Savage Tempest
High Hawk had been careful, though, not to steal too many steeds. It would not do for the Sioux to notice the theft and go on the warpath to look for the horse raiders.
Now that they were far enough away from the the Sioux village, High Hawk wanted to wash the war paint from his body before venturing toward home. Up ahead, he saw the shine of water.
“We will stop and wash up in the river,” he said, bringing his horse to a stop.
The warriors dismounted, then led their steeds and the stolen horses to the stream, where they could drink while High Hawk and his warriors washed themselves clean of the paint.
When that was done, High Hawk spotted a bluff not far away. It would give him the opportunity to survey the land below. He would look as far as the eye and the moon would allow. If all still seemed well, and he saw no one following them, he and his men would continue their journey home.
“I will go and see if anyone follows us,” he said, grabbing his rifle from the gunboot at the side of his horse. “You stay. Watch the horses.”
His warriors nodded.
High Hawk hurried up the slight incline until he came to the bluff. It commanded a far stretch of land, as well as a forest of trees just below him.
He cupped one hand above his eyes and slowly scanned the countryside in all directions.
The moon was still bright.
The air was clear.
The breeze was soft and sweet and silent except for a lone loon making its strange call in the distance.
Suddenly the wind changed, bringing with it the clearly identifiable smell of smoke.
Stiffening, knowing that where there was fire there was man, High Hawk stepped closer to the edge of the bluff and slowly scanned the land beyond. Then he surveyed the trees below him again.
His eyes widened when he saw a slight clearing in the forest this time.
He clutched his rifle tighter when he saw a small cabin in the clearing, where smoke spiraled up from a chimney.
And then he saw movement outside the cabin. He could not tell from this distance if it was a man or a woman.
His eyebrows raised when he heard the whinny of a horse and then saw the animal in a small corral near the cabin.
The horse was too far away from him to see if it was worth stealing.
But the truth was that he could always use one more horse, especially since it was there, so close, and ready for the taking.
He tried again to spot the figure he had seen. Who was this person who had established a home so far from everyone else? Didn’t this person understand the danger of being so isolated?
Too curious not to go closer, to see who this person was who lived so alone, and to get a better look at the horse, High Hawk hurried back to his warriors.
“I have seen movement down below,” he said, seeing how each man placed his hand quickly on his knife or gun. “I cannot tell if it is one person or many. Nor can I see the color of their skin. But a house made of logs sits amid the trees, and only white people live in such homes.”
He smiled devilishly. “I also heard a horse whinnying,” he said. “If I find that it is worth taking, I will add one more steed to those we stole tonight.”
“Do you wish to go alone, or do you want us all to go with you?” Three Bears asked, always eager to join his best friend on exciting jaunts. “Or do you wish for only one of us to join you?”
High Hawk placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder. “All but you and I will stay behind,” he said, smiling. “Come, Three Bears. Let us go and see who makes their home so far from other people.”
He and Three Bears mounted their steeds and rode off while the others stayed behind, keeping an eye out for any Sioux or outlaw who might happen along.
Lately the countryside had been plagued by a particularly vicious outlaw.
His name was Mole.
He was the worst of all outlaws the Pawnee had ever heard tell of. If High Hawk, or any of his Pawnee friends, could find that man and stop his reign of terror, everyone would rest more easily.