Hello everyone. I’m continuing my MacCallister boys-to-men story in my blog today. Previous last line: “…he missed the stealthy approach of the Indian braves slipping soundlessly through the night.”
Charlie didn’t realize they’d been found until a brave jerked him to his feet and another had Rob secured. A third Arapaho warrior straddled Sam, holding a knife at his throat, as he fisted a handful of hair.
“This will look fine hanging in my lodge,” the Indian crowed as he jerked on Sam’s blond mane.
“Black Hawk, cease.” The guttural rebuke came from the brave holding Charlie. “Lozen wants these watchers brought to her alive.”
“Apache brothers, we’ve come to parlay,” Charlie answered in Kiowa, greeting the Indians as kin and ignoring the precarious fix the McCallisters were in.
Rob had tensed up for a fight, but Sam, pinned on the ground with a knife at his throat, grinned. “Sharp blade you got there, Black Hawk. Maybe we can make a trade,” the kid muttered in Apache as good as Charlie Wolf’s.
A Few More LInes
The only answer to Sam’s overture was a trickle of blood running down his neck. The brave holding him, abruptly stood and jerked his captive to his feet.
Evidently Black Hawk was intent on being first with his prize and holding onto Sam, muscled his way to the front of their line. Though Robert looked as docile as a sheep going to slaughter, Charlie understood his cousin was controlling his inclination to lash out at the Apache shoving him.
Every step he took on their way into the gathering, Charlie Wolf felt the call of death. This was not what he’d intended. He’d just wanted to see his father’s people up close in parlay again. The fact that he’d dragged his white cousins along now seemed momentously stupid.
None of them had a chance to make a move before they were pushed in front of the witch woman. During this moment of utter stillness, the night and sounds had receded, leaving only them, the flickering flames, and Lozen.
Charlie swayed on his feet, the pounding of his heart steadying to match the low throb of sound at the periphery of his senses. Funny, he hadn’t heard the drum from the cliff above, but now the pulsing beat smothered his clamoring thoughts. Boom…boom…boom…
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