Prologue
The fire always took him to a hidden place. As the flames glanced off the hearth’s blackened stones and spilled light across the cabin’s floor, his waking nightmares again felt real. To his nephew the scene was serene, inviting, and comforting. A place where stories were told and remembered. To Logan, it was something else. He saw his past in the flames. A past where everything he touched was destroyed or damaged. For many years, he kept his darkest moments to himself, but his nephew had become persistent and wanted answers.
“The Kispoko around the village say it was honorable,” Molnah said.
Staring deeper into the flames Logan slowly shook his head, “It was not.”
“Why?”
Logan said nothing. Talk in the village among the elite warriors known as the Kispoko had reached a point where, as a young man propelled by the foolishness of others, Molnah was seeking answers. Logan decided it was better for the boy’s ambitions to be tempered than encouraged.
“Please, Uncle.”
Never taking his eyes off the fire, he began to speak so softly that Molnah had to lean forward to hear, “The Virginians and their Long Knives militia had been moving into the valleys near our villages along the Ohio for years, and when war between the French and British came, the French gave us powder and lead. They promised to return our lands and convinced our Sakima of their truths. French soldiers dressed our way and came with us to destroy British forts and homesteads. In many places no one was left alive.”
Molnah, still a boy of fifteen, did not hear the sadness in Logan’s voice. Like all boys, he only imagined the possibility of becoming a warrior himself, armed and powerful, killing faceless enemies with skill, divorced from consequences by time and the physical world.
“What did it feel like, Uncle?”
“What?”
“The killing.”
Logan slid his chair away from the fire and purposefully avoided looking at the boy, “We killed their men, women, and children, and they killed ours. We burned their forts and cabins, and they burned our towns and villages. At first, we told ourselves it was revenge for their attacks on our people. A war to keep them from stealing our land. But later, we forgot whether we were taking revenge or doing the bidding of others. It did not matter to us though. It all became one.”
Logan rose and walked to the window, “I do not remember who did what first. Death became a beast whose hunger was never satisfied. Every man on the frontier, the people of the nations, French, or British, did the worst things one person can do to another. We believed there was justice in it. I cannot speak for other men, but now, looking back, it haunts my dreams.”
Molnah knew his uncle was considered by some to be a great man. But others whispered that he had grown old and soft, even cowardly, “Is it not better to die like men than have the whites take our land and kick us like dogs? Is it not better to take revenge on those who murder our people?”
“Revenge on the frontier is an empty thing,” Logan replied. “It does not make others fear us. It only gives them more reasons to destroy us. When I was young, I believed that war with the white man could only end when they were all gone. I am no longer committed to that. I did my part to protect our people. Those were my last wars. I cannot do it again.”
“But those wars stopped nothing, Uncle,” Molnah said. “You and the other warriors killed many, but the white leaders continue to take and sell our land to each other as if we have no say. They still do not fear us.”
“Yes,” Logan said.
“Many young Kispoko want another war. They say we must keep the Virginians from crossing into our country. I
think they are right.”
Logan nodded his head and turned away from the window to look at his nephew, “I must live in peace today for I know the beast that still lives inside me. The young men who call for war are fools. They have never met the savage within their hearts and know nothing of the savage that lives in the white man. If we do not choose peace, if we make another war with the Virginians and their Long Knives, many of our people will die meaningless deaths.”
Molnah saw his uncle’s face and wondered what had happened to the great Chief Logan, “Is there nothing you would fight for, Uncle?”
“There is nothing that can be taken from me that I have not lost before,” Logan said. “I have chosen peace.”
Chapter One
Koonay enjoyed Lucy’s company and visited Baker’s Landing often. The two women shared stories, and motherhood created a bond between them. Koonay was nearly eight months pregnant with her third child. She carried her second, a boy of less than one year, on her back everywhere she went. It was the Shawnee way. Lucy, who had six children of her own, admired that.
Baker’s Landing was nothing more than a large cabin situated along Yellow Creek. Located fifty miles south of where the Allegheny and Monongahela rivers connect to form the Ohio River, it was dark and smelled of the dried animal skins traders and Shawnee alike brought to trade for food, clothing, ammunition, and whiskey.
The trading post and tavern were evenly split between one large room, and noise from the filthy trappers who frequented the place created an atmosphere of just enough rowdiness to be threatening to outsiders. But Baker’s Landing was one of the few places near Koonay’s village where she and her family could trade pelts of beaver and deer for sugar, salt, iron pots, and the other things that made life easier. She came there often, and her visits provided an opportunity for Lucy and Koonay to pass news and gossip.
Taylayne, Koonay’s brother, often came with her, and helped to carry pelts from canoes along the riverbank to the counting tables outside the trading post’s front door. Both she and Taylayne spoke English fluently, but Koonay always let her brother do the negotiating with Lucy’s husband, Joshua. Taylayne and Joshua loved to barter. One or both parties would always threaten to walk away from a deal in dramatic fashion, arms thrown up and voices raised in feigned frustration. But an agreement was always reached, and both men were usually happy with the process and results.
When Koonay and Taylayne arrived, the sun was reaching its peak in the hazy summer sky. Lucy greeted them with a smile as Taylayne placed their items on the tables so he and Joshua could begin their performances. The two women stepped inside and began going over the items Koonay wanted.
“I knew you were coming today and wanted to show you this salt we just got in. It is some of the best you can buy,” Lucy said as she watched Koonay casually raise and lower the handle on a small kettle stacked near the front of the store.
“How much for the kettle?” Koonay asked.
“Three pelts.”
With a polite nod, Koonay gently lifted the handle, “Three seems high.”
“I can probably let you have it for one if you do not tell Joshua.”
Koonay smiled in agreement. Outside, Taylayne and Joshua were in character, arms flapping, pacing back and forth, heated conversation accenting the approaching conclusion of the deal. Looking at the door to make sure no one was listening, Koonay stepped closer to Lucy.
“People are talking, Lucy. They are angry.”
Lucy leaned forward and whispered, “Who is talking?”
“There are young warriors who are angry about the killings upriver. Three Shawnee hunters were attacked eight nights ago. All were murdered and scalped. One was even cut up and floated downriver in his canoe.”
“I have heard,” Lucy said, looking down at the counter, embarrassed for some reason. “It was a terrible thing.”
“Some of the warriors want to find those responsible. I am not sure the more reasoned Sakima can keep them from seeking revenge.”
“Sakima?”
“Our peace chiefs.”
“Do they know who did the murders?” Lucy asked as she moved from behind the counter.
“No. I believe that is the only thing keeping the warriors in our villages.”
“We must pray that they remain home, Koonay. There are men about. Two brothers who travel with ten other men. They are dangerous.”
“Do you believe these brothers are responsible for the murders?”
“I do not know. But if whites are attacked, terrible things will happen.”
“Terrible things have happened.”
Outside, Joshua and Taylayne shook hands and came in, “I offered them salt, sugar, a cooking pot, powder, and lead for the pelts and corn.”
“I accepted,” Taylayne said, looking to see if Koonay approved.
Slapping Taylayne on the back, Joshua began gathering the items, “We are slaughtering a couple elk later tonight and will have fresh meat available for trade tomorrow evening. You and your people should come,”Joshua said.
“We will consider it. Thank you for the invitation,” Koonay responded.
After loading their new supplies, Koonay and Taylayne set off down the creek toward the Ohio River. The Baker’s watched until they were out of sight. Lucy touched Joshua’s hand to get his attention, “Koonay told me warriors are wanting revenge for the killings upriver.”
“How many warriors?” Joshua asked.
“She did not say.”
“Did she say when they are coming?”
“No.”
Joshua looked at Lucy, “I will spread the word.”
“We must protect Koonay and her family, Joshua. The Greathouse brothers are evil men.”
“I will do what I can, but rumors of settlements being attacked have people scared.”
“I am afraid a vileness will come that no one will be able to control.”
“If it comes, it will not be our fault,” Joshua said as he kissed his wife on the top of her head and walked away.
Lucy felt the warm sun against her skin but dark clouds were gathering in the distance, “It looks like rain,” she said over her shoulder, knowing that Joshua was no longer listening.
Chapter Two
Nathaniel and Daniel Greathouse were well known by people on the Virginia frontier. Unlike many white hunters, they were literate, and possessed a dark charisma that won an unusual amount of loyalty from other men. But the Greathouse brothers were killers, the type of men powerful people used to achieve goals without regard to the pain they inflicted on others. Whether sanctioned by law or contract, Daniel and Nathaniel Greathouse existed outside the boundaries that governed most civilized men.
When Daniel walked into the tavern at Baker’s Landing, he wore a hunting shirt and buckskins stained with the blood of an elk he had killed several days before. His red, shaggy beard had crumbs of bread and meat encrusted within, and after going weeks without a bath, he was rank and offensive.
Joshua walked over to a small corner table, placed pint of warm ale in front of Greathouse and took a seat.
“There are rumors the Shawnee might be preparing to raid nearby settlements,” Joshua said, as he watched Greathouse gulp down the drink.
Wiping his mouth with the sleeve of his shirt, Daniel looked at Joshua with only casual interest, “Rumors from where?”
“From across the river.”
“The Shawnee village?”
“Yes.”
Greathouse glanced at Joshua out of the corner of his eye but was fixated on two Shawnee women who had just entered the trading post.
“Shawnee warriors are worked-up about the three hunters you boys killed last week,” Joshua said as he slid the empty pewter mug to the side and leaned closer to Greathouse.
“Who is telling you this, Joshua?”
“A Shawnee woman named Koonay. She and her family come to trade pelts every week. They were just here today and might come back tomorrow to trade for fresh meat.”
“She comes with her family?”
“Usually with her brother, Taylayne. Sometimes a few squaws and hunters.”
“What do you want me to do about this, Joshua?”
“I am not saying you should do anything about it, especially here. I’m just trying to spread the word so people might be ready,” Joshua said.
Greathouse turned in his chair and smiled when he spoke, his breath and foul clothes assaulting the tavern keeper’s senses, “Maybe I should meet this Koonay and her brother and ask them some questions?”
“Listen Daniel, I do not want any trouble here. We are on good terms with the Shawnee. They are good customers.”
“Trouble?” Greathouse asked as he let out a foul belch, “There will not be any trouble. I just want to make sure these savages stay on their side of the river. There are innocent families living nearby.”
Joshua considered what Daniel Greathouse might do if he refused to help and decided it would be better to direct the man’s attention to the Shawnee, “Like I said, Koonay and her family may be over tomorrow.”
Daniel rubbed his grungy beard and considered the layout of the room, “Fine, if this squaw comes, I will just sit here and ask her a few questions. The boys will stay out of the way. Nothing dangerous about that, right?”
Joshua knew he could only agree, “All right Daniel. We can do it that way.”
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