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Prologue
In Sugarville, a small town in the Kansas territory, Christmas Day of 1867 started out cold and only got colder. On the other side of his closed eyelids, three-year-old Sam was aware of the decorations, the smell of cookies in the air, and other festive things signifying the time of year. But right now, none of that mattered.
Sam had woken up in the early hours, not because it was Christmas Day and presents were waiting for him, but because of a loud noise that frightened him from his dream of lollipops and other sugary snacks. He’d graduated to a big-boy bed only a short time ago, and this morning, that came in handy.
He’d woken to the sound of his father shouting. Papa was a very big man with a long beard and sharp blue eyes Sam found very intimidating. He’d never been shown the back of his father’s hand, though, and had always been treated with loving kindness by the big “bear,” which was what his mother affectionately called her husband.
To hear his father yelling with such rage filled Sam with tingling fear. He slid out of his big-boy bed and moved under it into the tight, cold darkness. His blanket hung down almost to the floor on either side but there was enough room under the bed for him to curl up in a little ball and hold his head between his legs.
Just outside his window and toward the front of the house, chaos erupted. Sam heard the war cries of Indians, the thumping of hooves on the ground, and the whizzing of arrows through the air—returned with the bang of gunfire, shot after shot.
Sam whimpered, picturing his father with his gun, shooting at Indians riding wildly on their horses. He was worried about Papa. Would he be killed by the Indians? Sam’s eyes filled with tears. He wanted to go out and help but there was nothing he could do. He was just a little boy, after all.
This thought made Sam very upset. Big tears slid down his cheeks.
His weeping was interrupted by the sound of hard footsteps in the hallway outside his door. They were approaching so quickly, he had only just heard them when his door was flung open. He could see nothing more than the snow-covered boots of the person who’d entered. He froze, hugging his legs to his chest.
The person standing there didn’t move for a moment. Then Sam heard his name. It was his mother. He felt a surge of energy through his body but it didn’t help him crawl out from under the bed or even cry out to her. He couldn’t move or speak. He didn’t know why. He was just so afraid.
“Sam! Sammy! Where are you?” His mother’s voice was panicked and tearful. He whimpered slightly and she instantly dropped to her hands and knees, leaning down to look under the bed. “Oh, my boy! There you are. Come out, honey. Come on. Come out. We have to get out of here. Those are Indians outside and they’re mad. We have to go.”
She was waving at him with one hand, giving him a loving but pleading look. He was finally able to release himself and put his hand in hers.
Gently, she pulled him out from under the bed and lifted him so that his arms were around her neck and his legs around her waist. She reached over and plucked his cowboy hat from the side of his bed and plopped it on his head. It fit just right. Just like it always had.
“Hold on to me,” she said quietly in his ear. “Cling to me so I can use my arms.”
“Okay, Momma,” Sam mumbled, doing as he was told.
His mother made it out of the house, attempting to sneak away and into the woods without being seen. Once they reached the first row of trees that led into the forest, she reached into a bag she was carrying and took out two small boots, which she quickly slipped onto his socked feet.
“You need to run next to me, Sammy. I can’t carry you through here. You hold onto my hand and keep hold of it.”
She pulled him off and set him down. He looked up into her eyes while she pulled a small thick coat from under her own and helped him put it on. He was amazed that she’d thought of the boots and coat for him. He looked all around him, not seeing much in the darkness but shadows.
“Where’s Papa?” he asked, searching for his father. His mother didn’t immediately reply, and when he looked at her, he thought she might be about to cry. “Momma? Are you okay?”
His mother slapped at the tears that rolled down over her cheeks. She looked devastated.
“Come on, Sammy. Let’s go.”
She said the words softly, leaning to kiss his forehead. He liked to close his eyes when she did that. She always made him feel safe when he had a bad dream or was feeling bad. So that kiss on his forehead filled him with warmth that battled the coldness of the early morning.
She buttoned up the coat she’d put around his shoulders and took his hand firmly in hers. They hadn’t gone but a few feet when his mother let out a strange sound. He looked up at her. Her eyes had widened to the most round they could possibly be. Sam blinked several times, watching as she let go of his hand and fell to her knees. The lantern she’d been carrying in her right hand hit the ground but stayed upright, illuminating the face of his mother as her eyes glazed over and she fell forward.
“Momma?” Sam leaned to take her hand again but she didn’t grip his back. She was on her face in the dirt. Sam didn’t think that would let her breathe very well, so he tried to turn her over. When he didn’t have the strength, he put both hands on her face as best he could and turned it toward him. Her eyes were open, but she didn’t seem to be seeing him. “Momma?”
Sam saw something in the corner of his eye and turned his head to see a long arrow shaft sticking out of his mother’s back. He instantly began to scream and cry. He turned and ran back toward his house, hoping he would see his father there and get help.
He’d just passed through into the clearing that was the back yard he’d played in all three years of his life when a mountain of a horse came upon him. He felt himself lifted off his feet and into the air. Petrified, Sam shrieked, and everything went black.
Chapter One
Sam peered through narrow lids at the herd of bison he and his fellow Comanche hunters were stalking. His companions were mumbling in hushed tones, forming a plan to get as many of the animals as possible.
For several years now, since Sam became a full-fledged hunter and warrior in the tribe he’d grown up with, he had been central to bison hunting. There was a shortage right now, though he didn’t know why. His village had come to rely on elk and deer as supplement because the number of bison available to them was fewer and fewer every year.
Sam swept his eyes over the dozen men he was with as they made a circle with their horses and argued about the best way to perform the task to achieve the best result. He sighed, shaking his head and looking back at the animals.
They were desperately in need of those bison, as many as they could get. Because of the shortage and the fact that he and his people relied on nearly every part of the animal for basic day-to-day tasks, as well as food and clothing, tempers had flared and egos were getting in the way. Everyone knew how important it was, but getting everyone to work together had gotten more difficult over time as the people had tightened their belts more and more.
There had been many sleepless nights for the hunters as they debated moving the village to an area more ripe with fruit trees, good soil, and plenty of deer and elk. They weren’t the only ones debating, of course. It was mostly up to Chief Atanuki. He would discuss it with his two advisors and then all the men before making the decision.
It was an ongoing process because many were reluctant to leave. They had been settled in the area for as long as Sam could remember and he just celebrated his twentieth birthday.
He scanned the horizon. The herd was about seventy-five yards from them. If the animals got spooked, they would run. He wondered what his companions were thinking, standing there, arguing under their breaths.
Frustrated with his brethren, Sam turned on silent feet and leaned to take a sturdy-looking twig from the ground near his feet. He walked toward the circle they had made, lifted the twig, and snapped it between his hands.
The sound didn’t only get the attention of his fellow hunters—it also alerted a deer Sam hadn’t seen nearer to them than the bison herd. The frightened animal jumped, a sound that instantly turned all the heads of the hunters in its direction, and then hopped away through the brush, emerging from the forest that kept the men hidden and darting down the gentle slope of the grassy hillside.
As if controlled by one force, the hunters all turned their heads back to Sam at the same time. Sam confronted their accusing eyes with two of his own.
“You all act like you don’t mind returning to the village with nothing!” He kept his voice hushed, but his frustration was clear his words. “We will be reprimanded severely if we return empty-handed. You may not all agree on how to attack the herd, but we will have to decide on something before it grows too late in the day! Will you please decide what to do!”
Sam wasn’t Comanche by birth and was only accepted into the tribe after one of the warriors rescued him during a raid that had taken his parents and two older sisters. Despite this, he was respected by the people in the village. He couldn’t remember a time when he’d been treated poorly by anyone. It was a marvel to him because he had seen the abruptness and stiff friendliness other white men had received from the people of his village.
Sam had taken on the task of putting on a pair of trousers and a button-up shirt when he needed to go to town for any kind of supplies they’d run out of in the village. He continued to wear the large beaded necklace his “pia,” his mother in the tribe, had given him when he turned sixteen. She considered him a man at that age.
“You tell us what you would do,” one of the hunters, the grandson of Chief Atanuki, stated, his voice deep, “and we will do that.”
Sam was used to that. It wasn’t the first time his hunting party had looked to him for guidance and leadership. He nodded, thinking of the plan he’d already formed in his mind.
He tossed the broken twig to the side and waved the rest of them over so they formed a circle with him. He leaned in, looking at each of them in turn as he spoke.
“The leader of that pack is to the east.” He moved his hands to show what he was talking about. “The bulk of the bison are around him, but there are a few stragglers to the west and south. I say we send you two out to the west and you two to the south, and the rest of us will come up this way. They have the mountain on the other side, and we all know how adept they are at climbing.”
Heads nodded around him, and the specific men he’d mentioned looked at each other when he pointed at them.
“Yes, this is the plan we will use,” the chief’s grandson announced. “Let us go before it gets too dark to see.”
Sam waited for Old Owl, the nickname the chief’s grandson had been given because of his large, rounded eyes. The young man was sure to stay with him and stalk the bison at his side. He was a good friend, the same age as Sam, and smart as a whip.
Soon, Old Owl was indeed next to him, sitting up in his saddle, looking as though the plan was all his and he was proud of it. Sam didn’t care. If his friend wanted to take credit for anything, he could. Sam didn’t need to prove himself to anyone anymore. He felt like he was ready to take on the world.
“Let’s go,” Old Owl said, cocking his head.
Chapter Two
The hunt was a success. They’d come back with a wagon full of bison, and the chief had ordered them to build a huge bonfire and have a celebration. There had been much dancing and music and singing and the night wasn’t over yet.
Sam sat in front of the fire, well back so there was plenty of room for others to dance in a circle around the flames. They raised their heads, hands and knees high as they pranced around, spinning and hopping, chanting praise for the good haul.
He’d heard lots of complaining the last few years from some of the elders, the older men in the tribe who were still hunting and would continue to until their bodies didn’t let them anymore. Where had the buffalo gone? Why were they disappearing? Did it have something to do with the government of the country, now that they had been forced onto reservations?
The men in his tribe were strong and healthy, well into their older years. He would be happier if he knew that applied to him, too, but it didn’t. He wasn’t Comanche. He wasn’t Native at all. He looked nothing like them, but what could he do? He darkened in the sun during the warmer months, and that was about it. However, he was now well past the age of caring that he didn’t look like those he considered his family. Not one of them treated him any different than the rest. They all loved and respected him.
He looked past the dancers and into the flickering flames of the bonfire. He enjoyed the heat that emanated from it. As he sat there staring, Sam was taken back into his memories. It was as if everything around him dissolved and he went back in time. He was shivering on a cold and dark night, his small feet in the thick snow, his mother standing before him, telling him she loved him and would always be there for him.
Sometimes when Sam was drawn into his memories, she was fully dressed. Sometimes she was only in a nightgown and boots. When she was fully dressed, she looked perfect. But when she was in her nightgown, there were splashes of blood on the light pink fabric, and his mother’s face was cut and bruised.
The steady beat of the tambourines and drums accompanied Sam’s memory. He closed his eyes and focused on the heat of the flames on his face, the beat of the music, the sharp barking praises of the dancers… He drifted back into the small frame of the three-year-old who watched his mother die in front of him.
When she fell to the ground, he could never see what had caused it to happen. His memory was never clear. He remembered turning and running away. He was swept off his feet by one of the Comanche warriors and carried off to safety.
For many years, Sam had tried to reconcile how his mother had died and how he had been taken by the Comanche. One question had always haunted him. Had they kidnapped him after killing his family?
He had a hard time equating the loving, loyal, respectful people in the tribe that had taken him in with the warriors that had attacked and killed his family. Who would kill everyone else in the family and save a three-year-old boy? Why would they bother? To get to him, they would have had to kill his sisters, who had been nine and thirteen at the time. Why weren’t they spared?
The memory of his mother falling before him and the blood on her nightgown standing out in the moonlight of the cold, dark night made Sam shiver even now.
He wished he could see what had caused her to fall. Who had killed her? Why had she been killed? He’d never posed those questions to Chief Atakuni. He didn’t see how the old man would know, since he hadn’t participated in battles for many decades. Sam had never been told who it was who brought him to this village.
He hadn’t asked that, either.
Did he want to know?
So far, the answer to that question had been no. If he’d wanted to know, he’d had plenty of time to ask. No one volunteered the information, so he didn’t bother to bring it up. His feelings had become increasingly mixed on the situation as he grew older and the differences between himself and his tribe family grew more apparent as the days went on.
“Sam.”
He opened his eyes to see his pia, her dark eyes sparkling in the light from the bonfire.
“Pia,” he said, smiling and leaning into her fingers, which she brushed lightly over his cheek.
“You look lonely over here, my son,” she said in their native tongue. “Why do you sit by yourself when your friends will gladly have you at the front and center where you belong? It is rumored that your idea for the raid resulted in many bison being captured. This is wonderful, Sammy, as you deserve the praise you receive.”
Sam felt a wash of affection for the woman and grinned bashfully. “Aww, thank you, Pia. You are kind to me. I did not get them all on my own so I do not deserve too much more than anyone else.” He tapped his temple. “It is simply a good brain, a working brain, that is all.”
His tribe mother laughed softly. She brushed her fingers through his light hair and tilted her head to the side. “You are thinking of serious things?”
“I am. I was wondering just how much meat I can put in my stomach before I go to sleep tonight.” He grinned, patting his stomach.
She laughed again, a sound that made his heart sing. He grinned wide.
“Ah, yes, food. The woman who wins your heart must know how to cook or she will lose your interest quickly.”
Sam grunted. “What woman does not know how to cook? All women are taught to cook.”
His mother held up one finger. “Ah, all are taught, but some do not learn. Some are incapable.” She shrugged. “It is just that way.” She tapped him on the end of his nose. “You will just have to find the right one, my son. This way you will never be hungry and you will always be satisfied.”
OFFER: A BRAND NEW SERIES AND 2 FREEBIES FOR YOU!
Grab my new series, "Grit and Glory on the Frontier", and get 2 FREE novels as a gift! Have a look here!
Hi there, I really hope you enjoyed this sneak peek of my new story! I’m looking forward to reading your comments below.