My name is Chance...

(c) 1995-2003 William James Chance

My name is Chance and I am alone upon this land. I have long since crossed the great river. No other rides with me, my brothers, the Creeks, are some place behind me and the plains lie vast about, my eyes are toward the horizon. Where the spirit of the sun sets in gold and crimson, an enormous sun, like no other that my eyes have ever seen in the thirty years that have been mine.

What I loved is gone, what I lived for, vanished. I ride westward into an unknown land, toward what destiny I know not. It has ever been our way, the Creeks and the Chances to turn westward when faced with grief and desolation.

I ride to lose myself, but can a man ever loose that which is in him? That which is blood and bone to him? That which has been his life?

My brothers have told me that I am a foolish Indian, that I ride only to my death but if it is to be then let it be.

My wife, my dearly beloved is dead. My son whom was to grow tall and sire, yet another generation of Creek Indians, is also gone, done to death by the flames from which he tried to rescue his mother.

Within me is emptiness and hate for the red coats, who attacked my village and killed many of my brothers. The studies to which I had given my life, abandoned.

I have a good horse, a small medicine bag, an excellent knife and I have the Ferguson rifle, my constant companion since my father gave it to me as a young boy, is all that remain of my past, that and a few precious times I can remember with my wife.

The rifle was given to me when I was a small boy, just trying to be a warrior, my father presented it to me by the man who simplified the loading mechanism and put it into action said, "You men from across the great waters have been my enemies, but I will refuse no man a drink, you can get down now and drink".

He glanced toward the lodges, wary of a trap. I had no idea of it then but he was a much hated man and a man known for his harsh opinions of the Indians. "There naught to fear", I said, and there was scorn in my tone. My mother is ill within my lodge and our women must be about fixing her supper. I held up the squirrel and not without pride.

He glanced at it, then at me, and then he rode past me to the river. He dismounted to accept the water filled in the dipper from the hand of one of our women. Then he asked if she would refill it so he could drink again.

The red coat said, "There is no finer drink than this, my Indian lad. Hear it from a thirsty man".

He noticed the puzzled expression in my eyes as I looked at his horse. It was a fine animal but it was his weapon that puzzled me. He wore a saber and there were two horse pistols in scabbards which were not unexpected but he also carried two rifles, one of them carefully. "What is it, Indian?" "Two rifles", I said. He chuckled but his eyes were on my ancient musket. "If you can bark a squirrel with that", he said, "you must be an uncommonly good shot".

"I do not miss, " I admitted honestly, " but when our powder and shot are gone, we must live on greens or return to using my bow and arrow".

He finished his water, and then led his horse to the river to drink. "May I pay my respects to your mother, Indian? If you say no, I shall not intrude". No, we have few visitors here in our lands, why do you wish to see my mother, why do you come here, not to live among our people? To join my command, it is twenty miles, I believe, as he got back on his horse. He hesitated and then said, "We shall meet again, young Indian lad. We shall come in large numbers to take your lands, you have resisted us strongly and at home there is a distaste for you. If you pass this way again, I will stop you", he smiled. Your command, you are our enemies, don't forget, there will be no drink in the lands of the Creeks for you or your command.

From his saddle he took the wrapped rifle and unwrapped it slowly. It was utterly new, unused, silver mounted and engraved. I gasped. Handsome is it not? He showed me how it was loaded for I had not seen a breech loader like this one before, nor this kind of mechanism, for he told me as he showed me the rifle. He said, "Lad, you are a very good shot, I have no idea whose hands this rifle might fall into, so I am going to give you this rifle so when I return, I will not have to kill a boy with a musket but a man with a good weapon. Take it lad. I shall be gone and there will be no way to return it". From his saddlebags he took a bag of shot and another of powder. "Do take these too, you surely need them more than I and before many hours are past, I shall be where there is little else. Take care lad and save it for I will ?return to make this?my land" and he disappeared around the bend. I walked back towards the lodge, my brothers said, "why did we not kill him now, there will be more than enough time to kill him one day soon". You should never accept a gift from your enemies that you did not return one of equal value but I did return one, my brothers, and they said, "What, I gave him his life, I let him leave our village, yes my brother, only to fight him again on another day, that he said he will kill you. That is to be seen.

These things were long ago, the sun was gone, although light remained. With darkness near, I still had no camp and the bald plains promised nothing. Suddenly, as if born of a wish, there appeared a fold in the low hills. A grassy slope dropped away to a cluster of trees, dark now with evening and I thought I detected the sheen of water. Many were the warnings I had received. Water holes were few, used by all, and at any such place, death might await. I had not hunted through my boyhood years for nothing, nor had the birds of death robbed me of my senses. My nostrils caught the scent of wood smoke and I drew the rein to listen.

At first I heard nothing, then the faint sound of horses cropping grass and a crackle as from a fire. Sitting on my horse, I peered through the leaves but could see only the shine of light reflected from the seat of the saddle. It was unlikely a saddle would be used by an Indian, for the Indians are not my enemies by any means.

Rifle in hand, I walked my horse forward, calling out, as was the custom. Come in with your hands empty, the voice was matter of fact, or take a bullet through the brisket. I drew up. When I come in, it will be with my rifle in my hands and if you want to start shooting, just open the ball. Somebody chuckled and and then said, all right, all right, come on in.

Several men sat about a fire and two of them had rifles in their hands. All wore buckskins; all had the appearance of frontiersmen. My dress alone would add a discordant note, for I was dressed like an Indian and the Ferguson I carried was but thirty inches long. Their own rifles looked to be forty four inches at least. "Light Indian, looks like you've come a fur piece." "That I have." Rifle in hand, I dismounted, keeping my horse between them and me.

One of the men chuckled, "now that goes right with me, I like a careful man". Tying my horse's feet, I walked around him, possibly I am less careful than you suspect. My friends told me I was foolish to come out here alone. You're alone? Startled they stared at me. Now that's hard to believe. Indians .are never alone.

My palm slapped the rifle; anyway, as long as I have this aim, I am not quite alone. The first man to speak indicated the rifle, don't know if I ever seen the like, mind if I look?

It was my turn to chuckle, white man thinks Indian not too smart, if I allowed a chance acquaintance to take my gun from my hand. I'd be a very greener Indian, and then I moved up to the fire, I held it for them to see. This is a Ferguson rifle, given to me by the red coat who said one day he would return to kill me, did he return, a slim, dark young man seated near the Indian nodded. I heard tell of them. Heard it said they can shoot six times to the minute. Eight white men, eight times if one is practiced. I glanced around at the group. The lean dark man got to his feet, "are you a Creek Indian?" Yes I am, come sit, eat and join us, we are all friends here. So we sat and ate and the next day we all went our own way.
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