Native American

Fun Historical Facts and Giveaway

by

Howdy!  And welcome to another awesome Tuesday!

Recently, I decided to redo the cover for Book #1 in the Medicine Man Series.  I’d asked my cover artist if she might consider doing a cover with the image of the hairstyles of the American Iindians on the Plains in the 1830’s.  Book #1 is set in the 1830’s (SHE STEALS MY BREATH) and so I thought I’d ask because my cover artist is really an artist and she often draws things on my covers by hand (with online tools).

So let me first take you back to the 1830’s in an area of the country known as INDIAN TERRITORY.  George Catlin, as well as Karl Bodmer (accompanying  Prince Maxmilian onto the Plains) made trips into the interior of the north country, and they left a record of their travels.  What I had always noticed about these paintings was that the men often changed their hair styles, while the women generally wore their hair in braids.  This doesn’t necessarily hold true for the more southern tribes, but when I look at the northern tribes, these men pretty much wore their hair in a similar manner

Here are two men from the Nez Perce tribe who lived on the western side of the Blackbone-of-the-world Mountains (the Rockies).  Catlin met these two men when he was on a steamboat.  Interestingly, both men were on a mission for their tribe to see out the “Black Robe” and ask him about his religion and invite him to come to their tribe.

To the right here is an Assiniboine Indian (the Assiniboine were located farther east and a little more north of Crow Indians in what we now know as Montana.

In the center here is a Lakota man and below that is a Cheyenne chief.  The same hairstyle held true for most of the Northern tribes during this period: The Blackfeet, the Crow and the Cree.

And so, because my cover artist is a real artist and sometimes paints different images into a particular image she is working with, I asked her if she might be able to do a cover showing this particular men’s hairstyle.

Cat022

Below is the result:

This is the cover that my cover artist created for me and I absolutely love it.

Many things I love about this cover, but outside of the image of the hero and the heroine, I love the sky and the mountains.  Montana is often called The Big Sky Country and so I love that this image also highlights the sky.

This first book is currently on sale for $.99 and my newest book (Just released) in the Medicine Man series is sale for $3.59 at Amazon.

Note the difference in hair style between the 1830’s and the 1879’s.  My newest book is set in the 1870’s and at this time we have a completely different hairstyle that the men are wearing…again, almost tribe to tribe a very similar hair style.  Some differences, but many things that are similar about them.   This fellow in the middle here is Blackfeet.  Note the braids and the hair is now almost straight up and parted on the side.

The Picture below is of a Crow man:  Note how similar the style is at this time period.

The same styles were seen in the Flathead and the Nez Perce tribes.

 

 

 

 

 

 

And so I now would like  you to see how my cover artist showed this particular hair style on my newest cover.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I think both of these covers (that are new to me) are so very well done and show the different hair styles at this time in history.

What do you think?  Hope found this little bit of history interesting.

Both of these books are on sale:

SHE STEALS MY BREATH:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09TNDS67H?tag=pettpist-20 — This book is on sale for $.99.

IF SHE WERE MINE:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GWY3P5KS?tag=pettpist-20 — This book is on sale at a 40% discount at $3.59.

Please come on in and leave a post.  I’ll be giving away a free copy of the book, SHE STEALS MY BREATH.

 

 

 

New Story, IF SHE WERE MINE, is on Pre-Order

by

Howdy!  And welcome to another terrific Tuesday!

Well, while we are getting the e-book ready to publish (all the editing and proofing is now done) we’ve put the new book up for a Pre-Order.  Here is the link:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0GWY3P5KS?tag=pettpist-20

It’s on sale at 40% off what the price will be once all the promotion is done for its release — that is to say, it’s regular price is $5.99.

And I’ve tweaked the blurb a little for Amazon.  Here is the new blurb:

 

AI-FREE! 100% organic author-created content. No artificial intelligence was used in the writing of this book.

If you enjoy stories about how love can win, despite terrible wrongs and extreme prejudice, this story is for you.

A star-crossed love, treachery, and a desire that will not be denied.

Briella Feher is in love, but not with her fiancé. Her father has exiled her from the sweeping plains of Montana to New York City “for her own safety,” commanding her to marry within her heritage and class. Raised in Indian Territory, Briella was shaped as much by the Pikuni—Blackfeet—people as by her aristocratic Hungarian family. Viewed as a cowgirl, Briella doesn’t fit in with society. Perhaps it’s the guns she wears strapped to her evening gowns. Her heart has always belonged to Red Fox, the Pikuni medicine man who taught her to survive on the prairie, the man who was her teacher, her first love. When James Maximillian III proposes—with the condition that he keep his mistress—Briella accepts, seeing his proposal as her only path back to Montana and to Red Fox.

Two years apart have not cooled the fire between Briella and Red Fox, yet his honor won’t allow him to claim this woman who is promised to another. With the escalation of the Indian/Cavalry wars, Red Fox believes distance is the only way to protect the woman he loves. Then a vision reveals a devastating truth: Briella’s fiancé is hiding a lie that could shatter every vow. It’s now up to Red Fox to find the truth.

But, time is running out and forces are aligned against them. Can Red Fox find the proof and expose the treachery in time to alter the ending of their Romeo and Juliet romance, or will he lose Briella forever in a romance destined for tragedy?

Warning: This is a forbidden love story—forbidden by both sets of parents–which begs the question: will the hero and heroine get a second chance at love? Set in the 1870’s, this sensual love story is sprinkled with paranormal, Native American style. But, if you love the old west as it was lived and loved by the First Americans, you’re going to love this story.

And I should tell you I will be giving away a free e-book from this series — winner’s choice.

So let me share another except from the new book.  In this story both the heroine’s and the hero’s parents are against these two marrying.  Both have “good” reasons, so they think.  But, when all is said and done, love will win out.

IF SHE WERE MINE

By

Karen Kay

Excerpt #2

Grasping hold of the parfleche tube he had tied onto his pony, Red Fox took out his white buckskin clothing and shook out the garments. These were his best, his fanciest, buckskin clothing. They had been given to him by his grandfather upon the first event of Red Fox having publicly healed a rich man’s pony, it having become lame because of a disease upon its leg.

His grandfather had been a bigger man than he, and several snows ago, Red Fox had cut, sewn and tailored the clothing to fit his own frame. Red Fox shook out the stunningly white buckskin clothing and inspected the regalia to ensure every feather in the headdress was neatly in place. He then looked over the beadwork to ensure each bead was still firmly sewn into the leather and was not likely to fall off.

Standing upon a shady patch of ground within an outgrowth of pines growing atop one of the numerous buttes overlooking the Féher ranch, Red Fox inspected the white buckskin leather shirt with blue-and-white-beaded “V” shapes falling down over the shoulder straps. All were intact.

He then put his attention on the cloth breechcloth, the white leggings and moccasins, all beaded in the same design as the shoulder straps. Leather fringe about eight inches in length, as well as long locks of black hair scattered in amongst the buckskin fringe, fell from each sleeve. The same fringe lined each seam of the leggings of the regalia.

A looping white-beaded necklace which would fall from his neck was unbroken, while the headdress of eagle tail feathers stood straight up, then fell all the way to the ground. Two long ermine furs were attached to the bonnet in front; these would fall over the shoulders. The strip of beadwork in front of the headdress was in the same style as the shoulder straps.

Niitá’p, this regalia was the best clothing he possessed, and what an honor it had been when his grandfather had passed these clothes down to him.

As Red Fox donned the clothing, he listened to the strains of what he knew to be the white man’s music. It was quite pretty. The sound was floating up to where he was standing, up high upon a ledge of a cliff overlooking the Fehér ranch.

Picking up his rifle, which he kept in a beautifully beaded parfleche case—a present from his sister—he turned around and climbed to the top of the cliff. The prairie stretched out from behind him, requiring him to step up a little before he could stride out upon the flat plains toward the spot where he had left his pony. Ensuring his pony was not hungry and had plenty of grass to eat here within a growth of pines, he satisfied himself that his pony would be well hidden, this especially so because Hunts-with-the-wind would keep watch over the animal. Breathing in deeply, Red Fox then retraced his steps and set off on foot down toward the party.

****

Watching the dancers from the patio outside the ballroom, Red Fox felt definitely the outsider. He, alone, was outfitted in Pikuni garb. And, the others? They were beautifully dressed, yes, exactly as Eagle Heart’s woman had said they would be. But, all here wore white man’s clothing, since his relatives, all but George and his wife, had left earlier in the day to rejoin the Pikuni encampment. Even the “hang around the fort” Indians were clothed in white-man’s garb.

Where is she?

Although Red Fox had a long acquaintance with the white man’s fashion sense, as well as his dances, he had never seen this kind of smooth gliding where it looked as if the men and women were floating in each other’s arms around and around in a circle upon the dance floor. Silently, he thanked the wife of Eagle Heart for instructing him in the steps of the waltz.

He had witnessed, of course, the jig, the polka and even several Indian dances from other tribes that included both men and women dancing, but never had he borne witness to such graceful movements nor had he observed the intimate way in which the men and women held one another.

Watching the couples’ movements as they whirled around the dance floor, he was captivated for several moments until he realized he still could not find Poka’aki.

Where is she?

Catching a glimpse of George waltzing with his wife, Red Fox felt himself relax. Here was something familiar; people he knew and loved.

Stepping proudly inside this place of music and dancing, he became unusually aware that he at once garnered a great deal of attention. People even gasped. Then he saw these same people turn inward to make groups where they talked amongst themselves and pointed toward him.

Perhaps this was done to cause him to feel uncomfortable, but it had the opposite effect over him. It empowered him, knowing how rude and crude were these people who could not even hide their curiosity, if this were what it was.

It wasn’t as if the Indian people weren’t also curious about these newcomers into their country, but they did not stare, nor so openly would they point at a person and then turn to gossip amongst themselves.

Was this aloofness and rumor mongering the sort of thing Poka’aki had been forced to endure in her exile from her home? If so, was there any wonder why she had agreed to a proposition that would enable her to leave there?

Ah, there she is.

So beautiful was she, he caught his breath as he recalled his youthful fear of her because of her beauty. She was wearing a dress in a light shade of pink that accented her figure in front, but was puffed out in back with what must have been yards and yards of material. It was trimmed in a deep color of red, and it seemed to shimmer in a cascade of waves as it fell to the floor. The shoulders of her dress fell down her arms, leaving the top of her breasts, her neck and her upper arms bare. A ribbon in the same color of deep red was tied around her neck, and the length of it fell down the dress in back. And, as she swirled around the floor in the arms of a man, the dark-red ribbon which fell down in back of her, swayed to and fro.

Her hair was caught up on top of her head, while curls of her dark, auburn hair fell over her shoulders. A tiny pink hat covered the top of her tresses.

He couldn’t remember seeing her so beautifully dressed. And, for a moment, an odd feeling come over him: would he ever be able to give her such riches? Worse, having now tasted this kind of life, would she require them?

He shrugged off the thought and studied the man who held her in his arms, and, as Red Fox witnessed the man’s possessive grip on her, Red Fox realized this had to be the man she was being required to marry. The gentleman was not an unhandsome fellow, though he possessed facial hair above his lips, a feature both Indian men and women abhorred.

He stepped farther into the room and took in the measure of this fellow holding Poka’aki. Although Red Fox longed to fade into the scenery in this place, he could not. Realizing his countenance and dress were too different and too exotic for those around him to act politely, he ignored their whispering and pointed glances.

Indeed, he concentrated on studying this man, Maximillian. If he were to envision a way to release his woman from this person‘s grip, Red Fox needed to understand Maximillian as well as he knew himself. The man was slender, tall, although perhaps a little shorter than he, Red Fox. The fellow, however, kept glancing to the east side of the dance floor instead of giving his beautiful partner all of the attention she deserved.

Looking to the eastern side of the dance floor, Red Fox saw the reason for it: a pretty young woman with the pale color of hair that was so rare upon these plains stood there, the object of this man’s attention. Remembering what Poka’aki had said about the man possessing a mistress, Red Fox surmised this woman had to be Maximillian’s undeclared sits-beside-him-woman.

And, though she was stunningly pretty with her blonde curls and blue eyes, there was a catch in her eye and a quality about her countenance that was not pretty. And, worse, she stared at Poka’aki with a look that was hardly likeable. Watching the interplay between this woman and the man who was dancing with Poka’aki, Red Fox knew it was only a matter of a few moments before he, Red Fox, would intercede.

As soon as the music of the dance ended, Red Fox paced forward and into the crowd of dancers, his steps taking him directly to Poka’aki and the gentleman, who, at this very moment, had laid his hand upon the small of Poka’aki’s back.

Inserting himself directly into the path of Maximillian and Poka’aki, Red Fox waited as the people around him cleared away until, at last, the gentleman beheld an Indian warrior, complete with rifle—although it was encased within its beaded case and was strapped around Red Fox’s shoulder—was standing directly in his path.

Red Fox watched the man physically jump, and had it been gentleman-like to scream, the fellow might have done so. As it was, he gasped and stopped walking completely.

“Red Fox! I was wondering when I might see you here! Welcome!” Dragging her escort with her, Poka’aki stepped up before Red Fox and proceeded with the introductions, saying, “Red Fox, this gentleman here is Maximillian the Third. Max, this is Red Fox, my friend, as well as my tutor into the ways of the Plains and how one can easily survive on them.”

Maximillian bent over at the waist and inclined his head, but he said nothing.

Red Fox simply nodded. Then, looking directly at Poka’aki, he said, “I would like to dance with you, Poka’aki.”

“Of course. They are playing another waltz, this one a little slower than the last. Do you know the dance?”

“I do, although I have only learned these steps this very day,” Red Fox answered. He then watched as Maximillian bent slightly forward again, clicked his heels together, and turning, he walked away, although Red Fox saw the man’s knees were shaky and bowed slightly outward as he walked.

Returning his attention to Poka’aki, Red Fox asked, “Will you show me how I should hold you like these other men are doing?”

“Of course I will. Now, you put your right arm around my waist, like so.” She placed his arm in the correct place on the small of her back. “Then you hold my right hand with your left, and listen to the music and the beat. One, two, three; one, two, three; one, two, three. Do you hear the beat?”

“I do.” He placed his rifle, complete with its carrying case, a little more fully onto his back and out of the way, noticing at the same time that, true to her Pikuni teaching, a gun in a holster was wound around her waist.

“Good,” she said. “Now, starting with your left foot, we step up and back; up, two, three; back, two, three; up, two, three. Now, with your right and left foot, on steps two and three, you twirl around slightly, taking me with you as you twirl. Are you ready?”

“I am,” he answered. And, then he began to dance up and back; up, two, three; back, two, three; up, two, three; back, two, three; as he had earlier learned. Then, he commenced to twirl around. Gazing down at her, he witnessed her beautiful smile.

“You are a quick learner.”

“It is because I dance and sing every day to my ponies, and sometimes I dance while we are in camp. And, I often drum and sing as I dance.

“I know,” she said. “I have seen you do this, although only on occasion, and I have always thought you are most graceful.”

He smiled down at her. “Also, the wife of Eagle Heart showed me these steps today, though I did not hold her as I do you. She waltzed instead with her man, Eagle Heart.” When Poka’aki remained silent, he commented, “This dance is as it looks. It feels as if one is floating.”

She grinned up at him. “It feels, indeed, exactly as you say. How lovely it is to be in your arms. I have never seen this regalia before. Is it new to you?”

“Saa, it is not new. Never have I had the occasion to wear it before this night. It belonged to my grandfather.”

“And, was it passed down to you?”

He nodded.

She commented, “Perhaps our son shall inherit it.”

Red Fox missed a step while at the same time someone behind him tapped him on the shoulder. He came to a halt and gazed over his shoulder, there to see Frederic Fehér behind him, Frederic’s lips were set into a frown and his eyes filled with censure.

“I am cutting in to this dance,” Frederic said.

Red Fox glanced at the brother of Poka’aki questioningly.

“It means,” said Frederic in a voice dripping with sarcasm and disapproval, “that I am now going to dance with my sister while you step aside.”

“You are?”

“Yes. Now.” And, with no more instruction nor so much as a kind word, Frederic placed his arms around Poka’aki and danced away with her, although Red Fox observed she was frowning as she spoke to her brother.

Puzzled, Red Fox looked toward Poka’aki, who took her arm from around Frederic to say to Red Fox in sign, “Do not be upset. This is sometimes done.”

What was he supposed to do? Stand here while the dancers twirled around him or bumped into him?

At last, Red Fox began to understand. And, waiting for Frederic and Poka’aki to twirl in close to him, he stepped up to Frederic and tapped him on the shoulder, only to experience the shame of Frederic ignoring him completely as he stepped quickly away and whirled around the dance floor, Frederic presenting a façade as if nothing had even happened.

Knowing Frederic had intended to create the sensation of wrongdoing within him, Red Fox determinedly refused to give the matter any of his energy. Instead, with a steady gait, Red Fox turned around and walked off the dance floor and out of the ballroom completely, leaving the lovely sounding music behind him.

And, lovely it was, indeed. He couldn’t remember hearing anything quite like it in his past.

For a moment, he paused on the wooden flooring outside the actual dance hall, doing little more than listening to the enchanting music. He would remember it. It was so very beautiful.

And, when the music for a jig began, Red Fox set off on foot over the plains, making his way back up to the ledge of the butte, where his wolf would be awaiting him.

****\

Well, that’s all for today.  Remember I’ll be giving away a free e-book from this series to one of you bloggers today, your choice.  So come on in and share your thoughts with me.

 

 

IF SHE WERE MINE — New Historical Coming Soon

by

Howdy!

Happy Tuesday!  And welcome to another terrific Tuesday!

Yes, I have a new historical romance coming soon.  This is book #6 in the Medicine Man Series.  It’s still in editing at the moment, but I heard from my editor today and she says she is almost done with the edits.  When this happens, it means about 2-3 weeks for me to do the edits and to get them thoroughly proofed and then getting it published, which can take a few days as well.  And, so I thought I’d put out a call for anyone who would like an ARC (Advance Reading Copy) of the book,  These ARC’s are sent out most usually to readers would like to do reviews.  It’s not necessary to do a review, of course, but this is most usually the reason an ARC is sent.

If you would like to have an Advanced Copy of the new Historical when it is released (or perhaps a little before), please let me know in the comments.

So, that said, I thought I’d give you an except of the new book.  We’ll start with the blurb and then an excerpt from the very beginning of the story (the Prologue).

If She Were Mine

by

Karen Kay

 

A star-crossed love, treachery, and desire that will not be denied.

Briella Feher is in love, but not with her fiancé. Her father has exiled her from the sweeping plains of Montana to New York City “for her own safety,” commanding her to marry within her heritage and class. Raised in Indian Territory, Briella was shaped as much by the Pikuni—Blackfeet—people as by her aristocratic Hungarian family. Viewed as a cowgirl, Briella doesn’t fit in with society. Perhaps it’s the guns she wears strapped to her evening gowns. Her heart has always belonged to Red Fox, the Pikuni medicine man who taught her to survive on the prairie, the man who was her teacher, her first love. When James Maximillian III proposes—with the condition that he keep his mistress—Briella accepts, seeing his proposal as her only path back to Montana and to Red Fox.

Two years apart have not cooled the fire between Briella and Red Fox, yet his honor won’t allow him to claim this woman who is promised to another. With the escalation of the Indian/Cavalry wars, Red Fox believes distance is the only way to protect the woman he loves. Then a vision reveals a devastating truth: Briella’s fiancé is hiding a lie that could shatter every vow. It’s now up to Red Fox to find the truth.

Time is running out, however, and forces are aligned against them. Can Red Fox find the proof and expose the treachery in time to alter the ending of their Romeo and Juliet romance, or will he lose Briella forever in a romance destined for tragedy?

PROLOGUE

Northwest Indian Country

Territory of the Blackfeet

The Month When Geese Come (May) 1871

Máóhkataatoyi, Red Fox watched as Pokaa’aakíí (Poka’aki), Child Woman, or as the white’s called her, Briella Fehér, raised her hand and shouted, “Watch me take down this buffalo calf with one shot!”

“Saa! Wait! Do not shoot! There are—”

BLAST!

It was too late! The damage was done. Hadn’t Poka’aki seen the buffalo herd hidden in the shallow, plain-like valley below?

And now the buffalo, having heard the shot, would assume hunters were close-by; it would cause them to stampede. But, perhaps their direction might be to run along the valley rather than to climb the hill and…

As Red Fox heard the unmistakable thunder of hundreds or perhaps thousands of the buffalo’s hooves coming closer and closer to him, he knew the stark reality of what this was: a stampede on its way—toward him and Poka’aki.

There is, perhaps, nothing more terrifying to the heart of a man than the sound of snapping wood, the whooshing of shrubs and bushes, as well as the quaking and ratting of the ground beneath one as the tremendous force and speed of a stampeding herd of buffalo was on the run.

Even now the air carried the dirt and rocks kicked high into the air by those buffalos’ hooves. With a sinking heart, Red Fox knew the herd would be here before Poka’aki had time to get out of the way, and, if she didn’t move fast enough, they would trample her to death.

“Get out of here!” he shouted and waved at her. “Quick! Leave here! Go! Fast!”

But he knew his words were useless. All sound was blocked except the thunder of the stampede.

In a time quicker than it takes to think it, Red Fox knew that George, who was Poka’aki’s brother as well as his own almost-brother, was too far away to come to Briella’s rescue. George had left their hunting party early in the morning, his intention being to return to the tribe and report this enormous herd of buffalo to the chiefs, letting them decide if they would call a tribal hunt of the buffalo or secure a buffalo caller to send the herd, one and all, over the cliff of the pisskan, the buffalo jump.

Inwardly, he cringed. Because of his and Poki’aki’s actions here today, the stampede would interfere with the tribe’s ability to obtain enough food for winter storage, if only because a stampeding herd of buffalo could run through the day and into the night, taking the vast supply of food completely out of Blackfoot territory.

This was why, when a large mass of buffalo had been spotted, the chiefs banned all hunting until the tribe’s men could, as a single body, hunt the game.

On this very day, the chiefs had sent both himself and George—two scouts—out from the camp to look for buffalo. No one in the tribe yet knew this large herd was even here. And yet, it would soon be gone.

The thunderous, ground shaking roar of the stampede caused all further thought to cease. Casting a glance over his shoulder, Red Fox caught sight of the black, horned creatures coming into sight and directly at him. Just then, his horse reared as a wave of the black, hairy beasts encompassed him and his mount, and pushed him and his pony in alongside of them.

With a quick action, Red Fox brought his pony under control. There was no running from them now, and, within the batting of an eye, Red Fox and his mount were caught up in the stampede…but he was on the other side of the herd from Poka’aki.

Because the sharp-horned cows enveloped him and crowded in on every side him, his pony was forced to keep time with the stampede; Red Fox spared a glance behind him to see blackened masses of the animals to the rear of him, seeming as though they were without end. There was to be no retreat from them.

Once more, he looked toward Poka’aki, seeing she was caught up within the herd, as was he. He had to save her—but how?

He was on the complete opposite side of the solid mass of charging buffalo. He knew well that even the best of horses could not last for long within a fleeing herd of these animals; the buffalo’s lungs were large and strong and the muscles in their legs were sturdy, allowing them to run both day and night without ever stopping.

But, not so a horse. Even the best buffalo horse could not long keep up with a running buffalo herd; instead, a good pony was trained to take his master toward a buffalo, allowing the man to grab quick shot and then to retreat, carrying himself and his rider to the side of the terrorized animals.

Glancing at Poka’aki on his left and across a field of the terror-stricken and plunging buffalo, he took stock of her horse…a three-year-old mare not trained to a buffalo run. Her horse wouldn’t last longer than a breath. Worse, Red Fox could see she had lost control of the reins, causing her to cling to the pony’s mane, the reins being dragged behind, which could be stepped on by a buffalo…

All Indian hunters know that the only way to remain alive in a buffalo stampede is to gradually guide one’s horse to the edge of the stampede and then leave the massive push of the herd. But without reins? How was she to guide her horse?

With a sinking heart, Red Fox knew Poka’aki ‘s chances of surviving the stampede were all but impossible.

But, she must survive! She must! She, the girl he had loved for so many years!

He had to get to her! Her horse would soon become tired and would be overrun by the sharp hooves of the buffalo pushing in on her from behind, trampling them both into the ground.

His one chance to save her was to guide his horse toward hers and then lead them both to the side. And, this he would do; this he must do.

In a moment out of time, he devised a plan. He knew that the buffalo do not see well; they follow the leading cow in front of them, creating little paths within the stampede.

Poka’aki was slightly ahead of him, and he counted three rows of the buffalo between himself and Poka’aki. All he had to do was to kill the buffalo on his left and take its place in the path behind the cow ahead. Over and over he would do this until her pony was on his left. Reaching down to pull his rifle from its case, he found the container empty.

Empty? Without a gun to clear each pathway to his left, how was he to get to her? Quickly, he reached behind him, his hand lingering for a moment over his bow and arrows. With the gun having taken the place of the bow and arrow for most Pikuni men, the quiver with bow and arrows was seldom worn anymore. However, today he had placed both upon his back, thinking to kill an animal quietly with the bow and arrow rather than announce where he was by the boom of a gun.

Pulling the bow from its quiver, as well as many arrows, he placed all but one arrow into his mouth, and, holding them with his teeth, he fitted the first arrow to his bow. He took aim.

Whish! The arrow went down well below the ribs, straight to the heart of the buffalo. The animal made only one more jump before it went down. With his knees, Rex Fox guided his pony into the downed buffalo’s place. He did the same with the next buffalo, taking its place.

Only one more row of the bulls and cows and he would be next to her. But, her horse was now plunging about madly, making it difficult for Poka’aki to stay her seat.

But, what was this? What was wrong with her saddle?

How could it have come loose? And yet, with another plunge, her saddle flew back onto the rear of her pony. Worse, she had lost her grip on the animal’s mane and was desperately holding onto the horses neck. All it would take was one more jump, and Poka’aki would fall from her horse and be trampled.

His heart stopped for a moment. But, he was only one pathway and a jump away from her horse. Quickly taking aim with another arrow, he shot at the buffalo closest to him right behind the ribs to the heart of the beast, and, as the buffalo went down, Red Fox and his pony took its place. Then, by whacking his bow on his horse’s flanks, he came to be even with Poka’aki. She was falling off her horse!

Reaching out to his left, he caught her by the waist and pulled her up onto his own mount, laying her crosswise in front of him.

Because the sharp horns of the buffalo were closing in around him again, he didn’t have a moment to set her up straight. Indeed, he knew his horse, with its double load could not long keep pace with the frightened buffalo, especially since Red Fox sensed his pony was winded. However, using his bow, he kept the animal in step with the buffalo, despite his pony fighting for breath. Then, taking up his bow again, he positioned another arrow to his bow, took aim and felled the buffalo to his left.

He did the same with his remaining arrow, and then all his arrows were gone. All he could do now was to force his horse into the remaining two rows of buffalo to his left, one at a time. Saying a prayer beneath his breath, he forced his pony into the next pathway of buffalo.

Only one more row of the stampeding herd remained, but his pony was clever and worked his way to the side again and into the pathway to the left. And then Red Fox steered his pony to the left again.

Free! At last, we are free!

Red Fox turned his mount again to the left, putting some distance between Poka’aki, himself and his pony from the stampeding buffalo. He reined his horse to a stop beneath a quivering pine. Jumping to the ground, Red Fox pulled Poka’aki off the pony, and when she would have collapsed in his arms, he held onto her tightly, pulling her closely against him.

He could feel her sobs at his shoulder, and he tightened his grip on her, saying in a low voice, “It is over. We are alive. We survive.”

She was crying and in between gasps, she whispered, “I would be dead now if not for you.”

He didn’t know what to answer in response, and so he said only, “Come, you can sit beneath this tree and recover your breath while I go to find your bother. We must report what we have found to our chiefs.”

“No! Do not let me go! I beg you, do not let me go!”

With her face against his shoulder and she standing so closely in his arms, all of his energy suddenly focused on her instead of their narrow escape from death. Indeed, all of his bent-up emotions and the joy of his success was centered upon her and only upon her. And for a moment, he thought he had not only escaped death this day, but he might have found the white man’s heaven, as well.

How long was it now that he had loved Poka’aki? All those years ago, when her brother, George, had asked him to tutor her in the ways of the plains, who could have predicted he would fall in love with the girl? Certainly, he hadn’t foreseen it.

But, he had, indeed, surrendered his heart to her. However, she was younger than he by seven winters. And so, he had waited for her to grow up before turning his mind toward the idea of approaching her father with many horses and asking for her hand in marriage.

And so, in all these years, he had held himself back from declaring himself to her. He knew she liked him well enough, but so beautiful was she, he was a little afraid of her: fearful, he was, of her possible rejection of him. Or worse, she might agree to marry him simply because they were friends.

Even now, breathing in the sweet, yet fragrant scent of her, he remained silent, doing little more than savoring the moment.

Leaning her head back a little, she looked up into his eyes and, in a whisper, declared, “I am to blame for this. I almost killed you and me, too. And I…and I… I love you, Red Fox. I do not wish to leave this world without you knowing how I feel about you. Indeed, I think I have loved you since the day you first came here to tutor me, although I didn’t know it then. Since I have known you, I have been of the opinion of you being the handsomest of men; you, with your black hair, always so neatly braided and your dark, mysterious eyes. Always, you have appeared before me dressed in your best buckskin clothing and, when there have been times you have had to take off your shirt, I…I…have wondered what it might feel like if you were to hold me, to press your lips against mine.

“But, you are older than I and much taller, too, and I have had to wait to grow up a little. But, I have always looked upon you with the idea in mind that one day you will come to love me. And, if I were to have been the cause of your death here today, I do not believe I would ever be able to forgive myself, not even in the hereafter.”

She loves me? All this time she has loved me? She has even desired my embrace?

This couldn’t be real. He swallowed hard, gulping.

“Do you not feel it, too?” Poka’aki asked, her voice breathless. “I have seen the looks you have given me sometimes in the evenings when we sit around the fire. Please tell me. I am not making this up, am I? It is not all one-sided, is it? Do you love me, too?”

Red Fox shut his eyes and inhaled deeply. Then, slowly he bent his head to hers and touched his lips to hers. At their touch, every sense within him awoke to the splendor of her and his heart began beating as fast as it had been only moments ago when they had been swallowed up within the buffalo stampede.

Raising his head only slightly and inhaling deeply, he looked up into the heavens before bringing his lips down to hers yet again, and he kissed her once more, but deeply this time. His tongue opened her mouth to his persuasion, and thereupon, he proceeded to love her with his kisses, one after another, as though he were a hungry man and she were the only sweet thing that could satisfy him.

She kissed him back and as she did so, the world around him seemed to come alive. Indeed, the sun, shining down upon his shoulders, felt warmer. The wind seemed to join in with the sun in a kindlier fashion as it whirled around them, sharing its cooler temperature with them. Truly, it felt to him as though the life force of the earth and all of His creatures were as happy as he.

Bringing his head down toward hers, he touched his lips to hers yet again.

Áa! Magic! It was as though they had been waiting longer than mere years for this one, precious moment to declare themselves to one another.

How splendid it would be to make her his wife this day.  If he were to do so, it would put to rest the very real possibility of her father denying her to him.

After all, it was her brother, George, who had included him as a tutor for her all those years ago…not her parents. In truth, it was with a critical eye her parents, József and Mária Fehér, had watched him teach her to shoot, to ride, to track and hunt game as well as any man. Added to this, for the past month, Poka’aki’s elder brother, Frederic,—who lived in a faraway, eastern part of the Americas—was now temporarily in residence here in Pikuni country. And, though Frederic had brought with him his wife and their child for the visit, Frederic held himself and his immediate family aloof from all things Pikuni.

Niitá’p, indeed, since Frederic’s arrival, Red Fox had noted a change within her father’s behavior toward all things Pikuni, too.

Needing to breathe, Red Fox broke off the kiss, listening to his…and her strained breath. Then, a little huskily, and with a silent air of doubt in her voice, she asked, “You do love me, don’t you?”

So enamored was he with her, his voice was shaking when he answered, “Of course I do. For many years I have loved you. And, if I loved you a little less than I do, I would make you my wife now under the eye of the Creator, thus letting the world around us be joyful along with us or condemn us.”

“Oh, yes. Please.  I am ready to become your woman, your wife,” she whispered.

Once again, he shut his eyes as the throes of passion came over him. He was more than ready to cause them to marry. Did he dare?

Saa, no, he silently answered his own question; a good man would approach her father and ask for her hand in marriage. Besides, he did not wish to disrupt her family and his. After all, her other brother, George, was married to Red Fox’s sister.

Inwardly sighing, he realized it was true.

He swallowed, hard, bringing control over his impulses. No, this had to be done in the right way; it was his place to approach her father, bringing with him as many horses as he could gather together from his herd, since this was the traditional Pikuni way of asking for a woman to be his.

Moving his forehead down to hers, he said, “We will go to your father’s house tonight with many horses and I will ask your father to give you to me as my woman for all my life.”

She swooned in toward him, and said, “I will help you herd your horses my darling, handsome tutor. I am certain my father will say yes. After all, he speaks very highly of you and how you have patiently taught me how to survive on these plains.”

Red Fox, however, had his doubts about this. All he said, though, was, “Come with me as I go to the chiefs and report what has happened here. Then, together we will take all I can quickly find of my pony herd, excepting this animal who carried me to you this day. We will then ride to your father’s home and I will ask him to accept the horses I give him as he, likewise, gives you to me.”

“Yes,” she said, placing her arms around his neck and bringing his head down to hers once more. “Imagine. Soon I will be your wife.”

Laughing, she brought her lips up to his in a sweet, yet stirring kiss.

Ending the caress, Red Fox said, “Come, let us find your brother quickly and tell him our happy news. Then, we can all go to the chiefs and report what we have found concerning the buffalo herd. And, after we have made our report to our chiefs, we will seek out your father.”

“Yes,” she said. “Oh, yes. Let us hurry!”

IF SHE WERE MINE, coming soon!

 

 

Old Bull’s Heavenly Visitor & Give-away

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Howdy!

Welcome to another tantalizing Tuesday!  Hope y’all are doing well today.  And I have a special story for you today.  A true story — one I ran across in doing research for the story I’m currently working on.  This is from the book, BEAR CHIEF’S WAR SHIRT by James Willard Schultz, who is writing about his own true experience.

In June of 1877, Schultz’s mother had given him permission to go out west into what was then called Indian Territory on a buffalo hunt — he was to return that same year where he would attend a military academy, but he didn’t return until 1880 and even then, he was there for only 3 months before returning to Indian Country.  Indeed, James Schultz stayed with the Blackfeet and married into the tribe and became a white Blackfeet Indian.  There is a book he has written entitled MY LIFE AS AN INDIAN, and oh my, what a wonderful book it is — filled with thrilling stories.

This story is about one of Schultz’s adventures as a warrior going with a war party to retrieve Bear Chief’s War Shirt.  On the way to determining what tribe might have stolen the shirt and a way to retrieve it, he had many adventures.  The story I’m about to tell you he declares in his book is true. and is one he saw with his own eyes.

First let me tell you a little about a Blackfeet war party.  There was a man who led the party and it was his responsibility to sleep and live (to some degree) apart from the others so he could pray for a vision that would tell him what lay ahead of the war party.  Old Bull was part of this war party –he was a “Bringer of Plenty” — a man who called the buffalo to a cliff and over it so the tribe would have enough food to get through the cold winters of Montana.  He had what the Indians called much medicine.

Schultz describes Old Bull as a man about forty winters (years) in age.  Here is what Schultz writes about Old Bull:

“…I liked Old Bull best [of the war party}; in fact, I revered him.  He was a man of about forty winters — tall and well muscled, with long hair, keen eyes, and a pleasant face; calm, dignified, and honest; moreover, he was a sacred pipe man, a medicine man, as the whites say.  Old Bull was possessor of the powerful Eagle Head pipe, master of its long ritual of sacred prayers and songs.”

Old Bull was a man whom the war party needed to have a vision so as to alert the war party as to what they might face and it if would be successful.  But, so far, he had not been able to have a vision.

Old Bull stated that oftentimes he had to go someplace alone so that his spiritual helper would come.  He had told Schultz that often his spiritual helper would come to others as Old Bull prayed to their God, the Creator.  His spiritual helper would then tell the others gathered there the answers to what Old Bull was asking.  And so, not having a vision to help the war party, Old Bull went into a hollow tree and there began to pray.

And, I will quote from the book:

Bear chief was praying — “He had no more than spoken these words when his body stiffened, his face becoming tense and his eye balls rolling upwards in his head.  He leaned back against the inside of the tree.  Bear Chief and I were standing close to the tree when this happened….  Before us a white shadow was forming starting up from the ground and spinning up like a whirlwind, building higher and higher until it reached the height of Bear Chief.  Then the fluorescent white cloud began taking a man’s shape, the ears, nose, mouth, eyes, and the rest of the face forming first, then the body, arms, and legs. The figure took on such details as moccasins, a full head dress to the ground, necklaces, and some face coloring.  As I stood there, it seemed as though I could look through the Heavenly Visitor as one would look through a light colored window pane.

“The Visitor spoke in Blackfeet.  ‘Bear Chief, I am your helper.  I have been helping you all your life.  I have helped you in battles, I guide you and give you good thought.  My name is Gray Eagle.

“‘There is trouble for you ahead.  How much trouble will depend on how careful you are in your movements.  Do not travel this night.  You all will go to the Sand Hills someday, but those who are needed here now will stay for a while; those who are needed over there to help do the work of the Above Ones will go earlier.  Bear Chief, you will be rewarded.’  and with that the almost transparent visitor vanished into the sky in a streak of light.

“As Old Bull awakened from his trance, I asked him if he remembered anything that had gone on.  Said he, ‘I remember only that I slept.  What happened?’ I told him about the ghostly visitor and of his message.

“Old Bull continued, “Ever since I was a young man, there have been times over which I have had little control, when I have been seized by the Above Ones and when, as afterward related to me by my friends, Spirit people have built up and have been seen and heard by all present.  I would much rather have a vision, where I get the message direct, but when day after day has passed and I have received no message, often if I pray in an enclosure, as I did here, I am seized, and Spirit people come forth.”

The war party went on to be successful in regaining the war shirt.  Interestingly, Schultz writes, “After passing through several hands [the war shirt], the shirt came to the collection of Indian Americana at the Denver Art Museum.  No myth, this famed Indian relic is now on display for visitors to marvel at for its color, design, and decoration.”

Well, I hope you enjoyed this story.

Now onto other news:  My latest release, SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD, is on sale starting today for $.99.  Don’t miss this chance.  Pick up your copy today.

Also, I will be giving away a mass market paperback of the book, Soaring Eagle’s Embrace, to one lucky blogger.  So come on in and leave your thoughts on this blog.  I love hearing from you.

SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD:  https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FBPKBXBZ?tag=pettpist-20

 

Beaver Dick Leigh, two giveaways, and our guest blogger Charlene Raddon!

by

 

The pack train moved slowly through the remaining snowdrifts of late spring in the Tetons, heading for the mountain valley ahead. The buckskin horses were led by a tall-for-his-time trapper with thick red hair and beard, whom the Shoshone called Ingapumba (redhead), but more often he was known to his neighbors as “Beaver Dick” or “Uncle Dick.”

Trapper, hunting guide, ferryman, Mexican War veteran, and all-around mountain man, Richard ‘Beaver Dick’ Leigh, lived a long life in and around the Teton Mountains. Following behind were his Shoshone wife, Jenny, and his children riding burros. They were leading pack horses loaded with supplies for a long season of camping, hunting, and trapping in the high valley known even then as Jackson’s Hole.

In his 68 years, Beaver Dick Leigh fought in the Mexican War, guided government expeditions through the Yellowstone region, led hunting parties from the East—and enjoyed life among the Shoshone and Bannock tribes. With his red hair, blue eyes, and freckles, he stood out from most of those around him, but despite his rough life, he was an inveterate reader of books, magazines, and newspapers. He kept a diary during his time in the mountains.

Richard Leigh was born in Manchester, Lancashire, England, in 1831, emigrating to America at age 7 with his sister, Martha. Eventually they moved on to Mount Hope, Pa. From there, he left his sister and joined the Hudson Bay Company, which sent him to the Northwest, where his education as a trapper began. He never looked back, nor saw his sister again, but stayed in touch, however, as he later referred to his brother-in-law, Henry Wall.

Beaver Dick joined the U.S. Army toward the end of the Mexican-American War (1846-48), in which he served under Lt. Col. Henry Wilson.

Following his discharge, he travelled to the Salt Lake Valley, where he resumed his trade as an independent trapper. Moving north into what would become Idaho Territory, he chose the Snake River Valley for his homesite. This initially meant long pack trips south for several years to sell his furs in Utah Territory.

On one of these trips to Corrine, in 1862, near the northeast shore of the Great Salt Lake, he camped near a Bannock couple—a man known as Bannock John to the whites, and his wife, Tadpole, a sister of the local Shoshone chief, Taghee. Tadpole was amid a difficult labor and Dick assisted the father in delivering the baby.

The new arrival was named Susan Tadpole. Her parents promised her to Dick to be his wife when she reached maturity, no doubt a kind gesture of gratitude that had little expectation of coming to fruition, since he was 31 at the time.

Before he returned to his base camp at the confluence of the Snake and Teton rivers on the west side of the Tetons, Dick Leigh married a 16-year-old Eastern Shoshone girl from Chief Washakie’s band in 1863. Dick called her Jenny. He often told his friends and wrote in his diary about her many good traits. Five children arrived in the following years. Dick, Jr., 1864, Anne Jane, 1866, John, 1868, William, 1870, and Elizabeth in 1873.

 

Dick’s homestead on the west side of the Tetons continued to expand with additions of milk cows and the buckskin horses he was fond of. When it was time to go on the annual hunting trips over the mountains, Dick took the entire family along. Leigh’s diaries give an in-depth picture of the challenges they faced on the frontier. Whether setting his trap lines, hunting with his son Dick, Jr., leading hunting parties or assisting any of the increasing number of new settlers arriving in the Snake River valley, Beaver Dick Leigh was a busy and well-respected member of the community.

He built a ferry at the Eagle Nest Ford on the Henry’s Fork of the Snake, free for anyone to use. He acted as liaison between the tribes and authorities at the new Fort Hall Reservation, advising them about Indian movements on and off the reservation.

In the winter of 1876, an Indian woman seeking food visited the Leighs. They did not know she had smallpox. All of the Leigh family and another hunter caught the disease. Between Christmas Eve and Dec. 28, all of Beaver Dick’s family died; he and the hunter barely survived.

In 1879, Dick Leigh, age 48, married 16-year-old Susan Tadpole, who had been promised to him at birth. The couple had three children: Emma, 1881; William, 1886; and Rose, 1891.

While camped near Two Ocean Creek on the Continental Divide in the fall of 1891, they were visited by Theodore Roosevelt and his hunting party. Beaver Dick and Teddy conversed for a spell, sharing stories and hunting tales.

Dick continued to guide hunting parties as long as his health permitted. Eventually, he had to turn over this business to his son William. He also kept in touch with the many friends he had made over the years, writing letters to a lengthy list of correspondents.

Beaver Dick Leigh died March 29, 1899, age 68, in the company of family and friends. He is buried beside his family on a high terrace overlooking his ranch near Rexburg, Idaho. His memory and legacy are well preserved in his letters and diaries, as well as the namesake features in the Jackson Hole valley he loved.

Two winners will be chosen for a prize: one for a $5 Amazon gift card and one an ebook from my collection. To enter, all you have to do is tell me something you found interesting about Beaver Dick Leigh’s story. 

SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD — A New Release & Sale

by

Howdy!  Howdy!

Hope your 4th of July was wonderful, full of fireworks, good food and activities with good friends.  My husband and I had special hamburgers (a good recipe) and fries and watched the movie 1776, a musical.  Two cute little puppies were cuddled up with us and the movie was very good and very funny in places, too.  Somewhat accurate, too, I think.

Recently, I had an mp4 video (59 seconds) made for the book.  Thought I’d share it with you!

Hope you enjoyed!

Because this is a new release, the book has not been on sale except for now.  For two days only, the book will be on sale for $.99 and it’s also available on KindleUnlimited.

Here is an excerpt of the book.  This scene occurs about halfway through the story.  Otahki (O-tah-ki) is Liliann’s Blackfeet name, meaning Ermine Woman.  The hero, First Rider, and two of his friends are intent on enacting a scout’s revenge upon the man, Ernest, (Liliann’s husband) who tried to kill her, but she managed to escape.  They have been following him as he is fleeing toward the gold fields of Montana and have been systematically working on him, taking little things from his camp that he needs to survive, but making it appear he left them in his last camp.  So, here we go.

EXCERPT, She Belongs In My World

 

It happened after a week and a half out on the trail.  Ernest became dangerously careless, and while bathing in the river, he left his clothes on a large rock, his boots next to it.  He had also left his rifle behind, propped up next to the rock.  Also, the guns he usually wore about his waist were buried beneath the wad of his clothing.

It was an open-ended invitation to gain their next advantage over him.  Yet, to sneak into camp and take his guns and his rifle was risky at best because, as careless as Ernest was, if he discovered First Rider and his friends in the act of taking away his only means of defense, he could become a wild man…and there was the possibility he could kill one or more of them with his knives if he had retained them on his person as he bathed.

Also, though the light from the sunset was low in the western sky, there was still enough of it that could outline a scout.

But still, here was the chance they had been waiting for: the means to disarm Ernest.  The opportunity could not be dismissed.

Now they just needed to determine which one of the three scouts would be the one to accomplish the task.

“I will go,” signed First Rider at once, causing Liliann to gasp.  First Rider instantly placed a finger to his lips, asking for her silence.

Then, not being able to use words nor even to whisper, Liliann began to use her eyes to plead with her husband to reconsider and to remain safely here in camp.  But, when First Rider ignored her, she reverted to sign and said, “No, do not do it!  Do not take on such a duty!  It is too dangerous!  What will Ernest do to thee if he sees thee?”

First Rider frowned at her, then signed, “Do I appear to you to be a coward?”

“No!” she responded in sign.  “I just want thee to be safe and remain alive!”

“What is a life worth without some risk?” he countered in sign.  “Besides, this is my duty to perform.  You are my woman.  This man abused you and would have killed you had you not escaped.  I will allow no other to do what is mine alone to do.”

“But—”

“Come here,” he interrupted.

While she scooted around their small, smokeless fire toward him, both Stands Strong and Red Fox appeared to have suddenly found other chores to do in camp, and they silently crept away from the council.

Sitting down in front of First Rider, her knees once more touching his, he reached out to take her hand within one of his own while he signed his thoughts with his other and revealed, “This is my duty.  This I will do.  But, you might help me by praying to the Creator to guide my path.”

“Of course I will pray.  But—”

“It will go well, I think.”

Gazing up at him, she bit her lip before throwing herself into his arms, and she whispered in his ear, “If I cannot keep thee here with me, then I shall watch thee from this place where I sit.”

“Soka’pii.  And, you will do nothing to interfere,” he added in a murmur.  “Promise.”

“How can thou be tryin’ to force me to make such a promise?”

“If you do not give this vow to me,” he signed, “I will not allow you to watch.”

“Not allow?  Not possible.  I will sit here and look at thee.  Just try to stop me,” she said, back talking to him in sign.

“Then, you must promise you will not interfere.”

Leaning forward, she again whispered in his ear, “Well, I be not makin’ any other promise but this: I will watch thee.”

She heard his slight chuckle before he whispered, “A fireball…I have as…woman mine.  A fireball.”

She frowned at him.

“It…good…not bad.  Heap much good.”

Liliann shook her head, yet couldn’t help smiling because of his very bad English, knowing it was deliberately done.

“But,” he signed, setting her away from him, “if not promise, I will set one of my friends to watch you and put a gag over your mouth if you try to shout out a warning to me.”

“Thou would not dare to do it!” she whispered.

“I would,” he muttered softly.

“Oh!” she moaned softly.  “How be I to help thee if thou will not let me?”

“By praying,” he whispered.  Then he repeated, “By praying.”

“I will be doin’ it, no mistake, but don’t thou see?” she asked under her breath.  “Me own self needs to go with thee.  Does thou forget the very reason I be here?  My dream?”

He shook his head.

“Then thou must know this: where thou goes, I must be goin’, too.  What thou faces, then I shall face it with thee.  If I be needin’ to share thy life—and I do—then if thou dies in doin’ justice, then I will be with thee, dyin’ alongside of thee.”

As he sat before her, he appeared to be stunned and he did nothing more than stare at her.  At some length, he reached out to touch her face with the back of his fingers.  Then, at last, he signed, “My brave, brave woman.  I did not realize what sharing my life with you truly meant to you.  Come with me, then.  I shall not stop you from showing me and my friends, also, how courageous you truly are.”

Upon seeing his signs, she threw herself suddenly into his arms, almost knocking him backward.  And, her voice shook as she whispered, “Thou shall not regret this.  I promise I will be doin’ as thou say.  I promise.”

And, as he took her into his arms, she cried, there against his shoulder.

****

Slowly, slowly, she belly crawled behind First Rider, having been warned that she was not to let so much as the crunch of a leaf sound beneath her.  Therefore, she was committed to move forward, but very, very slowly.

More important it was, First Rider had said, to take the weapons without detection.  And, because any noise might alert Ernest to their plot, they each one carefully determined where to place their arms and legs as they slowly pushed forward, one elbow after another.  To her rear crawled Stands Strong and behind him, Red Fox, both of them slinking along on elbows and belly, also.  The plan was simple: First Rider was to take one weapon and would then pass it to her; she was to send it along to Stands Strong, and he would give it to Red Fox, who would later distribute the weapons to the three of them.

It had been going well until, as though he suspected he was being watched, Ernest looked over to where he had left his clothing and guns.  Immediately, all four scouts—including Liliann—froze in place, and she didn’t dare to even breathe.

Ernest’s scrutiny seemed to go on and on, and Liliann knew she had to take a breath without movement and without noise.  In doing so, she shut her eyes, forcing herself to think of nothing.

However, she found First Rider was gently nudging her, and, looking up, she saw he was passing Ernest’s rifle to her, the last of his weapons.  Glancing quickly toward the river, she was shocked to discover she could not see Ernest.

There was a tap on her leg, and, glancing over her shoulder using as little movement as possible, she discovered Stands Strong was slowly, but methodically, inching back.  Was something wrong?

Looking forward, she saw First Rider had crawled backward until he was almost parallel with her.  Oh dear.  Trouble.

She and First Rider had no more than slinked in behind a bush when he placed his arm around her waist, forcing her into a full-bodied position on the ground.  Imitating First Rider, she did nothing but smell the earthy scent of the ground beneath her.

Without lifting her head but a little, she looked up through the bushes and gazed at a completely nude Ernest as he approached the rock where he had left his clothing.  But, he didn’t seem to notice the ground around the rock, which was this moment devoid of his weapons.  Instead, he reached into a pocket of his pants and pulled out a tiny box, and upon opening it, he reached in, took a bit of powder, and placing some of the snuff into his nostrils, he inhaled deeply.

For a moment, he turned his back on the four scouts, and she watched his shoulders lift and sink as he took in several breaths.  Then, as if making a decision, he walked barefoot across the sand which slanted gradually down to the river, and, wading in waist deep, he took a dive into the gentle waves.

At once, First Rider signaled to her to back up, slowly, slowly, inch by careful inch, until at last they reached the shelter of the pines and the surrounding red and black willows lining the shore.  Then, rising up into a crouching position, they stepped as noiselessly as possible back to their own camp, protected as it was with the surrounding pines.

As soon as they entered their tiny shelter and sat down in a circle, Red Fox asked in sign, “Did you get all his guns?”

“Yes,” First Rider signed.  “Even his knives scattered there.”

Red Fox nodded.

“And, now what does thou do?” asked Liliann silently in sign.

“‘Thou will wait,” First Rider replied quietly, gesturing toward his friends and her.

“Does thou include thee in those who must wait?” she asked in sign.

First Rider shrugged, casually signing, “There is more I would like to take from this man.”

“Oh?” she asked, slanting him a frown.

Upon looking around their circle, Liliann noticed Stands Strong was smiling, though faintly.  However, he didn’t utter a sound.  But then, as he glanced at the three of them, Stands Strong reached around behind himself before bringing his hands back to the front to show his arms to be filled with…clothing—a white man’s shirt, pants and boots.  Stands Strong smiled as he murmured, “No need to go back, Almost-cousin.  I knew you would want these.  His disgrace would not be complete without him being properly….undressed.”  Stands Strong grinned.

First Rider smiled, then signed, “You are a better scout than I.  I did not even see you return there.”

As Stands Strong nodded his head, a masculine scream ripped through the air, followed by the heated words, “Who are you?  Where are you?  What do you want from me?  Bring me back my clothing…my weapons or I’ll…I’ll…”

No one answered.  No one even smiled.

“I’ll find you!” yelled Ernest.  “I swear I’ll find you, and when I do I’ll kill you!”

Still no one answered.

Then, gradually, First Rider came up to his knees and crawled toward the opening of their shelter, Liliann following at his heels.  Slowly, he turned back and signed, “No, you stay here.”

“But, I thought I be goin’ with thee.  Did we not already talk about this?”

“Too dangerous.”

“Thou will not be stoppin’ me.”

Shaking his head, First Rider nonetheless grinned at her and signed to her, “If you must come, stay behind me.”

“Good.  I will be doin’ it.”

****

Well, that’s all for today.  As I mentioned above, the book is on sale for $.99 at Amazon and is also on Kindle Unlimited.

If you would like to review the book, just message me at karenkay.author@startmail.com

Here is the Amazon link to the book:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0FBPKBXBZ?tag=pettpist-20

 

Recent Interview for She Belongs In My World & Giveaway

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Howdy!

Hope y’all are doin’ well on this lazy Thursday, the last one in the month of June this year.  Cathy has kindly given her blog spot to me today and I only hope I can fill her shoes.

The big news in my part of the world is that I have a new release this month, SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD, an American Historical Romance/Native American.

Only a few days ago I was interviewed about the book by Written Word and I thought I’d post it here.

Interview Written Word with Karen Kay, author of the book, SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD.

What’s the story behind the story? What inspired you to write this book?

This is the fifth book in The Medicine Man Series, and two of the characters from book four in the series needed to have their story told.  

Often these characters come alive once they have been created and this was the case with these two characters.  

If you had to pick theme songs for the main characters of your book, what would they be? 

It would be the country song by the late, great Jim Reeves, Welcome To My World.

What’s your favorite genre to read? Is it the same as your favorite genre to write? 

Definitely Romance, whether historical or contemporary, paranormal or western, I love them all.  However, another genre is becoming a favorite and these are the true stories I read from James Willard Schultz about the Blackfeet Indians of long ago. 

What books are on your TBR pile right now? 

Many true adventure stories of Pitamakan and Thomas Fox;  true stories of Rising Wolf and Red Crow and his sister, Mink Woman and many other  true stories of the long ago.  For my other love, romance, I love the stories of Linda Broday, Pam Crooks, Shanna Hatfield and Cassie Edwards, Madeline Baker and many others. 

What scene in your book was your favorite to write? 

This would be a tossup, I think, between one scene where the hero first sees the heroine for the first time after a long four years apart; or it could be the scouts revenge scene where the villain is not killed, but is brought to his knees in order to pay for his injustice to the heroine; but perhaps the other favorite scene in the book is the snow scene where the hero and heroine have a snowball fight and where they learn more about themselves as individuals and as a couple.

Do you have any quirky writing habits? 

Perhaps.  I write to music.  I don’t edit to music, but I love having music that inspires me playing in the background when I’m newly writing a scene.  Also, with the acquisition of four new pets, I generally have quite a crew of the four leggeds around me nowadays when I write.

Do you have a motto, quote or philosophy you live by? 

Help others as much as one can.  Be a willing ear to listen to another’s woes.  And be as kind as one can be.  There’s not enough kindness in the world today, I think.  There should be more. 

If you could choose one thing for readers to remember after reading your book, what would it be? 

I would like to take the reader on the journey along with the heroine and hero.  I’d like the reader to be able to experience the story as if she or he were there.  I’d like my readers to be able to forget their cares, if only for a little while. And if I can accomplish this, perhaps then all my study and research and doing my best to pour emotion into my stories will be worth the effort.

Well, that’s all.  Hope you enjoyed the interview.

Questions?  Comments?  I’d love to hear them.  Come on in and leave a post.  I’ll be giving away two e-books today to one lucky blogger, SHE BRINGS BEAUTY TO ME and SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD.

 

 

U.S. Boarding Schools for Native American Children

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We have a guest at the junction today! Let’s give a big welcome to our guest, Kiersti Giron!

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When I began researching the story that would become my historical novel Beneath a Turquoise Sky, I decided to set it at a mission school on the Navajo reservation in the early 1900s, since I’d spent five years in that area of northwest New Mexico during my teens. However, I soon realized I had much to learn—including that to be historically accurate, my mission school needed to be a boarding school for Native children. But why?

Only a few generations ago, the United States grappled with what was known as the “Indian problem.” European settlement—and even railroads—had spanned from coast to coast by the late 1800s, yet many First Nations tribes, the original inhabitants of the land, remained. And conflict abounded, especially since the United States government broke nearly every treaty it made with tribes as sovereign nations.

Some Americans subscribed to the “annihilation” solution. Shocking as it may seem to us today, the author of The Wizard of Oz, L. Frank Baum, wrote this in a South Dakota newspaper in the 1890s:

“The Whites, by law of conquest, by justice of civilization, are masters of the American continent, and the best safety of the frontier settlements will be secured by the total annihilation of the few remaining Indians.”

But other more “progressive” voices spoke also. Captain Richard Henry Pratt promoted the “assimilation” solution instead, advocating in a famous speech that white people should “Kill the Indian in him, and save the man.” Pratt founded the Carlisle Indian School in Pennsylvania, which took Native children from tribes all over the country and attempted to, indeed, “kill” all about them from their own cultures, including language, dress, and family ties, molding them into the image of Euro-American culture as much as possible.

 

Students at Carlisle Native Industrial School in Pennsylvania, c. 1900 (public domain)
Students at Carlisle Native Industrial School in Pennsylvania, c. 1900 (public domain)

 

This school became a model for other government and mission boarding schools all over the United States. Between 1869 and the 1960s, tens of thousands of Native American children were taken from their families, sometimes by force, and placed in boarding schools. It is estimated that by 1926, over 80% of school-age Native children attended these military-style residential schools, numbering over 60,000 students just in 1925. Many children endured horrible abuse at these schools, and many never returned home, often buried in unmarked graves and still unaccounted for by the U.S. government. Even well-intentioned teachers and missionaries did grave damage in removing children from their families and stripping them of their Native identity and culture, tragically cloaking Christianity in Euro-American, “white” garb. Generations of children lacked parenting and endured punishment and trauma merely for speaking their own languages, trauma that still wracks Native communities today.

 

Three Rosebud Sioux children the day after they entered boarding school, 1883
Three Rosebud Sioux children the day after they entered boarding school, 1883. By John N. Choate, Carlisle, PA – https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47e1-1b90-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99, Public Domain.

 

The same boys several years later, after their forced cultural assimilation
The same boys several years later, after their forced cultural assimilation. By John N. Choate, Carlisle, PA – https://digitalcollections.nypl.org/items/510d47e1-1b90-a3d9-e040-e00a18064a99, Public Domain.

As I continued to research my story and learned from Navajo friends and mentors, the history I hadn’t known before broke my heart. Yet I also saw hope for healing and relationship, though so much work remains to be done. My Navajo mentor and his Dutch-American wife met and married at a mission boarding school in Gallup, New Mexico, back in the 1960s, and their true story—and how they welcomed me into their hearts and lives—did much to shape the story I was writing, changing my own life and perspective on history and Native peoples for good.

If you’d like to learn more about the history of U.S. boarding schools for Native children, I recommend The National Native American Boarding School Healing Coalition at https://boardingschoolhealing.org/. You can also look up the powerful short film “The Cutting of the Tsiiyéél,” by Susie Silversmith, a Navajo boarding school survivor.

 

Giveaway:

I am giving away one copy of Beneath a Turquoise Sky! Here’s a little about the book:

Cover of Beneath a Turquoise Sky by Kiersti Giron. Western background with mountains, a Native American on horse, and a woman in pioneer clothing.

A young teacher at a Navajo boarding school begins to wonder whether the mission is doing more harm than good.

After her life takes an unexpected turn in 1911, Caroline Haynes pursues a long-buried dream westward to teach at a Navajo mission boarding school. However, walls of hurt and cultural misunderstanding threaten to keep her from reaching the children she longs to touch. The handsome Rev. Willis Abernathy seems sure he knows what is best for the Navajo people—and for Caroline—but she finds herself drawn instead to Tse, the young Navajo man in charge of the mission’s livestock, who claims to still follow Christ despite returning to the ways of his people.

Tse Tsosie longs to introduce Jesus to his people in a way they can understand, but now that family need has brought him back to the mission, he battles past wounds and the disapproval of the missionaries. Meanwhile, Caroline’s arrival brings surprises and more turmoil to the school…and to Tse’s heart.

When crisis forces Tse and Caroline to make a choice, will they find a path together…or will the chasm between their peoples be too great to span?

Purchase Beneath a Turquoise Sky here!

“Beautifully written, Beneath a Turquoise Sky is as colorfully woven as a Navajo blanket with well-drawn characters, a fresh setting, and heartrending history. Kiersti Giron tells a tender, soul-stirring story unlike any other in this moving journey of change, forgiveness, new beginnings, and ultimately, love.”

~ Laura Frantz, Christy Award-winning author of Courting Morrow Little 

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One reader who leaves a comment on this post will win a copy of Beneath a Turquoise Sky! The winner will be randomly selected from the comments and announced on Sunday, June 8th!

Had you heard of the “Indian boarding schools” before? What is a little-known side of history that has surprised or sobered you?

Kiersti Giron writes stories to lift hearts toward hope and healing in our divided world. Her debut novel, Beneath a Turquoise Sky, came inspired by her years living in New Mexico near the Navajo Nation. Kiersti also collaborates on series of historical fiction series with bestselling author Lauraine Snelling. When she’s not writing, Kiersti enjoys spending time with her husband, little boy, and two kitties, as well as teaching writing and literature to teenagers. Learn more at http://www.kierstigiron.com or follow her on Instagram @kierstigiron or Facebook.

It’s Raining eBooks!

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Howdy!  Welcome to a terribly terrific Tuesday!

Okay, so it’s not exactly raining books, but do you remember old pop song, “It’s Raining Men”?  I loved that song and it popped into my head while I was writing this blog.

What I mean by it’s raining books is that I intend to give an ebook to each person who leaves a comment on the blog.  Let me explain:  I plan on having two new books coming out soon (the Good Lord willing).  One is a Historical Romance/Native American, book #5 in The Medicine Man Series.  And the other is a Young Adult story, Novella #2 in The Untaimed West series.  So, to celebrate these two books that I hope will be soon released, I’m giving away either book #1 in the Young Adult series, THE ADVENTURES OF GOOD EAGLE AND MISS STARLING, or book #4 in The Medicine Man series, SHE BRINGS BEAUTY TO ME to each person who leaves a comment…reader’s choice.  This offer expires, by the way, at 11:59 PM on April 8th, 2025.  Also, if you could please let me know on your post which book you would like, I would appreciate it.

So, I should probably tell you a little about each one of these stories, and to do that, I’ll leave a synopsis of each story.

THE ADVENTURES OF GOOD EAGLE AND MISS STARLING

Montana, 1847 

When my life is turned upside down, I have no one to turn to except Uncle Jed, a fur-trader who lives deep in Indian Country; a man I have never met.  I was expecting to be greeted by my Uncle Jed at a place called Fort Union, a fur-trading fort some two thousand miles above St. Louis.  But, when I finally arrive at the fort, I am met, instead, by an eighteen-year-old Indian, Good Eagle, who swears my uncle has sent him to meet me.  Would you trust this boy, a youth only two years older than my sixteen years?  I certainly didn’t and I told him so.  However, although I was polite, he took offense.

As the steamboat continues its way to my uncle’s fur-trading post, Fort Lewis, the Indian boy, Good Eagle, has declared that my heart has panther’s claws around it.  Yet, though he seems to dislike me as much as I do him, because of the promise he gave to my uncle, he has no option but to guard me.

But, when my life is threatened and Good Eagle saves me, I experience a change of heart about this young man; I decide I will “bury the hatchet” and become friends with him.  Imagine my surprise when he refuses my offer of friendship.

Can I ever change Good Eagle’s mind about becoming my friend?  Or will his first impression of me remain to forever haunt us?

 

SHE BRINGS BEAUTY TO ME

 

A woman deserted.  A troubled warrior.  A passion denied.

1855

When eighteen-year-old Czanna Fehér is forced to flee her home in Hungary, she journeys with her younger siblings and her father’s manservant to Montana in search of her cousin. Mourning for her recently deceased parents, she sings a prayer to the grand, Montana mountains.  From the first moment Stands Strong hears Czanna singing, he is transfixed.  When he meets her, he is captivated as much by her dark beauty as he is by her voice.

But, after the family’s hired guide steals their money and runs, her father’s servant leaves Czanna to go and serve justice to the man, leaving Czanna desolate and in charge.  Being of the gentry class in Hungary, Czanna knows she and her siblings cannot survive in this land without help.  When Stands Strong comes to her aid, she realizes she must trust this man.

Lakota born, though raised by the Blackfeet, Stands Strong descends from a long line of medicine men, but this legacy seems to have skipped over him.  Accepting this, he has become an expert scout.  But, when Czanna attempts to hire Stands Strong as their guide, offering him the “evil gold rock” as payment, he suggests marriage to him instead.  Czanna refuses him, even though the flame of love is burning heatedly in her heart.

Can two people from incompatible cultures ever come together?  Or are their star-guided paths meant only to briefly cross?

Warning:  A sensuous romance that might cause a desire to go West in search of love and adventure.

I’ll leave you today with a little bit about the new book which is currently in editing, entitled, SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD.

 

Coming soon: SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD

Beauty, treachery, and an untamed wild love

Liliann Varga had been too young the first time she met and fell head-over-heels in love with the Blackfeet Medicine Man, First Rider, the man who saved her father’s life. Besides, he was newly married to a woman of his own tribe. But years later, when Liliann’s husband has committed a terrible aggression against her, it’s First Rider who once again is called upon to put his healing skills to use.

First Rider has come to heal Liliann, not to seduce her. But his reaction to the grown up Liliann, the little girl who used to be his shadow, is entirely masculine and sensual. Though he’d vowed to bring his first wife back after her capture by an enemy tribe, he’d failed and she had died, causing First Rider to nearly lose his mind. Could Liliann be his second chance at love?

Enacting a “scout’s revenge” against Liliann’s cruel husband would leave the man alive but broken, and it would also set Liliann free. But, just as their love deepens, a report emerges: First Rider’s wife is still alive.

To discover the truth or lies of the report, they both embark on a dangerous journey through the Backbone-of-the-world Mountains. But, with little more than a bow and a gun, can they survive the beautiful but treacherous snows to find a world where they both belong?

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Well, that’s all for today.  Hope you enjoyed the blog today and I hope, too, that you’ll leave a commit.

 

 

 

A New Book Soon to be Released — and a Give-away

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Welcome to another sensational Tuesday!

What am I giving away this month?  I’ll be doing a drawing for the mass market paperback (this is the original edition of this book) of RED HAWK’S WOMAN.

This is book #3 in THE LOST CLAN series.  Though all the books are related, they are all different stories and are all a stand alone book.  Originally published by Berkley in the early 2000’s, it is a solid historical book with a strong mystery connected to it, as well as a paranormal element.

But, please allow me to give you a synopsis of the book

RED HAWK’S WOMAN

Their passion is thunder and lightning.  Their fate could be a flood of sorrow.

THE LOST CLAN, BOOK 3

Red Hawk’s most precious childhood memory is of a single morning with a girl whose beauty seemed lit from within with magic.  Now, years later, she could very well hold the key to a centuries-old curse – but when his visions lead him to her again, no recognition lights her eyes.

At age twenty-five, Effie Rutledge has missed her chance for marriage, but the daughter of a renowned archaeologist would rather get her hands dirty on a dig than cleaning up after some man.

She is determined to finish her father’s quest to recover four precious artifacts that could free a lost clan from a half life in the mists, but with her expedition reported as jinxed, there are no guides to be had.  Except one tall, enigmatic native who draws her as naturally as water flows to the sea.

Even when memories reconnect, they struggle to trust each other.  Worse, their once-in-a-lifetime passion risks the Thunder god’s wrath – and the future of the entire Lost Clan.

Warning:  Within the pages of this book is an all-consuming passion, so deep, so sensuous, it might cause you to want to spend the night in a loved one’s arms.

To enter into the drawing for this book, just leave a comment.

And then, on another note, I thought I’d let you know that my latest effort, entitled, SHE BELONGS IN MY WORLD, is in editing right now and I hope to have the book published and out for sale in early April.

And so I thought I’d give you an inside glance at the cover for the book.  This is book #5 in The Medicine Man series.  As you can see, this is a winter scene and the hero of the book is wearing a capote, an item of clothing worn by many of the Northwestern tribes in the winter.

But, what is a capote?  The capote in these days of the past was a blanket made into a coat.  Usually it was white and might have strips on it or other decorations.  These commonly had a hood, were very warm and were preferred by the men of the tribes because of it’s white color, which blended in with the countryside and made it a little easier when they were hunting.

Nowadays, capotes are still in style in the northern regions of this country, but they are also a little fancier.  But, they are still made in the style of the original, which was a blanket made into a coat.  I’ll post some pictures here so you can see them as they were worn in the late 1800’s.

This is one of my favorite pictures of the time because it shows the style of the capote, the hair style worn at this time by many of the northern tribes and also shows the style of the white man’s clothing.  These two young men were obviously friends.  Note the beautifully beaded gun case our Blackfeet (Pikuni band) young man carries.  The coat the young Blackfeet man is wearing is a capote.

To the right here are a couple of Blackfeet (Pikuni band) men wearing capotes.  Notice also the style of the two women’s clothing in the photo.  All are wearing moccasins.
This is another Blackfeet young man, although he is of the blood band of the tribe, which resides in Canada.  He is holding some kind of weapon, perhaps a tomahawk or something similar to it.
This picture was posed in front of a tepee or lodge (as they were often called).  And note the hairstyle and moccasins.  The Blackfeet wore three braids.  One on each side of the face and one in back.
And this last picture is a painting by Karl Bodmer (the artist who accompanied Prince Maximillian in 1832 to Fort McKensie)  It is of special interest to me because the blanket he is wearing is one which could have been made into a capote.
Notice the difference in hairstyle between the 1830’s northern style and the later style abive (1850-1890).
Well, so much for men’s fashion in coats and the blankets they wore during the winter while hunting or attending to other chores.
I hope you’ve enjoyed this little excursion into the past.
If you’d like to enter the drawing, just leave a comment
Have a beautiful and a blessed day as well as for rest of the week.
Petticoats & Pistols