My name is Breed because it has been the only given name I have been called for over half my life. My father was a Shoshone warrior and I was whelped from a white settler that a Crow raiding party had captured and later traded with my father for a coloured war pony. When I was eight summers the blue coats came one dawn and massacred all the adult males in our village. Despite my dark skin tones, one blue belly, on seeing my green eyes, had taken me to the nearest town to be ‘made white again’. But that was never going to happen as the white frontier townsfolk treated me no better than a beast of burden and they never trusted me. From the moment I arrived, come nightfall, I would be locked in the stables with the horses and dogs. The term halfbreed soon turned to Breed which, after so much abuse, became who I now am, no more than an animal like those working beasts I tend to.
The owner of the stables, a cruel bastard, used to take pleasure in beating me. When I was fifteen summers his son, Jack, two summers older than me also thought he could fight me into submission. During one beating from Jack I hit back knocking Jack off his feet. What I hadn’t realised was that Jack’s father had been watching from the shadows. He had a wild look in his eyes and stormed over to me and ripped off my shirt and jeans, saying, “Breed, if you’re gonna fight against a civilised opponent then you need to be seen for what you are… a naked savage!” Then he told his son just to take his own shirt off and have another go at me. Although naked I again hit Jack, this time, right in his guts which winded him. I was just about to follow through and wrestle Jack into submission when Jack’s old man grabbed me and threw me hard against some railings, knocking me out cold.
After that Jack’s old man started arranging wager fights in the stables with me always set against older youths. I was always portrayed as the untamed naked savage but the old man soon realised that I was now prime stock making him a fistful of dollars a match. Though this didn’t stop him and Jack regularly using a bull whip on me to keep me subservient. Despite me not getting any schooling I could backchat against the best but would always get beaten for it. During my wager matches the crowd who’d bet on me would chant “Breed!…Breed!…Breed!” I was a sinewy son of a bitch then and when wrestling the older white boys there was a clear contrast in muscle tone as well as skin colour between us.
At night I used to strain to remember that distant tribal life and language but this life of fear and punishment would always cloud it over so I gave up trying. It also dawned on me that I was only useful to my keepers while I was still winning wager matches for them and the day would surely come when I couldn’t anymore, what then? Unbeknownst to me that day was fast approaching.
In my seventeenth summer one night the old man had lined up three matches for me, this after a full day of toil in the fields and stables. I won the first two with submission wrestling holds. However, my final opponent was the blacksmith’s son who was a powerful adversary. Our sweating bodies were locked in wrestling combat for longer than the other two matches put together but, in the end, he grabbed my exposed balls and squeezed so hard I had to submit to avoid permanent damage. When the spectators leave I try to get some rest but Jack and his father enter the stable, securing the door behind them.
The old man says, “You let me down Breed!” “ Now don’t take this personal but the time has come to teach you a lesson you’ll not soon forget.” The old man then starts to clap the bull whip against the floor. The nineteen summers Jack puts a shotgun he has with him down and removes his shirt showing more muscle development since I’d whipped his ass two years earlier. But on taking off his shirt I can now see an unsheathed hunting knife tucked inside the waistband of his jeans next to his navel. Jack quickly pulls the knife from his waistband which makes me rise, naked and unarmed, from my straw bale bed. The old man says, “Wait Jack! he’s as dangerous as a cornered wildcat, he needs softening up some first.” With that the old man cracks the bull whip in my direction which catches me full across my back as I turn to avoid its lash, >THWAAAKK< “Urrrggghhh!” I cry out feeling the searing pain. Jack says, “I’ve got him pa, let me do this on my own now.” Then Jack stares right at me and says, “Now Breed, I’m just gonna cut you up a little so your wounds will remind you not to go losing us all our hard earned wager money again, you got it boy?”
Then Jack lunges in a slashing action straight at my naked belly but, in my pained state, my reactions fail me and >shhkkt< his blade makes a shallow slash across my lower abs outlining its path with a trickle of blood as I wince through gritted teeth. Jack excitedly says to me, “Yeah, that’s it Breed, now you getting the idea boy”. As Jack holds his knife at me, he partially turns his head towards his father and exclaims, “See pa! I told you I could handle him.” “Now I’m just gonna cut me a piece of prime beef and……..” Jack’s words are cut short by me springing at him while he was bragging to his father. As I spring he quickly recovers to meet my assault but we both now have a hold of the knife and, still standing with our naked chests and bellies squirming together, we wrestle for control of the knife. Closely locked in this struggle I can recognise in Jack’s grey eyes an emotion all too familiar to me…. FEAR! Then Jack makes a near fatal mistake, he releases his left had from the struggle to control the knife to punch me hard in my belly wound believing it would make me release my hold. However I am use to pain and I take advantage by forcing Jack back towards some hay bales and then, suddenly lunging forwards, I cause him to fall backwards, landing belly up on top of a bale with me squirming over him. Upon this action Jack’s grip on the knife is further weakened and I tear it from his grasp saying, “Let’s be blood brothers Jack!” Still grasping Jack’s right hand I turn my body off his to expose his stretched out abdominals and navel and, with his own knife in my right hand, I slice just the tip across his belly and navel >shkkt< “Urrrggghhh!” also drawing a line of blood. Then I lay back across him to mix our belly blood together saying, “There Jack now we’re blood brothers, welcome to the tribe!” Jack is incensed and snarls back up at me. Just then >THWAAAKK< as the old bastard brings the bull whip full down on my back for a second time, “Aiiiyeee!” Followed by the old man saying, “Get off my son you halfbreed savage!”
I am about to roll off Jack to take up a defensive stance away from them both when Jack suddenly springs back into action as I start to disengage from him. This sends me spinning sideways and when I regain my feet I see Jack, his face full of hate, lunging with a pitchfork towards my chest. I manage to parry this lunge with my left arm but Jack’s momentum again brings him directly towards me while he still has hold of the pitchfork preparing to use it again. Getting inside his lunging area we again make full body contact when I thrust the hunting knife directly into his navel >Spflittt< feeling the momentary resistance of his abdominals to the blade, “Eaaarrrggghhh!” I then place my left arm around his back to pull him close. Face to face I again see not only pain but fear in his grey eyes as I twist the blade deeper into his guts as he cries out, “Urrrggghhh!” my own belly and cock is then met with a hot gush of his life’s blood. >THWAAAKK< as the old man lashes my back once more but this time I don’t react to it and, pulling the blade from Jack’s navel, I lunge it again and again into Jack’s lower abdominals and guts until his knees buckle and he falls to the ground.
>THWAAAKK< as I feel yet another lash upon my back and, spinning around, I fix his glaring gaze, as he says, “You murdering savage you’ve killed my son now you’re gonna die halfbreed!” With that he drops the bull whip and makes for where Jack left the shotgun. I say, “No! it’s your turn to die you evil old bastard!” As the old man reaches for the shotgun I grasp the pitchfork shaft and, like a spear, throw it towards him >Thuuunk< as the pitchfork buries itself deep in his chest, his mouth opens wide but no sound comes out as he staggers backwards to fall to the ground.
Just then I hear a noise from behind me…. a descending shadow…. then blackness… When I come around I’m still naked but slumped bareback on one of the horses in the stables with my hands tied behind my back. Around me are jeering townsfolk and suddenly up in front of me pops the blacksmith’s son with a noosed rope which he throws up over a wooden beam. I struggle against my bindings but they’re too tight to loosen. The blacksmith’s boy is about to put the noose over my neck but pauses to say, “If that coot hadn’t short changed me on my winnings I wouldn’t have come back to confront him and find that you’d murdered them both you bloody savage…” He then puts the noose over my throat and pulls it taught as he continues, “But I caught you and now you’re gonna be hung to death, that’s the kind of frontier justice we live by”
Suddenly the blacksmith’s boy is pulled down to the ground by the town’s Sheriff, Virgil Coffee. The Sheriff grabs the rope and pulls it back down from the beam and stares at my multiple body wounds choosing to ignore some of the townsfolk’s protests at his intervention. While still examining my wounds he loudly says, “There’s laws in this town and if any of you are aiming to challenge them then I’ve got four armed deputies ready to discuss it with you from the confines of your own jail cell.” “Now I’ll thank you all to kindly disperse from here before I turn around!” Within minutes the stables are emptied apart from me, the Sheriff and two corpses. The Sheriff helps me to the ground but does not untie my hands, then he says, “Listen son, this frontier town is about as lawless a place as you’ll find.” The cruel way you’ve been treated over the years has touched my conscience but a halfbreed like you is outside the law for most around here.” “I could make them set up a trial for you but you already know the outcome.” “I’ve got some loyal armed deputies clearing this part of the town so I’m giving you your only chance at freedom, if there can ever be that for you”. The Sheriff then cut my bindings and allowed me to change and gather my belongings. By the time I had done this I could see that he had tacked up the Appaloosa I was going to be hung from saying, “With all that money you earned for them I think it fair that this horse is now yours, there’s also a rope, canteen and knife.” “You’re a wanted man and will soon have a price on your head so keep away from white folk!”
Under the cover of darkness Sheriff Coffee escorts me to the town’s periphery but before he releases me he puts his hand on my shoulder which makes me feel uneasy as the only physical contact I’m used to is violent but he keeps it there and says, “Son, I’ve never called you Breed but before you go can you tell me your real name?” I look into the Sheriff’s blue eyes and for the first time in my captivity I see something I hadn’t seen since a child, the warmth in another’s gaze, so I tell him. I say, “l..l…l was known as Tontoo which is Shoshone for green dragonfly because of my green eyes.” Virgil Coffee presses his hand more firmly into my shoulder, smiles and says, “May your dragonfly guide you home Tontoo.” He then slowly turns his horse and heads off back to town. The experience of saying my tribal name out loud after all these years had been more difficult than I had expected and I find myself fighting hard to keep other deeply suppressed memories from my consciousness lest they make me a weaker man in my search for survival and acceptance.
With the Sheriff’s words ‘Keep away from white folk’ running through my head I decide to exploit my looks and turn native. After leaving the lawless town far behind I cover my tracks and rest up until dawn. Cannibalising the full leather tack the Sheriff had provided me with and parts of my white mans’ attire I fashion a leather headband, moccasin style footwear, leather waistband with sheath knife and a supple leather loincloth. For my Appaloosa I just use a rope halter to ride bareback and, using plant pigment, mark him as my own with my coloured handprints. I am now a displaced halfbreed indian who should avoid everyone if I want to survive, especially with just a hunting knife to defend myself. Yet I resolve to be as fierce as a puma in defending my right to survive and will take what I need to do so.
I am Breed! I am animal! I am survival!.
