Red Runs the Plains
© 2004 By W.R. Benton, All Rights Reserved
Soon to be published by TreeSide Press
This manuscript may not be reproduced in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying, recording, or in any information shorage or retrieval system. All rights belong to the author and the publisher. All characters are from the imaginations of the authors and do not represent any persons living or dead. Any similarities between real persons and the characters in this manuscript are a coincidence.
CHAPTER 1
The young boy was cold, so very cold. The wind, which had been strong earlier in the day, was now blowing much harder. He was not sure he could last much longer out in the wind and snow, but he had little choice. He knew if he stopped, he would die. As he stumbled along through the blowing snow, he remembered how his day had started just like all the others he had experienced in his fifteen years of life.
“Jarel Arley Wade, you up yet?” the young boy heard his mother yell from down stairs.
“I'm up!” he quickly lied, as he started moving from warmth of the bed.
He jumped out of bed, slipped on his bib overalls and boots and made his way slowly down the ladder from the loft he slept in. The house was essentially a rough looking cabin, made of logs, and had one large room on the ground floor. The upper half of the cabin was made into a sleeping area for three children. While not pretty, the structure kept the family warm during the cold winter months in Southwestern Missouri.
“What's fer breakfast, ma?” Jarel asked as he walked to the kitchen table his father had made with his own hands two years before the boy had been born.
His mother gave a loud laugh and handed him a wooden bowl filled with grits. She sat another bowl of grits on the table to Jarel's left. On top of each bowl of grits was a big spoonful of fresh butter.
“Samethang we had yes'derday an' the day a'fore that-un.”
Jarel gave a big crooked smile and sat down at the table. He enjoyed grits and had them every morning, not that he had much choice. Times were rough on the old dirt farm and there never seemed to be enough really good food to go around. Nonetheless, they always seemed to have plenty of beans, fried taters, and cornbread, but not much else.
“Where's pa? Out in the field already?” Jarel asked between spoonfuls of the hot grits.
“Son, yer daddy done be in them fields fer hours. He shore is a hard workin' man, but I wish he'd take a break sometimes. He's always so tired each night after a-workin' with them crops all day. You should hep him mo', ya know that Jarel Arley Wade?”
Jarel looked down at his breakfast to avoid eye contact with his momma. He knew when she used his complete formal name, he was in trouble or at least gonna get a good talkin' to.
Overall, he knew he was a good boy, but he also knew he could do more to help his father around the farm. It was just that Jarel didn't want to be a farmer when he grew up. He wasn't sure what he wanted to be and knew that his choices were limited due to a poor education. Jarel had never been to a schoolhouse in his life and the only learnin' he had, he got from his ma. He could struggle through most parts of the bible, ‘cept fer the big names, and he could cyper a bit. Another aspect of life that cause him concerns was his size, he was short in stature and appeared to be much younger than he really was.
At that point he heard his newborn sister crying to be fed. His mother walked over to the cradle and picked the baby up to fed her. The noise from the crying infant had awakened his younger brother William. William stretched and then got up off of the pallet he had slept on the night before. The young boy had been sick with a cold and his ma wanted him near her bed during the night. As he approached the table William gave a loud hacking cough that sounded more like a bark.
“You feelin' stronger, son?” His momma asked as she opened the top of her dress so she could feel the baby.
She continued speaking, “And, you both say yer prayers a-fore you eat too.”
“ I feel a mite better ma.” William replied with watery eyes.
William, though only thirteen, did his share of work on the farm and his ma said he had gotten sick from choppin' wood for the fireplace during a big rain a few days back. Jarel watched the sick boy as he ate his breakfast and the sight made him ill. William's nose was running and occasionally he would give out another loud barking cough, which sprayed grits in all directions. Or he would use the palm of his hand to wipe his nose and that just smeared the mess all over his face.
“Bill, do you have to do that! And, turn yer haid when ya cough!” Jarel yelled in anger as William sprayed grits on the tabletop.
Once his coughing fit was over, William looked at Jarel with hate in his eyes, “I'm sick Arley, you leave me ‘lone.”
Jarel hated to be called by his middle name, but the whole family did it most of the time. He knew his brother was doing it now just to get his goat. Jarel gave his brother a slap on the left side of his head and at the outburst from William his ma turned to see what was happening.
“Cain't you two neveh sit beside each other and not fight? I got half a mind to take a hickory switch to both of yer behinds! Now, both of ya stop fightin' and eat yer grits. Then, go out in the field and hep yer daddy. You hear me Arley? You're too big to be a hittin' on yer younger brother.”
Jarel, feeling anger at this brother and frustration with his ma, merely nodded his head. He made up his mind to settle things with Bill later in the day, once the younger boy had forgotten about the attack at the breakfast table.
Breakfast was soon eaten and as the boys cleared the table and prepared to go help their pa as Jarel noticed his ma cutting fatback to go in the big pot of beans that would slow cook in the fireplace. He knew by the time the day was finished, they would all sit down to a typical dinner, except this time his pa had some venison to go with the meal. The day before his pa had shot a big buck near his corn field and it would be a welcome change from the their normal diet.
As the boys walked out of the cabin and across the barnyard, Jarel noticed the weather was much cooler than the day before. Dark gray clouds were moving in from the west and it looked like snow to the young boy. They found their father digging potatoes and placing them in tow sacks to store in the root cellar.
“Hey boys, come to hep me dig up these heah taters! You'll find some extree spades oveh there by the fence.” His father welcomed the boys in a cheery enough manner, but that was typical of him. Jarel noticed the man was sweating even in the cool fall air.
William and Jarel were soon busy digging potatoes from the dark black soil that his father loved so much. Jarel wondered how a man could love dirt like his pa did. He remembered how each spring his father would grow so excited with the sprouting of each new crop. How all of them, including his ma, would work from can see to cain't see just to grow enough to survive the harsh Missouri winters. No, thought Jarel as he worked, I don't wanna spend the ress of my life diggin' in the dirt on no rock filled farm! As soon as I can, I'ma- leavin'. I think a-bein' one of them mountain men with Astor would be a great life! Jess think, you could be free and not have to work hard neither.”
Abruptly his father stood up and scanned the hills surrounding the farm. “Son, take Bill and head back to the house. Walk boys, do not run. I don't want you lollygagging' neither. Jarel, I think I spotted Injuns.”
“Where? I don't see nothin'.” The oldest boy replied.
“Son, I hain't got time to argue with you. GO NOW!” His father yelled in a voice barely above a whisper. Jarel knew things must be very serious if his father raised is voice.
Heading slowly back to the cabin, Jarel looked over his shoulder at his father and saw him pick up his Hawken rifle. The boy had heard his father talk many times about the possible dangers living on the frontier and how a man had to always be ready to protect himself, his family, and his property. Jarel prayed this was not one of those times.
As soon as he entered the cabin his mother looked up and he said one word, “Injuns.”
“Oh, my God! Quick boys, get the infant and get ready to go in the hole!” She and her children had prepared for situations like this many times. After he had built the cabin, his father had dug a large hole under the structure just before he had put a rough plank floor down. The hole as accessed through a trapdoor he had made as well and tney kept it covered with a thick rug made of cotton rags.
Jarel helped his mother drag the rug off of the trapdoor and it took the two of them to pull the heavy door up and to hold it open. Looking down the crude ladder that led into the darkness, Jarel experienced a deep fear of the dark place. But, he knew it might offer him and his siblings the only chance of survival they had otherwise. His mother would stay up in the cabin to keep his fathers two rifles loaded for him if need be. They had all practice the procedure many times. His father would shoot and his mother would hand him another loaded rifle, then she would reload the empty one.
The boys were surprised when the front door swung open and there stood their father. His brow was covered in sweat and his hands trembled. He watched as the man took two steps into the room and then fell flat on his face. Jarel noticed two arrows sticking in his fathers bloody back.
“Get in the cellar NOW!” His mother screamed at her three children while looking at Jarel. As the oldest, he knew he was responsible for taking care of the rest. William went down into the dark hole and lit a small candle. As Jarel was starting down the ladder, he looked at his father one more time deeply concerned about the arrows sticking from his pa's bloody back.
Once in the cellar, Jarel reminded Bill that they had to remain quiet no matter what happened upstairs. His pa had told them that even if he and their ma were killed during an attack, the children would survive only if they remained absolutely quiet. Jarel wondered if Bill could feel the fear he felt. At one point, he felt as if he wanted to throw up and fought the urge to gag. But, after looking around at his brother and sister, he knew he had to remain strong for them. The candle casted eerie shadows on the dirt walls of the cellar.
The children in the cellar heard the loud report of a rifle, followed by silence, then a loud crashing sound come from about where the front door would be. Jared, now almost frightened out of his mind, pulled his brother Bill and his sister close to him. He was unaware that both he and his brother were trembling. He heard his mother scream and his father started cursing. The small cellar was filled once more with the noise of gunfire above them. He could hear the sound of people walking and someone screaming above them until it suddenly became deathly quiet.
As luck would have it, it was at that exact time his baby sister started crying. Jarel and Bill both tried rocking the baby and even singing in low tones to sooth the sobbing child. Nothing worked and it became obvious the baby had been heard, when a few seconds later the heavy door to the cellar suddenly swung open. As Jarel looked up, he found himself staring right into the angry eyes of a huge Indian wearing war paint.
The warrior motioned for them to come up. Jarel hesitated for a few seconds until the brave pulled his tomahawk from his belt. He used sign that indicated that if the children did not come up, he was coming down. Choosing the lesser of two evils, Jarel and his siblings climbed up the shaky ladder, right into the gates of hell.
A brave immediately struck Jarel on the side of the head with the flat side of his tomahawk as soon as the young boy had cleared the ladder. Panic filled his very being when he realized he had dropped his baby sister as he fell. He was kick numerous times by more than one brave as he attempted to crawl to where she had landed and was now crying. He hoped she had not been seriously hurt from the fall. Just before he reached her wiggling form, a warrior reached down and pulled her from her blanket. Then, holding the baby girl child by the ankles, he gave a mighty scream and swung the baby's head against the wall of the cabin. The baby's head exploded in a mist of gore and her body was still convulsing as the brave threw her small form aside. Jarel closed his eyes, sunk back to the floor, and willed himself to die.
How long he laid there in shock he had no idea. His whole life had been shattered by a bunch of murdering and almost naked Indians. They had killed his pa and his little baby sister! It was the screaming of his mother that brought him to his senses. He slowly raised his head and looked around. His father was dead, no doubt about it. He had been scalped and his entrails were loose links on the floor around him. His mother was being held to the floor as brave after brave raped her. Jarel knew about sex, after all he grew up on a farm, but the pure savagery of the attack stunned him.
Outraged, he stood on weak legs and ran toward the nearest warrior holding his mother in place. All of a sudden he was backhanded and knocked to the floor. This time a brave tied his hands and legs with part of his ma's ripped dress. He heard Bill screaming and looked over to see the little boy pounding on the back of an Indian while the rest of them laugh at small boys efforts to protect his mother. Jarel watched as Bill was picked up by one brave, brought to a spot near him and dropped roughly to the floor. The brave then tied Bill up as well. For the next two hours the young boys listened to their mother scream as she was assaulted. Knowing if he lived to be a hundred, he would never be able to forget those terrible screams of fear and pain.
Finally, there came a scream that was louder than normal, a quick choking sound, and as Jarel looked up, he saw a warrior holding a bloody knife in his hand. His mother's body quivered a few times then was still. A dark red pool of blood formed under her neck and head. Jarel watched entranced by the violence as the brave bent over his ma and ran the blade of a sharp knife around her head. There came a triumphant war cry from the brave, followed by a sucking sound, and the man quickly raised his ma's long blond hair above his head. Jarel leaned over and puked.
My God, this must be a dream! This cain't be a-happenin' to me and mine! Ma, Oh, Ma! Jared shriek silently.
A few minutes later a big warrior wearing black and red stripes on his face, approached the boys and untied their feet. Motioning for the boys to stand, he stood ready with a knife with a bloody blade. Both Bill and Jarel were so shocked by the violence they had experienced that they did exactly as ordered. They were instructed in sign language to follow the brave as he led them from the cabin. As he walked past his father's mutilated body, Jarel's mind was no longer in this world and he saw nothing.
Taken to a single horse, the two boys were lifted and placed on its back. Then their legs were tied under the horse to keep them from jumping off. One warrior walked up to the mounted boys and taunted them until he realized the boys would not react. They had seen too much violence in too short of a time and their minds had shut down completely. The brave gave an evil laugh and walked away.
“Ja..Jar..Jarel, do you think they will kill…us?” Jarel heard his terrified brother finally ask many minutes later.
Jarel had already decided they were both dead, except the Indians had not actually done the killing yet. He had grown up hearing the stories of how Indians tortured and killed white people. He knew deep down inside both he and his brother were dead, “No, I don't think they'll kill us Bill. If-un they wanted to kill us, now why would they put us on a horse?”
“Maybe they are going to tor..torture us Jarel!” His brother whispered with fear.
“Hush, they're coming back now. Keep quiet and fer God's sakes, don't cry. Pa told us Injuns respect a brave person, so let's be brave.”
Five of the war party returned to the horses. The leader of the group, Hawk Talon, looked at Buffalo Charging and spoke, “Why are the white children on a horse. We need to kill all the white eyes here, even the children. The children will grow into men one day and they will remember the deeds of the Blackfoot. If we do not kill all of the whites we find, more will come. Soon our land will no longer be our land. It will belong to the white man.”
The brave Buffalo Charging did not shrink from his duty as the spiritual leader of the group, “Hawk, Many Dreams said we are to kill the white man. He did not speak of the white children. These two fought bravely to save their mother, just like a child of the Sioux or Blackfoot would do. They were frightened, but still they fought. I will adopt them to take the place of The-One-Who-Is-No-More.”
Hawk thought of the words of Buffalo Charging. The man had lost a child to the white mans spotted disease the summer before. He knew the man held great grief for his dead son. The disease had killed many in the village and Hawks cheeks were scarred from the battle he had fought with the illness and won. No, he thought, I have no right to tell him what to do with his captives. He can make them into slaves, adopted them, or he can kill them. But, they belong to him.
Buffalo Charging waited patiently for Hawks response and finally the war leader said, “If they cannot keep up, I will kill them myself.” He turned and walked back into the cabin to see if he could find anything of value.
The young Missouri boys were led up a hill, down the other side, and finally brought to an even larger group of Sioux. Jarel noticed Sioux boys not much older than he watching the horse herd. Jarel heard his brother break into another coughing fit and prayed he would remain quiet. He suspected these people would accept no weaknesses from an enemy, even if the enemy was just a child. Luckily Bill stopped coughing and when Jarel leaned back to looked at him he noticed his brother was silently crying.
“Bill, you stop that crying right now! It they see you cry they might kill you. You gotta stay brave! Remember what pa tolt us about how Injuns respect a brave person,” Jarel warned.
His brother quit crying but still sniffled periodically and seemed unable to completely stop. Finally a warrior noticed the young boy and walked over. If either white child had expected compassion, they were in for a surprise. The warrior yelled something that neither boy understood and suddenly slapped Bill hard on the right side of the face.
His face stinging from the hard blow, Bill looked at the Sioux with hate filled eyes. The warrior, noticing the look on the boys face simply laughed and walked away. Jarel, turning his head slightly warned, “Bill, quit crying. I honestly think they will kill you if you don't.”
“I…I…I will try Jarel.”
“Good, Bill. Stay strong. You know ma and pa would want us to live.”
The boys were left tied to the horse for over an hour. The braves who had attacked the cabin finally returned and motioned for the entire group to get moving. As Jarel turned his head to look at the hill behind his home, he noticed dark clouds of smoke rising toward the darkened sky. He knew the Sioux had just burned a lifetime of hard backbreaking work by his father and mother. The cabin had been the only home the boys had ever known. For the first time in his young life, Jarel felt pure hatred.
As they rode north, Jarel could tell by the position of the sun, it grew colder. The wind picked up and small snowflakes began to fall. Both boys were without coats and the cold grew numbing. Jarel could feel Bill shivering behind him, but the younger of the two kept his mouth shut and did not complain. They must have rode five miles slowly before the group of Sioux pulled up to stop. There in front of them was another cabin.
The warriors, experienced in attacking lone cabins, soon realized they faced too much rifle fire from the cabin windows. Jarel figured there must have been a handful of men in the place. It was only minutes after the first shot when a brave threw a burning piece of dirty clothing on the roof of the cabin. Within minutes the pine shingles of the roof on the small wooden building were on fire. Long minutes pasted before anyone inside or outside moved. The Indians knew those inside must eventually run out, or burn to death. Unexpectedly, the door to the cabin swung open and two men ran out, they were immediately struck and killed by both arrows and bullets.
Finally, two women ran out and were quickly caught by the warriors. The white women were not killed, but pulled to the side and tied up. Just when Jarel thought no one was still in the flaming cabin a young boy of about fourteen ran out with an old doublebarreled shotgun in his hands. Jarel noticed the boy's light brown hair was smoking. He pointed the old gun at the group of Sioux still on horseback and pulled both of the triggers. Two braves fell from their saddles, one instantly dead and the other screaming in pain as he thrashed on the ground. Jarel watched as two arrows struck the young white boy in the chest and he fell without a uttering a sound.
The braves rushed forward and began to scalp and mutilate the bodies of the whites. It was at that point a shot echoed from inside the cabin. Someone, Jarel expected, did not want to be taken alive.
Quickly before the flames had time to collapse the roof the warriors ran into the cabin and started removing anything they consider of value. Jarel watched as flour, beans, weapons, ammunition, and clothing were removed and placed safely away from the fire. But, since the wood of the cabin had been well seasoned the fire spread quickly. Less than twenty minutes after the flaming rag had been thrown of the roof, it collapsed.
The Sioux loaded extra horses with plunder and shot the pigs and chickens full of arrows. Jarel saw one brave cut the throat of an old milk cow and heard him laughing as the animal convulsed in pain. “What kind of people have taken me prisoner?” the terrified young boy whispered to no one. But, as quickly as the fight started, it was over. The white women were placed on a horse each and tied exactly the same way the two boys were.
Hours later after the war party had traveled west, the leader of the group called for a stop for a mid day meal. Quickly jerked meat and water in buffalo bladders was passed around to all, except for the white captives. Neither the boys nor the women received food or water. Jarel thought the break was taken more for the horses than for the humans. In just a little more than an hour they were moving once more.
The weather turned worse with larger snowflakes falling and the temperature dropping even more. The wind had picked too since they had entered the open plains and they were no longer protected by the woods and hills of western Missouri. While Jarel was hungry, he was more worried about freezing to death. His whole body shook from the cold and all that kept him warm was the body heat from his smaller brother and the horse between his legs. I will die this night, if I don't get no mo' clothes or a blanket, he thought as he noticed one of the white women, who were riding in front of him, lean sharply to the right. There came a sudden cry or perhaps a warning from a Sioux guard that was riding near her.
The guard rode up beside the white woman and pulled her upright once more. Almost instantly she fell toward the right again. The Sioux, feeling frustrated, pulled his knife, leaned over, grabbed her hair to raise her head, and promptly cut the woman's throat. Jarel heard her choking on her own blood and watched as her body quivered. Great spurts of blood leaped from her injury each time her heart would beat, but thanks to the severity of her wound, she did not suffer long. In less than two minutes the woman was dead. The same brave that had cut her throat dismounted and cut the rope tying her legs under the horse. The body fell to the newly fallen snow covering the trail, turning it a copper brown color, while the brave mounted and quickly moved the rest of the captives forward. The woman's body was left were it had fallen.
Jarel continued to shiver with the cold. The war party persisted in moving west and the snow began to fall very hard. Jarel was afraid he and Bill would die soon. An hour later the group rode down into a group of willows near the edge of a small stream. While it was well out of the wind, it was still very cold. Within minutes the Sioux had temporary shelters made from brush and buffalo hides.
Jarel, Bill, and the lone surviving white woman were all three thrown into a shelter. A single old and well-worn wool horse blanket was cast in behind them. The Sioux had cut the ties to each of their hands and feet, but had warned them in sign that to attempt escape meant instant death. The young boy understood that if the Blackfoot did not kill them the weather would. At that point, all Jarel had cared about was getting warm, because he had no desire to escape. The three of them huddled under the thin blanket and for more than an hour nothing was said.
Finally the woman looked at the two boys and said, “I am Nadine Williams. My husband and I own the old Ridgeway farm. Do you thank they will hurt us?”
Jarel, unsure how to respond, simply said, “I am Jarel and this is William. Our last names are Wade.”
“Oh, the Wades! I know your ma very well. She is a very good cook.”
Bill, hearing the conversation and knowing his ma was dead, started to whimper. Jarel, feeling he had to be brave glanced at Nadine and replied, “Our ma and pa were kilt when these Blackfoot attacked us. Even our baby sister was kilt. And, in case you don't remember your husband and the woman that was taken with you are both dead. There was some other men kilt at your cabin too, but I ain't shore who they was.”
Nadine looked at the boys in disbelief, then with a deeply confused mind she said, “No, Jubal is out huntin'. Frank was a-workin' in the fields when the attack came. Norma, why I just saw her here. They must have put her in her own shelter. They would not hurt us. I think they are taking us to the tradin' post by the river.”
Jarel, seeing the woman's mind had snapped, rolled over and ignored her. He could hear the wind blowing hard outside the crude structure. While he was not longer freezing cold, he was nowhere near being comfortable either. He listened to his stomach growl in hunger but suspected he would not eat on this night. Jarel could hear the Blackfoot braves laughing as they cooked huge pieces of meat around small campfires. He was not sure how many of them there were, but he suspected more than fifty. Occasionally one of them would give a bloodcurdling scream and hold up a fresh scalp as he danced around the fire.
It must have been mid evening when one of the braves finally came for the white woman. She screamed and protested, but it did no good. The brave grabbed her by her long red hair and dragged her physically from the shelter.
“They gonna torture her Jarel?” His little brother whispered as if asking the question in a normal voice would make it happen.
“Yep, you could say that Bill. But, we gotta stay quiet. We don't need to draw any attention to us. No matter what happens to her, or what you hear, don't make a sound”
“I wanna go home Jarel.”
Angry at his brother's child like response, Jarel snapped, “We hain't got no home no mo' Bill. These animals done burnt it up. We ain't even got a ma and pa no mo'. We are jess two little orfeens now and we have to stay strong to survive on our own.”
Bill gave a small whimper and Jarel could see his brother was crying again. Leaning over he patted the smaller brothers head and said, “Bill, I think I can get us outta here, mayhap. You jess be ready to run when I say run. You jess make shore you foller me when we go too. You get lost out in this snow storm and you'll be daid in short time.”
“You really got a plan Jarel?” Bill asked as his eyes lit up with anticipation.
“Shore I do Bill, you know me!” Jarel replied, while deep inside he knew he had no plans, no ideas and very little hope.
The night air was filled with laughter from the braves and horrible screams from the woman named Nadine. Jarel suspected the Blackfoot warriors were raping the white woman. He looked from the shelter and noticed all of the braves were in a circle near the fire with their backs to him. Now, he thought, while the braves are watching the woman is the time for us to try and escape. He knew the heavily falling snow would quickly fill their tracks and make tracking difficult even for an experienced Blackfoot warrior.
Turning to his brother Jarel said in a whisper, “Bill, we are leaving now. Give me the blanket and I want you to foller me slow like into the trees behind our shelter. Once in the trees we will run like wild fire. You jess make shore you stay on my tail as closely as you can. Do you unnerstand me?”
Bill nodded in agreement, but Jarel could see the deep fear in the younger boy's eyes. Slowly the two of them left the shelter and moved silently toward the trees. Jarel could still hear the braves laughing and taunting the woman, so he suspected the two of them were safe enough for the time being. Suddenly he heard a loud sound like a hand slapping polished leather, the sound was followed instantly by another, and looked back at his younger brother. Bill was still running behind him, but his eyes were wide and blood was running from his wide-open mouth and down his chin. It was then that Jarel heard a loud shout from the Blackfoot camp.
Bill ran for almost another hundred feet before he collapsed. Jarel, running back to check on his younger brother saw him lying on the ground with two arrows sticking from the middle of his back.
“Jarel, I hurt somethin' terrible Jarel. Jarel, don't let me die! I don't wanna die Jarel!” He heard his brother plead in a weak voice.
Jarel kneeled in the snow beside his brother and said in a voice filled with fear, “Bill, yer ok. I ain't gonna leave you neither,”
The snow under Bill's head was stained a bright red from the river of blood leaking from his open mouth. Jarel leaned over his brother to see why he did not respond, but he noticed the eyes were fixed and unseeing. William Robert Wade was dead.
Knowing he had to move, or he would be the one killed next; Jarel turned and ran with all his might into the harshest blizzard to hit the center plains in more than twenty years. He knew they might kill him, but if they did, they would have to work to do it. He would be damned if a bunch of raggedy assed Blackfoot would kill him like a pig led to a slaughter.
Order this book
Mountain Man Links
