Page 32 of Shoshone Sun

The tribe’s familiar sights and sounds filled his senses as he rode in: the rhythmic drumming of the elders, the children’s laughter, the smell of roasting meat, and the sight of his family’s tepee standing proudly among the others. His mother—White Swan—had always been a figure of grace and strength, her presence a steady comfort in his life. And his father, Mighty Buffalo, the tribe’s chief, whose wisdom and leadership had guided their people through countless trials, would undoubtedly be proud to see his son return alive.

A cheer went up as Flying Arrow dismounted, his heart swelling as his mother rushed toward him with open arms, her face breaking into a radiant smile.

“My son!” she exclaimed, her voice thick with emotion. “You have returned to us!”

Flying Arrow felt his throat tighten as he enveloped her in an embrace. “I am home, Mother,” he said softly.

White Swan held him close, her hands smoothing over his back as if to reassure herself that he was truly there, alive and well. She pulled back, her eyes filled with tears of joy. “We thought you were lost to us. We mourned you, Flying Arrow.”

“I was lost, but not forever,” he whispered, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “I am here now.”

Chief Mighty Buffalo stepped forward, his powerful frame casting a shadow over them. He extended his arms in a rare gesture of affection, pulling Flying Arrow into a firm, proud embrace. “You have returned a strong warrior,” he said, his voice deep and commanding, but softened with pride. “We are honored to have you back, my son.”

Flying Arrow’s heart swelled with love and gratitude. He had missed his family more than he’d realized. The familiar warmth of their presence was like a balm to his soul.

His sister, Dove Wing, joined them, her eyes shining with happiness. “You are home at last,” she said, her voice light and full of joy. “We have all feared the worst.”

Great Bear, Flying Arrow’s brother and closest companion, approached next, a broad grin spreading across his face. He clapped Flying Arrow on the back with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of him. “You live to ride again, my brother!” he exclaimed. “We thought the Blackfoot had claimed you.”

“I thought the same,” Flying Arrow said with a wry smile. “But fate had another plan for me.”

The feast that followed was filled with laughter, delicious food, and stories of battles fought and victories won. Flying Arrow could feel the weight of his painful ordeal lifting from his shoulders, replaced by the comforting presence of his people. Yet, even amidst the joy, a quiet sorrow lingered in his heart. He found himself stealing glances at the horizon, wondering if Jane, the love he had left behind, was still thinking of him.

Later that night, after the fire had dimmed and the tribe had settled into their evening routines, Flying Arrow entered his parents’ tepee. The warmth of the fire cast flickering shadows against the hide walls, and his parents were seated beside one another before it, their faces illuminated by a soft glow.

He moved toward them, his heart heavy with the weight of the story he was about to share. His mother’s eyes were full of concern, her gaze never leaving his as she spoke.

“I think it’s time for me to share my story,” he said to them as he sat down cross-legged on a bear skin across from them.

“Yes, please my son. Tell us everything that happened,” she urged gently. “Tell us how you survived.”

Just then his sister and brother entered the tepee. “Yes, my brother. We all want to know!” Great Bear said.

Flying Arrow took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts before he spoke. “The Blackfoot almost took my life.” He lifted his tunic to show the scar the Blackfoot arrow had left in his side, fully healed, but still red and ugly.

His mother and sister gasped.

“I was saved by two families of white settlers—a man named Peter Jacobs first rescued me.”

“Whites saved you?” his brother said, sounding astonished.

Flying Arrow nodded. “Fearing that the Blackfoot knew where to find me, Peter and his sister-in-law, Jane, took me to the homestead of his uncle, a man named Paul Jacobs. Paul and his wife, Mary, accepted me into their home as if I was their own son, and Jane remained there with me, tending to me night and day.”

“They sound like kind people,” his sister said.

“They were wonderful,” he agreed. “Eventually, when the Blackfoot were no longer considered a threat, I was moved back to Peter Jacobs’ cabin where I was cared for once again by Jane. The Jacobs’ son, Petey, became like a nephew to me.”

“That’s wonderful. We owe them a debt of gratitude,” Mighty Buffalo said.

“Jane stayed by my side night and day, nursing me back to health. She was very kind to me. I don’t think I would have lived without her tender and constant care. And I know it sounds strange, but we grew very close.”

White Swan’s eyes softened as she took his hand. “A settler woman cared for you?” she asked, her voice tinged with something between disbelief and curiosity. “Wasn’t she afraid of you?”

“No. Jane never feared me, although her sister, Mary, did. Jane convinced Mary that I was a good man and that I was not a danger to her or her family. Finally, she accepted me as well.”

“We owe them a great deal for saving you,” Mighty Buffalo repeated.

“Indeed,” responded his mother. “But tell us more about Jane, the one who cared for you.”

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