A Fresh and Vivid Historical Suspense Thriller about a Cheyenne Dog Soldier.
1876 White Bear, A Cheyenne Dog Soldier
Author and narrator Charles Philpott has opened a rare portal to the turbulent and obscure era of post Civil War Indian Territory history in his new thriller: 1876 White Bear, A Cheyenne Dog Soldier. The book is a fascinating collage of fact and riveting fiction.
Although many Americans are aware of the general atrocities suffered by Native Americans during the late 1800s, Philpott brings historic detail into brilliant focus in his story. Readers take an adventurous, cliff-hanging journey from the Texas Panhandle to old Chicago, on to Fort Sill, and finally to the Colorado Rockies in this murder mystery.
Young White Bear barely survived the decimation of his family and tribe at Sand Creek, Colorado, and the Washita River in what was to become Oklahoma. Cruelly enslaved as a small child, he escapes his captors and methodically trains with a legendary Cheyenne Brave to become one of the most elite and feared Native American warriors of all time: a Cheyenne Dog Soldier. White Bear gives two Texas lawmen, the famous Buffalo Soldiers of the 10th Cavalry, cunning Comanche scouts and a renowned criminal investigations specialist a run for their lives.
Mr. Philpott unfolds the trials of both the settlers and the vanishing Native American tribes in his panoramic portrayal. His characters are animated and transparent—from the Texas Panhandle lawmen that find their towns in peril from an unknown, horrific enemy to the heroic Cheyenne youngster who witnesses his family slaughtered before his eyes. Forsaking all bias, the author maintains his place as the fireside storyteller, weaving a memorizing tale of fact, fury, revenge, friendship, and forgiveness.
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1876 White Bear A Cheyenne Dog Solsier
The book, 1876 White Bear A Cheyenne Dog Soldier is a mixture of historical details blended with fiction to create a mystery thriller that carries the reader through the life of a young Indian boy that butchers his captors then escapes and is trained to become a Cheyenne Dog Soldier. He sets off to take revenge for the massacres of his father, mother, sisters and other family members.
Two lawmen from different towns in the Texas panhandle join forces with a criminal investigator from Chicago to solve the crimes and hunt down the killer.
Harmon Prince took a red polka dotted handkerchief from his back pocket to wipe the perspiration that was trickling down his weathered brow. He drew a pail of cool water from the well and filled the tin dipper.
Martha Harmon was hoeing weeds in her garden a few feet away. She stopped and looked over at Harmon. He was rock-still, while holding the dipper suspended in midair inches from his mouth. His eyes were transfixed at the sky.
Martha dropped her hoe and ran to his side. “What's wrong, Harmon?” she exclaimed in her slow Southern drawl, looking first at him and then to the sky.
Lowering the dipper, he dropped it into the pail of cool water with a splash but did not avert his eyes from the fearful sight. He whispered in a quivering voice, “I see the Death Angel flying through the sky coming for me!”
Harmon took Martha by the hand, drawing her near, wrapping his long slender arms around her small-framed body and whispered in her ear endearingly, “I have always loved and appreciated that you have been such a good wife to me, my sweet, sweet Martha.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. “No, no, Harmon, don’t talk like that! It’s only an apparition you see or your imagination!”
Letting her go, he took two slow steps backwards. “The Death Angel has changed directions. He’s not coming for me; instead he is headed for Mathew Barber's place.”
He gasped, “Oh my God! Martha, it's Betsy, their little girl. I see the Death Angel carrying her away with him!” Turning for the barn he shouted, “Hurry, Martha, run quick, we must hitch the buggy and get over there as fast as we can!”
Mathew Barber was chopping down a large tree that had withered in the middle of his field when Harmon and Martha came racing through the front gate, spewing dust and gravel high into the air. He stopped swinging his ax and shouted, “Harmon Prince, why in thunder notions are you pushing that poor animal so hard? What's happened?”
Harmon leaped from the wagon breathing heavily. “Mathew, I saw the Death Angel fly across the sky and carry your little girl Betsy away with him!”
Mathew frowned, drawing attention to the sweat that streaked down his face, forming white channels as it coursed through the dirt plastered to his rough skin.
“What in the hell are you rambling on about? Have you gone plumb out of your ever-loving mind?”
Throwing an angry look at Martha he spat, “Everybody in the county knows Harmon is nutty as a fruit cake, Martha, but this is too damn much. Get him on back home before something happens that I will be sorry for!”
“Please, Mathew,” Harmon pleaded, “Just check to see if I am right.”
Mathew stared hard at him, and then pointed in the direction of his modest home with his ax. “Get in your buggy and pull it up over there, but don't get out!”
Alice Barber opened the front door and stepped to the edge of the porch taking hold of one of the posts. Concern creased her face. “Hello, Martha. Hello, Harmon. What's all the commotion about?” She glanced past the buggy and saw Mathew jogging toward them.
Mathew slowed to a walk as he neared her. “Alice, where's our Betsy?”
Alice gripped the post tightly. “She’s down in the cornfield playing. She only left a little while ago.” Her eyes widened with fright. “Why are you asking?”
“Harmon here is on one of his crazy rampages again. He said he saw a Death Angel fly away with Betsy.”
Without another word, Alice dashed for the cornfield. Mathew ran quickly behind her. Harmon leapt from the buggy and sprinted after them. Alice began calling, “Betsy! Betsy my baby, where are you? Answer me, Betsy, where are you?” The three fanned out across row after row of cornstalks searching for her until Alice’s pathetic wail touched the gates of heaven. “Betsy! Oh Please God! No! Betsy my poor little girl, what have they done to you?”
When Mathew and Harmon rushed to her side, their jaws dropped in disbelief. Betsy was hanging from a scarecrow, stripped nude, cut to pieces and drenched in blood.
Alice fell to the ground clinging to her small feet as blood trickled down onto her hands and face. Mathew dropped next to his wife sobbing. Harmon began to take steps backwards.
“I'll—I’ll get the sheriff.” He stammered. “We’ll all be back just as soon as we can!”
Harmon reached his buggy in a hard run and completely out of breath. He jumped in the seat and turned the horse for town with a hard crack of the whip and shouted, “Gitty-up, King!”