Cry of the Hawk

“And still, Turkey Leg, the scalped-heads hold three of our people prisoners and sit on almost all that we owned.”

“But there are small victories, Porcupine. Small, but most meaningful. No more do the scalped-heads hold three Shahiyena. One has escaped.”

“Your mother?”

Turkey Leg shook his head, moistness coming to his eyes in the midday light. “No. It is the girl of ten summers. Somehow she escaped the scalped-heads as they were crossing the great river. She hid on an island from her captors. Because of this, the people have renamed her Island Woman. After our enemies gave up their search for her, she turned about and walked north onto the prairie. From what she told me of the time she heard horsemen coming, I believe she made herself small and hid from you and your warriors when you rode south to Plum Creek in the darkness.”

“Island Woman! This is good news, Turkey Leg!” He clamped a hand on the old man’s shoulder. “Now—we must free the last two.”

The chief tried to smile, then sucked on a lower lip in thought before he replied. “I have little hope for the boy and woman to escape like the girl. Better that I send word to the white man that I will trade for them.”

“The white children?”

“Yes.”

“You will give two back to the white man?”

“I will return all six to the soldiers—if they will only free the boy and the old woman.”

“You are a good son, Turkey Leg.”

“No,” the old chief answered finally, gazing up at the tall warrior with moist eyes. “If I had truly been a good son, my mother would not now be a prisoner of the scalped-heads and the white pony soldiers.”

At the beginning of the third week of September, Major Frank North gathered his four companies of Pawnee scouts at the thriving community of North Platte in western Nebraska. It was there on the twenty-first that a commission was assembled to discuss peace terms with the various bands then roaming the central plains. Over the next three days, chiefs of some of the strongest warrior bands rode in at the invitation of the commissioners: five professional soldiers and three civilian representatives who sat at their tables, looking down at those chiefs they had called together.

Man That Walks Under the Ground, Spotted Tail, Young Man Afraid of His Horses, Pawnee Killer, Standing Elk, and others of the Sioux. The Cheyenne came as well.

Turkey Leg motioned Shad Sweete to the doorway of the crowded Sibley tent where the peace-talkers held court. The old mountain man was there to help translate for the Cheyenne when needed.

“You are the father of High-Backed Bull?” asked the Cheyenne chief.

“I am,” Shad answered.

“Husband to Shell Woman?”

Shad had to think a moment, to remember her given Shahiyena name. “She is mother to High-Backed Bull, yes.”

Turkey Leg sighed. “I wish to speak with you, Indian-talker.”

Shad followed the old Indian out the open tent flaps stirred by the autumn breeze. Although he could not recall ever meeting Turkey Leg, Sweete knew of the man by reputation. His word was good. And right now the old trapper was figuring Turkey Leg was set on doing some wrangling over peace terms away from the soldiers.

“I don’t have any power to help you in your talks with the great father’s peace-talkers—”

Turkey Leg raised a wrinkled hand, silencing the white man. “I did not ask you to talk to me of peace with the soldiers. Years ago, when you came among Tall Crane’s village, to buy yourself a wife—I too lived in that camp.”

“We have met, Turkey Leg?”

The old man shook his head. “No. But I know of you.”

“I know of you as well. Among many honorable men—you are known as a man of honor.”

“You speak of me like I am some ancient man, Indian-talker. I cannot have more than ten winters of life on you.”

Shad liked the chief’s smile. “I remember Tall Crane’s camp. It was a good time in my life. A good time in our lives—before things got … mixed-up and confused.”

“It was a good time for us all, Indian-talker.” Now the chief’s old eyes gazed back into the tent. “You see that one at the end of the table, seated beside the one with much braid on his blue coat?”

Shad nodded. “Major Frank North. Leader of the scalped-heads. The army’s scouts.”

No emotion was betrayed in the old man’s eyes. “I know of him. He was leading the fight we had at Plum Creek Ford.”

“Yes. You wish to meet him?”

“No. It is not necessary. I only know that he is the man you must talk to for me. I have—” He bit his lip as if it were something difficult to discuss. “I have six children this North will want.”

“Prisoners?”

“They are white children. But they are no longer our prisoners. We were raising them to be Shahiyena.”

Shad sighed, trying to contain his excitement at the news. “Six children. Yes. What do you wish in return for the six children?”

Turkey Leg looked up at the scout, then back at Frank North behind the table some ten yards away where the commissioners were debating points of their peace plan through the various interpreters.