Chapter 1

Nebraska Territory 1857

Emma Sullivan and her pa were traveling West with a small wagon train of five wagons. Their journey was to end in two days’ time at Medicine Bow. Her father, Patrick, was a teacher. After Emma’s mom died of the fever after leaving Independence, he had some high in the sky idea he could teach both whites and Native American Indians in the same class.

Unfortunately, he did not do his due diligence regarding the ever-changing relationship between the Indians and settlers moving westward and encroaching on Native Indian lands. In 1862, Indian populations of the Sioux, Cheyenne and Arapaho nations were at an all-time low due to diseases like Cholera and smallpox, murdering raids by the U.S. Cavalry, white slavers and bandits, and low food supplies due to dwindling hunting grounds. The Indians were in both revenge and retaliation mode.

On a cool October afternoon, the five families traveling together didn’t stand a chance against the twelve Cheyenne “Dog Soldiers” that struck with deadly precision and lightning-fast speed. The Sullivan wagon was second in line and Emma’s dad was shot dead in the first twenty seconds of the attack. Emma jumped from the wagon and took off running into the woods, but was grabbed by her long, flowing, brilliant, copper-red hair and pulled off the ground by a young Warrior with a blackened eye mask and full war paint. The attack was over in five minutes. She could see several of the older women being shot at point blank range. All the men and teen boys were also killed, some scalped.

Emma’s captor dragged her by the hair over to the Ferguson’s wagon where Sarah Ferguson, thirty, Jenny Bowden, thirty-two, and Mary Jacobs, twenty-seven, were being tied up and set on the ground alongside the wagon. Emma’s hands, for some reason, weren’t bound but she was set next to Mary. Her captor dismounted as another Warrior pulled a large knife from his hip scabbard. Emma’s captor, who she would learn was Red Hawk, nodded to his fellow knife wielding partner. The young man grabbed Sarah by the hair, jerked her head back and slit her throat. He moved to Jenny, slit her throat and Mary’s also. Emma, on her customary defiant red-haired Irish temperament, looked up at Red Hawk, her nostrils flaring, thrust her head and chin up as if to say “Go ahead, you son of a bitch, do it!”

He gave her a slight grin, and blew air across her face. The Warrior with the knife put his knife away and grabbed Emma by the arm, yanking her to her feet. He started to turn her around, and Emma spun around with a roundhouse punch that knocked the man up against the wagon, falling on top of Mary’s bloody body. Red Hawk whistled and a group of warriors arrived in seconds. Red Hawk said something Emma didn’t understand and she was quickly pushed to the ground. Red Hawk drew his knife and began at her neckline and cut her dress, petticoat and chemise all the way down to her ankles in one tearing rip. He finished cutting her clothes off while the two holding her feet removed her boots and socks. He looked down at her with a big grin and spoke in English. “First, I will break your spirit like a horse, then, I will let whoever wants you put a baby in your belly.”

They next tied cut one of the reins from a wagon, and within minutes had a leather collar tightly fastened around her neck with an attached leash. They then tied her feet and hands together, slung her over Red Hawk’s horse, tying her hands and feet together under the horse’s belly. With yelps and yells of victory they rode off to their camp.

They rode for about two hours to the tribal camp. Emma’s stomach and ribs ached terribly from the long ride. When they arrived, Emma was the main attraction. She was pulled off Red Hawk’s horse and made to stand completely naked in shame. Emma was five feet tall, one hundred pounds of petite, tiny fiery beauty. She had bright copper red wavy hair thst cascaded to nearly her waist, her pert small conical breasts stood proud, the chill of the night gad her pointed nipples turgid and pastel pink, her shin white like cream with a dusting of freckles across her cheeks, nose and chest.

She was paraded through the camp and many people ridiculed her, pointing at her sparse red-haired pubis. Many shied away thinking she was a demon. The sun was setting and the night was getting colder. Emma started shivering from the cold. A thick stake was driven into the ground next to Chief White Eagle’s tipi. He spoke in English, then translated it to Cheyenne.

“Any warrior who wishes to use this slave is free to do so. But the conditions are: No weapons, she cannot be hit, punched or kicked. She must be taken by strength alone.” He then cut her hands and feet free. She was only secured by the leashed collar.

The crowd cheered as one, two, then three warriors tried to take her. She scratched, clawed, bit, chewed and kicked. All in tried vain of mounting the fiery redheaded Emma. She had withstood three seasoned warriors twice her size and weight. She squatted down, breath heaving, waiting to see from where her next attacker would come.