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For all the Family

The Stranger
By
Miriam Capps

The stranger rode into town on a dust-covered mare during the heat of the day. On the back of the horse, slung across its rump, dangling as if without life was a small red-skinned boy. His left side was bandaged carefully with a shirt. He stopped in front of the telegraph office and tied the horse within the reach of a watering trough. Gently lifting the boy, the stranger cradled him in his arms and entered the telegraph office. He approached the counterman who eyed his armful with skepticism.

“Mornin', what can I do for you.”

“Where's the doc? This boy needs him.”

“He's in the saloon, that's three doors down.”

The stranger strode down the worn plank walkway, with determined steps. His boots sounded his stride. The child in his arms was a five-year-old Indian boy. He barely weighed forty pounds. He was the son of the chief's youngest daughter. The man had first met him when he awoke in the Indian camp, sick with fever from the bite of a copperhead snake. He had been traveling and foolishly stumbled on it while searching for fuel for his campfire. It could have been a fatal. His body succumbed to a delirious fever as his body fought the invading poisons. A medicine man, the Shaman of the Arapaho tribe found him when he passed by, and in his compassion brought him to camp. During his recovery, he drew the curious attention of the chief's Grandson, who visited him during the fever, changing the cold wet cloths. Smart for his age he would think things out and weigh the whole picture. He was welcome company during the day or two of weakness that followed the fever, as he loved to laugh. Almost everything was funny to him. This quality endeared him to the stranger.

Now healed, the stranger planned to leave in a few days. Working a shine into his saddle he observed the excitement in the camp as they prepared for a Sun Dance celebration.

Soon the tribe would soon be out in colorful regalia. Layers of beads and feathers would adorn their necks, wrists and ankles. Headdresses along with fur capes that were handed down generation to generation would be worn for this occasion.

A fire was started so it would burn down to hot embers to roast the ceremonial buffalo. The children were kept busy gathering dead shrubby wood and dried buffalo dung used for fuel. The women gossiped in happy clusters as they worked at their food preparation. Having provided the meat, the men's work was done. They sat in groups telling hunting stories.

The stranger's small companion had found a long stick and was happily poking at the fire, as all small boys are compelled to do. A taller boy, one recognized as a bully, came over and started talking. He reached for the stick and tried to wrest it from him. The little one was spunky and fought back. In no time at all, there was a scuffle. Women quickly came to the scene each claiming her child and put them to a more constructive activity.

The excitement of the coming celebration was building as aromas of prepared food gathered. The fire had burned itself to hot embers and the animal butchered, sectioned, and placed on a spit and turned faithfully by the women of the tribe. The children free from their chores started to have their competitions. Spear throwing, arrow shooting, races and wrestling matches. The chief's grandchild was quick and good for one his size and received praise from a pretty girl and an accomplished warrior. His mother called to him. He left the company of his peers and trotted to her.

The children continued to compete, the bully did poorly and as his frustration grew, he did worse and worse. Finally, he stormed off angry. Just as he passed the fire, the chief's grandchild passed too. The altercation from earlier was still stinging between them both, and in a fit of temper the bully, shoved. The little one fell into the fire. Wild shrieks of pain filling the air. The adults were up and running instantly, they pulled him out. The red embers charred the skin on his face and side. His arm was deeply burned. His screams filled the air. The medicine man was called for and when he looked at the child, he knew his medicine would be inadequate. The child couldn't be controlled as he screamed and writhed with his pain. The shaman looked at the Chief for a second; they knew what must be done. The chief nodded. The shaman placed his staff on the head of the screaming child and taking a rock struck the staff, causing the child to go unconscious. He picked up the child and carried him to the stream of water that flowed near camp. He walked into the water with the child, placing him in the coolness and he chanted to his gods.

The medicine man, over the next few days, tried desperately to save the child. He made soothing poultices; herbal washes, and danced the dance that drove away death. The stranger couldn't leave until he knew the fate of the child. The only information he received was a sad shake of the shaman's head. After several days he stood at the tent door waiting for the shaman to come out. The reek of gangrene came out of the tent as the flap was lifted. The boy would die if this continued. The stranger knew he had to do something.

The shaman told the chief there was no hope. The spirits were leaving their mark of death. With gestures and what small words he knew the outsider went to the chief and made his intentions known to him. He wanted to take the boy to a white man's doctor.

The Chief walked into the tent where the child lay. He saw the tear streaked face of his daughter and the green rotting flesh. Her face pleaded with him to save her son. The old warrior lifted the child and carried him out. The Indians followed him to the edge of their territory. They watched until they could see him no more.

The saloon doors swung open and the stranger asked for the doctor. A man about fifty came forward. “Follow me.” His steps were quick. They walked a block and turned into a side door of a home just off the main street. There was an examining room with a table a couple of chairs, and a locked cabinet.

The child was placed on the table and the covering removed. “What happened?” The doctor took in the details. “I can treat this child, but I can't guarantee that he'll survive. I have to operate.” After two hours the doctor offered what hope he could. “I've done all I can. We will know in the next few hours if he will survive.”

The time passed slowly for the stranger, but the boy survived. Each day when he checked he found him improving. He passed along the information to the warrior who came to bring news back to the village. When the pink color of healing flesh appeared the doctor showed him how to care for and bandage the wound. “He's to come see me every week. If all goes well, he will be allowed to go home in about a month.”

The man paid the doctor.

The month passed as the man and child learned in bits each other's language. The day finally came when they could return. The stranger and the boy rode back all the way to his village. The people came out to greet them, amazed at the miracle. The stranger stayed with these peaceful people until it was time to continue his journey. The day he left, the boy came to him and gave him his bow. They embraced. The stranger left to continue the journey that was interrupted so long ago. The bow slung across the horn of his saddle. The tribe walked to the edge of their territory and watched as he rode away.

Note: No part of any material on this and other pages can be reproduced in any way without any of the author's written permission. All rights remain with the author.

Contributors stories

Stranger by Miriam Capps

My Day Out (Sylvia Lukeman)

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