A light breeze whispered by, rippling the tall, golden grass of the open prairie. A flock of wild geese ascended into the blueness of the cloudless sky and soared away into the distance – out of sight.

Allie Bruswick tightened her jaw as the tall savage bound her to a tree with strips of rawhide. She heard a woodpecker beating continually at a tree somewhere in the distance. Allie could almost feel the heat that awaited her, though the fagots around her had not yet been lit. As soon as one of the Indians would touch the torch to the brush pile of sticks surrounding her feet, it would burst into flame, and she would be burnt alive.

She shuttered at the very thought, unable to avoid the fear that crept up her spine. She glanced back and forth between the three heathens who had gathered to watch her burn. Their beady, stoic eyes glared at her as if she were the devil himself. Sure, she had overstepped her boundaries and insulted the chief's son, but was that any comparison to what they had done? Only three weeks before, Allie's family had been massacred before her very eyes. Those bronze, savage creatures had attacked her wagon, killed her family, and taken her to be the wife of a barbarian!

She inhaled a deep breath of the sweet air for one of her last times. The only family member that had not been scalped mercilessly in front of her, was her papa. Luckily, he had been out hunting for wild game when the massacre began. Allie had been taken forcibly early in the massacre, and now a thought entered into her mind. What if Papa hadn't returned until after the massacre was over? Is it possible that he is still alive?

Allie tilted her head to the side, and her ebony ringlets dangled loosely beyond her bosom. She was an attractive girl of sixteen, and was filling out in many ways. Even her gingham, cotton dress could not hide the curves that lay beneath it. As soon as the chief's son had set eyes on her, he knew that she was going to be his squaw. So, he had arranged it immediately with his father, the chief. Allie, however, would have died before she would be this savage's wife, and had openly showed her emotions on the day they were to be wed. She had done the most disgraceful thing that she could have possibly done; she had spit in his face. The chief had grabbed her, yanked her into a small longhouse, then brought her here the next day.

Now the chief, his ruthless son, and a tall, bronze warrior stood in front of her. They changed not their expressions, but kept an impassive look in their black eyes.

Suddenly, the tall warrior moved forward in one quick movement, his quiet steps as light as a harts. In his hand he held a burning torch, and it's light reflected on his face, revealing shadows beneath his eyes.

Allie Bruswick clamped her eyes shut, awaiting the future flames that would climb up her legs and at last to her very head. She had heard stories of people being burned at the stake, but had never in all her days dreamed it would be her fate – her end.

Quick words slithered through the warrior's lips, and were responded with more words of their language from the chief. Giving a quick nod of his head, the Indian lowered his flame of fire down, and it immediately took a blaze.

Allie, her eyes still shut tightly together, whispered softly, “I'm coming, Mama. I'm coming to be with you and Jesus...” She would have said more, but was startled as a piercing cry rang out into the air, creating a great tension within her. Was she screaming already? For a split second Allie believed that it had been her that shouted. Just as she fluttered her thick lashes up and let her gaze skim ahead, she realized that it had not been her at all. What she saw surprised her greatly, but not half as much as what she was about to see in a moment. Through the rising smoke Allie saw the limp body of the warrior lying on the ground in a puddle of leaking blood. But as she stared in astonishment and much confusion, a movement caught her eye. She jerked her head around, then suddenly stopped stock-still. What she saw in front of her seemed more impossible than she could have ever imagined.

Just then the heat from the fire began to lap up, and she could almost feel it on her legs. “Papa!” she screamed.

The heavy-set, stockily built man shot his musket again, this time maiming the old chief.

For a moment all was blank. All she could feel was the merciless heat; all she could hear was gun shots. “Lord, help my Papa! Don't let him die at the hands of these heathens. Not him, too!” she wailed, despite the fact that her tongue felt swollen from the black smoke. She knew her Papa and the chief's son were in a battle of life or death, and both were dodging the others weapon.

At last Allie's papa ceased to fire, for his musket had no more ammunition. Both men stepped from their crouched position of cover and out into the open, where they glared at each other with animosity in their eyes.

Jonathan Bruswick was not a turbulent man, but after coming back to his wagon and finding his family murdered, he was looking only for revenge. All he had desired in life was to live for the Lord, raise his children, love his wife, and move West. Now most all his dreams and every ambition had been shattered by the man before him and his kind. But Jonathan Bruswick would not stop at this – he would get his last child left, and he would praise God no matter what happened.

Now he lifted his hand into his pocket and pulled out a small knife, then pointed it at this tall man in front of him. Enmity burned in his soul as a thought entered his mind. This could be the very same man that killed my wife. This man is killing my daughter!

It was at this moment that the Indian charged, a knife in his hand as well.

Jonathan was a large man with a wide paunch, and with all his force he threw the injun a hard blow as soon as he came within reach.

The skirmish had begun, and soon ended as Jonathan pounded the knife through the savage's chest. He watched as the life swiftly raced from the Indians face, draining it of all it's color. Sweat quickly popped onto Jonathan's neck, for after he had done it, it gave him no satisfaction in the least. “God, forgive me...” he mumbled under his breath.

Just then Allie's voice rose above the flames that surrounded her, and Jonathan lifted his head. At hearing her cry, he sprinted towards her, where he hurriedly split the rawhide from her wrist. Unlike him, Allie was a slim girl, and Jonathan picked up his daughter with ease and carried her from the pile of burning fagots.

“Allie! Oh, Allie my girl, are you alright?!” her papa implored, hugging her close.

She was cradled in his arms, though she was the size of a woman, and her arms were wrapped tightly against his neck. “Why didn't you come for me sooner, Papa?” she stumbled over the words.

Jonathan inhaled a deep breath, then whispered, “I couldn't find you, my girl. This is a big country; this is a big tribe. I've stayed hidden close to this dirty camp since I found it, but I couldn't be sure where you were until I saw you and these three leave for this open prairie.” He paused, waving his hand over the prairie, then gave her an affectionate kiss on her forehead, still dripping with sweat. “I buried your mama and sisters, too,” he said, his voice dropping to barely a whisper. He lowered his eyes just as a maudlin tear rolled down his cheek and disappeared into his beard.

“Papa, I want to go see them,” Allie choked, as he set her on the ground. Her feet, thank heaven, had not been touched once by a flame, neither had the rest of her body, for the pile of fagots extended from the tree so far that they didn't have time to reach her.

Jonathan Bruswick stood to his full height and wrapped his arms around Allie to support her, for she was still unsteady from the shock of things. Together they walked to Jonathan's horse, where they mounted and rode to their loved ones final resting place.












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Jonathan slung his legs around and slid to the ground after lifting Allie safely on her two feet just beside the newly dug graves.

Allie could no longer control the tears that brimmed around her eyes, and they floated soundlessly down her cheeks. A deep yearning inside her longed to forget the horrid scene that had ended her mama's life, and she slid her lashes down until they rested upon her cheeks. The savage Indian had grabbed her mama and thrown her to the ground, where he immediately grabbed her golden hair in his bronze fist.

Allie shuttered as yet another tear escaped her eyes, and she dropped to her knees beside the graves. She ran her dimpled fingers through the red soil, but could hardly see for her vision was blurred. “I can't believe Mama and my sisters are...gone!” she whispered hoarsely, biting her lip to keep from sobbing. “Why, it was just a few weeks ago that they were walking on this very ground!”

Jonathan Bruswick was not oblivious to the hurt that flickered into his daughters eyes as she sat next to their graves. “They're much happier now, Allie. They've met their Maker, as will we on a day we do not know. They would want us to be happy for them, my girl.” He stopped suddenly, then whispered, “My brave little girl!” He then knelt beside her as she buried her face into his chest and cried out all the tear within her.

How long they sat there, neither of them knew, but it was dusk before they arose. He placed his arm around Allie, twirling one of her black ringlets in his finger, then said, “Let's go home, my girl.”

Allie instantly brought her eyes up to meet those of her papa's. “You mean West?” she implored.

Jonathan moved his head and looked out across the land that surrounded them, and shook his head ever so slightly. “No, Allie. I thought going West would make me happy, but it has robbed me of my happiness. It was contentment that I was searching for, and I think that I've found it now.” He paused long enough to swallow the lump that swelled in his throat before continuing, “It's funny how mixed up a man can get. Home.” He said the words so tenderly as if it were a fragile china piece. “Yes, my girl, I want to go home. I don't need a wide range out West, nor a big plantation like I was plan'un on building. I need home where the memories of my wife and babies still linger. Home.”

Then, arm in arm, they walked away, leaving behind them the shells of the people they held dearest to their hearts. One thought consumed their minds – home. In leaving home, they found it. And in leaving the most precious souls of their loved ones, they found a contentment that would have never unburied itself...