Read Online Scarlet Plume, Second Edition by Frederick Manfred - Free Book Online
Authors: Frederick Manfred
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“Mad Bear’s bunch.”
“I guess so,” Reverend Codman murmured.
“What do all those signals say?”
Reverend Codman studied them, impassively, first looking at the signals to the far north, then at those across Skywater. The three children stared up at him, waiting.
Finally Reverend Codman said, “I do believe it’s . . .” He looked down at the three children, and stopped.
Judith touched Reverend Codman’s sleeve. “War signals?”
“I’m afraid so.” Reverend Codman sighed. “Well, it seems we shall have to face up to it. May the Lord in his infinite mercy give us the courage.”
“But why?” Judith demanded. “What have we done to them?”
“The way our traders treat them, I can’t say as I blame them. Even our esteemed government agents have been guilty of cheating and defrauding the Indian.”
A smoke signal next lifted from Pounce’s village over the rise to the east. The smoke signal rose slowly. It resembled a slowly expanding toadstool.
“Now our fat Christian Indian seems to be joining in,” Judith said.
“But that can’t be,” Theodosia said. “I’m sure of Pounce. His repentance is sincere.”
“I never did like him.”
Theodosia’s eyes closed. “Oh, Lord, do have mercy upon us,” she breathed. “It cannot be true, please, Lord.”
Reverend Codman spoke almost musingly. “After we’ve had so much success too. More than a dozen adult Indian souls saved.”
“Trapped,” Judith whispered to herself. “Oh, if only I hadn’t been so foolish as to come out here in the first place.” She clutched Angela by the hand, hard. “What do we do now, Claude?”
“Pray. And hold firm in the Lord.”
“Don’t you have a gun?”
Reverend Codman shook his head. “God is love. It is in his name that I preach to the heathen savage. Not in the name of the god of war.”
The smoke signals were soon seen in Whitebone’s village and almost instantly it became a boil of activity. Braves jumped up from where they sat smoking. They ran to put on their war paint and pick up their war gear. Squaws called in the children with sharp warning clucks. Young boys ran to get the tethered ponies for their fathers. Door flaps snapped shut and were tied down. The sound of the drumming changed too. Quicker, harsher drumbeats came from the council lodge in the center of the village. One singer began a wild, exultant war song. Sharp whoops resounded against the thick grove of oak and hackberry along the lake. Finally smoke signals rose from Whitebone’s encampment too.
In the midst of the wild goings-on, a vivid memory flashed through Judith’s mind. It was the memory of her first days on the Skywater prairies, of how she had fallen in love with the frontier. She had arrived in late May and the rolling plains were an endless garden of wild roses, mile on mile of heady wild perfume. The air was so sweet it almost tasted of honey. And there were the dazzling flights of the multicolored carrier pigeons, purple and blue and pink, and the lake-skimming waterfowl, burnished green and rust and glancing black. The sound of all their multitudinous calling and quacking was that of a vast symphony orchestra warming up. Skywater had been an Eden on earth at last, a bewildering dream of a paradise.
Settlers began to stream toward them. From the south came Jed Crydenwise, then the Utterbacks. All three carried guns and powder and shot.
Next came Charlie Silvers, trader, with his Sioux wife, Tinkling. Silvers had a heavy belly and he moved across the ground with the sway of a heavy load of hay. He wore greasy buckskins and a torn wolf skin for a cap. His black beard was clotted with tobacco spittle. Beside him Tinkling looked like a child. She too was in buckskins. She wore her hair in two braids, one down either side of her face. There was a beaten, even old, look in her eyes and she stood slightly humped over. That summer she had lost her third straight child at birth. All three had been
“I guess so,” Reverend Codman murmured.
“What do all those signals say?”
Reverend Codman studied them, impassively, first looking at the signals to the far north, then at those across Skywater. The three children stared up at him, waiting.
Finally Reverend Codman said, “I do believe it’s . . .” He looked down at the three children, and stopped.
Judith touched Reverend Codman’s sleeve. “War signals?”
“I’m afraid so.” Reverend Codman sighed. “Well, it seems we shall have to face up to it. May the Lord in his infinite mercy give us the courage.”
“But why?” Judith demanded. “What have we done to them?”
“The way our traders treat them, I can’t say as I blame them. Even our esteemed government agents have been guilty of cheating and defrauding the Indian.”
A smoke signal next lifted from Pounce’s village over the rise to the east. The smoke signal rose slowly. It resembled a slowly expanding toadstool.
“Now our fat Christian Indian seems to be joining in,” Judith said.
“But that can’t be,” Theodosia said. “I’m sure of Pounce. His repentance is sincere.”
“I never did like him.”
Theodosia’s eyes closed. “Oh, Lord, do have mercy upon us,” she breathed. “It cannot be true, please, Lord.”
Reverend Codman spoke almost musingly. “After we’ve had so much success too. More than a dozen adult Indian souls saved.”
“Trapped,” Judith whispered to herself. “Oh, if only I hadn’t been so foolish as to come out here in the first place.” She clutched Angela by the hand, hard. “What do we do now, Claude?”
“Pray. And hold firm in the Lord.”
“Don’t you have a gun?”
Reverend Codman shook his head. “God is love. It is in his name that I preach to the heathen savage. Not in the name of the god of war.”
The smoke signals were soon seen in Whitebone’s village and almost instantly it became a boil of activity. Braves jumped up from where they sat smoking. They ran to put on their war paint and pick up their war gear. Squaws called in the children with sharp warning clucks. Young boys ran to get the tethered ponies for their fathers. Door flaps snapped shut and were tied down. The sound of the drumming changed too. Quicker, harsher drumbeats came from the council lodge in the center of the village. One singer began a wild, exultant war song. Sharp whoops resounded against the thick grove of oak and hackberry along the lake. Finally smoke signals rose from Whitebone’s encampment too.
In the midst of the wild goings-on, a vivid memory flashed through Judith’s mind. It was the memory of her first days on the Skywater prairies, of how she had fallen in love with the frontier. She had arrived in late May and the rolling plains were an endless garden of wild roses, mile on mile of heady wild perfume. The air was so sweet it almost tasted of honey. And there were the dazzling flights of the multicolored carrier pigeons, purple and blue and pink, and the lake-skimming waterfowl, burnished green and rust and glancing black. The sound of all their multitudinous calling and quacking was that of a vast symphony orchestra warming up. Skywater had been an Eden on earth at last, a bewildering dream of a paradise.
Settlers began to stream toward them. From the south came Jed Crydenwise, then the Utterbacks. All three carried guns and powder and shot.
Next came Charlie Silvers, trader, with his Sioux wife, Tinkling. Silvers had a heavy belly and he moved across the ground with the sway of a heavy load of hay. He wore greasy buckskins and a torn wolf skin for a cap. His black beard was clotted with tobacco spittle. Beside him Tinkling looked like a child. She too was in buckskins. She wore her hair in two braids, one down either side of her face. There was a beaten, even old, look in her eyes and she stood slightly humped over. That summer she had lost her third straight child at birth. All three had been
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