Forever Ecstasy (23 page)

Tom Fitzpatrick had told him to confide in and to work with this man, so Joe trusted Jim. “When I leave, I’m going back to Sun Cloud’s camp. They’re letting me borrow their smartest female to act as my guide and translator. I’ll pretend to be a traveling trader and she’ll be my squaw. We should be able to get into and out of most Indian camps and settled areas. If all goes well, I should pick up clues.”

“Sounds clever but dangerous. Don’t tangle with Zeke again. He’ll be looking for you with blood in his eye. He’s big and mean and strong.”

“Does he work one post and area more than the others?”

“Not that I know of. Most of my time is spent on the post or close by.”

“Tanner and I met some of the men at Lookout. Those Columbia Fur boys seemed all right; nothing that sparked suspicion. Simon Adams at Pratte’s was busy and only talked to us a little, but we overheard some things he said to others. He didn’t make any secret of how much he hates the Indians, but a lot of white men feel the same.”

“If you’d been here as long as some of them and experienced what they have,” Jim explained, “you’d understand their feelings, even though most are mistaken. Trouble is, all Indians get blamed for the raids and brutalities of a few bands of renegades. Overeager or confused officers order retaliations on the wrong bands. Or whites join together and attack hunters. Then the Indians blame all whites and soldiers for the actions of a few. It’s a crazy circle, Joe. Biggest problem is that neither side takes the time to get to know the other. We’re all too wary. I doubt that will ever change. All a new treaty will do is hold off the inevitable a while longer.”

Joe feared the captain was accurate in his assessment. He returned to Simon Adams. “Men who have something to hide and protect usually aren’t as verbal as Adams was about their feelings,” he said to Jim. “I could be wrong; it could be an act. He was a big man and he wore long sleeves. He could be this Snake-Man. He warned me and Tanner about the Lakotas, just before my friend was killed. I’m sure Tanner saw or heard something
more than he was able to tell me before he died. At least, they thought he witnessed something damaging. The owner, Bernard Pratte, wasn’t around, so I don’t have an impression of him. We didn’t make it north to McMichael’s post.”

“Bernard Pratte’s a last choice for Snake-Man,” Jim asserted. “He’s been there since ’31; that’s a long time to wait to cause trouble. Most Indians like him and deal with him over the other traders. Orin McMichael seems a pretty good fellow, too, a jolly Scotsman. Hasn’t given us any trouble. He stays close to his post and runs it himself. I do know Zeke hauls for Pratte. Why didn’t you and Tanner come to see me before roaming around?”

“I wish we had; he might still be alive. Tanner suggested we look around and get a feel of the area before seeing you. I was riding with him, so I let him do the planning and deciding.”

“You don’t have any idea who killed Tanner Gaston or why?”

Joe revealed what his friend had told him. “Not much to go on, but that’s why I followed those ruts left by Zeke’s wagons.”

“Too bad you didn’t find anything out. Make sure you visit me often now and keep me informed of what you learn. I won’t make out a report on this. I wouldn’t want someone finding that file about you. A man doesn’t always know whom he can trust. Who will you be traveling as?”

“Joseph Lawrence. I don’t want anyone connecting me to Stede Gaston at Fort Laramie. Besides, Simon Adams and Zeke know me by that name, and know about Tanner’s murder, so it might stir up suspicions if I use his name. I’m sure Snake-Man has spies everywhere.”

“Was Zeke around Pratte’s that day? You said he knew about Tanner.”

“I didn’t see him. But if he’s working for Snake-Man, he knows.”

They talked a while longer. Then Jim stood, shook hands with Joe, and said, “Good luck. Be careful out there. And don’t forget your reports.”

“Thanks, Jim. I can use your help. I’ll keep you informed.”

Before Joe left Fort Tabor the next morning, he wrote and mailed two letters: one to his parents and one to his married sister. He told them all of his challenging work here with Stede for
peace, of meeting Stede’s Indian kin, and of how beautiful this area was. He didn’t mention Tanner’s death, as he didn’t want to worry them. He closed by saying he would be home in six months. He asked his sister to keep an eye on their parents until he returned, as his father had been upset by Joe’s decision to come here. In time, he hoped his father would understand why it was so important to him.

As he rode away, Joe’s mind was on the loss of his best friend. He wished Tanner was with him, sharing this ultimately fulfilling task. He wished Tanner could have met his Indian relatives. He missed their talks and friendship. It was hard to accept they were gone forever. He vowed anew that he would not rest or quit until his friend’s murderer was punished.

Joe pushed his grief into the back corner of his mind by thinking of Morning Star. He could hardly wait to see her again. Soon…

The daughter of Sun Cloud completed her chores and visited with Hanmani, whose curious behavior had been exhibited only during the riding event. It had been four moons since the winning race against her friend. Spotted Tail and his band had left the following day to visit with Oglala chief Red Cloud, another powerful leader. Singing Wind had healed within two days, as Morning Star herself had. Her brother was still urging her not to ride with Joe. Though her father had painted her coup upon the pictorial records of the tribe and their family, she had noticed how quiet he was; she knew he did not want her to leave but felt he must say and do nothing to stop her.

Buckskin Girl had not explained her curious challenge, but still vowed to reveal the motive soon. Her friend seemed disappointed over her loss of the contest. They continued to share chores, but something was different between them. Buckskin Girl seemed unsure of herself and a little distant. Morning Star wished she knew why.

Morning Star recalled an exciting episode that had taken place two days ago. Wind Bird’s vision quest had shown him an elk and he had been taken into the Elk Dreamer Society. Payaba was teaching and training him to be a shaman. Naturally that did not please Hawk Eyes, as a tribe had only one medicine
chief. She hoped something, a message or sign from the Great Spirit, would return Payaba to that rank; or He would let it pass to Wind Bird. She had been polite to Hawk Eyes, but his resentment toward her remained obvious.

Knife-Slayer, his son, was pursuing her with frequency and boldness since her victory. As if thinking of him summoned him, the Indian brave approached.

“Wociciyaka wacin yelo.”
He said he wished to speak with her.

“Takuwe he?”
she asked, dreading another annoying conversation.

“Ye sni yo. Hecetu sni ye. Hanke-wasicun, sunka-ska
Tanner!”

She was vexed when he told her not to go with Joe. She was angered by him calling “Tanner” a half-breed and a white dog.
“Wacin nis econ akinica he?”
She asked him if he wished to argue.

“Hiya,”
he quickly refuted.
“Waste cedake. Nis wacin.”
He vowed his love and desire for her.

Morning Star knew that desire was to marry her, and though she had rejected him many times, he kept asking?
“Okihisni Anpaowicanhpi.”
She told him she could not accept.

“Micante petani niye,”
he vowed.

The maiden did not believe she was the fire in his heart. She replied,
“Micante wookiye wacin
,” telling him that the fire in
her
heart was a flaming desire for peace. She accused him of wanting to go on the warpath, which they both knew was true.
“Zuya iyaka nis wacin!”

“Oyate makoce unkita kici kiza ecinsni toktuka hwo?”
he contended.

His words— “How is it wrong to fight for our people and land?”— drummed through her head. He was a quick and clever debater. Yet she countered with haste,
“Wiconi wowahwa.”

He wanted to shout her foolish words— “Peace is life”— back into her beautiful face. How could someone so smart, brave, and skilled work for costly peace against such fierce enemies? he fumed.
“Wimacasa yelo! Wicasa iyecel mat’in kte yelo!”
he vowed: I am a man! I will die like a man!

Morning Star shook her head in vexation, turned, and left
him.

Knife-Slayer glared at her retreat and vowed to himself,
Mitawa Anpaowicanhpe! Wicasta wanzi tohni icu kte sni!

If Sun Cloud’s daughter had overheard the ominous words of his vow— “Morning Star is mine! I will let no man take her from me!”— her troubled heart would have pounded in trepidation.

The following day, as Morning Star and Singing Wind left the forest with loaded wood slings, both sighted Joe’s horse tethered near their tepee at the same time. Apprehension washed over the mother as she realized what the white man’s return meant, the departure and perilous task of her daughter. But suspense and joy raced through the maiden as she comprehended that the moment to seek her true fate had arrived.

“Tanner has come,” Singing Wind murmured. “Soon, you must go.”

“Do not be sad, Mother. This task will bring peace for our people.”

“I pray it is so, Daughter, but great fear lives in my heart.”

“We will take no risks. Grandfather will guide us and protect us. Have you forgotten the sacred vision told of our victory to come?”

Singing Wind did not doubt that success would be won; she only worried over what their journey together could cost her family. Observing the expression in her child’s eyes and the happiness in her spirit over the man’s return warned Singing Wind of how strong her daughter’s feelings were for the grandson of Powchutu/Eagle’s Arm. She sent a mental prayer to the Great Spirit to keep Morning Star’s mind clear. The two females entered the tepee to find “Sky Warrior” and Sun Cloud talking.

Joe glanced at the beautiful maiden who had filled his thoughts for days. Learning she had won the contest hadn’t shocked him, and his worries had become overshadowed by excitement. He had never doubted her skills and wits, as he had witnessed them during their trek together. After greeting the mother, he focused his attention on his impending partner. “Hello, Morning Star. I’m proud of your victory. Your father showed me your coup painted there,” he remarked, motioning to the pictorial family record suspended from the tepee-lining
rope to dry. “I told Sun Cloud about my meetings with Jim at the fort and with Spotted Tail on the way there. I’ll tell you everything after we’re on the trail tomorrow. We’re riding out at first light. I want to start before more trouble arises. Can you be ready to leave early in the morning?”

“Han.
Yes,” she switched to English for practice.

“Good. I almost made it here yesterday, but the sun gave out on me. I camped about ten miles away because I thought it might be dangerous to ride in after dark. I didn’t want to risk getting shot as an intruder.” He smiled.

“We break camp in five moons to ride for the grasslands to hunt buffalo,” Sun Cloud reminded his daughter. After the customary signal of tepee dismantling by the chief’s wife, the others would begin their tasks to journey to their first summer camp. He told her where he would make trail signs to let her know which direction they took, which was determined by where the most buffalo grazed. As the great herds moved, so did the Indians and their nomadic camps. They would begin in the lush plateaus and canyons that composed or surrounded the area known as Maka Sica, what the white men also called the Badlands.

Joe was delighted that Morning Star could read trail signs and could locate Sun Cloud’s new location after they left this one on the first of June. He noticed how she kept her gaze controlled and off him unless he spoke to her, and he suspected— and hoped— it was to conceal her joy at seeing him. He also tried to keep his frequently straying mind on the business at hand. He was eager to begin their journey and to participate in the ceremony tonight that would make him a
Tanhan-We,
blood brother.

“Rest, Tanner,” the chief said. “We talk more before the moon rises.”

Morning Star and Singing Wind began the final preparations for their departure. They packed supplies, but Joe didn’t offer help because that was “woman’s work.” Sun Cloud loaned them one of his horses to carry their supplies; it would be loaded in the morning.

Joseph Lawrence gave the women privacy as he strolled around the Indian encampment. Dogs raced about and barked
or lay in the warming sun. Horses were held in rope and brush corrals or staked beside tepees that were positioned between black hills and a serene lake. The pointed dwellings with many poles reaching heavenward were colored from the use of different colored buffalo hides, varying from light tan to almost black. Spring grass was lush and green, the sky clear and blue. Reeds and water plants grew along the lake’s edge, and assorted wildflowers offered beauty here and there. It was a lovely and peaceful setting.

Joe encountered older women and youthful maidens doing chores. Most halted to stare at him, with the youngest cupping their mouths to whisper and giggle. He was relieved and delighted not to sense hatred in them; their behavior told him that he and his task had been accepted. His keen mind took in details of camp life.

At the lake, women washed clothes or fetched water. Others went to or returned from gathering wood or edible plants. Some were hanging strips of meat on racks to dry and preserve. A few were beading, sewing, or flattening quills with their teeth. Cradleboards, travois bindings, securing thongs, and saddle pads were being made or repaired in preparation for the moving of the camp soon. Small children entertained themselves nearby, girls with toys made to teach them their roles in life: miniature tepees, wooden horses, travois, and grass-stuffed dolls. Babies slept or played on buffalo mats near their mother or tender’s sides, and older children— especially boys— were off enjoying themselves.

As Joe roamed the active area, teenage boys also delayed their games to eye him as he passed them. He witnessed mock hunts to hone instincts, races to acquire speed and agility, balls of tightly rolled buffalo hair tossed into distant baskets to learn accuracy for when the ball changed to a lance, and the rolling of a willow hoop with a stick for dexterity and control. Soon, many of them would go into serious training to one day ride with their fathers on hunts— or perhaps raids if the truce parley failed.