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Yes. Sometimes destiny worked in strange ways, he mused.
The dried buckskin warm against his flesh, Strong Heart glared down at Copper Hill Prison and thought, first things first.
He had come to Seattle for a purpose.
Chapter 5
They spoke as chords do from the string,
And blood burnt round my heart.
—JOHN CLARE
Dwarfed by the many monumental totem poles that stood on all sides of them, Earl and Morris entered the Suquamish village. Their horses moved in a slow lope between two long rows of Indians who stood with spears in their hands, apprehensively watching their arrival.
Earl and Morris exchanged troubled glances, then looked guardedly at the Indians, most of them men dressed only in loincloths. The women and children seemed to have disappeared into thin air—the village seemed void even of dogs.
And then suddenly, at the far end of the double row, a single man stepped out from the others and stood with his arms folded tightly across his chest, his jaw set, and his eyes narrowing as the horses bearing the white men came closer to him.
Earl gave Morris a quick look. “I think we’d best dismount and go the rest of the way on foot,” he said, his voice a whisper. “I think we’re just about to make acquaintance with the chief. And what I see doesn’t make me feel too confident about our mission. I’d be surprised if we don’t end up as that damn Indian’s dinner. He looks like he’d as soon eat us as look at us.”
“He’s not a bad sort,” Morris tried to reassure him. “From what I’ve heard about him, Chief Moon Elk’s one of the most congenial of the chiefs in the area. That’s why I suggested that we come to him first. He’ll listen to reason. You’ll see.”
“I sure as hell hope so,” Earl said, wiping nervous perspiration from his brow. “And soon. I’m not as confident as you are about these transactions. This is my first experience with Indians. I’ll take the Chinese over Indians any day.”
“The Chinese don’t fish for salmon,” Morris grumbled, “so keep your mind on who does. The Suquamish.”
Earl nodded, then slipped easily from his saddle. He walked on wooden legs beside Morris until they reached the chief. Then he let Morris make the introductions.
“Chief Moon Elk, my friend and I have come in friendship to have council with you over an important matter.” Morris said, his eyes steady on Chief Moon Elk. He extended his hand to the chief, then lowered it slowly to his side when the chief refused to shake it.
Chief Moon Elk looked sternly from Morris to Earl, then back at Morris. Then he turned and nodded for them to follow him.
Earl stayed close to Morris as several Suquamish braves fell in step beside them, their spears still clutched threateningly in their hands. His thoughts went to Elizabeth, hoping that she had obeyed him and hadn’t wandered alone from the house. At this moment he knew the true dangers. He could see such hate and mistrust in the eyes of these Indians. It was enough that he was having to deal with them. He wanted to make sure that his daughter had no dealings with them, ever. With her brilliant red hair, she would be a novelty for them.
Earl and Morris were ushered inside a large, cedar longhouse, the interior lit by a crackling fire in a firepit in the center. They were offered seats on mats of woven grass. The chief sat down on a platform opposite them, keeping the fire between them.
Earl swallowed his rising fear as several Suquamish braves positioned themselves behind him and Morris. Then his full attention was on the chief as a brave brought the man a robe of black sea otter fur, and placed it devotedly around his lean shoulders.
Chief Moon Elk studied the white men suspiciously. He had had no close connection with white people for many moons now. Chief Moon Elk had broken away from those who had agreed to live on reservations and that had earned him much respect among the white community. They left his people in peace, to live their lives as they would have it—away from the rulings of the great leader that the white people called their “president.”
“And what brings you to my village?” Chief Moon Elk asked. He pulled up his legs and squatted on his platform. “Do you bring tidings from your president?”
Earl and Morris exchanged quick looks. Morris nudged Earl in the side, prompting him to speak now—to explain their plan to the chief while he was willing to listen.
Earl cleared his throat nervously and crossed his legs, resting the palms of his hands on each knee. “We have come to talk business with you,” he said, his voice sounding foreign to himself with its frightened timbre.
He could not help but be unnerved. The chief’s eyes were bright and steady in their gaze, seeming to see clear through Earl. He was afraid that the chief could even see his fear.
“Business?” Chief Moon Elk asked, lifting a shaggy eyebrow. “What business could white men and Suquamish talk about? We mind our own business. It is best that you mind yours.”
“I know that is the way it has been between the white men and the Suquamish for many years, but now it is time for change—a change which could be profitable for your people,” Earl said, his fingers now digging into his knees, his fear changing to determination. He had come for a purpose and he could not fail. Nothing, and no one could thwart his dreams. Especially not a dumb, savage Indian chief, he thought smugly to himself.
But the look of defiance in the chief’s eyes was telling him that he may have come up against a brick wall—a wall that Earl would somehow have to tear down.
“My people do not seek change.” Chief Moon Elk growled. “Especially changes suggested by white men. Our lives are filled with enough purpose, without any interference from white men!”
“But what I have to offer could make your people have more purpose in life,” Earl softly argued. “At least listen to what I have to say. Think it over. Once you do, you will see that what I offer is good for your people.”
