Crazy Water

By Evelyn Grant

Crazy Water - is he Comanche, half-breed, or white? The four men who find him with a head injury on the riverbank, name him Crazy Water. He doesn’t know his true name or where he comes from. He is dressed in Comanche garb, speaks the Comanche tongue fluently, and has more knowledge of hunting and tracking than most boys his age. He remembers nothing of his life before he was found at the riverbank.
For nearly ten years he lives as a Comanche. When the Jerome Agreement is put into effect, giving each Comanche 160 acres of his own land, thereby breaking up the Kiowa, Comanche, and Apache reservation, Crazy Water and his friends decide to take advantage of this and return to the reservation for their share of the land.
When he meets beautiful Kyah and they fall in love, he concentrates on building a life without ever learning the answers to his questions. Will he ever learn who he is? If he has parents or other family? Or will his past remain a mystery forever?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Evelyn Grant
• Release date: Apr 14, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310426483

Evelyn Grant

Evelyn Grant lives in Phoenix, Arizona with her husband. She enjoys writing, photography, woodworking and other crafts. Evelyn has dozens of stories in her head and they are all begging to be told. Her first book, Captive Hearts, was published in 2011 as a Kindle ebook and on Smashwords. The sequel, Eagle's Wish was published in February, 2012. There are now six books in the Captive Hearts Series. She welcomes your reviews and comments.

Book preview

CRAZY WATER

By

Evelyn Grant

Copyright © 2014

Smashwords Edition

Copyright © 2014 by Evelyn Grant

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, incidents, and dialogue in this novel either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility of author or third-party web-sites or their content.

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This e-book is licensed for your personal use enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you are reading this book and you did not purchase it or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy. The author thanks you for respecting her hard work.

CHAPTER ONE

1886

It was spring and the Indian agent was counting the number of Indians on the reservation. The government needed this count to calculate the annual stipend that each Indian received as part of the treaty that moved them to the reservation.

Many tribes, the Comanche included, felt it was bad luck to count The People. But when it came to money, and the amount of food each family received, they felt they had no alternative but to cooperate with the counting.

Howling Wolf and his companions went to be counted. Their meager stipend would help their families immensely. This year, they took along Crazy Water. He would be counted as well and his portion would go to Falling Rain. Howling Wolf thought it was possible that when they went to the Indian agent’s office to be counted, they might run into someone who recognized Crazy Water and could tell them who he was and where he belonged.

Of the many Kiowa who were counted, no one knew Crazy Water. No one recognized him or had any clue where he came from. Howling Wolf had been concerned that the Indian Agent would want to know where Crazy Water had come from once he saw that the boy was not on their rolls, but the agent didn’t care. He just added the name to his list. One more dirty Indian made no difference to him.

Three days after Howling Wolf and Crazy Water had been counted, Gray Cloud and his small family were at the Indian agent’s office being counted.

Shortly after the counting, Howling Wolf and his three companions were planning to leave the reservation as they did every spring. Crazy Water expected to go with them, but Crying Elk was against it. He didn’t see any reason why they needed to drag the boy along, he would only get in the way and they would have to watch out for him. Crying Elk thought he should stay on the reservation with Falling Rain.

Running Bear and Night Star sided with Howling Wolf and Crazy Water. The boy hadn’t been a problem, he was a good hunter, and perhaps it would help him remember where he came from as they roamed the plains.

Over the winter, Crazy Water had learned to make arrows and he had a good supply of them. While they wintered with Falling Rain, Howling Wolf had made him a new bow to replace the one he’d outgrown.

Falling Rain, sister to Howling Wolf, had grown fond of the young boy and she often cooked special things for him. She had made him new moccasins, a new set of buckskin leggings and a shirt. She also made an extra pair of moccasins so he would have enough to last until they returned to the reservation next winter.

His hair had grown long and he wore it braided in the traditional Comanche style; wrapped in otter or beaver fur with a single eagle feather dangling from the braids. His hair was different than the thick coarse hair of most of the Comanche. Crazy Water’s hair was thick, but it was soft and fly-away. He had to coat it with bear grease to make it stay in the braids.

Crazy Water also had a new pony. One of the men in the Kiowa camp had broken his leg and could not hunt for his wife and two small children. He had a small herd of about eight horses and he made a bargain with Crazy Water.

If the boy would hunt for his family, Dull Knife would give him the pick of his horses. Except for Dull Knife’s favorite pony, Crazy Water could choose from any of the remaining horses. He had chosen a sturdy paint pony and had spent time over the winter working with the horse to train it.

The four men he traveled with wondered how the boy had come by his knowledge of horse training, but Crazy Water didn’t know the answer to that. He still remembered nothing of his life before Howling Wolf and the other three men had found him. Every time he did a task someone would ask him where he had learned to do it. Crazy Water never had an answer.

He was eager to go with the four older men. Reservation life was not bad; he enjoyed all the people and the games that were played every evening. But he craved the wilderness, the open plains. He wanted to find new places to hunt, and he wondered if his memory would come back when he was roaming the land. Perhaps they would pass by the place he dreamed of where the white woman smiled at him. Somehow, he felt he knew her and if he could find her, she could help him get his memory back.

He had dreamed of the Comanche man who called himself Eagle several times. But Eagle spoke in riddles and nothing he said was clear. He spoke of Crazy Water’s Comanche brothers and once he had spoken of the boy’s white father.

On the reservation, The People talked of a white father in Washington. Was that man his white father? It just confused Crazy Water even more. He was still afraid to ask too many questions or tell anyone about his dreams of a white man’s lodge and a smiling white woman. They might think he was white and send him away. Crazy Water would be lost if he was turned away from the reservation or abandoned on the plains by his four companions. He kept his dreams to himself and hoped that one day all would be clear in his mind.

It was time to go. Running Bear came to Falling Rain’s lodge and told Howling Wolf and Crazy Water to be ready in the morning. They would leave at sunrise.

Crying Elk doesn’t want me to come with you. Crazy Water knew of the man’s protests and wanted to make sure he would be welcome with the group of four men.

He is but one man of four. If you want to travel with us, we go at sunrise.

Falling Rain had trouble keeping her eyes dry as the men rode away with the boy she had come to love. She had packed extra pemmican in his saddlebags and given him an extra blanket in his bedroll for the nights that could still be cold.

He promised her he would be back in the winter and would bring her some good buckskins and soft doeskins to make new clothes.

On the H-Bar-H ranch near Prescott, Arizona, Whip and Carrie were getting ready to leave for their second visit to the reservation. Whip and Noah were going to search for Ash while Carrie would visit with Gray Cloud and Starbird. She would also get her first look at her grandson, White Eagle.

Their daughter, Joeye, was staying on the ranch. She had no intention of ever boarding a train again. She would be fine staying home with her brother Hawk. Becky was just across the way at the schoolhouse and Jed’s wife, Rose, was just a few miles away.

On their last visit to the reservation all had gone well until they were headed back to Arizona. About forty miles west of Dallas their train had been attacked by Apache Indians and Joeye was taken captive.

It took Whip and Hawk, nearly a week to track them down and rescue Joeye. No one, other than Joeye, knew exactly what the Apache had done to her. When Whip and Hawk rescued her, it was obvious she had been beaten and abused, but no one knew to what extent. Joeye didn’t speak for weeks and then more weeks went by when all she would say was ‘mama.’ It had taken several months for Joeye to slowly come out of her shell and for the nightmares to finally come to an end.

She had been afraid of her brother, Hawk, for months because he looked so much like the men who had taken her captive and abused her. Joeye had stayed in the house or on the front porch until her father came home the following fall when he had failed to find Ashton. Whip had been the one who was able to coax Joeye to step off the front porch and little by little, she slowly became comfortable again around her brother and the other ranch hands.

Now Joeye felt comfortable enough to take on the responsibilities of caring for the house while Carrie and Whip might be gone until just before winter set in. She would see to the housework, cook for herself and Hawk, and tend the garden.

Becky would be available to help whenever she wasn’t teaching school at the little schoolhouse they had built on the ranch just before Christmas. Carrie couldn’t help but hope that keeping so busy would help Joeye get over the trauma she had suffered and move on with her life.

Joeye was nearly fifteen now and young Davey Delaney had his eye on her. Fortunately, he was willing to move slowly. Whip had had a long talk with the young man and both Carrie and Whip felt Davey had their daughter’s best interest at heart.

Whip, Carrie, and Noah left Prescott on the same day that Crazy Water and his companions left the reservation. Carrie had high hopes that this time Whip and Noah would find her young son. He was twelve years old now, he’d be thirteen in the fall. It had been a year since she had seen him and sometimes she had trouble keeping the idea that he might not be alive out of her head.

She prayed to the Comanche spirits and to the white man’s God that her boy was alive and safe. Carrie couldn’t think of any reason why Ash wouldn’t come home if he was alive. Thanks to his half-brothers, Gray Cloud and Hawk, he was well versed in wilderness survival, tracking, and hunting.

If he had been hurt, she could only hope he was being helped by other hunters and trackers, or perhaps by a kind family. What worried her was even if he’d been injured, he’d be healed by now and that meant if he wasn’t with Gray Cloud at the reservation, then other possibilities were slim. But she couldn’t think about that.

She would trust the spirit of her deceased first husband, Eagle, would watch over her youngest son simply because he was brother to Eagle’s own sons. She would trust that Whip and Noah would be successful in their search for Ashton and that he would one day be found and returned to her.

CHAPTER TWO

Crazy Water and his four companions were headed south towards the Staked Plains and Palo Duro Canyon. They were taking a risk heading there, but the hunting should be good. They would have to avoid the bluecoat soldiers and skirt around any white settlements. Any Indians found off the reservation without a pass were usually hauled in and jailed. Most crimes were blamed on them and unfortunately most white people were in agreement with General Sherman’s sentiments that ‘the only good Indian is a dead Indian.’

The men were hoping to get a good supply of skins that they could trade with at the reservation trading post. Their families would be able to have more variety in their diet and have the ability to purchase material for making clothing.

Running Bear and Night Star were discussing plans for Crazy Water’s vision quest. While they didn’t know exactly how old he was, it was obvious he was old enough to go on his vision quest. The normal age was between thirteen and fifteen summers and all four of the men agreed that Crazy Water was in that age range.

Howling Wolf thought they should wait until late spring. He will not last three or four days with no food. After a winter of Falling Rain’s cooking, the boy will starve if he misses a few meals. Better that he waits until we’ve had some lean days on our travels.

Crazy Water wanted to go on the vision quest. As far as he was concerned, the sooner the better. Once he completed the vision quest he would be considered a man and his companions would treat him as such. He was a little concerned about going with no food or water for four days, but was sure he could do it. Since he had no memory of his life before Running Bear and the other three men found him unconscious at the river, Crazy Water had no idea if he’d ever gone hungry for that long.

The winter had been easy as far as getting enough to eat. He hunted and Falling Rain always cooked a meal. Whether he came home with a deer or nothing more than a skinny squirrel, Falling Rain always put together a filling stew. Add her fry-bread to the stew and Crazy Water couldn’t remember a single day that he’d gone hungry.

The vision quest was important to him. Not only would it make him a man, but it would make him a Comanche. To his own mind, he was already a Comanche. But Crying Elk and Howling Wolf often mentioned how light his skin was. They said he couldn’t be a full blooded Comanche with such light skin. At best, he was a half-breed. Maybe even less than half Comanche.

Crazy Water didn’t believe it. Yes, his skin was lighter, but not that much lighter. After a summer of hunting and working in the sun, he was tanned just as dark as any full-blood Comanche. It was true the tan had faded over the winter and Crazy Water spent most days with nothing on except his breech clout and moccasins trying to get his skin to take on a darker hue.

The four older men hadn’t been in this area for several years. Palo Duro Canyon had been the last hideout area for the Comanche. Running Bear was amazed at how many white settlements had sprung up in such a short time. How different life had been just fifteen or twenty years ago.

Running Bear had been a young warrior, going on raids and fighting the bluecoats. He and his friends had thought their lives would continue as it was until they died. They would fight the bluecoats, raid the white settlements and slaughter the white families that tried to take their land. It had been inconceivable to them, to any of the Comanche, that the white man would win in the end.

Now, as they sat on their horses and looked over the vast area that was once Comanche territory, all four of the older men were saddened by the realization that where they had once roamed freely, they must now tread carefully and avoid being spotted by any white people.

My younger brother, Running Bear addressed Crazy Water, before you were born, this was the land of the Comanche. We were feared by other tribes and none dared to try and take what was ours. Our winter camps were huge, with many bands coming together to survive the winter.

Crazy Water listened closely as Running Bear spoke of the days when the Comanche were free. He wondered again who his family was, where they were, if they were still alive. Had they spent those free years here in this beautiful place? Would he know his family if he came across them?

Come, Running Bear said, we will go where the hunting has always been good. We must each stay alert and watch for any signs of white men.

They rode cautiously and quietly through the canyon. Night Star road ahead in order to spot any small settlements or ranches in their path. They would have to detour around any of these to avoid being seen. There was something familiar about this process to Crazy Water. There seemed to be a vague memory tickling his brain, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He just knew that he understood the concept of having a point man riding ahead and then returning to report any findings—or lack of findings—before repeating the process. He was sure it was a memory from his earlier life, the part that seemed to be locked away forever.

Running Bear and the other men didn’t talk as they rode. Talking disturbed the animals and would make hunting more difficult. They used hand signals to stop or to point something out. When they reached the Red River, Running Bear motioned that they should dismount and let the horses drink.

We will let the horses rest here for a little while and we can refill our canteens. The river winds through here back and forth, we will cross it two or three more times before we reach the canyon I’m looking for.

They ate some pemmican while they rested and Night Star came back from his forward scouting. He had a steel trap in his hands.

White men trap here, he said. I found this at the river’s edge, hidden under small branches and leaves.

Running Bear shook his head and said, The white man doesn’t know how to hunt. He uses these dangerous metal traps with no thought to the possible injuries they can cause to people and horses.

Yes, but they are quicker and easier to set up than a string trap. And you can use them over and over.

How do you know this? Crying Elk asked Crazy Water.

The boy thought for a minute and then said, I don’t know. I can’t remember. But I know how they work so I must have come across them before.

They asked him a few more questions trying to bring a memory to the forefront of his mind, but nothing worked. Just as with everything else, he remembered how to do something, but not where that knowledge came from.

The men were ready to move on, this time Running Bear and Crazy Water would take the point position, covering a wider area in front of the other three men. They spotted a few ranches and made sure to swing wide of them, staying inside the tree line to avoid being seen.

At sundown they stopped in a small alcove of a canyon wall and made a smokeless fire. Crazy Water had managed to get four squirrels and they cooked them for their evening meal.

It was a warm night, there was no need to keep the fire burning for warmth and they put it out. Two of the men remained awake to keep watch while the others slept. They would alternate halfway through the night so everyone could get some sleep.

The following day the five wanderers crossed the Red River three more times before coming to a fairly well hidden box canyon. They would be able to camp here for several days provided they kept a watchful eye on the nearby area.

Crazy Water was very successful in his hunting. The men had fresh meat every day. Crying Elk made a comment about how they needed a woman with them. She could make pemmican from the excess meat and she could cook for them.

We could share her at night; she would warm our blankets, he said. Then he went on to suggest that perhaps they could capture a white woman from a nearby ranch.

Night Star shook his head, Taking a white woman captive would bring us nothing but trouble. The bluecoats would hunt us down and kill us.

White women don’t know how to make pemmican, Howling Wolf remarked. They don’t have the skills our women have. She would be useless for anything other than warming our blankets.

Enough stupid talk, Running Bear said. We must prepare the boy for his vision quest. This is a good place for us to wait for him. He can walk northeast of here to the cliff.

The talk became more serious now as each man told briefly of his vision quest. The quest for a man’s puha, or power, was a very personal and private matter. It was when he discovered what his personal medicine was, which spirit would be his guardian, and he would learn what possible taboos he would have to observe when making his medicine.

Because of the private nature of the vision quest, the men spoke only in general terms. They told of their walk to their chosen destination, and mentioned in passing which animal or object was their spirit. They did not speak of their actual vision.

Night Star told of the bright star in the sky that had come out on his fourth, and final night of his quest. It was brighter than any star he had ever seen and seemed to shine its light directly on him. He knew it was there for him and he changed his name to honor the spirit of the night star.

The day arrived for Crazy Water to go on his vision quest. Running Bear went with him to the river so he could bathe and be clean for this very spiritual event. Once the boy was finished with his bath, Running Bear gave him a pouch of tobacco, a pipe, a small piece of flint and steel for lighting the pipe, and an old buffalo robe. Crazy Water wore only his breech clout and moccasins.

You will walk up to that cliff, Running Bear

Reviews for Crazy Water

[damarisym15 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Ok the story kept repeating.