved, thinking it was deer.

Thus far, she had seen only a few, but she knew that the Creek knew this land and would understand how many deer to expect to flee the fire.

Now truly feeling trapped, White Cloud nervously pawing at the ground, her nostrils flaring, seemingly frozen by fear, Marsha dismounted. “Is anyone near?” she screamed, as the fire slowly advanced in the circle all around her, burning everything in its path.

She wasn’t sure which way she should go. Fire and smoke were everywhere!

“Please!” she cried as she stumbled away from her horse, tears streaming from her eyes. “Someone come and help me!” Then she stopped dead in her tracks. She saw a little fawn trapped, too, amidst the flames.

The smoke choking her, Marsha made her way toward the fawn that now lay on the ground, its eyes closed, perhaps dead! But Marsha couldn’t leave it there. Perhaps it was still alive, even if only barely. She must save it!

The smoke was choking Marsha. Her eyes were burning so badly now she could hardly see one inch ahead of her, but she finally reached the tiny animal. She leaned down over it and saw that one of its legs was broken.

Marsha was very aware of the heat. It penetrated the soles of her shoes.

Trembling now, truly afraid that she wasn’t going to make it to safety, nor be able to save the tiny creature or her beloved horse, she still bent low and swept the fawn into her arms.

Holding it close to her chest, she struggled to find a way through the smoke and the flames, moving around in a circle as she searched, staggering now, coughing.

The flames were closing in, and she couldn’t find an opening for her escape.