Focusing his frustration and anger on the two guards, Fighting Wolf barked, “Is there any reason I shouldn’t kill you both, here and now? Speak up!”
The two men stood their ground. “No, sir,” they replied in unison.
“I failed in my duty,” acknowledged the first guard.
“Please, sir,” begged the guard still holding the leather thong, “take care of my wife and children after I’m gone.”
In disgust, Fighting Wolf turned away from the men. He couldn’t afford to kill two brave men just because he was in a fury. “Get out of here!” he thundered at them. “I’ll see to your punishment later!”
The servants, who had crept closer to watch the drama unfold, scattered anew like a flock of screaming sea gulls. His anger still high, Fighting Wolf strode out of the longhouse and headed towards the beach. Leaping into a two-seater canoe, he paddled swiftly out of the harbor, his fury evident in every paddle-stroke.
On the beach, the onlookers murmured and chatted amongst themselves. He was so angry! Surely he must love her very much, to be so upset at her disappearance. Love her? What nonsense, he didn’t love her. He was just angry that a good bed partner had escaped. No, he was angry that one of those sneaky Hesquiat wenches had made a fool of him and then escaped.
Fighting Wolf plunged the paddle, time and again, into the gray, choppy sea until he was out of sight of the coastline. Gradually his fury abated.
His initial red-hot anger started to give way to a lethal calmness. Cooler now, he began to plan. The woman wouldn’t get away with this. Thought she could leave him, did she? Well, she wouldn’t get far. He’d go to Hesquiat and drag her back by her hair if he had to. Then he’d tie her to his bed and ravish her until she demanded more. Let her know he was her lord and master! When he was finished with her, she’d be begging to stay with him. He’d see her crawl on her knees first—and then he’d laugh. After that, maybe, just maybe, he’d spare her worthless life!
“What are you going to do?” asked Scarred Mouth. Hearing the uproar in the village, he had lain in wait for his nephew. Standing onshore, he had watched as the war chief paddled calmly back to shore, ignoring the curious crowd.
Scarred Mouth eyed the younger man curiously. Who would have thought the young devil was so enamored of the little slave? True, she was beautiful, but to roar and shout and lose such face just because she’d escaped…Well, it just wasn’t done…
“Do?” replied Fighting Wolf, seemingly indifferent. “What do you think I’m going to do? I’m going to bring her back!”
* * * *
Many days went by, however, before Fighting Wolf was freed from village responsibilities and able to carry out his vow. The fall season was fast upon the Ahousat people. A move to the winter village site had to be made now, before the severe winter storms buffeted the open summer village.
His first priority had to be his people, reminded Scarred Mouth. After they were taken care of, then he could pursue his personal business. Reluctantly, Fighting Wolf conceded that his uncle was, for once, correct.
The move took longer than planned because of the early gale winds and rain sweeping the coast. At last his people were safely moved to the protected winter village.
The site was a new one. This was to be the first winter spent there. The village was situated on a large island surrounded by deep waters, at the head of a long inlet. The island had additional natural fortifications. Tall trees flanked the shores and large boulders scattered over the rocky beach prevented enemies from safely beaching their canoes in a night raid.
The fresh water supply, midway across the island, came from a small lake fed year-round by a bubbling spring. Fighting Wolf knew that on the mainland, a short distance away, hot sulphurous springs steamed in deep pools in the rocks. His people would have the luxury of warm baths during the cold, rainy months. Yes, it was a good site for a winter village. He hoped it would prove satisfactory for many winters.
It had been a long while since Fighting Wolf had bathed in the hot springs. A dip in the cold waters of the inlet followed by a dash along the path to the springs would rejuvenate his tired body and mind, he decided.
He paddled across the small channel from the island to the mainland and beached his canoe. Although the day was overcast, and rain was falling lightly, he quickly stripped off the cedar kutsack he wore and waded out into the cold salt water. He rubbed water briskly over his strong body, unaware of dark brown, sloe eyes avidly watching him.
His quick swim finished, he ran up the trail that led to the hot springs. There, in a forest clearing, a fine mist floated over the surface of the tub-like depressions cast in the solid rock. The springs were unoccupied and Fighting Wolf sank slowly into the nearest one. He heaved a great sigh. Sitting in the hot water, he felt his body slowly relax for the first time in many days.
Leaning back against the rim of the small pool, Fighting Wolf closed his eyes. Suddenly he opened them. The forest noises had stopped. The silence was overpowering. He looked around for his knife and cursed himself. He’d foolishly left it on the beach with the canoe. But unarmed though he was, he knew he could still put up a good fight against any marauding foe.
Without moving, his eyes searched the clearing. His sharp ears detected a soft footfall behind him. Tensing himself, he was ready to shoot out of the water when a low voice called, “Oooh, Fighting Wolf, there you are. I’ve been searching all over for you.”
He relaxed. It was only Rough Seas.
“I think I’ll join you,” she said, mincing into the clearing. “There’s room enough for two in that little pool.” Seeing her disrobe in front of him surprised Fighting Wolf, but didn’t arouse him.
Stepping gracefully into the hot water, she took her time folding her long legs under her as she sat down. “You’ve been so busy lately,” she chided. “I thought you’d forgotten all about me.”
“Oh?”
“Yes. Running all around searching for your sister and that—that slave.” Noticing his frown, she added quickly, “I’m so sorry to hear about your sister.”
Fighting Wolf merely nodded and leaned back again and closed his eyes. They sat like that for a few minutes, Rough Seas watching the resting man. At last, she leaned forward and touched his neck. He opened his eyes to find her puckered lips mere inches away from his face.
“What do you want, Rough Seas?” he asked lazily.
“To kiss you,” she said coyly, her dark eyes wide.
“Oh?” Seeing her simper was suddenly too much for him. He stood up abruptly, the surprised woman falling back against the rim of the pool. “Let’s not waste your time or mine,” he said crisply. “I’m not looking for an affair.”
“But Fighting Wolf, I’ll marry you,” she said eagerly. “I’m not looking for an affair, either. I’ve finally decided to settle down. No more affairs, no more husbands, just you. I’ll marry you as soon as you want me to.” Her raised arms beckoned him back into the pool.
“You misunderstand me,” he answered evenly. “I will not now—or ever—marry you.”
He jumped out of the pool and strode down the path, leaving the angry woman sitting in the steaming bath.
“Who wants you, anyway?” she screeched.
Fighting Wolf’s taunting laughter drifted back to her, then she was alone in the silent forest.
* * * *
As Fighting Wolf returned to the beach, he thoroughly scanned the inlet waters. As war chief, he was constantly on the alert. This observant habit had many times been amply rewarded.
A two-seater canoe with distinctive white markings lay beached on the winter village island. It had not been there earlier when he had gone to the hot springs. He easily recognized his old uncle’s canoe.
Paddling quickly across the narrow channel, he moored his canoe and strode to the longhouses. Heading towards his own longhouse, he veered off when he saw a thin older man coming towards him.
“Uncle,” he greeted. “I’m glad to see that two of the bravest men on the coast have returned safely. Very few men I know would travel all the way to Yuquot in a two-seater, no matter how sturdy.”
The older man smiled. “My son did all the work,” he answered modestly.
“That may be,” returned Fighting Wolf, “but he had one of the best navigators on the coast to guide him.”
The old man chuckled proudly. “I see you haven’t forgotten all the lessons I gave you on finding your way around the inlets and bays.”
“No, indeed. Many times on the sea, I’ve owed my life to the skills you taught me, uncle. And I’ll be using those skills again, shortly. I’m taking a little trip north. I’ll be leaving in the next few days.”
Fighting Wolf stared bemusedly into the distance for a moment. Then he clapped a large hand on the older man’s shoulders. “Come back to my longhouse and join me for dinner. We’ll talk about old times.”
The senior man agreed. “I’ll gladly join you for dinner, Fighting Wolf, but I’ve some more immediate news to discuss with you—not just old times.”
The ominous tone in his voice did not escape Fighting Wolf. He glanced quickly at the seamed face and nodded. “I’ll make sure we have privacy,” he answered.
When the last of the smoked fish was consumed and the empty wooden platter taken away, Fighting Wolf dismissed the serving women. At last the main area of the house was cleared of people.
He turned to his guest. “What is the immediate news you wished to discuss, uncle?” Fighting Wolf leaned back on the cedar mat and waited. The older man reached for a cup of water and took a sip before answering.
“I bring you news of your sister.” Fighting Wolf sat up quickly. “She’s alive,” assured the uncle, “and apparently well-treated. She said to tell you she’s safe.” The old man paused. “She’s at Hesquiat.”
“Hesquiat?” exclaimed Fighting Wolf.
Before he could say more, his uncle continued. “She told me that Feast Giver—“
“Thunder Maker’s whelp! If he’s so much as touched her, I’ll—“
“—that Feast Giver rescued her from a band of marauding Kwakiutl.”
Fighting Wolf sat back again. “Continue,” he said, his eyes narrowed.
“She didn’t tell me the whole story, but my guess is that Feast Giver found out she was your sister and took her back with him.” The older man added hastily, “For what purpose I don’t know. She said she’s well-treated, but when I pressed her, she admitted she wasn’t free to leave.”
“That bastard!”
“She gave me this bangle.” The uncle untied a wooden bracelet from a thong at his waist and handed it to Fighting Wolf, who studied it carefully.
“It’s hers, all right.”
“She said to tell you that the Hesquiats were moving to their winter site. They’ll be gone by now.”
Fighting Wolf nodded. “I’ll send out scouts right away. They can reconnoiter the area and report back to me.”
“No need for that,” chuckled the old man. “I can tell you where they’re going.” He took another sip of water. “Straight up that inlet from their summer village. They’ve been going there for years.”
“That’s right,” responded Fighting Wolf. “You have relatives in that village. I’d forgotten.”
“My wife has relatives,” emphasized the older man. “But
my
relatives are here.” His eyes twinkled. It was clear where his loyalties lay.
“Thank you for your help, old uncle. I’m glad to know my sister is alive. But with the Hesquiats—“ He shook his head.
“Oh by the way,” the older man added. “She did tell me one other thing. Said some woman has returned to the village. She said you’d know of her. Now, what was her name? Let me think…”
Fighting Wolf eyed his uncle intently. Could it be--?
The old man scratched his head and thought. “A strange name. What was it? S—S—Sarita. Yes. Sarita, that’s it.” He failed to notice the sudden coiled tension of the man sitting beside him. “Now there was something else, too. What was it?”
Watching the old man hesitate, then hesitate again, made the impatient Fighting Wolf want to throttle his old uncle. “Something about Sarita?” the war chief encouraged tautly.
“Mmmm. That’s so. Now what was it? Oh yes,” the old uncle beamed triumphantly. “I’ve got it! Sarita’s pregnant.”
That night, a determined Fighting Wolf led a huge flotilla of war canoes north. They paddled silently, steadily, their destination the Hesquiat winter village.
A violent storm whipped the rugged coastline for two days. Torrential rains and gale winds wrought havoc on land and sea.
In her father’s longhouse, Sarita sat by the fire, weaving a cedar mat. Nearby hovered two silent men, strong giants assigned to keep a close watch on her. She ignored their unwanted presence.
She had been housebound since the pounding rain and wind began. In past years, she had enjoyed staying in the longhouse when storms passed through the area. This time, however, she had no enthusiasm for the usual rainy day occupations. Rehearsing a part in a play, singing, or practicing one of her family’s hereditary dances held little appeal.
Overwhelmed by her personal problems, she wove carelessly, her thoughts and fingers flying.
“May I join you?”
She glanced up to see Precious Copper approaching. Smiling with relief, Sarita slid to one side of the mat she was sitting on so that Precious Copper could sit nearer the fire.
Sarita noticed, out of the corner of her eye, that the two guards moved away, out of earshot. She was grateful for their unexpected tact. “I’d be delighted to have you weave with me.”
Precious Copper indicated the slipshod piece of weaving and said dryly, “Indeed. You really must teach me how you do that. Someday.”
Sarita laughed and said, “My weaving can’t compare with yours and you know it!” Her fingers slowed down a little as she added, “Seems like I’ve spent a lot of time with you lately.”
“If you want some time alone, I can go elsewhere.”
“No, no. I’m very glad to have your company. You remind me of—“ She stopped. “Never mind.” She had been about to say, ”Fighting Wolf.”
Precious Copper raised an inquiring brow, but receiving no response, shrugged and sat down comfortably.