These are short stories put up each Friday that you can read for free. By the next Friday the post will be taken down and a new one will go up.
The Blood Wise One narrowed his eyes at the other Iroquois as well.
He was also a Mohawk, with his face painted black from his lips down, even larger hoop earrings, and his Mohawk haircut painted a bright red, without the feathers, however. Soaring Eagle then focused his attention on one of the braves he did know, a Wolf actually.
Silent Hawk was approaching his fourth decade but was still in good shape. While usually an older brave in his third decade could expect his stomach to sag, his chest to grow like a woman’s, Silent Hawk’s muscles had only tightened, making them more taut and strong. He liked the idea of younger braves challenging him, liked showing them up in front of their friends. Soaring Eagle supposed he’d done that well enough – his friends were all dead back at the Three Forks, he and Jumping Horse the only survivors, the two having been sent back to inform Chief Big Dog of their progress. They’d likely begrudged Laughing Face the decision. Little did they know it’d saved their lives.
“Silent Hawk,” Soaring Eagle said, flicking his chin the Wolf’s way. He nodded over at the pair of Iroquois. “Who are these two with you?”
“Uttam and Lokesh of the Iroquois tribe, Soaring Eagle,” one of them said, the one with the red face paint that’d circled around just a moment before, “and eager to meet you and hear of your feats of bravery against the whites in their fort to the south.”
The Mohawk immediately straightened up, for everyone had heard of Soaring Eagle, his famed shooting with the bow, and his independent nature, one that didn’t exactly cow to the Wolves’ or even his Chief Big Dog’s demands.
Soaring Eagle frowned, and just as Stone Bear and the others were riding up. “You seem to know a lot…but I don’t know anything of you, besides your names, Lokesh and…Uttam, is it?”
He said that last looking directly at the young Mohawk. Truth be told, he was probably closer to his thirties, though his chest was scarred something fierce. Either bear or mountain lion by the looks of it, perhaps even a jealous woman.
The brave nodded. “Yes, I’m Uttam, proud and loyal son of Karahk and Ji’eho before him. Our larger tribe is up north, at the Sweet Grass Hills with yours, and also with our British hosts nearby.”
“British?” Soaring Eagle said. “This is Amer-i-can land.”
Uttam shook his head. “No longer, at least according to our British friends.”
“Why are they your friends?” Stone Bear asked.
Uttam smiled, looked over his shoulder at his companion. The other Mohawk reached into a pouch at his side and pulled out a gun, a small handgun just like the kind Stone Bear had seen at the frozen waterfall, the one he’d given to Chief Big Dog.
“Because they give us these,” Uttam said, continuing to smile as he looked back at Soaring Eagle and Stone Bear. “They give us these and tell us to go south, killing all the Americans that we can find.”
“Chief Big Dog sent us to tell Laughing Face and the Wolves,” Silent Hawk said, looking to Soaring Eagle.
Soaring Eagle frowned to that. “Well, they’re dead. You’re lookin’ at all that’s left of the Wolves.”
Silent Hawk’s eyes narrowed in confusion to that, while Uttam seemed to smile a bit more. Soaring Eagle just rolled his eyes, looked over his shoulder at the others.
“Let’s ride – the Sweet Grass Hills are just a few hours away. Let’s find out what’s going on.”
He kicked his horse and the others did the same, riding north for answers.