Swift Horse

Her eyes transfixed, Marsha watched as the deer that had been cleaned of the blood from the fresh kill was carried toward the huge fire, her thoughts returning momentarily to the small fawn that she had saved. She could not help but regret that one day it could be the first buck sacrifice. She tried not to think about that, for she knew the importance of these animals to the Creek.

Without smoked and preserved venison, the Creek would not be able to survive through the long win

ter months. Swift Horse’s people, she had learned, used every part of the animal, wasting nothing. Deerskins were used to make clothing and bedding, for shoes and shot pouches. Even the hollowed out hooves were fashioned into bells to be used during ceremonial dances.

She knew now that on the hunters’ return to the village, they were expected to distribute some of their meat to the elderly and to those who were unable to hunt for themselves, as well as to the able-bodied who had remained in the village to protect it from enemies, and the conjurer who provided the medicines that attracted the deer.

Marsha felt a bitter sort of regret, and even shame, when she thought of how comfortably most whites lived. They most certainly did not have to depend on animals such as this for their existence! Yet she saw this way of life, which was simple and even beautiful to her, something she hoped to be a part of now that she knew her true feelings for Swift Horse.

She would move quickly from her home to his if he asked this of her, for she fell more in love with him every time she saw him.

If her brother could marry an Indian maiden, so could she marry a handsome, wonderful chief! Her face grew hot with a blush when she realized where her thoughts had taken her.

Her musings were interrupted when she saw the two warriors pull the buck slowly back and forth through the smoke of the lodge fire and then the flames, and then place the animal on a platform covered with a huge piece of buckskin.

Swift Horse stepped down from his platform, drew his knife from its sheath, and stood over the buck. Marsha watched him cut into the animal and take a huge fat piece of the meat from it, which her brother had said was called the milt, and held it over the fire.

“Today I offer the choicest part of the animal to the fire!” Swift Horse said, releasing the meat from his hands, dropping it down into the flames. Soon the smell of roasted venison filled the lodge as it baked in the flames.

Swift Horse then motioned to two other warriors to come forth. “It is time to fully dress the animal and pass parts of it around to those warriors who joined the hunt,” he said thickly. “The pelt goes to the man whose first arrow sank into the flesh of the buck.”

He sat down while all of the animal pieces were been passed around to those who deserved it, then watched as the remains were wrapped up in the huge piece of skin and taken from the council house.

“This concludes this council,” Swift Horse said as he rose and stepped from the platform. Bright Moon stepped down beside him, then walked away and left the council house. Everyone else then rose and quietly left the council.

Marsha stepped out into the sun and saw how quickly Soft Wind ran away from her to the trading post where Edward James had stayed. Abraham had left earlier.

“And what did you think of your first council?” The masculine, deep voice caused Marsha to turn with a start.

She blushed when she found Swift Horse standing there, smiling at her.

“It was interesting,” she murmured. “I find everything about you and your people interesting. I am fascinated, in fact. Your lives are so different from what I have ever known.”

“It is a simple life,” Swift Horse said softly. “But not always easy.” He motioned with a hand toward the creek that ran snakelike along the edge of their village. “Come and sit with me? These days of lovely flowers, leaves, and warm air will soon be gone.”

“I would love to,” Marsha said, touched that he would take this time with her, when she knew that he had much more on his mind. She knew that the hunting season had just begun and that he would surely be leaving soon himself to join the hunt.

She felt uneasy to think about him being gone from the village. It was because he was his people’s leader and protector. And she now felt as though he was her protector, as well. Had he not come for her when he had seen her leave the village, knowing the dangers she could have been putting herself in? Had he not brought her home safely to her brother?

They walked alongside the creek for a while beneath the colorful leaves, and when they came to a more private place, they stopped.

“I saw Abraham with you at the council,” Swift Horse said as he and Marsha sat on a thick bed of colorful leaves that had fallen from the trees. “It is good that he shows such an interest in all that my people do. When he gets his full strength back, he will enjoy everything we Creek warriors enjoy, including the hunt, for from now on, he is a part of us.”

“You are so kind to have allowed him to stay and live among your people,” Marsha said. She pulled the skirt around her legs as she drew her knees up before her. “He is a kind man, someone whose life before now has surely been miserable.”

“No one should be held as a slave,” Swift Horse said, sitting down beside her. “There are many people of my color who have been slaves, too, of whites. And as people of my color move into what is called reservation life, by that, too, they are enslaved, for they are no longer able to roam the land as they wish. They are allotted a space and should they go farther, they are punished—sometimes even killed as though they are no more than that buck that was sacrificed today.”

“I am so sorry for the injustices done to people of your color,” Marsha murmured. “And of all color. There are many black slaves in Georgia where I was born and raised. My family was not as affluent as many are in Georgia, so no slaves were used at my father’s farm. My father planted and harvested his own crops. That is how we survived.”

“I am sad about your parents,” Swift Horse said, his voice drawn.

“And yours,” Marsha said, recalling how his parents had died. “It seems their fate was the same as my parents’. All were killed by renegades.”

She paused, then turned to him. “But I know exactly who killed mine,” she said tightly. “The one-eyed man I saw in my brother’s store. I am confident that he is the same man, Swift Horse, that you say is your best friend.” She swallowed hard. “How could you call such a man a best friend when he is guilty of so many crimes?” she blurted out.

“You are mistaken,” Swift Horse said thickly. “But I understand how you can be. There is more than one man whose eye has been removed due to warring.”

“Just how well do you know this . . . friend?” Marsha asked guardedly.