Rides Eyes Of Ghost: Forward and Chapter One

Forward 

My horse and I are both half-breeds: half savage, half civilized, belonging to neither tribe nor nation. Lost to our people, we wander lonely trails under endless skies, seeking a name, a place, a home, a family. We have found none of these things.

 I do not know my name, but I know the name of my horse. Perhaps my horse knows what I should be called. I like to think he does —that he learned it in a dream as I learned his, and just as his name must never cross my lips, so likewise he would not speak mine even if he could. 

His name is only spoken in the place of dreams between the worlds. Were I even to whisper it into the deep hollow of his ear, I believe he should nevermore bear me beyond the waking daylight, and if that were to happen, how would I ever find my way home?

Chapter 1
Santa Fe Trail, 1844

The rendezvous was at the abandoned mission, deep in the Kansas territory. The ragged band of children were prodded into a line by their liberators. Captain Faraday of the dragoons chewed his lip, looking them over. A dozen this time. He had not expected so many, and was glad he brought the wagon. The children appeared half-starved, but he knew life on the frontier took its toll, even for civilized folk. The savages’ own brood would look no better.

These were the hapless children of white settlers, stolen from their families by the red man for ransom, or for vengeance, or to be raised as their own. It was hard to know the mind of the Indian.

The four men who delivered the children to the dragoons were little more than mercenaries. ‘Liberators’ was too generous a word; They made their living spying out white children in Indian camps, and getting them back. Captain Faraday knew such men who negotiated with the Indians, driving bargains that amounted to barter to win back the children. Captives could be bought for horses or precious metals and sometimes words that brought honor to bear. These men though, had not negotiated. They had blood on their hands. They were hard, lean and hungry, lead by a bear-like mountain man. They stood scowling, waiting silently as the childrens’ worth was assayed.

Captain Faraday found them repellant. They were all that was wrong with the West.

“Twelve gold pieces. One for each,” he said.

“Thirteen.”

The mountain man shoved the tallest boy aside and behind him a small dark girl was revealed, clinging to the back of his breeches. Finding herself the center of attention, she began to cry. The boy’s face contorted under his long unkempt hair. He was dirty, his skin tanned to a deep bronze, but there was no mistaking his light hair. This was a white boy, even though he let loose a volley of curses in a native tongue.

“I don’t need that translated.” Captain Faraday told Green Drake.

“That is good, for to do so would disgrace your uniform.” The Indian guide replied.

Faraday sniffed and nodded. Under different circumstances, he might have laughed.

By the boy’s enraged reaction, it was clear he still understood English. Though his hands were bound behind him, he charged forward, lowering his head to butt the Captain. Green Drake swept the feet out from under the boy and he sprawled on the ground, where he kicked up a cloud of dust in anger and frustration. The girl cried louder while the other children only stared. They had seen worse and recently. Much worse.

“What’s your name, son?” The Captain asked.

The boy raised his head and answered in his Indian tongue with fierce pride.