Wild Embrace

“Ah-hah,” Strong Heart finally said, looking back at his father. “I remember that Four Winds was in a sense driven, but not much more than I, Father. In games of competition, we both strived to excel.”

“Do you not recall the times he would avoid you for days after losing at games with you?” Moon Elk persisted. “This is why I fear he may have changed now into someone you do not know. Or should not risk your life for.”

“Father, this is not at all like you,” Strong Heart said, rising. He then knelt on one knee before his father and placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Trust my judgment, Father. Never before have you doubted me.”

Moon Elk turned his eyes to Strong Heart and placed a hand over his son’s. “It is not you I doubt,” he said softly. “It is Four Winds. Remember this, my son, as you take the long ride to Seattle. I trust your judgment in all things. It is only that I worry too much over my son who is destined to one day be a great chief. Remember always the importance of being a tyee, chief. He is a man whose opinion carries more weight than his fellow tribesmen.”

“I remember all of your teachings, Father,” Strong Heart said, rising to his full height. “And I understand the importance of being a tyee. But that is in the future. I must do what I must now for a friend.”

Moon Elk rose to his feet also. He walked with his son to the large cedar door and swung it open. Together they stepped outside to a blossoming new September day, the air heavy with the sweet fragrance of the cedar-and-pine forest which lay just beyond the village.

Moon Elk walked Strong Heart toward his san-de-lie, horse, a magnificent roan. “You will also search again for Proud Beaver, your grandfather?” he asked, his face drawn. “Your mother still grieves so over him, fearing that her father is dead.”

Strong Heart turned and saw his mother coming toward them, having left the longhouse so son and father could speak in private about things that would only trouble her. She had busied herself by going to the river for water and walked with a huge earthenware jug balanced on her right shoulder.

It saddened Strong Heart to see his mother’s change since the disappearance of her father. Her eyes were no longer filled with laughter. She scarcely ate, and had become frail and gaunt.

Then Strong Heart smiled as he looked at her pert nose. It had remained the same—tiny and toke-tie, pretty—the reason her parents had called her Pretty Nose on the day of her birthing.

Pretty Nose set her heavy jug on the ground and went to Strong Heart. Tears filling her eyes, she embraced him. “My son, return safely to me,” she murmured. “This that you do is courageous, yet I cannot say that it pleases me. Courage is just a word. It cannot fill my arms if you are dead!”

“Mother,” Strong Heart said, placing his hands at her tiny waist, holding her away from him so that their eyes could meet. “You worry too much. This son of yours will return soon. And I promise to search for Grandfather. I shall go back once more to our ancestral grounds where our village once stood. We all believe that is where Grandfather went when he disappeared a moon ago. He felt as if the spirits of our dead ancestors were beckoning him there. He spoke of that often to me.”

Strong Heart lowered his head momentarily, then looked back at his mother. “Had I heeded the warning in his voice and words, never would he have left our village. I would have kept watch. I would have stopped him.”

“Do not blame yourself, my son,” Pretty Nose said, gently placing a hand to his cheek. She looked adoringly up at him. “How could you know that his mind was aging more quickly than his body? We have not lived beside the waters of Puget Sound for many moons now. Many moons ago, even before Chief Seattle signed treaties with the white people, our people took money from white people for their land. Those who did were ignorant enough to think the value of the money was worth more to them than the land. It was a mistake. It ate away at your grandfather like an open wound festering with disease. His regrets turned him away from us. Ah-hah, it has surely carried him ‘home,’ to our ancestral burial grounds.”

She flung herself into her son’s arms and clung to him, sobbing. “Please find him, Strong Heart,” she whispered. “Please?”

“I shall try is all that I can say,” Strong Heart said, easing her from his arms. He framed her face between his hands. His mouth went to her lips and he kissed her softly.

Then he turned and, with an easy grace, he mounted his horse, settling himself comfortably on the saddle stuffed with cottonwood and cattail down. He reached for his rawhide reins, and took a last look at his village before leaving. The long houses were built of cedar wood fitted so expertly together that there was no need of nails. Each home was decorated with its owner’s family crest painted on the entryway door posts, and outside the square houses was erected a line of totem poles, carved with the animals and spirits sacred to the clan. Behind them the Duwamish River flowed peacefully downstream.

Strong Heart then shifted his gaze to the saddlebags on his horse, his thoughts sorting through what he had packed to ensure the success of this venture that he was embarking upon. He was taking a change of clothes which would give him the appearance of a white man—a flannel shirt, leather breeches, and jacket, and high-heeled boots. He was carrying a pair of Colt revolvers with seven-inch barrels and pearl handles. A sombrero hung from the saddle horn.

Ah-hah, he thought smugly to himself. All of this would be used when the time came for his masquerade.

Strong Heart patted the knife sheathed at his waist, then placed a hand on the rifle that was restin

g in its holster at his horse’s flank. He valued this repeating rifle as if it were his right arm. It had gotten him through many scrapes when gangs of bandits had lurked beside the trails, waiting to attack any traveler who looked as if he might have something worth stealing.

Until recently, when they had been forced to go into hiding due to the many possess chasing them, the desperadoes had swarmed the countryside, attacking stations along the trail where travelers stopped to exchange tired horses for fresh ones for the next lap of their journey.

The robberies had lessened at the same time of Four Winds’s arrest, yet Strong Heart still would not believe that his friend had any connection with the outlaws. It was surely a case of mistaken identity that made the posse think that Four Winds was a desperado.

Strong Heart looked at his parents, seeing the concern in their eyes for the dangers of his mission. Yet not even this could change his mind.

“I must go now,” he said.

“Strong Heart, take many braves with you,” Moon Elk said, in a final plea to his son. “They will ride beside you. They will help you.”

“Father, as I have told you before, I must ride alone,” Strong Heart said shortly. “Less trouble comes with lesser numbers. Many braves would draw attention—not avoid it. I, alone, can move about without being noticed.”

Moon Elk nodded in acquiescence. Pretty Nose stepped closer to Strong Heart. Tears streamed from her dark eyes as she reached a hand toward him. “Kla-how-ya, good-bye, my son,” she said, sobbing. “Hy-ak, hurry! Make haste in returning to me!”

“I will, Mother,” Strong Heart said, then urged his horse away in a gallop, not looking back. He kept his eyes straight ahead as he left his village behind him, savoring the wild, deep free feeling of being alone on a journey of the heart. He loved the quiet power of it.

He soon forgot the heartache that he had left behind and enjoyed this land that was precious to him. It was a wild yet peaceable land, sunny and quiet. Strong Heart urged his horse in a steady pace along the trail. The wind was soft today, and the mountains beyond were misted and breathtakingly beautiful. There was fullness to everything.