Swift Horse

Swift Horse was aware of slave trading among whites, and he had heard of runaway slaves. Swift Horse concluded that this black man must have run away.

To Swift Horse all men were equal, whether their skin was white, black, or copper—even though he often saw the whites as inferior because o

f their ignorance of how things should be.

But his beloved mother had taught him when he was just a small brave, that even whites were human beings, although some were heartless in so many ways, especially toward anyone other than their own skin coloring.

And now he saw the true depths of their ignorance about black people.

He continued to run toward the limping man. Then suddenly the black man stopped.

He watched as the black man turned slowly around to face Swift Horse. Even though he must be in terrible pain and surely felt endangered, he showed that he was a man of dignity as he stood there with a lifted chin.

“I am a friend, someone you can trust,” Swift Horse said again, in a friendly, hopefully reassuring, tone. Yet Swift Horse had never spoken to a black man before. He now wondered what language he spoke. Did blacks have their own language, as whites and red skins had their own?

Swift Horse could speak both English and Spanish. Perhaps he could learn this man’s language, too, if needed.

“Do you understand me when I tell you that I am a friend?” Swift Horse asked, lowering his rifle to his side when he saw how the man’s eyes darted back and forth between looking at the rifle and then at Swift Horse.

Swift Horse wanted to place the rifle on the ground to prove that he truly was a friend; but seeing how large the man was, with muscles bulging at his arms and shoulders, he knew that it was foolish to give him a chance to overpower him.

“I mean no one no harm,” the man finally said in a deep sort of booming voice. “I’se just needs food, water, and rest, then I’se be on my way.”

Swift Horse was relieved that the man finally spoke to him. Cautiously, he took a step closer to him. When the man still stood there, and did not assume a threatening stance, Swift Horse stepped close enough to touch him on the arm. He could feel the man tense beneath his touch, yet he still stood there, his eyes wide, his body tight.

“You have been terribly mistreated,” Swift Horse said softly. “Can I see the wounds on your back more closely? There is someone among my people who can doctor them if you will allow it.”

The man stood there, rigid, silently watching Swift Horse, then gave a gentle nod. Swift Horse turned him and gazed at the gashes on his back. When Swift Horse saw the depth of the raw, bloody scars, he cringed. He could tell that they had been inflicted more than a day or so ago, but still they were oozing blood.

He knew that they must be terribly painful, and did not want to think of how it must have been at the moment of impact by the whip, for he knew that was how those wounds had been inflicted. He had heard about how white slave owners used whips on their slaves, and it sickened him even to think about how this man had suffered from such mistreatment.

He stepped around and faced the man again. “What is your name?” he asked thickly, realizing just how wronged this man had been at the hands of whites, as so many red men had been wronged and killed by them.

“Abraham,” the man said in an even deeper, huskier voice than moments ago. “My mama named me Abraham from a character in my mama’s Bible.”

Swift Horse was relieved to see that Abraham was obviously no longer afraid, but instead appeared to be grateful to be treated with a measure of respect and kindness, perhaps for the first time in his life.

“Abraham, how far have you traveled on your bare feet and with such injuries?” Swift Horse asked, touched deeply by this man who was large, yet seemed to be of gentle nature.

“I’se be from the tip of Southern Florida land, but I don’t knows figures or distances, but I do knows I’se traveled far, so far it hurts me to even think ’bout goin’ farther,” Abraham said. “I fled a heartless mastah after my wife and baby son were killed by the man for bein’ sickly and of no use to him anymores.”

“I am so very sorry for your loss,” Swift Horse said, suddenly reliving the deaths of his own parents at the hands of heartless renegades. Yes, there were evil men of all colors.

“Thank you,” Abraham said, humbly lowering his eyes. Then he looked quickly at Swift Horse again. “My mastah has been known to pay much money fo’ the return of escaped slaves. Will you return me to my mastah fo’ payment?”

“I have heard that one captured runaway is worth a gun and three blankets to Indians who take runaways back to those who enslaved them. That is the equivalent of forty pounds of dressed deerskin,” Swift Horse said, seeing how knowing this made Abraham stiffen and his eyes to mist with tears. “I know that some would turn you in for such valuables. But I will not do this thing against you. I am a man who cherishes freedom for all men of all colors.”

A look of utter relief washed across Abraham’s face. He gave Swift Horse a sudden, broad smile. “Thank youse, thank youse,” he blurted out. “Please let me stay with you. I’se be worth my keep.”

Suddenly Abraham fell to his knees before Swift Horse. Tears streamed from his eyes as he gazed up at him. “I begs you to please lets me stay,” he said, his voice breaking. “I’se good in the fields. I saw your crops. I’se can tend to dem.”

Swift Horse hated to see such a big man lowered to begging, especially since only moments ago there was such pride in his stance.

He placed a gentle hand on Abraham’s shoulder. “Please stand,” he said, his own voice breaking. “And, yes, you can stay, but not as a slave, but as a freed man, a friend. When you are stronger and more able, you can help with the hunt alongside my warriors when they go on a hunt for deer or bear.”

Abraham pushed himself up and stood tall before Swift Horse. “Thank youse,” he said, smiling as he wiped away his tears. Then his smile faded and he openly became tense all over again. “If I am seen with youse, an Indian, won’t whites retaliate agains’ youse?”

“Whites do fear Indians and blacks interacting,” Swift Horse said thickly. “But they will not interfere in my decision to keep you, a black man, at my village. I will protect you from any harm.”