Lakota Flower (3 page)

War Eagle glanced to his right and watched part of his band heading onward to Makosica. He knew why they were traveling to the area known by Indians and Whites as the Badlands; some of his party were going to shove the cannons, other weapons, and wagons over its steep bluffs in places where the army could not retrieve them. The soldiers would be buried ?? winding canyons there, their final resting places covered ??cks for concealment. Even if the slain bluecoats were ?? knew arrows with telltale Red Shield markings ?? removed, and would be used again during future ?? or battles. The mules and horses would be released to roam the grasslands, as far away as his men could lead them in the passing of one sun, as it would be perilous to keep those animals in or near their camp. The remainder of his party was running a large herd of buffalo over all wagon and horseshoe tracks so that no revealing trails could be sighted and followed; then, they would return to the big hunt, which had been halted earlier to carry out those tasks.

As for him and Swift Otter, they were returning to the main encampment to relate those deeds to their chief and people, and to leave Caroline there while he and his friend rejoined the hunting party for a few more days. He could not surmise what his father and the council of Big Bellies would
say and think about his attack, or what they might do to him for it. Yet, he was certain his oldest brother, Wind Dancer, who was to become their next chief, would have taken the same protective action. As to Caroline, once more he could not guess what the reactions to her would be. Surely they would agree he had no choice but to capture her after the lethal attack on her traveling companions, and he was sure his father and the council would not order her death.

War Eagle felt her soft arms around his waist and the way her body pressed close to his bare back. He could not help wondering what she was thinking and feeling. She must be afraid and worried, maybe plotting an escape or praying for a rescue, though neither would happen, as he would not allow it. He was impressed by her continued display of courage and obedience and was relieved that she did not provoke him to use force on her for defiance.

War Eagle did not have to look back at Caroline to see her face. His mind’s eye could envision it with ease and detail, her coloring so different from his and his people’s. She was beautiful and tempting, just as Cloud Chaser’s white mother must have been to their father long ago during one night of weakness on Rising Bear’s part when the chief was consumed by grief and loneliness over the loss of his beloved mate to the Pawnee. But Winona had been returned to them by the Great Spirit, and Omaste—Margaret Phillips—had been taken by death. If his mother had not escaped her cruel captors many seasons after she was taken by them and was believed to be dead, he and his younger sister would not exist; and perhaps Omaste would still be with their father, tending his two brothers. Would Rising Bear, chief of the Red Shield Oglalas, have made Omaste his wife if Winona had never returned? Somehow War Eagle knew that would never have happened. It had been difficult enough for his father to accept having a half-white son. That had taken place last summer, and only because Cloud Chaser had proven his worth and loyalty to them, proven his Lakota blood was stronger.

Those thoughts compelled War Eagle to ask himself why he hated the whites so fiercely when his father had mated with one, although only once. His second brother was half white, one of his best friends, Red Wolf of the Cheyenne, was half white, and Red Wolf’s mother was all white, as was the girl behind him. It was obvious to him that he did not detest all whites, just most of them, and in particular, the soldiers, their leaders, and greedy hunters and settlers. Perhaps it was easy to accept Cloud Chaser because he almost looked pure-blooded, and Red Wolf did not hint strongly at possessing enemy blood. If more of their race were like those three women, peace would be possible with them. But they were not. They craved all that the Indians possessed, craved their destruction so they might feel safe in stolen lands. War was inevitable.

What about Caroline? What will happen to her in our camp when
—
not if—war with her people comes?

Rising Bear’s third son did not want his mind to dwell on that oddly troubling thought, so he dismissed it. He glanced at Swift Otter and said in their language, “It grows dark soon, my friend, and we still have a long way to ride. We halt here and finish our journey on the next sun. There is no need to reach our camp while it sleeps. There is much for us to reveal, so we should be rested.”

“That is true and wise,” Swift Otter said.

War Eagle reined in his horse and slid to the ground. “We camp here,” he said as he extended his arms upward to Caroline.

Caroline became tense at the thought of what might loom ahead during the night with the two warriors. Even so, her cold and quivering hands clutched at his hard forearms as she was assisted down by his grip on both sides of her waist. He released her instantly and turned to tend his horse.

Her mind shrieked,
What now?

Caroline summoned her courage. “May I be excused?” she asked. She could tell from her captor’s baffled look that he did not understand the meaning of her query. “Visit the bushes,” she said and pointed to them.

War Eagle nodded permission, then warned her, “You run, I chase, punish. It name
leja.”

Caroline nodded. Embarrassment burned her cheeks as she committed that Lakota word to memory. She went behind the dense greenery growing near the river’s bank and relieved herself in a hurry; though for some reason, she trusted him not to intrude on her privacy. She noticed that he had used a matter-of-fact, even slightly affable, tone of voice. She rinsed her hands in the river, dried them on the hem of her dress, and awaited his next order.

The two men sat down on the grass beneath a large tree, their horses grazing and drinking in contentment nearby. She watched the men retrieve food from leather pouches and begin to eat, occasionally sipping water from strange bags. She took a seat on the grass not far away, close to the edge of the tree’s remaining shadow. When her stomach growled in hunger, she placed a hand over it to muffle the sound. She
glanced around as the men ate and drank and talked in their language. Although she yearned for food, she did not ask for it; she was uncertain about the way a captive was treated and should behave to avoid injury or death. It seemed best to remain as still and quiet as a mouse trying to go unnoticed by a ravenous hawk circling overhead; or in this instance, a war eagle.

As she gazed at the river, her heart and mind ached to know her brother’s location and condition. Was David alive or dead, wounded or unharmed? If alive, he couldn’t possibly know about her grim fate. When he learned about it, what action would he be allowed to take, if any? Surely somebody would come searching for them when they failed to reach Fort Kearny on schedule. But what would have happened to her by then, and would she be found and rescued?

Caroline’s thoughts were interrupted when War Eagle nudged her shoulder with a gentle touch. Startled from her reverie, she looked up at him. The handsome warrior appeared to tower over her, yet neither his stance nor his expression seemed menacing. He held objects out to her.

War Eagle passed her the water bag and said,
“Mni.
Drink.
Wasna.
Eat,” he added. As he gave her the second object his keen senses noted that she appeared alert and wary but not terrified, and that pleased him. An odd warmth spread through his body as she gazed up at him with wide blue eyes. He had. never experienced such strange alarm and tension, even during stealthy raids and perilous battles, as he did at that moment when unwanted desire claimed him. She was nothing more to him than an enemy captive, but a mysterious and potent force drew him to her. He knew he must not surrender even slightly to those sensations; he must resist them with all of his might. He must not dishonor himself and his rank or be cruel by taking her for the mere release of physical urges. He warned himself to put a safe distance between them as fast as possible so as to resist her unnerving magic.

Caroline accepted the offerings, fearing to reject them and
offend him; and she needed her strength for what loomed ahead. She nodded and said, “Thank you.”

After the warrior rejoined his friend, she sniffed the unknown food, bit off a piece, rolled it around on her tongue, chewed, and swallowed. She was surprised and gratified to find its flavor pleasant. It seemed to be some kind of bread with dried nuts and berries. As she sipped from the Indianstyle canteen, she committed the two new words to memory:
mni
for water and
wasna
for bread or food. Since she would be a captive in his camp until she escaped or was rescued, she should learn all she could about his culture, ways, and language. She had heard only bad things about Indians from the soldiers and most of the settlers she had encountered at Fort Pierre during her short stay there, but were they all true? If not, which ones were accurate?

As she ate and drank, Caroline called those people’s opinions and assertions to mind. Especially during her five-day journey with the soldiers who were compelled to travel slowly due to heavy wagons, she had overheard many things. The men had talked and laughed about spoiled meat, insect-infested flour, skinny cattle, inferior blankets, and a lack of or sorry condition of the annuities promised to the “Injuns” in the Laramie Treaty of 1851 in exchange for peace with the whites and with enemy tribes and for permission to cross certain areas of their lands. They had jested about giving Indians more whiskey to dull their brains and weaken their bodies and spirits, and bringing in more diseases to slay them as with past epidemics. They had revealed their greed for the fertile land so perfect for ranches and farms, for roads and for more forts to be built for protection. They had joked about enslaving Indians and teaching them to pick cotton and tobacco and sending them to the South to work on plantations or driving them northward into Canada where they could starve and freeze or become the problem of the Canadians. They had ridiculed “redskin” customs, beliefs, rituals, and appearances. They had bragged about how the army was going to whip the
Indians so badly they would “be running with their tails between their legs like dogs and licking their wounds for years to come,” if they allowed any of the “savages” to survive. They had talked of total conquest, subjugation, humiliation, destruction of Indian villages and way of life, eradication, and outright slaughter, even of “squaws, breeding brats, and gray-heads.”

If such grim atrocities already had occurred and more—worse—were planned in the near future, Caroline asked herself, could she blame the Indians for their defensive and retaliatory actions? Whites were deceiving them, encroaching on their lands, bringing in weapons—as with those cannons and crates in the wagons with her—and more soldiers for an impending assault; so it was natural for the Indians to assume they were being challenged to war.

What, she wondered, was the truth? No doubt both sides believed they were in the right. How did David feel about his role in the gruesome matter, and what horrible orders had he been forced to carry out since coming to this territory?
No, don’t think about such awful things!

Caroline watched as War Eagle built a small fire, no doubt to provide light during the blackest phase of the new moon. Perhaps he only wanted to make sure he could keep her in view all night. He needn’t worry, she told herself, as this was not an opportune time to risk an escape. She could not get far without a horse, and she could not flee afoot in total darkness. To attempt such an obviously futile feat would only serve to provoke him against her. She watched him gather some items and walk toward her, an animal skin draped over one arm. She was surprised when he unfolded a buffalo hide and motioned for her to lie on it.

“Sleep. We ride to camp on new sun.”

Caroline thanked him and handed him the two pouches. She watched him nod, then rejoin his friend and lie down on the thick grass next to Swift Otter’s furry mat, implying he had given his to her. She told herself she should be grateful
to War Eagle for not slaying her on sight, for not harming her so far, and for being generous—even gentle.

Caroline settled down on the soft hide, her back to the men and facing the river. She didn’t want to think about the disturbing fact that she was lying on his
bed.
She had seen the way he had stared into her eyes for a few moments, then averted his gaze as if she made him as apprehensive and confused as he made her. What if he found her appealing as a woman? When they reached his camp, would he keep her as his slave or give her to another to avoid temptation? If so, how would that person treat her? Since he had shown her such kindness so far, Caroline prayed she would remain with War Eagle; yet that thought troubled her.

She tried to discard such thoughts and go to sleep, but they continued to race across her restless mind; and the location he had chosen for camping was a busy one. Crickets, frogs, other nocturnal insects, and birds created loud and almost competitive noises. A few animals came to the river to drink not far away. The horses moved about and swished their tails. The fire crackled and popped from feasting on dry wood. She smelled its smoke, along with the fragrant scents of wildflowers and crushed grass blades, and the odor of horse droppings when the seemingly incessant wind changed direction and blew toward her. Fatigued, she eventually became accustomed to the sounds, sights, and smells and slumber overtook her…

Caroline was awakened when her shoulder was nudged as she lay on her left side. While her senses were still groggy, she rolled to her back, took a deep breath of fresh air, and opened her eyes to a now familiar sight, War Eagle’s arresting face. He knelt beside her and spoke to her in a mellow tone.

“We ride soon. Eat. Drink.
Leja.”

Caroline sat up and rubbed heavy lids. She could hardly
believe she had gone to sleep and slept so deeply. The sun was rising in an untroubled blue sky and birds were singing in the trees and bushes along the riverbank. A pleasant breeze wafted across her. She concluded it was going to be a lovely, but hot, day, one filled with unknown things. After he returned to his friend’s side for his morning meal, she knelt by the river to bathe her face and hands, doing the task slowly since she dreaded joining the intimidating strangers.

As she reached for the hem of her dress to dry her hands she heard a terrifying noise to her right and froze in alarm. Without turning her head, she glanced in that direction and saw a large snake atop a nearby log. Its fat body, triangularshaped head, a pit on each side, and evil-looking eyes told her it was poisonous; the multiple rattles on its tail exposed that fact. Within easy striking distance of her, it seemed to stare menacingly at her as its forked tongue flickered in and out of its mouth. She knew the snake detected her presence, perhaps viewed her as a threat, and would strike if she moved to escape or to attack it.

Suddenly an arrow thudded into the viper’s head, pierced both sides, and pinned it to the log. That action caused its body to thrash about wildly in a futile attempt to free itself, Caroline’s wide gaze retraced the shaft’s path and she saw her captor standing about fifteen feet away as he lowered a bow, then walked toward the imprisoned snake. She watched him cut off the viper’s head and rattles, the latter of which he kept.

“You hurt?” War Eagle asked.

Caroline shook her head, still too frightened and shaky to speak. She saw him nod understanding and rejoin his friend. She remained there for few minutes as she calmed herself, wondering if he had been spying on her or simply had heard the snake’s warning sounds. As she settled her frayed nerves, she refused to glance at the bloody creature. Unable to avoid the inevitable any longer, she joined the men and thanked
her captor for saving her life. He kept silent and only nodded again.

When War Eagle gave her more of the same food she had eaten the night before, she consumed it without delay while he recovered his sleeping hide and readied his horse for departure.

Then the final leg of their journey began.

After a couple of hours of riding, Caroline saw an encampment looming ahead, countless tepees with poles jutting skyward from each of them. Even at that distance, she saw many people—women, men, and children of various ages. She trembled and tightened her grasp around War Eagle’s waist as if seeking protection and courage.

War Eagle felt and heard her reaction to the sight beyond them. Before he realized what he was doing and could halt himself, he placed one hand over her interlocked fingers, stroked them, and whispered over his shoulder, “You not fear; we not slay or harm enemy women and children.”

Relieved, Caroline laid her cheek against his back, took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and murmured, “Thank you, War Eagle, but I’m still afraid of what’s to come.”

“Fear good; make you obey and no be punished.”

His tone of voice had altered from compassionate to almost stern as they reached the sprawling village. The two warriors—amidst the stares of their people—wound their way between tepees to a large clearing. During their passing, all work and play ceased. Caroline saw some women and men whispering to nearby companions. A few motioned toward them as they talked in low voices. Some ran past tepees, no doubt to spread the news of their arrival to others who had not yet seen them. Dread caused her heart to beat faster as she realized she was totally surrounded by, and at the mercy of, The Enemy.

A buckskin-clad crowd gathered around, most with expressions of curiosity and confusion. As some of the darkhaired females openly stared at her, Caroline released her hold on the warrior’s waist and rested sweaty and shaky hands on her thighs. Four males stepped close to her captor’s horse and studied her for a minute: two slightly older than War Eagle appeared to be, one at least twice his age, and an elderly man with gray hair and a serene aura. When the middleaged man spoke with War Eagle, she assumed him to be their leader, perhaps his father. She lowered her gaze and focused it on the back of her captor’s waist. All she could do was await her fate, as she could not understand their language.
Be still and silent; don’t do anything to offend or provoke them against you. Please, God, guide me and protect me.

In Lakota, Chief Rising Bear asked his third child, “Why do you and Swift Otter return to camp without the others, my son, and bring a white woman with you? Was there trouble during the hunt?”

War Eagle remained mounted so everyone could see and hear him. “Yes, Father, we battled with bluecoats on the past sun, but no Red Shield was lost. We slayed them, but I spared her life, as is our way.”

Rising Bear replied, “It is not our way to take white captives, my son.”

“I could not leave a helpless female on the grasslands alone to die or be found and abused by an enemy band or found by other soldiers, for she would tell the white-eyes who did that deed, which would endanger us.”

The chief nodded and praised him. “That is true and wise. We must call the council together so you can reveal your news to us. Take the woman to our tepee and leave her with your mother and sister.”