Forever Ecstasy (44 page)

They shared laughter and journeyed onward, chatting frequently.

Another night of safety passed as they took turns standing guard at Cherry Creek. Both were in good moods following their visits with two Dakota chiefs but fatigued by their long and tiring ride. Yet, each avoided the bittersweet subject of their forbidden love and uncertain destiny.

The vast range continued to spread before them. It was hotter and drier in this area. The ground covering was now a blend of green and tan. Winds blew in from the west at regular intervals, waving grasses to and fro in a mesmerizing motion. The sky was a mixture of pale blue and white, with few clouds having real definition. Soon, unusual formations intermittently loomed from the earth: buttes, mesas, hillocks, and rocks. Trees called attention to any waterline present. They crossed the shallow Moreau River. Ecru ground showed a pebbly surface more frequently. Then, at last, the familiar terrain returned.

Joe and Morning Star made their last camp on Rabbit Creek before entering the Grand River area where many Crow bands were doing their seasonal hunts. The couple did their chores in silence as each pondered the great peril they would confront on the next day. Both realized that before the sun was high or set on that day, they could be dead…

“Will you wait here for my return?” Joe asked. “I don’t want to put you into more danger.”

Morning Star caressed his cheek, smiled, and said, “The danger we face is not following Grandfather’s vision. I am part of it, so I must ride with you. To change it brings trouble. You do not know much sign language.” She reminded Joe of one of the main reasons she was with him.

He knew it was futile to argue. He’d probably need her assistance, and besides, he couldn’t leave her alone in enemy land. “I’ll hide those things I got from Jim and retrieve them after we leave the Crow camp. They would be hard to explain if we’re searched. I’ll also leave most of our trade goods here, so the chief won’t insist on taking all of them.”

They covered the last miles at a slow pace to keep themselves and the animals rested in case a speedy flight was necessary. As they looked ahead, it was as if odd formations suddenly leapt from the grasslands and rolling hills to expose the biggest change in landscape they had seen for days. The beautiful terrain had bushes and trees— cedar, spruce, pine, and hardwoods— and water and countless rocks. They almost rode into a distant semicircle of mesas and buttes. Various-colored grasses encompassed the lovely site. Most of the
formations looked like castles and pinnacles grouped around an enormous one that reminded Joe of a giant fortress. Animals and birds were abundant.

The first camp, like an evil spirit in a nightmare, loomed before Joe and Morning Star. She read the markings and told him it was the camp of Black Moon; the once feared leader normally used Slim Buttes for his big camp and had again this season. She explained how small groups of hunters and women went in several directions to shoot and slaughter for days. Then, those weary groups returned with loaded travois to this location where some waited to cure the meat and others to take over the task while they rested.

Again her apprehension took a toll on her speech. “He sly, mean, and greedy. In moons past, he kill many Oglalas and steal many horses. Men who own many horses best warriors and most honored. They called Bird People because hands and feet small like birds. They have many groups; some for honor and some for battle,” she told him, then explained the social and military societies. “They call best warriors Big Dogs. They not have shirt-wearers to do council’s work; Big Dogs in command. They most important, like Sacred Bows in our tribe. Careful of all words you speak. They… pretend not to listen, but ears open big. They use tricky words to fool. Believe nothing you hear and see.” After those final cautions, Morning Star fell in behind Joe in a squaw’s humble position and they rode into the camp. She sent up one last prayer for their safety.

Joe observed the warriors who gathered around them, and was relieved no weapon was brandished. As if by order, the women and children moved out of sight behind or into tepees. Dogs barked, ran forward, and sniffed at the newcomers. This camp did not seem as active as Red Cloud and Spotted Tail’s had been. Of course, the Crow traded with the whites for many goods that the others made.

Joe took in all the details he could while he reined in and dismounted. The Crow were indeed a people who loved finery. He knew they were hunting buffalo as all Plains Indians did this time of year, because he saw countless meat-drying
racks, fresh hides, and unhitched travois. He noticed they favored beading onto red trade cloth or blanket cloth. Morning Star had told him lavender was the most valuable bead color, and he saw few of them in that color. The Crow seemed to lean toward pastels of pale blue, yellow, and green; they rarely used dark shades, particularly blue and red— colors favored by the Lakotas. He noticed tufts of horsehair attached to coup feathers, which she had explained meant added prowess during the earning deed. He also noted how many warriors had coup feathers. Some wore highly decorated cuffs with a fringed side, similar to cavalry gauntlets. He wondered if that had become popular after the Army’s arrival. Headdresses were numerous; several were made from owl feathers that were fanned out like a Tom turkey’s tail. Intricate breastplates were wore by most men, and eagle-bone whistles by a few. They used more elaborate necklaces and armlets than the Dakotas. Their regalia was striking, and Joe wondered if they were clad for a special ceremony or if they did this every day.

Joe hoped it was true that an Absaroke prophet had warned them not to battle the whites and that all tribes believed that vision. He also hoped his ruse would be effective and that his enemies had not sent warnings about him to this place. He watched the chief come forward, scowling. As taught by his love, he gave the sign for
peace
and
friend.

“What you want?” the Indian asked in a belligerent tone.

“I come with gifts for Black Moon and his chosen warriors.” Joe saw suspicion gleam in the older man’s dark eyes. “They are gifts from Snake-Man and Zeke Randall.” That announcement got a reaction of more suspicion. Joe went to the packhorse and removed the bundles he had purchased from Harvey. He spread a blanket on the ground and emptied the cloth sacks. He watched the chief join him and eye the tobacco, pastel beads, knives, hatchets, mirrors, bells, fancy buttons, and trade cloth.

He glared at Joe and said, “This not what Black Moon want.”

Joe smiled and pulled a smaller sack from the packhorse
Sun Cloud had loaned him. “These are special gifts for Chief Black Moon.”

The leader withdrew two cigars, a decorative can of safety matches, a pocket knife, a packet of lavender beads, and a bottle of whiskey.

Joe motioned to the other goods and said, “Those are gifts for Black Moon to give to his best warriors and wives. These,” he said, tapping the woven sack in the man’s grasp, “are for you.” He learned why the chief was annoyed when the leader glared at him and spoke again.

“Where guns, bullets, whiskey? How we kill Sioux with trinkets? They coyote droppings. They kill, raid like rabbits. No more great warriors. No more good battles. They want white-eyes to not trust Crow and slay. They speak lies. They must die. Snake-Man say he help. Zeke his warrior. Why they break promise to bring guns in…” He halted to hold up ten fingers, ball his fists, then lift one finger. “Moons from one in sky.”

Joe leapt on the clue that revealed a July second rendezvous in eleven days. “They don’t break promises, Black Moon. The weapons and whiskey will come on the day Zeke said. I was sent to bring these gifts. You still want to meet him in the same place?”

“Yes, same place, mountain like sleeping bear.”

Joe knew the site. As he repeated the numerical signals the chief had used, he stressed, “You’ll be there after eleven moons cross the sky?”

“We come. No tricks,” he warned with a scowl meant to frighten.

“Snake-Man said he would supply you. Don’t you trust him?” Joe asked, seeking a weak spot.

“He have powerful magic. We must trust. We help kill Sioux as he wants, but need guns and bullets.”

“What do you tell the soldiers who come to ask about him?”

“We say no words to bluecoats. We say Sioux lie. That Spirit’s order.”

Joe sensed the chief hated but feared the masquerading
villain. He took a risk to say, “Don’t fear him, Black Moon; spirits have weaknesses like men do. If you want to meet him, look inside his wagons while the magic smoke burns and he leaves to rest. If you find him and remove his mask, the mask and his magic will belong to you. It takes a brave man to challenge a spirit; that’s how you win his strong medicine.”

Black Moon pondered those astonishing words. His eyes glittered with curiosity and envy. “How man find and defeat spirit?”

Joe sensed he had the man almost ensnared and pushed to get him all the way into a cunning trap. “By being as clever and brave as the white spirit. Snake-Man would be happy to share his secrets and magic with the great Black Moon. But you must be sure to face him while his magic is weak, after he has used it and while he rests in the wagon. He must roam Mother Earth until a glorious warrior earns his medicine symbols. When he passes them to that warrior, he can join the Great White Spirit and live forever in the heavens. That is what all white spirits want.”

“He white spirit?” the chief asked, looking shocked.

“Yes. Didn’t you see his hands and hair?”

“Hands hidden. Hair like night.”

“I’ve seen them; they’re white, like mine,” Joe claimed, extending his hands before the chief to drive his point home. “That’s why he uses Zeke and white men as his helpers. But only an Indian warrior of prowess can challenge and conquer him. Think what you can do with such power.”

“I ride brave trail, become great leader.”

“When you become that great leader, I will bring you all the supplies you need. I must warn you, bad white men ride in this territory. They kill Oglalas, rob their burial grounds, and leave Crow arrows to make the Sioux and Army think Bird People seek war. They try to trick Crow by doing the same. I saw seven men attack a Crow hunting party and kill them. They dropped Sioux arrows and beads to anger and fool the Crow. A bad white leader provokes you against each other before it is the best time to fight. I removed the arrows and beads, tracked them, and killed them. In their camp was
Oglala possessions to do the same in your territory. That’s bad.”

Black Moon was furious. “What man do bad tricks?”

“I don’t know, but he wants the Crow and Sioux to kill each other so he can take this land for himself.” Joe hoped that got the chief to thinking in the right direction. “When I defeated them and asked questions, they said Snake-Man was their boss. Surely that cannot be true.”

“We not raid Sioux burial grounds. They not raid Crow. Spirits, fallen warriors be angry. Plenty bad medicine to wake them from death sleep. Always been this way. Bad to change, plenty bad.”

“You speak good English, Black Moon,” Joe complimented.

“Learn tongue to stop lies, to trade with white brothers.”

Joe put in one last word to cause trouble. “If Black Moon takes the power and magic of spirit man, Zeke and all white traders will bring you all the weapons and whiskey you want. Even the Sioux will fear Black Moon.”

“Why you not defeat spirit man and steal power?”

Joe reminded him of his earlier fabrication, “I’m not an Indian warrior, and I’m not allowed to get near him or his wagons. If you can sneak up on him in his wagon while the magic smoke fills the air, you can conquer his power. Then, no white man or Indian can defeat Black Moon.”

The chief went silent in thought. “If Black Moon come near spirit man, he bring snakes to life.” He motioned to his arms. “They strike, kill.”

Joe did not laugh or mock the superstitious man, but played on those irrational notions. “Not if Black Moon holds a knife in each hand and puts them into the snakes’ heads before they move. This territory will belong to Black Moon with such power and magic in his possession.”

“Why you tell Black Moon?”

Joe hoped his answer sounded truthful. “Snake-Man punishes me when I do not do all he says. He orders me and others to steal Sioux possessions to leave where we attack whites so the Army will blame Sioux. He tells us to take tokens
off trees on sleeping bear mountain. He wants the Sioux destroyed. I don’t want to cause a war between the whites and the Sioux. If Black Moon becomes leader of this territory, he will honor peace with whites as your shaman saw in the vision. The Sioux will flee your magic. All will be good.”

“Bad to rob Great Spirit at sacred mountain,” he scolded.

Joe feigned a contrite expression. “I believe you,” he said, “but I have to follow Snake-Man’s orders or die. When you meet Zeke for the guns, don’t tell him what I’ve told you about the spirit’s weakness. If they learn you know the truth, they’ll guard him close, and you won’t be able to get near him or his wagons to steal his power and magic.” Joe hoped those seeds would sprout mistrust and desire and would entice Black Moon to double cross Zeke and his boss. If so, his task would be over soon and his beloved would be safe, hopefully back home with him in Virginia. From the chief’s expression and next query, Joe assumed his clever ruse was working.

“Why spirit tell you to kill whites and blame Sioux?”

Joe shrugged and faked ignorance. “I don’t know. Do you know why he tells you to kill Sioux? Why does he hate them so much? Why does he want them all killed or driven out of this territory? Does he want it for himself? Is that why he supplies you with weapons to do the job for him?”

Black Moon pondered those discoveries, but said, “We enemies with Sioux more winters than Black Moon lived. You fear white spirit?”

Joe faked his discomfort. “He has lots of men and can have me killed if I don’t obey him. But he’s not all powerful, not really a spirit like Indian spirits. He’s more like your shaman, a clever medicine man. He makes that smoke with
balls
of powder from far away, like the powder inside bullets. Snakes are his medicine sign like the black moons on your possessions. They’re painted on his arms like you paint your symbols on your shield and tepee. Painted snakes can’t come alive and strike, if he can’t use his magic. That takes time. He wants people to think he can bring them to life fast only to scare them into not challenging him.”