The Lookout (Chapter One)

The sun slipped lower in the west and broad streaks of orange-red set the sky ablaze.  A light, cool breeze moved the leaves in the trees but not enough to make any noise except for the occasional faint rustle that could be heard if a person stood perfectly still and listened.  Here and there squirrels scurried about and the very last birds sought the sanctuary of the trees.  All around, creatures were prepared for sleep.  In town, families lit oil lamps as they settled in for the evening

 

 But they were a long way from town, three hours at least.  The four men rode almost as quietly as the faint whisper of the leaves. The leader, a rough man, and the oldest of the group, ran his callused hands through his graying hair.  His boots and leather chaps had seen better days.  Riding in the sun had tanned and lined his leathery face.  Tired, gray eyes were cold as flint and unflinching, the eyes of a hardened and undisputed leader.  The men riding at his back would give nothing less than absolute obedience.

 

He was most comfortable on a horse and the two moved as one.  Pushing the edges of civilization further west since he’d arrived in this new land years ago was his life, his mission, his destiny.  His fate and that of the land were inextricably linked, for the land was to be settled, and that meant clearing out the savages.  The only way that they would stay cleared out was to kill them so that was what he did.  Years ago it seemed that for every one eliminated, two more appeared.  But now, the number of savages had declined, at least in this place.

 

He’d lost a few men to the heathens, mostly the ones that underestimated the enemy.  The men he had now were alright, except the lookout - a bit too green and maybe a bit soft.  That was the trouble; he could deal with green, but the kid had no stomach for the task at hand.  Well, the leader needed a lookout and he was it.  He’d been instructed what to look for and how to alert if he saw anything suspicious.  It wasn’t difficult but it was vital to their success, and he’d be paid fair and square.

 

The gray horse, a young stallion, walked slowly and cautiously as if it knew its master’s thoughts.  It too, would not dare defy him.  Accustomed to battle, it never spooked or flinched, much like its master.  The animal had no particular attachment to its rider, but it did its master’s bidding.  In the distance, a faint bit of smoke became visible.  They’d be at the Indian camp soon enough.

 

A few feet behind rode the second in the gang, younger by a good ten years or so than the leader.  Weathered from the sun, his face showed an eagerness to get to the camp that the leader did not share.  These missions were necessary to secure land for coming settlers and the old man had no problem in carrying them out.  But he did not anticipate it with excitement as the man behind him did.  The younger man found the battle exhilarating and hatred for the savages ran through him to the core.  Years ago, they had taken his brother and he would make them pay.  His mission to kill as many as possible and hopefully to eliminate them altogether from the new land gave him something to live for.

 

Beside him a third rider, with hair bleached nearly white by the sun and eyes that were far too pale in his sun-darkened face, rode on in silence.  His face was troubled, but not by the thought of the bloodbath that would soon take place.  Rumors abounded that one of the natives had given birth to a baby that belonged to a white man.  Anxious to see if this was so, he vowed to eliminate anything in the camp resembling him.  His life depended on it.  The man in front had made it clear to him that if he saw a half breed baby, he'd kill Lefty with no need to ask questions.  He knew that there was no one else who could have had opportunity to snatch one of the natives.  Lefty had been taken aback by the reaction.  After all, they were killing the savages anyway; what difference did it make if he had some fun with a few of the women first? 

 

No one else had as yet speculated on the origin of the child; indeed, its very existence had never been verified.  His mind gave way to silent cursing.  He ought to have done away with the woman.  She’d gotten away from him but he could have gone after her.  Something stopped him.  She had a certain wild beauty about her and truth be told, he wouldn’t mind getting her again.  The savages had to be exterminated, but it didn’t much matter in what order they went and he hadn't really thought on it at the time.  Sooner or later her village would be eradicated.

 

The fourth rider sat tall on his black horse.  He would do his job and collect his pay.  The pay wasn’t particularly great but it would do until something better came along.  His small, black eyes moved at the slightest sound although his head seldom turned.  Alert to every shadow that crossed their path, he continued to search out the cause of each sound or movement as they went. 

 

A hunter who always got his prey, he’d hunted coyotes off farmland and cleared out snakes.  A time or two there had been a cattle rustler and he’d dealt with that.  A better shot did not exist, and he aimed at whatever he was paid to. 

 

Behind them all, the fifth rider, a boy of seventeen, rode nervously.  His eyes darted this way and that.  His knuckles whitened as he clutched the reins tightly in his fists.  Tall and thin with awkward, gangly limbs, his brown eyes widened as though if only he could open them farther he would see everything.

 

His parents had died months ago and now the crops were failing.  He had an eleven-year-old kid brother and this job would put food in both of their mouths, if only briefly.  Was it worth it?  It was too late to reconsider.  Out of the corner of his eye he saw the faint smoke of the Indian village. 

 

The boy had never seen the savages up close and curiosity welled up inside him.  He followed wordlessly as they continued to approach the camp.  They had to circle around now because of the wind in case some animal caught the scent of them.  Could the savages pick up the scent?  It was rumored that they were like animals. 

 

The group moved as one, snaking in and out of trees in a circle around the camp until the wind blowing over the camp came directly towards them.  They came to a stop and studied the scene below for some time.  They were looking for a watchman, some Indian tasked with keeping watch through the night.  There might be one, since the attacks had become more frequent. 

 

The four riders fanned out and the leader signaled him wordlessly to stay in place at the spot.  In just a few moments he could not see or hear the other riders at all.  Just where they had stationed themselves he did not know.  He watched as an Indian woman banked a fire for the night and went inside.  Another woman with a baby on her back went in for the night as well and he admired her thick, long, black hair in the moonlight.  It was strange to see a woman with her hair down.  Unencumbered by the layers of clothing he was accustomed to seeing a woman wear, she moved with a free and effortless grace.  For the first time in his life, he’d seen a woman who was truly comfortable in her own skin.  If these were savages he wondered if the civilized women couldn’t learn a thing or two from them.  His fascination grew and he continued watching her. When she disappeared from his sight, he was surprised to realize that as intently as he’d studied her, he had no idea what the garment she’d been wearing looked like.  But he could see her every movement in his mind. 

 

Then there were only two men talking to each other.  It appeared that they were the husbands of the two women he’d just seen.  He wondered how much different these savage men were from the men he knew.  Wouldn’t they play with their youngsters and enjoy supper with their families much like any other man?  Wouldn’t their babies cry just like any other baby when hungry, cold, or tired?  He wasn’t sure what he’d expected to see but this was not it. 

 

The two men went inside.  Now the entire village would soon be sleeping.  The night air was still around the clusters of small, round structures.  Here and there, they dotted the area and near the middle the same kind of wood building sat, but much longer instead of circular.

 

These were the dreaded Shawnee.  The terror that rose in his heart could not be reconciled with his previous feeling of awe.  He’d heard of the fierce Shawnee.  Why then, did he feel so strongly against destroying their village?  He listened to the quiet stillness with no indication of where the men may have gone on their horses for he saw nothing. 

 

He flinched as the quiet, sleepy village came under attack, watching in horror as Indians rushed in every direction.  Arrows flew and shots fired nearly continuously.  He sat looking for any signs of unexpected trouble, doing his job.  Not seeing any, he shifted his position for better cover and watched.  His stomach felt as if it had turned to lead and guilt washed over him as the bloody battle went on.  He fervently hoped that either the leader or the hired gunman would be killed by an Indian’s arrows.  If either of them were taken out, the others would likely retreat. 

 

Tempted to fix his gun on one of the attackers himself, he held back.  He’d be hung for murder.  Besides, everything was going too fast and he’d never be able to get a lock on one specific person.  He only hit about half of the snakes he shot at on his land.  The gunman could take him out in one shot easily. 

 

Fires were being lit and soon the village would be ablaze.  The Indian war cries became fewer.  Without thinking, he tied the horse and crept slowly towards the battle.  The woman he’d seen earlier had been shot.  Likely she and the infant who had been on her back would be dead - but for a reason he couldn't put into words he needed to check. 

 

He went inside, half waiting to be attacked by an Indian warrior.  If any of the men in his group discovered him, he’d just say he thought they needed help and came in.  They’d never hire him again if they found out he’d left his post, but it didn’t matter any more.  Suddenly the money didn’t matter much either.  His eyes adjusted and he took in the sight.  There were mats that looked like they were for sleeping.  A few cooking utensils were placed together neatly.  Animal skin blankets were thrown to the side of the mats but everything else was neatly in place, bare as it was. 

 

A movement just to his side caught his eye.  Instinctively he reached for his gone but stopped.  A hand moved slightly and he looked down to see the woman he'd seen earlier.  There was a smell of blood and as he slowly bent lower he saw enough to know that she probably wouldn't survive.  Still, he ripped off a piece of his shirt and reached out to tie the strip of cloth as a tourniquet.  Light came through the door.  The village was burning.  It would only be a matter of time.  He hesitated.  If he was discovered helping this woman that would be the end.  Chet would have no one.  He was only eleven.  Still, a man had to do what he had to do.  His father would never have left any creature to suffer, much less a woman. 

 

With renewed determination he bent down to set about the task.  A tan hand reached out and rested on his arm and he looked at her face.  Once she had his full attention, the woman gestured to a basket near the wall. 

 

"I've got to get you bandaged up fast or we'll both be dead any minute."  He knew that she would not understand his words but maybe something in his voice would let her know that he was here to help. 

 

She shook her head more vigorously than he would have thought possible and motioned again to the basket.  Finally he set aside the tourniquet and retrieved the basket, setting it beside her.  She reached inside and he watched her take a tiny hand in her own.  She held it for a few seconds and then motioned for him to come closer.  He bent down and she held her hand out to take his.  He gave it to her and waited.  They were losing precious time.  Still, he sensed an urgency in the feeble motions and he cooperated as best he could, holding his own hand out. 

 

With that, she placed the tiny hand in his and patted the two hands.  He frowned, puzzled.  She repeated the action and all at once he understood.

 

"Oh, no, you don't understand.  I don't have any parents at home.  I've got a kid brother to take care of and a farm to run."

 

Again she repeated the motion, resting the tiny hand in his.  Her eyes sought reassurance and slowly he nodded.  Then her hand went limp and she was gone.     

 

The lookout arrived at his post just as the leader signaled the group to ride out.  In a moment, they circled towards the edge of the village and came into formation.  He hurriedly untied the horse, mounted and took the reins, while draping his jacket over the basket to obscure it.  He had uncertain religious sentiments, but silently begged the powers that be that the basket and its contents not be discovered.

 

The group rode out and the third rider, in his usual position tried to look carefully at the carnage as they rode through.  With complete focus, he gave no notice to the blood soaking his pant leg.  He’d been hit with an arrow.  Rumor had it that some used poison on their arrows but he guessed he’d know by now if poison had coursed through his body.  Perhaps the savage woman’s baby had been only a rumor.  The group rode at a gallop.  Towards the edge of the village he saw her.  She’d been killed.  There was no time to check for a babe but with her out of the way the rumors would die and nothing would ever be known of the savage woman or her baby.  They continued galloping towards town, past the weedy lookout they’d recruited who stayed in his position in the rear.  If there were any stragglers daring enough to exact revenge, they could have the boy farmer. 

 

Trailing behind the others, the lookout gradually slowed his pace.  They were getting closer to the western edge of civilization when he felt the slightest movement come from the basket in front of him.  The child was still alive.  This both thrilled and frightened him.  If it could move it could cry.  He stayed back from the group, increasing the distance between himself and them more and more. 

 

He noticed with delight that the men were distracted by injuries from the flying arrows.  They would not worry about him.  With that he slowed even more until they were nearly out of sight.  One man had been hit in the leg, and the leader had been grazed in the chest.  He marveled at this for an instant.  No one would ever have known it by their riding.  One of the other riders took out an old bag with supplies and they set about tearing bandages and wrapping the wounds.  It wasn’t serious enough to require a doctor, but did require a good, stiff drink and the leader stated this wholeheartedly.

 

By what he’d overheard, the group counted the mission a success.  Of course, they hadn’t gotten every savage; their group was formidable - but there were only four of them.  Still, they’d devastated the village and the chief had been among those hit.  Many of the young braves had fallen in the battle.  After a few more rounds, only women and children would remain.  Land to the west would open up very soon.

 

As he rode on, the boy jiggled the basket whenever he heard the slightest noise.  The night was cold and the noises became less frequent until he wondered if the infant was still alive.  He could not stop.  The others might come back to check on him.  Would they?  There was no way to be sure.  He must go on.  Moving into and out of sight, he varied the distance throughout the ride, moving closer when it appeared that his unplanned passenger was soundly asleep.

 

The four admired their newly acquired battle injuries and enjoyed some light but crude bantering when suddenly the lookout caught a small bag of money thrown by the leader.

 

“Now you can join us at the saloon, Looky.”

 

With that, the leader continued eagerly towards the saloon and the group matched his pace, following behind.  The rough men came riding swiftly back to town.  Their spirits were high after their successful mission.  They had all but secured the intended area and rid the land of the troublesome native village.  Soon no settler would need to fear straggling Indians that might return and seek revenge.

 

The four tied their horses to posts outside the town’s saloon.  They turned to see their fifth man riding in some distance behind. 

 

As he drew closer to them, he yelled out “Go ahead without me.”  They shrugged and made their way into the saloon.  He was at best a fringe member of their group anyway.  He’d been useful in the task but didn’t have the same spirit about it.  Besides, he was just a kid, half the age of their youngest member.

 

The lookout breathed a sigh of relief as he watched the door close behind the last of the four.  Then he turned his horse and rode all night at a steady pace.