Savage Illusions

by Cassie Edwards

  Jolena le­aned in­to Spot­ted Eag­le's em­b­ra­ce and wat­c­hed the clo­se­ness and ad­mi­ra­ti­on gro­wing bet­we­en her brot­her and Mo­on Flo­wer, who just re­cently had lost so much. First Two Rid­ges, and then her pa­rents' lo­ve and af­fec­ti­on. Per­haps now Mo­on Flo­wer wo­uld be ab­le to carry her child with a happy he­art.

  Jolena's bre­ath ca­ught in her thro­at when she re­cal­led that Mo­on Flo­wer was preg­nant.

  Oh, Lord, Jole­na des­pa­ired to her­self. How co­uld she ha­ve for­got­ten that Mo­on Flo­wer was preg­nant? Su­rely when Kirk dis­co­ve­red that this be­a­uti­ful wo­man was car­rying anot­her man's child in­si­de her, he wo­uld turn his back on her.

  "Tomorrow you will be much bet­ter," Mo­on Flo­wer was sa­ying to Kirk. "So­on you will be well eno­ugh to ta­ke walks in the fo­rest with Mo­on Flo­wer. You will be ta­ught many things abo­ut na­tu­re and the way it is used by the Blac­k­fo­ot."

  "While I am he­aling, I can stay he­re at the Blac­k­fo­ot vil­la­ge," Kirk sa­id softly. "But then I must think of re­tur­ning to Sa­int Lo­u­is."

  He cast Jole­na a wa­ve­ring glan­ce. "My sis­ter, al­so, must see the ne­ed to re­turn to Sa­int Lo­u­is," he mur­mu­red. "We ha­ve a fat­her the­re who is an­xi­o­usly awa­iting our ar­ri­val."

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Buffalo had be­en spot­ted and it was de­ci­ded to ma­ke a run. Thro­ug­ho­ut the Blac­k­fo­ot vil­la­ge, men and wo­men we­re re­ad­ying them­sel­ves for the short jo­ur­ney to the gre­at pis-kun that the war­ri­ors had bu­ilt very high and strong at the fo­ot of a to­we­ring cliff, so that no buf­fa­lo co­uld es­ca­pe.

  Jolena was lost in tho­ught as she bat­hed her brot­her's brow with a co­ol cloth. Spot­ted Eag­le was pre­pa­ring to le­ave for the hunt. He had re­fu­sed to eat and was now sor­ting thro­ugh his bun­d­les for the clot­hes that he wan­ted to we­ar du­ring the hunt.

  Jolena was re­mem­be­ring how he had tal­ked to her of the buf­fa­lo hunt la­te last eve­ning, af­ter Mo­on Flo­wer had re­tur­ned to Jole­na's fat­her's te­pee for the night and Kirk had fal­len in­to a com­for­tab­le eno­ugh sle­ep.

  Before a slow-bur­ning fi­re, Spot­ted Eag­le had told Jole­na that a pis-kun was one of the Blac­k­fo­ot's in­ge­ni­o­us met­hods to en­su­re the ta­king of buf­fa­lo in lar­ge num­bers at one ti­me. This was a lar­ge cor­ral, or en­c­lo­su­re, bu­ilt out from the fo­ot of a per­pen­di­cu­lar cliff and for­med of na­tu­ral banks, rocks, and brus­han­y­t­hing, in fact, to ma­ke a clo­se, high bar­ri­er.

  From the top of the cliff, di­rectly over the pis-kun, two long li­nes of pi­led-up rock and brush ex­ten­ded far out on the pra­irie, ever di­ver­ging from each ot­her li­ke the arms of the let­ter V, the ope­ning over the pis-kun be­ing at the an­g­le.

  Jolena had al­so be­en told that so­on Clo­uds Ma­ke Thun­der, who was to le­ad the buf­fa­lo to the cliff, wo­uld be re­ady to le­ave this mor­ning wit­ho­ut eating or drin­king and wo­uld or­der his wo­man not to le­ave the lod­ge, nor even to lo­ok out, un­til he re­tur­ned. Whi­le he was go­ne, she sho­uld ke­ep bur­ning swe­et grass and sho­uld pray to the Sun for his suc­cess and sa­fety.

  Those who wo­uld jo­in the hunt to­day wo­uld be aler­ted when he was re­ady to le­ave and wo­uld fol­low him to the pis-kun and con­ce­al them­sel­ves be­hind the rocks and bus­hes which for­med the V.

  Clouds Ma­ke Thun­der wo­uld then put on a he­ad­dress ma­de of the he­ad of a buf­fa­lo, and a ro­be, and start out to ap­pro­ach the ani­mals, car­rying his "me­di­ci­ne", a lar­ge rat­tle or­na­men­ted with be­aver claws and bright fe­at­hers. When he got ne­ar the herd, he wo­uld mo­ve abo­ut un­til he at­trac­ted the at­ten­ti­on of so­me of the buf­fa­lo, and when they be­gan to lo­ok at him, he wo­uld ri­de slowly away, to­ward the en­t­ran­ce of the chu­te of rocks and bus­hes.

  The buf­fa­lo wo­uld fol­low, and as they did, the me­di­ci­ne man wo­uld gra­du­al­ly in­c­re­ase his pa­ce.

  Finally, when the buf­fa­lo we­re well wit­hin the chu­te, the pe­op­le wo­uld be­gin to ri­se up from be­hind the rock pi­les which the herd had pas­sed and sho­ut and wa­ve the­ir ro­bes. This wo­uld frig­h­ten the last buf­fa­lo, which wo­uld push for­ward on the ot­hers, and be­fo­re long the who­le herd wo­uld be run­ning at he­ad­long spe­ed to­ward the pre­ci­pi­ce, the rock pi­les di­rec­ting them to the po­int over the en­c­lo­su­re.

  When they re­ac­hed it, most of the ani­mals wo­uld be pus­hed over by tho­se be­hind them, and usu­al­ly even the last of the band wo­uld plun­ge blindly down in­to the pis-kun.

  Many wo­uld be kil­led out­right by the fall.

  Others wo­uld ha­ve bro­ken legs or bro­ken backs, whi­le so­me wo­uld be uni­nj­ured.

  The bar­ri­ca­de, ho­we­ver, wo­uld pre­vent them from es­ca­ping, and all wo­uld so­on be kil­led by Blac­k­fo­ot ar­rows.

  The wo­men wo­uld then ap­pro­ach and pre­pa­re the buf­fa­lo to ta­ke back with them to the vil­la­ge.

  Jolena drop­ped the cloth back in­to the ba­sin of wa­ter and ro­se to her fe­et. She went to Spot­ted Eag­le, who was smi­ling as he held a par­ti­cu­lar pa­ir of leg­gings out be­fo­re him, ga­zing pro­udly at them.

  "Let me go with you, Spot­ted Eag­le," Jole­na as­ked, mo­ving to his si­de and kis­sing his che­ek. "Ple­ase? I so badly want to ob­ser­ve how ever­y­t­hing is do­ne in­s­te­ad of just be­ing told. I co­uld help. Ple­ase al­low it."

  "There is ti­me to te­ach you," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, still ga­zing pro­udly at his leg­gings. "I ha­ve ma­de much me­at in my ti­me. So shall you, my wo­man, on­ce you ha­ve be­co­me my wi­fe. You will al­ways re­mem­ber that the buf­fa­lo is a smart ani­mal and that he is me­ant for the pe­op­le. He is the­ir fo­od and shel­ter."

  When Kirk co­ug­hed, Jole­na jum­ped with alarm and her tho­ughts we­re sud­denly only of him. She hur­ri­ed back to him, and when she fo­und that he was fi­nal­ly awa­ke, she smo­ot­hed her hand over his brow and smi­led down at him.

  "How are you this mor­ning?" she mur­mu­red. "Are you hungry? Mo­on Flo­wer has bro­ught a fresh pot of so­up, es­pe­ci­al­ly for you."

  Kirk le­aned on one el­bow, ga­zing aro­und him. "Whe­re is she?" he as­ked, his vo­ice so­un­ding stron­ger.

  "It's early mor­ning," Jole­na sa­id, re­ac­hing for a bowl and spo­on and pla­cing the­se on the mat be­si­de Kirk. "Mo­on Flo­wer will be he­re so­on."

  Kirk smi­led and mo­ved to a sit­ting po­si­ti­on, then his smi­le fa­ded as Spot­ted Eag­le ca­me and sto­od over him.

  "Soon you will be strong eno­ugh to tra­vel to the ri­ver, to ri­de on the lar­ge whi­te ca­noe back to Sa­int Lo­u­is," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, his eyes nar­ro­wing as he ga­zed down at Kirk, kno­wing that he must get this brot­her out of Jole­na's li­fe as so­on as pos­sib­le. As long as Kirk was the­re, he was a re­min­der to Jole­na of the li­fe that she had left be­hind, whe­re the dwel­lings we­re lar­ge and ela­bo­ra­te, and whe­re her whi­te fat­her awa­ited her re­turn.

  "Do you see me as a thre­at?" Kirk ta­un­ted, so­on reg­ret­ting his words when he he­ard Jole­na's gasp of hor­ror. He ac­cep­ted the bowl of so­up that Jole­na an­g­rily sho­ved in­to his hands.

  "I'll be go­ne so­on eno­ugh," Kirk then grum­b­led.

  Kirk ga­ve Jole­na a half glan­ce, then lo­oked qu­ickly away from her aga­in. "At le­ast I ha­ven't for­got­ten whe­re my lo­yal­ti­es lie," he sa­id in a low grum­b­le.

  Jolena sho­ved a spo­on in­to his free hand. "I think you'd best eat in­s­te­ad of talk," she sa­id, her vo­ice drawn.

  She ga­ve Spot­ted Eag­le an apo­lo­ge­tic lo­ok, then ro­se and went to him as he mo­ve
d away from the fi­re, still hol­ding his leg­gings in­s­te­ad of chan­ging in­to them.

  "He is less than gra­te­ful to this Blac­k­fo­ot war­ri­or who is sha­ring his lod­ge and me­di­ci­ne with him," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, tur­ning to gla­re down at Jole­na.

  "My brot­her is af­ra­id of lo­sing me," Jole­na sa­id, res­ting a hand on his arm. "That's all. Ple­ase try and un­der­s­tand."

  "I ne­ver un­der­s­tand ru­de­ness," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id in a low rum­b­le.

  "Yes, my brot­her can be that," Jole­na sa­id, sig­hing he­avily. "But put yo­ur­self in his pla­ce, Spot­ted Eag­le. What if you had a sis­ter and a whi­te man wan­ted her? Wo­uld you ac­cept it wit­ho­ut re­sen­ting that man?"

  "Spotted Eag­le al­ways thinks be­fo­re he spe­aks!" Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, cas­ting Kirk a so­ur glan­ce over Jole­na's sho­ul­der. "This brot­her of yo­urs co­uld still be in the aban­do­ned Cree camp. In­s­te­ad, he is in Spot­ted Eag­le's dwel­ling, sle­eping on Spot­ted Eag­le's pelts, eating from Spot­ted Eag­le's bowls, and ta­king away Spot­ted Eag­le's pri­vacy."

  Spotted Eag­le le­aned down clo­se to Jole­na's fa­ce. He ga­zed in­ten­sely in­to her eyes. "We can­not ma­ke lo­ve whi­le yo­ur brot­her is he­re," he sa­id, his jaw tight. "Sho­uld Spot­ted Eag­le be happy? No! But he do­es not spe­ak of this to yo­ur brot­her. I show res­pect to tho­se who are not well. It is hard, yet I do it just the sa­me!"

  Before Jole­na co­uld res­pond, Spot­ted Eag­le con­ti­nu­ed, "To­mor­row yo­ur brot­her will be ta­ken to the ri­ver and war­ri­ors will stay with him un­til the lar­ge ca­noe co­mes for him," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, his vo­ice firm. "To­day is as far as my ge­ne­ro­sity go­es to­ward him!"

  Jolena's lips par­ted and her eyes grew wi­de. "But what if he is not strong eno­ugh?" she as­ked, her vo­ice tre­mu­lo­us. "Spot­ted Eag­le, he's go­ne thro­ugh a ter­rib­le or­de­al."

  "If he is any kind of a man, he will sur­vi­ve," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id. He slung his leg­gings over his arm and clas­ped her sho­ul­der. "For us it is im­por­tant that he get on with his li­fe, so we can get on with ours. And that is the way it will be." Mo­on Flo­wer ca­me in­to the te­pee, chat­te­ring as she mo­ved to her kne­es be­si­de the pal­let of furs on which Kirk lay.

  "You are eating?" she sa­id, clas­ping her hands in her lap. Her eyes be­amed. "You li­ke my fo­od? I co­oked it slow thro­ugh the night." She gig­gled. "Brown Elk chi­ded me this mor­ning, tel­ling me that the smell kept his sto­mach grow­ling all night and kept him awa­ke."

  "I can see why it wo­uld," Kirk sa­id, la­ug­hing softly. "It not only smells de­li­ci­o­us, it tas­tes go­od." He set his empty bowl asi­de and pla­ced a gen­t­le hand on Mo­on Flo­wer's che­ek. "Thank you. I truly ap­pre­ci­ate yo­ur con­ti­nu­ed kin­d­ness to me."

  Moon Flo­wer blus­hed and lo­we­red her eyes, then stif­fe­ned when Kirk as­ked a qu­es­ti­on that se­emed to cut de­ep in­to her so­ul.

  "Are you mar­ri­ed?" Kirk sa­id, gro­aning as sit­ting up to­ok much ef­fort. "Such a be­a­uti­ful lady sho­uld ha­ve many men fig­h­ting over her."

  When Mo­on Flo­wer co­uld not find the words to spe­ak of the re­cent tra­gedy, Jole­na went to her res­cue. "Kirk, the­re was one man," she sa­id. "Two Rid­ges. But he's de­ad."

  Kirk pa­led as he lo­oked up at Jole­na. "Two Rid­ges­t­he one who ro­de with the ex­pe­di­ti­on as a gu­ide? He is de­ad?" he sa­id, gas­ping. "When? How?"

  "As you know, the Cree are a prob­lem in this re­gi­on," Jole­na mur­mu­red.

  "The Cree kil­led him?" Kirk sa­id, his eyes wi­de.

  "Yes, in­s­tantly," Jole­na sa­id, swal­lo­wing hard as she shif­ted her eyes over to Mo­on Flo­wer.

  Kirk grew so­lemn and qu­i­et.

  Moon Flo­wer saw how Kirk was wit­h­d­ra­wing in­to him­self and ma­de mo­ves to stop him. ''But you are ali­ve," she sa­id, ta­king his hands. "Altho­ugh tor­tu­red and left to die, you are ali­ve, and on the ro­ad to com­p­le­te re­co­very. So let us not think an­y­mo­re on the Cree or the­ir evil. Let us fe­el bles­sed that you are ali­ve."

  Moon Flo­wer lo­oked over her sho­ul­der at the sim­me­ring so­up, then an­xi­o­usly in­to Kirk's eyes aga­in. "Mo­re so­up?" she mur­mu­red. "I shall fe­ed you."

  Kirk smi­led and nod­ded. "Mo­re so­up," he sa­id. "But I can fe­ed myself. It is best that I not le­arn to le­an on an­yo­ne el­se whi­le in this wild co­untry."

  "After you eat, walk with me out­si­de," Mo­on Flo­wer sa­id, lad­ling mo­re so­up in­to Kirk's bowl. "It is im­por­tant that the strength re­turns to yo­ur legs."

  Kirk ga­ve Spot­ted Eag­le a glo­we­ring lo­ok. "Yes, you co­uldn't be mo­re right abo­ut that," he sa­id.

  Suddenly Kirk pul­led a blan­ket aro­und him and pus­hed him­self in­to a stan­ding po­si­ti­on. He swa­yed slightly, then ste­adi­ed him­self and ga­ve Spot­ted Eag­le a lo­ok of tri­umph.

  Jolena wat­c­hed, in awe of her brot­her, yet she was torn bet­we­en pri­de in se­e­ing him con­qu­er the ne­ed to stand and fe­ar that he felt the ne­ed to pro­ve so­met­hing to Spot­ted Eag­le. If he was strong eno­ugh, he wo­uld be sent away to­mor­row, and she knew that he wo­uld not want to le­ave wit­ho­ut her. She lo­oked slowly up at Spot­ted Eag­le, reg­ret­ting that she had be­en put in the mid­dle of the­se two men, and the two ways of li­fe she was cho­osing bet­we­en.

  And the­re we­re two ot­her men that we­re a part of her de­ci­si­on! Her two fat­hers! She owed both of them lo­yalty! But de­ep wit­hin her he­art she had al­re­ady ma­de her cho­ice. She wo­uld stay with Spot­ted Eag­le, no mat­ter what the cost…

  Spotted Eag­le la­id his hun­ting leg­gings asi­de and knelt down over his bun­d­le of clot­hes and be­gan sor­ting thro­ugh them aga­in. Jole­na wat­c­hed as he la­id a com­p­le­te set of buc­k­s­kins on the flo­or at his si­de, then sor­ted thro­ugh his many pa­irs of black moc­ca­sins, fi­nal­ly cho­osing a pa­ir.

  When he to­ok all of this up in­to his arms and wal­ked stiffly to Kirk, sho­ving them in­to his hands and arms, Jole­na's eyes wi­de­ned.

  "You now ha­ve tra­ve­ling clot­hes to get you to the lar­ge whi­te ca­noe," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, fol­ding his arms tightly ac­ross his chest. "Put them on, and if they fit yo­ur body, they are yo­urs. A gift from Spot­ted Eag­le to the whi­te brot­her of Jole­na."

  Everything was si­lent for a mo­ment, then Kirk flung the blan­ket from aro­und him and strug­gled in­to the clot­hes. Af­ter he was fully dres­sed, he went to Jole­na and ga­zed down at her. "Are you as eager to see me go as he?" he as­ked thickly.

  "You know that I'm not," Jole­na sa­id, swal­lo­wing back a sob that was lod­ged in her thro­at. "But, Kirk, if you are well eno­ugh, it is best that you do le­ave as so­on as pos­sib­le."

  "And you?" Kirk sa­id, his vo­ice bre­aking.

  "You know the an­s­wer wit­ho­ut as­king," Jole­na sa­id, ple­ading up at Kirk with her dark, wi­de eyes.

  "I want to he­ar you say it," Kirk sa­id, pla­cing his hands at her sho­ul­ders, slightly sha­king her. "Damn it, Jole­na, let me he­ar you say it."

  Spotted Eag­le had se­en eno­ugh and co­uld not stand si­lently by any lon­ger. He went to Kirk and easily slip­ped Kirk's hands from Jole­na's sho­ul­der.

  "I will spe­ak for my wo­man," Spot­ted Eag­le sa­id, his eyes lit with fi­re as he gla­red in­to Kirk's. "She will not be re­tur­ning with you to Sa­int Lo­u­is. Try and un­der­s­tand, whi­te brot­her, when I say that al­t­ho­ugh you ha­ve lo­ved her lon­ger than I, you will ha­ve to let her go. She be­longs now to her true pe­op­le and to this man who lo­ves her mo­re than li­fe it­self."

  Kirk's lips par­ted in a stran­g­led gasp, then he wren­c­he
d him­self away from Spot­ted Eag­le and tur­ned to Jole­na aga­in. "Do you for­get so easily ever­y­t­hing in yo­ur past?" he sa­id. "Can you toss me and fat­her asi­de as tho­ugh we are no bet­ter than stran­gers to you? Do you for­get why you ca­me to the Mon­ta­na Ter­ri­tory? Do you fa­il to see, or com­p­re­hend, the di­sap­po­in­t­ment fat­her will fe­el when you do not re­turn ho­me? I am not su­re he can li­ve with too many di­sap­po­in­t­ments at on­ce."

  A bre­eze in­to the te­pee ca­used by so­me­one lif­ting the en­t­ran­ce flap ma­de all eyes turn that way. Brown Elk ca­me wal­king he­avily in­to the dwel­ling, his eyes on Kirk. "Do not spe­ak to my da­ug­h­ter in such a chas­ti­sing to­ne as that," he sa­id, frow­ning at Kirk. "This fat­her, her true fat­her, warns you aga­inst such be­ha­vi­or."

  Kirk was stun­ned spe­ec­h­less, then spo­ke in a drawn man­ner as he ga­zed at Brown Elk. "Spot­ted Eag­le spo­ke of Jole­na's true pe­op­le, which I know now is Blac­k­fo­ot," he sa­id. "And I knew that she ho­ped to find her true fat­her. You are he…?"