THE YOUNG AMERICAN SERIES

  RUNS WITH THE WIND

BY

JOHN L. HOUGH

Renegade Publishing

P.O. Box 544

Camp Verde, AZ. 86322

Cover Art by Betty Ramirez-Atkins

Published by

www.RenegadePublishing.com

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording or by any information storage and retrieval system, without written permission from both the author and publisher.

The characters and events described in this book are fictional. Any resemblance between the characters and any person living or dead is purely coincidental.

Renegade Publishing is committed to reducing waste in publishing. For this reason we do not permit our covers to be "stripped" in exchange for credit. Instead we require the book to be returned allowing us to resell it.

Copyright 1994 and 2000 by John L. Hough. Printed in the United States of America. Library of Congress Card Number: 00-191940. ISBN - 0-97404050-1-4

Chapter One

Who would have thought, on that cold and dreary April morning in St. Louis when I poked my head out from under the quilt Ma had made for me, that my wildest dreams of adventure were about to become a reality. The sky was becoming light enough to see that the low moving dark grey clouds had not yet given way to the sun. It was warm and cozy under the handstitched quilt, and I hated to leave it for the misting rain that had plagued us for the last several days, but I knew it was time to get busy. This was the day I had been waiting for. Yawning and stretching I lay there thinking about how this had all come to pass.

Almost a month earlier our destiny was decided by fate, and there was nothing we could have done to stop it. The only home I had ever known stood on a small bench on the west side of what had always been a peaceful little creek. It was a nice place to live, with sprawling shade trees on each side of the house. On the front was a large porch facing east where Ma and Pa sat drinking coffee as they watched the sunrise each morning. On the east side of the creek the land rose slightly to a small grove of walnut trees where it then dropped off in the typical fashion of the rolling landscape. The barn and corrals were set closer to the creek in the bottom land, with a chicken coup built against the west side. Life was simple then, at least until it started to rain day after day.

The night the flood came, I woke up to hear Pa burst through the door of the house yelling, "Cheryl, wake up the kids and have Jeremy hitch the wagon. It's a flood, the biggest I've ever seen." In minutes we were dressed, and while Misty and Ma gathered the necessities and valuables I ran out to hitch the wagon, working faster than I had ever worked before. I was fourteen at the time and nearly as big as Pa, so the hard work didn't bother me, it was the urgency in his voice that scared me, I had never known him to be afraid of anything. Pa was doing his best to find the livestock, but he wasn't having much luck in the driving rain.

As I led the team and wagon out of the barn, lightning lit up the sky sending eerie shadows dancing through the night. In the flash I could see the few cows we owned standing in the grove of walnut trees on the far side of what used to be the peaceful little creek. The ground where they stood wasn't much more than five feet above the normal water line and they were already belly deep in fast moving water. You couldn't even tell they were standing on that little swell. Pa hollered for me to put the rest of the horses on lead ropes while they loaded the wagon, so I headed back through the darkness to the barn.

It all seemed like a bad dream. We had endured floods before, but nothing like this one. The thunder boomed so loud it seemed to echo in my head, and the raging wind was ripping limbs out of the massive cottonwood trees all around us.

I brought out Pa's saddle horse, Star, a big black stallion with a white blaze on his forehead. I had barely gotten him tied to the wagon before a bolt of lightning ripped through the night shattering a huge oak tree near the barn. He reared back and jerked his head violently letting out a frightened scream. With eyes as big as goose eggs, and nostrils flared, he looked like he had seen the devil himself, but the knot held fast, and I went after the other horse, Renegade. This was the horse Pa had broke for me the summer before, and we had become the best of friends. I tied him next to Star, and it was easy to see, the stallion sired good stock. Renegade was a chestnut gelding, the color of his mother but with Star's white blaze and size. Both horses were well muscled from many hours in the harness as well as the saddle.

With the wagon loaded we were ready to head for higher ground. We were trying to see how the cows were doing, but the rain was coming harder now and even in the lightning you couldn't see much, so we left everything I had ever known and headed for town.

It was three days before the water went down enough that we could get back to the farm. Pa and I rode out on the fourth morning to look around and I couldn't believe what I saw. There were huge cottonwood trees laying everywhere and a big pile of driftwood where the barn used to be. Several gullies had been cut in the fields, and the bottom lands were completely gutted. Even the apple trees, that Pa had planted there, were gone or uprooted, laying at odd angles, clinging desperately for life. Nothing but rocks and sand were left around their tangled roots.

We searched for two days but there was no sign of our cows, even most of the chickens were nowhere to be found.

The next morning I was sitting on the front steps of the bank enjoying the rare sunshine. Pa had gone inside to see about a loan to put the farm back in working order.

"John I'd like to give you the money," the banker said honestly, shuffling papers around his desk, "but I just can't."

Desperately, Pa looked across the desk at Mr. Peterson. "Why? You know I'm good for it. I've been working that farm for over twenty years."

"I know you are, but you've got to realize John, this flood hit just about everybody. There isn't enough money left to go around."

"That's just great," John said clutching his hat tightly in his powerful fist, "and what am I supposed to do now?"

"The best you can John, that's all any of us can do."

With that Pa came out of the bank. He stood there staring off in the distance saying nothing. I could tell that things had not gone well. After a few minutes he said, "Come on Jeremy, lets go to the livery and get the wagon."

"Are we going home Pa?"

"Yea, we got a lot of work to do," the words seemed heavy as he spoke them. It was as though he had lost all hope.

We headed down the street and turned the corner to the livery noticing a small crowd gathered in front. As we got closer I could hear someone talking with great enthusiasm.

He was a fascinating man with brown shoulder length hair, turning gray in places, and tied back with a leather thong. He wore dirty, beaded, buckskins with fringes down the arms and moccasins that came almost to his knees. His beard was mostly gray with a touch of brown tobacco stain right in the middle of it. He was loud and smelled a little, but he had a sort of confidence and charm that drew people in closer so they wouldn't miss a single word.

"It's all out there," he said, making a sweeping motion with his arm. "It's a big country fer men with dreams. Mountains so high they have snow on the tops all year long. Clear streams with water as sweet as honeysuckle. Beaver so thick you can't count 'em all, and buffalo, why there's so many that it sometimes takes two days just to ride around a single herd. There's land for the taking out there. Why it's Gods' country I tell ya."

"If it's so great, what are you doing in St. Louis?" one man asked.

"I got me a hankering to spend my poke on whiskey and fancy ladies, taint neither out there. Would be nice if there was though, I wouldn't have to come dragging myself clear cross the country every two or three years."

Pa and I stood there listening to him for quite a spell as he talked like a man who hadn't had any one to talk to for a long, long time. He told story after story capturing the imaginations of young and old alike.

"Stay here Jeremy," Pa said, "I'll be back in a bit. I've got some business to tend to." He left me standing there listening to the old mountain man telling stories about things I had never even dreamed of.

When he came back with Ma and Misty, I was standing in front of the livery with the wagon hitched and ready to go.

"Good. Let's go back to the farm and get the rest of our things," Pa said.

On the way back to the house he told me about how he had sold the farm to Mr. Peterson at the bank and made arrangements to buy a covered wagon from the freight company. Ma wasn't to happy about the idea at first, but after seeing what the flood had done to the farm, she knew why Pa just couldn't stay.

We gathered up the rest of our things and when a wagon train to the West started forming, Pa was one of the first to sign on. It had been four weeks now and the big day finally came, it was time to go, we were headed West.

I jumped out of bed, dressing as fast as possible. I wanted to have the wagon hitched up and ready to go by the time Ma had breakfast ready.

Chapter Two

As we pulled up to the meeting place along the river, a group of men were gathering under a stand of cottonwood trees. It was plain to see they were in a pretty heated argument. Mr. Reeves, the wagon master was trying to calm them down but not having much luck. Being a small man, and sort of plain he lacked the self-confidence to overpower the crowd.

"Calm down," he yelled, "I've got this figured out."

But no one was listening to him. They just kept yelling louder and louder trying to be heard above the rest. Each man trying to make his point of view seem more important than the others.

That's when Jimmy stepped out of the trees behind the crowd. He was a tall, lean man, maybe two inches better than six feet and dressed like the mountain man Pa and I had seen at the livery a few weeks before. He had shoulder length blond hair and steel grey eyes. A square jaw and weathered face told of the hard life he had led. A reddish brown mustache, that drooped well below his chin, nearly concealed a ragged scar on his right cheek.

Jimmy drew out his pistol and fired a shot in the air, causing everybody's head to jerk around at once.

"That's enough," he said in an even tone, still holding his gun as if he meant business. As long as I'm the scout on this train, when Mr. Reeves talks, everybody listens. He's the man in charge. That's the way it was when you signed on, that's the way it'll be when you leave. If anyone wants to argue the point, now's the time, before we get started."

No one wanted to argue with Jimmy and Mr. Reeves was able to regain control of the meeting.

"Now then," he said, "it seems that everyone wants to be in the lead on this wagon train. Well, it can't be like that. So here's what we're going to do. There's twenty seven wagons signed up, so we'll put twenty seven numbers in the hat, and as I call your name, you'll draw the number and that will be your place in line."

As Mr. Reeves called the names, each man went up and drew his number and you could tell by the look on their faces whether it was high or low. Pa said it was just as well that we drew number ten, there wouldn't be as much dust as at the back of the train, and we wouldn't have to be the first to make the river crossings.

As the train started off Jimmy and Mr. Reeves took the lead. Jimmy was a man with a lot of self confidence, and when he started out, he never looked back. Mr. Reeves though, wasn't so sure of himself. He kept turning back and riding along the wagon train to make sure everything was going smoothly. One by one the wagons fell into place and began their journey across the rolling plains. The trail was well established here so the going was easy and we made pretty good time.

This gave us a chance to get to know the folks in front of us and those close behind. The two wagons right in front of us were one family so that actually put us as the eleventh wagon. The Harrisons seemed a little strange to me from the beginning. They were from down Arkansas way, and all looked as though made from the same mold. Every one of them had coal black hair and brown eyes. Each wore homespun pants and shirts that looked like they were made from one bolt of cloth. This was the Harrison clan, and from the looks of them they all ate from the same pot at meal time too. A pot that was not nearly big enough to feed all eighteen of them. They were hot tempered, and skinny as rails. Even Janie, who was six months pregnant didn't cast much of a shadow except around her middle.

There was Ma and Pa Harrison who were in their late forties. Their three sons, Zeb, Jed, and Zeke. Their wives Janie, Hanna and Beth all in their mid twenties, and ten screaming brats that you couldn't tell one hardly from the other.

They were kind of a stand-offish family that kept to themselves, but it was plain to see that Pa Harrison was the family monarch and his word was law right down to the very youngest one. Zeb, being his oldest son, seemed to be second in command and the women and children of the family rarely spoke at all.

The wagon behind us was the Roberts family. They were more like the people back home. Mr. Roberts was taller than Pa, with receding brown hair and a thin mustache. He was a friendly man with a ready smile and liked to be called Bob. His wife Rebecca was surely Irish. She had long red hair that hung to her waist in a braided pony tail, and more freckles than you could count. She also had a wee bit of an accent that left no denying her ancestry.

They had two children, Will who was eight and Nancy, who was ten. Both had the bright red hair and freckles of their mother, and the quick smile of their father. They were farmers too, and like us, they had been wiped out by the flood. Unfortunately, there wasn't enough of their farm left to sell. I was glad they were right behind us. Misty, now eleven, hadn't had a friend her own age in quite some time, and on the long days ahead it would be nice to have someone to talk to.

It took two weeks to get to Independence Missouri, but the road had been fairly good and the only rains we had were little more than a sprinkle. In the next few days as we started through Kansas the going wasn't quite so easy. By this time we were on a wagon trail instead of a road. The Prairie grass, green and up above my knees, looked like ripples on the water when the warm breeze blew up from the south.

We were in rolling prairie country, with one swell after another. On and on, each day seeming like the last. Sometimes we could tell we were on the right trail by the old ruts left in the mud of years gone by, and some times we just had to trust Jimmy, to know the way and to find us enough water to fill our barrels.

One evening as we were setting up camp Pa hobbled the horses as Misty and I went down to the creek bed to get wood for our evening fire. On days like this when we camped near a creek it was easy to get enough firewood, if you hurried. If you dilly dallied around and was one of the last to go looking for wood, you'd have to go quite a ways to find any. I would always try to get a little more than we needed so I could put some in the canvas sling Pa had rigged under the wagon. He had put it there so Misty and I could gather sticks and save them as we traveled. Later, as we got farther out into the plains we'd use buffalo chips, but as long as I could find wood for our cooking fires I was going to keep that sling plumb full.

When Misty and I came back from gathering firewood we saw Pa standing by one of the horses that was laying down. It was our mare that was due to foal at any time, so we dropped our wood by the fire pit and ran out to see what was wrong. When we got there she was breathing hard, and gasping for air.

"Is she going to be all right Pa?" Misty asked with a pale look on her face. She was always concerned about any creature in pain.

"I think so Misty, it's just time for her to have that colt," Pa reassured her with a smile and a gentle pat on the shoulder.

"Do you mean my colt Pa? The one you said would be mine."

"That's the one."

"Jeremy did you hear? Pa said I'm going to have my own horse."

With that Misty ran back to the wagon to tell Ma. They were a lot alike in that respect. Not only did they look alike with their long blond hair and sky blue eyes, but they both seemed to get so excited over things that Pa and I just took in stride. I mean if you have a mare that's going to foal, you get ready for it and be prepared to help if necessary, or stand back and smile if not. But not them, they just wait till the last minute and get all excited like it was a new member of the family being born.

Pa and I cut a couple of limbs off one of the trees down by the creek and used the wood sling from under the wagon to build a small lean-to over the mare because the clouds were building to rain.

I knew she was having a tough time of it by the way she was breathing and covered with sweat. Pa just said sometimes the first one comes hard and not to worry.

About an hour later it had started to rain and she was still struggling. Now even Pa began to worry that he might have to take the colt to keep from losing them both. All the sudden there was a clap of thunder, the mare squealed and out came the cutest little filly you ever saw. I don't know who was more relieved, the mare or Pa, but they were both doing better and began looking over the new colt, with three white stockings and a white star on her forehead.

Misty was at the wagon helping Ma with dinner and Pa went to get her. As she got there, the thunder rumbled again off to the west, and the little chestnut filly scrambled to her feet peeking around the canvas lean-to trying to see what was making that noise. Again the thunder rumbled, and she took a couple of wobbly steps toward the sound.

The mare grunted a little and lunged to her feet. With a soft nicker she called the little filly back to the small amount of shelter offered by the lean-to.

"Thunder!" Misty exclaimed, "I think I'll call her Thunder."

"You know she's going to be a lot of work, don't you?" Pa asked grinning, because he knew there was nothing in the world that Misty would rather do than to take care of her very own horse. "You're going to have to make a place in the back of the wagon for her to ride part of the time until she can keep up."

Misty spent half the night rearranging the wagon to make enough room for the new passenger. She was so excited that she couldn't sleep, and talked so much that nobody else could either.

And so it went for the next two weeks, Pa would put Thunder in the wagon to ride for a while, then he would take her out to walk by her mother. It seemed like no time at all until she could keep up, and Misty was with her every step of the way.

Chapter Three

We were almost halfway across Kansas before the first real trouble on the trip. We had been traveling across the rolling prairie for the last two weeks in hot dry weather. For days at a time there wasn't even a breeze. This was the most miserable traveling we had done so far. It seemed every bug in the country could smell the moisture in our sweaty clothes and they were swarming us constantly. Tempers were short and small disagreements turned quickly to heated arguments.

Only the Roberts family seemed unaffected by the miserable conditions. Mr. Roberts drove the wagon while his wife and children walked alongside singing songs from a tattered old hymnal. The harder the going got, the louder they sang, and each night they thanked God for the wonderful day he had given them.

Finally one afternoon we came to a small river. It wasn't much, but it was running clear and cool, and the trees along the banks offered welcome shade. We stopped early that night to give everyone a chance to bathe, and wash some clothes.

The women went downstream through the trees, and the men went upstream. Tempers subsided quickly as the cool water washed away the miles. We splashed and played more than we washed, and it was good to hear laughter again. Pa and I were some of the first to arrive back at camp, and were putting together a fire, when Pa Harrison came in dragging his oldest grandson by the hair. The boy was kicking and screaming. He was only about thirteen years old, and shouted frantically as he tried to free himself, "I never Pa. I swear I never."

"Shut up Josh. I know what you was doin'," Pa Harrison said throwing the boy head long into the rear wheel of the wagon. He just laid there stunned while Pa Harrison grabbed a length of rope out of the wagon. He tied the boys hands to the top of the wheel and spread his feet tying them to the sides. As we watched in amazement, Pa Harrison went back to the wagon and brought out a long rawhide bullwhip. He tore the boys shirt open, stepped back, and struck with the whip tearing flesh down the length of his back.

Pa was on him in a flash, grabbing his wrist before he could strike a second time. "What do you think you're doin'?" Pa said between clenched teeth barely controlling his anger. "He can't deserve this kind of beating."

"He sneaked down river," Pa Harrison said, "spyin' on the women folk, he was."

"Did you see him do it?" Pa asked still holding tightly to Mr Harrison's wrist.

"Didn't have to, he came walkin' up the river with a big grin on his face, and I just knowed what he was about."

"You can't beat him like this, even if he did do it, and you aren't sure he did."

"I'll thank you to stay out of Harrison business," the man said as he hit Pa in the face with his left hand.

Pa wasn't expecting it and he landed hard on the ground as Harrison struck with the whip again. The boy screamed as the whip once again tore at his flesh, and slipped into welcome unconsciousness. The old man was swinging the whip back for another strike when Pa hit him with a solid right to the kidney. Harrison grunted like a hog killed with a hammer, and went to his knees, clutching the small of his back barely able to breath.

Pa figured it was over and went to untie the boy from the wagon. Harrison came to his feet swinging the whip once more, catching Pa around the middle. He screamed in shock and grabbed the end of the bullwhip. I had never seen Pa so mad. He started toward Harrison going hand over hand down the whip. The older man jerked hard trying to break Pa's hold on his only weapon, but he just kept coming.

Harrison was no match for Pa's strength. Pa wasn't real tall, just five foot nine, but he was wider in the shoulders than men much taller. He was strong and tough as nails from years of hard work, and right now he had a job that needed doing.

Pa stepped close and hit Harrison with a chopping right that made him buckle at the knees and stumble backward. He grabbed a handful of hair and smashed his fist into the man's nose, splattering blood everywhere, and sending him to the ground. Harrison came to his knees spitting out a tooth. He wiped the blood from his eyes with the back of his sleeve and dove at Pa's legs, only to catch a knee in the face. This time he was done as he rolled to his back gasping for breath. "Hold it," Zeb Harrison said, stepping around the wagon with a rifle in his hands.

Pa was in trouble but I didn't know what to do, and my feet felt like they were stuck to the ground. Zeb held his gun on Pa while old man Harrison tied his hands to the front wheel of the wagon.

"Now," growled Pa Harrison, "I'll learn ya to stay out of other folks affairs."

I felt my stomach turn over as Pa Harrison drew back the whip. He looked evil with his nose smashed flat, causing blood to run down his face and all over his shirt. Pa had knocked out one of his front teeth giving him a wicked grin, and I could tell he was going to enjoy this.

He struck like lightning, ripping Pa's shirt and the flesh on his back. Pa knew it was coming so he clenched his teeth against the bite of the whip. He willed himself not to cry out in pain, but a loud gasp escaped his lips.

Pa Harrison laughed as he drew back his whip. "Not so uppity now, John, are ya?" he laughed again as the whip tore more flesh. Pa was as strong as any man I had ever seen, but I didn't know how much more he could take. I started to yell for help, but it was as though someone was choking me. I had a lump in my throat and the words wouldn't come. I felt helpless and alone as I searched frantically for someone that could help.

That's when Jimmy came out of the trees moving low to the ground. He was as quiet as a ghost, and as fast as a panther. In seconds he had moved right up against Pa Harrison's back. In his right hand he held a colt pointed at Zeb, who didn't even know he was there yet. In his left hand was a fourteen inch Bowie knife with the razor sharp edge already starting a trickle of blood from old man Harrison's throat.

"Drop it," Jimmy said in a low even voice, leaving no doubt that he was serious.

Zeb swung the rifle, firing a quick round that went far wide of its mark, and Jimmy shot him where he stood. He fell back under the wagon clutching at his left shoulder and whimpering like a whipped pup. Pa Harrison dropped his whip, as he lost all heart to finish the fight.

Seeing his son writhing on the ground, Pa Harrison was completely subdued and Jimmy let him go. Zeb was breathing heavy but not hurt to where he wouldn't recover. Jimmy stepped over to the wagon still holding a gun on the Harrison's, and used his Bowie knife to cut the ropes holding Pa and Josh to the wagon wheels.

"Out here," Jimmy said, "never figure it's over till it's over, and always watch your back. Especially with these clannish ones. I didn't figure to mix in with this as long as it was just family, and didn't get to serious, but by the time you stepped in I knew I better come a running, seein's how there's four of them and all."

"I appreciate your help Jimmy," Pa said. "I didn't figure to get mixed up in it either, but when I saw what he was doing to that kid I lost my temper. I just can't abide a man whipping the hide off a youngen, for any reason."

By this time everyone was running back to the wagons to see what the shooting was about. Some were straggling along still pulling on clothes as they came in.

Ma winced when she saw Pa's bloody shirt and turned plumb pale when she saw the boy laying stretched out on the ground.

"John," she said, "we've got to put something on that. Come to the wagon."

"I'm OK," Pa said, "see to the boy, I think he's hurt bad."

"I'll see to the both of you. Now come on, and some of you others bring the boy to our wagon."

"No! We'll take care of our own," shouted Pa Harrison glaring over his wounded son.

Ma just glared back at him, and then looked to the boy who was scared half to death. "I think you have done enough for him already. You, bring the boy to our wagon," she said pointing to a man in the front of the crowd.

With Ma in the wagon putting salve on their cuts, things calmed down a little while Jimmy explained the situation, to Mr. Reeves. He told how he had seen the whole thing from up the river, and how the old man had intended to whip the boy without mercy.

Mr. Reeves thought about it for a while then made up his mind. He went straight to Pa Harrison and said, "We are going to move your wagons up to the front of the train where I can keep an eye on you, and we'll be taking your guns and bullwhip too."

"No," Pa Harrison said, "you're not going to treat us like prisoners. We'll stay here. There's plenty of water and some good bottom land, and no one to mix in our business."

"Your choice," Mr. Reeves said, "but until we leave in the morning I'll have a guard watching you close."

"I'll be seein' you again Jimmy," Jed said, his voice shaking a little, "I got a score to settle for my brother Zeb."

Jimmy looked at him as calm as could be, "If I see you out on the prairie, away from your wagons, I'll figure you're hunting me, and I'll leave you to the buzzards. You can count on it." He turned his back and walked away like a man who had been threatened many times before, and had no time to waste worrying about the future.

As we were preparing to leave the next morning Pa Harrison came looking for the boy. "Where's Josh?" he said, almost in a casual manner, "I want the boy."

Pa was ready for him this time and he raised his rifle above the wagon seat where he was perched, leveling it at Pa Harrison's chest. "The boy stays," Pa stated flatly. "He says you'll kill him sure if he goes with you. I believe he's right."

"You can't take him just like that," Pa Harrison yelled "taint right."

"Yes we can," Mr. Reeves was talking now. He had come up behind Harrison. "We had a meeting last night and took a vote. It was unanimous. We'll keep the boy. He'll be well taken care of and he has a family ready to take him in as soon as he's well."

"You ain't heard the last of this Mr. Reeves," Pa Harrison sneered, "not by a long ways you ain't."

So we left with the whole Harrison clan staring at each of us as we passed. It was as if they were making sure they would know us all in days to come.

Chapter Four

Four days earlier and many miles to the west, a young Cheyenne boy in his fourteenth summer, was trying desperately to find his place among his people. He was the only son of Night Hawk, a powerful medicine man, who was said to have the ability to see glimpses of the future.

Night Hawk had named his son Runs with the Wind when he was a small boy, and he did his best to live up to the name. At fourteen, he was the fastest runner in the whole Cheyenne village. Runs with the Wind could match the skill of the warriors with a bow or lance, but his size continued to be a problem. He was sure he was cursed because the other boys his age were nearly a head taller, though not much stronger. Surely he had angered the spirits somehow and they were refusing to let him grow. He was sure that the only way to rid himself of this curse, was to go on a vision quest, to talk to the spirits and appease them anyway he could.

Night Hawk was proud of his son, yet he feared for his safety because of his size. Some boys never returned from their quest, and Night Hawk thought this may be true for Runs with the Wind. He had done his magic with the plants and smoke the night before in his medicine lodge and had talked to the spirits about Runs with the Wind and his quest. But the dream had been very confusing. Runs with the Wind was sitting on a small hill meditating with the spirits while all around him men were fighting. On one side of the hill Indians were trying to kill him and white men were protecting him, while on the other side of the hill white men tried to kill him and Indians were protecting him.

"Be careful my son," Night Hawk said as Runs with the Wind prepared to leave. "Remember the dream I have told to you. Know your friends with your heart, and your enemies with your knife."

Runs with the Wind nodded as he turned to walk away into the rising sun. He was dressed in only a loin cloth and moccasins. His straight black hair hung well below his shoulders, in a braid tied with a beaded leather strap. His copper skin glistened in the sun as it stretched over tight muscles that belied his size. He carried only a deer skin to sleep on, his hunting knife, a bow and a small quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder. He had two days supply of dried meat in a small pouch tied around his waist. He would eat part of it today, as he searched out a place to talk to the spirits. Then he would fast and meditate for three days, as his father had taught him, eating the rest on the return trip home.

The day passed quickly as Runs with the Wind walked through the trees and broken hills toward the east, his mind drifted off to his vision quest. What would it be like to talk to the spirits. Would you really leave your body and fly among the night fires of those who have gone before. Would you soar like an eagle above the prairie and be able to see all things clearly. Having gone on his vision quest he could participate in the Sun Dance ceremony at the summer gathering that would take place in the next moon. There were so many things to think about, so many things to remember.

He wondered, because of his size, would the people still consider him a boy when he returned, or would they see a young man and a warrior when he walked through camp. All these things were going through his mind as he crossed the small stream and started up the steep slope on the other side.

This hill was the tallest he had crossed all day and when he reached the rocky outcropping at the top, he stopped to gaze around. Across the valley below he could see a small herd of buffalo grazing peacefully. To the north a band of antelope were laying down with only their heads sticking up out of the grass to watch for any sign of danger.

As he watched, an eagle appeared from the east coming as straight toward him as an arrow shot. The great bird caught the up draft of the warm afternoon air soaring in a wide circle around the out cropping of rocks where he stood. It circled a second time closer to the ground. Again and again it circled, each time coming closer and closer, until it disappeared behind the rocks. Runs with the Wind waited for it to reappear on the other side but it didn't come out. It had simply vanished.

Suddenly he realized, what he had seen was no ordinary eagle, this was a spirit messenger. This was the place he was to stop. He had found it, without realizing this was what he had been looking for. It was perfect. He could feel the spirits in the animals, in the wind, and in the earth itself.

He began gathering sticks for his sacred fire. It would take a lot of wood to keep his little fire going for three days and three nights while he meditated. When satisfied that he had enough, he spread his deer skin out on the soft grass next to a huge rock that rose several times higher than his head. This was a good place he thought. Facing the rising sun in the morning and shaded from the heat of the afternoon. He was anxious to get started, but his father had warned him about rushing the spirits. If he tried to hurry things along the spirits would become angry and bring him no vision at all, or maybe even worse, they might bring him a vision of death. Yes, he thought, I must stay focused on my quest, and do everything just as my father has taught me.

He took the last of this days dried meat out of his pouch and slowly chewed a piece while he put together his small fire. Once the flame was strong enough to hold, he offered up prayers to the four directions, to the stars, and to earth mother herself. Then he placed the last of his dried meat in the flames as an offering to be carried to the spirits on the smoke. Now he could only wait.

He sat on the deer skin with his legs crossed and arms out stretched to the spirits above. He began chanting the vision prayer his father had taught him long ago. Over and over through the night he kept repeating the prayer. By morning he was hungry and exhausted, but these were the selfish thoughts of man that must be put aside if he was to achieve his vision. He concentrated on chanting louder and with more determination.

Finishing his morning prayers, Runs with the Wind searched the sky and the valley, for a sign of his coming vision. All day, and into the night he searched, to no avail. It must come, his heart was pure and his thoughts were only for the spirits. He opened his eyes to a bright morning sun. Exhilarated by the new feeling of awareness. His prayers had new meaning today, coming with a freshness he had never experienced. By late afternoon he was becoming weak and light headed. The vision was coming. His father had told him of these first signs. By dark he was exhausted and his chanting, though strong in his mind, was only mumbles on his lips. As the moon passed behind the rocks his eyes slid closed and he slipped into the world of spirits.

The vision started out pleasant enough with a new sun rising on a beautiful morning. Birds were singing and the world was at peace. He had become the great eagle, or at least he could see through the eyes of the magnificent bird. He watched the buffalo graze as a cow gently licked her new calf. Then it was dark, and a tall warrior from a tribe known to Runs with the Wind as Comanche, was standing over him with a wicked smile on his face. He tried to get up but the warrior knocked him down with a sharp blow from a war club. Runs with the Wind suddenly found himself in a vision where he was laying with his bloody face in the dirt and his hands and feet tightly bound. He struggled to get up and the big warrior kicked him in the ribs sending the air rushing out of his body.

Relax, he thought to himself after catching his breath I must not anger the spirits. Let the vision come, and he slipped back into his chanted prayer.

The sun was coming up again and the birds were singing. Yes it was going to be a good vision after all. As Runs with the Wind turned his head to the rising sun he saw the warrior again, only now there were two of them talking in a language he could not understand. As they turned toward him he realized this was not an ordinary vision. Some how, possibly because he was so small, he had taken his body as well as his spirit on his vision quest. This could be why the spirits were angry. Maybe this is what happened to those boys who never returned. Their bodies would go with the spirit on the quest and not be able to return. He prayed for the spirits to let the eagle, whom he was sure was his spirit animal, guide him safely through his vision.

As the two warriors approached, Runs with the Wind struggled to get up. He knew if he could just get his feet under him he could easily out distance the two warriors in this broken terrain. Something was wrong, his hands and feet wouldn't move.

The warriors dragged him to his feet and untied the rawhide strips around his ankles. Runs with the Wind was already planning his escape when the tall warrior slipped a loop of rawhide around his neck and tied the other end around his own wrist. Shoving him roughly they headed east. Runs with the Wind hadn't taken five steps when the tall warrior jerked hard on the leather thong bringing him down hard on his back choking and gasping for air. He laughed pulling Runs with the Wind to his feet by his hair and pushing him on down the trail.

Runs with the Wind figured it was a reminder of what would happen if he tried to get away. So he walked along the trail with his mind racing far ahead looking for a way out of this. As he walked alone in his thoughts the big warrior suddenly jerked hard on the leather thong again sending Runs with the Wind back to the ground choking once more. The two warriors both laughed and kicked at him as he rolled away trying to avoid the blows. He knew now why the two warriors had captured him. They needed a diversion from the boring endless travel through the dark side of the spirit world. They seemed to be venting their anger of some misfortune he knew nothing about, or maybe even worse, they were doing it because they enjoyed it. He didn't even want to think about that possibility. If that was the case, his beatings would get much worse.