Broken Trail Read Online Free Page B

wariness, Leaping Deer had died too early, killed in battle at a place called Barren Hill seven moons after he and his wife had adopted Broken Trail.
    Broken Trail had learned later that the band’s original plan was to hold him for ransom, to trade him for guns and blankets. But Leaping Deer and Catches the Rainbow pleaded to adopt him as a replacement for their own son, who had died. When the band elders approved the adoption, Moses Cobman received the name Broken Trail, and was instructed never to think of himself by his Yengees name again.
    As time went by, and especially after Leaping Deer’s death, Broken Trail would sometimes waken at night to find Catches the Rainbow, propped on one elbow, watching him with such a look of love that he would close his eyes to shut it out, knowing himself unworthy of so much devotion.
    What, he wondered, as he lay under the stars in this place of memories, did Catches the Rainbow think when she thought about him now?
    The next day, he travelled on, heading in a southeasterly direction. At dusk, a quick throw of his tomahawk killed araccoon that was drinking from a stream. A plump, young female. Her meat would be delicious.
    After making a small fire and skinning the raccoon, he skewered one haunch on a long stick and settled down to cook his meal. Dripping fat sizzled in the flames, and the mouth-watering smell of roasting meat filled his nostrils.
    As he bit into the hot, juicy haunch, a sense of well-being came over him. He liked the way the firelight pushed back the darkness and made the trunks of birch trees gleam white, like a circle of sentinels to guard him.
    Suddenly he heard a rustling in the undergrowth, and his whole body jerked to attention. Staring at him were four pairs of round, glowing eyes. Raccoons. A family was watching him eat what might have been their sister. He stopped chewing, ashamed that he had forgotten to apologize to the ghost of the raccoon he had slain.
    Before taking another bite, he whispered, “Pardon me. I needed your meat. That is why I had to kill you.”
    Soon the glowing eyes disappeared. Feeling forgiven, he went back to his meal.
    After eating, he wrapped the remaining meat in the raccoon’s skin. Then he curled up close to his campfire and fell asleep.
    In the morning, voices awoke him—gruff voices conversing in a language that he did not know. He looked out through the slits of his eyelids. Two warriors, both big men, were squatting on the ground, watching him.
    One had a turtle tattoo on his bare chest, and the other a snake. Each wore on his belt a polished war club with which he could easily have dashed out Broken Trail’s brains. The warriors’ heads were shaved except for their scalp locks, which were only a tuft of hair, neatly braided. Oneida warriors did not wear that kind of scalp lock, nor did the warriors of any other Iroquois nation. Who were these men? Leni-Lanape? He hoped so. The Leni-Lanape were friends of his people. But whoever they were, his best defence was to show no fear.
    He opened his eyes fully and sat up. The warriors laughed.
    Did they laugh because he was just a boy? Or were they laughing at his blue eyes? Blue eyes always made people laugh; but what could he do about it? He must make these warriors understand that he belonged to a nation worthy of respect. Broken Trail tapped his chest.
    â€œOneida.”
    They frowned. Maybe they did not understand. He tried again.
    â€œHaudenosaunee.”
    That worked. Far and wide through the eastern forests, everyone recognized the correct name of the Iroquois, the People of the Longhouse.
    â€œHaudenosaunee?” Both shook their heads. “Yengees.” Broken Trail knew that word. “Yengees” meant “English.”
    He rose to his feet and drew himself up as tall as he could, painfully aware that the top of his head did not reach thechin of either warrior. Maybe if he brandished his tomahawk, they would show respect. But