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Outside the Baldwin Horse Ranch, Kentucky, July 1879
“Patience, Soaring Arrow,” breathed Guarding Wolf, the bare-chested Native speaking in low tones to his far paler friend. “The Spirits will guide the herd to us, but it is you who must find the horse you are destined to ride with.”
Twenty-one-year-old John Baldwin gently nodded his head, taking care to avoid rustling any of the leaves of the den that he and Guarding Wolf had constructed as they stalked a herd of wild mustangs in the shadow of the Kentucky Mountains and the forests that nestled at base of the formations.
I’ve waited for this day my whole life, John thought in a mixture of excitement and terror as his eyes followed the herd of young horses as they galloped and grazed in the meadow in the late afternoon of a balmy July day. The sun high above seemed to play a game of hide and go seek with the full clouds passing overhead, its light alternating between being obscured and shining its radiant glory down.
Though John was anxious, his body did nothing to betray it. His hands were as still as iron as they held the lasso in a firm grip.
He turned his eyes to regard his Native friend out of his peripheral vision, nearly laughing as he saw that Guarding Wolf was doing the same. The two had grown up together on the ranch that had belonged to John’s late father. His schoolteacher mother had taught the children of the Natives that her husband had befriended in exchange for their continued help running the ranch. They’d met around the time the both of them were ten and had been near inseparable since then, both learning much from the other.
John had learned everything he could from Guarding Wolf and the Native elders about horses.
Horses are not beasts of burden, Soaring Arrow, he recalled the elder named Gentle River telling him. Horses are our friends, our allies, our tribe in all that we work to do in this world.
Now, the time had finally come when John would finally claim a horse of his own and join the ranks of the skilled riders who had taught him. For three days, he and Guarding Wolf had stalked the herd now in their sights with all of the skill and stealth of even the most veteran fur trappers, taking care to conceal their presence at all times so as not to startle the herd. Both of them knew that even the slightest bit of carelessness in their movements could scatter their quarry and render all of their hard work for naught.
As the two of them continued to watch the movements of the horses, the herd seemed to part straight down the middle. In the center of the parting line stood a magnificent ebony stallion, its glossy black coat shimmering in the late afternoon sunlight.
John’s eyes widened as he gazed upon the horse, a sensation of kinship with the animal that he’d yet to even meet spreading throughout his body and soul.
Guarding Wolf turned to look at his friend with a smile. “You have found your horse, Soaring Arrow,” he whispered. “Now it is time for the two of you to unite.”
Although Guarding Wolf was crouched beside him, his words sounded distant to John as he continued to gaze at the sight of the magnificent creature in the center of the herd, enamored with its beauty and power. His body began to move of its own accord, his bare feet guiding him carefully out of the den and through the thicket of trees that would bring him closer to the herd and his prize.
There’s no turning back now, John thought determinedly, his fingers idly playing with the rope in his hands. I will tame and ride that horse if it’s the last thing I ever do.
***
GUARDING WOLF STEPPED out from the brush of the den, a wide smile clear as day through his long black locks of hair as his friend rode triumphantly atop the back of the ebony horse that he had picked from the herd. John himself was grinning from ear to ear, pride in his success evident as he skillfully guided the creature.
“You have done well, Soaring Arrow,” Guarding Wolf congratulated. “You have learned the ways of my people and united with a fierce mount of your own.”
John ran his hands appreciatively along the horse’s mane, the animal responding well to the treatment as it leaned into his rider’s touch. The young Kentuckian himself looked as though he were lord of all creation as he sat atop the horse.
“I would have never even gotten close if it hadn’t been for everything you and the tribe have taught me, old friend,” John replied, his gratitude shining brightly through his eyes. “With this here horse, I’ll be one of the best riders in Kentucky.”
Guarding Wolf took his grin up another notch. “Perhaps one of the best riders among white men, Soaring Arrow,” he joked.
It hadn’t been the first time Guarding Wolf had ever made a quip like that, but John still laughed like it was.
“What will you call him?” Guarding Wolf asked, stepping up and placing his own hand gently against the animal’s muzzle.
John mulled the question over for a moment, having given no real thought to a name for his horse up to that point. But just as quickly as he began wondering a name jumped to the forefront of his mind.
“Longbow,” he said confidently, setting his jaw in determination. “If I am to be Soaring Arrow, then my horse will be the Longbow by which I will take flight.”
“You have been listening to Laughing Mountain’s stories again, haven’t you?” Guarding Wolf teased.
John simply shrugged his shoulders and flashed an unapologetic smile. “He does have a way with words,” he sang. “I can’t help it none if I’m taking a little inspiration from him.”
The two friends laughed once again as John helped Guarding Wolf onto the back of the horse. Giving Longbow a gentle squeeze of his legs, they set off back toward the ranch to show their victory to John’s mother and the rest of the tribe.
***
BALDWIN HORSE RANCH, Kentucky, November 1879
“No, I will not take your money, Soaring Arrow,” Guarding Wolf stated firmly.
John’s eyes held an imploring quality but his jaw was set firmly. “Either you take this money and spread it out to the rest of the riders in the tribe, or so help me I’ll chuck it in the first river I cross!” he vowed, his tone indicating that he fully intended to back up his words.
Guarding Wolf’s eyes hardened, but he reluctantly held out his hand, allowing John to place the pouch of coins that represented what was left from the sale of his family’s horse ranch in the wake of his mother’s death a month prior and his settling of all the remaining debts.
At least, all of the remaining monetary debts save for the one that mattered most: his debt to the Native folk whom he considered family. He was determined to pay them what little he could for everything they’d done to help the ranch keep going over the years, but how could he ever repay all that he had learned from them?
“You are as stubborn as a mountain in the wind and half as pleasing to look at,” Guarding Wolf replied, trying to make light of the situation even as tears appeared to form at the corners of his eyes.
John was faring no better as he forced a wry laugh from his throat in order to cover a sniffle. “Yeah, well I certainly learned from the best, didn’t I?” he joked even as a sob tried to choke its way up his throat.
The two men stood facing one another for what felt like an eternity, their skins contrasting sharply while their faces mirrored one another.
Slowly, John held out a quivering hand to the Native rider he considered to be his brother, every fiber in his body wishing that it weren’t happening.
Guarding Wolf’s hand rose to clasp John’s, but as the two locked their fingers together they both stepped forward and tightly embraced one another.
“May the Great Spirits guide you well on your path, Soaring Arrow,” the Native breathed, his voice straining with uncharacteristic emotion as he clung tightly to his friend.
“And may they protect you and your tribe from all harm, Guarding Wolf,” John whispered, wishing with all of his heart that they did not have to part ways.
Slowly, they pulled back from one another but their hands remained fastened together.
“This is not farewell, my brother,” Guarding Wolf assured, locking his eyes with John’s. “We will meet again one day.”
Despite the tears welling up in his eyes, John reinforced his gaze and nodded in agreement. “You can count on it,” he replied.
***
MCNEAL RANCH LAND, Near Cheyenne, Wyoming Territory, January 1886
A whirlwind of emotions tore through John’s spirit as he stood in the doorway, his eyes locked with those of Guarding Wolf. Although the snow and wind from the darkness outside began to batter his body, the Kentuckian took no notice.
They found me, he thought numbly, even as he could feel tears begin streaming down his cheeks unbidden. Guarding Wolf and his tribe found me.
For a moment, John forgot all about the present troubles he had been so embroiled in as he stepped forward and pulled his old friend into a strong embrace, one which Guarding Wolf eagerly returned. It was as though the two of them had never been parted in the first place.
The two pulled apart from one another, their smiles competing with one another for sheer joy. John was ready to launch what felt like a thousand questions at his friend when another voice cut in to the moment.
“For Lord’s Sakes, who left the door open?” shouted Abigail McNeal as she appeared down the hallway behind John. “John! Why in the world are you standing in the doorway like that letting all the snow in?”
John turned sideways to respond to his mother-in-law, exposing the wolf skin cloaked Native standing behind him. “Abigail, it’s—” he began excitedly.
Abigail stopped dead in her tracks as her sharp eyes caught sight of the young Native in the doorway, words failing her as a curious gleam took up residence in her pupils.
John suddenly remembered himself and quickly attempted to make matters right. “Oh, I’m sorry Abigail!” he swiftly apologized. “This fella right here is Guarding Wolf, my teacher, my best friend, and my brother.”
Abigail, ever the personification of calm and manners, still appeared surprised by the Native’s appearance, but she gave a polite curtsy and a smile to the young man. “How do you do, Guarding Wolf?” she asked, using his name without a hint of hesitation.
Turning back to his friend, John’s smile continued to pull at the muscles in his cheeks. “Guarding Wolf, allow me to introduce Abigail McNeal, my mother-in-law,” he presented proudly.
Guarding Wolf bowed at the waist from where he stood on the doorstep still. “It is an honor, Lady Abigail,” he said humbly. “And my deepest pardons for appearing unannounced as we have.”
As soon as he said the word “we”, Guarding Wolf stepped aside to reveal three more figures cloaked in animal skins emerging from the snows outside. The first was roughly Leyla’s height and coated in an amalgamation of fox skins, the bright red hue of the fur offering a stark contrast to the winter white. The second was easily as tall as John and Guarding Wolf, but was much broader in beam and therefore easily able to fill out the billowing buffalo skin he wore.
The final figure moved much slower than the two who had preceded it. Like Guarding Wolf, he wore a cloak hewn from wolf skin, but his back was bent with age and made him appear shorter than he really was. A strong but weathered hand kept tightly clasped around the top of a walking stick, the rod impacting the wooden floor with a loud knock with every step forward the figure took.
John’s heart swelled with emotion beneath his ribcage, desperately trying to break free from its constraint with all of the sheer joy pent up inside of it. The stooped figure stood before him, flanked on each side by the other cloaked Natives. Though it had been many years, a reflex in John’s being caused him to bow his head to the shorter figure in reverence.
“My most humble welcome and greetings upon you, wise Flowing River,” he said in a tone of utmost respect.
The figure reached up with his free hand and pulled the wolf’s head back from his face, revealing the wizened but smiling visage of an elder Native. His silver hair shone like starlight even in the dim lamp glow of the hallway while his eyes, set deep in the lined sockets as they were, seemed to smile even more than his slight lips.
“Peace and greetings upon you as well, young Soaring Arrow,” he rasped. “You have accomplished much since we parted ways.”
John winced at the reference of that particular day, but he quickly brushed the unpleasant memory aside as he smiled at the people that he considered family.
“All that I have I owe to what the tribe taught me and what the Great Spirits have given me,” John replied humbly. “And I—”
“John,” came the mildly amused voice of Abigail McNeal, causing the ranch boss to turn and regard his mother-in-law, who stood in the hallway with a look of joy and slight embarrassment on her features. “I’m sorry to have to interrupt this reunion, but would you and your kin mind stepping inside and closing the door?”
Guarding Wolf and the two other figures chuckled as John suddenly realized he had all of them still standing in front of an open doorway while a blizzard was swirling outside and the snowflakes were starting to pile up inside the homestead.
Abigail pressed a finger to her lips to cover her own giggle at John’s absent-mindedness as she stepped forward, a welcoming smile spread across her face. “Please, come in, all of you,” she politely insisted. “All of you must be tired from your journey through this weather.”
John felt a surge of pride course through his body at his mother-in-law’s naturally friendly demeanor, though the feeling was swiftly supplanted by a worry that sprouted forth in his mind about the rest of the tribe. “But what about—?”
He was cut off as Flowing River reached out and placed his weathered hand atop John’s shoulder in a calming gesture. “Do not worry about them, Soaring Arrow,” the elder Native assured him. “All of us have survived much worse than this and the Great Spirits have continued to protect us.”
The wise Native’s words assuaged John’s concerns as he knew full well that the man spoke true. His unease at leaving the rest of the tribe who he knew were likely not more than twenty feet away from the front doorstep out in the snow and wind was calmed, but did not fully dissipate.
Abigail gestured for the guests to follow her into the parlor as John closed the sturdy wooden door, bolting it once more to keep the harsh elements out.
***
WELL, THIS EVENING has certainly taken an interesting turn, Abigail mused as the four Natives and John followed her into the parlor.
Once all were gathered in the room, Abigail turned to address all of them. “Please, make yourselves comfortable,” she instructed, indicating that they were all free to do as they pleased if it meant they could rest.
A roaring fire lapped at the stones of the hearth that contained it, the heat spreading out through the room. Whether it was from the warmth or from a desire to finally reveal their faces, the other two Natives withdrew the protective hoods of their animal skins. The larger figure was revealed to be a man whose trail-worn face appeared to be carved from stone while his eyes held a quiet and gentle kindness. As for the shorter figure cloaked in fox skins, a lovely young Native woman, her ebony hair tied in a lengthy braid that vanished into the depths of her animal skin, appeared from beneath the bright red hood.
“Sleeping Bear!” John cried out joyfully as he looked at the mountainous Native before his eyes. Then he swiveled to the young woman, “Roaming Moon!” He quickly crossed the parlor and embraced the two warmly; the two returned his welcoming affections and began to talk with him.
Abigail regarded the reunion with a touch of quiet curiosity that was quickly overshadowed by a sense of pride in her son-in-law. If ever there was a heart just as welcoming as my husband’s, she thought, then it belongs to John Baldwin all hollow.
She and Maggie had been delighted when John had informed them that the Natives he had grown up with would be passing through in the winter, both of them knowing just how much the people meant to the Kentuckian. After all, they had been every bit his family when he was growing up as an only child to a widowed mother. They’d taught him all he knew about riding, and it was those lessons and his own skill that had landed him his post as the ranch boss.
Though she was happy to see John absolutely beside himself with joy at seeing the Natives, Abigail felt a sense of dread as she realized that she would have to pull John from his rapture before long so that they could continue tending to Maggie.
However, before she could voice her concerns to John, a familiar brogue floated from around the doorway into the parlor. “How in the Devil did all this snow get inside of here?”
Abigail turned around just as Fergus Finnegan appeared in the doorway, scratching his head at the sight of all the half-melted snow that had gathered in the hallway as though it were some grand mystery.
“Fergus!” John called joyfully, momentarily breaking his conversation with Sleeping Bear. “Come in here and meet my family.”
“Family?” Fergus echoed as he began to turn to look into the parlor. “Johnny boy, what are you on about—? Oh.”
The normally verbose Irishman was struck silent as he found himself staring at four Natives seated in the parlor, their own eyes regarding him with playful curiosity as well.
“Uncle Fergus?” came Leyla’s voice from down the hall, followed by the sound of footsteps. Is everything all right? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
Abigail once again pressed her hand to her lips in order to cover a giggle as her younger daughter and Chase McAllister rounded the corner and peered into the parlor to see what Fergus was staring at. Their own faces quickly mimicked the saloonkeeper’s as they were caught completely unprepared for the sight of four Natives dressed in animal furs sitting cozily around the parlor.
John, however, seemed to take no notice of their collective surprise as he sprang to his feet with a jubilant look on his countenance. “Fergus, Leyla, Chase,” he began proudly, “allow me to introduce my family from back east. This is Guarding Wolf, Sleeping Bear, Roaming Moon, and Flowing River.” He indicated which Native was which with a guide of his finger around the room.
The Natives rose together from where they had seated themselves around the parlor and bowed their heads to the trio, all of them bidding their salutations and gratitude in one way or another.
Certainly not the worst introductions that have ever occurred on this ranch, Abigail thought with a grin.
John, still beaming proudly, turned to regard the members of his Native family again. “I can’t wait to introduce all of you to Maggie,” he declared. “She’s probably gonna beg all of you to teach her what—”
The young man’s voice died in his throat as reality appeared to come crashing back down on him. His eyes, which had previously brimmed with unbridled joy, now grew dark with boundless worry.
Without even bothering to excuse himself, John bolted from where he stood, brushing past Fergus, Leyla, and Chase as he all but vaulted back up the stairs to where his wife was still likely comatose with a fever.
“Lady Abigail,” came the steady but noticeably concerned voice of Guarding Wolf. “My apologies, but what is it that troubles Soaring Arrow, er, John?”
Abigail turned to regard the young Native with tired eyes full of worry as well. “John’s wife, my daughter, Maggie,” she began slowly, “has come down with a fever while carrying her and John’s first child and is unconscious upstairs. She’s been this way ever since this morning.”
The mention of an unborn child, particularly one belonging to the man they considered a member of their tribe, drew the full attention of the three young Natives. Flowing River, however, sighed as he rose on tired limbs from where he was seated.
“Wise one!” Roaming Moon cried out, moving to his side in an instant in order to aid his movements.
Flowing River raised a hand in a reassuring gesture and with the use of his walking stick, turned to regard Abigail.
“Lady Abigail, I cannot fully express the gratitude I feel toward you and your tribe for giving Soaring Arrow a place to live once more,” he rasped, though his voice held a firmness that could have almost rivaled Abigail. “On our journey across the plains, the Great Spirits foretold that the new family of Soaring Arrow would be in danger, and I see that they were correct. I am what your people would call a medicine man. I humbly ask that you allow me to offer my assistance in saving Soaring Arrow’s wife and child.”
The eloquence of the elder Native left Abigail and the other’s gob smacked, but his offer to help save Maggie and the baby did not pass unnoticed by them, especially Abigail.
“You can help her?” Abigail croaked incredulously, unable to completely believe that help had unexpectedly arrived in the midst of a fierce snowstorm. “You can break my daughter’s fever and save her child?”
Flowing River nodded his head slowly, his weary eyes lighting up with a determined fire. “All life is sacred, Lady Abigail, especially that of those we consider part of our tribe. We will do all we can to help protect Soaring Arrow and his new tribe.”
The sincerity with which the Native spoke filled Abigail’s heart with emotion, but unlike the worry that she had felt throughout the majority of the day, this time it swelled with the conjoined feelings of hope and relief.
My family and I have done all we can to try and help Maggie, she thought. I think it’s time we let John’s family have a go at it.
Her eyes brimming with tears and gratitude, Abigail looked deep into Flowing River’s eyes as she spoke. “Then please, Flowing River. Please help save my daughter and her child.”
***
ONCE MORE, JOHN HAD taken up his station beside his unconscious wife, holding her overly warm hand in his as his free hand rested over her gravid belly. Even after he replaced the lukewarm rag on her head with a fresh cold one, she felt much the same as she had before. All thoughts of his joy at seeing his Native family had been swept clear of his mind the moment he’d recalled Maggie’s condition.
Maybe I should try and ride into town, he thought absently, his head running through possible scenarios about how he could better aid his wife and unborn child. No, that wouldn’t be fair to Dr. Wilson. Desperate as I am to help Maggie, I couldn’t bring him out in this weather.
It appeared that John’s options for being able to help his loved ones were rapidly dwindling. Even the appearance of his Native family seemed to offer little in the way of hope.
John released his wife’s hand and rose from the bed, stretching his arms and legs as he did so before he strolled over to the cast iron potbelly stove that furnished the room with such warmth. He stared at the flames that teased the vented grate with their tongues, their dancing movement hypnotic in a way. In a way, the motion of the fire began to clear his mind of ludicrous thoughts like riding out into the snow for help and allowed him to think with a much more level head.
Breaking his gaze from the stove, John idled over toward the window, the panes opaque with the gathered condensation.
I hope the rest of the tribe is doing well out there, he wondered, his mind imagining the Native men and women laboring in the snows to set up their encampment outside. They’re tough folks, and Flowing River always has a cure for whatever ails them.
Like a lantern suddenly blazing to life in the middle of the darkened plains, John realized that he had completely overlooked one of the possible ways that he could help Maggie and their child: Flowing River was a medicine man.
How could I be such a fool?! John groaned as he spun around with the full intention of sprinting downstairs and begging the elder Native for any help he could give to his family.
John crossed the room in what may as well have been one step, his hand seizing the door handle and pulling it open. However, waiting on the other side of the door was the object of John’s pursuit. Flowing River, still bent but smiling all the same, stood in the hallway with Roaming Moon helping to steady him.
“Greetings again, Soaring Arrow,” the elder Native said with a slight chuckle. “I have come to offer aid to your wife and young one, though I am surprised that you did not think to ask me in the first place.”
Roaming Moon giggled as John blushed, his hand reaching up to rub the back of his neck. “I was actually on my way to ask you, Wise One,” he replied, feeling rather sheepish. “‘Fraid I’m still one for acting first and thinking later.”
“As you were when you were but a boy, my son,” Flowing River recalled with a smile. “But there will be time to visit the past later. For now, we must tend to your ailing wife.”
John stepped aside and watched as the wizened Native hobbled into the room. Roaming Moon followed at his heels, a well-worn satchel clasped in her nimble fingers. John recognized the satchel all too well: it was Flowing River’s medicine satchel, packed full of various herbs that the medicine man used to help cure illnesses and injuries.
I was a recipient of his care more than a few times myself, John recalled in slight amusement, especially as he remembered that he hadn’t had need to see a licensed doctor until after he had parted ways with the tribe. That first doc certainly didn’t know what to make of me, and I definitely didn’t know about him.
Flowing River had arrived at Maggie’s bedside, his old eyes roaming over her figure in an analytical manner. He quietly rested his walking stick against the wall and moved his hands to check her forehead and the round bulge of her belly. His hands moved expertly, honed from years of experience and knowledge in his tribe’s medicines.
John watched from where he stood beside Roaming Moon, unable to take his eyes away from the medicine man’s work.
“You have done well for yourself, Soaring Arrow,” the Native woman whispered with a smile. “The Great Spirits continue to favor you with family and bounty.”
John returned her attempt at calming distraction with a tired smile. “Just as they favor you with strength and beauty, Roaming Moon,” he replied. “You have grown much since I last saw you.”
“I have,” she answered, favoring him with a nostalgic smile. “It was pleasant when I realized that I no longer needed Guarding Wolf or Sleeping Bear to help me reach things that were once beyond my grasp.”
The two chuckled at the memory of when the Native woman had been little and they continued to make small talk. John knew that she was doing it in order to distract him, but he allowed himself to indulge in it.
Before long, Flowing River finished his examination and turned to the two. He held out his hand to Roaming Moon and the young woman quickly handed the satchel to him. Flipping the cover open, the elder Native began sifting through the contents of the satchel.
“I sense that it is not simply a fever of the body, but also of the mind from which she suffers, Soaring Arrow,” the man stated as he removed various herbs of all types from the satchel. “Some part of her is refusing to release the past and that is what allows the fever to maintain its grip on her body.”
Just as John was about to ask Flowing River to explain more, Abigail strode purposefully into the room with a tea kettle in one hand, a geyser of steam rising languidly from its spout, and a tin cup in the other.
“Flowing River,” she said as she moved to the medicine man’s side, “I have the water and the cup.”
“My thanks to you, Lady Abigail,” he responded as he took the cup in his hand and began placing various herbs inside of it, producing a pestle from the satchel and using it to grind the herbs down. After several moments of vigorous work, he removed the pestle and took the kettle from Abigail, pouring its boiling contents into the cup and further mixing the contents together.
The fragrance of the medicine man’s elixir was strong, carrying a hint of many things with it. But John had little time to linger on each unique scent as Flowing River beckoned him forward, the young Kentuckian doing so swiftly.
“Soaring Arrow,” Flowing River whispered, “raise your wife up gently and hold her nose to that she will swallow the tea.”
John did as he was told, using his hands to move Maggie’s unconscious form into an upright position. Reluctantly, he used his free hand to hold her nose so that her body was then forced to breathe through her mouth.
With her lips parted ever so slightly, Flowing River leaned forward and pressed the steaming cup up to them and tilted it so that the elixir would flow into her mouth and, hopefully, down her throat.
C’mon Maggie, swallow, John prayed as he watched the tea fill his wife’s mouth. It almost looked as though the idea wasn’t going to work when with a great gulp and a breath of air, the concoction vanished down her throat, allowing John to breathe a sigh of relief as he laid her back down on the bed.
Turning to look at the medicine man, John gave him an imploring look. “Now what do we do, Wise One?” he asked.
“Now we wait, Soaring Arrow,” Flowing River conceded. “The rest is now up to her to resolve.”
