Chapter 1
The fall had been glorious. Coming early and lingering longer than usual, the weather helped Mingo and Daniel's trap lines yield prime pelts while the men enjoyed the crisp, cool mornings and frosty bright nights. Daniel's joyous homecoming the week before Christmas delighted his family, and the delight spilled over to include their best family friend. Now before the winter settled in with snow and biting cold, Mingo was on the last few miles of his journey to his own home.
As he happily walked through the early winter sunlight he became aware of the smell of a campfire. Winter was not the usual season of travel. Puzzled, he carefully approached the camp. Through the bare hardwood trees of the forest he could see one small farm wagon, topless, and three people. Beside the fire huddled a child and a woman. Standing beside it was a man. In the woman's arms was an infant, cuddled close and swathed in blankets. Mingo could see no livestock or dog.
Standing sheltered by the tall leafless trees, Mingo hailed the camp. His mellow voice rang out suddenly through the quiet Kentucky forest, startling the three people. The woman clutched the baby close and fell to the ground, the little boy beside her. The man dropped his steaming cup and grasped his gun, pointing it with obvious intent in Mingo's direction. Not moving, Mingo continued to talk to the family, his voice as warm and soothing as he could make it. Finally, the startled pioneer lowered his gun but did not put it down.
"Come on in. But I'm keeping my gun on you." The accent was unmistakable. The man was from the Scottish highlands.
Smiling in his friendliest manner, Mingo walked into the camp. The highlander's gun raised to Mingo's chest as his appearance announced his Cherokee heritage. The two men stood facing each other for several seconds, measuring. Finally the Scot gestured for Mingo to seat himself. Keeping both hands plainly visible and his gun pointed to the ground, Mingo sat. His eyes sought the child's face, and when the little boy glanced up Mingo's smile lit his friendly face. Responding to the smile, the child raised himself and stood looking at the Indian man seated before him.
"Where's the others?" The man's voice was challenging, wary.
"I am alone this morning. I have been trapping and just sold my pelts to the storekeeper in Boonesborough, a day's journey to the north and west." Mingo met the man's blue eyes, his own guileless and honest. After another few seconds of measuring, the man lowered his gun. But Mingo noticed that he did not put it down. The little boy was helping his mother to stand. Without thinking, Mingo's courtly nature caused him to reach out his own hand to help. The man instantly pointed the gun threateningly and barked a warning. Surprised, Mingo froze, his hand still extended to the pale white woman. The infant in her arms produced a thin, high wail of weakness. The woman staggered and sat back on the log where she had been only moments before. He could see her weak trembling. Frowning, Mingo addressed the man still holding his rifle pointed at Mingo's head.
"I mean no harm to any one of you. Please forgive me, but winter isn't the best time to travel anywhere, especially through the wilderness. Are you in some kind of trouble? If so, let me help you. My village is only an hour or so away. We are Cherokee and friends to the people of Boonesborough. Frankly, I am not confident that you can reach the settlement. Your wife and children are weak. They are looking to you." Mingo's eyes expressed anxiety, and he saw the same emotion reflected back in the other man's blue eyes.
Another minute of measuring and caution passed before the Scot sighed and nodded. The words began to pour from the man's chapped lips. "We were looking for my wife's brother's family. They staked a claim in the Kentucky territory last year and we were to join them this fall. But we couldn't travel very fast. My wife..." The man's voice trailed away and a deep blush covered his ruddy face. Mingo nodded his understanding. The baby was a newborn. The woman must have been in the last weeks of her pregnancy as they began their travel over the mountains. Careful not to imply foolishness, Mingo finished the man's story.
"The baby was born in the wilderness just recently, and you had to stop. The first snow caught you here."
The Scot nodded and continued. "We aren't really sure where Ronald is. He drew us a map, but the forest seems to close in and I am not an experienced woodsman." MIngo heard the shame and regret in the man's voice. He stood and looked at the map the other man had taken from his coat pocket. It was very crude and Mingo himself, familiar with hundreds of miles of surrounding land, wasn't sure of the location. He traced their probable route back through the Gap, and asked several questions about the location of their brother's home. The Scot couldn't provide much information other than he was west of the mountains. Mingo looked down into the man's deep blue eyes. He could see the man's embarrassment at his foolhardiness. Mingo smiled and extended his hand.
"I am Mingo. I was educated in London, but I live with my mother's Cherokee people. Come, let me take you there. You will be fed and housed, and you can pass the winter gaining strength to face the challenges of homesteading in Kentucky. Together we will discover the probable location of your family's cabin. Then in spring I will help you find it and you will be ready to begin your life anew."
In the silence of the winter morning, MIngo could hear the soft breathing of the four people around him. He understood their silence, and stepped a few feet outside of their camp. The man and woman spoke together several seconds. In the mid-day light Mingo could see that the woman was very weak. The knowledge made an impatient sigh escape his lips. They really had no other choice. They would die here; Mingo knew it and so did they.
Stepping back from his wife, the Scot nodded his head at Mingo. Instantly Mingo sprang into action. "Let's get this camp dismantled. Boy, can you bring the team?" The little boy stood rooted to the ground beside his trembling mother. Behind him the other man spoke.
"Our team is gone." The four words relayed all the despair and shame welling inside the Scot's proud heart. Mingo heard the emotion, and his dark eyes held the other man's for several heartbeats. Then he stepped to the man's side.
His voice low and quiet, Mingo explained. "One of us will have to carry your wife, and the other will have to carry your son. They are both very weak. Or, I can go to Chota and get two friends with a horse to accompany me back here. But I'd rather we got to the village as soon as possible so your wife and baby can receive the care that they need." Mingo's eye's continued to hold the blue eyes of the Scot. His urgency communicated itself to the pioneer and he nodded. Mingo perceived that the man was beginning to lose his outward expression of confidence as he realized the danger of his situation. Before that could happen, and the resulting shame could cripple him, Mingo took control.
He turned and dropped to his heels before the child. "Son, my name is Mingo. What's yours?"
The boy's blue eyes studied the Indian before him. Mingo allowed the searching, understanding beaming from his own eyes. The little boy's voice was low as he replied. "Ian."
"One of my favorite names," Mingo said as he extended his hand. "I'm so pleased to meet you. Now that we've met, do you suppose that you could help me?" The little boy nodded and Mingo smiled again. "I want you to put snow on this fire until it's all out. Then gather all your family's things that I see scattered on the ground here and put them in your wagon. Can you do that for me?" The little boy nodded again and bent to toss snow on the fire. Mingo stood and patted the child's thin shoulder.
"Ma'am, you just sit and rest. Is there anything that I can bring to you?" The gentle voice broke through the woman's steely expression and two tears weakly trickled down her face. She shook her head and buried her face in the baby's blanket. Her voice quivered as she spoke. "Thank you, thank you." Mingo gently patted her thin shoulder also.
The man had recovered and was helping his son put the camp equipment into the wagon. Mingo strode to examine the cargo. There was very little food in the wagon. Looking at the Scot, Mingo spoke softly. "After your family is safe and you have rested, I and some of my friends will come back here with you and carry your belongings to Chota." The weary Scot reached for Mingo's brown hand. He grasped it in his own. Mingo could see the gratitude and relief in the other man's eyes.
"I'm Alistair Cochran. My wife is Moire. The little one we haven't named yet. She's so tiny and weak that we are fearful we will lose her." Alistair's voice caught and he swallowed. "Moire had a hard time and I'm not experienced in midwifery. I thought I was going to lose her too." The man swallowed again as the strain of the past days pulled at his emotions. Mingo nodded and gripped the man's shoulder.
"We will do all that we can. If you will carry your son, I will carry your wife. Can the boy hold his sister, do you think? I am afraid that your wife is nearly unconscious and won't be able." Seeing the doubt in the man's face, Mingo quickly improvised. "Let's wrap the baby carefully and place her in your wife's shawl. I can carry her slung around my shoulder against your wife. Moire will be more at ease, and so will the child." Alistair quickly strode to the wagon and brought his wife's shawl. Explaining to his wife, the father gently wrapped his baby in the shawl and tied the infant to Mingo's body. Then Mingo bent and gently lifted Moire Cochran into his arms. His rifle slung over his right shoulder, a baby slung over his left and his arms full of a weak, unconscious white woman Mingo strode through the woods towards his Cherokee home.