Sara Bear

By Paul Sharp

The story of Sara Bear takes you on an exciting and intriguing journey full of action, mystery, murder, and adventure. It is the story of a young woman raised by Indians in the American wilderness of the 1840's. She escapes her violent husband and tries making her way east. Shortly after her journey begins, she comes across the remains of a hostile attack against a family's wagon. As the father lay dying, he asks Sara to help his four children make it to safety. Sara reluctantly agrees and the children soon learn that without her help, they would be lost for sure.

After another attack on their party, Sara begins to think there is something suspicious about the children's situation. Finally the travellers arrive at an outpost, but Sara learns that they are unable to help. They do, however, offer to escort her to the railhead where she can get passage to Philadelphia for her and her party.

Once there, Sara is hoping to reunite the children with the relatives of the slain parents, thus fulfilling her promise. Sara soon finds that her life becomes intertwined with her newly adopted family as she uncovers a string of events involving the children's parents, their relatives in Philadelphia, and a pair of foreign assassins.

Sara and the children return to the western wilderness with additional family members from Philadelphia where they establish a ranch and begin work on making a new life for themselves. However, their trouble does not end as hired Comanchero's are still on the lookout for the children and other family members.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Paul Sharp
• Release date: Feb 14, 2011
• ISBN: 9781458114341

Book preview

Sara Bear

by

Paul Sharp

Phoenix, Arizona, USA

Copyright© 2010 All rights reserved.

Printed in the United States of America.

Written by Paul Sharp.

Cover art and publishing submission by Alan Schneider.

The novel Sara Bear comes from the writer’s imagination. All major and minor characters are purely fictional and are not intentionally based on any person living or dead. Any written events of time’s past are fictional, and any connection to real events is simply coincidence.

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Preface

My father, especially while in his seventies, tried his hand at writing poetry. One of my older brothers tried his hand at writing poetry while in his seventies. I personally do not care for a lot of written poetry, let alone trying to write poetry with acceptable messages, while in my seventies. So, I have tried my hand at writing a book, a fictional novel. All characters are fictional, and are not based on any persons living or dead. I do hope you enjoy reading my first effort at writing a fictional book.

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Chapter 1

The sun was just below the horizon. The rolling hills were just barely visible. The scrub cedars were only knee high, but further up the lightening hills, they became taller and more numerous. The young woman paused and looked back from where she had traveled, into the darkness of the grasslands. She could see no movement, but knew that could change quickly. She adjusted the carrying strap of her small bundle of possessions and began moving slowly and quietly up the hills before her, looking carefully from left to right, picking her way into the hills.

She realized that she would have to replenish her water supply soon, or suffer the consequences of traveling into the slowly heating hills, to be overcome by thirst. The warriors were sure to be following her trail, not today maybe, but sometime in the near future. Sara had traveled several miles since leaving the Indian Compound two days ago.

She moved as rapidly westward as she could, following the stars at night and moving in the daylight always below a small ridge or in a gully. She stepped on hard ground or rocks whenever she could, which slowed her down, but might gain her some distance from the Indians sure to be trying to capture her and take her back for punishment and certain death.

Sara moved steadily upward, switching left to right as the hills became steeper and the trees became thicker. As she moved she looked at the ground, back to the front, then back to the unmarked ground. She heard a bird in front of her, and as she glanced down, she saw an animal track in the softer ground. As she looked farther ahead she saw another track, then another, which she quickly followed to a small depression that started above. She continued climbing, seeing some more faint imprints leading around a large boulder, to a rock wall. At the base of this wall, she saw a small rock basin containing water at the bottom! It was a spring seep, providing welcome relief for her thirst.

She drank her fill from the not very tasty water, and decided to rest. Without realizing what was happening, she sat and leaned against the wall, falling sound asleep.

When she woke with a start, she realized it was late afternoon. She quickly moved so she could see where she had ascended the hills. All was quiet, no movement out on the plains where she had traveled. With a sigh of relief at still being alone, she drank again, filled her empty skin water bag, and as she started to walk from the basin, she stepped on a sharp rock. Sara sat back down and pulled off her moccasins, and saw both of them had holes beginning to show. She pulled the small pack open and taking out her old ones, slipped them on her feet. At least they were comfortable and had no holes in the bottoms. Chewing on a piece of jerky, she started up and around the rock wall, ever climbing higher and higher. As Sara topped out on a long rocky ridge, she saw high above her, on a far mountain, large trees most likely pine trees, with many other broad leaf trees in abundance. Sara wearily trudged onward and upward, thinking of some way to put herself out of danger from the Indians.

Suddenly she heard the wind pick up and noticed for the first time the dark clouds coming over the mountains. The mutter of thunder with the increasing lightening became more distinct, and drops of rain began falling faster and faster until the water was pouring from the sky. The cold rain was a shock but Sara suddenly realized this was her chance to escape from her unseen pursuers. She began moving up the mountain, soaked to the skin from the pelting rain. Her buckskin dress was clinging to her body and the moccasins on her feet were sodden, but she was going to make her escape.

Sara found shelter from the storm by sliding under a large fallen tree, and back against some huge boulders. When the storm finally moved on, she decided to rest until morning. She awoke at daybreak and carefully started moving toward the top of the mountain. About the middle of the day, she topped out and found a virtual forest on the shoulder of the mountain. Since it was the early part of the summer, she was able to find many different kinds of berries and roots to eat to supplement her diet of jerky. As she moved among the berry vines she heard an animal suddenly move. Sara quickly pulled her leather throwing sling from around her head, found one of the two egg sized rocks she carried, placed one in the sling, took two quick steps and kicked hard at a dead limb on the ground. The startled rabbit raced off and Sara swung the throng and let fly – and missed the rabbit cleanly. She couldn’t even find her egg sized rock, even though she searched diligently.

Sara remembered the first time she heard about a sling. One of her father’s lady friends had showed her a picture and read her the story of David and Goliath, how David had struck the giant in the head and knocked him down. She had decided right then that she was going to make a sling and practice throwing stones. Hungry and still decidedly damp, she moved on up a ridge toward a gap in the mountain. As she came into the saddle, she was moving slowly and watchfully all the time. To her surprise, she saw a hoof print in the mud. Not just a hoof print of a horse – but a shod horse. True the print was old, but had not been rained out by the passing storm. Sara searched carefully and finally saw where the shod horse (not an Indian pony) had crossed from the south and had continued on a northward direction. She debated with herself and finally decided to walk the same direction, following the occasional hoof prints. The prints went around the head of two different draws which fell off the mountain, but the marks continued until they came to a large pile of rocks. Here another story had been played out at least four or five days past. On the north side of the rocks, she found marks on the ground showing the horse had either fallen or been startled by something. Sara crisscrossed the area at least a dozen times and was about to move on, when she saw what just had to be blood on the mixture of leaves and grasses. She moved back toward the pile of rocks, went among them searching until she found footprints. There had been at least three Indians waiting in hiding for the horse to pass by their ambush. This meant the shod horse had a rider who was attacked from among the rocks.

Sara was excited about the rider on the shod horse. This was 1846 and there were not many people in these mountains except for the occasional mountain man heading for the beaver dams were scattered around where ever water could be contained by the beavers. She decided to follow the horse trail and see if she could catch up with whoever rode the shod horse and had been attacked from behind the rocks.

Sara was becoming increasingly angry with herself because the trail went up and down, and around the many canyon heads but was still headed northward. She moved along the side of the dwindling hoof signs, but kept going, always scanning the terrain ahead for the trail of the shod horse. She moved over and down a long ridge trying to keep track of the signs when unexpectedly she found another set of hoof prints. These prints really concerned her for they were not shod hoofs that made these tracks, and she thought maybe the Indians who had tried to ambush the rider, was trailing the horse to overtake and attack his rider. Then Sara found a clear hoof print – not an Indian pony, but it looked like a large burro track – aha, it was a mule track, and a very large mule.

Sara had no idea how a big mule had gotten into these mountains, but there weren’t any Indians near here or they would have killed and eaten their favorite meat – mule. Unwilling to continue on without a break, she decided to find a place to rest over till morning before continuing the trailing of the two sets of tracks.

Something woke Sara suddenly, but she was unable to identify the cause. Slowly turning her head, then her body, she raised to survey her surroundings. It would be full daylight in a few minutes so she ate the last of her jerky, drank some water, and when she could clearly see the tracks, she slowly continued following their path. The shod horse had been meandering along, eating grass occasionally, and stopping to drink available water on its way. Sara had been following the two sets of tracks when she came to a place where the mule tracks were over marked by the shod tracks. After looking closely at the tracks, she saw the mule was leading the shod horse – the mule had a rider also! Undecided on what to do next, Sara resumed her task of following the clearer hoof signs, until she saw a small valley with a stream down one side having beaver dams at intervals. She stopped and was trying to decide what to do next, when she heard the click of a weapon being cocked. She spun around and there was an old man with a gun pointed at her. She saw a very big, heavily bearded, dirty old man who was scowling at her maliciously. You aint no injun squaw, yore a white girl wearing injun clothes.

Sara replied, I am white, but I have recently escaped from an Indian Camp. My name is Sara, and I could use some food. The not so old man said, Whatcha doing following shod horse tracks, to my camp? Ah ben watchin you for a ways, so Ah knows you ben follown ol Zeke an that thar shod horse.

Sara said, Yes, I have been following the shod horse from where three Indians ambushed the rider of the horse. I found drops of blood, so I know someone has been hurt badly.

"Yep, ah found the shod horse withn his rider shot in the back, withn two arrows.

The man had tied hisself to the saddle horn, or he never woulda stayed on that horse. Ah found him three days ago, still alive but out cold."

Sara asked, Is he still alive?

Nope, he died the next day after ah found him. Ah have his horse and all his stuff he was acarryn up that meadow at my camp.

Can you take me to his stuff, Sara asked?

Shore, jes keep agoin the way ye was. Ah’ll be right back of ya.

Sara moved up the meadow, toward some trees at the end, and there was a bay horse in a makeshift corral. Not just a horse, but a beautiful stallion, that whinnied as they approached. Sara put out her hand to the stallion, and he came and nuzzled her hand as if in greeting.

"Wal ah never. That thar horse won’t let me near him, an here he can’t wait to come to yuh. Have yuh ben round this horse before now?’

Sara said, No. I just have a way with animals, especially horses.

Move on to ma camp, but watch out for ol Zeke, he don’t like nobody. Ya know ah ben in these mountains for a long time, an it’s sure nice to see a body, specially a female. How bout yuh an me getting together?

Sara replied, No thanks. I’m just passing through. Could use some food.

Nobody tells me no, specially a white squaw that’s ben livn with a bunch of Injuns, the man shouted. Cum har rite now, if’n yuh know whas good for yuh.

Sara shook her head, and stood her ground. The man lunged at her but she evaded him the first time, but not the second. He grabbed her by the arms and yanked her to him, Yuh do whut ah tells yuh to do. Cum have some fun.

Sara slammed her knee into his manhood as hard as she could, and wrenched herself free, falling backward to the ground. Sara reached into her pouch and found the egg sized stone, which she placed into the sling. The man threw himself at her, as she tried to roll away. The man grabbed for her again and as he reached her, she swung the sling once over her head and hit the man in the head. The smack of the stone into his temple was all Sara heard as the man fell onto her body, but he wasn’t moving. Sara struggled away from his weight pressing on her and getting clear, was preparing to run when she realized what had happened. She had killed him with the stone contained within the sling. She felt for a pulse, finding only a faint beat of his heart, but the beat stopped completely in a short time.

Sara tried hard to control herself. She looked desperately around but couldn’t see anybody except a mule tied to a tree among the brush. She back tracked where the not so old man had accosted her, but couldn’t see any sign of another man. She slowly circled to her left around the campsite, pausing to listen intently, but the only noise she heard was the mule chomping on the brush where he was tied. She made another complete circle further out from camp but found no signs until she came to a large tree. Tied high up was a bundle of something, animal pelts, which the old man had taken and placed high above where any animals could reach. Sara continued searching for any other sign there had been anyone else living near this meadow. She finally noticed a mound of dirt along the edge of the trees, which had been covered with a few rocks and some brush. Sara sighed when she realized this was the grave of the rider of the stallion.

Sara returned to the camp and found the flies already beginning to swarm over the head of the dead man. She listened again, hearing the mule make a noise, walked toward the animal tied in the brush. As she approached the mule he raised his ears forward and bared his teeth. Sara laughed, Would your name be Zeke? The mule continued to look at her and as she got near him, he laid back his ears and reached toward her with bared teeth. Sara stopped and held out her hand toward Zeke, before moving closer to his head, talking under her breath all the time. Zeke sniffed her hand, and when she scratched his forehead, moved up to butt her chest with his head. Sara giggled and said, You just want me to scratch your mangy hide, don’t you? Sara continued to scratch and pet the mule all the time saying silly things to him in English and with Indian signs, telling him she didn’t want him for an enemy.

Sara knew she would have to bury the old man or at least put rocks over him so the animals couldn’t easily get to him. She remembered the rider’s grave and decided alongside of him was an appropriate place for the old man. She tried to drag the old man, but couldn’t manage any distance. She then thought she should search his body to see if there was anything there she could put to use. He had a steel skinning knife on his belt, and as she was removing the scabbard, she felt something else at his waist area. She used the knife to cut away his shirt and saw he had a substantial belt around his waist. When she removed the belt, she found it was very heavy and as she opened one of the flaps she found coins inside, gold coins! Without checking the other pockets, she laid the belt aside, removed the man’s boots and found a very slender bladed knife hidden in his boot, the blade she vaguely remembered as being called a stiletto. She cut the rope around the old man’s waist and using the knife, cut his pant legs where in his pockets, she found lead balls, cloth patches, and some powder charges wrapped individually in pieces of paper. Only the things in the pockets of the dead man was his, all the other things must have been carried by the stallion’s rider.

Finding nothing else of use, she pondered how she could get the old man’s body to the grave site. She finally found a pick and a shovel with which she could enlarge the grave, digging alongside so there wouldn’t be as much digging. Sara used the pick to break up the ground and shoveled the loose dirt off to the side. When she had gotten down below the surface a ways, she saw what appeared to be old canvas, and realized the rider of the shod horse was probably wrapped inside. She still couldn’t think how to get the old man’s body to the grave site.

Sara was moving back towards camp when Zeke made an attention getting noise, seemingly trying to get her attention. When she saw a pack saddle lying under a tree, the thought just popped into her head – that pack saddle on Zeke would provide an anchor to tie a rope to, and thus allow her to drag the old man’s body to his grave. She went to Zeke and scratched his head, telling him just what she wanted. She untied him from the tree, leading him to the pack saddle, which she picked up and put on Zeke’s back. When she had secured the pack saddle, she found a small corded rope, put a loop over the old man’s feet and tied the loose end to Zeke’s pack frame. Carefully leading the mule, she dragged the dead body all the way to the open hole. Before she rolled the old man’s body into the hole, she suddenly thought about what the dead rider looked like, and if she could find any identifying marks on his body. Despite the ripe odor she removed the loose dirt from the canvas, pulled it open and saw the naked body of a man having two broken off arrows in his back but when she turned the body, she found his head had been mashed in by a blunt object. That not so old man had actually ended this rider’s life, even though he wouldn’t likely have survived the arrows, and the stuff the old man was carrying was all the rider’s things. Looking further, Sara saw the rider had blond hair and a beard, and a small tattoo of an anchor on the dead rider’s forearm, with a still smaller skull and cross bones, making this man a onetime seaman.

Sara finished the burying details at about dusk, and decided to sleep in the now empty camp. She found the old man’s food cache, a small doe deer, which could have been handled more carefully, but beggars could not be choosers. She started a small fire and roasted the meat pierced with a sharp stick holding the meat a short distance over the hot coals. Along with frequent sips of water from the nearby stream, she carefully cut off the outside part of the meat, which tasted great. Sara went to the stallion’s corral and led him to water, giving him some time to eat grass along the bank. After returning the stallion to the corral, she decided she would sleep right outside the pole fence.

Sara awoke to a chomping sound right in her face. It was Zeke, who had gotten loose somehow, and demanding she scratch him again. After complying for a while, Sara washed her face, drank some water, finished the leftover cooked deer meat, and finally began examining the old man’s rough leanto. At the back edge of the leanto, under a saddle blanket, was a saddle with two saddle bags, and a rolled up bedroll. Along side of the saddle lay a beautiful blued steel double barrel rifle. Sara looked in wonderment at this fine firearm. Most guns as she remembered them, looked like the weapon that the old man had pointed at her, a smooth bore, single long barrel with a large cocking hammer she had heard when the old man slipped up behind her, threatening to shoot her if she didn’t comply with his wishes. She lifted the rifle to her shoulder and looked down the sights and realized this rifle was short enough she could easily handle aiming at any target. Setting the rifle reluctantly aside, she searched first one then the other saddle bags. In one she found several round paper cylinders about as long as her finger, which had a round nosed piece of lead protruding from the end , and at the other end a funny looking piece of metal seeming integral to firing the weapon. Between the two barrels was what looked like a rod slid into three fasteners which held it securely to the steel gun barrels. When Sara moved a lever on the side of the double barreled gun, it broke open and she could see a paper cylinder in each barrel opening. At the back she found a small lever she realized was a safety, and the triggers could not be pulled until the safety was moved.

She found also in the saddle bag, a small gun in a carrying holster, wrapped in a piece of cloth. These newer looking items had belonged to the rider who was dying but had been killed by the old man.