The Daughter - C.B. Cooper (most life changing books .txt) 📗

up to get a better look at their welcoming committee. “What do you suppose they want.”
“Wal, hopefully they jes want to have a palaver, maybe trade us some goods. I figure If’n they were lookin’ to kill us, we’d already be in the mix, them Comanche don’t mince words when it comes to fightin’.”
Sam walked a short distance from camp and gave them a wave, signaling he would like to talk, “Maruawe,” he greeted in their native language.
The seven Indians rode slowly towards them, their eyes wary. The big buck, who seemed to be the leader of the small group, raised a hand back at Sam, then gestured for them to follow. “You come,” he said, “Meet with chief.”
Sam and Zeb looked at each other, both knowing they really had no other choice but to do as they asked. If they refused it would offend the Comanche, and probably touch off a small war. As the lead buck had already indicated, his chief was somewhere nearby, which meant that the whole damn village was probably close by, too. If they fired off any shots, a war party would be out in force within a few minutes.
Sam looked at Zeb and shrugged, “Shall we go meet the neighbors?”
Grunting as he stood, he arched his back, working the kinks out. “I reckon we ought to. Seems that would be the polite thang to do.”
They quickly finished breaking camp and followed the Comanche east, both praying for the best, and trying to prepare their minds, for the worst.
After a few miles, the village finally came into view. It looked to be roughly two hundred strong. The tee-pee’s were spread out along a small valley floor. A clear stream running beside it, fed into the muddy Washita about a half a mile away. The temporary village was a beehive of activity as people went about their daily chores.
Some of the women were down at the creek bank, washing clothes and pots, while other ones sat scraping stretched out hides to make garments. Dirty little boys with bare chests were chasing each other loudly through the camp, with a small pack of yapping mongrels hot on their heels. The young girls sat dutifully by their mothers, watching the boys wistfully, yearning to join in the fun. Surprisingly, none of the Indians gave Sam and Zeb more than a mere glance as they rode through. Everyone seemed completely relaxed- that went a long way toward making the men feel at ease.
Sam had been in enough war camps in his youth to know when trouble was brewing, the tension in a village would be so thick you’d have a hard time cutting it with a knife.
The two men were led to a large tent in the center of the village. The big buck in the lead slid down to the ground and walked quickly to the opening, pulling back the flap, he spoke to someone inside. A minute later an old man appeared, wrapped in the soft folds of an old buffalo robe, and walked straight towards Sam.
His hair was a steel grey and hung in two long, thick braids which were decorated with strips of fur and feathers. His wizened old face looked like a crab apple that had been left out in the hot sun; baked, browned and shriveled. But his eyes shone bright with life, strength, and intelligence that belyed the mans age.
The two men regarded each other warily.
The old man raised a wrinkly liver spotted hand and crooked an old knarled finger, beckoning him closer.
As Sam ducked to the elders level, the same hand that had beckoned him closer, shot out with amazing speed and smacked him soundly on the cheek.
Momentarily stunned by the action, Sam snarled and glared at the old man as the anger flared up inside him. Then, as he tamped down the flames, a smile slowly crept across his face as recognition set in.
“Buffalo Hump. Good to see you, old friend.”
The old Comanche war chief smirked, “I see you haven’t changed much, White Warrior. Still the hot headed buck of yesterday, although…” The chief’s smirk turned into a wide, mostly toothless, grin. “I think that maybe you have grow taller since we’ve last met.”
Sam smiled down at Buffalo Hump, and clapped him gently on the shoulder, “And I think all those scapes you’ve been in must of shaved a few inches off of you.”
“I-eeh, that is true, that is true.”
Motioning towards Zeb, Sam said, “I’d like you to meet my friend. This is Zeb Tucker, mountain man extrordinare.”
Zeb glared once at Sam, and then shook the old man’s hand looking some what embarrassed. “Nice to meet you.”
Buffalo Hump nodded, then looked to Sam, “What is this ‘extrodinare?”
“I think it means he’s the best. And very famous in the white world.”
The chief raised his eyebrows as he regarded Zeb, “Ah, it is a great honor to have you in my village then.” Turning back towards the big buck that had summoned him, Buffalo Hump spoke in rapid Comanche.
“White warrior, we must talk- alone. Your friend, Extrordinare, will be well taken care of.”
With that, he turned and disappeared back into the tee-pee, expecting Sam to follow.
“Well, Zeb, I guess you’ll have to sit this one out.”
“I reckon I will.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll fill you in later.” Sam knew how much Zeb liked to be in the know. Secrecy drove the man crazy.
Sam ducked through the opening and took a seat across the small fire from Buffalo Hump.
He studied the old man in front of him. The years of running and fighting had taken its toll on the man. The once mighty war chief, that had seemed larger than life when he was younger, was now old and decreped, and steadily declining into his twilight years. It made him feel sad and old himself.
As if the chief had read his mind, he said, “Do not fear old age, White Warrior, for with the passage of time, comes great knowledge. Although my body is weak, my mind is stronger than ever. When I was young, I fought with my strength, and now, I fight with my mind,” he chuckled, “It’s much easier that way. Less painful.”
Sam smiled and nodded his head, but before he could comment, the chief went on.
“Your in trouble White Warrior. That is why I have brought you here.”
“Trouble? What kind of trouble?”
Buffalo Hump smiled seriously, “The female kind.”
“Oh, I see. You’ve heard the stories about the girl, then.”
The chief studied him for a long moment, before talking again. “Yes, I’ve heard the stories, but more than that, I’ve been having visions. I have always relied on our shaman, Neeh-lahn, to guide us with his visions. Usually I am quite blind in that area… except for when it comes to you.”
Sam was puzzled, “I don’t understand.”
“Neither do I, but that is the way of it. For many years now I have had visions where it concerns you, White Warrior.” Buffalo Hump shrugged, “Even though we have not seen each other in many moons, I have seen glimpses of your life.”
Sam looked at the old man skeptically. He knew the Indians had spiritual beliefs and sacred rituals known only to them. Each tribe was different in its views of the spirit world. But could they really see into the future, or know things that they couldn’t possibly know any other way?
“I know that for a time you were a holy man to your people. Before that, you were lost in the dark spirits. They had you by the hand, dragging you down into the darkness- until you were saved by a book.” Buffalo Hump leaned toward him, his eyes intent on Sam’s. “It was no accident the book found you. For many moons your sadness plagued not only you, but me also.” he gestured with his hands as he spoke, “I felt your pain, like a knife in my stomach. I felt your sorrow, ripping at my heart, and I felt the hatred for yourself, like an invisible hand, squeezing at my brain. Your nightmares, were my nightmares, White Warrior, and I suffered as you suffered- lost in the dark world of shame and regret. And… I know why you were there.”
Sam swallowed the large lump that had formed in his throat, threatening to choke him. How did Buffalo Hump know all those things about him? He had spent many years trying to forget about that time in his life, and he had never told a living soul.
His voice, barely above a whisper, asked, “Why?”
The old war chief shook his head sadly, “You brought death to the wrong people. You sent your men to kill innocent people, men, women, and children. The children, it was their screams that haunted your dreams the most.” He made a cradling motion with his arms, “And the woman. She haunted your very soul. I seen her face many times in my dreams, in my nightmares. You remember her. And you tried to drown the memory by drinking.”
Sam’s thoughts took him back to a time he had tried to forget…

They were on the tail end of a two year war against Mexico when a message came over the wire. It said that a renegade band of hostile Apaches were attacking homesteaders outside of the forts. Homes were being burned to the ground, their occupants tortured and murdered, or worse.
A detail was dispatched immediately. Lt. William Bradsford at the lead, and Sam as their guide and tracker, led the thirty man strong detachment, East.
Checking the reports against a map, it was clear that the homesteads that had been hit seemed to spoke out from one general area. The Big Thicket. The renegades were holing up somewhere in the southern part of it, just north of Sour Lake Springs.
The spring had become quite a hot spot for the white people looking to cure their ailments in the mineral laden waters, the only problem was, the Springs were also used by the Indians. Not only for the healing waters, but also for the black sticky pitch that collected along it’s loamy shores.
And almost as a rule, the Whites and the Indians, couldn't share anything. That posed a big problem.

The men rode hard for nearly a week, stopping only when it was necessary to rest their mounts and grab a quick bite for themselves. By the time they reached the town of, Sour Lake, the detachment was exhausted and looking forward to getting some much needed rest.
Sharp left them as they began to make camp, and rode his weary mount on into town, nearly a mile away. He made his way to the sheriff’s office, but found it empty. After asking around, he found out that two more homesteads had been hit in the week it had took them to get there. They had discovered the second one that very morning, not three miles east of town. The sheriff and his deputy had ridden out when they had learned the news.
Sharp hightailed it back to camp to round up the troops, but they weren’t nearly as enthusiastic about the prospect of a fresh trail.
The lieutenant bucked him from the get go. “My men are tired and need to rest. We’ll take up the savages trail in the morning.”
Sharp pointed at the greying sky, “Yeah, and if those clouds get any thicker, it could rain. We’d loose the trail and have to wait for them to hit another homestead. Are you willing to stand by and let them kill more innocent people, just so you and