Ataska
by
Book Cover & Preview Text
Red Bird, astride his horse, paced carefully through the heavy snow that glittered in the brilliant sunlight. The Elk Dog Soldier could see that the form of tracks from an antelope were becoming closer together, signifying that the animal was slowing down due to fatigue. Red Bird hoped that he was closing in on his prey as his strong palomino moved swiftly through the snow. He knew to be as silent as possible because he didn’t want to startle the animal once he got closer to it, wherever it may be. Antelopes with their strong hindquarters can move faster than any other horse he’d seen. Near a creek that fed into the Cimarron River, Red Bird finally spotted the tan colored animal nibbling at a Juneberry bush and he eagerly dismounted his horse. As he knelt down beside a huge boulder, the hunter fastened both eyes on the antelope while keeping sure he wouldn’t be detected. The animal was so busy eating some of the fruit to satisfy his hunger that he did not hear Red Bird’s horse pacing through the drifts. The antelope then moved over to the small stream nearby and began to drink water from it. Thankful that he remained invisible, Red Bird removed an arrow from a parer case and clutched the end to his bowstring. He then placed his index and middle finger of his left hand at the base of the arrow head. As he pulled back on the string, something caught his attention among the landscape. The object, partially covered in a snowdrift, was positioned next to where the antelope was drinking water and Red Bird stared at it with great concentration. Then unexpectedly, Red Bird’s hunting pony neighed abruptly, causing the antelope to see them. Anxiously, the antelope gave a startled look at Red Bird and then bolted through the drifts and out of reach from the Dog Man’s arrow. Feeling disappointed and angered by the horse’s actions, the hunter threw down his hunting weapons onto the snow covered rocks for he knew that he had lost a great deal for the day. How will I explain this one to my squaw? Red Bird thought aloud. Feeling helpless, the noble hunter decided to investigate the strange object that had caused him to lose the opportunity for a kill.
As he squint his eyes from the sharp beam of sunlight which bounced off the snow crystals, Red Bird quietly snuck up to the strange heap. His mount snorted several times behind him, billowing large clouds of his breath in the crisp air. Red Bird paced back to pat his pony on the neck as a sign of reassurance. The wild actions of this so-called experienced hunting pony were perplexing for he was thought to have known better not to make any sudden sounds, less risk scaring away the prey. Red Bird rethinks in making a switch to a better trained horse that will remain quiet during hunting. Moving forward towards the snow covered mound, the Dog Man holds a bowie knife at the ready. A sudden but gentle winter breeze removes the top layer of the new snow and, to Red Bird’s amazement, the face of a black man with closed eyes is revealed, his head resting on a dead horse’s stomach that had been sliced open.
"Sik’aapi’Ninaa!"
shouted the Elk Dog Soldier with glee. Red Bird always enjoyed seeing the enemies of the people dead. It was the sign of the Coyote’s Spirit who grew angry with the relentless torture by American soldiers of mother earth’s sacred tribes and this was her way of getting a revenge on them. Red Bird was not entirely shocked, however, because he knew that there were hundreds of the Sik’aapi’Ninaa soldiers marooned all around the lands. His conclusion was that this one soldier probably became separated from the others some how and was overwhelmed in a deadly snowstorm. Red Bird approached a little closer to the body and examined it cautiously. He could see the black man’s ice-crusted eyebrows and beard stubble. Next to the body laid a small blue visor cap embroidered with brass colored military insignia.
"Hotoa’ e Baker,"
said the Dog man with much excitement. For a moment Red Bird remained still as he gazed directly into the face of the man. Was he dead? The hunter thought to himself. Well of course he was dead. With last night’s temperatures, there could be no way any man could have survived. Ed’s face was completely motionless anyway. It would take only a miracle from the heavens to have kept this man alive. Red Bird reached into a buckskin pouch and removed a small finely polished glass mirror placing it under Ed’s nose. Red Bird watched closely to see if the mirror would fog up, signifying that Ed was still breathing. He waited for what he thought was sufficient time. As he was just about to remove the glass thinking that the black soldier had finally met his fate, the mirror began to fog a little. Red Bird smiled.
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Book Details
Language :
English
Publication Date :
10/22/2007
Format :
Softcover
Dimensions :
6x9
Page Count :
208
ISBN :
9781434330246
About the Book
It is 1865 in the United States, otherwise known as the Reconstruction Period, and Sergeant Major Edward T. Baker, a black man born in Natchitoches, Louisiana, escaped to the north from slavery in the Deep South to enlist in the Ninth Cavalry Regiment. But as a young Buffalo Soldier, Edward would soon find out that his newfound freedom wouldn’t come without a high price to pay in the end.
Deep in the plains of Kansas, Edward astride his horse Ataska, must aid the United States in their disposal of Comanche warriors and the much feared Elk Dog Soldiers. But, when not clashing with hostiles, Ed seeks comfort in the arms of his beautiful lover, Yolanda Melancon, a Comanche-African woman who also escaped slavery.
Will prejudice and bigotry of the Reconstruction Period kill the love these two people feel for one another?
This piece digs deep into the lives of Black Americans serving in the United States military. Drawing from historical facts, Roberson acknowledges the real trials and tribulations these brave soldiers were faced with in their daily lives, making Edward T. Baker a compelling hero and Ataska an exciting new addition to the world of historical fiction.
About the Author
I would like to introduce myself to you as a writer of course. My name is Shamari Roberson, I am thirty years old, and I have earned a Journalism degree from California State University, Sacramento on May 2000. I was among the first graduating class of the Millennium. It felt good!
Within the past seven years I have worked in advertising, public relations and now currently for a private college as an admissions representative. I have also volunteered by working in fundraising for various AIDS research non-profit organizations all here in the state of California where I was born.
Born in Stockton, California January 18, 1977 to a young single mother of two, my family said that I was an odd little character. At the tender age of four, I was the one trying to teach myself to read the newspaper by trying to make up a story just by looking at the pictures.
Well twenty-six years later, I set out on my own to become a novelist as I love genre fiction, particularly Westerns from a Black American's perspective.
With whatever royalties I receive by writing novels, I plan to use this money to fund my Masters Degree in American History and to also start my own art label as I enjoy abstract painting in my free time.
I also like to play my guitar and can often be seen around Golden Gate Park singing to all the people within the dazzling raiment.
I would like to dedicate this novel to my father Steven Gary Roberson who passed on October 1, 2007. May your soul rest in peace dad.
Thanks and all the best!