Lakota Legacy: Wolf DreamerCowboy Days and Indian NightsSeven Days

by Madeline Baker

  She watched in terror as the bottle was tossed aside and the dice were rolled again.

  Outside, the wind began to howl, keening like a soul in torment as the last man threw the dice.

  “I win!” he exclaimed.

  The other two muttered good-natured obscenities, and then they all three gained their feet, their gazes hot with hunger as they stared at her.

  “I need to take a piss,” one of them said, and staggered out of the tent.

  The other two paid no attention to his going as they advanced toward her. Scrambling to her feet, she looked wildly from side to side, but there was no escape. She screamed as one of the men grabbed her by the arm and pushed her down on the ground. He held her arms over her head while the other man sat on her ankles, then lifted her skirt.

  She writhed beneath them in a last desperate attempt to free herself. Revulsion rose deep within her as the man sitting on her legs began to unfasten his trousers. Bile rose in her throat as his hands brushed the skin of her thigh.

  He was bending toward her when he made a horrible gagging sound. His body went limp and he fell across her.

  It was then she saw Wolf Dreamer. Fury glittered in the depths of his golden-brown eyes as he jerked the knife from the dead man’s back, flipped it in his hand and, with a flick of his wrist, sent it spinning through the air. There was a horrible gurgling noise behind her, and then a thud.

  Wolf Dreamer scooped her into his arms, gained his feet, and carried her out of the tent and away from the camp. He moved through the darkness without making a sound.

  She wept silent tears as he carried her through the night. Tears of relief. Tears of horror.

  Shortly, he came to a stop and placed her gently on her feet. “Woman,” he said, and there was a hint of laughter in his voice, “you are a great deal of trouble.”

  She stared at him, not knowing what to say.

  He did not seem to expect an answer.

  “Stay here,” he said, and disappeared into the darkness.

  She glanced around, only then noticing that their horses were tethered nearby. She moved toward the bay mare, lightly stroked the mare’s neck.

  She never heard the sound of his footsteps, but he returned a short time later leading a horse.

  In the back of her mind, she knew the horse belonged to one of the dead men, knew that it carried supplies Wolf Dreamer had taken from the tent. But she was too numb to care. There had been too much killing, too much death, and she turned away from it, seeking escape deep inside, where no one could hurt her, and no one could find her.

  Wolf Dreamer felt her spirit withdraw, and understood. She had seen too much, been through too much. He spoke to her softly, assuring her that all was well, and then he lifted her onto the back of his horse. Vaulting up behind her, he drew her against his chest. She tried to resist, but then, with a sigh of resignation, she slumped against him.

  “Rest, wastelakapi,” he said quietly. “You are safe now.”

  Gathering the reins of Rebecca’s horse and that of the pack animal, he rode into the darkness. They would reach the valley by morning.

  Chapter 6

  She woke to the sound of birds singing and the warmth of the sun on her face. She should get up, she thought, there were chores to do, but she didn’t care.

  She stared at the vast blue vault of the sky and wondered what had happened to the roof.

  She heard the soft snuffling of horses grazing and wondered why they were in her bedroom.

  She felt the heat of a body beside her and wondered how that could be when Gideon had been dead for almost a year.

  She felt the warmth of milk leaking from her breasts and remembered that her child was dead. The memory was too painful and she turned away from it, withdrawing once more into that place deep inside where there was only darkness and forgetfulness…

  Wolf Dreamer watched her from the corner of his eye. Although he could not read her thoughts, he sensed her pain, sensed the moment when she again retreated into herself.

  Rising, he bathed in the shallow pool, then, lifting his arms above his head, he offered his Dawn Song to Wakan Tanka, beseeching the Great Spirit for the courage to return to his people, as well as the patience and the wisdom to guide them if they would again accept him in their midst. He prayed for the woman, that she might regain her strength. He prayed that he might win her trust, that she would accept her destiny.

  Returning to the campsite, he built a fire with the wood he had gathered along the way. Rummaging through the goods he had taken from the white men, he cut several thick slices of bacon and dropped them into a pan and placed it on the edge of the fire to cook. He filled a coffeepot with water from the river, added a handful of coffee, and set it on the opposite edge of the fire.

  In minutes, the air was filled with the tantalizing aroma of frying bacon and coffee.

  The woman stirred. Her eyes opened, but she made no move to rise, simply lay there staring up at the sky, her expression blank.

  “Rebecca?”

  There was no response. He called her name again, louder this time, and still she did not respond.

  Grunting softly, he filled a plate with bacon and some hard biscuits he had found in the soldiers’ tent. He poured a cup of coffee and carried both to the woman’s side.

  Slipping his arm under her, he lifted her into a sitting position. “You must eat.”

  She stared at him blankly.

  “Rebecca. You must eat now.” He picked up a piece of bacon and offered it to her.

  Obedient as a child, she opened her mouth and took a bite. He fed her half of the bacon and biscuits, then held the cup to her lips so she could drink.

  She sat there, unmoving, while he ate, then put out the fire.

  Taking her by the hand, he drew her to her feet and led her down to the pool. He removed her clothing and then his own and then led her into the water where he washed her from head to foot.

  Awareness flickered in her eyes. She stared at him and then at his hands moving over her skin. Her eyes widened in alarm and she stepped backward, putting herself out of his reach.

  “Rebecca, do not be afraid. I will not hurt you.”

  Crossing her arms over her breasts, she took another step backward.

  He held out his hand, palm up in a gesture of appeal. “Come, the air grows cool.”

  “Don’t touch me! You killed those men. So much blood! So much death!” Her voice rose in anguish. “My baby…it was you! You killed my baby!”

  He stared at her in horror. “You know I did not! The child was born dead. If not for me, you would have died, too.”

  “Why didn’t I die? Everything you touch dies. Why not me?”

  He moved toward her, stunned by her accusations. Was that what she thought? That he had killed her child? How could she think such a thing?

  “Don’t touch me!” Turning, she tried to run from him, only to stumble and fall as the water swirled around her ankles.

  He caught her arm and drew her up against him. Her skin was smooth and cool against his. “Rebecca!”

  “No, no!” She beat her fists against his chest. “Let me go! It’s all your fault! My baby’s dead, oh, my poor poor baby…”

  He held her close, willing her to be calm, soothing her with the power of his mind and heart.

  She looked up at him, her eyes filling with grief and with the horror she had suffered at the hands of the cruel men who had killed her husband and sought to defile her.

  His gaze met and held hers as he stroked her hair, his mind speaking to hers, comforting her, soothing her tangled thoughts and emotions.

  “I’m sorry.” She whispered the words as her memory cleared. “I was wrong to blame you.”

  With a nod, he swung her into his arms and carried her to their campsite where he wrapped her in a blanket. When she was sitting in the sun, he filled the coffee cup and handed it to her, then walked back to the pool.

  He pulled on his trousers and even though he had his b
ack to her, he could feel her watching him all the while. Gathering her clothing, he returned to the camp.

  She looked at him over the rim of the coffee cup. “Where did you learn to speak English?”

  “I learned a little from the white trappers who trade in our village. I learned some of it from listening to you.”

  Her eyes widened at that. “From me? How? When?”

  He hesitated, but decided there would be no secrets between them. “I watched you and your man for several years.”

  “You spied on us!”

  He shook his head. He had not been spying on her, though he wasn’t sure how to convince her otherwise. “I was drawn to you.”

  “Drawn to me? Why?”

  “I saw you in a vision.”

  Rebecca drew the blanket closer as a chill ran down her spine. “You saw me?”

  “Yes.”

  She stared at him for a long moment and then she drew in a deep breath. She pointed her finger at him as she released a long shaky sigh. “It’s you.” She shook her head. “It can’t be, but it is. You’re the man in my dreams.”

  He frowned at her. “You have dreamed of me?”

  She nodded slowly. “You were dancing high on a mountain. You danced for a long time beneath a bright yellow moon. And then you turned into a wolf. A black wolf.”

  Wolf Dreamer stared at her. No one knew what he had seen in his vision save Roan Horse, the old shaman in the village. But this woman knew. Truly, she was the other half of his soul.

  They spent three days in the valley while the woman recovered her strength. She watched him warily, careful not to touch him, careful not to let him touch her. She spoke only when spoken to until the morning of the fourth day.

  He was packing their belongings when he looked up to find her watching him curiously.

  “Do you have family where we are going?”

  “My cousin, Red Otter, is there.”

  “What about your parents?”

  “They are dead, and my brother with them, killed by our enemy, the Crow.”

  “I’m sorry.” She paused, then blurted, “You can’t really change into a wolf, can you?” she asked.

  Wolf Dreamer shook his head. “No, but the wolf is my spirit guide.”

  She frowned. “Spirit guide?”

  “When a warrior comes of age, he seeks a vision to guide him through life.”

  “How can a wolf guide you through life? Especially a spirit one.”

  “Wolves are held in high regard by my people. The wolf mates for life. He is a good hunter. He is wise and strong and yet mysterious. His heart is filled with courage. Among my people, it is considered a good thing to follow the ways of the wolf. It is from the wolf that I draw my power.”

  “So, you worship the wolf?”

  “No. We worship Wakan Tanka. The Great Spirit. He is the Giver of Life.”

  “You mean God?”

  “Is that the name of the white man’s power?”

  “Yes. And there’s only one God.”

  “There must be two,” Wolf Dreamer said. “For surely the wasichu and the Lakota do not worship the same god.”

  “Do you pray to your god?”

  Wolf Dreamer nodded. “Yes, every morning and every evening.”

  She mulled that over for a time, her expression pensive. “Do you believe in heaven?” At his frown, she said, “You know, an afterlife?”

  “Yes. Wanagi Yatu, the Place of Souls. It is a land of many lodges. The hunting is always good there.”

  “Do you think…” Her gaze searched his. “Do you think I’ll see my baby there?”

  “Yes.”

  He left her to ponder that while he finished packing their gear and saddled their horses.

  She looked at him askance when he led her horse over to her. “Where are we going?”

  “I am going back to my people. I have been away too long.”

  She felt a twinge of regret at the thought of never seeing him again. He had been kind to her, had saved her life, defended her honor. “Thank you for helping me.”

  He studied her face a moment, then grunted softly. “This is not goodbye, Rebecca. You are coming with me.”

  “No.” She shook her head vigorously. “No. I’m going back where I belong.”

  “You cannot go back to your house. It is not safe for you there.”

  “I’m going home,” she said. “Back east, where I came from.”

  “Back east? Where is back east?”

  “It’s a long way from here. My people are there.” The east. She was overcome with longing at the thought of all she had left behind. Proper houses with green lawns and flower gardens. Wide streets and boardwalks. Churches and schools. Stores where she could buy the things she needed. She never should have let Gideon Hathaway talk her into going west. She wasn’t cut out to be a frontier woman.

  She held out her hand. “I wish you all the best.”

  He looked at her hand a moment, then lifted her onto the back of her horse. “I cannot let you travel to this back-east place alone,” he said, handing her the reins. “You will come with me.”

  “No. I’m going home.”

  “You are my destiny, Rebecca. You will be the mother of my son.”

  She stared at him, her eyes wide. “I am not your destiny! I never heard of such nonsense.”

  “I saw you in my vision.”

  “I don’t care.”

  “You saw me in your dreams.”

  “I…but…” She shook her head and squared her shoulders. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t believe in dreams. I’m going home and you can’t stop me.” She said the last defiantly, and even as she said it, she knew it wasn’t true. He could easily stop her.

  She knew it.

  And so did he.

  With a sigh of mock resignation, she followed him out of the valley. For now, she would pretend she had no choice. But only for now.

  Chapter 7

  “Tell me more about your people,” Rebecca said. They were crossing a wide stretch of grassland. A pair of eagles soared effortlessly overhead, making lazy circles in the sky.

  “What do you wish to know?”

  “Are there other spirit guides besides wolves?”

  “Of course.”

  “Like bears and mountain lions?”

  “Mountain lions are bad signs and mean you are being stalked.”

  “I see. What about other animals?”

  “Badgers are good signs. They offer protection and warn of danger. Bears are good signs. They represent wisdom and strength. The buffalo is also a good sign. He possesses strong power. Coyote is a trickster, now good, now bad. You cannot trust him. The elk is a strong protector of women. It is a good sign if a woman sees an elk. Fox is a bad sign and warns of danger or sickness, but there are shamans who can use the power of the fox for good. Raccoons are good signs. When one needs help to solve a problem, it is a good idea to make a prayer to the raccoon.”

  Rebecca shook her head. Pray to a raccoon! Was he serious?

  “Skunks are bad signs. Witches use the power of the skunk to cause conflict and sickness.” Wolf Dreamer glanced up at the sky. “Eagles are always a good sign. They represent wealth, wisdom, strength and spirituality. If an eagle comes near you when you are praying, your prayer will be answered.

  “Owls are bad signs. They are messengers of evil, sickness and death. If you hear an owl hooting near your lodge, it means someone will die. Like the skunk, the power of the owl is often used by witches.

  “Ravens and crows are good signs and bring good luck. Ravens can travel between this world and the next. Hawks warn of danger.

  “Antelopes are messengers. If you see many of them together, it often means you will soon meet many people. A doe means that you will meet a new woman. If you see antelope fighting, it is a warning that you may soon find yourself in conflict with another.”

  Rebecca shook her head. “You don’t really believe all that, do you? It’s just a lot of superstitio
us nonsense.”

  “Are there no superstitions among your people? Is there nothing you believe in?”

  Rebecca thought about that for a moment, remembering that whenever her mother spilled the salt, she threw a pinch over her shoulder to counteract the bad luck, and how her father always had a horseshoe nailed above the door of the barn to avert bad luck. And then there was the notion that black cats and broken mirrors brought misfortune. They had moved into a new house when Rebecca was nine and she recalled that her mother had bought a new broom for good luck.

  “Yes,” she admitted, “I suppose we have our own superstitions.”

  “My people believe that we are all related,” Wolf Dreamer said. “Animals, birds, fish, insects, the earth itself. If I can pray to the Great Spirit, why should I not also speak to my brother the wolf?”

  She had no answer for that and silence fell between them once more.

  They rode for hours. The sun was warm on her back. A sea of grass spread out before them, stirred by a gentle summer breeze. A trickle of sweat rolled down her back; milk stained the front of her dress. Her breasts were heavy, a constant reminder of what she had lost. She blinked back her tears, but they would not be stayed.

  At the sound of her tears, Wolf Dreamer reined his horse to a stop. Dismounting, he lifted Rebecca from the saddle and wrapped her in his arms.

  She rested her cheek against his chest and let the tears flow. She had lost everything she had ever loved, everything she cared for, and now she wanted nothing more than to return to the place of her birth, to her family, to the people who knew and understood her.

  Wolf Dreamer’s hand, big yet gentle, stroked her hair. His voice murmured to her, soft words of comfort, and though she did not understand his words, she understood the meaning, and cried all the harder, knowing she would miss this strange man when they parted ways.

  They rested often after that. Wolf Dreamer silently cursed himself for not being more considerate of the woman’s weakness. She had given birth not long ago, laid the child in the ground. She could not be expected to ride from sunrise to sunset without resting.

  He made camp far earlier than he would have normally, insisted she rest while he gathered wood for the fire, then filled their canteens from a nearby stream. He prepared the food and served it to her, then sat across from her, the fire between them.