Forever Ecstasy (11 page)

After they had eaten, they doused the campfire and bedded down for the night with only a few feet separating them. Both lay there thinking for a time, then drifted off to sleep.

Their schedule was the same the next day. Neither talked much as they made camp. Both privately reflected on their meeting, their time together, and what confronted them soon. Each knew that once they reached Morning Star’s village, things would change between them. Each knew that if something went wrong, tomorrow would be their last day together, and that caused them to share a strange apprehension.

They ate rabbit stew, this time simmered to tenderness with wild vegetable roots that Morning Star had found. After their meal was consumed and their horses tended, Joe spread his sleeping roll and a heavy blanket on the grass. He stretched out on the bedroll while Morning Star lay down on the thick blanket.

“We reach my village before next moon. Be strong and brave,” she encouraged. “I will speak for you and peace to my father and people.”

“Pilamaya,”
he said. Joe noticed how uneasy Morning Star was tonight. Though she faced away from him, he could see the tension in her body. Was she afraid her people would harm him, or even kill him? Or, did she dread their parting, as he did? Even if he were given the chance to see her again, he knew it would be reckless and cruel to court the temptation. He couldn’t stay here longer than six months; he had promised his family he’d be home by Christmas, and traveling by horseback required four or five weeks. She couldn’t leave with him,
wouldn’t
leave with him. Anything between them was hopeless. So, he asked himself, why did that thought hurt so much? It wasn’t just physical desire gnawing at him. Morning Star was fun, witty, dependable, brave, intelligent, strong, and gentle.
It was so easy to be with her. He wanted more than friendship!

Morning Star sensed Joe’s eyes on her, and his thoughts seemed to reach out to her. She knew it was wrong to weaken toward an enemy, but her heart kept telling her he wasn’t a foe. He had not come here to settle and live, and he would leave before the winter snows returned. She didn’t want him to go. But, even if he remained in her land, she could not turn to him. She knew what people— Indians
and
whites— called Indian women who mated with or married white men: squaw. Worse, a
witkowin:
whore. Their lives and ways were so different, too different. A relationship between them was the same as one between a deer and a buffalo. It could not come to pass, and she must do nothing to encourage either of them to seek the impossible. Yet…

Joe dared not question the woman’s restlessness, just as she dared not query his. Both knew that to talk at this moment was perilous and could cost them victories in the battles that were raging inside them. At last, the two weary people fell asleep.

When Morning Star told him they were nearing her camp, Joe halted their journey to remind her, “Remember I’ll do and say whatever I must to win your people’s trust and help. If nothing more, I need their promise they won’t raid or attack while I’m working on peace.”

Her gaze roamed his clean-shaven face, and she read urgency in his eyes. “Come. Scouts will see us. We must speak with Father first.”

It was almost dusk. They had ridden fast to reach her village today. From the trail they had found of the group returning from Bear Butte, they knew they would arrive only a few hours after it. They had not encountered a rescue party yet, and concurred that one must be planning to leave the village at sunrise on Monday morning. They had spoken little today, and both were apprehensive about seeing Sun Cloud.

As they entered the edge of the large camp, people halted their tasks to stare at the strange sight. Warriors reached for weapons, then followed the riders toward their chief’s tepee.
Word of Morning Star’s return and the white man spread rapidly. A curious crowd gathered.

Morning Star dismounted and called to her parents,
“Ata! Ina!”

Singing Wind rushed outside when she heard her daughter’s voice and the loud commotion.
“Anpaowicanhpi! Tokel oniglakin kta he?”
She asked what had happened as they embraced with deep love and relief.

“Ina, he mi ye,” the
girl replied, saying she was home safely.

Singing Wind asked how she had escaped her Crow captors.

Sun Cloud joined them, his dark gaze going back and forth between his daughter and the white man. He listened, waited, and watched.

Morning Star told her mother she’d been tricked and had much to tell her.
“Taku ota eci ciyapi kta bluhayele.”
Morning Star embraced her father, then related details of her misadventures.

While she talked, Joe stood still and silent. He had been told that Sun Cloud was the reflection of his father, Gray Eagle. He was tall, lithe, and muscular for a man of fifty-four. There were few strands of gray in a midnight mane that flowed past broad bronze shoulders and down a strong back. Sun Cloud’s eyes were almost as black as his hair and thick brows. His bones were as finely chiseled as any aristocrat’s. The one eagle feather secured behind his head and traveling downward was said to be worn always in honor of his slain father. He was not wearing his chief’s bonnet, but had a necklace around his throat that depicted his name. He was clad in a breechcloth, leggings, and moccasins. Sun Cloud was indeed the epitome of a great leader, an awesome warrior, and a dignified man.

Joe let his observant gaze slip to the woman with the chief and his daughter, Singing Wind. At fifty-four, as well, she was still beautiful and slim. He sensed a spirited nature in her that her daughter had inherited, as well as her awesome beauty. Her eyes were as brown as rich chocolate, but her hair was not as dark and long as Morning Star’s. The few wrinkles on her face did not detract from its loveliness. She carried herself as a lady, a woman of high rank and birth, a woman of importance. Joe detected no vanity or arrogance in either female,
nor in Sun Cloud. That pleased him.

Joe assumed the warrior nearby was her brother, Night Stalker, who had been the leader of the pilgrimage to Bear Butte and who had returned home without her. He looked surprised at his sister’s arrival and angered by Joe’s presence and part in the rescue. He wasn’t as tall as his father, but he was more muscular. Nor did he have Sun Cloud’s handsome face and dignified carriage. A lance scar ran down his left side, and Sun Dance scars marred his broad chest. His dark hair was worn loose, but a headband held it in place. Joe knew this man would be one of his obstacles.

Joe’s eyes were pulled to a warrior next to Night Stalker. The man’s dark gaze was narrowed and chilled by the story he was hearing. Joe guessed his age in the early twenties and his height at five feet eleven inches. His hair hung in two thick braids, with coup feathers suspended near the bottoms of both plaits. A small knife was suspended from a thong about his neck. He, too, was wearing only a breechcloth, leggings, and moccasins. Joe perceived a coldness and arrogance in this bronze-skinned warrior whose chest displayed Sun Dance scars that proved his prowess. The only time the Oglala’s gaze altered was when it touched on Morning Star; then, open desire was apparent. Joe felt his temper rising against the warrior who craved Morning Star. He didn’t have to be told this was Knife-Slayer, and an enemy.

Many others, men and women and children, gathered around the group, but Joe returned his attention to the talk in progress and tried to catch a word here and there to learn how it was going.

“Why did you bring a white foe to our camp?” Knife-Slayer demanded in Lakota. “He will learn our strength and tell others, if he is not slain.”

“Hiya! Ito kawe kin papsunpi sni ye!”
Morning Star shouted, saying not to spill Joe’s blood. “He is a friend,” she continued in her tongue. “He helped me. He is here to help us. Father, you must spare his life and heed his words.”

“How can an enemy help us?” Night Stalker asked.

Morning Star focused on her father. “He is our friend, Father. He
can
help us. He has a plan to draw our real enemies
from hiding. If he does so, the soldiers will punish them.” To Joe, she said in English, “Speak the words to my father you say to me on trail.”

Joe’s blue gaze locked with Sun Cloud’s dark one. “I know only a few of your words, though Morning Star is teaching me more, so you must forgive me for addressing you in my language. I am not your enemy, Sun Cloud. The Great White Chief and most Americans want to live in peace with your people and all other Indian Nations. I am here with a man who is seeking answers to the troubles between whites and Indians. We’re here to help Agent Tom Fitzpatrick at Fort Laramie obtain a new treaty that all peoples can accept and honor. The real enemy in your territory is called Snake-Man. He sells guns, whiskey, and supplies to the Crow and encourages them to destroy the Lakotas. We don’t know why he wants war, but we must stop him before he begins a bloodbath in this area. If the Crow and Oglala go on the warpath, the Shoshone and Pawnee will side with the Crow; and the Cheyenne and Blackfoot will aid their allies, the Dakotas. Whites will be trapped between the warring tribes. More soldiers will come. Fitzpatrick has sent word to you about the new treaty, but you have not responded. Many things have happened, and your tribe has been blamed. I don’t think you’re guilty, but I need help proving it. I have to discover who Snake-Man is and capture him. If not, this area and all people here can have no peace.”

“If he is white, why do you side against him?” Sun Cloud asked.

“He’s evil. His actions cause the deaths of innocent Indians and whites. He enflames the hatred between the Oglala and Crow. It must stop.”

“We have always warred with Bird People!” Night Stalker shouted.

“That time must end, Night Stalker. If both tribes honor the new treaty and remain in their territories, peace is possible. I need a guide and interpreter, someone to teach me your people’s ways.”

“You seek to learn our ways to use them to destroy us,” Knife-Slayer accused in English. “You must die!” He reached for the blade at his waist.

Morning Star covered his hand.
“Hiya! Wicake! I’ye waste!”

Sun Cloud noticed how the girl shouted in the white man’s defense, claiming he spoke the truth and was a good man. He didn’t have time at that moment to worry over the tone of her voice or the expression in her eyes.

“If we harm him, we harm ourselves!” Morning Star added in Lakota.

Knife-Slayer noticed her tone and gaze, and retorted in his tongue, “You are a woman, and his cunning rescue has blinded you. He must die.”

“I want peace and survival for my people. I am no coward. I will ride, track, and fight with him. I will be his tongue, ears, and teacher,” she avowed.

“No!” Knife-Slayer shouted. “He will trick you again, and slay you.”

The girl glared at the warrior for his subtle insult. “If such a threat was true, why do I stand here now, alive and unharmed?”

“You are his path to our camp, sister,” Night Stalker replied. “My band was riding at first light to rescue you. I could not come after you in Crow Territory. I saw many tracks. It was my duty to get others home safely.”

“It was your duty, brother, and I do not blame you for leaving me behind. The false clues were cunning. I knew you would be tricked by them. You must listen to this white man; his words are wise and true.”

Sun Cloud raised his hand and asked for silence. “Hold your tongues, my people. We will hear his words before his fate is decided. First, I must speak with him. We do not strike a death blow before we learn the truth.”

Though Joe could not grasp the rapid flow of Lakota between Morning Star, Night Stalker, and Knife-Slayer, he surmised that the two men were speaking against him and that Morning Star was pleading his good cause. Joe knew it was unusual for a woman to argue with men, especially in public. He was glad when Sun Cloud halted the heated words and turned to address him.

“For many winters, the Red Heart Band had a treaty with
your leader and people. Why has it been broken? Why does White Chief Monroe let more whites and soldiers enter our lands? Why have more forts been placed on the face of Mother Earth? Soon they will encircle us and tighten as a rope on a wild stallion’s neck to choke the life from us. Why do they make more trails through our lands? Why do they settle on our sacred and hunting grounds? Why do they give and sell supplies and weapons to our foes? Why have they set their eyes upon the buffalo, our life’s blood? Why do they bring their diseases to sneak upon us in the night and slay us?”

Joe held silent and let the chief continue.

“We were foolish to allow the first white footprints on our land. Now their tracks are everywhere. They refuse to leave, and they battle us to stay. We are forced to fight them to save our land and people. The leader called Broken-Hand at Laramie asks us to sign a new treaty with the whites and our foes. It is no good. The whites and Crow would not honor it.”

Joe had listened closely and respectfully and hoped he wouldn’t forget any of Sun Cloud’s questions, even though most had been spoken as statements of fact and feeling. “Tom Fitzpatrick, Broken-Hand, is a good man. He is fair and honest. You knew him when he trapped in this area. He respects your people, and he knows the Indian ways. He wants peace between all tribes and whites. As long as tribes war against each other, white travelers are in danger and more soldiers and forts will come to give them protection. You don’t want that, so it’s wise and good to make treaty so all sides can survive and be happy. Most battles are fights over hunting grounds and revenge for raids. If every tribe stays in its own territory and doesn’t attack another, peace will come, Sun Cloud.”

“We have warred with our enemies since long before the birth of my grandfather and his father,” Night Stalker shouted. “How will marks on a paper stop a war passed from father to son for more winters than are marked on the buffalo record of our people?”

“By everyone wanting and needing peace and survival more than scalps and war prizes,” Joe responded in a calm and careful tone.