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He’d have to smooth things over later with Amy. For now, he needed Chief Yargee.

    He found the chief near the crook of the stream, his favorite place. He sat on a large, smooth rock on the bank, staring out into the water, his unlit pipe in hand.
    “Chief Yargee,” Cow Tom said.
    His chief looked as if he had aged ten years in the last twelve months, and he turned to Cow Tom only briefly before resuming his calm stare. Cow Tom wasn’t sure what Yargee saw when he gazed at the blue of the water.
    “I am loath to leave,” said Yargee, in Mvskoke.
    “It’s been a good place,” Cow Tom answered simply.
    “My father, Big Warrior, was principal chief of Upper Creeks here after the Creek War. My brother was killed by whites here. I brought down my first deer in those woods, and married both my wives here. And now they force us to go, like the land belongs to them alone.”
    “You’ll take everyone with you? Negro and Indian?” Cow Tom tried not to sound too anxious. “We can all help rebuild in Indian Territory.”
    Chief Yargee seemed surprised by the question. “Yes. All will travel together, Creeks, Negroes, and as much stock as they allow. Removal won’t be easy.”
    “But the land has been set aside?”
    “Yes. Some of us are already moved. Lower Creeks mostly. I intend to wait until my warriors return from Florida to start the journey.”
    Before Removal from Alabama, the United States military demanded Alabama Creeks send seven hundred warriors to Florida, and the tribes didn’t dare refuse. Chief Yargee had already picked six of his warriors, and two translators, including Cow Tom.
    Cow Tom judged the time right. “The military man promises $350 for each translator.” The possibility of that much money backed by the United States government for a few months of work almost made him lightheaded.
    “Yes,” said Yargee.
    “Some of that rental money goes to the tribe, like always.” Cow Tom rubbed his hands on his pants. “More than fair,” he added quickly. “Amy and the girls stay behind to help the tribe while I do the job in Florida, like I’ve done for you so many years, translating English and Mvskoke to and fro. And some Hitchiti. I’ll scout and track and round up Seminoles to Remove to Indian Territory like they say. The military will be satisfied.” His palms were still damp, but he let his hands dangle loose at his sides. “I’ll be back in time to help us Remove. And I’m hoping you’ll put my bit of the rental money toward my freedom papers.”
    Yargee lit his pipe, and Cow Tom waited while the chief assured himself the tobacco was caught and he drew in the smoke.
    “I will put it with the rest,” he finally said. “For your return to the tribe.”
    “Half?” Cow Tom said.
    Chief Yargee nodded.
    Cow Tom made his face a mask to hide the sudden rush of exhilaration. Soon he’d leave Alabama for the first time in his life, and earn enough in just a few months to bring him closer to freedom. And now he would make good on his lifelong hope. Even if akin to tracking a single grain of sand, he renewed his pledge to find his long-gone mother in Florida.
    All that was left was to make it up with Amy before leaving.

Florida
    –1837–

Chapter 6
    COW TOM IGNORED the steady trickle of sweat sliding down his cheeks, his nose, his chin, before dropping to the ground, just more wetness mixing into the Florida swampland. He stood a few feet from the general, eyes slightly downcast, careful not to feed into the man’s agitation. Even when the second mosquito slipped down his shirt collar to feed, Cow Tom didn’t swat the blamed pest or move a muscle, letting the general vent his gall undistracted. They were separated from the other military men in the scouting unit, and Cow Tom waited patiently to find out why the general had called him to his side.
    Cow Tom was the general’s favorite interpreter, cut by saw grass, made raw by insect bites, enduring drenching rain, noxious vapors, and